Ly-Kouo-Ngan particularly, who was in no satisfactory state of mind, was thunderstruck. The fear he felt prevented him from taking any supper; but, in the evening, another matter occurred to divert his attention from these sad thoughts of death. The chief of the Thibetian village came to the guard-house, to announce to the travellers, that it had been resolved in that country, that thereafter they would not supply the oulah gratuitously; that for a horse, people must pay one ounce of silver, and for a yak half an ounce. “The caravan which passed yesterday,” added he, “was obliged to agree to this.” . . . To make it manifest that this regulation would not admit of any discussion, he abruptly put his tongue in his cheek at us, and withdrew.
A manifesto so plain and definite was a complete thunderbolt to the Pacificator of Kingdoms. He entirely forgot the melancholy death of the poor Liang-Tai, in the thought of this frightful catastrophe which threatened his purse. We charitably participated in his affliction, and tried, as well as we could, to conform our words to his sombre thoughts. But, in reality, it was a matter of utter indifference to us. If they refused to supply us with the means of continuing our journey, we should merely have to stay in Thibet, which, after all, was a result to which we should without difficulty become reconciled. Meantime, we went to bed, and left the people of the escort to discuss politics and social economy.
The next day, when we rose, we found neither oxen nor horses in the court of the barracks. Ly-Kouo-Ngan was in utter despair. “Shall we have the oulah?” inquired we; “shall we depart to-day?” “These barbarians,” answered he, “do not comprehend the merit of obedience. I have resolved to address myself to Proul-Tamba; I have sent a deputation to him; I have known him a long time, and I hope he will procure the oulah for us.” This Proul-Tamba was a person of whom we had already heard a great deal. He was at the head of the party of the young Tchaktchouba of Djaya, and consequently the avowed enemy of Chinese influence. He was, we were informed, learned as the most learned Lamas of Lha-Ssa. No one came up to him in valour; never in battle had he experienced defeat. Accordingly, among all the tribes of the province of Kham, his name alone had potency, and acted like a talisman on the minds of the multitude. Proul-Tamba was, in some measure, the Abd-el-Kader of these wild mountaineers.
The dwelling of Proul-Tamba was distant from Bagoung not more than five or six lis. The deputation that had been sent to him, soon returned, and announced that the great chief himself was coming. This unexpected news put in commotion the whole Thibetian village, and the soldiers. Every one said to every one, excitedly, “The great chief is coming, we are going to see the great chief!” Ly-Kouo-Ngan hastened to attire himself in his best clothes, his silk boots, and his hat of ceremony. The Chinese soldiers also improved, as well as they could, their toilet. Whilst the Thibetians ran to meet their chief, Ly-Kouo-Ngan selected from his baggage a magnificent khata, or scarf of blessing, and then posted himself on the threshold of the door, to receive the illustrious Proul-Tamba. As for us, the department we selected was to study the physiognomies of the different parties. The most interesting was, doubtless, that of the Pacificator of Kingdoms. It was curious to see this Chinese Mandarin, generally so haughtily
insolent in the presence of Thibetians, become all at once humble and modest, and awaiting, tremblingly, the arrival of a man whom he deemed strong and potent.
At last the great chief appeared; he was on horseback, escorted by a guard of honour, consisting of four horsemen. As soon as all had dismounted, the Pacificator of Kingdoms approached Proul-Tamba, made him a low bow, and offered him the scarf of blessing. Proul-Tamba motioned to one of his attendants to receive the present, and without saying a word, quickly crossed the court, and went straight to the room prepared for his reception, and where we awaited him with the Lama Dchiamdchang. Proul-Tamba made us a slight bow, and sat down without ceremony, in the place of honour, on a carpet of grey felt. Ly-Kouo-Ngan placed himself on his left, the Lama Dchiamdchang on his right, and we in front of him. Between us five there was such a respectful distance, that we formed a sort of large circle. Some Chinese soldiers and a crowd of Thibetians stood behind us.
