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A Tale of Two Stūpas: Diverging Paths in the Revival of Buddhism in China
Albert Welter
https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780197606636.001.0001
Published: 2022 Online ISBN: 9780197606667 Print ISBN: 9780197606636
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Subject: Buddhism
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Preface
My association with Hangzhou began as a graduate student, doing research
for a dissertation on Yongming Yanshou 永明延壽 (904–975). Trained
as a textual scholar with an eye toward the intricacies of doctrinal debates
and scriptural subtleties, I paid less attention to the physical settings that
Yanshou’s life and work were situated in, even as I was fascinated with the
context that nurtured him. Besides, there was not much to see in the decade
following the Cultural Revolution, a punctuation mark to the long decades
of devastation and neglect that saddened the heart of anyone with a keen in-
terest in the past. Like the proverbial phoenix, the presumably dead embers
reignited from the ashes and Chinese Buddhism, however circumscribed by
government directives, Hangzhou Buddhism represents one of the most vi-
brant Buddhist traditions in the world today. During my increasingly fre-
quent trips to China, and especially to Hangzhou, in recent years, it occurred
to me that the regional dimensions of Hangzhou Buddhism were worth
exploring in their own right, not simply as episodes in a larger narrative of
Chinese Buddhism. A Tale of Two Stūpas represents the fruition of my efforts
to come to terms with Hangzhou Buddhism, the importance of its past and
the vitality of its resurgence.
The current work may be viewed as initial results of the Hangzhou Region
and the Chinese Creation of an East Asian Buddhism, or more simply, the
Hangzhou Buddhist Culture Project. My debts to this project are broad
and wide-ranging. First and foremost, I would like to thank the Khyentse
Foundation, which provided (and continues to provide) substantial support
for the Hangzhou Buddhist Culture Project. In particular, I am grateful to
Cangioli Che, executive director, who early on expressed keen interest in the
project. Sydney Jay, research director, has also continued to enthusiastically
support the project. The project originated in a seed grant sponsored by an
International Research and Program Development grant from the Office of
Research, Discovery & Innovation at the University of Arizona. The success
of the project has also been incumbent upon the participation of our Chinese
partners, Zhejiang University, particularly Feng Guodeng, and Zhongguo
Jiliang University, particularly Qiu Gaoxing. In addition, we have been
viii Preface
exceptionally fortunate to receive the support and hospitality of Lingyin

Monastery, whose abbot, Venerable Guangquan, also head of the Hangzhou
Buddhist Association, has taken a keen interest in the project. Guangquan’s
assistant, Venerable Hui Yang, has played an instrumental role in fostering
the smooth execution of project activities. The research undertaken for this
book, and for the Hangzhou Buddhist Culture Project more generally, would
scarcely be possible without all their support, for which I am truly grateful.
Closer to home, I am grateful to my colleague Jiang Wu, director of the
Center for Buddhist Studies at the University of Arizona, for his enthusiastic
support for the Hangzhou Buddhist Culture Project. Without his vision for
and embrace of its aims and aspirations, the contours of the project would be
far less ambitious. I am also grateful for the positive feedback from colleagues
when learning of the project. In particular, I thank Steven Heine, Jin Y. Park,
Daniel Stevenson, Daniel Getz, and Morten Schlütter. The list could be ex-
panded, and I apologize to anyone I have inadvertently neglected to men-
tion here. Many colleagues in China in addition to those already mentioned
have expressed support along the way, as have Mitsuya Dake at Ryūkoku
University in Kyoto and Thomas Kim at Dongguk University in Seoul. I look
forward to future collaborations.
The current manuscript benefited from the comments of outside reviewers
who made suggestions for improvement. I have tried to incorporate most of
these suggestions, and the finished product has been improved as a result. In
addition, three graduate students in my seminar on Hangzhou Buddhism,
Kai Sum Wong, Yi Liu, and Xinrui Zeng, read through an earlier draft of the
manuscript and made useful suggestions for amending it. I am grateful for
the close reading they gave it, which helped catch some infelicitous errors.
Needless to say, any errors that remain are mine alone.
Finally, I would like to thank the editorial staff at Oxford University Press.
Executive Editor Cynthia Read and her staff are consummate professionals
and always a pleasure to work with.
1
Introduction: Buddhist Relic Veneration,
Buddhist Sites and Translocations, and
the Transformation of the Hangzhou/
Jiangnan Region into an Indian
Buddhist Homeland
When the World- Honored One proceeded toward the stūpa,

the top of the decaying stūpa radiated great beams of light in an
awe-inspiring flourish.
爾時世尊徑往塔所。時朽塔上放大光明赫然熾盛。
—The Precious Chest Seal Dhārani Sūtra
A Tale of Two Stūpas: Diverging Paths in the Revival of Buddhism in Hangzhou

China, as its title suggests, tells the story of Hangzhou Buddhism through
the conceptions, erections, and resurrections of Yongming Stūpa, dedicated
to the memory of one of Hangzhou’s leading Buddhist figures, and Leifeng
Pagoda, built to house stūpas of the historical Buddha’s remains.
While delving into the intricacies of these two sites, I have been partic-
ularly interested in their origins and their resurrections. What we find in
both cases is a history marked by grandeur and tragedy, of expected and
unexpected turns. Reconstructed, reactivated, and reasserted Yongming
Stūpa and Leifeng Pagoda have resumed meaningful places in the con-
temporary Hangzhou landscape. Their contemporary resurgences are by
no means the first. Both had suffered devastation before and endured long
periods of neglect. Yet both were resurrected (and re-resurrected) during the
course of their histories, a mark of the power of their endurance. How does
A Tale of Two Stūpas. Albert Welter, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197606636.003.0001
2 A Tale of Two Stūpas
this dynamic work, and what does it tell us about the nature of Hangzhou
Buddhism, if not Chinese Buddhism more generally?
One aspect of the current study that distinguishes it is its “vertical” anal-
ysis. By this I mean an examination of my subjects by way of something akin
to geological core sampling. Normally, scholars of Buddhism, and religion
more generally, tend to focus on particular figures and texts, and thus the
frame of reference is circumscribed by the era that the figure and text oper-
ated in, to unravel the associated meanings and significance. Sometimes we
also entertain the reception of the figure, text, or ideas in later periods to em-
phasize their enduring significance, but usually the main focus remains the
provenance the subjects emanated from, a horizontal analysis that looks out-
ward (and perhaps inward) to fix the meaning of the subject in a particular
time and place. Even as we shift our attention beyond the “great man” and
“great book” model and entertain a wider spectrum of phenomena, we rarely
enlarge our scope beyond a particular temporal frame. And for good reason!
Temporal frames provide the most meaningful analysis of how particular
phenomena operated in specific contexts. As our attentions expand out-
ward, we run the risk of losing the thread and getting lost in a mass of detail,
trying, often futilely, to recover a meaningful theme. Already in the Chinese
Buddhist context we have until recent decades struggled to get beyond grand
national narratives that privilege capital elites. How can we capture the dy-
namics of Chinese Buddhist phenomena that avoid the stigma of elitism and
still give us a comprehensiveness that goes beyond highly circumscribed pe-
riodization? I am not suggesting that the “core sampling” approach is the sole
answer to questions far too complex to remedy with a single method. I am
suggesting, however, that core sampling may be a useful tool in our box of
methods to enhance our understanding of aspects of Chinese Buddhist dy-
namism, to taste the richness of a tradition through specific analysis of dif-
ferent eras of the extracted “core.” When we do a historically circumscribed
investigation around a specific core site, we acquire data regarding when the
site was active and the kind of activities that the site attracted. Limited as
we are by what information our sources yield, the stories we tell are struc-
tured around this available data. Vertical investigation allows for explora-
tion of different dynamics than horizontal ones. Vertical examinations invite
discussions about resiliency and about periods of dynamism interspersed
with repression and stagnancy. These discussions bring us closer to under-
standing the dynamics of Buddhism in China––perpetuated through cycles
of stagnancy, repression, and resurgence.
Introduction 3
Sites currently active and relevant tend to draw our attention, as is the case
here. But it is possible to choose sites that are no longer functioning. This
would have been the case with Leifeng Pagoda had this study been attempted
in the previous century, when it lay in rubble beneath the overgrowth along
West Lake, or in the case of the Zhaoqing Monastery 昭慶寺, historically
one of the four prominent monasteries of Hangzhou (along with Lingyin 靈
隱, Jingci 淨慈, and Haichao 海潮 monasteries) and now subsumed within
the Hangzhou Children’s Palace park along the shores of West Lake, its traces
virtually undetectable but for historical sources. Because core sampling is re-
stricted to a specific place, it is by definition regional. In fact, it is arguably
even more specific as it pertains to a very spatially restricted geographical
area within a region. The region that sites operate in, however, remains the
meaningful context for analysis.1
In this volume, I look to apply this “core sampling” approach by looking at
two specific sites in the Hangzhou region: the Yongming Stūpa and Leifeng
Pagoda. In carrying out my analysis, I use three further methods of ap-
proach: Buddhist relic veneration, Buddhist sites and institutions, and re-
gional approaches to Buddhism.
Buddhist Relic Veneration
The endurance of Yongming Stūpa and Leifeng Pagoda is a testimony to a

