China's Development from a Global Perspective 1443816701, 9781443816700

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China’s Development from a Global Perspective

China’s Development from a Global Perspective Edited by

María Dolores Elizalde and Wang Jianlang

China’s Development from a Global Perspective Edited by María Dolores Elizalde and Wang Jianlang This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by María Dolores Elizalde, Wang Jianlang and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-1670-1 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-1670-0 This volume has been published with the support of the Spanish Research Project HAR2015-66511-P (MINECO/FEDER).

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Illustrations ................................................................................... viii Part 1: China from Global Perspectives: An Introduction Chapter One ................................................................................................. 2 China from Global Perspectives: An Introduction Presentation: China in the World, the World in China María Dolores ELIZALDE Preface to China from Global Perspectives WANG Jianlang China in the World: Historiographical Reflection Manel OLLÉ Placing China in Global Histories, and Global Histories in China: Some Comments Kenneth POMERANZ Part 2: Approaches between China and the World Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 28 Imperial Rome and China: Communication and Information Transmission Ann KOLB and Michael SPEIDEL Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 57 China–Bengal Interactions in the Early Fifteenth Century: A Study on Ma Huan’s and Fei Shin’s Travels Accounts Md. Abdullah AL-MASUM Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 73 Caretakers of the Sulu King’s Tomb in China, 1417–1733 LIU Wenming

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Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 87 China from the Perspective of an Unusual Spanish Diplomat: Eduard Toda, Consul at Macao, Hong Kong, Canton and Shanghai, 1875–1882 María Dolores ELIZALDE Part 3: International Relations Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 122 Europe, China and the Family of Nations: Commercial Enlightenment in the Sattelzeit, 1780–1840 Guido ABBATTISTA Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 196 The Golden Gate and the Open Door: Civilization, Empire, and Exemption in the History of U.S. Chinese Exclusion, 1868í1910 Paul A. KRAMER Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 220 Laboratory of Globalization? Tianjin c. 1900 Pierre SINGARAVÉLOU Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 233 China and the International Alliances at the Beginning of the Twentieth Century Valdo FERRETTI Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 253 The Memory and Legacy of the Tribute System in the Twentieth Century China KAWASHIMA Shin Part 4: Economic Relations Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 274 The Monetization of Silver in China: Ming China and Its Global Interactions WAN Ming

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Chapter Twelve ........................................................................................ 297 Chinese Silk and European Trade: A Balance (Sixteenth–Nineteenth Centuries) Salvatore CIRIACONO Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 327 The Spanish Link in the Canton Trade, 1787–1830: Silver, Opium and the Royal Philippines Company Ander PERMANYER-UGARTEMENDIA Chapter Fourteen ..................................................................................... 350 Commercial Relations of the Russian-American Company with China in the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century Alexander Yu. PETROV Chapter Fifteen ........................................................................................ 375 Foreign Engineers’ Activities in China and the Process of China’s Internationalization: The Case of the Engineering Society of China, 1901–1941 WU Lin-chun Contributors ............................................................................................. 404

LIST OF FIGURES AND TABLES

Images 5.1 Eduard Toda, Spanish Consul in China, 1876–1882 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General 5.2 “Mon barco a la entrada de Suchao,” 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General 5.3 “Pont de Wong-du”, 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General 5.4 “Dificultat para entrar en Kwang-shan,” 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General 5.5 “Tombas Ming” Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General 5.6 “Barca del Virrey Tso, Nankin” Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

Tables 6.1 Distribution of articles according to the subject arrangement provided by the “General Index of Subjects Contained in the Twenty Volumes, with an Arranged List of Articles” in The Chinese Repository, Canton, 1851 6.2 Distribution of articles according to macro-subjects Source: Elaborated by the author 14.1 The Russian American Company and the fur market Source: Based on data taken from the Archive of the Foreign Policy of the Russian Empire, Russian-American Company papers, and Collections from the State Archive of Irkutsk Region, State Historical Archive in St Petersburg and State Archive of the Navy in St Petersburg 14.2 Tea trade of the Russian American Company with China Source: Based on data taken from the Archive of the Foreign Policy of the Russian Empire, Russian-American Company papers, and collections from the State Archive of Irkutsk Region in Irkutsk, State Historical Archive in St Petersburg and State Archive of the Navy in St Petersburg

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15.1 Membership of the Engineering Society of China, 1901–41 Source: Engineering Society of China, Report and Proceeding, 1901– 05, 1909–19; Journal of the Engineering Society of China, 1939–41 15.2 Subject of Presidential Address, the Engineering Society of China, 1901–41 Source: Engineering Society of China, 1940-41, pp. 11, 49–50

Figures 4.1 Wen and An family trees 7.1 Graph of Chinese migration to the United States, 1894–1940 Source: Figures from Helen Chen, “Chinese Immigration into the United States: An Analysis of Changes in Immigration Policies” (Ph.D. dissertation, Brandeis University, 1980), Table 15, p. 181 7.2 “The Chinese New-Found Friends Will Knock in Vain” Source: Library of Congress 7.3 American merchants and Chinese compradors in Shanghai at the turn of the 20th century Source: Lynn Pan, Shanghai: A Century of Change in Photographs, 1843–1949 (Hong Kong: Hai Feng Publishing, 1993) 7.4 “A Fool’s Paradise” Source: Outlook, Vol. 82, No. 12 (Mar. 24, 1906): 701–6 7.5 “The ‘Anti-American Boycott’ Awakens Nationalism (2nd Installment)” Source: Yangcheng Wanbao, “The 1911 Revolution in Guangdong: The ‘Anti-American Boycott’ Awakens Nationalism (2nd Installment),” excerpted in Renmin Wang, September 21, 2001 10.1 Map of national shame Source: Hong Maoxi, eds, The New Chinese Map authorized by Ministry of Interior for Elementary School (Chongqing: Dongfang Yudi Xueshe, 1938)

PART 1: CHINA FROM GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES: AN INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE CHINA FROM GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES: AN INTRODUCTION MARÍA DOLORES ELIZALDE, WANG JIANLANG, MANEL OLLÉ AND KENNETH POMERANZ

Presentation: China in the World, the World in China María Dolores Elizalde The texts joined in this volume were presented in the session entitled “China from Global Perspectives,” Major Theme 1 of the 22nd World Congress of Historical Sciences, which took place in the city of Jinan, China, in August 2015. Its goal was to take a historical look at China in a global world. It was a scientific meeting organized by professor Wang Jianlang, of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, and María Dolores Elizalde, of the Spanish National Research Council (CSIC), with the support of Robert Frank, general secretary of the International Committee of Historical Sciences, the Chinese Academy of Sciences and the Spanish Committee of Historical Sciences. I would like to acknowledge also the excellent team who organized the Congress in Jinan and gave us the opportunity to expose and debate our ideas with the more than 900 scholars who attended the session. And finally, I would like to thank the support and encouragement of Manuel Espadas Burgos, former president of the Spanish Committee of Historical Sciences and head of the Department of Contemporary History at the CSIC, and of Brunello Vigezzi, former president of the Commission of History of International Relations and professor of the University of Milan, who twenty-five years ago introduced me to the World Congresses of Historical Sciences and to the Commission of History of International Relations, two institutions with which, since then, I am committed.

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In the session, we had a splendid discussant, Kenneth Pomeranz, professor at the University of Chicago and author of The Great Divergence, an absolute reference for all who want to understand the role of China in the history of the world; the collaboration of Manel Ollé, professor at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra and one of the greatest promoters of Chinese studies in Spain; and a wonderful team of great specialists on China and world history, who were speakers at the Congress and are the authors of the set of chapters here presented, conveniently rewritten after the meeting. The purpose of these studies is to understand China from global perspectives, analyzing together, but from diverse angles and historiographic traditions, what China has meant in (and to) the history of the world, and how China has become integrated in and has influenced that global world. The texts analyze various aspects and visions of China’s history from a global perspective, trying to define the role that China has played directly and indirectly in the globalized and plural world. In some cases, they present the perceptions and representations of China that circulated at different times in different cultures. In others, they explore trading routes and exchanges established and engaged throughout history. China’s diplomatic relations are also analyzed, as well China’s incorporation into the international organizations, and the various elements that influenced the country’s foreign policies. They also engage the early globalization processes in which China was involved. Close attention is paid to the first contacts between Imperial Rome and China, the Chinese silver monetization during the Ming Dynasty, the long-running internal effects it had and the global interactions that it implied. Encounters between societies, cultures and mentalities are analyzed, as well as the relations of collaboration and solidarity between Chinese and non-Chinese civil societies, paying special attention to the role of professional associations such as the engineers’ association, all of which played a key role in Chinese modernization. The texts look also at the Chinese diaspora in its various waves, especially at the interplay between processes of integration and exclusion and how these influenced the position of the Chinese, and China, in a global world. In summary, this set of presentations offers a very diverse range of chronological situations and topics on the subject that concerns us here: China in the world, the world in China and, in brief, China from global perspectives.

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Preface to China from Global Perspectives Wang Jianlang When the 21st International Congress of Historical Sciences was held in August 2010 in Amsterdam, Netherlands, the Association of Chinese Historians submitted a bid to host the 22nd Congress. Later on, the General Assembly of the International Committee of Historical Sciences (ICHS) formally voted to select Jinan in China as the host city of the 22nd International Congress of Historical Sciences. This important decision proved to be a milestone in the 100-year history of the ICHS. It enabled China to become the first Asian country to host the Congress. China is renowned as one of the four great ancient civilizations in the world, together with ancient Egypt, Babylon and India, but it is the only one that enjoys extraordinary cultural continuity of approximately 5,000 years. The splendid civilization developed by the ancient Chinese never perished throughout history and has continued to this very day. China is also proud of its long tradition of historical studies. The earliest written records in China indicate that the Chinese have been attaching great importance to the recording of history since the dawn of their civilization. A great deal of historical literature, such as The Book of Documents (Shangshu), The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu), Commentary of Zuo (Zuozhuan) and A History of the Zhou States (Guoyu), were written and compiled 2,500 years ago. The Historical Records (Shiji), completed in 91 BC, was regarded as an encyclopedic masterpiece in historical writing, with far-reaching influences. Since then, each Chinese dynasty compiled the history of its predecessor. The Twenty-Four Histories, a compilation of ancient Chinese official historical books, covered an uninterrupted history of more than 2,000 years. In short, the study of history enjoys a significant and cherished position in China. Inter-civilization exchanges and communications provide essential impetus to social development and the well-being of humankind. Like all the other great civilizations, the Chinese civilization was also an outgrowth of inter-civilization exchanges and an integral part of the world civilization. Cultural exchanges between China and the outside world have been a timeless theme in China’s long history. China appeared in Western historical recordings very early. In 139 BC, Zhang Qian, an official envoy of China, toured westward across mountains and deserts and went as far as the eastern shore of the Mediterranean sea. Following in Zhang’s footsteps, a Silk Road linking Asia, Europe and Africa emerged. China’s exchanges with the outside world gained further momentum during the Sui and Tang Dynasties in the sixth to ninth centuries, when the surge of

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maritime trade forged a Maritime Silk Road. In the fifteenth century, Zheng He, the great Chinese navigator in the Ming Dynasty, led the thenlargest fleet in the world, traveling across the western Pacific Ocean and the Indian Ocean seven times, and reached as far as the east coast of Africa. He is thus honored as one of the great frontrunners in the Age of Discovery. With the frequent exchanges between China and the West, Chinese technologies and products, including the famous Four Great Inventions of Ancient China, spread to the West; the West also brought enormous cultural influences on China in return. Yet, in its long history, China also experienced periods of isolation, during which its exchanges with the outside world temporarily suffered, although they were not completely suspended. With the introduction of reform and opening-up policy in the late 1970s, China resumed its extensive connections with the outside world. Against this background, Chinese historians were eager to increase communications with their international counterparts. In 1982, the Association of Chinese Historians was formally admitted into the ICHS. This heralded a new era for intensive communications between Chinese historians and their international colleagues. More importantly, in 2010, the decision of the General Assembly of the ICHS to hold the 22nd Congress in Jinan, China, in 2015 provided an invaluable opportunity for the mutual understanding between China and the outside world. Today, with China’s more and more intimate relationship with the world, many foreigners are both fascinated and puzzled by this land in which the old and the new coexist. It is no wonder that China-related topics became the focus for the 22nd International Congress of Historical Sciences. “China from Global Perspectives” became one of the four major themes of this Congress, which was very unique in its history. I was honored to work with Professor María Dolores Elizalde from the Spanish National Research Council as joint organizers for the subconference around the major theme of “China from Global Perspectives.” More than 30 historians from various countries submitted their papers. Due to time constraint on the sub-conference, we could only select 14 of them to make presentations at the conference. From diverse angles, these papers shed light on China’s communications and interactions with the outside world, with wide temporal and spatial dimensions. On the temporal dimension, the topics ranged from exchanges between Imperial Rome and the Chinese Empire, China’s interactions with the outside world in the pre-modern era (for example, China’s silver monetization in the sixteenth century) and how China adapted its relationship with the outside world after Western civilization expanded

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eastward in the modern era. On the spatial dimension, the speakers thoroughly discussed China’s relationship with East Asia, South Asia, Europe and America. The papers covered a wide range of interesting topics, including international political, economic and cultural relations, China’s relationship with international organizations, foreign organizations in China, China’s involvement in internationalization and so on. The subconference attracted around 900 scholars to make up an enthusiastic audience, some of whom raised meaningful questions. Senior researchers and young students alike benefited from these discussions, which will promote the study of the history of China’s relationship with the outside world. Professor Kenneth Pomeranz from University of Chicago and Professor Manel Ollé from Pompeu Fabra University (Barcelona) made inspiring comments on these papers. I would like to extend my gratitude to all the speakers and commentators, as well as all the other contributors who submitted papers to us. The gathering was short, after all, and it is impossible to address all the concerned issues during such a short conference. Some of the papers need to be further discussed, some researchers did not have the chance to share their research results at the conference and, more importantly, more efforts are really needed to further relevant studies and discussions. That is why Professor María Dolores Elizalde has been working devotedly to look for opportunities to publish these papers as chapters in an edited volume. Her efforts have paid off. Cambridge Scholars Publishing has agreed to publish the English version of the symposium, while China Social Sciences Press intends to publish the Chinese version. Many thanks to these far-sighted publishers. I am also indebted to Professor Elizalde, who did almost all the contact work, such as calling for papers and looking for publishers. I am deeply inspired by her enthusiasm and greatly impressed by her patience for all of these tasks.

China in the World: Historiographical Reflection Manel Ollé We would like to begin with a short historiographical reflection on the way in which historians have seen the situation of China in the world, in order to understand the following studies in a wider context. Rigorous historical studies, based on new documentation about specific features of some episodes in the history of the relationship between China and the world, serve as the best antidote to the Orientalist essentializing generalizations that have been postulated too often about China, alleging

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that it has more civilization than history, because of its isolation and cultural determinism. These texts serve as the best antidote to the already long-standing cliché of an atavistic China, enclosed within its walls and always the same, without historical change or relevant external influence. Despite the substantial historiographical advances made over the last decades, this kind of simplistic image has been reformulated to some extent since the eighteenth century by some Sinological (and some nonSinological) historiography and continues to have some impact in the global academic sphere. Understanding non-Western civilizations in their full dynamism and heterogeneity is a critical step toward the renewal of the historiographical theories that were built upon the Orientalist knowledge accumulated in previous centuries. The Western conception of the East has oscillated between universalism and particularism, and between naive idealization and ethnocentric bias. The general view of the isolation of China, Japan, and Asia in general, throughout history and especially since the seventeenth century to the midnineteenth century, dominates Western scholarship and also exists in Asia, partly influenced by Western thought and partly as a result of its own modern historiographical insistence that their isolation helps justify an independent, nationalist road, oblivious to outside influences. Another argument made in Western academia that has permeated deeply into the East is the stagnation of China against the takeoff of scientific progress in the West. Paradoxically this kind of discourse recently reappears in China, in an unexpected auto-Orientalist turn, with a nationalist orientation. As the Sinologist Arif Dirlik has pointed out, in a recent article: “Nationalist historians see the PRC’s (People’s Republic of China) developmental success as proof of a cultural exceptionalism with its roots in the distant past. The perception derives confirmation from and in turn re-affirms Orientalist discourses that long have upheld the cultural exceptionality of the so-called ‘Middle Kingdom’.”1 This kind of culturalist, exceptionalist and essentialist discourse dates far back, at least to when Voltaire the Sinophile affirmed that the core of the Chinese Empire had survived with all its splendor for more than 4,000 years without undergoing any noticeable change in its laws, customs, language or even the way its inhabitants dressed. According to the alternative Sinophobic paradigm, the biological conception of culture that

1

Arif Dirlik, “Born in Translation: ‘China’ in the Making of ‘Zhongguo’. An essay by Arif Dirlik,” boundary2, July 29, 2015. www.boundary2.org/2015/07/born-intranslation-china-in-the-making-of-zhongguo/.

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formed the foundation of Herder’s works identified in China an infantile nature “full of filial submission to its despots.” Herder's book History of Humanity (1787) states the following: “the [Chinese] empire is an embalmed mummy painted with hieroglyphics and wrapped in silk; its internal cycle is like the life of animals that hibernate during the cold season.”2 In Herder’s perspective, China had stopped developing thousands of years earlier, and therefore his contemporary China did not have a living culture, but only cultural ruins. In his Lessons on the Philosophy of History, Hegel defines China’s static essence when he considers that we are in the presence of the most ancient state yet nevertheless that it lacks a past, because it exists today as we know it was in the distant past. In this sense, China lacks a history. In Hegel’s view, Chinese “history” is essentially static and non-dialectical. If the telos of political history is freedom, then the Chinese state cannot but remain always the same: despotic and unfree. This is the underlying meaning of Hegel’s paradoxical statement that Chinese “history” is nonhistorical. Hegel believes that China represents the initial phase of human history, in a formulation that can be considered one of the intellectual foundations of the Orientalist representation of Asia. Hegel considers that universal history travels from East to West, as Europe is precisely the fate of universal history, while Asia is the beginning. “Empires belonging to mere space, as it were – unhistorical History; – as for example, in China, the State based on the Family relation; … This History, too is, for the most part, really unhistorical, for it is only the repetition of the same majestic ruin.”3 Despite his harsh criticism of Hegel´s conception of history, Marx adopted his predecessor´s ideas about China’s stagnation and isolation. Marxism defined the Asian mode of production as a cul-de-sac outside of the linear progression of the historical process (in the Marxist conception of history), that is, an area without history, in which the weight of the state in all the economic and social spheres had neutralized the “historical energy” of the oppressed. If the Chinese had any history, it would be the history of religion; once again: more civilization (Confucian) than history. Wittfogel’s theories about Oriental hydraulic despotism, or Max Weber’s diagnostic according to which Confucianism blocked (through the iron rule of the bureaucracy) China’s economic development and the 2

Rolf J. Goebel, “China as an Embalmed Mummy: Herder’s Orientalist Poetics,” South Atlantic Review 60:1 (January 1995): 111–129. 3 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, The Philosophy of History (New York: Barnes and Noble, 2001), 123–124.

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rise of capitalism in the Middle Kingdom, insist on this essentialist and culturist paradigm of China’s millennial isolation and immobility. (This specious argument has been precisely employed in the past few decades in the opposite sense, notably by affirming that the disciplined, laborious subordination of the individual to the groups made up by the family and the state explains the success of the Asian Confucian – and principally authoritarian – dragons and tigers.) Max Weber once remarked that China's fate was to serve as an opposite for the Western observer, a radically different form of human life in a positive or negative sense. The emphasis on the differences obstructs a more balanced approach based on the confirmation of the resemblance as axis for the comparison and for the elaboration of some less Euro/Sinocentric historiography. We began by emphasizing the absence of essential characteristics or cultural atavisms. Such an assertion does not prevent us from taking into account continuities and influences between periods. We could perhaps even now endorse Mark Twain’s words when he wrote that “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” These essentialist and culturalist perspectives about stagnation and isolation precisely found in Weber’s theories a thorough diagnostic that subsequently had great influence. This vision of the stagnation-isolation of China is within the modernization paradigm proposed by Max Weber, who recasts and updates the enlightened thought in the tradition of Hegel and Marx. The early development in China of the meritocratic system of the reproduction of power through the imperial exams generalized starting in the eighth century, along with the perception of the centrality of the Chinese bureaucratic system in the hierarchized codification and territorial impact of the imperial power throughout centuries, led Weber to believe that Chinese society was absolutely dependent on and shaped by an omnipresent, highly efficient bureaucratic system, which guaranteed the Chinese Empire’s great ability to prolong its spatial and temporal continuity. Any description of Chinese history that is to some degree based on this type of culturalist and essentialist approach is no longer defensible, to the extent that in-depth studies about different periods allow us to examine objectively how far China was connected with the outside world, in terms of trade or cultural and human exchange, how far these external links were influential in their historical changes (not only as a passive object of the change coming from outside), and how far we must include the intervention of other agencies and distinct specific dynamics that occurred in the interplay of complex tensions, which were not at all essentially

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different from those that existed in other countries and empires, on the margins of any idealized and singular Chinese schema. Despite the mirages of the imperial system and the centennial continuity of the bureaucratic system, its reiterative reconfigurations and transformations present very noteworthy variations. Thus, for example, the dialectic between the “external court” (based on the bureaucratic system that was diffused throughout the territory) and the “internal court” (theoretically centered on service to the emperor) was not always resolved in the same manner. We can identify emperors that did not accept a merely ritual and religious role, for they even went so far as to promote from the internal court their hold over the territory, and to delegate administrative and fiscal tasks to groups such as the eunuchs, who were not initially envisioned for this kind of work. Likewise, we can see, from the fringes of the ordinary channels of the exercising of power, that the territorial elite could take advantage of the direct influence they held in the palace by placing family members in collectives such as the eunuchs or concubines of the internal court, close to the imperial pinnacle. Finally, it is essential to take into account the network of interests and effective exercise of territorial power by members of the imperial family itself, as it had great scope and remarkable influence during certain periods. These were superimposed on the formal hierarchy of the bureaucratic system or even clashed with it. In recent decades there have been several proposals, some more successful than others, which have tried to replace the old paradigms that had marked the development of historiography about China for almost two centuries with new formulas for a more valid approach to the history of China. In some historiographical trends prevailing in the field of Chinese history in the twentieth century, the emphasis was focused on the role of Western aggressions in China, and the impact of modernization that was imposed by European countries or the United States – understood as a ferment necessary for the activation of Chinese history – in the traditional societies of the East Asia, although some aspects of Western imperialism are explicitly criticized. This approach presents several quite obvious problems. On the one hand, it presents an active role in the West opposed to just passive and reactive China. Moreover, the West is seen as a reified entity, a block poorly differentiated, which shares the same goals and unique colonial enterprise, and its complexity is often forgotten in time and space. Also, similarly, China is currently a simplified abstraction that marginalizes the

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exceptional diversity of the Chinese world, which calls into question the validity of many of the generalizations that are projected. Another innovative historiographical proposal was formulated by the American historian Paul A. Cohen, who proposed to change the approach to Chinese history, until then focused on the performance of foreign countries in Chinese territory. He proposes a China-centered history of China. It is a history that claims that the starting point is China, not the West, and should be deployed using their own criteria, not imported from the West. Cohen shows how “impact” theorists, “modernization” theorists and “imperialism” theorists (both Right and Left), have constructed and periodised Chinese history as if the Western encounter was, for good or ill, the main factor shaping modern Chinese history. However, this “Chinacentered history of China” also raises some methodological questions. It is an approach not without an Orientalist echo: China remains isolated from universal history. Another trend that can be found in the historiography developed in recent years points in the opposite direction to that outlined by Cohen, and consists of integrating Chinese history into world history, not in the service of the latter, but as an essential part of it. China from a global perspective. China, especially in the last five centuries, has not only participated in but also contributed to the development of some of the great historical process of humanity. The work of historians such as Kenneth Pomeranz, Li Bozhong, Andre Gunder Frank, Bin Wong, Zheng Yangwen or Jack Godoy recognizes that history, as it is conceptualized and articulated today, is a product of the Enlightenment which exports theories that emerged to explain the changes in the rest of the Western world and exaggerates the differences to argue the unique and exceptional nature of the changes produced in Europe. Their proposals affect the comparative work that delves deeper into similarities than differences. They specifically disclaim and criticize the simplicity of explanations based on traditional versus modern, advanced versus primitive, binary opposition. So, we are now moving inside this paradigm of global history or world history: seeing China from global perspectives. We are moving among the investigation of contacts, exchanges and relations between China and the rest of the world, in the study area of China’s role in global historical processes, or in the field of investigations of comparative perspective, attentive to avoiding simplistic dichotomies or any conceptions of the East and West as essentially irreconcilable.

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Placing China in Global Histories, and Global Histories in China: Some Comments Kenneth Pomeranz Here are presented an interesting set of chapters, and of course very diverse. I’ll try to connect them a bit, but much of the story simply has to be chronological, as the issues of course change over time. Wan Ming’s chapter (Chapter 11) takes on silver, which is in many ways the first item of truly global trade – and continues two important trends in the scholarship of the last 20 years or so. The first emphasizes that China was not simply a passive recipient of silver, accepting it because it wanted nothing else (a view which had treated silver like modern “money” and thought in balance-of-trade terms). Instead China was an active trader, seeking silver in particular, and not, for instance, gold. This is one of the ways we can see that the silver flow wasn’t just a balance-of-payments issue – gold frequently flowed out of China while silver flowed in, which would not have been the case if the silver had been the equivalent of contemporary money. They had a particular use for silver as a commodity – to use it as a medium of exchange and accumulation, for which you needed huge amounts of substances with particular properties – and they actively sought it out in exchange for silk, porcelain and so on. Second, again much like some other recent scholarship, Wan rightly emphasizes that this was a monetization from below. Essentially, private parties were re-monetizing China with silver after the early Ming had made such a mess of their paper currency that nobody wanted it. The Ming Single Whip reform, converting taxes to silver, largely followed, rather than led, a switch to silver that was happening without government initiative (though admittedly, once it started, the Ming monetization of taxes gave silver-ization a further push). This interpretation has important consequences for China’s domestic social, economic and political history, making it clear that it wasn’t simply state tax demand for cash taxes that dragged peasants into the marketplace, as many scholars used to think; rather the state was trying to keep up with ongoing marketization that it couldn’t control. This pattern of monetization without much guidance from the state was important to social and cultural history as well. The resulting markets were very dynamic, but also extremely volatile, in part because the state didn’t really standardize the currency; this had profound effects on popular notions of risk and fortune,, and other matters. One could compare, for instance, the Ming Dynasty Wutong (a very fickle, even vicious, god of wealth) with the much more benevolent Qing (and

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modern) god of wealth, Caishen, as Richard Von Glahn has done.4 One might also note the late Ming texts about women entering the marketplace and the cultural ambivalence about that. The texts recording those anxieties exist partly because of wild fluctuations in relative prices for textiles and grain, which caused families to re-allocate their labor quite suddenly, regardless of gender norms.5 But for our purposes here, perhaps the biggest stories are those that connect Chinese trends to international history, and the often paradoxical role that Chinese silver demand plays. As Dennis Flynn and Arturo Giraldez have shown, Chinese demand (combined with Mughal demand, which was nearly as great) was crucial to keeping the global price of silver from collapsing in the late sixteenth and especially seventeenth centuries, given how much new silver was being dumped on the world market: and since it was the monarchy’s cut of that silver revenue that kept Habsburg (and later Bourbon) administration in the Americas afloat, it is entirely possible that the entire European colonization project in the Americas would have stalled without this demand. Certainly the Habsburg wars in seventeenth-century Europe would have had to end much sooner. And since part of what the Habsburg aimed at was (a) crushing Dutch independence and (b) conquering Britain, one is led to the surprising conclusion that while silver mining (and the Asian demand that spurred that mining) was crucial to the growth of early modern capitalism, it also financed the armies that, if a few breaks had gone differently, might have squashed what turned out to be the most dynamic centers of that new capitalism.6 Lucrative silver prices were also critical to financing the wars of unification in Japan. And last but not least, it turns out that they may have mattered a lot to the building of the early Qing state – Nicola di Cosmo has estimated that as much as 20 percent of late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century silver imports to China may have eventually 4

Richard Von Glahn, “The Gospel of Wealth: The God Wutong in the Social History of Jiangnan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 51:2 (December 1991): 651–715. 5 Kenneth Pomeranz, “Women’s Work and the Economics of Respectability,” in Bryna Goodman and Wendy Larson, eds., Gender in Motion (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2005), 239–259. 6 Dennis Flynn and Arturo Giraldez, “China and the Spanish Empire,” Revista de Historia Economica 14: 2 (Spring–Summer 1996): 309–338. Dennis Flynn, “Early Capitalism despite New World Bullion: An Anti-Wallerstein Interpretation of Imperial Spain,” in D.O. Flynn, World Silver and Monetary History in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Aldershot: Ashgate/Variorum Press, 1996), 29–57.

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wound up in Dongbei/Manchuria, mostly in exchange for ginseng. Given the small Manchu population, that kind of silver influx would have made this a remarkably monetized society, despite its relatively weak agricultural base and lack of cities. Under such circumstances, silver played an indispensable role in acquiring the luxuries that the Aisin Gioro clan conferred on their aristocratic clients, thus playing a critical role in helping them strengthen their following and centralize control over the banners (a crucial tool of both military and broader social organization); with those forces as a base, they were able to conquer the vastly larger and economically more productive society of Ming China.7 Guido Abbatista’s chapter (Chapter 6) also takes on a familiar topic, but is inventive in at least two ways that I think deserve emphasis. The first is in emphasizing writers of practical significance rather than “the great tradition” – e.g. Elijah Bridgman rather than Hegel. The second is in emphasizing that there was a great deal of overlap between what we often think of as Christian discourses and liberal ones – much more than if we associate the former with the Jesuits and the latter with the anti-Jesuit Enlightenment. Enlightenment-era Protestants, and some Catholics, too, were much less likely to be impressed by the current state of China than the early Sinophiles had been, and to think that China would benefit by greater contact with the West. Moreover – and here I would suggest going further than the chapter currently goes – the Providential theory of trade, which held that God had distributed certain resources unevenly across the planet precisely in order to make different peoples come into contact with each other – was far from dead in the eighteenth or even nineteenth centuries, despite the rise of economic thinking with a more secular basis. One can see traces of the Providential theory, for instance, in John Quincy Adams’ remarks on the Opium War of 1839–42, with which Abbatista closes. In that text, Adams also invokes the idea that because trade is mutually beneficial, one has a moral duty not to abstain from it – a duty so strong that it can justifiably be forced upon any country whose rulers block the way. So in many ways, Christian themes and supposedly secular ones drawn from Adam Smith et al. were always intertwined. The chapter is also quite right in urging us to avoid assuming that aggressiveness was always associated with Sinophobia. Deep hostility to the Qing often went along with at least a theoretically positive view of how ordinary Chinese would respond (commercially, religiously and in

7

Nicola di Cosmo, “The Manchu Conquest in World Historical Perspective: A Note on Trade and Silver,” Journal of Central Eurasian Studies 1 (December 2009): 43–60.

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15

other spheres of life) if contact were opened more widely. This was, we must remember, a debate within the West, and it ebbed and flowed over a long period of time, rather than moving in a consistent direction. As Abbatista notes, what we see more of in the nineteenth century than before is above all what he calls “prescriptivism”: a Western belief that it had ways of making China better, which was in many ways an outgrowth of the Enlightenment. One thing I think the chapter misses, though, is that the opposite of prescriptivism was not necessarily a view that China was in good shape, as it had been for the Jesuits and Voltaire (more or less). Antiprescriptivism could, on the contrary, also be connected with an extreme pessimism, which thought that China simply couldn’t improve: whether that view was based on the geographic determinism of Montesquieu in the eighteenth century or on nineteenth-century racism, which evolved partly out of that determinism (and which was also already prefigured in writers like Defoe). So on the one hand, the legacy of the Enlightenment, both to its friends and its foes, was a belief that humans armed with science could do great things; on the other hand, that legacy could also take the form of pseudo-scientific claims that there were some things that couldn’t change. And since that kind of anti-prescriptivism, unlike Sinophilic antiprescriptivism, generally went with an indifference to what happened to a people who were considered hopeless anyway, it did not offer the kind of resistance to prescriptivist violence that earlier positive views of China (or other non-Western peoples) could offer. So, yes, the Enlightenment legacy was more complicated than old views suggested, and often fed into the nineteenth-century prescriptivism; but the Enlightenment also changed anti-prescriptivism, in parallel, but dark and dangerous, ways. That darker side of things, is, of course, a crucial backdrop to the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century situation discussed by Kramer (Chapter 7), Singarévelou (Chapter 8), Ferrretti (Chapter 9) and Kawashima (Chapter 10). Singarévelou’s chapter departs from some of the darkest moments of all – the massacres and looting that accompanied the suppression of the Boxers. He shows that the provisional government in Tianjin that the Powers set up in 1901–02, which we often treat as the origin of various modernization initiatives, was not really the beginning. Rather, if we look more closely, we see continuity, especially in personnel, with some of the same people who had worked in Li Hongzhang’s earlier pilot projects being tapped as advisors by the provisional government, and then working for Yuan Shikai’s reform projects once the provisional government left. Singarévelou also notes that the concessions themselves were, of course, not new in 1900. These are points well taken, though I would still point out that there is a great acceleration in the pace of change

16

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after 1901, as well as an important broadening of the agenda of reform from things very directly connected to defense and state power (such as Li Hongzhang’s arsenal and military academy) to developments in public health (as noted by Ruth Rogaski8) and other areas that touched a much broader swath of the people. Another point made here – that Western projects in China depended, pretty much from the beginning, on the involvement of a select group of professionally skilled and well-connected Chinese – is one worthy of special emphasis, as it also connects this chapter to those by Kramer, Ferretti and Kawashima. But the importance of such people also helps, I think, to explain some of the reasons why Tianjin’s growth was slower than Shanghai’s. Tianjin depended much more on local migration, while Shanghai picked up a lot of skilled and well-connected people who moved from Guangzhou, once the Canton system ended and they could see the writing on the wall; Tianjin’s near surroundings also included only one other important city, while Shanghai was close to several. Tianjin did, as the chapter points out, become a second capital in the late Qing and Beiyang periods, replacing Chengde, which had had similar functions of helping the court escape the heat and being a place where non-Chinese VIPs were comfortable during the seventeenth to the nineteenth centuries, when the most important non-Chinese were Inner Asians. This is arguably another way in which a supposed Western import was built on older Chinese practices. Tianjin arguably also resembled Chengde in being a microcosm of the world the Chinese were dealing with. In Tianjin, however, the microcosm (or “permanent exhibition,” as the chapter calls it) was one that the foreigners built, rather than one the Qing built (as Chengde was); and it also represented a world that the Chinese were forced to deal with, not one they ruled. The existence of multiple foreign concessions and models, and Tianjin’s function as a second Beijing of sorts, was an enormous stimulus to the growth of the city. Nonetheless, Tianjin was, as just noted, hampered by being dependent for its immigrant population largely on its immediate hinterland, which did not provide reservoirs of wealth and skill comparable to those which the Lower Yangzi provided to Shanghai. Tianjin also became the favorite retreat of retired Beiyang politicians in the teens and twenties. Despite the terrible reputation that these politicians have as “warlords” (which some of them certainly deserved),

8

Ruth Rogaski, Hygienic Modernity: Meanings of Health and Disease in Treaty Port China (Berkley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2004).

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they also included people like Xiong Xiling,9 who become key figures in business and philanthropic circles, taking advantage of the relative safety of the concessions while also bringing with them Chinese capital and practices. Thus warlord disorder arguably did for Tianjin something like what the Taiping Rebellion did for Shanghai (jumpstarting elite Chinese immigration); but while the end of the Taiping Rebellion (in 1864) was followed by decades of relative stability, in which those immigrant elites could build a Chinese modernity in Shanghai, Tianjin had only a short respite between the time when regional disorder brought it an influx of elite residents and the much larger catastrophe of war with Japan. Thus Tianjin never had the chance to have the kinds of effects on its hinterland that Shanghai had, either for worse or for better; but that does not mean that many of the same forces weren’t at work, as this chapter shows quite nicely. Kawashima and Ferretti focus on what used to be the main subject matter that we talked about when somebody said “China and the world”: diplomacy. Their chapters show quite clearly that there is still life in this topic, despite the fact that most scholarly attention has gone elsewhere of late. Ferretti points out that, contrary to the picture we sometime have of turn-of-the-century global power politics – in which the US and the Japanese (and arguably the Russians and Ottomans) are the only nonEuropeans who count as players – the Chinese were actually in a position where, because of the way that the alliance systems worked, they could potentially have brought on a world war by not remaining neutral in the Russo–Japanese War. This is an interesting point, and one that I don’t think has been made before, anywhere in the literature. It shows that China was (a) not as marginal to the state system of this period as one might think, and (b) in some ways learning to play the Westphalian game. But we should also remember (as Petrov’s Chapter 14 reminds us) that the Qing had dealt with a world of formally equal states when they needed to do so, at least as far back as the Treaty of Nerchinsk in 1689.10 Moreover, they had already shown, within a few years of the founding of the Foreign Ministry (Zongli Yamen) in the 1860s, the ability to work the Westphalian 9

On Xiong in particular, see Zhou Qiuguang, Xiong Xiling zhuan (Tianjin: Baiyi wenhua chubanshe, 2006). 10 Reaching much further back in time, the Song dynasty had done so almost a millennium before. See, for instance, Morris Rossabi, ed., China Among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries (Berkley/Los Angeles/London: University of California Press, 1983). Ge Zhaonguang, He wei Zhongguo? Jiangyu, minzu, wenhua yu lishi (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 2014).

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system for marginal gains on some occasions.11 Finally, while it’s true that clumsy Chinese diplomacy could have been catastrophic in this particular case, it’s not clear what, if anything, the Qing gained as a result of not being clumsy; if they did reap some benefit, this would be something to go into in developing the chapter further. It is also interesting to pair Ferretti’s chapter with Kawashima’s: the one showing that Western-style foreign relations were far from completely alien in the first decade of the twentieth century, and the other showing that the tribute system wasn’t entirely forgotten, even two decades after that. Kawashima focuses on discourse, such as the treatment of the tribute system in textbooks, but it is worth remembering that there’s also a realm of practice. Here I think, again, that one might go farther along the same lines that the chapter pursues, and suggest that the Lifanyuan – the Qing foreign affairs system for Central Asia, which had overlapped with the tribute system while remaining quite distinct from it throughout the Qing – was not forgotten either. In fact, the Lifanyuan might well have been a more important source of holdovers than the remnants of the tribute system. After all, China didn’t really retain much leverage over Vietnam, Korea, etc., in the twentieth century, but it did eventually recover control of Xinjiang, Tibet, Inner Mongolia, etc. – and political strategies and rituals descended from the Lifanyuan were far from trivial here, from Yang Zengxin’s courting of Mongol princes and other traditional elites in Xinjiang during the 1910s and 1920s12 all the way down to Mao Zedong’s gifts of yellow satin (the traditional gift of an emperor to a Dalai Lama) during the 1950s.13 This brings us to Paul Kramer’s chapter on the exempt Chinese under the US exclusion acts. This is, I think, a fascinating example of a story that had been right under our noses all along –we all knew there were exempt groups in these Acts – but that nobody, to my knowledge, had really developed until this chapter. It would be fascinating to hear more about who exactly at the time had the idea that the US needed Chinese help in order to carry out its westward expansion: who exactly was saying this? What response did they get, if any? It would also be really interesting to 11

Mary Wright, The Last Stand of Chinese Conservatism: The T’ung-chih Restoration, 1862–1874 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1957). Stephen Halsey, Quest for Power: European Imperialism and the Making of Chinese Statecraft (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015). 12 On Yang Zengxin, see Justin Jacobs, Xinjiang and the Modern Chinese State (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2016). 13 Liu Xiaoyuan, Recast All Under Heaven: Revolution, War, Diplomacy, and Frontier China in the Twentieth Century (New York: Continuum, 2010), 159.

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know to what extent people on either side of the Pacific were thinking about the select groups as possible permanent immigrants. Were Chinese officials worried at all about what we’d now call a brain drain, or were they confident that either U.S. policies or the attractions of home would rule this out? Were the people who wanted to protect select migrants’ rights to come to the US prepared to advocate that they should also be allowed to stay there, perhaps even as citizens? Or was that a bridge too far for them, too? Exploring this might bring race back into the picture a bit more. But in general, the chapter does a fascinating job of taking what’s usually written as a story about race and making it one about class – and in general I think that’s a very salutary move, particularly in light of contemporary migration issues. The chapter’s allusion to wealth and skillbased immigrant quotas today is also a welcome one, making this a very relevant chapter, as well as a stimulating one. The afternoon panel of the 22nd Congress has led to another set of interesting and very diverse questions. This time the papers sprawled across 2,000 years, and were too diverse for me to tie them together, even to the limited extent that I could unite the ones from the morning panel. There are some common themes, to be sure: both Kolb and Speidel (Chapter 2) and Al-Masum (Chapter 3), for instance, show that Chinese regimes in the fairly remote past were more interested in people with whom they shared no borders than the stereotypes of a self-centered “Chinese world order” might suggest, and consequently better informed about them. Ciriacono (Chapter 12) and Petrov (Chapter 14) both remind us of the importance of land-based trade, and how it often remained important well after supposedly superior maritime options appeared. And Petrov and Permanyer-Ugartemendia (Chapter 13) are united by showing us that Spanish and Russian state monopolies, which nationally focused historians have tended to pick out (as some liberal critics did at the time) as “peculiar” and as explanations for “backwardness,” were, for better or worse, really quite normal. They were, first of all, neither as rigid nor as completely state-dominated as their formal rules might suggest. Nor were they particularly unusual: not only did the Chinese with whom they dealt have a state-sanctioned (though privately run) oligopoly in Canton, but so did many other key players in the trading world of maritime Asia, including the supposedly “advanced” British and Dutch. This is a point already made by scholars of the stature of Chris Bayly (with respect to Mysore),14 Sanjay Subrahmanyam (for Portugal’s Asian colonies)15 and 14 C.A. Bayly, Imperial Meridian: The British Empire and the World, 1780–1830 (London: Longman Group, 1989), 59–60.

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others, but which still needs reinforcing, since the continuing importance of illiberal trade regimes well into the nineteenth century seems to be one of those truths that our teleological histories just keep forgetting. Ander Permanyer-Ugartemendia and Wu Lian-chun (Chapter 15) are united (and connected to some of the already-mentioned chapters) by their shared emphasis on the cross-links among multiple imperial powers, and thus on the inadequacy of histories that treat imperialism only as a set of competing efforts defined within national or proto-national containers. And finally, there is China’s long-standing demand for various kinds of non-agricultural resources – war horses, sharks’ fins, sandalwood, silver, furs, etc. – which have indirectly financed many expansion projects: from Peru and Siberia in early modern times to Indonesia’s outer islands today. But beyond these few observations, I think the chapters are best dealt with individually. In their work on Rome and early imperial China, Speidel and Kolb (Chapter 2) have done us the favor of working through some little-known and frustratingly ambiguous texts, and made them significantly clearer. That comments we have previously taken to be faint echoes of knowledge about Rome may instead have been about particular parts of Rome, such as Egypt, and that what appear to be confused comments about Roman emperors make more sense if we take them to be about Roman provincial governors, are insights which can help us avoid causally attributing our confusion to the allegedly defective understanding of earlier people. This research likewise helps balance the scales between what Rome knew of China and what China knew of Rome, without forgetting that knowledge on both sides had to be filtered through possibly suspicious intermediaries and multiple retellings – and, as the authors point out, probably mostly concerned Rome’s Eastern provinces. I don’t know the texts in question, but this strikes me as very sound and interesting historical detective work. Similarly, Md. Abdullah Al-Masum’s chapter shows us that the early Ming knew a fair amount about Bengal, and on some occasions tried to act on that knowledge across great distances – even to the extent of Yongle using diplomacy to help resolve a war between Bengal and a neighboring kingdom, almost 2,000 miles from Beijing. This serves, among other things, to remind us what an extraordinary period the Yongle era was, before a much less open attitude came to dominate the court later in the fifteenth century. (The Yongle era is also the era of the tribute mission from Sulu discussed by Liu Wenming in Chapter 4). It would be 15 Sanjay Subrahmanyam, The Portuguese Empire in Asia 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History (London: Longman Group, 1993), especially pp. 270–277.

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interesting to know here what accounts survive of or from the Bengali missions to China: there must be something, even if it is somewhat pro forma, and it would be nice to know more about what those documents say. It would also have been interesting for the author to tell us a little bit more about what he means by phrases like a “healthy” relationship or “very profound and warm” relations in an era when practical contact, and thus practical conflicts of interest, were inevitably limited. What are the standards of a good relationship that we should apply here? How much are they standards of ritual propriety and, if they are, according to whose lights? What other things ought we to expect, other than lack of hostilities and an exchange of gifts? That same question – what did the people engaged in what we now call diplomacy think they should be aiming for, and why? – also lurks in the background of Liu Weiming’s chapter on the descendants of the Sulu king, who died in Dezhou (about 275 km from Beijing) while returning from a tribute mission, at roughly the same time as these Chinese/Bengali exchanges. The behavior of the party afterwards accords rather well with Chinese notions of proper filial behavior, but can we know anything about how the actors from the Sultanate saw it? Did they think it was natural to send one son home to rule while retaining the other to mourn in situ? Might they have behaved this way because the Ming made them do so? Or was there another motive, such as the son who was taking the throne wanting his brother to stay far away? In short, it seems likely that there was some divergence of views among the participants, at least in the early years of this unusual community, and one wonders whether we have any way of getting at it. Be that as it may, however, what Liu’s chapter is ultimately about is not whatever original differences may have existed between the culture and expectations of the people who became part of this unusual “diaspora” and the people of the host society. It is instead about the eventual disappearance of any such difference, as the King’s descendants ultimately became almost indistinguishable from their neighbors, until they became regular Qing subjects in the 1730s. (Perhaps not coincidentally, this occurred at a time when the Yongzheng emperor was eliminating many other irregular, non-commoner, statuses.) Even then, these people still did have a distinctive feature that separated them from their neighbors, even their other Hui neighbors. This was, of course, the care of the tomb itself. And yet, ironically, this obligation, which made them “distinctive” in one sense by reminding them of their link to a non-Chinese homeland, was also an enactment of the most canonically Chinese virtue: filial piety. It is also striking that these people acculturated to a Chinese identity (in the

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imperial and national sense that it was an identity that had and has a firm place within China), but not to the predominant Han (or “ethnic Chinese”) one. Instead they remained Muslim, and no attempt was made to change that. On the contrary, the empire took active steps to preserve their religious difference: by sending Hui to be their attendants, among other things. One might also see in these people an interesting analogy to the “Ming loyalists” in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Vietnam. Many of those people, as Charles Wheeler has shown, weren’t themselves particularly interested in the Ming cause, but were encouraged to maintain a separate hairstyle and other marks of loyalty to a vanished regime by the Vietnamese rulers – which gave them an identity as people who needed to be subjects of the Vietnamese king, rather than people who would ever go home, whose presence therefore marked the Vietnamese ruler as benevolently supporting foreigners who were upholding virtues they shared with the host society, and who were, thanks to their pledge of Ming loyalism, also kept separate from later Chinese arrivals.16 Both of these communities in permanent mourning were odd cases in which a perhaps imposed form of honoring the homeland required not returning to it. Moving toward early modern and even modern times, we have the contributions of Salvatore Ciriacono (Chapter 12), Ander PermanyerUgartemendia (Chapter 13) and Alexander Yu. Petrov (Chapter 14). All of these essays are concerned with trade and its transformations. PermanyerUgartemendia’s chapter tells us about the story of a Western power in China that tends to be forgotten, at least after the 1600s – namely Spain – but is particularly interesting in the ways that it deconstructs this “Spanish” presence at the same time that it brings Spain into the picture. On the one hand, a significant number of the “Spanish” involved were Basques, Armenians in Manila and other non-Castillians; on the other, a number of them were working with or in trading firms that were by no means national. (Above all, many worked in partnership with British traders.) There are also interesting parts of this story that touch on tensions between peninsulares, Philippine-born “Spaniards,” and other groups. And in pointing out that access to Philippine resources may have been as important to these people as American resources (i.e. silver), PermanyerUgartemendia makes a bold attempt to rethink the role of both “Spain” and “Spaniards” – especially in the period of the opium boom – for which the

16

Charles Wheeler, “Interests, Institutions, and Identity: Strategic Adaptation and the Ethno-Evolution of Minh Huong (Central Vietnam), 16th to 19th Centuries,” Itinerario 39:1 (April 2015): 141–166.

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author strongly emphasizes the non-national nature of Western activities in China. China is, one must admit, an easier case here than most places in Asia, since it wasn’t another country’s colony; moreover, the degree of trans-imperial collaboration and entanglement in what was (as PermanyerUgartemendia himself points out) still in many ways a mercantilist age can be overdone if one is not careful. But mercantilism wasn’t a strait jacket, particularly given late eighteenth-century reforms in multiple empires – the chapter’s example of how Calcutta was opened to Spaniards as Manila was opened to the British is a good one. For these and other reasons, this is a chapter that has enormous potential historiographic significance. Salvatore Ciriacono’s chapter takes on a topic long agreed to be important: silk, which has been associated with both China and luxury as far back as the Roman period discussed by Kolb and Speidel. Silk was, along with porcelain, the flip side of the hugely important global silver trade, and arguably shares with Chinese porcelain the status of having been the world’s first truly global brand.17 And yet by the latter part of the nineteenth century, China had been definitively demoted from the world’s leading producer of silk cloth to one of several significant (but by no means dominant) producers of raw silk – and though it held on to a piece of that market, even reviving its market share a bit in the early twentieth century, the overall story is clearly one of at least relative decline. (Whether the Wallerstinian language of core, semi-periphery and periphery helps us understand this is not clear to me, but as a description it probably fits.) In an interesting move that parallels some in other chapters, Ciriacono breaks out of national containers a bit, showing us that Guandong was in some ways like Venetia, which lost a once-leading position in part because it couldn’t transform its production of mulberries and silkworms themselves, while the Yangzi Delta was more like Lombardy, which did upgrade significantly in those areas. I doubt, however that larger farm size in the Delta (which was, on average, the area with smallest average farm size in all of China) was a crucial advantage for silk-rearing there. Moreover, average farm size in Japan’s silk-growing areas was smaller still – it was the Meiji state, and the trade associations it backed, that stood behind the upgrading of Japanese cocoons, not “capitalist” farmers in any usual sense of “capitalist.” I cannot go into all of the chapter’s rich detail here; it is, however a fascinating story of multiple players in multiple countries, in which we can see that no particularly silk industry was truly stagnant, though some changed faster than others. (As one of my former colleagues 17

Craig Clunas, Empire of Great Brightness: Visual and Material Cultures of Ming China, 1368–1644 (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2007).

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often said, just because you don’t become Beethoven doesn’t mean your piano lessons were a complete waste. Likewise, that a silk industry failed to keep up with Japan’s or even Lombardy’s doesn’t make it stagnant.) Alexander Yu. Petrov’s chapter on Russian trade is another one that reminds us that not being the best performer in a group doesn’t make an enterprise a failure. That trading furs through Kiakhta and tea overland from China to Russia ultimately couldn’t compete with seaborne trade in both commodities (leading, among other things, to the sale of Alaska) does not mean that these traders didn’t have impressive periods of growth. (Note, for instance, the six fold increase between 1762 and 1800.) Still less does it mean that the people involved didn’t know what was happening and try to do something that would have worked better: the Russians did try repeatedly to trade at Canton, but were told that treaties confined their trade to Kiakhta. In the end, the Russian traders just weren’t dealt the best cards. As a result, they often wound up providing their best pelts to nonRussian traders who provisioned their outposts by sea and then took the pelts to Canton, where the Russians couldn’t go. (Here we see another example of the China trade as an enterprise not neatly contained within given sovereignties, though in this case the Russians collaborated with others less by choice than because they lacked any good alternative, and didn’t manage to prosper by doing so.) Again, then, we have a chapter that tells a little-known story well, but doesn’t just say “here’s one more story;” instead it uses it to challenge our received categories and does so well. It would be interesting to know more about the Chinese side of the story – Henrietta Harrison, for instance, has suggested the decline of the overland tea trade had profound consequences for places in Shanxi that it used to pass through,18 and it would be useful to know more about things like that: both with respect to tea and to furs, and not only during the period of decline, but during the period of efflorescence. Last but not least, we have Wu Lin-chun’s chapter on the Engineering Society of China (Chapter 15). Engineers in China have been a hot topic in recent years – research by David Pietz, Shirley Yeh, Victor Seow, Pierre Etienne Will and Shellen Wu Xiao, among others, has shown us just how important these people were, both in China’s early twentieth-century industrialization and in the emerging technocratic states of both the Republic and the PRC. And naturally, foreign engineers played an important role in developing this profession; but we don’t know that much

18

Henrietta Harrison, The Man Awakened from Dreams: One Man’s Life in a North China Village, 1857–1942 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005), 6–7, 95–96.

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about how they did so. Consequently, one thing that would be very interesting in developing research on the Society further would be to get a more detailed sense of the scope of Chinese participation, whether as members, attendees at lectures, apprentices or whatever. A second important concern of the chapter is to emphasize the international, rather than national, character of the Society. It was Britishfounded, but with multinational participation; Germans, however, seem conspicuously absent, given their importance to Chinese engineering in this period; it would be interesting to know whether this was really the case, and if so, why. The emphasis on multinational rather than bilateral engagement echoes, of course, some of the other chapters joined in this volume, and is an important point. A third point of the chapter is that the Society had a lot of positive impact for both foreigners and Chinese. This seems quite possibly true, but it needs to be documented further than it is here, and the criteria made more explicit. For instance, when these engineers said “united we stand, divided we fall,” what did “fall” mean to them? A failure to develop China? A failure to expand their profession? A failure to dampen international rivalries in China, and thus contribute to peace? I would also call attention here to one of the author’s own points as a possible angle for exploring this – the important distinction he makes between engineers who were engaged as technical experts for public bodies or manufacturers, and those who were in China to sell engineering goods. Shellen Wu Xiao’s recent book makes the point (in the context of coal mining) that often the relationship between these two groups was complicated, and that in fact some foreign engineers employed by Chinese firms and agencies over-purchased advanced equipment, usually from their home countries, overloading balance sheets with excessive debt.19 They thereby undermined some of the good that their skills did for their employers, probably inadvertently. This is also a phenomenon worth exploring as it developed in pre-war China, as it foreshadows problems with expensive and inappropriate technology that became very common in development projects all over the world after 1945. We’ll need more research to see how rare or common such mis-chosen technology actually was in Republican China, especially since (as Alexander Gerschenkron argued many years ago) ordering the most labor-saving equipment in a labor-abundant society is not always irrational, if supplies of labor with the

19

Shellen Wu Xiao, Empires of Coal: Fueling China’s Entry into Modern World Order (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2015).

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right skills are scarce. And such a scarcity was, of course, precisely one of the problems that the Society was trying to remedy. In short, this chapter does not mark an end to what we need to know about this group and others like it, but an important beginning for future research. The same is true for our chapters as a whole.

PART 2: APPROACHES BETWEEN CHINA AND THE WORLD

CHAPTER TWO IMPERIAL ROME AND CHINA: COMMUNICATION AND INFORMATION TRANSMISSION ANNE KOLB AND MICHAEL SPEIDEL

As leading world powers, the Imperium Romanum and the ancient Chinese Empire of the Qin and Han dynasties were in contemporary existence from around the mid-second century BCE to the first half of the third century CE. Between them, it has been reckoned, they controlled half the entire world population.1 Yet, they lacked a common border. They were separated by the enormous distance between the opposite ends of the Eurasian continent and a forbidding topography that included some of the highest mountains and deadliest deserts on the planet. Nevertheless, particularly from the first century CE onwards, sources from both ancient empires record increasing commercial and diplomatic interchange, as well as a significant interest in written accounts on the other. Depending on the value attributed to these sources, modern scholars have proposed contradicting views of either independent or interacting empires. Thus, it has recently been argued that “the two world empires remained hidden to each other in a twilight realm of fable and myth” and that they unconsciously took part “in a major world system of trade that had developed, while few if any of the participating parties knew much about the others.”2 That in turn led others to conclude that both empires had minimal interaction and developed independently of each other, thus creating an ideal opportunity for studies in comparative history.3 Others, however, presuppose frequent and routine contact. Thus in a recent book on geography in classical antiquity one scholar maintains that “the Romans reached as far as China, establishing contacts with the local” people. The Romans, we are told, “traded with the

 1

Scheidel, “Introduction,” State Power, 5. Fibiger Bang, “Commanding,” 120. Loewe, “China’s Early Empires,” 83. 3 Scheidel, “Introduction,” State Power, 5. 2

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Chinese and had reciprocal contacts with the court there as early as the time of Augustus.” 4 Earlier adherents of this school of thought even suggested that in 122 CE the Roman emperor Hadrian ordered the construction of the great stone wall in the north of the province of Britannia because travellers’ accounts of the Great Wall of China had inspired him to do so. 5 A re-assessment of the flow of information between the two great empires, of the nature and state in which the data was preserved, and of the channels and agents that conveyed it, therefore seem apposite.

Western Data By the fifth century BCE, Chinese silk had reached the West. 6 China, however, remained unknown to Western contemporaries. Thus, although Herodotus seems to have known of a trade route used by Scythians and Greeks that connected the Black Sea with Central Asia,7 his informants had nothing but fanciful stories based on rumours and hearsay to offer about the creatures, peoples and countries in and beyond the adjacent mountain barrier.8 According to the reports he collected (but refused to believe), these mountains were inhabited by men with goats’ feet, and beyond these there was a people who slept for six months of the year. He also heard of one-eyed men and gold-guarding griffins on the near side of the mountains. Over a century later, in the years 334–326 BCE, Alexander the Great conquered the countries between the eastern Mediterranean and the Punjab. Yet even now Western literature had nothing reliable to say of the Chinese. But Alexander’s conquests and, over 100 years later, the unification of China in 221 BCE under its first emperor Qin Shihuang laid the foundations that would eventually enable the unparalleled success of ancient long-distance trade to develop along the network of routes we now usually refer to as the “Silk Road.”9 Still, according to tradition it took 4

Dueck, Geography, 62. Stevens, “Hadrian,” 397–399. Breeze and Dobson, Hadrian’s Wall, 32. Cf. Campbell, “Chinese Puzzle,” 371–376. 6 Miller, Athens and Persia, 77ff. 7 Hdt. 4, 23–25. Cf. 101. 8 See Hdt. 4, 13.4, 25–27 with the interpretation by Walter, “Seidenstrasse,” 87– 93, and Walter, Entstehung früher Fremdbilder, 63–73. 9 See most recently Hill, Jade Gate, Liu, Silk Road, and esp. Graf, “Silk Road.” For an overview see also Olbrycht, “Seidenstrasse,” 67–87. For early Hellenistic influence in ancient Chinese art see Nickel, “First Emperor.” 5

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another century before the trade route became fully operational in the late second century BCE, for that was only the result of the establishment of the Seleucid and later the Parthian kingdoms in Persia, the Maurya kingdom in India and the great Chinese expansion under the Han emperor Wu (156–87 BCE). The vast size of these realms, their comparatively small number, the will of their rulers and their at least adequate authority created an environment that was favourable to long-distance trade, not least with regard to costs for protection and to taxation. Since the late second century BCE at the latest, a flow of trade, envoys and information surged between these kingdoms. By the mid-fourth century CE, the Roman historian Ammianus Marcellinus, without a notion of surprise, mentions “a very long road” (iter longissimum) through Central Asia that “frequently” or “periodically” (yet in either case recurrently: subinde) led merchants past a place called “Stone Tower” to the land of the “Seres” (Silk People) whose rich and vast country was encircled by “great walls.”10 Ammianus also knew of a maritime trade route that connected the eastern Mediterranean with India and the land of the Seres, and that brought goods to markets in the eastern part of the Roman Empire (Osrhoenian Batnae, in particular). 11 For the long-distance trade system between East and West only reached its final and most complete state in antiquity after Rome’s conquest of Egypt in 30 BCE. Rome’s take-over of Egypt not only politically united the entire Mediterranean Basin, it also established the maritime route through the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean as an economical alternative and thereby included it into the trade system of the “Silk Roads.” 12 As a result, the trade routes linked the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific. Although sea-faring merchants from the Roman Empire first traded for Chinese goods in India, 13 some appear to have sailed as far as modern Burma, Cambodia and Vietnam.14 Since the end of the first century BCE, exotic goods from India and China were being sold in Rome and in markets throughout the Roman world in fairly large 10 Amm. 23, 6, 60: Praeter quorum radices et vicum, quem Lithinon Pyrgon appellant, iter longissimum patet, mercatoribus pervium, ad Seras subinde commeantibus. (“Along the base of these [i.e. the mountains Ascanimia and Comedus] and through a village, which they call Lithinos Pyrgos [Stone Tower], a very long road extends, which is the route taken by traders who recurrently journey to the land of the Seres”). “Great walls”: Amm. 23, 6, 64. Campbell, Chinese Puzzle, 374, takes this to be no more than a “poetic description of mountains.” 11 Amm. 14, 3, 3. 12 Speidel, “Wars, Trade and Treaties.” 13 PME 64–5. 14 Jos., AJ 8,6, 4ff. Ptol. 1,14. Liang-Shu, 54. Wei-Shu, 102. Ferguson, “China and Rome,” 586. Hill, Jade Gate, 291ff.

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quantities.15 Unsurprisingly it thus seems China was firmly integrated into the Western concept of the inhabited world, the oikumene.16 It is surely no coincidence that by the time Western authors began to take notice of China and the Chinese, i.e. the first half of the first century BCE, silk had become a well-known and highly desirable luxury good at Rome and in the Hellenistic East.17 The significance of the Chinese to the Greeks and Romans is immediately betrayed by the name they were given: “Seres”, the “Silk People.” 18 Apparently, the true name of the “Silk People” was as yet unknown to Western authors. Still, they unanimously located them in the easternmost parts of the inhabited world, occasionally by associating them with other (better-known) peoples from the distant East.19 However, geographical knowledge of the Far East in the surviving works of Western geographers was mostly nebulous. Thus, for instance, Pomponius Mela wrote: “The Seres inhabit roughly the middle part of the East, with the Indians and Scythians on the extremities, both occupying broad swathes, and spreading, not only in this place, to the ocean.” 20 It therefore remains impossible to establish beyond doubt whether the term “Seres” referred to the Chinese proper or to middlemen (e.g. from the Tarim Basin), to locate their capital city Sera, to define their exact relation to the term “Thina(e)”/“Sinai” of Ptolemy and the Periplus,21 or even to establish whether all references in ancient Western literature to the Seres were to one and the same people.22 The Seres were portrayed as a people of inoffensive manners best known for the trade (commercium) they conducted, though they were accused of the barbarian habit of shunning intercourse with the rest of 15

Thus also Graf, “Silk Road.” Cf. e.g. the survey of Western sources in Ferguson, “China and Rome,” passim, to which one might add the Tabula Peutingeriana (Sera Maior: 11 B 5, for which see most recently Speidel, “Fernhandel”). McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 131–132. 17 Ferguson, “China and Rome,” 592. Strabo 11,11,1 quoting Apollodoros of Artemita is the earliest reference to the Seres. Cf. Poinsotte, “Réalités et mythes,” 432f. According to Ammianus Marcellinus (23, 6, 67), silk had become available “even to the lowliest” by the fourth century CE. 18 Ptol. 11,11. 15,1. There remains some uncertainty whether in some cases the term Seres refers to middlemen from the Tarim Basin. 19 Cf. e.g. Strabo 11,11,1. Hor., Carm. 1, 12, 56. 3, 29, 227. 4, 15, 23. Pomp. Mela 1,11. PME 64–65. Ptol. 1, 11. Amm. 23, 6, 60. Hld. 9,16–18. TP 11 B 5 (Sera Maior). 20 Mela 1, 11. 21 PME 64–65. Ptol. 7, 3, 1. 7, 3, 6. 22 The interpretative optimism of Dueck, Geography, 62, and the respective pessimism of Campbell, “Rome and China,” mark the extremes in recent literature. 16

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mankind, awaiting the approach of those who wished to traffic with them.23 With some Western authors they also had a reputation for being excellent archers and charioteers, as well as for living long lives and for being particularly just. 24 In the early third century CE, Bardaisan, a philosopher and member of the royal court at Edessa in Northern Mesopotamia (and thus from one important branch of the “Silk Road”), praised the Chinese for having laws and legal courts that structured and regulated their daily lives (rather than astrological superstition).25 Also in the third century, Celsus and Origen believed the Seres to have been atheists (a reference to Confucian scepticism?).26 Ammianus Marcellinus, in the fourth century CE, described the Seres as peaceful, “for ever unacquainted with arms and warfare,” and “troublesome to none of their neighbours.”27 Pliny, quoting from a source from Sri Lanka, claimed that they were tall, with golden hair and blue eyes.28 Evidently, much of the data collected by these (and other) Western authors was either meaningless or simply wrong. Equally uninformed statements and hazy reports about the West can also be found in the Chinese sources, as we shall see below. One school of thought therefore holds that little if any real information passed from one great ancient empire to the other. 29 The question therefore arises whether there is anything in our sources to suggest that real information occasionally flowed from one empire to the other, or whether our sources, just like in the days of Herodotus, continue to convey fanciful stories, differing from earlier ones only in occasionally sounding more “credible.” In other words, must we accept that the surviving ancient literature reflects the extent of knowledge on ancient China that was available in the Roman Empire? Perhaps not. For the loss of texts from the Roman world is unfathomable, particularly of those texts whose authors and readers issued from social levels below those of the imperial elites. The lost works no doubt included not only texts like the Periplus Maris Erythraei, but also the entire and once abundant travelogue literature that provided much of 23

Mela 3,60. Plin., NH 6, 20, 54. Hor., Carm. 1, 29, 7ff. Prop. 4, 8, 23. 25 “Book of the Laws of the Countries” 116ff. Cf. Euseb., P.E. 6, 10, 12f. Compare also Caesarius 2, 109. 26 Origen., c. Cels. 7, 62–64. 27 Amm. 23, 6, 67. 28 Plin. NH 6, 24, 88. Cf. Sánchez Hernández, “Pausanias,” 7. 29 Cf. e.g. Scheidel, “Introduction,” Rome and China, 3. Campbell, “Rome and China,” 49. Fibiger Bang, “Commanding,” 120. Loewe, “China’s Early Empires,” 83. 24

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the underlying data. 30 It is very likely that at least some of these texts would have conveyed more informed views of the Far East, and that they contained more accurate geographical, topographical, political, economic, cultural and other information than can be found in the surviving writings of the ancient geographers. The Periplus Maris Erythraei sheds light on the nature and quality that the data transmitted by this branch of literature could attain, and thereby gives an impression of the extent of the loss. For if this text, which is transmitted only by a single manuscript, had shared the fate of the rest of its genre, we would be deprived of most of our present knowledge concerning Rome’s first century CE maritime trade with South Arabia, East Africa and India, and of nearly every detail this unique text records, for hardly any of the rich and superior data it contains can be found elsewhere. It therefore seems prudent not to draw rigid conclusions from the assumption that the surviving literature reflects nearly everything that was once known about ancient China and the Far East in the Roman world.

Envoys and Merchants Ancient Chinese historiographical texts, it seems, only began to refer to the Roman Empire in the distant West in the first century CE.31 The term they used was “Da Qin,” Greater China, “apparently thinking of it as a kind of counter-China at the other end of the world,” as the great sinologist Edwin Pulleyblank put it. 32 Remarkably, the earliest Chinese texts on Rome contain no transcriptions based on the names Roma or Imperium Romanum, which echoes the parallel absence of a transcribed name for China in the earliest Western sources.33 At any rate, the existence of the other great empire was henceforth an integral part of the concept of the inhabited world both in imperial China (“Da Qin”) and the Roman Empire (“Seres”). Moreover, there was now a considerable interest on both sides of the Eurasian continent in producing knowledgeable accounts about that distant other empire. The growing flow of trade along the various branches 30

See in particular De Romanis, “Periplus Maris Erythraei.” See esp. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources. Pulleyblank, “Han China.” Hill, Jade Gate. 32 Pulleyblank, “Han China,” 71–79, esp. 71. Cf. also Ying, “Ruler,” 327. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 263–306, esp. 270. Yu, “Survey,” 1–268, esp. 28–29. For other notions of the term “Da Qin” see the literature conveniently collected in Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World, 488, and below at n. 80ff. 33 Pulleyblank, “Han China,” 77. Contra: see the references in Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World, 488. 31

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of the “Silk Road” entailed an increasing stream of information. Although envoys and merchants can be identified as the carriers of relevant information, it remains a matter of debate whether either ever established direct contact between Rome and China.34 Diplomatic contacts between the major powers along the “Silk Road” trade system are well attested and include both Chinese and Roman contacts with representatives of various intermediate countries.35 Soon after the Roman conquest of Egypt, and no doubt as a direct consequence of the new conditions at the western end of the long-distance trade routes, Western sources report a surge of diplomatic missions from far-away eastern countries, some located in India and Central Asia, to Rome’s new sole ruler, Augustus. It is said that they came to conclude agreements of “friendship” (amicitia) with him and the Roman people. 36 Unfortunately, none of these agreements between imperial Rome and distant eastern rulers has survived, but most of them were no doubt concluded in (written) Greek, as that language served as the lingua franca for merchants and diplomats throughout the Red Sea Basin, Parthia, Central Asia and as far as India.37 Yet whatever the exact contents of such agreements may have been, the appearance of so many foreign envoys at the court of Augustus in the aftermath of his accession to sole rule over the Roman world is one of many revealing examples of the efficient long-distance transportation of news by merchants to their respective political centres at home. 38 Such information could then obviously be transferred onto written documents, further developed or condensed, stored and retrieved to serve as bases for conclusions and political, fiscal or military decisions. The same is evidently true for the information that was officially and secretly collected and transported by official envoys.39 We even know of entire missions that imperial Rome 34

Cf. recent discussions e.g. by Graf, “Chinese Perspective,” 200. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 150–162. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 304–310.McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 111–140. Graf, “Silk Road.” Schulz, Entdeckungsfahrten, 387ff. 35 Cf. e.g. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 139–162. Ziethen, “Legationes Externae.” Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 263–266. McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 111–140. Arbach and Schiettecatte, “diplomatie,” 388–390. Graf, “Silk Road.” 36 Speidel “Fernhandel.” Cf. Speidel, “Almaqah,” 246f., and Speidel, “Wars, Trade and Treaties,” 111ff. 37 Strabo 15,1,73. Cf. Strabo 15,1,4. Dio 54,9,8. Cf. Speidel, “Wars, Trade and Treaties,” 112–119. On Roman long-distance trade with the Far East see esp. Raschke, “New Studies.” Young, Rome’s Eastern Trade. Graf, “Silk Road.” 38 On the subject in general see Lee, Information and Frontiers, 162–165. 175– 177. Austin and Rankov, Exploratio, esp. 26–28, 87–88, 94, 100, 210. 39 Cf. e.g. Hdt. 3, 17. Plut., Alex. 5, 1. See Lee, Information and Frontiers, 166– 170. Austin and Rankov, Exploratio, 120–123.

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occasionally set up and sent out to collect information on distant foreign countries.40 The record of foreign envoys to Augustus includes a group of Chinese. This mission is known through a single Roman author, Florus (from the early second century CE), who notes the arrival at the court of Augustus of envoys of the Seres.41 Florus’ account mingles the Chinese envoys with Indians “who live immediately beneath the sun. Though they brought elephants amongst their gifts as well as precious stones and pearls, they regarded their long journey, which took them four years, as their greatest tribute. And indeed their complexion proved that they came from beneath another sky.” Florus is not quite clear on whether the Chinese, of whom he has nothing else to say, arrived together with the Indians, and how they communicated with the Romans. Yet Florus’ testimony is generally rejected, for not even the chapter on foreign embassies in Augustus’ res gestae mentions envoys from the Seres. We would indeed expect Augustus to have done so, for Roman rulers never hesitated to interpret, accept and promulgate any such visits as signs of submission.42 The next Chinese effort on record to establish direct contact with imperial Rome occurred roughly one century later. According to a Chinese account, in 97 CE the General Ban Chao sent his chief ambassador Gan Ying on a mission to establish contact with Da Qin. The general context appears to have been a military one, but the mission failed because the Parthians thwarted it, allegedly because they feared losing control of the overland silk trade. 43 At any rate, although Gan Ying never actually reached the Imperium Romanum, he is said to have made it to the shores of the Persian Gulf in 97 CE, where he surely collected as much information on Da Qin as he could.44 40

Sen., Q. nat. 6, 8, 3.Plin., NH 6,35,181. 184–186. 12, 8, 19. Dio 63, 8, 1. Cf. e.g. Austin and Rankov, Exploratio, 114–118. Lee, Information and Frontiers, 170– 182. 41 Florus 2, 34. 42 Cf. e.g. Ferguson, “China and Rome,” 592–593 (“an enterprising merchant or a piece of wishful thinking from an adulatory historian”). Poinsotte, “Réalités et mythes,” 435 (“sans doubt confondus avec les Bactriens”). Ziethen, “Legationes Externae,”189–192 (“Betonung der herausragenden Bedeutung des römischen Kaisers”). 43 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 10 and 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23 and 27). Feng, Early China, 281. See also below at n. 58. 44 On Gan Ying’s mission and his much debated itinerary see Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 10: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23) and Hill, Jade Gate, vol. II, 16–20. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 141–148. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 299–300. Yu, “Survey,” 5 and 10–17.

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Several direct Roman contacts with the Chinese are also on record. The geographer Marinus of Tyre, for instance, referred to a first century CE account by an otherwise unknown merchant from Roman Macedonia named both Maës and Titianus, who had used information provided by his agents and freedmen to note travel times and distances along the route that led from a commercial station in the Pamirs (the “Stone Tower”) to “Sera,” the capital of the Seres. Unfortunately, both Maës’ record and Marinus’ account of it are lost. Both are only known to have existed because the Alexandrian geographer Claudius Ptolemaeus mentions them in a short paragraph in his Geography, in which he quotes Maës as his source for the claim (which he and Marinus disbelieved) that it was a seven-month journey from the “Stone Tower” to “Sera,” the capital city of the Seres.45 It was precisely this route passing the “Stone Tower” to the land of the Seres that Ammianus Marcellinus later qualified as iter longissimum and of which he reports that it was “frequently” or “periodically” used by merchants in the fourth century CE.46 According to ancient Chinese texts, the earliest Roman “embassy” to visit China only arrived in 166 CE, and came from the South (thus via the Red Sea and Indian Ocean maritime route).47 The Chinese recorded the arrival of “envoys” of the Roman emperor Ɩndnjn (i.e. Marcus Aurelius, or, perhaps, Antoninus Pius) at the Chinese court with offers of rhinoceros horn, ivory and turtle shell. The Chinese naturally took these gifts for tribute, but having expected jewels and exotica from the king of Da Qin, they were not impressed and began to suspect that the wondrous accounts they had heard of the Roman Empire were altogether exaggerated.48 For in the ancient world, the local value of imported goods directly reflected on the reputation of their country of origin as well as on the significance of

45

Ptol. 1,11. Cf. also Ptol. 1.12.1–10. For a full discussion see now Heil and Schulz, “Maes Titianus.” Whether the journey was noted in Chinese historical accounts remains a matter of speculation: Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 149. McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 126–128. The place named “Stone Tower” is mostly identified with Taškurgan or Darautkurgan: Poinsotte, “Réalités et mythes,” 445 n. 54 and Paul, “Maès Titianos,” 955, with further bibliography. “Sera metropolis” remains to be identified. 46 Cf. above n. 10. According to Campbell, “Chinese Puzzle,” 372, Ammianus, in this passage, was simply displaying knowledge he had extracted from Ptolemy. 47 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27). See e.g. McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 133ff. Schulz, Entdeckungsfahrten, 389f. 48 Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 223. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27 and cf. 307–308.

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their rulers.49 Éduard Chavannes, in 1907, therefore argued that the Roman “envoys” were in fact Roman merchants.50 If the episode is based on a real encounter, Chavannes’ clearly is the most attractive solution, although the question of how the two parties communicated remains unsolved.51 It is difficult to imagine from which other professional group official “envoys” of the Roman emperor to the distant ruler of the Seres might have stemmed. At any rate, we should probably assume that Roman “envoys” usually were free-born Roman citizens, but the story of the Roman knight who travelled 600 miles through Germania to the shores of the Baltic Sea to buy amber during the reign of Nero (54–68 CE) shows that not all longdistance merchants were necessarily of modest social status. Moreover, Roman authorities are also known to have entrusted foreign merchants with the delivery of messages to far-away addressees.52 However, there is no record of the embassy of 166 CE in Western sources, and not all scholars believe in its historicity.53 The Chinese recorded the contact of 166 CE as “the very first time there was [direct] communication” (i.e. between the two empires). That seems to imply that several more such visits followed, but only two further direct contacts are on record for the third century, both known only from Chinese sources and both concerning Roman visitors to China. Thus, a Chinese account from the sixth century using material from much earlier periods (Liang-Shu, 54), reports the visit in 226 CE of a Roman merchant to the court of the king of Wu (the later emperor of Wu), Sun Quan, at Nanking. Allegedly this merchant (named Qin Lun in the Chinese texts), who seems to have arrived via the sea route, left a now-lost detailed account of the Roman Empire with the Sun Quan.54 Again, nothing is said 49

For a Roman assessment see Tac., Ann. 2,60. For Sri Lanka: Plin., NH 6, 24, 85 and Cosmas 11, 338. For China: Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27). 50 Chavannes, “Heou Han Chou,” 185 n. 1, followed by Wheeler, Imperial Frontiers, 174. Cf. also more recently Loewe, “China’s Early Empires,” 83. Fibiger Bang, “Commanding,” 120. 51 Pace e.g. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 308. McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 133–135. Feng, Early China, 281–282. 52 Roman knight: Plin., NH 37, 11, 45. Foreign merchants: Tac., Ann. 14, 25. Hillers and Cussini, Palmyrene Aramaic Texts, 2754. 53 E.g. Campbell, “Chinese Puzzle,” 373 n. 21: “commentators naively assume the former [scil. the name An-Tun] to be the phonetic equivalent of [Marcus] Antoninus.” Campbell, “Rome and China,” 49: “Marcus Antoninus … bears only a superficial similarity to ‘An-tun’.” 54 Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 100–101 and 158–159. Cf. Hirth, China, 46–48. McLaughlin, Trade Routes, 136f. This account does not appear to have

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about how communication was established, and how language or translation possibly affected the recorded information. In 284/85 CE, another Roman “embassy” bringing “tribute” (apparently including asbestos) is recorded in other Chinese sources to have arrived in China (probably via the sea route). 55 No further details appear to be known. Thus, the extant sources, with the exception of Ammianus Marcellinus, do not imply much direct interaction between the two great empires at the opposite ends of the Eurasian continent during the first three centuries CE. In fact, the account which records the visit of 226 CE (Liang-Shu, 54) explicitly states that Roman merchants often visited Fu-nan (Cambodia), Jih-nan (Annam) and Chiao-chih (Tongking) but rarely travelled to China. This goes well with the statement of the Periplus Maris Erythraei (PME 64) that “rarely do people come from it [i.e. ‘Thina’/China], and only few.” It is thus generally held that merchants did not travel the entire route from east to west or vice versa, but that long-distance trade was organized in stages and involved several intermediaries.56 Yet, perhaps one should not a priori exclude the possibility that some individuals indeed travelled the entire distance, or very substantial parts of it.57 For the story of Maës, as well as Ammianus Marcellinus’ reference to the long road leading to the “Silk People” and the Liang-Shu’s claim that Roman merchants sailed as far as modern Burma, Cambodia and Vietnam but only rarely to China, all appear to imply the existence of a small group of individuals that occasionally did travel very long distances between the two imperial realms. More importantly, however, there apparently was a will and ample opportunity to meet somewhere en route between the empires. Thus, Ban Chao’s mission is explicitly on record for having attempted to establish direct contact with Da Qin. Even though his envoy Gan Ying never actually reached the Imperium Romanum, he is said to have made it to the shores of the Persian Gulf in 97 CE, where he must have had the opportunity to collect much information on Da Qin. Yet, instead of finding out about viable routes to the frontiers of the Roman Empire, Gan Ying let himself be discouraged by stories of a horrendous and potentially deadly sea passage, which he was told by “sailors of the

been the source of the information given in the Weilüe (for which see below), as that text is exclusively concerned with the land route. 55 Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 159–160. 56 See e.g. Ying “Ruler.” Ruffing, “Seidenhandel.” Sanchez Hernandez, “Pausanias,” 8–9. Graf, “Silk Road.” 57 Thus also Ruffing, “Seidenhandel,” 73.

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western frontier of Parthia,” and turned home.58 But Gan Ying was not the only Chinese to reach Parthia during the Han Dynasty. Parthia had diplomatic and commercial contact with both the Roman and the Chinese empires. 59 It is not unlikely, therefore, that despite Chinese claims of Parthian attempts to thwart direct contact, Parthia offered opportunities for individuals from both ends of the Eurasian continent to meet, as there is no evidence to suggest a total and permanent blockade of the land route through Parthia for Roman merchants.60 The Oasis of Merv (Antiochia/Alexandria in Margiana), in particular, may have been a place where merchants from both empires met recurrently.61 More such opportunities for repeated direct contact may also have occurred at other intermediate market-places in India, Central and Southeast Asia, or South Arabia. 62 If true, that is of considerable significance, for within pre-industrial societies market-places played a crucial and notorious role in the circulation and dissemination of information.63 No doubt, information thus collected and brought back to the Roman and Chinese empires by merchants and envoys, could eventually find its way into documents that were at the disposal of imperial decision-makers. The Alexandrian geographer Ptolemy, for one, quoting from Marinus’ account of the journey of Titianus’ agents to Central Asia, explicitly acknowledged that “all this became known through an opportunity provided by commerce.”64 Moreover, Étienne de la 58

Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 10: cf. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 46. 59 For embassies to and from China see Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 10: cf. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23) Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 46 and 139–143. 60 Thwart contact: Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: cf. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27) and Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 51. Weilüe 11: Hill, Weilüe sect. 11, and Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 70. Cf. also Hirth, China, 42. Blockade: Isidor of Charax’s Mansiones Parthicae, Ptolemy’s account of the journey Maës Titianus’ agents undertook (1,11), and the Tabula Peutingeriana suggest that the passage was possible (at least at times). Graf, “Silk Road.” Contra: Walter, Entstehung früher Fremdbilder, 113. Overall, however, the evidence implies that merchants from the Roman Empire preferred the sea route, due perhaps to unfavourable conditions for Roman merchants in Parthia. 61 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: cf. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23 and 248–249). Plin., NH 6, 18, 46–47. Isid. Char. 14. Cf. Graf, “Silk Road.” Coloru, Traina and Lycas, “Parthians,” 49–58. 62 Cf. Lewis, Qin and Han, 143. Fauconnier, “Graeco-Roman Merchants.” Feng, Early China, 279. 63 Cf. Lee, Information and Frontiers, 175–177. Austin and Rankov, Exploratio, 27, 209–210. 64 Ptol. 1, 11.

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Vaissière has recently convincingly argued that Ptolemy’s description of the Tarim Basin in his Geography is based on three different trading itineraries, which he used as sources for his depiction of Central Asia, and especially of Xinjiang.65 All this highlights the extent to which the nature and the limitations of the surviving Western evidence are owed to written material produced by long-distance traders.

Chinese Data Sadly, all official records from the Roman world that may have contained information on foreign peoples and countries have disintegrated. It is therefore particularly fortunate that some ancient records with “official” information on the other have survived in China.66 These documents offer a unique opportunity to study the transmission of information from Rome to China. Ever since Friedrich Hirth, in 1885, published his monograph China and the Roman Orient with a selection of ancient Chinese texts containing information on the Roman and Byzantine empires (including translations and an extended commentary), these records have attracted scholarly attention, though until recently primarily among Sinologists.67 The recorded Chinese interest in the Roman Empire was on the whole not unlike Roman interest in China. For the Eastern texts provide information on the routes to and the communication with Da Qin and other “Western Regions,” on its geography, its capital, its administration and infrastructure, on dependent kingdoms, on its agriculture and stockbreeding, on textiles, perfumes and herbs, and on other natural resources, as well as on the population and their appearance and daily life. Clearly, therefore, the data transmitted by these texts needs to be checked against what is known about the Roman imperial world from Western sources, if we want to establish the value of the information on Da Qin that was recorded in ancient Chinese accounts. 65

De la Vaissière, “Ptolemy’s Xinjiang.” Translations are conveniently at hand e.g. in Hirth, China. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources. Hill, Weilüe and Hill, Jade Gate. The present authors have worked entirely from translations of the Chinese texts. We feel justified in this only because the observations we present in this contribution are based primarily on the gist of passages of which the available translations all appear to be in agreement. Quotations are from the translations of John Hill. 67 Hirth, China. For bibliography see Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 3–6. Hill, Jade Gate, passim. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 266–269. Yu, “Survey,” 43– 127. See also Kordosis, China and Greek World, with Naerebout, “Review,” China and Greek World, and Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World. For important remarks by an historian of the Roman Empire see Graf, “Silk Road.” 66

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Two texts in particular need to be mentioned, the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe. Recent scholarship describes them as follows.68 The Hou Hanshu is the official history of the Later (or “Eastern”) Han Dynasty (25–221 CE). It was compiled mainly by a man named Fan Ye in the first half of the fifth century CE from earlier works. It contains sections on the “Western Regions” which are primarily based on a report by Ban Yong (the son of Ban Chao) to the emperor An in c. 125 CE and replaced earlier accounts.69 This report included descriptions of the Roman Empire that stemmed from information Ban Chao’s envoy Gan Ying had collected during his mission to Da Qin in 97 CE. The other early historiographical text containing important information on Da Qin, the Weilüe, is a chapter on “Peoples of the West” from a now-lost “Brief Account of the Wei Dynasty,” compiled at an unknown date in the third century CE by Yu Huan.70 The chapter has survived as an extensive quotation in a work of the fifth century. It both repeats earlier information on Da Qin (including much that can be found in the Hou Hanshu) and also supplies valuable new material, which seems to date mainly to the second and early third century CE.71 In short, these texts are, at least in part, of truly official nature and stem from a period that is contemporary with the existence of the Imperium Romanum. Nevertheless, various problems are connected with the Chinese historical accounts and their interpretation, and there is no consensus on how much real information on the Roman Empire they actually contain.72 The compilation of these texts in ancient China was a bureaucratic procedure that involved much copying of earlier accounts and relied on records and archives.73 Thus, the precise origins and date of the underlying original pieces of information often remains unknown. At any rate, the specific nature of these texts apparently reflects what was officially held to 68

For what follows see Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, xvi–xxiii, with Mansvelt Beck, Treatises of Later Han, 1, and Bielenstein, Restoration Han Dynasty, 16–17. 69 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 1: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 13 and cf. p. 161–163). 70 See Chavannes, “Wei lio,” 519–571. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 65– 78. Hill, Weilüe. “About the Text” and “About the Dating and the Background of the Text.” Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 268–269. 71 For other (later) ancient Chinese accounts relevant to the ancient Mediterranean world see Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 3, 33, 57, 80. Cf. also Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 268–269. 72 See for instance the opposing views of Kordosis, China and Greek World, and Naerebout, “Review,” China and Greek World, or Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World. 73 Cf. e.g. Loewe, “Introduction,” Cambridge History of China, 2–6. Loewe, “Early Empires,” 75–77. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 19–31. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 269, all with further bibliography.

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be true at the time of their redaction (which, of course, does not exclude the possibility that other knowledge of the West existed simultaneously). It is interesting, therefore, that the Hou Hanshu characterized the Romans as “honest in business: they do not have two prices,” for this appears to betray Chinese interest in the people of Da Qin as being primarily commercially motivated. 74 The Liang-Shu (54) even characterized the inhabitants of Da Qin as a trading people.75 Long-distance trade is indeed a very prominent and recurring topic in the Chinese historical accounts of the Far West. In particular, long lists of desirable goods are characteristic of the description of Da Qin in the Hou Hanshu and even more so in the Weilüe, as similar lists do not appear to recur with the description of other Western countries in these texts.76 Thus they are clear evidence for the very pronounced commercial interest of the Chinese in Da Qin. Moreover, these texts characterize both Roman and Chinese long-distance trade (to which they apparently refer as “communication” between countries) as an essentially “national” affair, in which diplomacy opens trade routes and markets.77 This is perhaps not simply to be taken as a specifically Chinese representation of transnational trade, for Roman sources also imply that diplomacy and international agreements were involved in facilitating longdistance trade.78 The Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe describe Da Qin as a large (and, by implication, powerful) state with many dependencies. 79 They praise its inhabitants as “tall and honest,”80 but they have nothing at all to say about its armed forces or their battlefield successes. There are no descriptions of Rome’s army, military capacity or martialness. 81 Given the general Chinese interest in military matters this is perhaps surprising, as China 74

Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27). Ying, “Ruler,” 339. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 100. 76 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 25. Weilüe 12: Hill, Weilüe, sect. 12. 77 E.g. Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27): “The king of this country [scil. Rome] always wanted to send envoys to Han [scil. China], but Anxi [scil. Parthia] wishing to control the trade with multi-coloured Chinese silks, blocked the route to prevent [the Romans] getting through [to China].” Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 15: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 31): “This region [scil. Northwest India] … communicates with Da Qin.” Weilüe 12: Hill, Weilüe, section 12: “That is why this country [scil. Rome] trades with Anxi [scil. Parthia].” 78 Speidel, “Wars, Trade and Treaties,” and Speidel, “Fernhandel.” 79 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). Weilüe 11 and 14: Hill, Weilüe, sect. 11 and 14. 80 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 25). 81 Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 260. 75

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was in occasional direct contact with the Parthians, who were at war with the Romans on several occasions. Perhaps Parthian informants were unwilling to provide the Chinese with such information. At any rate, the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe portray the Romans as a peaceful and just people, not unlike descriptions of the Chinese in some ancient Western texts. Despite Chinese attempts at collecting accurate and real information on the Romans and their empire, even the term “Da Qin” is at the root of a number of interpretative problems. For Chinese conceptions of Da Qin were “confused from the outset with ancient mythological notions” of a utopian empire in the Far West.82 Such notions were at the very origins of the term “Da Qin,” for it literally meant “Greater China” and was not a transcription of a foreign name for the Roman Empire.83 Moreover, the existence of a “Greater China” at the opposite end of the world conflicted with the ancient Chinese conception of the real world, which held that China (the “Middle Kingdom”) was its cultural centre. According to this conception, the farther away a foreign people lived from the centre, the more “barbarian” they were believed to be. 84 But of course it was unthinkable that the people of “Greater China” should have been the most uncivilized people on earth. Therefore they were portrayed as resembling “the people of the Middle Kingdom, and that is why this kingdom is called Da Qin.” 85 The Romans were described as “tall and virtuous like the Chinese, but they wear Western clothes.” An explanation was also provided: “They [i.e. the Romans] say they originally came from China, but left it.”86 It is evident therefore that such utopian and fanciful notions of Da Qin originated in China and need to be identified if we want to investigate the extent of real information that reached China from the West. Another particularly complex issue, which also affects our understanding of the term “Da Qin,” concerns the notorious difficulties in identifying

82

Laufer, “The Name China.” Graf, “Chinese Perspective,” 199–216, esp. 199–200. Pulleyblank, “Han China,” 78. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 264. Yu, “Survey,” 69– 70. Walter, Entstehung früher Fremdbilder, 116–117. 83 Thus Pulleyblank, “Han China,” 71 and 77. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 266–271. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 269–271. Yu, “Survey,” 1–43. Cf. also Naerebout, “Review,” China and Greek World, 376, and Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World, 488. 84 Cf. e.g. Creel, Sinism. Wang, “History, Space, Ethnicity,” 285–305. 85 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). 86 Weilüe 11: Hill, Weilüe, sect. 11. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 70. Cf. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 267.

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topographical and geographical features in the ancient Chinese accounts.87 The main difficulty is that the transcription of foreign place names from Chinese characters and the reconstruction of their phonological values in the Han period requires a highly specialized knowledge of Chinese historical phonology and, apparently, nevertheless often produces highly controversial results. Moreover, it is not usually taken into account that many places in the Roman East, in particular, had more than one name (depending mainly on time and language: e.g. Yerushalaim, Hierosolyma, colonia Aelia Capitolina and Iliya, to mention just a few ancient names for Jerusalem), and that the Chinese authors may have transcribed pronunciations of place names that (multiple) transmission by non-Greek and non-Latin speakers had significantly distorted. The matter is clearly important if we want to understand and make use of these texts. The introduction to the chapter on the Roman Empire in the Hou Hanshu might serve as an illustration: “The Kingdom of Da Qin is also called Lijian. As it is found to the west of the sea, it is also called the Kingdom of Haixi [=’West of the Sea’].”88 Nearly the same statement was also included in the Weilüe.89 It is perhaps not entirely surprising that the legendary empire of “Greater China,” as a real state, also had other, less mythical names, which derived from existing political or geographical entities. However, there is no consensus as to which countries or regions Lijian and Haixi referred to, and it therefore even remains unclear what parts the term “Da Qin” exactly denoted. Thus, the equation of Da Qin, Lijian and Haixi, as well as other attempts to identify place names in the sections of the ancient Chinese records on Da Qin, has led to a confusing and still-ongoing debate, in which, however, the number of options under discussion does not appear to have changed much since those established by Friedrich Hirth and his immediate successors. Essentially, the proposed solutions for the meaning of “Da Qin” as an existing polity are the Roman Empire, the eastern regions of the Empire (as already suggested by Friedrich Hirth), particularly Syria and

87

On the matter in general see esp. Pulleyblank, “Han China.” Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, xx–xxiii. Cf. also Kordosis, China and Greek World, 171. Naerebout, “Review,” China and Greek World, 375–376, and Gizewski and Kolb, “Review,” China and Greek World, 487–489. 88 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). 89 WeiLüe 11: Hill, Weilüe, section 11: “The kingdom of Da Qin is also called Lijian. It is west of Anxi [Parthia] and Tiaozhi, and West of the Great Sea.” Cf. also Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 67.

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Egypt, the Arabian peninsula, or different things depending on the context of the narrative.90 So much confusion and so many contradictory interpretations by specialists of the relevant fields of Sinology might discourage scholars of the ancient Mediterranean world to make use of the ancient Chinese accounts of the Far West.91 Yet there is, perhaps, an approach that leads to more reliable results. 92 For the context implies that whatever the terms “Lijian” and “Haixi” may have referred to, they were not fully synonymous with “Da Qin” but rather designated parts or aspects of it. This is, for instance, suggested by statements, recorded in the Hou Hanshu, maintaining that one comes “into Haixi to reach Da Qin” or that “in these territories [of Da Qin], there are many precious and marvellous things from Haixi.”93 Another passage from a different chapter of the Hou Hanshu mentions a group of musicians and magicians in 121 CE who claimed that they were from Haixi, which the Chinese who recorded it identified as Da Qin.94 Interestingly, the term “Lijian” does not recur in the sections on Da Qin of the Hou Hanshu or the Weilüe. Haixi is the only concrete geographical aspect of Da Qin these texts single out. John E. Hill recently convincingly argued that “Haixi,” as a part of “Da Qin,” refers to Egypt, principally because it complies with the geographical location (“West of the Sea”), with the distances (from Parthia in particular) and with the country’s most prominent topographical feature given by the ancient Chinese accounts (a river that flows into another great sea), and also because it apparently provides a reasonable phonetic representation of the country’s Greek name Aigyptos.95 90 Laufer, “The Name China.” Weller, “Mahacina.” Kordosis, China and Greek World, 160. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, xxi–xxvi and 232. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 266–271. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 269–271. Yu, “Survey,” 1–42. 91 See e.g. Naerebout, “Review,” China and Greek World, 376. Fibiger Bang, “Commanding,” 120. 92 For the following cf. also Kolb and Speidel, “Perceptions from Beyond,” 137ff. 93 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 27). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 52. Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 10: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 47. 94 Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 42. Pulleyblank, “Han China,” 75. Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 306. Cf. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 270. Yu, “Survey,” 22. 95 Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 263–266. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 276–282, at length argues for the less convincing identity of Haixi with the cities of Rome or Syrian Antioch, but concludes (282) that “it is more likely that the Chinese did not have enough information about the exact extension and the political system of the Roman Empire,” and that “Da Qin referred to different things depending on the context.”

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A closer look at the passages of the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe describing the government of Da Qin/Lijian/Haixi suggests that they are not dealing with the Roman Empire at large. For the Hou Hanshu records: “Their kings are not permanent. They select and appoint the most worthy man. If there are unexpected calamities in the kingdom, such as frequent extraordinary winds or rains, he is unceremoniously rejected and replaced. The one who has been dismissed quietly accepts his demotion, and is not angry.”96 The equivalent passage in the Weilüe reads: “The ruler of this country (the reference appears to be to Haixi) is not permanent. When disasters result from unusual phenomena, they unceremoniously replace him, installing a virtuous man as king, and release the old king, who does not dare show resentment.” 97 This statement is alternatively thought to refer to the second century CE imperial practice of appointing a successor to the throne by adoption (the Adoptivkaisertum), to the Republican system of elected consuls or the Roman provincial governments of the fourth to seventh centuries CE in the East, or to be nothing more than a fanciful story of an ideal country far away.98 However, other parts of the same passage suggest a different solution. In these, the king is said to have regularly left his palace to hear cases, and, according to the Hou Hanshu: “a porter with a bag has the job of always following the royal carriage. When somebody wants to discuss something with the king, he throws a note into the bag. When the king returns to the palace, he opens the bag, examines the contents, and judges if the plaintiff is right or wrong.”99 The parallel passage in the Weilüe reads: “When the king goes out, he always orders a man to follow him holding a leather bag. Anyone who has something to say throws his or her petition into the bag. When he [i.e. the king] returns to the palace, he examines them and determines which are reasonable.”100 The same passages in both texts also contain references to governmental archives and to a group of counsellors. 96

Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 25). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 49. 97 Weilüe 11: Hill, Weilüe, section 11. Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 70. The same statement is also contained in the Hou Hanchi and the Chinshu. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 61 and 81. 98 Ferguson, “China and Rome,” 593. Kordosis, China and Greek World, 160ff. Gizewski and Kolb, “Review” China and Greek world, 487. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 49 n. 62 with further bibliography. Hill, Weilüe, notes 11.18. Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 276–282. Yu, “Survey,” 619. 99 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 25). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 48. 100 WieLüe 11: Hill, Weilüe, sect. 11. Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 71. The same statement is again also contained in the Hou Hanchi, an abbreviated

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It is very tempting to understand these comments not as fantasies of imperial rule but as fact-based references to Roman provincial government. For it is not difficult to recognize a detailed description of central aspects of a provincial governor’s duties: the round trip through his province hearing cases, the well-known system of collecting petitions, preparing responses and making use of archives, as well as discussing matters of state with his consilium. Consequently, the former quote concerning the replacement of kings may perhaps not refer to true kings either. Rather, by conveying the notion that the country had no permanent ruler but a system (which the Chinese who recorded it did not entirely understand) by which “worthy” and “virtuous” men were selected to replace their predecessors, these ancient Chinese texts again seem to refer to Roman provincial government. That, in any event, goes well with John Hill’s proposal that “Haixi” of the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe referred to Egypt. One might object that the Chinese accounts explicitly refer to a “king,” not to governors, and therefore seem to be concerned with the Empire at large and with its capital, Rome. However, reports of the powers and splendours of Roman provincial governors, not least those of the praefectus Aegypti who resided in the palace of the former Ptolemaic kings and ruled the country in their stead (loco regum), might well have led commentators from the Far East to mistake such governors for local kings. Moreover, the Hou Hanshou and the Weilüe claim that Da Qin (not “Haixi”) had established several tens of minor “dependent kingdoms,” which might be understood as a reference either to the Roman Empire’s provinces or to Rome’s eastern allies.101 If correct, these observations reveal some important insights into the transmission of information from the Mediterranean world to the Chinese Far East. Above all, they imply that some real and detailed information concerning the Roman Empire indeed reached China during the first two centuries CE. However, it appears that Chinese knowledge of the Roman Empire (Da Qin) was both partially defective and largely restricted to information on the provinces, Egypt in particular. That in turn implies that version is to be found in the Chinshu. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 60 and 81. 101 Splendors: Tac., Hist. 1, 11, 1. Strabo 17, 1, 12. For a recent discussion and further bibliography cf. e.g. Jördens, Praefectus Aegypti, 11–15. Pont, “Rituels civiques,” 185–211. Dependent kingdoms: Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 23). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 47. Weilüe 15ff. Cf. sect. 11 and 14 (the reference here is to dependent kings): Hill, Weilüe, sect. 15ff., and Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 71 and 76–78. For Rome’s eastern allies and their role in long-distance trade see Speidel, “Fernhandel.”

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the bulk of the information on the Roman Empire that was recorded in ancient China originated from the eastern Roman provinces, Egypt in particular. This goes well with the sea route that most Roman “envoys” of the Chinese sources are reported or assumed to have taken. Finally, the fact that the Chinese did not fully understand the governmental system which they recorded can be taken to indicate that they had no further advice at hand from anyone with first-hand knowledge of Roman provincial administration, which again suggests that only few individuals travelled the entire distance between the two empires. Merchants were well known and major sources of information in the ancient world.102 The news and data they offered from far-away countries was often first hand, and in any event more recent than what could be found in geographical treatises. 103 Geographers from the Roman world such as Strabo, Pausanias and Ptolemy acknowledged their debt to merchants for information.104 Although traders were sometimes criticized as unreliable sources, they even occasionally provided strategic intelligence. 105 Some of this information was surely passed on orally (particularly among fellow merchants) but much of it was also recorded in now-lost documents. 106 As mentioned above, such documents also provided most of the underlying data on the Far East contained in the writings of ancient Western geographers and texts such as the Periplus Maris Erythraei. 107 It is remarkable, therefore, that the Chinese Hou Hanshu and Weilüe contain paragraphs with contents and structures that resemble those of the Periplus Maris Erythraei, but apparently are without comparable counterparts in the sections that treat other countries. 108 Perhaps, therefore, these seemingly unique formal features in the sections on Da Qin are traces of the transmission of information by Roman merchants. Be that as it may, as noted above, information on Rome rarely came to China directly. This is also reflected by the fact that some of the 102

Lee, Information and Frontiers, 161–163. Austin and Rankov, Exploratio, 25– 27. 103 Cf. e.g. Plin., NH 6, 31, 140. Paus. 3, 12, 4, 9, 21,4–5. 104 Strabo 2, 5, 12. Plin., NH 6, 31, 140. Paus. 1, 42, 5. Ptol. 1, 17, 3–4. 105 Unreliable: Strabo 15, 1, 3–4. Plin., NH 12, 42, 85. Ptol. 1, 11, 4 and 7–8. Eunap. fr. 66, 2 / 13–14. Strategic intelligence: Xen., Hell. 3, 4, 1. Plin., NH 6, 24, 88. Tac., Agr. 24. Cf. also Plut., Nik. 30. Cf. Sánchez Hernández, “Pausanias,” 7. 106 For the loss of this literature in the West see above. 107 De la Vaissière “Ptolemy’s Xinjiang.” De Romanis, “Periplus Maris Erythraei.” 108 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 25–27: “Products of Da Qin”). Weilüe 12 and 14–20: “Products of Da Qin” and “Dependencies of Da Qin.” Hill, Weilüe, sections 12 and 14–20. 

