MANDALAY
Christmas morning at Mandalay was bright, crisp and cold, with just
that bracing "snap" in the air that makes everyone feel glad to be in
warm clothes. On such a day the traveller feels a sense of security
about the people at home--they must be comfortable in London when it
is so jolly at Mandalay!
I was drawn by some Chinese characters over a small archway in
Merchant Street to turn up a narrow passage between high walls, which
led me to a modern square brick joss-house. There were several
Chinese about and I got to understand that the temple was especially
for all people who were sick or ill, and I went through the very
ancient method of obtaining diagnosis and prescription.
[Illustration: BURMESE PRIEST AND HIS BETEL BOX.]
An English-speaking Chinaman told me that this temple was "the church
of Doctor Wah Ho Sen Too," who lived, he added, more than a thousand
years ago, and had apparently anticipated the advantages of Rontgen
rays. The American who is watching in Ceylon the {73} formation of
pearls without opening of oysters, is yet far behind Doctor Wah Ho
Sen Too, to whom all bodies are as glass. The stout Chinaman grew
quite eloquent in praise of this great physician, explaining with
graphic gestures how he had been able to see through every part of
all of us, and follow the career of whatever entered our mouths.
In front of the round incense-bowl upon an altar, before large
benevolent-looking figures, was a cylindrical box containing one
hundred slips of bamboo of equal length (if any reader offers to show
me all this at Rotherhithe or Wapping, I shall not dispute with him
but gladly avail myself of his kindness). I was directed to shake
the box and draw out at random one of the bamboo slips. This had
upon it, in Chinese characters, a number and some words, and I was
told that my number was fourteen. Upon the left-hand wall of the
temple were serried rows of one hundred sets of small printed
reddish-yellow papers. I was taken to number fourteen set and bidden
to tear off the top one, and this was Doctor Wah Ho Sen Too's
prescription.
I have not yet had that prescription made up; to the present day I
prefer the ailment, but I asked the English-speaking Chinaman what
the medicine was like, and he told me that it was white and that I
could get it at Mandalay. When he was in South America Waterton
slept {74} with one foot out of his hammock to see what it was like
to be sucked by a vampire, but I am of opinion there are some things
in life we may safely reject on trust, declining taste of sample.
I went from the joss-house of Merchant Street to the Aindaw Pagoda,
about the middle of the western edge of the city, a handsome mass,
blazing with the brightness of recent gilding. From "hti" to base it
was entirely gilt, except for the circle of coloured glass balls
which sparkled like a carcanet of jewels near the summit. Outside
the gate of the Aindaw Pagoda, where some Burmans were playing a
gambling game, a notice in five languages--English, Burmese,
Hindostani, Hindi and Chinese, announced, "Riding, shoe and
umbrella-wearing disallowed."
The Queen's Golden Monastery at the south-west corner of the town is
a finer specimen of gilded work, built in elaborately-carved teak,
with a great number of small square panels about it of figure
subjects as well as decorative shapes and patterns. Glass also has
been largely introduced in elaborate surface decoration at the Golden
Monastery, not in the tiny tessarae of Western mosaic but in larger
facets, giving from the slight differences of angle in the setting,
bright broken lights almost barbaric in their richness. No one seems
to know where all the coloured and stained glass that is so {75}
skilfully used in Burmese temples came from--whether it was imported
or made in the country.
The priests were returning to the monastery with bowls full of food
from their daily morning rounds, but there were very few people about
at all, and the place was almost given up that day to a batch of
merry children, who came gambolling round me, some of them pretending
to be paralysed beggars with quaking limbs.
It was very different at the Maha Myat Muni, the Arrakan Pagoda,
which was thronged with people like a hive of bees. This pagoda
includes a vast pile of buildings and enshrines one of the most
revered images of Buddha, a colossal brass figure seated in a shrine
both gorgeous and elaborate, with seven roofs overhead. Of shrines
honoured to-day in Burmah the Arrakan Pagoda is more frequented than
any except the Shwe Dagon at Rangoon, and is approached through a
long series of colonnades gilded, frescoed, and decorated with rich
carving and mosaic work. They are lined with stalls of
metal-workers, sellers of incense, candles, violet lotus flowers,
jewels, sandalwood mementoes, and souvenirs innumerable, among which
the most fascinating to the stranger are grotesque toy figures, with
fantastic movable limbs, which would make an easy fortune at a London
toy-shop, and before long will doubtless be exported and gradually
lose their exotic charm.
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Passing through this Vanity Fair I at last reached the shrine, and in
the dim interior light I climbed up behind the great figure and
followed the custom of native pilgrims in seeking to "gain merit" by
placing a gold-leaf upon it with my own fingers. At all hours of
every day human thumbs and fingers are pressing gold-leaf upon that
figure of Gautama. Outside in the sunlight white egrets strutted
about the grounds, and close by was a tank where sacred turtles
wallowed under a thick green scum. A swarm of rice-sellers besought
me to buy food for the turtles, and their uncomfortable persistence
was, of course, not lessened by patronage. The overfed animals
declined to show their heads, leaving the kites and crows to batten
on the tiny balls of cooked rice.