strong tradition of relic worship in Buddhism.2 The worship of relics is a well-
established practice in the history of religions, documented across many
traditions. Medieval Christianity, for example, shared many of the features
of the polytheistic religions that prevailed for many centuries before Christ,
including the creation of an altar or shrine over the body of a hero.3 Even
though Muslims regard human bodies as impure, requiring cleansing rituals
for those coming in contact with them, the bodies of the “special dead,” such
as the Prophet Muhammad, martyrs, and righteous individuals, are deemed
incorruptible and are worshiped in shrines, a practice that became norma-
tive throughout the Islamic world.4 Although relatively uncommon in the
Hindu tradition, relics of deceased saints are viewed as truly living entities.5
The veneration of the Buddha’s physical remains is a common feature
throughout the Buddhist world, even though it was long regarded as an ab-
erration from a doctrinal perspective based on the Buddha’s teachings of
“no-self ” and “nonattachment.” In spite of this, the Buddha’s relics (śarīra)
were gathered after his cremation and distributed among several kings, who
built stūpa mounds to house them in. So valuable were these that a “war of
the relics,” a competition for the most valuable portions of the cremated re-
mains––typically teeth and intact bone fragments––was narrowly avoided
at their dispersion.6 These stūpa mounds became important pilgrimage
destinations for believers and a focus for lay and monastic piety, especially
since physical replications of the Buddha’s body (i.e., statues or paintings)
were not made in the early tradition. As Sem Vermeersch has noted, although
relic cults in Buddhism have traditionally been interpreted as a concession
to the needs of lay practitioners, an increasing number of studies reveal
that relics have played an important role in the Buddhist religion and that
practices regarding relics demonstrate great diversity, necessitating complex
doctrinal explanations to serve as strategies for incorporating the relic cult
into mainstream Buddhist practice.7
As the dispersion of the Buddha’s relics among eight kings following his
cremation indicates, the possession of relics became especially important
in establishing and maintaining political legitimacy. This association be-
tween “managing” the Buddha’s remains and political legitimacy gained
further momentum when the Indian king of the Maurya dynasty, Aśoka,
collected the dispersed relics and allegedly enshrined them in eighty-four
thousand reliquaries and magically dispersed them throughout the world,
including China, and established his claim as a cakravartin 轉輪聖王, lit-
erally a wheel-turning sage king, an ideal, universal, enlightened ruler, who
ushers in a reign of justice and peace in the world.8 In the Indian tradition
prior to Buddhism, the concept referred to a sage, benevolent, and just ruler,
a mythical vision of the perfect king, who is able to rule by righteousness
rather than by force. In Buddhism, not only is the ruler’s sagely acumen and
magnanimity rooted in Buddhist teaching; it is also possessed of a Buddhaʼs
wisdom and compassion.
While the evidence for Aśoka’s dispersion of stūpas to China was alleg-
edly destroyed in Qin Emperor Shihuangdi’s campaign to rid his empire of
rival teachings,9 Daoxuan 道宣 (596–667) listed over twenty of King Aśoka
stūpas in China in his Collection of Inspired Responses of the Three Treasures
in Shenzhou (i.e., China) (Ji Shenzhou Sanbao gantong lu 集神州三寶感通
錄), or simply Record of Inspired Responses (Gantong lu 感通錄).10 One of
the characteristics of stūpa relics is an ability to emit light, a symbolic affirm-
ation of the enlightened nature of the Buddha that still resides in his remains.
Through such emission, the stūpas are able to be rediscovered, even after
Introduction 5
becoming buried and obscured over a long period of time. The first stūpa
on Daoxuan’s list, the Kuaiji Mao County Stūpa 會稽鄮縣塔, a reference to
the Precious Stūpa of (the Buddha’s) Remains at the King Aśoka Monastery
on Mount Mao 鄮山阿育王寺舍利寶塔 (in Mingzhou, contemporary
Ningbo), was rediscovered in this way. Daoxuan recounts the tale of a man
named Liu Sahe 劉薩訶, active during the reign of Emperor Wu (r. 265–290)
of the Jin dynasty.11 When instructed to repent his past misdeeds in front of
Aśokan stūpas to avoid rebirth in hell, he eventually arrived at Kuaiji, where
he heard the sound of a bell beneath the ground that made a deep impression
on him. On the third day, the Precious Stūpa burst forth, radiating dazzling
rays of light.12
The Mount Mao Aśoka Stūpa became an important Buddhist monument
in the region, one that the Wuyue ruler Qian Chu 錢俶 (King Zhongyi 忠懿
王; r. 947–978), a main protagonist in our Tale of Two Stūpas, readily engaged
with. In emulation of Aśoka, Qian Chu set out to frame his own territory as a
Buddha-land (foguo 佛國) by creating and dispersing eighty-four thousand
miniature stūpas throughout the realm. The Leifeng Pagoda was erected to
house stūpas created by Qian Chu, to help realize this quest.
Through the custom of manufacturing the Buddha’s śarīra as beads,
crystals, precious stones, or other items, there was no danger posed by the
otherwise finite nature of his material remains.13 In cases where the physi-
cality of alleged bodily remains proved restrictive, Mahayana Buddhist tradi-
tion determined that Buddha’s relics could be constituted in ways other than
rūpa-kāya (seshen 色身) physical remains to include dharma-kāya (fashen
法身) doctrinal remains, as captured in his recorded teachings. Dharma-
kāya remains are even more infinite, limited only by the capacity to make
copies of the Buddha’s teachings, and were greatly enhanced by advances
in printing technology which allowed for quick and massive reproductions
of manuscripts. In this context Qian Chu printed an alleged eighty-four
thousand copies of an esoteric text, the Precious Chest Seal Dhāraṇī Sūtra,
containing a formula for recitation, to be deposited in stūpas and pagodas
throughout his realm. (A discussion of the Precious Chest Seal Dhāraṇī Sūtra,
is included in Chapter 4 and a translation in Appendix 2.)
The Yongming Stūpa also exhibits the adaptability and malleability
of the tradition of relic veneration in Buddhism. Just as the Buddha was
born into the world as a human being, Siddhartha Gautama, and achieved
Buddhahood as Śākyamuni; just as Sudhana (Shancai 善財), the pro-
tagonist in the Gaṇḍavyūha, “Entering the Dharma Realm” section (Ru
fajie pin 入法界品) of the Flower Adornment Sūtra (Huayan jing 華嚴經,
Avataṃsaka Sūtra), completed his heroic fifty-two-stage pilgrimage through
various lands with various teachers, ending in his attainment of the ulti-
mate truth; so did the Chinese Buddhist monk Yongming Yanshou repre-
sent the epic human struggle to achieve the pinnacle of realization. Indeed,
both the lives of Śākyamuni, as represented through jataka tales, and depic-
tion of Sudhana’s epic quest became regular features depicted in Hangzhou
Buddhism. Scenes from Śākyamuni’s former lives were used by Qian Chu,
for example, as subjects depicted on the four sides of the square-shaped
platforms of the Aśoka-style stūpas he constructed.14 Sudhana’s story was
also commonly represented in Hangzhou Buddhism, evident in both the re-
mains unearthed from the Leifeng Pagoda excavation site and the Feilaifeng
grottoes of Buddhist sculptures.15 The important difference between the
depictions of the likes of Śākyamuni and Sudhana, on the one hand, and
Yongming Yanshou, on the other, is that the former were examples from
India and depicted in Indian Buddhist scriptures, while Yanshou came to
represent a native-born Chinese Buddha who produced writings and was
known through a growing body of legends in China.
Yongming Yanshou became a vehicle for the “human being as Buddha”
motif, a kind of Buddhist apotheosis, that became popular in Hangzhou.
Through a model based in real life events, Yanshou became a subject of in-
tense image-making, to emerge as an emissary for rebirth in Amitābha’s Pure
Land, and eventually regarded as an emanation of Amitābha himself. In sum,
a revered Buddhist teacher and practitioner became a Pure Land Patriarch,
a bodhisattva or Buddhist saint, and ultimately the Buddha Amitābha him-
self. The lesson is clear: Buddha did not appear only in India––his manifes-
tation also became a reality in Hangzhou. Moreover, Yanshou’s case is not
unique in Hangzhou. The Hangzhou region was characterized by suggestive
identifications of its residents with Buddhas and commanding Buddhist fig-
ures. Yanshou as manifestation of Amitābha was preceded by the legend of
a local itinerant monk named Qici 契此 (late ninth to early tenth centuries)
from Fenghua 奉化 (present-day Ningbo), who allegedly became known
as a manifestation of Maitreya, as Budai (Sack-Cloth) Maitreya 布袋彌勒
(discussed in greater detail below).16 There is also the later example of Ji
Gong 濟公, or Chan Master Daoji 道濟禪師 (1130–1209), who was declared
an incarnate bodhisattva or one of the Eighteen Arhats famed in the region
as Mahākāśyapa, the Xianglong (Subduing the Dragon) Arhat 降龍羅漢.17
This tendency compelled Qing Zhang to assert, “By the late Southern Song
Introduction 7
period, people believed that many Buddhist deities had appeared in various
incarnations in China and that many Chinese monks who lived in the Song
or earlier periods had been incarnations of Buddhist deities.”18
The story of Yongming’s stūpa is as compelling as the legends associ-
ated with the man himself. After the development of the Yongming Stūpa
cult in the Song dynasty, Yanshou’s memory was forgotten and his remains
discarded, only to have them recovered and his stūpa resurrected in the late
Ming dynasty, when his identity as Amitābha became pronounced.19 Without
this remarkable resurgence, it is unlikely there would be any Yongming Stūpa
or veneration of Yanshou today.
Buddhist Sites and Translocations
In recent decades there has been a slow but steady evolution in Buddhist
studies from ideological foci centered on textual and doctrinal studies to
practical matters concerning what Buddhists actually did as opposed to
what they said they did. Included in the latter is a shift toward Buddhist
material culture, items retrieved through archaeological excavations, stele
inscriptions, information revealed through frontispieces and postfaces,
images produced in stone and other media, productions of objects and
utensils used in rituals and monastic life, mechanisms associated with the
printing and dissemination of texts, and so on. The sites around which this
production of material objects occurred, not to mention the intellectual ac-
tivities and practices conducted at them, have received less attention.
Jinhua Chen notes that Buddhist sites and sacred places are connected
with the Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and other deities, and with leading figures
noted for their roles in the development of the religion, and I agree that it
would be hard to exaggerate the special significance these have for a trans-
cultural religion such as Buddhism, which originated in India and spread
through the whole of East Asia via Central Asia.20 Hangzhou and its envi-
rons proved ripe territory for such translocations. As Chen further notes,
“The spread of Buddhism in Asia may be viewed from one perspective as
a protracted and complex process in which numerous sacred sites were
created and recreated in different cultural settings. The story of Buddhism
increasingly penetrating into all levels of society in Asia is mirrored by an-
other narrative in which some of the most sacred sites––both historical and
legendary––in India were reproduced in other parts of the world.”21 This
process of forming and reformulating a Buddhist sacred geography was

not simple, but one that entailed complex cultural adjustments, inventions,
and reinventions. Moreover, as important as this process was, its dynamics
have yet to be subjected to close analyses. Studies that have been undertaken
have focused their attention on China’s four sacred Buddhist mountains (or
marchmounts, sida mingshan 四大名山)––Wutai 五臺, Emei 峨眉, Putuo
普陀, and Jiuhua 九華––a nd others, like Mount Song 嵩山, home to the
famed Shaolin Monastery 少林寺.22 My study, looking at stūpas as sacred
sites, hopes to expand the narrative of Buddhist sacred geography, its cul-
tural adjustments, inventions, and reinventions, and the dynamics involved
in these processes.
The Transformation of the Hangzhou/Jiangnan Region

into an Indian Buddhist Homeland
Chinese Buddhism is usually surveyed in its entirety, in terms of a geo-

graphic unit labeled “China,” but is in fact a function of its regions.23 Even
the contours of Chinese Buddhist regional designations have yet to be de-
termined with certainty, especially as these may fluctuate over time and vary
in terms of their geographical extent.24 Researchers apply discipline-specific
criteria to mark their regions: geographical boundaries such as rivers and
river basins, mountain ranges and seas; climatological patterns; linguistic
usages and variations; spheres of cultural influences; and so on. A regional
approach to Chinese Buddhism beyond provincial boundaries might in-
clude the following: northern (Chang’an, Luoyang, and Beijing in the later
imperial period), southwest (Chengdu, Sichuan), northwest (Dunhuang and
Gansu), southeast (Jiangnan), and south (Fujian and Guangdong). Perhaps
the most stable of these unstable regions is Jiangnan 江南, literally “south of
the [Yangzi/Yangtse] river,” and normally indicative of a large area in south-
eastern China including the areas south of the middle and lower reaches of
the Yangzi River basin, the southern part of Jiangsu Province, the south-
eastern part of Anhui Province, the northern part of Jiangxi Province, and
the northern part of Zhejiang Province. A term in use from ancient times, it
was included among the nine provinces of China 九州 in the pre-Qin era and
has been a constantly evolving designation for, at times, a more expanded
area, typically veering farther to the south. For many centuries and at least
since Wuyue established its territory in the late ninth century, Hangzhou (or
Introduction 9
its former iterations as Qiantang 錢塘 and Lin’an 臨安) has served as the re-
gional center of Jiangnan.25
The homeland of Buddhism was originally inspired by the geographical
locations of important junctures that figured prominently in the life and ca-
reer of Siddhartha Gautama, who became known as Śākyamuni Buddha. The
junctures are conventionally listed as eight and include the following:
1. Descent from Tuṣita heaven 降兜率

