“Having lately returned from a tour through Kunawar, where I saw Mr. Csoma, in the midst of his studies, I imagine I shall not be tiring you by some account of his requirements, and the progress he has made with his [[81]]literary works. He has lost none of his ardour in that secluded region, and the deeper he penetrates into those mines of learning by which he is surrounded, he finds himself impelled to further research; but I have to regret the circumstances which afforded me so short a time to profit by his conversation. Besides this interesting interview, my present journey has likewise been remarkable for some new discoveries, which have in a degree proved a consoling recompense for the sacrifices it entailed and my disappointment in the chief object that urged me to visit a country I had so frequently traversed. I have returned to Sabathú amply gratified, only to look towards the period when I may myself meet with better success; in the meantime, I should hope that my notice of Mr. Csoma’s labours would be satisfactory to those who have already interested themselves in his behalf, and that any facts connected with his researches, or that have come to my own view in the course of my travels, would be sufficiently strong to awaken curiosity towards a field of such varied resources, and ultimately to details alike interesting and beneficial. If the physical character of those mighty regions is likely to receive illustration by specimens of organic remains, productions, &c., I should not consider myself unremunerated for the exertions I have made for an object which may still prove but an illusory advantage; and though I have been extremely anxious to make another journey, under the prospects which the Chinese have tantalised me to rely upon, in an invitation next season to Lake Mansarowur, I shall be unwilling to attempt it except I receive some little encouragement in the prosecution of objects which, if not of actual public benefit, are at least of public interest.
“The presence of Mr. Csoma in Kunawar and his learned associate the Lama opens a field to my view, which no exertions on my part could give me a hope of approaching. The example and influence of such a man as the Lama, who is so much respected in those regions [[82]]for his learning and wisdom, could not fail to advance my object of utility, especially vaccination, as he himself offered to try the experiment, could it have been effected under favourable circumstances; and should the Chinese invite me to their country, Mr. Csoma’s literary pursuits will eventually derive a more extended solicitude, through the medium of a friendship established upon philanthropy.
“In this tour I have made a very curious collection of fossil shells (Ichthyolites), ammonites, and other petrifactions, which are chiefly valuable from the vast elevation at which they occurred, and from having myself found them in situ. I observed nothing very remarkable upon the nether side, except the cholera at Chepaul, in Joobul, at a height of almost 8000 feet, in spite of those theorists who would have restricted it to a lower limit, and a deodar 29½ feet in girth, and this is surely a prodigy in nature peculiar to those mountains. I never beheld such a sight as this enormous trunk, springing up like a mound to the height of almost 200 feet. The barometer afforded me the only practicable means of ascertaining this, and I imagine there are no others in such situations except to cut the tree down. On the northern frontiers of Kunawar I obtained an elevation of 20,000 feet without closing snow, and beheld, if not China itself, its frontier,—a scene of desolation and grandeur beyond my power to describe, for here language altogether fails. The country continued peaked, arid, and free from snow, yet every point had an altitude above my own level. The thermometer stood at 27°, but I was scorched by the sun’s rays.
“I now turn to the Hungarian, who is far from the least remarkable of the many objects which have passed before me in this journey, and on whose account chiefly I trouble you with so long a letter. I found him at the village of Kanum, in his small but romantic hamlet, surrounded by books, and in the [[83]]best health. He had not forgotten his reception at Sabathú, and was eager to manifest a feeling springing from gratitude. A year and more had passed since we met, and he seemed glad and proud to show me the fruits of his labours. He has been most persevering and successful, and were not his mind entirely absorbed in his studies, he would find a strong check to his exertions in the climate, situated as he is and has been for four months. The cold is very intense, and all last winter he sat at his desk wrapped up in woollens from head to foot, and from morning to night, without an interval of recreation or warmth, except that of his frugal meals, which are one universal routine of greasy tea; but the winters at Kanum dwindle to insignificance compared with the severity of those at the monastery of Yangla,[1] where Mr. Csoma passed a whole year. At that spot he, the Lama, and an attendant, were circumscribed in an apartment nine feet square for three or four months; they durst not stir out, the ground being covered with snow, and the temperature below the zero of the scale. There he sat, enveloped in a sheep-skin cloak, with his arms folded, and in this situation he read from morning till evening without fire, or light after dusk, the ground to sleep upon, and the bare walls of the building for protection against the rigours of the climate.
