A Trial of His Own Making (1)
Under the Joseon king's urgent plea for rescue, the Gyeonggi Provincial Office had become a Qing garrison, the occupation justified as the protection of Joseon and the suppression of the mutiny. Unlike Hanseong, where the people seethed and clamored over the Qing army and the punishment of the rebels, the camp itself was peaceful — and that peace was owed almost entirely to Commander Wu Changqing, who had made it a standing order that his men were not to trouble the citizens of the capital.
"At his books again today, is he?"
"No, sir. I hear he's holding a gathering with some of Joseon's renowned scholars, to share in literary appreciation."
"Ah. Very well."
Wu Changqing had always been a man of books and philosophy, and he inspected camp discipline himself, cultivated friendships among Joseon's Confucian scholars, and did what he could to soften the bleakness of military life. That, too, had played its part.
And it went further than that.
"The harder we strain ourselves here, the more abuse we'll take — and who benefits but the King of Joseon?"
Under a commander of that temper, officers who had begun to look skeptically on any glory to be won in Joseon saw little reason to exert themselves. They had diplomats from home traveling with them besides, and Joseon and Qing sat close enough that the Beiyang Minister, in his frustration, could dispatch an Imperial Commissioner vested with full powers whenever he pleased. Everyone, accordingly, chose to keep their heads down. A jagged stone is the first to meet the chisel, as the old saying went.
"Dull. It's all so dull."
So the days drifted by in quiet. The Qing officers stationed in Hanseong — there to put down the mutiny and to deny the Western powers and Japan any pretext for meddling in Joseon's unrest — had begun, as the peace stretched on, to feel something uncomfortably like boredom.
The peace of the Qing camp broke when two Joseon men arrived at the Gyeonggi Provincial Office, claiming to bear a secret royal command from the King of Joseon.
"We present ourselves before the General."
"This was not on the schedule, but sit, if you would."
Their host, Wu Changqing, made no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. Because of these two, the afternoon tea he had arranged with Joseon's men of letters was ruined.
"The King of Joseon only ever asks us for the difficult things."
What they handed across was a grave missive in the Joseon king's own hand.
A humble request for the Superior State's policy regarding the criminals presently under interrogation in the prison of the Uigeumbu, and a petition for investigative cooperation in their disposition.
"Hmph."
Wu Changqing took it up and read it through at a glance, and his brow furrowed without mercy. The contents were bizarre, and repulsive.
"Qing policy and investigative cooperation regarding the criminals under interrogation at the Uigeumbu, is it."
They called it investigative assistance. They called it a request for the suzerain's guidance. In truth it was so much garbage: the King of Joseon, frightened that the people's anger had begun to boil and that he would be the one cursed for punishing the traitors, wanted Qing to take the blade and dance with it.
Have these people truly gone mad?
Wu Changqing crumpled the letter and lifted his head. He could not, for the life of him, make sense of the Joseon king's course.
What was a sovereign? Was he not the one who was meant to cherish his people as his own children, to tend them, to stand as their shield?
It was not enough to station our army in the capital of another nation — now he wants to hand us the judicial disposal of his traitors as well? Is the man in his right mind?
Wu Changqing — formerly Admiral of Zhejiang, now Admiral of the Guangdong Fleet and commander of the expeditionary force dispatched to Joseon — found he disliked the two Joseon men sitting in front of him. No: he disliked the Joseon king shimmering behind them even more.
He tossed the crumpled royal letter onto the table, folded his arms, and faced the men across from him with a look that left no room for doubt.
"General!"
The moment he refused, a Joseon minister whose beard grew as thin and scraggly as a rat's whiskers began rubbing his palms together and explaining himself with a groveling eagerness.
"But there is the precedent, is there not, of Your Excellency escorting His Highness the Daewongun to Tianjin? If this time as well—"
"I beg your pardon?"
Wu Changqing stared at him as if the man had taken leave of his senses. The Joseon minister gave a greasy little smile and dropped his voice.
"Come now. The Beiyang Minister has at last plucked out the Daewongun, that thorn in the eye who raised his hand against the Superior State at every turn, and His Majesty means to use this chance to bind our ties to the Superior State still closer. Is that not two birds with one stone — three, even?"
