1879
By Christmas 1878 the winter had brought to a temporary standstill the
operations of the British troops engaged in the first Afghan campaign,
and I took the opportunity of this inaction to make a journey into
Native Burmah, the condition of which seemed thus early to portend the
interest which almost immediately after converged upon it, because of
King Thebau's wholesale slaughter of his relatives. Reaching Mandalay,
the capital of Native Burmah, in the beginning of February 1879, I
immediately set about compassing an interview with the young king. Both
Mr. Shaw, who was our Resident at Mandalay at the time of my visit, and
Dr. Clement Williams whose kindly services I found so useful, are now
dead, and many changes have occurred since the episode described below;
but no description, so far as I am aware, has appeared of any visit of
courtesy and curiosity to the Court of King Thebau of a later date than
that made by myself at the date specified. One of my principal objects
in visiting Mandalay, or, in Burmese phrase, of "coming to the Golden
Feet," was to see the King of Burmah in his royal state in the Presence
Chamber of the Palace. Certain difficulties stood in the way of the
accomplishment of this object. I had but a few days to spend in
Mandalay. With the approval of Mr. Shaw, the British Resident, I
determined to pursue an informal course of action, and with this intent
I enlisted the good offices of an English gentleman resident in
Mandalay, who had intimate relations with the Ministers and the Court.
This gentleman, Dr. Williams, was good enough to help me with zeal and
address. The line of strategy to adopt was to interest in my cause one
of the principal Ministers. Of these there were four, who constituted
the _Hlwot-dau_, or High Court and Council of the Monarchy. These
"Woonghys" or "Menghyis," as they were more commonly called--"Menghyi,"
meaning "Great Prince"--were of equal rank; but the senior Minister,
the Yenangyoung Menghyi, who had precedence, was then in confinement,
and, indeed, a decree of degradation had gone forth against him.
Obviously he was of no use; but a more influential man than he ever
was, and having the additional advantages of being at liberty, in power
and in favour, was the "Kingwoon Menghyi." He was in effect the Prime
Minister of the King of Burmah. His position was roughly equivalent to
that of Bismarck in Germany, or of Gortschakoff in Russia, since, in
addition to his internal influence, he had the chief direction of
foreign affairs. Now this "Kingwoon Menghyi" had for a day or two been
relaxing from the cares of State. Partly for his own pleasure, partly
by way of example, he had laid out a beautiful garden on the low ground
near the river. Within this garden he had the intention to build
himself a suburban residence, which meanwhile was represented by a
summer pavilion of teak and bamboo. He was a liberal-minded man, and it
was a satisfaction to him that the shady walks and pleasant rose-groves
of this garden should be enjoyed by the people of Mandalay. He was a
reformer, this "Kingwoon Menghyi," and believed in the humanising
effect of free access to the charms of nature. His garden laid out and
his pavilion finished, he was celebrating the event by a series of
_fêtes._ He was "at home" in his pavilion to everybody; bands of music
played all day long and day after day, in the kiosks, among the young
palm trees and the rosebushes. Mandalay, high and low, made holiday in
the mazy walks of his garden and in an improvised theatre, wherein an
interminable _pooey,_ or Burmese drama, was being enacted before
ever-varying and constantly appreciative audiences. Dr. Williams opined
that it would conduce to the success of my object that we should call
upon the Minister at his garden-house and request him to use his good
offices in my behalf.
It was near noon when we reached the entrance to the garden. Merry but
orderly sightseers thronged its alleys, and stared with wondering
admiration at a rather attenuated jet of water which rose into the
clear air some thirty feet above a rockwork fountain in the centre.