“The cold was so intense as to make it a task of severity to extricate the hands from their fleecy resort to turn over the pages. Some idea may be formed of the climate of Zanskar from the fact, that on the day of the summer solstice, a fall of snow covered the ground; and so early as the 10th September following, when the crops were yet uncut, the soil was again sheeted in snow; such is the horrid aspect of the country and its eternal winter.
“I have mentioned the above as a proof of the assiduity [[84]]of Mr. Csoma, who collected and arranged 40,000 words of the Tibetan language in a situation that would have driven most men to despair. He has already nearly completed the Dictionary, and the Vocabulary is far advanced, and both, as well as I may venture to judge, exhibit singular industry and research. He told me with vivacity that he has acquired a sufficient knowledge of Tibetan, to enable him to accomplish his objects, even should he be deprived of the Lama’s services by sickness or other causes. He (the Lama) has, however, engaged to remain for two years longer, and from his great erudition, being acquainted with the refined and court languages, and learned in history: his resources will long prove an acquisition to Mr. Csoma. He exhibits a singular union of learning, modesty, and greasy habits; and Mr. Csoma in this last respect vies with his learned companion, which is not very strange in such a country. The Lama is a man of vast acquirements, strangely disguised under modest confidence of superiority, the mildest and most unassuming address, and a countenance seldom disturbed by a smile. His learning has not made him bigoted or self-sufficient, but it is singularly contrasted with his person and appearance, which are humble and dignified and greasy. Mr. Csoma himself appears like one of the sages of antiquity, living in the most frugal manner, and taking no interest in any object around him, except his literary avocations, which, however, embrace the religions of the countries around him. He showed me his labours with lively satisfaction. He has read through 44 volumes of one of the Tibetan works, and he finds unceasing interest in their contents. He seems highly pleased with the prospects of unfolding to the world those vast mines of literary riches, and I should say that he is flattered by his own ability to illustrate the objects which daily come to his view, but I am almost afraid to risk making known, from mere recollection, the attainments he has already arrived at, and the discoveries [[85]]he has made, because he is so scrupulously tenacious of correctness in everything relating to and said of him, and carries his high feeling and independence to a degree which may be the custom of his country, but I am inclined to consider a fault in one so situated. In his conversation and expressions he is frequently disconsolate, and betrays it in involuntary sentiment, as if he thought himself forlorn and neglected. He can form no idea of the spirit in which Government will receive his works, and almost fears they may not be considered with that indulgence which is due to his research. Yet he told me, with melancholy emphasis, that on his delivering up the Grammar and Dictionary of the Tibetan language, and other illustrations of the literature of that country, he would be the happiest man on earth, AND COULD DIE WITH PLEASURE ON REDEEMING HIS PLEDGE. He showed me with great animation a printed work upon poesy, in which he pointed out the original of a translation from the Mahabharut, written in a number of the Oriental Quarterly; a great part of that work (the Sanskrit edition) is supposed to be lost, and the discovery of Mr. Csoma in the Tibetan books leads to the conclusion, that the whole of the Mahabharut may yet be preserved in the monasteries of that country, which seem to have afforded an asylum to literature at a very early period, even before its retrogression in India. In a small pocket abridgment of (I think Robertson’s) ‘India,’ Mr. Csoma showed me an extract of a poem from the Sanskrit, at the same time holding in his hands the original passage in the Tibetan.[2] The systems of philosophy contained in those immense compilations he says are very numerous, and he thinks will astonish the learned in Europe; some of them are sublime in conception. I was naturally anxious to know the contents of the books of medicine, of which there are five volumes, and characters of 400 diseases [[86]]he had collected and arranged. They treat copiously on physiology; and, in fact, there is no knowing yet what they do not contain. In his brief memoir to Government,[3] the five volumes upon medicine were alluded to, but in Mr. Wilson’s observations on that paper they are not noticed, at which Mr. Csoma seems disappointed, and has strangely concluded that his assertion was discredited, but consoles himself with the prospect of disclosing many facts even much more unexpected. The Lama has informed him that at Teshi Lhunpo the anatomy of the human body is represented in wooden cuts or prints (for I forget which) in so many different attitudes. He also observes, that the art of lithography has long prevailed in that city and at Lassa, where learning has flourished from a very remote period.