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information included in the sections of the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe on Da Qin seems to have had Chinese rather than Roman origins. At least in one instance it appears that cultural and administrative realities of the ancient Chinese Empire contaminated the information from the Roman Empire. Thus, knowledge of local Chinese institutions appears to have affected the short descriptions of the Roman imperial system of transport and communication. Both the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe refer in surprising detail to the rest stops of this system, to the distances between them and to their appearance: “At intervals they have established postal relays, which are all plastered and whitewashed … Each ten li [4.2 km] there is a postal stage, and each thirty li [12.5 km] a postal station.”109 The purpose of this Roman institution was also recorded by the Chinese: “Relay stations were established in strategic positions allowing orders to travel quickly between the main postal stations at all seasons.”110 These statements have been understood to refer to the vehiculatio or cursus publicus of the Roman Empire, as it was indeed among the purposes of this Roman institution to transmit official communications quickly, and as the description of its infrastructure in the Chinese accounts appears to be accurate enough.111 However, distances of 10 li (4.2 km) between postal stages and thirty li (12.5 km) between the larger postal stations are not confirmed by Roman sources. Although Roman itineraries do list small and large stopping places, they are recorded at intervals of 6–12 miles (c. 9–18 km) and 25 miles (37 km), which correspond to around half a day’s and a whole day’s journey by foot respectively. That amounts to two or three times the distance indicated by the Chinese sources.112 In particular, the very short distances of 4.2 km were not in use in the Roman Empire. Perhaps there was confusion between postal stations and local inns, which probably lay at rather close intervals in the vicinity of cities. Yet, another perhaps more plausible solution might be that the Chinese authors’ knowledge of their own postal system contaminated the account of Da Qin, for these texts insist that the Roman and Chinese postal systems were practically

109 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 11 and 12: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 26 and 27). Cf. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 47 and 52. For the respective passage in the Weilüe (sect. 11) see Hill, Weilüe, sect. 11, and Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 70. Cf. also Hoppál, “Chinese Sources,” 282. 110 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 28: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 55). 111 On the subject in general see Kolb, Transport und Nachrichtentransfer. 112 Kolb, Transport und Nachrichtentransfer, 212–213.

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identical: “They have … postal stations just as we have them in China.”113 It is particularly suggestive, therefore, that Chinese sources from the Qin Empire mention short distances of 2.6 miles between the postal stops, which precisely equal the distance of 10 li (4.2 km) as recorded in the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe. 114 The perceived identity of these important institutions both in China and in “Greater China” (Da Qin/Rome) may therefore have encouraged the Chinese authors and compilers, who could neither find the correct information in the available documents on Da Qin nor ask anyone who knew, to insert the missing data from their knowledge of Chinese institutions.115

Conclusions Despite their inclusion of utopian and defective data, Chinese historiographical texts turn out to be surprisingly rich sources for the flow of real information between the Roman and Chinese empires. Contrary to what is generally held, a significant percentage of the information stored in the Hou Hanshu and the Weilüe (and other texts) can be recognized as based on real data from the Roman Empire. Chinese interest in the Roman world thereby resembled Roman interest in China: both sides betray a particular interest in aspects of trade, yet both also sought more than commercially relevant information, for the respective accounts also include geographic, political, administrative and cultural data. However, the Chinese texts strongly suggest that (the bulk of the) detailed information on the Roman Empire that reached China originated from and mainly concerned the eastern provinces of the Imperium Romanum, Egypt in particular. Remarkably, such information reached China recurrently (though not frequently), yet mainly (but perhaps not always) indirectly, and almost exclusively through the channels afforded by long-distance trade. The one exception of which sufficient historical detail is on record to render it credible, the mission of Ban Chao’s envoy Gan Ying in 97 CE, had an unusually strong impact on the surviving Chinese accounts of the Roman Empire, evidently because of the rank of the person who transmitted it.116 But Gan Ying’s report on the Imperium Romanum, too, 113

Weilüe 11: Hill, Weilüe, sect. 11. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 70. See also Hirth, China, 44 (Chinshu) and 70. Leslie and Gardiner, Chinese Sources, 81. 114 Chang, Rise of Chinese Empire, 54, who also mentions intervals of 5.2 miles (8.4 km). 115 For the postal service of ancient China see Olbricht, Postwesen in China, 36. Loewe, Qin and Han, 106–118. 116 Hou Hanshu 88 (Hill sect. 1: Hill, Jade Gate, vol. I, 13).

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was indirect and ultimately rooted (at least in part) in accounts of merchants. Language barriers and the methods to overcome them are not described in our sources. Their effects on the status of the preserved Roman and Chinese accounts are therefore not readily apparent. The transmission of complex geographical, political, administrative and cultural information through networks of long-distance trade not only affected the quality and variety of the delivered information, it could also impair the data and leave recognizable and characteristic traces in the surviving written documents. Such defects appear to reveal the absence of possibilities to verify the information before it was entered into the official Chinese records. In any event, such lacunas were often simply filled with either fanciful stories and stereotypes, or real data from elsewhere, before the result was finally adapted to utopian visions of a “Greater China” (Da Qin) at the other side of the inhabited world. The enormous influence of written works and other reports by longdistance merchants in the surviving Western accounts of China and the Far East is also evident. However, the surviving Roman records on ancient China differ from their Chinese counterparts in one essential aspect: no official records from the West have survived. Nor are there any reliable reports of official reconnaissance missions or embassies to the Chinese court. If based on true facts, the Roman envoys mentioned in Chinese historiography are most likely to have been merchants. Moreover, the once abundant travelogue literature from the Western world (and texts derived from it) that would no doubt have shed further light on Central Asia and the Far East in Antiquity is entirely lost. That is all the more regrettable as the surviving texts have not made full use of all of the data that was once available in the Roman Empire (as the Periplus Maris Erythraei illustrates). There is no reason, therefore, to believe that the information on ancient China, as recorded by the extant works of Western geographers, reflects the extent of the knowledge that was once present in the Mediterranean Basin under Roman rule. Finally, there is nothing in the written records of either the Chinese or Roman worlds to suggest that the transmitted data from one world inspired innovation in the other. Details are presented as curiosities, not as examples. Attitudes of cultural superiority are apparent in the accounts from both worlds.

References Arbach, M., and J. Schiettecatte. “La diplomatie et l’aristocratie tribale du royaume de Saba d’après une inscription du IIIe siècle de l’ère chrétienne.” CRAI (2015): 371–398.

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Austin, N.J.E., and N.B. Rankov. Exploratio: Military and Political Intelligence in the Roman World from the Second Punic War to the Battle of Adrianople. London: Routledge, 1995. Bielenstein, H., The Restoration of the Han Dynasty, with Prolegomena on the Historiography of the Hou Han Shu. Göteborg: Elandersboktr., 1953. Breeze, D.J., and B. Dobson, Hadrian’s Wall. London: Penguin, 1976. Campbell, D.B. “A Chinese Puzzle for the Romans.” Historia 38 (1989):371–376. Campbell, D.B. “Did the Romans Have Links with the Far East? Rome and China.” Ancient Warfare IX-2 (2015): 45–49. Chang, Ch. The Rise of the Chinese Empire, vol. 1. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2007. Chavannes, É. “Les pays d’Occident d’après le Heou Han chou.” T’oungpao 8 (1907): 149–244. —. “Les pays d’Occident d’après le Wei lio.” T’oungpao 6 (1905): 519– 571. Creel, H.G. Sinism. A Study of the Evolution of the Chinese World-View. Chicago: The Open Court Publishing Co., 1929. Coloru, O., G. Traina and A. Lycas. “The Parthians.” In Turkmenistan. Histories of a Country, Cities, and a Desert, edited by M. Bernardini, G.L. Bonora and G. Traina, 49–58. Turin: Umberto Allemandi, 2016. De la Vaissière, E. “The Triple System of Orography in Ptolemy’s Xinjiang.” In Exegisti Monumenta. Festschrift in Honour of Nicholas Sims-Williams, edited by W. Sundermann, A. Hintze and F. de Blois, 527–535. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2009. De Romanis, F. “An Exceptional Survivor and Its Submerged Background: The Periplus Maris Erythraei and the Indian Ocean Travelogue Tradition.” In Submerged Literature in Ancient Greek Culture. Case Studies, edited by G. Colesanti and L. Lulli, 97–110. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2016. Dueck, D. Geography in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012. Fauconnier, B. “Graeco-Roman Merchants in the Indian Ocean: Revealing a Multicultural Trade.” In Autour du “Périple de la mer Érythrée.” Topoi, Supplement 11 edited by M.-Fr. Boussac, J.-Fr. Salles and J.B. Yon, 75–109. Paris: Editions De Boccard, 2012. Feng, L. Early China. A Social and Cultural History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Ferguson, J. “China and Rome,” ANRW II 9/2 (1978): 581–603.

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Fibiger Bang, P. “Commanding and Consuming the World.” In Rome and China, edited by W. Scheidel, 100–120. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Gizewski, C., and R. Th. Kolb. “Review” of Michael Kordosis, China and the Greek World. An Introduction to Greec[sic]-Chinese Studies with Special Reference to the Chinese Sources. I: Hellenistic-Roman-Early Byzantine Period (2nd c. BC–6th c. AD). Klio 77 (1995): 481–489. Graf, D.F. “The Roman East from the Chinese Perspective.” AAS 42 (1992): 199í216. —. “The Silk Road between Syria and China.” In Trade, Commerce, and the State in the Roman World, edited by A.I. Wilson and A.K. Bowman. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017 (forthcoming). Heil, M., and R. Schulz. “Who was Maes Titianus?” JAC 30 (2015): 72– 84. Hill, J.E. The Peoples of the West from the Weilüe 兿⮕ by Yu Huan 冊䊒: A Third Century Chinese Account Composed between 239 and 265 CE. Draft Annotated English Translation (September 2004), http://depts.washington.edu/silkroad/texts/weilue/weilue.html. [April 29, 2016]. —. Through the Jade Gate – China to Rome. A Study of the Silk Routes during the Later Han Dynasty 1st to 2nd Centuries CE. An Annotated Translation of the Hou Hanshu “The Chronicle on the Western Regions.” Expanded and Updated. Vol. I–II. UK: Marston Gate, 2015. Hillers, D.R., and E. Cussini. Palmyrene Aramaic Texts. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995. Hirth, F. China and the Roman Orient. Shanghai: Kelly & Walsh, 1885. Hoppál, K. “The Roman Empire According to the Ancient Chinese Sources.” Acta Ant. Hung. 51 (2011): 263–306. Jördens, A. Statthalterliche Verwaltung in der römischen Kaiserzeit. Studien zum Praefectus Aegypti. Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag, 2009. Kolb, A. Transport und Nachrichtentransfer im Römischen Reich. Berlin: AkademieVerlag, 2000. Kolb, A., and M.A. Speidel. “Perceptions from Beyond: Some Observations on Non-Roman Assessments of the Roman Empire from the Great Eastern Trade Routes.” JAC 30 (2015): 117–149. Kordosis, M. China and the Greek World. An Introduction to Greec[sic]Chinese Studies with Special Reference to the Chinese Sources. I: Hellenistic-Roman-Early Byzantine Period (2nd c. BC–6th c. AD) (Historicographica Meletemata 2) Thessaloniki: publisher not identified, 1992 (=.ǿıIJȠȡȚțȠȖİȦȖȡĮijȚțȐ 3, 1989-1990 (Graecoindica-Graecoserica 2) (1991): 143–253).

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Laufer, B. “The Name China.” T’oungPao 2nd Series 13 (1913): 719–726. Lee, A.D. Information and Frontiers. Roman Foreign Relations in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Leslie, D.D., and K.H. Gardiner. The Roman Empire in Chinese Sources. Rome: Bardi, 1996. Lewis, M.E. The Early Chinese Empires: Qin and Han. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007. Liu, X. The Silk Road in the World History. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Loewe, M. The Government of the Qin and Han Empires 221BCE–220 CE. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co. Inc., 2006. —. “Introduction.” In The Cambridge History of China. Vol. 1. The Ch’in and Han Empires, 221 B.C. – A.D. 220., edited by D. Twitchett and M. Loewe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. —. “Knowledge of Other Cultures in China’s Early Empires.” In Geography and Ethnography: Perceptions of the World in Pre-Modern Societies, edited by Kurt A. Raaflaub and Richard J.A. Talbert, 74– 88. Oxford: Wiley, 2010. Mansvelt Beck, B.J. The Treatises of Later Han. Their Author, Sources, Contents and Place in Chinese Historiography. Leiden: Brill, 1990. McLaughlin, R. Rome and the Distant East. Trade Routes to the Ancient Lands of Arabia, India and China. London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2010. Miller, M.C. Athens and Persia in the Fifth Century BC: A Study in Cultural Receptivity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Naerebout, F.G. “Review” of Michael Kordosis, China and the Greek World. An Introduction to Greec[sic]-Chinese Studies with Special Reference to the Chinese Sources. I: Hellenistic-Roman-Early Byzantine Period (2nd c. BC–6th c. AD). Mnemosyne 49 (1996): 373– 377. Nickel, L. “The First Emperor and Sculpture in China.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 76/3 (2013): 413–447. Olbricht, P. Das Postwesen in China unter der Mongolenherrschaft im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1954. Olbrycht, M.J. “Die Geschichte der Seidenstraße in antiker Zeit.” In Die Krim. Goldene Insel im Schwarzen Meer. Begleitbuch zur Ausstellung in Bonn, edited by S. Müller, 67–87. Darmstadt: Primus, 2013. Paul, B. “De l’Euphrate à la Chine avec la caravane de Maès Titianos (ca. 100 apr. n. è.).” CRAI 149 (2005): 929–969. Poinsotte, J.-M. “Les Romains et la Chine: réalités et mythes.” MEFRA 91 (1979): 431–479.

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Pont, A.-V. “Rituels civiques (apantêsis et acclamations) et gouverneurs à l’époque romaine en Asie Mineure.” In Ritual Dynamics and Religious Change in the Roman Empire, edited by O. Hekster, S. SchmidtHofner and C. Witschel, 185–211. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Pulleyblank, E.G.”The Roman Empire as Known to Han China.”JAOS 119 (1999): 71–79. Raschke, M.G. “New Studies in Roman Commerce with the East.” ANRW II/9 (1978): 604–1233. Ruffing, K. “Seidenhandel in der römischen Kaiserzeit.” In Textile, Trade, and Distribution in Antiquity, edited by K. Dross-Krüpe, 71–81. Wiesbaden: Harrossowitz, 2014. Sánchez Hernández, J.P. “Pausanias and Rome’s Eastern Trade.” Mnemosyne (2015): 1–23. http://booksandjournals.brillonline.com/content/journals/10.1163/1568 525x-12341878 [April 29, 2016]. DOI: 10.1163/1568525X-12341878. Scheidel, W. “Introduction.” In Rome and China, edited by W. Scheidel, 3–10. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. —. “Introduction.” In State Power in Ancient China and Rome, edited by W. Scheidel, 3–10. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Schulz, R. Abenteurer der Ferne. Die grossen Entdeckungsfahrten und das Weltwissen der Antike. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2016. Speidel, M.A. “Almaqah in Rom? Epigraphisches zu den römischsabäischen Beziehungen in der Hohen Kaiserzeit.” ZPE 194 (2015): 241 ff. —. “Fernhandel und Freundschaft. Zu Roms amici an den Handelsrouten nach Südarabien und Indien.” Orbis Terrarum 14 (forthcoming). —. “Wars, Trade and Treaties. New, Revised, and Neglected Sources for Political, Diplomatic, and Military Aspects of Imperial Rome’s Relations with India and the Red Sea Basin, from Augustus to Diocletian.” In Imperial Rome, Indian Ocean Regions and Muziris: New Perspectives On Maritime Trade, edited by K.S. Mathew, 83– 128. New Dehli: Manohar, 2015. Stevens, C.E. “Hadrian and Hadrian’s Wall.” Latomus 14 (1955): 384– 403. Walter, J. Antikes Griechenland und Altes China: Die Entstehung früher Fremdbilder im Wirtschafts- und Kommunikationssystem Seidenstraße. Berlin: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag, 2013. Walter, J. “Die Vorstellungen über das ostasiatische Ende der Seidenstrasse in den antiken griechischen Quellen.” In Exportschlager – Kultureller Austausch, Wirtschaftliche Beziehungen und transnationale Entwicklungen

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in der antiken Welt, edited by J. Göbl and T. Zech, 86–106. München: Utz, 2009. Wang, Q.E. “History, Space, and Ethnicity: The Chinese Worldview.” JWH 10 (1999): 285–305. Weller, F. “Mahacina – Arabia Felix.” Asia Major 4 (1927): 46. Wheeler, M. Rome beyond the Imperial Frontiers. London: Bell and Sons, 1954. Ying, L. “Ruler of the Treasure Country: The Image of the Roman Empire in Chinese Society from the First to the Fourth Century AD.” Latomus 63 (2004): 327–339. Young, G.K. Rome’s Eastern Trade: International Commerce and Imperial Policy, 31 BCE – CE 305. London: Routledge, 2001. Yu, T. “China and the Ancient Mediterranean World: A Survey of Ancient Chinese Sources.” Sino-Platonic Papers 242 (2013): 1–268. Ziethen, G. “Legationes Externae in der frührömischen Kaiserzeit: INDI – ǹǿĬȉǿȅȆǼȈ – ȈǼȇǼȈ.” Nubica III/1 (1994): 141–197.

CHAPTER THREE CHINA–BENGAL INTERACTIONS IN THE EARLY FIFTEENTH CENTURY: A STUDY ON MA HUAN’S AND FEI SHIN’S TRAVELS ACCOUNTS MD. ABDULLAH AL-MASUM

The interactions between Bengal and China have formed a rich heritage of socio-cultural affairs since nearly two thousand years ago. The relationship between the two countries flourished and enjoyed a remarkable rich stage between the last part of the fourteenth century and the first half of the fifteenth century, during which time the Chinese court received as many as fourteen missions from Bengal. During that time hectic diplomatic and economic exchanges between Bengal and China were reported. The Chinese records and accounts give us reliable information focusing on the diplomatic mission as well as socio-cultural connectivity between the two nations. Among these Chinese records, the Ma Huan and Fei Shin accounts are particularly noteworthy. In fact, their accounts are among the most valuable and reliable sources for reconstructing the medieval history of Bengal and China. This chapter explores the nature and purpose of China–Bengal interactions in the early fifteenth century on the basis of the travel accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin. In addition, the attempt in this chapter is to bring together the socio-economic and cultural conditions in Bengal as reflected in the descriptions of Ma Huan and Fei Shin. It will be observed from the chapter that the current relationship of connectivity between the two countries is a continuation of that of the medieval period, according to the travels of Ma Huan and Fei Shin and their descriptions.

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Introduction Bengal has had close contact with China since ancient times. Historical records show that the countries have had a rich heritage of cultural and diplomatic interactions and trade for centuries. During the fifteenth century, hectic diplomatic exchanges between Bengal and China were reported. The Chinese court received as many as fourteen missions from Bengal in 1404–39, while they sent four missions in return in 1412–23. The Chinese missions not only travelled Bengal but also provided an elaborate description of the socio-economic and political conditions of the country in their accounts. In this context, the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin are very noteworthy because they focused very clearly on the interaction between China and Bengal. The later accounts of Chinese travellers were written in the light of the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin. Even the Ming She accounts edited by the Chinese government in 1739 were also based on the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin. In fact, scholars researching the Bengal–China relations of the Middle Ages have to look into the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin, as there is no other alternative before them. This chapter focuses on the nature and purpose of China–Bengal interactions in the early fifteenth century on the basis of the accounts of Ma Huan (his account entitled Ying Yai Sheng Lan) and Fei Shin (his account entitled Sing Cha Sheng Lan). It also discusses the socio-economic and cultural conditions of Bengal as highlighted in those accounts. Moreover, the chapter throws light on the impact of Medieval China–Bengal relations on later socio-cultural life in Bengal. All the Chinese accounts, including those of Ma Huan and Fei Shin, were first published in English-translated form in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society in 1895 and then in the Visva-Bharati Annals Vol. I in 1945. Besides this, some scholars of both the West and the East have used the accounts as references when describing the China–Bengal relationship in their own books. The whole study is based on the above-mentioned translated accounts and the writings of renowned scholars of the West and the East.

Development The relationship between Bangladesh and China dates back centuries. History shows that there were three Silk Roads that connected primeval China with the Indian subcontinent. The Southern Silk Route was a bridge between the eastern part of Bengal (today’s Bangladesh) and the Middle Kingdom. The Chinese monks, scholars and traders of the Qin Dynasty

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visited the ancient Vedic kingdom of Pundravardhana, located in presentday Bogra and Rangpur in Bangladesh, as early as the second century BCE, by travelling across the south-west Silk Road. Between the fifth and seventh centuries, many Chinese monks, such as Yijing and Xuanzang, travelled to the Buddhist monasteries of northern Bengal, seeking knowledge of the “Western Heaven” (the Indian subcontinent). Atish Dipankar Srigana, a Buddhist master from Bikrampur in Bengal, travelled to Tibet in the 8th century and established the Sarma schools of Tibetan Buddhism.1 Relations flourished during the Early Bengal Sultanate, i.e. from last part of the fourteenth century to the first half of the fifteenth century. Records from Ming Shih-lu, a contemporary Chinese book, show that Bengal sent its first ambassador to China in very last part of the fourteenth century during the reign of Hung Wu, founder of the Ming Dynasty (1368–1644), with diplomatic missions.2 In this context, the name Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah (reign: 1390–1410) is specially mentioned – the far-sighted statesman-ruler of Bengal who sent the first diplomatic mission to China. After that, during the earlier fifteenth century, Yongle, another emperor of the Ming Dynasty in China, took interest in this matter and sent Chang Hu, a Chinese Muslim, as an envoy to Bengal. Later, there were hectic diplomatic and economic exchanges between Bengal and China. The Chinese court received as many as fourteen missions from Bengal, in 1404, 1405, 1408, 1409, 1411, 1412, 1414, 1418, 1420, 1421, 1423, 1429, 1438 and 1439, while they sent four in return, in 1411–12, 1415, 1420 and 1422–3.3 However, records from Ming Shih-lu show that a diplomatic mission consisting of 234 members from Bengal visited China in 1409 under the leadership of Syed Muhammad.4 Again, a Chinese 1

Banglapedia, Vol. 3 (Dhaka: The Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 2003), 444–446, 449. Please also see, in detail, Tanweer Muhammed, “China–Bangladesh Relation: 1st Century to 13th Century A.D.,” Quarterly Journal of Chinese Studies 3, n. 3 (2015). 2 Tatsuro Yamamoto, “Chinese Activities in the Indian Ocean before the Coming of the Portuguese,” The Indian Historical Review 28, n. 111 (1980): 20–21. 3 Geo. Phillips, “Mahuan’s Account of the Kingdom of Bengala (Bengal),”Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1895): 529–530. P.C. Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China in the Pathan Period,” VISVA-BHARATI ANNALS, Vol. I (Calcutta: The Visva-Bharati Publishing Department, 1945), 96–134. Haraprasad Ray, Trade and Diplomacy in India– China Relations: A Study of Bengal during the Fifteenth Century (New Delhi: Sangam Books, 1993). 4 Yamamoto, “Chinese Activities in the Indian Ocean,” 19–34. Sukhamay Mukhopadhyay, Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar: Sadhin Sultander Amal (1338– 1538), 5th edition (Calcutta: Bharati Book Stall, 1996), 186.

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mission comprising 992 delegates came to Bengal in 1422–3 with Chouting as the team leader.5 Ma Huan (1380–1460), by most accounts, paid his first visit to Bengal with Cheng Ho, the ambassador of Emperor Youngle, as an official interpreter in 1411–12.6 He also accompanied Cheng Ho on the latter’sthird, fourth and seventh voyages to Bengal. Ma Huan was a Muslim voyager and translator well-versed in Arabic and Persian languages. He also knew several Classical Chinese and Buddhist texts. It was said that Ma Huan was not born Muslim, but was a Chinese born in 1380 in Chekiang who converted to Islam when he was young, and his “Ma” surname had nothing to do with Muslim ancestry.7 As seen in Ma Huan’s travelogue, the Chinese mission reached Chittagong from Sumatra and there they changed over to small boats, and then sailed to Sonargaon, a distance of 500 li or more. A li is equal to one third of a mile.8 Travelling from this place in a south-westerly direction for thirty-five stages, they reached Gaur, the Kingdom of Bengal, and called on Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah. The Kingdom of Bengal, as noted by Ma Huan, was a kingdom with walled cities; in the capital, the king and officials of all ranks had their residences. Ma Huan said that it was an extensive country; its products were abundant and its people numerous; they were Muslims and, in their dealings, were open and straightforward. Their officials had seals and communicated by dispatches. Their army had pay and rations. The commander of the army was called Pa-sse-la-eul (sipah-salar).9 Thus it is evident that the Chinese mission came to Bengal with a diplomatic purpose and Ma Huan accompanied them as an interpreter. In fact, the formal diplomatic relationship between China and Bengal started during the time of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah.10 After the demise of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah, his son Prince Saif-Uddin-Hamzah Shah followed the foreign policy of his father. To 5

Ibid. Phillips, “Mahuan’s Account of the Kingdom of Bengala,” 529–530. Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 96–134. 7 Ma Huan, Yingyai Shenglan: The Overall Survey of the Ocean’s Shores, translated and edited by J. V. G. Mills (Cambridge: The Hakluyt Society, 1970). 35. Islamic Pedia, Islamic Foundation Bangladesh, Vol. 16, Part II, 1996, 249. 8 Phillips, “Mahuan’s Account of the Kingdom of Bengala,” 525. 9 Friedrich Hirth and William Woodville Rockhill (translated from the Chinese and annotated), Chau Ju-Kua: His Work on the Chinese and Arab Trade in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Entitled Chu-fan-chi (St Petersburg: Printing Office of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, 1911). 10 Nalini Kanta Bhattasali, Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal (Cambridge: W. Hefer & Sons, 1922), 174. 6

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retain the China–Bengal relationship, he sent Ambassador Yang min to China, who was received warmly by the high officials sent by Emperor Youngle in 1412. The ambassador reached China with the news of the death of Ghiyasuddin Azam Shah, the king of Bengal. Then Emperor Youngle sent officials to Bengal to attend the coronation of the prince.11 In 1414, Sultan Shihabuddin Bayazid Shah, the successor to SaifUddin-Hamzah Shah, sent a giraffe, a horse and some locally produced items as gifts to the emperor of China. The people of China were surprised to see the long-necked giraffe.12 This is how the China–Bengal relationship became healthier day by day. In this context of warm relations between China and Bengal, Fei Shin (1388–?), another traveller like Ma Huan, came to Bengal with a mission led by Hou-Hien, the ambassador of Emperor Youngle, in 1415.13 Like Ma Huan, Fei Shin had good knowledge of the Arabic language. At that time, Sultan Jalaluddin Muhammad Shah was the king of Bengal and Pandua was the capital. Before reaching Pandua the Chinese mission passed through Chittagong, a main port city, where they changed over to small boats, and then sailed to Sonargaon, another important city of Bengal. The local king sent his officers with valuable gifts to receive the Chinese mission. Again the Chinese mission was accorded a gala reception when they reached Pandua. In his account, Fei Shin comments, The country has a sea-port on a bay called Ch’a-ti-kiang [Chittagong]. Here certain duties are collected. When the king heard that our ships had arrived there, he sent high officers to offer robes and other presents, and over a thousand men and horses also came to the port. After going: 16 stages, we reached Suo-na-eul-kiang [Sonargaon] which is a walled place with tanks, streets, bazaars and which carries on a business in all kinds of goods. Here servants of the king met us with elephants and horses. Going thence twenty stages we came to Pan-tu-wa [Pandua] which is the place of residence of the ruler. The city walls are very imposing, the bazaars well arranged, the shops side by side, the pillars in orderly rows, they are full of every kind of goods.14

11

Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 133. Prabashi (A Monthly Bengali Periodical), Boyishak, Kolkata, 1351 (Bengali), 54–57. Abdul Karim, Banglar Itihas: Sultani Amal (History of Bengal: Sultanate Period) (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1977), 217. Mukhopadhyay, Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar, 186. 13 Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 133. Mukhopadhyay, Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar, 504. 14 Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 120–121. 12

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Fei Shin also provided some description regarding the court of Bengal. He said that the dwelling of the king was all of bricks set in mortar, and the flight of steps leading up to it was high and broad. The Bangla Court was a huge white square mansion with nine halls and three gates. The pillars were plated with brass ornamental figures of flowers and animals. These architectural structures still remain, the most remarkable of them being the Eklakhi Mausoleum, which was probably a part of the main palace that was used as Durbar Hall; the other is the great Adina Mosque. Regrettably, the main structure of the palace, with its high steps, nine halls, three gates, etc., seems to have disappeared, leaving only parts of the raised mounds. The floral carvings and animal figures on the palace walls mentioned by Fei Shin can still be found in the ruins of these historical sites. The Eklakhi Mausoleum and the Adina Mosque contain carvings of Hindu idols and human figures, while in the Adina Mosque carved lotus flowers are still visible.15 The halls were flat-roofed and white-washed inside. The inner doors were of triple thickness and of nine panels. In the audience hall the pillars were plated with brass, ornamented with figures of flowers and animals, carved and polished. To the right and left were long verandahs on which were drawn up (on the occasion of the audience) over a thousand men in shining armour, and on horseback outside, filling the courtyard, were long ranks of soldiers (like those of China) in shining helmets and coats of mail, with spears, swords, bows and arrows, looking martial and lusty. To the right and the left of the king were hundreds of peacock-feather umbrellas and before the hall were some hundreds of soldiers mounted on elephants. The king sat cross-legged in the principal hall on a high throne inlaid with precious stones, and a two-edged sword lay across his lap.16 From Fei Shin’s description of the court of Bengal, it can also be seen that the king of Bengal entertained the imperial envoys with a banquet, where no wine was served as this would have been breach of decorum and strictly prohibited in Islam. After the banquet was over, the king bestowed on the envoys gold basins, gold girdles, gold flagons and gold bowls, all assistant envoys receiving the same articles in silver and each of the lower officials a golden bell and a long gown of white hemp and silk. All the soldiers (of the escort) received silver money. After this, King Muhammad 15

Feng Chengjun, ed., Yingyai Shenglan Jiaozhu (Ma Huan's Overall Survey of the Oceans Shores, 1433) (Reprint, Taipei: National Palace Museum, 1970). Haraprasad, Trade and Diplomacy in India–China Relations. 16 Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 120–121. Wakil Ahmad, Muslim Banglay Bidheshi Parjatak (Foreign Travellers in Muslim Bengal) (Dhaka: Nawruz Kitabisthan, 1966), 48.

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Shah had a case made in gold in which he placed a Memorial to the Chinese emperor, written on gold leaf, and the envoys received this from him with due respect in the audience hall, together with various other gifts for the emperor.17 Thus Fei Shin gives us a very important description of the court of Bengal, the king’s entertainment of the Chinese mission, the bestowing of gifts on the envoys and other officials and the sending of a Memorial to the Chinese emperor. All of these things reflect the healthy socio-political relationship between Bengal and China. From this viewpoint, the account of Fei Shin is very significant. No other traveller had given so graphic a description of the court of Bengal and the magnanimity and generosity of the sultans. From another incident which took place in the time of Emperor Youngle, one can easily understand the depth and profundity of the relationship between China and Bengal. Bengal was invaded several times by King Ibrahim Sarki of Jaunpur, between 1409 and 1414. King Jalaluddin informed the Chinese court of the invasions. In the ninth month of the eighteenth year (1420), Emperor Youngle ordered Hu-Hein to go to Bengal to pacify the invaders. Gold and money were then presented to the king of Jaunpur and the war was stopped. In this way the king of Bengal was saved from a political disaster. The role of Emperor Youngle remains memorable in this history for his contribution to the development of relations between China and Bengal.18 Thus the travel accounts of Fei Shin and Ma Huan give a description of the diplomatic and political relations between China and Bengal; the accounts also include detailed elaboration of socio-cultural and economic conditions, geography, weather conditions, environment, local customs, even methods of punishment for criminals of the time.19 Ma Huan in his accounts draws a very detailed picture of Bengal, especially the socio-cultural and economic conditions of the time. As narrated by the Chinese Muslim interpreter and traveller, the customs of the society were pure and honest. The men and women were all black17

Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 120–121. Ahmad, Muslim Banglay Bidheshi Parjatak, 48. 18 Mukhopadhyay, Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar, 152. Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 103–105. 19 Bhattasali, Coins and Chronologyof the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal, 174–176. Paul Wheatley, “Ma Huan: A Fifteenth Century Chinese Traveler: Review,” The Geographical Journal 137, n. 2 (Jun., 1971). Stewart Gordon, When Asia Was the World: Traveling Merchants, Scholars, Warriors, and Monks Who Created the “Riches of the East” (Boston: Da Capo Press, 2007), 117–124.

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coloured; white skin was rare. The language in universal use was P’angkie-li (Bengali); there were also those who speak in Pa-eul-si (Persian). In their language, dress and ornaments, within two centuries, the invading Turks had identified themselves with the local population and had adopted Bengali as their mother tongue. However, most of the elite knew Persian also. This is clear from statements of the Chinese interpreters who were employed for their proficiency in Persian, which was the trade language of the Indian Ocean during the medieval period. Some of them seem to have known Bengali, as one can gather from the extensive and minute details they gave about Bengal during the fifteenth century. Ma Huan said that the rich built ships in which they carried on commerce with foreign nations; many were engaged in trade, and a good number occupied themselves with agricultural pursuits. They were a darkskinned race, although occasionally a light-complexioned person might be seen among them; the men shaved their heads and wore a round collar, which they put on over their heads and which was fastened at the waist by a broad coloured handkerchief. They wore pointed leather shoes. The king and his officers all dressed like Muslims; their head-dresses and clothes were becomingly arranged.20 The material used for turbans, as described by Ma Huan, was called sha-ta-eul (chadar); it was five inches broad and forty feet long, similar to the Chinese dress san-so (?). Ma-hei-ma-lei was a material four feet broad and twenty feet long; on the reverse side it was covered with nap half an inch long; it was like tu-lo-kin as used in China. They wove embroidered hand kerchiefs with silk. They also had brocaded taffeta. Their paper was white; it was made out of the bark of a tree, and was as smooth and glossy as deer’s skin. Of cotton fabrics, Ma Huan said, they had pi-po in several colours; it was called pi-po and was over three feet broad, and fifty-seven feet long. It was very fine and glossy, as if painted. There was a ginger-yellow cotton fabric called man-che-ti, which was four feet broad and over fifty feet long; it was very closely woven and strong. Another fabric known as shana-pa-fu was five feet broad and thirty feet long; it was like sheng-lo (?pongee) and was a pu-lo (?tu-lo cotton gauze). A fabric called k’i-pailei-ta-li was three feet broad and sixty feet long. This cloth was a loosely woven and coarse cotton gauze. There was another fabric five feet wide and twenty feet long called shah-na-kieh, like Chinese lo-pu. Finally, there 20 Bhattasali, Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal, 174–176. Wheatley, “Ma Huan.”

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was another kind with the foreign name of hinpei-tung-ta-li, three feet wide and sixty feet long. The meshes of this textile were open and regular. It was somewhat like gauze and was much used for turbans. Ma Huan observed that the mulberry tree and silk-worms were found in Bengal. Silk handkerchiefs and caps embroidered with gold, painted ware, basins, cups, steel, guns, knives and scissors were all to be had there. Marriages and funerals were both arranged according to the Muslim religion. Punishments included beating with heavy bamboo and banishment. Ma Huan also described different groups of people living in the society of Bengal. There were geomancers, physicians, diviners, all kinds of artisans skilled in every branch of work. There were people who wore a shirt with black and white patterns, held around their waists by a scarf with a fringe of coral and amber and coloured beads, and with bracelets of beads fastened around their wrists. They were good singers and dancers who enlivened occasions of drinking and feasting. There were also some people who went about marked places and to homes with a tiger held by an iron chain. They would undo the chain and the tiger would lie down in the courtyard. The man, naked, would then strike the tiger, which would become enraged and jump at him, and he would fight with the tiger. This he would do several times, after which he would thrust his fist into the tiger’s throat, but without wounding him. After this performance the man would chain the tiger up again and the people of the house would feed it with meat, and reward the man with money. So tiger taming would seem to have been a promising business. However, one would suspect that the animals used were the cubs of panthers or some similar species and not tigers. In any case, this is the earliest example of something approximating a circus performance in India. There was another class of men, Kan-siao-su-lu-nai, who were musicians. These men, every morning at about four o’clock, would go to the houses of high officials and the rich; one man would play a kind of trumpet, another beat a small drum, another a large one. They would commence playing at a slow tempo, and it gradually increase in speed until the music would suddenly stop. In this way, they would pass on from house to house. At the breakfast hour, they would again go to each house to be rewarded with wine, food, money or other things. Besides these musicians, there were also every other kind of player. Ma Huan said of the soil of Bengal that it was very fertile and the climate was constantly as hot as in summer. Their almanac had twelve months. Different types of fruit and other products grew throughout the year. Their produce included the banana, the jackfruit, sour pomegranate,

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sugar-cane, sugar and honey. The native crops were red millet, sesame, beans, glutinous millet and rice which ripened twice a year. They had three or four kinds of wines, coconut, rice, tarry (a locally prepared type of sleepinducing liquid) and kajang. Ardent spirits were sold in the marketplaces.21 The Bengalis’ streets were well provided with shops of various kinds, as well as drinking and eating houses and bathing establishments. Vegetables included ginger, mustard, onions, garlic, cucumbers and eggplant. They had spirits made from coconut and from the nut of a tree, and kajang wine. Not having any tea, they offered their guests the betelnut in its place, as in China. The domestic animals were the camel horse, mule, water buffalo, cattle, the marine goat, fowls, ducks, pigs, geese, dogs and cats. Household implements included lacquered cups and bowls, steel guns and scissors.22 The currency of the country was a silver coin called a Tangka, which is two Chinese maces in weight, one inch and two-tenths in diameter, and engraved on either side. With this coin they settled the price of goods according to weight. All large business transactions were carried out with this coin, but for small purchases a sea-shell was used, called by the foreigners k’ao-li (cowrie). According to Ma Huan’s account, the people had a fixed calendar, with twelve months in the year; they had no intercalary month. This was evidently the Hijrah year.23 Fei Shin, like Ma Huan, also gave a detailed description of the socio-economic and cultural conditions of Bengal in his accounts.24 He said that the people of the country were most gentle and generous in character. The men used wore a white cotton turban and a long white cotton shirt. On their feet they wore low sheepskin shoes with gold thread. The more smartly dressed among them considered it correct to have designs embroidered on them. Muslim men shaved their heads and wore white turbans, and long, round, coloured robes which were slipped down over the head. Long, coloured dhutis, or sarongs or lungis (called “kerchiefs” by the Chinese) were used to cover 21

Bhattasali, Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal, 170. 22 Phillips, “Mahuan’s Account of the Kingdom of Bengala,” 523–537. Bhattasali, Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal, 169–171. 23 Bhattasali, Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal, 172. 24 Bagchi, “Political Relation between Bengal and China,” 120–123. Ahmad, Muslim Banglay Bidheshi Parjatak, 45–53. Mukhopadhyay, Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar, 503–507. 152. Hirth and Woodville Rockhill, Chau Ju-Kua: His Work on the Chinese and Arab Trade in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, 440–444.

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the lower part of the body. All of the elite used these items of attire, which were possibly of Central Asian origin. Every one of them was engaged in business, the value of which might be ten thousand pieces of gold, but when a bargain had been struck, they never expressed regret. Fei Shin noted that there was a clan of people called Yin-tu (Hindu) who did not eat beef, and among whom the men and the women did not eat in the same place. When the husband died, the wife did not marry again, nor did the husband marry again when the wife died. If there were any among them who were very poor and with no means of support, the various families of the village would, in turn, support them, but they were not allowed to seek their food in other villages. Because of this the people were praised for their broad public spirit.25 The women, as narrated by Fei Shin, wore a short shirt, with a piece of cotton, silk or brocade wrapped around them. They did not use cosmetics, for they naturally had a pale complexion. Around their necks they hung pendants, and they tied up their hair in a knot at the back of the head. On their wrists and ankles they wore gold bracelets, and on their fingers and toes rings. The womenfolk wore silk or cotton sarees (shadees). The richer women wore earrings and necklaces of precious stones set in gold – a symbol of their affluence. Fei Shin also observed that the soil of the land was fertile and produced different items in abundance, for they had two crops every year. Men and women worked together in the fields during harvest season. Among their fruits they had the po-lo-mi (jackfruit), which was as big as a bushel measure and wonderfully sweet; also the mango (a-mo-lo) – and though this had a sour flavour it was very nice. For the rest, they had fruits and vegetables, cattle, horses, fowls, sheep, ducks and sea-fish. In their very extensive trade they used cowrie shells instead of coin. Cowrie was the money of the poor. Shiploads of cowries were conveyed from the Maldives to Bengal and Orissa. The cowries were sold by weight. In 1350, one silver coin fetched as many as 10,520 cowries. The natural products were fine cotton cloths (muslins), sa-ha-la, rugs, tu-lo-kin, cotton textiles, rock-crystal, agate, amber, pearls, precious stones, sugar, ghee, king-fishers’ feathers and veils of various colours used to veil the face.

25 Don J. Wyatt, The Blacks of Pre-Modern China, Encounters with Asia (Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), 102–103. W.W. Rockhill, “Notes on the Relations and Trade of China with the Eastern Archipelago and the Coast of the Indian Ocean during the Fourteenth Century,” Part II., T’oung Pao, Second Series, Vol. 16, n. 1 (1915): 61–159.

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In terms of the socio-economic situation, Pandua was the centre for production as well as marketing. At least six varieties of fine cotton, as well as woollen fabrics, are mentioned, of which bafta, shanbaft, makhmal, sakelat (a Persian scarlet textile) and sof (woollens, camlet of Arabic origin) are of Central Asian origin, while pachadi (or pachada), jhimbartali and chautar were produced locally or in the adjoining areas of Bihar. Another variety, which may be some kind of coarse cotton, was also available in black. Most of these fabrics were exported to China. It is not clear if Bengal produced silk-floss from cocoons. However, silk fabrics such as embroideries and kerchiefs, i.e. sarees and dhutis, were manufactured there. Some kind of coarse silk, a weave of ramie and silk, was also manufactured. In the marketplaces of Pandua, both inside the walled city and in the suburbs, one could encounter traders of different places and nationalities, including the Chinese, jostling with one another with pouches full of silver coins, each weighing about 11.19 grams and measuring 3.75 cm (according to Chinese reports, which mention weights and measures identical to those of the period found in our museums). These businessmen included people of both dark-skinned and fair races. Their investments in business could be as high as ten thousand gold coins or more. Once a bargain was struck, they would never go back on their word. The streetmarkets contained all kinds of establishments – bathing places, wineshops, food and sweetmeat shops, and so on – all arranged in neat order. The customers and traders, therefore, could entertain or cool themselves in any manner they liked. It is apparent from the list that many of the items imported, such as pearls, frankincense, broadcloth, woollens and pepper, were for re-export from Pandua. An efficient network of traders backed by royalty ensured smooth operations.26 Pandua as seen by the Fei Shin during the early fifteenth century was a place which developed from a small hamlet into a capital city with a military garrison, and then into a commercial, manufacturing and trade centre. Its population comprised royalty, indigenous people and foreign nationals from the West, some settled and some remaining a part of the floating population.27 Many of the ship-owning merchants acted as royal envoys also. Said Mohammad, whose status and rank is not known, served five sultans and from 1409 to 1420 was the chief envoy to China. The vicissitudes in the capital did not affect his fortunes. The rich and the nobles woke up in the 26 27

Banglapedia, Vol. 3, 448–449. Ray, Trade and Diplomacy in India–China Relations.

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morning to the tunes of sehnai and drums played by itinerant musicians who were treated with wine and tanka (rupee) after their performance. In the evening the nobles were entertained by dancing girls, performing in groups. The guests were given roast beef, mutton, rose water and sherbet of different kinds. After the banquet, areca nut was served but not wine. This does not mean that wine had no market. Four kinds of wine were produced: coconut wine, mahua wine (Bassia latifolia roxb.), date palm and rice wines. Most of it was perhaps for private consumption and export, but the Chinese did not import any of them. The goods (like those used by the Chinese in trading) were gold, silver, satins, silks, blue and white porcelain, copper, iron, musk, vermillion, quicksilver and grass mats. The lure of Chinese silver and gold was too great for other Asian nations, which vied with each other in carrying on trade with China. The Bengal court was competing with Calicut (Kozhikode), Hormuz, Aden and Dhofar (Zufar) in sending all sorts of items to China, as presents and also for open sale. In this race, Bengal was ahead of many others. The Pandua court imported satin fabric, coloured taffeta, blue and white porcelain, musk, vermillion, quicksilver, grass mats and copper coins. Gold and silver was accepted as payment for commodities in excess of the exchanged amount. Bengal exported muslins like milk-white bafta, pearls, precious stones, horses, horse saddles with gold- and silver-work on them, opaque vessels with gold engravings, broadcloth (sakelat), woollens named sof (mentioned as sakalata-kambala in the Mangala literature), rhino horns, cranes’ heads, kingfishers’ feathers, crystal sugar, frankincense, coarse black cotton cloth, cotton velvet, parrots, parrot beaks, coarse rhubarb, gharuwood, sesame oil (or incense), catechu, ebony, sapanwood, areca nut and pepper.28 It is noted that the initiative in forging an alliance between the two states was taken by Bengal, because it stood to reap tremendous benefit from trade with China. Bengal’s muslin was a favourite of the Chinese, for both its civil and military uses. It was even the case that a part of the salaries of the officials was paid with muslin; muslin was also accepted as tax payment in China during this period.29 Again, the Chinese describe the finest variety of paper as being made from the bark of the mulberry tree, of which there was in abundance in Malda and North Bengal. The excellent quality of this paper caused some of the Chinese travellers to confuse it with white cloth due to its glaze and smoothness. 28 29

Banglapedia, Vol. 3, 448. Ray, Trade and Diplomacy in India–China Relations.

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Conclusion From the discussion above, it can be observed that relations between China and Bengal are formed of over two thousand years of cultural and political interaction. Following a reading of Ma Huan’s and Fei Shin’s travels, it is undeniable that the relationship between China and Bengal was very profound and warm, especially during the first half of the fifteenth century. The exchange of embassies and gifts, and the warm reception and hospitality given by both countries to high officials of the other, bear testimony to this. It can be said that the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin are authentic and unparalleled sources through which to learn the socio-cultural history of Bengal. The records throw light on the political, social and economic conditions of Bengal in the fifteenth century. It is known from the Chinese accounts that Bengal was rich and civilized during the medieval period, and that the country was one of the strongest parts in the entire chain of contacts and communications between China and East Asia. If we probe into the accounts of both travelers, we mark the uniformity in the descriptions of Ma Huan and Fei Shin, especially in their analysis of the socio-economic and cultural conditions of Bengal. In Ma Huan’s account there is no reference to the dialogue of the Chinese mission with the sultan of Bengal, although their visits to Bengal were based on the desire for diplomatic and political upliftment. However, in Fei Shin’s travelogue there is a general account of Bengal with some information on the king and the court. Both accounts record that Bengal was an affluent country at that time, in which the people led a happy and prosperous life. Researchers of the present time look upon the accounts of Ma Huan and Fei Shin as reliable sources for further academic research related to the interaction between China and Bengal. War and other conflicts in the region, particularly during and after World War II, have disrupted historical China–Bengal ties and connectivity. However, the economic rise of China in the past three decades, together with Bangladesh’s steady economic growth since the early 1990s, have resulted in better trade ties between the two nations in contemporary times. Further, the contemporary economic convergence in Asia, thanks to the shifting of the global centre of economic gravity towards the East, has created a space in which to reestablish their historic connectivity. The relationship between present-day Bangladesh and China has been described as “time-tested, all-weather

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friendship.”30 There is a plethora of bilateral agreements between Dhaka and Beijing, as well as trade, soft loans, social contact, cultural exchange, academic interaction, infrastructure development and military sales.

References Ahmad, Wakil. Muslim Banglay Bidheshi Parjatak (Foreign Travellers in Muslim Bengal). Dhaka: Nawruz Kitabisthan, 1966. Bagchi, P.C. India and China: A Thousand Years of Cultural Relations. New York: The Philosophical Library, 1951. Bagchi, P.C. “Political Relation between Bengal and China in the Pathan Period,” VISVA-BHARATI ANNALS Vol. I. Calcutta: The VisvaBharati Publishing Department, 1945. Banglapedia: National Encyclopedia of Bangladesh, Vol. 3. Dhaka: The Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 2003. Bhattasali, Nalini Kanta. Coins and Chronology of the Early Independent Sultans of Bengal. Cambridge: W. Hefer & Sons, 1922. Chengjun, Feng, ed. Yingyai Shenglan Jiaozhu (Ma Huan’s Overall Survey of the Oceans Shores, 1433), Reprint. Taipei: National Palace Museum, 1970. Gordon, Stewart. When Asia Was the World: Traveling Merchants, Scholars, Warriors, and Monks Who Created the “Riches of the East.” Boston: Da Capo Press, 2007. Hirth, Friedrich, and William Woodville Rockhill (translated from the Chinese and annotated). Chau Ju-Kua: His Work on the Chinese and Arab Trade in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries, Entitled Chu-fanchi. St Petersburg: Printing Office of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, 1911. Islam, M. Shahidul. “China–Bangladesh Relations: Contemporary Convergence.” The Daily Star, January 25, 2012. Islamic Pedia. Islamic Foundation Bangladesh, Vol. 16, Part II, 1996. Karim, Abdul. Banglar Itihas: Sultani Amal (History of Bengal: Sultanate Period). Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1977. Ma Huan, Yingyai Shenglan. The Overall Survey of the Ocean’s Shores, translated and edited by J.V.G. Mills. Cambridge: The Hakluyt Society, 1970. Muhammed, Tanweer. “China–Bangladesh Relation: 1st Century to 13th Century A.D.” Quarterly Journal of Chinese Studies 3, n. 3 (2015). 30 Islam, “China–Bangladesh Relations: Contemporary Convergence,” The Daily Star, January 25, 2012.

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Mukhopadhyay, Sukhamay. Banglar Itihaser Duishaw Bachar: Sadhin Sultander Amal (1338–1538), 5th edition. Calcutta: Bharati Book Stall, 1996. Phillips, Geo. “Mahuan’s Account of the Kingdom of Bengala (Bengal).” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland (1895): 523–537. Prabashi (A Monthly Bengali Periodical). Boyishak, Kolkata, 1351 (Bengali). Ray, Haraprasad. Trade and Diplomacy in India–China Relations: A Study of Bengal during the Fifteenth Century. New Delhi: Sangam Books, 1993. Rockhill, W.W. “Notes on the Relations and Trade of China with the Eastern Archipelago and the Coast of the Indian Ocean during the Fourteenth Century,” Part II., T’oung Pao, Second Series, Vol. 16, n. 1 (1915): 61–159. Wheatley, Paul. “Ma Huan: A Fifteenth Century Chinese Traveler: Review.” The Geographical Journal 137, n. 2 (Jun. 1971). Wyatt, Don J. The Blacks of Pre-Modern China, Encounters with Asia. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Yamamoto, Tatsuro. “Chinese Activities in the Indian Ocean before the Coming of the Portuguese.” The Indian Historical Review 28, n. 111 (1980): 19–34.

CHAPTER FOUR CARETAKERS OF THE SULU KING’S TOMB IN CHINA, 1417–1733 LIU WENMING

A tribute mission of more than 340 people led by three kings of the Sulu principalities arrived in Beijing in August 1417. Among them was the Eastern King Paduka Batara, and they were welcomed as state guests by Emperor Yongle of the Ming Dynasty. But on the way home to Sulu, Paduka Batara fell sick and died near the city of Dezhou, China, where he was buried with royal honors in an impressive tomb. His direct descendants were pensioned off to stay and perform filial obligations as tomb caretakers. From then on, the descendants of the Sulu King Paduka Batara, as royal family members and as tomb caretakers, continued to live in Dezhou. They remained there as a diasporic group for over three centuries until 1733, when they became full citizens of the Qing Dynasty. Some progress in the historical research on Paduka Batara and his descendants in China has been made by Chinese scholars in recent years. Xia Chunjiang made a detailed introduction to Paduka Batara’s visit to Ming Dynasty and discussed the history of the tomb caretakers from 1417 to the early twentieth century in his work.1 Wang Shoudong also discussed some problems of Paduka Batara and his tomb in China, and introduced the family culture of his descendants living in China.2 Other historians such as Feng Xingsheng and Chi Lihua have also published some papers on the 1

See Xia Chunjiang, Sulu King and His Tomb (Qingdao: China Ocean University Press, 2002). 2 See Wang Shoudong, Research on Sulu King’s Tomb in Dezhou (Beijing: China Drama Press, 2009). Wang Shoudong, Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants (Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 2013).

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history of Paduka Batara and his descendants in China.3 Another paper deserving to be mentioned is William Henry Scott’s “Filipinos in China before 1500,”4 in which Scott discusses the history of Paduka Batara’s visit to China. These works focus mainly on Sulu King’s visit to the Ming Dynasty and the historical change of his offspring staying in China. How did Paduka Batara’s descendants, as a diasporic group, live in Dezhou during the Ming and early Qing Dynasties? How can we understand their cultural adaptation and identity as a diasporic group before 1733? These questions remain to be resolved, which is the main task of this chapter.

Paduka Batara and His Descendants in China before 1733 Paduka Batara was one of the kings who paid tribute to Emperor Yongle from Southeast Asia under the impact of Zheng He’s expedition; his death and his sons’ observation of mourning in Dezhou resulted in a Sulu diasporic group in China. This part of the chapter will discuss the formation of the Sulu diasporic group and the changes of their lives in Dezhou from 1417 to 1733.

Paduka Batara’s Visit to Beijing and His Death in Dezhou In the years from 1405 to 1453, Ming Cheng Zu (Emperor Yongle) launched a total of seven naval expeditions to Xi Yang (the west ocean) under the command of a Muslim admiral, Zheng He. Zheng He’s fleet visited many Southeast Asian countries and islands, and some places as far away as East Africa. As a far-reaching result of the visits of Zheng He’s fleet, some countries sent tribute envoys to the Ming Dynasty, among which was Sulu King’s mission in 1417. According to Ming Shi Lu (Veritable Records of the Ming) and Ming Shi (History of the Ming Dynasty), the tribute mission to Beijing from Sulu in 1417 was a group of more than 340 people led by three Sulu kings: Paduka Batara of the East Country, Maharaja Kolamating of the West Country, and Paduka Prabhu of the Dong (cave) Country, among whom Paduka Batara enjoyed the highest prestige. They came to Beijing 3

See Feng Xingsheng, “Some Problems of Sulu King’s Visit to Ming Dynasty,” Historical Research 2 (1991): 153–55. Chi Lihua, “A Survey on the Development of Sulu Eastern King’s Descendant Group in China,” Heilongjiang National Series, 6 (2004): 36–41. 4 William Henry Scott, “Filipinos in China before 1500,” Asian Studies 21 (1983): 1–19.

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and presented a memorial inscribed in gold, and such tribute as pearls, precious stones, and hawksbill shell. They lived in Beijing for 27 days, met Emperor Yongle and were treated as state guests, receiving royal seals and investment as kings of Sulu. Finally they made their return journey along the Grand Canal, laden with gifts from the Ming emperor, such as court costumes, caparisoned horses, gold, silver, copper coins, and bolts of patterned silk. On October 23, 1417, Paduka Batara died of illness in Dezhou (located in Shandong Province, China) and was entombed there on November 20 with a royal funeral.5 A stone monument with the epitaph contributed by Emperor Yongle was set up in front of his tomb the following year. It is noteworthy that Paduka Batara was given the posthumous title Gong Ding Wang (meaning “respectful and peaceful prince”) by Emperor Yongle. The epitaph hinted at why Emperor Yongle had granted him such a title: Paduka Batara, the Eastern King of Sulu, living on the remote island and looking up to the imperial court, came to the court of the imperial capital with precious gifts and presented a gold-engraved tablet. Not shrinking from a voyage of many tens of thousands of miles, he led his familial household in person, together with his tribute officers and fellow countrymen, across the sea routes in a spirit of loyal obedience. Such a respectful and submissive sincerity was shown by his words and behavior, and it indicated he was brilliant and sagacious, gentle and honest, especially outstanding and naturally talented. … Receiving the obituary, I could not help feeling sorrowful and mourning for him, so I sent officers to offer a sacrifice to him, and granted him the posthumous title “Gong Ding.”6

This epitaph showed that Paduka Batara was respected as both a foreign king and a royal prince of the Ming Dynasty, enjoying a dual identity. Thus, on one hand, Paduka Batara’s descendants were granted a kind of special treatment by the Ming government because of their identity as a foreign king’s offspring, and on the other hand, according to Confucian culture, they were expected to observe mourning for their deceased father Gong 5

Ming Shi Lu (Taibei: Institute of History and Philology of Academia Sinica, 1962), 2021–23. Zhang Tinyu, Ming Shi (Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1974), 5643. 6 Zhu Di, “Inscription on the Stone Tablet of Sulu Eastern King made by Emperor Yongle’s Order,” in “Note on the Inscription on the Stone Tablet of Sulu Eastern King made by Emperor Yongle’s Order,” annotated by Zhu Xingquan, Historical Archives 4 (1998): 130–31.

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Ding Wang, a royal prince of the Ming Dynasty, by staying in Dezhou as tomb caretakers for three years. Therefore, after Paduka Batara’s interment, his eldest son Tumahan was proclaimed his successor and went on his way to Sulu, but his secondary wife Kamulin, his second son Wenhala, and third son Antulu, together with 10 servants, were given accommodation and pensions by the Ming government to observe the appropriate three-year mourning rites. However, they did not return to Sulu after three years, but lived in Dezhou as tomb caretakers to tend the King’s tomb for a lifetime.

The Tomb Caretakers’ Life in China before 1733 The Sulu King’s tomb caretakers, as a foreign royal family in the Ming Dynasty, enjoyed privileges which legally came from the imperial edict of Emperor Yongle. First, for the tomb caretakers’ living and sacrificial practices, they were granted 238 Mu (c. 39.21 acres) of farmland as Ji Tian (farmland, the crops from it mainly used for sacrifice offering), and were exempt from taxes forever. Second, every one of the tomb caretakers was provided with 1 Dan7 of grain monthly as Feng Liang (grain rations, a kind of official’s salary), and some money and cloth, by the Dezhou local government. Lastly, under the Ming government arrangement, three families of Hui people (Muslim Chinese), Ma Chousi, Chen Yaozhu, and Xia Naima, migrated as farmers and servants from Licheng (now Jinan city) to Dezhou to help the tomb caretakers. These three families were also exempt from taxes.8 These provisions indicate that the Ming government paid respect to Paduka Batara’s descendants in Dezhou, and treated them as royal family members. As a result, they remained in China after observing the three-year mourning period. An exception was Kamulin’s one-year leave from China. The Sulu Eastern King’s mother sent her late son’s younger brother, Paduka Suli, to the Ming Dynasty in 1423, thus Paduka Suli visited his nephews in Dezhou and took his late brother's secondary wife, Kamulin, back home with him. But Kamulin returned to Dezhou next year and stayed there for the rest of her life. Paduka Batara’s descendants in the Ming Dynasty, a group of tomb caretakers, lived the life of princes and aristocrats for nearly two centuries until 1593. According to the record of Ming Shen Zong Shi Lu, the family members of Paduka Batara’s offspring in Dezhou amounted to 75 people in 7

A Dan was a Chinese unit of dry measure in ancient times; 1 Dan during the Ming Dynasty approximates 102.25 liters. 8 Xia Chunjiang, Sulu King and His Tomb, 39.

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1593, so it was a heavy burden for the Dezhou government, which was in financial difficulties, to provide 75 Dan of grain monthly,. “In May of Wan Li 21th year, Zhang Shicai, a chief officer in charge of the storehouse of Dezhou, worried about their increasing population and the Feng Liang would be difficult to maintain, so he pleaded with the Emperor to subtract 66 Dan from the total of formerly granted grain and only 9 Dan per month remained.”9 This meant that the 75 tomb caretakers shared the 9 Dan of grain provided by the government. In response to the reduction of Feng Liang, in the year 1601, An Shousun, the fifth-generation grandson of Sulu Eastern King, asked the Ming government to resupply the previous 75 Dan of grain, but his written statement was retained by the Ministry of Rites and not presented to Emperor Wanli.10 This act of reducing Feng Liang exerted a significant impact on the life of the Sulu King’s descendants of Dezhou. From then on, some of them had to work as farmers to maintain subsistence. The “Reduction Event” in 1593 forced the aristocratic tomb caretakers to gradually become common people, and another event in 1733 eventually changed their identity from that of foreigners into that of Chinese civilians. With the Ming Dynasty replaced by the Qing Dynasty in 1644, the life of the Sulu King’s descendants in Dezhou was also changed, especially as the Qing government did not continue to provide the remaining 9 Dan of grain formerly provided by Ming government. In the year 1726, a tribute mission from Sulu was sent to China by Sultan Mu Han Mo Mu La Lu Lin (Mohammad Nasarud Din).11 Its members arrived in Beijing in 1727 and were accorded a cordial reception by Emperor Yongzheng of the Qing Dynasty. Another task of the Sulu envoys was to visit Paduka Batara’s tomb and his descendants in Dezhou. In the meeting of the envoys and the tomb caretakers, An Ruqi, the eighth-generation grandson of Antulu, and Wen Chongkai, the eighth-generation grandson of Wenhala, made requests to the envoys that the Sulu Eastern King’s tomb and the sacrificial temple be repaired because of the state of disrepair which it had been in for a long time, 9

Ming Shi Lu, 8936–37. Ming Shi Lu, 8937. 11 The name of this Sultan in Chinese sources such as Qing Shi Zong Shi Lu (Veritable Records of Qing Shi Zong) was “Mu Han Mo Mu La Lu Lin” (Qing Shi Lu. Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1985), the pronunciation of which is very close to “Mohammad Nasarud Din,” who was the 11th Sultan in the “Genealogy of Sulu” in Najeeb M. Saleeby’s The History of Sulu (Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1908); they were contemporaries in historical records, so I deduce that they were the same person. 10

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and also they looked forward to recovering their monthly Feng Liang. The Sulu envoys promised to report faithfully to the Sulu King when they returned to Sulu.12 Maybe because of the failed request in the year 1601 and the replacement of the Ming Dynasty by the Qing Dynasty, An Ruqi and Wen Chongkai did not made their application to the Qing government directly, but to the Sulu King’s envoys, asking the envoys to pass on their pleas to Sultan Mu Han Mo Mu La Lu Lin, so that their appeals could reach the Qing emperor through an international negotiation. At last, a letter by Sultan Mu Han Mo Mu La Lu Lin was submitted to Emperor Yongzheng in 1733 by a tribute mission of Sulu, in which the Sulu King mentioned the aforesaid requests on behalf of Paduka Batara’s descendants in Dezhou. To these requests the Ministry of Rites of the Qing Dynasty answered in accordance with Emperor Yongzheng’s order, which was recorded in the Qin Ding Da Qing Hui Dian Shi Li (Cases of Great Qing Compendium of Laws Authorized by Imperial Order) as follows: An order should be given to the Shandong provincial governor to instruct the local officials of Dezhou to estimate the costs of repairing the tomb, the Shen Dao [sacred way], the Xiang Ting [sacrificial temple], and the Pai Fang [memorial archway], then authorize the local officials to pay money and grain for the repairs, and make a tabulation to apply for reimbursement. The Eastern King’s offspring, An Ruqi and Wen Chongkai, were still appointed as the patriarchs to take charge of the tomb. In regard to the request of the Sulu King to recover the monthly grain and silks for the Eastern King’s offspring, it has been cut off so long that it is not necessary to recover it. And yet, since the families of An and Wen are all the direct line of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants, an order should be given to the local officials to select two literates respectively from these two families to offer a sacrifice to the Eastern King, and bestow Ding Dai [official cap] on them according to the cases of Feng Si Sheng [performer of sacrifice offering] in other provinces. If the position of the Feng Si Sheng is vacant, the successor should be selected to fill the vacant post, and such arrangement should be established as a lasting ordinance.13

This record indicated that the Qing government agreed partly to their requests – the tomb was repaired while the Feng Liang was not recovered, but the Sulu Eastern King was still respected as a king analogous to a 12

Xia Chunjiang, Sulu King and His Tomb, 59. Wang Shoudong, Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants, 81. 13 Kun Gang, Qin Ding Da Qing Hui Dian Shi Li (1899), Vol. 513, “Li Bu.”

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Chinese prince, to whom the sacrificial offering was performed every spring and autumn. As a result, two patriarchs of the Eastern King’s descendant families were appointed as Feng Si Sheng with reference to the case in other provinces. The Feng Si Sheng, meaning “performer of sacrifice offering,” was a kind of special officer in ancient China, whose key responsibility was in the practice of making a sacrificial offering to his forefather, who was respected as “the sage one.” A Feng Si Sheng’s position was obtained not by imperial competitive examination, but by official appointment. Also, this record indicates that the identity of Paduka Batara’s descendants in Dezhou was in a sense changed, as was proved in Dezhou Zhi (Annals of Dezhou), which was printed in the Qianlong period of the Qing Dynasty. According to this record, the replies of the Ministry of Rites included not only those mentioned above, but also that “the descendants staying as grave keepers were allowed to be registered as citizens of Dezhou with Wen and An as their family names.”14 This registration means their qualification for Chinese citizenship and implies that the tomb caretakers’ identity changed from that of foreigners to that of Chinese citizens.

Cultural Adaptation and the Change of the Tomb Caretakers’ Identity Living in the context of the Confucian culture in China, the tomb caretakers from Sulu inevitably encountered the issue of adaptation to an alien culture. How, then, can we understand the tomb caretakers’ cultural adaptation and the change of their lives as a Sulu diasporic group in China before 1733? For this, some factors such as religion, family culture, economic status, and identity should be taken into account.

From Sulu Muslims to Chinese Huis Paduka Batara and his sons were Muslims before they came to China. According to Najeeb M. Saleeby and Cesar Adib Majul, Tuan Masha'ika was one of the first foreign Muslims to reach the Sulu Archipelago, and the time of his arrival was around 1380. In the 1390s, another Muslim, Kaja Baginda, came from Menangkabaw to Sambuwangan, and from there he 14

Wang Daoheng and Zhang Qingyuan, Dezhou Zhi (1788), Vol. 11, “Cong Ji, Zhong Mu.”

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moved to Basilan and later to Sulu, establishing an Islamic principality in Buansa.15 According to Chinese sources Paduka Batara lived roughly in the same period as Kaja Baginda. In addition, “Baguinda” is a Menangkabaw honorific, not a proper name. “Paduka” and “Batara” are also Malay-Sanskrit titles of royal eminence, and Brunei records always call the primary ruler of Sulu “Batara.”16 In this sense, Kaja Baginda and Paduka Batara are not real names, but honorifics. So they were probably the same person. This implies that the Sulu Eastern King and his sons were Muslims before coming to China. No wonder the Ming government arranged the migration of three Muslim families from Licheng to Dezhou to assist them. It was because of their common religious belief that the migrants could serve as interpreters in the communication between the Sulu and Chinese people. In Dezhou Xiang Tu Zhi (Chorography of Dezhou), it was recorded: The two families Wen and An are the descendants of the Sulu King. The Sulu country is in the midst of the Southeast Sea. During the Yongle period of the Ming Dynasty, its King, Paduka Batara, came to court, and on his way home died in Dezhou and thus buried there. His second son Wenhala and third son Antulu and some 10 followers stayed to tend the tomb. At that time, their communication with the Han Chinese was usually guided by the Hui people because of their language barrier. So the Sulu King’s offspring adopted the Huis’ customs and their religion.17

This book was written in the late Guangxu period of the Qing Dynasty, over 400 years after the year of Paduka Batara’s arrival in China, so the author speculated from the reality of his time that the tomb caretakers “adopted the Huis’ customs and their religion.” It implies that though they had the same faith, probably there was some difference of religious practice between the Sulu and the Huis at first, until finally the Sulu adopted the Huis’ customs and were Sinicized. In this process, of course, the three Hui families from Licheng played an important role. For instance, Ma Chousi, Chen Yaozhu, and Xia Naima not only helped Paduka Batara’s secondary wife and sons to 15

See Saleeby, The History of Sulu, 149–50. Cesar Adib Majul, Muslims in the Philippines (Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 1973), 52–55. 16 Cesar Adib Majul, “Islam in the Philippines and Its China Link,” Asia Studies 46 (2010): 1–16. Scott, “Filipinos in China before 1500.” 17 Feng Zhu, Dezhou Xiang Tu Zhi (Edition of late Qing Dynasty), “Ren Lei.” William Henry Scott has a different understanding to this record; as a result he concluded that “Paduka Batara would thus appear not to have been a Muslim himself.” See Scott, “Filipinos in China before 1500,” 10.

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learn Chinese language, but also assisted them to go to the Hui community near the Grand Canal port to practice their religion.18 Such activities were helpful in enabling the tomb caretakers to communicate with local people and to integrate with the Hui people. The Sulu Eastern King’s descendants and other Chinese Muslim migrants lived around the King’s tomb, and there gradually emerged a Muslim community (now Beiying village) of about 200 people in 1593, among whom were 75 direct descendants of the Sulu Eastern King. For this reason a large mosque was established at the side of the King’s tomb to assist their religious practice at the end of sixteenth century. Historical records in Wen An Jia Cheng Yao Lu (The Brief Genealogy of the Wen and An Families) show that Wen Shouxiao, a descendant of Wenhala, was appointed as imam of the mosque by the Ministry of Rites of the Ming Dynasty in 1628. 19 From then on, an imam in charge of the religious practice of the Huis in Beiying village was elected from the families of Wen and An. Therefore, the religious faith and practice of the Sulu diasporic group in Dezhou, a Muslim group, were respected and supported by Ming and Qing governments, and their religious identity was kept permanently, even though over time they gradually became Sinicized Hui people.

Family Culture and Identity Change of the Tomb Caretakers The change of family culture was an important symbol of the integration into Chinese culture of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants in Dezhou. One aspect of this was that the tomb caretakers, according to Chinese custom, used Wen (from Wenhala) and An (from Antulu) as their respective family names, and from the third generation on, the full names of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants were all Chinese names. For example, Wenhala’s three grandsons were Wen Yu, Wen Shan, and Wen Jian, and Antulu’s two grandsons were An Shilong and An Shifeng. Another evident feature of the tomb caretakers’ adaptation was manifested by their marriages. The first generation of the tomb caretakers, Wenhala and Antulu, married Sulu girls named respectively Talayilin and Xilaan, but from the second generation on, the male members of the Sulu families in Dezhou were all married to Chinese girls. Such change can be seen clearly in the names in the two

18

Wang Shoudong, Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants, 102. Wen Shouwen, Wen An Jia Cheng Yao Lu (1933), “Ming Chongzhen Nian Li Bu Zha Fu.”

19

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family trees (Figure 4.1):20

Figure 4.1: Wen and An family trees

The Sinicization of the Sulu King’s descendants in Dezhou also involved changes in their economic status, citizenship, and identity. As mentioned previously, the life of the Sulu King’s descendants was affected by the “Reduction” and the “Registration” events. The Reduction Event in 1593 changed their economic status, turning them from an aristocratic group with official provision into common people supporting themselves. In order to earn their own living, some of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants became merchants, and some studied Confucian classical texts, trying to become officials by taking the imperial competitive examination – such as Wen Pan, who passed the highest examination and obtained the title of Jin Shi in 1655. 21 Living in the context of Chinese culture, the Sulu King’s descendants gradually accepted Confucian education, but they still kept their Islamic faith, and they retained their identity as Sulu-guests before 1733. As a consequence of the Reduction Event, their privileged royal status weakened and their integration with local Chinese people was promoted. Finally, the Registration in 1733 completely changed their citizenship. From then on they became a group of Hui people in China and were required to pay taxes as were other subjects of the Qing Dynasty. In some ways, the identity of the Sulu people living as tomb caretakers in Dezhou, in the process of their Sinicization, showed a duality of belonging both to Sulu and to China. No wonder that Kamulin returned to China in 1424 after her one-year stay in Sulu, and that when An Ruqi and Wen Chongkai hoped to recover their monthly Feng Liang and repair 20

Xia Chunjiang, Sulu King and His Tomb, 41. Wang Shoudong, Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants, 68. 21 Wang Shoudong, Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants, 166.

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Paduka Batara’s tomb in 1727, they preferred to ask the Sulu King’s help rather than appeal to the Qing government directly.

Diaspora Theory and the Particular Case of the Tomb Caretakers Migration is an important theme in the field of world history, and historians from different countries have undertaken a great deal of research on a variety of human migrations, thus arousing some theoretical disputes. In this regard, is there any helpful contribution that the case study of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants as a tomb caretaker group in Dezhou can make to the theoretical debates about migration? First of all, let us take a summary look at two scholars’ studies on migration and diaspora retrospectively. Patrick Manning has made a useful historical survey of human migration from a global perspective in his book Migration in World History, contending that there are four categories of human migration: home-community migration, colonization, whole-community migration, and cross-community migration.22 The last of these categories is in fact cross-cultural migration, and in this category the most important form of migration is diaspora. “Diaspora” is a controversial concept, but the simplest original definition of it is the dispersal of a people from their original homeland. Nevertheless, in the 1980s and onwards, the usage of this word became so widespread as to force a reassessment of its meaning. Its concept, meaning, and categories were discussed by such scholars as William Safran, James Clifford, Kim D. Butler, Brent Hayes Edwards, Stephane Dufoix, Rogers Brubaker, and Robin Cohen.23 These scholars’ studies are helpful in enabling us to understand the diversity of diasporas in world history. Taking the example of Robin Cohen, his Global Diasporas is a good introduction to the study of this field. Cohen proposes to deploy four tools of social science – emic/etic claims, the time 22

Patrick Manning, Migration in World History (New York: Routledge, 2005), 5–7. See William Safran, “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return,” Diaspora, 1 (1991): 83–99. James Clifford, “Diaspora,” Cultural Anthropology 9 (1994): 302–38. Kim D. Butler, “Defining Diaspora, Refining a Discourse,” Diaspora 10 (2001): 189–219. Brent Hayes Edwards, “The Uses of Diaspora,” Social Text 19 (2001): 45–73. Stephane Dufoix, Diaspora (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). Rogers Brubaker, “The ‘Diaspora’ Diaspora,” Ethnic and Racial Studies 28 (2005): 1–19. Robin Cohen, Global Diasporas: An Introduction (New York: Routledge, 2008). 23

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dimension, common features, and ideal types – to help us find a middle path in delineating what is a diaspora. As for the ideal types, by using qualifying adjectives – victim, labor, imperial, trade, and deterritorialized – he evolved a simple means of typologizing and classifying various diasporas.24 Unfortunately, neither Manning nor Cohen specifically took into account the impact of Chinese culture on immigrants in their migration studies, though they tried to survey migration on a global scale as far as possible. They usually focused on overseas Chinese when they discussed China; except for some Jesuits, there was almost no discussion of the immigrants who came to China under the influence of the Chinese empire before the nineteenth century. In fact, there were many immigrants living in China during the time from the Han to the Qing Dynasties; they came from Central Asia, Southeast Asia, and even the Arab world. The Sulu Eastern King’s descendants were just one group of such immigrants. Of course, as for the types of diaspora mentioned in Cohen’s book, he acknowledged that “The above ways of delineating a diaspora should also enable students to understand the diasporic phenomenon in the round, though there are other aspects of diaspora that have not yet been covered.”25 Since Western scholars largely have not taken the diasporic groups living in China into account in their studies of various categories of diasporas, the case discussed in this chapter may have some wider academic significance for the discussion of migration history and diaspora theory. The Sulu King’s descendants, as tomb caretakers, living in the context of Chinese culture, formed a special kind of diasporic group, with features different from those of most of the other diasporas in world history, which is unclassifiable according to Cohen’s five ideal types. So this case study, as a supplement to the studies of previously mentioned scholars, could and will enrich the theories on diasporas. In conclusion, during the period from 1417 to 1733, the caretakers of the Sulu King’s tomb as a diasporic group were different from local people in their religious faith and identity; they were Muslims and Sulu-guests with royal privileges bestowed by the Chinese emperor, and yet they experienced a gradual change of their status and identity over more than three centuries. With the exception of a few officials and the Feng Si Sheng, most of them became common people after 1593, and they all were registered as ordinary residents of China in 1733. Living in the context of Confucian culture for 24 25

Robin Cohen, Global Diasporas: An Introduction, 15–16. Robin Cohen, Global Diasporas: An Introduction, 17.

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centuries, they finally became Sinicized Hui Muslims. The history of the Sulu Eastern King’s descendants living in the Ming and Qing Dynasties shows that, in the context of Chinese culture, the tomb caretakers formed a special category of diasporic group distinct from the victim, the labor, the imperial, the trade, and the deterritorialized diaspora.

References Brubaker, Rogers. “The ‘Diaspora’ Diaspora.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 28 (2005): 1–19. Butler, Kim D. “Defining Diaspora, Refining a Discourse.” Diaspora, 10 (2001): 189–219. Chi Lihua. “A Survey on the Development of Sulu Eastern King’s Descendant Group in China.” Heilongjiang National Series 6 (2004): 36–41. Clifford, James. “Diaspora.” Cultural Anthropology 9 (1994): 302–38. Cohen, Robin. Global Diasporas: An Introduction. New York: Routledge, 2008. Dufoix, Stephane. Diaspora. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003. Edwards, Brent Hayes. “The Uses of Diaspora.” Social Text 19 (2001): 45–73. Feng Xingsheng. “Some Problems of Sulu King’s Visit to Ming Dynasty.” Historical Research 2 (1991): 153–55. Feng Zhu- Dezhou Xiang Tu Zhi. Edition of late Qing Dynasty. Kun Gang. Qin Ding Da Qing Hui Dian Shi Li. 1899. Majul, Cesar Adib. “Islam in the Philippines and Its China Link.” Asia Studies 46 (2010): 1–16. Majul, Cesar Adib. Muslims in the Philippines. Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press, 1973. Manning, Patrick. Migration in World History. New York: Routledge, 2005. Ming Shi Lu. Taibei: Institute of History and Philology of Academia Sinica, 1962. Qing Shi Lu. Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1985. Safran, William. “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return.” Diaspora 1 (1991): 83–99. Saleeby, Najeeb M. The History of Sulu. Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1908. Scott, William Henry. “Filipinos in China before 1500.”Asian Studies 21

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(1983): 1–19. Wang Daoheng and Zhang Qingyuan. Dezhou Zhi, 1788. Wang Shoudong. Family Culture of Sulu King’s Descendants. Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 2013. Wang Shoudong. Research on Sulu King’s Tomb in Dezhou. Beijing: China Drama Press, 2009. Wen Shouwen, Wen An Jia Cheng Yao Lu. 1933. Xia Chunjiang, Sulu King and His Tomb. Qingdao: China Ocean University Press, 2002. Zhang Tinyu. Ming Shi. Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1974. Zhu Di. “Inscription on the Stone Tablet of Sulu Eastern King made by Emperor Yongle’s Order,” in “Note on the Inscription on the Stone Tablet of Sulu Eastern King made by Emperor Yongle’s Order,” annotated by Zhu Xingquan. Historical Archives 4 (1998): 130–31.

CHAPTER FIVE CHINA FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF AN UNUSUAL SPANISH DIPLOMAT: EDUARD TODA, CONSUL AT MACAO, HONG KONG, CANTON AND SHANGHAI, 1875–1882 MARÍA DOLORES ELIZALDE

China has always awakened—yesterday and today—great international interest, and throughout history, foreigners have pictured it as a land full of possibilities from which they do not want to be excluded. This was especially the case in the nineteenth century, when the Chinese empire was forced to accept the penetration of foreign agents and powers. One of the men who witnessed and experienced this process was Eduard Toda, who lived in China from 1875 to 1882 as the Spanish vice-consul to Macao, Hong Kong, Canton (Guangzhou), and Shanghai. Toda was one of those nineteenth-century figures that stood out for their original and interesting professional and personal lives, who defended their own ideas in the milieu of Asia’s contending interests and attractions, and who contributed to construcingt the West’s knowledge of the Asian world. In this chapter, we will analyze Toda’s writings, drawings, and photographs, not only to address his own experience in China, but to understand the image that he transmitted to his contemporaries in Europe.1

1

This work is done within the framework of two research projects: “La modernización de Filipinas, 1868–1898,” (HAR2015-66511-P, MINECO/ FEDER), founded by the “Plan Nacional de Investigación” (Spain), and “The Representation of External Threats in the Configuration of Spanish Power in the Philippines (1600–1800),” Horizon 2020- H2020-MSCA-IF- 2014- 653508-PhilThreats (European Unión).

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The Need to Know More of Asia in a Time of International Expansion At the cusp of nineteenth-century imperialist expansion, it became imperative for the Spanish and other European states to know more about Asia. This need was spurred, first, by the Western powers’ colonial expansion in East and Southeast Asia, as they occupied greater and more significant territories and augmented their influence in the area. Great Britain had extended its empire over India, Ceylon (Sri Lanka), Burma (Myanmar), Malaysia, Sarawak, Brunei, and Northern Borneo. France consolidated its influence over Cambodia, Laos, Annam, Cochinchina, and Tonkin (Vietnam), all of which constituted French Indochina. In the last decades of the nineteenth century, Germany took over part of New Guinea and several islands across the Pacific as part of its Weltpolitik, paying close attention to China, so as to not be left out of an eventual distribution of its ports and territories. Russia, which had always had a special relationship with China, continued its expansion eastwards, confirming its interest in Manchuria, the Korean peninsula, and certain Chinese ports. Other countries did not increase the Eastern territories under their control during this century, but they maintained what they had acquired earlier. This was the case with Spain, which managed to keep the Philippines, the Marianas, the Carolinas, and the Palau Islands; Portugal, which dominated Diu, Goa, Macao, and Timor; and Holland, which had taken over the Dutch East India Company’s possessions in the Indonesian archipelago, with important bases in Java, Sumatra, the Celebes Islands (Sulawesi), and parts of Borneo and New Guinea. Non-European actors also entered the arena, as the United States and Japan began their own expansion in the area throughout the last decades of the nineteenth and the first decades of the twentieth centuries. A renewed impetus in international trade, stimulated by the second industrial revolution, the adoption of free-trade policies in many countries, and the increase in the global demand for cotton, sugar, tobacco, tea, coffee, and other products that were grown in Asia, constituted a second factor. This was accompanied by an increase in foreign investments in infrastructure, such as roads, railroads, aqueducts, and other public works, which had immediate repercussions in the Asian countries that received them. Technical breakthroughs and a revolution in transportation and communications were followed by the creation of transoceanic steamship navigation and the construction of more and better railroads. The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 facilitated maritime communications between Europe and Asia through the Indian Ocean. Thanks to the telegraph there

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were more frequent contacts and the immediate transmission of news. All of this led to the profound transformation of societies and lifestyles, increasing mobility and multiplying relations between societies that were increasingly closer and more interconnected.2 Between 1861 and 1920, more than 45 million people left Europe, looking for new opportunities across the rest of the world, and non-Europeans also migrated to different countries and spaces, looking for different, more promising futures. This was the case, for instance, of the Japanese, as well as the Chinese, who arrived at Hawaii and the United States. Despite the protectionist revival of the last decades of the century, the need to know and be present in Asia did not diminish, as Western powers hoped to secure and protect markets and influence zones.3 Western powers’ renewed efforts of penetration and occupation, and the forceful opening of many territories to their interests—China in 1842 and Japan in 1854 among the most significant—met with growing resistance in Asian countries. The construction and deployment of strategies that reaffirmed national identities and consciences intensified, and a joint opposition to the colonizer produced newfound interior cohesion in many territories.4

2

Christopher Bayly, El nacimiento del mundo moderno, 1780–1914. Conexiones y comparaciones globales (Madrid: Siglo XXI Editores, 2010). Nicholas Tarling, Southeast Asia and the Great Powers (London: Routledge. 2010). Nicholas Tarling, Imperialism in Southeast Asia (London: Routledge, 2001). María Dolores Elizalde, “Imperialismo y nacionalismo en un mundo interconectado,” in María Dolores Elizalde, ed., Nacionalismo versus Colonialismo. Problemas en la construcción nacional de Filipinas, India y Vietnam (Barcelona: Ed. Bellaterra, 2013), 13–36. 3 Michael R. Gooley, “China’s Policy towards Migrants, 1842–1949,” in Christine Inglis, ed., Asians in Australia: The Dynamics of Migration and Settlement (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1992). Madeline Y. Hsu, Dreaming of Gold, Dreaming of Home: Transnationalism and Migration between the United States and South China, 1882–1943 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000). 4 Nicholas Tarling, Nations and States in Southeast Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). Bayly, El nacimiento del mundo moderno. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991). Benedict Anderson, The Spectre of Comparisons. Nationalism, Southeast Asia and the World (London: Verso, 1998). María Dolores Elizalde, ed., Nacionalismo versus Colonialismo. Problemas en la construcción nacional de Filipinas, India y Vietnam (Barcelona: Ed. Bellaterra, 2013).

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China Is Forced to Open Up to the World In the midst of this expansionist wave, China was forced to allow foreign penetration. The Qing dynasty, which ruled the vast realm from 1644 to 1911, had a very particular way of dealing with other countries. There was no ministry of foreign relations as such. Instead, various government agencies and officials managed foreign relations, depending on the interlocutor. On the one hand, there was a Committee for Foreign Affairs, created six years before the Qing dynasty took power that dealt with Central Asia (Mongolia, Xinjiang, Tibet…). A special office dealt with the Russians, who, among all foreigners, had a privileged relationship with the Chinese state. A Ministry of Rites took care of the vassalage and tribute owed by China’s eastern and southern neighbors, in present-day Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, Korea, and the Ryukyu Islands. The Qing rulers decided that relations with Western powers would fall into the purview of this same Ministry of Rites, presupposing that those countries accepted the Chinese conception of their state, that is, that the Chinese emperor was the Son of Heaven, and that the rest of the world’s sovereigns owed him tribute and obeisance. This clashed with the West’s notion of international relations, and predictably led to conflict and tensions.5 On the other hand, trade with European and American countries was very limited, for neither the imperial authorities nor Chinese society expressed a need to purchase their goods. They exported quite a lot more products than they imported. The only thing that had really interested them was silver, brought from Japan and South America. Given the low volume of imports, only four ports were allowed to deal in international trade. Two

5

Jonathan Spence, The Search for Modern China (New York/London, W.W. Norton & Company, 1990), 118–120. David Martínez, La participación española en el proceso de penetración occidental en China: 1840–1870, doctoral thesis (Barcelona: Universitat Pompeu Fabra, 2007), 46–47. John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order. Traditional China’s Foreign Relations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968). John K. Fairbank ed., The Cambridge History of China—Late Qing Period (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2001). Immanuel C.Y. Hsü, The Rise of Modern China (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995). Frederick W. Mote, Imperial China 900–1800 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999). Lynn Struve, ed., The Qing Formation in WorldHistorical Time (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004). Pamela Crossley, A Translucent Mirror: History and Identity in Qing Imperial Ideology (Berkeley: University of California, 1999). William T. Rowe, China’s Last Empire. The Great Qing (Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2009).

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of those ports were Canton and Emuy (Amoy, Xiamen),6 which served the southern provinces—Guangdong, Fujian, and Zhejiang—where trade with Southeast Asian countries, and eventually the West, contributed to generating a dynamic economy.7 Despite the official restrictions, China continued to attract numerous foreigners who continued pushing for a different type of relationship dynamics, trying to approach the Chinese universe more closely.8 In the 1720s, Cantonese traders joined together to form the Cohong, or Canton System, to control the foreigners’ trade with the Chinese empire. In 1754, the imperial authorities made Cantonese traders officially responsible for foreigners’ activities and for the collection of custom duties. Imperial orders regarding foreign trade became stricter in 1760, when transactions with Western countries were restricted to the port of Canton, and the residence of foreign traders was limited to the months of October through March, when trade was allowed, under strict constraints. Thus, from then on, Canton, and to a lesser degree Macao, which was in Portuguese hands, became the only doors to China for Western diplomats, traders, and missionaries.9 6

Emuy was the name given by the Spanish to Amoy, known today as Xiamen. Located on the southeastern coast of China, Xiamen is a sub-provincial city of Fujian province. Founded in the year 282, the Ming dynasty transformed the city into one of the headquarters of its struggle against pirates in 1387. It was the main port used by European traders after 1541, and it saw the largest flow of tea exports during the nineteenth century. Since foreigners were not allowed to live in continental China, they lived on the nearby Gulangyu islands. 7 Dennis O. Flynn and Arturo Giráldez, China and the Birth of Globalization in the 16th Century (Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate Variorum, 2010). Angela Schottenhammer, The East Asian Maritime World 1400–1800: Its Fabrics of Power and Dynamics of Exchanges (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2007). Angela Schottenhammer, Trading Networks in Early Modern East Asia (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2010). 8 Jonathan Spence, The Chan’s Great Continent. China in Western Minds (London: Penguin Books, 2000). Roger Hart, Imagined Civilizations: China, the West, and Their First Encounter (Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013). Serge Gruzinski, The Eagle and the Dragon. Globalization and European Dreams of Conquest in China and America in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge/Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2014). Luis Filipe Barreto, ed., Europe– China. Intercultural Encounters (16th–18th Centuries) (Lisbon: CCCM, 2012). Anna Jackson and Jaffer Amin, eds., Encounters: The Meeting of Asia and Europe, 1500–1800 (London: V&A Publications, 2004). 9 John Wills Jr., ed., China and Maritime Europe, 1500–1800: Trade, Settlement, Diplomacy and Missions (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2011). Martínez, La participación española, 47. Louis Dermigny, Commerce à Canton au

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Different countries had sent ambassadors to try to change this situation, but with scant success. In 1759, trader James Flint, who had initially been granted permission to traverse the Chinese territory beyond the coastal provinces, was arrested and imprisoned for three years for violating the regulations that forbade foreigners from sailing north, as well as for submitting irregular requests and learning Chinese. In 1793, Emperor Qianlong received Lord Macartney, who carried a letter from King George III, with the same honors that were bestowed upon any emissary of a tributary country. The English petitions to end the restrictions of the Canton System, open new ports, and secure the residence of a British diplomat in Beijing were denied in a letter in which the Chinese emperor manifested to the King of England that China had no need for trade with the British, or with any other foreign country. In 1816, the British sent a new extraordinary ambassador, Lord Amherst, in order to try again to reach the heart of the empire, but, not accepting the ceremonial requirements he was expected to follow in order to achieve this, he was not successful in the mission.10 At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the British found a product that reduced their commercial deficit with China. Opium, cultivated in India, would soon compensate the volume of British imports of tea, silk, porcelain, etc. Its widespread use had such negative effects in Chinese society that in 1829 the Emperor forbade its sale and usage, and had all XVIIIe siècle, 1719–1833: la Chine et l’Occident (Paris: EVPEN, 1964). W.E. Cheong, Hong Merchants of Canton. Chinese Merchants in Sino-Western Trade, 1684–1798 (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1997). Paul Arthur van Dyke, The Canton Trade: Life and Enterprise on the China Coast, 1700–1845 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005). Paul Arthur van Dyke, Merchants of Canton and Macao: Politics and Strategies in Eighteenth-Century Chinese Trade (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011). Jorge dos Santos Alves, Um Porto entre Dois Impérios: Estudos sobre Macau e as Relações Luso-Chinesas (Macao: Instituto Português do Oriente, 1999). Luís Filipe Barreto, Macau: Poder e Saber. Séculos XVI e XVII (Lisbon: Editorial Presença, 2006). Wu Zhiliang, Segredos da sobrevivência: história política de Macau (Macao: Associação de Educação de Adultos de Macau, 1999). Lourenço Maria da Conceição, Macau entre Dois Tratados com a China, 1862–1877 (Macao: Instituto cultural de Macao, 1988), 17–26. 10 Martínez, La participación española, 49. J.L. Cranmer-Byng, An Embassy to China. Being the Journal Kept by Lord Macartney during his Embassy to the Emperor Ch’ien-lung, 1793–1794 (Bristol: Longmans, 1962). “Amherst, William Pitt,” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (online ed.: Oxford University Press). Anthony Webster, Gentlemen Capitalists: British Imperialism in Southeast Asia (New York: Tauris Academic Studies, 1998).

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stored opium destroyed without compensating its owners. The imperial government also strongly combated the drug’s contraband.11 The British considered this reason enough to enter into what became known as the First Opium War, from 1839 to 1842. Victorious, the British secured through the 1842 Treaty of Nanking the abolition of the Canton System, the cession of Hong Kong to Great Britain, and the opening of five ports for British trade—Canton, Emuy, Fu-chou, Ning-po, and Shanghai (Guangzhou, Xiamen, Fuzhou, Ningbo, and Shanghai)—where British citizens could reside without restrictions. More concessions were made in the 1858 Treaty of Tianjin, after another Chinese military defeat in the Second Opium War launched by the British with French support. The number of ports open to British and French trade was increased, and foreigners were allowed to travel throughout China, albeit some restrictions were still maintained. Other countries pressured the Chinese government to grant them the same concessions and rights as those obtained by the British. The end of the nineteenth century saw the Chinese capitulating to these pressures, with new ports and areas of influence given over to Great Britain, Russia, France, Germany, and Japan.12 11

Zhuang Guotu, Tea, Silver, Opium and War: The International Tea Trade and Western Commercial Expansion into China in 1740–1840 (Xiamen: Xiamen University Press, 1993). W.E. Cheong, “An Anglo-Spanish-Portuguese Clandestine Trade between the Ports of British India and Manila, 1785–1790,” The Philippine Historical Review I, 1 (1965): 80–94. W.E. Cheong, “The Decline of Manila as the Spanish Entrepôt in the Far East, 1785–1826: Its Impact on the Pattern of Southeast Asian Trade,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 2 (1971): 142–158. W.E. Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants. Jardine Matheson & Co., a China Agency of the Early Nineteenth Century (London: Curzon Press, 1979). Ander Permanyer, La participación española en la economía del opio en Asia Oriental tras el fin del Galeón, doctoral thesis (Barcelona: Universitat Pompeu Fabra, 2013). Ander Permanyer, “Opium after the Manila Galleon: The Spanish Involvement in the Opium Economy in East Asia (1815–1830),” Investigaciones de Historia Económica 10 (2014): 155–164. 12 John King Fairbank, Trade and Diplomacy on the China Coast. The Opening of the Treaty Ports, 1842–1854 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1969). Michael Greenberg, British Trade and the Opening of China, 1800–1842 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951). Wang Dong, China’s Unequal Treaties: Narrating National History (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2005). Lydia H. Liu, The Clash of Empires: The Invention of China in Modern World Making (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). Wang Gungwu, Anglo-Chinese Encounters Since 1800: War, Trade, Science and Governance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). Andreas Steen, “From Resistance to International Diplomacy: Unwelcome Prussia and the Signing of the First SinoGerman Treaty in Tianjin, 1859–1861,” in Klaus Mühlhahn, ed., The Limits of

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Spanish Interests and the Negotiation of a Treaty of Friendship between China and Spain In this context, the Spanish government understood that it was necessary to gauge the political and commercial situation in East Asia and the rest of Southeast Asia. It was not an alien realm to it: the Philippine archipelago had been under Spanish sovereignty since the sixteenth century, and from there, Spanish ships had embarked on various expeditions of religious, military, commercial, and even scientific character, across the Asian continent.13 Missionaries and travelers who had lived in or visited Asia had written useful and esteemed reports, and the greatest Spanish libraries boasted valuable maps and bibliographic gems from the region. Moreover, through the Manila Galleon, and direct trade with the Philippines and other Asian ports since the eighteenth century, Spanish elites were already familiar with Asian goods, including Chinese and Chinese-styled ornaments (Chinoiseries).14 Another source of contact and familiarity came from the existence of an important Chinese community in the Philippines, of nearly

Empire. New Perspectives on Imperialism in Modern China (Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2008), 9–33. J.A.G. Roberts, China through Western Eyes. The Nineteenth Century (Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing, 1991). 13 Manel Ollé, La empresa de China. De la Armada Invencible al Galeón de Manila (Barcelona: El Acantilado, 2002). Benito Legarda, After the Galleons. Foreign Trade, Economic Change and Entrepreneurship in the NineteenthCentury Philippines (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1999). María Dolores Elizalde, ed., Las relaciones entre España y Filipinas, siglos XVI– XX (Madrid: CSIC–Casa Asia, 2003). María Dolores Elizalde, ed., Repensar Filipinas. Política. Identidad y Religión en la construcción de la nación filipina (Barcelona: Ed. Bellaterra, 2009). 14 Carlos Martínez Shaw and Marina Alfonso Mola, eds. La ruta española a China (Madrid: Ediciones El Viso, 2007). Carlos Martínez Shaw and Marina Alfonso Mola, eds., Oriente en Palacio: tesoros asiáticos en las colecciones reales españolas (Madrid: Patrimonio Nacional, 2003). David Almazán, “La seducción de Oriente: de la chinoiserie al japonesismo,” Artigrama: Revista del Departamento de Historia Arte de la Universidad de Zaragoza 18 (2003): 83–106. Carmen García-Ormaechea, Tibores chinos en el Palacio Real (Madrid: Editorial Patrimonio Nacional, 1987). Juan González de Mendoza, Historia de las cosas más notables, ritos y costumbres del gran Reino de la China (Madrid: Miraguano, 1990 [Roma, 1585]). Dawn Jacobson, Chinoserie (London: Phaidon Press, 1999). Oliver Impey, Chinoserie, the Impact of Oriental Styles on Western Art and Decoration (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977).

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90,000 residents at one point, which would end up becoming an important pillar of colonial Philippine society.15 However, by the mid-nineteenth century these factors were not enough to ensure fruitful relations with China. The Spanish government wanted to sign a treaty that granted it the same opportunities as those given to the great powers. But to secure such a pact, it needed updated and more nuanced knowledge of that empire, its economic potential, and the degree of penetration obtained by rival nations. It therefore sent special envoys whose mission was to know, analyze, and inform the Crown on the real situation of that land, in order to better define Spanish interests, and adequately design a strategy to attain them.16 In 1840, a first diplomatic mission had been entrusted to Captain José María Halcón, who was sent from the Philippines with the object of negotiating with imperial officials an indemnity for an attack on two ships that had affected Spanish interests. However, the first diplomat sent to China in this new, broader nineteenth-century context was Sinibaldo de Mas.17 Mas arrived at Canton in January, 1844, with the intention of 15

Edgar Wickberg, The Chinese in Philippine Life, 1850–1898 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2001). Edgar Wickberg, “Early Chinese Economic Influence in the Philippines, 1850–1898,” Pacific Affairs XXXV, 3 (1962): 275. Andrew R. Wilson, Ambition and Identity: Chinese Merchant Elites in Colonial Manila (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2004). Alfonso Felix Jr., ed., The Chinese in the Philippines, 1570–1770 (Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1966). Teresita Ang See, ed., Chinese in the Philippines: Problems and Perspectives (Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, 1997). María Dolores Elizalde, “China, Spain and the Philippines in the Nineteenth Century: Images and Representations,” in Astrid Windus and Eberhard Crailsheim, eds., Image-Object-Performance: Mediality and Communication in Cultural Zones of Colonial Latin America and the Philippines (Münster: Waxmann, 2013), 197–214. 16 Martínez, La participación española. David Martínez’s Ph.D., already cited, studies in detail the contacts between Spain and China at that time, the diplomats sent, the negotiations held, and especially the signing of the first treaty of friendship between the two countries. 17 Sinibaldo de Mas was greatly interested in other cultures and had had a knack for foreign languages since he was very young. The Spanish government decided to encourage and make use of his talent at its overseas possessions, commissioning his studies on Near Eastern languages and customs in 1833. This provided him with a solid preparation for his voyage as a diplomatic attaché the following year, with the mission to increase Spanish understanding of the Muslim countries of the Eastern Mediterranean. He stayed in Istanbul first, where he perfected his Arabic and learned Turkish; from there, he traveled through Syria, Palestine, and Egypt, sending detailed and well-informed reports to the Spanish authorities. Reflecting on what he saw and learned on this trip, he would later write an essay in which he

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studying the new open port system in China, and Spain’s trading possibilities within this framework. With this object, he set out to investigate which Spanish and Philippine products would be most attractive to the Chinese market, as well as to the commercial houses of the Western powers that operated there. The Crown was to protect and encourage the industries that produced these goods. The regularization of Spain’s position in China was of particular interest to both countries, for, given the size and importance of the Chinese colony in the Philippines and the archipelago’s proximity to the Chinese coast, political relations and dynamics between them had developed early. Sinibaldo de Mas was committed to this task for a year and a half, and he visited Macao, Hong Kong, and other open ports. Mas wanted to know the situation of the country and the significance and character of China’s political and commercial relations with the other Western powers. Not authorized to negotiate in the name of the Spanish government, nor to secure a formal agreement, Mas was simply a special envoy whose mission was to gather information and generate knowledge.18 In this context, Mas reported that Chinese imports from the Philippines included rice, palay (paddy rice), balate (sea worms), shark fins, wax, swallows’ nests, some manufactures, gold dust, and gold paste, valued at

proposed the dismemberment of the Turkish Empire and the establishment of European protectorates over the territories that it had dominated. In 1838 Mas embarked on a new voyage that took him beyond the lands visited by Badia: from the Red Sea he traveled to Calcutta, seat of the British East India Company. He was taken ill and had to spend two years in this city, during which time he studied the British colonial regime and became convinced that the Spanish had to renew their overseas politics if they were to compete with the new expansionist powers. Mas arrived in the Philippines in 1840 as the Spanish government’s special delegate, to study the state of the islands and propose reforms for their modernization. In a classic and well-known report, Mas argued for a complete reform of the archipelago’s administration and exploitation, warning that if the necessary changes were not made, the Spanish would be forced to leave the islands. In 1843, he was sent to China to keep an eye on British efforts to open that empire to foreign trade, as well as to learn all that he could of the opium trade; negotiate with the Chinese government the reparations owed to the Royal Company of the Philippines; and secure a trading treaty similar to that obtained by the English. As Spain’s first Minister Plenipotentiary in Beijing, he spent his last few months in Asia assisting the Chinese government in its negotiations with Portugal vis-à-vis Macao, and writing an essay on Iberian expansion in the region. 18 Sinibaldo de Mas, La Xina (Barcelona: Barcino, 1927). Sinibaldo de Mas, La Chine et les Puissances Chrétiennes (Paris: Hachette, 1861). Martínez, La participación española, 217.