Dignitaries strolled about under the stemless umbrellas like huge
shields, with which assiduous attendants protected them from the sun;
and were followed by posses of retainers, who prostrated themselves
whenever their masters halted or looked round. Ladies in white jackets
and trailing silk skirts of vivid hue were taking a leisurely airing,
each with her demure maid behind her carrying the lacquer-ware box of
betel-nut. As often as not the fair ones were blowing copious clouds
from huge reed-like cheroots. Sounds of shrill music were heard in the
distance. Walking up the central alley between the rows of palms and
the hedges of roses, we found in the veranda a mixed crowd of laymen
and priests, the latter distinguishable by their shaved heads and
yellow robes. The Minister was just finishing his morning's work of
distributing offerings to the latter, in commemoration of the opening
of his gardens. In response to a message, he at once sent to desire
that we should come to him. The great "shoe-question," the _quaestio
vexata_ between British officialism and Burmah officialism, did not
trouble me. I had no official position; I wanted to gain an object. I
have a respect for the honour of my country, but I could not bring
myself to realise that the national honour centres in my shoes. So I
parted with them at the top of the steps leading up into the Minister's
pavilion, and walking on what is known as my "stocking-feet," and
feeling rather shuffling and shabby accordingly, was ushered through a
throng of prostrate dependents into the presence of the Menghyi. He
came forward frankly and cordially, shook hands with a hearty smile
with Dr. Williams and myself, and beckoned us into an inner alcove,
carpeted with rich rugs and panelled with mirrors. Placing himself in a
half-sitting, half-kneeling attitude which did not expose his feet, he
beckoned to us to get down also. I own to having experienced extreme
difficulty in keeping my feet out of sight, which was a point _de
rigueur_; but his Excellency was not censorious. There was with him a
secretary who had resided several years in Europe, and who spoke
fluently English, French, and Italian. This gentleman knew London
thoroughly, and was perfectly familiar both with the name of the _Daily
News_ and of myself. He introduced me formally to his Excellency, who,
I ought to have mentioned, was the head of the Burmese Embassy which
had visited Europe a few years previously. That his Excellency had some
sort of knowledge of the political character of the _Daily News_ was
obvious from the circumstance that when its name was mentioned he
nodded and exclaimed, "Ah! ah! Gladstone, Bright!" in tones of manifest
approval, which was no doubt accounted for by the fact that he himself
was a pronounced Liberal. I explained that I had come to Mandalay to
learn as much about Burmese manners, customs, and institutions as was
possible in four days, with intent to embody my impressions in letters
to England; and that as the King was the chief institution of the
country, I had a keen anxiety to see him and begged of his Excellency
to lend me his aid toward doing so. He gave no direct reply, but
certainly did not frown on the request. We were served with tea
(without cream or sugar) in pretty china cups, and then the Menghyi,
observing that we were looking at some quaint-shaped musical
instruments at the foot of the dais, explained that they belonged to a
band of rural performers from the Pegu district, and proposed that we
should first hear them play and afterwards visit the theatre and
witness the _pooey_. We assenting, he led the way from his pavilion
through the garden to a pretty kiosk half-embosomed in foliage, and
chairs having been brought the party sat down. We had put on our shoes
as we quitted the dais. The Menghyi explained that it was pleasanter
for him, as it must be for us, that we should change the manner of our
reception from the Burmese to the European custom; and we were quite
free to confess that we would sooner sit in chairs than squat on the
floor. More tea was brought, and a plateful of cheroots. After we had
sat a little while in the kiosk we were joined by the chief
Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, the Baron de Giers of Burmah, a
jovial, corpulent, elderly gentleman who had the most wonderful
likeness to the late Pio Nono, and who clasped his brown hands over his
fat paunch and kicked about his plump bare brown feet in high enjoyment
when anything that struck him as humorous was uttered. He wholly
differed in appearance from his superior, who was a lean-faced and
lean-figured man, grave, and indeed somewhat sad both of eye and of
visage when his face was in repose. As we talked, our conversation
being through the interpreting secretary, there came to the curtained
entrance to the kiosk a very dainty little lady. I had noticed her
previously sauntering around the garden under one of the great
shield-like shades, with a following of serving-men and serving-women
behind her. She greeted the Menghyi very prettily, with the most
perfect composure, although strangers were present. She was clearly a
great pet with the Menghyi; he took her on his knee and played with her
long black hair, as he told her about the visitors. The little lady was
in her twelfth year, and was the daughter of a colleague and a relative
of the Menghyi. She had an olive oval face, with lovely dark eyes, like
the eyes of a deer. She wore a tiara of feathery white blossoms. In her
ears were rosettes of chased red gold. Round her throat was a necklace
of a double row of large pearls. Her fingers--I regret to say her nails
were not very clean--were loaded with rings set with great diamonds of
exceptional sparkle and water; one stone in particular must have been
worth many thousands of pounds. She wore a jacket of white silk, and
round her loins was girt a gay silken robe that trailed about her bare
feet as she walked. She shook hands with us with a pretty shyness and
immediately helped herself to a cheroot, affably accepting a light from
mine. The Menghyi told us she was a great scholar--could read and write
with facility, and had accomplishments to boot.
