_BUDDHIST MONASTERIES._
Monastery near Ichang.--For the Dead.--Near
Ningpo.--Buddhist Service--Tʽien Dong.--Omi Temples.--Sai
King Shan.--Monastery of the Particoloured Cliff.
The country round Ichang has always some special beauty, and in autumn
it is the tints, shown to especial advantage on the tallow-trees. But
one day we gathered by the wayside lovely anemones, still lingering on
in sheltered spots; large gentians, with their edges picked out into
delicate feathery streamers such as one finds in picotees, the little
yellow originator of all the garden chrysanthemums; China asters;
China daisies; the cunningly placed red berries of the spindle-tree;
and branches crowded with the fairylike red berries of the Chinese
hawthorn. And yet we were in the weird, arid, conglomerate region,
where, as the botanist of the party said, no flower would dream of
growing that could grow anywhere else. The Cherokee roses were no
longer in bloom. Are these innocent, white, large roses at the bottom
of the American horror of Chinese immigration? It may be remembered
that, originating from China, they spread over America with such
rapidity that it was assumed they must be of native origin, and from
their aggressive nature they were given the name, by which they are
still known, of Cherokee.
We made our way to my first monastery, so conspicuous an object to
every visitor to these regions, planted on a rocky spur of about
fifteen hundred feet high, that not only overhangs precipitously the
country beneath, but is separated by a chasm of some one thousand feet
from the adjoining hills. Crossing this chasm on a rock bridge about
three feet wide, and, as usual in China, railless, required more nerve
than one of our party possessed, and the subsequent climb was more
trying still up the steps cut out of the steep rock on to the Buddhist
temple, that appropriately crowns the whole summit, and which, were it
in any more accessible region, would have been "photographed like this
and photographed like that," like any professional beauty. As it was,
I had never seen a picture of it, and was quite eager to take my
camera to photograph the mountain-top, as also the massive wall of
conglomerate rock that builds up the _col_ one has to climb in
ascending, and from which one obtains one of those extraordinary
desolate views characteristic of conglomerate country--a valley ending
in an abrupt gully with dry waterbed, and dry waterfalls down
precipices marked with pudding-holes, all scoring parallel horizontal
lines across their stern surfaces. We came across brecciated
conglomerate in which there were some bits of most exquisite
glistening marble, and in which we again noticed the peculiarity, that
at every fracture it was the marble and stones, of which it was
formed, that were cleft through the middle, as evidently more
breakable than the apparently soft-looking red cement that bound them
together.
The way up was beautiful. We passed by picturesque farmsteads nestling
in hollows, elegant shrines, and the grove the Reeves' pheasants
particularly love. It is of pendulous cypress, called _funebris_, but
suggesting anything but funereal associations by its pleasing grace.
Palm-trees grew on the hillside, also bamboo, cunninghamia, ilex, and
beautiful soap-trees, with the great long pods from which the soap is
made, and tree-like thorns projecting from their stems, such as must
effectually baffle any monkey-climbers. In four examples we saw these
thorn branches had again other thorns projecting from them. The path
is an easy one, carefully laid out by the priests for the convenience
of pilgrims; and although there must be over five hundred steps, they
do not come all together; so that few climbs of equal height can be so
easily managed as that to the monastery of Yuen Ti Kuan, whose site,
if paralleled, could hardly be surpassed. It is like that of some wild
eyrie on which an eagle might be expected to build its nest, but where
we should hardly expect practical, prosaic (so called) Chinamen to
build a place of worship, simply to give themselves the further
additional trouble of climbing so high. It seems that after all the
Chinese have a religion of their own, which they deem holy, though it
is often convenient to ignore this. There are many Shansi men in
these parts, and one of our fellow-travellers, a man from Shansi,
being asked why this was, when his province used formerly to be the
granary of the empire, replied at once, "The hearts of the people have
become corrupted."
