永嘉庵是一个小村庄，位于大唐府西北约12英里处，在通往桂花村的路上，位于一个相当狭窄的山谷中，有一条很大的河流流过，即洋河。在这里，河水凿穿了砂岩床，有些地方至少有八十或一百英尺厚，在这里挖掘了许多洞穴寺庙，并在其中用活石雕刻了巨大的佛像和圣人像。这些挖掘的范围可能超过三百码，但所有的建筑--最初可能有四座--都已经倒塌，除了一座被称为 "石佛古寺"（Shih Fo ku sŭ）的寺庙，该寺庙由一个中国寺庙普通风格的木制门面组成，有四层楼高；每层的屋顶都覆盖着松石蓝色的瓦片。光线可以从建筑的正面进入，也可以从洞穴中的一个大洞进入，穿过中央图像上方的叠石。寺庙的主体是在岩石上开凿的，包括两个独立的小教堂，几乎是圆形的，直径约30英尺。东边的礼拜堂里有三尊镀金的佛像，中央的是释迦牟尼佛的坐像，高50多英尺。两边的图像有三十多英尺高。天花板和墙壁上到处都有雕塑，以相当高的浮雕形式表现了坐着的佛和圣人，每个人都有一英尺高，周围有树木、动物等图案；整个作品的雕塑效果非常好，但却用相当艳丽的颜色来描绘。另一个小教堂也是类似的；它供奉的是观音，观音的形象也是鎏金的，高约30英尺。在这个寺庙的左右两边的洞穴中，可以看到其他的神像，不过都比上述的神像小，而且没有显示出像石佛古寺中所显示的那样完备的工艺。后面这些屋檐现在被村民用来储存他们的农作物。
或大武当，与位于北京附近的小武当相对。
1688年和1696年访问卡尔冈的Père Gerbillon称其为Hia-pon，并将Tchang-kia-keon这个名字留给了镇后长城的大门。见Du Halde, Description de l'Empire de la Chine, iv. 90, 337.
见英国皇家亚洲学会中国分会杂志第二十卷中一篇有趣的论文，第26-50页，关于中国杀婴的普遍性。还有Père Amiot在Mém. concernant les Chinois, vi. 320331.
1696年，葛比伦随康熙皇帝从蒙古来，看到了这些寺庙。皇帝亲自用父亲的一个半圆测量了最大的图像，发现它有五十七英尺高，或我们的测量值六十一英尺九英寸。Du Halde，描述，四，352。
1697年在Ta-t'ung的Pére Gerbillon说，那里有大量的肥皂，"用一种从地下大量涌出的硝石 "制造。Du Halde，《描述》，四，357页。
A Pilgrimage to the Great Buddhist Sanctuary of North China
By William Woodville Rockhill
JUNE 1895 ISSUE
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“ WHEN, in the time of Ming-ti of the Han, Ma-teng came from the Western regions (to China), he discerned by means of his supernatural sight that ‘ the Pure cold mountain ’ was an abode of Wen-shu, and that there was a relic tower there erected by King Ashoka. So he besought the Emperor to have a temple built there, and it was called The Great faith Vulture’s peak temple ; for the hill on which it stood resembled the Vulture’s peak of India, and the words ‘ Great faith ‘ made it known to all ages that the Emperor was the first in all the land to show his faith in the Buddha.”
So I read one day, while living in Peking, in a cumbersome Chinese volume giving the history of that greatest of Buddhist sanctuaries of north China, commonly known as the Wu-t’ai shan,1 and I made up my mind to spend my holiday that year in making a visit to this famous shrine.
To the foreign resident of Peking, shut up month after month and year after year within the filthy, malodorous, and uninteresting limits of the city walls, a change of scene becomes a positive craving, be it for ever so short a time. To get it, he will not only brave, but actually enjoy all the discomforts incidental to travel in China; and when he has discovered some goal to reach, some object to pursue, beyond escaping the stenches of Peking, his pleasure is complete, his enthusiasm boundless.
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So, at least, I reflected, as, one morning in September, 1887, I left our legation for a trip through southern Mongolia and to the Wu-t’ai, my legs folded under me, my head bent on my breast, that I might fit in the low and narrow limits of my mule litter, that “ most irritating of all conveyances,” as Alexandre Dumas so aptly called it.
The road we took led us northward in the direction of Kalgan, first to Nank’ou, and through the great wall where it crosses a pass rising nineteen hundred feet above sea level. This point is known to foreigners who visit the environs of Peking as the Nan-k’ou pass, though its real name is the Chü-yung defile. The Chinese class it among the eight marvels of the Peking country: the Lu-kou bridge over the Hun ho, which I was to cross on my way back to, Peking, being another.
