China's Last Moments of Imperial Splendor

The reign of the Qianlong Emperor

Some people in China call it the “century of humiliation” — a period when China’s power, status, and sense of itself crumbled. Between the 1840s and the 1940s, China suffered a terrible series of calamities, everything from a wave of opium addiction to several horrific civil wars to incursion by foreign imperialists to an invasion by Japan. 

The century of humiliation brought China to its knees — an unaccustomed place for the country to find itself. China had, for most of recorded history, been one of the richest, most sophisticated, and most innovative civilizations on the planet. And then it all came crashing down. 

Today, I don’t want to talk about the century of humiliation. Maybe some other time. What I’m interested in exploring now are the moments before everything fell apart. A moment when China was on top of the world, seemingly stronger than it had ever been, completely unaware of the technological and political tsunami that was heading its way. 

So let’s go back to the days of the Qianlong Emperor. 

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The Qianlong Emperor took the throne in October of 1735, at the age of 24. He ruled over China for most of the rest of the century. He officially abdicated in 1796 in a show of humility — making sure that his reign would be a bit shorter than that of his revered grandfather — but he held onto supreme power until his death, in February 1799. His death meant that he never saw the turn of the nineteenth century, the century in which China tumbled from its lofty heights.

His real name was Hongli. Chinese emperors, when they ascended to the throne, picked an “era name” that encapsulated their hopes for their reigns. Hongli chose as his era name “Qianlong,” meaning “lasting eminence.” This name was only partially prescient — the Qianlong Emperor would rule for a long time, but his reign would be the last period of peace and prosperity before a precipitous decline. 

Many of the paintings of the emperor come from an unusual source. They were created by a missionary from Milan, the Jesuit brother Guiseppe Castiglione (Jesuit missionaries had been advisors to several Qing emperors). Castiglione’s art combined elements of traditional Chinese court painting and European techniques of the Renaissance and Baroque periods. As a result, these are some of the most interesting and lifelike images we have of a Chinese ruler. 

Here’s the emperor as a young man, having just taken the throne a year prior, looking at the viewer with a direct yet serene gaze. This is a man born to power, and comfortable with it:

Public domain

Another portrait from the same year, 1736, shows him on the throne, in full imperial regalia. The emperor signals his wealth and power not through opulence — there aren’t many jewels or gold — but through refinement; his chair, clothing, and carpet are clearly made with incredibly exacting care.

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These Chinese court paintings are formulaic — see the very similar image of Qianlong’s grandfather, Kangxi, below — but Castiglione still manages to capture something of the emperor, or at least the image that the emperor wanted to project.

Kangxi, public domain

Castiglione painted for the emperor until his death in 1766. Here’s a painting made in 1758 of the emperor as a middle-aged man, mounted in his ceremonial armor. It’s an interesting combination of styles as Castiglione tries to render the emperor as a real person, while trying to capture the dazzling finery of his horse and outfit and incorporate a traditional landscape in the background. 

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The emperor cultivated an air of sophistication and refinement. He saw himself as a preserver of both traditional Chinese and Manchu cultures (the Qing royal family was of Manchu descent). He spent much of his time appreciating and creating art and literature. 

He loved to travel to beautiful places, but never wanted to be far from his art collection — so his attendants would bring along paintings for him to view wherever he was. Here he is at an outdoor art show:

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The emperor didn’t just consume culture. He wrote poetry and created art, and he wasn’t bad. Trained by imperial artists, especially Castiglione, he became an accomplished illustrator. We can see his skill in these renderings of deer antlers — the accompanying calligraphic essays, also written by the emperor, show an impressive knowledge of the natural world and celebrate Manchu hunting practices.

Public domain

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He wrote poetry, too, in the traditions of Chinese nobility. Sometimes the emperor would contemplate a meaningful piece of art and compose a poem to be inscribed on it. Some of his writing was inscribed on items that could be found in fine homes around China. 

