Title: The Kingdom of the Yellow Robe - Being Sketches of the Domestic and Religious Rites and - Ceremonies of the Siamese
Author: Young, Ernest
Language: English
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THE KINGDOM OF THE YELLOW ROBE


[Illustration: "THE SHRINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WATERS."--PAKNAM.

_Page 30._]



THE KINGDOM OF THE
YELLOW ROBE


BEING SKETCHES OF THE DOMESTIC AND
RELIGIOUS RITES AND CEREMONIES
OF THE SIAMESE


BY

ERNEST YOUNG

Late of the Education Department, Siam.


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. A. NORBURY, R.C.A.

(Late Director of the Royal School of Art,
Bangkok, Siam)

And from Photographs by the Author.


WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & Co
1898



PREFACE


The following pages are intended to present to the reader an account
of the domestic and religious rites and ceremonies of the Siamese.
They are the outcome of several years' residence in the Capital of
Siam. In order to verify some of my own observations or to amplify
some points with regard to which my own knowledge was rather scanty,
I have consulted most of the books which in recent years have been
published concerning the country of Siam. I am particularly indebted
to the works of two writers whose knowledge was both wide and deep;
viz., H. Alabaster, whose "Wheel of the Law" deals with Siamese
Buddhism; and Captain Gerini, whose various monographs on domestic
or religious customs are full of valuable and reliable information
concerning their misty origin and meaning. I must also acknowledge
my indebtedness to "The Siam Repository" (a weekly paper long since
extinct, but whose pages are a treasure-house of information to
the enquirer), and to my friend Mr. R. L. Morant for much helpful
criticism and advice.

The illustration "Planting out young Rice" is from a sketch in the
possession of Mrs. Smith, of Tarrawatta, Beckenham, who has kindly
lent it for the purpose of illustrating this book.

The following five illustrations are also from sketches, kindly lent
by E. Lloyd Williams, Esq., of James St., Buckingham Gate.

    "Offering Rice to the Priests."
    "Making Curry."
    "Ploughing a Rice-field."
    "Collecting ripe Grain."
    "Rice Boats coming down the Menam."

                    E. Y.

_Chingford_, 1898.



CONTENTS


                                                         _Page_

              _Preface_                                    ix

CHAPTER     I. STREET SCENES IN THE VENICE OF THE EAST      1

   "       II. BY KHLONG AND RIVER                         25

   "      III. THE CHILDREN                                44

   "       IV. THE SHAVING OF THE TOP-KNOT                 64

   "        V. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE                      85

   "       VI. DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS                  103

   "      VII. DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS (_continued_)    125

   "     VIII. POPULAR AMUSEMENTS                         147

   "       IX. OUTSIDE THE CAPITAL                        171

   "        X. THE CULTIVATION OF RICE                    196

   "       XI. LAWS AND LEGISLATION                       218

   "      XII. CEREMONIES FOR THE DYING AND THE DEAD      235

   "     XIII. THE ORDER OF THE YELLOW ROBE               251

   "      XIV. AMONG THE TEMPLES                          272

   "       XV. AMONG THE TEMPLES (_continued_)            297

   "      XVI. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES                       316

   "     XVII. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_)         338

   "    XVIII. RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_)         358

   "      XIX. A PILGRIMAGE TO PRABAT                     375

   "       XX. THE ELEPHANTS                              388



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                           _Page_

THE SHRINE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WATERS. (_Frontispiece._)    vi

A SCAVENGER                                                   3

THE CURRY VENDOR                                              6

THE KEROSINE DEALER                                          10

THE THREE HEADED GATE. (_Full page._)                        15

A GHARRY                                                     23

RICE BOATS COMING DOWN THE MENAM                             27

A LIGHTER                                                    31

SIAMESE CANOES                                               33

CHINESE TRADING JUNK                                         36

"CAN I GIVE YOU A LIFT, REVEREND FATHERS?"                   40

MOTHER AND CHILD                                             58

MOUNT KAILASA AS ERECTED FOR THE HAIR CUTTING CEREMONIES
 OF H.R.H. THE CROWN PRINCE OF SIAM. (_Full page._)          81

A CHINESE MERCHANT                                           97

A SIAMESE TEAKWOOD HOUSE. (_Full page._)                    106

MAKING CURRY                                                119

STEAMING RICE                                               123

A RICKSHAW                                                  135

LAYING WAGERS ON FIGHTING FISH. (_Full page._)              151

A WRITER OF LOTTERY TICKETS                                 155

FACES FROM A SIAMESE THEATRE                                165

PREPARING RATTAN FOR CHAIR-MAKING                           172

FISHING LUGGER                                              174

FISHING BOATS AT THE BAR                                    177

KHLONG NEAR PETCHABOORREE. (_Full page._)                   181

A BUFFALO CART. (_Full page._)                              185

A SIAMESE BULLOCK CART                                      189

THE SWINGING FESTIVAL. (_Full page._)                       197

COLLECTING RIPE GRAIN. (_Full page._)                       199

A SIAMESE RICE PLOUGH. (_Full page._)                       203

PLANTING OUT YOUNG RICE--FOOT OF KORAT HILLS                206

PLOUGHING A RICE FIELD                                      208

BUFFALOES RETURNING FROM THE RICE FIELDS. (_Full page._)    215

A ROYAL FUNERAL PROCESSION. (_Full page._)                  237

THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL                                      245

PRIEST AND ATTENDANT                                        255

OFFERING RICE TO THE PRIEST                                 264

A VILLAGE TEMPLE. (_Full page._)                            275

SALA IN A JUNGLE CLEARING. (_Full page._)                   279

TEMPLE BELL TOWER. (_Full page._)                           291

WAT CHANG, BANGKOK. (_Full page._)                          299

THE SLEEPING BUDDHA. (_Full page._)                         309

THE FESTIVAL OF KAW PRASAI. (_Full page._)                  319

WAT CHANG AT SUNSET. (_Full page._)                         345

PRABAT HILLS FROM NEAR AYUTHIA. (_Full page._)              379



TO

MY WIFE



THE KINGDOM

OF THE YELLOW ROBE.



CHAPTER I.

STREET SCENES IN THE VENICE OF THE EAST.


Bangkok, the Venice of the East, was not the Capital of Siam during
the earlier period of that country's history. Formerly the seat of
government was at Ayuthia; but the ancient capital is now a heap of
ruined temples and dwellings, an attraction for travellers, but of
little importance to the people themselves. At the time when this
mouldering city was the home of the Sovereign, a man of Chinese origin
was sent to govern one of the northern provinces of the country.
He is known in Siamese history as Phya Tak, and was a man of great
administrative ability. When the invading armies of Burmah, in their
triumphant march through Siam, reached the neighbourhood of the
ancient capital, Phya Tak was sent for by the king, to aid him with
his counsel and strength. His reputation as a brave and powerful
warrior secured for him his appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the
Siamese army. Mustering all the available forces of the kingdom, he
set out to do battle with the enemy. It was hoped that he would
utterly rout the invading army, and so free the land from its powerful
enemies. But when the valiant Tak came in sight of the foe, he was
not long in realising that any attack that might be made by his small
army against the much greater numbers of the Burmese, could only end
in his utter defeat. He promptly fled with all his own retainers,
and with as many of the soldiers as cared to follow him, to the port
of Chantaboon. Here he leagued himself with all the fighting men and
chiefs of the neighbouring provinces, and finally collected an army
of about ten thousand men. He supported himself and his soldiers by
robbing and pillaging all the villages along the coast.

[Illustration: A SCAVENGER.]

The Burmese, carrying with them many captives, and much treasure
of gold and silver gained at the sack of Ayuthia in 1767, at last
returned once more to their own land. Then Phya Tak came north again,
and on the spot where the Regent's palace now stands, built himself
a home and proceeded to found the walled city of Bangkok. Having
accomplished this work, he several times defeated the Burmese, then
re-organised some form of administration and caused himself to be
acknowledged as king of the land. Associated with him in all his
adventures and successes was a close personal friend and confidential
adviser. This man was of noble birth and vigorous character, and it
was to his counsel and assistance that the new sovereign owed much
of his success. Soon after the king had completed his great work of
re-organisation he unfortunately became insane. The priests brought
against him accusations of sacrilege and impiety, and tried to stir
the people to revolt. He was extremely unpopular on account of the
heavy taxes he had levied on the wealthier classes, as also for the
extreme cruelty with which he had treated all ranks of his subjects.
Stimulated both by the exhortations of the priests, and by the
oppressive treatment to which they were daily subjected, the citizens
of the new capital at length rose in rebellion. Their sovereign fled
from his angry subjects and took refuge in a neighbouring monastery,
where he donned the yellow robe and declared himself a priest. This
declaration saved his life for a short time, but soon after his flight
he was put to death by his favourite friend and general, who then
followed the promptings of his ambition and the suggestions of his
fellow-noblemen, in assuming the royal robes and crown. He called
himself Somdetch Pra Boroma Rahcha Pra Putta Yaut Fah, and became the
first king of the present dynasty. It is with the fall of Ayuthia,
the rise of these two usurpers, and the founding of Bangkok that the
authentic history of Siam commences. A period of about one hundred
and forty years comprises the limits within which the chief facts
of Siamese history can be substantiated. Bishop Pallegoix, compiled
from native annals an account of Siam and its people, extending back
to a very remote period; but His Majesty the late King has somewhat
lessened one's confidence in these annals by declaring that they are
"all full of fable, and are not in satisfaction for believe."

The city which was thus founded by Phya Tak, has ever since remained
the chief home of the sovereign, and the seat of government. It is now
one of the most interesting of Oriental towns. From the break of day
till scorching noon, from scorching noon till the first cool breeze
of evening, from sunset until midnight, and from then on through the
small hours of the morning, the busy streets of Siam's capital present
a never ending procession of curious and picturesque scenes. With the
first faint glimmer of light in the east, the life of the city begins.
The approach of day is heralded with the sonorous voices of the huge
gongs that are being vigorously beaten by the official welcomer of the
dawn, in a turret within the walls of the Royal Palace. The cocks,
who have crowed the whole night through with troublesome persistency,
greet the rising of the sun in notes both long and shrill, as if they
were trying to impress upon their hearers the belief that they have
but just awakened from the profoundest of slumbers. The bull-frog
croaks his surly good morning. The pariah dogs howl or bark with an
amount of vigour and determination, that shows that they too are
anxious to contribute their share to the combination of discordant
sounds, that forms a fitting prelude to the noise and bustle of the
coming day.

It is not to be supposed that the wealthier members of Siamese society
rise at this early hour. As a matter of fact, they have but recently
retired to rest, and will not appear again either for business or
pleasure until the sun has crossed the meridian. All the business
of the State, and all the pleasures of Society are conducted in the
cool hours of evening, night, or early morning, while during the
broiling heat that comes and goes with the daylight, officialdom
sleeps and rests. It is an excellent arrangement. The lower classes,
however, are soon awake and astir. First to arise are the Chinese
inhabitants. Here, as everywhere in the East, the subjects of the
Celestial Empire have found their way, and, by their untiring energy
and their wonderful adaptability to all changes of custom, life, and
government, have managed to establish themselves so securely that any
attempt to dislodge them would, if successful, be fatal to the best
interests of the country. They live and die in the same atmosphere of
superstition that surrounded them at their birth. No matter to what
country their industry and enterprise may lead them, they never forget
during their daily toil to give frequent evidence of their keen faith
in the supernatural. Their first act on rising in the morning is to
explode a number of noisy fire-crackers in every doorway, to dispel
the crowds of evil spirits, who, during the dark hours of the night
may have congregated round their thresholds with intent to do them
harm. In the swarms of buzzing flies and stinging mosquitoes there are
innumerable emissaries of the powers of ill, and these the noise and
smoke effectually disperse for a brief interval. So that the daily
practice of one superstitious custom is not without its immediate if
temporary effect upon the well-being of its devout observers.

[Illustration: THE CURRY VENDOR.]

The shops and workshops are open in front to the street on account of
the intense tropical heat. There is no difficulty whatever in seeing
and hearing every native dealer or craftsman as he pursues his daily
employment. The foot-lathe of the woodturner, rude but efficient,
whirls busily round, scattering its chips into the street; the barber
sharpens his razors, sets his pans and chairs at the edge of the
roadway in view of every passer-by, and prepares to shave a head
or trim a pig-tail; and the idol-maker spreads his gold and silver
leaf upon representations of Buddha made in wood or plaster after a
strictly orthodox and ancient pattern.

Numerous Buddhist priests in robes of yellow, saffron or orange,
pace slowly along with alms-bowls of wood or brass, receiving their
daily food from the believers in their ancient faith. Their garments
borrow new hues from the lately risen sun, and stand out in vivid
and picturesque relief against the more sober tints of the roads and
dwellings. The itinerant curry-vendor wastes no time in preparing his
unsavoury messes, and is soon busy trying to dispose of them to the
passers-by. A pole slung over his shoulder, bears at one end a small
earthenware stove with a supply of charcoal and water. At this end
he cooks, to order, the various delicacies suspended from the other
end of the pole. The water in the pot is drawn from the nearest canal
or stagnant pool and is almost a meal in itself. For a farthing you
may purchase a bowl of rice, which is warmed in the boiling water
while you wait. Another farthing will provide you with a number of
attendant luxuries in the form of very fiery pepper or very strong
and unhealthy smelling vinegar. The basis of the curry may be frog
or chicken, stale meat, fermented fish, decayed prawn, or one of a
thousand articles of equally evil taste and pungent odour. Most things
are either cooked or re-warmed for the purchaser by the simple plan
of suspending them in a sieve inside the pot of boiling water. The
same pot and the same water serve for all customers alike, so that the
hundredth hungry individual gets for his farthing, not only all that
he bargains for, but various tastes of the other delicacies that his
predecessors at the counter have elected to buy. No charge is made
for the use of the china basin which has not been washed since the
last man used it, or for the loan of the leaden or earthenware spoons,
or a couple of chopsticks. Neither the proprietor of this strolling
restaurant nor the force of public opinion demand that these articles
be used, and for many, fingers take the place of either chopsticks or
spoons.

"Isa-kee! Isa-kee!" It is a queer sound when you hear it for the first
time. A Chinaman comes staggering along the road, carrying two heavy
pails at the ends of the usual bamboo pole. He bawls in long, loud,
nasal tones, "Isa-kee! Isa-kee!" The man is wet with the perspiration
that streams down his bare yellow body and soaks the cloth round his
loins, that forms his only clothing. Presently, crowds of little boys,
dressed in even less than the noisy vendor, collect round him and
purchase with avidity the strange-looking mess denominated "isa-kee."
He collects the coppers, and places them in a small leather purse,
tied round his waist with a bit of string, there to lie in company
with a little rank, black tobacco, or opium, until time will permit
him to lose them in the maddening excitement of the gambling
dens. "Isa-kee" is the vendor's reproduction of the English word
"ice-cream", though there is little resemblance between the commodity
he disposes of with such extraordinary rapidity, and the fashionable
European delicacy whose name it has borrowed. A more truthful name and
description of the article sold in the streets of Bangkok, would be
"ice-mud." It is apparently a concoction of dirty water, half-frozen
slush, and sugar. Being cold and sweet it is a favourite sweetmeat
with the native children, and the ice-cream merchant may generally
be found doing a roaring trade outside the different schools during
playtime. When ice itself was first introduced to the Siamese by
the European residents, they promptly coined for it the short and
expressive name of "hard-water." It is amusing to hear the little ones
exclaim as they swallow the frozen fluid, "Golly! How it _burns_!"

As far as the casual observer can judge, in this capital of Siam
there are no Siamese engaged in any hard manual labour at all. There
are of course, many Siamese employed in various kinds of domestic or
official work, but in the streets nearly every workman is Chinese.
There are nearly as many Chinese in the country as there are Siamese.
They marry Siamese women, and their children make excellent subjects,
as they possess both the natural brightness of the mother and the
industry of the father. Unless they renounce their own nationality
they are subject to a poll-tax of about five or six shillings, payable
once every four years. At a date made known by proclamation, each
Chinaman must present himself at the police-station and pay the tax.
The receipt given is a small piece of bee's-wax about the size of a
three-penny piece. This bears a seal, and is worn on the wrist for a
certain time, fastened by a piece of string. The police are very busy
at this time, as there is nothing the Siamese policeman so much enjoys
as leading some unfortunate Chinaman to pay the tax. Should the seal
be lost, the alien is bound to buy another as soon as he is requested
by some officer of the law.

[Illustration: THE KEROSINE DEALER.]

Carpenters, blacksmiths, butchers, bakers and scavengers are all
Chinese. It is a Chinaman who sits all through the heat of the day,
under a tent made of an old sheet supported by a central bamboo pole,
displaying an array of strange-looking liquids, placed in thick
glass tumblers in a long row. Great lumps of vermicelli float in the
blue, green, red, or yellow liquids, presenting the appearance of
curious anatomical specimens preserved in coloured spirits. It is a
Chinaman who hawks about great pails of slimy, black jelly having the
consistency and colour of blacking, but said to be extremely palatable
with coarse brown sugar. The men who are watering the roads with
wooden buckets fitted with long bamboo spouts; the men who sweep the
roads, and mend them; the coolies in the wharves; the clerks in the
offices; the servants in the hotels and houses: are all subjects of
"The Lord of the Vermilion Pencil."

No Siamese pulls a rickshaw, though he frequently rides in one. The
Chinese are the beasts of burden as far as the Bangkok rickshaw is
concerned. This vehicle, as seen in Siam is a very sorry-looking
object, bearing only a distant resemblance to those met with in every
Eastern port from Colombo to Yokohama. Nowhere do you ever find such
dilapidated rickety structures as those that the coolies pull through
the streets of this city. A new one would be a veritable curiosity.
When the rickshaws of Singapore and Hong-kong have reached a condition
of extreme old age, and are so broken down that the authorities in
those ports refuse to grant them licences any longer, they are sent on
to Bangkok, where no licences are required. There the poorer classes
use them freely, and there too are they as often used for the removal
of household furniture, or the transportation of pigs, as they are
for the carriage of passengers. The coolies tear through the streets,
regardless of anyone's comfort or safety except their own; though, be
it said, that they never resent the cut of a driver's whip when some
coachman thus forcibly reminds them which is the right side of the
road.

Pigs are not always allowed the luxury of riding in rickshaws. They
are more usually transported in a far less comfortable fashion.
Their two front feet are tied together, and then their hind feet are
similarly fastened. A stout piece of wood is passed under the two
loops thus formed, and the pig is carried by two men, each bearing one
end of the pole. The animals generally object very strongly to this
form of motion, and signify their disgust, and perhaps their pain,
by the most heart-rending, ear-piercing shrieks. Thus another set of
discordant sounds is added to the medley that roars from morning to
night.

The rickshaw was borrowed from Japan; the "gharry" has been imported
from India. It is a square box-like structure, the upper half being
fitted with sliding windows similar to those in the door of a London
four-wheeler. These windows, when open, admit of a free circulation
of air, and they can easily be closed to keep out either rain, dust,
or sun, at the will of the passenger. The sliding window-frames are
always badly fitted, and they rattle and shake with such a terribly
deafening noise, that two people sitting side by side, are compelled
to shout when they wish to address each other. Riding in these
coaches gives one the sensation of being a kind of marble inside a
gigantic rattle-box that is being vigorously shaken for the driver's
amusement. The majority of the gharries are not in a very much better
condition than the rickshaws. The harness is generally made of rope
or string, instead of leather, and even if a leather strap or trace
is visible, it is nearly always in two or three pieces temporarily
connected with string. At very short intervals of time and space, the
driver is compelled to descend and repair as best he can the broken
connections. These drivers are chiefly Siamese or Malays, and so many
of them have adopted the red Turkish fez as a head-dress, that it can
safely be taken as the badge of coachmen. In fine weather both Malay
and Siamese drivers wear their own national costumes, but should it
rain, they promptly divest themselves of every stitch of clothing
except a cloth round the loins. They place their garments in a box
under the seat, and drive about in a state of almost perfect nudity
until the sun reappears and dries them with his rays, when they once
more clothe themselves in their native apparel.

The "omnibus" is a variation of the English one, with extensive and
important modifications. It is of local construction, and without
springs. It consists of a long shallow box on four wheels. A rickety
roof is supported by equally rickety pillars, and serves to keep out
the sun and rain. Omnibuses are very popular amongst the poor, on
account of their exceedingly low fares, several miles being travelled
for a few cents. Every kind of vehicle is crowded to its fullest
capacity. A rickshaw will ordinarily hold two; you may often see four
or five in one. A gharry should carry four, but by crowding inside and
piling one person on top of the other, with the addition of a couple
hanging on behind, one on each door-step, and one on each hub of the
wheels, a whole family manages to get conveyed to its destination by
means of a single conveyance. Omnibuses are similarly crowded and
packed, to an extent which is only possible on account, first, of
the absence of any law to prevent it, and secondly, of the genial
good-temper of the natives themselves.

Klings and Tamils from Southern India have introduced the bullock
cart as a convenient method of carrying heavy goods. These Indian
settlers are the bullock drivers, the dairymen, and the owners of
cattle. They export a large number of lean bullocks to Singapore and
the Malay Archipelago, where they are subsequently fattened to feed
the residents. The value of the animals thus exported, is about two
hundred and forty thousand Mexican dollars annually.

An electric tramway, and bicycles of the most modern construction,
tell their own tale of the way in which European influences are making
themselves felt in this land. The only real Siamese land carriage is a
curious buffalo cart. It is rarely seen in the streets of the capital,
as its peculiar form and construction fit it more particularly for
traffic through the jungle.

[Illustration: THE THREE-HEADED GATE.

_Page 22._]

The varied colours of the different costumes worn by the members of
many nationalities, form a strikingly bright and cheerful picture.
Blue being the colour of every Chinaman's work-a-day clothing, is at
once a conspicuous and pleasant tint. It is only during the three
days' festivities that usher in the Celestial New Year, that the
wearers of the pig-tail disport themselves in any other colour.
During those three days, however, they are adorned with the richest
of heliotrope, lavender, pale blue, green or yellow silks. In the
intervals between successive New Years these gorgeous garments are
safely deposited in the pawnshops. The various shades of yellow and
brown that predominate in every crowd, are not the result of the
dyer's art, but the effect of the hot bright sunlight upon the bare
bodies of those who go uncovered. The same bright light intensifies
the whiteness of the European linen jackets, now adopted by so many
Siamese in lieu of the gaily coloured scarf that formerly was the
only clothing worn on the upper part of the body. Even now most of
the women wind a long sash of some vivid hue round the breast, thus
forming a cheerful band of colour against the whiteness of the jacket.
In every crowd may be seen not only Siamese and Chinese, but Sikhs in
scarlet turbans, Burmese in yellow and pink, Malays in gaudy sarongs,
Laos in dark striped petticoats; as well as Annamese, Klings, Tamils
and Japanese, each of whom is ever dressed in the garb that centuries
of custom have defined as his own particular method of clothing his
nakedness. When to the effect of all these pleasing colours, is
added the happy merriment of thousands of faces that have never yet
experienced the fierce struggle for existence that characterises the
life of the poor of the West, a scene is realised which is nowhere to
be met with except in the sun-kissed lands of the East.

In the licensed gambling-houses there is always a little crowd of
excited men and women, who, when they have lost their trifling
earnings, speedily proceed to the pawnshops with any article of
clothing or furniture that is not absolutely indispensable to their
existence. When their own property has all been squandered they take
that belonging to other people, thus producing an endless succession
of daily thefts. The city is full of pawnshops, some streets
containing scarcely any other form of business. It is in these places
that the Europeans hunt for their frequently stolen property, or
search for the curios that are afterwards presented to friends or sold
to museums at home.

The numbers of civil, genial postmen in their yellow kharki uniforms
faced with red, and carrying big Japanese umbrellas under their arms,
are sufficiently numerous and busy to testify to the efficiency of
this branch of the Civil Service. Most of the policemen are Siamese,
but their appearance is always a decided contrast to that of the
neatly clad postmen. Their uniforms, made of blue cloth, are intended
to be reproductions of those worn by their London brethren. But as
they are made of a cloth that rapidly shrinks and fades, a caricature
rather than an imitation is the result. They are partial to umbrellas,
roll their trousers above their knees, wear no shoes, and seem to
revel in the possession of battered helmets. There is nothing whatever
in their bearing that is characteristic of authority, neither are they
men of great stature or commanding strength. Yet they seldom meet with
any resistance in the exercise of their duties, and it is a common
sight to see a puny-looking policeman leading three or four natives to
the police-station, each prisoner being merely fastened by the arm to
the one behind, with his own scarf or pocket-handkerchief.

So many of the native houses with their quaint gables and double or
triple roofs have been pulled down, and brick ones of European pattern
erected instead, that scarcely any purely native street remains. The
one truly native quarter is a long narrow bazaar known as Sampeng. It
is about a mile and a quarter in length, and contains a very mixed
population of Indians, Siamese, and Chinese. It resembles somewhat
a street in Canton, but lacks the wealth of elaborately carved and
gilded sign-boards, that gives such a decidedly local atmosphere to
a purely Chinese street. Stretched overhead, from side to side, are
pieces of torn cloth and matting, that act quite as effectively in
keeping out the sun as in imprisoning that awful combination of foul
odours that seems to be the possession of all Oriental thoroughfares.
The small gutter which runs in front of each house is full of stagnant
water or of the accumulated domestic rubbish of the people who dwell
by its side. This long narrow bazaar, however, is not without its own
attractions. Here are gathered together specimens of all the native
produce, and here too work a few exponents of each of the native
crafts. Blacksmiths and weavers are plying their several trades;
workers in gold and silver are fashioning boxes and ornaments for the
rich, and the lapidaries are polishing stones for the jewellers to
set. Peep-shows and open-air theatres tempt the idle to linger, and
numbers of busy toilers jostle each other as they make their way to
and fro over the uneven, roughly paved foot-path. At night, the shops
are closed, but the gambling-houses, opium dens, and brothels are
thronged by the lowest of the low. At one end of the bazaar is the
chief idol manufactory of the country. The thousands of temples that
are scattered all over Siam, require a large stock of images; and the
devout are frequent donors of representations of Buddha, of values
proportionate to their means. Most of the idols are made according to
one or other of the following methods.

A wooden model of the desired image is first made. It is next covered
with very thin silver-leaf, after which the wooden model is removed
and the interior filled up with pitch. This is perhaps the most common
method of making small cheap idols. The larger ones are first modelled
in wax, and then covered with a cement made of fine sand and clay.
This is dried in the sun and finally heated in a furnace, when the
wax melts and is collected for use another time. Melted brass is then
poured over the image and evenly spread until the whole surface is
covered with a thin coating of metal. A great many gilded images are
made, the gold-leaf being laid over a covering of black pitch. Until
the outer layer of gold, silver, or brass has been deposited on the
carved or moulded figure, and until the eyes have been placed therein,
it is not considered in any way sacred. The two last operations are
frequently attended with great ceremony at the home of the owner, in
the presence of many priests.

In every temple there are "printed gods". These are very small idols,
about an inch or two in length, made of clay and having a flat surface
at the back. They are stuck in rows, on a piece of board painted with
some bright colour, and are then gilded and placed in the temple.

In the remotest alley, the most secluded corner, the broadest highway,
or the most open of public spaces, roam the most disreputable and
degraded members of the canine family--the pariah dogs. Black, brown,
white, and spotted dogs with skeleton frames and sunken eyes, many of
them in the last stages of disease and decay, snap at the dirtiest
bone, or feast upon the filthiest rubbish they can find. They own no
master, and no man owns them. They may be counted till one is weary
of counting, and yet the eye will still discover many that remain
unnumbered. Often it would be a kindness to the poor starved and
crippled creatures to put them speedily out of pain, but the Buddhist
law, "Thou shalt not kill", is all powerful here, and so the pariahs
breed and multiply, giving in return for the permission to live, their
effective services as vigilant and industrious scavengers.

In the markets, the natives squat cross-legged upon their stalls,
offering for sale vegetables and fruit, betel nut and cigars, salted
fish and queer-looking sweetmeats; or busying themselves, in the
absence of customers, by vigorously waving a big palm or banana leaf
to drive away the clouds of flies that would otherwise immediately
settle upon their perishable wares. The dealers are chiefly Siamese
women, and are amongst the most polite and obliging saleswomen in the
world.

The original city of Bangkok is surrounded by a high thick wall
pierced with many gates that are never closed. The principal entrance
is the one known as "The Three-Headed Gate", so called on account of
the three tapering spires that surmount the three openings. By far
the larger portion of the population lives outside the wall, but as
the Royal Palace and nearly all the Government buildings are within
its circumference, it encloses everything that is of importance to
the native as far as government is concerned. The roads in the city
are excellent, and in the neighbourhood of the palace itself there
are a number of wide open green spaces that would not discredit any
city of Europe. The palace is enclosed by several rows of departmental
offices, outside of which is a high white wall.

Day closes with a rapidity equal to that with which it dawns, there
being no long spell of twilight either in the morning or the evening.
In the principal streets, the electric light has displaced the small
old oil lamps that at one time formed the only evening illumination
known to the people, but on the outskirts of the city the lamplighter
still wends his evening round, carrying the small ladder, boxes of
matches, and bottles of oil, that mark the nature of his occupation.
The oil lamps are placed at more or less irregular intervals, and
are soon blown out by any wind of moderate strength. Little cholera
lamps swung aloft at the ends of long slender poles, sway backwards
and forwards, telling where the grim fiend has entered in his work of
destruction. The Chinese light their smoky tallow candles and place
them in large quaint lanterns bearing mystic signs and symbols; while
round the city wall itself, the cocoa-nut oil lamps burn with a lurid
glare, sending forth at the same time dense clouds of yellow pungent
smoke.

[Illustration: A GHARRY.]

In the absence of drunken men and women and the scarcity of women of
ill-fame, the streets of Bangkok might well serve as a model for some
of the wealthier and more handsome towns of Europe. There is one thing
to be regretted in connection with the improvements that are daily
being made in the capital, and that is the gradual effacement of all
traces of native design or workmanship. Bridges, houses and railway
stations are mostly of a distinctly European type, and that type one
of uncompromising ugliness. The new streets of Bangkok, if cleaner
and sweeter than the old, have nothing of the curious charm of those
they have replaced, and are merely excellent examples of unadulterated
brick and mortar unrelieved by the faintest trace of anything that
could possibly be described as artistic.



CHAPTER II.

BY "KHLONG" AND RIVER.


In a walk through any Siamese street the traveller cannot fail to
remark the total absence of any carriage or other wheeled vehicle of
native design. There are conveyances of many descriptions borrowed
from India, China, Japan, and Europe, but none whatever that can be
pointed out as being designed by the Siamese themselves. Any enquiry
as to the cause of this apparently strange lack of originality in a
matter which so directly concerns the daily life of the community,
is readily answered. Until a comparatively recent date there were
practically no roads in the country, and even at the present time,
the roads in any part of the kingdom outside Bangkok scarcely deserve
the name. There are scarcely any means of communication between one
village and another, and very often only defective communication
between two parts of the same village, except by water. The water is
the true home of the Siamese, and it is on this, their native element,
that their real character and genius are best exhibited. It is true
that, in the capital, they now ride ponies and bicycles, for a few
roads suitable to such forms of exercise exist, but the boat, not the
horse, the paddle, not the whip, are the property of the nation at
large.

In earlier times, when they erected houses upon land, they chose
as the most convenient sites for their dwellings, the banks of
the rivers or the shores of the sea. When agricultural enterprise
led to the formation of inland settlements, no roads were made to
connect the new settlement with those already existing, but canals
or "khlongs" were cut instead. The connections between rivers were
made in a similar fashion; and for purposes of pleasure or business,
religious processions or state ceremonies, a thousand different
forms of boat were planned and constructed. The numberless canals
that thread their way across the plains in every possible direction,
have turned the lower portion of Siam into a veritable labyrinth of
winding water-ways. The khlongs differ in age, appearance and size,
as do the roads of more densely populated countries. The ancient
highways of Europe here find their parallel in canals whose age and
origin it would be difficult to determine, though none of them possess
any history extending to periods that Western historians would call
remote. Even as the municipalities and corporations of our land
construct year by year new roads for the facilitation of traffic,
so, for the same purpose new water-ways are being continually cut
in the land of Siam. The broad deep khlongs with their double lines
of house-boats, and their continual traffic of lumbering barges,
cumbersome rafts, comfortable house-boats and tiny canoes, are the
great streets of the cities, and the highways of the plains. The
foul-smelling, silted-up water alleys, with their rotten disreputable
houses, and their heaps of decaying refuse, are the slums and blind
alleys; while the green lanes and country by-paths of more temperate
lands are here represented by delightful little canals that twine
their way through the thick jungle. The palms meet overhead and form
a sheltering canopy; birds of many brilliant hues flit lazily from
branch to branch, consoling themselves for their loss of song in the
contemplation of their gorgeous plumage. There are lonely canals in
comparatively unfrequented places, where only occasional travellers
disturb the silence. Here the alligator stretches his long ungainly
form in the grey and slimy mud; the monkeys chatter to one another
amongst the branches of the trees upon the banks; and the squirrels
gambol in the tree-tops up aloft, in conscious enjoyment of perfect
freedom and everlasting sunshine.

[Illustration: RICE BOATS COMING DOWN THE MENAM.]

The great river upon which Bangkok stands, flows almost directly
from north to south, through mountain valleys and deep ravines, then
tumbles, boils, and roars through a series of dangerous rapids until
it reaches the wide and fertile plains, to whose inhabitants it means
both life and wealth. In most European maps it is called the river
Menam, but as "menam" itself means "river", the name as thus written
possesses no meaning. Every river in the country is called "menam,"
the first syllable of the word meaning "mother", and the second one
"water." The real name of the Bangkok river is "Menam Chow Phya",
which may be freely rendered as the "River Duke", for "Chow Phya" is
the highest title of nobility that can be held by anyone not of royal
descent. Every traveller enters Siam by this river, and in passing
from its mouth to the capital, he may easily observe many excellent
examples of true Siamese life and customs. At the entrance there is a
bar of sand and mud, which at low tide is visible in certain places,
and which even at high tide is never covered by more than fifteen
feet of water. As a consequence, no deeply laden vessels can enter
the river, and they have to load or discharge the greater part of
their cargo by means of small sailing vessels called "lighters", at an
island in the gulf. There is only one narrow passage through the bar,
and the unwary mariner frequently runs aground. It is said that when
the Siamese Minister for Foreign Affairs was asked why no attempt was
made to remove this bar, that thereby the river might be rendered more
navigable, and commerce facilitated, he replied, "For the same reasons
that you English don't relish the idea of a Channel Tunnel." Similar
banks of mud or sand, or both, render unnavigable every river that
flows through the country. They are decisive evidence of the way in
which the whole of the gulf is being gradually filled up. The coast is
everywhere shallow, and at low tide long stretches of mud may be seen
at any point on the northern shores of the inlet. The whole of lower
Siam is one vast alluvial deposit. In several places in the interior,
borings for wells have passed through thick strata of sea-shells and
other marine deposits, thus showing that in earlier days the northern
limit of the gulf extended far north of the site of the present
capital.

Having crossed the bar, the general character of the river becomes at
once apparent. The appearances presented are characteristic of all
the rivers in this part of the world. On either bank the thick jungle
comes down to the water's edge, forming a dense green mass of lowly
attap or stately palm, interlaced with lianes and gigantic creepers,
full of thorny bushes and different species of the cactus family,
with the lordly palm towering high above the living undergrowth,
demanding and obtaining instant admiration from every beholder, and
majestically waving his verdant crown in condescending acknowledgment
of the homage paid to his unquestioned sovereignty by the myriad forms
of vegetable life that cluster round his feet. In the centre of the
river lies a little island, on which stands Prachadee Glang Nam--"The
Shrine in the Middle of the Waters." It is a snow-white spire-crowned
edifice, round whose base are a number of small quaint structures, the
whole forming a conspicuous and typical example of the ecclesiastical
architecture of Siam. A broad band of scarlet cloth wrapped round the
spire, about half-way between the summit and the base, by some devout
member of the Buddhist faith, serves a double purpose in increasing
the pictorial aspect of the scene, and at the same time in indicating
that the teachings of the wise and noble Gautama, in whose honour the
building was erected, have here retained some of their power over the
lives of the inhabitants. The King of Siam is the last of the various
independent sovereigns who have professed their belief in the words of
the great teacher whose outward symbol of humility was the beggar's
yellow robe. The neighbouring countries of Annam, Cochin-China,
Cambodia and Burmah, now owe allegiance to a foreign government, and
their sovereigns, who once bent the knee before the altars of Buddhism
are dead or deposed. The only remaining independent Buddhist monarch
is H. M. King Chulalongkorn, and here in the centre of the great
highway of his country, at the very gate of his kingdom, stands this
fair white temple to the honour of the ancient sage.

[Illustration: A LIGHTER.]

Boats of many shapes and sizes cross and re-cross the path of the
steamer as it makes its way along the winding course, but not
until the vessel is anchored amid stream is it possible to fully
appreciate the unique appearance of the scene. Along each bank are
the floating houses made of teak and plaited bamboo, and thatched
with the long spear-like leaves of the attap palm. Their gabled ends,
best understood from the illustrations, are of a form peculiar to
this land alone, and are repeated monotonously on every dwelling.
The houses stand upon pontoons, or else upon rafts which are made of
numerous stems of the bamboo tree or the areca-palm, tightly bound
together in bundles. Each bundle is more or less free from the others,
so that as the floating foundation gradually rots away, the raft can
easily be removed and then replaced piece by piece without disturbing
the equilibrium of the dwelling itself. The rafts are loosely moored
to several stakes driven deep in the bed of the river, and rise and
fall with the tide. The house is closed in front by a number of planks
of wood, which are removed in the day-time for the admittance of
light and air. It bears in front a little platform or verandah, often
railed in to prevent the younger members of the family from falling
into the swiftly flowing stream beneath. This uncovered platform
serves many purposes. It is here in the early morning, and again in
the evening, that the family may most often be seen enjoying the
luxury of a bath. Men, women, and children come to the edge of the
platform, take up water from the river with brass basins or wooden
buckets, and then pour it over head and shoulders, thus drenching
both themselves and clothes at the same time. Here, too, the dealers
display their wares--the giant fruit of the durien plant, which
is described by Alfred Russell Wallace as being a combination of
strawberries and cream, nectar and ambrosia, ripe pears and ice cream,
but which to the uninitiated suggests more truthfully the presence of
exceedingly defective sanitation; the mangosteen, a pearl amongst
fruits, delightful to eat and to behold, a snow-ball in a casket
of crimson; mangoes; fresh green cocoa-nuts filled with delicious,
refreshing milk; bananas of countless varieties; sugar-cane ready
skinned and cut in small pieces for the youngsters, who think it the
sweetest of sweetmeats; young bamboo stems, rivalling asparagus when
properly cooked; cheap tin and trumpery from Birmingham, Manchester,
or Germany; silks from China and Bombay; occasionally buffalo-horns;
tiger-skins; black monkeys with white beards; green parrots; lamp-oil,
and joss sticks; and a host of small and inexpensive articles (being
the produce of many countries of the globe) that are likely to find
ready purchasers amongst a people of simple tastes and small means.
Very often in the evening when the sun is getting low, the family take
their evening meal out of doors on the same verandah. When the meal is
over they still squat upon the floor, smoking huge cigarettes of rank
tobacco wrapped in the leaf of the banana, and exchanging occasional
words or greetings with some friend or acquaintance passing homewards
in his boat. These floating structures are comparatively clean,
cool, and comfortable, and possess one great advantage over a fixed
dwelling upon land, in the fact that, provided the house is the
property of the tenant, he may remove to a new locality without any
of the inconvenience of an ordinary removal, by the simple process
of shifting at the same time both his habitation and all that it
contains. It is an amusing and not uncommon sight to see a father and
his family, aided by a few muscular friends or relatives, tugging away
at ponderous shovel-shaped oars, fastened fore and aft, as they pilot
their house through a crowd of smaller craft on their way to settle in
some more desirable or convenient locality.

[Illustration: SIAMESE CANOES.]

Behind the floating houses, either situated on the banks or
overhanging the water, are houses built on piles. They are raised
sufficiently high to escape the floods that come with the rainy
season. Their general construction is the same as that of the floating
dwellings, but as their inhabitants throw most of their rubbish into
the space between the ground and floor instead of into the river, they
are by no means such healthy habitations as those that float in the
river below.

In the river are moored the coasting steamers that carry the rice of
Siam to Singapore or Hong-kong, that transport lean cattle to the
Malay States and Archipelago, and bring back goods of European or
Asiatic manufacture, as well as thousands of Chinese coolies for the
labour market. There are great Norwegian sailing vessels taking in
teak, and tank steamers discharging kerosine oil.

Chinese junks and "lighters" pass slowly by with heavy, yellow,
mat-like sails, bearing cargo to the island in the gulf, where it will
be transferred to the larger steamers. On the prow of every junk is
painted a big wide-open eye, whose powerful optical properties are
supposed to aid the vessel in steering a safe and speedy course. Says
the Chinese maritime philosopher, "No have got eye; how can see?"
There are no Siamese junks or steamers, for the trade of the country
is in the hand of foreigners, who, for commercial purposes, use
either the steamers that owe their design and construction to modern
invention, or else the huge unwieldy junks that the conservative
Chinese crews would be exceedingly loth to relinquish.

The teak that is exported, is sent down to the capital from the
northern forests in the Shan uplands around Chiengmai, bound together
in cumbersome rafts. After passing through the perilous rapids of
the Meping, they are stopped at the Customs station at Raheng, and
duties are there levied upon them. They are then allowed to drift with
the current and are steered with a number of perforated, rudder-like
oars fastened at both ends of the raft. In the centre there is always
a little temporary hut rudely fashioned out of a few branches and
leaves. Some member of the crew will generally be found taking a
comfortable nap therein.

[Illustration: CHINESE TRADING JUNK.]

Fiery little steam-launches tear across the river, whistling,
shrieking, rushing like so many water fiends, half swamping or
upsetting many of the smaller boats in their swell. Tiny mites of
children paddle freely and easily along in tiny cockle-shell canoes,
without any signs of fear or hesitation. They easily avoid the big
"fire-boat," and guide their craft into the swell in order that
they may enjoy the fun of riding upon the miniature waves. The most
common form of boat to be seen on the river is the native gondola,
or "rua-chang". It is used for purposes of business or pleasure, but
it is rapidly losing its popularity as a ferry boat owing to the
introduction of the more rapid little steam-launches. Both sexes are
employed as gondoliers. They stand to their work with one foot upon
the edge of the boat. Their oars are fastened loosely to a small
piece of wood near one end, and the boat is propelled with long
graceful sweeps of the oar, by a method that no European has ever
yet been able to acquire. They turn about with amazing rapidity,
or preserve a straight course from point to point, with but little
apparent effort on the part of the boatman, and with no seeming
variation in the movement of the oar. As a matter of fact, the whole
work of steering or of turning is done by a peculiar twist given to
the oar at the end of the stroke, but so deftly is the motion made
that in the smaller boats it is practically invisible. The ease and
gracefulness with which the Siamese gondolas skim across the waters,
is in pleasing contrast to the ugly jerky motion of the boats that
serve the same purpose in the rivers and harbours of China, and
represents a degree of skill on the part of the oarsmen, probably
unattained by any other boatmen in the world. Long "dug-outs", mere
hollowed-out trunks of trees, sunk to the water's edge with a heavy
freight of rice, fruit or vegetables, are paddled along by two men,
one at each end. They squat on their haunches on flat projecting ends
whose superficial area is about eighteen square inches. In the early
morning, the priests paddle themselves from house to house in long
narrow canoes, with their alms-bowls deposited on the floor in front
of them, for when they put on the yellow robe, they do not put off
their aquatic attainments.

Moored in every available inch of space are the house-boats in which
thousands of the inhabitants spend the whole of their lives. They are
born in the boat, are reared aboard, and are only taken permanently
ashore when life is ended. Generally speaking, these house-boats are
wide in the beam, and possess a deck whose planks are removable in
order that cargo, clothes, and provisions may be stored underneath. In
the centre is the house, consisting of the deck for a floor, and an
elliptical plaited rattan shell for walls and roof. A small sliding
framework of light wood or matting projects from one end of the
house to the stern end of the boat, and bears a number of removable
curtain-like frames around the sides, so that the steersman is well
protected from wind and rain. In these boats a whole family may be
gathered together, from grandfather to grandchild. There is but little
room for exercise, and they sleep close together, side by side, like
sardines in a box, yet they always seem happy and contented. Every
home contains a small altar to Buddha, with a seated image of the
saint himself placed thereon. This they delight to decorate with
flowers and bundles of incense sticks placed in blue and white china
vases. The poorest always manage to spare a few coppers on festive
occasions to re-decorate and adorn their domestic idol. If there are
any Chinese on board, their presence is indicated by a number of red
prayer-papers bearing mystic symbols in black and gold, stuck here and
there upon the roof and walls of the cabin.

Rice is brought from many places inland, in a boat of very similar
appearance and construction, but in this case, there is practically
no room for anyone but the crew, as the central house-like portion
is filled to the roof with the valuable grain. Round the edge of the
boat, through its entire length on both sides, runs a projecting
ledge about a foot wide, along which the men walk when they find
it necessary to pole their way through shallow water. The external
appearance of the boat is materially improved by varnishing it with a
common native compound that gives to the wood a bright reddish-brown
hue. All such vessels are made in the country from woods found in the
native forests, for the people are as clever in building boats as they
are in propelling them. A great part of the amphibious population is
not resident in the capital. The people live in the country where
they till the fields that lie on the banks of the rivers or canals,
in those places where the jungle has been cleared. There they anchor
their homes until the time of harvest, when they gather in the fruits
of their labour and then proceed leisurely south. On arriving at
Bangkok, they dispose of their cargo, take a short holiday, visit
their friends, see the sights of the city, and finally return to
their fields, gardens, orchards again, taking with them quantities
of kerosine oil, cheap prints, matches, and many small articles of
domestic use.

The water population is complete in itself, and is perfectly
independent of its terrestrial neighbours in every way. It has not
only its own houses and shops, its water omnibuses and hansoms, but
even its floating restaurants and pedlars. The restaurant is contained
in a fairly small canoe, but it is surprising what a quantity of
cooking apparatus and what a varied assortment of food the _chef_
manages to carry. He passes from house to house, from boat to boat,
boiling and cooking as he goes, and easily disposes of his curries and
boiled rice.

[Illustration: "CAN I GIVE YOU A LIFT, REVEREND FATHERS?"]

The river has its own police, with duties corresponding to those of
their brethren ashore, but they wear, instead of a battered helmet,
a neat white or blue cap, on whose black ribbon is printed in gold
letters the words that describe their particular functions. Both
the water and the land policemen are called "polit", the word being
a modification of our own word "police" according to a rule of
pronunciation in the native language, according to which all final
consonants of the nature of 's' are pronounced as 't'.

There is a water market, but unlike the land market which remains open
all day, this one opens and closes before the sun has risen very high.
Scores of boats are massed together in one compact crowd. Each boat is
sunk to the gunwale with piles of fruit or fish. The occupants barter
and bargain with the same incessant deafening noise of shouting,
laughing, and swearing that is characteristic of all markets the world
over. The women wear flat-topped hats made of leaves, which slope
outwards from the crown, and are stuck on their heads by a circular
frame-work of cane placed inside. Boats pass in and out of the crowd
without accident or trouble, and though not an inch of water is to
be seen from the edge of the throng, the market gardeners, fishermen
and florists never lose any of their merchandise as they move in some
mysterious fashion from one spot to another.

Even if a boat were upset, nothing more serious than the loss of its
freight would be likely to occur. The owner would never be drowned.
He would simply turn his vessel over again, climb over the side, and
paddle off home. Yet many of these canoes are so light and small, and
float in such a condition of unstable equilibrium, that no European
could either get into one of them, or, if the boat were held until
he were seated, take a couple of strokes in one without falling
overboard. There is, however, only the remotest possibility of any
native being drowned as the result of being capsized, for the whole
nation may be described as a nation of swimmers. Whether in the water
or on the water they are in perfect safety. Little children, long
before they can walk, are thrown into the water by their mothers, who
fasten under their arms a tin float that always keeps the head above
water. The wee brown dots splash and splutter about in the lukewarm
current of the river, involuntarily learning the correct action of
the limbs in swimming, and gaining an acquaintance with this element
that ever afterwards prevents any feeling of fear. In this way many
children learn to swim almost as soon as, if not before, they can walk.

The boys early learn to paddle their own canoes, and they have
invented a number of water games that are possible only among children
educated in this fashion. Occasionally a party of them will get into
a long narrow boat, and crowd together until the water is just on the
point of entering. Then with a few gentle strokes with a paddle, they
urge it forward, the water flowing in with every stroke. As soon as
they feel it sinking beneath them, they roll out into the canal or
river, turn the canoe up again, slowly but deftly climb in one by one,
and then off once more to repeat the fun.

At certain seasons of the year boat races are held at the little
island at the mouth of the river, on which stands the temple
previously described. In these races no consideration is paid to
"fouls." The object of each crew is to reach the winning-post first,
and any crew is allowed to prevent its opponents attaining that
desirable end, by any means they care to employ. The consequence is
that the first part of the race resolves itself into a series of
"ramming" manoeuvres. There is a fierce struggle between the rival
crews who try to upset each other. The intensest excitement prevails
amongst the spectators as two boats near each other, and they watch
the manoeuvring with breathless interest until one of them is upset,
when cheers break out in encouragement of the winners, who strain
every nerve to reach the goal before their opponents can once more get
aboard their craft and so continue the contest. Women as well as men
take part in the sports, both sexes being equally skilful in any sport
or amusement of an aquatic nature.

Soon after sunset the river clears considerably, for these water-folk
rise and retire with the sun. They shut up the front of their houses,
and then lie down to sleep through the long hot night as peacefully
and securely in their floating cradles as any of those who live upon
land.



CHAPTER III.

THE CHILDREN.


The lives of the children of the East are surrounded by a number of
time-honoured rites and ceremonies of an imposing but superstitious
character. The infant is a priceless gift from the beneficent
gods, and its life must be ordered in accordance with the curious
superstitions invented of old by the legendary deities of its
forefathers. The infant is at once a source of pride, for it is a
mark of heavenly favour, and of hope, for it shall, if good luck
befall it, hand down its father's name unto another and a later
generation. Whatever ritual has been devised aforetime as tending to
bring long life and prosperity unto the new-born child, must therefore
be observed with great pomp and careful attention to minute but
important details. And lastly, the Oriental child causes its parent
to reveal certain features in his character that otherwise lie hidden
and unobserved. The fiercest Hindoo is the most tender-hearted of men
when his little loved one lies sick; the fat, stolid, wooden-headed
Chinaman becomes a lively youngster himself as he tosses his crowing
chuckling babe aloft; and the genial, gentle Siamese is never so
winning as when caressing the hope of his house. Siamese children
exhibit in their earlier days the best qualities of their race to a
very high degree.

The Hindoos instituted ten "samskâras" or rites, the due performance
of which, was supposed to ensure to the child freedom from all
evil influences. Now the original Siamese as they travelled south
from the slopes of the Tibetan mountains, came into contact with
the Hindoo civilisation and religion, and adopted therefrom their
religious beliefs and many of their social customs. Owing to the
absence of reliable written historic records in Siam itself, the mass
of the people have long since forgotten where and how most of their
ceremonial practices originated, but the learned amongst them have
little difficulty in pointing out both their primary source and their
latter-day modifications. The ten auspicious rites that encompassed
the life of the Hindoo child, began with its birth, and ended with
one imposing pageant more important and far-reaching in its effects
than any of the nine that had preceded it, and marking very definitely
the end of the period of childhood. One month after birth occurred
the ceremony of shaving the first few hairs of the new-born, and
about the same time, a rite somewhat similar to that of christening
was observed, when the child received its first but temporary name.
These two ceremonies still exist in Siam, but six of the original ones
have disappeared. Amongst those that have thus been lost are the rite
of ear-boring, which occurred about the third year and which still
survives amongst the Laos and the Burmese; the rite of training the
child to eat rice; the rite of teaching the first footsteps; the
rite of speaking the first words; the rite of first putting on the
loin-cloth; the rite of taking the first lessons in swimming, which
was reserved for princesses; and lastly, the rites of shaving the
top-knot and the subsequent investiture of the sacred thread, which
form the final links in the chain of ceremonial practices devoted to
the little ones.