Here at Nan-k’ou the great wall is seen at its best, as it runs along rocky ridges and frowns down upon one from toppling heights, and, strange as it may seem for anything in China, is in fairly good repair. Foreigners should be forbidden by the Chinese government to visit the great wall elsewhere than at Nan-k’ou and its vicinity, for then they could go home and write in all sincerity about this “ eighth wonder of the world, which for over two thousand years has been the bulwark of China,” etc. But alas for all earthly greatness! The great wall of China is not everywhere a great wall ; in places it is a very little wall, and it is, I think, highly improbable that at any period of its existence it has been in good repair from its eastern to its western extremity.
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The Chinese distinguish two great walls : the outer, or Frontier wall, which, commencing at Shan - hai kuan, passes through Kalgan, and ends at Chin - yü kuan, north of the Koko-nor, and the inner, or “ Myriad li wall,” also called the “ Long wall,” which, beginning northeast of Nan-k’ou, runs south, and constitutes the frontier between the provinces of Chih-li and Shan-hsi; this branches off in its northern section, and, crossing Shan-hsi, meets the Frontier wall near the Yellow River. These walls were not made at one time, but during succeeding dynasties, as one or another portion of the border seemed to require this defense. Some parts have been repaired now and then down to recent times ; others have been utterly neglected and have long since crumbled away, in some places leaving no trace of their existence. Parts of these walls were built of brick and stone, or of stone alone, and others, again, of mud.
Besides the great wall, there is still to be seen all over the borderland of China a complicated network of beacon towers, used in olden times to transmit signals to the capital. The greater number have now fallen in ruins, but one of their peculiar features is still visible : their summits could be readied only by means of rope ladders let down the outside. These towers, it seems, Abbé Larrieu, in his pamphlet The Great Wall of China, has confounded with those that form part of the wall itself. Seeing no connecting wall between them, he rashly concluded that the great wall did not exist, and never had existed. In reality, these beacon towers, which extend for hundreds of miles on either side of the wall, have absolutely nothing to do with it.
The road north of the Nan-k’ou pass leads over a broad, undulating plain, closed in by rugged and bare mountains, along the base of which may be seen a thick deposit of loess ; and towns and villages, amidst groves of willows and fields of millet and sorghum, dot the wide valley. Every few miles one passes a walled city. The length and height of these fortifications and the great number of them in China have ever struck me with wonder. All the provincial, prefectural, departmental, and district towns of the eighteen provinces (they number nearly nineteen hundred) are inclosed with walls, the shortest of which cannot be less than one mile, while many are at least eight miles long, and their height averages fifteen feet. The length of the great wall itself and the work its construction entailed sink into insignificance when compared with the total length of these city walls, especially when we consider that not less than half of the great wall is of dirt, while all city walls have, at one time or other, been faced inside and out with kiln-burnt bricks.
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On the third day after leaving Peking we passed around the base of the Cock’s crow Mountain (Ch’i-ming shan), by the side of the muddy Hun ho. This mountain, one of the most striking ones seen on the way to Kalgan, has on its summit a Buddhist temple, whose bright red walls and the evergreens always to be found around such places lend life and color to the hare, brown landscape. Buddhists throughout the world have selected with consummate skill the most picturesque sites for the erection of their temples, and have spared no pains to preserve all the natural beauties of each spot on which they have built. Mountain tops, from Adam’s peak in Ceylon to Wu-t’ai shan and O-mi shan in China, have been regarded, since the early days of Buddhism, as the most desirable situations for the erection of temples. To the æsthetic tendency of Buddhists we owe nearly all the really pretty bits of scenery to be found in this part of China ; for, away from the temples, every hill I have seen is as bare as our Western wilds.
Leaving the Cock’s crow Mountain behind, we followed the course of the Hun ho River for some miles, — at first over a sandy plain, and then by a road cut in the porphyry rock, high above the seething yellow waters of the river. After crossing a pass at about twenty-one hundred feet of altitude, from which we saw the great wall running along the crest of the hills far off on the east, we came to Hsüan-hua Fu, a large prefectural city about twenty miles from Kalgan, which we reached the following day.