Here’s a vase with one of Qianlong’s poems:

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And another, purposefully weathered so that it looked like a relic of the Song Dynasty, a previous “golden age” that the emperor was trying to evoke:

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In fact, the emperor’s poetry could be found on lots of objects — here’s a ruyi scepter (an object that might be found on an important scholar’s desk, signifying authority and refinement) with a poem by Qianlong:

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The emperor is interesting — what would it have been like to be one of the most powerful people in the world, ensconced in luxury and obeyed by millions, for six decades? But I’m more interested in what China was like during this period. What was life like in these last moments before the world came crashing in on China?

This period in the 1600s and 1700s is sometimes called the “Kang Qian Shengshi” — the “Prosperous Age of Kangxi and Qianlong.” Kangxi and Qianlong expanded the empire, making China larger than it had ever been before. 

1832 map of China, public domain

The emperors and their bureaucracy made sure to project an image of calm, prosperity, and harmony. 

Some of the most remarkable documents of the age are the massive painted silk scrolls that were created by a painter named Xu Yang to commemorate the emperor’s tour of southern China in 1751. Each of them took years to complete and give us unprecedented details of daily life in China, at least the way the emperor wanted to see it. These scrolls would not have been displayed publicly; they were for the private consumption of the emperor and his court and, maybe most of all, for future generations. 

The first of these scrolls was Prosperous Suzhou, a 40-foot-long masterpiece that shows the city and the countryside around it. We start in the countryside, with villagers busily roofing a house:

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Then we come across a mountain path, with tiny figures ascending:

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Soon we see the bustling riverfront with shops and an array of boats:

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The examination hall, where aspiring scholars study the classics:

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And, finally, the city’s fortified port, a sign of imperial strength:

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It’s a sort of Where’s Waldo of imperial China, full of thousands of imperial subjects going about their lives. It celebrates not these individuals but their place in the bustling whole, demonstrating the ways in which everything in the emperor’s domain is going according to plan. 

Another Xu Yang scroll, also chronicling the emperor’s tour, shows us the monarch’s procession through a city. Xu takes care to show us the impressive walls and fortifications:

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But he seems most interested in the emperor himself, parading through the bustling urban area. We see the crowds lined up in anticipation:

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This one really is a Where’s Waldo because you can find the emperor himself, on horseback, coming through the gates:

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All of these images give us the impression of a well-ordered, peaceful, prosperous kingdom. And there is some truth to that — some historians consider this period a Pax Sinica, a Chinese peace. But the Qianlong Emperor’s reign wasn’t all harmony. Most significantly, he waged a series of brutal wars against peoples to the west and north. One of these wars, against the Dzungars, is considered by some historians to be a genocide. The emperor instructed his commanders to “massacre these crafty Zunghars. Do not believe what they say.”

And, for all of its prosperity and success, China — unbeknownst to its emperor — was approaching a precipice. The society depicted in these works of art would soon find itself up against implacable foes, strengthened by technology that had leapfrogged China’s, who would set off a terrible chain of events in east Asia. 

When representatives of the British East India Company tried to gain access to Chinese markets in the 1790s, the emperor rebuffed them. It may have been the right move, but the emperor rejected the merchants out of arrogance, saying:

Swaying the wide world, I have but one aim in view, namely, to maintain a perfect governance and to fulfil the duties of the State: strange and costly objects do not interest me. If I have commanded that the tribute offerings sent by you, O King, are to be accepted, this was solely in consideration for the spirit which prompted you to dispatch them from afar. Our dynasty’s majestic virtue has penetrated unto every country under Heaven, and Kings of all nations have offered their costly tribute by land and sea. As your Ambassador can see for himself, we possess all things.

From his perspective, ensconced in luxury and surrounded by elegance and refinement, this probably seemed true. There was no other society as sophisticated and there was nothing from the outside world that China could possibly want. 

Unfortunately, the emperor and most of his subjects were unaware of the changes brewing in the world — changes that would upset his empire, that would prevent the eminence of his time from lasting forever.