Government orders on Csoma’s last application—Dr. Gerard’s visit to
Kanum, and his letter to Mr. Fraser.
On the 14th of June 1827 Mr. Stirling, Government Secretary, wrote to
Captain Kennedy, commanding at Sabathú, to inform him that “the
Governor-General was pleased to allow Csoma de Körös leave to proceed
to Upper Besarh for a period of three years, for the purpose and on
conditions specified in his letter of the 5th of May, and that his
lordship had given authority to pay that gentleman fifty rupees a month
for his support, and perhaps enable him to purchase Tibetan
manuscripts.” The same was notified in the Government Gazette of the
10th of September following, with the remark that “these objects are
the more desirable, as we understand Mr. de Körös considers the recent
labours of Klaproth and Rémusat, with regard to the language and
literature of Tibet, as altogether erroneous.” “Monsieur Rémusat,
indeed,” proceeds the article, “admits the imperfections of his
materials, but Klaproth pronounces ex cathedrâ, and treats the notion
of any successful study of Tibetan, by the English in India, with
ineffable contempt.”
We know not exactly the date on which Csoma left Sabathú, when he set
out on his third journey into Tibet, for we find him always most
reticent in everything that concerned merely his own person. The
permission of Government to spend three more years in Upper Besarh,
doubtless lessened the heavy load from his anxious mind. He travelled
presumably viâ Simla to Kotgarh, and thence along the valley of the
Sutlej to the Monastery of Kanum. At this place he was visited by his
devoted friend, Dr. Gerard, whose graphic pen has placed on record a
most interesting episode in Csoma’s life.
Dr. Gerard, of the Bengal Medical Service, was travelling in the
Himalayan countries, for the purpose of introducing vaccination there,
with the humane object of putting a stop to the ravages of smallpox,
which usually caused such devastation among the scantily peopled
districts of the highlands. In this beneficent errand he was
efficiently seconded by the presence of the Hungarian traveller at
Kanum, and of his teacher, the learned Lama, to whose kindly influence
Dr. Gerard pays a warm tribute. Dr. Gerard addressed his interesting
report to Mr. W. Fraser, Agent to the Governor-General, and Revenue
Commissioner of Delhi. Chiefly upon the few extracts of this report, is
based what is at present known, of the details of Csoma’s industry and
wonderful perseverance in the Buddhist monasteries, which, as we know,
are situated in most inhospitable regions. The Government Gazette of
the 9th of July 1829, gives some interesting extracts from Gerard’s
paper, but the document is of such importance to the memory of the
subject of this biography, that we do not hesitate to give a place for
it here in extenso. It alludes also to the hardships and privations
Csoma suffered at the Monastery of Yangla, in Zanskar, in 1827,
“privations such as have been seldom endured;” and gives some other
details of Dr. Gerard’s own journey, which are worthy of being rescued
from oblivion. A copy of the document has been obtained from the
Asiatic Society of Bengal, and bears date, Sabathú, 21st January 1829:—
“Having lately returned from a tour through Kunawar, where I saw
Mr. Csoma, in the midst of his studies, I imagine I shall not be
tiring you by some account of his requirements, and the progress he
has made with his literary works. He has lost none of his ardour in
that secluded region, and the deeper he penetrates into those mines
of learning by which he is surrounded, he finds himself impelled to
further research; but I have to regret the circumstances which
afforded me so short a time to profit by his conversation. Besides
this interesting interview, my present journey has likewise been
remarkable for some new discoveries, which have in a degree proved
a consoling recompense for the sacrifices it entailed and my
disappointment in the chief object that urged me to visit a country
I had so frequently traversed. I have returned to Sabathú amply
gratified, only to look towards the period when I may myself meet
with better success; in the meantime, I should hope that my notice
of Mr. Csoma’s labours would be satisfactory to those who have
already interested themselves in his behalf, and that any facts
connected with his researches, or that have come to my own view in
the course of my travels, would be sufficiently strong to awaken
curiosity towards a field of such varied resources, and ultimately
to details alike interesting and beneficial. If the physical
character of those mighty regions is likely to receive illustration
by specimens of organic remains, productions, &c., I should not
consider myself unremunerated for the exertions I have made for an
object which may still prove but an illusory advantage; and though
I have been extremely anxious to make another journey, under the
prospects which the Chinese have tantalised me to rely upon, in an
invitation next season to Lake Mansarowur, I shall be unwilling to
attempt it except I receive some little encouragement in the
prosecution of objects which, if not of actual public benefit, are
at least of public interest.
