_A Name is given to the child -- Prediction of the Pounhas
respecting the child -- Death of Maia -- Miraculous occurrence
at the child's cradle -- Adolescence of the Phralaong -- He sees
the four signs -- Return from the garden to the royal city._
Five days after the birth of Phralaong, took place the ceremony of
washing the head and giving him a name. In the apartment of the palace
several kinds of perfumed wood and essences, such as sandal-wood,
lignum, aloes, camphor, &c., were strewed profusely, as well as the most
exquisitely scented flowers and parched rice. The nogana (a sort of
beverage made of milk, sugar, and honey) was prepared in great
abundance. One hundred and eighty Pounhas,[1] the most versed in the
science of astrology, were invited to partake of a splendid
entertainment in the palace. The king made to every one of them costly
presents, and desired them to examine carefully all the signs,
prognosticating the future destiny of his son. Amidst that crowd of
soothsayers, eight Pounhas were present, who explained the dream that
Maia had in the beginning of her pregnancy. Seven of them, lifting up
the index[2] of each hand of the child, were amazed at the wonderful
signs their eyes met. "If this child," said they, "remain in the society
of men, he will become a mighty ruler that will bring all nations under
his sway; but if he embrace the profession of recluse, he will certainly
become a Buddha." They began to foretell the incomparable glory and high
honours that would attend his universal reign. The eighth Pounha, named
Kauntagnia, the descendant of the celebrated son of Thoodata, and the
youngest of all, raised up the index of one hand of the child. Struck
with the wonderful and unmistakable signs that forced themselves on his
view, he exclaimed, "No! this child will not remain long in the society
of men; he will free himself from the vicissitudes[3] and miseries
attending the existence of all beings, and will finally become a
Buddha." As the child was to be the instrument for promoting the welfare
and merits of all mortals, they gave him the name of Theiddat.
Seven days after her confinement Maia died, and by the virtue of her
merits migrated to the seat of Toocita, and became the daughter of a
Nat.[G] Her death was not the result of her delivery, but she departed
this world because the term of her life had come. On their return to
their home, the Pounhas assembled their children and said to them, "We
are already advanced in years. We dare not promise to ourselves that we
will ever see the son of King Thoodaudana become a Buddha; but to you
such a favour is reserved. Listen respectfully to all his instructions,
and endeavour to enter the profession of Rahan without delay, and
withdraw into solitude. Let us also all join you in that holy vocation."
Three Pounhas refused the invitation, and would not enter the
profession. The five others cheerfully gave up everything, and became
distinguished members of the ascetic body.
[G] Maia was confined in the beginning of the third age. This
expression is rather a very loose and general one, and is far
from indicating, with any approach to accuracy, the period of
Maia's age when she was delivered of her son. The age of man is
divided into three parts. The first extends from birth to the
sixteenth or eighteenth year; the second goes to the forty-fifth
year or thereabout; and the third, from the forty-fifth year to
the end of life. Phralaong was born on the 68th year of the
Eatzana era, on the 6th after the full moon of the month
Katsong. Maia was therefore fifty-six years old. The author of
this work strives hard to prove this the age, apparently
advanced of Maia, was the best fitted for securing the safety
and perfection of the fruit of her womb.
King Thoodaudana, hearing of the explanation given by the Pounhas,
inquired whether his son was really to become a Rahan. Having been
assured that all the signs predicted the future destiny of his son to
such a calling, he desired to know what those signs were. He was told
that the four following things were the very signs foreshowing the
future career of his son, viz., an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and
a recluse.[4] As soon as his son should successively remark those four
signs, he would immediately come to the conclusion that the state of
Rahan alone is worthy of the warm admiration and eager wishes of a wise
man.
King Thoodaudana, who ardently wished to see his son become a great
monarch, whose sway would extend over the four great islands and the two
thousand smaller ones, gave the strictest orders that none of the four
omens should ever meet his eyes. Guards were placed in every direction
at distances of a mile, charged with but one care, that of keeping out
of his son's sight the appearance of these fatal omens.
