CHAPTER IX.

Glance at Tsiamdo--War between the Living Buddhas--We meet 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.

The Chinese government has established at Tsiamdo {268} a magazine of

provisions, the management of which is confided to a Liang-Tai. The

garrison is composed of about 300 soldiers and four officers, a Yeou-Ki,

a Tsien-Tsoung, and two Pa-Tsoung. The maintenance of this military

station, and of the garrisons dependent upon it, amounts annually to the

sum of 10,000 ounces of silver.

Tsiamdo, the capital of the province of Kham, is built in a valley

surrounded by high mountains. Formerly it was enclosed by a rampart of

earth, now broken down every where, and the remnants of which are taken

away every day to repair the floors of the houses. Tsiamdo, indeed, has

little need of fortifications; it is sufficiently defended by two rivers,

the Dza-Tchou and the Om-Tchou, which, after flowing, the one to the

east, the other to the west of the town, unite on the south, and form the

Ya-Long-Kiang, which crosses, from north to south, the province of

Yun-Nan and Cochin-China, and falls at length into the sea of China. Two

large wooden bridges, one over the Dza-Tchou, the other over the

Om-Tchou, to the right and left of the town, lead to two parallel roads,

the first called the Sse-Tchouen road, the other the Yun-Nan road. The

couriers who convey the mails from Peking to Lha-Ssa, and all the civil

and military servants of the Chinese government, are obliged to use the

Sse-Tchouen road; that of Yun-Nan is almost deserted. You only see

there, from time to time, a few Chinese merchants, who purchase, from the

Mandarins of their provinces, the privilege of going to Thibet to sell

their merchandise.

The military stations which the court of Peking has established in the

states of the Tale-Lama were at one time maintained and managed by the

joint authorities of Sse-Tchouen and Yun-Nan. This combination having

been, for a long time, the source of dissensions and quarrels between the

Mandarins of the two provinces, it was determined that the viceroy of

Sse-Tchouen should be sole director of the Chinese resident in Thibet.

Tsiamdo presents the appearance of an ancient town in decay; its large

houses, constructed with frightful irregularity, are scattered confusedly

over a large tract, leaving on all sides unoccupied ground or heaps of

rubbish. Except a few buildings of later date, all the rest bear the

stamp of great antiquity. The numerous population you see in the

different quarters of the town are dirty, uncombed, and wallow in

profound idleness.

We could not divine what were the means of existence of the inhabitants

of Tsiamdo; they are without arts, industry, and, we may add, almost

without agriculture. The environs of the town present, generally

speaking, nothing but sands, unfavourable to the cultivation of corn.

They grow, however, some poor crops of barley, but these are, doubtless,

insufficient for the supply of the country. Possibly musk, skins of wild

beasts, rhubarb, turquoises, and gold-dust, provide the population with

the means of a petty commerce, and thus with the necessaries of life.

Although Tsiamdo is not a place remarkable for its luxury or elegance,

you admire there a large and magnificent Lamasery standing towards the

west, on an elevated platform which commands the rest of the town. It is

inhabited by about 2,000 Lamas, who, instead of each having his small

house, as in the other Buddhic monasteries, live all together in the

large buildings, with which the principal temple is surrounded. The

sumptuous decorations that ornament this temple make it regarded as one

of the finest and most wealthy in Thibet. The Lamasery of Tsiamdo has

for its ecclesiastical superior a Houtouktou Lama, who is at the same

time temporal sovereign of the whole province of Kham.

Five lis from Tsiamdo, towards the frontiers of China, there is a town

called Djaya, which, with the countries dependent on it, is subject to a

Grand Lama, bearing the title of Tchaktchouba. This Lamanesque dignity

is somewhat inferior to that of Houtouktou. At the time we were in

Thibet, there arose a great contest between the Houtouktou of Tsiamdo and

the Tchaktchouba of Djaya. The latter, a young, bold, and enterprising

Lama, had declared himself Houtouktou, in virtue of an old diploma, which

he affirmed had been granted to him, in one of his former lives, by the

Tale-Lama. He asserted, accordingly, his rights to supremacy, and

claimed the see of Tsiamdo and the government of the province of Kham.

The Houtouktou of Tsiamdo, a Lama advanced in years, did not choose to

resign his authority, and, on his side, alleged authentic titles, sent by

the court of Peking, and confirmed by the Grand Lama of Lha-Ssa. All the

tribes, and all the Lamaseries of the province, entered into this

quarrel, and took part, some with the young Lama, some with the old.

After long and futile discussions, written and verbal, they resorted to

arms, and for a full year these wild and fanatic tribes were engaged in

bloody conflicts. Whole villages were destroyed, and their inhabitants

cut in pieces. In their terrible fury, these ferocious combatants

devastated everything; they pursued into the desert, with arrows and

fusils, the herds of goats and long-haired oxen, and in their destructive

course, set fire to the forests they found on their way.

When we arrived at Tsiamdo, the war had ceased some days, and all parties

had consented to a truce, in hopes of effecting a reconciliation.

Thibetian and Chinese negotiators had been sent by the Tale-Lama and the

ambassador Ki-Chan conjointly. The youthful Houtouktou of Djaya had been

summoned to this congress, and fearful of treachery, he had come with a

formidable escort of his bravest partisans. Several conferences had been

held without producing any satisfactory result. Neither the one nor the

other of the two pretenders would withdraw his claims; the parties were

irreconcilable, and everything presaged that the war would be soon

resumed with fresh fury. It appeared to us that the party of the young

Houtouktou had every chance of success, because it was the most national,

and consequently the most popular and strongest. Not that his title was

really better founded or more valid than that of his competitor, but it

was easy to see that the old Houtouktou of Tsiamdo had hurt the pride of

his tribes by invoking the arbitration of the Chinese, and relying upon

the aid of the government of Peking. All foreign intervention is odious

and detestable. This is truth, alike in Europe and in the mountains of

Thibet, wherever people care for their independence and their dignity.

Our residence at Tsiamdo was quite exempt from the irritation and rage

that reigned about us. We were treated with all those marks of attention

and kindness which we had experienced on all our journey since our

departure from Lha-Ssa. Both the young and the old Houtouktou sent us a

scarf of blessing, with a good provision of butter and quarters of

mutton.

We stayed at Tsiamdo three days; for our guide, the Pacificator of

Kingdoms, had great need of rest. The fatigues of this arduous route had

sensibly affected his health. His legs were so swollen that he could not

mount or dismount from his horse without the assistance of several

persons. The physicians and sorcerers of Tsiamdo, whom he consulted,

gave answers, the clearest meaning of which was, that if the malady

diminished, it would be no great matter; but that if it should grow

worse, it might become a serious affair. The most reasonable counsellors

advised Ly-Kouo-Ngan to continue his journey in a palanquin. A Chinese

Mandarin of the place offered to sell him his own, and to engage

carriers. This advice was perfectly prudent; but avarice interposed, and

the sick man protested that he should be more fatigued in a palanquin

than on horseback.

To the illness of Ly-Kouo-Ngan was added another source of delay. A

Chinese caravan which had left Lha-Ssa a few days after us, had arrived

at Tsiamdo on the same evening with ourselves. This caravan consisted of

a Liang-Tai, or commissary, of his son, a young man of eighteen, and of a

numerous suite of soldiers and servants. We wanted to let these pass on

before, for, if we travelled in company, it was to be feared that we

should not find lodgings and oulah sufficient for so great a number. The

Liang-Tai and his son travelled in palanquins; but, notwithstanding the

conveniences of this mode of conveyance, the two illustrious travellers

were so extenuated with fatigue, and so languid, that it was the general

impression their strength would not suffice to carry them into China.

The literary Mandarins being used to an easy life, are little adapted for

supporting the innumerable miseries of the journey into Thibet. Among

those who are sent to fulfil the duties of commissary, few are fortunate

enough to return to their country.

[Picture: Thibetian Travellers]

The day of our departure, the old Houtouktou of Tsiamdo sent us an escort

of four Thibetian horsemen, to guard us until we reached the territory of

the Tchaktchouba of Djaya. On quitting the town, we passed over a

magnificent bridge entirely built of large trunks of fir, and we then

found ourselves on the Sse-Tchouen road, which meanders along the sides

of a high mountain, at the base of which runs the rapid river Dza-Tchou.

After proceeding twenty lis, we met, at a turn of the mountain, in a deep

and retired gorge, a little party of travellers, who presented a picture

full of poetry: The procession was opened by a Thibetian woman astride a

fine donkey, and carrying an infant, solidly fastened to her shoulders by

large leathern straps. She led after her, by a long cord, a pack-horse,

laden with two panniers, which hung symmetrically on its sides. These

two panniers served as lodgings for two children, whose laughing joyous

faces we saw peeping out from little windows in their respective baskets.

The difference in the age of these children seemed slight; but they could

not be of the same weight, for to keep the equilibrium between them, a

large stone was tied to the side of one of the panniers. Behind the

horse laden with these child-boxes followed a horseman, whom one easily

recognised, by his costume, as a retired Chinese soldier. He had behind

him, on the crupper, a boy of twelve years old. Last of all, an enormous

red-haired dog, with squinting eyes, and an expression altogether of

decided bad temper, completed this singular caravan, which joined us, and

took advantage of our company as far as the province of Sse-Tchouen.

The Chinese was an ex-soldier of the garrison of Tsiamdo. Having

performed the three years' service required by law, he had obtained leave

to remain in Thibet, and to engage in commerce. He had married, and

after having amassed a little fortune, he was returning to his country

with all his family.

We could not but admire the fortitude, the energy, and the devotion of

this brave Chinese, so different from his selfish countrymen, who never

scruple to leave their wives and children in foreign lands. He had to

bear up, not only against the dangers and fatigues of a long journey, but

also against the raillery of those who themselves had not the heart to

follow his good example. The soldiers of our escort soon began to turn

him into ridicule. "This man," said they, "is evidently insane; to bring

from foreign countries money and merchandise, that is reasonable; but to

bring into the central nation, a large-footed woman and all these little

barbarians, why, it is contrary to all established usages. Has the

fellow an idea of making money by exhibiting these animals of Thibet?"

More than once observations of this kind excited our indignation. We

always made a point of defending this worthy father, of commending his

honourable conduct, and of reproving loudly the barbarity and immorality

of the Chinese customs.

