{212}
_The crossing of the Lanho--A dust storm--Dangers of a new inn--Locked
in--Holy mountain--Ruined city--My interpreter--A steep hill--The barren
woman--Unappetising food--The abbot--The beggar--Burning incense--The
beauty of the way._
|We were fairly in the mountains when we left Tsung Hua Chou. As we
crawled along slowly, and I trust with dignity, though dignity is not
my strong point, I looked up to the hills that towered above us, almost
perpendicular they seemed in places, as if the slope had been shorn off
roughly with a blunt knife, and I saw that one of these crags, that
must have been about a thousand feet above the valley bottom, anyhow it
looked it in the afternoon sunlight, was crowned by buildings; and not
feeling energetic, nobody does feel energetic who rides for long in a
Peking cart, I thanked my stars that I had not to go up there. I thought
if it were the most beautiful temple in the world I would not go up
that mountain to visit it. Which only shows that I did not reckon on my
Chinese servant. There may be people who can cope single-handed with the
will of a Chinaman. I can't. I know now that if my servant expresses a
desire for a thing, he will only ask, of course, for what is perfectly
correct and good {213}for his Missie, he will have it in the end, so it
is no good struggling; it is better to give in gracefully at first.
[Illustration: 306]
As we neared a river, the Lanho, or I suppose I should say the Lan, for
“ho” means a river, the clouds began to gather for the first time since
I had set out on my journey, and it seemed as if it were going to rain.
“Must make haste,” said Tuan looking up at the grey sky with the clouds
scurrying across it, and making haste in a Peking cart is a painful
process.
By the time we arrived at the river-banks it was blowing furiously, and
a good part of the country, as always seems to be the case in China when
the wind blows, was in the air. The river, wide and muddy and rather
shallow, was flowing swiftly along, and the crossing-place was just
where the valley was widest, and there was a large extent of sand on
either bank, so there was plenty of material for the wind to play with.
It used it as if it had never had a chance before and was bound to make
the most of it. There were many other people on that sandy beach, there
were other Peking carts, there were laden country carts with their
heavily studded wheels cut out of one piece of wood, looking like the
wheels Mr Reed puts on his prehistoric carts in _Punch_, there were
laden donkeys and mules, there were all the blue-clad people in charge
of the traffic, and there were tiny restaurants, rough-looking shacks
where the refreshment of these people was provided for. They weren't
refreshing when I arrived, the wind was blowing things away piecemeal,
and every man seemed to be grabbing something portable, or putting it
down with a stone upon it to anchor it. {214}“Must make haste,” said
Tuan again, as he helped me out of the cart, and the wind got under my
coat, tore at my veil, and succeeded in pulling down some of my hair.
We had got beyond the region of bridges, I suppose in the summer the
floods come down and sweep them away, and everybody was crossing on a
wupan, a long, shallow, flat-bottomed boat that had been decked in the
middle to allow of carts being taken across. The mules were taken out,
and the carts with the help of every available man about, except the fat
restaurant-keeper, were got on the boat.
“Must make haste,” repeated Tuan, distributing with a liberal hand my
hard-earned cents. I used to think a cent or two in China didn't matter,
but I know by bitter experience they mount up.
And then just as we were all ready, my leading mule, a fawn-coloured
animal of some character, expressed his disapproval of the mode of
transit by a violent kick, and broke away. The dust was blowing in heavy
clouds, but every now and then I could see through the veil a dozen
people racing after him, while he kicked up his heels in derision,
and in a fashion of which I should not have thought any beast that
had brought a Peking cart so far over such roads was capable. Then a
brilliant idea occurred to the younger “cartee man.” He decided to mount
the white mule that led the other cart. This was a meek-looking beast
who I presume always did exactly as he was told; but a worm will turn,
and to be ridden after all the long journey was more than even he would
stand. With a buck and a kick he got rid of the “cartee man,” and then
{215}there were two mules careering about in the wild dust storm. It
looked highly probable that they would take advantage of their liberty
to go back to Peking, and I crossed that river wondering very much how I
was to get any farther on my journey, and whether lost mules were a part
of the just expenditure expected of a foreign woman. After about two
hours, however, they were brought in, the fawn-coloured mule as perky as
ever, but the white one so depressed by his only taste of freedom that
he never recovered as long as I had the pleasure of his acquaintance.
