CHAPTER X

INTELLECTUAL LIFE

The relations between the development of language and social

evolution--An enigmatic system of writing--Knotted cords,

knotches in sticks, and their accessories--The evolution of

literature among primitive races--Length of memory among races

that have no written records--Historical value of legends

transmitted by oral tradition--Nature of the more usual

alterations to be met with in documentary folklore--The most

general legends, fables and proverbs of the Moï.

The main fact which differentiates primitive groups among themselves

is diversity of language. To this rule the Moï present no exception,

for they offer the choice of a considerable number of dialects. There

are very nearly as many dialects as tribes, and, what at first seems

even more extraordinary, the dialect of one village is usually

unintelligible to the inhabitants of any other. But this singularity

vanishes when we investigate more closely, and for these reasons.

The development of a language is intimately connected with the

simultaneous intellectual and social evolution of the race which

employs it. Now the civilization of the Moï has been stationary, if

not actually retrogressive, for a prolonged period, and accordingly

it is to be expected that their language, far from consolidating

itself, should be subject to all the influences which flow from

contact with neighbouring populations.

The learned philologist Cabaton has classified the Moï dialects into

three broad divisions, according to the degree in which they have been

modified by the tongues spoken by neighbouring peoples who have

advanced to a higher stage of civilization. These three divisions

comprise:

(_a_) Dialects of Malayo-Polynesian origin.

(_b_) Dialects of Kmer origin.

(_c_) Dialects of Thibeto-Birman, Taî or Chinese origin.

This diversity of dialects is responsible for the fact that the word

"Moï" has no ethnical sense at all and that it is a mere generic term

which, as I have explained before, can conveniently be used to

describe the whole complex of barbarous groups which dwell in the

mountain uplands of Indo-China. The word does not signify an

autonomous entity with clearly defined characteristics, but merely a

medley of various elements, of which many have lost all trace of

common origin.

It is even more difficult to catalogue the different races which go to

make up the inhabitants of Indo-China than to catalogue the dialects.

At first sight some of them seem to be pure, but closer inquiry soon

dispels the illusion. There are many reasons to account for this,

among which may be cited the prevalence of polygamy and the perpetual

inter-tribal conflicts in the course of which the vanquished, after a

short period, are absorbed by the victors, to the evident advantage of

the latter.

If the dialects are innumerable, there is virtually only one method,

employed by all the groups, of communicating ideas or transmitting

thought. It consists of the use of certain conventional signs. The

more common of these are triangular or hexagonal figures of bamboo or

rattan, measuring one foot eight inches in their greater dimension and

hung in some conspicuous place. These geometrical forms warn the

traveller of impending danger or notify a prohibition to cross the

boundary of a "taboo" village.

Another method of communication is by means of a string with a series

of knots. This practice recalls the _quipos_ which were in use among

the Peruvians and Mexicans to record important events and as a medium

for the transmission of thought.

Suppose two friends want to arrange an appointment to meet in several

days' time. They present each other with threads which have the same

number of knots and as many knots as there are days to elapse before

the meeting. Every day at sunrise each of them unties one of the

knots. When at length there are no knots left they know that the

appointed day has arrived.

It is very curious that the Moï, whose recollection of facts is almost

infallible, are unable to recall either figures or dates without the

assistance of mechanical aids to memory.

Doctor Noël Bernard, of the Colonial Forces, tells a very interesting

story in his exhaustive monograph on the Kha.

"In a village situated in the plateau of Boloven I found the

inhabitants stricken with terror. They informed me that a

malevolent Genius had been enraged with them for more than a

year and was decimating the population. To remedy their

ill-fortune they rebuilt the village in a new place, and the

death-rate decreased. I happened to ask them the number of the

victims in that fatal year. They could not tell me. I renewed

the question and the village chief gave me the figures in a

highly novel manner. As he called out each victim by name he

laid a small stick down at his feet. When the counting was

completed the old man summed up as follows: 'Two died during

seed time, three during harvest, four at the beginning of the

rains,' and so on, concluding with a tragic, 'What a number!'

But not a single native present could calculate that number,

though there were only thirteen sticks at the feet of the

incompetent arithmeticians!"

M. A. Gaultier de Claubry, when he was Director of Public Instruction

in Indo-China, had opportunities of making observations which throw

light on the incident just related. He used to teach French to

twenty-two natives between the ages of twelve and twenty and wished to

follow the ordinary rational method of explaining the meaning of a

lesson first and asking his pupils to learn it by heart only after

that meaning had become clear in their minds.

After a period devoted to repeated attempts along these lines he had

to confess himself beaten and that the method was impracticable so far

as these particular scholars were concerned, for the more clearly they

grasped the meaning of the words the greater was their difficulty in

committing them to memory.

Contrary to all the recognized precepts of sound teaching, the

Professor resolved to reverse the process, make his pupils first learn

the lesson by heart and only proceed to its translation and

explanation when they could recite the words without a slip. The

results were even more unexpected, for the more quick and certain

their memories became the greater was their difficulty in

understanding the meaning of the words.

The Professor repeated this experiment from time to time and the same

phenomena always recurred.

It seems, therefore, clearly arguable that in certain individual cases

connection between the thinking and memorizing faculties is either

missing or only imperfectly established. They seem unable to perform

their functions simultaneously. The memory cannot work properly unless

all other mental processes are suspended.

But to return to arithmetic, the custom of employing pieces of wood to

assist calculation is to be found everywhere in the savage world. Our

coolies were collected from many different quarters, but they all

carried a bamboo in which each evening they cut a notch to reckon up

the number of days of service. On pay days they lined up solemnly side

by side and each produced his stick from his loin-cloth and presented

it for inspection. It was very rarely that our accountants found any

error in the number of the notches.

As will have been gathered from the answers of the Moï chief to Doctor

Bernard, the estimation of time by years of twelve months is unknown

in these regions. Savages date all the events of their lives by their

relation to the occurrences which affect them most, that is to say,

the variations of the monsoon and the forward or backward condition of

the crops.

No one knows his age, for no practical benefit accrues from the

attainment of that piece of knowledge.

The use of sticks is not limited to the purpose I have mentioned but

extends to the transmission of orders or information. In the last case

notches are cut on both sides of the stick and of various forms and

depths. Also they will be separated by spaces of varying lengths. Each

of these details has thus a special significance.

This is the method employed by one village to convey a declaration of

war to another. Its general terms will be much as follows:

"Twelve days hence we shall seize any man who crosses our

boundary. We will not release him except or ransom, four

strong oxen which have already worked in the ricefields, or,

failing them, two sets of gongs at least ten years in the

making. Our tribe counts more than thirty young warriors

trained to the bow, and a great number of old men, women and

children."

Before being entrusted to the messenger charged with delivering it to

the foe this ultimatum-stick is decorated, according to immemorial

usage, with some egret's feathers, a burnt bamboo, and red pimento.

The symbolical significance of these accessories is as follows:

"Messenger! Thou must be as swift as the bird whose feather you

bear. Thou shalt not stop by day or night, and this bamboo will

point thy pathway in the hours of darkness. Thou shalt not fear

if thou neglectest not to eat some pimento such as this."

I have often met women or old men with these notched laths hung round

their necks. On inquiry they informed me that each notch represented a

goat or chicken promised to the Pi of the forest in return for

protection from the Tiger. As their slender means did not unable them

to make a sacrifice in advance they were postponing the redemption of

the promise until the next harvest.

I was indiscreet enough to inquire what would become of them if by any

chance the vow was never fulfilled, but they looked at me in blank

astonishment and indignantly denied that there could be any compromise

with conscience. One of them, however, took me into his confidence.

"I was unable to fulfil a certain vow during the last harvest, which

was a particularly bad one, so instead of the five chickens which I

first promised the Pi I now owe them one goat. If the next harvest is

not better than the last, the goat will have to be replaced by a pig."

It sometimes happened that when we had broken up our encampment and

were advancing to a new site some particularly well-inclined Chief

dispatched a warrior-herald before us to announce our arrival by means

of a notched stick. The contents of the message were such that before

we had appeared the rice necessary for our escort and the paddy for

our horses had all been prepared.

I must add that I speak of exceptional occurrences. The rule was that

no herald preceded us, or if he did his message was of very different

tenor. In such cases, the great majority, we could do nothing but

seize by force of arms what ought to have been conceded with good

grace.

The Moï regarded our written characters as a species of magical

invention. Accordingly the powers thus attributed to the letters

themselves were speedily extended to the paper on which they were

written. They began to furnish themselves with a "Sra," or sheet of

paper, whenever they set out on a journey, in the belief that it would

guarantee them against delay or mishap _en route_. A courier would

always carry an envelope, generally empty and unaddressed. Armed with

this talisman he was secured against the attacks of tigers and evil

spirits and freed from all anxiety as regards what La Fontaine has

described as "bon souper, bon gîte, et ... le reste."

This use of notches as written symbols is also found among certain

peoples of southern China. Father Crabouillet tells us something of

this in his writings. In the course of his missionary work he

discovered that the natives are able to represent by these means not

only concrete objects but also abstract ideas. They were familiar with

the ideographic characters of the Chinese, yet they preferred to use

their own enigmatic system for the transaction of business.

We can only conclude that their object is to keep their affairs

private from their neighbours the Celestials, whom they have

particular reason to distrust.

