I think the only enjoyable time of the day, during the burning summer
in dusty, dirty, dilapidated Peking, is the very early morning, before
the sun rises high, and while the air still feels fresh, and one can
enjoy sitting in the cool courts which take the place of gardens, and
listen to the quaint music of the pigeons as they fly overhead. This
is no dove-like cooing, but a low melodious whistle like the sighing
of an Eolian harp or the murmur of telegraph wires thrilled by the
night wind. It is produced by the action of cylindrical pipes like two
finger-ends, side by side, about an inch and a half in length. These
are made of very light wood and filled with whistles. Some are globular
in form and are constructed from a tiny gourd. These little musical
boxes are attached to the tail feathers of the pigeon in such a manner
that as he flies the air shall blow through the whistle, producing the
most plaintive tones, especially as there are often many pigeons flying
at once—some near, some distant, some just overhead, some high in the
heavens; so the combined effect is really melodious. I believe the
Pekingese are the only people who thus provide themselves with a dove
orchestra, though the use of pigeons as message-bearers is common to
all parts of the Empire.
There is one form of insect life here which is a terrible
nuisance—namely, the sand-flies, which swarm in multitudes. They are
too cruel, every one is bitten, and the irritation is so excessive that
few people have sufficient determination to resist scratching. So of
course there is a most unbecoming prevalence of red spots, suggestive
of a murrain of measles!
I have been told that I am singularly unfortunate in the season of my
visit, and that if only I had come in September I should have found
life most enjoyable (I recollect some of the residents at Aden likewise
assuring me that they really learnt to think their blazing rock quite
pleasant!) I suppose that I am spoilt by memories of green Pacific
isles and sweet sea breezes, so I can only compassionate people who,
till two months ago, were ice-bound—shut off from the world by a frozen
river—and now are boiled and stifled!
Such of them, however, as can get away from their work in the city
have the delightful resource of going to the hills, and establishing
themselves as lodgers at one of the many almost forsaken temples, where
a few poor priests are very glad to supplement their small revenues by
a sure income of barbaric coin. The Pekingese themselves are in the
habit of thus making summer trips to the hills—so many of the temples
have furnished rooms to let—with a view to encouraging the combination
of well-paid temple service with this pleasant change of air.
I am told that many of these temples are charmingly situated, and have
beautifully laid-out grounds. A group called “The Eight Great Temples”
is described as especially attractive. They are dotted on terraces
along the face of the western mountains, about twelve miles from the
city, and among their attractions are cool pools in shady grottoes all
overgrown with trailing vines and bright blossoms; stone fountains,
where numberless gold-fish swim in crystalline water, which falls from
the mouth of a great marble dragon; curious inscriptions in Thibetan
and Chinese characters, deeply engraven on the rocks and colored red;
fine groups of Scotch firs, and old walnut-trees; and in springtime I
am told that our dear familiar lilac blossoms in perfection. Then there
are all manner of quaintly ornamental pagodas and temples, great and
small, with innumerable images and pictures, and silken hangings, and
all the paraphernalia so attractive to the artistic eye.
Among the points of chief interest in the immediate neighborhood of
Peking, the Summer Palace of course holds a foremost place, and there I
found my way yesterday by paying the penalty of eight hours of anguish
in a hateful springless cart, which is the cab of Peking, and the only
mode of locomotion for such as are not the happy possessors of horses.
The manifold interests of the day, however, far more than compensated
for the drawbacks of even dust and bumping, which is saying a great
deal. A member of one of the Legations had kindly undertaken to show me
the various points of interest to the north-west of the city, and we
agreed to try and escape some heat by starting at 3.30 A.M., at which
hour I was accordingly ready, waiting in the courtyard to open the
gate. It was a most lovely morning, the clear moonlight mingling with
the dawn, and the air fresh and pleasant. I had full leisure to enjoy
it, for the carter, who had promised to be at the Japanese Legation by
three, was wrapped in slumber. So my companion had to begin his day's
work by a two miles' walk to fetch me. Luckily, my carter had been
more faithful, so we started in very fair time; indeed, I profited by
the delay, for as we passed through the great northern gate, there on
the dusty plain—just outside the walls—we came in for a grand review
of the Eight Banners, by Prince Poah of the Iron Crown. Such a pretty,
animated scene, with all these Tartar regiments galloping about, and
their gay standards flashing through the smoke of artillery and the
dust-clouds, which seem to blend the vast plain with the blue distant
hills and the great gray walls and huge three-storied keep which forms
the gateway.
