Royal Reception (1823)

C H A P T E R X I I I

Royal Reception

[ I823 ]

HE emperor was unwilling to let Price go. Within a few days the missionaries were moved into a house he ordered erected for them. It was merely a shelter which scarcely kept out the rain and the gaze of passers-by, but it was near the palace and next to the wall surrounding the residence of the eldest half brother of the king, a “Prince M.,” who had been visited by Price. The prince’s arms and legs were very weak and badly contorted. Unable to get about, he had taken an interest in foreign science and wanted to hear about it from Adoniram.

Adoniram visited Prince M. a number of times in the next few weeks, but never was able to interest him in religion. He seemed to be amused with what Adoniram told him, as if it were a matter of no personal concern whatever. He did, however, once say that his brother the emperor would probably not persecute any of his subjects who wanted to become Christians. “He has a good heart,” said the prince, “and he wishes every one to believe and worship as they please.” But the young prince wanted more to hear what Adoniram could tell him about astronomy. He simply could not admit that the earth and planets revolved around the sun. But he also admitted that he could not answer Adoniram’s arguments, and that, if they were correct, the whole basis of Buddhism collapsed.

Prince M.’s wife, “the Princess of Sarawady, own sister of the king,” took a liking to Adoniram and was much pleased with the copy of Nancy’s catechism which he gave her. They told Adoniram, “Do not return to Rangoon. When your wife arrives, call her to Ava. The king will give you a piece of ground on which to build a kyoung”—-a house set aside for sacred characters to live in. Adoniram began to think that if he took their advice, and could continue talking to the royal family, he might win toleration for the mission and spread the GOSpel even faster than before.

In November he decided to test his idea of appealing directly to the crippled young prince. He told him briefly how he had become a Christian himself and warned him he should consider the matter before it was too late. For a moment the prince seemed to take Adoniram’s words seriously. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “I am young yet, only twenty-eight. I want to study all the foreign arts and sciences. Then my mind will be enlarged, and I will be able to judge whether the Christian religion will be true or not.”

“But suppose,” countered Adoniram, “Your Highness changes worlds in the meantime?”

The prince’s face fell. “It is true,” he said soberly. “I do not know when I shall die.”

“Pray to God for light,” urged Adoniram. “If you receive light, you will be able at once to distinguish between truth and falsehood.”

The prince made no promises, but Adoniram left feeling that he had been impressed. A few days later Adoniram called on him again. This time Adoniram thought he was almost ready to give up Buddhism—until two Buddhist teachers came in. Then the prince fell in with them and contradicted everything Adoniram said.

The crippled Prince M. and his wife were by no means the only people around the throne whom Adoniram saw. Over the months, several of the officials and Atwinwuns and retainers became inter—ested. A few, he thought, were hopeless cases; but more and more he believed there might be good reasons for trying to stay in Ava, especially since Colman at Chittagong, he now learned from a letter, had died on the fourth of July. It seemed doubly important to try to win toleration directly from. the emperor while the Houghs held the foothold in Rangoon. Certainly it would be a shame to leave now, when he was finally gaining some idea of how the government was organized.

Ava was already a great city, of perhaps 7oo,ooo, he thought. Some 4o,ooo houses had been moved from Amarapura, the old capital, in these few years since the king had taken the throne. More would move yet. The whole court was in Ava: the four Wungyis, the highest public ministers, who ranked next to the royal family; the six or seven Atwinwuns, who made up the king’s privy council; and the many Wundauks and their subordinates. Among all these, he was on good terms with a reSpeCtable number, from the emperor and members of the royal family, such as Prince M. and his wife, down to royal secretaries, the Thau-dau-sens. He could not afford to waste these connections.

With this in mind, he petitioned the emperor in late November for a certain piece of land within the city walls “to build a kyoung on.” The petition was granted, provided the ground was found unoccupied.

He finally got a royal land measurer to accompany him to the place. The measurer found that the land was not occupied, but he reported to the Atwinwuns that it had once before been the location of a kyoung; therefore it was sacred and could not be given away. Even so, Adoniram pressed his case, with bribery, and at one time actually had the king’s order for it passed through the levels of decision to the chief Wungyi. But the Wungyi told the king that the ground was sacred. Adoniram was present at the audience. There was nothing more he could say. The king kept silent for a moment, then remarked, “Well, give him some vacant spot.”

Disappointing as this was, one incident had given Adoniram a good deal of encouragement. He had attended an audience with the emperor with Price and two Englishmen who were present in the capital. As the four sat cross-legged together, dressed in conventional European costumes (except for shoes, which they had left outside) the emperor, apparently attracted by their unusual appearance, came over to talk to them.

For some reason, this time he was interested by Adoniram. The emperor could often be pleasant—in fact, he seemed unusually good—humored now that he had consolidated his position and at thirty could look forward to many years of unchallenged rule—and this was one of the times. He asked about the Burmans who had “embraced your religion. Are they real Burmans?”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” Adoniram assured him.

“Do they dress like other Burmans?”

“Yes, they are just like all the other Burmese.”

Adoniram mentioned, after answering a few other questions, that he preached every Sunday. The emperor was curious. “What! In Burmese?”

“Yes.”

