LORD DUFFERIN’S VISIT: MANDALAY ONCE MORE
Early in 1886 Mr. Bernard returned to Rangoon. As I was not in Lower
Burma for any length of time from December, 1885, to March, 1887, it
does not fall within the scope of this book to attempt a description
of events in that part of the Province in the months following
the occupation of Mandalay. It was a time of stress and anxiety.
Insurrections, excited no doubt by emissaries from the Burmese Court
and headed in more than one case by monks, broke out all over the
country. For a time Lower Burma was a seething mass of disorder. With
inadequate military and police forces, Commissioners and district
officers bravely faced the situation, and by strenuous efforts
suppressed rebellion and gradually restored peace. In the early months,
in the Chief Commissioner’s absence from Rangoon, the general direction
of operations was in the hands of Mr. Symes, then an officer of ten
years’ service. With what nerve, resolution, and judgment he discharged
this great responsibility only those who served in Lower Burma at that
time can properly appreciate. No one could have done better and more
valuable work in a very serious crisis. Those early months showed Mr.
Symes to be an administrator of the highest class, and won for him the
reputation which he enjoyed to the day of his lamented death.
At the beginning of 1886 Lord Dufferin came to study on the spot the
problem of Upper Burma and practically to decide its destiny. At
the same time came Sir Frederick Roberts, then Commander-in-Chief
in India. With the Viceroy were Mr. Durand,[108] Foreign Secretary;
Mr. Mackenzie,[109] Home Secretary; Mr. Mackenzie Wallace,[110]
Private Secretary; and Lord William Beresford, Military Secretary,
a galaxy of talent. Lord Clandeboye, afterwards Earl of Ava, in the
flower of his youth and beauty, was among the aides-de-camp. Sir
Frederick Roberts’s staff was hardly less brilliant. It included
Major W. G. Nicholson,[111] Major Ian Hamilton,[112] Captain Neville
Chamberlain,[113] and Colonel Pole-Carew.[114] Besides being the
best-known man of his time in India, Beresford was probably the best
Military Secretary in history. He was thoroughly conversant with every
detail of his office. Equally at home in the direction of a Durbar or
the management of a social gathering, with singular charm of manner,
he had the delightful gift of being all things to all men. At a garden
party he might be seen in close converse with a pillar of the Church,
or hanging on the lips of an American Missionary, as if this idyllic
communion was the one thing for which he lived. After this visit, the
Bishop of Rangoon confided his opinion to a friend: “I am glad to
see that the tone of the Viceregal Court is so good. Do you know? I
think this high standard is in a great measure due to the influence of
Beresford.” In Rangoon the usual festivities were held. At a ball I
was deputed to interpret between His Excellency and Burmese ladies and
gentlemen. Lord Dufferin’s embroidered compliments, addressed to some
fair ladies, severely taxed my homespun vernacular.
After a short stay in Rangoon Lord Dufferin and Sir Frederick Roberts
went up to Mandalay in the steamer _Mindoon_, fitted out and placed
at the Viceroy’s disposal by the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company. Stopping
at various places on the way, the Viceroy made the acquaintance of
the local military and civil officers. The visit to Mandalay was an
unqualified success. Their Excellencies, for Lady Dufferin lent her
gracious presence to the occasion, were welcomed by the military and
civil officers and all the Burmese notables. They were installed in
the finest rooms in the Palace, visited all scenes of interest in the
town and city, and received the members of the royal house and the most
eminent Burmese officers and their families. On the eastern terrace of
the Palace the Viceroy held a levée, the first and only instance of
that ceremony being held in the Nandaw.[115] Just before his departure,
in a mandat[116] erected on the shore, he addressed a meeting of
Burmese Ministers and high officials. His speech was interpreted by an
Extra Assistant Commissioner, Maung Pyi. Failing to catch one sentence,
the interpreter vainly tried to induce his Excellency to repeat it.
Nothing daunted, Maung Pyi, with perfect assurance, evolved and uttered
an elaborate sentence of his own. The incident passed unnoticed. Lord
Dufferin’s name will always be associated with Upper Burma. From Ava
he took one of his titles, and he acceded to the request that the
cantonment of Mandalay, embracing the city as well as an area without
the walls, should bear his name.
