According to the map of Pekin, this Temple of Heaven is five or six kilometres from here, and is the largest of all the temples. It seems that it is situated in the midst of a park of venerable trees surrounded by double walls. Up to the time of the war the spot was unapproachable; the emperors came once a year and shut themselves up there for a solemn sacrifice, preceded by purifications and preparatory rites.
To reach it we have to go outside of all the ashes and ruins, outside of the Tartar City where we are staying, through the gigantic gates of the terrible walls, and penetrate to the Chinese City itself.
These two walled cities, which together make up Pekin, are two immense quadrilaterals placed side by side; one, the Tartar City, contains in a fortress-like enclosure the Yellow City, where I go to-morrow to take up my abode.
Chen-Mun Gate to Pekin
As we come through the separating wall and see the Chinese City framed by the colossal gateway, we are surprised to find a great artery, stately and full of life as in the old days, running straight through Pekin, which up to this time had seemed like a necropolis to us; the gold decorations, the color, the thousand forms of monsters were all unexpected, as well as the sudden aggression of noises, of music, and voices. This life, this agitation, this Chinese splendor, are inconceivable, inexplicable to us; such an abyss of dissimilarity lies between this world and ours!
The great artery stretches on before us broad and straight,—a road three or four kilometres long, leading finally to another monumental gate which appears in the distance, surmounted by a dungeon with an absurd roof. This is an opening through a wall beyond which is the outside solitude. The low houses which line the street on both sides seem to be made of gold lace, from top to bottom the open woodwork of their façades glitters; they are finely carved at the top, all shining with gold, with gargoyles similar to our own, and rows of gilded dragons. Black stele covered with gold letters rise much higher than the houses, from which jut out black and gold lacquered platforms for the support of strange emblems with horns and claws and monsters' faces.
Through the clouds of dust, the gilding, the dragons, and the chimæras glisten in the dusty sunlight as far as one can see. Above it all triumphal arches of astonishing lightness mount heavenward across the avenue; they are airy things of carved wood, with supports like the masts of a ship, which repeat against the pale blue ether more strange hostile forms, horns, claws, and fantastic beasts.
On the broad highway where one treads as upon ashes, there is a dull rumbling of caravans and horses. The stupendous Mongolian camels, brown and woolly, attached to one another in long endless files, pass slowly and solemnly along, unceasingly like the waters of a river, raising as they walk the powdery bed which stifles the sounds of this entire city. They are going, who knows where, into the depths of the Thibetan or Mongolian deserts, carrying in the same indefatigable and unconscious way thousands of bales of merchandise; taking the place of canals and rivers which convey barges and junks over immense distances. So heavy is the dust raised by their feet that they can scarcely lift them; the legs of these innumerable camels in procession, as well as the lower parts of the houses, and the garments of the passers-by, are all vague and confused in outline, as though seen through the thick smoke of a forge, or through a shower of dark wool; but the backs of the great beasts with their shaggy coats, emerging from the soft clouds near the earth, are almost sharply defined, and the gold of the façades, tarnished below, shines brightly at the height of the extravagant cornices.