“The presence of Mr. Csoma in Kunawar and his learned associate the
Lama opens a field to my view, which no exertions on my part could
give me a hope of approaching. The example and influence of such a
man as the Lama, who is so much respected in those regions for his
learning and wisdom, could not fail to advance my object of
utility, especially vaccination, as he himself offered to try the
experiment, could it have been effected under favourable
circumstances; and should the Chinese invite me to their country,
Mr. Csoma’s literary pursuits will eventually derive a more
extended solicitude, through the medium of a friendship established
upon philanthropy.
“In this tour I have made a very curious collection of fossil
shells (Ichthyolites), ammonites, and other petrifactions, which
are chiefly valuable from the vast elevation at which they
occurred, and from having myself found them in situ. I observed
nothing very remarkable upon the nether side, except the cholera at
Chepaul, in Joobul, at a height of almost 8000 feet, in spite of
those theorists who would have restricted it to a lower limit, and
a deodar 29½ feet in girth, and this is surely a prodigy in nature
peculiar to those mountains. I never beheld such a sight as this
enormous trunk, springing up like a mound to the height of almost
200 feet. The barometer afforded me the only practicable means of
ascertaining this, and I imagine there are no others in such
situations except to cut the tree down. On the northern frontiers
of Kunawar I obtained an elevation of 20,000 feet without closing
snow, and beheld, if not China itself, its frontier,—a scene of
desolation and grandeur beyond my power to describe, for here
language altogether fails. The country continued peaked, arid, and
free from snow, yet every point had an altitude above my own level.
The thermometer stood at 27°, but I was scorched by the sun’s rays.
“I now turn to the Hungarian, who is far from the least remarkable
of the many objects which have passed before me in this journey,
and on whose account chiefly I trouble you with so long a letter. I
found him at the village of Kanum, in his small but romantic
hamlet, surrounded by books, and in the best health. He had not
forgotten his reception at Sabathú, and was eager to manifest a
feeling springing from gratitude. A year and more had passed since
we met, and he seemed glad and proud to show me the fruits of his
labours. He has been most persevering and successful, and were not
his mind entirely absorbed in his studies, he would find a strong
check to his exertions in the climate, situated as he is and has
been for four months. The cold is very intense, and all last winter
he sat at his desk wrapped up in woollens from head to foot, and
from morning to night, without an interval of recreation or warmth,
except that of his frugal meals, which are one universal routine of
greasy tea; but the winters at Kanum dwindle to insignificance
compared with the severity of those at the monastery of Yangla,
[32] where Mr. Csoma passed a whole year. At that spot he, the
Lama, and an attendant, were circumscribed in an apartment nine
feet square for three or four months; they durst not stir out, the
ground being covered with snow, and the temperature below the zero
of the scale. There he sat, enveloped in a sheep-skin cloak, with
his arms folded, and in this situation he read from morning till
evening without fire, or light after dusk, the ground to sleep
upon, and the bare walls of the building for protection against the
rigours of the climate.
“The cold was so intense as to make it a task of severity to
extricate the hands from their fleecy resort to turn over the
pages. Some idea may be formed of the climate of Zanskar from the
fact, that on the day of the summer solstice, a fall of snow
covered the ground; and so early as the 10th September following,
when the crops were yet uncut, the soil was again sheeted in snow;
such is the horrid aspect of the country and its eternal winter.
“I have mentioned the above as a proof of the assiduity of Mr.
Csoma, who collected and arranged 40,000 words of the Tibetan
language in a situation that would have driven most men to despair.