The literary evolution of primitive peoples follows soon after their

musical evolution, to which I have already referred. In the first

stages, poetry, song and dance are inextricably associated. The spoken

word plays a quite subordinate part in this æsthetic trinity. It

serves to explain the meaning of the rhythmical movements but cannot

be dissociated from them. The form of this rudimentary poetry is

frequently a simple exclamation, a cry or imitative call. The

interjectional refrains which we find to-day among savage tribes are

only the relics of those wordless romances which preceded spoken verse

in the first stage.

Metre is none other than the outcome of man's natural leaning to

measured sounds. The verse of primitive folk is accordingly

distinguished by the shortness of its lines. There is no rhyme except

that which results from the combination of assonances. The length of a

line may be used as a test of the standard of civilization to which a

people has attained, for it only reaches appreciable dimensions when

rules of metre and prosody have been formulated and enforced.

In China there is a mass of documentary evidence which throws light on

this process of evolution. The line in that country was originally of

four feet only, and did not attain to seven feet for a very

considerable period. In India the Sanscrit line is very short in the

Rig-Veda and gradually lengthens in the Epics, concluding with the

dimensions of fifteen syllables divided by a hemistich, the relic of

an earlier period in which the line was very short.

At the peril of seeming paradoxical I have lingered over the sense of

rhythm among primitive peoples because so many travellers have

expressed surprise at the immense impression which can be produced on

a savage by uttering a poetic phrase or merely inserting a line of

verse in ordinary conversation.

One of our party, a poet in his own way, frequently took advantage of

the impression thus produced. He always addressed our coolies in

verse, and though his knowledge of the language was only elementary,

he was better understood and more speedily obeyed than others of us

who spoke the dialects fluently. He united with this gift of rhyme a

facility of metaphor which was remarkable. His conversation was sown

thick with images, many of them quite ridiculous, but yet not so

absurd as to prevent even our appreciation of them.

I have already remarked that in the infancy of society æsthetic

manifestations were confined to choral dances representing simple

subjects of an impersonal character, and no more than the reflection

of the current life and thought of the group. But in course of time

that way of life and thought became profoundly modified by new

influences and movements, resulting from conflicts between rich and

poor, master and slave. A new literature arose which expressed other

feelings and aspirations, a literature which found voice in the

popular artists who invented a new profession in all countries. The

rhapsodists of Greece, the scalds of Scandinavia, and the Celtic

bards, furnish familiar examples.

Everywhere these wandering minstrels presented the vague popular

traditions in set forms. Their works reflect quite faithfully the

movements and aspirations of their own day, and being transmitted by

oral tradition, they form to-day a body of material which is virtually

our only source of information as to the folklore of primitive races.

Accordingly, no study of a group can be complete which takes no

account of its legends, myths and fables; if a group has no written

records they form our only historical evidence. It has often been

remarked that the non-existence of such records has served the purpose

of improving the memories of those who have only oral tradition to

rely on.

Recent research among primitive peoples in this very subject has

demonstrated that the average duration of the recollection of an event

is six generations, or about one hundred and fifty years. During that

period, if the event is one of importance but yet in the natural order

of things such as an earthquake or a flood, or even a political

occurrence, such as a change of dynasty or a revolution, its memories

will remain practically unmodified. Of course this applies only to

groups among which the use of writing is unknown. Otherwise, the

absence of any necessity for oral tradition greatly diminishes the

length of its life. During our expedition we had many occasions to

observe the ease with which the Moï Chiefs recollected events long

since past and generally forgotten. Father Durand made the same

discovery during his long residence in Annam. He told me of historical

events in the eighteenth century of which the Moï had spoken to him

with the most circumstantial detail. For example, they remembered the

revolt of Thang Khoi in 1834 as if it had been an occurrence of only

yesterday, and recounted an exploit, long since forgotten, of two

Cochin-Chinese adventurers.

[Illustration: A Court of Trial on an Annamese Stage.]

[Illustration:

_By the courtesy of_] [_Mme Vassalle._

A Group of Amateur Actors in Annam.]

[Illustration: A Mandarin of Annam.]

These pirates, some years before the capture of Saigon, managed to

force the barrier and enter the Imperial palace under fire from the

guns of the citadel of Hué, while the Emperor Tu Duc fled in terror.

The Annamites have a great regard for this retentiveness of memory and

their consistent hostility towards all their neighbours robs that

regard of all taint of partiality. However, once the fact is

established, it follows that many legends founded on actual

occurrences but transmitted orally from generation to generation in

default of any written record may have as much authority for

ethnography as if their authenticity had been established by

documentary proof. But it cannot be denied that the imagination of the

Moï has equally played a part in the composition of some of the

current stories which were originally true statements of fact. Like

all other peoples they have been subject to those influences which

silently introduce elements of the apocryphal into the well of truth.

Their folklore exhibits the same phenomena which can be studied at all

times in similar groups. For example they transform the hero of some

particular locality into a hero of the whole group, or, in other

words, make a national property of what is strictly a local

possession. To the same end they substitute the name of their country

for the name of the place where great events have taken place. In

these ways all get credit for what only the few deserve, and in the

end they have a fine collection of heroes and adventures filched from

every source. But in spite of these alterations, the motive of which

seems to be the ambition to have more great men and stirring deeds

than their neighbours, it is patent that these legends faithfully

reflect the principal conceptions of these primitive folk.

As the prevalent superstitions vary in different localities it would

be absurd to suppose that all the legends, myths and fables which I am

about to speak of enjoy universal currency. On the contrary, some

circulate in one part of the country, others elsewhere. But I have

attempted in making a selection to confine myself to those which are

most widely known. Some of them originated among the Laotians or

Annamites. Very few are of native origin, for the imagination of this

group has always been undeveloped.

The biblical account of the early history of the world has been

curiously adapted and transformed. The great deluge, for example,

appears under the following guise.

In the beginning a Genius incarnated in a kite disputed with one of

his colleagues incarnated in a crab, and a lively quarrel ensued, in

the course of which the latter had his shell broken by the beak of the

bird, an insult of which he bears the mark to-day. Casting about for

some means of revenge, the Crab-Genius conceived the idea of raising

the waters of the sea until they covered the high mountain on which

the Kite-Genius was perched. Every human being perished with the

exception of a young couple, brother and sister, who saved their lives

by taking refuge in a huge pumpkin. This original boat deposited them

safe and sound on the top of the highest mountain. The rescued couple

at once sought far and wide for any other survivors of the human race,

but all in vain. Their fellow beings had all perished. A tortoise

which they met with advised them to marry to ensure the continuance of

the race. The young man, horrified at the suggestion, cut the creature

in pieces as a punishment, but the pieces quickly reunited, a marvel

of which the tortoise has ever since borne the traces. The couple then

renewed their wanderings and soon met a bamboo which offered the same

advice, and was treated in the same way. Again the pieces reunited,

and from that day to this the bamboo has always had knots. Finally, a

Spirit descended to earth to terminate so embarrassing a situation. He

offered the girl eight beans, promising her that if she ate one each

year she would conceive on each occasion. In delight at the gift and

the prospective fulfilment of all her hopes, she hastened to put the

beans in her mouth, and, forgetting her instructions, swallowed them

all at once! What the Spirit foretold then came to pass. She produced

eight children at a birth and these founded the principal human

families.

The tradition of the dispersion of the human race is also perpetuated.

The Djarai Moï, for example, give the following description of the

event.

"Our own land was the centre of the earth where the peoples of

mankind, having outgrown their resources, built the Tower of

Separation before scattering over the surface of the globe. The

tower was so lofty that the topmost story could only be secured

by bands of strong fibre which the workmen fastened by clinging

to them with all their weight. Perched on the very top was one

who thus surveyed the whole expanse of earth spread out before

him. His duty was to indicate to those below the paths which

led to the most fertile portions. After a short survey he

called out to the workmen who were holding the ropes: 'To the

Eastward I see a wondrous plain washed by the ocean, to the

Westward a rich valley watered by a great river.' Before he

could continue, however, an ominous rumbling was heard, the

tower trembled for the space of a moment, and then fell to the

earth with a crash, burying him under its ruins. The Annamites

and Laotians were the unkind workmen who had all let go in

their frantic haste to find the prosperous regions so

eloquently described! As for the Moï, they were far too lazy to

enter into an exhausting competition, so they remained on the

forest-clad mountains which no one envied them."

The story of Joshua stopping the sun is replaced by that of a Spirit

exhibiting the same powers.

"In the beginning there dwelt in the land of the Moï-Bahnar a

valiant chieftain named Diong, whom the gods themselves were

unable to subdue. So great was the fame of his exploits that

women frequently deserted their husbands in order to follow

him. One of these offenders was the wife of the chief of the

Moï-Djarai, who resolved to punish the author of his wrong, and

declared war on him. The two tribes composed of equal numbers

of skilled warriors fought with the utmost desperation, but

fortune finally favoured Diong, who ended the day by slaying

the injured husband with his own hand. Firmly convinced that

his triumph was only due to celestial intervention, the victor

begged the Spirits to put back the course of the sun in order

to allow him time to annihilate his foes. His prayer was

answered, for the gods drew back the sun and started it again

at midday."

Most of these legends have been collected by the Catholic

missionaries, whose work among the people of Bahnar has met with a

large measure of success. It is possible that the higher standard of

education to which the people of this region have attained has made

possible the investigation of these biblical stories. Other groups,

when questioned on the subject, can give no account of their legends

whatever. I ought to say, however, that the story of the pumpkin

saving the human race at the time of the deluge is well known among

all the semi-savage peoples of Indo-China.

