Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places

A >> Archibald Forbes >> Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places

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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-dau_, or High Court. This gate was called the _Yive-dau-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-dau_, or Hall of the
Supreme Council, before entering the Palace itself. The _Hlwot-dau_ 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-dau_, 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-dau_ 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-mache; 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.

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