Shortly after we had admitted into our caravan the interesting little

party from Tsiamdo, we left the river Dza-Tchou to our right, and

ascended a high mountain covered with large trees and enormous rocks,

themselves covered with thick coats of lichen. We afterwards again came

upon the river, and proceeded along its banks, by a rugged path, for a

few lis, till we arrived at Meng-Phou. We had travelled scarcely eight

leagues, but we were overcome with fatigue. The three days rest we had

taken at Tsiamdo had modified our equestrian powers, so that we had some

difficulty in getting our legs into riding order again. Meng-Phou

consists of seven or eight huts, built of rough stone, in a large and

deep ravine.

Next day we travelled along the crest of a lofty mountain, having

continually to mount and dismount, in order to get from one eminence to

another. On this route we had frequently to cross precipices on wooden

bridges, which, to use the expression of the Chinese Itinerary, are

"suspended in the region of the clouds." After a march of 60 lis we

reached Pao-Tun, where we changed the oulah, and where we began to find

the Thibetians less complaisant and docile than on the other side of

Tsiamdo. Their mien was haughtier and their manner more abrupt. On the

other hand, the Chinese of the caravan became more humble, less exacting,

and prudently abstained from speaking in a domineering fashion. All the

way from Pao-Tun to Bagoung, you see nothing for ten leagues but

calcareous mountains, entirely bare and rough. No trees are to be seen,

nor grass, nor even moss. Below you only remark, in the fissures of the

rocks, a little verdant stone-crop, which seems to protest against the

desolate sterility around. One of these mountains, which the Chinese

call Khou-Loung-Chan, which means the perforated mountain, presents a

very singular appearance. You see here a great number of holes and

hollows, in infinite variety of form and size. Some of these apertures

resemble huge doorways. The smaller look like bells, some like round and

oval sky lights.

The mountain being in the peak form, we were not able to go and visit

these caverns. However, we approached sufficiently near to them to be

able to judge that they are all of a considerable depth. These numerous

cavities resulting, probably, from old volcanic eruptions, are attributed

by the Chinese to the Kouei or evil genii. The Thibetians, on the

contrary, affirm that they were dug by the tutelary deities of the

country; that, in ancient times, some Lamas of great sanctity made them

their retreat, and that therein they were transformed into Buddha; and

that at certain periods of the year you still hear within the mountain

the murmur of Lama prayers.

In Thibet, we had never observed on our route other mountains than those

of a granitic nature, always remarkable for masses of enormous stones,

heaped upon one another, generally assuming a form originally

quadrangular, but rounded at the angles by the incessant action of the

wind and rain. These enormous calcareous masses, which we observed on

our way to Bagoung, could not fail to fix our attention. In fact, the

country began entirely to change its aspect. For more than a fortnight

we saw nothing but calcareous mountains, producing a marble as white as

snow, of a fine and very close grain. The shepherds of these regions are

in the habit of cutting from them large slabs, on which they carve the

image of Buddha, or the formula "Om mani padme houm," and which they

afterwards place on the roadside. These carvings remain for many years,

without being in the least defaced, for this marble having a great

quantity of silex closely intermixed with carbonate of chalk, is

extremely hard. Before our arrival at Bagoung, we journeyed for four or

five lis, along a road bordered on both sides, by two unbroken lines of

these Buddhic inscriptions. We saw some Lamas engraving the _mani_ on

marble slabs.

We reached the little village of Bagoung a little before nightfall, and

proceeded to dismount at a Chinese barracks, composed of a few huts built

of magnificent fragments of white marble, cemented with mud and dung. As

soon as we arrived, they announced to us the death of the Liang-Tai,

named Pei, who had overtaken us at Tsiamdo. It was two days before, that

his caravan had passed through Bagoung. Having reached the barracks, the

bearers of the Mandarin, after setting down the palanquin, had opened the

curtains, as usual, to invite his excellency to enter the apartment that

had been prepared for him. But, in the palanquin, they only found a

corpse. In accordance with the Chinese usages, the son of the departed

could not leave the body of his father in a foreign land, but must take

it to his family, in order to deposit it in the sepulchre of his

ancestors. Now, we were still in the heart of Thibet, and the family of

the Mandarin Pei was in the province of Tche-Kiang, altogether at the

extremity of China. The route, as has been seen, was difficult and long;

but hesitation in the matter was out of the question: filial piety had to

surmount all obstacles. A coffin, ready made, was, by chance, in the

guardhouse. The son of the Mandarin bought it at a high price from the

soldiers; he deposited therein the remains of his father. They adapted

the shafts of the palanquin to the coffin, and the carriers, in

consideration of increased pay, agreed to carry to the frontiers of

China, a dead instead of a living man. The caravan had quitted Bagoung

the evening preceding our arrival.

The announcement of this death astonished and affected all of us.

Ly-Kouo-Ngan particularly, who was in no satisfactory state of mind, was

thunderstruck. The fear he felt prevented him from taking any supper;

but, in the evening, another matter occurred to divert his attention from

these sad thoughts of death. The chief of the Thibetian village came to

the guard-house, to announce to the travellers, that it had been resolved

in that country, that thereafter they would not supply the oulah

gratuitously; that for a horse, people must pay one ounce of silver, and

for a yak half an ounce. "The caravan which passed yesterday," added he,

"was obliged to agree to this." . . . To make it manifest that this

regulation would not admit of any discussion, he abruptly put his tongue

in his cheek at us, and withdrew.

A manifesto so plain and definite was a complete thunderbolt to the

Pacificator of Kingdoms. He entirely forgot the melancholy death of the

poor Liang-Tai, in the thought of this frightful catastrophe which

threatened his purse. We charitably participated in his affliction, and

tried, as well as we could, to conform our words to his sombre thoughts.

But, in reality, it was a matter of utter indifference to us. If they

refused to supply us with the means of continuing our journey, we should

merely have to stay in Thibet, which, after all, was a result to which we

should without difficulty become reconciled. Meantime, we went to bed,

and left the people of the escort to discuss politics and social economy.

The next day, when we rose, we found neither oxen nor horses in the court

of the barracks. Ly-Kouo-Ngan was in utter despair. "Shall we have the

oulah?" inquired we; "shall we depart to-day?" "These barbarians,"

answered he, "do not comprehend the merit of obedience. I have resolved

to address myself to Proul-Tamba; I have sent a deputation to him; I have

known him a long time, and I hope he will procure the oulah for us."

This Proul-Tamba was a person of whom we had already heard a great deal.

He was at the head of the party of the young Tchaktchouba of Djaya, and

consequently the avowed enemy of Chinese influence. He was, we were

informed, learned as the most learned Lamas of Lha-Ssa. No one came up

to him in valour; never in battle had he experienced defeat.

Accordingly, among all the tribes of the province of Kham, his name alone

had potency, and acted like a talisman on the minds of the multitude.

Proul-Tamba was, in some measure, the Abd-el-Kader of these wild

mountaineers.

The dwelling of Proul-Tamba was distant from Bagoung not more than five

or six lis. The deputation that had been sent to him, soon returned, and

announced that the great chief himself was coming. This unexpected news

put in commotion the whole Thibetian village, and the soldiers. Every

one said to every one, excitedly, "The great chief is coming, we are

going to see the great chief!" Ly-Kouo-Ngan hastened to attire himself

in his best clothes, his silk boots, and his hat of ceremony. The

Chinese soldiers also improved, as well as they could, their toilet.

Whilst the Thibetians ran to meet their chief, Ly-Kouo-Ngan selected from

his baggage a magnificent khata, or scarf of blessing, and then posted

himself on the threshold of the door, to receive the illustrious

Proul-Tamba. As for us, the department we selected was to study the

physiognomies of the different parties. The most interesting was,

doubtless, that of the Pacificator of Kingdoms. It was curious to see

this Chinese Mandarin, generally so haughtily insolent in the presence of

Thibetians, become all at once humble and modest, and awaiting,

tremblingly, the arrival of a man whom he deemed strong and potent.

At last the great chief appeared; he was on horseback, escorted by a

guard of honour, consisting of four horsemen. As soon as all had

dismounted, the Pacificator of Kingdoms approached Proul-Tamba, made him

a low bow, and offered him the scarf of blessing. Proul-Tamba motioned

to one of his attendants to receive the present, and without saying a

word, quickly crossed the court, and went straight to the room prepared

for his reception, and where we awaited him with the Lama Dchiamdchang.

Proul-Tamba made us a slight bow, and sat down without ceremony, in the

place of honour, on a carpet of grey felt. Ly-Kouo-Ngan placed himself

on his left, the Lama Dchiamdchang on his right, and we in front of him.

Between us five there was such a respectful distance, that we formed a

sort of large circle. Some Chinese soldiers and a crowd of Thibetians

stood behind us.

There was a minute of profound silence. The great chief Proul-Tamba was

at most forty years of age; he was of middle height, and his sole attire

was a large robe of green silk, bordered with beautiful wolf-fur, and

fastened at the waist by a red girdle. Large purple leather boots, an

alarming fox-skin cap, and a broad, long sabre, passed through the girdle

horizontally, completed his costume. Long hair, black as ebony, which

hung down over his shoulders, gave to his pale, thin face, a marked

expression of energy. The eyes were, however, the most remarkable

features in the physiognomy of this man; they were large, glittering, and

seemed to breathe indomitable courage and pride. The whole appearance

and bearing of Proul-Tamba denoted a man of real superiority, born to

command his fellows. After having attentively looked at us, one after

the other, his hands resting one on each end of his sabre, he drew from

his bosom a packet of little khatas, and had them distributed amongst us

by one of his men. Then turning to Ly-Kouo-Ngan: "Ah, thou art back

again," said he, with a voice that resounded like a bell; "if they had

not told me this morning it was thee, I should not have recognised thee.

How thou hast aged since thy last visit to Bagoung." "Yes, thou art

right," answered the Pacificator of Kingdoms, in soft and insinuating

tones, drawing himself along the felt carpet nearer to his interlocutor;

"yes, I am very feeble; but thou art more vigorous than ever." "We live

in circumstances under which it is necessary to be vigorous; there is no

longer peace in our mountains." "True, I heard yonder that you have had

here amongst you a little dispute." "For more than a year past, the

tribes of Kham have been waging a bloody war, and thou callest that a

little dispute. Thou hast only to open thy eyes, on thy way, and thou

wilt behold, on every side, villages in ruins, and forests burnt down.