It is obviously impossible therefore to pretend to give any adequate
account of the people of this land, without first treating of the
life and character of her children, on whose behalf the favour of the
spirits of good are so frequently and carefully besought by their
anxious parents. Considering the number of ritualistic observances
that have occurred through successive generations, with the object
of obtaining for the young the good-will of the angels, it might
reasonably be supposed that if the numerous prayers had been in any
way effective, by this time the present generation of children should
be enjoying untold benefits, and should be leading lives far superior
in their freedom from ordinary mishap or pain, to those of children
not similarly descended. It would puzzle any observer, however, to
discover in what way they are more tenderly cared for by the celestial
dispensers of desirable things, than are other children. They cannot
be described as differing in any very essential particulars from their
little brothers and sisters in other lands. It is true that they have
not the keen perception of truth, the chivalrous sentiment of honour,
or the dogged industry which are common to some extent to most
European children; but they have a respect for the aged, for their
parents, and for all those set in authority over them that might well
be copied by the democratic children of the West. In their behaviour
towards their parents and their priests they stand as excellent
exemplars of reverence and obedience.

The respectful manner they adopt in their dealings with all who may
be presumed to control them, renders the work of any teacher in Siam
a moderately light one. Insubordination or impertinence is unheard
of. The oft-debated question of corporal punishment is here solved
by the character of the children themselves. Schools can be managed
without canes, hard words, or severe punishment of any description.
Discipline, the first and chief goal that the European teacher strives
to obtain, is here produced by merely wishing for it. The term
"kroo" or "teacher" is a title that commands respect from parents
and scholars alike, and they invariably use it in addressing him
on all occasions and in all places whether public or private. The
only teachers for years were the priests, even as the majority are
to-day, and it seems as though in transferring the office of pedagogue
from priest to layman, they have transferred also a portion of that
atmosphere of reverence that is ever associated with the priesthood.
The Siamese in this respect may be said to have reached a higher level
than their whiter brethren, inasmuch as they recognise in an outward
and visible manner, that the teacher of religion and the instructor of
the young are both engaged in the same grand work of mental and moral
progress.

Siamese children, especially the little girls, are exceedingly pretty,
rivalling, if not excelling, all the other beauties of the East, Japan
included. They are very merry, continually contented, easily pleased
and most unselfish in their dealings with one another. Their almost
absolute lack of selfishness is one of the most pleasing features in
their very lovable characters. The boys at school lend their property
to their fellow-scholars with the greatest readiness. Watches, knives,
pencils, and other schoolboy treasures circulate sometimes to such an
extent that one is inclined to fancy they must be common property;
and, greatest test of pure good-nature, they even lend their bicycles
to each other.

They are, however, early tainted with the national vices, vices that
flourish more particularly in hot climates and luxurious soils. It
will be wise, however, to make no attempt to describe these more
mature characters until some one can lay down a code of moral virtue
which shall be absolutely applicable to all people at all times. It
will be safer to consider only the younger children at a time of life
preceding the period when sensual enjoyments begin to enchain both
mind and body.

Upon the birth of the child, a big fire is made by the side of the
mother, who at this time forsakes her bed and lies on a long narrow
flat board. A fruit supposed to possess protective properties is
scattered round or under the house, and a cord is twined round the
exterior of the dwelling, which has been blessed by the priests and
which also serves the same purpose of keeping off those evil spirits
who would otherwise enter and carry away the life of the child. The
interior of the room is like a furnace, and it is to be feared that
under these conditions, the evil spirits that haunt the sites of
defective ventilation do only too often accomplish their fatal object.
For three days, several old women attend the mother and make offerings
to the powers whose influence is beneficial. This they do by making
three balls of rice and then throwing them in three lucky directions.
It is said that every new-born babe bears as its first name the word
"Dang", which means "red". If this be so, then the mother or nurse
speedily turns her attention to the best means of rendering the term
singularly inaccurate, for instead of allowing the child to retain
its original and natural colour, she immediately rubs it all over
with a yellow paste whose chief constituent is turmeric powder. The
baby presently appears as if it were suffering from a very severe
and expansive attack of jaundice. This process of 'yellowing' is
popularly supposed to keep away mosquitoes. It is not confined to red
babies, but cats and dogs may often be seen who have received the same
treatment. It is a common sight to see a couple of toddling yellow
children engaged in teasing or amusing an equally yellow specimen of
the canine or feline family.

For several years no clothes are worn, so that their health is never
injured or their comfort marred by unsanitary garments. They are
frequently adorned with massive gold or silver bracelets and anklets,
and wear a little silver shield fastened in front of the body by a
string of beads passed round the loins. The shield is merely an
ornament and plays no indispensable part in their metallic apparel,
for when it is once lost, it is seldom replaced, though the string of
beads may persist for some months afterwards. The amount of wealth
possessed by the poor in the shape of ornaments must be enormous, for
almost every child bears somewhere on its body a heavy piece of gold
or silver.

Until the child can walk it passes its life under the same system of
treatment usually accorded to human beings at this tender age. It is
nursed and petted by its mother, talked to, made a fuss of, presented
to uninterested visitors, and generally tormented by the same excess
of demonstrative affection which mothers of every colour lavish upon
their own offspring. At a very early stage in its existence it is
transferred with solemn ceremony from the wicker basket in which it
has lain since its birth to a cradle peculiar to Siam. The cradle
consists of a strong oblong rectangular frame-work at the top and a
flat narrow board at the bottom. The two are connected round the four
sides by a network made of strong twine. It is suspended from the
rafters of the roof by four strong cords. It is swung, not rocked,
and the mother or sister of the babe will sit tailor-fashion on the
floor for hours at a time contentedly chewing betel-nut, or chanting
monotonous Siamese Gregorians in a low plaintive tone, at the same
time swinging the cradle gently to and fro by a long rope. When the
baby is taken for an airing it is carried by some female member of the
household, who places it on her hip and supports it with one arm.
This method of carrying the child is said to be a healthy one for the
baby, but it must be a fairly unhealthy one for the nurse, who has
always to walk at an angle with the ground, suggesting the appearance
of the Tower of Pisa, while the baby is wedged, cross-legged, between
the firm pressure of the supporting arm and the bended body.

Passing over the period which elapses between lying in the cradle
and learning to walk, we next find these little Eastern street-arabs
following their own sweet wills in the roads and alleys or on the
canals of their native town or village. They are perfectly free
and independent, and are given up to the educative influence of
Nature in a way that would have satisfied Rousseau himself. The boys
still remain unclothed; they scamper along the roads, driving young
bullocks; sit on the backs of tame buffaloes as they plough the rice
fields; steal bananas; climb trees for cocoa-nuts; smoke enormous
cigarettes; paddle their own canoes; never bother their heads about
getting home in time for meals; lie down in shady places to rest;
never read books; do not know the inside of a school, and spend the
whole day according to their own ideas of amusement. If they want to
play, they play; if they desire to sleep, they have but to lie down
in the first convenient spot, when they attain the desired condition
with a rapidity that is to be greatly envied. Gloves, ties, collars,
neat pockets, untorn coats, unsplit boots and other abominations never
cause the Siamese boy a moment's anxiety. If he wears any hat at all,
it is a nice light roomy sort of structure discarded by its original
owner several years before, and in such a condition of decay, that an
occasional fall into the water or mud does not affect either its value
or its usefulness.

At a later date he begins to wear clothes. He dresses like his sister,
wearing a cool airy garment consisting of a single long strip of cloth
of some bright colour, fastened round the waist and draped about
the legs. It hangs loosely about the knees and resembles a pair of
knickerbockers. There are no buttons, tapes, pins, or suspenders, and
he requires little training in the art of fixing his single garment so
that it will remain permanently in the required position. He wears no
shoes or stockings, the use of such luxuries being restricted to the
upper classes. The upper half of the body is left bare, except when,
in accordance with a fashion of very recent date, a white linen jacket
is worn. All girls wear either this jacket or else a coloured scarf
wrapped tightly round the breast. The smarter ones wear both scarf and
jacket, but amongst the lower classes, the majority of the women leave
their bodies uncovered above the waist after the birth of the first
child. All ranks of society are passionately fond of finery, and adorn
themselves as well as they can possibly afford. The native rings are
set with native stones, but the workmanship is very rude. When money
is not available for the purchase of jewellery, flowers are obtained.
As their clothes possess no collars with button-holes in which the
floral decorations can be placed, they stick them behind the ear.

A day's life with one of these children is spent after the following
fashion. He rises at early dawn and goes at once to the nearest water
to bathe. He has no acquaintance with soap, but pours abundant water
over himself with basin or bucket. The refreshing operation finishes
with a plunge in the stream, after which he either lies down, or runs
about till he is dry. A breakfast of rice, salt fish, and fruit, eaten
from brass or earthenware dishes, with his fingers, is the prelude
to the day's enjoyment. He next devotes all his energies to getting
through the day. He accomplishes the task set before him by alternate
intervals of sleep or play. He is a faithful disciple of Isaac Walton.
A bit of stick and a fibre of rattan are sufficient tackle with which
to capture a few fish out of the thousands that swarm in the waters.
At low tide, when many of the canals are mere valleys of mud, a whole
tribe of children descend into the slimy deposit, and push coarse
sieves into the mud in the attempt to catch prawns. The captured
creatures are placed in stone jars. When weary of the sport, or when
the jar is filled with prawns, they vary the nature of their amusement
by pelting each other with mud. It is simply snow-balling transformed.
They stand about in the slippery mess, and make little pellets of soft
mud. These they fling at each other with an aim remarkable for its
invariable accuracy. When sufficiently tired and dirty they get away
to the nearest water, take a turn or two, and then come up to dry.

They delight in witnessing extreme activity in other creatures. A
cock fight or a general battle amongst the pariah dogs is a source of
great amusement. At night they search for crickets. When they have
collected a large number they place them, two at a time, in small jars
made of mud and baked hard in the sun; the two crickets are urged to
engage in warfare by the skilful application of small pointed pieces
of wood. The battle which ensues evokes their hearty appreciation.
They catch fighting fish, feed them with mosquito larvæ, and then
train them to fight. After a proper course of training the fish become
extremely pugnacious, and will even make fierce attacks upon their own
images as seen in a looking-glass placed by the side of the bottle
in which they are imprisoned. As a general rule, Siamese youths are
keen spectators of anything of a combative character. And yet amongst
themselves they are extremely peaceful and unquarrelsome. Supposing
them all to be sent to school, it may be safely predicted that there
would be fewer fights in a whole generation of scholars than an
English school knows in a year.

Uncoloured pictures have no charm for them, for an ordinary drawing
in black and white is utterly incomprehensible to them. All native
drawings, with their strange disregard of the laws of perspective,
are executed in colours. They do not instantly recognise photographs
of the streets and buildings with whose appearance they are
perfectly familiar, and they will as often as not view them upside
down. The power to appreciate black and white is, however, merely
dormant, as is shown by the fact that the few children who attend
the Anglo-Vernacular schools speedily learn to take an intelligent
interest in the drawings and reproductions of photographs published in
the English illustrated papers.

They are very clever in the art of making bouquets and weaving
garlands of flowers. On festive occasions, the houses are festooned
from end to end with long rope-like strands of small blossoms fastened
together with wonderful skill.

On every head a little tuft of hair is allowed to grow in the centre
of a shaven crown. This is removed at a certain period, with an
imposing and important ritual.

They make excellent scholars, for they are very bright and
intelligent. Only a mere handful of the population attend any
school regularly, but all those who hope to obtain any Government
employment must at least learn to read and write. Those that do
attend the schools learn to draw accurately and neatly after very
little practice. They need no teaching with regard to modelling in
clay, their representations of elephants in particular being beyond
criticism. All ordinary school subjects are rapidly acquired by
them, and they are adepts in the acquisition of a foreign language.
They learn to read, write, and speak English in the Anglo-Vernacular
schools in about three years, with great ease and fluency. Many boys
will speak in English concerning the common events of their daily
lives after a few months' tuition. They are helped in this matter by
their wonderfully retentive memories which enable them to remember a
large number of words and idioms.

There is no "esprit de corps" in any school, unless it is cultivated
by the master in charge. It can be easily developed up to a certain
point for just the same reason that the adoption can be ensured of
certain rules and maxims in the schoolboy's code of honour, not so
much on account of the intrinsic value of the maxim or the rule
itself, as because it has been put before them as a European custom.
It is therefore to be imitated if they wish to appear "up to date."
In speaking to their teachers, no matter what their relative ranks
in life may be, they invariably use that form of the pronoun "I"
which signifies that they consider themselves as occupying a lower
position than the person spoken to. They abhor long holidays, but like
to take odd days by fits and starts whenever they feel so inclined.
Unpunctuality is a common fault unless firmly opposed. Cricket and
football have been introduced at one of the schools and have become
fairly popular, but the climate is really too hot for such vigorous
forms of athletic activity ever to flourish except amongst a few
enthusiasts.

Inquisitiveness is politeness, and it is rather bewildering to the
English teacher new to his work, especially when he is constantly
questioned as to his age, the price of his watch, the amount of
his salary, or the date when he last had his hair cut. The school
satchel does not seem to have become popular, most scholars carrying
their belongings tied up in a Manchester-made handkerchief. Boys
of the higher classes are attended by their servants, who carry
these articles for them, and at times, even carry the owners also.
In the intervals of playtime they smoke. Each boy carries his own
tobacco-pouch, matches, and tobacco, and is an adept at rolling
cigarettes. They are thoroughly unselfish as regards the disposal of
their smoking material, and a cigarette will be circulated amongst a
group of friends, each one taking a whiff or two and then handing it
on to his neighbour. If the weed is unfinished when the school bell
rings, they calmly extinguish it, stick it behind the ear, penholder
fashion, and return to class.

They are affectionate, cheerful, respectful, delightful fellows to
play with or work with, and offering to the observant master many
interesting examples of the gradual development of mind and character
under a rational system of teaching.

[Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD.]

In a land where superstitious practices abound, the children are
sure to have more than an ordinary belief in goblins and ghosts.
The belief in divers supernatural beings of evil or good intent is
powerfully implanted in every adult mind. In the case of the children
every natural phenomenon, every event of their lives is to them under
the control of some invisible spirit. They have a profound belief in
their marvellous fairy tales, and many of them never grow out of this
extreme condition of credibility during the whole of their existence.
They cling to their mystic interpretations of natural phenomena, with
such force, that in the schools that have been recently founded, the
attempts to teach the elements of natural science have been made
under rather disheartening circumstances. The children are perfectly
certain that thunder is exactly what their name for it denotes, "the
sky crying." There is a horrible giant of great strength and furious
temper who leads a very quarrelsome life with a cantankerous wife, and
when he grumbles and growls at her various iniquities, the echo of
his voice comes in cries from the sky. When in fits of violent anger
he hurls his ponderous hatchet at his spouse, it strikes the floor of
heaven, and a thunderbolt falls. When the broad flashes of lightning
play at hide-and-seek amongst the dense black masses of cloud during
the wet months of the rainy season, they say a woman is flashing a
mirror in the air, or according to another interpretation, the angels
are amusing themselves by striking fire with bricks. The falling stars
are produced when frolicsome spirits in their sportive moods pitch
torches at each other. When the giant crab comes up out of his hole in
the deep parts of the sea, he bears up the waters on his back, and the
tide flows; when he retires again, it ebbs. Sometimes the angels in
heaven all take it into their heads to have a bath at the same time,
and as a consequence they splash the water over the sides of the bath,
and the rain falls. Another theory states, however, that the rain is
caused by a huge fish a thousand miles long, who with his mighty tail
furiously lashes the waters of the deep. The most poetical of all
these superstitions is that which ascribes the origin of the winds to
the voices of the babies who have departed this life.

Not only children, but thousands of the grown-up men and women hold
firmly to these beliefs in spite of all the scientific explanations
that are given to them. Quite recently a debate was held at the
Bangkok Literary Institute on "What is the shape of the world?" The
ecclesiastical portion of the audience, who were mostly natives,
fought tooth and nail for the flatness of our planet, and though
one or two of their own countrymen argued very forcibly against
their notions, when the final vote was taken there was quite a large
majority opposed to the theory of "round like an orange." One of
the teachers was giving a lesson to his class one day on this very
subject. His scholars promptly informed him that the world was flat.
He further learned that it would take two hundred years to travel
round it at the rate of two hundred miles a day, and that somewhere
within the circumference of this pancake-shaped planet there is a
mountain called Mount Meru, which is eight hundred and forty thousand
miles high, bearing upon its summit the realms of heaven. He explained
that the world was round, and was greeted by the remark, "Why, that
can't possibly be, for if the world were round the water would all
roll off." As there are no scientific terms in the language, and as
all attempts to explain why the water did not roll off would have been
utterly beyond the comprehension of the young minds of his scholars,
he was rather non-plussed. He did his best, however, and believed
that, by his earnestness in pressing home his point, he had at last
made them accept, even if they did not understand, the fact. By way
of recapitulation at the close of his lesson he asked one who had
shown intense incredulity, "What shape is the world?" The boy stolidly
replied, "The teacher says it is round."

In their fairy tales they demand episodes of the most marvellous
character. An Englishman once read to some Siamese boys the story
of "Jack the Giant Killer," thinking it might interest them. To his
great surprise they listened with the greatest indifference to his
narrative. On being questioned as to whether they liked the story
or not, one boy replied, "It isn't fierce enough;" and further, by
way of illustrating what he considered satisfactory in this class of
fiction, he related how a Siamese hero met the whole of his enemies
banded together against him in a deep ravine. The hero went towards
them single-handed, and just when the assembled foes were calculating
upon a triumphant victory, he quietly took up the mountains to the
right and left of him, in the hollows of his hands, brought them
rapidly together, annihilated the multitude with one stroke, and then
unfatigued, replaced the mountains upon their bases once more.

In some cases their superstitions exert a very real influence upon
their actions. There are many people who would never dare to utter the
words "tiger" or "crocodile" in a spot where these terrible creatures
might possibly be in hiding, for fear of directing the attention of
the beasts towards themselves. Another illustration may also here
be given. One of the students in training at the Normal College for
teachers, was absent for some time. On his return, the principal
spoke to him, calling him by the name he had previously been known
by. He at once requested that his old name should not again be used,
and gave a new one. On enquiring the reason, it was found he had
been absent through illness. While lying sick at home, an angel had
appeared to his mother in a dream and had warned her that if her son's
name were not changed, he would die, as the name he then possessed
was an unlucky one for him. His name was immediately changed, and he
recovered. At the same time, his cousin lay ill in the same house,
and the angel gave a similar warning with regard to this boy's name,
but the prophetic voice was in this case unheeded, and the child
died. As there is no registry of births or deaths there is practically
no trouble in altering a name, and in fact, such alterations are of
frequent occurrence.

A few years ago the Siamese Government organised an Education
Department, with the intention of establishing an adequate system
of Primary Education, which was to be followed in due time by a
system of Secondary Education. Up to that time the only schools were
those in connection with the monasteries. In these schools reading
and writing were taught by the priests. Though their methods were
illogical and their curriculum narrow, it must never be forgotten
that most Siamese men can read and write their own language, and that
the country owes a deep debt of gratitude to these monks who did
their best according to their own theories. These schools must in the
future be the starting-points for any system of education that would
pretend to exercise any influence throughout the country. The work of
the Education Department, as far as progress or reform is concerned,
has been, so far, in connection with the establishment of a Training
College for Teachers, the founding of four Anglo-Vernacular Schools
for boys, one of which is a boarding-school, and a boarding-school for
girls. These have been organised and controlled by Europeans and are
fairly satisfactory. Attached to the Training College is a Practising
School, which is the only good Vernacular school in Siam. It owes its
present excellent condition to the three Englishmen who have had it
successively under their charge. But undoubtedly the most successful
educational institution is the school for girls. It has been more
than usually fortunate in possessing a staff of teachers possessing
brilliant intellectual attainments, great professional skill, and a
deep living interest in everything that tends towards social progress.
Unfortunately, the Vernacular schools have not yet come under European
influence, and they still preserve their antiquated methods. Only
about seven or eight of them are directly under the control of the
Education Department. They possess no furniture, and the children
sit on the floor. In one school, the head master has provided a
number of old soap and biscuit boxes to act as desks. There are no
registers or other records. There is a "code" which contains two
standards. It takes a boy from three to four years to pass the first,
and comparatively few ever attempt to pass the second. The teachers
in these Government Vernacular Schools are not priests, though the
schools themselves are usually in some part of the temple grounds.

It is to be hoped that in the near future the Government will decide
upon a thorough re-organisation of these schools, for, when they are
properly taught and controlled, they will be very powerful for good,
the bright and intelligent character of the scholars rendering all
school work eminently successful.



CHAPTER IV.

THE SHAVING OF THE TOP-KNOT.


Of all the ceremonies that attend the lives of Siamese children none
are so important as those connected with the shaving of the top-knot.
From their earliest days the whole of the hair is shaved off the
top of the head, with the exception of one small tuft that is never
touched until it is finally removed with great pomp and ritual. This
single lock is daily combed, twisted, oiled, and tied in a little
knot. A jewelled pin stuck through it, or a small wreath of tiny
flowers encircling it, are its usual adornments. The head, as being
the crown and summit of the human body is held in extreme reverence,
and it is considered the height of impertinence for one person to
touch another's head except when necessity demands. Under the tuft
there lies, according to the Hindoo legend, a microscopic aperture
through which the human spirit finds a means of entrance at birth and
departure at death, and when Ravana, one of the giant kings of Ceylon,
once carelessly or caressingly laid the tip of his finger upon the
hair of the beautiful Vedavatti, she turned to him in direst anger,
declaring that after such an unwarrantable insult, life was no longer
possible to her, and that she would speedily cut off her abundant and
outraged locks and then perish in flames before his eyes.

The ceremony of tonsure is a very ancient one, and is found existing
in many countries separated from each other not only by miles of land
and sea, but far more widely divided by different religious and social
customs. The priests of Isis, the Hindoo Siva, the Roman Catholic
monks, the candidates for admission to the religious brotherhood of
Peru--are all examples of the extent to which this ceremony has been
practised in many lands, through many years. It figures as a religious
observance symbolical of a change of life and purpose; it occurred
amongst the Chinese originally as a sign of subjection consequent upon
a change of masters; and it exists in Siam as a civil rite terminating
the period of childhood. In all cases it typifies a complete change
of condition or purpose--it marks a re-birth. In the case of Siamese
boys, who must shave the whole of the head before entering the
priesthood, the ceremony takes place a year or so before the time when
they must each, according to their national custom, don the yellow
robe. Girls lose their top-knot when they are about eleven or thirteen
years of age. In any case it must be removed before they reach the age
of puberty, and as many of them reach this condition before or near
the thirteenth year, their parents generally keep on the safe side by
performing the operation when they are eleven years old. The twelfth
year is inadmissible, as twelve, being an even number, is unlucky.

When the year has arrived in which it is deemed expedient to cut off
the carefully tended lock, the astrologers are consulted as to the
appointment of a propitious day. Now this is an extremely difficult
task, for the day chosen must be one free from any of the numerous
evil influences that affect the lives of men. These evil influences
have been duly studied and catalogued, and include the powers of
innumerable demons and of death. The day must not be one on which
sickness is liable to appear; in the heavens above, no constellation
bearing a female name must be visible; it must not be a day marked
in the calendar as being likely to be visited by thunderbolts,
conflagrations, wrecks or loss of life by drowning. Then also it must
be free from dangers from enemies or wild beasts; or yet again, it
must not be a day on which a man may expect severe punishment from his
earthly rulers, or death by falling off a tree.

Even when the auspicious day has been decided after long and laborious
calculations, and earnest consultations of old calendars, there yet
remains the necessity of choosing a particularly lucky moment on the
particularly lucky day.

When all these preliminary details have been satisfactorily settled,
the date is announced and preparations are made for the celebration
of the event with an elaborate and mystic ritual. The house of the
parents of the child is cleaned and adorned, a process it never
undergoes except on those occasions when it is the scene of the
performance of religious ceremonies. A table is placed to receive the
numerous offerings which will be freely made on the auspicious day,
and a gilded image of Buddha is placed reverentially on an altar and
surrounded with candelabra bearing waxen tapers, with incense sticks
in china vases, with wax flowers and the sacred vessels used during
the celebration. Around this decorated altar a hallowed circle is
formed with certain utensils deemed especially important and holy.
It includes within its circumference, a bench or table on which are
placed several vessels of gold and silver, and the bowls of water
which will be afterwards consecrated by means of a number of formulæ
recited by the priests from the sacred Buddhist or Brahminical texts.
The mystic conch-shell, and the shears and razors complete the holy
ring. There are three pairs of scissors, the handles of one pair being
of gold, of another of silver, and of the third of an alloy of copper
and gold. On another stand about as high as the level of the eye of a
man of average height, are placed several offerings of dainty food in
small saucers made of plaited leaves. These are for the refreshment
and propitiation of the tutelary deities of the place, to whom, and
to the shades of the dead, the Brahminical astrologers make oblations
and prayers at the rate of about two shillings and four pence per day.
A curiously-shaped throne is next erected. It is a raised square dais
with four slender posts, one at each corner, which lean towards each
other at the top, and support a frail canopy. The whole structure
is first covered with white cloth, and then draped with curtains of
white gauze and cloth of gold. It is on this throne that the candidate
sits to be bathed with consecrated water when the top-knot has been
removed. During the initial stages of the proceedings it bears a
nine-storied pagoda. The pagoda tapers towards the summit and is of
very frail material. The corner stays are made of the mid-ribs of the
plantain leaves, and each story is formed of strong fibrous leaves. On
each stage there are nine square dishes also constructed of leaves.
They hold a number of sweetmeats and foods that are supposed to be
particularly palatable to the god Ketu. This deity is of a kindly
and beneficent disposition, and, if properly worshipped, rewards his
devotees by endowing them with long life and prosperity. Hence all
these preliminary preparations in order to entreat his presence on
this important occasion. Along the corner stays are stuck incense
sticks, tapers, and flags of a peculiar pattern. The preparations
are completed by surrounding the whole house with a protective cord
or thread made of unspun cotton. The thread is attached at one end
to the dais erected for the monks, passes over the altar, is twined
round the bowls containing the water to be consecrated, is carried
round the exterior of the house, and is then brought back to the hall,
where it ends in a small ball, ready to be tied to the top-knot of
the child. It is supposed to be efficacious in keeping out all evil
spirits or other influences that would in the absence of any such
consecrated barrier, force an entrance to the hall of ceremonies and
render nugatory the performance of the various rites. A similar cord
may be seen at times round the palace or city walls, serving a similar
purpose.

On the appointed day, the floor of the house is covered with mats or
carpets, and a dais is prepared for the monks who are to be present.
It is raised above the level on which all ordinary mortals will
sit, and is covered with fine white cloth. Pillows with embroidered
triangular ends are prepared for the monks to lean against, and
spittoons, bowls of water, and trays of tea-cups and betel-nut are
placed before each pillow. There are usually seven or nine monks, but
even when their number is more or less than this, it is never by any
chance an even one. At the side of the platform a gong is hung from
a tripod stand. This gong plays an important part in the subsequent
proceedings, for it is used to mark the end of each successive stage
of the ritual. Every relative and friend is invited, and each of
the guests is expected to bring a present either of food or money.
The more people are invited, the more profitable does the ceremony
become to the candidate and his parents. If the people are poor, they
can always borrow the gold and silver utensils that are required
from some wealthy friend or relative, for it is the custom on these
occasions for help to be freely requested and as freely rendered.
About three or four in the afternoon of the first day the monks and
friends arrive. As the first monk enters the house, one stroke is
given to the gong. The arrival of the second monk is announced by two
strokes, the third by three, and so on. It is customary amongst the
lower classes to wash the feet of each priest on his entrance into the
house. A basin of water is thrown over his feet, after which they are
dried with a towel. When the priests are all seated, tea is poured
out for each of them. While they are refreshing themselves the band
in attendance strikes up a lively tune, the visitors at the same time
seating themselves upon the floor in readiness for the first item
on the official programme. In the meantime the child is being robed
and otherwise adorned. He wears a full gala dress and is loaded with
costly ornaments. The skirt is of rich brocade, and the cape round the
shoulders is of gold filigree set with precious stones. Heavy gold and
jewelled bangles are placed upon the wrists and ankles, and armlets of
similar value encircle the arms. In certain cases a triple gold chain
is placed over the left shoulder and under the right arm. Sometimes
the child is so heavily weighted with these valuable ornaments that he
is unable to walk without support. A coronet or wreath surrounds the
top-knot. He bears in his hands a charm on which are written several
sentences of protective import. In this way a further precaution
is taken against the intrusions of undesirable visitors from the
supernatural world.

Two household priests of the Brahmin faith precede the child as he
comes forth from the inner apartments to meet the assembled guests.
They scatter in front of them flowers and parched rice as an offering
to those celestial beings whose favours and influence they desire.
Behind these, comes another couple, one blowing the conch trumpet and
the other vigorously agitating the hour-glass-shaped tabor. A musical
outburst greets their appearance, while the smiling faces of every one
present afford encouragement and sympathy to the nervous subject of
the trying ordeal. The child proceeds to the dais, raises his hands,
palm to palm, to his forehead and bows his head to the ground in
obeisance to the monks. He repeats his salutations three times; at the
third time, placing his head on a cushion on the floor of the dais. He
remains in this prostrate condition until the end of that portion of
the ritual which is celebrated on the first day. The priests now take
the protective cord in their hands, and the monk of highest rank ties
the loose end of the thread to the top-knot.

Then a member of the family crawls on hands and knees to the raised
platform, and with bent head and uplifted hands, beseeches the monks
to recite the five daily precepts of abstinence. In a monotonous
Gregorian kind of chant, the assembled priests then intone these five
precepts, asking Buddha to keep them that day from all destruction of
life, from thieving, from impurity, from lying, and from intoxicating
liquors. The guests repeat them solemnly after the priests, and by so
doing bind themselves to a faithful observance of them for that day
at least. A number of texts are next recited by the priests in the
same monotonous kind of chant. At the end of each text, three strokes
are given to the gong. When the recital is finished, the candidate
rises from his prostrate position and leaves the room in the same
way that he entered it, the Brahmins scattering offerings in front of
him, the gongs, conch trumpets and band combining in one deafening
burst of sound to indicate that that day's portion of the ceremonial
is over. The texts that are recited are regarded by the people as so
many exorcisms against malignant influences, but their real purpose,
which has long been forgotten, is more of an instructive character, as
they were intended by Buddha to teach the people what were the evils
against which they were to strive.

The day closes with great merriment. Old friends tell their own
experiences or those of their children on similar occasions;
invitations to forthcoming ceremonies are given and accepted; every
one feasts and smokes, and then a theatrical performance takes place
that lasts long into the small hours of the morning.

The whole ceremony is now a complex mixture of both Buddhist and
Brahminical rites, but there is very little difference between
the parts enacted by the priests of Buddha and those of Brahma.
The Brahminical priests, however, have a special set of chants of
their own, and these they repeat during the first day's ceremonies.
The object of their prayers is to entreat a number of their own
supernatural beings to grant their approval of all that is being done.
They appeal to the Devas, and to Siva sitting on his porpoise. They
cry to Vishnu as he rides on the back of the serpent king in an ocean
of milk; to the four-armed Brahma on his golden swan; to the god of
the winds riding swiftly in his chariot of clouds; and to Indra on
his wonderful elephant with the three and thirty heads. They recall
to the minds of these deities the past existences of the tonsorial
candidate. They remind them of the good actions he has previously
performed, and wind up with a powerful and poetic appeal that they
will combine to endow the subject of their prayers with a long and
prosperous existence.

On the morning of the third day, when the actual cutting will take
place, the monks arrive at a very early hour, before the sun has
risen, but no gong tells of their arrival, nor is any noise of any
description permitted, as the spirits of ill must not be awakened
or allowed to know that this is the day of the great event. The
priests take their breakfast in silence, no band accompanying their
repast, with its joyful strains. As the hour of dawn approaches,
the Brahmins lead in the child. As the particular moment, foretold
by the astrologers, draws near, the Buddhist priests sing songs to
Buddha, using the Pali, a language which is not understood by the
people, relating his many triumphs, and by judicious praise securing
his approval. These songs are thought to be extremely efficacious
in procuring for the child an abundance of good luck in the future.
While the singing is taking place, the top-knot is divided into three
locks, each lock being then fastened at the ends. Amulets are placed
in them, and every precaution is taken to carry out the final act
of this, the most important, stage of this important rite, with the
strict observance of the minutest detail. Any deviation from the
prescribed mode of procedure would be fatal to its success. The
chanting continues until the actual moment has arrived when the hair
must be severed from the head. At the very moment the chants end,
the gongs are beaten, and the guest of highest rank takes up the
gold-encrusted scissors and quickly snips off one of the three locks.
Then the two most aged relatives of the child present, take the other
scissors, and cut off the remaining tufts. Each of the three in turn
pretends to shave off the short hairs that are left, after which a
skilled barber, with a genuine razor, speedily removes the last trace
of the long-cherished appendage, leaving the head perfectly bald. The
long hairs are placed in one basin, and the short hairs in another.
They are afterwards dealt with in a manner to be presently described.
More chanting and gong-beating announce that the performance has been
successfully accomplished.

There are still other forms to be gone through, the first of which
immediately follows the operation of shaving. The offering to Ketu is
removed from the throne that it has occupied up to the present time,
and the shaven-headed child is seated under the canopy on the exact
spot previously occupied by the offering to the god. In his hand he
holds a powerful charm, which he presses tightly to his breast. The
eldest monk, or else the one of the highest rank, takes a portion of
the consecrated water and pours it over the head of the child. All
the other priests follow suit, and then comes the turn, first, of the
relatives, and lastly, of the most distinguished visitors. As the
bathing takes place in early morning, the air is generally rather
cold, and the candidate is doubtless very much relieved when the last
drop of holy water has been thrown over him.

When the bathing is over, he retires and changes his costume for the
most gorgeous apparel that his friends possess or can borrow. He is
dressed in the brightest of colours, adorned with jewels, and then
returns to his friends. His first duty is to feed the officiating
priests. This he does by first taking to each of them a silver bowl
filled with rice, from which he helps each monk to a liberal portion,
with a carved wooden ladle inlaid with mother of pearl. Having served
out the rice, he takes trays of sweetmeats and fruit, going and
returning on his knees, and prostrating himself before each monk in
turn. Music again accompanies the feast, and at its conclusion the
priests chant a song of thanksgiving, and give their blessing to the
child.

In the afternoon another feast is held, followed by a purely
Brahminical ceremony of peculiar interest. Each person, so say these
priests, possesses a "kwun." It is difficult to translate this word
into English, and it has been variously rendered as "soul," "spirit,"
"good-luck," and "guardian-angel." It is supposed to enter and leave
the body at different times, and its absence is always indicated
by the troubles that immediately visit the person whose corporeal
frame it has vacated. Now at the time of the tonsure ceremony, great
anxiety is felt, as at this time there is great probability that the
"kwun" may depart, and so leave the unfortunate child a hopeless
wreck in after life. The purpose of the subsequent ceremonies is to
recall this mysterious being, should he by any chance have departed,
and then to fix him so securely in the body of the child that ever
afterwards he may be sure of possessing the subtle, fickle phantom.
No time is wasted before making the attempt to induce the "kwun" to
take up a permanent abode. A pagoda is erected, and on it are placed
several kinds of food known to be favoured by the spirit. This pagoda,
several mystic candle-holders, boxes of perfumed unguents, offerings
of cocoa-nuts, and an auspicious torch are arranged in a holy circle.
In the afternoon, after the "kwun" has had time to enter the charmed
ring and satisfy his spiritual appetite with the perfumes of the
unguents and the foods, the candidate is led into the centre of the
hall and placed near the pagoda. A cloth is thrown over the food in
order to confine the spirit and prevent him getting away. All the
people present, sit down on the floor, forming a circle, with the
child, the captured "kwun" and the priests in the middle. The Brahmins
now address the spirit, and in a very earnest fashion ask him to come
into the child. They tell tales to him, and so try to amuse him, and
they entreat him with flattery, joke, and song. The gongs ring out
their loudest notes, the people cheer, and the priests pray, and only
a "kwun" of the most unamiable disposition could resist the combined
appeal. The last sentences of the formal invocation run thus:--

     "Benignant Kwun![A] Thou fickle being who art wont to
     wander and dally about! From the moment that the child wast
     conceived in the womb, thou hast enjoyed every pleasure,
     until ten (lunar) months having elapsed and the time of
     delivery arrived, thou hast suffered and run the risk of
     perishing by being born alive into the world. Gracious
     Kwun, thou wast at that time so tender, delicate, and
     wavering as to cause great anxiety regarding thy fate;
     thou wast exactly like a child, youthful, innocent, and
     inexperienced. The least trifle frightened thee and made
     thee shudder. In thy infantile playfulness thou wast wont
     to frolic and wander to no purpose. As thou didst commence
     to learn to sit, and, unassisted, to crawl totteringly on
     all fours, thou wast ever falling flat on thy face or on
     thy back. As thou didst grow up in years and couldest move
     thy steps firmly, thou didst then begin to run and sport
     thoughtlessly and rashly all round the rooms, the terrace,
     and bridging planks of travelling boat or floating house,
     and at times thou didst fall into the stream, creek, or
     pond, among the floating water-weeds, to the utter dismay
     of those to whom thy existence was most dear. O gentle
     Kwun, come into thy corporeal abode; do not delay this
     auspicious rite. Thou art now full-grown and dost form
     everybody's delight and admiration.

     "Let all the tiny particles of Kwun that have fallen on
     land or water, assemble and take permanent abode in this
     darling little child. Let them all hurry to the site of
     this auspicious ceremony and admire the magnificent
     preparations made for them in this hall."

The brocaded cloth from the central pagoda is now removed, rolled up
tightly and handed to the child, who is told to clasp it firmly to his
breast and not to let the "kwun" escape. Everyone stands up, still
forming a ring round the candidate. The mystical torch in the centre
is lit; the Brahmin takes three candlesticks, each containing three
tapers, and lights them at the central fire. With his palms together
he raises the nine lights above his head, describes with them a circle
in the air, and then with the back of his right hand, wafts the smoke
into the child's face. Each person in the surrounding group repeats
the same actions in turn, and when the last person has finished, the
officiating priest takes one betel leaf from the pagoda. A second and
a third time is the waving of fire performed, and each time a betel
leaf is removed from the stand. After the third time of waving, the
priest replaces the candlesticks, and daubs the three leaves with a
paste made of the sweet smelling oils and other substances on the
different stories of the pagoda. He extinguishes the nine candles
by pinching the wicks between the smeared leaves, after which he
takes them all in his hands, relights them, once more puts out the
flame and blows the smoke in the child's face. He repeats the same
mystical operations twice, and at last replaces all the candlesticks.
He now dips one finger into the dirty leaves, and with the paste
draws a scroll between the child's eyebrows. Milk is taken from the
cocoa-nuts in a small spoon, and the spoon is presented to each
successive layer of the pagoda, as though it were taking a portion
of each of the articles placed thereon. The child drinks the milk,
and having thus imbibed the food of the "kwun," ensures ultimately
the "kwun's" permanent residence in his body. Around his wrist is
fastened a charmed and magic cord to protect him from those infernal
spirits whose vocation it is to tempt the "kwun" to forsake its home.
For three nights he sleeps with the embroidered cloth that was taken
from the pagoda, fast clasped in his arms. If after three days nothing
unfortunate occurs to trouble him, his future welfare is definitely
established.

It now only remains to dispose of the hairs that were taken from the
head on the removal of the top-knot. The short hairs are put into a
little vessel made of plantain leaves, and sent adrift on the ebb tide
in the nearest canal or river. As they float away, there goes with
them also, all that was harmful or wrong in the previous disposition
of the owner. The long hairs are kept until such time as the child
shall make a pilgrimage to the holy Footprint of Buddha on the sacred
hill at Prabat. They will then be presented to the priests, who are
supposed to use them for the manufacture of brushes for the sweeping
of the Footprint; but in reality, so much hair is presented to the
priests each year, that they are unable to use it all, so they wait
till the pilgrims have departed, when they consume with fire all that
they do not require.

So important to the individual is this ceremony of shaving the
top-knot, that were it omitted in the case of any single person, the
unlucky one would believe himself ruled by evil influences for the
rest of his life, and would unfailingly attribute every disaster in
after-life to the fatal omission of the ceremony. Yet there are many
people who have neither money themselves, nor friends or relatives
from whom they can borrow it. Were it not for the kindness of the
Government, their unfortunate offspring would never be able to enjoy
the advantages conveyed to them by the celebration of the tonsorial
ritual. The Government, however, holds a public ceremony which is
less impressive and expensive than the private one, at which all
who are too poor to afford the cost of the ceremony at home, may
have their heads shaved by Brahmin priests gratuitously. Each child
receives also a present of a small silver coin worth about two-pence.
This public function is held immediately after the close of the
"Swinging Festival,"[B] and three or four hundred people annually
avail themselves of the opportunity thus afforded them to get their
children's top-knots removed.

[Illustration: MOUNT KAILASA, AS ERECTED FOR THE HAIR-CUTTING
CEREMONIES OF H. R. H. THE CROWN PRINCE OF SIAM.]

In the case of children of royal birth, the celebrations are of a
still more imposing character. The essential details are similar,
but various modifications are introduced in order to emphasise the
extra importance of the rite to those belonging to the royal family.
On these occasions the shaven candidate is not bathed upon a mere
canopied dais. In the courtyard in front of the Royal Palace, a
hillock is erected in imitation of Mount Kailasa, the abode
of Siva. It is a hollow structure, built up of plaited bamboo,
supported on poles, and covered with tinsel. Upon the summit of this
artificial hill is a central pavilion beautifully gilt, elaborately
decorated, and adorned with tapestry and cloth of gold. A fence of
prescribed pattern encloses the pavilion. It is an open framework with
small rhomboidal openings, in each of which is hung a small gilded
heart-shaped lozenge. Conical umbrellas with seven tiers occur at
every two or three yards. There are four pavilions, also lavishly
decorated, one at each corner of the hill. At one side, an artificial
grotto is constructed in which the bathing takes place. In the walls
of the grotto are representations of the heads of the horse, the
elephant, the lion and the bull. Over the entrance appears the head
of the hooded snake. These heads are connected with the water-main,
and are so placed that the five streams of water from the five mouths
all converge to the central spot which the candidate occupies when
he takes the bath. The floor of the grotto is a miniature lake in
which are placed golden models of water-beetles, fishes and other
aquatic creatures. Rare flowering plants and ferns complete the
internal decorations of the place. A little passage leads thence to
the pavilion where the young prince or princess will change his or
her attire on the completion of the ceremony. On the ground, four
lath and plaster elephants covered with tinsel of different colours,
face the four points of the compass. Here and there about the hill
is a multitude of mechanical toys, plaster casts, waxen flowers,
real plants and models of animals. The candidate is carried round the
Palace each day, with an imposing procession of priests, members of
the amazon guard, soldiers and attendants.

No other event in the life of any Siamese is celebrated with anything
like the expense that attends the top-knot cutting, except perhaps a
funeral.



CHAPTER V.

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.


Although marriage does not follow immediately after the shaving of the
top-knot, yet after the important event has taken place, both boys
and girls are legally entitled to marry. In the case of the girls,
marriage takes place about fourteen, but the men defer their entrance
into the matrimonial condition until they are about twenty. Every girl
gets married sooner or later, so that old maids do not exist.

There are about as many ways of attaining the state of matrimony in
Siam as there are in England. Two people may fall in love with each
other with the consent of their parents; they may elope without the
consent of their parents; or a wife may be bought out and out without
any real affection existing on either side. In the methods adopted to
secure this most desirable consummation of human happiness, there are
several dissimilarities of procedure between the East and the West.
If a Siamese wishes to go through the ceremony of a strictly regular
marriage, he must be prepared to observe a great deal of formality and
to experience a great deal of trouble. Should he attempt to pay his
addresses to the object of his affections in any but the recognised
way, he will, if discovered, be suspected of improper motives, and
will be liable to suffer personal chastisement at the hands of the
young lady's male relatives.

A young Siamese who is anxious to join the ranks of the Benedicts,
first chooses amongst the maidens of his acquaintance the particular
one to whom he wishes to be allied. If he allowed himself to be guided
in this matter by the counsels given in one of the native books,
he would consider the reputed character of the lady he desires for
his wife, and try to discover to which of seven distinct classes of
wives his beloved belonged. There is nothing very remarkable in the
remarks of the philosopher who has thus catalogued the several classes
of women who are mated with men, but as his classification throws
considerable light upon the power, position, and character of Siamese
women, it is here given in full.

1.--Some wives are to their husbands as a younger sister. They look
to their husbands for approving smiles as the reward of their kind
and affectionate forethought. They confide in him and feel tenderly
towards him. And when they have once discovered the wish, the taste,
and the ideas of him whose approval they respect, they devote
themselves thoughtfully and assiduously to the realisation of his
desires. Their own impulsive passions and temper are kept under strict
control lest some hasty word should mar the harmony of their union.

2.--Some wives are to their husbands as an elder sister. They watch
sedulously their husband's outgoings and incomings so as to prevent
all occasion for scandal. They are careful as to the condition of
his wardrobe and keep it always in order for every occasion. They
are diligent in preserving from the public gaze anything that might
impair the dignity of their family. When their lord and master is
found wanting in any particular they neither fret nor scold, but wait
patiently for the time when they can best effect a reformation in his
morals and lead him towards the goal of upright manly conduct.

3.--Some wives are to their husbands like a mother. They are ever
seeking for some good thing that may bring gladness to the heart of
the man for whom they live. They desire him to be excellent in every
particular, and will themselves make any sacrifice to secure their
object. When sorrow or trouble overtakes them, they hide it away from
the eyes of him they love. All their thoughts centre round him, and
they so order their conversation and actions that in themselves he may
find a worthy model for imitation. Should he fall sick, they tend him
with unfailing care and patience.

4.--Some wives are to their husbands as a common friend. They desire
to stand on an exactly equal footing with him. If ill-nature is a
feature in the character of their husbands, they cultivate the same
fault in themselves. They will quarrel with him on the slightest
provocation. They meet all his suggestions with an excess of carping
criticism. They are always on the look-out for any infringement of
what they deem their rights, and should the husband desire them to
perform any little service for him, he must approach the subject with
becoming deference or their refusal is instant and absolute.

5.--Some wives wish to rule their husbands. Their language and manners
are of a domineering nature. They treat the man as if he were a slave,
scolding, commanding, and forbidding with unbecoming asperity. The
husbands of such women are a miserable cringing set of men.

6.--Some wives are of the robber kind. Their only idea in getting
married is the possession of a slave and the command of a purse. If
there is money in the purse they are never satisfied until they have
it in their own grasp. Such wives generally take to gambling and
staking money in the lottery, or purchasing useless articles. They
have no care as to where the money comes from or by whose labours
it is earned, so long as they can gratify their own extravagant and
ruinous fancies.

7.--Some wives are of the murderess kind and possess revengeful
tempers. Being malicious and fault-finding, they never appreciate
their own homes and families, and are always seeking for sympathisers
from outside. They share their secrets with other men, using their
pretended domestic discomfort as a cloak for their own vice and an
excuse for their greatest misdeeds.

No young man ever imagines that his beloved will fall into any of
the undesirable classes, but, deeming her worthy in every respect,
he seeks her hand. What the young lady may think concerning his
intentions towards herself counts for little or nothing, as the
would-be bridegroom never consults her; though if he were desirous
that she should return his affections he could attain his desire by
purchasing from a fortune-teller or quack, a love-potion, which when
taken by the maiden would arouse in her the most passionate longing to
become his wife. He does not dare to outrage his national etiquette by
asking for her hand direct from her parents, but, with all avoidance
of secrecy concerning the state of his affections, he communicates
the matter to his friends and to the elders of his own household.
They select a rather elderly woman, who must be acquainted with and
respected by the girl's parents. She pays a visit to their home, and
while engaged in sipping her tea, gently insinuates the purpose of
her call. She does this with an art only perfected by long practice,
gained in many similar missions. The mother rolls up her reply in a
great many vague expressions, the general tone of which can, however,
be easily judged by the ambassadress to be favourable or otherwise.
Nothing very decisive is uttered on either side, but the old lady on
her return presents a report upon which after developments arise. If
the indications are considered favourable, the parents of the young
man choose from amongst their friends a few elderly persons of both
sexes, who are respectable and who are also intimate friends of both
families. They issue invitations to the selected friends to pay them a
visit on a given day. Then in a protracted conversation they discuss
the match, and decide amongst themselves as to whether it is desirable
to enter into definite negotiations with the other parties or not.
Having pronounced for the match, they choose a lucky day, and then
the committee of counsellors repairs to the home of the young lady's
parents.

These at once understand the object of the visit, and receive the
visitors with great politeness, setting before them trays of tea,
betel-nut and tobacco. When a sufficient amount of drinking and
chewing has been accomplished, the elderly people open up the subject
of their mission. They speak with due respect to the parents, and
never fail to use exactly the right pronoun that describes their
relative positions. The slightest hitch in the extremely delicate
negotiations would be fatal to success. The conversation that ensues
is of a formal and deliberate character. Says one of the visitors,
"The parents of ---- having ascertained that this is a propitious day,
have commissioned us to come and confer with you concerning their son
who at present has no wife. His parents have asked him if he had any
one in his mind that he would like to take for his wife, and to whom
he could trust his life in sickness and his obsequies after death. The
young man replied that the only person he had in his mind was your
daughter of the name of ----. Therefore at the request of the parents
of this young man, we are here to visit you, the highly respected
parents of this young lady, that we may confer with you in reference
to this matter. What do the parents say?"

Then the parents reply after this wise. "Our daughter stands high in
our affections, and the young man is also much beloved by his parents.
We have an ancient proverb which says, 'Move slowly, and you will gain
your object; a prolonged effort is usually attended with favourable
results.' We will consult our relatives on the right hand and on the
left hand and take their counsel and opinion upon the matter. Please
call again."

It often happens that some youthful beauty is sought in marriage by
more than one of her love-sick acquaintances, and a choice has to be
made. But Phyllis is voiceless in this most important matter which so
deeply concerns her future welfare. Her parents, with due regard to
the interests of all concerned, settle the point for her after long
and careful consideration.

The "go-betweens" wait for what they consider a reasonable time, and
then on a lucky day they once more visit the lady. The parents of
the maiden have by this time made up their minds, and if they are
favourably inclined to the match, they say to their visitors, "We have
consulted our relatives, and they are unanimously of the opinion that
if the young man sincerely loves our daughter, and if he can place
implicit confidence in her as a proper person to tend him in sickness,
and direct his funeral ceremonies after death, then we will no longer
place any barrier to the attainment of his wishes. But how is it with
regard to the ages and the birthdays of the parties? Are they such as
are suitable to each other?"

It takes a little while to answer this question. The Siamese have a
cycle of twelve years, bearing respectively the names of the Rat,
Cow, Tiger, Rabbit, Major Dragon, Minor Dragon, Horse, Goat, Monkey,
Cock, Dog and Hog. One of their prevalent superstitions asserts that
persons born in certain years should not marry each other, as any
union between them would only be fruitful of endless discord. Thus
a person born in the "year of the Dog" might lead a life of never
ending discord with one born in the "year of the Rat." When a marriage
between two persons is contemplated, this important question of the
year of birth must be referred to a fortune-teller, who, being of an
obliging disposition, and having a keen eye to business, will, for
a small fee, generally pronounce that, so far as the conditions of
birth are concerned, there is "no just cause or impediment why the two
persons should not be joined in holy matrimony."

This difficulty having been satisfactorily settled, another visit
follows, when the elders announce the result of their visit to the
astrologer. "Since birthdays need cause no further delay, what shall
be said about the money to be provided for the young couple to
commence business on, and the money for building a house for their
habitation?"

It must here be explained that every intending bridegroom must either
possess a house or signify his willingness to erect one. In most
cases the new houses are erected if possible upon the premises of the
bride's parents, so that, provided a man has many daughters and plenty
of land, he may ultimately gather round him quite a small village of
descendants.

The girl's parents reply, "We are not in any way rich, so that we
shall be quite unable to afford much money for the purpose you
mention. But we should like to enquire how much the young man is
likely to receive from his parents."