“Let us hear how you preach,” commanded the emperor. Adoniram was taken aback. The whole court had heard the imperial order. The huge audience room fell profoundly silent. After a brief hesitation, he began what he later described as “a form of worship, which first ascribed glory to God, and then declares the commands of the law of the Gospel”—probably words borrowed from his first tract: “God is a spirit, without bodily form. Although omnipresent, it is above the heavens that He clearly discovers His glory. His power and wisdom are infinite. He is pure and good, and possessed of everlasting felicity... Have faith in the Saviour. Love God supremely. Love others as yourself. Set not your hearts on worldly goods and riches, but look forward to those riches which are free from defilement and eternal in the heavens. Suppress haughtiness, pride and insolence, and cherish a humble, meek and lowly mind. Return not evil for evil, but have a disposition to forgive the faults of others. Love your enemies, and pray for them. Be compassionate to the poor and needy, and give alms. Covet not the property of others; therefore, take nor by violence, steal not, defraud not in trade. Trespass not on the property of others. Speak no falsehood.... ”

Adoniram stopped. “Go on,” said an Atwinwun.

“Before this world was made,” continued Adoniram, “God remained happy, surrounded by the pure and incorporeal sons of heaven. In order to display His perfections, and make creatures happy, God created the heavens, the sun, moon, and all the stars, the earth, the various kinds of brute creatures, and man.”

Here the Emperor interrupted him. He had heard enough. But later he asked what Adoniram thought of the Buddha, the great Gautama.

“We all know that he was son of King Thog-dau-dau-nah,” said Adoniram, choosing his words carefully. “We regard him as a wise man and a great teacher. But we do not call him God.”

“That is right,” broke in an Atwinwun, who had not been very friendly to Adoniram before, but now thought he saw how things were going. And the man went on to tell the king about what Adoniram had related to him some days before: “The Christian idea that there is only one Being Who exiSts eternally, and how there are three united in One: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.”

Even Maung Zah was encouraged, and said, “Nearly all the world, Your Majesty, believes in an eternal God. All except Burma and Siam, those little spots!”

His Majesty remained silent. Then he asked Adoniram a few desultory queStions about his health, and his wife; and suddenly rose and left.

A week or so later, Adoniram saw the king again and told him he meant to return to Rangoon. His Majesty was interested. “Will you go from there to your own country?”

“Only to Rangoon,” said Adoniram. The king nodded. Maung Zah, the friendly Atwinwun, said: “Will you both go, or will the doctor remain?”

Price would remain, Adoniram assured him. As for himself, he would return “if it was convenient.”

The king nodded acquiescence, and said of Price, “Let a place be given him.”

Maung Zah told Adoniram that night that he believed there was an eternal God, and that “Gaudama and ChriSt, and Mohamet, and others, are great teachers, who communicated as much truth re- 5peCtively as they could; but that their communications are not the word of God.” Adoniram did not dare press argument very far on a man whom he considered “a Deistic BuddhiSt, the first that I have met in the country,” who had obviously thought deep and long about his beliefs and become fixed in them. But when they left, Maung Zah said, “This is a deep and difficult subject. So you, teacher, consider further, and I also will consider.”

Meanwhile, Adoniram continued looking for a place to build a kyoung. He finally found a little piece of land on the riverbank about a mile from the palace and just outside the walls of the town. But the chief Wungyi had already built a fence around it, with the idea of erecting a sort of private zayat there. Adoniram began to pester him for it. He even wrote him a petition, and followed him around with money, waiting until he could slip both into the ofiicial’s hand. When caught, the Wungyi read the petition, smiled, and said, “You are indefatigable in your search for a place. But you cannot have that. It is for my own use.... Search further.”

Adoniram waylaid him again—n0 easy task, for he was harder to get at than the king himself. He found him one night at his house, “lying down, surrounded by forty or fifty people.” Adoniram forced himself into the front rank and held up a small bottle of perfume. One of the Wungyi’s officers took it and gave it to the Wungyi. For some reason, he was very much pleased with it. He sat up and demanded, “What kind of house do you intend to build?”

Just a small one, Adoniram told him, for one family. “But I have no place to build on, my lord.”

The Wungyi reflected. Abruptly he decided—“If you want the little enclosure, take it!”

With profuse thanks, Adoniram prepared to leave. But he could not get away without repeating—but at even more length—the .form of his preaching before the king. Every time he stopped, the Wungyi ordered him to go on; until all at once that official lost intere5t, lay back on the cushions, and let the preacher slip quietly away.

The next night Adoniram brought the money for the property. But the Wungyi would not take it, explaining: “Understand, teacher, that we do not give you the entire owning of this ground. We take no recompense, lest it become American territory. We give it to you for your present residence only; and when you go, shall take it again.” This was enough for Adoniram. He managed to get assurance that another missionary to follow him could also occupy it; but if no one lived there, it would go back to the Wungyi.

The building of a crude shack took only two days. When it was finished, Adoniram arranged for one of his disciples to live there until he returned. Then, with a final farewell to Prince M., for whom he promised to translate all the Scriptures, and to the king, explaining he meant to return with his wife and household goods, he left Ava on January 25, 1823.

The future looked bright.

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