In a few days, we shall be obliged to resume our work, for no one will

hear the words of peace. The war, indeed, might have been brought to a

conclusion after a few skirmishes; but, since you Chinese have chosen to

meddle in our affairs, the parties have become irreconcilable. You

Chinese Mandarins are good for nothing but to bring disorder and

confusion into these countries. It cannot go on in this way. We have

let you alone for some time, and now your audacity knows no bounds. I

cannot, without shuddering all over, think of that affair of the Nomekhan

of Lha-Ssa. They pretend that the Nomekhan committed great crimes. It

is false: these great crimes, it is you that invented them. The Nomekhan

is a saint, a Living Buddha. Who ever heard that a Living Buddha could

be tried and exiled by Ki-Chan, a Chinese, a layman?" "The order came

from the Grand Emperor," answered Ly-Kouo-Ngan, in a low and tremulous

voice. "The Grand Emperor!" cried Proul-Tamba, turning with an angry air

to his interrupter, "thy Grand Emperor is only a layman. What is thy

Grand Emperor compared with a Grand Lama, a Living Buddha?" The great

chief of the province of Kham inveighed for a length of time against the

domination of the Chinese in Thibet. He assailed in turns the Emperor,

the viceroy of Sse-Tchouen, and the ambassador of Lha-Ssa.

Throughout these energetic philippics, he frequently reverted to the

affair of the Nomekhan. One could see that he felt a deep interest in

the fate of the Grand Lama, whom he regarded as a victim of the court of

Peking. The Pacificator of Kingdoms took care not to contradict him; he

affected to concur in the sentiments of Proul-Tamba, and received each

proposition with an inclination of the head. At length he hazarded a

word as to departure and the oulah.

"The oulah," replied Proul-Tamba; "henceforth, there will be none for the

Chinese, unless they pay the price for them. It is enough that we allow

the Chinese to penetrate into our country, without adding the folly of

furnishing them with the oulah gratuitously. However, as thou art an old

acquaintance, we will make an exception in favour of thy caravan.

Besides, thou art conducting two Lamas of the Western Heaven, who have

been recommended to me by the chief Kalon of Lha-Ssa, and who are

entitled to my services. Where is the Dheba of Bagoung? Let him

advance."

The individual who, the evening before, had come to tell us, "no more

money, no more oulah," presented himself. He bent his knee before the

great chief, and respectfully put his tongue in his cheek at him. "Let

them get ready the oulah immediately," cried Proul-Tamba, "and let every

one do his duty." The Thibetians, who were in the courtyard, sent forth

a simultaneous shout of submission, and ran off to the adjacent village.

Proul-Tamba rose, and after having invited us to take tea in his house,

which stood on our road, sprang on his horse, and returned home at full

gallop. The oulah soon appeared, and the caravan found itself organised,

as it were, by magic. After half an hour's march, we reached the

residence of the great chief. It was a lofty, large structure, not

unlike a stronghold of the feudal times. A broad canal, bordered with

large trees, encircled it. A drawbridge descended for us. We dismounted

to cross it, and entered, through an immense gateway, a square court,

where my lord Proul-Tamba awaited us. They tied the horses to posts

planted in the middle of the court, and we were introduced into a vast

saloon, which seemed to serve as the domestic temple, or castle chapel.

The enormous beams which supported the roof were entirely gilt. The

walls were hung with flags of all colours, covered with Thibetian

inscriptions. At the end of the saloon were three colossal statues of

Buddha, before which were placed large butter lamps and censers. In a

corner of the temple, they had prepared a low table, with four thick

cushions, covered with red stuff. Proul-Tamba graciously invited us to

take our places, and as soon as we were seated, the chatelaine made her

appearance in state costume, that is to say, with her face frightfully

daubed over with black, her copious tresses adorned with spangles, red

coral beads, and small mother-of pearl buttons.

In her right hand she carried a majestic tea-pot, the vast circumference

of which rested on her left arm. Each of us presented his cup, which was

filled with a bumper of tea, on the surface of which floated a thick coat

of butter: the tea was of the best quality. While we were sipping the

hot fluid, our hostess reappeared, bearing two dishes of gilt wood, the

one full of raisins, the other of nuts. "These are fruits of our

country," said Proul-Tamba to us; "they grow in a fine valley not far

distant. In the Western Heaven, have you fruits of this kind?" "Oh,

yes, plentifully; and you cannot conceive how much pleasure you give us

in presenting to us these fruits, for they recall to us our country,"

and, as we spoke, we took a handful of raisins from the gilt plate.

Unfortunately, they were only remarkable for a tough and sour skin, and

for a number of pips, which cracked under our teeth like gravel. We

turned to the nuts, which were of a magnificent size, but were again

deceived; the kernel was so solidly fixed in its hard shell, that it was

as much as we could do to extract a few morsels with the tips of our

nails. We returned to the raisins, then again to the nuts, travelling

from one plate to the other in search, but vainly, of something wherewith

to quiet the gnawings of our stomach. We were growing convinced that

Mrs. Proul-Tamba had resolved to play us a trick, when we saw two

vigorous Thibetians approach, carrying another table, on which was a

whole kid, and a superb haunch of venison. This unexpected apparition

gladdened our hearts, and an involuntary smile must have announced to our

Amphitryon how favourably his second service was received. They removed

the skins of raisins and the nut shells; Thibetian beer took the place of

the buttered tea, and we set to work with incomparable energy. When we

had triumphantly achieved this Homeric repast, we offered to the grand

chief a scarf of blessing, and remounted our horses. Not far from the

feudal castle of the illustrious Proul-Tamba, we came to a calcareous

hill, with great apertures on its summit, and on its rugged sides

numerous Buddhic sentences cut in gigantic characters. All the

Thibetians stopped, and prostrated themselves thrice to the ground. This

mountain was the retreat of a hermit Lama, for whom all the tribes of the

province of Kham entertained profound veneration. According to the

statement of the natives, this holy Lama had withdrawn, twenty-two years

before, to one of the caverns of the mountain; since that time, he had

remained in it, without quitting it once, passing day and night in

prayer, and in the contemplation of the ten thousand virtues of Buddha.

He allowed no one to visit him. Every three years, however, he gave a

grand audience of eight days, and, during that period, the devout might

present themselves freely at his cell, and consult him about things past,

present, and to come. At this time, large offerings failed not to pour

in from every quarter: the sainted Lama kept none for himself, but

distributed them among the poor of the district. What did he want with

riches and the good things of this world? His cell, dug out of the

living rock, never required the least repair; his yellow robe, lined with

sheepskin, served him alike in all seasons of the year. On every sixth

day only did he take a repast, consisting of a little tea and

barley-meal, which charitable persons in the vicinity passed to him by

means of a long cord, which descended from the top of the grotto to the

foot of the mountain. Several Lamas had placed themselves under the

direction of this hermit, and had resolved to adopt his manner of life.

They dwelt in cells, dug near that of their master. The most celebrated

of his disciples was the father of the great Proul-Tamba. He, also, had

been a famous warrior, and ever at the head of the people of this

country. Having reached an advanced age, and seeing his son capable of

being his successor, he had conferred on him the title of Grand Chief.

Then shaving his head, and assuming the sacred habit of the Lamas, he had

retired into solitude, leaving to younger and more vigorous hands the

charge of terminating the contest which had commenced between the two

Houtouktous of the province of Kham.

[Picture: The Hermit of the Mountain]

The sun had not set when we reached the station of Wang-Tsa, fifty lis

from Bagoung. Wang-Tsa is a small village built at the foot of a hill of

black loam, covered with thickets of holly and cypress. The houses,

built of the black soil, communicate to the village an extremely sombre

and funereal aspect. At Wang-Tsa, we began to observe traces of the

civil war, which was laying waste these countries. The Chinese barracks,

built of large fir planks, had been entirely burnt; its remains, half

charred, which lay about, served throughout the evening to keep up a

magnificent fire. Upon setting out next morning, we observed a singular

alteration in the caravan. The horses and oxen were the same that we had

taken from Bagoung, but all the Thibetian guides had vanished; not one of

them remained: women of Wang-Tsa had taken their place. Upon inquiring

the meaning of this new and surprising arrangement: "To-day," answered

the Lama Dchiamdchang, "we shall reach Gaya, which is a hostile village.

If the Bagoung men went there, there would inevitably be a fight, and the

inhabitants of Gaya would seize the animals of the caravan. The oulah

being conducted by women, we have nothing to fear. Men, who would have

the cowardice to fight with women, and take the animals confided to their

care, would be despised by the whole world. Such is the usage of these

countries." We were not a little surprised to find, among the wild

mountains of Thibet, sentiments so like those of our own country. This

was pure French chivalry. We were eager to see in what courteous and

gallant fashion the ladies of Wang-Tsa would be received by the gentlemen

of Gaya.

After passing a lofty mountain, covered with large masses of rock, partly

buried in old layers of snow, we entered a valley thoroughly cultivated,

and of a mild temperature. We perceived in the distance, in a hollow,

the houses of Gaya. They were high, flanked with watch-towers, and not

unlike castles. When we were some hundred paces from this large village,

there issued from it all at once a formidable squadron of cavalry, who

dashed forward to meet the caravan. The horsemen, armed with fusils and

long lances, seemed quite disposed for a skirmish. Their martial humour,

however, vanished, when they perceived that the caravan was conducted by

women; and they contented themselves with hearty shouts of laughter, and

with expressions of contempt at the cowardice of their foes. As we

entered Gaya, men, women, and children, were all in motion, and sending

forth cries, that seemed to us anything but amicable. No mischance,

however, occurred. We dismounted in the court of a large three-storied

house, and as soon as they had unsaddled the horses, and unyoked the

long-haired oxen, the ladies of Wang-Tsa drank hastily a cup of buttered

tea, which was courteously handed round to each, and immediately returned

with their oulah.

We found at Gaya a tolerably comfortable lodging, but we did not know on

what conditions we should proceed. The important question of the oulah

occupied every one's mind, yet no one ventured to put the question

openly, and we went to bed, leaving the consideration of serious matters

to the morrow.

