Inn at Tolon-Noor--Aspect of the City--Great Foundries of Bells and
Idols--Conversation with the Lamas of _Tolon-Noor_--Encampment--Tea
Bricks--Meeting with Queen _Mourguevan_--Taste of the Mongols for
Pilgrimages--Violent Storm--Account from a Mongol Chief of the War of the
English against China--Topography of the Eight Banners of the
_Tchakar_--The Imperial herds--Form and Interior of the Tents--Tartar
Manners and Customs--Encampment at the Three Lakes--Nocturnal
Apparitions--Samdadchiemba relates the Adventures of his Youth--Grey
Squirrels of Tartary--Arrival at _Chaborte_.
Our entrance into the city of Tolon-Noor was fatiguing and full of
perplexity; for we knew not where to take up our abode. We wandered
about for a long time in a labyrinth of narrow, tortuous streets,
encumbered with men and animals and goods. At last we found an inn. We
unloaded our dromedaries, deposited the baggage in small room, foddered
the animals, and then, having affixed to the door of our room the padlock
which, as is the custom, our landlord gave us for that purpose, we
sallied forth in quest of dinner. A triangular flag floating before a
house in the next street, indicated to our joyful hearts an eating-house.
A long passage led us into a spacious apartment, in which were
symmetrically set forth a number of little tables. Seating ourselves at
one of these, a tea-pot, the inevitable prelude in these countries to
every meal, was set before each of us. You must swallow infinite tea,
and that boiling hot, before they will consent to bring you anything
else. At last, when they see you thus occupied, the Comptroller of the
Table pays you his official visit, a personage of immensely elegant
manners, and ceaseless volubility of tongue, who, after entertaining you
with his views upon the affairs of the world in general, and each country
in particular, concludes by announcing what there is to eat, and
requesting your judgment thereupon. As you mention the dishes you
desire, he repeats their names in a measured chant, for the information
of the Governor of the Pot. Your dinner is served up with admirable
promptitude; but before you commence the meal, etiquette requires that
you rise from your seat, and invite all the other company present to
partake. "Come," you say, with an engaging gesture, "come my friends,
come and drink a glass of wine with me; come and eat a plate of rice;"
and so on. "No, thank you," replies every body; "do you rather come and
seat yourself at my table. It is I who invite you;" and so the matter
ends. By this ceremony you have "manifested your honour," as the phrase
runs, and you may now sit down and eat it in comfort, your character as a
gentleman perfectly established.
When you rise to depart, the Comptroller of the Table again appears. As
you cross the apartment with him, he chants over again the names of the
dishes you have had, this time appending the prices, and terminating with
the sum total, announced with especial emphasis, which, proceeding to the
counter, you then deposit in the money-box. In general, the Chinese
restaurateurs are quite as skilful as those of France in exciting the
vanity of the guests, and promoting the consumption of their commodities.
Two motives had induced us to direct our steps, in the first instance, to
Tolon-Noor: we desired to make more purchases there to complete our
travelling equipment, and, secondly, it appeared to us necessary to place
ourselves in communication with the Lamas of the country, in order to
obtain information from them as to the more important localities of
Tartary. The purchases we needed to make gave us occasion to visit the
different quarters of the town. Tolon-Noor (Seven Lakes) is called by
the Chinese _Lama-Miao_ (Convent of Lamas). The Mantchous designate it
_Nadan-Omo_, and the Thibetians, _Tsot-Dun_, both translations of
Tolon-Noor, and, equally with it, meaning "Seven Lakes." On the map
published by M. Andriveau-Goujon, {35} this town is called
_Djo-Naiman-Soume_, which in Mongol means, "The Hundred and Eight
Convents." This name is perfectly unknown in the country itself.
Tolon-Noor is not a walled city, but a vast agglomeration of hideous
houses, which seem to have been thrown together with a pitchfork. The
carriage portion of the streets is a marsh of mud and putrid filth, deep
enough to stifle and bury the smaller beasts of burden that not
unfrequently fall within it, and whose carcases remain to aggravate the
general stench; while their loads become the prey of the innumerable
thieves who are ever on the alert. The foot-path is a narrow, rugged,
slippery line on either side, just wide enough to admit the passage of
one person.
Yet, despite the nastiness of the town itself, the sterility of the
environs, the excessive cold of its winter, and the intolerable heat of
its summer, its population is immense, and its commerce enormous.
Russian merchandise is brought hither in large quantities by the way of
Kiakta. The Tartars bring incessant herds of camels, oxen, and horses,
and carry back in exchange tobacco, linen, and tea. This constant
arrival and departure of strangers communicates to the city an animated
and varied aspect. All sorts of hawkers are at every corner offering
their petty wares; the regular traders, from behind their counters,
invite, with honeyed words and tempting offers, the passers-by to come in
and buy. The Lamas, in their red and yellow robes, gallop up and down,
seeking admiration for their equestrianism, and the skilful management of
their fiery steeds.
The trade of Tolon-Noor is mostly in the hands of men from the province
of _Chan-Si_, who seldom establish themselves permanently in the town;
but after a few years, when their money-chest is filled, return to their
own country. In this vast emporium, the Chinese invariably make
fortunes, and the Tartars invariably are ruined. Tolon-Noor, in fact, is
a sort of great pneumatic pump, constantly at work in emptying the
pockets of the unlucky Mongols.
The magnificent statues, in bronze and brass, which issue from the great
foundries of Tolon-Noor, are celebrated not only throughout Tartary, but
in the remotest districts of Thibet. Its immense workshops supply all
the countries subject to the worship of Buddha with idols, bells, and
vases employed in that idolatry. While we were in the town, a monster
statue of Buddha, a present from a friend of Oudchou-Mourdchin to the
Tale-Lama, was packed for Thibet, on the backs of six camels. The larger
statues are cast in detail, the component parts being afterwards soldered
together.
[Picture: Bell and Idol foundry]
We availed ourselves of our stay at Tolon-Noor to have a figure of Christ
constructed on the model of a bronze original which we had brought with
us from France. The workmen so marvellously excelled, that it was
difficult to distinguish the copy from the original. The Chinese work
more rapidly and cheaply, and their complaisance contrasts most
favourably with the tenacious self-opinion of their brethren in Europe.
During our stay at Tolon-Noor, we had frequent occasion to visit the
Lamaseries, or Lama monasteries, and to converse with the idolatrous
priests of Buddhism. The Lamas appeared to us persons of very limited
information; and as to their symbolism, in general, it is little more
refined or purer than the creed of the vulgar. Their doctrine is still
undecided, fluctuating amidst a vast fanaticism of which they can give no
intelligible account. When we asked them for some distinct, clear,
positive idea what they meant, they were always thrown into utter
embarrassment, and stared at one another. The disciples told us that
their masters knew all about it; the masters referred us to the
omniscience of the Grand Lamas; the Grand Lamas confessed themselves
ignorant, but talked of some wonderful saint, in some Lamasery at the
other end of the country: _he_ could explain the whole affair. However,
all of them, disciples and masters, great Lamas and small, agreed in
this, that their doctrine came from the West. "The nearer you approach
the West," said they unanimously, "the purer and more luminous will the
doctrine manifest itself." When we expounded to them the truths of
Christianity, they never discussed the matter; they contented themselves
with calmly saying, "Well, we don't suppose that our prayers are the only
prayers in the world. The Lamas of the West will explain everything to
you. We believe in the traditions that have come from the West."