By this time the provincial band had taken its place under one of the
windows of the kiosk, and it presently struck up. Its music was not
pretty. There were in the strange weird strain suggestions of gongs,
bagpipes, penny whistles, and the humble tom-tom of Bengal. The
gentleman who performed on an instrument which seemed a hybrid between
a flute and a French horn, occasionally arrested his instrumental music
to favour us with vocal strains, but he failed to compete successfully
with the cymbals. I do not think the Menghyi was enraptured by the
music of the strollers from Pegu, for he presently asked us whether we
were ready to go to the _pooey_. He again led the way through a garden,
passing in one corner of it a temporary house of which a company of
Burmese nuns, short-haired, pallid-faced, unhappy-looking women, were
in possession; and passing through a gate in the wicker-work fence
ushered us into the "state-box" of the improvised theatre. There is
very little labour required to construct a theatre in Burmah. Over a
framework of bamboo poles stretch a number of squares of matting as a
protection from the sun. Lay some more down in the centre as a flooring
for the performers. Tie a few branches round the central bamboo to
represent a forest, the perpetual set-scene of a Burmese drama; and the
house is ready. The performers act and dance in the central square laid
with matting. A little space on one side is reserved as a dressing and
green room for the actresses; a similar space on the other side serves
the turn of the actors; and then come the spectators crowding in on all
four sides of the square. It is an orderly and easily managed audience;
it may be added an easily amused audience. The youngsters are put or
put themselves in front and squat down; the grown people kneel or stand
behind. Our "state-box" was merely a raised platform laid with carpets
and cushions, from which as we sat we looked over the heads of the
throng squatting under and in front of us. Of the drama I cannot say
that I carried away with me particularly clear impressions. True, I
only saw a part of it--it was to last till the following morning; but
long before I left the plot to me had become bewilderingly involved.
The opening was a ballet; of that at least I am certain. There were six
lady dancers and six gentlemen ditto. The ladies were arrayed in
splendour, with tinsel tiaras, necklaces, and bracelets, gauzy jackets
and waving scarfs; and with long, light clinging silken robes, of which
there was at least a couple of yards on the "boards" about their feet.
They were old, they were ugly, they leered fiendishly; their faces were
plastered with powder in a ghastly fashion, and their coquetry behind
their fans was the acme of caricature. But my pen halts when I would
describe the gentlemen dancers. I believe that in reality they were not
meant to represent fallen humanity at all; but were intended to
personify _nats,_ the spirits or princes of the air of Burmese
mythology. They carried on their heads pagodas of tinsel and coloured
glass that towered imposingly aloft. They were arrayed in tight-bodiced
coats with aprons before and behind of fantastic outline, resembling
the wings of dragons and griffins, and these coats were an incrusted
mass of spangles and pieces of coloured glass. Underneath a skirt of
tartan silk was fitfully visible. Their brown legs and feet were bare.
The expression of their faces was solemn, not to say lugubrious--one
performer had a most whimsical resemblance to Mr. Toole when he is sunk
in an abyss of dramatic woe. They realised the responsibilities of
their position, and there were moments when these seemed too many for
them. The orchestra, taken as a whole, was rather noisy; but it
comprised one instrument, the "bamboo harmonicon," which deserves to be
known out of Burmah because of its sweetness and range of tone. There
were lots of "go" in the music, and every now and then one detected a
kind of echo of a tune not unfamiliar in other climes. One's ear seemed
to assure one that _Madame Angot_ had been laid under contribution to
tickle the ears of a Mandalay audience, yet how could this be? The
explanation was that the instrumentalists, occasionally visiting
Thayet-myo or Rangoon, had listened there to the strains of our
military bands, and had adapted these to the Burmese orchestra in some
deft inscrutable manner, written music being unknown in the musical
world of Burmah.