As we came back, there were about four miles of little lanterns
floating down the great river, sped in honour of the dead by a rich
Chinese in mourning for his parents. Talleyrand's somewhat brutal "Il
faut oublier les morts, et s'occuper des vivants" often recurs to me
in China, where there are more grave-mounds round the city than living
men inside it. The very handsome old Italian Bishop used to hate these
grave-mounds, which he said oppressed him the more the longer he
looked at them, and among which, alas! he was doomed to live and die.
It was near Ningpo I first assisted at a Chinese Buddhist service. We
had been straying over hills pink and red and orange and mauve with
azaleas in their full delicate bloom and perfect beauty. The most
exquisite bush of pink azaleas hung over the great waterfall there,
and caught some of the spray upon its blossoms, as the stream turned
over the edge for its first leap, the flowers constantly wavering with
the breeze the rushing waters brought. Wandering by lovely
Windermere's side in the English Lake District, I had read Miss Gordon
Cumming's description of hillsides striped and banded in colour with
azaleas, and thought some day I too must see them. The seasons had
rolled round but twice, and now here was I already tired of pink
azaleas, which I decided looked too smart on a mountain-side, and
preferring the big orange flowers or the deep red, or revelling in the
long clusters of sweet-scented wistaria, that hung about like lovely
ringlets; looking with exultation at osmundias curving their opening
fronds with the full vigour and health imparted to them by the spring,
and delighting in the clumps of feathery bamboos, golden stemmed old
friends of my childhood; yet admiring almost equally _Cunninghamia
sinensis_ on its native heath. We plant little saplings of this last
in our gardens, and boast with them even then. Here they were tall and
vigorous, and everywhere giving an Oriental character to the ferns and
the azaleas, the bamboos and fan-palms.
[Illustration: NEAR NINGPO.]
Then the rich, sweet tones of the Buddhist bell summoned us, and we
slept, as it were prisoned, within the dark precincts of the
monastery, not even through latticed windows catching any glimpse of
outside glories, till solemn sounds roused me in the early dawning,
and I stole in at the back of the dark temple, and could hardly
believe I was not in one of the Portuguese churches of my childhood.
There knelt the priests, with close-shaven heads, and long cloaks
broached across the left breast, leaving the right arm bare, and
formed of little oblong bits of old gold or ashen grey linen, neatly
stitched together, thus symbolising at some expenditure of pains the
poverty of rags. They prostrated themselves three times, touching
their foreheads to the ground--before the altar, was it not? They
bowed and knelt before the _altar_! They elevated the Host, or at
least a cup, one ringing a bell meanwhile, the others prostrate in
adoration. Could the resemblance be more perfect? They chanted a
monotonous chant--it sounded to me just like a Gregorian--and after
many bowings and prostrations and beatings of a dull wooden gong in
the form of a skull, processioned round and round before the altar,
bowing as they passed, each a rosary at his side, and solemnly
chanting. There seemed to be no doubt about the words; I heard them
quite distinctly: "Domine, ora pro nobis, ora, ora." Then "Gloria!
gloria!" swelled out. And meanwhile, though passing me at intervals so
closely I almost felt the _frou-frou_ of their robes, not a priest
there seemed to perceive my presence, but all went by with eyes on the
ground, fingers and palms close pressed together. A strange feeling
came over me, as if I were dreaming. Had the azaleas intoxicated me?
Was I in far-away Madeira of my childhood? Were those not Portuguese
Roman Catholic priests, not Chinese Buddhists? Were they praying
really? To our Father in heaven? Or are there more gods than one? If
not, they were worshipping, and I was not. And had this worship gone
on after this fashion for thousands of years, before even Christ
walked the earth, and lived and died for man? I knelt in prayer behind
the Buddhist priests. And then I saw the figure of the Virgin with the
Holy Child upon her knee. They call her Kwanyin (Goddess of Mercy).
[Illustration: SALISBURIA ADIANTIFOLIA.