In point of fact there is no Lamasery of any importance in Tartary, the
Grand Lama or superior of which is not a man from Thibet. Any Tartar
Lama who has visited _Lha-Ssa_ [Land of Spirits], or _Monhe-Dhot_
[Eternal Sanctuary], as it is called in the Mongol dialect, is received,
on his return, as a man to whom the mysteries of the past and of the
future have been unveiled.
After maturely weighing the information we had obtained from the Lamas,
it was decided that we should direct our steps towards the West. On
October 1st we quitted Tolon-Noor; and it was not without infinite
trouble that we managed to traverse the filthy town with our camels. The
poor animals could only get through the quagmire streets by fits and
starts; it was first a stumble, then a convulsive jump, then another
stumble and another jump, and so on. Their loads shook on their backs,
and at every step we expected to see the camel and camel-load prostrate
in the mud. We considered ourselves lucky when, at distant intervals, we
came to a comparatively dry spot, where the camels could travel, and we
were thus enabled to re-adjust and tighten the baggage. Samdadchiemba
got into a desperate ill temper; he went on, and slipped, and went on
again, without uttering a single word, restricting the visible
manifestation of his wrath to a continuous biting of the lips.
Upon attaining at length the western extremity of the town, we got clear
of the filth indeed, but found ourselves involved in another evil.
Before us there was no road marked out, not the slightest trace of even a
path. There was nothing but an apparently interminable chain of small
hills, composed of fine, moving sand, over which it was impossible to
advance at more than a snail's pace, and this only with extreme labour.
Among these sand-hills, moreover, we were oppressed with an absolutely
stifling heat. Our animals were covered with perspiration, ourselves
devoured with a burning thirst; but it was in vain that we looked round
in all directions, as we proceeded, for water; not a spring, not a pool,
not a drop presented itself.
It was already late, and we began to fear we should find no spot
favourable for the erection of our tent. The ground, however, grew by
degrees firmer, and we at last discerned some signs of vegetation.
By-and-by, the sand almost disappeared, and our eyes were rejoiced with
the sight of continuous verdure. On our left, at no great distance, we
saw the opening of a defile. M. Gabet urged on his camel, and went to
examine the spot. He soon made his appearance at the summit of a hill,
and with voice and hand directed us to follow him. We hastened on, and
found that Providence had led us to a favourable position. A small pool,
the waters of which were half concealed by thick reeds and other marshy
vegetation, some brushwood, a plot of grass: what could we under the
circumstances desire more? Hungry, thirsty, weary as we were, the place
seemed a perfect Eden.
The camels were no sooner squatted, than we all three, with one accord,
and without a word said, seized, each man his wooden cup, and rushed to
the pond to satisfy his thirst. The water was fresh enough; but it
affected the nose violently with its strong muriatic odour. I remembered
to have drunk water just like it in the Pyrenees, at the good town of Ax,
and to have seen it for sale in the chemists' shops elsewhere in France:
and I remembered, further, that by reason of its being particularly
stinking and particularly nasty, it was sold there at fifteen sous per
bottle.
After having quenched our thirst, our strength by degrees returned, and
we were then able to fix our tent, and each man to set about his especial
task. M. Gabet proceeded to cut some bundles of horn-beam wood;
Samdadchiemba collected argols in the flap of his jacket; and M. Huc,
seated at the entrance of the tent, tried his hand at drawing a fowl, a
process which Arsalan, stretched at his side, watched with greedy eye,
having immediate reference to the entrails in course of removal. We were
resolved, for once and away, to have a little festival in the desert; and
to take the opportunity to indulge our patriotism by initiating our
_Dchiahour_ in the luxury of a dish prepared according to the rules of
the _cuisinier Francais_. The fowl, artistically dismembered, was placed
at the bottom of our great pot. A few roots of synapia, prepared in salt
water, some onions, a clove of garlic, and some allspice, constituted the
seasoning. The preparation was soon boiling, for we were that day rich
in fuel. Samdadchiemba, by-and-by, plunged his hand into the pot, drew
out a limb of the fowl, and, after carefully inspecting it, pronounced
supper to be ready. The pot was taken from the trivet, and placed upon
the grass. We all three seated ourselves around it, so that our knees
almost touched it, and each, armed with two chopsticks, fished out the
pieces he desired from the abundant broth before him.
When the meal was completed, and we had thanked God for the repast he had
thus provided us with in the desert, Samdadchiemba went and washed the
cauldron in the pond. That done, he brewed us some tea. The tea used by
the Tartars is not prepared in the same way as that consumed by the
Chinese. The latter, it is known, merely employ the smaller and tenderer
leaves of the plant, which they simply infuse in boiling water, so as to
give it a golden tint; the coarser leaves, with which are mixed up the
smaller tendrils, are pressed together in a mould, in the form and of the
size of the ordinary house brick. Thus prepared, it becomes an article
of considerable commerce, under the designation of Tartar-tea, the
Tartars being its exclusive consumers, with the exception of the
Russians, who drink great quantities of it. When required for use, a
piece of the brick is broken off, pulverised, and boiled in the kettle,
until the water assumes a reddish hue. Some salt is then thrown in, and
effervescence commences. When the liquid has become almost black, milk
is added, and the beverage, the grand luxury of the Tartars, is then
transferred to the tea-pot. Samdadchiemba was a perfect enthusiast of
this tea. For our parts, we drank it in default of something better.
Next morning, after rolling up our tent, we quitted this asylum without
regret indeed, for we had selected and occupied it altogether without
preference. However, before departing, we set up, as an _ex-voto_ of our
gratitude for its reception of us for a night, a small wooden cross, on
the site of our fire-place, and this precedent we afterwards followed, at
all our encamping places. Could missionaries leave a more appropriate
memorial of their journey through the desert!
We had not advanced an hour's journey on our way, when we heard behind us
the trampling of many horses, and the confused sound of many voices. We
looked back, and saw hastening in our direction a numerous caravan.
Three horsemen soon overtook us, one of whom, whose costume bespoke him a
Tartar mandarin, addressed us with a loud voice, "Sirs, where is your
country?" "We come from the west." "Through what districts has your
beneficial shadow passed?" "We have last come from Tolon-Noor." "Has
peace accompanied your progress?" "Hitherto we have journeyed in all
tranquillity. And you: are you at peace? And what is your country?"
"We are Khalkhas, of the kingdom of Mourguevan." "Have the rains been
abundant? Are your flocks and herds flourishing?" "All goes well in our
pasture-grounds." "Whither proceeds your caravan?" "We go to incline
our foreheads before the Five Towers." The rest of the caravan had
joined us in the course of this abrupt and hurried conversation. We were
on the banks of a small stream, bordered [Picture: Queen of Mourguevan]
with brushwood. The chief of the caravan ordered a halt, and the camels
formed, as each came up, a circle, in the centre of which was drawn up a
close carriage upon four wheels. 'Sok! sok!' cried the camel drivers,
and at the word, and as with one motion, the entire circle of intelligent
animals knelt. While numerous tents, taken from their backs, were set
up, as it were, by enchantment, two mandarins, decorated with the blue
button, approached the carriages, opened the door, and handed out a
Tartar lady, covered with a long silk robe. She was the Queen of the
Khalkhas repairing in pilgrimage to the famous Lamasery of the Five
Towers, in the province of _Chan-Si_. When she saw us, she saluted us
with the ordinary form of raising both her hands: "Sirs Lamas," she said,
"is this place auspicious for an encampment?" "Royal Pilgrim of
Mourguevan," we replied, "you may light your fires here in all security.
