As you know, the Tibetans when saluting put out the tongue to its full
extent. If they are wearing a cap it is removed and placed upon the
ground in sign of respect, especially if the person saluted is of high
social standing. The hands, joined with the thumbs together and raised,
are waved up and down in front of the forehead.
There is a code of social etiquette among Tibetans even of the most
degraded tribes. For instance, it is not customary to enter a tent
without first announcing one’s presence and demanding admittance. Also,
no Tibetan traveller, except Government messengers, will enter an
encampment after dark unless he has warned the inhabitants beforehand.
It must not be argued that because the officials of Tibet—the Lamas
particularly—show intense cruelty, especially to foreigners, everybody
in Tibet is cruel. On the contrary, there are many folks in Tibet who
possess generous hearts. The people are charitable to a degree, even
the poorest sharing what little they have with strangers poorer than
themselves. During my captivity in Tibet, on my first expedition, on
many occasions individual Tibetans showed sympathy and consideration,
when, had it been discovered, it would have cost them their heads. So
that, after all, not all Tibetans are bad. If anything—barring the
Lamas—the people are rather good-natured and easygoing, easily led and
influenced if taken the right way.
Tibetan men are not fighting men, and are, perhaps, the most
contemptible cowards in face of danger. Curiously enough, it is not
fear of death which makes them pusillanimous, but apparently the notion
of getting hurt and the absolute lack of resolution. If ordered by his
superiors and impressed with the idea that if killed by the enemy he
will find himself in heaven, whereas if he bolts and returns to camp he
will be beheaded and go to a hell of ice and snow—yes, the Tibetan hell
is a cool place; but their heaven is warm, with splendid grazing for
yaks!—then, indeed, a Tibetan will stand helplessly to be shot without
defending himself, while Maxim guns and shrapnel and other things of
the kind are playing upon him. The carnages of the British Tibet
Mission, of which we importers of civilisation should not feel too
proud, are a good instance of this.
So, again, although a contemptible coward, he does not fear death. I
myself, while in Tibet, could confirm this statement by many personal
experiences. When officials came to induce me to leave the country they
maintained, and it was true, that they had strict orders from Lhassa to
drive me away. If they returned unsuccessful from their mission they
would, they declared, be beheaded. When I insisted on continuing my
journey they frequently handed me their sword, requesting me to cut off
their head then and there, which would save them the dishonour of
degradation and a public execution.
Once or twice, as the Tibetans on my first journey had given me a taste
of what it felt like to be taken out to the execution ground and have a
sword flourished round my neck, I thought that I was fully entitled to
try a practical joke and see what effect the similar sensation would
have on Tibetan officers. Only, of course, in my case I had not asked
to be beheaded, and therefore the process came more as a surprise,
besides being carried out in dead earnest up to, but fortunately with a
postponement of, the last stroke.
To go on with my narrative, I pretended to accept the offer of the
Tibetan officers, and, calling all my men, lined them up to witness the
execution. The Tibetan officers knelt down, somewhat trembling but
quite resigned, and cleared their necks to make my work easy. Many of
them did not flinch, but some did when I approached, brandishing the
sword in their own fashion; and, by Jove! the latter proved themselves
to be the champion runners of the country. Naturally, I never injured
these fellows in any way, and when they showed any determination at all
I always gave them a suitable present of some sort or other.
After the performance was over they fully entered into the humour of
the joke themselves, and we used to have very hearty laughs over it,
and endless cups of tea.
When you travel in Tibet you see, in the daytime, men and women garbed
in heavy skin coats; only one sleeve at a time is put on while half the
chest and the other arm are left bare. This, to any one not suspecting
the reason, looks very incongruous, and has led to all sorts of
ridiculous explanations from the usual theoretical scientists at home.
The real explanation is simple and is this.
As I have elsewhere explained, the heat of the sun is in Tibet very
great—especially in Southern Tibet,—the latitude not being many degrees
north, and the power of the sun’s rays is even intensified by the
clearness of the rarefied air. On the other hand, owing to the immense
elevation, the cold is intense wherever the sun does not strike, so
that it is not uncommon to feel absolutely roasted on the sunny side
and frozen on the other. Hence the necessity of having winter clothing
to cover half your anatomy, while the other half demands nothing more
than tropical bareness.
The Tibetans are not artistic by nature. Their art is of the most
rudimentary kind. A few earthen pots, graceful enough in shape, but of
no extraordinary beauty, are manufactured by them, and some brass and
iron vessels are made in the cities. Also, of course, in a population
of several millions there have been a few individuals who have
attempted more ambitious works of art, such as paintings (mostly of
religious subjects) and sculptures, but although in the paintings the
colouring is bright, and much care is devoted to details, anatomical
accuracy and proportion are always lacking in the figures, and not even
a shade of perspective is to be noticed in their landscapes. In certain
conventional decorative ways, however, the Tibetans are quite masters,
as, for instance, in the gigantic religious inscriptions one frequently
finds all over the country upon dangerous vertical cliffs. One of the
coloured plates given in this book represents a young Lama—the Lamas
can always be distinguished in Tibet by their clean-shaven
heads—inscribing the words “Om mani padme hum” upon the face of a rock.
The work is carried on at a great height, the artist being suspended in
a rope sling. Lamas with any special talent in this direction are kept
in monasteries and sent all over the country to adorn the barren
landscape, especially on high caravan routes, with these sacred
characters. Perhaps, when Tibet has been fully opened to foreign
civilisation, these talents will find a more remunerative occupation in
substituting for the sacred words advertisements of fancy soaps and
hair restorers.
These sculptors, and, in fact, most of the cleverer Tibetans, are
practically ambidexter, being able to use either hand, especially in
works which require no great delicacy of touch. As can be seen in the
illustration, the young Lama is using the hammer with his left hand.
The cloth made by Tibetans is of great strength, especially fabrics of
yak hair, but seldom of a handsome design. Very irregular designs are
occasionally attempted, but usually the Tibetan woman is wise enough
never to depart from the striped pattern. Tibetan fabrics are generally
woven too narrow for any practical use in European countries.