Sometimes the individual characteristics of a group are illuminated by

a legend or fable which explains their origin. For example, the origin

of the Moï practice of filing the teeth may be sought in a Cambodian

fable.

When Buddha dwelt among men he was fed by each of his faithful

disciples in turn. He visited the Moï and after them the Cambodians

and asserted that the meats offered him by the former were much

inferior to those of the latter. The reason for the difference was

then made clear to him. The Moï were too lazy to pound the rice and

contented themselves with grinding it in their teeth. The Master was

greatly incensed at this lack of respect towards himself and condemned

them to file their teeth in such a way that a repetition of the

offence would be impossible. Further they were compelled to wear in

their hair the small sticks which served for cooking utensils and, to

add to their shame, he pierced their ears and forbade them to wear

anything but the plainest clothing. The Moï found these restrictions

more than they could bear and they fled to the mountains, leaving the

plains to the Cambodians who dwell there to this day.

The extraordinary configuration of the regions inhabited by the Moï

was bound to give birth to many legends which would furnish them with

some satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon. The chief

characteristics of these stories will be illustrated by the following

examples, which I have selected at random.

The highest point of the great Annamite chain is a lofty mountain with

a curious needle-shaped peak. The summit is inaccessible, and our

surveyors had to be content with establishing their geodetical

station at its foot. The peak is a well-known landmark and, according

to the Moï, none other than the wife of a Spirit, who turned her into

stone. In the beginning of creation a company of demigods dwelt on

this spot. One day the husband went to get food, leaving his wife at

home. She took advantage of his absence to deceive him, and in the

fulness of time became pregnant. On his return the Spirit learned of

the injury he had suffered and turned on the accomplice who took to

flight. The husband gave chase, came up with his rival as he was on

the point of casting himself into a river, seized him, cut off his

head and turned his corpse into a stone.

Unsatisfied with this act of vengeance the murderer retraced his steps

and likewise turned into stone everyone who had assisted the flight of

his rival. On entering his palace he observed a crowd gathering round

his wife who, in the throes of childbirth, had summoned a midwife and

all her friends. The sight maddened him, and with a wave of his hand

he transformed every living creature within reach into a mountain.

Even the elephants, which in this country serve as transport animals,

did not escape his vengeance. That is why this massive group of peaks

is known as "The Mother and Child," a name preserved even by our

cartographers.

Even more general than legends are ballads, fables and popular songs.

Some of the chants which approximate to liturgical psalms are only

known to a few select spirits who sing them together on special

occasions.

Henri Maître, the commissioner, has translated one of these rhapsodies

which he discovered in the course of his ethnographical researches. A

few extracts will illustrate the halting simplicity which

characterizes these compositions.

"The Gods created the Earth and the trees. That is why men know

how to make gongs and tom-toms with which they accompany their

sacrifices to the Spirits....

"Men create jars for spirits and the hollow bamboo tubes

through which they suck up the liquid....

"Parents bring children into the world and feed them until they

are able to look after themselves....

"Thanks to the protecting care of the Spirits, the children

grow up hardy and splendid like a tall tree or a great

river....

"Later, they too will marry."...

By the side of such outpourings with their sprinkling of archaic words

and their more or less religious flavour there are also numbers of

jovial popular songs which the young men hum at work or sing to the

girls who catch their fancy. If the lady deigns to reply these songs

develop into a kind of choral repartee. This practice is confined to

the Laotians and their immediate neighbours.

The Laotians also still preserve the Court of Love, which has many

features in common with the celebrated European institution of the

Middle Ages.

At the period of the year when the rice harvest has been gathered in

and work in the fields is temporarily suspended the chief occupation

of the young men is to court the girls. Stages are erected on which

the Laotian ladies in search of a husband assemble. At their feet burn

lamps, by the light of which every detail of form or costume is

discreetly brought to the notice of the swains. A plate of betel and a

bamboo spittoon pass from hand to hand. Squatting in a row before

their lady-loves the young men compose verses in their honour, and the

ladies reply according to the burden of their hearts. Each couple

keeps up the interchange of vocal repartee before a public only too

ready to record its approval when one party or the other scores a

point. The couples are not allowed to touch each other. If the burden

of a song requires the performance of this act the singer symbolically

touches himself. Both the singing and acting are accompanied by

measured music, which adds to their charm.

The Malays also frequently improvise rhapsodical poems called

"Pantouns," in which two persons converse together. The Malayan

literary tournaments have acquired a widespread reputation.

The following is an excellent example of a love-poem sung by a Moï man

and girl:

"Hallo, pretty girl. You smell sweeter than an orchid!...

"Your legs and bosom are like ivory!

"Your body is so white that it might have been shaved!...

"Your figure is as sinuous as that of a serpent!...

"If you walked in the forest to gather moss and batatas, I

should wish to meet you alone to offer you some betel! (That

being the emblem of accepted love.)

"If you will marry me I can give you a large rice-bowl, a warm

coverlet for the cold nights, and an ox from my stables!...

"At night we will lie on the same mat as close together as the

legs of a shackled elephant!"...

The girl's answer is cruel:

"If you could give me ten silver necklaces and five ropes of

white pearls I would have none of you or your offerings, but

tell your brother, the swift hunter, that he can have me for a

green banana!"...

I have already dwelt on some of the superstitions which have gathered

round certain animals, and it only remains to say that there is hardly

a creature which is not the subject of a legend, a fable, or, at

least, a popular saying. From a comparison of the relative importance

of these legends or fables, it is plain that the Moï believe in a

regular hierarchy in which each species has its place. This belief is

shared by the Annamites, and its existence was clearly demonstrated by

the following tragic incident.

One morning one of our engineers, a man named Petaud, was found

crushed to death by elephants while engaged in tachymetrical

operations. He was quite unrecognizable and it was plain that one of

the infuriated monsters had flung him to the ground and the whole herd

had then stamped his body into dust. We were quite unable to assign a

cause for this terrible catastrophe. The only plausible explanation

was that the unfortunate victim had been so preoccupied with his

observations that he had stumbled into the midst of a sleeping herd

and had taken them for rocks. The part of the forest in which he was

found was, in fact, studded with huge granite boulders, many of which

resembled elephants in colour and form. Without loss of time we set to

work to clear the neighbourhood of the dangerous foe. Many of the

monsters fell beneath our bullets and it occurred to us to send the

feet to one of our countrymen on the coast, with a request to send

them by an Annamite junk to Saigon. We knew of a naturalist in that

town who makes elephants' feet into stands for flower-pots. Our

discomfiture was complete when we were informed that no one would

undertake the carriage of the booty to the coast at any figure we

named. The following reason was advanced for this refusal.

"The elephant is the highest of the animals which reign on

earth, but his powers can only be exercised on land. At sea the

whale is mistress and she is very jealous of any encroachment

on her prerogative. Accordingly, if we took any part of an

elephant into her domain she would manifest her displeasure by

capsizing our vessel."

Our prospective flower-pot stands had to wait for the arrival of a

European ship!

Wild beasts and, in fact, all animals which may be harmful to man are

given high-sounding titles by the Moï in the hope of tickling their

vanity and thus earning their gratitude. On the other hand, harmless

creatures, especially those which cannot be used for food and are

therefore useless to mankind, are given names of derision or contempt.

Further, certain species whose wiles defy all attempts at capture are

considered as being emanations of the spirits themselves. Suppose a

rat has the impertinence not merely to avoid all the traps, but also

to defy the Chief of the tribe and watch from a beam while a jar is

being opened. Its ordinary name is immediately transformed.

Henceforth, everyone refers to it as "the gentleman with magic

powers." The same title is extended to the termite ants who succeed in

making a home in cooking utensils in spite of all efforts to keep them

out.

Other insects, such as the spider, are considered by their presence to

incite married persons to infidelity. Accordingly a wife never goes to

bed without making a thorough search for the malignant creature. If a

spider fell from the ceiling between husband and wife the lady would

know for a certainty that her spouse had torn up the marriage

contract.

Popular fancy has also fastened on certain products of the vegetable

kingdom. When the millet or rice is in flower no one is allowed to

pass by who carries a truss of hay, for these plants are very

sensitive and would invariably follow the example of the hay, which

bears no grain.

If a pregnant woman were stupid enough to eat a double banana she

would infallibly give birth to twins whose fingers would be knotted

together.

There are numbers of nursery tales for children, many of which bear

strong traces of Hindu influence. The following are good specimens:

* * * * *

THE RABBIT, THE TIGER AND THE ELEPHANT

One day the Rabbit met the Elephant, who looked very distressed. The

small quadruped asked the big one the cause of his trouble.

The Elephant, grateful for the sympathetic inquiry, made reply:

"I have wagered my life with the Tiger and lost the wager. To-morrow I

must put myself at his disposal and he will eat me, but he has given

me one day in which to bid farewell to my children."

The Rabbit thought a moment and then told his friend to take heart for

he had frequently found a way out of much more formidable

complications. The Elephant believed in the assurances of his friend,

and they separated after fixing a rendezvous for the next day.

The monster turned up punctually to the moment and found the Rabbit

already waiting for him. The Rabbit told him to lie at full length on

the ground. When the Tiger was heard bounding through the forest the

Rabbit jumped on the Elephant's back and began to cry out at the top

of his voice:

"I have just had an elephant for my dinner but I really don't feel

equal to a tiger for dessert."