"That," answer the ambassadors, "depends almost entirely upon the
parents of the young lady." They next suggest sums of money which
of course vary in amount according to the wealth of the contracting
parties. So much is put down as being for use in trade, and so much
for building a house. The number of dishes is also specified, that the
young man's friends will be expected to contribute towards the wedding
festivities. As a rule, they discuss at the same time, the plan of the
proposed house, the number of rooms it should contain and the quantity
of furniture that should be provided. When all these details have been
finally settled, the committee return and report the results of their
negotiations.

The last preliminary detail is settled by the acceptation of the
terms of the contract by the young man's parents. The fortunate
lady is now informed that she is about to be married, and the young
man is similarly told that he may soon call the desired one his
own. He is not allowed to go near her, or to indulge in any form of
courtship, but the obliging parents, with every desire to save the
pair any unnecessary trouble or excitement, themselves convey all
gifts and messages. During the whole time that elapses between the
first mention of the marriage until the ceremony itself is actually
accomplished, the betrothed pair are supposed never to meet. They have
no opportunity of indulging in any of those little marks of affection
which are supposed to be the especial weaknesses of young lovers.
They are not allowed to be demonstrative after this fashion. Kissing
is never at any time common, and even when it occurs it seems a very
strange operation, for it consists of a vigorous sniff made when the
nose is pressed against the cheek of the one so saluted. The mothers
at this time guard their daughters with great vigilance, and any
approach of the lover to his lass would put an end to all his schemes
for future bliss.

The erection of the new house is rapidly proceeded with, and owing
to the frail character of the structure, the work occupies but a
very short time. All arrangements for the wedding are made, and many
invitations issued to friends and relatives. The money mentioned in
the agreement is paid over to the parents of the bride. It is called
"Ka nom," or "the price of the mother's milk" with which the bride was
nourished in her infancy. A number of gifts are exchanged between the
parents, and then the astrologers fix the day for the wedding ceremony.

The wedding partakes of the nature of a feast. On the happy day,
fruits and sweetmeats are prepared and laid out for the guests.
Musicians and priests are summoned to the festival. The groom heads a
procession to the bride's home, taking with him presents for his bride
and for her father and mother. His most intimate friends and a band
of musicians accompany him. Everyone is in his gayest attire, and the
crowd is a medley of orange, yellow, saffron, blue, pink, scarlet and
green. When the bridegroom reaches the house he goes to his own new
quarters, where he is met by a boy, who brings him a tray of betel-nut
sent by his future wife. At the commencement of the wedding ceremony
a screen separates him from the lady, and he is not yet allowed to
look upon her face. After a certain time spent in feeding, the money
provided by both parties is laid upon the ground. The amount is
examined in order to test the accuracy and genuineness of the sums
deposited. If all is in order, they are sprinkled with rice, scented
oil and flowers. The priests offer up a prayer, the screen is removed,
and then the couple kneel down to be bathed with holy water. The chief
elder pours it first over the head of the bridegroom, and then over
the head of the bride, at the same time pronouncing a blessing upon
them both. Very often the bowing and bathing are dispensed with, and
the couple are considered as married as soon as the money is paid
over. No registers are signed, and no official record of the event is
made. The bride retires to remove her wet clothes, but the bridegroom
waits till he receives her gift of a new suit, in which he speedily
attires himself. The priests again engage in chanting, and the guests
return to their feasting until evening, when they all return to their
homes, with the exception of the bridegroom, who hires a band with
which to serenade his lady-love until the small hours of the next
morning. As yet he has had no conversation with her whatever.

On the morning of the next day, the priests and visitors arrive once
more, when all busy themselves in waiting upon the monks as they
make a hearty and luxurious meal. Should this day be a propitious
one according to the wisdom of the astrologers, the ceremonies close
in the evening. A respectable old couple who are intimate friends of
the bride, and are themselves the parents of numerous offspring, go
to the new house to make all ready for the homecoming of the newly
married ones. The young man goes next, attended by his friends bearing
torches. About nine o'clock, a crowd of elderly people escort the
bride to her husband's dwelling, where they soon begin to drink tea
and chew betel-nut, not forgetting at frequent intervals to give to
the young people many wise yet unnecessary counsels. If anything
should happen of doubtful omen, the bride is once more taken home
again, for she may not take up her residence with her husband except
under the most propitious circumstances. The end is reached at last,
and the kind and benevolent friends retire to their homes, and leave
the newly married couple to make each other's acquaintance. Then for
the first time do they enjoy the pleasure of each other's company, and
there can be no doubt, that no friends were ever so willingly parted
with as those whose footsteps are heard last descending the bamboo
ladder as they take themselves away into the darkness.

After a few days the groom takes his wife to visit his parents.
She carries with her several presents, and on reaching the house,
prostrates herself to the ground before her new relatives. In a few
minutes she is raised by her mother-in-law, who embraces her and
treats her with becoming respect and attention. The bride also takes
her husband to visit her parents, where the same forms of etiquette
are again observed.

[Illustration: A CHINESE MERCHANT.]

At every wedding feast there are always three metallic plates or
dishes containing respectively, Chinese cakes, a very highly seasoned
kind of mincemeat, and a tray of betel-nut. These three dishes were
formerly known collectively, under the name of "the betel-nut tray,"
and so universal is the custom of providing them, that the wedding
ceremony itself is now frequently spoken of by the same name.

After the birth of the first child the joint stock is produced and the
young couple are set up in business. Up to this time their household
expenses have been defrayed by the bride's parents.

Siamese law gives the husband the right to administer a little
wholesome chastisement to his wife, should he think she requires it;
but such occasions must be of rare occurrence where the women are so
good-tempered, and so gentle in their manners.

The whole ceremony above described is only observed in the case
of the first or chief wife, who always remains the legal head of
her husband's household. Other wives are merely bought as so much
merchandise, all formality being omitted except such as attends the
payment of the purchase money. Polygamy is extensively practised
amongst the higher classes, but it is controlled in the case of the
poor by the fact that a man must not have more wives than he can keep.
Chastity is highly commended by the Buddhist religion, but although
Buddha censured polygamy he did not absolutely forbid it. He did not
see his way clear to a thorough prohibition of the practice, and even
admits that if a man's wives are properly acquired, he is unable to
pronounce it wrong. The practice of only having one wife he strongly
commends, and looks upon it as a form of celibacy. No disgrace of any
kind is attached to the condition of a subordinate wife, but she does
not hold a high social position. Very often she inhabits a house
separated from that in which the head wife resides. Upon the death
of the husband, her children are legally entitled to a share of the
property, but they do not share on equal terms with the children of
the first wife. Then too, a bought wife can be sold or given away,
while the head wife can only be divorced. It sometimes happens that a
man sells one of his concubines, and she takes her children with her
if she has any, so that her sons and daughters possess a father and a
step-father both living at the same time.

There is a very elastic divorce law, and marriages can practically be
annulled by mutual consent. In such cases the wife takes away with
her all the property she brought to the husband on her marriage, and
all she may have since acquired either by trade or purchase. She also
retains possession of the first, third, and fifth children. Great
respect is shown to the condition of motherhood, a wife of low rank
with children being of far more importance in the family than even the
chief wife should she be childless.

The king, the princes, and most--of the noblemen have fairly large
harems. The late king had eighty-four children who were the offspring
of thirty-five mothers. The possession of a large harem appears to be
regarded as an honour to the owner, who glories in his property much
after the same fashion as Western noblemen take great pride in their
private art galleries or libraries. The king has generally one wife
who is called the Queen. At the present time there are two queens--the
First Queen and the Second Queen, both of them being half-sisters of
the reigning sovereign. The women of the royal harem, unlike all other
Siamese women, are under great restrictions as regards their personal
liberty. They are known under the name of "forbidden women", that is,
women forbidden to leave the palace. They are not permitted to pass
beyond their prison walls except with special permission, which is
rarely, and only on occasions of extraordinary importance, granted to
them. Their quarters are called "The Inside," and it is not considered
polite in Siamese society to hold conversation concerning the place
or its inmates. Into this region no man but the king ever enters. It
is a city of women, complete in itself, with its own shops, markets,
gaol and policemen. Those noblemen or princes who possess handsome
daughters are only too glad to present them to their sovereign, for
should their children become favourites with their royal husband,
honours and promotion will most likely fall to them as a natural
consequence. The late king once remarked that he was not particularly
anxious to acquire all the youth and beauty of Siam himself, but, as
so many of her fairest daughters had already been presented to him, he
could not possibly refuse similar gifts in future, as he did not wish
to offend any of his subjects.

The Siamese have several amusing reasons for permitting a man to
have as many wives as he pleases, while they refuse to grant a like
privilege to women folk. Woman, they say, is man's inferior, is under
his control, and may not be allowed the luxury of possessing two
masters. Besides, if a woman had several husbands, she would never
know who was the father of her children, and the children, not knowing
their own father, might possibly at some time or other injure him, or
even commit parricide without knowing it. And moreover, there is a
remarkable difference in the several dispositions of men and women;
men, however many wives they have, and whatever their feelings towards
them, would never desire to kill them, but if women had more husbands
than one, they would wish to put to death all except the one they
liked best, for such is their nature.

     "There was once on a time a priest, who daily blessed a
     great king, saying, 'May Your Majesty have the firmness
     of a crow, the audacity of a woman, the endurance of
     a vulture, and the strength of an ant.' And the king,
     doubting his meaning, said, 'What do you mean by the
     endurance of a vulture?' And he replied, 'If a vulture and
     all other kinds of animals be caged up without food, the
     vulture will outlive them all.' And the king tried, and it
     was so. Then the priest said, 'I spoke of the strength of
     an ant, for the ant is stronger than a man or anything that
     lives. No other animal can lift a lump of iron or copper as
     large as itself, but an ant will carry off its own bulk of
     either metal if only it be smeared with sugar. Also I spoke
     of the firmness of a crow, for none can subdue the boldness
     and energy of the crow, however long it may be caged. It
     can never be tamed. And if the king would see the audacity
     of a woman, I beg him to send for a couple who have been
     married but one or two months, and who are as yet, deeply
     in love with each other. First call the husband and tell
     him to take this knife and cut off his wife's head and
     bring it to you, when, as a reward, you will give him half
     your kingdom and make him viceroy. And if he will not do
     it, then send for the woman and tell her that if she will
     cut off her husband's head and bring it to you, you will
     make her your chief queen and ruler of all the ladies in
     the palace.' And the king did so. He found a newly married
     couple who had never quarrelled and were deeply enamoured
     of one another, and sending for the husband, he spoke to
     him as the priest suggested. The man took the knife, hid
     it in his dress, and that same night he rose when his wife
     slept, thinking to kill her, but he could not, because he
     was kind-hearted and reflected that she had done no wrong.
     And the next day he returned the knife to the king, saying
     that he could not use it against his wife. Then the king
     sent messengers to the wife secretly, and they brought her
     to him, and he flattered her and enticed her with promises,
     as the priest had told him. She took the knife, and as
     soon as her husband slept, stabbed him, cut off his head,
     and took it to the king. This story shows not only that
     women are more audacious than men, but also that, if anyone
     entices or pleases them, they will plot the death of their
     husbands, which is good reason for not letting them have
     more than one husband."[C]



CHAPTER VI.

DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS.


It is an easy matter to obtain some idea of the daily life and
surroundings of the poorer inhabitants of Siam, for their houses are
such open structures that every enquiring eye may gaze therein without
any interruption. They spend so much of their time, and pursue so
many of their employments in the open air, that even the most casual
observer could not fail to rapidly acquire much information concerning
their domestic life and customs. In the case of the wealthier classes
there is much more privacy. They may be described as living also a
kind of double life. Their houses are divided into two parts; in
one quarter they live their own native life after their own native
fashion; in the other portion an attempt is made to reproduce the
European style of living. This latter part is the only one shown to
the European visitor. He is received in a drawing-room with tables and
chairs, piano and pictures; he dines in a room where the dishes are of
European pattern, the servants have the habits of European waiters,
and the menu contains only such dishes as are known to be palatable
to the white man. All the surroundings are of such an unmistakably
foreign origin, that the visitor looks in vain for any trace of the
life and manners of the native in the house of his wealthy host.
Were he permitted to pass beyond the bounds set by modern fashion,
he would possibly find much to interest and amuse in the real house
of the native prince or nobleman. As this is more or less unusual or
impossible, he is forced to seek for his information in those poorer
dwellings, which the forward march of so-called civilisation has, as
yet, left completely untouched.

The house-boats which represent the original dwellings of the people
have been already described. The land houses are of a very frail and
rude character, though not without their own charm and picturesqueness
when seen embedded in bowers of tropical foliage. Each house
represents very strikingly the social grade of its owner, whether it
be the low hut of the labourer in which a man of average height may
scarcely stand upright, or the brick and stone palace with carpets
and electric lights of the prince or nobleman. Most of the houses
are of wood, and are made of either bamboo or teak. They stand upon
wooden platforms about six feet from the ground, being supported in
that position by strong teak pillars. Teak is used for this purpose
not only on account of its strength, but because it is also one of
the few woods which are so hard that the destructive little "white
ant" leaves it alone. The walls are of teak boards, or else of plaited
bamboo. In the latter case the dwelling is light and airy, for the
numerous interstices between the strands of wood are left unclosed,
thus admitting a plentiful supply of air and light. The roof is always
covered with some form of thatch, never with slates or tiles. Along
the river banks and near water generally, the attap palm grows in
abundance, and its long fibrous leaves make an excellent thatch. The
leaves are stitched together, forming rectangular layers about two
feet long and one foot wide. When these leafy mats are placed on the
roof in an inclined position they form a water-tight covering. In
places remote from water, where the leaves cannot be easily obtained,
an equally serviceable thatch is made from the long broad leaves of
certain kinds of jungle grass. These leafy roofs last about three
years. In the summer they get so completely dried by the sun that they
become brittle, and every strong gust of wind carries away tiny bits
of the thatch. In this condition they are extremely inflammable, and
fires are of frequent occurrence. As the houses are usually very close
together, a fire is a very serious calamity; for not only are numerous
dwellings consumed in the rapidly spreading conflagration itself, but
it is always necessary to destroy every house in the neighbourhood on
which sparks would be likely to fall, in order to prevent a wholesale
bonfire. There is no fire-brigade either amateur or professional, and
the soldiers are always employed to put out the flames. One of these
houses could be easily smashed to bits by a hatchet, especially in the
dry season, when they are about as substantial as a match-box.

The houses are built on poles for two reasons; first, to avoid the
floods during the rainy season, and secondly, to prevent the intrusion
of the wild beasts who roam about at nights in the more remote parts
of the country. There is no second storey, but a platform or verandah
runs along the front or even round the whole of the house. The ascent
to this verandah, or to the front door in the absence of one, is made
by means of a rickety ladder constructed of the indispensable bamboo.

[Illustration: A SIAMESE TEAK-WOOD HOUSE.]

The house is divided into at least three rooms, a kitchen, a
drawing-room and a bedroom. So powerful is the superstition that
even numbers are unlucky, that the number of rooms is always an odd
one. The same fancy regulates also the number of windows and doors,
and even the rungs of the ladder. Of these rooms the least dirty is
the one we have designated the drawing-room. The kitchen is always
remarkable for its accumulation of dirt and rubbish. A properly
constructed fireplace is of course impossible in a wooden house. A
substitute for grate and oven is obtained in one of two ways. A wooden
box is filled with earth, and a couple of bricks are placed thereon.
The fire, which is of wood or charcoal, is laid between the bricks,
and the pot, pan, or kettle is supported by them. A more civilised
form of stove is an earthenware furnace. It resembles in shape a short
narrow pail, containing a shelf midway, pierced by a number of round
holes. Below the shelf an oblong aperture is cut in the side of the
pail. The pot stands on the rim of the bucket, the charcoal is placed
on the sieve-like shelf, and a current of air is caused to pass
upwards by rapidly waving a fan to and fro in front of the lateral
opening. No chimney or other method of exit is provided in the kitchen
by which the smoke of the fire can escape. It finds its way to the
exterior or into the other rooms of the house, through the holes in
the walls or through the light frame-work screens and partitions that
represent walls. Grime and soot accumulate year after year, and form
a very complete if inartistic covering to the sides and roof of this
Oriental kitchen. The place is never cleaned out or disinfected.
Spiders spin their webs in undisturbed possession of every nook; tiny
lizards crawl over the walls, open-mouthed, looking for flies and
mosquitoes; multitudes of insects of the "crawly creepy" kind find
comfortable breeding-places amidst the shreds of smoke-stained attap.

Every member of the household knows how to cook. If the mother is not
at home, the father can easily take her place, for he knows quite
well how long rice should be boiled or bananas stewed. The little
children can fry the fish or make the curry, and so are independent
of their parents in this respect. Whenever the voice of hunger makes
itself heard, its appeal is promptly responded to, and consequently
great irregularity prevails in the times of meals. But as a general
rule there are two fixed meals each day, one at about seven o'clock
in the morning and the other about half-past five in the afternoon.
The chief article of food is rice. In the cooking of this grain the
people have no rivals. They wash it four or five times, and then soak
it for a little while. They put it next into boiling water for three
or four minutes, and then pour off the water. The pot is left over
the fire for some time longer so that it is well steamed, care being
taken, however, to remove the pot before the rice is burned. When it
is turned out into the basin, the grains are all considerably swollen,
and are separate from each other. They are as white as snow and not
at all sticky. Rice is cooked in many other ways; made into cakes,
fermented to make an intoxicating drink, taken internally as medicine,
and used externally as a poultice. Fruits and sweetmeats are eaten
between meals. The rice is often served up cold.

When making a meal, the natives either follow the custom of the
Chinese and poke their food into their mouths with chopsticks, or
they attempt to imitate the European, and use spoons made of tin,
lead, or china; or finally, they use their own fingers. A large bowl
of rice is placed in the centre of the floor and the hungry ones sit
round it in a circle, either squatting upon their haunches or sitting
tailor-fashion with their legs crossed under them. Various curries and
other foods are eaten with the rice, and these are placed in small
china basins arranged round the central one. Each person has in front
of him a small basin, and helps himself, so that the quickest eater
naturally gets the biggest share.

Rice is sold in the markets and at many little shops, ready cooked,
and wrapped up in small quantities in a banana leaf. Workmen and
others engaged in outdoor occupations find it just as easy to get a
meal outside as at home, for they never suffer from lack of plates,
tables, or chairs. They just sit down by the side of the road and
wait for the first itinerant dealer in eatable wares to appear, when
they dip into his pots or baskets, and for a few cents get a fairly
substantial meal.

As a relish with the rice, fish is generally eaten. This may be fresh
or stale, fried or fermented. The stale fish eaten by the natives may
be recognised from afar owing to its powerful perfume. Such forms
of food, especially when they have the additional attraction of a
particularly pungent flavour, are held in high esteem. Decaying prawn
well covered with fiery pepper is a delicacy keenly appreciated. Eggs
that have been salted and preserved are also considered palatable.
Amongst the other dainties that figure on the menu may be mentioned
the seeds and stalks of the sacred lotus, the stem of the young
bamboo, peas, beans, sugar-cane, several kinds of weeds and blossoms,
every kind of fruit obtainable, chilies, mango-chutney, cocoa-nut
milk, and fat pork. The favourite sauce is called "Nam-prik" or
"pepper-water." Red pepper is bruised in a mortar and then made into
a paste with shrimps or prawns in a condition politely described as
"high." To this is added black pepper, garlic and onions. Brine and
citron juice give to the compound the necessary liquidity. A little
ginger is also considered a desirable ingredient. This sauce is said
to be decidedly efficacious in stimulating a jaded appetite. Being
accustomed to this highly seasoned kind of diet, the Siamese fail as
a rule to appreciate the more delicate flavours of the European table,
which they describe as being perfectly insipid.

They excel in the art of preparing fruit, and they can remove the hard
kernels from all stone fruit, with such skill that when placed upon
the table, the eye fails to discover from its external appearance,
that the natural condition of the fruit has been in any way altered.
The meal is washed down with a draught of canal water. There are no
water-works, and as the poor cannot afford to buy receptacles in which
to store up rain water, they are forced during the dry season to drink
the filthy sewage-water of the canals. Needless to state, cholera
epidemics are by no means infrequent.

The floor of the kitchen is of plaited bamboo, like most of the
walls. Through the cracks are thrown all the scraps that remain when
breakfast or dinner is finished. The cooking water, the old bits of
meat, bone, and fish, the skins of fruits, and most other domestic
refuse are similarly disposed of. There is always a crowd of bony,
hungry pariahs lying in wait beneath the kitchen floor, ready to snap
up the bits as they fall. It is well for the inhabitants that these
canine waifs and strays do thus frequent their habitations, for in
the absence of any salaried scavengers, they would otherwise become
veritable pest-houses. The little furniture that the kitchen boasts,
is not of any great value. There is the fireplace,--a wooden box, or
earthen stove; a few earthenware pots; a few china and brass basins;
some old kerosine tins, which are used for carrying water; a few
baskets; a kettle and a small table; an old stool or up-turned box.

Just as there are no cleaning days, so there are no washing days. When
the people go to bathe, they go into the water in the garment they
happen to be wearing at the time. When they come out again; they very
dexterously wrap a clean dry one round the body, at the same time
slipping off the wet one, which is then wrung out, and left to dry
in the sun. The professional washermen or "dhobies" are all Chinese
and are chiefly employed by the Europeans. Their methods of washing
immediately destroy flannels, and ultimately ruin every article of
whatever texture that is handed over to their tender mercies. They
wash clothes on the banks of the canal in the dirty water. They first
soak them till thoroughly wet, then rub them well over with soap, and
then bang them against the stones till they have succeeded in knocking
some of the dirt out, and many holes in. A rinse in water follows, and
then the articles are dried in the sun. They understand the mysteries
of "ironing and starching", but the "ironing" process is productive of
numerous patches of "mould", and the "starching" results in an uncanny
limpidity. Any man in want of a dress-shirt, or a clean pair of white
drill trousers, can always borrow those belonging to someone else on
application at the "laundry", and the payment of a small fee.

The drawing-room, sitting-room, parlour, or whatever other name it
may be known by, is not luxuriously furnished. The visitor sits upon
the floor, with only a skin or mat between himself and the boards. In
many instances even this form of couch is absent. A few low stools
may occasionally be found. The walls are commonly adorned with
photographs, cheap lithographs, and prints. Every caller is offered a
tray of betel-nut and its accompanying condiments; a cup of tea, and
cigarettes. The betel-nut is not eaten alone, but with a mixture of
tobacco, seri-leaf, turmeric and lime, and no host ever forgets to
offer these things to his guest. In time, as a result of continual
chewing, the gums and lips become a vivid red, and the teeth an
intense shiny black, and in extreme old age the teeth also protrude
in a repulsive fashion. The first effect of the nut upon a beginner
is rather of an intoxicating or stupefying nature. But after having
once contracted a strong liking for its bitter flavour, many people
find themselves absolutely unable to do without it. Every man carries
in his pocket a small box containing the nut, the tobacco etc., or is
followed wherever he goes by his servant who bears it after him. When
the master sits down, the servant deposits it by his side so that it
is easily within reach of the owner. These boxes are often of valuable
material and beautiful workmanship. The commonest material used in
their construction is silver, but the wealthier classes have their
betel-boxes made of rich, ruddy gold and set with jewels. The black
teeth that are obtained by the constant use of the nut are considered
beautiful. The natives express their contempt for white teeth in the
remark, "Any dog can have white teeth." The local dentists keep in
stock complete sets of black false teeth, so that when a naturally
black tooth is removed, an artificially coloured one can at once
take its place and so prevent any break in the uniform coal-like
aspect of the mouth. Saliva is produced in copious quantities during
mastication, and is of a blood red colour. As it is never swallowed,
spittoons must always accompany the betel-box. If the saliva is
allowed to fall upon wood or stone it produces brick-red stains which
are not easily removable. Such stains are exceedingly common in the
streets and houses. The black deposit formed upon the teeth is said to
exercise a preserving influence upon them.

Smoking is to some extent gradually replacing betel-nut chewing,
especially with the children, who now take to the weed when they
are about five or six years old. The native tobacco is very strong,
and when smoked as a cigarette wrapped in dried banana-leaf, it is
decidedly unpalatable to the European. Light cigarette tobaccos of
foreign manufacture are now much in vogue. Those who can afford it,
roll up the tobacco in lotus leaf. For this purpose the petals of the
lotus flowers are taken, dried in the sun, flattened with a hot iron,
and then cut into rectangular pieces of the same size as ordinary
cigarette paper. Pipes are rarely seen.

The natives are not addicted either to strong drink or to opium. Those
who drink beer and spirits have learnt the habit from their Western
friends. The opium monopoly is farmed, and is at present in the hands
of a Chinaman who is the king's head cook. The late king feared that
his subjects might take to the drug, and he issued a decree forbidding
all of them under heavy penalties to buy or smoke it, but the law has
become inoperative.

The bedroom, the third necessary room of every Siamese dwelling,
cannot be held up as a model of cleanliness. Frequently it is the
lumber-room where everything old and unnecessary is stowed away.
The altar and the idols are placed therein, especially if the sick
or dying are lying there. On retiring for the night, the doors and
windows are closed, and the atmosphere soon becomes hot and unhealthy.
Owing to the presence of innumerable mosquitoes whose buzzing and
stinging are effective preventatives of somnolescence, every one must
sleep inside a mosquito net. In the majority of cases the net is so
dirty, and its meshes are so clogged with deposits of dust accumulated
through many days, that neither air nor mosquitoes can penetrate
its folds. People sleep on the bare boards, on mats or skins, and
on mattresses stuffed with tree cotton. Pillows are not in common
use, except amongst those who have borrowed the Chinese form of this
luxury--namely, a hard, hollow, semi-cylindrical frame of bamboo.

When sleeping, the head must not be pointing to the West, as that
point of the compass where the sun finishes his daily round, is
synonymous with death. The favourable position is with the head to the
North and the feet to the South. Other superstitions with regard to
the points of the compass prevail, certain directions being considered
auspicious according to the days of the week. Thus on Sunday, the East
is the lucky situation; on Monday, the West; on Tuesday, the South;
on Wednesday, the South West; on Thursday, the North; on Friday, the
South East; and on Saturday, the North West. It is very important that
on any given day a person should not set out to travel in any other
direction, or place his face towards any other point of the compass
should he be taking part in any ceremony of importance.

If the tenant of the house owns any cattle, they are stabled
underneath, so that any thieves who may visit his premises during the
night may readily be detected. Pigs and cows directly under one's
bedroom are not usually considered as being conducive to healthy,
restful sleep, but the Siamese do not seem to mind their presence in
the least.

Frequent mention has been made of the bright colours of the clothes
worn by the people. Most of the cotton or silk goods are manufactured
in England, Germany, or Switzerland, but the brighter and more
artistic colours are produced by the natives themselves, by means of
a number of dyes made from various roots, fruits, and seeds. Some of
the colours thus obtained are never to be found in any of the cloths
imported from abroad, especially the many beautiful shades of yellow
and orange, so conspicuous in the ecclesiastical vestments. To be
thoroughly fashionable one must put on a differently coloured garment
every day, and wear rings and other jewelled ornaments with stones
of corresponding hue. This custom is not simply a fashionable one. It
owes its origin to an old superstition. Sunday is under the rule of
the sun, therefore on that day bright red silks and rubies should be
worn; Monday, the day of the moon, can only be properly respected by
wearing silver or white coloured garments and moonstones; Tuesday, the
day of ruddy Mars, requires light red clothes with coral ornaments;
Wednesday, devoted to the greenish tinted Mercury, is the day when
green garments and emeralds are correct; the variegated appearance
of Jupiter dominates the fashion for Thursday and prescribes the
cat's-eye as the proper jewel; Venus rules on Friday, and requires
from her worshippers silver-blue apparel and diamonds; while Saturday
is under the influence of Saturn, who demands sapphires and dark-blue
costumes.

[Illustration: MAKING CURRY.]

The Siamese wear their hair cut short and brushed straight up from the
forehead. This method of dressing the hair is of comparatively late
origin. The king's crown, the actor's head-dress, and the hats worn in
many processions are all of a conical shape. They owe their design to
that period when the hair was knotted and piled up on the head in such
a way as to require a conical hat or crown. Before the first century,
the hair is said to have been worn in a long flowing plait, resembling
the pig-tail of the Chinese. From the second to the eighth centuries,
when Siam was tributary to Cambodia, a Hindoo style of dressing the
hair was adopted from the sovereign state. At this time a central
lock of hair adorned the head. At a later date when the country
gained its independence, the hair was allowed to grow uniformly all
over the head, but cut short. The change was made in order that
some visible sign could be shown that freedom had been gained. This
fashion remained in vogue till about the thirteenth century when the
top-knot was introduced as a relic of Sivaitic worship, together with
other Hindoo manners, by immigrants from India. Other forms were at
different times adopted. For instance, from 1002 A.D. to 1768 A.D. the
hair of the men was frequently cut in a cup-shaped fashion. The king
who reigned at that time is popularly supposed to be responsible for
this style, which could be most satisfactorily produced by placing
half a cocoa-nut upon the head, and shaving or cutting away all the
hair then visible. Women, however, allowed their locks to grow until
they flowed over the shoulders. Again, from 1698 A.D. to 1798 A.D.
many people adopted the "Great Freemen" pattern, in which the hair
appeared in the form of a reversed brush in the centre of the head.

There are certain days of the week when it is unwise to visit the
barber, others on which it is highly desirable that any alteration
in the condition of the hair should be made. If it is cut on Sunday,
lasting happiness and long life are ensured to him who then loses his
locks; the unfortunate individual who undergoes the same operation
on a Monday may expect fatal diseases, sorrows, and many unpleasant
surprises; Tuesday hair-cuttings bring peacefulness and prosperity,
and victory in war, while those of a Wednesday are attended with
manifold evils, great anxieties, and troubles from enemies. If a
man desires the powerful protection of those angels who inhabit the
heavenly spheres, he must get his hair cut on a Thursday; if he
would have the satisfaction of finding all kinds of food savoury and
palatable, he must visit the barber on Friday; and lastly, if he would
be certain of the successful accomplishment of every rite and deed
performed on the Saturday, he should submit his locks to the shears on
that day.

In a country where so many insanitary conditions surround the life of
the people, sickness is common. Hence doctors and quacks abound. A
few Siamese have been educated for the medical profession in foreign
countries, and are skilful practitioners. A few others have learnt
the principles of European medicine and surgery in the Medical School
at Bangkok, but the vast majority of the native professors of the
healing art have no other knowledge than that handed down to them by
tradition. There are royal "doctors" attached to the court, quacks who
profess to cure anything and everything under the sun, and magicians
who both cure and kill for a moderate consideration. If a person
has an enemy whose death he wishes to encompass, there are certain
wizards who will give effect to his wishes by bewitching a buffalo.
The animal then dwindles to the size of a pea. This highly condensed
pill is given to the enemy, and when swallowed begins to expand to
its original size, with a result that is best left undescribed. Other
magicians make clay images to represent sick persons. Over these
images they perform curious incantations, and then bury them in the
jungle, where they absorb and so remove the sickness of the person
whom they represent. There is, however, a distinct school and science
of medicine which is not simply a matter of magic. In the treatment of
fevers and other local ailments, the native doctors are as good as the
European. They are clever practisers of the operation of massage; they
understand the nature and use of many of the herbs and roots that grow
in their jungles; and they are great believers in shower-baths, and
in the healing properties of earth when applied to wounds and boils.
Their physiological and scientific knowledge is summed up briefly in
the following paragraphs.

All nature is composed of four elements, earth, fire, wind and water.
The bodies of men and animals are made up of the same constituents,
the earth and water being visible in the bones, flesh and blood,
while the fire and wind, though invisible, are clearly present in the
breath and heat. The earth of which all solid bodies are composed is
of twenty-six varieties; the different forms of water are divided
into twelve classes, those of wind into six classes, and those of
fire into four. Now in the body of man all the six kinds of wind are
known to exist. The first flows from his head to his feet, the second
from his feet to his head. The third wind circulates in the region
of the diaphragm; the fourth forms the pulse; the fifth enters the
lungs; and the sixth is present in the abdominal viscera. Of the
four kinds of fire that exercise any influence upon the health of
humanity, two varieties of this subtle element are beneficial, and
produce respectively the natural temperature of the body, and an easy
digestion. The other two kinds are of an undesirable character, as one
is the cause of fevers, and the other consumes the body in old age.

The body is divided into thirty-two parts subject to ninety-six
diseases, all of which are the inevitable result of any excess in the
amount of any one of the primary elements. An excess in the quantity
of fire produces all kinds of fevers; any superabundance of water
creates dropsy and kindred ailments. All sicknesses that cannot be
easily accounted for, are attributed to an accumulation of wind, and
the natives commonly reply when asked what is the matter with them,
"ben lom", that is, "it is wind."

[Illustration: STEAMING RICE.]

Ill health and good health are dispensed by numerous spirits, and it
behoves all men so to order their lives and actions that they may not
incur the displeasure of those spirits who have sickness at their
disposal, but that they may win the favour of those who dispense the
blessing of perfect health.

In the days when Buddha walked and talked amongst men, there lived a
man of remarkable wisdom who is the father of medicine. To him the
plants and flowers of the forest spoke, revealing their many virtues.
The knowledge thus revealed to him he wrote down in books, and also
taught by word of mouth to his fellow-men. The remedies he prescribed
are sacred and infallible. If they apparently fail to cure, the
failure is not to be attributed to the method of treatment he laid
down, but to the want of sufficient goodness of life and character in
the doctor or his patient. Every native physician has in his house
an image of this legendary founder of his profession. Upon his face
is a beneficent smile. One of his hands is held outstretched. In the
hollow of this outstretched hand, every drug is placed to receive his
blessing before it is administered to the ailing one. After having
received the blessing, the drug is taken to the house of the patient
and there boiled in an earthenware pot. The solution thus obtained,
very often has to be drunk in quarts before any effect is produced. If
the sick man dies the doctor gets no remuneration for his services.
The following recipe for a mixture that will cure snake-bites should
be noticed by all those who intend to hunt or work in jungles where
poisonous reptiles abound.

A piece of the jaw of a wild hog.
A piece of the jaw of a tame hog.
A piece of the bone of a goose.
A piece of the bone of a peacock.
The tail of a fish.
The head of a venomous snake.



CHAPTER VII.

DOMESTIC LIFE AND CUSTOMS (_continued_).


Slavery or serfdom is one of the most interesting features in the
social life of the Siamese. It is another of those customs which
they have borrowed from a neighbouring nation. The Shan ancestors of
the Siamese were "free" men, and the name "Thai", which was the name
they called themselves, signified that fact. It is, moreover, the
name of the nation to-day, though the condition of slavery is a very
wide-spread one. For many years the inhabitants of the plains were
tributary to Cambodia, whose princes and nobles treated all servants
and aliens as slaves. When the foreign yoke was thrown off, this
domestic custom was instituted amongst the "free" men, and all the
subjects of the king became theoretically his slaves. But as he was
unable to find employment for this large body of serfs, he delegated
a portion of his ownership to persons of lower rank. These in turn
handed on their powers to other people, and so arose a condition of
universal serfdom, which, however, was only strictly enforced in
the case of the poorer classes. The system thus organised divided
the whole nation into a series of social strata, but the limits
between the different grades of society have never been so rigid and
impassable as the adamantine boundaries that separate the castes of
India. In fact, the serf in Siam to-day may be a nobleman of high rank
in the future, should he possess ability of sufficient distinction
to warrant so great a promotion. Until the present reign there were
theoretically no "free" men in the kingdom at all, for everybody owed
homage to some one of higher degree; but one of the first acts of H.
M. King Chulalongkorn after he came to the throne, was to issue a
decree by which all children born of slaves were thereafter declared
free. As freedom could be purchased there were also many people in the
land who had obtained their independence. Though the king's decree
struck a very decisive blow at the condition of domestic slavery, a
system of state slavery still prevails inasmuch as the laws relating
to _corvée_ and conscription are still enforced. Chinese, priests,
and foreigners are all exempt from enforced labour of any kind, but
the first-named of these classes has to pay a triennial tax as the
price of its exemption. The people who are now in bondage are in that
condition chiefly as the result of financial indebtedness.

When a native borrows money he either promises to pay a certain amount
of interest for the loan, or he promises and actually allows the
lender to have his services for a specified time in lieu of interest.
Should the borrower under the first agreement here mentioned, fail to
pay the interest he has promised, he then offers his personal services
in payment of both interest and capital. If the total sum is large,
a lifetime may not be long enough to work off the debt at the native
rate of wages, and he so becomes a slave for life. Many people, too,
when heavily in debt, sell themselves bodily to someone who will
discharge their numerous debts for them. The man who has lost his
freedom as the result of financial misfortunes can always re-obtain
it if he can in any way obtain sufficient money to pay off his debts.
There is nothing cruel or revolting in the treatment of the serfs,
and many of them are sincerely attached to their masters, and have
been known voluntarily to afford them any assistance they could when
misfortunes have overtaken them. They are fed, clothed, and housed at
the expense of their owners, and rarely experience in their dependent
condition any real hardship. Away in the country the majority of the
people prefer to live as the bondservants of some powerful person, who
in return for their labour provides both them and their families with
protection and support.

The _corvée_ laws are also responsible for a certain number of those
who are in bondage. When the central authorities claim the services
of someone resident in a remote quarter of the country, the order is
made through the governor of the province in which the person whose
time and labour are required, resides. If this person desires to
avoid the requisition, he is often allowed by the local officials to
pay a certain sum of money sufficient for the hire or purchase of a
substitute. A mark is then tattooed on the wrist of the substitute,
and he becomes definitely the property of the government. Now if the
"marked" man should die at an early date, an illegal claim is often
made for the provision of another proxy, on his wife and children.
This claim is in opposition to the law, but has often been made by
officials of cruel, arbitrary dispositions. In most cases he who so
breaks the law is also the administrator of the law for that district,
and if the woman and her children are unable to satisfy the demand for
money thus unjustly made, they must become themselves the slaves of
the official till they work off the amount required from them. When
the boys have grown to such a height that they too may be called upon
by the government for _corvée_ or conscription, their master also
marks them upon the wrist, and in this way the condition of serfdom
is perpetuated from generation to generation. When at a later date
the government does actually requisition their services, their owner
professes that they are really his own personal property, and he pays
to the central authorities a tax of ninety cents per annum for each
male, and so retains them as his dependants. In these cases also,
the bond-man becomes free when he is prepared to pay a certain fixed
sum, but it is rarely possible for a serf to obtain the necessary
funds, as he is daily employed in the service of his master and so
prevented from earning wages elsewhere. No slaves can be sold to
another person without their own consent. If a slave is sold, and if
he afterwards absconds, the seller is bound to repay to the buyer
the sum originally paid, less a reasonable amount reckoned for loss
of service during the time he has been absent from his old master,
unless it is directly specified to the contrary in the agreement made
at the time of purchase. Before the king's decree freed the children
of all slaves, they too became the property of the owners of their
parents, but they could be set at liberty by paying a sum of money
which was fixed by law. They could not be sold to anyone else without
the consent both of themselves and their parents.

Each slave has a paper on which is stated the amount to be paid for
his or her redemption. The paper is kept by the owner, but it must be
given up whenever the amount specified therein is forthcoming. The
slave who attempts to gain freedom by running away, and so avoiding
what is often a perfectly just and legal debt, is punished by being
put in chains, but the fetters are of no great weight and are simply
put on the ankles to prevent any further attempt at escape. In any
case they are preferable to an indefinite period of imprisonment in
the native goal.

If a man buys a new servant, and afterwards sees reason to regret
his bargain, he may demand the return of the purchase money, and
the cancelling of the agreement, provided he makes his claim before
the expiration of three months from the date of purchase. If any
bond-servant neglects the due performance of any of the duties
prescribed by the master, the losses that are thereby incurred are
added to the amount of the redemption money, and must be paid before
freedom can be claimed. If any female slave is married against her
will to any favourite of her owner, or maybe to the owner himself,
the price of her freedom must forthwith be reduced by one half. When
wars took place, the man who fought in lieu of his master, thereby
regained his freedom. Should any serf sustain injury in any way while
carrying out work demanded from him by his owner, he is entitled
to receive compensation according to the nature and extent of his
injuries. When a slave is killed in defending either his master or
his master's property, no claim can be made against the person who
was security for the slave. But if any slave absconds, then any money
spent in his apprehension is added to the price of his redemption. It
will be seen that the laws of the kingdom which govern the system of
domestic bondage, are on the whole of a just and equitable nature. And
it must not be forgotten that these laws were made long before Western
influence had in any way exercised any effect in the land. They are
sufficient in themselves to demonstrate the essentially broad-minded
and humanitarian character of the present and previous sovereigns. It
is true that they are often broken by powerful officials in remote
districts, but under the new system of administration now being
rapidly organised, there will perhaps arise a more rigorous and
judicial application of the principles of the legislative code.

The national etiquette is the logical result of the national condition
of society. Briefly put, it consists of a certain number of laws
relating to the amount of deference to be paid by persons of one
social grade to those of a higher one. Most of the old forms of
etiquette are strictly observed by all ranks, though of late years a
few have disappeared under the pressure of progressive social reforms
stimulated and often initiated by the king himself. As the head is
the most sacred part of the body, the chief rules that concern the
behaviour of an inferior person in the presence of his superior,
relate to the position of the body. Formerly no person dared raise his
head to the level of that of one of higher rank. He might not cross a
bridge while his superior passed beneath, nor could he walk in a room
situated above that in which his superior might be lying or sitting.
At the present time, bridges and floors are trodden indiscriminately.
Until the year 1874 A.D., all persons approached the sovereign
on hands and knees, crawling with the head upon a level with the
monarch's feet. The crawling in public has been abolished, but nearly
every person crouches in the streets when he speaks to, or passes,
one whom he knows to be of higher rank than himself. The abolition
of public crawling was made by the present king in the presence of
his assembled courtiers a few years after he ascended the throne.
The occasion will ever remain a memorable one in the annals of the
country. All the chief members of the different government services
were in their accustomed positions on hands and knees, with heads bent
to the ground, when a decree was read to them of which the following
paragraphs formed a portion.

     "Since His Majesty ascended the throne, it has been the
     Royal purpose to cherish the State and augment the
     happiness of the greater and lesser princes, ministers and
     nobles, the clergy, the Brahmins, and the masses of the
     people all over the kingdom. Whatever is oppressive and
     burdensome, it has been the Royal purpose to remove from
     the people, and abolish from the State. His Majesty has
     noticed that the great countries and powers in Eastern and
     Western Asia, that is to say to the East of our country,
     China, Cochin China and Japan, and to the West, India
     and the regions where oppression existed, compelling the
     inferiors to prostrate and worship their masters and
     persons of rank, similar to the custom prevailing in Siam,
     have at present ceased these customs and instituted new
     ones.

     "They have universally changed and ceased the custom of
     prostration and worship, to make manifest the good purpose
     that there shall be no more oppression in their countries.
     The countries that have abolished these rigorous exactions,
     have manifestly greatly increased in their prosperity.

     "In this kingdom of Siam there are some national customs
     that are rigorous, hostile to good usage, and ought to be
     modified; but the changing and modifying of customs cannot
     be effected at once; such changes must be the subject of
     much thought and gradual modification, adapted to times and
     circumstances. It is in this way that states will augment
     their susceptible prosperity.

     "The custom of prostration and human worship in Siam, is
     manifestly an oppressive exaction which an inferior must
     perform to a superior, causing him embarrassing fatigue in
     order to honour a superior. These acts of showing honour
     by such prostration and worship, His Majesty perceives are
     of no benefit whatever to the country. Inferiors who are
     obliged to perform them, to honour their superiors, must
     endure and suffer much till the time when they leave the
     presence of their superior and thus escape the requisition.
     This custom His Majesty perceives is a primary cause of
     many existing oppressive exactions, therefore, this ancient
     national custom, which made prostration the prescribed
     method of demonstrating respect in Siam, must be abolished;
     for His Majesty is graciously disposed to confer happiness
     upon all, and to this end, will relieve them from the
     burden of prostration as practised heretofore. His Majesty
     proposes to substitute in the place of crouching and
     crawling, standing and walking; and instead of prostration
     on all-fours and bowing with palm-joined hands to the
     ground, a graceful bow of the head.

     "Standing, walking, bowing the head, are equal
     demonstrations of respect with crouching and crawling.

     "Perhaps some persons of rank who may favour the custom of
     crouching and crawling as heretofore, thinking it good, may
     have their doubts as to the wisdom or advisability of the
     new regulations, and may wish to know why the change from
     prostration to standing will be advantageous to the State.
     These may rest assured that the proposed change is ordered
     to impress upon the people the intention to remove from
     them all oppressive exactions. States that do not oppress
     the inferior ranks will assuredly have great prosperity.

     "Henceforth, the princes and nobles according to their
     rank, when in solemn audience before the throne, or
     wherever His Majesty may be present, will please observe
     this Royal Edict, which is hereby promulgated to regulate
     henceforth the conduct of noblemen in every particular in
     in this matter."[D]

The decree proceeded to detail and explain the new social rules, after
which the whole crowd rose from the ground, and for the first time in
the history of the country, the subject stood upright in the presence
of the sovereign. The people to whom this wise edict was addressed are
of a conservative nature, and believe in precedent as an infallible
guide in all matters. They have no love for innovations, and have
been slow to follow their king in his forward march towards a pure
and enlightened form of government. There are many noblemen who still
insist upon their servants approaching them in the ancient way, in
spite of the proclamation and the king's own wishes. But on court days
no such demonstrations are now ever seen within the precincts of the
Audience Chamber.

The place of honour is on the right hand of the chief guest. Places
near the wall on the right hand are of greater honour than those on
the left, while the position of greatest distinction in any room is
opposite the door.

Civil and religious holidays follow each other in rapid succession
the whole year round. The King's birthday is celebrated for three
days by the entire nation. Ships are wreathed in flowers and bunting,
banquets are given, receptions are held, and salutes are fired. At
night, the palaces in the city, the vessels in the river, every house
by the side of a road or on the bank of a stream, are ablaze with
light. Night is turned to day, and earth becomes a fairy land.

[Illustration: A RICKSHAW.]

The New Year holidays also last three days. They commence on the First
of April, a day which is scarcely auspicious from the European point
of view. For the usual feasting that accompanies this and all other
holidays, a special kind of cake is made, which is as much in demand
as our own Shrove-Tuesday pancakes or our Good-Friday hot cross-buns.
The temples are thronged with women and children making offerings to
Buddha and his priests.

The people inaugurate their New Year with numerous charitable and
religious deeds. The rich entertain the monks, who recite appropriate
prayers and chants. Every departed soul returns to the bosom of his
family during these three days, freed from any fetters that may have
bound him in regions of indefinable locality. On the third day the
religious observances terminate, and the remaining hours are devoted
to "the world, the flesh, and the devil." Gambling is not confined
to the licensed houses, but may be indulged in anywhere. Games of
chance hold powerful sway in every house as long as the license to
participate in them lasts.

Priests in small companies occupy posts at regular intervals round the
city wall, and spend their time in chanting away the evil spirits. On
the evening of the second day, the ghostly visitors from the lower
realms lose the luxury of being exorcised with psalms. Every person
who has a gun may fire it as often as he pleases, and the noise thus
made is undoubtedly fearful enough in its intensity to cause any
wandering traveller from the far-off fiery land to retrace his steps
with speed. The bang and rattle of pistols, muskets, shot-guns, and
rifles cease not till the break of day, by which time the city is
effectually cleared of all its infernal visitors.

Twice each year another important holiday occurs, in connection with
the taking of the oath of allegiance. Every person who is a prince,
a nobleman, or a paid servant of the Government, is required to
present himself at the temple in the grounds of the Royal Palace, or
at other places appointed in other parts of the country, to swear
his allegiance to the king. Each person signifies his acceptance of
the oath read to him, by drinking, and sprinkling upon his forehead,
a few drops of specially prepared water. Some ordinary rain-water is
first placed in a bowl, and then stirred with swords, pistols, spears
and other weapons such as are likely to be used in the punishment of
those who are guilty of treasonable practices. Priests are excused,
as it is considered that their professions of holiness are sufficient
guarantees of their loyalty.

Portions of the symbolical water are afterwards sent to the distant
provinces. The local governors then assemble those people who are in
any way connected with the local administration, and require them also
to take the oath and drink the water of allegiance. The formula of the
oath is somewhat lengthy, but the following translation of a portion
of it will serve to show its general character.

     "We beseech the powers of the deities to plague with
     poisonous boils that will rapidly prove fatal, and with all
     manner of terrible diseases, the dishonourable, perverse,
     and treacherous. May we be visited with untimely wretched
     and appalling deaths that our disloyalty may be made
     manifest in the eyes of the whole world. When we shall have
     departed from this life upon earth, cause us to be sent
     to, and all to be born again in, that great hell where
     we shall burn with unquenchable fire through limitless
     transmigrations. And when we have expiated our penalties
     there, and are born again into any other world, we pray
     that we may fail to find the least happiness in any
     pleasurable enjoyments that may there abound. Let us not
     meet the god Buddha; let us not hear the sacred teachings;
     let us not come into contact with the sacred priests whose
     mission it is to be gracious to men and animals, and to
     help them to escape from misery, to attain a progressive
     succession of births and deaths, and finally to reach
     heaven itself. Should we by any chance meet with holy men
     or priests, let us receive therefrom no gracious helpful
     assistance."[E]

Although the oath is rather a terrible one to take, very very little
solemnity prevails on these occasions, and every one performs his part
of the ceremony in a most casual manner.

Those natives who have had little or no communication with Europeans
are the best exemplars of the true character of the nation. They are
very gentle in their manners; timid, especially in the dark or with
strangers; gay and cheerful, and fond of cheerful persons. They rarely
quarrel amongst themselves, as they dislike worry and trouble of
every description. They are lazy when ordinary work has to be done,
but busy enough when preparations have to be made for amusements or
holiday processions. Their idea of the millenium is that the tide will
flow up one side of the river and down the other, so that everyone
may go whithersoever he pleases without the trouble of rowing. There
will be no work of any description, and men will lie in the sunshine,
as happy as birds. The country people never beg, and even in the
capital it is only the leprous and the blind who ask for alms. There
is no clamouring for backsheesh as in other Oriental countries. The
people are sharp and witty, and delight in jokes and sharp sayings.
They are not nearly so imitative as the Chinese, but they absorb new
ideas, and adapt themselves to changes of custom with great rapidity,
when they have once overcome their initial prejudice against the
innovation. When the electric tramway was first opened in Bangkok, the
absence of any visible locomotive machinery caused them the greatest
bewilderment, and for several days they half worshipped the cars as
they passed them in the streets, murmuring to themselves the while,
"It is the Devil's carriage." In less than a week, the cars were
packed on every journey with a crowd who distinctly appreciated the
speed and ease with which they were being carried along.

They are not greater liars than other men, except when they have come
into close contact with civilisation. There are old residents living
in Bangkok who remember the day when the word of a native was as good
as his bond. Today the dwellers in the city are never to be trusted.
Some of them carefully avoid speaking the truth on all occasions, even
when it would be quite as serviceable as an untruth.

The money formerly used consisted of sea-shells of small value,
eight hundred to a thousand being equal to about two pence. It was
easy in those days for a man however poor to get something to eat,
for there was always something on sale that could be bought for the
thousandth part of two-pence. In imitation of foreign ways, a flat
coin was introduced made of lead, and the old sea-shell was abolished
as legal currency. The Government made a huge profit out of the
transaction, for they refused to buy up any of the worthless little
cowries, and they sold the leaden coins for more than they were worth.
Counterfeiting naturally followed, and the coins were re-called, but
as soon as the treasury-boxes were filled with a mixture of good and
false money the Government refused to receive any more. All those who
still had any of the leaden money in their possession experienced a
serious loss. An alloy of lead and copper was issued at a reduced
value; but the profit to be made by coining was still so great that
counterfeit coins speedily found their way into circulation. Small
bullets of gold and silver next came into use, and one of them still
remains in circulation. None of these coins were stamped with the
image of the king, for at that time there was a strong prejudice
against the making of portraits in any medium. Europeans who travel
into the jungle, have even at the present time, only to point a camera
at a crowd in order to procure its instant dispersion. When a copy of
the face of a person is made and taken away from him, a portion of
his life goes with the picture. Unless the sovereign had been blessed
with the years of a Methuselah he could scarcely have permitted his
life to be distributed in small pieces together with the coins of the
realm. But not many years ago the present king ordered a new issue of
the coinage. Flat, round copper and silver pieces were made at the
mint in the palace, and on every disc appeared the shapely profile of
the reigning monarch. Postage stamps followed, with the same profile
printed on them; then the king was painted and photographed; and so
the old superstition has lost its power; while modern fashion requires
that all who can afford it shall be photographed. It is perhaps
scarcely necessary to add here, that with the exception of two or
three Europeans, all the professional photographers are Chinamen.

