Earning a Mandarin Square
David K. Hugus
Mandarin squares
are worthy of collection and study not only as textiles of extraordinary
quality and artistic merit. They also
embody a truly awe-inspiring level of intellectual content. Namely the area of intellectual
accomplishment will form my subject here.
Throughout the rule of the Ming (1368-1644) and Ch’ing
(1644-1912) dynasties, Chinese bureaucrats in the civil service and military
displayed their positions in the bureaucratic hierarchy by means of a square or
badge showing their rank. While size and
design were subject to modification along with the change in dynasties and
onset of various periods in each dynasty, the identifying silk squares
maintained general dimensions of about fourteen inches across in the Ming
period and twelve inches across in the Ch’ing period. The finely manufactured badges of rank were
displayed on the front and back of robes, usually silk, that covered the
ornately embroidered vestments worn for formal appearance at court. During the Ming period, badges were worn on
loose, free-flowing overcoats called pu-fu.
The Ch’ing pu-fu, made from dark-blue or black silk, fit tightly enough
to be worn on horseback, in keeping with nomadic tradition.
The squares
denoted rank with the representation of a bird or animal. Civil officials wore birds, whereas the
military wore animals. Birds symbolized
literary education and the art of flight, rising closer to heaven than
earth-bound creatures. A fitting
allegory for the top posts in the service of the Chinese emperor, whose title
declared him as the Son of Heaven!
Animals stood for ideas of military leaders’ martial ardor, courage and
ferocity.
The Chinese
bureaucratic system began to take shape more than two thousand years ago,
during the rule of the Chin dynasty (221 B.C.-207 B.C.). The creation of a bureaucratic apparatus
freed the emperor from the need to share power with a rival nobility. Under the Han dynasty (206 B.C.-220 A.D.),
this process became so pronounced as to indicate the need for a system for
choosing among the candidates who wished to serve the emperor. While the exact cause of the emergence of the
state examination system remains unclear, there is reason to believe it served
as a check on the emperor’s fondness for appointing his favorites to powerful
offices. The examination process thus
encouraged a merit-based orientation within the setting of absolute
autocracy. By the time of the T’ang
dynasty (618-907), a standard process existed for formally examining
applicants.
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Golden pheasant, second half of the
19th century |
Although the
exams understandably covered a wide range of disciplines, they came in time to
focus increasingly on literature. By the
time mandarin squares were used to denote rank (before this, status was signaled
by the size and shape of an official’s hat), the exams included only one
subject—literature. But this made them
no less challenging! Quite the opposite
was true. An aspiring scholar’s
preparations to take part in the examinations normally began at age three, if
his parents could afford a tutor. He
first had to memorize a simple, 25-character poem. On the poem’s basis, he learned the rudiments
of writing and use of the writing brush, so as to progress to the more
sophisticated memorization of a poem containing a thousand unique
characters. Upon this task’s completion,
his main work began. He was expected to
master and know by heart the Four Books and Five Classics in their
entirety—nearly half a million characters in all. Through striving to perform this mammoth
task, at about age eight the student might attain formal enrollment in a
school.
Unlike schools
familiar to us, a classical Chinese school had nothing amusing, fun or pleasant
about it. Students were strictly
required to study alone and not speak with their classmates. Learning was based on drudgery, discipline
and fear. The slightest deviations from
fanatical studiousness were punished harshly and swiftly. Prospective officials had to master the
subject of submission to the powerful as thoroughly as literary standards.
The
schoolteachers tended to be failed candidates from the same exam process. Their work afforded neither respect nor
decent wages, so they had no cause to act either conscientiously or benignly. Chinese proverbs held a teacher’s primary
virtue to be severity. A young
applicant’s dedication was tested on each day of his battle to master and
reinforce his knowledge of the material.
Qualification for the first exam required the daily memorization of
about 200 new characters of text, as well as constant review of everything
learned to date.