There was a minute of profound silence. The great chief Proul-Tamba was at most forty years of age; he was of middle height, and his sole attire was a large robe of green silk, bordered with beautiful wolf-fur, and fastened at the waist by a red girdle. Large purple leather boots, an alarming fox-skin cap, and a broad, long sabre, passed through the girdle horizontally, completed his costume. Long hair, black as ebony, which hung down over his shoulders, gave to his pale, thin face, a marked expression of energy. The eyes were, however, the most remarkable features in the physiognomy of this man; they were large, glittering, and seemed to breathe indomitable courage and pride. The whole appearance and bearing of Proul-Tamba denoted a man of real superiority, born to command his fellows. After having attentively looked at us, one after the other, his hands resting one on each end of his sabre, he drew from his bosom a packet of little khatas, and had them distributed amongst us by one of his men. Then turning to Ly-Kouo-Ngan: “Ah, thou art back again,” said he, with a voice that resounded like a bell; “if they had not told me this morning it was thee, I should not have recognised thee. How thou hast aged since thy last visit to Bagoung.” “Yes, thou art right,” answered the Pacificator of Kingdoms, in soft and insinuating tones, drawing himself along the felt carpet nearer to his interlocutor; “yes, I am very feeble; but thou art more vigorous than ever.” “We live in circumstances under which it is necessary to be vigorous; there is no longer peace in our mountains.” “True, I heard yonder that you have had here amongst you a little dispute.” “For more than a year past, the tribes of Kham
have been waging a bloody war, and thou callest that a little dispute. Thou hast only to open thy eyes, on thy way, and thou wilt behold, on every side, villages in ruins, and forests burnt down. In a few days, we shall be obliged to resume our work, for no one will hear the words of peace. The war, indeed, might have been brought to a conclusion after a few skirmishes; but, since you Chinese have chosen to meddle in our affairs, the parties have become irreconcilable. You Chinese Mandarins are good for nothing but to bring disorder and confusion into these countries. It cannot go on in this way. We have let you alone for some time, and now your audacity knows no bounds. I cannot, without shuddering all over, think of that affair of the Nomekhan of Lha-Ssa. They pretend that the Nomekhan committed great crimes. It is false: these great crimes, it is you that invented them. The Nomekhan is a saint, a Living Buddha. Who ever heard that a Living Buddha could be tried and exiled by Ki-Chan, a Chinese, a layman?” “The order came from the Grand Emperor,” answered Ly-Kouo-Ngan, in a low and tremulous voice. “The Grand Emperor!” cried Proul-Tamba, turning with an angry air to his interrupter, “thy Grand Emperor is only a layman. What is thy Grand Emperor compared with a Grand Lama, a Living Buddha?” The great chief of the province of Kham inveighed for a length of time against the domination of the Chinese in Thibet. He assailed in turns the Emperor, the viceroy of Sse-Tchouen, and the ambassador of Lha-Ssa.
Throughout these energetic philippics, he frequently reverted to the affair of the Nomekhan. One could see that he felt a deep interest in the fate of the Grand Lama, whom he regarded as a victim of the court of Peking. The Pacificator of Kingdoms took care not to contradict him; he affected to concur in the sentiments of Proul-Tamba, and received each proposition with an inclination of the head. At length he hazarded a word as to departure and the oulah.
“The oulah,” replied Proul-Tamba; “henceforth, there will be none for the Chinese, unless they pay the price for them. It is enough that we allow the Chinese to penetrate into our country, without adding the folly of furnishing them with the oulah gratuitously. However, as thou art an old acquaintance, we will make an exception in favour of thy caravan. Besides, thou art conducting two Lamas of the Western Heaven, who have been recommended to me by the chief Kalon of Lha-Ssa, and who are entitled to my services. Where is the Dheba of Bagoung? Let him advance.”