POPULAR AMUSEMENTS.
The Siamese are fond of being amused and of amusing themselves, but
they do not usually indulge in active sports with the exception
of rowing and a species of football. Games that involve any great
physical exertion are played chiefly by persons who make a business
of the performance. The professional acrobats that are met with on
festive occasions are fearless and skilful. Amongst the many feats
they perform for the amusement of their fellow-countrymen, there are
few that do not require both strength of nerve as well as agility of
limb. The "acrobat poles" are stout bamboo rods fastened firmly to
the ground. Each pole terminates, about twenty feet from the ground,
in a lotus-shaped capital. The acrobats climb to the top and perform
various feats on the small space afforded them by the flattened
surface of this small platform. No nets or mattresses are provided
to break their fall in case of accident. There are other men who
fix pikes and sword-blades in a row and then lie with their bare
backs upon the sharpened points. Juggling with keen-edged daggers is
certainly a less dangerous amusement. "Throwing the hammer" here
takes a new form as "swinging the hammer". A heavy sledge-hammer is
lifted by a rope held between the teeth, and then swung deftly over
the shoulder so as to fall well to the rear of the athlete. These
dangerous acrobatic exhibitions are not at all frequent, probably
owing to the fact that there are only a few men in the whole country
who are able to take part in them.
On national holidays an open air play known as "Kra, ooa," or
"spearing the buffalo," is enacted. It is a mixture of dumb show and
grotesque dancing, and is based on an old Burmese story. The legend
relates that once upon a time there was an old woman who had a husband
named Ta So. One night she dreamt that she was enjoying a dish of
buffalo's liver. Her enjoyment of the luxury was so great that she
presently awoke. She was unable to sleep, so she awakened her husband
and told him of her dream, and of the wonderful flavour of the meat.
The more she dwelt upon the delicious character of her phantom repast,
the stronger grew her desire to taste the real article. She urged Ta
So to go out into the jungle and spear a buffalo. He for some time
declined to rise from his couch, alleging that he was a bad hunter
and dared not track so formidable a creature. He attempted to seek
repose once more, but the hungry lady grew more and more importunate,
and he was forced at last to set out on a hunting excursion. His
wife accompanied him to see that he did not shirk the task she had
set him. After a long time they managed to track a wild buffalo.
They skirmished and scouted, and finally succeeded in killing it.
They opened the animal, extracted the desired delicacy, and then
returned home to enjoy it.--The representation of this story has
been repeated times without number, but it never fails to meet with
popular approval. An actor first appears dressed as a Burmese woman.
She next proceeds in very colloquial vernacular to bully her husband
in accordance with the tradition. The buffalo used is a sham one. Four
or five people throw a dark-coloured cloth over themselves, and the
foremost of these holds in his hands a huge mask, supposed to be a
buffalo's head. It would serve equally well for the head of any other
creature known to natural history, for it is unlike anything but the
fabulous creation of some man's mad imaginings. As the husband and
wife chase the ungainly brute, it gambols to the music of a native
band, in a circle about twenty feet in diameter. The dodging and
running, the pretended attack, the sham wounds, and the awful groans
are always received with the same loud bursts of hearty appreciative
laughter.
The game of "takraw" is popular with boys and youths, and is similar
to the game of football as exhibited by the Burmese in recent years in
London. The players, who may be of any number, stand in a ring. One
of them tosses into the ring a light wicker ball. As it falls another
player catches it on his foot, head, or shoulder. He at once passes it
to someone else, without touching it with his hands. The ball passes
swiftly from one spot to another, and it is often kept up for quite a
long time. If it falls to the earth, it is picked up and again tossed
to the skilful players. And so the game proceeds until every one is
tired. There is no scoring of points or winning of games. New-comers
join in the fun and weary ones leave without in any way interfering
with the amusement of the rest. The "fancy kicking" that is exhibited
by expert players excites great admiration in natives and foreigners.
[Illustration: LAYING WAGERS ON FIGHTING FISH.]
