Journal of the Siam Society; 94

Table of contents :
JSS_094_0_Cover
JSS_094_0a_Front
JSS_094_0b_RoyalVisitToTheSiamSociety
JSS_094_0c_Cho_SiameseKoreanRelationsInLate14thCentury
JSS_094_0d_AyeChan_BurmaShanDominationInAvaPeriod
JSS_094_0e_Breazeale_WhirligigOfDiplomacyThaiPortugueseRelat
JSS_094_0f_Walker_LahuNyiVillageTemplesAndBuddhistAffiliatio
JSS_094_0g_Turton_RememberingLocalHistoryKubaWajiraphanya
JSS_094_0h_Struys_VisitToSiam1650
JSS_094_0i_Smithies_AbbeDeChaila
JSS_094_0j_Reviews
JSS_094_0k_Contributors
JSS_094_0l_Back

Citation preview

JSS

Presidents of the Siam Society 1904-1906 1906-1918 1918-1921 1921-1925 1925-1930 1930-1938 1938-1940 1940-1944 1944-1947 1947-1965 1965-1967 1967-1968 1968-1969 1969-1976 1976-1979 1979-1981 1981-1989 1989-1994 1994-1996 1996-1998 1998-2004 2004-

Honorary Members (with year of election)

Co-JSS2005 VOL93

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(1985) (1992) (1992) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1996) (1996) (1996) (1997) (2000) (2000) (2000) (2000) (2001) (2001) (2001) (2002) (2002) (2002) (2004) (2004)

Volume 94, 2006

The Siam Society, under Royal Patronage, is one of Thailand’s oldest and most active learned organizations. The object of the Society is to investigate and to encourage the arts and sciences in Thailand and neighbouring countries. Since the Society established its Journal in 1904, it has become one of the leading scholarly publications in South-East Asia. The Journal is international in outlook, carrying original articles of enduring value in English. The Society also publishes its Natural History Bulletin. Since its inception, the Society has amassed monographs, journals, and material of scholarly interest on Thailand and its neighbours. The Society’s library, open to members, has one of the best research collections in the region. Information is given at the end of the volume on how to become a member for those interested in Society’s library, lectures, tours, publications and other benefits.

Volume 94, 2006

Prof. PrawaseWasi Mr Anand Panyarachun Mr Dacre Raikes Phra Dhammapitaka Mrs Virginia Di Crocco Prof. Yoneo Ishii Mr Henri Pagau-Clarac Mr Term Meetem Prof. Klaus Wenk Mr James Di Crocco Prof. Michael Smithies Prof. David K Wyatt Dr Hans Penth Dr William Klausner Dr Pierre Pichard Thanpuying Putrie Viravaidya H.E. Dr Thanat Koman Mr Euayporn Kerdchouay Prof. Prasert na Nagara Dr Thawatchai Santisuk Dr Warren Y Brockelman Dr Piriya Krairiksh Dr Sumet Jumsai Dr Chetana Nagavajara Dr Tej Bunnag

The Journal of the Siam Society

Mr W.R.D. Beckett Dr O. Frankfurter Mr H. Campbell Highet Mr W. A. Graham Prof. George Cœdès Phya Indra Montri (Francis Giles) Major Erik Seidenfaden H.H. Prince Dhani Nivat H.R.H. Prince Wan Waithayakon H.H. Prince Dhani Nivat H.H. Prince Prem Purachatra H.S.H. Prince Ajavadis Diskul Phya Anuman Rajadhon H.R.H. Prince Wan Waithayakon Prof. Chitti Tingsabadh H.S.H. Prince Subhadradis Diskul M.R. Patanachai Jayant Dr Piriya Krairiksh Mr Athueck Asvanund Mr Bangkok Chowkwanyun Mrs Bilaibhan Sampatisiri M.R. Chakrarot Chitrabongs

The Siam Society

The Siam Society under Royal Patronage 131 Sukhumvit Soi 21 (Asoke), Bangkok 10110 Thailand Tel: (+662) 661 6470-7 Fax: (+662) 258 3491

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e-mail: [email protected] http://www.siam-society.org

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Patrons of the Siam Society Patron His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej Vice-Patrons Her Majesty Queen Sirikit His Royal Highness Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn Her Royal Highness Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn Her Royal Highness Princess Galyani Vadhana Krom Luang Naradhiwas Rajanagarinda Honorary President Her Royal Highness Princess Galyani Vadhana Krom Luang Naradhiwas Rajanagarinda Honorary Vice-Presidents Her Majesty Ashi Kesang Choeden Wangchuck, Queen Mother of Bhutan His Imperial Highness Prince Akishino of Japan Mom Kobkaew Abhakara na Ayudhya Council of the Siam Society, 2004 - 2006 President

M.R. Chakrarot Chitrabongs

Vice-Presidents

Dr Tej Bunnag Mr Cornelis M. Keur

Leader, Natural History Section

Dr Thawatchai Santisuk

Honorary Secretary Honorary Treasurer Honorary Librarian Honorary Editor, JSS Honorary Editor, NHB

Mr Barent Springsted Mr Harald Link Ms Anne Sutherland Dr Dhiravat na Pombejra Prof. Dr Warren Y. Brockelman

Members of Council

Mr Hasan I. Basar Mr Tew Bunnag Mr Po Garden Mr Chatvichai Promadhattavedi Mr Smitthi Siribhadra Mr William Tate Dr M.R. Kalaya Tingsbadh Mr Albert P. Wongchirachai

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The Journal of the

Siam Society Volume 94 2006

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Editorial Board Tej Bunnag Dhiravat na Pompejra Michael Smithies Kanitha Kasina-Ubol Euayporn Kerdchouay Mary Eliades

advisor honorary editor editor coordinator production assistant proof reader

© The Siam Society 2006

ISSN 0857-7099 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the Siam Society. The Journal of the Siam Society is a forum for original research and analysis. Opinions expressed in the Journal are those of the authors. They do not represent the views or policies of the Siam Society. Printed by Amarin Printing and Publishing Public Company Limited 65/16 Chaiyapruk Road, Taling Chan; Bangkok 10170, Thailand. Tel. (662) 882-1010 Fax (662) 433-2742, 434-1385 e-mail: [email protected] http://www.amarin.com Cover illustration: A Lahu Nyi village temple (A. Walker)

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The Journal of the Siam Society Volume 94

2006

Contents Prolusion Their Majesties the King and Queen of Spain and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Sirindhorn at the Siam Society, 22 February 2006

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Articles Hung-Guk CHO Siamese-Korean relations in the late fourteenth century

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AYE Chan Burma: Shan domination in the Ava period (c. AD 1310-1555)

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Kennon BREAZEALE Whirligig of diplomacy: a tale of Thai-Portuguese relations, 1613-9

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Anthony WALKER Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu) village temples and their Buddhist affiliations

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Andrew TURTON Remembering local history: Kuba Wajiraphanya (c. AD 1853-1928)

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From the archives Jan Janszoon STRUYS A visit to Siam in 1650 (with introduction)

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Note Michael SMITHIES The Abbé de Chaila 1648-1702

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Reviews Betty Gosling, Origins of Thai Art PATTARATORN Chirapravati

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Chris Baker, Dhiravat na Pombejra, Alfons van der Kraan and David K. Wyatt, eds. Van Vliet’s Siam Anthony REID

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Journal of the Siam Society 90.1 & 2 (2002)

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Contents

B.J. Terweil, Thailand’s Political History: From the Fall of Ayutthaya to Recent Times Chris BAKER Chris Baker and Pasuk Phongpaichit, A History of Thailand Michael WRIGHT Santanee Phasuk and Philip Stott, Royal Siamese Maps: War and Trade in Nineteenth Century Thailand Thomas SUAREZ

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Philip Cornwel-Smith, Very Thai: everyday popular culture William WARREN

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Donald M. Stadtner, Ancient Pagan: Buddhist Plain of Merit Pamela GUTMAN

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Sheila E. Hoey Middleton, Intaglios, Cameos, Rings and Related Objects from Burma and Java: the White Collection and another small private collection Pamela GUTMAN Sanskrithandschriften aus der Turfanfunden Teil 9 ; Birmanische Handschriften Teil 5; Handschriften der Yao Teil 1 Oskar von HINÜBER J. Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China Anthony DILLER

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Patricia Cheesman, Lao-Tai Textiles: The Textiles of Xam Nuea and Muang Phuan Martin STUART-FOX

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Gillian Green, Traditional Textiles of Cambodia: Cultural Threads and Material Heritage Susan CONWAY

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David W. and Barbara G. Fraser, Mantles of Merit: Chin Textiles from Myanmar, India and Bangladesh Patricia CHEESMAN

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Journal of the Siam Society Vol. 92 2004

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Contents

Donald K. Swearer, Sommai Premchit and Phaitoon Dokbuakaew, Sacred Mountains of Northern Thailand and their Legends Catherine NEWELL

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Donald K. Swearer, Becoming the Buddha: The Ritual of Image Consecration in Thailand 269 Catherine NEWELL Martin Jelsma, Tom Kramer, and Peitje Vervest, eds, Trouble in the Triangle: Opium and Conflict in Burma Ronald D. RENARD

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A. Willford and K. George, eds, Spirited politics: Religion and public life in contemporary Southeast Asia Niels MULDER

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Pratapaditya Pal, Art from Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia Peter SKILLING

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Books received for review

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Notes about contributors

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Comments and corrigenda

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Notes for contributors

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THEIR MAJESTIES THE KING AND QUEEN OF SPAIN ACCOMPANIED BY HRH CROWN PRINCESS SIRINDHORN AT THE SIAM SOCIETY Wednesday 22 February 2006

The Siam Society auditorium was the setting for the ceremonial presentation to His Majesty the King of Spain and to Her Royal Highness Princess Sirindhorn of a translation into Thai of the Spanish classic, Don Quixote de la Mancha, by Professor Swangwan Traicharoenwiwat. The royal party was welcomed to the Society’s premises by M.R. Chakrarot Chitrabongs, President of the Siam Society, by Honorary Advisors, Honorary Members and members of the Council of the Society. The Director of the Royal Spanish Language Academy gave a speech placing Don Quixote in its universal context, and after presentation copies were offered by the translator to the royal party, His Majesty addressed the assembled diplomats and invited guests. Their Majesties were then invited to visit the Kamthieng House in the Society’s grounds.1 For the record, however, we wish to present a summary of Professor de la Concha’s speech, and the text of His Majesty’s address. The Director of the Royal Academy of the Spanish Language spoke of the universality of Cervantes’ Don Quixote, the parody of the knight errant who is at the same time a perfect exponent of chivalry, whose madness has moments of lucidity, in a world where reality and illusion fuse, where episodes accumulate and tales are added to the overarching structure. Below is a much-curtailed summary of his speech: We all have the image in our minds. On a broad plain, mounted on a raw-boned horse and bearing a lance, rides a thin man, some fifty years old, wearing an outfit of medieval armour that is rusty and outlandish. At his side, mounted on an ass, rides a stout, ruddy villager, his squire. They are known universally as Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. These fictional characters, now transformed into mythical ones, set out to roam the lands of La Mancha, in the Spanish heartland, a little over 400 years ago, and since then have been ceaselessly traversing the entire world. Today, with the first translation of

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A report of the event will appear in the Siam Society Newsletter, new series, no.2, 2006.

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Their Majesties and HRH Princess Sirindhorn listening to the welcome address of the President of the Siam Society

Their Majesties and HRH Princess Sirindhorn moving to the Kamthieng House Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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their chronicle into the Thai language, for which we are indebted to the distinguished Professor Swangwan Traicharoenwiwat, their travels bring them to Bangkok, the ancient Kingdom of Siam... The first part of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha was published in 1605; it was an immediate success, and various editions were brought out, in Spain, Portugal and elsewhere in Europe; a few months later hundreds of copies were carried across the Atlantic to be distributed in the New World. Ten years later, in 1615, Cervantes published the Second Part and in its Dedication, made to a noble benefactor, with reference to the success achieved, he remarked that he had recently received a letter from the Great Emperor of China requesting, or as Cervantes says “imploring me”, to send him the sequel to the book “because he wished to found a college where the language of Castile [Spanish] should be read and taught, and he wished the textbook to be the story of Don Quixote”. Furthermore, the Emperor wanted Cervantes to travel to China in order “to be the Rector of such a school” although, he added, both wittily and to the point, that the Emperor had said nothing about paying for the journey (II. Prologue). This is why I say Cervantes must be glad that Don Quixote can now be read in the Thai language...Cervantes [would] not find this... incongruous, and ... Don Quixote [would] feel quite at home. To understand this, we must bear in mind that the very creation of this account of Don Quixote’s adventures was a quixotic enterprise; when he wrote [his book], Cervantes was in his fifties and had already lived through many eventful experiences. He had been valet to a Roman cardinal, and had fought at the battle of Lepanto. He was held prisoner in Africa for over five years, and later became a tax collector in Andalusia where, after some confusion regarding money matters, he ended up in jail. It was here, though, behind bars, that the story of Don Quixote was conceived; it arose from a specific place and time, seventeenth century Spain, but has since developed and taken limitless wing, through all space and history. When Cervantes began writing [his novel], he affirmed that the exploits of this eccentric character were common knowledge and had been written down by various scholars, from which he, as the second author, had taken the original data... Cervantes offers us every little detail of the knight-errant’s daily fare, of his dress and the fact that hunting was one of his passions... [Don Quixote] took a fancy to reading tales of chivalry, very popular in Spain since the fifteenth century, which told of incredible feats performed by heroic figures journeying through imaginary lands and kingdoms, defending impossible causes on behalf of a damsel who would become their lady and sovereign. Our knight from La Mancha was so besotted with such literature that he sold a goodly part of all he had, fine arable land, to buy more and more books of this type, and in reading them he became so entranced that he lost his mind. Thus, confusing “story” and “history”, he decided to carry on the tradition of the adventures he had read about; he dug out an old coat of armour, improvised a helmet, took a farm labourer from his little village to serve as his squire, and the two of them set out to roam La Mancha. At the first inn they came across, he had Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Their Majesties the King and Queen of Spain at the Siam Society

Their Majesties looking at a Siam Society publication

His Majesty King Juan Carlos signing the Society’s guest book in the Kamthieng House Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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himself knighted by the traditional ritual, and Aldonza, a peasant girl he came across there was transformed into the “Lady of his thoughts”, henceforth to be known as the Lady Dulcinea of Toboso. From this moment onwards, his adventures occurred one after another, all following the same pattern: his mission was to protect the weak and obtain triumphs that could be proffered to his precious lady. Unfortunately, the addled state of his mind led his efforts to end in fiasco, such as when he confused the huge cloth sails of a windmill with flesh-and-blood giants against which he charged furiously... The result, as can be imagined, is a babel of voices and echoes of other voices and echoes of echoes, all telling and retelling a thousand made-up tales... a huge tableau of bygone Spain, in which the highest traditions of Spanish literature (and, to a good extent, of all Western literature) are set out and revitalized through the presence and works of over 650 actors... who move about Cervantes’ stage... Shortly after setting out upon his adventures, Quixote had answered “I know who I am” to the farm labourer Pedro Alonso, who on finding him injured tried earnestly to make him realise he was not Don Quixote of La Mancha but “that worthy gentleman Master [Alonso] Quixano” (I. 5)... Don Quixote was breaking down the barriers of his own daily reality to inaugurate ... the idea of “I is another”. Don Quixote saw a rider approaching on a dapple-grey steed with a gold helmet on his head. “What I see and perceive”, warned Sancho Panza, “is nothing but a man on a grey ass like mine with something glittering on his head” (I. 21)... Don Quixote replied that it was common knowledge that “Everything to do with knights appears to be contrariwise and all because of a crew of enchanters who lead us to think things are what they are...” The truth is, accordingly, manifold and a combination of perspectives. Parody, as on many other occasions throughout the work, is here pervaded with melancholy. The inner struggle between [the real] Alonso Quixano and Don Quixote is not only resolved in grotesque failures or in beatings and blows; it also produces within him doubts and inner pain of conscience... Cervantes... created in Don Quixote a uniform world, without borders of time and space... Cervantes wanted his novel to be for people of all ages and types... One day as Don Quixote was walking in the city of Barcelona, he met a Castilian who tried to make him see reason and return to reality, that is to say, to return home to look after his estate and his family; and he said: “You’re a madman [...] and you have the knack of turning everyone who has to do with you into madmen and dolts.” (II. 62). This was “reasonable” advice, yes, but disastrous as well. If Don Quixote had accepted it, the paths towards freedom, towards fantasy, towards the utopia of changing the unfair world we live in would have been closed off to him... Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Their Majesties the King and Queen of Spain at the Siam Society

The dialogue between Alonso Quizano and Don Quixote gradually transforms reality ...the story ...ends when Alonso Quixano, having regained his senses, is ready to die... This [universality] is why we can say, not just that Don Quixote has today arrived in Thailand: it is that Don Quixote has today become a Thai.

His Majesty King Juan Carlos of Spain then spoke: Within the intensive itinerary that the Queen and I have for our State Visit to Thailand, this official presentation of the first translation of Don Quixote in the Thai language has an especially deep meaning for us, and fills us with satisfaction. A satisfaction that is united with the honour of having HRH Princess Sirindhorn here with us, and that of being able to put into her hands this first copy. We appreciate her presence as a show of her affection for Spain, and as a symbol of the Thai people’s interest in our rich cultural heritage. I would also like to express our gratitude to all of you for attending, especially the diplomatic representatives of our Latin American sister nations, who share with us the heritage of Cervantes’s works, and the rich legacy of a common language. In addition, I would like to gratefully acknowledge the hospitality of the Siam Society, the established, prestigious organisation that is hosting this event today. Spain could find no better cultural ambassador to Thailand than Miguel de Cervantes, nor a better letter of presentation than his immortal Don Quixote of La Mancha. Neither could the commemorations organised to celebrate the 400th Anniversary of the work’s first being published in Madrid in 1605 find a more perfect finale than this presentation, which today has brought us together here in Bangkok. The novel Don Quixote stopped being the exclusive patrimony of Spaniards a long time ago. Don Quixote himself is a universal figure, one of those rare literary characters who, over the course of history, has taken on a life of his own, with profoundly human dimensions. Cervantes’s masterpiece, which you can now read in your beautiful language, is embraced as part of their heritage by all of the peoples that make up the great concert of Hispanic culture, and with them, all of the countries of Latin America: that is, the vast family of 400 million people who, live, create, and express themselves in Spanish today. From the very beginning of the modern era, during the first half of the sixteenth century, Spain had news of your lands thanks to the tales of sailors and Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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explorers, as well as the works of chroniclers and Christian missionaries. Magellan, who began his voyage in 1519 and arrived at the Philippine archipelago of San Lázaro in the spring of 1521, was accompanied by Antonio de Pigafetta, who wrote a book titled The First Trip Around the Globe. In it, he described places and customs from these Oriental regions which dazzled his Spanish contemporaries. Another Spaniard, an Andalusian from the town of Sanlúcar de Barrameda, manservant to the King of Siam, later reported on the customs of the court, and his countrymen were astonished by these tales of great elephants tied with chains of gold and horses bedecked with jewels and pearls. But Spaniards were not only fascinated by exoticism and material riches. Soon, they began to receive even more valuable information regarding Oriental philosophy and its spiritual riches. At the end of the sixteenth century, a Dominican friar, Juan Cobo, born in Cervantes’s homeland, translated a marvellous book titled Beng Sim Po Cam, printed on rice paper and whose sole extant copy, now in Spain’s National Library in Madrid, was brought to King Philip Ill. The subtitle of this work expresses the wealth of its contents: ‘Rich Mirror of the Clean Heart’. We find here lessons of universal value, as when Master Beng says: “The man who is wise of heart should love others and do good to all.” In this same spirit, Spain today opens itself to the World. The Spanish language is spreading around the planet. In the United States, there are now more than 40 million people who express themselves in our language, and it has been estimated that by the year 2030, 7.5 per cent of the world’s population will be able to communicate in Spanish. Spanish is now considered the third most important international language in the world in terms of its number of speakers and their development level, its geographical range, its commercial value, its literary prestige, and the interest in studying it as a second language amongst those who are not native speakers. Spanish language studies in Thailand are experiencing a very promising moment. More than 40 years ago, Chulalongkorn University founded its Spanish department, which currently has more than 200 students, and it has been joined by Ramkhamhaeng University, where Professor Swangwan Traicharoenwiwat teaches. It is to her that we owe the fine Thai translation of Don Quixote that has just been presented. Moreover, at Khon Kaen University and Prince of Songkla

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University Phuket Campus, the number of students in Spanish language programmes continues to grow year after year. I would like to thank the Thai authorities, and all of the universities and other centres where our language and culture are taught, for their interest and support. We see the introduction of a pilot project for teaching Spanish at three Bangkok primary schools as a major first step in further spreading the Spanish language. The knowledge of foreign tongues undoubtedly eases communication; but it also encompasses a higher value, that of serving as the key to opening the doors of exchanging philosophical and spiritual values. We have come to Thailand in a spirit of strengthening our ties of friendship and co-operation, and in this spirit, today’s event seems to us highly significant. Before concluding, I would like, once again, to thank Princess Sirindhorn for being with us here today, and to express our sincere congratulations to Professor Traicharoenwiwat for her devotion to a titanic task, and the very fine results of her efforts. I hope that the cultural exchange between our two countries may be increasingly intense, in the assurance that this will serve to create a space for growing friendship, mutual knowledge, and reciprocal understanding between Thailand and Spain. Thank you very much. ***

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Siamese-Korean Relations in the Late Fourteenth Century Hung-Guk Cho

Abstract This paper does not interpret the contacts between Korea and Siam at the end of the fourteenth century as having developed into diplomatic relations. Rather, it considers the possibility of the Siamese “envoys” who came to Korea as having been not the diplomatic delegates dispatched by the Siamese court, but Ayutthayabased Chinese merchants who passed themselves off as such, and the possibility that the party of envoys sent to Siam by the Korean government was not given an audience by the Siamese court. Two reasons are suggested to explain why the contacts did not develop into long-lasting commercial or diplomatic relations. Firstly, there was the danger of Japanese pirates on the sea route from Nanyang to Korea; secondly, Chinese merchants in Ayutthaya may not have found any profit in trading with Korea.

Introduction In the history of the trade between Southeast Asia and Northeast Asia before modern times, the fourteenth century should be considered as a watershed in the historical development of the various countries of the two regions. About 1294, the kingdom of Majapahit in Java, Indonesia, developed into a maritime empire, with most of insular Southeast Asia, including the Malay Peninsula, Kalimantan, and the Maluku Islands, under its control, and engaged in active foreign trade. In Siam, the kingdom of Ayutthaya, founded in the mid-fourteenth century, made overseas trade its most important business from its beginning. The Ming Dynasty, founded in China in the same period, confined foreign trade to tributary relations, controlling all Chinese maritime activities. Meanwhile, in Japan the beginning of the Ashikaga shogunate in 1336 saw big economic growth, which in turn made its foreign trade more active than before. Historical relations between Korea and Thailand, the subject of this study, must be seen against the background of this maritime trade between Southeast and Northeast Asia in the fourteenth century, especially the extensive foreign trade of Siam in the South and East China Seas since the foundation of Ayutthaya. The Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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HUNG-GUK CHO

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investigation of these relations can only depend on Korean historical records. In Siamese sources such as the Phraratcha phongsawadan krung si ayutthaya (The Royal Chronicle of Ayutthaya), we find no information concerning the subject. If there were any, it may have been lost in 1767, when Ayutthaya was destroyed by the attack of the Burmese.1 Historical relations between Korea and Siam have hitherto interested only a few Japanese and Korean historians. Their studies, however, either make a passing reference to them in the history of relations between Japan and Siam, or do not go beyond introducing some relevant Korean records.2 The purpose of this paper is thus to view early intercourse between Korea and Siam in its own light, and an attempt will be made to consider the relevant Korean texts to this end. Nai Gong’s visit to Goryeo (Korea) in 1391 The first source which informs us of contact between Korea and Siam is the Goryeosa (History of Goryeo), the official chronicle of the Goryeo Dynasty (918–1392), written in 1451. In its record of the seventh lunar month of 1391 in the reign of King Gongyang (1389–1392), we find the following passage: The kingdom of Xienluohu sent Nai Gong and other men, all told eight, together with its native products and a letter, where it was stated that the king of Xienluohu had made Nai Gong an envoy and ordered him to supervise a ship, load it with local products, and present them to the king of Goryeo. [The letter] had no [sender’s] name and was not sealed, and it was only stamped with a small, round seal. [Its genuineness] could not be examined. The court, however, doubted its authenticity. Thus, it was agreed, “It is impossible to believe [the letter], but it is also impossible to give no credit to it. We cannot refuse the men who came to us, so we treat them with hospitality and according to etiquette. Nevertheless, we show that we are not beguiled by not accepting the letter. This [decision] is proper.” The king gave them an audience and comforted them. At that time they told the king,

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Kemp 1969, 1. For example, Gunji 1938, 75–76; I Hyeonjong 1964, 255 ff.; Ishii 1988, 1–3; Wada 1986, 29–32. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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“In 1388 we by [our king’s] order set sail and reached Japan where we stayed one year. Today we have arrived in your country. We now see Your Majesty, which makes us forget the fatigue of our travel.” The king asked them about the distance [from their country to Goryeo] by sea, whereupon they answered, “With the wind [in the direction] of North on the back we can arrive here in forty days.” Among them, some were stripped to the waist, some were barefoot. Higher persons covered their hair with a white cloth. When a servant saw a venerable elder person, he took off his clothes and exposed his body. [Their statement] was three times translated, and the meaning was transmitted.3 The Goryeosa jeoryo (The Abridged Chronicle of Goryeo), which was written in 1452, a year later than the Goryeosa, sums up this event in a single sentence: The kingdom of Xianluohu sent a mission [to Goryeo] and presented native products.4 “Xianluohu” in Chinese, or “Seomna-gok” in Korean, in the above translated text is to be identified as Siam. In the Mingshi, the Chronicle of the Ming Dynasty, and the Ming shilu (Veritable Records of the Ming Dynasty), “Xianluohu”, together with “Xianluo”, was used to denote the kingdom of Ayutthaya. A recent study has revealed that “Xianluohu” appears in the Chinese sources until 1398, and thereafter only “Xianluo” is used as the name for Siam.5 In Korea, until the end of the fourteenth century “Seomna-gok” was used, and from the beginning of the fifteenth century “Seomna” came into general use. The name of the kingdom of “Xianluohu” at that time cannot have been unfamiliar to the government of Goryeo, for it, through a report of its envoy to China in 1357 as recorded in the Goryeosa, already knew that “Xianluohu”, like “Zhancheng” (Champa), “Annan” (Vietnam), “Zhaowa” (Java), “Sanfoqi” (Srivijaya), “Zhenla” (Cambodia) etc., was one of the countries that often sent tribute missions to China.6 According to the above Goryeosa record, Nai Gong presented to the court of King Gongyang a letter, which certified him as an official envoy of Siam sent to Korea. This letter was, however, apparently not affixed with any signature of a Siamese king or, as was often the case with letters of the Siamese court to the

3

Goryeosa 1981, vol. 3, 897. Goryeosa jeoryo 1973, 899. 5 Wade 1993, 6. 6 Goryeosa 1981, vol.3, 857. 4

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Tokugawa government of Japan in the seventeenth century, of an important Siamese minister.7 If the government of Goryeo had only known what kind of document a Siamese delegation at that time brought to the court of Ming, doubt about its authenticity would have been stronger. According to the Mingshi, the kingdom of Ayutthaya in the second half of the fourteenth century, in dispatching a tribute mission to Peking, normally sent an official letter containing a list of tributes (biao), which was then accepted by the authorities of China.8 The following passage in the Mingshi deserves consideration: In 1374 an envoy [from Siam], Shabila, came to present tribute and related, “Last year, when [our] ship reached the Wuzhu Sea, we met with a storm which overturned the ship, and we drifted away to Hainan, where we relied on officials for help. From the storm are still left over douluo cotton, lakawood, sappanwood, and other things to be presented.” The authorities of Guangdong Province received this statement. The emperor was surprised that [the envoy from Siam] had no official writing with him, and suspected him to be only a foreign merchant, for, although he said that his ship had capsized, native products were still left over. Thus, he gave order to reject him.9 If the Goryeo government in 1391 had known what had happened seventeen years before, it would have suspected Nai Gong and his men even more. The name of Nai Gong, who came to Korea with such a suspicious letter and claimed to be the leader of a delegation from the kingdom of Siam, needs investigation. First, nai of Nai Gong means “master, lord, leader, etc.” This is not the nai kong meaning “the commander of an indefinite unit of an old-style army” of Siam.10 In the bureaucratic hierarchy of the kingdom of Ayutthaya, systematized in the middle of the fifteenth century and known to us particularly through the laws Phra aiyakan tamnaeng na phonlaruean (Law of the Civil Hierarchy) and Phra aiyakan tamnaeng na thahan hua mueang (Laws of the Military and Provincial Hierarchies) in the Kotmai tra sam duang (Laws of the Three Seals), a collection of laws of old Siam, nai was not an official rank, but just a title attached to civil 7

Satow 1885, 147 ff. Mingshi 1977, 8396–8397. Cf. Grimm 1961, 15, n. 16. 9 Mingshi 1977, 8396–8397. 10 Sethaputra 1982, 155. 8

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servants of the lowest echelon and low officers.11 In the official hierarchy of the Krom Phra Khlang (the Ministry of Finance and Foreign Affairs) we find, however, nai ruea pak 4 wa khuen pai (captain of a junk with a beam wider than 4 wa) with a sakdina12 of 400, nai ruea pak kwang 3 wa set (captain of a junk with a beam of 3 wa plus) with a sakdina of 200, and cuncu - nai samphan (junk captain) with a sakdina of 400.13 The fact that a captain of a junk of the Siamese government had a title of nai seems to give an important clue to understanding our Nai Gong. He told the Goryeo government that he was appointed by the king of Siam to supervise a ship and that by order of the king sailed from Siam. This strongly indicates that Nai Gong was one of the captains of trading ships belonging to the king of Siam. According to the Ming shilu, out of 84 Siamese envoys that came to China from 1371 to 1612, 28 bore the title of nai. Out of 20 envoys between 1396 and 1420, 15 had the title of nai, such as Nai Polangzhishiti, Nai Bi, and Nai Jiao.14 We can presume that they were supervisors or captains of junks who traded, for example, in the South China Sea on behalf of the Siamese government. If Nai Gong is regarded as captain of a trading ship of the Siamese government, we can better trace the journey of Nai Gong and his companions from Siam to Korea. In the audience with King Gongyang they said that by order of their king they left Siam in 1388 and on the way stayed in Japan for one year before they arrived in Korea in the middle of 1391. According to this statement, they reached Japan about the middle of 1390. Now some questions arise: where were they and what did they do from 1388 to the middle of 1390, and how did they come afterwards to Korea? For answers to these questions we can hazard some suppositions. About the middle of 1388 Nai Gong and his companions, after having loaded a Siamese royal trading ship with native products, left Ayutthaya and via the Gulf of Thailand sailed northeastwards along the coast of Cambodia with the southwestern monsoon at their back, or first went down the eastern coast of the Malay Peninsula and from there sailed northeastwards to the coast of Indochina or southeastern China. Accordingly, they may have first traded at a seaport on the eastern

11

Kotmai tra sam duang 1978, 111 ff. Sakdina, literally meaning “power of fields,” may have originally been used to denote the amount of rice fields granted by the king. During the Ayutthaya period the sakdina system had developed into a system evaluating the social standing of all people, from the chief prince Uparat with a sakdina of 100,000 to the slave with a sakdina of 5. On the sakdina system, see Rabibhadana 1969, 22–25; Terwiel 1983, 12–16. 13 Kotmai tra sam duang 1978, 117. Cf. Ishii 1992, 86. 14 Wade 1993, A1-A2; Xu Yunqiao 1946, 19–20. 12

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coast of the Malay Peninsula such as Nakhon Si Thammarat or Pattani,15 or at some ports on the coast of Cambodia, Vietnam, or southeastern China, before they arrived in Japan in the middle of 1390. On the way they may also have dropped in at the kingdom of Ryukyu in order to conduct trade.16 We are informed by Chinese sources that the court of Siam at the end of the fourteenth century was vigorously engaging in the tributary trade with China.17 This can be supported by an account in The Short History of the Kings of Siam, a history of the kingdom of Ayutthaya until the beginning of the seventeenth century, written by Jeremias van Vliet, who was a director of the Ayutthaya office of the Dutch East India Company between 1636 and 1641. There it is stated that Siam maintained close commercial relations with China from its foundation.18 It suggests, on the other hand, that the Siamese government at that time was actively trading in the South China Sea. The trade voyage of Nai Gong and his men, who left Siam in 1388, also must be seen against the background of such foreign trade activity of Siam. Nai Gong and his companions perhaps arrived in Japan to trade, and in the course of doing so might have heard of the kingdom of Goryeo beyond the sea in the north.19 Japanese pirates at that time often raided and plundered southern parts of Korea, which leads us to assume that there were in Japanese ports not a few people who knew about Korea.20 Thus, the men from Siam, having learned about the sea route to Korea, came to the capital of the kingdom of Goryeo with a letter of the king of Siam that seems to have been fabricated. To summarize, Nai Gong and his companions initially did not leave Siam for Korea, and their visit to Korea is to be seen as an unintended result of their trading activities in the South and East China Seas. Nai Gong claimed, as we have seen, to be an envoy sent from the king of Siam to Goryeo, which the government of King Gongyang was unable to substantiate. So it decided to treat the foreign guests well. The consideration that, if the visitors should later be confirmed as a genuine Siamese delegation to Goryeo, the Koreans would have incurred a diplomatic reproach had they done otherwise, may have played a substantial role in their decision. The doubt of the Goryeo government concerning the identity of the men from Siam and the letter they brought was