Now close to this turtle-tank and still within the precincts of the
temple was a large structure, evidently very much older than the rest
of the buildings--a vast cubical mass of red brick with an inner
passage, square in plan, round a central core of apparently solid
masonry. Against one side of this inner mountain of brick-work was
the lower half of a colossal figure, also in red brick, and cut off
at the same level as the general mass of the building. Whether the
whole had ever been completed or whether at some time the upper half
had been removed, I could not tell. It was as if the absence of head
{77} and shoulders cast a spell of death, which surrounded it with a
silence no voice ventured to dissipate, and with the noise and hubbub
outside nothing could have more strikingly contrasted than the
impressive quiet of this deserted sanctuary.
That Christmas afternoon, as already told, I left Mandalay on my way
to Bhamo, returning afterwards for a longer stay.
Far away, beyond Fort Dufferin on the other side of the city, rises
Mandalay Hill which I climbed several times for the sake of the
wonderful view. In the bright dazzle of a sunlight that made all
things pale and fairylike, I passed along wide roads ending in tender
peeps of pale amethyst mountains. I crossed the wide moat of Fort
Dufferin, with its double border of lotus, by one of the five wooden
bridges and, traversing the enclosure, came out again through the
red-brick crenelated walls by a wide gateway, and re-crossed the moat
to climb the steep path by huge smooth boulders in the afternoon
heat. It was as if they had saved up all the warmth of noon to give
it out again with radiating force. At first the way lies between low
rough walls, on which at short intervals charred and blackened posts
stand whispering, "We know what it is to be burned"--"We know what it
is to be burned." They were fired at the same time as the temple at
the top of the hill over {78} twenty years ago; but the great
standing wooden figure of Buddha, then knocked down, has been set up
again, though still mutilated, for the huge hand that formerly
pointed down to the city lies among bricks and rubble.
The Queen's Golden Monastery and the Arrakan Pagoda were hidden
somewhere far away among the trees to the south of the city. Below,
I could see the square enclosure of Fort Dufferin, with its mile-long
sides, in which stands King Thebaw's palace and gardens, temples and
pavilions, and I could see the parallel lines of the city roadways.
Mandalay is laid out on the American plan, with wide, tree-shaded
roads at right angles to each other. Nearer to the hill and somewhat
to the left lay the celebrated Kuthodaw or four hundred and fifty
pagodas, whereunder are housed Buddhist scriptures engraved upon four
hundred slabs of stone. The white plaster takes at sunset a rosy
hue, and in the distance the little plot resembles some trim
flower-bed where the blossoms have gone to sleep.
[Illustration: BURMESE MOTHER AND CHILD.]
One of the loveliest things about Mandalay is the moat of Fort
Dufferin. In the evening afterglow I stopped at the south-west
corner, where a boy was throwing stones at a grey snake, and watched
the silhouette of walls and watch-towers against a vivid sky of red
and amber and the reflections in the water among the lotus {79}
leaves. Each side of the Fort is a straight mile long, and the moat,
which is a hundred yards across, has a wide space all along the
middle of the waterway quite clear of lotus. But moat and walls are
both most beautiful of all at sunrise. The red bricks then glow
softly with warm colour, and against their reflection the flat lotus
leaves appear as pale hyaline dashes.
Within, upon the level greensward, you may find to-day a wooden
horse--not such a large one as Minerva helped the Greeks to build
before the walls of Troy, nor yet that more realistic modern one I
have seen in the great hall, the old "Salone" of Verona--but a horse
for gymnastic exercises of Indian native regiments of Sikhs and
Punjabis. Strange barracks those soldiers have, for they sleep in
what were formerly monasteries with halls of carved and painted
pillars.
I was asking the whereabouts of the only Burmese native regiment and
found it just outside Fort Dufferin, in "lines" specially built. It
is a regiment of sappers and miners. On New Year's Day Captain
Forster, their commanding officer, put a company of these Burmans
through their paces for me. In appearance they are not unlike
Gourkhas, sturdy and about the same height, and like the Gourkha they
carry a knife of special shape, a square-ended weapon good for jungle
work.
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King Thebaw's palace stands, of course, within the "Fort," which was
built to protect it. It is neither very old nor very interesting,
and the most impressive part is the large audience hall. The columns
towards the entrance are gilded, but on each side the two nearest the
throne are, like the walls, blood-red in colour, and the daylight
filtering through casts blue gleams upon them. It was not here,
however, that the king was taken prisoner, but in a garden pavilion a
little distance from it with a veranda, and according to a brass
plate let into the wall below:--
"King Thebaw sat at this opening with his two queens and the queen
mother when he gave himself up to General Prendergast on the 30th
November, 1885."
I was talking one day with an army officer in a Calcutta hotel about
Burmah, and he told me how he himself had carried the British flag
into Mandalay with General Prendergast, and that it had been his lot
to conduct the Queen Sepaya (whom he declared does not deserve all
that has been said against her) to Rangoon, and he gave her the last
present she received in Burmah. She was smoking one of the giant
cheroots of the country and he gave her a box of matches.
