not get a horse or a reindeer anywhere, because everywhere in the desert the people were afraid of the lamas.
The lamas, they said, were rich—they gave money to the officials, but we have nothing to give.
What could I say to comfort them? I might have promised to propose to the Synod, that the monasteries and convents which had "much money" should share it with us who were poor, and give us a certain sum to bribe the officials, but I was afraid that in the vast halls of the Synod this request might be found out of place, and, having prayed to God, they might refuse me assistance for the purpose of bribery. At the same time, even if such means were in our hands, this might also be uncertain: my apostles had disclosed to me so much weakness in themselves, which in conjunction with the circumstances, had a very grave significance.
"We feel compassion for the savages," they said, "They will lose the little sense they have from all this worry; to-day we baptize them, tomorrow the lamas convert them and order them to deny Christ, and as a penalty take anything they can find belonging to them. The poor people are beggared of their cattle and their scanty understanding—all the religions become muddled