2. Entry into motherʼs womb 託胎
3. Birth from motherʼs side 降生
4. Leaving home to engage in spiritual training 出家
5. Subduing demons 降魔
6. Attaining enlightenment 成道
7. Turning the Dharma-wheel 轉法輪
8. Entering final nirvāna 入滅
Buddhist pilgrims frequented sites associated with these junctures (e.g., the
Buddha’s birthplace at Lumbinī, the site of enlightenment at Bodh Gaya, the
site of his first sermon at Sarnath, the site of his death at Kushinagar), to form
a geographical area delimited by Śākyamuni’s life and career. The routes of
these pilgrims delineated the sacred homeland of the Buddha and the initial
idea of a Buddha-land, a land transformed by the presence of a Buddha.
According to Chinese Buddhist records, as mentioned earlier, Aśoka dis-
persed his stūpas throughout the world, including China, and these formed a
substratum of the Buddha’s sacred presence, residing in his relics, throughout
the land. Following the actual arrival of Buddhism in China during the Han
dynasty, evidence of Asoka’s dispersed stūpas in China began to be revealed.
The Kuaiji Mao ta in Ningbo became an important center for the Aśoka
cult in Wuyue. King Qian Chu emulated King Aśoka, vowing to create
eighty-four thousand stūpas throughout his land, and printed copies of
the dhāraṇī sutra, The Precious Chest Seal Dhāraṇī Sutra of the Whole Body
Relics Concealed in All Buddhas’ Minds (Yiqie rulai xin mimi quanshen
sheli baoqie yin tuoluoni jing 一切如来心秘密全身舍利宝篋印陀羅尼
經; Sarvatathāgatā dhiṣṭhāna hṛdayaguhya dhātukaraṇḍa mudra-nāma-
dhāraṇī-sūtra) to serve as Dharma-body śarīra to place inside the stūpas.26
According to the inscriptions found on unearthed pagodas, King Qian Chu
made two separate large-scale productions within a span of ten years. The
first one was eighty-four thousand bronze Aśoka Pagodas created during the
year yimao 乙卯 (the second year of the xiande era [955] of the Later Zhou
dynasty), the same year, ironically, Emperor Shizong mounted a major perse-
cution of Buddhism in the north (counted as one of four major persecutions
of Buddhism in Chinese history). The second major effort was when eighty-
four thousand iron Aśoka Pagodas were created in the year yichou 乙丑 (the
third year of the qiande era [965], during the reign of Emperor Taizu of the
Song dynasty).27
In sum, King Qian Chu evoked the Aśoka model to create a Buddha-land
in Wuyue. This was part of a growing association of the region with India
and the homeland of Buddhist culture. With this thriving association as a
base, Buddhists in the region began to confidently reimagine key aspects of
Buddhist culture that were adapted to its new homeland.28
The notion of the Buddha-land contained both geographical and idea-
tional aspects. It combined notions of the sacred with an actual scape, be it
a physical materialization on land or an imagined realm in the heavens. It
could, at times, integrate both, as when the Buddhas Maitreya and Amitābha
were believed to alight on earth, or when bodhisattvas like Avalokitêśvara
and Samantabhadra were believed to take up residence in a particular area.
Thus, the Buddha-land is tied to the idea of buddhakṣetra, a land or realm of
a Buddha in the process of transformation, or already transformed. In China,
the four sacred Buddhist mountains were designated as the abodes of fa-
mous bodhisattvas: Mañjuśri 文殊 on Wutai, Samantabhadra 普賢 on Emei,
Avalokitêśvara 觀音 on Putuo, and Kṣitigarbha 地藏 on Jiuhua. The legacy of
a Buddha-land had particular resonance in Wuyue.
Buddhist sites and other translocations from India played a vital role
in the reimagining of Hangzhou as the center of a Buddhist region, a new
Buddhist homeland that replicated and rivaled similar regions in India itself.
I have already touched upon one of the important elements in the transloca-
tion of Indian Buddhism to the greater Hangzhou region in my discussion
of the Aśoka stūpa 阿育王塔 located at the Aśoka Monastery 阿育王寺 in
Mingzhou 明州 (contemporary Ningbo). In sum, King Qian Chu evoked the
Aśoka model to create a Buddha-land in Wuyue. Through the dissemination
of miniature stūpas with the “relics” of Buddhist teaching, The Precious Chest
Seal Dhāraṇī Sutra, housed inside, the king was able to animate his kingdom
as a paradigmatic mesocosm and form a magical structural milieu to evoke
the presence of the Buddha in nirvāna.29 The kingdom becomes essentially
a kind of living stūpa, its territory marked by the resurrected remains of the
Buddha’s body.30 This was part of a growing association of the region with
Introduction 11
India and the homeland of Buddhist culture. With this thriving association
as a base, Buddhists in the region began to confidently equate the Buddhist
culture of the region with its Indian homeland.
Another aspect of the translocation is the relocation of landscapes asso-
ciated with sacred sites from India to Hangzhou. On the northern slope of
Feilaifeng 飛來峰 (The Peak That Came Flying [from India]), in niche 58
of the Yixiantian 一線天 wall,31 there is the Foguo 佛國 (Buddha-land) in-
scription that adequately summarizes the Wuyue propensity to define it-
self.32 Legends of the origins of Feilaifeng draw upon its direct connection to
India. The alleged “founder” was an Indian monk, known in China as Huili
慧理, who in 326 ce (during the Jin dynasty, 225–420 ce) visited Hangzhou
and became convinced that Feilaifeng was actually Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa
(Vulture’s Peak, Chn. Lingjiu feng 靈鷲峰). Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa is well-
known in Buddhist lore as the site of many of the Buddha’s most famous
sutras, including the Lotus Sūtra 法華經 and the “Flower Sermon” 世尊拈
花, where Śākyamuni held up a flower to the congregation in lieu of his usual
oral presentation and resulted in granting the “true Dharma-eye and mar-
velous mind of nirvāna” 正法眼藏涅槃妙心 to his disciple Mahākāśyapa.
The resemblance of Feilaifeng to Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa was affirmed by the
Indian monkeys who accompanied Huili, who recognized it from their
homeland and confirmed his suspicion. Although this legend persists and is
often repeated, there are no records linking Huili and Feilaifeng in Buddhist
historical texts prior to the Five Dynasties period.33 This suggests an attri-
bution conceived in the context of the Wuyue promotion of Buddhism. For
example, Qing Zhang points to the “Lingyin si beiji” 靈隱寺碑記 (Stele
Inscription of Lingyin Monastery) written around 986 by Luo Chuyue 羅
處約 (960–992) as an early record asserting that Huili identified the moun-
tain area in Hangzhou with Vulture Peak: “[This mountain is] a peak from
Vulture Peak. In what period [did it] come flying here?” (靈鷲之峰耳, 何代
飛来乎).34 From this period on, the name Feilaifeng was increasingly associ-
ated with the area.
This was but one of many of the associations made to India in Hangzhou.
The area also includes a series of monasteries in the hills surrounding
Feilaifeng, most prominently the Lingyin Monastery 靈隱寺, but also the
three Tianzhu 三天竺 monasteries, Shang (Upper) Tianzhu 上天竺 or Faxi
si 法喜寺 (Joy of the Dharma Monastery), Zhong (Middle) Tianzhu 中天
竺 or Fajing si 法靜寺 (Purity of the Dharma Monastery), and Xia (Lower)
Tianzhu or Fajing si 法鏡寺 (Mirror of the Dharma Monastery). As an old
name in Chinese for India, “Tianzhu” affirms the intimate association of the
area as a replica of (and substitute for) the Indian original. Even the name
for the central monastery, lingyin, usually translated literally as “the Soul’s
Retreat,” may be taken as an abbreviation for lingjiushan yinsi 靈鷲山隱寺,
“the Hidden Monastery of Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa (Vulture Peak),” that is, the
secret Indian homeland of the Buddha. Evidence for the association can be
found in a former name for Lower Tianzhu Monastery as Lingshan 靈山,
Mount Gṛdhrakūṭa (or Vulture Peak) Monastery.35 Another monastery in
the Feilaifeng area reflects this association even more explicitly. The Lingjiu
xingsheng si 靈鷲興聖寺 (Monastery of Flourishing Sages at Vulture Peak),
erected during the reign of King Qian Zuo 錢佐 of Wuyue (r. 941–947),
draws a direct connection to Mount Gridhrakuta/Vulture’s Peak.36 Antonio
Mezcua Lopéz observes that the theme of the Foguo or “Buddha-land” in
Hangzhou seems to unfold in three concentric movements: at a macro level,
it was associated with greater Hangzhou; on an intermediate level, with
the Lingyin and Tianzhu area; and at a micro level, restricted to Feilaifeng
Mountain itself.37 The need for redefinition of the space on a symbolic, re-
ligious, and political level was channeled through the image of the land as a
Foguo, extending throughout the whole city of Hangzhou, and arguably be-
yond, to the entire region.
In addition, there is the tradition of relocated arhat disciples of the Buddha
to the Hangzhou region. One of the distinctive features of Chan Buddhism
in the Hangzhou region was admiration of the exemplary practices of arhat
disciples of the Buddha Śākyamuni. On the surface, this admiration flies in
the face of Mahayana denigration of arhats as practitioners of a “lesser ve-
hicle,” indicative of their inferior wisdom and mistaking it as full attainment.
As human practitioners, however, Chan monks in their daily practice identi-
fied readily with the imagined trials and tribulations that arhats experienced.
Bodhisattvas, in comparison, were remote beings whose accomplishments
allowed them to wander freely throughout Buddhist worlds freed from
human toil, to perform miraculous interventions in response to human
needs. One can add depictions of the story of Sudhana (Shancai 善財), men-
tioned earlier as a bodhisattva practitioner whose example was popular
in the Hangzhou region. In addition, there was a tradition that four great
arhats––Mahākāśyapa, Kundopdhānīya, Pindola, and Rāhula––postponed
their nirvāna to stay in the world at the request of Śākyamuni, to protect the
law until the appearance of the future Buddha Maitreya.38 This made them
“arhats with bodhisattva characteristics” and positioned them as attractive
Introduction 13
models in the Chinese Chan context. The task of protecting the Dharma until
the arrival of Maitreya was assumed by all arhats as the cult developed fur-
ther to extend to sixteen, eighteen, and ultimately five hundred practitioners.
An area beyond the Stone Bridge (Shiqiao 石橋) on Mount Tiantai was
believed to be the actual residence of the Five Hundred Arhats during the
Song period, where they had miraculously decamped from India. According
to Wen Fong, by the early ninth century it was assumed that the five hundred
arhats lived there.39 The five-hundred-arhat tradition itself can be traced
back to India. Xuanzang 玄奘 (602–664), in the Datang xiyu ji 大唐西域記
(Record on the Western Countries of the Great Tang), described an Indian
tradition of five hundred arhats residing in the mountain Buddhavanagiri
near Rajagrha. Prior to Xuanzang, the compiler of the Gaoseng zhuan 高僧
傳 (Biographies of Eminent Monks), Huijiao 慧皎 (ca. 530), related how
the monk Tanyou 曇猷 (d. 390–396) visited Mount Tiantai and crossed
the Stone Bridge to meet holy monks (as shen seng 神僧, not explicitly
arhats). By the early ninth century, the identities of the monks took shape
as arhats, when Xu Lingfu 徐靈府 (active first half of ninth century) wrote
in the Tiantaishan ji 天臺山記 (Record of Mount Tiantai) about the arhats
above the rock bridge on Mount Tiantai. As a result, people of the region
came to believe that five hundred arhats lived on Mount Tiantai above the
Stone Bridge. In the Song gaoseng zhuan 宋高僧傳 (Biographies of Eminent
Monks Compiled in the Song) record of the Tiantai monk Pu’an 普安 (770–
843), Zanning 贊寧 mentions the existence of a cave on Mount Tiantai be-
yond the Stone Bridge where arhats secretly dwell. After Pu’an passed away,
his remains were interred in a stūpa on the mountain and a Five Hundred
Arhat Hall was erected. A Wuyue king, Qian Liu, frequently made offerings
to it, and a monastery was restored there in the early Song dynasty.40 By the
tenth century, the identity of the sacred monks as five hundred arhats was
well established.41 The Feilaifeng grottoes also provide evidence for the as-
cension of the arhat cult in the Hangzhou region. Because both arhats and
Chan patriarch-practitioners are essentially monks striving for attainment
based on their own human efforts, there are many commonalities between
them. This is reflected in depictions of them in artistic representations and
accounts for their popularity among Chan practitioners.42
There is also the tradition of incarnations of Buddhas and bodhisattvas
in Hangzhou. As reviewed earlier, these manifestations include the appear-
ance of Maitreya as Budai Mile in Fenghua. As mentioned, great arhat disci-
ples of the Buddha postponed their nirvāna to stay in the world at the request
of Śākyamuni, to protect the law until the appearance of the future Buddha
Maitreya. Maitreya also figured prominently in providing the ultimate revel-
atory vision to Sudhana in the Gaṇḍavyūha Sutra, when Maitreya opens the
door to his marvelous tower by snapping his fingers. Within the tower, Sudhana
experiences the realms of dharmadhatu in a succession of fantastic visions.43
The only niche carved during the Southern Song (niche 68) at Feilaifeng
is the one depicting the famous Budai (Cloth Sack) Maitreya 布袋彌勒
sculpture. It reveals Maitreya as an incarnation of a tenth-century figure
from the Fenghua 奉化 district of the Mingzhou (Ningbo) region from
the Wuyue Kingdom, an affable, plump, and eccentric Buddhist wanderer,
surrounded by eighteen arhats. Budai is the epitaph for the Chan monk Qici
契此, mentioned in the Zongjing lu 宗鏡錄, with biographical records in
the Song Gaoseng chuan 宋高僧傳 and Jingde Chuandeng lu 景德傳燈錄.44
Budai Maitreya also figured prominently in initiatives by leading Southern
Song Chan figures Dahui Zonggao 大慧宗杲 (1089–1163) and Hongzhi
Zhenghue 宏智正覺 (1091–1157), who sought to merge local legends with
the Buddhist tradition in the hopes of attracting people to Chan through
wider appeal to more popular characters.45 Bernard Faure points to Budai
as an example of “one strategy in Chan for domesticating the occult [by]
transforming thaumaturges into tricksters by playing down their occult
powers and stressing their this-worldly aspect.”46 My interest here, how-
ever, is drawn to the retinue of eighteen arhats. Depicting the arrival of the
future Buddha accompanied by Chan arhat practitioners suggests that the
transformation of Feilaifeng and by extension the greater Hangzhou region
(jiangnan 江南) into the Buddha-land of Maitreya has been realized––the
arhats assigned to await the coming of the future Buddha and transmit the
dharma to Maitreya have assembled around him––and the mission has been
accomplished.
Hangzhou as Buddhist Homeland: The Experience