I had never quite understood the annexation {81} and that officer
explained it as follows:--"We knew the French were intriguing--that
Monsieur Hass, the French Ambassador at Rangoon, was working at the
Court--and we got at his papers and found he was just about to
conclude a treaty with Thebaw. The chance we seized was this--a
difference between Thebaw and the Bombay Burmah Trading Company. For
their rights in forest-land in Upper Burmah they paid a royalty on
every log floated down. Now other people were also floating logs
down, and Thebaw claimed several lakhs of rupees from the Bombay
Burmah Company for royalties not paid. The Company contended they
had paid all royalties on their own logs, and that the unpaid monies
were due on other people's timber, and we seized the excuse and took
Mandalay in the nick of time, defeating the French plans."
The most noticeable feature of the Mandalay Bazaar is the supremacy
of the Burmese woman as shopkeeper. The vast block of the markets is
newly built and looks fresh and spick and span, though without
anything about its structure either beautiful or picturesque. It is
like Smithfield and Covent Garden rolled into one, and given over
entirely to petticoat government. I am told there are close upon
200,000 people in Mandalay, and those long avenues of the great
bazaar looked fully able to {82} cope with their demands. There is
the meat-market, with smiling ladies cutting up masses of flesh; the
vegetable-market, with eager ladies weighing out beans and tamarinds;
the flour and seed-market, with loquacious ladies measuring out dal
and rice-flour and red chili and saffron powder; the plantain-market,
with laughing ladies like animated flowers decorating a whole street
of bananas; the silk-market, with dainty ladies with powdered faces
enticing custom with deft and abundant display of tissues and
mercery,--and yet this does not tell one half of the Mandalay Bazaar.
I have not even mentioned the flower-market, with piquant
ladies--fully alive to the challenging beauty of their goods--selling
roses or lotus, with faces that express confident assurance of their
own superior charms.
Perhaps it is not hardness--perhaps it is merely some lack of
appreciation in me--but in spite of all that has been said or written
in their praise, I could not find those Burmese women as charming as
the shop-girls of London. I admit that they have a very smart way of
twisting a little pink flower into the right side of their hair, and
although I have seen a great many sleeping upon the decks of river
steamers, I never heard one snore. Many men find wives, I was told,
in the Mandalay Bazaar, and they are said to make excellent
housekeepers. One {83} perfectly charming little woman I did see,
the wife of an Eurasian engineer (or is not "Anglo-Indian" now the
prescribed word?), but she looked too much like a doll; and while a
real doll who was a bad housekeeper would be unsatisfactory enough, a
good housekeeper who looked like a doll would surely be intolerable.
Thinking of dolls brings me to the marionettes which still delight
the Burmese people. They have long since gone out of fashion in
England, "Punch and Judy" shows fighting hard to keep up old
tradition; in Paris, the "Guignol" of the side alleys of the Champs
Elysees are nowadays chiefly patronized by children, and you must go
further East to find an adult audience enjoying the antics of dolls.
Marionettes had a vogue in ancient Greece, and in Italy survived the
fall of Rome. Even in Venice the last time I went to the dolls'
theatre I found the doors closed, but in Naples they flourish still,
and at the Teatro Petrilla in the sailors' quarter I have seen
Rinaldo and Orlando and all the swash-buckling courage of mediæval
chivalry in animated wood.
At Mandalay there is the same popular delight in doll drama, and one
evening I watched a mimic "pwe" for an hour. The story was another
version of that which I had already seen acted by living people. The
showman had set up his staging in a suitable position, with a wide
and {84} sloping open space before it, and there was the same great
gathering of young and old in the open air, lying on low four-post
bedsteads or squatting on mats, while outside the limits of the
audience stalls drove a thriving trade in cheroots and edible
dainties. How the people laughed and cackled with delight at the
antics of the dolls! These were manipulated with a marvellous
dexterity, and seemed none the less real because the showman's hands
were often visible as he jerked the strings. I walked up to the
stage and stood at one end of it to get the most grotesque view of
the scene. A long, low partition screen ran along the middle of the
platform. Behind this, limp figures were hanging ready for the
"cues," and the big fat Burmese showman walked sideways up and down,
leaning over as he worked the dancing figures upon the stage. The
movements were a comic exaggeration of the formal and jerky actions
of the dance, but the clever manipulation of a prancing steed, a
horse of mettle with four most practical flamboyant legs, was even
more amusing.
The parts of the dramatis personæ were spoken by several different
voices, and the absence of any attempt to hide the arms and hands of
the showman did not diminish the illusion, while it increased the
general bizarre character of the scene rather than otherwise, {85}
and was an excellent instance of the fallacy of the saying--_Summa
ars est celare artem_.
Blessed be the convention of strings! The success of a marionette
show, as of a government, is no more attained by a denial of the
wire-puller's existence than the beauty of a marble statue is
enhanced by realistic colouring.
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