Before we were on our way again the dust storm had subsided, and I was
shaking the mountains, or the Gobi Desert, or whatever it was, out of
the folds of my clothes and out of my hair and eyes, and Tuan was once
more urgent.
“Must make haste.”
But it was no good, we had lost too much time, we could not possibly
reach the little town we had planned to reach, and before the sun set
we turned into the yard of a little hostelry in a small mountain hamlet
underneath the holy mountain that was crowned with the temple I had been
looking at all the afternoon.
And then to my joy I found that this place was clean, actually clean!!
Two notes of exclamation do not do proper justice to it. The yard bore
little traces of occupation, the room I was shown into had a new blue
calico curtain at the door, it was freshly whitewashed, a clean mat was
on the k'ang, the wood that edged it was new, and there was clean tissue
paper over the lattice-work of the windows. The floor, of course, was
only hard, beaten earth, but that did not matter. I would sit on the
k'ang, and {216}besides this place smelt of nothing but whitewash. I
rejoiced exceedingly as I had the paper torn off the top of the window
to let in the fresh air, but Tuan looked at it from another point of
view.
“Must take care,” said he, “this new inn. 'Cartee man' no know she. Must
take care,” and he looked so grave that I wondered what on earth was the
penalty I ran the risk of paying for cleanliness.
They evidently were afraid, for all the luggage, which as a rule stayed
strapped on the carts in the inn yard, was taken off and brought in. I
was worth robbing, for I had about seven-and-twenty pounds in dollars in
my black box, and that, judging by what I saw, would have bought up all
the villages between Jehol and Peking. However, it was no good worrying
about it, however agitated Tuan might be. Besides, anyhow he was
something of a coward, all Chinese servants are, it seems to me.
His fear didn't seem to last very long, for presently he came bustling
in, all excitement.
I was brushing my hair to try and get some of the dust out of it, and
reflecting there was possibly some reason in so many Chinese women being
bald. It must be much easier to keep a hairless head free from dust.
“Missie, Missie, innkeeper man, she say my Missie come in good time.
Nine Dragon Temple,” he pointed upwards, and I knew with a sinking heart
he meant the one I had watched all day and decided that to it I would
not go, “open one time for ten day, never in year open any more,” and he
looked at me to see his words sink in. They sank in right enough. I knew
I was going there, but still I protested.
“I cannot walk up that mountain.”
“No walk, Missie no walk, can get chair.”
Still I struggled. “It will cost too much money.”
“Three dollars, Missie, can do. Not spend much monies,” and he looked
at me as much as to say I would never let three dollars, about six
shillings, stand between me and a wonder that was only open for ten days
in the year, especially when I had arrived on the auspicious day.
“But what will you do, Tuan, {217}I really cannot afford a chair for you,”
for I knew my follower on every occasion, even when I should have walked
made a point of riding. He looked at me, but I suppose he saw I had
reached the limit of my forbearance. His chest swelled out virtuously.
“I strong young man, I walk.”
I made another effort. “But the bottom of the mountain is a good way
off, how shall I get there?”
“I talkee 'cartee man,' he takee Missie two dollars.”
It was mounting up. I knew it would.
“But who will look after our things here?”
“One piecey 'cartee man,' stop,” said he airily. So it was all arranged
and I was booked for the Nine Dragon Temple whether I liked it or not.
Then there was the night to consider in this new inn, the safety of
which Tuan had doubted. In my room were all my possessions, including
the black box with the money in it, and I looked at the door and saw to
my dismay that there was no fastening on the inside.
“I take care Missie,” said Tuan loftily, and then {218}proceeded to
instruct me in the precautions he had taken.