It was scarce day when the court of the house where we lodged was filled

with a crowd of Thibetians, who had come to deliberate on the degree in

which they should tax our caravan. From a second-floor balcony, we could

enjoy at our leisure the singular spectacle which this council presented.

Of the immense multitude, there was not an individual who was not an

orator; everybody spoke at once; and, judging from the sounding altitude

of the voices, and the impetuous animation of the gestures, there must

certainly have been some very fine speeches there. Some orators mounted

upon the luggage that was piled in the court, and made of it a pulpit,

whence they overlooked the multitude. Sometimes it seemed that the

eloquence of words was insufficient to convey conviction to the minds of

the audience, for the disputants would fight and pull each other's hair,

and beat each other without mercy, until an orator of superior influence

came and called the honourable members to order. This calm, however,

would not be of long duration; the tumult and disorder would soon

recommence with increased vigour. The thing became so serious, that we

were convinced these people would end with drawing their sabres, and

massacring each other. We were mistaken. After the assembly had

vociferated, gesticulated, and manipulated for more than an hour, there

was a great shout of laughter; the council rose, and everybody withdrew

perfectly calm. Two deputies then ascended to the second-floor, where

the staff of the caravan lodged; and informed Ly-Kouo-Ngan, that the

chiefs of the family of Gaya, after deliberating on the organisation of

the oulah, had decided that they would furnish gratuitously animals for

the two Lamas of the Western Heaven, and for the Thibetians of Lha-Ssa;

but that the Chinese must pay half-an-ounce of silver for a horse, and a

quarter for a long-haired ox. At this intimation, Ly-Kouo-Ngan collected

his strength, and inveighed with energy against what he called a tyranny,

an injustice. The Chinese soldiers of the caravan, who were present,

co-operated with loud cries and menaces, for the purpose of intimidating

the delegates of the national assembly of Gaya; but the latter preserved

an attitude deliciously haughty and contemptuous. One of them advanced a

step, placed, with a sort of wild dignity, his right hand on the shoulder

of Ly-Kouo-Ngan, and after piercing him with his great black eyes, shaded

with thick eyebrows, "Man of China," said he, "listen to me; dost thou

think that with an inhabitant of the valley of Gaya, there is much

difference between cutting off the head of a Chinese and that of a goat?

Tell thy soldiers, then, not to be too fierce, and not to talk big words.

Who ever saw the fox that could terrify the terrible yak of the

mountains? The oulah will be ready presently; if you do not take it, and

go to-day, to-morrow the price will be doubled." The Chinese perceiving

that violence would only involve disagreeable results, had recourse to

cajolery, but to no purpose. Ly-Kouo-Ngan found no resource except that

of opening his strong-box, and weighing out the required sum. The oulah

soon arrived, and we occupied ourselves busily with the organisation of

the caravan, in order to leave as soon as possible this village of Gaya,

which the Chinese deemed barbarous and inhabitable, but which seemed to

us extremely picturesque.

From Gaya to Angti, where we were to change the oulah, was only a short

stage of thirty lis. The Chinese were in despair at having been obliged

to spend so much money to effect so short a distance; but they had only

come to the commencement of their miseries; for we were destined to meet

with Thibetian tribes, still less tractable than those of Gaya.

The snow, which had given us a few days' respite since our departure from

Tsiamdo, again assailed us on the very evening of our arrival at Angti.

During the night, and the following day, it fell in such abundance that

we were unable to go out without having it up to our knees. As a climax

of misfortune, we had, on leaving Angti, to ascend one of the rugged and

most dangerous mountains on this route. The Chinese Itinerary thus

describes it: "At Angti, you cross a great snow-clad mountain; the road

is very steep; the accumulated snows resemble a silvery vapour. The fog

which the mountain exhales penetrates the body, and makes the Chinese

ill."

According to a popular tradition of the country, in the olden time, a

chief of the tribe of Angti, a famous warrior, held in awe by all his

neighbours, was buried under an avalanche one day when he was crossing

the mountain. All the efforts to recover his body were fruitless. A

holy Lama of the period, having declared that the chief had become the

genius of the mountain, they raised a temple to him, which still exists,

and where travellers never fail to burn a few incense sticks, before

proceeding on their way. In tempests, when the wind blows with violence,

the genius of Mount Angti never fails to appear; there is no one about

who has not seen him several times. He is always seen mounted upon a red

horse, clothed in large white robes, and quietly sauntering upon the

crest of the mountain. If he meets any traveller, he takes him on his

crupper, and vanishes forthwith at full gallop. The red horse being so

light that he leaves no trace, even on the snow, no one, to this day, has

been able to discover the retreat of the White Knight, for so they call

him in the country.

As to us, we were not much concerned about the red horse and the white

knight. What we feared, was the mountain itself. We could not help

shuddering at the sight of the frightful quantity of snow which had

fallen, and which would render the road extremely dangerous. We were

obliged to await the return of fine weather, and then to send, as we had

before done under similar circumstances, a herd of long-haired oxen to

trample down the snow, and trace out a path over the mountain.

We stayed five days at Angti. Ly-Kouo-Ngan took advantage of this long

halt to doctor his legs, the malady in which assumed every day a more

alarming character. The question of the oulah, long discussed in several

assemblies, was resolved, at last, in the same way as at Gaya; a result

which did not fail greatly to annoy the Chinese, and to elicit from them

infinite clamour.

What we found most remarkable at Angti was, certainly, the Dheba, or

chief of the tribe. This individual, named Bomba, was at most three feet

high; the sabre which he carried in his girdle was, at least, twice his

own length; notwithstanding this, the man had a magnificent chest, and a

face, broad, energetic in its expression, and beautifully regular in its

features. The exiguity of his stature arose from an entire abortion of

the legs, which, however, did not in the least affect his feet; nor did

the almost total absence of legs prevent the chief of the tribe of Angti

from being surprisingly active. He was always running about with as much

agility as the longest legged of his people; he could not, indeed, make

very extended strides, but he compensated for this by the rapidity of his

movements. By dint of working about right and left, skipping and

jumping, he always arrived as soon as any one else; he was, they said,

the most expert horseman, and the most intrepid warrior of the tribe.

When they had once hoisted him on his horse, where he held on, at once

standing and seated, he was invincible. In the popular assemblies, which

the mountaineers of these regions are in the habit of holding very

frequently, and always in the open air, to discuss all questions of

public and private interest, the chief Bomba always made himself

remarkable by the ascendancy of his eloquence and his resolute character.

When they were discussing at Angti the tax on the oulah, no one was seen,

no one heard, but the astonishing Bomba. Perched on the shoulders of a

big, tall Thibetian, he pervaded, like a giant, the tumultuous assembly,

and dominated it, by word and gesture, still more than by his factitious

stature.

The chief of Angti omitted no opportunity of giving us special proofs of

kindness and sympathy. One day, he invited us to dine with him. This

invitation served the double end of exercising towards us the duty of

hospitality, and, in the next place, of piquing the jealousy of the

Chinese, whom he hated and despised with all his soul. After dinner,

which offered nothing remarkable but a profusion of uncooked and boiled

meat, and tea richly saturated with butter, he asked us to go and see a

saloon full of pictures and armour of every description. The pictures

which lined the walls consisted of portraits, rudely coloured,

representing the most illustrious ancestors of the family of Bomba. We

observed there, a numerous collection of Lamas of every age and dignity,

and some warriors in war costume. The arms were numerous, and in great

variety. There were lances, arrows, two-edged sabres, spiral and

scythe-shaped; tridents; long sticks with large iron rings, and

matchlocks, the stocks of which were of most singular shapes. The

defensive arms were round bucklers of the hide of the wild yak,

ornamented with red copper nails; armlets and greaves of copper, and

coats of mail of iron wire, of a thick and close web, but,

notwithstanding, very elastic. The chief Bomba told us that these coats

of mail were the armour of very ancient times, which had been put aside

since the use of the gun had become general in their country. The

Thibetians, as we have said, are too indifferent in matters of

chronology, to be able to assign the time when they began to make use of

fire-arms. It may be presumed, however, that they were not acquainted

with gunpowder until towards the thirteenth century, in the time of the

wars of Tchingghiskhan, who had, as we know, artillery in his army. A

rather remarkable circumstance is, that in the mountains of Thibet, as

well as in the Chinese empire and the plains of Tartary, there is no one

but knows how to make powder. Every family makes it for its own use. In

passing through the province of Kham, we often remarked women and

children busily employed in pounding coal, sulphur, and saltpetre. The

powder thus made is certainly not so good as that of Europe, yet, when it

is put in a fusil, with a ball upon it, it is sufficiently potent to

project the ball, and make it kill stags in hunting, and men in battle.

After five days' repose, we resumed our route. Immediately at the

outset, the caravan began to ascend the lofty mountain of Angti. We met

neither red horse nor white knight, and no genius took us on his crupper,

to bear us away to his solitary abode. On every side, we saw only snow,

but that snow was so abundant that even on the most noted mountains, we

had never found so frightful a quantity. Frequently the guides, mounted

upon long-haired oxen, entirely disappeared in gulfs, from which they

could only disengage themselves with great difficulty. More than once we

were on the point of retracing our steps, and giving up all hopes of

reaching the summit.

The small Sinico-Thibetian caravan that had joined us at Tsiamdo, and

that had never left us since, presented a spectacle worthy of the utmost

compassion. We forgot, in some degree, our own sufferings, when we saw

these poor little creatures almost at every step buried in the snow, and

with hardly strength enough to cry. We admired the intrepid energy of

the Thibetian mother, who, so to speak, multiplied herself, in order to

rush to the assistance of her numerous offspring, and who derived, from

maternal tenderness, superhuman strength.

The mountain of Angti is so lofty and steep, that it took us the whole

day to ascend and descend it. The sun had already set when we managed to

roll to the bottom. We halted a few minutes, under some black tents

inhabited by nomad shepherds, swallowed a few handsful of tsamba, diluted

with brackish tea, and then resumed our route along a rocky valley where

the snow was all melted. We followed for two hours, in utter darkness,

the steep banks of a river, of which we heard the waters without seeing

them. Every instant we trembled lest we should be precipitated into it;

but the animals, which knew the road, and which we left to their

instinct, conducted us safely to Djaya.

