The third case, “The Poisoned Bride,” concerns the local gentry. The lovely young girl that meets with a horrible death on her wedding night is the daughter of a Bachelor of Arts, and the bridegroom the son of an old prefect, who lives retired in a spacious mansion, with countless courtyards and galleries. To complete this dignified picture, the suspect is a Candidate of Literature.
Thus this novel presents, as it were, a cross-section of Chinese society. But all three cases have one factor in common, and that is that they occur in one and the same district, and are solved by the same detective.
This novel Dee Goong An is offered here in a complete translation. Possibly it would have had a wider appeal if it had been entirely re-written in a form more familiar to our readers. Then, however, much of the genuine Chinese atmosphere of the original would have disappeared, and in the end both the Chinese author, and the Western reader would have been the losers. Some parts may be less interesting to the Western reader than others, but I am confident that also in this literal translation the novel will be found more satisfactory than the palpable nonsense that is foisted on the long-suffering public by some writers of faked “Chinese” stories, which describe a China and a Chinese people that exist nowhere except in their fertile imaginations.
The central figure, the master-detective of this novel is, as in all Chinese detective stories, a district magistrate. From early times until the establishment of the Chinese Republic in 1911, this government official united in his person the functions of judge, jury, prosecutor and detective.
The territory under his jurisdiction, a district, was the smallest administrative unit in the complicated Chinese government machine; it usually comprised one fairly large walled city, and all the countryside around it, say for sixty or seventy miles. The district magistrate was the highest civil authority in this unit, he was in charge of the town and land administration, the tribunal, the bureau for the collection of taxes, the register-office, while he was also generally responsible for the maintenance of public order in the entire district. Thus he had practically full authority over all phases of the life of the people in his district, who called him, therefore, the “father-and-mother official.” He was responsible only to the higher authorities, viz. the prefect or the governor of the province.
It was in his function of judge that the district magistrate displayed his talents as a detective. In Chinese crime literature, therefore, we find the master-minds that solve baffling crimes never referred to as “detectives,” but always as “judges.” The hero of our present story, who bears the surname Dee, is always called Dee Goong, “Judge Dee.” In Chinese a criminal case is called an, thus the original title of this novel, Dee Goong An, in literal translation means “Criminal Cases Solved by Judge Dee.”
This is the stereotype title of all Chinese detective novels. We have the Bao Goong An “Criminal Cases Solved by Judge Bao,” the Peng Goong An “Criminal Cases Solved by Judge Peng,” and so on.
The anonymous author of the Dee Goong An evidently at some time or other in his career himself occupied the function of district magistrate. This need not astonish us, since most writers of novels were retired officials, who wrote them for their own amusement, and preferred to remain anonymous because formerly all novels were considered as inferior literature in China. The Chinese word for “novel” is hsiao-shwo, “small talk,” and novels should never be mentioned together with works on history, philosophy, poetry and other instructive subjects. As it is, this novel shows that the author was thoroughly familiar with judicial procedure, and with the Chinese Penal Code. I have checked the conduct of the cases as described here with the provisions of the code, and found it correct in all details; those interested are referred to the “Translator’s Postscript” at the end of this book, where the pertinent laws are quoted.
This novel clearly shows the comprehensive duties of the magistrate in his quality as presiding judge of the district tribunal. Crimes are reported directly to him, it is he who is expected to collect and sift all evidence, find the criminal, arrest him, make him confess, sentence him, and finally administer to him the punishment for his crime.
To assist him in this onerous task he receives but little help from the permanent personnel of the tribunal. The constables, the scribes, the guards, the executioner, the warden of the jail, the coroner and his assistants, all these minions of the law perform only their routine tasks. The judge is not supposed to require their help in the gentle art of detection.
Every judge, therefore, has attached to his person three or four trusted lieutenants, whom he carefully selects at the beginning of his career, and keeps with him while he is being transferred from one post to another, till he ends his days as a prefect or a provincial governor. These lieutenants derive their rank and position (which is higher than that of any of the other members of the tribunal), from the personal authority of the judge. It is upon them that the judge relies for assistance in the detection and solving of crimes.
In every Chinese detective story these lieutenants are described as fearless strong-arm men, experts in Chinese boxing and wrestling. And in every Chinese detective story the judge recruits these men from the “brothers of the green woods,” that is to say highway robbers of the Robin Hood type. They usually became robbers because having been falsely accused, having killed a cruel official, beaten up a crooked politician, or for other similar reasons, they were forced to live by their wits. The judge induces them to reform, and thereafter they become his loyal helpers, faithful servants of justice.
Judge Dee, the hero of the present novel, has four such lieutenants. Two, Ma Joong and Chiao Tai, are former “brothers of the green woods”; the third, Tao Gan, is a reformed itinerant confidence man, while the fourth, Hoong Liang, is an elderly retainer of the judge’s family. Judge Dee made the latter sergeant over all the constables, and we therefore refer to him in our story as Sergeant Hoong. This sergeant also serves Judge Dee as a kind of Watson; for having seen the judge grow up, he can, as an old and trusted servant, give his master advice, and Judge Dee can freely discuss with him his problems without losing “face,” or jeopardising the dignity of his office.