“Mr. Csoma’s objects embrace a wide expanse, of which he justly considers a grammar and dictionary of the language they relate to, as the first desideratum, and none of the specimens of words which he has occasionally gleaned from books, or those sent to him by Mr. Wilson, are correct in orthography. The works in which Mr. Csoma is now engaged will only form a prelude to their further extension and copiousness, and they cannot, I should imagine, fail to excite interest towards that end; but, poor man, his means are limited, and far from adequate to accomplish the vast objects which his mind surveys. The Lama receives twenty-five rupees a month, a servant costs him four, his house-rent one, and writing materials consume a proportion which leaves him less than twenty rupees to provide the necessaries of life, which in that remote and secluded region are very expensive, and must frequently be supplied from Sabathú, or from a distance of two hundred miles. He lives in the most economical manner; his resources would compel him to this if his inclination did not. He enjoys the best of health, perhaps in consequence; for though residing [[87]]at a spot abounding with grapes, apricots, and many other fruits, he assured me he had this season abstained from everything of the sort from a prudent conviction that they could not make him happier, and might injure him. His chief and almost only meal is tea, in the Tartar fashion, which is indeed more like soup, the butter and salt mixed in its preparation leaving no flavour of tea. It is a repast at once greasy and nourishing, and being easily made, is very convenient in such a country.
“Mr. Csoma’s hamlet is at the extreme upper limit of the village of Kanum, at an absolute elevation of 9500 feet. Around him are the romantic abodes of monks, whose religious ceremonies, their pious incantations, &c., have a singular affinity to Romish customs. Below is the monastery, containing the Encyclopædia, but it is also converted into what seems a more substantial purpose with the people, for on my return to Kanum in the beginning of November I found it filled with grapes, and about thirty whole sheep hung up for winter consumption, yet poor Mr. Csoma can hardly afford to taste even a piece of one. The climate here, though warm in summer, is singularly dry, and to this circumstance more than temperature is owing the preservation of animal food for months. There are several convents at this village, but the exactions are far from rigorous, and Mr. Csoma told me, with an air of derision, that many of the nuns became mothers, and in fact enter the convents if they cannot get married or do better; their choice is therefore a prudential measure when they are liable to fare worse: there is much sense though no merit in this. Mr. Csoma showed me some improvements he had made to his cottage; one was a fireplace, which has cost him twelve rupees, and here I could not help feeling with sympathy the value of such a sum to a man, whose whole earthly happiness consists in being merely able to live and devote himself to mankind, with no other reward than a just appreciation and honest fame, [[88]]while I was at the same time daily and no doubt foolishly expending more than enough to give comfort and effect to a mind so noble; feeling, as I did, how little he wanted for himself and how little I valued that which to him provided food for body and mind. Two rustic benches and a couple of ruder chairs are all the furniture in his small abode; but the place looks comfortable and the volumes of the Tibetan works, the ‘Kahgyur’ and ‘Stangyur,’ his manuscripts, and papers are neatly piled up around him. Had Mr. Csoma greater pecuniary resources, he would invite learned men from Teshi Lhunpo, Lassa, and with their assistance study the Mongol language, which he considers the key to Chinese literature. There are many valuable works in the libraries of those ancient cities which are likely never to become an acquisition to our knowledge but through the labours of such a genius as Mr. Csoma. His great aim and unceasing anxiety is to get access to Mongolia and make himself acquainted with the language and people of that strange and very ancient country. The study of dialects to him is no labour, grounded as he is in a perfect knowledge of classical literature and more or less familiar with the structure of every spoken language; but he wants books to revive his early impressions. With a knowledge of the Mongols, their literature, history, and customs, his hopes of new discoveries would never cease to occupy his mind, and on the completion of his present studies he will direct his views to those higher objects.
