sting the Himalayas with the Alps, there is always
something that the former is without. Never the snows, and the water,
and the greenery at the same time; if the greenery is at your feet, the
snows are far distant; where the Himalayas gain in grandeur they lose in
beauty. So I thought the wild valley of Lauterbrunnen, lying at the foot
of the Jungfrau, the perfection of Alpine scenery until I saw the valley
of Yatung, a pine-clad mountain glen, green as a hawthorn hedge in May,
as brilliantly variegated as a beechwood copse in autumn, and
culminating in the snowy peak that overhangs the Jelapla. The valley has
besides an intangible fascination, indescribable because it is
illogical. Certainly the light that played upon all these colours seemed
to me softer than everyday sunshine; and the opening spring foliage of
larch and birch and mountain ash seemed more delicate and varied than on
common ground. Perhaps it was that I was approaching the forbidden land.
But what irony, that this seductive valley should be the approach to
the most bare and unsheltered country in Asia!

Even now, in February, I can detect a few salmon-coloured leaf-buds,
which remind me that the month of May will be a revelation to the
mission force, when their veins are quickened by the unfamiliar warmth,
and their eyes dazzled by this unexpected treasure which is now
germinating in the brown earth.

Four miles beyond Chumbi the road passes through the second military
wall at the Chinese village of Gob-sorg. Riding through the quiet
gateway beneath the grim, hideous figure of the goddess Dolma carved on
the rock above, one feels a silent menace. One is part of more than a
material invasion; one has passed the gate that has been closed against
the profane for centuries; one has committed an irretrievable step.
Goddess and barrier are symbols of Tibet's spiritual and material
agencies of opposition. We have challenged and defied both. We have
entered the arena now, and are to be drawn into the vortex of all that
is most sacred and hidden, to struggle there with an implacable foe, who
is protected by the elemental forces of nature.

Inside the wall, above the road, stands the Chinese village of Gob-sorg.
The Chinamen come out of their houses and stand on the revetment to
watch us pass. They are as quiet and ugly as their gods. They gaze down
on our convoys and modern contrivances with a silent contempt that
implies a consciousness of immemorial superi