“Innkeeper man ask how long Missie stay and I say p'r'aps five day,
p'r'aps ten day. No tell true.” No tell true indeed, for I had every
intention of leaving next day even if I did have to go up to the
mountain temple in the morning.
Again I looked at the rough planks of the door coming down to the
earthen floor, and decided I would draw my heavy box across it, and I
said so to Tuan.
But he was emphatic, “I take care Missie,” I wonder if he would have
done so had there really been any danger. Then he bid me good night and,
going out, drew the door to after him and proceeded to lock it on
the outside! I presume he put the key in his pocket. Some papers have
honoured me by referring to me as a “distinguished traveller,” and I
have had hopes of being elected to the Royal Geographical Society! For
a moment I thought of calling him back indignantly, and then I thought
better of it. “A man thinks he knows,” says the Chinese proverb, “but a
woman knows better.”
The window was frail and all across the room, and I knew I could break
the lattice-work if I wanted to, so could the thief for that matter, so
I slept peacefully, the sleep of the utterly weary, and the innkeeper
proved an honest man after all.
And next day, after breakfast, just as the sun was rising, I started
for the Nine Dragon Temple. The peak which it crowned stood out from the
rest like a very acute triangle. They say the camera cannot lie, I only
know I did not succeed in getting a photograph of that mountain that
gave any idea of its steepness. Its slopes, faintly tinged with green
and dotted with fir-trees, fell away like the sides of a house from the
narrow top that was crowned with buildings. It was just one of the
many holy mountains that are scattered over China, and it seemed to me,
looking up, that nothing but a bird could reach it. But still I had
to try. All the country was bathed in the golden rays of the sun as I
climbed into the cart, and we made our way through a ruined city that
must once have been very rich and prosperous. Only the poorest of the
poor apparently lived among the ruins, and we went through a ruined
gateway where no man watched now, and over half-tilled fields, to the
supplementary temple at the bottom of the mountain.
Here Tuan blossomed forth wonderfully. Up till now he had only been my
servant, a most important servant but still a servant, now he became, on
a sudden, that much more important functionary, my interpreter.
A solemn old gentleman in a dark-coloured robe with a shaven head
received me with that perfect courtesy which it is my experience these
monks always show, escorted me into a large room with a k'ang on one
side and a figure of a god, large and gorgeous, facing the door. He
asked me my age, as apparently the most important question he could
ask--it _is_ rather an important factor in one's life--and then when I
was seated on the k'ang, with my interpreter, in his very best clothes
of silk brocade, on the other, a variety of cakes in little dishes were
set on the k'ang table beside me, and a small shavenheaded little boy
who I was informed was called “Trees” was set to pour out tea as long
as I would drink it. I was so amused at the importance of Tuan. Not
for worlds would I have given him away as he sat there sipping tea
and nibbling at a piece of cake; and I wonder still what he thought I
thought. Did he fear I should call him to account for sitting down as if
he were on terms of equality with me? Did he think I was a fool, or was
he properly grateful that I allowed him this little latitude? At any
rate, except in the matter of squeeze, he always served me very well
indeed, and there is no doubt my dignity was enhanced by going about
with a real, live interpreter. The priest could not know what a very
inadequate one he was.
Presently they came and announced that the chair was ready.
“Put on new ropes,” announced my interpreter pointing out the lashings
to me. The chair was fastened to a couple of stout poles and four
coolies, they might have been own brothers to the ones I had at the Ming
Tombs, lifted it to their shoulders and we were off. All the people who
dwelt in the little hamlet that clustered round the temple at the
foot of the mountain, hoary-headed old men, little, naked children,
small-footed women, peeped out and looked at the foreign woman as she
passed on her pilgrimage up the steep and narrow pathway, the first
foreigner that had passed up this way for some years, and probably the
only one who would pass up this year. It took a good many people to get
me up, I noticed, it wouldn't have been Tuan if it hadn't. There was
his all-important self of course, there was a man carrying my camera,
another one carrying my umbrella and a bundle of incense sticks, there
were various minor hangers-on in the shape of small boys, and there
were, of course, my four chair coolies.