Kalgan 2 divides with Kuei-hua Ch’eng the privilege of being the most important frontier mart of north China ; it is the centre of a large Mongolian trade, and a forwarding point for the greater part of the Russian overland trade with China. It is situated on the foothills of the Mongolian steppe, and the great wall passes behind the town, which stretches out in long, irregular lines around the mouth of the pass leading to Mongolia. Its population is estimated at one hundred thousand, twenty thousand of whom are Mohammedans. The latter and the Shan-hsi merchants have nearly monopolized the most valuable trade of this part of China. At Kalgan the Mohammedans have a fine mosque and theological school; the former somewhat resembles similar buildings seen in other Mohammedan countries, but its interior decoration is strictly Chinese.
Several families of American missionaries reside in the suburbs of Kalgan, in pretty houses built in foreign style, which fully justifies the remark once made to me by a Chinese peasant. “ The most curious thing about foreigners,” he said, “ is that there are no poor people among them. “ This mission has been in existence for the last eighteen years, and has now a few hundred converts, more or less attached to it. It was originally the intention of the mission to devote itself to the conversion of those devoutest of all Buddhists, the Mongols, but it did not take long to demonstrate that this was an impossible task, quite as difficult as the Christianization of Mohammedans has proved to be in other parts of the world.
The road from Kalgan to Mongolia leads up a broad, stony valley, with an occasional small patch of cultivated soil on the otherwise bare hillsides. By a very gradual ascent one reaches a height of forty-two hundred feet; then comes a sharp scramble of half an hour over rocks, and one arrives at Han nor (forty-nine hundred feet), on the edge of the Mongolian plateau. From here we looked back over a vast wilderness of mountain tops stretching to the horizon. The view, though extensive, was far from beautiful: the yellow loess imparted a uniform hue to mountain and valley, and to the waters of the streams flowing through them ; not a tree was to be seen, and, it being autumn, the very crops in the fields conspired with the natural scenery to complete a general yellowness of tone.
The country north of Han nor, as far as Shih-pa-erh t’ai, where we turned to the west, is a rolling plateau, covered with short, coarse grass, and greatly resembles our Western plains. Now and then we passed a Mongol tent, with small herds of cattle, horses, or camels grazing near by, or perhaps a Chinese farmhouse, surrounded with fields of oats or potatoes. In fact, all the southern portion of Mongolia through which we passed is undergoing a rapid evolution from the pastoral to the agricultural state. The Chinese from Shan-hsi are steadily driving the nomadic Mongols farther and farther north, the few who remain behind being obliged to give up to a great extent their national customs. Nearly everywhere we found the Chinese adobe hut side by side with the felt tent of the Mongol, which before many years will be a thing of the past in this part of Mongolia. And all this change has taken place in the last ten years. Baron von Richthofen, who traveled over this road fifteen or twenty years ago, did not see a single Chinese house between Shihpa-erh t’ai and Hsi-ying-tzŭ, sixty miles farther west, but we came across such houses every mile or so.
Although the general aspect of the Mongol steppe reminded me of our Western prairies, its flora presented none of the variety I had seen in our country. I was especially struck by finding edelweiss in great quantities at what appeared to me a low altitude for this flower, about forty-seven hundred feet above sea level. Later on, at Wu-t’ai shan, I found this plant at and above seven thousand feet, the altitude above which oats cease to be cultivated.
Leaving Shih-pa-erh t’ai, we turned in a southwesterly direction towards Tat’ung Fu, in Shan-hsi, taking in on our way several of the stations of the Belgian Catholic mission, the most important of which was at Hsi-ying-tzŭ. Mongolia has another feature in common with our Western prairies, — it is easier to lose one’s way than to keep on the road. The first day out from Shih-pa-erh t’ai, though we managed to keep in the right direction, we wandered about so that we did not reach the stage we had expected to. This of itself would have been but a very slight mishap, had not my compagnon de voyage been a devoted admirer of the great German traveler, Baron von Richthofen. The ponderous volume of the baron’s work, in which he describes the section of country through which we were traveling, was ever in my learned friend’s hands ; so on this most ill-fated day, when we had to pass the night at a different place from that where Richthofen had stopped, his sorrow and vexation were extreme, and even his dinner and grog lost their savor, and he went sulkily to bed.
