"It was a slow death to me, a numbness that commenced in my limbs and rose up—up—until it touched the very source of my thinking. Your Civilization with its civilized vices plucked something vital, something unexplainable, from me.... But I stayed; I learned; and when I had finished, I returned. But not as he who had left—who had wept when his father fell under the blade of a Manchu assassin. I had gone as the dreamer; I came back as the awakened sleeper, incensed toward those who had replaced visions with sordid reality.... That was in the year that Christian calendars call nineteen hundred and four—the year Tubdan Gyatso, the Dalai Lama, forsook Lhassa."
Their cheroots had burned out. The scent of stale tobacco hung in the air like an unclean aura. To Trent it seemed the essence of Hsien Sgam's story—his tragedy.
"The Dalai Lama came to Urga," Hsien Sgam continued. "The Hut'ukt'u was jealous of him and he made his stay as unpleasant as possible. But before the Dalai Lama left, I spent many hours with him. Our cause was progressing slowly when the revolution against the Manchus came; then Yuan Shih-kai, and the restoration of Tubdan Gyatso. But the Church had lost much power. A conference was called at Lhassa and it was decided that a new Head be formed—an invisible Head, unknown to the English and other aggressors. Shingtse-lunpo was chosen. It became the Head of the Church—a sort of Vatican. It was the will of Gaudama Siddartha that a certain Grand Lama's body should be the vessel for his spirit. Thus came the title of Sâkya-mûni to His Holiness Lobsang Yshe Naktsang, the Supreme Lama of the Gelugpa. It was also deemed advisable by the Council of Lamas that I should go to the new monastery of the Head and be invested with the power of Governor of the city. I was to be a—er—connecting link between Tibet and Mongolia.
"Dorjieff, the Buriat monk, had promised us the aid of Russia. Frequently, before the invasion of Lhassa, he acted as an intermediary between the Czar and the Dalai Lama, and on one occasion the Russian emperor sent Tubdan Gyatso the vestments of a—how is it called?—a bishop?—of the Russian church. But the Russian monarch fell in the war, and hope of Russian aid dwindled. China was strangling Mongolia; Tibet had asserted her rights. Then came the Kiachta Convention. We thought we had won. But the Hut'ukt'u is a coward. With Semenov on one side, threatening, and Japan on the other (it developed later that both were the same), he became frightened.... You know what happened."
Hsien Sgam passed cigarettes to Trent, who refused; selected one himself; lighted it.
"It appeared that we were facing defeat," he resumed. "We had no money—perhaps a little in the treasuries, but not enough to propagate our plans. It seemed imminent that Japan would build the Kalgan-Kiachta railway, and such a thing would mean the end of the dream of a Mongol empire.... Ah, these railways! Keys to power! French—er—capital is behind the Chinese-Eastern Railway. Also the Yunnan Railways. The South Manchurian and the Shantung railways are Japanese-controlled. Chinese sovereignty in the districts where there are foreign-owned railways is a mere word.
"Thus it would be in Mongolia, if the Kalgan-Kiachta railway were built by Japanese money. But how could it be stopped? Mongolia herself had no money. The only way was, as I once told you, through revolution. Establish Mongolian control and refuse a concession to any power to construct the rail line. And that way, too, was obstructed by lack of—er—funds.... Then the gods sent an answer to our prayers in the form of a foreigner—a man whom you know by the name of André Chavigny."
The muscles of Trent's jaw moved perceptibly at this announcement; otherwise, he sat motionless, hands grasping the edge of the table, eyes upon Hsien Sgam.
"There was a very great disturbance in Lhakang-gompa," the Mongol pressed on, "when it was reported one day that a white man had been discovered—er—masquerading in the city. His Holiness charged me to interview the prisoner and ascertain how much he had learned. This I did, and you may imagine my amazement upon discovering that this white man was the André Chavigny of whom I had heard in Europe.
"His true purpose in Shingtse-lunpo I have never learned from his lips, but I am of the opinion that he might have been deluded by fantastic tales of jewels and wealth in the vaults of Lhakang-gompa. He knew he had seen too much to be allowed to leave; that is why he made me a most amazing—er—proposition. I believe I can recall the very words he uttered. He said: 'I have heard of your plans for a revolt against China. Give me my life and I will finance you.'"