_From Picture by Chinese Artist._]
Outside the door stood two beautiful _Salisburia adiantifolia_, the
sacred tree of the Japanese. The breeze rustled through their
graceful leaves, resembling the lobes of the maidenhair, and I felt
that they could tell me all about it, if they pleased, for they had
grown up amongst it. The blue sky overhead tells no tales, and the
azaleas were of yesterday. Then a young priest came up to question me,
and to ask me if I could say "Omito Fo." "Blessed is Buddha" I took it
to mean; and assuredly he must be blessed, if ever man were, for the
good that he has done for his kind. But since then I hear that learned
men attribute various meanings to the phrase, and their meanings I do
not understand. Nor, I am sure, would those priests. They did not look
so very clever. I meant what they meant. "Our temple wants new tiles,
Omito Fo." "We are very poor, Omito Fo." Praise God Barebones meant
the same, I fancy, by his "Praise God." "But Buddha was a man," I hear
some one say. Well! then go to Tibet, and tell me what the
uninstructed but beautiful Tibetan means, as he walks along the street
murmuring, "Om Mani Padmi Hum." "The Jewel is in the Lotus?" What does
he mean by saying it, wise man? I do not ask what you think the words
may originally have signified or symbolised. Is it not now simply a
"Praise the Lord of Life"?
The next monastery we visited was the stately Tʽien Dong. Avenues of
magnificent trees led up to squares with giant trees enclosing them,
terraces, and ponds covered with the sacred lotus. The entrance and
approach prepared one for more than man could ever realise inside. The
Parthenon would have looked small and the Pantheon empty after that
approach. As it was, I certainly did not think much of the temples,
and the guest-rooms were dark. But the trees behind were beautiful,
and had enticing paths leading on into the wood. There was a very
well-dressed Chinaman going in. He turned out to be the captain of a
man-of-war. I have often pleased myself since by believing he was
Captain, afterwards Admiral, Ting. He asked if we should like to be
introduced to his particular friend the chief priest. Within the inner
courts there was a blush-rose peony-plant covered with blossom. Before
this the post-captain stood in rapt adoration. It was evident that he
had really brought us to show us this, as one of the wonders of the
world. The Chinese especially esteem peonies of this shade of colour.
And it was indeed a lovely sight, and must have carried off the prize
at any show at which it was exhibited, so carefully had it been grown,
and so completely was it covered with blossom. But I had seen flowers
before, never a Buddhist high-priest, nor a Chinese post-captain. The
latter led us into the pleasant reception-room. On the couch sulked a
mandarin we had met several times already, always wearing a scowl, and
a magnificent gown of cream satin richly embossed. He scowled now, and
without a feint of courtesy of any kind at once seated himself in the
seat of honour. Then the chief priest came in, with nothing to
indicate his grandeur beyond particularly civil manners. He had also a
bustling cheeriness, which was probably all his own, not belonging to
his office, as he begged us to sit at the round table, and partake of
the various sweets with which it was spread. Delicious tea was brought
in, of a kind very costly even in China, scented with jasmine flowers.
Then, having dispensed hospitalities, pointed out the peony, and
generally made us welcome, the chief priest bustled away, carrying off
the post-captain into some inner apartment. And a comfortable-looking
Ningpo merchant, spending a few days at the temple with his family,
with that geniality that seems to be a Ningpo characteristic, began to
introduce the various members of his family, and generally make
friends. But the cream-coated gentleman still sat and scowled. It was
disagreeable; and so, though every one says one cannot, I determined
to treat this scornful mandarin as if he were after all a human being.
And looking round with a bow and a smile, as if I had never noticed
his rudeness, I took the seat indicated to me at the table, at which
he had already seated himself. After all a mandarin is human. He
looked surprised of course, but smiled too; and after that we saw his
scowl no more, but received a very polite bow and smile, when after a
little while he in his turn went away.
Years passed, and I saw no more of monasteries till we went to Omi's
sacred mountain in the far, far west of China.