The next day we reached Hsi-yingtzŭ, recognizable from afar by its pretty church, which seemed of cathedral-like dimensions amidst the miserable little hovels which surrounded it. We were most kindly received and entertained by the fathers of the mission, and it was our good fortune to meet Monseigneur Bex, the bishop of the diocese, who had come here for a few days to inspect the building of the church. This mission has been in existence for about half a century, at first in charge of the Lazarists, and for the last seventeen years of the Belgian mission. Abbé Huc, it will he remembered, started from a station near here, Hei-shui, on his memorable voyage to Tibet. There are now about three thousand Christians in the diocese, organized in village communities, under the direction of headmen receiving their appointments from the bishop. Litigations are almost invariably settled without recourse to the native authorities, the fathers and the bishops being practically the temporal as well as the spiritual rulers of their flocks. The Christians contribute two per cent of their crops for the support of the Church, and this, together with the heavy taxes due the government, absorbs about ten or twelve per cent of their receipts, notwithstanding which they enjoy — thanks to the protection that the priests can grant, them from the exactions of native officials which weigh so severely on all Chinese — a comparatively high degree of material welfare. Although neophytes are not numerous, the Christian population is being continually added to by the female children taken into the foundling hospitals attached to every mission station. Infanticide and the desertion or sale of female infants prevail all over China,3 and, notwithstanding the large numbers of these poor little creatures saved by the missionaries of all denominations, many are drowned or otherwise got rid of on their birth, in the country as well as in the city.
A few years ago, during the terrible famine which carried off so many victims in this part of China, a native Catholic priest one day bought three cartloads of little girls, which he saw on the road near Hsi-ying-tzŭ, for about a dollar and a half. Boys, when sold, are somewhat dearer. A lama, friend of mine, who was at Wu-t’ai shan during this same famine, told me that many lamas then bought seven or eight year old boys, to make novices of, for about twenty cents a head. The foundlings in the Catholic mission stations are brought up like common Chinese children, — only those who show any remarkable aptitude being taught anything beyond their prayers and sewing, — and when about sixteen they are married off, or else become sisters of charity. The heathens are quite willing to marry these girls and embrace Christianity themselves, in view of the material benefits which are derivable from connection with Christians. To illustrate the perfect control under which the Christians are held by their “ spiritual fathers,” it will suffice to mention that the former bishop of this diocese forbade the practice of compressing female infants’ feet, and, in spite of the social ostracism which this non-observance of a most cherished custom must forever bring upon them, every one obeyed. The authority which the carrying out of such a measure implied may be conceived when it is known that K’ang-hsi, the most powerful Emperor of this dynasty, was obliged to repeal a decree he had issued forbidding binding women’s feet, after trying for four years to have it enforced.
Facing Hsi-ying-tzŭ on the south stands the Ta-ch’ing Mountain, in which I took special interest, as Richthofen says that stone implements have been found in great numbers at its base. Every one, from the bishop down to the “ oldest inhabitant,”declared that he had never heard of such things, and thought Richthofen must have been misled.
The next morning our road led us past Yu-shu wa, where stands a lone tree, an elm, which Abbé Hue speaks of somewhere in his charming book of travels as “ the only tree in Mongolia.” Not far from here, behind the Ta-ch’ing Mountain, is the village where Samtanshiemba, the Mongol who accompanied Huc to Lh’asa, was living. I was told by the fathers that he was hale and hearty, and had just got back from accompanying the Russian traveler Potanin to the Koko-nor.
After passing Erh-shih-san hou, another station of the Belgian mission, where we were most kindly received by Father Rubbens, we crossed several ranges of low hills, the highest 5650 feet, after which we rapidly descended to the plain of Tat’ung Fu. When about twenty miles from that city we crossed the Frontier wall, which here traverses the valley : a wall of loess mud, originally about eighteen feet high, though along the greater part of its length only two or three feet of it are now standing. The gate through which we passed consisted of two upright posts with a board nailed horizontally across the top; a sign stuck up before the little mud guard-house announced to all comers that this was a gate of the great wall and a customs barrier! The wall showed no traces of brickwork, but on the detached towers about two hundred yards in front of it, and the object of which I could not satisfactorily make out, some remnants of brickwork were still visible. This wall was probably built in the sixth century A. D., and throughout Shan-hsi and west of that province it does not differ in structure or state of preservation from the part here crossed. Huc, Prjevalsky, and, more recently, Younghusband, all speak of it as a low mud wall which one can jump across, and many of the gates they saw were exactly like the one I passed through.
Ta-t’ung Fu, like most other Chinese cities I have seen in this part of the empire, is dirty, dilapidated, and uninteresting ; the shops are small, the people jolly, inquisitive, and apparently lazy. The only pretty thing I saw within the city was a feng shui wall, about fifty feet long, in front of a temple ; it was covered with glazed tiles, on which were nine four-clawed dragons, yellow and reddish-brown, in high relief, the background of a splendid turquoise-blue color. The following day I saw a similar wall, though shorter, on the road to the beautiful cave temples at Yung-k’an.
While I was at Hsi-ying-tzŭ, the fathers told me of the curious rock temples at a village near Ta-t’ung Fu, and so I stopped over a day to be able to visit this place, of which I had seen nothing in any book of travel.