of Myōan Eisai
As Hangzhou established itself as a new homeland of an imagined India in

China, it renewed itself as a center for Buddhism in East Asia. As a hub for
the wider dissemination of Buddhism, Hangzhou was greatly aided by a vi-
brant maritime trade throughout the region, most notable at the seaport at
Introduction 15
Mingzhou 明州 (Ningbo), through which frequent contacts were maintained

with Japan and Korea.47 Japanese monks, particularly of the Tendai 天台 and,
later, Zen 禪 schools, frequently participated in trade missions that brought
them to the Hangzhou region to renew or refresh their understanding of
Buddhism. The experience of Myōan Eisai (or Yōsai) 明庵榮西 (1141–1215)
is both representative of this tendency and instructive for illustrating trans-
formations in Buddhism in the Hangzhou region.48
Like many Tendai monks before him, including the Tendai founder Saichō
最澄 (767–822) and his successors Ennin 圓仁 (794–864) and Enchin 円
珍 (814–891),49 and those closer in time to Eisai, Chōnen 奝然 (938–1016),
Genshin 源信 (942–1017), Jōjin 成尋 (1011–1081), Kaikaku 戒覚 (d.u.; mis-
sion to China in 1082), and Chōgen 重源 (1121–1206; mission to China in
1167), Eisai embarked on a journey to China to seek answers to the dilemma
of Buddhist decline (mappō 末法) in Japan, a preoccupation shared by many
of his age. His desire to partake in the continental culture of Buddhism
that had nurtured and sustained Japanese Buddhists since the inception of
Buddhism in Japan was part of a well-established pattern of Sino-Japanese
Buddhist cultural exchange. In spite of the remembrances of his motives some
thirty years later in a treatise arguing for Zen’s merits against entrenched po-
litical and religious forces in the Japanese context, the Kōzen gokokuron 興
禪護國論,50 there is no suggestion that Zen figured in any of his aspirations
on this first trip. Contrary to his claims, Eisai was actively engaged in propa-
gating esoteric Buddhist teachings in northern Kyushu, in keeping with his
Tendai taimitsu 台密 heritage, after his return, and expressed no interest in
establishing a Zen school.51
Even on his second journey to China in 1187, Eisai’s expressed purpose
was focused not on Zen but on continuing to India to make a pilgrimage to
sacred Buddhist sites, a plan reminiscent of the earlier Indo-centric model of
Chinese pilgrims Faxian 法顯, Yijing 義淨, and Xuanzang 玄奘:
My concerns mounted unabated for twenty years, until the time when
I longed to make a pilgrimage to the eight sacred sites of the Buddha in
India.52 In the third month, the Spring of the third year of bunji (1187),
I bade farewell to my homeland, and carrying lineage records of the various
Buddhist schools and works containing gazetteers [with geographical in-
formation] on the western regions,53 arrived in Song China. At first, I went
to Lin’an (the Southern Song capital Hangzhou) and visited the Military
Commissioner,54 officially requesting permission to travel to India. The of-

ficial petition stated:
Pulling my half-finished visage across suspended walkways spanning
treacherous mountains, I am fully dedicated to becoming a complete
person in the flat “golden land” [of the Buddha].55
Alluding to phraseology used to describe Xuanzhao 玄照 in the Great

Tang Biographies of Eminent Monks in Search of the Dharma in the Regions
of the West (Da tang xiyu qiufa gaoseng zhuan 大唐西域求法高僧傳),56
Eisai highlights the contrast between the pilgrim’s treacherous journey
and the flat (and untreacherous), unobstructed “golden land” where the
Buddha’s enlightenment was attained, a perfect expression for someone
suffering from a borderland complex. From this account by Eisai’s own
hand, his expressed intention was not to acquire Chan/Zen transmission
but to follow in the footsteps of Chinese pilgrims to the land of the histor-
ical Buddha. The implicit meaning behind this intention is to acquire the
authentic teaching of Buddhism, which Eisai assumes is still viable there.
He does not realize that Buddhism is but a fading memory in India at that
point and, even if successful, would have yielded few if any of his intended
results.
In spite of his efforts and intentions, Eisai’s plan was thwarted. The
circumstances that prevailed in Song China at this time inhibited the feasi-
bility of travel between China and India. The Jurchen Jin 金 invaded China
in 1127, forming a dynasty that lasted until 1234, forcing the Chinese gov-
ernment to cede control of the north and establish the Southern Song capital
at Hangzhou. The Xixia 西夏 (Tanguts, 1038–1227), moreover, had con-
trol over the northwest frontier region, making the overland route to India
impassable. When pilgrimages were made by Buddhist monks previously,
China controlled these regions and was able to help ensure passage through
them. As a result, the Chinese commissioner did not grant him a travel
permit for India, but only a permit to remain in China.57
With his ambitions for pilgrimage to the “western regions,” the golden
land of the Buddha and the arena of “true” Buddhism, blocked, Eisai was
forced to retreat to the land of the “new” Buddhism that had developed in
the Hangzhou region simultaneous to the decline of Buddhism in India.
When he encountered the obstruction to his plan for passage to India, Eisai
turned his intent to Chinese Chan practice, returning to the monastery
on Mount Tiantai he had visited on his first trip. One source in particular
Introduction 17
lays bare Eisai’s motives in this regard, attributing them to environmental