At one temple, at which we tried to spend the night, we were met by
point-blank refusal. The priests said their rooms were full. We might
have believed them, had they risen to receive us and offered us tea.
But meeting with cold incivility, we believed rather the Temple of the
Elephants' Pool was too rich to be beguiled by foreign offerings into
receiving heretics, as we pushed on through the gathering night and
rising mist up and up along a _col_-like knife-edge and by beautiful
trees to a little temple, where they did their best to make us
comfortable according to our to them most strange tastes, and then
begged like beggars for some of my husband's clothes, because the
young priest in charge of the temple had set his foolish fancy on
trying foreign clothes, and like a child could not be turned from his
point.
At the top of the mountain we spent a fortnight in the Golden
Monastery. The priest whose especial duty it was to entertain
strangers received us from the first with great courtesy, but he
informed us that anything we ate must be eaten in the privacy of our
own apartment. And as at first we had none (for we could not, till we
had tried all round and failed, resign ourselves to one room giving on
to the mountain-side, out of which it had been dug, and with only one
window, that did not open), this resulted in our taking our first meal
upon the mountain-top _al fresco_ on the grass, the monastery,
however, very kindly supplying us with hot water for our tea. Then,
finding no other temple could or would receive us, we promised to take
no life whilst upon the sacred mountain, and only to eat our shocking
foreign food in the one room assigned to us, having it cooked in the
adjoining one, given over to our two servants and eight coolies. The
priests used to come in and out all day, and offer us tea and
sweetmeats; but they never would even drink tea out of our cups, for
fear of any defilement of previous milk still clinging round them.
That monastery struck us as both strict and carefully managed, the
chief priest, who had the air and bearing of a saint, spending hours
in solitary devotion in the temple on the verge of the great
precipice.
All the temples on the mountain's top were burnt down a few years ago.
But the exquisite Bronze Temple, on the edge of the precipice, to
which every province in the empire contributed, has never been rebuilt
after its sad destruction, beautiful fragments alone remaining; and
the rough pine-wood temples round it appeared all at daggers drawn.
Our Golden Temple was bringing an action against another for placing a
golden pinnacle as the centre ornament of its roof, thus building up a
pretext to filch from it its immemorial golden title; whilst another
temple accused ours of having intentionally lit the fire that consumed
it. We did not believe this of our temple, for even its boy priests
were hard-working, good little boys, who knelt and burnt incense with
reverence too; whilst the young priests of the adjoining temples were
bold, bad youths, of ribald laughter, importunate curiosity, and great
effrontery. There was, however, one temple where the priests appeared
always wrapped in devotion, whenever I looked in. They had not yet
begun rebuilding, perhaps were still praying for funds, as they knelt
among their burnt and charred images.
There were outlying temples on distant points of vantage, each
inhabited by a solitary priest. One had long attracted us by its
exquisite neatness, and the propriety and cleanliness of its
arrangements. Its occupant was away on a pilgrimage, but he returned
before we left the mountain, and we were not surprised to find him a
young man of great gravity and much courtesy. We had already studied
his kitchen, with its kettle hanging from the rafters by a chain and a
jointed stick; also observed his closet-bed, which, in accordance with
the stricter rule, was but a wooden seat, so that neither day nor
night could he lie down. We now saw how carefully washed were the feet
in his straw sandals; also what superior straw sandals he had brought
up to sell to pilgrims who had worn out theirs; and how particular he
was to make no profit upon the transaction, when we bought a pair, and
inadvertently slightly overpaid for them. But our acquaintance was not
long or intimate enough to arrive at anything of the spiritual life
beneath that exterior propriety. He it was who told us there was a way
down the back of the mountain into the Wilderness, where the wild
cattle roam, and that, though bad, he could not say other than that it
was possible, seeing he had just passed along it--this though he could
see our coolies' imploring gestures, and hear their rather audibly
muttered curses. They had every one of them sworn there was no path.