On that day eighty thousand noblemen, who were present at the great
rejoicings, pledged themselves each one to give one of his male children
to attend on the royal infant. "If he become," said they, "a mighty
monarch, let our sons be ever with him, as a guard of honour to confer
additional lustre on his wonderful reign. If he be ever elevated to the
sublime dignity of Buddha, let our children enter the holy profession of
recluse, and follow him whithersoever he may direct his steps."
Thoodaudana, with the tender solicitude of a vigilant father, procured
for his beloved offspring nurses exempt from all corporeal defects, and
remarkable for their beautiful and graceful appearance.
The child grew up, surrounded with a brilliant retinue of numerous
attendants.
On a certain day happened the joyful feast of the ploughing season. The
whole country, by the magnificence of the ornaments that decorated it,
resembled one of the seats of Nats. The country people without
exception, wearing new dresses, went to the palace. One thousand ploughs
and the same number of pairs of bullocks were prepared for the occasion.
Eight hundred ploughs, less one, were to be handled and guided by
noblemen. The ploughs, as well as the yokes and the horns of the
bullocks, were covered with silver leaves. But the one reserved for the
monarch was covered with leaves of gold. Accompanied by a countless
crowd of his people, King Thoodaudana left the royal city and went into
the middle of extensive fields. The royal infant was brought out by his
nurses on this joyful occasion. A splendid jambu tree (_Eugenia_),
loaded with thick and luxuriant green foliage, offered on that spot a
refreshing place under the shade of its far-spreading branches. Here the
bed of the child was deposited. A gilt canopy was immediately raised
above it, and curtains, embroidered with gold, were disposed round it.
Guardians having been appointed to watch over the infant, the king,
attended by all his courtiers, directed his steps towards the place
where all the ploughs were held in readiness. He instantly put his hands
to his own plough; eight hundred noblemen, less one, and the country
people followed his example. Pressing forward his bullocks, the king
ploughed to and fro through the extent of the fields. All the ploughmen,
emulating their royal lord, drove their ploughs in a uniform direction.
The scene presented a most animated and stirring spectacle on an immense
scale. The applauding multitude filled the air with cries of joy and
exultation. The nurses, who kept watch by the side of the infant's
cradle, excited by the animated scene, forgot the prince's orders, and
ran near to the spot to enjoy the soul-stirring sight displayed before
their admiring eyes. Phralaong, casting a glance all round, and seeing
no one close by him, rose up instantly, and, sitting in a cross-legged
position, remained absorbed as it were in a profound meditation. The
other nurses, busy in preparing the prince's meal, had spent more time
than was at first contemplated. The shadow of the trees had, by the
movement of the sun, turned in an opposite direction. The nurses,
reminded by this sight that the infant had been left alone, and that his
couch was exposed to the rays of the sun, hastened back to the spot they
had so imprudently left. But great was their surprise when they saw that
the shadow of the jambu tree had not changed its position, and that the
child was quietly sitting on his bed. The news of that wonder was
immediately conveyed to King Thoodaudana, who came in all haste to
witness it. He forthwith prostrated himself before his son, saying,
"This is, beloved child, the second time that I bow to you."
Phralaong[5] having reached his sixteenth year, his father ordered three
palaces to be built for each season of the year. Each palace had nine
stories; and forty thousand maidens, skilful in playing all sorts of
musical instruments, were in continual attendance upon him, and charmed
all his moments by uninterrupted dances and music. Phralaong appeared
among them with the beauty and dignity of a Nat, surrounded with an
immense retinue of daughters of Nats. According to the change of seasons
he passed from one palace into another, moving as it were in a circle of
ever-renewed pleasures and amusements. It was then that Phralaong was
married to the beautiful Yathaudara, his first cousin, and the daughter
of Thouppabudha and of Amitau. It was in the eighty-sixth year of his
grandfather's era that he was married, and also consecrated Prince royal
by the pouring of the blessed water over his head.
Whilst Phralaong was spending his time in the midst of pleasures, his
relatives complained to the king of the conduct of his son. They
strongly remonstrated against his mode of living, which precluded him
from applying himself to the acquisition of those attainments befitting
his exalted station. Sensible of these reproaches, Thoodaudana sent for
his son, to whom he made known the complaints directed against him by
his relatives. Without showing any emotion, the young prince replied,
"Let it be announced at the sound of the drum throughout the country,
that this day week I will show to my relatives in the presence of the
best masters that I am fully conversant with the eighteen sorts of arts
and sciences." On the appointed day he displayed before them the extent
of his knowledge; they were satisfied, and their doubts and anxieties on
his account were entirely removed.