Terrified at such a miracle the King of the Jungle covered eight yards

at a bound and vanished in a twinkling into the depths of the forest.

* * * * *

THE TIGER AND THE TORTOISE

One evening when the Tortoise was slowly walking up a mountain path

she was brusquely ordered out of the way by a Tiger who wished to

drink at the river.

"Out of my way, Tortoise! You are only hindering me and you know I can

run faster than you!"

"Run faster than I!" exclaimed the Tortoise indignantly; "it's a lie!"

"Will you bet on it?" queried the Tiger.

"Certainly. You see these twelve hills. I bet you I will climb them

all before you."

"Done!"

As it was then getting late they agreed to postpone the trial of speed

to the next day. The Tortoise, however, was not idle during the night,

but called together twelve of her sisters, to whom she gave

instructions to take up their stations on the top of each of the

twelve hills and to pretend to the Tiger that it was his rival whom he

found waiting for him.

Her instructions were carried out to the letter and daybreak found

each of the tortoises at her post.

The race began at once. The Tiger started off, covering yards at each

bound. When he reached the top of the first hill he looked back in

contempt for the Tortoise.

"Where are you, Tortoise?"

"Here I am," replied the first Tortoise. "Don't waste time chattering

but get on your way."

Astounded that his competitor had displayed such a fine turn of speed

the Tiger resumed the race without a moment's delay. In a few bounds

he had reached the next hill, only to find (as he thought) the

Tortoise waiting for him with a few mocking words for his

slothfulness.

The Tiger lost heart and leapt forward in desperation, but the effort

was too much for him. He was soon out of breath and collapsed in a

heap long before his goal was in sight.

* * * * *

The fable of the Tiger and the Toad is very similar to the foregoing.

One day the Toad said to the Tiger:

"Will you run a race with me?"

"Don't be a fool," replied the Tiger.

"Come on all the same. I feel myself possessed by an invisible force

and I am sure I can beat you."

"Very well then, but what's to be the stake?"

They agreed that the winner should eat the loser. A tortoise who

chanced to pass by was selected as judge and performed the office of

starter. The Tiger, with his customary astuteness, claimed that he

need only touch the starting-post with the end of his tail. The Toad

was up to this and promptly caught hold of his rival's tail and

refused to be shaken off during the race. When within a few paces of

the goal the Tiger suddenly stopped short and the Toad shot over his

head. He was greatly chagrined to see the Toad thus arrive before him

and complained bitterly to a monkey who had witnessed the contest.

"I saw it all," the monkey said. "The Toad owes his success to a

trick. He caught hold of your tail and it was your sudden stop that

precipitated him in front of you. Try to get him to run another race

with you, and this time be careful to tie a stone to your tail to

prevent a repetition of his underhand behaviour."

The Tiger was delighted with this advice and invited the Toad to a

second trial of speed, offering his wife as an additional prize.

The monkey induced the Toad to agree and both watched the Tiger start

off. He had not gone far, however, before he plunged into a stream

which crossed the course. The weight of the stone dragged him down,

and in spite of his struggles he perished miserably.

The monkey, tortoise and Toad were highly delighted.

* * * * *

THE TOAD AND THE KING OF WATER

In the beginning of things a drought of several months completely

dried up a marsh in which a Toad dwelt. By reason of this catastrophe

the Toad could not bring up his young, so he decided to make a

complaint in person to the King of Water.

To give greater weight to his plea he begged the Fox, the Bear and the

Tiger to go with him.

The journey was long and wearisome, but at length the four animals,

marching in single file, left behind them the narrow path which leads

to heaven, and reached the gate.

A tom-tom was hung there, and the Toad banged it vigorously to

announce his presence, while his companions discreetly drew aside.

Hearing the noise, the King of Water sent a genius to find out who the

new-comer was.

"It is only a miserable toad," the messenger reported. "What must I do

with him?"

The King ordered the cocks to put the intruders to flight, but the Fox

flew at them and made a mouthful of them.

The King ordered the dogs to seize and punish the Fox, but then it was

the Bear's turn to give them his deadly embrace. The King became more

and more angry and ordered his archers to shoot the Bear with poisoned

arrows.

With one bound the Tiger laid low the warriors before they could even

stretch their bows, and torn by his fangs and claws they soon took to

their heels.

The King, seeing himself thus at the end of his resources and tired of

war, had the Toad brought into his presence, and inquired the object

of his visit.

"I salute thee humbly, Sire," said the Toad, "and would make an urgent

supplication before thee. The great heat hath turned the ground to

stone, since thou hast forgotten to send rain for many weary months. I

can no longer feed my children who are on the point of death through

thy neglect."

Touched at the story, the King acknowledged his remissness and at his

command a refreshing shower immediately fell upon the earth, which

soon revived.

Since that fortunate interview, whenever there is a drought men hear

the toad croaking his petition and rain falls without further delay.

* * * * *

It will be noticed in these fables how careful the Moï is to give the

Tiger, his dreaded foe, the rôle of the vanquished. They also show

signs of education in the habits of the animal world. It is just

because the croaking of the toad coincides with a change in the

atmosphere that the Moï attributes to that plaintive sound the power

to bring down rain.

Is it not equally true that the illustrious chanticleer had only to

utter his morning call to cause the sun to rise?

BOOK II

THE CHAM

CHAPTER I

THE CHAM

General characteristics of the Cham--A Mohammedan group--Its

place among ancient civilizations--Social life--Dress and

ornaments--The calendar--Rites accompanying the construction of

a house, a cart, and a junk--Agriculture and

industry--Medicines--The use of narcotics by criminals to

stupefy their victims.

I have now concluded my investigation of the complex of barbarous

peoples who, in spite of the proximity of civilized races, have

preserved almost intact the rudimentary instincts and ferocious

customs of primitive man. No account of these regions, however, would

be complete which omitted all references to the Cham,[2] a curious

Mohammedan people, formerly very powerful, whose conversion to that

faith took place during the zenith of their power and prosperity. The

traces of this one-time pre-eminence and the Cham themselves are fast

disappearing.

The group belongs to the Malayo-Polynesian race, of which the parent

stock seems to have inhabited the region of Annam. The Cham were

formerly the rulers of the powerful Empire of Champa, which occupied,

as far as we can judge from the somewhat conflicting and

unsatisfactory evidence, the eastern coast-line of Indo-China proper.

Marco Polo tells us of the fertility of this region in the thirteenth

century. It may even be that this country is the self-same Zabai of

which Ptolemy speaks.

Nominally Islam is the official religion of this people who seem to

have passed through previous stages of Animism and Brahminism. The

ancient faiths were too well established to be uprooted by the Moslem

conquerors and the outcome is a strange conglomeration in which the

ancestral superstitions frequently profit at the expense of the

precepts of the Koran.

The last survivors of this once flourishing empire (in all perhaps

130,000 souls), are now confined to the province of Binh-Thuan in

Annam. At the time of its downfall before the rising power of the

Annamites many of the conquered preferred exile in Cambodia and Siam

rather than humiliation and servitude in the land of their birth.

The opportunity of observing and noting the customs, beliefs, and

institutions of the Cham was furnished by the preliminary survey which

preceded the construction of the railway from Phantiet to Phanrang.

During the whole of this time our party was quartered among this

interesting people and had many opportunities of developing friendly,

and even intimate, relations.

We cannot pretend to have been the first to do so, for previous to our

arrival two eminent philologists, MM. Aymonier and Cabaton, had made a

searching examination of the manuscripts in the possession of the

priests and published two singularly exhaustive studies on the

subject.[3]

The Cham have preserved almost unmodified their physical and moral

characteristics, largely by means of their law which prohibits

intermarriage with any other people. For this reason they exhibit a

marked contrast to the Annamites.

The average height of a man is about five feet six inches, that of a

woman five feet. The skin is somewhat coarse and varies between a dark

brown and a shade of reddish brown such as a European acquires after

long exposure in a tropical climate. The auburn or black hair is fine

and brittle, while the growth of beard and moustache is more generous

than among the Annamites. Partial, or even total, albinism is not

uncommon.

The lips and facial outline offer resemblances to those of the

European. This is not remarkable, for of all Asiatics the Cham and the

Malays exhibit the nearest approach to the Western type.

In spite of a certain tendency to be hollow-backed the women are of

fine presence, elegant, and graceful in their movements. Their

carriage in walking is particularly remarkable and can be compared

with that of the Egyptians. The women of both these races habitually

carry heavy objects either on their shoulders or heads and can only

maintain them in equilibrium thanks to the most perfect ease in their

movements.

If the vigour of this race has not deteriorated during the last

centuries it is certain that their fertility has diminished. For some

time the birthrate has remained stationary. Retrogression is exhibited

in other ways also, for although their ancient civilization must have

been highly advanced, little trace of it remains in their present low

level of intellect. All ambition to renew the glories of the past has

long since evaporated. The ruins of many monuments tell of the ancient

splendours, but the living representatives are quite content to

recount the triumphs without any desire to emulate them. Is it

incapacity or merely universal apathy? The indolence of the Cham is

notorious. Even the building of their houses they leave to their

neighbours the Annamites.

The first time I entered a Cham village I was amazed at the absence of

all vegetation. Shade is one of the prime necessities of life in this

country, where the fierce rays of the sun pour down pitilessly all day

and make it painful, and even dangerous, for a man to be exposed to

them without cover. My colleagues, who had been established in the

place for some time, soon explained that as long as we remained among

the Cham we might as well relinquish vain hopes of finding a house

which would not be exposed to the sun.

