"Without seeing the magnificence of the royal palace, one can
never sense the dignity of the emperor."
- from a poem of the Tang Dynasty
Based on their native political history and traditions,
Westerners tend to associate power with an outward or
expansive movement, exemplified by exploration and
conquest. For this reason they often find themselves deeply
perplexed by ancient Chinese Imperial power, which seems to
exhibit a very different, even opposing tendency.
The most monumental illustration of this introverted Chinese
tradition is the Great Wall. Built over centuries as a defensive
barrier against the fierce Steppe nomads threatening China
from the north and west, the Wall not only functioned to keep
invaders out, but also -- as with all protective measures -served to isolate those it encircled. The Great Wall, however,
was only the outermost ring of a huge concentric system of
power, one that operated with remarkable consistency of
principle throughout the Middle Kingdom.
From the heart of the Imperial capital to the boundaries of the
Empire, and beyond, the Chinese Emperor wielded power and
influence unmatched by any Western sovereign since the
decline of the Roman Empire. Yet, in China's case, the
projection of power seems to have been eclipsed by
impenetrability, withdrawal, even disappearance. How was it
possible for this strategy of reclusive contraction to establish
and maintain effective authority over such vastly extensive
domains? This is the central mystery of Imperial China, at
least as far as foreign visitors are concerned.
Nowhere is this puzzle more starkly and intriguingly posed
than in Beijing's Palace Museum, the old "Forbidden City",
so-called because it was completely sealed-off -- from the city
outside, from the rest of society and from the wider world -- for
500 years.
Faced with a continuing Mongol menace to the north, third
Ming Emperor, Yongle (Zhudi) moved the Imperial Capital
from Nanjing to Beijing and immediately began building the
Forbidden City, which was constructed between 1407-1420.
The work was said to have required a million labourers,
including at least one hundred thousand skilled artisans. The
architectural design has an obsessive, even paranoid
character, cocooning the Imperial court in layer after layer of
protection.
In order to fully appreciate this stupendous site the visitor
should start at Tiananmen (the Gate of Heavenly Peace) in
the south. From there one heads due north, through Wumen
(the Meridian Gate, where the ticket-office to the modern
Palace Museum is located) and onward into the Forbidden
City. This is the route that all visitors to the Imperial Court took
in ancient times.
One passes next over the Inner Golden Water Bridge to
Taihemen (the Gate of Supreme Harmony), which in turn
leads on to Taihedian (the Hall of Supreme Harmony).
Taihedian, also known as Jinluandian (the Hall of the Imperial
Throne), is the tallest structure in the Forbidden City and the
largest wooden hall to be found anywhere in China. It is the
first of the three main buildings of the Outer Palace, and is as
far as an ambassador to the Imperial Court would have been
allowed to proceed.
Continuing north into the Outer Palace, one next arrives at
Zhonghedian (the Hall of Central Harmony), followed by
Baohedian (the Hall of Preserving Harmony). Baohedian is the
inner- or northern-most edifice of the Outer Palace, and is as
far as a visiting monarch would have been admitted.
Qiangqingmen (the Gate of Heavenly Purity) marks the main
entrance to the Inner Palace, barred in ancient times even to
the loftiest visitor. Today, it is as far as Starbucks, the only
multinational corporation to have penetrated the Forbidden
City, has been permitted to venture.
Continuing further north, into the Inner Palace, one now
passes successively through the three main halls,
Qiangqinggong (the Hall of Heavenly Purity), Jiaotaidian (the
Hall of Prosperity) and Kunninggong (the Hall of Terrestrial
Peace). Finally, passing through the Kunningmen (the Gate of
Terrestrial Peace), the by now thoroughly exhausted tourist
arrives at the Imperial Gardens and Qinandian (the Hall of
Imperial Peace) which lies within.
To the north of the Imperial Gardens lies Shenwumen (the
Northern Gate), which serves today both as an exit and
alternative entrance. Yet to enter through the Imperial
Gardens, from this side, is to miss the magical key to the
entire site.
Despite the fact that the Imperial City was built as a home for
the Emperor, the guiding strategy of its design was to impress
- more precisely, to intimidate - those approaching it from
without, whether Imperial subjects or foreign visitors. Each
"barrier" served as a theatrical display, in a perpetual
performance whose only content was the remote grandeur of
the Emperor.
The architecture of the Forbidden City is relentlessly turned
outwards in an ingenious spectacle of withdrawal. The secret
does not lie in what is hidden, but rather in the dramatic
exhibition of its concealment. When one finally arrives at the
Inner Palace itself, where the Emperor actually lived, along
with his wives, concubines and children, it is the comparative
modesty and intimacy of scale that is most striking. One feels
like an intruder in a "back-stage" area, where the actors and
actresses rest between shows, the great illusion momentarily
left aside.
Western visitors are reminded of The Wizard of Oz, and the
edict: "Do not look behind the curtain." The comparison
becomes even more tempting after learning that the Empress
Dowager Cixi (1835-1908) did in fact reign from behind a
curtain during the penultimate scenes of the Qing regime.
Confronted with these palaces of illusionism a new question
arises: Was Imperial China conceived as an immense magic
show?
Although the world of magic is commonly associated with the
"occult" and the "hermetic", with hidden things, when the
magician hides something, it is always by showing something
else.
It was precisely because the Forbidden City was designed to
hide the centre of power that it makes no secret of its magical
ambitions. It was constructed in rigorous accordance with the
principles of feng shui (Chinese geomancy), laying out all
buildings on a dominant north-south axis, establishing a
large-scale geometrical pattern which -- even today -dominates the whole of Beijing. The halls and palaces are
adorned with mystical animals, imperial phoenixes and lions,
clawed turtles symbolizing ancient sorcerous wisdom, cranes
symbolizing longevity and countless dragons - paired with
phoenixes, playing with pearls and protecting doorways.
These legions of mysterious creatures offer themselves as the
guards and guides of secret realms and significances.
Above all, it is through shushu (the ancient Chinese "art of
numbers" or "occult science") that the magical underpinnings
of the Forbidden City still speak.
The magical number of imperial power was nine, the highest
decimal numeral, whose numerological and arithmetical
features Yongle exploited to the full. The Forbidden City
consists of 9,999 rooms, its gates are studded in multiples of
nine, the towers guarding it each have nine beams and 18
columns. Yongle even built an artificial mountain in the
Imperial Garden, Diuxiushan (the Hill of Accumulated
Refinement) topped by Yujingting (the Imperial Viewing
Pavilion), dedicated to the Chongyang festival, held on the
ninth day of the ninth lunar month. His magical obsession with
the number nine reaches its zenith in the circular alter of the
Tian Tan (the nearby Temple of Heaven), which consists of
nine concentric circles of stone slabs, each in multiples of
nine, from nine to 81.
Ming Emperor Qianlong followed in these numerological
footsteps, erecting the magnificent Nine-Dragon Wall in front
of the eastern Huangjimen (the Gate of Ultimate Greatness).
Modern tourists may be tempted to dismiss the magical
features of the Forbidden City as mere eccentricities, attesting
to the decadence of a ruling elite whose inwardness had
detached it from all practical considerations. After all, did
Imperial China not fail to exploit the invention of gunpowder for
military purposes, blinded by its potential for spectacular
effects? Yet, such condescension risks being blinded in turn,
missing a crucial lesson of Chinese Imperial history. Magical
spectacle may deal in illusions, but illusions can serve as the
currency of power.