circumstances (i.e., unfavorable winds) rather than being predetermined:
The ship master announced the return [to Japan]. They set off into the
ocean and on the third day a headwind suddenly arose, pushing them back
to Ruian prefecture in Wenzhou. Eisai said to himself, “Because the wind
and waves have thwarted me, I haven’t finished my investigations [here]
after all.” He then took leave of the chief merchant and went directly to
Wannian Monastery on Tiantai to visit Xu’an.58
By his own account, Eisai acknowledges his attention on the monastic

precepts of the four divisions of the monastic assembly (sifen jie 四分戒)
and the bodhisattva precepts (pusa jie 菩薩戒), in addition to his partici-
pation in chan practice (can chan 參禪). This marked an association of Zen
(chan) with strict precept practice that would come to define Eisai’s eventual
Zen teaching. All in all, this was a momentous turn of events, and one with
lasting consequences for the history of Buddhism in East Asia. Eisai turned
his defeat into success by acknowledging and accepting how the greater
Hangzhou region (Jiangnan 江南) had been transformed into a “stand-in”
for India, a virtual replica of the Buddha’s homeland that both played on the
past Buddhist tradition and effectively anticipated its future. In the centuries
before Eisai’s arrival, the Hangzhou region had successfully transformed it-
self through a combination of borderland complex and translocation into an
authentic Buddhist homeland, a new center for East Asian Buddhism.
The rationale behind Eisai’s transformation from Tendai pilgrim to Zen
advocate has often been explained in doctrinal terms associated with the
advent of “mind to mind transmission” 以心傳心 and Chan as a “separate
transmission outside the teachings” 教外別傳. This was indeed an important
pretext for legitimizing Chan as an (the?) authentic transmission of Buddhist
teaching. As Jinhua Chen has indicated, lineage is one of the strategies mar-
ginalized Buddhist communities employed in overcoming their borderland
complex.59 It was extremely important in validating an allegedly authentic
transmission in the Chan/Zen tradition and was instrumental in Eisai’s
claims over rival factions (i.e., the Daruma School of Dainichi Nōnin 大日能
忍) to establish his credibility. But it was one factor among many, and not the
major factor in Eisai’s transformation. While the mind-to-mind transmis-
sion motif is heralded by Eisai,60 as is his assertion of Zen as a separate trans-
mission outside,61 it was the spatial relocation and physical transformation
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annulled? Surely Ninette was trying to fool him, as she had so often done
before. Judging by her manner, she attached but light importance to her
words; her calmness quite irritated him. It might have been a little thing to
her, but it meant a great deal to him.
“Listen!” she commanded, not heeding his evident excitement. “If you
will be so good as to desist from tramping round the room like a caged lion,
I will tell you everything. I need not tell you unless I like—I have kept it
back all these years—but, for a certain reason, it pleases me that you should
know now. To begin at the beginning: At the age of eighteen I was legally
and properly married, in the presence of relatives and friends, to Armand
Douste, an engineer in the French navy. Shortly after the wedding he was
sent on a voyage from Marseilles to Hong-Kong, where he stayed two
months. The boat on which he returned—the ill-fated Marie Antoinette—
went down off Aden with all hands on board. There were five survivors,
according to the newspapers, but Armand’s name was not amongst them;
and after many futile inquiries, I naturally concluded that my husband had
perished with the rest. The sudden bereavement was, of course, a great
shock; but I could not afford to allow sentiment to affect my appetite, and I
made as light of it as I possibly could. I stayed in Marseilles a few months
longer; but meanwhile my mother died; and my father having lost heavily
on the turf, I was obliged to consider some means of earning a livelihood.
Armand had left me with only his current salary to live upon, intending to
be back before the next quarter came due. I went to Paris, and adopted the
profession in which you found me. My good looks and my talents were my
sole stock-in-trade, so I was obliged to use them to the best of my ability.
Then I met you; and although I had loved Armand devotedly, I rather
admired your handsome face, and your quiet English ways. I was tired, too,
of my mode of living at that time, and, wishing for a change, accepted your
proposal of marriage. What happened then, you know. You were called
home on the day of the wedding; I was left in Paris to await your return.
Scarcely an hour after your departure, however, I was told that a gentleman
wished to see me. I went into the salon, and to my astonished
bewilderment, there stood my husband, Armand Douste! He seemed to me
like one risen from the dead; and indeed he looked nearer death than life.
He had been picked up by an English vessel bound for Singapore; where,
having landed, he lay too ill to be moved for nearly eight months. As soon
as he recovered, he worked his way back to Marseilles, and not being able
to discover me there, eventually traced me to Paris. There, by dint of
arduous perseverance, he found me, just married to another man!”
She paused to sip a fluid out of what looked like a medicine-glass. The
talking seemed to tire her, and frequently she put her hand to her side as if
in pain. Her interlocutor sat like one immovable. If what she were saying
were true, he was free—free! Oh the joy of that thought! But he could not
believe it—yet.
“Why did you not inform me immediately of what had occurred?” he
managed to articulate as she placed the glass on the table again, and
prepared to continue her story.
“Because, if I had done that, I should have had no further claim on you,”
she replied promptly. “And knowing that you were in prosperous
circumstances, I was obliged to make use of that knowledge. Armand had
scarcely a sou in the world; I had very little more. Money we were forced to
secure from somewhere, and you were our only hope.”
“But can’t you realize how cruel it was to have kept me in ignorance all
these years?” he pursued reproachfully. “I would willingly have done my
best for you and—your husband, if I had known the true facts of the case.”
“Ah, that is what you say now,” she rejoined dubiously. “I doubt if you
would have said so then. Well, to continue my story, Armand, never having
properly recovered from his illness, gradually grew weaker and died,
leaving me in very low water for a time. Then, luckily for me, I came across
an English lady, a Mrs. Hall. She was only a chance acquaintance, for I met
her in a circulating library where I happened to find a pocket-book she had
lost, but she took a liking to me at first sight. After having visited her
constantly, I went to stay with her for a time, and eventually she introduced
me to her friend, Lady Elstree, of Portland Place, London, who was in need
of a companion. Lady Elstree was one of those shrinking kind of women
who always seek refuge behind a stronger mind, and want even the most
trivial matters decided for them. Before I had been with her a month, I was
able to rule her whole household as though I were its legitimate mistress.
Her husband, Sir Richard, although not a doctor, dabbled in therapeutics
and hygiene, and spent most of his time in his laboratory, never troubling
much about how his wife amused herself. He paid her bills with automatic
regularity, and fortunately failed to notice that they almost doubled
themselves during my régime. Being so pleasantly situated, my old love for
the turf revived; and taking my advice, Lady Elstree backed certain horses
that I happened to fancy. Sometimes they won, more often they lost; but
when they did win, I retained five per cent. commission. Very soon I
became familiar with London life and the ways of English society.
Wherever I went, I was always introduced as Lady Elstree’s ‘friend,’ never
as her companion. One day I happened to pick up a society paper
containing an account of a reception I had attended. My name was included
in the list of guests, and I was described as the ‘beautiful and brilliant
Mdme. Douste.’ This fired my ambition, and I determined to become a
society leader—a second Corinne, or Mdme. Pompadour. Then Dr. Neville
Williams appeared upon the scene——”
“It is a wonder you did not seek some one in a higher position than a
mere body-healer,” interposed Herbert, with a touch of satire.
“Yes, I might have done so, it is true; but I was rather struck with Neville
Williams, although his disposition was the direct opposite of mine. He was
then at the zenith of his fame, too, having managed to cure a royal princess
by a special treatment of his own when all the highest physicians in the land
had failed. He could have been knighted for that, had he wished. I saw a
good deal of him, for he was a great friend of Sir Richard Elstree’s, and
came often to Portland Place. We were married at St. George’s, Hanover
Square—oh, you need not look sceptical; it was a bonâ fide marriage.
Percival’s brother-in-law, the Rev. J. W. Milnes, officiated, assisted by the
clergy of St. George’s.”
“And was your ambition realized?”
“Partially. Society was inclined to look askance at me first of all, but it
was not able to withstand me for long. I was a woman, I had a tongue, I
could talk. I had the knack of finding out whatever I wanted to know about
certain people too. They discovered by experience that it was unwise to
offend me. They called me a dangerous woman behind my back, but
conciliated me to my face. The only drawback to my happiness was that
Percival was comparatively poor, and although I managed to get long credit,
I was continually pressed for ready money.”
“I had often heard of Mrs. Neville Williams from the Milnes’ family,”
said the artist, musingly, “but of course I never dreamt of connecting her
with you. Geoffrey Milnes used to say—pardon my telling you—that her
extravagance, or rather yours, was the ruin of his uncle.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It may have been so, but he should not
have married if he could not afford to keep me in proper style. He left me
almost penniless when he died, and the house in Harley Street was
mortgaged right up to its full value.”
“And how did you get on then?”
“Oh, the Duke of Wallingcourt—one of my greatest admirers—paid off
the mortgage and set me on my feet again. Then there was the property in
Surrey, which Percival had settled on me at the time of our marriage; that
fetched nearly fifteen hundred pounds. Afterwards I became engaged to the
duke, who, as you know, died a fortnight before the wedding was to have
taken place. That was hard luck, for as Duchess of Wallingcourt I should
have society at my feet.”
“Did it never occur to you to re-marry me after the death of either of
your husbands?” asked Karne, still inclined to be satirical; “or was I
altogether out of the running, as you would say?”
“I did think of it,” she answered equably. “But you lived in the country,
which was a disadvantage, for I could not possibly exist for any length of
time out of London or Paris. I heard also that you were very friendly with
Percival’s people, the Milnes; and I feared that if you were as straitlaced as
themselves, you would be too prim for me.”
Herbert could not resist a smile, but his countenance quickly resumed its
gravity. He rose from his seat and glanced out of the window. The fog had
almost melted away.
“So that is your story!” he said meditatively. “How am I to know that it
is true?”
“Do you doubt my word?” she asked with pique.
“Well, not exactly,” he replied hesitatingly. “But you must admit that
when I knew you, you did occasionally deviate from the truth.”
“Which means, in vulgar parlance, that I told lies,” she rejoined evenly.
“Thank you for the compliment. As it happens, however, I have told you the
exact truth. My reason for telling you was that I wish to settle up all my
affairs. I am shortly going away—a little further than my beloved Paris. In
plain words, Herbert, I am dying.”
The last statement was made so calmly that Karne thought he could not
have heard aright. He glanced at her in astonishment, almost dumbfounded
by the news.
Mrs. Neville Williams, with a swift movement, extinguished the lamp,
and pulling up the window-blinds allowed the daylight to flood the room.
Then she called the artist to her side.
“Now,” she exclaimed, turning her face towards him, “look at me!”
He looked, then gave an exclamation of horror. Could it be possible that
this was the handsome and brilliant woman of yesternight? Her cheeks were
haggard and drawn, the cheek-bones protruding with undue prominence;
her eyes were sunken, her complexion yellow. Already the hand of death
seemed to have set its seal upon her face. Yet only last night she had
appeared before him, magnificent and splendid. What had happened in one
short night to change her thus?
He turned aside, not knowing what to say. She sank on to a chair with a
mirthless laugh.
“A clever woman, am I not?” she said, with feigned cheerfulness.
“Clever to the last. You saw me last night, so you know how I looked. I
shall look just as well when I am dressed for dinner this evening; I have a
treasure of a maid, thank heaven. Any other woman afflicted with my
disease would allow herself to be treated as an invalid, would eschew
society, and go to bed. I have more pluck than that. And yet before the year
is out, I shall probably be dead. A truly cheerful prospect, is it not?”
Herbert felt himself grow cold. That she spoke the truth now, he could
not doubt; but it was positively gruesome to hear her talk like that.
“How long have you been so ill?” he asked, in a subdued voice. “Is there
no cure?”
“None,” she answered resignedly. “It is over two years since I first
contracted the complaint; but since last month I have rapidly grown worse.
My husband’s consulting physician, Sir Dighton Forbes, has made me
consent to undergo an operation on the 1st of December, although I do not
at all like the idea of being butchered to satisfy the doctors.”
“Perhaps it may cure you,” suggested Karne, optimistically. “You must
not lose hope.”
But Mrs. Neville Williams shook her head; she was convinced that she
was doomed.
“Why do you bother yourself about society—now?” he asked, after a
moment’s silence. “What is the use? If you really believe that your last days
have come, why not spend the time that remains to you in peace and
quietness?”
She gave a gesture of dissent.
“What you call peace and quietness would be misery to me. It would
give me too much time to think. I should go mad with thinking. Besides, I
am loth to leave the good things of this world. To wear magnificent jewels,
to be the best-dressed woman in the room, the cynosure of all eyes—it’s the
breath of life to me—the breath of life! When I can no longer shine in
society, I’ll die. I am not one of those devil-sick-was-he-devil-a-monk-
would-be kind of persons. I’ll die ‘game.’ But do not let us talk about it any
more; it is an unpleasant subject.”
Herbert rose and buttoned his overcoat. “I must be going,” he said. “But
there is one thing I wanted to say. Did it never occur to you, in all the years
of your silence, that I, too, might have my hopes and ambitions?”
“I wondered what you were doing,” she answered evasively. “If I had
met you sooner, I would have told you before. I have all but met you so
many times since Celia Franks made her début. By-the-by, Karne, take my
advice; look after your sister well. She has a lovely face—a face that will
turn men’s heads. If you want her to be happy—quietly happy in your own
way—take her off the boards.”
He looked at her in approval. “You are right,” he said, half surprised at
such counsel coming from her. “Celia only went on the stage in deference
to Guy Haviland’s wishes. She has promised me that, however great her
success, she will accept no further theatrical engagements. Do you feel ill?”
he added suddenly, as she pressed her hands against her forehead. “I am
afraid I have tired you with so much talking.”
“It is the pain,” she explained, when the spasm had passed. “It comes
and goes. Last night I thought I should have had to leave the theatre. I shall
lie down this afternoon. You will come and see me again?”
“I am going back to Durlston at the end of the week,” he replied, holding
out his hand. “But I will try to come again before I go.”
Then, after an expression of sympathy, he left; and, taking his place in
the elevator, descended into the damp atmosphere of the streets once more.
The fog had lifted; and it seemed to Herbert that a weight had been lifted
off his heart at the same time. He felt happier than he had done for months,
although as yet he could barely digest and realize all that he had heard. Of
one thing he was certain, however, that he was free—free to marry his
beloved. This thought superseded all the rest.