Yung-k’an is a small village about twelve miles northwest of Ta-t’ung Fu, on the road to Kuei-hua Ch’eng, in a rather narrow valley through which flows a good-sized stream, the Yang ho. Here the waters of the river have cut through a bed of sandstone, in places at least eighty or a hundred feet thick, and in this a number of cave temples have been dug, and enormous statues of the Buddha and saints sculptured within them out of the living rock. These excavations extend over perhaps three hundred yards, but all the buildings — there were probably four originally — erected against the caves, and forming the fronts of the temples, have fallen down, except the one called the “ Old Temple of the Stone Buddha ” (Shih Fo ku ssŭ)This temple consists of a wooden facade, in the ordinary style of Chinese temples, and four stories high ; the roofs over each story are covered with turquoise-blue tiles. Light is admitted from the front of the building, and also by a large hole cut in the cave through the superincumbent rock above the central image. The body of the temple is cut in the rock, and comprises two separate chapels, nearly circular in shape and about thirty feet in diameter. That on the east side contains gilt statues of the three Buddhas, the central one a seated image of the Buddha Gautama, over fifty feet high.4 The priest who showed me about said it was fifty-two feet five inches, Chinese measure, or sixty-one feet and a half. The images on either side are thirty odd feet high. The ceiling and walls are everywhere sculptured, representing in rather high relief seated Buddhas and saints, each about a foot high, with encircling designs of trees, animals, etc. ; the whole work, which is of a very good order of sculpture, is painted in rather gaudy colors. The other chapel is of a similar description ; it is dedicated to Kuan-yin, the goddess of mercy, whose image, also gilt, is about thirty feet high. In caves to the right and left of this temple may be seen other images of gods, all smaller, however, than those above described, and not showing such finished workmanship as is displayed in the Old Temple of the Stone Buddha. These latter eaves are now used by the villagers to store their crops in.
I was told by the priest who tends the temple that it was built in the fifth century A. D., and though I could find no inscriptions dating back earlier than the Shun-chih reign, in the first half of the seventeenth century, my informant may have been quite right. In fact, as proving the likelihood of his story, I may remark that in the Wei-shu, or History of the Wei Dynasty, I have found a passage which may refer to the Yung-k’an temples. In it I read that in 461 A. D. the Emperor Wen-Ch’eng-ti called the Buddhist T’anyüeh to his court, and after a while made him his spiritual preceptor. “ At T’anyüeh’s suggestion the Emperor had five caves cut in the rock of a mountain in Wu-chou, to the west of his capital, and in each of them had images of the Buddha sculptured, the largest seventy feet in height, the others sixty feet; they were executed and painted in a most exquisite way, and were the most beautiful ever made.”
At the present day there is, so far as I know, no locality or district near Tat’ung called Wu-chou, but there is a mountain near Yung-k’an known as the Wu-chou shan, and this justifies me, to some extent, in thinking that the place referred to in the Wei-shu is probably the spot I visited. The northern Wei Emperors are credited with having caused to be excavated other wonderful caverns, the purpose of which, however, is not known to me. Thus, in a passage of the history of the Wei dynasty, we read that, in 500 A. D., “ the Emperor gave orders to Tach’ang Ch’in-ch’ing to make two stone caves in the Yi-chüeh shall, south of Lo [Lo-nan], similar to the one existing in the Ling-yen ssŭ at Tai-ching [the then capital Tai-chou].”
On the way back to Ta-t’ung I passed a little roadside shrine covered with votive tablets, but I could not learn to what god it was dedicated. On the veranda was a huge iron halberd, about seven feet high, and weighing perhaps three hundred pounds, which seemed to be the chief object of veneration. No one was near to tell me the history of this formidable weapon, but it is probable that if there had been any one to question, I should have been told that it had come there of itself, — that “ it knew how to fly,” a common explanation offered by Chinese.
I may mention here a curious survival of tree worship which I noticed in Chihli and Shan-hsi. Nearly every day we passed villages in each of which stood a gnarled and twisted tree — generally a willow — covered with votive tablets and bits of rag on which were written such phrases as, “ By the graciousness of the spirit,”“ I have sought and I have found,” all hung up by persons who, troubled with some complaint, had prayed to the spirit of the tree, burnt incense before it, and found relief from their sufferings.
For three days after leaving Ta-t’ung Fu we traveled southward over a broad plain, the soil in many places so saturated with potash that cultivation was impossible.5 The poverty-stricken peasants extract the alkali from the earth wherever there is a little water with which to enable them to do so, and send it to Peking or sell it to the Mongols, who use it in making their tea.