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around 10 million reales de vellón. China exported beads, fans, walking sticks, sugar, straw mats, Cantonese textiles, crockery, cotton fabric, paper umbrellas, silk, tea, and other such goods. However, he believed that large-scale trade between peninsular Spain and China was unlikely, for other European powers, such as Great Britain and France, already had well-established commercial relations with China and surpassed Spain in every branch of industry.19 Notwithstanding, the Spanish government insisted on signing a treaty that would protect the rights that Spain had already obtained in China, as well as extending those that other countries had acquired. The Spanish also sought to encourage Philippine industry and, insofar as it was possible, peninsular industry as well, through trade with China. Mas’s reports were apparently encouraging enough for Queen Isabel II to order the Philippine governor, in 1845, to sign a new trade agreement with China. Sinibaldo de Mas was charged with this mission, which would last for 20 years, in a lengthy, complicated, and slow negotiation process that he pursued sometimes in China, and sometimes in the Philippines.20 It was not until October 10, 1864, that the first treaty of friendship and trade between Spain and China was finally signed. Now, Spain could finally have a plenipotentiary minister in China and a diplomatic legation in Beijing. The agreement secured Spain’s interests in China, granted foreigners freedom to preach and practice the Catholic faith, and provided a first step in the regularization of the growing migration of Chinese laborer —so-called coolies—to Spain’s overseas provinces. China also agreed to immediately grant Spain the same advantages that it had already granted other nations, as well as those that it might grant in the future, “for Spain [was] to be treated in every way as the most favored among friendly nations in the Celestial Empire.” For its part, Spain authorized Chinese merchant vessels to trade with the Philippines, without limiting their number, granting it the status of most favored nation.21 This last circumstance has led some specialists to highlight that the Sino-Spanish 19 Martínez, La participación española, 83–86. Legarda, After the Galleon, 102, 115–140. Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores (Madrid, Spain) (AMAE), Siglo XIX, H 1445, no. 93, From Sinibaldo de Mas to Ministro de Estado, 6 July 1849. 20 Martínez, La participación española, 228–262 and 299–321. David Martínez “Constructing Sovereignty in Nineteenth-Century China: the Negotiation of Reciprocity in the Sino-Spanish Treaty of 1864,” The International History Review 38, 4 (2016): 719–740. 21 AMAE, Fondo Tratados. Subfondo Tratados del siglo XIX. número 0208, signatura TR 508 y TR141-003. Siglo XIX, H 2362.

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Treaty had a more egalitarian character than the other international treaties signed by China with the rest of the world powers.22 Some years before the 1864 treaty was signed, the imperial government had granted Spain the right to establish consulates in several ports. Thus, in May of 1852, a general Spanish consulate was established in Macao. In November of 1858, a consulate was opened in Shanghai and another in Emuy in 1859. The consulates’ objects were multifold: they were to encourage the adequate conditions for signing the desired treaty; defend Spanish interests in the area; end the unequal treatment received by Spaniards vis-à-vis other foreigners in China; protect and promote trade between Manila and the Chinese ports; and negotiate the situation of the large Chinese population in the Philippines.23

Eduard Toda, Consul in China, 1875–1882 Among those first diplomats that Spain sent to China, the figure of Eduard Toda i Güell stood out. Born in Reus in 1855, Toda had a very particular way of understanding his profession and seeing the places where he was to exercise it. Grandson of journalist and politician Josep Güell i Mercader, from an early age Toda displayed an interest in a literary career. He published a study on the Monastery of Poblet when he was only 15 years old.24 He also collaborated in the literary magazine El Eco del Centro de Lectura, in which he published several articles and poems between August of 1870 and October of 1871. From then on, he collaborated actively in the Catalan press. He studied Law in Madrid, and during those years he became close friends with Victor Balaguer, who would later be Minister of the Overseas Territories. In 1873, with Emilio Castelar’s support, Toda’s life as a career diplomat began with his appointment as attaché. His trajectory followed a relatively common path for a diplomat, from his belonging to an important Catalan family; to an interest in the humanities; a degree in Law; and good connections. However, with his attitude, his

22 David Martínez, “Más allá de los tratados desiguales: reciprocidad en el tratado sino-español de 1864,” in Pedro San Ginés, ed., Cruce de miradas, relaciones e intercambios (Granada: CEIAP Editorial Universidad de Granada, 2010, 3), 487– 505. 23 Martínez, La participación española, 71–74. 24 Eduard Toda, Poblet. Datos y apuntes, 1870. Eduard Toda, Poblet, descripción históric (Reus: Impremta Tosquellas i Zamora, 1870).

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curiosity, and his actions, Eduard Toda would soon deviate from the trodden path.25 In 1875, Toda was sent as vice-consul to Macao; in December of 1976, he was at Hong Kong, also as vice-consul. He would hold this same appointment in Canton (from April 1878) and Shanghai (October 1880).26 He spent a total of eight years in China, and during his time as a diplomat, he gathered valuable samples of Chinese ceramics. He also assembled a very valuable numismatic collection, about which he published the study Annam and Its Minor Currency (1882). Housed today at the National Archaeological Museum in Madrid, the collection includes coins from several Asian countries, such as the extinct kingdoms of Siam (Thailand) and Khmer (Cambodia); a very complete sample of Chinese currency; Philippine coins; and coins from the Dutch and English East India Companies, etc.27 The diplomat’s interest in Chinese history and society was best expressed in various manuscripts that described the country, its peoples, and their customs, which he gathered in two volumes entitled Manuscrits. Extrem Orient [Manuscripts. The Far East] and Manuscrits. Xina-General [Manuscripts. China-General]. Each manuscript was formed of a multitude 25

Eduard Toda i Güell, Biografia. Publicacions. Textos (Escornalbou: Associació Cultural d’Escornalbou, 2005). Eufemià Fort i Cogul, Eduard Toda, tal com l'he conegut (Barcelona: Abadia de Monserrat, 1975). J.M. Fradera et al. Catalunya i Ultramar. Poder i negoci a les colònies espanyoles (1750–1914) (Barcelona: Consorci de les Drassanes de Barcelona i Àmbit Serveis Editorials, 1995). Gener Gonzalvo i Bou, “El diplomatic, mecenes i escriptor Eduard Toda i Guell,” Revista de Catalunya 202 (2005): 3–9. Jaume Massó Carballido, Dietari de Viatges de Eduard Toda i Güell, 1876–1891 (Reus: Institut Municipal de Museus de Reus, 2008). Lluís Riudor, “Eduard Toda, viatger, egiptòleg i protector del patrimoni històric,” in Una mirada catalana a l’Àfrica: viatgers i viatgeres dels segles XIX i XX (1859–1936) (Lleida: Pagès Editors, 2008). Jaume Massó Carballido, Eduard Toda i Güell: de Reus a Sardenya (passant per Xina i Egipte, 1885–1887) (Dolianova, Cerdeña: Grafica del Parteolla, 2010). Jordina Gort Oliver, Eduard Toda i Güell. La passió per la cultura (Reus: Associació d’Estudis Reusencs, 2015). 26 His annual salary was 3,000 pesetas, plus 4,500 more for representation costs. This information, as well as the rest of his professional and biographical data, comes from his personal files, gathered by Toda into a three-volume text entitled Ma Carrera. 27 Eduard Toda, Annam and Its Minor Currency (Shanghai: Noronha and Sons, 1882). On the fate of this collection, from its first offer to the township of Barcelona until it was eventually placed at the Museo Arqueológico Nacional, see J.M. Fradera, “Ciència i negoci amb rerafons colonial al segle XIX catalá: set vinyetes i un epíleg,” L’Avenç 172 (1993): 54–56.

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Image 5.1: Eduard Toda, Spanish Consul in China, 1876–1882 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

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of note cards, the sort used by historians in their investigations, as well as quartos, drawings, photographs, outlines of Chinese characters, and illustrations of different types, all of which he carefully pasted onto larger sheets of paper that were then assembled together and bound in leather. His notes were based on the direct observation of circumstances and events; on oral accounts provided by knowledgeable witnesses or informants; and on classical and contemporary texts written by Chinese historians, foreign travelers, missionaries, etc. These include classical works by Chinese authors, such as the Annals of Spring and Autumn, written on bamboo strips, attributed to Confucius and constituting one of the oldest Chinese historical texts (written around 560 BC and found in AD 279, buried in the tomb of a king); or Memorable Historical Memories, written by Sse-ma Ts’ien, one of the first and most important Chinese chroniclers, which has been considered the first general history of China. He also consulted works on China well known in the West, such as the History of the Greatness and Wonderful Things of the Eastern Provinces, which narrates the famous trips of Marco Polo in Asian lands; The History of the Most Remarkable Things, Rites and Customs of the Great King of China, elaborated by the Augustinian Fray González de Mendoza in 1585 and considered one of the most remarkable essays on that empire; The Historical, Political and Moral Treaties of the Chinese Monarchy, written by the Dominican Fray Fernandez de Navarrete in 1676, which became one of the most extensive works on China written in the seventeenth century; The Chronicles on Missions in China and Other Southeast Asian Countries, written by Fray Domingo Martínez in 1753; and philosophical treatises written by the Augustinian G. de la Cruz in the sixteenth century. Toda also read other works written in the eighteenth century by Jesuit missionaries such as Description Geographique, Historique, Chronologique, Politique et Physique de l’Empire de la Chine et de la Tartarie Chinoise, published in 1735 by Fr. Jean Baptiste Du Holde; Histoire Chinoise of the Great Dynastie Tang, written by Fr. Antoine Gaubil, who was in Beijing from 1723 to 1759 and whose work was published in 1791; or Antiquité des Chinois, Mémoires concernat les Chinois, written by the Jesuit Kó in 1776. Toda also used other publications on more concrete subjects that interested him, such as the article “Remarks on the Philosophy of the Chinese,” published in 1842 in the Chinese Repertory, a magazine repeatedly consulted by Toda on multiple issues; “Topography of the Chinese Empire beyond the Provinces,” a paper of the same publication, which appeared in 1851, that he used to speak about Manchuria; Histoire et fabrication de porcelaine chinoise, a work translated from the Chinese by Hanislas Julien, in 1856; The Chinese Readers Manual. A Handbook of

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Biographical, Historical, Mythological and General Literary References, written in 1874 by William F. Mayers, and published by the missionaries of the Presbyterian mission in Shanghai; and numerous works on seamen of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, or on various countries of Asia, written by the French Admiral Jean Pierre de La Gravière. Similarly, for his writings on the Portuguese experience in Asia he used classic works on this subject written by Joao de Barros, called the Portuguese Tito Livius for having published the history of Portuguese discoveries in his Decades, a work continued later by Diego de Couto, an author who also appeared in the ample library reunited by Eduard Toda. Why did Toda write these manuscripts on China and the Far East? He was moved primarily by his curiosity and general love of learning, as well as a particular wish to know more about the places where he was destined, to get the keys that explained the workings of his host society. The manuscripts reflect, in the second place, the desire of an educated person to gather and order his papers, to conserve his travel logs and diaries, and to record his memories, drawings, photographs, and illustrations for posterity. Third, Toda was very likely gathering notes and material to write and publish studies on China. Fourth, let us not forget that these texts served as the basis for reports that, as a career diplomat, Toda presented to the Spanish government in order to keep it abreast of data and developments in China, and that were then used to elaborate better policies and more effectively defined objects. And finally, Toda used part of the contents of his manuscripts to write several books, such as Viatge a la Xina, 1876; Macao, records de viatge, 1883; La vida en el Celeste Imperio, 1887; and Historia de la China, 1893. 28

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Eduard Toda, La agricultura en Xina: notas sobre el cultiu de las terras y la producció del thé y algunas consideracions relativas a la mineria d’aquell país (Barcelona: La Renaixença, 1884). Eduard Toda, La vida en el Celeste imperio (Madrid: El Progreso Editorial, 1887). Eduard Toda, Historia de la China (Madrid: El Progreso Editorial, 1893). Eduard Toda, Viatge a la Xina (Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya, 1992) (Facsimile edition of the manuscript on “Dietario del viage de Eduardo Toda Güell a China y a Egipto” with Spanish transcription and a translation into Catalan. With an introduction written by Dolors Folch).

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Toda’s Manuscript on The Far East In the volume entitled The Far East, Toda analyzed a series of major themes and presented detailed territorial analyses.29 First, the manuscript provided important data on all of the Chinese empire’s tributary provinces. Toda described their frontiers and pinpointed their exact geographic location using coordinates. He listed each province’s major city and provided their most relevant data; recorded their natural resources; and estimated their total population, while also identifying particular ethnic groups, along with their customs, religion, and other distinguishing traits. Reading between the lines reveals that Toda’s main guiding themes were Chinese and provincial relations of vassalage, the development of trade, and the payment of tribute.30 The manuscript revealed the author’s particular interest in the relationship between the imperial government of China and the diverse territories under its area of influence. Toda analyzed the degree of each territory’s dependence, the form and composition of its government, the participation of different types of public officials and other groups in its administrative organs, and the influence that ethnic origin had on the performance of certain responsibilities and duties. His study revealed that provincial administrations were dominated by the military sector; the hard and restrictive process followed to select the governing elites; and the serious conflicts of coexistence between different groups in the population. He also addressed the rebellions that took place against the Chinese government, the constant dynamic between dominance, tribute, and resistance. Toda described the tributes that each territory paid China, and the amount and type of taxes collected, specifying whether these were in kind or in coin, as well as who paid them, and what services were provided for by the taxes demanded. He also addressed each territory’s internal trade, from the products that were exchanged, to the ways in which transactions were carried out, and which marketplaces or squares served also as communications nodes. Finally, the diplomat was also interested in other matters, such as myths and historical figures with special national 29

This paper’s thematic arrangement should not fool readers into thinking that Toda’s manuscripts were highly organized by subject, date, etc. Nothing could be further from the truth: Toda’s reflections and observations respond to no particular order, as he often went back and forth on the same subject, so that the only order stems from the title given to each set of quartos or notes that he attached together. 30 Eduard Toda, “Manuscrits. Extrem Orient.” Pages are not numbered. Only the little notes on each subject have correlative numbers that begin and end in each theme.

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significance, and the history of the Tartars and the Mongols and their conquests of vast swaths of land from Siberia to Asia Minor. In all his writings, Toda was meticulous about determining the origin, denotation, and different meanings of the names of regions, cities, ethnic groups, and persons, as well as about providing a correct graphic representation of these names using Chinese characters, which he drew with great care and elegance, making his manuscripts particularly beautiful.31

Image 5.2: “Mon barco a la entrada de Suchao,” 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

A second major theme in his manuscript on the Far East was the Portuguese presence in Asia. Toda analyzed the process of Portuguese expansion; the establishment of their communication routes and networks in the region; the succession of different peoples in the commercial race, and the rivalries centered on these routes and markets; the trade between Portugal and Asia; and the proclamation of Philip II as king of the Portuguese colonies in the Asian continent. Toda thus began this study with an expansive—albeit not detailed—list of the Portuguese expeditions in Asia undertaken from the early fifteenth century to the mid-sixteenth century. He included the dates and places that were explored, as well as the main protagonists of each expedition, classifying them into specific periods.

31

Eduard Toda, “Manuscrits. Extrem Orient,” 1–101.

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According to Toda, the first period of Portuguese expansion, during the fifteenth century, was circumscribed to Atlantic Africa and later the Indian Ocean—with the watershed crossing of the Cape of Good Hope—and centered around the African slave trade, a topic he faithfully reflected. A second period, which revolved around the Arabian and Indian peninsulas, peaked in the early years of the sixteenth century, and centered around the struggles against Muslim states for the control of trade and communication routes. The third and final period identified by Toda began in 1514, and was focused on Japan and China, the brightest stars in the new world that opened up before the Portuguese when they encountered India, China, and the Indonesian islands. He showed a special interest in the Portuguese settlement of Macao, writing about its significance as the base around which all Portuguese activity centered, and its character as a place of encounter and exchange between foreigners and Chinese citizens.32 The diplomat also wrote somewhat extensively on the slow and difficult penetration from this coastal city to China’s interior; the different embassies sent to Beijing; and the tensions between the Chinese and Portuguese residents and traders in the 1520s caused by the latter’s attempts to monopolize trade in Canton, as well as their abductions of young Chinese workers in what constituted a new form of slavery.33 Portuguese expansion in Japan was also analyzed, as Toda described the early establishment of trade between the two countries, and the first efforts of evangelization carried out by the Franciscans in that archipelago.34 The diplomat identified the fundamental reason of the Portuguese for expansion: the twofold desire to open a new route to the Orient that would end the Arabs’ control of communications, and to secure their maritime and commercial dominion in the areas into which they expanded. It was with this end in mind that the Portuguese Crown encouraged the development of the arts of navigation. They finally achieved their goals by becoming the intermediaries of trade between Asia and Europe through their maritime expertise, eliminating the need for Arab mediation. Toda described the rosary of trading posts established by the Portuguese, at first 32

Eduard Toda, “Manuscrits. Extrem Orient,” 107–150, 168–170, and 180–198. Albert Kammerer, La découverte de la Chine par les portugais au XVIeme siècle et la cartographie des portulans (Leiden: Brill, 1944). Rui Manuel Loureiro, Fidalgos, Missionários e Mandarins: Portugal e a China no Século XVI (Lisboa: Fundação Oriente, 2000). George Bryan Souza, Portuguese, Dutch and Chinese in Maritime Asia, c. 1585–1800: Merchants, Commodities and Commerce (Farnham, Surrey/Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2014). Rafael Valladares, Castilla y Portugal en Asia (1580–1680) (Louvain: Leuven University Press, 2001). 34 Eduard Toda, “Manuscrits. Extrem Orient,” 102–106 and 215–217. 33

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welcomed by the local chiefs, underlining that they were not used to conquer new territories, but to consolidate their control of communication routes and encourage trade. In time, interests from rival powers and local resistance to the Portuguese presence led to the militarization and fortification of these trading posts, and eventually a colonial society and administration grew around these strongholds, with members of the Church present only in some of them, and only some of the time. At the core of this analysis, one can see Toda’s admiration for and perhaps encouragement of a model of colonization that differed greatly from that of the Spanish, as a more flexible system controlled by a small group of officers, a reduced number of soldiers, and an active cadre of merchants.35 He also analyzed the character of other colonial models, especially the Dutch and the British, emphasizing their mercantilist character and their efficient organization via profit-seeking companies that were capable of financing colonizing activities. Toda wrote extensively on Portuguese trade in Asia, identifying the major trading hubs; the means that they had at their disposal to develop commerce; the objects that they sought; etc. He listed the major products of exchange, explaining that in India, Java, and the Molucca Islands the Portuguese purchased spices, ginger, and pepper. In Malacca they bought clove from the Moluccas, nutmeg from Band, sandal from Timor, camphor from Borneo, gold and silver from Loo-Choo and Sumatra, and other aromatic products and various objects from China, Java, and Siam. They also brought goods from the Far Orient to the ports of Calcutta, Cambodia, Ormuz, and Aden, where they traded them for rubies and sealing wax from Pegu; textiles from Bengal; diamonds from Noringa; cinnamon and pearls from Ceylon; and pepper and ginger from Malabar. Toda also wrote about 35

The Portuguese established forts of this sort in Kilwa (Santiago) on the East African coast, in Angediva (Santa Cristina) on the western Indian coast, and in Cannanore (San Angelo) on the Malabar coast, all of them in 1505 alone. In 1506 they erected the forts on Socotra (Santo Tomé), an island at the entrance of the Red Sea; in Ormuz (Ntra. Sra. de la Victoria), which controlled the Persian Gulf; and on the island of Cochim (Santa Cruz), which became their headquarters on the Malabar coast before the conquest of Goa. On the Chinese coast, they created small commercial fortresses in Tamao (Tunmen) and Canton between 1513 and 1521; conflictive bases along the coast of Zhejiang and Fujian between 1527 and 1549; and temporary posts in the estuary of Xinjiang between 1550 and 1555. Their presence in China was finally consolidated with the position they gained in Macao in 1557. Stephent T. Chang, “The changing Patterns of Portuguese Outpost along the Coast of China in the 16th Century: A Socio-ecological Perspective", in Jorge M. Dos Santos, ed., Portugal e a China (Lisboa: Fundaçao Oriente, 2000), 15–34.

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other traded goods, which were less publicized for obvious reasons, but which played a fundamental role in the development of commercial transactions: apothecary drugs, opium, and slaves from both Africa and Asia. He spoke, for instance, of the sale of abducted Chinese youth as slaves; of betel quid, areca nuts, sarsaparilla, aloe, and musk, used as drugs, and obtained outside India (in the Molucca Islands and Beijing), as well as the opium bought in Hong Kong.

Image 5.3: “Pont de Wong-du”, 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

In his manuscript on the Far East, Toda also addressed the history and dynamics of the race to dominate commerce and the routes to the East. In this context, he described how rival peoples or states succeeded each other in the process: Arabs and Turks, Venetians, Genoese, and Catalans, Portuguese and Spaniards, Dutchmen and British, replaced each other in different stages as the leaders of trade and navigation in the Asiatic seas, each taking advantage of the knowledge and empirical practice of the navigators that had preceded them. As a case in point, Toda pointed out that Portuguese traders hired Arab, Malay, and Chinese pilots for certain journeys in order to find the best routes to Ormuz, Calicut, or Malacca. Before long, the Portuguese were able to displace these groups as the most capable maritime traders in the region. Toda also looked at the rivalries and alliances between different peoples and states and their roles in the process of alternation of trade route dominance. Toda showed, for instance, how Italians and Catalans helped Muslim traders in the Mediterranean vis-

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à-vis their Portuguese and Spanish rivals. Our author also included religion, or religious institutions and differences, as significant factors in the rivalries and conflicts between the powers that sought to dominate Asian trading routes. On the one hand, there were religions that presented themselves as absolute rivals, such as Islam and Christianity. For Christians, says Toda, the object in Asia was to stop the Indian Ocean from being a “Muslim” lake. On the other hand, papal intervention created tensions when it legitimated the colonial aspirations of some European states to the detriment of others. Finally, Toda also argued that trading conflicts, especially the monopolist pretenses of each Western power over specific Asian ports, were particularly important in the colonial rivalry between the Portuguese, the Spanish, and the Dutch. He thus attributed the tension between the Portuguese and the Spanish in Macao to both powers’ desire to penetrate China.36

An Orientalist Gaze on China The second manuscript produced by Eduard Toda during his stay in China was Manuscrits. Xina-General. As its title implies, it covers topics as varied as the history of China, its form of government, its concept of monarchy and succession, the roles and offices of ministers, the role of women and eunuchs in the court, etc. Toda wrote about the existence of rebellions and secret societies across China at a time of internal revolts that expressed the discontent of certain sectors of Chinese society with the presence and power of foreign powers in the country. He then tackled the Chinese economy, its trade, currency, and mercantile legislation, the world of tea and other agricultural products; he addressed the foreign presence in the country and the situation in several of the open ports. He analyzed Chinese mercantile law in order to understand the mechanisms of a sector that was the key to Spanish interests. He also studied English trade in China, elaborating tables on their exports and imports, and showing how the British had introduced opium in order to tip the balance of trade in their favor. The small size of the Chinese mining industry and the country’s limited use of minerals were particularly surprising to him, for China had absorbed enormous amounts of American silver for years through the Manila Galleon as the major element of its currency. Clearly,

36

Eduard Toda, “Manuscrits. Extrem Orient,” 154–167, 175–178.

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these topics were useful to the mission that he had been given, which included the encouragement of trade between Spain and China.37 Trying to understand the evolution of the country, its peoples, and its culture, Toda also wrote some notes under the heading “Excursions in China. Customs and Politics of the Celestial Empire” in which he dealt with the provinces’ geography, frontiers, and population, as well as family and everyday life, reflecting on those things that caught his attention. He thus spoke of the physiognomy of the Chinese; the men’s use of ponytails; the women’s small feet, dress, and adornments; the organization and decoration of Chinese homes; the food that was eaten; everyday customs; etc. In another chapter, he looked at city life, describing their lighting systems, waterworks, and municipal services of all kinds, while also reflecting on the kinds of people that filled the streets, what the stores looked like and how they operated, and the urban sources of public entertainment (teahouses, banquets, theaters…). He addressed divorce in China, explaining the reasons for which a husband could legally repudiate—and therefore divorce—his wife: if she committed adultery, disobeyed his parents, was dishonest, was sterile, was a gossip and a blabbermouth, was inclined to steal, was jealous, or had an incurable disease. A wife could successfully oppose her husband’s repudiation if she had no relatives that could take her in, or if she completed three years of mourning for each of her husband’s deceased parents. Toda was also quite interested in Chinese mythology and beliefs, especially regarding the creation of the universe and certain mythological events. Toda detailed the main Chinese idols, and specified which were associated with which professions. He gathered several Chinese sayings that revealed important aspects of the Chinese mentality regarding hardship, virtue, happiness, etc. Thus, he identified five fundamental Chinese virtues: philanthropy, justice, education, prudence, and sincerity; five elements that the Chinese associated with happiness: a long life, wealth, peace, virtue, and a good death; and three pitfalls faced by all: during youth, criminal pleasures, during adulthood, conflicts and fights, and in old age, avarice. He also revealed that the Chinese spoke of five cardinal points: north, midday, east, west, and center, a concept so important that it had given the empire its name, the empire at the center, distant from the periphery where the Europeans located China. The diplomat also listed all of the Catholic and Protestant missions present in China in 1869, a list that certainly interested the Spanish 37

Eduard Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 1–106. This manuscript has no correlative pagination. The numbers of the pages are provided by the author of this chapter.

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government, which was still quite committed to the evangelization process carried out overseas by missionary orders. Toda highlighted that many Catholic missions were led by what he called, “indigenous” men of the cloth, that is, Chinese friars, a situation that was radically different from that of the Philippines.38

Image 5.4: “Dificultat para entrar en Kwang-shan,” 1881 Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

Chinese writing and the Chinese language were also of interest to our author. He tried to understand Chinese ideograms and, as stated earlier, he reproduced a few Chinese characters and collected various samples of texts written in Chinese in his notebooks.39 He also included remembrances of his time in Guangzhou, drawing and photographs of his manservant with his family; of a Chinese magistrate who was his friend; of another friend from his time in Shanghai; of Captain Montilla, dressed in Chinese garb; and of his translator, Eduard Marqués, who belonged to the innovative cadre of “jóvenes de lenguas” that assisted the diplomatic body. This figure had been created to avoid depending on missionaries or foreigners, both of whom could have their own interests, and they were recruited from among Spaniards who for some reason had lived in the country in question and could speak its language. They often ended up occupying middling positions in the diplomatic pyramid. In China, their 38 39

Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 80–97. Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 17–29.

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task was not easy, for they had to master the official language spoken by imperial officers, but also the local dialects spoken in consular cities, and also because, with the exception of the Macao consulate, there was no specific allocation in the budget to pay for their labor, which meant that they were not always paid promptly or fully.40 The manuscript reflected both the topics that aroused Toda’s interest and curiosity, whether they were transcendent or mundane, and those that were important to the development of his diplomatic mission. He generated knowledge, without a doubt, but one must recall that his notes were written from the Orientalist perspective of a nineteenth-century Western mentality, which was more critical of certain elements of family and cultural life than of the government or other institutions, for instance: relations between Chinese husbands and wives; the acceptance of concubinage; or the status and roles of Chinese women more generally. He did not try to understand Chinese religious rituals or spirituality, dismissing it all as mythology, superstition, idol worship. He criticized the general lack of hygiene, the streets’ dirtiness, the supposed immovability of the Chinese—a recurrent stereotype among nineteenth-century Westerners. His was a foreign, and often perplexed, gaze. At the beginning of one his works, he states, “I am going to describe what I know about life in China, just as it has offered itself to my observation during a long residence in nearly all of its commercial ports, assisted by frequent voyages to the country’s interior.” 41 And later, “I have wanted, first and foremost, to be exact, to narrate things as I have seen them, with little regard to the possibility that this could compromise the future of my career. I have paid tribute to the truth, when I described the inhabitants of the Celestial Empire, without any racial passion, without malevolence, which is alien to my character, without hatreds that no reason could justify.”42 We must therefore understand his comments—his descriptions, his reflections, his judgments—in the context in which he wrote them, as a nineteenth-century Westerner who had the opportunity to live in China for eight years, and who wanted to write down what he saw to enlighten his (Western) contemporaries.

40 Martínez, La participación español, 67–69. José de Aguilar, El intérprete chino: colección de frases sencillas analizadas para aprender el idioma oficial de China arregladas al castellano (Madrid: Imprenta de Manuel Anoz, 1861). 41 Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 1. 42 Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 193.

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Toda’s Travels through China As a diplomat, Toda made several voyages that took him beyond the port cities where he resided, and he wrote about these trips—which included an excursion to Emuy, in 1880,43 and, in 1881, a brief expedition from Shanghai to the so-called “land of lakes” through the Great Imperial Canal, a 1200-km waterway built during the Mongol dynasty to provide the frail Chinese boats loaded with the rice tribute with an alternative means to reach the north that kept them safe from the tempestuous waves of the northern coasts.44 The purpose of the trip was to see the canal and the landscapes that surrounded it, as well as to hunt for pheasants. Several days after the trip had begun, Toda declared enthusiastically that he had seen one of China’s most beautiful districts. Toda was accompanied by the Count of Carfort, a French Army lieutenant who made several illustrations of the expedition. Six sailors, a cook, and a servant completed the expedition’s crew. They were aboard a single-cabin sailboat that could also be moved by oars as well as by a towrope where the canal was too narrow. The cabin had two sofas that served as the two gentlemen’s beds during the night. On November 7th, the group left Shanghai up the Suzhou river. On the 8th they arrived at Tsungmu, a village in the lake region, where they saw a magnificent, Persian-style pointed-arch stone bridge. They visited various sanctuaries, where they were warmly received by Buddhist monks who gave them tea and showed them the most significant monuments, tokens of the splendor of bygone dynasties. The monks told them of the devastating effects of the Taiping rebellion as it swept through the area, leaving no stone unturned.45

43

Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 131. Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 132–138. 45 Yu-wen Jen, The Taiping Revolutionary Movement (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1973). Franz Michael, The Taiping Rebellion (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1976). Fei-ling Davis, Primitive Revolutionaries of China. A Study of Secret Societies of the Late Nineteenth Century (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1977). Prescott Clarke and Js. Gregory, eds., Western Reports on the Taiping: A Selection of Documents (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1982). Jack Gray, Revolutions and Rebellions: China from 1800s to 1980s (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990). 44

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Image 5.5: “Tombas Ming” Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

Toda also took notes of his voyage to Nanking, a region forbidden to Europeans without a special permit from the Chinese authorities.46 Perhaps this is why he carried out this trip aboard a Spanish warship, the Gravina, “a national warship that carried our flag in those faraway regions” in order to make the Spanish presence known. The diplomat wrote about the silence, solitude, and destruction that was still evident in those places where the Taiping had marched. He described the ruins of the imperial palace, officially destroyed when the court moved to Beijing in the fifteenth century, so as to avoid the profanation of spaces conceived for the emperor. And during the devastating civil war, what was left of it was destroyed yet again. He admired the Ming tombs, which he compared to the Egyptian pyramids, adding that “from the outskirts of Nanking, the way that led to the royal pantheon was marked by two rows of monoliths representing diverse quadrupeds and contemporary warriors.” Toda explained that “in their desire to protect their mortal remains from any kind of profanation, the sovereigns of the past Ming dynasty thought of 46

Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 139–145.

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nothing better than to build a mountain with a circumference of more than three leagues, inside of which their bodies would be deposited. It is a brutal work, representing the enormous human effort that it took to move those masses of earth, and art had no influence in the construction of this pantheon, next to which the Egyptian pyramids are small.” He concluded by saying that “Chinese monarchs were buried inside, not in mortuary chambers or underground galleries, but concealed, hidden in the earth, so that grave robbers could never find their bodies and steal their jewels and clothes. It is likely that they succeeded in their object, for although the regal necropolis is abandoned, and it has been opened many times, there is no memory in the country of the body of a single emperor having been found.” 47

Image 5.6: “Barca del Virrey Tso, Nankin” Source: Eduard Toda, Manucrits. Xina-General

Since this was an official trip, the Spanish ship received a visit from the region’s Chinese viceroy, which was meticulously recorded by Toda, including an illustration of the boat used by the officer to reach the 47

Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 146–148.

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Gravina, and a description of the food that he presented them with, including shark fin, swallows’ nests, and up to 40 different dishes, for as he later explained, “proper banquets must have at least 40 to 60 different delicacies, and they last three to four hours. They have been the greatest torment that I have endured in China.” 48 Anyway, the visit was interpreted as a deference to a country as distant and little known as Spain was at that time. Finally, Toda’s manuscripts included interesting data on his personal and professional belongings—for instance, a catalog of his Shanghai library, in which we find books on law and public finances, manuals on diplomacy, and some novels and history books; and a detailed account of his luggage upon his return to Spain. This included a valuable collection of 115 decorative plates of various sizes, which had adorned his dining room in China; 34 Chinese and Japanese paintings on canvas, paper, and silk; more than 70 hand fans, which he said had decorated his bedrooms for three of his six years in the country; and a curious collection of Asian shoes of diverse origins and appearance.49

Eduard Toda’s Post-Chinese Destinations In 1882, after a long stay in China, Toda left the country on medical leave.50 Two years later, in March of 1884, he was sent to El Cairo, again as vice-consul. In that new destination, he supplemented his diplomatic duties with archaeological activity by participating in excavations in Thebes and publishing a study on Sennedjem’s tomb.51 He also acquired 48

Toda, “Manucrits. Xina-General,” 27. Mónica Ginés, El coleccionismo entre Cataluña y China, 1876–1895, doctoral thesis (Barcelona: Universidad de Barcelona, 2013). 50 Toda, “Ma Carrera.” 51 A replica of which was included in the first educational Egyptian-themed park, inaugurated in December 2001 in Palau-solità i Plegamans with the collaboration of Fundación Clos (promoters of the Egyptian Museum in Barcelona) and several other institutions. It is interesting that a team of Spanish archaeologists from the CSIC, led by José Manuel Galán, is today continuing the investigations of the burial site studied by Toda. Eduard Toda, “Un campamento en Memphis,” Boletín de la Sociedad Geográfica de Madrid XI, 21 (1886): 375–382. Eduard Toda, Son Notém en Tebas. Inventario y textos de un sepulcro egipcio de la XX Dinastía (Madrid: Establecimiento Tipográfico de Fortanet, 1887). Eduard Toda, La muerte en el antiguo Egipto (Madrid: Tipografía de Manuel Ginés Hernández, 1887). Eduard Toda, “Conferència sobre viatges per Egipte y Nubia,” Butlletí de l’Associació Catalana d’Excursions Científiques (1887): 570–576 and 587–590. Eduard Toda, A través del Egipto (Madrid: El Progreso Editorial, 1889). Eduard 49

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an important collection of objects, part of which is housed in the National Archaeological Museum in Madrid, and part of which is exhibited in the Victor Balaguer Museum in Vilanova i la Geltrú. During his time in Egypt, he also collected as many writings as he could by the mythical Ali Bey el Abassi, who traveled through North Africa during the early nineteenth century, and whose texts Toda donated to Barcelona’s Municipal Institute of History, which houses an important collection of nineteenth-century travel books. In April of 1887, Toda was named vice-consul to Cagliari, Sardinia, where he became interested in the history of the city of Alghero and encouraged studies on the relationship between the island and the Crown of Aragon, as well as Catalan culture in Sardinia. In this destination, Toda collected a large number of historical Sardinian parliamentary acts, which he later donated to the National Congress at Madrid, and obtained material and inspiration for publications in this new field, including Un poble català d'Itàlia: l'Alguer, 1888; Records catalans de Sardenya, 1903; and La premsa catalana a Sardenya, 1903.52 From 1889 to 1898, Toda’s diplomatic career took a new turn: he went from being a curious diplomat fascinated by foreign worlds, to being an expert in international trade, charged with negotiating many of the treaties that Spain signed with the European powers during the 1890s, a period characterized by protectionism. After that, he was Spain’s general consul in London, Paris, and Hamburg. In July of 1901, Toda retired from the diplomatic service and moved to London, where he worked as a businessman. He did not return to Catalonia until the end of 1918, after amassing a considerable fortune. Settling in the old monastery of Escornalbou, which he had purchased in 1911, Toda proceeded to restore it, turning it into a stately home and the nucleus of his activities. He established a library of nearly 60,000 books, and he invested in the betterment of the neighboring towns and landscape. He spent the last years of his life restoring the Monastery of Poblet, where he died in 1941.53 Toda, L’antic Egipte. Documentació Manuscrita. Estudi i edició per Trinidad Montero. Pròleg i supervisió per Josep Padró (Sabadell: Editorial Ausa, 1991). 52 Eduard Toda, La poesía Catalana á Sardenya (Barcelona: La Il·lustració Catalana, 1887). Eduard Toda, L’Alguer, un poble català d’Itàlia (Barcelona: La Renaixença, 1888). Eduard Toda, Recorts catalans de Sardenya (Barcelona: La Il·lustració Catalana, 1893). 53 This second part of his diplomatic career is studied in María Dolores Elizalde and Josep M. Fradera, “Los portugueses en Asia en la óptica del diplomático Eduard Toda,” in Traspasando fronteras: el reto de Asia y el Pacífico (Valladolid: AEEP-Universidad de Valladolid, 2004), 245–260.

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In the Wake of Other Nineteenth-Century Orientalists As one looks over Eduard Toda’s life, especially his years as a diplomat in China, Egypt, and Sardinia, his curiosity and his desire for learning stand out immediately, as does his particular way of understanding and executing his profession, generating knowledge in every post that he occupied, and participating fully in the society where he lived. For it are not the facts of his life, interesting as they are, that make Eduard Toda a fascinating character, but his personality, his attitude towards life. He was a man of his time, curious about all that he saw and experienced. As a diplomat, he was an able negotiator, prudent and self-possessed, who operated from the sidelines, albeit not as a passive observer. As a writer, he was honest and direct, without fictionalizing what he saw. Wherever his career took him, he partook in the society and the culture of the country and became interested in learning and sharing its history. That interest was channeled first through a collector’s spirit, in the formation of a valuable collection of Asian coins and ceramics during his time in China; a smaller but important collection of Egyptian objects gathered in archaeological expeditions that he himself promoted as consul in Cairo; and a collection of Sardinian parliamentary documents. It was channeled second through the writing and publication of texts on the various places to which he was posted. At home, retired from the busy life of a diplomat and a businessman, Toda’s intellectual and historical curiosity found new channels of activity, in the slow construction of an impressive library; in the reconstruction of emblematic monuments of Catalan culture; and in the improvement of his surroundings, including the conditions of the towns where he lived. His peculiar way of interacting with the world was not an exception in the time and place in which he lived. He trod, in fact, the same path that other nineteenth-century diplomats, travelers, adventurers, and traders from Europe and America followed, avid for knowledge and experiences, fascinated by the foreign worlds beyond the sea. These men observed, studied, and analyzed what seemed exotic places, and often wrote interesting pieces on what they discovered, hoping to make them intelligible to their contemporaries. They drew maps and sketches, collected objects and artwork associated with foreign peoples, and brought them back to their countries of origin. Some of them ended up becoming “Orientalist” experts, transforming their interest in other cultures, other religions, other languages, and other ways of life, into their professional activity, directly serving Western states that were keenly interested in understanding those places in which they sought to exert more control

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and/or increase their own trade and industry. Spain produced an entire Orientalist saga, with Domènec Badia, known as Ali Bey,54 and Sinibaldo de Mas55 among the most renowned, but also lesser known figures that included such diplomats as Enrique Otal y Ric, Luis Valera y Dalavat, and Bernardo Cologán,56 and such travelers as Adolfo Mentaberry and Raimundo Lozano y Megia.57 54

Domènec Badia i Leiblich, known by his pseudonym Ali Bey el Abassi, was a passionate Orientalist who was able to tie together his own interests with those of the society of his time. His expeditions through Asia Minor were framed within Floridablanca’s desire to penetrate the markets controlled by the Turkish Empire. His trips to Morocco and his desire to cross Africa fit with Godoy’s interest in gaining more control in that continent, particularly certain areas of North Africa, Nigeria, and the Gulf of Guinea. Thus, he turned his adventuresome spirit and wanderlust into instruments of the Spanish state’s foreign and colonial policies, placing his curiosity and his desire to know more at the service of the state and expansionist private companies. Beneath his actions, therefore, lay large commercial interests, such as the control of routes, the encouragement of trade, the struggle for areas of influence, and the African slave trade. His travel books became indispensable sources in nineteenth-century Orientalist erudition, especially after Victor Balaguer and Catalan cultural circles recovered his figure and transformed him into the paradigm of the romantic adventurer. Ali Bei, Viajes por Marruecos (Madrid: Editora Nacional, 1984). Patricia Almarcegui, Alí Bey y los viajeros europeos a Oriente, (Barcelona: Edicions Bellaterra, 2007). J.M. Fradera, “Ciència i negoci amb rerafons colonial al segle XIX català (set vinyetes i un epíleg),” L’Avenç 172 (1993): 30–34, 51–57. J.M. Fradera, “La importància de tenir colònies. El marc històric de la participació catalana dins del complex espanyol d'ultramar,” in J.M. Fradera and J.A. Benach, eds., Catalunya i ultramar: poder i negoci a les colonies espanyoles, 1750–1914 (Barcelona: Consorci de les Drassanes de Barcelona, 1995), 21–52, cit: 32–33. 55 For his part, Sinibaldo de Mas’s initial career followed a similar trajectory to that of Badia, but his radius of action reached East Asia. In his analyses and expeditions, he also supported Spanish expansion, as we have seen in earlier pages. J.M. Fradera, “La importància de tenir colònies.” Antoni Homs y Guzmán, Sinibald de Mas (Barcelona: Gent Nostra, 1990). Nicolás Martín, “Un diplomático olvidado,” Revista de Occidente 178 (1975): 3–19. Alberto Gil Novales, “El orientalismo de Sinibaldo de Mas,” Trienio: Ilustración y Liberalismo” 47 (2006): 48–62. Ander Permanyer, “Sinibaldo de Mas, un observador español de la realidad china del siglo XIX,” in Pedro San Ginés, ed., Foro Español de Investigaciones sobre Asia-Pacífico (Granada: University of Granada, 2006), 323–340. 56 Miguel Luque Talaván, Imágenes del mundo. Enrique de Otal y Ric. Diplomático y viajero (Zaragoza: Departamento de Educación, Cultura y Deportes, 2009). Luis Valera y Delavat, Sombras Chinescas. Recuerdos de un viaje al Celeste Imperio (Madrid: Imprenta de Viuda e Hijos de Tello, 1902, 2 vols). Jorge Cólogan y González Massieu, “El papel de España en la revolución de los bóxers

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Eduard Toda knew the experience of his predecessors, and he followed in their footsteps as a careful observer, writer, and state representative. It is as a nineteenth-century Spanish diplomat that we must frame his professional experience and his “Orientalist” vocation, which fulfilled a particular role at a very particular moment, when Western countries were trying to penetrate the East, and through which he contributed to expanding Spanish activity in Asia beyond the Philippine islands.

de 1900,” Boletín de la Real Academia de la Historia CCV, no. III (2008): 493– 536. Carlos Cólogan Serrano, Bernardo Cólogan y los 55 días en Pekín (Canarias: Gobierno de Canarias, 2015). 57 Adolfo Mentaberry, Impresiones de un viaje a la China (Madrid: Establecimiento Tipográfico El Globo, 1876). Raimundo Lozano y Megia, Viage a China, con algunas observaciones útiles y provechosas para los que vayan a aquel imperio (Manila: 1879).

PART 3: INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

CHAPTER SIX EUROPE, CHINA AND THE FAMILY OF NATIONS: COMMERCIAL ENLIGHTENMENT IN THE SATTELZEIT (1780–1840) GUIDO ABBATTISTA

Introduction Scholarship has explored to a certain extent how the Western representation of China changed between the end of the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth centuries, until the eve of the Anglo-Chinese War of 1840–42. The period 1780–1840 has been identified as a meaningful chronological unit for understanding the changes that occurred in ideas, languages and culture in relation to major economic and political transformations in Europe. This may also apply to how European culture understood and interpreted the Chinese situation during a period of time when Sino-European (mostly British) relations changed in a dramatic way. The commercial and the missionary discourses have been pointed out as major expressions of such a change, in terms of the dismissal of the Jesuit admiration for Chinese civilization and in general of Enlightenment Sinophile attitudes, as well as the emergence of a predominant Sinophobic attitude among ever more aggressive Westerners, disappointed by the failure of successive efforts for a diplomatic entente with Qing China. This chapter, by analysing eighteenth-century literature on Asian commerce and early-nineteenth century British periodicals published in Canton and other mainly British publications on China and Chinese affairs, intends to put forward two points. It suggests, first, the need to go beyond a simple opposition between Sinophilia and Sinophobia and to grasp what is here described as a “prescriptive turn” in Western discourses (both mercantile and missionary) on China, which, drawing upon various forms of printed communication, offered interpretations of Chinese contemporary society

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and institutions clearly inclining toward an aggressive and interventionist policy. It is also suggested that the emergence of such an attitude, as expressed by both the mercantile and the missionary discourses, did not imply a complete departure from Enlightenment ideas, but rather it was the logical development of the commercial, Eurocentric, modernizing and hierarchical view of world history which characterized a fundamental trend of Enlightenment culture defined here as the “commercial Enlightenment.” From this standpoint, the idea of “useful knowledge” and the ideology of civil liberties, free trade and commerce provided the conceptual tools for a reform programme addressing the East India Company (EIC) and anciens régimes of Qing China, from a civilizational and modernizing perspective which united private merchants and Protestant missionaries, thus preparing the ideological ground for the so-called “First Opium War.”

“Commercial Enlightenment” and Late EighteenthCentury Representations of China This chapter1 deals with the changing images drafted, and the language used, by mostly British commentators on China and Chinese affairs during the decades between the third and definitive edition of Abbé Raynal’s Histoire des Deux Indes (1780)2 – that synthesis of late Enlightenment 1 The final version is highly indebted to several exchanges and discussions which occurred in seminars at the University of Trieste and Turin within the context of the research project (PRIN 2011) “The Liberty of Moderns. Long Enlightenment and Civilization (1750–1850): Commerce, Politics, Culture, Colonies,” Research Unit University of Trieste, “Commerce, Colonies, Civilization: Global Perspectives in a European ‘long-Enlightenment’ (France, Great Britain and Central Europe) from 1750 to 1850,” and especially during the session MT1 of the 22nd ICHS at Jinan (PRC) in August 2015, where particularly useful proved to be the comments by Kenneth Pomeranz, whom I wish to thank for his precious insight and extremely pertinent observations, which I have tried to consider carefully when revising this text. 2 In fact a fourth edition in twelve volumes followed in 1820–21, after Raynal had passed away in 1796, but no changes were made to the parts of the work with which I am concerned for the present purpose, and neither do Peuchet’s two supplementary volumes contain relevant additional materials. The fourth, posthumous edition was produced not under the supervision of Raynal but under that of the author and politician Antoine Jay (1770–1854, see Biographie universelle. Nouvelle édition, Paris, 1858, t. XX, 599–600) and the author and journalist Jacques Peuchet (1758–1830, see Biographie universelle, t. XXXII, 631–633), even if this was done by employing materials Raynal had prepared with a revised edition in view. In the present chapter I make reference to the critical

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thinking on commercial and colonial matters – and the eve of the first Anglo-Chinese War commonly known as the “First Opium War” (1839– 42).3 The span of time covered by this chapter can be described by the concept of Sattelzeit. This concept, introduced by Reinhardt Koselleck in 1972 as an instrument for qualifying historical time, was adapted by John Pocock for the better understanding of the “end of early modernity.” This expression designates the fundamental transformations that occurred in the decades between the late eighteenth and the early nineteenth centuries in all major aspects of the institutional, political, social, economic and cultural history of the Western world; and how these should be read, according to Pocock, not just in terms of transition or of continuity or discontinuity between old forces yielding to new ones, but “more likely [as a period] in which old patterns of discourse persist while new arise, both interacting vigorously to produce new discursive situations and perhaps an intensified sense of their historicity.”4 We have tried to resort to this concept to study not a historical totality positioned in an uniform, continuous chronology, but a particular thematic context (Gegenstandbereich, literally “subjects in context”) identified as a comprehensive universe of meanings and discursive strategies corresponding to a specific subdivision of Koselleck’s “multilayered

edition of the Histoire des Deux Indes, Comité editorial A. Strugnell, A. Brown, C.P. Courtney, G. Dulac, G. Goggi and H-J. Lüsebrink (Ferney: Centre International d’Étude sur le XVIIIe Siècle, 2010), tome I, sous la direction d’Anthony Strugnell. Textes établis par Peter Jimack, Guido Abbattista, Anthony Strugnell, Florence D’Souza et Muriel Brot (=HDI 2010), containing the critical edition of Books I–V, with introductions, critical commentaries, annotations, list of variants and bibliographies. 3 Our effort to focus on the issues discussed in this chapter is indebted to the work of Prof. Shunhong Zhang in British Views of China at a Special Time: 1790–1820 (Beijing: China Social Sciences Publishing House, 2011), which is the development of a doctoral dissertation entitled “British Views on China During the Time of the Embassies of Lord Macartney and Lord Amherst (1790–1820),” presented in 1990 at the University of London. I have also found some stimulating insights in Zhang Zhilian, “Unfinished Enlightenment: The Chinese Experience,” in Centre(s) et périphérie(s): Les lumières de Belfast à Beijing (Centre(s) and Margins: Enlightenment from Belfast to Beijing), ed. Marie-Christine Skuncke and Birgitta Berglund-Nilsson (Paris: Champion, 2003), 213–218. 4 J.G.A. Pocock, “Political Thought in the English-Speaking Atlantic, 1760–1790. II. Empire, Revolution and the End of Early Modernity,” in Varieties of British Political Thought, 1500–1800, ed. J.G.A. Pocock with the assistance of Gordon J. Schochet and Lois G. Schwoerer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 311.

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notion of temporality,”5 and in which continuities and discontinuities are strictly intertwined. Such context, in the present case, is provided by the relationship between eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century discursive representations of China under the impact of the transformations produced by the end of the Napoleonic wars; the hardly interrupted British expansionist and imperial impetus in India and in China; the dawn of the industrial revolution; and the gradual push toward liberal and modernizing reforms in Great Britain that culminated in the abolition of the slave trade and of slavery, Catholic emancipation, parliamentary reform, the suppression of the commercial privileges of the East India Company and, finally, the abolition of the Corn Laws. We intend to analyse the conceptual and discursive context represented by British representations of China between Lord Macartney’s embassy (1793–94) and the opium crisis in 1839–40. If we compare the unprecedented profusion of printed productions dealing with China and China affairs during these decades with the eighteenth-century publications of different sorts dedicated to China or where a particular representation of China played a central role, it is possible to appreciate how some elements of continuity and discontinuity helped create a new universe of meanings capable of expressing and explaining reasons, motives and actions. The synthetic concepts which we suggest as best describing this transformation are: (1) the “commercial Enlightenment,” indicating a set of notions derived from the idea of “doux commerce” – supported by authors like Montesquieu, Hume, Raynal, Smith, Condorcet and Benjamin Constant – and pointing to the civilizing effects of commercial intercourse, with its moral and social presuppositions, and its pacifying capacities concerning the relationships between nations and peoples of the world; (2) the “critique of the anciens régimes” (in the plural), whose features, residual (in the case of Britain) or constitutive (in the case of China), should be neutralized by the injection of a “rational” and “useful knowledge,” of Baconian, Lockean and Enlightenment matrix, including ideas of free trade, education, law, civil rights and liberties as constituting a world of opportunities for the individual members of society; (3) the turn from “descriptive,” or “mythicizing,” instrumental outlooks, as predominant during the middle decades of the eighteenth century, to a “prescriptive” intellectual and discursive attitude toward China, based on a normatively aggressive, Eurocentric idea of civilization deriving from a

5 H. Jordheim, “Against Periodization: Koselleck’s Theory of Multiple Temporalities,” History and Theory 51 (2012): 151–171.

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radicalization of Enlightenment principles on what constitutes progress, culture, prosperity and modernity. This “commercial Enlightenment” and its related concepts can be seen therefore as being the very core of a “long Enlightenment” and as the inspirational motive for a discursive representation of a globalized and hierarchized Eurocentric world also described, in its international dimension, by such formulas as the “great family of mankind” or the “family of nations,” defining a whole set of foundational political, legal, economic, religious and moral values which functioned, at Pocock’s “end of early modernity,” as a world-structuring cultural agency and as the incubator of a new “modern” era. This research, therefore, belongs to the field of the cultural history of ideas and representations and is based on the eighteenth- and earlynineteenth-century printed sources which contributed to interpretations, ideas and views, moulded public opinion, and spurred discussions not only in Great Britain and in the early-nineteenth-century Macao-Canton Western community, but also in those parts of Europe where these sources circulated through various channels. Of course, British authors of various backgrounds were not the only ones to discuss China at that time. Dutch, French and Russian writings also circulated and were translated in Europe. British experience, however, was undoubtedly the most relevant for involvement, engagement, continuity, multi-level commitment and intensity, and for the variety and quantity of its published output. A rich historical literature exists on Western views of China in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,6 but most of these works, even when they take into account the transformations that occurred over the two centuries, frequently tend to be mere reviews and records of how representations and opinions evolved from Enlightenment admiration and praise to the sort of disparagement that emerged at the end of the eighteenth century, drawing upon the contrast between Sinophilic and Sinophobic attitudes and sentiments and rarely, with some notable exceptions,7 pushing the research into the first decades of the nineteenth century. However, rather than a mere review, we think it necessary to stress some interpretative elements and fundamental assumptions of a 6 From the earliest studies by Henri Cordier (1910), A. Reichwein (1928), Geoffrey Hudson (1931) and Virgile Pinot (1932), to the more recent ones by Basil Guy (1963), Donald Lach (1965-), Raymond Dawson (1967), Henry A. Myers (1982–84), René Etiemble (1988–89), Jonathan Spence (1998), David E. Mungello (1999), Colin Mackerras (1989 and 2000), David Martin Jones (2001), Thomas Chan (2008), Shunhong Zhang (2011) and Georg Lehner (2011), to name but a few. 7 Zhang, British Views of China at a Special Time.

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range of authors, commentators and observers of China, which may contribute to a better understanding of both differences and affinities between eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European culture as far as attitudes toward China are concerned between Enlightenment and Liberal ages, as well as throwing into sharper relief some essential components of British political culture with reference to commercial and colonial expansion in the early nineteenth century. Our first observation is that in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries there were in Europe (and also by Western residents in China) plenty of publications and debates concerning Chinese affairs and matters, much more than in the middle decades of the Enlightenment age, when the Chinese myth reached its apex, especially in some sectors of the French, Parisian enlightened intelligentsia. But the nature and character of what was published in those crucial decades were fundamentally different from what the eighteenth-century public had had at its disposal, just as the peculiar experiences which generated those publications and the positions of their authors were quite different. A considerable number of writings sprang directly from diplomatic experiences. This was certainly not a new circumstance: suffice it to remember that the first important relationships with China, in the sixteenth century, were recorded by envoys, from Tomas Pires to Martin de Rada and Gonzalez de Mendoza, to Baykov and Jakob Nieuhoff.8 Let us just remember that in the twenty years between 8 Just for comparison, during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, before Macartney’s embassy, eleven Western diplomatic missions were dispatched to China over about 130 years: the Russian Baykov (1656), the Dutch De Goyer and De Keyser (1655–56, accompanied by an important account by the steward to the embassy, Johann Nieuhoff) and Hoorn (1666), the Portuguese Manoel de Saldanha (1667) and Pereira de Faria (1678) (after the first by Andrade and Tomé Pires in 1516), the Russians Fiodor Iskowitz Bashkoff (1654), Fiodor Alekseïevitch Golovin (1689, treaty of Nertchinsk), Isbrandt Ides (1696), Erasim Gregoriov Ismaeloff (with Laurent Lange) (1715–16) and Sava Lukich VladislavichRaguzinsky (Kiatchka, 1727), and the English Charles Cathcart (1787–88). See W.W. Rockhill, Diplomatic Audiences at the Court of China (London: Luzac, 1905). James B. Eames, The English in China: Being an Account of the Intercourse and Relations Between England and China from the Year 1600 to the Year 1843 and a Summary of Later Developments (London: Sir I. Pitman and sons, 1909). E.H. Pritchard, Anglo-Chinese Relations during the Seventeenth and the Eighteenth Century (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1929). E.H. Pritchard, The Crucial Years of Early Anglo-Chinese Relations, 1750–1800 (Pullman: Octagon Books, 1936). Gaston Cahen, Some Early Russo-Chinese Relations (Shanghai: The “National Review” Office, 1914). Alain Peyrefitte, L’empire immobile, ou le choc des mondes (Paris: Librairie Arthème Fayard, 1989).

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the early 1790s and the late 1810s, four Western embassies were carried out in succession: Lord Macartney’s, Isaac Titsingh’s (with LouisChrétien de Guignes, the son of the French academician and Sinologist Joseph, as interpreter), Yuri Golovkin’s (with Jan Potocki’s involvement) and Lord Amherst’s, none of which – as is well known – managed to achieve their goals. Each of these, moreover, prompted a considerable number of printed accounts by members with various roles in the diplomatic expeditions: eight in the case of Macartney, five in that of Amherst, and two in that of Titsingh.9 Some of these accounts enjoyed remarkable European circulation thanks to several translations, as in the cases of George L. Staunton, John Barrow and Louis-Chrétien de Guignes. Of course, important travel accounts of a non-official, diplomatic origin were also published during the eighteenth century. Among these, the most significant were, in chronological order, those by Laurent Lange, John Bell of Antermony, Commodore George Anson, Pierre Poivre, Pehr Osbeck and Pierre Sonnerat. Of the information coming directly from China, however, what influenced European opinion most was principally that of Jesuit origin. With its unprecedented display of erudition and its prominently encyclopedic character, it flooded learned Europe with translations of historical, philosophical, religious, geographical and historical works and commentaries. It provided the material for the most successful and most widely read eighteenth-century encyclopedic compilation on China by the Jesuit Jean-Baptiste Du Halde, which alone did the most to spread an idealized version of the Celestial Empire. Essentially, from these sources, European culture and in particular Enlightenment authors created a second-hand, highly idealized, overtly mythical representation of China and Chinese history, society, institutions, religion, customs and economy. As has been stressed many times, the purpose of this representation was much more to express criticism of European society and culture than to contribute to a real and realistic knowledge of China. There are some important exceptions, to which I will return shortly. The influence of the rising (especially French) Sinologist erudition in the middle decades of the eighteenth century, important though it may have been for its antagonistic role toward the Jesuits, was rather circumscribed to exclusive learned spheres.10 The daring nature of some of their interpretations and the virulent hostility these aroused 9 Zhang, British Views of China at a Special Time. 10 On this point I permit myself to refer the reader to my essay “‘Quand a commencé leur sagesse’? il Journal des Sçavans e il dibattito su antichità e civiltà della Cina (1754–1791),” Saggi in onore di Antonio Rotondò, ed. L. Simonutti (Firenze: Olschki, 2001, 3 vol.), vol. III, 975–1007.

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contributed to the relative, though certainly not unanimous, discrediting of French Sinologists such as Joseph de Guignes. It has been said that the first wave of information on China, between the mid-sixteenth and the mid-seventeenth centuries, mainly regarded the physical, natural, material, social and political characteristics of contemporary China, as observed by the first Western ambassadors, merchants and missionaries to see the country first-hand. The second, more learned wave, occurred from the mid-seventeenth to the end of the eighteenth centuries, and brought with it the discovery of Chinese civilization – its language, history, religion, philosophy, literature, astronomy, music, fine arts, institutions, society and economy. These discoveries lent powerful support to the arguments of Sinophile admirers, who were true myth-mongers: people like Voltaire and the Physiocrats11 who were anxious to fabricate a positive model of non-European, nonChristian civilized and prosperous society to contrast with Western societies, culture and political institutions. According to the prevalent, solidly supported interpretation, this second wave of information was responsible for the dominant, mainstream Enlightenment Sinophilia. It was, among other factors, the Jesuits’ suppression in the mid-1770s that was accompanied by a general shift toward opposite feelings and ideas concerning China, thus generating what is currently called “Sinophobia.” However, both Sinophilia and Sinophobia have clearly to do much more with Europe than with China and were much more determined by concerns regarding Europe than by those regarding China: in other words, they paradoxically left real China out of the picture. Therefore, to speak only in terms of Sinophilia and Sinophobia, especially in terms of two chronologically successive outlooks, risks missing a richer picture in which various, even opposing, attitudes always coexisted. During the eighteenth century, for instance, at the very heart of the French Enlightenment, the frank uncertainty and even scepticism on Chinese civilization expressed by authoritative authors like Montesquieu would later provide a source of inspiration to commentators like Benjamin Constant. At the same time, explicit critiques of the Jesuits’ accounts were formulated very early in the eighteenth century, especially in Protestant 11 It is not necessary to go back to Benjamin Constant, who first expressed himself clearly in this regard, criticizing the ideological enthusiasm for China of the philosophes and particularly Gaetano Filangieri (see Constant’s De la religion 1824–31, Commentaire sur Filangieri, 1822, Principes de politique, 1806–10). Etiemble is clear enough when he talks of the “légende chinoise” built by Francois Quesnay and of how the physiocrats’ “passion” and “culte” for China inspired an “économie anacronique” (Europe chinoise, II, 330–332).

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countries. And later in that century and early in the following one, the majority of commentators, especially in the English-speaking world and at all levels of printed communication and public opinion, declared outspokenly their intention to oppose and rebut the traditionally positive image forged and transmitted by the Jesuits and drawn upon by the French philosophes. But these two cultural categories, which clearly emphasize emotional and passionate attitudes deriving from ideological priorities, conceal the existence within Enlightenment culture of those who took positions of more serious concern inspired by either the will to understand the real China – China as it actually was and not as opposing parties wished to depict it for ideological reasons – or the desire to start moving the discourse on China from the level, at best, of description, or rather of myth, to another, radically different level, that we could call one of prescription. An example of the first attitude – aiming at a better understanding of and perhaps explaining aspects of Chinese reality in its own terms – is provided by authors such as Anne-Robert-Jacques Turgot and Adam Smith. Turgot’s Questions sur la Chine adressées à deux Chinois (1766) lists several noteworthy aspects of Chinese society, economy and legislation about which the future minister of France was craving more precise information than was available at the time to China worshippers like François Quesnay, the “Confucius de l’Europe,” and his friends the Physiocrats. Turgot hoped that Louis Ko and Etienne Yang,12 young Chinese converts brought to France by the Jesuits in 1760, could make the desired clarifications once back in China. He evidently believed such questions were of vital importance if one wanted to get a sound notion of Chinese society, economy and institutions as they actually were in contemporary times and not as seen only through the classical texts or untrustworthy travellers’ reports. But already in that same year Turgot went on to suggest an important theoretical reading of economic mechanisms that could provide a key for interpreting the state of the Chinese economy and society. In his Reflections sur la formation des richesses he noted that commerce could not develop where land was too equally distributed and agricultural workers could obtain from their labour the bare minimum they needed for their and their family’s subsistence. 12 Henri Cordier, “Les Chinois de Turgot,” in Florilegium, ou recueil de travaux d’érudition dédiés à Monsieur le Marquis Melchior de Vogüé (Paris: Imprimérie Nationale, 1910), 151–158, also in Mélanges d’histoire et de géographie orientale (Paris: Librairie des Cinq Parties du Monde, Jean Maisonneuve et Fils, 1920) book 2, 31–39. See also Jean-Paul Morel, “Bertin, Turgot et deux Chinois,” May 2014, available at www.pierre-poivre.fr/Bertin-Turgot-Chinois.pdf, accessed October 15, 2016.

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Although Turgot did not specifically apply these observations to the Chinese situation, Smith did. Smith reserved several comments for the Chinese economy. He was the first author to try to understand the reason for what he considered China’s inability to accumulate capital and to develop its economy. It was, in his view, not imbalance between population and resources that prevented any possible economic growth, since that could have been remedied by introducing greater division of labour and diverting growing resources toward foreign commerce. This was a strictly institutional problem regarding legislation and the political ability to promote individual interests and welfare. Thus Smith closely linked the problem of China as a “stationary” country to that of defective laws and an inadequate economic development policy. In sum, Adam Smith’s analysis shows that he considered China in the last decades of the eighteenth century to be a country with still an enormous economic potential deriving from its history, but one that had reached a critical point. Its “stationary” economic state seemed not to have anything to do with a supposed inability to develop arts and sciences, nor its traditionalism, language, writing system or philosophical culture. Its apparent divergence from Europe did not relate so much to a difference of national character with respect to a dynamic, enterprising and inventive West. Such a divergence was a matter of fact, for Smith, but he believed it could be overcome by the kind of policies and legislation which would stimulate the extraordinary economic potential of the country, inducing it to open itself to international relations and fully become one of the commercial powers of the earth. Smith’s thinking also envisaged a temporal dimension of the opposition between Europe and China, as he tended to assimilate contemporary China to early Medieval Europe. From this point of view, China appeared to him as a limited, restrained commercial society, where the potentialities of economic development and the more general improvement of laws and of natural justice were frustrated by wrong policies and inadequate institutions. It can be noted that variants of Smith’s Chinese stationary state, ideas of stationariness, immobility and the like long continued to describe China’s condition, as in the case of Condorcet (who wrote of Chinese “honteuse immobilité”), Volney (“sa civilisation avortée […] un peuple automate”), Benjamin Constant (a “pays stationnaire” in an “immobilité effrayante”), Hegel (“the immovable unity of China,” rooted in its Oriental, ahistorical peculiar essence), John Stuart Mill and Karl Marx, whose definition of China as “a living fossil” was not too different from Herder’s “embalmed mummy.” Even the day-to-day language of current

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commercial and political public debate was pervaded by what in the early nineteenth century had become a veritable stereotype, as in the words of a publicist we are going to meet later on, John Slade, who referred to the “stagnant pool of Chinese life [that] has poisoned all the springs of human conduct and passions.”13 While Smith’s intention was only a diagnostic one, with no practical idea on how to bring about China’s opening to foreign trade, this was precisely the main objective of Europe and particularly Britain in the decades between the end of the eighteenth century and the end of the 1830s. This is why it is particularly interesting to observe how European knowledge and opinions on China and Chinese matters evolved in that period, when European and mainly British opinion essentially freed itself from the bonds of the previous Enlightenment polemical discussions and tried to solve a very practical problem: how to induce China to enter the international market and open its territory to a freer commercial and diplomatic interaction with Western powers. While Smith had introduced the subject of China’s opening as a way to stimulate its stagnant economy, some more precise assertions on how the relations between Europe and China could improve were offered by the Histoire des Deux Indes. This is a key work, the largest eighteenth-century encyclopedic and “philosophical” compendium on the different forms of European expansion overseas. As is well documented,14 Denis Diderot’s contributions played a central role in shaping its content and ideology. This is particularly evident with reference to eighteenth-century discussions on China, on account of the significant parts Diderot added on China’s “detractors” and critics in the 1780 edition, that were literally appended to and complemented the pre-existing 1770 and 1774 chapters on China, in which the ideas of China’s enthusiasts had been presented, in accordance with the French Sinophilia prevailing during the preparation of the first and even the second edition of Raynal’s great work. The largely new Chapter 21 of Book 115 was clearly prompted by the acknowledgement 13 John Slade, Notices on the British Trade to the Port of Canton; with Some Translations of Chinese Official Papers (London: Smith, Elder, & Company, 1830), 43. 14 Denis Diderot, Pensées détachées: contributions à l’Histoire des deux, edizione a cura di Gianluigi Goggi, 2 vols. (Siena: Università di Siena, 1976). Michèle Duchet, Diderot et l’Histoire des deux Indes: ou, L’écriture fragmentaire (Paris: A.-G. Nizet, 1978). Gianluigi Goggi, Denis Diderot, Fragments politiques échappés du portefeuille d’un philosophe. Textes établis et présentés par Gianluigi Goggi (Paris: Hermann, 2011). 15 On the magnitude of Diderot’s addition, see vol. I of HDI 2010, 114–130.

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that between the second and the third editions of the Histoire the general climate of opinion in Europe and particularly in France had turned decidedly against the unreserved admiration that certain intellectual groups, notably the Physiocrats, had shown for China. Chapter 21 was added by Diderot to inform the reader about the existence of a current of thought that totally dismissed the Chinese myth, by deconstructing each single aspect of pro-China arguments. And under the guise of an impartial exposition it is not difficult to read in Diderot’s words what by that time had become a marked Sinophobic attitude. However important these two chapters may be, the Histoire’s discourse on China does not end there. Two more sections of Raynal’s masterpiece offer substantial interpretive clues about China, thus far barely remarked upon by interpreters. In Book 5, Chapter 24, “Commerce de la Chine avec les régions voisines,” and Chapter 32, “Que deviendra le commerce de l’Europe avec la Chine?,” are particularly relevant for, among other things, including once again some important additions by Diderot in 178016 in the form of doubtful questions concerning the future prospects of China’s commerce and relations with Europe: “Il n’est pas aisé de prévoir ce que deviendra ce commerce” and “Quels moyens pourroit-on employer contre un état dont la nature nous a séparés par un espace de huit mille lieues?” This passage opens by focusing on what Diderot considered a regrettable, selfprotective cultural attitude that even advanced civilizations may share with barbaric and even with savage societies, namely, contempt for external, alien cultures. This preliminary observation leads to a demonstration of how paradoxical a country China is: its paradox consists in its being a highly developed civilization which, however, is entrapped in its own arrogance and pride. Such an entrapment is the cause of its inability to be open to and benefit from outside learning and knowledge, and it ultimately brings about the end of progress in arts and sciences, thus condemning China to a mediocrity from which apparently only “un hazard,” the chance of history, can redeem it. On imagineroit sans peine que ce dédain d’un peuple pour les connoissances d’un autre peuple est un des principaux caractères de la barbarie, ou peut-être même de l’état sauvage. Cependant, il est aussi le vice d’une nation policée. Un sot orgueil lui persuade qu’elle sait tout, ou que la chose qu’elle ignore ne vaut pas la peine d’être apprise. Elle ne fait aucun progrès dans les sciences; & ses arts persistent dans une médiocrité dont ils ne se tireront que par un hasard que le tems peut amener ou ne pas amener.

16 On this, see HDI 2010, 542 and 564.

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Diderot reinforces this observation using an evocative metaphor seemingly from a still unidentified source:17 it might seem a little of an overstatement to identify the West as “light” and to imagine China as surrounded by that light, but this is how, in point of fact, Diderot describes the contemporary situation of the Chinese empire being more and more exposed to Western pressure. Even more interesting is Diderot’s continuing ambiguity with regard to an irresistible civilizational impulse, even if flawed by recognizable defects: Il en est alors d’une contrée comme d’un cloître; & c’est une image trèsjuste de la Chine que la lumière environne, sans pouvoir y percer: comme s’il n’y avoit aucun moyen d’en bannir l’ignorance, sans y laisser entrer la corruption.

It is worth noticing the paradox according to which this image of China’s being in need of enlightenment from outside is the same used by the most influential late-nineteenth-century Chinese reform-minded thinker, Liang Qichao (1873–1929). When describing the effect produced on his own mind by the encounter with Western ideas (albeit through Japanese mediation) in 1898, his was a light-based metaphor: “It is like seeing the sun after being confined in a dark room.”18 Whatever ambiguity regarding the essential nature of Western civilization may seep through this phrasing, it is immediately supplanted by more-predictable praise for the modernizing role of commercial and cultural exchanges: Où en seroient les nations de l’Europe, si, infectées d’une vanité masquée de quelque préjugé, elles ne s’étoient éclairées réciproquement? Celle-ci doit à celle-là le germe de la liberté; l’une & l’autre à une troisième, les vrais principes du commerce; & cette espèce d’échange est bien d’une autre importance pour leur bonheur que celui de leurs denrées.

17 I have not been able to locate the origin of this image of China as a cloister not pierced by daylight. 18 Quoted in Sebastian Conrad, “Enlightenment in Global History: A Historiographical Critique,” American Historical Review 117 (2012): 999–1027, see 1024. On Liang Qichao, see Hao Chang, Liang Ch’i-Ch’ao and Intellectual Transition in China (London: Oxford University Press, 1971) and Yang Xiao, “Liang Qichao’s Political and Social Philosophy,” in Contemporary Chinese Philosophy, ed. Cheng Chung-ying and Nicholas Bunnin (Malden: Blackwell, 2002), 17–36.

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Diderot’s conclusion is clear enough in arguing against the idea that only “chance” can modify Chinese conditions. It is not just “chance,” in fact, but rather the light coming from the West, with its vivifying and, at the same time, corrupting influences. The Histoire des Deux Indes is perhaps the first, or among the first, authoritative European works to introduce, in discussing China, the idea that a civilizational gap exists in favour not of China, but of the West and that the flow of influence had inverted its course. Later on, this changing mood – from a what China has, that Europe lacks and needs attitude to a what Europe is, and China is not, but should and must be outlook – was effectively synthetized by the influential English-language periodical The Chinese Repository, published in Canton in 1836: the pressure of civilization was until two centuries ago, perhaps from China, outwards; it is now from other countries into China.19 The nature of that gap, in Diderot’s view, clearly bestows Europe with superiority. It can be filled only if China agrees to engage with the outside world, from where it is to be expected that enlightenment and civilization will enter to improve Chinese society. After expressing doubt that such an injection of Western civilization could derive from a territorial conquest or a coup de force, which the Histoire seems to reject more in practical terms than in principle, since the 1770 edition of Raynal’s work explicitly dismissed the feasibility of colonial conquest or the violent coercion of China as technically impossible20 – Diderot concludes that all China really needs is to absorb Enlightenment cultural, economic and political values, and, above all, “commerce”: commercial intercourse is the first step and the necessary presupposition of great objectives like the unity of mankind.21 The presence of this attitude, on the other hand, does not

19 ChRep, V, Sept. 1836, no. 5, 206. 20 “Si les ports de la Chine étoient une fois fermés, il est vraisemblable qu’ils le seroient pour toujours. L’obstination de cette nation, ne lui permettroit jamais de revenir sur ses pas, & nous ne voyons point que la force pût l’y contraindre. Quels moyens pourroit-on employer contre un état dont la nature nous a séparés par un espace de huit mille lieues? Il n’est point de gouvernement assez dépourvu de lumières, pour imaginer que des équipages fatigués osâssent tenter des conquêtes dans un pays défendu par un peuple innombrable, quelque lâche qu’on suppose une nation avec laquelle les Européens ne se sont pas encore mesurés. Les coups qu’on lui porteroit se réduiroient à intercepter sa navigation dont elle s’occupe peu, & qui n’intéresse ni ses commodités ni sa subsistance” (HDI 2010, 565). 21 My interpretation of Raynal and Diderot’s reflections on China partially differs from H.-J. Lüsebrink in “La représentation des civilisations asiatiques dans l’Histoire des Deux Indes et ses traductions,” in Centre(s) et périphérie(s), 55–70,

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diminish the fact that, with its multifaceted, stratified character and variety of voices, the Histoire des Deux Indes displays a clear awareness about the essentially contradictory nature of “commerce.” It is well known that the opinions on commerce expressed in the Histoire des Deux Indes are ambivalent. Several times it is clearly avowed that European commerce, especially overseas trade, has caused a long history of abuses, violence and corruption, as well exemplified by the outrageous slave trade. The above-quoted passage on “les vrais principes du commerce” is no exception. Commerce is prompted by human vices (“vanité”), but European nations could not have reciprocally enlightened themselves without being “infected” by these vices. The same seems to be true for China: the only way to dispel its ignorance-generated backwardness is to permit modern commercial intercourse, notwithstanding its corrupting influence. Opening China to foreign commerce seems thus to be a necessary, unavoidable prospect. There is something more, however. It is a question not just of commodities exchange, but of the “true principles of commerce,” namely, that kind of free interaction among nations that alone can lead to liberty and civilization. The metaphor of light used in reference to China, comparing it to a cloister figuratively isolated in the darkness of ignorance, shows quite clearly that Raynal and Diderot are here alluding to an essentially modernizing Enlightenment that implies economic, social and political values. See for example Chapter 33 of Book 5, which questions whether European trading connections with Asia should be kept alive, or if a modern and advanced Europe is conceivable without longrange trade. Raynal’s answer, positive (to the first question) and negative (to second one), again paradoxically, suggests that war and navigation have produced in history the communication and the mingling of peoples, that such communication has created a reciprocal and positive dependence, and that afterwards commerce made of such dependence the foundation of an enduring, pacific interconnection. La guerre et la navigation ont mêlé les sociétés et les peuplades. Dès lors les hommes se sont trouvés liés par la dépendance ou la communication. L’alliage des nations fondues ensemble dans l’incendie de la guerre, s’épure et se polit par le commerce.

The conclusion of Book 5 strengthens this thesis, formulating general principles:

especially 57–59, where the author underlines Diderot’s intention to enrich the Histoire with just more factual, objective, updated information on China.

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La société universelle existe pour l’intérêt commun & par l’intérêt réciproque de tous les hommes qui la composent. De leur communication il doit résulter une augmentation de félicité. Le commerce est l’exercice de cette précieuse liberté, à laquelle la nature a appelé tous les hommes, a attaché leur bonheur & même leurs vertus. Disons plus; nous ne les voyons libres que dans le commerce; ils ne le deviennent que par les loix qui favorisent réellement le commerce: & ce qu’il y a d’heureux en cela, c’est qu’en même tems qu’il est le produit de la liberté, il sert à la maintenir.

This entire chapter offers a classic Humean panegyric on commerce, and interaction in general, as promoters of knowledge, arts and sciences, according to an outspoken doux commerce theory, an idea going back to Montesquieu and Charles-Irenée de Castel de Saint-Pierre and his Projet de Paix Universelle (1717) “pour maintenir toujours le commerce libre entre les nations.” Raynal’s following Chapter 34 qualifies this thesis, by introducing the distinction between a “politique judicieuse” in commercial enterprises, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, the inclination of the European powers to turn to conquests, military establishments and usurpations, thus betraying the essentially pacific nature of trade. A final, prophetically normative recommendation follows, as usual in this highly “philosophical” work, ideally configuring a network of European global trade sterilized from conquering and monopolising ambitions: Il faudra que nos marchands, s’ils sont sages, renoncent en même-tems, & à la fureur des conquêtes, & à l’espoir flatteur de tenir dans leurs mains la balance de l’Asie.

Raynal is clearly depicting an ideal situation in which trade relations can be spontaneously carried out solely on the basis of common interest, “par une réciprocité d’intérêt.” But what if such an ideal situation cannot materialize, and not as a consequence of European intrigues, invasions and violence, but rather in default of reciprocity? In Raynal’s words, what if an Asian country is so completely enveloped in ignorance and prejudice that it prevents the light of commerce and civilization from entering, as in the case of China? It may be noted in this regard that the question of “reciprocity,” which would play such a fundamental role in founding Western notions of inclusiveness within a European international law22 was already, if in an embryonic way, posed at the end of the eighteenth century in one of the 22 Jennifer Pitts, “Boundaries of Victorian International Law,” in Victorian Visions of Global Order: Empire and International Relations in NineteenthCentury Political Thought, ed. Duncan Bell (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 67–88.

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most representative works of the European Enlightenment. And the Histoire des Deux Indes offers also an answer to that. If it is not one actor only that bears the exclusive responsibility for the difficulty, or impossibility, of contact – Europe and Europe’s mistakes in this case – and if this in fact also depends on the would-be partner country – i.e. China – this would make the case, then, for vigorous initiative and practical action. And such action would consist precisely in “enlightening” the Asian country about its best interests. As we have already seen with Adam Smith, the discourse of the Histoire des Deux Indes takes on an unprecedented prescriptive turn by cultivating a new attitude toward China: in order to open China to foreign commodities, the introduction of nothing less than the Western Enlightenment is needed. These sections of the Histoire des Deux Indes – as well as well-known passages of the Introduction and of the chapter on “Commerce” in Book 19, also by Diderot23 – propound one of the clearest statements of the “commercial Enlightenment” ideology as a fundamental aspect of a discourse which, in Siep Stuurman’s words, “established a global pedagogical authority of the ‘enlightened’ over those who had not yet seen the light.”24 It was exactly this part of the Enlightenment discourse that

23 “Voyant à mes pieds ces belles contrées où fleurissent les sciences & les arts, & que les ténèbres de la barbarie avoient si long-tems occupées, je me suis demandé: qui est-ce qui a creusé ces canaux? qui est-ce qui a desséché ces plaines? qui est-ce qui a fondé ces villes? qui est-ce qui a rassemblé, vêtu, civilisé ces peuples? & qu’alors toutes les voix des hommes éclairés qui sont parmi elles m’ont répondu: c’est le commerce, c’est le commerce. En effet, les peuples qui ont poli tous les autres, ont été commerçans,” HDI 2010, I, Introduction. See also book XIX of Histoire des Deux Indes (Genève: Pellet, 1780, 10 vols.), vol. X, 145–175, in which commercial impetus and initiatives are defined as “cette nouvelle ame du monde moral […] essentielle à l’organisation ou à l’existence des corps politiques” (also “nations laborieuses”), and commerce is described as a factor able to “établir entre les deux hémisphère […] comme des ponts volans de communication qui rejoignent un continent à l’autre” and a “science” whose “opérations compliquées”, under conditions of complete liberty, “lient les nations les plus éloignées, par qui l’univers entier devient une famille” (153–154, 157). On this, see Lynn Festa, “Global Commerce in Raynal’s Histoire des Deux Indes,” in Sentimental Figures of Empire in Eighteenth-Century Britain and France (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006), 205 ff. 24 Siep Stuurman, “Global Equality and Inequality in Enlightenment Thought,” Burgerhart Lecture 2010, Reeks Burgerhartlezingen Werkgroep 18e Eeuw, no. 3, 5–39, see 5, available at https://achttiendeeeuw.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/stuurman.pdf, accessed April 13, 2016.

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inspired and gave a militant, aggressive character to the late-eighteenthcentury “processus de dégradation de l’image de la Chine,”25 a process with a much more direct, immediate, practical outlook than would have been the case with just a shift in the history of ideas. Raynal and Diderot, their doubts and contradictions notwithstanding, were certainly not isolated voices in advocating an expanding, civilizing Enlightenment and in outlining the idea of the “civilizing mission” of a “commercial Enlightenment.”26 Condorcet, just to quote one of the shrewdest late-eighteenth-century authors, was an even more determined, outspoken and principled apostle of this Eurocentric imperialist view. He saw the Enlightenment as an historical agency in Western Europe capable of producing radically progressive effects, different from what was produced by the “internal mediocrity” of China and the “shameful stagnation” of Asian empires in general.27 And he proclaimed a clear-cut vision of an expanding, civilizing Enlightenment culture, whose indisputable rational truths could have helped bringing distant countries into the circle of civilized nations: The love of truth […] will naturally extend its regards, and convey its efforts to remote and foreign climes. These immense countries will afford ample scope for the gratification of this passion. In one place will be found a numerous people, who, to arrive at civilization [pour se civiliser], appear only to wait till we shall furnish them with the means; and who, treated as brothers by Europeans, would instantly become their friends and disciples. In another will be seen nations crouching under the yoke of sacred despots or stupid conquerors, and who, for so many ages, have looked for some friendly hand to deliver them.28

25 Jacques Pereira, Montesquieu et la Chine (Paris: Éditions L’Harmattan, 2008), 452, 493. 26 Jürgen Osterhammel, The Transformation of the World: A Global History of the Nineteenth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014, 1st German ed. 2009), 331 ff. 27 See for instance The Postcolonial Enlightenment. Eighteenth-Century Colonialism and Postcolonial Theory, ed. Daniel Carey and Lynn Festa (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 1–2. 28 Jean Antoine Nicolas de Caritat, Marquis de Condorcet, Esquisse d’un tableau historique des progrès de l’esprit humain (Paris: Garnier Flammarion, 1988), 269, translated as Outlines of a History of the Progress of the Human Mind (London: J. Johnson, 1795), 324, quoted in Lynn Festa and Daniel Carey, “Introduction. Some Answers to the Question: ‘What is Postcolonial Enlightenment?’,” Postcolonial Enlightenment, 1.

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It might be observed that a quite different more or less contemporary standpoint was that of Herder. Herder also viewed China as a stagnant country that had sunk into a sleep that kept it out of history, and suggested that it was like “an embalmed mummy.” However, he also thought that China’s refusal to be in permanent contact with the nations of Europe was “consistent with its general way of thinking;” that China therefore “cannot be blamed on the score of policy,” even more so on account of Europeans’ bad behaviour in their overseas expansion.29 Observing China’s stagnation led Herder to consider this as a matter of fact, and not a problem to be resolved by some functional remedy.

The Normative Approach in the Sattelzeit (1780–1840): From Description and Myth-Making to the “Prescriptive Turn” Late-eighteenth-century Enlightenment culture left some well-established and hardly disputed ideas on China that in the early nineteenth century were redeveloped by authors with a personal, diplomatic experience of the empire such as John Barrow and Henry Ellis, of whom it was remarked that they expressed “most of what [was] standard judgment on China” at the time. They accelerated the reshaping of China’s image in a way that, in the first three decades of the nineteenth century and under varying historical conditions, after disappointing diplomatic experiences and under the pressure of new economic forces, made it possible to conceptualize new attitudes and policies.30 Such a reshaping by a systematic reversal of previous positive images, however, agreed on rejecting the Jesuits’ representations of China, but did not discard all Enlightenment views, trying instead to separate the mythical from the realistic attitudes. Montesquieu, for example, was regarded as a positive and dependable model of interpretation, in opposition to Voltaire, whose “enthusiasm” toward China was implicitly considered as a form of irrational admiration and superstition. This can be very clearly observed from the following passage by a harsh mid-1820s critic of Chinese government and society, who was admittedly inspired as much by Montesquieu as by LouisChrétien de Guignes:

29 J.-G. Herder, Outlines of a Philosophy of the History of Man, tr. T. Churchill (London, 1800), 290–296. 30 Ulrike Hilleman, Asian Empire and British Knowledge: China and the Networks of British Imperial Expansion (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009).

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It was at one time quite fashionable in Europe to attribute all knowledge and all perfection to the Chinese, and to consider their government as the model of a complete monarchy. Voltaire did much by his moral enthusiasm to give credit and extent to this delusion; but Montesquieu (in this instance, as in many others, a better politician than Voltaire) saw even then that all such romantic notions were groundless, that China was nothing more than a half-civilized despotism, and that knowledge had not reached anything like maturity in that country, any more than the art of government.31

Among the most current ideas inherited from late-Enlightenment culture there was that of China’s stationary condition – with reference to its incapacity for economic and social development – or immobility, meaning its resistance to change, paralysing subservience to tradition and exclusion from the progressive course of history: an idea of permanent stasis most clearly theorized by Hegel in his Lectures on the Philosophy of History (1822).32 That China was a stagnant or stationary country had become a sort of catchphrase in the post-Jesuit era, which abounded with heavy criticism of China and the allegedly distorted image of it propounded by the nowdiscredited Catholic missionaries. An abundance of metaphors were employed for expressing concepts generally related to the idea of the depressing effects of despotism.33 To be in a stationary condition meant that the empire was incapable of forward movement, improvement or progress. Regardless of the peaks in knowledge and policy it had reached in its remote past, the Chinese empire was no longer able to move forward by its own efforts. About this state of things, not only had tentative explanations been suggested, but also some suggestions on how to foster change. The stationary condition was considered the consequence of China’s

31 [J.S. Buckingham ?], “Essays on the Distinguishing Characteristics of the Chinese Governments,” Oriental Herald and Colonial Review, I (January–April 1824): 565–574, see the quoted passage at 569, where the author claims to contrast Voltaire’s opinion not so much with Montesquieu (“on such a subject he ought not to have more authority than his opponent”) as with de Guignes the Younger: “who spent many years in the country, and who appears to have understood as well at least as any preceding traveller the nature of the Government and laws of the country.” On Buckingham and The Oriental Herald see footnote n. 47. 32 G.W.F. Hegel, Lectures on the Philosophy of World History. Volume I. Manuscripts of the Introduction and the Lectures of 1822–3, ed. and tr. Robert F. Brown and Peter C. Hodgson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2011), 211–250. See also Ernst Schulin, Die weltgeschichtliche Erfassung des Orients bei Hegel und Ranke (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958). 33 John Slade, Notices on the British Trade to the Port of Canton, 43.

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closure and rejection of any external intercourse; and, reciprocally, extensive economic, social and cultural intercourse between peoples and nations was thought to be the only basic condition for the general progress of society. The long-lasting importance, in the international law debates, of the idea that China’s historical backwardness was due to (and confirmed by) its persistent adherence to the system of isolation or “independence” anciently characterizing relationships between nations would be clearly shown later on by William Ladd (1778–1841), one of the founders of the “American Peace Society” and author of An Essay on a Congress of Nations (1840). According to Ladd, the increased intercourse of nations and the “exchange of gifts of kind Providence with other nations by means of that great highway, the ocean” were guarantees of peace. This “system of mutual dependence on one another,” where “a wonderful spring has been given to commerce,” had happily replaced in history “the former policy of nations,” and what he described more precisely as “a Chinese system […] prejudiced, morose and misanthropic.”34 China’s apparently meager capacity for progress was the single most important peculiarity that radically opposed the Middle Kingdom to the West. In order to put China and the West in closer contact two paths had been described. In economic and institutional terms, Adam Smith had essentially maintained that China needed to open itself to foreign commerce to trigger the chain reaction of a greater labour division, an increase in wages and domestic demand, and the accumulation of capital. On the other hand, in Smith’s view foreign commerce depended on political institutions and legislation: more precisely, on the possibility for individual subjects to enjoy property and pursue private interests. Even if, in practical terms, Smith did not explicitly say how this could be carried out, his insistence on foreign trade as an agent of economic progress gave a sort of positive sanction to any initiatives aimed at enlarging international exchanges and widening the Chinese domestic market. The second and more general suggestion was Diderot’s, when he stated that a bright, intense light was needed to penetrate into China’s cloister and that that light would clearly spring from the West, bringing with it the possibility of extensive and free interaction and exchange, commercial and otherwise, as the driving force of progress. In this way, the late, “commercial” Enlightenment handed down a prescriptive message on

34 William Ladd, An Essay on a Congress of Nations, for the Adjustment of International Disputes without Resort to Arms: Containing the Substance of the Rejected Essays on That Subject, with Original Thoughts and a Copious Appendix (Boston: Whipple and Damrell, 1840), 108–109.

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Chinese matters. This message and its prescriptive content were later resumed, perpetuated and used as the foundations of a militant, aggressive and imperialistic vision of China, rendering all forms of admiration or of reproach toward China obsolete and dissolving the earlier intellectual attitudes of Sinophilia or Sinophobia into the more practical issue of “what to do with China.” While in the eighteenth century the European discursive power over China had produced Enlightenment representations of China as both tools for intra-European ideological conflicts and elements of an encyclopedic project for culturally ordering the world, in the early nineteenth century it transformed previously forged concepts into cultural and ideological weapons providing a comprehensive rationale for intervention and profound change in European–Chinese relations. The practical implications of the changing way of observing China would be later summarized in plain words by the Scottish military surgeon Duncan McPherson, author of a lively narrative on his experience as a member of the British army in China during the First Opium War: the time has now come, when this extraordinary race [the Chinese] are to be viewed no longer in this abstract form. A new era is breaking in the moral history of nations, and England, never-tiring England, has thrust her hand forward to raise the curtain from scenes hitherto secret and unknown to all save the actors themselves; while the other children of civilization sit watching, with intense anxiety, the result of her boldness. The audience will benefit; let them not then interfere.35

In order to substantiate this, it is necessary to consider the new earlynineteenth-century circumstances which – in addition to the multiplication of original publications on China mentioned earlier – helped to reshape the Western and especially the British discourse on China. These historical circumstances have been referred to several times in the past36 and will only be briefly summarized here. First there was the demise of the Jesuit mission after the Company’s dissolution in 1773, with the consequent drop in the number of Jesuit publications produced in Europe, which had the side effect of emptying 35 Duncan McPherson, Two Years in China: Narrative of the Chinese Expedition, from Its Formation in April, 1840, till April, 1842ௗ (London: Saunders and Otley, 1842), 2. On McPherson (1812–67) see Thomas Seccombe, “Macpherson, Duncan (1812–1867)”, rev. James Mills, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, 2004) available at www.oxforddnb.com /view/article/17723, accessed July 27, 2015. 36 See in particular David M. Jones, The Image of China in Western Social and Political Thought (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001).

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the Enlightenment Chinese myth, however minor a grip this had had in Great Britain. The frequent declarations of intent on the part of many authors in favour of opposing eulogistic representations of China, of Jesuit origin or otherwise – even if not without precedents in Britain37 – demonstrate this point. Second, Western and especially British commercial interests continued rising in China in the decades straddling the two centuries, despite the inherent limitations of the trading conditions imposed by the Manchu government.38 The growing economic significance of Sino-Western relations was also reflected by a boom in publications on that subject in Europe. What contributed to this was not just a composite literature consisting of travel or diplomatic accounts, historical and political narrations of various levels of authority and readership, missionary works and erudite Sinologist texts, but also and especially a flourishing literature devoted to discussing political-economic and commercial matters, in particular the problems of the opium trade, free trade and the privileges of the East India Company.39 37 See D. Defoe, “The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1719)”, in The Novels and Miscellaneous Works by Daniel Defoe (Oxford: Talboys, 1840), 2 vols., vol. II, 273–274. 38 This circumstance had already prompted an interesting observation by the French traveller Pierre Sonnerat, in his 1782 travel account: the English were able to bear the heavy degree of oppression the Chinese authorities inflicted upon them because they accepted keeping things on that footing, until they realized that they could become – which was their real intention – as despotic in China as they already were in India, see P. Sonnerat, Voyage aux Indes Orientales, 1782, II, 250– 251. 39 See the bibliographic Brill database “Western Books on China up to 1850 Online” http://primarysources.brillonline.com/browse/western-books-on-china, collecting data on 654 early Western books on China up to 1850; and the other bibliographic database by Chadwyck Healey, “Nineteenth Century – China Collection,” ed. C. Aylmer, http://c19.chadwyck.co.uk/html/noframes/moreinfo/china.htm, listing 733 works in English for the years 1795–1907. The following table shows the trend in English publications on China mostly during the nineteenth century. 1790–1810

12

1811–1820

12

1821–1830

23

1831–1840

51

1841–1850

57

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Third, British country trade interest developed in increasing competition with the East India Company and its monopoly on Asian trade, the twostep abolition of which – in 1813 (with India) and in 1833 (with China) – was the result of pressure on the part of private commercial interests in Canton and a lobbying ability that allowed local public opinion to be communicated to the mother country. Fourth was the increasingly conflicting scenario in which the Macao-Canton international merchant community was involved, where relations between Europeans and Chinese authorities and interest groups became more and more entangled, especially regarding the disputes over the illicit opium trade in the 1830s. Fifth was the arrival in China (in Canton) in 1807, and later in Malacca and Singapore, of the first English Protestant missionaries of the London Missionary Society, in particular Robert Morrison (1782–1834) and William Milne (1785–1822), soon followed by American missionaries such as Elijah C. Bridgman (1801–61) and Samuel Wells Williams (1812– 84). Sixth was the growing awareness of the diplomatic stalemate: the 1792–94 and 1816–17 embassies failed to create stable foundations for relations between China and Great Britain by means of diplomaticcommercial treaties, thus leaving unanswered the demands coming from the expatriate merchant community. All these elements grew more and more apparent in the years 1790– 1840, roughly coinciding with the Sattelzeit, according to John Pocock’s British-centric interpretation of Reinhardt Koselleck’s category.40 In those 1851–1860

79

1861–1870

85

1871–1880

102

1881–1890

98

1891–1900 187 The most comprehensive bibliography of Western books on China, covering the period 1477–1939, is the Bibliotheca Sinica 2.0, which listed 3,200 titles as of October 2010 and has the additional merit of giving access to the digitized editions where they exist: www.univie.ac.at/Geschichte/China-Bibliographie/blog/bibliography/. 40 R. Koselleck, “Einleitung” (1967), in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland (1972–1997), and “Futures Past. On the Semantics of Historical Time” (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004). J.G.A. Pocock, “Political Thought in the EnglishSpeaking Atlantic, 1760–1790: (ii) Empire, Revolution and an End of Early Modernity,” in The Varieties of British Political Thought, 1500–1800, ed. J.G.A. Pocock with the assistance of Gordon J. Schochet and Lois G. Schwoerer

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decades Great Britain emerged as an international political, military and commercial superpower whose 1783 setback in the American Revolutionary War did not prevent it from carrying the weight of the counter-French revolution wars and defeating Napoleon, forestalling a major domestic political crisis, consolidating and spreading its positions in India and moving toward political and civil reforms in a more or less orderly way during a period of unprecedented economic growth, accompanied by the resurgence of religious sentiments with the Evangelical revival. The most crucial events in terms of Sino-British relations occurred after the abolition of the EIC’s trade monopoly in 1833 and the dismal, dramatic failure of Lord Napier’s mission to Canton as the first chief trade superintendent appointed by the British government: the plunge into war that occurred at the end of the 1830s put an end to forty years of diplomatic attempts inaugurated by Lord Macartney’s embassy in 1792–94. The negative diplomatic experiences of Macartney’s and Amherst’s missions had the twofold effect of producing a number of influential publications on China – in particular those of John Barrow and Henry Ellis – and of spreading the notion that the diplomatic approach for stipulating commercial treaties had been a failure, thus giving definitive and wide currency to the idea not only of China’s essential different nature, but also of the need to deal with it in radically different ways to those that were usual with Western nations.41 China thus began to be perceived as a nation with which it was impossible to come to terms based on commonly accepted rules of conduct within an ideal international community. The actor long present on the Asiatic stage which profited the most from a more or less settled, if uncomfortable, state of affairs (as Sonnerat had rightly realized) – that is to say, the East India Company – was not the one which most openly developed these views. Rather, it was the newcomers: country traders and Protestant missionaries. And they publicized their opinions in a remarkable variety of writings from which a whole new tide of information and ideas on China came to the fore, thus articulating the British discourse in a new way. And what we want to focus on here are the changes and adaptations of late-Enlightenment ideas which characterized (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 311. See also M. Foucault, The Order of Things. An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (London-New York: Routledge, 2005), 239. 41 On the “mortifying results” and the “humiliation” of Macartney, see for instance A Delicate Inquiry into the Embassy to China and a Legitimate Conclusion from the Premises (London, printed for Thomas and George Underwood […] and J.M. Richardson, 1818). See also its review in The Asiatic Journal V (1818): 479–495.

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British discourse, and the prescriptive turn impressed on ideas expressed with the intention not just to represent China from a distance and for a distant public and possibly with the intention to promote changes in Europe, but also to change or reform China, including suggestions of how and through what actions to do this.42 There were certainly prominent European authors with expertise in everything from philosophy and political thought to Sinology and poetry who in the first decades of the nineteenth century wrote influential texts and helped shape the Western discourse on China, including Benjamin Constant, Georg Frederich Wilhelm Hegel, Abel Rémusat, Edouard Biot, Saint-Simon and the SaintSimonians, Charles Fourier, and James and John Stuart Mill.43 However, rather than focusing our attention of these authors, we intend to look at a very active and enterprising group of British and American publicists in the years following the failure of Lord Amherst’s embassy in 1817, up until the eve of the first Anglo-Chinese War. Though not primarily professional authors or journalists, these individuals became such through the performance of their duties as officials, missionaries, employees and businessmen. In fact, they were agents, operators, men of action in trade and missions. They belonged to two groups of relative outsiders: expatriate private merchants operating under the license of the monopolistic East India Company; and Protestant (Baptist, Presbyterian, Anglican or Lutheran) missionaries, long previously kept at bay by the East India Company, which was equally suspicious of private traders and Gospel preachers, both perceived as potential threats to the orderly management of affairs both in India and in China.44 But both groups could not be restrained any longer and they were the ones who entered the Indian and then the Chinese trade early in the nineteenth century and were protagonists of a new

42 The term “reform” was expressly used by the Chinese Repository (an example in vol. V, October 1836, no. 6, 241). Jonathan D. Spence, To Change China: Western Advisers in China 1620–1960 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1969). 43 Ohno Eijiro. “Benjamin Constant et l’immobilité de la Chine. L’image de la Chine chez Constant,” in Annales Benjamin Constant 31–32 (2007): 273–293. Oliver Crawford, “Hegel and the Orient,” Faculty of History, Cambridge University, graduate student, n. d.. E. Schulin, Die weltgeschichtliche Erfassung des Orients bei Hegel und Ranke (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958). Jae Hyuk Yang, “L’Orient de Saint-Simon et des Saint-Simoniens. Une étude du discours (1825–1840),” PhD thesis under the supervision of Michèle Riot-Sarcey, Doctoral Programme in History, University of Paris VIII, discussed on October 15, 2012. 44 Daniel H. Bays, A New History of Christianity in China (Oxford: WileyBlackwell, 2011), 44.

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evangelizing impulse. Notable among them, as already mentioned, were the first Protestant missionaries to arrive in China starting in 1807, such as Robert Morrison, William Milne and Walter H. Medhurst, all remarkable cultural brokers and entrepreneurs; and the pioneering, “redoubtable and charismatic” Karl F.A. Gützlaff (1803–51), a peculiar, contradictory figure of missionary, trader, navigator, adventurer and smuggler, but also a prolific writer, author, translator, interpreter and publisher.45 The first American missionary in China, Elijah Coleman Bridgman (1802–61), should also be remembered here as the father of American Sinology and the founder and editor of the influential Canton-based periodical The Chinese Repository. Other important members of the British-American trading community in Canton, both outside and inside the East India Company, include the powerful Scottish merchants William Jardine and James Matheson, active in Asia from the early nineteenth century and founders in 1832 of the most conspicuous British trading company in China, Matheson & Jardine co., which still exists today in Hong Kong as Jardine Matheson Holdings Ltd.; the American David W.C. Olyphant; and the Scottish Hugh H. Lindsay (1802–81), “supracargo” of the East India Company and influential secretary of the Select Committee at Canton; as well as other individuals either associated with the aforementioned names, such as William W. Wood and John Slade, or with a position in the East India Company, such as Charles Marjoribanks (1794–1833). Finally, there were also people who were involved in anti-East India Company campaigns in India and in London, for instance the author and traveller James S. Buckingham (1786– 1855), “ardent free trader”46 and founder of the Calcutta Review (1818–23) and of the Oriental Herald and Colonial Review (1824–29), before becoming a member the first post-1832 Parliament.47 The latter was a

45 Jessie Gregory Lutz, Opening China: Karl F.A. Gützlaff and Sino-Western Relations, 1827–1852 (Grand Rapids, MI/Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 2008). 46 Jason Freitag, Serving Empire, Serving Nation: James Tod and the Rajputs of Rajasthan (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 133. 47 On Buckingham, see J.S. Buckingham, Autobiography of James Silk Buckingham (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1855, 2 vols.) and his autobiographical Sketch of Mr. Buckingham's Life, Travels and Political and Literary Labours, s.d. See also G.F.R. Barker, “Buckingham, James Silk (1786– 1855)’, rev. Felix Driver, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, 2004); online edn, Jan 2008, available at www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/3855, accessed September 7, 2014.

