The Audience in the Forbidden City
After the Jesuits had spent a few days in the “foreigners’ castle” around the end of February and the beginning of March 1601, the director sent a messenger with the news that Ricci had been waiting for ever since he first set foot on Chinese soil. They had been granted an audience with the emperor.
The missionaries hoped for a meeting with Wanli that would constitute a turning point in their work, an opportunity to ask for permission to preach the Christian religion all through the empire, but this long-cherished dream was not so close to fulfillment. It was indeed clear that the Jesuits had only been admitted to a general audience and were very unlikely to be allowed to speak to Wanli, even though Ricci may have dreamed of thus initiating closer contact with the Son of Heaven.
In preparation for the ceremony, the two missionaries received instruction from officials responsible for protocol, who showed them how to kneel before the emperor and kowtow, bowing their foreheads to the ground three times. They also tried on the special robes of red damask silk and gold lacquered caps and were each given an ivory tablet called a hu to be held in front of the face as a sign of respect. Woken long before dawn on the great day, they were led through the dark and still deserted streets into the Imperial City all the way to a gate providing access to the Forbidden City, where they waited for hours in the bitter cold together with a group of foreign ambassadors and officials summoned to give thanks for favors, appointments, and awards.
The deep blue sky lightened and took on a rosy hue at sunrise as the golden beams spread over the Forbidden City and brought the colors to life. The dark red of the walls began to glow and the yellow of the roofs to shine. The gate finally opened, and the three thousand soldiers of the night guard emerged with five elephants. Ricci and Pantoja, the first Europeans to enter the heart of the Ming empire, passed through the massive wall and found themselves in a huge courtyard right in front of the arcade of the Palace of Supreme Harmony and the five doors to the chamber where the imperial throne of gilded rosewood normally stood, surrounded by dark red columns decorated with golden dragons. The throne had been moved outside for the audience and positioned to face the courtyard below.2
Ricci estimated that the enormous square could hold about thirty thousand people. The marble staircase rising to the imposing edifice was lined on either side by eunuchs holding colored imperial banners. Ambassadors, soldiers, and dignitaries were arranged in perfectly aligned rows and were positioned according to rank. Civilians occupied the eastern section, which was considered more prestigious, and military commanders the western. The courtyard was only one of the areas of the imperial complex made occasionally accessible to the public, while the rest of the citadel remained hidden and impenetrable.
The Forbidden City was a galaxy of palaces, gardens, streams, and pavilions,3 each of which was endowed with an evocative poetic name exemplifying the sophisticated use of language in which the Chinese excelled. Rectangular in shape and covering an area of over seventy-two hectares, its typically Chinese structure still preserves its extraordinary charm intact today despite the passage of time. The layout of the buildings was designed to reproduce the celestial order and draw a parallel between the emperor and the pole star, the throne room and the pavilions for the imperial rites being located at the center of the great complex along the north-south axis, with the other buildings symmetrically arranged on either side to mirror the positions of the circumpolar stars. The similarity between the heavens and the earth was not perfect because the layout of the Forbidden City, unlike the nearby Temple of Heaven, was a triumph of straight lines and rectangular geometric shapes with no reference to the circularity of the celestial vault. The idea of cosmic space was suggested rather by the vastness of the courtyards and the succession of walls and gates, apparently all the same but actually differing in size and minute details, which spread out to give the idea of a closed but infinite universe.