He has already nearly completed the Dictionary, and the Vocabulary
is far advanced, and both, as well as I may venture to judge,
exhibit singular industry and research. He told me with vivacity
that he has acquired a sufficient knowledge of Tibetan, to enable
him to accomplish his objects, even should he be deprived of the
Lama’s services by sickness or other causes. He (the Lama) has,
however, engaged to remain for two years longer, and from his great
erudition, being acquainted with the refined and court languages,
and learned in history: his resources will long prove an
acquisition to Mr. Csoma. He exhibits a singular union of learning,
modesty, and greasy habits; and Mr. Csoma in this last respect vies
with his learned companion, which is not very strange in such a
country. The Lama is a man of vast acquirements, strangely
disguised under modest confidence of superiority, the mildest and
most unassuming address, and a countenance seldom disturbed by a
smile. His learning has not made him bigoted or self-sufficient,
but it is singularly contrasted with his person and appearance,
which are humble and dignified and greasy. Mr. Csoma himself
appears like one of the sages of antiquity, living in the most
frugal manner, and taking no interest in any object around him,
except his literary avocations, which, however, embrace the
religions of the countries around him. He showed me his labours
with lively satisfaction. He has read through 44 volumes of one of
the Tibetan works, and he finds unceasing interest in their
contents. He seems highly pleased with the prospects of unfolding
to the world those vast mines of literary riches, and I should say
that he is flattered by his own ability to illustrate the objects
which daily come to his view, but I am almost afraid to risk making
known, from mere recollection, the attainments he has already
arrived at, and the discoveries he has made, because he is so
scrupulously tenacious of correctness in everything relating to and
said of him, and carries his high feeling and independence to a
degree which may be the custom of his country, but I am inclined to
consider a fault in one so situated. In his conversation and
expressions he is frequently disconsolate, and betrays it in
involuntary sentiment, as if he thought himself forlorn and
neglected. He can form no idea of the spirit in which Government
will receive his works, and almost fears they may not be considered
with that indulgence which is due to his research. Yet he told me,
with melancholy emphasis, that on his delivering up the Grammar and
Dictionary of the Tibetan language, and other illustrations of the
literature of that country, he would be the happiest man on earth,
AND COULD DIE WITH PLEASURE ON REDEEMING HIS PLEDGE. He showed me
with great animation a printed work upon poesy, in which he pointed
out the original of a translation from the Mahabharut, written in a
number of the Oriental Quarterly; a great part of that work (the
Sanskrit edition) is supposed to be lost, and the discovery of Mr.
Csoma in the Tibetan books leads to the conclusion, that the whole
of the Mahabharut may yet be preserved in the monasteries of that
country, which seem to have afforded an asylum to literature at a
very early period, even before its retrogression in India. In a
small pocket abridgment of (I think Robertson’s) ‘India,’ Mr. Csoma
showed me an extract of a poem from the Sanskrit, at the same time
holding in his hands the original passage in the Tibetan. [33] The
systems of philosophy contained in those immense compilations he
says are very numerous, and he thinks will astonish the learned in
Europe; some of them are sublime in conception. I was naturally
anxious to know the contents of the books of medicine, of which
there are five volumes, and characters of 400 diseases he had
collected and arranged. They treat copiously on physiology; and, in
fact, there is no knowing yet what they do not contain. In his
brief memoir to Government, [34] the five volumes upon medicine
were alluded to, but in Mr. Wilson’s observations on that paper
they are not noticed, at which Mr. Csoma seems disappointed, and
has strangely concluded that his assertion was discredited, but
consoles himself with the prospect of disclosing many facts even
much more unexpected. The Lama has informed him that at Teshi
Lhunpo the anatomy of the human body is represented in wooden cuts
or prints (for I forget which) in so many different attitudes. He
also observes, that the art of lithography has long prevailed in
that city and at Lassa, where learning has flourished from a very
remote period.
“Mr. Csoma’s objects embrace a wide expanse, of which he justly
considers a grammar and dictionary of the language they relate to,
as the first desideratum, and none of the specimens of words which
he has occasionally gleaned from books, or those sent to him by Mr.