On a certain day Phralaong, desiring to go and enjoy some sports in his
garden, ordered his coachman to have his conveyance ready for that
purpose. Four horses, richly caparisoned, were put to a beautiful
carriage, that resembled the dwelling-place of a Nat. Phralaong having
occupied his seat, the coachman drove rapidly towards the garden. The
Nats, who knew that the time was near at hand when Phralaong would
become a Buddha, resolved to place successively before his eyes the four
signs foreshowing his future high dignity. One of them assumed the form
of an old man, the body bending forward, with grey hairs, a shrivelled
skin, and leaning languidly on a heavy staff. In that attire, he
advanced slowly, with trembling steps, towards the prince's conveyance.
He was seen and remarked only by Phralaong and his coachman. "Who is
that man?" said the prince to his driver; "the hairs of his head,
indeed, do not resemble those of other men." "Prince," answered the
coachman, "he is an old man. Every born being is doomed to become like
him; his appearance must undergo the greatest changes, the skin by the
action of time will shrivel, the hairs turn grey, the veins and
arteries, losing their suppleness and elasticity, will become stiff and
hardened, the flesh will gradually sink and almost disappear, leaving
the bare bones covered with dry skin." "What?" said to himself the
terrified prince; "birth is indeed a great evil, ushering all beings
into a wretched condition, which must be inevitably attended with the
disgusting infirmities of old age!" His mind being taken up entirely
with such considerations, he ordered his coachman to drive back to the
palace. Thoodaudana, having inquired from his courtiers what motive had
induced his son to return so soon from the place of amusement, was told
that he had seen an old man, and that he entertained the thought of
becoming a Rahan.[H] "Alas!" said he, "they will succeed in thwarting
the high destiny of my son. But let us try now every means to afford him
some distraction, so that he may forget the evil idea that has just
started up in his mind." He gave orders to bring to his son's palace the
prettiest and most accomplished dancing-girls, that, in the midst of
ever renewed pleasure, he might lose sight of the thought of ever
entering the profession of Rahan. The guard surrounding his palace was
doubled, so as to preclude the possibility of his ever seeing the other
signs.
[H] In the course of this work the word Rahan is often used. It
is of the greatest importance that the reader should firmly
seize the meaning that it is designed to convey. We find it
employed to designate, in general, the religious belonging
either to the Buddhistic or Brahminical sects. When Buddhists
happen to mention their brethren of the opposite creed, who have
renounced the world and devoted themselves to the practice of
religious duties, they invariably call them Rahans. When they
speak of Pounhas or Brahmins, who are living in the world,
leading an ordinary secular mode of life, they never style them
Rahans. Thence we may safely infer that the individuals to whom
this denomination was applied formed a class of devotees quite
distinct from the laymen.
That class, it appears, comprised all the individuals who lived
either in community under the superintendence and guidance of a
spiritual superior, or privately in forests under the protecting
shade of trees, and in lonely and solitary places. The latter
religious are, however, generally designated by the appellation
of Ascetics and Rathees. They were the forefathers of those
fanatics who up to our days have appeared through the breadth
and length of the Indian Peninsula, practising penitential deeds
of the most cruel and revolting description. They are described
by Buddhists as wearing curled and twisted hair, clad in the
skins of wild beasts, and not unfrequently quite destitute of
any sort of clothing, and in a state of complete nakedness.
The former, who lived in community, did not lead the same course
of life. We find some communities, the three, for instance,
under the guidance of the three Kathabas, in the Ouroowela
forest, not far from Radzagio, whose inmates are called either
Rahans or Rathees. This indicates that their mode of life
partook both of the common and hermitical life, resembling, to a
certain extent, that which was observed by the Christian
communities of cenobites established in the desert of Upper
Egypt during the first ages of our era.
Those communities appear to have been the centres in which
principles were established, opinions discussed, and theories
elaborated. The chiefs enjoyed high reputation for learning.
Persons desirous to acquire proficiency in science resorted to
their abode, and, under their tuition, strove to acquire wisdom.
