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TRAVELS
IN
TARTARY, THIBET, AND CHINA,
ILLUSTRATED.
[Picture: Buddha]
LONDON:
OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY,
227 STRAND.
[Picture: Mausoleum of a Grand Lama of Thibet]
TRAVELS
IN
TARTARY, THIBET, AND CHINA,
DURING THE YEARS 1844-5-6.
* * * * *
BY M. HUC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY W. HAZLITT.
* * * * *
VOL. II.
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATED WITH FIFTY ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.
* * * * *
* * * * *
LONDON:
OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY
227 STRAND.
* * * * *
LONDON:
VIZETELLY AND COMPANY, PRINTERS AND ENGRAVERS,
PETERBOROUGH COURT, FLEET STREET.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.
PAGE
CONTENTS. v
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ix
CHAPTER I.
Caravan of Khalkha Tartars--Son of the King of 13
Koukou-Noor--Sandara the Bearded--Two thousand Oxen are
stolen from the Houng-Mao-Eul, or Long Hairs--Fearful
Tumult at Tang-Keou-Eul--Description and character of the
Long Hairs--Feasts of the First Day of the Year--Departure
for the Lamasery of Kounboum--Arrival at Night--Old
Akaye--The Kitat-Lama--The Stammerer--Pilgrims at
Kounboum--Description of the Feast of Flowers
CHAPTER II.
Marvellous birth of Tsong-Kaba--His preparation for the 46
Apostleship--He departs for the West--His interview with
the Grand Lama of Thibet--He reforms the Lamanesque
worship--Numerous analogies between the Catholic religion
and reformed Buddhism--Origin of these analogies--Tree of
the Ten Thousand Images--Lamanesque Teaching--Faculty of
Prayer--Government of the Lamasery of Kounboum--Offerings
of the Pilgrims--Industry of the Lamas--The Adventures of
Sandara the Bearded--Favourable disposition of the Lamas
towards Christianity--Singular practice for the relief of
Travellers--Nocturnal Prayers--Departure for the Lamasery
of Tchogortan
CHAPTER III.
Aspect of the Lamasery of Tchogortan--Contemplative 72
Lamas--Lama Herdsmen--The "Book of the Forty-two Points of
Instruction, delivered by Buddha"--Extract from the
Chinese Annals, with relation to the preaching of Buddhism
in China--The Black Tents--Manners of the
Si-Fan--Long-haired Oxen--Adventures of a stuffed
Karba--Lamanesque Chronicle of the Origin of
Nations--Alimentary Diet--Valuable discoveries in the
Animal Kingdom--Manufacture of Camel-hair Cord--Frequent
visits to Tchogortan--Classification of Argols--Brigand
Anecdote--Elevation of the Pyramid of Peace--The Faculty
of Medicine at Tchogortan--Thibetian Physicians--Departure
for the Blue Sea
CHAPTER IV.
Aspect of the Koukou-Noor--Tribes of Kolos--Chronicle of 98
the Origin of the Blue Sea--Description and March of the
Great Caravan--Passage of the Pouhain-Gol--Adventures of
the Altere-Lama--Character of our pro-cameleer--Mongols of
Tsaidam--Pestilential Vapours of the Bourhan-Bota--Ascent
of the Chuga and Bayen-Kharat Mountains--Wild Cattle--Wild
Mules--Men and Animals Killed with the Cold--Encounter
with Brigands--Plateau of Tant-La--Hot
Springs--Conflagration in the Desert--Village of
Na-Ptchu--Sale of Camels, and Hiring of Long-tailed
Oxen--Young Chaberon of the Kingdom of
Khartchin--Cultivated Plains of Pompou--Mountain of the
Remission of Sins--Arrival at Lha-Ssa
CHAPTER V.
Lodgings in a Thibetian House--Appearance of 137
Lha-Ssa--Palace of the Tale-Lama--Picture of the
Thibetians--Monstrous Toilet of the Women--Industrial and
Agricultural productions of Thibet--Gold and Silver
Mines--Foreigners resident at Lha-Ssa--The Pebouns--The
Katchis--The Chinese--Position of the relations between
China and Thibet--Various speculations of the Public
respecting us--We present ourselves to the
Authorities--Form of the Thibetian Government--Grand Lama
of Djachi-Loumbo--Society of the Kalons--Thibetian
Prophecy--Tragical Death of three Tale-Lamas--Account of
Ki-Chan--Condemnation of the Nomekhan--Revolt of the
Lamasery of Sera
CHAPTER VI.
Visit of Five Spies--Appearance before the Regent--Ki-Chan 166
makes us undergo an Examination--Supper at the expense of
the Government--A night of imprisonment with the
Regent--Confidential communications of the Governor of the
Katchi--Domiciliary Visit--Seals affixed to all our
effects--Sinico-Thibetian Tribunal--Inquiry about the
Geographical Maps--Homage paid to Christianity, and to the
French name--The Regent assigns to us one of his
Houses--Erection of a Chapel--Preaching of the
Gospel--Conversion of a Chinese Doctor--Religious
Conferences with the Regent--Recreation with a Magnifying
Glass--Conversations with Ki-Chan--Religious character of
the Thibetians--Celebrated formula of the
Buddhists--Buddhist Pantheism--Election of the
Tale-Lama--The Small-pox at Lha-Ssa--Sepultures in use
among the Thibetians
CHAPTER VII.
Notice of Moorcroft the English Traveller--Routes between 201
Lha-Ssa and Europe--Discussion with the Chinese
Ambassador--Contest between the Regent and Ki-Chan about
us--Our expulsion from Lha-Ssa determined on--Protest
against this arbitrary measure--Report of Ki-Chan to the
Emperor of China--System of Chronology in use in
Thibet--New Thibetian year--Festivals and
rejoicings--Buddhist Monasteries of the Province of
Oui--Khaldan--Preboung--Sera--Farewell of the
Regent--Separation from Samdadchiemba--Ly, the Pacificator
of Kingdoms--Triple Address of the Chinese
Ambassador--Picturesque adieu between the Ly-Kouo-Ngun and
his Wife--Departure from Lha-Ssa for Canton--Crossing a
river in a leathern boat
CHAPTER VIII.
Chinese account of Thibet--Mountain of Loumma-Ri--Arrival 232
at Ghiamda--Visit of two Military Mandarins--Accident on a
wooden bridge--The Unicorn--Passage of a
Glacier--Appearance of Lha-Ri--Ascent of
Chor-Kon-La--Frightful Road to Alan-To--Village of Lang
Ki-Tsoung--Famous Mountain of Tanda--Catastrophe of
Kia-Yu-Kiao--Passage of the celebrated Plateau of
Wa-Ho--Arrival at Tsiamdo
CHAPTER IX.
Glance at Tsiamdo--War between two Living Buddhas--We meet 268
a small Caravan--Calcareous Mountains--Death of the
Mandarin Pey--The great chief Proul-Tamba--Visit to the
Castle of Proul-Tamba--Buddhist Hermit--War among the
tribes--Halt at Angti--Thibetian Museum--Passage of the
Mountain Angti--Town of Djaya--Death of the son of the
Mandarin Pey--Musk Deer--River with Gold Sands--Plain and
Town of Bathang--Great Forest of Ta-So--Death of
Ly-Kouo-Ngan--Interview with the Mandarins of
Lithang--Various bridges of Thibet--Arrival on the
frontiers of China--Residence at Ta-Tsien-Lou--Departure
for the capital of the Province of Sse-Tchouen
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Frontispiece, Mausoleum of a Grand Lama of Thibet
Title-page, Buddha
Khalkha Tartars 13
Tartars 13
Ceremony of Reception 17
Pawnbroker's Shop 29
Accident on the Ice 33
The Grand Lama of Kounboum 43
The Great Wall of China 46
The Tree of Ten Thousand Images 53
Buddhic Prayer 59
Sending Horses to Travellers 67
Lamasery of Tchogortan 72
The Long-haired Ox 80
The Pyramid of Peace 92
The Leaf of the Tree of Ten Thousand Images 97
The Blue Sea 98
The Tchanak-Kampo, and the Caravan 106
Wild Mules of Tartary 121
Fire in the Camp 130
View of Na-Ptchu 132
Chinese and Tartar Male Head-dresses 136
View of Lha-Ssa 137
Thibetian Cup Shop 145
Insurrection of the Thibetians at Lha-Ssa 151
Chinese Mandarin and his Wife 153
The Spies 166
The Governor of Katchi 177
Carrying Goods to the Tribunal 180
The Regent of Lha-Ssa 188
Portrait of Ki-Chan 192
Chinese and Tartar Female Head-dresses 200
Thibetian Theatre 201
The Tortche, or Sanctifying Instrument 220
Adieu of Ki-Chan 227
Parting of Ly-Kouo-Ngan with his Wife 229
Scene on the River Bo-Tchou 231
Bridge of Ghiamda 232
Chinese Musical Instruments 234
The Unicorn 245
The Defile of Alan-To 255
Pagoda of Tanda 261
Chinese Hand, Foot, Shoes, etc. 267
Proul-Tamba, a celebrated Thibetian Chief 268
Thibetian Travellers 272
The Hermit of the Mountain 281
Iron Chain Bridge 301
Chinese Ornamental Ware 304
[Picture: Khalka Tartars]
CHAPTER I.
Caravan of Khalkha-Tartars--Son of the King of Koukou-Noor--Sandara the
Bearded--Two thousand Oxen are stolen from the Houng-Mao-Eul, or Long
Hairs--Fearful Tumult at Tang-Keou-Eul--Description and character of the
Long Hairs--Feasts of the First Day of the Year--Departure for the
Lamasery of Kounboum--Arrival at Night--Old Akaye--The Kitat-Lama--The
Stammerer--Pilgrims at Kounboum--Description of the Feast of Flowers.
