what they should speak;” only it was agreed that we should salute the Mandarin in the French way, and that we should not kneel before him. We thought that, having the honour to be Christians, missionaries, and Frenchmen, we might very fairly insist on standing erect before any Chinese whatsoever.
After waiting a few moments, a young Chinese, elegantly dressed, and of very graceful manners, came to inform us that Ki-Chan, grand ambassador of the grand Emperor of China, wished to examine us. We followed our amiable apparitor, and were ushered into a saloon decorated in the Chinese style, where Ki-Chan was seated upon a sort of throne, about three feet high, and covered with red cloth. Before him was a small table of black laque, upon which were an inkstand, some pens, some sheets of paper, and a silver vase filled with snuff. Below the throne were four scribes, two on the right, and two on the left; the rest of the saloon was occupied by a great number of Chinese and Thibetians, who had put on their holiday dresses to attend the inquiry.
Ki-Chan, although sixty years old, seemed to us full of strength and vigour. His face is, without contradiction, the most noble, elegant, and intellectual we have seen amongst the Chinese. When we took off our caps to him, and made him one of our best bows, “’Tis well, ’tis well,” he said; “follow your own customs. I have been told you speak correctly the language of Peking. I want to talk with you for a moment.” “We make many blunders in speaking, but your marvellous understanding will know how to remedy the obscurity of our words.” “Why, that is pure Pekinese. You Frenchmen possess a great facility for all learning. You are Frenchmen, are you not?” “Yes, we are Frenchmen.” “Oh, I know the French; there were formerly a great many of them at Peking; I used to see some of them.” “You must have known them, too, at Canton, when you were imperial commissioner?” This reminiscence furrowed the forehead of our judge; he took an abundant pinch of snuff out of his box, and threw it up his nose in a very bad humour. “Yes, that is true; I have seen many Europeans at Canton. You are of the religion of the Lord of Heaven, are you not?” “Certainly we are; moreover, preachers of that religion.” “I know, I know; you have come hither, doubtless, to preach that religion?” “We have no other object.” “Have you already travelled over a great number of countries?” “We have travelled over all China, Tartary, and now we are in the capital of Thibet.” “With whom did you live when you were in China?” “We do not answer questions of that sort.” “And if I command you to do so?” “We should not obey.” Here the irritated judge struck the table with his fist. “You know,” we
said, “that Christians have no fear; why seek, then, to intimidate us?” “Where did you learn Chinese?” “In China.” “In what place?” “A little everywhere.” “And the Tartar, you know it? where did you learn it?” “In Mongolia, in the Land of Grass.”
After some other trifling questions, Ki-Chan, telling us that we must be tired, invited us to seat ourselves. Then suddenly changing his tone and manner, he addressed Samdadchiemba, who, with his hand on his hip, had been standing a little behind us. “And you,” he said, in a dry and angry voice, “whence are you?” “I am from Ki-Tou-Sse.” “What is Ki-Tou-Sse? who knows that?” “Ki-Tou-Sse is in San-Tchouen.” “Ah, you are from San-Tchouen, in the province of Kan-Sou. Son of the central nation, on your knees!” Samdadchiemba turned pale, his hand left his hip, and his arm modestly glided down along his leg. “On your knees,” repeated the Mandarin, in a thundering voice. Samdadchiemba fell on his knees, saying, “On my knees, standing or sitting, ’tis all the same to me: a man of labour and fatigue, as I am, is not accustomed to take his ease.” “Ah, you are from Kan-Sou,” said the judge, taking large pinches of snuff; “ah! you are from Kan-Sou; you are a child of the central nation! Very well; in that case, it is within my province to deal with you. Son of the central nation, answer your father and mother, and take heed how you tell lies. Where did you meet with these two foreigners? How did you become attached to their service?” Samdadchiemba gave, with perfect self-confidence, a long history of his life, which seemed to interest the auditory; he then related how he had made our acquaintance in Tartary, and the reasons that had induced him to follow us. Our young neophyte spoke with dignity, and, moreover, with a prudence which we had not expected. “Why did you adopt the religion of the Lord of Heaven? Don’t you know that this is forbidden by the grand Emperor?” “The entirely humble [172] adopted that religion, because it is the only true religion. How could I suppose that the grand Emperor proscribed a religion which orders man to do good and to avoid evil?” “That is true, the religion of the Lord of Heaven is holy; I know it. Why did you enter the service of these foreigners? Don’t you know that the laws forbid that?” “How should an ignorant man, as I am, know who is a foreigner, and who not? These men always showed kindness to me, always exhorted me to practise virtue; why was I not to follow them?” “How much wages do
they pay you?” “If I accompany them, it is to save my soul, and not to get money. My masters have never let me want rice and clothes, and with that I am satisfied.” “Are you married?” “As I was a Lama, before entering the religion of the Lord of Heaven, I have never been married.” The judge then laughingly addressed an indelicate question to Samdadchiemba, who lowered his eyes and remained silent. One of us rising, said to Ki-Chan: “Our religion not only prohibits the commission of impure actions, but also the thinking or speaking of them; it is even not permitted to us to listen to indecent expressions.” These words pronounced with calmness and solemnity, raised a slight blush on the face of his excellency the ambassador of China. “I know,” he said, “I know the religion of the Lord of Heaven is holy; I know it, for I have read its books of doctrine; he who should strictly keep all its precepts would be a man without reproach.” He made a sign to Samdadchiemba to rise; then, turning to us, he said: “It is night, you must be tired; it is time to take supper; you may go; to-morrow, if I want you, I will send for you.”