On the voyage and after his arrival in Mandalay the Viceroy and his
advisers conferred with Mr. Bernard concerning the future of the newly
acquired dominion. With the sanction of the Secretary of State, his
Excellency, at a dinner given on the eve of his departure, announced
the decision that the country was to be administered as part of
British India. It was on this occasion, and by Mr. Bernard, that the
familiar term “annexation” was first publicly used. Then, having
accomplished the purpose of his visit, the Viceroy re-embarked for
Prome. Just opposite Pagan, whereat the state of the district did not
invite a landing, the _Mindoon_ stuck fast on a sandbank for nearly
twelve hours, a really characteristic incident on the Irrawaddy. Lord
Dufferin was not in the least disconcerted or annoyed; he professed to
be pleased to have one day’s entire rest. Towards evening the whole
party were on the point of being transferred to some small craft in
attendance, but luckily the steamer floated off in time, and this
inconvenience was avoided. The return to Rangoon was saddened by the
tidings of the death of Mr. H. L. St. Barbe, one of the most rising men
in the Province, whose very remarkable personality gave every promise
of distinction.[117] He was killed in the Bassein District, one of the
first victims of the dacoit bands which harassed Lower Burma for three
or four years.
By their charm and courtesy Lord and Lady Dufferin won all hearts,
and left the happiest impression on the people of the Province. Still
a junior officer, naturally I was not brought into close or frequent
contact with them; but on the voyage to and from Mandalay I was near
enough to come under the spell. Lord Dufferin was no doubt an admirable
Viceroy. His dignity and presence, as well as his brilliant gifts,
were specially fitted to adorn that illustrious office. He did not
condescend to detail or profess to be industrious in small things.
Industry, it has been said, is the tribute which mediocrity pays to
genius. Often, I have heard, it was difficult to induce him to attend
to matters of routine. But a really important case inspired him with
enthusiasm, and on it he shed the rays of an illuminating mind; to its
polished completion he devoted infinite pains. His visit in the early
years of his Viceroyalty was greatly to the benefit of the Province.
During the rest of his life in India his warm and friendly interest in
Burma never failed.
The annexation of Upper Burma has been criticized not only by those
who regard with disapproval every extension of the Empire. A very
distinguished officer, whose best years had been passed in Burma, and
who was familiar with both parts of the Province, suggested to me as
one grave objection that the annexation extinguished a nationality, a
thing which had not before been done in India. I have no doubt that,
especially from the point of view of the good of the Burmese race,
the annexation was an unmixed advantage. So far from extinguishing a
nationality, we reintegrated it. Up to 1885 Burma was in a state of
disunion. Part flourished under British rule; part languished under
native tyranny. Some Burmans were British subjects; some served their
own King. The conquest of Upper Burma reunited the severed fragments.
Once more Burma became a solid country, the Burmese a nation under one
undivided control; and as such it began a career of almost unexampled
prosperity. Although there are differences and distinctions between
the two sections, due to the varied course of their past history,
Burma now forms one Province, and every part shares in the fortunes
of the whole. The annexation did far more than this. It restored
peace and order to a distracted people, and secured to every man the
free enjoyment of the fruits of his labours. To all men were given the
protection of equal laws and the assurance of even-handed justice. The
grasping avarice of officials was restrained, and corrupt practices
were discountenanced. Burmans are not excluded from a due share in
the administration. To aspiring youths, promising careers have been
thrown open. The second Burman as yet enlisted in the higher branch
of the Accounts Department is an Upper Burman, the first to take the
degree of Bachelor of Arts. On those Burmans who loyally accepted the
new Government, office and honours were freely bestowed. The Kinwun
Mingyi became a Companion of the Star of India, U Pe Si of the Indian
Empire. The real patriots were those who recognized that the new order
meant peace and prosperity, with no suppression of native religion or
customs, and who risked obloquy, and often life and property, in loyal
service to the State. These were truer friends of their people than men
who, by ineffectual revolt and resistance, plunged their country for
years into bloodshed and misery.