The Houses of Repose are very numerous in [Picture: Khalkas] the small
town of Tang-Keou-Eul, by reason of the great number of strangers, who
are drawn thither from all quarters by commerce. It was in one of these
establishments, kept by a family of Mussulmen, that we went to lodge. As
we had nothing to do with trade, we felt called upon candidly to
communicate the fact to the host, and to arrange the terms of our living
in his house; it was agreed that we should be there as in a common hotel.
All this was very well; but the question was, what we were to do
afterwards: what was to become of us? This question incessantly
engrossed our minds, and tormented us not a little.
As far as Tang-Keou-Eul we had followed, with sufficient continuity, the
route we had traced out for ourselves; we might even say that this
portion of our journey had been successful beyond all expectations. Now
the business was to carry out our plan, and to penetrate to Lha-Ssa, the
capital of Thibet; an undertaking which appeared bristling with almost
insuperable difficulties. Tang-Keou-Eul was our columns of Hercules,
with their depressing _ne plus ultra_ (No farther shalt thou go).
However, we had already vanquished too many obstacles, to be easily
overcome by discouragement. We heard that almost every year caravans
proceeded from Tang-Keou-Eul, and penetrated into the very heart of
Thibet. We wanted nothing more to confirm our determination. Whatever
other people had undertaken and executed, we assumed also to undertake
and to execute, as not being, probably, beyond our power. It was
therefore settled that the journey should be carried out to the end, and
that no one should say that Catholic missionaries had less courage for
the interest of the faith, than merchants for a little profit. The
possibility of departure being thus determined we had nothing to seek but
the opportunity.
Our great business, therefore, was to collect all possible information
respecting this famous route into Thibet. We heard terrible things about
it; we should have to travel for four months through a country absolutely
without inhabitants, and should have, accordingly, to lay in before our
departure all the necessary provisions. In the season of winter, the
cold was so horrible that it often happened that travellers were frozen
to death or buried beneath the avalanches of snow; while, in summer, a
great number were drowned, for they had to cross large streams, without
bridge or boat, without other aid than that of animals, which themselves
often could not swim. Moreover, there were hordes of brigands, who at
certain periods of the year prowled about the desert and stripped
travellers and abandoned them, without clothes or food, amidst these
frightful plains; in short, there was no end of stories, enough to make
our hair stand on end; and these stories, fabulous as they seemed, or, at
least, much exaggerated, were the same on every tongue,--were all of a
frightful uniformity. Besides, there were to be seen and questioned in
the streets of Tang-Keou-Eul, some Tartar-Mongols, who were standing
evidence of the truth of these long narratives, being the remnants of a
large caravan, which had been attacked in the preceding year by a troop
of brigands. These had contrived to escape, but their companions had
been left to the mercy of the _Kolo_ (brigands). This information, while
ineffectual to shake our resolution, induced us to remain where we were,
until a favourable opportunity for departure should present itself.
We had been six days at Tang-Keou-Eul, when a small caravan of
Tartar-Khalkhas arrived at our House of Repose. It came from the
frontiers of Russia, and was on its way to Lha-Ssa to offer up its
adorations to a young child, which, the people were informed, was the
famous Guison-Tamba newly transmigrated. When the Tartars learned that
we were awaiting a favourable opportunity for proceeding towards Thibet,
they were delighted, fully appreciating the fact that their troop, in
this unexpected accession of three pilgrims, received an accession, also,
of three combatants in the event of a fight with the Kolo. Our beards
and mustachios inspired them with an exalted idea of our valour, and we
were forthwith decorated by them with the title of _Batourou_ (braves).
This was all exceedingly honourable and seductive; but still, before we
finally decided upon joining the cavalcade, we thought it expedient to
consider the various aspects of the matter gravely and maturely.
The caravan which occupied the great court-yard of the House of Repose,
counted only eight men; the rest was camels, horses, tents, baggage, and
kitchen utensils; but then the eight men, according to their own account,
were perfect war dragons. At all events, they were armed up to the
teeth, and made a grand display before us of their matchlocks, lances,
bows and arrows, and above all, of a piece of artillery, in the shape of
a small cannon, of the size of one's arm; it had no carriage, but mounted
between the two humps of a camel, it produced a very formidable effect.
All this warlike apparatus failed to inspire us with confidence, and, on
the other hand, we placed but slight reliance upon the moral effect of
our long beards. It was necessary, however, to adopt a decided course;
the Tartar-Khalkhas urged us pressingly, assuring us of complete success.
Of the lookers on, disinterested in the matter one way or the other, some
told us that the opportunity was altogether eligible, and that we ought
by all means to avail ourselves of it; while others assured us that it
would be the extreme of imprudence to proceed, for that so small a party
would be inevitably eaten up by the Kolo; and that it would be far
better, as we were in no immediate hurry, to wait for the great Thibetian
embassy.
Now this embassy having only just quitted Peking, would not reach
Tang-Keou-Eul for fully eight months, a delay which it seemed absolutely
ruinous for us to undergo. How, with our modest means, were we to
maintain ourselves and our five animals for so long a time in an inn?
After maturely calculating and weighing everything: let us confide in the
protection of God, said we, and go forth. We announced our resolution to
the Tartars, who were highly delighted. We immediately requested the
host of the House of Repose to purchase for us four months' provision of
meal. "What do you want with four months meal?" asked the Tartars.
"They say the journey is of at least three months' duration, and it is
expedient, therefore, to provide for four months, to meet the chance of
accidents." "Ay, the Thibetian embassy occupies a long time on the
journey, but we Tartars travel in quite a different manner; we do the
distance in a moon and a-half at the very outside; we gallop the whole
way, so that we get over nearly 200 (twenty leagues) a day." This
intimation at once caused us to change our resolution. It was manifestly
quite impossible for us to keep up with this caravan. In the first
place, as to ourselves, never having been accustomed, like the Tartars,
to forced marches, we should have been dead in three days; and as to our
animals, weary and worn with four months incessant toil, they could not
have for any length of time borne up against the pace of our proposed
companions. The Tartars having forty camels could afford to knock up
one-half of them. Indeed, they themselves admitted that with our three
camels, it was impossible for us to undertake the journey with them, and
they accordingly advised us to buy a dozen others. The advice, excellent
in itself, was, with reference to the state of our exchequer, absolutely
absurd. Twelve good camels would have cost us three hundred ounces of
silver; now the total amount of our funds was under two hundred ounces.
The eight Tartar-Khalkhas were all of princely blood, and, accordingly,
on the evening preceding their departure, they received a visit from the
son of the King of Koukou-Noor, who was then at Tang-Keou-Eul. As the
room we occupied was the handsomest in the establishment, it was arranged
that the interview should take place there. The young Prince of
Koukou-Noor surprised us by his noble mien and the elegance of his
manners; it was obvious that he spent considerably more of his time at
Tang-Keou-Eul than in the Mongol tent. He was attired in a handsome robe
of light blue cloth, over which was a sort of jacket of violet cloth,
with a broad border of black velvet. His left ear was decorated, in
Thibetian fashion, with a gold earring from which hung several trinkets;
his complexion was almost as fair as our own, and his countenance
admirably gentle in its expression: in utter contradistinction from
ordinary Tartars, his garments were exquisitely clean. As the visit of a
Prince of Koukou-Noor was quite an event, we determined to be wholly
regardless of expense in celebrating it; and Samdadchiemba received,
accordingly, orders to prepare a banquet for his royal highness, that is
to say, a great pitcher of good, hot tea, with milk. His royal highness
deigned to accept a cup of this beverage, and the remainder was
distributed among his staff, who were in waiting outside. The
conversation turned upon the journey into Thibet. The prince promised
the Tartar-Khalkhas an escort throughout his estates. "Beyond that
point," said he, "I can answer for nothing; you must take your chance,
good or bad, as shall happen." Then addressing us, he advised us by all
means to wait for the Thibetian embassy, in whose company we should be
able to travel with greater ease and security. On taking leave, the
royal visitor drew from a purse elegantly embroidered, a small agate
snuff-box, and graciously offered to each of us a pinch.
[Picture: Ceremony of Reception]
Next morning the Tartar-Khalkhas proceeded on their journey. When we saw
them depart, a feeling of sorrow came over us, for we would gladly have
accompanied them had it been at all practicable; but the sentiment soon
subsided, and we applied our thoughts to the best use we should make of
our time while we remained at Tang-Keou-Eul. It was at last determined
that we should procure a master, and devote ourselves entirely to the
study of the Thibetian language and of the Buddhist books.
At eleven leagues from Tang-Keou-Eul there is, in the land of the Si-Fan,
or Eastern Thibetians, a Lamasery, whose fame extends not merely
throughout Tartary, but even to the remotest parts of Thibet. Thither
pilgrims flock from all quarters, venerating; for there was born
Tsong-Kaba-Remboutchi, the famous reformer of Buddhism. The Lamasery
bears the name of Kounboum, and its Lama population numbers no fewer than
4,000 persons, Si-Fan, Tartars, Thibetians, and Dchiahours. It was
determined that one of us should visit this place, and endeavour to
engage a Lama to come and teach us for a few months the Thibetian
language. M. Gabet, accordingly, departed on this mission, accompanied
by Samdadchiemba, while M. Huc remained at Tang-Keou-Eul, to take care of
the animals and of the baggage.
