Camps, Quarters, and Casual Places | Page 9

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