Games in which the element of chance enters are the greatest
favourites. The people are born gamblers, and to make a bet is the
delight of everyone, from prince to peasant. They bet on the results
of a cock-fight, a boxing match, a fight between crickets, or a combat
between their pugilistic fishes. Even kite-flying is accompanied by
unlimited "book-making." The Siamese are not to be compared with the
Japanese in the art of constructing curious or beautiful kites, but
they are certainly their equals in flying them. The most common form
of kite is a five-pointed one--a pentagonal star. On none of the
kites, whatever may be their shape or size, is "tailing" ever used,
and rarely does a native run in order to get the kite to rise. By a
peculiar rapid jerking of the string, the kite is made to create its
own wind when a natural one is not blowing. Men may often be seen on
calm still days flying their kites from boats as they pass up and down
the river. Kite contests are of frequent occurrence during the windy
months. One kite is called the male and the other the female. The
object of the contest is the capturing of the female by the male.
When they are both at a considerable height from the ground, one
flyer so jerks the string of the male kite as to cause it to swoop
downwards with great velocity. If the apex of the falling star strikes
the body of the soaring female, it effectually wounds her and brings
her to earth. But it is perhaps oftener luck than skill that ends
the contest so suddenly. As a rule the string of the descending kite
passes over the string of the steady one. Then the owner of the male
toy checks its downward motion, and with a rapid pull of the string
towards him, causes it to pass under the string that is attached to
the female, and then to rise again. In this way one string is wound
round the other. The operation is repeated a second and even a third
time, after which the players each pull their kites towards them,
let them go again, pull in again and so on, so that each string is
sawing the other one. Excitement takes possession of the spectators
and they begin to speculate as to which string will first break. They
frequently stake large sums of money on the result of the aerial
combat. In many instances the owner of the entangled female, manages
by a skilful manipulation of the string to free her from the toils
of her antagonist, who then once more pursues her, and manoeuvres to
compass her destruction.
[Illustration: A WRITER OF LOTTERY TICKETS.]
In every street there will always be found a Chinaman, wearing big
goggles, sitting at a table in the front of an open house or shop,
wearing upon his wooden countenance a quiet and meditative smile.
By his side is a small pile of thin sheets of yellow paper, and a
quantity of writing material. He is an agent of the gambling farmer
and deals in lottery tickets. The Government farms out the monopoly
and derives a considerable revenue from it, as in some years as much
as thirty thousand pounds sterling has been paid for the privilege
of being allowed to gently ease other people of their superfluous
cash. The lottery farmer chooses, every day, one out of thirty-four
characters of the alphabet as the lucky one for that day. He keeps
the secret of his choice to himself, and leaves those people who are
of a speculative turn of mind to guess the particular letter he has
chosen. Everyone is at liberty to try his luck. The gambler goes to
one of the numerous writers of lottery tickets and names a letter. The
writer slowly inscribes the letter upon one of the sheets of paper.
He then folds it up, and on the back states his own name and address,
the name and address of the purchaser of the ticket, and the amount
paid for the same. He keeps possession of the paper till the close
of the day. The city is divided into districts, over each of which
the lottery farmer places a trustworthy overseer. Towards evening the
overseer visits every ticket writer in his locality, collects all the
papers, and the money paid for them. These he afterwards takes to the
office of his chief. At a given hour the farmer declares the winning
letter and the papers are opened. All those papers that do not bear
the chosen character are thrown away and the money appropriated.