On the evening of the third day we again came across the great wall, — the inner wall this time, — where it passes Kuang-wu k’ou at the foot of the pass leading to Tai-chou. It is visible for perhaps half a mile on either side of the valley, the brick facing and granite angles still intact, but farther away all trace of it disappears. A peculiarity of the defenses at this place, and one which I have not seen elsewhere, is the truncatedcone shape of the detached towers in front of the wall; all those I have seen elsewhere were pyramidal.
From the pass (fifty-two hundred feet) leading down to Tai-chou we had our first glimpse of the Wu-t’ai shan, the northern peak seemingly well covered with snow, which, we were told, remains on the north side all the year. We made this part of our journey in company with a squad of soldiers and two criminals who were being taken to the provincial capital for decapitation. These two gentlemen did not appear to be in the least flurried by their rapidly approaching end, and jogged along as merrily as their conductors. Each had round his throat and one ankle heavy iron rings connected by a big iron chain. This chain they could remove and carry as best suited them, putting it in place again when they came to a village. As they did not have on red jackets, the usual garb of convicted criminals in this country, I did not recognize them at once as belonging to that class, and seeing one enter the temple on top of the pass to kotow before the image, I took him for a pilgrim, and asked him where he was going, when, to my amazement, he answered, “ To T’ai-yüan Fu, to be executed,” and went quietly on with his devotions.
The lower portion of the valley leading to Tai-chou is filled with a thick deposit of loess, and the roads are sunk so deep in it that one might as well travel in a railroad cut, so far as scenery is concerned; but whenever we got a glimpse of the surrounding valley, we saw the rich foliage of trees, the glimmer of the waters of the Hu-to ho as it flowed behind the town, and the imposing mass of the Wu-t’ai in the distant background.
The valley of Tai-chou struck me as particularly fertile; oats, millet, potatoes, and tobacco being the principal crops. Buckwheat, sweet potatoes, cabbages, hemp, and a kind of indigo plant were growing along the road, and we found the poppy cultivated all the way up to the flank of the Wu-t’ai, at an altitude of fifty-nine hundred feet. The tops of the houses in many of the villages were so covered with red peppers drying in the sun that I seemed once more in Korea, where peppers hide every roof in autumn.
At Tai-chou I tried to buy some curios, and a few plates, bowls, and bits of embroidery were brought me ; but they were of no value. The dealers who owned them said that everything of any worth went to Peking, that curio dealers from the capital constantly came here and scoured the whole of north China, and that Peking was the only place where good curios could be bought.
Our route led us, after leaving Taichou, up the course of the Hu-to River for about eight miles to Ngo-k’ou, where we turned up a narrow, rugged cañon down which flowed a clear, rapid brook, the Ngo-chui; every mile or so along the way was a hamlet surrounded by little patches of culture.
After following the course of the Ngochui for a day and a half, we ascended a pass (7650 feet), and the valley of Wut’ai lay at our feet. On this pass stands a pretty little temple called the Lion’s Den, where there is a handsome pagoda, about seventy feet high, and covered with green - glazed tiles about a foot square ; in the centre of each is a yellow figure of the Buddha in relief. According to the Description of the Wu - t’ai shan, this temple was built in the twenty-sixth year of Shen-tsung of the Ming (1598 A. D.), to contain a set of canonical works presented by the Emperor.
We could see from here the five peaks of Wu-t’ai, the highest of which is believed to be the northern one ; and though the view we commanded was extensive and interesting from its associations, the usual nudity of all mountain scenery in these parts destroyed its beauty. Wut’ai shan, or “ The Five terraced mountain,” owes its name to the five highest peaks in the vicinity having, or being supposed to have, level summits (t’ai). It is one of the most famous and oldest places of Buddhist — or, more properly, lamaist — pilgrimage in China. Setting aside the tradition which attributes to the Indian monarch Ashoka, who lived in the third century B. C., the building here of a pagoda containing relics of the Buddha, and other ancient legends, there is no doubt that as early as the fifth century A. D. Wu-t’ai was a very celebrated spot, and that the Hsien-t’ung ssĉ, which is still its principal temple, was built by a sovereign of the latter Wei dynasty between 471 and 500 A. D.
Ever since that period the Emperors of each succeeding dynasty have vied with one another in conferring privileges and gifts on Wu-t’ai, erecting new temples, and restoring and embellishing those already existing. It is stated in the Description of the Wu-t’ai, referred to previously, that in the Sui dynasty, during the reign of Kai-huang (581—601 A. D.), temples were built on the summit of each of the live peaks. At present nothing but ruins of them exists.