Wilson, are correct in orthography. The works in which Mr. Csoma is
now engaged will only form a prelude to their further extension and
copiousness, and they cannot, I should imagine, fail to excite
interest towards that end; but, poor man, his means are limited,
and far from adequate to accomplish the vast objects which his mind
surveys. The Lama receives twenty-five rupees a month, a servant
costs him four, his house-rent one, and writing materials consume a
proportion which leaves him less than twenty rupees to provide the
necessaries of life, which in that remote and secluded region are
very expensive, and must frequently be supplied from Sabathú, or
from a distance of two hundred miles. He lives in the most
economical manner; his resources would compel him to this if his
inclination did not. He enjoys the best of health, perhaps in
consequence; for though residing at a spot abounding with grapes,
apricots, and many other fruits, he assured me he had this season
abstained from everything of the sort from a prudent conviction
that they could not make him happier, and might injure him. His
chief and almost only meal is tea, in the Tartar fashion, which is
indeed more like soup, the butter and salt mixed in its preparation
leaving no flavour of tea. It is a repast at once greasy and
nourishing, and being easily made, is very convenient in such a
country.
“Mr. Csoma’s hamlet is at the extreme upper limit of the village of
Kanum, at an absolute elevation of 9500 feet. Around him are the
romantic abodes of monks, whose religious ceremonies, their pious
incantations, &c., have a singular affinity to Romish customs.
Below is the monastery, containing the Encyclopædia, but it is also
converted into what seems a more substantial purpose with the
people, for on my return to Kanum in the beginning of November I
found it filled with grapes, and about thirty whole sheep hung up
for winter consumption, yet poor Mr. Csoma can hardly afford to
taste even a piece of one. The climate here, though warm in summer,
is singularly dry, and to this circumstance more than temperature
is owing the preservation of animal food for months. There are
several convents at this village, but the exactions are far from
rigorous, and Mr. Csoma told me, with an air of derision, that many
of the nuns became mothers, and in fact enter the convents if they
cannot get married or do better; their choice is therefore a
prudential measure when they are liable to fare worse: there is
much sense though no merit in this. Mr. Csoma showed me some
improvements he had made to his cottage; one was a fireplace, which
has cost him twelve rupees, and here I could not help feeling with
sympathy the value of such a sum to a man, whose whole earthly
happiness consists in being merely able to live and devote himself
to mankind, with no other reward than a just appreciation and
honest fame, while I was at the same time daily and no doubt
foolishly expending more than enough to give comfort and effect to
a mind so noble; feeling, as I did, how little he wanted for
himself and how little I valued that which to him provided food for
body and mind. Two rustic benches and a couple of ruder chairs are
all the furniture in his small abode; but the place looks
comfortable and the volumes of the Tibetan works, the ‘Kahgyur’ and
‘Stangyur,’ his manuscripts, and papers are neatly piled up around
him. Had Mr. Csoma greater pecuniary resources, he would invite
learned men from Teshi Lhunpo, Lassa, and with their assistance
study the Mongol language, which he considers the key to Chinese
literature. There are many valuable works in the libraries of those
ancient cities which are likely never to become an acquisition to
our knowledge but through the labours of such a genius as Mr.
Csoma. His great aim and unceasing anxiety is to get access to
Mongolia and make himself acquainted with the language and people
of that strange and very ancient country. The study of dialects to
him is no labour, grounded as he is in a perfect knowledge of
classical literature and more or less familiar with the structure
of every spoken language; but he wants books to revive his early
impressions. With a knowledge of the Mongols, their literature,
history, and customs, his hopes of new discoveries would never
cease to occupy his mind, and on the completion of his present
studies he will direct his views to those higher objects.