15

The commercial interests of the kingdom of Ayutthaya then stretched as far as Pattani and Singapore. See Winstedt 1962, 45–46; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 5. 16 On the then trade relations between Siam and Ryukyu, see Mingshi 1977, 8398; Ishii 1988, 3. 17 Xu Yunqiao 1946, 9–12. 18 Van Vliet 1975, 59. 19 According to Wada (1986, 30), it seems that there is no contemporary Japanese source which has recorded the stay of Nai Gong and others in Japan between 1390 and 1391. 20 Gim Sanggi 1985, 633–644. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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real, for in 1391 the Goryeo government for the first time came into contact with the kingdom of Siam. Regarding this, An Jeongbok (1712–1791), a Korean historiographer, noted in his Dongsagangmok (A General Outline of the History of the Eastern Country), while reproducing the above paragraph of the Goryeosa almost entirely, summarizes: “The kingdom of Siam sent an envoy. This country lies in the southern sea of China. It has never had intercourse with us.”21 The government of King Gongyang, after having received Nai Gong and his men, seems not to have furthered contacts with Siam, as none are recorded in the Goryeosa. This can be attributed to the reservations of the Goryeo government about the supposed delegation from Siam, but also can be related to the internal and external situation of Goryeo. In 1391 the Goryeo government of Gongyang was dominated by the power of I Seonggye, who in the following year founded the Joseon Dynasty, so that it was politically unstable. Besides, it concentrated its foreign policy upon the normalization of relations with Ming China.22 Thus, aside from knowing little about Siam, the Goryeo government was probably not in a position to establish relations with the kingdom of Seomna-gok (Siam). The purpose of Nai Gong’s visit to Goryeo was undoubtedly trade. On the one hand, it was an attempt by Nai Gong, the captain of a royal trading ship, to pioneer new markets for the Siamese king, and on the other hand, it was an attempt by him, as a private trader, to expand his trading networks. These two facts can be understood in the same context. Nai Gong and his party’s visit to Goryeo in 1391 bore fruits before long, and Korea received the second group of visitors from Siam in 1394. Nai Zhang Sidao’s visit to Joseon in 1394 According to the Taejo sillok (Veritable Records of the Reign of Taejo) in the Joseon wangjo sillok (Veritable Records of the Joseon Dynasty), the official chronicle of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), on the sixteenth of the sixth lunar month of 1394, two years after I Seonggye, King Taejo (r.1392–1398), founded the Joseon Dynasty, The kingdom of Siam sent a subject, Nai Zhang Sidao, and other men, in all twenty, and presented one thousand geun of sappanwood, one thousand geun of aloeswood, and two aboriginal men. The king ordered that these two be put to guard the gate of the palace.23 21

An Jeongbok 1982, 10. Gim Sanggi 1985, 633–644. 23 Joseon wangjo sillok 1986, vol. 1, 45. 22

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From this translated record we can see that this new mission from Siam was much bigger than that of Nai Gong in 1391. This indicates that the Siamese government, or trading circles in Siam, after learning about Korea’s possibility as a new market from Nai Gong and his men, who by now had probably returned to Siam, now became interested in Korea. The author of this record explains in a footnote that nai of Nai Zhang Sidao is an official title of that country.24 This nai is, however, to be read as the same nai of Nai Gong. Accordingly, Nai Zhang Sidao, who seems to have been the leader of the new mission, can be considered, like Nai Gong, a captain of one of trading ships of the Siamese government. Unlike the Goryeosa, the record of the Taejo sillok has a detailed list of gifts which the Siamese delegation in 1394 brought to Korea. Among other things were sappanwood and aloeswood, which I Geung-ik (1736–1806) in his Yeollyeosilgisul (A Narrative of Yeollyeosil) designates as native products sent by the king of Siam through an envoy.25 These are also found in the list of tributes that Siam sent to the Ming court of China at the end of the fourteenth century.26 Sappanwood (Caesalpinia sappan), a very common wood in Thailand, was at that time used to produce a red or violet dye. Aloeswood (Aquilaria agallocha), also called eaglewood or agilawood, is a kind of aromatic wood; it was used as incense and its resin was used in perfumes and medicines.27 Zhang Sidao brought 1,000 geun (Chinese jin), about 600 kg, of sappanwood and the same quantity of aloeswood. In comparison with the amount of tributes sent from Siam to China at that time, which can be ascertained in the Mingshi, for example: 10,000 jin of pepper and 10,000 jin of sappanwood in 1387, and 170,000 jin of sappanwood, pepper, and aloeswood all together in 1390,28 the quantity sent to Korea was not great. Besides, there is no mention of an official letter carried by the “envoy” of the kingdom of Siam, Zhang Sidao, in this record. These two facts suggest two points regarding the character of the journey of Zhang Sidao and his companions from Siam to Korea. First, they came to Korea only to sound out the Korean market and to confirm the possibility of trade there, not to set about trading in earnest. This explains why they did not bring many goods. Compared to this, the Siamese tribute missions to China and accompanying merchants presented a great quantity of tribute to the Chinese court, and expected to receive Chinese goods, above all silk and porcelain then much desired in Siam, as gifts in return. They also hoped to make a good profit in Chinese markets with

24

Idem. I Geung-ik 1976, 610. 26 Mingshi 1977, 8397. 27 Smith 1977, 149–150. 28 Mingshi 1977, 8397. 25

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the so-called ballast cargo which they were permitted to carry to China as auxiliary tribute.29 Secondly, although Zhang Sidao was a captain of a Siamese royal trading ship like Nai Gong, he must have visited Korea in a private trading activity. In this regard it should be noted that Zhang Sidao, judging by the name, seems to have been a Chinese who had his home or base of activities in Siam. But Nai Gong’s true national identity—Chinese, Thai or other nationality—cannot be established.30 As to the two aboriginal men who were presented to the king of Joseon, we do not know where they came from or how they came aboard Zhang Sidao’s ship to be taken to Korea. We can only guess that they were Malay natives living in the southern areas of the Malay Peninsula or on one of the Indonesian islands, who were captured or sold as slaves and taken aboard the Siamese trading ship. The basis of this supposition is the travel account of the Portuguese Tomé Pires who stayed in Malacca from 1512 to 1515. According to him, among the chief merchandise which Siamese merchants at that time took from Malacca to Siam were male and female slaves in great numbers.31 A study by Anthony Reid has revealed that an extensive slave trade was carried out in most Southeast Asian maritime cities in the pre-modern times. Slaves were acquired, however, not only through this trade, but as a result of the conquest of an area, many of whose inhabitants were taken captive and enslaved, and the Siamese seem to have also taken part in this method of acquiring manpower from earlier times.32 The visit of Zhang Sidao and other men from the kingdom of Siam with such gifts shortly after the foundation of the new dynasty may have satisfied King Taejo not a little. As mentioned, the party of Zhang Sidao came to Korea apparently for commercial purposes. The court of Joseon which received the guests from Siam in 1394 seems, for its part, to have been very interested in establishing relations with a country that produced exotic and precious plants. Joseon envoy’s aborted mission to Siam in 1394 The responses of the government of I Seonggye to Zhang Sidao and his party’s “unofficial” visit can be seen in the following record of the Taejo sillok dated the fifth of the seventh lunar month of 1395, which says,

29

Mingshi 1977, 8397; Viraphol 1977, 34–35. Cf. Wada 1986, 32. 31 De Matos 1982, 36. 32 Reid 1983, 27–32; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 6–7. 30

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The Siamese envoy Zhang Sidao and other men returned [to Joseon] and related, “In the twelfth lunar month of the last year we, together with the return envoy [of Joseon], Bae Hu, arrived in Japan, where we were robbed by bandits, in which all gifts and traveling outfits were burnt so that nothing is left with us. Therefore, we seek to equip our ship once again and beg leave to wait here for the coming winter to return to our country.” Afterwards they presented a sword, a suit of armor, copper utensils, and two black slaves. The king, who was at that moment attending to government affairs, ordered the minister of the Board of Ceremonies to lead the Siamese to appear in the ranks of court officials.33 Thus, the court of Joseon, in return for the Siamese mission, sent a delegation led by Bae Hu together with the party of Zhang Sidao to Siam at the end of 1394, in which commercial interests of the government of King Taejo must have played an important role. The envoy Bae Hu had already had a diplomatic career in the government of Goryeo. He had been sent to the kingdom of North Yuan as an envoy at the end of the Goryeo Dynasty, when the then powerful general Choe Yeong had decided to enter into an alliance with North Yuan in order to make a combined attack on Liao-dong of the empire of Ming.34 Zhang Sidao and his men, who had presumably loaded their junk with various goods and set out on the return voyage to Siam with the Korean mission, first stopped in Japan, where they were apparently attacked by a band of pirates and lost not only their cargo, but also the gifts of the court of Joseon for the king of Siam. Thus, they were forced to return to Korea, and it seems that the Korean mission led by Bae Hu came back, too. This means that the first attempt by Korea to send a diplomatic mission to Siam failed. On returning to Korea, Zhang Sidao presented to the court of Joseon, as one year previously, two Negroid slaves as well as a sword, a suit of armor, and copperware that may have been acquired in Japan. In Korea the guests from Siam had to wait for the coming winter, when the seasonal wind from the north necessary for the voyage southeastwards would be blowing. During the inevitable stay in Korea they seem to have been treated quite well by the government of I Seonggye, who may have regarded the kingdom of Siam as a future trading partner of Joseon. This follows above all from a passage in the Taejo sillok dated the eighth lunar month of 1395, according to which the court

33 34

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of Joseon made Zhang Sidao a yebin-gyeong, the highest official of the Yebinsa, the board for reception of state guests.35 The mystery of Joseon mission to Siam in 1395–96 Although it is not mentioned in the chronicle of the Joseon Dynasty, the party of Zhang Sidao seems to have once again left Korea for Siam together with the Korean delegation led by Bae Hu during the winter between the late 1395 and the early 1396. The delegation had an official interpreter called I Jayeong who apparently was able to speak Chinese. These points can be ascertained in the following record of the Taejo sillok dated the eleventh of the seventh lunar month of 1397: I Jayeong came from Japan. He had originally, as the official interpreter, gone to Siam together with the yebinso-gyeong Bae Hu in a return mission. On the way back [to Korea] with the Siamese envoy Lin Dezhang, they reached the sea of Naju. There they were all captured and killed by a band of Japanese pirates, but Jayeong alone was captured alive, taken back [to Japan] and has now returned home.36 The envoy Bae Hu and interpreter I Jayeong seem to be the first Koreans to have visited Siam. But this record does not tell what they did there. Nor do Siamese historical records relate the envoy’s visit from Joseon. Above all, if the two Koreans really visited Siam and then returned, there is no reason why this should not be recorded in Korean texts. We believe that the Korean envoy and interpreter did not visit the kingdom of Ayutthaya at all. This argument is not so far-fetched, considering Zhang Sidao came to Joseon as a private trader. Then where did the Koreans go? This question has yet to be solved. Bae Hu and I Jayeong may have passed away keeping the secret to themselves, or they may have died without knowing where they had been. We can also gather from this record that the Korean delegation left home on the trading ship of the “Siamese envoy” Lin Dezhang. They might have sailed in the summer of 1396 when the southwestern monsoon was blowing.37 The trading 35

On the Yebinsa and the yebin-gyeong, see idem, 883. Joseon wangjo sillok 1986, vol. 1, 94. 37 According to the Japanese source Kaihentai (1958, vol. 1, 307–309), trading ships sailing from Siam to Japan, around 1680, normally left Ayutthaya at the end of the fifth lunar month, i.e. between the end of June and July, and the voyage lasted for nearly two months. This situation does not seem to have been much different from that at the end of the fourteenth century. Cf. Smith 1977, 79. 36

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ship which seems to have reached the sea near Naju, now in the province of Jeollanamdo, Korea, was, however, unfortunately attacked by a band of Japanese pirates. According to the quoted report of I Jayeong, all but this man died, who was then taken to Japan and was not able to return to Korea until the middle of the following year. But this report later proved to be partly untrue. It is stated in another passage of the Taejo sillok dated the twenty-third of the fourth lunar month of 1398: The Siamese envoy Lin Dezhang and other men, in all six, who had been captured by Japanese, fled and came [to Korea]. [The king] gave Dezhang and three of his men a suit of clothes each, and gave some to the servants, too.38 So the “Siamese envoy” Lin Dezhang together with five other men was caught off the coast of Naju on his way to Joseon and taken alive to Japan by Japanese pirates. It was in the spring of 1398 that he fled and came to Korea. Like Zhang Sidao, Lin Dezhang must have been a Siam-based Chinese merchant and captain of a Siamese royal trading ship, rather than an “envoy.” Finally, the records of the Taejo sillok do not speak of the Korean envoy Bae Hu. Judging from the fact that he does not appear in later records of the Joseon wangjo sillok, he seems to have died between 1396 and 1397. The interruption of contacts between Korea and Siam With this last record of 1398, the chronicle of the Joseon Dynasty does not tell us about the visit of a Siamese mission to Korea or the sending of a Korean mission to Siam, but in a memorandum submitted by the Saganwon (The Board of Remonstration) to King Taejong (r. 1400–1418) on the fourteenth of the eleventh lunar month of 1409, recorded in the Taejong sillok in the Joseon wangjo sillok, it is stated:39 Since Your Majesty had ascended the throne, you have so much enhanced literature and set such a high value on military arts that the literati are industrious and the soldiers are strong. Thus, the dignity of Your Majesty has reached both [our] neighboring and enemy countries so that peoples from Ryukyu, Siam, and Japan have not failed to come to submit themselves [to you].

38 39

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We find, however, no record in the Taejong sillok between 1400 and 1409 that any people from Siam really came and paid homage to the court of Joseon. Therefore, the passage in the memorandum cannot be taken literally, but is to be considered only a hackneyed and meaningless compliment. It can be assumed that relations between Korea and Siam did not continue after 1398–1399 when Lin Dezhang left Korea. The most important reason for this was the threat from Japanese pirates. The merchants from Siam and the Korean government that had experienced attacks between late 1394 and early 1395, and in 1397, must have realized how dangerous the voyage between the two countries was. It was in the reign of King Gongmin (1352–1374) of the Goryeo Dynasty that Japanese pirates, who had a considerable impact on the trade among East Asian countries, began to operate seriously on Korean coasts.40 Their piracy was so threatening that it became one of the main reasons why the Ming government enacted a maritime ban in the second half of the sixteenth century and merchant ships hesitated to sail to China.41 Another reason seems to be that the governments of the two countries or Chinese merchants did not feel that the bilateral trade was profitable enough to be carried on, given the risks. Thus, the two countries lost interest in each other and did not make an attempt to resume contact. The visit of Chen Yanxiang, a Java-based Chinese merchant, to Joseon in 1395 The contacts between Korea and Siam at the end of the fourteenth century must be understood in a broader context of the interests of the Siamese government and, more importantly, of Siam-based Chinese merchants in the trade in the China Seas, on the one hand, and of the interests of Korea in countries in the Nanyang or Nanhai, the Southern Seas, on the other hand. The Joseon government’s policy in the early years of the dynasty of attaching importance to foreign trade and establishing trade relations with Southeast Asia was resumed by King Taejong. According to the record of the eighth lunar month of 1395 in the Joseon wangjo sillok, the court of Taejo appointed one Chen Yanxiang as a seounbujeong, in the year that it granted Zhang Sidao the official title of yebin-gyeong.42 Seounbujeong was the title of an acting director of the Seoun-gwan, which then took charge of astronomy, calendars, geomancy, divination, etc.43 Chen Yanxiang makes his first appearance in Korean historical sources as a vice-envoy of Siam

40

Tanaka 1987, 140-145. Yen Ching-hwang 1985, 8; Wang Gungwu 1992, 114-116. 42 Joseon wangjo sillok 1986, vol. 1, 68. 43 Gim Sanggi 1985, 715, 885. 41

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accompanying Zhang Sidao, according to some Japanese scholars.44 The grounds for such an assumption seems to be the record of the eighth lunar month of 1406 in the Joseon wangjo sillok, which says that “Chen Yanxiang came to [Joseon] in 1394, accompanying the envoy.”45 That assumption is, however, not well founded, since the record introduces him as “an envoy of Java, a barbarian country in the Southern Seas.”46 Chen Yanxiang, however, should be understood to be a Chinese merchant engaging in trade in the China Seas, like the Siamese “envoys” Zhang Sidao and Lin Dezhang. In 1412, when he sent a letter to the Joseon government, he also called himself “Chen Yanxiang, the arya of the kingdom in Java.”47 Arya was the highest title of Javanese envoys at that time. It can be seen from this that he sometimes performed the duties of an official envoy for the royal trade of the kingdom of Majapahit (1292–1527) in Java. However, in the case of his second visit to Joseon in 1406, there is no telling how official the self-proclaimed envoy was, particularly because the chronicle of the Joseon Dynasty does not contain any mention of a letter from the Majapahit government. Instead, his visit supposedly was intended to conduct serious trade with Joseon, based on the existing friendly relations with the Korean authorities. After Chen Yanxiang left Korea in the autumn of 1406, trade relations between Korea and Java did not continue. The main reason seems to have been both the danger of Japanese pirates, which Chen Yanxiang personally experienced on his way to and from Korea in 1406, and low profitability expected of the trade, as in Korea-Siamese relations. Concluding remarks There were contacts between Korea and Southeast Asia from early times. The record of the year 642 in the Nihon shoki (Annals of Japan) says, for example, that an envoy of the kingdom of Baekje (B.C.18–A.D.660) who visited Japan pushed an envoy of kunlun into the sea, with the result that he was drowned.48 Kunlun is a geographical concept referring to the Southeast Asian region at large. In the thirteenth century, a Vietnamese prince visited Korea. Li Long-tuong, uncle of Hue-tong (r. 1211–1224) of the Li Dynasty (1009–1225) of Vietnam, sought refuge in Goryeo circa 1226, settled down at Ongjin County, Hwanghae Province,

44

Kobata and Matsuda 1969, 149; Wada 1986, 31. Joseon wangjo sillok 1986, vol. 1, 369. 46 Idem. 47 Idem, 632. 48 Wanyeok ilbonseogi 1989, 417. 45

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and founded the Hwasan I family, after the dynasty was overthrown with the outbreak of civil war.49 The contacts between Korea and Southeast Asia until the thirteenth century and those between Korea and Siam and between Korea and Java from the late fourteenth to the early fifteenth centuries were, in truth, sporadic accidents. They can be classified as “cultural contacts” in terms of the division of the cultural relations by Swiss historian Urs Bitterli.50 They did not develop into a continual and extensive relationship such as between China and Southeast Asia in pre-modern times, which was based on the interests of both parties. In the contacts between Korea and Southeast Asia discussed here, there were no Koreans who played the same role of middlemen as Chinese merchants in the Sino-Southeast Asian trade.51 This was probably because the governments of Goryeo or Joseon were not actively pursuing overseas trade, and Korean merchants themselves did not have much interest in the trade in the South China Sea. Another reason may be that the Chinese merchants, who often functioned as mediators throughout the South and East China Seas, made no contribution to the development of Korea-Southeast Asian relations. Bibliography An Jeongbok. 1982. Dongsagangmok (A General Outline of the History of the Eastern Country). Seoul: Minjok Munhwa Chujinhoe. Bitterli, Urs. 1992. Alte Welt - neue Welt: Formen des europäisch-überseeischen Kulturkontaktes vom 15. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert. München: DTV. De Matos, Luís. 1982. The First Portuguese Documents on Siam. In: The Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation on the Occasion of the Celebrations of the Second Centenary of the City of Bangkok, ed. Thailand and Portugal: 400 Years of Friendship. Lisbon. Gim Sanggi. 1985. Sinpyeon goryeo sidaesa (The New Edition of the Goryeo History). Seoul: Seoul National University Press. Gim Yeonggeon. 1943. Indoshina to Nihon tono kansei (The Relations between Indochina and Japan). Tokyo: Husanbô. Goryeosa (The History of Goryeo). 1981. Seoul: Institute of Korean Studies of Yonsei University.

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Gim Yeonggeon 1943, 293–309. Bitterli 1992, 17-54. 51 According to Urs Bitterli, a middleman is indispensable in order that “cultural relations” through trade may develop smoothly (idem). 50

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Goryeosa jeoryo (The Abridged Chronicle of Goryeo). 1973. Seoul: Asea Munhwasa. Grimm, T. 1961. Thailand in the Light of Official Chinese Historiography: A Chapter in the History of the Ming Dynasty. Journal of the Siam Society, 49/1. Gunji, Kiichi. 1938. Tokugawa jidai no Ni-Sen kokkô (Diplomatic Relations between Japan and Siam in the Tokugawa Period). Tokyo: Tôa Keizai Chôsakyoku. I Geung-ik. 1976. Yeollyeosilgisul (A Narrative of Yeollyeosil). Seoul: Minjok Munhwa Chujinhoe. I Hyeonjong. 1964. Namyang jegugin-ui naewangmuyeok-e daehayeo (On the Visiting Trade of Various Peoples from the Nanyang). Sahak yeongu, 18. Ishii, Yoneo. 1988. Thai-Japanese Relations in the Pre-Modern Period: A Bibliographic Essay with Special Reference to Japanese Sources. In: Chaiwat Khamchoo and E. Bruce Reynolds, eds. Thai-Japanese Relations in Historical Perspective. Bangkok: Innomedia. Ishii, Yoneo. 1992. The Rekidai Hoan and Some Aspects of the Ayutthayan Port Polity in the Fifteenth Century. The Memoirs of the Toyo Bunko, 50. Joseon wangjo sillok (Veritable Records of the Joseon Dynasty). 1986. Seoul: The National History Compilation Committee. Kaihentai. 1958. Tokyo: Tôyôbunko. Kemp, Jeremy. 1969. Aspects of Siamese Kingship in the Seventeenth Century. Bangkok: The Social Science Review. Kobata, A. and M. Matsuda. 1969. Ryukyuan Relations with Korea and South Sea Countries. Kyoto. Kotmai tra sam duang (Law of the Three Seals). 1978. Krom Sinlapakon, ed. Bangkok: Krom Sinlapakon. Mingshi (The Chronicle of the Ming Dynasty). 1977. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju. Rabibhadana, Akin. 1969. The Organization of Thai Society in the Early Bangkok Period, 1782–1873. Ithaca: Cornell University, Department of Asian Studies. Reid, Anthony. 1983. Introduction: Slavery and Bondage in Southeast Asian History. In: Anthony Reid, ed. Slavery, Bondage and Dependency in Southeast Asia. St Lucia: University of Queensland Press. Satow, E.M. 1885. Notes on the Intercourse between Japan and Siam in the Seventeenth Century. Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, 13. Sethaputra, So. 1982. New Model Thai-English Dictionary. Bangkok: Thai Watthanaphanit. Smith, George Vinal. 1977. The Dutch in Seventeenth-Century Thailand. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University, Center for Southeast Asian Studies.

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Taejong gongjeong daewang sillok (Veritable Records of King Taejong the Great). 1974. Seoul: Minjok Munhwa Chujinhoe. Tanaka, Takeo. 1987. Wakô to Tô Ajia tsôkôken (Wakô and the Intercourse Sphere in East Asia). In: Amino Yoshihiko et al., eds. Rettô naigai no kôtsû to kokka - Nihon no shakai shi. Vol. 1. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Teeuw, A. and D.K. Wyatt. 1970. Hikayat Patani: The Story of Patani. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Terwiel, B.J. 1983. A History of Modern Thailand 1767–1942. St Lucia: University of Queensland Press. Van Vliet, Jeremias. 1975. The Short History of the Kings of Siam. Translated by Leonard Andaya. Bangkok: The Siam Society. Viraphol, Sarasin. 1977. Tribute and Profit: Sino-Chinese Trade, 1652–1853. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wada, Hisanori. 1986. 14–5 seiki ni okeru Tônan Ajia sen no Tô Ajia raikô to Ryûkyû koku (Southeast Asian Ships’ Visit to East Asia and Ryukyu in the 14–15th Centuries). Kyûyô ronsô, 12. Wade, Geoff. 1993. The Ming Shi-Lu as a Source for Thai History—14th to 17th Century. A paper presented at the 5th International Conference on Thai Studies, 5–10 July 1993, London. Wang Gungwu. 1992. Community and Nation: China, Southeast Asia and Australia. St Leonards: Allen & Unwin. Wanyeok ilbonseogi (The Full Translation of Annals of Japan). 1989. Translated by Jeon Yongsin. Seoul: Iljisa. Winstedt, Richard O. 1962. A History of Malaya. Singapore: Marican & Sons. Xu Yunqiao. 1946. Zhong xian tongshikao (Diplomatic Relations between China and Siam). Nanyang xuebao, 3/1. Yen Ching-hwang. 1985. Coolies and Mandarins: China’s Protection of Overseas Chinese during the Late Ch’ing Period (1851–1911). Singapore: Singapore University Press.

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BURMA: SHAN DOMINATION IN THE AVA PERIOD (c. AD 1310–1555)1 Aye Chan Abstract This article deals with the settlement of Shan (Tai) müang in northern Burma in the Pagan period (c. AD 1000–1287) and how some of them, notably Tai Mao and Monhyin, became a threat to the Burmese kingdom during the following Ava period (1312–1555). After the fall of Pagan, Burma entered a period of disintegration. The Burmese kingdom was confined to the central dry zone of the Irrawaddy Valley, precariously coping with the threats from the domains in the north. For nearly four decades it had to fight a war with the Mon kingdom of Hanthawaddy in lower Burma as well. Relations between the Burmese kingdoms and the powerful Shan müang and the structural changes in the Burmese polity in this period are discussed. Introduction Whether or not there was a “Shan age” in Burma’s history has become a matter of debate among the historians of Burma, after Michael Aung Thwin, in his book, Myth and History in the Historiography of Burma (1998), argued that the notion of there having been three Shan brothers who founded a new dynasty following the fall of the Pagan dynasty in the closing decades of the thirteenth century was only a myth created by the European scholars Arthur Phayre, Edward Huber, G.E. Harvey and G.H. Luce (Aung Thwin 1998, 125–128). Furthermore, Aung Thwin maintained that these scholars were in fact imposing on the study of Burmese history a paradigm similar to that which organized European history into classical, medieval and modern periods. One effect was to create a Dark Age under the rule of “barbarous” Shan monarchs between the preceding “golden” Pagan period (c.1000–1287) and the early-modern Toungoo period (1555–1752) (Aung Thwin 1998, 136). Aung Thwin criticized Phayre for depending heavily upon the chronicler U Kala, while seemingly unaware of the later chronicler Twinthin-taik-

1

I am deeply grateful to Chen Yi Sein, my mentor, formerly of the Burma Historical Commission, for my reliance to some extent on his readings of the Chinese texts. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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wun Mahasithu’s work, Twinthin-Mahayazawinthit, which cited numerous references to contemporaneous stone inscriptions (Aung Thwin 1998, 137). The tradition of writing chronicles in Burma began in the early eighteenth century. U Kala was the first such chronicler and finished his Mahayazawingyi during the reign of King Taninganwe (r. 1714–1730). Before examining the limitations of U Kala, it is necessary to consider four famous Burmese chronicles: U Kala’s Mahayazawingyi, Twinthintaikwun Mahasithu’s Twinthin-myanmaryazawinthit, the Mhannan-mahayazawindawgyi compiled by a Royal Commission of eleven scholars in the early nineteenth century, and Monyway-yazawingyaw by Monyway Sayadaw, who was the most influential scholar in the commission assigned to write the Mhannan-mahayazawindawgyi. Although Twinthintaikwun criticized and refuted some of U Kala’s assertions, the other chroniclers, including the authors of the Mhannan-mahayazawin-dawgyi, followed U Kala in many controversial cases. A meticulous study of all the chronicles reveals that the classic and standardized Mhannan-mahayazawin-dawgyi, surprisingly, relied heavily on U Kala. In fact, some paragraphs from U Kala’s Mahayazawingyi were directly copied without editing or changing the spelling and punctuation. In his chapters covering the Pagan dynasty, U Kala adapted some pieces of oral literature, such as the story of the legendary King Pyu Saw Hti, who was said to have been born from a union of the sun god and the Naga (dragon) princess (UK I, 143–146). It was for this reason that some of the above-mentioned European scholars dismissed Burmese chronicles as being legends. Mhannanmahayazawindawgyi begins with the fabricated Tagaung dynasty, which traces the ancestry of Burmese kings to the family of the Sakkya clan of Buddha. This was clearly an attempt to justify the spiritual omnipotence of the Burmese kings by connecting them to sacred Indian classical myths. Since Burmese kings of successive dynasties claimed to be the descendents of the Sakkya clan, it seemed to be a stigma for the founders of a new dynasty to declare themselves to be the scions of a subordinate ethnic group, such as the Shan, Mon or Arakanese. In fact, during the Pagan period, King Kyanzittha (r.1084–1112), who was certainly a usurper, declared himself to be the reincarnation of the Hindu god Visnu (Than Tun 1968, 153). Aung Thwin propounds his theory, strongly refuting Phayre’s concept of a Shan dynasty in Burma ruling between the Pagan and Toungoo periods. Accordingly, this article intends to discuss that matter and examine how the political center was vulnerable to the threat of the peripheral provinces, especially from the Shan principalities, in this period of disintegration in Burmese history. For the study of Burmese history in the Ava period (1312–1555), including the short period of Pinya-Sagaing twin cities (1310–1364), there is a wide range of primary literature, for instance contemporaneous stone inscriptions and poems such as

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mawgun and eigyin in Burmese, as well as the Chinese annals of the Yuan and Ming reigns. The Burmese chronicles, however, are largely reliable for historical research into the late Pagan and Ava periods. The chroniclers’ account of the genealogy of the three brothers, though lacking in firm contemporary evidence, was not a tale like that of the legendary King Pyu Saw Hti, but rather demonstrated the amiable and reciprocal blood relations between the leaders of the two different ethnic groups at the core of Burmese society in a historical context. Aung Thwin (1998, 142) suggests that the “Shan Period should be more accurately placed between AD1527 (when Ava was indeed conquered by the Shan) and AD1555 (when King Bayinnaung of the Toungoo dynasty recovered it).” The assertion that Aung Thwin advances is undeniable. The Shan elite in that period (1527–1555) became a tightly closed, segregated and homogeneous clique at the apex of the bureaucracy, replacing the former bureaucratic system that had been characterized by its flexibility and openness to members of different races, but which was largely dominated by Burmans. Pagan: Center and Periphery Throughout history the political stability of the Burmese kingdom in the central dry zone of the country depended remarkably on the center’s socioeconomic reliance on the periphery, especially the centripetal movement of human resources. The breakdown of this dependence on the periphery would also become the main cause of political instability before the rise of the Toungoo dynasty in the middle of the sixteenth century. The political center of Burma had always been located in the dry zone consisting of three irrigated rice cultivation areas: Kyaukse (eleven khuruin) at the foot of the Shan plateau, Minbu (six khuruin) on the west bank of the Irrawady River, and the Mu Valley, situated between the Chindwin and Irrawaddy Rivers.2 Irrigation projects were maintained by the central administration, using manpower partially, but necessarily, from the periphery. The names of the ethnic groups living in Burma from the early twelfth to the early thirteenth centuries can be read in the contemporary epigraphs, where they are referred to as “kyun” (kywan), which literally means ‘slave’, who were mainly bound to the land in the dry zone (Luce 1959b, 52–74). These names can be arranged in chronological order according to the date on which the first inscription appears.

2

The Burmese term khuruin often appears in Burmese inscriptions of the Pagan period and is similar to the Thai word müang. It is applied to the eleven irrigated areas of Mlacsã in modern Kyaukse District and to the six in the modern Minbu District (Luce 1959c, 85). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Pyu Thet (Sak) Shan (Syam) Pao (Tonsu) Chinese (Taruk) Burman (Mramma) Arakanese (Rakhuin) Kadu (Kantu) Mon (Rmeñ)

(AD 1113) (AD 1113) (AD 1120) (AD 1165) (AD 1179) (AD 1190) (AD 1197) (AD 1198) (AD 1204)

The number of people from the Shan hills, including Shan, Pao, Wa (Lawa) and Ponlon, bound to the land as slaves, should not be underestimated. For instance, a contemporary inscription tells us of a village of eighty-five Lawa (Wa) slaves in Plaññ-mana of eleven khuruin to the east of the Ponlon and Santhway canals (Pl. 20a, 7; Luce 1959a, 41). Another inscription indicates that the aruin kywan (wild slaves) settled in the villages in the eleven khuruin (List. 1045, 31). Luce located some Lawa villages mentioned in the Pagan inscriptions in the Myinsaing (Mrancuin) area and in the Chindwin valley. It is more than likely that the Shan people were forcibly settled in the Kyaukse and Minbu areas by both conquest and submissive migration. The center’s control over manpower was the tool for its control of all agricultural produce in the society. This management of the material subsistence of the commoners, as well as declaring the king the lord of all the land and water (rimliykhapsim: soasakhan) (Pl. 235, 10; Pl. 426, 3; List 1055, 13), theoretically buttressed the absolute early modern Burmese autocracy. The frequent appearance of the names of the hill tribes on the stone inscriptions until the end of the sixteenth century emphasizes the nature of this control. In the late Pagan period, the core area, especially the three granaries, seems to have been occupied by heterogeneous populations from the cumulative settlements of people from the periphery. For instance, Luce wrote about the establishment of the Shan community in six khuruin (Minbu) on the west bank of the Irrawaddy, stating: There is a place, Khamti, often mentioned in Pagan inscriptions, which is doubtlessly derived from Shan Kham-ti “Golden Place.” The name probably implies that the inhabitants were largely Shan. Khamti was an important place with canal irrigation and rice fields in the six khuruin (Minbu district) on the west bank of the Irrawaddy about 80 miles below Pagan (Luce 1958, 124).

