Poisoned Bride and Other Judge Dee Mysteries (2 page)

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 torture, 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.

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.