glad to see foreigners within their borders, but unfortunately
the orders of China were imperative.
Latterly, however, the Tibetans abandoned this pretence,
and at a great meeting of the Tsong-du, which
was attended by representatives from all parts of the
country, they made a national vow that no stranger,
under any circumstances whatever, should henceforth
be permitted to enter the country. This. vow they
made doubly sure by annexing it as an article of faith
to the Buddhist creed. One of Colonel Young-
husband’s earliest diplomatic successes was the silencing
of this plea. He asked them whether it were indeed part
of the Buddhist faith or not ? They answered that it
was ; he replied, that he knew the Buddhist scriptures
well, and that nowhere from end to end of them was
there one word which could justify this assertion.
Retreating a little from their position the Tibetans then
said, “ Well, it is not perhaps really an article of faith, but
we have decided that so it must be.” To this Colonel
Younghusband naturally answered that those who could
make could also unmake, and that if their religion were
not concerned there was no reason that they should not
at once reconsider what was a mere matter of policy.
Had the Tibetans confined themselves to this assertion
of their inviolability, our relations with the country
would have remained as satisfactory as could have been
wished. The loss of trade was after all a small matter,
and, in any case, it was one which the Tibetans had every
right to decide. But the presence in Lhasa of a single
man began the trouble which eventually made the
expedition necessary. The history of Dorjieff may as
well be told at once.
About twenty-five years ago there arrived in Lhasa
a young lama from the Siberian steppes to the east
of Lake Baikal. He was by birth a Mongolian Buriat,
but by nationality a Russian subject. He was born
at a place called Azochozki, and was destined from
his youth to holy orders. He came to Lhasa and was
received into that hot-bed o f . sedition, the Debung
monastery, where, displaying unusual ability, he ultimately
became professor of metaphysics. In no way did
he dabble in political affairs, and he seemed destined to
spend the autumn of his life as a teacher. He had
reached the age of fifty-two when, more by chance than
by design, he found himself involved in high international
politics, and entered upon the adventurous career
of intrigue which has made his name notorious in the
chancelleries of Calcutta, London, and St. Petersburg.
His first journey from Lhasa to Russia was innocent
enough; he was sent in 1898 to collect contributions
from the faithful, of whom there are many communities
in the south-eastern provinces of Russia in Europe. He
travelled in the country from town to town, and at last
the Russian ministers seemed to have awakened to the
opportunity which lay before them.
Throughout this book I do not wish to suggest that
Russia, in attempting to gain influence in Lhasa, was
guilty of anything which reflects the least discredit
upon her statesmen. On the other hand, it was a
farsighted and, from many points of view, an entirely
laudable attempt to consolidate the Central Asian
Empire, which she believes to be her rightful heritage.
The only reason why the British found it necessary
to intervene was that the equally justifiable policy
which they had themselves deliberately adopted, and
their own vastly greater interests in Tibet, clashed