The main gates were located at the four cardinal points of the compass, and the most important was the Meridian Gate or Wumen, a one-story construction with the customary double-eaved roof of yellow tiles and three arches. The central arch was for the exclusive use of the emperor, the only exceptions being the empress on her wedding day and the three candidates ranked highest in the third-level examinations held in the imperial palace. Running through the first large courtyard on the other side of the Meridian Gate was a small watercourse, known as the Golden Stream, crossed by five marble bridges. The Gate of Supreme Harmony to the north gave access to the true centers of power. Beyond it lay the huge courtyard into which Ricci had been admitted, where the three palaces of the imperial rites stood one after the other on an enormous marble platform. This was reached by three flights of steps, in the center of which a gigantic ramp of white marble carved with a pattern of intertwining lotus flowers looked like an unrolled carpet. In wet weather, the rainwater was channeled onto this surface from either side of the balustrade through the mouths of over a thousand stone dragons, thus transforming the structure into an unusual fountain. The first building was the Palace of Supreme Harmony, which housed the throne and provided the setting for the most important ceremonies, such as the coronation of the Son of Heaven. The smaller Palace of Perfect Harmony was where the emperor performed the preparatory rites before proceeding to the Temple of Heaven. Banquets in honor of the ambassadors of tributary countries and the third-level imperial examinations were held in the Palace of Protecting Harmony.
The way out of the elevated structure was by a staircase to the north adorned with the largest marble panel in the Forbidden City, a block of 250 metric tons decorated with clouds and dragons that had been hauled from the outskirts of Beijing one winter along a 50-kilometer road of ice created by pouring water onto the ground. Farther north, the Gate of Celestial Purity led to the imperial apartments, the most private part of the citadel and surrounded by yet another ring of walls. Located on a single-story marble platform were the Palace of Celestial Purity, where the emperor slept, the Pavilion of Union, containing the throne room, and the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, where the empress lived. A garden to the north led to the Gate of Spiritual Value, the exit from the Forbidden City.
The buildings used for minor ceremonies and the quarters of the palace eunuchs and the emperor’s other wives and concubines were located in the greenery on either side of the central axis where the six most important palaces stood. They too bore poetic names such as Benevolent Tranquility, Peaceful Longevity, Eternal Spring, Concentrated Beauty, and Admirable Benevolence.
Symbolism informed the choice of every color and decorative detail, a concentration of centuries of tradition that encompassed every element of the architecture and endowed it with ritual significance. The most recurrent image, painted on columns or carved in marble, was the emperor’s dragon emblem, together with the phoenix of the empress. The four curved sides of every roof were crowned with a procession of small majolica sculptures of dragons, lions, and mythological beasts to provide protection against evil spirits, its length being proportional to the importance of the building. This was preceded in some cases by a guardian spirit on a winged horse, to which a small monkey, the symbol of dexterity, was added only above the throne room. In the gardens, enormous stone turtles symbolized longevity, strength, and endurance. The crane-shaped braziers of bronze on the terraces were emblems of good luck. The entrances of the most important buildings were flanked by the typical pairs of stone or bronze lions with curly manes and gaping jaws, symbols of power that served to intimidate visitors. The number nine, associated with the organization of the universe, was constantly recalled on the red gates providing access to the palaces and courtyards, each of which was adorned with eighty-one gilded studs laid out in nine rows of nine elements.
It was easy to lose track in observing the details of a world so rich in symbolic allusions, just as it was easy to lose your way on walking through the countless courtyards and the small side door
s leading into long, narrow corridors like the passageways of a labyrinth. The Forbidden City has been described as a disorienting maze of straight lines, or a nightmare of déjà vu. The symbolic heart of the great and ancient Chinese empire unquestionably communicated the idea of power and strength but also a sense of peace and immensity. Matteo Ricci saw practically nothing outside the courtyard where the audiences were held and devoted only a few lines of his writings to a description of the Forbidden City, a place that was to remain as secret and distant for him as it was for all the emperor’s subjects. Despite his subsequent visits to the Forbidden City, he was never able to explore it freely, and he never managed to form an overall impression, as his knowledge was limited to a few pavilions and corridors.
Ricci waited for the audience to begin, together with the others in that vast courtyard in front of the Palace of Supreme Harmony. The black-clad eunuchs in charge moved swiftly up and down the rows to make sure that everything was in order, and the censors kept watch for any suspicious movement. Finally, a precise order was echoed from line to line, and the ritual commenced.