He was free!
CHAPTER XVI
THE DARKNESS DEEPENS AROUND NINETTE
The first thing Herbert Karne did, when he had thought over matters
calmly, was to go to St. George’s Church, and with the assistance of the
verger, look over the marriage register; where, to his satisfaction, he found
the names of Percival Arthur Neville Williams, bachelor, and Marie Douste,
widow, correctly inscribed. It was not exactly that he doubted Ninette’s
word—she would always be “Ninette” to him—but he wished to settle the
question of his freedom beyond the shadow of a doubt before informing
Lady Marjorie Stonor of what had occurred. He also wrote to Harry
Barnard, the friend who had been in his secret from the first, asking him, as
he happened to be in Paris, to scour the cemeteries at Montmartre and Père
Lachaise for the grave of Armand Douste. The same post also carried a
letter to the curé of the church of S. Vincent de Paul, Marseilles, where
Herbert was under the impression the marriage of Douste and Ninette had
taken place; but not knowing the priest’s name or address, he had not much
hope of eliciting a reply to this epistle.
Celia noticed the change in her brother’s manner at once, for it was
strikingly evident in the brightness of his eyes, the briskness in his voice,
the alertness of his step. He seemed like a man suddenly endowed with a
new aim in life; his depression had vanished as at the touch of a magic
wand.
She asked him the reason, but he did not see fit to tell her just then,
promising she should know within a month. Her curiosity was whetted,
however, and although she did not usually endeavour to obtain information
that was not spontaneously vouchsafed, she was very anxious to know, in
this case, at once. So she set herself the task of cross-questioning him,
making fantastic guesses as to the cause of his jubilance.
“Perhaps it has something to do with Lady Marjorie?” she finally
suggested.
“Perhaps,” he returned laconically, with a face as inexpressive as a mask.
“I am surprised at your looking so happy about it, then,” the girl
continued, “considering that she is so ill.”
“Ill!” exclaimed Herbert blankly. “Who said she was ill?”
“Lord Bexley. He had a letter from her friend yesterday. Lady Marjorie
recently took it into her head to go slumming, and on one of her expeditions
managed to catch the malarial fever. Fortunately it is only a mild attack;
but, according to her friend’s account she is very poorly and depressed. I
should love to pay her a surprise visit, just for the sake of cheering her up.”
“Yes, so should I,” rejoined her brother fervently; and then on a sudden
impulse he told Celia his story.
It took a long time to tell, but he was glad, after all, that she should
know. It was a relief to be able to talk over his secret with a fellow-creature,
and Celia was intensely sympathetic. Her astonishment was unbounded
when she discovered that it was Mrs. Neville Williams of all persons who
had been, at one time, her brother’s pseudo-wife. She felt half inclined to
say hard things about her at first, but her resentment was soon abolished
when Herbert informed her of Mrs. Williams’ serious condition. It is
impossible to cherish harsh thoughts against the sick or dying.
Mrs. Neville Williams, however, looked neither sick nor dying when
they happened to meet her at a fashionable restaurant on the following
evening. The way she managed to get herself up was nothing less than
remarkable. Enveloped in a long and loose theatre-cloak of silk trimmed
with ermine, she carried herself more firmly erect than any other woman in
the room. Sparkling eyes, crimson lips, and a complexion like a rose; no
wonder she was able to vouch for the excellence of her French maid! It was,
as it happened, almost her last appearance in society. A week later she was
confined to her room; even her indomitable energy being powerless to resist
the oncoming of the dark and mighty foe.
Herbert Karne, in fulfilment of his promise, went to see her the day
before he returned to Durlston, but she was unable to receive him, and he
knew that he would in all probability never meet her again.
When he arrived back at St. John’s Wood, he found a letter awaiting him.
It was from Harry Barnard, stating that by consulting the books at the
cemetery of Père Lachaise, he had easily found the grave of Armand
Douste. There was no doubt, therefore, as to the authenticity of his death,
and the date of his decease. Herbert was relieved at the news, although,
under the circumstances, it scarcely mattered. Ninette was dying, so that in
either case he would soon have been loosed from his bond.
He wrote a long letter to Lady Marjorie, detailing all that had happened,
and asking her to come back to England as soon as she was well enough to
travel. At the same time, he sought out Lord Bexley, in order to inform him
of his matrimonial intentions, for Bexley was shortly going to join his sister
in Rome. This accomplished, he went back to Durlston to finish his
paintings, and to await the return of his bride.
Meanwhile, the “Voice of the Charmer” was playing to crowded houses
nightly, and it looked as if the piece would enjoy a long run. Celia secretly
hoped that such would not be the case, for the late hours and constant
excitement were already beginning to tell on her health. She was all right at
night, and braced herself up to do her best; but each morning she
experienced a dull feeling of weariness, accompanied by a most distressing
headache. The Havilands used all their powers of persuasion to induce her
to rest until midday; but she flatly refused to sleep away what she called
“the golden hours.” The stage, too, was beginning to lose that glamour with
which she had endowed it when her only point of vantage had been from
the stalls. She was glad that her brother had made her promise to confine
her abilities to the concert platform when her present engagement expired.
She felt that she would care very little if she were forbidden to ever enter a
theatre again.
One Wednesday morning, she attired herself in her prettiest outdoor
costume, and sallied forth to witness the marriage of David Salmon and
Dinah Friedberg. Although she ran the risk of being pointed out as the
bridegroom’s “cast-off” fiancée, Celia made a point of being present at the
ceremony, just to show her goodwill towards the happy pair. Her
appearance certainly excited considerable attention, almost detracting from
that due to the bride.
The synagogue presented a festive appearance, the space before the Ark
being adorned with palms and choice white chrysanthemums, which
contrasted prettily with the crimson velvet of the wedding-canopy. Dinah,
with her curly hair and bright eyes, made a very charming bride. She
appeared to be not a whit subdued by the solemnity of the occasion; and
when the Chief Rabbi uttered his excellent words of admonition and advice,
looked up at him as much as to say that she did not need to be instructed on
how best to tread the path of conjugal felicity.
Her lover, in marked contrast, was nervous in the extreme. He trod on
her train, almost dropped the ring, and performed the ceremonial breaking
of the glass in the clumsiest way possible. Then, to add insult to injury, he
had the audacity to declare—whilst the bride was signing the register—that
he would be able to manage it better next time!
Celia, leaving her seat after the ceremony was over, mingled with the
wedding-party, and joined in the general buzz of congratulation. Mrs.
Friedberg, all smiles, with a conspicuous lace handkerchief in readiness to
catch the tears of joy, kissed promiscuously all round—Celia receiving this
mark of affection in the neighbourhood of the left ear. The Brookes were
there, expressing their interest in the quaint Jewish ritual; and so was Mrs.
Leopold Cohen—now a widow—who, despite her avowed disappointment
at Celia’s secession from Judaism, greeted the girl with unaffected warmth,
and invited her home to early dinner. Celia was unable to accept the
invitation; but she appreciated it nevertheless, and readily promised to avail
herself of it one morning in the following week.
Then, having shaken hands with the Friedberg family and some of their
numerous friends, she took her departure, wondering if she would have
looked as happy as Dinah, had she—instead of her friend—stood beside
Salmon as his bride.
After lunch she went out again, this time to Kensington. She had
promised Herbert to go and see Ninette, but for some unaccountable reason
had hitherto shrunk from paying the visit. Now, however, her conscience
pricked her for having delayed so long; so, taking some music, and a bunch
of the brightest flowers obtainable, she went.
Mrs. Neville Williams was feeling a little better that afternoon; and, clad
in a loose wrapper, lay on the sofa in her pretty drawing-room. She was not
prepared to entertain, and on account of the haggardness of her natural
complexion, refused to see any one who called; but Celia Franks was an
exception, and she hailed her appearance with delight.
“How good of you to come,” she said effusively, inhaling the fragrant
perfume of the flowers. “I thought you had a Wednesday matinée. No?
Well, take off your things and make yourself cosy; but for heaven’s sake
don’t look at me, child. I am as yellow as a guinea to-day.”
Celia loosened her fur, and drew off her gloves. She could not help
looking, for the woman before her seemed to her a positive wreck. She
made no remark, however; and Mrs. Neville Williams plunged into a
conversation, chiefly society gossip, which showed that, however ill she
might be, the joie de vivre was not yet extinguished within her breast.
“So your brother is going to marry that little Stonor woman,” she
remarked, apropos of the mention of the artist’s name. “Bexley told me the
last time I saw him. I should scarcely have thought he would have chosen a
milk-and-watery creature like Lady Marjorie.”
“Why do you call her ‘milk-and-watery’?” said Celia reproachfully, “She
is quite one of the sweetest women I know.”
“Yes, of course; but that is what I complain of—she’s too sweet. She
looks as if she couldn’t say ‘bo!’ to a goose. And then her clothes, my dear!
Why, she actually wore the same frock two seasons in succession! Did you
ever hear of such a monstrous thing?”
“It was a crime, certainly,” the girl admitted with light satire; but the
incipient and frivolous vanity of the woman almost shocked her.
“Do you think Herbert would mind deferring his marriage until after I
have shuffled off this mortal coil?” went on Ninette complacently. “I don’t
like the idea of Lady Marjorie crowing over me on her wedding-day. She
never liked me, I know; and she will flatter herself that she has scored a
triumph over me. I would much rather be out of the way first, so that she
will be denied that satisfaction.”
Celia shivered. “Oh, Mrs. Williams, I don’t like to hear you talk like
that,” she said. “I am sure Lady Marjorie is too nice to do anything of the
sort. Besides, you may get better: I sincerely hope you will.”
“That is not likely,” rejoined Ninette, with a sigh, “although I am
certainly a little more hopeful to-day. My nephew is coming over from
Australia to assist at the operation, and I have great confidence in him.”
Celia pricked up her ears. “Dr. Milnes?” she queried, the colour rising to
her cheeks.
“Yes. Oh, you know him, of course: I had forgotten. I received a letter
from him this morning, in which he says he will arrive in England a week
after I receive it. You can read it, if you like.”
She stretched out her hand for the missive, and passed it over to the girl,
who devoured the contents with avidity.
“Dear Aunt” (it ran)—
“Sir Dighton Forbes has cabled me concerning your illness, the news of
which I was very sorry to receive. I hope to leave here next week if Miss
Thornton is able to travel at that time, and should arrive at Tilbury about a
week or ten days after this letter reaches you. My specialty is consumption,
not cancer, but of course I shall do my utmost for you. Hoping to find you
no worse than you are at present—
Sincerely yours,
G. H. Milnes.”
Miss Thornton again! Celia’s heart sank. She would not have confessed
it, but she had taken a positive dislike to the name. She handed the letter
back in silence, her face becoming thoughtful as she tried to imagine what
Miss Thornton would be like.
Mrs. Williams continued to gossip, scarcely waiting for the girl to reply;
but suddenly her mood changed as she received the well-known signal of
coming pain. She glanced at Celia, drinking in the freshness of the girl’s
striking beauty, and inwardly she raged. What would she not give to be
young again? To feel the warm blood coursing through her veins; to
experience that exuberance which is the natural attribute of youth; to be
fresh and healthy and strong; able to expend all the forces of activity
without fearing the dearth of a fresh supply! At that moment she could
almost have written an elegy on her dead-and-gone youth.
“Celia!” she burst out suddenly, “I envy you; I’m jealous of you, child.
You have all your life before you; you are only on the threshold as yet. Oh,
the joy, the power that is yours! For years to come you—in all probability—
will be living, and moving and speaking; eating, and drinking, and enjoying
yourself; playing your part in the comedy of life; bringing men to your feet
by the charm of your face and voice: whilst all the time I—who possess
such zest for life—shall lay cold and silent, crumbling away into dust. Oh,
what a horrible, hateful thing is death!”
Celia scarcely knew how to reply. With the tears springing to her eyes,
she knelt by the side of the couch, and gazed earnestly into Ninette’s drawn
and weary face.
“Why do you envy me my youth?” she said at length, in a suppressed
voice. “Have not you, too, been young? Oh, I know how hard it must be to
feel that before very long you must leave this bright world, and the sunshine
and the flowers; but, if only you had faith in the future life, you would give
no thought to your poor body crumbling in the dust: you would think only
of the deathless soul-world, so much fairer than this earth. Surely you
cannot have been so enamoured of the joys of what you call the comedy of
life as to wish to cling to them for ever? I enjoy life, too, and I am young;
but I already know that those joys are not to be depended upon; they are apt
to disclose their hollowness, and to cloy. Everything changes so. People
change, circumstances change, even we ourselves change; only God and
Nature and Love are immutable. It seems to me that we can only be truly
happy by allotting to our present, material joys, their due proportion—so
infinitesimally small—in the great scheme of the whole life eternal. Then
we shall no longer regret our past delights, and death will only be to us the
mere shedding of our mortal chrysalis. Oh, I wish I could explain more
clearly what I mean! I wish, with all my heart, that I could make you feel as
I do about these things!”
Mrs. Neville Williams patted the girl’s cheek almost tenderly, although
she could not quite make out what she meant.
“I am too prosaic and matter-of-fact,” she replied, with a sigh. “I am not
spirituelle, like you. You have your brother’s dreamy and philosophical
temperament, child. I wonder if you will hold the same opinions when you
arrive at my age. It is so easy to breathe defiance at death when one is
young and strong. But enough of this. I see you have brought some music.
Sing to me, Celia: something sweet and soothing to frighten the bogey
away.”
With ready obedience the girl rose, and, taking up her music-case,
unfastened it. She had brought three songs with her: the “Snake-song,” from
the “Voice of the Charmer,” a light French chanson of Massenet’s; and
Stephen Liddle’s beautiful setting of Lyte’s “Abide with me.” After a
moment’s thought she unfolded the latter; and opening the top of the piano,
placed it on the music-stand.
“This is really a contralto song,” she explained, settling herself on the
music-stool. “I have only heard one woman sing it to perfection, and that is
Madame Clara Butt. However, I’ll do my best.” And then, striking the
preliminary chords, so melodious and deep, she began.
With half-closed eyes Mrs. Neville Williams listened. The plaintive
sweetness of the melody pleased her, as did the particularly rich timbre of
Celia’s voice. What a splendid thing it was to be able to sing so perfectly,
she thought! Then, when the second verse was reached, she found herself
realizing the tenor of the words—
“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day,
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see—
Thou who changest not, abide with me.”
Here was more philosophy—or what she chose to term philosophy. She
tried to listen to the melody only, ignoring the words; but presently the
music increased its tempo, gaining in intensity; and Celia’s enunciation was
so clear that even against her will the words impressed themselves upon her
consciousness—
“I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless,