After an absence of five days, M. Gabet returned to the House of Repose,
eminently successful, having secured at the Lamasery of Kounboum a
perfect treasure in the person of a Lama who had passed ten of the
thirty-two years of his life in a grand Lamasery at Lha-Ssa itself. He
spoke pure Thibetian perfectly, wrote it with facility, and was very
learned in the Buddhist books; moreover, he was quite familiar with
several other idioms, Si-Fan, Mongol, Chinese, and Dchiahour; in a word,
he was a philologist of the first water. This young Lama was a Dchiahour
by birth, and a cousin-german of Samdadchiemba; his name was Sandara, and
in the Lamasery he was called Sandara the Bearded, by reason of the
remarkable length of that appendage in which he luxuriated.
The devotion which Samdadchiemba's cousin forthwith manifested in our
favour made us rejoice that we had not adventured with the Tartar-Khalkha
caravan, for here we were placed in the precise position for procuring
every requisite information about Thibet, and of making ourselves
acquainted at the same time with the language and religion of that
celebrated region.
We applied ourselves to study with perfect enthusiasm. First, we
composed in Mongol two dialogues, comprehending the most familiar
conversational phrases. These Sandara translated into Thibetian with
scrupulous attention. Every morning he wrote out a page in our presence,
giving us a grammatical commentary upon each expression, as he proceeded;
this was our lesson for the day, which we first transcribed several
times, in order to break our hand into the Thibetian writing, and then
chanted, in the manner of the Lamaseries, until the whole page was
thoroughly impressed upon the memory. In the evening our master heard us
recite the portion of dialogue he had written for us in the morning, and
rectified our defects of pronunciation. Sandara acquitted himself of his
task with talent and amiability. From time to time in the course of the
day he would, by way of recreation, give us details full of interest
respecting Thibet and the Lamaseries he had visited. It was impossible
to listen to the descriptions given by this young Lama without
admiration; nowhere had we heard a person express himself with greater
facility or a more winning manner; the simplest, commonest things became
in his mouth picturesque and full of charm; he was especially remarkable
when he sought to induce upon others any particular view of his own upon
some subject in which he really felt an interest. His eloquence was then
really powerful.
After having surmounted the first difficulties of the Thibetian language,
and familiarized ourselves with the expressions in ordinary use, we
proceeded to give our studies an altogether religious direction. We got
Sandara to translate for us into the sacred style of his language some of
the leading Catholic forms, such as the Lord's Prayer, the Salutation,
the Apostles' Creed, the Commandments: and thereupon we took occasion to
explain to him the general truths of the Christian religion. He seemed
all at once struck with this new doctrine, so different from the vague,
incoherent propositions of Buddhism. Before long he attached so much
importance to the study of the Christian religion that he entirely laid
aside the Lama books he had brought with him, and applied himself to the
acquisition of our prayers with an ardour that made us truly joyful.
From time to time in the course of the day he would interrupt what he was
about in order to make the sign of the cross, and he practised this
religious act in a manner so grave and respectful that we thoroughly
believed him to have become a Christian at heart. The excellent
tendencies he manifested filled us with the most lively hopes, and we
gratefully viewed in Sandara an incipient apostle, destined one day to
labour with success in converting the sectaries of Buddha.
While we three, master and pupils, were thus absorbed in studies so
important, Samdadchiemba, who had no sort of vocation for things
intellectual, passed his time lounging about the streets of Tang-Keou-Eul
and drinking tea. Not at all pleased with this occupation of his time,
we devised to withdraw him from his idleness, and to utilise him in his
special character of cameleer. It was accordingly arranged that he
should take the three camels and pasture them in a valley of Koukou-Noor,
noted for the excellence and the abundance of its pasturage. A Tartar of
the locality promised to receive him into his tent, and we rejoiced in
the arrangement, as effecting the double advantage of supplying
Samdadchiemba with an occupation in conformity with his tastes, and of
giving our camels better and less costly fodder.
By degrees, all the fine things that we had imagined in Sandara, vanished
like a dream. This young man, apparently of devotion so pure and
disinterested, was in reality a dissipated knave, whose only aim was to
ease us of our sapeks. When he thought he had rendered himself essential
to us, he threw aside the mask, and placed himself undisguisedly before
us in all the detestability of his character: he became insolent,
haughty, overbearing. In his Thibetian lessons, he substituted for the
mild, gentle, insinuating tone of his former instruction, manners the
most insufferably harsh and brutal, such as the worst tempered pedagogue
would not betray towards the poorest of his pupils. If we asked him for
an explanation which perhaps he had previously given, he would assail us
with such amenities as these: "What! you learned fellows want to have the
same thing told you three times over! Why, if I were to tell a donkey
the same thing three times over, he'd remember it." We might easily, no
doubt, have cut short these impertinences by sending the man back to his
Lamasery; and, more than once, we were strongly inclined to adopt this
course, but, upon the whole, we thought it better to undergo a little
humiliation, than to deprive ourselves of the services of a Lama whose
talents were indisputable, and who, therefore, might be of the greatest
utility to us. His very rudeness, we considered, would aid our progress
in acquiring the Thibetian language, for we were sure that he would not
pass over the most trivial fault in grammar or pronunciation, but, on the
contrary, would rate us for any such defects, in a style eminently
calculated to produce an abiding impression. This system, though
somewhat tedious, and decidedly displeasing to one's self-love, was
incomparably superior to the method practised by the Chinese Christians
towards the European missionaries in giving them Chinese lessons. Partly
from politeness, partly from religious respect, they affect to be in
ecstasies with whatever their spiritual father-pupil says; and, instead
of frankly correcting the faults which naturally occur in his
expressions, they are rather disposed to imitate his defective language,
so that he may, with the less trouble to himself, understand them, the
result of which excessive complaisance is, that the missionaries are put
to grave inconvenience when they seek to converse with pagans who, not
having the same devotion towards them, do not admit in them a fine
pronunciation, or a masterly knowledge of words. Upon such occasions,
how one regrets that one had not for a teacher some Sandara the Bearded!
Upon such considerations, we resolved to keep our master with all his
defects, to endure his abuse, and to make the best and most we could of
him. As we found that our sapeks were his object, it was agreed that we
should pay him handsomely for his lessons; and, moreover, we made up our
minds to wink at his little knaveries, and to affect to have no idea that
he had an understanding with the people who sold us our daily provisions.
Samdadchiemba had not been gone many days before he suddenly re-appeared
amongst us. He had been robbed by brigands who had taken from him his
entire provision of meal, butter, and tea. For the last day and a half
he had eaten nothing whatever, and, of consequence, his voice was hollow,
and his face pale and haggard. Only seeing one camel in the court-yard,
we imagined that the two others had become the prey of the brigands, but
Samdadchiemba relieved us by the assurance that he had confided them to
the Tartar family who had granted him their hospitality. Upon hearing
this statement, Sandara knitted his brows. "Samdadchiemba," said he,
"you are my younger brother, as it were; I have therefore a right to ask
you a few questions." And thereupon he submitted the cameleer to an
interrogatory characterised by all the depth and subtlety of an able
advocate cross-examining some cunning offender. He demanded the minutest
details, and applied himself with infinite ingenuity to work up the
contradictions into which he involved the questioned party, and to put
forward in prominent relief the apparent improbability of his story. How
was it, he asked, that the robbers had stolen the butter, yet left the
bag in which the butter was carried? How was it they had respected the
little snuff-bottle, yet carried off the embroidered purse which served
it as a cover. When he had finished his inquiries, he added, with a
malicious smile: "I have put these few questions to my brother out of
pure curiosity; I attach no importance to them. It is not I who have to
disburse the wherewithal to buy him fresh provisions."
Samdadchiemba, meantime, was dying with hunger, so we gave him some
sapeks, and he went to dinner in a neighbouring eating-house. As soon as
he had quitted the room, Sandara proceeded: "Nobody shall ever persuade
me that my brother has been robbed. The brigands in this part of the
country don't do their work in the way he wants to make out. The fact
is, that Samdadchiemba, when he got among the Tartars, wanted to show
off, and distributed his provisions right and left in order to make
friends. He had no reason to fear being lavish; what he gave away cost
him nothing." The probity of Samdadchiemba was a fact so thoroughly
impressed upon our convictions, that we altogether repudiated this wicked
insinuation, which we clearly saw proceeded at once from Sandara's
jealous annoyance at the confidence we reposed in his cousin, and from a
cunning desire, in giving us the idea that he was warmly attached to our
interest, to divert our attention from his own petty peculations. We
gave Samdadchiemba, who did not at all perceive his relative's treachery,
some more provisions, and he returned to the pastures of Koukou-Noor.
Next day, the town of Tang-Keou-Eul was the scene of terrible disorder.
The brigands had made their appearance in the vicinity, and had driven
off 2000 head of cattle belonging to the tribe called _Houng-Mao-Eul_
(Long Hairs). These Eastern Thibetians quit once a-year the slopes of
the Bayan-Khara mountains in large caravans, and come to Tang-Keou-Eul to
sell furs, butter, and a kind of wild fruit that grows in their district.
While they are engaged in these commercial operations, they leave their
large herds in the vast prairies that abut upon the town, and which are
under the jurisdiction of the Chinese authorities. There was no example,
we heard, of the brigands having ventured to approach so close as this to
the frontiers of the Empire. This present audacity of theirs, and more
especially the known violence of character of the Long Hairs, contributed
to throw the whole town into utter dismay and confusion. Upon hearing of
their loss the Long Hairs had tumultuously rushed to the Chinese
tribunal, and, their long sabres in their hands, lightning in their eyes,
and thunder in their mouths, had demanded justice and vengeance. The
terrified Mandarin instantly despatched 200 soldiers in pursuit of the
robbers. But the Long Hairs, seeing that these foot soldiers could never
overtake the brigands, who were well mounted, threw themselves into their
saddles, and dashed off in search of the thieves. They returned next day
with no other result attained than that their fury was redoubled.