Next day the Kingwoon Menghyi took the wholly unprecedented step of
inviting to dinner the British Resident, his suite, and his
visitor--myself. Mr. Shaw accepted the invitation, and I considered
myself specially fortunate in being a participator in a species of
intercourse at once so novel, and to all seeming so auspicious.
About sundown the Residency party, joined _en route_ by Dr. Williams,
rode down to the entrance to the gardens. Here we were warmly received
by the English-speaking secretary, and by the jovial bow-windowed
minister who so much resembled the late Pio Nono. We were escorted to
the verandah of the pavilion, where the Menghyi himself stood waiting
to greet us, and were ushered up to the broad, raised, carpeted
platform which may be styled the drawing-room. Here was a semicircle of
chairs. On our way to these, a long row of squatting Burmans was
passed. As the Resident approached, the Menghyi gave the word, and they
promptly stood erect in line. He explained that they were the superior
officers of the army quartered in the capital--generals, he called
them--whom he had asked to meet us. Of these officers one commanded the
eastern guard of the Palace, the other the western; two others were
aides-de-camp after a fashion. Just as the Menghyi and his subordinate
colleagues represented the Ministry, so these military people
represented the Court. The former was the moderate constitutional
element of the gathering; the latter the "jingo" or personal government
element, for the Burmese Court was reactionary, and those military
sprigs were of the personal suite of the King and were understood to
abet him in his falling away from the constitutional promise with which
his reign began. Their presence rendered the occasion all the more
significant. That they were deputed from the Palace to attend and watch
events was pretty certain, and indeed the two aides went away
immediately after dinner, their excuse being that his Majesty was
expecting their personal attendance. After a little while of waiting,
the _mauvais quart d'heure_ having the edge of its awkwardness taken
off by a series of introductions, dinner was announced, and the
Menghyi, followed by the Resident, led the way into an adjoining
dining-room. Good old Pio Nono, who, I ought to have said, had been
with the Menghyi a member of the Burmese Embassy to Europe, jauntily
offered me his arm, and gave me to understand that he did so in
compliance with English fashion. The Resident sat on the right of the
Menghyi, I was on his left; the rest of the party, to the number of
about fifteen, took their places indiscriminately; Mr. Andrino, an
Italian in Burmese employ, being at the head of the table, Dr. Williams
at the foot. Our meal was a perfectly English dinner, served and eaten
in the English fashion. The Burmese had taken lessons in the nice
conduct of a knife and fork, and fed themselves in the most
irreproachably conventional manner, carefully avoiding the use of a
knife with their fish. Pio Nono, who sat opposite the Menghyi, tucked
his napkin over his ample paunch and went in with a will. He was in a
most hilarious mood, and taxed his memory for reminiscences of his
visit to England. These were not expressed with useless expenditure of
verbiage, nor did they flow in unbroken sequence. It was as if he dug
in his memory with a spade, and found every now and then a gem in the
shape of a name, which he brandished aloft in triumph. He kept up an
intermittent and disconnected fire all through dinner, with an interval
between each discharge, "White-bait!" "Lord Mayor!" "Fishmongers!"
"Cremorne!" "Crystal Palace!" "Edinburgh!" "Dunrobin!" "Newcastle!"
"Windsor!"--each name followed by a chuckle and a succession of nods.
The Menghyi divided his talk between the Resident and myself. He told
me that of all the men he had met in England his favourite was the late
Duke of Sutherland; adding that the Duke was a nobleman of great and
striking eloquence, a trait which I had not been in the habit of
regarding as markedly characteristic of his Grace. He spoke with much
warmth of a pleasant visit he had paid to Dunrobin, and said he should
be heartily glad if the Duke would come to Burmah and give him an
opportunity of returning his hospitality. Here Pio Nono broke in with
one of his periodical exclamations. This time it was "Lady Dudley." Of
her, and of her late husband, the Menghyi then recalled his
recollections, and if more courtly tributes have been paid to her
ladyship's charms and grace, I question if any have been heartier and
more enthusiastic than was the appreciation of this Burmese dignitary.