These lieutenants are the judge’s legmen. He sends them out to make discreet inquiries; he tells them to interview witnesses, trail suspects, find out the hiding place of a criminal and arrest him. It is very important for them to be experts in wrestling and boxing, for the Chinese detective has the same noble tradition as his later colleagues of Bow Street, he carries no arms, and catches his man with his bare hands.
Except for Sergeant Hoong, however, they have more brawn than brains. It is the judge who tells them where to go and what to do, and it is he who sifts and coordinates the information they bring him, and then solves the crime by sheer mental power.
This does not imply that the judge does not move at all, and, like Rex Stout’s ponderous Nero Wolfe, refuses to budge from his quarters. The code of conduct for the Chinese high official prescribes that whenever the judge leaves the tribunal on official business, he shall do so with all the pomp and circumstance incident to his office. But the judge can go about incognito, and often does. Having disguised himself, he leaves the tribunal in secret, and sets out on private tours of investigation.
Still it is true that the main scene of the judge’s activity is the court hall of the tribunal. There, enthroned on the dais behind the high bench, he confuses wily suspects by his clever questioning, bullies hardened criminals into a confession, wheedles the truth out of timorous witnesses, and dazzles everybody alike with his brilliant wit.
As to the methods followed by the judge to solve a crime, he is naturally handicapped by the lack of all the aids developed by modern science: for him there is no fingerprint system, there are no chemical tests, no photographic experiments. On the other hand his work is facilitated by the extraordinarily wide powers granted him under the provisions of the Penal Code. He can have anyone arrested, he can put the question to suspects under tortur
e, have recalcitrant witnesses beaten up on the spot, use hearsay evidence, bully a defendant to tell a lie, and then trip him up with relish, in short he can openly and officially use all kinds of third and fourth degrees which would make our judges shiver in their gowns.
It must be added, however, that it is not by the use of torture or other, violent means, the judge achieves his successes but rather by his wide knowledge of his fellow men, his logical thinking, and, above all, by his deep psychological insight. It is mainly due to these assets that he succeeds in solving many a case that would have been a hard nut to crack for our modern detectives.
Chinese magistrates like Judge Dee were men of great moral strength and intellectual power, and at the same time refined literati, thoroughly conversant with Chinese arts and letters. In short a kind of man, whom one would like to know better.
It is unfortunate, therefore, that the Chinese detective novel cannot afford to devote much space to detailed character sketches any more than ours. This is all the more to be regretted in the case of the present novel, since Judge Dee was a real person, one of the famous statesmen of the Tang dynasty (618-907). He was born in 630, the son of a distinguished scholar-official, and died in 700, as a Minister of State.[Note 2] During the latter half of his career, when he was serving at the Imperial Court, he played an important role in the national and international affairs of the Empire. Chinese historical records give a detailed account of his brilliant official career. But such biographies are of a strictly factual character. They are silent upon Judge Dee’s private life.
The present novel takes this same aloof attitude. When our story begins, we meet Judge Dee “sitting in his private office, attending to some routine business,” and at the end of the book we leave him in that same office “putting the files in order for his successor.” Not one word about his home, his children, his hobbies.
Literary sources say that Judge Dee left “collected works,” but these seem to have become lost; only nine of his memorials to the Throne are preserved. Although Judge Dee lived in the age of the great poets, he himself does not seem to have indulged much in this elegant pastime of the Chinese scholar-official. The Chuantang-shih, a collection of Tang poetry in no less than 120 volumes, gives only one poem of eight lines written by Judge Dee. And that is a complimentary poem addressed to the Throne, which so bristles with difficult literary allusions that a later editor had to add two pages of closely printed explanations. Thus this last chance of catching a glimpse of Judge Dee’s personal feelings is lost.
This scarcity of literary information makes the few images of the judge that have been preserved all the more precious. The frontispiece of this book shows Judge Dee in full ceremonial dress. This is a Chinese woodcut, which evidently was struck off from an old block, that had been re-cut a number of times. Yet one can easily imagine that the original painting which served as a model was no mean work of art. Judge Dee is represented in a delightfully informal pose. His right hand plays with his side whiskers, his left is stuck carelessly between the folds of his robe. Doubtless Judge Dee is ruminating over a particularly puzzling case. His face must have worn an expression of immense scepticism, which is still faintly noticeable in this block print.
Despite its worn condition, I prefer this print to some conventionalised “portraits,” preserved in several collections of “Famous men of succeeding dynasties.” In my opinion, there can be no doubt that the original painting was a very old one; it turns up in most later works that figure Judge Dee, and can be recognised even in a small illustration in the most recent edition of the Dee Goong An, published in Shanghai in 1947.
