Observe, please, the gentleman on the right side of the above picture. Although he stands in the Forbidden City, the nexus of Chinese imperial majesty, there is no mistaking the expression on his face. It is one of disappointment. Despite the towering blood-red ramparts, the diverse historical treasures, and the profusion of goofy-looking foreigners to stare at, he feels let down.

How can this be? And he's not the only one looking less than enthralled. His cohort on the left of the picture wears an air of defeat, and the young lady by the brim of his jaunty cap may as well be sitting on a bus. 

How has this World Heritage site failed to inspire them? Every effort has been made to accommodate the ahistorical tourist: modern toilets, sugary snacks, knick-knack shops, even a Starbucks, since closed by overwhelming consensus. To understand the blasé reaction to such undeniably exotic splendor, please observe the picture below:

You're witnessing the moment of truth for a baker's dozen tourists. All the expense, the scheduling, the travel hassles, culminating in a frantic climb and push, just to stand for a few seconds at a doorway to the past, the Hall of Supreme Harmony. The clean-pated Picard type wonders why he can't see anything in his camera. The fellow with the prescription shades is making sure his flash is on, for this view of the past is a dim one. Here's another instructive shot, in front of the Hall of Central Harmony.

The throne is certainly impressive, but its gloomy environs suggest a storehouse more than a palace. This can't be where divine emperors chose to while away their time! Thus the disconnect, the wind out of tourist sails, yes, the disappointment. 

All intimacy is not lost, however. A newly opened corner of the Forbidden City proves that imperial life had its sensuous rewards. $3 million dollars have gone into restoring Juanqinzhai, the Lodge of Retirement, a building originally designed by heavyweight Emperor Qianlong to reward himself for a lifetime's brilliant stewardship.

Built between 1771-1776, the two-story Lodge, as well as its outlying gardens and pavilions, once again reveal a China that was at that time the richest in the world. Where the Forbidden City's drafty halls impose, the Lodge invites. Soft fabrics and bright colors soothe the royal eye tired of gazing at acres of cold gray flagstone. Sitting areas are draped in the finest embroidered silk. A stunning silk trompe l'oeil mural overhangs his private theater, a reminder of the gentle music that took Qianlong to a happy place far from battlefield horrors and musty rites.

Qianlong was as much a patron of the arts as he was a visionary administrator. He therefore intended his retirement pad to reflect the aesthetic sophistication with which the Chinese justifiably credited themselves. Master craftsmen from every corner of the kingdom were enjoined to carve the hardwood screens and white jade inscription tablets, to thread the fine bamboo flooring, to weave the exquisite two-sided embroidery which graced only the most elite interiors of late 18^th century China. Thus the gratification of current historians, who see the refurbished lodge as the epitome of Qing-era design.

Waiguoren can pride themselves in the fact that, like the Birds Nest, the Lodge of Retirement used international consultation in its construction. The aforesaid mural gracing the theater roof, a highlight of the Lodge, was designed by Jesuit artist Guiseppe Castiglione. A true perspective rendition of birds in flight around wisteria trellises, the silken treasure lends a feeling of light and space so rare in traditional Chinese enclosures at the time. A great exponent of classical Chinese poetry and painting, as was his grandfather Kangxi, Qianlong was nonetheless intrigued by western art, and magnanimous enough to include it in what was to him the bosom of the Forbidden City.

The restoration program is likewise an international effort, under the aegis of the World Monuments Fund as well as the Palace Museum. The project was scheduled for at least a decade, three years having gone into the Lodge of Retirement. Scientist and historian have collaborated in painstaking detail, conceiving innovative procedures that mark a new peak in blending traditional craftsmanship with modern techniques to bring history to life.

That sense of life, or shall we say livability, more than justifies the use of time, money, and brainpower that has gone into the Lodge. No longer need visitors to the Forbidden City envision its former residents as regal prisoners, stranded in glum if grandly-named Halls or stuffed away in cramped little side rooms. If truly luxurious surroundings are a ruler's just desserts, then Juanqinzhai is the first Forbidden City dwelling fit for a king.