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publishing venture “broadly hostile to the Company rule”48 and programmatically devoted to bringing Asiatic commercial and political matters into the field of “free and open intercourse,” to foster the “principle of utility” and to promote the idea of “the duty of nations to enlighten and improve the condition of the people they subjugate” – a periodical which has been considered in relation mainly to Indian policy, but which could be profitably analysed also with regard to Chinese affairs.49 These individuals were all closely associated with each other and were often partners in the same commercial or cultural initiatives. They worked for profit, for souls or for both, but were convinced that the expression and discussion of opinions and ideas, publicity and communication with a public sphere were decisive for fostering their interests as free-traders and free-preachers against both the Qing imperial government and administration and the East India Company. For this reason they devoted themselves to producing various kinds of texts: pamphlets, extensive historical accounts, travelogues, newspapers and reviews. They articulated a new kind of interpretive, prescriptive and interventionist discourse on China, which, while developing its own language, owed much to late-Enlightenment ideas and attitudes, which still represented an unavoidable reference of their discussions and commentaries. To sketch an outline of their viewpoint and ideological attitude and to highlight some common features of their arguments can allow us to talk of them as of a more or less homogeneous pressure group with a shared argumentative strategy. They were largely indebted to John Barrow (1764–1848), the renowned author of the Travels in China (1804), the outcome of his participation in Lord Macartney’s embassy, and to Henry Ellis (1788– 1855), the experienced diplomat who was a member of the unsuccessful embassy of Lord Amherst (1816–17), on which he wrote a full report,50 for

48 James Lees, “Administrator-Scholars and the Writing of History in Early British India: A Review Article,” Modern Asian Studies 48 (2014): 826–843, see 841. 49 Oriental Herald and Colonial Review I (January–April 1824) “Introduction,” 2–3. 50 Sir John Barrow, Travels in China: Containing Descriptions, Observations, and Comparisons, Made and Collected in the Course of a Short Residence at the Imperial Palace of Yuen-Min-Yuen, and on a Subsequent Journey Through the Country from Pekin to Canton (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies, 1804). Sir Henry Ellis, Journal of the Proceedings of the Late Embassy to China: Comprising a Correct Narrative of the Public Transactions of the Embassy, of the Voyage to

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the negative ideas these two authors contributed to diffusing about the features of Chinese society, institutions and culture. Their most original contribution was to take inspiration from those ideas to propose an interpretation of the current Chinese state of affairs by suggesting modes of action and possible developments. Let us try to recapitulate their main points. First and foremost they shared a firm belief in the undisputable superiority of European (Christian) civilization, of which they maintained a normative meaning. They tended to represent the world as divided between those inside and outside a group, or “family,” of civilized nations and modern, advanced societies sharing basic values concerning individual and collective life and conventional forms of international relations, or what would be later defined also as the “standards of civilization,” as a “legal mechanism” “by which peoples or nations have historically been admitted into or barred from the international society of states.”51 Needless to say that what came to be termed the “family of nations” coincided, in an universalistic perspective, with the Western world. Alternatively, in Immanuel Hsu’s view, they corresponded to “a group of Western European Christian states which [had been] signatories to the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648,” to be distinguished from a pre-existing “East Asia Family of Nations” under the leadership of China and in a relationship of mutual exclusiveness with the former.52 Those men, according to a view still current in the 1920s for defining the international position of China,53 also started from the belief that modern civilization was based on the capacity for progress as guaranteed by a natural, positive bent for scientific and technical knowledge or, to be more precise, what was termed a “useful knowledge.”54 The concept of “useful knowledge” proved a simple, intuitive

and from China, and of the Journey from the Mouth of the Pei-Ho to the Return to Canton (London: John Murray, 1817). 51 Brett Bowden, The Empire of Civilization: The Evolution of an Imperial Idea (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2009), especially ch. 5, “The Expansion of Europe and the Classical Standard of Civilization,” 103–128. See also Gerrit W. Gong, The Standard of Civilization in International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984). 52 Immanuel Chung-Yueh Hsü China’s Entrance Into the Family of Nations [1858–1878] (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953), 3 ff. 53 See Henry T. Hodgkin, China in the Family of Nations (London: G. Allen & Unwin, 1923). 54 Michael Adas, Machines as the Measure of Men. Science, Technology, and Ideologies of Western Dominance (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), 177 ff.

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way of characterizing some central aspects of what was deemed essential for Western advanced societies. The unhindered cultivation of what we could call, in Constant’s words, the “liberty of the moderns” in all aspects of personal and social life was considered the distinctive feature of Western nations, what made them collectively a model worth imitating or exporting to the non-European world. A key element of such a worldview was first of all free economic, particularly commercial, intercourse at the international level. In the specific case of Sino-Western relations, this meant making commerce free by suppressing the monopolies enjoyed by the East India Company on the British side and, on the Chinese side, by the imperial state-licensed corporation called the Co-Hong, and, more generally, open a larger number of ports than the single one of Canton to Western trade. This “free trade” discourse quite clearly echoed arguments in favour of the “politique judicieuse” invoked by Raynal and Diderot against privileges, conquests and “grands établissements.” Free intercourse did not just relate to economics, however, but also included interaction that was socially and culturally free, exactly as the eighteenth-century Enlightenment authors had advocated. In this perspective, what was insisted upon was the duty and the possibility to disseminate European “useful knowledge” (including Christian doctrine) to loosen what was considered an extreme and harmful Chinese attachment to traditions and Confucian classics. At the same time, this approach also promoted broader knowledge of Chinese language and culture – still severely obstructed by Chinese authorities – among Europeans both in China and in Europe, in order to achieve a greater familiarity with Chinese culture and society and the ability to interact with them. The “opening” of China was desired as the best possible way of introducing modernity by starting a process to improve Chinese economy, society and culture, and to let China enter the network of global relations that existed between civilized nations, or the “family of nations.” Clearly, what was envisioned and what was publicly stated was not conquest, territorial dominance or a diminution of Chinese sovereignty, but rather greater opportunities for trade, exchange and communication: a “narrative of free trade,”55 echoing what Diderot himself had invoked in the Histoire des Deux Indes when dismissing as impracticable any project for militarily attacking and conquering China. We should observe, however, that right from the late 1820s and the early 1830s a clear-cut turn intervened in

55 Narratives of Free Trade: The Commercial Cultures of Early U.S.-China Relations, ed. by Kendall Johnson (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011).

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public opinion about the free-trading and missionary communities in Macao and Canton. This was supported by the request of the free-traders lobby in London for unusual pressure instruments to obtain a definitive and durable change in Sino-European relations, thus accepting the possibility that liberal objectives, such as free trade, exchange and communication, could be exceptionally achieved by forceful means or even by coercion in the form of a military, naval threat. From this standpoint, it is clear that Sinophilia and Sinophobia had lost the meaning that had been used, for example by Etiamble, to indicate European intellectual attitudes of an earlier age. Both feelings in fact coexisted now in ideological positions within which fundamental scorn and distrust for contemporary Chinese society and institutions, often described as irredeemably stationary and backward, could cohabit with sincere, admiring interest and a commitment to understanding Chinese culture and civilization. Respect for an ancient civilization went easily hand in hand with a growing impatience with contemporary China. In early-nineteenth-century debates, against the backdrop of increasingly problematic trade relations between European powers, especially Britain, and Qing China, the dynamic and enterprising opinion-makers here referred to voiced a liberal, progressive, empirical view of society and economy: the same view that Joel Mokyr has considered as the propeller of British progress and supremacy at the beginning of the nineteenth century and for which he has proposed the catchy, evocative term of “Enlightened economy.”56 This practical, moderate, rationally businessoriented culture, inclined toward innovation and commitment to economic success and progress, could hardly be considered the kin of Jonathan Israel’s “radical Enlightenment.” Still, it does reveal a close affinity to the Scottish, Protestant, conservative or, as we have suggested calling it, “commercial” Enlightenment, inspired by David Hume and William Robertson and not by Benedict Spinoza. And this seems particularly true on account of the complete compatibility of this variant of Enlightenment culture with the conception of an expanding, free-trading and imperialistic European civilization. It would be hazardous and could sound provocative to define these people simplistically as followers of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, particularly in the case of the Evangelical missionaries. To be sure, it has been shown that eighteenth-century British Evangelicalism, in a more general way, had a complex, ambiguous and not incompatible relationship

56 Joel Mokyr, The Enlightened Economy. An Economic History of Britain 1700– 1850 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010).

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with the Enlightenment; and even that the “Evangelical movement […] was permeated by Enlightenment influences.”57 On the face of it, the early-nineteenth-century Evangelical and other Protestant missionaries in China could not have been more distant from the rationalist, a-religious, materialist, cosmopolitan, primitivistic and eventually revolutionary intellectual trends of the eighteenth century. Their inspiration found expression in a pronounced prophetic attitude. Their idea of progress and the improvement of humankind was invigorated by a millennialist vision of history that was of a clearly religious matrix,58 thus differing from the late-Enlightenment historical providentialism of authors such as Condorcet. Still, they and their mercantile allies were fierce critics of and struggled with determination against what they saw as a variant of the ancien régime society, economy and institutions. This religious-mercantile alliance fought against two distinct anciens régimes: the British one, as far as it was represented by ineffectual, unsuccessful monarchical-aristocratic diplomacy and by the commercial (and information) monopoly of the privileged East India Company; and the Manchu imperial state, which they could censure by drawing upon the classic and ready-made image of a degrading, oppressive, bureaucratic despotism and its minions. Manchu despotism, not Chinese society and ordinary Chinese people, was considered responsible for all the difficulties, obstacles and bribery characterizing “the old Canton system,” as well as for all the prejudices and resistances preventing China from entering the modern world. If this struggle was conducted in the name of capitalist free trade and the freedom to preach Christian religion it was because the most advanced contemporary British political, economic and religious culture was founded precisely on those standards. It was also because those were the core values of a commercial (and scientific, technological and educational), progressive Enlightenment that was basically at peace with an acquisitive society and that, according to Mokyr, made an industrial rather than a political revolution possible. It was in the name of that view of society and on behalf of that form of civilization – which was unremittingly and successfully expansionist, colonial and imperial – that these representatives of 57 Davi Bebbington, Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s (London/New York: Routledge, 1989), 56. See also Penny Carson, “The British Raj and the Awakening of the Evangelical Conscience,” Christian Missions and the Enlightenment, ed. Brian Stanley (Grand Rapids, MI: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 2001), 65–67. 58 On the influence of the Second Great Awakening on American missionaries see Michael C. Lazich, E.C. Bridgman (1801–1861), America’s First Missionary to China (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2000).

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British and Sino-British public opinion fought their battles. Of course, they were defending their interests, not just theoretical principles. They aimed at increasing profit, in monetary terms and in terms of souls. They smuggled opium and bibles and religious tracts in Chinese; bribed functionaries of every degree; and considered the Manchu regulations on trade, language and religion unreasonable, contrary to common sense, worthy not of respect but of being violated and possibly abolished in the near future. At issue here is the need to understand the discourses, the vocabulary and the logic that inspired their description of the world they lived in and the world they wanted to create. And it should not be a surprise to learn that this was a decidedly Eurocentric, essentialist (occasionally tainted by racism), Christian-centric, self-confident and complacent language, not at all ready to come to terms with Chinese economic, political and social practices considered in complete opposition to modern standards, and, on the contrary, radically convinced of its possession of the truth, the means and the right to shape the world – at least insofar as British global commercial interests and political relations were concerned – on the basis of Western values. We would like to illustrate this intellectual change by analysing some little-explored but particularly relevant sources for understanding the “prescriptive turn” in British and American discursive strategy regarding China.

The Periodical Press, Sociability and Public Opinion in Early-Nineteenth-Century British Macao and Canton: The Canton Register (1827–41) By taking into consideration some publishing and socio-cultural initiatives in early-nineteenth-century Canton – we are referring to two English periodicals published there, The Canton Register (1827–41) and The Chinese Repository (1832–51), and to one association, the Society for Promoting Useful Knowledge in China (established November 1834)59 – three elements can be pointed out to begin with.

59 On English-language journalism in Canton, see Frank H.H. King and Prescott Clarke, A Research Guide to China-Coast Newspapers, 1822–1911, vol. 18 of Harvard East Asian monographs (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965). See also Elizabeth L. Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository and Western Literature on China 1800 to 1850,” Modern Asian Studies 7, no. 2 (1973): 165– 178.

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It must be recalled that the first decades of the nineteenth century were generally a period of great creativity in the history of periodical printing in China. It has been said that this was the time of the advent of modern journalism and the modern periodical press in Chinese.60 It was the British missionary initiative – especially that of Robert Morrison and William Milne – that helped launch periodicals that were fundamentally different from the traditional Peking gazettes, which were regularly published periodicals issued by various publishers containing official communiqués released by the throne through a bureau and destined for a very restricted readership.61 The commitment to printing and diffusing information in Chinese (as well as the printing technology and skills to do so) for a Chinese readership was a central aspect of the early British Protestant missionary work: the creation of the China Monthly Magazine by Milne in 1815 in Malacca (to evade imperial prohibitions on the Chinese mainland) is equated with the birth of the modern Chinese press. The later Eastern and Western Monthly Magazine, started by Karl Gützlaff in 1833, was the first Chinese periodical to be published in Chinese territory: “a periodical apologia for Western civilization, designed to exhibit […] the superiority of European culture and learning”62 and inspired by the aim of breaking the communication barrier and disseminating knowledge, arts and sciences in order to counteract the traditional view of Westerners as barbarians. The founding of periodicals and newspapers in English in early-nineteenthcentury China, therefore, was part of a larger process not only of spreading knowledge of the West in China, but also “show[ing] the West what China was like, and more particularly, how much it was in need of the civilizing influence of Christianity”63 and of the modernizing influence of foreign trade and communication. English periodicals were the product of the private trading and missionary communities in Macao and Canton, as small as they were.64

60 Xiantao Zhang, The Origins of the Modern Chinese Press: The Influence of the Protestant Missionary Press in Late Qing China (London: Routledge, 2007), 35– 39. 61 Roswell Sessoms Britton, The Chinese Periodical Press, 1800–1912 (Hong Kong: Kelly & Walsh, limited, 1933), 7. 62 Britton, The Chinese Periodical Press, 22. 63 Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository and Western Literature on China,” 165. 64 As far as the mercantile members are concerned, according to a census of February 1831, there were 83 European (other than Portuguese and not including the personnel of the EIC) and American residents in Macao; see Hosea Ballou Morse, Britain and the China Trade 1635–1842, ed. Patrick J.N. Tuck (London: Routledge, 2000, 1st ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926), 41.

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They were promoted by the joint efforts of traders and missionaries and articulated very rich, complex and interesting discourses on China. They originated from a situation and gave expression to attitudes that have been appropriately described in these terms: Western attitudes to the Chinese were based on two traditions: the Protestant belief that those living without the word of God were bound to a life of evil – and missionary contributions were designed to illustrate and support this conclusion; and the merchant support of free-trade principles and the still surviving philosophical belief in the infallibility of man’s reason, a reason which had reformed the governments of enlightened Europe, created the United States and, if permitted free scope, would reform China.65

First came the Canton Register, a bi-weekly, later weekly, newspaper set up in 1827 through the joint initiative of Scottish and American traders Alexander Matheson (1805–86, a future liberal MP) and David Olyphant (1789–1851, an active supporter of American missionary initiatives), thanks to a printing press donated by Alexander’s uncle, James Matheson. It was edited first by the American author William W. Wood (born 1804?), later the editor of another (short-lived) English-language newspaper in Canton, The Chinese Courier and Canton Gazette (1831–33), and after 1834 by the journalist and pamphleteer John Slade (1804–43). The missionary Robert Morrison was also a regular contributor until his death in 1834. Its publication marked the beginning of Western journalism in English in China, demonstrating how great the urge was for information and public discussion in the European expatriate communities in Macao and Canton. The Register intended, in fact, not just to provide useful data on trade matters – prices, commodities, quantities, shipping, taxes and duties, and statistics. It also typically supplied detailed news on contemporary proceedings concerning imperial and local policies, regulations, edicts, orders and letters. It provided information on Western legal trade conditions and contraband, the relationship with the Hong and the local Chinese community in Canton and on mainland Guanzhou, various aspects of Chinese and Western social and cultural life, and also news from India. All of this made it – particularly before Wood’s dismissal in 1831 – a very militant, controversial, lively (and well-written) paper, with very rich and interesting information, and much local correspondence, that explicitly advocated for the free trade cause, in line with important English freetrader periodicals like the already mentioned London-based Oriental 65 King and Clarke, A Research Guide to China-Coast Newspapers, 7.

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Herald and Colonial Review (1824–29) edited by James S. Buckingham. The Register was the earliest, most influential and most prestigious of several printing initiatives carried out in a very lively scenario in which many other (usually short-lived) periodicals were founded in both Malacca – the base of missionary work – and Canton. Among these were the IndoChinese Gleaner (1817–22), a sort of more modest Protestant version of the Lettres édifiantes; The Universal Gazette (1828–29); the News of All Nations (1838); The Chinese Courier and Canton Gazette (1831–33); and The Canton Press (1835–44), which was sponsored by Dent & Co., one of the wealthiest British merchant firms active in China during the nineteenth century (with Jardine & Matheson and Russell & Co.), to compete with the Matheson-supported Register.66 None of these, however, was able to match the authority and influence of The Chinese Repository. The Chinese Repository was a more enduring publishing enterprise than any of its predecessors.67 From the beginning, and until its end in 1851, it was edited by the American missionary Elijah C. Bridgman, a prominent Chinese scholar and cultural mediator sent to China in 1829 by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. The paper owed its existence to David Olyphant’s generous donation of a printing press. Its collaborators included some figures we have already had occasion to mention: the Prussian Lutheran missionary Karl Gützlaff, the American Sinologist and missionary Samuel Wells Williams, and several other American and British scholars such as Sir Thomas Francis Wade (1818–95), also a diplomatist; the first professor of Chinese at Cambridge, Sir John Francis Davis (1795–1880), an expert on Chinese literature and later governor of Hong Kong; John Bowring (1792–1872), radical friend of Bentham, passionate free trade advocate and himself Governor of Hong Kong; the American diplomat Caleb Cushing (1800–79); and the American philanthropist and missionary doctor Peter Parker (1804–88). The paper took on the tasks not only of providing valuable information on China and “unfold[ing] a closed empire,” but also extensively reviewing (even eighteenth-century) literature on China and Chinese matters. Its twenty volumes contain an extraordinary compendium of information concerning China and the Chinese and a valuable, critical view of the old empire on the eve of radical transition.68 In fact, the Repository proposed that China’s image be revisited and reshaped according to an idea of civilization, progress and international order that could be defined as

66 Britton, The Chinese Periodical Press, 25–27. 67 See Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository and Western Literature on China,” 166. 68 Britton, The Chinese Periodical Press, 28.

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“liberal.” The foundation of the Society for Promoting the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China in 183469 was an integral part of this project to open and modernize China by exposing it to the light of Western learning and ideas. It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of these publishing enterprises, which played a fundamental role by providing Westerners with a modern instrument of communication and of organization: according to a recent historian of the Canton trade, “the press […] educated the foreign community in China and worked to unify and unite their intentions” and represented one of those innovations that – along with the steamship – contributed to weakening the Canton commercial system, accelerating its decay and disruption.70 Let us now recapitulate some of the central points advanced by the Canton Register and The Chinese Repository, two periodicals with different yet complementary features and aims. We shall do this mainly by some examples, not through a systematic, exhaustive reading. As already pointed out, the Register was an authentic newspaper. Its field of interest included news, data and information on current affairs, which it managed to convey to its readers in a very lively way, in the belief that “the actual state of China at present time can only be ascertained by a record of facts and proceedings.”71 Its proclaimed aim was to provide a voice to the “highly enlightened and respectable

69 Its founders were influential and affluent members of the British and American merchant and missionary community in Canton and Macao, some of them already encountered as authors of the Repository: William Jardine, Elijah Bridgman, Charles Gützlaff, J.R. Morrison, and then the Scottish merchant Robert Inglis, the American businessman and philanthropist (and one of the founders of Princeton University) John C. Green (1800–75), Richard Turner, the English owner of Turner & Co. and an opium merchant who died in 1838, the Boston merchant Russell Sturgis (1805–87), and William S. Wetmore (1801–62), American China trader and philanthropist. See Britain and the China Trade 1635–1842, 41, Songchuan Chen, “An Information War Waged by Merchants and Missionaries at Canton: The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China, 1834– 1839,” Modern Asian Studies 6 (November 2012): 1705–1735. Michael C. Lazich, “Placing China in Its ‘Proper Rank among the Nations’: The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China and the First Systematic Account of the United States in Chinese,” Journal of World History 22, no. 3 (September 2011): 527–551. 70 Paul A. van Dyke, The Canton Trade: Life and Enterprise on the China Coast, 1700–1845 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), 2. 71 CR, no. 6, 4 February 1828, 21–28, 26.

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community in no way dependent upon the Company.”72 Information and freedom of the press were its explicit catchwords, as when it criticized the East India Company for censoring the press in India.73 The Register assumed an open liberal position, and declared itself totally averse to censorship and in favour of freedom of the press. Its liberal advocacy extended to commerce, and from commerce to all other aspects of social communication: The principle most to be desired in commerce is liberality; an openness of dealing and free communication will eventually prove successful; and these accord with the exalted mind of the merchant of the present age. Monopoly of knowledge is like that of all other objects of peculiar engrossment quickly dying away.74

Its liberal stance on Chinese commercial matters meant that it criticized what it defined as the “ancient system” based on monopoly and on the role of the Co-Hong. As part of the state monopoly, Hong merchants were considered a negative kind of businessman, “[…] differing very widely indeed from the merchant of the Western world;” and were repeatedly made the object of very tough criticism, together with other figures of intermediaries and officials placing themselves between foreign merchants and Chinese society: Hoppos, Hong merchants & Linguists [are] the harpies which prey upon our vitals, who amassing wealth by intercourse with foreigners, slander and vilify us before the high magistrates, and to hide their own treachery defame these very men by asserting that they are the authors of all the vexations we suffer.75

From its earliest issues, the Register argued for the need to avoid submission and to keep a firm position toward the Chinese government in the name of liberal principles and civil rights: Firmness and decision are indispensably necessary in urging the repeal of an oppressive order or in soliciting from the Chinese government a right or privilege the claim of which is founded in justice.76

72 CR, vol. I, no. 2, 15 November 1827, 2. 73 CR, vol. I, no. 2, 15 November 1827, 2. 74 CR, vol. I, no. 16, 19 April 1828, 61–64, see 64. 75 CR, vol. I, no. 37, 18 October 1828, no pagination. 76 CR, vol. I, no. 4, 14 December 1827, 11–16, 1.

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In order to foster its idea of the need for a decisive change in the current state of affairs, the Register insistently offered a very negative representation of the Chinese situation, especially as far as government, administration, laws and justice were concerned. The administration of justice, and of criminal justice in particular, also a favourite subject of missionaries’ criticism,77 was often dealt with by reporting cases of “cruelties and indignities,” examples of irrational sentences, abuses and corruption which invariably confirmed the harshness and inhumanity of Chinese justice. Lack of security, arbitrariness and incertitude demonstrated how little the imperial state took care of the individual subject, who was exposed to oppression and vexations of every sort. Of the mandarin class the judgement was scornful: the Chinese Official literati (vulgarly called mandarins), that humbug moralizing, prating, licentious crew that they very generally are […] though literate they hate the introduction of real knowledge; and prefer very much domination and slavery to liberty and equality. They scorn the idea that the Sewman, the small people, should have the right of private judgment or opinion; seeing the literati are to them infallible guides.78

On the delicate matter of the opium trade, the Register presented a very straightforward thesis inspired by the most radical liberalism: the opium trade could not be merely stopped by provisions of the law, because the market demand was a fact and if the British did not supply Chinese consumers, other traders would; and likewise, repressive laws could not do anything to fight a problem that depended on the individual’s moderate behaviour – like in the case of alcohol – and not on the nature of what was consumed. On this point, in an 1830 pamphlet of his, John Slade, the future editor of the Register, went further: opium consumption was the immediate and unavoidable consequence of despotism and of the poor opportunities for personal and social improvement a despotic government left to members of a Manchu-oppressed Chinese society.79 The paper advocated for a completely free intercourse between China and the foreign traders, who – Slade again would write elsewhere implicitly pointing out another mark of European superiority – “are treated in Canton in much the same manner in which the Jews were formerly treated by

77 See for instance William Milne, The Indo-Chinese Gleaner, no. 1, May, 1817, 18–19; no. 3, February 1818, 55–57; no. 4, May 1818, 84–87. 78 CR, vol. I, no. 14, 5 April 1828, 53–56, 55. 79 Slade, Notices on the British Trade to the Port of Canton, 6.

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some governments of Europe.”80 Specifically, on matters of free intercourse, the newspaper demanded the removal of all obstacles which prevented, for example, the indispensable knowledge of the Chinese language: that on the liberal principles of general commerce an intimate knowledge of the language of the people dealt with would confer an useful power, can scarcely be doubted.81

This matter was deemed crucial because “knowledge is power and union is strength.” The paper showed in general a sound liberal attitude, invoking the cooperation of the whole foreign community – “the united foreign commerce of Canton” – to launch a “European Academy in China”: Such an institution, conducted on liberal and benevolent principles, would afford most important aids to commerce, to arts, to science and to the moral well-being of society.82

Its interest in linguistic knowledge did not derive from an erudite attitude only, but basically from the practical need of Westerners operating in China. Translating the Chinese classics might have represented a step forward in linguistic scholarship, but it offered very little in terms of utility; and it was convenient to distinguish between a “general” and a “specific” utility of knowledge of the language.83 Knowledge of the language had specific aspects offering a suitable example of that “useful knowledge” several times praised as a typical peculiarity of the West and of Britain in particular: direct Chinese knowledge […] is of the utmost importance to prevent the opulent Chinese and Captains from oppressing the poor and weak as well as to administer justice in cases where not only the property but persons and lives of the Chinese are concerned; and also when they are called to give evidence in cases affecting others.84

Concerning the periodic conflicts between the British merchants and the Chinese authorities and the stubborn refusal of the latter to receive direct

80 Slade, Notices on the British Trade to the Port of Canton, 12. 81 CR, vol. I, no. 11, 15 March 1828, 41–44, see 43. 82 CR, vol. I, no. 11, 15 March 1828, 41–44, see 43. 83 CR, vol. I, no. 11, 15 March 1828, 43. 84 CR, vol. I, no. 28, 19 July 1828, 109–113, see 112. For similar opinions, with reference to erudite Western journals like the Journal asiatique and the Asiatic Journal, see also CR, no. 32, 16 August 1828, 127–130, 127.

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petitions and complaints from the European merchant community, the Register complained about all the new regulations that were reinforcing controls and restrictions rather than improving the local situation. It loudly called for a complete change of conduct on the part of the Chinese. Its attitude, stance and vocabulary – as is natural for a newspaper – were directly influenced by the current state of affairs and, unsurprisingly, we can notice an increase in animosity in its pages in the early 1830s coinciding with events such as the promulgation, in early 1831, of a new Chinese code of commercial regulations, and the punitive attack of the Chinese police authorities on the East India Company factory in Canton which occurred in May 1831. The Register took clear-cut positions on such episodes. Repressive Chinese conduct and behaviour “in the intercourse of civilized nations would be considered the strongest ground of complaint.”85 They induced the paper to harden its positions. As the mouthpiece of the private trading community, the newspaper published documents, correspondence and petitions which very clearly revealed a shift toward more radical solutions to the controversy. In June 1831, for example, “a British merchant” wrote a letter on the conditions of the “British Subjects in China” with the aim to “enlighten those at a distance.”86 Oppressions, “indignities” such as “limitations of residence, of movement, of transports, which diminish British respectability,” made it “absolutely necessary to support the dignity of British character in China.” There was no more time for “negotiation or Embassy,” which had demonstrated themselves to be of no use. Besides, if not even complaints, forbearance or attempts at conciliation had had any effect, the conclusion was very explicit: “A crisis, it is to be hoped, approaches […] the sooner it arrives the better.”87 It is interesting to note how this intensifying 85 CR, vol. 5, no. 3, 2 February 1832, 26. 86 CR, vol. 4, no. 12, 18 June 1831, 62. 87 CR, vol. 4, no. 12, 18 June 1831, 62. See also “Fair play” replying to “Veritas” and asking for strong measures in support of British honour, even if ostensibly refusing the option of war: “If we tamely submit to encroachment and ignominy, it will be in vain to hope for amelioration from the Chinese government, whose main principle is to degrade us in the eyes of the people […] As to equal rights, when the sacrifice is wholly and notoriously on one side, it is a miserable burlesque to talk of them; this government does not recognize equal rights; and it is for us to make them do so: then indeed we may expatiate on the beauty of the theory of reciprocity and condemn all interference with a foreign power; but till a reciprocity exist in reality, till the Chinese, instead of ‘extending compassion’ to the subject of the first nation of the world, treat them at least as equals, we have a right to insist that trade shall not be, as now, purchased ‘at the high price of national disgrace’,” CR, no. 16, 15 August 1831, 80–89, see 80–81.

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favourable disposition toward a radical solution – armed or otherwise – was given more and more room in the paper, and to some extent was even reinforced by expressions very clearly revealing the self-confidence of the members of the British trading community in Asia and their ability to envisage a future perfectly matching Britain’s interests and expectations as a free trade, industrial, technological, progressive and expanding nation: If we may trust to the irresistible powers of Steam, in superseding all other manufacturing agents, how vast a field would this Empire, under a freer system of intercourse, afford for the consumption of the products of British skill and industry !88

The Periodical Press, Sociability and Public Opinion in Early-Nineteenth-Century British Macao and Canton: The Chinese Repository (1834–51) By all evidence, The Chinese Repository was the first Western periodical specifically devoted to China, although certainly not the first European journal to deal with Asian matters.89 As a monthly review and a learned journal, not a weekly newspaper providing current business information, it was very different from the Canton Register. Its purpose was to develop a complete critical discourse on China by examining a vast amount of past and present publications of various kinds and discussing the most crucial questions concerning Chinese civilization and its relations with the West. Elizabeth Malcolm, in her pioneering 1973 article, stressed the importance of a periodical that “for twenty years […] consistently published detailed and generally reliable factual information on this huge

88 CR, no. 16, 15 August 1831, 80. 89 The scholarly Asiatick Researches were founded in 1784 by William Jones: its French edition Recherches asiatiques was started in 1805 and developed as an original project by the French orientalists; see Michael J. Franklin, “Orientalist Jones”: Sir William Jones, Poet, Lawyer, and Linguist, 1746–1794 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Om Prakash Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal and the Discovery of India’s Past, 1784–1838 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). Other periodicals published in London were devoted to East Asian British affairs, mainly political and commercial, such as the already mentioned Oriental Herald and Colonial Review (1824–29) edited by James Buckingham, the Parbury’s Oriental Herald and Colonial Intelligencer (London: Parbury & Co., 1838–40), or the more long-lasting The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register (London: Parbury, Allen & Co., 1816–29, 2nd series 1830–43).

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empire.”90 It was in fact “an invaluable source for data concerning the social, political and economic state of China between 1830 and 1850.” It also provided “a vast amount of fascinating material on the outlook and attitudes of the early Protestant missionaries.” After dealing with editorial and publishing aspects of the Repository, with essentially no exploration of its content, Malcolm expressed her belief that the slight scholarly attention it had received – which is only a little less true today than it was forty years ago – was in part due to the extreme difficulty of accessing a complete set of the periodical. This is certainly not the case nowadays, and Malcolm’s recommendation (“no scholar interested in this period can afford to overlook the Chinese Repository”) can be and has been at least partially satisfied.91 That the situation of scholarly studies has changed somewhat since the time in which Malcolm was writing is particularly demonstrated by the fact that considerable attention has recently been given to the Repository not so much by Western, but essentially by Chinese scholars.92 90 See Malcolm’s bibliographical details in footnote no. 34. The present and the following quotations are from 178. This article was the first attempt, to my knowledge, to examine in some detail the Repository’s history, if not its contents, and I am partially indebted to it for my reading of this periodical. 91 Without investigating when the printed sets owned by the British Library or by the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (the Library of Congress apparently only owns a microfilmed copy) were acquired and without mentioning the Kraus Reprint (Vaduz, Lichtenstein, 1968), researchers today have at their disposal two open-access, complete full-text versions digitized by Google Books and by Internet Archive. Moreover: “In 2008, Guangxi Normal University Press had already published The Chinese Repository in full collected by the library of Hong Kong Baptist University, and for convenience, it added Volume 21 Index based on the original 20 volumes. Simultaneously, it published a List of Articles and Subject Index of Chinese Repository, and this book’s chief editor is Zhang Xiping, edited by Gu Jun and Yang Huiling. Definitely, it is good for scholars and researches” (Xiuqing Li, “The Chinese Repository and Chinese Criminal Law,” details in the following footnote). 92 A particular interest in the Repository has been shown by Chinese legal historians, for instance in two essays by Xiuqing Li, “The Chinese Repository and the Study on the China and West legal Culture Exchange History,” Journal of China University of Political Science and Law 4 (2010): 149–157, and “The Chinese Repository and Chinese Criminal Law in the Minds of Westerners of the 19th Century,” Rechtsgeschichte-Legal History. Journal of the Max Planck Institute for European Legal History 22 (2014): 158–174. Other recent Chinese studies on the Repository are Qiu Huafeui, “E.C. Bridgman and The Chinese Repository,” Historical Archives 3 (2006): 46–50. Tan Shulin, “Interpretation of The Chinese Repository,” Historical Archives 3 (2008): 84–89. Wu Yixiong, “The

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From one standpoint, the Repository was a publication overtly engaged with reversing the Jesuit, or Jesuit-inspired, mythical representations of China. Its missionary inspiration was unquestionable, as it aimed expressly “to show the West the degraded nature of [China] and how desperately it needed Christianity.”93 But its interests were not at all confined to religious matters; on the contrary, these represented only a minor proportion of the subjects addressed.94 Its discourse pivoted on the exaltation of the modern commercial civilization represented by the merchants (the same who financed its publication and contributed their writings). Taken as a whole, however, it reveals a quasi-encyclopaedic ambition to cover everything that could be of interest regarding Chinese matters. In comparison to the Register, moreover, the Repository’s discourse enjoyed greater diffusion and influence thanks to its vast resonance in the English-speaking world. This was due both to the number of subscribed (and the obviously many more “circulating”) copies (the highest portion of which went to the foreign community in China)95 and to abstracts, comments and reprints in prominent reviews such as the Quarterly Review, the Edinburgh Review, the Fortnightly Review, the Athenæum, the Foreign Quarterly Review, the Gentleman’s Magazine and the North American Review. At any rate, the almost unavoidable – given the small number of Westerners residing in Macao and Canton – contiguity of publishing initiatives such as the Register and the Repository, whose contributors included some of the same people, must be stressed. Even if it is more accurate to define it as a work of advocacy than as one of pure propaganda, the Repository articulated decisively negative opinions with regard to Chinese civilization. It never indulged in any attitude of praise or admiration, but, instead, expanded on the theme of Chinese inferiority and its need for therapy – the medical metaphor being appropriate given the great importance of medical assistance in the work of Anglo-American missionaries – through the introduction of Western science and civilization and the Christian religious worldview. It perfectly demonstrated the affinity of sentiments and unity of intentions between Chinese Repository and the Study of Chinese History, Journal of Zhongshan University. Social and Science Edition 1 (2008): 79–91, Wu Yixiong, “The Chinese Repository and Chinese Language Study,” Social and Science Research, 4 (2008): 137–144; and Wu Yixiong, “The Chinese Repository and Its Study on Chinese Social Belief and Customs,” The Academic Research 9 (2009): 101–113. 93 Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository,” 167. 94 See table in the Appendix. 95 A little more than 500 throughout the world according to the figures it published in 1836, as quoted by Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository,” 171.

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private British and American merchants and missionaries in pursuing the opening of China to trade, bibles and progress.96 And it is to some degree indicative of its militant character that its decline began after the 1840–42 war, when some of its objectives, at least in terms of freer circulation of missionaries and better trading conditions, had been forced onto the Chinese government.97 However, to consider the Repository a simple, coarse ideological tool in the hands of missionaries and merchants is not an accurate enough description of its meticulous study of China, its history, culture and civilization, and the history of its past and present contacts with the West. Moreover, the fact that it reviewed many of the most significant European publications on China from the end of the eighteenth century – though even reconsidering older authors such as the influential seventeenth-century Portuguese Jesuit Alvarez Semedo (Imperio de la China, Madrid, 1642) – up to the most recent times, was a remarkable effort to articulate a complex discourse on China–West relations and politics (obviously including the history of Christian missions) and on Chinese civilization (literature, philosophy, language, history, morals, society, customs, sciences, arts), natural history and geography. This periodical included reviews of the major contributions on current affairs published by leading figures of the British and American communities in China – such as James Matheson, Charles Marjoribanks, Charles W. King and Hugh H. Lindsay, to name but a few – or by British and American experts on Chinese language and culture – such as Elijah C. Bridgman, George T. Staunton, John R. Morrison and S. Wells Williams. By browsing the general index to the twenty volumes – conveniently arranged by article subjects, persons mentioned in the articles and contributors’ names98 – the researcher can realize that, in fact, it was an authentic storehouse of information and qualified opinions, sometimes in the form of original essays, aimed at giving a retrospective view or an

96 Murray A. Rubinstein, “The Wars They Wanted: American Missionaries’ Use of the Chinese Repository before the Opium War,” American Neptune 48, no. 4 (Fall 1988): 271–282. Rubinstein is even more drastic, saying that it was an “expression of a hostile intent” and that it was “an instrument […] used to mould Western opinion toward China and to create a climate of public opinion in which war with China was seen as a viable course of Western, and more precisely, British foreign policy” (see 277). See also Rubinstein’s The Origins of the AngloAmerican Missionary Enterprise in China, 1807–1840 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1996). 97 Malcolm, “The Chinese Repository,” 175. 98 ChRep, General Index of Subjects contained in the Twenty Volumes, with an arranged list of articles (Canton, 1851).

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update on crucial questions concerning Chinese and Sino-Western affairs.99 It is not possible to illustrate in any detail the contents of the Repository’s twenty volumes, which cover a far longer period than is considered herein. We will therefore restrict ourselves to selecting some materials, mainly from the first five volumes (1832–37), with the specific aim of discussing topics ascribable to the key concept of commercial, cultural and international “intercourse.” Actually, the Repository’s interpretation of the concept of “intercourse” was the same as that typical of the Enlightenment age. While its core concern was “commerce,” as the exchange of commodities for profit, in the Repository’s language this concept was also interpreted to underline its basic communicative dimension, as the precondition of sociability and civilization. “Intercourse” thus represented the multiple forms of exchange that occurred in all forms of intercultural contact. Civilization as a process of improving human material and cultural conditions was possible only in an open regime of free exchange of goods for the consumption of both the body and the mind.100 And an open “intercourse,” according to the Repository’s discourse, had theretofore been completely missing, especially from recent Sino-Western relations, due to a despotic, harmful Chinese “old Custom.” The main concern of the Repository was thus to explore the issue of “intercourse” in two possible senses. First it sought to highlight the connection between the nature and character of Chinese political institutions and culture, on the one hand, and Chinese foreign relations, both political and commercial, on the other. Second, it reflected on the possibilities of breaking down the cultural barriers still obstructing SinoWestern relations as a precondition for starting a process of Chinese modernization. Unsurprisingly, the Repository’s verdict on traditional, persisting Chinese institutions, administration and politics, and particularly on the state of the Canton, Hong-based trade relations, was decidedly negative. John R. Morrison (1814–43), the son of Robert, founder of the British Protestant Chinese mission, made this clear in three essays published in 1835. He described the Chinese system of government as overtly a true 99 The General Index shows that the Repository published 1257 articles in all (data assembled by Xiuqing Li, “The Chinese Repository”), whose subject coverage is shown by the tables provided in the Appendix. 100 The review commenced in 1832 by stating that: “during the long intercourse which has existed between the nations of Christendom and eastern Asia, there has been so little commerce in intellectual and moral commodities” (ChRep, I, May 1832, no. 1, 1).

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ancien régime, based on inequality, absolutism, privileges, absence of individual liberties and rights, and the frustration of personal abilities and ambitions. It was a “military despotism.” The Chinese nation was labelled “a vast army, under the command of one generalissimo, the emperor.” The emperor had absolute power; he was the only source of power, authority and administration. Chinese institutions were founded on the principles of hierarchy and obedience to one’s superior. Their modus operandi consisted in “strict police surveillance of individuals.” No rights existed independently of the emperor’s will, “liberty, in the true sense of the term, was unknown; and even locomotive freedom was possessed but in part.” In short, “the whole empire is [the emperor’s] property.”101 The radical differences between the Western and the Chinese conceptions of sovereignty and supreme political power explained the problematic state of Sino-Western relations. The Chinese conception of imperial sovereign power simply did not admit any checks within what was an essentially despotic state, and did not account for reciprocity between equals in foreign relations. In Morrison’s words: From him [the emperor] emanate all power and authority; the whole earth, it is ignorantly supposed (and it is the policy of such as are better informed to perpetuate the ignorant notion,) is subject to his sway; and from him, as the fountain of power, rank, honor, and privilege, all kings derive their sovereignty over the nations. It is in conformity with these haughty pretensions, that China ever refuses to negotiate with “outside barbarians,” until compelled to do so by force stronger than her own.102

Clearly, no forms of acceptable – that is to say, coherent with European conventions and standards – foreign interaction was possible, according to a viewpoint that subsequently was often invoked in Western, particularly missionary, discourse to justify recourse to exceptional, armed means. This clearly evoked the question that would be discussed later in nineteenth-century debates in order to establish the universality or the existence of “boundaries” – geographic, political, cultural, civilizational – of international law.103 Charles Marjoribanks, another prominent member

101 ChRep, IV, May 1835, 11. Morrison admitted, however, that the people were so remarkably industrious that they counteracted this principle by creating “a very secure tenure” of lands. 102 ChRep, IV, May 1835, 12. 103 Stuart Creighton Miller, “Ends and Means: Missionary Justification of Force in Nineteenth Century China,” in The Missionary Enterprise in China and America, ed. John K. Fairbank (Harvard, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974),

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of the British community in China and later president of the “Select Committee of East India Company” superintending trade relations between the EIC and the Hong merchants, wrote: Is it possible, let me ask, to apply the principles which regulate our national intercourse with the nations of civilized Europe to a government constituted as this?104

Other contributors, such as the Scottish merchant Robert Hugh Inglis, the partner of one of the wealthiest merchant firms in China, Dent & Co.,105 authored an essay reminiscent of eighteenth-century texts by Robertson, Tytler, Raynal, Gibbon, Blackstone and also Rollin, Du Halde, and the more recent Macartney, Staunton and Ellis. Although conceding that China had in ancient times reached a high degree of refinement, he pointed out how fundamentally different its form of civilization was from that of Western Europe: Her institutions are defective, her rulers corrupt, her men without honor, and her women slaves. Her moral civilization is nearly the same now as in the time of the Assyrians; it is Asiatic and not European.106

The unchangeable character of this situation had resulted from the lack of a “civilizing” religion like Christianity and from the single, ruinous reason of an “isolation” through which the Chinese government tried to defend its integrity, thus perpetuating its defects. This produced two combined effects. Chinese civilization was “standing still” for lack of communication and exchange, whereas Europe “rose prodigiously in the scale of civilization;” and Chinese government proved to be completely unreliable. The Repository’s main idea was that China’s improvement and its entrance into the family of the civilized nations was only possible through the propagation of Western cultural light among people immersed in the darkness of ignorance, and their consequent elevation to a proper human condition:

249–82, see for instance 261 and 265. Pitts, “Boundaries of Victorian International Law.” 104 ChRep, III, June 1834, 132. 105 On Inglis, see Hosea Ballou Morse, Britain and the China Trade 1635–1842, ed. Tuck, IV, 163, and Alain Le Pichon, China Trade and Empire: Jardine, Matheson & Co. and the Origins of British Rule in Hong Kong 1827–1843 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), passim. 106 ChRep, IV, May 1835, 19.

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One of the favourite rhetorical strategies of the Repository consisted in counteracting earlier favourable representations of China founded on biased readings of texts and documents – the Jesuits’ accounts were the most frequent though not the only cases in point – through the illustration of the actual state of Chinese society and of the daily life of Chinese subjects.108 In this regard, several articles commented on the seminal work by George Thomas Staunton (son of George Leonard, Secretary to Lord Macartney’s embassy, and himself the youngest member of the English mission) on the Chinese legal code,109 contrasting it with evidence of how the judicial apparatus actually operated in China. The existence of a written code of penal laws, as translated and appreciated by Staunton, was of no use. In fact, its regulations were systematically bypassed by the daily practice of justice, by the failure to enforce the laws and by the corruption of customs: The sentiments of morality must be diffused amongst a people to insure the strict and impartial execution of laws whether written or unwritten; for without that, they will easily be wrested from their true meaning.110

The Repository adopted the same argumentative strategy we have observed in the Canton Register by stressing the cruelty, inhumanity, arbitrariness, and irrational and discriminatory character of Chinese criminal justice, interpreted as the quintessence of an ancien régime institution.111 Penal laws, animated by a spirit of vengeance and conceived for punishing, not

107 ChRep, I, March 1832, no. 1, 5. 108 See for instance the essays by Bridgman (ChRep, II, May 1833, no. 1, 10; June 1833, no. 2, 61) and the “Notices of Modern China” series of articles signed by Robert Inglis, starting from CHRep, IV, May 1835, no. 1, 17. 109 See Robert Morrison (ChRep, II, July 1833, nos. 1–2-3, see in particular 131) on the Ta Tsing Leu Li, being the fundamental laws, and a selection from the supplementary statutes of the penal code of China […] Transl. from the Chinese and accompanied with an appendix […] by George Thomas Staunton (London: Cadell, 1810). 110 ChRep, IV, May 1835, 24. 111 See also Xiuqing Li, “The Chinese Repository and Chinese Criminal Law.”

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for reforming,112 threatened the physical integrity of the subjects. But it was the administration of justice as a whole that denied security to the Chinese people, not to mention to foreigners. This was one of the main reasons that external relations proved to be so difficult, unreliable and unstable. Widespread and deeply rooted corruption, abuse, systematic disrespect for the law, arrogance and hostility toward any possible expansion of external trade implied that stable, straightforward foreign relations could not be guaranteed. The Repository intended therefore to propose itself as the mouthpiece of “liberal” reforms in Sino-British international relations, first of all by advocating for the removal of the existing “wall of separation”: Nothing less than the permanent establishment of free and friendly intercourse between China and the western nations will satisfy the demands of this age. The present state of international relations, in some particulars at least, is “utterly intolerable;” and in all respects it is capable of improvements, beneficial and desirable to all who are therein interested.113

“Improvement” and “reform” were recurring terms used to highlight the fact that China and the West had always had inherently divergent approaches toward change and transformation. Explaining that China had long been isolated from the external world, the Repository believed this was the harmful consequence of a despotic institutional ancien régime that it deemed appropriate to contrast with a basically healthy Chinese civil society, naturally ready to exploit any opportunity for trade or exchange: for tens of centuries Old Custom has held a despotic and cruel sway over a noble race of men, restraining and destroying their best energies.

“Uniformity and unchangeableness” were national features reinforced and perpetuated by a “stereotyped” literary tradition, never updated and hard to modernize.114 But while China may have been essentially averse to change, it was the duty and the mission of “the commercial nations” to “mildly” interfere, in order to help China “[march] on in the line of national improvement”:115

112 ChRep, IV, Dec. 1835, no. 8, 370. 113 ChRep, V, October 1836, no. 6, 241. 114 ChRep, I, April 1833, no. 12, 480. 115 ChRep., I, June 1832, no. 2, 62.

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In the opinion of the Repository’s author’s, the “improvement” of China could not be expected from endogenous forces but could derive only from “free intercourse” – in fact one of the most frequently recurring expressions in the journal. Such “improvement” could also result from that external light to which Diderot, half a century earlier, had appealed figuratively to pierce the impenetrable Chinese cloister: It is not less a matter of astonishment than regret that, during the long intercourse, which has existed between the nations of Christendom and eastern Asia, there has been so little commerce in intellectual and moral commodities. The very vehicle of thought even, has been made contraband. The embargo has been rigorous as death, and has prevented what might have been communicated viva voce.117

That the population of such an extensive empire was cut off from free exchanges with the rest of the world, and that such a vast portion of the globe was made “impassable,” was a “stupendous anomaly,” impossible to justify in terms of a “right of inheritance” or the “law of justice and property.” China’s seclusion from the rest of the world was also condemned on religious grounds, starting from the idea of one, homogeneous “human family,” conceived in essentially religious terms. Such segregation was counter to the “community of interest” envisaged by providential designs, which had assigned the earth for the general benefit of humankind and not to the particular, exclusive interest of one part of the “human family.” The Chinese government had no right “to usurp the power of entire and perpetual exclusion.”118 It was necessary and possible to put an end to such an anomaly by way of an external, beneficial influence: There is a most lamentable lack of knowledge among the millions inhabiting eastern Asia: yet, we do anticipate the day (may it come quickly) when all that which is most valuable to man, and now so richly enjoyed by the nations of the West, elevating and yet still more to elevate

116 ChRep, V, October 1836, no. 6, 241. 117 ChRep, I, May 1832, no. 1, 1. 118 ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 352.

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them, shall be equally enjoyed, and produce the same results, among the nations of the Earth.119

For the authors of the Repository, the appeal for greater communication derived from a sort of general theory of social change and progress and from an openly professed culture of civil liberties and the rights of human beings. Against the self-interested thesis asserted by the East India Company concerning the meagre progress promised by the future of Indian and Chinese trades, the English private merchant James Goddard maintained that: the policy proposed to be pursued in regard to our trade with this place […] is the broad principle of free commerce.120

In reaction to obsessive Chinese bureaucratic and police controls on Western traders in Canton, “we are discontented” – stated the American merchant Charles W. King of Olyphant & co. – because better acquainted than our remote predecessors with the rights and duties of man […] we demand relief from the pressure of ungratified curiosity and forbidden inquiry […] we claim the liberty and variety of motion and novelty […] we feel our confinement to be a prison, and long to be set at liberty.121

The request for freer intercourse also rested on an historical argument concerning China’s past and that was prompted by empirical observations on everyday Chinese policy. History revealed that China had not always been averse to foreign trade. More precisely, the Repository drew upon a classic dichotomy between government and civil society and underlined that a fundamental difference existed in this regard between the Chinese people and their governors. The character of the people was not at all responsible for the “seclusion of the Chinese from the great family of the world.”122 This was rather the effect of the lofty ideas of the imperial Chinese government about its own dignity and status, its contempt toward any other people or nations on earth and its prevention of any contact with the rest of the “human family.” Indeed, a review of the history of Chinese foreign relations showed that it amounted to ignoring what among Western nations 119 ChRep, I, May 1832, no. 1, 5. 120 ChRep, II, Dec. 1833, no. 8, 355. 121 ChRep, I, August 1832, no. 4, 143. 122 ChRep, V, Sept. 1836, no. 5, 205.

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had become a generally recognized practice and a right of intercourse, sanctified by shared Christian religious tenets: it appears, from a long series of historical facts, that the Chinese practically deny the existence of relative rights among nations […] The [Chinese] government proceeds on the supposition that […] nations have a right to manage their own affairs in their own way, and have no responsibilities in reference to other portions of the human family; and that so long as one permits intercourse in a way it chooses, and refuses it in any other way, or interdicts it altogether, other nations have no right to interfere or complain […] The doctrine is equally opposed to the laws of God, to reason, and to common sense. Ignorance, superstition, pride, and ambition, have acted jointly to strengthen, establish, and perpetuate it.123

China’s seclusion from the external civilized world could also be interpreted as the effect of suspicion and fear. The imperial Chinese government was indeed alarmed by possible attempts to usurp its sovereignty on the part of foreign powers. That was the case in particular with Great Britain because of the great power it had achieved in India, thus causing concern in China regarding possible British designs for domination. The Repository responded to such apprehension by presenting a characteristically pure doux commerce theory. Commerce had to be pursued in itself, for its reciprocally beneficial effects, without seeking conquest and only aiming at the “intellectual and moral improvement” that intercourse brought as its lasting consequence. History also made it clear that in recent times the relations between China and the outside world from the point of view of civilizing exchanges had been turned upside down and the “march of improvement” – in a distant past proceeding from China outward – had reversed its direction: It may be said that the march of improvement through this or any other means, has been too slow in China; to which we reply that its progress has been slow all over the world, but that its progress has been greatly accelerated in Europe in the late century especially amongst nations whom we shall presently show to be conterminous with China, and therefore likely to accelerate the march of improvement by every contact. The pressure of civilization was until two centuries ago, perhaps from China, outwards; it is now from other countries into China.124

123 ChRep, III, Jan. 1835, no. 1, 419. 124 ChRep, V, Sept. 1836, no. 5, 206.

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British and Russian initiatives in various border areas represented a sort of “lava-like progress,” which was irresistibly putting an end to China’s isolation. “Policy and religion” were to help lessen the “shock” of it, to soften the “collision” and “bring happiness” by “peaceably promoting the trade of all the countries.”125 Especially after the dismal failure of Lord Napier’s show of naval force up the Pearl River in late 1834 and the subsequent restrictive imperial edicts, this meant maintaining the necessary prudence. Practical experience confirmed the distance between the people’s and the government’s position and attitudes, even revealing a difference between the benevolent, well-disposed imperial government and subordinate local officers to whom the “jealousy of trade” could be ascribed. Charles Gützlaff’s adventurous and unauthorized naval excursions in 1831–32 to distribute Christian tracts and commodities along the Northern Chinese coasts, together with the Scottish East India Company official, pamphleteer, trader and later MP Hugh H. Lindsay, had been instructive in this regard.126 On these occasions, Gützlaff had distributed to the inhabitants of the coastal towns and villages several English texts translated into Chinese, including the famous flyer “A Brief Account of the English Character,” conceived to gain favour with the local population and showing – with a vaguely intimidating hint that could be read between the lines – that Westerners did not deserve the negative prejudice excited by the Chinese authorities.127 After that experience, he had concluded that 125 ChRep, V, Sept. 1836, no. 5, 212. 126 See the Repository’s review in vol. II, April 1834, no. 12, 529. On Lindsay, see Robert Bickers, “’The Challenger’: Hugh Hamilton Lindsay and the Rise of British Asia, 1830s–1860s,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 22 (2012): 141–69 127 Written in 1832 by Charles Marjoribanks, translated into Chinese by Robert Morrison and printed for distribution among the Chinese population of the coastal area visited during Gützlaff’s voyage, the full English text was published in the Canton Register, 18 July 1832, 68–69. In it, it was explained that “the British Empire […] has no thirst of conquests” and it aims only at a “pacific and amicable intercourse […] a commercial intercourse in tranquillity.” Both the Chinese subjects and the English were indicated as the victims of the local officers’ vexations and extortions, far from the Emperor’s eyes and ears. Not suspicion, hostility and aggression, but “beneficence and kindness” must inspire the behaviour of the Chinese toward the English, whose morals and civilization were vindicated: “In England, the people live in tranquillity; their persons and property are protected by the law; their religion inculcates peace upon earth and good will towards all men; they have arrived to a wonderful state of improvement in arts and science, and in the cultivation of all those means which serve to civilize mankind.

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hostility toward foreigners was an attitude that the Manchu government had tyrannically imposed on its functionaries for the governance of Chinese subjects. As another contributor had written earlier: A deep and distinctive line must be drawn between the nine-tenths of the Chinese population who delight in the exchange of civilities, and enjoy themselves in social intercourse; and the remaining tenth, who form the mandarins, or Tartar officers of government of all grades; whose study it is to maintain the rule, that has obtained against foreigners, and to enforce it upon the people.128

In fact, it was argued that Chinese society, the lower classes in particular, were well disposed to receive Europeans, from whose learning, mostly their medical and technological skills, they could hope for relief from their moral and material degradation. In other words, Gützlaff, and the Repository after him, justified an active intervention on Chinese territory in the form of initiatives directed at forcing the hand of Chinese authorities by confronting them with the accomplished fact of direct, beneficial, peaceful relations with the Chinese people. And the search for a tangible, open intercourse through – as it were – a bottom-up strategy was justified not only for purely commercial reasons, but also typically humanitarian, and specifically medical grounds, on account of: [the miserable condition of the people, and […] their eager desire to obtain medical aid, which [during Gützlaff’s visits] was liberally granted them [and] the eagerness and confidence, with which these miserable creatures sought help from the strangers.129

In the opinions of the most representative authors of the Repository, a programme of open and free communication of Western knowledge in China was also to be recommended from a political point of view, as they expressed in prophetic tones. According to what Bridgman stated in 1834, China was not just stationary or still, but rather on the verge of

They are feared in time of war and honoured in time of peace. There is no country with which it is more the interest of China to remain in terms of friendly intercourse than England.” 128 ChRep, II, Dec. 1833, no. 8, 367. 129 ChRep, II, Oct. 1833, no. 6, 277–281, and April 1834, no. 12, 529. The ChRep dedicated nearly sixty articles to medical matters, assistance, missions and, later on, to the activities of the “Missionary Medical Society” established in 1838 of which a prominent figure was the American physician Peter Parker (see Spence, To Change China, 34–56).

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“retrogression” and “destruction” if some important change were not made to save the empire from a total crisis. A radical change in Sino-British relations was imminent and the question was if and how it could be of any advantage to Chinese society. While the military option was clearly a likely one, an enduring, beneficial and less expensive reform could also derive from mutual understanding, the diffusion of knowledge and the influence on morals and religion. Bridgman wrote in May 1834: if we mistake not the signs of the times, a crisis is rapidly approaching in the affairs of this nation; a revolution, though it may be long delayed, seems inevitable; and it must be directed by a military force or by means of the press. A military power would not improve the condition of society; though it might indeed, by its desolating course, open a way to the introduction of improvements; on the other hand, a diffusion of knowledge, which shall effectually reach the morals and the religion of the nation, and purify the sources of authority, check the outbreaking of rebellion, and prevent the infliction of unlawful punishments, would save an empire from destruction, and place it in its proper rank among the nations. This diffusion of knowledge must be effected by a foreign agency and at no inconsiderable expense. A military conquest would cause the destruction of thousands of human lives and millions of property; but a conquest of principles, the triumph of right reason, the victory of truth, will cost a far less expenditure of men and means, will be glorious in its results, and carry the blessings of peace and the bright hopes of immortality to the multitudes of this nation.130

Karl Gützlaff wrote in essentially the same terms, insisting more on “arts, sciences and principles” than on Christian content.131 That the Repository conceived an overall civilizing plan to open China not simply in commercial terms, but also by envisaging a more profound reform of society, culture and morals according to Western and Christian values, seems especially clear if we consider the plans of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China, founded in 1835 by the same personalities who three years earlier had started the periodical. The Society was once more an undertaking in which merchants and missionaries, freetraders and free-communicators joined forces for a common cause.132 130 Charles Bridgman, “On the Chinese Language,” CHRep, III, May 1834, no. 1, 9–10. 131 Karl Gützlaff, ChRep., II, August 1833, no. 4, 187. 132 See the signers of the “Proceedings Relative to the Formation of a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China,” ChRep, III, no. 8, December 1834, 380–381: James Matheson, David A. Olyphant, William S. Wetmore, James Innes, Thomas Fox, E.C. Bridgman, Karl Gützlaff, J.R. Morrison. James Innes, “devout

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The concept of “useful knowledge” was at the core of eighteenthcentury and early-nineteenth-century British ideas of social progress. It summarized the essence of a culture of improvement consisting in the application of science and technology to the betterment of human life both in practical terms and in moral and intellectual life.133 It was “central to the British Enlightenment” and expressed its commitment to social and economic progress. Indeed, it was one of those “enlightened ideas” that survived well into the nineteenth century thanks to the belief “that useful knowledge had the potential to become the greatest and most powerful agent for historical change.”134 In England, the concept of “useful knowledge” also became the trademark of one of the most remarkable early-nineteenth-century Whig reformist and “enlightened” social and cultural projects: the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (SDUK) founded in 1826 by the Whig politician and popular education advocate Henry Brougham (1778–1868) and the Quaker physician and education reformer George Birkbeck (1776–1841), with the aim of improving the education and especially the technical instruction of the working and middle classes and of increasing mass readership through popular publishing ventures.135

pusher” (Julia Lovell, The Opium War, Drugs, Dreams and the Making of China, London: Picador, 2011) and “notorious Captain” (Le Pichon, China Trade and Empire, 168), was a Scottish opium trader, famous for his 1832 expedition to the Fujian coast aboard his ship Jamesina. Thomas Fox was a prominent merchant in Macao and Canton and later Hong Kong, and a partner of Fox, Rawson & co. with William Blenkin, Thomas Samuel Rawson and James Strachan. For the others see footnote 44. 133 Mokyr, Enlightened Economy, 35. 134 Mokyr, Enlightened Economy, 487. 135 Mokyr, Enlightened Economy, 238. Bibliography on the London SDUK includes Monica Grobel, “The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge 1826–1846,” unpub. MA thesis, University of London, 1933. Harold Smith, The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, 1826–1848: A Social and Bibliographical Evaluation (London: Dalhousie University, 1974). Janet Percival, The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, 1826–1848 (London: The Library University College, 1978). And, more recently, Rebecca Brookfield Kinraide, The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge and the Democratization of Learning in Early Nineteenth-Century Britain (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006). See also the general and bibliographic information provided by “UCL Bloomsbury Project”: www.ucl.ac.uk/bloomsburyproject/institutions/sduk.htm (accessed May 25, 2015). Among the most important publishing enterprises promoted by the SDUK were the Penny Magazine (1832– 45), created by Charles Knight, and the Penny Cyclopaedia of the Society for the

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We find several occurrences of the concept of “useful knowledge” in the language of early-nineteenth-century English journalism dealing with China’s modernization.136 It expressed so efficaciously the support for China’s reform and enlightenment to be used for baptizing an interesting if short-lived cultural plan within the Sino-British communities in Macao and Canton, the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China.137 Its manifesto, published by the Repository in December 1834, clarified that the Society aimed to promote Western civilization in China by spreading scientific and technical learning in order to convince the Chinese public of the utility of cultivating contacts and exchanges with the “foreign barbarians.” Such a goal was to be achieved by promoting the spread of publications in Chinese not of religious content (prohibited after the Napier affair in 1834) but concerning general knowledge of the outside world. This strategy replicated, although in a much more problematic context, the SDUK’s liberal policy for fostering popular instruction in Britain by means of low-cost and understandable publications destined for the lower classes. In the case of China, this ambitious project intended not only to improve Sino-Western relations or awaken a “sleeping” Chinese knowledge, but principally to introduce Western civilization into China as a necessary step for its modernization, its participation in the “race for improvement” and its entrance into the international, civilized, “enlightened” community, thus taking on its “Proper Rank among the Nations.”138 The cultural tools needed to trigger such a process were not primarily Christian doctrines, even if these were clearly part of the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge (London: Charles Knight, 1833–43, 27 vols.; Supplement, 2 vols. 1846, 1851, Second Supplement, 1858). 136 See Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1710, Michael Lazich, “The Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China: The Canton Era Information Strategy,” in Mapping Meanings: The Field of New Learning in Late Qing China, ed. Michael Lackner and Natasha Vittinghoff (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 305–328. 137 On the Canton “Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China” (= SDUK-China, from now on) started by Bridgman and his associates, see Lazich, “Placing China in Its ‘Proper Rank among the Nations’,” and Songchuan Chen, “An Information War.” This should not be confused with the later Peking SDUK, on which see Christine Moll-Murata, “A Streetcar named ‘Utility’: Useful and Reliable Knowledge in China in the Second Millennium,” URKEW (= Useful and Reliable Knowledge in Global Histories of Material Progress in the East and the West, London School of Economics) Discussion Paper Series, 01/2013, no. 10, available at www.lse.ac.uk/economicHistory/Research/URKEW/papers/MollMurata.pdf (accessed August 11, 2014). 138 Bridgman, “On the Chinese Language,” CHRep, III, May 1834, no. 1, 10.

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programme. First and foremost, China – in contrast to the “misrepresentations […] [and the] absurd and mischievous theories” of the Jesuits who had depicted it as the country with “the most civilized people in the world”139 – needed modern scientific, technical, historical, geographical, political know-how and comprehensive knowledge of the world outside China. The same “useful knowledge” that had been responsible for Western progress had to be introduced in China. By taking a Baconian, Enlightened outlook, the journal indicated the printing press, linguistic skills, the exchange of information and the freedom of communication as the most effectual instruments to allow China to open itself to the Western world and join “the other nations in the march of intellect.”140 This plan was implemented by producing Chinese publications, an “intellectual artillery” for waging an “information war.”141 Among these were the “General History of the World,” the “Universal Geography” and the “History of England” by Gützlaff, as well as the famous “A Concise Account of the United States of America” written in Chinese by Bridgman in 1837 by using the ingenious strategy of adapting his text to Confucian style and rhetoric. We can see that the SDUK-China was not predominantly inspired by religion if we consider that the first translation plans did not include religious works at all, but mainly works on historical, geographical and scientific subjects.142 Later on, when the decision was made to translate works on Christian religion, the choice fell on William Paley’s Natural Theology, thus clearly revealing a religious culture focused on the most enlightened, non-dogmatic and rational expressions of eighteenth-century British theology. This strategy contributed to the remarkable influence that this and other publications promoted by the SDUK-China exercised on leading Chinese intellectuals and bureaucrats, however short-lived was the operating period of the Society, which was discontinued at the outbreak of the First Opium War.143 The translation plan and the writing of books on Western maritime nations officially committed to and published by Wei 139 “Proceedings Relative to the Formation of a Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge in China,” ChRep, III, December 1834, no. 8, 379. 140 “Proceedings,” ChRep, III, December 1834, no. 8, 380. 141 Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1706, Lazich, “The Diffusion of Useful Knowledge.” “Intellectual artillery” is an original expression of the founders of the SDUK-China, see ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 378. 142 Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1729. 143 Lazich, “Placing China in Its ‘Proper Rank among the Nations’,” 540–548. A full list of Chinese works published by the SDUK-China is provided by Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1719–1721.

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Yuan, Xu Jiyu and Liang Tinglang from the beginning of the 1840s onward was largely based on the Chinese materials of the SDUK-China, thus proving that considerable transcultural interaction had in fact already occurred.144

Conclusion The problem of “intercourse” was not just a theoretical one. It was not a speculative matter regarding “civilization” and the progress of societies considered from a detached and purely abstract viewpoint. Rather, it presented an immediate and practical aspect, since it concerned the problem of how to rearrange Sino-British and Sino-American commercial and socio-cultural relations, especially after the failure of Britain’s latest attempt at diplomacy, with Lord Napier coming to Canton in 1834 as the government-nominated chief superintendent of British trade, his clumsy initiatives, complete fiasco and final passing away at the end of the same year. According to the interpretations of historians such as Maurice Collis, Michael Greenberg, Hsin-pao Chang and Peter W. Fay,145 the year 1834 marked a turning point in Anglo-Chinese relations, when a stronger British determination appeared to force the Chinese government to accept new commercial terms.146 Without entering into the controversy regarding the 144 Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1723–1725. 145 Michael Collis, Foreign Mud: Being an Account of the Opium Imbroglio at Canton in the 1830s and the Anglo-Chinese War that Followed (Whitefish, MT: Kessinger Publishing, 2010, 1st ed. London: Faber & Faber, 1946). Michael Greenberg, British Trade and the Opening of China 1800–42 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969, 1st ed. 1951). Hsinpao Chang, Commissioner Lin and the Opium War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964). Peter W. Fay, The Opium War, 1840–2 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1975). 146 Recent contributions tend to distinguish the merchants’ aggressive and bellicose positions from the more cautious and reluctant stance held by the British officials and Lord Grey’s, first, and then Lord Palmerston’s ministries. See Glenn Melancon, “Peaceful Intentions: The First British Trade Commission in China, 1833–5,” Historical Research 73, no. 180 (February 2000): 33–47 and Britain’s China Policy and the Opium Crisis: Balancing Drugs, Violence and National Honour, 1833–1840 (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd., 2003): Melancon’s thesis is that “the British government had no policy of aggression toward China” (“Peaceful Intentions,” 47), and, anyway, he contrasts the mostly commercial motivations of the British merchant community with those of the British government, emphasising how the latter was guided more by the idea of vindicating the national honour and imposing respect for the English flag (“Honour

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divergent China policies pursued by British government on the one side and the private merchants after the abolition of the East India Company’s monopoly on the other – in regard to which the official and private papers of British officials and merchants are essential – we limit ourselves to pointing out the discursive strategies and vocabularies of some important sections of British and American opinion in China as represented by leading merchant firms and missionaries and their press initiatives. Such strategies were complicated by the fact that the opium trade was a problem impossible to ignore, and that it posed serious moral questions. It was at the origin of strident contradictions, as the great and most powerful British opium dealers – Matheson & Jardine above all – were also the most dogged supporters of missionary initiatives and worked side by side with them in all the publishing and communication projects mentioned so far. For the missionaries it was unquestionably a source of major embarrassment to depend on the opium traders’ financial and logistical support. In some cases, the readiness to accept opium-generated money, accompany opium-related transports and work for the opium dealers as interpreters and brokers was considered particularly impudent and verging on flippancy, as in the case of Gützlaff himself.147 There were exceptions, including the American missionaries. Bridgman, the founder of the Repository, was supported by the American trader Olyphant, who continually refused to deal in opium. And he publicly pronounced himself very disapproving of opium consumption, although he understandably remained more reticent about trade activities.148 What was the stance taken in the Repository toward the political course to be followed before and after the Napier episode? Was a cultural and information war enough to improve Sino-Western relations? What was the periodical’s approach to the opium trade, the opium crisis in 1839–40 and finally the war? Did the Christian, humanitarian, liberal resolution to civilize China, reform its closed, obsolete ancien régime and bring it inside the family of civilized nations on the part of British and American traders and missionaries lead

in Opium? The British Declaration of War on China, 1839–1840,” The International History Review 21, no. 4 (Dec., 1999): 855–874, and Britain’s China Policy, 4–5). 147 Lutz, Opening China, 77–83. 148 Michael Lazich, “American Missionaries and the Opium Trade in NineteenthCentury China,” Journal of World History 17, no. 2 (June 2006): 197–223, see 200–202.

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them to accept the opium trade to the point of justifying a war? What if “intercourse” degenerated and became “armed conflict”?149 In general, the Repository was very critical of the privileged companies, the East India Company and the Canton Co-Hong and, as the Gützlaff and Lindsay episodes attest, it was ready to support any initiative to establish direct relations with private Chinese traders and local markets. It often harshly reviewed publications – for example the influential historical account of China by Hugh Murray, Peter Gordon and John Crawfurd150 – which seemed to betray a favourable, Sinophile attitude previously typical of the Jesuits, and works like those by Peter Auber or Joseph Thompson expressing the standpoint of the East India Company, proclaiming, with regard to the latter, that The ghost of an odious and defunct monopoly is still to hover round these cherished shores: despising the principle that trade, to be successful, must be unfettered, the proof of which is to be read in the history of commerce in all nations and all times.151

However, in the mid-1830s, great expectations had arisen for a decisive turn in British policy in China. The colonial promoter and founder of the National Colonisation Society (with John Stuart Mill and Jeremy Bentham early members), Edward Gibbon Wakefield (1796–1862), had written that “a great change in the English trade with the Chinese is about to take place.”152 The question was simply whether or not the use of adequate pressure, possibly through military demonstration or intervention, was advisable or expedient for a limited objective such as concessions for freer commercial intercourse. On this matter the Repository gave voice to both sides. In its pages the moderate opinion found its place, such as that 149 On this see Kathleen L. Lodwick, “Missionaries and Opium,” Handbook of Christianity in China, Volume 2, ed. R.G. Tiedemann (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 354– 360. Lazich, “American Missionaries and the Opium Trade”. Peter W. Fay, “The Protestant Mission and the Opium War,” Pacific Historical Review 40, no. 2 (May, 1971): 145–161; and an especially valuable contribution is Stuart Creighton Miller, “Ends and Means: Missionary Justification of Force in Nineteenth Century China,” in The Missionary Enterprise in China and America, ed. John K. Fairbank (Harvard, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), 249–82. 150 Hugh Murray, John Crawfurd and Peter Gordon (et al.), An Historical and Descriptive Account of China (Edinburgh: Oliver & Boyd, 1836, 3 vols.). 151 ChRep, IV, April 1836, no. 12, 540. 152 Edward Gibbon Wakefield, England and America: A Comparison of the Social and Political State of Both Nations (London: R. Bentley, 1833, 2 vols.), I, 250.

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expressed by the prestigious Sinologist George Thomas Staunton, who judged aggressive and bellicose views “wholly inconsistent with any interpretation of the law of nations, with which I am acquainted”153 and suggested moving all British trade to an island outside Chinese jurisdiction. But the periodical stood in the main for opinions of the opposite tendency.154 Among the Repository’s contributors were those who since the early 1830s had been sure that war – an “embargo,” to begin with, and then “demonstrative hostilities,” as one person termed them155 – was an unavoidable outcome and that British objectives should extend far beyond Canton to embrace the entire Chinese coastal market.156 Other particularly hawkish positions excited by the Napier affair and well represented by the great trader James Matheson and the East India Company official Hugh H. Lindsay were in favour of immediate, unreserved naval action, and reflected the psychological attitudes and practical propensities of the majority of the foreign community in Canton.157 The signatories to the 1834 petition to the King-in-Council, which requested an alternative to the “quiet system” of “submission,” for “powers properly sustained by armed force” and for naval action, included the most representative figures of the SDUK-China.158 In fact, since earlier times, the Canton petition presented to the Commons in December 1830 by the “British subjects in China” – James Matheson, William Jardine, thirty-six more British country traders, some of the more prominent Parsee merchants involved with the Western community, and even the missionary and sinologist J.R. Morrison – had insisted on the ineffectiveness of any submissive countenance toward the Chinese authorities. The petitioners’ unambiguous language, though formally rejecting any advocacy of “deeds of violence,” underlined the “oppressive and corrupt rule of the Chinese government […] scarcely compatible with the regulations of civilized society.” The petition adopted the well-known argument that separated the “millions of comparatively civilized human beings” (the mass of Chinese

153 ChRep, V, October 1836, no. 6, 249. 154 That the missionaries advocated for a direct and coercive armed intervention during the first and the second “opium crisis” and even later, up to the Boxer rebellion, is the clear-cut thesis of the earlier cited Miller, “Ends and Means: Missionary Justification of Force in Nineteenth Century China.” 155 James Goddard in ChRep, II, Dec. 1833, no. 8, 367–368. 156 ChRep, II, Dec. 1833, no. 8, 364–365. 157 See Bridgman review of Lindsay’s Letter to the R.H. Viscount Palmerston, London, 1836, ChRep, V, October 1836, no. 6, 246–248. 158 “The Petition of British Subjects at Canton to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty’s in Council,” ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 354–360.

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Han subjects) from “their bitterest enemies” (the Tartar conquerors); and declared that a submissive spirit was not adequate when dealing with a government composed of the descendants of “a tribe of rude and ignorant barbarians.”159 James Matheson tirelessly continued his interventionist campaign afterwards, and since from 1835 on he lobbied the Commons and the City of London in favour of naval action.160 At the close of the 1830s and especially after Commissioner Lin carried out his initiatives against opium merchants, the British trading community and sections of British public opinion in the mother country turned gradually toward military intervention. In early 1839 – as William Jardine realized when arriving in London – both Palmerston and Melbourne’s ministry and part of British public opinion were not yet fully supportive of the opium merchants’ cause. In October that same year, however, the government had decided to push for an armed intervention in accordance with the views of personalities such as Thomas Babington Macaulay, John Hobhouse, Charles Buller and Joseph Hume and with the Liverpool, Glasgow and Manchester radical constituencies’ requests – the opposition Tories, Robert Peel and Gladstone in particular, criticizing the war.161 It may be true that in early 1840 the British domestic political scene was divided on the Chinese war issue not so much for reasons of principles as because of internal parliamentary conflicts, and that war was not inevitable.162 Nonetheless, the most committed supporters of a firm and aggressive policy – Radicals, the out-of-door, private merchant community in Great Britain and in China, and even the Protestant missionaries – elaborated a rhetorical strategy based on some easily recognizable principles suggesting that at the foundation of the coming conflict there was a true clash of worldviews as far as civilization, modernity, progress, international relations, and the rights and liberties of man were concerned. If, moreover, on the British parliamentary stage the national sentiments, the honour of the flag and the contrast with barbarous Chinese conduct were the main arguments on the ministry’s side, certainly 159 See the full text in The Canton Register, III, 18 Dec. 1830, n. 25, reprinted in Le Pichon, China Trade and Empire, Appendix IV, 553–559. 160 Le Pichon, China Trade and Empire, 30, 224, 240–242, 357–72, 403–406. 161 Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, 102. Bernard Semmel, The Rise of Free Trade Imperialism: Classical Political Economy the Empire of Free Trade and Imperialism 1750–1850 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 252– 254. In Canton, the only ones to take an anti-war stance were the members of a group of traders led by Dent & Co., whose opinions were voiced by the newspaper Canton Press, see Songchuan Chen, “An Information War,” 1732. 162 Melancon, Britain’s China Policy, 115.

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they were not the only ones in support of the war, as can be seen from the opinions voiced by the British community in China. As is well known, the uncomfortable and uneasy problem of the opium trade moved to the background and more defensible issues of principle, from the British point of view, took centre stage: the safety of British properties and subjects in China, the inherent unreliability of an arbitrary government as an international partner, the honour of the flag, and the imperatives of free trade. Nonetheless, even though the Repository was extremely steadfast on this point, a rather clear distinction came to the fore between the positions of American missionaries such as Bridgman and Williams, who were more consistently opposed to the opium trade, were willing to comply with Chinese requests and were supportive of Commissioner Lin Xesu,163 and those held by British actors and commentators, who were more sensitive to an imperial discourse implicating India and China in the same imperial-patriotic vision. Conceding the harmfulness of opium trade and consumption and the good reasons for the Chinese government to stop it, it was clear to the authors of the Repository that the British government in India and in Britain – not the opium dealers – had not just tolerated, but encouraged it. However, what was called into question above all was not the opium trade but the whole Chinese system of handling foreign relations, which had to be changed through active intervention from the outside: we still think, and we have ever thought, [the Chinese] policy towards foreigners is so wrong, that all governments whose people have any interests in this country ought to interpose for the correction of this wrong.164

When hostilities began, British merchants and Protestant missionaries firmly supported British troops and the military effort. Missionaries like Gützlaff in particular lent their knowledge of local situations and their linguistic abilities alongside British troops, on board British ships, assisting the British occupation, during negotiations and by taking on official functions, all the while never ceasing to perform their religious duties by distributing printed tracts among the Chinese. It must be noted that at the peak of the opium crisis, at the end of 1839 and at the beginning of 1840, the Repository, faced with the prospect of an 163 Lazich, “American Missionaries and the Opium Trade,” 205: Bridgman agreed to print in the Repository Lin’s Letter to the Queen of England. See ChRep, VIII, May 1839, no. 1, 9. 164 ChRep, IX, July 1840, no. 1, 162.

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armed conflict, seemed to lean toward a more pacifist attitude. Bridgman expressed an increasingly critical position on the opium trade and the British authorities’ behavior.165 In this way, the periodical revised its previous, more resolutely aggressive stance. As a matter of fact, although it was explicitly against “a declaration of war, and an invasion of the country with a view to conquest,”166 since 1834 the Repository had also been criticizing the “quiet system,” which was unresponsive and submissive to the usual Chinese extortions and oppressions. Such a submissive attitude was suited neither “to all improvements in the commercial relations” nor “to every philanthropic enterprise.”167 The journal loudly requested open and free interaction with China on the basis of an international order regulated by commercial and diplomatic treaties according to Western practice. Such a view derived from the idea of the duties arising from God’s having entrusted human beings with “dominion of all the earth.” The same duties were supposed to be the foundations of the “duties among nations,” meaning the collective responsibility to the “human family.” No single nation could withdraw from such responsibility. If China did, it was In a position of open violation of the law: thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself; and that, in such an attitude, [other nations] not only may, but must, remonstrate with her, and, if they cannot persuade, compel her, if they can, to a course more consistent with their rights and her obligations.168

The use of force was thus admissible, because it was the only alternative left after all other methods had been tried: embassies, remonstrances, compliance, smuggling and commercial missions along the coastline. Not even “the diffusion of useful knowledge and Christian truth” was sufficient in the short term for securing and protecting British subjects in China, which was undoubtedly the duty of the British government: In the present attitude of the Chinese empire, no government can maintain an honourable intercourse with it, without a resort to force; and for the

165 Lazich, “American Missionaries and the Opium Trade,” 206, in which Lazich makes reference to Bridgman’s article “Remarks on the Present Crisis in the Opium Traffic,” ChRep, VIII, May 1839, no. 1, 1. 166 ChRep, III, January 1835, no. 1, 411. 167 ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 362. 168 ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 363.

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However, in early 1840, a little before the beginning of the most violent episodes of the war, the journal did not refrain from asking again for a peaceful arrangement: a trial of strength would only aggravate and not at all alleviate the present evils; and […] the storm of war once raised no mortal could tell when or how it would terminate […] Let the traffic in opium be abandoned as an evil thing, let a well regulated commerce be widely extended, and let peace and friendly intercourse be preserved, and who will not rejoice?170

A clear divergence between the Repository and mainstream British opinion was becoming apparent. Though far from unanimous, the latter was well represented in 1840, when hostilities had just begun, by Hugh Hamilton Lindsay, one of the most influential figures of the Canton British community.171 In London, where he was lobbying in support of the war, Lindsay published a pamphlet whose title – Is the War with China a Just One? – rhetorically anticipated the positive answer given in the text. This was the same Lindsay who in 1836 had already demanded “energetic measures,” “a direct armed interference”172 and “the necessity of hostile interference to avenge the insults which had been offered to us, and to place our affairs in that country in a more secure and respectable position.”173 What we should consider, however, is that the cases of Lindsay and the Repository – leaving aside the opium question,174 the attitude toward the use of arms and the responsibility for commencing the war – were built on the same presuppositions and led to the same conclusions.175

169 ChRep, III, Dec. 1834, no. 8, 362. 170 ChRep, VIII, Jan. 1840, no. 1, 444, 446. 171 On his career, see Bickers, “The Challenger”.” 172 H.H. Lindsay, Letter to the R.H. Viscount Palmerston on British Relations with China (London: Saunders and Otley, 1836, 3rd edition), 4. 173 H.H. Lindsay, Is the War with China a Just One? (London: James Ridgway, 1840, 2nd edition), 6. All the following quotations are from this pamphlet. 174 Even a resolute supporter of the British case like Lindsay questioned not the Chinese government’s right to prohibit the opium trade but its indiscriminate course of action against the foreign merchants’ property, personal freedom and safety. 175 Fay, “The Protestant Mission and the Opium War”. Rubinstein, “The Wars they Wanted”. See also Paul A. Cohen, “Christian Missions and Their Impact to

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China was not a “civilized nation.” It had a weak and unreliable government, which because of its nature and historical features was incapable of guaranteeing the basic conditions defining a civilized nation: security, property, personal protection, civil rights and liberties, and freedom of intercourse. The Chinese government had “set at defiance all international laws recognized by civilized nations for the protection of life and property.” The current crisis offered the opportunity to force China to enter into the circle of the civilized nations and to accept “the rules which guide our intercourse with all other nations of the world.”176 The British private merchant James Goddard, an occasional writer and contributor to the Repository, explained the issue at stake, saying that, through “attempts to call this vast population into commercial existence,” the Chinese could be “moulded into something like a social and international body.”177 The Chinese, therefore, had to be exposed to the civilizing effects of commerce, which were exalted by a “commercial ideology” toward which Evangelicals, free-traders, radicals and liberals in general converged, and which the Irish historian of the British colonies, social reformist and commentator on Sino-British relations Robert Montgomery Martin (1801– 68) illustrated with these words: The leading purposes which trade and commerce, and consequently every business and profession which exists by being subsidiary to them, appears destined by the will of Providence to answer, are: to promote the cultivation of the earth – to call forth into use its hidden treasures, – to excite and sharpen the inventive industry of man, to unite the whole human race in bonds of fraternal connection – to augment their comforts and alleviate their wants by an interchange of commodities superfluous to the original possessor, – to open a way for the progress of civilization, for the diffusion of learning, – for the extension of science, for the reception of Christianity, – and thus to forward that ultimate end to which all the designs end dispensations of God, like rays converging to a central point,

1900,” The Cambridge History of China, Volume 10, Late Ch’ing 1800–1911, Part 1, ed. John K. Fairbank (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 543–590. 176 Lindsay, Is the War with China a Just One?, 18. 177 James Goddard, Remarks on the Late Lord Napier’s Mission to Canton: In Reference to the Present State of Our Relations with China (London: printed for private circulation, 1836), 18. On Goddard see Peter W. Fay, The Opium War, 1840–1842: Barbarians in the Celestial Empire in the Early Part of the Nineteenth Century (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1975), 39–40, 73, 77, 83.

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This “commercial ideology” proposed commerce, civilization, economic liberty, free trade, the civil and religious duties of men, and a comprehensive vision of modernity and progress as embodied by contemporary Great Britain in one package. It was the ideology of a Western “civilizing mission” which nineteenth-century Europe (and the United States) built on the assumptions of Enlightenment universalist progressivism, enriching it with religious, even millennialist ideas of a pious, humanitarian duty to benefit humankind.179 It was this kind of ideology that inspired the commercial diplomacy of John Bowring (1792– 1872), the famous English businessman and politician with vast international experience, the official “British missionary of commerce”180 in all the Mediterranean countries of Europe, Africa and the Near East, radical friend and editor of Jeremy Bentham, promoter of the Anti-Corn Law League and appointed by Palmerston to a Canton consulship in 1849, as the first step of a diplomatic career in the Far East that led him to be governor of Hong Kong in the 1850s.181 At the close of this chapter it may be appropriate to evoke Bowring’s personality and extraordinary career as an “indefatigable and cosmopolitan propagator of free trade,”182 for two main reasons. First, his commitment to free trade was not just a speculative issue, but, in fact, an active engagement on behalf of Great Britain in the pursuit of policies suited to various conditions in different parts of the world. In China, as the British 178 Robert M. Martin, British Relations with the Chinese Empire in 1832. Comparative Statement of the English and American Trade with India and Canton (London: Parbury & Allen, 1832), exergo. The “Gibbon” to whom Martin attributes these words is not Edward Gibbon but rather the Anglican Evangelical and abolitionist clergyman Thomas Gisborne and the quote is from his book An Enquiry into the Duties of Men in the Higher and Middle Classes (London: J. Davis, 1795, 2 vols.). 179 Osterhammel, The Transformation of the World, 744. 180 Lammer Moor, Bowring, Cobden and China. A Memoir (Edinburgh: John Menzies; London: Houlston & Wright, 1857), 7. 181 David Todd, “John Bowring and the Global Dissemination of Free Trade,” Historical Journal 51, no. 2 (Jun. 2008): 373–397. 182 Todd, “John Bowring,” 374. On Bowring see now Philip Bowring, Free Trade’s First Missionary: Sir John Bowring in Europe and Asia (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2014) and Frank Trentmann, Free Trade Nation: Commerce, Consumption, and Civil Society in Modern Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 141.

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plenipotentiary, Bowring acted as a dynamic supporter during the 1850s of a gunboat policy as a means for removing obstacles to global communication and the spread of Western civilization. He was the perfect example of a “liberal imperialist,” showing how a free trade stance could be reconciled with an aggressive, expansionist, imperialistic foreign policy. Second, he perfectly expressed the symbiosis between secular and religious ideas and the ideological coexistence of a Christian view of society and the duties of men – Bowring was a devout Unitarian himself183 – and a commercial, acquisitive ethics and policy. The “stunning chiasmus” attributed to him and also quoted by Amitav Ghosh in his powerfully evocative 2008 historical novel Sea of Poppies – “Jesus Christ is free trade, and free trade is Jesus Christ” – synthetizes an outlook that was widely diffused in the Anglo-American merchant and missionary communities in Canton before and after the First Opium War and was even espoused to justify the British Opium War by figures like former US president John Quincy Adams.184 That phrase may have been mockingly quoted by Karl Marx in his 1848 Brussels speech on free trade, but it epitomizes in a perfect and penetrating way the reciprocal support of economic and religious rhetoric in the mid-Victorian free trade ideology. It synthetizes also the Peelite credo that “free trade would promote civilization and peace”: an idea which was at the basis of a vision of global order and which “ran deeply through the public mind and morality of Victorian Britain.”185 Bowring’s career, like those of James and John Stuart Mill or of less prominent figures in other contexts,186 exemplifies the imperialist outcome of liberal principles which, authoritatively etched into nineteenth-century Western culture by writers such as Benjamin Constant, were rooted in that particular trend of eighteenth-century liberal culture which can be defined as a “commercial Enlightenment,” linking

183 R.K. Webb, “John Bowring and Unitarianism,” Utilitas, 4 (1992): 43–79. 184 Kendall Johnson, Narratives of Free Trade: The Commercial Cultures of Early US–China Relations (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011), 2. 185 Anthony Howe, “Free Trade and Global Order: The Rise and Fall of a Victorian Vision,” in Victorian Visions of Global Order, 26–46. 186 See Anna Clark and Aaron Windel, “The Early Roots of Liberal Imperialism: ‘The Science of a Legislator’ in Eighteenth-Century India,” Journal of Colonialism and Colonial History 14, no. 2 (2013), http://muse.jhu.edu/ (accessed April 27, 2014). See also my James Mill e il problema indiano (Milano: Giuffrè, 1979) and “Empire, Liberty and the Rule of Difference: European Debates on British Colonialism in Asia at the End of the Eighteenth Century,” European Review of History-Revue européenne d’Histoire 13, no. 3 (September 2006): 473–498; Pitts, “Boundaries of Victorian International Law.”

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progress and modernization to the development of a commercial, free, expanding, global society. From this point of view, it might be said that the Enlightenment heritage was not so much simply the prosecution of a late-eighteenth-century “turn to empire”187 as it was the natural, continuous evolution of ideas of Western primacy in social progress, culture and civilization with powerful normative implications that were deeply embedded in Enlightenment culture.

187 Jennifer Pitts, A Turn to Empire: The Rise of Imperial Liberalism in Britain and France (Princeton, NJ, and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2005).

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Appendix The Chinese Repository and Its Content The following tables have been redeveloped on the basis of data provided by Xiuqing Li, “The Chinese Repository and Chinese Criminal Law in the Minds of Westerners of the 19th Century,” Rechtsgeschichte-Legal History. Journal of the Max Planck Institute for European Legal History 22 (2014): 158–174.

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Table 6.1: Distribution of articles according to the subject arrangement provided by the “General Index of Subjects Contained in the Twenty Volumes, with an Arranged List of Articles,” in The Chinese Repository, Canton, 1851 Missions Language, Literature Chinese Government and Politics Wars against Great Britain Geography Trade and Commerce Opium Medical Missions Chinese People Paganism Revision of the Bible Relations with Great Britain Biographical Notices Miscellaneous Canton and Foreign Factories Indian Archipelago Natural History Foreign Relations Chinese History Education Societies etc. Religious Arts, Science and Manufactures Travel Shipping Japan, Korea etc. Hong Kong Relations with America Siam and Cochinchina Other Asian Nations Revenue, Army and Navy

102 94 81 74 63 60 55 48 47 43 40 38 38 37 36 36 35 34 33 31 29 27 27 26 24 22 21 21 18 17 1257

Chinese subjects Language, Literature Chinese Government and Politics Geography Chinese People Natural History Chinese History Arts, Science and Manufactures Shipping Revenue, Army and Navy Total

94 81 63 47 35 33 27 26 17 423

China foreign relations Wars against Great Britain Trade and Commerce Opium Relations with Great Britain Canton and Foreign Factories Foreign Relations Travel Relations with America 345

74 60 55 38 36 34 27 21 293

Religious matters Asian subjects Missions 102 Indian Archipelago Medical Missions 48 Japan, Korea etc. Paganism 43 Hong Kong Revision of the Bible 40 Siam and Cochinchina Religious 29 Other Asian Nations Education Societies etc 31

121

Biography and other 36 Biographical Notices 24 Miscellaneous 22 21 18

75 1257

38 37

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Table 6.2: Distribution of articles according to macro-subjects

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CHAPTER SEVEN THE GOLDEN GATE AND THE OPEN DOOR: CIVILIZATION, EMPIRE, AND EXEMPTION IN THE HISTORY OF U.S. CHINESE EXCLUSION, 1868–1910 PAUL A. KRAMER

This chapter explores a mostly forgotten but crucially important feature of the history of Chinese migration to the United States in the late 19th and early 20th centuries: the legal exemption of merchants, teachers, students, and tourists from barriers to entry. While the “exempt classes” are usually mentioned or explored in passing in existing historical accounts, they have been underplayed in an overarching narrative that emphasizes the ways that an increasingly vocal and influential anti-Chinese movement consisting of Euro-American workers on the West Coast, and China’s subordination to the Western powers, combined to produce “Chinese exclusion,” a totalizing ban on Chinese entry into the United States, from 1882 to 1943. Historians have rightly pointed out the precedent-setting role of anti-Chinese law in the United States, and its profound role in stigmatizing both Chinese and other Asian migrants in the decades that followed. But Chinese exclusion in the United States was not just an expression of absolute racial distinction: the exceptionalizing of a specific group on the basis of essentialized characters of biological or cultural descent. It was also about distinctions of civilization: the ranking of groups on the basis of their individual and collective conformity to Eurocentric standards of bodily comportment, political rationality, labor discipline, consumption, and family, sexual, and moral propriety. The main legal expressions of this civilizing mode of differentiation are the two clauses authorizing the passage of the “exempt classes” between

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China and the United States.1 Article II of the 1880 Angell Treaty between China and the United States, which replaced the 1868 Burlingame Treaty, and paved the way for harsher, unilateral American exclusion of Chinese subjects, also stated that: Chinese subjects, whether proceeding to the United States as teachers, students, merchants or from curiosity, together with their body and household servants … shall be allowed to go and come of their own free will and accord, and shall be accorded all the rights, privileges, immunities, and exemptions which are accorded to the citizens and subjects of the most favored nation.

Two years later, Section 6 of the 1882 Chinese Restriction Act stated that “every Chinese person other than a laborer” bearing an English-language certificate from Chinese authorities testifying to their status as such must be allowed entry by American immigration authorities. Over the next 60 years of what is commonly known as the “exclusion era,” 84,115 Chinese migrants able to secure Section 6 certificates would travel back and forth between China and the United States, alongside returning migrants and U.S. citizens of Chinese descent. Their passage was often obstructed by exclusionist officials unwilling to respect the documents they carried, and they faced ongoing, and often violent, racist hostility and marginalization in the United States, including bars to naturalization, as “aliens ineligible to citizenship.” But the fact of exemption—that the Sino-American Treaty and Congressional legislation permitted the migration of “civilized” Chinese people in the context of rabid anti-Chinese politics—nonetheless requires historical explanation. This chapter argues that the root of the “exempt classes” can be found in the geopolitical agendas of American and Chinese elites, who saw advantages in the cultivation of elite, inter-imperial migration, even as they did so in very different ways, and across very asymmetrical axes of power. In China, a rising generation of diplomats and intellectuals saw advantages in stimulating the back-and-forth migration of merchants and students, who might remit capital for Chinese economic development, bring much-needed technical expertise with which China might develop its military and industrial capacities, and project favorable messages about the civilized character of Chinese society, in the face of intensifying anti1

A different version of this work has been published in: Paul Kramer, “Imperial Openings: Civilization, Exemption and the Geopolitics of Mobility in the History of Chinese Exclusion, 1868–1910,” The Journal of the Gilded Age and Progressive Era 14, No. 3 (2015): 317–347. doi:10.1017/S1537781415000067.

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Chinese racism. In the United States, an increasingly mobilized sector of East Coast manufacturers and exporters became convinced that, in the context of wrenching industrial depressions, the export of American products via traveling Chinese merchants was necessary not only for their own prosperity, but for the stability of American capitalism itself. If an “open door” onto China’s markets was an urgent need, it would be jeopardized by a rapidly closing “golden gate” on the Pacific Coast. They were joined by American missionaries and diplomats persuaded that backand-forth migration by Chinese elites was crucial if they were to secure influence and power—for Protestantism and the U.S. state, respectively— among the rising generation in China. As I’ll discuss, Chinese and U.S. actors approached the geopolitics of migration across wide differentials of power, with Americans setting the dominant terms by virtue of their military and neo-colonial impositions on Chinese sovereignty. But what is striking nonetheless is the way that Chinese and American elites converged on the notion that the open transPacific migration by Chinese elites to the United States, and the exclusion of Chinese laborers, was the best way to mesh the agendas of both states. Notably, the greatest turbulence over Chinese migration during the exclusion era in the United States occurred only between 1898 and 1906, when a new, more exclusionist set of officials was appointed that effectively refused to respect Section 6 exemptions, subjecting “exempt class” migrants to the harsh and humiliating inspections and deportations they had previously reserved largely for “coolies.” This shift in enforcement prompted the Chinese boycott of 1905–6, which brought together merchant elites concerned with restoring their exemptions, and more radical student groups insisting on an end to the exceptional restriction of Chinese people more generally. Tellingly, it was the former group that triumphed. As we’ll see, “exempt class” policy was restored by executive order and, despite intensifying nativist politics in the United States, Section 6 migrants would continue to travel to the United States until the repeal of Chinese exclusion in 1943. What does this story have to tell us more broadly about the modern history of global migration? First, it suggests the need to situate the history of modern state boundary-making within a political-economic context, as well as a juridical one. At least within European and U.S. historiographies, histories of migration and boundary-making have been dominated by perspectives that emphasize the function of borders as instruments of national self-definition and state-building, without sufficient attention to the complex, cross-cutting influence of economic interests and agendas. As this case demonstrates, these economic projects involved not only the

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transit of Chinese laborers to the United States, but the projection of U.S. commercial power into East Asia itself. Second, it suggests the need to revisit conventional understandings of borders: where U.S.-based scholarship, at least, has tended to conflate regulation with closure, borders are also about letting certain groups in. Rather than a metaphor of walls or gates, we might think of borders as filters that both keep out and allow entry: as this chapter hopes to demonstrate, reading the openings can be just as revealing as reading the closures. Third, and finally, this chapter points to the transnational and inter-imperial character of boundarymaking. While by the late 19th century, boundary control emerged as a defining feature of “sovereignty” in the international order, states—even powerful ones—never fully exercised the unilateral control they aspired to. Migration diplomacy (often highly asymmetrical diplomacy) survived; even where powerful states refused to sit down at the negotiating table, they remained attuned to the implications of their migration policies for their states’ power, interests, and reputations, particularly in the face of critical politics. Ostensibly “sovereign” states, in other words, got to make their borders, but not as they pleased.

The Oldest Empire and the Newest China and the United States in the late 19th century were both comparable and connected. While anti-Chinese exclusionists would attempt to distinguish and separate the United States and China across a bottomless, Orientalist abyss, there were some very rough similarities between what one missionary author called “The Oldest and the Newest Empire.”2 Both China and the United States were sprawling land-based and commercial empires with exceptionalist self-conceptions, underdeveloped systems of diplomacy, and variants of status anxiety with respect to the European imperial core: the United States for its republicanism, political corruption, and racial impurity, China for its non-Christianity and world-historic slide from the center of global power.3 The two empires’ histories were also woven together in relations of domination. The United States took full advantage of unequal treaties that secured Americans legal sovereignty 2

Rev. William Speer, The Oldest and the Newest Empire: China and the United States (Hartford, CT: S.S. Scranton and Company, 1870). 3 On the United States’ changing self-conception across the 19th and early 20th centuries, see Anders Stephanson, Manifest Destiny: American Expansionism and the Empire of Right (New York: Hill and Wang, 1995). For China at the turn of the century, see Rebecca E. Karl, Staging the World: Chinese Nationalism at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002).

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and unfettered commercial access in selected Chinese port cities.4 While U.S. corporations exported flour, kerosene, and especially cotton textiles, Protestant missionaries leveraged their exemption from Chinese jurisdiction to establish schools and mission stations in the hopes of toppling heathenism for Christ.5 Finally, the United States had the power to draw on Chinese labor.6 When, in 1868, a Chinese diplomatic mission working with Anson Burlingame negotiated a reciprocal, open migration treaty between China and the United States, it represented a triumph for China’s international recognition, but it also meant victory for U.S. employers of Chinese labor.7 Facing insatiable labor demands, American employers advanced the first iteration of imperial anti-exclusion. Here proponents of Chinese immigration cast it as an essential element of continental westward colonization: without the labor power, technical skills, and entrepreneurial acumen of the Chinese, it was maintained, the Western portions of North America would remain a desolate, underpopulated waste region unattractive to Euro-American “settlers.”8 You needed the Chinese, in other words, if you wanted California to be white. This was the voice of labor contractors and employers, but also of Protestant missionaries. If, for many missionaries, God had apparently made a huge geographic mistake by placing something like one half of humanity—the “heathen,” Asian half—on the other side of the world’s 4

On the United States and the treaty ports, see Eileen Scully, Bargaining with the State from Afar: American Citizenship in Treaty Port China, 1844–1942 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001). 5 On U.S. missions in China, see Jane Hunter, The Gospel of Gentility: American Women Missionaries in Turn-of-the-Century China (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1984). Xi Lian, The Conversion of Missionaries: Liberalism in American Protestant Missions in China, 1907–1932 (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 1997). John K. Fairbank, ed., The Missionary Enterprise in China and America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974). Paul A. Varg, Missionaries, Chinese, and Diplomats: The American Protestant Movement in China, 1890–1952 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1958). 6 On U.S.–Chinese relations during this period, see Michael Hunt, The Making of a Special Relationship: The United States and China to 1914 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). 7 On the Burlingame Treaty, see John Schrecker, “‘For the Equality of Men—For the Equality of Nations’: Anson Burlingame and China’s First Embassy to the United States, 1868,” Journal of American–East Asian Relations 17, No. 1 (2010): 9–34. 8 For this approach, see Cheryl L. Cole, “Chinese Exclusion: The Capitalist Perspective of the ‘Sacramento Union,’ 1850–1882,” California History 57, No. 1 (1978): 8–31.

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largest ocean from the American and European base of the one true faith, Chinese migration to the United States was a providential correction.9 By the late 1870s, these imperial voices in defense of Chinese immigration rose in volume against a vocal anti-Chinese exclusionist movement anchored on the West Coast, but with growing national resonance. Exclusionists wired together racialized republican critiques of industrial capitalism and earlier debates on the status of Asian “coolies,” emerging with a racial-exclusionist ideology that conflated Chinese migrants, coerced labor, racial impurity, and contagious unfreedom.10 Their political mobilizations stoked political and economic anxieties (that white workers, the backbone of the Republic, would be replaced by underconsuming Chinese workers) and civilizational fears (the risks Chinese immigration posed to white American morality and racial-sexual purity).11 Increasingly, they made their power felt both in brutal mob violence against Chinese communities in the West, and in state and national electoral politics. In response to nativist mobilizations, President Hayes sent new diplomatic missions to explore the possibility of revising the U.S. treaty with China to allow for restriction of some kind. In October 1880, a mission led by James B. Angell, president of the University of Michigan, pressed Chinese diplomats to give the United States a free hand in granting immigration rights. When this was refused, they advanced a treaty draft that permitted the U.S. to “regulate, limit, suspend, or prohibit” the “coming of laborers” but which exempted merchants, travelers, teachers, and students; a “laborer” was defined as anyone not in these exempted categories. Chinese diplomats pushed back, insisting that artisans were not “laborers” and that restriction be limited to California, and giving the Qing government veto power over U.S. enactments on Chinese immigration. But they soon settled on an agreement that granted 9

For this argument, see Esther Baldwin, Must the Chinese Go? An Examination of the Chinese Question (San Francisco: R and E Research Associates, 1970 [1890]). 10 On the figure of the “coolie,” see Moon-ho Jung, Coolies and Cane: Race, Labor and Sugar in the Age of Emancipation (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006). 11 On the Chinese exclusion movement and the regional and national politics of Chinese exclusion, see especially Andrew Gyory, Closing the Gate: Race, Politics and the Chinese Exclusion Act (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998). Alexander Saxton, The Indispensable Enemy: Labor and the Anti-Chinese Movement in California (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971). Elmer Sandmeyer, The Anti-Chinese Movement in California (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1939). Stuart Creighton Miller, The Unwelcome Immigrant: The American Image of the Chinese (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969).