Those who have been fortunate enough to guess correctly the letter
for the day, receive back twenty-nine times their stake, so that
the man who staked one pound receives twenty-nine as his reward. The
chances in favour of the proprietor of the lottery are so great, and
so many thousands of people patronise him every day that he can easily
afford to award a prize of high value to the few winners. Some people
endeavour to calculate their chances beforehand. In every writer's
house is placed a board divided into squares. Every day from the
beginning to the end of the month, the letter chosen is written in one
of these squares. The board is consulted by those about to try their
luck, and they try to work out a system which shall guide them in
their choice. Many gamblers, especially if they are Chinese, consult
their gods about the matter. They go to the temples and stand in front
of the altar. There they find a bamboo box containing thirty-four
strips of bamboo, on each of which is printed one of the letters used
by the lottery farmers. They address the presiding deity of the place
and promise him abundance of fat pork and chickens if only he will
be so kind as to help them in their venture. After having made this
tempting offer, one stick is chosen from the bundle. The gambler
looks at it, and then wonders if the gods are going to make sport of
him. He proceeds to test the sincerity of the deity. He takes two
pieces of bamboo root, which have been flattened on the one side and
rounded on the other. He throws them into the air, exclaiming as he
does so, "If I have chosen the right letter, let these two roots fall
with the flat sides up." Suppose they fall as he desires, he repeats
the experiment, saying, "If I have chosen the right letter, let these
two roots fall with the round side up." Even if success again crowns
his experiment, he still feels inclined to doubt the playful deity
to whom he is appealing for counsel. So he throws the roots yet once
again--"If I have chosen the right letter let these two roots fall,
one with the flat side up, and one with the round side up." If they
should fall in this way, he is practically certain the gods are with
him. He pawns everything he possesses and stakes every farthing he can
obtain on the letter of his choice. Thirty-three chances to one that
he loses, and he may spend the rest of his life in extreme poverty,
bewailing the fickleness of the god he supplicated.
Anyone who can write can set up a stand, for it is the policy of the
farmer to have his agents scattered all over the city. The overseers
are not directly paid for their services, but on the contrary,
actually pay to be allowed to hold the office. The writers of the
tickets receive a commission of one shilling for every forty-four
shillings they hand to the overseers. The overseer receives from the
farmer the same proportion of the total amount he collects each day.
Thirty times the sum actually staked is handed to the writer of a
correct letter. He then hands over to the winner twenty-nine times
the sum, so that he gets a further profit of one-thirtieth of all the
winning money that passes through his hands.
A few years ago, the gambling farmer lost a considerable sum of
money through his own indiscretion. He had obtained a new wife of
great beauty, of whom he was passionately fond. One day she asked
him what letter he had chosen for the winning one. "Why do you wish
to know?" said he. Woman-like, she replied, "Oh, I merely asked you
out of curiosity." "Well," said the infatuated adorer, "promise me
that you will on no account reveal it to any single person you may
meet. Remember, if people were to know what letter I had chosen, I
should lose a tremendous sum of money." The new favourite answered,
"I promise not to tell." He gave her the letter, and faithful to her
promise, she kept the secret. But she went to one of the writers and
staked all the money she had on what she knew was to be the lucky
character. The writer knew who she was, and jokingly asked her why she
had chosen that particular letter. She answered that she had simply
selected it as any one else might have done in order try her luck.
Several people standing by heard the conversation, and learning that
the chief had been to see her the day before in her own quarters,
they thought it extremely probable that she was in possession of that
days winning number. They promptly followed her example, with the
result that her confiding spouse lost several thousand dollars on the
day's transactions. He at once accused her of betraying his trust, and
although she pleaded her innocence, he sold her within a few days to
gratify his want of revenge, or perhaps, to recoup himself in part for
the losses he had sustained as the result of his own folly.
In the small gambling houses that abound, various games of chance are
played all day. They are open to the road, and are always fairly well
filled. Idlers strolling by with an odd cent in their waistband, step
in and lose it, and then pass on their way to give place to others
who seek easily-made fortunes. The games played require no skill on
the part of those who play. It is all pure chance, as the following
descriptions will show.