Altogether destitute of foresight, these half-savages had gone off
without any provisions whatever, never thinking that, in the desert, they
would find nothing to eat. Accordingly, after a day's forced march,
hunger had compelled them to return. Not so the Chinese soldiers. These
worthies, knowing much better what they were about, had provided
themselves for their warlike expedition with infinite asses and oxen
laden with apparatus for the kitchen, and with ammunition for the mouth.
As they felt no sort of desire to go and fight for 2000 cattle that did
not belong to them, after a very brief military progress they halted on
the bank of a river, where they spent several days, eating, drinking, and
amusing themselves, and giving no more heed to the brigands than though
there had never been such personages in the world. When they had
consumed all their provisions they returned quietly to Tang-Keou-Eul, and
declared to the Mandarin that they had scoured the desert without being
able to come up with the robbers; that once, indeed, these had seemed
within their grasp, but that, availing themselves of their magic powers,
they had vanished. At Tang-Keou-Eul everybody is persuaded that the
brigands are all more or less sorcerers, and that in order to render
themselves invisible, all they have to do is to exhale in a particular
manner, or to throw some sheep's treddles behind them. It is probably
the Chinese soldiers who have brought these fables into vogue; at all
events they certainly make excellent use of them in all their
expeditions. The Mandarins, doubtless, are not their dupes; but provided
the victims of the robbers are content with these tales, that is all the
Chinese authorities care about.
For several days the Houng-Mao-Eul were perfectly furious. They ran
about the streets like madmen, flourishing their sabres and vociferating
a thousand imprecations against the brigands. All the townspeople got
carefully out of their way, respecting their anger with entire
veneration. The appearance of these fellows even at their very best,
when they are perfectly calm and good humoured, is sufficiently alarming.
They are clothed at all seasons of the year in a great sheepskin robe,
rudely drawn up round the waist by a thick camel-hair rope. Left to
itself this robe would drag along the ground, so that when raised by the
cord above the knees it communicates to the chest a most rotund, stuffed,
and awkward appearance. They have great leather boots, which come up to
just below the knee, so that, as they wear no trousers, their legs are
always half bare. Their hair, black and greasy, hangs in long matted
locks down their shoulders, and, in fact, falling over the brow, half
conceals the face. The right arm is always bare, the sleeve being thrown
quite back. A long, broad sabre is passed through their girdle just
below the chest, and the right hand scarcely ever quits its hilt. The
manners and movements of these inhabitants of the desert are abrupt and
jerking, their speech brief and energetic. The tones of their voice have
something about them metallic and deafening. Many of them are wealthy,
and with these display consists in decorating the sheath of the sword
with precious stones, and their own robes with borders of tiger-skin.
The horses which they bring to Tang-Keou-Eul are remarkably beautiful,
vigorous, well made, and of great grandeur in the step: in all respects
far superior to those of Tartary, and fully justifying the Chinese
phrase, _Sima_, _Toung-nieou_ (Western horses--eastern oxen.)
The Houng-Mao-Eul, being famous for their bravery and for an independence
which amounts to the ferocious, it is they who give the _ton_ to the
people of Tang-Keou-Eul, who all essay to catch their air and gait, and
to acquire a reputation for valour and devil-may-carishness. The result
is, that Tang-Keou-Eul bears a strong family resemblance to a great den
of thieves. Everybody there makes it his business to have his hair and
clothes in utter disorder, everybody bawls at everybody, everybody pushes
against everybody, everybody fights everybody, so that everybody from
time to time draws everybody's blood. In the depth of winter, though the
winter here is desperately cold, people go about with their arms and half
their legs bare. To wear clothing adapted to the icy season would be
considered a mark of pusillanimity. A good brave fellow, they say,
should fear nothing, neither men nor elements. At Tang-Keou-Eul the
Chinese themselves have lost much of their urbanity and of the polished
forms of their language, having involuntarily undergone the influence of
the Houng-Mao-Eul, who converse together in much the same style that we
can imagine tigers in the woods to converse. On the day of our arrival
at Tang-Keou-Eul, a few minutes before we entered the town, we met a Long
Hair who had been giving his horse drink in the River Keou-Ho.
Samdadchiemba, who was always attracted by anything having an eccentric
air, cautiously approached the man, and saluted him in the Tartar
fashion, saying, "Brother, art thou at peace?" The Houng-Mao-Eul turned
fiercely towards him: "What business of thine is it, tortoise-egg," cried
he, with the voice of a Stentor, "whether I am at peace or at war? And
what right hast thou to address as thy brother a man who knows nothing
about thee?" Poor Samdadchiemba was taken all aback at this reception,
yet he could not help admiring, as something very fine, this haughty
insolence of the Long Hair.
Tang-Keou-Eul, in consequence of its dirt and its excessive population,
is a very unwholesome place to live in. There is an universal odour of
grease and butter about, that is enough to make you sick. In certain
quarters, more particularly where the especial poor and the especial
vagabonds congregate, the stench is insupportable. Those who have no
house wherein to shelter themselves, collect in the nooks of streets and
squares, and there they lie, higgledy-piggledy, and half naked, upon
filthy straw, or rather, dung-heaps. There are stretched together the
sick young, and the infirm old, the dying man, sometimes the dead, whom
no one takes the trouble to bury, until, at length, putrefaction
manifesting itself, the bodies are dragged into the middle of the street,
whence the authorities remove them, and have them thrown into some
general pit. From amid this hideous misery there pullulates into the
bosom of the population, a crowd of petty thieves and swindlers, who, in
their address and audacity, leave far behind the Robert Macaires of the
western world. The number of these wretched creatures is so great, that
authority, weary of contending with them, has left them to take their own
course, and the public to guard their own sapeks and goods. These
worthies work, as a matter of preference, in the houses of repose and the
inns. Their _modus operandi_ is this: Two of them, associated together
for the purpose, hawk about various articles of merchandise, boots,
skin-coats, bricks of tea, and what not. They offer these for sale to
travellers. While one of them engages the attention of the destined
victim, by displaying his goods and bargaining, the other ferrets about
and pockets whatever he can lay his hands on. These rascals have
inconceivable skill in counting your sapeks for you, in such a way as to
finger fifty or a hundred or more of them without your having the
slightest notion as to what is going on. One day, two of these little
thieves came to offer for our purchase a pair of leathern boots.
Excellent boots! said they; boots such as we could not find in any shop
in the whole town; boots that would keep out the rain for days; and as to
cheapness, perfectly unexampled. If we missed this opportunity, we
should never have such another. Only just before they had been offered
1200 sapeks for them! As we did not want boots, we replied that we would
not have them at any price. Thereupon the acting merchant assumed a
lofty tone of generosity. We were foreigners; we should have them for
1000 sapeks, 900, 800, 700. "Well," said we, "we certainly don't want
any boots just now, yet, doubtless, as you say, these are very cheap, and
it will be worth while to buy them as a reserve." The bargain was
accordingly concluded; we took our purse, and counted out 700 sapeks to
the merchant, who counted them over himself, under our very eyes,
pronounced the amount correct, and once more laid the coin before us. He
then called out to his companion who was poking about in the court-yard:
"Here, I've sold these capital boots for 700 sapeks." "Nonsense," cried
the other, "700 sapeks! I won't hear of such a thing." "Very well," said
we; "come, take your boots and be off with you." He was off, and so
quickly, that we thought it expedient to count our sapeks once more;
there were a hundred and fifty of them gone, and that was not all; while
one of these rascals had been pocketing our money under our very nose,
the other had bagged two great iron pins that we had driven into the
court-yard for the purpose of our camels. Therefore we took a
resolution--better late than never--to admit, in future, no merchant
whatever into our room.
The House of Repose, as we have already indicated, was kept by Musselmen.
One day, their Mufti, who had recently arrived from Lan-Tcheu, the
capital of Kan-Sou, attended at the house, in order to preside over some
religious ceremony, the nature and object of which they would not explain
to us. Sandara the Bearded, however, had an explanation of his own,
which was, that the Grand Lama of the Hoei-Hoei attended on these
occasions to teach his sectaries the latest improvements in the art of
cheating in trade. For two days, the principal Mussulmen of the town
assembled in a large apartment, contiguous to our own. There they
remained for a long time, squatting on the ground, with their heads
resting on their knees. When the Mufti appeared, all sent forth groans
and sobs. After they had sufficiently lamented in this fashion, the
Mufti recited, with a perfectly alarming volubility of tongue, several
Arabic prayers; then everybody had another turn at lamenting, after which
the cheerful assembly separated. This doleful ceremony was performed
thrice in each of the two first days. On the morning of the third day,
all the Mussulmen ranged themselves in the court-yard round the Mufti,
who was seated on a stool, covered with a fine red carpet. Then the host
of the House of Repose brought in a fine sheep, adorned with flowers and
ribbons. The sheep was laid on its side, the host held it by its head,
and two other Mussulmen by the legs, while a fourth presented to the
Mufti a knife on a silver dish. He took the knife with great gravity,
and approaching the victim, thrust the weapon up to the hilt into its
neck. Thereupon cries and groans once more resounded on all sides.
These ceasing, the sheep was skinned, cut up, and taken into the kitchen
to be cooked, and, by-and-by, a grand entertainment of boiled mutton,
presided over by the Mufti, closed the ceremony.