For ourselves, we must proceed on our way, for the sun was already high
when we folded our tent." And so saying, we took our leave of the
Tartars of Mourguevan.
Our minds were deeply excited upon beholding this queen and her numerous
suite performing this long pilgrimage through the desert: no danger, no
distance, no expense, no privation deters the Mongols from their
prosecution. The Mongols are, indeed, an essentially religious people;
with them the future life is everything; the things of this world
nothing. They live in the world as though they were not of it; they
cultivate no lands, they build no houses; they regard themselves as
foreigners travelling through life; and this feeling, deep and universal,
developes itself in the practical form of incessant journeys.
The taste for pilgrimages which, at all periods of the world's history,
has manifested itself in religious people, is a thing worthy of earnest
attention. The worship of the true God led the Jews, several times a
year, to Jerusalem. In profane antiquity, those who took any heed to
religious belief at all repaired to Egypt, in order to be initiated in
the mysteries of Osiris, and to seek lessons of wisdom from his priests.
It was to travellers that the mysterious sphynx of Mount Phicaeus
proposed the profound enigma of which OEdipus discovered the solution.
In the middle ages, the spirit of pilgrimage held predominant sway in
Europe, and the Christians of that epoch were full of fervour for this
species of devotion. The Turks, while they were yet believers, repaired
to Mecca in great caravans; and in our travels in Central Asia, we
constantly met numerous pilgrims going to or fro, all of them profoundly
filled with and earnestly impelled by a sincere sentiment of religion.
It is to be remarked that pilgrimages have diminished in Europe, in
proportion as faith has become rationalist, and as people have taken to
discuss the truths of religion. Wherever faith remains earnest, simple,
unquestioning, in the breasts of men, these pilgrimages are in vigour.
The reason is, that the intensity of simple faith creates a peculiarly
profound and energetic feeling of the condition of man, as a wayfarer
upon the earth; and it is natural that this feeling should manifest
itself in pious wayfarings. Indeed, the Catholic Church, which is the
depository of all truth, has introduced processions into the liturgy, as
a memorial of pilgrimages, and to remind men that this earth is a desert,
wherein we commence, with our birth, the awful journey of eternity.
We had left far behind us the pilgrims of Mourguevan, and began to regret
that we had not encamped in their company upon the banks of the pleasant
stream, and amid the fat pastures which it fed. Sensations of fear grew
upon us, as we saw great clouds arise in the horizon, spread, and
gradually obscure the sky. We looked anxiously around, in all
directions, for a place in which we could commodiously halt for the
night, but we saw no indication whatever of water. While we were deep in
this perplexity, some large drops of rain told us that we had no time to
lose. "Let us make haste, and set up the tent," cried Samdadchiemba
vehemently. "You need not trouble yourselves any more in looking for
water; you will have water enough presently. Let us get under shelter
before the sky falls on our heads." "That is all very well," said we,
"but we must have some water for the animals and ourselves to drink. You
alone require a bucket of water for your tea every evening. Where shall
we find some water?" "My fathers, you will very speedily have more water
than you like. Let us encamp, that's the first thing to be done. As to
thirst, no one will need to die of that this evening: dig but a few holes
about the tent, and they'll soon overflow with rain-water. But we need
not even dig holes," added Samdadchiemba, extending his right hand; "do
you see that shepherd there and his flock? You may be sure water is not
far off." Following with our eyes the direction of his finger, we
perceived in a lateral valley a man driving a large flock of sheep. We
immediately turned aside, and hastened after the man. The rain which now
began to fall in torrents redoubled our celerity. To aggravate our
distress, the lading of one of the camels just at this moment became
loose, and slipped right round towards the ground, and we had to wait
while the camel knelt, and Samdadchiemba readjusted the baggage on its
back. We were, consequently, thoroughly wet through before we reached a
small lake, now agitated and swollen by the falling torrent. There was
no occasion for deliberating that evening as to the particular site on
which we should set up our tent; selection was out of the question, when
the ground all about was deeply saturated with the rain.
The violence of the rain itself mitigated; but the wind absolutely raged.
We had infinite trouble to unroll our miserable tents, heavy and
impracticable with wet, like a large sheet just taken from the
washing-tub. The difficulty seemed insuperable when we attempted to
stretch it upon its poles, and we should never have succeeded at all, but
for the extraordinary muscular power with which Samdadchiemba was
endowed. At length we effected a shelter from the wind, and from a small
cold rain with which it was accompanied. When our lodging was
established, Samdadchiemba addressed us in these consolatory words:--"My
spiritual fathers, I told you we should not die to-day of thirst; but I
am not at all sure that we don't run some risk of dying of hunger." In
point of fact, there seemed no possibility of making a fire. There was
not a tree, not a shrub, not a root to be seen. As to argols, they were
out of the question; the rain had long since reduced that combustible of
the desert to a liquid pulp.
We had formed our resolution, and were on the point of making a supper of
meal steeped in a little cold water, when we saw approaching us two
Tartars, leading a small camel. After the usual salutations, one of them
said: "Sirs Lamas, this day the heavens have fallen; you, doubtless, have
been unable to make a fire." "Alas! how should we make a fire, when we
have no argols?" "Men are all brothers, and belong each to the other.
But laymen should honour and serve the holy ones; therefore it is that we
have come to make a fire for you." The worthy Tartars had seen us
setting up our tent, and conceiving our embarrassment, had hastened to
relieve it by a present of two bundles of argols. We thanked Providence
for this unexpected succour, and the _Dchiahour_ immediately made a fire,
and set about the preparation of an oatmeal supper. The quantity was on
this occasion augmented in favour of the two friends who had so
opportunely presented themselves.
During our modest repast, we noticed that one of these Tartars was the
object of especial attention on the part of his comrade. We asked him
what military grade he occupied in the Blue Banner. "When the banners of
Tchakar marched two years ago against the Rebels of the South, {43} I
held the rank of Tchouanda." "What! were you in that famous war of the
South? But how is it that you, shepherds of the plains, have also the
courage of soldiers? Accustomed to a life of peace, one would imagine
that you would never be reconciled to the terrible trade of a soldier,
which consists in killing others or being killed yourselves." "Yes, yes,
we are shepherds, it is true; but we never forget that we are soldiers
also, and that the Eight Banners compose the army of reserve of the Grand
Master (the Emperor). You know the rule of the Empire; when the enemy
appears, they send against them, first--the _Kitat_ soldiers; next, the
banners of the _Solon_ country are set in motion. If the war is not
finished then, all they have to do is to give the signal to the banners
of the _Tchakar_, the mere sound of whose march always suffices to reduce
the rebels to subjection."
"Were all the banners of Tchakar called together for this southern war?"
