Game abounds in the region between the German mines and the Diamond Mountains, and as we moved slowly forward to the famous Monastery of Chang-an, many short halts were made in search of birds and deer. Unfortunately, the deer evaded us and it became impossible to put up the pheasants out of the dense growth in the bushes in which they found cover. We had, however, some sport among the wood-pigeon. Korean hunters accompanied us some little distance upon our journey, leaving our caravan when our ways diverged. Beyond the Hai-yong River their track lay to the west into the heart of the mountains; our own continued north-east.
The hardships, experienced in travelling through Korea, were exemplified by the difficulties of our progress. They were intensified, however, by our ignorance of the precise trail, which it was necessary to follow across the heights from Tong-ko-kai to the mountain retreat of the pious monks. The inhabitants of the village of To-chi-dol warned our grooms of the difficulty of taking horses across the Tan-bal-yang Pass, the one barrier, which remained unsurmounted, between the outside world and the quiet repose of the first monastery in the Keum-kang-san. Until we enforced our orders with sticks the mampus were inclined to give up the enterprise. Their opposition was momentary; the transition from a somewhat angry mood into their usual condition of unruffled composure and high spirits was instantaneous. With untiring energy and patience they encouraged their diminutive ponies to climb the boulders; to twist and wriggle between the clumps of tangled bushes and masses of rock which beset the path, and to scramble across the steeps. We followed a dried-up water-course at the level of the valley, making the ascent gradually. The climb was severe, and became so steep that the pack-saddles slipped off the backs of the ponies. It occupied our eight animals some four hours, testing the endurance of pony and groom, alike the product of the hills, stout of limb and strong of wind.
THE ABBOT OF CHANG-AN-SA
The descent from the spirit shrine, in a gap on the crest of the range, was less toilsome. The grooms plaited ropes of green creepers, plucked from the bush, and strung them round the packs. Walking behind the ponies, they held to these cords, thus supporting the animals and preventing the loads and clumsy saddles from reversing the process of the previous scramble. Nevertheless, our path was littered with fragments of our baggage. The contrivance was successful, however, and in the main the little steeds picked their way with an easy accuracy through the cool green woods. The mountain side was fragrant with innumerable plants, the bush a tangle of magnificent ferns, trees, and shrubs. Oaks, hawthorn, chestnut, birch and pines grew in crowded splendour; the wild rose, the freckled lily, and a purple orchid embroidered the moss. Beyond the hollows of the hilly woodlands, the crumpled backs of the jagged mountains reared themselves skyward, their proud crests lost in the clouds, soaring silently to a height of five thousand feet. Below in the valley, a wall of granite mountains set up an impenetrable barrier before a noisy river, which until the advent of the rainy season becomes the merest trickle of silver in a lone expanse of river-bed.
Our way lay across the river-bed and thence into the centre of the mountains, a journey of one more day, to The Temple of Eternal Rest. After crossing the Tan-bal-yang Pass we delayed, resting at Kal-kan-i. Starting at daybreak, upon the next morning we moved through the Kak-pi Pass as the sun touched the tops of the mountains, which shut in the narrow valley, across which lay the last stage of the journey. We were nearing the last home of many distressed pilgrims. In a cleft among the mountains the deep curved roofs of many temples might be seen. The air was tremulous with the pleasant jangling of bells, and from a wayside shrine the sweet fumes of incense mingled with the scent of the pines. The calm and seclusion of this spiritual retreat was in itself soothing; as one passed beneath the red gate, that indicates royal patronage, the placid gentleness of the scene was an allurement to the consolation and protection offered by this Buddhistic asylum.
There are thirty-four monasteries, and monastic shrines in the Keum-kang-san, and they are tended by three hundred monks and sixty nuns. Chang-an is the oldest, and has been in existence for some generations. In 515 A.D., during the reign of Po-pheung, a king of Silla, it was restored by two monks, Yul-sa and Chin-kyo. Other monasteries, akin to this in their romantic setting and picturesque seclusion, are Pyo-un, which, together with Chang-an is situated upon the western slopes, Yu-chom and Sin-ga upon the eastern slopes. These, with thirty others of less importance, excite the most profound interest and enthusiasm among the Koreans, many of whom repeatedly brave the difficulties and fatigues of travel in the Diamond Mountains to visit them.
The four chief monasteries are served by one hundred and seventy monks and thirty nuns. The main temple of Chang-an is a large building, forty-eight feet in height, of the type to which travellers in the East soon become accustomed. The wooden structure is rectangular with two roofs, deep, curved and richly carved eaves, the heavy tiled roofs being supported upon teak pillars three feet in circumference. The diamond-cut panels of the doors, which serve as windows, are ornamented with gold, and the lofty ceiling is carved and wrought in rich designs, lavishly gilded and highly coloured in blue, red, green and gold. Granite steps give access to the temples; the main beams and supports of the whole edifice resting upon huge circular slabs of this stone.
On the inner walls of this building there are scenes from the life of Gautama, the apostle of the Buddhistic creed. A gilded image figures as the centre of a golden group of seven past and future godheads, incarnations of the One and sublime Sakya-muni, whose future reappearance is anticipated by the faithful. Brass incense-burners, candlesticks, and a manuscript book of masses in Chinese and Korean characters, resting upon a faded cover of soiled and dusty brocade, furnish the front of the altar. Before this high altar, wonderfully impressive and inspiring in the dim religious light of the vast interior, a priest spends certain hours of the day and night in profound obeisance, intoning, chanting and gabbling monotonously and with constant genuflections, the words Na-mu Ami Tabul. This expression is a phonetic rendering of certain Thibetan words, the meaning of which the Abbot himself was unable to explain; when transcribed in Chinese characters it appears equally unintelligible.
Other temples in this particular monastery are dedicated to The Abode of Virtue, The Four Sages, and The Ten Judges. Within these edifices Sakya-muni and his disciples sit in different attitudes of ineffable abstraction, contemplating gruesome pictures of demons, animals, and the torments awarded in after-life to the wicked. Many of the buildings of Chang-an have been restored within recent years. The work has been completed long since, and the spacious courtyards are now well kept. The temples are clean and spotless, the whole monastery bearing witness to the care with which it is maintained.