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American authorities unilateral power to restrict—but not exclude— Chinese immigration, as long as such restrictions were “reasonable” and communicated to the Qing government. Ratified by the Senate in May 1881, the Angell Treaty granted the U.S. government the right to “regulate, limit or suspend” the in-migration of laborers, “other classes not being included in the limitation.” It stated that immigrants would not be subject to abuse or harassment. Teachers, students, merchants, and travelers “from curiosity,” along with their household and body servants, were to be “permitted to go and come of their own free will and accord.”12 Congress did not wait long to act. President Arthur vetoed a first bill barring Chinese laborers for 20 years on the grounds of its extreme duration, but signed into law a second bill lasting a presumably more reasonable 10 years. The act of May 6, 1882, informally known at the time as the “Chinese Restriction Act,” barred “laborers” and required members of the “exempt classes” to obtain special certificates—known as Section 6 certificates—to allow them to travel. That is to say, the 1882 act was simultaneously a harsh prohibition and a grant of permission: a “restriction” law, strictly speaking, rather than an “exclusion” law.13 It makes little sense to identify this law as an exercise in either “race” or “class” politics, understood as mutually exclusive modes of power. It was both race and class legislation, marking a class division that applied only to the Chinese, defined as a racialized descent group. The most appropriate way of describing the nature of the law—at the intersection of race and class—is to say that it registered a distinction of “civilization,” permitting the transit of “civilized” and “civilizing” elements within the Chinese population, while barring those vaster populations whose lack of “civilization” was thought to pose a threat to the United States.

12 On the diplomatic politics of the Angell Treaty, see Shih-Shan Henry Tsai, China and the Overseas Chinese in the United States, 1868–1911 (Fayetteville: University of Arkansas Press, 1983). David L. Anderson, “The Diplomacy of Discrimination: Chinese Exclusion, 1876–1882,” California History 52 (Spring 1978): 320–45. 13 On the politics of the 1882 act, see Gyory, Closing the Gate; Patrick and Shane Fisher, “Congressional Passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882,” Immigrants and Minorities 20, No. 2 (2001): 58–74. Shirley Hune, “Politics of Chinese Exclusion: Legislative-Executive Conflict, 1876–1882,” Amerasia Journal 9, No. 1 (Summer 1982): 5–27.

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Exempt Classes Between the 1882 act implementing the Angell Treaty and its 1943 “repeal,” tens of thousands of elite Chinese migrants (and those who successfully pretended to be elite) managed to enter the United States through openings—often very sharp openings—in U.S. immigration law. Immigration statistics record that between 1894 and 1940, 84,115 members of the “exempt classes” entered the United States, comprising 34 percent of the 248,298 legal Chinese entrants during this period (see Figure 7.1).14 These figures indicate the extent to which U.S. policies constituted not a wall but a filter, permeable by design to those who reached the strict but elusive bar of “civilization.” Unsurprisingly, questions of class definition surfaced repeatedly as troubling elements of Chinese–American diplomacy. The world’s identities and employments did not neatly funnel into the categories of laborer, student, teacher, merchant, and traveler “from curiosity.”15 These were all slippery categories (I’m especially intrigued to learn what the U.S. government’s metric of sufficient “curiosity” was), and they were contingent and changeable in individuals’ lives. In the move from legislation to enforcement, these were potentially explosive ambiguities.

14 The remaining migrants were either native-born U.S. citizens of Chinese descent, or returning laborers, both of which had entry rights alongside the “exempt classes.” 15 For a discussion of the problems of enforcing categories within Chinese restriction, see Kitty Calavita, “The Paradoxes of Race, Class, Identity, and ‘Passing’: Enforcing the Chinese Exclusion Acts, 1882–1910,” Law and Social Inquiry 25, No. 1 (Winter 2000): 1–40.

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Figure 7.1: Graph of Chinese migration to the United States, 1894–1940. Significant numbers of Chinese migrants traveled as members of “exempt classes”—merchants, students, teachers, and tourists, as well as their families— through formidable, racialized barriers, because of the ways their transits were perceived to be beneficial to both U.S. and Chinese geopolitical projects. Source: Figures from Helen Chen, “Chinese Immigration into the United States: An Analysis of Changes in Immigration Policies” (Ph.D. dissertation, Brandeis University, 1980), Table 15, p. 181.

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One defining element of the politics of exemption was gender. Into the early 20th century, the “exempt classes” were presumed to be male by both U.S. officials and the courts. But policies also permitted the entry of the wives and daughters of the “exempted.” Between 1910 and 1924, 35 percent of the 8,986 Chinese women admitted to the United States were either the wives or daughters of “exempt” men (the rest either U.S. citizens or the wives or daughters of re-entering laborers). This built a heterosexual norm into exemption and vice versa: the exempted were understood to be “civilized,” in part, where they were seen to conform to norms of domesticity and heterosexuality, in stark contrast with both popular imaginings of “lewd,” unattached Chinese women and immoral, “bachelor” communities of Chinese men.16 Why did Chinese officials concede to “civilized” restriction, initially in the Angell Treaty and later in the still more restrictive Gresham-Yang Treaty in 1894? First, there is the matter of China’s extremely weak bargaining position: after all, Chinese diplomats were negotiating with a state that already exercised legal sovereignty over key corners of its own territory. And Qing officials felt they needed an ally in the United States, a “lesser barbarian” to balance against the “greater barbarians” that pressed in on it, especially Britain, Russia, and Japan. It helped that the United States was committed to China’s territorial integrity, unlike its rivals.17 This meant that, when it came to migration politics, Chinese negotiators could only push so far. 16 On Chinese women’s migration and restriction, see Sucheng Chan, “The Exclusion of Chinese Women, 1870–1943,” in Sucheng Chan, ed., Entry Denied: Exclusion and the Chinese Community in America, 1882–1943 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1991), 94–146. George Peffer, If They Don’t Bring Their Women Here: Chinese Female Migration before Exclusion (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1999). On the role of gender in debates about Chinese immigration, see Karen J. Leong, “A Distant and Antagonist Race: Constructions of Chinese Manhood in the Exclusionist Debates, 1869–1878,” in Matthew Basso, Laura McCall, and Dee Garceau, eds., Across the Great Divide: Cultures of Manhood in the American West (New York: Routledge, 2000), 131–48. 17 On Chinese perceptions of the United States in the 19th century, see R. David Arkush and Leo Oufan Lee, Land without Ghosts: Chinese Impressions of America from the Mid-19th Century to the Present (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989). K. Scott Wong, “The Transformation of Culture: Three Views of America,” American Quarterly 48, No. 2 (June 1996): 201–32. Chang-fang Chen, “Barbarian Paradise: Chinese Views of the United States, 1784–1911,” (Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University, 1985). Merle Curti and John Stalker, “‘The Flowery Flag Devils’: The American Image in China, 1840–1900,” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 96, No. 6 (Dec. 20, 1952): 663–90.

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Second, Chinese restriction was a many-headed hydra, and Chinese officials faced the dilemma of deciding which of its heads to strike at: they strove to gain legal and police protection for migrants, to win indemnity payments in instances of violence or official abuse, to lessen the overall duration of restriction laws, and to protect the transit rights of all migrants, all in a context in which the Chinese diplomatic presence itself was novel, initially inexperienced and over-stretched. (The first Chinese ministers assigned to the United States were also tasked with Cuba and Peru.)18 Third, though, were changing perceptions of migrants and class politics among Qing officials. Into the mid-19th century, the Qing empire barred out-migration, seeing emigrants as disloyal, deculturated, and potentially revolutionary. This fact had not, of course, prevented the development of a vast Chinese diaspora throughout Southeast Asia, East Asia, and the Pacific, and stretching as far as North America, the Caribbean, and Southern Africa, although notably the state had not trailed those migrants with consuls and diplomatic protection: until the late 1870s, the Middle Kingdom did not send delegations; it received them. But official attitudes were changing: as China struggled to defend its standing in the international order, the fact that its migrants could be exploited and attacked with impunity became symbolic of the Qing state’s larger weakness and subordination. And a rising generation of scholardiplomats was developing a new, affirmative vision of migrants: workers sent home remittances, merchants accumulated capital for Chinese development, students learned modern techniques and technologies. Migrants, in other words, could aid rather than threaten empire.19

18

On Chinese diplomacy and Chinese migrants in the United States, see Tsai, China and the Overseas Chinese in the United States, 1868–1911. Charles Desnoyers, “‘The Thin Edge of the Wedge’: The Chinese Educational Mission and Diplomatic Representation in the Americas, 1872–5,” Pacific Historical Review 61, No. 2 (1992): 241–63. On the CCBA, which both defended and surveilled Chinese migrants, and the practices of which were in many cases adopted by Chinese diplomats, see Yucheng Qin, The Diplomacy of Nationalism: The Six Companies and China’s Policy toward Exclusion (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009). 19 Qinghuang Yan, Coolies and Mandarins: China’s Protection of Overseas Chinese during the Late Ch’ing Period (1851–1911) (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 1985). Sing-wu Wang, “The Attitude of the Ch’ing Court toward Chinese Emigration,” Chinese Culture IX, no. 4 (Dec. 1968): 62–76. Yen Chinghwang, “The Overseas Chinese and Late Ch’ing Economic Modernization,” Modern Asian Studies 16, No. 2 (Apr. 1982): 219–21. On Chinese diplomacy during this period more generally, see Immanuel C.Y. Hsu, China’s Entrance into

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Of these groups, workers were the most dispensable in official imaginings: they were the least powerful in China itself and, when it came to the cultural politics of international recognition, they were often seen as a liability as China tried to project a “civilized” image abroad. Even as they defended Chinese-American communities from a hostile, racist American world, Chinese consuls in the United States aggressively moralized working-class Chinese communities, cooperated with American police forces to suppress “immorality” (such as opium dens), and deported indigent and/or criminal elements among the Chinese population. The Chinese minister to the United States in the late 1890s and early 1900s, Wu Ting-Fang, made the official Chinese case for “civilized” restriction—the permitting of elite Chinese migration and the restriction of “laborers”—in a July 1900 essay entitled “Mutual Helpfulness between China and the United States.” “If [Americans] think it desirable to keep out the objectionable class of Chinese,” he wrote, “by all means let them do so.” The problem for Wu was that U.S. officials failed to “discriminate between the worthy and the unworthy.” As a result, “the respectable merchants had been frequently turned back, whereas the Chinese highbinders, the riffraff and scum of the nation, fugitives from justice and adventurers of all types” gained admission. “Would it not be fairer,” he asked, “to exclude the illiterate and degenerate of all nations rather than to make an arbitrary ruling against the Chinese alone”?20 Wu was responding to a sudden, exclusionary shift in the enforcement of U.S. immigration laws that had begun with President McKinley’s 1897 appointment to the position of Commissioner of Immigration of Terence Powderly, a former leader of the Knights of Labor with close ties to the exclusionist movement. Both Powderly and his successor, Frank Sargent, would use new administrative rulings to turn Chinese restriction into thoroughgoing Chinese exclusion: filters into walls. They instructed officials to scrutinize Section 6 exemption certificates with new rigor and suspicion, erring on the side of expulsion. They were to subject migrants to ruthless inspections and interrogations, including the humiliating bodythe Family of Nations: The Diplomatic Phase, 1858–1880 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960). 20 Wu Ting-Fang, “Mutual Helpfulness between China and the United States”, North American Review CLXXI, No. DXXIV (July 1900): 10–11. On Wu, see On Wu, see Linda Pomerantz-Zhang, Wu Tingfang (1842–1922): Reform and Modernization in Modern Chinese History (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1992). Yen Ching-hwang, Wu T’ing-Fang the Protection of the Overseas Chinese in the United States, 1897–1903 (Working Papers No. 12, University of Adelaide, Center for Asian Studies, 1981).

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measurement system known as the Bertillion system that required migrants to strip naked. In the wake of Powderly’s appointment, exemption collapsed; the numbers of successful Chinese admissions plummeted.21 Chinese migrants had, by 1897, refused to submit to oppressive, restrictionist laws and policies, challenging them in court, cleverly subverting them, and openly refusing to comply with them.22 But the Powderly-Sargent regime appears to have represented an especially painful assault, subjecting even the most powerful, wealthy, connected, and Western-educated to harassment and deportation. The kinds of objections this prompted were represented in a 1908 pamphlet by Ng Poon Chew, editor of San Francisco’s Sai Yat Po, entitled “The Treatment of the Exempt Classes of Chinese in the United States.” In it, he railed against officials’ degrading assault on those permitted legal entry into the United States. He quoted the Secretary of Commerce and Labor affirmatively to the effect that it had never been the government’s purpose “to exclude persons of the Chinese race merely because they are Chinese, regardless of the class to which they belong, and without reference to their age, sex, culture or occupation, or the object of their coming or their length of stay.” It had been, rather, “to exclude a particular and well defined class.” Yet Chinese migrants, high and low alike, were being incarcerated while their cases were pending in the cramped, unsanitary “detention shed” on the San Francisco wharf, often resulting in illness or even death. In making his case for the restoration of class-based restriction, Ng invoked the threat of 21 On the Powderly/Sargent era, see Delber L. McKee, “‘The Chinese Must Go!’: Commissioner General Powderly and Chinese Immigration, 1897–1902,” Pennsylvania History 44, No. 1 (1997): 37–51. Adam McKeown, Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalization of Border (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), chapter 8. Erika Lee, At America’s Gates: Chinese Immigration during the Exclusion Era, 1882–1943 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2003), 64–8. 22 The literature on Chinese resistance to restriction laws, by means of law, social protest, and subversion, is extensive. See Charles McClain, Jr., In Search of Equality: The Chinese Struggle against Discrimination in Nineteenth-Century America (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1994). Lucy Salyer, Laws Harsh as Tigers (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995). Lee, At America’s Gates, esp. chapters 5–6. K. Scott Wong and Suchen Chang, eds., Claiming America: Constructing Chinese American Identities during the Exclusion Era (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998). Christian Fritz, “Due Process, Treaty Rights, and Chinese Exclusion, 1882–1891,” in Sucheng Chan, ed., Entry Denied, 25–56. Linda Pomerantz, “The Chinese Bourgeoisie and the Anti-Chinese Movement in the United States, 1850–1905,” Amerasia 11, No. 1 (Spring/Summer 1984): 1–34.

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Chinese economic retaliation against the United States: “Americans desire to build up a large trade with the Orient,” he wrote, “but they can scarcely expect to succeed if the United States Government continues to sanction the illegal and unfriendly treatment of Chinese subjects.” As the Americans had learned all too well by 1908, such policies could have what Ng called “irritating consequences.”23

The Profit of Broad-Mindedness By the time Ng penned these words, this particular line of argument—that the wrong kinds of Chinese restriction would jeopardize U.S. commercial empire in China—were three decades old in the United States. Launched as early as the first waves of Chinese exclusionist politics, it comprised a second iteration of imperial anti-exclusion.24 Advanced by U.S. diplomats, missionaries, educators, and powerful exporting agricultural and industrial interests—and focused by the lobbying efforts of the American Asiatic Association (AAA), an organization consisting of U.S. exporters to East Asia—this new imperial anti-exclusion reflected late-19th-century structures of empire, characterized not by the question of labor power and the infrastructural colonization of North America, but the projection of U.S. market, military, and colonial power in Asia and the Pacific.25 It held out little if any support for the migration rights of Chinese laborers, except to the extent that restricting them might alienate powerful Chinese agents. Instead, it centered on the cultivation, education, and disciplining of elites 23

Ng Poon Chew, The Treatment of the Exempt Classes of Chinese in the United States (San Francisco: The Author, 1908). On Ng, see Corrine K. Hoexter, “Dr. Ng Poon Chew and the History of the Chinese in America,” in The Life, Influence and Role of the Chinese in the United States, 1776–1960 (San Francisco: CHSA, 1976). On his newspaper, see Yumei Sun, “San Francisco’s Chung Sai Yat Po and the Transformation of Chinese Consciousness, 1900–1920,” in James Philip Danky, ed., Print Culture in a Diverse America (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998), 85–100. 24 The New York Journal of Commerce, representing the city’s exporting interests, came out as an opponent of Chinese exclusion as early as the first national exclusion laws. See, for example: “A Blow at Sectionalism,” April 10, 1882; “The Chinese Question,” April 13, 1882; “Congressional Insincerity,” May 1, 1882. 25 On the AAA generally, see James J. Lorence, “Organized Business and the Myth of the China Market: The American Asiatic Association, 1898–1937,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Series, Vol. 71, No. 4 (1981): 1–112. On AAA activism on Chinese exclusion, see James J. Lorence, “Business and Reform: The American Asiatic Association and the Exclusion laws, 1905–1907,” Pacific Historical Review 39, No. 4 (1970): 421–38.

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through their facilitated, back-and-forth movements between Asia and the United States: an empire of migrants more supple, stable, and invisible than an empire of territories.26 By fomenting such migrations, the U.S. might accrue what the Wall Street Journal called, in praise of Chinese students’ education in the United States, “the profit of broad-mindedness”27 (see Figure 7.2). This formulation, articulated in countless Congressional hearings, editorials, and, especially, the pages of the journal of the AAA, depended upon two distinct but interlocking understandings of empire and migration. The first involved diffusion: the exempt classes must continue to be exempt because Chinese merchants, students, teachers, and tourists would serve as agents for the spread of American goods, beliefs, practices, and institutions in China itself. Merchants closed out of American warehouses and showrooms by exclusion laws, and engineering students restricted away from American blueprints and equipment models, would reject American product-lines and find alternatives in more hospitable metropolis. The second element was legitimacy: the complete exclusion (rather than classbased, “civilized” restriction) of the Chinese might undermine the minimal thresholds of goodwill required for ongoing influence and diffusion in China. A customer might buy your wares if he suspected you thought he was beneath you—this, of course, had been the case across the 19th century— but not if you slapped him across the face. If you did so, you courted serious backlash, with potentially crippling imperial consequences both overseas and domestically. Missionaries brought both arguments to their activism against exclusion: keeping out exempted Chinese would sever evangelical networks and sour promising converts on “Christian” America.28

26

The exemplary subjects here were migrating students. On student migration in U.S. geopolitical imaginaries, see Paul A. Kramer, “Is the World Our Campus? International Students and U.S. Global Power in the Long Twentieth Century,” Diplomatic History 33, No. 5 (November 2009): 775–806. On Chinese students in the United States in the early 20th century, see Weili Ye, Seeking Modernity in China’s Name: Chinese Students in the United States, 1900–1927 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001). Edward Qingjia Wang, “Guests from the Open Door: The Reception of Chinese Students into the United States, 1900s–1920s,” Journal of American–East Asian Relations 3, No. 1 (Spring 1994): 55–75. 27 “The Profit of Broad-Mindedness,” Wall Street Journal, July 21, 1908, 1. 28 The exemplary figure here for the period under study was Luella Miner, an Oberlin missionary who objected to the harassment of two Chinese studentconverts at the turn of the century, largely on the grounds of its cost to the missionary effort. Luella Miner, “American Barbarism and Chinese Hospitality,” Outlook, December 27, 1902, 984–5.

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Figure 7.2: “The Chinese New-Found Friends Will Knock in Vain.” This 1880s cartoon from The Wasp criticizes the U.S. corporate efforts—here represented by the New York Chamber of Commerce—to lobby Congress on behalf of the entry of Chinese migrants and the vices they carry with them. The woman standing behind the Chinese man may be his wife—a reference to the permission granted to the spouses of the “exempt” to migrate—or she may (in reference to the “Vices” in the man’s bag), be a symbol of prostitution, consistent with the attribution of “immorality” to Chinese migrant women. Source: Library of Congress.

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It was never the goal of most imperial anti-exclusionists to change American perceptions of the Chinese, but making these arguments meant taking on nativist claims of wholesale Chinese barbarism directly.29 Here anti-exclusionists made what they took to be careful class distinctions: elements of the Chinese population, they maintained, were “civilized,” similar enough to Americans to be capable of consuming and diffusing American goods, practices, and institutions. Baseline similarities and continuously expanding Chinese “wants” would produce a happy, upward spiral of “assimilation.” Virtually any American who had spent time haggling with merchants, depending on compradors and interpreters, or educating mission students would tell you that it was ridiculous not to make distinctions of “civilization” among the Chinese.30 Speaking to Congressional audiences, Tompkins had employed a striking but not atypical analogy to illustrate the importance of registering class distinctions among Chinese migrants. “Our answer,” he said, “is that we have to deal with two sets of people as wide apart as the upper and lower classes of China as we did deal in this country with two classes who were as far apart as the slave owner and the slave”31 (see Figure 7.3). Rather than engage in ethnographic re-education, imperial antiexclusionists stressed expedience: the very real threats that overenthusiastic and insufficiently discriminating immigration policies posed to U.S. interests in China, especially through a possible boycott. These fears were ratcheted up, and voiced more earnestly, in the era of Powderly and Sargent. As immigration officials began to non-exempt the exempted, AAA activism on the immigration front intensified. As John Foord, the AAA’s tireless secretary, put it in 1902: “When gentlemen representing two-thirds of the cotton mill capital of South Carolina make a special trip to Washington to appear before a Committee of Congress in opposition to more stringent measures of Chinese exclusion, and are reinforced by representatives of the mills of New England, of New York commission 29

Many missionaries took the goal of changing American images of the Chinese more seriously than their corporate counterparts, however. See Jennifer C. Snow, Protestant Missionaries, Asian Immigrants, and Ideologies of Race in America, 1850–1924 (New York: Routledge, 2007). While it treats missionary arguments against “scientific racism” well, I believe this work underplays the imperial and instrumental character of this activism, as well as its political limitations. 30 On compradors, see Yen-P’ing Hao, The Comprador in Nineteenth Century China: Bridge between East and West (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970). 31 “Statement of Mr. D.A. Tomkins, of Charlotte, N.C., Representing the National Association of Manufacturers,” p. 72.

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houses, and of the great exporting firms, it becomes evident that some new interests have become vitally concerned about the preservation of friendly relations with the Chinese Empire.”32

Figure 7.3: American merchants and Chinese compradors in Shanghai at the turn of the 20th century. Proponents of civilized restriction upheld Chinese-American sociability of the kind represented here as a superior venue in which to get to know the “character” of China and the Chinese. Such settings taught them—as they hoped to teach other Americans—of the differences that separated China’s “exempt” classes from others. Source: Lynn Pan, Shanghai: A Century of Change in Photographs, 1843–1949 (Hong Kong: Hai Feng Publishing, 1993).

As Foord observed, notable among imperial anti-exclusionists were Southern politicians and industrialists; indeed Foord emphasized the presence of Southern delegations, perhaps as a pre-emptive strike against charges of racial sentimentalism. As mentioned previously, there was a materialist reason for the participation of Tompkins and other Southerners: cotton textiles were the U.S.’s leading export in China, and China was the single largest overseas consumer. When the masters of Jim Crow cotton 32 John Foord, “The Business Aspects of Chinese Exclusion,” New York Times, February 9, 1902, 24.

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production traveled to Washington in defense of the safe passage of Chinese people to and from the United States, you knew they thought the situation was serious.

Irritating Consequences Until 1905, imperial anti-exclusionists’ fears of Chinese retaliation had been largely hypothetical. When a full-scale boycott of U.S. products broke out throughout the Chinese diaspora in 1905–6, they took on a very palpable life. Alienated merchants and students played leading roles in the boycott within China itself and across Southeast Asia, leveling their critiques both at American anti-Chinese racism and, to a degree, at the failures of Qing diplomacy.33 Interestingly, some protest literature explicitly took on the question of class, insisting that activists’ goal should not be the restoration of class exemption, but rather the eradication of barriers to both working-class and elite migration alike (see Figures 7.4 and 7.5). In the 1907 protest novel Golden World, for example, Biheguan Zhuren recounts divisions in the boycott movement in Shanghai between academic circles which wanted to repeal Chinese restriction, and business groups seeking only its modification. At a climactic moment, the novel’s protagonist Zhang Shi, a beautiful, educated, and progressive female activist—and a direct descendent of a Ming dynasty general—calls a meeting seeking to eliminate American restriction laws. Speaking before 33 On the boycott, see Sin-Kiong Wong, China’s Anti-American Boycott Movement in 1905: A Study in Urban Protest (New York: Peter Lang, 2002). Guanhua Wang, In Search of Justice: The 1905–1906 Chinese Anti-American Boycott (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2001). McKeown, Melancholy Order, chapter 11. Tsai, Chinese and the Overseas Chinese, chapter 5. Linda Pappageorge, “American Diplomats Response to Chinese Nationalism: China’s Anti-American Boycott, 1905–1906; for Patriotism or Profit?” in Proceedings and Papers of the Georgia Association of Historians (1983), 98–110. Jane Leong Larson, “The Chinese Empire Reform Association (Bao-huanghui) and the 1905 Anti-American Boycott: The Power of a Voluntary Association,” in Susie Lan Cassel, ed., The Chinese in America: From the Gold Mountain to the New Millennium (Walnut Creek, CA: Alta Mira Press, 2002). Delber McKee, “The Chinese Boycott of 1905–1906 Reconsidered: The Role of Chinese-Americans,” Pacific Historical Review 55, No. 2 (May 1986): 165–91. On public opinion and “civil society” in late Qing society, see William T. Rowe, “The Problem of ‘Civil Society’ in Late Imperial China,” Modern China 19, No. 2 (Apr. 1993): 139–57. Akira Iriye, “Public Opinion and Foreign Policy: The Case of Late Ch’ing China” in Albert Feuerwerker, Rhoads Murphey, and Mary C. Wright, eds., Approaches to Modern Chinese History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 216–37.

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500 women in a rented theater, she employs a language of family to address, and dismiss, arguments for class-specific reform: “Sisters! Aren’t we the mothers of Chinese citizens? … In the eyes of a mother, there are only children, there are no classes/levels … Today we talk of boycott because foreigners have abused our overseas nationals. Of the overseas Chinese, workers are the most numerous, and they also suffer the most. If workers can get out of the bitter sea to the happy land, merchants and students will automatically have the same [opportunity]. If we revise the treaty in order to benefit the merchants and students only, workers will not have the same right. Sisters! Aren’t they our children as well?”34

The boycott presented Americans with interests in China with an actual contradiction between empire and exclusion of the kind they had feared since the 1880s. In its wake, AAA activism against the Powderly/Sargent exclusion policy gathered strength. In Spring 1905, the AAA’s Foord arranged a meeting with President Theodore Roosevelt, urgently arguing for the necessity of restoring class restriction, rather than complete exclusion, as a function of U.S. commercial, political, and educational power in China. Roosevelt was persuaded to adopt the class-restrictionist position, pressing his diplomats for a new treaty that would restore the prePowderly status quo, and when that failed (the Qing government was not interested in negotiating any more), advancing Congressional legislation that secured an explicit protection for the “exempt classes.” When that failed despite pressure from the AAA, Roosevelt ultimately restored the exemptions by executive order, commanding a begrudging immigration bureaucracy to accept Section 6 certificates on arrival in the United States and imposing stiff penalties on U.S. officials for harassment, insult, or abuse. Meanwhile, as a function of both U.S. and, ultimately, Qing suppression, and its own internal divisions, the boycott movement had declined, although additional protests would occur over the next several years. Undoubtedly, one factor in the end of the boycott had been the fact that a return to class-based, “civilized” restriction had been an acceptable outcome for large numbers of influential Chinese merchants (many of them involved in the boycott), if not for many student activists.35 34

Golden World, in A Ying, ed., Huagong Jinyue Wenxue Ji [A Collection of Literature against the United States Treaty Excluding Chinese Labor] (Shanghai, 1962), 176. Translation from the original Chinese by Belinda Huang. 35 On the diplomacy surrounding the boycott, see McKee, Chinese Exclusion versus the Open Door, 1900–1906 (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1977), chapters 7–14.

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Figure 7.4: “A Fool’s Paradise.” This collection of boycott flyers, collected and reprinted by missionary Arthur H. Smith in 1906, shows Chinese people in the United States being attacked in the streets by American mobs, driven into detention sheds, and forced to bathe. The lesson Smith took away from them was that “the indiscriminate confounding of scholars, merchants, travelers, and coolies” had “sunk deep into the awakening national consciousness.” Source: “A Fool’s Paradise,” Outlook, Vol. 82, No. 12 (Mar. 24, 1906): 701–6.

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Figure 7.5: “The ‘Anti-American Boycott’ Awakens Nationalism (2nd Installment).” This popular boycott-era cartoon by Pan Dawei, a support of Sun Yatsen’s Revolutionary Alliance, was turned into a handbill and distributed in Canton on the eve of a 1905 “goodwill trip” to China by Alice Roosevelt, the President’s daughter. It urges local carriers to refuse Americans their labor. The caption reads: “Disgraceful! Disgraceful! Disgraceful! Americans take us for dogs. They’re going to come here and see if we’ve got enough heart … Whatever you do, don’t carry them!! Idiots!! If you carry them, you’re no better than a rotten bean in the corner of the house.” According to Chinese historian Ruth Rogaski, the image itself, of turtles carrying a woman in a sedan chair, works through visual puns. “Beauty” (Mei) is also the Cantonese word for America (A-mei-li-jia) or

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“Mei-guo” (Beautiful Country), while turtles are used in curses (a turtle is shorthand for penis, or “dick.”) Source: Yangcheng Wanbao, “The 1911 Revolution in Guangdong: The ‘AntiAmerican Boycott’ Awakens Nationalism (2nd Installment),” excerpted in Renmin Wang, September 21, 2001.36

As Roosevelt’s intervention demonstrated, the executive branch was learning that the U.S. empire was not invulnerable, that immigration politics mattered for empire, and that, when it came to enforcement, federal immigration officials could still be subject to local, anti-Chinese agendas, with potentially catastrophic results. As would later presidents, Roosevelt had ultimately used the executive branch to centralize control of restriction in order to prevent another geopolitical disaster. The most concrete expression of this effort was the Angel Island immigration station, founded in 1910. Here, aspirations for bureaucratic autonomy were written in water and land: while the station’s professional civil servants were deliberately more politically remote from West Coast labor politics, its detention halls were, by geographic design, separated from the possible intervention of Chinese families and communities in San Francisco. This did not stop Chinese petitions and boycotts insisting on the right to legal counsel and translation during hearings and the right to testify on shore.37 After 1910, Chinese restriction was more methodical and procedural, physically hygienic, “courteous” in its practical execution, and rigorous in its exercise of class distinction (alongside citizenship and returnee status), than ever before. It was not always less corrupt, but it was less erratic and less permeable to outside pressure. For all this, it received praise from many who had criticized the seemingly arbitrary exercise of restrictive power under Powderly and Sargent. Here, at last, was something like a “civilized” restrictionist order, in two different senses. It respected what were legally (and, for many, geopolitically) necessary distinctions between “civilized” and “uncivilized” Chinese immigrants; it established its own “civilized” character through an elusive, technical, and self-referential language of procedure. More than previously, this “civilized” system respected the dignitary rights of those few migrants presumed to have dignity. 36 My thanks to Wong Sin Kiong for bringing this image to my attention, and to Ruth Rogaski for her interpretation. 37 On Angel Island, see Erika Lee and Judy Yung, Angel Island: Immigrant Gateway to America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). Lee, At America’s Gates, 127–31; Robert Barde and Gustavo J. Bobonis, “Detention at Angel Island: First Empirical Evidence,” Social Science History 30, No. 1 (Spring 2006): 103–36.

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Conclusion As this chapter has attempted to show, exemptions based on notions of civilized standing were a foundational, if contested, part of the politics of Chinese migration politics from the advent of Chinese exclusion. Even as states attempted to consolidate their control over their territorial boundaries, their visions of the geopolitical interests those boundaries could serve—in both their openings and their closures—remained critically important. For American elites, the free passage of Chinese merchants, teachers, students, and tourists would help orient China towards the United States commercially, religiously, and politically, in an era of intensifying inter-imperial competition. As Chinese elites attempted to strategize a way to shore up their position in an era of Western imposition, “civilized migration” also held out its promise: as a way to gain access to capital and technology for purposes of “self-strengthening;” it might also project a more favorable image of Chinese society that might partially displace what they saw as the humiliating presence of abused “coolies.” The “exempt classes” principle represented the asymmetrical point of agreement between these two positions, one that proved impressively resilient in the face of both racist-exclusionist opposition in the United States, and radical, nationalist, and elite protest in China. One might even see, in the ongoing transit of “civilized” Chinese migrants to the United States, and their U.S. and Chinese defenders, something like an incipient moment in the global history of the bourgeoisie, one that was profoundly shaped by formidable gradients of racialized, imperial, and economic power, but in which we might recognize an early form of the present moment’s regional reconfigurations of class power on a global scale. But that is another story.

CHAPTER EIGHT LABORATORY OF GLOBALIZATION? TIANJIN C. 1900 PIERRE SINGARAVELOU

A British journalist who spent his childhood in Tianjin in the early twentieth century described the city in the following way: What a weird city I grew up in. For three or four Chinese coppers, I could ride in a rickshaw from my home, in England, to Italy, Germany, Japan, or Belgium. I walked to France for violin lessons. I had to cross the river to get to Russia, and often did, because the Russians had a beautiful wooded park with a lake in it. I hold in my nostrils to this day the strange odour of tadpoles captured in Russian waters and taken back to England.1

According to an early twentieth century cliché, Tianjin was a “universal city” in which nationals of the major powers of the planet lived side by side.2 Tianjin was a hapax legomenon, a unique case in modern imperial history, given that 10 powers were present in the city and its surroundings as concessions. Foreign powers acquired their concessions following the various wars waged in East Asia: the British, French and Americans (1861) after the Second Opium War; the Germans (1895) and the Japanese (1898) after the Sino-Japanese War; the Russians (1900), the Italians (1901), the Austro-Hungarians (1902) and the Belgians (1902) at the end of the Boxer War. 1 John Hersey, A Reporter at Large: Homecoming. 1: The House on New China Road, New Yorker, May 10, 1982, 54. 2 Herbert Hoover, Years of Adventure 1874–1920 (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1952), Chapter 6, “Engineering in China, 1899–1902”. Larry I. Bland and Sharon Ritenour Stevens (eds), The Papers of George Catlett Marshall, vol. 1: The Soldierly Spirit, December 1880–June 1939 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981).

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But why was the whole world so interested in Tianjin? The city was strategically situated near the Gulf of Bohai and located on the main access route to the capital Beijing. It had been a military base, a garrison town since the early fifteenth century, and guarded the access route to the capital. It was the country’s second economic centre, the second port after Shanghai and the capital’s depot, with a lot of warehouses. Tianjin also constituted the second political and intellectual centre after Beijing. Tianjin was, moreover, China’s real diplomatic capital. In short, Tianjin is the number three of Chinese urban history, the eternal runner-up, forgotten by historians who have almost exclusively focused their attention on Shanghai and Beijing. The city of Tianjin constituted a real microcosm of the world. If we were to make an inventory of the city, it would be an eclectic one, “un inventaire à la Prévert” as we say in French. Indeed, around 1900, you could find all together there: fighter and magician Lin Hei’er, Holy Mother of the Boxers; Herbert Hoover, “saviour” of the concessions and future president of the United States; the Hunhunrs, honourable bandits who held the streets of the city; Canadian doctor Leonora King, who became the first woman Mandarin; education specialist Zhang Baoling; German magnate Gustav Von Detring; French intellectuals Pierre Loti, George Weulersse and Paul Claudel; Paul Splingaerd, high-ranking Mandarin of Belgian origin; Sikhs; East European Jews; people from Annam; Australians; Pashtuns, Rajputs; Punjabis; Mongols; and so on – without forgetting that China’s two most powerful statesmen lived and officiated in Tianjin at the turn of the century, Generals Li Hongzhang and Yuan Shikai, who were the main representatives of pro-Western Chinese modernizers. In the same way as these two statesmen, the Chinese people were not just kowtowing to foreign imperialism: the Chinese government decided to create the concessions in order to move foreign powers away from territory under Chinese sovereignty. After that, the Chinese modernizer elites voluntarily transformed Tianjin into a space conducive to interaction and dialogue with the foreign powers. Tianjin represents a vantage point from which to observe imperial globalization as it occurred at the turn of the twentieth century as, from the very late nineteenth century, the concessions were seen as laboratories of urban modernity, in which each nation competed in inventiveness to show its own genius to the rest of the world, not only in the fields of architecture, urbanism and development, but also in those of cultural practices (press, entertainment, sport, gastronomy, freemasonry, etc.). At a time when universal expositions were booming, the concessions appeared to serve as a permanent exhibition where colonial powers, in their civilizing and benevolent mission,

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performed. Thus, at the beginning of the twentieth century, strollers were able to admire, in a single city, Chinese pagodas, Bavarian houses, a majestic Japanese torii,3 a Gothic castle (the Gordon Hall), a Tuscan villa, a church in the style of the Pays d’Artois (Notre-Dame des Victoires), buildings in the Baroque style of Salzburg, etc. This internationalization appears to have culminated with the experience of an international government for the city – the Tianjin provisional government – between 1900 and 1902. Yet, at the same time, Tianjin embodied all the ambiguities of this imperial globalization, made from internationalization and cooperation, albeit also giving rise to the use of extreme violence: it was the paradoxical place of both the greatest massacre of the Boxer War and the first “democratic” elections in China (in 1907). In fact, in the city of Tianjin at the turn of the twentieth century, imperialist powers interacted on a permanent basis, often cooperating and sometimes confronting each other within international bodies in which each power endeavoured to extend its prerogatives and territorial possessions, but also informally in the city’s streets, where Allied soldiers confronted each other on a regular basis.

The Slow Development of the Foreign Concessions in the Late Nineteenth Century The founding of the Tianjin concessions resulted from the Chinese military defeats in the Second and Third Opium Wars. The Peking Convention of October 18, 1860, opened up Tianjin to trade and residence for foreigners: British, French and American concessions were established. The Chinese allowed them to set up 3 km to the south of the Chinese city, on the territory of a village called Zizhulin (“the forest of purple bamboo”). In fact, despite the European military victory, the Chinese succeeded in confining foreigners in an area that was far from the old town and, more especially, on marshy land with a great number of rubbish dumps and cemeteries. The Chinese government issued perpetual lease for the land to these three foreign powers, which were then free to organize themselves to sub-let plots. The concessions were jointly delineated by two officers, British and French: lieutenant de vaisseau Augustin Trève, provisional French Consul in Tianjin, and Captain Charles George Gordon, commander of the Royal Engineers in Tianjin (1860–1862), who, like David Livingstone, was to become one of the most well-known heroes of the British Empire. Here as 3

A traditional Japanese gate.

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elsewhere, the job of delineation was entrusted to the military, and this was not disputed. The British concession at the time occupied 77 acres (31 hectares), the French concession initially covered 60 acres and the American concession was much smaller, with only 22 acres. The two European officers also negotiated the compensation terms for the Chinese land-owners with Tchong, the Vice-Minister of the Court of Justice. The British and French consuls sub-let plots to European subjects for leases of 99 years. Initially, the Chinese could not reside in the concessions. The French and the British paid a rent to the Chinese government. (The French, close to the Chinese city, paid a higher rent.) According to the land regulations, half of the rent went into the public treasury of China for the benefit of the Government of China, and the other half remaining went to the Consulates of France and Britain to serve to build roads, dig channels, etc. The tenants were to agree to pay their share in the cost of the development of the concession, in particular costs relating to drainage, construction, paving, upkeep and lighting of the streets, the creation of leisure areas, and so forth. Thus the French, the British and the Chinese developed an original system for co-financing the urban development of the concessions: as early as 1861, territorial development was part of the agreement between China and the concessionary powers. In 1861, the first, very symbolic, act of the French was to set up a project for the building of the cathedral Notre-Dame des Victoires (in NeoRomanesque Albi style) to commemorate the 1860 expedition, thanks to financing from the congregation of the Lazarists and from Napoleon III, as well as subscriptions from Catholics in France. In the course of the early decades, the concessions developed very slowly. Apart from the Allied forces, only thirteen foreigners were living in the concessions in 1861. These were primarily agents of the trading houses, and missionaries, who erected small buildings in the French and British concessions. Moreover, at the time, most foreigners preferred to live outside the concessions, in the Chinese city itself. Merchants and missionaries settled in the old town so as to be nearer their customers or their flock. Thus in the 1860s, the French concession was French only in name: it was above all a kind of Catholic kingdom, a haven for missionary congregations (Lazarists, Filles de la Charité, etc.). In this way, France fully accomplished its mission in Tianjin as protector of Catholics in China following the Beijing Convention of 1860. There was a great missionary presence but, although the activity was intense, the impact was low since the number of loyal Catholics barely reached a few tens of thousands, compared to the 2 million who lived in the district of Tianjin in the late

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nineteenth century. But it was precisely the activities of the congregations, and the rumours surrounding them (in particular on the subject of the large number of deaths of children in the orphanages in the concession) that gave rise to the massacres of 1870, in the course of which the French consul Henri Fontanier, priests, nuns and indigenous converts to Christianity were murdered. Three Russian merchants were assassinated when they were mistakenly identified as French. Churches were destroyed, including the cathedral Notre-Dame des Victoires. Historian John Fairbank clearly showed the ambiguous position of the local authorities, which attempted to use popular opposition to control the foreign presence.4 The incident caused major diplomatic tension between France and China, which could very well have led to war. The Chinese government was forced to pay indemnities to France and to send a diplomatic mission, under the leadership of Imperial Commissioner Chung How, to present official apologies to Adolphe Thiers in November 1871. There was a first demographic growth in the concessions from the 1870s, as a form of reaction to the massacres of June 1870: there followed a minor exodus from the Chinese city towards zones under French and British control. It should, however, be noted that in the 1880s the development of the concessions was still not very marked. There was as yet no administrative building, no secondary street network, no real sewage system and no commercial activity (the British concession only had three real shops). The same was true for recreational spaces: there was one park, Victoria Park, which, although it was sometimes used by cricketers, was not clearly outlined or fenced; the inhabitants used it as a rubbish tip. Development accelerated from the mid-1880s to 1900, with a marked increase in population, the construction of the first real Chinese railway station (1888), roads, banking agencies, the town hall, hospitals (MacKenzie Memorial Hospital in 1880, Queen Victoria Hospital), the first Chamber of Commerce, numerous shops, public parks, hotels and clubs, and the creation of the first daily newspaper. This paradoxical development likewise concerned the other two concessions. The British concession was in fact a small, personal colony since, at the end of the nineteenth century, Gustav Detring, a magnate of German origin, owned 95 per cent of the concession’s territory. And the third power that enjoyed the right to establish a concession, the United States, never really controlled the territory conceded to them. They did not mark out or develop the concession. Until 1870, no building took place. 4

John K. Fairbank, “Patterns Behind the Tientsin Massacre,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 20, no. 3/4 (December 1957): 480–511.

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The concession then became a lawless area, with a lot of brothels and drug dealers, that escaped the control of both the United States and China: the native Chinese and foreigners alike could therefore find refuge there from the different jurisdictions. This brief presentation of the establishment of the concessions in Tianjin shows that the process was fairly slow: it took a quarter of a century for the British and the French to start actually occupying a territory which was nevertheless under their formal authority.

The Internationalization of Tianjin in the Late Nineteenth Century Set up initially as a way of distancing foreign powers from territory that was wholly governed by China, the concessions quickly became, under the modernizing influence of Chinese elites, a place for interaction and dialogue between foreigners and Chinese. Viceroy Li Hongzhang transformed Tianjin into an incubation laboratory and showcase for Chinese urban modernity during the 1870s–1900s. The city was the first in China to have a telephone and telegraph system, an international hotel, a train station, a public postal system, a modern arms factory, a military academy and a university. Alongside the slow development of the concessions, the city of Tianjin became a place of military and academic experimentation for the Qing Empire, as part of the reform policy known as the “self-reinforcement movement” of the period 1860–1890. As a result, the city became home to the country’s first military academy (1876) and China’s first modern arms industries, alongside the arsenal of Fuzhou, on which work had started in 1869. At the same time, Western-style higher education developed quickly there: after the School of Telegraphy was created in 1867, China’s first modern university, Peiyang University, was founded on the American university model, at the instigation of U.S. pedagogue Charles Tenney following the humiliating defeat against Japan in 1895: the first tutors were graduates from the universities of Harvard and Stanford, but also used German teaching methods. Tianjin served, moreover, as China’s diplomatic capital. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, the Zongli Yamen (Ministry of Foreign Affairs) was de facto relocated there. In fact, the Minister of Foreign Affairs in the latter half of the nineteenth century, Li Hongzhang, was also governor of the Zhili province and lived in Tianjin: foreign consuls living in Beijing since the Second Opium War were forced to travel to Tianjin to

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meet the Chinese dignitary. Foreign sovereigns were very often invited to Tianjin on the occasion of official ceremonies (for instance, the visit of the King of Hawaii in 1881) and, following the Second Opium War, most international treaties were signed in the concessions (13 out of 23 between 1858 and 1900), in particular at the Hotel Astor, the first grand hotel to be built in China, located in the British concession. The Hotel Astor, as the place par excellence for urban modernity and internationalization, may be studied as a microcosm within the microcosm of Tianjin, where not only the representatives of the different concession powers, of course, but also, in the 1860s for example, Portuguese, Danish, Dutch and Spanish diplomats mixed successively or simultaneously. The Hotel Astor represented a neutral venue offering all of the most modern communication facilities: one of the first telephones, probably the very first, to be installed in China was at the Hotel Astor in 1879, thanks to the support of Li Hongzhang.5 The Astor represented the most imposing and luxurious building in the foreign concessions at the turn of the twentieth century. It was even home to a number of diplomatic representations: the United States consulate (until 1929), although the United States had its own concession, and likewise the first Japanese, German and Canadian consulates.6 The Hotel Astor was established in 1863 by the British Methodist missionary John Innocent: the profits made by the hotel were used to finance the missions’ activity. It was then bought by European shareholders who were close to Li Hongzhang, including, first and foremost, Gustav Detring, German president of the British concession’s local council, and the main, almost the only, land-owner of the British concession. Detring was the hotel’s main shareholder from 1878 and the main diplomatic advisor of Li Hongzhang. It was therefore Detring who negotiated peace with the French at the end of the 1884–1885 FrancoChinese War, and who represented the Emperor of China with the Japanese government in Tokyo in 1895. Calling upon the services of a foreigner prevented the Chinese from losing face in the case of any failure and humiliation inflicted by the victorious French and Japanese powers. Such diplomatic practice in Tianjin made it possible to negotiate more freely, and, at the same time, enjoy the extraterritorial status of the concessions and symbolically preserve the dignity of the emperors, with Qing living in Beijing. In this way, the concessions fully played their part 5

Frank Dikötter, Exotic Commodities: Modern Objects and Everyday Life in China (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 148. 6 Thierry Sanjuan (ed.), Les Grands Hôtels en Asie, Modernité, dynamiques urbaines et sociabilité (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2003), 81.

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in distancing and confining the foreign powers. The history of Tianjin shows how parts of the Chinese elites were able to meet the challenges of internationalization in the late nineteenth century, contrary to the cliché of a Chinese state incapable of responding to internal and external threats and forced to endure long agony.

Massacre and “Civilization”: The Boxer War and Tianjin’s International Government (1900–1902) The Chinese city was brutally transformed by the war of summer 1900, first by the Boxer occupation which made it a sort of insurrectional city, then by the successive sieges of foreign concessions and the native city which destroyed several neighbourhoods, and finally by the massacre of part of the Chinese population following the victory of foreign troops. In June 1900, the Boxers logically focused their attack on Tianjin, as a symbol of foreign presence, Western domination and imported “modernity.” Historiography and collective memory focused on the 55 days in Peking (the famous siege of the legations, and the film of Nicholas Bay), while the Chinese old town of Tianjin simultaneously became an insurrectionary commune, provisional capital of the Boxer Movement, a “magical” city where some women – the “red lantern unit” – took up arms against the foreign devils and Chinese Christians. The Boxers and Qing’s imperial troops lay siege to the foreign concessions, starting with the French concession, which was the most exposed to Boxer bombings and attacks. Far removed from the account given by the Allies, who sometimes turned military failures into glorious feats (as in Seymour’s relief expedition), the foreign armies encountered numerous difficulties in the military field. As stated by numerous French and British witnesses to the events, the Chinese should probably have won the Boxer War, but that is another story. Finally, after one month of siege (and in particular thanks to the neutrality of the best Chinese regiments, which refused to fight against Westerners), the eight Allied powers managed to capture Tianjin’s old town. Foreign troops plundered the town during the latter half of July – plundering which, along with the massacre of tens of thousands of Chinese and extremely violent looting, has been completely forgotten by historiography. The difference in how different events have been constructed historiographically is plain to see: the 1870 “Tianjin massacre,” which involved 20 or so Westerners, was a major global event, while the much larger-scale massacre in 1900 failed to receive the same amount of publicity.

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In 1900, the fantasized memory of the 1870 “Tianjin massacre” was still present in people’s minds, as was the false information recounting the extermination of foreigners in the legations of Beijing. This partly explains the paroxysmal violence of the Allies: all Chinese civilians who failed to display any distinguishing feature (French, British or Japanese signs and flags, for example) became Boxers who were to be killed at once. For the Chinese, the use of violence was most likely the result of their recent experience in the 1894 Sino-Japanese War, which was at the root of the “brutalization” of the urban population. In fact, for many long months, tens of thousands of Chinese soldiers were confined to Tianjin, not hesitating to mistreat the local population and plunder the town. At the end of the war, many veterans joined the ranks of bandits and vagabonds, and began to take control of part of the town: they often participated actively in the Boxer Movement.7 In the massacres that followed the taking of the city, the French took centre stage: they were considered by soldiers of other nationalities to be excellent looters and great massacrers, and even presented themselves as such in their war journal. Looting increased in intensity and became institutionalized in the city of Tianjin, with the setting up of international auction sales. Sources provide a comparative sociology of the plunderers: the aesthete, learned Japanese soldier was interested in ancient works of art (woodblocks), the Russian loved fur and music boxes, the French soldier, always slightly foolish, preferred ham and other worthless edible things, and so on. Soldiers plundered not only to become wealthy, but also to have souvenirs: they felt they were making history, although the episode was to be quickly forgotten. There was, both at the time and during the ensuing two years, a real obsession with collecting trophies (in particular Chinese weapons and banners), an obsession that was shared by all the troops of the eight Allied powers. A further French specificity was the fact that French soldiers, although observed in horror by their compatriots, continued their plundering in the French concession itself, moving on to the belongings of European residents in the concession; this gave rise to great distrust among European civilians and European soldiers in Tianjin. Pierre Loti, writer and naval officer, perfectly summed up the ambiguity of this 1900 moment in Tianjin, which oscillated between globalization and extermination: These soldiers, who arrive barefoot in the sand and cry out heartily in all languages, look like people who are having a good time. It is called 7

Chen Ke, “Nongovernmental Organizations and the Urban Control and Management System in Tianjin at the End of the Nineteenth Century,” Social Sciences in China 11, no. 4 (1990): 66.

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“pacific seizure,” what they are doing today, and you might say it is some form of celebration of universal fusion, of universal harmony – whereas, on the contrary, not far from here, near Tien-Tsin and Peking, everything is in ruins and full of dead bodies.8

Within the space of barely a few days, this provincial town became a global city, a genuine microcosm of the world in which all the peoples of the West and Asia appeared, for a while, to live together and exchange after clashing violently. While plundering and massacres continued, Allied forces, made up of Great Britain, France, Germany, the United States, Russia, Japan, Italy and Austria-Hungary, set up an international military government, on July 14, 1900 (from July 1900 to August 1902), in charge of administering and modernizing the Chinese city and its surroundings. It was one of the first experiences of world governance in a local context. Indeed, for two years, and well before the experiment of the League of Nations, the eight Allied powers appeared to have turned Tianjin into a real laboratory of international government. How was this international government organized? The military chiefs of the Allied forces took the decision to ask a governor general to head the Chinese town administration. The French Consul General wished to favour an alliance with Russian officers because, during the Boxers’ attack, Russian troops saved the French concession, the most exposed due to its proximity to the Chinese town. British military staff did not wish to be under the command of a foreign officer, especially Russian or Japanese. It seems that the British wanted to go it alone. Rival powers condemned the British officers’ behaviour during the battle of Tianjin. A senior French officer described this attitude in the following way: British officers opposed the necessary bombing of the Chinese town in Tianjin, pretending that important British commercial companies were established there and could suffer from the attack. The British did not participate in the bombing that led to the success of the international army.

The representatives of the international powers could not decide on one name, and this led to the unexpected formula of international government. They formed a triumvirate of the oldest officers, the British, Japanese and Russian generals. Then, each nation was represented within the governing council of the city.

8 Pierre Loti, Les derniers jours de Pékin, à Ning-Haï (fond du golfe de Pétchili), diary entry, 3 October 1900.

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A division of tasks was rapidly implemented, according to the assumed “national genius” of each country: the administrative coordinator and legal services manager were American, the head of police British and that of the river police Italian, the treasurer was German, the secretary for Chinese affairs was Japanese, and public works fell to a Dane and a Norwegian, while the management of the “health service” was the responsibility of French military doctors. This provisional government had to repress the Boxer uprising (the police were charged with tracking down the so-called “pirates” operating on the river and in nearby villages) and exert pressure on the imperial court during negotiations which concerned, particularly, war indemnities. The international government quickly became the instrument of “collective imperialism” as it enabled each power’s territorial expansion within Tianjin and maintained peace between the Allies, who were both partners and competitors and, at times, even opponents in the streets of the town. To prevent further uprising and rationalize urban space, the provisional government ordered the city walls, along with the small houses backing on to them, to be destroyed and replaced with a large, wide ring road. The multinational military government speeded the transformation of the city. For fear of the development of epidemics as a result of the fighting and the numerous dead, representatives of the foreign powers decided to develop sanitation infrastructures, particularly public toilets. New systems of drainage and drinking water distribution were set up in the city, and the Chinese gradually accepted having to pay for water which, until then, had been free of charge. The policy of major building work implemented by the provisional government in all areas (public roads, telegraph system, tramway, bridges, public lighting, river and quay development, etc.) inspired the consuls and European businessmen of the foreign concessions. The provisional government fostered the creation of several private companies which flourished in the first decade of the 20th century: the electricity company, the tram company (Société Belge des Tramways, 1904), the telephone company (1906) and the water company, and also real estate companies (Société Franco-Belge de Tientsin in 1907, which became the Crédit foncier d’Extrême Orient in 1910). The Allies attempted to take charge of the inhabitants’ intimate, personal lives, from the cradle to the grave, including their sexual and hygiene practices. On the whole, Tianjin’s experience of international administration seemed to mark the start of the Allied powers’ evolution towards the process of colonial reformism that began to develop within the European colonies in the early 20th century.

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Yet, this international government operated largely in continuity with the Chinese administration by recruiting the very same foreign experts who had previously served Li Hongzhang, and reappropriating native practices and symbols (petitioning, the flag, etc.). After 1902, it was the turn of the new Viceroy, Yuan Shikai, to be inspired by the international experience to reform the city. Thus the importance of the history surrounding the “1900 moment” is relativized in relation to both the previous and the following periods: continuity seemed at least as strong as change was violent after the Boxer War. The history of Tianjin is not written in “yellow and white.” The international government called upon Chinese public figures, the shendong, to design and implement its reforms. The native elites not only constituted a fundamental component of the “colonial state” from 1900 to 1902, they were also the bearers of modernity. As a result, the Chinese contributed to public health policy in Tianjin by raising new environmental concerns, creating private companies for water distribution, building public latrines, conducting sewerage system maintenance, setting up hospitals and introducing “traditional medicine” alongside Western therapeutics in the fight against cholera. The war blurred the frontiers between “Westerners” and “Asians.” European experts continued to advise Chinese soldiers, while natives fought alongside the Allies whose troops were, moreover, mainly composed of Asian soldiers (Japanese, Mongols, Vietnamese and Indians). At the end of the conflict, European deserters with real Manchu braids in their hair settled in villages in the provinces, while the “modern” Chinese of the School of Medicine used fake braids which could be removed depending on the social context. Foreign experts, businessmen and intermediaries worked for the Chinese administration and foreign authorities alike. Yet, analysis of the relationships between Chinese and foreigners in Tianjin around 1900 also reveals the intensity and diversity of the various forms of resistance and protest strategies adopted by native populations, including the armed struggle of Boxers and regular Chinese, guerillas and “brigand” pillaging, damage to telegraph lines, railroad track destruction, breaking of dam walls, theft and extortion, as well as identity and job fraud, forgery and use of forged administrative documents and counterfeit money, refusal to use public toilets and “modern” cemeteries, etc. The Chinese likewise contested foreign domination by legal means, through diplomatic negotiations instigated by the Chinese government to reinstate themselves gradually in the city, petitions addressed to the government council and consuls, press campaigns, philanthropic action, refusal to accept vaccination, and sports competitions.

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The experience of the Tianjin provisional government tended to demonstrate that international rivalries and inter-imperial cooperation were the two sides of “High Imperialism.” In fact the constraints faced by this government were heavy, starting with the chronic instability of the military personnel, moved around as a result of transfers and forced to improvise for the majority of the time. For instance, without having consulted representatives of the provisional government, the U.S. troops left the Chinese city where they were responsible for keeping order, with observers noticing an immediate recrudescence of criminality. The tension and rivalry between Allies at all levels should not be underestimated. Within the council, certain powers regularly threatened to withdraw from the provisional government. Opposition between British officials, in favour of an earlier retrocession, and German officials not favourable to giving back the city seemed to be a permanent feature. In 1900–1902, incidents and brawls between British and German, as well as Russian and British, soldiers occurred very frequently among the occupation troops. The Boxer War and the shockwaves it sent through the city made the Allies aware of the need to compromise with the Chinese authorities. Unable to colonize China, the provisional government contributed to maintaining the weakened but sovereign Chinese state, which had to be able to pay its indemnities and reimburse corresponding loans. The study of Tianjin at the turn of the twentieth century thus reveals the weight and impact of imperial globalization, as well as its narrow geographical scope. Tianjin was not China, yet the enclave represented a potential way towards modernization, which Chinese statesmen used as inspiration to implement new public policies. From this point of view, it embodied one of China’s possible futures.

CHAPTER NINE CHINA AND THE INTERNATIONAL ALLIANCES AT THE BEGINNING OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY VALDO FERRETTI

At the dawn of the twentieth century, the diplomatic world underwent an epochal transformation. Since the birth of the modern nation states, starting with the treaties of Westphalia (1648) and Utrecht (1713), up to the Congress of Vienna in 1814–15, in Europe, rules, albeit not always written, were established or considered to function not only as moral or regulating principles but also as mechanisms able to ensure the general peace. Within this framework, international law took shape and the doctrine of equilibrium was conceived as a somehow flexible “law of nature” governing the behaviour of the powers. With the growth of imperialism, this concept was gradually extended outside the Old Continent and the European powers eventually came to compete with each other beyond their traditional geographic space, with rifts and alliances gradually issuing from interests related to those areas. To quote but some examples, in the “age of imperialism,” rivalry in Egypt and Africa became central in English–French relations, just as Central and East Asia were added to the problem of the Turkish straits as a source of attrition between the United Kingdom and the Tsarist empire. As a consequence another phenomenon occurred, as countries which did not belong to the traditional “concert” of Europe come to interplay with those that did. Proverbially this was the case for Japan, which, after the modernizing reforms of the Meiji era, adapted itself to Western institutional models and attained a military power comparable to that of major European countries, succeeding in having its status as a great power recognized after the military victory over Russia in 1905. Another obvious example was the United States, which as a protagonist of the second industrial revolution was able to obtain parity and prestige on the world scale.

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At that stage an unexpected result ensued, the importance of which, at least at the beginning, was not fully understood. Not only did the great European states have to divide their forces between more scenarios in order to pursue their ambitions and secure their interests, with the consequence that these extra-European engagements could enfeeble the resources they had to put in play to maintain the balance of power in Europe, but at the same time the equilibrium on the global sphere came to depend, at least to some extent, on the weight of the “newcomers.” The widely studied topic of relations between the United States and Britain, which led to the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty of 1901, offered evidence of this trend, anticipating the Anglo-Japanese alliance which for the first time bound a “new” member of the international society to one of its most traditionally representative subjects. 1 Another similar situation occurred during the Moroccan crisis of 1904–5, when Germany, which at that time felt isolated, tried to reach an entente with the United States. To conclude, by 1905 or 1906, the date of the treaties of Portsmouth and the (provisional) solution of the Moroccan dispute, a list of events, in locations ranging from the Middle East to the Caribbean and East Asia, was showing that the “balance of power” was becoming global. As we said, the nineteenth century was the era when the legal organization and culture of Europe were enlarged to countries which were touched by imperialism. Hence the international law which had been shaped in Europe eventually replaced other codes that existed in areas of a different civilization. This was especially true in the case of the Far East, where since antiquity an entirely different structure deeply rooted in the Chinese culture was represented by the so-called Sinocentric or “Confucian” world order. The Chinese empire, which dwarfed its neighbours as to dimension and intellectual splendour, dominated a pyramidal network of relations, grounded in the ceremonial recognition of its higher rank in the face of the other kingdoms and virtually of the entire world. The kernel of this formula, whose material significance changed a great deal over the course of centuries, was based on the idea that no direct links binding different countries existed but only the filter of relations with China, even independently of the real control exerted by the latter on its

 1

Iestin Adams, Brothers across the Ocean: British Foreign Policy and the Origins of the Anglo-American “Special Relationship” 1900–1905 (London: Tauris, 2005). Aaron L. Friedberg, The Weary Titan: Britain and the Experience of Relative Decline, 1895–1905 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010).

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vassals, and provided that they all submitted symbolically to the Son of Heaven.2 That system, however, fell apart after the military defeats suffered by the Manchu empire in the nineteenth century and the Chinese élite eventually learned that in a moment of rapid change and technical development 3 the legal instruments of the Western world were better adapted than the Sinocentric traditions. Last but not least, it looked as if a more simple and efficient method was at hand to face issues concerning conflicts with modernizing Asian countries or foreign invaders, as in the case of the dispute over Korea in 1873–6, when the officials of the newly established zongliyamen were able to negotiate with the Japanese about sovereignty and territorial waters on the grounds of Western norms. Despite China’s military weakness, it looks as if they ultimately understood that the new culture gave them additional ways and means through which to engage rival powers.4 Moreover, after the “opium wars” a vast debate and comprehensive attempts at reform started in China, with the aim of putting the central government in a position of being able to stand up to foreign pressure. Within that framework, intellectuals and bureaucrats had to face a particular problem. Traditionally they were used to thinking in terms of a binary juxtaposition between the empire and the rest of the world, where only vassal entities were admitted to official relations with the former. They saw international society, though the term did not exist at that time, as the sum of the countries outside the Sinocentric system, even though in practice this rule had exceptions. As Chinese officials were scholars who cherished historical studies, they had not forgotten that on the eve of the Tang and Sung dynasties (8th–13th centuries) their ancestors had pursued agreements with populations at their borders on equal terms in order to balance the threat of other “barbarian” enemies.5 What is more, at the time

 2

For one recent appraisal of this point, see David Kang, East Asia before the West: Five Centuries of Trade and Tribute (New York: Columbia University Press 2010). 3 See, for instance, Shogo Suzuki, Civilization and Empire: China and Japan’s Encounter with European International Society (London: Routledge, 2011). 4 Suzuki, Civilization and Empire, 215. 5 Wang Yuan-kang, Harmony and War: Confucian Power and Chinese Power Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011). At the time of the Hague Peace Conference of 1907, Chinese diplomats remarked that foreign powers pursued their interests in the same way as at the time of Chunqiu (Springs and Autumns, 771–451 BC), Tang Qihua, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui “Haiya Baohehui” Zhi Can Yu (1899–1917),” Guoli Zhengzhi Daxue Lishi Xuebao, 23

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of the treaties of Nertchinsk (1689) and Kiakhta (1723), the Qing Emperor Kangxi had agreed to negotiate on an equal footing with Russia.6 Thus, the Chinese were prepared to cope with the legal schemes and the mentality of the Europeans. Ultimately the two different and contrasting attitudes among the Chinese élite coalesced after they realized how strong the intrusion of the Europeans in the second half of the nineteenth century was. One of these stances essentially demanded only military or technical update, rejecting what it saw as basically a challenge to Chinese civilization and tending to see the rest of the world as an undifferentiated whole. That was the dominating attitude among the followers of the socalled yanwu movement, influenced also by some streams of Western thought, who considered the antagonism between the “yellow” and the white “races” as the axis of international politics, according to a pattern that some Chinese diplomats continued to follow up to the end of the last dynasty. 7 The other attitude developed more gradually, mainly among officials who had direct experience with Europe and occasion to spend long periods abroad, sometimes keeping diaries with notes and remarks which showed penetrating and sometimes curious perceptions of the places they visited.8 Above all, they gradually adopted the idea that China was but one member of international society, which as such was subject to its general criteria, but which at the same time could draw some profit even from the rules of Western international society. The treaties with Britain and France which put an end to the Arrow War in 1858 and those which settled the issue of the border with Russia in 1858/1860 introduced the principle of diplomatic parity, though for a period up to the last decade of the nineteenth century the old and the new approaches coexisted. The leading élite often continued to think in the traditional way according to the principles of vassalage, which the Chinese equated with the model of the protectorate found in Western international law, by applying it to Asian states such as Annam or Korea. Ultimately this double track led or contributed to the crisis with France of 1885–6 over Annam, and to the development of the Korean question up to the war with Japan in 1894–5, when the “tribute system” finally collapsed.

 (March 2005): 49–90, especially 49, 65. 6 See, for instance, Peter C. Perdue, China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 7 Hakoda Keiko, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ. Kindai Chnjgoku no taigai nǀsei no henyǀ to zaigaikǀkan (Nagoya: Daigaku Shuppanakai, 2012), 249–51. 8 On these kinds of literary products, I would mention a good collection of studies in Italian, F. Casalin, ed., “Il Lupo e il Dragone. I rapporti fra il Regno d’Italia e l’Impero Qing,” special issue of Sulla Via del Catai, 6, 7 (October 2012).

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After the failure of the yetuan upheaval and of the so-called “100 days revolution” of 1898, the imperial government began a new phase, adopting an ideology of reform which was partly inspired by the Japanese model and went beyond technical or military modernization, involving the planning and undertaking of profound changes in the constitutional, educational and legal fields. All that had a feedback effect on the conduct of diplomacy. In the period from the Boxer protocol of 1901 to the revolution of 1911–12, institutions such as the Grand Council and the Provincial Governors still retained their ultimate decision-making function, but at the same time Western-style ministries were also set up. The Foreign Ministry was established in 1907 with officials who had received training in foreign languages and a professional education based on Western standards. Thanks to treaties which China had negotiated, it was, at least in theory, a sovereign entity with the same rights and characteristics as any other state. Under such conditions, many officials realized that the Manchu empire could insert itself into the network of combinations and agreements among European powers. In addition, the rules of international law could be used as instruments in order to pursue the recovery of national rights or other political aims. Although the diplomats of the new school did not exert direct political power, the ruling élite, to which some of them were directly bound, often took their opinions into consideration. Hence their attitude blended with the more traditional mental habits of the mandarin world, which for instance gave particular attention to domestic regional problems. As a result Chinese foreign policy over the first decade of the twentieth century was forged within the framework of a modern appreciation of the outside world but still under the influence of some aspects of the former ideas, which had not yet entirely waned. Another feature is worthy of attention. The principal areas where the imperialistic interests had been competing at the turn of the nineteenth century, like Africa or the Near East, eventually became less important. At the same time, mainly due to the character of the second industrial revolution with the growth in railway investments, China gained more weight in the international panorama at a moment when contrasts in Europe became gradually tenser and the great powers were more or less consciously preparing themselves for the First World War.9 The watershed years were probably those between 1904 and 1906, when a series of events – the Anglo-French entente cordiale of 1904, the domestic revolution in

 9

T.G. Otte, The China Question. Great Power Rivalry and British Isolation 1894– 1905 (Oxford Univ. Press, 2007).

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Russia, the Russo-Japanese War and the Moroccan crisis – marked a turning point. In this context I shall discuss some episodes which demonstrate that the Qing empire was solicited to respond to stimuli from the international system of power on the basis of an updated appreciation of what was happening on the world scene. Moreover, this was the time when more modern ideas about the peaceful settlement of international disputes were becoming popular among the public and began to be taken into consideration by governments, though most of the professional diplomats were still sceptical. In connection with this, 10 Chinese officials realized that legal tools such as arbitration, which was becoming important in such an atmosphere, 11 could work as factors making it possible for small or medium-sized countries to engage major powers. Hence they reacted positively to the launch of the initial related schemes of international organization, starting with the Peace Conference of 1899 in The Hague, which was the first one the Manchu empire attended.12 The first topic I shall examine is the issue of Chinese neutrality on the eve of the Russo-Japanese War. In 1895 the empire had been defeated by Japan, losing both the island of Taiwan and the vassalage of Korea. In order to break Japan’s ambition, in 1896 China made an alliance with Russia, but during the yetuan (Boxer) crisis of 1897–1901, the Russian army occupied Manchuria. In 1903 the negotiations for an exchange of spheres of influence between Japan and Russia, the so-called Manchurian– Korean exchange, failed, the Anglo-Japanese alliance was concluded13 in 1902, and a war between St Petersburg and Tokyo loomed. 14 Some Manchu officials had realized since the late nineteenth century that the Anglo-Russian “great game” in continental Asia offered China an opportunity to play a role of its own and to conclude treaties,15 giving it

 10

Otte, The China Question, 48–49, 81. Daniel Hucker, “ British Peace Activism and ‘New Diplomacy’: Revisiting the 1899 Hague Peace Conference,” Diplomacy & Statecraft, 26, 3 (2015): 405–23, for the general importance of this event. 12 Tang, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui,” 47–9. 13 Needless to say, the Anglo-Japanese alliance is a major theme, a full bibliography of which goes beyond this essay: George Monger, The End of Isolation. British Foreign Policy 1900–1907 (London: T. Nelson & Sons, 1963) and Ian Nish, The Anglo-Japanese Alliance. The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires 1894–1907 (London: Athlone, 1966). See also a recent contribution by the same scholar, Ian Nish, “Origins of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance,” in Philip O’Brien, ed., The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1922 ( London: Routledge, 2004), 8–25. 14 Ian Nish, The Origins of the Russo-Japanese War (London: Routledge, 1985). 15 Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 142. 11

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something to rely on in order to assess its pretensions. The empire now had to decide, within the framework of the influence of mutually conditioning powers, whether to enter a possible war against Japan, to recover the losses of 1895, or against Russia, in order to expel it from Manchuria.16 All this brought about a somewhat puzzling picture. The AngloJapanese alliance established that if, in the area of the “Extreme East,”17 one of the signatories were attacked by a third power, the other one had to remain neutral, but if it were attacked by yet another enemy, the other partner was obliged to take sides with the ally. Therefore if China were to join Russia against Japan, the United Kingdom in principle had to enter the war. However, Russia was allied with France, though in that case, in a war against a country different from Germany and outside Europe,, the casus foederis was not triggered18 automatically. Obviously, however, if Russia was attacked by two enemies it would expect France to help. Hence a general war between the Franco-Russian and the Anglo-Japanese alliances seemed to be imminent. Furthermore in the latter case, British policies, which at that time were aiming to discharge the weight of the imperial defence by settling differences with France, would have failed. China’s choice could affect the general balance of power at the world level and as a consequence it greatly concerned British and American leaders.19 The clash between the Franco-Russian and the Anglo-Japanese alliances could have triggered a world war, in theory, ten years before 1914. Of course, it is impossible to determine the possible consequences of a Chinese declaration of war on either of the two adversaries. Quite



16 For the whole question, see Ian Nish, “China and the Russo-Japanese War,” International Studies, LSE Sticerd Discussion Paper, no. IS/04/475 (April 2004): 1–15, especially 1–3. 17 Ian Nish, “Anglo-Japanese Alliance,” LSE Sticerd International Studies Paper, no. IS/2002/432, 13. 18 On the Franco-Russian alliance, another classical theme of diplomatic history, cf. George F. Kennan, The Fateful Alliance: France, Russia, and the Coming of the First World War (New York: Random House, 1985). 19 Thomas. G. Otte, “The Fragmenting of the Old World Order. Britain, the Great Powers and the War,” in Rotem Kowner, ed., The Impact of the Russo-Japanese War (Routledge: Abingdon, 2007), 91–123, especially 97, and, by the same author, “Not Proficient in Table-Thumping: Sir Ernest Satow at Peking 1900–1906,” Diplomacy & Statecraft, 13, 2, (January 2002): 160–200, especially 180–3. Keith Neilson, “The Anglo-Japanese Alliance and British Strategic Foreign Policy,” in Philip O’Brien, ed., The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1922, 48–63, especially 52–56. Zhu Weibin, Xi’aoduo Luosifuyu Zhongguo (Tianjin: Guji Chubanshe, 2005), 104.

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probably, considering that neither England nor France desired a clash with the other, a way to avoid a general confrontation, or restrict it only to East Asia, would have been found, but it is obvious that a showdown, even only at the political level, could have occurred and would have affected the equilibrium in Europe with unpredictable consequences, not because of the engagements among European countries but because of China’s choices. One might argue, for instance, that Germany would have probably gained success in the Moroccan crisis and that diplomatic developments in Europe could have subsequently followed an entirely different route from the road they actually took after the conference of Algeciras. We know that the United States and Britain put pressure on Beijing to induce it to remain neutral, but it is interesting that this outcome did not follow only from their actions. According to the testimony of the director of the Chinese Imperial Customs, Sir Robert Hart, a party willing to join Russia in war against Japan existed in Beijing just as there were opposite factions oriented to taking sides with Japan or to remaining neutral. Hart added that the matter was finally pondered in November 1903 in conferences in the Forbidden City, the importance of which are confirmed by the participation of the most influential and powerful imperial advisers, Zhang Zhidong and Yuan Shikai. A few Chinese documents shed more light on the information gathered by the British official. They show that Yuan inspired the final decision to remain neutral, though the Japanese minister in Beijing had the impression that he had initially favoured intervention on Japan’s side. Against the suggestions of other officials, the general governor of Zhili20 remarked that China had to reflect on what it had suffered at the time of the Boxer rebellion, when the northern provinces had been invaded by foreign armies and only a declaration of neutrality by local governors had saved the rest of the country. Given China’s military weakness, he proposed to stay out of the war and to side with England and America, which supported neutrality and the “open door.”21 It is worth mentioning, however, that most of the Chinese envoys to the European capitals took the same position, because they were afraid that such an intervention could imperil international stability and would harm the empire. The minister to France, Sun Baoqi, wrote in a letter to the general governor of Liangguang, Wang Kangnian, on December 31, 1903:

 20

Yuan Shikai. Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 234, 338. Nakashima Shin, “Nichirǀsensǀniokeruchnjgokugaikǀ. Manshnjniokerukyokugaichnjritsu,” in Higashi Ajiakindaishigakkai, ed., Nichirǀsensǀ to Higashi AjiaSeikai (Tokyo: Yumanishǀbǀ 2008), 77–100. 21

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“As to what the French think, if we do not help Japan, they will not help Russia.”22 It seems that he had an insightful perception of the global crisis which was very similar to what some Western chanceries feared would happen if China got involved in the war. The Chinese diplomat arguably realized that his country could tip the scales of the general balance of power and that careless Chinese behaviour could throw the relations among great powers into confusion. It is difficult to say if Yuan Shikai’s intuitions went so far, but he shared the view that if China were to join one of the contenders it might even risk a partition, given that established foreign interests already existed in its territory. Moreover, the issue of Chinese neutrality in 1903 offers space for some further reflections. Maybe the first consideration is that it was not the case that a decision coming from the decadent empire could have an effect on global stability, given that the engagements of the European powers outside the Old Continent, as we have seen, overstretched their resources and led them to alter their calculations over international stability or to try for ententes or alliances with extra-European countries. As the Russian foreign minister Sergej Sazonov was to note a few years later, “the London Cabinet looks upon the Anglo-Russian Convention of 1907 as being important for the Asiatic interests of England; but […] this Convention possesses a still greater importance […] from the viewpoint of the policy which is being pursued by England in Europe […] This is a circumstance which we can, of course, exploit for ourselves.”23In such circumstances Asian states could accrue the room they needed in order to exert influence. With the “great game,” as Evgeny Sergeev has written, “the two empires [24] continued their rivalry until they realized that […] their perpetual competition in Asia had a multifaced impact upon the Asian nations, the most formidable one being their eventual incorporation into the process of globalization. That is why the Great Game deserves to be remembered as making a highly significant contribution […] to the general contour of world politics in the twentieth century.” 25 China constituted one factor in such a scenario, as our discussion has confirmed. The equilibrium in East Asia did not depend only on “great” powers such as Japan or the United States, but the Manchu

 22

Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 133–4. Keith M. Wilson, The Policy of the Entente, Essays on the Determinants of British Foreign Policy, 1904–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 83. 24 Great Britain and Russia. 25 Evgeny Sergeev, The Great Game 1856–1907 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014), 347. 23

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empire as well, which was taking on the aspect of a “middle” power, thanks to the reforms of the late Qing. Of course, its limited military resources did oblige it to act only at the diplomatic level, but the most gifted Chinese officials were aware that, even so, they could afford and reap the fruits of some autonomous manoeuvre. Not by chance, perhaps, the minister to Russia, Hu Weide, suggested to his superiors in Beijing that they try for a mediation between Japan and Russia during the war. 26 We may even wonder if a choice different from neutrality might have brought about some positive result, though it is difficult to believe that the intervention of the Celestial Empire in the Russo-Japanese War could have changed the final outcome. One is led to argue that some advantage could have come only if China had joined Japan against Russia. In that case, however, one might consider that imperial officials, such as Zhang Zhidong and Yuan Shikai, to quote two of the most influential, lacked strong experience of grande politique which went beyond regional borders, while the empire was not covered by a true alliance with any great power. To take a line as prudent as possible was probably the wisest choice. At the same time there was an imbalance at the more general level in the international system during the decade before the crisis of 1914, while the Asiatic problems, which mattered to China in some cases,27 were once again to interplay with European politics. After the treaty of Portsmouth a new phase began, in which diplomatic skill became, more than ever, a valuable and much-needed resource given that the international landscape was becoming more delicate and complex, and that the great powers were becoming less willing to give their primary attention to East Asia. Hence the developments of international society were probably playing into the hands of Asiatic states. The defeat of the Tsarist empire, coupled with the impact of the domestic revolution of 1905, left Russia on the verge of collapse, which was probably avoided only thanks to the financial support of France. As a consequence the strength of the Franco-Russian bloc was dealt a strong blow, paving the way for the establishment of German hegemony in Europe, which was seen as a danger by a strong segment of the ruling élite in the United Kingdom. This led to a change in British foreign policy. Foreign minister Sir Edward Grey and the Foreign Office, which had been pursuing a general settlement with Russia since before the war, realized

 26

Suzuki Motoo, Kindai Chnjgoku to Seiyǀ Kokusai Shakai (Tokyo: Kynjko Shoin, 2007). 27 See, for instance, J. Siegel, Endgame. Britain, Russia and the Final Struggle for Central Asia (London: Tauris, 2002), who discusses some episodes of this type.

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that if not a full alliance (made difficult, among other reasons, by the opposition of the left in the Cabinet), diplomatic support had to be offered to Russia and France. They thought that another war in Asia between the Tsarist empire and Japan had to be impeded and the sources of attrition between London and St Petersburg removed.28 All that ushered in the birth of the so-called “system” of 1907. Britain succeeded in renewing the Anglo-Japanese alliance in 1905, enforcing it in order to dissuade Russia from seeking revenge,29 but also drove Japan to make amends with the former enemy through the entente of July 30, 1907.30 The achievement of these results was made easier by France, which induced Japan to reconcile with Russia, by means of a loan which helped Tokyo find a way out of its financial difficulties deriving from the war.31 The final outcome was the treaties of June 10, 1907, between Tokyo and Paris, which included reciprocal recognition of special rights over some Chinese provinces. The Anglo-Russian entente of August 31, 1907, supported the full structure. All this changed the stage on which Chinese officials had to play. The treaties among Russia, France and Britain were the origin of the triple entente in Europe, which functioned on the condition that Japan guarded British interests in the Far East. This gave a global significance to the Anglo-Japanese alliance32 and isolated Germany both in the Far East and

 28

See, in the wider literature, Thomas G. Otte, “Almost a Law of Nature. Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Office, and the Balance of Power in Europe, 1905–12,” Diplomacy & Statecraft, 14, 2 (2003): 77–118. Keith Neilson, Britain and the Last Tsar. British Policy and Russia, 1894–1917 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). 29 David Steeds, “The Second Anglo-Japanese Alliance and the Russo-Japanese War,” International Studies, Sticerd Discussion Paper, no. IS/02/432 (April 2002), 16–27. 30 Ewen W. Edwards, “The Far Eastern Agreements of 1907,” Journal of Modern History, 4 (1954): 340–55; Peter Berton, Russo-Japanese Relations, 1907–1917 (New York: Routledge, 2012). 31 For more bibliographic details, see Valdo Feretti, Da Portsmouth a Sarajevo. La Politica Estera Giapponese e l’Equilibrio Europeo, (Rome: Achivio Guido Izzi 1989), 36, 45, 156. 32 There were of course many weak points and possibly some inconsistencies in this picture, largely because the gist of the rivalry between Russia and the United Kingdom concerned the possibility of an advance of the Tsarist empire towards India, which proved difficult to put a brake on through the Anglo-Japanese alliance. Moreover, the problem of the defence of India was not entirely settled even after the Russian–British entente of 1907 and was probably conditioned, together with that of Persia, by the British decision to enter the First World War in 1914, though not all historians of the “July crisis” of 1914 attach the same importance to that factor. Cf. the strong views of Keith M. Wilson, “The Anglo-

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in Europe. In the Reich, a faction took shape which matured the idea that by checking Japan, and given the weakness of Russia, mastery in Europe could be attained more easily. The champion of such a position was Emperor William II himself, though his views were much more cautiously supported by his advisers. In the meantime the dispute over the “open door” in Manchuria and the 1907–8 crises over emigration worsened relations between Japan and the USA. Between 1907 and 1908 the Kaiser gave interviews to the American journalist W.B. Hale and to the British general Edward J. Stuart Wortley, stressing that he saw a danger, also for racial reasons, in the Anglo-Japanese alliance and, when speaking to Hale especially, pointing to the danger of a war between the United Kingdom and Germany. As Hale wrote later, “The Asiatic Question […] was […] the Emperor’s chief theme.” William II told him he wished for an antiJapanese front with America, adding eventually that “a quiet little agreement between Germany and the United States […] declaring that we guarantee Chinese territory and the open door” was forthcoming. “We are waiting,” William allegedly said, “now to learn what stipulation China would make […] I do not think that their ideas would be excessive. I do not think we shall have any trouble in coming to an understanding with her.” 33 The whole episode notoriously reflected how confused was the decision-making process in Berlin, but, nonetheless, it went in tandem with a diplomatic initiative Germany had already launched at that time, offering an opportunity of which China could take advantage.34 There is an abundant academic literature on the negotiations which the Kaiser began in 1906 with the Chinese military attaché in Germany, Yinchang, and continued later in Beijing and in America, 35 but thanks to

 Japanese Alliance of August 1905 and the Defending of India: A Case of the Worst Scenario,” The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 21, 2 (May 1993): 334–56, and, by the same author, “Imperial Interests in the British Decision for War, 1914: The Defence of India in Central Asia,” Review of International Studies, 10 (1984): 189–203. Christopher Clark, The Sleepwalkers. How Europe Went To War in 1914 (London: Penguin Books, 2012), 545–7. Thomas G. Otte. July Crisis. The World’s Descent into War, Summer 1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 489–99. 33 Emphasis added. 34 See Peter Winzen, Das Kaiserreich am Abgrund: Die Daily-Telegraph-Affäre und das Hale-Interview von 1908 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2002), 203, for the contents of the interviews. 35 The oldest study I know of on the matter of the American-German-Chinese negotiations of 1907–8, which was based on the Grosse Politik collection, is Luella. J. Hall, “ The Abortive German-American-Chinese Entente of 1907–8,” Journal of Modern History, 1/2 (1929): 177–235. The subject has been taken later

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recent studies 36 we finally have more details about how the Chinese reacted. The diplomats of the new school realized that the war between Japan and Russia had moulded a new scenario. Some of them, like the chief delegate to the Hague Peace Conference of 1907, Lu Zhengxiang, or the minister to St Petersburg, Hu Waide – though only scantily informed about the details of the negotiations – noticed the “benevolent” attitude of the Reich and realized the significance of the game which was in play. The minister to France, Liu Shixun, treasuring his knowledge of Europe, noted that Berlin could be useful to China because, by balancing France, it neutralized a possible danger to China’s southern borders. Germany could offer a military force, he remarked, which would otherwise be lacking, even if America were to assent, and an entente with Germany could help

 many times, enlarging the investigations to German archival sources and America documents. Cf., among others, Charles Vevier, The United States and China 1906– 1913: A Study of Finance and Diplomacy (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1955). Raymond A. Esthus, Theodore Roosevelt and Japan (Seattle: University of Washington Press 1966). Charles E. Neu, An Uncertain Friendship. Theodore Roosevelt and Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967). Michael H. Hunt, Frontier Defence and the Open Door. Manchuria in Chinese– American Relations, 1895–1911 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1973). John H. Maurer, “American Naval Concentration and the German Battle Fleet 1900–1918,” Journal of Strategic Studies, 86, 2 (1983): 147–81. Stefan H. Rinke, Zwischen Weltpolitik und Monroe Doktrin: Botschafter Speck von Sternburg und die deutsch–amerikanischen Beziehungen, 1898–1908 (Stuttgart: Verlag HansDieter Heinz, 1992). Raimund Lammersdorf, Anfängeeiner Weltmacht: Theodore Roosevelt und die transatlantischen Beziehungen der USA 1901–1909 (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1994). Ute Mehnert, Deutschland, Amerika und die “gelbeGefahr”: zur Karriereeines Schlagworts in der großen Politik, 1905–1917 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998). In Japanese I would mention Yoshii Hiroshi, Nijnj seiki gaikǀshi no ichi kenkynj (Kyoto: Mine Shǀbǀ, 1965). I dealt with this subject in Ferretti, Da Portsmouth A Sarajevo, 55. 36 I refer to interesting essays of Chinese and Japanese scholars, who have made use of Chinese documents recently made available, especially, the multi-volume Zhonguo Diyi Lishi Dang’anguan, ed., Qingdai Junjichu Dianbaodang Huibian (Beijing: Zhonguo Renmin Daxue Chubanshe 2005). Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 240; Li Yongsheng, “1907–1908 Nian Zhong De Mei Lianmeng Wenti Yianju,” Shijie Lishi, 4 (2011): 39–47, and Koike Motomu, “Higashi Ajia Kyǀshǀ Taisei no Seiritsu to Dokubeishin Teikei Kǀzǀ ( 1907–1909),” unpublished paper given at the annual conference of the Japanese Association of International Relations, held in Nagoya on October 19–20, 2012; Jair Bulletin, 134 (2012): 17.

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to undermine the treaty between Japan and France. 37 As Britain’s and France’s diplomatic or strategic liens with Japan had strong value for the general balance of power in Europe, China’s interest was in seeking to gain advantage from this factor and the hope that, as at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, the decisions of the Heavenly Empire could rebound on some key mechanisms of European politics. As to the leaders of Chinese foreign policy, other elements intermingled with their perception of external factors. At the beginning Zhang Zhidong, the former general governor of Huguang and Minister of War, seemed to deem that China was too weak to take any initiative in the network of international alliances. Yet he was alarmed when the FrancoJapanese treaty of 1907 in part concerned the territory of the empire, and hence changed his mind. However, it is not clear if he and other officials who did not belong to the coterie of Yuan Shikai supported only a limited agreement, which would essentially uphold the “open door” doctrine. Probably they hesitated in the face of the project, which was cherished by William II and probably by Yuan Shikai, of a true alliance with Japan and America. Furthermore, Yuan was especially concerned with Manchurian issues and pursued pro-American strategies dealing with the railway and financial aspects. According to the hypothesis of a Japanese scholar, Yuan was more interested in this business than in the alliance with America and Germany. 38 This might explain why the imperial envoy to the United States, Tang Shaoyi, dropped the matter of the alliance when President Roosevelt told him that the U.S. would not pursue it, as it could arouse a lot of dissent and opposition among American public opinion. 39 It is, however, important to note that official Chinese policies had endorsed the plan. It had been approved by an imperial edict and after the child Emperor Xuantong rose to the throne, this idea was continued by the regent Prince Qun, even though Zhang Zhidong had died in the meantime and Yuan Shikai had lost his position. After Japan annexed Korea and made another entente with Russia in 1910, aiming to counter American and German policies in China and to defend the special rights of both signatories in Manchuria, the Prince send a secret mission to Germany led by the former president of the Foreign Ministry Liang Dunyan, in order to suggest one more agreement with the purpose of protecting Chinese

 37

See Motomu, “Higashi AjiaKyǀshǀ Taisei.” He shows that other Chinese high officials such as Duan Fang and Zhao Erzhun supported the idea of an entente with Germany and United States. 38 Motomu, “Higashi AjiaKyǀshǀ Taisei.” 39 Li Yongsheng, “1907–1908,” 46–7.

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integrity. 40 This attempt was again unsuccessful because of the cold American response, but this shows how the imperial government continued to behave according to the classical style of European diplomacy. The last example of how imperial China responded to impulses coming from the international stage relates to the Hague Peace Conference of 190741 which took place between June and October 1907, the same months that the diplomatic “system” of 1907 was born. In effect, after some domestic debate, the Chinese preferred to avoid raising diplomatic issues relating to the Russo-Japanese War.42 Moreover, this event had a global significance which should not be overlooked. In fact, the conference anticipated some aspects of the period after the Second World War and the future dynamics inside the United Nations. Developing countries from Asia and Latin America sent their delegations and fought for parity of rights in the court of justice, giving rise to the establishment of the Permanent Court of Arbitration and refining the tribunal which had been set up during the first Hague conference of 1899. Besides that, during the conference some of these countries succeeded in resisting the force of the major powers on an occasion where military strength seemed to have been given less importance and more room for action was left for the middle powers. The role that the Latin American countries, especially Brazil, played has often been emphasized, but it is interesting to note that Chinese diplomats, who saw similarities between China and Turkey, 43 favoured collaboration between them,44and that a kind of “Asia group,” in which Siam also participated, was forged.45 At that time both the Ottoman and the Manchu empires were facing analogous problems because of conventions on extraterritoriality, which, as some Western delegates maintained, could conflict with the treaty of general or obligatory arbitration being discussed on that occasion. Moreover, the conference worked out a Convention for the Pacific Settlement of International

 40

Koike Motomu, “Chun Shinnǀ Seiken no Taidoku Shinseisaku,” in Shingai Kakumei Hyakunen Kinen Ronshnj Henshnj Iinkai, ed., Sǀgǀ Kenkynj Shingai Kakumei, Tokyo: Iwanami Shǀten, 2012 , 277–98. Ferretti, Da Portsmouth A Sarajevo, 186–7. 41 See, especially, Calvin DeArmond Davis, The United States and the Second Hague Peace Conference. American Diplomacy and International Organization, 1899–1914 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1975). 42 Tang, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui,” 53–4. 43 Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 249–50. 44 About China’s participation in both conferences in The Hague, see Tang, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui.” 45 Tang, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui.”, 65–6.

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Disputes, but some European countries claimed that the duration of the mandate of the judges nominated by the great powers could not be same as for those nominated by China or Turkey. 46 Broadly speaking, as the Chinese delegate Lu Zhengxiang remarked, both states ran the risk that a part of their sovereignty would be stripped off by foreign imperialism. Lu and some of his colleagues reported to the imperial government that for China it was important to join international conventions and that those legal tools were useful in order to assess or defend its independence, provided that domestic reforms were carried out. The Russo-Japanese War, they stressed on another occasion, had not been a clash between the white and the “yellow” “races”, but one between single powers with different aims. In the scenario resulting from that conflict, China, which lacked military force, had simply to “go abreast”47 with those it was most convenient to flank. The Hague conference is often remembered because of the unsuccessful attempt of a Korean delegation to be received to protest against the treaties Japan had imposed on Seoul, whose protests were not taken in consideration under the influence of the “system” of 1907. Lu wrote that Japan, which tried to present itself as the guarantor of the interests of the European powers in East Asia, was going to treat China in the same way, suggesting to the Chinese Foreign Ministry that it could profit from the attitude of Germany and America.48 A general treaty of arbitration could be useful as a legal barrier, and Lu’s views of analogies between Turkey and China not only show that his mentality had grown modern and unprovincial, but confirm that traditional Chinese stereotypes were being overcome. In other words, a general phenomenon, the rising role of middle or small non-European powers exploiting the germinating seeds of international organization, was understood by Chinese officials as being a valuable occasion for the Celestial Empire. It seems that Chinese diplomacy was in some ways, if not entirely unconsciously, inserting itself into the cultural stream which had stretched from the congresses of Utrecht of 1713 and Vienna of 1815, with their idea of peace as established through the equilibrium of the powers, to the movement which invoked arbitration as a means to solve international crisis which was flourishing at the beginning of the twentieth century.

 46

Davis, The United States and the Second Hague Peace Conference, 270–1. As this author stated, “Most of the reasons given were probably pretence. It seems likely that the Europeans disliked this scheme because it recognized China and Turkey as powers of first rank,” 267. 47 Hakoda, Gaikǀkan no tanjǀ, 246. 48 Tang, “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui,” 83, 65–6.

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The attitude of Lu Zhengxiang and Yuan Shikai thus represented one more symptom of the fact that the Manchu state had become a subject able to exert an active role in international society, which was no longer only Western, by anticipating developments to come after its demise.

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Koike Motomu. “Chun Shinnǀ Seiken No Taidoku Shinseisaku,” in Shingai Kakumei Hyakunen Kinen Ronshnj HenshnjIinkai, ed., Sǀgǀ Kenkynj Shingai Kakumei. Tokyo: Iwanami Shǀten, 2012, 277–98. —. “Higashi Ajia Kyǀshǀ Taisei No Seiritsu To Dokubeishin Teikei Kǀzǀ (1907–1909),” unpublished paper given at the annual conference of the Japanese Association of International Relations, held in Nagoya on October 19–20, 2012. Jair Bulletin 134 (2012): 17. Lammersdorf, Raimund. Anfängeeiner Weltmacht: Theodore Roosevelt und die transatlantischen Beziehungen der USA 1901–1909. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1994. Li Yongsheng. “1907–1908 Nian Zhong De Mei Lianmeng Wenti Yianju.” Shijie Lishi 4 (2011): 39–47 Maurer, John H. “American Naval Concentration and the German Battle Fleet 1900–1918.” Journal of Strategic Studies 86, 2 (1983): 147–81. Mehnert, Ute. Deutschland, Amerika und die “gelbeGefahr”: zur Karriereeines Schlagworts in der großen Politik, 1905–1917. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998. Monger, George. The End of Isolation. British Foreign Policy 1900–1907. London: Thomas Nelson & Sons, 1963. Neilson, Keith. “The Anglo-Japanese Alliance and British Strategic Foreign Policy,” in, Philip O’Brien, ed., The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1922. London: Routledge, 2004, 48–63. —. Britain and the Last Tsar. British Policy and Russia, 1894–1917. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996. Neu, Charles E. An Uncertain Friendship. Theodore Roosevelt and Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967. Nish Ian. “Anglo-Japanese Alliance,” LSE Sticerd International Studies Paper, no. IS/2002/432. —. The Anglo-Japanese Alliance. The Diplomacy of Two Island Empires 1894–1907. London: Athlone, 1966. —. “China and the Russo-Japanese War,” International Studies, LSE Sticerd Discussion Paper, no. IS/04/475 (April 2004): 1–15. —. “Origins of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance,” in Philip O’Brien, ed., The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1922. London: Routledge, 2004, 8–25. —. The Origins of the Russo-Japanese War. London: Routledge, 1985. Otte, Thomas G. “Almost a Law of Nature. Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Office, and the Balance of Power in Europe, 1905–12.” Diplomacy & Statecraft 14, 2 (2003): 77–118. —. The China Question. Great Power Rivalry And British Isolation 1894– 1905. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. —. “The Fragmenting of the Old World Order. Britain, the Great Powers

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and the War,” in Rotem Kowner, ed., The Impact of the RussoJapanese War. Abingdon: Routledge 2007, 91–123. —. July Crisis. The World’s Descent into War, Summer 1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014. —. “Not Proficient In Table-Thumping: Sir Ernest Satow At Peking 1900–1906.” Diplomacy & Statecraft 13, 2 (January 2002): 160–200. Perdue, Peter C. China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005. Rinke, Stefan H. Zwischen Weltpolitik und Monroe Doktrin: Botschafter Speck von Sternburg und die deutsch–amerikanischen Beziehungen, 1898–1908. Stuttgart: Verlag Hans-Dieter Heinz, 1992. Sergeev, Evgeny. The Great Game 1856–1907. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014. Siegel, Jennifer. Endgame. Britain, Russia and the Final Struggle for Central Asia. London: Tauris, 2002. Steeds, David. “The Second Anglo-Japanese Alliance and the RussoJapanese War.” International Studies, Sticerd Discussion Paper, no. IS/02/432 (April 2002), 16–27. Suzuki Motoo. Kindai Chnjgoku to Seiyǀ Kokusai Shakai. Tokyo: Kynjko Shoin, 2007. Suzuki, Shogo. Civilization and Empire: China and Japan’s Encounter with European International Society. London: Routledge, 2011. Tang Qihua. “Qingmo Minchu Zhongguo dui ‘Haiya Baohehui’ Zhi Can Yu (1899–1917).” in Guoli Zhengzhi Daxue Lishi Xuebao, 23 (March 2005): 49–90. Vevier, Charles. The United States and China 1906–1913: A Study of Finance and Diplomacy. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1955. Wang Yuan-kang. Harmony and War: Confucian Power and Chinese Power Politics. New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Wilson, Keith M. “The Anglo-Japanese Alliance of August 1905 and the Defending of India: A Case of the Worst Scenario.” The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 21, 2 (1993): 334–56. —. “Imperial Interests in the British Decision for War, 1914: The Defence of India in Central Asia.” Review of International Studies, 10 (1984): 189–203. —. The Policy of the Entente, Essays on the Determinants of British Foreign Policy, 1904–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Winzen, Peter. Das Kaiserreich am Abgrund: Die Daily-Telegraph-Affäre und das Hale-Interview von 1908. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2002.

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Yoshii Hiroshi. Nijnj seiki gaikǀshi no ichi kenkynj. Kyoto: Mine Shǀbǀ, 1965. Zhonguo Diyi Lishi Dang’anguan, ed. Qingdai Junjichu Dianbaodang Huibian. Beijing: Zhonguo Renmin Daxue Chubanshe, 2005. Zhu Weibin. Xi’aoduo Luosifuyu Zhongguo (Theodore Roosevelt and China). Tianjin: Guji Chubanshe, 2005.

CHAPTER TEN THE MEMORY AND LEGACY OF THE TRIBUTE SYSTEM IN TWENTIETH-CENTURY CHINA KAWASHIMA SHIN

Introduction In the view epitomized by John K. Fairbank and Masataka Banno, diplomatic relations between China and surrounding countries took the form of the “tributary system” until the late nineteenth century. This went into decline with the introduction of the Westphalia system, and China itself eventually accepted the new international order.1 This approach is typical of those that consider the international political history of East Asia as a conflict between tradition and modernity. However, Takeshi Hamashita has criticized this approach, arguing that the tributary relations system was a kind of device for trade in this area, so that Britain also sometimes took advantage of the tributary trade system of East Asia. 2 Britain requested change to the system of trade at Canton in the 1830s– 40s; it didn’t deny all of Qing Dynasty China’s tributary relations, but criticized Qing’s trade system (hushi ஫ᕷ), which restricted trade with Western countries to Canton. In recent years, some scholars at Kyoto University in Japan discussed the relationship between tributary relations and trade (hushi) relations.3 Also, new studies argue the asymmetry of the 1

Takeshi Hamashita, “㏆௦୰ᅜࡢᅜ㝿ⓗዎᶵ:: ᮅ㈉㈠᫆ࢩࢫࢸ࣒࡜㏆௦࢔ࢪ ࢔” [International Opportunities of Modern China: Tributary Trade System and Modern Asia] (Tokyo: Tokyo University Press, 1990). 2 Ibid. 3 These new studies claim that it was not necessary to conduct tribute in order to trade with Qing China, and that in practice the core of China’s trade was not based on “tributary relations” but on Hu-shi (஫ᕷ) or “mutual market trade.” This line of argument criticizes Hamashita’s argument and emphasizes once again the political and diplomatic significance of tributary relations. Shigeki Iwai and Minshu Liao

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tributary relations between the Qing and tributary countries. 4 Most countries that China recognized as tributaries didn’t share the empire’s image of suzerain–tributary relations with the Qing. In the process of the translation of documents from their original languages into Chinese, original contents that didn’t have such suzerain–tributary images were changed to be more China-centric. So if we only use Chinese documents to analyse these relations, we cannot understand such asymmetry. Therefore, we have to be deliberate in the use of the term “tributary system,” because other countries did not share China’s perceptions of it, except for some that used and understood Chinese characters and Chinese classics. The other important argument is focused on the change and adjustment of tributary relations in the 1880s, especially with Korea. As Toshio Motegi has demonstrated, in the 1870s and 1880s the Qing Dynasty started to reorganize tributary relations and build new provinces at their periphery, by adopting modern elements.5 Shin Kawashima has indicated that the Qing enjoyed extra-territorial rights in Korea and retained concessions ( ⛒ ⏺ ) in some parts of Korea. 6 Takashi Okamoto has demonstrated the double standard by examining in detail the statement that “Korea is a tributary state of Qing, [but is] an independent state.”7This was used frequently in the Qing court’s explanations of its relations with Korea in the 1880s. A new trend in the literature claims that the conflicts over opium and the management of trade in the 1830s–40s are not issues of conflict

have developed a new argument that repositions the Canton System, established in 1757 by the Qing with Western countries including Britain, not as a system of tributary relations but as an institutionalization of the norms for the mutual market trade system. They also claim that the conflicts over opium and the management of trade in the 1830s–40s are not issues of conflict between the Westphalia system and the tribute system, but of conflict around the mutual market trade system. See Min Shu Liao, “஫ᕷ࠿ࡽぢࡓΎᮅࡢ㏻ၟ⛛ᗎ” [“Trade Order during the Qing Dynasty Seen from the Mutual Market Trade System”], unpublished PhD dissertation, School of Law and Politics, Hokkaido University, 2006. 4 Antony Reid and Zheng Yangwen, eds., Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2009). 5 Toshio Motegi, “ ኚ ᐜ ࡍ ࡿ ㏆ ௦ ᮾ ࢔ ࢪ ࢔ ࡢ ᅜ 㝿 ⛛ ᗎ ” [Transition of the International Order in Modern East Asia] (Tokyo: Yamakawa Publishing, 1997). 6 Shin Kawashima, “ ୰ ᅜ ㏆ ௦ እ ஺ ࡢ ᙧ ᡂ ” [Formation of Modern Chinese Diplomacy] (Nagoya: Nagoya University Press, 2004). 7 Takashi Okamoto, “ ᒓ ᅜ ࡜ ⮬ ⋤ ࡢ ࠶ ࠸ ࡔ ” [Between Tributary State and Autonomy] (Nagoya: Nagoya University Press, 2004).