Our arrival in the middle of the night put all the town in commotion.

The dogs, by their fierce barking, gave the alarm. Soon after, the doors

of the houses were opened, and the inhabitants of the town rushed out in

a crowd into the streets, with horn lanterns, torches, and weapons of

every description, the general impression being that there was an

invasion of the enemy. However, when they observed the peaceful and even

timid bearing of the caravan, their apprehensions were quieted, and each

person returned home. It was past midnight before we were able to get to

sleep, having previously resolved to stay a day at Djaya, with a view to

take a few hours' rest after crossing the famous mountain of Angti,--not

more than was necessary.

Djaya is, as we have stated already, the residence of the young Lama

Houtouktou, who at the time was warring with the Houtouktou of Tsiamdo.

The town, situated in a beautiful valley, is tolerably large; but, at the

time we passed through it, it was half in ruins; scarce twenty days had

elapsed since it had been attacked by the partisans of the Grand

Houtouktou. The two parties, we were informed, had had terrific combats,

wherein on both sides the victims had been numerous. In passing through

the town, we found whole quarters laid waste by fire; nothing remained

but enormous heaps of calcined stones, and woodwork reduced to ashes.

All the trees of the valley had been cut down, and the trampling of

horses had utterly laid waste the cultivated fields. The celebrated

Lamasery of Djaya was deserted, the cells of the Lamas and the wall, for

more than 400 yards in circuit, which surrounded them, had been

demolished, and presented nothing but a terrible mass of ruins. The

assailants had only respected the principal temples of Buddha.

The Chinese government keeps at Djaya a small garrison, composed of

twenty soldiers, commanded by a Tsien-Tsoung and a Pa-Tsoung. These

military gentlemen wore anything but a satisfied aspect. They seemed to

be very indifferently pleased in this country, a prey to all the horrors

of civil war. The warlike attitude of the mountaineers left them no

rest, day or night. It was in vain they tried to preserve neutrality, or

rather to have the appearance of belonging to both parties; they none the

less found themselves constantly between two fires. It would appear,

indeed, that Djaya has never furnished to the Chinese an easy and

agreeable residence. At all times, Chinese domination has met with

invincible resistance from the fierce tribes around it. The Chinese

Itinerary, which was written in the reign of the Emperor Kien-Long,

expresses itself thus concerning these countries: "The Thibetians, who

inhabit the district of Djaya, are of a haughty and fierce character; all

attempts to subdue them have been fruitless, they are considered very

ferocious; it is their natural character." What the Chinese writer calls

"fierce character," is nothing more in reality than ardent patriotism,

and a very just hatred of a foreign yoke.

A day's rest having sufficiently repaired our strength, we quitted Djaya.

It is unnecessary to add that the Chinese were obliged to pay, and in

ready money, for the hire of the oulah. The Thibetians of the country

were too ferocious to furnish us gratuitously with oxen and horses. We

travelled for two days, through a country extremely low, where we

frequently found small villages and black tents grouped in the valleys.

We were often obliged to traverse wooden bridges, in order to cross

sometimes calm and quiet streams, and at other times torrents, the

impetuous waters of which rolled on with a terrible noise. Shortly

before our arrival at the station of Adzou-Thang, we overtook the party

which was accompanying the coffin of the deceased Liang-Tai to Bagoung.

The son also had just died in a black tent, after a few hours' frightful

agony. The caravan, having no chief, was in a complete state of

disorganisation; most of the soldiers of the escort had dispersed, after

pillaging the baggage of their Mandarin; three only had remained, who

were devising the best means of effecting the conveying of the two bodies

to China. They despaired of being able to continue their journey in so

small a number; so that the arrival of our caravan extricated them from a

great difficulty. The conveyance of the father's body had been arranged

at Bagoung; that of the son remained unsettled. The carriers of his

palanquin had refused to undertake the carriage, for they foresaw that

there would not be money enough to pay them for their trouble. To place

the coffin on an ox was impracticable; there was no inducing a Thibetian

guide to allow one of their animals to carry a corpse, much less the

corpse of a Chinese. We were obliged to have recourse to stratagem. The

body of the last deceased Mandarin was secretly cut into four pieces, and

then packed in a box, which we put among the general luggage, making the

Thibetians believe that in honour of filial piety, the body of the son

had been laid beside that of his father, in the same coffin.

The two corpses, that had become our fellow-travellers, communicated to

the caravan a mournful aspect, which had great influence upon the Chinese

imagination. Ly, the pacificator of kingdoms, whose strength decreased

daily, was particularly alarmed by the circumstance; he would fain have

removed the sad spectacle, but this he could not effect without exposing

himself to the terrible accusation of having impeded the sepulture of two

Mandarins, who had died in a foreign country.

From Adzou-Thang, we went on to sleep and change oulah in a small village

of the valley of Che-Pan-Keou (Valley of Slates). According to the

testimony of the Chinese Itinerary, the inhabitants of this valley are a

rude, wicked, and obstinate people; that is to say, in other words, they

do not fear the Chinese, and are in the habit of making them pay a good

price for the yaks and horses with which they furnish them.

The valley of Che-Pan-Keou, as its name indicates, abounds in quarries of

argillaceous schist. The Thibetians of these countries raise from them

beautiful slate, which they use in tiling their houses; they also raise

very thick pieces, upon which they engrave images of Buddha with the

form, "Om mane padme houm." This slate is of very fine texture. The

small portions of mica or talc which they contain, give them a brilliant

and silky lustre.

The stream which flows through the centre of the valley, contains a large

quantity of gold dust, which the natives do not neglect to collect and

refine. As we walked along the stream, we found fragments of crucibles,

to which were still attached a few particles of gold; we showed them to

the Pacificator of Kingdoms, and this sight seemed to reanimate his

strength, and to renew the bonds which attached him to life. The blood

suddenly rushed into his face, his eyes, which had been almost extinct,

shone with an unwonted fire. One would have said that the sight of a few

grains of gold had made him completely forget both his malady and the two

corpses which accompanied him.

Musk deer abound in this schistous valley. Although that animal,

addicted to cold climates, is met with on almost all the mountains of

Thibet, nowhere, perhaps, is it seen in such large numbers as in the

neighbourhood of Che-Pan-Keou. The pines, cedars, hollies, and

cypresses, which cover this country, contribute, no doubt, a good deal to

attract these animals thither, peculiarly fond, as they are, of the roots

of these trees, which have a strong aromatic perfume.

The musk deer is of the height of a goat; it has a small head; its nose

is pointed, and ornamented with long white mustachios; its legs are

small, its haunches large and thick; two long crooked teeth, which grow

out of the upper jaw, enable it to tear up from the ground the

odoriferous roots, upon which it subsists; its hair is generally from two

to three inches long, and is hollow, like that of almost all the animals

which live north of the Himalaya mountains; extremely rough, and always

bristling; its colour is black below, white in the middle, and inclining

to grey above. A bladder, suspended from the belly, near the navel,

contains the precious substance, the musk.

The inhabitants of the schistous valley capture in the chase such a

number of these musk deer, that you see nothing in their houses but the

skins of these animals, hung on the walls by pegs. They use the hair to

stuff the thick cushions, on which they sit during the day, and the sort

of mattress which serves them for a bed; they have in the musk the source

of a very lucrative trade with the Chinese.

The day after our arrival at Che-Pan-Keou, we bade farewell to the

inhabitants of the valley, and proceeded on our way. At the three next

stations, they were quite inexorable on the question of the oulah. The

Chinese were disgusted at the behaviour of these rude mountaineers, who,

as they said, did not comprehend hospitality, and had no notion of what

was right and what was wrong. As to us, on the contrary, we sympathized

with these men and their rude, spirited temperament; their manners, it is

true, were not refined, but their natural disposition was generosity and

frankness itself, and in our eyes matter was of more moment than manner.

At length we reached Kiang-Tsa, and the Chinese now began to breathe more

freely, for we were entering upon a less hostile district. Kiang-Tsa is

a very fertile valley, the inhabitants of which seem to live in plenty.

We remarked among them, besides the soldiers of the garrison, a great

number of Chinese from the provinces of Sse-Tchouen and Yun-Nan, who keep

a few shops and exercise the primary arts and trades. A few years, they

say, enable them, in this country, to amass a tolerably large fortune.

The two military Mandarins of Kiang-Tsa, who had been companions in arms

of Ly-Kouo-Ngan, were alarmed at the deplorable state in which they found

him, and advised him strongly to continue his journey in a palanquin. We

joined our entreaties to theirs, and we were fortunate enough to triumph

over the avarice of the Pacificator of Kingdoms. He appeared at last to

comprehend that a dead man had no need of money, and that first of all he

should see to the saving of his life. The son of the Mandarin Pei seemed

to have died just in the nick of time for placing at Ly-Kouo-Ngan's

disposal, his palanquin and his eight Chinese bearers, all of whom were

at Kiang-Tsa. We halted for one day to repair the palanquin and to give

the bearers time to prepare their travelling sandals.

The countries which we passed to the south of Kiang-Tsa, seemed to us

less cold and less barren than those we had journeyed through previously.

The ground perceptibly declined; we were still, indeed, completely

surrounded by mountains, but they gradually lost their savage and

mournful aspect. We no longer saw those threatening forms, those

gigantic masses of granite with sharp and perpendicular declivities.

High grass and forests showed themselves on every side, cattle became

more numerous, and everything announced that we were rapidly advancing

towards more temperate climes; only the tops of the mountains still

preserved their crowns of snow and ice.

Four days after our departure from Kiang-Tsa, we reached the banks of the

Kin-Cha-Kiang (River of Gold-dust), which we had already crossed on the

ice with the Thibetian ambassador, two months before our arrival at

Lha-Ssa. Amid the beautiful plains of China, this magnificent river

rolls on its blue waves with an imposing majesty; but among the mountains

of Thibet, it is ever bounding about, throwing the great mass of its

waters to the bottom of gorges and valleys, with terrible impetuosity and

noise. At the spot where we came to the river, it was enclosed between

two mountains, the sharp flanks of which, rising perpendicularly on its

banks, made for it a narrow but extremely deep bed; the waters ran

rapidly, sending forth a low and lugubrious sound. From time to time, we

saw huge masses of ice approach, which, after having whirled round in a

thousand eddies, at last were dashed to pieces against the sharp

projections of the mountain.

