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.