THE SACRED CITY OF OURGA.
The Russian consul, M. Feodroff—Hospitality of the
Consulate—The “lions” of Ourga—The colossal statue
of the “Maidha”—The “Bogdor of Kurene”—An impromptu
interview—Prayer-wheels—Praying boards—Religious fervour
of the Mongols.
[Illustration: A STREET MUSICIAN, OURGA.]
Disappointing though the first view of the sacred city undoubtedly
is, when seen from the mountains, it certainly improves on a nearer
inspection. As I drove through the broad principal thoroughfare, which
was thronged with as noisy and picturesque a crowd as could well be
imagined, I could not help coming to the conclusion that, however
uninteresting its buildings were, among its inhabitants, at any rate,
I should find ample scope for my brush and pencil during my stay. On
reaching the house of the merchant on whom I had a letter of credit,
and where I had anticipated being able to find a lodging, I learned, to
my disappointment, that there was no room to spare for the moment, but
that the Russian consul had sent word (as evidently my arrival had been
expected) that I was to stay at the Consulate; so, without losing time,
I ordered my man to drive there at once, as it was getting dark and the
horses had evidently had enough work for the day. It took half an hour to
reach the large block of buildings, with the gilt dome, which represents
the kingdom of the Czar at Ourga.
[Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL THOROUGHFARE, OURGA.
[_To face p. 273._]
For reasons best known to the authorities, the Consulate is situated
at least two miles from the city, and stands quite alone, out in the
desert, some distance from any habitation. Most of the few travellers, I
believe, who have visited this out-of-the-way corner of the world have
been received and entertained under its hospitable roof during the few
days their stay has usually lasted, for accommodation in Ourga itself
is very difficult to find, owing to the few Europeans living there.
Putting up at a Mongol yourt being, of course, out of the question, and
as I had come with the express intention of studying this city and its
inhabitants, so little known, I presently decided that I should have
but little opportunity of so doing if I fixed my quarters so far from
the centre of interest; so I made up my mind to put up with anything in
the shape of accommodation in Ourga itself. I received a very kind and
truly Russian welcome from the Consul, M. Feodroff. The fact of my being
a total stranger, unprovided even with a letter of introduction to him,
appeared to make no difference. He had heard I was coming, so took it for
granted that I, like other travellers, would stay at the Consulate. On my
informing him of my desire to find, if possible, a lodging in the city
itself, he good-naturedly offered to do his best to help me, but added
that he doubted my being able to get anything comfortable, as there were
only seven European houses, and these so small that their accommodation
was naturally very limited. In the mean time he begged me to make myself
at home at his place.
The Consulate, I found, was quite a little colony in itself, consisting
of the men employed by the consul and their families, each having their
own quarters. One wing of the building was used as a post-office; for,
although on Chinese territory, the postal service across Mongolia and
through China to Peking and Tientsin is conducted entirely by Russians.
Besides the actual _personnel_ of the establishment, there was also a
guard of five Cossacks under the command of a non-commissioned officer.
In spite, however, of the attractions of the comfortable quarters I was
in, I reminded my hospitable host the very next day of his promise to
help me find a room in the city, so shortly after we drove into Ourga
together, with a mounted Cossack galloping on ahead, as is always the
case whenever the consul leaves his house. After a lot of persuasion
one of the merchants agreed to take me in as a boarder at his house,
and to give me half a room occupied by one of his _employés_. The next
day, therefore, saw me installed in what were to be my “diggings” during
my stay in the sacred city, and as they were in the very centre of the
busiest part of the place, I had not to go far in search of my subjects,
for I could almost get them by looking out of the window. The charge for
the accommodation, considering how rough it was, struck me as very dear
for Ourga; but I was informed that living in Mongolia is (for Europeans)
not cheap, as almost everything has to be brought from Siberia.