“Though residing within the British dominions in a country where the inhabitants are morally good, nevertheless Mr. Csoma has to combat against several irksome restraints. The bigotry of the Lamas attached to the monastery, arising from their ignorance of their own faith and of the contents of their beautifully printed works, is a source of much disquietude; while the Wuzeers of the Besarh frontier (Hindoos), under whose care the building is placed, having themselves little [[89]]interest in an institution which emanates from a region where the cow is killed and eaten, but still keeping up the mummery and superstitious reverence of regard, and protecting and in some degree respecting the house of learning, are very intolerant. Mr. Csoma, it is true, has access to the works in the monastery, but this is not without some suspicious vigilance on the part of both Lamas and Hindoos, who allow but two or three volumes to leave the monastery at a time, while his labours require simultaneous resolution, and wound that self-esteem and independent feeling with which he used so frequently to provoke us at Sabathú. His motives are no doubt the best, but they are too refined for society, and certainly would not be always tolerated with patience, especially amongst strangers. He still refuses every offer of assistance, and will not accept of the most trifling article, though in a situation which ought not to admit of such ceremonious policy. I imagined that the late English papers would afford him amusement, but after a few days, he desired me not to send them, adding, that he would not throw himself open to the imputation of suspicion by attending to anything but that which he had pledged himself to prosecute; he then with great emphasis revived his old and strange ideas of his having been taken for a spy, treated at Sabathú as a fool, caressed and ridiculed at the same time, adding, with much self-complacency, that the world would soon see what he was. The same singular feeling regulates his conduct on every occasion. He is jealous of the least suspicion, even of his habits of life. I asked him if he ever used the spirits made from the grape (which are nearly as good as Scotch whisky). He told me that on one occasion of sickness he had procured a little, but afterwards, conceiving that the people of the country might give him the repute of drinking instead of studying, he resolved never again to touch spirits. [[90]]
“On leaving Kanum, I thought I might venture to ask his acceptance of a cloak which was well adapted for so cold a climate. I sent him also some rice and sugar, but he returned the whole, and out of his scanty resources sent me sixteen rupees to purchase a few articles at Sabathú, which I have despatched since my arrival. All this is no doubt commendable, but I cannot think it very wise. Yet though thus extremely tenacious of his own independence, Mr. Csoma would accept of assistance only from a public source, because he seems confident of his ability to return a remunerating advantage; but to private individuals he says he has nothing to give. The only things he would receive from me on his first arrival at Sabathú were a few books to read, and the first he asked for, was the Bible, as best calculated to revive his English, which he had studied grammatically on getting here. This he read through in eight days, and on his journey from Zanskar he accepted of a Latin Dictionary, and on my late tour I left with him a Greek Lexicon. These last are useful to his present studies. He is greatly in want of books of reference, and particularly anxious to see some of the numbers of the Oriental Quarterly Magazine relating to his avocations, two having been sent to him by Mr. Wilson, which from their inaccuracies and references to other numbers excited his curiosity to see more. He would be glad to see some authors on ancient Geography, such as Quintus Curtius, Ptolemy, Diodorus Siculus, and Pliny. Mr. Csoma’s researches are not merely confined to the compilation of the Grammar and Dictionary of the Tibetan language; they embrace many objects of remote ages, illustrative of ancient geography and history, to which the old authors would contribute identity and explanation. He has collected from the printed works and manuscripts in the possession of the Lama much curious information on the geographical and physical features of Tibet. Those records [[91]]treat fully, and, I should say, sensibly, of the route and sources of rivers, remarkable mountains, mines, statistics, religions, creeds and institutions, chronology and historical events. For instance, Lake Mansarowur has always been considered by Eastern geographers as the central source of the great rivers of India, Brahmapootra, Gogra, Sutlej, and Indus, and the highest table-level there, because the waters are thrown off in every direction from that point; but our over-scrupulous exactitude, in literally deriving those rivers from the same lake because the Hindoos had assigned a common origin to them, has led us to tax their ancient traditions with vagueness, incorrectness, and falsehood. Mansarowur being the reputed or even veritable source of these rivers, was a mere figurative position: it was also celebrated on account of Kylas, the throne of Mahadeo, which spires up from that lofty base in the form of a cone, sheeted in snow, and is, without a doubt, the highest point of the earth’s surface. The Hindoos knew as well as we did, that two rivers in so rugged a country could not flow out of the same lake in opposite directions, but there is no question about the proximate conjunction of the whole four. We have yet to learn the Tibetan accounts, and as they promise to be free of much of the theological tincture of the Hindoos, we have still before us an unexplored field of interesting prospects.
