Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places | Page 8

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