Visualizing Modern China: Image, History, and Memory, 1750–Present Read online

  This chapter describes how perceptions of monumentality changed as key sites on Purple Mountain developed. I argue that the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum combined older, Chinese conventions of monumental form with new emphases on the visual representation of power and public access to those representations, two trends toward public visuality that typified modern nation-state forms of the era. As a result, monumentality itself in Nanjing became both more popularly accessible while, perhaps unintentionally, also more open to interpretations beyond state-prescribed meanings.

  Nanjing & Purple Mountain: Capitals & Tombs, Monuments & Decay

  In April 1927, during the GMD’s Northern Expedition to unify China after two decades of warlord rule, General Chiang Kai-shek (1887–1975) declared Nanjing would be the capital of China in accordance with the desires of the late revolutionary hero and GMD founder, Sun Yat-sen. Shortly after entering Beijing in June 1928, the new one-party GMD government confirmed the decision to move the capital to Nanjing permanently. Municipal planning for the new capital’s much-needed infrastructure, including roads, utilities, public buildings, banks, and residential neighborhoods began in earnest. A high priority for the fledgling Nationalist government was the completion of a tomb for Sun Yat-sen, construction of which had begun even before the Northern Expedition commenced. In fact, well before running water was common or the various ministries had their own permanent homes, Sun’s remains were safely interred in their final resting place.2 With the many pressing needs facing a state that was constantly in debt, why was this structure considered so important?

  It is not something we typically contemplate, but tombs are often essential features of capital cities. In the early-twentieth century when capitals all over the globe from Washington to Tokyo were being renovated and littered with monuments in order to express new nationalistic sentiments, many nation builders considered tombs to be important symbols of modern nationalism. From Napoleon’s tomb in Paris to Lenin’s tomb in Moscow, it seems that most capitals feature an important tomb or cemetery rife with national significance (Figure 5.2, see website).3 Sun Yat-sen himself recognized the importance of such a symbol. On his deathbed in 1925 he instructed the party to place his remains on display (like Lenin’s) in a tomb on Purple Mountain—just east of the city walls of Nanjing, where he had briefly served as the first president of the Republic in 1912—thereby immortalizing his role as a founding father of the modern Chinese nation.4

  By making this command, Sun was forging a link between himself as self-proclaimed “founder of the Republic” and the heroic founder of the Ming dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang, who was also buried on Purple Mountain. The parallels between their careers, certainly in Sun’s eyes, were many. Zhu had led a patriotic drive to expel the Mongols from China. He then moved the capital from the “tainted” Mongol city, now called Beijing, to the more “Chinese” city of Nanjing in the south. After Zhu’s death, however, his son moved the capital back to the north. Sun Yat-sen too had seen himself as leading the effort to expel what he considered a foreign dynasty, the Manchu Qing, from power, which was accomplished with the Revolution of 1911. In January 1912, Sun was inaugurated as provisional president of the Republic in Nanjing, which he argued should be made the permanent capital of China instead of what he considered the Manchu city of Beijing. After Sun resigned his post in favor of Yuan Shikai (1859–1916) in February 1912, however, Beijing remained the capital of the Republic.5

  In calling for the construction of his tomb on Purple Mountain, Sun Yat-sen redefined the monumental nature of the already existing tomb of Zhu Yuanzhang. Even though the capital moved back north after his death, and the rest of the Ming rulers would be buried outside Beijing, Zhu’s successors buried him in Nanjing according to his wishes. Throughout the Ming dynasty his tomb remained a revered site. Zhu’s tomb was unquestionably monumental in nature, but it was built in a style quite different from Napoleon’s or Lenin’s. Instead of locating tombs inside capital centers, Chinese emperors had theirs constructed in mountainous locations outside their capitals, in places that were said to be auspicious and full of natural power, according to the rules of fengshui (風 水). Moreover, Zhu’s tomb was intentionally hidden from public view. Commoners were forbidden on penalty of death from treading on the sacred ground of the imperial tomb area, and the precise burial place was to be kept a strict secret to protect the emperor’s remains. Even the imperial descendants generally did not see the actual tomb, which was buried in a large earth mound surrounded by a wall 350 meters in diameter. Instead they conducted imperial family rituals in an ancestral temple pavilion located at the end of a “spirit road,” a path that laid out a sequence of ritual structures and images (Figure 5.3, website).6

