Magnificent scenery--The great wall--The towers of Tung-an-tzu--The
Trappist monastery--A secluded valley--Father Maurus--Silence--No
converts--A vegetable lunch--Simplicity and happiness--Adopted
customs--Accused of concealing firearms--Novices and fathers--All
thoughts to the Lord--A Manchu father.
We made an early start the next day, and by ten o’clock we went through
Shan-lung-men. Going through the pass the scenery was magnificent. We
were following the river bed, and had high mountains on both sides.
Then we came in sight of a portion of the Great Wall. There was a huge
tower on one side of the river, and a long stretch of wall built on the
steep slope of the mountain; on the other side of the river was the
continuation of the wall.
From this point the incline became very steep, and we had some three
hours’ very stiff climbing to reach the summit of the mountain range.
We were travelling in a westerly direction. The view obtained from
the high point reached was superb. On one side chain after chain of
mountains of pure cobalt blue, on the other the high Hsi-ling-shan peak
and a fertile valley. A long distance away in a southerly direction
one could just discern against the bright sky-line the towers of
Tung-an-tzu and another portion of the wall, while below, in the
fertile valley, signs of agriculture and a large enclosure were
visible. On the nearest hills, landmarks in the shape of large crosses
had been put up, to show that the ground within the boundary belonged
to the Christian order of the Trappists.
The descent from our high point of vantage occupied two hours. It was
nevertheless quicker work than the ascent, and as we drew nearer the
walled enclosure we found ourselves among well-planned plantations
of apricot trees--a surprise refreshing to the eye in these almost
uninhabited and wild regions.
The valley, in the centre of which the Trappists have settled, is
divided in two by a limpid stream and surrounded on all sides by high
mountains. For picturesqueness of landscape and fertility of soil, the
silent monks could have selected no more delightful spot upon which to
build their abode, and they certainly do not lack seclusion, which is
the aim of their “existence” (I could not say “life”), and which they
had no difficulty in finding in these deserted regions.
The building was simple and solid, and a high encircling wall protected
the penitent fathers from robber neighbours, as well as from the
attacks of leopards and tigers, which are numerous in the district.
I went in and was received most kindly by Father Maurus, a Frenchman,
the only one of them who by the rules of their order is permitted to
speak.
“Everything is silence in the convent,” he said. “No one is allowed to
speak but myself.” And he certainly spoke enough for himself and for
all the others.
He took me round to see the different parts of the convent, and _en
route_ he told me that only four survived of the ten or more that
had come out from France. The others had succumbed to illness and
hardships. They had now been there ten years, and had only seen three
Europeans during that time.
[Sidenote: VEGETARIANS]
“But who built all these houses, the church, the porticoes, and wall?”
I inquired.
“We did,” he replied, “with the help of some Chinese and Mongols,
several of whom have now joined the order. We do not make converts, and
only bring ourselves forward as an example to others. Chinese are fond
of self-inflicted penance, and many apply and are willing to join us
in our great work. They find it difficult at first to keep perfectly
silent, but they soon get into the habit, and we are very much pleased
with them. They are good, obedient, and willing. We have about forty,
though only a few of them have been ordained fathers; in due time,
however, let us hope that they will be. At present most are novices
and boys. Won’t you come and eat something, as you must be very hungry
and tired? We have little to offer you, for we are poor and far from
civilisation, but will gladly give you what we have.”
He gave me a delicious lunch, consisting entirely of vegetables cooked
in different ways, and among other things he pressed me to drink some
white wine of their own make, which was rather pleasant to the taste.
“We are vegetarians,” Father Maurus added; “but we are allowed to
drink wine, and we do so, taking the small cup in both hands and then
swallowing the contents. We cannot smoke, for that is not a necessity
of life. We never speak, not even to each other, except in case of
serious illness, as we wish to give all our thoughts to God.
“We live simply, and are quite happy. We have given up all luxuries of
the world, and all our implements are of the commonest kind. We eat
with iron forks and spoons, and we have three meals a day, except on
fast days, when we only have one very light meal. Our lunch is the
largest meal we have, and consists of a bowl of soup and two small
dishes of vegetables; at dinner we have less. We rise at 2 +A.M.+
on week-days, when we hear the sound of the church bell. One of the
fathers is commissioned to ring this bell, and should he be even a few
minutes late he has to undergo a punishment; if it be not altogether
his fault, he has to eat his dinner kneeling down; but under other
circumstances he has to accuse himself before the ‘capitole,’ and kneel
_outside_ the dining-room and do without his meals that day. However,
this happens very seldom, as we all do our best to fulfil our duties
conscientiously.
“On Sundays the bell is rung at 1 +A.M.+, but we generally have one
hour and a half’s rest in the afternoon.
“We go to rest at 8 +P.M.+, and we sleep with our clothes on, as in
Easter week and on other holidays, for example, we rise many times
during the night, go to the chapel to say our prayers, and then return
to our cells. In winter, when the snow is deep, this is not so pleasant
as in summer, because we have to cross the large yard. We used to
wear sandals, like the Franciscans, but, owing to the severe climate,
we have adopted Chinese shoes, which we find answer our purpose much
better.
“As you see, we also grow a pigtail, like the Chinese, though mine has
never grown more than a few inches long,” he said apologetically.
“But, Father Maurus,” I said, “does it not strike you that instead of
the Chinese following your customs, _you_ fall in with those of the
Chinese?”
“Oh!” he retorted, “we do not make converts. We are not missionaries,
and if we have adopted some Chinese customs it is only because we find
that our neighbours respect us more.”
[Sidenote: THE LAST STEP]
“Have you much trouble with your neighbours?”
“Not now. We had when we first arrived, and even three or four years
ago. While we were building the wall round our garden and houses we
were accused of concealing guns and other firearms, which, our accusers
said, were to await the arrival of a large band of ‘white devils,’
who intended conquering a great part of China. The mandarin of the
province, with many soldiers and followers, unexpectedly arrived,
and searched every nook within the walls of our monastery, but found
nothing. Being thus convinced that we had no hostile intentions towards
him, nor any of his countrymen, and astonished at the kind manner in
which we received him, he left us, and we have never seen him since.
“_Il avait l’air d’être un très brave monsieur_,” added Father Maurus.
An astonishing fact for a Chinese mandarin.
“The villagers around us are very good, and most of them have become
Christians. Hu-tzia-ku, a village only a few miles from here, is
entirely Roman Catholic, and many of the younger folk mean to join us.
We take them as _boys_, and after some years they become _novices_;
when well prepared for the holy life which we strive to lead they are
made _fathers_. When, however, this last step is taken there is no
withdrawing from it, and you are a Trappist till it pleases the Lord to
call you back to Himself. _Novices_ and _boys_ can leave the convent
whenever they choose.
“Our great idea is to give all our thoughts to the Lord. We think of
Him when we eat, when we till the ground, and when we read. The only
books that we read are books of prayers. We have to cultivate the
ground or else we could not live. We grow potatoes principally, and we
have a plantation of apricot-trees. We have a Manchu cook, a father,
whom we have trained, and in a few minutes you will try his _cuisine_.
He is a clever man, and has learnt Latin since he has been with us,
while he was a novice.”
While this conversation was going on, a shortish man, with oblique
eyes, high cheek-bones, and slanting forehead, appeared on the scene,
carrying a huge bowl of soup in one hand and an enormous dish of fried
potatoes in the other.
“_Voilà votre dîner, monsieur_,” said Father Maurus, “and the Manchu
father will bring you nuts and honey when you have eaten this. Here are
also several bottles of the wine that we make, and let us hope that you
will like it. I must go now, as it is my prayer time.”