“Mr. Csoma is anxious that some British officer who has studied Sanskrit, should make himself also acquainted with Tibetan, as he says they would give reciprocal light to each other, and to a just estimation of the value of the latter language. He himself, though ardent in his researches, is at the same time careful and cautious in his deductions, though these may appear extravagant to others who have no access to the sources of his knowledge, and on this account he is reserved and diffident in communicating all he has acquired; but he only wants encouragement to give full effect to his varied and comprehensive resources. He is deeply sensible of the liberality of [[92]]Government towards him; but at the same time feels his own ability to make a suitable return. For my own part, I should say that the works he is now engaged in (if justly appreciated) will far exceed in actual value and ulterior importance the support he has received from our Government for their accomplishment, though without it he might certainly still have remained in obscurity; and with such men as Mr. Wilson, Mr. MʻKenzie, and Mr. Stirling—all of whom are acquainted with his situation and objects,—I can anticipate nothing but a reward worthy of the individual, and he looks to the future with no small degree of concern. He wants but the means of subsistence, and has only to speak for himself to gain sympathy and respect; but he is poor, humbly clad, and reserved, unless stimulated to animation by some temporary interest; and to see him, as I have seen him, wrapped in sheep-skin, and measuring his wants by his means, one would little suppose him to be the man destined under good fortune to perform the great works he has now in progress. Nothing pleases him so much as to appear interested in his conversation; but he has evidently not been accustomed to the society of the world, and from not knowing the idiom of the English language, he often puts a misconstruction upon words, and breaks forth into singular and dignified irritation at times; he is full of vivacity, but this is often interrupted by the anxiety most natural to him, and he lapses into gloom without a visible cause. When he spoke of his want of books, he remarked that these were few and easily supplied, but that they had not been considered. He particularly dwelt upon the resources of the Asiatic Society—forgetting, however, that he had never solicited their aid. He is too diffident to appeal in his own behalf, and too independent to seek the means through the hands of others. When I offered to make known his situation and the progress he had made with his literary works, he thanked me, and perhaps felt more [[93]]than he wished to express, though in doing so I but do justice to merit in one so situate; and being myself almost the only person who has visited his sequestered retreat, and knowing what is expected from him, any observations may be satisfactory; and I can only add that, if means could be devised to increase his small allowance even to 100 rupees a month, it would be liberality well conferred, and must eventually be well repaid. Mr. Csoma has no selfish gratification; the tribute of honest fame is his only ambition. There are no doubt many in India who would afford him the aid he requires; he peremptorily refuses to accept of anything, but from a public and recognised source. I cannot myself venture to seek the aid of the Asiatic Society in behalf of so bright an object of their patronage, but I should hope that the merits of so highly-gifted and modest an individual will not be long unnoticed. Mr. Csoma will give a most satisfactory explanation of his views, but he would like to be addressed by some one either on the part of the Asiatic Society or Government. He would be flattered and stimulated by such a recognition. The Society, in supporting such a man, would receive their fullest reward in his contributions of literary knowledge of the highest order, and belonging to countries which are yet only known to us as vast terra incognita both in regard to physical configuration, mankind, and learning, and Mr. Csoma would in his turn derive his best gratification from his alliance with an institution so highly established.