We followed the right bank of the Kin-Cha-Kiang for half a day. Towards

noon, we reached a small village, where we found everything prepared

beforehand for crossing the river. The caravan divided itself among four

flat boats, and, in a little while, we were on the opposite bank. Near

it, at the entrance to a narrow valley, was the station of

Tchon-Pa-Loung. The Dheba of the place furnished us, by way of supper,

with some excellent fresh fish; and, for sleeping, with a very snug

wind-tight chamber, and thick mattresses stuffed with the hair of the

musk deer.

Next day we travelled along a small river, which subsequently joins the

River of Gold-dust. Our hearts were lighter than usual, for we had been

told that we should arrive the same day in a charming country. As we

went along, we accordingly looked first on one side and then on the

other, with an uneasy curiosity; from time to time we rose on our

stirrups in order to see further; but the landscape was a long time

before it became poetical. On our left we had still the aforesaid river,

prosaically running over great stones, and on our right a large red

mountain, dismal, bare, and cut up in all directions by deep ravines;

masses of white clouds, driven onward by a cutting wind, flitted over the

sides of the mountain, and formed, ahead of us, a sombre horizon of mist.

Towards midday, the caravan halted at some ruins, to drink a cup of tea

and eat a handful of tsamba; we then clambered to the top of the red

mountain, and from the height of this great observatory, admired on our

right the magnificent, the enchanting plain of Bathang. {292} We found

ourselves, all at once transported, as it were by magic, into the

presence of a country which offered to our view all the wonders of the

richest and most varied vegetation. The contrast, above all, was

striking. On one side, a sombre, barren, mountainous region, almost

throughout a desert; on the other, on the contrary, a joyous plain, where

numerous inhabitants occupied themselves in fertile fields, in the

labours of agriculture. The Chinese Itinerary says, "The canton of

Bathang is a beautiful plain, a thousand lis in length, well watered by

streams and springs; the sky there is clear, the climate pleasant, and

everything gladdens the heart and the eyes of man." We quickly descended

the mountain, and continued our journey in a real garden, amid flowering

trees and verdant rice fields. A delicious warmth gradually penetrated

our limbs, and we soon felt our furred dresses oppressive; it was nearly

two years since we had perspired, and it seemed very odd to be warm

without being before a good fire.

Near the town of Bathang, the soldiers of the garrison were drawn up in

line, to do military honours to the Pacificator of Kingdoms, who, perched

up, at the bottom of his palanquin, went through the ranks in a very

unwarlike manner. The Thibetian population, who were all on foot,

accompanied the caravan to a beautiful Chinese pagoda which was to serve

for our lodging. The same evening, the Mandarins of the Chinese garrison

and the Grand Lamas of the town, came to pay us a visit, and to offer us

some beef and mutton, butter, corn, candles, bacon, rice, nuts, raisins,

apricots, and other products of the country.

At Bathang, there is a magazine of provisions, the fourth from Lha-Ssa;

it is, like all the others, managed by a literary Mandarin, bearing the

title of Liang-Tai. The Chinese garrison, consisting of three hundred

soldiers, is commanded by a Cheou-Pei, two Tsien-Tsoung, and a Pa-Tsoung.

The annual maintenance of the Chinese troops, who belong to this post,

amounts to nine thousand ounces of silver, without reckoning the rations

of rice and tsamba. We observed, among the population of Bathang, a very

great number of Chinese; they are engaged in various arts and trades;

several of them, indeed, occupy themselves with agriculture, and make the

most of the Thibetian farms. This plain, which you find, as by

enchantment, amid the mountains of Thibet, is wonderfully fertile: it

produces two harvests each year. Its principal products are, rice,

maize, barley, wheat, peas, cabbages, turnips, onions, and several other

varieties of vegetable. Of fruits, you find grapes, pomegranates,

peaches, apricots, and water melons. Honey is also very abundant there.

Lastly, you find there mines of cinnabar (sulphur of mercury), from which

they extract a large quantity of mercury. The Thibetians get the mercury

in all its purity, by disengaging the sulphur by combustion, or by

combining it with slack-lime.

The town of Bathang is large and very populous, and its inhabitants seem

to be well off. The Lamas there are very numerous, as they are in all

the Thibetian towns. The principal Lamasery, which they call the Grand

Monastery of Ba, has for its superior a Khampo, who holds his spiritual

authority from the Tale-Lama of Lha-Ssa.

The temporal power of the Tale-Lama ends at Bathang. The frontiers of

Thibet, properly so called, were fixed in 1726, on the termination of a

great war between the Thibetians and the Chinese. Two days before you

arrive at Bathang, you pass, on the top of the Mang-Ling mountain, a

stone monument, showing what was arranged at that time between the

government of Lha-Ssa and that of Peking, on the subject of boundaries.

At present, the countries situate east of Bathang are independent of

Lha-Ssa in temporal matters. They are governed by the Tou-Sse, a sort of

feudal princes, originally appointed by the Chinese Emperor, and still

acknowledging his paramount authority.

These petty sovereigns are bound to go every third year to Peking, to

offer their tribute to the Emperor.

We halted at Bathang three days, the illness of our guide Ly-Kouo-Ngan,

being the cause of this delay. The daily fatigues of this long journey

had so overpowered the poor Mandarin, that he was in an almost hopeless

state. His best plan was to take advantage of the fine climate of

Bathang, and to let the caravan proceed on its way. His friends advised

him to do so, but without success. He insisted upon continuing his

journey, and sought, in every way, to deceive himself as to the serious

nature of his malady. As for us, we considered his case so dangerous,

that we felt it our duty to profit by the repose we enjoyed at Bathang,

to talk seriously to him on the subject of his soul and of eternity. Our

previous conversations on the way had already sufficiently enlightened

him as to the principal truths of Christianity. Nothing now remained but

to make him clearly perceive his position, and to convince him of the

urgency of entering frankly and fully into the path of salvation.

Ly-Kouo-Ngan altogether concurred with us, admitting our observations to

be replete with reason. He himself spoke with great eloquence on the

frailty and brevity of human life, of worldly vanities, of the

impenetrability of God's decrees, of the importance of salvation, of the

truth of the Christian religion, and of the obligation on all mankind to

embrace it. He said to us, on all these subjects, some very sensible and

very touching things; but when it came to the point, to the practical

result, to the declaring himself Christian, there was a dead stand; he

must absolutely wait till he had returned to his family, and had

abdicated his mandarinate. It was in vain that we represented to him the

danger he incurred by postponing this important matter; all was useless.

"So long as I am a Mandarin of the Emperor," said he, "I cannot serve the

Lord of Heaven," and he had got this absurd idea so deep in his brain,

that it was impracticable to dislodge it.

On leaving the station of Bathang, we were obliged to turn for some

distance, quite northwards, in order to resume an eastern direction; for

since our departure from Tsiamdo, we had continually progressed towards

the south during twenty consecutive days. The caravans are compelled to

lengthen this route considerably, in order to reach a secure passage

across the great river Kin-Cha-Kiang.

Our first day's march from Bathang was full of charms, for we travelled,

in a delightful temperature, through a country of an infinite variety of

landscape. The narrow path we followed was throughout bordered with

willows and apricot trees in flower. Next day, however, we again found

ourselves amid all the horrors and dangers of our old route. We had to

ascend a very high mountain, upon which we were mercilessly assailed by

the snow and the north wind. It was a complete reaction against the

Sybaritism we had enjoyed in the warm and flowery plain of Bathang. At

the foot of the mountain, the snow was succeeded by torrents of cold

rain, which seemed to filter through into the very marrow of our bones.

As a climax of misfortune, we were obliged to pass the night in a

habitation, the roof of which, cracked in several places, gave free

passage to the wind and rain. We were, however, so exhausted with

fatigue that this did not prevent our sleeping. The next day we awoke in

the mire; we found our bedclothes entirely soaked, and our limbs stiff

with cold. We were obliged to rub ourselves violently with pieces of

ice, in order to restore circulation to the blood. The abominable

village, which afforded us this horrible lodging, bears the name of

Ta-So. On emerging from the valley of Ta-So, you ascend, by a narrow

gorge, an elevated plain, which we found covered with snow. Here, we

entered a magnificent forest, the finest we had seen in the mountains of

Thibet. The pines, cedars, and hollies entwined their vigorous branches,

and formed a dome of verdure impenetrable to the sun, and under which

there is much better protection from the rain and snow than in the houses

of Ta-So. The trunks and branches of these large trees are covered with

thick moss, which extends in long and extremely delicate filaments. When

this stringy moss is new, it is of a beautiful green hue; but when it is

old, it is black, and bears an exact resemblance to long tufts of dirty

and ill-combed hair. There is nothing more grotesque or fantastic than

the appearance of these old pines, with this very long hair suspended

from their branches. The prickly holly that grows on the mountains of

Thibet, is remarkable for the extraordinary development it attains. In

Europe, it never exceeds the size of a shrub, but here, it always grows

to the size of a large tree. If it does not rise as high as the pine, it

equals it in the size of its trunk, and it is even superior to it in the

richness and abundance of its foliage.

This day's march was long and fatiguing. The night had set in when we

reached the station of Samba, where we were to change the oulah. We were

just going to bed, when we missed a Thibetian, belonging to the escort,

precisely the very man who had been assigned as our servant. We sought

him, but without success, in every corner of the small village in which

we had arrived. We concluded he had lost his way in the forest. We at

first thought of sending in search of him, but in so dark a night, how

could one possibly find a man in that vast and thick forest? We

contented ourselves with going in a body to a neighbouring hill, where we

shouted, and lit a large fire. Towards midnight, the lost man

reappeared, almost dead with fatigue. He carried on his back the saddle

of his horse, which, no doubt, finding the journey too long, had thought

fit to lie down in the midst of the forest, and it had been impossible to

get him up again. The return of this poor young man filled every one

with joy, and we all then went to rest.

