We told Ki-Chan that, at a distance from all protection, we had resolved to leave Lha-Ssa, since he was determined to compel us to do so; but that we protested against this violation of our rights. “Well, well,” answered Ki-Chan, “you cannot do better; you must depart; it will be better for you, better for the Thibetians, better for me, better for everybody.” He then told us that he had ordered all preparations to be made for our departure; that the Mandarin and escort who were to accompany us, had been selected. It had even been arranged that we should depart in eight days, and that they should take us along the route which leads to the frontiers of China. This last arrangement, excited at once our indignation and surprise; it was inconceivable how they could have the cruelty to condemn us to a journey of eight months, whilst by proceeding towards India twenty-five days’ march would suffice to
carry us to the first European station, whence we could not fail to find means, both secure and easy, for reaching Calcutta. We forthwith and vehemently protested against the project, but our protest was disregarded, as was the request for some few additional days rest, after the long journey we had just made, and to give time for the closing of the great wounds caused by the cold of the desert. All we could say to mollify the cruelty of the Chinese ambassador was unavailing.
We then laid aside our suppliant tone, and declared to the delegate of the court of Peking, that we yielded to violence, but that we would denounce to our government: first, that the Chinese ambassador, installed at Lha-Ssa, had arbitrarily and violently driven us thence, under the vain pretext that we were strangers and preachers of the Christian religion, which he called wicked and repudiated by his Emperor. In the second place, that in opposition to all right and all justice, he had prevented us from pursuing an easy and direct route, of only twenty-five days’ journey, to drag us tyrannically into the interior of China, and make us undergo the hardships of an eight months’ journey. Finally, that we would denounce to our government the barbarity with which they forced us to set out, without allowing us a little rest, a barbarity which, in our then state, we had a right to consider as an attempt upon our life. Ki-Chan replied that he had nothing to do with what the French government might think or do, that in his conduct he had only to regard the will of his Emperor. “If my master,” he said, “knew that I had permitted two Europeans freely to preach the religion of the Lord of heaven in Thibet, I should be lost. It would not be possible for me to escape death.”
The next day, Ki-Chan sent for us in order to communicate to us a report he had drawn up on the subject of our affairs; and which he proposed to lay before the Emperor. “I did not wish,” said he, “to let it go without reading it to you previously, for fear there should have escaped me in it any expressions inexact in themselves or distasteful to you.” Having attained his chief object, Ki-Chan had resumed his amiable and conciliatory manner towards us. His report was unmeaning enough; what it said about us was neither good nor bad; it simply set forth a dry nomenclature of the countries we had passed through, since our departure from Macao. “Is this report as you like it?” said Ki-Chan; “do you see anything in it to alter?” M. Huc answered, that he had an observation to make of great importance. “Speak, I listen.” “What I have to say to you, does not interest us in the least; but it affects you very nearly.” “Let us hear what it is.” “My communication must be private: let your people withdraw.” “These men are my
servants; they all belong to my household; fear nothing.” “Oh, it is not we who have anything to fear; all the danger is to you.” “The danger to me! No matter, the officers of my suite may hear all.” “If you will, you can repeat to them what I have to say; but I cannot speak in their presence.” “Mandarins cannot hold secret conversations with strangers; it is forbidden by the laws.” “In that case, I have nothing to tell you; send the report just as it is; but if it brings misfortune upon you, only blame yourself.” The Chinese ambassador became pensive; he took infinite pinches of snuff, one after another, and then, as the result of long reflection, told his suite to retire, and to leave us alone with him.
When everyone had gone, M. Huc began: “Now,” said he to Ki-Chan, “you will understand why I wished to speak to you in private, and how important it is to you that no one should hear what I have to tell you. You will judge if we are dangerous men, we who fear even to injure our persecutors.” Ki-Chan was pale and disconcerted. “Let us hear,” said he; “explain yourself—let your words be candid and clear; what would you say?” “In your report, there is an inexactitude; you make me set out from Macao with my brother Joseph Gabet, and yet I did not enter China till four years after him.” “Oh, if that is all, it is easy to correct it.” “Yes, very easy. This report, you say, is for your Emperor; is it not so?” “Certainly.” “In that case, it is your duty to tell the Emperor the truth and nothing but the truth.” “Oh, nothing but the truth; let us correct the report. At what period did you enter China?” “In the twentieth year of Tao-Kouang (1840).” Ki-Chan took his pencil and wrote in the margin—twentieth year of Tao-Kouang. “What moon?” “The second moon.” Ki-Chan hearing us speak of the second moon, laid down his pencil and looked at us with a fixed stare. “Yes, I entered the Chinese empire in the twentieth year of Tao-Kouang, in the second moon; I passed through the province of Canton, of which you were at that time viceroy. Why do you not write? are you not to tell all the truth to the Emperor?” The face of Ki-Chan contracted. “Do you see now why I wished to talk to you in private?” “Yes, I know the Christians are good people—does anyone here know of this matter?” “No, not anyone.” Ki-Chan took the report, tore it up; he wrote a fresh one, entirely different from the first. The dates of our first entry into China were not exactly set forth, and there was a pompous eulogium on our knowledge and sanctity. The poor man had been simple enough to believe that we attached a great importance to his Emperor’s good opinion of us.
In accordance with the orders of Ki-Chan, we were to set out after the festivals of the Thibetian new year. We had only been at
Lha-Ssa two months, and we had already passed the new year twice, first the European new year, and then the Chinese; it was now the turn of the Thibetian. Although at Lha-Ssa, they reckon the year as in China, according to the lunar system, yet the calendars of these two countries do not agree: that of Lha-Ssa is always a month behind that of Peking. It is known that the Chinese, the Mongols, and most of the peoples of Eastern Asia, make use in their chronological calculations of a sexagenary cycle, composed of ten signs called trunks, and of twelve signs which bear the name of branches. Among the Tartars and Thibetians, the signs of the denary cycle are expressed by the names of the five elements repeated twice, or by the names of the five colours with their shades. The names of twelve animals denote the duodenary cycle.
DENARY CYCLE | ||
MONGOL | THIBETIAN |
|
1 Moto | Cheng | Wood |
2 Moto | Cheng | Wood |
3 Gal | Mé | Fire |
4 Gal | Mé | Fire |
5 Chéré | Sa | Earth |
6 Chéré | Sa | Earth |
7 Témur | Dchak | Iron |
8 Témur | Dchak | Iron |
9 Oussou | Tchon | Water |
10 Oussou | Tchon | Water |
DUODENARY CYCLE | ||
MONGOL | THIBETIAN |
|
1 Khouloukhana | Chi-wa | Mouse |
2 Oukhere | Lang | Ox |
3 Bara | Tak | Tiger |
4 Tolé | Yen | Hare |
5 Lou | Dchouk | Dragon |
6 Mokhé | Phroul | Serpent |
7 Mori | Ria | Horse |
8 Khoui | Lonk | Ram |
9 Betchi | Preou | Monkey |
10 Takia | Chia | Fowl |
11 Nokhé | Dchi | Dog |
12 Khakhé | Phak | Pig |
To form the sexagenary cycle, the two first cycles are combined in the following manner:—