The Lhasa General replied that all the people of Tibet had a covenant that no Europeans were ever to be allowed to enter their country, and the reason was that they wished to preserve their religion. The monks here chimed in, saying that their religion must be preserved, and that no European, on any account, must be admitted. The General then went on to say that, if I really wanted to make a friendly settlement, I should go back to Yatung.
I told him that for a century and a half we had remained quietly in India, and made no attempt to force ourselves upon them. Even though we had a treaty right to station an officer at Yatung, we had not exercised that right. But of recent years we had heard from many different sources that they were entering into friendly relations with the Russians, while they were still keeping us at arm’s length. One Dorjieff, for instance, had been the bearer of autograph letters from the Dalai Lama to the Czar and Russian officials at the very time when the Lama was refusing letters from the Viceroy of India. We could understand their being friendly with both the Russians and ourselves, or their wishing to have nothing to do with either; but when they were friendly with the Russians and unfriendly with us, they must not be surprised at our now paying closer attention to our treaty rights.
The General assured me that it was untrue that they had any dealings with the Russians, and the monks brusquely intimated that they disliked the Russians just as much as they disliked us; they protested that they had nothing to do with the Russians, that there was no Russian near Lhasa at that time, and that Dorjieff was a Mongolian, and the custom of Mongolians was to make large presents to the monasteries. They asked me, therefore, not to be so suspicious.
I said it was difficult not to be suspicious when they persistently kept us at such a distance. I then addressed them in regard to religion, and asked them if they had ever heard that we interfered with the religions of the people of India. They admitted that we did not interfere, but they maintained, nevertheless, that it was to preserve their religion that they adhered to their determination to keep us out.
As the Buddhist religion nowhere preaches this seclusion, it was evident that what the monks wished to preserve was not their religion, but their priestly influence. This was the crux of the whole situation. And it entirely bore out what Mr. Nolan, the Commissioner of Darjiling, had observed many years before[[27]]—that it was “the breaking of the beggars’ bowl” that was in question, the loss of these presents from Mongolians and others.
So far the conversation, in spite of occasional bursts from the monks, had been maintained with perfect good-humour; but when I made a sign of moving, and said that I must be returning to Tuna, the monks, looking as black as devils, shouted out: “No, you won’t; you’ll stop here.” One of the Generals said, quite politely, that we had broken the rule of the road in coming into their country, and we were nothing but thieves and brigands in occupying Phari Fort. The monks, using forms of speech which Captain O’Connor told me were only used in addressing inferiors, loudly clamoured for us to name a date when we would retire from Tuna before they would let me leave the room. The atmosphere became electric. The faces of all were set. One of the Generals left the room; trumpets outside were sounded, and attendants closed round behind us.
A real crisis was on us, when any false step might be fatal. I told Captain O’Connor, though there was really no necessity to give such a warning to anyone so imperturbable, to keep his voice studiously calm, and to smile as much as he possibly could, and I then said that I had to obey the orders of my Government, just as much as they had to obey the orders of theirs; that I would ask them to report to their Government what I had said, and I would report to my Government what they had told me. That was all that could be done at present; but if the Viceroy, in reply to my reports, ordered me back to India I should personally be only too thankful, as theirs was a cold, barren, and inhospitable country, and I had a wife and child at Darjiling, whom I was anxious to see again as soon as I could.
This eased matters a little. But the monks continued to clamour for me to name a date for withdrawal, and the situation was only relieved when a General suggested that a messenger should return with me to Tuna to receive there the answer from the Viceroy. The other Generals eagerly accepted the suggestion, and the tension was at once removed. Their faces became smiling again, and they conducted me to the outer door with the same geniality and politeness with which they had received us, though the monks remained seated and as surly and evil-looking as men well could look.
We preserved our equanimity of demeanour and the smiles on our faces till we had mounted our ponies and were well outside the camp, and then we galloped off as hard as we could, lest the monks should get the upper hand again and send men after us. It had been a close shave, but it was worth it.
I had sized up the situation, and felt now I knew how I stood. I knew from that moment that nowhere else than in Lhasa, and not until the monkish power had been broken, should we ever make a settlement. But it was still treason to mention the word “Lhasa” in any communication to Government, and I had to keep these conclusions to myself for many months yet, for fear I might frighten people in England who had not yet got accustomed to the idea of our going even as far as Gyantse.