The flat, gold coins were hoarded by the people, turned into ornaments
or used in the making of jewelry. They are no longer used as money,
but are bought as curios for four times their original value.

Weights and scales have not as yet displaced the old methods of
measurement. The table of Siamese Dry Measure is a good illustration
of the devices adopted by uncivilised people to facilitate their
buying and selling in the absence of any fixed legal standard.

880 Tamarind seeds make one cocoa-nut shell (kanahn)
 25 Cocoa-nut shells make one bamboo basket (sat)
 80 Bamboo baskets make one cart (kwien)
                          or
830 Tamarind seeds make one cocoa-nut shell
 20 Cocoa-nut shells make one bucket (tung)
100 buckets make one cart.

In calculating time two calendars are used. One is a religious one
and is only used for ecclesiastical purposes. It commences with the
death of Buddha, about 543 B.C. The civil calendar is the one in
general use. It dates from the founding of Bangkok in 1784 A.D.
The idea of eternity is expressed in concrete form in the following
manner. Eternity is divided into long periods of time, called "kops".
Each "kop" is represented by a stone measuring ten miles each way.
Once in every hundred years, an angel descends to one of these stones
and wipes its surface with a gossamer web. When by these successive
century wipings, one stone shall have been thoroughly worn away, one
"kop" will have been completed, and a second period of eternity will
begin.

The human race is gradually dwindling away. In the misty ages of
the past all men were giants. The present race of Siamese is well
proportioned, but small. Their descendants will be smaller. Some of
them will diminish till they are as small as dogs; a few centuries
later, all will be no bigger than rats; the stature of a butterfly and
then of a flea will measure the height of men, and ultimately they
will disappear altogether from the face of the earth.

The Siamese speak a language of their own. It possesses its own
nouns, verbs and other parts of speech, a sprinkling of slang, and
practically no "swear" words. These are only used by those whose
knowledge of English is colloquial. There is a special language
devoted to the sacred person and attributes of the king, which must be
used by all who speak to or of him. The special vocabulary required is
a difficult one to learn even to the natives themselves. The hairs of
the monarch's head, the soles of his feet, the breath of his body--in
fact every single detail of his person both internal and external, has
a particular name. When he eats or drinks, sleeps or walks, a special
word indicates that these acts are being performed by the sovereign
himself, and such words cannot possibly be applied to any other person
whatever. There is no word in the language by which any creature of
higher rank or greater dignity than a monarch can be described; and
the missionaries in speaking of "God" are forced to use the native
word for "king". Each person in speaking to another uses a pronoun
which at once expresses whether the speaker is of superior, equal,
or inferior rank to the person spoken to. In this way superiority of
social position is asserted, or corresponding inferiority confessed,
in every conversation between two persons.

The language spoken by the pure Siamese is monosyllabic and toned. The
apparently longer words are really a collection of monosyllables. For
instance:

"mi-keet-fi" "a match" is made up of three words,
                "mi" ... "wood"
                "keet" ... "a line"
                "fi" ... "a fire"

The word for "ice" is a combination of two words meaning "hard water",
and that for "cheese" a combination of two words meaning "hard butter".

The toned words are a great trouble to foreigners who are not
accustomed to a "sing-song" form of speech. Some syllables have three
different sounds, others as many as five, and each different tone
expresses a different meaning. In many cases the mistakes that are
made by the foreigner cause little difficulty, as his meaning is
clear, though his speech is mysterious. The word for "horse" is a
differently sounded form of the word for "dog," but any such mistake
in speech, as "Chain that horse to his kennel," or "Order me a two-dog
carriage," would be readily understood by a servant, who would
merely receive the order with a smile and then proceed to execute it
according to the wish of his master. There are many words between
which the difference in sound is important, as the smallest mistake
would make all the difference between an ordinary and an obscene word.
There are others too where it behoves the white man to be careful of
his inflections, or he may, when intending to say to some village
farmer, "I am going to dance upon your _field_," unfortunately remark,
"I am going to dance upon your _aunt_," or even "I am going to dance
upon your _face_," either of which errors might be productive of
results not foreseen by the imperfect linguist.

Names in Siam often indicate precise relationships. On pointing out
one person to another and asking "Who is that?"--the person spoken to
may reply, if any such relationship exist, "That is my elder brother,"
or "That is my younger brother" as the case may be, never simply "That
is my brother." Nearly all such words as "grandfather," "grandmother,"
"uncle," and "aunt" when spoken by anyone indicate whether the
relationship is on the paternal or maternal side. Names of children
often relate to their appearance, or circumstances connected with
their birth. One is "little," another "large," while even a particular
deformity may be perpetually called attention to by such a name as
"hunch-back." There are no names specially set aside as belonging to
male and female, so that both a boy or girl may be called "lotus," or
"black," or any other name fancied by the parents. There are also no
surnames.

"Nai" is a general term comparable to "Mr." and applied to males of
all ages who possess no higher title. "Maa" is similarly used in
the case of females. The absence of surnames, and also of numbered
houses in most of the streets, causes some difficulty when it becomes
necessary to send letters through the post. An envelope has often to
be addressed something like the following:

TO MR. LEK,
       Student of the Normal College,
          Son of Mr. Yai, Soldier,
              Near the foot of the Black Bridge
                 at the back of the Lotus Temple,
                                New Road, Bangkok.

The alphabet is derived from Pali. There is no distinction between the
written and printed characters, nor are there any capital letters.
Letters and books are written from left to right as in the European
languages, but no spaces are left between the words. Printing has
only been in use in the country for about forty years, and all the
old religious texts are written with a style, on long thin strips of
palm leaf about eighteen inches long and two inches broad. The edges
of the leaves are covered with gold leaf, and the "pages" of any book
are fastened together with silk cords. Every monastery possesses
a good collection of these leafy documents. They are kept in the
temples in cases which are often elaborately gilded or inlaid with
mother-of-pearl.



CHAPTER VIII.

POPULAR AMUSEMENTS.


The Siamese are fond of being amused and of amusing themselves, but
they do not usually indulge in active sports with the exception
of rowing and a species of football. Games that involve any great
physical exertion are played chiefly by persons who make a business
of the performance. The professional acrobats that are met with on
festive occasions are fearless and skilful. Amongst the many feats
they perform for the amusement of their fellow-countrymen, there are
few that do not require both strength of nerve as well as agility of
limb. The "acrobat poles" are stout bamboo rods fastened firmly to
the ground. Each pole terminates, about twenty feet from the ground,
in a lotus-shaped capital. The acrobats climb to the top and perform
various feats on the small space afforded them by the flattened
surface of this small platform. No nets or mattresses are provided
to break their fall in case of accident. There are other men who
fix pikes and sword-blades in a row and then lie with their bare
backs upon the sharpened points. Juggling with keen-edged daggers is
certainly a less dangerous amusement. "Throwing the hammer" here
takes a new form as "swinging the hammer". A heavy sledge-hammer is
lifted by a rope held between the teeth, and then swung deftly over
the shoulder so as to fall well to the rear of the athlete. These
dangerous acrobatic exhibitions are not at all frequent, probably
owing to the fact that there are only a few men in the whole country
who are able to take part in them.

On national holidays an open air play known as "Kra, ooa," or
"spearing the buffalo," is enacted. It is a mixture of dumb show and
grotesque dancing, and is based on an old Burmese story. The legend
relates that once upon a time there was an old woman who had a husband
named Ta So. One night she dreamt that she was enjoying a dish of
buffalo's liver. Her enjoyment of the luxury was so great that she
presently awoke. She was unable to sleep, so she awakened her husband
and told him of her dream, and of the wonderful flavour of the meat.
The more she dwelt upon the delicious character of her phantom repast,
the stronger grew her desire to taste the real article. She urged Ta
So to go out into the jungle and spear a buffalo. He for some time
declined to rise from his couch, alleging that he was a bad hunter
and dared not track so formidable a creature. He attempted to seek
repose once more, but the hungry lady grew more and more importunate,
and he was forced at last to set out on a hunting excursion. His
wife accompanied him to see that he did not shirk the task she had
set him. After a long time they managed to track a wild buffalo.
They skirmished and scouted, and finally succeeded in killing it.
They opened the animal, extracted the desired delicacy, and then
returned home to enjoy it.--The representation of this story has
been repeated times without number, but it never fails to meet with
popular approval. An actor first appears dressed as a Burmese woman.
She next proceeds in very colloquial vernacular to bully her husband
in accordance with the tradition. The buffalo used is a sham one. Four
or five people throw a dark-coloured cloth over themselves, and the
foremost of these holds in his hands a huge mask, supposed to be a
buffalo's head. It would serve equally well for the head of any other
creature known to natural history, for it is unlike anything but the
fabulous creation of some man's mad imaginings. As the husband and
wife chase the ungainly brute, it gambols to the music of a native
band, in a circle about twenty feet in diameter. The dodging and
running, the pretended attack, the sham wounds, and the awful groans
are always received with the same loud bursts of hearty appreciative
laughter.

The game of "takraw" is popular with boys and youths, and is similar
to the game of football as exhibited by the Burmese in recent years in
London. The players, who may be of any number, stand in a ring. One
of them tosses into the ring a light wicker ball. As it falls another
player catches it on his foot, head, or shoulder. He at once passes it
to someone else, without touching it with his hands. The ball passes
swiftly from one spot to another, and it is often kept up for quite a
long time. If it falls to the earth, it is picked up and again tossed
to the skilful players. And so the game proceeds until every one is
tired. There is no scoring of points or winning of games. New-comers
join in the fun and weary ones leave without in any way interfering
with the amusement of the rest. The "fancy kicking" that is exhibited
by expert players excites great admiration in natives and foreigners.

[Illustration: LAYING WAGERS ON FIGHTING FISH.]

Games in which the element of chance enters are the greatest
favourites. The people are born gamblers, and to make a bet is the
delight of everyone, from prince to peasant. They bet on the results
of a cock-fight, a boxing match, a fight between crickets, or a combat
between their pugilistic fishes. Even kite-flying is accompanied by
unlimited "book-making." The Siamese are not to be compared with the
Japanese in the art of constructing curious or beautiful kites, but
they are certainly their equals in flying them. The most common form
of kite is a five-pointed one--a pentagonal star. On none of the
kites, whatever may be their shape or size, is "tailing" ever used,
and rarely does a native run in order to get the kite to rise. By a
peculiar rapid jerking of the string, the kite is made to create its
own wind when a natural one is not blowing. Men may often be seen on
calm still days flying their kites from boats as they pass up and down
the river. Kite contests are of frequent occurrence during the windy
months. One kite is called the male and the other the female. The
object of the contest is the capturing of the female by the male.
When they are both at a considerable height from the ground, one
flyer so jerks the string of the male kite as to cause it to swoop
downwards with great velocity. If the apex of the falling star strikes
the body of the soaring female, it effectually wounds her and brings
her to earth. But it is perhaps oftener luck than skill that ends
the contest so suddenly. As a rule the string of the descending kite
passes over the string of the steady one. Then the owner of the male
toy checks its downward motion, and with a rapid pull of the string
towards him, causes it to pass under the string that is attached to
the female, and then to rise again. In this way one string is wound
round the other. The operation is repeated a second and even a third
time, after which the players each pull their kites towards them,
let them go again, pull in again and so on, so that each string is
sawing the other one. Excitement takes possession of the spectators
and they begin to speculate as to which string will first break. They
frequently stake large sums of money on the result of the aerial
combat. In many instances the owner of the entangled female, manages
by a skilful manipulation of the string to free her from the toils
of her antagonist, who then once more pursues her, and manoeuvres to
compass her destruction.

[Illustration: A WRITER OF LOTTERY TICKETS.]

In every street there will always be found a Chinaman, wearing big
goggles, sitting at a table in the front of an open house or shop,
wearing upon his wooden countenance a quiet and meditative smile.
By his side is a small pile of thin sheets of yellow paper, and a
quantity of writing material. He is an agent of the gambling farmer
and deals in lottery tickets. The Government farms out the monopoly
and derives a considerable revenue from it, as in some years as much
as thirty thousand pounds sterling has been paid for the privilege
of being allowed to gently ease other people of their superfluous
cash. The lottery farmer chooses, every day, one out of thirty-four
characters of the alphabet as the lucky one for that day. He keeps
the secret of his choice to himself, and leaves those people who are
of a speculative turn of mind to guess the particular letter he has
chosen. Everyone is at liberty to try his luck. The gambler goes to
one of the numerous writers of lottery tickets and names a letter. The
writer slowly inscribes the letter upon one of the sheets of paper.
He then folds it up, and on the back states his own name and address,
the name and address of the purchaser of the ticket, and the amount
paid for the same. He keeps possession of the paper till the close
of the day. The city is divided into districts, over each of which
the lottery farmer places a trustworthy overseer. Towards evening the
overseer visits every ticket writer in his locality, collects all the
papers, and the money paid for them. These he afterwards takes to the
office of his chief. At a given hour the farmer declares the winning
letter and the papers are opened. All those papers that do not bear
the chosen character are thrown away and the money appropriated.
Those who have been fortunate enough to guess correctly the letter
for the day, receive back twenty-nine times their stake, so that
the man who staked one pound receives twenty-nine as his reward. The
chances in favour of the proprietor of the lottery are so great, and
so many thousands of people patronise him every day that he can easily
afford to award a prize of high value to the few winners. Some people
endeavour to calculate their chances beforehand. In every writer's
house is placed a board divided into squares. Every day from the
beginning to the end of the month, the letter chosen is written in one
of these squares. The board is consulted by those about to try their
luck, and they try to work out a system which shall guide them in
their choice. Many gamblers, especially if they are Chinese, consult
their gods about the matter. They go to the temples and stand in front
of the altar. There they find a bamboo box containing thirty-four
strips of bamboo, on each of which is printed one of the letters used
by the lottery farmers. They address the presiding deity of the place
and promise him abundance of fat pork and chickens if only he will
be so kind as to help them in their venture. After having made this
tempting offer, one stick is chosen from the bundle. The gambler
looks at it, and then wonders if the gods are going to make sport of
him. He proceeds to test the sincerity of the deity. He takes two
pieces of bamboo root, which have been flattened on the one side and
rounded on the other. He throws them into the air, exclaiming as he
does so, "If I have chosen the right letter, let these two roots fall
with the flat sides up." Suppose they fall as he desires, he repeats
the experiment, saying, "If I have chosen the right letter, let these
two roots fall with the round side up." Even if success again crowns
his experiment, he still feels inclined to doubt the playful deity
to whom he is appealing for counsel. So he throws the roots yet once
again--"If I have chosen the right letter let these two roots fall,
one with the flat side up, and one with the round side up." If they
should fall in this way, he is practically certain the gods are with
him. He pawns everything he possesses and stakes every farthing he can
obtain on the letter of his choice. Thirty-three chances to one that
he loses, and he may spend the rest of his life in extreme poverty,
bewailing the fickleness of the god he supplicated.

Anyone who can write can set up a stand, for it is the policy of the
farmer to have his agents scattered all over the city. The overseers
are not directly paid for their services, but on the contrary,
actually pay to be allowed to hold the office. The writers of the
tickets receive a commission of one shilling for every forty-four
shillings they hand to the overseers. The overseer receives from the
farmer the same proportion of the total amount he collects each day.
Thirty times the sum actually staked is handed to the writer of a
correct letter. He then hands over to the winner twenty-nine times
the sum, so that he gets a further profit of one-thirtieth of all the
winning money that passes through his hands.

A few years ago, the gambling farmer lost a considerable sum of
money through his own indiscretion. He had obtained a new wife of
great beauty, of whom he was passionately fond. One day she asked
him what letter he had chosen for the winning one. "Why do you wish
to know?" said he. Woman-like, she replied, "Oh, I merely asked you
out of curiosity." "Well," said the infatuated adorer, "promise me
that you will on no account reveal it to any single person you may
meet. Remember, if people were to know what letter I had chosen, I
should lose a tremendous sum of money." The new favourite answered,
"I promise not to tell." He gave her the letter, and faithful to her
promise, she kept the secret. But she went to one of the writers and
staked all the money she had on what she knew was to be the lucky
character. The writer knew who she was, and jokingly asked her why she
had chosen that particular letter. She answered that she had simply
selected it as any one else might have done in order try her luck.
Several people standing by heard the conversation, and learning that
the chief had been to see her the day before in her own quarters,
they thought it extremely probable that she was in possession of that
days winning number. They promptly followed her example, with the
result that her confiding spouse lost several thousand dollars on the
day's transactions. He at once accused her of betraying his trust, and
although she pleaded her innocence, he sold her within a few days to
gratify his want of revenge, or perhaps, to recoup himself in part for
the losses he had sustained as the result of his own folly.

In the small gambling houses that abound, various games of chance are
played all day. They are open to the road, and are always fairly well
filled. Idlers strolling by with an odd cent in their waistband, step
in and lose it, and then pass on their way to give place to others
who seek easily-made fortunes. The games played require no skill on
the part of those who play. It is all pure chance, as the following
descriptions will show.

[Illustration: (the mat game)]

THE MAT GAME. On the floor is spread a mat with two lines
drawn across it at right angles to each other, as shown in the
diagram. The banker sits in the position marked A, and the numbers 1,
2, 3, 4 are placed as here indicated. In front of the banker is a big
pile of cowrie shells. He takes up as many as he can hold in his two
hands and places them in front of him. The crowd then place any amount
they like on any one of the four numbers. Suppose, for example, that
there are four playing and that each places a shilling on a different
number. When all those who wish to play have put down their money, the
proprietor begins to count out the shells he has taken from a large
heap, and to place them in small piles of four each, and notes the
remainder when all the shells have been disposed of. If there is a
remainder of two, then the man whose money is on two gets his stake
doubled. Number four loses, and numbers one and three neither lose nor
gain. If there is a remainder of three, the money on three is doubled,
number one loses, and numbers two and four remain unaltered. If there
are twenty or thirty people playing, the principle is the same. All
those who have guessed the right remainder get their money doubled,
the opposite numbers lose, and the others neither win nor lose. If
there is no remainder then the winning number is four. One variation
in the method of staking is allowed. The money may be placed on any
one of the four diagonal lines. Suppose the stake is laid on the line
between three and two, then if either three or two be the remainder
the money is doubled, but if one or four wins, then the money is lost.
Porcelain counters of very small value are used at these places, and
so common is the gambling habit, that these counters are used in the
markets for the purchase of goods, for both buyers and sellers know
that the gambler's coins can easily be disposed of again. If a banker
fails, he is unable to redeem his porcelain coinage and the holders
are then liable to lose the value of the counters in their possession.

BRASS CUP GAME. The necessary apparatus for this form of
speculation is a small brass cup and a wooden cube. The upper face
of the cube is divided by a line into two halves, one of which is
painted red and the other white. The banker puts the cube on the table
in any position he chooses, without letting the people see how it is
placed. He covers it with the brass cup. The players put down their
stakes in various positions round the cup. The banker raises the cup.
All money opposite the white edge is returned at the rate of three to
one, while all opposite the other three sides passes into the banker's
pocket.

THE ANIMAL GAME. This is a very favourite amusement at fairs.
A board is provided which measures about eighteen inches by twenty.
It is divided by lines into a number of equal oblongs. In each space
is painted some animal. The owner has three large wooden dice with
figures painted on the sides corresponding to those in the squares on
the board. Those who wish to try their luck choose a picture and place
their money thereon. The three dice are placed in a cocoa-nut shell,
and rattled about, and then thrown on a table. The winning pictures
are those that appear on the topmost faces of the three cubes.

Gambling with cards is very common. The cards are all of Chinese
pattern, and measure three inches by one. On them are printed kings,
governors, soldiers, officials, and other important personages. There
are one hundred and sixteen cards in a pack, but what are the rules
that govern their complicated manipulation the writer has failed to
fathom, even as he has also failed to find any other European who
could furnish the requisite explanation.

Chess is one of the few pastimes that is not used for betting
purposes. The game is substantially the same as that played in
England, but a boat replaces the castle, the bishop is represented
by a nobleman, and the knight's moves are made by a horse. There are
many skilful players, and the present Minister for Foreign Affairs,
Prince Devawongse, can checkmate most of the foreigners who have had
the opportunity of playing with him. The real Siamese chessmen are
difficult to obtain as they are made only for private use and not for
sale. The poorer classes readily make up a full set when they want a
game, by using buttons or cowries for the pawns and modelling the rest
of the pieces out of bits of soft clay.

But the most popular of all amusements is the theatre. It is the
delight of old and young alike, and is intensely interesting to
the foreigner, as probably representing to a very large degree,
the primitive way in which the dramas that were presented to his
forefathers, were staged and enacted. It possesses an additional
attraction inasmuch as it is yet a purely native institution,
unaffected by those Western influences that are so rapidly destroying
in the East the many Oriental manners and customs that were once the
delight of the traveller. Yokohama is a European seaport. There are
English policemen in Shanghai, and cafés in Saigon. In Bangkok itself
electric lights and tram-cars have appeared, and one of the latest
orders of the Court requires that at all future state ceremonies the
native shall discard his own picturesque costume for frock-coat,
European trousers, and top-hat. So far, however, the Siamese theatre
has remained unaffected by these modern fashions.

The theatre of the capital may differ from that of the province, but
the differences are those demanded by native taste alone. It is in
all cases admirably suited to a people of fertile imagination and
simple habits. Spectacular displays and gorgeous transformation scenes
are neither expected nor given. Realism is not demanded in any form.
Except in the matter of dress, simplicity characterises the whole
performance. Great attention is paid to the pattern and the material
of the costumes. They are of a regulation type--heroes, angels,
soldiers, and monarchs being arrayed according to fashions that
have descended from generation to generation. Cloth of gold, richly
embroidered cloaks, and expensive jewels, make up the wardrobe of the
richer companies.

There is only one theatre in the capital to which any admission fee is
charged and where regular performances are held. On dark nights when
the moon is hidden the theatre is closed, for there would be no light
to go home by, but as soon as the new moon appears again, the doors
are opened and the people flock to the only place of amusement that
can successfully compete with the rival attractions of the gambling
hells and opium dens. All other theatrical performances take place as
a rule at private houses on the occasion of a wedding, a cremation, or
any other public or private ceremony at which large crowds of people
congregate.

The various troupes of performers are the private property of certain
noblemen, who greatly pride themselves on the skill and beauty of
their "prima-donnas". There are also bands of players who stroll from
place to place and depend for their living on the voluntary offerings
of the spectators. Occasionally they find their services required
for some domestic celebration. At other times they perform in the
open air, or in any odd empty shed they may happen to discover in the
course of their wanderings.

There are two kinds of theatre--the "lakhon" and the "yeegai". The
former, which stands highest in public estimation is probably derived
from the Nautch dances of India. At one time there was a large Brahmin
settlement in the town of Ligore, which is situated to the north-east
of the Malay Peninsula. These emigrants from India brought with them
a number of nautch girls whose dances were highly appreciated by the
people of the land in which they had newly settled. The native name
for Ligore is Lakhon, and when the dancers went from place to place,
they were known as "The actors from Lakhon," and later on simply as
the "lakhons". The word passed into the common speech and is now used
as the name for "theatre". The members of the "lakhon" companies are
all women with the exception of a few clowns. They seldom produce
any new or original plays. Those that they act over and over again
are chiefly translations of Hindoo myths, and are intolerably long.
Several hours a night for a fortnight would be required for the
complete performance of some of these lengthy dramas. This is no
barrier to the enjoyment of the audience, for the stories of the
plays are the only literature that they constantly read. They are
therefore thoroughly familiar with the plot, the characters, and all
the incidents of the dramas performed before them. It follows that
they never need to attend the theatre from night to night in order to
follow the development of the story. In fact, the better they know the
play, and the oftener they see it performed, the more they enjoy it.

[Illustration: FACES FROM A SIAMESE THEATRE.]

There is no acting in our sense of the word. The words of the
play are dolefully chanted by a chorus of women, whose screeching
voices produce sounds that are painfully unmusical when judged from
the European standpoint. The only words uttered by the actresses
themselves are similarly chanted at times when they feel that the
situation has reached a climax, and consequently needs an extra amount
of noise to make it thoroughly effective. The orchestra employed
is called the "Mahoree", and contains twenty-one instruments when
complete. The instruments used are chiefly of the percussion type
and are powerful sound producers. Amongst them are drums, cymbals,
tom-toms, gongs and bamboo dulcimers. Stringed instruments are
represented by a few squeaky one-stringed fiddles and an instrument
that resembles a zither. A terrible wind instrument is sometimes
employed when it is desirable to produce a sound that can be
calculated to rival that of the bagpipes when played by a zealous but
unmusical amateur. The use of the band is chiefly to mark the rhythm
of the chorus and to produce effective noisy bursts of sound in
important scenes. Any embrace between a pair of lovers is emphasised
by a forcible hammering of drums and clashing of cymbals. They know
nothing of harmony, but musical experts with well-trained ears, say
that they play in unison.

There is nothing natural in the actions of the performers except as
regards those of the clowns. The funny men are the only ones who ever
say anything in their natural voices or who ever move their limbs in
a common everyday manner. The ladies go through a series of posturing
evolutions euphemistically called dances. They are nothing more than
extraordinary contortions of the body accompanied by equally strange
motions of the limbs. The fingers are bent backwards from the joints,
and the arms backwards from the elbows in a way no untrained person
could ever possibly imitate. From early childhood the fingers and arms
are daily bent out of place until finally they become, as it were,
double jointed. The actresses whiten their faces with powder and do
not relieve their ghostly appearance with any touch of colour. They
fasten on the finger-tips artificial gold finger-nails of abnormal
length. The audience either stands or sits on the floor, and smokes
incessantly. The stage is simply a portion of the floor marked out by
mats, round the sides of which sit those members of the audience who
are nearest the performers. There is a raised seat or small platform
at the back of the stage for the use of those who represent kings and
queens in the different scenes. At the back of the seat is the common
dressing-room of the whole company. It is partially or completely open
to the public gaze, and a small crowd always gathers there to see the
fair ones powder and adorn themselves. The strolling troupes dispense
with even this imitation of a dressing-room, and prepare themselves
for their parts in full view of the audience. They carry their
belongings in old kerosine tins, which they arrange along one side of
the shed in which they are performing.

If a horse is required, an actress comes on the stage, wearing a piece
of head-gear shaped like a horse's head. It is not worn as a mask to
cover the face, but as a hat on the top of the head. The rider does
not mount her steed, but places her hand on its shoulder and walks
by its side. Monkeys and elephants play important parts in the old
legends, and they are represented in the same simple fashion; though
one private company in Bangkok boasts a real elephant that has been
trained for theatrical performances.

A voyage at sea is undertaken without ships. One of the players
crosses the stage, having a pole in imitation of a mast fastened to
his chest. From the top floats the national flag, while pieces of thin
cord are fastened from the same point to the neck and shoulders of the
player to represent rigging. The passengers then embark by arranging
themselves in two long lines behind the man with the pole. When they
are all safely aboard, the stern of the vessel arrives and forms
the tail end of the procession. He also bears a pole, a flag, and a
quantity of string rigging, and attached to his back is a wooden
rudder, the cords of which are held by the passenger immediately in
front of him. They then sail away, rolling their supple bodies in time
to the music, in imitation of the rolling motion of a vessel at sea.
They cross the stage, pass out at one side, and re-enter at the other,
time after time, as though they were trying to impress the audience
with the tedious and protracted nature of their journey.

The possession of a tin sword is a sufficient indication of a warrior;
while a tall tapering crown is the symbol of monarchial authority.

Occasionally there is a villain in the piece, who after some wicked
deed, finds it necessary to conceal his whereabouts. This appears
at first sight to be a very difficult matter, for the stage is
absolutely bare of everything that could possibly afford the slightest
concealment. The difficulty is soon surmounted. If he needs a wall
behind which to hide himself, a bamboo screen with a hole in the
middle is at once pushed on the stage in full view of the audience.
He retires behind it, and the spectators then enjoy the comical sight
of a hero seeking and finding not, while the villain amuses himself
by watching through the hole in the screen the fruitless efforts made
to discover his hiding-place. If he is supposed to be concealed in
a wood, a banana leaf or a branch of a tree is handed to him, and
he holds it with his hands in front of his face. Again the hero is
disappointed in his search, and when tired out with his long and
unrewarded exertions, he plucks fruit from off the branch behind
which the villain is in safe retirement, the audience roars with
delight.

The eagerness and keen enthusiasm with which the spectators receive
all these primitive methods of dramatic representation, are conclusive
proof that they are endowed with strong imaginations.

The "yeegai" is of a different character entirely. It is Malay in
origin. The performers are all men or boys, and belong generally
to the lower classes. Chorus and orchestra are not considered
indispensable, the former being always absent, and the latter
generally consisting of seven large drums. There is no posturing and
fantastic dancing, but genuine acting. The old legends give way to
more modern and original works of a strictly farcical character. The
buffoonery is excellent, but the language is nearly always coarse.
Current events are burlesqued, and foreign residents with pronounced
mannerisms get caricatured.

Whatever be the play or wherever it be performed, luxuriously
upholstered boxes and special incidental music are not required, for
the story itself is of sufficient interest to the people to capture
their hearts and minds without the assistance of any expensive and
elaborate furniture.



CHAPTER IX.

OUTSIDE THE CAPITAL.


Within the limits of the crowded capital one can easily study closely
the superstitions, the customs, and the ceremonies of the people. But
if any idea is to be gained of the industries of the country, it is
necessary to pass from the busy canals and the crowded highways into
the wide plains beyond. In the busy city the Siamese are shopkeepers,
policemen, postmen, soldiers and government officials. The mechanics
and artisans are Chinese. There is no sign of any native industry,
no weaving of cloth, tanning of leather or manufacture of anything
beautiful or useful. The city is the mart; the goods that are sold
therein are made or grown in other localities. Travel into the jungle
or the field, and then you may find the native at work, earning his
living, and spending his life in the most primitive manner. It may
here be stated that it is not an easy matter to travel even a short
distance in Siam, and very few of the foreign residents ever make a
trip except for business purposes.

The journey to every place must be commenced by water, either in a
house-boat or in a steamer. The house-boat is about eighteen feet
long and four feet beam, and is rowed by a number of strong skilful
boatmen. The number of men varies from two to eight according to the
size of the boat. The man at the stern manages the rudder with his
foot while he rows with his hands. All the men stand to their work,
and row after the native fashion. In the centre of the boat is a small
hut or cabin, which is about three feet high, so that its occupant
can only lie therein. Standing or sitting is impossible, and the
operations of dressing, washing and eating are performed under trying
conditions. The deck planks are all removable, and under these must be
stowed away sufficient clothing and provisions to last the traveller
during the whole of his trip, for no matter where he travels, he can
never replenish his larder or his wardrobe. The Chinese cook, who is
an indispensable part of every expedition, sleeps and cooks at the
back of the boat, in a space about three feet square. He shelters
himself during the heat of the day with a big paper umbrella, and
sleeps at night on the floor of his kitchen. He prepares his master's
meals just as though he were surrounded with all the ordinary utensils
supposed necessary in the practice of culinary art, and when they
are ready, he acts as waiter and hands them into the cabin through a
small window in the back. The traveller's limbs get very sore with
constantly lying on a hard mattress; but he has little opportunity
of taking exercise, for the jungle comes down to the water's edge in
most places that are uninhabited. These house-boats are only used for
inland journeys as they would soon be capsized in a rough sea.

[Illustration: PREPARING RATTAN FOR CHAIR-MAKING.]

One thing that soon strikes the wanderer is the presence of the
Chinese. In the most secluded hamlet, and in the deepest jungle,
wherever men are gathered together, there are the Celestials in the
midst of them, doing the chief share of the work, and taking the
largest share of the profits. The wealth of the country consists in
its agricultural produce. Rice is the chief food article cultivated,
and will be dealt with in the succeeding chapter. But at Chantaboon,
now in the hands of the French, excellent pepper is grown. Coffee
has only recently been introduced, and it too flourishes in the
neighbourhood of the same port. Sugar-cane is very plentiful, but
is little used for the making of sugar. Where the refineries do
exist they belong to the Chinese. The tobacco plant that is grown is
very rank, and too powerful in its effects to become popular with
Europeans. If it were properly cured and prepared, it might be more
palatable. Amongst the other agricultural products may be mentioned
hemp, cotton, cocoa-nut, areca-nut, maize, teak, bamboo, cloves,
cinnamon, nutmeg, indigo, a little tea in the far north, and fruit of
many varieties.

[Illustration: FISHING LUGGER.]

Petchabooree is a typical Siamese agricultural village. It is easily
reached by house-boat from Bangkok in two or three days. Through the
village runs a clear silvery stream with a white sandy bed. On each
side of the stream extends a double row of wooden houses, under which
lie innumerable pariahs. Between the double line is a narrow passage
forming the street, market, and pleasure-ground of the inhabitants.
Buffaloes come down to the river for water at regular hours twice
each day. On the broad plains in the neighbourhood rice is grown. A
few miles away is a Laos settlement, occupied by the descendants of
prisoners of war who were once placed here to till the soil for those
who captured them. They still preserve their dark striped petticoats,
and are never seen without their long knives at their waists. They
spend most of their time at this particular place in manufacturing
sugar from the sugar palm. When the fruit appears upon the tree, a
man climbs to the top, and cuts it off. To the cut stalk he fastens
the hollow stem of a bamboo, about eighteen inches long. As the juice
oozes from the cut surface it drops into the wooden cylinder. When
this is filled it is removed, and replaced by another. The juice is
collected and boiled in iron pans under an attap-thatched shed. The
furnace is of very simple construction. A trough is dug in the earth,
and the hole thus made filled with wood. A light is applied, and then
the pan is placed on the ground, with its centre over the hollow
dug-out fireplace. Fresh wood is pushed into the hole when required.
As the wood costs nothing and the iron pan is cheap, the manufacture
of sugar in this primitive fashion is not at all costly. The thick
syrupy liquid is put into big wooden barrels, and sent to Bangkok to
be further boiled and converted into sugar. The fresh juice of the
sugar palm is sweet and refreshing, but when it begins to ferment it
is a powerful intoxicant.

There are many pretty places on the shores of the Gulf of Siam, but
these can only be visited by steamer. They are charmingly picturesque,
the bathing is excellent, and the fish are delicious. No steamers call
at these desirable spots, there are no hotels, and except for fish
they have no food for sale. Only one of them--Anghin, has any house in
which a foreigner would care to reside. The village of Anghin ("stone
basins") is so called because there are several large hollows in the
granite rocks, where rain water collects in the wet season. Public
attention was first drawn to the place in 1868, when a notice appeared
in the local papers in these words:--

     "H. E. Ahon Phya Bhibakrwongs Maha Kosa Dhipude, the Pra
     Klang, Minister for Foreign Affairs, has built a sanitarium
     at Anghin for the benefit of the public. It is for the
     benefit of Siamese, Europeans, or Americans, who may go
     and occupy it when unwell, to restore their health. All
     are cordially invited to go there for a suitable length of
     time and be happy, but are requested not to remain month
     after month, and year after year, and regard it as a place
     without an owner. To regard it in this way cannot be
     allowed, for it is public property, and others should go
     and stop there also."

[Illustration: FISHING BOATS AT THE BAR.]

For a time a few people went, but the sanitarium is now in ruins,
and is only habitable in dry weather when holes in roofs and walls
are no inconvenience to the visitor. It is necessary when visiting
this lovely little spot to take with one all the provisions required
during the stay, a plentiful supply of pure water, and every article
of furniture, such as beds, tables, chairs, and wardrobes. Having
collected all these things, a small steamer is next required to convey
them and their owner to his destination. An English resident in
Bangkok who wished to take a holiday there, bargained with a native
merchant for the loan of a vessel. The native promised faithfully that
the steamer should be at a certain landing near the Englishman's house
by one o'clock in the afternoon of the day mentioned. Early in the
morning he removed all his baggage to the riverside. He was surrounded
by baskets of ducks, baskets of chickens, hams in canvas bags, jars of
rain water, boxes of soda water, pans, pots, furnaces, chairs, tables,
mattresses books, camera, and sketching material. A few friends who
were going to accompany him helped to keep guard over this motley
collection. At one o'clock no steamer was visible, but there was
nothing very surprising in that fact, as the Oriental does not know
the meaning of punctuality. But when two o'clock passed, then three
o'clock, and then four, he felt that something had gone wrong. One of
the party went to make enquiries. He returned after dark to say that
the propeller of the steamer was broken, and that the steamer was in
dock, but that she would be at the landing by seven the next morning.
All the boxes and furniture were sadly and slowly conveyed back to
the house again. One of the boxes was opened, and a dinner made of
soda water and corned beef. The host and his guests slept as best they
could, on the floors of the dining-room and the drawing-room.

At seven the next morning all the holiday traps were carried out and
placed on the landing, where they were speedily surrounded by a crowd
of jeering natives who scoffingly enquired when the party proposed to
start. They endured this until four o'clock in the afternoon, when
the vessel did at last put in an appearance. They embarked as rapidly
as possible, and began their journey at night. There was only one
cabin, which was dirty beyond description, and swarming with spiders
and cockroaches. In the middle of the night it began to rain, so they
wrapped themselves up in cloaks and waterproofs and slept on deck
under the tables. One of them asked the Malay skipper why the vessel
was going so slowly. Said he, with an amused smile, "This boat go
half-speed. This boiler got many holes. Go full-speed--burst!" Then
he chuckled. When about two miles from Anghin the recently mended
propeller broke and sank. Everything was landed by means of one small
boat. The sanitarium had been untenanted for many months by human
beings, but thousands of ants, spiders, cockroaches, and lizards had
made themselves at home there. The men opened some tins of kerosine
and flooded the place with it. All the creatures that were not
destroyed by it were driven away by its obnoxious smell, and in a
short time the place was rendered habitable. Perhaps the reader will
now understand why it is that European residents in Siam seldom go to
the sea-side.

There is not much difference between a fishing and an agricultural
village. There is the same double row of houses with the street
between, and the back doors of each of the houses nearest the sea or
river, facing the water.

Along the beach small heaps of sea-shells are found at intervals of a
few yards. They have been collected by the villagers, who send them in
small sailing boats to Bangkok where they are used for making lime.
The lime-kilns are made of bricks in the shape of a shallow box. The
floor has a number of apertures, and some fire is placed beneath. In
the box a layer of shells lies upon a layer of straw and charcoal.
Then comes another layer of fuel and another layer of shells, and so
on until the box is full. A blast of air is driven into it by a fan
connected to treadles. There is no covering to the kiln, and the fumes
that rise have several times been fatal to the workmen.

[Illustration: KHLONG NEAR PETCHABOOREE.

_Page 174._]

From the beach can be seen, at low tide, long lines of poles radiating
in all directions. These form the fishing traps that are used chiefly
for catching a fish called "plah-tu." It is about the size of a
herring, tastes like trout when fresh, and like kippers when smoked.
During the north-east monsoon these fish are driven in great shoals
to the northern end of the gulf, and while this wind continues to
blow the fishermen are kept busily employed. The fishing stakes are
long slender poles. They are fixed in the bed of the sea about forty
inches apart from each other, in double rows, forming a funnel-shaped
passage with a very wide entrance or mouth. Several funnels converge
upon a central circular or rectangular structure also made of thin
poles, which we may for convenience call the trap. Nets are fixed
in it by cords so as to be ready for use when the fishermen pay it
a visit. The radiating lines are often half a mile long, and
as they move to and fro in the restless sea they form an impassable
barrier to the timid fish, who are driven by the currents into the
trap, from which they seem unable to find their way out. The boats
usually go out at sunset, and they form a very pretty picture as they
skim lightly over the buoyant waves, their yellow porous mat-sails
catching rosy or orange hues from the setting sun, which are again
mirrored in deeper shades in the purple waters below. On reaching
the trap the men let down their nets, only to haul them up again a
few minutes later, laden with silvery fish. The boats return about
daybreak. Their coming is eagerly awaited by the whole population, who
turn out to receive them. Buffalo carts are also ready to carry the
fish from the boats to the village. In the village the night's booty
is sorted and examined. The fish are cleaned and the gills removed,
all the refuse being thrown into strong brine. The briny solution of
fishy odds and ends is afterwards sold as "fish sauce". The best fish
are very lightly steamed and then packed in flat circular baskets,
put on board the swiftest sailing boats, and sent off to Bangkok. A
certain amount is sold to people near at hand, or used for food by the
villagers themselves. The remainder are either smoked, or packed with
brine in deep pits in the ground. When well salted the fish is dried
and exported. The value of the fish exported is about one and a half
million dollars. It finds great favour with the Chinese. The Javanese
too buy large quantities of the salted fish, chiefly on account of
the salt that they purchase at the same time, for pure salt is a
very dear luxury in that island. The decaying rotten refuse is used
as manure in the kitchen gardens of the Chinese. If its properties as
a manure are half as powerful as its odour, it should be extremely
valuable.

But "plah-tu" are not the only fish caught in this out of the way
corner of the earth. Prawns are plentiful, and they are caught in nets
of very small mesh. Two boats go out together from the shore for a
little distance and then separate. From boat to boat is suspended a
net heavily weighted to make it sink. When the net is fully extended
the boats move towards the shore, dragging it with them. In this way
thousands of prawns and small fish are easily caught. Prawns are
pounded into a paste with salt. The mixture is not unlike anchovy
sauce.

Mussels and many other shell-fish are obtained in an easy manner. Long
poles are driven into the sand in water where these creatures are
known to abound, and left there for some time. After a while they are
covered with the shell-fish, which have fastened on the poles. To pull
up the pole and scrape off the deposit is but the work of a few hours.

[Illustration: A BUFFALO CART.]

The buffalo carts used in the villages in this part of Siam, are
peculiar-looking conveyances. But they are admirably fitted for
the rough work for which they are built. They are used between
villages on the coast at times when boats cannot pass from place to
place, and also between places inland where no canals exist. Their
construction will be better understood from the accompanying
illustration than from any written description, but a few points may
be noticed. The hood over the top is not for protection from sun or
rain. There are no roads in the jungle, though here and there, there
are a few tracks. The buffaloes literally force their way through the
dense undergrowth, the eye of the experienced driver always telling
him where the most passable spots are to be found. The hood protects
the head of the driver or his passengers from the branches of the
trees that obstruct the way. Without it they would be unable to travel
at all in any place where the vegetative growth was at all thick. The
projecting side pieces in a similar way keep the wheels from getting
entangled in the undergrowth. The bottom of the cart is at a good
distance from the ground, for very often the way lies through swamps
or flooded marshes so deep that only the heads of the buffaloes can be
seen above the mud and water. In such places the animals frequently
lie down to cool themselves. This in no way endangers the cart, as the
beasts are not harnessed to it in any way. The yoke is simply laid
across their necks, and prevented from slipping by straight pieces of
wood on each side. When passengers travel, a plank is placed at about
the level of the driver's elbow in the picture. The reins are of rope,
and the bell round the neck is a hollowed piece of wood with two or
three wooden tongues inside it. Owing to the uneven character of the
ground the cart sways from side to side, and produces in most people
who experience the motion for the first time, a feeling akin to
sea-sickness. As the plank, on which the traveller sits cross-legged,
is near the top of the vehicle, his head is dangerously near the roof.
Every time the cart gives a sudden lurch to one side, he receives a
smart rap on the side or top of his head. As a rule he recoils from
the blow only to receive another on the other side as the vehicle
recovers its equilibrium. The huge wheels, unsupplied with metal
bearings, creak and groan with awful ceaseless regularity.

[Illustration: A SIAMESE BULLOCK CART.]

In many places valuable minerals are said to exist. Gold, rubies,
sapphires, and diamonds have been found, but so far have not been
obtained in very large quantities. In the Siamese provinces in the
Malay Peninsula, tin is exceedingly abundant and is mined by the
Chinese.

In the northern provinces there are numerous valuable teak forests,
from which the Government derives a very large revenue. Nearly the
whole of the teak that is used in building the ships of the different
nations of the world, comes from the extensive forests of Upper Burmah
and Northern Siam. Much of the teak that is exported from Moulmein and
sold as Burmese or Indian, is really obtained from Siamese forests
lying between the River Meping and the River Salween. The forests of
Burmah have been worked for a much longer period than those of Siam,
and the logs obtained therefrom are of inferior quality and smaller
girth. The teak forests of Siam are worked with British capital alone,
no French or Germans being engaged in the trade. The agents of
the British firms live at the scene of the lumbering operations,
and are personally responsible for the hiring of the forests, the
cutting of the wood, and its subsequent exportation to Bangkok. The
different firms have saw-mills of their own in the city, and they
trim and cut the logs before they are finally sent abroad. The leases
for the forests are obtained from the Lao chiefs in whose districts
they stand, but the terms of the leases are often subject to revision
by the Siamese Commissioners. The trees are killed before they are
felled, by having a ring cut in the bark, about two or three feet from
the ground. The "girdled" stem is left for nearly three years before
it is cut down, as it is not properly dead before that time. The only
method of transport possible in places where there is no water, is
by elephants, and this form of transportation is so very expensive
that the workings are mostly confined to the banks or the immediate
vicinity of the streams. Teak trees unfortunately do not grow in
clusters or groves, but only in isolated spots, often separated from
each other by considerable distances, so that the question of carriage
is financially a very important one.

Felling takes place during the rainy season when the ground is soft
and wet, so that the trees as they fall are not likely to sustain any
serious damage. Three labourers working together are able to fell
three trees in one day. The rough logs are piled side by side until
they are removed by the elephants. One of these strong sagacious
creatures is harnessed to the log by ropes. He drags it over the
ground to the nearest water, his work being considerably lightened
by the aid of rude rollers placed along the track. The elephants on
reaching the water, pile up the logs on the bank, until the buyer or
the agent has examined them. The owner places his own mark on them
for purposes of identification, and then the elephants roll them
into the water, and place them in positions that render their being
bound into rafts a comparatively easy matter. Thieves make themselves
busy at such times, breaking up rafts, stealing logs from which they
obliterate the owner's mark, and disposing of them as rapidly as
possible at nominal values to the first customer they can find. They
keep on the look-out for stray elephants too, and occasionally manage
to get safely away with their valuable spoil. No replanting goes on,
and great waste of timber is caused by the servants of the lessees.
The forests will ultimately be destroyed unless some regulations
are made with regard to the girth of the trees cut down, and the
replanting of fresh ones in the places of those that have been felled.
The loss that the world will experience from the loss of the wood,
will be infinitesimal compared with the injury that is likely to
fall upon the country itself in the changed climatic conditions that
invariably attend such wholesale deforestation.

Very fine trees are allowed to stand because the natives are afraid
to cut them down. Within any giant of the forest they suppose
powerful spirits to be embodied, and they are afraid to call down
upon themselves unforeseen and terrible visitations of anger from the
spirits who inhabit them.

The villagers in all parts of the country are very hospitable and
kindly disposed towards travellers. They show their politeness in
their extreme inquisitiveness. They poke their noses into everything,
and beg old bottles and sardine tins from the cook, at the same time
making little presents of eggs and fish. In very remote places the
white skin of the European is a great curiosity, but they never molest
any traveller whatever his colour, nor do they interfere with his
personal liberty. On the other hand, every one, from the governor of
the district down to the lowest slave, will do all they can to help
the wanderer, provided he treats them with that courtesy and respect
which they are prepared to show to him. Sometimes a native with a
little mischief in his nature will attempt a practical joke, but it
is usually of such a harmless character that only a very disagreeable
person would be likely to experience any great annoyance. A fisherman
one day visited a small party of Europeans who were encamped in his
neighbourhood, and offered to sell them an animal for food. The
creature had neither head, feet, nor tail, but their absence was
explained by the vendor, who said he had removed them in order to
save the white men trouble. He further stated that the animal was a
hare that he had trapped in the jungle. None of the party knew very
much about anatomy, but they felt rather dubious as to the truth of
the man's statements. One of them, quite thoughtlessly and casually,
observed, "Perhaps it is a dog." A broad grin spread over the wily
fisherman's face, for the stray shot had hit the mark. He retired
roaring with laughter, and exclaimed in the vernacular, "Master very
clever, very clever!"

They are generally frightened by a camera, but it is a strange thing
that no where do the priests object to having their photographs
taken and printed. In fact, as soon as they learn the nature of
the apparatus they become a perfect nuisance by the eagerness they
express to be photographed. They will come every morning to the tent
or hut where the photographer is encamped, dressed in their best
Sunday robes, and wait about all day, in the hope of being "taken."
They express considerable astonishment at the coloured and inverted
picture seen on the ground-glass screen at the back of the camera, and
they are unable to understand why prints cannot be instantaneously
produced. A very picturesque old Peguan was once entreated to sit for
his portrait by a man who was travelling. The ancient one hesitated,
and thought, and consulted his family. He was allowed to look through
the ground glass and see the faces of a few of his friends thereon.
That decided the point. He threw his fears and scruples to the winds,
and posed himself in a graceful attitude astride a water-jar. The
photographer focussed and adjusted his machine, snapped the shutter,
shut up the slide, and exclaimed, "It is finished." Then the old man
came up to have a look. When he found that his picture was not ready
at once, he felt that he had been grossly deceived, and his remarks
were such that the photographer deemed it wise to seek for the company
of his friends.

The sight of the coloured picture on the ground-glass screen of the
camera, led a few villagers to commit an amusing error. After looking
at it for some time, they went to another spot to watch an artist who
was at work there at the same time. They decided amongst themselves
that his work was a superior form of photography, and that as he drew
his brushes across the canvas they made the coloured picture come up
through the back. Their theory worked excellently for a while, but
when the artist began to put in boats in places in the picture which
did not correspond to those in the landscape, they felt that the
machine had gone wrong, and departed, murmuring that it wasn't a very
good "picture-box" after all.



CHAPTER X.

THE CULTIVATION OF RICE.


The natives of Siam depend absolutely on rice for their very
existence. It is the only necessary article of food. Should the supply
fail, there is nothing to take its place. All other forms of food
are, comparatively speaking, luxuries. Abundance of rice means life;
scarcity of rice brings famine and death. The failure of the crops in
Siam would produce a famine as far-reaching and as disastrous in its
results as those of India, which have at different times evoked to
such a large degree, the practical sympathies of the English people.
And yet, despite the terrible nature of the disaster which would
attend any sensible diminution in the supply of this all-necessary
and all-sufficient article of food, the methods of cultivation are
primitive to the last degree, and are carried on with agricultural
implements of the rudest possible character.

[Illustration: THE SWINGING FESTIVAL.

_Page 212._]

When a farmer increases the area of the land under cultivation, by
buying or stealing a new piece of wooded ground or jungle for the
purpose of cultivating rice, he commences his farming operations by
burning down the whole of the timber in order to save himself the
trouble of cutting it. In this way, with the maximum of waste and
the minimum of labour, the ground is cleared.

[Illustration: COLLECTING RIPE GRAIN.]