The Mussulmen, or Hoei-Hoei, are very numerous in China. It is said that
they penetrated thither under the dynasty of the Thang, which began in
618, and terminated in 907. They were received by the Emperor, who at
that period resided at Si-Ngan-Fou, the present capital of Chan-Si. They
were kindly entertained, and the Emperor, struck with their fine features
and forms, loaded them with favours, and entreated them to settle in his
dominions. At first, it is stated, they were only 200 in number, but
they have since so multiplied, that they now constitute a large
population, eminently formidable to the Chinese. Kan-Sou, Yun-Nan,
Sse-Tchouan, Chan-Si, Chen-si, Chang-Toung, Pe-Tche-Ly, and Liao-Toung
are the provinces in which they are most numerous. In some particular
localities, indeed, they form the majority of the population, as compared
with the Chinese. They have, however, become so mingled, so fused with
the native people, that it would be difficult now-a-days to recognise
them, were it not for the small blue cap which they all constantly wear,
to distinguish themselves from the Chinese. Their physiognomy has
retained no vestige of its original type. Their nose has become flat,
their eyes have sunk in, their cheek bones started out. They do not know
a single word of Arabic--a language which their priests alone are bound
to learn, and this only so as to read it. Chinese has become their
stepmother tongue; yet they have preserved a certain energy of character
which you seldom find among the Chinese. Though few in number, as
compared with the enormous general population of the empire, they have
ensured for themselves the fear and respect of all about them. Closely
united among themselves, the entire community always takes up any matter
affecting one of its members. It is to this spirit of association that
they owe the religious liberty which they enjoy throughout all the
provinces of the empire. No person would venture, in their presence, to
cavil at their religious creed, or their religious practices. They
abstain from smoking, from drinking wine, from eating pork, from sitting
at table with pagans; and no one presumes to find fault with these
peculiarities. They do not even hesitate to contravene the laws of the
empire, if these contravene their freedom of worship. In 1840, while we
were on our mission to Tartary, the Hoei-Hoei of the town of Hada, built
a mosque, or Li-Pai-Sse, as the Chinese call it. When it was completed,
the Mandarins of the place wanted to demolish it, because, contrary to
the law, it rose higher than the Tribunal of Justice. Upon this
intention becoming known, all the Mussulmen of the locality rose in arms,
assembled, swore to prosecute in common a suit against the Mandarins, to
impeach them at Peking, and never to lay down their arms until they had
effected the removal of the offending dignitaries. As in China, money
has the preponderant influence in all matters of this kind, the Mussulmen
of Hada raised a subscription among all their co-religionists in the
empire, and by its means defeated the Mandarins, who had desired to
demolish their mosques, and effected their deposition and banishment. We
have often asked each other how it was that the Christians in China live
in a state of oppression, wholly at the arbitrary disposition of the
tribunals, while the Mussulmen march about with heads erect, and
constrain the Chinese to respect their religion. It certainly is not
because the religion of Mahomet is, more than Christianity, in harmony
with Chinese manners; quite the contrary, for the Chinese may, without
any compromise of their religious duties, live in intimacy with the
Pagans, eat and drink with them, interchange presents with them, and
celebrate in common with them the Festival of the New Year, all which
things are forbidden to the Hoei-Hoei by the despotic and exclusive
spirit of their religion. No: that the Christians are everywhere
oppressed in China is to be attributed to the great isolation in which
they live. If one of them is taken before a tribunal, all his brethren
in the locality get out of the way, instead of coming in a body to his
aid and awing by their numbers the aggressive Mandarins. Now, more
especially, that imperial decrees have been issued favourable to
Christianity, if the Christians were to rise simultaneously in all parts
of the empire, were energetically to assume possession of their rights,
giving publicity to their worship, and exercising fearlessly, and in the
face of day, their religious practices, we are satisfied that no one
would venture to interfere with them. In China, as everywhere else, men
are free who manifest the will to be so; and that will can only be
effectively developed by the spirit of association.
We were now approaching the first day of the Chinese year, and in every
direction people were preparing for its celebration. The sentences,
written on red paper, which decorate the fronts of houses, were renewed;
the shops were filled with purchasers; there was redoubled activity of
operations in every quarter, while the children, ever eager to anticipate
holidays and entertainments, were discharging, each evening, preliminary
fireworks in the streets. Sandara informed us that he could not pass the
Festival of the New Year at Tang-Keou-Eul, being obliged to return to the
Lamasery, where he had duties to fulfil towards his masters and
superiors. He added, that on the third day of the new moon, when he had
satisfied all his obligations, he would come back and resume his
services. He spoke in a tone of intense kindliness, in order to make us
forget the daily impertinences he had been guilty of towards us. We did
not at all urge him to return. Though delighted at the prospect of
renewing our studies with him, we were determined not to seem anxious
about the matter, lest we should raise still higher the already
preposterous estimate he had of his own importance. We told him that
since propriety recalled him to the Lamasery for the first day of the
year, he ought by all means to obey the call. We then offered him three
rolls of sapeks, saying, according to the custom in such cases, that it
was to enable him to drink with his friends a cup of high-coloured tea.
For some minutes he feigned that he would not accept the coin, but at
last we overcame his exquisite delicacy, and he consented to put the
sapeks in his pocket. We then lent him Samdadchiemba's mule, and he left
us.
The last days of the year are ordinarily, with the Chinese, days of anger
and of mutual annoyance; for having at this period made up their
accounts, they are vehemently engaged in getting them in; and every
Chinese being at once creditor and debtor, every Chinese is just now
hunting his debtors and hunted by his creditors. He [Picture:
Pawnbroker's Shop] who returns from his neighbour's house, which he has
been throwing into utter confusion by his clamorous demands for what that
neighbour owes him, finds his own house turned inside out by an
uproarious creditor, and so the thing goes round. The whole town is a
scene of vociferation, disputation, and fighting. On the last day of the
year disorder attains its height; people rush in all directions with
anything they can scratch together, to raise money upon, at the broker's
or pawnbroker's, the shops of which tradespeople are absolutely besieged
throughout the day with profferers of clothes, bedding, furniture,
cooking utensils, and moveables of every description. Those who have
already cleared their houses in this way, and yet have not satisfied the
demands upon them, post off to their relations and friends to borrow
something or other which they vow shall be returned immediately, but
which immediately takes its way to the Tang-Pou, or pawnbroker's. This
species of anarchy continues till midnight; then, calm resumes its sway.
No one, after the twelfth hour has struck, can claim a debt, or even make
the slightest allusion to it. You now only hear the words of peace and
good-will; everybody fraternizes with everybody. Those who were just
before on the point of twisting their neighbour's neck, now twine their
friendly arms about it.
The new year is celebrated in much the same way as in Europe. Everybody
dresses as fine as he possibly can; formal and informal visits are
exchanged; presents circulate; dinners and parties are given; people go
to see the play, the jugglers, and so on. Fireworks startle you at every
turn; there is nothing going on but merry-making. After a few days, the
shops are once more opened, and business imperceptibly resumes its
course; at least with those who can carry it on: those who can't, declare
themselves bankrupt, or, as the Chinese phrase it, leave the door open.
The Hoei-Hoei do not keep the new year at the same time with the Chinese,
for in their special calendar they observe the Hegira of Mahomet. Owing
to this circumstance, we passed these days of disorder and tumult in the
greatest tranquillity. The epoch assigned for the recovery of debts was,
in the place where we lodged, indicated merely by a few disputes,
followed immediately by profound quiet. The House of Repose was not even
disturbed by fire-works. We availed ourselves of this tranquillity, and
of the absence of Sandara, to go thoroughly over our Thibetian lessons.
The two dialogues we possessed were analysed, decomposed, subjected to
the intellectual alembic, in every way and in every detail. Housekeeping
cares occupied, indeed, a portion of our day time; but we made up for
this by borrowing a few hours from the night, an arrangement which did
not at all suit our host, who, finding that it involved him in an extra
outlay for light, not only cut off our supplies, by removing the oil
bottle, but, like the regular Turk he was, put on a charge per diem for
light. As we did not choose to be condemned to darkness in this way, we
bought a packet of candles, and constructed, with a long nail and the
half of a carrot, a candlestick, not remarkable, indeed, for elegance or
costliness, but which perfectly fulfilled its office. When the Turk's
dole of oil was consumed, we lighted our candle, and we were thus able to
give free course to the ardour of our Thibetian studies. Sometimes we
would interrupt our labours to indulge in the relaxation of talking about
France; and after this, rambling for awhile in spirit, over our dear
native land, it was with a certain amount of difficulty only, that we
could resume the realities of our position. It seemed strange,
impossible almost, that we two should be seated there, amid the silent
night, poring over Thibetian characters, in a country well nigh at the
extremity of the world, and practically unknown to Europeans.
On the third day of the first moon, Sandara the Bearded reappeared.
During his absence we had enjoyed such delightful calm, that his aspect
occasioned within us a very painful sensation; we felt like schoolboys
alarmed at the approach of a severe preceptor. Sandara, however, was
charmingly amiable. After gracefully wishing us a happy new year, in the
most paternal, the most sentimental of phraseology, he proceeded to
discourse upon the little mule we had lent him. First, on their way out,
the little mule had thrown him a dozen times, so that at last he had
resolved to walk; but then the creature was so droll, so fantastic in its
ways, had so amused him, that he had not had time to grow tired. After
this and similar small talk, we proceeded to business. Sandara said,
that since we were determined to wait for the Thibetian embassy, he
invited us to go and reside meanwhile in the Lamasery at Kounboum; and
thereupon, with his accustomed eloquence, he descanted upon the
advantages presented by a Lamasery to men of study and prayer. The
proposition met the very wish of our hearts; but we took care not to
manifest any enthusiasm in the matter, contenting ourselves with
replying, coldly: "Well, we'll see how we like it."
The next day was devoted to the preparations for departure. Not having
our camels with us, we hired a car, on which to transport our baggage.