The latter is that Anting Gate of which we heard so much at the time
when it was given up to the British army after the sacking of the
Summer Palace; not, however, till their big guns were planted on the
raised terraces within the sacred park of the Temple of Earth, all
ready to breach the walls.
The Prince's large blue tent was pitched on a slightly rising ground
apart from the others, and was constantly surrounded by gorgeous
officers in bright yellow raiment, with round, flat black hats and long
feathers, who were galloping to and fro, directing grand charges of
cavalry. It did seem so funny to see a whole army of ponies; for there
are no horses here, unless the foreign residents chance to import any.
These Eight Banners are all Manchus or Mongol Tartars, or at any rate
are descended from such, Chinese troops being ranged under the green
standard. These Eight Banners which, as I have said, are multiplied,
are plain white, red, blue, and yellow, and the same colors repeated,
and distinguished by a white edge and white spot. These companies are
supposed to defend different sides of the city, the colors having some
mystic relation to the points of the compass; except that yellow is in
the middle, where it guards the Imperial Palace. Red guards the south,
blue the north, and white the west, whilst the east is nominally given
up to the green standard, which, however, being composed of Chinamen,
is not admitted to the honor of guarding the forbidden city. I am told
that the Banner Army numbers upwards of a hundred thousand men, who
supply Tartar garrisons for the principal cities of the Empire.
We got out of the cart and secured a good position on a small hillock,
whence we had a capital view. A number of Tartar soldiers who were
off duty gathered round, and were quite captivated by the loan of my
opera-glasses. Then they showed us their wretched firearms (which
certainly did not look as if any European could have superintended the
arsenal where they were manufactured), and also their peculiar belts,
containing charges of powder only, and yet we are told that in addition
to first-class firearms, which are being ceaselessly manufactured at
the Government arsenals at Tientsin, Shanghai, Canton, Foochow, Nankin,
and other less important places, the Chinese Government spares no
expense in buying both ammunition and firearms of European manufacture.
I suppose they are kept in reserve for real war!
A picturesque company of archers rode by on stout ponies, holding their
bridles in the right hand, and in the left their bows, the arrows being
cased in a leathern quiver, slung across the shoulders. As to their
swords, instead of hanging from the waist, they are stuck under the
saddle-flap; each man's cap is adorned with the tails of two squirrels,
which is the correct military decoration. Now though we Scots are quite
ready to believe that blackcocks were created for the express purpose
of bequeathing their tails to adorn the caps of the London Scottish
(the said tails having very much the jovial, independent character of
the bird itself), it really is impossible to see the fitness of things
in selecting poor little squgs as military emblems, unless to suggest
the wisdom of he who fights and runs away! Anyhow, it now seems as if
we might find a profitable market for all the thousands of squirrel's
tails which are annually wasted in our north-country woods. I quite
forgot to take note of the fan and the pipe, which I am told are
invariable items in the accoutrements of the Chinese soldiers.[26]
Returning to our cart we next drove to the Ta-tsoon-tsu, or Temple
of the Great Bell. It is a large Buddhist monastery. The priests,
who occupy separate houses, are a civil, kindly lot, very different
from the Lamas of the Yung-ho-Kung! There are curious paintings of
Buddhist saints in the halls; but the great object of interest is the
huge bell, which is said to be the largest hanging bell in the world.