“Though residing within the British dominions in a country where
the inhabitants are morally good, nevertheless Mr. Csoma has to
combat against several irksome restraints. The bigotry of the Lamas
attached to the monastery, arising from their ignorance of their
own faith and of the contents of their beautifully printed works,
is a source of much disquietude; while the Wuzeers of the Besarh
frontier (Hindoos), under whose care the building is placed, having
themselves little interest in an institution which emanates from a
region where the cow is killed and eaten, but still keeping up the
mummery and superstitious reverence of regard, and protecting and
in some degree respecting the house of learning, are very
intolerant. Mr. Csoma, it is true, has access to the works in the
monastery, but this is not without some suspicious vigilance on the
part of both Lamas and Hindoos, who allow but two or three volumes
to leave the monastery at a time, while his labours require
simultaneous resolution, and wound that self-esteem and independent
feeling with which he used so frequently to provoke us at Sabathú.
His motives are no doubt the best, but they are too refined for
society, and certainly would not be always tolerated with patience,
especially amongst strangers. He still refuses every offer of
assistance, and will not accept of the most trifling article,
though in a situation which ought not to admit of such ceremonious
policy. I imagined that the late English papers would afford him
amusement, but after a few days, he desired me not to send them,
adding, that he would not throw himself open to the imputation of
suspicion by attending to anything but that which he had pledged
himself to prosecute; he then with great emphasis revived his old
and strange ideas of his having been taken for a spy, treated at
Sabathú as a fool, caressed and ridiculed at the same time, adding,
with much self-complacency, that the world would soon see what he
was. The same singular feeling regulates his conduct on every
occasion. He is jealous of the least suspicion, even of his habits
of life. I asked him if he ever used the spirits made from the
grape (which are nearly as good as Scotch whisky). He told me that
on one occasion of sickness he had procured a little, but
afterwards, conceiving that the people of the country might give
him the repute of drinking instead of studying, he resolved never
again to touch spirits.
“On leaving Kanum, I thought I might venture to ask his acceptance
of a cloak which was well adapted for so cold a climate. I sent him
also some rice and sugar, but he returned the whole, and out of his
scanty resources sent me sixteen rupees to purchase a few articles
at Sabathú, which I have despatched since my arrival. All this is
no doubt commendable, but I cannot think it very wise. Yet though
thus extremely tenacious of his own independence, Mr. Csoma would
accept of assistance only from a public source, because he seems
confident of his ability to return a remunerating advantage; but to
private individuals he says he has nothing to give. The only things
he would receive from me on his first arrival at Sabathú were a few
books to read, and the first he asked for, was the Bible, as best
calculated to revive his English, which he had studied
grammatically on getting here. This he read through in eight days,
and on his journey from Zanskar he accepted of a Latin Dictionary,
and on my late tour I left with him a Greek Lexicon. These last are
useful to his present studies. He is greatly in want of books of
reference, and particularly anxious to see some of the numbers of
the Oriental Quarterly Magazine relating to his avocations, two
having been sent to him by Mr. Wilson, which from their
inaccuracies and references to other numbers excited his curiosity
to see more. He would be glad to see some authors on ancient
Geography, such as Quintus Curtius, Ptolemy, Diodorus Siculus, and
Pliny. Mr. Csoma’s researches are not merely confined to the
compilation of the Grammar and Dictionary of the Tibetan language;
they embrace many objects of remote ages, illustrative of ancient
geography and history, to which the old authors would contribute
identity and explanation. He has collected from the printed works
and manuscripts in the possession of the Lama much curious
information on the geographical and physical features of Tibet.
Those records treat fully, and, I should say, sensibly, of the
route and sources of rivers, remarkable mountains, mines,
statistics, religions, creeds and institutions, chronology and
historical events. For instance, Lake Mansarowur has always been
considered by Eastern geographers as the central source of the
great rivers of India, Brahmapootra, Gogra, Sutlej, and Indus, and
the highest table-level there, because the waters are thrown off in
every direction from that point; but our over-scrupulous
exactitude, in literally deriving those rivers from the same lake
because the Hindoos had assigned a common origin to them, has led
us to tax their ancient traditions with vagueness, incorrectness,
and falsehood. Mansarowur being the reputed or even veritable
source of these rivers, was a mere figurative position: it was also
celebrated on account of Kylas, the throne of Mahadeo, which spires
up from that lofty base in the form of a cone, sheeted in snow, and
is, without a doubt, the highest point of the earth’s surface. The
Hindoos knew as well as we did, that two rivers in so rugged a
country could not flow out of the same lake in opposite directions,
but there is no question about the proximate conjunction of the
whole four. We have yet to learn the Tibetan accounts, and as they
promise to be free of much of the theological tincture of the
Hindoos, we have still before us an unexplored field of interesting
prospects.
