The warriors of Xi’an: The glorification of terra-cotta

The Enterprise — Mike Nardacci

A view of the 7,000 terra-cotta figures uncovered by Chinese archaeologists. The hangar which covers the pit in which they were discovered is over twice the length of a football field.

Located in northwestern China, the great city of Xi’an — pronounced “she-ahn” — like hundreds of other cities in China, exhibits an exhilarating mixture of ancient and modern.

In former times, marking the eastern end of the Silk Road, the city boasts hundreds of super-modernistic office buildings and apartment towers, though many stand empty — the result of China’s desire to put to work as many people as possible, without considering the fact that many of its citizens either cannot afford these high-rise digs or simply have no desire to live 50 stories above the ground.  From a distance, modern Xi’an may look like a backdrop for a scene from a Star Wars episode — especially at night, when great numbers of the buildings feature light shows that out-do Times Square at New Year’s Eve.

But surrounding the central part of the city is a great wall — not the Great Wall, but a massive fortification nonetheless — built during the Ming Dynasty in the 1400s, which is a powerful reminder of Xi’an’s history. Starting around 250 B.C., Xi’an became the capital of China under Qin, the country’s first Emperor.  Qin had conquered the other kingdoms that lay within the landmass known today as China, though evidence suggests that there was continued and often violent resistance to Qin’s autocratic and self-indulgent rule.

Guarded by jutting towers and with a scattering of beautiful Buddhist shrines situated strategically on its extensive esplanade, the wall protects what was once the central part of the ancient capital.  Hundreds of crimson lanterns — lighted at night — hang from golden posts along the wall and sway in the wind, seeming to celebrate the new (if still limited) freedom that has come to China.

Today Xi’an has expanded far beyond the area enclosed by the wall and out onto the vast Plain of Guanzhong that surrounds the city and is dotted with shrines and tombs of Qin and the other emperors who dwelt here during the early years of united China’s turbulent history.

The Plain of Ganzhong covers hundreds of square miles and is formed by the conjoined floodplains of the great Wei River and seven other rivers and streams. Floodplains by definition are subject to disastrous overflows and in modern times a system of dams and levees protects the city.  But over millennia, repeated massive flooding of the rivers has left thick deposits of clay and silt covering Ganzhong, which has now been left high and dry as a result of a dropping water table.

Aware of his own mortality, Emperor Qin made a bold decision — one on a par with the great pharaohs of Egypt such as Djoser, Khufu, Seti I, Ramses II: He directed his subjects to build for him a massive tomb, surpassing in size and grandeur the tombs of all of the petty warlords whom he had defeated in his quest to unite China under a single power: himself.

Thus, some miles from the city of Xi’an there arose on the Plain of Ganzhong an enormous tomb whose location is precisely known: Looking like a low, gentle hill, it stands covered in soil and foliage, visible for miles.  But legends of its contents have cautioned archaeologists to put off opening it, as the current state of archaeological science may not be up to meeting its challenges. And so there the great mound stood for years, while around it, farmers went about their business.

Until 1974.

In that year, a farmer and some helpers were hand-digging a well, working their way down through the thick sand and clay sediments. They were down only a few yards when fragments of ancient bronze spears and pottery began to turn up; had they dug only a few feet in a different direction they would have missed them completely.

The diggers notified government archaeologists who continued excavating and soon made a stunning discovery: a life-sized terra-cotta head staring at them from out of the muck. Continued careful digging revealed that the entire body of the figure attired in minute detail as a warrior was there as well, albeit in fragments requiring reconstruction.

To call this discovery “the tip of an iceberg” would be a colossal understatement.  For as excavations continued, more full-sized terra-cotta warriors began to turn up, first by tens, then by hundreds, and eventually by the thousands. Today they number over 7,000 and are displayed in a vast hangar the length of two football fields that covers the yawning pit in which they stand in 1000-foot-long phalanxes, appearing as though they are awaiting marching orders.

Each was attired differently from his companions and each was apparently an individual portrait of a foot-soldier.  Most of the figures had been shattered in ancient times and required careful reconstruction, the result of the upheavals that followed the death of Emperor Qin in which rebellious subjects vented their anger against Qin’s extravagance.