Anyhow, it is a wonderful piece of casting, being nearly eighteen feet
high and forty-five feet in circumference, and is of solid bronze four
inches thick. It is one of eight great bells which were cast by command
of the Emperor Yung-lo about A.D. 1400, and this giant is said to
have cost the lives of eight men, who were killed during the process
of casting. The whole bell, both inside and out, is covered with an
inscription in embossed Chinese characters about half an inch long,
covering even the handle, the total number being 84,000! I am told that
this is a whole classic.
This gigantic bell hangs in a two-storied pagoda, and underneath the
beam from which it is suspended hangs a little bell, and a favorite
amusement of Chinese visitors to the temple is to ascend to a gallery,
whence they throw small coins at the little bell, in hopes of
hitting it, on the same principle, I suppose, that they spit chewed
prayer-papers at certain gods in the hope of hitting them! The throwing
of cash is certainly more profitable to the priests, as the coins fall
into a rim round the great bell and become temple property. This great
bell, which is struck on the outside by a suspended ram of wood, is
only sounded when—in times of drought—the Emperor in person or the
Imperial Princes as his deputies come to this temple to pray for rain.
Theoretically, they are supposed not to rise from their knees till the
rain falls in answer to their prayer, and responsive to the vibrations
of the mighty bell.
There is sore need of rain now, so I suppose the bell will be struck
ere long. Apparently it is reserved as a last resource, for already the
little Emperor and the Empresses Regent have been pleading for rain in
the gorgeous yellow tiled temple at the entrance to the Forbidden City,
and Prince Yeh, as the Emperor's deputy, has been repeatedly sent to
pray for rain in a most strange open-air temporary sanctuary close to
the Bell Temple. We discovered this quite by chance, having observed a
large circular inclosure in the middle of a field of standing corn.
We halted and went to see what it was, and we found that it consisted
of eight screens of coarse yellow mats, with great yellow dragons
designed on them. Four of the screens form a circle having four gaps.
The other four are straight, and are placed outside, so as to guard and
conceal the entrances. In the centre a square raised platform of earth
forms a rude altar, at the four corners of which are four vases of the
coarsest pottery, containing plants; straggling and much trampled corn
grows between and around them, as in the field outside. In a small tent
close by we found a sleepy watchman, who told us about the Prince's
devotional visits to this very primitive oratory.
After four hours of intolerably weary jolting in our dreadful cart,
we arrived at Wan-Shu-Shan, which is the only portion of the grounds
of the Summer Palace (the Yuen-Ming-Yuen) to which foreigners are
still admitted, as they have there wrought such hopeless ruin that I
suppose it is not thought worth while to shut them out; and truly it is
sickening even now to look on such a scene of devastation. The park,
which is now once more closed to the barbarians, contains fine palatial
buildings, faced with colonnades and altogether of a very Italian type,
having been built under the direction of the Jesuits, but the beautiful
pleasure grounds, where we wandered over wooded hills all strewn with
beautiful ruins, is purely Chinese, and as such is to me far more
interesting.
Our first halt was beside a well whose waters are so deliciously
crystalline and cold that they seemed to our parched and dusty throats
as a true elixir. So famous is this pure spring that the daily supply
for the Imperial Palace is brought thence in barrels, in a cart flying
a yellow flag, with an inscription in black characters stating that it
travels on the Emperor's business—a warning to all men to make way for
it. The water near the city is all bad and brackish, so such a spring
as this is a priceless boon.
This wonderland has been so often described since its destruction,
that in its present aspect the whole seems familiar ground; but it is
new to me to learn anything concerning it in its palmy days, from the
pen of an eyewitness, and so I have been much interested in reading a
curious account of these Imperial pleasure-grounds written in 1743 by
Mons. Attiret, a French missionary, whose talent for painting led to
his receiving an order to make drawings for the Emperor at the Summer
Palace.
