SEXAGENARYCYCLE | |
MONGOL |
|
1 Moto khouloukhana | Wooden mouse |
2 Moto oukhere | Wooden ox |
3 Gal bara | Fire tiger |
4 Gal tolé | Fire hare |
5 Chéré lou | Earth dragon |
6 Chéré Mokhé | Earth serpent |
7 Temur mori | Iron horse |
8 Temur knoui | Iron ram |
9 Oussou betchi | Water monkey |
10 Oussou takia | Water fowl |
11 Moto nokhé | Wooden dog |
12 Moto khakhé | Wooden pig |
13 Gal khouloukhana | Fire mouse |
14 Gal oukhere | Fire ox |
15 Chéré bara | Earth tiger |
16 Chéré tolé | Earth hare |
17 Témur lou | Iron dragon |
18 Témur mokhé | Iron serpent |
19 Oussou mori | Water horse |
20 Ousson khoui | Water ram |
21 Moto betchi | Wooden monkey |
22 Moto takia | Wooden fowl |
23 Gal nokhé | Fire dog |
24 Gal khakhé | Fire pig |
25 Chéré khouloukhana | Earth mouse |
26 Chéré oukhéré | Earth ox |
27 Temur bara | Iron tiger |
28 Temur tolé | Iron hare |
29 Oussou lou | Water dragon |
30 Oussou makhé | Water serpent |
31 Moto mori | Wooden horse |
32 Moto khoui | Wooden ram |
33 Gal betchi | Fire monkey |
34 Gal takia | Fire chicken |
35 Chéré nokhé | Earth dog |
36 Chéré khakhé | Earth pig |
37 Temur khouloukhana | Iron mouse |
38 Temur oukhere | Iron ox |
39 Oussou bara | Water tiger |
40 Oussou tolé | Water hare |
41 Moto lou | Wooden dragon |
42 Moto mokhé | Wooden serpent |
43 Gal mori | Fire horse |
Fire ram | |
45 Chéré betchi | Earth monkey |
46 Chéré takia | Earth fowl |
47 Temur mokhé | Iron dog |
48 Temur khakhé | Iron pig |
49 Oussou khouloukhana | Water mouse |
50 Oussou oukhere | Water ox |
51 Moto bara | Wooden tiger |
52 Moto tolé | Wooden hare |
53 Gal lou | Fire dragon |
54 Gal mokhé | Fire serpent |
55 Chéré mori | Earth horse |
56 Chéré khoui | Earth ram |
57 Temur betchi | Iron monkey |
58 Temur takia | Iron fowl |
59 Oussou nokhé | Water dog |
60 Oussou khakhé | Water pig |
As this cycle returns periodically every sixty years, it may be imagined that great confusion might occur in chronology, if they had not a sure method of fixing the past sexagenary cycles. To obviate this inconvenience, the sovereigns give to each year of their reign a particular name, and by this means the cyclic epochs are fixed in a way to leave no doubt. Thus the Mongols say, “The twenty-eighth year Tao-Kouang, which is that of the fiery ram (1848.)” In China, the present sexagenary cycle commenced with the year 1805, and the years Tao-Kouang date from 1820, the epoch when the Emperor now reigning mounted the throne. It is to be observed that Chun-Tchi, Khang-Hi, Young-Tching, Kien-Long, Kia-King, Tao-Kouang, are not at all the names of the six first Emperors of the Mantchou dynasty, but special denominations to denote the years of their reign.
The Thibetians have adopted the use of the denary and duodenary cycles. But by making them undergo more numerous combinations than the Mongols, they obtain a cycle of 252 years. The twelve first years merely bear the names of twelve animals; then these same names are combined with those of the five elements, repeated twice up to the 72nd year of the cycle. They then add to these combinations the word po (male), which carries them up to the 132nd year; then the word mo (female), which takes it up to the 192nd year; finally, they alternate the words po and mo to the end of the cycle.