The soldier element was at first somewhat stiff, but as the dinner
proceeded the generals warmed in conversation with the Resident. But
the aides were obstinately supercilious, and only partially thawed in
acknowledgment of compliments on the splendour of their jewelry.
Functionaries attached to the personal suite of his Majesty wore huge
ear-gems as a distinguishing mark. The aides had these in blazing
diamonds, and were good enough to take out the ornaments and hand them
round. The civil ministers wore no ornaments and their dress was
studiously plain. We were during dinner entertained by music,
instrumental and vocal, sedulously modulated to prevent conversation
from being drowned. The meal lasted quite two hours, and when it was
finished the Menghyi led the way to coffee in one of the kiosks of the
garden. I should have said that no wine was on the table at dinner. The
Burmese by religion are total abstainers, and their guests were willing
to follow their example for the time and to fall in with their
prejudices. After coffee we were ushered into the drawing-room, and
listened to a concert. The only solo-vocalist was the prima donna _par
excellence,_ Mdlle. Yeendun Male. The burden of her songs was love, but
I could not succeed in having the specific terms translated. Then she
sang an ode in praise of the Resident, and gracefully accepted his
pecuniary appreciation of her performance. Pio Nono then beckoned to
her to flatter me at close quarters; but, mistaking the index, she
addressed herself to the Residency chaplain in strains of hyperbolical
encomium. The mistake having been set right, much to the reverend
gentleman's relief, the songstress overpowered my sensitive modesty by
impassioned requests in verse that I should delay my departure; that,
if I could not do so, I should take her away with me; and that, if this
were beyond my power, I should at least remember her when I was far
away. The which was an allegory and cost me twenty rupees.
When the good-nights were being said, the Menghyi gratified me by the
information that the King had given his consent to my presentation, and
that I was to have the opportunity next morning of "Reverencing the
Golden Feet."
The Royal Palace occupied the central space of the city of Mandalay. It
was almost entirely of woodwork, and was not only the counterpart of
the palace which Major Phayre saw at Amarapoora, but the identical
palace itself, conveyed piecemeal from its previous site and re-erected
here. Its outermost enclosure consisted of a massive teak palisading,
beyond which all round was a wide clear space laid out as an esplanade,
the farther margin of which was edged by the houses of ministers and
court officials. The Palace enclosure was a perfect square, each face
about 370 yards. The main entrance, the only one in general use, was in
the centre of the eastern face, almost opposite to which, across the
esplanade, was the _Yoom-daù_, or High Court. This gate was called the
_Yive-daù-yoo-Taga_, or the Royal Gate of the Chosen, because the
charge of it was entrusted to chosen troops. As I passed through it on
my way to be presented to his Majesty, the aspect of the "chosen"
troops was not imposing. They wore no uniform, and differed in no
perceptible item from the common coolies of the outside streets. They
were lying about on charpoys and on the ground, chewing betel or
smoking cheroots, and there was not even the pretence of there being
sentries under arms. Some rows of old flintlock guns stood in racks in
the gateway, rusty, dusty, and untended; they might have been untouched
since the last insurrection. Crossing an intermediate space overgrown
with shrubbery, we passed through a high gateway cut in the inner brick
wall of the enclosure; and there confronted us the great Myenan of
Mandalay--the Palace of the "Sun-descended Monarch." The first
impression was disappointing, for the whole front was covered with
gold-leaf and tawdry tinsel-work which had become weather-worn and
dingy. But there was no time now to halt, inspect details, and rectify
perchance first impressions. A message came that the Kingwoon Menghyi,
my host of the previous evening--substantially the Prime Minister of
Burmah, desired that we--that was to say, Dr. Williams, my guide,
philosopher, and friend, and myself--should wait upon him in the
_Hlwot-daù_, or Hall of the Supreme Council, before entering the Palace
itself. The _Hlwot-daù_ was a detached structure on the right front of
the Palace as one entered by the eastern gate. It was the Downing
Street of Mandalay. Its sides were quite open, and its fantastic roof
of grotesquely carved teak plastered with gilding, painting, and
tinsel, was supported on massive teak pillars painted a deep red.