[Illustration: (the mat game)]
THE MAT GAME. On the floor is spread a mat with two lines
drawn across it at right angles to each other, as shown in the
diagram. The banker sits in the position marked A, and the numbers 1,
2, 3, 4 are placed as here indicated. In front of the banker is a big
pile of cowrie shells. He takes up as many as he can hold in his two
hands and places them in front of him. The crowd then place any amount
they like on any one of the four numbers. Suppose, for example, that
there are four playing and that each places a shilling on a different
number. When all those who wish to play have put down their money, the
proprietor begins to count out the shells he has taken from a large
heap, and to place them in small piles of four each, and notes the
remainder when all the shells have been disposed of. If there is a
remainder of two, then the man whose money is on two gets his stake
doubled. Number four loses, and numbers one and three neither lose nor
gain. If there is a remainder of three, the money on three is doubled,
number one loses, and numbers two and four remain unaltered. If there
are twenty or thirty people playing, the principle is the same. All
those who have guessed the right remainder get their money doubled,
the opposite numbers lose, and the others neither win nor lose. If
there is no remainder then the winning number is four. One variation
in the method of staking is allowed. The money may be placed on any
one of the four diagonal lines. Suppose the stake is laid on the line
between three and two, then if either three or two be the remainder
the money is doubled, but if one or four wins, then the money is lost.
Porcelain counters of very small value are used at these places, and
so common is the gambling habit, that these counters are used in the
markets for the purchase of goods, for both buyers and sellers know
that the gambler's coins can easily be disposed of again. If a banker
fails, he is unable to redeem his porcelain coinage and the holders
are then liable to lose the value of the counters in their possession.
BRASS CUP GAME. The necessary apparatus for this form of
speculation is a small brass cup and a wooden cube. The upper face
of the cube is divided by a line into two halves, one of which is
painted red and the other white. The banker puts the cube on the table
in any position he chooses, without letting the people see how it is
placed. He covers it with the brass cup. The players put down their
stakes in various positions round the cup. The banker raises the cup.
All money opposite the white edge is returned at the rate of three to
one, while all opposite the other three sides passes into the banker's
pocket.
THE ANIMAL GAME. This is a very favourite amusement at fairs.
A board is provided which measures about eighteen inches by twenty.
It is divided by lines into a number of equal oblongs. In each space
is painted some animal. The owner has three large wooden dice with
figures painted on the sides corresponding to those in the squares on
the board. Those who wish to try their luck choose a picture and place
their money thereon. The three dice are placed in a cocoa-nut shell,
and rattled about, and then thrown on a table. The winning pictures
are those that appear on the topmost faces of the three cubes.
Gambling with cards is very common. The cards are all of Chinese
pattern, and measure three inches by one. On them are printed kings,
governors, soldiers, officials, and other important personages. There
are one hundred and sixteen cards in a pack, but what are the rules
that govern their complicated manipulation the writer has failed to
fathom, even as he has also failed to find any other European who
could furnish the requisite explanation.
Chess is one of the few pastimes that is not used for betting
purposes. The game is substantially the same as that played in
England, but a boat replaces the castle, the bishop is represented
by a nobleman, and the knight's moves are made by a horse. There are
many skilful players, and the present Minister for Foreign Affairs,
Prince Devawongse, can checkmate most of the foreigners who have had
the opportunity of playing with him. The real Siamese chessmen are
difficult to obtain as they are made only for private use and not for
sale. The poorer classes readily make up a full set when they want a
game, by using buttons or cowries for the pawns and modelling the rest
of the pieces out of bits of soft clay.
But the most popular of all amusements is the theatre. It is the
delight of old and young alike, and is intensely interesting to
the foreigner, as probably representing to a very large degree,
the primitive way in which the dramas that were presented to his
forefathers, were staged and enacted. It possesses an additional
attraction inasmuch as it is yet a purely native institution,
unaffected by those Western influences that are so rapidly destroying
in the East the many Oriental manners and customs that were once the
delight of the traveller. Yokohama is a European seaport. There are
English policemen in Shanghai, and cafés in Saigon. In Bangkok itself
electric lights and tram-cars have appeared, and one of the latest
orders of the Court requires that at all future state ceremonies the
native shall discard his own picturesque costume for frock-coat,
European trousers, and top-hat. So far, however, the Siamese theatre
has remained unaffected by these modern fashions.
The theatre of the capital may differ from that of the province, but
the differences are those demanded by native taste alone. It is in
all cases admirably suited to a people of fertile imagination and
simple habits. Spectacular displays and gorgeous transformation scenes
are neither expected nor given. Realism is not demanded in any form.