Ourga, or, as it is called by the Mongolians, “Bogdor Kurene”—which means
the settlement of the Bogdor—though it contains nearly fifteen thousand
inhabitants, cannot even by the wildest stretch of the imagination be
called a city with any architectural pretensions to beauty. With the
exception of the Chinese portions of it—only a small part—its streets
consist of mere rows of high wooden palisades, which enclose the space
in the centre of which is erected the inevitable yourt; for so nomadic
is the Mongol by nature that, even when settled here in the capital, his
old instincts compel him to continue dwelling in his original tent.
The effect, therefore, of these long monotonous rows of rough logs,
relieved at regular intervals by tall wooden doors, all exactly of the
same pattern, is indescribably dreary; and, were it not for the two or
three large open spaces where a bazaar is daily held, there would be but
little to see, for Ourga has but few “lions.” There is really only one
building of any pretension in the place, and that is the large wooden
Buddhist temple which enshrines the huge gilt-bronze figure dedicated to
the apostle “Maidha.”
Either the Mongols don’t know or won’t tell—most probably the former,
but, at any rate, I was unable to find out anything about this mysterious
figure, or how or when the immense mass of metal was brought to the
desert city. It is certainly not less than forty feet in height, and is
in the familiar seated position in which Buddha is always represented.
In fact, I should have taken it for that divinity had not my informant,
a Mongol, insisted on its representing “Maidha,” who, I afterwards
learned, is one of the Mongol Buddhist apostles, and one much prayed to
in Mongolia. The body and extremities of this immense figure are draped
in yellow silk, and are almost lost in the surrounding obscurity; but
the face itself, which is surmounted by a majestic crown, is lighted up
by a hidden window in front of it; so it stands out in foreshortened
relief against the darkness of the dome, which gives it a certain weird
appearance that is somewhat increased by the eyes being painted a natural
colour.
Still, Ourga is most interesting, representing as it does one of
the standpoints of the Mongol Buddhist faith, and the capital of a
fast disappearing nation; for here is the abode of that most holy of
holy personages, the “Bogdor of Kurene,” and long and weary are the
pilgrimages frequently made by devout Mongols for a glimpse of this
mysterious man, who occupies in their faith almost the same position
as the pope does, or rather did in former times, to the Catholics. It
is for this reason that Ourga is spoken of as a sacred city, and ranks
immediately after the mystic capital of Thibet, Lhassa, where is the
abode of the prophet of Buddha, the living God, the mighty Dalai Lama,
and which is yet a forbidden place to unbelievers.
[Illustration: A PILGRIM FROM THIBET.]
The Bogdor of Kurene is a sort of branch establishment, in Ourga, of the
head office at Lhassa; for all Bogdor are supplied exactly of the same
youthful age, when required, by the Dalai Lama himself. It is difficult
to learn what are the special aptitudes necessary for this high position,
for the average Mongol is very reticent on matters concerning his faith;
but, at any rate, whatever they may be, the Bogdor seems to have a very
good time of it here, for he has little or nothing to do but to live
on the fat of the land and to say prayers all day. What more can a man
want? He has no voice in municipal and State matters, which are conducted
entirely by a Manchurian general, representing China, and by a Mongolian
prince. There is, however, just one little drawback to being so august a
personage. If the Bogdor conducts himself as his numerous Lamas consider
he ought to do, all goes well; but unfortunately youth will have, or
tries to have, its fling, and even a Bogdor is, after all, only an
ordinary mortal; so when, as has been usually the case up to now, the
youth, arrived at years of discretion, wished to meddle in affairs which
did not concern him, or to indulge in pleasures not consonant with his
austere position, he suddenly died; he was snuffed out, so to speak, how
or when was never known, nor were any questions asked; and in course of
time another Bogdor arrived from Lhassa to take his place, and perchance
also to meet the same fate. Very few of these holy youths have lived much
beyond the age of twenty. The first of the line, two hundred years ago,
however, was an exception, for he died a natural death, at the advanced
age of seventy; he evidently knew how to take care of himself. The
present representative, who is twenty-two years old, is likely, I hear,
to prove another exception; for it is said that he is of a very different
stamp to his predecessors, and is, for a Mongol, a most enlightened man,
taking a great interest in all modern subjects and inventions. He has
even had his photo taken (for strictly private circulation only), and has
a piano in his palace, which was presented to him by a former Russian
consul here.
