Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places | Page 7

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