Except in the matter of dress, simplicity characterises the whole
performance. Great attention is paid to the pattern and the material
of the costumes. They are of a regulation type--heroes, angels,
soldiers, and monarchs being arrayed according to fashions that
have descended from generation to generation. Cloth of gold, richly
embroidered cloaks, and expensive jewels, make up the wardrobe of the
richer companies.
There is only one theatre in the capital to which any admission fee is
charged and where regular performances are held. On dark nights when
the moon is hidden the theatre is closed, for there would be no light
to go home by, but as soon as the new moon appears again, the doors
are opened and the people flock to the only place of amusement that
can successfully compete with the rival attractions of the gambling
hells and opium dens. All other theatrical performances take place as
a rule at private houses on the occasion of a wedding, a cremation, or
any other public or private ceremony at which large crowds of people
congregate.
The various troupes of performers are the private property of certain
noblemen, who greatly pride themselves on the skill and beauty of
their "prima-donnas". There are also bands of players who stroll from
place to place and depend for their living on the voluntary offerings
of the spectators. Occasionally they find their services required
for some domestic celebration. At other times they perform in the
open air, or in any odd empty shed they may happen to discover in the
course of their wanderings.
There are two kinds of theatre--the "lakhon" and the "yeegai". The
former, which stands highest in public estimation is probably derived
from the Nautch dances of India. At one time there was a large Brahmin
settlement in the town of Ligore, which is situated to the north-east
of the Malay Peninsula. These emigrants from India brought with them
a number of nautch girls whose dances were highly appreciated by the
people of the land in which they had newly settled. The native name
for Ligore is Lakhon, and when the dancers went from place to place,
they were known as "The actors from Lakhon," and later on simply as
the "lakhons". The word passed into the common speech and is now used
as the name for "theatre". The members of the "lakhon" companies are
all women with the exception of a few clowns. They seldom produce
any new or original plays. Those that they act over and over again
are chiefly translations of Hindoo myths, and are intolerably long.
Several hours a night for a fortnight would be required for the
complete performance of some of these lengthy dramas. This is no
barrier to the enjoyment of the audience, for the stories of the
plays are the only literature that they constantly read. They are
therefore thoroughly familiar with the plot, the characters, and all
the incidents of the dramas performed before them. It follows that
they never need to attend the theatre from night to night in order to
follow the development of the story. In fact, the better they know the
play, and the oftener they see it performed, the more they enjoy it.
[Illustration: FACES FROM A SIAMESE THEATRE.]
There is no acting in our sense of the word. The words of the
play are dolefully chanted by a chorus of women, whose screeching
voices produce sounds that are painfully unmusical when judged from
the European standpoint. The only words uttered by the actresses
themselves are similarly chanted at times when they feel that the
situation has reached a climax, and consequently needs an extra amount
of noise to make it thoroughly effective. The orchestra employed
is called the "Mahoree", and contains twenty-one instruments when
complete. The instruments used are chiefly of the percussion type
and are powerful sound producers. Amongst them are drums, cymbals,
tom-toms, gongs and bamboo dulcimers. Stringed instruments are
represented by a few squeaky one-stringed fiddles and an instrument
that resembles a zither. A terrible wind instrument is sometimes
employed when it is desirable to produce a sound that can be
calculated to rival that of the bagpipes when played by a zealous but
unmusical amateur. The use of the band is chiefly to mark the rhythm
of the chorus and to produce effective noisy bursts of sound in
important scenes. Any embrace between a pair of lovers is emphasised
by a forcible hammering of drums and clashing of cymbals. They know
nothing of harmony, but musical experts with well-trained ears, say
that they play in unison.