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Pagan’s sovereign power was based on the extent of its control over productive resources and managing the redistribution of the means of subsistence directly in the core area and indirectly in the periphery. Of the three granaries, for central administrative purposes, Kyaukse was the most important and the most convenient in terms of location. The names of eleven khuruin of the Kyaukse area are as follows (Luce 1959c, 75–109): (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

Pinlay (Panlay) Pyinmana (Plaññmana) Myittha (Mlacsa) Rangun (Ranun) Myinkhuntaing (Mrankhuntuin) Panan Tamoke (Tamut) Thindaung (Santon) Makkhara Tapraktha (Taplaksa) Khamhmu (Khammhu)

Of these, only four, Myittha, Myinkhuntaing, Tamoke and Thindaung, are Burmese names. The rest carry no Burmese meaning and are probably Mon or Shan. Than Tun has pointed out that the names of some important towns in central Burma located in the Irrawaddy and Chindwin valleys were Shan (Than Tun 2003, 50), for example: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10)

Kalay (Prosperous Market) Katha (Silk Market) Kawlin (Deforested Mountain) Kaungzin (Elephant Hill) Kaungtung (Densely Forested Hill) Khamti (Golden Land) Khampat (Gold Mine) Saga (Town Market) Sagu (Couple City) Sagaing (The Town of Stirrup-makers)

Luce has asserted that in the early thirteenth century the Shan (Tai) people had already established their principalities in northern Burma, among which the founding of Mogaung in 1215, of Mongmai in 1223 and the Ahom conquest of Assam in 1229 were important (Luce 1958, 126). In the east the establishment of

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the Sipsong Panna in 1180, according to local history, is presumably credible. Later this principality was known to the Burmese as Kyaingyone, to the Chinese as Cheli and to its own people as Lè (Ji Fu-yi, 1937, 1). Thus towards the middle of the thirteenth century Pagan was surrounded by Shan princedoms (müang) in the northern belt of the periphery. The heartland was also inhabited by a considerable population of Shan, as well as other hill tribes. A few years before the fall of Pagan, lower Burma left the sway of the Burmese rulers and became the independent Mon kingdom of Hanthawadi. The Burmese kingdom under the Ava dynasty, as G.E. Harvey stated, ran from Myedu in the Shwebo district and Bangyi in Monywa district to below Prome, and from Laungshe in the Pakokku district to Kyaukse (List. 1014, 2–4; Harvey 1967, 75). The formation and growth of Shan states after the fall of Pagan not only threatened the Burmese polity, but also cut off its access to the human resources of the northern hilly regions. According to the hypothesis of Luce, Chin tribes had once inhabited the Chindwin valley but were pushed westward by the Shan conquest of the area, taking refuge in the present-day Chin Hills. At the foot of the hills, only 32 km west of Chindwin River, the Shan built the garrison town of Kale with double walls and moats that are still extant (Luce 1954, 26). The area occupied by the Mon-Khmer speaking hill tribes like the Lawa, Ponlon, and Riang seems to have been pushed eastward by the intrusion of the Shan to their present areas of occupation to the east of the Salween River (Luce 1985, 15). The spread of Shan domination into the lowland valleys by both peaceful negotiation and conquest was primarily intended to gain more tributary and tax-collecting areas. The seventeenth century collection of administrative records, Zambhudipa Oksaung Kyam (ZOK), contains a petition by the prince (sawbwa/chaofa) of Momeik to the King of Toungoo, probably King Bayinnaung, which includes the following lines: To the north of Bhamo is the land inhabited by the wild Kachin and Chin tribes. The collection of tax from these people is a formidable task. My invocation is to retrieve the southern territories (ZOK, 27). As Edmund Leach has explained, until the middle of the twentieth century, in Burma’s northern highlands, Shans occupied the river valleys where wet rice cultivation on the irrigated fields was possible and formed administrative centers there. A müang with a cluster of non-Shan hill-tribe villages developed into the Shan type of petty state: a replica of traditional Burmese polity (ZOK, 30 –38). The center of a müang was mainly inhabited by the Shan people who controlled the subsistence economy, thus enabling them to exploit local environmental resources while also allowing the formative ideas of Theravada Buddhism and Burmese culture to develop. It is worth noting that most of the Shan müang were located on

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the trade routes connecting China with India across northern Burma. As Leach reported, there were small military garrisons at suitable staging posts along the trade routes because the trade seemed be an important source of power for the Shan chiefs (Leach 1954, 38). Luce, with reference to Yuan annals, pointed out the importance of the Mùbang route and Mèngyang route (Luce 1958, 146). In modern Burma Mùbang was the old name of Then-ni and Mengyang was the old name of Mohnyin. Shan merchants would have been involved in the local trade of central and northern Burma on a large scale.3 Such commerce was likely to have provided the chiefs with resources for elaborate feasts and other public displays of wealth and status (Johnson and Earle 2000, 203). The Kachin and the other hill tribes, being subjects of the Shan chiefs and practicing shifting cultivation, had to depend at times on the Shans in the valleys for sufficient food. Leach asserted that until the end of the nineteenth century, these tribes, who were more numerous than the Shan, lived a primitive way of life as “warlike savages.” The Kachin political domains were more or less integrated into the larger Shan political structures as the Shan müangs recruited most of the Kachin kha-phok or hka-paw, meaning mercenaries, and hired soldiers speaking the Jingphaw (Kachin) language for their campaigns in the valleys (Leach 1954, 39). Therefore the non-Shan populations on the hills formed the outer rim of the Shan principality and were submissive to the sawbwa. However, there was not much to offer as dues in recognition of the chief’s power except labor and services, especially military service. The instruments of mobilization were the group or village community interests, to respond to the demands of the Shan lord and to loot the wealth of lowland valleys (Leach 1954, 197–212). Marc Bloch describes such troops in his study of European feudalism as “true savages, whom their chiefs drove to the battle with blows of the whip, but redoubtable soldiers, skillful in extricating themselves from the most difficult situations” (Bloch 1982, II:10). There is little information about the size and population of a müang. One of the few descriptions is in the Zambhudipa-Oksaung-Kyam, dated 1601, depicting a müang named Hmainhtway consisting of five towns, namely Momeik, Moné, Kyaingtaung, Mowan and Bhamo, as well as two hundred villages. There were five Myozas (chiefs of the town) and twenty-three village headmen in the domain (ZOK, 37).

3

In the Konbaung Period (1752–1885), the Natteik Pass, Hsipaw and Hsenwi Tracks were main trade routes, as well as several smaller passes along the line of hills from Bhamo to Toungoo in the south. The Natteik Pass itself was used for trade with Kyaukse. Until the end of the nineteenth century, the caravans went down to the plains from all parts of the cis-Salween states (Scott and Hardiman 1921, 277). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The Shan in Post-Pagan Burma The fall of Pagan in the late 1280s was a turning point in the history of Burma. It was followed by a period of disintegration (c. 1287–1555) commonly known as the Ava period. The Burmese kingdom of the landlocked dry zone had to fight a long war (1386–1422) with the Mon kingdom Hanthawadi of lower Burma in order to regain access to maritime trade, and was also engaged in defensive wars against Shan intrusions in the north. The founder of the new dynasty was Thihathu (Sihasu), the youngest of the so-called “three Shan brothers.” The chronicles described the origin of the three brothers as follows: Once, the Sawbwa [Chaofa] who ruled the city of Beinnaka had two sons. When the Sawbwa was no more, the older son became the ruler of Beinnaka. Bearing his younger brother a grudge, the new ruler plotted to kill him. Theinkhabo, the younger brother, bringing his retinues, fled the city and arrived in Myinsaing, the place where the Pyo people lived. He married the daughter of a rich man who bore him three sons, namely Athinkhaya, Razathingyan, and Thihathu [Sihasu] as well as a daughter (UK I, 321; Mhannan I, 361). Here the Burmese word sawbwa indicates that the Shan prince (chaofa), and more probably Thihathu’s father, was a Shan. This is not a myth or sociocultural phenomenon created by British historians during the colonial period; in this case all the chroniclers, including Twinthintaikwun Mahasithu, followed U Kala, describing the same story about the three Shan brothers (Mahasithu, 1968, 163; Mhannan I, 361). Yet there is a mystery about the “Pyo People”. In the Pagan period there remained a considerable number of Pyu people, appearing as Pyu in the contemporary stone inscriptions. The chronicles also used the name “Pyu” and not “Pyo”. Aung Thwin (1998, 123) wrote, “...Binnakha is actually an old Pyu settlement (?) that lies right in the heartland of Burma, just south of the irrigated Kyaukse valley.” The question mark in parenthesis following the phrase “an old Pyu” suggests the claim is dubious. Luce assumed (1958,150) that Binnakha was perhaps somewhere in the hills east of Kyaukse. His supposition was supported by an account of a chronicler in a later period. U Maung Maung Tin (1963, II: 89), the author of Koneboungzet Mahayazawingyi (The Chronicle of the Konbaung Dynasty), referring to the Minzet Linga (the chronological poems of the dynasties) asserted that Binnakha was one of the fifty-seven villages located on the banks of the Salween River. As Luce

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(1985, 47) pointed out, referring to the T’ang records, the Pyu people, the inhabitants of the upper Irrawaddy valley, were known to the Chinese as Piào and they called themselves Tu-luó-shi. In the late thirteenth century a considerable number of Pyu people seemed to have inhabited the upper reaches of Mu valley. According to the Yuan dynastic chronicle, a place called Piào-dian, which literally means the Pyu region, as it was known to the Gold-Teeth (Jin Chi)4 people was on the way to the Burmese garrison town of Jiang Toú (Cheng), probably Kaungzin (Koncan), and was located on the northern bank of the Taping River (Yuánshi Ch. 210: Wàiyí 3 Mian, Yuáncháozhengmianlù). If this information is to be believed, in the late thirteenth century there were still Pyu settlements in the Irrawaddy valley north to modern Bhamo. The name “Pyo” has never been found in any contemporary sources. It is thus doubtful that Pyo in the chroniclers’ account indicates the Pyu people. Unfortunately, there are no clues indicating the location of Binnakha or any other Pyu town or village in the Pagan period around the Kyaukse area. According to the chronicles, the three brothers were brought up in the court of Pagan and their sister was married to the youngest son of King Tarutpliy (r. 1254–1287). The three brothers were called Athinkhaya, Yazathingyan and Thihathu, names in those days which were used only by the royal family and nobility (UK I, 309; Mhannan I, 361–362). At the beginning of the Tai century (c.1250–1350), the court of Pagan seemed to have established political and cultural relationships based on kinship, extending rights and authority to the Shan (Tai) aristocrats in the inner circle around the center in order to strengthen and secure central government from the threat of the Shan domains. The three brothers had been in royal service, holding the important khuruin of Kyaukse area as their appanages before the Mongols invaded the kingdom (Mhannan I, 362). Except for the chroniclers’ accounts, there are no contemporary sources to trace their ancestry to the Shan aristocracy. In the inscriptions they left behind, they never declared themselves to be Shan, but instead claimed to be “the equals of the king of Pagan and of the generals who subdued the Chinese army”. In spite of the phrase “equals of the king of Pagan,” King Klawcwa (r.1287–1298), the son and successor of King Tarukpliy, was merely a titular monarch of the kingdom. He might have had control over the six khuruin area, which was less productive than Kyaukse. The Mu valley was in the path of the invading Mongol campaigns and was probably totally devastated by the war. Therefore the three brothers chose Myinzaing in the eleven khuruin as their headquarters and built a strong fortress there. In 1297, they dethroned King Klawcwa, who was later assassinated (Luce 1958, 150). 4

The “Gold Teeth People” or Zardandan, as called in Persian by Marco Polo, were mainly the Austric speaking peoples, Palaung, Riang and Lawa. The Mongol records continued to use the phrase for the peoples around the Upper Irrawaddy and Shweli valleys (Luce 1985, 15–16). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The choice of Myinsaing (Mrancuin) as their headquarters was of great political significance because of their reliance on the Shan highlands as their power base and on the strategic position of the city, located in a valley at the foot of the Shan mountain ranges, 5 km east of present-day Kyaukse. The Shan highlands seem to have been considered the main source of manpower and the eleven khuruin (Kyaukse) as the main source of economic sustenance. The names of the villages of the Lawa people, one of the most populous groups in the Shan highlands, and the villages of other people, such as the Ponlon, appeared in contemporary inscriptions and can be placed in the Kyaukse area (Luce 1958, n.23). However, the three brothers, and especially the youngest, Thihathu, gained the support of both the Burman and Shan peoples. At the request of the Pagan court, the Mongol army returned, and began to besiege Myinsaing on 25 January 1301. It withdrew all troops on 6 April 1301 without capturing the city. On 20 October 1309 the youngest brother, Thihathu, crowned himself king in the style of the Pagan monarchy with the title Sritribhawanaditya-thihathura-dhammaraja, and built the city of Pinya as his capital on the southern bank of the Irrawaddy. The use of the title Dhammaraja was an attempt to rationalize his position in the tradition of the kings of the Pagan dynasty and to declare that he was going to rule the kingdom according to the dhamma (the law of justice and righteousness). He took the queen of the dethroned King Klawcwa (r. 1287–1298) as his own (Than Tun 2003, 84–85). Phwa Saw, the dowager queen of King Talukpliy (r. 1254–1287), led the opening ceremony at the new royal palace according to the ritual practices of the Pagan dynasty (Mhannan I: 370–371). There was no racial antagonism to Thihathu’s acquisition of the throne among the dominant Burman elites because all three brothers had shown their political leadership in the defense of the kingdom during the Mongol invasion and were viewed by the common people with superstitious awe. Agriculture suffered badly during the Mongol invasions. The irrigation systems were destroyed. Epigraphs in the early fourteenth century often mention the forested paddy lands, as shown in the following contemporary inscription: Because the Tarup [Chinese] once plundered (the said lands) they became full of jungle. Of these lands some relapsed into jungle and some remained in the support of the lords (Pl. 258, 8; Bennet 1971, 27). After more than two decades of war and anarchy the people in the dry zone, from whatever ethnic group, were not hesitant about offering obedience to a new ruler who had the ability to rule the country, and thereby bring law and order. The people seemed to believe that if they offered their dues and services to the new ruler, he would provide them with peaceful and prosperous lives (Weber I 1978,

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952). As indicated earlier, Thihathu adopted the customs of Burmese culture and Buddhism, and also made efforts to restore the socio-cultural institutions of the Pagan dynasty. He even declared himself to be the “The Lord of the One White Elephant, Tazishin Mintara” (UK I, 330; Mhannan I, 371). It was a positive political action by the Shan aristocrat to be accepted by the Burmans as their ruler. He had shown his phun-tago (charismatic glory) by superseding his two older brothers and the last two kings of the Pagan dynasty, King Klawcwa and King Conhac (Saw Hnit, r.1298–1312), who both took an oath of allegiance to the Mongol emperor. Thus, he successfully legitimized his authority according to traditional Burmese practices. It was a shift from being identified as a prominent figure of the Shan ethnic group to identifying with the Burmese people. In 1322 Thihathu urged his younger son, Saw Yun, to build a city, Sagaing, on the opposite bank of the Irrawaddy. In view of the growing threat from the Shan in the north, he probably intended to develop a frontier defense area between the Irrawaddy and Chindwin rivers. Since the beginning of the fourteenth century, Mongol control over northern Burma and Yunnan province had been declining. Sipsong Panna in southern Yunnan and the Mao kingdom of Luchuan in the Upper Shweli valley grew stronger. Both Sipsong Panna and Lù-chuan raided the neighboring Shan principalities, including those in the interior parts of Yunnan, and expanded their territories. The Mongol officials in Yunnan were unprepared and did not have the strength to deter the expansion of the Lè princedom (Yuánshi Ch. 23, Wuzongbenjìzhìdà 2–11; Yuánshi Ch. 29, Taìdìngdìbenjìzhìzhì 3–11). From then and until the fall of the Yuan dynasty, the Mongols could not give much attention to the southern part of Yunnan. During this period, the Shan kingdom, Luchuan, also became a dominant power under the leadership of Si Kefa. He founded the kingdom, Tai Mao, which threatened the Burmese kingdom for more than a century (Cheng Yi Sein 1972, 38). Tai Mao was no longer a Shan müang, tributary to Ava, but a parallel center with a different political identity as a Shan kingdom. Ava, sometimes as a nominal center, could not maintain control over its distant peripheries, especially the Shan principalities, as their loyalty to Ava was in name only. Sometimes they even challenged the central government. In 1364 Si Kefa with his Tai Mao army sacked the city of Sagaing, crossed the river and occupied the royal capital Pinya. King Narathu (r.1359–1364) and all the townspeople were taken as prisoners to Tai Mao. The Burmans who survived fled south to Minbu, Toungoo, and Taungdwingyi, where the Burman provincial governors could protect them in their garrison towns (UK I, 322; Pl. 591a, 1–10; List. 686, 12). Thihathu’s dynasty was restored by Thadominbya (r. 1364–1368), who again claimed to be a direct descendent of Thihathu (Sihasu). In 1364 he abandoned both Pinya and Sagaing and founded the new capital, Ava. It remained the capital

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of the Burmese kingdom until the Mao Shan re-conquered it in 1527. After Thadominbya’s death, Mingyiswa Sawke (r. 1368–1400) was elected king. Sawke also claimed to be a direct descendent of Thihathu; “...the grandson of King Thihathu (Sihasu) who defeated the invading army of Emperor Khan.” (UB 57, 1–4) As a result, King Swake assumed a hereditary charisma from the three brothers, whose courage, victories, and savoir-faire had justified the dynasty they founded, and so firmly established his authority. During his long reign of thirty-three years, King Sawke had to reform the administrative system. He seemed to have realized that the central administration had been considerably weakened and that reigning supreme over all the Burman and Shan provinces both in the core and on the fringe of his realm was no longer possible. The limited control was noticeable because the lack of security led to the establishment of garrison towns, each with a myoza (chief of the town) as commander of the self-defense army. Zatapum Yazawin (probably compiled in the late Toungoo period) has a list of the towns with their founding dates: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

Toungoo Taungdwingyi Sagu Laygaing (Minbu) Yamethin Salin Kukhamgyi Pyi Salay

(BE 642) (BE 649) (BE 661) (BE 665) (BE 665) (BE 666) (BE 667) (BE 673) (BE 766)

(AD 1280) (AD 1287) (AD 1299) (AD 1303) (AD 1303) (AD 1304) (AD 1305) (AD 1311) (AD 1404)

Until the fall of Pagan even the most senior administrators, such as the governors of Dala and Prome, though members of the royal family, were only conferred with the title of Thugyi (Sukri), literally meaning chief (Pl. 12, 15; Pl. 370, 23). In post-Pagan Burma, the emergence of garrison-towns like Taungdwingyi, Yamethin, Toungoo, Salin and Prome, with the bulk of their population Burman, put political pressure on Ava to transfer more power to provincial rulers. As early as the 1370s, the court abandoned the system of countrywide labor conscription, surrendering it instead to the provincial rulers. The garrison towns Toungoo, Taungdwingyi and Hlaingtet were classified as htaungpyumyo because they contributed a contingent of one thousand troops, while Pyi (Prome), Yamethin, Salin, Myinsaing, Pinlay and others were called yabyumyo, towns that provided hundreds of troops to the central administration in case of war (Zatapum, 95–99). An edict of King Sawke dated 19 June 1368 recognized the provincial rulers as Min (sovereign ruler). They were allowed to have a royal umbrella and live in a

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palace (thi:chon:nan:ne), meaning they were full sovereign rulers (ROB I, 151). The king at Ava called himself the king of kings (rajadhiraja), although his predecessors in the Pagan dynasty took the title Mingyi (mankri), which means great ruler (Pl. 10a, 1). The Shan Intrusions Despite the lack of contemporary sources, the foundation of the Tai Mao kingdom in the Shweli River (Lóngchuan) valley can be determined from fragmentary pieces of information in Burmese and local Shan chronicles. According to Shan traditions, the Shan (Tai) people first founded the city of Kenghung on the east bank of the Shweli River. King Khwan Ho-kham (literally, “lord of the golden palace”) divided his kingdom and sent his sons as viceroys to Momeik, Mogaung, Mohnyin, Mohlaing, and Mowun (Khaymeinda 1948, 51–71). The Ming reign chronicle (Míngshílù) states that during the rule of the Mongol dynasty both Lùchuan and Píng Mian in the Mao valley (Shweli River Valley) were under the control of Burma (Míngtàizushílù Ch. 86, Hóngwu 6–11). Luce dated the emergence of the Mao kingdom of Luchuan only to the fourteenth century on the basis that this is when the capital city Zhelán first appears in contemporary Chinese sources (Luce 1959a, 28). The Tai Mao kingdom under the rule of Si Kefa was so powerful that it ransacked the twin Burmese capitals of Pinya and Sagaing in 1364. The reign of the first emperor of the Ming dynasty, Hóng Wu, began in 1368 at Nanjing, but Yunnan continued to be under corrupt and weak Mongol provincial government until 1381. However, neither the Ming government nor the Mongols in Yunnan were able to pay attention to the growth of the Mao Shan kingdom that continuously threatened the southern territories. After the Ming conquest of Tali in 1381, Si Lúnfa immediately offered submission to the Ming generals, as did Daokam, the chief of Sipsong Panna ( Taìzushílù Ch. 143, Hóngwu 15–2; Ji Fúyi 1937, 1). All the Shan principalities, including Mohnyin and Mogaung, were incorporated into the powerful Mao kingdom of Luchuan in the late fifteenth century. Si Lunfa, though outwardly submissive to the Ming court, did not give up the policy of expansion begun by his grandfather Si Kefa. He invaded Sipsong Panna and Lan Na several times, later annexed Kale (Jialí) and brought the whole of northern Burma under his rule (Tàizushílù Ch. 155, Hóngwu 16; ibid Ch. 176, 18–12; ibid Ch. 180, 20–1; ibid Ch. 182, 20–5; ibid Ch. 188, 21–1; ibid 189, 21–3; ibid 190, 21–4; ibid 198, 22–11 Baiyízhuàn). At this point he posed an outright threat to Ava. In 1392 a Mao Shan army under the command of Tho Chi Bwa, probably Si Jifa, the chief of Mohnyin, attacked Myedu. The Ava army dispatched to defend the town was completely defeated and retreated in disarray. A subsequent military

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campaign under the command of the governor of Yamethin was able to defeat the invaders in a battle just a few kilometers north of Ava (UK I, 382–383). By now, King Sawke seemed to have found his kingdom vulnerable to the threat of Mao Shan. Seeking Chinese intervention in the matter, he sent missions to the Ming court. At the same time, the new dynasty of China was eager to establish formal relations with Ava. Three years after the establishment of the Ming administration, Emperor Hóng Wu sent a mission of four to Ava. However, the embassy could not proceed via Yunnan because the province was still under the control of the Mongols, so they took a route through Vietnam, Champa, Lan Na and Toungoo. As soon as they arrived in Vietnam, hostilities broke out between Vietnam and Champa, and they were stranded in Vietnam for two years. When Emperor Hóng Wu summoned them back, only one person returned, as the others had died on the way (Tàizushílù Ch. 86, Hóngwu 6–11). One year after the Mao Shan invasion of Ava, King Sawke was able to establish contacts with the Ming court. Although the Burmese sources are silent on the missions to the Ming court, Burmese emissaries led by Bannánsùcì (Pandhisithu?) arrived at the imperial court on 14 April 1393 after traveling through Lan Na, Sipswang Panna and Yunnanfu (Tàizushílù Ch. 226, Hóngwu 26–3). Another group arrived in December 1395 and the third came four months later to complain about the Mao Shan raids from Luchuan. The emperor sent two envoys, Li Sicong and Qián Gucong, to mediate in the dispute. They went to Ava first and brought a letter from King Swake requesting Chinese intervention. In the letter from the emperor to Si Lunfa, the Mao Shan king was warned against making inroads into the territory of Ava and threatened with punishment if there were cases of further aggression on the small and less populous states, which were also tributary to China (Tàizushílù Ch. 242 Hóngwu, 28–10; Ibid 244 Hóngwu 29). It is clear that the Chinese regarded Ava as only a petty tributary state, weaker than the Mao Shan kingdom. As described by Harvey, “Ava was a bedlam of snarling Shan states” for nearly a couple of centuries (Harvey 1967, 80). The policy of the Ming government to keep Yunnan and its southern and southwestern areas under effective control enabled Ava to survive as a Burmese kingdom, though tributary to Ming China. In 1397 a rebellion broke out in Mùbang and Si Lúnfa fled to Yunnan. The rebels were defeated by the Ming army, but the governor of Yunnan, Zhanghóng, took advantage of this incident to intervene and divide the Mao kingdom into separate principalities. As a result, the supremacy of Lù Chuan was reduced. Mùbang (Theinni) and Mèngyang (Mohnyin) became protectorates under the direct control of the Ming provincial government of Yunnan (Míngshi Ch. 314 Yúnnántusì-Lùchan; Tàizushílù Ch. 255, Hóngwu 30–9; ibid Ch. 256, 31–2; ibid 257, 31–50). From then onwards, Mao’s policy towards Ava changed and became ambivalent. The Mao leaders maintained friendly relations

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with Ava when the latter was strong and occasionally raided the northern plains when it was weak. There were two causes that led to the collapse of Shan power in northern Burma. First, Ming policy did not allow any Shan (Tai) state to grow stronger and form a united Shan kingdom in Yunnan or in the adjacent areas in northern Burma. Secondly, the Shans (Tai) could never demonstrate collective action in pursuit of national unification. The regional interest of the Shan people that viewed a müang as a fully independent unit kept the Shan principalities aloof from one another, whereas the Burmans considered central Burma their homeland, Mramma-mandhala or nuinnamto, meaning Burmese sovereign state (UK I, 361). In the 1420s, Luchuan again rebelled against the Ming government. Its ruler Si Rènfa annexed the territories of the neighboring tribes in the Salween Valley area (Míngshi Ch. 314, Yúnnántusì; Tàizushílù Ch. 136, Yonglè 11–1; ibid Ch. 254, 20–12; Xuanzongshílù Ch. 24, Xuandéyuán 1). The Shan chronicles give a brief account of his incursions into the Mu valley and the sudden attack on Myedu in 1426 (Khaymeinda 1948, 85). He devastated the villages in the Yongchang area in 1436. The Ming court ordered Mù Shéng, the commander in chief of imperial forces in Yunnan, to take necessary action against Si Renfa (Yingzongshílù Ch. 24, Zhèngtongyuánnián 11; ibid Ch. 35, 2–10). Si Renfa declared that he would send a tribute mission to the Ming court, apparently to delay the expedition. Mù Shéng believed him and did not cross the Salween to attack Lu Chuan (Míngshi Ch. 314 Yúnnántusì 2 Lùchuan). However, Si Renfa moved his army of 10,000 men, seized strategic positions in the Salween valley and constructed three hundred boats on the river bank (Yingzongshílù Ch. 44 Zhèngtang 3–7). A column of imperial forces under Commander Fang Zhèng advanced to attack the rebels. Surrounded by the Luchuan army in the northeast of Téngchang, Fang Zhèng’s army, consisting probably of no fewer than ten thousand men, was defeated and Fan Zheng himself was killed in battle. The defeat prompted the Ming government to establish itself more vigorously in Yunnan (Yingzongshílù Ch. 51, Zhèngtang 4–2; Míngshi Ch. 314 Yúnnántusì 2 Lùchuan). In 1441 Wáng Jì, the Minister of War, was sent as commander of a new expedition (Yingzongshílù Ch. 75, Zhèngtang 6–1). It is estimated that an army of 150,000 was recruited from many provinces for his campaign during the years 1441 and 1442 (Mínshi Ch, 314 Yúnnántusì 2 Lùchuan). According to his report to the emperor, in two engagements to the east of Téngchang his soldiers decapitated 50,000 Shan rebels and another 2,390 Shans in the battle of Shan Mù-lóng. Si Rénfa’s headquarters was captured and Wáng Jì declared on 26 January 1442 that his mission was accomplished (Yingzongshílù Ch. 88, Zhèngtang 7–1; ibid Ch. 88, Zhèngtang 7–7; Míngshi Ch. 315 Yúnnántusì 3 Miandian). The casualty figures reported by Wáng Jì were doubtless exaggerated. Despite this, they indicate how

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vigorously the Chinese had to quell the uprising, and demonstrate what a great threat the Mao kingdom was to Ava. Si Rènfa escaped to Mohnyin and was later arrested by Ava forces. A contemporary inscription dated 18 March 1442 states: Tho Ngan Bwa, the overlord of the ten umbrellas [ten vassal states] and the grandson of Tho Khin Bwa the lord of nine hundred thousand [soldiers?] was captured ( List. 934a, 22–25). Si Rén-fa was turned over to the Chinese. He was beheaded in the market place of Ava and his head was sent to Beijing (Mhannan II, 85–88; Yingzongshílù Ch. 136, Zhèngtang 10–12; ibid Ch. 239, Jingtài 5–3; Míngshi 315, Yúnnántusì 3 Miandian). After the fall of Luchuan, two sons of Si Rènfa, Si Jifa and Si Púfa, known to the Burmese as Tho Chi Bwa and Tho Pope Bwa, swore allegiance to King Narapati of Ava (r. 1443–1469) and were sent to Mohnyin and Mogaung as sawbwas (List. 939b, 19–20). Most of Si Rènfa’s followers seem to have taken refuge in Ava, leading to a population increase among the Shan in the vicinity of the royal capital. There was no place of refuge for the lieutenants of Si Renfa. The Lè chronicle tells of a Lè minister who escaped to Sipsong Panna, was executed by Si Lúnfa, and his head sent to the imperial court. As a result of this, Si Lúnfa was honored with the title “the person who guarded the Golden Gate of the Empire.” (Jì Fúyi 1937, 11) The Fall of Ava According to the Shan chronicles, Mogaung was the main gateway for Shan migration into Assam (Elias 1876, 41). This is indicated by the spread of Shan people called Tai Long (Great Shan), who speak the same dialect as those from Bhamo in the east, and from Mohnyin-Mogaung to Manipur and Assam (Scott and Hardiman 1921, 200). It is notable that both Mohnyin and Mogaung were situated on the trade route that connected Yunnan and India. It can therefore be assumed that Shan müangs like Mohnyin and Mogaung, though situated in narrow valleys of a mountainous region, by their command of the trade routes and access to human resources in the uplands, became so powerful that they could occasionally manipulate the court of Ava in this period. For instance, on three occasions during the fifteenth century, Mohnyin and Mogaung played the role of king-makers to the court of Ava. As F. K. Lehman (1967, 136) speculated, the hill tribes participated in a loose system of inter-group relations whose major focus was Burma proper. King Sawke and King Min Khaung I (r.1401–1422) had to rely on the Shan troops provided by Kale, Mohnyin, Mogaung and sometimes from Oungboung (Hsipaw) in their military expeditions to Hanthawadi in lower Burma. The Shan

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chiefs always joined Ava as equal allied powers, whereas the Burman provincial rulers participated because of their liability for military service (UK II, 5). The sawbwa of Mohnyin even proposed a demarcation between his domain and Ava, but on the advice of chief minister Wunzin Minyaza, King Swake ignored the proposal (Mhannan II, 59–67). The alliance between Ava and these Shan müangs was based on reciprocal dependency. The Shan chiefs seemed to have direct contacts with the Ava royal family. The Burmese chronicles often mention that some Shan chiefs were paramours of the queens of Ava. Probably Ava adopted a policy aimed at absorbing the Shan elites into the Burmese royal family. In 1426, King Thihhathu (r. 1422–1426) of Ava was assassinated in a palace intrigue masterminded by his chief queen, Shin Bo May, and her lover, sawbwa Kye-taung-nyo of Kale, who was put on the throne for a few months. However, Mohnyin Thado (r. 1427–1440), probably a Shan brought up in Mohnyin, came down with his army, defeated Kyetaung-nyo and ascended the throne (UK II, 54–55). Mohnyin Thado had to face dissent from the Burman provincial governors of Pinlay, Yamethin and Taungdwingyi, who persuaded the sawbwa of Oungboung (Hsipaw) to side with them. Finally, the sawbwa of Oungboung supported Mohnyin Thado and the dispute came to an end. Throughout the Ava period, Oungboung never recognized the king of Ava as its overlord. According to the chronicles, the sawbwa of Oungboung addressed the king of Ava as thway-thauk, which literally means ‘companion’ (UK I, 363). The Burmese chronicles repeatedly mention incidents of political unrest in Ava at the end of the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth centuries. The causes lay in the withdrawal of fealty by the Burman provincial governors and the perpetual intrusions of the Shans into the dry zone. The Ming dynasty chroniclers did not pay attention to the resurrection of the descendents of Si Rènfa, now ruling as the single entity, the merged Mohnyin and Mogaung. In contrast, their Burmese counterparts described the formation in the fifteenth century of a powerful kingdom under Mohnyin Salun (Sa Lun, Si Lún?), the grandson of Si Rènfa (Mhannan II, 105). From the beginning of the sixteenth century, Sa Lun began to expand his territory into the northern part of the Mu valley, incorporating Myedu. In 1506 he advanced to the south and attacked Dipeyin. Ava’s army was defeated and the king of Ava, Shwenan-kyaw-shin (r. 1502–1527), had to recognize Myedu and Ngayane as Shan territories. Sa Lun fortified Myedu as a base for further campaigns. After Mùbang (Theinni) was reduced by Sa Lun, Oungboung (Hsipaw) remained the only powerful Shan ally of Ava. In 1511, Si Lun attacked Oungboung. King Shwenan-kyawshin of Ava, at Oungboung’s request, opened the southern front against Mohnyin. Ava’s troops besieged Myedu. Sa Lun suddenly turned south and attacked the Burmese forces.

