the walls, betrayed by points and rims of light, reflected
here and there from the projections and edges
of golden draperies or features. The smell is abominable.
The air is exhausted and charged with rancid
vapours. Everything one touches drips with grease.
The fumes of burning butter have in the course of many
generations filmed over the surfaces and clogged the
carving of doors and walls alike. The floor underfoot
is slippery as glass. Upon this receptive foundation
the grime and reek of centuries have steadily descended,
with results that may be imagined. Except that the
images themselves apparently receive from time to
time a perfunctory wipe with the greasy rag which
is generally to be found in a conspicuous place beside
a Tibetan altar, there is not in one of these numerous
chapels the slightest sign of consideration, respect, or care.
‘ One comes out again into the open air with relief,
only to find, three or four yards on, the entrance to
another of these catacomb-like chapels. They entirely
surround the walls of this interior court, and to the
eye of the stranger hardly differ one from another.
Indeed, the monks themselves when questioned seem
to find some difficulty in distinguishing the identity
of the images in the successive chapels. In front of
some of these recesses hangs a curtain of a curious
kind, peculiar, so far as I know, to this temple. Horses’
bits, of steel and of a plain pattern, are linked together
ring to ring by short lengths of twisted iron, the whole
fo rm in g an original and effective screen. This is
secured to the left-hand jamb by a long bolt and staple,
and the whole is fastened by one of the gigantic locks
which are adopted from China, and are perhaps the
most ingenious product of the country.
‘ The centre of the court is taken up by an inner
sanctuary formed on three sides by low shelves, covered
with small brass Buddhas backed by larger images
arranged between the pillars supporting the roof of
the half-roof, and on the fourth side by a plain trellis
or iron pierced by a similar plain gateway. From inside,
therefore, none of the chapels or the statues ranged
along the walls of the court are visible, and the darkness
thereby caused under the portico is greatly increased
by the half-drawn awnings, of which the ropes
slant downwards across the opening, and form perches
for a special colony of orange and purple swallows, whose
nests cling up to the overhanging eaves.
‘ In this central court two statues sit, one— that
to the left— is about life size, the other is of gigantic
proportions. Both of them present the same pecu-
liarity— one which cannot fail to arrest the eye at once.
4 Each is seated upon a throne in European fashion,
and this identifies them at once. Of all the Bodisats,
heroes, or teachers which fill the calendars of Lamaism,
only the image of the coming Buddha is thus represented.
How this tradition arose the lamas themselves
are unable to explain, but it is of great antiquity,
and it is to Europe that the eyes of Buddhism are
turned for the appearance of the next reincarnation
of the Great Master. As will be remembered, the
Tzar of Russia was recently recognized as a reincarnate
Bodisat,* and it is not impossible that this legend paved
the way considerably for his acceptance. Crowned
with a huge circlet set with innumerable turquoises,
Maitreya sits here with one hand raised in benediction,
* Kawaguchi, the Japanese traveller, says that he has been identified as “ Ze
Zongawa.” This, in O’Connor’s opinion, is merely a misreading of Tsong-kapa.
V O L . I I . 2 0 ^