It is next ploughed with an instrument the total cost of which is
about three shillings. Roughly speaking, the plough is merely a
crooked stick with one handle. If a piece of wood or cane be bent
into two portions, one longer than the other, and if the shorter
portion of the cane be fastened into a heavy block of wood pointed
at one end, while the longer arm is held in the hand, a rough model
of a Siamese plough will be obtained. Occasionally, but by no means
always, a triangular piece of iron is fitted on to the wooden foot.
This, however, is never permanently fastened to the block. The plough
cuts a shallow furrow about two inches deep and five or six inches
wide. It is usually drawn by buffaloes, which are the chief beasts of
burden in this country. The "táme" buffalo, as it is called, seems
very docile with its native owners, and little children are often
seen driving them about, running behind them, belabouring them with
sticks, or sitting on their broad hard backs, guiding them in the
desired direction by whacking them over the nose. They have, however,
a strong dislike to Europeans, and will attack a white man without any
provocation whatever. The natives give as the reason for his dislike,
that the "smell" of the white man is offensive to the beasts. They
are yoked to the plough in a manner as simple as it is inexpensive. A
slightly curved wooden yoke is laid across their powerful necks. On
either side of the neck a straight piece of wood passes through a hole
in the yoke, hangs downwards, and so keeps the heads of the animals
in the right position. From the yoke to the shorter portion of the
plough, there passes a long heavy wooden beam. This is fastened into
a socket in the plough, just below the handle. It is tied to the yoke
with a thong of hide, or a long strip of rattan cane, and ends in a
graceful curve a foot or two above the heads of the animals. The free
end of the beam is often decorated with flowers, feathers, or brightly
coloured ribbons. Pieces of rope passed through holes in the nostrils
are the native substitute for the European bridle, harness, and
reins. Thus the whole weight of the plough, the beam, and the yoke
rests upon the necks of the animals. With one hand on the plough, and
the other loosely grasping the reins, the field labourer toils through
the broiling heat of the day, guiding the great clumsy-looking animals
by an occasional tug at the reins, or urging them to greater speed
with long low groan-like exclamations.

The harrow is square in shape, is made of bamboo, and bears a number
of straight wooden teeth. It is drawn by buffaloes, yoked and
harnessed as in the case of the plough.

As rice only grows where there is an excess of moisture, an abundant
supply of water must be produced either by natural or artificial
means. There is scarcely any artificial irrigation in Siam, for the
peasants depend upon the chance rise of the rivers to flood the fields
after the heavy rains are over. These floods not only inundate the
low-lying plains, and so save the peasant the trouble of watering his
fields himself, but when they subside they leave behind a deposit of
mud so rich and fertile that manuring is rendered unnecessary. And as
these floods are of annual occurrence, any system of rotation of crops
has never been considered. Occasionally some farmer deems it advisable
to adopt some artificial method of inundating his fields, and various
methods of doing this are in use. In none of them, however, are pumps
ever used, though considering the number of canals that thread the
country from end to end, one would think that the easiest and most
natural way of getting the water from the canal into the fields would
be by means of pumps connected to a series of troughs that would carry
the water to any point where it was required. Instead of a pump,
various arrangements of baskets and buckets are employed. The baskets,
which are made of cane and pitched inside and out to prevent leakage,
will hold about seven or eight gallons. They are so suspended by a
system of ropes, that a couple of children can easily scoop up water
from the canal and pour it on to the adjacent rice-patch. When the
fields in the immediate neighbourhood of the water-supply have been
deluged, the water is passed over into the fields further away by
means of a large wooden scoop, which takes up a few gallons at a time.
This process is repeated for each successive field, and eventually the
whole of the farm receives the requisite amount of water.

When buckets are used, the system of irrigation is called "watering
with the foot." The buckets are small, and are linked together about
twelve inches apart. They revolve on a rude wooden windlass, which
is worked by two men, who place their feet on treadles fastened to
the shaft round which the buckets revolve, at the same time grasping
a horizontal bar for support. They run from the canal or pool, up an
inclined trough, fall over the shaft, and tilt their contents into the
field, pass back again under the shaft, and so return to the canal
again.

[Illustration: A SIAMESE RICE-PLOUGH.

_Page 199._]

Of the forty different kinds of rice known to agriculturists, about
six varieties are grown in Siam. The natives divide these roughly into
two classes, which they name respectively "Garden rice," and
"Field rice." The latter kind is inferior in quality, and is scattered
broadcast in the fields, where it is left to grow without any further
care or attention being bestowed upon its cultivation. "Garden rice,"
on the other hand, is carefully sown and tended. The seeds are first
sown as thickly as they can grow, in well-watered patches. They
soon sprout, and the beautiful green blades grow rapidly in the hot
sunshine. When they are a few inches high, they are pulled up by the
roots, and bound into small bundles. These bundles are taken to the
fields by men, women, and children, to be there transplanted in long
straight rows. The fields have by this time been covered with water,
and trampled into a thick black mud under the hoofs of the buffaloes.
Everyone, to use a native expression, now "dives into the field." They
push the roots of the young shoots deep down into the soft mud, with
their nimble hands and feet, with amazing rapidity. A good worker will
not take more than three days to plant an acre. Planting lasts from
about June to October, and during that time the farm hands receive in
wages from eight to twelve shillings a month.

The way in which the rice is reaped when the time for harvest has
arrived, depends largely on the state of the fields. If the waters
have subsided, it is reaped with the sickle, and bound into sheaves,
which are first allowed to dry in the sun, and are then removed by
buffalo carts or bullock waggons. But if the fields are still under
water, this method is obviously impossible, and besides, there
is always a sufficiently large number of leeches, land-crabs and
water-snakes moving about in the slimy mud to make the labourer
cautious as to where he treads. In this case the people go to the
fields in their long narrow canoes. They cut off the ripe heads with a
sickle, and drop them into small baskets placed in the bottom of the
boat. Great carelessness is often shown by the laughing, gossiping
reapers, who drop handful after handful of ripe grain into the water.

[Illustration: PLANTING OUT YOUNG RICE--FOOT OF KORAT HILLS.]

When the threshing commences, the services of the ever useful buffalo
are once more demanded. A threshing floor is first prepared. A piece
of ground is cleared, and then covered with a plaster made of soil,
cow-dung, and water. After a few days this pasty mixture sets into a
hard, firm coating. A tall, straight bamboo is erected in the centre
of the floor, and a few good heads of rice are fastened at the top
for the birds to eat. A roughly carved figure of a man, jokingly
christened "the grandfather," is added by way of decoration. Two
buffaloes are used, which are yoked side by side. The inner one is
loosely fastened on the inside to the central pole, and on the outside
to his fellow-worker, while both are guided by a half-naked man or
boy, who runs round and round behind the animals, holding on to the
tail of the outer one. The threshing takes place on moonlight nights,
and rarely does the moon shine on a more interesting or curious
scene. The buffaloes pace on in their monotonous round, regardless of
their screaming driver or of his vigorous jerking of their hindmost
appendages. In the heaps of straw tumble all the merry, laughing
urchins of the neighbourhood. The air resounds with the sounds of
music, fiddles and tom-toms, dulcimers and drums. Joke and song pass
from mouth to mouth. Here glows the red end of a cigarette; there a
shiny brown back glistens in the moonlight. The large meek eyes of
the animals stare through the gloom. Cocoa-nut oil lanterns vie with
the ruddy flames of the fitful bonfires in lending more light to the
scene, but rarely do more than tinge their own dark smoke a tawny hue.
Fire-flies light up the deep shadows under the long drooping leaves of
the palms, or mirror their own pale light in the bits of shiny straw
that flutter in the evening breeze. Through all these varied shades
of semi-darkness come laughter and song, the cry of the driver, the
creaking of the pole, the firm, steady footfall of the patient beasts,
the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, and a million other
sounds that tell of life and motion in the late hours of a tropical
night.

[Illustration: PLOUGHING A RICE-FIELD.]

The rice is winnowed by the wind as it is poured from one wide shallow
basket to another, and as the chaff flies about in the sunlight its
gilded hues mingle with the vivid green of the surrounding landscape,
to form behind the well-proportioned forms of the girls and women,
a background which is unique in its brilliant combinations of light
and colour. The grain is stored in large baskets made of cane and
plastered outside with mud. These stand on a raised platform, and
are covered by a roof made of leaves. The eye of the farmer grows
bright as he regards his well-filled rice-bins, for by their number
and contents does he measure his wealth. The farmers live together
in small villages for mutual protection; but in spite of all their
precautions, those who inhabit the more remote portions of the country
suffer severely from the depredations of bands of dacoits. During the
night, too, the herds of cattle often break out and wander over the
fields, doing irreparable damage as they wander from one plantation
to another, the absence of all hedges or fences rendering their
wanderings merely a matter of choice to themselves.

The rice-mills of Bangkok are constructed after European models, and
contain modern machinery; but outside the capital, the primitive
mill of earlier days still survives. This is simply a short, broad
stump of a tree with a conical hollow inside, the apex of the cone
being near the ground. A long lever carries at one end a heavy wooden
hammer-head, which falls into the hollow of the stem. It is raised by
placing the foot on the other end of the lever, and then jumping up
so as to press upon the lever with the whole weight of the body. The
women are generally employed in this work, and in any small village
you can hear the steady thump, thump of the hammers from morning to
night, and see the girls and young women jumping on and off the short
end of the lever, with an almost painful regularity and precision.

A great deal of the rice grown in some of the northern provinces is
sent to Luang Prabang, the local supply there being insufficient for
the wants of the inhabitants. It is sent down the River Mekong on huge
rice-rafts made of bamboo. It takes a fairly large crew to manage one
of these rafts, and as several members of the party are sure to have
a wife or child with them, the whole structure somewhat resembles a
floating village. The most usual measurements of these rafts are one
hundred and twenty feet long and about thirty feet beam. They are very
difficult to manage, but so skilful are the native boatmen, that by
means of a number of oars rigged fore and aft, they generally succeed
in taking their cumbersome craft through the numerous rapids and
eddies, with only occasional or trifling loss of their valuable cargo.

Two curious ceremonies take place each year in connection with
the agricultural operations. One is held in connection with the
opening of the field season, while the other is an Oriental form
of "harvest-thanksgiving." The first ceremony is known as "Raakna"
and is generally held about the middle of May. Until the "Ploughing
Festival" is over, no one is supposed to plough or sow. On a certain
day foretold by the Brahmin astrologers of the court, the Minister
for Agriculture, who is always a prince, or a nobleman of high rank,
goes in procession to a piece of ground some distance from the city
walls. He is for the time being the King's proxy, and on that day
many shopkeepers, and holders of stalls in the markets, pay their
taxes to him as the representative of their sovereign. Formerly his
followers were in the habit of seizing the goods of any shopkeeper
which were exposed for sale along the route of the procession, but
this arbitrary manner of collecting dues has, like many other harmful
customs, completely disappeared during the reign of the present
enlightened monarch.

On reaching the scene of the festival ceremonies, the Minister finds
there a new plough with a pair of exceptionally fine buffaloes yoked
to it. Both plough and buffaloes are gaily decorated with flowers
and leaves. The Minister takes the plough, and for about an hour he
guides it over the field, closely watched by the assembled spectators.
They do not, however, concentrate their attention upon his skill
as a ploughman, but on the length of the piece of silk which forms
his lower garment. If, in the course of his amateur agricultural
operations, the Minister should pull this garment above his knee, it
is believed that excessive and therefore disastrous rains will occur
during the wet season. On the other hand, should he allow it to fall
to the ankle a great scarcity of rain is anticipated. A prosperous
season is foretold when the folds of the garment reach midway between
knee and ankle.

When a certain portion of the field has been ploughed, several old
women in the King's service, strew grain of different kinds over the
recently ploughed land. The animals are unyoked and led up to the
scattered grain and allowed to feed upon it. Once more the crowd are
on the alert, as they seek for yet other omens. That kind of grain
of which the buffaloes most freely partake, will, it is expected, be
scarce at the next harvest; the kind they disdain will be reaped in
abundance. The ceremony over, the minister returns in procession,
accompanied by soldiers and military bands; while the brightly
dressed, chattering crowds return to their homes to prepare for the
ploughing and the sowing, hoping for abundant rain and sunshine, and
looking for a fruitful harvest, that thereby they may escape the
terrible and remorseless hand of famine.

The harvest-festival ceremonies are of Brahminical origin and are
known to the people under the name of "Lo Ching Cha". The first word
"Lo" means "to pull"--"ching cha" is "a swing". The place where the
"Swinging Festival" is held is inside the city walls. It is a small
green lawn situated opposite to a very large temple, and on the edge
of a very busy thoroughfare. For three hundred and sixty three days
in each year, there is nothing, except the huge pillars of the swing,
to draw one's attention to the spot. A few boys playing football or
flying kites, a few old women squatting down for a little gossip, or
a few Malay grooms with their masters' ponies are the usual everyday
occupants of the spot. On the other two days of the year, when the
harvest festival is held, every inch of available space is occupied.
The native children, unable to see over the heads of the men and
women when they are upon the ground, quickly mount the neighbouring
walls, and perch themselves in the branches of the trees, or cling,
like monkeys, to every lamp-post and telegraph pole within sight
of the proceedings. The thoroughfares leading to the place are
blocked with innumerable carriages and rickshaws. The crowd is an
exceedingly good-tempered one, and brawling of any kind is very
unusual. The distant sound of a military band heralds the approach
of another of those processions so dear to the heart of the Siamese.
The procession passes through the dense crowd without any trouble,
for the people willingly fall back so as not to impede its progress.
Strangely coloured banners bearing quaint devices, flutter above the
heads of the crowd. A modern military band plays "Marching through
Georgia," while an ancient band in tattered vermilion garments with
yellow trimmings, bangs curious drums, and pierces the air with the
penetrating shrieks of long brass trumpets. The tom-tom and the gong
join in the general uproar. The crowd sways to and fro, striving
to catch a glimpse of the barefooted soldiers in their brilliant
uniforms, or of the numerous articles borne in the procession to
indicate the nature and meaning of the festivities. Decorated
buffaloes dragging decorated carts, bundles of rice, offerings of
fruit and flowers, are all evidences of the thankfulness of the people
for the safe ingathering of their harvests.

[Illustration: BUFFALOES RETURNING FROM THE RICE-FIELDS.]

In the centre of the procession, carried in a chair of state on the
shoulders of a number of strong well-built men, and shielded from
the sun by a huge state umbrella, sits the Master of the Ceremonies
resplendent in cloth of gold and jewelled ornaments. At one time
the Minister for Agriculture officiated on these occasions, but now
a different nobleman is selected each year, whose business it is
to organise and superintend all the arrangements for the festival.
All eyes turn towards the seated figure in his tall conical hat and
jewelled robes. He is carried to a small brick platform, which is
draped with the national flag and covered with flowers. He takes his
seat, with two Brahmin priests on his right hand and two on his left.
He places his right foot on his left knee, the left foot resting upon
the ground. After having once seated himself in this position he is
not allowed to remove his foot off his knee until the whole ceremony
is finished. As this lasts about two hours, the presiding nobleman
must be fairly uncomfortable by the time it is over. The penalty for
moving the foot was, formerly, the confiscation of the culprit's
property and the loss of his rank, in addition to any immediate
ill-usage the attendant priests might think fit to bestow upon him;
but this is now all done away with, and the only deterrent influence
brought to bear upon the temporary sufferer is the opinion of the
people, who would feel deeply hurt and disappointed should any detail
of their well-beloved ceremony be omitted.

The attention of the crowd is next directed to the performance of
the swinging games. The swing itself is like any ordinary child's
swing except for its enormous size. The side pillars are about ninety
feet high, and the seat of the swing is about half-way between the
ornamented cross-bar and the ground. A few feet in front of the seat,
on the side towards the Palace, a long bamboo-stem is fixed in the
ground, and from the top is suspended a small bag of silver coins. The
men who take part in the games are usually Brahmins. They are dressed
in white, and wear conical hats. They swing towards the bag of
money and endeavour to catch it with their teeth. There are generally
three competitors; the prizes for the first being worth about fifteen
shillings, while for the second and third they are worth about ten
and five shillings respectively. When the winners have received their
rewards they pass amongst the crowd, sprinkling the spectators with
consecrated water contained in bullocks' horns. Soon afterwards the
Minister returns to his home, the crowd disperses, and thus this very
ancient ceremony is brought to a close.



CHAPTER XI.

LAWS AND LEGISLATION.


Recent years have witnessed great changes in the methods of governing
and judging the people. In nothing is the distinction between Old and
Young Siam so definitely marked. But it is the old order of things
that will chiefly concern us in this chapter, for the new order,
though indicative of great progress, has been carried out by Western
minds in imitation of Western methods, and it therefore presents
little which is of intrinsic interest to the student of foreign
customs. But as any account of the country's laws and legislation
would be incomplete without some mention of modern reforms, a brief
account of some of the most important of them is here given.

The King is theoretically an absolute monarch with power to control
the life and property of every one of his subjects. But he appointed
a Cabinet to assist him in carrying on the government of his country,
and it is very doubtful whether he would now care to exercise his
despotic authority to the full, should he by so doing incur the
combined opposition of the Cabinet he has created. There are twelve
ministers in this Cabinet, who hold portfolios and seats. They are

1. The Minister for Foreign Affairs.

2. The Minister for Finance, who is also Minister of Customs and
controls the various monopolies, gambling and opium farms.

3. The Minister for War, who controls both Army and Navy.

4. The Minister of Justice.

5. The Minister of the North, who has under his control the
administration of nearly all the provinces north of Bangkok.

6. The Minister of the South and West, who also directs the civil and
military _corvée_.

7. The Minister of the Royal Household.

8. The Minister of Public Works, including the railways, posts and
telegraphs, and all public buildings.

9. The Minister of Local Government, with control of prisons, police,
and police-courts in Bangkok. He combines the functions of a Lord
Mayor and a Home Secretary.

10. The Minister for Agriculture, who grants mining concessions,
superintends surveys, and looks after the land revenues.

11. The Minister of Public Instruction. Under him are placed the
hospitals, the museums, and a number of ecclesiastical establishments.

12. Privy Seal.

The Cabinet holds its business meetings at night. They begin about
eight o'clock and sit on through the cool dark hours of the night and
early morning. The king may or may not be present.

Last year an additional legislative body was established, under the
name of "The Legislative Council". The members of the Cabinet are
all members of the Legislative Council, but many others have been
added. They do not hold their meetings in secret, like the older
body, and they also call in outsiders, both foreign and native, when
they want professional advice on any matter. They have appointed a
number of sub-committees, of each of which some European servant of
the Government is a member. They are concerned with the reform of
old laws and the devising of new ones. One article in the decree
that appointed this Assembly is sufficient to show how the king has
gradually but voluntarily resigned the position of a pure despot.
Until the formation of this Council no law could pass into action,
and no reform or new law could even be initiated without the express
written sanction of the king. During recent years he has been at times
seriously ill for many weeks together. Naturally everything came to a
stand-still.

Now the new body of councillors has been specially requested to
introduce and discuss new laws and regulations, and it has been
further empowered to put into operation any law that it may pass,
without the authority of the king, provided he is not at the time
sufficiently well in health to attend to business. He, however,
reserves to himself the right to amend the law should he afterwards
think fit. Those who know anything of the present king will recognise
the wisdom of this arrangement, for he can always be depended upon not
to destroy but to stimulate everything which makes for the happiness
of his people.

Each province has at its head a Royal Commissioner who has extensive
powers, but who holds office at the pleasure of the king, though in
the first instance his appointment is generally for some definite
period. The Commissioners are not simply responsible for the good
government, or for the collection of the taxes in the district under
their charge, but they are intended to form connecting links between
the central and the outlying portions of the kingdom. For in faraway
provinces, powerful and enterprising chiefs occasionally find it
convenient to forget the fact that they are not independent monarchs.
The appointment of Royal Commissioners was very much resented by some
of the chiefs, especially by those who had previously reigned with
the title and dignity of sovereigns. Amongst these was the "King of
Luang Prabang," who had for many years governed the province of Luang
Prabang under the above title. It has been stated that this man is
the only man in the country, except the king, who can boast a purely
Siamese descent. Everyone else has some foreign blood in his veins. At
any rate, this so-called king belonged to one of the oldest families
in the land. When the new Commissioners were appointed, a very young
man was sent to take over the government of this province. On nearing
the scene of his new labours, he sent word to the old chief to tell
him of his arrival, and to demand a formal and elaborate reception
to be made for him, as a mark of respect to the sovereign whose
orders he had come to execute. The old man went himself to meet the
new arrival, indulging in a good deal of grumbling by the way, and
wondering why there was any necessity to make such a fuss. When he
found to what extent he was to be superseded in the government of
his ancient domain, his grief and anger knew no bounds, but as he
was powerless to resent he had to content himself with grumbling and
moaning. He rather pertinently asked why the young king had sent
a young man to control an old chief who had so long done his duty
faithfully and well. One day the Commissioner heard the deposed
governor addressed by the people, with the title of "king." He at once
forbade the repetition of the word, saying, "There is but one king
in Siam." The old man smarted not a little under what he considered
was a new insult, but he restrained any outward expression of his
feelings. Not long after this occurrence the Commissioner found that
the chief had in his possession a state umbrella with the number of
tiers used by royalty. He ordered two of these to be at once removed,
and his order was obeyed. The insulted chief got his revenge at last,
when the French took the province of Luang Prabang. M. Pavie, the
French Commissioner, and formerly French Minister in Bangkok, sent the
Siamese representative about his business, and invited the old chief
to an interview. When the chief arrived, M. Pavie asked him if there
was anything he wanted either for himself or his people. The old man
related his loss of dignity and title, and begged that he might be
allowed to repair his umbrella, and call himself "king" once more.
"Certainly," said M. Pavie, with diplomatic condescension, "call
yourself 'king' if you like, and as to the umbrella, add two tiers
or twenty, just as you please." The remade king was delighted, and
returned home exceedingly glad at heart at the complete restoration
of his royal name and furniture. The majority of the Commissioners,
as well as the chief members of the Cabinet and of the Legislative
Council are relatives of the king.

Siam possesses an excellent code of laws. They are, in the main, just
and well suited to the people for whom they were intended. There are
faulty laws amongst them, and there are a few that are barbarous or
cruel, but these, be it said to the credit of the present government,
are never enforced. The faults of Siam's legislative system do not lie
in the laws themselves, but in the administration of them. Bribery has
been the curse of every court throughout the country. Bribed judges
and perjured witnesses have hindered the operations of laws that would
have been powerful for good, and have converted what should have been
halls of justice into houses of oppression. The venial judge could be
publicly flogged, but when the other judges and the witnesses were
all also venial, no righteous accuser could be found. The system has
existed for so many years that the people have got accustomed to it,
and look upon bribery as a necessary and natural part of any legal
proceedings. The prolongation of the different lawsuits meant more
and more profit to the judge, and so adjournments were indulged in
_ad infinitum_. In this way thousands of cases have accumulated;
and up to a few months ago the condition of affairs was so bad that
the most just of judges might have been forgiven for preferring to
leave alone the legal dust and uncleanliness accumulated by his
predecessors. One of the most beneficial results that has followed
the appointment of the Legislative Council, has been an enquiry into
the character and causes of the defective administration of justice.
A party of Belgian lawyers, assisted by a few Siamese lawyers trained
for their profession in foreign countries, set to work to overhaul
the courts and cases. They cleared off the legal arrears at the rate
of scores each week. They found men who had been lying in gaol for
years, without trial, for some trivial offence. In many instances
the plaintiff who had originally entered the case was dead, or could
not be found. These unfortunate sufferers they released at once.
They discovered numerous examples of cruel or excessive sentences,
which they reduced or annulled. To prevent further accumulations they
assisted the native judges in trying all new cases as they came up day
by day, giving them in this way, many a valuable object lesson in the
administration of justice, though not without occasional hindrances
from the judges, and even from the litigants themselves. One day an
old woman went to one of the new foreign judges, crouched at his
feet, and sobbed out a bitter tale of cruel wrong. She was engaged
in some trivial lawsuit with a relative, and she alleged that she
could not get her rights because the judge was receiving bribes. "My
cousin," said she, "sends the judge presents of flowers and fruit, and
I know what is hidden in the basket." She dwelt on the enormity of
the offence and the suffering she endured thereby, and the foreigner
listened with great interest. At last he remarked, "Well, what do you
want me to do for you?" The woman, her eyes bright with hope, answered
him, "Next week the case is coming before you, and if you will only
pronounce a verdict in my favour, I too will make you a present of
fruit and flowers."

The laws of the country do not admit of being catalogued or described
in any brief manner, as they occupy seventy volumes of closely printed
Siamese, a mass of legal literature which it is obviously impossible
to condense for the purposes of this chapter.

There are two courts for the trial of criminal cases, and a number of
minor courts for the trial of civil cases in Bangkok. There is also an
International Court where the subjects of different nations attempt
to settle their differences with the natives. As far as Englishmen
are concerned, this court is practically useless; for owing to the
lackadaisical manner in which the affairs of Englishmen are dealt with
by the members of the British consulate, the native judges know full
well that they can always give their own countrymen every possible
benefit of the slightest doubt. A remark once made by a Siamese to
an English resident is only too true--"What good are your Consuls
and Ministers to you? If I bring a case against you in your court,
I shall win it, and if you bring a case against me in my court, I am
equally certain you will lose it."

There are provincial courts for dealing with minor offences in the
outlying districts, but the judges in these courts have no power to
sentence a man to death unless such power is directly given them by
the king himself.

The course of procedure in any court is simple but slow. The plaintiff
presents his case in writing. This is neatly copied by the clerks,
and then read to the complainant in order to see that no inaccuracy
occurs. If he signifies that the document so read, is a faithful
reproduction of the original, it is folded up and fastened with a
bit of wax or soft mud, on which he impresses his private seal, that
is, the mark of his thumb-nail. A synopsis of the plaint is sent to
the defendant, who makes his answer in writing, which is similarly
copied and sealed. A day for hearing the case is appointed, but the
litigants are called together before the day of trial, with a view
to settling the matter privately. If these efforts at conciliation
prove unfruitful, the depositions are read before subordinate judges,
who, after considering the case, make their award in writing. Their
written judgment is forwarded to the chief judge and he pronounces
the sentence. The chief judge has full powers, but an appeal to the
king is allowable. This privilege is more or less a dead letter, as
it would be practically impossible for a poor man to get his appeal
brought before the notice of his sovereign.

Very few of the courts have a legal aspect. The judge reclines at
one end of the room, on a mat placed on the floor. Under his arm is
a three-cornered pillow. He smokes, drinks tea, chews betel-nut,
and spits during the whole course of the trial, and his example is
followed by the policemen, witnesses, lawyers and spectators.

A long and terrible oath is administered to each witness. It runs
as follows: "I, ----, who have been brought here as an evidence in
this matter, do now in presence of the divine Buddha declare that I
am wholly unprejudiced against either party, and uninfluenced in any
way by the opinions or advice of others, and that no prospects of
pecuniary advantages or of advancement to office have been held out
to me. I also declare that I have not received any bribes on this
occasion. If what I have now spoken be false, or if in my further
averments I should colour or pervert the truth so as to lead the
judgment of others astray, may the three holy existences before whom
I now stand, together with the glorious Devattas of the twenty-two
firmaments, punish me.

"If I have not seen, yet shall say that I have seen--if I shall say
that I know that which I do not know, then may I be thus punished.
Should innumerable descents of the Deity happen for the salvation and
regeneration of mankind, may my erring and migrating soul be found
beyond the pale of their mercy. Wherever I go, may I be encompassed
by dangers and not escape from them, whether arising from murderers,
spirits of the ground, robbers, spirits of the forest, of the water,
of the air, or from all the angels, or from the gods of the four
elements and all other spirits. May blood flow out of every pore of
my body, that my crime may be made manifest to the world. May all
or any of these evils overtake me three days hence. Or may I never
stir from the place on which I now stand; or may the 'lash of the
sky'[F] cut me in twain, so that I may be exposed to the derision of
the people; or if I should be walking abroad, may I be torn in pieces
by either of the four preternaturally endowed lions, or destroyed by
poisonous herbs or venomous snakes. When in the waters of the river
or ocean may alligators and large fishes devour me; or may the winds
or waves overwhelm me; or may the dread of such evils keep me during
my life a prisoner at home, estranged from every pleasure; or may I
be afflicted by the intolerable oppressions of my superiors; or may
cholera cause my death, after which may I be precipitated into hell,
there to go through innumerable stages of torture; amongst which, may
I be condemned to carry water over the flaming regions, in open wicker
baskets, to assuage the heat felt by the judge of hell when he enters
the infernal courts of justice, and thereafter may I fall into the
lowest pit of hell. Or if these miseries should not ensue, may I after
death migrate into the body of a slave, and suffer all the hardships
and pain attending the worst state of such a being, during a period
of years measured by the sands of the four seas; or may I animate the
body of an animal or beast during five hundred generations; or endure
in the body of a deaf, blind, dumb, homeless beggar, every species of
loathsome disease during the same number of generations, and then may
I be hurried to the bottomless pit, there to be crucified by the king
of hell."[G]

The old code contains a list of persons who are not to be allowed
to give evidence. So many people must have been excluded from the
witness-box by the old regulations, that one wonders how they
ever could have obtained any evidence at all had they obeyed the
regulations completely. For instance, none of the following persons
could be called to give evidence:--Drunkards, opium-smokers, gamblers,
notorious vagabonds, goldsmiths, braziers, blacksmiths, shoe-makers,
executioners, beggars, potters, dancing women, women who had been
married three times, adulterers, clerks, orphans, players, jugglers,
acrobats, undutiful children, atheists, slaves, friends of either
party, enemies of either party, quacks, liars, and sorcerers. Physical
defects excluded unmarried or pregnant women, the blind, halt, deaf,
people above seventy years old and children under seven, dying people,
and persons suffering from any loathsome disease. Intellectual defects
prohibited the giving of evidence by those who could not read, could
not count up to ten, and who did not know the names of the eight
cardinal sins. On the other hand, this curious old code directed that
special attention should be given to the testimony of men of good
learning and of known good character.

It was sometimes considered necessary to make a supposed criminal
confess. To that end, provided he could not be persuaded by gentler
means, the prisoner received ninety lashes on his bare back, with
a rattan rod. Time was given for the cuts to heal, and then the
experiment was repeated. A time for healing again intervened and then
a third flogging settled the matter, for if the man did not confess
under the third application of the rod, he was considered innocent.
The fear of the punishment that awaited those who did not confess,
must often have caused many innocent persons to declare themselves
guilty. Flogging was not the only aid to confession. A modification of
the thumb-screw in the form of a split bamboo, was held to possess a
strong persuasive influence.

One or two very ancient customs still linger. Thus both plaintiff and
defendant are expected to provide bail when bail is demanded. And in
serious cases where bail is not given, the plaintiff has to go to
prison with the defendant until the case is tried. This regulation
doubtless often prevents false accusations being made, but it has its
severe side, as shown by the fact that a woman who had been plaintiff
in a case, was recently released from prison by the new judges, after
lying in confinement for over three years. The defendant, moreover,
had been allowed to go scot-free many months before.

Again, the relatives of a man are held security for his good
behaviour, and the inhabitants of any neighbourhood are liable to
fines and taxes if murders or suicides take place amongst them. These
laws if strictly enforced in a country where people rarely leave their
own neighbourhood, would render the detection of criminals a fairly
easy matter. They are sometimes enforced when it suits the authorities
to carry them out.

An incident that came under the personal knowledge of the writer will
perhaps illustrate in a general way some of the merits and demerits of
the native method of apprehending offenders. During the Franco-Siamese
trouble, the natives naturally felt rather unfriendly towards their
enemies, and not being able to distinguish between the subjects of one
foreign nation and another, they exhibited their displeasure towards
all white men alike. An Englishman who was in the Siamese Government
Service, was one afternoon taking a walk in the outskirts of the
city, accompanied by two ladies. Suddenly he felt a hard blow on the
ear, and at the same instant a brick went whizzing past with great
velocity. He turned round to see from where the missile came, only to
find a barefooted, half-naked native going down the road as fast as
he could run. He mentioned the matter the next day to the Minister
in charge of the department in which he was employed. His chief very
kindly reported the matter to the Minister for Foreign Affairs, who
promised that some attempt should be made to arrest the offender. A
policeman was sent to the place where the offence occurred, to make
enquiries. He promptly arrested the first loafer he saw, and accused
him of the offence. The man denied the charge, but said he could give
information as to the name and residence of the man who was wanted.
He then took the policeman to the house where the culprit lived. The
official went into the place and asked for the man. His relatives
professed complete ignorance as to his whereabouts. The policeman
then gave them a week in which to find him, and reminded them that if
the man were not found by that time he should be compelled to arrest
the whole family. Within a week they handed over the culprit. He was
taken before the judge and charged with assault. He confessed, and
was sentenced to imprisonment for a definite time. All this time the
complainant was not summoned to appear; he was not asked to identify
the man, or to prosecute in any way. In fact, he knew nothing at all
about it until he received a letter from the officials telling him
that his assailant was in jail, and that if he wanted to interview the
prisoner he would be permitted to do so.

Many minor offences are punished with flogging. The man's hands and
feet are loosely fastened to a bamboo framework, and he is then
thrashed on the bare back, with a rattan rod. Deserters from the army
are thus punished. But in all cases a timely bribe will lighten the
weight of the descending rod, the guilty man meanwhile not forgetting
to howl and groan his loudest, so that the official who superintends
the execution of the punishment may not discover the fraud. The late
king is reported to have been very fond of this method of punishment,
and to have ordered frequent chastisement of his chief officials in
his own presence whenever he had cause, or thought he had cause, to
be seriously offended with them.

The punishment for murder is death by decapitation. Those who are
reprieved through the mercy of the king, lose their titles, rank and
property, and are branded on the arm. They are then condemned to the
degrading office of cutting grass for the king's elephants. They are
not allowed to hire anyone to perform their duties for them, but are
obliged to do the work set them until death puts an end to their tasks.

The execution of the death penalty is an impressive if barbarous
ceremony. Such occasions are very rare, and constitute about the
only events that are not attended with merry-making. The laughing,
joking, merry-hearted native forgets for once to chatter and be glad.
The interior of a court, a palace, a gaol, or a temple exercises no
restraining influence upon the voluble tongues of the people. But in
the presence of the executioners a deathly silence falls upon the
whole of the spectators, which is all the more intense and real by
reason of its rare occurrence. At the break of day, near a lonely
temple on the banks of a lonely canal, some distance from the city
walls, the prisoner is led to the spot where he must pay for life with
life. His feet and wrists are firmly manacled, and the clink-clank,
clink-clank of the chains in the still morning air is the only sound
heard as the vermilion-robed executioners bring their victim forth.
Presently the sound of chanting arises, and the brethren of the yellow
robe intone the prayers for the dead. The man's neck is fastened to
a bundle of bamboos, but he realises very little of what is taking
place, for the executioners, with a merciful consideration worthy of
much imitation in other walks of life, have thrown their victim into a
state of stupor by means of a powerful drug. Into his ears they have
rammed plugs of soft clay or mud, so that in case the drug should
fail, the wretched creature shall not hear their steps when they come
behind him to deliver the fatal blow. The executioners next plead to
Buddha for forgiveness, for they are about to break the well-observed
law, "Thou shalt not kill." They plead the command of the king and
the requirements of justice, and prostrate themselves on the ground.
Their prayers over, a silent signal is given, the red-robed figure
comes silently and slowly along with a quaint dancing gait; he raises
his keen-edged blade on high, and with one sweep of the weapon severs
the head from the trunk. The head is set up on a pole as a warning to
those present; the feet and hands of the victim are hacked off; the
fetters collected, and the crowd disperses silently, with the ominous
croaking of many birds of prey impressing the meaning of the lesson
upon their mournful hearts.



CHAPTER XII.

CEREMONIES FOR THE DYING AND THE DEAD.


Death is essentially awe-inspiring and mysterious, and in the case
of a people whose lives, from the cradle upwards, are lived in an
atmosphere of superstition, it is only to be expected that the
ceremonies for the dead should be duly and respectfully performed.

[Illustration: A ROYAL FUNERAL PROCESSION.

_Page 245._]

When a person is at the point of death, those by the bedside endeavour
to fix the thoughts of the dying one upon the "Great Teacher," whose
words are their hope and guide at such a time. Loudly and rapidly, at
least eight or ten times a minute, the watchers exclaim, "Pra Arahang,
Pra Arahang," this being one of the many names of the last Buddha.
With the mind dwelling upon the precepts of the ancient sage, the sick
one passes from this world of men, and the body lies stiff in death.
Still the cry goes forth, louder and more rapidly than before, "Pra
Arahang, Pra Arahang," so that the departed soul may not forget the
teacher as it takes its flight into another world. The cry ceases not
until the spirit has passed so far away that all hope of it hearing
the voices of earthly relatives must be abandoned. Then loud wailing,
the natural world-wide expression of uncontrollable grief, is heard
all over the house. Even the visitors, the domestics, the slaves and
others who might not be supposed to be so deeply affected by the loss
of the one who has passed away, join in the mournful chorus, as a
fitting way of showing their respect for the dead. If the person is
of high rank the body is bathed with great ceremony. The king himself
comes to the bedside to pour water over the corpse. Other princes
follow his example, after whom come the nobles present, according to
their rank. The corpse is dressed in pantaloons and a tight-fitting
jacket, wrapped in a winding-sheet and placed in a sitting posture
in a copper urn. A tube is placed in the mouth, and a mixture of
quicksilver and honey poured into the body. The copper urn, which has
a grating at the bottom, is next placed inside a golden urn richly
studded with precious stones. At the bottom of this urn there is a
stop-cock through which the products of decomposition are drained away
day by day, in the interval that elapses between the death and the
cremation of the body. As the urn is placed on a high pedestal a loud
blast is blown upon the trumpets, the ancient conch shell is sounded,
the wailing of relatives and friends bursts out afresh, and the band
plays sorrowfully a weird funeral dirge. This noisy demonstration is
known as "the invitation to the corpse to sit upon the platform."
All the insignia of office belonging to the deceased are arranged at
the foot of the urn, together with those articles he has continually
used in his daily life, such as his cigar case, his golden
betel-nut box, his spittoon, his jewellery, and his writing materials.
At dawn, at noon, and again at early evening, the women relatives and
domestics gather round the base of the pedestal to indulge in loud
and tearful moans. In the intervals between these demonstrations of
sorrow, the priests occupy the room, chanting the prayers for the
dead and other stanzas from their religious texts appropriate to the
occasion. The remains are kept for a long time, sometimes for several
years before they are burned.

All people are not cremated. If a man has committed suicide, or died a
sudden death, as by lightning, cholera, or small-pox, he is held to be
deficient in "merit" and not worth burning. Such people are buried. It
may here be noticed how little wood is really required to burn a body.
About two armfuls of fuel will reduce a corpse to ashes.

Upon the death of a king, it is the duty of his successor to make
preparations for the cremation. The royal burnings take place on an
open piece of ground in front of the Royal Palace in Bangkok, called
the "Pramane Ground." The word "Pramane" is the name of the structure
erected for the ceremony. A square is marked out on the ground, with
its sides about forty feet long. At the angles of the square are
placed four huge pillars of teak about two hundred feet long. These
pillars must be straight, of the finest timber to be found in the
kingdom, and must never have been used in any previous ceremony. They
lean towards each other at the top, forming a truncated pyramid, and
support a pyramidal structure which ends in a tall tapering spire
and is profusely decorated with gold-leaf and tinsel. A large fence
of newly cut bamboo is erected to enclose the central erection--the
pramane. In three sides of the fence, gates are placed midway. Inside
the fence there are a number of temporary buildings, one for the
priests, one for the king and royal family, and another for specially
invited visitors. The king's pavilion is easily distinguishable from
the rest by its wealth of crimson drapery and cloth of gold. The floor
of the enclosure is covered with a carpet of split bamboos, which has
been specially made for the occasion and may never again be used for
a similar purpose. At many points in the fence, royal seven-tiered
umbrellas of cloth of gold reflect the powerful sunlight with dazzling
brilliancy. Outside the enclosure another set of buildings is provided
for the use of the officials, while over the rest of the ground are
scattered theatres, puppet-shows, shadow plays and other forms of
amusement. Under the central pagoda is a royal throne richly draped,
and an eight-sided pyramid which rests upon a firm platform. From the
centre of the roof hangs a circular awning, from which long strips of
crape, white silk, and cloth of gold are carried to the four corners
of the pramane. The eight-sided pyramid is the resting-place of the
urn, and has a special canopy of cloth of gold. Floral wreaths and
other decorations, made with marvellous skill and taste, are displayed
in every available spot, while bits of glass and porcelain adorn the
pillars and reflect the light of the sun by day, and of the torches
and lamps by night. After sunset a general illumination of the whole
place occurs. It is produced by thousands of torches, oil lamps and
Chinese lanterns.

At dawn, on the first day of the celebration of the funeral rites,
the corpse is taken in a car to the scene of the ceremonies. The
first carriage in the sad procession is occupied by the high priest.
As it moves slowly along, he reads from the Buddhist scriptures the
passages on death, and fixes his thoughts upon the fleeting nature of
this earthly life. The second carriage contains the favourite children
of the deceased monarch, while the third is the funeral car. The
high priest holds in his hands, pressed closely against the sacred
book, one end of a long strip of silver ribbon. The ribbon is carried
backwards, passes through the hands of the children, and is fastened
at the other end to the golden urn which contains the remains. As
the priest reads, holy influences pass from the sacred words through
the ribbon to the living bodies of the children and the dead body of
their royal father. Other carriages follow the funeral car, one of
which contains sticks of fragrant wood, with gilded ends--the fuel
for the burning. Another is filled with representations of fabulous
animals made in bamboo and covered with tinsel. The head and tail of
the funeral procession are formed by the white-robed Brahmins in their
usual conical hats. The throbbing of the death-drums falls upon the
ear with a dull regular boom, boom, boom.

On arriving at the Pramane, the urn is placed upon the pagoda, there
to remain for seven days. The silver ribbon is fastened in the middle
to the urn, and at the ends to the east and west sides of the room,
thus indicating the path traversed by the sun in his daily round,
and symbolising the life of man in its passage from the cradle to
the grave. The priests assemble in great numbers to recite stanzas
bearing upon life and death, and upon the mysteries of Nirvana and the
hereafter. When their recitations are finished, they sit for a little
while, with bent heads, in silent meditation upon the things they have
spoken. They retire for a time, but return a few hours later to repeat
their solemn chants.

The mourning colour is white, and every subject must wear it when the
sovereign dies. Unfortunately black is being gradually substituted for
white. It is a very hot and ugly colour to wear in a tropical land.
Every subject must also shave completely the hair of his head, and
keep his head in this condition of baldness as long as the Court may
command.

Thousands of priests are on such occasions fed, and presented with
new robes, and books, and a crowd of miscellaneous articles, such as
clocks, boxes of cigars, trays of betel-nut, and umbrellas.

Here and there on the Pramane Ground are placed the "trees that
gratify the desires of men." They have no likeness to any tree at
all, but are hollow wicker baskets on the ends of long poles. Tied to
the "branches" are a number of fresh limes, each of which contains
either a small silver coin or a lottery ticket. They are supposed to
represent the four trees that will blossom at the four corners of the
city in which the next Buddha will be born. They will then produce all
kinds of delicious fruit in fabulous quantities. In the evening men go
up the wicker 'tree,' pluck off the limes and throw them to the crowd.
The greatest excitement prevails, and the people shriek and shout,
and tumble over each other in their endeavours to obtain one of the
coveted souvenirs.

A display of fireworks follows the distribution of limes. Birds,
water-spouts, "bellowing elephants," and many other fantastic forms
blaze, fizz, and explode. When the last spark has disappeared the
first sound of orchestral music is heard, and free open-air theatres,
puppet-shows, and shadow plays offer their several attractions for the
amusement of the people.

On the seventh day the urn of gold is taken from under the canopy,
and the copper one removed from it. All the inflammable drapery, and
all articles of any value are carried away to be beyond reach of
flame. A pile of fragrant wood and spices is neatly arranged, and
then the urn is placed thereon. A quick-burning fuse or train of
gunpowder is laid from the funeral pyre to the king's pavilion. At the
proper time, about sunset usually, he ignites the fuse with sacred
fire from the royal temple. Everyone who is permitted, goes at once
to the pramane, lights a candle, and lays it in the fire, thereby
increasing the brilliancy and intensity of the fire. Great care
has to be taken to prevent the whole structure and the surrounding
buildings being consumed in a general conflagration. Many people are
engaged in extinguishing the fire at places where it threatens to
exceed its proper limits. In about an hour the cremation of the body
is complete, and the fire is everywhere carefully extinguished. The
charred bones are placed in the golden urn once more, the original
pyramid rebuilt, and the draperies replaced as before. The ashes of
the fire are collected, wrapped up in muslin, placed on a golden dish,
taken in a procession of state barges some distance down the river,
and there thrown into the waters. For three days after the burning the
festivities are kept up, and general rejoicing prevails amongst the
crowd. The charred remains are kept in a room in the palace, specially
set aside for the reception of the royal remains. The timber used in
the construction of the pramane or of any of the attendant buildings,
can never be used again for funeral purposes. It is distributed to
the priests to be used by them in the erection or repairing of their
dwellings.

Such then is the ceremony that attends the death of a king. Other
members of the royal family and all princes and nobles of high rank
are also cremated with great pomp and with a lavish expenditure of
money. As the king's household is a very large one, and as a few
deaths occur every year, it would involve a fearful waste of time and
money if a separate funeral service were held for each of them in
turn. One by one as deaths occur, the dead bodies are placed in the
copper urn, and this again in the golden one, until a fairly large
number await their cremation. In 1895 a royal funeral ceremony was
held that lasted for a week, several bodies being burnt every day. The
illustration, "A Royal Funeral Procession", was made in connection
with this particular ceremony. The boxes seen passing through one of
the city gates were the coffins of the least honoured or distinguished
of the dead. Such a cremation, though performed with great state, is
not nearly so imposing as that connected with the death of a king.

[Illustration: THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.]

The poorer classes cannot afford the money to pay for fireworks,
theatres, and processions, but they do all that they possibly can to
show their respect for the dead, with becoming ritual. When a man is
thought to be nearing his end, the priests are called to his bedside.
They read to the dying man of his future births, of the blessed
Nirvana, and endeavour to drive all fear from his mind. When life is
extinct they sprinkle the body with water, and join the relatives
in the chorus "Pra Arahang, Pra Arahang". The body is washed, and
wrapped in a clean cloth, and money is placed in the mouth. It is then
put into an urn, if the friends can afford to buy one; but if not,
it rests simply in the coffin. The coffin is an oblong wooden box,
covered outside with wall-paper and tinsel, and has no lid. Food is
placed inside, and very often the body lies face downwards so that the
spirit shall not find its way back again. The coffin is removed from
the house through a hole in the wall, and not through the door, for if
the spirit of the deceased should be lingering near, it might refuse
to pass through the doorway into the outer world, and would then
remain to haunt the house and disturb its inhabitants. The coffin is
carried round and round the house three or four times, so as to baffle
the spirit that it may not be able to return to its former home. For
it must be remembered that these people believe that it takes the soul
seven days to reach its final destination, and there is always the
possibility of its being re-called from its onward flight by earthly
attractions, or by non-observance of the ceremonies that should be
performed.

The bearers next proceed to one of the temples which possesses a
public "Pramane" or crematorium. After the burning has taken place the
bones, or charred objects that look like bones, are collected from
the ashes, to be reverentially preserved by the relatives. As they
have no gold urns in which to store these relics, they keep them in
common thick glass tumblers of foreign manufacture, over which they
place a pagoda-like covering made of red lacquer and gilded by some
native artisan. On very particular occasions these remains are brought
out and distributed about the rooms, perhaps as a reminder to the
pleasure-seekers that death is ever with them.

Those who have died of cholera or by lightning, and who have
consequently been buried, are dug up a few months later, and what is
left of them committed to the flames.

Paupers and criminals are disposed of in a barbarous and revolting
manner. At one of the city temples a flock of vultures, numbering over
a hundred, is kept. The vultures are repulsive, dirty-looking birds
who sit stolidly hour by hour upon the roof or walls of the temple,
apparently without life or motion except when a body is brought for
their repast. Then they become keenly excited at the prospect of the
coming feast, for which, however, they must first do battle with the
crowd of pariahs that also haunt the vicinity of the same temple. They
flock down with noisy croaking and great flapping of wings, but are
beaten off by the attendants, who first prepare the body for the feast
by cutting it open in different places with large sharp knives. They
cast a few pieces of flesh to the dogs and then retire. In a second
the body is hidden by the birds, who settle upon it from head to foot.
Nothing is to be seen but a compact mass of quivering feathers. The
vultures gorge themselves with the flesh, never ceasing as long as
anything remains to be consumed, unless it be to make a vicious grab
at the head of some venturesome pariah who dares to interfere with
their enjoyment of the feast. It is a sickening spectacle, and its
only merit is that it is safer from a sanitary point of view to allow
the flesh to be eaten in this way than to bury it beneath the damp
soil near some human dwelling.

The meal over, the feathered cannibals return to their perches upon
roof and wall. The relatives gather up the clean white bones, put them
loosely in a wooden coffin, light wax tapers, and bearing the coffin
with them, march three times round the funeral pyre. They then light
the fire, place the coffin on the burning fuel, and scatter sweetly
smelling incense in the leaping flames.

There are two spirits who watch over and take charge of all
burning-places. They are familiarly spoken of as the "Grandfather
cocoa-nut shell," and the "Grandmother cocoa-nut shell."

To neglect the cremation ceremony would be as fatal to the happiness
of the departed soul in its future existence, as to neglect the
shaving of the top-knot would be to the success of a child in this.
The soul of the man whose body has not been consumed with fire passes
into everlasting and fearful servitude. It becomes the bond-slave
of a horrid master whose distinguishing personal characteristics are
a dog's head on a human body and a ferocious temper. He sits for
all time with his feet in the fires of hell, enjoying the infernal
heat, but as his enjoyment would cease were his extremities to be
consumed, he requires a body of servants to cool them. The souls of
the uncremated are his slaves, and it is their duty to carry through
the long years of eternity, water in open wicker baskets. Their way
to the wells lies across a long and perilous bridge, but over it they
must pass day by day without end as they perform their thankless task.
When the body is burned the soul is liberated from this terrible
bondage. There have been times when some frightful epidemic has
ravaged the city, and when the attendants in fear and trembling have
left the sick to die alone. Then the soldiers have been sent to gather
up the dead and cast them into the public graves. When the scourge
has spent itself and the minds of the living have become calm again,
the relatives of those who have not been burned begin to reflect upon
the awful fate that has overtaken the departed souls. Were they to go
to the public grave and dig up a body and burn it, it might not be
that of him they seek, and their efforts would be of no avail. But
they free the fettered soul in another manner. They believe that the
horrid monster of the nether regions knows all the names both of the
living and the dead, so that if they endeavour to perform any act
of propitiation he will know by whom and for whom the deed is done.
They obtain the release of the soul by promising to call themselves
in this life the relatives of the demon. It is merely a nominal
relationship, but it pleases the fiend with the burning feet, and in
return for the homage thus paid to his power he allows the captured
soul to go its way.

The worldly relations of the infernal spirit acknowledge their
relationship by getting from the priests several red and yellow
strings and binding them upon their necks, wrists and ankles. They
also make a little cart, and model two clay oxen which they harness
to the tiny shafts. In this they put clay images, one for each member
of the family. Round the chief joints of these toy images, red and
yellow strings are fastened by their owners. Offerings of flowers and
fruit are put in the cart and then it is taken to the rice-fields and
deposited in some convenient spot. The cart and its contents are soon
destroyed by the birds, the wind, and the little field-mice, but they
are never restored.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE ORDER OF THE YELLOW ROBE.

    "Lord Buddha sat the scorching summer through,
    The driving rains, the chilly dawns and eves;
    Wearing for all men's sakes the yellow robe,
    Eating in beggar's guise the scanty meal
      Chance gathered from the charitable."

    "_Light of Asia_," Book V.--ARNOLD.


Among the crowd of brightly dressed people who throng the streets
and alleys, the canals and rivers of Eastern Venice, there are none
who so soon command the attention of the new arrival, or who appeal
more strongly to the eye of the oldest inhabitant of the city, than
the yellow-robed priests of the Buddhist faith. In the capital of
Siam there are over ten thousand of them, while in the whole kingdom
there are more than one hundred thousand. No ancient order of Grey
or White Friars ever exhibited their individuality either with such
frequency, persistency, or picturesqueness as these representatives
of a far more ancient if less noble worship. It is scarcely necessary
in these days when Oriental creeds and faiths have been so fully
and widely discussed, to point out that the primal elements of that
philosophy which announced the necessity of the Buddhist priesthood
are entirely different to those which caused the creation of similar
institutions in the West. The monk of the Western orders claims to
be an intercessor between God and man. The Buddhists have no God,
and therefore they do not make intercession for their brethren. The
Western monk is a teacher and a preacher, the Buddhist priest may
be, but is by no means necessarily so. The order rests upon a basis
something like this:--The evil in the world is the result of past evil
and will be productive of future evil. The only way to eradicate the
general wickedness of the world is by casting it separately out of
each individual in the world. This can only be accomplished by the
individual himself, and as long as he remains in contact with the
world he is under constant temptation to indulge in its pleasures,
to gratify his passions, and to add in a thousand ways to the sum of
human misery. By retirement he no longer craves for fine food and
raiment, but has every opportunity for long and careful meditation
upon his own evil doings and desires, and upon the way to get rid of
them. The monastic institution finds its parallel in the life of a
layman, when such a one, with a large amount of work to be performed,
shuts himself up in his own room and denies himself friends and rest
that his labours may be properly accomplished.