The ambassador Ki-Chan was quite right, it was very late, and the various emotions which had been furnished to us in the course of the evening had not by any means supplied the place of supper. On leaving the Sinico-Thibetian pretorium, we were accosted by a venerable Lama, who informed us that the First Kalon awaited us. We crossed the court, illuminated by some red lanterns; turned on the right, to a perilous staircase, which we ascended, prudently holding on by our conductor’s robe; then, after traversing a long terrace, in the dubious light of the stars, we were introduced to the Regent. The large and lofty room was splendidly lighted by butter-oil lamps, the walls, the ceiling, even the floor, were all covered with gilding and brilliant colours. The Regent was alone; he bade us sit down near himself on a rich carpet, and endeavoured to express by his words, and still more by his gestures, how deep an interest he felt in us. Above all, we clearly understood that he was making arrangements to keep us from starving. Our pantomime was interrupted by the arrival of a person, who left, upon entering, his slippers at the door; it was the governor of the Cashmerian Mussulmen. After having saluted the company, by raising his hand to his forehead, and pronouncing the formula, “Salamalek” he leant against a column, in the centre of the room, which supported the ceiling. The Mussulmen governor spoke Chinese very well; and the Regent had accordingly sent for him to act as interpreter. Immediately upon his arrival, a servant placed before us a small table, and supper was served up to us at the expense of the Thibetian government. We shall not say anything here as to
the Regent’s cuisine; firstly, because our keen appetite did not permit us to pay sufficient attention to the quality of the dishes; secondly, because that day our minds were more occupied with politics than with gastronomy. All of a sudden we missed Samdadchiemba; we asked what had become of him: “He is with my servants,” answered the Regent; “do not trouble yourselves on his account, he shall not want for anything.”
During, and after the repast, there was much inquiry about France and the countries we had visited. Then the Regent, pointing to the pictures that adorned his room, asked whether we could ourselves paint any such. “We cannot paint,” was our answer; “study, and the preaching of the doctrine of Jehovah are our only occupations.” “Oh, don’t tell me you cannot paint; I know that the people of your country are very skilful in that art.” “Yes, those who make it their employment; but our clergymen are not in the habit of exercising it.” “Though you may not follow this art specially, yet you are not quite unacquainted with it; you can, doubtless, draw geographical maps?” “No, we cannot.” “How! on your journey did you never sketch, did you never make a map?” “Never.” “Oh, that is impossible!” The pertinacity of the Regent in questioning us on this subject, made us pause to reflect; presently we expressed the surprise we felt at all these inquiries. “I see,” he said, “that you are straightforward, honest men; I will speak frankly to you. The Chinese are very suspicious, you are aware of that: you have been long enough in China to know it as well as I do; well, they believe that you are travelling through foreign kingdoms, on purpose to draw maps of them and to explore them. If you do draw, if you do make geographical maps, admit it without fear; rely on my protection.” Evidently the Regent was afraid of an invasion; he fancied, perhaps, that we were charged with laying down the route for some formidable army, ready to overwhelm Thibet. We endeavoured to dissipate his fears, and to assure him of the extremely peaceful views of the French government. We admitted, however, that amongst our effects there was a great number of drawings and geographical maps, and that we had even a map of Thibet. At these words, the face of the Regent was suddenly contracted; but we hastened to add, in order to quiet him, that all our drawings and maps were printed, and that we were not their authors. We took the opportunity to speak to the Regent and the Cashmerian governor, of the geographical knowledge of the Europeans. They were greatly astonished when we told them that, with us, children of ten and twelve years old possessed an exact and complete idea of all the kingdoms of the world.
The conversation extended far into the night. At last the Regent rose, and asked us whether we did not feel in want of a little repose. “We only awaited,” we answered, “for the permission of the Kalon, to return to our lodgings.” “Your lodgings! I have ordered an apartment to be prepared for you in my palace; you will sleep here to-night: to-morrow, you can return to your house.” We sought to excuse ourselves from accepting the kind offer of the Regent; but soon became aware that we were not at liberty to refuse what we had been simple enough to consider a compliment. We were regular prisoners. We took leave of the Regent rather coolly, and followed an individual, who, after crossing a great many rooms and corridors, ushered us into a sort of closet, which we might fairly call a prison, as we were not permitted to leave it for any other place.