"What kind of deranged nonsense— That was the result of your king feeding the Beiyang Minister and His Majesty the Emperor a pack of fabricated evidence and claiming the man was the author of the coup!"
The Joseon minister's oily look said, Are we not all in the same boat now? The implication — and behind it, the Joseon king's attempt to drag them in with him — sent Wu Changqing's temper over the edge. He slammed the table and roared.
"How dare you play word games with a Grand General of the suzerain!"
BANG!
"Shall I report this to the Beiyang Minister and the Imperial Commissioner this instant, and let the Joseon king's lies be known at court? If that is truly what you want, I will draft the Daewongun's petition for clemency right here at this table!"
"N-no, General! That is not what I meant! I misspoke!"
"Then what, exactly, is this letter in the king's own hand?"
"Forgive me, forgive me!"
Seeing that he was fully prepared to expose the facts to his own government on the spot, the Joseon minister flailed both hands in the air as if seized by a fit and begged.
"The unrest has been put down, and still there are no loyal servants at court by whom the kingdom might weather this calamity. His Majesty's heart is deeply troubled, and so he presumed to borrow the Superior State's authority without the proper forms. I beg you, please forgive us."
"Hrm. I will pretend I did not hear it. This once. And another thing…"
Wu Changqing looked down at the bowing, scraping minister with undisguised contempt, crumpled the letter the Joseon king had supposedly written with his own hand, and tossed it in front of the man with a warning that brooked no argument.
"There is an official envoy of our court traveling with me, is there not? Matters of this kind belong not to a soldier of the military gate, but to the imperial commissioner who accompanies us. Discuss it with him. I know nothing of foreign affairs."
"The General is frank, and humble besides. It is a great blessing upon the Superior State."
"Enough of that worthless noise. Get out."
"Yes, yes."
"Go."
The two Joseon men, who had grovelled from the moment they entered the room to the moment they left it, finally disappeared. Ding Ruchang, Admiral of the Beiyang Fleet, and his aide Yuan Shikai, who had been waiting outside the office, came in wearing the dazed look of men who had no idea what they had just missed.
"Sit."
"What in heaven's name was all that?"
Wu Changqing greeted them with a sigh so immediate that Ding Ruchang asked the question in genuine bewilderment.
"What do you think? Another outrageous request. I threw them out. There is a limit to how thick a face can be."
"What did the King of Joseon want this time?"
"Don't even start. My head is splitting…"
He broke off mid-answer, wincing at the throb in his temple, and gestured to his aide. Yuan Shikai promptly set a cup of cold water before him.
"My thanks."
"Yes, General."
Wu Changqing drained it in a single swallow and went on.
"He wanted to dump the disposition of the rebels on us."
"…Their disposition, you say?"
"Including that Gwanghwamun brat they dragged in a few days ago, and the celebrated ministers of the cabinet who have been running a campaign to spare their lives. The court is at one another's throats over what to do with them, and there is no end of talk about the king's conduct. The rumors that the people's hearts are shaking did not spring from nowhere."
"As it happens, I saw Joseon scholars and literati holding assemblies along the road this morning, even as far as here."
"Tsk. The King of Joseon thinks he can handle us the way a butcher handles the knife that slaughters the ox. Insolent creature."
"…"
Wu Changqing swallowed his anger as best he could — the sheer arrogance of a king who meant to use them openly as pieces on Joseon's political board had drained even his usual composure. Ding Ruchang, who had been listening with a sour expression, stroked his chin.
"Does the acting envoy — Ma Jianzhong — seem unaware?"
"He does. This letter came directly from the King of Joseon. The man is being ignored by the Joseon court as well. I suspect that when His Excellency the Beiyang Minister cautioned him not to wade too deeply into Joseon's politics, the Joseon government mistook him for a weakling."
"This business is taking a very strange turn."
It was then that Ding Ruchang noticed Yuan Shikai, who had been sitting quietly in the corner and listening to every word. He dismissed the younger man with a glance, then delivered the news he had brought.
"The Japanese are on the move."
"The Japanese?"