A student who
achieved success at this tense stage could count on taking part in the district
exam. He had to report to this exam
early in the morning. The teacher
identified him and assigned him a numbered seat. This number was used for tracking when the
examination packet was submitted. When
the students were checked in, the proctor, a civil magistrate, locked the
examination hall, which was to remain shut throughout the testing session—a
full day, during which the student was expected to write two essays on the
themes of quotations from the Four Books and compose a poem with a set subject
and rhyme structure. The proctor could
not leave the examination hall until the papers were graded: this prevented him from taking bribes or
identifying students by seat number. The
names of candidates who passed were posted on the door of the district office
just after the exam.
The second round
was organized in the same way as the first, but required one essay on a theme
from the Four Books and another on a theme from the Five Classics, as well as a
verse composition. The student worked
his way through a series of four similar rounds comprising the first level of
examination. Students who passed the
district marathon became eligible for the prefectural examination—much the
same, but with three rounds instead of four.
Afterwards, about half of these students remained to attempt the
qualifying exam.
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Mandarin duck, 1850s |
The qualifying
exam was conducted by the provincial director of studies. These officials were personally appointed by
the emperor and had direct access to the throne. This gave them a power and authority far
greater than their actual rank would suggest. As part of his duties, each director visited
every prefecture two times in a three-year period. During these visits, the director supervised
qualifying exams. Candidates entered the
examination hall by district. A district
official identified them. They were
searched for bribe money and crib notes.
If either were found, the candidate was disqualified and the finder of
the contraband was rewarded. The test’s
importance occasioned harsher discipline.
Infractions of the rules were noted with a special stamp on the
student’s paper. Such a mark virtually
guaranteed failure.
The stamps used were:
1. Leaving one’s seat.
(A candidate was allowed to leave his seat exactly once, either to drink
tea or visit the toilet. This required
the candidate to turn in and then retrieve his exam booklet. This took so much time that most candidates
brought and used their own chamber pots.)
2. Exchanging papers.
3. Dropping a paper.
4. Talking.
5. Letting one’s eyes wander and peeking at others’
papers.
6. Changing seats.
7. Disobedience (failure to follow a clerk’s
instructions).
8. Violating the regulations.
9. Humming (this often occurred during composition of
poetic rhymes and was quite distracting).
10. Incomplete (when a paper was not finished by
sunset, this stamp disallowed later additions).
Like the district test, the qualifying exam had four
parts, each given on a separate day.
Those who passed the final qualifying exam were notified in a message
brought by special courier. This was a
cause for great jubilation and feasting, as it meant the student had the right
to enter an official school to start preparing for true civil service exams.
The true civil service exams were also given at three
different levels over a three-year cycle.
For many, preparation for these exams proved a lifelong task. The average age upon completion of the final
civil service exams was about 35. This
meant preparation for the final triumph generally consumed about 32 years. But not everyone achieved success at such an
“early” age. Records from one
second-level test in the early 1900s show that 16 of those who passed were more
than 40 years of age, while one was 62 and another 83 years old.
The first civil service exam was administered by the
director of instruction for the province. The candidates tended to number about two
thousand. For any exam, about one
percent of candidates would pass, moving closer to the ultimate goal of a post
in the official bureaucracy. In
addition, successful students were recognized as members of the gentry. This gave them the right to erect a red sign
over their doors to signify their degree.
Their position also exempted them from local corporal punishment and
entitled them to government aid for further studies.
The second stage of the civil service exams was known
as the provincial exam. Under the Ming
and Ch’ing dynasties, the examination process was tightly regulated and
administered to combat favoritism. The
higher the level, the more stringent the security measures became. The imperially appointed examiners were
notified of their selection the day before they were to set out for the
examination. This procedure was intended
to minimize the possibility of examiners becoming known ahead of time and
offered bribes in exchange for favoring certain candidates. The penalty for taking a bribe was beheading.