  There were certainly striking architectural and visual elements to this tomb complex, including the spectacular ancestral pavilion, or sacrificial hall, which originally covered an area of nearly 2,000 meters, making it probably the largest wooden structure in Ming China (Figure 5.4). This was the most important building for visitors, for it housed the spirit tablet of the emperor, and the sacrifices to the imperial ancestor were always performed here.7 Other impressive structures included an arched gate that signaled that one was entering a particularly hallowed portion of the spirit road and a large rectangular stone gate tower that separated the ritual spaces of the complex from the burial mound itself.

  Figure 5.4 The Wooden Sacrificial Hall at the tomb of the founder of the Ming dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang, in Nanjing. The original sacrificial hall completed in 1398 was much larger than the one pictured (notice how the set of staircases seems overly large for the small structure.) The original building was destroyed when the Qing dynasty put down the Taiping Rebellion in 1864. The Qing subsequently built this more modest structure afterward. From: Personal collection of Charles Musgrove.

  It is important to note, however, that the audience privy to these sites was extremely limited, and that one did not see these monumental elements all at once. Instead, there was a gradual intensification of feeling as one traversed the spirit road through a series of architectural climaxes. The journey began at a special memorial arch that instructed visitors to dismount their horses. Then, one ascended respectfully along a winding path, passing through a stele pavilion housing a large, stone dragon turtle, and then a series of twenty-four larger-than-life stone statues of auspicious animals such as lions, camels, elephants, and mythical creatures that were considered guardians of justice. The path then meandered around a small hill and passed under the watchful eye of eight stone civilian and military officials, leading eventually to the gate of the ancestral pavilion, which was the final destination for most royal visitors.8 Again, one generally was not allowed to gaze upon the grave itself, which was hidden. Overall, the tomb’s monumentality was not expressed in an awe-inspiring view of any single dominating structure, but instead it was gradually revealed and felt in moving through the complex. Visual elements were important, but it seems that ritual practices and movements conveyed power more effectively in this form of monumentality.

  By Sun Yat-sen’s day, however, the Ming tomb offered only a shadow of its former grandeur. It had served as an intentional monument to the dynastic founder and was well maintained for as long as it was considered crucial for the maintenance of Ming power. But once the dynastic reins changed hands, its purpose changed considerably, and the attentiveness of its new caretakers gradually waned. It was customary for succeeding dynasties to maintain the imperial tombs of their predecessors as a sign of respect for the position that sitting rulers still occupied. Both the Kangxi and Qianlong emperors performed ritual sacrifices at the tomb during their southern tours.9 However, there is little incentive to glorify too much the dynasty that one has overthrown, and Qing rulers also had to deal with persistent rebellious conspiracies whose rallying cries were “overthrow the Qing, restore the Ming.” Thus, the Qing continued to forbid commoners from venturing near the Nanjing tomb, as much to prevent it from becoming a symbolic center of revolt as
to protect the sanctity of the imperial site.10 Overall, the monument’s official significance had decreased significantly, and it had more subversive potential than anything else. Thus, the site became dilapidated from neglect, especially following the Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864). Nanjing had been the capital of the “Heavenly Kingdom,” and the Qing almost completely destroyed the city in putting down the movement in 1864. The Ming tombs were badly damaged, and the spectacular ancestral hall burned down. The late-nineteenth-century Qing rulers chose not to invest scarce resources in renovating this potentially dangerous Ming symbol, and a much smaller ancestral hall was built instead.11

  When Sun Yat-sen held a ceremony at the Ming tombs on February 15, 1912, three days after resigning as provisional president, he helped bring the site back into the forefront of the public’s imagination.12 The ceremony itself was remarkable in that it burst through the taboos surrounding the site. In plain view of all, and captured by a number of photographers present to commemorate the event, Sun marched respectfully on foot with his entourage past the sacrificial hall all the way to the roof of the gate tower from which the typically unviewed burial mound could be seen. Here he paid obeisance to the Ming founder with a racially charged speech in which he proclaimed China’s liberation from the Manchu “savages.” Sun’s offering ode concluded:

