ENTRANCE TO THE FORBIDDEN CITY
"The centre of this marvellous maze is the Emperor's sanctuary"
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From the large gate a broad street leads through the Imperial and Tartar towns to the great Southern Gate, one of the strangest thoroughfares in the world. The innermost wall is set in a square of broad moats. Four arched marble bridges lead to the four gates. The jagged wall, the pagoda-like towers of the bastions, the arches of the bridges, all are decorated with finely carved dragons, as rigidly prescribed by law. Walls, moats, towers, and palaces, are repeated in all parts of the gigantic palace; the walls of all buildings being painted red. The shape of the yellow-tiled roofs is that of booths. Everything is planned in accordance with traditions thousands of years old. The threshold must not be larger than that which Confucius crossed, nor must the door be wider than the length of the great teacher's arms.
Every detail of the dwelling, to the minutest ornament, has some symbolic or mythical significance; for instance, at the entrance one never fails to find the wall which tradition demands to protect the peaceful inhabitants from evil spirits, while the ceiling of the house must not be higher than any of the goblins would care to ascend.
In the same way the trimming or embroidery of the dress of an official or courtier has its particular meaning. This likewise applies to private individuals, and the innermost chambers of their homes, simply because it is required by law.
It is this rigid system that makes China appear so uniform, at any rate outwardly. This same system, too, gives her her great interest from a psychological point of view.
There is hardly any nation or people, throughout the whole history of civilization, whose life has been so profoundly and lastingly influenced by doctrine as the population of the Yellow Empire has been by the teachings of Confucius. From the celestial altar (representing the centre of the universe), where only the Son of Heaven may worship his Father, down to each separate temple, yamen, and stone of sacrifice, everything expresses one and the same ethical idea. It is this gigantic moral system, with its organic life penetrating to the minutest detail, that keeps China strong, even in her present decadence, and makes Pekin, even amidst its ruins, one of the greatest cities on earth. It is the plan, or let us say conception, which makes us wonder. The metaphysical qualities of this people fascinate us; their ancient traditions are still their strongholds, and their old systems, however degenerate, the source of moral strength. But I hope to deal more fully elsewhere with the psychological side of China. At present I only want to give a hasty sketch of its capital.
One can scarcely imagine a more systematically laid out city than Pekin. The throne is in the centre; thence radiates every street, thither leads every road. It is the focus of the city, the heart of the empire, but—forbidden ground. The man who sets foot therein forfeits his life, so sacred and inviolable is it. Within the second wall the Imperial Family and the Court reside, precious stones set in gold, as the bards say.
Next comes the so-called Imperial city. The extensive Lotus Lake, the long marble bridge, the Maisan hill, the summer residence of the Dowager Empress, are all contained in that vast area—a number of little towns whose wonders would take whole chapters to describe. Each of them has its own mysterious history.
There was a time when, among the clusters of the lotus, more blood flowed than water. Upon one of the islets stands a summer-house, a very homely building, looking as though its only purpose must be to shelter happiness; but fate made a most gloomy prison of it. There the young Emperor was confined, in anguish, like a criminal, and never knowing whether the morrow would find him alive or lying at the bottom of the lake.
Poor young Emperor! Though he has regained his liberty—if leaving the island for the palace walls can be called freedom—his mind is wrapped in darkness. His youthful dream of making his people happy has vanished for ever. His lofty ideals have crumbled to dust, and of his early counsellors, some are in exile, others in the eternal silence.