Next day, when we put our heads out of bed, the sun was already shining in all its splendour, yet all was quiet in the courtyard of the inn; we could hear neither the bellowing of the yaks, nor the neighing of the horses, nor anything indicating preparations for the departure of a caravan. We rose, and after rubbing our eyes, opened the door of our room to see how matters stood. We found Ly-Kouo-Ngan and the Lama Dsiamdchang, seated in a corner of the court-yard, quietly basking in the rays of the sun. As soon as they saw us they approached, and told us in an infinitely roundabout manner, that we should be obliged to halt for one day, as there were difficulties in procuring horses and a change of oxen. “This is very bad news,” said they; “this mischance is very unfortunate, but we cannot help it; the circumstance of the new-year’s festival is the sole cause of this delay.” “On the contrary,” said we, “this is excellent news; we are in no sort of hurry. Let us go quietly, and rest frequently on the way, and all will go well.” These words relieved our two guides from a great
embarrassment. These good people imagined that we should quarrel with them, because it was necessary to make a day’s halt; they were prodigiously mistaken. If, in our previous travels, delays had been sources of grievous vexation to us, the reason was that we had an object in view, and that we were eager to attain it. But now this was not the case, and we wished, as much as possible, to travel like gentlemen. We felt, besides, that it was not logical to go at a running pace from a place from which we had been expelled.
Midchoukoung is a stage where you change your oulah, that is, the horses, beasts of burden, and guides. These services are kept up by the Thibetian government, all the way from Lha-Ssa to the frontiers of China. The Chinese or Thibetian public officers, who make official inspections of the roads, are alone allowed to avail themselves of these sources. The government of Lha-Ssa gives them a passport, upon which is stated the number of men and animals that the villages, subject to the contribution of the oulah, must furnish.
The Chinese account of Thibet gives the following account of this compulsory service: “As respects the local service called oulah, all those who have any fortune, whether men or women, are compelled to supply it; even those who come from the most distant countries, if they occupy a house to themselves, are not exempt from it. The number of men each person must furnish for this service is regulated by the fortune of each individual. The elders and the Dhebas determine, according to the size of each house, the number of men, etc., it must furnish to the oulah; each village provides three, four, and sometimes as many as ten men. The smaller families employ poor people as substitutes, paying them wages. People beyond sixty years of age are exempt from the burden. If the public service requires it, they exact oxen and horses, asses and mules from the dwellings of the rich; the poor people club together, and three or four houses give one beast.”
The Chinese Mandarins, who always try to make money out of everything, find means to speculate in the oulah with which the Thibetian government furnishes them. Before leaving Lha-Ssa, they manœuvre, by all imaginable means, to have set forth on their road-bill a great number of animals; they then take as many as are actually necessary, and receive, instead of the rest, a compensation in money, which the wealthy Thibetians much prefer to give them than to expose their animals to the perils of the road. Others claim the whole oulah, and employ it to transport into China Thibetian merchandise. Ly-Kouo-Ngan, whom we had heard declare so energetically his disinterestedness, when the
ambassador Ki-Chan offered him a present on the part of the Emperor, showed feelings much less generous in relation to the oulah.
During the day we passed at Midchoukoung, his road-bill accidentally fell into our hands, and we were much surprised to read there that we had been allotted two horses and twelve long-haired oxen. Yet our entire baggage was two portmanteaus and a few bed things. “What do all these oxen mean?” inquired we of the Pacificator of Kingdoms; “do we need twelve beasts to carry two portmanteaus?” “Oh, it’s a mistake of the secretary,” replied he; and out of politeness, we affected to be perfectly satisfied with the answer.
It often happens, however, that the Chinese make gross mistakes as to their speculations in the oulah; they find, on the way, for example, some Thibetian tribes who are not at all disciplined to this kind of contribution. It is in vain they point out to these rude and fierce mountaineers the road-bill sealed with the seal of the Talé-Lama and that of the Chinese ambassador; they remain inexorable. To everything that is said to them, as an inducement to submit to the law, they have but this answer: “For a guide you will give so much; for a horse, so much; for a yak, so much;” until, at last, Chinese diplomacy is pushed into a corner, and the oulah is paid. The inhabitants of the district of Midchoukoung treated us with great politeness and courtesy: the chiefs of the village had a spectacle got up for us, by a troop of buffoons, who were assembled for the new year’s festival. The large courtyard of the inn, where we lodged, served for a theatre: first, the artists, masked, and fantastically dressed, performed for some time, wild, deafening music, in order to summon to the play the inhabitants of the neighbourhood. When all were come, and arranged in a circle round the stage, the Dheba of Midchoukoung approached in a solemn manner to offer to our two guides, and to ourselves, a scarf of blessings, and invited us to take our places on four thick cushions which had been placed at the foot of a large tree, that rose from an angle of the court. As soon as we were seated, all the troop of players put themselves in motion, and executed to the sound of music a sort of satanic round, the rapidity of which nearly made our heads swim; then came leaping, jumping, pirouetting, feats of strength, combats with wooden sabres; the whole accompanied alternately by songs, dialogues, music, and imitations of the cries of wild beasts. Among this troop of comedians, there was one more grotesquely masked than the others, who acted as a sort of clown to the ring, monopolising the jests and repartees. We had not knowledge enough of the Thibetian
language to appreciate his sallies; but judging from the stamping of feet, and the shouts of laughter of the audience, he seemed to acquit himself wonderfully as a wit. Altogether, the exhibition was amusing enough; the Thibetians were perfectly enthusiastic. When they had danced, leaped, and sang for upwards of two hours, the performers ranged themselves in a semicircle around us, took off their masks, and put their tongues in their cheeks at us, with profound bows. Each of us presented to the chief of the troop a scarf of blessings, and the curtain fell.
In the afternoon, we invited Ly-Kouo-Ngan to a short walk. Notwithstanding the indifferent elasticity possessed by his legs, he acceded to our proposal with good grace, and we proceeded together to explore the country. The village of Midchoukoung is populous; but everything announces that its inhabitants are living in anything but a state of comfort. The houses are generally built of stones strongly cemented with glazed earth; a great many are crumbling away, the ruins serving as a retreat for troops of large rats. Some small Buddhist altars, carefully lime-washed, are the only constructions that exhibit any cleanliness, and their whiteness presents a remarkable contrast with the grey, smoky hue of the village. Midchoukoung has a Chinese guard, composed of four soldiers and an under corporal. These men keep a few horses, and their barracks serve as a stage for the couriers who carry the dispatches of the Chinese government.