Although to obtain an audience of the great man is, for a European,
an absolute impossibility, still he can often be seen; for he rides
out constantly, and on several occasions I have seen him, accompanied
by his suite. In fact, the first of these occasions formed rather an
amusing incident, and may be interesting. Seated on horseback, I was
one afternoon busy making a sketch near his palace, when suddenly I
heard shouting, and, looking round, saw that the people near were trying
to draw my attention to a sort of cavalcade, preceded by two horsemen
bearing a huge white silk standard, approaching me, and which I had
not until then noticed. To start a fresh sketch was the impulse of the
moment, for it was a gallant sight, which almost recalled the Middle
Ages. The costumes were really gorgeous. In the centre of the main group
was a pale-faced youth dressed in bright yellow silk, the crown of
his fur-trimmed hat covered with gold, which glittered like a halo on
his head. Although I had some idea that he must be some very exalted
personage, in spite of the frantic shouting of the people around, I went
on quietly with my sketch, just for the fun of seeing the adventure out.
In a few seconds they were close to me, when, to my astonishment, they
all galloped up to where I was, and I was surrounded by a curious and
inquisitive crowd, who had probably never seen a sketch-book before. The
pale-faced youth, who looked something like an Englishman got up for a
fancy-dress ball, appeared to be the most interested in my proceedings,
and put several questions to me in Mongol, which, of course, were
unintelligible to me, so I replied in Russian, saying I was an Englishman
and did not understand Mongolian. Evidently this was considered a capital
joke, although I had not intended to be humorous; for they all laughed
heartily for a few moments, and then some one said something to the
pale-faced youth, and they continued their ride. Immediately they were
gone the people came up, and, pointing to the horsemen, said, “Bogdor!
Bogdor!” in a reverential sort of way, making signs that the youth with
the gold roof to his hat was that august person himself. So I suppose
I can claim the honour of being the first European who has had an
“interview” with this inaccessible personage.
The Bogdor of Kurene is supported on the same principle as are some of
the London hospitals—that is, by “voluntary contributions only;” yet so
fervent are the Mongols in all matters connected with their religion,
that the amount of donations of all sorts which annually reach him is
sufficient to support him and his numerous suite of Lamas in a grand
and fitting style. All is grist which comes to the Bogdor’s mill; so
everything, however small, is acceptable, and the poorest Mongol can
offer his humble tribute.
[Illustration: A LAMA.]
By the way, I was much struck by the number of Lamas I met everywhere
in Mongolia; almost every other man seemed one. On inquiring, however,
I found that, although there are so many, most of them are only so in
name, but a comparatively small proportion are really priests. It is
customary, out of every family where there are several sons, to make at
least one of them a Lama. From his earliest childhood his head is shaved,
this being the great distinguishing outward mark between the Lamas and
ordinary individuals; and though, perhaps, he may not in after life serve
as a priest, still he can never marry. The title of Lama, therefore, in
most cases, is but a very empty one, and carries nothing with it except
the obligation to wear always yellow and red, and to dispense with the
pigtail and many other comforts of life.
Still, I could not help feeling that the Mongols are, in their way, a
very religious people, and, as I have remarked before, their devotions
form an important item in their daily routine; though, perhaps, to an
unbeliever in the Mongol Buddhist faith, these devotions may seem to
take a form which is somewhat astonishing. Still, it cannot be denied
they are carried out with great sincerity. Among the principal features
of Ourga are the “prayer-wheels,” which are placed for public use in
most of the big open spaces. These wheels, or rather hollow wooden
cylinders, are placed under cover of rough wooden sheds, and present at
first sight a very curious appearance. Most of them are covered with
Thibetan inscriptions, and all are completely filled with prayers written
on pieces of paper. In order to pray, all that is necessary—beyond,
of course, a sincere faith in what you are doing—is to walk round and
round inside the shed, and turn the cylinder with you; the more turns
the better. Many of the old people, while operating the large wheel
with one hand, at the same time diligently turn a small portable one
with the other; a rosary suspended from the wrist is also considered
an almost indispensable adjunct. Many of the wheels were very large, so
that several people could pray together; but most of them were small,
and evidently were only used for private communion, the sheds in many
instances being decorated with odds and ends of silk and bits of rags,
intended as offerings to Buddha.