This chronological system, too complicated for the use of the lower classes, is confined to the Lamaseries, where it is studied and
understood by the more learned Lamas. The masses live on from day to day, without an idea even of the existence of this method of combining the cycles. Except the Regent, we found no one at Lha-Ssa who could tell us in what year we were. They seemed generally to be wholly unaware of the importance of denoting dates and years by particular names. One of the highest functionaries of Lha-Ssa, a very celebrated Lama, told us that the Chinese method of counting the years was very embarrassing, and not at all comparable with the simplicity of the Thibetian method; he thought it more natural to say plainly, this year, last year, twenty or a hundred years ago, and so on. When we told him that this method would only serve to make history an inextricable confusion, “Provided we know,” said he, “what occurred in times gone by, that is the essential point. What is the good of knowing the precise date of the occurrences? Of what use is that?”
This contempt, or rather this indifference for chronology, is observable, in fact, in most of the Lamanesque works; they are frequently without order or date, and merely present to the reader a hotch-potch of anecdotes piled one on another, without any precision, either about persons or events. Fortunately the history of the Thibetians being continually mixed up with that of the Chinese and the Tartars, one can apply the literature of these latter peoples to the introduction of a little order and precision into the Thibetian chronology.
During our stay at Lha-Ssa, we had occasion to remark that the Thibetians are very bad chronologists, not only with respect to leading dates, but even in the manner of reckoning each day the age of the moon. Their almanac is in a state of truly melancholy confusion, and this confusion entirely proceeds from the superstitious ideas of the Buddhists respecting lucky and unlucky days; all the days reputed unlucky, which occur in the course of the moon, are omitted, and do not count. Thus, for example, if the fifteenth day of the moon is a day of ill omen, they count the fourteenth twice over, and pass on direct to the sixteenth. Sometimes several days of ill-omen occur one after the other; but that is of no consequence; they cut them all off just the same, until they come to a lucky day. The Thibetians do not seem to find the least inconvenience in such a method.
The renewal of the year is, with the Thibetians, as with all people, a season of festivals and rejoicings. The last days of the twelfth moon are consecrated to the preparations for it; people lay in supplies of tea, butter, tsamba, barley wine, and some joints of beef and mutton. The holiday clothes are taken from the wardrobes; they remove the dust under which the furniture is generally
hidden; they furbish up, clean, sweep, and try, in a word, to introduce into the interior of their houses a little order and neatness. The thing only happening once a year, all the households assume a new aspect; the domestic altars are the objects of especial care; they repaint the old idols, and they make, with fresh butter, pyramids, flowers, and various ornaments designed to deck the little sanctuaries where the Buddhas of the family reside.
The first Louk-So, or Rite of the Festival, commences at midnight, so that every one sits up, impatiently awaiting this mystical and solemn hour, which is to close the old year, and open the course of the new. As we were not anxious to catch the exact point of intersection which separates the two Thibetian years, we went to sleep at our usual hour. We were in a deep slumber, when we were suddenly awakened by the cries of joy which issued from all sides, in all quarters of the town. Bells, cymbals, marine conches, tambourines, and all the instruments of Thibetian music, were set to work, and operated the most frightful uproar imaginable; it seemed as though they were receiving the new-born year with a charivari. We had once a good mind to get up, to witness the happiness of the merry inhabitants of Lha-Ssa, but the cold was so cutting that after serious reflection, we opined that it would be better to remain under our thick woollen coverlets, and to unite ourselves in heart with the public felicity. Repeated knocks on the door of our house, threatening to dash it into splinters, warned us that we must renounce our project. After several excuses, we were at last fain to leave our warm beds; we donned our clothes, and the door being opened, some Thibetians of our acquaintance rushed into our room, inviting us to the new year’s banquet. They all bore in their hands a small vessel made of baked earth, in which floated on boiling water, balls composed of honey and flour. One of these visitors offered us a long silver needle, terminating in a hook, and invited us to fish in his basin. At first, we sought to excuse ourselves, objecting that we were not in the habit of taking food during the night, but they entreated us in so engaging a manner, they put out their tongues at us with so friendly a grace, that we were obliged to resign ourselves to the Louk-So. We each hooked a ball, which we then crushed between our teeth to ascertain its flavour. We looked at each other, making grimaces; however, for politeness sake, we had to swallow the dose. If we could only have got off with this first act of devotion! but the Louk-So was inexorable; the numerous friends we had at Lha-Ssa succeeded each other almost without interruption, and we had perforce to munch Thibetian sweetmeats till daybreak.