We entered, our guide and ourselves, the apartment where Ki-Chan sat. The fifteen soldiers drew up in file at the threshold of the door, after prostrating themselves thrice and striking the earth with their foreheads. The pacificator of kingdoms did the same, but the poor wretch could not himself get up again without our assistance. According to our custom, we saluted by placing our caps under our arms. Ki-Chan opened the discourse, and addressed a short speech to each of us.
Addressing us first, he assumed a wheedling tone: “You,” said he, “are going to return to your country; I do not think you have any complaint to make of me; my conduct towards you has been irreproachable. I do not allow you to stay here, but this is the will of the grand Emperor, not mine. I do not suffer you to go to India, because the laws of the empire forbid it; if it were otherwise, I, old as I am, would accompany you myself to the frontiers. The road you are about to travel is not so horrible as you are led to imagine; you will have, it is true, a little snow, you will pass some high mountains, and some of the days will be cold. You see I do not conceal the truth from you. Why should I try to mislead you? but at all events, you will have attendants to wait upon you, and every evening you will have a lodging for the night ready for you; you will have no need to put up a tent. Is not this travelling better than that on your way hither? You will be obliged to travel on horseback; I cannot give you a palanquin; there are none to be got in this country. The report I am going to address to the grand Emperor will be sent in a few days. As my couriers go day and night they will pass you. When you have reached in safety the capital of Sse-Tchouen, the viceroy, Pao, will take charge of you, and my responsibility will be at an end. You may depart in confidence and with joyful hearts. I have sent on orders that you shall be well treated throughout. May the star of happiness guide you in your journey from beginning to end.” “Although we consider ourselves oppressed,” replied we to Ki-Chan, “we do not the less on that account offer up wishes for your prosperity. Since it is to dignities you aspire, may you recover all those you have lost, and attain still higher.” “Oh, my star is unlucky! my star is unlucky!” cried Ki-Chan, taking a vigorous pinch of snuff from his silver box.
Then addressing himself to the pacificator of kingdoms, his voice assumed a grave and solemn tone, “Ly-Kouo-Ngan,” said he, “since the grand Emperor allows you to return to your family, you depart; you will have these two fellow-travellers, and this circumstance ought to cause you great joy, for the way, you know, is long and tedious. The character of these men is full of justice and gentleness; you will therefore live with them in perfect harmony. Take care never to sadden their hearts, by word, or deed. Another important thing I have still to say: As you have served the empire for twelve years on the frontiers of Gorkha, I have commanded the paymaster to send you 500 ounces of silver; it is a present from the grand Emperor.” At these words Ly-Kouo-Ngan, finding all at once an unwonted suppleness in his legs, threw himself on his knees with vehemence: “The heavenly beneficence of the great Emperor,” said he, “has always surrounded me on every side, but unworthy servant that I am, how could I receive a further signal favour without blushing? I address my heartfelt supplications to the ambassador, that I may hide my face from him, and withdraw myself from this undeserved graciousness.” Ki-Chan replied, “Do you imagine the grand Emperor will thank you for your disinterestedness? What are a few ounces of silver? Go, receive this small sum, as it is offered to you; it will furnish you with tea to offer to your friends; but when you get home, take care not to begin drinking brandy again. If you wish to live a few years longer, you must deny yourself brandy. I say to you this, because a Father and Mother ought to give their children good advice.” Ly-Kouo-Ngan struck the earth thrice with his forehead, and then rose up and placed himself beside us. Ki-Chan then harangued the soldiers, and changed his tone for the third time. His voice was sharp, abrupt, and sometimes bordering on anger. “And you soldiers!” at these words the fifteen soldiers, as though moved by one string, fell together on their knees, and retained that position all the time of the harangue. “Let me see, how many are there of you? You are fifteen, I think,” and at the same time he counted them with his finger; “yes, fifteen men; you, fifteen soldiers, are about to return to your own province; your service is fulfilled; you will escort your Tou-Sse to Sse-Tchouen, as also these two strangers. On the way you will serve them faithfully, and take care to be always respectful and obedient. Do you clearly understand what I say?” “Yes, we do.” “When you pass through the villages of the Poba (Thibetians) beware that you do not oppress the people. At the stations take care not to rob or pillage the property of any person. Do you clearly understand?” “Yes, we do.” “Do not injure the flocks, respect the
cultivated fields, do not set fire to the woods. Do you clearly understand me?” “Yes, we do.” “Among yourselves let there always be peace and harmony. Are you not all soldiers of the empire? Do not then abuse or quarrel with one another. Do you understand clearly?” “Yes, we do.” “Whoever conducts himself badly, let him not hope to escape chastisement; his crime will be investigated attentively, and severely punished. Do you clearly understand?” “Yes, we do.” “As you understand, obey and tremble.” After this brief but energetic peroration, the fifteen soldiers struck the ground with their foreheads thrice and rose.
Just as we were leaving the residence of the ambassador, Ki-Chan drew us apart, to say a few words in private. “In a little while,” said he, “I shall leave Thibet, and return to China. [227] In order that I may not be too much encumbered with luggage, on my departure, I am going to send two large cases with you; they are covered with the hide of a long-haired ox.” He then told us the
characters with which they were marked. “These two cases,” added he, “I recommend to your care. Every evening, when you reach the station, have them deposited in the place where you yourselves pass the night. At Tching-Tou-Fou, capital of Sse-Tchouen, you will commit them to the care of Pao-Tchoung-Tang, viceroy of the province. Keep a good eye on your own property, for in the route you will pursue, there are many petty thieves.” Having assured Ki-Chan that we would observe his recommendation, we rejoined Ly-Kouo-Ngan, who was waiting for us on the threshold of the great entrance gate.
It was rather curious that the Chinese ambassador should think fit to confide his treasure to us, whilst he had at his disposal a Grand Mandarin, who was naturally called upon by his position to render him this service. But the jealousy which Ki-Chan felt towards strangers did not make him forget his own interests. He considered, no doubt, that it would be more safe to trust his cases to missionaries than to a Chinese, even though the Chinese was a Mandarin. This token of confidence gave us great pleasure. It was a homage rendered to the probity of Christians, and, at the same time, a bitter satire upon the Chinese character.
We proceeded to the house of Ly-Kouo-Ngan, where eighteen horses, ready saddled, were awaiting us in the court-yard. The three best were standing apart, reserved for the Tou-Sse and ourselves. The fifteen others were for the soldiers, and each was to take the one which fell to him by lot.
Before we mounted, a strong-limbed Thibetian female, very fairly dressed, presented herself: she was the wife of Ly-Kouo-Ngan. He had been married to her six years, and was about to leave her for ever; he only had one child by her, which had died in its infancy. As these two conjugal halves were never again to see each other, it was but natural that at the moment of so afflicting a separation, there should be a few words of adieu. The thing was publicly done, and in the following manner: “We are going to part,” said the husband, “do you stay here and sit quietly in your room.” “Go in peace,” replied the wife, “go hence in peace, and take care of the swellings in your legs.” She then put her hand before her eyes, to make believe she was crying. “Look here,” said the pacificator of kingdoms, turning to us, “they are odd people these Thibetian women. I leave her a well-built house, and plenty of furniture almost new, and yet she is going to cry—is she not content?”