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between the Westphalia system and the tribute system, but rather of conflict around a mutual market trade system. A corollary is that the more important cause of this conflict was that Britain, France and Japan had colonized the tributary states of the Qing after the 1870s. Problems multiplied for Qing tributary relations from the mid-1870s. These included changing modes of trade, as well as the establishment of legations and the etiquette of diplomats. Qing relations with Korea in the 1880s operated on two contradictory tracks, the tributary aspect being under the Ministry of Rites’ jurisdiction, and the Westphalian aspect under the Tsungli Yamen’s jurisdiction. What made this double standard possible and necessary was the Sino-Japanese War (1894–5). But there are other indications that external relations based on a tributary system did not completely disappear with the Sino-Japanese War. These included the supremacy of China in relations with Korea as seen from the content of the 1897 treaty between the Qing and the Korean Empire; the existence of the Chinese settlement and the Chinese privilege of consul jurisdiction in the Korean peninsula; the tribute of the Gurkhas to the Qing until the 1911 revolution; and “tributary” elements in relations with Mongolia and Tibet even after the establishment of the Republic of China in 1912. Nevertheless, the establishment of the Foreign Office in 1901 and China’s external relations in the post-Boxer Rebellion era indicated a gradual shift from the double standard toward adapting to the Westphalia system. 8 On the one hand, China tried to improve its international status, maintain its territorial unity and revise the unequal treaties, while on the other hand it promoted movements grounded in nationalism and aimed toward recovering its lost national rights. As these studies of the traditional international order of China have developed, a different telling of history has emerged from that of the simple conflict between tradition and modernity. Progress in understanding the mutual trade system has made it apparent that China’s defeat in a series of wars, including the Opium Wars, led to the transformation of the trade system, which took several decades, rather than the collapse of the traditional international order. It can be said that China’s traditional international order was in crisis due to the loss of the tributary states that supported it. This chapter will examine how the tributary relations and mutual trade formed in the period that saw the loss of the tributary states and the de facto collapse of the Chinese world order was remembered and depicted 8

Shin Kawashima, “ ୰ ᅜ ㏆ ௦ እ ஺ ࡢ ᙧ ᡂ ” [Formation of Modern Chinese Diplomacy] (Nagoya: Nagoya University Press, 2004).

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between the years 1900 and 1940, when China sought to engage in Westphalian diplomacy and made efforts to recover its national rights. I will consider how the “lost” territories were perceived by the nationalistlike movement to recover national rights, and how China perceived its “true self,” and constructed a new memory of its past. It is also important to consider how Chinese diplomats educated in Western countries perceived China’s past relations with its neighbours, especially Japan, while conducting diplomacy under the Westphalia system. This chapter will examine this issue by using articles from magazines, textbooks and maps.

Formation of the Historical Concept of “China” and Its Relations with Surrounding Countries It is difficult to deny that China is comprised of one historical world; but the use of the name Zhongguo (୰ᅜ) or “China” as the national name, and the formation of a national identity, are not old tales.9 Traditional history in China comprised a series of dynastic histories, not a national narrative. The construction of a “China” identity gained much attention from the 1900s on in the context of Chinese nationalism. Let us refer to Liang Qi Chao’s “Introduction to Chinese History” (୰ᅜྐླྀㄽ) concerning the identity formation or consciousness of “China” or the “Chinese” that accompanied the anti-Russian movement (ᣄಂ㐠ື), the anti-American movement, and the anti-Japanese movement reflected in the Tatsumaru Incident (㎮୸஦௳): What I feel most shameful of is that our country does not have a name. The name of Han (₎) or people of Tang (၈) are only names of Dynasties, and the name “Zhina (Chine/Sina ᨭ㑣)” that foreign countries use is not a name that we call ourselves. To refer to our history by the name of the Dynasties goes against the idea of respecting our people. Referring to our history by the name China goes against the principle that a name follows the master. The name Zhongguo (୰ᅜ) or Zhonghua (୰⳹) does seem egotistical and arrogant and may invite criticisms from other countries. All three (name of Dynasty, name by foreign countries, and Zhongguo or Zhonghua) has its own fault, therefore I would like to choose the name “History of Zhongguo (୰ᅜྐ),” following the oral practice. It is within

9

Ibid.

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reason that the people respect their own country, and it is one way to arouse the spirit of compatriots.10

Although the histories of the Han, Tang, Ming and Qing Dynasties were already compiled, the history of China as a nation was only discussed in the early twentieth century. It is also during this period that history books included the “modern” element. Let us look at some of the information given in these historical textbooks. The following is the Table of Contents from a history book section introducing the second half of the nineteenth century. This Elementary School history textbook was first published in Shanghai in 1910 and was reprinted many times during the ROC period.11 Elementary School History Textbook Vol. 4 (㧗➼ᑠᏛṔྐㄢᮏ ➨ ᅄ෉) Chapter 62. Jiangning Treaty (= Nanking Treaty) Chapter 63. The Fall of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom Chapter 64. Treaty of Tientsin and Beijing Treaty Chapter 65. Rebellions by Nian and Hui Chapter 66. Return of Burma and Vietnam to Britain and France Chapter 67. Sino-Japanese War and Maguan Treaty Chapter 68. Demand for the Lease of Coastal Regions by Each Country Chapter 69. Political Change in the Qing Dynasty and Yihetuan Chapter 70. Russo-Japanese War and Relations with our Country Chapter 71. Constitutional Government of the Qing Dynasty Chapter 72. Rise of the Revolutionary Forces and the Establishment of the ROC As can be seen from the table, two main themes dominated the period between the late Qing Dynasty and the early ROC years. The first is the invasion of the great powers, and the second the movements against, and eventual downfall of, the Qing Dynasty. Chapters 66 and 67 explain the loss of tributary states: “After the Opium War and the Franco-British War (Arrow War), the Qing Dynasty’s national rights (ᅜᶒ) diminished day 10

Liang Qichao, “㣧ἃᐊྜ㞟” [Collected Works of Yinbingshi] (Vol. 6) (Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1989). The original text appeared inࠗΎ㆟ሗ࠘ (Qing Bulletin) in 1901. 11 “㧗➼ᑠᏛṔྐㄢᮏ ➨ᅄ෉” [Elementary School History Textbook No. 4] (first edition, Shanghai: Chinese Publishing, 1910 [distributed from 1911] and revised sixth edition, 1913).

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by day, and it lost its power to preserve its tributary states. As a result, Myanmar and Vietnam were claimed by someone else.”12 The Qing had helped Korea and Vietnam against Japanese and French aggression to no avail; they reluctantly recognized the separation of Korea and Vietnam apparently unaware that these countries had already acted as independent states in signing treaties with other foreign countries. Textbooks and history books of this period also discussed how China lost its national rights as suzerain over surrounding “tributary” countries. In this context, the process of loss as suzerain was not “foreign history,” but a part of China’s own national history. This depiction of history is reinforced through public historical documents and chronologies such as the Diplomatic Documents of Qing (ΎᏘእ஺ྐᩱ) and the Manuscript of the History of the Qing Dynasty ( Ύ ྐ ྠ ), which have become reference materials for anyone doing studies on China. In the Diplomatic Documents of Qing, emphasis was placed on how China had experienced aggression from Western states and Japan, and on what China should do to recover from such aggression. This material was edited by Wang Yan Wei (⋤ᙪጾ㸧and Wang Liang (⋤ு), a father and son team, and published between 1931 and 1932. This is not merely a presentation of the documents, since there are explanations and commentaries in some sections that indicate the editors’ intentions clearly.13 The same emphasis can be seen in the above-mentioned textbooks. Historical recording with an emphasis on the process of loss is significant as it has the potential to encourage movements aimed at recovering national rights. Yet there is also the intriguing admission in the overview of the Diplomatic Documents of Qing: When looking at the official historiographies of each dynasty, we easily found that these adopted the style of Category (ji zhuan ⣖ఏ) , and the records of relations with foreign countries were edited only at the volume of four barbarians (ᅄዀ) and introduction of foreign countries. Now that the Manuscript of the History of the Qing Dynasty is completed, there appears for the first time the heading called “diplomatic relations (㑥஺ ᚿ)” which complements the deficiency of prior official historiographies.14

12

Ibid., pp.32–4. E.g. Diplomatic Documents of Qing, Overview, Vol.1 (ΎᏘእ஺ྐᩱ࠘⾡␎ࠊ ࣮), where there is a heavy emphasis on the Sino-Franco War and Sino-Japanese War. 14 Diplomatic Documents of Qing, Overview, Vol. 2. 13

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When we look at Volume 153 (No. 128) of this manuscript, the heading is “diplomatic relations,” which cannot be found anywhere in earlier historical documents. The text reads: “This section is concerned with the ways to protect our nation from the aggression and invasion from foreign countries.” It has been compiled “in order to alert our descendants,” and is a record of the absurdity of the invasions by countries that used to be “inferior to China and used to pay tribute to our nation.” The “diplomatic relations” of the Manuscript of the History of the Qing Dynasty became a standard text for publications related to Chinese diplomatic history and international relations. The authors of the section were Li Jia Ju (ᮤᐙ㥖), Wu Guang Pei (࿋ᗈ㟂) and Liu Shu Ping (๽ᶞᒊ). The book also has a heading, “tributary states (㝸ᅧ).” The nations included as tributary states include Korea, the Ryukyu Islands, Vietnam, Burma, Siam, Laos, the Philippines, Gurkha, Kokand and Kanjut.15 The Manuscript of the History of the Qing Dynasty was most likely the first document ever to separate the countries of the world into “countries with diplomatic relations” and “tributary states.” Tributary states were basically countries that had paid tribute to China, and countries such as Japan were included among countries with diplomatic relations since they did not pay tribute during the Qing Dynasty. However, the world-view which separated neighbouring countries (excluding Japan) from other countries was shaped during the late Qing and the early ROC years when “Chinese” history was being constructed.

The Mutual Perceptions of Japan and China and the Controversy over History Textbooks As Japan entered into the international community dominated by Western countries, it perceived itself to be a “civilized” country in the Western sense, fully understanding international standards and abiding by international law. It perceived the Qing to be a representative of tradition or the old way, while at the same time seeing it as a threat. As illustrated by Eric Hobsbawm,16 it is necessary to create tradition in order for the “modern” to exist. Japan had begun this process during the Edo period, emphasizing its autonomy from Qing China from the late eighteenth century on. This was further emphasized when the negotiation 15

The Manuscript of the History of the Qing Dynasty, Vol. 526–29, “Biographies and Tributary States.” 16 Eric Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).

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for the revision of treaties took place during the Meiji era. Japan’s victory in the Sino-Japanese War was perceived as a victory of the civilized world over the uncivilized, or of the modern over tradition. Japan must have found it difficult to accept the new identity of “China” and the formation of “Chinese” history at the beginning of the twentieth century. The widespread idea in Japan that China could not save itself, or that China would disintegrate, was a refusal to accept this identity formation, and led to Japan’s refusal to acknowledge China as “Zhongguo (୰ ᅜ),” and rather to refer to it as “China” (ᨭ㑣).”17 It is evident that this kind of interaction between Japan and China was significant in terms of identity formation.18 From China’s perspective, Japan was an aggressor, especially after the 1900s or 1910s. During the period of the formation of the consciousness of China and the rise of Chinese nationalism, Japan came to be regarded as the most aggressive Asian power. Many of the great powers, other than Japan, based their policy on that of preserving China. They put less emphasis on the use of military force against China than did Japan. Most Chinese diplomats who studied international law and politics in the US and in Western countries, such as V.K. Wellington Koo, considered Japan the most dangerous actor in terms of the status quo of balance and stability around international politics in relation to China. Both China and Japan regarded the other as an uncivilized country and a negative example. This can be seen in the two countries’ historical education. The controversy over history textbooks arose for the first time in the 1910s when Japan criticized Chinese textbooks for being antiJapanese. Controversy between China and Japan over textbooks cropped up intermittently from the 1910s through the 1930s. It began with some fiercely anti-Japanese uprisings in China targeted at both the Japanese people and their goods. The Japanese government recognized that these anti-Japanese movements were linked to education in the new schools. 17

Shin Kawashima, “‘ᨭ㑣’, ‘ᨭ㑣ᅜ’, ‘ᨭ㑣ඹ࿴ᅜ’ʊ᪥ᮏእົ┬ࡢᑐ୰࿧⛠ ᨻ⟇” [“‘China,’ ‘State of China,’ ‘Republic of China’ – Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs Policy toward the Name of China”], ୰ᅜ◊✲᭶ሗ [Monthly Bulletin on Chinese Studies], 571 (September 1995). 18 This mutual effect is not intended to be understood in a negative context, but rather following the lead of Jian Hui Liu, “᪥ ᮏ࡛ࡘࡃࡽࢀࡓ୰ᅜࡢ⮬⏬ീ” [“Self Portrait of China that was Created in Japan”], ୰ᅜ 21 [China 21], 22 (June 2005). He showed that the self-definition of “China” in China was deeply related to the arguments concerning China that took place in Japan, including the division between North and South China.

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One incident in 1915 was a reaction to Japan’s harsh “secret ultimatum” to China, known as the “Twenty-One Demands.”19 Japanese newspapers, such as the Osaka Mainichi Shimbun and the Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbun, first highlighted concerns about anti-Japanese textbooks. Soon after, the Japanese government demanded that the Chinese government prohibit the use and publication of such textbooks. However, Hua Long Tang (‫‮‬໬ ☻), China’s Minister of Educational Affairs, replied to Japan that these textbooks were just side readers, and were not given official approval, so the government could not prohibit their use and publication under freedom of publication laws in the ROC.20 Another incident erupted in Beijing in 1919 during the violent student demonstration against the Versailles Conference, which later came to be known as the May Fourth Movement. The Japanese government hurled back accusations that the outbursts were prompted by “anti-Japanese education,” which in turn was fed by “anti-Japanese textbooks.” This process was described in an article, “New-Style Textbooks and Japan,” in the Educational Society in China (୰⳹ᩍ⫱⏺)21. The textbook claimed by Japan as anti-Japanese was a textbook of Chinese language for Elementary Schools published by the Chinese Bookstore (୰⳹᭩ᒁ). In the textbook, Japan was described as follows: Japan is an island nation developed after Meiji Restoration. It placed Okinawa prefecture on our Liuqiu (⌰⌫), forced us to cede our Taiwan, leased our Luda (᪑኱), annexed Korea, colonized our Manchuria (ዊኳྜྷ ᯘ). It intends to expand its power of transportation and commerce … Japan is a country like a bullet, managed by both domestic and foreign governments. Japan has aimed "to target China,” and has used any opportunities to invade China as a weak country. Unless we, China, come to be a strong country, we cannot remove our shame of the country and enhance our national prestige. (Chapter on “Japan”) Our diplomacy was the most tragic failure of the Qing Dynasty … Japan deprived Liuqiu, annexed Korea; it invaded and has violated our sovereignty continuously. (Chapter on “national shame”)22

19

“᤼᪥ᩍ⛉᭩஧㛵ࢫࣝ௳” [“About Anti-Japanese Textbooks”], Diplomatic Archives of the Japanese Government (B-1-1-2-089), November 7, 1914. 20 ᩍ⫱㞧ㄅ [Journal of Education], 6, 8 (1914): 72–73 and 69. 21 “᪂ᘧᩍ⛉᭩୚᪥ᮏ” [“New-style Textbooks and Japan”], in ୰⳹ᩍ⫱⏺ [Educational Society in China], 8, First Term (1919). 22 ᅜẸᏛᰯ⏝᪂ᘧᅜᩥᩍ⛉᭩, as cited in “୰⳹᭩ᒁ཯ㄽ” [“Opposition of the Chinese Bookstore”], in ୰⳹ᩍ⫱⏺ [Educational Society in China], 8, (1919).

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This description was not surprising given the feelings at the time, but Japan could not accept it. The publisher accused by Japan replied that the patriotic sentiments in the textbook were widespread, and the national shame it expressed was not fiction. Therefore Japan’s protest was unacceptable. By beginning its list with Japanese control of “our” Ryukyu, previously interpreted as "part of the tributary relations,” rather than with Japanese aggression against China’s territory, Taiwan, the textbook emphasized the collapse of the traditional order of China. That is to say, China’s loss of a “tributary” state was considered a loss of China’s national rights, reinforcing Chinese nationalism. China’s traditional order was regarded as something that was “invaded upon and destroyed.” Japan, however, could not accept this Chinese historical construction. Hence Japan itself set the first spark to the textbook controversy, which has smouldered in East Asia ever since. China’s response in 1914 was that the texts in question were not among those approved by the Ministry of Education, claiming that “biased content is not accepted in textbooks approved by the Ministry;” while in 1919, the publisher saw no reason to evade the issue. The controversy over textbooks flared again in 1920 at the League of Nations, when China for the first time criticized Japan for its negative depiction of China.

The Perception of Asia in Japan and China The conflict between Japan and China over history extended to the history of relations with surrounding countries. The idea of “Asianism (࢔ࢪ࢔⋤ ⩏ ),” which emphasized Japan’s strong commitment to Asia and its leadership in the independence and liberation of Asia from Western powers, appeared in Japan in the 1880s.23 This idea was not only popular in Japan before World War II, but remained so in the post-war era. As this idea of Pan-Asianism was developed, the history of Japan’s relations with other Asian countries was reworked to emphasize the strong relationship between Japan and Asia, and the fact that the relations were built between equals rather than on the basis of superiority as in the case of China’s tributary relations. Japan’s Asianism regarded unfavourably the traditional international order with China at the centre, not least because it sought its own leadership of Asia.

23

Naoki Hazama,"ᗎ❶ ࢔ࢪ࢔୺⩏࡜ࡣ࡞࡟࠿” [“Introduction: What is PanAsianism?”],ࠗᮾள࠘[East Asia], 410 (August 2001).

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Japan’s Pan-Asianist ideas affected China because they were the foundation for Japanese aggression. During the initial stage of Asianism, Japan had requested cooperation from China, and there were Chinese among the symbolic leaders of Pan-Asianism. However, the idea of PanAsianism was rarely discussed within China in the 1910s. In 1919, Li Da Zhao (ᮤ኱㔲) criticized the idea as proclaimed by Japan. He saw Japan’s idea of Pan-Asianism as a different name for “Japanism” and its purpose as to “annex China.” Moreover, he claimed that what Japan was ultimately aiming for was to make Asia its own; it was “an idea to justify their aggression,” “imperialism to annex all the weak people,” and “proclaims Japan’s militarism and not democracy in Asia.” The following is an excerpt from Li’s criticism, where he proposed an alternative idea of “New Pan-Asianism,” eliminating Japan’s leadership and emphasizing the self-determination of all Asians: “All people of Asia should be liberated from annexation by others, and must realize selfdetermination. In order to do so, we must form one big coalition, stand independently from other Western coalitions but cooperate and work together to complete a world federation to promote the happiness for all mankind.”24 Needless to say, this kind of criticism was grounded in the Japanese invasion of China and the ideas of Woodrow Wilson. From the perspective of modern Japanese political thought, we might ask why the idea of PanAsianism, which proclaimed Asian solidarity, became the foundation of Japan’s aggression and invasion. Li Da Zhao’s reaction to Japan’s Asianism was closely linked to the interpretation of China’s traditional international order. On the one hand, Wilsonism was proposed as a set of measures against the new challenge of imperialism by Western powers, while Japan preferred Asianism. China continued to understand its relations with Asian countries in terms of modernising its traditional international order, and several attempts were in this vein. One such attempt was made by Sun Yat Sen (Ꮮᩥ) in his “Principle of Nationalism” (March 2, 1924). This discussed the relations between China and other Asian countries, especially the positive relations between the Imperial Dynasties and neighbouring people. If there was anything China could learn from Japan in the contemporary world, it was how Japan became one of the ten great powers, so that “when China learns from Japan, China can recover its first-class status.” Not only did Sun Yat Sen 24

Li Da Zhao, “኱ள⣽ள୺⩏୚᪂ள⣽ள୺⩏” [“Great Pan-Asianism and New Pan-Asianism”], ᅜẸ㞧ㄅ [People’s Magazine], 1, 2 (1919), collected in ᮤ኱๢ ඲㞟 [Complete Works of Li Da Zhao] (Beijing: Renmin chuban she, 1959), 127.

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hereby assert China’s historical status as first class; he also claimed that this status would be secure in the future because it was founded on the idea that, unlike the other great powers, “China will save the weak and assist them when in danger (ࠕΎᙅᢇഴࠖ).” In his view, “because China had such a peaceful principle toward tributary countries, these countries like Vietnam, Burma and Siam were able to be independent for thousands of years.” It was the absence of any such principle in the other great powers that led to the destruction of these small countries. He concluded that, “when China becomes a strong power by same way as that of western powers to invade other countries, China also couldn’t get any good result the same as them. So China has to adopt the kind policy toward weak and small countries, and resists western powers.” It seems that Sun Yat Sen ultimately recognized that China must become a great power that was different from other great powers, still central among its neighbouring countries but in a positive and amicable way. A similar trend can be seen in Sun Yat Sen’s famous speech on PanAsianism delivered in Kobe, Japan, on November 28, 1924. He compared the difference between the rule of right and the rule of might, and requested that Japan move in the direction of the former. The relations between the Chinese Dynasties and surrounding countries were examples of the rule of right. Sun emphasized that China’s status was equal to that of Britain and the United States, stating that “between 500 and 2,000 years ago, China was supreme in the world.” In answer to the question, “What was the situation of the weaker nations toward China then?,” he put forward the concept of tributary relations. “These weaker countries respected China as their superior and sent annual tributary envoys to China by their own will and with their honor.” In Sun’s view, China maintained its prestige among smaller and weaker nations not through the use of force such as the sending of an army or a navy: These weaker nations surrounding China were influenced by Chinese values and virtue without military menace from China. These nations felt its superiority and were willingly to absorb them from China and sent tributary envoys to China. Once they were influenced by Chinese value and virtue, they didn’t sent tributary envoys only once or twice, but also so many times from generation to generation.25 25

Sun Yat Sen, “ ኱ ள Ὢ ୺ ⩏ ” [“Pan-Asianism”], in ᅜ ∗ ඲ 㞟 [Founding Father’s Complete Works] (Taipei: Central Books Publishing, 1957), 507–19. Many newspapers published this speech; however, the contents of the speech differ among the newspapers, and many critical works have been published.

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China’s relations with surrounding countries, which had been negatively portrayed in Japan’s Pan-Asianism, were positively restated by Sun Yat Sen in this anti-imperialist discourse.26 To a certain degree, although under false pretences, Japan’s Pan-Asianism was an opposition to Western imperialism. 27 Sun Yat Sen played a significant role in developing an alternative Chinese Pan-Asianism.

Diversion and Development of Pan-Asianism in China So called Pan-Asianism was not a major topic in Chinese intellectual and political circles, while Japanese intellectuals liked to discuss this topic very much. But some politicians and intellectuals did discuss the topic in some specific contexts. Sun Yat Sen understood the traditional international order as superior to imperialism. His “Speech on Great Asianism” compared Japan’s Asianism to the rule of might in Western imperialism and encouraged Japan to adopt the Chinese way. He sought a synthesis or balance of West and East. There were those in China who stressed the traditional international order, similar to Sun, but at the same time linked it to Chinese nationalism. This led to the belief that the surrounding countries should become a part of China. Another group also emphasized the traditional international order, but in a different sense which both presupposed China’s supremacy and asserted its solidarity with others as the non-aggressor. This position was that of the “Three Principles of the People,” stressing both opposition to imperialism and equality and solidarity with other Asian countries. This dichotomy is evident in the exchange between Ceng Qi (᭮ᇸ) and Ma He Tian (㤿㭯ኳ) in Shanghai’s Jiu Kuo Daily (ࠗᩆᅜ᪥ᖾ࠘) in 1918. Ceng wrote, “when China was a great power, Korea and Annam were her tributary states, but China’s status was threatened when she lost her national rights during the late Qing,” and emphasized the idea of Greater Pan-Asianism. Regarding this idea of Greater Pan-Asianism, he claimed, “China must struggle and make all efforts to become a great power and become supreme in East Asia, and shall not only restore Korea, 26

Etuko Mori, “Ꮮᩥ࡜ᮅ㩭ၥ㢟” [“Sun Yat Sen and the Issue over Korea”], in Ꮮᩥ◊✲఍఍ሗ [Journal for Research on Sun Yat Sen], 13 (1991). 27 Yoshitaro Hirano, “኱࢔ࢪ࢔୺⩏ࡢṔྐⓗᇶ♏” [Historical Foundation of Pan-Asianism] (Tokyo: Kawade Publishing, June 1945), 117 and 132. Kou Takeuchi, “ゎㄝ ࢔ࢪ࢔୺⩏ࡢᒎᮃ” [“Commentary on the Development of PanAsianism”], in ࢔ࢪ࢔୺⩏ [Pan-Asianism], ed. Kou Takeuchi (Tokyo: Chikuma, 1963).

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Annam, Siam and Burma but make these into Chinese territory. Japan as well as the countries of the South Seas all received benefits from China, therefore they are all territories of China.” Ma, chief editor of the journal at that time, revised this article and replaced “Great Pan-Asianism” with “New Pan-Asianism.”28 He also revised the content so that it declared that “after China becomes a great power, she will assist in the independence of Korea, Annam, and India, and unite with other nations to oppose other great powers.” Ceng was furious after he found out that Ma had altered his article, and the relationship between Ceng and Ma worsened. 29 Ma’s opinion implied the fear that a “Greater Pan-Asianism” with China at the centre corresponded to the Pan-Asianism of Japan. The idea that all tributary states should become territories of China was very provocative.30 It is noteworthy that a survey of the conflict between Ceng and Ma appeared in a magazine called New Asia (ࠗ᪂ள⣽ள࠘) which was published during the era of the Nanking Kuomintang government (see below). Ceng advanced similar arguments in a speech in Shanghai in 1925, on “The Mission of the Chinese People.” He argued that after China had conquered surrounding nations during the Han and Tang Dynasties, “all of these nations were tributary states of China during the Qing Dynasty. However, China never occupied their lands, nor made slaves of their people, nor stole their goods, and never thought of the destruction of these people.” China respected their culture and demonstrated the supremacy of the “great Chinese nation” without the use of force.31 The Chinese nation 28

Shouzo Fujii, “Ꮮᩥࡢ’኱࢔ࢪ࢔ㅮ₇’࡜᪥ᮏ” [“Sun Yat Sen and His Speech on Pan-Asianism and Japan”], in ᾏእ஦᝟ [Foreign Affairs], 26–8 (August 1978), 15–18. 29 Ma He Tian, “㛵᪊’኱ள⣽ள’୚’᪂ள⣽ள’㢟ྡⓗᘔ᠈” [“Consideration on ‘Pan-Asianism’ and ‘New Asia’”], in ᪂ள⣽ள [New Asia], First Issue, First Term (October 1930): 139–40. 30 It is difficult to confirm Ma He Tian’s explanation through the materials from Ceng Qi. See Shen Yulong, ed., “᭯ះ㡑(ᇸ)ඛ⏕᪥グ㑅” [Ceng Mu Han (Qi)’s Diary] (Taipei: Wenhai Publishing, 1971). One can confirm that Ceng visitied Ma He Tien at the publisher in Shanghai on August 17, 1918. An article titled “୰ᅜஅ 㟷ᖺ㍿ඹ࿴அ๓㏵” [“China’s Youth and Republic”] was submitted to ᅜయ㍿㟷 ᖺ [State and Youth] but there is no confirmation on whether there was a conflict with Ma. In the first pages of Cheng Zheng Mao, “᭯ᇸඛ⏕ᩥ㞟” [Works of Ceng Qi] (Taipei: Academia Sinica, 1993), we can see that the article was published in ᅜయ㍿㟷ᖺ [State and Youth]; there is no mention of any interactions with Ma. 31 “The Mission of the Chinese People and the Responsibility of Chinese Youths” (Shanghai Academic Society on Sun Yat Sen), ୰⳹Ẹ᪘அ౑࿨㍿୰ᅜ㟷ᖺஅ㈐

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that sought peace and practiced cooperation should cooperate with surrounding countries to build a “Greater Asian Republic” and “enjoy the peace, never allow the oppression of great powers and never accept the interference of our evolution by tyrannical empires.” Arguments like Ceng’s took root in society to a certain degree. Many followed in his footsteps, even though such arguments were not publicly sanctioned. During the process in which the “Three Principles of the People” transformed into the ideology of government, it also affected interpretations of Sun Yat Sen’s speech on Pan-Asianism. Nationalist views such as Ceng’s began to be seen in a negative light. This is the context in which Ma’s criticism of Ceng appeared in the aforementioned New Asia. In the speech on Pan-Asianism, Sun had mentioned China’s relations with Gurkha and talked positively about the tributary relations with surrounding nations. However, in the new interpretations of his PanAsianism, these traditional relations with the surrounding nations were not emphasized. Hu Han Min (⬌₎Ẹ) played a significant role in the process of redefinition of Sun’s thought. 32 In articles such as “Greater PanAsianism and International Technical Cooperation,” “Greater PanAsianism Revisited” and “Concerning the Greater Pan-Asianism” in the Three Principles of the People Monthly (1933–36 ᖺ), 33 Hu criticized Japanese Pan-Asianism as “merely a form of Japanese nationalism.” He argued that Sun Yat Sen’s Pan-Asianism comprised only a small part of the nationalism of the “Three Principles of the People” .Pan-Asianism was in a sense a civic nationalism, which emphasized the cooperation with surrounding ethnicities as equals and did not touch upon the tributary relations of the past.

௵ ࣮ ⟅ ୖ ᾏ Ꮮ ᩥ ⋤ ⩏ Ꮫ ఍ , as cited in Ceng Mu Han Memorial Editing Committee, ᭯ ះ 㡑 ඛ ⏕ 㑇 ⴭ [Memorial Works of Ceng Mu Han] (Beijing: Chinese Youth Party Central Committee, 1954), 27–29. 32 Akio Ito, “’኱࢔ࢪ࢔୺⩏’࡜’୕Ẹ୺⩏’୍ឨൿᨻᶒୗࡢㅖၥ㢟࡟ࡘ࠸࡚” [“‘Pan-Asianism’ and ‘Three Principles of the People’ – Problems under the Wang Jin Wei Administration”], in ᶓ὾ᕷ❧኱Ꮫ ㄽྀேᩥ⛉Ꮫ⣔ิ [Yokohama University Journal Humanities], (March 1989): 40–41. Shozo Fujii, “Ꮮᩥ ࡢ’኱ ࢔ࢪ࢔ㅮ₇’࡜᪥ᮏ” [“Sun Yat Sen and His ‘Speech on Pan-Asianism and Japan’”], in ᾏእ஦᝟ [Foreign Affairs], 26–8 (August 1978). 33 This appears not only in the ୕Ẹ୺⩏᭶ห [Monthly Three Principles of the People], but also in Wang Yang Chong, ed., “⬌₎Ẹඛ⏕ᨻㄽ㑅㍴: 㐲ᮾၥ㢟୚ ኱ள⣽ள୺⩏” [Collected Works of Hu Han Min: Far East Issues and PanAsianism] (Guangzhou: Minzhi Publishing, 1935).

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In the period before the Manchurian Incident, a new definition of Sun Yat Sen’s Pan-Asianism could be seen in journals such as New Asia. This magazine was published by New Asia Publishing in Nanking in 1930, and involved a group of Kuomintang members, including Zhang Zhen Zhi (ᙇ ᣺அ), Yu You Ren (ᖸྑ௵), Hu Han Min, Dai Ji Tao (ᡝᏘ㝡) and Ma He Tien, a famous writer in the north-western region of China. The aim of the magazine was to claim an “Asia grounded Three Principles of the People” and to criticize “Pan-Asianism” in the Japanese sense. Moreover, Zhang Shen Zhi and Dai Ji Tao had also established a New Asia Academic Society (᪂ள⣽ளᏛ఍) in Nanking in March 1931, for which New Asia also served as the journal. 34 These writers presented a new image of China’s relations with its neighbours without any mention of the imperial precedent. One article read: “The aim is to research the issue of liberation of the Asian nations, founded on the Three Principles of the People. China strives for their independence, and supports all movements toward the liberation of the Asian nations, working together to attain free and equal status.”35 The magazine also made reference to the history, geography and politics of those under the rule of the great powers, the origin of their colonization, the movements for liberation and the future after independence of countries such as India, the Philippines, Annam, Korea, Taiwan/Ryukyu, the East Indies and Turkey. The article “The Future of Asia – Declaration” stated that the “the President is the saviour of China, and at the same time a saviour of the people in Asia. After the birth of the President, as if life was given to China, the peoples of Asia have slowly awakened and world affairs have started to take a new turn.”36 Sun’s PanAsianism was regarded as “Pan-Asianism grounded on the Three Principles of the People;” it was founded on salvation, completely different from that of Japan. Moreover, Sun Yat Sen himself re-defined his Pan-Asianism, “since the Three Principles of the People will save the Asian people, it is without question that the Three Principles of the People is Pan-Asianism itself. From the perspective of restoring China, Chinese people believe in and devote themselves to the Three Principles of the 34 Juntaro Kubo, “㞧ㄅ’᪂ள⣽ள’ㄽㄝグ஦┠㘓” [“Records of Articles in the Magazine New Asia”], in ⚄ᡞ኱ᏛྐᏛᖺሗ [Annual Journal of History Kobe University], 17 (2002). 35 “ᮏหᚩ✏ෆᐜ” [“Content of Articles in This Magazine”], in ᪂ள⣽ள [New Asia], First Issue, First Term (October 1930). 36 “ள⣽ளஅᑗ᮶୍๰หᐉゝ” [“Asia’s Future-Declaration”], in ᪂ள⣽ள [New Asia], First Issue, First Term (October 1930): 9.

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People. However, from the perspective of people of colour in Asia, people of Asia also believe in and devote themselves to the Three Principles of the People.” There is no mention of tributary relations.37 In an article on “PanAsianism and New Asia,” Ma He Tien warned against the misinterpretation of Sun Yat Sen’s speech: “There are actually two different interpretations of ‘Pan-Asianism.’ We have named this magazine New Asia based on the Three Principles of the People declared by the President, to prevent people’s misinterpretation of the Three Principles, as well as to clarify the general public’s understanding of them.”38 This trend was also seen in a magazine called New East (᪂ᮾ᪉) in the 1930s. The opening pages of the first issue mentioned Sun Yat Sen’s Pan-Asianism and the mission statement of the magazine declared that “the future of the East is a liberated world where all ethnicities will stand together as equals.” That is not to say that the Chinese “Pan-Asianism” criticized by Hu Han Min and Ma He Tien had disappeared from the propaganda activities of the Kuomintang. In magazines such as New Asia or New East there were articles declaring the supremacy of the Chinese people over the surrounding ethnicities. This idea can also be detected in textbooks.39 In the maps for educational purposes made by the Ministry of Internal Affairs (ෆᨻ㒊) in 1938 and 1939, there were territories marked as “tributary states” that it was thought China had to recover as its own territory. The territories that China had lost included not only Taiwan, but also Siam, Myanmar, Korea and Ryukyu (see Figure 10.1). The ideology of Pan-Asianism remained in China even after its transformation into a Japan-centred idea in Japan, The Japanese Asianism calling for solidarity metamorphosed into an ideology of Asian conquest in the late 1930s. It is unclear whether there is a connection between this trend and the publication of a book called Sinocentrism by Toshisada Nawa of Kyoto University in 1936. 40 This was probably the first book in Japanese academic circles to criticize the idea of Sinocentrism under that name. 37

Ibid, 12–13. Ma He Tian, “㛵᪊’኱ள⣽ள’୚’᪂ள⣽ள’㢟ྡⓗᘔ᠈” [“Consideration on ‘Pan-Asianism’and ‘New Asia’”], in ᪂ள⣽ள [New Asia], First Issue, First Term (October 1930): 139–40. 39 Huang Song Lan, “Ύᮎ࣭Ẹᅜᮇᆅ⌮ᩍ⛉᭩ࡢ✵㛫⾲㇟ʊ㡿ᅵ࣭ᙖᇦ࣭ᅜ ᜝” [“Expression of Space in Late Qing and ROC Geography Textbooks”], in ୰ ᅜ◊✲᭶ሗ [Monthly Chinese Studies], 59, 3 (March 2005). 40 Toshisada Nawa, Sinocentrism [୰⳹ᛮ᝿] (Tokyo: Iwanami, 1936). Professor Nawa recognized that Sinocentrism disappeared after the late Qing period, while China kept it for a few thousand years. 38

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Figure 10.1 Map of national shame Source: Hong Maoxi (ὥᝈ↫㸧, eds, The New Chinese Map authorized by the Ministry of Interior for Elementary School (ෆᨻ㒊ᑂᐃᑠᏛ㐺⏝᭱᪂୰ᅜᆅ ᅗ㸧(Chongqing, Dongfang Yudi Xueshe (ᮾ᪉㍿ᆅᏛ♫㸧, 1938).

Conclusion Recent research on the Chinese traditional international order has indicated that diverse and multi-layered international relations existed in East Asia. In terms of both ideas and institutions, this may have been a set of individual relations rather than one functioning system. In the debate about whether Chinese diplomacy should be considered from a Westphalian or a traditional point of view, the issue of how China perceived itself in the twentieth century has not been sufficiently studied. This chapter has made a contribution by arguing some cases about this topic, using Chinese textbooks and magazines from 1900 to 1940.

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The concept of “China” and the notion of national history were formulated at the beginning of the twentieh century. Textbooks emphasized the interplay of aggression and resistance, depicting the surrounding tributary states being “taken away” by the invasion of the great powers. The tributary states were, in other words, something China had lost which should be recovered in due course. This view became the grounds for criticizing the Japan that “invaded” Ryukyu, clashing with Japan’s historical view on the annexation of Ryukyu and the SinoJapanese War. The textbook issue between China and Japan had already started in the 1910s. When Wilsonism was being discussed widely after the World War I, Japan’s Pan-Asianism was presented as an alternative idea. This revived the debate on China’s traditional international order. The arguments can be divided into three different groups. The first is the argument represented by Sun Yat Sen that praised the traditional international order as the “kingly way” while criticizing imperialism as the rule of might. The second was accompanied by nationalism, whereby all tributary states were regarded as subject states that should become Chinese territory in the future. The third attacked the traditional order stressing China’s supremacy, and favoured equality and solidarity among Asian countries. The third became the official viewpoint, without, however, eliminating arguments in favour of China’s traditional order. The conceptualisation of relations with neighbours was certainly affected by opposition to the discourse about Pan-Asianism in Japan. This can be seen in two different trends: the positive recollection of traditional relations, as against equality and solidarity with the surrounding countries. While both trends opposed imperialism, the former differed in presuming the supremacy of China. Officially the Kuomintang emphasized the latter, though not without some contrary indications. There was an increasing emphasis on equality during the Sino-Japanese War, in opposition to Japan’s Pan-Asianism.41 To continue research on China’s perceptions of world order, it remains necessary to look at the development of the perception of Asia in socialist China and Taiwan in the second half of the twentieth century.

41

In China’s foreign relations with Siam (one of the few independent countries in Asia) and the provisional government of Korea, one cannot confirm the tendency toward restoring the old type of relations that existed under the Qing, as Ceng argued. See Shin Kawashima, “୰ᅜ㏆௦እ஺ࡢᙧᡂ” [Formation of Modern Chinese Diplomacy] (Nagoya: Nagoya University Press, 2004), 355–99.

PART 4: ECONOMIC RELATIONS

CHAPTER ELEVEN THE MONETIZATION OF SILVER IN CHINA: MING CHINA AND ITS GLOBAL INTERACTIONS WAN MING

Introduction It is widely held that the sixteenth century was the beginning of broad economic globalization. As a typical case, the monetization of silver during the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) was part of the story of this globalization.1 In China, copper coins had been the ancient circulated

* Thanks to Prof. Kenneth Pomeranz for his kind comments, which reminded me of some key points of the monetization process. I am also in debt to Boyi Chen, who helped me revise my chapter in English, in a very limited time. He also edited and proofread the chapter to make it more publishable at this stage. I also offer my sincerest gratitude to all the experts who have supported me throughout my work on this chapter. Of course, all remaining errors are my own. 1 For discussion of the importance of silver for China and the globe, see mainly William S. Atwell, “Notes on Silver, Foreign Trade, and the Late Ming Economy,”Ching-shih wen-ti 3 (1977): 1–33; “International Bullion Flows and the Chinese Economy, circa 1530–1650,” Past and Present 95 (1982): 68–90. “Ming Observations on the ‘Seventeenth-Century Crisis’ in China and Japan,” Journal of Asian Studies 45 (1986): 223–244. Liang Fangzhong,“Mingdai guoji maoyi yu yin de shu churu” (International Trade and Import–Export of Silver in the Ming), Zhongguo shehui jingjishi jikan (Chinese Social and Economic History Review) 6.2 (1939): 267–324. Kobata Atsushi, Kingin bǀeki shi no kenkynj (A Study of the History of Trade in Gold and Silver) (Tǀkyǀ: Hǀsei Daigaku Shuppan, 1976). Quan Hansheng, Zhongguo jingji shi yanjiu (Studies of Chinese Economic History) (Taipei: Daoxiang chubanshe, 1991). Richard von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China, 1000–1700 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, & London: University of California Press, 1996). Fernand Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–eighteenth century: The Wheels of Commerce, vol. 2, trans. Siân Reynolds (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1992). Dennis O. Flynn and Arturo Giraldez, “Born with a ‘Silver Spoon’:

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currency for more than one thousand years since the Qin unified the whole country and minted these copper coins with a characteristic square hole. China is also the country that first invented and used paper money. This situation continued until the Ming, when silver eventually began to replace copper coins as the standard currency. However, the monetization of silver was a complicated, unusual process. During the early Ming, it was forbidden to exchange silver and gold, and they were not viewed as legal currencies. One prominent piece of evidence is that when we read Ming huidian (The Great Ming Code), we can find a “Law of Paper Money”(chaofa 䡄⌅) and a “Law of Copper Coin” (qianfa 䥒⌅), but we cannot find a “Law of Silver”(yinfa 䢰⌅).2 This clearly indicates that silver was not an official currency during the early Ming. There were, therefore, no formal institutions or regulations for silver at all. During the whole social development of the late Ming, silver was nevertheless used across the entire society. It transitioned from an illegal currency to a legal one, and then developed as the standard currency and came, ultimately, to occupy the dominant position in the field of currency circulation. It was, to say the least, a most unusual monetization process. Before exploring the monetization of silver in the formation and establishment of the Ming dynasty, we need to define the concept of monetization of silver in the Ming, which can be summarized as follows: First, silver changed from being a precious commodity to a fully monetary form. Secondly, silver changed from being illegal as a currency and became a standard currency. Thirdly, silver was transformed into a unified national financial measuring unit and a form of levying tax. Fourthly, silver became a standard currency and the silver-based system was established in China. Fifthly, silver became, for a time, the world’s currency. In previous studies, there is a missing link between the research into Sino-foreign relations and how silver became a standard currency in the Ming. Based on my research, the monetization of silver resulted from a change from a bottom-up approach to a top-down approach following the monetization “sprout” and market-based self-discipline in the late The Origin of World Trade in 1571,” Journal of World History 2 (1995): 201–221. Wan Ming, “Baiyin huobi hua yu Zhongwai biange” (Monetization of Silver and the China-World Transformation), in Wan Ming, ed., Wan Ming shehui bianqian: wenti yu yanjiu (Social Change in Late Ming: Issue and Research) (Beijing: Shangwu yinshu guan, 2005), 143–246. 2 Shen Shixing et al., eds., Ming Huidian᰾ᴳި (The Great Ming Code) (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988), vol. 31, 224–225. Liang, “Mingdai guoji maoyi yu yin de shu churu.”

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fourteenth century. Eventually, in the early sixteenth century, silver would become the main currency in circulation, generating huge social demands. Originally it only meant something in China. However, in the sixteenth century, when silver resources had been discovered in Japan and Latin America, these new resources were used in global trade and the monetization of silver started to generate new global impacts. The 1570s and 1580s were the milestone periods of interaction between China and the global market. From that point on, American silver flooded into China through Manila, using the international maritime trade routes controlled by the Spanish. As a result, access to global markets was obtained for trading in Chinese silk, porcelain, and other commodities. Meanwhile, Wanli kuaiji lu (Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign), from the mid-sixteenth century, the basic document of the Zhang Juzheng (ᕥት↓) Reform, and the only existing country-level treasury accounting document of China, testifies that silver currency was now to be used as a unit of measurement for partial income.3 Along with the full development of public finance reform, the traditional fiscal system had thereby been transformed from a barter and corvée-based system to a silver currency-based system. This epoch-making transition indicated the beginning of China’s transition to a modern fiscal state.

An Observation of the Process: The Ming Monetization of Silver Since global trade did not emerge until the late sixteenth century, for the sake of further empirical study of silver currency, it is better to focus on indigenous Chinese histories, and hence, the history of Chinese silver currency must be traced back to the earlier period, before the advent of global trade. The conventional view of the Ming’s silver reform was that it was the result of legislation by the central government. This was referred to as “slowly lifting the ban on silver circulation” and “silver circulating throughout at the levels of both the government and the populace” in the early Zhengtong reign (↓㎡ 1436–1449).4 However, written as it was by the historians of the Qing dynasty, the summary of the History of Ming is 3

Zhang Xueyan, ed., Wanli kuaiji lu 㩜ᳶᴳ䀸䤴 (Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign) [photocopy of the Wanli edition] (Beijing: Shumu wenxian chubanshe, 1989). 4 Zhang Tingyu et al., Ming shi᰾ਢ(History of Ming) (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974), vol. 81, 1946.

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clearly wrong. By analyzing the currency used in 427 land contracts between the early Hongwu reign (⍚↖ 1368–1398) and the Chenghua reign (ᡀॆ 1465–1487) in Huizhou, we can discover the exceptional bottom-up process of monetization of silver in the Ming dynasty. The private exchange started very early, and it was recognized in the Chenghua and Hongzhi (ᕈ⋫ 1488–1505) reigns. After the late 15th-century Chenghua and Hongzhi reigns, silver was officially transformed from being illegal to de facto legal tender. By undertaking full-scale reform of the tax-levying system, the Ming government made it possible for the silver to penetrate more deeply and broadly intodaily life, the markets, and indeed the whole society. With the development of silver payment throughout the tax and corvée system, the new monetization of silver dramatically influenced commoners and revived the market unprecedentedly. The prosperity of the late Ming economy, the appearance of merchant groups, the rise of the cities and towns, and especially the sharp growth of the trade in silk and porcelain, all resulted from monetization of silver. In sum, monetization of silver also brought a series of chain reactions such as institutional change, social change, and reconstruction of the national fiscal system. Let us take a look at monetization of silver chronologically and explore the changing process.

A. Observing the Process of Monetization of Silver through 427 Land Contracts in Huizhou This study began by looking at the 427 land contracts in Huizhou. The gold and silver trades were banned in the early Ming, and silver was not legal tender. However, from the beginning of the Hongwu reign to the Chenghua reign, we can see the use of silver increasing, according to the collected 427 contracts through those 119 years. This could explain how the process of monetization of silver started to rise from the bottom up. Previous research has proven that the value of the treasury note (ሦ䡄 baochao) declined rapidly in the late Hongwu reign. The monetization of silver had begun. Secondly, paper money had a peak experience in the period of Yongle (≨′ 1403–1424). The Yongle emperor sent Zheng He (䝝઼) on a voyage to the Western Ocean (that is, the Indian Ocean today), and then the Xuande emperor (ᇓᗧ 1426–1435) announced the setting up of the custom house for treasury note collection (䡄䰌 chaoguan) nationwide. These measures were implemented in order to solve the crisis of treasury

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notes at that time. The land contracts showed that the treasury note had began to decline after its heyday during this period. During the Xuande reign, there were a lot of barter-trade cases in the contracts, showing that certain transitions were appearing. Thirdly, during the period between the Zhengtong reign and the Chenghua reign, the treasury note gradually faded away and silver became the trading currency in big deals in the private land market. Such a process was not the result of any national law but derived, rather, from the monetization “sprout” and the self-discipline of the marketplace. The lack of institutions such as cash deposits and saving deposits, and the unlimited currency issue of the Great Ming treasury notes (Da Ming baochao), had caused serious devaluation of paper money. Meanwhile, silver, as a relatively stable type of currency, appeared as a major medium on the market. Hence, land sales and block trades demonstrated the shift from a trend of silver becoming the standard currency from the bottom up in the folk society, to a trend of silver being imposed from the top down with the development of official tax-raising adoption.5

B. The Developmental Path of Monetization of Silver: A Series of Tax and Corvée Reforms and Modernization Actually, monetization of silver was connected with a series of official tax-corvée reforms. The process of monetization of silver completely overlapped with this series of reforms and modernization. Ming monetization of silver began from the monetization “sprout” and the selfdiscipline of the market; in other words, it originated from the folk society. In the Xuande reign, the official tax-corvée reform began. This reform was different from the reform of any previous dynasties: its most significant characteristic was the levying of tax in silver at the beginning, and it unprecedentedly developed into the full-scale collection of silver. Implementing the treasury note and forbidding any bullion trading in the early Ming, the Ming government did not view silver as a legal currency. By the end of the fourteenth century, silver was widely used in the private market, and then paid to the government fortaxes and corvée, which greatly expanded the available fields of silver currency. Hence, the tendency of silver to be used as the mainstream currency became more apparent. 5

Wan Ming, “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua de chubu kaocha” (Preliminary Study on the Monetization of Silver in the Ming Dynasty), Zhongguo jingji shi yanjiu (Researches in Chinese Economic History) 2(2003): 39–51.

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In the 23rd year of the Chenghua reign (1487), after the coronation of Ming Xiaozong (᰾ᆍᇇ), Qiu Jun (ш⎊) submitted his famous work Daxue yeni bu (Supplement to the Abundant Meanings of the Great Learning). In this book, Qiu described and analyzed the currency issues, reflecting people’s realistic thoughts about currency and the reality of monetization of silver in the folk society at that time. Qiu mentioned “silver as an upper currency, paper money as a medium currency, and [copper] coins as the lower currency,” “the paper money and the copper coins could be circulated in both the private and official fields … but only silver was used to measure the value.”6 This means that he recognized the trend that “silver circulates throughout the whole society,” and he advocated silver as an upper currency as well as the value measure of exchange, for the establishment of the silver-based standard. This discussion accorded with the reality of money circulation at that time. In the late 15th century, the expansion of monetization of silver had prompted a boom in overseas trade and migration, motivated the money and property markets, and elicited a greater demand for silver currency. The reigns of the Jiajing (హ䶆1522–1566) and Longqing (䲶ឦ1567– 1572) were the climax of the battle between copper coins and silver. After the early years of the Jiajing reign, silver had obtained the status of de facto main currency. At this moment, on one hand, there were deficits of silver reserves for the central government; on the other hand, the demand for silver was exploding, from the royal family to the commoners. Commercial activities throughout the whole society were also improving at the time, leading to a large demand for silver at the level of both national finance and people’s livelihoods. This huge demand for silver resulted in short supply. As the fundamental driving force for exchange comes from the supply–demand relationship, it was common for people to seek overseas opportunities, when the exploitation and supply of domestic silver mining was far from meeting their demands. In other words, under the intense stimulation of money demand, it was very common that people would seek to explore abroad. Closely related to silver exchange were booming private overseas trade and the transition of governmental policy from politics to the economy. Therefore, during the early years of the Longqing reign, rulers of the Ming dynasty legalized silver as the mainstream currency and issued other crucial rulings, such as the open policy of overseas trade in Zhangzhou and Macao.7 6

Qiu Jun, Daxue yanyi buབྷᆨ㹽㗙㼌 (Supplement to the Abundant Meanings of the Great Learning) (Beijing: Jinghua chubanshe, 1999), vol. 27, 259. 7 Wan Ming, Zhongguo rongru shijie de bulü (China’s Integration into the World:

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After the early sixteenth century, private overseas trade was thriving, especially during the Jiajing and Longqing reigns. The overseas policies of the Ming government transformed further from political to economic aspects, as reflected in imperial statutes, especially on two important issues: The first was the statute issued in the first year of the Longqing reign which declared that if the dealing goods were worth 1 mace (qian䥒) of silver or more, silver or copper coin was allowed to be used; however, for goods under 1 mace, the trade should take place by copper coin only. This is the most clear national statute or law about silver that we can see so far. It indicates that the state had confirmed the status of silver as a standard legal currency. Since there had been no law about silver in the Ming dynasty before this point, this law marked a very crucial change.8 The second statute was also issued in the first year of the Longqing reign. It announced the intention to “open” the sea in Zhangzhou Prefecture: “Allowing [people] to trade to the Eastern and the Western two oceans.”9 The Ming government did not approve private trade overseas before this year, legally speaking. But from then on, the government began to lift the ban. Moreover, the imperial court also admitted that the Portuguese, who had settled in Macao in Guangdong province, were to be allowed to operate maritime trade as foreign merchants. The establishment of this policy toward Macao was also a major turning point in the Ming overseas policy. From the perspective of global trade, globalization impacted enormously on China. Some scholars believe that overseas silver saved the Chinese market, and contributed to the nationwide implementation of the“Single Whip Reform” (аọ䷝⌅) of the Ming. According to the historical records, tax and corvée reform in the Ming did not start from the “Single Whip Reform,” and we cannot ignore the influence of tax and corvée reform during the previous century and a half, before the Zhang Juzheng reform during the Wanli reign. Although the many similar reforms that had taken place had different names and somewhat different content, silver exchange was, without exception, the top priority for those reforms. This also indicates that silver had become a main thread of the reform in the

Comparative Research on Overseas Policies in the Ming and the Early Qing Dynasties) (Beijing: Sheke wenxian chubanshe, 2000), 241–287; (Beijing: Zijincheng chubanshe, 2014, rev.), 236–283. 8 Shen et al., Ming Huidian, vol. 31, 226. 9 Zhang Xie, Dong xi yang kaoᶡ㾯⌻㘳(Research on the Eastern and Western Oceans) (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), vol. 7, 131.

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Ming period and that tax-corvée reform was simultaneous with the monetization of silver. Silver payment instead of labor obligation was the major effect of the monetization of silver. Equalizing the tax and corvée burdens was a shared characteristic of countless reforms in Chinese history, but the unification of silver levying and collection were the unique and fundamental characteristic in the Ming, compared to any other reforms during the previous dynasties.10 The process of monetization of silver had an even broader social significance in the sense of Chinese historical development. It was strongly related to three processes in terms of the social transformation: Process 1 From the land taxes and corvée system to silver paymentĺfarmers paid in silver instead of personal servicesĺfrom a system of personal status to contractsĺseparating farmers from land ownershipĺthe emergence of merchant leagues and hiring laborĺmarketization. Ancient China was a large agricultural country. Farmers were the main body of the society, and they had to be able to afford the taxes and corvée for the country to function. The transformation from paying grain and corvée to the state to paying silver was actually a process of farmers becoming involved in a system of contracts rather than personal status. It was also a process that separated farmers from the land, and the time when the merchant leagues and the hiring of labor began. That eventually led to the formation of the market, the process of so-called “marketization.” Process 2 From the land taxes and corvée system to silver paymentĺagriculture changed from a single to a multiple structureĺ separating management rights from ownershipĺcommercialization. From the perspective of agricultural evolution, it developed from a single to a multiple structure. The separation of management rights and ownership led to a commercialization of agricultural products. This change was inevitable since agricultural products had to enter into the market through trade in order for the farmers to be able to get enough silver to pay their taxes. At that time, many literati and scholar-officials pointed out that the land did not produce silver itself, and asked, if the farmers had to pay silver for taxes, how they would survive. Unfortunately, it was an irreversible process of rural and agricultural commercialization, as well as 10

Wan Ming, “Baiyin huobi hua shijiao xia de fuyi gaige” (The Reform of Taxes and Corvée from the Perspectives of Monetization of Silver), Part I, Xueshu yuekan (Academic Monthly) 5 (2007): 124–129.

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a process of the development of the commodity economy. Process 3 From the land taxes and corvée system to silver paymentĺ rural areas open up from their previous closed and semi-closed statusĺ the rise of cities and townsĺurbanization. It is also natural that the rural areas would open up from their previous closed and semi-closed status. Ming Taizu (᰾ཚ⾆), the “founding father of Ming,” had fixed the farmers on the land by the census register system (hutie ᡦᑆ) and the yellow registers (huangce 哳޼). If a farmer wished to travel, s/he had to obtain a travel permit first. Thus the rural area had basically a semi-closed status. However, during the Zhengtong and Chenghua reigns, the labor market formed, commercial groups began to rise, and many towns developed very rapidly in the late Ming, far more than during the Song-Yuan era. It was a process of modern urbanization in China. From the perspective of agriculture, the farmers, and rural areas, the monetization of silver actually influenced changes throughout the whole of Ming society, from top to bottom.11 These three processes can be summarized as processes of separating farmers, agriculture, and rural areas, resulting eventually in the so-called “Heaven Falling and Earth Cracking” (tianbeng dijie ཙፙൠ䀓) period in the late Ming. Closely associated with monetary and economic development, society also went into a material consumption era in the late Ming, which had a number of important connotations in cultural history, such as individual liberty and the change of women’s status.

C. The Developmental Path of the Monetization of Silver: From A Series of Tax and Corvée Reforms to National Fiscal Reform After a century and a half of tax and corvée reform, the monetization of silver was finally consolidated and was then confronted with a new reform—Zhang Juzheng’s fiscal reform. The “Single Whip Law” was not created by Zhang Juzheng originally, and even until now, we have not found any nationwide laws and sub-statutes concerning this. Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign and Qingzhang tiaoli (The Statutes of Land Survey ␵иọֻ) are the only two essential documents left relating to Zhang’s reform. Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign has 43 volumes 11

Wan Ming, “Baiyin huobi hua shijiao xia de fuyi gaige” (The Reform of Taxes and Corvée from the Perspectives of Monetization of Silver) (Part II), Xueshu yuekan (Academic Monthly) 6 (2007):134–139.

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with over 1 million words, including over 45,000 items. It is a collection of all the fiscal reports, rules, and examples provided by all the imperial provinces, and hence, it constitutes a large fiscal database for the Ming dynasty. It was the direct result of the Zhang Juzheng reform. Moreover, this document has a more important position and significance in the history of ancient China, since it also preserves the only national-level fiscal accounting as a single volume in pre-modern China. Since 2002, we have begun to study this source and published a monograph on it (Collation and Research on Accounting Records of the Wanli Reignin the Ming Dynasty) at the end of 2015. This book, for the first time, collates and researches the document fully, with the cooperation of a historian and a mathematician working for more than 10 years. As the unified measurement unit, silver was calculated in the accounting records of revenues and expenditures. Hence, it is possible to perform a statistical analysis of the scale and status of the national finances in the late Ming. We mainly adopt the statistical list format, dealing with specific data possessing more than 200,000 pieces of data, and have completed 555 tables as well as 28 figures, with 4 million words in total. The book is divided into three volumes: collation, statistics, and research. The first volume is the systematic collation of the data from the original book; the second is a compared, classified, and simple statistical analysis; the third is a research volume that is divided into 10 chapters, using silver as a unified standard of measurement. It monetizes all the supplies from the original data, then subtracts the physical supplies section of the original book, and statistically analyzes the data of financial revenues and expenditures demonstrating the national fiscal situation. Appling the model of systematic clustering analysis through the multi-analysis of mathematical statistics, we were able to add the land tax data to supplement the deficiencies of Shandong province in the sixth volume. Hence, we recovered a full view of Ming finance as ruled by the Ministry of Revenue, including the total fiscal quantity, the structure, the scale, and the monetization ratio during the late sixteenth century. Plus, there are also some case studies. After unified computing, we have already got the monetization ratio—41.93 percent of Ming fiscal revenue, but the monetization ratio of fiscal expenditure reached 49.41 percent. Hence, it seems to have been extremely urgent that the government should increase silver income, and that the reform needed to be accelerated. The research indicated that China’s fiscal system was witnessing a full-scale transformation from primary physical objects and corvée to the primary

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silver-monetary fiscal system.12 Through analyzing this document systematically, we learned that there were two levels of meaning for the Ming financial reform in the 1570s and 1580s. One was that silver became the unified financial measurement unit and the other one was that silver became the nationwide form of tax payment. This testified clearly to the fact that the financial system of the Ming was in transition. The publication of The Statutes of Land Survey established the foundation of the Ming financial reform, contributing to the later “Single Whip Reform.” From Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign to the later guiding collection, Fuyi quanshu (The Complete Book on Taxes and Corvée Labor 䌖ᖩ‫ޘ‬ᴨ), sources revealed the success of the Ming fiscal transformation. Ming China’s fiscal system transformed from one of the primacy of physical objects and corvée to one of the primacy of a silver-monetary approach, the most fundamental transformation of the financial system to occur in the past two thousand years of Chinese history. Furthermore, this also marked an unprecedented transformation of Ming China, from an ancient tax-and-corvée-levying state to a modern tax state.13 The Ming monetization of silver was born before globalization and was settled during the time when China initially entered into global markets. This process can be divided into four stages: (1) At the end of the fourteenth century (the late Hongwu reign): the starting stage of silver as a method of payment in the market; silver rising from the bottom up; (2) In the second half of the 15th century (the Chenghua and Hongzhi reigns): silver was accepted by the central government, and then experienced top-down rapid application; (3) In the early sixteenth century (the early Jiajing reign): silver became a social standard currency in the field of circulation and passed to a new stage of finalization as the main currency through the recognition of the state—namely, the social transition stage; (4) In the late sixteenth century (the early Wanli reign): as a symbol, the Zhang Juzheng reform marked the moment when silver currency had fully penetrated the national financial structure; at this

12

Wan Mingand Xu Yingkai, Mingdai Wanli kuaiji lu zhengli yu yanjiu ᰾ԓlj㩜ᳶᴳ䀸䤴NJᮤ⨶㠷⹄ウ (Introduction to Collation and Research on Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign in the Ming Dynasty) (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 2015), 31–32, 37. 13 Ibid., 58–69.

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point, it launched Ming China into a new stage of fiscal transformation—namely, a stage of national transition. The foundation of the monetization of silver was primarily established in the mid-Ming period, resulting in China generating a huge demand for silver. When domestic resources became insufficient, without any question, overseas supplies became more and more important. The Chinese market greatly expanded beyond the Chinese borders. It was an inevitable result that China would engage with the global market.

Monetization of Silver and the Exploitation of Mines in Japan and America During the late Ming, there was a huge demand for silver in China, but domestic production was inadequate, so overseas imports became an important channel through which to obtain silver. Two major sources of silver supply were Japan and America. Although Japan was the earliest foreign silver source for China, there is little indication that Japan exported its silver and gold before the midsixteenth century, even though the Japanese produced both naturally. The major Japanese export products to China were commodities such as swords, fans, screens, sulfur, etc., under the tribute system between China and Japan. A remarkable change began in the 1540s. At that time, commercial vessels from Fujian province (Zhangzhou, Quanzhou), Zhejiang province, and Guangdong province sailed to Kyushu in Japan. Their main purpose was no longer barter trade, but silver trade. Numerous precise records of silver maritime trade with Japan exist not only in Chinese documents, but also in the “Veritable Records” of the Joseon dynasty. Where there is a demand, there is supply and development. At the same time, Japanese production of silver was developing rapidly.14 Kobata Atsushi, a Japanese expert studying the history of Japanese gold and silver trade, believes that Japanese gold and silver mining dramatically increased in the mid-sixteenth century; since then, until the first half of the seventeenth century, which was a century of the heyday of gold and silver production before the Meiji Restoration in Japan, the production of silver was especially significant. The period from 1596 to 14

Wan Ming, “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua: Zhongguo yu shijie lianjie de xin shijiao” (Monetization of Silver in the Ming Dynasty: New Perspective on the Connection between China and the Rest of the World), Heibei xuekan (Hebei Academic Journal) 3(2004): 145–154.

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1623 was the most prosperous for Japanese silver mining, and one in which it reached its maximum yields. Places such as (Iwami) Ômori, (Tajima) Ikuno, (Sado) Aikawa, and (Ugo) Byǀin were the largest silver mines at that time. Kobataalso pointed out that in the second half of the sixteenth century, silver held a monopoly position in Japan’s exports.15 Particularly worth noting is that the heyday of Japanese silver mining and export was after the 1540s, which was exactly during the Jiajing reign. Coincidentally, this was also the greatera of the monetization of silver in China. The demand for silver expanded rapidly, and domestic mining could not satisfy the need, causing a large number of people to seek out overseas resources. At the same time, the Portuguese came to the East and became involved in the silk–silver and porcelain–silver trades. As a result, Japanese silver production suddenly exploded. This was triggered by the huge demand for silver in China and the perpetual huge demand for Chinese silk in Japan. Thus, under the “law” of supply and demand, Japan became one of the most important sources in the global silver trade with China. As for American silver, most previous research has ignored the important fact that the Western countries explored America for gold rather than silver. In other words, gold was their first choice. Gold was the major Spanish mineral in America. In the early years after the European discovery of America, gold was the top-ranking export back to Europe. However, it is particularly noteworthy that the Europeans started to shift from looking for gold to looking for silver from the 1540s on. The volume of American silver surged in the 1560s when Acapulco connected with Manila. After reaching the island of Mindanao and Cebu in the Philippines, the Spanish immediately recognized the significance of the Chinese goods available there. Hence, they began to encourage Chinese merchants to undertake marine trading with them. For that reason, Spanish admiral Miguel López de Legazpi ordered his subordinates to treat Chinese merchants with kindness when they met.16 Because Chinese businessmen only needed silver in the trade, doing business with China required large amounts of silver. The Spanish wanted to exchange goods with the Chinese, but nothing was more attractive to the Chinese merchants than silver. This was the same situation in Europe at that time, thus the value of silver also rose in Europe. American silver was vastly exploited in the late sixteenth century, which also had a strong connection with the demand for China’s trade goods. 15

Kobata, Kingin bǀeki shi no kenkynj, 1, 36. E.H. Blair and J.A. Robertson, eds., The Philippine Islands, 1493–1898 (Cleveland: The Arthur H. Clark Co., 1903–1909), vol. 2, 116.

16

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Starting at that time, American silver flooded into China through many channels; not only through Manila, which boosted the entire Southeast Asian trade, but also through Goa after being transported from Seville. Later, the Dutch and the British shipped silver directly to China in exchange for Chinese products. As a result, a large amount of silver shipped from America to Europe eventually landed in the Chinese market. Our studies illustrate the historical fact that, whatever may have motivated the expansion of Japanese silver mining or the development of American silver, it coincided with the enormous demand created by the Chinese monetization of silver. Therefore, we can conclude that it was the Chinese monetization of silver which contributed to the huge development of the Japanese and the American silver mining, directly or indirectly.

Monetization of Silver and the Initial Establishment of the Global Economic System Silver was an important factor that stimulated the rise of global trade. French scholar Fernand Braudel once said that precious metals “travelled worldwide, they bring us to the highest level of exchange, and they are an indicator…”17 There were two aspects associated with silver: its production and the global exchanges it made possible. Due to the Ming monetization of silver, there was an extension of the marketing networks in China. The major characteristic of Chinese silver demand was the absorption of silver from all over the world; as a consequence, Chinese products were exported throughout the world. The market had been expanded to a global scale. China was the world's largest economy at that time, and, not coincidentally, was also one of the countries with the largest silver demand. This led, as we know, to it becoming a universal settlement for international trade. This international exchange relationship—with, at one end of the link the Chinese goods, and at its other end silver—formed the market networks of global links. In general, a network of global trade was built by three main trading lines across three continents, and formed a triangle of three trade circles of different sizes. These three main lines were: (1) China–Southeast Asia–Japan; (2) China–Manila–America; (3) China–Goa–Europe. Japan, the Americas, and Europe, as the terminus of the three main lines, were all the origins of silver input to China. Among them, Japan and America were direct sources of silver, while Europe acted mainly as a 17

Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–eighteenth century, 194.

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transfer station for American silver. Such a demand–supply relationship in the markets made silver an international currency. Along with the widespread adoption of silver currency, the silver currency market spread beyond national boundaries, achieving a global expansion. Chinese monetization of silver prompted silver to become a world currency, and a global economic system prototype. This was the beginning of globalization. China’s monetization of silver stimulated as well as strengthened the connection between China and the global market. In order to have a more clear understanding about this relationship, we try to analyze the relationship of demand and the input of silver as follows. The relationship between China and the flow of global silver largely depended on the exchange of Chinese products for silver. In this situation, the major demand for silver as a method of payment originated from China rather than from the Western countries, since at the beginning the Western world sought gold as wealth instead of silver. Therefore, silver from the world’s two top silver mines ultimately flowed into China. The emergence of this phenomenon was caused by the enormous demand from China, and the supply–demand relationship determined by the law of value. Silver prices were higher in Ming China than in Europe: the price ratio of gold and silver in China was 1:4, while it was at least 1:12 in Europe. Under this particular premise, a large amount of the world’s mined silver flowed into China. Regarding the importation of silver, discussion among Chinese and foreign scholars began in the 1930s, and much valuable research has emerged. Based on these previous studies, our estimates standardize the measurement in tons as the calculating unit, for the demonstration of clearer comparisons, and are limited to the period of massive overseas silver extraction and importation between 1540 and 1644.18

Japan After the mid-sixteenth century, Japan became an important supplier of overseas silver to China. According to the estimates, from both Japanese and Western scholars, Japan began to export a larger amount of silver after the 1540s. So we bring forward the estimated time to 1540. From 1540 to 1644, if the average was 75 tons per year, the inflow of silver from Japan would be about 7,500 tons in total.

18

Wan, “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua,” 145–154.

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America Silver was exported from America (I refer here to the Spanish-owned Mexico and South America) mainly through two import channels. One was from Europe, and the other through the Pacific Ocean. According to the statistics of Earl Hamilton and other Western scholars’ classic studies, about 8,000 tons of silver were transported from the Americas to the Orient by the Europeans. Besides India and the Ottoman empire, most of the silver, an estimated 5,000 tons, flowed into China. We estimate that 7,620 tons of silver flowed into China across the Pacific Ocean through Manila (including shipping expenditures). From 1570 to 1644, roughly 12,620 tons of silver in total flowed from America into China. The vast majority of Japanese silver production, and half of American silver production, flowed into China, which was a huge amount. Portuguese scholar Vitorino Magalhães Godinho therefore described China as a “suction pump,” precisely and vividly depicting how China absorbed silver from all over the world.19 However, this was only one aspect of the issue. The other aspect we should not forget is that this silver was exchanged for Chinese commodities such as silk, porcelain, and other goods. Clearly, the Ming overseas trade has been underestimated in the past. Plus, social economic development in the late Ming should be reexamined and re-evaluated.20 The booming of the market for the Ming’s blue-and-white porcelain should be viewed as a typical case which was part of global history. Global history began when maritime trade linked the whole world into a global market. Eventually, China finished its process of monetization of silver, and hence, its reform connected it with the changing of the world. As a historical phenomenon, the silver-centered global trade networks created an initial structure for the whole global economic system. Ming blue-andwhite porcelain had become the mainstream porcelain product in China at that time and was involved in these dramatic global changes. Chinese blueand-white porcelain led the global fashion, which transferred from China throughout the world: a process merging technology with market knowledge, and thereby demonstrating a new global cultural landscape.21

19

Vitorino Magalhães Godinho, Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial (Lisbon: Arcádia, 1963), vol. 1. 20 Wan, “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua,” 145–154. 21 Wan Ming, “Mingdai qinghua ci de zhankai: yi shikong wei shidian” (The Spread of Ming Blue-and-White Porcelain: A Temporal and Spatial Perspective), Lishi yanjiu (Historical Research) 5 (2013): 52–70.

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The Extinction of the Ming Dynasty: A Case Study of China–Global Interaction In the late Ming, China maintained important interactions with the world, represented by the following events. Essentially, the monetization of silver was a trend of socio-economic monetization, and it was also the product of a monetization “sprout” and the self-discipline of the market. With the enormous expansion of the domestic market, Chinese products spread all over the world and the domestic market was tightly linked to the global market. Under the pressure of the laws of supply and demand, China maintained a steady flow of global silver imports. This expedited the transition of state and society in the late Ming, from an ancient state and society to a modern nation and society. On the other hand, it also accelerated social instability and thereby increased the difficulty of governance.22 From the perspective of people’s livelihood, the monetization of silver and social change were fully synchronous. All levels of society were involved in the market for silver money. For example, the Zhengde emperor (↓ᗧ 1506–1521) set up six stores to contend for profits with ordinary people. This case shows that silver was a money by weight, and that it came from the storage of society and from overseas trade, not controlled by the emperor. It also suggests that money monopoly had been an unprecedented weakness in the Ming central government. Historians used to consider that the age of autocratic imperial power reached its peak in the Ming dynasty, but from the perspective of the monetization of silver, we think it is a dynasty that autocratic imperial power impaired, more than all the other ancient dynasties. The market had an “invisible hand,” and price determined everything. With the development of the market, the price of silver could not stay constant, and it had to slowly return to production costs. Under the law of diminishing marginal utility, an economic crisis, namely the currency crisis, was doomed to come sooner or later. “In any case, by the middle of the seventeenth century the great age of American silver had come to an end.”23 When this crisis came in the 1630s and 1640s, the so-called “price revolution” broke out violently in Europe due to the chain reaction of the 22 Prof. Kenneth Pomeranz’s comments on the paper on which this chapter is based highlighted exactly the problem of silver under the rule of the Qing dynasty. Due to space limitations, I will discuss this problem in a future paper. 23 Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, trans. Siân Reynolds (New York: Harper & Row, 1972), vol. 1, 537.

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global market. Spain, the United Kingdom, France, Italy, and other countries suffered from intensive inflation to different degrees during this period. In terms of this financial crisis triggered by the world silver market, Adam Smith concluded that, “Between 1630 and 1640, or about 1636, the effect of the discovery of the mines of America in reducing the value of silver appears to have been completed, and the value of that metal seems never to have sunk lower in proportion to that of corn than it was about that time.”24 It is worth noting that almost at the same time in China, due to the falling price of silver in the late Ming, in the late Chongzhenreign (ጷ⾾ 1628–1644), there appeared a phenomenon wherein the gold/silver ratio reached a European level—1:13. A currency crisis emerged and silver became cheaper than the commodities. There was a lack of silver at that point, and rice and other commodities were in short supply also. The market went into a recession. The unit value of silver was falling. Compared to the past, the same amount of wheat and labor cost more silver, which left both the government and the citizens in desperate need of silver. But at the same time, America and Japan’s silver mines were in decline; hence, the quantity of the inflow was in decline as well. Both domestic and world silver production and circulation were shrinking, causing the silver inflow decline. The collapse of the Ming dynasty in 1644 came about for many reasons, and this definitely constituted one of them. Social unrest intensified and internal revolt caused a lot of troubles; comprehensive factors, internal and external, led to the Ming’s complete collapse. Thereafter, three famous thinkers of the late Ming and early Qing, namely Huang Zongxi (哳ᇇ㗢), Gu Yanwu (亗⚾↖), and Wang Fuzhi (⦻ཛѻ) , raised the idea of abandoning silver currency, without exception. This meant that they had noticed the serious social problems caused by silver. In fact, the changes to state and society in the late Ming were associated with global changes. The social crisis that broke out in the late Ming had undeniable links to the world currency crisis. However, what is more important than the decline of the dynasty was that the Chinese monetization of silver, which had guided the transition from a traditional economy to a market economy, started the transition from an ancient state and society to a modern state and society, and it thus suffered, for the first time, the agonizing frustrations associated with such a transition.25 24

Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (New York: The Modern Library, 1937), 192. 25 Wan, “Baiyin huobi hua yu Zhongwai biange,” 242–246.

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Conclusion The Ming dynasty was the most complicated and dramatic period for currency development in ancient China. Represented by silver, China in the Ming dynasty could be linked to two important historical turning points. One was the starting point of the transformation of the traditional Chinese state and society, while the other was the starting point of globalization. This made the Ming dynasty a remarkable period in Chinese history. Through interaction with the rest of the world, the monetization of silver in China was eventually settled. The entire social economy moved toward a monetary economy in an accelerated way. In the late Ming, both state and society were in transformation, which was the most distinctive characteristic of the times. As a sign of Chinese transition and modernization, the monetization of silver was significant in six major ways: (1) China’s monetary system transformed from one utilizing a base metal (e.g. copper coin) to one utilizing a precious metal: the silverbased system. (2) China’s public fiscal system was transformed from one based on physical objects and the corvée system to a silver-monetary system. (3) China’s economy was transformed from a traditional economy to a monetary economy, namely, economic monetization. (4) Chinese society was transformed from a traditional society to a modern society. (5) China was transformed from an ancient tax-corvée state to a modern tax state. (6) China participated in the global transformation based on its domestic social and political transformation. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, when globalization germinated, silver in the Ming became a major currency in social circulation and then became the subject of national finance reform, marking the formation of a silver economy or a “Silver Era” in China. Thus, China moved toward global trade from this point and became part of globalization. Dennis Flynn and Arturo Giraldez have pointed out that global trade was born in1571 (the fifth year of the Longqing reign).26 I argue that if we set the time of the prosperous silver trade as the starting point, the timeline 26

Flynn and Giraldez, “Born with a ‘Silver Spoon’,” 201–221.

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of global trade should be regarded as beginning in the 1540s, when China generated enormous demand for silver and started seeking overseas sources. It was since then that the global trade network began to be shaped and the rudiments of a global market began to operate. The Portuguese came to the East and inaugurated the silk/porcelain and silver trade, forming the prototype of the global market. As the world currency, silver played a very important role in the historical process of globalization. But we should also note that silver was a money by weight. When domestic mineral resources were insufficient, a large amount of foreign silver flowed into China, resulting in a great expansion of the silver currency economy. The state lost its absolute control and monopoly over the money. From then on, China entered a “free silver system.”27 With free silver as the standard currency (until it finally withdrew from the Chinese historical stage in 1935), China’s silver economy existed for nearly 500 years, and the free silver system itself also existed for nearly 500 years, having a very significant impact on and crucial role in the historical development of China. The free silver system undoubtedly became a critical part of China’s unique development progress and special national conditions. This is an important new topic for our future in-depth research. In sum, the monetization of silver in the Ming dynasty had crucial meanings. Its emergence was the result of the transformative tendency between the Ming state and society based on China’s internal social changes; its settlement was the outcome of China’s transformative change and its connection with the whole world, namely, the result of China– global interaction. China did not link with the world passively after the arrival of Westerners. Due to the monetization of silver, changes occurred within China, the market economy developed at an unprecedented pace, and China took the initiative to open itself to the world. It is tempting to think that the global economic system was a Western creation; but Ming China actively participated in the preliminary construction of a global economic system, and contributed historically to the emergence of the new global era.

27

I got the ideas of “the freedom silver system” from Dr. Zhou Ziheng, a researcher of the Financial Institute of Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, with my deep appreciation.

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References Atwell, William S. “International Bullion Flows and the Chinese Economy, circa 1530–1650,” Past and Present 95 (1982): 68–90. —. “Ming Observations on the ‘Seventeenth-Century Crisis’ in China and Japan,” Journal of Asian Studies 45 (1986): 223–244. —. “Notes on Silver, Foreign Trade, and the Late Ming Economy,” Chingshih wen-ti 3 (1977): 1–33. Blair, E.H., and J.A. Robertson, eds. The Philippine Islands, 1493–1898. Cleveland: The Arthur H. Clark Co., 1903–1909. Bonney, Richard. The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, c. 1200–1815. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Boxer, C.R. The Great Ship from Amacon, Annals of Macao and the Old Japan Trade. Lisbon: Centro de Estudos Históricos Ultramarinos, 1959. Braudel, Fernand. Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–eighteenth century: The Wheels of Commerce, vol. 2. Trans. Siân Reynolds. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1992. —. The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, vol. 1. Trans. Siân Reynolds. New York: Harper & Row, 1972. Flynn, Dennis O., and Arturo Giraldez.“Born with a ‘Silver Spoon’: The Origin of World Trade in 1571,” Journal of World History 2 (1995): 201–221. —. China and the Birth of Globalization in the sixteenth century. Farnham: Ashgate Variorum, 2010. Frank, Andre Gunder. Silver Capital: ReOrient: Global Economy in the Asian Age. Trans. Liu Beicheng. Beijing: Central Compilation and Translation Press, 2000. Godinho, Vitorino Magalhães. Os Descobrimentos e a Economia Mundial. Lisbon: Arcádia, 1963. Gu Yanwu. Ri zhi lu jishi (Record of Daily Study). Collected by Huang Rucheng et al. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, Daoguang edition, 2006. Kobata Atsushi. Kingin bǀeki shi no kenkynj (A Study of the History of Trade in Gold and Silver). Tǀkyǀ: Hǀsei Daigaku Shuppan, 1976. Liang Fangzhong. “Mingdai guoji maoyi yu yin de shu churu” (International Trade and Import–Export of Silver in the Ming), Zhongguo shehui jingjishi jikan (Chinese Social and Economic History Review) 6.2 (1939): 267–324. Lu Lianchao.“Xin caizheng shi: jiedu Ouzhou lishi de xin shijiao”(New Fiscal History: A New Perspective of Interpreting European History),

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Tianjing shifan daxue xuebao (Journal of Tianjin Normal University) 4 (2008): 40–45. Peng Xinwei. Zhongguo huobi shi (Chinese Monetary History). Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 3rd edition, 2007. Pomeranz, Kenneth. The Great Divergence: Europe, China, and the Making of the Modern World Economy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001. Qiu Jun. Daxue yanyi bu (Supplement to the Abundant Meanings of the Great Learning). Beijing: Jinghuachubanshe, 1999. Quan Hansheng. Zhongguo jingji shi yanjiu (Studies of Chinese Economic History). Taipei: Daoxiang chubanshe, 1991. Reid, Anthony. Southeast Asia in the Age of Commence, 1450–1680. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988 & 1993. Shen Shixing et al., eds. Ming Huidian (The Great Ming Code). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1988. Smith, Adam. An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations. New York: The Modern Library, 1937. TePaske, J.J. “New World Silver, Castile and the Philippines, 1590– 1800,” in J.E. Richards, ed., Precious Metals in the Late Medieval and Early Modern Worlds. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 1983, 435–450. Tracy, James D., ed. The Rise of the Merchant Empires, Long Distance Trade in the Early Modern World, 1350–1750. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. von Glahn, Richard. Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China,1000–1700. Berkeley, Los Angeles, & London: University of California Press, 1996. Wan Ming.“Baiyin huobi hua shijiao xia de fuyi gaige” (The Reform of Taxes and Corvée from the Perspectives of Monetization of Silver), Parts I–II, Xueshu yuekan (Academic Monthly) 5 (2007): 124–129; 6 (2007): 134–139. —. “Baiyin huobi hua yu Zhongwai biange” (Monetization of Silver and the China-World Transformation), in Wan Ming, ed., Wan Ming shehui bianqian: wenti yu yanjiu (Social Change in Late Ming: Issue and Research). Beijing: Shangwu yinshu guan, 2005, 143–246. —. “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua de chubu kaocha” (Preliminary Study on the Monetization of Silver in the Ming Dynasty), Zhongguo jingji shi yanjiu (Researches in Chinese Economic History) 2 (2003): 39–51. —. “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua yu Mingchao xingshuai” (Monetization of Silver and the Rise and Decline of the Ming Dynasty), Mingshi yanjiu luncong (Collected Studies on Ming History) 6 (2004): 395–413.

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—. “Mingdai baiyin huobi hua: Zhongguo yu shijie lianjie de xin shijiao” (Monetization of Silver in the Ming Dynasty: New Perspective on the Connection between China and the Rest of the World), Heibei xuekan (Hebei Academic Journal) 3 (2004): 145–154. —. “Mingdai qinghua ci de zhankai: yi shikong wei shidian” (The Spread of Ming Blue-and-White Porcelain: A Temporal and Spatial Perspective), Lishi yanjiu (Historical Research) 5 (2013): 52–70. —. “Mingdai shuipiao tanwei: yi Huizhou wei zhongxin” (Exploring Tax Tickets of the Ming Dynasty: Focusing on Huizhou Documents), Mingshi yanjiu luncong (Collected Studies on Ming History) 10 (2012): 1–23. —. Zhongguo rongru shijie de bulü (China’s Integration into the World: Comparative Research on Overseas Policies in the Ming and the Early Qing Dynasties). Beijing: Sheke wenxian chubanshe (Social Science Academy Press), 2000; Zijincheng chubanshe (The Forbidden City Publishing House), 2014, rev. Wan Ming and Xu Yingkai.“Mingdai baiyin huobi hua zaitan: yi Wanli kuaiji lu Henan tianfu ziliao fenxi wei zhongxin” (Re-exploring the Monetization of Silver: An Analysis of Henan’s Land Taxes from Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign), in Huang Kuan-chung, ed., Jidiao yu bianzou: qi zhi ershi shiji de Zhongguo (Fundamental Key and Variation: China from 7–20th Centuries) (Taipei: National Chengchi University, Academia Sinica, etc., 2008), vol. 2, 105–127. Wan Ming and Xu Yingkai. Mingdai Wanli kuaiji lu zhengli yu yanjiu (Introduction to Collation and Research on Accounting Records of the Wanli Reignin the Ming Dynasty). Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe (China Social Sciences Publishing House), 2015. Zhang Tingyu et al. Ming shi (History of Ming), Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Zhang Xie. Dong xi yang kao (Research on the Eastern and Western Oceans), Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981. Zhang Xueyan, ed. Wanli kuaiji lu (Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign) [photocopy of the Wanli edition]. Beijing: Shumu wenxian chubanshe (Bibliography and Document Publishing House), 1989.

CHAPTER TWELVE CHINESE SILK AND EUROPEAN TRADE: A BALANCE (SIXTEENTH–NINETEENTH CENTURIES) SALVATORE CIRIACONO

1 It is an unquestionable fact that Asian – and particularly Chinese – silk has long been a product that is emblematic of trade relations between Europe and Asia. Extensive historical and economic research has been dedicated to this luxury product which, traded across continents, casts important light on a range of issues: technological advances and their sociological impact, changing tastes and fashions, the production of (and market for) luxury commodities. Though the issue of what defines a product as “luxury” is one that deserves in-depth analysis, this will not be my focus here. Instead, I wish to look at how the silk industry illustrates from one side the continual interplay between a possible “centre” and “periphery” (as theorized, first and foremost, by Fernand Braudel and Immanuel Wallerstein1), and on the other the role that silk played in the general decline that China experienced from the end of the eighteenth century, as illustrated in “The Great Divergence” of Kenneth Pomeranz. Given that it involved both the agricultural and manufacturing sectors, the silk industry was a complex affair. Thus any discussion of it requires consideration of institutional structures and the policies adopted in everchanging international relations. One must, for example, never overlook the fact that the entire cycle of silk production began in fields where the cultivation of mulberry or similar trees was the sine qua non for silkworm

 1 See the fundamental references of Fernand Braudel, La dynamique du capitalism (Paris: Arthaud, 1985) and of Immanuel Wallerstein, The Modern World-System (New York: Academic Press, 1974–89).

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farming. This inevitably means that one has to look at rural relations of production (both in Asia and Europe), investigating both the institutional framework of agriculture and the forms of domestic production that preceded the emergence of industrial manufacture. Overall, however, study of Chinese silks must be based on a consideration of the relations between East and West in terms not only of the above-mentioned model of “centre” and “periphery” but also considering the international standing of Chinese politics itself; looking at the history of a “Middle Kingdom” whose power was, from the nineteenth century onwards, gradually undermined by the predominance of the economic and political system that had emerged in Europe. This interpretation of historical events has, as we all know, resulted in a “Eurocentric” vision of history, which in recent years has been the focus of ongoing debate (as revealed in book titles containing such phrases as “the Rise of the West,” “Why Europe?” “Re-Orient” or “The Great Divergence”2). But setting aside that issue for now, what I wish to focus upon is the standing that Chinese silk managed to maintain in international markets; the fact that this industry exported an original “know-how” which, all historians agree, was long unchallenged. Inevitably, the supremacy enjoyed by the Chinese silk industry might be threatened at certain points in its history by nations with which the country had established contacts of various kinds. Nevertheless, allowing that much research in this area remains to be done, I would argue that China was a “centre” in a world economy of which the silk industry was an important sector, and that this centre would, from time to time, find itself competing with semi-peripheral or peripheral areas in the production of finished fabrics, yarns or raw silk. Broadly speaking, I will on the one hand look at the role of raw materials (raw silk) in terms of Wallerstein’s “periphery,” applying the notions of “semi-periphery” and “centre” respectively to where that material was worked into yarns or fabrics. True, specific skills might exist only in specific sectors, and technological developments had impact upon each of them. However, while the emergence of specializations is important and significant, perhaps undermining clear-cut distinctions between “centre,” “semi-periphery” and “periphery,” these

 2 William H. McNeill, The Rise of the West. A History of the Human Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). Jack Goldstone, Why Europe? The Rise of the West in the World History, 1500–1850 (Boston: McGraw Hill, 2009). André Gunder Franck, Re-Orient: Global Economy in the Asian Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). Kenneth Pomeranz, The Great Divergence: China, Europe, and the Making of the Modern World Economy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000).

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concepts still have their value. Look, for example, at a topic to which we will return later: the spinning of yarns in Italy. Such an industry may have had a decisive role in world markets, yet (in the terms of the general theory espoused here) this circumstance meant that the country lost the “centrality” it had previously occupied in other sectors, such as textile manufacture. China’s enormous contribution in this sector of manufacturing was unquestionable. The first advances and technological developments in the silk industry had all originated there; then subsequent international competition had resulted in slumps and recoveries, as well as leading to technological transfer of fundamental importance. Arab and Middle Eastern nations had undoubtedly played a key role as go-betweens for knowledge, technologies and textiles that were subsequently replicated in Europe. One tradition, in fact, has it that Arab civilizations advanced right to the heart of Asia after winning the battle of Tares in 751, acquiring knowledge of basic techniques used in the weaving of silk and in the production of other items that were then part of the luxury-goods market.3 A matter of major historical relevance here is, therefore, the relation between imports of raw silk from Asian regions and the quantities of finished fabrics that flowed from that continent onto European markets. Clearly, this issue is bound up with that of the relations between the ancient Silk Road that ran across Central Asia and the sea route which, by the Early Modern age, had become important even if not essential for such trade.4 Now difficult to access, source material relating to the history of various states of Central Asia (for example, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and Tajikistan) might well raise questions about the now-prevalent view that the fall of Mongol dominion in the region had produced profound changes in the trade infrastructures and mechanisms existing in Eurasia, with

 3 Xinru Liu, The Silk Road. Overland Trade and Cultural Interaction in Eurasia (Essays on Global and Comparative History) (Washington, DC: AHA, 1998), 28, and The Silk Road in World History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). Mau Chuan-Hui, “A Preliminary Study of the Changes in Textile Production under the Influence of Eurasian Exchanges during the Song-Yuan Period,” in Crossroads. Studies on the History of Exchange Relations in the East Asian World (Ostasien Verlag), vol. 6 (Oct. 2012): 145–204. 4 See on this issue Morris Rossabi, “The Silk Trade in China and Central Asia,” in When Silk Was Gold. Central Asian and Chinese textiles, ed. James C.Y. Watt, Anne E. Wardwell and Morris Rossabi (New York: Metropolitan Museum, 1997), 7–19. Svetlana Gorshenina, La route de Samarcande. L’Asie centrale dans l’objectif des voyageurs d’autrefois. Preface by Pierre Chuvin (Geneva: Olizane, 2000); Lucette Boulnois, La route de la soie. Dieux, guerriers et marchands (Geneva: Olizane, 2010).

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maritime routes benefiting at the expense of the old caravan routes. At the same time one must also acknowledge that even in the distant past, seaborne commerce had existed, and that the comparison between land and maritime trade routes has a long history; as one historian has observed: “despite the battle of Talas, the Arab empire and China did have commercial contacts, mostly through sea routes. Based in ports along the southeast coast of China – Canton, Quanzhou (Zayton), and Yangzhou – Muslim traders (both Arabs and Persians) traded in many areas in China.”5 Those rich Arab merchants were, it is pointed out, in a position to export firanb (Chinese colour silk fabrics), kimkhaw (golden brocade) and zaytuni (silk yarn named after the port of Zayton). And it was thanks to such Arab – and, subsequently, Byzantine – merchants that the cities of the Mediterranean were able to take advantage of this maritime trade; the obvious case in point is Venice, which would long be considered the main terminus for silk exports from Asia to Europe.6 Therefore we do not deny that, after the fall of Mongol domination and the advent of the great European sea powers, the southern sea route became an important strategic link between the opposite shores of Eurasia. Nevertheless, more conclusive documentary evidence is required before one can argue that terrestrial trade routes had truly become insignificant. The sheer number of overland trade routes by which Chinese silk reached European manufactories is evidence against such insignificance. As Edmund Herzig has pointed out: raw silk could follow a number of different routes from the production area to Europe and these have been: 1) overland to Bursa and Istanbul and onward by sea, or by land across the Balkan peninsula to the Adriatic; 2) overland to Aleppo in Syria from where it was transported to the port of Iskenderun and onward by sea; 3) overland to Izmir and onward by sea; 4) across the Caspian to Astrakhan from either Rasht/Anzali in Gilian or Shamakha/Niyazabad in Shirvan, then up the Volga to Moscow and onward either overland to Central Europe or by way of the Baltic or the White Sea to Holland and England; 5) overland across Iran via Isfahan to Bandar ‘Abbas and onward by sea via the Cap route.7

The Armenians were a minority who played an essential role in this trade, with recent studies claiming it was even greater than that of the Jews, traditionally recognized as having occupied a prime place in commercial

 5 Xinru Liu, The Silk Road, 28. 6 Ibid., 29. 7 Edmund Herzig, “The Volume of Iranian Raw Silk Exports in the Safavid Period,” Iranian Studies (1992): 62.

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activities.8 It has been pointed out that the Armenians had a network of economic links that extended not only within Europe (as did those of the Jews) but also between Asian areas and Europe, between Asia and Russia. Thus, the French, Dutch, British and German manufacturers who were slowly overcoming the traditional supremacy of the Italian silk industry may have obtained large quantities of their raw silk from Astrakhan (shipped along the Volga via Moscow). True, right up to the first decades of the seventeenth century, Aleppo – along with Bursa and Izmir – would remain key centres for the import of Asian silks heading to Italian ports (first and foremost, Venice); however, during the course of that century, they would have to share their position with Iskenderun, a commercial centre whose importance was increasing. Within the latter, in fact, the number of bales traded passed from 544 in 1624 to 1,801 just four years later. This was also a period in which the value of the silk products shipped by French or British merchants from the ports of the Eastern Mediterranean outstripped that of the products handled by the Venetians, who had once enjoyed a near monopoly over such trade: in 1628, while the French recorded merchandise to a value of 581,400 piasters and the British to a value of 481,400, the Venetians could only manage 302,000 piasters. These figures show how vital a sector silk manufacture had become in North Europe, and how extensively that industry drew upon supplies from Asia. In the long term, of course, it would be the British who benefited most from this change, while Izmir would overtake Aleppo in importance; the latter had once been a trading post of strategic importance for Venetian commerce, but the former would establish itself as a major export centre for the Persian silk that was gradually gaining ground on its Chinese competitor. As Safavid Iran acquired increasing importance – particularly during the course of the seventeenth century – the strategic role of silk within its economy became ever clearer. Shah Abbas, for example, would – near the ancient Isfahan – found the city of New Julfa, which then exercised an almost total monopoly over the export of raw silk; it was here that the Armenians would establish themselves as the dominant group in the trade of a product that was dispatched to all the major markets of Europe. It has

 8 Ina Baghdiantz McCabe, The Shah’s Silk for Europe’s Silver. The Eurasian Trade of the Julfa Armenians in Safavid Iran and India (1530–1750) (Atlanta: Scholars Press for the University of Pennsylvania, 1999). Rudolph P. Matthee, The Politics of Trade in Safavid Iran. Silk for Silver, 1600–1730 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Sebouh D. Aslanian, From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean: The Global Trade Networks of Armenian Merchants from New Julfa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011).

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been calculated that at the beginning of the eighteenth century annual production had reached levels of around 900,000 kg, while exports have been estimated to have been around 500,000 kg; it is, therefore, no coincidence that the French East India Company increased imports from Persia to around 147,000 lbs per year, while those from China amounted to only 8,000 lbs.9 However, as the Safavid dynasty itself went into decline there would be a corresponding fall in the growth of the Persian silk trade. According to some Venetian sources, Persian raw silk was not considered to be of particularly high quality, that from other areas of the Mediterranean being preferred (yet one should also bear in mind that, according to French sources, Chinese spun silk was not suitable for every fabric produced in that country). It is striking that no mention is made in the Venetian sources of the arrival of Chinese raw silk in Venice, but that can be explained by the circumstance that such merchandise must have been being re-exported northwards from the seventeenth century onwards. Indeed, indirect sources do confirm that Chinese raw silk was reaching the Europe market, very probably in large quantities which posed serious competition for Persian silk and thus caused different trends in prices in the different markets. With Persian silk exports going into irreversible decline –in 1655–60 the amount imported by the French East India Company fell to around 43,000 lbs per year, decreasing to zero by the 1680s – traditional European imports from China were joined by another source of raw silk: Bengal. Nor should one overlook the fact that Chinese silk exports travelled in another direction: via Manila to Central American New Spain, where the effects of this trade were such that “elle ruine la sériculture [in New Spain] dans la première moitié du XVIIIe siècle, et à Seville par delà.”10 Yet in considering this competition among different routes and markets one should not overlook another trade route, which passed via Archangel through Russia to the Baltic and then on to the Netherlands.11 Whether the merchandise carried along this route was Iranian silk (traded by Armenians) or came from China or elsewhere in Central Asia can only be decided after more in-depth research. The most recent studies have highlighted the fact that the contrast between land and maritime routes might not have been as sharp as

 9 Louis Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident. Le commerce à Canton au XVIIIe siècle, 1719–1833, Vol. I (Paris: SEVPEN, 1964), 393. 10 Ibid.; see also Suchera Mazumdar, Sugar and Society in China. Peasants, Technology, and the World Market (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 154. 11 Herzig, The Volume of Iranian Raw Silk Exports, 71.

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normally assumed. Evidence of this can be seen in the role played by the Guangdong region of Canton, which would ship increasing amounts of Chinese silks to the West: it has been pointed out that the network of inland canals serving the fluvial port of Huaiji province (prefecture of Zhaoqing) meant that silks from the ports of Canton, Macao and Hong Kong could be exported inland (to the regions of Guangxi and Hunan) and thus in all likelihood continue along terrestrial trade routes.12 The relations between the maritime and land routes, therefore, should be analysed in greater detail with regard to the quantities transported, rather than presuming the outright victory of one over the other.

2 What is certain is that thanks to these trade rapports and technological transfer from East to West along the centuries – which is essential to any understanding of the relations between the two continents over the centuries – the silk industry had become a crowded sector in Europe. Many areas of production had developed where a wide range of specialized manufactures went together with a clearly defined division of labour. Italian cities (such as Lucca, Florence, Genova and Venice) probably profited most and quickly (from the heart of the Middle Ages), developing more advanced capacities in both the spinning and the weaving of silks.13 Subsequently, the fundamental (“central”) position these cities occupied in the international division of labour meant that they could compete at a medium-high level with textiles from China itself.14 There are, in effect, hundreds of fabrics of different names and qualities whose

 12 On this problem, see Huang Weizong, “Huaiji County, a Sign that Indicates Marine Silk Road Extends to Inland,” in Huaiji Conjunction Point of Silk Road on Both Land and Sea, with a foreword by Mao Rongkai (Huaiji, Huaiji Gazetteer Office: 2005), 3–7, kindly proposed by Prof. Leng Dong of Guangzhou University, to whom I would like to express my warm thanks. I would also like to thank Cai Xiangyu for her numerous suggestions and Marcello Ghilardi of Padua University for his translation of the work in question. 13 The classical reference is Joseph Needham. Among his numerous books see The Grand Titration. Science and Society in East and West (London: G. Allen, 1969), 97–99. 14 Salvatore Ciriacono, “Silk Manufacturing in France and Italy in the XVIIth Century: Two Models Compared,” The Journal of European Economic History X (1981): 167–199, and “Esquisse d’une histoire tripolaire: les soieries francoitaliennes et le marché allemand à l’époque modern,” in Etudes réunies en l’honneur de Georges Livet (Strasbourg: Editions d’Alsace-Colmar, 1986), 317– 326.

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origin and type it is often difficult to identify with certainty, even though their Chinese origin is difficult to deny.15 Ultimately, the importation of Chinese fabrics into Europe would become bound up with the process of European colonialist expansion, serving to stimulate a key sector of exports within China itself; this was clearly the case with Canton, for example, and the English presence (not to say, predominance) within the city during the eighteenth to nineteenth centuries. For centuries, luxury imports from Asia would be a decisive feature of trade relations between East and West. Then, as Patrick Verley argues, the Industrial Revolution led to a change in the nature of such imports, the focus shifting to more mass-consumption products, even if silk products themselves retained their high commercial value.16 Immediately prior to the full industrialization of manufacturing processes, and the subsequent international division of labour, within the silk industry this meant that separation of the spinning of yarn and the weaving of textiles was of essential importance; furthermore, technological innovations and improvements meant that the value of silk thread increased. Historians ranging from Carlo Poni and Claudo Zanier to Giuseppe Chicco have highlighted how Italian spinning mills – initially those producing thread alla bolognese, then those whose thread was alla piemontese – manufactured an Italian speciality that was much sought after in international markets.17 Nevertheless, it is true that such spinning mills represent a sort of “semi-peripheralization” of silk production in relation to silk weaving, the latter undergoing important developments in France from the seventeenth century onwards. Lyons (and, even earlier, Tours) would begin to usurp the central position in the production of luxury silk fabrics – brocades, damasks and satins – which Italy had maintained throughout the sixteenth and for most of the seventeenth

 15 A fundamental reference work here is Dieter Kuhn and Zhao Feng, eds, Chinese Silk (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012), especially the two chapters by Chen Juanjuan and Huang Nengfu, 369–430 and 431–489. 16 Patrick Verley, “Marché des produits de luxe et division internationale du travail (XIXe-XXe siècles),” Revue de Synthèse, 5th series, 2 (2006): 359–378. 17 Carlo Poni, “Archéologie de la fabrique: la diffusion des moulins à soie ‘alla bolognese’ dans les Etats vénitiens du XVIe au XVIIe siècle,” Annales E.S.C. 27, 6 (1972): 1475–1496 . Claudio Zanier, “Where the Roads Met: East and West in the Silk Production Process,” in The Textile Industries, ed. Sydney D. Chapman, Vol. 3, (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 1997), 30–55. Giuseppe Chicco, La seta in Piemonte 1650–1800. Un sistema industriale d’ancien régime (Milan: F. Angeli, 1995). Luca Molà, The Silk Industry of Renaissance Venice (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000).