The following pages of this work will afford several striking
illustrations of the view just sketched out.
On another day, Phralaong, on his way to his garden, met with the same
Nat under the form of a sick man, who appeared quite sinking under the
weight of the most loathsome disease. Frightened at such a sight,
Phralaong, hearing from the mouth of his faithful driver what this
disgusting object was, returned in all haste to his palace. His father,
more and more disturbed at the news conveyed to him, multiplied the
pleasures and enjoyments destined for his son, and doubled the number of
guards that had to watch over him. On a third occasion, whilst the
prince was taking a walk, the same Nat, assuming the shape of a dead
man, offered to the astonished regards of the prince the shocking sight
of a corpse. Trembling with fear, the young prince came back forthwith
to his residence. Thoodaudana, being soon informed of what had taken
place, resorted to fresh precautions, and extended to the distance of
one youdzana the immense line of countless guards set all round the
palace.
On a fourth occasion, the prince, driving rapidly towards his garden,
was met on his way by the same Nat under the meek form of a Rahan. The
curiosity of the prince was awakened by the extraordinary sight of that
new personage: he asked his coachman what he was. "Prince," answered the
coachman, "he is a Rahan." At the same time, though little acquainted
with the high dignity and sublime qualifications of a recluse, he was
enabled, by the power of the Nats, to praise and extol in dignified
language the profession and merits of Rahans. The prince felt
instantaneously an almost irresistible inclination to embrace that
attractive mode of life. He quietly went as far as his garden.
The whole day was spent in all sorts of rural diversions. Having bathed
in a magnificent tank, he went a little before sunset to rest awhile on
a large well-polished stone table, overshaded by the far-spread branches
of beautiful trees hanging above it, waiting for the time to put on his
richest dress. All his attendants were busily engaged in preparing the
finest clothes and most elegant ornaments. When all was ready, they
stood silent round him, waiting for his orders. Perfumes of every
description were disposed in a circular row with the various ornaments
on the table whereon the prince was sitting.
At that very moment a chief Thagia was quietly enjoying a delicious and
refreshing rest on the famous stone table called Pantoo Kambala. On a
sudden, he felt his seat as it were getting hot. "Lo! what does this
mean?" said the astonished Thagia; "am I doomed to lose my happy state?"
Having recollected himself, and reflected a while on the cause of such a
wonderful occurrence, he soon knew that Phralaong was preparing to put
on for the last time his princely dress. He called to him the son of a
Nat, named Withakioon, and said to him, "On this day, at midnight,
Prince Theiddat is to leave his palace and withdraw into solitude. Now
he is in his garden, preparing to put on his richest attire for the last
time. Go, therefore, without a moment's delay, to the place where he is
sitting, surrounded by his attendants, and perform to him all the
required services." Bowing respectfully to the chief of Thagias,
Withakioon obeyed, and by the power inherent in the nature of Nats, he
was in an instant carried to the presence of Phralaong. He assumed the
figure of his barber, and immediately set to work to arrange the turban
with as much taste as art round his head. Phralaong soon found out that
the skilful hand which disposed the folds of his head-dress was not that
of a man, but of a Nat. One fold of the turban appeared like one
thousand, and ten folds like ten thousand folds, offering the magical
_coup-d'oeil_ of as many different pieces of cloth, arranged with the
most consummate skill. The extremity of the turban, which crossed
vertically the whole breadth of the countless folds, appeared covered
with a profusion of shining rubies. The head of Phralaong was small, but
the folds of the turban seemed numberless. How could that be so? It is a
wonder surpassing our understanding; it would be rashness and temerity
to allow our minds to dwell too much upon it.
Having completely dressed, Phralaong[6] found himself surrounded by all
sorts of musicians, singers, and dancers, vying with each other in their
endeavours to increase the rejoicing. The Pounhas sang aloud his praise.