"Yes, all; at first it was thought a small matter, and every one said
that it would never affect the Tchakar. The troops of Kitat went first,
but they did nothing; the banners of Solon also marched; but they could
not bear the heat of the South;--then the Emperor sent us his sacred
order. Each man selected his best horse, removed the dust from his bow
and quiver, and scraped the rust from his lance. In every tent a sheep
was killed for the feast of departure. Women and children wept, but we
addressed to them the words of reason. 'Here,' said we, 'for six
generations have we received the benefits of the Sacred Master, and he
has asked from us nothing in return. Now that he has need of us can we
hold back? He has given to us the fine region of Tchakar to be a
pasture-land for our cattle, and at the same time a barrier for him
against the Khalkhas. But now, since it is from the South the rebels
came, we must march to the South.' Was not reason in our mouths, Sirs
Lamas? Yes, we resolved to march. The Sacred Ordinance reached us at
sun-rise, and already by noon the _Bochehous_ at the head of their men,
stood by the _Tchouanda_;
[Picture: The Emperor Tao-Kouang]
next to these were the _Nourou-Tchayn_, and then the _Ougourda_. The
same day we marched to Peking; from Peking they led us to Tien-Tsin-Vei,
where we remained for three months." "Did you fight," asked
Samdadchiemba; "did you see the enemy?" "No, they did not dare to
appear. The Kitat told us everywhere that we were marching upon certain
and unavailing death. 'What can you do,' asked they, 'against
sea-monsters? They live in the water like fish. When you least expect
them, they appear on the surface, and hurl their fire-bombs at you; the
instant your bow is bent to shoot them, down they dive like frogs.' Then
they essayed to frighten us; but we soldiers of the Eight Banners know
not fear. Before our departure the great Lamas had opened the Book of
Celestial Secrets, and had thence learned that the matter would end well
for us. The Emperor had attached to each Tchouanda a Lama, learned in
medicine, and skilled in all the sacred auguries, who was to cure all the
soldiers under him of the diseases of the climate, and to protect us from
the magic of the sea monsters. What then had we to fear? The rebels,
hearing that the invincible troops of Tchakar were approaching, were
seized with fear, and sought peace. The Sacred Master, of his immense
mercy, granted it, and we returned to the care of our flocks."
The narrative of this _Illustrious Sword_ was to us full of intense
interest. We forgot for a moment the misery of our position amid the
desert. We were eager to collect further details of the expedition of
the English against China; but night falling, the two Tartars took their
way homeward.
Thus left once more alone, our thoughts became exceedingly sad and
sombre. We shuddered at the idea so recalled to us of the long night
just commencing. How were we to get any sleep? The interior of the tent
was little better than a mud heap; the great fire we had been keeping up
had not half dried our clothes; it had merely resolved a portion of the
water into a thick vapour that steamed about us. The furs, which we used
at night by way of mattress, were in a deplorable condition, not a whit
better for the purpose than the skin of a drowned cat. In this doleful
condition of things, a reflection, full of gentle melancholy, came into
our minds, and consoled us; we remembered that we were the disciples of
Him who said, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests;
but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head."
We became so fatigued, after remaining awake the greater part of the
night, that sleep conquering us, we fell into a restless doze, seated
over the embers of the fire, our arms crossed, and our heads bent
forward, in the most uncomfortable position possible.
It was with extreme delight that we hailed the termination of that long
and dreary night. At daybreak, the blue, cloudless sky, presaged
compensation for the wretchedness of the preceding evening. By-and-by,
the sun rising clear and brilliant, inspired us with the hope that our
still wet clothes would soon get dry as we proceeded on our way. We
speedily made all preparations for departure, and the caravan set forth.
The weather was magnificent. By degrees, the large grass of the prairie
raised its broad head, which had been depressed by the heavy rain; the
ground became firmer, and we experienced, with delight, the gentle heat
of the sun's ascending rays. At last, to complete our satisfaction, we
entered upon the plains of the Red Banner, the most picturesque of the
whole Tchakar.
_Tchakar_ signifies, in the Mongol tongue, _Border Land_. This country
is limited, on the east by the kingdom of _Gechekten_, on the west by
_Western Toumet_, on the north by the _Souniot_, on the south by the
Great Wall. Its extent is 150 leagues long, by 100 broad. The
inhabitants of the _Tchakar_ are all paid soldiers of the Emperor. The
foot soldiers receive twelve ounces of silver per annum, and the cavalry
twenty-four.
The _Tchakar_ is divided into eight banners--in Chinese
_Pa-Ki_--distinguished by the name of eight colours: white, blue, red,
yellow, French white, light blue, pink, and light yellow. Each banner
has its separate territory, and a tribunal, named _Nourou-Tchayn_, having
jurisdiction over all the matters that may occur in the Banner. Besides
this tribunal, there is, in each of the Eight Banners, a chief called
_Ou-Gourdha_. Of the eight _Ou-Gourdhas_ one is selected to fill at the
same time, the post of governor-general of the Eight Banners. All these
dignitaries are nominated and paid by the Emperor of China. In fact, the
Tchakar is nothing more nor less than a vast camp, occupied by an army of
reserve. In order, no doubt, that this army may be at all times ready to
march at the first signal, the Tartars are severely prohibited to
cultivate the land. They must live upon their pay, and upon the produce
of their flocks and herds. The entire soil of the Eight Banners is
inalienable. It sometimes happens that an individual sells his portion
to some Chinese; but the sale is always declared null and void if it
comes in any shape before the tribunals.
It is in these pasturages of the Tchakar that are found the numerous and
magnificent herds and flocks of the Emperor, consisting of camels,
horses, cattle, and sheep. There are 360 herds of horses alone, each
numbering 1200 horses. It is easy from this one detail, to imagine the
enormous extent of animals possessed here by the Emperor. A Tartar,
decorated with the white button, has charge of each herd. At certain
intervals, inspectors-general visit the herds, and if any deficiency in
the number is discovered, the chief herdsman has to make it good at his
own cost. Notwithstanding this impending penalty, the Tartars do not
fail to convert to their own use the wealth of the Sacred Master, by
means of a fraudulent exchange. Whenever a Chinese has a broken-winded
horse, or a lame ox, he takes it to the imperial herdsman, who, for a
trifling consideration, allows him to select what animal he pleases in
exchange, from among the imperial herds. Being thus always provided with
the actual number of animals, they can benefit by their fraud in perfect
security.
Never in more splendid weather had we traversed a more splendid country.
The desert is at times horrible, hideous; but it has also its
charms--charms all the more intensely appreciated, because they are rare
in themselves, and because they would in vain be sought in populated
countries. Tartary has an aspect altogether peculiar to itself: there is
nothing in the world that at all resembles a Tartar landscape. In
civilised countries you find, at every step, populous towns, a rich and
varied cultivation, the thousand and one productions of arts and
industry, the incessant movements of commerce. You are constantly
impelled onwards, carried away, as it were, by some vast whirlwind. On
the other hand, in countries where civilisation has not as yet made its
way into the light, you ordinarily find nothing but primeval forests in
all the pomp of their exuberant and gigantic vegetation. The soul seems
crushed beneath a nature all powerful and majestic. There is nothing of
the kind in Tartary. There are no towns, no edifices, no arts, no
industry, no cultivation, no forests; everywhere it is prairie, sometimes
interrupted by immense lakes, by majestic rivers, by rugged and imposing
mountains; sometimes spreading out into vast limitless plains. There, in
these verdant solitudes, the bounds of which seem lost in the remote
horizon, you might imagine yourself gently rocking on the calm waves of
some broad ocean. The aspect of the prairies of Mongolia excites neither
joy nor sorrow, but rather a mixture of the two, a sentiment of gentle,
religious melancholy, which gradually elevates the soul, without wholly
excluding from its contemplation the things of this world; a sentiment
which belongs rather to Heaven than to earth, and which seems in
admirable conformity with the nature of intellect served by organs.