This inconvenient defect is the outcome of a popular superstition that

the shade of a tree exerts a baneful influence over the house beneath

it. A somewhat similar belief prevails in Cambodia, where, however,

the minister of evil is alleged to be not the shade but the roots of

trees which penetrate below a house.

However, the lack of shade was by no means the greatest discomfort we

were called on to face. There were many others.

A native habitation comprises as many miniature houses as there are

households (and almost even members) in the family. Every girl of

marriageable age has a special room. The married members have another,

while a third is reserved for the boys who have attained puberty.

Naturally, the larger the family the smaller are the separate rooms,

and so the apartment assigned to us was usually little more than a box

with space for only a small folding-bed, the solitary piece of

furniture. These low, thatched huts were scattered about a kind of

compound bounded on each side by a flimsy palisade of bamboos secured

together by thongs of cane.

The costume of the men consists of a skirt and a very long robe. The

women wear a large piece of cloth wrapped round to form a rude skirt.

Gay colours are somewhat restricted, white and white striped with red

and green being the most popular. For bodice they have a clinging

dark-green tunic open at the throat.

Their taste in jewellery is remarkably restrained. The rich wear

silver or gold buttons in their ears. Of the poorer classes some

confine their personal embellishment to copper nails and others wear a

plait made of coloured threads which falls over their shoulders. We

sometimes noticed bracelets on the wrists of some of the girls. This

ornament serves to remind its wearer of the temporary vow of chastity

which she has taken to guard her against some danger or cure an

illness.

Others again wear a necklace of large amber beads from which hangs the

Tamrak, a kind of amulet which wards off the powers of evil. This

indispensable talisman consists of a small cylinder of lead on which a

priest has traced mystic characters with a sharp-pointed instrument.

Both sexes keep their hair long and, like the Annamites, twist it into

a knot at the back. The men wear as head-dress either a large turban

or sometimes merely a kerchief. Pockets are unknown, but two purses

hung from a long girdle provide an excellent substitute.

In early times the Cham princes set up their royal residence and the

seat of government in Phanrang. In the seventeenth century their

office was still hereditary, but the Court of Hué reserved the right

of investiture. In the nineteenth century successive invasions

undermined the authority of those potentates and all appointments to

administrative offices were made by the Annamite conquerors, who made

their selection among the local aristocracy.

The Cham of Cambodia are all Mohammedans, but of those of Annam about

two-thirds have remained Brahmins. Their countrymen of the later faith

call them "Kaphirs" (infidels), and reserve to themselves the title of

"Bani" (sons of the faith). Nevertheless, there is perfect toleration

between the followers of the two religions. The priests honour with

their presence the ritual ceremonies of the group whose beliefs they

do not share and neither party attempts to make converts of the

adherents of the other.

The calendar of the Cham is partly lunar and partly solar. The

beginning and end of each month coincides with a new moon. As in the

Hindu calendar, this lunar month has a light half which culminates in

the full moon and a dark half which is terminated by the new moon. The

duodenary cycle is employed for the purpose of measuring time. This

system was invented by the Turks, but the Chinese have been mainly

instrumental in securing its adoption throughout the Far East. Each of

the twelve years of which it is composed is called by the name of some

animal--Rat, Buffalo, Tiger, Hare, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey,

Cock, Dog, Boar.

The year begins in April-May and comprises twelve lunar months of

thirty and twenty-nine days alternatively. They are numbered from one

up to ten, but the eleventh and twelfth have special names. Every

three years a month is added, and it may well be imagined to what

difficulties and disputes this proceeding gives rise in the absence of

agreement between the villages.

There are seven days in the week. Their names are borrowed from the

Sanscrit and, like ours, represent a planet. Each day has twelve

hours, twice the length of ours, of which the first begins at

cockcrow. The night consists of five watches.

These are the component parts of the system in which it is quite

simple to calculate any date. For example, a document may be dated

thus: "Signed, Monday the fourth day of the light half of the fifth

month of the year of the Dragon."

It is probable that in early times the Cham computed time by a system

similar to that of the ancient Javanese, a people with whom they

maintained close political and commercial relations, as witness

several alliances between members of the two reigning houses. The

Javanese calendar comprised a week of five days, a month of six weeks,

a year of ten months, each with its special tutelary deity.

Life among the Cham is greatly complicated by rules of etiquette, of

which the most stringent regulate the relations between those of

different age and rank. Age is regarded with special reverence and an

old man, whatever his social condition, is always addressed as Uncle

or Grandfather by his juniors in years. An inferior addresses his

superior as Elder Brother.

As in Cambodia methods of greeting are various. If a man meets a

friend of superior station a due and proper sign of deference is to

adjust his girdle or cross the cloth which fulfils the functions of

trousers. If he is carrying an umbrella he will hold it forward

towards the person he thus wishes to honour. Then a conversation will

take place. During the whole time he will take the greatest care to

avoid swinging his arms, the most flagrant act of disrespect. To guard

against even an unwitting breach of this regulation a well-bred Cham

will clasp his hands together, a precaution which prevents any

movement of the arms. If a woman desires to address a request to a

Mandarin or a European, her preliminary salutation is a complicated

manœuvre which recalls the Andjali of the Hindus and cannot be

executed without preparation. She takes off the turban which keeps her

hair in position, wraps it round her like a shawl, drops on her knees

and finally prostrates herself three times in succession at full

length on the ground. In the interval between each prostration she

rubs her face with her hands.

In India, where etiquette takes a different form, no one should appear

in public without an ornament of some kind in the hair; if the head is

completely unadorned it signifies either mourning or absolute

retirement from the world. This rule seems to be of very ancient

origin and to have been kept alive largely by sculpture. It is

remarkable that all the statues of divinities in the temples have an

ornament of some kind in the hair.

It is not merely the number and variety of the rules of etiquette

which distinguish the Cham from other groups of similar culture. They

are equally remarkable for the multiplicity of the rites which

accompany each act, however insignificant, of their daily life. I can

only recount here some of the more important ones which present

features of their own.

An accidental fire destroyed the native house which a village chief

had placed at our disposal, during the survey in that neighbourhood.

We offered to rebuild it on our own lines, with the latest

improvements. Far from expressing any gratification at the suggestion

he showed the greatest surprise and displeasure and was more than

contented with the very modest sum we gave him with which to do the

work himself. Little did we imagine the trials in store for us. We

were provided with temporary accommodation in a barn, without shade of

any sort. The ill-fitting planks let in as much sun as rain and wind,

and we were all impatience to see the completion of our future

dwelling. Time, however, counts for next to nothing in the Far East,

and for nothing at all among the Cham. Within a few days it was patent

that a long delay was inevitable and we were soon resigned to the

prospect of waiting indefinitely while the rebuilding, impeded by

innumerable daily ceremonies, proceeded from stage to stage.

First of all, a place which is to be hallowed by the performance of so

many rites must be enclosed within a light palisade as holy ground.

For this purpose dead wood is chosen, for it must never be forgotten

that the shade cast by foliage forbodes evil. In this enclosing wall

an opening is made to give passage to the divinities of the five

cardinal points. Without their help it would be vain for man to enter

upon so grave an undertaking.

The area having thus been marked out, the next step is to determine

its centre. For this purpose a cord is requisitioned. The spot thus

fixed serves as a point by which to find the positions for the columns

which are to support the building. A hole is dug to furnish a

foundation for the north-east column. Into this the owner throws a

magic amulet with the most elaborate precaution. The talisman consists

of a sheet of lead on which certain mystic characters are engraved.

Only after this solemn consecration is the column fixed in position.

The day's work is then concluded. Next day a similar performance

accompanies the establishment of a second column. One day one column

is more than we can stand, and after every form of persuasion and

argument the easy-going architect consents to consecrate the remaining

columns on the same day.

Alas! When the framework of the roof is complete religious observance

requires that an amulet shall be inserted at every point of contact

with the beams of the walls! Then again there is a prolonged and

bitter controversy over the choice of thatch. Our Annamite coolies

have been foolish enough to collect a supply of bulrushes which are

considered to exert a malignant influence! The offending material is

immediately burnt and a new delay begins. At length the work is

completed and the house stands ready for immediate occupation. Nothing

seems to prevent our entry into possession and at daybreak we move

across with our baggage and establish ourselves each in his diminutive

cabin. Hardly has the unpacking begun than the owner rushes in with

hands upraised in horror. In our haste we have unwittingly committed

almost every conceivable act of sacrilege!

A cat should have been the first to enter the new abode, and after it

the Master, and he alone may declare the building open. There is no

help for it. We hastily put back our belongings and tumble the boxes

out into the yard. We remain as unwilling spectators of a ceremony

which we are assured is positively the last. Our host prostrates

himself on the ground at the exact spot which he selects for his own

bed. He then rises and intones a chant proper to the occasion, which

consists of the recital of all the places to be avoided when selecting

a site for a new dwelling.

"I will flee far," says the Holy Canticle, "from the haunts of the

White Ant. I will turn aside from the dwelling-places of demons and

evil spirits. Sloping places I will shun. I will sound clayey soil.

In short I will never be found where evil is to be apprehended."

And the pious architect concludes the last of the rites and leaves us

to the place.

