_MANDALAY IN 1887._
It was with feelings of no common interest that we disembarked from
the steamer at Mandalay, and took our first glimpse of the place. The
bustle of so many passengers disembarking created a very busy scene, and
dense clouds of dust arose, so that we were glad to get away as soon as
possible. We proceeded to charter one of the conveyances we found there
waiting for hire, a peculiar kind of vehicle, resembling in size and
appearance a dog kennel set on a pair of high wheels, and it proved a
marvel of inconvenience. You climb up with difficulty, thrust yourself
through the small aperture as best you can, for it is no easy matter, and
then you stow yourself away, sitting down on the floor of the conveyance
with your knees about your ears. It is quite impossible to preserve a
dignified demeanour in one of these bullock gharries, and yet, sad to
relate, it was found that this was the only kind of conveyance available
for His Majesty the King, when he was removed from the palace to the
river on his way to India.
The matter created quite a difficulty. To have mounted the king on such
an occasion on a horse or an elephant would have been cruel mockery. At
that time there were no horse gharries in Mandalay. They brought a dhooly
first, but the king declined point blank to enter it. The bullock gharry
was the best arrangement they could devise.
One of the first things that attracted our attention was the inordinately
gorgeous appearance of some things, and the very primitive and mean
condition of others. This mixture of grandeur and shabbiness is quite
an Oriental trait. The royal city and palace, the pagodas and the
monasteries, were most sumptuous in style of building and decoration,
but everything else looked very poor in comparison. The bamboo houses
of the people looked small and frail and cheap. The roads, which we
consider amongst the first essentials of civilised life, were as bad as
they could be. They were of mere mud, which became dust several inches
deep in dry weather, and a quagmire when it rained. The dense clouds of
dust that rose wherever there was much traffic formed an experience truly
distressing.
Mandalay has been said to be remarkable for three things, Phoongyees,
Pagodas and Pariah dogs. The phoongyees are the brethren of the yellow
robe, the Buddhist monks, who are to be seen in Mandalay by thousands,
and all through the country in like proportion to the population. The
pagodas form here as everywhere in Upper Burma a feature in every
landscape. The pariah dogs are uncommonly numerous. You might guess at
once you were in a Buddhist country from the thousands of homeless, poor,
emaciated, mangy creatures, nobody’s dogs, that roam over the city,
eating anything they can pick up, the vilest refuse, and acting as the
scavengers of the place. They are never on any consideration killed by
the Buddhists, but suffered to multiply to any extent. As you walk about
you often come upon eight or ten of these dogs at a time, and they seem
as if they would tear you to pieces; but though they seem so savage and
so numerous they prefer to keep at a safe distance.
Passing through the streets of the town, a drive of about two miles
brought us to the moat outside the walls of the royal city. The city is
in the form of a square, each face of which is over a mile in extent, and
is surrounded by an enormous brick wall twenty-six feet high, many feet
in thickness, and with battlements on the top. Outside the city walls
is a broad open space of ground all the way round, and outside of that
is a deep, broad moat, intended to serve the double purpose of military
defence for the city, and of supplying drinking water to the inhabitants.
For the purpose of communicating between the city and the town outside
are five gateways, two on the townward or west side, and one on each of
the others, with gates of enormous size and strength. Over each gate is a
lofty and handsome tower built of teak wood, and rising to a point. Here
and there along the walls at stated intervals, and facing the ends of the
streets of the town, which run at right angles to the wall, are smaller
towers of similar style, that serve to adorn the great wall of the city,
and give it quite a handsome appearance.
At the time I speak of the walled city was inhabited by a large
population of Burmans, chiefly people who had been in close connection
with the palace; but owing to the decision of Government to make this
place the military cantonment, the five thousand houses within the walls
have been all cleared out, compensation being paid according to the
value, and a very handsome cantonment has been made of it, with barracks
for European and Indian troops. As the great majority of the houses were
of teak or bamboo, this was not nearly so serious a matter as it might
seem. The cantonment is now known by the name of Fort Dufferin.
The royal palace consists of a square enclosure in the centre of the
large square city. It was at that time surrounded and defended by a
strong stockade of teak logs set on end in the ground, and inside of
that, as a second line of defence, was a strong brick wall; but both
stockade and wall have since been removed by the British as unnecessary.
Passing inside these two defences, the visitor found himself in the
spacious grounds of the palace, part of which were prettily laid out as
gardens, with artificial canals of water, rockeries and summer houses.
Part of this space was devoted to the king’s arsenal; on the eastern side
were the treasury and the mint.
In the centre of all, raised on an earthen platform about eight feet
high, and pretty well covering an area of perhaps a couple of acres with
a miscellaneous and irregular collection of handsome lofty buildings,
with much carving in teak, and abundance of the inevitable gold leaf,
is the royal palace of the kings of Burma. Some of the buildings are
of brick, but the majority are of teak. There is something decidedly
impressive, unique and highly interesting about the palace, as a specimen
of an Oriental monarch’s residence, but from a European standpoint it is
wanting in unity of design and symmetry of arrangement. The buildings are
so huddled together that they lose much of their appearance, and you have
to find your way about among these fine buildings by queer narrow little
lanes and wooden platforms, and by many sudden and unexpected turns, that
to a Western mind take off considerably from the majesty of the place.