“Mr. Csoma is anxious that some British officer who has studied
Sanskrit, should make himself also acquainted with Tibetan, as he
says they would give reciprocal light to each other, and to a just
estimation of the value of the latter language. He himself, though
ardent in his researches, is at the same time careful and cautious
in his deductions, though these may appear extravagant to others
who have no access to the sources of his knowledge, and on this
account he is reserved and diffident in communicating all he has
acquired; but he only wants encouragement to give full effect to
his varied and comprehensive resources. He is deeply sensible of
the liberality of Government towards him; but at the same time
feels his own ability to make a suitable return. For my own part, I
should say that the works he is now engaged in (if justly
appreciated) will far exceed in actual value and ulterior
importance the support he has received from our Government for
their accomplishment, though without it he might certainly still
have remained in obscurity; and with such men as Mr. Wilson, Mr.
MʻKenzie, and Mr. Stirling—all of whom are acquainted with his
situation and objects,—I can anticipate nothing but a reward worthy
of the individual, and he looks to the future with no small degree
of concern. He wants but the means of subsistence, and has only to
speak for himself to gain sympathy and respect; but he is poor,
humbly clad, and reserved, unless stimulated to animation by some
temporary interest; and to see him, as I have seen him, wrapped in
sheep-skin, and measuring his wants by his means, one would little
suppose him to be the man destined under good fortune to perform
the great works he has now in progress. Nothing pleases him so much
as to appear interested in his conversation; but he has evidently
not been accustomed to the society of the world, and from not
knowing the idiom of the English language, he often puts a
misconstruction upon words, and breaks forth into singular and
dignified irritation at times; he is full of vivacity, but this is
often interrupted by the anxiety most natural to him, and he lapses
into gloom without a visible cause. When he spoke of his want of
books, he remarked that these were few and easily supplied, but
that they had not been considered. He particularly dwelt upon the
resources of the Asiatic Society—forgetting, however, that he had
never solicited their aid. He is too diffident to appeal in his own
behalf, and too independent to seek the means through the hands of
others. When I offered to make known his situation and the progress
he had made with his literary works, he thanked me, and perhaps
felt more than he wished to express, though in doing so I but do
justice to merit in one so situate; and being myself almost the
only person who has visited his sequestered retreat, and knowing
what is expected from him, any observations may be satisfactory;
and I can only add that, if means could be devised to increase his
small allowance even to 100 rupees a month, it would be liberality
well conferred, and must eventually be well repaid. Mr. Csoma has
no selfish gratification; the tribute of honest fame is his only
ambition. There are no doubt many in India who would afford him the
aid he requires; he peremptorily refuses to accept of anything, but
from a public and recognised source. I cannot myself venture to
seek the aid of the Asiatic Society in behalf of so bright an
object of their patronage, but I should hope that the merits of so
highly-gifted and modest an individual will not be long unnoticed.
Mr. Csoma will give a most satisfactory explanation of his views,
but he would like to be addressed by some one either on the part of
the Asiatic Society or Government. He would be flattered and
stimulated by such a recognition. The Society, in supporting such a
man, would receive their fullest reward in his contributions of
literary knowledge of the highest order, and belonging to countries
which are yet only known to us as vast terra incognita both in
regard to physical configuration, mankind, and learning, and Mr.
Csoma would in his turn derive his best gratification from his
alliance with an institution so highly established.