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Ava’s entire force of twelve battalions was defeated. King Shwenan-kyawshin narrowly escaped and made his way to Ava. Shwenan-kyawshin strengthened Mingin on the west bank of the Chindwin River in order to defend the Minbu (six khuruin) area. In 1523 and 1524, Sa Lun occupied the whole Mu Valley and destroyed all Burmese settlements on the banks of the Irrawaddy and Chindwin rivers. Finally, the city of Sagaing, opposite Ava on the bank of the Irrawaddy, was sacked and all the Burman people were taken north. Then the Shan Army crossed the Irrawaddy and occupied the larger Burmese cities like Pukan (Kukham) and Salin. At the end of 1524, the whole Minbu District (six khuruin) area was occupied and Sa Lun and his army temporarily stationed at Thayetmyo. Now the Mu valley, the Minbu, and all the trade routes that connected central Burma with China and India were under the control of Sa Lun of Mohnyin (Mhannan II, 126–128). From the six khuruin Sa Lun immediately threatened Pyi (Prome). After Prome offered submission to Sa Lun, Ava lost access to lower Burma through the Irrawaddy and became isolated. In 1526, Sa Lun finally attacked Ava and King Shwenan-kyawshin was killed in the battle. Sa Lun put his son Tho Han Bwa (Si Hongfa?) on the throne, and in this manner the Burmese kingship disappeared for three decades (Mhannan II, 130, 134–135). Ava under Shan Rule Under the rule of Shan kings, there was no institutional change in the Burmese system of government. All the ministers of the former king who offered submission were sent as governors to the Minbu and Kyaukse areas. Mingyi Yannaung, the nephew of King Shwenan-kyawshin, was appointed chief minister. According to the chronicles, Sa Lun said to Mingyi Yannaung: My son Tho Han Bwa does not know the Burmese ways and rules. Mingyi, you are trusted to be his chief minister to give him advice when you are consulted, so that he can rule the whole country peacefully. (Mhannan II, 138) Subsequently, only two Burman provinces, Toungoo and Prome, stood defiantly against Ava. Tho Han Bwa consulted Mingyi Yannaung about his plan to conquer these two provinces. The chronicles state: Mingyi Yannaung realized that Prome and Toungoo would not be able to withstand the Shan incursions. And he thought that if the Shans occupied them there would be no more Burman domains at all. He wished them to remain as Burman domains. He therefore

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said to Tho Han Bwa that Toungoo and Prome would be made to offer submission not by using force, but by admiration for the glory of the lord of Ava. Then he sent envoys to Toungoo and Prome and urged to send tribute mission to Ava. (UK II, 132) Toungoo and Prome agreed. They sent tribute missions, and at the same time Toungoo also strengthened its position. Mingyi Nyo, the ruler of Toungoo, destroyed all the dams and canals in Yelwe five khuruin, an important rice producing area in the south, lest the Shan should try to settle the area. After that, all the Burman people were brought into the city of Toungoo and its vicinity (UK II, 132). In Ava, the Shan elite set themselves apart from the Burmans with whom they coexisted in the administrative hierarchy. This system was minutely constituted and regulated by the Shan monarch and his Shan counsel. The permanent presence of Shan officials, as primus inter pares, at the court differentiated the Burman elites into subcategories. Although Burmese cultural values were sanctioned, the chronicles inform us that in administrative functions Shan aristocrats usually had a superior status (UK II, 137). The ethnic cleavage was widened by these tensions in the central bureaucracy. The way the Mao Shan elites established themselves at the court of Ava was different from that of the three Shan brothers who had skillfully adapted the changing social and political situations at the beginning of the fourteenth century. In Burman eyes, this action denigrated the traditional values of the Burman majority. The chronicles describe the situation: Tho Han Bwa, the king of Ava, was a ruthless ruler. He did not value human life. Nor did he show any respect for the Three Gems [Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha]. He destroyed the pagodas and images of Buddha and took the jewels enshrined in the religious monuments. He thought the Buddhist monks, who lived a life of celibacy with many followers, might arise in rebellion. As a precautionary measure, he planned to kill all the monks. (UK II, 135) In 1539, almost all the Buddhist monks in Ava and the Sagaing area were invited to an alms-giving ceremony and later brutally massacred. Those who survived fled to Toungoo and Prome. The monasteries were destroyed and Buddhist scriptures burnt. The Burmese chroniclers portrayed the incidents as the deadliest attacks on Buddhism in Burmese history (UK II, 135; Mhannan II, 142–143; List. 1073b, 8). Although we cannot draw a parallel with similar events in early medieval Europe, the scale of the attacks is reflected in Marc Bloch’s descriptions of the situation in Europe at the beginning of the feudal period: “...there was naught but towns emptied of their folks, monasteries razed to the ground or given to the flames.” (Bloch 1982, 3) Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The massacre of the monks prompted the Burmans to rebel and, under the leadership of Mingyi Yannaung, a revolt broke out in 1542. Tho Han Bwa and all his Shan ministers were assassinated. Although Mingyi Yannaung was elected king, he refused to ascend the throne. He may have doubted the strength of the Burmans in Ava to resist the possible Shan raids from the north. At his behest Khun Hmaing, the Shan chief of Oungboung, was invited to become the king of Ava. Oungboung had been a close ally of Ava until it fell into the hands of Shans from Mohnyin and its rulers had formed reciprocal marriage alliances with the kings of Ava. The Oungboung Shans were Buddhists and shared the most obvious identifying social, cultural and religious values with the people from Ava (Mhannan II, 145). Burmese sources do not indicate any Burman dissatisfaction with the rule of Shan kings from Oungboung. King Khun Hmaing (r.1543–1546) was succeeded by his son, the prince of Mobye, who took the Burmese title King Narapati (r. 1546–1552). Under his rule, most of the Shan elites in Ava seemed to have been completely drawn into the Burmese socio-cultural arena. The chronicles state: When Mobye Narapati ascended the throne in Ava, he was no longer in contact with his close Shan kindred in Oungboung. He did not like Shan ways of life and did not use Shan traditional paraphernalia any more. He finally entered into alliance with King Tabinshwehti [of Toungoo].” (Mhannan II, 149) In 1552 he was defeated by Sithu Kyawhtin, the Burman lord of Sagaing, who was supported with military aid from Mohnyin. Sithu Kyawhtin ruled Ava as a subordinate king of Mohnyin for three years, until he was deposed by King Bayinnaung of the Toungoo Dynasty in 1555 (Mhannan II, 149–150). Conclusion The facts documented by the chroniclers and used by European pioneers to reconstruct the history of Burma in this period are not mythical. There is no controversy among the chronicles about the assertion of Shan dominance in Burma in this period. However, we do not have any contemporaneous sources to substantiate the chroniclers’ account that Thihathu, the founder of the Pinya-Sagaing-Ava line of monarchy, was a Shan. There is no indication in the historiography that the European scholars were forced to create a picture of a dark age in Burmese history under the thumb of barbarous conquerors from the highlands. It was true that Thihathu’s successors considered themselves members of the same elite who inherited the political legacy of the Pagan dynasty. They also developed a common racial consciousness by the process of socio-cultural interaction.

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The southward infiltration of Shans could be seen as closely related to the political strategy of founding a Shan empire with its center in the Shweli River valley and was probably economically motivated, to control the trade routes and rice-producing lowland areas. For nearly two centuries the Burmese kingdom had precariously survived the territorial expansion of both the Mao Shans of Luchuan in the Shweli valley and the Mohnyin Shans. The assimilation of Shans in the Irrawaddy valley into Burmese society and the export of Burmese cultural norms, especially to the eastern Shan princedoms such as Oungboung and Theinni, was successful, although the western Shans seem to have maintained strong cultural affinities with the Tai peoples in Assam and Manipur until the Burmese conquest of all these Shan müang in the reign of King Bayinnnaung (r.1551–1581). Although the three Shan leaders, the founders of the Ava dynasty (c. 1300–1364), and the Shan chiefs of Oungboung, as elected kings in Ava (1533–1555), showed a strong sense of community with Burmese society and desire to adopt Burmese sociocultural traditions, the Shan invaders from Mohnyin-Mogaung and their leader King Tho Han Bwa (r. 1527–1533) were hostile to the Burman communities at Ava. Indeed, they attacked Buddhism, brutally assassinating Buddhist monks, burning Buddhist scriptures and destroying religious buildings. These tragic events forced most Burman and non-Burman inhabitants of central Burma to flee south. Acronyms Used in the Paper BE JBRS JSS List. Mhannan Pl.

ROB UB UK ZOK

Burmese era Journal of the Burma Research Society The Journal of the Siam Society Duroiselle, Charles.1921. A List of Inscriptions Found in Burma. Rangoon: Government Press. 1967. Mhannan-Mahayazwindawgyi 3 vols. Rangoon: Pyigyi Mandine Press. Plate Number in Pe Maung Tin and Luce, G.H. 1933–1957. Inscriptions of Burma. Five Portfolios. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933–1957. Than Tun, ed. 1983. Royal Orders of Burma. Vol. I. Kyoto: Kyoto University, Center for Southeast Asian Studies. 1900. Inscriptions Collected in Upper Burma. Rangoon: Government Press. Kala, U. 1960. Mahayazawingyi. Vol. I and II. Rangoon: Burma Research Society. Pe Maung Tin and Furnivall, J.S., eds, 1960. Zambhudipa-OksaungKyam. Rangoon: Burma Research Society.

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Bibliography Aung Thwin, Michael.1998. Myth and History in the Historiography of Burma. Ohio University Center for International Studies. Southeast Asia Series 102. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Bennet, Paul. J. 1971. Conference Under the Tamarind Tree; Three Essays in Burmese History. New Haven: Yale University Press. Bloch, Marc. 1982. Feudal Society. Vol. I, II. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Chen Yi Sein. 1972. Sino-Burmese Peace Negotiation at the end of Chi-yuan Period of the Yuan Dynasty. Shiroku. Kagoshima: Kagoshima University Press. 5: 35–41. Duroiselle, Charles. 1921. A List of Inscriptions Found in Burma. Rangoon: Government Press. Elias, Nay. 1876. Introductory Sketch of the History of Shans in Upper Burma and Western Yunnan. Calcutta: Government Press. Harvey, G.E. 1967. History of Burma. London: Frank Cass Company. Hla Tin, U. ed. 1960. Zatapum Yazawin. Rangoon: Department of Archaeological research. Kala, U. 1960. Mahayazawingyi. Vols. I, II. Rangoon: Hanthawaddy Press. Khaymeinda, U. 1948. Momeik Yazawinthit. Taunggyi: Padethayit Press. Johnson, Allen W. and Earle, Timothy. 2000, 2nd ed.. The Evolution of Human Societies. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Leach, E.R. 1964. Political Systems of Highland Burma. London: University of London. Luce, G.H. 1954. Chin Hill Linguistic Tour. Journal of the Burma Research Society. 42(1): 43–65. . 1958. Early Syam in Burma’s History. The Journal of the Siam Society. 46(1): 123–213, . 1959a. Geography of Burma under Pagan Dynasty. Journal of the Burma Research Society. 42(1): 31–51. .1959b. Notes on the Peoples of Burma in the 12th - 13th Century AD. Journal of the Burma Research Society. 42(1): 52–74. . 1959c. Old Kyaukse and the Coming of Burmans. Journal of the Burma Research Society. 42(1): 75–109. . 1969. Old Burma–Early Pagan. Vol. I. New York: J.J. Augustin. .1985. Phrases of Pre-Pagan Burma. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mahasithu, Twinthintaikwun.1968. Twinthin-Myanmar-Yazawinthit. Rangoon: Mingala Press.

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Maung Maung Tin, U. 1963. Myanmarmin-Okchokpum-Satam. Vol. II. Rangoon: Government Press. . 1967. Mhannan Yazawindawgyi. Vols. I, II. Rangoon: Pyidaungsu Press. Pe Maung Tin, U and Furnivall, J.S. eds. 1960. Zanbhudipa-Oksaung-Kyam. Rangoon: Burma Research Society. Pe Maung Tin, U and Luce, G.H. 1933–1957. Inscriptions of Burma. Five portfolios. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Scott, J. George and Hardiman, J.P. 1901. Gazetteer of Upper Burma and the Shan States. Part I. Rangoon: Government Press. Than Tun. 1968. Nayhleyazawin. Vol. I. Rangoon: Nanttha Press. . ed. and tr. 1983. Royal Orders of Burma. Vol. I. Kyoto: Kyoto University . 2003. Myanmar-Thamaing-Shadawpum. Rangoon: Daung Sarpay. Weber, Max. 1978. Economy and Society. Vol. I. New York: University of California Press. Chinese Sources Jì Fúyi. 1937. Lèshi. Kunming: Shíerban-naquánshudiàn.

[Míngshílù]

[Míngshï]

[Yuáncháozhengmiänlù]

[Yuánshï]

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WHIRLIGIG OF DIPLOMACY: A TALE OF THAI-PORTUGUESE RELATIONS, 1613–9 Kennon Breazeale

Abstract The oldest-known handwritten document in the Thai language is in the Bodleian Library in Oxford. It is a message sent in 1616 to the Portuguese viceroy in Goa. This paper discusses the document in terms of Thai concerns with military security at that time and in the context of numerous diplomatic missions, extending from Japan and China to South Asia and Europe. This research began as an identification and translation of the oldest-known Thai manuscript, which belongs to the Bodleian Library of the University of Oxford. Transcriptions of the text in modern type (Prasan 1960 and Kongkaew 1996) and photographs of the original manuscript (Kongkaew 1996: 57 and Ginsburg 2000: 21) have been published. The identification is obvious from internal evidence in the text itself: it is a diplomatic message from a Thai king in Ayutthaya to a Portuguese viceroy in Goa. The subjects specified in the text are relatively minor: a general statement about friendly official relations and assurances about freedom to trade and inheritance of property. But a translation would not be very helpful without an explanation of the diplomatic mission for which the message was written, and some indication of what the diplomats were supposed to accomplish. Most historians would not understand the context in which the document was written, partly because the message itself does not mention the foremost diplomatic concerns of either the Thai court or the viceroy. Is This Episode Important? The Bodleian manuscript is the only Thai record of a mission carried out by three Thai ambassadors and a young royal page, who went to India four centuries ago. They expected to sail onward to Portugal aboard a ship of the annual Portuguese fleet, but never went beyond the capital of the viceroy at Goa. Eventually their host sent them home, with apologies and excuses for not providing passage to Europe. They happened to be in Goa at the same time as rival ambassadors from the king of Burma, who had recently been at war with the Portuguese, was at that moment at war with the Thai, and was seeking Portuguese help to launch a war Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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against another enemy: the kingdom of Arakan. To complicate matters, less than a half year earlier, the Portuguese themselves had attacked Arakan unsuccessfully, and the Arakanese had subsequently massacred a Portuguese garrison. Moreover, ambassadors from Arakan soon arrived in Ayutthaya with proposals for a joint campaign against their common enemy: the Burmese. In the midst of these dealings, ambassadors of the European Catholic powers (Portugal and Spain), who were at war with the Dutch, arrived at the Thai court, in the hopes of persuading King Song Tham to ban all Protestant traders from his realm. From the Thai viewpoint, this tale is interesting more for its intrigue than for its results. It is not surprising that no mention of these entanglements can be found in Thai records, and very little is included in modern historical studies, because there was no outcome of international importance. A lot of diplomatic activity took place but ended in a few changes of benefit only to the Portuguese residents of Thai ports and to other petty traders. The office of the head of the Portuguese community in Ayutthaya was recognised by both governments as an institution for future dealings between Thai officials and Portuguese residents and visiting traders. Procedures were established for inheritances passing from a Portuguese trader, who died in the kingdom, to his children and other heirs. Portuguese merchants in Melaka were encouraged to visit the Thai capital, and Ayutthaya’s merchants were urged to reciprocate by trading in Melaka. Promises were made by both sides that trading conditions for these merchants would be improved. All these changes were potentially a boon to the traders but were not matters of national concern. Indeed, the trade itself is almost undocumented, and the traders are nearly invisible players in this aspect of Thai economic history. This paper thus recounts a brief but event-filled episode in social and economic history, and fills a small gap in the historical record of this poorly chronicled decade in Ayutthaya’s history. Relations with the Portuguese were the earliest by far of contacts between the Thai court and Europeans. These relations began in 1511 and have been treated in numerous publications, although in sparse detail. By contrast, historians of Thailand have written extensively about the brief period from 1684 to 1688, when the Thai and French sovereigns exchanged a series of embassies. The French adventures likewise came to nought, and yet are the subject of seemingly endless research and commentary, because so much documentation is available in French and English, and because so many historians of Thailand are able to work in both those languages. Also, that documentation has been much more accessible to Thai researchers than is the documentation about Portuguese relations with Ayutthaya, much of which has been little explored. The imbalance of detail in the Thai annals for the House of Sukhothai is striking. The reigns of the first two kings (Maha Thamma Racha 1569–90 and

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Naresuan 1590–1605) are recorded in great detail, largely in terms of the military operations of that period, especially the successive operations against the Burmese from 1585 to 1605. By contrast, the other five kings are scarcely chronicled at all. Few details of political events and no dates at all are recorded for the reign of Ekathotsarot (1605 to probably early 1611, although the exact date of his death has not yet been determined). Almost nothing is known about the young Si Saowaphak (a very short reign, perhaps only days, in early 1611), except his overthrow and execution by an older half-brother of lesser rank. Most curious of all, the reign of Song Tham (1611–28), second-longest of the dynasty, receives only a few entries in the Thai chronicles, in spite of the great changes that took place in domestic and foreign affairs, particularly during the first decade of his rule. The Royal Autograph version of the annals devotes fewer than three pages to the reign (Royal Autograph 1973 ii: 1–4, Cushman 2000: 208–10). In addition to the king’s accession and death, the Thai annalists mention only seven subjects: the appointment and death of the heir apparent, a rebellion by Japanese guards, the construction of a building to house a Buddha image, the Burmese attack on Tenasserim, the construction of a site for royal cremations, the Sacred Footprint in Saraburi and the compilation of royal editions of two Buddhist texts. Why is Song Tham’s reign so poorly recorded in the Thai annals? Did no one bother to write down anything about the whole period 1605–28 until much later, perhaps as late as 1680, when King Narai ordered the compilation of an abbreviated annal (Prasoet 1963)? Could no one remember, by that time, any other events of importance that had taken place during the last five reigns of the House of Sukhothai? Had few written records survived up to the time the detailed annals of the reign were compiled? The gap in the Thai records is even more puzzling, when considering that the third and fifth sovereigns of the dynasty were, respectively, the great-grandfather and maternal grandfather of King Narai. He was born only five years after his grandfather died, and he must have heard stories about that reign from his mother, other palace ladies and government officials. Given King Narai’s keen interest in history, it seems probable that detailed records were indeed compiled in his reign, if not before, and that they ultimately disappeared in the destruction of Ayutthaya in 1767. In the near-absence of Thai records, historians must look abroad when trying to document most of the reign of Song Tham. Japanese records provide details of the diplomatic exchanges between Japan and Ayutthaya, and some Japanese trading activities, but tell us little of domestic Thai affairs (Satow 1885 and Nagazumi 1999). Chinese records document the Thai tribute missions to Beijing but nothing of substance about Ayutthaya itself (Wade 1994). English records (for example, Danvers 1896 and Foster 1897–1902) provide much detail about English trading in Ayutthaya and some information about Thai affairs, but nothing about

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the Portuguese-Thai diplomatic exchanges. Dutch records are outlined by Smith (1977) and will surely yield much additional detail not recorded elsewhere. Danvers (1894) attempted to describe Thai-Burmese relations in the 1610s using published Portuguese records available in his day, but much that he says about Thai-Burmese and Portuguese-Thai relations is inaccurate and should be treated with caution. The near-contemporary account compiled by Joost Schouten in 1636 provides far more detail about Song Tham’s reign than the Thai records do. His discussion of the troubled early years of the reign, however, is very brief, and his assertions about Portuguese-Thai relations may be inaccurate, misleading and tinged with Protestant Dutch prejudices. The history of the kings of Ayutthaya compiled by Jeremias van Vliet in 1640 provides another brief sketch of the reign. During the period from 1615 to 1619, there were continuous exchanges of envoys between the court of King Song Tham in Ayutthaya and the viceroy and council of the Portuguese government in Goa. These may have been the first intensive exchanges since the flurry of diplomatic exchanges that followed the initial Portuguese contact with the court of Ayutthaya in 1511. This period also marks a high point in cordial relations, preceded by a long interval in the final decades of the 1500s, when the Portuguese carefully maintained their contacts with the Burmese at the port of Pegu, relegating the Thai to a distant secondary position. Early Ayutthaya’s Western Buffer For nearly two centuries after its founding in 1351, the Thai kingdom of Ayutthaya enjoyed relative security along its western borders. The Mon kingdom of Ramanyadesa extended across the northern and north-eastern coastlines of the Andaman Sea, from the Irrawaddy delta east to Martaban (on the estuary of the Salween, Thoung-yen and Zami rivers) and then southward. The Tenasserim range, running north-to-south, provided a natural mountainous frontier between the Mon and Thai kingdoms. Farther down the Andaman Coast, the Thai gained control of Tenasserim in the mid-1400s and began to develop the anchorages there as a gateway to the Indian Ocean and its innumerable ports. Descriptions of the early 1500s portray Tenasserim as a prosperous destination for traders, and the Mon capital at Pegu as an even richer trading centre. To judge from the annals of the Mon and Thai, their relationship was relatively peaceful. This quiet coexistence ended abruptly in the 1540s, after the Mon kingdom was conquered by the Burmese, who moved their capital from the deep interior of the Irrawaddy basin to Pegu, in the newly acquired coastal territory. The Burmese then attempted to add the lower Chao Phraya basin (Ayutthaya’s territory) to their expanding empire, but the initial attempt in late 1548 and early 1549 failed, and the Burmese armies withdrew after an unsuccess-

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ful siege of Ayutthaya. The second attempt was only partly successful, ending in a negotiated surrender by the Thai in early 1564, followed by the withdrawal of Burmese forces. The third attempt brought Ayutthaya fully under Burmese control in 1569, after a long siege. For the next decade and a half, the newly installed Thai monarch, first of the House of Sukhothai, ruled a weakened kingdom, which had lost much of its populace and was reduced to dependency status. Early in the reign of the next Burmese king, however, the Thai renounced their allegiance and severed their ties with the Burmese court. The Thai defended themselves successfully against a series of Burmese attacks, beginning in 1585. The final Burmese invasion was repelled by the Thai in early 1593, and no further attempts were made. During the next few years the Burmese empire weakened, many of the non-Burmese dependencies renounced their allegiance and some of the Burmese princes made their respective fiefs effectively independent. At the turn of the century, the great centre of empire came under siege, and Pegu itself was sacked by an army under the command of the king’s first cousin, who in turn came under siege by Thai forces, now on the offensive and in alliance with the Burmese king’s half-brother, who had been appointed as king of Lan Na and ruled at Chiang Mai. When Pegu first came under attack, one of the besiegers was the king of Arakan, who brought his naval forces around from the coast facing the Bay of Bengal, and landed on the coast south of the Burmese capital. Portuguese adventurers and their ships were among his auxiliaries, and they took up positions at Syriam, on the coast near modern Rangoon. The Arakanese fleet eventually withdrew, but the Portuguese stayed. They soon made themselves independent of their patron, and the fort at Syriam (near modern Rangoon) eventually became one of the many Portuguese forts along the shores of the Indian Ocean, controlled by the Portuguese viceroy from his base at Goa. From the viewpoint of the Thai court at Ayutthaya, these changes restored the security along the western frontier, which had long been beneficial to the Thai. During the final offensive in early 1600 against Pegu, Thai forces arrived too late to join in the sack of the city, but they succeeded in bringing the Mon territory around Martaban under their control. At the end of the campaign, the Thai claimed suzerainty over the Andaman coastline as far north as Martaban. Beyond that point and to the west, the Portuguese had effective command of the coast. The Mon territory and the Portuguese fort created a buffer region, which separated the Thai from the Burmese, just as the old Mon kingdom had done. This arrangement lasted for more than a decade. During that time, however, Anauk-hpet-lun, a nephew of the last king of Pegu brought the heartland of Burma in the interior under his control, together with some of the Tai-speaking dependencies that had broken away. In March 1613 his forces captured Syriam (Bocarro 1876: 153, Guedes 1994: 146 n. 158), and the Mon governor of Martaban, receiving no protection from the Thai,

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had no choice but to proclaim allegiance to him. The Burmese were, once again, on the fringes of Thai territory. The Thai court had little time to ponder the sudden disappearance of its western buffer. Burmese forces moved down the coast and took up positions at Ye; Thai-controlled forces came up from Tavoy to attack them; then Burmese reinforcements arrived and attacked Tavoy (Thien 1911: 71). In January 1614, a Burmese fleet sailed south and attacked Tenasserim, intending to eject the Thai from their main stronghold on the west coast of the peninsula. But the plan faltered as the small Burmese vessels moved into the bay. Under ordinary circumstances, they would have confronted Thai vessels that were comparable to their own in design and firepower, and perhaps they hoped for the additional advantage of surprise. But the Thai were forewarned and solicited the help of Portuguese traders, who happened to be in port. The Portuguese readily agreed to reinforce the defences of the port, no doubt partly to take vengeance for the slaughter of fellow Portuguese at Syriam less than a year earlier. More importantly they risked the loss of their own ships and merchandise to the Burmese. If the Portuguese claims are to be believed, four Portuguese merchant galliots led the attack on the invading Burmese fleet and repelled it.1 The Burmese did not make another attempt in this direction.2 Instead, Anaukhpet-lun was occupied with a major campaign into the interior. He set out from Martaban in the lunar month of Vaisakha (10 April to 9 May 1614) for Chiang Mai (Thien 1911: 73). Why did he wait until so late in the dry season to leave Martaban? There are several possible explanations. He may have assumed he could take possession of Chiang Mai quickly, spend the rainy season there while putting in place new leaders loyal to him and depart early in the dry season before the end of 1614. Or, there may have been delays in the mobilisation, and perhaps his forces were unable to reach Martaban sooner. But was the real reason an abrupt change of plan? On this point, we can only conjecture, in an attempt to explain why the Thai court was in such great alarm at this time.

1

See Bocarro 1876: 186. The various versions of the Thai annals reveal absolutely nothing of the events discussed in this paper, except for the 1614 naval attack—which is recorded erroneously as a Burmese victory (Cushman 2000: 209). 2 According to van Neijenrode (1871: 288), Burmese from Ava and Lao from Lan Sang jointly attacked Ayutthaya in February 1615 but did not succeed. Van Neijenrode worked at the Dutch trading office in Ayutthaya during 1611–2 and 1617–21. His report was probably compiled in 1621, and he was not in Ayutthaya during 1615. He cited the wrong year for the invasion of Lao forces from Lan Sang (which took place in early 1612), and the wrong year for the Burmese attack on Tenasserim (which took place in January 1614). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The Burmese generals may have planned a campaign entirely different from the one they actually fought. No doubt they expected an easy victory in midJanuary 1614 at Tenasserim. At that juncture, they could have sent reinforcements to Tenasserim, who would have proceeded overland to the Gulf and then northward. This column could have joined, in a pincer movement against Ayutthaya, with other troops proceeding from Martaban across the hills to the central Ping River and then south down-river. A third column could have taken the more difficult route by way of the Three Pagodas border crossing and then marched east to Ayutthaya. The defeat of the Burmese flotilla in January 1614 may have forced the generals to change their strategy entirely and to move instead into the Tai kingdom of Lan Na. Anauk-hpet-lun’s first cousin, Min-yè Deik-ba, was king of Chiang Mai. At the end of 1612, he had sent envoys to the Thai court,3 but he had died during the next year or in early 1614. The deceased king’s younger brother, Thado-kyaw, succeeded and, according to one of the Chiang Mai annals (Wyatt and Wichienkeeo 1995: 125), a rebellion arose against him. The Burmese king must have regarded this succession struggle as an opportunity to intervene and restore Burmese suzerainty over Lan Na. Shortly before the 1614 rainy season, he led his forces from Martaban, went to Chiang Mai and entered the city without a battle. He also received the allegiance of the king of Nan. Officials in Nan may have allied themselves with the Burmese partly as a safeguard against further threats from the Lao of Lan Sang, who had invaded Nan’s territory at the end of the 1613 rainy season but had been beaten off (Saratsawadi 1996: 22). The campaign to gain control of Lan Na did not end quickly. Thado-kyaw and his Lan Na forces held out in the fortified town of Lampang, where the Burmese became bogged down in a long but eventually successful siege, in which Thado-kyaw died (Thien 1911: 74). After installing the king of Nan as the new ruler of Chiang Mai, and placing the new king’s brother in charge of Nan, Anaukhpet-lun left Chiang Mai by the end of May 1615 and returned to Pegu.4 He had devoted more than a year to the campaign. About this time, he discovered that the Thai had stolen a march on him and were already deeply engaged in renewing their relations with the Portuguese and negotiating an alliance against him.

3

Letter, Marten Houtman (at Ayutthaya) to Heynrick Janssen (at Patani), 26 December 1612 [5 January 1613 in the Gregorian calendar] in Thaemsuk 1969: 39–40. 4 Other annals (Sitthi 1972: 55–6 and Ratchasomphan 1994: 69–70) provide different perspectives of these events but no additional political details. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Thai-Portuguese Exchanges of Embassies, 1615–9 A century earlier, when Portuguese forces first arrived in Southeast Asian waters in 1511, the commander immediately sent representatives to seek friendly relations with the Thai king. A series of diplomatic exchanges continued into the 1520s, and thereafter Portuguese-Thai contacts were limited mainly to private trading by the Portuguese and contacts with the Captain of Melaka—that is, the office of the Portuguese official who governed the tiny enclave on the lower west coast of the Malay peninsula, under the supervision of the viceroy in Goa. Ayutthaya did not become a port of call for the great Portuguese crown ships that sailed from India by way of Melaka to Macau and Japan. Instead, the Captain of Melaka sent his ships there, or gave permits to private traders to go there, and some Portuguese traders settled in Ayutthaya and other Thai market centres. The number of permanent Portuguese residents in Ayutthaya appears to have been very small during the wartime years of the 1580s and 1590s, but it must have increased a little after the Portuguese gained control of Syriam and shipping became regular again to Thai ports on the Andaman coast. Thus, when King Song Tham came to the throne in 1611, the Portuguese were regarded as a friendly power, although no diplomatic exchange had taken place in living memory.5 Almost immediately after news of the fall of Portuguese Syriam reached Ayutthaya, the king and his ministers formulated a plan to restore the defensive buffer. The Thai were correct in supposing that the Portuguese would consider a new and more easily defensible site for a fort to replace the one they had lost, and that the Burmese slaughter of the Syriam garrison had made the Burmese bitter enemies in the eyes of the Portuguese. In fact, neither assumption had any practical value except in the very short term. But the Thai proposal was attractive enough to capture Portuguese attention and hold it for several years. With the town of Martaban as the centrepiece of his plan, King Song Tham offered to cede some territory at this port, where the Portuguese could build a fort and maintain a garrison. The offer was sweetened by a pledge to supply Thai land and naval forces to assist in the defence of the fort, if it came under attack by the Burmese. In return, the Thai

5

Jacques de Coutre (Jacob van de Coutere) arrived in Ayutthaya in mid-1595, on a ship sent by the Portuguese Captain of Melaka. He accompanied a Dominican missionary who had been sent to Melaka the previous year by King Naresuan on official business. On its return to Melaka, the Portuguese ship was accompanied by one of the king’s junks, carrying his envoys to the Captain of Melaka (Coutre 1991: 127). There may be other examples of official representatives sent by the Captains of Melaka to the Thai court, and vice-versa, but these contacts were for trading purposes and had no diplomatic character. In 1595 King Naresuan was considering the possibility of an embassy to Portugal, which would have included the son of his foreign minister and a Portuguese missionary (Coutre 1991: 120), but no such mission was ever sent. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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expected the arrangement to provide a bulwark against future Burmese incursions into Thai territory and also to enable the Thai to regain and maintain suzerainty over the Mon territory south of Martaban. The port itself was on a point of land in a large estuary, and could be reinforced across the narrow stretch of water from Moulmein on the opposite shore. Its strategic value to the Thai was that it blocked three major routes of invasion into Thai territory: first along one of the rivers (Thoung-yen to the Burmese, Moei to the Thai) and east across the hills to the middle Ping River valley, second to the south-east by way of the Three Pagodas border crossing and third along the coast to the south, thereby ensuring Thai suzerainty over Tavoy and Thai security at the busy port of Tenasserim. The Martaban plan was initially carried by a Thai official, who went from Ayutthaya to Tenasserim and then out on the Andaman Sea, in search of the Portuguese squadron that had been sent to save the garrison at Syriam. The squadron commander had arrived too late for that purpose and sailed south towards Melaka, and the Thai offer in 1614 never reached him. Later that year, King Song Tham decided to send a formal embassy, consisting of the customary three ambassadors. They arrived in Goa probably in early 1615 and presented the Martaban plan to the viceroy and his council.6 The Portuguese thought the offer was not precise enough and thus decided to appoint an envoy, who would accompany the Thai on their voyage home, would negotiate more precise details of the plan and would conclude a tentative agreement (Bocarro 1876: 517). At this juncture, encouraged by the Thai overture, the viceroy and his council formulated a much broader proposal for a political and commercial agreement between Portugal and the Thai, which the envoy would negotiate with the ministers at the Thai court. The man chosen for this mission was Francisco de Anunciação, a Dominican missionary. Father Francisco already had some knowledge of the Tai-speaking kingdoms and apparently had acquired some speaking knowledge of Tai dialects. He had sailed to Syriam in 1605 with a Portuguese squadron, and continued from

6

The Thai offer in 1615 was not the first time that officials in Goa and Lisbon had thought about Martaban as a potential Portuguese site. The idea of a Portuguese fort there, to reinforce the nearby Syriam fortress, was taken into consideration in Lisbon as early as 1607, when the viceroy was instructed to report on Martaban (letter, king to Belchior Dias Preto, 15 October 1607 in BFUP 1960 16: 848; see also letter, king to viceroy, 20 February 1610 in Pato 1880: 347). These orders could not have reached Goa until 1608. By that time, the Portuguese were firmly entrenched at Syriam, and it had been designated as a customs post for collecting duties from Portuguese trading ships plying the waters of the Andaman Sea. Also, the son of the Portuguese commander at Syriam married the daughter of the Martaban governor, thereby cementing relations with that area independently of the Thai court. The earlier Portuguese idea of a fort at Martaban thus receded into the background. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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there on an earlier diplomatic mission to the court of the king of Lan Na. The reason for that mission was to reach an agreement with King Min-nawra-hta-saw of Chiang Mai, who was a younger brother of the last king of Pegu and was regarded by the Portuguese as a legitimate heir to the Burmese throne. He gave a positive verbal reply to the Portuguese request to occupy Syriam and use it as a Portuguese crown fort, and that reply was interpreted by the Portuguese as a legal basis for their garrison at Syriam (Bocarro 1876: 133, 136). Now, almost a decade later, Father Francisco’s knowledge of Syriam, Martaban and the surrounding region, and his familiarity with court etiquette, made him a useful envoy to Ayutthaya. Father Francisco was in Ayutthaya during most of the second half of 1616 to discuss the Martaban plan, but he also had a list of other matters to discuss with Thai officials.7 When he left Ayutthaya near the end of November 1616, he was accompanied by a second formal Thai embassy. He reached Goa again in 1617. The three Thai ambassadors, and a royal page whom King Song Tham had sent with them, were carrying gifts and letters not only to the viceroy in Goa but also to King Filipe II of Portugal. They intended to continue on to Lisbon with the Portuguese fleet, which ordinarily sailed for home during January, February or March. By the time they reached Goa in early 1617, it was too late to accommodate them aboard the fleet. Only one ship from Portugal had reached Goa in late 1616,8 and space aboard the home-bound fleet must have been unusually limited. The Thai stayed in Goa for more than a year, but for reasons that are not clearly recorded, they were still unable to continue on to Portugal. Eventually they were escorted back to Ayutthaya by another representative of the viceroy.

