TEMPLE OF HEAVEN
There are two particularly fine Buddhist temples at Peking, one outside and the other inside the walls, the former being a monastic establishment and swarming with degraded-looking monks. It has the imperial double-storied roofs of a noble orange colour, and it was a picturesque sight to see the orange-robed monks trooping into the courtyard to evening prayer. There were many young boys amongst them, probably sent from Manchuria as a thank-offering for the recovery of a father from severe illness, and consequently doomed to a life of idleness and ignorance. The Buddhist monks are notorious in this city for their low morals, and the signs of it are unmistakably stamped upon their faces; they do no work of any kind, and live upon the alms given by worshippers or which they have begged, according to the rules of the order. It is comic to see the Buddhist monks strutting along under huge orange umbrellas, nose in air, followed by a servant carrying the compulsory begging bowl! The head of the monastery is an incarnate Buddha. In the chief temple of this monastery is a gigantic standing figure of Buddha, and you can go up a staircase to inspect the head, which is otherwise hardly visible in the gloom of the lofty building, whose only light comes from the doorway. In the smaller buildings are other Buddhas of various kinds, and the Bodhisattwa, the 1000-handed goddess Kwanyin.
In the Lama temple, three miles outside the city, there are figures of the goddess of mercy, beside the three seated Buddhas, and she is to be found in many of the temples. She was originally a man, but had the heart of a woman! Here we were dreadfully pestered by dirty children, whom the priest tried ineffectually to keep in order. Each courtyard we came to had to be unlocked, but he always let them pass through with us, clamouring for money. The great feature of the yellow temple is a marble monument to the memory of a lama who came from Tibet and died of smallpox. It is composed of white marble, and the centre has a fine series of carvings round it illustrating scenes from the life of the Buddha. Unfortunately, after the siege of Peking French soldiers were quartered here, and they are said to have amused themselves by knocking off the head of every single figure. The effect of the white marble and gold in the midst of hoary cypresses is very fine. This is where the Dalai Lama was lodged during his stay in Peking.[7] It must have been a picturesque scene on his arrival, when he entered the sacred precincts, passing between two long rows of yellow-clad monks. Would that we had been there to see it, instead of at such a dreary season! We had come in the face of considerable difficulties, but it was well worth while; the wind blowing when we started in rickshas soon developed into a typical Chili dust-storm, and soon after leaving the city the men declared they could go no further. Having no other chance of visiting the place, we determined not to be baulked and set out on foot. We struggled bravely forward through stinging, blinding dust till we got under the lee of its high wall. The return journey was not so bad, as the wind was behind us, and we could enjoy watching other passengers whom we met in the city lying as flat as they could in rickshas, and with handkerchiefs spread over their faces. We were almost unrecognisable when we got in, and it was a well-nigh hopeless task to get rid of the dust from hair and clothes.
For once a Chinese cart seemed a desirable thing, and we were glad to find one waiting to take us to a Chinese friend’s house, where we were to spend the remainder of our time at Peking. The streets are broad and fairly well policed, but their roughness is extraordinary, and when you sit cross-legged in the place of honour at the back of a springless cart you are tossed from side to side like a ball, and your head bumped unmercifully, till you have learned how to avoid it. You get much more exercise than if you walk; the only compensation is that you know you are doing the correct thing. Our host, who is a successful young doctor, explained that he was obliged to go in a cart to visit high-class patients, instead of on his bicycle, though it took up a great deal more time.
We were glad to have a Chinaman to take us shopping, for our mouths watered to see the attractive things in the native shops. The minute that a European enters, up go the prices to at least double, if not treble; so we had an amusing but not very successful time in them. Our kind host could not bear to see us being cheated, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I persuaded him to get me a black spotted leopard-skin coat lined with lovely blue silk, on which I had set my heart, as the shopman refused to come down to what he considered a reasonable price. He begged us to let him in future get what we wanted and have the things brought to his house for inspection: the main difficulty lay in the fact that we did not know what we wanted, for the most part; but about one thing I had no doubt, and that was specimens of the noted nail paintings. There was only one celebrated artist, and he was about to retire to his native province of Szechwan, but by great good luck we secured a book containing nine paintings done with the finger-nail, and two white silk scrolls. The designs are excellent, and it is difficult to see any difference from that of a brush in execution. The book is bound in Chinese style, simply between two wooden boards, with a plain band of gold running down one side for about three-quarters of its length, but no title on it.
A comparison between Chinese and Japanese art shows plainly their close connection, and if the Japanese excel in certain qualities, they have not the virility which characterises the Chinese, from whom all their art is derived. It was towards the close of the fourth century A.D. that a systematic criticism of art and a history of painters was begun in China. The canons of pictorial art were laid down, and it will help us to understand and appreciate Chinese art better if we remember that the first and most important of their six canons is “the Life movement of the Spirit through the Rhythm of Things.” Though their art is mainly decorative, it possesses marvellous vitality and poetic imagination. At the Chinese Court there were fifteen artists in attendance, ready to depict anything that the Dowager Empress might wish to have painted.
AN OFFICIAL
A LADY OF QUALITY