You sometimes in Tartary come upon plains more animated than those you
have just traversed; they are those, whither the greater supply of water
and the choicest pastures have attracted for a time a number of nomadic
families. There you see rising in all directions tents of various
dimensions, looking like balloons newly inflated, and just about to take
their flight into the air. Children, with a sort of hod at their backs,
run about collecting argols, which they pile up in heaps around their
respective tents. The matrons look after the calves, make tea in the
open air, or prepare milk in various ways; the men, mounted on fiery
horses, and armed with a long pole, gallop about, guiding to the best
pastures the great herds of cattle which undulate, in the distance all
around, like waves of the sea.
All of a sudden these pictures, so full of animation, disappear, and you
see nothing of that which of late was so full of life. Men, tents,
herds, all have vanished in the twinkling of an eye. You merely see in
the desert heaps of embers, half-extinguished fires, and a few bones, of
which birds of prey are disputing the possession. Such are the sole
vestiges which announce that a Mongol tribe has just passed that way. If
you ask the reason of these abrupt migrations, it is simply this:--the
animals having devoured all the grass that grew in the vicinity, the
chief had given the signal for departure; and all the shepherds, folding
their tents, had driven their herds before them, and proceeded, no matter
whither, in search of fresh fields and pastures new.
[Picture: Tartar Encampment]
After having journeyed the entire day through the delicious prairies of
the Red Banner, we halted to encamp for the night in a valley that seemed
full of people. We had scarcely alighted, when a number of Tartars
approached, and offered their services. After having assisted us to
unload our camels, and set up our house of blue linen, they invited us to
come and take tea in their tents. As it was late, however, we stayed at
home, promising to pay them a visit next morning; for the hospitable
invitation of our new neighbours determined us to remain for a day
amongst them. We were, moreover, very well pleased to profit by the
beauty of the weather, and of the locality, to recover from the fatigues
we had undergone the day before.
Next morning, the time not appropriated to our little household cares,
and the recitation of our Breviary, was devoted to visiting the Mongol
tents, Samdadchiemba being left at home in charge of the tent.
We had to take especial care to the safety of our legs, menaced by a
whole host of watchdogs. A small stick sufficed for the purpose; but
Tartar etiquette required us to leave these weapons at the threshold of
our host's abode. To enter a man's tent with a whip or a stick in your
hand is as great an insult as you can offer to the family; and quite
tantamount to saying, "You are all dogs."
Visiting amongst the Tartars is a frank, simple affair, altogether exempt
from the endless formalities of Chinese gentility. On entering, you give
the word of peace _amor_ or _mendou_, to the company generally. You then
seat yourself on the right of the head of the family, whom you find
squatting on the floor, opposite the entrance. Next, everybody takes
from a purse suspended at his girdle a little snuff-bottle, and mutual
pinches accompany such phrases as these: "Is the pasturage with you rich
and abundant?" "Are your herds in fine condition?" "Are your mares
productive?" "Did you travel in peace?" "Does tranquillity prevail?"
and so on. These questions and their answers being interchanged always
with intense gravity on both sides, the mistress of the tent, without
saying a word, holds out her hand to the visitor. He as silently takes
from his breast-pocket the small wooden bowl, the indispensable
vade-mecum of all Tartars, and presents it to his hostess, who fills it
with tea and milk, and returns it. In the richer, more easily
circumstanced families, visitors have a small table placed before them,
on which is butter, oatmeal, grated millet, and bits of cheese,
separately contained in little boxes of polished wood. These Tartar
delicacies the visitors take mixed with their tea. Such as propose to
treat their guests in a style of perfect magnificence make them partakers
of a bottle of Mongol wine, warmed in the ashes. This wine is nothing
more than skimmed milk, subjected for awhile to vinous fermentation, and
distilled through a rude apparatus that does the office of an alembic.
One must be a thorough Tartar to relish or even endure this beverage, the
flavour and odour of which are alike insipid.
The Mongol tent, for about three feet from the ground, is cylindrical in
form. It then becomes conical, like a pointed hat. The woodwork of the
tent is composed below of a trellis-work of crossed bars, which fold up
and expand at pleasure. Above these, a circle of poles, fixed in the
trellis-work, meets at the top, like the sticks of an umbrella. Over the
woodwork is stretched, once or twice, a thick covering of coarse linen,
and thus the tent is composed. The door, which is always a folding door,
is low and narrow. A beam crosses it at the bottom by way of threshold,
so that on entering you have at once to raise your feet and lower your
head. Besides the door there is another opening at the top of the tent
to let out the smoke. This opening can at any time be closed with a
piece of felt fastened above it in the tent, and which can be pulled over
it by means of a string, the end of which hangs by the door.
[Picture: Interior of a Tartar Tent]
The interior is divided into two compartments; that on the left, as you
enter, is reserved for the men, and thither the visitors proceed. Any
man who should enter on the right side would be considered excessively
rude. The right compartment is occupied by the women, and there you find
the culinary utensils: large earthen vessels of glazed earth, wherein to
keep the store of water; trunks of trees, of different sizes, hollowed
into the shape of pails, and destined to contain the preparations of
milk, in the various forms which they make it undergo. In the centre of
the tent is a large trivet, planted in the earth, and always ready to
receive the large iron bell-shaped cauldron that stands by, ready for
use.
Behind the hearth, and facing the door, is a kind of sofa, the most
singular piece of furniture that we met with among the Tartars. At the
two ends are two pillows, having at their extremity plates of copper,
gilt, and skilfully engraved. There is probably not a single tent where
you do not find this little couch, which seems to be an essential article
of furniture; but, strange to say, during our long journey we never saw
one of them which seemed to have been recently made. We had occasion to
visit Mongol families, where everything bore the mark of easy
circumstances, even of affluence, but everywhere alike this singular
couch was shabby, and of ancient fabric. But yet it seems made to last
for ever, and is regularly transmitted from generation to generation.
In the towns where Tartar commerce is carried on, you may hunt through
every furniture shop, every brokers, every pawnbroker's, but you meet
with not one of these pieces of furniture, new or old.
At the side of the couch, towards the men's quarter, there is ordinarily
a small square press, which contains the various odds and ends that serve
to set off the costume of this simple people. This chest serves likewise
as an altar for a small image of Buddha. The divinity, in wood or
copper, is usually in a sitting posture, the legs crossed, and enveloped
up to the neck in a scarf of old yellow silk. Nine copper vases, of the
size and form of our liqueur glasses, are symmetrically arranged before
Buddha. It is in these small chalices that the Tartars daily make to
their idol offerings of water, milk, butter, and meal. A few Thibetian
books, wrapped in yellow silk, perfect the decoration of the little
pagoda. Those whose heads are shaved, and who observe celibacy, have
alone the privilege of touching these prayer-books. A layman, who should
venture to take them into his impure and profane hands, would commit a
sacrilege.
A number of goats' horns, fixed in the woodwork of the tent, complete the
furniture of the Mongol habitation. On these hang the joints of beef or
mutton destined for the family's use, vessels filled with butter, bows,
arrows, and matchlocks; for there is scarcely a Tartar family which does
not possess at least one firearm. We were, therefore, surprised to find
M. Timkouski, in his Journey to Peking, {51} making this strange
statement: "The sound of our fire-arms attracted the attention of the
Mongols, who are acquainted only with bows and arrows." The Russian
writer should have known that fire-arms are not so foreign to the Tartars
as he imagined; since it is proved that already, as early as the
commencement of the 13th century, _Tcheng-Kis-Khan_ had artillery in his
armies.