Taking off our shoes we ascended to the platform of the _Hlwot-daù_,
where we found the Menghyi surrounded by a crowd of minor officials and
suitors squatting on their stomachs and elbows, with their legs under
them and their hands clasped in front of their bent heads. The Menghyi
came forward several paces to meet us, conducted us to his mat, and
sitting down himself and bidding us do the same, explained that as it
was with him a busy day, he would not be able personally to present me
to the King as he had hoped to have done, but that he had made all
arrangements and had delegated the charge of us to our old friend whom
I have ventured to call "Pio Nono." That corpulent and jovial worthy
made his appearance at this moment along with his English-speaking
subordinate, and with cordial acknowledgments and farewells to the
Menghyi we left the _Hlwot-daù_ under their guidance. They led us along
the front of the Palace, passing the huge gilded cannon that flanked on
either side the central steps leading up into the throne-room; and
turning round the northern angle of the Palace front, conducted us to
the Hall of the _Bya-dyt_, or Household Council. We had to leave our
shoes at the foot of the steps leading up to it. The _Bya-dyt_ was a
mere open shed; its lofty roof borne up by massive teak timbers. What
splendour had once been its in the matter of gilding and tinsel was
greatly faded. The gold-leaf had been worn off the pillars by constant
friction, and the place appeared to be used as a lumber-room as well as
a council-chamber. On the front of one of a pile of empty cases was
visible, in big black letters, the legend, "Peek, Frean, and Co.,
London." State documents reposed in the receptacle once occupied by
biscuits. Clerks lay all around on the rough dusty boards, writing with
agate stylets on tablets of black papier-mâche; and there was a
constant flux and reflux of people of all sorts, who appeared to have
nothing to do and who were doing it with a sedulously lounging
deliberation that seemed to imply a gratifying absence of arrears of
official work. We sat down here for a while along with Pio Nono and his
assistant, who busied himself in dictating to a secretary a description
of myself and a catalogue of my presents to be read by the herald to
his Majesty when I should be presented. Then Pio Nono went away and
presently came back, saying that it was intended to bestow upon me some
souvenirs of Mandalay, and that to admit of the preparation of these
the audience would not take place for an hour or so. He invited us in
the meantime to inspect the public apartments of the Palace itself and
the objects of interest in the Palace enclosure. So we got up, and
still without our shoes walked through the suite leading to the
principal throne-room or great hall of audience.
These were simply a series of minor throne-rooms. The first one in
order from the private apartments was close to the _Bya-dyt_. It must
be borne in mind that the whole suite, including the great audience
hall, were not rooms at all in our sense of the word. They were simply
open-roofed spaces, the roofs gabled, spiked, and carved into fantastic
shapes, laden with dingy gold-leaf garishly picked out with glaring
colours and studded with bits of stained glass; the roofs, or rather I
should say, the one continuous roof, supported on massive deep red
pillars of teak-wood. The whole palace was raised from the ground on a
brick platform some 10 feet high. The partitions between the several
walls were simply skirtings of planking covered with gold-leaf. The
whole palace seemed an armoury. Some ten or twelve thousand stand of
obsolete muskets were ranged along these partitions and crammed into
the anteroom of the throne-room proper. The whole suite was dingy,
dirty, and uncared-for; but on a great day, with the gilding renewed,
carpets spread on the rugged boards, banners waving, and the courtiers
in full dress, no doubt the effect would have been materially improved.
The vista from the throne of the great hall of audience looked right
through the columned arcade to the "Gate of the Chosen"; and that we
might imagine the scene more vividly, we considered ourselves as on our
way to Court on one of the great days, and going back to the gate again
began our pilgrimage anew. The pillared front of the Palace stretched
before us raised on the terrace, its total length 260 feet. Looking
between the two gilded cannon, we saw at the foot of the central steps
a low gate of carved and gilded wood. That gate, it seemed, was never
opened except to the King--none save he might use those central steps.
Raising our eyes we looked right up the vista of the hall to the lofty
throne raised against the gilded partition that closed at once the
vista and the hall. We had been looking down the great central nave, as
it were, toward the west gate, in the place of which was the throne.