In recent years, two additional pits have been opened, containing life-sized horses in battle gear and chariots along with soldiers of higher rank — lieutenants and generals — as well as archers and spearmen: the elite of the Terra-Cotta Army of Emperor Qin.

The term “terra-cotta” is Italian and means simply “baked earth.”  It is an extraordinarily inexpensive and common material:  those reddish brown flower pots on your porch and patio are terra-cotta, and it is commonly used for pipes, roofing tiles, and bricks as well.  It is derived from common clay, a material found everywhere water has been ponded.

Extensive deposits occur on flood plains — upon which much of the city of Albany stands — and they underlie large stretches of the Schoharie Valley as well. A quick glance at the enormous number of structures in these areas built from brick confirms the presence of great quantities of clay.

Terra-cotta has been used for artistic and building purposes from ancient times, and terra-cotta statues, tiles, pipes, and sarcophagi from all over the Mediterranean world show the material’s easy availability and adaptability.  Sometimes the baked clay is glazed or painted, but more commonly it is left with its natural fired-appearance: the quintessential “earth-tone,” derived from the presence of iron compounds in the clay which oxidize during firing.

But then of course the question arises: Why on Earth is the vast terra-cotta army there at all?

The answer lies in the concept the early Chinese — as well as other ancient cultures — had of an afterlife.  If cultures conceived of personal survival beyond the grave, many of them considered it simply an idealized form of the best of life on Earth.

Wall paintings in the tombs of such people as the ancient Egyptians and the Etruscans depicted the deceased happily indulging in many of the same activities of the living, though with far greater levels of enjoyment and productivity.

But some peoples like the ancient Egyptians also believed that the deceased might be called upon by the gods to work in their fields and vinyards, and to save the dead the exertion bodies were buried with wooden or faience figures called “ubshabti” — often by the hundreds — that were expected to come to life in the next world and take the place of the deceased in whatever work the gods dictated.  Qin could immerse himself in an indulgent life-style in his palace in Xi’an with full expectation that following his death, the feasting would go on forever.

Yet from all evidence the court of Emperor Qin was also a place of internal political struggles — tales of attempted murders, poisonings, and forced suicides have come down through the years, undoubtedly embroidered upon as the passage of time will do. There were also constant military threats from the recently conquered provinces whose subdued inhabitants were not enthused about being part of Qin’s recently patched-together empire.

And of course, there must have been many malcontents under his rule who were unhappy to see the empire’s wealth being squandered on Qin’s extravagant whims at a time when — like today — many citizens lived in squalor.  Thus when he planned his magnificent tomb, Qin apparently made the decision to see that it was well guarded against marauders from both inside and out.

And so in the flat stretches of land surrounding the tomb he had his artisans create his terra-cotta army, ready to spring to life should the god-like emperor’s rest be in jeopardy from enemies either outside or inside his kingdom.

What else may hide beneath the soil near Qin’s tomb and the tombs of other emperors that lie nearby — some with brutal reputations and tastes as luxuriant as Qin’s — remains unknown.  More recent excavations have found the graves of large numbers of men and women who were interred at the same time as Qin and the horrifying evidence is that they were buried alive.

Perhaps they were captured enemies doomed to serve as slaves to Qin in the next world;  perhaps they were to serve as companions to the dead emperor in the afterlife; or perhaps they were killed because they knew too much about the secrets that lay within and around Qin’s unexcavated tomb rising a mile or so from the pits of the terra-cotta army.  How ironic that so much stunning artistry was created under circumstances that speak of so much misery.

And yet — and yet — to look at the hauntingly beautiful individual figures with every item of clothing and footwear rendered in exquisite detail is to come face-to-face with men long dead whose demeanor projects a startling calm and dignity. It may be that the look was mandated by the emperor’s undoubtedly intimidating control.

But perhaps the soldiers really believed that in having their likenesses preserved in terra-cotta — a humble material given the touch of glory — they could share Qin’s luxuriant after-life.

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