He tells how he and his companions were conducted to Peking by a
Chinese official, who would on no account allow them to look out of
the windows of their covered boats to observe the country, still less
to land at any point. The latter part of the journey they were carried
in litters, in which they were shut up all the day long, only halting
at wretched inns. Naturally, when they were released from this tedious
captivity and beheld these beautiful grounds—the Yuen-Ming-Yuen—the
Garden of gardens, they supposed themselves in Paradise, and here they
seem to have remained for a considerable time.
M. Attiret describes the ornamental buildings, containing the most
beautiful and valuable things that could be obtained in China, the
Indies, and even Europe—ancient vases of fine porcelain, silk cloths
of gold and silver, carved furniture of valuable wood, and all manner
of rare objects. He counted no less than two hundred of these palaces,
each of which he declared to be large enough to accommodate the
greatest nobleman in Europe with all his retinue. Some of these towns
were built of cedar-wood, brought at great expense from a distance of
fifteen hundred miles; some were gilded, painted, and varnished. Many
had their roofs covered with glazed tiles of different colors, red,
yellow, blue, green, and purple, arranged in patterns.
What chiefly astonished the artist was the variety which had been
obtained in designing these pleasure houses, not only as regarded their
general architecture but such minor details as the forms of the doors
and windows, which were round, oval, square, and of all manner of
angled figures, while some were shaped like fans, others like flowers,
vases, birds, beasts, and figures.
In the courts and passages he saw vases of porcelain, brass, and marble
filled with flowers, while in the outer courts stood mythological
figures of animals, and urns with perfumes burning in them, resting on
marble pedestals.
Most of these buildings were but one story high, and, being built
on artificially raised ground, were approached by rough steps of
artificial rock work. Some of these were connected one with another by
fanciful winding porticoes or colonnades, which in places were raised
on columns, and in others were so led as to wind by the side of a grove
or by a river bank.
Wonderful ingenuity was displayed in so placing these houses as to
secure the greatest possible variety of situation, and to command
the most varied views. Every natural feature of the ground had been
elaborated, so as to produce charming landscapes, which could scarcely
be recognised as artificial; hills, of from ten to sixty feet in
height, were constructed, divided by little valleys and watered by
clear streams forming cascades and lakes, one of which was five miles
in circumference. On its calm waters floated beautiful pleasure-boats,
including one magnificent house-boat for the amusement of the ladies of
the palace.
In every direction, winding paths led to quaint little pavilions and
charming grottoes, while artificial rock-work was made the nursery for
all manner of beautiful flowers, much care being bestowed on securing
a great variety for every season of the year. Flowering trees were
scattered over the grassy hills, and their blossoms perfumed the air.
Each stream was crossed at frequent intervals by most picturesque and
highly ornamental bridges of wood, brick or freestone adorned with
fanciful kiosks, in which to repose while admiring the view. He says
the triumph of art was to make these bridges twist about in such an
extraordinary manner that they were often three times as long as if
they had been led in a direct line. Near some of them were placed some
very remarkable triumphal arches, either of elaborately carved wood or
of marble.
M. Attiret awards the palm of beauty to a palace of a hundred
apartments, standing in an island in the middle of the large lake, and
commanding a general view of all the other palaces, which lay scattered
round its shores, or half concealed among the groves, which were so
planted as to screen them from one another. Moreover, from this point
all the bridges were visible, as each rivulet flowed to the lake, round
which the artificial hills rose in a series of terraces, forming a
sort of amphitheatre.
On the brink of the lake were network houses for all manner of strange
waterfowl, and in a large reservoir, inclosed by a lattice work of fine
brass wire, were a multitude of beautiful gold and silver fish. Other
fish there were of all manner of colors—red, blue, green, purple, and
black—these were likewise inclosed. But the lake must have been well
stocked, as fishing was one of the favorite recreations of the nobles.
Sometimes there were mimic sea-fights and other diversions for the
entertainment of the Court, and occasionally illuminations, when every
palace, every boat, almost every tree was lighted up, and brilliant
fireworks, which M. Attiret declared far exceeded anything of the sort
he had witnessed in France or Italy.