7

The dates of Father Francisco’s arrival in Ayutthaya and his return to Goa are not recorded. According to Teixeira (1961 ii: 65, 122), the party left Goa on 3 March 1616 and attended the twenty-fifth birthday celebration for Song Tham in April 1616. But Teixeira cites Bocarro, and Bocarro (1876: 517) also includes the text of Viceroy Azevedo’s letter to King Song Tham, dated 28 April 1616. Possibly orders were given on 3 March to equip a ship, whereas the party did not leave Goa until after the letter was prepared. April was the best sailing season for reaching Melaka, and the voyage usually took about a month. The party may thus have reached Ayutthaya in June or July 1616, sailing from Melaka on the best north-bound winds, which blow during those months. In any case, a ship bound for Siam could leave Melaka as late as July or August (Flores 1995: 89, n. 29), and the Melaka-Ayutthaya voyage should have taken no longer than half a month, given good winds typical of that season. It seems safe to assume that Father Francisco arrived no later than July 1616 and that he spent at least four full months in Ayutthaya, departing about 20 November at the beginning of the season of south-bound winds. In that case, he could have reached Goa by the end of January on the good west-bound winds from Melaka. 8 Letter, viceroy to king, 29 December 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 858. Note that few full texts are published in the BFUP. Most entries are inventories of documents with abstracts of the contents. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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In the meantime, the viceroy had sent a report to Lisbon concerning the Martaban plan. The cycle of reporting and receiving instructions was a lengthy one, because ship departures and arrivals were determined by the prevailing winds. Typically a report left Goa in the first quarter of the year and reached Lisbon about six months later. The reply typically left Lisbon about March or April the next year and, at the very earliest, might reach Goa in the first days of September. The viceroy’s initial report concerning the Martaban plan was considered in Lisbon, and instructions were sent, authorising him to make a decision, if the Thai offer appeared to be advantageous to the Portuguese government, rather than delaying for another year and a half, while his next report and instructions were en route to and back from Portugal. Prior to the arrival in Goa of an embassy from Burma at the end of 1616, the viceroy was still contemplating the renewed possibility of a fortress at Martaban. He had instructed Father Francisco earlier in the year to discuss with Thai officials an offensive alliance for a joint Portuguese-Thai attack against their common enemy, including the recovery of Thai control in the Martaban region (Bocarro 1876: 520–1). Even after meeting the ambassadors from Burma, the viceroy was still keeping his options open for advantageous alliances. He must have been encouraged by the January 1615 instructions from King Filipe II, expressing the hope that Syriam could be re-occupied. The viceroy appears to have replied cautiously to this hope as late as December 1616 (after receiving the Burmese embassy but before Father Francisco arrived with the second Thai embassy), pointing out that the port of Martaban had more advantages for a fortress than Syriam did.9 But in another letter, which likewise left for Lisbon with the fleet in early 1617, he recommended maintaining friendly relations with both the Thai and the Burmese and avoiding giving any offence to either,10 which suggests that he had personally, although not yet officially, rejected the Martaban plan. Meanwhile, by the time that the March 1617 instructions were written in Lisbon, King Filipe II had accepted the permanent loss of the Syriam fortress as well as the arguments against the Martaban plan. Identical conclusions seem to have been reached independently, in both Goa and Lisbon. King Song Tham did not, after 1613, have any control over Martaban, and accepting his offer would have been tantamount to starting a war with the Burmese. Although the Portuguese had been stung by the Burmese capture of Syriam, that action had to be considered not only in the context of the strategic value of Syriam as a fort (which appears to have been minimal) but also and more importantly in terms of Melaka’s food supplies. Melaka had always been

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Letter, viceroy to king, 29 December 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 855. Letter, king to viceroy, 17 January 1618 in Pato 1893: 260. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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dependent on the rich agricultural areas along the coast in the region of Martaban, and for that reason alone, the Portuguese regarded friendly relations with the Burmese as an essential pillar of their security policy. Ejecting the Burmese from Martaban would have created a perpetual problem for defence against the Burmese and for secure shipping. Thus nothing further was said about the Martaban plan. By this time the Thai court must have ceased to be alarmed about potential Burmese attacks, lost interest in the proposal and did not pursue it. Francisco de Anunciação’s 1616 Embassy to Ayutthaya The Thai annals tell us nothing of any of these diplomatic exchanges. The correspondence of the English trading post in Ayutthaya has been published, and it documents extensively the activities of the merchants of the English East India Company during this period, but does not mention Father Francisco. The records of the Dutch trading post may contain some relevant information not yet published. These are the only sources for this period other than the Portuguese records, and we must therefore rely on Portuguese sources for most of the details concerning this interlude of friendly diplomatic exchanges.11 The only mission that is well documented is Father Francisco’s, and fortunately some additional information about it can be drawn from the sole record from this year in Thai—which may be the oldest handwritten document in the Thai language. The purpose of the first Thai embassy to Goa (1615–6) was to negotiate a defensive alliance, in which the Portuguese would fortify Martaban and, with Thai reinforcements during emergencies, would subsequently defend the Salween estuary. The Portuguese fort was envisaged by the Thai as a buffer to prevent Burmese forces from using the western approaches into Thai territory. The Portuguese expressed interest in this plan, as indicated in the formal letter from Viceroy Jerónimo de Azevedo to King Song Tham, dated 28 April 1616 (see the appended transcription). But the immediate concerns of the viceroy and his council

11

Contemporary, first-hand Portuguese sources, moreover, are limited to official correspondence. There seems little hope of finding missionary records for this entire period. The last Dominican priests left Ayutthaya by 1605, and no others seem to have been sent there until 1640. A single Augustinian visited in the mid-1580s, and no others went to Ayutthaya for nearly a century. During King Ekathotsarot’s reign, only three missionaries are known. A Jesuit worked in Ayutthaya for about two years and died in Tenasserim. Two Franciscans (André do Espírito Santo and André da Santa Maria) worked in Ayutthaya throughout the reign. The first died in 1611, and the second was still there in 1616, when Father Francisco visited for a few months as envoy of the viceroy. Unfortunately the Franciscan archives in Rome were destroyed, and those in Goa have disappeared. The fact that Ayutthaya had only only one resident priest during the first half of Song Tham’s reign suggests that the Portuguese community in the city was small. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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lay elsewhere. The letter does not specify what these concerns were, although it indicates that Father Francisco was fully empowered to explain and negotiate them. His mission to Ayutthaya in 1616 was in fact to seek three concessions from the Thai government as part of the renewed friendly relations between the two powers. First, the Portuguese were concerned with trading conditions. King Song Tham agreed to give duty-free privileges to Portuguese ships and to allow the Portuguese to trade without hindrance in Thai ports. Traders based in Thai ports had stopped going to Melaka some time earlier, because they were dissatisfied with the way the Portuguese authorities treated them. The discussions about this problem ended with Thai assurances that the traders would be encouraged to resume shipping to Melaka. If Thai crown ships called at Melaka, they presumably received reciprocal duty-free trading privileges, although that point is not specified in the records. While Father Francisco was in Ayutthaya, some trading on the new basis was carried out by a captain-merchant, who was sent by the Captain of Melaka to accompany the embassy. Whether this trade became established with any regularity in the succeeding years is a matter of conjecture. It probably remained very limited, partly because Melaka was under pressure from Lisbon to discontinue the customary practice of duty-free trading by ambassadors, who visited the port as representatives of Southeast Asian sovereigns (Pinto 1997: 146). Second, the viceroy and his council wanted to improve social conditions for Portuguese residents and traders and to resolve some injustices. Sixty or seventy Portuguese prisoners, about half of whom were Luso-Asians, were brought to Ayutthaya as prisoners in April 1613.12 They came overland from Tenasserim and may have been captured in March during the fighting along the west coast. Father Francisco must have received instructions to assist them. During his voyage to Ayutthaya, he received some details about grave injustices committed by a Thai governor against Portuguese traders on the Andaman coast. He also carried with him a request concerning inheritances, which complemented the agreement on trading conditions. According to Thai law, when a Thai official died, the crown received a large share of the estate. Nothing was due to the crown when Thai commoners died, but there was no provision in the law for resident foreigners or visiting traders. The Thai practice was to confiscate everything that a Portuguese trader possessed, if he died in Thai territory. Father Francisco argued convincingly that Portuguese private traders would be reluctant to go to Thai ports, unless they were assured that their property would go to their heirs, either to wives and children in the Thai kingdom itself or to heirs elsewhere.

12

Letter, Marten Houtman (Ayutthaya) to Heynrick Janssen (Patani), 24 April 1613 [4 May in the Gregorian calendar] in Thaemsuk 1969: 43–4. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The Thai inheritance laws, issued at the beginning of King Song Tham’s reign, prescribe an equitable division of the possessions of a deceased person among the surviving members of the family. The laws include procedures for making last wills and testaments. According to the November 1611 Law of Inheritances, the estate was taken by the crown only in cases when a person died without any relations or testament (Three-Seals Law Code 1986 ii: 166). It is therefore not obvious why the children of Portuguese merchants were denied inheritances, even though the Thai laws did not include specific provisions for foreigners. Even at the lowest level of Thai society, under clause 51 of the August 1614 Law of Inheritances (ibid. p. 171), any surviving parent, wife and child divided the estate in equal proportions, and a provision was made to protect the inheritance rights of even a posthumously born child. If a foreign trader received a Thai rank and title, and thus became an official of the crown, only then did his estate fall under the provisions of the May 1611 Law of Inheritances (ibid. pp. 144–5). For high-ranking officials, the crown received a quarter of the estate automatically and, if there was no widow, received her quarter of the estate, also. But these crown shares were justified by the fact that a high official enjoyed many rights from crown resources (land, buildings, labour and so on) placed at his disposal for his official duties, and these rights enabled him to acquire considerable wealth.13 The crown thus took back a portion of the accumulated wealth at the time of death. For lesser officials, the crown shares were proportionately less. It is odd that no provision was made for the estates of private foreign traders, given the many nationalities represented in Ayutthaya and the large number of cases that must have arisen in the course of time. Although Song Tham’s laws were new ones, procedures for dealing with foreign traders existed long before. By comparison, 30–40 years earlier, the Burmese crown took one-third of the goods of a deceased foreign merchant (Federici 1588: 40–verso). And about the same time, the Portuguese king decreed (February 1587) that the goods of people who died intestate in the Portuguese territories of Asia should henceforth be sent to Portugal,14 which implies that the crown took all of the property. Moreover, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, when the Portuguese were first beginning to arrive in Southeast Asia, a precedent already existed in Thai

13

For a discussion of the official class and its acquisition of wealth through control of state resources (including manpower) and by engaging in foreign trade, see Manop (1993). This phenomenon began to re-emerge only a few years before the inheritance laws were handed down, and it is characteristic of only the final decades of the House of Sukhothai. During the first two-thirds of the dynasty (1569–1605), when the court was occupied with constant deprivations and war with the Burmese, the economic activities of officials were severely restricted, and most power was concentrated in the hands of the king, for purposes of defensive and offensive warfare. 14 Letter, king to viceroy, 6 February 1587 in BFUP 1955 2: 267. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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practice, if not in written law. When a Muslim merchant died at Tenasserim, his children inherited his property, although the estate went to the Thai treasury in the case of other foreign traders (Varthema 1963: 175). King Song Tham accepted Father Francisco’s arguments concerning the Portuguese residents and traders, but a mechanism was needed to ensure that the agreements would be carried out in the interests of individuals concerned. Thus the king also agreed to a new institutional arrangement. The viceroy would designate a Portuguese resident as official head of the Portuguese community in the kingdom, and the Thai minister (the Phra Khlang) responsible for resident foreigners and maritime trade would conduct his business with the Portuguese traders through this individual, as the official head of the Portuguese community. This position empowered the incumbent to act as an intermediary to resolve disagreements and legal cases and, in cases of serious crimes, to administer the punishments prescribed by the Thai courts. He ensured, for example, that inheritances were divided equitably among the heirs and that inheritances would be forwarded to heirs in other countries, and he acted as an advocate on behalf of Portuguese individuals in legal cases. The king agreed also to transfer to the capital any serious cases (such as death sentences or confiscation of goods) brought against Portuguese in the provincial courts, to prevent the recurrence of abuses such as the incident (executions of innocent traders by the Tenasserim governor) cited by Father Francisco (Bocarro 1876: 522). These privileges were valuable to Portuguese traders and residents in seaport towns such as Ujung Salang (on Phuket Island), where they had a large trading house and shipped tin to the west coast of India (Peyton 1905: 308), and at Tenasserim, which was frequented by Portuguese ships. The system was a very old one, and the Thai themselves had enjoyed even greater privileges long before, when a Thai trading community existed in the time of the Melaka sultanate in the late 1400s: People of many nations were continuously in Melaka, and each nation maintained its own customs and justice separately. In the city was the bendahara of the natives, the bendahara of the foreigners, the bendahara of foreign merchants, and each group kept separate from the others, that is, Chinese, Ryukyuans, those from Siam, from Pegu, the Gujaratis, merchants from Cape Cormorin, merchants from India and merchants from Bengal. (Correa 1860 ii: 253) Similarly, on the coast of Vietnam in the 1610s, the Chinese and Japanese traders lived in their own communities under their own laws and customs (Lê Thành Khôi 1955: 285–6).

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Although the mechanism itself was not new, the title of office (òk phra in Thai, capitão mòr in Portuguese) may have been. In the English records, the office of the òk phra appears about 1617, in one instance as the head of the local English community and in the other as the head of the Japanese.15 The head of the Dutch trading house at Ayutthaya must have been the ex officio head of his countrymen. Since Chinese residents were employed to sail crown junks on many trading voyages and diplomatic missions, the ministry responsible for maritime trade and foreign relations had a Chinese deputy minister (with the rank and title of Phraya Chodük) who served as ex officio head of the Chinese community. A prominent Portuguese resident may have served as a leader of and spokesman for the Portuguese community before 1616, but there seems to be no evidence that this post was officially recognised by both sides prior to Father Francisco’s mission.16 Now the Portuguese gained the same standing and protection as other nationalities, such as the Chinese, Japanese, Dutch and English, each of which had its community head. Third and finally, we must remember that the Portuguese viceroy and council were the representatives in Asia of a Catholic monarch, who was king of both Portugal and Spain. Both countries, for more than a century, had divided between them the rights to the trade between Asian ports and Europe, excluding all potential European competitors.17 Thus the third concession–the one that the Portuguese viceroy desired most and occasionally got in his agreements with Asian rulers–was a ban on the detested Protestant traders, who had become increasingly involved in Asian trade during the preceding two decades. This issue was always raised in negotiations, always with a request to ban or expel Dutchmen and the English.18 Among the requests made by Father Francisco, the ban was the only one

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Entry of December 1617 in Richard Cocks’s diary, cited in Foster 1901 v: 267 n. 1; letter, Richard Cocks (Japan) to John Johnson and Richard Pitt (Ayutthaya), 23 December 1617 [2 January 1618 in the Gregorian calendar] in Foster 1902 vi: 265. 16 In 1585 the Melaka Captain was given powers to appoint captains (that is, heads of the local Portuguese communities) in several ports, including Ayutthaya (Pinto 1997: 31 n. 8). Coutre (1991), who visited Ayutthaya in 1595, does not mention such a post in his time. 17 King Felipe II of Spain (r. 1556–98) inherited the Portuguese throne in 1580 and subsequently ruled concurrently as King Filipe I of Portugal. His son and grandson likewise ruled as kings of both countries. A separate Portuguese dynasty was re-established in 1640. 18 When the Portuguese negotiated agreements everywhere in the early 1600s, they attempted to persuade the local rulers to agree to ban Dutch and English traders. The Portuguese agreement of 1617 with the Singhalese king and the 1620 agreement with Arakan, for example, excluded the Dutch and English (Veen 2000: 209, 215). The Chinese government had banned the Dutch, in a decision unrelated to Portuguese requests, and the June 1615 Portuguese agreement with the Mughal empire banned the traders of both Protestant kingdoms (Shirodkar 1989: 127). The Thai kingdom is often cited in sixteenth-century works as the third great kingdom of Asia, after China and Mughal India. With bans already in effect in those two countries, the viceroy may have decided that the next step was to isolate Protestants from Ayutthaya. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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that received a clearly negative reply. Traders of the English East India Company had arrived in Ayutthaya only four years earlier. They were already well established and on friendly terms with the Thai authorities. The Dutch had been trading in Ayutthaya for twelve years and had established a permanent trading post there eight years before. The Thai authorities pointed out the great contrast in trading between the Catholic and Protestant sides, the hitherto irregular and small volume of trade carried on by the Portuguese with the Thai, and added that it would be unjust in any case to punish Protestant traders who had done no wrong under Thai law and custom. Thai Ambassadors in Goa, 1617–8 On the return voyage to Goa, Father Francisco’s ship carried the second formal Thai embassy comprising three ambassadors. Accompanying them was a young royal page, whom King Song Tham picked to serve as his independent set of eyes and ears. The Thai ambassadors had instructions to go to Goa and present the details of the agreements that had been reached with Father Francisco. They carried with them a message from King Song Tham to Viceroy Azevedo, composed in the form of a speech shortly before their 20 November 1616 departure from Ayutthaya. After discussions with the viceroy, the Thai party was supposed to sail with the annual Portuguese fleet from Goa to Portugal. They were then to visit the court of King Filipe II and present a royal letter and gifts from King Song Tham. Among these records, only one contemporary document has been found thus far: a copy in Thai of King Song Tham’s speech to the viceroy. A transcription of the speech and a translation in English are appended to this paper. A comparison between the viceroy’s April 1616 letter to King Song Tham and the king’s reply in November suggests a shift of priorities during the brief interval between the times the two documents were written. The viceroy mentions the security issues (the fall of Syriam and the Martaban site) but not the mundane matters of trade privileges and social conditions. The reply does just the opposite: it mentions trading and inheritances but not the offer of Martaban as a site for a Portuguese fortress. The differences might be merely a result of different official styles of writing, but it is also probable that, by 1616, the Thai court had ceased to be alarmed about the potential threat from the Burmese and, more importantly, deduced in the course of discussions with Father Francisco that the Portuguese were unlikely to form an alliance with the Thai against the Burmese. In fact, the Thai already knew, from the viceroy himself, that the council at Goa was conducting talks with ambassadors sent by the Burmese court to Goa (see lines 15–7 of the appended speech). Father Francisco was instructed to inform the

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Thai court about the viceroy’s intention to send a parallel embassy to the court of King Anauk-hpet-lun, as recommended in instructions to the viceroy written in Lisbon in January 1615. No doubt these negotiations were represented in a way that would not be offensive to the Thai king and ministers, perhaps by explaining that the intention was to restore relations with the Burmese as a means of preventing the Dutch from gaining access to Syriam or any other site along that coast. Many details of the 1616 negotiations in Ayutthaya are known, because Father Francisco recorded them in his report, submitted on his return to Goa. He even included some discussions that he had directly with King Song Tham. Less than two decades later, António Bocarro had access to the report and copied many of the details into his history of this period. Unfortunately, the extant records reveal very little about official Portuguese deliberations concerning relations with Ayutthaya, and nothing is recorded about the Thai ambassadors while they were staying in Goa. They did not continue on to Portugal but were given passage home to Ayutthaya on one of the viceroy’s ships. The royal letter and gifts to the Portuguese king, however, were forwarded when the next Portuguese fleet sailed for home.19 Portuguese Embassy to Ayutthaya in 1618 The date of the Thai ambassadors’ return to Ayutthaya is not mentioned in any of the sources consulted for this study. The ambassadors made great representations to the viceroy, no doubt worried that their king would be offended if they did not carry out the mission assigned to them. The viceroy’s response was to send a ship to Ayutthaya under the command of Captain João da Silva, with a letter explaining why the embassy was unable to proceed to Lisbon.20 In this letter, the viceroy expressed a desire to maintain friendship and asked the king to instruct his subjects to resume the trading that they had done in the past, in Melaka as well as other Portuguese ports. According to a report in February 1619 by João Coutinho, the new viceroy who arrived in Goa in November 1617, two missionaries (André Pereira and Constantino Falcão) and a merchant (Gaspar Pacheco de Mesquita) were sent to Ayutthaya, probably accompanying Captain João da Silva and the returning Thai ambassadors. If their itinerary was roughly the same as Father Francisco’s, and during the same sailing seasons, they must have been in Ayutthaya from about the middle of 1618 to November 1618, and their reports must have reached Goa by February 1619, before the viceroy’s February 1619 despatch about them was

19 20

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written. The viceroy reported that these representatives were talented and experienced and that that they had discussed with their Thai counterparts the main issues concerning peaceful relations. They had reported to him that they had obtained agreement for the most advantageous conditions for the Portuguese government and Portuguese traders.21 Although the published records provide only the gist of the exchanges between Goa and Ayutthaya, there is adequate detail to show that each side obtained something of value. Thai Embassy to Goa in 1619 and Subsequent Relations To confirm all these arrangements, King Song Tham sent a third embassy to Goa. His ambassadors must have sailed from Ayutthaya in late 1618 with the Portuguese who had escorted the previous Thai ambassadors home to Ayutthaya. The published documents dealing with the diplomatic exchanges end at this juncture, and the author does not have access at present to unpublished records. Even though it may be possible to continue the story chronologically, it is obvious that nothing further was negotiated. The Portuguese historian Faria y Sousa (1971 iii: 237–8) cited the 1616 duty-free terms of trade negotiated by Father Francisco as the important ones, and did not mention a written treaty. Presumably the Portuguese mission to Ayutthaya in 1618 clarified the terms and obtained further small concessions from the Thai, whereas the Thai ambassadors who were in Goa in early 1618 and others in early 1619 confirmed verbally to the successive viceroys the terms of the agreements reached at the Thai court by Father Francisco in 1616 and the Portuguese negotiators in 1618. One additional advantage gained by the Portuguese, although not from the Thai court, was the opening of the port of Patani. The potentially profitable trade from Melaka to ports around the Gulf did not include Patani during the 1610s, because of hostilities between the Portuguese and the Malay of Patani. After Sultana Raja Ijau (r. 1584–1616) died, the court of her successor (Raja Biru, r. 1616–24) reached agreement with the Portuguese and a trading agreement was concluded in 1619 at Melaka (Boxer 1952: 321), giving Portuguese ships access to this port and partly resolving the annoyance expressed by the Thai (Bocarro 1876: 525) because of Portuguese seizures of junks operating from Patani.

21

Letter, viceroy to king, 8 February 1619 in Pato 1893: 262. A contemporary translation of this letter into English was published in Vajiranana 1915 i: 93–4 but is dated 29 January 1619 (modified by the translator to the Julian calendar system still in use in England at that time). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The friendly relations and generous terms of trade that were negotiated during this period of intense diplomatic exchanges did not last for long. In 1624 two Spanish ships were in the river below Ayutthaya. Both had sailed from Macau, intending to return directly to Manila, but they were forced by a storm into the Gulf and took shelter in Ayutthaya. Spain was still at war with the Netherlands, and when the Spaniards on these ships received a report (albeit a false one) that their Dutch enemies had seized a Spanish vessel off the Thai coast, they attacked and captured a Dutch ship at anchor in the river. King Song Tham’s orders to return the ship to the Dutch were ignored with defiance, and Thai forces then attacked the Spaniards, killing most of them, arresting those who survived and confiscating the Spanish ships and goods. This incident poisoned Spanish-Thai relations. The hapless Portuguese were dragged into the political arena, since Felipe IV of Spain was also their king, although no Portuguese were involved in the fighting on the river. Portuguese-Thai relations were thus ruptured. They improved slightly as the result of efforts by missionaries, sent on a diplomatic mission to Ayutthaya in 1626 to try to repair the damage, and an envoy sent by Macau in the early 1630s. But relations did not become cordial again until the late 1630s, very shortly before the Portuguese lost control of Melaka and were replaced there by the Dutch. A Cavalcade of Diplomats Thus far, only two themes have been examined: the Thai court’s concern with the security of its western frontier, and the viceroy’s concern with the conditions of the Portuguese residents and traders in the Thai kingdom. The stage on which these events were played was a scene of continually changing backdrops and a complex succession of diplomatic initiatives, all of them relevant to the immediate Thai security concerns. King Anauk-hpet-lun had invaded Lan Na in mid-1614 and had remained there for a year. He had attacked Tenasserim in January 1614, and it must have seemed likely that he would attack Thai territory again. At this juncture, the Thai court was uncertain of Burmese intentions and was anxiously seeking allies. To appreciate these events from the Thai perspective, one needs to return to early 1616, after the first Thai embassy set out for Goa. Junks to China and Japan King Song Tham had sent an embassy with tribute to China during the first year of his reign, but none subsequently. His second tribute was already overdue. The Thai-Chinese tributary relationship was an old one, and the Thai court must have decided in early 1616 that some special effort should be made. (China had

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never provided any direct military help, but it must have seemed like a good idea to ensure Chinese sympathy for the Thai, in case of war with the Burmese.) Possibly with these ideas in mind, and since King Song Tham had neglected to send tribute to Beijing during the previous three or four years, an unusual and unique gesture was made. Tribute arrived in Beijing in 1616 not from the king but from his queen, and it was duly presented before the emperor in September 1616 (Wade 1994: 2,463). The junk carrying this tribute must have been fitted out in Ayutthaya at the end of May or early June 1616. At that juncture, the Thai court had probably not yet received any news about the diplomatic mission sent to Goa to seek a renewed alliance with the Portuguese. Father Francisco was, unknown to anyone in Ayutthaya, still en route to the Thai capital with the viceroy’s friendly reply. The Chinese records do not indicate the subjects of discussion with the Thai envoys in 1616, but threats from Burma (known to be a sometimes violent and always troublesome neighbour on China’s Yunnanese frontier) must have been foremost in the agenda. Tribute from Song Tham himself was sent to Beijing in 1617, no doubt to strengthen relations with China, in case of further threats from Burma. At exactly the same time, another diplomatic mission set sail for a more distant destination. The earliest-known relations between the Thai and Japanese courts are recorded in a letter from the shogunate in 1606, requesting goods from Ayutthaya. By this time, Japanese seamen were bringing junks regularly to Ayutthaya. After Japan closed its doors to most foreign trade in the 1630s, the Japanese in Ayutthaya were not allowed to return home and were cut off from Japan, and the Japanese settlement dwindled. But in the mid-1610s the community of Japanese residing in Ayutthaya was still expanding. About a quarter of all Japanese junks were trading with the Thai at this time (Gunji 1941: 351–2). The strength of the Japanese trading community in Ayutthaya, the importance of the Japanese guard in King Song Tham’s palace, Japanese co-operation with the English East India Company (in both Ayutthaya and Japan) and other rôles are well documented during this period. Thus far, however, official relations were limited to letters carried between the two capitals by junk captains. In 1616 King Song Tham sent the first formal diplomatic mission to Japan. It was accompanied by Kii Kyuemon, head of the Japanese merchants residing in Ayutthaya, who had the Thai rank and title of Khun Sun Sattru (Ishii 1971: 163). Given the prevailing winds, the junk must have left Ayutthaya at some time between late May and early July, arriving in Japan in July or August 1616. The only documentation concerning the 1616 mission is a Japanese translation of the Thai letter, listing members of the party and requesting certain Japanese manufactured goods, and one can do no more than speculate about the motives of the Thai court in initiating this formal diplomatic contact.