There is nothing natural in the actions of the performers except as
regards those of the clowns. The funny men are the only ones who ever
say anything in their natural voices or who ever move their limbs in
a common everyday manner. The ladies go through a series of posturing
evolutions euphemistically called dances. They are nothing more than
extraordinary contortions of the body accompanied by equally strange
motions of the limbs. The fingers are bent backwards from the joints,
and the arms backwards from the elbows in a way no untrained person
could ever possibly imitate. From early childhood the fingers and arms
are daily bent out of place until finally they become, as it were,
double jointed. The actresses whiten their faces with powder and do
not relieve their ghostly appearance with any touch of colour. They
fasten on the finger-tips artificial gold finger-nails of abnormal
length. The audience either stands or sits on the floor, and smokes
incessantly. The stage is simply a portion of the floor marked out by
mats, round the sides of which sit those members of the audience who
are nearest the performers. There is a raised seat or small platform
at the back of the stage for the use of those who represent kings and
queens in the different scenes. At the back of the seat is the common
dressing-room of the whole company. It is partially or completely open
to the public gaze, and a small crowd always gathers there to see the
fair ones powder and adorn themselves. The strolling troupes dispense
with even this imitation of a dressing-room, and prepare themselves
for their parts in full view of the audience. They carry their
belongings in old kerosine tins, which they arrange along one side of
the shed in which they are performing.
If a horse is required, an actress comes on the stage, wearing a piece
of head-gear shaped like a horse's head. It is not worn as a mask to
cover the face, but as a hat on the top of the head. The rider does
not mount her steed, but places her hand on its shoulder and walks
by its side. Monkeys and elephants play important parts in the old
legends, and they are represented in the same simple fashion; though
one private company in Bangkok boasts a real elephant that has been
trained for theatrical performances.
A voyage at sea is undertaken without ships. One of the players
crosses the stage, having a pole in imitation of a mast fastened to
his chest. From the top floats the national flag, while pieces of thin
cord are fastened from the same point to the neck and shoulders of the
player to represent rigging. The passengers then embark by arranging
themselves in two long lines behind the man with the pole. When they
are all safely aboard, the stern of the vessel arrives and forms
the tail end of the procession. He also bears a pole, a flag, and a
quantity of string rigging, and attached to his back is a wooden
rudder, the cords of which are held by the passenger immediately in
front of him. They then sail away, rolling their supple bodies in time
to the music, in imitation of the rolling motion of a vessel at sea.
They cross the stage, pass out at one side, and re-enter at the other,
time after time, as though they were trying to impress the audience
with the tedious and protracted nature of their journey.
The possession of a tin sword is a sufficient indication of a warrior;
while a tall tapering crown is the symbol of monarchial authority.
Occasionally there is a villain in the piece, who after some wicked
deed, finds it necessary to conceal his whereabouts. This appears
at first sight to be a very difficult matter, for the stage is
absolutely bare of everything that could possibly afford the slightest
concealment. The difficulty is soon surmounted. If he needs a wall
behind which to hide himself, a bamboo screen with a hole in the
middle is at once pushed on the stage in full view of the audience.
He retires behind it, and the spectators then enjoy the comical sight
of a hero seeking and finding not, while the villain amuses himself
by watching through the hole in the screen the fruitless efforts made
to discover his hiding-place. If he is supposed to be concealed in
a wood, a banana leaf or a branch of a tree is handed to him, and
he holds it with his hands in front of his face. Again the hero is
disappointed in his search, and when tired out with his long and
unrewarded exertions, he plucks fruit from off the branch behind
which the villain is in safe retirement, the audience roars with
delight.
The eagerness and keen enthusiasm with which the spectators receive
all these primitive methods of dramatic representation, are conclusive
proof that they are endowed with strong imaginations.
The "yeegai" is of a different character entirely. It is Malay in
origin. The performers are all men or boys, and belong generally
to the lower classes. Chorus and orchestra are not considered
indispensable, the former being always absent, and the latter
generally consisting of seven large drums. There is no posturing and
fantastic dancing, but genuine acting. The old legends give way to
more modern and original works of a strictly farcical character. The
buffoonery is excellent, but the language is nearly always coarse.
Current events are burlesqued, and foreign residents with pronounced
mannerisms get caricatured.
Whatever be the play or wherever it be performed, luxuriously
upholstered boxes and special incidental music are not required, for
the story itself is of sufficient interest to the people to capture
their hearts and minds without the assistance of any expensive and
elaborate furniture.