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century. (As we know, various factors would play a part in this turn of events: the role of Louis XIV’s court at Versailles; the growing demand among the nation’s aristocracy; the adoption of a deliberate policy that aimed to make the country entirely independent in the manufacture of silk textiles.) However, even though England, the Netherlands and various German states also launched their own silk industries, Italian silk manufacture remained a vigorous sector of production in the eighteenth century: not only would it see innovation in types of textiles (in Piedmont, for example, new fabrics were developed, while Genoese and Florentine textiles – together with Venetian damask and brocades – remained highly prized) but there were also improvements in the qualities of spun silks.18 Furthermore, the role of mulberry trees within agriculture was modified, with the proportion of these trees to other agricultural crops changing substantially within the Po Valley: in the course of the eighteenth century, such changes were clearest in the territories of the Venetian Republic, while during the nineteenth century they were most sizeable within Lombardy. In effect, when discussing the performance of the silk industry within certain areas of both Europe and Asia, the relation between the Industrial Revolution and the agricultural premises which made it possible is an issue of no small importance. What is for sure is that throughout the eighteenth century, in both China and Europe, the silk industry had seen great expansion (in the production of raw silks, and of yarns and textiles). Such a phenomenon is traditionally explained by the fact that this typical luxury product was now becoming available to substantial new groups of consumers, in Europe certainly as well in China. As described by the English traveller Robert Fortune, before the Taiping wars (1850–65), in an important production centre such as Hangzhou, the use of silk was remarkable “among the Chinese for their dandyism. All except the lowest labourers and coolies strutted about in dresses composed of silk, satin, and crepe … The native of Hang-chow, both rich and poor, were never contented unless gaily dressed in silks and satins.” As has been observed: “the absence of sumptuary laws and the prosperity enjoyed by eighteenth-century urban elites and some ordinary people enabled them to adopt the latest silk fashions.”19

 18 Paola Massa, “Technological Typologies and Economic Organization of Silk Workers in Italy,” The Journal of European Economic History 22, 3 (1993): 556– 557. 19 See the chapter by Ramon Hawley Myers and Yeh-Chien Wang on “Economic Development, 1644–1800,” in The Cambridge History of China, 9, Part One: The

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Responding to this increasing demand from outside as well from internal consumers, the silk industry became concentrated in areas such Hu-chou, Chia-hsing and Hangzhou. It is interesting to note here that as a result of increasing competition from the private sector, and of growing specialization and division of labour (direct consequences of larger domestic consumption), there was a drop in the number of imperial silk manufactories, which supplied solely the court and its elites. While the latter had totalled around twenty in the early Ming period, they had decreased to just three by the middle of the eighteenth century: in Nankin, Suzhou20 and Hangzhou. Clearly such manufactories specialized in elaborate and costly fabrics, while the private sector which become ever more solidly established during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries produced cheaper mass fabrics. Indeed, it has also been pointed out that the imperial court itself began to turn to the private manufacturing sector. Yet while the private sector stimulated the (home) production of raw silk and yarns by both farmers and silk spinners, one should not forget that the severe control which the eunuchs of the imperial court attempted to exert over the growing class of urban weavers caused deep unrest that could often lead to popular disturbances.21 Nor should one overlook the extensive role of silk within a society where it might also fulfil a fiscal function (being used in the payment of taxes). It is, therefore, no surprise that in 1736 the Jesuit J.B. Du Halde would underline China’s central place in silk production, saying of the nation that it could “be called the country of silk, for it seems to be inexhaustible, supplying several nations in Asia and Europe.”22 What is beyond question, however, was that the future for this Asian giant was less rosy, due to ever more aggressive international competition that benefited from the rise of the factory system

 Ch’ing Empire to 1800, ed. William J. Peterson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 621. 20 On imperial control over the manufactory of Suzhou, see Paolo Santangelo, Le manifatture tessili imperiali durante le dinastie Ming e Qing con particolare attenzione a quelle di Suzhou (Supplement of the Annals of The Oriental Institute of Naples, no. 38) (Naples: The Oriental Institute of Naples, 1984), and “Urban Society in Late Imperial Suzhou,” in Cities of Jingnan in Late Imperial China, ed. Linda C. Johnson (New York: 1993), 96–98. 21 Martin Heijdra, “The Socio-Economic Development of Rural China during the Ming,” in The Cambridge History of China, 8: The Ming Dynasty, Part Two: 1368–1644, ed. Denis C. Twitchett and Frederick W. Mote (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 513. 22 Lillian M. Li, China’s Silk Trade. Traditional Industry in the Modern World, 1842–1937 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981), 69.

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in the West and the increasingly invasive presence of European powers in Chinese ports. Two problems nevertheless require further investigation. One concerns what was actually exported from Chinese ports. Was this a growing amount of raw silk alone? I would argue that this became the trend during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, with a constant drop in the volume of finished silk textiles exported. If this was the case, one might, using the terms of Wallerstein’s argument, claim that China had fallen into the periphery of world trade (or the semi-periphery of the silk-spinning industry). As Eng observes: “unlike the reeling sector, the traditional weaving industry did not undergo any organization changes as a result of the opening of China to trade with the West: the rise in Western demand was directed at Chinese raw silk for consumption in Western weaving mills rather than at silk fabrics manufactured in China.”23 However, though one might share this general assessment, the situation in China was rather more nuanced, with regional and chronological variations and a complex balance between the different silk-producing regions within the nation. One first point to take into consideration is that during the course of the nineteenth century China itself would take advantage of the introduction of new machinery and the factory system – even if not to the same extent as its future historic rivals, i.e. the Japanese. And this issue raises further questions. Why was China incapable of overcoming Western competition when its rival Japan would perform so differently in the decades to come?24 Once again one must look at the complex play of factors which resulted in some traditional areas within China enjoying progress while others fell victim to decline or stagnation. One factor that emerges with great clarity is that there was a very close link between a highly fragmented agricultural sector – responsible for producing the mulberry leaves upon which silkworms feed – and the development of silk industries that exploited this new agricultural potential. But no less decisive, as the performance of Shanghai will demonstrate, was the distance between where the raw silk was produced and where it was sold. Obviously, we cannot forget such other variables as the organization of production in the agricultural areas supplying the silk industry; the possible expansion of such areas; and the policies and historical development to be seen within the sector overall. One can even draw possible parallels between what happened in the Italian regions of

 Robert Y. Eng, Economic Imperialism in China: Silk Production and Exports, 1861–1932 (Berkeley, CA: Institute of East Asian Studies, 1986), 146. 24 The thesis proposed by Kenneth Pomeranz (The Great Divergence) has initiated a wide-ranging discussion of this issue which I cannot examine here. 23

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Lombardy and Venetia and what one sees in such regions as Guangdong (around Canton) and Shanghai. In the case of both Venetia and Guandong one sees that the difficulties encountered by the region’s producers of raw silk were largely due to deep-seated problems in the region’s agriculture – that is, the size of farming concerns and the social organization (in Marxist terms, the “relations of production”) that existed within the countryside. But this is a point to which I will return.

3 In Europe and especially in the Po Valley, factors worthy of note include the relative decline in textile production, especially within areas such as the Venetian Republic. There was, meanwhile, a sharp upturn in the production of raw silk and expansion in the agricultural areas given over to the mulberry plantations that silk production required. But if during the eighteenth century the area given over to such agricultural production in Venetia was the largest in any Italian region, from the beginning of the following century it would be the region of Lombardy that occupied this position.25 There, one sees clear capitalist investment both in agriculture (with sizeable farms specializing in the cultivation of mulberry trees) and in the steam-powered spinning mills which gradually edged aside home production. In Venetia, on the other hand, such production (raw and reeled silk) would continue to prevail – and, as we will see, this was also the case in Canton and in the more technologically advanced Shanghai. Thus Italian twisted yarns played a key role in the international silk market, even if there is no doubt that, in terms of the relation between raw material (raw silk) and finished product, yarns necessarily possessed less added value than did finished textiles. In France, the silk industry continued to focus upon the production of textiles and silk ribbons (the latter, for example, being a speciality of Saint-Étienne and Saint-Chamond, neighbouring towns outside Lyons).26 However, such ribbons were also an important product of the silk industry at Krefeld in the Rhineland, an area which became a real competitor in the European textiles market during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.27

 25 Carlo Poni, “All’origine del sistema di fabbrica: tecnologia e organizzazione produttiva dei mulini da seta nell’Italia settentrionale (Sec. 17–18),” in Rivista Storica Italiana 88, 3 (1976): 445–497. 26 See Ciriacono, “Silk Manufacturing in France and Italy in the XVIIth Century.” 27 Peter Kriedte, Taufgesinnte und großes Kapital. Die niederrheinisch-bergischen Mennoniten und der Aufstieg des Krefelder Seidengewerbes (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007).

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Other national textiles industries – such as that in Britain – were less important. However, if Britain lagged behind France, Italy and Germany in the quality of finished fabrics, and even more so in its production of raw silk and its ability to cultivate mulberry trees, its importance as a commercial and colonial power was such that it could channel Chinese products towards its own ports. This, together with other factors, would lead to a sharp increase in the price of raw silk shipped from Canton, the port which the Ch’ing dynasty used from the seventeenth to the middle of the nineteenth century as the point of departure for Chinese silks destined for foreign markets. Nevertheless, one is not justified in concluding that such increases were solely due to growing foreign demand from Britain. As has been pointed out, in the seventeenth century both the Portuguese (with annual purchases totalling 6,000 picul28) and the Spanish (10,000 picul annually) were already having an influence that caused prices to rise. The amount purchased by the British in the eighteenth century did not exceed the combined quantities exported in the previous centuries by the Spanish and Portuguese; indeed, British imports are to be counted in hundreds rather than thousands of picul.29 It is reasonable to conclude, after Lillian M. Li, that the increase in the price of Chinese raw silks during the course of the eighteenth century was due to a general increase in prices, partly as a result of the influx of American silver, partly as a result of increasing demand and population numbers: among the other products affected by increases was rice, the price of which went up by 125 per cent during the course of the eighteenth century. This was clearly a major factor, given that such demand both from imperial manufactories and among Chinese consumers “of the middling sort” had a significant effect upon prices – even if it is difficult to actually quantify those effects. Here, one should perhaps point out that, in general, the commercial records of Europe’s colonial powers provide us with a more detailed picture of Sino-European trade links than do internal Chinese sources. What data we do have show that the price of raw silk in Canton doubled between 1702 and 1799; indeed, it passed from 132 tael per picul in the former year to a peak of 312 tael in 1792, an increase of 236 per cent.30 One can, therefore, describe as unfounded the complaints made by the Ch’ing authorities that it was high foreign demand which was pushing up prices, given that this accusation clearly underestimated the effects of the domestic market.

 28 1 picul = 60.453 kg. 29 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 68. 30 Ibid., 69. Generally a silver tael weighed 40 grams, but standard weights varied according to region and type of trade.

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The importance and growth of raw silk production would continue in the following century, and to a certain extent reverse the price trend: the decreases in prices can be explained by excessive supply, which drove down the market value of merchandise. One English merchant at the time would observe: the Chinese supply is large enough to cushion the impact of the sharp rise in foreign demand … The quantity produced to supply the native consumption is so enormous, that notwithstanding the vast increase in export during the past ten years, the average of prices is lower than when the export was but one-fourth of its present amount. The silk grower looks to the home market for fixing the value of his produce, and prices range according as that demand is active or dull; little or no effect being produced by the foreign exportation, except among the speculative holders at the port.

And another British observer, this time a botanist, would make the same comment: “the quantity exported bears but a small proportion to that consumed by the Chinese themselves. The 17,000 extra bales sent yearly out of the country have not in the least affected the price of raw silk or silk manufactures.[31] This fact speaks for itself.”32 The same market phenomenon can also be seen with tea. Nor should one overlook the fact that the exports of raw and worked silks were controlled by the authorities, who could impose severe restrictions when foreign demand exceeded the permitted limits (measures that damaged commercial interests in Canton). For example, in 1764 – when there was a sharp upturn in foreign demand due to that fact that an infection had decimated mulberry trees in Europe – a condition was laid down that a single ship could only transport 100 picul of raw silk (a limit which was, however, not always respected).33 There is no doubt that for most of the eighteenth century China was, when it desired, capable of flooding the European market with both finished silk fabrics and precious raw silks. (The East India Company seemed to hold the lion’s share of this market; however, one should not overlook the role played by the French East India Company, which was undoubtedly very active up to the middle of the century.) We know, for

 31 Hosea Ballou Morse calculated that in 1734 1 bale = 0.72 picul (see his The Chronicles of the East India Company Trading to China, 1635–1834, Vol. I (Folkestone, Kent: Global Oriental, 2007), 229. 32 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 70. 33 Weng Eang Cheong, The Hong Merchants of Canton. Chinese Merchants in Sino-Western Trade (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1997), 282.

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example, that in 1693 the value of finished Chinese fabrics exported amounted to 430,000 tael, a figure which had grown to 650,000 just two years later. And H.B. Morse recalls that, in the years 1750–51, records show 5,640 “woven silk pieces” left Canton on English ships (the figures for French, Dutch, Swedish and Danish vessels were 2,530, 7,460, 1,790 and 809 respectively). Up to this point raw silk had undoubtedly accounted for a smaller part of the value of such exports; then, from the 1750s onwards, Britain would push firmly for increased exports of raw silk – almost certainly to make up for the reduced exports of raw silk from Italy.34 The Jin Hai – the ban on maritime trade links between China and the West – had been abolished by the emperor Kangxi in 1685, allowing Westerners into the main ports of southern China (Canton and, to a lesser extent, Whampoa, Amoy, Ningpo and Foochow); the measure had undoubtedly stimulated the exports of raw and finished silks, even if its positive effects were accompanied by unforeseeable consequences (for example, in the area of China’s direct competition with the West). Then, in 1757, the Emperor Qianlong would restrict the presence of Westerners to the port of Guangzhou alone, a measure which gave the city a practical monopoly that made it a key point of reference for the silk trade and a linchpin of relations with the West. Europeans had been authorized to live in the commercial centre of city as early as 1686, and the significance of the silk trade here would have a knock-on effect in other areas: Guangzhou became a centre for the export of both raw and finished materials (porcelain, tea, sugar and even flowers) and was home to the Shisanhang – also known as the Thirteen Ong – a trade consortium for the import–export of goods which is sometimes referred to by the misnomer “The Thirteen Factories” (inaccurate because the consortium was concerned exclusively with trade and not manufacturing).35 As for the scale of business in Canton, one simply has to look at the sizeable increase in the amount of raw silk carried on British ships, which over the period 1723–92 grew “from 5 metric tons to 163 metric tons, making Canton the main city-port exporting silk;”36 Shanghai, on the other hand, would only really make its

 34 Morse, The Chronicles of the East India Company, 292; but also see Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident, I, 404. 35 Zhao Chunchen and Leng Dong, eds, Shisanhang yu Guangzhou Chengshi Fazhang (The Development of the Thirteen Factories and Guangzhou Town) (Guangzhou: China Publishing Group & World Book Inc., 2011), kindly indicated by Prof. Leng. 36 Ramon Hawley Myers and Yeh-Chien Wang, Economic Development, 1644– 1800, 622.

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presence felt from the middle of the nineteenth century onwards. However, the key fact in all this is that from the middle of the eighteenth century British imports of raw Chinese silk would become sizeable, primarily to supply the silk weavers of Spitalfields, whose business was going through decades of expansion. It is, for example, no coincidence that British import duties on Chinese silks would be reduced to the same level as those on Italian goods – a measure that was almost certainly taken to encourage the imports from China which were to make good the drop in exports from an Italy where production had declined due to a disease affecting mulberry trees-37

4 Nevertheless the increasing presence in Chinese markets of European colonial powers, whose aggressiveness reflected their undoubted technological superiority, went together with the growing weakness of the central Chinese government. Not only did the Europeans have growing numbers of mechanical spinning frames and weaving looms, they had also introduced an industrial factory system predicated on the pursuit of the highest possible profit margin through the import of cheap raw materials and the export of finished goods. However, when one looks within Europe itself one sees that the adoption of more technologically advanced methods both in the agricultural sector and in manufacturing (silk reeling, spinning and weaving) within different countries could lead to a radical change in the traditional industrial hierarchies between the nations themselves, in Italy in the first place. As early as the nineteenth century, China’s relations with the West revealed evidence of a kind of an “imperialistic” pressure in the rapport between raw materials and finished products. By the second half of that century, the results seemed to be sufficiently clear. Within this context, Britain became an ever more decisive presence, particularly within the ports of Canton and Shanghai, exerting pressure both as a national entity and through the East India Company (though, during the course of the nineteenth century, all such European trading companies would gradually disappear). At the same time, there was a fall in China’s traditional trade links with the Philippines, because of both the decline in the amount of silver yielded by American mines and the fact that Spain’s position as a maritime power was being taken by a newcomer, the United States. True, as early as 1788 there had been exports, admittedly modest, of raw

 37 Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident, I, 392–304.

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Chinese silk to the USA itself (256 picul out of total exports of 3,908 picul: only the East India Company had shipped 1,877 picul). In the first half of that century Europe was thus developing a firm establishment of a factory system and an increase in demand for silk fabrics as its consumers acquired greater spending power. The Opium Wars and the one-sided commercial treaties imposed by Britain in 1842 reveal the growing domestic weakness within China and the inevitable supremacy of European industry and technology (including transport). The inevitable result of these advantages was that ever more raw silks but ever fewer finished textiles were exported – and not only to Britain. By the beginning of nineteenth century the nature of demand for silk goods in the West had changed. The spread of purchasing power among the French peasantry due to land reform, for example, boosted the demand for silk products. From the supply side, the invention of the Jacquard loom not only made possible the mechanical weaving of figured silks but also doubled productivity. Between 1825 and 1850, as a consequence of derived demand from silk piece goods, French sericulture reached unprecedented prosperity.38

Perhaps this statement on France is underestimating what was happening in Italy, which by then was exporting substantially into what had previously been the market for finished Chinese silks; by the middle of the nineteenth century, its percentage of the world silk trade would actually be higher than China’s. What is clear in China is that, up to 1845, there was an increase in the exports of raw silks from Canton and Shanghai but also from other Chinese areas. Mulberry cultivation became highly rentable, sometimes even three times more profitable than rice. It is true nevertheless that “the expansion of sericulture was associated with growth in tenancy and fragmentation of land use.” The consequence was that “the Pear River Delta, despite the fertility of its soil, was able to supply only about 25 percent of its rice needs, because of overpopulation and the shifting of acreage to mulberry culture. It became dependent on rice imports from central China and Southern Asia.” This development was quite clear in some other Chinese regions, where “peasants gradually abandoned reeling for more profitable cocoon production.” It is once again true that the profits made in this sector led to an increase in land prices and the concentration of land ownership. Furthermore, even though the cultivation of mulberry trees expanded overall, developments in the sector continued to be fragmented as landowners rented out small plots on their

 38 Eng, Economic Imperialism in China, 25.

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farms to individual peasant families39 who could rarely afford to give over their entire land to that crop alone. There is no doubt, though, that Kiangnan subsequently took the lead in this trade: according to available data, by 1854 the newcomer had already surpassed its rival and within a decade or so would practically have a monopoly on raw silk exports. The region around Kiangnan demonstrates that “the silk weaving industry as a whole … maintained a steady domestic market until the 1930s.”40 Shanghai’s great advantages were not only its proximity to Chekiang, the main area of silkworm farming, but also its location within a sophisticated system of transport waterways. In purely commercial terms, it benefited from the fact that the duties on exports had been reduced to just 10 tael per picul instead of the previous 5 per cent of total value. Furthermore, it is possible that Canton suffered from a certain traditional way of doing business and from the control exerted by the guild of Hong, powerful city merchants – although that didn’t impede the trade with many Western companies.41 Furthermore, in 1843 Canton lost its near monopoly over the export of Chinese goods to the West, allowing Shanghai to become a place where Western companies could deal more freely with local traders. This was also the period that saw the abolition of the East India Company (in 1833), with the result that international trade became established on a new basis, undermining the privileges and monopolies that had been enjoyed by the East India Company and the Hong of Canton itself. Such changes, of course, did not interrupt the growth of British commercial might, which also benefited from technological advances: already at the beginning of the eighteenth century Thomas Lombe in Derby had developed his water-powered silk throwing mill, increasing British capacity in the production of silk yarns and finished fabrics, and thus raising demand for Chinese raw silk. (As is well known, Lombe’s device was actually an imitation of an Italian throwing mill which had originated in Bologna and then undergone further development in Piedmont.)

 39 Ibid., 116–44. 40 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 126. 41 Paul Van Dyke, in Merchants of Canton and Macao: Politics and Strategies in Eighteenth-Century Chinese Trade (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011), stresses the broad freedom which Westerners profited from during the eighteenth century. However, both Louis Dermigny and Philippe Haudrère (Haudrère, La Compagnie française des Indes au XVIIIe siècle (Paris: Les Indes Savantes, 2005) emphasize the Westerners’ difficulties in interacting with the Cantonese authorities and the local people.

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Unfortunately, the domestic political situation in China further hindered the country’s ability to respond to the epochal challenge posed by Western technology – a challenge that would have effects upon the whole of Asia (first and foremost, Japan). The Taiping rebellion of 1850–64 seriously interrupted the entire silk-making sector, not only in Canton and Shanghai but in the whole of the Lower Yangtze River. Nevertheless the country seemed to overcome some of these difficulties in the 1870s, thanks to the increasing importance of Shanghai. Indeed, the new system of export duties applied by the Imperial Maritime Customs Services reflected China’s ability to respond to such challenges, increasing exports of both raw and spun silk; at the same time, mechanical frames and steampowered machinery were introduced, especially in the Shanghai area. The figures for customs duties reveal a sevenfold increase in the total value of silks exported (both raw silks and finished fabrics), passing from around 23 million tael in 1870 to 169 million in 1928. Closer examination of the relative percentages that make up this total value reveals that Chinese silk fabrics made up 8 per cent of the total at the beginning of this period but had risen to 25 per cent of the total by 1880. It seems that there was no question that silk fabrics “never played as important a role in the modern export trade as raw silk.”42 Together with Kwantung (hence Canton), Shanghai and the vast area of Kiangnan became in fact the most extensive regions of silk production in China and might be taken as emblematic of what happened in the Chinese silk industry as a whole. In the 1860s most of the silk spun in the Shanghai district was still produced by home-workers using traditional spinning wheels, and it would only be in the 1890s that mechanical spinning mills became firmly established. Thereafter, however, such industrial silk production would play a key role in the region’s exports: in 1895, for example, only 12 per cent of the silk exported from the port had been spun in steam-powered mills, but by 1925 the figure was 99 per cent. What we see in Shanghai over these decades is the emergence of a capitalist culture and organization of production, similar to that which was developing meanwhile in Hong Kong. Nevertheless, one sees a sort of commercial dualism emerging within the region of Kiangnan itself, reflecting the dualism that was typical both of domestic consumption within China and its system of agricultural land ownership – that is, “a clear separation between two sectors, one oriented toward the traditional

 42 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 73.

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reeling and weaving; the other oriented toward the modernized reeling industry.”43 As has been observed, in southern China “both rich and poor alike wore either silk or cotton garments, there was always a market for silk products, but in north China, where everyone was more frugal, the market was not so reliable.” Thus in the northern regions “each family would have to learn all the steps in sericulture,” while in the rich areas to the south – for example, Chia-hsing – “nearly all the households raised silkworms, consequently the loss and gains could be spread around, but in north China a loss in one season would be difficult to recover in the next.”44 True, there was a very ancient tradition of even the smallest farm cultivating some mulberry trees, from a time when all families whose holdings were between 5 and 10 mou45 were expected to cultivate hemp, cotton and mulberry; and those who did not cultivate the latter had at least to weave a piece of silk “in order to satisfy their tax obligations.”46 Towards the end of the nineteenth century, things were coming to a head in this rather backward system – particularly in those situations where the amount of mulberry trees cultivated on smallholdings was simply incapable of satisfying the growing demand for raw silk.47 This was the ultimate weakness of Kwangtung when compared with the Shanghai area, the latter’s factory system going together with an agriculture comprised of larger farming concerns run in accordance with capitalist criteria. Nevertheless, domestic and foreign demand were decisive features in both Kiangnan and Kwangtung, given that in both regions one sees evidence of the modernization brought about by the introduction of steam-powered spinning mills. In Kiangnan, in fact, one sees a sort of commercial dualism, in that “the silk produced by the modernized sector of the industry supplied the export trade, while the silk produced by the traditional sector continued to supply the domestic market, which remained substantial.”48 Thus one has to take into

 43 Ibid., 112. 44 Ibid., 137. 45 1 mou = 0.14 acre (see the Table in The Cambridge History of China, 8, xxiii; see above). 46 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 131. 47 Mau Chuan-Hui, “L’industrie de la soie à Canton,” La Revue (Musée des Arts et Métiers) (Paris: Février 2006), 4–15; Wong Chor Yee, Proto-Industrialisation and the Silk Industry of the Canton Delta (1662–1934) (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1995), quoted by Mau Chuan-Hui. 48 Lillian M. Li, “Silks by Sea: Trade, Technology, and Enterprise in China and Japan,” The Textile Industries, 99–100.

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consideration the extent to which internal demand determined the character of silk production and enabled it to survive – even though the predominant situation was one in which domestic consumption remained practically unchanged, with China apparently focusing upon the export of raw silk (there was a clear increase therein from 1880 to 1926) rather than fabrics (exported in lower quantities over the same period). The fact is that if, in some regions, centres of textile manufacture of some size did survive, this was primarily where these supplied the domestic market. Nevertheless it is undeniable that in the region of Canton the introduction of mechanical spinning mills not only anticipated the success that Shanghai would enjoy but also stimulated exports of such products: in 1882, spun yarn accounted for only 13.1 per cent of silk exports but by 1895 that figure had risen to 90 per cent, and such products would thence dominate the entire sector of such exports from that port. Even so, Canton continued to fall behind Shanghai, despite the fact that the former enjoyed a highly suitable climate for silkworm farming: while it might be true that its higher temperatures meant that there could have been up to seven harvests of cocoons a year, only a tiny number of peasant farms were able to take advantage of such conditions (because others had insufficient numbers of mulberry trees). It has been calculated that an entire acre of mulberry plantation could produce just 24 picul of leaves, thus it was only the larger properties that were in a position to exploit the favourable climatic conditions and provide feed for seven cycles of silkworms.49 Another factor to be taken into account is that, while mulberry plantations may have encroached upon land once used for crops traditional in the Kwangtung region (sugar cane and rice), the spinning of the silk was still largely dependent upon female labour. Thus, one had an organization of productive and agricultural activities in which the young girls in the family did make a contribution to the family income (through silk spinning) and yet the whole system guaranteed that the region did not enjoy the advances of Kiangnan. In effect, the distinguishing characteristics of Kwangtung were low levels of domestic consumption, and the close proximity of silk spinning to the agricultural areas that produced the cocoons. In other words, unlike Kiangnan, this region did not have the sort of dualism that resulted in levels of manufacturing which could both supply a – rather large – internal market and produce for export. As Lillian Li has concluded: “the Cantonese silk industry could hardly be termed a success. Foreigners described the filatures as being dirty and inefficient, using backward machinery and defective cocoons. Thus, while modernization

 49 Suchera Mazumdar, Sugar and Society in China, 280.

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in the narrow technological sense occurred earlier and more completely in the Canton delta, modernization in the larger sense did not take place.”50 The situation in the Chinese silk industry at the turn of the century was, therefore, far from uniform. In many provinces (Nanking, Suzhou, Hangzhou, Sheng-tse and, perhaps, Hu-chou) there had been a drop in the overall number of spinning frames, with the sole exception to this trend being in Shanghai. This latter, in fact, would have 6,000 spinning frames in action in 1930, while all the other cities had seen a sharp reduction (or, in the best possible scenario, no increase – as may have been the case in Hu-chou). Similarly, there was a clear focus upon the production and export of silk thread (especially white silk), shipped from the ports of Canton and Shanghai. At the same time, however, the domestic market turned towards less expensive silk fabrics: “The popularity of synthetics and lower grades of silk suggests the emergence of a new kind of market, probably based on the tastes of a more westernized treaty port population.”51 It is also true that the less important centres of textile production, which supplied their own internal market with products of medium to low quality, suffered less from a phenomenon one sees in the major centres of production: the split between the weaving of textiles and the supply of silk thread (even if high-quality Tsatlee yarns). Yet it is this very specialization which explains why the larger centres of textile manufacture outside Kiangnan could survive the far-reaching changes in the foreign market. At the same time, the mass-market textiles (pongees) made in Shantung from silk produced from worms fed on oak leaves continued to find domestic customers – as did the yellow silk of Szechwan, which was less sought after on international markets. Despite this, the overall value of the silk trade (raw, spun and fabrics) now outdistanced that of tea, the other typical Chinese product: by 1898, the exports of the latter were only half the value of Chinese silk exports. Still, one must also take into account that the range of Chinese exports was becoming wider, with silk itself dropping as a percentage of the total: while towards the end of the nineteenth century it accounted for 40 per cent, that figure had fallen to just 16 per cent by 1930. As for the types and qualities of raw silk exported, these were numerous, with white silk traditionally being regarded as that of the highest quality; and if modern technology was applied in the spinning of the white silk, the product underwent an increase in value. The most

 50 Li, “Silks by Sea” The Textile Industries, 100, and “Silks by Sea: Trade, Technology, and Enterprise in China and Japan,” The Business History Review 56,2 (1982): 192–217 51 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 126.

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famous of the white silks – and that in greatest demand on the world market (in France, above all) – was called Tsatlee silk and was produced in the prefecture of Hu-chou, in the heart of the silk-making region of north Chekiang. After 1842, Tsatlee silks were much sought after; however, given that their quality was not always of the same high standard, they were spun using steam-powered machinery only when destined for foreign markets (their first appearance in foreign trade statistics dates from 1911). The same process of development can be seen in other white silks: Kashing silks from Kiangnan province, and Haineen and Wuchun silks from Hangzhou prefecture (both areas with a long tradition of silk production). From the beginning of the 1890s, these silks – which had once been spun by home-workers – were redirected towards steam-powered spinning mills and then exported, their value enhanced. While in 1894 steam-powered mills accounted for 45 per cent of the spun white silk exported, by 1920 that figure had risen to 80 per cent, a growth which confirms not only positive developments within the silk industry but also a certain ability to assimilate British and European mechanical technology (a key issue in any comparison of China and Europe). As we have seen, Canton had, in general terms, been overtaken by Shanghai – in 1925, the latter exported 120,053 picul of raw silk out of a national total estimated at 168,017 – yet with regard to exports of white silk from steampowered mills, the former managed to maintain its position: in 1895 Shanghai exported only 11.7 per cent of the national total, while Canton handled a full 85.2 per cent. However, by 1925–30 the provinces would be about equal, the two together accounting for 98–99 per cent of white silk exports. One thing that must be stressed here is that the prices fetched by white silk spun in industrial mills quickly outstripped those achieved by home-spun silk, and thus provided rewards that encouraged investments in the sector. In Shanghai, for example, over the period 1897–1931 the market prices of industrial silk were around 70–80 per cent higher than those of home-spun silks. Other products reveal how Chinese silk making was gaining on its European rivals. Produced in the regions of Shantung and Szechuan, yellow silk was widely sold in Europe, as was another particular silk produced from the cocoon of silkworms fed not on the traditional mulberry leaves but on oak leaves. These special silks – the product of Manchuria and Shantung – were in great demand in France and the United States in particular: given their softness, they could be washed repeatedly and thus used for small items of mass consumption. Furthermore, like Europe, China did not totally abandon the use of home-produced silks,

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which continued to have a market given that they were cheaper than those made by the great silk factories.52

5 Overall, therefore, one sees a radical restructuring of the world silk market in the second half of the nineteenth century and the first decades of the twentieth century. A prime factor in this was the way China took advantage of the new technological know-how (steam-powered spinning mills) while exemplifying the dynamism then to be seen in Asian economies as a whole (from Bengal to Japan), whose silk industries would ultimately overtake their European counterparts. One of those counterparts was in Italy, whose silk industry was obviously far from negligible, given that in the first half of the nineteenth century its share of the world market was substantially higher than China’s: in 1820–24, Italy accounted for 65.7 per cent of sales, China 11.9 per cent and India 16.6 per cent, with a clear predominance of raw silks among Italy’s output (exported to numerous European countries, including France).53 Then, from the 1850s onwards, both Italy and France saw the dramatic spread of pébrine, a disease which destroyed silkworm eggs, and as a result the balance of power within the world silk industry changed.54 Indeed, from 1868 onwards, France was forced to acquire abundant quantities of silk directly from China (which also led to a profound change in the role traditionally played in this sector by French commerce).55 In 1853 the country had

 52 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 72–81. 53 Giuseppe Federico, An Economic History of the Silk Industry, 1830–1930 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 200. The data offered by Federico, however, does not permit one to distinguish clearly between the different markets for raw and spun silk or finished fabrics. 54 Mau Chuan-Hui, “Enquêtes françaises sur la sériciculture chinoise et leur influence, fin XVIIe–fin XIXe siècles,” in Documents pour l’histoire des techniques (Centre d’histoire des techniques et de l’environnement du Cnam, Paris) 14 (October 2007): 24–36. 55 One should not forget that complete liberalization of Chinese silk imports had always been opposed by the French East India Company (concerned to protect its monopolistic interests) and by those involved in the more traditional channels whereby raw and finished silks came into France. Italian silks were of no small importance here, particularly given that they were held to be of fine quality while Chinese raw silk was considered to be suitable only for the production of certain fabrics. However, this generalization in no way diminished appreciation of white Nanking silk, with Lyons in particular always playing a role in the imports of that

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managed to produce some 26 million kg (433,000 picul) of silk – alongside its substantial quantities of soierie d’haute gamme, manufactured in the Lyons area – but just one year later pébrine had caused that figure to plummet to 4 million kg (around 67,000 picul).56 True, the disease also spread in the Middle East and Asia, but the current interpretation of events is that both Japan and China turned out to be better prepared than Europe to deal with the infection.57 In France, Louis Pasteur’s work would prove essential in restoring the industry, but at an economic level China had two factors working in its favour as an exporter of raw silk: the high quality of its product and the low costs of its silkworm farming and silk reeling. It is no coincidence that by the turn of the the twentieth century, France was the largest importer of Tsatlee white silk. Yet while these factors did basically deal an almost mortal blow to French and Italian silkworm farming, the added value of the woven silk fabrics those countries produced and sold on foreign markets was still far from negligible. In France, such weaving – particularly in the Lyons area – remained a vital economic sector, and in Italy the situation was more nuanced than it appears. There is no question that pébrine had meant that the country’s silk industry continually lost market share to the Chinese, falling from 65.7 per cent in the years 1820–24 to 29.3 per cent in 1856– 59 (while China’s in this latter period jumped to 50.8 per cent, and would never again fall below Italy’s).58 However, the picture is less dramatic if one looks at the actual value of the goods sold. Various factors might lead one to question of validity of the percentage figures we have – for example, how many exports were not registered as they left Chinese ports? How often was the value of the Chinese silk deliberately underestimated? Yet, setting these doubts aside, the data we have show that right up to the First World War the actual value of Italian silk exports exceeded that of those from China. To return to the period 1868–72, when the pébrine epidemic had been defeated, the percentages for the value of these exports show that Italy had 43.4 per cent of the world market as against China’s 39.1 per cent; even in 1903–07, the respective figures would be 40 per cent and 24.8 per cent.59 Obviously, such figures only tell half the story, which should also be examined from other points of view – for example,

 raw material. Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident, II, 583–585; Haudrère, La Compagnie française des Indes, I, 300–302. 56 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 82. 57 On this issue, see Claudio Zanier, Setaioli italiani in Asia. Imprenditori della seta in Asia centrale (1859–1871) (Padua: CLEUP, 2008). 58 Federico, An Economic History, 200. 59 Ibid.

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the role of international events or domestic upheavals. The validity of this observation becomes undeniable when one looks at the advent on the international scene of two “newcomers” – the United States and Japan – whose political and economic weight would inevitably change the situation as it stood. True, another nation to play a role here was India, but the statistical evidence we have shows that it was then only a minor player in the world silk trade – with regard to the amount of Chinese raw silk imported and its own market share (in terms of both volume and value). During the course of the twentieth century, the United States would emerge as the number one importer of raw silk, with New York becoming “the leading international silk center;” in 1916 the county had imported 233,000 picul of raw silk (60 per cent of that traded on the world market), but by the 1920s it would be importing 450,000 picul per year. Yet while the United States had clearly become an important importer of this luxury raw material, the appearance of Japan on the world market was extraordinary for its sheer speed.60 In the years preceding the Second World War (1936–38), it had cut Italy’s share of the world market to 6.2 per cent and China’s to 10.7 per cent, taking a massive 83.1 per cent for itself.61 Obviously, this is not the place to give this phenomenal growth the in-depth examination it warrants, but one can observe that it is linked to the complex of issues raised by the Meiji Restoration. This process, which began in 1868, would see Japan undertake successful modernization that rose to the challenge posed by Western economies and the parameters upon which they were based. And all this took place at a time when China was struggling with the internal contradictions within its institutions and within its agricultural and manufacturing sectors. For example, the crisis within imperial manufactories inevitably had a fundamental impact upon quality-goods production, a sector with which traditional manufacturing facilities had co-existed. True, there was a long historical tradition of the use of silk garments, but how could this not clash with the ingrained poverty of many Chinese regions, with the limitations of agriculture, the small scale of mulberry tree cultivation and the absence of new technologies? Nevertheless, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the silk industry remained important in China, even if tended to specialize in high-quality raw silks such as Tsatlee white silks. At the same time, China was losing its share of the market in high-addedvalue textiles: “the structure of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century domestic demand for silk fabrics was quite different from that of

 60 Li, China’s Silk Trade, 83. 61 Federico, An Economic History, 200.

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the early Ch’ing period. No longer was there such a larger part of the market for the ultra-high quality luxury brocades and satins.”62 Indeed it is possible that the weakness of China’s silk-manufacturing industry resulted from low demand among the middling sort and the absence of a strong urban middle class, due to the inadequacy of the nation’s technological response to pressure from European countries. What is more, that response also depended upon Japanese capital for investment in new factories – but that is another issue, even if an important chapter in the history of relations between these neighbouring, and fiercely competitive, nations. All of this shows how domestic and export markets, industrialized production, consumer spending power, national economic policies and international trade are all bound together. Whatever the truth, in examining this sector it is our task as historians to unravel the interaction between the various factors in play, to explore how situations alter over time; how the balance of power between international trading partners can change. To paraphrase Giovanni Arrighi (Adam Smith at Beijn),63 the fact that, after the long parenthesis with which we are all familiar, contemporary China has once more become a player in world markets offers us any number of scenarios for exploration and examination.

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Poni, Carlo. “Archéologie de la fabrique: la diffusion des moulins à soie ‘alla bolognese’ dans les Etats vénitiens du XVle au XVlle siècle,” Annales E.S.C., 27, 6 (1972): 1475–1496. —. “All’origine del sistema di fabbrica: tecnologia e organizzazione produttiva dei mulini da seta nell’Italia settentrionale (Sec. 17–18),” Rivista Storica Italiana 88, 3 (1976): 445–497. Rossabi, Morris. “The Silk Trade in China and Central Asia,” in When Silk Was Gold. Central Asian and Chinese Textiles, ed. James C.Y. Watt, Anne E. Wardwell and Morris Rossab. New York: Metropolitan Museum, 1997, 7–19. Santangelo, Paolo. Le manifatture tessili imperiali durante le dinastie Ming e Qing con particolare attenzione a quelle di Suzhou (Supplement of the Annals of The Oriental Institute of Naples, no. 38). Naples: The Oriental Institute of Naples, 1984. Santangelo, Paulo. “Urban Society in Late Imperial Suzhou,” in Cities of Jingnan in Late Imperial China, ed. Linda C. Johnson. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1993, 81–116. van Dyke, Paul. Merchants of Canton and Macao: Politics and Strategies in Eighteenth-Century Chinese Trade. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011. Verley, Patrick. “Marché des produits de luxe et division internationale du travail (XIXe–XXe siècles)”. Revue de Synthèse, 5th series, 2 (2006): 359–378. Wallerstein, Immanuel. The Modern World-System, 3 vols. New York: Academic Press, 1974–89. Weizong. Huang. “Huaiji County, a Sign that Indicates Marine Silk Road Extends to Inland,” in Huaiji Conjunction Point of Silk Road on Both Land and Sea, with a foreword by Mao Rongkai. Huaiji, Huaiji Gazetteer Office: 2005, 3–7. Weng Eang Cheong. The Hong Merchants of Canton. Chinese Merchants in Sino-Western Trade. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1997. Wong Chor Yee. Proto-Industrialisation and the Silk Industry of the Canton Delta (1662–1934). Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1995. Zanier, Claudio, “Where the Roads Met: East and West in the Silk Production Process,” in The Textile Industries, ed. Sydney D. Chapman, Vol. 3 (London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 1997), 30–55. Zanier, Claudio, Setaioli italiani in Asia. Imprenditori della seta in Asia centrale (1859–1871) (Padua: CLEUP, 2008). Zhao Chunchen and Leng Dong, eds. Shisanhang yu Guangzhou Chengshi Fazhang (The Development of the Thirteen Factories and Guangzhou Town). Guangzhou: China Publishing Group & World Book Inc., 2011.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN THE SPANISH LINK IN THE CANTON TRADE, 1787–1830: SILVER, OPIUM AND THE ROYAL PHILIPPINE COMPANY ANDER PERMANYER-UGARTEMENDIA

On the night of September 12, 1839, a Chinese patrol boarded the Spanish brig Bilbaíno, moored in the waters of Taipa Island, in Macao, suspected of being an opium depot, and burned the ship down, after having captured its crew. The Spanish authorities in the Philippines claimed that the ship was carrying no opium on board, and made the issue one among other casus belli of the Opium War, for which they demanded compensation from the Chinese government through the intervention of the British Chief Superintendent Charles Elliot. As a matter of fact, the Chinese patrol mistook the ship for the Virginia, one of the main opium depots of the prominent British house of Jardine, Matheson & Co. 1 However, the Chinese officials did not commit such a preposterous mistake, as the Spaniards themselves had also had interests in the opium business: perhaps they were thinking about the former identity of the Virginia, as it had formerly hoisted the Spanish flag, when it was named San Sebastián and was used, by the Spanish house in Canton (Guangzhou) of Yrisarri y Cª during the 1820s, as an opium depot anchored at Lingding Island. James Matheson had been one of the main partners of Yrisarri y Cª from 1821 until 1827, and surely he was acquainted with the particulars of one of the most important ships of his fleet long before it was named Virginia, on board of which he travelled to Xiamen (Amoy) in 1823 as an experiment in engaging in opium smuggling on the Fujian coast, the first 1

Arthur Waley, The Opium War through Chinese Eyes (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1958), 74–75. David Martínez Robles, “La participación española en el proceso de penetración occidental en China” (PhD dissertation, Universitat Pompeu Fabra, 2007), 219–223.

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among others to follow carried out by the Spanish house. 2 As for the Bilbaíno, its consignee Gabriel de Yruretagoyena was a merchant also involved in the opium trade, and as Spanish Agent of Trade in Macao, he started the procedures for the formal demand for compensation. From 1822 until 1830, he had been partner of the Spanish house of Lorenzo Calvo y Cª in Canton, the other main Spanish opium house in Canton. The story of the Bilbaíno incident shows the Spaniards’ sustained and committed presence in the commercial networks of the South China Sea, their familiarity with the particulars of the Canton trade, and their cooperation with the British, even though by the 1830s this presence was dwindling. The Spanish presence in the development of the Canton trade, though, is usually disregarded in the literature. 3 Although the leading Iberian role in Western trade and expansion in East Asia during the early modern period is usually acknowledged,4 there are few works devoted to the issue, as the Spaniards and Portuguese ceased to set the Western agenda in the region after 1640, and usually a complete Iberian retreat in Macao and Manila is taken for granted, even though both powers remained in the region, closely taking part in the regional and global commercial networks of the South China Sea.5 Maritime China studies point to the variegated interactions of the Chinese foreign trade, yet the connections of the latter to the Spanish Empire, and the Philippines in particular, are just beginning to be explored. Both the literature on Western trade in East Asia and that on the Philippine economy, fail to address the connexions between 2

Ander Permanyer-Ugartemendia, “Opium after the Manila Galleon: The Spanish Involvement in the Opium Economy in East Asia (1815–1830),” Investigaciones de Historia Económica. Economic History Research 10 (2014): 160. 3 For one notorious exception, see Paul A. van Dyke, Merchants of Canton and Macao: Success and Failure in Eighteenth-Century Chinese Trade (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2016), 61–96, as well as Paul A. van Dyke, “Manila, Macao and Canton: The Ties that Bind,” Review of Culture (International Edition). Revista de Cultura (Edição internacional) 18 (2006): 125–134. 4 Among the various works on the Iberians in East Asia in the early modern period, see John E. Wills, Jr, ed., China and Maritime Europe, 1500–1800. Trade, Settlement, Diplomacy, and Missions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). As for Manila in particular, Birgit Tremml-Werner, Spain, China and Japan in Manila, 1571–1644. Local Comparisons and Global Connections (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015). 5 Recent research shows how the Spaniards established their agenda in the region despite mercantilist restrictions and international impositions during the second half of the seventeenth century; José Herrera Reviriego, “Manila y la gobernación de Filipinas en el mundo interconectado de la segunda mitad del siglo XVII” (PhD dissertation, Universitat Jaume I, 2014).

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China and the Spanish Empire, as each entails specific complexities, usually not mutually understood by their respective experts. Evidence of the Spanish presence in the development of the Canton trade is diverse. At least since the middle of the eighteenth century, when various measures were undertaken in the Spanish Empire to expand the colonial economy – in what it is known in the literature as the “Bourbon reforms” – Spanish interests across the South China Sea had developed. There is evidence that Manila traders engaged in direct trade with China, many of them being also suppliers for the Manila Galleon. A commercial navigation line closely connected Macao and Manila, the Bilbaíno being but one example. The Royal Philippine Company (Real Compañía de Filipinas), a Spanish chartered company for the Asian trade, was established at the end of the eighteenth century, its Canton factory opening in 1787, just prior to the opening of Manila to international trade in 1790.6 At least since the 1810s, there is evidence of its employees’ engagement in the opium trade between Calcutta (Kolkata) and Canton in their private ventures. This evidence notwithstanding, further investigation of the Spanish presence in East Asia trade is needed,7 as well as an extensive survey of the trade of the Royal Philippine Company in Asia.8 Evaluations of Spanish involvement in trade with China may be downplayed when considering only its share in Canton, yet when put in the context of the Hispanic Pacific commercial system it is not negligible: this includes the Manila Galleon, with its links to China, India and Southeast Asia, as well as other traffic in the region and in the Pacific Ocean.9 This chapter will try to determine the main features defining the Spanish presence in the Canton trade at the end of the eighteenth century 6

Mª Lourdes Díaz-Trechuelo, La Real Compañía de Filipinas (Seville: Publicaciones de la Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos de Sevilla, 1965), 200–212. 7 An approach to the basic features of the Spanish Pacific commercial system is given in Carlos Martínez Shaw, El sistema comercial español del Pacífico (1765– 1820). Discurso leído el día 11 de noviembre de 2007 en la recepción pública del Excmo. Sr. D. Carlos Martínez Shaw y contestación por la Excma. Sra. D.ª Carmen Iglesias (Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 2007). 8 There is a widely known monograph on the Royal Philippine Company, though it needs a regional and global approach; Díaz-Trechuelo, La Real Compañía de Filipinas. 9 Carmen Yuste, Emporios transpacíficos. Comerciantes mexicanos en Manila. 1710–1815 (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2007). Mariano Ardash Bonialian, El Pacífico hispanoamericano. Política y comercio asiático en el Imperio Español (1680–1784) (Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 2012).

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and the beginning of the nineteenth, pointing to the Spanish contribution to this system; thus, we will deal with the increasing silver transit to China in the last decades of the eighteenth century,10 the Chinese interests in the Manila trade, the still not too well known activities of the Royal Philippine Company and the Spanish involvement in the opium trade during the first decades of the nineteenth century, among other topics. We will try to identify the main actors of this system, their variety and their networks, and the collaborative nature of the Canton trade, downplaying national and institutional frameworks under which trading activities developed,11 as an important Hispano-British collaboration took place. In so doing, we will also point to the complexities of what we understand as “Hispanic,” rather than “Spanish,” pointing to differing local, colonial, intercolonial and metropolitan agendas; among Peninsular Spaniards, Basques and BasqueNavarrese were prominent. 12 We will exemplify these developments, identifying some basic features present towards the end of the eighteenth century, when the factory of the Royal Philippine Company was established in Canton in 1787, and during the 1820s, when the Spanish opium trade developed, until 1830. In so doing, we will point to several priorities to guide future research on the Spanish presence in the East Asia trade.

Spanish Official Reactions to an Expanding Global Economy The Royal Philippine Company was the hallmark of Bourbon policies in the Asia and Pacific sphere, devised as a response to several processes taking place in the Philippines, Asia and the Pacific, and concerning the Spanish political economy, the global trade and European politics in the colonial sphere. Its main goal was to increase the Spanish presence in the 10 Man-houng Lin, China Upside Down: Currency, Society, and Ideologies, 1808– 1856 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007), 29–71. 11 Paul A. van Dyke, The Canton Trade. Life and Enterprise on the China Coast, 1700–1845 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), 161–176. 12 Álvaro Aragón Ruano and Alberto Angulo Morales, “The Spanish Basque Country in Global Trade Networks in the Eighteenth Century,” International Journal of Maritime History XXV/1 (2013): 149–172. Ander PermanyerUgartemendia, “Opio, familia y paisanaje: vascos, criollos filipinos y escoceses en el comercio de Asia oriental (1815–1830),” in Recuperando el Norte. Empresas, capitales, y proyectos atlánticos en la economía imperial hispánica, ed. Alberto Angulo Morales and Álvaro Aragón Ruano (Bilbao: Universidad del País Vasco, 2016), 219–240.

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East Asia trade, as a way to address the colonial-dominated Manila Galleon trans-shipment trade – which was perceived as the main cause of the Spanish economic underdevelopment in the region, as well as pernicious to metropolitan economic interests – and also as a way to compete with the increasing British presence in the colonial sphere. Thanks to the Company, its employees, such as the aforementioned Yrisarri, Yruretagoyena and Calvo among others, could thrive in the wide commercial networks of East Asia linking Canton, Calcutta and Manila, and stretching up to Latin America and Spain. This chartered company was established in 1785 to enhance Philippine economic development, through the promotion of local agricultural production and manufacturing, in order to place the Philippines in regional and international trade networks. Needless to say, it attempted to emulate the success story of models such as the British East India Company (EIC) or the Dutch United East India Company (VOC). Triggered by the British occupation of Manila and Havana in 1762–64 during the Seven Years’ War, other measures were undertaken in the Philippines besides the creation of the Company, such as the promotion of direct travel from the Iberian Peninsula to the archipelago; reforms of the Philippine territorial, revenue and administration systems; the creation of several state monopolies; and the creation of the Chamber of Commerce, or Consulado, of Manila, in 1769, along with institutions to promote economic development, such as the Sociedad Económica de Amigos del País in 1781, or the Intendencia, to oversee economic and fiscal development, in 1784. In addition, the colony was starting to develop its export crops, which would consolidate in the first decades of the nineteenth century.13 Even though several chartered companies were established from the 1730s onwards in the Spanish Empire in America, their Asian counterpart came into being rather late. Previous attempts had been hindered by internal political economy concerns, for any increase in the Asia trade was feared as a fierce competitor to the trade in Southern Spanish textiles in the Spanish American markets, transported along the Carrera de Indias to the Mexican port of Veracruz, which the metropolitan elites strove to

13

Josep M. Fradera, Filipinas, la colonia más peculiar. La hacienda pública en la definición de la política colonial, 1762–1868 (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1999), 71–131. Luis Alonso Álvarez, El costo del imperio asiático. La formación colonial de las islas Filipinas bajo dominio español, 1565–1800 (San Juan Michoacán, Mexico: Instituto de Investigaciones Dr. José Mª Luis Mora, 2009), 305–338.

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protect. 14 Besides, until the decrease of the Dutch hegemony in Asia during the second half of the century, Dutch appeals to the treaty of Münster prevented the development of new Spanish trading routes in the East Asia seas.15 The new company tried to reconcile the development and diversification of the Philippine productive system with the protection of metropolitan economic interests, as a restrictive system for the Galleon trade was maintained, thus undermining it as a serious competitor to the Carrera de Indias.16 Spanish proyectistas wanted the Philippine economy to get rid of the trans-shipment trade represented by the Galleon, as it supposedly did not promote local production and gave way to a significant loss of bullion outside the borders of the empire. This promotion of local Philippine production and commercial distribution was to be made with a strong implication of Peninsular Spanish interests. Soon the Company did not yield the expected benefits, and a strategy of diversification from 1787 onwards was devised, engaging also in the Asian textiles trade: the direct trade with the sources of supply in China being a priority, the Canton factory of the Royal Philippine Company was established; an additional factory in Calcutta would be set up in 1796. This represented a diversion from the corporation’s initial goals, neglecting the Philippine economy and devoting it to a rent-seeking strategy and Asian “country trade.” The Company was established over an already existing Spanish network in the region, aimed at the provision of trans-Pacific trade, making it more complex than the usual depiction of the Galleon as a single route. While in recent years we have come to know more details on the American side of the system – such as the retail sales and the wide familial groups behind the trade17 – more information on the Asian side is needed. In the mideighteenth century, actors and sources of supply had already started to diversify, and Manileño traders had been navigating the East Asia seas even during the second half of the seventeenth century, along with Asian, 14 Most of the supposedly Spanish textiles came from other European countries; Bonialian, El Pacífico hispanoamericano, 119–141. 15 Marina Alfonso Mola and Carlos Martínez Shaw, “La ruta del Cabo y el comercio español con Filipinas,” in Un océano de seda y plata: el universo económico del Galeón de Manila, ed. Salvador Bernabéu Albert and Carlos Martínez Shaw (Seville: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2013), 307–340. 16 Benito Legarda, Jr, “Two and a Half Centuries of the Galleon Trade,” Philippine Studies 3/4 (1955): 345–372. 17 Mariano Ardash Bonialian, China en la América colonial: bienes, mercados, comercio y cultura del consumo desde México hasta Buenos Aires (Mexico City: Instituto Mora, 2014). Yuste, Emporios transpacíficos.

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Dutch and British traders, thus not complying with official regulations forbidding their access to East Asian ports and supposedly leaving to the Chinese the supply side of the Galleon. The creation of the Consulado in 1769 officially put an end to the prohibition, while restricting the Galleon trade to its members only and encouraging alternative trading activities.18 The Spanish transit to the Pearl River Delta increased by the middle of the eighteenth century, and even more during the last two decades.19 After the lift of the Kangxi sea ban in 1727, several Macanese provisions were envisioned to divert Manila transit from Canton, aimed at the attraction of American silver; from 1746 onwards, Spain’s was the only European flag permitted in the Portuguese enclave.20 Surely, there were strong commercial ties between the Manileños and the Chinese, both in the Philippines and in China, especially in the Pearl River area and, to a lesser degree, in Xiamen, where the Manila ships had also been permitted at least since the seventeenth century.21 We know the importance of the Manila trade to the fortune of the Pan family, and especially of Pan Zhencheng “Poankeequa,” 18 As regards the increase of the Hispanic trade in the East Asia seas at the end of the eighteenth century, Pierre Chaunu, Les Philippines et le Pacifique des Ibériques (XVIe, XVIIe, XVIIIe siècles). Introduction méthodologique et indices d’activité (Paris: SEVPEN, 1960), 147–198. Mª Lourdes Díaz-Trechuelo, “El comercio de Filipinas durante la segunda mitad del siglo XVIII,” Revista de Indias XXIII/93–94 (1963): 463–485. Paul A. van Dyke, “New Sea Routes to Canton in the eighteenth Century and the Decline of China’s Control over Trade,” in Studies of Maritime History. Haiyang shi yanjiu, ed. Li Qingxin (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2010), I/57–108. Bonialian, El Pacífico hispanoamericano, 400–404. 19 Ander Permanyer-Ugartemendia, “Competencia y colaboración: la Real Compañía de Filipinas, el Galeón de Manila y las redes comerciales de Asia oriental,” in Redes imperiales: intercambios, interacciones y representación política entre Nueva España, las Antillas y Filipinas, siglos XVII–XIX, ed. MaríaDolores Elizalde Pérez-Grueso and Carmen Yuste López (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, forthcoming). 20 Benjamim Videira Pires, S.J., A viagem de comércio Macau-Manila nos séculos XVI a XIX. (Comunicação apresentada ao V Congresso da “Associação Internacional de Historiadores da Ásia”) (Macao: Centro de Estudos Marítimos de Macau, 1987), 60–82. Ângela Guimarães, Uma relação especial. Macau e as relações luso-chinesas (1780–1844) (Lisbon: Centro de Investigação e Estudos de Sociologia, 1996), 66–72, 169–225, 251–265. Leonor Diaz de Seabra, “Power, Society and Trade. The Historical Relationships between Macao and the Philippines (sixteenth–eighteenth Centuries),” Review of Culture (International Edition) Revista de Cultura (Edição international) 7 (2003): 56–58. 21 Ng Chin-keong, Trade and Society. The Amoy Network on the China Coast, 1683–1735 (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 1983), 55–59.

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one of the most prominent hong merchants of Canton, as well as to some of his connections to the Spanish colony.22 Perhaps the Spaniards were also looking for direct trade as a way to avoid conditions imposed by the Chinese in Manila, while the shifts in the economic role of the latter, as the junk trade declined during the last third of the century, also prompted them to look for other sources of income; in addition, the non-Catholic Chinese were expelled from the Philippines in 1755.23 Besides regional trade, part of the increasing Spanish navigation to China was tied to the provision of the Galleon trade. Recent studies call into question the supposedly long crisis of the Galleon during the second half the the eighteenth century, as its frequency would not dwindle until the last decade, and even then the total amount of merchandise permitted was loaded on each expedition.24 The Manila–Acapulco trade would have interacted with new competitors, including the Philippine Company, also increasing sources of supply. Despite analyses pointing to the Company as a main factor in the Galleon crisis, the former was more a symptom than a cause, as diversification, the irruption of new actors and changes in global trade shifted the interest from the Manila traders to new activities. In addition, it is doubtful whether the Company, with its economic problems, its limited benefits in Spanish America and its commitment to trades other than the trans-Pacific, could be a serious competitor to the Galleon, the latter being the main economic institution of the Islands until at least 1800. In fact, the growth in the Manileño trade to China and in the transPacific Galleon were part of a wider process, towards which the various Bourbon measures were directed, in what Anthony Reid called “a new phase of commercial expansion” – following that of the widely known “age of commerce” between the fiveteenth and seventeenth centuries25 – during which both local and European private trade in Asia expanded, to the detriment of monopolies, between 1760 and 1850. While most European 22

van Dyke, Merchants of Canton and Macao, 61–96. Nariko Sugaya, “Chinese Immigrant Society in the Latter Half of the eighteenthCentury Philippines: Strategy for Survival in Response to Spain’s New Chinese Policy,” in Intercultural Relations, Cultural Transformation, and Identity. The Ethnic Chinese: Selected Papers Presented at the 1998 ISSCO Conference, ed. Teresita Ang See (Manila: Kaisa para Sa Kaunlaran, Inc., 2000), 553–570. 24 Manuel Pérez Lecha, “Los últimos años del Galeón de Manila. El ocaso de un modelo colonial hispano en el Pacífico, 1785–1821” (PhD dissertation, Universitat Jaume I, 2014). 25 Anthony Reid, “A new phase of commercial expansion in Southeast Asia, 1760– 1850,” in The Last Stand of Asian Autonomies, ed. Anthony Reid (London: St Martin’s Press, 1997), 57–82. 23

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chartered companies were in a process of crisis and dismantlement towards the end of the eighteenth century, the creation of such a non-liberal commercial structure as the Royal Philippine Company, along with the persistence of the Manila Galleon until 1815, were, together with the EIC, exceptions to the norm. These were the years of consolidation of the terms that defined the Canton trade, of the Second British Empire and British advancements in Asia – after the victory in Plassey (Palashi) and the 1762–64 occupation of Manila – and of rocketing British tea exports to England, as a result of the 1784 Commutation Act, thereby increasing India–China trade. Silver production in Mexico also increased during these years, the country becoming virtually the only supplier to China from 1775 onwards.26 The priorities established by the China trade, especially as a result of the development of new trading routes, and out of the necessity of finding solutions to British trade imbalance in Canton, were the driving forces behind the Britons’ expansion.27

The Establishment of the Royal Philippine Company in Canton As already mentioned, the outcomes of the Philippine Company soon were not up to the initial expectations, and the Canton factory was opened as an effort to diversify the company’s ambitions, namely, by throwing itself into the China trade. The Company was by no means a newcomer, as years of Manileño efforts to circumvent norms limiting their activities to the Philippine archipelago and new reforms such as the establishment of the Consulado had put the Galleon providers’ ships on the South China Sea, over which the Company surely tried to compete. Besides, other Peninsular corporations had just established factories in China, as part of the Bourbon efforts to counteract the colonials’ dominance of the colonial trade. While the Company had been aimed by design at the Asian trade, its forerunners were but branches of Peninsular corporations trying to expand their activities across the Pacific, namely, the Compañía de los Cinco Gremios Mayores de Madrid and the Cadiz house of Ustáriz, San Ginés y Cª. These firms’ Asian ventures, though, were erratic, and some of their members’ interests merged with those of the Galleon trade. Until the end of 1787, when Manuel de Agote y Bonechea and his second, Julián de Fuentes, established the factory, the Company dispatched 26

Lin, China Upside Down, 63–66. Howard T. Fry, “The Eastern Passage and Its Impact on Spanish Policy in the Philippines, 1758–1790,” Philippine Studies 33/1 (1985): 3–21.

27

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ships from Manila to Canton and then back to Manila, resorting to a similar method to Madras (Chennai), in order to complement activities in the archipelago. This being too expensive, as the acquisition of products increased their costs by up to 40 per cent,28 and above all as a part of the already mentioned diversification strategy, the establishment of an agency in China became paramount for the sustainability of the new corporation. New ventures were envisaged besides the direct acquisition of China merchandise, as two sectors increased their strategic value during those years – namely, the fur trade and Luzon rice imports into China. 29 Furthermore, other governmental reforms were aimed at the promotion of the new company and its interests in the continent, such as the permission for direct trade from Spain to India and China in 1790, as well as for the reception of Manila private consignments from 1792, 30 while Manila was opened to international trade in 1790. We still need to explore how the development of Philippine exports as a result of the Bourbon reforms affected the Canton trade. Along with commercial concerns, we also need to perceive the establishment of the Spanish factory in Canton as an outcome of political and diplomatic concerns, the Canton factories being one strategic theatre of European international politics in the Pacific; the diaries of the factory’s first, Manuel de Agote, show these concerns, as he was also an intelligence gatherer for the monarchy. In spite of the differing political goals of their imperial structures and the plain British interests in the Philippine archipelago, various converging interests compelled British and Spanish traders to merge in their East Asia trade in an entente.31 While the former could offer access to information, contacts, networks and products as a result of their dominance of most of the Western trade in India and China, the latter provided access to silver sources and the Philippine markets. These arrangements were informal, even though some attempts were put forward after the Peace of Paris of 28

Díaz-Trechuelo, La Real Compañía de Filipinas, 59. Salvador Bernabéu Albert, “Sobre intercambios comerciales entre China y California en el último tercio del siglo XVIII. El oro suave,” in Traspasando fronteras: el reto de Asia y el Pacífico, ed. F.J. Antón Burgos and L.O. Ramos Alonso (Valladolid, Spain: Universidad de Valladolid, 2002), I/471–484; H.B. Morse, The Chronicles of the East India Company Trading to China, 1635–1834 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926), II/136. van Dyke, “New Sea Routes to Canton,” 64–67. 30 Díaz-Trechuelo, La Real Compañía de Filipinas, 78. 31 We take this expression from Carmen Parrón Salas, De las Reformas borbónicas a la República: El Consulado y el comercio marítimo de Lima, 1778–1821 (San Javier, Murcia, Spain: Imprenta de la Academia General del Aire, 1995), 404–405. 29

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1783 in several Hispano-British talks to settle a treaty of trade, which in the end did not materialize. Finally, through unofficial arrangements, several agreements were set up, the first of which was in 1787, whereby the Royal Philippine Company and the EIC would respectively obtain Asian goods in exchange for silver; this same agreement established Manila as a free port to the EIC ships, while the British Indian ports would in turn be opened to the Spanish Company: Manila was partially opened in 1790, and a Spanish factory was finally established in Calcutta in 1796.32 There are more examples of similar deals between the two companies, especially during years of severe silver scarcity during the 1810s, of which further research should provide new details.33 We need thus to evaluate the establishment of the Philippine Company as a reaction to regional and global processes concerning the increasing need for silver in the Asian markets and the British aspirations in the Philippine archipelago. From the 1780s onwards, British commercial deficit was increasing, as a result of the rocketing tea exports from China, as well as of silver shortages resulting from the American Revolutionary War. Still, the Spaniards offered to the British one among other options of sources of liquidity in the Canton market. Such a source, however, was never as prominent as the silver provided by U.S. traders, and Spanish access to the metal was also hindered by political economy concerns, as Spanish authorities feared the loss of bullion outside the borders of the empire, while traders also tried to find sources to counterbalance a trade deficit, as all Western traders in China were doing. Access to the Philippines was actually a more consistent Spanish asset than American silver. Not for nothing was the Philippine trade second in British India after the China trade, and British interests in the archipelago were always deployed as a way of counteracting a trade deficit in Canton, as can be said to be the case in the 1762–64 invasion of Manila. 34 Since the 32

Holden Furber, “An Abortive Attempt at Anglo-Spanish Commercial Cooperation in the Far East in 1793,” The Hispanic American Historical Review XV/4 (1935): 448–463. W.E. Cheong, “An Anglo-Spanish-Portuguese Clandestine Trade between the Ports of British India and Manila, 1785–1790,” The Philippine Historical Review I/1 (1965): 80–94. 33 Morse, The Chronicles of the East India Company, II/122–125, 279–280, 301; III/102–103, 141. Louis Dermigny, La Chine et l’Occident. Le commerce à Canton au XVIIIe siècle. 1719–1833 (Paris: SEVPEN, 1964), II/755–758. W.E. Cheong, “Changing the Rules of the Game (The India–Manila Trade: 1785–1809),” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 1/2 (1970): 1–19. 34 Serafin D. Quiason, English “Country Trade” with the Philippines (Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1966), 112–138. Peter Borschberg, “Chinese Merchants, Catholic Clerics and Spanish Colonists in British-Occupied Manila,

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seventeenth century, a clandestine “country trade” had been developed for the provision of textiles for the Galleon trade and silver in the Indian market, which was somehow legalized with the 1790 opening of Manila.35 The close Philippine islands provided new markets and sources of credit in a period of commercial expansion at the time of the establishment of the Philippine Company. As for the specific operations of the factory of the Royal Philippine Company in Canton – as well as of all its factories in Asia and America – there are still many questions to be answered. Literature on the Company usually focuses on its general operations and metropolitan interests, paying no attention to its local and regional interests or, more specifically, to its common agendas with the British, the Chinese or the Manileño traders, and also neglecting the private activities of its employees. 36 Further research in new sources should provide new information pointing to a more diverse picture. One exception is the diaries of the first Spanish factor in China, the Basque Manuel de Agote, who took up his post between 1787 and 1796, one of the few first-hand accounts currently available of the reality of the Company at a factory level, of its involvement in the Canton trade and of the Spanish political agenda in Asia.37 In his diaries we see the factor’s awareness of his role, as well as that of the Company, in the Canton trading milieu, the European trade in China. He was also aware, in the political sphere, of the responsibility of 1764–1764,” in Maritime China in Transition. 1750–1850, ed. Wang Gungwu and Ng Chin-keong (Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2004), 355–371. Nicholas Tracy, “The British Expedition to Manila,” in The Seven Year’s War, ed. Mark H. Danley and Patrick J. Speelman (Leiden: Brill, 2012), 461–486. Even in the Nootka Sound conventions there were proposals for the annexation of Luzon to the EIC, for the development of local plantations for their export to China and the Latin American markets; Furber, “An Abortive Attempt,” 462–463. 35 Quiason, English “Country Trade”. Alberto Baena Zapatero and Xabier Lamikiz, “Presencia de una diáspora global: comerciantes armenios y comercio intercultural en Manila, c. 1660–1800,” Revista de Indias LXXIV/262 (2014): 693–722. 36 This is mainly due to the use in this literature of metropolitan documents concerning the Company, kept at the Archivo General de Indias in Seville, as is the case of the most well-known monograph on the Company; Díaz-Trechuelo, La Real Compañía de Filipinas. 37 The diaries are kept at the Untzi Museoa-Museo Naval in Saint Sebastian (Spain); Ander Permanyer-Ugartemendia, “Españoles en Cantón: los Diarios de Manuel de Agote, primer factor de la Real Compañía de Filipinas en China (1787– 1796),” Itsas Memoria. Revista de Estudios Marítimos del País Vasco 7 (2012): 523–546.

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the agents of the chartered companies as representatives of their respective governments, in front of both the Chinese authorities and their European counterparts. In addition, Agote provides deep insights into the Canton trade – being sceptical about its sustainability – and into the global entanglements of the Spanish imperial trade, giving testimony on the active and specific Spanish role in the Canton trade. Through Agote’s diaries we know the names of the main Chinese trading partners of the Company – above all, Pan Zhencheng “Poankeequa,” Cai Shiwen “Monqua,” and Li Chetai – and we find some of the Manila Galleon providers trading in China, as well as their Chinese partners’ names. We also see in the diaries the Spanish interest in the introduction of mainly Philippine produce – rice, sugar, raw cotton, pepper, indigo and fragrant woods, as well as products from the Sulu area such as sharks’ fin, birds’ nest, sea slug, conch shell, etc. – as well as of American staples such as otter and seal fur and cochineal, besides a considerable amount of silver. In turn, the Spaniards looked for roughly the same merchandise as other Western traders, mainly textiles and chinaware, but not tea – not widely consumed in the Hispanic world. Quicksilver for the American mints, as well as furniture, lacquerware, paper, iron and products of daily use for the Philippine islands also made up the Spanish cargoes.

Spaniards in the Opium Boom The establishment of the China factory of the Royal Philippine Company enabled further contact and common initiatives with the British on the one hand, while on the other it contributed to Philippine economic integration and diversification, already triggered before the arrival of the Company. The result of this was a consolidation of the presence of the Spaniards in the Canton trade, with its specific complexities, linking the Philippine and trans-Pacific environments to the Western China trade; rather than a rarity, the Spanish involvement in the opium boom during the 1820s would thus be but a result of these processes. The Spaniards would be critical in a period of profound changes and increasing uncertainties in the Asian and global trade, as a result of the Napoleonic Wars, the end of the Galleon and the independence of the Latin American republics. In the Philippines, the end of the Galleon gave way to several projects of private trans-Pacific trade – which came to an end with the independence of Latin America – as well as projects in the domestic economy and in investments in China, while the international trade started to convene in Manila from the end of

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the eighteenth century onwards. 38 In China, both Western and Chinese trade were affected by severe silver curtailments as a result of shifts in silk and tea exports and an increase in opium imports. 39 In a more specific domain, the Philippine Company underwent a process of severe crisis due to financial stresses, war, mismanagement and the loss of the American markets, affecting the Asian factories: trying first to focus in the India market, the Canton factory would be closed down in 1821, while its employees would further their commitment to their private ventures, at a point where opium imports into China were rocketing. To this process of change the Spaniards reacted by resorting to the Philippine archipelago and deepening their entente with the British. The logistics of the Company provided to its employees the development of a network between Calcutta, Canton and Manila, the main points of the “country trade” in the region. The Spanish opium networks converged in Canton, where Lorenzo Calvo y Cª and Yrisarri y Cª received opium consignments from their Spanish counterparts in Calcutta, as well as from British and Indian houses which had been acquired in the opium auctions. Manila capital funded these operations, providing financial soundness to face the uncertainties of the illegal opium trade, hampered by highly risky speculative practices, fierce competition and persecutions by Chinese officials. China houses, then, had to dispose of the opium and send back its proceeds, after retaining commission profits. 40 While British houses such as Charles Magniac & Co. or W.S. Davidson & Co. were looking for new sources of finance in the U.S. and Great Britain, resorting to the newly developed credit remittance devices, the Spanish houses of Canton resorted to the closer Philippines – as their Calcutta counterpart, Mendieta, Uriarte y Cª, also did to finance its opium acquisitions. We need to bear in mind the importance of Manila in this stage of the development of the Canton trade, as it was the Philippine islands, rather than access to silver, which made the Spaniards competitive; in fact, their access to the sources from 1821 onwards was hindered by the independence of Latin America and by prohibitions preventing Spanish subjects from trading in the new republics, which were reinforced after the expulsion of the Spaniards from 38

Benito Legarda, Jr., “Las consecuencias económicas para Filipinas de la independencia de México,” Illes i imperis 6 (2002), 125–135. 39 Lin, China Upside Down, 87–107. 40 W.E. Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants. Jardine Matheson & Co., a China agency of the Early Nineteenth Century (London: Curzon Press, 1979), 51–85. Josep M. Fradera, “Opio y negocio, o las desventuras de un español en China,” in Gobernar colonias (Barcelona: Península, 1999), 129–152. PermanyerUgartemendia, “Opium after the Manila Galleon,” 156–158.

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Mexico in 1827. In addition, the end of the peso fuerte as a strong unified currency also affected its availability and distribution;41 yet, even when the Spanish Empire was crumbling, the Philippine Company still sent some expeditions to Peru until 1820.42 Two Spanish groups acting in the opium trade would develop, stemming from the two factories of the Company in Canton and Calcutta.43 The Canton factor Lorenzo Calvo y Mateo was prominent in the registers of his main competitors, Yrisarri y Cª, for his ruthlessness in imposing his monopoly in the sector was remarkable, including methods for dodging controls and bribing Chinese officials. He also circulated lies about his competitors. His private activities started at least during the years following the end of the Galleon, when he surely provided a wide network of contacts from Manila – where he had served the Company for fourteen years – to his counterparts in Canton, thus building complicities with the prominent British house of Charles Magniac & Co. – later to become Jardine, Matheson & Co. In 1822 he would move to Europe after establishing a partnership in Canton with Gabriel de Yruretagoyena, which bore the name of Lorenzo Calvo y Cª, to establish around 1827 a wide network of firms in France and in the Philippines. Simultaneously he maintained his interests in the opium trade in China and engaged in trading in Philippine plantation products and Chinese textiles to Europe, and European manufactures to Asia; he also invested important amounts of money in the Philippine secondary sector, with such prominent creoles as Domingo Roxas or José de Azcárraga. The Calcutta network started as early as 1818, when the factor of the Philippine Company, Manuel Larruleta, resigned from his post to devote himself mainly to his private business, establishing the firm bearing his name, Larruleta y Cª; in 1823, for reasons not known, he gave up the partnership, which took up the names of the junior parterns, Mendieta, Uriarte y Cª. The activities of the group were closely related to the British, particularly to the firm Mackintosh & Co., one of the main indigo houses in Calcutta, which was also a provider of the Philippine Company. Surely, Larruleta’s network from his previous years as a servant of the Company in Manila were also an asset no other competitor in the city could provide, as the Spanish factory benefited from the India–Philippines neutral trade 41

Alejandra Irigoin, “The End of a Silver Era: The Consequences of the Breakdown of the Spanish Silver peso Standard in China and the US by the 1850s,” Journal of World History 20/2 (2009): 207–243. 42 Parrón Salas, De las Reformas borbónicas a la República, 403/n. 117. 43 This analysis of the two networks is based on Permanyer-Ugartemendia, “Opium after the Manila Galleon,” 158–161.

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during the Napoleonic Wars.44 In 1821, the firm established a branch in China, Yrisarri y Cª, made up of a junior employee of the Spanish Company, Francisco Xavier de Yrisarri, and a young James Matheson, coming from the familial networks of the Mackintoshes. This group’s main interest was the consignment of Indian plantation products such as cotton and opium; Yrisarri y Cª would import Philippine produce into China while extending their connection to Manila finance. These were years of transition and uncertainties, and of a search for alternatives, during which the Spaniards, in collaboration with the British, dominated the opium trade in Canton, laying important grounds for the subsequent development of the sector. There are isolated examples of how they entered into the opium trade before the 1820s and finally, in the years after the end of the Galleon, they certainly engaged in the trade while providing new sources of finance from Manila, prior to the opium boom. During the first half of the 1820s, as a result of a glut in the market and of Chinese persecutions, new markets in Macao, Fujian and Manila were explored, some of them on board the San Sebastián. Around the middle of the decade, trade recovered and new activities were undertaken, and collaboration between the two Spanish networks increased. This, however, gave way to a higher degree of interdependence and vulnerability, and as a result of the 1826 financial crisis in Calcutta, many of the British and Spanish houses went bankrupt, including the two groups analysed here. Yet their situation was already weak, as the Philippine Company owed them significant amounts of money: both in Calcutta and Canton, the Company’s employees advanced money from their own private funds to the corporation’s ventures, which finally delayed their reimbursement. Apart from the particulars of the Spanish ventures, their retreat was due to a new situation in both the Asia trade and global trade, in which the former Spanish initiatives could not compete. In the 1830s, wider financial networks and a better knowledge of new remittance devices were needed, in addition to a higher level of deployment of logistical and human resources. The opium trade was then definitely dominated by the British and U.S. firms, and the typically compartmentalized trade of “high” imperialism began to take shape. In addition, the Philippine economy also changed: as the export economy consolidated, capital formerly put into the China houses was likely invested in the plantation system, while foreign ventures started to dominate Philippine economic life.45 Opium trade in 44

Permanyer-Ugartemendia, “Opium after the Manila Galleon,” 157. Benito Legarda, Jr, After the Galleons. Foreign Trade, Economic Change and Entrepreneurship in the Nineteenth-Century Philippines (Madison: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1999), 91–217. 45

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China was then backed by British and U.S. financial networks, therefore making it unnecessary to resort to closer sources of credit such as the Philippine islands.46 Finally, the end of the Royal Philippine Company put an end to the logistical facilities available to its employees, while the end of the EIC also brought a network of collaboration and common interests to a conclusion. However, the British inherited and developed some human resources, knowledge and practices that they had deployed together with the Spaniards. James Matheson brought with him to Charles Magniac & Co his Philippine and Mexican contacts. Through the agency of Jardine, Matheson & Co. in Manila, which included one former employee of the Spanish houses in China, the British firm engaged in the Philippine export economy, while developing its activities on the Mexican Pacific coast as well. As regards the opium trade, some practices begun by the Spaniards together with the British in the previous decade were also followed and expanded. Thus, floating depots were kept around Canton, while armed fleets distributed opium along the Chinese coast, and Manila was occasionally used as a redistribution point, especially during Lin Zexu’s anti-opium campaigns, while some Philippine individuals also commissioned opium shipments to China.

Concluding Remarks This chapter has dealt with the relevance of the Hispanic presence in the East Asia trade, which stretches beyond the rather limited numbers of the Canton trade into a wider network as represented by the trans-Pacific interests, the Manila Galleon and the other Pacific trades; the Philippine productive system; the silver movement; the various networks linking China and the Philippines; and the Royal Philippine Company. The main Spanish assets were access to the Philippine markets, products and finance, as well as silver; this explains not only the common interests shared by Britons and Spaniards, but also the dealings with the Chinese. The opium trade resulting in the first decades of the nineteenth century would be but a predictable result of a continuous presence in the East Asia trade. All of this makes clear the increasing process of economic integration of the Philippines in the East Asia region during the period here analysed. We put forward here a common approach to the “Canton system” and the Manila Galleon, about which there is usually a lack of historiographical dialogue, thus explaining the neglect of the Spanish presence in the 46

Cheong, Mandarins and Merchants, 87–119.

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region. 47 Until recently both historiographical models tended to neglect interactions beyond the institutional frameworks respectively encompassing them. Both models focus on specific ports – Canton, Manila, Acapulco – and neglect other places; in the Galleon case, the focus is on a single route only rather than a network. These models also perceive their actors as isolated groups, usually defined by their national affiliation, with shared interests within them, opposed to others, paying no attention to networks, interests in common or collaboration. As for Canton regulations, they were not as exceptional as usually inferred when compared with other places, including Manila among all ports affected by the Spanish colonial regulations.48 As non-liberal models, Canton and Manila trade, as well as the chartered companies, should not be judged as underdeveloped, as they were justified by a set of interests. While the importance of Chinese produce for the development of the Manila Galleon has been acknowledged – though in a rather schematic fashion49 – there are many pending questions concerning how the Manila Galleon affected the Chinese economic system beyond strictly monetary issues. 50 As for the Galleon, we need to see beyond it, both in the Philippine economic system as well as in the Hispanic trans-Pacific trade, and we also need to see its relationship to the East and Southeast Asia trading networks. Instead of 47 For a thorough revision of the “Canton system” model, see van Dyke, The Canton Trade, as well as Carl E. Kubler, “Communication, Cooperation, and Conflict: Rethinking Everyday Qing–Foreigner Relations under the Canton System, 1800–1839,” (Master’s thesis, University of Chicago, 2014); I am deeply grateful to this author for kindly sharing his results with me. A recent book also places the “Canton system” in a revision of Chinese maritime policies, Gang Zhao, The Qing Opening to the Ocean. Chinese Maritime Policies, 1684–1757 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2013). As for recent literature on the Galleon, see Arturo Giráldez, The Age of Trade. The Manila Galleons and the Dawn of the Global Economy (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 48 W.E. Cheong, “Canton and Manila in the Eighteenth Century,” in Studies in the Social History of China & South-East Asia, ed. Jerome Ch’en and Nicholas Tarling (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 227–246. 49 As pointed out by Joshua Eng Sin Kueh, “The Manila Chinese: Community, Trade and Empire, c. 1570–c. 1770” (PhD dissertation, Georgetown University, 2014), 128–129. 50 Some exceptions are in W.E. Cheong, “Trade and Finance in China: 1784–1834. A Reappraisal,” Business History VII (1965): 34–56, as well as in Han-sheng Chuan, “The Chinese Silk Trade with Spanish-America from the Late Ming to the Mid-Ch’ing Period,” in Studia Asiatica. Essays in Asian Studies in Felicitation of the Seventy-Fifth Anniversary of Professor Ch’en Shou-yi, ed. Laurence G. Thompson (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, 1969): 241–259.

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pointing to specific models to analyse the realities here at stake, perceiving both of them as completely isolated, we need to stress elements of integration and interaction, in relation to global trends, and there is no doubt that the Spanish interests in the China trade shed light on these regional and global entanglements.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN COMMERCIAL RELATIONS OF THE RUSSIANAMERICAN COMPANY WITH CHINA IN THE SECOND HALF OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY ALEXANDER YU. PETROV

The Russian-American Company (RAC) was founded on July 8, 1799. It was a colonial trading company that was granted monopoly trading privileges in certain territories in the North Pacific (including the Aleutian Islands and Alaska), later called Russian America.1 Few people know today that Russian territorial possessions in North America were private rather than governmental property. The RAC, in fact, was the first and largest privately owned monopoly in the Eastern Empire. Moreover, the Company sought to expand its activity beyond Russia and America to include the large market of China in an attempt to improve profitability for itself and its governmental sponsors. The Russian merchants engaged in the Pacific fur trade not only enriched themselves but played an important role in the internal trade of Russia and Siberia as well as in the foreign trade with China.

1. The author of this chapter is grateful to the organizers of the 22nd International Congress of Historical Sciences, Jinan, August 23–29, 2015, where the paper on which it is based was presented in the plenary session “Major Theme 1: China from Global Perspectives.” The author is very grateful to María Dolores Elizalde and Wang Jianlang, who were instrumental in organizing the plenary session, Ken Pomeranz, who provided excellent comments on the paper, Dawn Lea Black and Aaron Cohen for editorial remarks, my student A. Ivolgin, and all other scholars and students who helped me to shape the ideas contained in the paper in a better way.

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The prehistory of the RAC begins in 1725, when Emperor Peter I ordered the outfitting of an expedition under the command of Captain Vitus Bering, who was to find “terra incognita” and see “where it joins with America.” Bering did not find the strait separating the two continents on his first expedition, but he did provide cartographers with a more accurate picture of the north-eastern extremity of the Eurasian mainland. It was only as a result of the second Bering-Chirikov expedition, from 1741 to 1743, that a new “terra incognita” appeared on world maps. It would be known as Russian America for many years. In addition to important geographic discoveries, Bering’s expedition brought the skins of the “sea beaver” – the sea otter – back to Russia. The sea otter trade soon became the main stimulus for outfitting the commercial expeditions that were sent out into the vast reaches of the Pacific.2 Catherine II felt called upon to finish the work of exploration of the North Pacific. She wanted the rich furs that could be acquired there, not for herself, but for trade with the Chinese market for products needed by Russia and Western Europe. In the mid-seventeenth century China, along with Mongolia, became part of the expanding Qing Empire. This put an end to the licensed trade, but the great Shanxi trading houses were well placed to take advantage of the new opportunities in Mongolia, which they entered in the immediate wake of the Qing armies. They sold tea, silk and many daily items imported from China to the Mongols, often lending them the money to buy these things, and brought the Mongols’ livestock to sell into China. The trade was highly exploitative and extremely profitable.3 The expansion of the Qing Empire to the north, into the Manchus’ own north-eastern homeland and into Mongolia, brought it into contact with the Russian Empire, which was also expanding into Central Asia during this period. Special missions were sent to both China and Russia for negotiations, and a Russian mission resided in Beijing.4 International trade equally favourable to both Russia and China was authorized by the treaty of Nerchinsk in 1689: “all persons, regardless of their status, may come and go in full freedom to both Empires, and buy and sell whatever they wish, provided they have appropriate travel documents.”5 Unlike the later 2. Alexander Yu. Petrov et al., “The History and Legacy of Russian America,” Herald of the Russian Academy of Sciences 81/6 (2011): 614–622. 3. Henrietta Harrison, The Man Awakened from Dreams: One Man’s Life in a North China Village, 1857–1942 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005), 22. 4. Henrietta Harrison, China: Inventing the Nation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 37. 5. Basil Dmytryshyn et al., ed., To Siberia and Russian America: Three Centuries of Russian Eastward Expansion, Vol. 2, Russian Penetration of the North Pacific

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period of unequal treaties, this treaty shows the Qing interest in participating in global trade with European partners and the increasing Chinese awareness and acceptance of the developing modern Westphalian state system in the West.6 The treaty of Nerchinsk was an agreement between two equal states that helped inform the marginal gains of the later Foreign Ministry (Zongli Yamen) on some occasions in the nineteenth century. Russian trade with China was on a better footing than with Japan due to the treaty of Nerchinsk and the later treaties of Kyakhta in 1727 and 1768, which extended the border farther west and appointed two places for Russian trade: Kyakhta on the northern frontier of Mongolia, and Tsurukhaitu (Curhaitu) on the Manchurian frontier near Nerchinsk. At both these places Qing and Russian merchants could carry on duty-free trade, but Tsurukhaitu failed to develop as a commercial centre. West European and especially American merchants held a competitive advantage over Russian overland traders because they could transport furs in about five months from the north-west of America to Canton. It often took over two years to bring them to Kyakhta from Alaska. The need for supplies at the Russian outposts in Alaska and Kamchatka was so great that Russian’s competitors could strike at the very heart of its function by selling supplies to the Russian outposts in return for furs and then marketing the furs at Canton. Private trade was central to Russian policies. One development that encouraged entrepreneurship in the eighteenth century was the first known Russian proposal that spelled out the joint-stock form of a company: that is, a company with permanent capital and open to all who wished to buy stock. Until 1762 the Russian government had had a monopoly on all Russian trade with China; it obtained furs from Russian promyshlenniki and subject Siberian natives, and annually exchanged this peltry for Chinese tea, textiles and other goods. In 1762 the government relinquished this monopoly and allowed private entrepreneurs to carry on the fur trade with China, in exchange for paying heavy customs duties. This brought in substantial revenues yet provided continued access to information on all commerce and intelligence gathered by merchants and missionaries. With the abandonment of the Russian government monopoly, trade at Kyakhta increased around sixfold up to the year 1800. One of the most

Ocean: A Documentary Record. 1700–1797 (Portland: Oregon Historical Society Press, 1988), 501. 6. Peter C. Perdue, China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2005).

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prized trade items, a Chinese herbal medicine, Dahwahn7 (in small quantities used to treat diarrhea and stomach inflammation but with laxative properties in larger doses) contributed to the cessation of the monopoly because it could be best obtained through a private trader, phonetic name Suhwen (probably Svin’in), whom the government had given a special concession for leather goods to trade. The trade in leather at Kyakhta was still substantial (accounting for 75 per cent of the trade in 1785), but other items were in high demand. Chinese cottons were prized by the Russians, as was Chinese black and brick tea, medicinal herbs and silks, including brocades. During the 1790s one-fourth of the export volume from China to Russia was in tea. The Russians preferred to obtain the tea from Kyakhta rather than from Canton via the British as the tea was fresher via the direct Chinese route. Raw silk could not be imported to Russia upon penalty of death, but there was substantial smuggling.8 By 1790s cotton accounted for two-thirds of the exports from China to Russia. A merchant from Ryl’sk, Grigorii Shelikhov, and his wife and business partner Natalia Shelikhova, the founders of the Russian-American Company, lived in and coordinated trade out of Irkutsk for many years, especially from 1787 to 1799, and Irkutsk was about 200 miles from Kyakhta in the vicinity of Lake Baikal on the Mongolian border. Grigorii Shelikhov is also said to have got his start as a customs official in Kyakhta. This presumption is so widespread that Natalia is sometimes depicted as a Mongolian woman, because some people have thought that Grigorii must have married a woman from the Chinese border area. Officials under Catherine the Great in the 1760s had advocated both the sea trade with China and a virtually monopolistic private company of all merchants trading at Kyakhta in order to develop the Russians’ trading strength. This was despite Catherine’s long-standing anti-monopolistic stance. Grigorii and Natalia Shelikhova might have later been influenced by this suggestion of a monopoly to reverse the deterioration of trade with China. In her letter of November 22, 1795 to an Archpastor (probably 7. John D. Keys, Chinese Herbs: Their Botany, Chemistry and Pharmacodynamics (Rutland, VT, and Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Co., 1976), 152–153. Dahwahn is medicinal rhubarb, scientific name Rheum officinale Baill (Polygonaceae). For an in-depth discussion on the trade involving this herb and also a somewhat different viewpoint, see Clifford M. Foust, Muscovite and Mandarin: Russia’s Trade with China and Its Setting, 1727–1805 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1969) 164–185. 8. Wang Xi Long, History of Chinese–Russian Relationships before 1917 (Lanxhou, China: Gansu Cultural Publishing House, 1995), 127–143. Originally published in Chinese, trans. Janet Bane, Kodiak, Alaska.

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Gavriil), Natalia Shelikhova indirectly discusses the failure of the Russian envoy Golovkin to accomplish the mission of getting permission for the Russians to trade with China by sea. She also scathingly mentions the British Lord McCartney who rather successfully tried to get additional British trading rights with the Chinese. The Shelikhovs traded some interesting items with the Chinese and had several salesmen who did the actual trading. Natalia’s letters detail exactly what she was importing, including the highly desirable cottons and teas.9 In 1792, before Grigorii Shelikhov’s death in 1795, the Russian–Chinese trading centre at Kyakhta, closed since 1786, had reopened, but instead of finding a ready market for his accumulated furs, Shelikhov found that the price had dropped sharply, probably because of imports by British and American trading vessels in Canton. In early RAC documents we can see that Russian salesmen were in Peking. Russians, at that time, were only supposed to do business in border towns such as Kyakhta, so what he was doing there is still to be discovered. The trade at Kyakhta was very formalized, with military and customs officials present from both countries. Small towns grew up on each side of the border with warehouses for the traders. Kyakhta even had its own trading pidgin language which only the traders could understand. The wider surroundings of the rather flat Kyakhta area, where Natalia Shelikhova and her salesmen were heavily involved in trading, are very beautiful with streams and forested mountains. The furs harvested from Alaska by the Russians were taken to Kyakhta by pack-horse, where buyers from Peking inspected and purchased them, giving in exchange the celebrated black teas of Maimatchine, (the Chinese border town by Kyakhta), including the finest brands produced only in the north of China, which could be more cheaply transported from there to Siberia than to Canton. Each pelt was handled, measured and then marked with a little metal tag. The whole volume of trade was exclusively one of barter. Chinese buyers sent their peltries down to their home markets on camels, and in carts drawn by oxen to Kalgan, where the seal skins were sold to other dealers. The business life of Kyakhta was never fully active until winter was well set in, and continued until spring, when the Chinese had considerable local advantage. Their teas never remained unsold for a single season at Maimatchine, while the Russian goods were often so depreciated in value as to have to wait two and three years for a market. For example, the 9

Dawn Lea Black and Alexander Yu. Petrov, Natalia Shelikhova: Russian Oligarch of Alaska Commerce (Fairbanks: University of Alaska Press, 2010), 39.

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Russians took furs from seals of all ages and at all stages of the season from June to December, and consequently the number of prime skins was small. The northern provinces of the Qing dominions not only have an extremely rigorous winter climate but are also where the most wealthy reside, because the best teas (of China) grow there; hence the desire for fur robes and garments, even at Canton.10 The success and perhaps even the survival of the Russian-American Company, ironically, depended upon winning permission from the Qing for Russians, like Europeans and Americans, to trade with China by sea. China seemed the best market for selling the Russian-American Company’s furs. By the early 1800s, however, the RAC was openly listing raw silk as a desired import item. One of the major problems for the RAC at that time was that the Chinese government intermittently suspended the trade at Kyakhta. The Shelikhovs’ salesman, F.I. Shemelin, was given written orders from the main office of the Russian-American Company to open trade via Canton. Shemelin arrived aboard the ship, Nadezhda, on which the Shelikhovs’ son-in-law, N.P. Rezanov, had originally started out for his trip to Japan (as the ambassador-designate of imperial Russia) and to Alaska (representing the RAC). Rezanov had not fared well with either the ship’s military crew or the captain, Krusenshtern, so he had continued on another ship. Shemelin continued on aboard the Nadezhda while the Russian-American Company clerk N.I. Korobitsyn went on the Nadezhda’s sister ship, the Neva, captained by Lisianskii. Korobitsyn had instructions from the Company and also from Rezanov personally on how to trade fur seal and other pelts for Chinese merchandise. Korobitsyn and Rezanov continued to America on separate ships and were in Kodiak and Sitka about two months apart in 1805 before the Neva went on to Canton. Captain Krusenshtern was one of the originators of the idea that Russian fur-trading ships from America could bring their furs directly to Canton and carry supplies from China back to Russian America and central Europe by returning around the world to the Russian port of Kronstadt, near St Petersburg. On the way, the ships would also do some trading in India.11 If this scheme had been successful the RussianAmerican Company could have undersold its competitors and engaged in 10. Henry W. Elliot, The Seal Islands of Alaska (Washington, DC: Government Printer, 1881), Reprint, Richard A. Pierce (Kingston, Ontario: The Limestone Press, 1976), 78–79. Also see 140–147 for more history of the Russian involvement. 11. Richard A. Pierce, Russian America: A Biographical Dictionary (Kingston, Ontario: The Limestone Press, 1990), 271–273.

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world-wide trade. The Chinese allowed this Russian–American–Chinese trade by both Shemelin and Korobitsyn (working together for the RussianAmerican Company) to occur on this one occasion in early 1806 with the help the Krusenshtern’s acquaintances in the British East India Company. Unfortunately for the RAC, later the Chinese government only allowed trade at Kyakhta. Another trade proposal put forth and practised by Grigorii Shelikhov, and later the RAC, was to cooperate with the English in Kamchatka. Russia and England had a friendship which had been fortified by the necessity of forming a united front against the middle-class revolution in France. The English, who were allowed to trade with the Chinese by sea, would bring in the Chinese goods by ship to Kamchatka to help provision the Russian Far East and even America. When the English tried to keep the Russians out of Turkey, however, this possibility became more remote and gave the Russians a good excuse, in the last years of the eighteenth century, to oppose English trade expansion more rigorously. Emperor Paul aimed to create an organization that would firmly carry out the policy of forcing the English trading companies out of Alaska, the Aleutians and China and that would at the same time proceed with further expansion. The RAC tried to seek permission from the Chinese and Russian governments to trade in Canton. They considered bringing food products, cloth for clothing and materials for shipbuilding from Canton to the Aleutian Islands and American mainland. They declared repeatedly that importing these goods from China would be cheaper and quicker than bringing them from Yakutsk to Okhotsk, because between the latter there were no roads for a distance of over a thousand miles. But inasmuch as the extension of trade ties also involved foreign policy, the RAC had to ask permission from the government to send company vessels to Canton, Macao and other ports on the Pacific. The Russian general managers of the RAC also tried to sell Alaskan furs to China at least twice through the ship captains O’Cain and Ebbets, who could trade via Canton rather than through the more difficult Kyakhta route. O’Cain did not make much of a profit during his 1806 trading voyage, but did take some Chinese goods to Kamchatka on the way back to Kodiak. His ship was wrecked on Sanak Island in the Aleutians, where he died and most of his cargo was lost. Ebbets did somewhat better in 1810. The list of goods exchanged with the Chinese has survived, and a good profit was made.12

12. Basil Dmytryshyn, Colonial Russian America: Kyrill T. Khlebnikov’s Reports, 1817–1832 (Portland: Oregon Historical Society Press, 1976), 11–14.

Commercial Relations of the Russian-American Company with China

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There were also fairs at which the furs were sold in Siberia, Moscow and St Petersburg. It was usually most profitable, however, to sell furs to the Chinese and then buy Chinese products which were later sold in Russian markets. The major items which the Russians bought in China were various teas, silks and cotton. Another trading destination was near Makar’ev Monastery on the Volga River during the time of the Makar’evskaia fair which opened soon after the twentieth of June and lasted until the beginning of August. It was one of the largest fairs in all of Europe and Russia, so large that it was transferred from the small town of Makar’evsk to Nizhnii Novgorod itself in 1817.13 In the first quarter of the nineteenth century the Russian government tried to increase its profits from the Kyakhta border trade by tightening official control and publishing a set of directions. These were attempts to standardize prices, adjust the customs tariff and cut out foreign competition. In 1822 the RAC had a special privilege in developing trade with China, and was able to carry on a triangular trade, reaping profits at each point. Most of the furs obtained in the North Pacific were sent with clerks to Kyakhta where they were exchanged for Chinese goods. The Chinese goods were then sold at Irkutsk, Irbit, St Petersburg and Moscow at a good profit, and part of the proceeds was then invested in material and provisions for another fur-trading voyage. The first half of the nineteenth century marked an increasing interest of the Russian government towards China, and the RAC had a green light to trade with China in Kyakhta. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Emperor Alexander I and members of the royal family became the company’s main shareholders, and the Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of the Navy and other governmental bodies were involved in the activity of the RAC. Initially the company’s stockholders derived profits from the trade with China only from the sale of sea otter pelts. From 1820 to 1830, however, company operations increasingly came to include hunting for fur seal and other marine animals. Although they were less valuable in the Chinese market, they still brought the Company a huge portion of profit. The exclusive trading rights which its Charter granted to the company were renewed twice. In the late 1830s, the RAC expanded its trade with China by organizing extra caravans to the border of China. In the early 1840s the international trade of the RAC changed. Whereas at the beginning of the 19th century, the trade in Kyakhta was carried out largely 13. Istoriia Sibiri (The History of Siberia), Vol. 2 (Leningrad: Nauka, 1968), 25– 109, 163–181. V.I. Shunkov, Ocherki po istorii zemledeliia Sibiri (XVII v.) (Essays on the History of Agriculture in Siberia (XVIIth Century)) (Moscow: Nauka, 1956), 408.

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in interactions with private Chinese merchants, in the late 1830s the RAC already had started to conclude agreements with Chinese companies concerning direct deliveries of tea in exchange for large consignments of furs. In the 1840s, the dynamic of the RAC trade with China was as follows. The RAC hunted 38,925 fur pelts per year and delivered 26,271 fur pelts to China. So, obviously, the Chinese market was pre-eminent for the Russian-American Company. The main product that was received by the RAC from China was tea. The tea trade was a key to success for the RAC in the Russian market. From 1840–1850 the RAC usually obtained 6,000 to 7,000 boxes or packs of tea. The RAC was interested in elite sorts of tea. The RAC spent a great deal of money and resources in constructing seaports in the Pacific, such as at Okhotsk and Aian, and in constructing roads from the Pacific rim to Irkutsk and then to Kyakhta. The eventual appearance of Chinese tea in the Russian market basically originated at Kalgan, where tea was brought from tea factories of southern China for onward shipment to Russia. Before the town gates of Kalgan, located in the Great Wall of China, there was a shopping suburb where Chinese trading houses formed caravans. It was the tea from Kalgan towards which the Russian-American Company directed its attention in its trading activities.14 Tea caravans went from Kalgan via the Gobi Desert to Urga, where they passed a cursory inspection and proceeded further into the border town Maimatchine, where trade actively developed as well. Not far from there was Kyakhta – the final destination of the goods shipments. The caravans were unloaded in the arcade of Kyakhta, and the tea was packed in special crates braided from reeds, tsybiki. Such a crate weighed 3 pounds. For further transportation these sacks were sewn into raw bull hides with the wool inward. Tsybiki were marked by using a cutter on wet skin. Workers who sewed the sacks were called “shireishiki” while those who marked, examined and moved them bore the name “savoshniki.” They examined the tea with a “savok” – a special pointed punch, partially hollow inside. The punch was used to punch a sack and take out a small amount of tea to sample. The job required responsibility, and the Irkutsk office of the RAC selected such clerks with utmost thoroughness. There was some work involving crates containing precious varieties of tea which were packed within three protective layers: paper, lead foil and then the crate itself, woven from bamboo fibres. Tiled or, as it was called then, “brick” tea, was the least valuable. Brick tea was manufactured from loose

14. A Report of the Russian-American Company on 1863 (St Petersburg, 1865), 40.

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tea with ground hops added to it. The mass was thoroughly mixed and moistened with rice water, then steamed and moulded into the form of bricks or tiles. Sewn-together tsybiki were loaded on wagons or sleighs and sent further. There were two roads from Kyakhta to Irkutsk. The short one (the Udunginsky road) passed through the Khamar-Daban mountain range. This road was built only in the second half of the nineteenth century. Before then, the old Irkutsk road through Selenginsk and Verkhneudinsk was used. Both roads ended in Mysovaya station, where cargo was transported by steamer across Lake Baikal to the port of Listvennichnoe. An ice road was created here in winter. Each tea sack was subject to tax that went to the state Treasury. “Tsybik” was stamped on the receipt for the tax. After that, the tea came to the Russian market. The tea caravan moved from Irkutsk through Krasnoyarsk and Tobolsk to the Irbit fair which took place from February to March. The tea trade ranked high at the fair, yielding 12–20 per cent of the turnover (4–5 million roubles). In addition to the Irbit fair, the majority of the tea trade occurred in Nizhny Novgorod, Tobolsk and Moscow. Some of the tea was sold in the local markets along the way. Table 14.1: The Russian-American Company and the fur market Year

1850 1851 1852 1853 1854 1855 1856 1857 1858 1859 1860 1861 1862 1863

Kyakhta

Shanghai

Russia

USA

Fur pelts (number) 15,243 23,052 27,003 Data not available 78 10,592 10,524 10,532 14,896 10,095 13,809 275 12,645 8,670

Fur pelts (number) 13,787 11,638 11,887 5,026

Fur pelts (number) 14,508 5,954 41,369 11,973

Fur pelts (number)

Data not available Data not available Data not available Data not available Data not available Data not available 35,281 17,494 5,600 11,073

10,305 15,636 9,571 29,021 25,674 28,846 19,900 20,303 31,107 28,413

Data not available 33,971 45,084 5,934 17,437 Data not available Data not available 3,139 30,000 30,039

Data not available Data not available Data not available Data not available

Source: Based on data taken from the Archive of the Foreign Policy of the Russian

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Empire, Russian-American Company papers, and Collections from the State Archive of Irkutsk Region, State Historical Archive in St Petersburg and State Archive of the Navy in St Petersburg.