[Illustration: 0316]
[Illustration: 0317]
A Chinese chair is a most uncomfortable thing anyway, and this had
exaggerated the faults of its kind. Always it is so built that there is
not seat enough, while the back seems specially arranged to pitch the
unlucky occupant forward. It is bad enough in the ordinary way--going up
a mountain, and a very steep mountain, it is anathema, and coming down
it is beyond words. And this mountain was steep, its looks had not
belied it; never have I gone up such a steep place before, never, I
devoutly hope, shall I go up such a steep place again. The mountain fell
away, and I looked out into space on either side. I could see hills, of
course, away in the far distance, with a great gulf between me and them,
rounded, treeless hills with just a faint touch of green upon them, and
the trees on my own mountain, firs and pines with an occasional poplar,
green and fresh with the tender green of May time, stood up at an acute
angle with the hill-side above, and an obtuse angle below. The air was
fresh, and keen, and invigorating, and in the green grass grew bulbs
like purple crocuses, wild jessamine sweetly scented, and delicate blue
wild hyacinths, that in Staffordshire they call blue bells. I remember
once in a delightful wood in the Duke of Sutherland's grounds near
Stoke-on-Trent, that most sordid town of the Black Country, seeing the
ground there carpeted with just such blossoms as I saw here on the holy
mountain in China.
Up we went and up. There were stone steps put together without mortar,
all the way, and there were platforms every here and there, where
the weary {222}might rest, and because the hill was so steep, these
platforms were generally made by piling up stones that looked as if a
touch would send them rolling to the bottom of the mountain, a step and
one would be over oneself, for there were no barriers. It was twelve li,
four miles up, and the way was broken by smaller temples dedicated to
various gods, among them one to the goddess who takes pity on barren
women. This one was half-way up the mountain, and here we met a
small-footed woman toiling along with the aid of a stick. Half-way up
that cruel mountain she had crawled on her aching feet, and every day
she would come up, she told us, to burn incense at the shrine. And she
looked old, old. It would be a miracle indeed, I thought, if she bore
that longed-for child. Hope must be dying very hard indeed. And yet she
must have known. Poor thing, poor weary woman, what was the tragedy of
her life? Children, one would think, were a drug in the market in China,
they swarm everywhere. I burned an incense stick for her and could only
hope the God of Pity would answer her prayer, and take away her reproach
before men.
Up and up and up, and so steep it grew I was fain to shut my eyes else
the sensation that I would fall off into space would have been too much
for me. From the doorways of the wayside temples we passed through we
looked into space, and the mountains at the other side of the valley
seemed farther away than ever. A cuckoo called and called again “Cuckoo!
Cuckoo!” As we waited once a coolie passed with a bamboo across his
shoulder from which were slung two very modern kerosene tins--Babylon
and America meeting--and they told me there was no water on the
mountain, every drop had to be carried up; and then the men took up
the poles on their shoulders and tramped on again, and every time they
changed the pole from one shoulder to the other I felt I would surely
fall off into the valley, miles below. Up and up and up, they were
streaming with perspiration, and at last when it seemed to me we had
arrived at the highest point of the world, and that it was very like
a needle-point, they set down my chair at the bottom of the flight of
steps that led up to the entrance to the main temple, and the abbot and
a crowd of monks stood at the top to greet me.
They swarmed everywhere, it was impossible to estimate their numbers,
young men and old, all with shaven heads and dark, rusty red robes, and
then others, blind, and halt, and maimed, evidently pensioners on their
bounty. It seemed to me it could hardly be worth while to climb up so
steep a place for the small dole that was all the monks had it in their
power to give. It must have been so little, so little. They showed me
the shrine, a poor little shrine to one who had seen the wonders of the
Lama Temple in Peking. I took a picture of the abbot standing in front
of it, and they showed me their kitchen premises, where were great jars
of vegetables salted and in pickle, and looking most unappetising, but
that apparently, with millet porridge, was all they had to live on.