As to the variety of lanterns displayed at the great Feast of Lanterns,
it was altogether amazing. From the ceiling of every chamber in every
palace, they were suspended from the trees on the hills, the kiosks on
the bridges. They were shaped like fishes, birds, and beasts, vases,
fruits, flowers, and boats of different form and size. Some were made
of silk, some of horn, glass, mother-of-pearl, and a thousand other
materials. Some were painted, some embroidered, some so valuable that
it seemed as if they could not have been produced under a thousand
crowns. On every rivulet, river, and lake floated lanterns made in the
form of little boats, each adding something to the fairy-like scene.
At the time when the Barbarian army so ruthlessly forced their way into
this Chinese paradise it was in the most perfect order—a feature by no
means common even in the houses of the greatest mandarins.
Forty small palaces, each a marvel of art, occupied beautiful sites
within the grounds, and the footpaths leading from one to another were
faultlessly neat. The sheets of ornamental water, lakes, and rivers
were all clean, and each marble bridge was a separate object of beauty,
while from out the dense foliage on the hill, yellow tiled roofs,
curled up at the ends, gleamed like gold in the sunlight.
Within the palace were stored such treasures of exquisitely carved
jade, splendid old enamels, bronzes, gold and silver, precious jewels
of jade and rubies, carved lapis lazuli, priceless furs and richest
silks, as could only have been accumulated by a long dynasty of
Celestial rulers.
Cruel indeed was the change when a few hours later the allied forces
arrived. The English cavalry was the first to reach the ground, but did
not enter. The French quickly followed by another approach, and at once
proceeded to sack the palace; so that when the British were allowed to
join in the work of devastation and indiscriminate plunder, all the
most obviously valuable treasure had already been removed, while the
floors were strewn knee-deep with broken fragments of priceless china,
and every sort of beautiful object too cumbersome or too fragile for
rough and ready removal, and therefore ruthlessly smashed with the butt
ends of muskets, to say nothing of the piles of most gorgeous silks and
satins and gold embroideries, which lay unheeded among the ruins.
Then when the best of the steeds had been stolen, the doors were locked
and Indian troops were posted to guard the treasures that remained (no
easy task), till it should be possible to divide them equally between
the forces. When this had been done the share apportioned to the
British was at once sold by public auction, in order that an immediate
distribution of prize money might allay the very natural jealousy which
would otherwise have been aroused by the sight of French soldiers laden
with the Sycee silver and other treasures which they had appropriated.
But though wagon-loads of what seemed the most precious objects
were removed, these were as nothing compared with what was left and
destroyed, when the order was given to commence the actual demolition
of the principal buildings: a work on which two regiments were employed
for two whole days, ere the hand of the destroyer was stayed by a
treaty of peace, and so happily a few wonderful and unique buildings
still remain as a suggestion of vanished glories.
Of course all this was done with the best possible intentions, by way
of punishing the Emperor himself and his great nobles for the official
deeds of treachery, rather than injure the innocent citizens of Peking.
Yet it seems that these would have accepted any amount of personal loss
and suffering rather than this barbarous destruction of an Imperial
glory—an act which has so impressed the whole nation with a conviction
that all foreigners are barbarous Vandals, that it is generally coupled
with their determined pushing of the opium trade. These two crimes
form the double-barrelled weapon of reproach wherewith Christian
missionaries in all parts of the Empire are assailed, and their work
grievously hindered.
We devoted about three hours to exploring these beautiful grounds, of
which might well be said, “Was never scene so sad so fair!” Even the
ornamental timber was cut for firewood by the allied barbarians, though
enough remains to beautify the landscape.
The grounds are enclosed by a handsome wall of dark-red sandstone with
a coping of glazed tiles, and its warm color contrasts pleasantly
with the rich greens of the park and the lovely blue lake with its
reedy shores, and floating lotus blossoms. One of the most conspicuous
objects is a very handsome stone bridge of seventeen arches, graduated
from quite small arches on either side to very high ones in the centre.