This place is visited every year by thousands of Mongols, Tibetans, and Chinese. I met, during the three days I stopped there, lamas from Urga, near the Russian frontier; from Amdo, near the Koko-nor; and from the Amur, — all come alike to worship Jambal (the Indian Manjushri, the Chinese Wen-shu P’u-sa), who lives in the Land of Bliss, where every good Buddhist longs to go, and who gives special heed to those who call on him from Wu-t’ai shan.
The chief temples of the Wu-t’ai are situated in the northern part of the valley, where the roads coming from the north, east, west, and central peaks converge. They are clustered on a foothill of the central peak, called the Vulture’s peak (Ling-chiu feng) ; at its base flows a brook, known as the West branch, which rushes down from the north peak. The hill is entirely covered with buildings ; the lower portion, which has been artificially leveled, is occupied by an “ imperial traveling bungalow.” Since the imperial visit of 1786, none of the Emperors have been here, and the buildings, as also the broad stone walk with marble balustrades leading up to them, have been neglected, and are now partially in ruins.
Behind the palace, and a little higher up the hill, is the Temple of the pagoda (Ta-yuan ssĉ), with its great whitewashed dagoba, said to have been built by Ashoka and to contain relics of the Buddha, and which is the most striking building on the hill. It is built of brick, and terminates in a gold spire, or tee; the height of the whole structure is at least seventy-live feet. In one of the buildings of this temple is a huge prayerwheel, which can be put in motion by means of a capstan in the basement. It contains a full set of the Tibetan sacred books, one hundred and eight volumes, and if set in motion from left to right procures to the movers some of the merit they would acquire if they read all the volumes this revolving bookcase contains. Still further up the hill one comes to the Temple of universal effulgence, said to be the oldest one in the place, in which I saw many wonderful bronzes, — huge cloisonné incense-burners, pagodas, and, chief of all, a bronze chapel, about fifteen feet square and perhaps thirty high, the whole exterior surface of which was beautifully chased, and had once been gilded. These bronzes date from the latter part of the sixteenth century, and are imperial gifts.
But the principal place of worship is on the summit of the hill, and is known by the name of the Peak of the God. It was built in the latter part of the fifth century of our era. It alone of all the temples is roofed with tiles of the imperial yellow color. A broad flight of marble steps, one hundred and thirty in number, leads to the temple door ; on every step were locks of human hair, offered to the god in the hope that the giver might be reborn in the paradise over which he rules. The buildings, though of a strictly Chinese style of architecture, are arranged in the interior like Tibetan temples. The chapel of the god, on the north side of the rectangle in which the temple stands, is literally filled with images of every god, saint, and genius in the lamaist pantheon, wrought of every possible substance, from gold and silver to dough and clay. The chief images, which are three in number, occupy the centre of the building, and are, I believe, of bronze, heavily gilded and about five feet high ; on every limb, on the lap, and around the neck of the image of Wenshu, which is the central one, hang silk scarfs offered by the faithful. In glass cases, and carefully sealed, are numerous small images or objects of special value, among others discs of barley-flour dough left from the meal of some holy lama, on which are stamped images of gods. A long but narrow altar extends in front of the more important images, and on it are innumerable little egg-cup-shaped lamps fed with butter, dishes of fruit and of candies, and a row of bowls of pure water, all offerings to the gods. The walls are lined with shelves, on which are splendid illuminated manuscript copies of the sacred works, in Tibetan and Mongol, wrapped in yellow satin, besides many utensils of gold, silver, and bronze used in church ceremonies.
Other temples, too numerous to mention (the people of the place say there are, or were, three hundred and sixty in the valley), stretch out around this central shrine, and the vacant spots between them are taken up by shops where are sold all those things pilgrims delight in the world over, — beads, books, amulets, and images ; also little wooden bowls and plates of poplar wood, for which the place is famous, and which are carried hence all over Mongolia and Tibet.
On the second day of my stay at Wut’ai I ascended the Pei t’ai, or north terrace, the summit of which was reached after a rather steep climb of three hours ; but, as bad luck would have it, a snowstorm overtook us, and we could not enjoy the view, which is said to be very fine, reaching even to the sea-on the east, and to the Gobi on the north. We found the height by boiling-point thermometer to be 10,013 feet, while two aneroids read at the same time, after all correction had been made, gave 10,050 feet.
