一
Entering the Forbidden City by the back gate, we joined crowds following different flags & tongues to trample underfoot the majestic avenues & palaces and pollute the hidden gardens with our racket. And, passing through, our eyes gazed upon the dwellings of the kings and queens of old in the Northern Capital, that great city of the Chinese, Beijing, the square and stroke of the centre of the world. The sun was hot that day and there was no shade in the great square — one is not permitted to approach close enough to new monuments which would perhaps have given their shade to us. But wishing not to see these austerities of state power, these oversized edifices of (those who must be) giants, the sun-scorched people flee into the City. Overlooking unsmilingly, a portrait’s uniformed and un-uniformed guards do likewise, standing erect in imperial rows all day long, while peasants in dull coats with red-blushed faces bustle in and out past them in several files, wearing caps of different colors and eating bread loaves. And watch them pass beneath that great wreath with its stars, in their hearts dreaming of the lost glories of empire and emperor.
二
To see inside secret, forbidden places, to view the emperor’s private rooms & empty spaces, to make a delicate fantasy almost real. It’s still alive, persistent after long hard years, this incorrect attraction to that five-clawed golden dragon, strangely missing from their proud red flag. What draws them in, why search out his former lair? Whispers of stories and tales of a hidden King who is wise and good and kind and noble in all His ways — dwelling divine in glory at the centre of the world — no, the universe even! But alas, my friends, the throne and halls of the sons of heaven are now dark and empty and flag-women shout in dialects to explain to their color-cap flock why. No longer is there a man to ascend for the people those grand temple rings facing the sky but the people themselves, who queue in scuffling disorder to stand but for a moment upon the stone which covers the stone which represents the 1st circle of heaven. And they take photographs of themselves standing on top of the eye of heaven — some in reverence, some with funny faces — the emperor himself, having changed his gold robes for blue, was never so bold.
三
Yes, the halls are empty now and the great middle doors of the king are shut, but everyone still wants a snap with their digital cameras & mobile phones. So we blindly smash and squeeze against each other in unruly crowds for just a single moment of a glance of the throne — then at last, penetrating the mass, we see it — but he is gone, gone! Suddenly grief stabs me and sadness is crushing down, look away! Look away from that terrible empty throne, oh, when? When will He return, the Emperor Whose dwelling is the centre of the world and to Whom all nations and all peoples will swear allegiance? Wherefore will he return? For his imitation glory of yellow-glazed tile roofs which once shined golden in the sun is fading and in the quiet courtyard the latticework needs paint. And the overshadowing modern glories of glass and steel in distorted & monstrous shapes have not surpassed this dignity, however diminished. Containing fast food and TV studios, European designers and fancy cars, they are un-royal and frivolous, tall sandcastles in a square sandbox in which great ones play. But underneath them all an empty throne will remain.
四
What is a throne without a king? A symbol of an incomplete meaning, an unfulfilled expectation, an awaited return . And in some odd way all life is paused and hushed by this mystery. So I ask you, what Man in this age of our world could claim the Heavenly Mandate, Who would dare ascend that mighty throne to receive the Middle Kingdom, to Whom could we rightfully give our adoration as Divine Son of Heaven? No sane man of our world in this age would be so bold — never mind what cut of suit they are wearing. How long then will the crowds and masses still linger on, dream-gazing, enthralled by an empty throne? A longing for glory, to see it return, to gaze upon it with their eyes and (yes, even to) share in it, lies in every heart. It cannot be wiped away or given up or forgotten — it is stubbornly implanted deep inside all of us. We imagine a Kingdom which will rise and rise and not fall but keep rising forever — whose glorious splendor will keep increasing and never fade away at all — and whose deathless King will reign in power from everlasting to Everlasting. Only return! Return to us, we cry, only return to us!
29-April, 2010, Hong Kong, MJC#323, 324 — “Reflections upon the empty throne and lost glory of the forbidden imperial city, the square and stroke of the centre of the world, Beijing, PRC.” Sketches by Ivy Pui Yee Ng.