In announcing our departure to the host of the House of Repose, we
claimed our tent, which we had lent him twelve days before, for a picnic
party that he said he had formed with some friends into the Land of
Grass; he replied, that he would send for it immediately to the friend's
house, where it was carefully stowed away. We waited, but in vain; night
came, the tent did not. At last, the host told us that his friend had
left home for a day or two, and that the tent was locked up; but that it
should be sent after us so soon as his friend returned. Sandara had
hitherto said nothing; but when night came, and he found that we were not
ready, he could no longer restrain his impatience. "It's quite obvious,"
said he to us, "that you are people altogether of another world; why
don't you understand that your tent is at the pawnbroker's?" "At the
pawnbroker's? Impossible!" "It is not at all impossible; it is
considerably more than probable; the Hoei-Hoei wanted money wherewith to
pay his debts at the end of the twelfth moon; he was delighted to find
you with him in the emergency; he borrowed your tent, and he took it
straight--not to the Land of Grass, but to the House of Pledges; and now
he hasn't got the money to redeem it with. Just have him up: I'll put
the matter to him, and you'll see." We requested the host to come to us.
As soon as he entered the chamber, Sandara the Bearded commenced his
interrogatory with imposing solemnity. "Listen to me," said he; "this
evening I have a few words to say to you. You are a Turk--I a Lama, yet
the laws of reason are the same for both of us. You have taken our tent,
and you have carried it to the pawnbroker's; if you were in an
embarrassed position, you did quite right; we do not reproach you; but we
depart to-morrow, and our tent is not yet here. Which of us has reason
on his side? we in claiming our property, or you in not restoring it? Do
not tell us that the tent is at a friend's: I tell you that it is at the
pawnbroker's. If, by the time we have drunk this jug of tea, our tent is
not brought back, I will myself go to the magistrate to demand that it be
given up to us, and we shall see whether a Lama-Dchiahour is to be
oppressed by a Turk." By way of peroration to this harangue, Sandara
gave such a thump with his fist upon the table, that our three cups
performed a caper in the air. The Turk had nothing to say, and it was
manifest that our tent was really at the pawnbroker's. After a moment's
pause, the host assured us that we should have our property immediately,
and he entreated us earnestly not to mention the matter abroad, lest it
should compromise his establishment. We had scarcely quitted our room,
before there arose a grand confusion in the court-yard; the attendants
were collecting everything they could lay their hands upon, saddles, bed
clothes, candlesticks, kitchen utensils, wherewith to redeem the tent,
which, before we slept, we saw securely packed on the car which was to
convey it to the Lamasery.
Next morning, at daybreak, we proceeded on our journey. The country
through which we passed is occupied here by the Si-Fan, who lead a nomad
life, and merely use the land as pasturage for their cattle,--whereas the
Chinese, as in Eastern Tartary, are gradually encroaching upon the
desert, building houses, and bringing into cultivation portions of the
Land of Grass. Our brief voyage presented nothing remarkable, except,
indeed, that in crossing a small river upon the ice, the car turned over
and went to pieces. In France, in order to continue our journey, we
should have needed a wheelwright and a smith to repair the damage; but
fortunately our Phaeton was a Chinese, that is to say, a man who is never
at a loss; and, accordingly, with a large stone, some bits of stick, and
some ends of rope, he soon put everything to rights, and we merely lost a
little time.
At the distance of a li from the Lamasery we found four Lamas, friends of
Sandara, who had come to meet us. Their religious costume, the red scarf
that enveloped them, their mitre-shaped yellow caps, their modest mien,
the low, grave tones of their voices, all this produced a marked
impression upon us, and we felt as though a perfume of religious and
cenobitic life was diffused around us. It was past nine in the evening
when we reached the first [Picture: Accident on the Ice] dwellings of the
Lamasery. To avoid disturbing the profound silence which reigned
everywhere about, the Lamas made the carman stop, and filled with straw
the interior of the bells which hung from the horses' necks. We then
advanced slowly, and without saying a word, along the calm deserted
streets of this great Lamanesque city. The moon was not present; but the
sky was so clear, so pure, and the stars were so brilliant, that we could
perfectly distinguish the cottages of the Lamas spread over the sides of
the mountain, and the grand, though fantastic outlines of the Buddhist
temples, standing out in the air like gigantic phantoms. That which most
struck us at the moment, was the majestic and solemn silence which
prevailed throughout the Lamasery, and which was interrupted only by the
short sleepy bark of some half-wakened dog, like the scream of the
sea-eagle, or the melancholy sound of a marine shell marking, at
intervals, the watches of the night. We at length reached Sandara's
cottage. As it was too late for us to seek a suitable lodging, our
teacher gave us up his own habitation, and himself sought the hospitality
of a neighbour. The Lamas who had accompanied us did not withdraw until
they had made for us some tea with milk, and set before us some mutton,
some fresh butter, and some exquisite rolls. We supped with excellent
appetite, for we were thoroughly hungry, and, moreover, we experienced in
our inmost heart a feeling of peculiar contentment, for which it seemed
difficult to account.
We attempted to sleep, but it was in vain; slumber would not come near
us; our minds, indeed, were too full of the strange position in which we
now found ourselves. The whole thing appeared quite inconceivable.
There were we, in this land of Amdo, unknown to Europe; in this great
Lamasery of Kounboum, so famous, so venerated among Buddhists, in the
cell of one of its ablest Lamas, amidst conventual manners altogether new
to us; all these and analogous considerations whirled through and about
the brain, like the vague intangible forms of a dream. We passed the
night framing all sorts of plans.
As soon as day began to dawn we were on foot. Around us all was still
silent. We offered up our morning prayer, our hearts agitated with
sentiments altogether new to us in their peculiar character; with mingled
joy and pride that it had been thus vouchsafed to us to invoke the true
God in this famous Lamasery, consecrated to a lying and impious worship.
It seemed to us as though we were about to grasp universal Buddhism
within the paternal arms of the Christian faith.
Sandara soon made his appearance, and prepared for our breakfast some tea
with milk, raisins, and cakes fried in butter. While we were occupied
with our meal, he opened a small cupboard, and took out a wooden plate,
highly polished, and decorated with gilding and flowers, upon a red
ground. After wiping it carefully with his scarf, he placed upon it a
broad sheet of pink paper, then, upon the paper, he symmetrically
arranged four fine pears, which he had directed us to buy at
Tang-Keou-Eul, and then he covered the whole with a silk handkerchief, of
oblong form, called in these countries Khata. "With this," said he, "we
will go and borrow a lodging for you."
The Khata, or Scarf of Blessings, is so prominent a feature in Thibetian
manners, that we may as well give an account of it. The Khata, then, is
a piece of silk, nearly as fine as gauze, and of so very pale a blue as
to be almost white. Its length about triples its breadth, and the two
extremities are generally fringed. There are Khatas of all sizes and all
prices, for a Khata is an object with which neither poor nor rich can
dispense. No one ever moves unless provided with a supply. When you go
to pay a visit, when you go to ask a favour, or to acknowledge one, you
begin with displaying the Khata; you take it in both hands, and offer it
to the person whom you desire to honour. When two friends, who have not
seen each other for a long time, meet, their first proceeding is to
interchange a Khata; it is as much a matter of course as shaking hands in
Europe. When you write, it is usual to enclose a Khata in the letter.
We cannot exaggerate the importance which the Thibetians, the Si-Fan, the
Houng-Mao-Eul, and all the people who dwell towards the western shores of
the Blue Sea, attach to the ceremony of the Khata. With them, it is the
purest and sincerest expression of all the noblest sentiments. The most
gracious words, the most magnificent presents go for nothing, if
unaccompanied with the Khata; whereas, with the Khata, the commonest
objects become of infinite value. If any one comes, Khata in hand, to
ask you a favour, to refuse the favour would be a great breach of
propriety. This Thibetian custom is very general among the Tartars, and
especially in their Lamaseries; and Khatas accordingly form a very
leading feature of commerce with the Chinese at Tang-Keou-Eul. The
Thibetian embassy never passes through the town without purchasing a
prodigious number of these articles.
When we had finished our modest breakfast, we issued forth in search of a
lodging. Sandara the Bearded preceded us, bearing gravely on both hands
the famous dish of four pears. This proceeding seemed to us so strange,
that we were altogether confused, imagining that the entire population
would have their eyes fixed upon us. Nothing of the sort: the Lamas,
whom we met, passed silently on, without even turning their heads, or
paying the slightest attention to us in any way. The little chabis,
harum-scarum rogues in common with schoolboys all over the world, alone
seemed to notice our presence. At last we entered a house. The master
was in the court-yard, drying horse droppings in the sun. Upon
perceiving us, he immediately enveloped himself in his scarf, and entered
his cell. We followed him thither, and Sandara presented to him the
Khata and the plate of pears, accompanying the present with an harangue
in the East Thibetian tongue, of which we did not understand one single
word. Meanwhile, we stood humbly apart, like poor wretches incapable
even of soliciting a favour for themselves. When the harangue was
completed, the host invited us to seat ourselves on the carpet, presented
to each a cup of tea with milk, and told us, in Mongol, that he was
rejoiced that strangers, come from such a distance, that Lamas of the
Western Heaven, should deign to cast their eyes upon his poor dwelling.
Had he understood our European idioms, our answer would have been: Pray
don't mention it; but as we had to speak in Mongol, we told him that we
had, indeed, come from a great distance, but that, in great measure, we
seemed once more at home, when we had the good fortune to meet with
hospitality such as his. After having sipped the tea, and conversed for
a while about France, Rome, the Pope, and the cardinals, we got up, in
order to visit the place destined for us, which, for poor wanderers like
us, seemed perfectly magnificent. Our host assigned to us a large room,
with an ample kang, a separate kitchen, with stove, kettle, and other
utensils, and, lastly, a stable for the horse and the mule. We almost
wept with joy, and infinitely regretted that we had not another Khata at
hand, wherewith at once to express our warm gratitude to the excellent
Lama.