In March, 1886, Sir Charles Bernard returned to Mandalay. On April
1 the provisional administration of the Hlutdaw came to an end. Sir
Edward Sladen retired, and the Chief Commissioner assumed direct
control of Upper Burma. At the same time the Burma Field Force was
broken up, Sir Harry Prendergast returned to India, and Sir George
White took command of the troops. While retaining general control
of the whole Province, Sir Charles Bernard left Lower Burma under
the immediate direction of Mr. G. J. S. Hodgkinson[118] as Special
Commissioner, devoting his own energies mainly to the settlement of
the new Province and the modelling of its administration. An entirely
separate Secretariat was formed, of which, as Secretary for Upper
Burma, I was in sole charge. My office was in the Hlutdaw building,
within the Palace enclosure. We had our own little printing-press,
modestly but efficiently equipped by Mr. Regan, and we published
our own _Gazette_. My only qualified assistant was Mr. Taw Sein
Ko,[119] then in his early youth, to whom I am indebted for invaluable
assistance during those busy months as well as in later years. Of the
clerical staff, the less said the better. It was, perhaps, a unique
Secretariat, with no records of previous years and no precedents.
Whatever the Secretary might forget, the Chief Commissioner remembered.
Besides myself, the only member of Sir Charles Bernard’s immediate
staff was the Personal Assistant. This office was filled first by
Andrew Thomson, C.S., a man of brilliant ability and exceptional gifts.
Later came Sir Charles Bernard’s elder son, J. H. Bernard, C.S.,
endowed with many of the qualities of his family. Andrew Thomson died
in the flower of his youth, _multis bonis flebilis_. James Bernard died
in Bengal, in tragic circumstances, midway in a career of promise.
Never were two pleasanter or more helpful comrades.
Though the Hlutdaw was dissolved, seven or eight of the principal
Ministers were retained on moderate salaries as a consultative body.
They had their own office in the Hlutdaw building, with a few clerks,
and were in charge of the old State records. The handwriting of these
clerks was most elaborate and beautiful. Such writing is now, I fear, a
lost art. In the King’s time Court writers were kept up to the mark by
fear of heavy penalties.
For wrongly dividing a word at the end of a line (like thi-
s) the punishment was amputation of the right hand.
It seems almost excessive. The Sayedawgyi were of a higher class than
ordinary clerks in Government offices. Some of them were related
to Ministers, or even to members of the royal family. And often
enough they blossomed into Wuns or Ministers. Among them were men of
ability and character. I instance my friend Maung Tin, A.T.M., Extra
Assistant Commissioner, long resident at Pagan as township officer, now
subdivisional officer, a recognized authority on the antiquities of
that historic city. Another, also Maung Tin, A.T.M., Extra Assistant
Commissioner and subdivisional officer, has written a learned history
of Burma. Both are men of good family and have attained responsible
positions under our Government. The Ministers had no powers, but were
often consulted on matters of which they had special knowledge or
means of information. Punctually at noon every day, a chaprási[120]
came into my office and announced the Minister’s approach.[121] At the
ensuing conference public affairs were discussed and the opinions of
Ministers invited. If the stock of references was low, the conversation
turned to Burmese history and family affairs, of which their knowledge
was extensive and accurate. One day we were all bidden to the wedding
of the late Shwepyi Mingyi’s daughter. A peculiar custom prevailed
among the wealthier classes of having marriages celebrated by Pônnas,
Hindu descendants of captives from Assam or Manipúr. It has already
been explained that Buddhism, as understood in Burma, provides no
ceremony of marriage. The custom of inviting Pônnas to celebrate
marriages of Buddhists with some sort of Hindu rite, the binding with
a thread and the eating out of the same dish, is a curious anomaly for
which I can find no parallel. This was a wedding of the Pônna type.
All Mandalay attended, including many European officers. To complete
the quaint mixture of foreign ceremonies, the health of bride and
bridegroom was drunk in champagne by those of the company who allowed
themselves that indulgence. Late in the morning, as I was about to
leave, one of the Ministers said with a sigh: “Well, I suppose we must
be getting away to office too.” The suggestion that such a festal day
might be spent as a holiday was accepted with effusion. There was
something pathetic in the thought of these men, all of mature and
some of advanced years, who had exercised almost absolute sway over
a kingdom, regarding themselves as under the orders of an officer so
much their junior in age. I did my best to make the position as little
irksome as might be. As I retained the friendship of every one of them
as long as he lived, I hope my efforts had some measure of success.
