The Kingdom of the Yellow Robe
by Ernest Young · English · Gutenberg #48111 · 588,693 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Kingdom of the Yellow Robe
Author: Ernest Young
Illustrator: Edwin A. Norbury
Release date: January 30, 2015 [eBook #48111]
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KINGDOM OF THE YELLOW ROBE ***
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 civili
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