In Front of the Forbidden City
Walking into the Forbidden City, I felt immediately dwarfed by its vastness. With over 800 buildings and 9,000 rooms, it’s certainly more of a city than a palace. But its multitude of rooms aren’t what make it seem so immense: it’s the enormous courtyard in the middle of the compound, stretching itself in front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony. This area is completely open – the 15 layers of stone used to construct the ground of this expanse make it impossible for trees to grow, so it remains flat and empty. Looking up from the entrance to the square, I was confronted with the imposing image of the Hall. I could imagine being amid a throng of people, craning our necks and straining to catch a glimpse of the emperor, far above us, during some important ceremony.
Of course, to have been in the Forbidden City prior to 1925, I would have either had to have been a concubine or a eunuch, toward neither of which I have any inclination. But for those who did live inside the walls, it must have been a wondrous place: the wooden buildings are painted in vibrant hues. Blues, golds and greens adorn the rafters, with red columns underneath. There are water channels under the foundations, to bring cool relief in the summer and warmth in the winter. As long as one managed to avoid the political alliances that were often forged and then toppled, it could have been a very peaceful life. In fact, many young women hoped to be selected as one of the Emperor’s concubines because living in the Forbidden City, even in such a role, was preferable to potentially going hungry outside of it.
Nowhere else in the Forbidden City was I able to picture quite so clearly what it would have been like to live here. As I meandered down the open streets and through smaller courtyards, the throngs of people bumped and jostled these thoughts out of my head. At times I even struggled to remind myself I was in a structure that was built over 600 years ago. It all looked as though it had a fresh coat of paint on it, and the wood has held up surprisingly well. Nowhere were the crumbling rocks and fading frescoes I had become accustomed to while in Europe. While this fresh look was beautiful, and I was entranced by the vivid colors, it did prevent me – for much of the visit – from feeling like I was in the presence of antiquity.
Nevertheless, it is a beautiful city. Grand and equally as impressive as any cathedral or palace I’ve seen elsewhere. In some ways, such as in technology, more so. For me, it only lacked a certain demand of reverence that I expected a place so old to possess.