With the Kinwun Mingyi I contracted a close and intimate friendship,
which ended only with his death at an advanced age. In early days
Andrew Thomson and I were often at his house, playing with his charming
grandchildren, small boys and girls of four or five years of age;
sometimes on Sunday mornings we went to his garden beyond the walls
for an early picnic. The Mingyi was a man of amiable disposition and
courtly manners, of great learning, a delightful companion. To have had
the privilege of discussing with him the doctrine of Neikban (Nirvana)
is a pleasant memory. Although he could have no real love for our
Government, he loyally accepted it, and did his best to support and
strengthen the new order. I believe him to have been a man of high
character, incapable of any base or treacherous act. His personal
record was unimpeachable; he lived and died in honourable disregard of
wealth. He had no children except two sons by adoption.
Another house where I was always welcome was that of the widow of the
Pagan Min. She was his principal Queen, and occupied the house where
the deposed King and herself had lived since the accession of Mindôn
Min.[122] It was interesting to meet in such conditions one who had sat
on the throne and was sprung from the race of Burma’s Kings. She was a
charming lady, advanced in years, with the fine manners of her rank and
people. In the house of the Pintha Mintha[123] I was also received on
cordial terms. My friendship with his family subsists to this day.
The description already given[124] of the position of women in Burma
may help to render intelligible the sketch of our life in Mandalay in
early days. For some months European ladies were not encouraged to come
to Mandalay. Most of us were extremely busy, and lived an austere life
in the Palace. For companionship we were dependent on one another and
on our Burmese friends. The people of whom I saw most in rare intervals
of relaxation were officials and their families and members of the
royal house. Queens and Princesses were many. For a melancholy reason
Princes were few. Except the Myingun Prince in Pondicherry, and the
Nyaung-yan and Nyaung-ôk Princes in Calcutta, only two of Mindôn Min’s
sons survived--the Kawlin and Pyinmana[125] Princes.[126] Educated in
India, these two have now for some years lived in charming domesticity
in Rangoon; each happily married to a lady of his House. Both are
honorary magistrates, and duly take their turn as members of a Bench
for the trial of petty cases. There were a few other Minthas, sons of
the Einshemin[127] and other Princes, besides more distant relations of
the King. Several of the Minthas have taken service under Government,
and occupy responsible positions as Assistant Commissioners, My̆o-ôks,
and in other departments. Almost all the ladies of the Royal House,
widows and daughters of Mindôn Min, or otherwise nearly related to
the King, were in great distress and poverty. For the most part
they had subsisted on meagre allowances, many of them being kept in
confinement or under restraint. All these ladies received pensions
from the British Government, but on so minute a scale that Sir Charles
Bernard’s proposals for their maintenance excited by their moderation
the surprise even of the Government of India. Yet when income-tax was,
as some think illegally, levied in Upper Burma on incomes derived
from Government, I am ashamed to say that these paltry stipends were
subjected to deduction. From time to time the scale of pensions was
raised, but it was not till many years later that I had the good
fortune to enlist Lord Minto’s active sympathy with these ladies, and
to secure for them allowances not utterly inadequate. Most prominent of
the royal ladies in Mandalay were two full sisters of King Thebaw, the
Pakangyi and Meiktila Supaya.[128] Meiktila Supaya married a commoner,
and died some years ago, leaving two charming daughters, of whom one
is the wife of a Government officer. The Amá-daw-gyi[129] brought up
her nieces, and lived quietly in Mandalay till recent days. Only one
of Mindôn Min’s wives of royal stock survived till our time. Wives of
inferior rank were not of royal blood, but for the most part daughters
of officials or chiefs. The three whom I knew best were three sisters,
the Limban, Thetpan, and Thayazein Queens, daughters of a Talaing
My̆o-thugyi in Lower Burma. They were ladies of dignity and refinement,
with whom my family and I were long on terms of intimacy. Only the
Thayazein Queen survives, living happily with her daughters and
grandchildren in Rangoon. The pension list included over one hundred
persons. At first the Princesses shrank from marrying commoners, but
clearly most of them must condescend or remain unwed. Many of them,
therefore, in the course of time took husbands of inferior rank. In
the quarter of a century which has passed since the annexation, not
one of the ladies of the Burmese royal family has given the slightest
trouble to Government from a political point of view; none of them has
intrigued or shared in any conspiracy or seditious movement. When the
prominent part taken by Burmese women in public and private affairs is
remembered, it will be admitted that, if for this reason alone, these
ladies merit gentle treatment at our hands. I think they might at least
be excused from paying income-tax on their pensions.