Leafing through old Chinese illustrated books, we may obtain at least some hints as to how Judge Dee spent his few hours of leisure. The accompanying plate shows the library in the house of a high official, and gives a general idea of how that Chinese 7th century 221B Baker Street looked like. Let us hope that Judge Dee at least occasionally thus relaxed, late at night, after he had at last left the tribunal.
Judge Dee reading in his library. (After an old Chinese woodcut)
Stretched out on a pantherskin, reclining comfortably against a backrest, an informal cap on his head, our judge is immersed in his book. On the table by his side other books lie ready. Probably these are not volumes on jurisprudence, and certainly not love stories. Judge Dee was married, and had the usual number of concubines a man of his official rank was entitled to, and it must be feared that he took love in a rather casual way. No, it is practically certain that these books are the works of some Taoist philosopher like Chuang Tzu, where the deepest wisdom is expressed in humourous little parables, or some minor histories, written in a light vein, and describing the complicated intrigues in the official world of bygone times. A graceful coral tree in a craquelé vase gives rest to the eye, and fragrant smoke curls up from the incense burner.
Finally, his reading finished, and the deep silence of night reigning outside, Judge Dee may well have played, just before retiring, a few melodies on the Chinese lute, the seven-stringed psaltery that is lying on the table, still half in its brocade cover. And then he will have done better than Sherlock Holmes on his violin, for playing this instrument was one of the accomplishments of every refined scholar-official.
II
It is hoped that the foregoing will suffice as a general introduction to this Chinese detective novel. Details about the Chinese original, longer notes to the translation, references to the Chinese Penal Code, and other information of a more or less technical character, will be found at the back, in the “Translator’s Postscript.” It was my sinological conscience that prompted me to add this postscript. The general reader can ignore it without any inconvenience, since a knowledge of the details given there is not necessary for following the story.
There are, however, a few elementary facts regarding the administration of justice in ancient China, a knowledge of which will help the reader to better understand the situations described in the present story, and will enable him to read much of what is written between the lines. I take the liberty, therefore, to impose still further on the reader’s patience, inviting him to glance through the following very brief summary.
The tribunal, which plays such a prominent role in every Chinese detective story, is a part of the offices of the district magistrate, the town hall, as we would call it. These offices consist of a large number of one-storied buildings, separated from each other by courtyards and galleries. This compound is surrounded by a high wall. On entering through the main gate, an ornamental archway flanked by the quarters of the guards, one finds the court hall at the back of the first courtyard. In front of the door a large bronze gong is suspended on a wooden frame. Every citizen has the right to beat this gong, at any time, to make it known that he wishes to bring a case before the magistrate.
The court is a spacious hall with a high ceiling, completely bare except for a few inscriptions on the wall, quotations from the Classics that extol the majesty of the law. At the back of the hall there is a dais, raised one foot or so above the stone flagged floor. On this dais stands the bench, a huge desk, covered with a piece of scarlet brocade that entirely hides its frontside. On the table one sees a vase filled with thin bamboo tallies, an inkstone for rubbing black and red ink, a three-cornered brushholder with two writing brushes, and the seals of office, wrapped up in a piece of brocade. Behind the bench stands a large armchair, occupied by the magistrate when the court is in session. Over the dais one sees a canopy with heavy curtains, which are drawn when the session is over (see the plate on next page).
“Judge Dee questions Mrs. Djou under torture…”
Behind the bench, a doorway gives entrance to the private office of the magistrate, the judge’s chambers, as we would say. This doorway is covered by a screen bearing a large image of the unicorn, the ancient Chinese symbol of perspicacity. In his private office the magistrate conducts all routine business when the court is not in session. There are three of these sessions every day
, one in the morning, one at noon, and one in the afternoon.
This private office looks out on a second courtyard, around which one finds a number of smaller offices, where the clerks, the archivists, the copyists, and the other personnel of the tribunal and the district administration do their work. Having passed these, one enters another, larger courtyard with miniature lotus and goldfish ponds, flower beds or artificial rocks; at the back of this courtyard stands the large reception hall, used for various public occasions, and for receiving important visitors.
Behind this reception hall lies still another courtyard, at which we have to stop, for now we have arrived at the living quarters of the magistrate and his family. These form a small compound in themselves.
Before every session, the constables gather in the court hall, and range themselves in two rows on left and right, in front of the bench. They carry bamboo sticks, whips, handcuffs, screws and other paraphernalia of their function. Behind them stand a few runners, carrying on poles large signboards with “Silence!,” “Clear the Court!,” and such like inscriptions.
When everybody is in his appointed place, the curtains are drawn up, and the magistrate appears on the dais, clad in his official dark green robe, and with the black judge’s cap on his head. While he seats himself behind the bench, his lieutenants and the senior scribe take up their positions, standing by the side of the judge’s chair. The judge calls the roll, and the session is open.
The Poisoned Bride and Other Judge Dee Stories Page 2