There is no real division between priest and layman; either may become
the other at will. In Siam the monastic vow is not binding for life,
but is cancelled by the superior of the monastery whenever a request
to that effect is made. Every man in Siam enters the priesthood for
at least three months of his life, during which time he is supported
by the voluntary offerings of the people. The original purity and
simplicity of the mendicant order has long been lost. The Society has
often been endowed by kings and chiefs with gold and silver; idleness
and worthlessness are too often the characteristics of the temporary
priests. Still, there are a few who desire to live the noble life of
their Founder and to follow faithfully in his paths of wisdom and
virtue. For years they have been the schoolmasters and the doctors,
and the copiers and makers of books. They are known in Siamese as
"Pra," a word which means both "sacred" and "great."

Each monk has eight requisite and lawful possessions; namely, three
robes of yellow cloth which are all worn at the same time; a bowl for
the collection of the daily food; a razor with which to shave the
head and eyebrows; a case of needles for the repairing of clothes; a
girdle; and a filtering cloth. But the Siamese monks often have many
possessions besides these. There is a rule that all other property
except the above shall be given up to the common use of the monastery,
but the rule is not obeyed. The three patched yellow robes are often
represented by seven or more; and in the wealthier monasteries they
are not of common cloth, but of rich and beautiful silk. The term
"yellow" as applied to the priest's vestments is apt to convey a
wrong impression to the minds of those not acquainted with Buddhist
countries. In these degenerate times the monks desire that ornament
in dress which their religion forbids, and they render themselves
very artistic in appearance by a combination of colours not strictly
yellow, but ranging from a rich chocolate through shades of saffron,
gold and orange to the palest tints of the orthodox colour. The
following note from Alabaster's "Wheel of the Law" is an interesting
comment upon the priestly robes:

     "I cannot state with any certainty the reason yellow robes
     were adopted by the Buddhists. There is a story that
     thieves wore yellow dresses, and that the poor ascetics,
     in the depth of their humility, imitated the thieves. It
     is far more probable that the people of the lowest caste,
     or outcasts, were compelled to wear yellow, and that
     the Buddhists, voluntarily making themselves outcasts,
     proudly adopted the colour which marked their act. We find
     them boasting of the yellow robe as the flag of victory
     of the saints. In the early days of Buddhism the monks
     wore whatever they could get. Some picked up and patched
     together the rags strewn about the cemeteries, whilst
     others are mentioned as magnificently attired in glittering
     royal vestments, and in the precious dresses procured
     by kings for the ladies of the harems, which the ladies
     piously gave away."

Each priest also possesses a large fan. It is intended to assist him
in keeping his eyes from the things of the world, and so to keep
his thoughts from straying as he walks along the streets. A priest
is forbidden to look more than a plough's length in front of him,
and must keep his eyes fixed upon the ground; but the Siamese monk
who obeys this rule must be diligently sought for in out of the way
corners. The fan is generally carried by a boy attendant, who holds it
so as to screen the priest's head from the sun, while his eyes roam at
will, seeking for novelty and amusement.

[Illustration: PRIEST AND ATTENDANT.]

All those who wear the yellow robe are not men. Many children can
daily be seen with shaven heads and eyebrows, dressed in the priestly
garments. These are novices or "nanes," not fully ordained monks.
They are not admitted before they are eight years old, and, unless
their parents intend them to remain in the monasteries for life, they
wait until the top-knot has been shaved off before entering into the
service of the temple, so that their average age is about thirteen.
After a time they leave the temple, return to the world, and get
married. But about the age of twenty or twenty-one they must re-enter
the priesthood, for in early manhood every male, including the king
himself, must seek full ordination. The "nane" during his noviciate
has only about ten rules to observe, whereas the fully ordained priest
has to obey over two hundred.

The ceremony of ordination if respectfully and devoutly performed
would be a very impressive one, but as at present carried out,
the only persons in the temple who are at all reverent are the
priests themselves. The behaviour of the congregation is marked by
indifference and often by extreme levity. When an applicant desires
admission to the priesthood he signifies his request sometime
beforehand to the president of the chapter, who then appoints a day
for him to be formally received. The applicant arrives at the temple
with a host of relatives and friends dressed as for a holiday. He is
clothed in white, and over his ordinary garments he wears a mantle of
gauze decorated with gold and silver spangles. A procession is formed,
and to the sound of a band that plays in the open air, he and his male
friends march three times round the outside of the temple. He next
enters the building and sits down on the floor in a place reserved for
him. The women of the party sit on one side of the temple and the
men on the other. They all chew betel-nut, and the men smoke, while
all refresh their thirst from the numerous tea-pots that circulate
round and round the congregation. At the far end of the building the
priests are arranged in two or more rows, facing each other, with the
president at their head.

One of the friends of the candidate who has already been ordained,
leads him to the superior, saying, "I present this person who wishes
to become a priest." The applicant prostrates himself before the
president three times, with his hands pressed against his forehead,
palm to palm, and says, "Venerable president, I own you as my
ordainer." The president fastens the bundle of robes round his neck,
and he goes to the entrance of the temple, where two friends who are
members of the chapter, fasten the begging bowl round his neck. The
three men then return to the altar and bow. The candidate retires
a little way, and kneels in reverential attitude while he answers
several questions. A private examination has previously taken place.
The president now reminds him that he is expected to give truthful
replies to the questions put to him, and then puts him publicly
through the following catechism.

     "Are you free from consumption, fits, leprosy, or any
     contagious disease?"

     "I am free."

     "Have you ever been bewitched or in the power of the
     magicians?"

     "Never."

     "Are you in the full possession of all your mental
     faculties?"

     "I am."

     "Are you of the male sex?"

     "I am."

     "Are you in debt?"

     "I am not." (Many people endeavour to enter the priesthood
     in order to avoid payment of their debts.)

     "Are you a slave or a fugitive?"

     "I am not." (Those drawn for conscription often seek
     admission, as the forced military service is very
     unpopular.)

     "Do your parents give their consent to the step you are now
     about to take?"

     "They consent."

     "Are you over twenty years of age?"

     "I am."

     "Have you the requisite utensils and garments?"

     "I have."

     "Then come forward."

The candidate goes forward on hands and knees, and with palm-joined
hands salutes the president three times, saying, "O father benefactor,
I pray to be admitted to the sacred dignity of the priesthood. Take
pity on me and raise me from the lowly condition of the laity to the
perfect condition of the priesthood."

The presiding priest next asks the monks of the chapter whether any
of them know any just or lawful reason why the candidate should not
have his request granted. If none of them state any objection, the
president signifies his willingness to admit the candidate to full
ordination. The name, age, and address of the applicant are now
written down in the records of the monastery, after which he goes to
one side of the temple to be robed. He takes off the clothes he has
been wearing and puts on his new garments in full view of the whole
congregation. This is not at all an easy matter, and he is always
assisted by some friend who has previously gone through the same
ordeal. If the friend gets the robes entangled, as he frequently does,
the congregation laughs immoderately at the uncomfortable dilemma
in which the candidate is placed. The difficulty is solved by some
kindly-disposed priest, who leaves his place and comes to assist
in the robing. With fan in hand and the alms-bowl slung over the
shoulder, the wearer of the yellow robe kneels once more before the
superior, saying:--


     "I go for refuge to the Buddha."

     "I go for refuge to the Law."

     "I go for refuge to the Order."

     He follows this by taking ten vows:--

     1 "I take the vow not to destroy life."

     2 "I take the vow not to steal."

     3 "I take the vow to abstain from impurity."

     4 "I take the vow not to lie."

     5 "I take the vow to abstain from intoxicating drinks,
     which hinder progress and virtue."

     6 "I take the vow not to eat at forbidden times."

     7 "I take the vow to abstain from dancing, singing, music,
     and stage-plays."

     8 "I take the vow not to use garlands, scents, unguents, or
     ornaments."

     9 "I take the vow not to use a broad or high bed."

     10 "I take the vow not to receive gold or silver."

Then the president says to him, "You are now received into the
brotherhood. I will therefore instruct you what duties you are to
perform and what sins you are to avoid. You will daily collect alms
and will never put off your yellow robes. You must dwell continually
in a monastery and never with the laity, and you must forsake all
carnal pleasures," and so on.

The ceremony concludes with the paying of homage to the newly made
priest. He sits on the floor, and then all present who are acquainted
with him come, one by one, and prostrate themselves to the ground
before him, at the same time giving him some present. If he has many
friends, the floor of the temple round him is soon covered with about
as motley an assortment of articles as it is possible to gather. There
are robes, incense sticks, books, pens and ink, pencils, cigars,
tobacco, betel-nut, clocks, vases of wax flowers, umbrellas, fans,
flowers, fruit and cakes. When all the presents have been given and
the congregation have paid their respects to the new monk, they go
to their homes, and he at once takes up his residence in the cell
allotted him. As long as he remains at the monastery he must obey
orders and regard the superior as a second father.

The monks are not allowed to take food after noon. They may drink
tea, chew betel-nut, or smoke tobacco, but they must not partake of
solid food of any description. This rule is certainly far more rigidly
observed than most of those that are laid down to regulate the conduct
of the order. One of the commonest sights in any part of Siam is the
procession of priests, soon after sunrise, seeking their daily bread.
They carry a bowl, basin or bag, and go straight on from house to
house, each in the district appointed him. They stand outside the
houses, but make no request for alms. If anything is given to them
they bless the giver; if they receive nothing they pass silently on
their way. Having collected their food, they return to the monastery
to eat, and to meditate meanwhile upon the perishableness of the body.
On such occasions as weddings, hair-cuttings, and funerals, wealthy
laymen entertain the priests at their own houses, and send them away
afterwards with further gifts of food.

Buddha's early life as a mendicant was passed in the forest, and he
held that the solitude and quiet of such a place was conducive to that
long process of self-examination and renunciation which constitutes
the distinguishing feature of the order. But as he afterwards found
that he could be more useful to men by living amongst them, he
permitted his disciples to live in companies in different places. The
charity of the pious soon provided them with temples and monasteries,
some of which were built even in his own time.

During the whole of the dry weather the monks travel from place to
place, but in the rainy season, which is the Buddhist Lent, they
settle down in some particular monastery. They are not allowed to
sleep outside the temple they have chosen for their habitation during
this period of retirement, except for some very important reason, and
then only with the direct sanction of the superior. As at this time
the jungle is flooded, and malaria common, there is much wisdom in the
rule that forbids travelling about until the dry weather comes again.
The priests, during Lent, preach to the people, who come in large
numbers to listen, and to bring offerings. It is a very busy religious
season as far as outward appearances are concerned, but the apparent
indifference of the majority of the worshippers raises a doubt as to
whether these observances possess any moral influence upon their lives.

The catalogue of the sins which the priests may not commit is a
lengthy one and is religiously neglected. For instance, it is a sin
to inhale flowers, to sit or sleep more than twelve inches above
the ground, to break up the soil, to listen to music, to sing, to
dance, to use perfumes, to sit or sleep in a higher position than
the superior, to use gold or silver, to hold conversation on any but
religious topics, to take gifts from or give gifts to a woman, to
borrow, to ask for alms, to possess warlike weapons, to eat too much,
to sleep too long, to take part in any sports or games, to judge
one's neighbours, to swing the arms when walking, to bake bricks, to
burn wood, to wink, to stretch out the legs when sitting, to look
contemptuously at any one or anything, to buy, to sell, to slobber
or make a noise when eating, to have any hair anywhere about the
head or face, to keep the leavings of meals, to have many robes, to
meddle with royal affairs except in so far as they concern religion,
to cook rice, to ride on an elephant, to put flowers in the ears, to
wear shoes, to love one man more than another, to eat seeds, to sleep
after meals, to make remarks about the alms given to them, to wear any
colour but yellow, to pander to popular taste when preaching sermons,
to wash in the dark, to destroy either animal or vegetable life, and
to whistle.

There are five sins that will certainly lead to everlasting
punishment, whether committed by a priest or layman, viz., to murder
one's father, to murder one's mother, to murder a priest, to treat
the words or temples of Buddha with contempt, expressed as "to wound
Buddha's foot so as to make it bleed," and to persuade priests to act
falsely.

Members are expelled from the order on commission of the following
sins:--Sexual intercourse, theft, and murder. After such expulsions
they can never be re-admitted. Confessions of sin are made twice a
month, at full and new moon, when the chapter meets to listen to
the reading of the rules of the order. There is no inquisition;
confession is purely voluntary. Slight punishments, such as sweeping
the courtyard, or sprinkling dust round the holy Bo-tree follow the
acknowledgment of slight breaches of duty. Serious offences are tried
in the ecclesiastical courts, for the priestly body is not amenable to
the ordinary laws of the land. In these courts, presided over by the
chief priest, no oath is taken. An ordinary affirmation or negative
answer to any question is given in silence by the raising and lowering
of a fan. If the defendant is found guilty he is unfrocked, publicly
flogged, and then expelled from the order.

[Illustration: OFFERING RICE TO THE PRIESTS.]

The priest must rise before daylight, wash himself, sweep the room in
which he lives, sweep round the Bo-tree, fetch the drinking water for
the day, filter it to prevent killing any creatures it may contain
when drinking it. These practical offices concluded, he is supposed to
retire to a solitary place and there fix his mind in pious meditation
upon the rules that regulate his daily life. He rises to place
offerings of flowers before the sacred image, the sacred dome-shaped
shrine or the Bo-tree, thinking the whole time of the great contrast
between his own weaknesses and Buddha's virtues. The next portion of
the daily routine is strictly and regularly followed. He takes the
begging-bowl, follows his superior, collects his food, returns, eats
his meal, asks a blessing for the donor, performs little duties for
his superior, and washes the alms-bowls. For the next hour he should
again meditate upon the kindness of Buddha, and then study the sacred
books. At sunset he sweeps the holy place, lights the lamps, and
listens to the teaching of the superior. As the novices do all the
manual work, the superior is expected to devote himself more fully
to study and meditation. Many of the chief priests of the different
temples are profound Sanscrit and Pali scholars. The minute routine
set forth in the ecclesiastical books is rarely followed in Siam.
Priests walk about after sunset, and return late to the temples,
their attendants lighting the way with torches. The time they give to
meditation and worship is far short of that prescribed in the rules,
and they are always ready to turn out for a chat with any visitor to
their temple.

Meditation is the Buddhist substitute for prayer. There are five
distinct classes of meditation.[H]

1.--Meditation on love. The priest must think of the future happiness
which awaits him when he has rid himself of all evil desires. This
leads him to desire the same happiness for all his friends; and
finally for his foes. He meditates upon the good actions of his
enemies, forgets their evil deeds, and endeavours to arouse in himself
a wide-spreading, all-embracing, overshadowing love for all the world,
which shall enable him to look with tenderness and affection upon all
with whom he comes into contact.

2.--Meditation on Pity. He concentrates his thoughts upon the miseries
and sorrows of the world, and awakens the sentiment of pity in his own
breast for all the distressed ones among his fellow-men.

3.--Meditation on Joy. He is to change the attitude of his mind to one
of contemplation of the joys of all men, and therein to find cause for
rejoicing himself.

4.--Meditation on Impurity. He must try to realise the evils of
sickness, death, and corruption, to become horrified at the endless
misery entailed by the continual recurrence of birth and death, and to
desire its final extinction.

5.--Meditation on Serenity. The priest contemplates the worldly
opinions of men as to the badness and goodness of things; the desire
for wealth and power; the hatred of injustice and oppression; he
contrasts youth and disease, love and treachery, honour and disgrace,
and endeavours so to rise above them all, that without haughtiness or
pride he may be indifferent to all the evils and joys which accompany
them, and free from all desires to partake of the same.

This is not the place to discuss the philosophy of Buddha, as we are
here concerned only with the mendicant order in Siam. But in order to
gain a more complete idea of the duties and character of the monastic
body as contemplated by their founder, the following facts taken from
Professor Rhys Davids's work on "Buddhism" are here given.

Buddha before his death told his disciples that they were to propagate
his Laws, viz., (1) The four earnest meditations. (2) The four great
Efforts. (3) The four roads to Iddhi. (4) The five moral Powers. (5)
The seven kinds of Wisdom; and (6) The Noble Eightfold Path.

The four earnest Meditations are: (1) On the impurity of the body; (2)
on the evils which arise from sensation; (3) on the impermanence of
ideas; (4) on the conditions of existence.

The four great Efforts are--the exertion (1) to prevent bad qualities
from arising; (2) to put away bad qualities which have arisen; (3) to
produce goodness not previously existing; (4) to increase goodness
where it does exist.

The four roads to Iddhi are the four bases of Saintship by which
it is obtained. They are: (1) the will to acquire it; (2) the
necessary exertion; (3) the necessary preparation of the heart; (4)
investigation.

The five moral Powers are--Faith, Energy, Recollection, Contemplation,
Intuition.

The seven kinds of Wisdom are--Energy, Recollection, Contemplation,
Investigation of Scripture, Joy, Repose and Serenity.

The noble Eightfold Path which leads to Nirvana comprises: (1) Right
belief; (2) Right aims; (3) Right words; (4) Right behaviour; (5)
Right mode of livelihood; (6) Right exertion; (7) Right mindfulness;
(8) Right meditation and tranquillity.

All these different Powers, Laws, etc., are again subdivided and
re-subdivided; but the above lines will be sufficient to outline the
moral philosophy of that system which not only the priests should bear
out in their lives, but to which every true believer in Buddhism is
expected to conform. Practically, however, these counsels are so many
obsolete laws, long since dead and forgotten. Outside the permanent
priests and a few students, the vast majority of the people know
nothing whatever about the system, and if some of the learned writers
upon Buddhism in Europe were to preach their Buddhist sermons to the
subjects of the only independent Buddhist king remaining, the people
would stare in wonder at their new teachers and ask one another what
strange doctrines were these that were being preached unto them.

Buddha's own sermons as to the duties of the priesthood are worth a
moment's notice, though the priests as a rule have never heard them,
or heard them with indifferent ears. The following passages are quoted
from the book mentioned above, and are translations of passages in
those sermons whose authenticity is established.

     "He who, himself not stainless,
     Would wrap the yellow-stained robe around him,
     He, devoid of self-control and honesty
     Is unworthy of the yellow robe."

     "But he who, cleansed from stains,
     Is well grounded in the Precepts,
     And full of honesty and self-restraint
     'Tis he who's worthy of the yellow robe."

     "The restrained in hand, restrained in foot,
     Restrained in speech, the best of self-controlled;
     He whose delight is inward, who is tranquil
     And happy when alone--him they call _mendicant_."

     "The mendicant who controls his tongue, speaking
     Wisely, and is not puffed up,
     Who throws light on worldly and on Heavenly things,
     His word is sweet."

     "Let his livelihood be kindliness,
     His conduct righteousness,
     Then, in the fulness of gladness,
     He will make an end of grief."

     "As the Vassika plant casts down its withered blossoms
     So cast out utterly, O mendicants, ill-will and lust."

     "Do no violence to a Brahman,
     But neither let _him_ fly at his aggressor.
     Woe to him who strikes a Brahman;
     More woe to him who strikes the striker."

     "What is the use of plaited hair, O fool!
     What of a garment of skins?
     Your low yearnings are within you,
     And the outside thou makest clean."

     "A mendicant, who is fond of disputes, is walled in by
     ignorance, and understands neither religion nor the law of
     Gautama."

     "A mendicant having received in right time, his meal,
     returning alone, should sit in private, reflecting within
     himself; he should not spread out his mind; his mind should
     be well controlled. Should he speak with a follower of
     the Buddha or another mendicant, he should speak of the
     excellent Law, and not backbite or speak ill of another.
     Some fortify themselves for controversy. We praise not
     those small-minded persons. Temptations from this source
     and that are made to cling to them, and they certainly send
     their minds very far away when they engage in controversy."

The mendicant that Gautama had in his mind when he uttered the above
passages, may be as easily discovered amongst the thousands that wear
the yellow robe to-day, as a needle in a mountain of hay.

After a short interval the priests put off their robes and return
to the world. If they are wanted for _corvée_ or conscription they
stay an indefinite period in their safe retreat. The yellow robes are
never taken away, but are given by him who is leaving them, to one
of the inmates of the same monastery. If a priest is thought to be
dying the robes are taken from him, for they must not be contaminated
with death. They are afterwards hung on the sacred Bo-tree, but never
burned. Anyone who has once been a priest, but has returned to a
secular life, may re-enter the priesthood whenever he chooses, but he
must be again formally presented and ordained.

In the vicinity of several temples women with shaven heads and white
dresses are sometimes seen. They are not always mourners for the
dead, but belong to an order of nuns. The first nun was Buddha's
foster-mother, who after the death of his father, wished to be
ordained. Buddha at first refused to comply with her wishes, but on
the intercession of his favourite disciple, Ananda, he granted the
request. Ananda's wife, a half-sister of Buddha, was also subsequently
ordained as a nun. The order of nuns does not appear to have been
at any time half as flourishing as that of the monks. Nuns in Siam
are very old widows. They do no teaching, sewing, or work of any
description. To them the temple is a form of alms-house where they
will be lodged and fed as long as they live.



CHAPTER XIV.

AMONG THE TEMPLES.


Every single town and village of Siam is crowded with temples, or
"wats," as they are locally called. Compared with similar religious
institutions in England, their number seems to be out of all
proportion to the number of the population. Their variety of size
and method of decoration, as well as their number, is sufficiently
conspicuous to make even the most casual observer enquire why they
abound to such an extent. And the reason for this superabundance of
religious edifices is not to be found in the immense number of people
who are popularly supposed to believe in the teachings of Buddha, but
rather in a very prevalent, but degraded form of one of the tenets
of an originally pure doctrine. For though it is usually stated that
five hundred millions of people are believers in, and followers of
"The Light of Asia," no one who has lived in a Buddhist country will
venture to assert that half that number are regular attendants at
the temple on the Buddhist Sunday, or that the vast majority of the
people do anything more than passively accept the superstitions of
their forefathers without ever enquiring or even caring whether they
are the true teachings of Buddha or not. Ask any person you meet a
few questions about the sage who propounded the faith that they are
supposed to hold, and it will be speedily discovered that even those
who are most assiduous in their attendance at the temple, and who
are most charitable in the offerings they give to their priests,
know little of the life and less of the teachings of him whom they
apparently worship. It will be at once evident to the readers of the
foregoing chapters of this book, that the people whose customs are
here treated of, though nominally Buddhists, and classed _en masse_
as such in Western calculations of the number of those who worship
the great Indian teacher of old, are guided in their daily lives, not
by the principles of an old world faith, but rather by a number of
powerful superstitions gathered at different times from the different
nations by whom they are surrounded, or with whom they have come into
close contact, which superstitions have little if anything to do with
Buddhism. It is not possible to call them Buddhists at all, if the
term is to be used as comparable to the term Christian as applied to
the believers in Christ in Western lands. The great moral precepts of
their religion are not taught to them, are unknown to them, and it is
very questionable if the Sanskrit words for benevolence, gratitude,
charity, and kindred virtues have any parallel in the ordinary
everyday vocabulary of the people. Even if such words do exist, they
are only understood by the learned few, and would be as utterly
incomprehensible to the great mass of the people as Greek and Latin.

[Illustration: A VILLAGE TEMPLE.

_Page 281._]

Temples then, not being required as houses of continual or devout
worship, why do they abound, not only in the capital, but in every
village, and on the banks of every river and canal throughout the
length and breadth of the whole kingdom? The explanation is found in
the fact that the people believe that in order to make merit during
this life to save themselves from misery in some future existence,
they must among other things follow "the religion which teaches
alms-giving." "Make merit." That is the sum and substance of their
religious faith and worship. As every reader of Buddhism knows, the
soul is said to pass through many stages of existence before it
reaches the mysterious region of Nirvana, and that it is possible for
any soul to pass even beyond the shadowy confines of this debatable
territory and finally attain the perfect condition of Buddhahood. At
death, the merit and demerit of the soul are balanced, and the next
condition of the wandering soul determined according to a system of
debit and credit. The wicked king may be re-born as a slave or even
pass into the body of a toad. The soul of a slave may be re-born
in one of royal degree or may even ascend to an habitation in the
celestial spheres. Hence it behoves every living being during this
life upon earth to make as much merit as it possibly can, and as
the custom of alms-giving is held to be a very profitable method
of investment for the future, it is widely practised by king
and peasant alike, each giving to the priests or to those of his
fellow-men who may be in distress, according to the abundance of his
possession of this world's goods. That portion of Buddha's teaching
which deals with the law of cause and effect in its relation to the
progression or retrogression of migrating souls, has been lost to all
except the few, and a mere superstition reigns in its stead.

An English resident in Siam had a servant who frequently absented
himself from his duties. On each occasion, when questioned by his
master as to the cause of his absence, he replied, "Please, sir,
I went to make merit." Said the Englishman, perhaps a little too
irreverently, "At the rate you are making merit, I should think you
would be an archangel when you die."--"Ah no," replied the servant, "I
don't want to be an angel. I don't want to get to Nirvana. I shouldn't
like to make enough merit to get to Nirvana; I only want to make just
enough merit to be born back again into this world as a royal prince,
with lots of money, plenty of wives and heaps of fun."

"Merit" is made in many other ways besides alms-giving and feeding
the priests. A woman who was robbed devoted the lost money to
merit-making, and gave it charitably away. Even the scattering of
limes containing lottery tickets at important cremations and public
ceremonies is considered merit-making. Tradition relates that when
Buddha was being sorely tempted by the evil Mara, he appealed to the
fiend to answer whether or not, he, the tempted one, had not in his
lifetime on earth been conspicuous for generous alms-giving, and the
world made affirmative answer for him by a gigantic earthquake. And so
the modern Buddhist believes that his merit-making and his alms-giving
will cry out on his behalf when he passes from this earthly life into
some other condition at present unrevealed to him.

Even their reluctance to kill any living thing is merely another form
of the same belief. That it is wrong to destroy the life of anything,
be it that of a seed or that of a snake, for the reasons taught by
Buddha, they do not seem to know. But they have it firmly established
amongst their current superstitions that to take life would be an act
of demerit that would be reckoned against them in the future, and so
they abstain from killing, though they will readily eat what others
have destroyed. They justify their fishing operations by saying that
they do not kill the fish, but that they only pull them out of the
water, after which they die a natural death.

[Illustration: "SALA" IN A JUNGLE CLEARING.

_Page 286._]

Now one of the most ostentatious ways of purchasing future happiness
is the building of a "wat." There the priests will find a home; there
the people may adorn the images, make frequent offerings to Buddha,
and engage in other meritorious works; there the children may be
taught to read and write; and there all men may see a lasting evidence
of the wealth and devotion of the builders. And so temples were built
year by year without ceasing, until there are hundreds more than would
be wanted even if every man, woman, and child in the land were regular
worshippers. Time lays its heavy hand upon these perishable
structures and works their ruin. Seeds sprout in nooks and crevices
and their growing roots burst open the walls and roofs. The torrent
rains lend their powerful aid in the work of destruction, and in the
course of the builder's lifetime the sacred building may become a
ruin. But until quite lately, these "wats" were never repaired; they
were built and left to crumble. The continued erection of temples has
been suspended during late years, partly owing to the influence of the
king, who has wisely urged that the repairing of an old and falling
"wat" is a more useful and equally effective way of making merit than
the building of a new one.

The word "wat," or temple, includes many structures. They frequently
stand in extensive grounds, shaded by giant banyans, and surrounded
by strong, well-built walls or fences. They are refuges for destitute
animals as well as for men seeking retirement. The litter of pariah
puppies that must not be destroyed, although not wanted, is deposited
inside the temple grounds, there to be fed on the scraps that remain
when the monks have finished their midday meal. The central building
or church where the idols are kept, the prayers recited, and the
priests ordained, is called the "bote." Round about it are the houses
or cells inhabited by the monks. These may be of wood or stone, of
an orthodox cell-like pattern, or they may be ordinary native houses
specially erected in the precincts of the "bote" for the accommodation
of the priests. They should possess no furniture, and rarely do so.

All temples may be divided into two classes, called respectively
Wat Luang and Wat Ratsadon. The first are endowed and dedicated by
royalty, while the second class comprises all others. The land on
which these buildings are erected becomes for ever the property of
the chapter, and cannot be taken away by law, or sold, or in any way
disposed of for secular purposes. The central buildings are chiefly
of a uniform oblong shape, and are built of wood, brick, or stone,
the outer walls being washed or painted white. A colonnade runs
round the outside, supported by strong, square pillars of teak-wood,
that lean inwards from the base to the roof. The roof may be built
in one, two or three tiers, but is always covered with differently
coloured tiles arranged in symmetrical patterns. Gold-leaf is lavishly
used in the ornamentation of the gabled ends of the roof, and a new
temple, with the mid-day sun shining full upon it, presents a very
brilliant appearance, especially when seen through the bright green
foliage around it. The walls are pierced by a number of windows which
are closed by strong teak shutters. The doors of the poorer temples
are of plain, unvarnished, undecorated teak, and though solid, are
not handsome. In the wealthier "wats" the decoration of doors and
windows is often very beautiful. The doors are either ornamented with
very intricate designs worked in gold upon a black background, or
with scenes in the life of Buddha worked in mother-of-pearl upon a
foundation of shining black lacquer. The interiors of the numerous
"botes" are variously adorned. There may be only dirty walls, or
brilliant mosaics, elaborate designs or painted pictures. Some of the
pictures are extremely funny. In one of the temples in the capital,
the artist who has been entrusted with the internal decorations has
mixed together in ludicrous confusion, scenes from the life of Buddha,
events in Hindoo mythology, and rough reproductions of old European
drawings. He has placed a number of European ladies and gentlemen of
the time of Louis XIV, on the side of a hill, where they are enjoying
themselves with dance and song. It is a rural picnic. Under the hill
is a railway tunnel with a train about to enter, and on the summit is
Buddha in a contemplative attitude brooding over the whole, but owing
to the faulty perspective of the drawing, it is impossible to state
whether Buddha is contemplating the scene of merriment, or brooding
over the curious handiwork of the designer.

One image of Buddha in a sitting posture occupies the place of honour
at the far end of the temple, facing the door. The number of smaller
images varies considerably from half a dozen to several hundreds.
In one of the temples in the old capital of Ayuthia there are over
twenty thousand. They are covered all over with gold-leaf, and the
eyes of the larger ones are made of mother-of-pearl. Some of the most
barbarous laws in the Siamese civil code relate to the profanation of
idols. They are never enforced now, and any need for them must at any
time have been very small.

Section 48 of the above code is: "If a thief steal an image of Buddha,
and use various devices for removing its ornaments, such as washing or
smelting, let him be put into a furnace and be treated in exactly the
same way as he treated the image, and thus pay for his wickedness."

Section 49 says, "If any thief strip a Buddha image of its gold or
gilding, let him be taken to a public square and a red-hot iron rubbed
over him till he is stripped of his skin, as he stripped the image of
its gold, and thus pay for his crime. If a thief scratch the gold from
a Buddha image, pagoda, or temple, or sacred tree, let his fingers be
cut off."

Heaped round the altar are the offerings of the merit-makers,--old
bottles, Birmingham-made vases, clocks, china, saucers, joss-sticks,
looking-glasses, bits of coloured glass, and many other articles of
equally trivial value. In addition to these things for the adornment
of the altar or the use of the temple, the priests also receive food,
clothes, money, mosquito netting, boats and small pieces of native
furniture. After a big alms-giving day the interior of the sacred pile
looks something like an auction room awaiting the commencement of a
sale.

The "Prachadee" is a conspicuous feature of all ecclesiastical
architecture. It is a brick or stone monument, round at the base,
but tapering to a long thin spire at the top, as shown in several of
the illustrations in this book. It represents the primitive tope or
relic mound, and covers either a relic or an image of Buddha. When a
genuine relic cannot be obtained, an imitation of one answers the same
purpose. Around the "bote", the most holy of all the buildings, are
placed eight stones, one at each of the eight chief points of the
compass. They are called "bai sema," and are cut in the shape of the
leaf of the _ficus religiosa_ or Bo-tree. They mark out the boundaries
of the consecrated part of the "wat." They are erected when the temple
is first consecrated. Eight round smooth stones are first buried a
little way below the ground, together with the relic or image. Holy
water is sprinkled over them, and across the boundary thus formed the
spirits of evil intent have not the courage to intrude. Small, solid,
cubical platforms of brick are built over the stones, and on the
platforms are placed the gilded or painted stone representations of
the sacred leaf. These again are covered with a canopy of stone cut in
a similar shape, and often elaborately carved or inlaid with mosaics.

Every monastery has its bell-tower, whose chimes call the priests to
prayers, tell when the sun has crossed its mid-day path, and "toll the
knell of parting day". The towers are of wood and have three stories,
in each of which is placed one bell. The bells are painted pale blue,
and ornamented with broad plain bands of gold-leaf, which run round
the rim, and also divide the surface into four equal segments. They
are remarkable for their purity of tone, and are not to be equalled
by the bells usually found in Western churches. The tone is soft and
sweet, and at the same time so penetrating that it can be heard for
long distances. The bells are not rung, but are beaten. The first few
strokes are given slowly and gently, then they gradually increase in
rapidity and force, till the bell resounds under a torrent of blows,
the tone becoming louder and louder, but never jarring or discordant.

Not only at every temple, but in many secluded spots at the entrances
to lonely canals, and on the edges of the distant jungle, rest-houses
are built for the use of wanderers. They are called "salas", and to
build a "sala" is a work of merit. As the erection of one of these
rest-houses involves less expense than the building of a temple,
they are therefore even more abundant than the temples. They consist
simply of a wooden platform raised a few feet above the ground by
strong posts. Several pillars round the sides of the platform support
a thatched or tiled roof. There are no walls and no rooms. Here the
traveller, be he native or foreigner, may hold a picnic, may eat,
rest, and sleep without expense or interruption. Madmen and lunatics
choose the rest-houses near the temples as places where they can live
quietly without fear of molestation.

The description given above would apply to the majority of Siamese
temples. But it is worth our while to look in detail at a few of the
more noted temples in the capital.

The royal temple, Wat Prakow, stands within the circumference of the
outer wall that surrounds the palace and the government offices,
and on account of the part it plays in important State ceremonies,
and because it is the king's own place of worship, it is far more
elaborate than any of the other temples of the country. At this
temple the water of allegiance is taken and the oath of allegiance
is sworn, and in the same building was held the requiem service for
the late Crown Prince. A central "prachadee" stands in the courtyard
of the temple, surrounded by many similar structures of lesser height
and beauty. The large one in the centre towers high above all the
surrounding buildings, and is said to be covered with plates of gold.
It certainly looks like a solid mass of that precious metal, and at
sunrise and sunset when it catches the roseate hues of the rising or
the setting sun, its golden surface can be seen from afar, shining
and glittering like a second sun itself, above the coloured roofs of
the temples and the white or many-tinted spires that are associated
with it. The smaller relic mounds are covered with mosaics of glass
and enamel roughly set in plaster. The bits of glass and enamel are
not laid in the plaster so as to form a level surface, but here and
there they stand out in tiny rosettes, branches and flowers, and fruit
and animals. At a distance the rude character of the workmanship is
totally hidden, the tawdry appearance of the material is completely
lost, and as the uneven surfaces reflect the brilliant light of the
sun, the spire-capped shrines form a series of glittering satellites
around the central spire of gold.

From the temple courtyard the roof of the large and imposing
modern palace can be seen. In the centre, and at either end of the
triple-coloured roof, is one of those crown-shaped spires so common
in all state and ecclesiastical buildings in Siam. It has been
stated that "upon a nearer approach to the magnificent spectacle of
Wat Prakow, so dazzling is the effect that it is hard to convince
yourself that you are not actually standing before buildings set with
precious stones." Now this is not by any means true. The temples
of Buddha in Siam are like Buddhism itself, seen to the greatest
advantage when distance has lent its proverbial enchantment. Even as
the moral teaching of the great philosopher when viewed through the
spectacles of Western professors, is a very different creed to that
followed by the people, so the temples when seen through the golden
mist of early morning from a distant point of view, are brilliant and
beautiful beyond description, though on a nearer view, the perishable
and paltry character of the material of which they are constructed
destroys the appearance of magnificence, leaving, however, in the
place of earlier impressions, a feeling of wonder at the marvellous
skill of the people who can produce such striking effects from such
tawdry material. Near to the gilded "prachadee" is the actual "bote"
used by the king, surmounted by a similar spire, which is overlaid
with sapphire-coloured plates of glass and porcelain; while a little
distance away stands the larger temple, set in parts with mosaics of
emerald green upon a gilt background. There are several smaller spires
of ruby red, bright yellow, or snowy white, standing amongst this
mass, whose tapering summits are exceedingly slender and graceful in
form, though the raised flowers and decorations that surround their
bases are made of nothing but common porcelain and glass. One really
valuable "prachadee" is constructed of pure white marble, and stands
upon a heavy base supported by seven elephants cast in bronze. In
various places near the doors of the temple, or the gates in the walls
surrounding the courtyard, there are a number of enormous, grotesque
figures, some in helmets, and some in old-fashioned chimney-pot hats.
They are evidently of foreign origin, and the sculptor has produced
an extremely comical effect by so cutting the eyes as to give them an
unmistakable leer or wink. They represent demons, and are supposed
to guard the entrance to the sacred edifice. Each figure leans upon
a gigantic staff, and gazes into the faces of all those who enter
the courtyard or buildings. There are also griffins in stone, the
representations of powerful kings who keep the world from being
entirely captured by the spirits of evil. The stone lions are the
emblems of Shakyamuni in his character as king of men and beasts. A
large, bronze figure of the sitting Buddha rests opposite a row of
these quaintly carved images of men and animals. It is seated upon a
pedestal of marble under a canopy fashioned in imitation of a lotus
leaf. The lotus leaf is the Buddhist lily, even as the Bo-tree is
the Buddhist cross, and the forms of both these plant structures
appear again and again in temple decorations. The lotus is especially
noticeable in the lotus-shaped capitals of the huge teak pillars that
support the roofs and colonnades of the holy "bote."

The courtyard which contains all these vari-coloured and fantastic
shrines and images, is paved with slabs of white stone and marble,
which reflect the heat and light of the sun with oppressive intensity.
Other creations in marble, bronze, stone, and wood, set with the same
mosaics of cheap china and common glass, and representing Europeans,
fishes, dolphins, and fabulous monsters are scattered profusely but
irregularly amongst the larger and more conspicuous monuments. The
roofs are covered with coloured tiles. There is a central rectangle in
orange, yellow or red, with its edges set parallel to the roof, while
round it run several borders in red, blue, and green. Owing to the
height of the buildings these coloured roofs are always so far removed
from the eye of the spectator that they never lose their artistic
appearance. The gables are of wood or metal, and curve upwards at the
ends into a peculiar ornament, which is so common in civil as well as
religious architecture as to cause much speculation as to its meaning.
It has been described as being symbolical of many things, but it most
probably represents the head of the Naga or king of snakes. Round the
edges of the roofs of several of the constituent buildings of this
royal "wat," are hung many small sweetly toned bells, whose silvery
voices may be heard in the farthest corners of the enclosure as they
swing to and fro with every gentle breeze. The windows and doors
are deeply sunk in the extremely thick walls. They are covered with
black lacquer and look as though they were made of ebony. Designs in
mother-of-pearl have been worked into the lacquer, while the hinges
and fastenings of the separate shutters have been richly gilt.

[Illustration: TEMPLE BELL-TOWER.

_Page 285._]

The floor of the chief building is covered with matting made
entirely of woven silver wire. The roof is lofty, and is made of
teak. The room is of the usual oblong shape, but at the further end
a magnificent altar-like shrine stretches from side to side. The
sides of this valuable altar are covered with gold-leaf and gilded
glass, which lose a little of their dazzling brilliancy, though they
gain in depth of colour, in the subdued light of the interior. Small
prachadees in clusters stand at the same end of the temple, all
heavily gilt. This Buddhist temple is unique amongst Siamese temples
in containing objects of real value. Inside there is nothing tawdry
and cheap. Everything is genuine as becomes the gift of a king. On a
square table at the back, supported on the tall conical hats of twelve
large figures, are seated seven figures of Buddha, in pure solid gold.
One hand of each of the figures is raised and pointing upwards. On
every finger and thumb of the uplifted hand glitters a king's ransom
in rings of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies, while in the centre of
each palm shines and flashes a rosette of diamonds. Away up in a
dim recess towards which the seven hands are pointing, there is an
image of Buddha, often said to be cut out of one enormous emerald. In
reality, it is made of jade. This stone is reported to be of priceless
value. It cannot easily be examined by visitors as it is partly hidden
in shadow, but with a pair of opera-glasses the features are easily
distinguishable. The idol is said to have fallen from heaven into one
of the Laos states. It was captured from these Northern people by its
present owners. It possesses three diamond eyes of great value, the
third of which is set in the centre of the forehead. It has several
times been lost or stolen, but has always been recovered.

There are many rare and precious vessels for the temple services,
such as cups, incense burners, and candlesticks made of gold and
studded with jewels, but unfortunately the workmanship is in some
cases very defective, and the stones have lost a great deal of their
value by being badly set and cut. One or two museum cases are to be
seen, containing offerings made by royalty or wealthy noblemen. Round
the base of the altar are a number of ebony tables holding the usual
vases, wax flowers, and clocks, but in this temple they are all of
real value.

The walls and ceiling are painted in native style and colour, with
scenes from the life of Buddha, and from the Hindoo myth of Ramayana.
They are executed with that curious absence of perspective common to
Oriental pictures, but nevertheless many of the figures are full of
life and action. In particular, the elephants are usually accurately
drawn, though strangely coloured.

We may fitly close this chapter with an account of one of the country
temples given by H. Warington Smyth in his "Notes of a Journey on the
Upper Mekong."

     "At Wieng Chan, on the north bank (of the Mekong), the
     remains of the great Wat Prakaon are very fine; the latter
     rises from a series of terraces, up which broad flights
     of steps lead, and is of large proportions. The effect of
     height is increased by the perpendicular lines of the tall
     columns which support the great east and west porticos, and
     which line the walls along the north and south; the windows
     between the latter being small, and narrower at the top
     than at the bottom, also lead the eye up. A second row of
     columns once existed, and the effect must have been very
     fine. Now the roof is gone, and the whole structure crowned
     by a dense mass of foliage, as is the case with all the
     remains of smaller buildings not yet destroyed. One very
     beautiful little pagoda at the west end is now encased in
     a magnificent peepul tree which has grown in and around
     it, and has preserved it in its embrace. There are remains
     of several deep water-tanks; and the grounds, which were
     surrounded by a brick wall, must once have been beautiful.
     But the best thing at Wieng Chan, or the old city, as they
     call it, is the gem of a monastery known as Wat Susaket. It
     is a small building, the Wat itself, of the usual style,
     with a small lantern rising from the central roof. The
     walls are very massive, and, with the height inside, the
     place was delightfully cool; all round the interior, from
     floor to roof, the walls are honeycombed with small niches
     in rows, in which stand the little gilt images, looking out
     imperturbably, generally about eight inches in height.

     "Round this building, outside, runs a rectangular cloister
     which faces inwards, and here, at one time, the monks were
     living amongst the statues which stand round the walls,
     many of these three and more feet high, while the walls
     too are ornamented with niches similar to those inside
     the main building. In the centre of each side there is a
     gateway surmounted by a gable, there being also similar
     ornaments at each corner. The beauty and retired air of the
     court inside could not be surpassed, and the effect of the
     green grass, the white walls, the low-reaching, red-tiled
     roofs, and the deep shadows is charming; there is nothing
     flat, nothing vulgarly gaudy, and very little that is out
     of repair. And here, as is most noticeable in the remains
     of the other buildings about, the proportions are perfect.
     In this the ruined remains of Wieng Chan surpass all other
     buildings I have seen in Siam, and bear witness to a true
     artistic sense in the builders."



CHAPTER XV.

AMONG THE TEMPLES (_continued_).


Several of the larger "wats" in the capital are deserving of further
notice. The largest temple in the country is Wat Poh. It has often
been said that "he who has seen Wat Poh has seen every Buddhist temple
in Siam." It covers an immense extent of ground in the very heart of
the great city, and inside its high brick walls are gathered together
examples in wood and stone, in bronze and porcelain, of everything
connected with ecclesiastical architecture in the country. Its chief
attraction is an immense idol. In one of the lofty buildings lies a
sleeping Buddha of gigantic proportions. It is probably the largest
image of its kind in the world. The room containing it is over two
hundred feet long. The idol itself is one hundred and seventy-five
feet long, so that it practically occupies the whole of the building,
with the exception of a narrow passage all round the base of the
rectangular brick platform on which it reclines. The heavy shutters
and ponderous doors are always locked, except when some inquisitive
foreigner desires to view. His wish can be gratified by the payment
to the man in charge of a fee varying from eighteen-pence to two
shillings. After payment has been made, the gigantic doors are flung
open and the visitor enters, only to find himself in almost total
darkness. One by one a few of the heavy shutters are slowly opened and
a little daylight gradually admitted. The light falls upon the dull
red walls or elaborate frescoes, and upon the sides of the sleeping
figure, but loses itself at last in the dim recesses of the lofty
roof. When the eye has become accustomed to the gloom, the peculiar
wonder of the spectacle begins to be appreciated. The whole of the
building or the image cannot be seen from any one point of view. The
gigantic idol is made of brick, which has been covered over with
cement. Upon the cement a smooth layer of lacquer has been deposited,
and then the whole coated with gold-leaf. The figure measures eighteen
feet across the chest; the feet are fifteen feet in length; and the
toes are each three feet long. The soles of the feet are inlaid with
symbols in mother-of-pearl, according to the legend which states that
Buddha had upon his feet at birth a number of signs that proclaimed
his true character. The head is covered with a conical cluster of
spiral curls, the apex of the cone being far away from human eye in
the shadows of the rafted roof.

[Illustration: WAT CHANG, BANGKOK.

_Page 301._]

The sketch of the figure given in this book is the only drawing of
the idol in existence, and no photo has ever been taken by any of
the local photographers owing to the darkness of the interior. It
was only on payment of a heavy bribe that the caretaker allowed the
artist to put up his easel. After further debate, followed by a
fee, he condescended to open a few more windows so as to admit
sufficient light to render any sketching possible. While the sketch
was being made, a small piece of the gilded lacquer fell from the
chest of the recumbent idol. In less time almost than it takes to
write of the occurrence, the windows were closed, the place veiled in
utter darkness, and the artist unceremoniously requested to leave the
building. The man evidently expected the whole structure to fall upon
his unlucky head as a punishment for allowing the sacred place to be
so desecrated by the white man. Doubtless by this time the caretaker
has worked off the demerit he earned that day, by devoting some of the
money he then received to purchasing merit in one of the many ways
known to him.

In the grounds of Wat Poh there are several ponds, shaded by
magnificent trees, and surrounded by grotesque figures in stone. These
ponds are the homes of a few alligators, which are kept and fed by the
priests and servants of the temple.

Almost opposite to Wat Poh, on the other bank of the river, is
Wat Chang, a marvel to every one who has ever seen it. The actual
"bote," the priests' houses, and the relic mounds are in no respect
extraordinary, but on the bank of the river is a huge monument
consisting of a series of pagodas resting on a square base. It is this
collection of pinnacles that attracts and charms the eye. Their form
is not that of the slender-spired "prachadee," but that of a bluntly
pointed pyramid, and they are known as "praprang." Viewed from a
little distance, they look, as any photo shows, like a collection of
beautifully carved stone pinnacles, but a closer view reveals the fact
that they are only made of brick and plaster and covered with divers
figures made of broken plates and saucers. Thousands upon thousands
of pieces of cheap china must have been smashed to bits in order to
furnish sufficient material to decorate this curious structure. It
must be admitted that though the material is tawdry, the effect is
indescribably wonderful. It is not until one stands close to the work
itself that it is possible to realise that the elaborate designs and
the quaint figures are merely so many pieces of common china. The
tallest of the pagodas, the one in the centre, can be seen from many
points in the city, and by ascending the steps that lead half way up
to the summit, a magnificent view of the capital itself is gained. The
winding river and the broad canals shine like ribbons of burnished
silver; the houses are hidden beneath masses of foliage, from amongst
whose leafy crowns the prettily coloured roofs and the graceful white
spires of many temples stand out in bold and picturesque relief. At
sunset the details of the structure of the pagodas of Wat Chang are
lost, but the mass of spires and pinnacles takes on a purple tint
which changes to one of dusky hue as the light fades slowly from the
sky. The whole edifice is in its way a triumph of decorative skill of
which the people are reasonably proud.

The Golden Hill is the name given to an artificial mound about
two hundred feet high, which faces the public crematorium where
the vultures congregate. At first it is difficult to believe that
it is not a genuine hillock, for though later investigation shows
it to be constructed of bricks and mortar, trees have been planted
on it and creepers trained over it, till it looks as though Nature
in some sportive mood had raised an isolated hill amidst the broad
extent of low-lying plain by which it is surrounded. On the summit
of this leaf-clad brick and plaster mound is a snow-white prachadee
with a very large base. The interior of the round basal portion is
an open room, in the middle of which, guarded by iron railings,
stands a gilded shrine containing an imitation in glass of the famous
tooth of Buddha which is preserved in Ceylon. From the size of the
original it is evidently spurious, for it is impossible to conceive
that the ancient philosopher and teacher possessed the benign and
dignified aspect that is attributed to him, if the tooth shown is
really genuine. The scoffing sceptic has even hinted that it is of
equine origin. The Bangkok relic is not shown to the worshippers. It
is hidden in its gilt case, and many of the natives who bow before
the shrine really believe that the object it contains is not an
imitation, but an actual tooth of Buddha. Steep stone staircases lead
from the smooth lawn at the base to the shrine upon the summit. In
clear weather the view extends far away to the jungle-clad interior
in one direction, and in the other, to the distant blue hills upon
the eastern shores of the gulf. At one time foreigners frequently
ascended The Golden Hill for the sake of the view, but since the time
of the Franco-Siamese trouble it has been guarded by soldiers, and no
one is allowed to pass the sentries on duty without a special permit
signed by the Minister for Foreign Affairs.

On three days of the year, however, when a special holiday occurs
in connection with the worship of the relic, the hill is open to
every one. Around the base are set up numerous stalls, booths, and
side-shows, and a native fair with all its varied attractions draws
thousands of people to the spot. Side by side are the booths where
the missionaries sell their school books and their translations of
certain portions of the Bible, and the stalls where the wonderful
wicker-work made by the prisoners in the jails is offered for sale.
Gambling tents, shadow pantomimes, and Chinese theatres are in full
swing. There is but very little direct purchasing. Nearly every booth
has a lottery. You may pay sixpence for the privilege of rolling three
wooden balls along a bagatelle table. You will then be allowed to
choose an article whose value varies according to the numbers in the
holes into which the little spheres have rolled. At another place a
man stands behind a board in which a square hole has been cut on a
level with his face. He moves his head quickly backwards and forwards
in front of the hole, poking out his tongue and rolling his eyes
with marvellous rapidity. At the quickly appearing and disappearing
countenance you are permitted to throw three tennis balls, and if
you are successful in hitting the distorted features, you receive a
prize of little value. It is an Oriental form of Aunt Sally, with a
living Aunt of male extraction, willing to be a target at the rate of
three shots for sixpence. On another stall every article has a thread
fastened to it. The loose ends of the cotton strands are collected and
passed through a bit of hollow bamboo about six inches long. You pay
your money and you choose your thread. Then the proprietor traces it
out, and you get what is fastened to the other end of it. The prizes
range from a common piece of slate pencil, to a penny exercise book,
and a German concertina.