Up to ten thousand candidates might report for the
test. At this level, the tests were
longer and more extensive. Three
sessions of about three days each were required for completion. The themes assigned for prose and verse
compositions measured candidates’ breadth of reading and depth of
comprehension.
The examination compound had no other function. It typically consisted of a walled enclosure
with a single entrance. The gates opened
onto a broad avenue with many lanes branching off to either side. Along one side of each lane were examination
cells. These were small, doorless
enclosures barely large enough to hold a single person. They had roofs but no furniture other than
three boards. One board acted as a
shelf, one as a table and one as a seat.
When all the candidates and examination officials were present, the
compound was sealed, not to be opened for any reason until after the
examination’s end. If a candidate died
from stress or exposure, his body was wrapped in straw matting and thrown over
the wall.
Prior to entrance on the first day of a test session,
each candidate was identified and strip-searched for contraband, texts and
model answers. Conversation was
categorically forbidden. Deaf-mute
attendants delivered and collected the questions. The candidate relieved himself either in his
cell or publicly, in the alleys.
The grading system was unbelievably complex. The compositions, written in black ink, with
the names and descriptions of candidates covered, were distributed among
several thousand clerks given only red ink, preventing the introduction of
changes to the originals. The clerks
copied the original versions, making it impossible for the graders to recognize
a candidate’s handwriting. The black and
red versions went on to proofreaders who verified the copies’ accuracy. Their corrections were in yellow ink. Next, the proofread copies were separated,
with the black version filed for safekeeping and the red sent on for
grading. Associate examiners did the
first reading, formulating initial recommendations on whether to pass or fail a
paper, with comments in blue ink. The
chief and deputy examiners usually read only those papers recommended as having
sufficient quality to pass; at this stage, only black ink was used.
About one percent of candidates passed. The imperial government in each province
showed the victors special recognition.
From then on, they wore a special hat knob, kept a flag staff in front
of their family residences and hung a tablet over their doors, announcing the
home of a literary prizeman.
The final step in the examination process was the
metropolitan exam. It was held in much
the same way as the provincial exam.
Examiners, personally appointed by the emperor, had to retire to the
examination on the day of their notification.
The compound was secured just as for the provincial exam. Frequently, more than ten thousand candidates
were summoned. As before, the procedure
was conducted in phases. From this
select group, about 300 typically earned a place in the bureaucratic apparatus.
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Cranes, mid-18th century |
The examination system was not ideal. Submissiveness before authority, learned by
young students while memorizing the classics, presumed the sacrifice of
individual creativity in favor of the already known and accepted. The system served to single out the best
minds among the population and sharpen their interest in attaining the status
quo. Concurrently, this minimized the
possibility of revolt or discontent.
Legitimacy was imparted to the emperor, whoever he might be, through the
aura of respect the mandarins bore in the eyes of the populace. In addition, the bureaucracy was rife with
corruption, with more than 95 percent of the mandarins’ income stemming from
bribes and payoffs.
Yet despite the host of drawbacks, the system of state
examinations established in China was the first and most developed in the
civilized world. It provided an outlet
to seek and achieve success regardless of origin. The equitable treatment shown participants
cleared the way for even a poor boy to reach the highest posts of state
power. For centuries, education, as the
only road to success, formed the exclusive focus for the population in trying
to improve their lives. The system also
served to identify the most talented representatives of the populace for the
privilege of administrative governance in the name of the Son of Heaven, placing
his unchecked will under a certain control that obliged him to consider the
options, opinions and recommendations of a group somewhat independent of the
need for imperial favor. The
examinational institution in China remains an example of how even under
authoritarian rule the democratic process can emerge and exert influence,
illustrating the opportunities to be gained through total commitment and hard,
ambitious work. Today, too, the ordinary
oriental student’s purposeful fervor, similarly focused on education, has a
quality absent in genealogies less marked by reverence for the all-conquering
power of knowledge.
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