“The extent of ancient Pegue may still be accurately traced by the ruins of the ditch and walls that surrounded it; from these it appears to have been a quadrangle, each side measuring nearly a mile and a half; in several places the ditch is choked up by rubbish that has been cast into it, and the falling of its own banks; sufficient, however, still remains to show that it was once no contemptible defence; the breadth I judged to be about sixty yards, and the depth ten or twelve feet; in some parts of it there is water, but in no considerable quantity. I was informed, that when the ditch was in repair, the water seldom, in the hottest season, sunk below the depth of four feet. An injudicious fausse-braie, thirty feet wide, did not add to the security of the fortress.
“The fragments of the wall likewise evince that this was a work of magnitude and labour; it is not easy to ascertain precisely what was its height, but we conjectured it at least thirty feet, and in breadth, at the base, not less than forty. It is composed of brick, badly cemented with clay mortar. Small equidistant bastions, about three hundred yards asunder, are still discoverable; and there had been a parapet of masonry; but the whole is in a state so ruinous, and so covered with weeds and briars, as to leave very imperfect vestiges of its former strength.
“In the centre of each face of the fort there is a gateway about thirty feet wide, and these gateways were the principal entrances. The passage across the ditch is over a causeway raised on a mound of earth, that serves as a bridge, and was formerly defended by a retrenchment, of which there are now no traces.
“It is impossible to conceive a more striking picture of fallen grandeur and the desolating hand of war, than the inside of these walls displays.... The temples, or praws, which are very numerous, were the only buildings that escaped the fury of the conqueror; and of these the great pyramid of Shoemadoo has alone been reverenced and kept in repair.”[198]
About the time when Symes visited Pegu, active exertions were being made to conciliate the Peguers, or Taliens, as the Burmans always called them; and we may well agree with the energetic traveller, that “no act of the Burman government is more likely to reconcile the Peguers to the Burman yoke than the restoration of their ancient place of abode, and the preservation and embellishment of the temple of Shoemadoo.”[199] The government were fully sensible of this, and the commands of his Burman majesty went forth, that the governor of Rangoon should transfer the provincial seat of government to the imperial city of Pegu. Notwithstanding these commands, the superior position of Rangoon will ever cause it to remain the more considerable of the two. Even to this day, as it was at the period of Symes’s visit in 1795, the city of Pegu is chiefly inhabited by Râhwans, or priests, attachés of the provincial government, and poor Peguese families, who greedily availed themselves of the king’s permission to colonise their deserted, though once magnificent metropolis. Symes estimates the population as not exceeding seven thousand. Melancholy fate of the once proud and glorious capital!
Modern Pegu is built on the ruins of the ancient city, and occupies about half its area. “It is fenced round by a stockade from ten to twelve feet high; on the north and east side it borders on the old wall. The plane of the town is not yet filled with houses, but a number of new ones are building. There is one main street running east and west, crossed at right angles by two smaller streets not yet finished. At each extremity of the principal street there is a gate in the stockade, which is shut early in the evening; and after that time, entrance during the night is confined to a wicket. Each of these gates is defended by a wretched piece of ordnance, and a few musketeers, who never post sentinels, and are usually asleep in an adjoining shed. There are two inferior gates on the north and south sides of the stockade.”[200]
The character of the Burmese, on which we must here say a few words, has its good points as well as its bad. “It differs,” according to the testimony of one who knew them well,[201] “in many points from that of the Hindus and other East-Indians. They are more lively, active, and industrious, and though fond of repose, are seldom idle when there is an inducement for exertion. When such inducement offers, they exhibit not only great strength, but courage and perseverance, and often accomplish what we should think scarcely possible. But these valuable traits are rendered nearly useless by the want of a higher grade of civilisation. The poorest classes, furnished by a happy climate with all necessaries, at the price of only occasional labour, and the few who are above that necessity, find no proper pursuits to fill up their leisure. Books are too scarce to enable them to improve by reading, and games grow wearisome.... Folly and sensuality find gratification almost without effort, and without expenditure. Sloth, then, must be the repose of the poor, and the business of the rich.... Thus, life is wasted in the profitless alternation of sensual ease, rude drudgery, and native sport. No elements exist for the improvement of posterity, and successive generations pass like the crops upon their fields. Were there but a disposition to improve the mind, and distribute benefits, what majesty of piety might we not hope to see in a country so favoured with the means of subsistence, and so cheap in its modes of living! Instead of the many objects of an American’s ambition, and the unceasing anxiety to amass property, the Burman sets a limit to his desires, and when that is reached, gives himself to repose and enjoyment. Instead of wearing himself out in endeavours to equal or surpass his neighbour in dress, food, furniture, or house, he easily attains the customary standard, beyond which he seldom desires to go.”
One hardly knows whether to call this “incorrigible idleness”[202] or no. It is certainly the same fatal constitution of character, or force of circumstances, which has ever conspired to prevent the Irish from rising in the scale of nations. But these are not the only similarities between the dispositions of the two nations. It is perfectly fair to call the Burmese the Irish of the East.
Yet they go beyond that nation in many of its worst characteristics. Servility, the inevitable consequence of despotism, prevails amongst them to a frightful extent, overcoming, in many instances, the sense of right implanted in their bosoms as men. “Indeed,” says an excellent authority,[203] “every Burman considers himself a slave, not merely before the emperor and the mandarins, but before any one who is his superior, either in age or possessions. Hence he never speaks of himself to them in the first person, but always makes use of the word Chiundò, that is, your slave. While asking for a favour from the emperor, the mandarins, or any respectable person, he will go through so many humiliations and adorations, that one would imagine he was in the presence of a god. Even if he is desirous of obtaining something from one who is his equal, he will bow, and go on his knees, and adore him, and raise up his hands, &c.” Yet gratitude is a virtue of great rarity. There is no such phrase in the language as, “I thank you.” The statements of Sangermano contrast strangely with those, I think, of Crawfurd, whose remarks tend to the conclusion, that they never ask a favour. They consider that it is a favour to you to be allowed to gain merit by giving them something. This is not improbable. We learn, however, from others, that they will occasionally acknowledge an obligation by observing, “It is a favour.”
Slavishness naturally leads to the remainder of the catalogue of mean vices. One of their principal precepts forbids lying; but there is no ordinance so universally disregarded. A person who tells the truth is considered a good sort of person, but a fool, and incapable of managing his own affairs.[204] Inseparable from untruthfulness is dissimulation and deceit. They practise these, also, to perfection.