"May he conquer and triumph! May his wishes and desires be ever
fulfilled!" The multitude repeated incessantly in his honour stanzas of
praises and blessings. In the midst of universal rejoicings, Phralaong
ascended his carriage. He had scarcely seated himself on it, when a
message, sent by his father, conveyed to him the gladdening tidings that
Yathaudara had been delivered of a son. "That child," replied he with
great coolness, "is a new and strong tie that I will have to break." The
answer having been brought to his father, Thoodaudana could not
understand its meaning. He, however, caused his grandson to be named
Raoula. Phralaong, sitting in his carriage, surrounded by crowds of
people, who rent the air with cries of joy and jubilation, entered into
the city of Kapilawot. At that moment a princess, named Keissa Gautami,
was contemplating from her apartments the triumphant entrance of
Phralaong into the city. She admired the noble and graceful deportment
of Prince Theiddat, and exclaimed with feelings of inexpressible
delight, "Happy the father and mother who have such an incomparable son!
happy the wife who is blest with such an accomplished husband!" On
hearing those words, Phralaong desired to understand their meaning and
know their bearing. "By what means," said he to himself, "can a heart
find peace and happiness?" As his heart was already disentangled from
the thraldom of passions, he readily perceived that real happiness could
be found but in the extinction of concupiscence, pride, ignorance, and
other passions. He resolved henceforth to search ardently for the happy
state of Neibban, by quitting the world that very night, leaving the
society of men, and withdrawing into solitude. Detaching from his neck a
collar of pearls of immense value, he sent it to Keissa Gautami, as a
token of gratitude for the excellent lesson she had given him by the
words which she had uttered in his praise. The young princess received
it as a mark of favour which she imagined Prince Theiddat intended to
pay her. Without further notice of her, he retired into his own
apartment to enjoy some rest.
FOOTNOTES
[1] Which of the two systems, Buddhism or Brahminism, is the
most ancient? This is a question which learned Orientalists have
in former days variously answered. If, however, some credit is
to be given to this Legend, and the hero thereof is to be
regarded as the author of Buddhism, the solution of that
much-controverted question is comparatively easy, and seems to
admit of no doubt. Priority of antiquity is decidedly in favour
of Brahminism. At the time Buddha was born, and in his own
country, we find already subsisting the great politico-religious
fabric of Hinduism. The distinction of caste is already
mentioned in several passages. We find the Pounhas or Brahmins
already monopolising the lucrative trade of soothsaying, and
regarded as the best informed among their countrymen. They are
treated with great respect and consideration even by proud
monarchs, who testify their regard for them by costly presents
and every possible mark of distinction. It is true that their
caste is not always spoken of with great regard by Buddhist
authors; but this is to be attributed to the deadly enmity that
prevailed at a later period between those two great rival sects,
which have so long struggled for supremacy over the Indian
Peninsula. The Brahminical creed is spoken of in very
disparaging terms by Buddhists; and, as a matter of course, they
have been reciprocally handled severely by their opponents. To
those who feel inclined to regard Buddha as but a great reformer
of a religious system already existing, the question will not
appear cleared of all difficulty. But upon them rests the task
of establishing on uncontrovertible grounds their hypothesis,
ere any serious attention can be paid to the conclusion they
would fain infer in favour of the superior antiquity of
Buddhism. As for us, we believe Buddha to be the real author of
the great religious system under examination. But, at the same
time, we readily concede that many elements found existing in
those days were seized upon by Buddha, and skilfully arranged so
as to harmonise well with his plans.
[2] Superstition and ignorance seem to have been in all ages and
under every climate the prolific source of human follies and
mental delusions. Man has always been and will ever be the same
ridiculously superstitious being, as long as his mind is left to
itself, unenlightened by revelation. With few exceptions, the
greatest men of Italy and Greece were as superstitious as the
_vulgus_, to whom, in every other respect, they were so
superior. The resemblance error bears to truth, when human
passions have some interest at stake, deceives many; under
deceitful appearances it finds its way to the mind, and then
clings to the heart. There is in man an innate desire of tearing
asunder the thick veil that hides from him the knowledge of
future events. Unable to comprehend the perfect economy of an
all-wise Providence in the disposition and management of the
affairs of this world, he has recourse to the most absurd means
for satiating the cravings of his inordinate curiosity. Hence
the prevailing superstition of those days, which induced men to
believe that Brahmins, on inspecting the inner part of the hand,
could discover certain signs, foreshowing the good or bad
destiny of every individual.