But along the eastern front of the terrace ran a long colonnade, whose
wings formed transepts at right angles to the nave. The throne-room was
shaped like the letter T, the throne being at the base of the letter
and the cross-bar representing the colonnade. Entering at the extremity
of one of these, we traversed it to the centre and then faced the nave.
The throne was exactly before us, at the end of the pillared vista.
Five steps led up to the dais. Its form was peculiar, contracting by a
gradation of steps from the base upwards to mid-height, and again
expanding to the top, on which was a cushioned ledge such as is seen in
the box of a theatre. On the platform, which now was bare planks, the
King and Queen on a great reception day would sit on gorgeous carpets.
The entrance was through gilded doors from a staircase in the ante-room
beyond. There was a rack of muskets round the foot of the throne, and
just outside the rails a half-naked soldier lay snoring. Our Burman
companion assured us that seeing the throne-room now in its condition
of dismantled tawdriness, I could form no idea of the fine effect when
King and Court in all their splendour were gathered in it on a
ceremonial day. I tried to accept his assurances, but it was not easy
to imagine such forlorn dinginess changed into dazzling splendour. Just
over the throne, and in the centre of the Palace and of the city, rose
in gracefully diminishing stages of fantastic woodcarving a tapering
_phya-sath_ or spire similar to those surmounting sacred buildings, and
crowned with the gilded _Htee_, an honour which royalty alone shared
with ecclesiastical sanctity. The spire, like everything else, had been
gilt, but it was now sadly tarnished and had lost much of its
brilliancy of effect.
Having looked at the hall of audience we strolled through the Palace
esplanade. A wall parted this off from the private apartments and the
pleasure grounds occupying the western section of the Palace enclosure.
A series of carved and gilded gables roofed with glittering zinc plates
was visible over the wall. The grounds were said to be well planted
with flowering shrubs and fruit trees and to contain lakelets and
rockeries. Built against the outer wall and facing the enclosed space
were barracks for soldiers and gun sheds. The accommodation was as
primitive as are the weapons, and that was saying a good deal. Pio Nono
led us across to a big wooden house, scarcely at all ornamented, which
was the everyday abode of the "Lord White Elephant." His "Palace," or
state apartment, was not pointed out to us. His lordship, in so far as
his literal claim to be styled a white elephant, was an impostor of the
deepest dye and a very grim and ugly impostor to boot. He was a great,
lean, brown, flat-sided brute, his ears, forehead, and trunk mottled
with a dingy cream colour. But he belonged all the same to the lordly
race. "White elephants" were a science which had a literature of its
own. According to this science, it was not the whiteness that was the
criterion of a "white elephant." So much, indeed, was the reverse, that
a "white elephant" according to the science may be a brown elephant in
actual colour. The points were the mottling of the face, the shape and
colour of the eyes, the position of the ears, and the length of the
tail. Certainly the "Lord White Elephant" had, to the most cursory
observation, a peculiar and abnormal eye. The iris was yellow, with a
reddish outer annulus and a small, clear, black pupil. It was
essentially a shifty, treacherous eye, and I noticed that everybody
took particularly good care to keep out of range of his lordship's
trunk and tusks. The latter were superb--long, massive, and smooth,
their tips quite meeting far in front of his trunk. His tail was much
longer than in the Indian elephants, and was tipped with a bunch of
long, straight, black hair. Altogether he was an unwholesome,
disagreeable-looking brute, who munched his grass morosely and had no
elephantine geniality. He was but a youngster--the great, old, really
white elephant which Yule describes had died some time back, after an
incumbency dating from 1806. The "White Elephant" was never ridden now,
but the last King but one used frequently to ride its predecessor,
acting as his own mahout. We did not see his trappings, as our visit
was paid unawares when he was quite in undress; but Yule says that when
arrayed in all his splendour his head-stall was of fine red cloth,
studded with great rubies, interspersed with valuable diamonds. When
caparisoned he wore on his forehead, like other Burmese dignitaries
including the King himself, a golden plate inscribed with his titles
and a gold crescent set with circles of large gems between the eyes.
