As we came to the monastery we left the automobile and dipped intothe labyrinth of narrow alleyways until at last we were before thegreatest temple of Urga with the Tibetan walls and windows and itspretentious Chinese roof. A single lantern burned at the entrance.
The heavy gate with the bronze and iron trimmings was shut. Whenthe General struck the big brass gong hanging by the gate,frightened monks began running up from all directions and, seeingthe "General Baron," fell to the earth in fear of raising theirheads.
"Get up," said the Baron, "and let us into the Temple!"The inside was like that of all Lama temples, the same multi-colored flags with the prayers, symbolic signs and the images ofholy saints; the big bands of silk cloth hanging from the ceiling;the images of the gods and goddesses. On both sides of theapproach to the altar were the low red benches for the Lamas andchoir. On the altar small lamps threw their rays on the gold andsilver vessels and candlesticks. Behind it hung a heavy yellowsilk curtain with Tibetan inscriptions. The Lamas drew the curtainaside. Out of the dim light from the flickering lamps graduallyappeared the great gilded statue of Buddha seated in the GoldenLotus. The face of the god was indifferent and calm with only asoft gleam of light animating it. On either side he was guarded bymany thousands of lesser Buddhas brought by the faithful asofferings in prayer. The Baron struck the gong to attract GreatBuddha's attention to his prayer and threw a handful of coins intothe large bronze bowl. And then this scion of crusaders who hadread all the philosophers of the West, closed his eyes, placed hishands together before his face and prayed. I noticed a blackrosary on his left wrist. He prayed about ten minutes. Afterwardshe led me to the other end of the monastery and, during ourpassage, said to me:
"I do not like this temple. It is new, erected by the Lamas whenthe Living Buddha became blind. I do not find on the face of thegolden Buddha either tears, hopes, distress or thanks of thepeople. They have not yet had time to leave these traces on theface of the god. We shall go now to the old Shrine of Prophecies."This was a small building, blackened with age and resembling atower with a plain round roof. The doors stood open. At bothsides of the door were prayer wheels ready to be spun; over it aslab of copper with the signs of the zodiac. Inside two monks, whowere intoning the sacred sutras, did not lift their eyes as weentered. The General approached them and said:
"Cast the dice for the number of my days!"The priests brought two bowls with many dice therein and rolledthem out on their low table. The Baron looked and reckoned withthem the sum before he spoke:
"One hundred thirty! Again one hundred thirty!"Approaching the altar carrying an ancient stone statue of Buddhabrought all the way from India, he again prayed. As day dawned, wewandered out through the monastery, visited all the temples andshrines, the museum of the medical school, the astrological towerand then the court where the Bandi and young Lamas have their dailymorning wrestling exercises. In other places the Lamas werepractising with the bow and arrow. Some of the higher Lamasfeasted us with hot mutton, tea and wild onions. After we returnedto the yurta I tried to sleep but in vain. Too many differentquestions were troubling me. "Where am I? In what epoch am Iliving?" I knew not but I dimly felt the unseen touch of somegreat idea, some enormous plan, some indescribable human woe.
After our noon meal the General said he wanted to introduce me tothe Living Buddha. It is so difficult to secure audience with theLiving Buddha that I was very glad to have this opportunity offeredme. Our auto soon drew up at the gate of the red and white stripedwall surrounding the palace of the god. Two hundred Lamas inyellow and red robes rushed to greet the arriving "Chiang Chun,"General, with the low-toned, respectful whisper "Khan! God ofWar!" As a regiment of formal ushers they led us to a spaciousgreat hall softened by its semi-darkness. Heavy carved doorsopened to the interior parts of the palace. In the depths of thehall stood a dais with the throne covered with yellow silkcushions. The back of the throne was red inside a gold framing; ateither side stood yellow silk screens set in highly ornamentedframes of black Chinese wood; while against the walls at eitherside of the throne stood glass cases filled with varied objectsfrom China, Japan, India and Russia. I noticed also among them apair of exquisite Marquis and Marquises in the fine porcelain ofSevres. Before the throne stood a long, low table at which eightnoble Mongols were seated, their chairman, a highly esteemed oldman with a clever, energetic face and with large penetrating eyes.
His appearance reminded me of the authentic wooden images of theBuddhist holymen with eyes of precious stones which I saw at theTokyo Imperial Museum in the department devoted to Buddhism, wherethe Japanese show the ancient statues of Amida, Daunichi-Buddha,the Goddess Kwannon and the jolly old Hotei.
This man was the Hutuktu Jahantsi, Chairman of the MongolianCouncil of Ministers, and honored and revered far beyond thebournes of Mongolia. The others were the Ministers--Khans and theHighest Princes of Khalkha. Jahantsi Hutuktu invited Baron Ungernto the place at his side, while they brought in a European chairfor me. Baron Ungern announced to the Council of Ministers throughan interpreter that he would leave Mongolia in a few days and urgedthem to protect the freedom won for the lands inhabited by thesuccessors of Jenghiz Khan, whose soul still lives and calls uponthe Mongols to become anew a powerful people and reunite again intoone great Mid-Asiatic State all the Asian kingdoms he had ruled.
The General rose and all the others followed him. He took leave ofeach one separately and sternly. Only before Jahantsi Lama he bentlow while the Hutuktu placed his hands on the Baron's head andblessed him. From the Council Chamber we passed at once to theRussian style house which is the personal dwelling of the LivingBuddha. The house was wholly surrounded by a crowd of red andyellow Lamas; servants, councilors of Bogdo, officials, fortunetellers, doctors and favorites. From the front entrance stretcheda long red rope whose outer end was thrown over the wall beside thegate. Crowds of pilgrims crawling up on their knees touch this endof the rope outside the gate and hand the monk a silken hatyk or abit of silver. This touching of the rope whose inner end is in thehand of the Bogdo establishes direct communication with the holy,incarnated Living God. A current of blessing is supposed to flowthrough this cable of camel's wool and horse hair. Any Mongol whohas touched the mystic rope receives and wears about his neck a redband as the sign of his accomplished pilgrimage.
I had heard very much about the Bogdo Khan before this opportunityto see him. I had heard of his love of alcohol, which had broughton blindness, about his leaning toward exterior western culture andabout his wife drinking deep with him and receiving in his namenumerous delegations and envoys.
In the room which the Bogdo used as his private study, where twoLama secretaries watched day and night over the chest thatcontained his great seals, there was the severest simplicity. On alow, plain, Chinese lacquered table lay his writing implements, acase of seals given by the Chinese Government and by the Dalai Lamaand wrapped in a cloth of yellow silk. Nearby was a low easychair, a bronze brazier with an iron stovepipe leading up from it;on the walls were the signs of the swastika, Tibetan and Mongolianinscriptions; behind the easy chair a small altar with a goldenstatue of Buddha before which two tallow lamps were burning; thefloor was covered with a thick yellow carpet.
When we entered, only the two Lama secretaries were there, for theLiving Buddha was in the small private shrine in an adjoiningchamber, where no one is allowed to enter save the Bogdo Khanhimself and one Lama, Kanpo-Gelong, who cares for the templearrangements and assists the Living Buddha during his prayers ofsolitude. The secretary told us that the Bogdo had been greatlyexcited this morning. At noon he had entered his shrine. For along time the voice of the head of the Yellow Faith was heard inearnest prayer and after his another unknown voice came clearlyforth. In the shrine had taken place a conversation between theBuddha on earth and the Buddha of heaven--thus the Lamas phrased itto us.
"Let us wait a little," the Baron proposed. "............