It is commonly called the marble bridge, because of its beautiful white
marble balustrades with about fifty pillars on either side, on each of
which sits a marble lion, and of all these I am told that no two are
quite alike. Each end of this bridge is guarded by two large lions,
also of marble. This bridge connects the mainland with an island about
a quarter of a mile in circumference; it is entirely surrounded with a
marble balustrade like that of the bridge. In the centre of the isle
is an artificial mound, on which, approached by flights of steps, and
enclosed by yet another marble balustrade, are the ruins of what must
have been a beautiful temple.
Another very striking bridge, which spans a stream flowing into the
lake, is called the Camel's Hump, and has only one very steep arch,
about forty feet high. What makes this look so very peculiar is the
fact that the banks on either side are almost level with the stream,
so the elevation is purely fanciful. The bridge also has a beautiful
marble balustrade.
A third, very similar to this last, crosses another winding of the
stream, where it flows through flooded rice-fields, and so appears like
an extension of the lake. Along this stream there is a fine avenue of
willow-trees fully a mile in length.
Ascending a wooded hill, which is dotted all over with only partially
destroyed buildings, we thence had a most lovely view of all the
park, looking down on the blue lake, the winding streams, the various
bridges, the blue mountain range, and the distant city of Peking with a
foreground of most picturesque temple buildings and fine Scotch firs,
dark rocks and green creepers.
Though the general feeling is one of desolation (as one climbs
stairways, passing between numberless mounds of rubble, entirely
composed of beautifully glazed tiles of every color of the rainbow, and
all in fragments), there are, nevertheless, some isolated buildings
which happily have quite escaped. Among these are several most
beautiful seven-story pagodas. Of one, which is octagonal, the lower
story is adorned with finely sculptured Indian gods. Two others are
entirely faced and roofed with the loveliest porcelain tiles—yellow
gold, bright green, and deep blue. They are exquisitely delicate and
are quite intact; even the tremulous bells suspended from the leaves
still tinkling with every breath of air.
Another building, which is still almost perfect, is a beautiful little
bronze temple, near to which is a fine triple pai-low, or commemorative
arch, and there are others of indescribable form, such as a little
globe resting on a great one, and the whole surmounted by a spire
representing fourteen canopies. But nothing save colored sketches (of
which I secured a few) could really give any idea of this strange place
or of these singular buildings.
On the summit of the hill there still stands a very large two-storied
brick building, entirely faced with glittering glazed tiles of dazzling
yellow, emerald green, and blue, with a double roof of yellow porcelain
tiles; among its decorations are a multitude of images of Buddha in
brown china. It is approached by a grand triple gateway of white marble
and colored tiles, like one we saw at the Confucian temple in the city
of Peking.
There are also a great variety of huge stone pillars and tablets, all
highly sculptured; the dragon and other mythical animals appearing
in all directions. There are bronze beasts and marble beasts, but
only those of such size and weight as to have baulked all efforts of
thieving visitors, whether native or foreign, whose combined efforts
have long since removed every portable image and ornament.
To me the most interesting group of ruins is a cluster of very
ornamental small temple buildings, some with conical, others, with
tent-shaped roofs, but all glazed with the most brilliantly green
tiles, and all the pillars and other woodwork painted deep red.
On either side of the principal building are two very ornamental
pagoda-shaped temples, exactly alike, except that the green roof of one
is surmounted by a dark-blue china ornament, the other by a similar
ornament in bright yellow.
Each is built to contain a large rotatory cylinder on the prayer-wheel
principle, with niches for a multitude of images. In fact they are
small editions of two revolving cylinders with five hundred disciples
of Buddha, which attracted me at the great Lama temple as being the
first link to Japanese Scripture-wheels, or Thibetan prayer-wheels
which I have seen in China, and the existence of which has apparently
passed unnoticed. It is needless to add that of course every image has
been stolen, and only the revolving stands now remain in a most rickety
condition.