The participants were taken onto the terrace in groups by officials who prompted them aloud in their performance of the ritual gestures and formulas so as to avoid any mistakes. On arrival before the imperial throne, they bowed and repeated the greeting “ten thousand years,” a formula used exclusively to wish the Son of Heaven a long life, while keeping the hu in front of their faces. On looking at the throne, Ricci realized that there was no one seated there, but he knelt down just the same when his turn came and addressed the phrase to the empty seat like all of those before and after him. The audience, organized by palace officials in accordance with a set schedule out of respect for tradition, was a grotesque charade performed every time in the absence of the leading character, as Wanli had stopped taking part many years earlier. Even though Ricci had probably been warned that he was not going to meet the Son of Heaven, it is reasonable to assume that he felt some disappointment. There is, however, no mention of this in his surviving letters or his history of the mission, where the audience is described with no comment. Ricci did not see the emperor at the audience in February 1601 and was never to meet him. He simply had to resign himself to this.
Other Memorials on the Ricci Case
Having ascertained that direct contact with Wanli was impossible, the Jesuit was determined to obtain permission to live in Beijing and intended to do so in compliance with the set procedures. He thus lost no time in calling at the ministry of rites, where he was received by the vice minister. When he handed over his memorial and asked for it to be forwarded to the emperor, it was immediately clear that the mandarin was intent on handling the matter in his own way, raising the customary difficulties for the sole purpose of demonstrating his power. Ricci found himself in much the same situation every time he had any dealings with the bureaucracy, just as nerve-wracking in China as it probably was in pontifical Rome or the kingdom of Spain.
The vice minister explained that he could not deliver the missionary’s memorial but would have to write a new one himself with his appraisal of the situation after a customary examination of the case. He thus ordered yet another inventory of the Jesuits’ assets, which established that the daoren possessed no valuables but only books and holy relics, and then sent a memorial to the court with instructions that it was to be kept secret. Ricci ended up getting wind of its contents all the same. As was to be expected, it was by no means favorable. It can be summarized as follows: “Li Madou claims that he is from the Far West, but there is no mention of any such place in the Ming dynastic histories and it is therefore impossible to know whether he is telling the truth. Since he has come to offer tributes to the emperor after living on Chinese territory for twenty years, the law for the treatment of foreign ambassadors is not applicable in his case. The gifts he offered to the emperor are insignificant and of little value. Moreover, objects [the holy relics] have been found in his baggage that he claims to be the bones of spirits, but if spirits have no bodies, how can Li Madou have their bones?”4
The document went on to urge that no gifts should be accepted from the missionaries and accused Ricci of having presented objects through the intercession of the eunuch Ma Tang and therefore sharing his guilt in the violation of procedure. It ended with the suggestion that Li Madou should be given some lengths of silk, a hat, and a belt, and ordered to go back to his own country. He should not be allowed to reside in Beijing or Nanjing because of the risk that he might cultivate his good relations with the eunuchs and incite rebellion. Even though the suggested gift of a hat and belt, typical accessories of state officials, was a mark of consideration, the tone of the document left no room for doubt. The stance adopted by the vice minister was the result of a power struggle between the eunuchs and the ministry of rites over the case of Li Madou, and the Jesuits were to bear the brunt of it. Ricci felt sure, however, that the emperor and the palace eunuchs would be on his side, and events proved him right. The memorial received no reply, which was something quite extraordinary for a document sent by the ministry of rites. The emperor evidently did not agree.
Rumors filtered through from the court that Wanli had been furious to learn of Li Madou being locked up in the foreigners’ castle. While it was of course impossible to establish whether the words attributed to the emperor—“Are these men perhaps robbers to have been treated in this way?”5—were actually spoken or instead simply circulated in order to favor the missionaries, the monarch clearly had no intention of expelling them and had decided to adopt the tried and tested tactic of passive resistance to the pressure of the bureaucracy. The eunuchs responsible for the clocks also clearly wanted Ricci to stay, as they were terrified at the idea of the precious devices breaking down with no possibility of asking the missionaries for advice about how to repair them.