From Table 14.1 it is possible to figure out that the main Chinese trading centres for the RAC were Kyakhta, Shanghai and various places in the Russian market. Russians sold more than 65,000 fur pelts in Kyakhta, and more than 37,000 in Shanghai. The percentages were as follows. Kyakhta – 39.6 per cent, Russian market – 37.5 per cent, Shanghai – 22.9 per cent. In 1853, the Kyakhta market was closed for the time being, and the proportions were as follows: 11,973 pelts were sold in Russia, and 5,026 in Shanghai. There is a lack of data for the period between 1854 and 1859. There is no information about furs sent to Shanghai in those years, despite the brief mention that there were 11,113 pelts remaining in Shanghai in 1855. The furs were sent during the Crimean War, but because of this turbulent period in Chinese history, those furs remained unsold for almost a year. In 1856, the furs were transferred from China to San Francisco and later to New York, where all the furs were sold at a very good price. The RAC traded with China in Kyakhta until 1850. Tea and silk were exported to Russia, while sheepskins, woollen cloth, iron, leather and livestock were imported. When the trade was at its height in the nineteenth century, Russia was China’s second-largest trading partner after England, and 60 per cent of Russian exports to China were passing through Kyakhta.15 The situation changed in the 1850s, when the RAC started to trade in Chinese seaports. Slowly but surely the sea trade started to dominate in trade relations between Russia and China. Two-thirds of all the RussianAmerican Company’s fur pelts had been sold in the Chinese market. This was also the time when Siberian merchants received additional privileges in trade with China, and the specific privileges of the RAC were discontinued. In these circumstances the RAC could hardly compete with private merchants. 15. Zhang Zhengming, Jinshang xingshuai shi [A History of the Rise and Fall of the Shanxi Merchants] (Taiyuan: Shanxi guji chubanshe, 1995), 79–82 and passim. Qu Shaomiao and Pang Yicai, Shanxi waimao zhi [An Account of Shanxi's Foreign Trade] (Taiyuan: Shanxi sheng difangzhi bianzuan weiyuanhui bangongshi, 1984), 29–103. Gardella, “Qing Administration of the Tea Trade,” in To Achieve Security and Wealth: The Qing Imperial State and the Economy 1644–1911, ed. Jane Kate Leonard and John R. Watt (Ithaca, NY: East Asia Program, Cornell University, 1992), 97–118. Li Sanmou and Zhang Wei, “Wan Qing Jinshang yu cha wenhua” [Shanxi Merchants and Tea Culture in the Late Qing], Qingshi yanjiu [Qing History Research] 1 (2001). Harrison, The Man Awakened from Dreams, 22.

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International trade can be sorted into colonial, marginal and external categories. Colonial trade was carried out with the USA, Spain and England, with great importance given to the dealings with US citizens, the so-called “Bostonians.” Marginal trade occurred with China and Spain, and external trade with China, Britain, the Netherlands and Japan. The difference between marginal and external trade was that foreign trade operations were carried out by special agents of the company. In the late 1850s each of these countries had a permanent company representative who, in addition to conducting commercial transactions, concluded important agreements with foreign banks and trading houses. It should be noted, however, that the Russian-American Company remained interested in trading with foreigners for practically all the time of its existence. The activities of the RAC in foreign markets also included the conclusion of contracts for cargo insurance and the involvement of private individuals, especially US citizens (via their freighters), for shipping goods and delivering supplies to the colonies. In 1851 the market situation in Shanghai began to improve. This was facilitated by the fact that 1850 was a very favourable year for harvesting tea in China. Besides, in 1850 the price of fur increased due to the limited availability of furs in the Chinese market, and the director of the RAC advised Nikolai Yakovlevich Rosenberg, the new chief manager of the Russian colonies in America, to increase the supply of furs for trading with China.16 The resulting trade in Shanghai in the second half of 1850 and early 1851 was very fruitful17 for the RAC, and the Main Administration decided to give a reward to Ivan Vasilievich Lindenberg, the company representative in Shanghai, for the successful deals with the Chinese.18 The amount of information regarding the extremely successful “tea year” that would be allowed to reach the bidders at the St Petersburg exchange created an in-company controversy because the Main Administration of the RAC was trying to keep the lid on the quantities of tea purchased from and furs sent for sale in China. The Administration was aware of the competition from both Russian and foreign merchants, especially since benefits from selling tea could not be considered before late 1852 to early 1853. The report concerning the year 1850 was favourable, and the company maintained a stable position. The company’s shares on the stock exchange rose to 280 roubles for securities of the RAC. 16. National Archives and Record Service, Washington, DC. Records of the Russian American Company (NARS RRAC), Roll 25, Folio 445. 17. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on One Year, till January 1, 1852 (St Petersburg, 1852). 18. NARS RRAC, Roll 19, Folios 77–780.

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The report of the Main Administration for the year 1852 was made at a time when the next consignment of furs received from Russian America had not yet been sold in Kyakhta, and large consignments of tea, purchased in early 1851, had only begun to reach the consumers. The fur trade in 1850–1851 was not as successful as expected, and the fur of land animals was dominant among “lush products.” These circumstances had an impact on the current earnings of the company.19 The “cost” imposed by the Main Administration of the RAC for all colonial goods and furs in 1852 amounted to 136,313 roubles 62 kopecks in silver. The Main Administration of the RAC still concentrated on getting its main income from the tea trade and urged Rosenberg, the chief manager of Russian America, to send the ship Atkha with a cargo of furs to Shanghai in time, so that the clerks of the company would be able to purchase required lots of tea that would be delivered to Kronshtadt before navigation in the Baltic was closed for winter. In this case, the goods would have to be stored in the warehouses of Hamburg or London, disadvantageously for the company.20 In September 1852 the Main Administration of the RAC sent a message to Russian America, emphasizing the need to acquire high-quality furs and ship them promptly to China while the state of affairs there remained favourable for the Russians.21 In the two years of 1853–1854, the tea trade brought in 434,061 roubles 37 kopecks of profit to the RAC – almost 43,000 roubles more than in 1852.22 The analysis of the report of the RAC on 185623 shows that the Main Administration succeeded in taking into account the experience of 1853–1854, when 475 “mesto” of tea was sold at a low price. That time it was decided to wait until more favourable market conditions set in. The pause was justified, and the company profitably sold existing stocks of tea. In 1855–1856 the RAC bought 5,589 “mesto” of tea from the Chinese,

19. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on One Year, till January 1, 1853 (St Petersburg, 1853). 20. NARS RRAC, Roll 20, Folios 1–7, “In the event of shipping the goods via London the shipment cost would be sufficiently lower.” See James R. Gibson, Imperial Russian in Frontier America: The Changing Geography of Supply of Russian America, 1784–1867 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1976), 87. 21. NARS RRAC, Roll 20, Folios 501–505. 22. The tea trade resulted in the intensification of dealings between Russian and Chinese authorities. In April 1854 the governor-general of Eastern Siberia sent a letter to Chinese officials, asking “to cooperate with the Chinese tribunal when necessary” (see State Archive of Irkutsk Oblast', F. 24, Op. 11, D. 4). 23. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on One Year, till January 1, 1857 (St Petersburg, 1857).

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which was a record since its foundation, having received 1,323,684 roubles 1 kopeck thanks to this deal. In 1856–1858 the English, French and Americans were at war with China, and in 1858, as a consequence, China had to open its seaports for trade. It is important to mention that during those events the RussianAmerican Company continued its relations, and developed its trade, with China. As a result of the vigorous actions of the company’s clerks in Shanghai and Kyakhta the total revenue from the tea trade amounted to more than 600,000 roubles, while fur deals brought 142,934 roubles 1 kopeck. In a year the “costs” on colonial goods increased by 30,000 roubles. The year 1858 happened to be the most successful in the whole history of RAC–Chinese relations. The income from the trade with China was more than 600,000 roubles that year. Table 14.2: Tea trade of the Russian-American Company with China Year

1850 1851 1852 1853 1854 1855 1856 1857 1858 1859 1860 1861 1862 1863

Number of boxes traded at Kyakhta

Number of boxes traded at Shanghai

Number 3154 4436 4250 0 69 1157 1043 1633 2335 2009 2425 85 2344 1005

percentage

Number

Percentage

90% 67% 0% 2% 25% 19% 100% 32% 28% 33% 1% 34% 9%

489 2052 1930 2906 3514 4536 0 4943 5096 5014 5939 4977 9837

10% 33% 100% 98% 75% 81% 0% 68% 72% 67% 99% 66% 91%

Total number

3154 4925 6302 1930 2975 4671 5579 1633 7278 7105 7439 6024 7021 10842

Source: Based on data taken from the Archive of the Foreign Policy of the Russian Empire, Russian-American Company papers, and collections from the State Archive of Irkutsk Region in Irkutsk, State Historical Archive in St Petersburg and State Archive of the Navy in St Petersburg.

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In 1858–1859 almost all of the boxes of Chinese tea were successfully sold (1 per cent unsold), in 1860 12 per cent were unsold and in 1861 43 per cent. The situation improved in 1862, but in 1863, 99 per cent of the boxes of tea remained unsold in the Russian market, and at the same time the RAC had bought a record 10,842 boxes of tea. As a result the RAC profit diminished: from 400,000 roubles in 1862 to just 20,000 roubles in 1861. The RAC explained the diminishing of trade relations by the fact that inexpensive sorts of tea had arrived from Europe for the Russian market. Boxes of tea that English merchants bought in Canton (for cheaper prices) and packaged as tea from Kyakhta, which was two to three times more expensive, usually crossed the border via Finland. It was very difficult for the RAC to compete with these cheaper sorts of tea. The taxes were 60 kopecks per pound of tea, no matter how cheap or expensive the tea was. The Russian customs service was moved to Irkutsk. In 1861, Irkutsk became the major trading and customs town in Siberia. The RAC exchanged furs for Chinese goods and mostly used barter, while private merchants were allowed by the Russian government to use silver and gold coins that dramatically diminished the influence of the RAC in the fur trade. In comparison to the RAC, private merchants had no resources for developing roads and infrastructure in the Russian Far East, and they mostly used what was left by the RAC. Having examined the company report for the years 1856–1857, the editorial board of the “Magazine for Shareholders” indicated that the total figures on tea and the fur trade were different from one another, and in addition that the amount of the total income of the company during the last years differed from previously, while the dividend on the shares remained at the same level. An “old shareholder” responded by drawing attention to the fact that the company, which combined trading and administrative functions in carrying out its duties, operated over a vast territory. The “old shareholder” explained his thought with a striking example. He suggested that readers imagine that the directors of the RAC had learned about the possibilities of rich fisheries and pelt hunting on the Kuril Islands and had decided to take advantage of the favourable situation by sending appropriate instructions to the colonies and offices in Siberia to hunt sea animals and to sell pelts in Kyakhta. It would take at least three years before the decision of the directors could be carried out and the fur could be traded for tea in Kyakhta. Then no less than two years would pass before the tea could be sold at fairs and in big cities. As a result, the funds spent on sending the fishing and hunting consignment “will return with an appropriate profit in

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barely five years.”24 In 1861 the Russian government allowed the delivery of Chinese tea from Europe. The Russian government had its own plans for RAC–China trade. By the late 1850s, the Russian government became convinced that it could hardly afford an American colony – despite the rather successful operations of the RAC. In the 1850s the idea of selling the American colony became an issue. The outcome of the Crimean War convinced many that Russia would have to concentrate on building up its naval power and take steps to strengthen its borders. The Russian eastern border presented a particular problem. This specifically concerned its colonial possessions in the North Pacific, which were administrated by the RAC. The RAC had many opponents. One of them was Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich, who headed the Ministry of the Navy. In the late 1850s he suggested that Alaska be sold and the RAC dissolved. In 1857 Konstantin Nikolaevich secretly discussed the possibility of selling Alaska to one of the European countries or the USA. The initiative was strictly that of Konstantin Nikolaevich, who was brother of the Russian Emperor Alexander II. Konstantin Nikolaevich was known for his anti-RAC position. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs proposed to sell only Alaska and to retain the Aleutian Islands as Russian territories, mainly because of their geographical location and the potential income from their furs. The Ministry took into account the fruitful Russian–Chinese trade relations and profits from this trade. The position of the Grand Duke Constantine was based on the fact that a monopoly brought only harm to private initiative in the North Pacific, and that private companies could act more efficiently. He wanted the RAC to pay additional taxes for its commercial activity. It put the company in a very difficult situation. In 1861 the RAC prepared another annual report on its activities that represented its financial state in 1860. The total revenues decreased by 66,399 roubles 41 kopecks, compared with 1859.25 The company received 91,253 roubles 81 kopecks less than a year before from the tea trade, although in 1860 more tea was acquired and sold than in the previous year. The RAC set a new record in the financial year, having bought 7,439 “mesto” of tea. However, due to the fact that part of the profit was spent on paying fees and bills, the RAC received less revenue than anticipated.

24. Alexander Yu. Petrov, Rossiisko-amerikanskaya kompaniia. Deiatelnost' na otechestvennom rynkakh (1799–1867). (Moscow: Nauka, 2006), 190. 25. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1860 (St Petersburg, 1861).

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In January 1863 the Main Administration of the RAC made yet another report on the activities of the company.26 Its revenue rose only marginally, and the increase of 271,26 roubles 18 kopecks could not significantly affect the general welfare of the company. The fact that the revenue from the tea trade grew by 185,328 roubles 4 kopecks did not have a significant effect on the total amount of annual income. It turns out that the company made only 144,563 roubles 62 kopecks from the sale of “soft stuff,” which is almost 142,059 roubles less than in 1861. A corresponding “cost reduction” on furs made for the acquisition of additional yet minor income. In 1862 the income from the tea trade was three times the income from the fur trade. In 1863 the company achieved the highest record ever, having obtained 10,842 “mesto” of tea. Furthermore, these were highquality and expensive varieties of tea. One consignment was taken to Kronstadt on the ship Kamchatka, which belonged to the RAC, while the other was sent around the world on freighters, but “could only be delivered to Hamburg due to the lateness of the season.”27 Thus, as repeatedly emphasized by the company’s directors, tea from Shanghai was popular and could successfully compete in the domestic market with the best teas delivered by the British. It would seem that the company’s revenues would increase substantially with such a performance. However, contrary to the expectations of the company’s directors, the first tea consignment remained unsold throughout 1863. The Main Administration of the RAC was reluctant to sell tea at low prices, hoping that the situation would become more favourable. As a result, it was decided to delay presenting the report for some time, which, as it turned out, dragged on for months. In the end, the first consignment was sold in St Petersburg with large losses for the company. The second consignment met with a no less dramatic an accident: 512 crates of tea were damaged during their transportation. However, as the cargo was insured, the RAC managed to get a profitable pay-out. More complicated matters stood with the remaining cargo. The price offered to the RAC in Hamburg was not suitable, and it was decided to send the remaining consignment to St Petersburg, but when the tea was delivered, it turned out that it could only be sold with even less profit. Using the information received from Nizhny Novgorod fair on “the rise of tea prices,” company officials sent it there; “nevertheless, despite all efforts, these teas remained unsold until the end of 1864.” As a result, the income of the RAC from the tea trade totalled 21,149 roubles 2 kopecks, which 26. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1862 (St Petersburg, 1863). 27. Ibid., 9.

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was 401,994 roubles 1 kopeck less than in 1862. In other words, the revenue from the tea trade decreased by a factor of twenty in one year! The Main Administration of the RAC explained in its report that “the decline in the tea trade … occurred due to the increased import of tea, if low-grade, from foreign markets, and in particular due to smuggling across the Western border.”28 The mechanism of smuggling tea into the market was explained in a special secret note on the tea trade. For example, cheaper tea went via Finland. The British bought it in Canton, and then packed it in brown paper, on which it was marked as originating from Kyakhta.29 Bypassing Kyakhta customs, smugglers transported whole caravans of tea across the border. In particular, the “Nanking or Semipalatinsk tea was also from China, however, it went not via Kyakhta, but from Western China to Siberian and Orenburg lines, thus being smuggled through China.”30 All the smuggled tea was twice, three times or even several times cheaper than that purchased and legally imported. The Main Administration of the RAC, perhaps, somewhat exaggerated the inferiority of the quality of the smuggled tea compared with the preferred variety, yet it acknowledged that the fight against smuggling was very troublesome due to the difficulties of finding and exposing smugglers, and the increased competition in the tea market was leading to a critical situation. The processes of trading tea in Kyakhta and selling it, subsequently, in Russia were rather complicated, requiring accurate calculation and analysis of the market; otherwise, instead of expected profits, a merchant or the Company was in for a loss. The specificity of the trade with the Chinese is conveyed accurately and vividly in “the Note”: Our merchants are not able to calculate their turnover at the price at which they trade their produce to the Chinese, they do it at the price at which tea is sold at the Nizhny Novgorod fair; it is better to say that our merchants cannot bargain with the Chinese for money, but merely keep account of items, subsequently determining the cost of the tea. As a result, the monopolistically acting Chinese have raised their tea prices to such nominal values that they can sell our goods, exchanged for tea, in Peking at prices lower than those at which they are sold here in Russia, while our merchants should sell tea at a price such that it not only rewards the loss incurred by the exchange, but also yields profits.31

28. Ibid. 29. A note on the tea trade, 1844 or later (see Archive of the Russian Geographical Society, F. 99, Op. 1, D. 87, P. 1–2). 30. Ibid., 2, back side. 31. Ibid., 13.

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The Russian authorities barely encouraged the tea trade with the Chinese. The tax on tea was 60 kopecks per pound, with both expensive and cheap varieties of tea being equally liable for it. As a result, merchants were forced to raise the price at which tea was sold in the Russian markets. By the early 1860s it had become very difficult to buy tea from the Chinese in Kyakhta, and pay the high taxes, while competing with cheap smuggled tea in the Russian market. Unable to deal with smuggling through the border, in 186132 the customs office was transferred to Irkutsk, and the Chinese were allowed to make a duty-free trade in Russia at a 50-verst distance from the border.33 In 1861, in order to combat smuggling and increase customs revenue, the ban on importing Chinese tea from Europe, imposed in 1822, was lifted, putting the company into even greater difficulties. Not only the Russian-American Company, but also many Russian and foreign merchants who sought to get into the tea market, realized that the tea trade brought large profits. However, unlike the monopolistic Pacific fur trade, the tea trade elsewhere presupposed competition with both private merchants and smugglers while taking into account the disadvantageous changing policy of the government towards the Company. However, not all the fault lay with these factors. A lot of responsibility rested with the Main Administration of the RAC, which made strategic mistakes when planning trading operations during the second half of the 1850s. Having concluded that the welfare of the company depended on the tea trade, the Main Administration of the RAC directed all its resources to purchasing quality Chinese teas in high demand. This was done without market analysis, which would have considered the possible risks and the impact of political events on the business of the RAC. The Main Administration of the RAC was so confident in the future prosperity of the tea trade and, consequently, the well-being of the company that it did not even consider diversifying its sources of income. When tea prices fell sharply and the Russian market was flooded with cheap smuggled tea, the directors of the company were forced to “pause for some time with

32. Events of 1861 are given in the context of the analysis of the report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1863, as it was in 1863 when the consequences of market conditions and government decisions affected the company. 33. See A.V. Startsev and Yu. M. Goncharov, Istoriia predprinimatel'stva Sibiri (XVII–nachalo XX v.) [The History of Entrepreneurship in Siberia (17th to Early 20th Centures)] (Barnaul: Altay University Publishing, 1999), 96–97.

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ordering teas from China until the tea trade could recuperate.”34 This measure was not a preventative, but a forced reaction to changes in market conditions. The fact that the difficulties with the tea trade were temporary was not taken into account, and a complete refusal to buy tea in Kyakhta was hardly a competent step. When the prices returned to their previous values, the company would have to regain its place in the market , which would not be so simple. As a result of the extremely unfavourable tea trade, the RAC was compelled to significantly increase the “costs” on exported furs and goods intended for sale in the colonies. The total amount of “cost increase” amounted to 518,387 roubles 88 kopecks in 1863, which was 183,260 roubles 76 kopecks more than in 1862. The fact that the bookkeeping of the Main Administration of the RAC got into trouble due to changes in market conditions can be observed from the summary costs of the company, which in 1863 were greater by 10,291 roubles 62 kopecks than in 1862. At first glance it might even seem that the accounts department had made obvious errors in the calculations. Suffice it to say that the amount of money spent on the “emoluments and allowances of the Main Administration in St Petersburg, offices … and on commissioners” in 1863 was greater by 19,225 roubles 68 kopecks than in 1862. The expense of “packaging and transporting teas from China and Shanghai” increased by 38,319 roubles, 81 kopecks, because, as mentioned earlier, the clerks of the company had purchased a record number of tea crates. In the colonies, repairing ships also cost 33,392 roubles, 81 kopecks more. The Company spent 5,000 roubles more for the maintenance of hospitals and schools in Novo-Arkhangelsk. There was some consolation in the fact that in 1863, 63,967 roubles 78 kopecks less was paid to the state than a year previously. In order to equalize incomes and expenses, the expense of maintaining offices in Russian America was slightly cut, along with pensions, benefits and awards. In 1863 the Russian-Finnish Whaling Company35 ceased operations. The Main Administration “had used 100,000 silver roubles in the enterprise, had to raise 7,875 roubles more, and then the matter was considered completely over.”36 Such a depletion of income meant that in 34. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1863, 11. 35. Formed by the RAC in 1849, as a response to American whaling ships from New England entering the Gulf of Alaska in 1835 and the Bering Sea in 1848. Half the shares in the company were held by the RAC and the other half by Finnish businessmen. 36. Ibid., 46.

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1863 the Main Administration of the RAC was not able to assign the payment of dividends on shares. The company’s assets grew by 369,761 roubles 79 kopecks, while the largest prospective increase was pointed out in the article “Goods for Sale in Russia and for Supplying the Colonies”: from 571,431 roubles 61 kopecks up to 1,581 631 roubles 97 kopecks in total. If this had been a report on the balance of the mid- or late 1850s, there could only be rejoicing at the successful transaction of affairs, but it was 1863, with market conditions extremely adverse for the company. Accordingly, this article reflects unsold goods that lay in warehouses losing their quality. “Goods and property” in Ayan could not be considered highly liquid either, and, although an increase of more than 73,000 roubles was also observed here, this amount also concerned unsold goods. Among the company’s assets such items as cash in Russia (25,756 roubles 83 kopecks) and movable and immovable property (11,842 roubles 89 kopecks) decreased significantly as well. From 1861, the territories of Transbaikalia and the Amur region were declared Porto Franco (free port/s) – port towns or coastal regions within which free and duty-free import and export of foreign goods was allowed.37 This was due to the fact that Siberian tea and fur traders supported the idea of developing the Amur path to “the Great Ocean,” and in 1859 three commercial agents were sent up the Amur river to Nikolayevsk, then to Shanghai and Japan, for market research. On August 2, 1860, the military governor of Primorskaya Oblast considered the import of tea via Nikolayevsk to be useful and necessary. In order to implement this idea the “Kyakhta–Amur partnership” was created with the task of supplying tea to the population of the Amur basin and a part of Transbaikalia. Despite the adoption of Porto Franco regulations, transporting goods by sea was more profitable. For instance, shipping by sea from China to St Petersburg cost about 12 roubles 60 kopeks per pound of tea, while the freight amounted to 18 roubles 60 kopecks when utilizing an overland route via Kyakhta. At the same time, Russian merchants began to import their goods directly into China and to buy tea there, sending it by sea to Odessa and then dispersing it to many Russian cities. The monopoly of Kyakhta over Russian–Chinese trade was over. Kyakhta shifted from being the main centre of this trade to being a transit point; however, the import of Chinese tea via Kyakhta increased. The fact is that that more expensive loose tea was exported by sea, while the brick and green

37. State Archive of Irkutsk Oblast', F. 24, Op. 11, D. 123.

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varieties that were extensively consumed in Russia continued to follow the traditional path via Kyakhta in large quantities. However, as recognized by the directors of the Russian-American Company, “in general, all Russian small trade at Kyakhta in early 1863 was with very little success.”38 The Main Administration saw the reason for this as being the fact that Chinese trading houses were bringing to Kyakhta a few good-quality varieties of tea, but they wanted to sell them only for silver while manufactured goods and furs met with little demand. The company also failed at selling furs directly in Kalgan, because the Chinese could not offer a satisfactory price there. Therefore, “in view of the above adverse circumstance of trade in Kyakhta, the continued existence of the company’s office there has lost its purpose.” In November 1863, the Main Administration of the RAC sent a circumstantial paper to the chief governor of Russian America, Johan Hampus Furuhjelm, in which he was ordered to stop sending furs from the colonies to Kyakhta.39 This order of the Main Administration put an end to the long history of trade between the RAC and the Chinese in Kyakhta. With the Kyakhta customs bureau transferred to Irkutsk, the town became the “center of all business in these matters.” Thus, after 1861, Irkutsk shifted from being the major transit point to being a customs town. The Main Administration of the RAC was forced to make the difficult decision to close the office in Kyakhta on January 1, 1864, transferring all the remaining goods to Irkutsk. “The abolition of the Kyakhta office resulted in a reduction of consumption amounting to 7,000 silver roubles per year.”40 In 1862 Russia won the right to have its merchants trade directly in China and at lower tax rates than those charged to the Shanxi merchants. The Russian firms began to make their own brick tea in Hankou and ship it directly to Tianjin and on to Russia, rather than using the land route north through Shanxi. The trade was declining, but it was not the only source of the area’s wealth. Since the 1850s many of the big Shanxi merchant networks had turned to banking, and this was one of the banking centres.41 To complete the story regarding Shanxi, the further history of its material prosperity was not so fortunate. Mongolian independence, the 38. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1863, 40. 39. NARS RRAC, Roll 24, Folios 440–444. 40. A Report of the Main Administration of the Russian-American Company on 1863, 40–43. 41. Harrison, The Man Awakened from Dreams, 41–43. Perdue, China Marches West.

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Russian revolution and the refocusing of both national security concerns and trade from inland north-west China to the south-east coast – together these developments turned Shanxi from a major trading corridor into an isolated and inaccessible province. In the twentieth century, the villages of central Shanxi were transformed from prosperous centres of commerce and industry into impoverished and largely agricultural communities.42 In the village of Xindian, located 10 kilometres from Yangloudong, there remain three ancient streets, paved with green cobblestones, that date back to the Ming and Qing dynasties. The dwellings on both sides of the street are built of wood, with the Yellow River running just behind the street. The ancient piers, where the ships carrying brick tea moored, are still intact. In those days brick tea was loaded onto ships, transported across the lake of Huanggai and subsequently taken to Hankou down the Yangtze River. Tracks of tea-carrying wheelbarrows are still visible on the street. Iron hand-power press machines with cog-wheels, used for the production of brick tea, as well as large scales for weighing it, are preserved. In those years hundreds of tea shops were set up in the village, with the permanent population of the community reaching 40,000. At that time tea production made use of the water sources of Guanyin and two other small rivers, therefore the tea shops set up by Shanxi merchants bore the names of “Chengshengchuan,” “Zhuchengchuan” and “Chanyuchuan.” Each name had the hieroglyph “ᐍ” (chuan), which means “river.” Today Zhao Li Qiao Tea Company, located in the village, still produces brick tea that has the hieroglyph “ᐍ” in its name. This tea was shipped to Russia once. Almost all monuments of the past left in Hankou by Russian merchants in the 19th century are connected with the tea trade. At the intersection of Poyang Street and Tianjin Road there still remains an Orthodox church, built in 1876 by Petkin, a Russian tea merchant. Outside, the church looks like a hexagon with arches and peaked roofs in the Byzantine style. It is the only building in Hankou made in typically Russian style. The Xintai Building, which belonged to a Russian tea factory, was constructed in 1888 at the end of Lanling Road in Hankou. Until the 19th century, high-quality green tea had held a major share in tea imports, which included extremely rare Chinese teas, for example a

42. Ibid., 7. For the decline of Shanxi, see also Katharine Edgerton-Tarpley, Tears from Iron: Cultural Responses to Famine in Nineteenth-Century China (Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2008). John Richards, The Unending Frontier: An Environmental History of the Early Modern World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003.).

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special variety of the yellow Chinese “Imperial” tea, traded by the Chinese with the Russian-American Company solely for the fur of sea otters. After the Alaska Purchase this tea largely disappeared from the Russian market. Black tea started to become dominant in the general turnover, effectively forcing out other varieties. The inscription “Tea from Kyakhta and a Kalach from Murom means a rich person is having a lunch” is found on the cups manufactured by Sitegin’s factory in the 1860s. In the middle of 1860s the Russian-American Company almost stopped its commercial relations with China. The loss of the Chinese market had very serious consequences for the Company. Eventually it led to financial difficulties for the RAC that, in turn, led to the sale of Alaska to the United States. In 1865, the RAC management got the imperial cabinet to issue new rules and privileges for the Company. After that, in the spring of 1866, the State Council approved the main principles for a new RAC Charter. In early 1867, the Main Administration of the RAC notified the Ministry of Finance that the company’s losses from the tea trade amounted to 797,000 roubles in 1863–1864. It was a very significant sum: suffice to say, it was comparable to the annual income of the Company in the late 1850s. In this situation, the RAC was forced to seek help from the government and foreign creditors for further loans. In January and February 1867 the RAC received 327,621 roubles of credit. In addition, the obligation on the credit issued to the company in London (10,681 pounds), was carried by the state. The RAC also received 200,000 roubles’ worth of subsidies which were to cover the costs of governing Russian America. From the beginning of 1867, the shares of the RAC took a beating. On February 27, 1867, the company’s shares were sought to be sold at a price of 90 roubles, but in the end, the transaction could only be completed at 75 roubles per share. It was the lowest price ever paid for the originally 150-rouble shares of the Russian-American Company in the entire history of trading the company’s securities on the stock exchange. However, these were just speculative operations that did not truly reflect how matters stood in reality, and on 3 March the company’s share price rose by 10 roubles.43 The problem for the Russian-American Company was resolved in October 1867 when Baron Stoeckl, Russia’s envoy to the United States, returned to Russia and held talks with Grand Duke Constantine, Finance Minister Reitern and Foreign Minister Gorchakov. The talks were

43 Birzhevye Vedomosti (Stock Exchange News), February 27, March 3, 1867.

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conducted in strict secrecy; even the RAC management knew nothing about them. Grand Duke Constantine drew attention to the foreign policy aspect of the matter. He believed that in the event of war it would be very difficult for Russia to retain its possessions in North America, and ceding them to the United States would promote better relations between the two countries. He further believed that Russia would do well to concentrate on developing its territories in the Far East and the Amur basin. He failed to recognize the fact of the importance of the Russian–Chinese trade that was mostly carried on by the RAC. The purchase of Russian America in March 1867 was consummated after the negotiations were completed and the provisions of the convention were agreed upon. To conclude, the commercial relations of the RAC with China helped to develop an expansive trade and economic zone reaching from Alaska to the Far East. These relations helped Alaska to flourish and greatly influenced the Russian Far East. Russia made a tremendous step forward in developing the territories in Siberia and the Far East. The commercial relations and territorial development influenced the development of stock capital in the Russian Empire and promoted new forms of doing business. That experience could prove useful nowadays in current Russian–Chinese relations.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN FOREIGN ENGINEERS’ ACTIVITIES IN CHINA AND THE PROCESS OF CHINA’S INTERNATIONALIZATION: THE CASE OF THE ENGINEERING SOCIETY OF CHINA, 1901–1941 WU LIN-CHUN

Introduction The role of engineers in Chinese history is a hot topic in recent years, as some scholars’ research has shown us how important a role these people played in the process of modern China’s industrialization and how they contributed to the emerging technocratic states of both the Republic and the PRC eras.1 However, there is no serious study on foreign engineers’ societies and their activities in modern China. This chapter tries to fill this gap by focusing on the group known as the Engineering Society of China. Founded in Shanghai on January 15, 1901, the same year Queen Victoria 1

David A. Pietz, Engineering the State: The Huai River and Reconstruction in Nationalist China, 1927–1937 (New York and London: Routledge, 2002). David A. Pietz, The Yellow River: The Problem of Water in Modern China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014). Pierre-Etienne Will, Bureaucracy and Famine in Eighteenth-Century China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press). Pierre-Etienne Will, Nourish the People: The State Civilian Granary System in China, 1650–1850 (Ann Abor: University of Michigan Center for Chinese Studies, 1991). Shellen Wu’s new book, Empires of Coal: Fueling China’s Entry into the Modern World Order, 1860–1920 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2015) discusses how China came to matter in the new modern world order of the nineteenth century, which was built on the perception that coal was a measure of a country’s standing in the world, and also situates this story within a history of mineral sciences, modern geographers, and engineers in China.

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died, this international association was established by an English engineer, Gabriel James Morrison, in the wake of Boxer uprising. While the Victorian era was closely associated with expansive free trade in British history, the new century also heralded the arrival of great business opportunities for foreign engineers in China, largely as a result of the Boxer Protocol, imposed on China by international powers, providing momentum, access, and finances for the promotion of foreign businesses in the country. Foreign engineers clearly benefited from this new development. The need for railways, waterworks, gas, and civil engineering, along with the development of Shanghai harbor and the facilities of the International Settlement in China, attracted many European engineers to China, and Britain was the most influential country in China across the centuries. The Engineering Society of China followed the model and structure of similar organizations in London. The Society was born out of a group of English engineers, fathered by the leading engineers and architects in Shanghai city, and very obviously derived its form and substance from its parent organization, the Engineering Institution in London. The Engineering Society of China functioned and existed in China for more than 40 years and was actually an international organization with members from several other nations as well as China. It became a multinational organization in the 1910s. Although we cannot discover how many copies of its official journal were printed, the Society and its members indeed played a crucial role in economic, scientific, and cultural exchanges between China and foreign countries, and provided opportunities that helped set up engineers’ social networks in China. This chapter takes advantage of a close examination of the journal of the Engineering Society of China, which was suspended after the breakout of the Pacific War. The rarely studied official journal of this Society is well preserved and represents a valuable resource for study. The objective of this chapter is to examine and analyze the European engineers’ activities and their relationship with the development of modern China’s internationalization, by using this organization as a source of case studies.

1901 and the Main Development of the Society Birth and Growth In 1901, the Empress Dowager wielded tyrannical power; her extreme anti-foreign attitude had encouraged the anti-foreign Boxer outbreak in

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1900. However, the ferment of Western ideas was not halted, nor was the growth of international commerce checked, even in the most conservative of communities. The beginning of the twentieth century was also the beginning of a great expansive movement in China, and the Boxer Protocol was, in part, the financial basis of subsequent engineering and commercial development. For example, the income of Chinese Maritime was paid to the Xinchou Indemnity, a British company had developed into the Kailan Mining Administration, and the Whangpoo Conservancy Board was set up by the Boxer Protocol, among other developments. The British Contingent-China Field Force focused seriously on its mining and railroad interests in China, asking officers to report their engineering operations in China as part of the details of their business.2 Modern industrialism was just beginning to take root in Shanghai, and once again, 1901 was a year of beginnings. In addition to the temporarily abortive institution of the Whangpoo Conservancy Board,3 the Council signed an agreement with the Shanghai Mutual Telephone Company. The first steps were taken by the rate-payers to install an electric tramway system in the town, and the Cadastral Survey Office was instituted. Building rules for Chinese houses were issued, and an ambitious scheme of “Outside Roads” was started. The Hungjao, Rubicon, and Brenan Roads were opened as mud roads to pedestrians and riders; the construction of Ward Road Gaol was started; the Cathedral Tower was built and the Crimson Rambler Rose was introduced from England. There was then no railway in Shanghai other than the ill-starred line to Woosung; the harbor was in a very bad state; and practically all building construction was of brickwork and timber. Besides, there were no motor cars, trams, or buses, few bicycles, and only a few semi-privately operated telephones. Electric lighting was well established and being rapidly extended, but electric power was in its infancy.4 In this changing and potentially fertile environment, a preliminary meeting was held in the Town Hall, Shanghai, with 52 persons attending, on January 15, 1901 and the Shanghai Society of Engineers & Architects 2

Engineering Operation of the British Contingent-China Field Force, 1900–1901 (Calcutta: Office of the Superintendent of Government Printing, India. Collected by the British National Archives.). 3 The Whangpoo Conservancy Board was set up by the Boxer Protocol but did not commence work on the river until 1905. 4 For more details see Shi Mei Chang, ed., The History of Shanghai (Shang Hai Zu Jie Zhi Shang) (Shanghai: Social Science publisher, 2001).

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came into being.5 During this eventful year of 1901, there were also a number of remarkable inventions that marked a new age of engineering: the first British submarine was launched; the first turbine-propelled merchant ship, the King Edward, made 20.48 knots (37.93 km/h) on her trial; the Quebec Bridge was under construction; the first New York subway was started under a prominent engineer, W.B. Parsons, who had been a railroad engineer in China in 1898–1900.6 Herbert Hoover (president of the U.S., 1929–33) had worked as chief engineer for the Chinese Bureau of Mines and as general manager for the Chinese Engineering and Mining Corporation in 1899, and had been trapped in Tianjin during the Boxer rebellion.7 From this point of view, the birth of the Engineering Society of China was a surprising coincidence that connected comparatively “undeveloped” China with the great technical inventions of the “civilized” West. The Society’s first president, Gabriel James Morrison, had been the chief engineer of the Woosung rail line in 1876. This railroad provoked the indignation of Chinese people, and the Ch’ing government subsequently bought it back and removed the tracks. Morrison left for London in 1902, and died in 1905. 8 The Society’s first vice-presidents were Brenan Atkinson, Thomas Bunt, and John Reginald Harding. The first paper, entitled “The Erection of South Cape Light House, Formosa,” was read on April 2, 1901, by J.R. Harding.9 T. Bunt, an engineer of Kiangnan Arsenal and the third president, initiated the Society’s connection with technical 5

The North China Herald, Jan. 23, 1901. W.B. Parsons had studied in England in his youth, before being educated at Columbia University. He earned the moniker of “the man behind the subway who brought engineering to New York high society.” Henry Petroski, “Engineering: William Barclay Parsons,” American Scientist 96, No. 4 (July–August 2008): 280–283. Parsons came to China in 1898 as an engineer with the American-Chinese Development Co., and was also the author of An American Engineer in China (New York: McClure, Phillips & Co., 1900). 7 Herbert C. Hoover, The Memoirs of Herbert Hoover: Years of Adventure 1874–1920 (London: Hollis & Carter, 1952). 8 “The Late Mr. G.J. Morrison: Engineers’ and Architects’ Tribute,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Feb. 17, 1905. 9 Harding died in 1921. “Obituary: Mr. John Reginald Harding, J.P., M. INST. C.E.,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Jul. 9, 1921. 6

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education in Shanghai. During the session of 1903–04, the first honorary members, G.J. Morrison and T. Bunt, were both elected on their retirement from China. The first paper on “Technical Education in Shanghai” was read by C.H. Godfrey and a Prize Fund was started for students’ papers. In May 1904, an Education Committee was appointed and at the Third Annual Meeting the acting president appealed for the younger men in the profession to join the Society. In November 1904, on the initiative of the Society, the first Technical Evening Classes in Shanghai were started, with 50 students, and appeared to be very successful.10 In August 1905, the Shanghai Municipal Council (S.M.C.) undertook to continue them as part of the work of the newly opened Shanghai Public School. They survived another year, but couldn’t continue beyond this.11 The Society had its first dinner in 1907 and began to turn its thoughts to registration. Later, a severe decline set in—the result of what might be described as founder’s influence or may partly have been caused by the formalities of the registration system. After Godfrey gave up the position of honorary secretary in 1908 and went home on leave, everything seemed to go stale; there was only one paper in 1908–09 and no Annual Meeting was held, and the Society’s funds dwindled to less than $50. In the following session of 1909–10, no subscriptions were collected and there occurred the first recorded case of a member being expelled.12 The good old days were finished. Fortunately, when C.H. Godfrey became president in 1910, attention was diverted from registration to research and the famous Reinforced Concrete Research Committee was set up. This seemed to be a turning point in the fortunes of the Society. Godfrey was also very active in relation to the public works of Shanghai Municipal.13 The first change in the name of the Shanghai Society of Engineers & Architects came in 1912,

10

“Technical Education in Shanghai,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Nov. 27, 1903. Engineering Society of China, Report and Proceeding, 1901 (hereafter cited as ESCRP), collected by Xu Jia Hui Cang Shu Lou of the Shanghai Municipal Library and British National Library. 11 Presidential address by N.W.B. Clarke, Journal of the Engineering Society of China, 1940–41, p. 11 (hereafter cited as JESC), collected by Xu Jia Hui Cang Shu Lou, Shanghai. 12 ESCRP, 1909–10. 13 “Public Building in Shanghai,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Mar. 18, 1910.

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at the initiative of the Council, as it was felt that the Society was receiving no support from the architects of Shanghai, who had already formed a Society of their own.14 In October 1939, the Society changed its name to the Engineering Society of China and the official publication also became known as the Journal of the Engineering Society of China. A Chinese name for the Society was not adopted until 1939, although it had been talked about in Council 20 years earlier. This name was Chung Hua Koh Tsi Kung Cheng Hsueh Hwei (୰⳹ᅧ㝿ᕤ⛬Ꮵ᭳) and was chosen by Mr. S.Z. Wang, then a member of the Council. Although founded in Shanghai and later becoming an international organization in China, the Society always had a strong affinity with Great Britain. When King Edward VII passed away in May 1910, the Society’s president, Godfrey, mourned him in the following eulogy: “King Edward always took a great interest in engineering and architecture having for many years been an honorary member of the Institute of Civil Engineers and since his accession to the Throne having been its Patron, as also of the Royal Institute of British Architects.”15 When World War I broke out, the Society expressed ardent patriotic support for its homeland—Great Britain—and the special committee was postponed due to the ongoing hostilities. Even in the 1930s, although the Society consisted of members of different nationalities, the Society was still deeply proud of its local branches connecting it with London and the motherland: “Our meeting today is the first meeting held subsequent to the approval by the governing bodies in London of the Institution of Civil Engineers and the Institution of Electrical Engineers of the proposed form of affiliation of their local branches or sections with our Society.”16 The movement for the amalgamation of the activities of the Society was initiated in 1933 by F. Gill, the Shanghai Association of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and the China Center of the Institution of Electrical Engineers, and was enthusiastically supported by Gill in London, since his retirement had brought things to the point where only the formal consent of members of the Society was required to bring it into effect. The advantages of amalgamation were so evident that the Council had no hesitation in expressing the hope that this consent would be unanimously 14

JESC, Vol. 2, No. 1, May 1941, p. 12. “Report of the Council for the Term Ending,” ESCRP, 1910. C.H. Godfrey left for London in June 1936 and died in December 1938. The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Dec. 14, 1938. 16 ESCRP, 1935–36, p. 3. 15

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forthcoming at the meeting, and therefore the members of 1934–35 came from China’s cities as follows: one from Amoy, one from Hangchow, three from Hankow, one from Kaifeng, two from Nanking, five from Tientsin, and one from Tsingtao; and for the members from abroad, one from Africa, seven from Hong Kong, and one from Japan.17 It is notable that on December 4, 1939, according to the Minutes of the Fourth Ordinary Meeting of the Society under the auspices of the Institution of the Electrical Engineers, China Center, all the 14 student members were Chinese. 18 The Foundation’s Research Committee had been giving a series of lectures and had arranged visiting activities, but due to the tension caused by the Japanese invasion and the worsening situation, the activities were reduced to a minimum. In January 1940, three active members of the committee were compelled to resign, which meant the future of the Foundation’s Research Committee was still uncertain, since the reorganization had not yet been completed.19

Membership The membership system of the Society imposed requirements on all applicants, and from its inception, was imbued with strict procedures and hierarchic characteristics. According to the 1901 By-Laws and Regulations of the Society, members should comprise every person who was on the register as of February 1901, and every person thereafter elected or transferred into the class of members. Every candidate for election or transfer to the class of members had to be at least 25 years of age, and was eligible if he met any of the following conditions: “He shall be in practice or business on his own account as an engineer or architect in some part of China, or being an assistant or employee shall hold a responsible position as in the opinion of the Council entitles him to be placed in the class of Members, or he shall be a marine engineer holding a certificate as chief engineer or he shall be a naval engineer on board a man-of-war on the China station.” It was also stipulated that class of associates should comprise every person elected to that class: “Every candidate for election should be over 20 years of age and should be engaged in engineering or

17

ESCRP, 1934–35, pp. 96–97. JESC, Vol. 1, No. 2, Jan. 1940, p. 7. 19 “Report on the Foundation’s Research Committee,” 1939–40, JESC, 1940, p. 12. 18

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architecture or some business connected therewith. The Students should be persons who are pupils or apprentices of engineering and architecture. And the officers of the society should be a president, not less than two vice-presidents, and not less than six other members of Council to be elected annually, and a secretary and such other officers as might be necessary and who should be appointed by the council.” Each member or associate paid a subscription of $10 per annum in advance and each student $5 per annum in advance.20 The Society expected itself and all its members to have professional, independent, and decent character: “The council may refuse to continue to receive the subscriptions of any person who shall have willfully acted in contravention of the regulations of the Society, or who shall in the opinion of the council have been guilty of such conduct as shall have rendered him unfit to continue to belong to the Society, and may remove his name from the register, and he shall thereupon cease to be a member or Associate of the society.”21 The Laws and Regulations of the Society were slightly revised in 1921–22, but the main spirit they embodied remained consistent. The Society’s adoption of a graded system of membership thus bestowed upon senior members a heightened status, and their position afforded them a greater degree of influence and standing in the engineering world of China. The graded system also provided an incentive to associate members, spurring them to redouble their efforts to reach the mark set for admission to the senior rank.22 The society started in 1901 with 85 members; the first 100 was reached in 1904, the second in 1916, the third in 1924, and the fourth in 1940. In 1941, membership grew to 456 members. Membership continued to grow until 1917, when China’s entrance into World War I in support of the Allies entailed the consequent painful necessity of asking enemy subjects to withdraw from the Society, marking the first break in the international structure of the Society. The great decline from 304 members in 1924 to 209 in 1929 was no doubt due to the effects of the post-war slump, whereas the rapid rise in membership from 250 in 1935 to 344 in 1937 was due mainly to the affiliation of the local branches of the Institutions of Civil, Electrical, and Mechanical Engineers (see Appendix, Table 15.1). Although membership declined after World War I, vigorous sessions and

20 21 22

ESCRP, 1901. “By-Laws and Regulations,” ESCRP, 1902, pp. 123–128. ESCRP, 1935–36, p. 5.

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activities followed, and 1919 was notable for the first paper being delivered to the Society by a Chinese member. In the beginning, the Society’s members were mainly British, with a sprinkling of French and Scandinavian nationals. The first Chinese member was elected in 1905 (Zhan Tianyou of the Peking Kalgan Railway, ၏ϺՙǴ٧஭៓ၡ). By 1916, when the total membership reached 200, the Society included representatives from Britain, China, Denmark, France, Germany, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, and the U.S.A. By the 1930s, members of Australian, Italian, Japanese, Portuguese, and Russian nationality had been added to the roll. This international milieu, with English as its lingua franca (஺㝿ㄒ), had been steadily maintained despite wars and revolutions and the rise of extreme nationalism, and was, its own modest way, part of the more civilizing side of Shanghai life. The harmonious and natural cooperation of all the nationalities had been a marked feature of Society life, and there was no evidence of lesser cordiality over the years, with the exception already noted of the period of World War I.23 The affiliation of both Chinese and foreign engineering groups played a crucial role in contributing to the national reconstruction of the Nanking government, during the period known as the “Nanking Golden Ages,” from 1927–37. The tendency to split into specialist groups which first showed itself in 1923 with the hiving off of the members of the Institution of Electrical Engineers, and subsequently in 1932 when the Shanghai Association of the Institution of Civil Engineers was formed, was checked by the experienced wisdom of Franck Gill, a past president of the Institution of Electrical Engineers (IEE) temporarily resident in Shanghai, and at that time an honorary member of the Society. As the result of his initiative, the local branches of the institutions mentioned became affiliated with the Society in 1935, and a local branch of the Institution of Mechanical Engineers, formed for the purpose in 1935, was similarly affiliated in 1936. Through these affiliations, all the members of the affiliated bodies automatically became members of the Society. So it was that the foreign section of the profession, at all events, was re-united, and the by-laws were so amended as to permit the affiliation of any further similar groups which might be formed in the future. For the Chinese engineering groups, during 1936 and 1937, up until the outbreak of hostilities in Shanghai, promising approaches were being made to the leading Chinese engineering institutions – namely, the Chinese Institution 23

JESC, Vol. 2, No. 1, May 1941, p. 20.

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of Engineers and the Chinese Institute of Electrical Engineers – with a view to further strengthening the professional body. The effects of the first series of affiliations had been so beneficial that it was evidently considered wise to continue approaches to the Chinese societies as soon as the opportunity presented itself.24 Significantly, most of the membership was Catholic. This Catholicism was reflected in the Society’s papers, and discussions had a mostly valuable educational influence, broadening the outlook of all faithful members and imposing a useful discipline on specialist authors in the presentation of their papers.25 The Society’s Shanghai membership made up 45 percent of the total Engineering group in 1901, and 11.3 percent in 1939. In 1940, the Society had 55 members resident in China outside Shanghai and 30 in other countries, including Australia, Egypt, Great Britain, Japan, the Philippines, the Straits Settlements, and the United States.26 The Society became an intellectual network between different countries and linked the world’s five continents together. It exerted an extraordinary influence on the progress of China’s internationalization.

The Society’s Cultural and Educational Effects after World War I The First International Engineering Congress was held by the American Society of Civil Engineers and other institutions on September 20–25, 1915, in San Francisco, mainly due to the Panama Canal – one of the so-called “seven wonders of the modern world” – being completed, a feat which was accomplished as a result of the cooperation of the engineering world’s elites and which represented the pinnacle of the cumulative wisdom of the ages.27 More importantly, although it is rarely mentioned, one of the Panama Canal engineering teams was transferred to China to help with the Hui River Conservancy.28 During World War I, another kind of cultural and educational cooperation was being advocated by intellectuals 24

ESCRP, 1927–37. JESC, Vol. 2, No. 1, May 1941, pp. 20–21. 26 ESCRP, 1901, pp. 54–55. JESC, 1939, pp. 54–55; 1940, pp. 2–11. 27 International Engineering Congress, Transactions of the International Engineering Congress, Sep. 20–25, 1915. 28 For more detail, see Wu Lin-chun, American Big Business and China’s Internationalization (Taipei: Lianjing Publishing, 2012), Ch. 5, 179–217. 25

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around the world, and for engineers, this meant paving the way to a better world by way of international teamwork and understanding. As Akira Iriye showed in his incisive book Cultural Internationalism and World Order, even in the face of World War I, there still existed a “cultural internationalism.” In the 1920s, “educators, intellectuals, artists, musicians, and many others cooperated across national boundaries to promote mutual understanding. They envisioned a world in which the exchange of students and scholars, collaborative intellectual enterprise, artistic exhibits, symposia on current affairs, and similar understandings would take the place of arms races and military alliances as determinants of international affairs.”29 Following Iriye, I want to emphasize that the Society was a collaborative intellectual organization based around the commonality of shared experience in China, and one which contributed much to the nation’s construction, specifically in the period after World War I.

Electrical Standardization According to a Council report, in January of 1914, a Committee on Electrical Standardization was appointed on the initiative of R.A. Williams and J.S.S. Cooper “to collect data and formulate proposals (for standardizing the systems of Electricity Supply in China),” whereupon it was hoped these proposals could be placed before the proper authorities. The Society gave fresh impetus to electrical standardization. In the meantime, the various sister Societies of the world, especially the American Society and the British Society, had both expressed their appreciation and approval of the “electrical standardization scheme.” These two committees in England and America comprised among them probably the best known electrical engineers in the whole world, and their opinion would be extremely valuable.30 The Standardization Committee considered themselves to be doing a great job in China: This is the first time, I think, in the history of Electrical Engineering that a committee has been got together to decide upon standardization in any one country, and if success is attained it will have far reaching effects not only in China, but also in Europe and America, as there is no doubt that today there is a tendency to look for a system that can be made standard for any 29 Akira Iriye, Cultural Internationalism and World Order (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997), 184. 30 ESCRP, 1915–16, p. 171.

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Standardization schemes are considered nowadays as one of the basic fundamentals for improving quality and safety in companies, products, and services, and are also important for protecting the environment. But the Committee was suspended in 1915 owing to the outbreak of World War I and was finally dissolved in November of 1919 without having achieved its objectives. After the end of the war, the Society endeavored to persuade the Chinese government to standardize its system of electricity supply. Owing partly to the result of the European war and even more to the absence of a stable Chinese government, success had proved impossible up to that point.32 The standardization scheme was re-advocated by A.J. Percival in 1940,33 but soon afterwards, when the Pacific war began with the attack by Japanese forces on Pearl Harbor, the great proposal failed yet again.

Technical Education The Society took a lively interest in the development of local technical education, and individual members did much to help it move forward. As early as 1903, T. Bunt, the third president of the Society, urged the establishment of Technical Evening Classes, in a well-equipped school with a paid, first-class professor: “Such a school would prove an excellent investment for Shanghai, and no doubt many of our employers here—whose liberality is well known, would contribute largely to such institution if some guarantee were given that it would be carried on in future.”34 C.H. Godfrey responded to this good idea and suggested that it could be started in the form of evening lectures to be given by those who were willing and able to impart information on particular subjects to those who were willing to learn.35 In 1904, a Technical Education Committee was formed, consisting of both members and non-members. This Committee 31

The only weak spot in the whole of the Society’s suggestions lay in the fact that they had suggested the use of 50 or 60 cycles. If one periodicity had been decided upon, either 50 or 60, then their suggested system would have become well-nigh perfect. ESCRP, 1915–16, p. 171. 32 ESCRP, 1920–21, p. 45. 33 JESC, 1939–40, Vol. 1, No. 1, pp. 2–6. 34 ESCRP, 1903–04, p. 25. 35 C.H. Godfrey, “Technical Education in Shanghai,” ESCRP, 1903–04, p. 165.

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launched the first Technical Evening Classes to be held in Shanghai on November 1, 1904, with an enrolment of 50 students. These classes were taken over by the S.M.C. in August of 1905, and ran for another session, after which they were discontinued, presumably due to a lack of students.36 In 1917, the Commission on Training of Chinese Engineers was founded. In view of the interest taken by members in the paper read at that year’s session, on the “Training of Chinese Engineers,” the Council had decided to appoint a commission to investigate and make a report on the general opinion as to the form that the training of Chinese engineers should follow. 37 A paper titled “Chinese Students in Engineering, Education and Training” was presented by A.C. Clear and D.P. Griffith for the Commission on Training of Chinese Engineers; however, the strain of the First World War conditions rendered it very difficult for members of the Commission to find time for an adequate treatment of so large and difficult a subject, so the Commission was postponed till the end of war.38 This venture was subsequently revived by J.A. Ely’s paper on “The Education and Training of Chinese Engineers” in 1922, and a new Commission was appointed. The results of their activities, however, are not recorded.39 In 1932, on the initiative of the China Center of the Institution of Electrical Engineers, joint meetings were held, as a result of which the Lester Trustees were urged to start the active technical work provided for in the will of the late Henry Lester. The building of the Institute had already been started in 1933, and it was opened on October 1st 1934.40 Throughout this period, the Society and the Institute most cordially supported each other. A Lester Institute Technical Education Advisory Committee was set up in April 1935, to be followed in February 1937 by the selection and 36

“Report on Evening Classes Held during the Months of November, December, January, February, and March,” ESCRP, 1904–05, pp. 178–184. 37 ESCRP, 1916–17, p. 73. 38 A.C. Clear and D.P. Griffith, “Chinese Students in Engineering, Education and Training,” ESCRP, 1916–17, pp. 254–255; 1917–18, p. 240. 39 J.A. Ely, “The Education and Training of Chinese Engineers,” ESCRP, 1921–22. 40 The officers and Council of the Society in 1933 were in active contact with B. Lillie, the first principal of the embryonic Technical Institute, who addressed a joint meeting of the Council and Committees of the Institutions of Civil and Electrical Engineers on October 13 of that year. Lillie became a member of the Society in 1933, and was elected to the Council in 1935 and to the position of vice-president in 1938. He was accidentally killed in April 1939.

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appointment of a Board of External Examiners to the Institute, with appointees chosen almost exclusively from members of the Society. On Nov 1, 1938, the Council set up a Public Relations Committee to promote such relations between the profession and the public as would reasonably ensure that matters appertaining to the science and practice of engineering, the training and status of the engineers, and the contribution which the profession had to offer to the public welfare, were properly understood and appreciated. The Public Relations Committee had an Education Sub-Committee as one of its most active branches. The main work of this Sub-Committee was to publish a handbook for the guidance of engineering students.41

Engineering Apprenticeship In 1937, a committee was appointed to study engineering apprenticeship and make recommendations as to its improvement or institution in Shanghai. The Committee sat for two and a half years, and as the result of exhaustive enquiries, was able in the spring of that year to present recommendations which were accepted by the Shanghai Municipal Council. The recommended regulations were promulgated in the Municipal Gazette of June 28, 1940. It was considered that collaboration between engineering and industrial firms in order to train apprentice tradesmen and the adoption of such a scheme would provide immeasurable benefits to both laborers and employers. It was recommended that at the conclusion of the period of apprenticeship, a certificate, signed by the employer (or managing director) and also by the president of the Engineering Society of China, should be issued to the apprentice.42 The rules and regulations, which imitated modern factory laws aimed at protecting the rights of both employers and laborers, were a very important page in the modern history of Chinese laborers. In the rules and regulations, apprentices were to be encouraged to attend technical classes for a minimum of three hours per week. These classes were to be conducted by the local educational authority, or another competent organization. As for the firms, they were required to have proper premises, suitably equipped for the carrying on of the trade, industry, or craft which 41

JESC, 1940–41, p. 36. “Discussion on the Training of Engineer Apprentices,” ESCRP, 1936–37, pp. 121–138.

42

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they proposed to teach the apprentice. It was also stipulated that firms should have in their employ a sufficient number of skilled and competent craftsmen capable of training the apprentice in a proper manner. As for the apprentices themselves, they had to be able to read and write their native language and had to have attained a standard of education equivalent to the passing requirements of a junior middle school. They were also required to possess a certain amount of manual dexterity. Each apprentice had to present a medical certificate from a duly qualified practitioner stating that they were physically fit to enter the industry selected. The duration of the apprenticeship was to be for a minimum of four years, or for a longer period to be mutually agreed upon at the time of signing the agreement. The minimum age for commencing an apprenticeship was set at 16, calculated according to Chinese reckoning. The apprentices’ salary and treatment were better than that received by most Chinese laborers at that time. In terms of the rate of pay, the basic minimum for apprentices was 60 cents per day for the first year; for the second year, it was 70 cents; for the third year, it was 85 cents; and for the fourth year, it was $1 per day. The rules and regulations also regulated holidays, accidents, and overtime, to protect the rights of apprentices. Specifically, an employer would be expected to grant a leave of absence to an apprentice, without any deduction of wages, for recognized holidays observed by the firm. In the event that an apprentice was injured in the course of his work, upon production of a medical certificate, the employer was obliged to provide adequate recompense. If the employer, for any reason, required the apprentice to work more than the normal number of hours per week, the employer had a duty to pay him extra wages proportional to those payable, under similar circumstances, to skilled tradesmen. Under no circumstance could an employer require an apprentice to work overtime before he reached the age of 18 years, nor on any evening when he was required to be in attendance at evening classes.43

The Society as the Bridge for China’s Internationalization Society Activities As a professional society, the engineers planned many activities, even in the early years. In 1902, the Society paid a visit to the Kiangnan Arsenal 43

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on March 22. The excursion was arranged by Mao Ta-jen, director of the Arsenal, and members of the Shanghai Society of Engineers & Architects were invited to observe, in all its stages, the evolution of a great gun. About 50 members of the Society availed themselves of what was unquestionably a unique opportunity to inspect a factory of uncommon interest, and the vast, complicated, and jealously guarded industry therein pursued. 44 As was noted, “the party was much impressed by the magnificence of the whole establishment and the manifest ability with which it is being administered by Director-general Mao, who is evidently the right man in the right place.”45 The pleasant social custom that existed among engineers of visiting each other’s works had been prevalent in the Society since its formation. With the disturbance in conditions prevailing since the outbreak of hostilities in 1937, such visits were not possible for some time, but they were resumed early in 1940. Apart from its regular meetings, the Society also developed a network of social functions, in the best sense of the word. There was a Joint Societies Garden Party, organized by the Society in 1936 in cooperation with the local branches of the Society. The Council also played host on several occasions to distinguished visitors, including, most notably, the Yellow River Commission (1915), the Consulting Commission on the Whangpoo River (1921), and the League of Nations Commission (1932).46 Papers on engineering subjects published in the Society’s Proceedings were not only of interest to the engineers’ groups, but were also invaluable to the rising generation of professionals in all disciplines in Shanghai. The Proceedings were not only interesting to intellectuals, but would also have been interesting to workers, and might have opened their eyes to the follies of their opposition to the introduction of machinery, and especially to automatic machinery: “With such a hardworking and industrious people as the Chinese, the automatic machine will be a very formidable weapon in the industrial struggle which is already beginning between East and West, and anything that we can do to bring this to the notice of our workmen will be of the greatest benefit to our respective countries.”47 44

North-China Daily News, March 26, 1902. ESCRP, 1902, pp. 103–108. ESCRP, 1902, p. 108. “The Shanghai Society of Engineers,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Jan. 29, 1902; “The Shanghai Society of Engineers and Architects,” The North-China Herald and Supreme Court & Consular Gazette (1870–1941), Sep. 10, 1902. 46 ESCRP, 1915; 1921; 1932. 47 Presidential Address, ESCRP, 1903–04, p. 4. 45

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A total of 229 papers, a full index to which appears in the Proceedings, had been presented up to the end of the last session of 1941, covering a very wide range of engineering subjects. The chief emphasis had naturally been placed on work carried out in China and other technical matters of local importance in the civil, mechanical, and electrical fields, but there had been many papers of general interest and a very useful group devoted to putting members in touch with up-to-date developments in Europe and America. The Proceedings always discussed the tremendous engineering works of China and throughout the world—for example, the construction of Panama Canal, the collapse of the Quebec Bridge,48 the project of improving Shanghai International Harbour, 49 and the most prominent engineering works of Nationalist China – the Hui River Conservancy.50 In 1904, a Prize Fund of $250 was instituted through the generosity of 10 members, and in 1905 two prizes of $50 each were offered for: (1) the best paper on an engineering or architectural subject by any student attending the Public School Evening Classes in the 1904–05 Session; and (2) the best similar paper by a student of the Society. The prize was again awarded in 1906, but was discontinued in 1907 owing to the closing of the evening school.51 In 1936, an annual prize of $100 was instituted for the best second-year engineering student in the Lester Technical Institute, known as the Engineering Society Prize. The Society’s prize for 1939 was awarded to Tsiang Tsung Chuan.52 The Society founded an engineering library in 1901, with the first donors recorded as the Institution of Mechanical Engineers and G.J. Morrison. Exchanges of Proceedings were arranged and the collection of the Proceedings of the kindred Society continued systematically. The Society was deemed to possess what was probably the most complete collection of such Proceedings in the Far East at the time. F.G. Helsby was 48

ESCRP, 1909–10. The discussants said, “The collapse was caused by the failure of some of the compression members,” and “the fall of the bridge is to be laid directly to the change in the unit stresses made by Mr. Copper”; p. 6. 49 ESCRP, 1909–10, pp. 120–122. 50 Journal of the American Asiatic Association (Feb. 1915): 24–26. For more detail, see Pietz, Engineering the State and The Yellow River. 51 First paper on “Technical Education in Shanghai” by C.H. Godfrey. Prize Fund instituted for (a) best paper by a regular attender of the evening classes at the Public School; (b) best paper by a student of the Society. In 1906 a prize of $100 was offered for the best paper by a member of the Society, but there were no entrants. 52 Session 1939–40. JESC, Vol. 1, No. 4, Sep. 1940, p. 7.

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appointed the first honorary librarian in 1908.53 In 1939, the Society presented a Challenge Cup for rifle shooting, to be competed for annually by members of the Engineer Company, S.V.C. Each winner was awarded a small replica of the cup by the Society. This Company was then known as the Shanghai Field Company. Captain G.E. Barker won the cup so often that it almost came to be regarded as his property.54 The dumping of quantities of faulty steel in Shanghai in 1933 by unscrupulous manufacturers and importers led to the appointment of a Special Investigation Committee. This Committee, after collecting evidence and samples, submitted its report to the Society in January 1934 and organized a “Special Open Meeting and Exhibition of Specimens of Faulty Steel” on March 23, 1934, to which all interested officials, importers, and property owners were invited. The effect of this energetic action was a most salutary lesson for all the engineers in Shanghai and proved that the Society had the character it claimed to possess. The Society became a collective member of the “First International Conference on Foundations and Soil Mechanics,” Cambridge, Mass., in 1939 on the initiative of H. Chatley. This conference would prove to be one of the classic events in civil engineering history. It aroused worldwide interest and its effect in Shanghai was the appointment of a Foundations Research Committee by the Society in March 1937.55 It collected some $10,000 and started actual research work in 1938–39. However, with the general deterioration of conditions in 1939–40 and the resignation of the original founders when they left Shanghai, it became impossible to carry on with the work on a voluntary basis. As a result, this most promising activity had to be closed down in 1940, and the unexpended research funds were refunded to the donors.56

53

JESC, 1940–41, p. 31. The Society’s Challenge Cup for 1939 was won by R. MacNeil. Session 1939–40. JESC, Sep. 1940, Vol. 1, No. 4, pp. 7, 34. 55 The Foundations Research Committee consisted of U.F. Beichmann, S.E. Flory, C.P. Hsueh, P.F. Unterberger and J.B. Watson. Soon afterwards, Beichmann, Flory and Watson left Shanghai. 56 JESC, 1940–41, pp. 37–38. 54

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The Responsibility of Foreign Engineers It was the custom for each president to open the new session with an address of a general nature which was not open for discussion. These addresses (see Appendix, Table 15.2) had covered a wide field of technical history up until 1927, when President H. Chatley introduced economic and sociological subjects which also attracted professional interest. From then on, the president’s address would focus on the duties and responsibility of the engineering groups in China during the period 1933–39. By and large, these addresses contained much of the gathered wisdom of local engineers from the past 40 years. Theories and practice must go hand in hand, and China provided an area in which the foreign engineers could experiment. As the president in the years 1903–04, T. Bunt, admitted: “for fear of failure, we dare not go far from the ‘beaten track’ of home practice, and by the time anything new reaches us here and has been tried sufficiently to enable us to express a definite opinion on it, it is already five years old, and something newer or better is occupying our attention.”57 In the chaotic state of China’s revolution and the early years of the Republic, even the Society had a pessimistic view of its future. However, the presidential address encouraged the members, suggesting the difficult task ahead would be all the more congenial to engineers.58 As A.C. Clear, who was president from 1914–15, frankly expressed it: One of China’s needs is to have an independent body of expert opinion to which important technical matters could be referred. Why should we not eventually supply this? In our International character lies the strength of any opinion advanced by us. Our steadily increasing membership of responsible Engineers is a convincing proof of the value of the work being done and of the status of this Society, whose animating principles are those of the great Engineering Institutions throughout the World, namely, the general advancement of the science and practice of Engineering in all its branches.59

In the so-called “Nanking Golden Ages,” a lot of foreign engineers had devoted themselves and their energies to the construction of communication 57 58 59

ESCRP, 1903–04, pp. 3–4. ESCRP, 1913–14, p. 5. ESCRP, 1914–15, p. 13.

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networks and the engineering works related to national defense. From 1933 to 1936, J.A. Ely, a professor at St. John’s University, was highly conscious of the great opportunity for engineers and their responsibility to the people of China, quoting Thomas Telford’s famous definition of engineering: “to utilize the great forces of nature for the benefit and convenience of Man.” Thomas Telford (1757–1834) was a Scottish civil engineer, architect, and stonemason, and was the first president of the Institution of Civil Engineers, a post he retained for 14 years until his death. J.A. Ely proposed that the cooperation between the engineering societies in China should be increased to make them of greater effectiveness and utility. As he put it, “If such cooperation can be secured there will be set up a body of engineers that can express the collective opinion of the engineers in China on matters of general interest to all engineers.”60 He summed up the objectives it would behoove engineers to pursue: “(1) To raise the standard of living in China, to bring to her toiling millions release from physical toil and a degree of freedom and opportunity for intellectual development; (2) To reach and maintain a high efficiency in the operation of the economic machine here in China and to help her to avoid some of the errors made in the West; and (3) To look beyond the purely technical aspects of their work to the larger field of social and cultural values and in co-operation with workers in the fields of Sociology, Economics and Finance.”61

The Cooperation of International Engineers After World War I, the Society had a strong desire to cooperate with its Chinese friends. J.S.S. Cooper, who was the Society’s president in 1917–18, and was also the man who had suggested changing the Society’s name in 1915, appealed to all members to work in concert across the vast length and breadth of the country. In his words: “This Society should be not only a leader and recorder of technical advances, but also a considerable power in guiding our Chinese friends in the introduction of modern methods along the right lines. To achieve this aim, we must have behind us the whole mass of technical ability and influence in China.”62

60 61 62

ESCRP, 1933–34, p. xxxvii. ESCRP, 1934–35, p. v–vi. Presidential address, ESCRP, 1917–18, pp. 1–2.

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After the Washington Conference of 1922, as we know, there were great opportunities for the various foreign powers to cooperate with each other in China. In the meeting of the Council of the Society in 1920–21, during which a paper entitled “Discussion on the Engineer in China” was presented, H. von Heidenstam the famous engineer of the Whangpoo Conservancy Board, added a most useful idea to the arguments contained in the paper; namely, that it was undeniable that each engineer in China had a duty not only to the Chinese as a pioneer, but to his own civilization as an example.63 As the Society put it: “Here then we stand at the dawn of a great epoch, of an epoch making greater changes than the world has ever seen; we stand here as members of the profession which is most closely identified with this change and which has most to expect from it.”64 The Society had close relations with the Association of Chinese and American Engineers, which was founded in 1919 in Peking, and it is clear that these two organizations concerned themselves not only with the technical aspects of building, but also with the welfare and lives of the Chinese people. When J.A. Ely quoted the lecture of President Chung-yu Wang in addressing the Association of Chinese and American Engineers in 1935, he expressed his agreement with Chung-yu Wang’s opinions about the problems facing Chinese industrialization, and in particular with the contention that the structure of modern industrial life had to be based upon the workers possessing proper mental conditioning.65 As has been observed, “Where there is no vision, the people—the society—perishes.” It was Bedrick Stepaneck who proposed, when speaking at the first annual meeting of the American Engineering Council of 1922, the formation of would later become the World Engineering Foundation. His plan was to bring the engineers of various countries together in a working relationship through an international association of engineers. The idea was for each country to organize only one engineering society, organized along the lines of an engineering institution association. Every such institution would then apply for membership in the “World’s Federation of Engineers.”66 In 1929, at the World Engineering Congress held in Tokyo, Japan, the idea of the World’s Federation of Engineers was given considerable attention and the delegates promised to endeavor to arrive at some resolutions. The society espoused the credo, “United we 63 64 65 66

ESCRP, 1920–21, pp. 58–64. ESCRP, 1922–23, p. 16. ESCRP, 1933–34, pp. xi. ESCRP, 1935–36, p. 6.

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stand, divided we fall.” The great idea was summed up as follows: We as a body of engineers in China, have some measure of responsibility toward carrying out the spirit of the resolution passed at Tokyo and as we have considered the value of the degree of affiliation already accomplished, as we have pictured the possible benefits of a still wider measure of co-operation, we also want to realize the importance of this large union and be prepared to do our part in making real and effective this great idea of a 67 World Federation of Engineers.

During World War I, as mentioned above, the Society advocated for the adoption of a scheme for electrical standardization, since this was considered indispensable for national construction: “China will work out her own salvation after the dislocation of the war and will gradually industrialize while at the same time she will restore her ruined communications and other public engineering services.”68 The political struggle in the Beiyang government worsened the hardship of developing infrastructure works, which was mostly under control of spheres of influence (i.e. the privileges of railroad, wireless, and mining). The internal political chaos of China dampened the opportunities to negotiate the international rivalries upon the issue of sphere of influence in China, and failed to contribute to cooperation between transnational engineering groups.69 The National Bureau of Standards, which was formed in 1928 by the National Ministry of Industries of the Nanking government, later went on to announce a system of weights and measures, bringing China in line with international standardization. However, due to the hostilities of the Japanese invasion, it was unlikely that any suitable non-government organization for this important function would come into existence in the next decade.70 For the cooperation of international engineers, J. Haynes Wilson, the president of Society in 1937–39, was deeply conscious of the responsibility of foreign engineers to pursue peace, especially when the undeclared war happened. He said, “One of the most important steps 67

ESCRP, 1935–36, p. 7. A.J Percival, Presidential Address, Jan. 22, 1940, ESCRP, 1939–40, pp. 1–2. 69 For more detail see Wu Lin-chun, American Big Business and Modern China’s Internationalization (Taipei: Lianjing Publishing, 2012; Beijing: Social Sciences Academic Press, 2014). 70 The Society also hoped the Chinese government would take the earliest opportunity to modernize and strengthen the country’s patent laws. 68

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toward the ultimate prevention of war, is that engineers themselves shall realizes the tremendous resources to which they have access, and shall aim at applying them to this end.” And he expressed the hope that the Society would exert itself to secure the closest cooperation between all classes and nationalities of engineers with the common purpose of outlawing war.71 In the light of the above, it is clear that the Society tried to unite all the engineers in China under the aegis of one great national society, but these efforts were in vain, due to the Second Sino-Japanese War breaking out, or to other reasons, and the opportunity for the local and foreigner engineering groups to integrate as one national society and thereafter to participate in the World’s Federation of Engineers was postponed.

Conclusion The Society indeed played a role in affecting Chinese understanding of the world and China’s industrialization process, which saw China integrate into the international community. Of course, for the Society, engineering practice in China had certain unique features. Engineers in China fell into two classes: technical experts who were engaged in actual work for public bodies and manufacturers, and engineers whose business it was to sell engineering goods made locally or abroad. Of the first class, it might be said that it was their business to achieve certain specified results at the lowest cost. The second class was perhaps more important, since they belonged to the merchant group, which, in an entrepôt such as Shanghai, was the main operative factor. From a technical point of view, the latter group did not usually come into the limelight, since their interests appeared to be purely commercial, although very important economic problems did arise in connection with them.72 In any case, whichever category they belonged to, the engineers’ level of professionalism would lead them to facilitate Chinese technological and economic development. The Society assumed a role of leadership in promoting technical development in China, where it also had a considerable influence in guiding Chinese people via the introduction of modern methods along the right lines. In the late 1920s, the Society had grown increasingly concerned with the treatment of Chinese workers, and made efforts to ameliorate the working conditions in the factories. From looking at the 71 72

J. Haynes Wilson, Presidential Address, ESCRP, 1937–38, pp. 9–11. ESCRP, 1926–27, pp. 1–2.

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Society’s presidential addresses, we can see that, after 1930, more and more engineers had strong inclinations to change China, and the Society saw itself as bearing a responsibility to China and to the world. The Society’s leaders were deeply conscious of the fact that the need for cooperation went far beyond the boundaries of any single nation. It is to the Society’s great credit that it had a history of recognizing this responsibility and trying seriously to meet it. Without question, the Society’s appointment of committees to study standardization and education in the interests of the Chinese people arose from this profound sense of duty. Both Chinese engineers and the Chinese people at large reaped benefits from the Society’s activities, technical education initiatives, proposals for student apprentices, academic prizes, and publications. As for the foreigners, China became an area in which they were able to experiment with their engineering theories and practices. In the process of modern China’s transformation, they worked closely, side by side, with the Chinese and therefore shared the same history in relation to China’s internationalization.

Year 1901 1902 1903–04 1904–05 1905–06 1906–07 1907–08 1908–09 1909–10 1910–11 1911–12 1913–14 1914–15 1915–16 1916–17 1917–18 1918–19 1919–20 1920–21 1921–22

Members 85 96 104 106 No data No data No data No data 147 138 118 125 154 174 215 191 198 220 245 255

4 5 4 6 6

4 4

2 1 1 1 17 1

1

2 1

1 3 3

Associates

Honorary members

16

4 5 5 5 15 1 16 16 16 16

1 1

Honorary associates

Table 15.1: Membership of the Engineering Society of China, 1901–41

Appendix: Tables

Foreign Engineers’ Activities in China

3 3

16 6 3 3

159 151 131 135 190 196 237 214 222 240 254 280

98 109 113

2 2 4

5 4 4 4

Total

Students

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1922–23 240 8 16 3 267 1923–24 276 9 16 3 304 1924–25 269 9 16 3 297 1925–26 267 10 16 2 295 1927 280 16 2 298 1928 226 1929 210 1929–30 218 1931 233 1932 239 1933 225 1934 254 1935 250 1936 311 1937 343 1938 330 1939 359 1940 425 1941 456 Sources: Engineering Society of China, Report and Proceeding, 1901–05, 1909–39; Journal of the Engineering Society of China, 1939–41.

400

1912–13

1911–12

1910–11

1908–09 1909–10

1907–08

1906–07

1905–06

1904–05

1903–04

Year 1901–02 1902–03

President G.J. Morrison A.P. Wood Shanghai Waterworks Co., Ltd. T. Bunt Kiangnan Arsenal J.R. Harding Chinese Customs J. Prentice Farnham, Boyd & Co. T. Weir China Merchants S.N. Co. H. King Hiller Shanghai Gas Co. H. King Hiller N.G. Cornish Kiangnan Arsenal C. H. Godfrey Public Works Department, S.M.C. T.H.U. Aldridge Shanghai Municipal Electricity Dept. E.J. Dunstan, Shanghai–Nanking Railway

401

Pressings and Forgings, Etc.

History of Society and General Survey of Educational and other local conditions and Engineering Standards Electricity Generation and Distribution

Local Survey

Coal Gas

Steam Ships

Not recorded

Light Houses and Light Ships

Motive Power: Technical Education.

Subject of address General Science and Experience Engineering Work in Shanghai in Past 64 Years

Table 15.2: Subject of Presidential Address, Engineering Society of China, 1901–41

Foreign Engineers’ Activities in China

1926–27

1924–25 1925–26

1923–24

1921–22 1922–23

1920–1921

1919–20

1918–19

1917–18

1916–17

1914–15 1915–16

1913–14

402

A.C. Clear Shanghai–Nanking Railway A.C. Clear H. Von Heidenstam A. Whangpoo Conservancy Board F.O. Reynolds Asiatic Petroleum Co., Ltd. J.S.S. Cooper Arnold & Co. W.J. Williams Shanghai Municipal Electricity Department A.P. Wood, Shanghai Waterworks Co., Ltd. L. Tuxford, Shanghai-Hangchow-Ningpo Railway C. Harpur F.B. Pitcairn Shanghai Waterworks Co., Ltd. A. W. Brankston New Engineering & Shipbuilding Works A.W. Brankston E.C. Stocker Whangpoo Conservancy Board C.D. Pearson Shanghai Waterworks Co., Ltd. Review of Engineering in Shanghai

Review of Engineering and Shipbuilding Review of Engineering in Shanghai and China

Review of Engineering Affairs at Home

Review of Municipal Engineering History of Water Engineering

No address

Resume of Engineering Progress in Shanghai since 1902

Electrical Engineering

Review of Engineering Schemes in China; War Costs of Materials Industry in China

Review of Engineering Schemes in China China’s Inland Waterways

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H. Chatley Whangpoo Conservancy Board. H. Chatley H. Berents. (Norway) Consulting Engineer H. Berents

A. F. Gimson Public Works Department 1932–33 A.F. Gimson 1933–34 J.A. Ely St. John’s University 1934–35 J.A. Ely 1935–36 J.A. Ely 1936–37 S.E. Faber Consulting Engineer; J. Haynes Wilson Shanghai Tel. Co. 1937–38 J. Haynes Wilson 1938–39 J. Haynes Wilson 1939–40 A. J. Percival Inniss & Riddle, Ltd. 1940–41 N.W.B. Clarke Source: The Engineering Society of China, 1940–41, pp. 11, 49–50.

1931–32

1930–31

1928–29 1929–30

1927–28

Notes on the History of the Society

Social Responsibility of the Engineering Social Responsibility of the Engineering Engineering Standard

Responsibility of Engineers in China Duties & Responsibility of the Society Soil as an Engineering Material

No address Responsibility of Engineers in China

Place of the Engineer in the Modern World The Professional Engineer and Review of Engineering in Shanghai The professional Engineer and Review of Engineering in Shanghai. Shanghai Bridge

Engineering Economics

Foreign Engineers’ Activities in China 403

CONTRIBUTORS

Guido ABBATTISTA, University of Trieste, Italy Guido Abbattista is Professor of Modern History at the University of Trieste. He is the author of books on James Mill, British men of letters and India, John Campbell and the Universal History, the American revolution, European expansion in Asia in the early modern era, Anquetil Duperron and European knowledge of India, Lord Bolingbroke, Edmund Burke and empire and, finally, living human exhibitions in the age of imperialism. Recently he authored a forthcoming essay, “At the Roots of the ‘Great Divergence’: Europe and China in an 18th Century Debate” (2008–2013), to be published by Leipzig University Press and fully available as a refereed pre-print: www.academia.edu/4079993/_At_the_Roots_of_the_ Great_Divergence_Europe_and_China_in_an_18th_Century_Debate_200 8-2013 Md. Abdullah AL-MASUM, Department of History, University of Chittagong, Bangladesh Md Abdullah Al-Masum is Professor of History, University of Chittagong, Bangladesh. He is particularly engaged in research on the socioeducational and cultural history of the Muslims in Bengal as well as the Indian subcontinent during the modern ages. His fields of interest include Muslim travellers at home and abroad. In this context, he has written two books (published by Bangla Academy, Dhaka, 2007 and 2008) and about 30 scholarly articles in local and international peer-reviewed journals. Professor Al-Masum has received many academic awards, fellowships, scholarships and grants, including the South Asian Scholar Grant (4th ICBS-TUFS, Japan), Short-Term Research Fellowship from Tohoku University (Japan), Post-Doctoral Fellowship from the University of Science, Malaysia (USM)-The World Academy of Science, Government of India Scholarship (ICCR) for Doctoral Research at Jadavpur University, Chittagong University Scholarship for M.Phil. Research, “Book Prize” on the basis of his MA result from the University of Chittagong and DPI Scholarship from the Government of Bangladesh on the basis of his BA (Hons) result. Dr. Masum holds professional membership of several notable organizations at home and abroad. He also works as an editorial

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board member for several local and international journals. Besides, he has visited India, Pakistan, Nepal, Thailand, China, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany and Australia in connection with higher study, research and international conferences. Salvatore CIRIACONO, Padova University, Italy Since December 2008, Full Professor of Modern History in the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Padua. From 1974 to 1989, permanent researcher of Modern History in the Faculty of Political Science at Padua (Reader in the same faculty from 1972 to 1974). Post-Graduate Diploma in Modern History (School of Advanced Studies, University of Padua) in 1974. Doctorate (“Laurea”) in Philosophy in 1970. Fellowship of the MaxPlanck Institut für Geschichte in Göttingen (December 2006–January 2007). Fellowship of the Japanese Society for the Promotion of Science (March–May 2005). Lecturer in demography and history of population at the International University Bremen (September 2004–January 2005). Visiting Professor at the University of Tokyo, Komaba and Tsukuba University (invitation by Professor Harald Kleinschmidt, October 2002). Visiting Professor at Boston University (April–June 2002) through Exchange Program Padova-BU. Stipendium of the Max-Planck Institut für Geschichte in Göttingen (April and August 2001), on the invitation of Peter Kriedte. Visiting Professor at the Conservatoire National des Arts et Métiers of Paris (November–December 1999). Visiting Professor at Boston University (October–November 1998). Invitation by Wellesley College in Boston, Professor Jonathan Knudsen (March–June 1997). Invited several times since 1980 by the MSH and the École des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales in Paris for seminars and scientific collaboration. Among his publications: Building on Water. Venice, Holland and the Construction of the European Landscape in the Early Modern Times (Berghahn, 2006); Eau et développement dans l’Europe moderne (Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 2004); La Rivoluzione industriale. Dalla protoindustrializzazione alla produzione flessibile (B. Mondadori, 2000); “Scambi commerciali e produzione di beni di lusso nel Giappone del periodo Edo. Una lettura storiografica,” in Quaderni Storici, 125, 2 (2007); “Migration, Minorities and Technology Transfer in Early Modern Europe,” in The Journal of European Economic History, 34, 1 (Spring 2005).

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Contributors

María Dolores ELIZALDE, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas-CSIC, Spain María-Dolores Elizalde is Scientific Researcher at the Institute of History, Spanish National Research Council (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas-CSIC, Spain). Head of the Group of Asia and the Pacific, she specializes in international history, colonial societies and colonial and postcolonial processes in Asia and the Pacific, in the nineteenth century. Doctorate in History from the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Research Scholar at the London School of Economics and Political Sciences (LSE). Visiting Fellow at the Université de Paris 1-Sorbonne; the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London; the Department of International History (LSE); and the School of Pacific and Asian Studies, University of Hawaii. Among more than 80 publications, she is author and editor of the following volumes: España en el Pacífico: la colonia de las islas Carolinas, un modelo colonial en el contexto del imperialismo (1992); Imperios y Naciones en el Pacífico (2001); Las relaciones entre España y Filipinas, siglos XVI–XX (2003); Repensar Filipinas, Política, Identidad y Religión en la construcción de la nación filipina (2009); Filipinas, un País entre dos Imperios (2011); Entre España y Filipinas, José Rizal escritor (2011); Nacionalismo versus Colonialism in Filipinas, India and Vietnam (2013); Misión católica y poder colonial. Cooperación y conflicto en la renovación de los imperios ibéricos, 18081930, edited with Xavier Huetz de Lemps and Gonzalo Álvarez Chillida, Madrid, Casa de Velázquez, forthcoming. One of her most recent publication is “Observing the Imperial Transition: British Naval Reports on the Philippines, 1898–1901” (Diplomatic History, 2016, 40 (2): 219-243). She has been Curator of the exhibition “Entre España y Filipinas: José Rizal, escritor,” Biblioteca Nacional de España, November 2011–February 2012. Valdo FERRETTI, University of Rome “La Sapienza,” Italy Valdo Ferretti graduated in 1973 from the University of Rome “La Sapienza,” where he later took a degree of specialization in Modern and Medieval History. He was a researcher at the Faculties of Political Sciences and of Humanities at the same university, until he was nominated Associate Professor, teaching courses in the contemporary history of China and Japan and the history of international relations. For a long time he collaborated with the Italian Institute for the Middle and Far East and with other Italian universities. He has been a guest scholar at the London School of Economics, and an associate scholar of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences and of some Japanese universities. His research topics to a large extent have touched on the international history of the twentieth

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century. In addition to articles and chapters in English, Japanese, Spanish and Chinese and other more recent books, he has been the author or the editor of several books, including Il Giappone e la Politica Estera Italiana (1935-41) (Giuffré, 1983 [Ristampa Integrata, 1995]), and Da Portsmouth a Sarajevo. La Politica Estera Giapponese e l’Equilibrio Europeo (19061914) (Archivio Guido Izzi, 1989). KAWASHIMA Shin, ᐍዋⵏ(University of Tokyo), Japan Kawashima Shin is Associate Professor of International Relations at the University of Tokyo Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. Earlier in his career, Kawashima was Associate Professor of Law at Hokkaido University. Kawashima has much international experience, having taught at National Cheng-chi University and Beijing Foreign Studies University and stayed at Beijing University, Academia Sinica, and Woodrow Wilson Center as a visiting scholar. Kawashima is the author of numerous articles in Japanese on the diplomatic history and foreign policy of Japan, China and Taiwan, and has authored or co-edited a number of books, including Chugoku kindaigaiko no keisei (The Formation of Modern Chinese Diplomacy), Nagoya University Press, 2008, which won the Suntory Academic Prize. This book has also been published in Chinese by the Beijing University Press, 2012. Kawashima has many articles published in English, including, recently, “Chapter 19: China,”, in Bardo Fassbender and Anne Peters, eds., The Oxford Handbook of the History of International Law (Oxford University Press, 2012). Anne KOLB, University of Zurich, Switzerland Anne Kolb is Full Professor of Ancient History at the University of Zurich, where she teaches Greek and Roman History. Her research focuses on ancient states and their structures, especially the Roman Empire. She is particularly interested in political, social and administrative conditions. These topics are reflected in various monographs such as Transport und Nachrichtentransfer im Römischen Reich (Berlin, 2000), as well as a series of edited volumes, of which the latest include Infrastruktur als Herrschaftsorganisation? Interaktion von Staat und Gemeinden im Imperium Romanum (2014), Das Recht der Soldatenkaiser – rechtliche Stabilität in Zeiten politischen Umbruchs (2015, together with U. Babusiaux) and Der Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches– Organisation, Kommunikation, Repräsentation (2016, together with M. Vitale). Another focus of her research is Greek and Roman epigraphy. She is currently preparing editions of inscriptions of the Roman province of Germania superior (CIL) and of Old Paphos, Cyprus (Forschungen zu

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Contributors

Altpaphos). Furthermore, Anne Kolb heads the edition of the Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum Volumen decimum septimum (CIL XVII) of the Akademie der Wissenschaften in Berlin, the latest volume being that of Miliaria imperii Romani. Pars quarta, Illyricum et provinciae Europae graecae. Fasciculus secundus: Miliaria provinciae Dalmatiae. CIL XVII/4 (2012). She contextualizes and explains inscriptions in her book Tod in Rom. Grabinschriften als Spiegel römischen Lebens (2008, together with J. Fugmann) and collaborates with Manfred Clauss in the largest database on ancient epigraphy EDCS (http://db.edcs.eu/epigr/epi_en.php), which hosts over half a million Latin inscriptions. She is also very interested in comparative history and the connectivity of the Roman world and cooperates in this field with Michael Speidel, as shown in their joint publication in the Journal of Ancient Civilizations 30, 2015 (2016). Paul A. KRAMER, Vanderbilt University, United States of America Paul A. Kramer is Associate Professor of History at Vanderbilt University, with research and teaching interests in transnational, imperial and global histories of the United States since the mid-nineteenth century. He is the author of The Blood of Government: Race, Empire, the United States and the Philippines (University of North Carolina Press, 2006), and winner of SHAFR’s 2007 Stuart L. Bernath Book Prize and the OAH’s 2007 James A. Rawley Prize. He is also the author of numerous articles, including “Power and Connection: Imperial Histories of the United States in the World,” American Historical Review, 116, 5 (December 2011); “Is the World Our Campus? International Students and US Global Power in the Long Twentieth Century,” Diplomatic History, 33, 5 (November 2009); “Race-Making and Colonial Violence in the US Empire: The Philippine– American War as Race War,” Diplomatic History, 30, 2 (April 2006); “Empires, Exceptions and Anglo-Saxons: Race and Rule between the British and US Empires, 1880–1910,” Journal of American History, 88 (March 2002). He has also published in non-academic venues: his essays “The Water Cure,” on the history of water-boarding, and “A Useful Corner of the World,” on the history of the US naval base at Guantanamo, were both published in The New Yorker. He has received fellowships from Harvard University’s Warren Center, Fulbright, the Smithsonian Institution and the American Council of Learned Societies. He is co-editor of “The United States in the World,” a series published by Cornell University Press. He is currently at work on a volume of methodological essays on transnational US history, and a book-length project on immigration policy and American global power across the long twentieth century. His website can be found at paulkrameronline.com.

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LIU Wenming, School of History, Capital Normal University, China Liu Wenming is Professor of World History in the School of History, Capital Normal University, Beijing, China. His main research interests include the history of Sino-Western cultural relations and China’s transnational and global connections in the past. His recent works are Theory of Global History and the Interaction of Civilizations (China Social Sciences Press, 2015) and Narratives and Experience of Western People in the First Sino-Japanese War (Zhejiang University Press, 2015). Furthermore, he has published works in the field of European gender history, such as God and Women: Western Women in Traditional Christian Culture (Wuhan University Press, 2003) and Roman Women in the Cultural Change (Hunan People’s Press, 2001). At present, he runs a Master and Doctor Degree training program in “Modern Western Civilization and the West Pacific” at Capital Normal University. Manel OLLÉ, Universitat Pompeu Fabra (UPF), Barcelona, Spain Manel Ollé is Full Professor in the history and culture of modern and contemporary China in the UPF Department of Humanities and coordinates the Master’s Degree in Chinese Studies at the same university, and the postgraduate course on Asian cinema “UPF_Casa Asia.” He is the author of the following books: La invención de China (Harrasowitz Verlag 2001), La Empresa de China: de la armada invencible al Galón de Manila (Acantilado, 2002), Made in China: el despertar social, político y cultural de la China contemporánea (Destino, 2005) and La Xina que arriba: perspectives del segle XXI (Eumo, 2009). He has translated Li Qingzhao’s Chinese poems (Reduccions, 2006) and Gao Xingjian’s essay El sentit de la literatura (Empúries, 2004). His main research interests are on the China Sea, European perceptions of China, the Chinese diaspora, the reception of contemporary Chinese culture and mass culture, and internet media in China. He is a visiting researcher at the National Research Center of Overseas Sinology ेӜ ཆഭ䈝བྷᆖ ѝഭ ⎧ཆ ≹ᆖ ⹄ウѝᗳ, Beijing Foreign Studies University (BFSU Beijing), and a member of the Associated Unit CSIC (Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas) “Group for the Study of Asia Pacific” (UPFCSIC) and the Research Group GRIMSE (Imperios, Metrópolis y Sociedades Extraeuropeas, GRIMSE_UPF).

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Ander PERMANYER-UGARTEMENDIA, Universitat Pompeu Fabra (UPF), Barcelona, Spain Ander Permanyer-Ugartemendia obtained his MA in World History from Pompeu Fabra University and his PhD in History at the same university with a study of Spanish participation in the opium trade in East Asia. He received his BA in East Asian Studies from the Autonomous University of Barcelona (UAB) and his BA in Humanities from the UPF. He studied Chinese at Peking University ेӜབྷᆖ (2006–2007). He is interested in the Spanish presence in East Asia from the last quarter of the eighteenth century until the establishment of the Treaty system in the middle of the nineteenth century, and more specifically in Spanish trade, opium and the history of the Royal Philippine Company. He is currently a lecturer in East Asian Studies at the Open University of Catalonia (UOC) and in the Department of Humanities at the UPF. Alexander Yu. PETROV, Institute of World History, Russian Academy of Sciences, Russia Petrov Alexander Yur’evich is Doctor of History and Senior Research Fellow of the Institute of World History of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Head of the Research Group on the history of Russian America and Russian American relations at the Russian Academy of Sciences. Graduated Moscow State University, with the highest honors (1992). Presented two dissertations on the history of Russian America and Russian–American relations. Received a Fulbright Fellowship and numerous international awards, among them the Senior Fulbright Award for Outstanding Research in American History (2008, Woodrow Wilson Center, Washington DC). Member of the leading research school supported by the president of the Russian Federation. Author of numerous articles and three monographs on the history of Russian America, the Far East, Russia and the USA. He has taught in both Russian and American universities. Participated in radio and TV programs as well as scientific and popular films. Member of the organizational boards of many international conferences on a variety of subjects in Europe and the USA. Kenneth POMERANZ, University of Chicago, United States of America Kenneth Pomeranz is Professor of History at the University of Chicago; he previously taught at the University of California, Irvine. His work focuses mostly on China, though he is also very interested in comparative and world history. Most of his research is in social, economic and environmental history, though he has also worked on state formation,

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imperialism, religion, gender and other topics. His publications include The Great Divergence: China, Europe and the Making of Modern World Economy (2000), which won the John K. Fairbank Prize from the AHA and shared the World History Association book prize; The Making of a Hinterland: State, Society and Economy in Inland North China 1853–1937 (1993), which also won the Fairbank Prize; The World that Trade Created (with Steven Topik, first edition 1999, third edition 2012); and a collection of his essays, recently published in France. He has also edited or co-edited five books, and was one of the founding editors of the Journal of Global History. He is a fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the American Philosophical Society, the American Council of Learned Societies, the Institute for Advanced Studies, the National Endowment for the Humanities and other sources. His current projects include a history of Chinese political economy from the seventeenth century to the present, and a book called Why Is China So Big? which tries to explain, from various perspectives, how and why contemporary China’s huge land mass and population have wound up forming a single political unit. Pierre SINGARAVÉLOU, Université de Paris 1-Sorbonne, France Professor of Contemporary History at the Université Paris 1 PanthéonSorbonne. Diploma from the l’Institut d’Études Politiques, Paris. PhD in Contemporary History. Deputy Director of the Centre d’histoire de l’Asie contemporaine (UMR IRICE – Institut Pierre Renouvin de l’Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne). Member of the Scientific Council of the Réseau Asie & Pacifique (FMSH/CNRS – UPS 2999) from 2009. Member of the secretariat of the Commission of History of International Relations, committee affiliated to the ICHS (International Committee of Historical Sciences), from 2011. Co-editor-in-chief of the journal Monde(s) Histoire Espace Relations (Armand Colin). Co-organizer of the seminar “Empires. History of Colonization” at the Institute of Modern and Contemporary History of ENS from 2009. Personal works: Atlas des empires coloniaux (XIXe–XXes.) (with M.-A. de Suremain and J.-F. Klein), Paris, Autrement, 2012; Professer l’Empire. Les “sciences colonials” en France sous la IIIe République, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne, préface de Ch. Charle, coll. “Histoire Contemporaine,” 2011; L’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient ou l’institution des marges. Essai d’histoire sociale et politique de la science coloniale, Paris, L’Harmattan, coll. “Recherches Asiatiques,” 1999. Editor: L’Empire des géographes. Géographie, exploration et colonisation (19e–20es.), Paris, Belin, coll. “Mappemonde,” 2008. Les Empires coloniaux (xixe–xxe siècle), 2013. With H. Blais and F. Deprest,

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Territoires impériaux. Une histoire spatiale du fait colonial, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne, coll. “Internationale,” 2011. English version, How Empire Makes Territory, London, Palgrave-Macmillan, forthcoming. With J. Sorez, L’Empire des sports. Une histoire de la mondialisation culturelle (19e–20es.), Paris, Belin, coll. “Histoire et Société,” 2010. Chinese version, Yun Dong Di Guo, Taïpei, Transoxania Publishing Corp., 2012. With C. Laux and F.-J. Ruggiu, Au sommet de l’Empire. Les élites européennes dans les colonies du 16e au 20e siècle, Bruxelles, Peter Lang, coll. “Enjeux Internationaux,” 2009. Michael SPEIDEL, University of Zurich, Switzerland Michael Speidel is Director of the Mavors-Institute of Ancient Military History in Basel and teaches Ancient History at the Universities of Bern, Zürich and Basel. He studied History and Egyptology at the Universities of Zürich, Basel, Heidelberg and Oxford and is the author of well over 120 scientific publications. He has been awarded several significant grants and academic honors, including guest professorships in France, Germany and Switzerland. He serves as an external expert for Swiss and several European national science foundations and academies, as well as an editor, co-editor and peer reviewer for numerous scientific journals and publication series. He has also conducted archaeological fieldwork in Southern Turkey, served as an advisor to the UNESCO special projects envoy, and worked in museums, where he produced and organized exhibitions for the general public. Michael Speidel has a broad range of research interests in the ancient world. His fields of research include social, economic, religious, political, administrative, gender, cultural, military and provincial history (core–periphery relations), as well as Roman epigraphy, numismatics and papyrology. Chronologically, his published research spans from the Roman Republic and the Hellenistic period to late antiquity; geographically it covers practically the entire Roman Empire, and includes Transcaucasia as well as the basins of the Black Sea and the Red Sea. A major current project focuses on the global connectivities that bound the Mediterranean world of the Roman Empire to the larger ‘ancient world’, including intercultural, economic and political connections between Europe, the Middle East, Central Asia, India and China. WAN Ming, Institute of History, Chinese Academy of Social Science, China Wan Ming is Professor at the Institute of History, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS). She obtained her BA and MA in History from

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Peking University, was Director of the Ming History Section of the Institute of History, CASS, in 2002–2014, and was a chief editor of Mingshiyanjiuluncong (Collection of Papers on Ming History). She is also Professor of the History Institute at Beijing Normal University, of the Ming-Qing Research Center at Peking University and of the Collaborative Innovation Center of South China Sea Studies, Nanjing University. She is a former president of the Chinese Association for Historians of China’s Foreign Relations, of the Chinese Association for Ming History, of the China Maritime History Association and of the Zheng He Study Society. Her main research field is Ming history and the history of Sino-foreign relations in the Ming-Qing period. Her major works include: China’s March into the World: Comparative Studies of the Overseas Policies of the Ming and Early Qing periods (2000, revised 2014), and History of China’s Early Relationship with Portugal (2001), both of which received awards from the Institute of History, CASS. Among her other works, Annotations of Ying Ya Sheng Lan in the Ming Transcripts (2005) won a book prize from the State Oceanic Administration of China; Social Change in Late Ming: Issues and Research (2005) also won a prize from CASS. Her publications also include Analects of Studies on the History of SinoForeign Relations of Ming China (2011) and Collation and Research on Accounting Records of the Wanli Reign Period in the Ming Dynasty (2015). One of her most recent articles is “Zheng He’s Seven Voyages to the Indian Ocean – the ‘Lamuli Ocean’ in Ma Huan’s Writing,” Southeast Asian Affairs, 1 (2015), which has been translated by Sally K. Church and will shortly be published in English. WANG Jianlang, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, China Wang Jianlang is Professor and Director of the Institute of Modern History, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and Vice-President and Secretary General of the Association of Chinese Historians. He obtained his PhD in History at the Graduate School, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. He specializes in the history of the foreign relations of modern China. His publications include: Foreign Policy of National Government During the Pacific War (2010); War of Resistance against Japan, a volume in the series A Comprehensive History of China (co-author, 2007); History of Republican China: Annals of Diplomatic Relations (co-author, 2006); History of Sino-Japanese Relations (2000); China’s Journey to Abolishing Unequal Treaties (2000); International Relations in the Far Eastern Crisis, July 1937–December 1938 (1996); and China’s Foreign Relations during the War of Resistance against Japan (co-author, 1995).

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WU Lin-chun, National Dong Hwa University, Taiwan WU Lin-chun is currently Professor of History at Taiwan National Dong Hwa University. Her primary interest is Sino-American relations from the nineteenth century to the Cold War era, especially joint ventures, technology transfer and the network of relations in Sino-American interactions, both political and economic. She has been a visiting scholar at Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University, and a Fulbright Scholar at the Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies, Harvard University. Her publications include America and Chinese Politics: An Examination Centered in the Division between North and South, 1917–1928 (The Grand East Book Co. Ltd., 1996); Standard Oil Company in China, 1870–1933 (Daw Shiang Publishing Co. Ltd., 2001); Pedagogy in Teaching History and Pragmatism (Wu-nan Culture Enterprise, 2003); The Understanding of the United States by China’s Government and Private Sector (Hua Mulan Culture Publishing Co., 2005); and American Big Business and Modern China’s Internationalization (Linking Publishing, 2012; Social Sciences Academic Press, 2014).