I had hoped to find here some manuscripts in Indian characters, for I had read in the history of the Wu-t’ai shan that, “ in the reign of Yung-lo of the Ming, the Emperor sent an official called Hou hsien and a lama whose title was that of Ta-chih Fa-wang to the Western regions to look for Buddhist sacred works. They procured a copy of the Indian (Fan) books on palm leaves, and brought it back to the Emperor, who had the Fan-ching ch’ang, or Depot of Indian classics, engrave the text on copper plates, and sent the first copy printed to the P’u-sa ting at Wu-t’ai.” However, I could hear of no book in Indian script, nor did I see any inscription in Indian characters of any great antiquity. As my stay was much shorter than I could have wished, some future pilgrim may be more fortunate than I, and may unearth in one of the many temples of this famous place some paleographic treasures.
The number of lamas at Wu-t’ai is said to be about five thousand. They are under the temporal control of a Dzassak lama, who lives in the P’u-sa ting, and, like all of their cloth in China, are not subject to the secular arm.
The road back to Peking led down the valley of the Wu-t’ai and over the Ch’ang-ch’eng ling, or “ Great wall pass ” (4925 feet), which marks the boundary between the provinces of Shan-hsi and Chih-li, and also the end of the holy Wu-t’ai district. On the pass we came once more to the great wall, which I was surprised to find of stone, with brickwork only where it had been repaired. It extended but a little way on either side of the pass, and near the gate was about eighteen feet high and ten feet across the top, which was stone-paved. At the eastern base of the hill we came to the Lung-chüan kuan, or “ Dragonspring barrier,” where we stopped for the night.
Three days and a half after leaving Wu-t’ai we reached Pao-ting Fu, the capital of the metropolitan province, after traveling through a well-cultivated but unattractive country, Pao-ting is a bustling, ugly place, with narrow, dirty streets, and stands in the midst of the fertile but horribly monotonous and flat plain of eastern Chih-li.
The journey from Pao-ting to Peking took us three days and a half. When about eight miles from the capital, we again crossed the Hun ho, which we had left before reaching Kalgan, by the famous Lu-kou chiao, the bridge which Marco Polo says “ is so fine that it has very few equals.” It is built of sandstone, and has a balustrade of stone slabs with low pillars supporting them every few feet, and on top of each pillar is a sculptured lion. The bridge is about seven hundred feet long, and three carts can cross it abreast. The Chinese say that no one has ever been able to count the sculptured lions on the parapets of the bridge, so of course I had to try if I could. I counted one hundred and forty-two on the tops of the pillars on one side ; but there were many other diminutive ones on the backs, between the legs, and under the feet of the larger, and the Chinese appear to be safe in their belief, so far as the common traveler is concerned.
From the Hun ho a broad causeway, paved with flagstones, leads to Peking, but, like all highroads in China, it is left in such bad repair that travelers give it a wide berth. Away to our right we saw the walls of the great hunting-park, and before us, half lost in the haze which at this season hangs like a pall over the Peking plain, shone the blue and yellow tiled roofs of the Temple of Heaven and the palaces in the great city, and higher even than these rose the towers surmounting the city gates. The traffic along the highway grew denser as we neared the capital, and we now had to pick our way slowly through long lines of coal-laden camels, creaking wheelbarrows hidden under huge loads of crockery or vegetables, and half-naked coolies bending under their heavy burdens, or beside beggars groveling in the dust. Finally we were swept with the human stream under the city gate, and once more we were in the midst of Peking, its vile smells, its teeming streets, its noisy people, and its shabby greatness.
William Woodville Rockhill.
Or Great Wu-t’ai (Ta Wu-t’ai), in opposition to the Little (Hoiao) Wu-t’ai, situated near Peking.↩
Père Gerbillon, who visited Kalgan in 1688 and in 1696, calls it Hia-pon, reserving the name Tchang-kia-keon for the gate in the great wall just behind the town. See Du Halde, Description de l’Empire de la Chine, iv. 90, 337.↩
See an interesting paper in vol. xx. of the Journal of the China branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, pp. 26-50, on The Prevalence of Infanticide in China. Also Père Amiot’s paper in Mém. concernant les Chinois, vi. 320331.↩
Père Gerbillon, coming from Mongolia in the suite of the Emperor K’ang-hsi, saw these temples in 1696. The Emperor himself measured with one of the father’s half-circles the biggest image, and found it to be fifty-seven Chinese feet high, or sixty-one feet nine inches of our measure. Du Halde, Description, iv. 352.↩
Pére Gerbillon, who was at Ta-t’ung in 1697, says that a great deal of soap was made there “ with a kind of nitre which comes out of the ground in great abundance.” Du Halde, Description, iv. 357.↩