All the merit-makers before indulging in the fun of the fair, first
buy a bit of gold-leaf, a few wax flowers, or a tiny candle, then
mount the steep and broken steps, kneel in front of the shrine, stick
their gold-leaf on the iron railings, light their candles and fix
them on iron spikes, and throw their waxen blossoms into a blazing
bonfire. The visitor to the summit looks down upon a ring of twinkling
lights, beyond which lies the deep darkness. The air is full of many
sounds. A native band discourses native airs with customary vigour in
front of the shrine itself; a military band plays operatic selections
in a band-stand half way up the hill; and the devotees bang the big
deep-toned bells with more force than is demanded by purely religious
feeling. Up from the crowd below comes the roar of hundreds of
human voices, the cries of the cheap jacks and lottery owners, and
the shouts of the men with the shows, all telling of the animation
and excitement that exists amongst the dark-looking figures that
ever move, but never leave a vacant spot in the brilliant torch-lit
avenues and passages. The priests sit in long pavilions, their yellow
robes and shaven heads set off by the red and white draperies of
their temporary resting-places. They drink tea and chew betel-nut
incessantly, chatter and laugh with animation, and evidently enjoy the
fun quite as much as any of their lay brethren who have come to the
place for the double purpose of making merry and making merit.

Another temple, Wat Samplum, boasts a copy of Buddha's famous
footprint, which is also worshipped amidst much jollity for three
days each year. This footprint is sunk in the centre of the floor of
a small spire-crowned room on the top of a low artificial hillock. It
has no toes and also no heel. It is shaped like an infant's bath, and
is about three feet long, two feet wide, and eighteen inches deep,
and has been cut or moulded with strict mathematical regularity. It
passes the wit of any European to imagine by what process of logical
or illogical reasoning any person could bring himself to look upon
this curious object as having the slightest resemblance to a human
footprint. The usual fair accompanies the worship, and the believers
have no sooner plastered their bit of gold-leaf on the sides or sole
of the footprint than they descend the little elevation to take their
part in the fun that rages fast and furiously at the bottom.

There are in several of the northern mountain ranges or isolated hills
large limestone or granite caves which have been utilised at various
times for religious purposes. Near to the walled city of Karnbooree
on the River Meklong, there is one large cave which was used as a
store-house for idols and offerings during the last war between the
Siamese and Burmese. Here the discoloured images and the withered
offerings remain to this day, rarely visited by any one; the entrances
to the cavern being nearly blocked up by the jungle growth which has
flourished undisturbed for many years.

In the town of Petchabooree there are several caves occupying the
whole interior of a hill which is open at the summit and bears all the
appearances of an extinct volcano. These caves are still distinctly
used as temples. Steps have been cut in the solid rock to form an easy
means of descent to their open mouths. One of them receives its light
through a crater-like opening in the hill-side; some of them are too
dark to be visited without the aid of torches or lanterns. The floors
have in all cases been nicely levelled and sanded, while one has been
neatly tiled. Idols are arranged in rows round the sides, and Buddhas
in standing, sleeping, or sitting postures occupy every jutting crag
and hollow corner. Tiny holes, often hidden behind a gigantic image,
lead into little, dark, dirty, damp recesses with plank beds and
torch smoked altars, where hermits live, or years ago have lived,
in retirement. There is something almost grotesque in these cavern
interiors. Huge stalactites and stalagmites shine in the light of the
entering sun, or look gloomy and solemn in the fitful spluttering of
the smoky torches There is a grandeur of natural power and strength
in the great pillars and deep recesses, all tending to make the
gilded figures of the benevolent Gautama and his chief disciples
look more tawdry and worthless than when seen in their more suitable
surroundings in the brick and wooden temples of his living followers.

One very noticeable feature in the interiors of many temple buildings
is the management of the light to increase their solemnity and their
impressiveness. For instance, in the case of the sleeping Buddha in
Wat Poh, even when many of the windows round it have been opened, the
head is still partly hidden in darkness, so that the effect of the
height is increased and the wonder of the spectator intensified. And
again, Mr. Smyth mentions in the book quoted above, a small "wat"
called Wat Boria, where "there is a very fine Buddha, on whose head
and shoulders the light is thrown from a small window in the roof. The
effect is quite impressive, and does great credit to the architect
who designed it. This is by no means the only place in Siam where the
light is dexterously managed." He also mentions that at Wat Chinareth,
"one enters a monk's doorway at the south-eastern corner from a
cloister, and is at first lost in the gloom. At last the great black
columns with their elaborate gilt ornamentation (the one decoration
they understand in Siam) grow out in the feeble light from the little
narrow windows in the low side walls. The lofty peaked roof rises far
into blackness."

[Illustration: THE SLEEPING BUDDHA.

_Page 297._]

Mention has frequently been made of the extensive use of
gold-leaf in the decoration of shrines and images. The import of this
commodity is of the annual value of about one hundred and sixty to two
hundred thousand Mexican dollars. And in addition to what is imported,
a large quantity is manufactured in Bangkok by Chinese goldsmiths.
Near to one of the temples inside the city walls there is a small
settlement whose chief employment is the beating of gold-leaf. They
get thin pieces of gold about a quarter of an inch square, and put
them between thick pieces of white oily paper. Sheets of gold-leaf and
sheets of paper are arranged alternately in a pile about two inches
thick. This packet of paper and gold is put inside a stout leathern
covering which is left open at two sides, and is then placed on a hard
stone slab some three or four inches thick. The gold-beater takes a
large, heavy hammer with an iron head, and pounds the little parcel
in front of him with all his strength. He continues his hammering
until the bits of gold have been considerably flattened out. He next
takes the thin gold sheets and puts them between finer pieces of white
Chinese paper, and then continues his pounding until the sheets have
become sufficiently attenuated to be used for the gilding of images
and ornaments. Gold-leaf is sold in sheets about three inches square
at the rate of fifteen to eighteen shillings per thousand sheets.

Not only is gold-leaf used for covering idols and shrines, but it is
also used by native artists in the decorations of the walls. Earth
colours are used for painting figures and scenery; but whenever a
figure requires a golden crown or ornament, or the representation of
a shrine or temple requires a golden decoration, then gold-leaf is
always used, and the contrast between the bright reflecting surface of
the metal and the dull appearance of the washes of the earth colours
is very striking.

A favourite subject for religious pictures is the representation of
the different hells, of which there are eight. Though the account of
the infernal regions as given below may seem very gruesome, there
is nothing repulsive in their pictorial presentation by the native
artist, owing to utter lack of any effect of realism. In fact, most
Europeans require an interpreter in order to understand their meaning.
The eight major hells are all places of fearful torment. In the first
of the series the condemned creature is cut into infinitesimal pieces,
every cut producing its own agonies, as the sense of feeling is never
destroyed. When the body has thus been mutilated, a wind possessing
life-restoring properties, blows over the torn remains and renovates
them once more into a perfect human being, which is again mutilated
by the attendants. The torment is repeated indefinitely; but a time
arrives at last when the restored body is cast into another portion of
the same hell to be the sport of cruel monsters. In this first hell
one day is equal in length to nine hundred thousand years.

In the second hell the floor is of molten iron, and as the lost ones
tread the liquid metal they sink into it and die in frightful pain.
A new life follows the recent death, and again and again is the
terrible punishment inflicted through long periods of time, where one
day is measured by thirty-six million years upon earth.

The inhabitants of the third hell have lost a portion of their human
form. Either they have human heads, and animals' bodies, or their
human bodies possess animals' heads. They are the playthings of
innumerable fiends who drive them with thongs from one mountain to
another, and ever as they run, great masses of rock fall upon them,
wounding and killing them. But as in all the other regions inhabited
by the guilty, a new life springs from the dead bodies, that the cruel
torment may be re-inflicted.

The fourth hell is beautiful to look upon. Its floor is covered with
the sacred lotus, but hidden amongst its rosy petals are sharp-pointed
iron spikes. And as the damned come to the edges of hell, they are
seized by the powerful arms of diabolical monsters, who fling them
with Titanic force upon the treacherous flowers below. They are flung
times without number, their wailing and moaning echoing and re-echoing
through the corridors of hell for a space of four thousand years whose
every day is equal to seventy-six million years upon earth.

The fifth of the series resembles the fourth inasmuch as its floor is
covered with iron-spiked blossoms. But the erring souls continually
attempt to escape. With much anxiety of mind and weariness of body,
they raise themselves from their spiny bed only to be met by fiends
armed with gigantic sledge-hammers. Fierce blows of their ponderous
weapons send them reeling back to their torment, amidst the horrible
laughter of their fierce captors.

The sixth hell is that of everlasting fire, but of even a more
revolting character than that preached by so many Christian teachers.
For amidst the roaring flames of the blazing pit scamper the giant
dogs of hell, whose teeth are of sharpened iron. They seize their
prey, and devour it with insatiable appetite. After being eaten the
wicked are re-born, again roasted in the infernal fire, again devoured
by iron fangs and so on and on for sixteen thousand weary years.

In the seventh hell the sides are steep hills, but they apparently
present a means of escape. Up the precipitous incline the lost ones
toil and clamber, but terrific gusts of wind ever hurl them headlong
to the bottom on to a floor of iron spikes.

The last of the series is another of unquenchable fire. Here the lost
are so crowded together that they have no room to move. This is the
deepest and widest hell of all, and here the throng of sufferers must
endure their torments until that day when a great cloud shall appear
in the heavens, announcing the end of the world.

As if these eight diabolical creations of some fiendish mortal's brain
did not contain sufficient terrors to frighten the wicked, all the
eight major hells have each been subdivided into sixteen minor ones
equally revolting. They are all of cubical shape, and measure thirty
leagues each way; but not wishing to weary the reader by detailing
their several characters, only one is here mentioned in illustration
of their general nature. In one of these minor hells every one suffers
from intolerable thirst. Through its gloomy confines flows a river
whose waters are saturated with salt. The wretches, maddened by the
thirst which none may relieve, fling themselves into the briny flood.
Along the banks stand devils with long iron poles with burning hooks,
who fish them out again, mutilate their bodies with the red-hot iron,
and when they cry aloud in their madness for water, pour molten iron
down their scorching throats.



CHAPTER XVI.

RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES.


Religious ceremonies follow one another with incredible rapidity in
the "Kingdom of the Yellow Robe." They are observed by every one, not
on account of their religious value, but because they afford excellent
reasons for indulging in general holidays. A few of the more important
ones will be dealt with in this and the two succeeding chapters.

THET MAHA CHAT. The first one to be noticed here is the
"Thet maha chat" or "The Preaching of the Story of the Great Birth."
It does not, like the other ceremonies we shall describe, occur on
definitely stated days, and in many instances, does not give rise
to a general national holiday. It often occurs as a semi-private or
domestic religious observance, performed by those and for those whom
it immediately concerns. Before describing the manner in which the
public and private celebrations of this ceremony are held, it will
be advisable to relate the story of the Great Birth according to the
account given in the Siamese text, for it is said that this account
of the Great Birth does not exist in the Buddhist literature of the
surrounding countries.

Buddhist legends, now rejected by many Oriental scholars themselves,
relate that the Hindoo philosopher once taught and enlightened his
friends and disciples by relating to them at considerable length, five
hundred and fifty stories, called "jatakas", about himself. These
narratives give a complete account of the various transmigrations
of his soul, which he, having attained to Buddhahood, was enabled
to vividly recall. Of these five hundred and fifty Birth Stories,
the Vessantara Jataka relates how he lived upon earth as a noble and
virtuous prince called Vessantara. As this was his last existence
previous to his re-birth upon earth as Buddha, it is held in high
estimation by those who believe in its authenticity. In previous
existences he had traversed the whole social scale from king to slave.
He had been monarch, courtier, Brahmin ascetic, teacher, prince,
nobleman, merchant, slave, potter, and outcast. He had inhabited the
bodies of the elephant, tiger, monkey, snake, fish, and frog. In the
supernatural worlds he had been a tree-god and a fairy.

The last ten of the Birth Stories are of the greatest interest, as
they relate how he successfully attained absolute perfection in all
things essential to Buddhahood; and the first nine of them may be
fitly summarised as a preface to the story of the tenth or Great Birth.

The first story tells how he was born as a prince, the heir to a
throne and a crown. Now, whenever, in previous existences, he had
reigned as a king, he had invariably suffered and fallen in the
succeeding life. He was therefore very anxious to escape the cares
and perils of sovereignty, and so he feigned dumbness. His relatives
doubted the reality of his affliction and tried in many ways to make
him speak, but all in vain. At last they proposed to bury him alive,
and the prospect of this cruel death caused him at last to speak, that
he might save his life.

In the second story he is again represented as being the son of a
great monarch. His father's younger brother turned traitor, usurped
the throne, and put to death him whose crown he had taken. The prince
was born in exile, but when he arrived at man's estate he was informed
of his real rank and title, and he determined to attempt to regain
them. He set sail for his native land, but during the voyage a great
storm arose, the vessel was wrecked, and he only managed to save his
life by swimming to the distant shore.

The next Birth Story relates that he was the son of blind, ascetic
parents, to whom he acted as a faithful servant. He trained a pet deer
to carry his bowl for him, and wherever he went the timid creature
accompanied him. He was killed in the forest by a stray arrow that a
king had shot while hunting.

He was re-born as a king of wonderful power. His dominions included
both heaven and hell, and during the period of his sovereignty he
managed to visit both these distant portions of his wide domain.
History, however, does not relate what he saw or what he did in either
of these regions.

[Illustration: THE FESTIVAL OF KAW PRASAI.

_Page 356._]

He next became the servant of a warrior king, for whom he acted in the
capacity of counsellor and judge, winning for himself great renown for
his wisdom and strength of character. On one occasion he is credited
with engineering a tunnel through a mighty mountain, that his royal
master might fall unawares upon a powerful enemy. The tunnel was
constructed, and the attack made with complete success.

The sixth of this set of Birth Stories narrates his career as the
Naga king, the monarch of the snake world. His two chief relatives
were a human brother, and a sister who inhabited the body of a frog.
He himself was a cobra, and one day a skilful snake-charmer captured
him, and took him about from place to place on exhibition. He was
freed from this humiliating condition by his brother and sister, who
ingeniously tricked the wandering showman.

Then again he becomes the son of a king, and holds the position of a
judge. Owing to his severity in putting down bribery and corruption,
he incurred the displeasure of the Lord Chief Justice, who resented
the loss of his valuable perquisites. One night the king dreamt that
he had paid a visit to the heavenly regions. When he awoke he sent
for the chief judge, and asked him if he could suggest any way of
realising the journey, as he would very much like to visit those
realms at his leisure. The judge suggested that the trip might be
accomplished if the favour of the deities was first obtained by making
them an offering commensurate with his desires. He suggested the
sacrifice of the prince and all the members of his household. The
king accepted the idea, and the sacrifice was planned. But several
courtiers who had reasons for disliking the chief judge of the
kingdom, revealed to their sovereign the enmity that existed between
judge and prince. The king, furious at the trick that had been played
upon him, instantly ordered the death of the wicked official, but the
son, acting with his usual gentleness and mercy, pleaded for his enemy
and obtained the remission of his sentence.

In the eighth story he is again a king; but this time devotes his
life entirely to the noble practice of alms-giving. So great was his
generosity that he soon beggared himself, and was forced to become
a hermit. Having nothing left to distribute to those who sought to
profit by his benevolence, he conceived the idea of finally giving his
own body away in pieces. But the Devas, wishing to save him from the
results of such a noble deed, brought him presents of nuggets of gold
with which to satisfy the demands of those who daily asked him for
alms.

The ninth story presents him to us as a wise man teaching and
counselling a king. His fame was noised abroad even unto the uttermost
ends of the earth. Amongst those who heard of his wisdom and purity
was the Queen of the Nagas. She was so deeply impressed by the
stories that reached her, that she fell madly in love with the famous
counsellor, and wished, not figuratively, but literally, to possess
his heart. From amongst her numerous attendants she chose one who was
noted for his cunning, and sent him as her ambassador to the far-off
land, with orders to bring back that which she so much desired. He
met with a certain amount of success, for he won the body of the sage
by gambling with the king, but all his efforts to put to death the
wise old man were ineffectual. And when he was meditating as to the
reason of the failure of his murderous attempts, the old man came to
him, and spoke to him with words of such tenderness and truth that the
emissary returned to the Naga Queen without his prize, but a better
and a wiser man.

The tenth Birth Story is the last and the greatest, and bears the
distinctive title of "The Great Birth." It is the story of his last
existence upon earth as an ordinary human being, and marks the summit
of his upward career, the final stage of his successive earthly
transmigrations. This story, which we shall presently relate at
length, was told by him, after he had become a Buddha, to a great
gathering of his friends and relatives, in the famous banyan grove
of his native city. Showers of rain fell from heaven, miraculously
bathing his holy body, but leaving untouched the throng of people
around him. Seven times he appealed to heaven and earth to bear him
witness as to the truth of his narrative, and seven times was an
answer given in the voice of the thunder and the quaking of the earth.

Siamese tradition goes on to say that after Buddha's death, a holy
ascetic ascended to one of the heavens, where he met the Buddha who is
next to descend and bless this earth with his teachings. The future
Buddha held a long conversation with the earthly visitor in which he
told him, that if the people wished for happiness and prosperity, they
must unceasingly perform all the prescribed ceremonies according to
the orthodox ritual, and, above all, they must not forget to annually
recite the story of "The Great Birth."

At one time, in Siam, Pegu, and Cambodia, it was the universal custom
at the end of the rainy season, to gather in private dwellings or
temple halls to listen to the reading or recital of the thousand
stanzas of the poem which tells the story. The annual celebration is
now chiefly a state ceremony performed in special places. In the olden
days, offerings were made for the decoration of the halls in which the
recital was to be held, and this custom still continues in a smaller
degree. The general celebration that formerly took place degenerated
at last into a kind of theatrical performance, and was accompanied
by pantomime and song. New versions were given; the rhythm of the
original poem was altered; and temple vied with temple, and house
with house, in the introduction of novelties that would attract large
audiences. The late king was a profound scholar and a devout believer
in the pure truths and ritual of his religion, and not a nominal
Buddhist like the majority of his subjects, and he looked upon these
theatrical recitals with their accompanying buffoonery and merriment
as being nothing less than a desecration of the famous story, and
a burlesque of the life of him whose career they were intended to
honour. When he left the cloister for the throne he sternly denounced
the exhibition in a decree that is remarkable for its reasonableness
and its forceful expressions. He even went so far as to tell a story,
evidently of his own composition, the moral of which was that, as far
as any religious merit was concerned, the money spent in preparing for
the recitals would be better spent in burning dead dogs' carcasses.
His strong expressions of disfavour and disgust have had the desired
effect, and the story is now recited in a decent and becoming manner.

The poem, as now recited, contains thirteen cantos and one thousand
stanzas, and was written by one of the Siamese kings. It had been
prophesied that the holy Buddhist scriptures would ultimately all be
lost, and that the Vessantara Jataka, being the most valuable, would
be the first to disappear. When the scriptures have all been lost,
and man has forgotten the meaning of righteousness, a new Buddha will
be born upon earth to teach once more the principles of morality and
truth. The "Pious" king who reigned in Siam from 1602 to 1628, is
known as a priest celebrated alike for his piety and his learning, and
as a king famous for his justice and mercy. He left the temple for
the throne, but resigned in favour of his nephew and again returned
to the seclusion of the hermit's cell. The prophecy as to the loss of
the Jataka deeply affected him, and in order to prevent so great a
calamity befalling his people he decided to write it in the form of
a poem that it might be handed down from generation to generation.
This poem is the gem of Siamese classics, a model of literary style
and treatment. King "Pious" was the first of the royal poets of Siam,
but since his day it has been the fashion for the sovereign to write
poetical compositions. Both the present king and his father are well
known in the country as poets and scholars. The late king was probably
the greatest scholar Siam ever had, so that he enjoyed a double
distinction never possessed by any of the monarchs of more civilised
lands.

And now for the old king's rendering of the Vessantara Jataka.

In ages long since past, the god Indra called into his presence the
beautiful daughter of one of the Devas. He asked her to consent to
be re-born into the world of wicked, warring men that she might
enjoy the supreme honour and happiness of becoming the mother of
the future Buddha. The beautiful spirit maiden was not altogether
unwilling to become the recipient of the honour offered her, but
before finally consenting, she knelt before the throne of Indra to
beg of him ten boons, of such a character that they should preserve
her from unhappiness or trouble when she left the regions of heavenly
bliss to descend to the realms of earthly woe. She requested that she
should be born as one of the highest caste, and that when she was
old enough she should be wedded to the powerful monarch Sivi. Not
forgetting the personal attractions so desirable in an Oriental queen
who wishes for long to retain her husband's affections, she asked for
eyes that should be soft and mild like those of the gazelle, and
for lashes whose graceful velvety fringe should be the envy of her
rivals and the delight of her husband. Her name was not to be changed
from that she had borne, in the gardens of heaven where her graceful
figure and handsome face had earned for her the name of "blossom."
She also stipulated that she should not experience any of the pains
of child-birth, nor at any time suffer any deformation of her slender
form. Her youthful appearance was to be preserved for ever from the
ruthless hand of time, her complexion and skin to be soft and delicate
beyond comparison with those of any earthly rival, and while her
beauty enchained the minds of men, she was to win the hearts of all
by being allowed to liberate all the prisoners in the land. Her final
request included all she had already asked for, and many more besides;
for, in a spirit that is delightfully feminine, she asked that when
on earth, all her wishes should ever be promptly and completely
satisfied. Indra with god-like benevolence granted all her boons, even
the last.

In due time she was born on earth, and afterwards wedded to King Sivi.
She gave birth to an infant son, the future Buddha in earthly form,
who was named by his parents Vessantara. The child gave evidences of
his wonderful character by speaking immediately after he was born,
and later by his indifference to all earthly pleasures. Neither toys
nor jewels were valued by him, and he lived the life of a retired
ascetic until he was twenty years old. His father then desired him
to marry, and persuaded him to seek for his wife, a princess called
Maddi, who was famed for her great beauty. An embassy was sent to the
maiden's father to ask for her hand, and as he willingly assented to
the alliance, the princess returned with the ambassadors to be married
without any delay to the hermit-like prince, Vessantara.

His married life was one of great happiness. He was sincerely attached
to his wife and to his son and daughter, but he never forsook his
ascetic manner of living. His benevolence was a household word,
and gained for him troops of friends, until he made a gift of more
than ordinary value to a neighbouring state, and caused thereby a
great popular uproar. His father possessed an elephant whose chief
value lay in its miraculous power of calling down rain from the
skies in times of drought. Now, the people of a province near to his
father's country, were suffering from want of water, and they sent to
Vessantara to ask if he would lend them the rain-producing elephant,
knowing quite well that he never refused to give to anyone what was
asked of him. He granted their request without any hesitation, and
told them that they might keep the animal as a present from himself.
The ambassadors returned, taking home the beast in triumph; but when
the inhabitants of Vijaya knew what had happened they burst into angry
accusations against their benevolent prince. They complained also that
the animal was not his to give, but was the property of the nation.
The king was not less angry than his subjects, and ordered his son to
leave the capital at once, and live for the rest of his life in exile.
The prince, in defending his action, said that the elephant was his
and had been given to him by its mother at the time of his birth, as a
birthday present. To the father, who was unacquainted with his son's
destiny and character, this seemed the most intolerable rubbish, and
made him exceedingly angry.

Maddi, like a faithful wife, sought to mollify the anger of her
father-in-law, and implored forgiveness for her husband, but the
king's wrath was too great to be appeased by her tearful entreaties.
Then Vessantara gave away the greater part of his property,
preparatory to his departing into banishment. He distributed one
hundred elephants, one hundred ponies, one hundred vehicles of
different kinds, one hundred male slaves, one hundred female slaves,
one hundred catties[I] of gold and one hundred catties of silver. He
entreated his wife to remain behind and take care of his two children,
but she resolutely refused to leave him in his trouble, and taking the
children with them, they departed in his chariot. As they drove out of
the city they scattered all the money they had, amongst the crowds of
people who had collected to see the banished prince leaving his native
city.

On their journey they met two Brahmins, who recognised the prince and
asked for his horses. He at once granted their request, and prepared
to proceed on foot; but two Devas descended from heaven in the form of
golden stags and harnessed themselves to the chariot. A little later
they were met by another Brahmin, who asked for both chariot and
steeds. Vessantara and Maddi dismounted and left the carriage to the
stranger. The stags immediately disappeared, to the great astonishment
of him who had begged for them. The wedded pair, carrying their
children with them, pursued their way on foot, going in the direction
of a distant and lonely mountain, where they proposed living the life
of the hermits.

The road to the mountain passed through the country where Maddi's
father reigned. He heard of their arrival in his territory and at once
set out to meet them. He besought them to stay in his kingdom, offered
them a residence near his own palace, and did all he could to persuade
them to change their purpose. But they refused all his offers, saying
that they were fully determined to live as hermits in the lonely
jungle. At his earnest request they stayed with him seven days, but
left him at the end of that time to continue their journey to the
far-off mountain.

They had to pass through perilous places, and were exposed to many
dangers from men and beasts. A hunter was sent to guard them during
this part of the journey. Indra, ever watchful, saw all that was
happening, and commissioned one of his celestial architects to go at
once to the mountain and prepare two bowers for the reception of the
wandering exiles.

At this time there was living in another part of the country, an aged
Brahmin who was wedded to a young but ambitious wife. She had heard of
Vessantara's gifts, the story of the elephants and the chariot, and of
his numerous acts of benevolence, and felt that it would be an easy
matter to trade upon his good nature and obtain some valuable gift for
herself. So she asked her aged husband to go and ask Vessantara for
his two children. He refused for a long time, but finally yielded to
her entreaties, and set off to find the whereabouts of the generous
prince that he might make known his wife's request. The guardian
hunter saw him approaching, and levelled his bow at him, but the
Brahmin said that he was a favourite of the prince, and had often
received wise counsel from him, and that he only sought the exile in
order to befriend him, and carry to him the messages of old friends.
The hunter was deceived, and allowed the Brahmin to pass on his way.

Then the Brahmin arrived at a hut where lived a holy ascetic, to
whom he addressed himself, enquiring for the way to Vessantara's
residence. The hermit believing the man to be some greedy creature
about to prefer a vexatious request, expressed his disgust and anger
in very strong language. But the Brahmin, unaffected by the scornful
denunciations he had listened to, again professed a desire to befriend
the exiled prince. So sincere did his protestations appear, that the
hermit gave him the required directions.

Following the path pointed out to him, he at length reached
Vessantara's bower, and presenting himself in the disguise of a
mendicant, asked the prince to give him his two children. Their mother
was absent at the time, as she had not returned from gathering fruit
and herbs in the jungle. The prince was grieved when he heard the
request, but he was fully aware that it was only by acts of great
self-sacrifice that he could perfect his nature and attain the goal
for which he was striving, so without much hesitation, he handed over
his little son and daughter to the care of the beggar. His temper
was sorely tried when he saw the mendicant tie their tiny hands fast
behind their backs as though they were common slaves, and drag them
roughly over the rough and thorny pathway. The tender-hearted parent
suffered agonies of pain as he witnessed this cruel treatment of his
loved ones, but by keeping his mind fixed on his future he managed to
control any outward expressions of grief and anger. At some little
distance from the bower, the Brahmin stumbled and fell to the ground.
The children seeing an opportunity to escape from their brutal
master, promptly fled and hid themselves in a lotus pond. The Brahmin
returned to Vessantara, and angrily complained of the behaviour of the
runaways, and upbraided the father with having deceived and tricked
him. The prince, making no answer to the false rebukes, silently
went out to look for his little ones. He saw their footprints in the
ground, followed the direction they indicated, and soon discovered
his son. In answer to his voice, the daughter also came out of her
hiding-place, and there, by the side of the pond, the two children
knelt down and embraced the feet of their father. Tears that sparkled
like gems in the sunlight, fell from the eyes of the sorrowful three.
The father spoke tenderly to his weeping children and told them of his
great grief for their suffering, but that it was necessary for his
and their future happiness. He tried to show them that if their love
for him was sincere, they would go away with the mendicant cheerfully
and willingly, for by so doing they would ultimately help in his
attainment of perfect bliss. The boy acquiesced, but the little girl's
heart was full of anger, and the burning tears ran heavily down her
sorrow-stricken face. Once more they were delivered to the beggar, and
again was their father's temper sorely tried, for their new master at
once gave them both a sound thrashing before his eyes, as a punishment
for what he termed their bad behaviour.

While all this was happening, an event had occurred in the forest to
prevent the return of Maddi before the children had gone away. For
Indra foresaw that she might possibly by her tears and entreaties,
hinder her husband's progress towards that goal of perfect benevolence
which was to crown and complete his earthly career. So he arranged
that on her homeward way, she should meet three animals, a lion, a
tiger, and a leopard. They did her no harm, but simply prevented her
from going forward. After many attempts to escape, she fell upon her
knees and implored them to allow her to pass. Her husband's great
act of renunciation having by this time been fully accomplished, the
three beasts, who were three Devas in disguise, no longer hindered her
progress, but departed into the jungle. It was long after midnight
when she returned to her home, and the first thing her motherly
eyes detected was the absence of her little ones. She turned to her
husband, in whose face shone a heavenly glow of happiness not unmixed
with sadness, and enquired of him what had become of the children. But
to all her questions he answered nothing. Then, knowing the generous
nature of his heart, and seeing the sadly kind expression on his face,
she guessed what had happened, and, overcome with the weight of her
great misfortune, she burst into tears and fell in a swoon upon the
ground. Her husband tended her gently, and when she had recovered
consciousness, he told her all that had happened, and besought her
with pleading and argument to agree to the act in which she had as
yet had no part. Deeply impressed with his earnestness and dimly
conscious that there was more in the matter than she could realise,
she acquiesced in what he had done.

Now Indra saw that there was but one thing left to Vessantara which he
could give away, and that was his wife Maddi. And the god remembered
that if the prince should give away his wife, there would be no one
left to tend and care for him in that solitary place. To prevent
Vessantara being left absolutely alone, Indra himself descended to
earth in the form of an old Brahmin and stood before the bower.
The prince saw him there, and at once realised that he had now an
opportunity of completing his many acts of self-sacrifice by bestowing
his wife upon the stranger. He asked the Brahmin again and again if
there was anything he desired, and the Brahmin at length asked for
the princess Maddi. With mingled joy and grief he parted with his
long-loved and faithful help-meet, who had suffered much for his sake.
The sorrow he felt at parting with the last earthly possession he
dearly loved, was almost drowned in the thought that this was the last
act in the long drama he had played through many generations. Great
was his surprise and delight when the disguised Indra returned his
wife to him, telling him to keep her in trust. The apparent Brahmin
promised to return for her at some future time, and departed, leaving
the loving pair to wonder as to his identity.

The old mendicant who had obtained possession of the children,
intended to take them home to become the slaves of his greedy wife.
But he lost his way in the trackless forests, and by mistake wandered
into the city of Vessantara's father. The king was seated in a
pavilion on the palace wall, and as the mendicant slowly wended his
way past the royal residence, the observant monarch saw and recognised
his two grandchildren. He sent for them, and from the boy's lips
learned their story. The boy also told him the amounts that had been
fixed by their father as the price of their redemption, and these
amounts the king at once paid over to the Brahmin, and so liberated
his grandchildren. The money that the Brahmin received was of little
use to him, for he died shortly afterwards, leaving no heirs to
inherit his wealth. When the children had told their grandfather
the story of their father's life and his lonely wanderings in the
dangerous jungle, some feeling of pity and remorse took possession
of the king, and he determined to have his son back again. He went
to the distant forest, accompanied by the queen, his two newly found
grandchildren and many soldiers.

Great rejoicing attended the meeting of the father and son who had
been so long separated. Vessantara in answer to the queen's entreaties
promised to return home. On his return to his native city a great
festival was held, the people thronged to see their long-lost prince
once more, alms were distributed in great quantities, and the period
of self denial and renunciation was brought to a close. All those to
whom Vessantara had previously given his valuable property returned it
to him, asking for his blessing and forgiveness.

Those who are interested in the after histories of these people may
care to know that Vessantara appeared upon earth as Gautama Buddha,
that Maddi was re-born as his wife Yashodra, and that his son was
given to him again as Rahula. His daughter, however, did not become
a member of his family in the next life upon earth, for when she was
forced to follow the cruel old Brahmin, she swore in her heart that
she would never again be re-born as the daughter of such an unjust and
unloving father.

Thus ends the story of "The Great Birth" according to the version
of the "pious" king of Siam. With the exception of the public state
recital of the poem, it is now only recited in connection with the
novitiate of the eldest sons of rich parents. The poor no longer ask
their friends to visit their houses to listen to the thousand stanzas.
The rich endeavour to reproduce as far as possible the circumstances
of the original recital. The novice who has retired to the temple and
resigned for the time being all his earthly possessions, represents
Vessantara. And as Buddha told the tale to a multitude of friends and
relations in his native city, so the novice returns from the temple
to his own home to chant the numerous stanzas in the midst of his
acquaintances. The honour of thus repeating the old story belongs now
to the eldest son, except in the case of children of royal birth, for
each of whom a public recital is held. As the novice has not had time
to learn the whole poem, he only delivers the first few lines, the
rest being repeated by monks of longer standing, who have it all by
heart. At the conclusion of the ceremony, offerings of food and robes
are ostentatiously distributed to those priests who have given their
services.

The preaching of the story of the Great Birth during the novitiate
of the late Crown Prince of Siam, was the occasion of great public
rejoicing. The offerings were more numerous and varied than usual,
and were arranged in a novel manner in front of the palace. A huge
junk was erected on the grass, and its sides were totally covered
with boxes of cigars, boxes of sardines, and tinned provisions. The
cabins and hold were filled with eatables, and when the "preaching"
festivities were ended, the whole vessel was broken up, and its
contents distributed amongst the poor and the hospitals.



CHAPTER XVII.

RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_).


THE THOT KATIN. The Thot Katin ceremonies are not nearly so
old as those described in the preceding chapter. They are said to
have been first established as purely state ceremonies by one of the
Siamese kings, called Somdet Pra Luang, who reigned over Northern Siam
about seven hundred years ago. He was a very popular monarch, and as
powerful as he was popular. Whatever he ordered to be done in his own
provinces in the north of the country, was always carried out to the
letter, and the ceremonies he instituted have extended and developed
till they are now universally celebrated all over the kingdom.

In the days when the Buddhist priesthood lived a purely ascetic life,
according to the ideal of their great teacher, long before the days
even of Pra Luang himself, there was one branch of the monastic order
which was far more given to practising self-denial and mortification
than any of the rest of the brotherhood. And this sect of holy monks
vowed a solemn vow that they would never wear any clothes that were
directly or indirectly presented to them. They vowed that their
robes should only be made of cloth that had no owners, such as
the winding-sheets that had enshrouded the bodies of the dead, the
clothes that had been cast away because they had been worn by persons
suffering from infectious diseases, or the garments that had been
discarded by their owners as being too ragged or filthy to be used any
longer. Garments of this description were the only ones they would
wear, and all presents were steadily refused. At the end of the rainy
season, when the period of the forced retirement in the monasteries
was finished, they went in little parties of three and four to the
cemeteries, to the places where the bodies of the dead were burned,
and to all the spots where dust, dirt, refuse, and rubbish had been
deposited. There they gathered up every scrap and remnant of cloth,
to patch them carefully together to make their garments for the
coming year. Many people saw them frequently groping about in these
unhealthy, unfrequented localities, and asked them wonderingly, "What
are you doing there? What are you looking for?" And to all enquiries
the priests made none other answer save "We seek for ownerless
clothes." Then the people, partly out of a feeling of pity and partly
out of a desire to make merit, went to their homes and brought all
the pieces of cotton, linen, or woollen cloth they could spare, and
generously offered them as gifts to the ragged priests. But the gifts
were always firmly refused, and the people returned to their homes,
wondering why this one particular order of mendicant brethren would
not accept their voluntary offerings.

Some of the more inquisitive of those whose gifts had been refused,
stealthily followed the priests from place to place, and, unseen
themselves, observed all they did. And they saw the worthy monks
groping in heaps of refuse and gathering fragments of cloth, taking
soiled torn rags from the branches of trees, and collecting the
scraps of linen that were blown hither and thither by the wind in the
grave-yards, where were buried the uncremated, those who had died of
small-pox, cholera, and other dangerous and infectious diseases. When
they had seen all this, they returned home and told their brethren,
and all wondered greatly, but no one understood. Then those people
who reverenced the priests, but whose minds held many superstitious
notions, invented a theory which seemed to explain all the facts that
had been observed, and which afterwards found wide acceptation amongst
the people. They said that these wandering, self-denying, rag-hunting
monks were of the holiest of the holy, that they had power to see into
the realms of heaven and of hell, and that their chief aim and purpose
in this life was to promote the future happiness of men and animals.
When these priests clad themselves in the garments of one who had
died, the deceased ascended into heaven. Therefore, the monks, ever
living according to the faith they held, and in pursuance of their
great desire to give future bliss to those who had departed, wore not
the valuable gifts of the living, but the cast-off garments of the
dead.

When this theory had been heard and accepted by devout or
superstitious people, the custom arose of wrapping many extra cloths
round the body of a dead person, and requesting the priests to remove
them from the corpse and carry them away to the temples. This custom
still prevails in many parts of the country amongst people who hope
in this way to secure the safe and speedy entrance of their deceased
friends and relatives into the realms of indescribable felicity. The
late king, in his sincere desire to purify the religious beliefs of
his credulous subjects, endeavoured to point out to them that there
was nothing whatever in the original scriptural texts to warrant this
wide-spread faith, and that it was purely a superstition invented
and taught by the laity. He also pointed out the true interpretation
of the priests' actions--namely, their desire to live a thoroughly
ascetic life that they might purify their minds and be worthy of their
master. But the people have refused to accept this simple explanation
either from their ruler or from their more enlightened ecclesiastical
teachers, and even accuse those priests who exhibit any reluctance to
comply with their requests, of being wanting in pity and gentleness.
So they continue to wrap unnecessary cloths round the bodies of the
dead, that the priests may remove them and wear them, and so ensure
the happiness of the dead. There have been also many priests of
worldly disposition who have secretly encouraged the custom, as it is
a source of considerable worldly profit to themselves.

A more reasonable but still unorthodox creed has found many followers.
According to some, the priests sought for the clothes that had
shrouded people who had died of infectious diseases, not out of pity
for the dead, but out of consideration for the living. For by removing
these cloths they effectually prevented them from being blown amongst
the homes of men, and so spreading the disease. They thus removed
a possible disaster. This idea degenerated into the belief that by
presenting the priests with robes, impending dangers would be rendered
ineffectual to the giver, and led to the custom of throwing garments
for the use of the priests in front of the temples. This was usually
done at the end of the rainy season, which, according to the old
custom of counting time, was the end of the year. The donors thought
they would in this way certainly secure prosperity for themselves and
families during the ensuing months.

As a result of this latter belief it became the custom to present
robes to the priests in October and November, when the wet months
were drawing to a close. King Pra Luang in his palace at Ayuthia,
considered the custom, pronounced it good, and established it as part
of the ordinary worship of the devout. When the proper season arrived,
he set out himself to distribute robes to the inmates of the royal
temple. Each temple provided a quantity of fireworks, and appointed
responsible officers to superintend their pyrotechnical displays. In
front of the landing of the king's palace, were gathered together
numerous boats laden with baskets of food and yellow cloth. In the
centre of each basket a stout branch was fixed, and from the branches
lighted lanterns were suspended. At the bottom of every lantern
trailed a strip of yellow silk, symbolical of the scraps that the old
monks sought in desolate places. The boats also contained presents of
many descriptions given by the king, the government officials, and the
common people according to their wealth or their faith.

In the evening, as soon as it was dark, the king came down to the bank
of the river to examine the boats and their contents. He descended
into his state barge, attended by his chief officers, and headed a
long procession, accompanied by the chief ladies of the palace, and
by crowds of people who had been drawn to the place by the prospect
of seeing the fireworks. The boats, crowded by natives, drew after
them the other boats containing the baskets of food and the piles of
robes. Wherever the king stopped, presents of eatables and priestly
garments were distributed to the brethren who resided in the temple,
and fireworks were let off in honour of the sovereign's arrival, and
as a mark of gratitude for his benevolence. At a later date, when
temples became multiplied to such an extent that the king was unable
to personally visit them all, he entrusted the distribution of the
presents to his relatives, and officials of high rank.

The custom of presenting robes at the end of the rainy season is now
universally observed throughout the whole kingdom, and is looked upon
as an excellent way of making merit, though, in common with all the
other religious observances of the country, its primary meaning and
origin are unknown to most of the worshippers.

The festival is known as the "Thot Katin", and is celebrated with
great rejoicing and merriment. "Katin", or "Kratin", is derived from
the Pali word, "Katina", and means "severe" or "difficult". The term
is applied to three separate things. It means a pattern of a priest's
robe made of patchwork; it is the name of the robe itself, which must
be made of raw cotton and completed in a single day and night--a
difficult task; and it also denotes the merit which the maker will
receive as a reward for his meritorious exertions. The other word,
"Thot", means "to lay down", so that the whole expression used as the
name of the ceremony of the presentation of the priestly vestments,
means "Laying down robes made after the Katina pattern", on the floor
or on a table, for the priests to take up.

The holidays last during the month of October, and are celebrated with
processions on land and water. The water processions in Bangkok are
singularly attractive on account of the number of people who take part
in them, and the variety of costume, and display of oarmanship which
they then exhibit. All day long, lines of canoes, gondolas, and gilded
barges carry the worshippers and their offerings to the many temples
in the city. The holiday attire is unusually brilliant, and as the
numerous colours flash by in the swiftly gliding boats, one begins
to wonder if there are any tints or shades of colour that may not be
seen on the Menam. After prostrating themselves before the idol, and
presenting their gifts to the priests, the people hold a great aquatic
carnival.

[Illustration: WAT CHANG AT SUNSET.

_Page 302._]

The following account of this ancient ceremony is quoted from
"The Bangkok Directory" and is presumably a translation of a native
composition.

     "All the temples in Bangkok and its suburbs, which have
     been made by or dedicated to the king, expect a splendid
     visit from him annually, between the middle of the eleventh
     and twelfth moons. This is the season appointed by the
     most ancient and sacred custom for the priests to seek
     their apparel for the year ensuing. In conformity with this
     custom, the King, taking a princely offering of priests'
     robes with him, visits these temples.

     "The ceremony is called 'Thot Katin', which means to lay
     down the robes sewed up in patches according to a given
     pattern, for the priests to take up. The pattern is the
     'Katin', which in ancient times the priests of Buddha used
     in cutting their cloth into patches to be sewed together to
     make their outer and inner robes. The cloth was cut with
     a knife because it would be wicked to tear it. In olden
     time, in Buddha's day, the custom was for the priests to
     go out themselves to seek old cast-off clothing, and the
     best of these they would patch together to form the three
     kinds of priestly robes required. This was one conspicuous
     mode of self-mortification. But that mendicant custom has
     gradually given place to the present one of making the
     garments of new cloth dyed yellow; and prepared by the
     princely donations of thousands of the affluent, and the
     more humble contributions of the multitudes of the poor.
     They begin to make preparations for this season months
     before the time, until in Bangkok alone, there are many
     thousands of priests' suits in readiness by the middle of
     October for distribution at the temples. The cloth is dyed
     yellow for the purpose, as tradition says, of imitating
     somewhat the custom of Buddha and his early followers, who
     preferred a dingy yellow colour for their robes, for the
     express purpose of making themselves odious in the eyes
     of the world, that there might be no door of temptation
     open to them to be conformed to the world. In those days
     it was the custom of robbers and murderers in Hindustan,
     where Buddhism began its course, to wear red and yellow
     clothing as an appropriate badge of their profession. The
     better classes of the world regarded them with horror, and
     fled from them. Now, Gautama Buddha, when a prince, had a
     host of ardent friends who urged him not to abdicate his
     throne. But he was full set to do it; and this was the mode
     he took to cut himself off from their sympathy. By assuming
     the robber's garb, he would rid himself of such ruinous
     tempters, and yet secure another class of admirers, who
     would delight to walk with him in the road to Nirvana, to
     which his whole heart and soul was devoted.

     "Although there are so many hundreds of Buddhist temples
     in Siam, none are omitted from this annual visitation. The
     royal temples are visited by the king, or by some prince or
     nobleman of high rank, who goes in the king's name. Outside
     the capital, these royal temples are always visited by
     deputies of His Majesty, bearing priests' robes and other
     things provided by the king.

     "When His Majesty goes in person, he does so with great
     pomp and splendour, whether by land or water. If by water
     the finest state barges are displayed. There are some ten
     or more of these splendid boats, each with some august name
     attached, to distinguish it from the others. These barges
     are called 'royal throne boats'. Only one appears in the
     royal procession at a time. They are from one hundred and
     fifty to one hundred and eighty feet in length, and from
     six to eight feet wide. They gradually become narrower
     fore and aft, and taper upwards. Hanging from the stem and
     stern are two large white tassels made of the hair of the
     Cashmere goat, and between them floats a royal banner. A
     little abaft of midships there is a splendid canopy about
     twelve feet long, having the ridge curving downward at
     each end, and covered with cloth of gold, and the sides
     tastefully hung with curtains of the same costly material.
     Within is a throne, suited to this little floating palace.
     The bows of the barges to convey the priestly robes and
     other gifts, are formed into heads of hideous dragons, or
     imaginary sea-monsters, with glaring eyes and horrid teeth
     and horns. The whole boat is richly carved and gilded
     to represent scales, often inlaid with pearl and other
     precious things, while the stern forms an immense tail,
     curving upwards to the height of twelve or fifteen feet. It
     is in this kind of barge that the king always rides. When
     he would appear in his greatest glory, he is seen seated
     on this, his floating throne, wearing a gold-embroidered
     coat, and golden shoes. He has generally the Crown Prince
     with him, and sometimes other royal children follow him in
     a barge of second rank, being all beautifully attired. We
     must not forget to mention the huge jewelled fan, the royal
     umbrellas, white and yellow, which have their appropriate
     places in the dragon barge, and help to distinguish it
     from all there in the imposing pageant. The dragon barges
     are propelled by sixty or seventy paddlers, who have been
     trained daily for a full month for that express service.
     They have been taught to paddle in unison, all striking
     the water at the same moment, and all raising the blades
     of their paddles above their heads, at an equal height.
     These royal boatmen, by their public training on the river,
     become a pattern for all others in the procession.

     "Preceding the King's personal barge, there are usually
     from forty to sixty royal guard-boats, over one hundred
     feet long, and from five to six feet wide, going in pairs.
     They are modelled after the King's own boat, but smaller,
     and the canopy is made of whitish leaves resembling the
     palm leaf, sewed together, and ornamented with crimson
     cloth bordered with yellow. Under the bow and stern of
     these boats, float a pair of long grey tassels, made of
     the fibres of pine-apple leaves, and between each of these
     hangs a golden banner. They have fifty or more paddlers,
     and two men in each boat beat time with a long pole
     decorated with white tassels, which they lift up and strike
     down end-wise on the deck of the boat.

     "In the rear of the King's barge come princes, nobles,
     officers, and multitudes of still lower grades, who all
     follow the King to the temple in boats of various fashions,
     down to the simple one-oared skiff with its single
     half-naked occupant. Each prince and nobleman sits proudly
     under his own canopy, attired in his best court robes,
     having duly arranged about him gold or silver water-pot
     and tea-pot, and betel and cigar boxes, all of which have
     been given to him by the King, as insignia of his rank and
     office.

     "The boatmen have various coloured liveries. Those of the
     King's dragon barge and its mate usually wear red jackets
     and caps. On the guard-boats we see many colours; some
     have red jackets and leather caps of ancient style; in
     others the men have only short pants, and narrow fillets
     of palm-leaf about their heads. Brass bands follow in the
     procession, and companies of native men-o'-war's men, who
     close up the moving panorama.

     "The floating and other houses along the line of the King's
     advance have each prepared a little table or altar, upon
     which they display the choicest fruits and flowers, wax
     candles, pictures, and other ornaments, as marks of respect
     to their sovereign. The native and foreign shipping display
     their colours. The small craft on the river and canals
     where he is to come, clear out for the time, to make a wide
     and open passage for him. Formerly none were allowed to
     watch the royal procession, except from behind closed doors
     or windows, but now all such restrictions are withdrawn,
     and the people enjoy the sight of their beloved King, and
     take part in the general rejoicings.

     "The priests' garments being neatly folded and put up into
     bundles of a suit each, are borne with the King in the
     royal throne barge. When he arrives at the landing of a
     temple, he remains seated until several suits of the yellow
     robes have been carried up to the door and put in care of
     an official, to await the approach of His Majesty, and
     until other officers of state and a company of infantry,
     together with the musicians, have had time to leave their
     boats and place themselves in position for receiving him.
     The handrails of the steps which the King ascends are
     wound with white cotton cloth, and the flagged path from
     the landing to the temple is covered with grass matting
     exclusively for him to walk upon. When the King is in the
     act of ascending the steps of the landing, 'Old Siam'
     blows her pipes and conch shells, and beats her drums; the
     military form in double line and present arms, and the
     brass band plays the national anthem.

     "Having reached the door of the 'bote', the King takes
     one suit of the priests' robes, and bearing it in both
     hands, walks in and lays it on a table prepared for that
     purpose. On this table are five golden vases of flowers,
     five golden dishes of parched rice, tastefully arranged in
     the form of bouquets, five golden candlesticks with their
     candles, and five incense sticks. His Majesty first lights
     the candles and incense sticks. He then worships before
     the sacred shrine of Buddha, the sacred books, and the
     assembled priests. He next makes a request to the chief
     priest to renew his covenant to observe the five rules
     of the Buddhist religion. These are, first, that he will
     not take the life of any man or other sentient creature;
     second, that he will not oppress any man; third, that he
     will not take to wife any woman belonging to another,
     while there is the least unwillingness on the part of
     the woman, or of her parents or of her guardians, to the
     transaction; fourth, that he will not lie, nor deal falsely
     with mankind, nor use abusive language; fifth, that he
     will not use intoxicating liquors as a beverage. When the
     King visits the temple, if it happens to be one of their
     four sacred days, their custom makes it necessary for him
     to promise to observe three other rules in addition to the
     above five; first, that he will not partake of any food
     after midday on any sacred day until the next morning after
     light has appeared; second, that he will not on sacred days
     indulge in any theatrical or musical performances, nor in
     any way allow or cause his person to be perfumed; third,
     that he will not on such days sleep on a bed that is more
     than ten and a half inches high, nor use any mattress, and
     that he will deny himself as becometh a devout Buddhist. If
     the King is conscious of having transgressed any of these
     rules since he last renewed his obligations, he is supposed
     to confess his sins mentally before Buddha, and promise
     solemnly that he will earnestly endeavour to avoid such
     sins in the future.

     "His Majesty having renewed his obligations, then proceeds
     to make a formal presentation of his offerings to the
     priests of that temple, whereupon they respond in the Pali
     tongue, 'sâdhu, sâdhu' ('well, well'). The chief priest
     then addresses the fraternity as follows: 'This "Katin"
     robe has been given to us by his most illustrious majesty,
     the King, who, being endued with exceedingly great goodness
     and righteousness, has condescended to come hither himself
     and present these garments to us, a company of Buddhist
     priests, without designating any particular person by
     whom they shall be worn.' They then distribute the gifts
     amongst themselves, after which they bow down and worship
     Buddha, reciting a few Pali sentences. This distribution of
     garments is not always done in the presence of the King,
     but sometimes after he has left the temple. The late King
     Maha Mongkut made an innovation on this old custom, by
     bringing with him extra suits of yellow robes and giving
     them to certain priests who had distinguished themselves as
     Pali scholars. It is also usual to make a few other gifts
     to the priests, of such things as they are apt to need,
     as bedding, boats, and table furniture, but these are not
     considered any part of the real 'Katin.'

     "As the King is about to leave the temple, the priests
     pronounce a Pali blessing upon him, and he again worships
     Buddha, the sacred books, and the priests. Then rising, he
     walks out of the 'bote,' and descends to the royal barge,
     with the same ceremonies as when he ascended. He visits
     several temples during each day, and spends some time in
     each one. The value of each priest's suit which the King
     offers, is supposed to be about ten Mexican dollars, and
     the aggregate value of the offerings he makes on these
     successive days is probably not less than ten thousand
     Mexican dollars."