How potent is the empire of religion over the heart of man, even though
that religion be false, and ignorant of its true object! How great was
the difference, for example, between these Lamas, so generous, so
hospitable, so fraternal towards strangers, and the Chinese, that
thorough nation of shopkeepers, with hearts dry as a ship-biscuit, and
grasping as a monkey, who will not give a traveller even a cup of water
except for money or money's worth. The reception given to us in the
Lamasery of Kounboum at once recalled to our thoughts those monasteries,
raised by the hospitality of our religious ancestors, in which travellers
and the poor ever found refreshment for the body and consolation for the
soul.
We moved into our new dwelling the same day, the Lamas, more immediately
neighbours of Sandara, cordially giving us their assistance. It was
obviously with genuine pleasure that they carried for us, on their
shoulders, the various articles composing our baggage; that they swept
the room, lighted the fire, and arranged the stable for the reception of
the animals. When all these matters were completed, the master of the
house had, according to the rules of hospitality, to prepare an
entertainment for us, since people, who are moving, are supposed to have
no time for anything else.
Our readers will probably not be displeased at our giving them here a
sketch of our new house and of its inhabitants. Immediately within the
entrance gate was an oblong court, surrounded with stables commodiously
arranged. On the left of the gate, a narrow passage led to a second
square court, the four sides of which were occupied with the cells of
Lamas. The side opposite the corridor constituted the abode of the
master of the house, named _Akaye_ (old brother.) Akaye was a man of
sixty odd years, tall, and so very thin and dry that he seemed a living
skeleton. His long face was a mere framework of bones, covered with a
baked, wrinkled skin. When he threw aside his scarf, and showed his
arms, blackened with the sun, you might very well have taken them for two
old bare vine sticks. Though he still managed to keep himself tolerably
straight upon his legs, his step itself was tottering. Altogether he
looked like some antique piece of mechanism, convulsively put in motion
from time to time by the operation of a piston. For thirty-eight years
Akaye had been employed in the temporal administration of the Lamasery.
He had in this occupation amassed a tolerable fortune, but it had all
gone in charitable gifts and in charity-loans never returned, so that he
was now reduced to great poverty, nothing remaining to him but this
house, which he had built in the time of his prosperity, and which no one
would purchase from him. To let it was against the rules of the
Lamasery, which admit no medium between absolute sale or absolute gift,
except gratuitous loan. To complete his misfortunes, Akaye was unable to
profit by the extraordinary offerings which from time to time are
distributed among the Lamas who have attained certain grades in the
hierarchy. Having been completely occupied throughout life with temporal
matters, he had had no time for study, so that he was altogether
illiterate, and could neither read nor write. This did not, however,
prevent him from praying, morning, noon, and night; he had his chaplet
constantly in his hand, and pass him when you might, you would hear him
mumbling various forms of prayer. This man was a creature of excellent
heart, but nobody seemed to take any heed to him--he was old and
penniless.
To the right of Akaye, in another side of the court, lodged a Lama of
Chinese origin, who was accordingly called the _Kitat-Lama_ (Chinese
Lama). Though seventy years old, he was in far better condition than
poor Akaye; for though his frame was somewhat bent, it was still
comfortably filled out; his face, replete with animation, was adorned
with a fine white beard, somewhat yellowish towards the extremity. The
Kitat-Lama was a man eminent among the Lama _savans_; he wrote and spoke
perfectly Chinese, Mongol, and Thibetian. During a long residence in
Thibet and in several kingdoms of Tartary, he had amassed a large
fortune; it was said that in his cell were several chests full of silver
ingots; yet his avarice continued of the most sordid character; he lived
wretchedly, and clothed himself in rags; he was always turning his head
about on one side or the other, like a man in perpetual fear of being
robbed. In Tartary he had been considered a Grand Lama, but in Kounboum,
where Lamanesque notables abound, he was merely one of the crowd. The
Kitat-Lama had with him a _Chabi_ (pupil) eleven years old, a sharp,
mischievous little vagabond, though with a good heart at bottom. Every
evening we heard him at high words with his master, who regularly
reproached him at night for the monstrous extravagances of the day, in
respect of too much butter, too much tea, too much oil, too much
everything.
Opposite the dwelling of the Kitat-Lama was the lodging of the two French
missionaries; and beside their apartment was a small cell, wherein
modestly dwelt a young student of medicine, in his second year. This
young Lama was a tall, broad-shouldered fellow of twenty-four, whose
dull, lead-coloured, fat face convicted him of effecting in his small
abode a very considerable consumption of butter. We never saw him poking
his nose from his hole without thinking of Fontaine's rat, which, out of
devotion, had retired into a great Dutch cheese. This young man was
afflicted with a convulsive stammering, which sometimes almost choked him
when he talked, and this infirmity, in rendering him timid and reserved,
had also, perhaps, contributed to develop in him a certain amiability of
manner and readiness to oblige. His great horror was the little Chabi,
who took a malicious pleasure in imitating his manner of speaking.
The portion of the court which faced the residence of old Akaye was
composed of a range of small kitchens, quite separate the one from the
other. The master of the house, the Kitat-Lama, the stutterer, the
missionaries, each had a kitchen of his own. In the phrase of the
Lamasery, we were four distinct families in the house. Notwithstanding
the collection of several families within one enclosure, there prevails
throughout the most perfect order and silence; the inmates seldom
interchange visits, and each attends to his own affairs without in the
smallest degree interfering with those of his neighbour. In the house
where we were located, we never saw our co-dwellers except on very fine
days. It being now the depth of winter, whenever the sun favoured our
court-yard with its rays, the four families forthwith issued from their
respective apartments, and sat themselves down before their doors on
their felt carpets. The Kitat-Lama, whose eyes were still very good,
would occupy himself in mending his wretched garments with bits of old
rags, Akaye would murmur his prayers, scratching all the while his arms,
the skin of which was so rough that it almost resounded to the touch.
The student in medicine would chant, in order to avoid stammering, his
lesson of therapeutics. As to ourselves, it was no easy matter to divert
our attention from the singular spectacle around us; we had, indeed, on
our knees our book of Thibetian dialogues, but our eyes were more
frequently directed to the three families basking in the sun.
The Lamasery of Kounboum contains nearly 4,000 Lamas; its site is one of
enchanting beauty. Imagine in a mountain's side a deep, broad ravine,
adorned with fine trees, and harmonious with the cawing of rooks and
yellow-beaked crows, and the amusing chattering of magpies. On the two
sides of the ravine, and on the slopes of the mountain, rise, in an
amphitheatrical form, the white dwellings of the Lamas of various sizes,
but all alike surrounded with a wall, and surmounted by a terrace.
Amidst these modest habitations, rich only in their intense cleanliness
and their dazzling whiteness, you see rising, here and there, numerous
Buddhist temples with gilt roofs, sparkling with a thousand brilliant
colours, and surrounded with elegant colonnades. The houses of the
superiors are distinguished by streamers floating from small hexagonal
turrets; everywhere the eye is attracted by mystic sentences, written in
large Thibetian characters, red or black, upon the doors, upon the walls,
upon the posts, upon pieces of linen floating like flags, from masts upon
the tops of the houses. Almost at every step you see niches in form
resembling a sugar-loaf, within which are burning incense, odoriferous
wood, and cypress leaves. The most striking feature of all, however, is
to see an exclusive population of Lamas walking about the numerous
streets of the Lamasery, clothed in their uniform of red dresses and
yellow mitres. Their face is ordinarily grave; and though silence is not
prescribed, they speak little, and that always in an under tone. You see
very few of them at all about the streets, except at the hours appointed
for entering or quitting the schools, and for public prayer. During the
rest of the day, the Lamas for the most part keep within doors, except
when they descend by narrow, tortuous paths to the bottom of the ravines,
and return thence, laboriously carrying on their shoulders a long barrel
containing the water required for domestic purposes. At intervals you
meet strangers who come to satisfy a devotional feeling, or to visit some
Lama of their acquaintance.
The Lamasery of Kounboum, indeed, enjoys so high a reputation, that the
worshippers of Buddha resort thither in pilgrimage from all parts of
Tartary and Thibet, so that not a day passes in which there are not
pilgrims arriving and departing. Upon the great festivals, the
congregation of strangers is immense, and there are four of these in the
year, the most famous of all being the Feast of Flowers, which takes
place on the fifteenth day of the first moon. Nowhere is this festival
celebrated with so much pomp and solemnity as at Kounboum. Those which
take place in Tartary, in Thibet, and even at Lha-Ssa itself, are not at
all comparable with it. We were installed at Kounboum on the sixth of
the first moon, and already numerous caravans of pilgrims were arriving
by every road that led to the Lamasery. The festival was in every one's
mouth. The flowers, it was said, were this year of surpassing beauty;
the Council of the Fine Arts, who had examined them, had declared them to
be altogether superior to those of preceding years. As soon as we heard
of these marvellous flowers, we hastened, as may be supposed, to seek
information respecting a festival hitherto quite unknown to us. The
following are the details with which we were furnished, and which we
heard with no little curiosity:--
The flowers of the fifteenth of the first moon consist of
representations, profane and religious, in which all the Asiatic nations
are introduced with their peculiar physiognomies and their distinguishing
costumes. Persons, places, apparel, decorations--all are formed of fresh
butter. Three months are occupied in the preparations for this singular
spectacle. Twenty Lamas, selected from among the most celebrated artists
of the Lamasery, are daily engaged in these butter-works, keeping their
hands all the while in water, lest the heat of the fingers should
disfigure their productions. As these labours take place chiefly in the
depth of the winter, the operators have much suffering to endure from the
cold. The first process is thoroughly to knead the butter, so as to
render it firm. When the material is thus prepared, the various portions
of the butter work are confided to various artists, who, however, all
alike work under the direction of a principal who has furnished the plan
of the flowers for the year, and has the general superintendence of their
production. The figures, etc., being prepared and put together, are then
confided to another set of artists, who colour them, under the direction
of the same leader. A museum of works in butter seemed to us so curious
an idea, that we awaited the fifteenth of the moon with somewhat of
impatience.