“As I was residing in the Monastery at Kanum, I took an opportunity of getting access to the Tibetan Encyclopædia, by stepping in behind the officiating Lama when he came to worship. On discovering me he made some civil remonstrance, and then allowed me to stand behind the door when he slowly opened the folding leaves of the library, and in the interval I stepped up and looked over his shoulders. The works, being distinct, are arranged in separate places. These resemble large [[94]]chests or cisterns, standing on end, and partitioned into cells, each containing a volume, which is carefully wrapped within many folds, laced with cord, and bound tightly between boards of cypress or cedar. The ‘Kahgyur’ is a work of morality, and is, in fact, the Bible, and consists, I believe, of 104 folio volumes, each containing from 500 to 700 pages, all beautifully printed from wooden types. The ‘Stangyur’ is more copious, comprising 240 volumes, and treats upon arts and science. Five volumes are devoted to medicine; the others comprehend astronomy, astrology, rhetoric, poesy, philosophy, history, and a vast variety of subjects. Some of the volumes were opened before me, and I gazed with a sort of reverential feeling upon such gigantic compilations yet unfolded to the world, and thought of the humble individual in the hamlet who was occupied in illustrating their unexplored contents. It is rather singular that those works should be found planted in a Hindoo village, or, at least, established amongst people who are not alienated from Hindoo tenets, though tinctured with Buddhist principles; but poor Moorcroft mentions, in his tour to Mansarowur, having seen a greater number of Hindoo images in the Tartar village of Dala, than he ever recollected meeting with before in India, at any one spot. The contrast is, however, great, though there is both identity and unity in their divinity and chief duties, for Mr. Csoma affirms that the Tibetan faith, both in precept and practice, approaches nearer to the Christian religion than that of any Asiatic nation whatever. The Tibetan works appear to have been very widely disseminated throughout that country, and we may safely ascribe this multiplicity of books to the facility which the art of printing afforded. We find fragments and manuscripts of great antiquity scattered about and deposited in situations which are now almost deserted by man. At the village of Skuno, which lay in my route, and is planted upon the eastern frontier of Kunawur, near the confines of [[95]]China, at a height of 12,000 feet, is a labrung or monastery, a melancholy record of better times. Here the traveller beholds files of printed papers full of learning, bound up in cypress boards, as if shut for the last time. I had a Chinese interpreter with me, who dipped into one of the books and read some passages relating to science. I could not but gaze with wonder and reverence upon those relics of learning now no longer useful, but as dead records: nobody turns over the fine pages of those ancient and extraordinary works, upon which time has made but little change, and in so cold and arid a climate will remain when the temple itself falls to ruin, and this is going on gradually; but two hundred years have effected little decay. The type of the printing is very beautiful, and looks fresh; bound as they are closely together, in an atmosphere without insects or moisture, in a climate rude even in summer, they seem calculated to defy time itself. In former days those books were read and people attended here at prayers, but now there is nothing left of what has once been. The masters are gone for ever, but the temple and books stand still, like the pyramids, pointing to times which have no other record. I was much tempted to commit sacrilege here, and steal away some of the scientific volumes, but I had not a good opportunity.
“The edition of the ‘Kahgyur’ and ‘Stangyur’ at Kanum was sent from Teshi Lhunpo only about nine years ago; the printing bears a date of ninety years, yet the ink and type look as perfect and fresh as ever. No insects attack them, though the climate here is varying in summer. The book-cases being made of cedar are indestructible. The fact of printing in Tibet, however curious, can no longer be questioned, for I myself have brought down a specimen of it from Sungnam. The types are not movable, but cut in wooden frames, which must be productive of great labour and bulkiness, if used to any extent; but I suspected that at Teshi Lhunpo [[96]]and Lassa the types are alphabetical, and like our own are movable. Should this not be the case, the only other substitute instead of frames would be lithography, which is known to prevail there; but Mr. Csoma says that the art of printing dates a little posterior to the era which discovered it in Europe. There are no images in the temple at Kanum, and worship seems to be performed out of pure respect for the house of learning. Kanum is the only spot of Kunawur which possesses those works entire.
“We find indeed detached volumes and piles of papers in many of the other villages, as Sungnam, Skuno, and Nissung; and in Piti, in Ladak, where those works are sheltered, beautiful paintings and casts as large as life adorn the monasteries, leaving us wondering at the origin and antiquity of such remains in regions wild in aspect and sterile in production. Additional interest is thrown over those mighty scenes of the Himalayas in the curious fact, which has recently come to my knowledge, of the discovery in an obscure spot of Kunawur of a relic of the Romish missionaries’ work on Tibet, the Speculum Veritatis, bearing a date of 1678. This curious record was picked up by the Rev. Mr. W., whom I met with in my travels, and then little thought that so precious a fragment would have found its way into his hands, judging from an observation on first meeting him on the northern face of the Himalaya. The fragment of literature acquired by Mr. W. (which I suspect is part of Andrada’s mission) has been sent to Mr. Csoma for elucidation, and I expect soon to hear of its contents.