[3] Metempsychosis, or the transmigration of the soul from one
state of existence into another in the same world, is one of the
leading dogmas of Buddhism. Many passages of the present work,
or rather the Buddhistic system as a whole, can never be
understood unless this tenet be always borne in mind. It is by
passing through countless existences that a being is slowly
purified of his imperfections, and gradually advances in the way
of merits and perfection. The sacred writings of Buddhists
mention that our Phralaong had to range, during innumerable
existences, the whole series of the animal kingdom, from the
dove to the elephant, ere he could be born in the state of man,
when, in this condition, he, as stated by himself, went often
into hell to atone for certain trespassings. Pythagoras had
likely borrowed, and received directly or indirectly from the
East, this doctrine, which his school re-echoed throughout
Greece and Italy. The end of metempsychosis is, according to
Buddhists, the state of Neibban. On this point the author of
Buddhism has been at variance with other religious schools,
which in his own days held and professed the dogma of
transmigration.
[4] The three first allegorical omens or signs which, according
to the foretelling of the Pounhas, were to be seen and observed
hereafter by Phralaong, are designed to mean and express the
compound of all miseries attending human existence, from the
moment man crosses the threshold of life to that of death. The
view of these objects was intended to make him disgusted with a
state necessarily accompanied with such an amount of
wretchedness. He was soon induced by reflection to hold in
contempt the things of this world, and consequently to seek with
ardour some means of estranging himself from all visible and
material objects. The fourth sign, that is to say, the view of a
Rahan, or a contemner of this world, aspiring to perfect
disengagement from the trammels of passion, and shaping his
course towards Neibban, was the very pattern he had to imitate
and follow for arriving to that state of perfection which he
felt a strong, though as yet somewhat confused, desire of
possessing.
The Nats or Dewatas are the ever-ready ministers for affording
to Phralaong the assistance he requires to reach in safety the
Buddhaship. They rejoice at the news of his approaching
conception in the womb of Maia; they watch over the mother who
is to give birth to so blessed a child; they receive the
newly-born infant, and hand him over to men; they baffle, by
their almost supernatural power, the obstacles which the
worldly-minded Thoodaudana tries to throw in the way of his
son's vocation; in a word, their angelical ministrations are
always at hand to help and protect our Phralaong, and enable him
to reach that state wherein he shall be fully qualified for
announcing to men the law of deliverance. The belief in the
agency of angels between heaven and earth, and their being the
messengers of God for conveying, on solemn occasions, his
mandates to men, is coeval, according to sacred records, with
the appearance of man in this world. Innumerable are the
instances of angelical ministrations mentioned in the holy writ.
We look upon angels as mere spiritual substances, assuming a
human form, when, by the command of God, they have to bring down
to men some divine message. In the system of the Buddhists, Nats
are described as having bodies indeed, but of such a pure
nature, particularly those inhabiting the superior seats, that
they are not only not subjected to the miseries inherent in our
nature, but are moreover gifted with such superior attainments
as almost to enjoy the perfections and qualifications inherent
in the nature of spirits. On this occasion the Nats are
endeavouring to make virtue triumph over vice; but, in the
course of this legend, we will have several opportunities of
remarking a counteraction worked up by evil or wicked Nats for
upholding the reign of passion or of sin. In this system the two
contending elements of good and evil have each its own advocates
and supporters. A Hindu Milton might have found two thousand
years ago a ready theme for writing, in Sanscrit or Pali, a poem
similar to that more recently composed by the immortal English
bard.
[5] From what has been already mentioned of the life of our
Phralaong, we may see that many particulars regarding his birth
and his childhood have been described with sufficient accuracy;
but little or nothing is said of his adolescence, at least until
the age of sixteen, when he gets united to the famous and
youthful Yathaudara. In common with many other great men, almost
all the years of the private life of this celebrated and
extraordinary personage are wrapped up in a complete obscurity.
We may conclude from his great proficiency in the knowledge of
those sciences and attainments befitting his high situation, he
was not remiss, since he was enabled to set at defiance the
greatest masters of those days. In the midst of pleasures he
knew how to devote the best part of his time to study, unless we
suppose that science was infused into his mind by no exertion of
his own. The Burmese have a regular mania for dividing with a
mathematical precision what at first appears to admit of no such
division. Virtues, vices, sciences, arts, &c., all, in a word,
are subjected to a rigorous division, which, if arbitrary in
itself, has the great advantage of conferring a substantial help
to the memory.