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One political objective may have been to ensure the support of the Japanese community in Ayutthaya, in case of war with the Burmese, and to obtain supplies of swords and other arms. A related economic objective was to restore trade that had previously existed with Japan. In 1612, only one year into the new reign, the Japanese palace guard and others in the Japanese community were involved in a conspiracy against King Song Tham and were expelled from the capital. The junks that went to Japan during the mid-1612 sailing season would have spread word of hostile conditions in Ayutthaya, and according to the Thai annals, Japanese junks no longer called at Ayutthaya thereafter. If a stoppage did occur during the junkarrival seasons from early 1613 to early 1616, an obvious task for the Thai envoys was to restore confidence and give reassurances that Japanese traders were welcome. Finally, a military objective may have been river defence. Japanese and Chinese junks always arrived during the dry season, which was the time of year that a Burmese army was most likely to attack. The presence of large numbers of Japanese and Chinese junks on the river, all well armed (because of danger from pirates on the high seas), was an additional safeguard for the city, even if the crews fought the invaders only to save their own property. Burmese and Arakanese Intrigues In March 1615, when the first group of Thai ambassadors arrived in Goa (Bocarro 1876: 516), King Anauk-hpet-lun was completing his conquest of Lan Na. He left after installing the new administration, and in the lunar month of Ashada (26 June–25 July 1615) he reached Pegu (Thien 1911: 74). The following year, after the Thai ambassadors sailed from India in the company of Father Francisco, King Anauk-hpet-lun sent an embassy to Goa for discussions with the viceroy. His reasons appear to be not about counterbalancing the growing friendship between the Thai and Portuguese but about dealing with another old enemy. The Burmese of the Irrawaddy basin had never conquered the kingdom of Arakan. And thus, across the mountains, the western coastline facing the Bay of Bengal remained independent, even at the high point, four decades earlier, of the empire created by King Bayin-naung. When the empire began to collapse at the turn of the century, the Arakanese navy was among the besiegers of Pegu. Now that Anauk-hpet-lun had restored Burmese power in much of the empire built by his grandfather, he turned his attention to Arakan. The outward purpose of the Burmese embassy to India, in addition to patching up the tattered relations after the massacre of the Syriam garrison, was to establish contact with the Portuguese viceroy and seek an alliance for a joint attack on Arakan. Taking into account the naval superiority of the Arakanese over the Burmese, the king and his ministers must have calculated that a Portuguese fleet would tip the scales and ensure a Burmese victory. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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No doubt Anauk-hpet-lun’s court also hoped to take advantage of the recent Portuguese conflict with Arakan. In the previous decade, when Portuguese adventurers first became established at Syriam, another group of adventurers became established on the island of Sundiva (Sandwip), in the easternmost channel of the delta of the Ganges and Brahmaputra and at the upper limit of Arakanese territory along the coastline. The adventurers at Sundiva, under the leadership of Sebastião Gonçalves Tibau, became allied with the viceroy, and King Filipe II himself had hopes of making use of them. In 1615 the viceroy sent a fleet to Bengal and Pegu waters.22 In October 1615, a Portuguese squadron attacked Arakan but was defeated. The ships regrouped at Sundiva, but left the island in January 1616, apparently on orders from the viceroy, and moved to Meliapur, on the east coast of India.23 The Arakanese moved in, attacked, captured the island, and took many Portuguese prisoners (Guedes 1994: 165). The embassy from the Burmese court, which arrived in India about half a year later, also had economic motives. It consisted of two Muslims (possibly traders of Indian origin) and a Mon, but no Burmese officials. Their instructions included restoring friendly relations, persuading the Portuguese to restore the annual trading voyage to Pegu (which had ceased since the massacre at Syriam) and seeking an alliance against a common enemy. It may be significant, moreover, that they were accompanied to Goa by the Bishop of Meliapur from the seat of his diocese at São Thomé–the port on the east coast of India where they stopped, to await the seasonal change in the winds before sailing on to Goa (Bocarro 1876: 652). The bishop had a strong financial interest in the ports of the Andaman Sea, although they were not part of his diocese. Prior to 1606, when this bishopric was created, there was no resident bishop between Cochin (on the south-west coast of India) and Melaka (in the lower Malay peninsula). These two bishops had, up to that time, divided the responsibility for the region between their residences: the entire east coast of India, the coast of Arakan, the old Mon kingdom (now absorbed into the Burmese empire) and the Malay peninsula. The dividing line of the two dioceses was between the kingdoms of Arakan and Pegu (Couto 1974 xvii: 182). The first Bishop of Meliapur, although confirmed in January 1606, did not take up residence in his diocese until 1611 (López 1978: 47). In the succeeding years, he became involved in shipping and trading to the ports around the Andaman Sea.24 The diocese thus acquired a strong financial interest in ensuring friendly trading relationships with both the Burmese (who dominated the northern part of this trad-

22

Letter 27, viceroy to king, December 1615 in BFUP 1955 4: 779. Letter 109, viceroy to king, 4 January 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 803. 24 Letter, king to viceroy, 15 March 1513 in Pato 1884: 394. 23

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ing area) and the Thai (who dominated the central part of the Malay peninsula, from Tenasserim down to the area below Phuket Island). The embassy from Burma arrived on the east coast of India at Meliapur, with a Portuguese squadron commander. The arrival date is not recorded but may have been during the January and February 1616 sailing season. A messenger was sent overland to announce their arrival. (The overland route took about a month each way and was used when seasonal weather conditions made travel by sea impossible. The messenger could therefore have reached Goa before Father Francisco sailed for Ayutthaya.) The viceroy’s council in Goa decided to receive the Burmese embassy but to take no decision without first receiving and considering the reply from King Song Tham.25 Anauk-hpet-lun’s ambassadors finally reached Goa in December 1616 (Bocarro 1876: 692–3). They were at least a month ahead of the Thai, but one embassy behind. Shortly before, on 20 November 1616, the second Thai embassy sailed from Ayutthaya with Father Francisco, on the voyage to Goa. Their ship must have crossed paths on the Gulf of Siam, if not on the river, with an embassy from Arakan, which arrived at King Song Tham’s court only days after their departure (Bocarro 1876: 531–1). The ambassadors of the king of Arakan (Mìn-kamaun, r. 1612–22) carried news that brought some relief to a worried court: the Burmese king had renounced his plans for further campaigns, including an invasion of the Thai kingdom, and he had disbanded his armies (Bocarro 1876: 530–1). The Arakanese had probably learned of the growing friendship between the Thai and Portuguese, and they now proposed an alliance with the Thai, for a joint attack on their common enemy: the Burmese. One can hardly doubt that the replies made by Thai court officials were friendly and positive, but King Song Tham must have indicated that no decision could be made until after a firm Thai alliance with the Portuguese had been concluded. While these talks were under way, the ship carrying the Thai ambassadors and Father Francisco was making its way down to Melaka and from there to Goa. Their arrival date in India is not recorded, but given the seasonal winds and the month-long voyage, they must have arrived in January or February 1617. Since the ambassadors from Ava took their leave in April 1617, both parties were hosted by the Portuguese viceroy simultaneously, probably for at least two or three months. It seems unlikely, however, that their presence together in the same city created an awkward situation. Indeed, each party may have been interested in obtaining information from the other. The Thai wanted more information about the court of the new Burmese king, and they may have sought economic information from the Muslim ambassador-traders. 25

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During almost the entire period that these embassies were in motion, the viceroy was guided by instructions from King Filipe II, which were carried with the annual fleet from Portugal and must have reached him about September or October 1615. These instructions were the first response from Portugal to the Burmese capture of Syriam. In spite of the loss of the Portuguese fortress, the king instructed the viceroy to conduct parallel relations with officials of both Ava and Ayutthaya. These instructions arrived when the first Thai embassy was in Goa, and they were the basis for his subsequent talks with all parties. When the fleet bound for Portugal left India in early 1617, at which time the embassy from Burma and the second embassy from Ayutthaya were in Goa, the viceroy’s policy was to maintain friendly relations with both kingdoms, to avoid giving any offence to either side and to seek any practical advantages that might be obtained for the benefit of the Portuguese.26 This policy reflects the viceroy’s conclusions, after he had met and had discussions with both embassies, and had received Father Francisco’s report of his mission to Ayutthaya. The embassy from Burma set out for home, accompanied by Martim Cotta Falcão, who was sent as the viceroy’s return ambassador (Bocarro 1876: 694). By the time he reached Ava, Anauk-hpet-lun appears to have lost interest in his own proposal and must have realised that the Portuguese were unwilling to enter into a military alliance. This mission may have been conducted under a cloud of suspicion. The Burmese knew that a rival embassy was currently in Goa and that the ambassadors were planning to continue to Portugal in early 1618. The long stay of the Thai ambassadors in Goa (more than a year from early 1617 to early 1618) must have aroused further suspicions at the Burmese court about Portuguese intentions. Although specific details of Goa-Pegu relations during 1618–20 are missing, there is evidence of intensive diplomatic activity among the Portuguese, Burmese and Arakanese up to 1620, including both crown and private Portuguese trading with the Burmese coast (Guedes 1994: 172). As late as February 1619, just before the annual reports left Goa for Portugal, nothing had resulted from Falcão’s mission, although the viceroy was still hoping that something useful might emerge.27 But in fact Falcão, who had gone to secure the release of prisoners, was himself imprisoned, as were successive Portuguese representatives who were sent to try to ransom him. In 1620, in the absence of news about Falcão, the Portuguese crown voyages to Pegu were suspended again (Guedes 1994: 184). To complete this tale of embassies, four others should be mentioned.

26 27

Letter, king to viceroy, 17 January 1618 in Pato 1893: 259–60. Letter, viceroy to king, 8 February 1619 in Pato 1893: 262. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Bijapur and the Opening of Trade with Dabul There are no records of what the Thai ambassadors did in Goa during the long period from their arrival in early 1617 until they finally set out for home, probably during the April 1618 sailing season. They may have gathered information about trade along the west coast of India and in the Persian Gulf and Arab ports. By this time, the ancestor of the Bunnag family of Thailand, who came from the Persian Gulf area, was established at Ayutthaya and was probably already assisting with the reorganisation of the crown’s maritime trade. The ambassadors in 1617 may therefore have been commissioned by King Song Tham to gather information to confirm and expand the recommendations made to the ministry concerning trade on the west coast of India and its potential benefits for the Thai treasury. No doubt senior Thai officials were eager to be involved, too. The men of Song Tham’s court were the first for more than a generation to be free to engage in trade for personal profit, after nearly four decades of severe economic restrictions imposed during periods of deprivation and war from 1568 to 1605 (Manop 1993). It seems likely that the Thai ambassadors visited the king of Bijapur’s port of Dabul, which was not far from Goa. The kingdom of Bijapur had recently sent ambassadors to Ayutthaya to open relations with the Thai court. They received permission to establish a trading office to purchase goods in the kingdom and to import goods on ships from Bijapur’s west-coast ports and from Masulipatnam on the east coast of India. They also promised to provide any quantities of Indian textiles and war materiel that King Song Tham might require (Bocarro 1876: 531-2). Expectations of profitable trade with this Muslim kingdom, in addition to the trade that already existed with the Muslim nextwork of South Asia, rendered Portuguese chances of gaining an important trading rôle in Thai ports even less than they had been before. The king of Bijapur appears to have expanded his trading contacts into Southeast Asia during a period of several years prior to making contact with King Song Tham’s court. About 1616 his merchants were following the successful examples of the Dutch and English, and were seeking a permanent post in Thai territory to serve as a collection centre and warehouse for local products, as well as a sales centre for goods brought into the country by the ships of Bijapur’s merchants arriving from both the east and the west coasts of India. Although the records are not explicit, one of their trading posts was in Tenasserim, because the ambassadors asked specifically for trade between Dabul and Tenasserim. There, they came into direct competition not with the Dutch or English (whose operations were on the Gulf of Siam side of the peninsula) but with the Portuguese, both official and private, and with others involved in the lucrative trans-peninsular trade between

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this port and Ayutthaya.28 Trading relations with Bijapur were, however, short lived. The merchants from Dabul left Ayutthaya by 1620, declaring that they would not return.29 The context of their departure is not explicit, but clearly they were dissatisfied with trading conditions. Friendly Trading, Political Reconnoitring: Champa and Aceh Nothing is known about the visit of Champa’s ambassadors to Ayutthaya during this period, except that it took place.30 Given the geographical position of tiny Champa, along the coast north of the Mekong delta, between Khmer and Viet territory, the ambassadors probably set out for the Thai capital during the south-bound sailing season at the end of 1616, with a junk-load of goods to sell. The results of their political mission to the Thai court in early 1617 are unknown, although a plausible reason for the mission is a common enemy. About this time, the southern Viet kingdom, ruled by the Nguyen family in Hué, was beginning to make contacts with the king of Cambodia, who was a vassal of the Thai king. Viet support for Khmer resistance against the Thai later became a major problem for the Thai court. Since the Viets had long been the enemies of the Cham, the king of Champa may have been seeking support from Ayutthaya against Hué, ostensibly to protect Thai interests in Cambodia. But these are merely speculations, and the purposes of the mission, other than the customary trading, may never be identified. Trade was prominent in the agenda of the Thai ambassadors who were sent to Aceh before the crisis began and remained there until July 1613. Again, there is no record of their mission, other than their solicitious assurances that traders were welcome in the Thai capital (Best 1934: 53–5). An obvious political objective for sending them was to ensure that this powerful kingdom, facing the Andaman Sea from northern Sumatra, remained on friendly terms with the Thai court, particularly at a time when the sultan was known to be shifting away from the rapprochement achieved with the Portuguese by his two predecessors. The sultanate was enjoying a high point of political power under Iskandar Muda (r. 1607–36) and

28

Although Tenasserim was a source of food supplies for Melaka, the viceroy did not regard it as a port of much economic importance and agreed to give Bijapur assistance in establishing new trading contacts in such places (letter 85, viceroy to king, 30 December 1615 in BFUP 1955 4: 796). Nonetheless, it was a neutral port and safe haven for Portuguese ships, in case of conflict with enemy powers on the Andaman Sea (Bocarro 1876: 369). Note that the kingdom of Bijapur is called Idalcão in Portuguese records. 29 Letter, Richard Cocks (Japan) to East India Company (London), 13 December 1620 [23 December in the Gregorian calendar] in Sainsbury 1870: 398. 30 Letter, John Johnson and Richard Pitts (Ayutthaya) to Japan (Richard Cocks?), 23 May 1617 [2 June in the Gregorian calendar] in Sainsbury 1870: 33. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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great prosperity as an international market place for traders from Europe and everywhere in Asia. Its fleet and other capabilities gave it a reputation as a formidable military power. Its political influence extended to the lower Malay peninsula, and it shared with Thai ports the shipping lanes of the Andaman Sea and Strait of Melaka. In spite of the geographical proximity with this southern neighbour, however, there seems to be no record of serious conflict between Aceh and the Thai coastal towns of the Andaman Sea. King Song Tham was probably renewing old ties of friendship early in his reign, and his envoys no doubt collected the current political, diplomatic and commercial information that Aceh’s cosmopolitan port had to offer. Spaniards in Ayutthaya Given the close association between Portugal and Spain during this period, Spanish trading and political interests should not be overlooked. A Spanish envoy from the Philippines arrived at the Thai court, possibly while Father Francisco was still there.31 The Spanish had first established official contacts with the Thai court more than 20 years earlier, but apparently not much trade had developed because the Portuguese claimed the mainland of Southeast Asia as a Portuguese zone, where Spaniards were technically excluded under their mutual treaty. Meanwhile, the Dutch, soon after they began trading at Thai ports (Patani in 1601, Ayutthaya in 1604), made repeated attacks on the Spanish in the Philippines from 1609 to 1616. In late 1615, the Spanish and Portuguese attempted to launch a joint expedition against the Dutch, and while Father Francisco was in Ayutthaya, the English and Dutch were expecting to engage in a battle in the straits near Singapore Island against the combined Spanish and Portuguese fleets.32 In fact, the Dutch fleet had already defeated the Portuguese arm of the fleet, which went only as far east as Melaka and never joined the Spanish forces. The governor of the Philippines personally led the Spanish fleet to Melaka, but died unexpectedly, and the fleet withdrew to Manila (Pinto 1997: 131–2).

31

The date of arrival is not recorded. The embassy was sent by the Audiencia Real, which took charge in Manila after Governor Juan de Silva’s death (Bocarro 1876: 351). Silva died in April 1616, and the Audiencia managed Philippine political affairs until the next governor arrived in July 1618 (Blair and Robertson 1904 xvii: 289–90). The period from about August to November (or alternatively from February to May) is the good season for sailing from Manila to Ayutthaya and back again. The August-November 1616 season seems likely, in view of the 1615–6 efforts to mobilise a joint Portuguese and Spanish fleet against the Dutch—a common enemy, commercially active at the port of Ayutthaya. 32 Letter, John Gourney (Banten) to William Nicholls (Aceh), 23 and 28 July 1616 [2 and 7 August in the Gregorian calendar] in Foster 1900 iv: 147. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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One reason for sending an envoy from Manila must have been to ask King Song Tham to expel the Protestant traders from his kingdom. The Spaniards were given a cordial reception, but the king treated their request in the same way as the parallel request brought by Father Francisco. Like the Portuguese, the Spaniards may have gained some minor advantages for Spanish traders and protection for any Spaniards who took up residence in Ayutthaya. Little is known about such residents, however, except that by the beginning of the 1620s, a Spanish community had formed in Ayutthaya.33 Another reason for a Spanish mission at this juncture may have been to gather information about the Thai embassy bound for Europe. Since King Filipe II of Portugal was also King Felipe III of Spain, the Thai ambassadors (had they succeeded in reaching Lisbon) might have been obliged to go to Madrid or Valladolid for their audience with the king. Thai Mission to Lisbon Abandoned, Early 1618 Why did the Thai ambassadors not sail for Portugal in early 1618? The reason cited in the viceroy’s official report to Lisbon was that their interpreter, Cristovão Rebello, had failed to come to Goa, and the Thai were unable to make the voyage without him. The historian Bocarro repeated this simple excuse without comment. But from the viewpoints of the Thai and of Rebello himself, it is implausible. The following interpretation, although partly hypothetical, adheres to the known facts and offers a rational explanation for Rebello’s behaviour. Rebello was one of many criminals who sought refuge in other countries, thus placing themselves beyond the reach of Portuguese justice. In Portuguese legal terminology, he was a homiziado. He had committed crimes in Cochin and had found refuge in the Thai kingdom (Bocarro 1876: 185). He could not visit Goa or any other port under Portuguese control, without risking arrest, imprisonment and possibly execution. As long as he remained in Thai territory, he was safe from prosecution. He had, moreover, established himself as a leader among the Portuguese who resided in Tenasserim and Ayutthaya. He was praised by the Thai because of his rôle in the defence of Tenasserim during the Burmese naval attack (Bocarro 1876: 186). He must have been encouraged by the viceroy’s recommendation (perhaps made without knowledge of his legal status) that both govern-

33

Letter, Archbishop Miguel Serrano Garcia (Manila) to king, 30 July 1621 in Blair and Robertson 1904 xx: 99. A few Spanish Franciscans and one Augustinian were in the Thai kingdom ca. 1583–5, and other Franciscans and Dominicans were at Ayutthaya from 1594 to 1599. But from about 1600, there seems to be no record of Spanish missionaries working there until at least 1640 (author’s database of missionaries in Thailand). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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ments acknowledge him as the head of the Portuguese community residing in King Song Tham’s realm (Bocarro 1876: 522). When it was announced in 1616 that Song Tham intended to send another embassy from Ayutthaya to Goa, and that the ambassadors this time would continue on to Lisbon, Rebello spotted a chance to redeem himself under the Portuguese system of justice. He could not offer unconditionally to accompany the Thai ambassadors to Goa, much less to Portugal, because he knew he might be arrested by the Portuguese authorities. So he must have accepted the position of interpreter of the embassy and agreed to accompany the Thai ambassadors, on condition that he obtain approval from the viceroy. He had good reason to hope this offer would succeed, because the viceroys had been distributing royal pardons to criminals in refuge in various kingdoms in Asia for nearly 20 years. When the Portuguese Indies came under threat from its Protestant enemies, including severe competition from the Dutch and English trading companies in the 1590s, the Portuguese forts and fleets in Asia were already experiencing a shortage of manpower, and especially men with experience in Asia. As a means of attracting the criminals back to Portuguese towns and into Portuguese service, the viceroy was authorised to issue pardons. Moreover, the viceroy had recently received instructions to continue the practice.34 In the case of the worst crimes, however, presumably including Rebello’s involvement in a case of homicide, the pardoned man had to serve for a time in the fleet, possibly as an oarsman aboard a crown galley.35 A well-established man such as Rebello would not have accepted such a degrading penance, and thus he must have expected to negotiate special terms for himself. Rebello went by ship with Father Francisco and the Thai party as far as Tuticorin, a port slightly east of the southern tip of India. He disembarked (Bocarro 1876: 528) and must have sent a petition from there to the viceroy, requesting a full pardon, in return for the important services that he expected to carry out for the Portuguese crown, by accompanying the ambassadors in Goa and on to Portugal. The viceroy, however, may have had no authority to grant an unconditional pardon, and he probably was not inclined to pay the costs of sending the Thai ambassadors, the royal page, the Portuguese interpreter and their servants to Portugal. He therefore rejected the offer and, in his report to Lisbon, made no

34

In 1598 Filipe II instructed the viceroy to grant a general pardon for most crimes to Portuguese living in Bengal, because the government needed the extra manpower that they could provide (letter, king to viceroy, 21 November 1598 in BFUP 1955 2: 240). A 30 November 1614 royal decree (BFUP 1987 48: 152) authorised the viceroy to pardon various crimes and commute punishments and banishments. 35 Letter 121, viceroy to king, 9 January 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 807. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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mention of it, laying the blame instead on Rebello for not proceeding to Goa and thus for causing the failure of the mission. The viceroy’s reply to Rebello could have been sent on a ship from Goa that stopped at Tuticorin. Perhaps it was the despatch of this letter than convinced the Thai ambassadors—never encouraged by the viceroy to continue to Lisbon anyway—to renounce their intended journey and return to Ayutthaya. Meanwhile, Rebello was able to return to his refuge and report to Thai officials that his offer of services had been rejected by the viceroy. We have no evidence from the Thai side, but this explanation is consistent with the known facts and resolves plausibly Rebello’s dilemma as an agent of King Song Tham. An alternative to Rebello as interpreter to the embassy was Father Francisco. He had never lived in the Thai kingdom, and the only time that he visited was during the 1616 embassy. He may not have had sufficient knowledge of the Thai language to serve effectively as an interpreter. Also, he had no instructions from the viceroy to discuss an embassy to Portugal. When King Song Tham asked whether a royal letter should be sent to the Portuguese king, the padre encouraged him to do so (Bocarro 1876: 527). It is possible that the good father far exceeded his instructions when the idea of an embassy to Lisbon arose. He may even have tried to create an important additional rôle for himself, in hopes of accompanying the ambassadors to Lisbon as their adviser. But Father Francisco apparently ceased to be involved in Thai affairs after he made his report to the viceroy. His abrupt disappearance from the records may be a sign of disfavour. Perhaps he received a slap on the wrist from the viceroy himself, for encouraging an extravagance such as an embassy to Europe, especially at a time when Portuguese resources were strained. Weaknesses of Portuguese India In the course of the year spent in Goa, the Thai ambassadors had adequate time to discuss affairs with Portuguese officials at all levels and to observe at first hand the centre of Portuguese power in Asia. Their enquiries must have revealed many weaknesses that were obvious to the eye and others that were current topics of conversation and common complaint among the Portuguese themselves. Even Bocarro (1876: 530) candidly recorded an English opinion, expressed to Thai officials in 1616, that Portuguese power in Asia was waning and that the Portuguese could not defend a fortress in Martaban against a neighbour as powerful as the Burmese. The most evident weaknesses were shortages of manpower, military equipment, revenue and ships. Manpower was a serious problem for Viceroy Azevedo. He reported in December 1615 that he got no net gain of Portuguese men available for service

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from the fleets that arrived in 1614 and 1615, because most of the men on board died.36 Those who did survive in 1615 arrived in such poor condition that they could not perform any work.37 With the departures of the 1615, 1616 and 1617 fleets bound for Portugal, Azevedo had to cope with three successive net losses of manpower. He also faced a problem of military leadership. He complained that men of quality (the fidalgos) all aspired to become high officials, but they would not serve voluntarily when it became necessary to fight the Dutch.38 The government of Portuguese India was not in a healthy financial state during this decade. From the beginning of his viceroyalty, Azevedo made straightforward, frank and critical reports, declaring that revenues could not meet all the necessary expenditures.39 He struggled constantly with a lack of money and men, and had to resort to merchants for loans to pay for artillery and ships.40 Shortages of funds were especially acute in Melaka, and tax evasion was rampant. Both the Melaka Captain who served during 1615-6 and his successor who served during 1616-8 were under investigation for fiscal misconduct, and both were imprisoned on orders from the king himself in 1618 (Pinto 1997: 195). In 1616 the viceroy thought the only way to stop the tax evasion was to give the local authorities themselves a stake in the tax collections, and he also hoped to increase revenues by stimulating a greater volume of trade.41 There was also a perennial shortage of artillery pieces for the fleet, with consequent mis-appropriations from Melaka’s arsenal and from all other forts garrisoned by Portugal. One reason why the viceroy did not want to send the embassy on to Portugal was the cost of passage both ways, which the viceroy was expected to pay from his treasury funds. A more immediate obstacle was the lack of ships. The average number of ships leaving Goa for Lisbon had declined in each successive decade from the 1580s to the 1610s (Veen 2000: 63, 251). Azevedo reported shortages of ships, for the voyages to and from Lisbon, from the very beginning of his term in office.42 Thus in the 1610s departing fleets had 3.2 ships on average per year and were at a low point compared with the 1580s, when 5.1 per year on average set out from Portugal. During the decade 1611–20, an average of 2.8 carracks per year returned from India to Portugal, carrying an average of 487 people each (Veen 2000: 250).

36

Letter 13, viceroy to king, 31 December 1615 in BFUP 1955 4: 776. Letter 90, viceroy to king, 31 December 1615 in BFUP 1955 4: 798. 38 Letter 14, viceroy to king, March 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 825. 39 Letter, viceroy to king, April 1613 in BFUP 1955 4: 771. 40 Letter, viceroy to king, 31 December 1614 in BFUP 1955 4: 768. 41 Letter, viceroy to king, 27 December 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 862–3. 42 Letter, viceroy to king, April 1613 in BFUP 1955 4: 769–70. 37

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In addition, the Portuguese fleet in Asian waters suffered many losses while the initial diplomatic exchanges with Ayutthaya were in progress. Azevedo himself was beaten by the English while in command in a naval battle in early 1615. More ships were lost later the same year in operations at Melaka. A joint PortugueseSpanish fleet, which was intended to drive the Dutch and English from Asian waters never assembled. The Portuguese wing of the great fleet sailed from Goa to Melaka, but it suffered so many losses en route and in a battle at Melaka with the Dutch that it was unable to join forces with the Spanish wing (Pinto 1997: 132). Only three ships left Portugal for India in 1616. One was lost en route in a battle with the English, one reached Goa, although no one on board was in physical condition for service, and the whereabouts of the third was still unknown at the end of the year.43 Thus the viceroy had a net loss of ships when the fleet sailed in early 1617 for Portugal. That fleet reached Portugal in mid-1617 with its pepper cargo in a damaged condition, resulting in an enquiry to identify the causes and people responsible. A backlog of goods may have accumulated in India, and some men may have been overdue for repatriation during the period 1616-8, since only two ships from India had reached Portugal in 1615.44 Meanwhile, the 1617 fleet sailing in the opposite direction reached India in October and November 1617, while the Thai ambassadors were there. It consisted of three carracks and one galleon, plus two smaller vessels (a caravel and a pinnace). The carracks sailed back to Portugal in the first half of 1618 (Bocarro 1876: 754–5). That is the fleet with which the Thai ambassadors had expected to sail. Although the average number of ships made the voyage, this sailing was under several constraints, on orders from Lisbon. The 1617 fleet arrived in Goa with special orders to supply a large quantity of hardwoods to meet the needs in Portugal for capstans, tenons and other shipbuilding components.45 In addition to the usual pepper shipment (the orders for the enquiry had not yet arrived), the viceroy was under pressure to send as much saltpetre as possible to Portugal, for use in manufacturing gunpowder.46 Moreover, the 1618 fleet bound for Portugal had another, highly unusual priority. Jerónimo de Azevedo’s term of office ended in November 1617, with the arrival in Goa of the new viceroy, João Coutinho. Azevedo was in disgrace for several reasons. He had led a fleet of 15 ships into battle at Surat in January 1615 and was beaten by a mere six English ships (Bocarro 1876: 342–4); he authorised the ill-fated attack on Arakan in October 1615, which resulted in the loss of the

43

Letter, viceroy to king, 29 December 1616 in BFUP 1955 4: 858. Letter, king to Archbishop Miguel de Castro, 13 November 1615 in BFUP 1960 16: 892. 45 Letter, king to viceroy, 30 March 1617 in Pato 1893: 218. 46 Letter, king to viceroy, 8 March 1617 in Pato 1893: 97. 44

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Portuguese fort on Sundiva Island; and he had lost the Portuguese wing of the long-planned joint armada. He was also under investigation for mis-use of treasury funds (Guedes 1994: 164 n. 171). He was placed under arrest by his successor, and the captains of the three carracks had orders to carry him to Europe with the utmost speed. On his return to Portugal, Azevedo was put in prison and remained there for the rest of his life. The decision concerning the Thai ambassadors, and whether to provide them with passage to Portugal and back, was in the hands of the new viceroy. The total number in the Thai party at Goa at the end of 1617 is not recorded. (By comparison, the Thai embassy that set out for the Netherlands in 1607 had fifteen members, and the Dutch finally agreed to provide passage from Java to Europe and back for five.) No doubt the three ambassadors and the royal page in Goa had brought servants with them, and they would have pressed for some servants to accompany them, besides an interpreter. Thus the viceroy was expected to accommodate about seven or eight men, at the very minimum. In spite of appeals from the Thai ambassadors, Coutinho decided against providing passage to Portugal, arguing that he would have to inform Lisbon first and await authorisation for the embassy. In addition to shortages of ships and space on board the three carracks in the returning fleet, Coutinho may have had other reasons for not pursing his predecessor’s plan. The initiative taken by Azevedo in promoting relations with Ayutthaya had come under close scrutiny, and Coutinho arrived with detailed instructions from the king. By the time he sailed from Portugal, officials in Lisbon had concluded that the Martaban plan was impractical and that the new viceroy’s task would be to maintain friendly relations without making any commitments. An embassy to Europe, back to India and home to Ayutthaya, in the absence of affairs of great importance to discuss, was an unjustifiable extravagance. The Thai ambassadors were fortunate to leave Goa when they did, probably during the April 1618 sailing season. In the course of the year 1618-9 an epidemic struck the city, the Indian population was reduced by half and about 2,000 Portuguese died (Veen 2000: 12).47 Given the drastic reduction in population and loss of able men, it must have become evident to the Thai that the new viceroy could not undertake a major new venture at this juncture, such as establishing a Portuguese garrison at a site so distant and difficult to defend as Martaban.

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The Thai ambassadors themselves fell ill in early 1618 (letter, viceroy to king, 8 February 1619 in Pato 1893: 261), but they escaped the epidemic. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Thai Reaction to Failure, 1618 Neither the Portuguese records nor King Song Tham’s letter to the viceroy indicates the purpose of the Thai embassy to Lisbon. The initial motivation may have been little more than a formal diplomatic gesture. During the ten years preceding Father Francisco’s visit to Ayutthaya, the Thai court made its first direct contacts with sovereigns in distant places such as Japan, the Netherlands and England, and letters from the Thai king were sent to those countries. Before 1616, all three countries were represented by important trading communities in Ayutthaya. By contrast, the Portuguese had been trading in Thai ports for more than a century, but the Thai court had maintained relations only at the level of the viceroy in Goa. Thus one reason for an embassy to Portugal itself was to make direct sovereign-tosovereign contact. King Song Tham’s 1616 letter to King Filipe II was forwarded to Lisbon and must have arrived with the annual fleet in mid-1618. Thus far, no trace of it has been found in the Portuguese archives, nor of the gifts that accompanied it, although some acknowledgement must have been sent. The last published record concerning these exchanges is a letter from King Filipe II to the viceroy, dated 17 January 1618.48 The letter mentions the Martaban plan but, understandably, not King Song Tham’s letter or gifts, which could not have reached him before mid1618, when the annual fleet returned to Lisbon. One would expect to find a record of King Filipe II’s reply and return gifts in the Portuguese archives among documents written in the second half of 1618 or early 1619 and carried by the annual fleet that sailed from Portugal in early 1619. From the Thai viewpoint, the practical reason for the long voyage was to learn more, from first-hand observation, about Portugal and its power relative to other European nations. The first Thai ambassadors to Europe had visited the Netherlands and returned to Ayutthaya only five years earlier, with much eye-witness information about the Dutch. Among the nations maintaining friendly relations with Ayutthaya, the Portuguese and the Dutch were the two greatest rivals. The king and his court were already familiar, through reports based on personal observations by Thai officials and traders, with Portuguese fleets and fortresses such as Melaka, Syriam and Goa. No doubt they wanted to know more about Portugal itself, to help them guide their relations with Portugal’s rivals in Ayutthaya. They may also have wanted to know more about the curious Iberian monarchy and the arrangement in which Portugal and Spain were separate and independent countries, although both were ruled by the same king.