  I have heard that in the past many would-be [deliverers] of their country have ascended this lofty mound wherein is your sepulcher. It has served them as a holy inspiration. As they looked down upon the surrounding rivers and upwards to the hills, under an alien sway, they wept in the bitterness of their hearts, but today their sorrow is turned to joy. The spiritual influences of your grave at Nanjing have come once more into their own. The dragon crouches in majesty as of old, and the tiger surveys his domain and his ancient capital. Everywhere a beautiful repose doth reign. Your legions line the approaches to the sepulcher; a noble host stands expectant. Your people have come here today to inform your majesty of the final victory. May this lofty shrine wherein you rest [attain] fresh luster from today’s event and may your example inspire your descendants in the times which are to come. Spirit! Accept this offering!13

  In his soliloquy, Sun Yat-sen dramatically redefined the Ming tomb as a site for rallying the forces of nationalism. The tomb immediately ceased to be a simply resting place for a former emperor or a symbol of secret resistance. Suddenly it was reconfigured as a place to glorify a resurrected hero of China’s past in which the nativism he represented was his greatest attribute.

  Sun Yat-sen also redefined the purpose of the ritual performed at the tomb. While he went through many motions that were similar to those performed in a sacrifice to imperial ancestors (respectfully walking the spirit road, performing the proper number of bows before the emperor’s spirit tablet, etc.), the purpose of the performance was as much to state that this was a new beginning for China as it was to show respect to a former hero. This was not to be part of a series of regularly scheduled visits that would revere a particular dynastic ancestor and simultaneously legitimize a contemporary imperial ruler, as the rituals had done in the past.14 Instead, Sun wanted to forge a link to a particular past that was essential for constituting a nation-state. Legitimizing imperial-era rulership had required sanctifying the role of emperor through obeisance to all who had previously held the office, even Manchus; but in Sun’s constituting a new nation-state, only those who met the criteria of being “Chinese” would necessitate respect.15

  In visual terms, the tomb itself remained rundown from neglect and hence somewhat unimpressive, but through photographs of the ceremony, people all over the country could now see the various parts of this site that had recently been forbidden to commoners, thereby tearing down one element of its former monumentality—its mystery—but also opening up the possibility of new ways of experiencing its power. Meanwhile, Sun magnified the significance of Purple Mountain itself. The dragon and tiger in the speech referred to a common saying about Nanjing that the city commanded the power and strength of a “crouching tiger and coiling dragon.” Now this power was to be felt from outside the walls, from the mountain perch where the tomb lay. This combination of ideas would lead the GMD later to envision the place as the ceremonial center of their new nation more than twenty years later.

  The Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum

  With the construction of the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in the late-1920s and early 1930s, the focus on Purple Mountain clearly shifted away from the Ming tomb to the far more visually stimulating monument to the GMD founder. The mausoleum was to become the centerpiece of the GMD’s own ritual reconstitution of the nation, and Purple Mountain was to encompass all the elements of a new worldview that would reposition China in what the GMD considered a new, modern context. More immediately, the GMD wished to impress upon the citizens of the Nationalist-led Republic of China that the party alone was the only legitimate leader capable of effecting this glorious transformation. To do so, party leaders would invoke both the image and “ideology” of Sun Yat-sen and attempt to embody that ideology in its greatest national monument, the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum.16

  In 1912, Sun Yat-sen envisioned a liberal democracy developing in the wake of Qing collapse, but by the early 1920s his optimism had been shattered as he accused the Chinese people of being “loose sand” with a “slave mentality” due to centuries of being conditioned to accept subservient roles under conservative authority figures. Inspired by the Bolshevik Revolution, Sun saw ideology as a means for educating people on how to live in the modern world. He quickly set out to develop his own “Three Principles of the People:” Nationalism, Democracy, and People’s Livelihood. Sun claimed that these Three Principles would serve as a modern ideology for China, based on scientific principles, while also achieving “revolutionary” social progress. He proclaimed that the ultimate goal was liberal democracy, but by the 1920s he was also insistent that democracy could only be achieved after his revolutionary party, the GMD, taught the people how to put the interests of the country before their own narrow ones. Thus, to Sun, an unspecified period of dictatorial “political tutelage” under the GMD would precede multiparty democracy.17