On the eve of the festival, the arrival of strangers became perfectly
amazing. Kounboum was no longer the calm, silent Lamasery, where
everything bespoke the grave earnestness of spiritual life, but a mundane
city, full of bustle and excitement. In every direction you heard the
cries of the camels and the bellowing of the long-haired oxen on which
the pilgrims had journeyed thither; on the slopes of the mountain
overlooking the Lamasery arose numerous tents wherein were encamped such
of the visitors as had not found accommodation in the dwellings of the
Lamas. Throughout the 14th, the number of persons who performed the
pilgrimage round the Lamasery was immense. It was for us a strange and
painful spectacle to view that great crowd of human creatures prostrating
themselves at every step, and reciting in under tones their form of
prayer. There were among these Buddhist zealots a great number of
Tartar-Mongols, all coming from a great distance. They were remarkable,
alike, for their heavy, awkward gait, and for the intense devotion and
scrupulous application with which they fulfilled the exact rules of the
rite. The Houng-Mao-Eul, or Long Hairs, were there too, and, their
manners being in no degree better here than at Tang-Keou-Eul, the haughty
uncouthness of their devotion presented a singular contrast with the
fervent, humble mysticism of the Mongols. They walked proudly, with
heads erect, the right arm out of the sleeve and resting on their sabre
hilts, and with fusils at their backs. The Si-Fan of the Amdo country
formed the majority of the pilgrims. Their physiognomy expressed neither
the rough recklessness of the Long Hairs, nor the honest good faith and
good nature of the Tartars. They accomplished their pilgrimage with an
air of ease and nonchalance which seemed to say, "We are people of the
place; we know all about the matter, and need not put ourselves at all
out of the way."
The head-dress of the Amdo women occasioned us an agreeable surprise; it
was a little bonnet of black or grey felt, the form of which was
identical with that of the bonnets which were once all the fashion in
France, and which were called, if we remember aright, _Chapeaux a la
trois pour cent_. The only difference was, that the riband by which the
bonnet was tied under the chin, instead of being black, was red or
yellow. The hair was allowed to fall from under the bonnet over the
shoulders, in a number of minute braids, decorated with mother-of-pearl
and coral beads. The rest of the costume was like that of the Tartar
women, the weighty effect of the great sheepskin robe being, however,
mightily modified by the little _Chapeaux a la trois pour cent_, which
communicates a most coquettish air. We were greatly surprised to find
among the crowd of pilgrims several Chinese who, chaplet in hand, were
executing all the prostrations just like the rest. Sandara the Bearded
told us they were Khata merchants, who, though they did not believe in
Buddha at all, pretended intense devotion to him, in order to conciliate
custom among his followers. We cannot say whether this was calumny on
Sandara's part; but certainly his representation concurred altogether
with our knowledge of the Chinese character.
On the 15th, the pilgrims again made the circuit of the Lamasery, but by
no means in such numbers as on the preceding days. Curiosity impelled
the great majority rather towards the points where preparations were
making for the Feast of Flowers. When night fell, Sandara came and
invited us to go and see the marvellous butter works of which we had
heard so much. We accordingly proceeded with him, accompanied by the
Stutterer, the Kitat-Lama, and the Chabi, leaving old Akaye to take care
of the house. The flowers were arranged in the open air, before the
various Buddhist temples of the Lamasery, and displayed by illuminations
of the most dazzling brilliancy. Innumerable vases of brass and copper,
in the form of chalices, were placed upon slight frame-work, itself
representing various designs; and all these vases were filled with thick
butter, supporting a solid wick. The illuminations were arranged with a
taste that would have reflected no discredit on a Parisian decorator.
The appearance of the flowers themselves quite amazed us. We could never
have conceived that in these deserts, amongst a half savage people,
artists of such eminent merit could have been found. From the paintings
and sculptures we had seen in various Lamaseries, we had not in the
slightest degree been led to anticipate the exquisite finish which we had
occasion to admire in the butter works. The flowers were bas-reliefs, of
colossal proportions, representing various subjects taken from the
history of Buddhism. All the personages were invested with a truth of
expression that quite surprised us. The features were full of life and
animation, the attitudes natural, and the drapery easy and graceful. You
could distinguish at a glance the nature and quality of the materials
represented. The furs were especially good. The various skins of the
sheep, the tiger, the fox, the wolf, etc., were so admirably rendered,
that you felt inclined to go and feel them with the hand, and ascertain
whether, after all, they were not real. In each bas-relief you at once
recognised Buddha, his face, full of nobleness and majesty, appertained
to the Caucasian type; the artists conforming therein to the Buddhist
traditions, which relate that Buddha, a native of the Western Heaven, had
a complexion fair, and slightly tinged with red, broad, full eyes, a
large nose, and long, curling, soft hair. The other personages had all
the Mongol type, with the Thibetian, Chinese, Si-Fan, and Tartar
shadings, so nicely discriminated that, without any reference whatever to
the costume, you recognised at once to what particular tribe each
individual belonged. There were a few heads of Hindoos and negroes,
excellently represented. The latter excited a good deal of curiosity
among the spectators. These large bas-reliefs were surrounded with
frames, representing animals and flowers, all in butter, and all
admirable, like the works they enclosed, for their delicacy of outline
and the beauty of their colouring. On the road which led from one temple
to another, were placed, at intervals, small bas-reliefs representing, in
miniature, battles, hunting incidents, nomadic episodes, and views of the
most celebrated Lamaseries of Thibet and Tartary. Finally, in front of
the principal temple, there was a theatre, which, with its personages and
its decorations, were all of butter. The _dramatis personae_ were a foot
high, and represented a community of Lamas on their way to solemnize
prayer. At first, the stage is empty, then, a marine conch is sounded,
and you see issuing from two doors, two files of minor Lamas, followed by
the superiors in their state dresses. After remaining, for a moment,
motionless on the stage, the procession disappears at the sides, and the
representation is over. This spectacle excited general enthusiasm; but,
for ourselves, who had seen rather better mechanism, we regarded these
mannikins, that moved on the stage and then moved off it without stirring
a limb, as decidedly flat. One representation of the play, therefore,
amply sufficed for us, and we went about admiring the bas-reliefs.
[Picture: The Grand Lama of Kounboum]
Whilst we were examining a group of devils, as grotesque, at all events,
as those of Callot, we heard behind us a tremendous flourish of trumpets
and marine conchs, and, upon inquiry, were informed that the Grand Lama
was issuing forth from his sanctuary to visit the flowers. We desired
nothing better, for the Grand Lama of Kounboum was a great object of
curiosity with us. He soon reached the place where we stood. He walked
in the centre of the principal dignitaries of the Lamasery, preceded by
minor Lamas, who cleared the way with great black whips. This Living
Buddha appeared to us to be, at the outside, forty years old, he was of
ordinary size, with a very flat and very common face, and of a very dark
complexion. As he passed on he gave a vague glance at the bas-reliefs;
when he saw that fine face of Buddha so repeatedly presented to his
observation, he must, we thought, have said to himself that by dint of
transmigrations he had dolefully degenerated from his original type. If
the person of the Grand Lama, however, did not particularly strike us,
his costume did, for it was strictly that of our own bishops: he bore on
his head a yellow mitre, a long staff in the form of a cross was in his
right hand, and his shoulders were covered with a mantle of purple
coloured silk, fastened on the chest with a clasp, and in every respect
resembling a cope. Hereafter we shall have occasion to point out
numerous analogies between the Roman Catholic worship and the Lamanesque
ceremonies.
The spectators generally appeared to give very slight heed to their
Living Buddha, their attention being much more closely applied to the
Buddhas in butter, which, in truth, were much better worth looking at.
The Tartars alone manifested any tokens of devotion; they clasped their
hands, bowed their heads in token of respect, and seemed quite afflicted
that the pressure of the crowd prevented them from prostrating themselves
at full length.
When the Grand Lama had made his circuit, he returned to his sanctuary, a
proceeding which was adopted by all the spectators as a signal for
abandoning themselves without reserve to transports of the most frantic
joy. They sang themselves out of breath, they danced themselves out of
breath, they pushed one another about, they shouted and bawled loud
enough to frighten the desert itself, they seemed all at once to have
become a collection of lunatics. As, with all this disorder, there was
risk of the illuminations and the butter works being overturned, Lamas
armed with great lighted torches were stationed, at intervals, to stay
the waves of the immense mass that rolled to and fro like a sea beaten by
the tempest. We could not long endure the pressure, and the Kitat-Lama,
perceiving the oppression under which we laboured, invited us to return
home. We adopted the proposition all the more readily, that the night
was far advanced, and we felt the need of repose.
Next morning, when the sun rose, not a trace remained of the Feast of
Flowers. All had disappeared; the bas-reliefs bad been demolished, and
the immense collection of butter had been thrown down a ravine to feed
the crows withal. These grand works, on which so much pains, so much
time, we may also say, so much genius had been expended, had served
merely as a spectacle for a single evening. Every year they make new
flowers, and every year upon a new plan.
With the flowers disappeared also the pilgrims. Already, at daybreak,
you saw them slowly ascending the tortuous paths of the mountain,
returning to their homes in the desert sorrowfully and silently; for the
heart of man can endure so little of joy in this world that the day
succeeding a festival is generally full of bitterness and melancholy.
[Picture: Chapter Tailpiece]
[Picture: The Great Wall of China]