[Illustration: A PRAYER-WHEEL, OURGA.]
Apart from the wheels are the “prayer-boards,” also placed for public
use in various parts of the city, and on which are continually to be
seen prostrate figures lying on their faces, and thus literally humbling
themselves to the very dust. From a little distance, these boards
presented a very ludicrous appearance, which so reminded me of the
familiar spring-board in a swimming-bath that I never passed them without
an inward grin—if you can imagine what that is—for any outward sign of
mirth at the strange proceedings would probably have got me into trouble.
The whole action of the people using them was exactly like that of a
person preparing to make a run along the board and take a “header” rather
than a prelude to a devotional exercise.
[Illustration: PRAYER-BOARDS, OURGA.]
I don’t think I was ever in a more strangely religious place than Ourga.
Everywhere, at the most unexpected places, at all times, one often saw
people throwing themselves suddenly face downwards, full length on the
ground, saying their prayers, just as the fit took them, I suppose, these
curious proceedings attracting no attention. Many a time I have been
riding quietly along, when all of a sudden my horse would be made to
swerve violently by some hideous old man or woman, who was seized with
an irresistible impulse to say a prayer just in front of its feet. And
their devotions do not end here, for every yourt, however humble, not
only contains a family wheel, but is decorated outside with innumerable
“prayer-flags,” or rather bits of rag, tied on to strings suspended from
poles all round the palisades. Till I was informed what they were, I took
them for bird-scares, for they could not, even by the wildest stretch
of the imagination, be taken for flags. If the Mongols were only a
quarter as industrious in ordinary everyday pursuits as they are in their
religion, the Chinese would not, as they do, monopolize all the trade of
the country, while its inhabitants sit about on their hams twirling their
prayer-wheels or manipulating their rosaries, quite content if they only
earn enough to keep them from day to day.
The sight of a nation’s decadence is always a saddening spectacle; but
that of the once so powerful Mongol race being gradually but surely
extinguished, by the people they once conquered, is a still further and
overwhelming instance of Darwin’s theory of the survival of the fittest.
Although, beyond the annual rearing of a few ponies, camels, and cattle
by some of the richer families, there is no actual industry, and the
bulk of the populace live from hand to mouth, there are but few signs
of actual want. Of course there are poor, wretchedly poor, people in
Ourga, who live, or, rather, manage to exist, in the most awful hovels.
But still, during the whole month I spent in the sacred city, I was
never once pestered by a beggar; indeed, I never saw one. Ourga, in this
respect, offered an agreeable contrast to most of the Siberian towns
I was in, where one could never leave one’s hotel or lodgings without
finding quite a little crowd of them lying in wait. Whether this is a
relic of the old national pride, I cannot, of course, tell, but I give it
as a curious and remarkable fact.
[Illustration: “THE OLD, OLD STORY ALL THE WOULD OVER.”
[_To face p. 246._]
The absence of beggars was, however, but the one redeeming feature of
this dirty and disappointing city—or, rather, I don’t think that this
could be called a redeeming feature, for it was more than counterbalanced
by the immense quantity of dogs with which the place is infested—huge
fierce brutes, more like wild beasts than domestic animals. They are not
unlike certain breeds of Scotch collies, only considerably larger. Till
I went to Ourga, I used to be fond of “the friend of man;” but I had not
been long in the sacred city before I got to hate the very sight of dogs.