Irritated though we were by the interminable proceedings which had

postponed our occupation of the promised land, it is only fair to say

that at all times we displayed the greatest interest in other ritual

ceremonies which involved no personal disadvantages to ourselves. Each

day provided us with new matter for investigation and speculation.

Undoubtedly one of the most curious proceedings is the consecration of

a cart before its entry into active service. The manufacture of these

vehicles is, perhaps, the most flourishing industry of the Cham. Their

reputation is almost world-wide and thoroughly deserved. The industry

dates from a very early period and was brought into prominence during

the fourteenth century by the demand of the Hindu princes for

beautiful cars for wedding gifts to their brides. The dedication takes

place with the greatest pomp and is not complete without a sacrifice.

First the wheelwright sprinkles his new material with holy water, then

takes it to the river bank. There he subjects it to a severe scouring,

after which it is considered as purified. Next coloured tapers are

fixed on the uprights and finally he draws his knife and cuts out the

framework.

"Cart," he cries, "woe betide you if ever the fancy take you not to

roll your best."

The Cham prefer the banks of a river or the shores of a lake as a site

for their settlements. They frequently build whole villages on huge

floating rafts, but the staple industry of these lake-dwelling groups

is the building of light boats and racing skiffs. These are made from

trees and, as long narrow trunks are indispensable, the favourite

medium is the dipterocarpus, which is plentiful in these regions. The

tree is felled and then hollowed to its full length, the ends being

shaped to a tapering point. To obtain the necessary elasticity the

parts are exposed to a wood fire before the moulding process is

commenced. Every stage of the proceedings is accompanied by prayers

and sacrifices such as we have seen marking the dedication of the

wagon.

It is general knowledge that in Cambodia and the region of Laos canoe

races figure in all public festivals of importance. These regattas

attract a large number of spectators of all nations and the Cham

naturally take a conspicuous part.

The boats display quite a high standard of artistic skill. On the

inside they are decorated with red lacquer. On the outside they are

black and gold. Some idea of the size appears in the fact that they

are sometimes built to accommodate fifty paddlers.

Every king, prince, bonze and noble has, or should have, his private

boat and liveried crew, for the races proper are preceded by an

aquatic procession, when each boat passes before the dais on which is

seated the President of the Festivities. Nothing could be more

elating than the sight of the beautiful rhythmical movements of the

paddlers swinging forward with mechanical precision until their

foreheads almost touch their knees. These voluntary sailors furnish an

example of discipline which might well be followed in high places.

Agriculture among the Cham is limited to the cultivation of a few

ricefields and the growth of tobacco, cotton and pea-nuts.

Cattle-raising does not include that of cows and pigs, the flesh of

which is forbidden by religion. Other industries are bee-keeping, the

export of the wax for religious purposes, and the manufacture of

torches of resin which find a ready market among the Annamites. I have

already mentioned other specialities.

Agriculture, commerce and industry show not the least sign of

expansion. The Cham is not ambitious, much less inventive and exhibits

no trace of envy of his progressive Annamite conquerors, whose

industrious activity is a vivid contrast to the proverbial lethargy of

Orientals. Unhappily the indifference of the Cham to material

prosperity is a recent development. In the great days of Empire they

must have been a very active and intelligent race and even to-day we

find relics of their inventive skill among their Medicine Men.

These specialists jealously guard the secret, which has been handed

down by tradition, of certain medicines to which Europeans have had

recourse on occasion. More than once during our expedition we were

glad to invite the good offices of the native herbalists when,

prostrated by dysentery, shivering with fever or weakened by anæmia,

we had exhausted the resources of our own pharmaceutical arsenal. The

native doctors are as skilful as the Chinese in utilizing various

simples and are quite familiar with the medicinal properties of

certain animal products.

We have known cases in which an unnameable brew, of which the

principal constituents were the shells of beetles, the scales of

snakes, and the parings of stags' antlers and bullocks' hooves,

effected a quicker cure than all our European drugs, for all their

scientific names. The pharmacopœia of the Cham is certainly an

offshoot of that of the Chinese. It comprises a list of all manner of

remedies for moral as well as physical disorders.

Camphor, a substance universally appreciated, appears also among the

medicines of the Cham. They use a certain oil which, when impregnated

with camphor, acts as an anæsthetic by evaporating and producing a

freezing sensation. It forms a kind of liniment and is kept in a

small, brightly coloured glass flask, which is stoppered with a cork

of wax to prevent evaporation.

Wax is also used to make capsules, about the size of a pigeon's egg,

to hold drugs and other medicinal substances which must be kept from

contact with the air.

Cholera, which is endemic throughout this region, is treated by taking

pills made up of a mixture of sandalwood, the bark of the mangostan,

and eagle-wood. Eagle-wood, of which I shall have much to say later

on, is well known as an excellent tonic. Popular superstition endows

it with powers so remarkable that a single piece could effect an

immediate cure.

Most of the brews or broths are prepared by decoction rather than by

infusion and the operation should take place over a slow fire, which

makes them more potent. Their effect is extremely violent, and in

Europe we should unhesitatingly classify them with the group of

remedies popularly known as "horse pills."

Among the most potent I might mention the gall of animals which is

often used to produce the effect of an emetic.

At one time the Cham sorcerers used human bile as well as that of

animals. This human bile was useless unless taken from a living

subject, and consequently murders without number were committed for

the purpose of obtaining it. Its reputation as a talisman was

universal. It was said that any man who rubbed himself with it became

invulnerable. Of course it was inevitable that a warrior should become

invincible when he was certain that his victory, thanks to his

supernatural protection, was a foregone conclusion. The King himself

had no doubts as to the efficacy of this talisman and before going

into battle ordered his elephants to be sprayed with it. His special

emissaries, who enjoyed the name of _Jalavoi_ ("Stealers of human

bile"), drew their host of victims from every quarter, and even to-day

the memories of their horrid activities evoke a shudder.

Happily those evil days have departed. Human bile is no longer used

either for protective or medicinal purposes. It remains only as the

subject of legend.

Besides this special and curious emetic the Cham produce the same

effect by certain mechanical processes the originality of which merits

detailed description.

When a sick man's stomach seems overladen with bile and the medicine

man wishes to empty it completely, he stuffs a rag soaked in urine and

other evil-smelling substances into the patient's mouth. He rams it

down as far as it will go and then quickly withdraws it. Physical

aversion and the irritation of the glottis produced by a foreign body

immediately provoke a spasm of sickness. No doubt some milder emetic

would have been equally successful.

I frequently doctored the Cham and I can bear witness that they make

the best of patients. They took ipecacuanha, castor-oil, or sulphate

of soda, as if they enjoyed them. When they came again they often

brought me a present of a little candle in a curious candlestick made

from the banana-plant. I learnt later that it was the custom to bring

an offering of some kind in lieu of fee to the native doctors.

Suicide is very uncommon in these regions, where the means of life

are within the reach of all, passions easily mastered, and an

easy-going philosophy is practised from the cradle. The few who find

life not worth living leave it with the help of opium which they mix

with vinegar.

At present the native authorities throughout Indo-China have taken no

steps to regulate the manufacture and sale of poisons. It is quite

usual for the most virulent of these to be sold publicly in the open

market, and it must be admitted that any regulations would probably be

ineffective to stop the trade. Nature in Asia has always been lavish

with toxic substances. Even if the sale of these were prohibited,

anyone could find as many as he wished in the nearest forest. This

abundance is undoubtedly responsible for the large and increasing

number of murders by poison which distinguish the regions inhabited by

the Cham. We ourselves, isolated in the bush, had to take the most

elaborate precautions to prevent fatalities of this kind.

On our arrival in the country we were forewarned of the danger by the

French resident magistrate of the province. He laid special stress on

the risks run by young bachelors who attempted any intimacies with the

native girls. The seducer, it appears, is marked out for destruction,

even if he has only yielded to the blandishments of the woman.

Further, many of the Cham poisons only work slowly and the mischief

they cause in the system is frequently taken for disorders which

follow anæmia and other illnesses, to which foreigners in this

climate are peculiarly liable. One of my colleagues died from an

attack of what we believed to be malaria. We all feel now that if an

autopsy had been made we should probably have discovered that what we

thought was cachexia was the effect of poison.

Besides being familiar with the nature and use of poisons the Cham are

also expert in concocting stupefying drugs and narcotics of all kinds.

They often poison the air of a room in which a patient is lying by

blowing stupefying vapours through hollow canes inserted in the

wattled walls. The effect of these fumes is to make the victim sleep

more heavily and the criminals take advantage of this circumstance to

rob him at their leisure.

I had a vivid personal experience of this diabolical procedure. One

evening I arrived with my escort at a house which our coolies had

built specially for us and where we were to stay several weeks. The

furniture consisted of nothing more than a bamboo bedstead supporting

a mattress of cotton wadding. My room was very narrow and the seven

cases which contained my instruments and cooking utensils were all the

furniture I needed in addition. I told my boy to push two of these

cases under the bed in order to save space. We had been marching all

day under a tropical sun and I flung myself on the mattress and fell

asleep at once. I awoke, according to habit, at about four in the

morning and was surprised to feel myself so cramped that I could

hardly move. To add to my astonishment I could not find my matches

which I always kept within reach. The case which I had placed to serve

as a bedside table had likewise disappeared.