But then we must remember the character of the Burmese court, notorious
for back-stairs influence, corruption, intrigue, conspiracy and the like.
That being so, it is only natural that the palace buildings should allow
proper facilities for the same, and be in keeping with it.
[Illustration: ONE OF THE GATEWAYS OF THE ROYAL CITY OF MANDALAY]
The only approach to anything like the dignity of a palace from our point
of view is the front or eastern side, where there is the throne room or
audience hall, surmounted with the great spire which rises roof over roof
to a considerable height and almost to a point, terminating with the
usual gilt umbrella. This was considered to be the centre of the universe
by the Burman courtiers, and it is still facetiously called by that name
by the English. It was here that the king used to appear on his throne
on special occasions. It is said that King Mindohn, the father of King
Theebaw, used to gaze at his people from his throne through a pair of
binoculars. The people would all be down on their knees in his presence,
and not only on their knees, but crouching on their elbows too, for that
is the attitude for special reverence in Burma.
There was one point of contention between the English and this very
haughty and conceited Court of Burma that never was settled. That was the
reception of our envoy. It was not sufficient for them that he observed
all the forms of respect known in European etiquette, but they required
from him also their own, even to the removal of his boots in the king’s
presence. Now an English gentleman does not like to doff his boots in
public, and to a military man it would seem particularly outrageous to
expect it of him. Hence it was a difficulty. Had King Theebaw accepted
instead of rejecting our ultimatum in November 1886, he might have kept
his throne and his palace; but the proper reception of the British
Resident would have been one of the articles he would have had to agree
to.
It was in the great throne room that we held at first our Sunday morning
parade services for the troops, the preacher taking his stand just by the
foot of the throne: an interesting circumstance, and not without a touch
of romance,—the Kingdom of Jesus Christ set up on the final downfall of
this antiquated, corrupt and cruel Oriental despotism. But though we may
hopefully take this as a figure and prophecy of the triumph yet to come,
the fact itself is a political rather than a religious one, and indicates
just this, and nothing more—that Britain has conquered Burma, and is now
able to do what she likes with Burma’s most sacred and venerated places.
We are not for that reason one inch nearer the real spiritual triumph of
Jesus Christ in the hearts of the Buddhists of Burma. That work is but
just begun.
Some idea of the large extent of the palace buildings may be gathered
from the fact that for many months they provided dwellings for the
general and his numerous headquarters staff, and for many other officers,
besides barracks for an entire battery of artillery, officers and men. In
addition to this, quite a number of departments, civil and military, had
their offices there, including a postal and telegraph department.
Near the front of the palace is the great tower, now used as a fire
look-out station. On the top of this a native sentry is always on the
watch, and the moment he sees a fire anywhere, either in the cantonment
or in the town, he gives the alarm, and the fire-engines are soon on
the spot. This is a matter of no small importance in this great city of
188,000 inhabitants, where the houses are of such a highly inflammable
material as bamboo, and where in one year 35 fires occurred, destroying 9
monasteries and 724 houses, of the total value of 310,000 rupees.
Close by the front of the palace was the residence of the famous Lord
White Elephant, to whom royal honours were paid. He was regarded as the
king of elephants, and therefore none but the king could mount him. His
trappings were of the most sumptuous and valuable description—silk and
rich cloth, ornamented with gold, rubies and emeralds. All his vessels
and utensils were made of gold. None but the king and the white elephant
might enjoy the dignity of the white umbrella, for that is the chief
emblem of royalty. This august quadruped had his own retinue specially
told off to do him service; his attendants and all visitors took off
their shoes when they entered his quarters, and the people bowed and did
obeisance when he passed through the streets. Not that he was white. No
elephant is anything near a white colour; but besides the lighter colour
of the animal there are other tests which, according to the Burmese
science on the subject, settle the matter of a white elephant; and it
is a science of considerable gravity and importance. He must have five
toe nails on his hind feet instead of the usual four; and when water is
poured upon him, if he is a true albino, he will turn red and not black.
The reason why so much superstitious and absurd reverence was paid to
the white elephant was that the possession of an undoubted specimen was
supposed to be a sign and symbol of universal sovereignty, so that it was
deemed very lucky for the King of Burma to possess one. In the sixteenth
century the kingdoms of Pegu and Siam fought over one for many years,
till five successive kings and thousands of men were killed, which shows
the importance attached to this possession by both nations. How often
nations have fought over that which was only a white elephant when they
had gained it!
It was a singular coincidence that within a few days of the capture of
Mandalay the white elephant died, and was buried with some display, the
troops being turned out on the occasion. It was as well he did die,
for had he lived he would have been to the English a veritable _white
elephant_ in the English colloquial sense of that term. We can come quite
as near to universal sovereignty as we wish to be, or as is good for us,
without the magic aid of a white elephant.
