BURMESE VILLAGES
I remained at Bhamo from the 15th to the 18th June, during which time I was treated with the greatest hospitality by various local residents. On the morning of the 18th I started for Mandalay on one of the fine steamers belonging to the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company, and spent the next two days in a complete idleness, which, after months of arduous travelling, I found thoroughly enjoyable. The scenery of this part of the Irrawaddy is not as a rule very striking compared with the magnificence of some of the Chinese rivers, but its placid waters and the rich vegetation of its banks have a tranquil beauty of their own which is quite unique. Perhaps one of the most striking facts about Upper Burma is that it is one of the few countries where the works of human hands—native hands, at least—have not spoiled nature's own loveliness. A Chinese village is seldom a thing of beauty, except as viewed from a distance:[367] a Burmese village, on the contrary, hardly ever mars, and very often accentuates, the simple beauty of its surroundings. The houses—built of wood and bamboo—look as if they had grown out, and were still an integral part, of the virgin forest from which their materials have all been drawn. Like the statue which, according to the old Greek fancy, lay hidden in the shapeless block of marble until the artist's chisel released it from its prison, so the Burmese village—as one might dream—was never created by the hand of man, but only lay buried in the primeval forest until the hour when the woodman's axe pruned the luxuriance of the jungle growths. Such, at least, was the impression that came to me as the throbbing steam-boat glided rapidly in the silver morning haze through the noiseless waters of the great river of Burma. A nearer acquaintance with the villages—for we often stopped to embark cargo or to land passengers—hardly convinced me that my dream was an idle one: for the finely-carved teakwood monasteries and the shining pagodas with their gilded summits, and, above all, the graceful figures and merry faces and tasteful dresses of the people themselves, all tended to intensify my first impressions. The sites of the stupas or pagodas are always singularly well chosen.[368] It is sad to reflect that some of the beauty of the Burmese riverside villages is gradually passing away in obedience to the dismal Western law of progress. The danger of fire and considerations of economy, coupled, I fear, with the partial decay of the exquisite taste which was once the Burman's birth-right, has brought about the introduction of new methods of building and foreign architectural designs. Most incongruous of all are the corrugated-iron roofs. Can the poor Burman be supplied with no roofing material less hideous? The Burmese are wise enough to retain their own national costume, a matter for which one should feel grateful; but the adoption of cheap black European umbrellas is almost as serious a lapse from good taste as the use of iron roofing, and is apparently recognised as such by the authorities.
A BURMESE CROWD
When the Prince of Wales was recently in Mandalay he was entertained by the Lieutenant-Governor at a water carnival. It took place on the waters of the moat close to the walls of Fort Dufferin—the old royal city—and such parts of the grounds as were open to the public were crowded with Burmese sightseers, dressed in their finest silks. The show of colour was unfortunately marred by enormous numbers of black umbrellas, used as sunshades. As a Burmese crowd (without umbrellas) is one of the most charming sights to be seen in Burma or anywhere else and was therefore well worthy of a prince's gaze, messengers were hurriedly despatched to inform the smiling crowd that in the presence of British royalty umbrellas must come down. The order was of course obeyed without a murmur, and the Prince of Wales had the pleasure of beholding in Mandalay a more brilliant and picturesque assemblage of his future subjects than he is ever likely to behold in the empire's capital.
The most striking scenery on the Irrawaddy below Bhamo is undoubtedly to be found in what is known as the Second Defile.[369] The river at this point flows through a comparatively narrow channel in a gorge which is overlooked by a great cliff about 800 feet high. A few years ago I spent many happy days in a canoe, floating down the beautiful Nam-U,[370] from Muang Wa to Luang Prabang. A short distance above the mouth of the river, where it joins the Mekong, there is a stupendous limestone precipice—how lofty I should not dare to guess—which rises sheer out of the water on the right bank. In situation and appearance it is similar to the cliff in the Second Defile of the Irrawaddy, yet, if I can trust my own recollection, the Nam-U precipice is the loftier and more magnificent. As, however, the wild beauty of the Nam-U has never ceased to be a waking dream ever since I shot its rapids in my little canoe, and camped on its banks night by night at the edge of its silent and trackless jungles, it may be that its most striking features tend in my own mind to loom larger than the reality. In any case the Irrawaddy, too, can furnish food for lifelong dreams of beauty.