With great effort I rose from bed and stumbling at each step managed

to get out of the house. My sole garment was my pyjamas, for my

clothes had followed the matches. It was still dark and I soon

collided with an obstacle which proved on investigation to be one of

the cases. I was somewhat alarmed and called for my servants. No one

answered. A feeling of overpowering drowsiness overcame me and I had

just time to get back to my bed before I fell asleep again. When

morning came my orderly came in to announce that six out of the seven

boxes were scattered about the outskirts of our camp. Locks had been

forced and all my papers, instruments, photographic plates and prints,

and wallets ruthlessly thrown out after obvious examination. It was

plain that the burglars had been hunting for bank-notes. Fortunately I

had no money in the cash-box. I had left the few thousand piastres

which constituted our reserve with a colleague, so the total haul did

not amount to more than two silver bangles and a few gewgaws, which

together were not worth more than ten piastres.

As for the seventh case, it contained the whole of our supplies, and

its disappearance left us with nothing but the impressions of our

journey to breakfast on.

That evening, while clearing the thickets quite six kilometres from

our camp, our coolies came upon the missing case. It was almost

intact. Only one box had been opened and it bore upon its label a

sketch of the sucking-pig it contained. As swine's flesh is abhorred

by the Cham I can only conclude that we owed the recovery of our

portable larder to that happy chance.

Two years later a second attempt of the same kind and not less

audacious was perpetrated upon me. I was at Hanoi, residing in a house

situated in a narrow avenue and next to the barracks. It was at the

beginning of the rainy season and a violent storm was raging. I was

sleeping on the first floor, and one of my Tonkinese orderlies, a

hardy young bachelor, stationed himself at the bottom of the stairs to

guard me. I had allowed another to bring his family into the house and

the family, including its real members, friends and acquaintances,

turned out to comprise eleven persons. In return for this concession

they arranged to mount guard in turn. It will be acknowledged that I

was thus not alone in the desert!

It must have been about midnight and I was dozing lightly (being

prevented from sleeping by feverishness), when I suddenly noticed that

my reading-lamp outside the mosquito-net was lit. It occurred to me

that I could not have been so foolish as to leave it lit and I

distinctly remembered putting out the light when I got into bed. I sat

up to rouse my senses and heard a slight noise in the next room. I

was out of bed in a moment just in time to catch a parcel of clothing

which was evidently thrown at me to trip me up. By the light from the

reading-lamp I distinctly saw a man perfectly naked, his body shining

as if he had just had a bath in oil. I remembered in a flash that the

Annamite robber always take this precaution to make capture more

difficult. Before I could snatch my revolver the burglar had displayed

his ape-like agility by leaping through the window and vanishing in

the darkness.

I called up my men, but they only told me they had heard nothing. I

confess with shame I lost my temper. Suspecting those whom I had so

imprudently harboured of complicity in the plot I hunted from the

house all except my usual staff. I enjoyed such consolation as was

afforded by the sight of the silhouettes of the defaulting watchmen

cowering in the pelting rain. Any remorse I experienced quickly

vanished when I made inquiries later!

CHAPTER II

SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE

Traces of the matriarchal system in the conception of the

family--The "Karoh"--Circumcision--Precautions against

seduction--Rites incidental to betrothal, marriage, birth and

infancy.

It is well known that the ancient matriarchal system of government and

ownership still flourishes among certain peoples who inhabit the

peninsula of the Ganges and some groups of Malayo-Polynesian origin.

In this system man belongs to an inferior order of creation. All

political and social authority is exercised by woman and she alone can

possess and inherit. This veritable triumph of feminism might have

been expected to produce results far more disastrous than has been the

case. Proof that life under such circumstances can be both possible

and tolerable is furnished by the history of the Malays of the Negri

Sambilan (British Malaysia), which is little more than a monotonous

record of good fortune and prosperity.

The system is frequently accompanied by the institution of polyandry

in which the husbands cohabit in turn with the common wife who has

herself selected them.

Now the institutions of both the Cham and the Cambodians show traces

of descent from an earlier organization of which the matriarchal

system was the distinguishing feature. On no other hypothesis can we

account for some striking facts. Family is traced through the mother.

The children take her name, adopt her religion if they are the issue

of a mixed marriage, and remain her property in case of divorce.

Inheritance descends in the female line alone. A woman is the

principal figure in many of the domestic ceremonies and she retains at

all times the right to select her husband.

The time at which girls pass from infancy to puberty (when they are at

once considered of marriageable age) is celebrated by a curious

ceremony called the "Karoh," which is doubtless derived from that

precept of the Koran which prohibits a repudiated or divorced woman

from entering upon a new union until after a retirement extending over

three menstrual periods. The festival lasts two days and the

proceedings are under the personal supervision of the Ong Gru (High

Priest) himself, who is assisted by a number of acolytes.

Two huts of boughs and leaves are constructed specially for the

occasion. One is destined to serve as dormitory to the girls of the

village whose puberty is to be officially recognized. The other is to

accommodate the numerous audience which always gathers to witness the

accomplishment of the rite.

At the first sign of daybreak the young neophytes advance in a group

towards the High Priest. Each wears her gayest robes and her most

precious jewels. Her hair falling freely on her shoulders is crowned

with a mitre. One by one they bow reverentially before the officiating

minister who places on their lips a grain of salt, offers a cup of

pure water, and then cuts a piece of hair from their foreheads. This

last action signifies that the girls' reputation is unsullied. If the

contrary is demonstrated by ocular proof the piece of hair will be

taken not from the forehead but from the back of the neck. This

constitutes, both among the Cham and the Cambodians, a mark of infamy.

A one-year-old baby, carried in the arms of an old man, is the object

of the same rites.

The girls thus initiated now retire to the place assigned to them,

obviously to carry out the semblance of withdrawal from the world.

During their absence the priests take a hearty meal, the remains of

which are distributed to the faithful. About midday the girls return,

this time with their hair twisted into a knot on their necks, a patent

indication that the age of marriage has been reached. Relations and

friends join in offering them gifts to celebrate the happy event. A

generous feast follows to which are invited all who have taken any

part in the proceedings, and shortly after the girls enter into their

new sphere.

[Illustration:

_Photo by_] [_A. Cabaton._

Royal Elephants in Cambodia.]

[Illustration:

_Photo by_] [_Henri Maître._

A Buddhist Procession carrying Offerings to a Distant Pagoda.]

The High Priests say that the "Karoh" is in essence a symbol. The

moon, a feminine divinity, attains her full perfection only at the

fifteenth day. In the same way the "Karoh" must be celebrated as

nearly as possible in a girl's fifteenth year when her development is

complete.

Up to the time of her consecration in this manner a girl is "taboo,"

and all sexual relations with her are strictly prohibited.

The Cambodians have very similar rites and regulations. Before

attaining the age of marriage a girl is regarded as one of the spouses

of Indra, the King of the Gods, and in virtue of this exalted station

no man dare cultivate any intimate relations with her. Immediately on

the occurrence of her first menstruation she "enters into the shade,"

that is, takes refuge under her mosquito-net and withdraws from the

world altogether for a period which varies between five and a hundred

days. As long as the sun shines the recluse may not even leave her

couch, but occasionally an eclipse procures her a temporary release

from her gaol. No man may approach her, for she must not be exposed to

the temptation of looking at a male. Her diet is strictly prescribed,

fish and meat being prohibited, and in any case she is restricted to

one meal a day, taken between sunrise and midday, after the manner of

the bonzes.

This compulsory seclusion is a terrible hardship, for an open-air life

is almost a necessity in these tropical climates where the heat is

overpowering. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that the

termination of the imprisonment is an occasion for great rejoicing.

"Leaving the shade," as this fête is called, is frequently marked by

the lacquering of the girl's teeth, an operation which is accompanied

with all manner of rites and is preceded by a special dedicatory

ceremony.

Regulations which seem to aim at secluding girls at the time they

attain puberty are not peculiar to Indo-China. Thus the Vaï of Liberia

cloister their girls at the age of ten in a place called "Sandy,"

which is hidden away in the depths of a great forest. The recluses are

considered dead to their family who are not allowed to see them. Their

only visitors are a few old women, their only occupations minor

domestic duties and initiation into the mysteries of marriage. If a

betrothal is arranged during this period the girl is liberated on the

appearance of the first signs of puberty.

If we are to believe legend (and legend is often worthy of belief),

both in Denmark and Siberia the same period in a girl's life is

preceded by a similar retirement. Frazer cites several instances which

dispel all doubt on the subject.

The rite of circumcision, or rather, the rite of simulated

circumcision, among the Cham Bani only takes place when the boys are

in their fifteenth year. This ceremony is, in fact, purely symbolical.

Armed with a wooden knife the officiating priest makes a pretence of

performing the act after which he gives the novice his ceremonial

name, which is always taken from the Arabic calendar and is sure to be

either Ali, Ibrahim, or Mahomet. The acquisition of this religious

surname does not prevent a boy from using his unredeemed name in

ordinary life.

The ceremony known as the "Entry into Religion" should take place at

about the age of five, but in practice it is always reserved until the

age of puberty though never delayed until after marriage. It will be

remembered that the custom of postponing circumcision characterized

the Persians also.

The Cham have a saying that you might as well leave an elephant among

the sugar canes as leave a man alone with a girl. The proposition may

be sweeping but receives enough illustration to make it plausible.