The odour pervading the interior of the Mongol tents, is, to those not
accustomed to it, disgusting and almost insupportable. This smell, so
potent sometimes that it seems to make one's heart rise to one's throat,
is occasioned by the mutton grease and butter with which everything on or
about a Tartar is impregnated. It is on account of this habitual filth,
that they are called _Tsao-Ta-Dze_, (Stinking Tartars), by the Chinese,
themselves not altogether inodorous, or by any means particular about
cleanliness.
Among the Tartars, household and family cares rest entirely upon the
woman; it is she who milks the cows, and prepares the butter, cheese,
etc.; who goes, no matter how far, to draw water; who collects the argol
fuel, dries it, and piles it around the tent. The making of clothes, the
tanning of skins, the fulling of cloth, all appertains to her; the sole
assistance she obtains, in these various labours, being that of her sons,
and then only while they are quite young.
The occupations of the men are of very limited range; they consist wholly
in conducting the flocks and herds to pasture. This for men accustomed
from their infancy to horseback is rather an amusement than a labour. In
point of fact, the nearest approach to fatigue they ever incur, is when
some of their cattle escape; they then dash off at full gallop, in
pursuit, up hill and down dale, until they have found the missing
animals, and brought them back to the herd. The Tartars sometimes hunt;
but it is rather with a view to what they can catch than from any
amusement they derive from the exercise; the only occasions on which they
go out with their bows and matchlocks are when they desire to shoot
roebucks, deer, or pheasants, as presents for their chiefs. Foxes they
always course. To shoot them, or take them in traps, would, they
consider, injure the skin, which is held in high estimation among them.
They ridicule the Chinese immensely on account of their trapping these
animals at night. "We," said a famous hunter of the Red Banner to us,
"set about the thing in an honest straightforward way. When we see a
fox, we jump on horseback, and gallop after him till we have run him
down."
With the exception of their equestrian exercises, the Mongol Tartars pass
their time in an absolute _far niente_, sleeping all night, and squatting
all day in their tents, dosing, drinking tea, or smoking. At intervals,
however, the Tartar conceives a fancy to take a lounge abroad; and his
lounge is somewhat different from that of the Parisian idler; he needs
neither cane nor quizzing glass; but when the fancy occurs, he takes down
his whip from its place above the door, mounts his horse, always ready
saddled outside the door, and dashes off into the desert, no matter
whither. When he sees another horseman in the distance, he rides up to
him; when he sees the smoke of a tent, he rides up to that; the only
object in either case being to have a chat with some new person.
The two days we passed in these fine plains of the _Tchakar_, were not
without good use. We were able at leisure to dry and repair our clothes
and our baggage; but, above all, it gave us an opportunity to study the
Tartars close at hand, and to initiate ourselves in the habits of the
nomad peoples. As we were making preparations for departure, these
temporary neighbours aided us to fold our tent and to load our camels.
"Sirs Lamas," said they, "you had better encamp to-night at the Three
Lakes; the pasturage there is good and abundant. If you make haste you
will reach the place before sunset. On this side, and on the other side
of the Three Lakes, there is no water for a considerable distance. Sirs
Lamas, a good journey to you!" "Peace be with you, and fare well!"
responded we, and with that proceeded once more on our way, Samdadchiemba
heading the caravan, mounted on his little black mule. We quitted this
encampment without regret, just as we had quitted preceding encampments;
except indeed, that here we left, on the spot where our tent had stood, a
greater heap of ashes, and that the grass around it was more trodden than
was usual with us.
During the morning the weather was magnificent, though somewhat cold.
But in the afternoon the north wind rose, and began to blow with extreme
violence. It soon became so cutting, that we regretted we had not with
us our great fur caps, to operate as a protector for the face. We
hurried on, in order the sooner to reach the Three Lakes, and to have the
shelter there of our dear tent. In the hope of discovering these lakes,
that had been promised us by our late friends, we were constantly looking
right and left, but in vain. It grew late, and, according to the
information of the Tartars, we began to fear we must have passed the only
encampment we were likely to find that day. By dint of straining our
eyes, we at length got sight of a horseman, slowly riding along the
bottom of a lateral valley. He was at some distance from us; but it was
essential that we should obtain information from him. M. Gabet
accordingly hastened after him, at the utmost speed of his tall camel's
long legs. The horseman heard the cries of the camel, looked back, and
seeing that some one was approaching him, turned his horse round, and
galloped towards M. Gabet. As soon as he got within ear-shot: "Holy
personage," cried he, "has your eye perceived the yellow goats? I have
lost all traces of them." "I have not seen the yellow goats; I seek
water, and cannot find it. Is it far hence?" "Whence came you? Whither
go you?" "I belong to the little caravan you see yonder. We have been
told that we should this evening on our way, find lakes, upon the banks
of which we could commodiously encamp; but hitherto we have seen nothing
of the kind." "How could that be? 'Tis but a few minutes ago you passed
within a few yards of the water. Sir Lama, permit me to attend your
shadow; I will guide you to the Three Lakes." And so saying, he gave his
horse three swinging lashes with his whip, in order to put it into a pace
commensurate with that of the camel. In a minute he had joined us. "Men
of prayer," said the hunter, "you have come somewhat too far; you must
turn back. Look" (pointing with his bow) "yonder; you see those storks
hovering over some reeds: there you will find the Three Lakes." "Thanks,
brother," said we; "we regret that we cannot show you your yellow goats
as clearly as you have shown us the Three Lakes." The Mongol hunter
saluted us, with his clasped hands raised to his forehead, and we
proceeded with entire confidence towards the spot he had pointed out. We
had advanced but a few paces before we found indications of the near
presence of some peculiar waters. The grass was less continuous and less
green, and cracked under our animals' hoofs like dried leaves; the white
efflorescence of saltpetre manifested itself more and more thickly. At
last we found ourselves on the bank of one lake, near which were two
others. We immediately alighted, and set about erecting our tent; but
the wind was so violent that it was only after long labour and much
patience that we completed the task.
While Samdadchiemba was boiling our tea, we amused ourselves with
watching the camels as they luxuriously licked up the saltpetre with
which the ground was powdered. Next they bent over the edge of the lake,
and inhaled long, insatiable draughts of the brackish water, which we
could see ascending their long necks as up some flexible pump.
We had been for some time occupied in this not unpicturesque recreation,
when, all of a sudden, we heard behind us a confused, tumultuous noise,
resembling the vehement flapping of sails, beaten about by contrary and
violent winds. Soon we distinguished, amid the uproar, loud cries
proceeding from Samdadchiemba. We hastened towards him, and were just in
time to prevent, by our co-operation, the typhoon from uprooting and
carrying off our linen _louvre_. Since our arrival, the wind, augmenting
in violence, had also changed its direction; so that it now blew exactly
from the quarter facing which we had placed the opening of our tent. We
had especial occasion to fear that the tent would be set on fire by the
lighted argols that were driven about by the wind. Our first business
therefore was to tack about; and after a while we succeeded in making our
tent secure, and so got off with our fear and a little fatigue. The
misadventure, however, put Samdadchiemba into a desperately bad humour
throughout the evening; for the wind, by extinguishing the fire, delayed
the preparation of his darling tea.