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting, where, Grave, thy victory?
I triumph still if Thou abide with me.”
Then, so softly that she almost held her breath to listen, came the last
verse—
“Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee—
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!”
There was silence while Celia put the music away; and then Mrs. Neville
Williams spoke.
“That is a fine song, and you sing it well,” she remarked, feeling that she
was expected to say something. “But it seemed, somehow, to mock me. I
am out of sympathy with the words. Won’t you sing something catchy and
bright? I want cheering up, for I feel almost as heavy as lead.”
Celia glanced at her in pity; but without a word, sat down at the piano
again, and playing a short prelude, dashed off into a gay little drinking song
she had learnt in Paris. This was more to Ninette’s taste, and her eyes
brightened visibly as she rapped a tattoo on the chair in time to the vigorous
refrain. She had been of a frivolous disposition all her life; she considered
serious people and serious things a “bore;” her motto had ever been “vive la
bagatelle:” it was surely too late to change now.
“Come and see me again,” she said, when Celia prepared to take her
leave. “I know you don’t mind my looking like a scare-crow. You won’t tell
any of my friends of my wretched appearance, though, will you?”
Celia promised faithfully not to divulge, and then, as she fastened the
last button of her glove, she said wistfully—
“Wouldn’t you like to see a clergyman, Mrs. Williams?”
“No thank you, child, I would rather not. He could do me no good, and
would probably make me feel uncomfortable: say that my illness was a
judgment for my sins, or something equally horrid.”
“Oh, I don’t think he would,” the girl rejoined diffidently. “Besides, even
if he did make you feel uncomfortable at first, he would not leave you
without telling you the ‘comfortable words,’ and making you happy in the
knowledge of them, you know.”
But Mrs. Neville Williams would not be persuaded, and with a look of
seriousness on her expressive face, Celia left.
“Mrs. Williams seems better to-day, does she not?” she said to the maid
who was in attendance at the halldoor. “What did Sir Dighton Forbes say
when he called this morning?”
“He didn’t say nothing, miss, except that he is sending an ’orspital nurse
to-morrow, and she is to stay over the operation. But we haven’t much
hope, miss. The picture of the mistress that hangs in her bedroom tumbled
down and smashed last night; and that’s a bad sign as I know for a fact; for
when my young man’s mother took ill and died of the influenza—which
will be two years come Christmas—her photograph, as was a hornament to
the parlour, fell off the mantelshelf and——”
But the remaining words of the sentence were lost; for the elevator
arrived; and with a hurried apology, Celia descended.
CHAPTER XVII
BOTH SIDES OF THE CURTAIN
The orchestra had just struck up the overture to the “Voice of the Charmer,”
when two young men entered the auditorium and took their places in the
stalls. Their faces contrasted strongly with their immaculate shirt-fronts, for
they were bronzed, even weather-beaten; and their general appearance gave
one the impression that they had recently returned from some distant clime.
The one clean-shaven and square-shouldered, was Dr. Geoffrey Milnes; the
other—shorter and of slighter build—Dick Stannard, the squire’s son. These
two, although they had not seen much of each other when at home, had
become fast friends out in Australia. Stannard was rollicking and bright,
with a fresh breezy manner which acted as a kind of tonic on Geoffrey’s
more serious disposition. He had taken a fancy to Milnes, and their mutual
home-connections served to form a link between them. When the young
doctor had been utterly disheartened by the absolute failure of his research
in connection with tuberculosis, it was Stannard who saved him from
morbidly dwelling on his defeat, and insisted on his taking an active part in
the social life of Sydney. He took upon himself the part of mentor, and ruled
Geoffrey with a rod of iron; not, however, that the advice he gave was in
any way severe. His deep conviction was that it was the duty of every one
to endeavour to obtain the maximum of enjoyment with the minimum of
discomfort; and although he could not quite convert his friend to his way of
thinking, he did succeed in capturing his medical tomes and papers, thus
bringing his work to an abrupt standstill. Geoffrey scarcely appreciated his
attention, and on the voyage home had threatened to duck him more than
once, but he certainly felt more “fit” since he had been obliged to give his
brains a rest.
“I say, Milnes, I’m awfully curious to see her,” Dick said, when he had
devoured the contents of his programme. “The last recollection I have of
her was at our Christmas party in Durlston, when she had very long hair and
very short skirts, and stood on a hassock to recite ‘The Spider and the Fly.’ I
suppose she has altered a good deal since then. I wonder if it is true that she
is engaged to Lady Marjorie Stonor’s brother?”
“Can’t tell you, I’m sure,” Dr. Geoff rejoined with a frown; and then the
lights were lowered and the curtain rose.
They both had neither eyes nor ears for any one but Mallida. Before she
came on, the play lagged and filled them with impatience, but at her entry
all was changed. Geoffrey felt thrilled to the core, as, at the sound of her
well-remembered voice, he craned his head to catch the first glimpse of her
sweet face and snowy draperies. Then a strong feeling of indignation took
possession of him as he realized that, for the mere price of a seat, any
fellow could avail himself of the privilege of basking in the sunshine of her
smile, and drinking in the richness of her voice. And although he enjoyed
the play and admired Celia’s acting, he hated to see her upon the stage,
hated to think that for three hours every evening she belonged absolutely to
the public; that her smiles and tears were alike artificial, mechanically
assumed for their benefit. It seemed to him little less than desecration of the
gifts with which she had been so liberally endowed.
Dick Stannard was wildly enthusiastic, and at the end of the first act,
declared his intention of going behind. Geoffrey, for some inexplicable
reason of his own, refused to accompany him, so, having thought out a few
particularly flowery compliments to offer, he went alone. A few minutes
later, however, he returned with an obvious expression of disappointment
on his rugged face; and flinging himself on to the seat, uttered the inelegant
but forcible expression of “Rot!”
“My dear boy!” expostulated Geoffrey. “Have you forgotten that you are
in decent company for once?”
“No; but it is rot all the same,” returned Stannard, indignantly. “The
fellow, whoever he might be, absolutely refused to take in my card. Said
Miss Franks saw nobody at the theatre, not even her most intimate friends,
and that I might possibly be able to see her by appointment at Mr. and Mrs.
Haviland’s house in Acacia Road. I told him that I had just arrived from
Australia, and was going on to the North to-morrow morning, but it made
no difference. He said he had his orders which he was bound to obey, and as
he wasn’t the sort of man to take a tip, all I could do was to turn to the right
about and come away.”
“Which you did with a very bad grace, I am sure,” rejoined the doctor,
with a smile. “Moral, don’t attempt to pry where you are not wanted.”
“It’s utter rot!” reiterated Stannard, emphatically. “What would it hurt if
I just went and wished her good evening?”
But Geoffrey was secretly glad that the rules were so stringent, for they
must save Celia the annoyance of interviewing many an undesirable visitor,
he thought.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Celia was dressing for the second act.
She would not have been so calm and collected, perhaps, had she known
who was in the stalls. Her dresser was relating some of her humorous and
varied experiences as she dexterously braided the girl’s long hair: and Celia,
engaged in spoiling her complexion with grease-paint and powder, listened
with genuine amusement. Mrs. Jackson had been chief dresser to Mrs.
Potter Wemyss at one time, and was very proud of the fact. Many were the
tales she had to tell of the great actress’s kindly words and deeds. “Mrs.
Potter Wemyss used to say,” was her favourite mode of beginning a
sentence; and “just like Mrs. Potter Wemyss” her ideal of perfection. Had
Celia not known the lady in question, she would probably have grown tired
of her name, but being a personal friend, her interest never flagged.
“You are ready early to-night, miss,” she said, as she put the finishing
touches to Celia’s toilette. “It is a pity Mr. Haviland won’t let you see
anybody. It would help to pass away the time. There’s that little Mr.
Smiffkins always a-hanging round the stage door—the one who wears the
overcoat with the tremendous fur collar and cuffs. He offered me a
sovereign if I could get him an interview with you.”
“Did he really? What a waste of money!” was Celia’s comment.
“It’s rather a shame, though, miss, that Mr. Haviland is so strict. Why,
you could have this room crammed full of flowers every show if he would
let Jones take them in, not to mention boxes of chocolates and all manner of
nice things. I don’t think as it’s right to deny an actress her perks. I should
kick agen it if I was you, miss, that I would.”
“But how could I possibly accept presents from people I don’t even
know?” said the girl with wide-open eyes. “Surely Mrs. Potter Wemyss
never did!”
“Oh well, Mrs. Potter Wemyss is Mrs. Potter Wemyss. She’s got a great
strapping husband six foot one in his stocking-feet, and they do say as he
knows how to strike out with his fists. It wouldn’t do for young men to be
sending her flowers and billydoos. But you are quite another matter, miss,
you are ‘free and unfettered,’ as it says in the play.”
Celia smilingly shook her head, and rising, surveyed herself in the long
pier-glass. It was certainly a picturesque figure which met her gaze. Her
dress with its long train of bejewelled cloth, fell in stately folds around her
form, glittering and scintillating with every fresh ray of light. A silver belt
of cunningly chased design adorned her waist, whilst her peculiar head-
dress—a quaint kind of cap—set off to the best advantage the rich colouring
of her hair.
As she turned away, satisfied with the result of her dresser’s labours, she
heard a foot-fall in the stone passage. Then, without knocking, and in
evident agitation, Grace Haviland stumbled into the room. She was
breathless and excited, and dropped on to a chair with an air of exhaustion.
Clutched in her grasp were two of the evening papers and an unopened
telegram. Instantly Celia divined that something had happened.
“What is it, Grace?” she asked, with apprehension. “Is anything wrong?”
Miss Haviland nodded, but for the moment was unable to speak.
“This telegram came directly you were gone,” she panted, as soon as she
had recovered her breath. “I wouldn’t have troubled about it, only there was
something in the evening paper which told me it was of importance. I
thought you ought to know at once, so that’s why I’ve rushed here. I have
not seen Guy yet: I think he is with Mr. Calhoun at the wings. Perhaps they
will be angry when they know I’ve told you, but I thought it cruel not to let
you know.”
Celia took the telegram, and tore it open. Then she uttered a little cry.
“Mr. Karne met with a serious accident. Come at once.—Higgins.”
And then she caught sight of the head-line of the newspaper column,
“Attempted murder of Herbert Karne, R.A.;” and underneath, in smaller
type, “The assailant a raving madman.”
For the moment she thought she must surely be the victim of nightmare.
She rubbed her eyes, as though expecting her surroundings to float away
and to find herself in her bedroom at Acacia Road. But, unfortunately, it
was no nightmare; it was stern reality. There, unmistakably, was the
dressing-room with her stage-dresses hung upon the walls, and all her
stage-belongings strewn round the room. There also, was the dresser,
looking startled and bewildered as she stood with her arms akimbo, and
Grace Haviland, pale and agitated, hating to be the bearer of such bad news.
And worst of all, there were the horrible words staring her in the face:
Attempted murder.
Suddenly the electric bell announcing the ring-up of the curtain
resounded through the building. The sound recalled Celia to the present
exigence, and with a shudder she leant against the table.
“I can’t go on acting, now: it’s impossible,” she said, tremulously; “quite
impossible. Mrs. Jackson, go and find Miss Graham; she must be in the
theatre somewhere; tell her she must get ready at once to take my part. Tell
Mr. Calhoun and Mr. Haviland that I’ve had bad news, and have to go to
Durlston immediately; and ask them to drag out the stage business as much
as they can. We’ve about twenty minutes’ grace: oh, do be quick!”
The dresser flew to obey her behest, and with nervous haste Celia began
unbuckling her belt. But her fingers had suddenly lost their power, and she
fumbled at the clasp in vain. The hooks of her bodice, too, seemed as if they
were never intended to unfasten. Before she could succeed in getting out of
her costume, the stage-manager and Haviland appeared.
Ernest Calhoun was one of those men who are able to retain their
presence of mind under the most untoward circumstances; and while
Haviland stood excitedly haranguing his sister for having brought the bad
news in the midst of the performance, he himself remained serene and
unruffled to the last degree.
“It is most unfortunate,” he remarked calmly; “and I deeply sympathize
with you, Miss Franks; but I ask you candidly, what are we to do? If you
refuse to go on with your part, the performance will have to be stopped,
which, as you know, would entail a vast amount of inconvenience and
expense.”
“But where is the understudy?” put in Grace with eagerness.
“Miss Graham has the evening off to-night,” answered Haviland, crossly.
“I wish you would learn not to interfere with what does not concern you,
Grace. I shall not forget this upset for a long time to come.”
Calhoun waved his hand. “Hush!” he commanded. “We must not waste
time. Miss Franks, I appeal to you. Will you pull yourself together and try
to carry the thing through?”
The girl shrank back in despair. “Oh, I can’t—I can’t!” she said, in a
tense voice. “How can you expect it? My brother is seriously ill, perhaps