However that may be, it must be remembered that no sexual

relationships are prohibited except those which do not sooner or later

contemplate marriage. If a girl is seduced and the consequences of her

action begin to make themselves evident she is at once put under

arrest. Her ankles are secured by thongs of buffalo hide; with these

marks of ignominy she appears before the Council of Notables. There

she is adjured to reveal the author of her undoing. If she gives the

name of the seducer he is compelled to marry her and pay a fine by way

of compensation to her parents. This fine is the "Price of Shame" and

invariably substantial. If, however, the girl refuses to divulge the

name of her seducer a sentence of fifty strokes with a cane is passed,

an extremely heavy penalty. Before the punishment is actually

inflicted a hole is dug in the ground and the sufferer made to lie at

full length with her stomach in it. This is a precaution to prevent an

abortion.

As soon as a girl has found the man of her choice her parents pay an

official visit to those of her fortunate husband-designate. They take

with them two cakes and some betel. If the young man tastes this it is

a sign that he accepts betrothal and an engagement follows.

A curious custom in this country is that the consummation of the

marriage does not coincide with its celebration. To do so would be to

court the malevolence of the powers of evil! Cohabitation is the first

step in the proceedings. In this way the new household saves all

wedding expenses and it is by no means infrequent that the children

are old enough to take part in the festivities by the day fixed for

the official celebration of the nuptials.

The marriage takes place in the evening in a hut specially built for

the occasion. Hand in hand the happy pair walk on mats from their own

dwelling to the place appointed for the fête. Indeed it is a most

important part of the rites that their feet shall not come into

contact with the bare ground. Their garments are of white cotton and

unhemmed, resembling in this respect the mourning clothes worn by the

Annamites. The girl enters the house, leaving her partner on the

threshold where stands the priest who is to bless their union.

A dialogue ensues between the minister and the man.

"Prince Ali," asks the former, "what are your gifts to the Princess

Fatima, your future spouse?"

"O Lord Mahomet, I bring her a silver ring, two talismans for her

neck, a necklace of amber, a fertile rice-field, and two bullocks

trained to the plough."

With these words the husband gives the ring to the priest who blesses

it and hands it to his two acolytes, who bear it away to place on the

finger of the bride.

She, invisible behind the door of the house, receives the two

messengers who question her on her desires. If she gives her consent

to the marriage she is immediately led to her husband who escorts her

in solemn procession to their new home. Before entering, however, the

man throws three betel leaves on the ground and crushes them one after

another with his foot.

A white cloth is thrown over the nuptial couch and the married pair

take their places side by side upon it. The deacons join their hands

and sprinkle holy water over them. Next several candles are lit, the

pair receive official benediction, and at length find themselves

alone.

The rites, however, are not yet concluded, for the woman gravely rolls

up a quid of betel which she puts into the mouth of her husband. In

return he takes off part of his clothing to make a covering for her.

They then leave the house and fall at the feet of the priests and

their parents. Their friends seize an early opportunity of proclaiming

in a loud voice the gifts they offer, while a secretary draws up the

list to prevent misunderstanding.

The proceedings terminate with a monster banquet. The man's family

provide the meat and drinks while the woman's are responsible for the

rice and cakes.

In Cambodia the Cham allow a disappointed suitor to prevail over the

opposition of his loved one's family by executing the following mock

manœuvres.

He waits until nightfall and seizing the moment when the girl's door

is open to make his entry into the house, clasps her in his arms and

throws about them both a shawl brought for the purpose.

After this elaborate pretence of rape the family have no choice but to

withdraw their opposition and allow the match to proceed. They never

fail, however, to exact vengeance from the mock ravisher in the shape

of fearful abuse and a more or less substantial fine.

The women make very faithful wives, so much so that cases of adultery

are rare. Normally this crime is punishable with death, but in

practice the sentence is always commuted to a fine, sometimes

accompanied by whipping.

Besides, every facility is afforded for the dissolution of the union

on the ground of incompatibility of temperament. Divorce is easy. The

woman's right to select her husband is paired with the right to get

rid of him at will or change him for another. In this case she herself

keeps the family dwelling and the lion's share of the property.

Although the religion of Mahomet permits the possession of four wives,

in practice the Cham have insufficient means to provide for more than

one. Accordingly, polygamy is exceptional, the expense being

prohibitive.

Certain prohibitions are too remarkable to be passed over in silence.

Both the Brahminist and the Mussulman Cham abstain from sexual

relations on Mondays, as being the day of the week on which Allah was

born.

During pregnancy the women take the greatest care to avoid a certain

kind of Javanese banana for fear of giving birth to a monster which

will one day turn and torment them.

The rites accompanying birth are materially the same as those of the

Moï. There is the same "Accouchement at the Fire," to use the

expression in vogue in the country. It means that a fire is kindled by

the woman's couch from the beginning of the accouchement to the time

she is allowed to leave her bed, seven days after the birth. This fire

is kept carefully guarded by the matrons with a "ring" of cotton

thread. They also leave a huge lighted candle at the side to ward off

evil spirits.

When the mother is about again the midwife puts out the fire and

plants an iron stake in the middle of the ashes. These she collects

with the greatest care and bears them off with religious fervour to

deposit at a fork of the nearest road in the vicinity. They form a

little heap on the top of which she places a stone. Then she lays a

quid of betel on this improvised altar.

I was extremely curious for a long time as to the meaning of these

pious erections which I saw at every cross-road, but no one dared nor

cared to give me any information. Those whom I interrogated took

refuge in evasion and turned the conversation. I might have remained

for ever in ignorance had not the Annamites proved more communicative

some time later. I then learned that in popular superstition

cross-roads are the favourite haunts of spirits, souls in torment,

ghosts, and other beings whose influence is baneful.

The Cham are extremely fond of their children and spare no pains to

keep them amused. Indeed, their affection goes the length of leaving

them in complete ignorance of soap and water, an omission for which

the babies are duly grateful. It is especially gratifying to the

benevolent spirits if the mother smears her child's face with a

mixture of flour and saffron, a substance the yellow colour of which

meets with the particular approval of the deities whose own visages

are of that colour if we are to credit tradition. On the other hand,

the mother who has been visited by a bad dream covers her baby with

soot to hide it from evil spirits.

The natural consequence of these precautions is that the young Cham,

like the young Moï, grow up in a condition of filth which is

aggravated by the onslaught of mosquitoes and the appearance of

innumerable sores. Further they are extremely liable to

gastro-enteritis due to their parents' reprehensible practice of

stuffing them with rice until their small stomachs are stretched taut

like a drum.

Throughout the Far East the kiss is replaced by a kind of snort

applied to the back of the neck just behind the ear. The children are

particularly fond of this type of demonstration for they burst into

shouts of laughter whenever their mothers relieve their maternal

feelings in this manner. If the child grows up in spite of his

parents' apprehensions, at about the age of six months he receives a

name which is considered to sum up his prospects in life. Thus a fine

chubby boy will be called Peace, Amber or Gold. A small, weakly girl

will receive the name of Discord, Pillage or Bat. But suppose this

last child survives the early years and her infantile disorders, at

about the age of twelve her name of reproach is exchanged for one of

more happy meaning for she has passed the age at which the spirits are

allowed to exercise a baneful influence. In spite of this mode of

rehabilitation, however, the parents usually forget to change the name

and her old soubriquet clings to her through life. This at all events

is some explanation for the curious fact that in searching the

historical records of the Cham we are always coming across kings

rejoicing in the unfortunate titles of "Typhus the Third," and

"Cholera the Fourth."

It will be remembered that the Aryans considered the name as forming

part of a man's nature. The Hindus, too, believe that it exercises a

profound influence over the destinies of its bearer. For example, the

Laws of Manu enjoin that a man shall not marry a woman who bears the

name of a serpent, a barbarous race, a slave, or any ugly object.

Among the Cham of Cambodia every child undergoes the operation known

as "Molot," the "Hair-cutting," a rite which has much in common with

the "Tonsuring" of the Brahminist Hindus and the non-Mussulman natives

of Cambodia. It even bears some resemblance to the ceremony of

Christian baptism as it was observed in the days of the early Church

under the name given to it by the Early Fathers of "Regeneration of

the Soul." Both centre round the rite of purification with holy water

and both show the neophyte in that same robe of spotless white which

is the symbol of the pure life on which he enters.

A Hindu legend relates that Siva himself instituted this ceremony when

he baptized his grandson, the child of Genesa. It took place on the

holy mountain of Keylasa in the centre of a marvellous island

inhabited by spirits, and secured from the intrusion of mortals by a

great lake filled with a liquid on which nothing could float.

An odd day and year is chosen for the celebration of the rite. If the

novice is of illustrious parentage a wooden erection is put up and

painted to resemble the legendary Mount Keylasa. Two paths are made

leading to the top and bordered with shrubs. The one faces to the East

and is used by the minor officials, the other facing the West is

destined for the presiding priest only.

Some of the deacons now play on archaic instruments such as castanets

of bronze, and a novel feature of the orchestra is a kettle-drum with

an ingenious contrivance by which each side is struck alternately with

a stone ball.

The child, dressed in a long white robe studded with small pieces of

metal, advances towards the priest who shaves the crown of his head

and lays the hair removed on a snow-white linen cloth. Then priest and

neophyte ascend the path to the top of the imitation Keylasa where a

large circular basin awaits them. The youth, with a cotton crown on

his head, is at once sprinkled with holy water and baptized while some

children carefully wipe his feet and march round him holding torches.

This circumambulation is repeated nineteen times in honour of the

novice's nineteen souls. Throughout the East many souls are accredited

to every human being. Of these one alone is deemed immortal. The

vital soul resides in the navel, the supreme soul in the bosom.