But there was, and the young hermit could not say otherwise. We often
thought of him, as we all fell headlong going down that path, that
certainly did exist, and enabled us to proceed to our next sacred
mountain without descending into the burning, cholera-stricken
country.
There were only three priests at the temple on the Sai King Shan. One
was old and useless; one was shivering with ague, which seemed
strangely out of place on the mountain; but we did not learn how long
he had been there--only relieved him with quinine. And the whole work
and administration seemed to be carried on by the young priest, who
had led us up the mountain, and who by various begging excursions had
amassed enough money to buy it for four hundred gold dollars, so as to
save it from the havoc of the wood-cutters, who had for years past
been cutting down all the trees. This young priest took care of the
potatoes, collected the mushrooms that made such an exquisite symphony
in cream and brown when spread out in the sunshine to dry, and did
everything, it seemed, that was done. But we could not find out that
religious services were among the number. It was the aged priest who
lit sticks of incense before the images in the morning.
Since then, however, we have stayed in a monastery with which his and
the Golden Temple on Omi both are associated. The Monastery of the
Particoloured Cliff is only about fifteen miles from Chungking. The
entrance is at once striking, from the perspective of the carefully
planted shrubs, the flights of steps, the carvings, and careful
adjusting of the path, with sudden corners, so that it never leads
straight onward, admitting free access to evil spirits. This is a
prevalent Chinese superstition, leading to the almost universal
practice of placing screens across their entrances either within or
without. It is a part of their _Fung shui_, their wind and water
religion.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO MONASTERY.
_By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
Much etiquette was observed in the method of our admission into Hoa
Ngai. We brought gifts, as we were told was the usage. And polite
monks received us, and bade us wait first in one reception-room, then
in another, whilst higher and higher dignitaries were brought to
parley with us. Finally we were conducted through a long outlying
wing, the strangers' quarter, and led through one or two bedrooms, all
full of beds, carefully curtained, and each bed with rolls of most
comfortable-looking wadded quilts, evidently quite new and fresh, from
the brightness of their scarlet colour--a gift from some recent
wealthy guest, we were informed. The floors were clean; everything was
in order--no dust anywhere; and the attendants at once swift and quiet
in making all those last final arrangements, that must be deferred
till the arrival of guests. But best of all was the view from the
window--the peaceful sunset framed in a setting of trees, the
chastened lights and shadows, with the fresh country air coming in so
clean and pure through the open window. But one must have lived in a
Chinese city to appreciate that as we did. The priests came to and fro
to inquire if we were content. Only after some time did they signify
that by their rules I must not share that room with the wide-open
window and the peaceful outlook, but retire to the women's quarter,
all along the long corridor again, down an outside staircase, along
the corridor below, then through a great door with many bolts into one
bedroom leading on into another, both full of beds, but otherwise
untenanted, and as clean as the rooms above, only without a view, and
with the dank smell of the earth outside, instead of the fresh country
air. Presently we were asked to take tea with the priests--tea and
many sweets. A few priests were told off each day to prepare special
food for the guests--generally, of course, pious pilgrims, come to
pray. There were over fifty priests in all, and we saw the orders for
the day hung up on the wall, as if for a regiment. We also saw all the
others sitting at their severely simple meal, never occupying opposite
sides of the same table, but always the same side of several tables;
and in the midst to the back on a raised seat the chief priest, not
eating with the others--he always ate apart--but sitting there whilst
they ate.