When we could no longer endure the blazing heat, we descended past what
appears to have been the principal temple, of which absolutely nothing
remains standing—only a vast mound of brilliant fragments of broken
tiles, lying on a great platform; steep zigzag stairs brought us to the
foot of the hill, where great bronze lions still guard the forsaken
courts.
Parched with thirst, we returned to the blessed spring of truly living
water, and drank and drank again, cup after cup, till the very coolies
standing by laughed. Then once again climbing into the horrible
vehicle of torture, we retraced our morning route, till we reached a
very nice clean restaurant, where we ordered luncheon. We were shown
into a pretty little airy room upstairs, commanding a very fine view of
the grounds we had just left. After the preliminary tiny cup of pale
yellow tea, basins of boiling water were brought in, with a bit of
flannel floating in each, that we might wash off the dust in orthodox
Chinese fashion. The correct thing is to wring out the flannel, and
therewith rub the face and neck with a view to future coolness.
Luncheon (eaten with chop sticks, which I can now manage perfectly)
consisted of the usual series of small dishes, little bits of cold
chicken with sauce, little bits of hot chicken boiled to rags, morsels
of pork with mushrooms, fragments of cold duck with some other sort of
fungus, watery soup, scraps of pigs' kidneys with boiled chestnuts,
very coarse rice, pickled cucumber, garlic and cabbage, patty of
preserved shrimps, all in infinitesimal portions, so that, but for the
plentiful supply of rice, hungry folk would find it hard to appease the
inner wolf. Tiny cups of rice wine followed by more tea completed the
repast for which a sum equivalent to sixteen shillings was demanded,
and of course refused; nevertheless, necessitating a troublesome
argument.
We hurried away as soon as possible, being anxious to visit a very
famous Lama temple, the “Wang-Tzu,” or Yellow Temple. As we drove along
I was amazed to notice how singularly numerous magpies are hereabouts.
They go about in companies of six or eight, and are so tame and saucy
that they scarcely take the trouble to hop aside as we pass.
Though the drive seemed very long still, we never suspected anything
amiss till suddenly we found ourselves near the gates of the city; when
we discovered that our worthy carter, assuming that he knew the time
better than we did, and that we should be locked out of the city at
sunset, had deliberately taken a wrong road, and altogether avoided
the Yellow Temple. Reluctantly yielding to British determination, he
sorrowfully turned, and we had to endure a long extra course of bumping
ere we reached the temple, which is glazed with yellow tiles (an
Imperial privilege which is conceded to Lamas).
This is a very large Lama monastery, full of objects of interest, of
which the most notable is a very fine white marble monument to a grand
Lama who died here. It is of a purely Indian design, and all round
it are sculptured scenes in the life and death of Buddha, Of course,
having lost so much time, we had very little to spare here, so once
more betook us to the cart and jolted back to Peking.
As we crossed the dreary expanse of dusty plain, a sharp wind sprang
up, and we had a moderate taste of the horrors of a dust-storm, and
devoutly hope never to be subjected to a real one.
The dread of being locked out is by no means unfounded. Punctually
at a quarter to six, one of the soldiers on guard strikes the gong
which hangs at the door, and continues doing so for five minutes
with slow regular strokes. Then a quickened beat gives notice that
only ten minutes' grace remains, then more and more rapidly fall the
strokes, and the accustomed ear distinguishes five varieties of beat,
by which it is easy to calculate how many minutes remain. From the
first stroke every one outside the gate hurries towards them, and
carts, foot passengers, and riders stream into the city with much noise
and turmoil. At six o'clock precisely the guard unite in a prolonged
unearthly shout, announcing that time is up. Then the ponderous gates
are closed, and in another moment the rusty lock creaks, and the city
is secure for the night.
Then follows the frightful and unfragrant process of street watering,
of which we had full benefit, as our tired mule slowly dragged us back
to our haven of rest under the hospitable roof of the London Missionary
Society.—_Belgravia._