A month after the delivery of the document to the court, the bureaucrats began to feel alarmed at the emperor’s prolonged silence and the possibility of a vendetta on the part of the eunuchs in Li Madou’s favor. For fear of reprisals, the director of the foreigners’ castle allowed Ricci to leave the building during the day for the customary courtesy visits but ordered four guards to keep constant watch over him and prevent any attempt to escape.
In the meantime, now realizing that he had made a mistake by asking for the missionaries to be expelled, the vice minister drew up a second and far more positive memorial and sent Ricci a copy to show his goodwill. Here too, however, there was no request for a residence permit for the Jesuits. The omission was intentional because the emperor was empowered by procedure to grant such authorization only in response to an explicit request on the part of the relevant authorities.
Time passed and it became known that the ministry of rites had sent another three memorials on the case of Li Madou to the court without once asking for the missionaries to be granted permission to reside in Beijing and without once receiving a reply from Wanli. Exasperated by the continuing deadlock and his restricted liberty, Ricci turned to Cao Yubian, an official of the ministry of personnel and the only bureaucrat to have displayed any friendliness toward him during the early days of his stay in Beijing, for help in obtaining permission to leave the foreigners’ castle. The mandarin exerted pressure, and the director, who was of lower rank, was forced to come up with some expedient in order to free the Jesuits. It was decided that Ricci should write a letter indicating serious problems of health. For once in his life, the Jesuit agreed to resort to a stratagem for his own benefit. The falsehood was confirmed, and he was freed together with his companions in the month of May. The missionaries moved into rented accommodations but retained the right to be supplied with provisions and firewood free of charge by the state.
As Ricci wrote, “We were very glad and gave thanks to God at now being able to regain some of the good reputation lost during our semi-imprisonment in that castle.”6
Ricci Settles in Beijing by Order of the Emper
or
Now as free as a foreigner could be in imperial China, Ricci set about getting his own memorial delivered to the court while avoiding any involvement of officials of the ministry of rites, and he was astonished to succeed without encountering any obstacles at all. While his petition also remained unanswered, the significance of the emperor’s silence was very different in this case from his failure to reply to the ministry of rites, as those in the know were quick to explain. It was in fact now clearly established that Wanli wanted the missionaries to remain in Beijing, but also that he could not grant them residence permits without the ministry’s prior approval. Wanli therefore preferred to make no specific pronouncement on the assumption that his prolonged silence already spoke volumes. So it was, without any official document having been drawn up or any order given, that Ricci learned from the palace eunuchs that his request had been granted. The missionaries would be allowed to reside in Beijing indefinitely and to receive a handsome stipend from the state with the emperor’s consent and no possibility of any objection being raised. The ministry of rites was obliged to accept the situation, and the director of the foreigners’ castle even summoned Ricci for the express purpose of congratulating him on his success, observing with uncommon deference that Beijing was big enough to accommodate one more foreigner.
When the news spread, all the missionaries’ friends and acquaintances, starting with Cao Yubian, came to express their delight, and there was very soon a whole procession of dignitaries eager to meet Li Madou, Xitai, the scholar from the West who had obtained the emperor’s protection. The influx was such that the street where the Jesuits lived was constantly blocked with litters and horses guarded by a host of servants.
A young literatus called one day with a gift and a request for lessons in Western mathematics. He declared himself a disciple of the illustrious scholar Feng Yingjing, a convinced anti-Buddhist and orthodox Confucianist who knew and admired the works of Li Madou. Feng Yingjing was one of the few mandarins who had had the courage to oppose a powerful eunuch, thus bringing about his own downfall. His story was well known in the city. Having become a jinshi in 1592, he was serving as provincial judge in Huguang (now divided between the provinces of Hunan and Hubei) and was greatly respected for his integrity. When the eunuch Chen Feng arrived in his district to organize the collection of taxes and began to employ the brutal methods for which the taijian were known, the guan took action by reporting his crimes in three memorials sent to the emperor. Wanli’s only response was to have the mandarin recalled to Beijing, stripped of his position, and imprisoned.
Matteo Ricci Page 29