Wu Changqing started. Ding Ruchang waved a hand to calm him.
"Intelligence that came up from Shanghai three days ago. Two warships that left Kumamoto are sailing a direct course for Incheon Chemulpo. It will not be a show of force."
"Then why send warships at all?"
"One is meant to escort cargo vessels into a Joseon port called Gunsan. The other is an evacuation ship, to take off the Japanese minister and the students who have been cut off here."
"You cannot mean the Japanese government knew nothing of the Joseon mutiny?"
"That is very likely the—"
"Damn it. Then the secret understanding between the Daewongun and the Japanese government that the King of Joseon reported to us was a lie as well? What does this creature take the Great Qing Empire for? I will not stand for it any longer! Let us simply request the Daewongun's restoration. Hauling him away without a shred of evidence was the problem from the start. The rotten—"
"Haa. That cannot be done, General."
As Wu Changqing's fury mounted, Ding Ruchang's face grew somber. He let out a breath and spoke.
"Cannot be done? What is that supposed to mean?"
"Word is that our own court, under the Beiyang Minister's forceful insistence, is already preparing to conclude a new treaty with the Joseon government."
"A treaty?"
"Yes. An entirely new one. Not the old suzerain-and-vassal relationship, but the sort of modern diplomatic arrangement the Western powers are so fond of."
"…"
Wu Changqing grasped the implication in an instant, and his face turned grave.
"The people's feeling toward the King of Joseon has sunk to the floor of the earth. Who on earth proposed revising some unequal treaty in a climate like that?"
He put the question like a challenge. Ding Ruchang answered in a flat voice, and the name he spoke was a blow.
"His Excellency the Beiyang Minister."
"Good God."
Wu Changqing covered his face with two dry hands, stunned that Li Hongzhang — the Beiyang Minister he had followed with nothing short of reverence — was himself moving as part of this ugly design. Ding Ruchang offered what comfort he could.
"His Excellency regards this affair as a chance for a new revival of our dynasty. General, we need a great discourse — something that will restore the dignity of the Great Qing Empire and gather the hearts of the people into one."
"…And for that, Joseon is to be the sacrifice?"
"You see it clearly."
"The acting envoy will know this as well, then."
"He may not. Or he may have been given only a hint. Even we who were sent into the field only learned of it much later, did we not?"
"Huu. I understand. For now."
At Ding Ruchang's restraint, Wu Changqing pressed his fingers to a brow already pounding under a tide of headaches, turned his office chair away, and spoke in a low voice.
"I wish to rest. That will be all."
"Yes, General."
As Ding Ruchang stepped out of the office, a chill air clung to the back of his neck. He paid it no mind.
Meanwhile, in the prison of the Uigeumbu, what I was doing with cellmates far older than myself was this:
"…And so James Garfield, the twentieth President of America, was assassinated. By a man who had supported him, no less."
"Good heavens."
I was in the middle of a debate with my fellow prisoners on the birth of modern public administration — that is, the Politics-Administration Dichotomy.
Chief State Councillor Hong Sun-mok, who had been listening in attentive silence, was only the first. Kim Byeong-guk, Shin Heon, Yang Heon-su, Cho Yeong-ha, and a host of other ministers each offered their impressions in turn.
"That Master James was a true reformer of America."
"Hearing you tell it, America's bureaucracy is a monstrous thing. We have long been told of the unsullied temperament of a people who revere commerce, and the travel accounts from Japan and Qing say that most of them select assemblymen and congressmen whose views match their own and entrust them with government. How, then, does a separate administrative procedure for buying and selling office still exist? Their founding is two hundred years in the past, if it is a day. Does this not stand against the convictions with which they began?"
"In my view, their administration, their judiciary, and their politics are separated in name only. The abuse arises because none of the three is perfectly observed."
"The world is a strange place. To assassinate an American president who pointed out the evils of what they call the spoils system, and who tried to mend them, simply because he had not paid the price of loyalty — the customs of America are truly savage and without principle."
I watched them and swallowed, with some effort, a quiet smile of satisfaction.
What if modern public administration and contemporary political science were to bloom first in Joseon?
