mple which we were invited
to occupy we could look across the brown village to the splendid
park and the glistening yellow roofs of the imperial tombs. We found
next day that it is a veritable paradise, a spot of exquisite beauty
where profound artistic sentiment has been magnificently expressed.
Broad, paved avenues, bordered by colossal animals sculptured in
snow-white marble, lead through the trees to imposing gates of red
and gold. There is, too, a delightful appreciation of climax. As one
walks up a spacious avenue, passing through gate after gate, each
more magnificent than the last, one is being prepared by this
cumulative splendor for the tomb itself. One feels everywhere the
dignity of space. There is no smallness, no crowding. One feels the
greatness of the people that has done these things: a race that
looks at life and death with a vision as broad as the skies
themselves.

At the _Tung Ling_ Nature has worked hand in hand with man to
produce a harmonious whole. Most of the trees about the tombs have
been planted, but the work has been cleverly done. There is nothing,
glaringly artificial, and you feel as though you were in a
well-groomed forest where every tree has grown just where, in
Nature's scheme of things, it ought to be.

Although the tombs are alike in general plan, they are, at the same
time, as individual as were the emperors themselves. Each is a
subtle expression of the character of the one who sleeps beneath the
yellow roof. The tomb of Ch'ien-Lung, the artist emperor, lies not
far away from that of the Empress Dowager. Stately, beautiful in its
simplicity, it is an indication of his life and deeds. In striking
contrast is the palace built by the Empress for her eternal
dwelling. A woman of iron will, holding her place by force and
intrigue, a lover of lavish display--she has expressed it all in her
gorgeous tomb. The extravagance of its decoration and the wealth of
gold and silver seem to declare to all the world her desire to be
known even in death as the greatest of the great. It is said that
her tomb cost ten million dollars, and I can well believe it. But a
hundred years from now, when Ch'ien-Lung's mausoleum, like the
painting of an old master, has grown even more beautiful by the
touch of age, that of the Empress will be worn and tarnished.

Charmed with the calm, the peace, the exquisite beauty of the spot,
we spent a delightful day wandering among the red and gold
pavilions. But fa