[6] The triumphant return of Phralaong from his garden to the
city, when he is attired with the richest dress, is commemorated
by Buddhists, at least in Burmah, on the day a young boy is
preparing to enter into a monastery of recluses for the purpose
of putting on the yellow robe, and preparing himself to become
afterwards a member of the order, if he feel an inclination to
enlist in its ranks. Phralaong was bidding a last farewell to
the world, its pomps and vanities. So the youthful candidate is
doing who is led processionally through the streets, riding a
richly-caparisoned horse, or sitting on an elegant palanquin,
carried on the shoulders of men. A description of this ceremony
will be found in the notice on the Buddhistic monks or
Talapoins.
I am obliged to confess that I have found it somewhat difficult
to discover any connection between the expressions made use of
by Keissa Gautami and the inference drawn therefrom by
Phralaong. The explanation of the difficulty may be, however,
stated as follows:--Gautami bestows the epithet happy or blessed
upon the father and mother as well as on the wife of Prince
Theiddat, because she remarked and observed in him those
qualities and accomplishments befitting a worthy son and a good
husband. The words blessed and happy struck the mind of the
future Buddha, attracted his attention, and drew forth his
exertions to find out their true import. He asks himself, In
what consists true and real happiness? Where is it to be found?
By what means can such an invaluable treasure be procured? Can
it be conferred upon man by the possession of some exterior
object? Can his parents or wife be really happy by the mere
accidental ties that connect them with his person? No, answers
our young philosopher to himself: Happiness can be procured but
by waging war against passions, and carrying it on until their
total destruction. Then the victorious soul, sitting calmly on
the ruins of her deadly opponents, enjoys in the undisturbed
contemplation of truth an indescribable happiness. In this we
clearly perceive the unmistakable bearing of Buddhistic morals.
It is as it were the embryo of the whole system.
King Thoodaudana, influenced by worldly considerations, eagerly
wished his son to become a great monarch instead of a poor and
humble recluse, even a Buddha. This alone suggests the idea that
in those days the _role_ of a Buddha was not held in so great an
esteem and veneration as it was afterwards. Had it been
otherwise, the most ambitious father might have remained well
satisfied with the certainty of seeing his own son becoming a
personage before whom the proudest monarch would one day lower
to the dust their crowned heads.
At that time a Buddha, or the personage honoured with that
title, was looked upon as a mere sage, distinguished among his
fellow-men by his great wisdom and eminent proficiency in the
study of philosophy. It is highly probable that this name had
been bestowed upon a great many illustrious individuals who
lived before the days of Gaudama. Hence the fabricated genealogy
of twenty-eight former Buddhas, supposed to have lived myriads
of years and worlds previously, including the three that have
preceded him during the continuance of this system of nature.
Here a superstitious and ill-judged enthusiasm has raised up
heaps of extravagancies, setting up a ridiculous theory,
designed to connect the _role_ of the present Buddha with those
of a fabulous antiquity, and give additional lustre to it. There
is no doubt that the glowing halo of sacredness and glory,
encircling now the name of Buddha, has never adorned that of any
former one. It has been created by the extraordinary progress
his doctrines made at first in the Indian Peninsula, and next
throughout eastern Asia, and kept up by the fervent admiration
of his enthusiastic followers.
The means resorted to by Thoodaudana to retain his son in the
world of passions, and thereby thwart his vocation, could not,
we hardly need mention, be approved of by any moralist of even
the greatest elasticity of conscience and principles; but they
were eminently fitted to try the soundness of Phralaong's
calling, and the strong and tenacious dispositions of his
energetic mind. They set out in vivid colours the firmness of
purpose and irresistible determination of his soul in following
up his vocation to a holier mode of life; and what is yet more
wonderful, the very objects that were designed to enslave him
became the instruments which helped him in gaining and
ascertaining his liberty. Magnificent, indeed, is the spectacle
offered by a young prince remaining unmoved in the midst of the
most captivating, soul-stirring, and heart-melting attractions;
sitting coolly on his couch, and looking with indifference, nay,
with disgust, on the crowd of sleeping beauties.