The principal building to the front of the palace, and just within the
stockade, is the Hloot Daw, a fine large hall where the four chief
ministers of state, with their subordinates, used to meet for the
transaction of their business. After the annexation in 1886, there was
an attempt made to govern through the medium of the Hloot Daw, but it
turned out a failure. These high Burmese officials, it was found, needed
to learn the very A B C of honest, fair and disinterested administration,
and as they were too old to learn they were pensioned off.
Altogether apart from the great walled royal city, now Fort Dufferin, was
the still greater town of Mandalay. It is now constituted a municipality;
but in Burmese times, when the city was all in all, it was merely in
Burmese phrase the Anouk-pyin, _i.e._, the western suburbs. The town
of Mandalay lies, more or less, on all the four sides of the city, but
mostly on the west, filling on that side all the space between the city
and the river, and from north to south extending five or six miles. The
Mandalay municipality covers, more or less densely, an area of eighteen
square miles. Some portions of that space are thinly populated, and a
very little of it is under cultivation as fields and gardens; but most
part of it is pretty well studded with houses, and some of it densely
populated, so that it is a very large city. It is uncommonly well laid
out. The streets are straight, very wide, run at right angles to each
other, and many of them are planted with shady tamarind trees. Some
of the streets are now metalled and made serviceable for traffic, but
five years ago, though so well planned and broad, they were in a most
deplorable state; and those of us who look back to that time have amusing
recollections of the straits we were put to in order to get about in the
rainy season.
The southern end of Mandalay touches the northern limit of Amarapoora,
which was the capital up to 1860. Here are to be seen the remains of a
great royal city nearly as large as that at Mandalay, and after the same
model exactly,—square; set so as to face the four cardinal points; the
ruins of a great wall around; a deep moat outside, now dry; the palace in
the centre; pagodas and other sacred buildings here and there, scattered
over the place; and everywhere broken bricks strewn about; some of the
ground now cultivated, and the rest covered with dense tangled jungle;
but not a single inhabitant.
[Illustration: PART OF THE PALACE OF MANDALAY (SOUTH SIDE).]
This changing of the capital from place to place, once in a while,
seems a strange, extravagant freak on the part of the Burmese kings,
especially in such a case as this, where it involved the founding and
building of a new city only four or five miles from the existing one, and
all the people had to transfer themselves and their houses and property
as best they could at the king’s command. Superstitious fear was probably
the chief if not the sole reason for all this useless waste. There are,
within a circle of a dozen miles, four places that claim the honour of
having been sometime capitals of Burma, viz., Mandalay, Amarapoora, Ava
and Sagaing, all within little more than a century, and the three latter
all show the crumbling remnants of their former glory. There are, besides
these, other towns scattered up and down the country that have formerly
been capitals.
Sagaing, twelve miles from Mandalay, was the capital in 1762, and the
remains of the city wall are still to be seen. Amarapoora was founded in
1783. In 1822 it was almost totally destroyed by fire. It is said, too,
that a vulture alighting on the royal spire of the palace caused great
uneasiness to the king. The court astrologers were summoned to explain
this omen. As, in their estimation, it foreshadowed evil, a new palace
was built at Ava, and the capital was removed there in 1823, but only
remained there till 1837. Those of us who are now in middle life will
remember learning in our geography, “Burma, capital Ava,” whereas this
fugitive capital, though it appeared so in our school books, had long
before our day left Ava and gone back to Amarapoora, where it remained
till 1860, when the king and his court made their last removal to
Mandalay.
One thing is clear: the country that can afford to gratify its
superstitious fear of omens in this spendthrift way, lightly undertaking
to build a new capital every now and then, and whilst sparing so much
on pagodas, monasteries, monks and other works of merit, yet look so
plump and well favoured as Burmans usually do, must possess considerable
sources of wealth, and there is no doubt such is the case with Burma.
Between the religious buildings and the dwellings of the people the
contrast is great, but it was greater in Burmese times than it is now. It
was very significant indeed to observe the rage for building brick houses
that took place in Mandalay, when once it was known for certain that
the Burmese Government was no more, and that it was to be the English
Government henceforth; and equally instructive was it to observe how
the value of property went up by leaps and bounds. One needs no better
proof than that of the reputation British rule enjoys even in the remote
East, and of the enlivening touch it gives to commerce and all that is
free and enterprising. And how the natives of India of different races
flocked into the upper province after the annexation! They knew what
British rule was in India, even though many of them knew not a word of
English. Even the Upper Burmans, who were quite new to our government,
seemed at once to enter into the spirit of the change that had come. The
sumptuary laws were removed, of course, now the king was gone; that is,
such laws as regulated to a nicety what style of house a man might build,
and what kind of an umbrella and how many of them he might carry on state
occasions; and the Burmans who had money now no longer feared that if
they let it be known they would have to part with it. Hence, for various
reasons, the building of substantial brick houses went on at a great
rate, and almost all the brick houses now seen in Mandalay were built at
that time.