At night it was absolutely impossible to work owing to the incessant
barking they kept up; at all times it was dangerous to venture out unless
one was armed with a heavy stick. Although it would not be a difficult
matter to exterminate these pests, they are left to increase unmolested;
so it is not to be wondered at that every street is blocked with them, to
the great danger of passengers.
These dogs do not confine their attentions entirely to strangers, the
inhabitants themselves fearing them as much as the Europeans do. It will
give some idea of the size and ferocity of the brutes when I add that
only a short time ago an old woman, passing through a by-street, was
set upon by a pack of them, and actually torn to pieces and devoured,
in broad daylight, before any assistance could reach her. Nor is this
an isolated instance, for not many years since an old Lama was riding
through the city late at night, when he was literally dragged off his
horse and killed. Very few of the inhabitants think of going out in the
streets at night, unless they have very important business, and then very
seldom alone.
One of the worst _mauvais quarts-d’heure_ I think I ever had was
one afternoon here, when, accompanied by a Russian friend, who spoke
a little English, I was returning from a stroll around. In order to
make a short cut, we passed through a number of narrow back streets,
and while going along the very narrowest of these we suddenly heard a
sort of hoarse murmur behind us, which was quickly getting nearer. On
looking back to see what it was, we saw a big cloud of dust, and in the
midst of it a huge crowd of dogs, coming towards us at full speed, with
one wretched-looking brute on ahead of them, which they were evidently
chivying. The few people in the street made a rush for their doors, and
got inside their enclosure without much hesitation. “It is a mad dog!”
exclaimed my companion, at the same time pulling me close to the palisade
behind us, which was flush with the road. We stood with our backs to it,
as flat as we could make ourselves, and in less time than it takes to
tell it the whole pack were abreast of us, with the poor hunted beast,
covered with blood and dirt, snapping and biting viciously right and
left at his tormentors as he flew past. Fortunately for us, they were
too occupied to direct their energies in our direction, though they
actually had to squeeze by us, so narrow was the street. I did not feel
comfortable again until some little time after they were out of sight.
The savage nature of these brutes will be more readily understood when
it is remembered that the Mongols, in accordance with their creed,
literally throw their dead to their dogs, and never bury them. Old or
young, rich or poor, the custom is universal, forming as it does part
and parcel of their religion. When a Mongol dies, the body is wrapped
up in an old coat and is taken a short distance outside the city on to
the hills, where it is placed on the ground, with only a “prayer-flag”
over it to protect it, and is then abandoned, not to the mercy of the
elements, but to the hundreds of dogs who have already scented their
feast and are waiting patiently by. No sooner are the mourners out of
sight than the dreadful repast commences, and in an incredibly short time
nothing remains of the lifeless body but a few scraps of the covering
it was rolled in. A general battle usually takes place over the body
among the savage brutes, with the result that human remains are soon
strewed over the ground, and the scene is too ghastly for description.
As there is no cemetery or particular spot for depositing the dead, one
not infrequently comes across a stray bone or a skull which has escaped
those hungry canine sextons, and these poor vestiges of frail humanity
certainly add to the desolate surroundings of the desert city. Such a
wonderful instinct have the Ourga dogs, that I am told they will often
wait for days outside a yourt where a person is dying.
The currency of Mongolia is peculiar, and takes a lot of getting used
to. On one occasion I bought some trifling article and paid for it
in Russian money, which the Mongols are, at any rate, shrewd enough
never to refuse. Imagine my surprise when, for the change, I was handed
a small slab of brick-tea and two dirty little bits of floss silk,
which I should have passed unnoticed in the gutter. These rags, which
intrinsically were probably worth less than a farthing, represented
twenty kopeks (sixpence), as I was informed, while the tea was equivalent
to thirty kopeks. This tea, by the way, is the only real currency
throughout Mongolia; the silk is becoming gradually obsolete, probably
because it wears out too soon, whereas the tea will stand almost any
amount of hard wear. A “brick” of tea, sixteen inches long by eight wide
and about one and a half thick, represents sixty kopeks, equal to one
shilling and sixpence. If a smaller sum is necessary, the brick is cut
up into sections, say, six of ten kopeks each, and even these are again
subdivided by the poorer Mongols.