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A Tale of Two St■pas: Diverging Paths

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exceptionally fortunate to receive the support and hospitality of Lingyin

When the World-​ Honored One proceeded toward the stūpa,

A Tale of Two Stūpas: Diverging Paths in the Revival of Buddhism in Hangzhou

Buddhist Relic Veneration

The endurance of Yongming Stūpa and Leifeng Pagoda is a testimony to a

Buddhist Sites and Translocations

process of forming and reformulating a Buddhist sacred geography was

The Transformation of the Hangzhou/​Jiangnan Region

Chinese Buddhism is usually surveyed in its entirety, in terms of a geo-

1. Descent from Tuṣita heaven 降兜率

Hangzhou as Buddhist Homeland: The Experience

As Hangzhou established itself as a new homeland of an imagined India in

Mingzhou 明州 (Ningbo), through which frequent contacts were maintained

Commissioner,54 officially requesting permission to travel to India. The of-

Alluding to phraseology used to describe Xuanzhao 玄照 in the Great

lays bare Eisai’s motives in this regard, attributing them to environmental

By his own account, Eisai acknowledges his attention on the monastic

THE DARKNESS DEEPENS AROUND NINETTE

“I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless,

“Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,

BOTH SIDES OF THE CURTAIN

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When the World- Honored One proceeded toward the stūpa,

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