Imperial clocks from the Palace Museum, Beijing

Fig 1. Clock in the form of a pagoda with extending mechanism. Height 126cm, to 158cm fully extended.
Gilded copper with coloured stones. 18^th C. Made in England (maker’s name unknown)

This summer, London’s Science Museum plays host to 23 magnificent clocks from the Palace Museum, Beijing. Among the precious objects collected by emperors of the Qing dynasty (1644-1911), clocks were a great favourite, especially those with automated features known as zimingzhong 自明钟 (“self-chiming clocks”). The Palace Museum holds hundreds of them.  

But as you might expect of the Qing (not known for their restrained taste), these are not any old clocks. Time-keeping seems to be a secondary function: their main purpose is to knock your eye out with dazzling adornment and mechanical trickery.

Fig 2. Clock in the form of a crane with pavillion. Gilded copper, enamel and coloured stones.
18^th C. Made in England by James Cox, possibly with additional decoration in China. 

The one used on the exhibition’s publicity material (see above) is a modest example. Standing 38cm high, made of gilded copper and coloured glass, it takes the form of a crane carrying a pink-and-gold pavilion on its back, with a small clock-face attached. The crane turns back to offer an auspicious lingzhi fungus to the residents of the pavilion. It plays a tune every hour, or so we’re told: none of the exhibition’s clocks is active. 

While this is one of the least ostentatious pieces in the show, it embodies all the key attributes of the collection: the influence of foreign clock-makers (its mechanism was made in England), automated functions, the use of natural and religious imagery, and dazzling ornamentation.

A more typically bling example is the pagoda clock (Fig 1) which greets you as you enter the exhibition. Standing 1.26m high, elaborately wrought from gilded copper inset with deep blue stones, its nine tiers extend upwards like a concertina every three hours, and then retract three hours later, while the music box plays a Chinese folksong. It is one of a pair of pagoda clocks previously owned by the Emperor Qianlong. You can see its twin in action in this video from the Palace Museum (go to 02:00).  Have a look too at other examples of automation at 06:30 to 06:50. The museum workshop obviously takes great pride in restoring these devices.

Fig 3. Clock in the form of a lotus jar with opening flowers, swimming ducks, Daoist figurines and
musical device. Gilded copper, glass and enamel. Height 118cm. 18^th C. Made in the Palace workshops, Beijing.

I was very taken by this lotus jar clock (Fig 3), whose blossoms open to reveal three Daoist figurines (see below), while the little ducks swim round the pond to the sound of music.   

Fig 4. Detail from the lotus clock. The blossoms open to reveal (from left) a white ape,
the Queen Mother of the West, and a boy holding a peach. The blossoms close again when the music ends.

I could go on about the other pieces on display but here are some of the blingiest:

Fig 5. From L to R:

1) Elephant with clock on a plinth borne by four lions. Gilded copper with coloured stones. 18^th C. Height approx 100cm. Made in England. 

2) Double-gourd shaped clock mounted on two layers of automated scenes decorated with auspicious symbols. Gilded copper and enamel. 18^th C. Height 112cm. Made in Guangzhou, China.

3) Clock with knight and horse under a jewelled canopy. Gilded copper with coloured stones. 18^th C. Height 143cm. Made in England by Stephen Rimbault. The curtain rises and falls to music while a dragon flies across.

While the clocks are dazzling, the overall purpose of the exhibition is a bit vague. Is the aim just to astonish us with sparkly toys? In a display of “self-chiming clocks”, it’s disappointing to find none of them operational (a small notice explains that they are too old to be played regularly). There are a couple of videos showing clocks in action, and another video in the hall outside showing an automated farmyard scene with pecking chickens and a barking dog. Otherwise you have to read the labels and use your imagination.  

Perhaps there is a scientific purpose? The exhibition offers some models of cogs and wheels to play with but these time-keeping mechanisms were known in Europe two centuries before they arrived in China. The Science Museum has a Clockmakers gallery so perhaps this seemed like a good fit, but there’s no explicit link to it, which is strange. Also strange is the absence of an exhibition catalogue. A well-illustrated catalogue would have sold by the truckload, giving the museum some much-needed cash.

I found all this a tad frustrating because the rise of the Imperial clock collection links a number of important historical threads: notably the infiltration of foreign missionaries into China and the adoption of foreign technology by Chinese artisans. 

The Jesuit missionary Matteo Ricci (see my earlier post) first gave a pair of mechanised chiming clocks to the Wanli emperor of the Ming dynasty in 1601. Prior to this, Chinese timekeeping relied on cumbersome devices like sun-dials or water clocks. One famous water-driven clock, invented in 1092, was about 6m high (see below). Some foreign visitors were bemused that the Chinese, who invented printing and gunpowder, hadn’t figured out automated time-keeping.

Fig 6. Water-driven clock invented by imperial engineer Su Sung in 1092. Source: Cambridge University Press

The advent of European clocks running on weights and springs, much smaller and prettier than any existing devices, must have resembled the arrival of the iPhone. Eventually, any visitor seeking favour with the imperial court would include at least one luxury clock in their array of gifts, preferably sourced from elite makers like James Cox of London (French and Swiss makers were also in vogue). 

As the imperial collection grew, the Jesuits helped to repair and service these delicate toys. This, plus their skills in fine arts and astronomy, helped consolidate their place at court. They also practiced “cultural accommodation”, allowing their Christian converts to observe Confucian practices like ancestor worship. All other Christian missionaries forbade this and were duly thrown out of China by the Kangxi emperor in 1721. I like to think that the emperor didn’t want to lose the only people who could fix his precious clocks. 

Ever responsive to new trends, Chinese artisans began making their own zimingzhong, both within the Palace and around the city of Guangzhou where the Jesuits had their first Chinese mission. Their work shows a distinct blend of Chinese and European design features, as in Fig 7 where the double-gourd (symbol of health and longevity) sits on a platform borne by four rams. The animal-mounted platform (featuring lions, rhinos, bulls, etc) was a favourite detail used by British clock-makers. 

Fig 7. Double-gourd clock with mechanical features including automated scenes of Chinese rural life. Gilded copper with enamelling. Height 94cm. Dated 1790. Made in Guangzhou. Source: Liao (2002)

The Guangzhou clockmakers also catered for wealthy local residents for whom a European-style clock was a prestige item. This appeared in contemporary literature like the 18th century novel Dream of the Red Chamber, where the ownership of clocks and watches highlights the Jia family’s elite status. Eventually, of course, they became an everyday item for all levels of society.

Given this rich background, the Science Museum could have done more to flesh out the history of these devices (here's where a catalogue would have been useful!). But I’m grateful that they were able to bring these amazing pieces to London. As long as you’re happy to be blinded by bling, this exhibition is well worth a visit.