MANDALAY
Having left Bhamo on 18th June I reached Mandalay on the morning of the 20th. Here—for the purposes of this book at least—I may regard my journey as at an end. In travelling overland from the capital of China to the old capital of Burma, I had carried out the pleasant task which I had set myself when I started from Weihaiwei almost half a year before. It were fitting, perhaps, that I should close this imperfect account of my journey with a description of the marvels of Mandalay; but I must decline a task for which no casual visitor can or should regard himself qualified. A week's residence in Mandalay is not sufficient to justify any one except the globe-trotter—for whom two days and a night may be sufficient—in attempting a description of one of the most curious and wonderful of the modern cities of Asia. In the palace grounds I was shown the magnificent monument which was erected to the memory of king Mindon,[371] father of the ex-king Thibaw. I was told that in a recent book about Burma, written by one who was too much pressed for time to sift his facts, there is a fine photograph of this monument which is described as "the tomb of king Mindon's favourite Terrier." There is a moral in this little story which we tourists would do well to take to heart.
Next to the numerous palace buildings with their gilded throne-rooms—no longer, thanks to Lord Curzon, used as a European club—the most interesting sights are outside the walls of the royal city. No student of Buddhism will omit to visit that wonderful collection of miniature temples known as the Kutho-daw, which contains the whole of the Buddhist Pali canon—a collection of sacred writings at least five times as long, be it remembered, as the whole of the Christian Bible—carved on nearly a thousand slabs of white marble. Each slab stands upright in a small pagoda and is fully exposed to view, though sheltered from the weather. The pagodas are about seven hundred in number, and are arranged in symmetrical order side by side, the whole forming a great square with a temple in the centre. This wonderful work was carried out by Mindon Min in 1857, simply as an act of religious devotion.[372] The other pagodas of Mandalay and its neighbourhood are very numerous, and each possesses interesting features of its own. The finest is perhaps the Maha Myatmuni, generally known as the Arakan Pagoda. It contains a fine brazen colossal image of the Buddha, nearly twelve feet high, in a sitting posture. Its peculiar sanctity is derived from the tradition that it was copied from life and is therefore a true image of the Buddha as he really was. In mediæval times wars were waged between several of the kings of Burma and Indo-China in order to settle the disputed right of its possession. I was surprised to find that religious scruples have not prevented the introduction of electric light into this temple; but the effect is far from displeasing. The lights in the recess containing the famous Buddha are so arranged that, while they strongly illuminate the image itself, the neighbouring parts of the pagoda, where I saw many girl-worshippers devoutly kneeling, are in deep gloom.
MANDALAY AS A CENTRE
Starting from Mandalay as a centre I paid several visits to other parts of Burma, where I remained altogether about six weeks. Among other places I visited Lashio, only a few days' journey by road from the Salwen at the Kunlon Ferry, and the furthest point yet attained by the railway. There I spent a few days as the guest of the Superintendent of the North Shan States.[373] At Maymyo, the charming European hill-station, I was kindly entertained by Sir Herbert White, K.C.I.E., Lieutenant-Governor of Burma, and later on was also his guest at Government House, Mandalay. Maymyo is only about four hours distant from Mandalay by train, but during that short distance the railway climbs a height of over 3,000 feet. Between Maymyo and Lashio I broke my journey for a couple of days, and, under the auspices of Mr D. G. Robertson, the British Adviser, I had the pleasure of meeting the reigning chief or sawbwa of the important Shan State of Hsi-paw. I had hoped to spend some weeks or months in the trans-Salwen portion of the province, for the purpose of studying something of the languages and customs of the numberless tribes that inhabit that fascinating and little-known country, and comparing them with what I knew of the allied tribes in French Laos, and those through whose territory I had recently passed in Chinese territory. As travelling in the Shan States is, however, practically impossible during the rains, I was obliged indefinitely to postpone the fulfilment of that part of my programme. As I hoped to return to the Shan States later on, I commenced the study of the language and hired a Shan servant to accompany me during the remainder of my stay in Burma.