It was crowded, it was dirty, it was shabby, but there were great stone
pillars, eighteen of them, that they told me had been brought from a
great distance south of Peking, and had been carried up the mountain in
the days of the Mings, long before there were {224}the steps, which were
only put there a little over a hundred years ago--quite recently for
China. How they could possibly get them up even now that there are four
miles of steep stone steps I cannot possibly imagine. Babylon! Babylon!!
I shut my eyes and saw the toiling slaves, heard the crack of the
taskmaster's whip, and the hopeless moan of the man who sank, crushed
and broken, beneath the burden.
The abbot bowed himself courteously over a gift of thirty cents which
Tuan, and I am sure he would not have understated it, said was the
proper _cumshaw_, and I bade them farewell and turned to go down that
hill again. The thought of it was heavy on my soul. Outside was a
beggar, men are close to starvation in China. The wretched, forlorn
creature, with wild hair and his nakedness hidden by the most disgusting
rags, had followed my train up all those four steep miles in the hope of
a small gift. For five cents he too bowed himself in deepest gratitude.
It was a gift I was ashamed of, but the important interpreter considered
he had the right to regulate these things, and he certainly led me
carefully on all other occasions. Then I looked at my chair and I looked
at the steep steps down which we must go. How could I possibly manage it
without getting giddy and pitching right forward, for going down would
be much worse than coming up had been. And then the men showed me that I
must get in and be carried down backwards.
Would they slip? I could but trust not. I was alone and helpless, days,
and they must have known it, from any of my own people. They might
easily have held me up and demanded more than the three dollars for
which they had contracted, but they did not. Patient, uncomplaining,
as the Babylonish slaves to whom I had compared them, they carried me
steadily and carefully from temple to temple all the way down, and at
every altar we stopped I sat and looked on, and Tuan burned incense
sticks, the officiating priest, he was very poor, dirty and shabby,
struck a melodious gong as the act of adoration was accomplished and
Tuan, in all his best clothes, knelt and knocked his head on the ground.
I wondered whether I, too, was not acquiring merit, for my money had
bought the incense sticks, and my money, it was only a trifling ten
cents, paid the wild-looking individual, with torn coat and unshaven
head, who carried them up the mountain.
[Illustration: 0323]
[Illustration: 0324]
Oh, but I had something--something that I cannot put into words--for
my pains; the something that made the men of five hundred years before
build the temple on the mountain top to the glory of God, my God and
their God, by whatever Name you choose to call Him. It was good to sit
there looking away at the distant vista, at the golden sunlight on the
trees and grass, at the shadows that were creeping in between, to smell
the sensuous smell of the jessamine, and if I could not help thinking
of all I had lost in life, of the fate that had sent me here to the Nine
Dragon Temple, at least I could count among my gains the beauty that lay
before my eyes.
And when I reached the bottom of the mountain in safety, I felt I had
gained merit, for the men who had carried me so carefully were wild with
gratitude, and evidently called down blessings upon my head, because I
gave them an extra dollar. It pleased me, and yet saddened me, because
it seemed an awful thing that twenty-five cents apiece, sixpence
{226}each, should mean so much to any man. Their legs ached, they said.
Poor things, poor things. Many legs ache in China, and I am afraid more
often than not there is no one to supply a salve.
So we came back to the little mountain inn in the glorious afternoon,
and the people looked on us as those who had made a pilgrimage, and Tuan
climbed a little way down from his high estate. He set about getting
me a meal, the eternal chicken, and rice, and stewed pear, and I looked
back at the mountain I had climbed and wondered, and was glad, as I am
often glad, that I had done a thing I need never do again.
Was there merit? For Tuan, let us hope, even though I did pay for
the incense sticks, for me, well I don't know. On the mountain I was
uplifted, here in the valley I only knew that the view from the high
peak, the vista of hill and valley, the greenness of the fresh grass on
the rounded, treeless hills, and the greenness of the springing crops
in the valley, the golden sunshine and the glorious blue sky of Northern
China, the sky that is translucent and far away, was something well
worth remembering. Truly it sometimes seems that all things that are
worth doing are hard to do.