“As I was residing in the Monastery at Kanum, I took an opportunity
of getting access to the Tibetan Encyclopædia, by stepping in
behind the officiating Lama when he came to worship. On discovering
me he made some civil remonstrance, and then allowed me to stand
behind the door when he slowly opened the folding leaves of the
library, and in the interval I stepped up and looked over his
shoulders. The works, being distinct, are arranged in separate
places. These resemble large chests or cisterns, standing on end,
and partitioned into cells, each containing a volume, which is
carefully wrapped within many folds, laced with cord, and bound
tightly between boards of cypress or cedar. The ‘Kahgyur’ is a work
of morality, and is, in fact, the Bible, and consists, I believe,
of 104 folio volumes, each containing from 500 to 700 pages, all
beautifully printed from wooden types. The ‘Stangyur’ is more
copious, comprising 240 volumes, and treats upon arts and science.
Five volumes are devoted to medicine; the others comprehend
astronomy, astrology, rhetoric, poesy, philosophy, history, and a
vast variety of subjects. Some of the volumes were opened before
me, and I gazed with a sort of reverential feeling upon such
gigantic compilations yet unfolded to the world, and thought of the
humble individual in the hamlet who was occupied in illustrating
their unexplored contents. It is rather singular that those works
should be found planted in a Hindoo village, or, at least,
established amongst people who are not alienated from Hindoo
tenets, though tinctured with Buddhist principles; but poor
Moorcroft mentions, in his tour to Mansarowur, having seen a
greater number of Hindoo images in the Tartar village of Dala, than
he ever recollected meeting with before in India, at any one spot.
The contrast is, however, great, though there is both identity and
unity in their divinity and chief duties, for Mr. Csoma affirms
that the Tibetan faith, both in precept and practice, approaches
nearer to the Christian religion than that of any Asiatic nation
whatever. The Tibetan works appear to have been very widely
disseminated throughout that country, and we may safely ascribe
this multiplicity of books to the facility which the art of
printing afforded. We find fragments and manuscripts of great
antiquity scattered about and deposited in situations which are now
almost deserted by man. At the village of Skuno, which lay in my
route, and is planted upon the eastern frontier of Kunawur, near
the confines of China, at a height of 12,000 feet, is a labrung or
monastery, a melancholy record of better times. Here the traveller
beholds files of printed papers full of learning, bound up in
cypress boards, as if shut for the last time. I had a Chinese
interpreter with me, who dipped into one of the books and read some
passages relating to science. I could not but gaze with wonder and
reverence upon those relics of learning now no longer useful, but
as dead records: nobody turns over the fine pages of those ancient
and extraordinary works, upon which time has made but little
change, and in so cold and arid a climate will remain when the
temple itself falls to ruin, and this is going on gradually; but
two hundred years have effected little decay. The type of the
printing is very beautiful, and looks fresh; bound as they are
closely together, in an atmosphere without insects or moisture, in
a climate rude even in summer, they seem calculated to defy time
itself. In former days those books were read and people attended
here at prayers, but now there is nothing left of what has once
been. The masters are gone for ever, but the temple and books stand
still, like the pyramids, pointing to times which have no other
record. I was much tempted to commit sacrilege here, and steal away
some of the scientific volumes, but I had not a good opportunity.
“The edition of the ‘Kahgyur’ and ‘Stangyur’ at Kanum was sent from
Teshi Lhunpo only about nine years ago; the printing bears a date
of ninety years, yet the ink and type look as perfect and fresh as
ever. No insects attack them, though the climate here is varying in
summer. The book-cases being made of cedar are indestructible. The
fact of printing in Tibet, however curious, can no longer be
questioned, for I myself have brought down a specimen of it from
Sungnam. The types are not movable, but cut in wooden frames, which
must be productive of great labour and bulkiness, if used to any
extent; but I suspected that at Teshi Lhunpo and Lassa the types
are alphabetical, and like our own are movable. Should this not be
the case, the only other substitute instead of frames would be
lithography, which is known to prevail there; but Mr. Csoma says
that the art of printing dates a little posterior to the era which
discovered it in Europe. There are no images in the temple at
Kanum, and worship seems to be performed out of pure respect for
the house of learning. Kanum is the only spot of Kunawur which
possesses those works entire.