  After years of warlord rule, which for many confirmed Sun’s accusations about the inherent selfishness of China’s leadership, Sun Yat-sen’s popular image as a selfless patriot grew. Indeed, he was at the height of his popularity when he died in Beijing in 1925. Hence, the GMD had every reason to take seriously his instructions to bury him in Nanjing. This was a wonderful opportunity not only to fulfill their popular leader’s dying wish by building a monument that would concretize his status as a “founding father” of modern China, but also to provide the GMD a chance to emphasize itself as the inheritors of his revolutionary vision, and thus worthy of the people’s loyalty in the civil war that started less than a year after his death. After the completion of the Northern Expedition in 1928, the mausoleum would play crucial roles in simplifying Sun’s contradictory legacies, particularly in singling out the GMD as the only leaders of China’s modern revolution, as opposed to its main rival, the Chinese Communist Party.

  Figure 5.5 The sacrificial hall of the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing which was completed in 1929. This structure was praised at the time for combining eastern and western elements into a bold new architectural form. Compare this stone and concrete structure to the sacrificial and spirit halls of the Ming tomb in Nanjing. From: Personal collection of Charles Musgrove.

  Despite the numerous financial difficulties that the GMD faced, builders finished the first phase of construction just in time for interment ceremonies in late-May and early-June 1929.18 In the architecture of the mausoleum (Figure 5.5), designed by architect Lu Yanzhi, one can see an attempt to strike a balance between old and new, democracy and party dictatorship. First, the form of the building roughly follows that of an imperial-era tomb, whose basic elements consisted of a wooden sacrificial hall in front of a round burial mound that enclosed the sarcophagus in stone. However,
Sun’s sacrificial hall differs from the imperial tomb in several important ways (compare Figures 5.4 and 5.5). For one, it is made of stone and reinforced concrete. While the traditional hall was made of wood to emphasize the constant filial duties of the descendants to maintain the structure, with Sun’s tomb the permanence of the material was designed to show that Sun’s ideals represented a permanent truth, as permanent as the nation itself. The tomb was also designed to put Sun’s remains on display, as was considered appropriate for a modern, ideological founding father like Lenin. Featuring a metal door with a mechanical safe lock, the remains could be shut away for safekeeping, but, more importantly, it could also be opened at will for people to go in and respectfully gaze at his body, which would also last forever. Unfortunately, science failed to preserve his remains as Sun had hoped, and thus, in the end, the tomb contained a statue of his body as it appeared during the official lying in state instead (Figure 5.6, website).

  The GMD hoped to inculcate its version of Sun Yat-sen’s “ideology” at the site in a manner that would emphasize its own place of power in that vision. Inscriptions and carvings were a useful way to convey particular meanings. Thus, on the black marble walls of the sacrificial hall, the party carved the “Outline of National Construction” and the “Last Will and Testament,” two of Sun’s texts that called for the GMD to lead the nation in its drive for modernization.19 These texts represented Sun at his most general and his least ideological; by leaving out the more specific texts on Sun’s famous Three Principles of the People, the GMD designers avoided providing any details on the principle of “livelihood” and the confusing question of whether or not Sun had espoused a form of communism, which the right-leaning GMD vehemently denied.20 The party sidestepped the issue of further interpreting these notions in stone, leaving that for the classrooms. Meanwhile, along the base of the seated statue the party carved scenes from Sun’s life of revolution. These images were decidedly civilian in character: caring for the children, going abroad to propagandize, discussing with revolutionary colleagues, opening the national assembly in Nanjing, giving a speech that “awakens the deaf,” and discussing how to protect the country. No scenes depict Sun leading a revolutionary battle or inciting angry masses. All the accompanying figures in these frescoes are reserved and respectful. In sum, the inscriptions portray Sun as a great civilian leader, deserving of peaceful reverence, and with no hint of Marxist leanings.