48

Letter, king to viceroy, 17 January 1618 in Pato 1884: 259–60. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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How did King Song Tham and his ministers react to the news of the failure of the second embassy? If the ambassadors left Goa during the best sailing season, about April 1618, they may have reached Ayutthaya as early as June. By that time, the lines of territorial control had been redrawn and appear to have become firm. The respective spheres of Thai and Burmese control, along the coast of the Andaman Sea and in the upper Chao Phraya basin, were once again fixed. By the time the Portuguese position became apparent—and the Portuguese probably never sent a definite negative reply concerning Martaban—the Thai ministers must have lost interest in the plan, realising that it was impractical. Azevedo had already received instructions from Lisbon to maintain a politically neutral position in negotiations, and by 1616 he seems to have concluded that the Martaban plan was impractical. The Thai ambassadors must have known of these intentions, and there was thus no reason to appeal directly to King Filipe II to pursue the proposal. The certainty of failure at the courts in Lisbon and Madrid may have been offered to King Song Tham as a practical reason why the ambassadors finally agreed not to proceed to Portugal. Perhaps the consensus at the Thai court by this time was to fall back on the proposal from Arakan as a substitute for the safeguards provided by a buffer territory. No Arakanese naval attack on Burma from the west, combined with an infantry attack by the Thai army from the east, actually took place. But as long as the Burmese ministers believed that such a plan could be set in motion, their caution might provide the desired checks against further aggression. Among many other possible excuses offered to Song Tham for not sending the ambassadors to Portugal, Azevedo may have argued that a fleet had been sent to the archipelago in 1616, under King Filipe’s orders to join forces with the Spanish fleet in operations against the Dutch,49 thus making the shortage of ships even more acute. A war in progress would have been a diplomatically acceptable excuse for delaying the embassy to Portugal. Even better, could Thai diplomats be invited to travel to Europe in company with a viceroy who was under arrest and on his way to prison? Practical Results of the Diplomatic Exchanges The successive embassies, received at and taking leave from the viceregal and royal courts, form a rapidly shifting and blurred background on this stage of diplomacy, and only a few details can be perceived clearly. Foremost, no defensive or offensive alliances were formed. The Thai did not ally themselves with the Arakanese against the Burmese, or with the Portuguese and Spanish against the Dutch and English. The Portuguese did not form alliances either with the Thai 49

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against the Burmese or with the Burmese against the Arakanese or with anyone against the detested Protestants.50 The main beneficiaries of the discussions with the Thai were the traders of all nationalities and the Portuguese residents in King Song Tham’s domains. From the viewpoint of Portuguese officials in Goa and Melaka, the exchanges of embassies with Ayutthaya from 1615 to 1619 renewed friendly relations at a diplomatic level, in contrast to the occasional commercial contacts made by Portuguese officials in Melaka and Macau. Such diplomatic relations were first established more than a century earlier but had lapsed for a very long time. The exchanges also helped the Portuguese to assess the rapidly changing balance of power in mainland Southeast Asia and to formulate a policy of prudent neutrality, keeping all avenues of trade open without making any political or military commitments. The real gains for the Portuguese were the minor ones granted by King Song Tham. They are mentioned in his November 1616 message and in the viceroy’s reports to Lisbon: the release of Christian captives (presumably the Portuguese held since early 1613), inheritances to be given to the heirs of deceased Portuguese traders and serious legal cases against Portuguese in provincial areas to be removed to Ayutthaya and tried in the ministerial courts. These arrangements were ensured by the agreement on the office of the Portuguese head of community, who would serve when necessary as an intermediary with Thai officials on behalf of Portuguese residents and visiting traders.51 He could not sit as a judge, but he was responsible for administering punishments in cases of serious crimes. Since the people held in Thai prisons were given nothing by the government, they had to depend on relatives or charity for their food, clothing and other necessities. Imprisonment was rendered a little easier with the Portuguese community leader responsible for administering the punishment. 50

The Arakanese persisted in their negotiations with the Portuguese and reached a peaceful agreement with Viceroy Coutinho’s successor, who reported in February 1620 that Arakan’s ambassadors had been sent to Goa (letter, viceroy to king, 17 February 1620 in BFUP 1962 21: 465–6). An agreement was concluded with them in April (Gune 1972 1: 114, 1A: 493–4). 51 Documentation concerning this office is sparse, but some of the office-holders can be identified during the ensuing 150 years, while Ayutthaya was still the capital. A January 1655 report mentions the viceroy’s appointment of Domingos Saraiva Barreto de Pina to the captaincy or head of community in Ayutthaya (letter, João de Sousa Pereira in Macau to viceroy, 10 January 1655 in BFUP 1963 24: 311). The man who assumed these responsibilities in 1684 received an official appointment from the Portuguese viceroy with the title of authorised agent for Portuguese residents (letter from António da Fonseca, procurador dos ausentes in Ayutthaya, to the viceroy, 2 September 1684 in BFUP 1970 41: 25). In 1684, as in 1616, the Thai king denied the request to give the community head the power to sit as the judge in legal cases brought against Portuguese residents. A Jesuit missionary, Father Francisco Teles, served as head of the Portuguese community for about 20 years up to his death in 1737 (Teixeira 1983: 395). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Bocarro’s records of the exchanges between King Song Tham and Father Francisco show that both sides had grievances, and the Thai apparently had more of them than the Portuguese did. It is thus ironic that, from the Thai viewpoint, very little changed in practice, except for removing powers of judgment and punishment from provincial governors. Inheritances were a real concession, but given the typically small capital possessed by Portuguese residents and traders, inheritance was an issue of negligible importance to anyone but the few heirs who were affected. The system of heads of community for non-Thai ethnic groups was a very old one, and the official acknowledgment of a post for a Portuguese head was not a concession from the Thai perspective. Indeed, Thai officials may have been important beneficiaries of this arrangement, since the incumbent subsequently facilitated their work, improved communications with the Portuguese residents, mediated in disputes, probably helped to discipline unruly sailors and must have provided other services useful to the Thai ministry responsible for foreign residents. One proposal that did succeed was the immediate re-opening of trade, which had stopped some years earlier, because junks from Ayutthaya bound for Melaka had been robbed many times in the straits, as they rounded the tip of the Malay peninsula, and had also been ill treated by a Portuguese squadron commander (Bocarro 1876: 523–4). Under the new agreement, the Thai ministry responsible for maritime trade not only sold some crown junks to the Portuguese to facilitate their trade but also provided the traders with goods and food supplies needed by Melaka (Bocarro 1876: 519). Under this arrangement, the Thai court was able to improve relations with the Portuguese and increase the overall volume of trade, by allowing Ayutthaya-based Portuguese to manage some of the Melaka-bound trade themselves. Even so, the viceroy continued to urge King Song Tham to instruct his own subjects to resume trading at Melaka and other Portuguese ports.52 The king also agreed to waive import duties on goods brought by Portuguese traders from India and Melaka, to waive export duties and to impose only the anchorage fee on their ships (Bocarro 1876: 523). This provision did not apply to the ports of the king’s vassals—among them Tenasserim, Nakhòn Sithammarat and Patani—where the local rulers managed their own respective systems of taxation.53 The initial flurry of trading activity reported in Portuguese records may not have lasted very long, however, and trading may have stopped abruptly in 1624 when Thai-Portuguese relations were broken. 52

Letter, viceroy to king (Filipe II), 8 February 1619 in Pato 1893: 261. This arrangement can be deduced by Father Francisco’s report that King Song Tham had asked the viceroy to issue regulations requiring Portuguese subjects to pay the duties and customs revenues established by the reyes (‘kings’) who were his vassals (Bocarro 1876: 526). Father Francisco used the term reyes when translating the Thai term phraya, which in the Thai context denotes high-ranking governors. From the Portuguese viewpoint, these local rulers must have appeared to be virtual sovereigns in their respective domains. 53

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Nothing of international consequence emerged from all this diplomatic activity. The exchanges nonetheless leave us with the impression that the Thai court, although sharing many rituals and symbols of power with its Burmese counterpart, took a fundamentally different approach to its external relations. Ayutthaya’s reach, moreover, was much greater, and its contacts were becoming global, extending from Japan in the east to the north-western coast of Europe— opposite and outer limits of the political world known up to that time. Epilogue From 1548 to 1593, the Thai heartland was never secure from the threat of Burmese attack, and probably during this long period the Thai court became acutely conscious of the value of the old Mon buffer. After the collapse of Burmese power on the shores of the Andaman Sea at the turn of the century, and up to 1613, the Mon along the coast near Martaban (who accepted Thai suzertainty during this period), together with the newly established Portuguese fort at Syriam, provided a buffer once again. The series of diplomatic exchanges, initiated in 1615 by the Thai with the Portuguese viceroy, represent a search for a renewed buffer. The Thai king, Song Tham, offered a site at Martaban for a new fort, to replace the one the Portuguese had lost to the Burmese. The new site had command not only of the northern limits of the coastline of the Malay peninsula (where the Thai had great trading and territorial interests) but also the eastern shore of the Gulf of Martaban, separating it from the once-powerful Burmese capital of Pegu. When talks began, the Thai were so eager for the Portuguese to fortify this site that Thai military reinforcements were offered to help defend the proposed fortress, in the event it came under Burmese attack. Several years passed, during which the Burmese made counter-proposals to the Portuguese, and the Thai offer of Martaban was referred to Lisbon for instructions. Portuguese relations with the Thai had been minimal for at least a half century, and the Portuguese, for strategic reasons, had never supported the Thai in their conflicts with the Burmese. Food supplies (some of which came from Burmese ports) were vital to the defence of Melaka, and a consistent policy of friendly relations with the Burmese had been maintained in the final decades of the 1500s, when the Burmese still controlled the coastal areas. Most important in the eventual Portuguese decision not to accept the Thai offer was a reversal of Thai fortunes from the very start of the negotiations. The young Thai king was ineffectual as a defender of Thai frontier interests. He was barely twenty years old when he came to the throne in 1611, and he watched helplessly two years later as the Mon leaders of Martaban switched allegiance to the

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Burmese, who reached Martaban’s territory when they overran Syriam in 1613. Even before the young king sent his first ambassadors to Goa, he had lost control of this part of the coastline, and the Portuguese soon became aware that he was offering a site that was in Burmese hands. The only way for the Portuguese crown to gain possession would be through a war with the Burmese, and the consequences of such an agreement were unthinkable. King Song Tham’s offer of Martaban to the Portuguese was a logical decision from the Thai viewpoint in 1614, but only at that moment in history. The Portuguese were known to be politically powerful, had many forts in India and China, a fort in the Melaka Strait (with a great need for food and other goods, which Martaban could supply), were a major power in Europe and were treated with caution even by the Chinese authorities.54 By contrast, Dutchmen were numerically inferior, had no fortress anywhere nearby, had no base of political power (Batavia was not founded until five years later) and were relative newcomers to Southeast Asian waters. The English appeared to be even weaker, had been trading in Ayutthaya for only two years and were an unknown political quantity. Thus Portugal was the logical choice of defensive ally in the search for a new buffer against the Burmese. By the time King Song Tham died 14 years later, however, the Dutch had established their permanent base in Java and had overtaken the Portuguese in numbers of men arriving annually in Asia and volumes of cargoes shipped to Europe. In the longer term, a closer alliance with Portugal, as foreseen in the Martaban plan, could have been disastrous for Ayutthaya, perhaps even within King Song Tham’s lifetime. He was attempting to ally himself with long-established Europeans who must have appeared, from the perspective of Ayutthaya, to be the foremost military and commercial power. They were—although it was not yet apparent to the Thai—on the point of irreversible decline in their power and fortunes. Appendix: Texts and Translations Viceroy Jerónimo de Azevedo’s Letter to King Song Tham, Written in Goa, 28 April 1616 The April 1616 letter from Viceroy Azevedo to King Song Tham was published in António Bocarro’s Década (1879: 517–8) and is transcribed here from 54

A 1617 report from Guangzhou (Wade 1994: 2,454) encapsulates the Chinese view of and policy towards the Portuguese at Macau: the Portuguese had a small but strongly defended enclave, they should be treated with caution, they were best left alone and they could be driven out whenever the Chinese government wished to do so. Thai officials no doubt comprehended this policy and must also have perceived that, despite haughty posturing, even the Chinese were unwilling to act against the Portuguese except in extreme circumstances. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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the first edition of that work. The spellings of the original text are retained in the transcription below. Bocarro was the state archivist of the viceroys of India in the 1630s, when he compiled his history, and he had access to a copy of the letter to King Song Tham as well as to Father Francisco’s report. It is fortunate that the text of this letter was preserved in the history by Bocarro, who had access to documents that either have not survived or have not yet been located. The Portuguese archives have a series of correspondence between the viceroys and Asian monarchs. The first volume (titled Reis Vizinhos N˚. 1) encompasses the years 1619–20 and the second (Reis Vizinhos N˚. 2) encompasses 1662–8 (BFUP 1956 11: 45–296), leaving a gap for 1621-61 inclusive and another for the entire period prior to 1619. Text A carta de V.A. que estes seus enviados me trouxeram, recebi com muito contentamento, e o tive mui particular com as boas novas que me deram da saude de V.A., e postoque desejei tornassem logo com reposta, não foi possivel, assim por chegarem tarde como por se não offerecer então commodidade de embarcação que os pudesse pôr nas terras de V.A. e assim vão agora em um navio que para isso mandei aprestar; e envio juntamente o padre frei Francisco da Annunciação por ser pessoa conhecida de V.A. e que poderá melhor que outrem significar-lhe o meu animo, e o grande desejo que tenho de que a nossa amisade torne ao que antigamente era, e representarlhe outras cousas, e negocios que leva a cargo para tractar com V.A. E assim lhe poderá dar inteiro credito em tudo o que de minha parte disser a V.A. Do que V.A. me escreve sobre a perda de Sirião e morte de Filippe de Brito estou eu mui certo, e que se o banha de Martavão cumpríra o mandado de V.A. e se não rebellára, não conseguiria o rei de Ová sua pretenção. Eu mandei o anno passado uma armada a recuperar aquella fortaleza e para fazer o mesmo em Martavão, com ordem de V.A., mas ella occupou-se em outras cousas, e deixou de executar o que ácerca d’isto lhe ordenei, de que tive muito desprazer; e porém, como o tempo der logar, tractarei logo de mandar quem o execute melhor, e darei ordem para que vão mercadores a esses reinos de V.A. e tenham n’elles commercio, como V.A. me pede, a se costumou sempre. O padre e o capitão de navio hão de apresentar a V.A. em signal de amor e boa vontade algumas mostras do que por cá ha, e V.A. veja o que manda,

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porque em tudo se ha de procurar sempre dar-lhe satisfação e gosto; e por mui encommendado hei a V.A. o padre, e que ao capitão mande dar despacho e fazer todo o favor para se poder tornar logo, e me trazer boas novas de V.A. a quem Nosso Senhor, etc. Escripta em Goa a 28 de abril de 616. Dom Hieronymo de Azevedo. Translation It was with much pleasure that I received the letter from Your Highness,55 which your envoys brought to me, with many details and the good news that was conveyed to me about the health of Your Highness. Although I wanted to send a reply immediately, it was not possible, as they arrived too late to offer them the facility of a ship that could convey them to the lands of Your Highness. And so a ship is going now, which I have ordered to be fitted out for this purpose. I am sending along padre frei [Father] Francisco de Anunciação, who is known to Your Highness and who can, better than anyone else, convey my thoughts and the great wish that I have, for our friendship to revert to what it was in the past. He will make representations about other matters and the negotiations that he is commissioned to carry out with Your Highness. And therefore, complete confidence can be given to all that he says on my behalf to Your Highness. What Your Highness writes to me, concerning the loss of Syriam and the death of Filipe de Brito, is very accurate. And if the banya [governor] of Martaban carries out the orders of Your Highness and does not rebel, the king of Ava will not obtain his demands.56 Last year I sent a fleet to regain that fortress and to do the same in Martaban, with the mandate of Your Highness, but it became involved in other matters and omitted to carry out the orders that were given to it, which was very displeasing to me. How55

Modern usage requires ‘Your Majesty’ here, but the term Your Highness (Vossa Alteza) has been retained according to period usage. In Tudor England, the older form of address for the sovereign (Your Grace) was replaced by Your Highness. In the Act of Supremacy issued by Queen Elizabeth I (not long before the birth of King Song Tham), her subjects pledged loyalty to her with that terminology: ‘I...do utterly declare and testify in my conscience the Queen’s Highness is the only supreme governor of this realm.’ Another passage refers to ‘...every other person having Your Highness’s fee or wages in this realm’. 56 The viceroy implies that the governor of Martaban might resist the efforts of King Anaukhpet-lun to extend Burmese control over Martaban and towns farther south along that coast. In the absence of reinforcements from the Thai, however, the Mon governor had no choice but to submit to Burmese rule after Burmese forces captured Syriam in March 1613. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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ever, in the proper time and place, I shall send someone who will perform better. And I shall issue orders for merchants to go to these kingdoms57 of Your Highness and carry on trade with them, as Your Highness requests of me, and to make this a customary practice. The priest and the captain of the ship are to present to Your Highness some tokens of my affection and good will, and Your Highhness will see that orders have been given for every effort to be made to give satisfaction and pleasure to you in all things. The priest is greatly entrusted to the care of Your Highness, and the captain is instructed to make haste and show every courtesy, so that he can immediately come back and convey to me the good news from Your Highness, to whom Our Lord ... etc. Written in Goa on the 28th of April 1616. Dom Jerónimo de Azevedo. Identification of the Bodleian Manuscript A manuscript in the Bodleian Library in Oxford may be the oldest handwritten document in the Thai language. A notation on the manuscript, added at the time of acquisition, indicates that it was ‘Bought from the widow of Ed. Bernard (see Wanley’s Catalogue) 8813’. The parenthetical note may refer to the catalogue of manuscripts attributed to Edward Bernard and indexed by Humphrey Wanley. It lists the other manuscripts in Bernard’s personal collection (Bernard 1697: 226–8) but makes no reference to a work in Thai.58 Bernard was a professor of astronomy in the University of Oxford. He often travelled abroad and acquired a personal library of more than 500 books, plus many manuscripts. After his death in 1696, his books were sold at auction in London in 1697. He had a special interest in the Middle East, and his collection included works in Turkish and Arabic. But the titles of his books do not reveal any particular interest in southern or eastern Asia, except for copies of the travellers’ accounts published by Samuel Purchas (London, 1625) and by Jean-Baptiste Tavernier (Paris, 1678).

57

By ‘kingdoms’ the viceroy meant any of the seaports that belonged to King Song Tham. Because of the nearly absolute powers wielded by the governors of such ports, they were typically called reyes (‘kings’) in Portuguese records. See note 53 above. 58 My sincere thanks to Michael Charney of SOAS for examining the 1697 catalogue and providing this information about Bernard’s collection. His manuscripts are arranged by language, and there is no category for Thai (either Siamese or a Latin form such as codex siamensis). The number 8813, written on the manuscript, does not refer to this catalogue. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The auction catalogue does not include the manuscripts, which must have been sold separately. The compiler of the catalogue observed that ‘His Manuscripts Oriental, & c. left by him, among which I am informed there are some very Ancient Copies not printed, are of great value, perhaps not elsewhere to be found’ (Millington 1697: iii). The Bodleian must have purchased the Thai manuscript about the time of the auction, because it appears as entry number 8813 in the 1698 volume of the Bodleian’s ‘Summary Catalogue of Western Manuscripts’. This catalogue gives the shelfmark MS. Siam d.1, which has been superseded by MS. Asiat Misc.d.3.59 Given our knowledge of the 1615–9 diplomatic exchanges between Ayutthaya and Goa, internal evidence in the text of the manuscript clearly shows that it is a copy of a message from King Song Tham to Jerónimo de Azevedo, Viceroy of Portuguese India at Goa from 1612 to 1617. The first two attempts to identify the manuscript were made by Khac˘hòn Sukkhaphanit (1960, 1961), who made guesses based on internal evidence in the text and subsequently published further details about it, probably copied from Faria y Sousa’s (1695) history. Many of Khac˘hòn’s initial guesses proved to be wrong, partly because he did not have access to the published Portuguese records and was misled by the corrupted chronology of the annals of Ayutthaya, recompiled in the Bangkok period. He believed the manuscript was a royal letter from King Ekathotsarot (Song Tham’s father) to King Filipe II of Portugal. The third attempt to describe the text (Kongkaew 1996) correctly identified Song Tham as the king, but went no further in placing the document in its historical context. Thai researchers have tried to identify this document as a letter. But Thai kings customarily wrote only to fellow sovereigns. In the case of Portuguese affairs, however, official Thai correspondence had always been maintained with the viceroy at Goa, and no attempt had been made to send an embassy to Portugal itself. Indeed, the only Thai embassy to Europe thus far was the one to the Netherlands, which set out from Ayutthaya in 1607 and reached home again probably in 1611. The fourth publication of the text, as a photographic reproduction (Ginsburg 2000: 21), correctly identified the document as a speech and not a letter. This is not a letter in the ordinary sense but a message, in the form of a royal speech or discourse. It informed the viceroy of various matters by making pronouncements, similar to those made by the king in audiences with Thai officials. It was probably intended to be read aloud, in the presence of the viceroy, by the senior Thai ambassador. (For a similar message in 1622 to Richard Fursland, the President of the Council of Defence of the English East India Company and commander of English forces in Southeast Asian waters, see Ginsburg 2000: 19.)

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The substance was dictated by King Song Tham, in the presence of his Phra Khlang (the minister responsible for external relations and maritime trade), and was written down by scribes. It was probably then edited, and a Portuguese-language version may have been prepared in Ayutthaya, to ensure the accuracy of the translation. We can safely date the document to November 1616, shortly before the departure of the Thai ambassadors for India in company with Father Francisco. The official letter from King Song Tham to King Filipe II of Portugal was a separate document—an elaborate ceremonial object. Following Thai diplomatic protocol, such letters were inscribed with a stylus on a thin sheet of pure gold, rolled into a scroll, enclosed in a silk bag and carried in a decorated case made of rare wood or ivory. The 1616 royal letter was forwarded from Goa to Lisbon and was on board one of the carracks that left Goa in early 1618. Since King Song Tham’s message to the viceroy was likewise an official document, a finely lettered and dated copy in Thai, bearing the minister’s seal, must have been presented to Azevedo in early 1617 by the Thai ambassadors. Neither the royal letter to Filipe II nor the speech to the viceroy, nor a translation of either has been located thus far in the Portuguese archives. But a copy of the message to the viceroy has survived. That copy was obviously made for travelling, because it was written on a sheet of light-weight, soft paper that could be folded or rolled into a scroll and easily carried on a long journey. This type of locally manufactured paper was used for sending messages between Thai towns or between the capital and a town. By contrast, office copies kept by Thai court scribes were usually written on the stiff sheets of accordion-fold books called samut dam, which were durable but were also heavy, bulky and unsuited to travelling. The undated, roughly written copy preserved in the Bodleian must have been taken to India by the ambassadors for their reference during the negotiations with the viceroy and his officials. It was obviously not intended to be presented to anyone or kept permanently, because it was written in pencil, and the handwriting is not the carefully lettered style of formal documents. It is also undated, and no seal was affixed. What happened to it after 1618, when the Thai ambassadors were still in Goa, and how did it come into the hands of Edward Bernard, whose widow sold it to the library in Oxford about 1697? The present author has not yet found any answers. The message itself contains little of substance other than a summary of the exchange of embassies. This formal, diplomatic document did not contain the details that were of greatest concern to both sides. Those topics were brought by the Thai ambassadors, perhaps in the form of informal written memoranda to remind them of all the business that they were assigned to conclude. Few other manuscripts have been found that are written in the same Thai script. Three were given to Danish traders at Tenasserim in December 1621 and have been preserved in the Danish archives. (See Dhani and Seidenfaden 1939, Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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who included photographic reproductions of the texts.) Two of those documents are letters written in finely penned script by a scribe, whereas the Bodleian manuscript was written hastily in pencil in a handwriting that is not always easy to read. The Bodleian manuscript is written on a single sheet of paper, approximately 67 centimetres wide and 87 centimetres long. It is torn vertically down the right-hand side in a jagged line, and the last words on most lines are missing. The translation below is divided into 46 lines, corresponding to the 46 lines of Thai text. At the ends of lines that can be fully reconstructed in Thai, the missing text is placed in square brackets. Three dots (...) indicate lacunae that have not been reconstructed. Numbers with % signs at the ends of lines are approximations of the proportion of text that is missing from the respective lines, including those that have been reconstructed. Only six lines are complete, not counting the last one, which contains only two words. About an eighth to a fourth is missing from most other lines. Overall, it appears that about 15 percent of the text is missing from the right-hand side. In addition, some letters are missing or illegible within a few lines. The following translation is therefore only a rough rendering of the text in English. King Song Tham’s Discourse to Viceroy Jerónimo de Azevedo, Written in Ayutthaya, November 1616 Text (transcribed from Bodleian manuscript MS. Asiat Misc.d.3)60

§”∑’Ë≈∫‡≈◊ÕπÕà“π‰¡à™—¥À√◊Õ¢“¥À“¬‰ª®“°µâπ©–∫—∫¡’¡“°∑’‡¥’¬« ºâŸ§—¥≈Õ°‰¥â™”√–‡µ‘¡¢÷Èπ „π√–À«à“߫߇≈Á∫[-]æÕÊ®–‡¥“ÕÕ°‰¥â ‚¥¬©–‡æ“–µÕπª≈“¬∫√√∑—∑·∑∫∑ÿ°∫√√∑—¥¡’ à«πÀπ÷Ëß ¢“¥À“¬ 1 æ√–∫√¡√ æ®π¿“‚¥¬‚Õß°“√¡“πæ√–∫—≥±Ÿ√æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂ ∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«[°√ÿßæ√–¡À“π§√∑«“√“«] 2 ¥’»√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“¡À“¥‘≈°¿æπæ√—µπ√“™∏“π’∫√ÿ √’ ¡¬åÕ¥ÿ ¡ «“¡’»√’ æÿ √√≥§ƒÀ√—µπ ‡®â“ª√“ “∑∑Õß ‡®â“¡À“¡ß§‚≈...

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I am grateful to Decha Tangseefa of Thammasat University for patiently working with me to transcribe into electronic form my hand-copied version of the Thai text. For the convenience of Thai readers, I have modified the placement of some vowels to conform to modern usage. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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3 °«à“∑â“«æ√–¬“ΩÉ“¬∑‘»µ–«—πÕÕ°∑—Èߪ«ß∑√ßæ√–°√ÿ≥“¡’æ√–√“™‡¡µµ“¿“«–¡“∂÷ßæ√–¬“ ‰«´å√Õ¬¥â«¬æ√–¬“[‰«´å√Õ¬·µàß∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬–-] 4  —ß·≈–°ªîµ—π¡≈‡«√√’‡∫π∂◊ÕÀπ—ß ◊Õ·≈–¡ß§≈√“™∫√√≥“°“√‡¢â“‰ª∑Ÿ≈‡°≈â“∑Ÿ≈°√–À¡àÕ¡ ∂«“¬π—Èπ æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°[“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√] 5 æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«°Á ‰¥â¥”√— Õ√√∂Õ—°…√·Ààßæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬Õ—π„À⇢Ⓣª∂«“¬π—Èπ‡ √Á®∑ÿ° ª√–°“√°Á¡’æ√–√“™ƒ∑—¬... 6 ∂âÕ¬§”æ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬Õ—π‰¥â¡’πÈ”„®Õ—π™◊Ëπ™¡¬‘π¥’µàÕ§«“¡ «“¡‘¿—°¥‘ÏÕ—π‡∑’ˬ߷∑â·≈–®–„§√à√—∫ æ√–√“™°‘®®“πÿ°‘®„πæ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®[æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√] 7 ∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àÀŸ «— ∑—ßÈ ª«ßπ—πÈ æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂ ∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«°Á¡’æ√–... 8 °√ÿ≥“·°àæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬Àπ—°Àπ“À“ ‘ßË ∑’®Ë –Õÿª¡“°Á ‰¡à‰¥âª√–°“√Àπ÷ßË ´÷ßË ¡’Àπ—ß ◊Õæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬ „Àâ∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬– —ß∑Ÿ≈¡“... 9 °Ææ√–¬“ªÕ√åµÿ°—≈«à“®–¢Õ„À⇪ìπæ√–√“™‰¡µ√’¥â«¬æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√ ∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ[∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«]... 10 Õ“∑‘µ¬å°Á¥’¢Õæ√–√“™‰¡µ√’π—ÈπÕ¬à“‰¥â¡â«¬[ ‘Èπ ÿ¥]·≈–´÷Ëßæ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏ Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“[Õ¬àŸÀ—« ...¡’æ√–] 11 √“™Àƒ∑—¬¬‘π¡≈“°¬‘π¥’π—°Àπ“ ·≈–π”æ√–√“™Àƒ∑—¬æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√ ∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ[∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—« ... ‡À¡◊Õπ] 12 ·µà°àÕπ¡“‰´√â ‡æ√“–®–„§√à „Àâ·ºàπ¥‘π‡¡◊ÕߪÕ√åµÿ°—≈·≈–·ºàπ¥‘π°√ÿßæ√–¡À“π§√∑«“√“«¥’ »√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“‡ªìπ·ºàπ°√–¥“π∑[Õß...] 13 æ√–√“™‰¡µ√’π—Èπ‡ªìπÕ—π π‘∑[ πàÀå¡—Ëπ§ßÕ—π®–...À“]‰¡à ‰¥âµ“¡ª√[–‡æ]≥’ —®∏√√¡‰¡µ√’Õ—π¡’ „π æ√–¡À“°[…—]µ√‘¬å‡®â“∑—ÈßÀ≈“¬... [ª√–-] 14 °“√π’È°Á ¡„πæ√–√“´Àƒ∑¬Õ—π...[®–]æ÷Ëß¡“·µà°àÕπ∫“ßÕ¬à“ßπ—Èπª√–°“√Àπ÷Ëߥ⫬æ√–¬“‰«´å √Õ¬„Àâ∑Ÿ≈æ√–°√ÿ≥“§«“¡ Õߪ√–°“√ ... 15 Àπ—ß ◊Õæ√–¬“Õ—ß«–¡“∂÷ßæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬«à“®–¢Õ‡ªìπ‰¡µ√’·≈–æ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬°Á ‰ª‰¡à√—∫·≈– „Àâߥ‰«â·µà∑à“‰¡≈“ªÿπ°àÕπ‡¡◊ËÕ„¥·≈–¡’ ... 16 «à“ª√–°“√„¥‰´√â ®÷Ëß„Àâ∑”µ“¡π—Èπ æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√ æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«°Á¡’æ√–√“™Àƒ∑—¬„... 17 ‡æ√“–‡Àµÿæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬¡’§«“¡ «“¡‘¿—°¥‘ÏÕ—π´◊ËÕÕ—π®√‘ß ®÷߉¥â·∂≈ß·®âß°‘®‡π◊ÈÕ§¥’‡¢â[“]‰ª ∂«“¬„Àâ[µ√— ∑√“∫] °ÁÀ“°‡ªìπª√–‡æ[≥’] ... 18 ¥’ „πæ√–¡À“°…—µ√‘¬å‡®â“Õ—π¬‘Ëß ·≈–°“√Õ—π®–‡ªìπ¡‘µ√°Á¥’‡ªìπ —µ√Ÿ°Á¥’‰´√â¬àÕ¡æ‘®“√≥“À“ ‘Ëß Õ—π®–‡ªìπª√–‚¬™πå·≈–‰¡à‡ªìπ ... 19 ‰´√â °Á‡Õ“ ‘Ëßπ—Èπ®÷ß®–‰¥â§‘¥Õà“πµ°·µàß°“√ ‘Ëßπ—Èπª√–°“√∑’ Õ—πæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬®–µ°·µàßΩ√—Ëß ºŸâ —π∑—¥∂◊Õ‡√◊ËÕßπ—Èπ¡“ ... 20 æ√–√“™°”Àπ¥π—Èπ°Á ¡[„π]æ√–[√“™Àƒ∑—¬]æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂ ∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸ[À—«...°√ÿ-] Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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21 ≥“·°àæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬‡ªìπÕ𗬑Ëßπ—°À“ ‘Ëß®–‡ ¡Õ¥â«¬‰¡à ‰¥â ·≈–§«“¡ Õߪ√–°“√π’È æ√–∫“∑  ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫[√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ-] 22 ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àÀŸ «— ®–‰¥â¡æ’ √–√“™°”Àπ¥„Àâ·®âß°‘®§¥’∑ß—È ª«ß‰´√â ‡°≈◊Õ°∑â“«æ√–¬“¡À“°…—µ√“∏‘√“™ Õ—π¡’ „π®—µÿ∑‘»¿“§® ... 23 ®–√à«¡æ√–√“™Àƒ∑—¬§‘¥Õà“π°‘®°“√∫â“π‡¡◊Õß∑—Èߪ«ß‰´√â ¬—ß®–¡’Õ¬Ÿà‡Àµÿ¥—ßπ’È æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á® æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√[∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“-] 24 Õ¬ŸàÀ—«‰¡à ‰¥âæ‘æ“°…“ ¥â«¬æ√–¡À[“°]…—µ√‘¬å‡®â“ºŸâÕ—π‰¥â‡ªìπ∫√¡¡‘µ√π—Èπ®–‡ªìπ∑’˵‘‡µ’¬π·Ààß ª√ª√–‡∑»“∑’√“™æ... 25 æ√–¬“¡À“°…—µ√‘¬å ·≈–‡ªìπ„À≠à°«à“‡¡◊ÕßΩ√—Ëß∑—Èߪ«ß‰´√⬗ߡ’‡¡◊ËÕ„¥æ√–¡À“π§√∑—Èß Õ߇ªìπ  –æ“π ... 26 ‰¥â√à«¡æ√–√“™Àƒ∑—¬§‘¥¥”√‘µ√‘°‘®[“π°‘]®∑—Èߪ«ß ·≈–‡ÀÁπª√–‚¬™πå®–‰¥â·°à‡ π“∫¥’°√–«’™π ™π“°√Õ—π‰¡à... 27 µ°·µàß°“√ ‘Ëßπ—Èπ‰´√â ·≈–ª√–°“√[Àπ÷Ëß]æ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬ ‚ _ _ _ ≈æ®_°_ß«à“¥â«¬Ω√—Ëß ≈Ÿ°§â“°Á¥’Ω√—Ëß∑À“√°Á[¥’ _ _ _ _ _ _ _] æ√–√“™°”Àπ¥ª√–°“√„¥Ê°Á¥’ ‰´√â ¢Õ 28 „Àâ‡Õ“µ—«Ω√—Ëßπ—Èπ[¡“°√“∫]∑Ÿ≈æ[√–°√ÿ≥“ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“ ¢“À≈«ßºŸâ „¥·≈–¢à¡‡ÀßΩ√—Ëß°Á¥’ ¢Õ„Àâ‡Õ“µ—«¡“°√“∫∑Ÿ≈æ√–°√ÿ≥“·≈–„Àâ≈ß‚∑…‚∑ 29 ‚[∑…?]‚∑…“πÿæ≈· ß _ _ _— _√“™¢â“ _ _ _„Àâ°Æ„Àâ·°à∑â“«æ√–¬“∑ÿ°‡¡◊ÕßÕ¬à“„Àâ ¶à“øíπΩ√—Ë߇ ’¬ Õπ÷ËßΩ√—ËߺŸâ „¥‡¢â“¡“§â“¢“¬§√—Èπ·≈–©ÿ°‰´√â®–æ√–√“™∑“π∑√—æ¬å 30  ‘Ëß ‘π∑—Èߪ«ß„Àâ ‰ª·°à∫ÿµ√¿√√¬“ºŸâ©ÿ°π—Èπ æ√–∫“∑ ¡‡¥Á®æ√–‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂ ∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«°Á ¡„πæ√–√“™Àƒ∑—¬‚¥¬ 31 ¥”√‘π—Èπ∑ÿ°ª√–°“√ °Á „Àâ¡’æ√–√“™°”Àπ¥°ÆÀ¡“¬‰ª·°à∑â“«æ√–¬“„À≠àπâÕ¬∑—Èߪ«ß·≈–‡≈à“ °Æ‰ªπ—Èπ·°à∑â“«æ√–¬“À—«‡¡◊Õß„À≠à∑—Èߪ«ß ∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´32 ‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬– —ß·≈–°ªîµ—π¡≈‡«√√’‡∫π°Á ‰¥â∑√“[∫] _ _ _ _«∑ÿ°ª√–°“√ Õπ÷Ëߥ⫬Ω√—Ëß ≈Ÿ°§â“Õ—π®–‰¥â‡¢â“¡“§â“¢“¬„π¢—≥±‡ ¡“°√ÿßæ√–¡À“π§√∑«“√“«¥’»√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“ 33 ∑—Èߪ«ßπ—Èπ „Àâæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬°ÆÀ¡“¬„Àâ·°àΩ√—Ëß≈Ÿ°§â“∑—Èߪ«ß Õ¬à“„Àâ¢à¡‡À߇∫’¬π¢â“¢—≥± ’¡“ °√ÿßæ√–¡À“π§√∑«“√“«¥’»√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“_ _ _„_ _ _ _— _ _ _ 34 ¥â«¬¢â“¢—≥± ’¡“°√ÿßæ√–¡À“π§√∑«“√“«¥’»√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“ ·≈–„Àâ∑”µ“¡∫—ߧ—∫∫—≠™“‡®â“πÈ”‡®â“∑à“ Õ—π®–‰¥â√—°…“≈Ÿ°§â“∑—Èߪ«ßµ“¡æ[√–√“™°”Àπ¥æ“≥‘™π‘-(?)] 35 °√·≈–≈Ÿ°§â“∑—Èߪ«ß ·≈–‰¥â∑”µ“¡∫—ߧ—∫∫—≠™“‡®â“πÈ”‡®â“∑à“∑—Èߪ«ß·≈⫉´√â ®÷Ëß ‘ËßÕ—π´÷ËßÕ“® ‡ªì𧫓¡¬“°∑—Èߪ«ßπ—Èπ·≈–®–¡’·°à... 36  ◊∫‰ª¿“¬ÀπⓇÀÁπ¡’√“ß¡’‡≈Á«ª√[–°“√]„¥ ·ºàπ¥‘π≥‡¡◊ÕߪÕ√åµÿ°—≈·ºàπ[¥‘π≥°√ÿß]æ√–¡À“ π§√∑«“√“«¥’»√’Õ¬ÿ∏¬“ ·≈–®–µ—ÈßÕ¬Ÿà·≈–∑“π... 37 Õ—π π‘∑ ‡πàÀ“·≈–Õ—π¬Õ¥¬‘Ëß°«à“‚∫√“≥√“™ª√–‡æ≥’æ√–¡À“°…—µ√‘¬å‡®â“∑—ÈßÀ≈“¬·µà°àÕπ °Á ®–„Àâ√“™∑Ÿµ“πÿ∑Ÿµ —≠®√‰ª¡“·[...√–À«à“ßæ√–¡À“π-] 38 §√∑—Èߪ«ßÕ¬à“„À⢓¥ ·≈–®–„Àâ ‰¥âª√–‚¬™πå·°à√“…Æ√ª√–™“æ“≥‘™π‘°√ºŸâ‡ªìπ¢â“¢—≥±‡ ¡“ æ√–¡À“π§√∑—Èß Õ߮߇ªìπÕ—π¬‘Ëß ·[≈–„Àâæ√–¬“‰«´å-] Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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39 √Õ¬Õ—π®–§‘¥Õà“π·µàß·ª≈ß°‘®®“πÿ°®‘ ∑—ßÈ ª«ß®ß∑ÿ°ª√–°“√ ®÷ßæ√–√“™‚Õß°“√¡“πæ√–∫—≥±Ÿ√ µ√— „Àâ∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–[πÿ𠑬– —ß·≈–æ√–¬“ ¡ÿ∑√-] 40  ß§√“¡·≈–À≈«ß ¡ÿ ∑ √‰¡µ√’ [ À≈«ß — ¡ ƒ∑∏‘Ï ‰ ¡µ√’ ? ]¢ÿ π Õπÿ ™‘ µ √“™“·≈–»√’ °ÿ ° ¢â “ À≈«ß ª√–°Õ∫¥â«¬°ªîµ—π¡≈‡«√’‡ªπ∂◊Õæ√–√“™‚Õß°“√¡“π[æ√–∫—≥±Ÿ√...] 41 ¬“ª√– “∑·≈–æ√–√“™∑“π¡“·°àæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬ ·≈–„Àâ·®âߧ«“¡ ÿ¢“πÿ ÿ¢∑—Èߪ«ß §√—Èπ ∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬– —ß[·]≈–æ√–¬[“ ¡ÿ∑√ ß§√“¡À≈«ß —¡ƒ∑∏‘Ï ‰¡µ√¢ÿπ Õπÿ™‘µ√“™“·≈–»√’°ÿ°¢â“À≈«ß] 42 ·≈–°ªïµ—π¡≈‡«√’‡ªπ¡“∂÷ßæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬·≈⫉´√â ®ßæ√–¬“‰«´å√Õ¬‰¥‡≈’ȬߥŸ∫“∑À≈«ß ø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬– —ß·≈–æ√–¬“[ ¡ÿ∑√ ß§√“¡À≈«ß —¡ƒ∑∏‘Ï ‰¡µ√¢ÿπÕπÿ™‘µ√“™“ ·≈–»√’°ÿ°¢â“À≈«ß] 43 ·≈â« ·≈–‰¥âµ°·µàß∫“∑À≈«ßø·√Áπ´‘´‚§‡¥Õ–πÿ𠑬– —ß·≈–æ√–≠“ ¡ÿ∑√ ß§√“¡·≈– À≈«ß —¡ƒ∑∏‘Ï ‰¡µ√’¢ÿπÕπÿ™‘µ√“™“·≈[–»√’°ÿ°¢â“À≈«ß„Àâ∂◊Õ ÿæ√√-] 44 ≥∫—µ√æ√–√“™ “ åπ·≈–√“™¡ß§≈∫√√≥“°“√‰ª∂÷ßæ√–Õߧåøî≈‘‡ªæ√–¬“ªÕ√åµÿ°—≈„Àâ·®âß°‘® §¥»√’‘ ÿ¿“¡‘µ√·≈–°‘®°“√§«“¡... 45 æ≈—π∑—π‡∑»°“≈ ·≈–æ√–∫“∑ ‘«‡Õ°“∑»√ÿ∑∏Õ‘»«√∫√¡π“∂∫√¡∫摵√æ√–æÿ∑∏‡®â“Õ¬àŸÀ—«®– §Õ¬øíß¢à“« ÿ» «[“¡‘¿—§¢Õßæ√–-] 46 ¬“ªÕ√åµÿ°—≈ Translation [1]