It is curious to note that, although Mongolia is really Chinese
territory, everything is Russian, so to speak; and even the tea and silk
represent an equivalent in Russian and not Chinese money. Some of the
Russian merchants in Ourga have even adopted a sort of private banknote
system, so as to do away with the bother of having to keep a large stock
of loose cash—that is, of “bricks”—always handy. These notes represent
so many bricks each, and are redeemable on demand; but I hear that the
Mongols prefer the bulky article to the flimsy paper substitute. When,
after a time, this currency becomes injured by hard usage, and chipped
round the edges, it is used for the usual purposes of tea, and it may be
imagined what a delightful beverage it makes after it has been passing
from hand to hand for some months among the dirty Mongols! However, these
children of the desert are not fastidious, and the greasy-looking stuff
is broken up and literally put to stew in the common cauldron of the
yourt, where, eaten with millet seed, it makes a dish much appreciated
for some days.
This dish is to the Mongol what the samovar is to the Russian, and if one
is on intimate terms enough to visit a “big man” in his yourt, almost
the first thing he offers you is a basin of tea, which is usually poured
out of a metal jug begrimed with the dirt of generations. I remember on
one occasion, accompanied by a friend who spoke Mongolian, visiting a
Mongol who was rather a swell in his way, for his yourt, which I had been
anxious to see, was fitted up with some pretension to “style.” We seated
ourselves in the usual manner, on the floor, and our host, after a few
minutes of conversation, of course offered us the inevitable tea. This
was what I wanted particularly to avoid, but there was no getting out
of it this time. A particularly unwholesome-looking old hag then dived
into the gloomy recesses of a sort of cupboard, and produced three wooden
bowls containing some greasy-looking compound, which she forthwith
proceeded to clean out with her grimy fingers, finishing up by polishing
them vigorously with the tail of her gown; these tasty receptacles were
then placed before us on the ground, and filled with some vile liquid
which bore no more resemblance to the “cup which cheers but does not
inebriate” than does the proverbial chalk to the proverbial cheese. It
would have been an insult to the man to have refused his hospitality, so
for the next five minutes I was racking my brain how to get out of even
sipping the awful stuff. My companion, who was used to Mongolian customs,
was not so delicate in his tastes, and managed to get through his bowl
all right, at the same time advising me to try and do likewise, so as not
to offend the man. Providentially at this moment some one came to the
door of the yourt to speak to our host, and we all got up, I immediately
taking advantage of the opportunity to quietly empty the contents of my
bowl into a dark corner near me. We shortly after took our leave, in
spite of the old Mongol’s pressing invitation to stay and have a drop
more tea; and when we got outside the yourt, my companion, who had not
noticed my manœuvres, but had observed the empty bowl, remarked that he
knew I should like Mongol tea if I once tried it!
[Illustration: IN THE CAMEL AND PONY BAZAAR, OURGA.
[_To face p. 293._]
It was fortunate I had plenty of work to occupy me, for there was little
or nothing to do but to stroll round about a sort of market-place,
where a bazaar was daily held, and where everything almost could be
bought—Mongolian, of course. This market alone offered almost endless
scope for my pencil, for it always presented interesting scenes. One part
was devoted to camels and ponies, and it was amusing to watch the zeal
displayed by the owners of some promising lot when a likely purchaser
appeared. When I was at Ourga one could get a very decent-looking pony
for about two pounds (sixteen roubles), which was not dear, considering;
for I don’t think it is possible to get anything really good for less
anywhere—this, I believe, will be conceded. In Southern Mongolia, in
the district bordering on China, these serviceable little animals
fetch much higher prices, especially if they show any sign of speed;
and the district at certain times of the year is overrun with agents
from Shanghai and Tientsin racing-men on the look-out for promising
“griffins,”[1] and comparatively big sums of money are paid for them.
