And now we waited again; the days passed, my three native assistants held themselves ready in Dehra Dun for the journey, the Commander-in-chief, Lord Kitchener, assured me that he should be pleased to place at my disposal twenty armed Gurkhas—only the permission sought from the Secretary of State for India, Mr. John Morley, must first arrive; for it was he who held the keys of the frontier, and on him everything depended. Lord Minto, the new Viceroy of India (Frontispiece), did everything in his power. He wrote long complete statements of affairs and sent one telegram after another. A refusal could not discourage him; he always sent off another despatch beginning with the words: “I beg His Majesty’s Ministry to take once more into consideration that,” etc. When the assurance was given from London that the refusal was not intended for me personally, but that the same answer had been communicated to several British officers, Lord Minto in his last telegram begged that I might be permitted to accompany the British officer who was to travel to Gartok in summer to inspect the market there. But the Secretary of State kept immovably to his resolution, and I received the following reply to my telegram in a despatch of June 1, 1906, from the Secretary to the Viceroy:
The Prime Minister desires that the following message be communicated to Sven Hedin: “I sincerely regret that I cannot, for reasons which have doubtless been explained to you by the Indian Government, grant you the desired assistance for your journey to and in Tibet. This assistance has also been refused to the Royal Geographical Society in London, and likewise to British officers in the service of the Indian Government.”
The contents of the last London telegram intimated, then, that nothing was conceded to me. The Indian Government and the Viceroy could, of course, do nothing but obey, as usual, the orders from London. They were willing to do everything, and displayed the warmest interest in my plans, but they durst not help me. They durst not procure me a permit or passport from Lhasa, they durst not provide me with an escort, indispensable in the insecure country of Tibet, and I lost the privilege of taking with me three efficient topographers and assistants in my scientific observations, from which both sides would have derived advantage. But this was not all. Should I fall in with circumstances and cross the frontier with a party of natives on my own responsibility, the Indian Government had orders to stop me. Thus Tibet was barred to me from the side of India, and the English, that is, Mr. John Morley, closed the country as hermetically as ever the Tibetans had done. I soon perceived that the greatest difficulties I had to overcome on this journey proceeded not from Tibet, its rude climate, its rarefied air, its huge mountains and its wild inhabitants, but—from England! Could I circumvent Mr. John Morley, I should soon settle with Tibet.
Hope is the last thing one resigns, and so I still hoped that all would turn out well in the end. Failure spurred my ambition and stretched my powers to the uttermost tension. Try to hinder me if you can, I thought; I will show you that I am more at home in Asia than you. Try to close this immense Tibet, try to bar all the valleys which lead from the frontier to the high plateaus, and you will find that it is quite impossible. I felt quite relieved when the last peremptory and somewhat curt refusal came and put an end to all further negotiations. I had a feeling as though I was suddenly left in solitude and the future depended on myself alone. My life and my honour for the next two years were at stake—of course I never thought of giving in. I had commenced this fifth journey with a heavy heart, not with trumpets and flourishes as on the former expeditions. But now it was all at once become my pet child. Though I should perish, this journey should be the grandest event of my life. It was the object of all my dreams and hopes, it was the subject of my prayers, and I longed with all my soul for the hour when the first caravan should be ready—and then every day would be a full chord in a song of victory.
| 2. Colonel Sir Francis Younghusband, Commander of the English Expedition to Tibet, Resident in Kashmir. | 3. Colonel J. R. Dunlop Smith, Private Secretary to the Viceroy. |
I do not venture to pass an opinion on the policy which then piled up in my way obstacles apparently insurmountable. It was at any rate prudent. For the future it will be necessary. If I had gone under British protection and accompanied by British subjects and then been killed, probably a costly punitive expedition must have been sent out to make an example; whether I were a Swede or an Englishman would have made no difference in this case. The view the English Secretary of State took of the matter is shown in his answer to Lord Percy’s question a month after I had received my answer: “Sven Hedin has been refused permission to penetrate into Tibet for political reasons, in accordance with which even British subjects are not allowed to visit that country. The Indian Government favours the expeditions of experienced explorers, but the Imperial Government has decided otherwise, and considers it advisable to continue the isolation of Tibet which the late Government so carefully maintained.”
During this time I received many proofs of sympathy and friendship. I had true friends in India, and they felt it hard that they could not help me. They would have done it so gladly. I durst not ask them for anything lest I should place them in an awkward, troublesome position. Sir Louis Dane had informed me that if my petition were granted I should have to sign a bond, but what this would have contained I have never found out. Perhaps it dealt with some kind of responsibility for the men who accompanied me, or a promise not to visit certain districts, and a pledge to place the results of my journey at the disposal of the Indian Government—I know not. But now I was absolved from all obligations; freedom is after all the best, and he is the strongest who stands alone. Still, it would be exaggeration to say that I had then any great affection for the name of Mr. John Morley. How could I foresee that I should one day reckon him among my best friends, and think of him with warm respect and admiration?
After my first visit to the Foreign Office, Younghusband (Illustration 2) conducted me to the Viceregal Palace, to enter my name in the visiting list of Lord and Lady Minto. Younghusband is a gallant man, a type of the noblest that a people can produce. He was more annoyed than myself at the refusal of the Government; but he had in this connection a far more bitter experience—his expedition to Lhasa, which ought to have thrown open Tibet to scientific exploration, had been in vain. He took me on the way to Lord Minto’s private secretary, Colonel J. R. Dunlop Smith (Illustration 3), in whom I found a friend for life. He is one of the finest, noblest, most generous, and learned men that I have ever met. He is well educated in many subjects, and has a thorough knowledge of India, for he has lived there four-and-twenty years. When we see such men in the most responsible posts, we can well conceive that the ruling race will weather many a violent storm, should they arise, among the three hundred millions of India.
My life at this time abounded in contrasts. How little did my sojourn at Simla resemble the years of solitude and silence that awaited me beyond the mountains veiled in dark masses of cloud! I cannot resist recalling some reminiscences of these extraordinarily delightful days.
Go with me to the first State dinner on May 24, 1906. Along the walls of the great drawing-room in the Viceregal Palace are assembled some hundred guests—all in full dress, in grand uniforms of various colours, and glittering with orders. One of them is taller than the rest by a whole head; he holds himself very upright, and seems cool-headed, energetic, and calm; he speaks to no one, but examines those about him with penetrating, bright bluish-grey eyes. His features are heavy, but interesting, serious, impassive, and tanned; one sees that he has had much experience and is a soldier who has stood fire. His uniform is scarlet, and a whole fortune in diamonds sparkles on his left breast. He bears a world-renowned, an imperishable name: Lord Kitchener of Khartum, the conqueror of Africa and Commander-in-chief of the Indian Army.