“We find indeed detached volumes and piles of papers in many of the
other villages, as Sungnam, Skuno, and Nissung; and in Piti, in
Ladak, where those works are sheltered, beautiful paintings and
casts as large as life adorn the monasteries, leaving us wondering
at the origin and antiquity of such remains in regions wild in
aspect and sterile in production. Additional interest is thrown
over those mighty scenes of the Himalayas in the curious fact,
which has recently come to my knowledge, of the discovery in an
obscure spot of Kunawur of a relic of the Romish missionaries’ work
on Tibet, the Speculum Veritatis, bearing a date of 1678. This
curious record was picked up by the Rev. Mr. W., whom I met with in
my travels, and then little thought that so precious a fragment
would have found its way into his hands, judging from an
observation on first meeting him on the northern face of the
Himalaya. The fragment of literature acquired by Mr. W. (which I
suspect is part of Andrada’s mission) has been sent to Mr. Csoma
for elucidation, and I expect soon to hear of its contents.
“In all this, I have only been able to trace a margin of a new and
gigantic map; we must look to the central plateau of Tartary for
that knowledge which we have seen indicated elsewhere, and a
grander field as regards natural aspect and configuration could not
be selected, an aspect barren, it is true, but interesting from the
grandeur of its barrenness, and concealing under its rugged and
forbidding features, resources the most varied and estimable to
science, literature, and art. To speak of those positive advantages
in respect of climate and production even within our territory:
such is the aridity of the interior of Kunawar that the roots of
the rheum palmatum, which I dug up from amidst patches of snow on
the slope of the pass in the Himalayan chain in the end of June,
were already dry and pulverisable the following month, and moist
opium received from Kotgarh in July became brittle and fit to be
powdered in August, while in Calcutta this is impracticable in the
driest season without the aid of adventitious heat.
“It was now the end of September, and the climate was highly
agreeable, the grapes being already ripe. Here, at an elevation of
nine thousand feet, the vine finds a temperature congenial to its
perfect maturity; but it is to the summer heat of those spots that
its successful culture is indebted, since in winter reigns a keen
and protracted frost, and the snow falls from four to five feet
deep, lying in the fields till April. The vines are left
unprotected, and remain buried under their congealed clothing.
Fruits of various kinds, as apples, apricots, and nectarines, come
to high perfection in a climate free from periodical rains and
exposed to intense solar radiation. Thus a region which produces
the finest grapes if in insolated exposure, or lying on the Indian
aspect of Himalaya, will hardly yield a crop of grain, owing to the
want of a stronger ephemeral heat. For the same reason grain
succeeds in the valley of the Sutlej, and in spots within the
Chinese dominions, at elevations which, on the southern side of the
Himalayas, are loaded with ice; but the winters of the interior, on
the other hand, teem with rigours which we can form but little idea
of. It is true, the sky is mostly clear, and the sun’s rays at the
loftiest spots are sufficient to keep the people, or rather one
side of them, warm in the dead of winter. During my stay at Kanum
the extremes of the thermometer were 33° to 77°; but when I
returned, only one month later, I found them 30° and 52°, and snow
had fallen. So sudden is the vicissitude in an atmosphere deriving
its heat from solar radiation. I left a thermometer with Mr. Csoma,
being desirous of ascertaining the winter climate of the spot which
rears the vine so abundantly. But Mr. Csoma has little or no
interest in anything beyond his literary studies, and I was often
provoked at his indifference to objects calculated to illustrate
the physical character of the countries he resides in and add to
the value of his own pursuits.
“He has promised to keep a register of the temperature for me.
“On the 30th of September I took leave of the Hungarian and his
intelligent companion the Lama.”
Csoma’s aversion to occupy himself with anything outside the range of
his studies has been noticed already; but to please his friend Dr.
Gerard he was induced to make meteorological observations, and did
furnish valuable records from Kanum, extending over a period of two
years. These came ultimately into General Cunningham’s hands, and were
embodied by him into his own work on “Ladak,” at page 184.