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Revisiting the exclusive world of Imperial China's ruling elite

By Jack Souther Except for the fact he was walking backwards there was nothing to distinguish him from other elderly Chinese gentlemen strolling toward the Temple of Heaven.

By Jack Souther

Except for the fact he was walking backwards there was nothing to distinguish him from other elderly Chinese gentlemen strolling toward the Temple of Heaven. Looking first over one shoulder and then the other he shuffled on amid the crowd of conventional strollers. While I thought this rather odd no one was paying any attention to him and, since walking backwards must be damned uncomfortable, I assumed he was engaged in some sort of ritual penance. Then I noticed others, at least a dozen elderly gentlemen facing in one direction and striding resolutely in the other. I caught up to Ivy, our local guide, and asked what was going on.

"This walkway," she told me, "is where the emperor came each year to offer sacrifices to the Gods and to pray for good luck and a good harvest. Many older Chinese people believe they can gain some of the emperor’s power by walking here. Those walking backwards are trying to become younger. Every step backwards adds another step forward to their lives."

While the Ming emperors of Imperial China spent most of their lives cloistered within the walls of the Forbidden City they did occasionally venture out. They came to the Temple of Heaven to pray, to the Summer Palace to play, and along Spirit Way to their final destination in the Ming Tombs. During our brief stay in Beijing we retraced their paths to each of these three ancient destinations.

It took only a few minutes for us to drive the two km from Tiananmen Square to Tiantan Park where the Temple of Heaven is surrounded by well-tended lawns and leafy forest. But 500 years ago it took the Emperor a full day to make the same trip in a style becoming the Son of Heaven. Accompanied by his entourage of elephants, horse-drawn chariots, mounted lancers, and several thousand ministers he made his way from the Forbidden City in total silence. It must have been a grand parade, but no one was allowed to watch — no one, that is, except the Gods and members of the Imperial Court. Ordinary folks were forced to remain inside behind shuttered windows and dare not even peek for fear of inciting the wrath of the Gods.

On his arrival in the Temple grounds the Emperor entered the Hall of Abstinence where he atoned for the sins of the people by swearing-off such earthly pleasures as meat, alcohol and women for three whole days. Thus purified he set about the messy and arduous task of sacrificing the chosen animals and briefing the Gods on the state of the Empire.

Built in 1420 during the reign of Emperor Yongle the temple buildings were designed for the view of the Gods. In Chinese symbolism Heaven is round and earth square, and the Temple of Heaven, with its round temples resting on square bases was conceived as the meeting place of heaven and earth. The magnificent Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests with its three circular blue-tiled roofs and gilded walls stands atop three square marble terraces. It served as the alter where the Son of Heaven addressed the Gods and beseeched them to bring good luck and good harvests in the year ahead. But if the Gods were still looking during our visit no one seemed to care.

Tiantan Park has become one of Beijing's most popular getaways — a place where locals come to escape the turmoil of the city, find a secluded corner of forest, or stroll among the magnificently preserved relics of another era. We joined the crowd on the elevated walkway over the stables, where doomed animals were once prepared for sacrifice, and made our way past the Alter of Heaven, the Imperial Vault, and finally to the Hall of Prayer. An elderly gentleman with a long-handled, mop-like brush and a pail of water practiced his calligraphy on the paving stones. Others performed tai chi and elaborate fan dances to the rhythmic beat of recorded music. And on a bench beside the walkway two old men, each with a pet bird in a small cage, paused to chat. The Temple of Heaven has become a haven for the common people.

Across Beijing, in the opposite direction from the Temple of Heaven, the Summer Palace, where the Emperor spent his leisure, is nestled among the hills along the shore of Kunming Lake. Built by Qing Emperor Kangxi in the early 1700s it once boasted 200 temples and pavilions surrounded by the world's largest royal garden — a modest 3.5-square-kilometre place where a tired emperor could relax, find relief from the summer heat, and escape the rigors of office. But in an act of vengeance during the Opium Wars of 1860 most of the complex was destroyed by British and French troops. Several rulers contributed to its subsequent restoration but most of what survives today is the handiwork of Empress Dowager Cixi.

We entered the Palace grounds through the East gate and I joined Hanson as we made our way slowly along the "long corridor", an elaborate covered walkway almost a kilometre long. Supported by rows of bright red columns its roof is decorated with more than 8,000 paintings. "This," Hanson told me, "was built so Cixi could enjoy a stroll by the lake even during inclement weather. Of course she didn't actually walk, that was done by the four strong eunuchs who carried her open sedan chair. But the Long Corridor pales in comparison to Cixi's other self- indulgent excesses. Her meals consisted of 128 courses, 10,000 caged birds were released each year at her lavish birthday party, and her private quarters in the "Hall of Joy and Longevity" exude an excess of opulence.

The daughter of a palace guard, she began her rise to power as a concubine whose only connection to the Imperial Court was via the Emperor's bedroom. But, through a combination of cunning, good luck and possibly homicide she went on to become China's undisputed ruler for more than 40 years. Her first big break came when she bore the Emperor a son and heir. Shortly thereafter, in a second stroke of good fortune, both the Emperor and his wife died. Cixi, now Empress Dowager with an infant Emperor as her son, seized the reigns of power and hung on until her death in 1908. Driven by personal greed, an insatiable appetite for luxury, and a total disregard for her subjects, Cixi drained the country’s coffers, and watched the Qing Dynasty spiral into oblivion. Except for its lavish relics, Imperial China ceased to exist.

At the west end of the Long Corridor we paused to admire the marble boat, one of Cixi's more bizarre creations. Using funds intended to modernize the Chinese navy she contracted the building of a 36-metre boat on the shores of Kunming Lake. Its hull, never intended to float, is made of solid marble and the two-storey superstructure with its graceful arched windows and gilded roof served only as another novel venue for Cixi's parties.

On a nearby jetty we boarded a dragon-headed tourist boat that took us across Kunming Lake to our waiting bus. From there it’s a 40km drive north to the Ming Tombs where 13 of Imperial China's Emperors are buried. But this is no ordinary graveyard. Chang Ling, the final resting place of Emperor Yongle, took 18 years to complete. A magnificent complex of courtyards and halls, including the Hall of Eminent Flowers with its huge columns, stands above the vault containing the Imperial remains. Nor were the Sons of Heaven sent off without ample provision for a fruitful afterlife. According to legend 16 concubines, all very much alive, were sealed into emperor Yongle's tomb, along with trunk-loads of gold, silver and jewels. But there were also such practical items as a selection of robes and copies of the imperial cookbook.

We entered the grounds through the central archway of the red gate, through which the Emperor's body was carried on its way to the tomb. A giant stone turtle guards the entrance and beyond the Red Gate the seven-kilometre-long Spirit Way leads to Chang Ling, the cavernous underground vault where the Emperor and his treasures were laid to rest. Flanked by larger-than-life stone figures — 12 sets of stern military mandarins, and 12 sets of animals both real and mythological — Spirit Way was the end of the line for 13 of the 16 Ming Emperors. Although Imperial China survived several centuries after the last of the Ming Emperors died their lavish tombs symbolize the misguided excesses of a society destined to die as surely as its all-powerful Sons of Heaven.

As I looked at the pile of useless trinkets piled into their graves I was reminded of a bit of bumper-sticker wisdom back home — "The one who dies with the most toys wins".