It may be appropriate here to notice the theory and practice of class
distinctions in Burma. The King and the royal family were placed on
a lone and lofty pedestal, and regarded with exaggerated reverence.
In respect of royalty there was almost, not quite, a distinction of
caste. An instance of respect for the sacredness of the blood royal
came under my own notice. A granddaughter of Mindôn Min, daughter
of his son by a minor Queen, a charming and attractive girl, eloped
with the Queen’s nephew, a very presentable youth. The boy was one of
the Queen’s household, son of the Queen’s own brother, a commoner.
The Mipaya’s[130] distress and indignation were extreme. To console
her, I suggested that, after all, the lover was of her own family. “I
would as soon she had married a coolie out of the street,” was the
uncompromising reply. The old lady had no rest till she had worried
these young people to divorce, and married the girl to a Princeling.
Anomalies were necessarily recognized. Though the King took as his
chief Queen one of his half-sisters, Kings and Princes might marry
commoners; royal ladies might not do so. Of late, as we have seen,
this rule has become less strict. But genuine respect for the royal
family still abounds. To this day, whether in Upper or Lower Burma,
any upstart who pretends to royal origin secures a following.[131] The
very sensible plan of employing them as My̆o-ôks and Extra Assistant
Commissioners has done much to keep real sons of Princes out of
mischief.
Apart from the royal family and monks, the only distinct class among
Burmans is that of officials. There is no landed gentry; there are
no county families. In most cases, especially in the higher grades,
official rank was not hereditary. The Mingyi’s son did not become a
Mingyi, or the Wun’s son a Wun, by succession. Occasionally one came
across officers, like my friend U Pe Si,[132] sprung from official
families. This was the result of nepotism, not heredity. As a rule
an official obtained his position by luck or by favour or by family
influence, by repute for learning, or by distinction as a soldier or
administrator. The royal family and officials excluded, the rest of the
people were on the same social plane. False pride and snobbishness were
unknown. One of the Ministers, of eminent learning, who came clad in
silks and glittering with golden chains, brought his brother to see me.
The brother was an old peasant out of the fields, who sat on the floor,
wearing the scanty dress of the working farmer. We had a pleasant
talk about crops and seasons, while the Minister sat on a chair and
discussed what Prince Hassan[133] used to call “country business.” It
is, perhaps, to this absence of false pride, to genuine kindness of
heart, and to traditional respect for elders, that the fine manners
of Burmans are due. Good manners and self-respect are marks of all
ranks. I have received perfect civility and courtesy from Princes and
Ministers, from peasants and labouring men; always a kind word and a
smile and thought for a guest’s comfort and convenience. Even contact
with Western civilization has not yet spoilt the grace of manner which
adorns the Burmese race.
The lack of class distinctions imports a certain want of cohesion,
which does not facilitate the task of administration. Burmans are rank
individualists, and so, I suppose, far behind the times. Each family is
a separate entity, bound by no ties to any overlord. It is true that
the hereditary principle is strong in the case of minor offices, such
as those of My̆o-thugyi[134] or Ywa-thugyi.[135] These comparatively
small but important offices passed from father to son for generations.
In Lower Burma we have practically abolished the circle, and in Upper
Burma the My̆o is likewise in process of decay. I for one agree that
the village is the better unit. Yet some tribute of respect must be
paid to the old My̆o-thugyi, a courtly country gentleman of dignity and
presence, possibly more ornamental than useful.