“In all this, I have only been able to trace a margin of a new and gigantic map; we must look to the central plateau of Tartary for that knowledge which we have seen indicated elsewhere, and a grander field as regards natural aspect and configuration could not be selected, an aspect barren, it is true, but interesting from the grandeur of its barrenness, and concealing under its [[97]]rugged and forbidding features, resources the most varied and estimable to science, literature, and art. To speak of those positive advantages in respect of climate and production even within our territory: such is the aridity of the interior of Kunawar that the roots of the rheum palmatum, which I dug up from amidst patches of snow on the slope of the pass in the Himalayan chain in the end of June, were already dry and pulverisable the following month, and moist opium received from Kotgarh in July became brittle and fit to be powdered in August, while in Calcutta this is impracticable in the driest season without the aid of adventitious heat.
“It was now the end of September, and the climate was highly agreeable, the grapes being already ripe. Here, at an elevation of nine thousand feet, the vine finds a temperature congenial to its perfect maturity; but it is to the summer heat of those spots that its successful culture is indebted, since in winter reigns a keen and protracted frost, and the snow falls from four to five feet deep, lying in the fields till April. The vines are left unprotected, and remain buried under their congealed clothing. Fruits of various kinds, as apples, apricots, and nectarines, come to high perfection in a climate free from periodical rains and exposed to intense solar radiation. Thus a region which produces the finest grapes if in insolated exposure, or lying on the Indian aspect of Himalaya, will hardly yield a crop of grain, owing to the want of a stronger ephemeral heat. For the same reason grain succeeds in the valley of the Sutlej, and in spots within the Chinese dominions, at elevations which, on the southern side of the Himalayas, are loaded with ice; but the winters of the interior, on the other hand, teem with rigours which we can form but little idea of. It is true, the sky is mostly clear, and the sun’s rays at the loftiest spots are sufficient to keep the people, or rather one side of them, warm in the dead of winter. During my stay at Kanum the extremes of the [[98]]thermometer were 33° to 77°; but when I returned, only one month later, I found them 30° and 52°, and snow had fallen. So sudden is the vicissitude in an atmosphere deriving its heat from solar radiation. I left a thermometer with Mr. Csoma, being desirous of ascertaining the winter climate of the spot which rears the vine so abundantly. But Mr. Csoma has little or no interest in anything beyond his literary studies, and I was often provoked at his indifference to objects calculated to illustrate the physical character of the countries he resides in and add to the value of his own pursuits.
“He has promised to keep a register of the temperature for me.
“On the 30th of September I took leave of the Hungarian and his intelligent companion the Lama.”
Csoma’s aversion to occupy himself with anything outside the range of his studies has been noticed already; but to please his friend Dr. Gerard he was induced to make meteorological observations, and did furnish valuable records from Kanum, extending over a period of two years. These came ultimately into General Cunningham’s hands, and were embodied by him into his own work on “Ladak,” at page 184. [[99]]
[1] In the district of Zanskar, in the province of Ladak. [↑]
[2] For a further explanation of this incident, see the author’s Tibetan Grammar, at page 168. [↑]
[3] See letter to Captain Kennedy, at page 46. [↑]
CHAPTER VII.
Csoma completes his Tibetan studies at Kanum; Correspondence with Dr. Wilson, Captain Kennedy, and Mr. B. H. Hodgson.
The perusal of Dr. Gerard’s almost forgotten letter gives a vivid picture of the strange surroundings in the midst of which Csoma was placed whilst studying at the Buddhist Monastery among the Himalayan Mountains. In the truthfulness of the description, Gerard’s pen surpasses almost the fancies of imagination. The devoted student spent four winter seasons exposed to the rigorous climates of Yangla and Kanum in the pursuit, not of imaginary theories, as has been so often stated of him, but in the fulfilment of engagements which he undertook for the Government.