very little is really known: the truth, amidst the nonsense, of Burmese legends, being, as in Gratiano’s speech, the two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff. There is no doubt, however, that the Shwe Dagon Pagoda, of Rangoon, is one of the most celebrated objects of worship, or veneration, in all the Indo-Chinese countries. It is simply one enormous mass of masonry, of the form of a conical pyramid, rimmed round, and ascending in a slightly curved line, that adds grace and lightness to the shape, to the height of 320 feet from the platform, on which its enormous base stands. It is supposed to be built, by every Buddhist, over the relics of the last Buddh, Gaudama, amongst which relics are four hairs of that sage’s head. Over these invaluable relics was first erected a small Pagoda, and the date assigned to this first structure is about the year B.C. 588. But unfortunately for the accuracy of this date, one can hear nothing more of this Pagoda for about 2,000 years, as it was not till A.D. 1446, and again in A.D. 1501, that the original structure, if structure there was, appears to have been added to. Nor can we find any authentic account of it, till the reign of Her Most Gracious Majesty Sheng-tsau-boo, who flourished (let us hope) at the beginning of the sixteenth century, when Henry VIII. was thinking what he should do, when he succeeded to the throne. During this queen’s reign the Pagoda was enlarged by, as is probable, the addition of fresh layers, over any former structure there may have been there. But the Pagoda, as it now is, was not completed till the reign of Tshen-phyoo-sheng, the son of Alompra; as in his reign the Htee, or cap, was placed upon the top, A.D. 1768. To every successive stage, or story, in the building, is assigned its own peculiar name; the base, or plinth, is called the Bhe-nat-dau; then come three different pits-tsaya’s; the circular frame is Kyé-waing; the bell-shaped portion, also divided into three parts, is called Khaung-laung; the umbrella-shaped cap, Htee; and the very highest point of the spire is Tsein-phoo, or Diamond bud. From Bhe-nat-dau up to Tsein-phoo, it is gilded; but the ardent sun and heavy rains of Rangoon have considerably dimmed the lustre of the outer coating; and, unfortunately, the cost of re-gilding it is no trifle.
To see this building to advantage, you should first visit it just before sunset, in order to have the full view of the surrounding country from the platform; and then stay on, either alone, or with one or two companions “slow to speak,” till the moon (which had better be at the full) has risen, and lights up the countless images of the Buddhist shrines and the enormous pyramid of the Pagoda. You will not forget the sight, though you live to the age of Old Parr. On first reaching the platform, the setting sun will gild afresh for your special behoof the solid conical mass that towers up before you, at a considerably less cost than it could be done with earthly material. It will also light up the whole view stretching out east and south towards the sea, and make the very pretty Pagoda, about ten miles from where you are standing, glisten again like a diamond. North and west it will gleam over the foliage of myriads of forest trees that no living hand planted, and that no living wight cares for, save the owners of the pine-apple plantations that here and there are spread out under the kindly shade of the trees. Of these pine-apple plantations one may observe, just while the sun is setting, that they cover hundreds of acres in the neighbourhood of Rangoon. In May the fruit is ripe, and the finest pine-apples are sold in the market for about a halfpenny. First rate, too, they are. Not perhaps equal in flavour to a Chatsworth pine; but yet not much inferior, and their extraordinary abundance and cheapness teaches you to eschew all but the finest specimens of the fruit. A plantation once made requires scarcely the slightest attention. Often they are not even enclosed by the commonest bamboo fence. The fruit is too plentiful to be worth the trouble of stealing!
But now the moon gives her full light. Moreover there is a slight sea-breeze. Listen, then, and you will hear the distant sound of bells, coming as it might come over Salisbury Plain from a distant flock of sheep. The sound is now caused by the breeze ringing the little bells that are affixed to the htee of the Pagoda spire. Not unmusical are they either: and if—avoiding all companionship just now—you wander round the base of this singular structure, you may dream away an hour or two very pleasantly. What a wondrous religious system is this of Buddhism, in one of whose most sacred cathedrals you are now strolling. Coming from Ceylon, and spreading itself as it has done over so many millions of human minds: gathering into its toils Chinese, Nepaulese, Thibetans, Burmese, Arracanese: why, its sway extends over nearly one-quarter of the human race—let us say 300,000,000!
And here, in one of its chief seats, the full round moon is lighting up hundreds of images of the type so well known, representing Gaudama, the last Buddh: each image different, yet each with all the unchanging monotony of complete vacuity of expression. The artists appear to have tried to copy, in these images of Gaudama, the expressionless features of Burmese beauty; and, excuse us, ye lords of creation in Burmah, in saying, that your wives and daughters are surely not handsome; and that of all civilised womankind from Cairo to Pekin, we are inclined to reckon your ladies as the most destitute of either beauty of form or loveliness of expression. Your admirers, in endeavouring to impart to the imaged Gaudama all your grace and perfection, have not contrived to make a very attractive idol. To say the truth, it is rather a relief to turn from your prototype to some grotesque and hideous dæmon-Nath, as he stands a kind of guardian at some holy threshold.
Who and what is Gaudama, whose image thus meets you at every step you take round the Dagon Pagoda—each dzedee harbouring scores of his statues, with the soft light of the moon bringing out his most unattractive features? Is he, in Buddhist thought, a god, a demon, or a man? Ah, you may well ask. The answer is, Gaudama is, or rather was, a mere man, who, by the practice of all virtue, attained the highest point of perfection that human being can ever reach.