Large silver tassels hung in front of his ears, and he was harnessed
with bands of gold and crimson set freely with large bosses of pure
gold. He was a regular "estate of the realm," having a _woon_ or
minister of his own, four gold umbrellas, the white umbrellas which
were peculiar to royalty, with a large suite of attendants and an
appanage to furnish him with maintenance wherewithal. When in state his
attendants had to leave their shoes behind them when they enter his
Palace. In a shed adjacent to that occupied by the "Lord White
Elephant" stood his lady wife, a browner, plumper, and generally more
amiable-looking animal. Contrary to universal experience elsewhere,
elephants in Burmah breed in captivity, but this union was unfertile
and the race of "Lord White Elephants" had to be maintained _ab extra_.
The so-called white elephants are sports of nature, and are of no
special breed. They are called Albinoes, and are more plentiful in the
Siam region than in Burmah.
By this time the hour was approaching that had been fixed for the
presentation, and we returned to the _Bya-dyt_. The summons came almost
immediately. Ushered by Pio Nono and accompanied by several courtiers,
we traversed some open passages and finally reached a kind of pagoda or
kiosk within the private gardens of the Palace. The King was not to
appear in state, and this place had been selected by reason of its
absolute informality. There was no ornament anywhere, not so much as a
speck of gilding or an atom of tinsel. We solemnly squatted down on a
low platform covered with grass matting, through which pierced the teak
columns supporting the lofty roof. A space had been reserved for us in
the centre, on either side of which, their front describing a
semicircle, a number of courtiers lay crouching on their stomachs but
placidly puffing cheroots. On our left were two or three superior
military officers of the Palace guard, distinguishable only by their
diamond ear-jewels. My presents--they were trivial: an opera-glass, a
few boxes of chocolate, and a work-box--were placed before me as I sat
down. There were other offerings to right and to left of them--a huge
bunch of cabbages, a basket of _Kohl-rabi_, and three baskets of
orchids. In the clear space in front I observed also a satin robe lined
with fur, a couple of silver boxes, and a ruby ring. These, I imagined,
were also for presentation, but it presently appeared they were his
Majesty's return gifts for myself. Before us, at a higher elevation,
there was a plain wooden railing with a gap in the centre, and the
railing enclosed a sort of recess that looked like a garden-house. Over
a ledge where the gap was, had been thrown a rich crimson and gold
trapping that hung low in front, and on the ledge were a crimson
cushion, a betel box, and a tall oval spittoon in gold set with pearls.
A few minutes passed, beguiled by conversation in a low tone, when six
guards armed with double-barrelled firearms of very diverse patterns,
mounted the platform from the left side and took their places on either
side, squatting down. The guards wore black silk jackets lined with fur
and with scarlet kerchiefs bound round their heads. Then a door opened
in the left side of the garden-house, and there entered first an old
gaunt beardless man--the chief eunuch--closely followed by the King,
otherwise unattended. His Majesty came on with a quick step, and sat
down, resting his right arm on the crimson cushion on the ledge in the
centre of the railing. He wore a white silk jacket, and a _loonghi_ or
petticoat robe of rich yellow and green silk. His only ornaments were
his diamond ear-jewels. As he entered all bent low, and when he had
seated himself a herald lying on his stomach read aloud my credentials.
The literal translation was as follows:--"So-and-so, a great newspaper
teacher of the _Daily News_ of London, tenders to his Most Glorious
Excellent Majesty, Lord of the Ishaddan, King of Elephants, master of
many white elephants, lord of the mines of gold, silver, rubies, amber,
and the noble serpentine, Sovereign of the empires of Thunaparanta and
Tampadipa, and other great empires and countries, and of all the
umbrella-wearing chiefs, the supporter of religion, the Sun-descended
Monarch, arbiter of life, and great, righteous King, King of kings, and
possessor of boundless dominions, and supreme wisdom, the following
presents." The reading was intoned in a uniform high recitative,
strongly resembling that used when our Church Service is intoned; and
the long-drawn "Phya-a-a-a-a" (my lord) which concluded it, added to
the resemblance, as it came in exactly like the "Amen" of the Liturgy.
The reading over, the return presents were picked up by an official and
bundled over to me without any ceremony, the King meanwhile looking on
in silence, chewing betel and smoking a cheroot. Several of the
courtiers were following his example in the latter respect. Presently
the King spoke in a distinct, deliberate voice--
"Who is he?"