Apart from racing purposes, the Mongolian ponies make capital hacks when
trimmed up a bit and knocked into shape. I could hardly believe that the
smart, well-fed, carefully groomed animals I saw in Peking, Tientsin, and
Shanghai were originally rough, unkempt brutes of the desert, so great
was the transformation.
[1] A “griffin” is a young untrained horse which shows signs of
“speed.”
Another part of the market would be occupied by vendors of saddlery, an
important and flourishing department, as well it might be, considering
what indefatigable horsemen the Mongols are. But what always struck me as
being the most unique part of the motley gathering, and a sight almost
worth going to Ourga to see, was the hat-bazaar, a department entirely in
the hands of the fair sex. A Mongol’s hat is, perhaps, the most striking
feature of his toilet; and a rich man will often spend a large sum on
his fur-trimmed head-gear. There is very little to distinguish a lady’s
from a gentleman’s, only a tassel or two behind, and as, owing to their
peculiar shape, no particular difference in size is necessary, there is
any number to select from. The noisy crowd of chattering females, dressed
in their quaint costume, with their multi-coloured stock-in-trade, was
undoubtedly one of the most interesting sights of Ourga; and often did
I hover around them with my sketch-book in hand. But although it was
a quiet and inoffensive crowd in the bazaar, it was certainly a very
curious and inquisitive one; and at first it was very trying to my temper
to find myself suddenly the centre of a group of dirty, evil-smelling
Mongols, who were not satisfied with mere observation of my movements,
but would actually maul me all over with their hot grimy fingers to
ascertain of what stuff my clothes were made, my corduroy coat especially
coming in for the largest share of public attention. After a time,
however, I got used to these practices, and usually found that the best
way to put a stop to them was to catch hold of the man nearest me, and to
begin turning him about, as I was being treated myself, and to examine
him as though he were for sale. This nearly always raised a good-humoured
laugh. If, however, it did not succeed in so doing, I had another plan,
which I reserved as my _grande finale_, and which rarely failed, for the
time, to rid me of the unpleasant crowd. I would take out my pipe and
slowly fill it, every movement I made being watched with rapt attention
by the bystanders; then I would produce a small magnifying-glass I always
carried about me and proceed to light up with the aid of the sun—no
difficult or lengthy an operation on a hot morning. This seemingly
mysterious feat would simply strike the onlookers dumb with amazement,
and they would generally draw back instinctively a few paces. I would
then walk quietly away, leaving them to unravel the mystery as best they
could.
[Illustration: IN THE BAZAAR, OURGA.
[_To face p. 294._]
[Illustration: THE PUNISHMENT OF THE “CARGUE:” A SKETCH OUTSIDE THE
PRISON, OURGA.
[_To face p. 295._]
Still, in spite of its uncivilized condition, there is yet some show
of keeping order in the city, although the poor, inoffensive Mongols
never struck me as having it in them to be guilty of any big acts of
violence; petty larceny maybe, but nothing more than that, for they
don’t seem to have pluck enough left to do anything really bad. There
is, however, a fairly large body of police to represent law and public
authority; these look after the place by day, and during the dark hours
watchmen with gongs parade the street, and combine with the dogs to make
night hideous. Besides these varied arrangements, there is a regiment
of Chinese soldiers quartered on the outskirts of the town, forming a
sort of body-guard to the Chinese resident general, who represents the
suzerainty of the First Cousin of the Moon, over the Mongol Tartars, and
who, in conjunction with the Mongol prince, constitutes the Government of
the whole territory, for the Bogdor’s power is merely spiritual, and he
has actually nothing to do with the management of State affairs.
Still, I could not help feeling how much more under Russian than Chinese
influence everything was in Mongolia. For instance, the consul at Ourga
was undoubtedly a far more important personage than even the Chinese
general himself, and from what I learnt, I believe the late consul, M.