The wind fell as the night advanced, and by degrees the weather became
magnificent; the sky was clear, the moon full and bright, and the stars
glittered like diamonds. Alone, in this vast solitude, we distinguished
in the distance only the fantastic and indistinct outline of the
mountains which loomed in the horizon like gigantic phantoms, while the
only sound we heard was the cries of the thousand aquatic birds, as, on
the surface of the lakes, they contended for the ends of the reeds and
the broad leaves of the water-lily. Samdadchiemba was by no means a
person to appreciate the charms of this tranquil scene. He had succeeded
in again lighting the fire, and was absorbed in the preparation of his
tea. We accordingly left him squatted before the kettle, and went to
recite the service, walking round the larger lake, which was nearly half
a league in circuit. We had proceeded about half round it, praying
alternately, when insensibly our voices fell, and our steps were stayed.
We both stopped spontaneously, and listened intently, without venturing
to interchange a word, and even endeavouring to suppress our respiration.
At last we expressed to each other the cause of our mutual terror, but it
was in tones low and full of emotion: "Did you not hear, just now, and
quite close to us, what seemed the voices of men?" "Yes, a number of
voices, speaking as though in secret consultation." "Yet we are alone
here:--'tis very surprising. Hist! let us listen again." "I hear
nothing; doubtless we were under some illusion." We resumed our walk,
and the recitation of our prayers. But we had not advanced ten steps,
before we again stopped; for we heard, and very distinctly, the noise
which had before alarmed us, and which seemed the confused vague murmur
of several voices discussing some point in under tones. Yet nothing was
visible. We got upon a hillock, and thence, by the moon's light, saw, at
a short distance, some human forms moving in the long grass. We could
hear their voices too, but not distinctly enough to know whether they
spoke Chinese or Tartar. We retraced our steps to our tent, as rapidly
as was consistent with the maintenance of silence; for we took these
people to be robbers, who, having perceived our tent, were deliberating
as to the best means of pillaging us.
"We are not in safety here," said we to Samdadchiemba; "we have
discovered, quite close to us, a number of men, and we have heard their
voices. Go and collect the animals, and bring them to the tent." "But,"
asked Samdadchiemba, knitting his brows, "if the robbers come, what shall
we do? May we fight them? May we kill them? Will Holy Church permit
that?" "First go and collect the animals; afterwards we will tell you
what we must do." The animals being brought together, and fastened
outside the tent, we directed our intrepid Samdadchiemba to finish his
tea, and we returned on tip-toe to the spot where we had seen and heard
our mysterious visitors. We looked around in every direction, with eye
and ear intent; but we could neither see nor hear any one. A
well-trodden pathway, however, which we discovered among the reeds of
tall grass on the margin of the greater lake, indicated to us that those
whom we had taken to be robbers were inoffensive passengers, whose route
lay in that direction. We returned joyfully to our tent, where we found
our valorous Samdadchiemba actively employed in sharpening, upon the top
of his leather boots, a great Russian cutlass, which he had purchased at
_Tolon-Noor_. "Well," exclaimed he, fiercely, trying with his thumb the
edge of his sword, "where are the robbers?" "There are no robbers;
unroll the goat-skins, that we may go to sleep." "'Tis a pity there are
no robbers; for here is something that would have cut into them
famously!" "Ay, ay, Samdadchiemba, you are wonderfully brave now,
because you know there are no robbers." "Oh, my spiritual fathers, it is
not so; one should always speak the words of candour. I admit that my
memory is very bad, and that I have never been able to learn many
prayers; but as to courage, I may boast of having as much of it as
another." We laughed at this singularly expressed sally. "You laugh, my
spiritual fathers," said Samdadchiemba. "Oh, you do not know the
Dchiahours. In the west, the land of _San-Tchouan_ (Three Valleys)
enjoys much renown. My countrymen hold life in little value; they have
always a sabre by their side, and a long matchlock on their shoulder.
For a word, for a look, they fight and kill one another. A Dchiahour,
who has never killed any one, is considered to have no right to hold his
head up among his countrymen. He cannot pretend to the character of a
brave man." "Very fine! Well, you are a brave man, you say: tell us how
many men did you kill when you were in the Three Valleys?" Samdadchiemba
seemed somewhat disconcerted by this question; he looked away, and broke
out into a forced laugh. At last, by way of diverting the subject, he
plunged his cup into the kettle, and drew it out full of tea. "Come,"
said we, "drink your tea, and then tell us about your exploits."
Samdadchiemba wiped his cup with the skirt of his jacket, and having
replaced it in his bosom, addressed us gravely, thus: "My spiritual
fathers, since you desire I should speak to you about myself, I will do
so; it was a great sin I committed, but I think Jehovah pardoned me when
I entered the holy Church.
"I was quite a child, not more at the utmost, than seven years old. I
was in the fields about my father's house, tending an old she-donkey, the
only animal we possessed. One of my companions, a boy about my own age,
came to play with me. We began quarrelling, and from words fell to
blows. I struck him on the head with a great root of a tree that I had
in my hand, and the blow was so heavy that he fell motionless at my feet.
When I saw my companion stretched on the earth, I stood for a moment as
it were paralysed, not knowing what to think or to do. Then an awful
fear came over me, that I should be seized and killed. I looked all
about me in search of a hole wherein I might conceal my companion, but I
saw nothing of the kind. I then thought of hiding myself. At a short
distance from our house there was a great pile of brushwood, collected
for fuel. I directed my steps thither, and with great labour made a
hole, into which, after desperately scratching myself, I managed to creep
up to my neck, resolved never to come out of it.
"When night fell, I found they were seeking me. My mother was calling me
in all directions; but I took good care not to answer. I was even
anxious not to move the brushwood, lest the sound should lead to my
discovery, and, as I anticipated, to my being killed. I was terribly
frightened when I heard a number of people crying out, and disputing, I
concluded, about me. The night passed away; in the morning I felt
devouringly hungry. I began to cry; but I could not even cry at my ease,
for I feared to be discovered by the people whom I heard moving about,
and I was resolved never to quit the brushwood."--"But were you not
afraid you should die of hunger?"--"The idea never occurred to me; I felt
hungry indeed, but that was all. The reason I had for concealing myself
was that I might not die; for I thought that if they did not find me, of
course they could not kill me."--"Well, and how long did you remain in
the brushwood?"--"Well, I have often heard people say that you can't
remain long without eating; but those who say so, never tried the
experiment. I can answer for it, that a boy of seven years old can live,
at all events, three days and four nights, without eating anything
whatever.
"After the fourth night, early in the morning, they found me in my hole.
When I felt they were taking me out, I struggled as well as I could, and
endeavoured to get away. My father took me by the arm. I cried and
sobbed, 'Do not kill me, do not kill me,' cried I; 'it was not I who
killed _Nasamboyan_.' They carried me to the house, for I would not
walk. While I wept, in utter despair, the people about me laughed. At
last they told me not to be afraid, for that Nasamboyan was not dead, and
soon afterwards Nasamboyan came into the room as well as ever, only that
he had a great bruise on his face. The blow I had struck him had merely
knocked him down, and stunned him."
