Echoes of Imperial Memories and Imperialism – The Legend of Yuan Ming Yuan at the Hong Kong Palace Museum

By Joanne Yau

[Figure 1] Anon, Engraved Moon and Unfolding Clouds (detail) from Spring Everlasting on the Abode of the Immortals, Qing dynasty, ca. 1821 or later, album leaf, ink and colours on paper, courtesy of The Palace Museum.

How does one tell the story of a space that no longer exists? This is the question the Hong Kong Palace Museum attempted to answer with their exhibition “Yuan Ming Yuan – Art and Culture of an Imperial Garden-Palace”, which offers a reconstructive narrative of the now-lost site.

Translated to “Garden of Perfect Brightness”, Yuan Ming Yuan was once considered the hallmark of Chinese imperial splendour and architectural innovation. Built as a gift for Emperor Kangxi’s (1654-1722) fourth son, Emperor Yongzheng (1678-1735) during the Qing Dynasty (1644-1912), the Old Summer Palace was built in 1707 in Beijing and spanned an area of more than three-and-a-half square kilometers – eight-and-a-half times the size of the Forbidden City. From 1709 to 1860, the garden housed uncountable treasures, paintings, scrolls, statues, fountains, lakes, pavilions and more. Bequeathed the title “Versailles of the East,” it offered both a respite and rendezvous point for imperial court members’ stately and domestic affairs.

[Figure 2] Thomas Child, Ruins of Yuan Ming Yuan, 1877, photography.

The garden’s beauty and glory were, however, brought to an abrupt end in 1860 during the Second Opium War, when French and British troops invaded Beijing, plundered the palace’s treasures, and burnt much of the premises to the ground. The garden was so massive that it took 4,000 men three days to destroy it. Today, a ruin remain at its original site, which has since been transformed into a park. Some treasures ended up in Chinese art institutions like the Poly Museum, others have ended up in English or French hands including fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent, while others are displayed in museums all around the world, including the British Museum. The palace’s destruction was considered a national defeat, and years on, the Chinese government and people still debate over whether to reconstruct the complex, or to leave this tale in the shadows of history.  

The Palace Museum’s exhibition falls into the middle of this spectrum, showcasing the garden’s former glory in tandem with the calamitous fate that befell it. Visiting it in summer 2024 felt like stepping into a mini time capsule: the 190 paintings, handwritten scrolls, and architectural models featured were captivating, evoking the extravagance and decadence of Qing royal life. The ink painting Engraved Moon and Unfolding Clouds (1821) [Fig.1] artfully imbues a three-dimensionality to the paper scroll, presenting the garden as a locus for human activity situated in the idylls of nature. By eclipsing the distance between the foreground and background, the garden appears near yet simultaneously far away, mirroring a commoner’s perspective of royal status. The hanging scroll painting Consort in the Doorway (1748) [Fig.3] is also remarkable. Depicting the consort of the Qianlong Emperor resting her hand on a decorative door in the Hall of Boundless Impartiality, the work exudes a romantic suggestiveness and evokes the passionate yet illicit trysts that might have unfolded among the emperor’s close circle.

[Figure 3] Probably Jean-Denis Attiret, Consort in the Doorway, ca. 1748, courtesy of The Palace Museum.

Overall, however, while this curated ensemble succeeds in monumentalising the palace’s sacred status, it felt that it barely scratched the surface of the original treasure collection, which, quite surely, was far vaster than this exhibition’s. The exhibition showcases artists’ past attempts to reconstruct the palace tangibly, such as the Model of the Hall of Universal Peace (1873-1874) by the Imperial Architecture Studio, Beijing, but these could hardly visualize the architectural feat the original was. The Palace Museum’s small selection unfortunately leaves much to be desired.

[Figure 4] Imperial Architecture Studio, Beijing, Model of the Hall of Universal Peace in Yuanming Yuan, 1873–1874, courtesy of The Palace Museum

Nevertheless, the use of audiovisual techniques to reconstruct the cartography of the garden’s space was very innovative. Upon entering the gallery, an animated video transports viewers through the grandiose site as it bears witness to the changing of the seasons—stone steps and platforms covered in a thick layer of pearl-white snow which then melt away to reveal radiant sunshine peeking through the springtime blossoms. Accompanied by the soft strum of Chinese stringed instruments, the sound of flowing water and distant birdcalls, the video poetically maps a tapestry of the palace’s wonders. Haiyan Tang was one of the scenic spots they zoomed in on, home to statues of the twelve Chinese Zodiac animals that unfortunately did not escape the pillage. Showcasing the garden as if it were perfectly untouched, the video is simultaneously rooted in a utopian serenity and alien otherworldliness, offering a tantalising “what if?” in the face of the garden’s realistically brutal fate.

[Figure 5] Exhibition view of the video revisualizing the palace’s former grandeur. Image courtesy of The Standard.

In contrast, towards the exhibition’s end, another video delineating the destruction of Yuan Ming Yuan is shown. It is a jolt back to reality: the harsh, invasive sound of the incoming armies, abrasive music, and animations of the palace’s precipices crumbling before the footage fades to black creates an unmatched feeling of a paradise lost. In many ways, the video’s indictive tone also represents a protest—a protest at imperialist violence, a stolen history and an incomplete narrative, which could now only be partially conveyed through projections on a screen. It offers a sharp juxtaposition from the ornateness of the earlier exhibits, but its emotionally charged quality feels fully justified.

The exhibition therefore ends its chronicle of Yuan Ming Yuan on an ellipsis. With remnants rather than a full picture on display, it suggests how the issues surrounding the palace’s destruction still pervade the present and the near impossibility of tackling them. One slippery issue is repatriation – while some of the animal statues of Haiyan Tang have been returned to China, this unyielding sentiment expressed by Jiang Yingchun, the CEO of Poly Culture can be applied to the rest of Ying Ming Yuan’s collection – “the heads represent our feelings for the entire nation; we love them, and we weep for them. We can try many ways to get the heads back. The auction is just one method. We can't ignore that the art was taken illegally, even if it was being well cared for.”

Still, the Hong Kong Palace Museum exhibition manages to give momentary consolation. Offering a retrospective look into a place bygone, it is steeped in patriotic sentiment yet underscored by an irreconcilable sense of absence. It is an attempt to reclaim narrative agency over a national loss. While there are still many threads in this story’s web that cannot be told, and will not be told, what this exhibition does best is, instead, asking the viewer not to forget.

Bibliography

Historical Photographs of China. “Ruins of Xieqiqu, Yuanming Yuan (圆明园), Beijing, Pillaged and Burnt down by European Soldiers | Historical Photographs of China.” Hpcbristol.net, 2024. https://hpcbristol.net/visual/NA01-76.

Hong Kong Palace Museum. “The Hong Kong Jockey Club Series: Yuan Ming Yuan -- Art and Culture of an Imperial Garden Palace.” Hong Kong Palace Museum, 2024. https://www.hkpm.org.hk/en/exhibition/the-hong-kong-jockey-club-series-yuan-ming-yuan-art-and-culture-of-an-imperial-garden-palace.

Palmer, Alex W. “The Great Chinese Art Heist.” GQ, 2018. https://www.gq.com/story/the-great-chinese-art-heist.

Wong, Young-tsu. A Paradise Lost: The Imperial Garden Yuanming Yuan. Hawai’i University Press, 2001.