The Wilson who would one day be president had not yet published his essay The Study of Administration. Which meant that the first place on earth to take the Politics-Administration Dichotomy as a subject of debate was very possibly the prison of Joseon's Uigeumbu.
There was a pleasure, too, in watching Joseon's Confucian scholars approach the fact that President Garfield had been assassinated by the Stalwarts inside his own Republican Party — the price of trying to purge official corruption and keep the executive politically neutral — from a slightly different angle: an Eastern one.
They carried bodies still torn from brutal torture and interrogation, and yet they debated the Politics-Administration Dichotomy through the assassination of America's President Garfield with a seriousness that was almost solemn.
"If the three virtues Mencius named — benevolence, righteousness, and moral power — are what inhabit politics, then administration is surely the hands and feet that carry them out. How can those hands and feet be worked separately, so that each turns a dagger on the other?"
Hong Sun-mok opened the argument. Min Yeong-hwan took it up.
"This is a world entirely apart from the severity of the Legalists and from Xunzi's Doctrine of the Kingly Way. However brightly a virtuous sovereign displays his own luminous will, if the roots that uphold him from below are rotten, the Kingly Way cannot come into flower. And if the severity of the law is not just, it is merely cruel. Have the American people not simply discarded their own customs?"
"And yet if one looks at American government, the judiciary sits above administration, and politics sits above the judiciary. That is the responsibility of politics."
Yang Heon-su laid every cause at the feet of the politicians. Cho Yeong-ha answered him.
"You call it the responsibility of politics — but is it not rather that the American people recommended assemblymen who failed to govern well, and that the wound simply festered with the years until it burst?"
"And yet if their highest chief, the president, can be assassinated by a mere party man of his own faction, it may also be that a malignant company, holding views contrary to the national consensus, produced a result at odds with the original ideal."
"Or one cannot overlook the possibility that unreasonable targets imposed from above placed a burden on the officials. Do we not, time and again, have clerks of our own who follow whatever is decided above them and are corrupted in the following?"
"Then this is a place where the separation of politics and administration has not been achieved — and we may regard it not simply as America's social problem, but as our own."
They began with the Legalists, with Mencius, with Xunzi. For a time the military men unbound by Neo-Confucianism — Shin Heon and Yang Heon-su among them — invoked Mozi, Zhuangzi, and Laozi. Through it all the elder ministers listened in silence, respected opinions that differed from their own, and kept the debate on its course.
What struck me as strange was something else.
Not one of them has mentioned Zixia — Bu Shang.
The Hundred Schools that we moderns chiefly remember, on the Confucian side, are Confucius, Mencius, Xunzi, and Zixia. Zixia is rather less known than the first three, and the reason is this: Bu Shang, the disciple of Confucius, disparaged farming, horticulture, and civil engineering — the very arts Joseon holds sacred — as a lesser Way.
In later ages his line rode the current of Xunzi's school and so survived. But listening to these ministers, their thinking is not simply drowned in Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianism. Why is that? Ah—
I sat still and listened, and then the realization arrived. Of course. These men were not scholars first. They were seasoned administrative officials, their understanding tempered by decades of practical service.
They are reading American politics not through theories pounded out of the classics, but through facts absorbed by years and experience.
While I sat there admiring them, their debate was already driving toward its close.
"And yet even if commerce and politics maintain a strict neutrality, there is no way to confirm that the administration and its bureaucrats have not been corrupted. The problem is insufficient from the root."
"Does America not, like us, keep something akin to the Three Offices apart from the conduct of state?"
"When even the president, their highest chief, can be assassinated in the street, who would take up a calling and sweep the corrupt away in a single stroke?"
"Then the thing can only be finished if a movement to purge the corrupt rises from below, carried on the powerful will and support of the American people, and climbs from there to the top."
"I am told their channels of speech are more than one can count on ten fingers. A reformer of purpose will appear among them, then, and gather the people."
"Seen from a distance, however, it may also mean that whoever holds the channels of speech and the purse strings in America is in a position to sway the great and small affairs of the nat—"
And there the debate among my cellmates came to an abrupt end, cut off by a jailer's voice from outside.
My turn had come.