SONG KRAN. Song Kran is an angel who rises with the sun when
he enters the sign Aries. The date of the holidays held and ceremonies
performed under this title is ruled by the sun, and is not definitely
fixed. But each successive year the court astrologers announce the
event, and then for four days the celebrations take place. The King
takes a state shower-bath, and invites the priests to assemble at the
palace for prayers and breakfast. The laity have their own special
religious services and their own amusements. They gamble and pray, go
to the theatres and temples, feed the priests and feed themselves as
they do at New Year. Buddha's image is bathed by the old women, who
also sprinkle water over the elderly people and priests present, with
the idea of calling down blessings on those who are bathed, as well
as on themselves. As a general rule the ceremonies begin about the
eleventh or twelfth day of April.

KAN WISAKHA BUCHA. This is the name of the holidays connected
with a very important day in the Buddhist calendar--namely, the day
on which Buddha was born. According to the tradition, it is also the
day on which he died, and the day on which he attained Nirvana. This
anniversary day has developed into a three days' celebration, of which
the most noticeable feature is the extensive alms-giving that is
then practised in imitation of Buddha's benevolent deeds. At night,
illuminations on a small scale take place, but there is no great state
function.

KHAUWASA is derived from the Sanskrit "Varasha", meaning
"rain" or "year." The Wasa season lasts from July 8th to October 4th,
and has already been mentioned as the period of Buddhist Lent or
confinement. The priests only, fast and do penance, and even for them
there are no fixed rules, except that which forbids them to remain
outside the temple enclosure between midnight and dawn. Several forms
of self-mortification have been invented, such as spending the night
in a cemetery, thinking of death; sleeping in uncomfortable postures,
and only eating once in twenty-four hours. But if the penitent gets
tired of doing penance, he may give it up. He will still retain all
the merit he has made by what he has already done, though of course
the quantity to his credit is less than it would have been had he
persevered to the end.

The general ceremonies for the people begin at the end of the period
of confinement. The food given to the priests at this time is a
first-class investment, as it purchases one hundredfold its value in
heavenly entertainments in the very next existence. Everyone therefore
is very anxious to secure a hungry priest for his guest.

KAW PRASAI. The ground surrounding the different monasteries
is always covered with sand, so that in wet weather the feet of the
priests may not get covered with mud as they walk from their cells
to the temple. Once each year fresh sand is brought and built up
into little hills in the temple grounds; hence the above name, "Kaw"
meaning "to build," "pra" meaning "holy" and "sai" "sand." The
building of these holy sand-hills is a substitute, amongst the poorer
classes, for the more laborious and expensive way of making merit,
involved in the erection of a prachadee. The sand is moulded as nearly
as possible in the form of the spiral relic mounds, and is ornamented
with small flags. The sand is bought from the monastery, which thus
obtains money for building purposes, or for the purchase of more sand
for the courtyard. Small coins are placed in the holy hillocks, and
these become the property of those who find them when the hillocks are
demolished.



CHAPTER XVIII.

RELIGIOUS CEREMONIES (_continued_).


LOY KRATHONG. The Loy Krathong festivals were established by
King Pra Luang, the founder of the Thot Katin ceremonies, and they
originally occurred in connection with them; but they have gradually
become separated from them, and have now an independent existence
of their own. Whereas the Katin ceremonies owe their origin to a
superstition propagated by worshippers of the Buddhist faith, the Loy
Krathong festivities are an outgrowth of Brahminical worship. The old
"wat" visitations, with the presentation of robes to the priests,
originated, as we have seen, in a peculiar belief as to the actions
of an ascetic priesthood, and were afterwards definitely established
as annual occurrences by the king. Their connection with the ceremony
about to be described, was due to accidental circumstances that
did not arise for several years after the initiation of the older
festival. The later ceremonies which were connected primarily with
the Katin, and which have now become a separate function, originated,
according to the late king's account, in the following manner.

In the reign of Somdet Pra Luang there lived a famous Brahmin who
was noted in the capital, and in all the surrounding country, for his
great wisdom. There was no branch of knowledge whose depths he had not
fathomed. He could read the stars, cast horoscopes, foretell eclipses,
and fulfil the duties of a weather prophet. He was well versed in
the mysteries of the theory and practice of medicine, and knew the
names, habitats, and virtuous properties of all plants that grew. As
a theologian he could explain the origin of all things, and discourse
upon the subtle doctrines of all the religions then known. He was
an authority upon law, could tell what had been the customs of many
people, and devise plans for firm and wise government. As a scholar
of ancient practices he was unrivalled, and knew all the details of
the growth and development of all religious and social usages. Such a
man found great favour in the eyes of the sovereign, who made use of
the Brahmin's great wisdom in the management of his subjects. He gave
him many honours and appointed him to fill many important positions.
Amongst many offices that he held, two were given him on account of
his unrivalled knowledge, namely, those of chief physician, and chief
judge.

This encyclopædic philosopher had a young and graceful daughter whom
he called Nobamas. And as became the child of so wise a father, she
also was well skilled in many arts and sciences. Her beauty was the
subject of every song, and her name was in everyone's mouth. The whole
nation were enthusiastic in their praise of her, and so great were
her charms and abilities that even her own sex regarded her not with
envy, but were proud that one of their number should be distinguished.
She was almost as learned as her father and was wont to discourse
upon all subjects with great intelligence. She was a clever poetess,
a skilful musician, and an artist of great power. And when the poets
of the country had exhausted all their vocabulary in describing her
beauty and her talents, they began to sing of the honours she ought to
receive, and greatest of all these was the honour of becoming the wife
of the king. One day the king listened to a group of musicians who
were merrily singing, and the subject of their song was the wondrous
Nobamas, fit only for the wife of the sovereign. The song scorned the
idea of her wedding any one of less degree, and eulogised her to such
an extent that the listening monarch's curiosity became very great. He
returned to his palace, and sought for the ladies of his household. He
told them all he had heard, and enquired if any of them knew anything
of this peerless creature. To the king's eager enquiries they returned
answer that the song was true, but that no words could adequately
describe the charms of the Brahmin maiden. The king could no longer
restrain his desire to possess so fair a creature, and he sent the
most elderly ladies of his retinue, according to the custom of the
country, to ask her father for her hand.

The ladies went, and their mission was entirely successful. The old
counsellor who had received so many favours from his sovereign was
glad to have an opportunity of showing his gratitude in this way, so
he willingly presented his renowned daughter to his royal master.
He sent her to the king, who ever afterwards treated her with great
tenderness and affection, and soon made her chief of the ladies in the
palace. They both of them enjoyed the greatest happiness when in each
other's company, and whenever Nobamas was not engaged in fulfilling
her duties in her department of the palace, she held converse with the
king, delighting him with her great wisdom and knowledge, and charming
him with her compositions in music and poetry.

Soon after their marriage there occurred a celebration of the Katin
ceremonies, and the king desired the fair Nobamas to accompany him on
his water procession. Now, although this beautiful wife had married
a Buddhist king, she still remained true to her Brahmin faith, and
worshipped her own idols and spirits according to the precepts her
father had taught her in her early childhood. It was a Brahminical
custom that, at the end of the year, all people should prepare
suitable offerings to present to the genii of the river, in order
to obtain pardon and the absolution of their sins. Towards the end
of the year, when the people were getting ready to celebrate the
Katin, Nobamas secretly prepared to perform her own religious rites,
and for this purpose she made a small boat-like structure, called
a "Krathong." This she formed out of plantain leaves, and loaded
it with paddy husks to make it float in stable equilibrium. She
stitched strips of plantain leaves together, and pinned them round
the edge of the little boat by way of ornament. Over the ballast she
spread smooth clean plantain leaves, and on this green leafy deck
she placed a little cargo of betel-nut, sirih leaf, parched rice,
and sweet-scented flowers. She took several fresh fruits of a fleshy
character, such as the papaya and the pumpkin, and deftly carved them
into representations of fruits, flowers, and animals, and piled them
up in a conical arrangement in the centre. The artificial flowers
she stained with the juices of other plants to make them resemble
real blossoms. Here and there she fastened one of her own sketches or
paintings, and finally finished the work by adorning it with storied
umbrellas of paper, tiny flags, toy implements, tapers, and scented
incense sticks.

On the first evening of the Katin ceremony the boats were arranged
in front of the palace landing, as usual, and the state barge with
the glass throne was moored there, pending the arrival of the king.
Suddenly everyone's attention was attracted by a strange-looking
object that was being floated to the royal landing. It was the
Krathong that Nobamas had made. She intended to light the tapers and
the incense sticks, and send the float adrift to bear her message to
the spirits, at the same time that the royal party should set out
to visit the temples. But as soon as the Krathong was come to the
landing, all the ladies, and the members of the royal family, who
were assembled there to wait for the coming of the king, crowded
round it, and begged to be allowed to examine it, so Nobamas had to
explain the design and the meaning of this, her handiwork. So great
was the interest exhibited by everyone in the pretty toy, that no
one noticed the arrival of the king, and he seeing the crowd so noisy
and so attracted, enquired what was the cause of their merriment and
amusement. Someone told him that everyone was busily admiring a float
that his beautiful consort had made. He then ordered the object to be
brought to him that he might also see and hear about it. When he saw
it he could not find sufficient words to express his admiration of the
skill that had designed and constructed it. He requested to be allowed
to keep it, and Nobamas knelt before him and presented him with the
decorated krathong. He again praised the work, but more still did
he praise her who had made it. But when he had examined it a little
longer, he discovered its purpose, and said, "This is the offering
of a lady of the Brahmin faith." And Nobamas answered him, saying,
"That is so, for I am a Brahmin, and hitherto Your Majesty has not
interfered with my religious belief, so at this season of the year, I
have made this little krathong with the intention of floating it down
the river as an offering to the spirits of the water, as is right and
proper for a maiden of the Brahmin faith to do."

Pra Luang was a good Buddhist and a devout believer in the teachings
of his own religion. Still, the krathong looked very pretty, and he
had a great desire to light the incense sticks and the tapers and
send it adrift as Nobamas had intended. But he was afraid of the
opinions of the people. For if he should make this offering to the
spirits and not to Buddha, he was afraid the people might upbraid
him and accuse him of having abandoned his religion for that of his
wife. But he could not resist the temptation to see what the krathong
would look like when it was illuminated, so, not without some little
misgiving, he lit the lights upon the leafy boat. And still he was not
satisfied, for he wanted to see it drifting away into the darkness,
with the tapers reflecting their glittering light in the flowing
waters. Therefore he cast about in his mind for some excuse to explain
his actions, and presently he spoke in a loud voice that all around
him, whether upon the landing-stage, the banks of the river, or in the
boats before him, might hear, and said, "To all the property, such
as temples, pagodas, and spires that are dedicated to Buddha on the
banks of this river; to all his sacred relics, such as his bones and
hair, wherever they may be in the subterranean regions concealed from
the eye, under the river, or in places which Buddha has pressed with
his feet, when moving in his might or in his natural state; to his
footprints in this river, or in the ocean which receives the stream of
this river,--to them I offer this krathong and its contents as worthy
of the great Buddha. To him and to the relics and to his property I
reverently dedicate this krathong. And whatever merit I may obtain by
this deed, that merit I do not appropriate for myself, but give to the
genii, in whose honour the krathong was first made by Nobamas, for I
too reverence the spirits she intended to honour." Having finished
this speech in defence of his actions, and having satisfied his own
conscience, he placed the brilliantly illuminated little float in the
water, for the stream to carry away to the sea.

But all these proceedings, though very complimentary to Nobamas
herself, did not in any way realise her idea as to what was due to the
water-spirits from one who was a Brahmin. As she had now no offering,
she at once set to work to make one. She hastily gathered fresh leaves
and bound them together into a square, shallow box. She cut bits of
banana stem to fasten to it, and in the middle she quickly stuck a
few tapers and joss sticks, borrowed from the people round about her.
Into the boat she cast anything she could find, lit the tapers, made
her vows and resolves mentally, and cast the toy adrift to follow the
one the king had already launched. The monarch saw it, and knew who
had made it so quickly, for there was but one woman in the land who
had the knowledge and the skill to construct a new krathong so easily.
He was loud in his praise, and the people stirred by the example thus
set them, took everything that they could find that would float, stuck
lighted tapers and incense sticks in them, and put them in the water,
till presently the river was all ablaze with twinkling lights, and the
air was full of the joyful sound of merry laughter.

The king was highly delighted with the sight, and ordered that it
should occur annually in honour of the wise and beautiful Nobamas. And
he entreated the genii of the river to take possession of the hearts
and minds of all his subjects at this season of the year, for ever
and ever, and compel them to hold a great festival, which he named
"Khan Loi Phra Prathip Krathong." "Krathong," as previously explained,
means "a little basket-like boat containing small flowers and other
offerings suitable for the water-spirits;" "loi" means "to send
adrift" or "to float," and "prathip" is derived from the Pali word
"padipo", meaning "a lamp" or "taper." There are those in the country
who say that all the descendants of those who witnessed the first
ceremony, are slaves of Pra Luang, and that at the proper season their
minds are forced to obey his wishes, and send adrift the taper-bearing
floats.

For seven hundred years the ceremony has existed, but its details
have changed with each succeeding generation. A few years after its
initiation, the king ceased his visitation to all temples that were
not near at hand, and all the fireworks that used to be let off on his
arrival were brought together to make a gorgeous display at the palace
landing. The king sat on a throne to watch the general amusement, and
then sent adrift one or more krathongs.

Since the foundation of Bangkok the ceremonies of Thot Katin and Loy
Krathong have branched off from each other. The late king introduced
several changes; for, whereas previously, all the floats were provided
by his own officials at their private expense, those sent off by the
king himself were made at his expense, and greatly reduced in number.
The common people, of course, please themselves as to the number and
value of the krathongs they send adrift.

At present the festival occurs twice each year; first on the third,
fourth, and fifth day of October, and again on the first, second and
third of November. The people have various theories as to why they
make offerings to the spirits of the water by means of illuminated
krathongs and floating fireworks, though they all agree that it is a
good way of making merit. About midnight or early morning the king
comes down to the royal landing in front of the palace, and pushes
off a big krathong, whose tapers he has lit with his own hand. The
royal children and princes follow suit. As they float away into the
darkness, they give the signal to the thousands of people who are
waiting to do the same thing. Night is soon turned into day. Fireworks
are thrown into the water, the bright little lights sail over the
dancing waves, and the river is soon dotted all over as far as the
eye can reach, with lights of many colours, that twinkle, fizz, or
splutter for a long, long time. The krathongs take many shapes,
and illuminated palaces, ships, rafts, lotuses, and boats ride on
the river, carrying their little offerings of food and tobacco as
a gracious gift to the "mother of the waters", amidst the blare of
trumpets and the shouts of many voices. Away by the sea shore, the
crested billows bear the same offerings out to sea, to be soon lost
and drowned in the deep dark ocean.

ECLIPSES. Whenever an eclipse occurs, the natives turn out
of their houses and indulge in a very noisy demonstration. Though
their actions on these occasions cannot be described as strictly
of a religious character, yet as most of the so-called religious
ceremonies have been developed from superstitions, the superstition
that forms the basis of the popular theory of eclipses may here be
fitly given. The native astrologers are able to calculate the time of
these astronomical phenomena, with considerable accuracy; but as they
do not understand the use of logarithms, their methods are tedious
and lengthy. When an eclipse occurs, the people beat drums and gongs,
shout their loudest, let off fire-arms, and in fact make any and every
noise they can think of. Some people say that a demon is eating up
the moon, or the sun, as the case may be, and that only in this way
can they frighten the monster away, and so prevent the loss of these
brilliant luminaries. But there is another story quite as fantastic,
which also attempts to account for a lunar eclipse.

In times long ago, so long ago that no man knows any one who can
remember them, it was the custom of the Sun to descend to earth and
hold daily conversation with his younger brothers, the Emperor of
China and the King of Siam. These two potentates held long and weighty
consultations with the renowned and brilliant king Sol, taking his
advice on all matters of importance, discussing with him all the
details of state management and intrigue, and seeking his aid when
foreign powers attacked their thrones. The stars and planets formed
the retinue of the solar monarch, and were employed as ambassadors
both in times or war and of peace.

At that time the King of Siam dwelt at Ayuthia, then the capital of
all the kingdom. Owing to the constant visits of the sun, life was
longer and less liable to disease. Such was the vitality imparted by
the warmth and cheerfulness of his rays, that no man began to talk of
growing old until he had lived for about two thousand years.

The King having reigned peacefully and with great success for over
two hundred years, decided to abdicate in favour of his son, who was
a mere youth of not more than one hundred and sixty or seventy years
of age. Now after this young boy had ascended the throne, old King
Sol made up his mind to do his best to assist the youthful sovereign
in the difficult art of right government. To this end he kept his
watchful eye ever fixed upon the young king and his doings. He never
slept, or took a holiday, but hour by hour, and day by day, poured
forth his shining light in loving guardianship of his royal nephew.
The services of the stars were no longer required. When they found
themselves of no importance in the administration of government, they
became suspicious and angry. They met together and formed a league,
vowed to revolt against their liege lord, and to proclaim a republic
at the earliest opportunity. Like all true conspirators they hid
their deep designs, and while pretending sleep, they only blinked and
snoozed, ever on the alert for anything which they might use for the
disadvantage of their powerful monarch. As they lay in wait, they said
one to another, "Why does our king never go to sleep now? Aforetime he
took his nightly rest as all respectable monarchs should. Why these
sleepless hours?"

It happened that the old King, who had abdicated the throne, had a
daughter of the most lovable disposition, who was also exceedingly
fair to look upon. She was called Rosy Morn. Whenever she came to her
father, he lost any lingering desires for regal pomp and splendour,
for her presence was refreshing to him above all things on earth. No
one except his own family had ever looked upon her. Beautiful and
good, chaste and simple, she was beloved by all her relatives, with a
love that was half worship.

Her days were spent in rural pursuits of charming simplicity. She
gathered flowers and made wreaths of them to deck her own fair head;
she talked to the birds who never hid their gorgeous plumage when she
approached them; and she listened to the voices of the spirits that
frolic in the rain-drops and the dew, as they chattered and laughed
in every floral cup. One day, having sung her father to rest, she
wandered forth to stroll in the still green woods around her home.

In these woods there was a cavern, whose entrance, hidden by a mass
of tropical foliage, had never been discovered by any one except Rosy
Morn, who, keen lover of nature as she was, knew every secret nook and
corner of the whole forest. Through this secluded cavern there ran
a brook, clear as crystal and pure beyond description. Whenever the
maiden was tired of wandering through the woods, she made her way to
this safe retreat and bathed her tiny feet in the clear cool water.
Thus happiness and peace attended her day by day, and her mind, pure
and tender, knew no other excitements except those of simple wonder
and delight.

But one day a butterfly of unusually brilliant appearance flittered
across her path. It was larger than any she had ever seen before,
and the colours of its wings were of the most resplendent tints. She
chased this wonderful little creature, and tried to catch it, but
without success. It flew from palm to palm, and from fern to fern, now
hiding itself behind some radiant blossom, now poising itself high
out of reach upon some feathery branch. Suddenly a light appeared, in
whose brilliancy the hues of the butterfly were lost, and the eyes
of the maiden dazzled so that she could not see. It was the chariot
of old Sol coming over a neighbouring hill. She turned and fled, and
retiring to the cave, quite unconscious that she had been observed by
anyone, she sought to cool her heated body and refresh her weary limbs
by bathing in the sparkling waters that ran through her retreat.

But old Sol had seen her, and being struck by her wondrous beauty,
the like of which in all his rambles he had never beheld before, he
drove after her with furious speed, and discovered the place where
she had concealed herself. He entered into the cavern, but as she was
lying down asleep after her bath, he did not disturb her, but sat
down quietly by her side, and waited patiently for her to open her
eyes. When she awoke, she was startled by his dazzling presence. He
calmed her fears, revealed to her all his majesty and power, and then
cast himself before her in the humble suppliant attitude of a devout
lover. The maiden, unable to resist either the glory of his station,
or the sincerity of his submission to herself, accepted him as her
lover, with great shyness and trembling. They plighted their troth,
and wandered arm in arm about the cavern. They agreed to keep their
engagement secret, and to meet regularly at noon every day in that
place, until such time as it should be convenient to disclose their
intention to their friends. For about two thousand years they kept
their betrothal a secret, but at last, through some mischance, the
stars, eager for revolt, got an inkling of their monarch's misconduct.
They set a watch, and one day when he was paying his accustomed day
visit to his sweetheart, they seized his chariot, and driving with
furious speed, they rushed home to spread the news. Elated with their
discovery they proclaimed aloud all they knew of Sol's behaviour, and
declared a republic.

When the glorious monarch had said farewell to Rosy Morn for that day,
he found that his carriage had been stolen, and that his conduct was
known. He wept bitterly, shedding tears of pure gold. The mountains,
on whose majestic forms he had so often cast his cheery, warming
rays, now took pity on the distressed king, and opened a passage in
the earth by means of which he could return to his home in safety.
Every day he came to visit his sweetheart, driving in a new chariot
through the mountain caverns. Ever as he drove along he cried aloud
in sorrow for his misfortunes, and ever as he wept his tears fell down
to earth in streams of purest gold. These precious tears hidden away
in the ground are now the gold mines of Siam. It took him twelve hours
to get home. Then he turned, and rode back during the night, taking
another twelve hours' journey just to get a momentary glimpse at the
faithful maiden. All this time Rosy Morn wandered about in caverns
and mountains also. Her heart was heavy with her grief, and she wept
bitterly. Her tears fell wherever she walked, in streams of purest
silver, giving rise to the silver mines of the country.

After a long time the revolted stars made a compact with their lawful
king. For two weeks each month the maiden was to live with King Sol in
some distant home, but during the other half of the month the stars
were to be permitted to gaze upon her lovely face and call her moon.
One other stipulation was made--namely, that Sol should never kiss
Rosy Morn whenever there was any one looking on. But this latter part
of the agreement he occasionally breaks, for during the eclipse of the
moon he is seen by many thousands of people, impudently kissing her
silver face before the public gaze. Then the dwellers upon earth make
a great noise to remind him of his promise, and to let him know how
very shocked they are.

Though this story exists in the native legends, it is not generally
accepted as giving the true theory of the eclipse; the idea of sun- or
moon-eating demons being far more popular. But this latter story also
gives an account of the origin of the gold and silver mines of Siam.
The cave in which Rosy Morn and Old Sol held their daily meetings, is
said to be near Ayuthia. Until a few years ago, pilgrimages were made
to this cave, and into a bottomless pit, every one according to his
rank, cast in gold and silver as a memorial of the day when silver and
precious metals were first discovered in the kingdom of Siam.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE PILGRIMAGE TO PRABAT.


About one hundred miles to the north-north-east of the city of
Bangkok there stands an isolated hill, whose sides are greatly scored
with "rays" that plainly indicate its volcanic origin. As all the
surrounding land is but a wide stretch of low level plain, flooded in
the rainy season, the jagged peak is a conspicuous object for many
miles away from its base. The hill is known as Mount Prabat. The name
"Pra-bat" is a compound of two words, meaning "the holy foot," and
is given to the hill because popular superstition asserts that in a
hollow in its rocky sides there is a footprint of the holy Buddha.

Thousands of people every year make their way to the spot to worship
this memento of their Master's presence on this earth. From Bangkok
the pilgrims ascend the Menam Chow Phya in boats, until they reach
the old ruined capital of Ayuthia, from which point, the rest of the
journey, some fourteen or fifteen miles, is made by land. Some people
trudge the whole way on foot; some ride in the picturesque buffalo
carts, or in the cumbersome bullock waggons; while others travel by
means of elephants. The howdah of the elephant is no gorgeously
caparisoned seat, like those so often seen in Indian pictures, but
is merely a plain wooden saddle, covered over with a light canopy
of basket-work which shields the head from the heat of the sun, and
the thorns of the long spiny creepers that hang from the branches
overhead. The Siamese elephant does not kneel in order to allow the
passenger to mount, but he lifts one of his front legs, and bends it
at the knee so as to form a kind of step. A sharp iron spike, stuck
in the end of a long rod or pole, is the weapon used by the mahout or
elephant driver to guide the beast and to urge it to greater speed. It
functions both as whip and reins.

The road, in the height of the pilgrim season, is thronged throughout
its whole length with crowds of people going and returning, and
there are plenty of enterprising Chinese and Siamese at convenient
intervals along the track, anxious to make a little honest profit by
supplying the devotees with food. Rice is the chief article offered
for sale, and is cooked in bamboo shoots, which here take the place
of the ordinary iron pot. Sugar obtained from the palm tree, and wild
honey in the comb, from the trees in the neighbouring forest, are also
largely disposed of as palatable forms of light refreshment.

On the hill, and round about it, there are many temple-like buildings
and houses for the attendant priests. Salas, rooms for preaching,
halls filled with hundreds of idols, and huts made of bamboo for the
use of the pilgrims abound at the base of the hill, and testify to
the large number of worshippers who annually frequent the place. On
trees and temples, on shrines and shanties, are hung innumerable
bells, which when light are swung by every breeze, and when heavy
are banged by the worshippers. A native band performs hour by hour,
and endeavours, unsuccessfully, to drown the clear sweet melody of
the bells in its harsh discord of gongs and drums. The mountain is
dotted all over with the usual white spire-crowned pagodas, and, over
the footprint, a particularly beautiful shrine has been erected. Its
roof is built in seven stories which overlap each other, and upon
the summit rests a very tall prachadee with a snow-white spire and
a richly gilded base, which indicates with dazzling brilliancy, the
whole day through, the exact locality of the sacred spot. The whole
structure is placed on a small projecting platform in the rock, and
the ascent is made by a series of about fifty or sixty steps cut in
the solid rock. Up these steps all truly devout Buddhists crawl on
their hands and knees, and as the result of the visits to the shrine
of thousands of worshippers who year by year have come to bow before
the footprint of their ancient teacher, the steps are distinctly worn
and polished.

The external walls of the building are covered with brightly coloured
mosaics; the outer surfaces of the heavy doors and windows are
beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and the whole of the interior
is decorated with a series of perspectiveless frescoes, illustrating
various scenes from the life of Buddha. The platform of rock is
about thirty feet square; and inside the building the floor is laid
with plates of solid silver covered over with a carpet of pure silver
net-work, which is polished intensely bright by the knees of the
devotees. Two copies of the sacred footprint are hung on the walls.
Both are made of pure gold, and one of them has all the mystic symbols
inlaid with precious stones. The footprint itself is about four feet
long and one foot and a half broad, and both in size and shape bears
no resemblance whatever to the footprint of anything either human
or divine. It is in a dark hole, and cannot be distinctly seen. The
golden copies on the wall are apparently purely imaginative. Railings
of solid bars of silver enclose the depression in the rock, and render
minute examination perfectly impossible. A gilt canopy with flowing
curtains of cloth of gold is suspended from the roof immediately above
the object of the people's veneration.

The numerous worshippers enter on their knees. They carry wax candles
in their hands, and crawl up to the depression, prostrate themselves
devoutly at its edge, fasten a bit of gold-leaf on the sides of the
hole, sprinkle holy water on their heads, and then crawl out again on
hands and knees. Offerings of bottles, looking-glasses, wax and paper
flowers, and other tawdry objects are heaped in piles on the floor.
The more valuable gifts are carefully preserved elsewhere. Those who
cannot afford to give anything at all, satisfy their consciences by
carefully fanning the footprint itself.

[Illustration: PRABAT HILLS FROM NEAR AYUTHIA.

_Page 375._]

The Siamese are not the only people in the world who have been known
to reverence a supposed footprint, nor is Prabat the only place
where the impress of the feet of the holy of old is pointed out.
The footprint superstition is world-wide. There is the well-known
footprint on Adam's Peak in Ceylon, which is claimed by the Buddhists
as marking the place where Buddha once stood. It is worshipped by the
Brahmins as being that of Siva, while the Mahomedans assert that it
was made by Adam, and Christians have been known who have stated that
they believe it to be the footprint of St. Thomas. On the Kodam Rasul
Hill near Hyderabad, the Mahomedans have found a footprint of Mahomed.
At Thanet, St. Augustine left the marks of his feet upon a rock upon
which he pressed heavily when he landed upon our heathen shores. In a
circular chapel over a foot-like depression in the rocky sides of the
Mount of Olives, the footprint of Christ is pointed out to travellers.
On the other side of the world the inhabitants of the island of Samoa
exhibit a similar memorial of Tiitii; while the ancient Mexicans
claimed to possess an equally authentic relic of Tezcatlipoa.

In a "Life of Buddha", written in Sanskrit, it is said that when
Gautama was born he bore in his person a number of signs or personal
peculiarities that at once foretold that his ultimate destiny was
that of a powerful emperor or of a widely renowned and worshipped
teacher. There are thirty-two chief and eighty minor signs given, and
they mostly refer to personal characteristics considered handsome or
beautiful in men or women according to the Oriental idea of beauty.
Some of them do not appear to the mind of the European to be at all
conducive to an impressive or handsome presence. For instance, the
wonderful being who is born with the thirty-two major distinguishing
marks of future greatness or holiness, has amongst other things, a
skin of the colour of gold, arms so long that they reach far below the
knees when he stands upright, and a thin butterfly kind of tongue long
enough to reach round and enter his ears when fully produced. Upon his
fingers and toes there should be a network of lines described with
mathematical regularity.

The worship of the footprint in the Far East extends back for many
years, and in many of the oldest sculptures that have been brought
from India, there are to be seen distinct representations of the sole
of a foot with the mark of a wheel in the centre. At first, all other
marks, except this universal one of the wheel, varied considerably
in character, and were few in number. But the imaginations of the
Eastern worshippers gradually added further ornamentations until the
sole of the foot was covered entirely by a collection of symbols. The
elaboration of these signs reached its greatest height in Siam and
Burmah.

There is nothing in the earliest scriptures to warrant the present
widely-spread superstition, and, in fact, it is not until many years
after Buddha's death that any mention of such a belief is to be found
in the Sanskrit writings.

The Prabat relic in Siam was discovered in 1602 A.D., by a hunter
named Boon. It is very probable that he had at some time or other
been a pilgrim to Ceylon, for such pilgrimages to Adam's peak were
not uncommon in those days. One day when hunting in the forest he
noticed a depression in the rock, which he thought resembled the relic
in Ceylon. He proclaimed his discovery to many people, and the king,
hearing the report, sent a body of learned monks to the place to
examine the footprint and report upon its authenticity. They examined
and compared it with the copies they possessed of the one in Ceylon,
and returned to the king, declaring that it was perfectly genuine.
Thereupon, the sovereign, being only too willing to accept the
conclusions of the monks, made no further enquiry as to the character
of the discovery, but built a shrine over it, and ordered his people
to worship it annually. This they gladly did, for their national pride
was intensely gratified by the belief that they had in their country
so unmistakable a proof that the holy Buddha had once resided amongst
them.

In all the well-known Buddhist footprints the figure of a wheel
or disc occupies the centre. It probably first represented speed,
and was therefore symbolical of fleetness of foot, an attribute
of greatness in early days. In later times it lost the form of an
ordinary chariot wheel, and became the Chakkra or quoit of Vishnu and
Indra. Its form is well seen in the watermark on Siamese stamps, and
on the old Siamese coins. In the hands of Vishnu and Indra it was a
powerful weapon of destruction, as it always annihilated all those
enemies against whom, in their wrath, they hurled it. In the Buddhist
mythology it has lost its material character, and taken on a new
significance, as representing the pure moral teachings of Gautama,
which when cast by holy men against the ignorance and sin of the world
will effectually destroy them.

The other marks on the footprints in Siam and Burmah are later designs
added by credulous and imaginative worshippers. They are grouped
symmetrically round the central Chakkra, and represent various
attributes of royal power, and holiness, or else are symbolical of
different natural and supernatural ideas. The principal of them are
mentioned below. There are the sixteen heavens of the formed Brahmas,
and the six heavens inhabited by the inferior angels or Devas. Another
sign represents Mount Meru, the centre of each system of the universe.
There are also depicted on the sole of the foot, the seven mountains
which form a ring round Mount Meru, and the seven belts of deep dark
ocean that lie in the valleys between them, and in whose waters
monstrous fishes and water-elephants gambol and amuse themselves.
Then there is another ocean, the eighth, in which float four worlds
inhabited by human beings. In the first of these worlds, the men have
faces such as are familiar to the dwellers upon our own particular
planet. In the second, the faces of the inhabitants are square in
shape, while those of the third have a round moon-like visage, and
those of the fourth have countenances bounded by semi-circles. Another
compartment of the footprint holds Mount Chakrawan, the great
mountain of crystal which encircles the world and forms a wall around
it. The heavens are represented by a group of stars. The Himalaya
Mountains, that appear so often in Hindoo legends, are not forgotten,
nor are their seven lakes in which bloom lotuses of many different
colours, ever omitted. Five rivers flow from the Himalaya Mountains,
and on their banks are the great forests inhabited by fabulous beasts
and birds. The Naga king, the seven-headed cobra who shielded Buddha,
with his seven hoods, during a time of danger, finds a place in
another compartment. But amidst all these curious and mystic symbols
there is no animal of evil disposition, for upon the foot of the
holy man there was nothing of bad omen. Figures representing royal
authority occur in the form of a palace, a flag, a throne, a royal
sword, a white seven-storied state umbrella, a spiral crown, and a
golden ship.

It is rather surprising that the late king, who was very hostile to
many popular superstitions, encouraged the worship at the shrine on
the hill at Prabat. Perhaps he half believed in it himself, or perhaps
he thought it good for his people to be reminded as often and as
forcibly as possible of the life of the founder of the national faith.
The reader need scarcely be told that not only is the whole footprint
purely fabulous, but that also there is nothing in the authentic
history of ancient times to warrant the notion that Buddha ever set
foot in Siam at all.

The two following stories referring to Buddha's feet are given by
Alabaster, as being translated from the Burmese "Life of Buddha" by
Bishop Bigandet.

     "During all the time that elapsed after the rain, Buddha
     travelled through the country, engaged in his usual
     benevolent errand, and converting many amongst men and
     angels. In the country of Gaurint, in a village of Pounhas,
     called Magoulia, the head man, one of the richest in the
     place, had a daughter whose beauty equalled that of a
     daughter of the angels. She had been in vain asked in
     marriage by princes, nobles, and Pounhas. The proud damsel
     had rejected every offer. On the day that her father saw
     Gautama he was struck with his manly beauty and deportment.
     He said within himself, 'This man shall be a proper match
     for my daughter.' On his return home he communicated his
     views to his wife. On the following day, the daughter
     having put on her choicest dress and richest apparel,
     they all three went with a large retinue to the Dzetawon
     monastery. Admitted to the presence of Buddha, the father
     asked for his daughter the favour of being allowed to
     attend on him. Without returning a word or reply, or giving
     the least sign of acceptance or refusal, Buddha rose up and
     withdrew to a small distance, leaving behind him on the
     floor the print of one of his feet. The Pounha's wife, well
     skilled in the science of interpreting wonderful signs,
     saw at a glance that the marks on the print indicated a
     man no longer under the control of passions, but a sage
     emancipated from the thraldom of concupiscence."

The story goes on to relate how the father made a further offer of
his daughter to Buddha, and how the saint preached to the parents a
sermon that stilled their longings to possess him for a son-in-law.
They returned home with their still unmarried daughter. She never
forgave the man who had refused her love, and cherished for him a
lively and life-long hatred.

The other story tells of a visit paid by the saint Kathaba to the pile
upon which Buddha was laid for his cremation.

     "Standing opposite to the feet, he made the following
     prayer, 'I wish to see the feet of Buddha whereupon are
     imprinted the marks that formerly prognosticated his future
     glorious destiny. May the cloth and cotton they are wrapt
     with be unloosened, and the coffin as well as the pile be
     laid open, and the sacred feet appear out, and extend so
     far as to lie on my head.' He had scarcely uttered this
     prayer when the whole suddenly opened, and there came out
     the beautiful feet, like the full moon emerging from the
     bosom of a dark cloud."



CHAPTER XX.

THE ELEPHANTS.


The Siamese Twins and the Siamese White Elephants are the two objects
round which many an Englishman grouped all his knowledge of "The
Kingdom of the Yellow Robe" until the political troubles of the past
few years drew public attention to this hitherto little known country.
The elephants have given rise to a proverbial expression in England,
which is a little misleading when viewed in the light of Siamese
opinion. To give to a European a useless and troublesome present
is known as giving him a "white elephant," but to give a Buddhist
a present of a white elephant would be to give him possession of a
creature which, kindly treated, would cause blessings and good fortune
to fall in showers around him in this and all future existences.

The white elephant has been held in great respect in many countries,
and has played a great part in many legends. In Enarea, in Central
Africa, elephants of this colour are reverenced.

When Shahab ud-Din, in 1194, attacked and defeated Jaya Chandra of
Benares, he captured from his conquered foes a white elephant which
refused to make obeisance to its new master, and made a furious
assault upon its driver when he attempted to coerce it into respectful
behaviour.

In the time of the grandfather of Mahomed, when the Christian king of
Himyar advanced against Kenanah in Hijaz, to revenge the pollution of
a Christian church at Sennaa, he secured his victory beforehand by
going to the scene of battle upon an elephant whose skin was of the
colour of milk.

In Siam the representation of the white elephant is everywhere
conspicuous. The national flag is "a white elephant on a scarlet
ground." The mercantile flag is "a white elephant on a blue
ground." On every temple and official building in the land there
is a representation in stone, plaster, or colour of this wonderful
creature. But the _body_ of a real white elephant has never yet been
seen. The creature who bears the name is simply an elephant which is
a little lighter in colour than the ordinary elephant. For the sake
of convenience we shall refer to it as the "white elephant," though
there is no such name for it in the native language, and though its
colour is very much more like that of a dirty bath-brick. Even this
distant approach to whiteness is not distributed generally all over
the body, but is usually confined to a few solitary patches near the
extremities. These blotches of lighter colour are not natural or
hereditary. They are often the result of an eruptive affection. The
irritation that accompanies the disease causes the animal to rub the
affected part against the trunks of trees or other hard material, and
so to destroy the epidermal surface. All so-called white elephants
have, however, a few really white hairs which are not to be accounted
for in this manner.

The white elephant has at times been worshipped with a veneration
which, though we may consider it misdirected, may charitably be
regarded as laudable in intention. It has been believed that this
particular animal contains the soul of some very distinguished person,
possibly that of a Buddha, who in some future age will appear in human
form to enlighten and bless the world by his counsel and example. This
being the belief, the adoration that is offered to such an animal is
reasonable.

The white elephants in the stables at Bangkok have chiefly been
captured in the Laos territories in the north. When one of them is
caught, the finder is handsomely rewarded, and there is general
rejoicing throughout the land. It is immediately handed over to the
king, who provides for its earthly comforts ever after. It is of
priceless value, and cannot be bought or sold.

About twenty years ago a body of Brahmin astrologers who are
permanently attached to the court, declared that the present reign
would be an especially happy one, and that several white elephants
would be caught. Both their forecasts have proved correct. Their
prophetic utterances were conveyed from one end of the country to the
other, and large rewards were offered to the men who would discover a
white elephant. For a long time a most diligent search in forest and
jungle was made by the native hunters. Every place where elephants
had ever been seen or heard of was examined with great care and
perseverance, but without success. One day, however, a number of men
caught sight of an elephant of excellent shape, but his colour gave
no evidence that he was one of the kind they were searching for. On
looking closer at the mud-bespattered animal, they were attracted by
some peculiarity in the skin, and also by the pale Neapolitan yellow
colour of the iris of the eye. This latter mark being considered as
one of the chief beauties of a white elephant, they determined to
capture the animal. This was a matter speedily accomplished. They then
took the animal home and gave it a good bath, patiently scrubbing
and scraping away until all the accumulated mud and dirt upon it was
removed, when to their almost infinite joy and astonishment they
beheld a most beautiful specimen of the white elephant family. It was
of pale bath-brick colour, and on its back there were actually a few
hairs that could, without any flattery, be truly called white. This
elephant is said to be the finest example of the kind ever captured.

The excitement which prevailed in the whole land to its furthest
boundaries, and affected the whole population from king to coolie, is
said to have been unrealisable to the English mind. It was more than a
mere national rejoicing, for in many thousands of homes it was mingled
with that deep superstitious veneration in which the Oriental mind
satisfies its longings and its imagination. Gorgeous preparations
were made for the elephant's reception. The king travelled up the
river as far as Ayuthia to meet it; Bangkok was decorated and
illuminated; every nobleman was arrayed in his richly embroidered
cloth of gold, and was followed by his retinue of servants. People
from outlying districts poured into the city to swell the enormous
crowd of spectators; every available ornament for personal use was
displayed; the brightest colours were donned; flags and bunting were
hoisted; and when the noble animal appeared, surrounded by gaily
gilded state barges, a group of Brahmin priests descended to the
river's edge to receive the living cause of all this rejoicing. To it
they read an address, of which the following translation is a part:

     "With holy reverence we now come to worship the angels who
     preside over the destiny of all elephants. Most powerful
     angels, we entreat you to assemble now, in order that you
     may prevent all evil to His Majesty the King of Siam, and
     also to this magnificent elephant, which has recently
     arrived. We appeal to you all, whom we now worship, and
     beg that you will use your power in restraining the heart
     of this animal from all anger and unhappiness. We also beg
     that you will incline this elephant to listen to the words
     of instruction and comfort, that we now deliver.

     "Most Royal Elephant! We beg that you will not think too
     much of your father and mother, your relatives and friends.
     We beg that you will not regret leaving your native
     mountains and forests, because there are evil spirits
     there that are very dangerous; and wild beasts are there
     that howl, making a fearful noise; and there too is the
     big bird which hovers round and often picks up elephants
     and eats them; and there are bands of cruel hunters who
     kill elephants for their ivory. We trust that you will not
     return to the forest, for you would be in constant danger.
     And that is not all: in the forest you have no servants,
     and it is very unpleasant to sleep with the dust and filth
     adhering to your body, and where the flies and mosquitoes
     are troublesome.

     "Brave and noble elephant! We entreat you to banish every
     wish to stay in the forest. Look at this delightful place,
     this heavenly city! It abounds in wealth and in everything
     your eyes could wish to see or your heart desire to
     possess. It is of your own merit that you have come to
     behold this beautiful city, to enjoy its wealth, and to
     be the favourite guest of His Most Exalted Majesty the
     King."[J]

Then the Brahmin priests baptised the sacred beast with holy water,
and, after its purification, bestowed upon it the highest of the
titles which the king can confer upon his subjects. The title was
written on a piece of sugar-cane. Upon this cane there were also a
number of sentences describing the virtues, qualities, and perfections
of the new nobleman. When the baptismal ceremonies were over, the
sugar-cane was handed to the beast, that he might eat it, a part
of the ceremony which the elephant understood, and performed with
noteworthy despatch. It was then lodged in the royal stables, with a
few other brethren who had previously experienced the same fêting and
reverence.

Old accounts tell us that the white elephants were treated, during
their lives, with the greatest respect and care. Their stables were
comfortable, and their food consisted of such dainties as were thought
most likely to be appreciated by them. Their food was presented to
them upon silver salvers, by servants who knelt as they offered the
dish. Their eyes were reverently wiped; they received cool sponge
baths at frequent intervals; and it might fairly be supposed that they
led about as lazy and luxurious a life as any creature could desire.
If they were ill the wisest of the court physicians were sent to them,
and their ailments received as much weighty consideration as those of
a king. At death they were deeply mourned for, their departure from
this life being attended with the usual eastern pomp and ceremony.

They do not live in this condition now. As Henry Norman says in his
book on "The Far East"--"they are in a plight that would shame the
bear-cage of a wandering circus; tended by slouching ruffians who
lie about in rags and tatters, eking out a scanty livelihood by
weaving baskets, and begging a copper from every visitor in return
for throwing a bunch of seedy grass or rotting bananas to the swaying
beasts, which raise their trunks in anticipation of the much needed
addition to their scanty diet."

Elephant stories are prevalent in the myths which cloud and hide
the purer ideas of the Buddhist faith. Shortly before the birth of
Buddha, his mother Queen Maia had a vision. The four kings of the
world removed her to the Himalayan Forest, and there seated her on
an immense rock. She was bathed, robed, and adorned by a number of
queens, and was then led to a golden palace standing on a silver
mountain, and requested to rest on a couch, with her face turned
to the west. She did so, and beheld a golden mountain on which the
future Buddha marched in the form of a white elephant. It descended
the golden mountain, and bearing a white lotus flower in its trunk,
and trumpeting loudly as it came, made its way to the couch of the
astonished Queen Maia.

The birth of Buddha was attended by a number of portents which
betokened that a most distinguished person had appeared on earth.
Either he was a Buddha or a universal emperor--

    "A Chakravartin, such as rise to rule
     Once in each thousand years."[K]

If he were the latter, he would possess "seven gifts", tokens of his
future universal power. One of them was

    "... a snow white elephant,
     The Hasti-Katna, born to bear his King."[L]

By the signs on his foot, which we have already described, he was
known to be a Buddha. One of these signs is an elephant, named
Chatthan. This is the three-headed elephant on which Indra rides, and
is represented in many Siamese decorations, and in the royal coat of
arms, but in all the sculptures which represent the sole of Buddha's
foot, the elephant possesses only one head.

There is also in Siamese story a king of elephants, Chatthan or
Chaddanta, who lives on the shores of the lake Chatthan in the
Himalayas. Here he resides in a golden palace, attended by eighty
thousand ordinary elephants. The elephant Chatthan is sometimes known
as "the elephant of six defences," an allusion to his possession of
six tusks.

When the great king Mara (who reigns over all the Mara angels, and
corresponds in the Buddhist scriptures to the Satan of the Bible) came
to tempt the Buddha as he sat under the Bo-tree, in the time when
he attained the wisdom and holiness of Buddhahood, it is said that
he came on an elephant. He assumed an immense size, and brandishing
numerous weapons in his thousand arms, advanced to the tree, riding
on his elephant Girimaga, which was no less than a thousand miles in
height.

A number of similar elephant stories could easily be compiled, for
they are plentifully distributed in the legends of the East. Probably
the great size and strength of the beast are the bases upon which the
stories rest.

How important the elephant was in former times may be gathered from
a letter written to Sir John Bowring by the late king, when that
nobleman visited Siam in March 1855, on a diplomatic mission. Sir
John's steamer had scarcely anchored at the bar at the mouth of the
river, when a letter was handed to him from the sovereign, welcoming
him to the country in very flattering terms. The letter was signed
when the king suddenly added a postscript, saying, "I have just
returned from the old city Ayudia, of Siam, fifteen days ago, with the
beautiful she-elephant which Your Excellency will witness here on Your
Excellency's arrival."

Every few years there is a great elephant "hunt" at Ayuthia,
to procure elephants for government service. A large kraal of
quadrangular shape is erected. Its walls are six feet thick, and there
is but one entrance. Inside the walls there is a fence of thick stakes
set a few inches apart from each other. A herd of wild elephants is
driven by tame ones into the enclosure, and the best of those thus
obtained are noted. A good elephant should be of a light colour,
have black nails on his toes, and his tail intact. As many of the
stronger elephants often lose their tails in fights, it is not always
possible to obtain an animal which is both powerful and handsome. The
chosen elephants are lassoed, and their feet bound together. The tame
elephants render great assistance in the work, and vigorously prod
with their tusks any captives who become obstreperous. After a few
days' dieting and training the captured animals are ready to be taught
their several duties.

       *       *       *       *       *

Writers upon foreign countries generally consider it a portion of
their task to make mental if not outspoken comparisons between
their mother land and the land they have been discussing, and they
generally make their comparisons in favour of the former. Yet it is
not easy for any man to hold the balance fairly, and to say in what
way a nation is wanting; for whether the comparison be of things
moral or social, there arises the difficulty of fixing a standard of
measurement. Morality cannot be weighed in a balance or measured with
a foot-rule. What is reprehensible in one country may be at least
excusable in another. Take, for instance, the effect of climate upon
national morality. In a cold country a man who is not born to wealth
must either work or starve. Hence arise the pushing, prosperous,
practical, so-called civilised nations of the world. But in a warm
and fertile country where the fruit grows to your hand, and the earth
brings forth her abundance for your maintenance, where the sun and
the rain perform nearly all the agricultural labour that is needed,
it is scarcely to be wondered at that the people do not hanker
after work. It is therefore scarcely permissible to call them lazy
according to the general acceptation of the meaning of the term. They
have no particular liking for long and vigorous toil in the blazing
heat of the sun, and their apparent indolence is the result of their
environment. It will never be otherwise until humanity has lost its
human nature.

The progress of any Oriental nation towards civilisation, such as we
understand it, must of necessity be slow. Their intense conservatism
is not easily to be abolished.

To the country of Siam these remarks are particularly applicable.
Those who describe the habit of chewing betel-nut as disgusting,
forget that there can be no one universal standard to judge by, and
that many European habits appear equally revolting to the Eastern.
When speaking of the dirtiness of their dwellings it would be as well
to remember the slums of the great European cities, and the defective
sanitation of the majority of their dwelling-places. And when
pronouncing judgment upon the slowness with which educational reforms
are being undertaken, it should not be forgotten that we ourselves, in
spite of our long educational history and our modern reforms, number
our illiterate voters by hundreds.

The climatic, racial, and social differences between the nations of
the East and of the West are too great to render it easily possible
for a member of either to sum up for or against the general moral
condition of the other. The present writer, while believing that the
evolutionary laws of growth and development apply as well to nations
as to animals and plants, is well content to leave to others the task
of estimating the intrinsic value of Siam's present moral and social
condition; hoping only that his attempts to portray briefly some of
the manners and customs, the ideas and interests of her people, as
he has actually seen them in daily life and intercourse, may help to
give a truer notion of their condition and prospects, than would more
lengthy criticisms founded on general observations of those merely
political matters which necessarily bound the horizon of the casual
and passing traveller.


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CHAPTER I. A BRIEF SKETCH OF THE CONDITION OF CHINA, PAST AND PRESENT.

   "   II. THE CHINAMAN ABROAD AND AT HOME.

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   "  III. THE CHINAMAN ABROAD AND AT HOME (_continued_).

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   "   IV. CANTON AND KWANG-TUNG PROVINCE.

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   " VIII. FOOCHOW AND THE RIVER MIN.

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Poems



FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: "Chulakantamangala." Captain Gerini.]

[Footnote B: See Chapter X.]

[Footnote C: "The Wheel of the Law". Alabaster.]

[Footnote D: "Siam Repository."]

[Footnote E: "Siam." Miss Cort.]

[Footnote F: Lightning.]

[Footnote G: "Siam", Bowring.]

[Footnote H: See "Buddhism", Rhys Davids.]

[Footnote I: A Siamese "chang" or "catty" is equal to about 2-2/3 lbs.
avoirdupois.]

[Footnote J: "Siam". Miss Cort.]

[Footnote K: "Light of Asia". Arnold.]

[Footnote L: "Light of Asia". Arnold.]



       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes

Minor punctuation errors have been silently corrected. Some
hyphenation inconsistencies have been standardized.

The two pages of ads at the beginning of the book have been moved to
the ads section at the end of the book.

LoI: Added Fishing Lugger, page 174.

LoI: Changed "Klong" to "Khlong" to match illustration caption.
  (Orig: Klong near Petchaboorree.)

Page 2: Changed "suceess" to "success."
  (Orig: new sovereign owed much of his suceess.)

Page 18: "kharki" may be a typo for "khaki."
  (Orig: postmen in their yellow kharki uniforms)

Page 115: Deleted duplicate "of."
  (Orig: cut into rectangular pieces of of the same size)

Page 261: Changed "foo" to "food."
  (Orig: they must not partake of solid foo of any description.)

Page 268: Changed "obselete" to "obsolete."
  (Orig: these counsels are so many obselete laws,)

Page 270: Changed "he" to "be."
  (Orig: his mind should he well controlled.)

Page 325: Changed "carcases" to "carcasses."
  (Orig: better spent in burning dead dogs' carcases.)

Page 335: Changed "the" to "he."
  (Orig: With mingled joy and grief the parted with his long-loved)

Page 338: Changed "he" to "be."
  (Orig:  Whatever he ordered to he done in his own provinces)

Page 358: Changed "estabished" to "established."
  (Orig: afterwards definitely estabished as annual occurrences)

Page 395: Changed "on" to "one."
  (Orig: On of them was)





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