Shismaroff, was practically the leading man of Ourga, for he was not only
very much esteemed and looked up to by the Mongols, but was actually
consulted by them in most State affairs. The fact of all the trade of the
country being virtually in the hands of the Russians may to a certain
extent account for this ascendancy; but be it what it may, one thing is
certain, that a Cossack cap inspires an incredible amount of respect in
these distant regions, not only among the Mongols, but also the Chinese
themselves; for there seems to be, as far as I could make out, a pretty
general apprehension, or rather conviction, of what would happen were
a subject of the Czar to be offered any insult. During my subsequent
journey through China I was much struck with the difference of the
footing on which English and other nationalities are placed with regard
to the Chinese.
The days in Ourga passed by very slowly indeed, and had it not been for
the work I had laid myself out to get through, the month I spent in the
sacred city would have been very dreary indeed, for the whole time I
was there but one event occurred to break the eternal monotony of the
stagnant existence.
This was the annual commemoration of the festival of the Maidha, on
April 23, the most important of yearly celebrations among the Mongol
Buddhists. For days beforehand the city was in the throes of preparation,
the various markets were shifted to other temporary quarters, and the
streets through which the procession was to pass were invaded by hordes
of youngsters, whose mission was to clean up the roads as much as
possible—and it was no easy matter, considering that they are all used as
open sewers. The mode of procedure was certainly novel, if nothing else.
The bulk of the filth was swept into big heaps, and shovelled into dried
bullock-hides, to which ropes were fastened. A dreary sort of chorus was
then started, and the load was dragged away and deposited on some other
road, generally only a few yards distant.
The appointed day arrived, and from an early hour the populace thronged
the different open spaces where the best view of the proceedings could
be obtained. Fortunately, the weather was fine, so the _coup-d’œil_
was very animated and interesting; the procession—which was really
three processions moving abreast—was certainly most imposing in effect,
and quite Oriental in the brilliancy of the colours displayed. It was
composed exclusively of Lamas, and, from the length of it, gave me a fair
idea how many of these men there are in the capital alone. On all sides
were to be seen huge waving banners, with strange devices on them, and
surmounted by still stranger carvings; immense coloured umbrellas, on
stands, each drawn by several men; also crowds fantastically attired,
marching along, beating large drums shaped like big warming-pans, others
blowing musical instruments of forms and shapes impossible to describe;
while in the centre of this immense moving crowd was a huge sort of
trophy, on wheels, and surmounted by a large wooden horse, painted red,
and sheltered from the rays of the sun by a big multi-coloured umbrella
fixed over it. This was evidently the _pièce de résistance_, for it
towered high above all the rest. Close behind it, surrounded by a crowd
of the highest Lamas, was a bright yellow sedan-chair, in which reclined
the sacred Bogdor himself.
[Illustration: AN OURGA BEAUTY.
[_To face p. 299._]
The procession, making a tour of the city, with certain halts at
different spots, either for refreshment or religious observance—I could
not quite make out which, probably both—occupied the greater part of the
day, many of the rests being for as long as an hour, all the men then
squatting on the ground in lines round the centre trophy. I managed to
get a very good view of the early part of these proceedings from the roof
of a friend’s house, and then took my horse, and rode through the crowd
to inspect it more closely. I don’t think I ever saw a more gorgeous
display of costumes and jewellery. Some of the women were dressed in the
richest of silks, and were literally one mass of silver decorations from
head to foot; back and front, every available part was covered with the
very quaintest ornaments imaginable, till they had the appearance of
walking jewellery shops—and they seemed not the least afraid of being
robbed while pushing their way through the crowd. Of course, most of
the _élite_ were on horseback, and it was curious to notice how, even
in far-away Ourga, “the old, old story” is still the same; for I saw
many really pretty girls surrounded by quite a little crowd of admirers,
flirting away just like their sisters in the civilized world.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, and for a moment I felt
quite lonely at not knowing any of them, and being able to join in the
fun. The days following all this animation were very dull indeed, and I
could not help thinking that even a few more religious processions would
have helped to liven dreary Ourga up a bit. As it was, I found myself
eagerly looking forward to my journey across the desert to the Great
Wall; and had I been able to curtail my stay, I certainly should have
done so, but——