When the Dchiahour had finished this narrative, he looked at us in turns,
laughing and repeating, again and again, "Who will say people cannot live
without eating?" "Well," said we, "this is a very good beginning,
Samdadchiemba; but you have not told us yet how many men you have
killed." "I never killed any one; but that was merely because I did not
stay long enough in my native Three Valleys; for at the age of ten they
put me into a great Lamasery. I had for my especial master a very rough,
cross man, who gave me the strap every day, because I could not repeat
the prayers he taught me. But it was to no purpose he beat me; I could
learn nothing: so he left off teaching me, and sent me out to fetch water
and collect fuel. But he continued to thrash me as hard as over, until
the life I led became quite insupportable, and at last I ran off with
some provisions, and made my way towards Tartary. After walking several
days, haphazard, and perfectly ignorant where I was, I encountered the
train of a Grand Lama who was repairing to Peking. I joined the caravan,
and was employed to take charge of a flock of sheep that accompanied the
party, and served for its food. There was no room for me in any of the
tents, so I had to sleep in the open air. One evening I took up my
quarters behind a rock, which sheltered me from the wind. In the
morning, waking somewhat later than usual, I found the encampment struck,
and the people all gone. I was left alone in the desert. At this time I
knew nothing about east, west, north, or south; I had consequently no
resource but to wander on at random, until I should find some Tartar
station. I lived in this way for three years--now here, now there,
exchanging such slight services as I could render for my food and
tent-room. At last I reached Peking, and presented myself at the gate of
the Great Lamasery of _Hoang-Sse_, which is entirely composed of
Dchiahour and Thibetian Lamas. I was at once admitted, and my countrymen
having clubbed together to buy me a red scarf and a yellow cap, I was
enabled to join the chorus in the recitation of prayers, and, of
consequence, to claim my share in the distribution of alms."--We
interrupted Samdadchiemba at this point, in order to learn from him how
he could take part in the recitation of prayers, without having learned
either to read or pray.--"Oh," said he, "the thing was easy enough. They
gave me an old book; I held it on my knees, and mumbling out some
gibberish between my lips, endeavoured to catch the tone of my
neighbours. When they turned over a leaf, I turned over a leaf; so that,
altogether, there was no reason why the leader of the chorus should take
any notice of my manoeuvre.
"One day, however, a circumstance occurred that very nearly occasioned my
expulsion from the Lamasery. An ill-natured Lama, who had remarked my
method of reciting the prayers, used to amuse himself with mocking me,
and creating a laugh at my expense. When the Emperor's mother died, we
were all invited to the _Yellow Palace_ to recite prayers. Before the
ceremony commenced, I was sitting quietly in my place, with my book on my
knees, when this roguish fellow came gently behind me, and looking over
my shoulder mumbled out something or other in imitation of my manner.
Losing all self-possession, I gave him so hard a blow upon the face, that
he fell on his back. The incident excited great confusion in the _Yellow
Palace_. The superiors were informed of the matter, and by the severe
rules of Thibetian discipline, I was liable to be flogged for three days
with the black whip, and then, my hands and feet in irons, to be
imprisoned for a year in the tower of the Lamasery. One of the
principals, however, who had taken notice of me before, interposed in my
favour. He went to the Lamas who constituted the council of discipline,
and represented to them the fact that the disciple who had been struck
was a person notorious for annoying his companions, and that I had
received extreme provocation from him. He spoke so warmly in my favour
that I was pardoned on the mere condition of making an apology. I
accordingly placed myself in the way of the Lama whom I had offended:
'Brother,' said I, 'shall we go and drink a cup of tea together?'
'Certainly,' replied he; 'there is no reason why I should not drink a cup
of tea with you.' We went out, and entered the first tea-house that
presented itself. Seating ourselves at one of the tables in the
tea-room, I offered my snuff bottle to my companion, saying: 'Elder
brother, the other day we had a little disagreement; that was not well.
You must confess that you were not altogether free from blame. I, on my
part, admit that I dealt too heavy a blow. But the matter has grown old;
we will think no more about it.' We then drank our tea, interchanged
various civilities, and so the thing ended."
These and similar anecdotes of our Dchiahour had carried us far into the
night. The camels, indeed, were already up and browsing their breakfast
on the banks of the lake. We had but brief time before us for repose.
"For my part," said Samdadchiemba, "I will not lie down at all, but look
after the camels. Day will soon break. Meantime I'll make a good fire,
and prepare the _pan-tan_."
It was not long before Samdadchiemba roused us with the intimation that
the sun was up, and the _pan-tan_ ready. We at once rose, and after
eating a cup of _pan-tan_, or, in other words, of oatmeal diluted with
boiling water, we planted our little cross upon a hillock, and proceeded
upon our pilgrimage.
It was past noon when we came to a place where three wells had been dug,
at short distances, the one from the other. Although it was early in the
day, we still thought we had better encamp here. A vast plain, on which
we could discern no sort of habitation, stretched out before us to the
distant horizon; and we might fairly conclude it destitute of water,
since the Tartars had taken the trouble to dig these wells. We therefore
set up our tent. We soon found, however, that we had selected a
detestable encampment. With excessive nastiness of very brackish and
very fetid water was combined extreme scarcity of fuel. We looked about
for argols, but in vain. At last Samdadchiemba, whose eyes were better
than ours, discerned in the distance a sort of enclosure, in which he
concluded that cattle had been folded. He took a camel with him to the
place in the hope of finding plenty of argols there, and he certainly
returned with an ample supply of the article; but unfortunately the
precious manure-fuel was not quite dry; it absolutely refused to burn.
The Dchiahour essayed an experiment. He hollowed out a sort of furnace
in the ground, surmounting it with a turf chimney. The structure was
extremely picturesque, but it laboured under the enormous disadvantage of
being wholly useless. Samdadchiemba arranged and re-arranged his fuel,
and puffed, and puffed, with the full force of his potent lungs. It was
all lost labour. There was smoke enough, and to spare; we were enveloped
in smoke, but not a spark of fire: and the water in the kettle remained
relentlessly passive. It was obvious that to boil our tea or heat
oatmeal was out of the question. Yet we were anxious, at all events, to
take the chill off the water, so as to disguise, by the warmth, its
brackish flavour and its disagreeable smell. We adopted this expedient.
You meet in the plains of Mongolia with a sort of grey squirrel, living
in holes like rats. These animals construct, over the opening of their
little dens, a sort of miniature dome, composed of grass, artistically
twisted, and designed as a shelter from wind and rain. These little
heaps of dry grass are of the form and size of molehills. The place
where we had now set up our tent abounded with these grey squirrels.
Thirst made us cruel, and we proceeded to level the house-domes of these
poor little animals, which retreated into their holes below as we
approached them. By means of this vandalism we managed to collect a
sackful of efficient fuel, and so warmed the water of the well, which was
our only aliment during the day.
Our provisions had materially diminished, notwithstanding the economy to
which the want of fire on this and other occasions had reduced us. There
remained very little meal or millet in our store bags, when we learned,
from a Tartar whom we met on the way, that we were at no great distance
from a trading station called _Chaborte_ (Slough.) It lay, indeed,
somewhat out of the route we were pursuing; but there was no other place
at which we could supply ourselves with provisions, until we came to
Blue-Town, from which we were distant a hundred leagues. We turned
therefore obliquely to the left, and soon reached Chaborte.
[Picture: Russian Convent at Peking]