The next day, we rose late. Whilst the inhabitants of Samba were

bringing the horses and the beasts of burden to form the caravan, we went

for a little walk, and to have a view of the place, which we had reached

over night. The village of Samba is a collection of thirty small houses,

built of large flint stones, rudely cemented, some with argols, others

with mud. The aspect of the village is mournful, but the environs are

tolerably cheerful. Two streams, one coming from the west, the other

from the south, join near the village, and form a river, the transparent

waters of which flow over a vast prairie. A small wooden bridge, painted

red, herds of goats and long-haired cattle, which sported amid the

pastures, some storks and wild ducks, fishing for their breakfast on the

banks of the water, a few gigantic cypresses here and there, even the

smoke which rose from the Thibetian cottages, and which the wind gently

wafted over the adjacent hills, all contributed to give life and charm to

the landscape. The sky was clear and serene. Already the sun, having

risen a little above the horizon, promised us a fine day, and a mild

temperature.

We returned to our lodgings, walking slowly. The caravan was ready, and

on the point of departure; the beasts were laden with their burdens; the

horsemen, their robes tucked up, and whip in hand, were ready to mount.

"We are behind hand," said we, "let us make haste," and at a run we were

in our places. "Why are you in such a hurry?" said a Chinese soldier,

"Ly-Kouo-Ngan is not ready; he has not yet opened the door of his room."

"To-day," answered we, "there is no great mountain a-head; the weather is

fine: there is no objection to our starting a little later; go, however,

and tell the Mandarin that the caravan is ready." The soldier pushed

open the door, and entered the chamber of Ly-Kouo-Ngan; he rushed out

again pale and with haggard eyes. "Ly-Kouo-Ngan is dead!" said he to us,

in a low tone. We rushed into the room, and saw the unfortunate

Mandarin, stretched on his bed, his mouth open, his teeth clenched, and

his eyes shrunk up by death. We placed our hands on his heart, which

gently moved. He had yet a spark of life in him, but hope was vain; the

dying man had altogether lost the use of senses; there was another rattle

or two in his throat, and he expired. The humours with which his legs

were swollen, had gone up to his chest, and suffocated him.

The death of our guide had not been unexpected; there was nothing in it

to surprise us, but it occurred in such a sudden, melancholy manner, that

every one of us was greatly agitated. As for ourselves, in particular,

we were afflicted at it beyond all expression. We bitterly regretted

that it had not been our good fortune to assist at the last moments of

this unfortunate man, whom we had so desired to bring from the darkness

of paganism into the light of the faith. Oh, how impenetrable are the

decrees of God! Some hope, however, mingled with our but too just

grounds for fear. As this poor soul had been sufficiently enlightened as

to the truths of religion, it is permissible to suppose that God, of his

infinite mercy, perhaps accorded to him, in his last moments, the grace

of the baptism of volition.

That day the caravan did not proceed on its march, the animals were

unsaddled and sent out to pasture; and then the soldiers of the escort

made all the necessary preparations, according to the Chinese rites, for

conveying the body of their Mandarin to his family. We will not enter

here into the details of what was done in this matter, for whatever

concerns the manners and customs and ceremonies of the Chinese, will find

a place elsewhere. We will merely say that the defunct was enveloped in

a large white pall, which had been given him by the Living Buddha of

Djachi-Loumbo, and which was covered with Thibetian sentences, and with

images of Buddha, printed in black.

The Thibetians, and other Buddhists, have unlimited confidence in the

printed winding-sheets which are distributed by the Tale-Lama and the

Bandchan-Remboutchi. They are persuaded that those who are fortunate

enough to be buried in them, cannot fail to have a happy transmigration.

By the demise of Ly-Kouo-Ngan, the caravan found itself without a leader

and without a guide. There was, to be sure, the Lama Dsiamdchang, to

whom the power should have fallen by right, and by legitimate succession;

but the Chinese soldiers being very little disposed to acknowledge his

authority, we passed from the monarchic state to the republican,

democratical form. This state of things lasted at most half-a-day.

Perceiving that the men of the caravan, both Thibetians and Chinese, were

not yet prepared for so perfect a government, and considering that

anarchy was developing itself in every direction, and that matters

threatened to go to rack and ruin, consulting only the public interest

and the safety of the caravan, we assumed the dictatorship. We

immediately issued several decrees, in order that everything might be in

readiness for us to proceed on the morrow at daybreak. The necessity of

being governed was so completely understood, that no one made any

opposition, and we were obeyed punctually.

At the appointed time, we left Samba. The caravan bore a sad and

melancholy aspect. With its three corpses, it absolutely resembled a

funeral procession. After three days' march across mountains, where we

generally found wind, snow, and cold, we arrived at the station of

Lithang (copper plain). The Chinese government keeps here a magazine of

provisions, and a garrison consisting of 100 soldiers. The Mandarins of

Lithang are: a Liang-Tai, a Cheou-Pei, and two Pa-Tsoung. A few minutes

after our arrival, these gentlemen came to pay us a visit. In the first

place, the illness and death of our guide were discussed at full length;

then we were required to state our quality, and by what authority and in

what position we were in the caravan. By way of answer, we simply showed

him a large scroll, fortified with the seal and signature of the

ambassador Ki-Chan, and containing the instructions which had been given

to Ly-Kouo-Ngan about us. "Good, good," said these persons to us, "the

death of Ly-Kouo-Ngan will make no change in your position; you shall be

well treated wherever you go. Up to this time you have always lived

peaceably with the men of the caravan, doubtless this good understanding

will continue to the end." We hoped so too. Yet, as considering human

frailty, difficulties might possibly arise on the way, particularly among

the Chinese soldiers, we wished to have with us a responsible Mandarin.

We made this request, and were informed that of the four Mandarins who

were at Lithang, not one could be spared to conduct us; that we could go

along quietly enough as far as the frontiers, with our Thibetian and

Chinese escort; and that there we should readily find a Mandarin to

conduct us to the capital of Sse-Tchouen. "Very well," said we, "as you

cannot give us a Mandarin we shall travel as we think fit, and go where

we please. We are not even sure that on quitting this place we shall not

return to Lha-Ssa. You see that we deal freely with you; reflect upon

the point." Our four magistrates rose, saying that they would deliberate

on this important matter, and that in the evening we should have an

answer.

During our supper, a Pa-Tsoung, one of the four Mandarins, presented

himself in his state robes. After the usual compliments, he told us that

he had been selected to command our escort as far as the frontiers; that

he had never, in his dreams of ambition, imagined he should have the

honour of conducting people such as we; that he was ashamed on the first

day of seeing us, to have to ask us a favour; it was, that we would rest

for two days at Lithang, in order to recover our strength, which must be

exhausted by so long and arduous a journey. We perceived that our friend

had need of two days to arrange some affairs of his own, previous to a

journey which he had not expected. "Ah," we replied, "already how full

of solicitude is your heart for us. We will rest then two days as you

wish it." Authority having been thus reorganized, our dictatorship was

at an end. But we thought we perceived that this was anything but

agreeable to our people, who would much rather have had to do with us

than with a Mandarin.

The town of Lithang is built on the sides of a hill which rises in the

middle of a plain, broad but almost sterile. Nothing grows there but a

little barley, and a few poor herbs, which serve for pasturage to some

miserable herds of goats and yaks. Seen from a distance, the town has

some promise. Two large Lamaseries, richly painted and gilt, which are

built quite on the top of the hill, especially contribute to give it an

imposing aspect. But, when you pass through the interior, you find

nothing but ugly, dirty, narrow streets, so steep, that your legs must be

accustomed to mountain travelling, to keep their equilibrium. This side

of the River of Gold-dust, you observe among the tribes a rather

remarkable modification in the manners, customs, costume, and even in the

language. You see that you are no longer in Thibet, properly so called.

As you approach the frontiers of China, the natives have less ferocity

and rudeness in their character; you find them more covetous, flattering,

and cunning; their religious faith is no longer so vivid, nor so frank.

As to the language, it is no longer the pure Thibetian that is spoken at

Lha-Ssa, and in the province of Kham; it is a dialect closely connected

with the idiom of the Si-Fan, and in which you remark various Chinese

expressions. The Thibetians of Lha-Ssa who accompanied us had the

greatest difficulty in the world in understanding and being understood.

The costume, for the most part, only differs as to the head-dress. The

men wear a hat of grey or brown felt, somewhat similar to our own felt

hats when they first come from the hatter's board and have not been

rounded to the form. The women form with their hair a number of small

tresses, which flow over their shoulders. They then place on their heads

a large silver plate, somewhat similar to a dinner-plate. The more

elegant wear two of these, one on each side, so that the two ends meet

above the head. The precept of daubing the face with black, does not

apply to the women of Lithang. This kind of toilet operates only in the

countries temporally subject to the Tale-Lama.

The most important of the Lamaseries of Lithang possesses a great

printing press for Buddhic books, and it is hither that, on holidays, the

Lamas of the neighbouring countries come for their supplies. Lithang

carries on also a large trade in gold dust, in chaplets of black beads,

and in cups made with the roots of the vine and box-tree. As we departed

from Lithang, the Chinese garrison was under arms, to render military

honours to Ly-Kouo-Ngan. They acted just as if he had been alive. When

the coffin passed, all the soldiers bent their knees and exclaimed: "To

the Tou-Sse, Ly-Kouo-Ngan, the poor garrison of Lithang wishes health and

prosperity." The petty Mandarin, with the white button, who had become

our guide, saluted the garrison in the name of the deceased. This new

commander of the caravan was a Chinese of Moslem extraction; but one

could find nothing about him which seemed to belong in the least to the

fine type of his ancestors: his puny, stunted person, his pointed smiling

face, his shrill treble voice, his trifling manners, all contributed to

give him the air of a shop-boy, and not in the least that of a military

Mandarin. He was a prodigious talker. The first day he rather amused

us, but he soon became a bore. He thought himself bound, in his quality

of Mussulman, to talk to us, on all occasions, about Arabia, and of its

horses that are sold for their weight in gold; about Mahomet, and his

famous sabre that cut through metals; about Mecca and its bronze

ramparts.