In the early dawning we had been each day wakened by the call to
prayers and the solemn chanting. One day I sprang out of bed, and
followed the sound, which seemed to come from farther down the
corridor beyond my room, out of a side temple. Only a few had
assembled already, but priests continued to come in till the chapel
was full. None but a few of the priest-boys paid any heed to my
unaccustomed presence, excepting the chief priest, when he came in. He
was an old man of over seventy, and had now sat by at our evening meal
more than once, and talked with us--a great mark of condescension, we
were told, only shown to honoured guests. Presently he came forward
with a kindly smile, and, taking me by the two shoulders, very kindly
but firmly pressed me into the place he desired me to occupy. And the
next minute I saw the reason of this. For, still chanting, the monks
began to procession round and round the chapel, and in and out among
the seats, forming the most curious figures, and ever quicker and
quicker, ever with bowed heads, and fingers and palms pressed close
together. The wild, simple chant rose and waned as they processioned,
close on fifty Chinese Buddhist priests, moving as fast as ordinary
people when they dance the Caledonians, all chanting and not looking
up. At last I felt as if I could bear no more. It may have been the
early hour, the strange chant, the quick moving to and fro. Anyhow, I
tried to go to my husband's room, and fell insensible on the stone
passage just as I reached the top of his staircase. I recovered
consciousness in an agony as to what Buddhist priests might think
suitable treatment for a fainting lady, if they any of them found me
there; and that gave me strength to drag myself along to my husband's
room. They were chanting still, the sweet, wild music of the chant
softened by distance now, or I might have thought it was all a dream,
as I looked out upon the gentle hills and sky framed in their setting
of trees, and breathed the fresh country air again.
They were very strict in that monastery; they would not hear of our
cooking anything for ourselves in our own room, beyond boiling water
for tea; but their vegetarian diet quite satisfied all our wants.
There was some sort of chanting all day in the principal temple--a
droning kind of chanting, from certain priests told off for the
purpose. We often looked in; for, uncommon enough, the central image
was beautiful, with a certain grave serenity. It was very ancient,
they told us. And we believed this. For the images of to-day are made
for money, and lack the air of sanctity. This image recalled Byzantine
pictures in Russian churches--very set, very firm, yet withal so
kind, and above all so holy.
[Illustration: BUDDHIST IMAGES CUT IN CLIFFS ON THE RIVER YA.
_By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
But the really ancient temple was under the over-hanging cliff, from
which the whole place is named, with the water from that cliff
dripping over it, and making the steps by which one ascends so
slippery one had to walk warily. There the images were of the true
Indian type, with supple, graceful figures, erect carriage, sloping
shoulders, and small waists, all as unlike the Chinese figure as
possible. But perhaps the figure of Puhsien differed from the Chinese
type as much as anything by the seraphic smile, that seemed to
illumine even the dark cavern in which it was shrined. Afterwards we
saw Indian divinities, with low-necked dresses and bare arms, an
abomination in China, carved on a headland of the Ya, by their Indian
type showing their great antiquity. Close by was the place where the
priests, when dead, are cremated. It seemed to have been recently
rebuilt. We also visited the chief priest's grave, solemn by reason of
its surrounding trees rather than from its architectural adornments.
But the most striking feature of the whole place was its exquisite
cleanliness and propriety, and the perfect order in all the land
around, that belonged to the monastery, and that might have been a
model farm, so carefully was it weeded and watered and tended. The
chief priest, as far as we could ascertain, was elected for three
years only, and our chief priest's time was nearly drawing to an end;
but before it did so he would have the yearly ordination.
The monastery was exquisitely situated, partly on a little knoll,
partly on the more sloping side of the hill. It and its outbuildings
must have covered about six or seven acres. And the sound of worship
seemed never silent there. But it was when we considered how great
must be the force religion brought to bear, before out of such a
slatternly, untidy, filth-loving race as the Chinese it produced this
spotless, orderly, exemplary establishment, that we were perhaps most
impressed. And as we sat within those peaceful precincts, listening
to the rich, deep sounds of Buddhist bells, so far more musical than
those of Europe, with the hum of chanting penetrating to us, softened
by distance, and realised that this ancient worship dated from ages
ago, having been only reformed by Gautama--that prince who gave up his
father's throne, and the love of father, wife, and child, to spend and
be spent for the people--it was impossible for us to believe that for
all those centuries God had left these people, trying after it,
without a way to approach Him, or that this long-continued worship
could be altogether unpleasing to the Most High.
"The old faiths, grown more wide,
Purer, and glorified,
Are still our lifelong guide."