From Lithang to Ta-Tsien-Lou, a frontier town of China, is only 600 lis,

which are divided into eight stages. We found the end of that frightful

route to Thibet exactly like its middle and its beginning. We in vain

climbed mountains; we found still more and more before us, all of a

threatening aspect, all covered with snow and rugged with precipices; nor

did the temperature undergo any perceptible change. It appeared to us,

that, since our departure from Lha-Ssa, we had been doing nothing but

move round and round in the same circle. Yet, as we advanced, the

villages became more frequent, without, however, losing their Thibetian

style. The most important of these villages is Makian-Dsoung, where some

Chinese merchants keep stores for supplying the caravans. One day's

journey from Makian-Dsoung, you pass in a boat the Ya-Loung-Kiang, a

large and rapid river. Its source is at the foot of the Bayen-Kharat

mountains, close to that of the Yellow River. It joins the

Kin-Cha-Kiang, in the province of Sse-Tchouen. According to the

traditions of the country, the banks of the Ya-Loung-Kiang were the first

cradle of the Thibetian nation. As we were passing the Ya-Loung-Kiang in

a boat, a shepherd crossed the same river on a bridge merely composed of

a thick rope of yak skin tightly stretched from one bank to the other. A

sort of wooden stirrup was suspended by a solid strap to a moveable

pulley on the rope. The shepherd had only to place himself backwards,

under this strange bridge, with his feet on the stirrup, and hold on to

the rope with both his hands; he then pulled the rope gently; [Picture:

Iron Chain Bridge] the mere weight of his body made the pulley move, and

he reached the other side in a very short time. These bridges are very

common in Thibet, and are very convenient for crossing torrents and

precipices; but one must be accustomed to them. We ourselves never

ventured on them. Iron chain bridges also are much in use, particularly

in the provinces of Ouei and Dzang. To construct them, as many iron

hooks are fixed on both sides of the river as there are to be chains,

then the chains are fastened, and on the chains planks, which are

sometimes covered with a coating of earth. As these bridges are

extremely elastic, they are furnished with hand-rails.

We arrived at length safe and sound at the frontiers of China, where the

climate of Thibet gave us a very cold farewell. In crossing the mountain

which precedes the town of Ta-Tsien-Lou, we were almost buried in the

snow, it fell so thick and fast; and which accompanied us into the valley

where stands the Chinese town, which, in its turn, received us with a

pelting rain. It was in the early part of June, 1846, and three months

since we had departed from Lha-Ssa; according to the Chinese Itinerary,

we had travelled 5,050 lis.

Ta-Tsien-Lou signifies the forge of arrows, and this name was given to

the town, because in the year 234 of our era, General Wou-Heou, while

leading his army against the southern countries, sent one of his

lieutenants to establish there a forge of arrows. This district has by

turns belonged to the Thibetians and to the Chinese; for the last hundred

years it has been considered as an integral part of the empire.

"The walls and fortifications of Ta-Tsien-Lou," says the Chinese

Itinerary, "are of freestone. Chinese and Thibetians dwell there

together. It is thence that the officers and troops, which are sent to

Thibet quit China. Though it passes also a large quantity of tea coming

from China, and destined to supply the provinces of Thibet, it is at

Ta-Tsien-Lou that is held the principal tea fair. Although the

inhabitants of this canton are very addicted to the worship of Buddha,

they seek to get a little profit; yet they are sincere and just,

submissive and obedient, so that nothing, even death, can change their

natural good nature. As they have been long accustomed to the Chinese

domination, they are the more attached to it."

We rested three days at Ta-Tsien-Lou, and each day had several quarrels

with the principal Mandarin of the place, who would not consent to our

continuing our route in a palanquin. However, he had at length to give

way, for we could not bear even the idea of mounting once more on

horseback. Our legs had bestrid so many horses of every age, size,

quality, and colour, that they refused to have anything further to do

with horses at all, and were full of an irresistible resolution to

stretch themselves at ease in a palanquin. This was granted them, thanks

to the perseverance and energy of our remonstrances.

The Thibetian escort which had accompanied us so faithfully during the

long and arduous route returned after two days' rest. We gave the Lama

Dchiamdchang a letter for the Regent, in which we thanked him for having

assigned us so devoted an escort, and which had throughout kept in our

memory the good treatment we had received at Lha-Ssa. On parting from

these good Thibetians we could not help shedding tears, for insensibly,

and as it were without our knowledge, ties had been formed between us

which it was painful to sever. The Lama Dchiamdchang secretly told us

that he had been charged to remind us, at the moment of separation, of

the promise we had made to the Regent. He asked us if they might reckon

on seeing us again at Lha-Ssa. We replied that they might, for at that

time we were far from anticipating the nature of the obstacles that were

to prevent our return to Thibet.

The next morning, at daybreak, we entered our palanquins, and were

conveyed, at the public expense, to the capital of the province of

Sse-Tchouen, where, by order of the Emperor, we were to undergo a solemn

judgment before the Grand Mandarins of the Celestial Empire.

POSTSCRIPT.

After a few months journey through China, we arrived at Macao, in the

early part of October, 1846. Our long and painful journey was at an end;

and at last we were able, after so many tribulations, to enjoy a little

quiet and repose. During two years we applied our leisure moments to the

preparation of the few notes made in our journey. Hence these

"Reminiscences of Travel," which we address to our European brethren,

whose charity will no doubt be interested in the trials and fatigues of

the missionaries.

Our entrance into China, for the purpose of returning to our mission in

Mongol-Tartary, compels us to leave unfinished the labour we had

undertaken. It remains for us to speak of our relations with the Chinese

tribunals and Mandarins, to give a sketch of the provinces we have

traversed, and to compare them with those which we had occasion to visit

in our former travels in the Celestial Empire. This omission we will

endeavour to supply in the leisure hours we may be able to snatch from

the labours of the sacred ministry. Perhaps we shall be in a position to

give some correct notions about a country, of which, at no time,

certainly, have men's ideas been so erroneous as they are at this day.

Not that we are without abundant books about China and the Chinese. On

the contrary, the number of works on these subjects that have appeared in

France, and particularly in England, within the last few years, is really

prodigious. But the zeal of a writer will not always suffice to describe

countries in which he has never set his foot. To write travels in China,

after a saunter or two through the factories of Canton and the environs

of Macao, involves the danger of speaking of things that one is not

thoroughly acquainted with. Although it has been the good fortune of the

learned orientalist, J. Klaproth, to discover the Potocki Archipelago

without quitting his closet, it is, generally speaking, rather difficult

to make discoveries in a country which one has not visited.

[Picture: Chinese Ornamental Ware]

NOTES.

{48} Oui, in Thibetian, means centre, middle; and hence the name was

given to the province which occupies the centre of Thibet, and the

capital of which is Lha-Ssa.

{76} Charmanas (in Sanscrit, S'raman'as) are monks in the Lamanesque

hierarchy.

{84} Goucho is a title of honour, given to the Lamas by the Thibetians.

{104} Tchanak is the Mongol name of Peking; Kampo means Pontiff.

{155} Dalae-Lama is altogether an erroneous form of this designation;

the words are Tale-Lama. Tale, in Thibetian, means sea, and the

appellation has been applied to the Grand Lama of Thibet, because this

personage is locally supposed to be a sea of wisdom and power.

{172} _Siao-ti_, an expression used by the Chinese when they speak of

themselves in the presence of Mandarins.

{192} The Chinese name for Mr. Elliot, the English Plenipotentiary at

Canton, at the commencement of the Anglo-Chinese war.

{195} The class of reptiles comprehends fish, mollusks, and all animals

that are neither quadrupeds nor birds.

{200} Strabo, speaking of the customs of the nomadic Scythians, as

retained among the Sogdians and Bactrians, writes: "In the capital of

Bactria, they breed dogs, to which they give a special name, which name,

rendered into our language, means buriers. The business of these dogs is

to eat up all persons who are beginning to fall into decay, from old age

or sickness. Hence it is that no tomb is visible in the suburbs of the

town, while the town itself is all filled with human bones. It is said

that Alexander abolished this custom."

Cicero attributes the same custom to the Hyrcanians, in his "Tusculan

Questions," (Lib. i. section 45): "In Hyrcania plebs publicos alit canes;

optimates, domesticos. Nobile autem genus canum illud scimus esse. Sed

pro sua quisque facultate parat, a quibus lanietur: eamque optimam illi

esse censent sepulturam."

Justin also says of the Parthians: "Sepultura vulgo aut avium aut canum

aniatus est. Nuda demum ossa terra obruunt."

{203a} "Asia," vol. v., p. 800, German edition, 1833-1837.

{203b} See "Asiatic Journal of London," vol. xxi., p. 786, and vol.

xxii., p. 596. A notice of Moorcroft's manuscripts was inserted in the

"Journal of the Geographical Society of London," 1831.

{203c} Vol. xii, No. 9, p. 120.

{203d} M. Gabet.

{219} In the province of Oui there are three thousand.

{227} Ki-Chan, in fact, is now viceroy of the province of Sse-Tchouen.

{235} _Nouveau Journal Asiatique_, 1st series, tome iv. and vi.

{245} We had for a long time a small Mongol treatise on natural history,

for the use of children, in which a unicorn formed one of the pictorial

illustrations.

{246} A centimetre is 33-100 of an inch.

{248} The unicorn antelope of Thibet is probably the oryx-capra of the

ancients. It is still found in the deserts of Upper Nubia, where it is

called Ariel. The unicorn (Hebrew, reem; Greek, monoceros), that is

represented in the Bible, and in Pliny's "Natural History," cannot be

identified with the oryx capra. The unicorn of holy writ would appear

rather to be a pachydermous creature, of great strength and formidable

ferocity. According to travellers, it still exists in Central Africa,

and the Arabs call it Aboukarn.

{251} Kouang-Ti, was a celebrated general who lived in the third century

of our era, and who, after many and famous victories, was put to death

with his son. The Chinese, indeed, say that he did not really die, but

that he ascended to heaven, and took his place among the Gods. The

Mantchous, who now reign in China, have named Kouang-Ti the tutelary

spirit of their dynasty, and raised a great number of temples in his

honour. He is ordinarily represented seated, having on his left hand his

son Kouang-Ping, standing, and on his right, his squire, a man with a

face so very dark, as to be almost black.

{264} The Kiang-Kian are the highest dignitaries of the military

hierarchy in China; they are decorated with the red button. Each

province has a Kiang-Kian, who is its military governor, and a

Tsoung-Tou, or viceroy, who is its chief literary Mandarin.

{268} On Andriveau-Goujon's map, this place is called Chamiton.

{292} Bathang signifies in Thibetian, plain of cows.