These august words, by royal order and command of Phra Bat Somdet Phra [His Majesty King] Ekathotsarut61 Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua [Krung Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawa-] 19%

[2]

di Si Ayutthaya Maha Di Lokkaphop Noppha Rattana Ratcha Thani Buriya Rommaya Udom Sawami Si Suphanna Khathuha Rattana C˘hao Prasat Thòng C˘hao Maha Makka Lok- [kaphop?]...19%

61

The popular title, Song Tham, literally means either ‘the king who listens to ecclesiastical chanting’ or ‘the king who upholds the Buddhist virtues’. The most important element in the lengthy formal title that appears in this document is Ekathotsarut. It is a generic element that was used by many kings, including Song Tham’s father, King Ekathotsarot (r. 1605–11). A similar title used by King Thai Sa (r. 1709–33) appears in an inscription dated 1727: Phra Bat Phra Si San Phet Somdet ˘ ˇ Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Bòphit Phra Chao Yu Hua Phra Chao Prasat Thòng (Prasan 1967: 93). King Taksin (r. 1767–82) also used the same element: a royal order dated November 1781 gives his title as Phra Bat Somdet Ekathotsarot Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha ˇ Chao Yu Hua (Yim et alia 1982: 46), which is identical to the title used by Song Tham in the 1616 document, except for the present-day spelling (modified to Ekathotsarot). King Nanthasen’s letter of 5 July 1782, sent from Vientiane to the new King Rama I in Bangkok, likewise uses the title Phra Bat Somdet Ekathotsarot (National Library of Thailand, Manuscripts Division, manuscript number R1/1144/7). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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[3]

more than all the lords of the East, convey his good will and earnest considerations to the Viceroy.62 The Viceroy [has sent Father Francisco Anuncia-] 25%

[4]

ção and Captain Manuel Ribeiro (?)63 to bring a letter and gifts to present to His Majesty King Eka- [thotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit] 25%

[5]

Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua. His Majesty has made pronouncements on all the points of the content of the letter of the Viceroy, which was sent in [to Ayutthaya] for presentation. His Majesty feels that ... 13%

[6]

the words of the Viceroy are refreshingly kind-hearted and are agreeably and genuinely sincere and seek to undertake all the royal business [requested by] His Majesty King [Ekathotsarut Isuan] 13%

[7]

Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua. His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua is ... 13%

[8]

extremely well disposed towards the Viceroy, and there is nothing that can be likened to it. In the matter of the Viceroy’s having Padre Frei [Father] Francisco Anunciação bring the letter for presentation to His Majesty ... [with instruc-] 13%

[9]

tions from the King of Portugal, stating that friendly royal relations are requested with His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phu-[tha C˘hao Yu Hua ... whether ... or?] 25%

[10] a week (?), asking for these friendly relations to be without end. His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha Chao [Yu Hua ...] 25% [11] feels delighted in the extreme, and that leads His Majest King Ekathotsarot Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phu- [tha C˘hao Yu Hua to feel that royal relations will again be as they were] 25%

62

Jerónimo de Azevedo, Portuguese Viceroy at Goa, 1612–7. In referring to the Portuguese and Thai parties in the diplomatic mission, Father Francisco’s name is always followed by that of a captain (kapitan ma-la-we-ri-ben in Thai transliteration). The captain of Father Francisco’s ship is mentioned in the viceroy’s April 1616 letter but is not named. He may have been Captain Manuel (ma-la-we) Ribeiro (ri-ben), whose name is recorded by Bocarro (1876: 523). 63

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[12] in the past, because of the desire for the reign in Portugal and the reign in Krung Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawadi Si Ayutthaya to be firmly allied64 ... 25% [13] that royal friendship shall be a close and firm one of a sort that cannot be found among the customary relations of any kings... 13% [14] These matters are in accord with some of His Majesty’s past feelings in one way. Since the Viceroy has had two matters presented for His Majesty’s consideration ... 13% [15] the letter of the King of Ava to the Viceroy asking for friendly relations, but the Viceroy did not accept and had them [the ambassadors from Burma] stop and wait at the port of Meliapur for the time being,65 and whenever [a reply from Ayutthaya is received, he will inform them] 13% [16] what was said. Thus he had it done in that way. His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua thus feels that... 19% [17] for the reason that the Viceroy has such honest and true loyalty and thus has sent a report on these affairs so that His Majesty will know about them. And if it were the custom... 19% [18] all the better among kings. And as to the matter of either being friends or being enemies, one should examine things that would be useful and would not ... 19% [19] and thus select that thing, in order to consider what thing to do. The Viceroy’s sending of experienced Portuguese to bring these matters ... 25% [20] those royal laws are in accord with the feelings of His Majesty King Ekathotsarut [Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua, who is so well dis-] 25%

64

This translation assumes that the term phaen din refers to the reigns of the respective kings, and not to the countries themselves. The paired term phaen kradan in the Thai text literally refers to a plank or hard solid surface. But in this context is obviously a metaphor for a firm alliance or firm friendship. Another metaphor commonly used at that time compared the friendship between two kingdoms with a continuous single sheet of gold. 65 The Burmese king, Anauk-hpet-lun, was conducting parallel negotiations at this time for a Burmese-Portuguese alliance and had sent ambassadors to the viceroy. They landed at Meliapur, on the east coast of India, and were asked by the viceroy to wait there temporarily, until the reply was received from Ayutthaya. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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[21] posed towards the Viceroy that one cannot find anything equal to it. Concerning these two points, His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Ba- [romma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phut-] 25% [22] -tha C˘hao Yua Hua will have regulations issued to proclaim all these affairs. If by chance the lords and kings in all the four directions [were given instructions (?) ... and] 19% [23] should act in concert with His Majesty and ponder all official affairs, incidents such as these would still occur. His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan [Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao] 25% [24] Yu Hua has not made any judgment, since any king who is a great royal friend could be blamed by an enemy country ... [Portugal has such a (?)] 31% [25] king and is greater than any of the other European countries. Whenever the two kingdoms are bridged [as firm friends] ... 31% [26] shall be combined in his His Majesty’s wishes, considerations and plans for all officials affairs, and considering benefits that would accrue to the Ministers of State and the people who ... not ... 31% [27] made those arrangements. And concerning the point the Viceroy ... whether in reference to Portuguese traders or to Portuguese soldiers ... or whatever royal regulations, you request that 0% [28] those Portuguese be brought to petition His Majesty’s [benevolence, and be judged by (?)] some royal commissioner, and if they [Thai officials] oppress the Portuguese, you request that they [the officials] be brought before the king and be administered 0% [29] punishments ... [and you request that the regulations be proclaimed (?)] to the officials of all towns forbidding the killing of any Portuguese. Moreover, [you request that], whenever any Portuguese comes into the kingdom to trade and dies, His Majesty will give his possessions 0% [30] in their entirety to the children and wife of that deceased person. His Majesty King Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua is in accord 0% [31] fully with this proposal. Therefore His Majesty is issuing regulations to all the officials, both high and low, and those regulations will be proclaimed to the officials of all the large provinces. Padre Frei [Father] Francis- 0%

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[32] co de Anunciação and Captain Manuel Ribeiro (?) have under[stood] ... every point. Moreover, all of the Portuguese traders who come to trade within the bounds of Krung Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawadi Si Ayutthaya 0% [33] should be given orders by the Viceroy, forbidding any of them from oppressing or troubling the subjects of Krung Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawadi Si Ayutthaya .... 13% [34] with the subjects of Krung Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawadi Si Ayutthaya, and having them act according to the authority exercised by the harbour masters, who are responsible for all the traders according to the roy-[al laws governing merch-] 13% [35] ants and traders and shall act according to the authority exercised by the harbour masters. Thus all the things that might become difficulties would be [resolved, and this arrangement shall (?)] 13% [36] continue into the future. Whatever is seen as indistinct or bad for the reign in Portugal and the reign in Phra Maha Nakhòn Thawarawadi Si Ayutthaya, and would establish and maintain [... friendship that is] 13% [37] close and higher than that of royal customs of any kings in the past. The royal ambassadors and deputy ambassadors would be despatched to travel back and forth and ... [between the two king-] 13% [38] doms, all of them, without cease, and so that it shall indeed be of the greatest benefit to the people and traders who are the subjects within the bounds of both kingdoms [and] ... [the Vice-] 13% [39] roy which shall be considered in arranging and modifying official matters of all kinds. His Majesty thus commanded Padre Frei [Father] Francisco A[nunciação and Phraya Samut] 19% [40] Songkhram, Luang Samut [sic] Maitri,66 Khun Anuchit Racha and Si Kuk, the king’s commissioner, including Captain Manuel Ribeiro (?), to bring His Majesty’s commands ... 19% [41] to impart ... and to present [these things] and express his felicitations to the Viceroy. And after Padre Frei [Father] Francisco Anunciação, [Phraya Samut Songkhram, Luang Samrit Maitri, Khun Anuchit Racha, Si Kuk, the king’s commissioner,] 19%

66

On line 43, the title of the second ambassador is Samrit Maitri, which is probably correct. The spelling ‘Samut’ appears on line 40 and may be an error by the copyist, duplicating the first element in the title of the senior ambassador, Samut Songkhram. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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[42] and Captain Manuel Ribeiro (?) come to the Viceroy, let the Viceroy entertain Padre Frei [Father] Francisco Anunci- [ação and Phraya Samut Songkhram, Luang Samut Maitri, Khun Anuchit Racha and Si Kuk] 19% [43] and then arrange to send Padre Frei [Father] Francisco Anunciação and Phraya Samut Songkhram, Luang Samrit Maitri, Khun Anuchit Racha and [Si Kuk, the king’s commissioner, to carry the golden royal let-] 19% [44] ter and royal gifts to Dom Filipe,67 the King of Portugal, to inform him of official affairs, judgments and matters relating to ... 19% [45] in time for the season.68 His Majesty King Siwa Ekathotsarut Isuan Baromma Nat Baromma Bòphit Phra Phuttha C˘hao Yu Hua shall await the latest news [from the King] 19% [46] of Portugal.69 0%

References Bernard, Edward. 1697. Catalogi librorum manuscriptorum Angliae et Hiberniae in unum collecti, cum indice alphabetico [Catalogues of Manuscripts in England and Ireland, in a Single Collection, with an Alphabetical Index]. Indexed by Humphrey Wanley. Two volumes. Oxford: E Theatro Sheldoniano. Best, Thomas. 1934. The Journal of Captain Thomas Best. In William Foster, ed., The Voyage of Thomas Best to the East Indies, 1612–14, pp. 1–92. Works issued by the Hakluyt Society, second series, no. 75. London: Hakluyt Society. 67

King Filipe II of Portugal (r. 1598–1621) was concurrently King Felipe III of Spain. When this text was composed, the three ambassadors and the royal page probably had hopes of reaching Goa in time for the early 1617 departure of the fleet and to be carried onward to Lisbon with King Song Tham’s letter and gifts to Filipe II. 68 The monsoon season for fleet departures from Goa bound for Portugal was from January to March annually. If ships did not leave within this period, they risked being delayed on the east coast of Africa or having to wait almost a year on that coast before rounding the Cape of Good Hope and proceeding north up the Atlantic. In the return sailing season, ships left Portugal in March or April and reached Goa in September or October. 69 The ‘latest news’ is probably a reference to the favourable reply that was expected from King Filipe II. By the time the Thai ambassadors returned home in 1618, without making the voyage to Europe, both sides had lost interest in the negotiations, and the expected news from Lisbon probably never reached Ayutthaya. The formal reply from Filipe II, dated late 1618 or early 1619, may eventually be located in the Portuguese archives. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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BFUP. See Boletim da Filmoteca Ultramarina Portuguesa. Blair, Emma Helen, and James Alexander Robertson. 1903–9. The Philippine Islands, 1493–1898. Fifty-five volumes. Cleveland, Ohio: Arthur H. Clark Company. Bocarro, Antonio. 1876. Década XIII da História da ´India [Thirteenth Decada of the History of the Indies]. Edited by Rodrigo José de Lima Felner. In Academia Real das Ciências [Royal Academy of Sciences], ed., Collecção de monumentos inéditos para a historia das conquistas dos Portuguezes em Africa, Asia e America [Collection of Unpublished Documents for the History of the Portuguese Conquests in Africa, Asia and America], vol. 6. Lisboa: Academia Real das Ciências. Boletim da Filmoteca Ultramarina Portuguesa [Bulletin of Overseas Portuguese Microforms]. Centro de Estudos Históricos Ultramarinos, Lisboa. Boxer, C. R. 1952. A Glimpse of the Goa Archives. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 14: 299–324. Correa, Gaspar. 1858-64. Lendas da India [Legends of India]. Edited by Rodrigo José de Lima Felner and the Academia Real das Ciências. Four volumes, published from manuscripts ca. 1561. Lisboa: Typographia da Academia Real das Ciências, 1858, 1860, 1862 and 1864. Couto, Diogo de. 1974. Da Ásia de Diogo de Couto dos Feitos, que os Portuguezes fizeram na conquista, e descubrimento das terras, e mares do Oriente. Década Sétima, Parte Segunda [Asia by Diogo de Couto: The Undertakings of the Portuguese in the Conquest and Discovery of the Lands and Seas of the East, Seventh Decade, Part Two]. Lisboa: Na Regia Officina Typografica, 1783. Facsimile edition, vol. 17; Lisboa: Livraria Sam Carlos, 1974. Coutre, Jacques de. 1991. Andanzas asiáticas [Asian Experiences]. Edited by Eddy Stols, Benjamin N. Teensma and Johan Werberckmoes and reprinted from the 1640 Madrid edition titled Vida de Iaques de Couttre, Natural de la Cividad de Brugas [Life of Jacques de Coutre, a Native of the City of Bruges]. Madrid: Historia 16 - Información y Revistas, S. A. Cushman, Richard D., translator. 2000. The Royal Chronicles of Ayutthaya. Edited by David K. Wyatt. Bangkok: Siam Society. Danvers, Frederic Charles, ed. 1894. The Portuguese in India, Being a History of the Rise and Decline of Their Eastern Empire. Two volumes. London: W. H. Allen. . 1896. Letters Received by the East India Company from Its Servants in the East, Transcribed from the ‘Original Correspondence’ Series of the India Office Records, Vol. 1. Six-volume facsimile reprint in three volumes from the 1896–1902 edition. Amsterdam: N. Israel, 1968.

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Dhani Nivat, H. R. H. Prince, and Erik Seidenfaden. 1939. Early Trade Relations between Denmark and Siam. Journal of the Siam Society 31 (1): 1–15. Faria y Sousa, Manuel de. 1695. The Portuguese Asia, or the History of the Discovery and Conquest of India by the Portuguese, Containing All Their Discoveries from the Coast of Africk, to the Farthest Parts of China and Japan, etc. Translated and abridged from the 1666 Portuguese edition by John Stevens. Three volumes. London: C. Brome, 1695. Reprinted in facsimile (three volumes) by Gregg International Publishers, Farnborough, United Kingdom, 1971. Federici, Cesare. 1588. The Voyage and Travaile of M. Caesar Frederick, Merchant of Venice, into the East India, the Indies, and beyond the Indies. Translated from Italian by Thomas Hickock. London: Richard Jones and Edward White, 1588. Reprinted in facsimile by Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, Amsterdam, and Da Capo Press, New York, 1971. Flores, Maria de Conceição. 1995. Os Portugueses e o Sião no século XVI [The Portuguese and Siam in the Sixteenth Century]. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, 1995. Foster, William, ed. 1897–1902. Letters Received by the East India Company from Its Servants in the East, Transcribed from the ‘Original Correspondence’ Series of the India Office Records, Vols. 2–6. Reprinted in facsimile (three volumes) from the six-volume 1896–1902 edition by N. Israel, Amsterdam, 1968. Ginsburg, Henry. 2000. Thai Art and Culture: Historic Manuscripts from Western Collections. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Guedes, Maria Ana de Barros Serra Marques. 1994. Interferência e integração dos Portugueses na Birmânia ca. 1580–1630 [Intervention and Integration of the Portuguese in Burma ca. 1580–1630]. Lisboa: Fundação Oriente. Gune, V. T. 1972. Assentos do Conselho de Estado (Proceedings of the State Council at Goa), Supplementary Series, Vol. 1, Part 1: A Detailed Subject Index and Table of Contents in Brief, Vols. I to V (1618–1750 A.D.). Panaji: Historical Archives of Goa. Gunji, Kiichi. 1941. Yamada Nagamasa, Japanese Condottiere in Thailand. Contemporary Japan (Tokyo) 10 (3): 349-65. Ishii, Yoneo. 1971. Seventeenth Century Japanese Documents about Siam. Journal of the Siam Society 59 (2): 161–74. Khac˘hòn Sukkhaphanit. 1960 Kham chi c˘haeng [Explanation]. Sinlapakòn [Journal of the Fine Arts Department, Bangkok] 3 (3): 43–4. . 1961. Kan tang prathet nai phaendin phra ekathotsarot [Foreign Relations in the Reign of King Ekathotsarot]. Sinlapakòn [Journal of the Fine Arts Department, Bangkok] 4 (5): 27–40.

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Kongkaew Weeraprajak. 1996. Phra ratcha san somdet phra c˘hao song tham [A Royal Letter of His Majesty King Song Tham]. Sinlapakòn [Journal of the Fine Arts Department, Bangkok] 39 (1): 41–58. Lê Thành Khôi. 1955. Le Viêt-Nam: Histoire et civilisation. Le Milieu et l’histoire [Vietnam: History and Civilisation. The Setting and History]. Paris: Editions de Minuit. Lívros das monções [Books of the Monsoons]. See Pato (1880–93). López, Téofilo Aparicio. 1978. Le Orden de San Agustín en la I´ndia (1572–1622) [The Order of Saint Augustine in the Indies, 1562–1622]. Studia (Lisbon) 40: 5-105 (December). Manop Thawornwatskul. 1993. Kan müang nai ratcha samnak ayutthaya rawang phò sò 2112–2172 [Politics in the Ayutthayan Court 1569–1629]. Ruam botkhwam prawattisat (Journal of the Historical Society, Bangkok) 15: 117–41. Millington, Edward. 1697. Bibliotheca Bernardina: Sive, Catalogus Variorum Librorum Plurimus Facultatibus, Linguisque omnibus, praecipue Orientalibus prae-caeteris Maxime Insignium. Quos Magno sumptu, & summa cura ex variis Europae Partibus, Sibi procuravit, Doctissimus Edoard. Bernardus Nuperrime in Academ. Oxoniens. Astronom. Professor Savilianus. Quorum Auctio habebitur in Gratiam Doctissim. Virorum Academ. Oxoniens. in Aedibus adjacentibus Northgate (25) die Octobris 1697. Per Edoardum Millingtonum, Bibliopol. Londin. [The Bernard Library: Or a Catalogue Dividing the Great Many Books Available, in All Languages, Particularly Orientalia and Other Great Features, Which at Large Expense and with the Greatest of Care, from Various Parts of Europe, Were Obtained for Himself by the Most Learned Edward Bernard, in Recent Times Saville Professor of Astronomy in the University of Oxford, the Public Sale of Which Will Be Held for the Benefit of the Most Learned Men of the University of Oxford, in a House Adjoining to the Northgate on the 25th day of October 1697. By Edward Millington, London Book Dealer.] London: Edward Millington. Nagazumi, Yoko. 1999. Ayutthaya and Japan: Embassies and Trade in the Seventeenth Century. In Kennon Breazeale, ed., From Japan to Arabia: Ayutthaya’s Maritime Relations with Asia, pp. 89–103. Bangkok: Toyota Thailand Foundation and Foundation for the Promotion of Social Sciences and Humanities Textbooks Project. Neijenrode, Cornelius van. 1871. Vertoog van de Gelegenheid des Koningrijks van Siam [An Account of the Kingdom of Siam]. Kroniek van het Historisch Genootschap Gevestigd te Utrech 27: 279–318.

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Pato, Raymundo de Bulhão, ed. 1880–93. Documentos Remettidos da India ou Lívros das Monções [Documents Sent from India or the ‘Books of the Monsoons’]. In Academia Real das Ciências [Royal Academy of Sciences], ed., Collecção de monumentos inéditos para a história das conquistas dos Portuguezes em Africa, Asia e America [Collection of Unpublished Documents for the History of the Portuguese Conquests in Africa, Asia and America]. Vols. 7 (1880), 8 (1884), 9 (1885) and 11 (1893). Lisboa: Typographia da Academia Real das Ciências, 1858–1935; seventeen volumes. Reprinted in facsimile by Kraus Reprint, Nendeln, Liechtenstein, 1976. Peyton, Walter. 1905. The second Voyage of Captaine Walter Peyton into the EastIndies, in the Expedition, which was set forth by the East-India Company, together with the Dragon, Lyon, and Pepper-Corne, in January 1614, gathered out of his large Journall. In Samuel Purchas, ed., Hakluytus Posthumus or Purchas His Pilgrimes, Containing a History of the World in Sea Voyages and Lande Travells by Englishmen and Others, vol. 4, pp. 289–309. Glasgow: James McLehose and Sons. Pinto, Paulo Jorge de Sousa. 1997. Portugueses e malaios: Malaca e os sultanatos de Johor e Achém, 1575–1619 [Portuguese and Malay: Melaka and the Sultanates of Johor and Aceh, 1575–1619]. Lisboa: Sociedade Histórica da Independência de Portugal. Prasan Bunprakhong, transcriber and ed. 1960. Nangsü phra ratcha san aksòn thai phasa thai samai ayutthaya pen phap thai dai ma cˇhak mahawitthayalai òkfò na prathet angkrit [A Royal Letter in Thai Script and Thai Language of the Ayutthaya Period: A Photocopy Obtained from the University of Oxford in England]. Sinlapakòn [Journal of the Fine Arts Department, Bangkok] 3 (3): 45–54. Prasan Bunprakhong, transcriber and ed. 1967. Kham an sila c˘harük aksòn lae phasa thai [Reading of a Stone Inscription in Thai Script and Language]. Sinlapakòn [Journal of the Fine Arts Department, Bangkok] 11 (4): 92–6. Transcription of the Pa Mok Monastery inscription, Ang Thòng Province, dated CS 1089 Vaisakha 8, Monday (28 April 1727). Prasoet Aksòranit, Luang. 1963. Phra ratcha phongsawadan chabap luang prasoet [Royal Chronicles of Ayutthaya, Luang Prasoet Version]. In Prachum phongsawadan phak thi 1 [History Series, Part 1] 1: 128–58. Bangkok: Khurusapha Press. Ratchasomphan, Saen Luang. 1994. The Nan Chronicle. Translated from the 1894 Thai manuscript and edited by David K. Wyatt. Studies on Southeast Asia 16. Ithaca, New York: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University.

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Royal Autograph Edition. Phra ratcha phongsawadan chabap phra ratcha hatthalekha [Royal Chronicles, the Royal Autograph Edition]. Two volumes. Bangkok: Khlang Witthaya, 1973. Sainsbury, W. Noel, ed. 1870. Calendar of State Papers. Colonial Series: East Indies, China and Japan, 1617–1621. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Reprinted in facsimile by Kraus Reprint, Vaduz, 1964. Saratsawadi Òngsakun, ed. 1996. Phün müang nan chabap wat phra koet [A Chronicle of Nan: The Phra Koet Monastery Version]. Bangkok: Khrongkan nangsü wicha-kan nai khrüa amarin [Academic Texts of the Amarin Group]. Transcription of the Müang manuscript dated ca. 1821 into Thai script. Satow, Ernest. 1885. Notes on the Intercourse between Japan and Siam in the Seventeenth Century. Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan (Yokohama) 13: 139–210. Schouten, Joost. 1986. A Description of the Government, Might, Religion, Customes, Traffick and other remarkable Affairs in the Kingdom of Siam: Written in the Year 1636. In François Caron and Joost Schouten: A True Description of the Mighty Kingdoms of Japan and Siam, pp. 121–52. Reprinted in facsimile from the 1671 London edition (translated from Dutch by Roger Manley) by the Siam Society, Bangkok. Shirodkar, P. P. 1989. Dutch-Portuguese Relations in the East (1580-1663) vis-àvis Indian Peninsula. Studia (Lisboa) 48: 123–44. Sitthi, Phra, copyist. 1972. Tamnan yonok [Historical Account of the North]. Version copied in 1930 by Phra Sitthi. Prawattisat ekkasan borankhadi: thalaeng ngan rai khap si düan [History, Documents, Archaeology: Trimestrial Narratives (Office of the Prime Minister, Bangkok)] 6 (2): 49–65. Smith, George Vinal. 1977. The Dutch in Seventeenth-Century Thailand. Special Report 16. De Kalb: Northern Illinois University, Center for Southeast Asian Studies. Teixeira, Manuel. 1983. Portugal na Tailândia [Portugal in Thailand]. Edição da Direcção dos Serviços de Turismo. Macau: Imprensa Nacional de Macau. Thaemsuk Numnon. 1968–9. Ekkasan hòlanda khò sò 1608–1620 krung si ayutthaya prathet sayam [Dutch Records of 1608-20: Ayutthaya, Siam]. Prawattisat ekkasan borankhadi: thalaeng ngan rai khap si düan [History, Documents, Archaeology: Trimestrial Narratives (Office of the Prime Minister, Bangkok)] 2 (3): 49–76 (1968, Part 1); 3 (2): 37–46 (1969, Part 2). Thien, Nai [Luang Phraisòn Salarak (Thien Subindu)]. 1911. Intercourse between Burma and Siam as Recorded in Hmannan Yazawin Dawgyi. Journal of the Siam Society 8 (2): i–iii, 1–119.

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Three-Seals Law Code. 1986. Pramuan kotmai ratchakan thi 1 c˘hulasakkarat 1166 phim tam chabap luang tra sam duang [The Laws of the First Reign, CS Year 1166 (AD 1804/5), Published from the Official Version of the ThreeSeals Law Code]. Three volumes. Bangkok: Thammasat University. Vajiranana National Library. 1915–21. Records of the Relations between Siam and Foreign Countries in the Seventeenth Century. Copied from Papers Preserved at the India Office. Five volumes. Bangkok: Vajiranana National Library. Varthema, Ludovico de. 1963. The Itinerary of Ludovico de Varthema [Itinerario de Ludovico de Varthema (Rome, 1510)]. In Travelers in Disguise, Narratives of Eastern Travel by Poggio Bracciolini and Ludovico de Varthema, pp. 47–233. English translations by John Winter Jones (1863 Hakluyt edition), revised with an introduction by Lincoln Davis Hammond. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Department of Romance Languages and Literatures, Harvard University, 1963. Veen, Ernst van. 2000. An Inquiry into the Portuguese Decline in Asia 1580–1645: Decay or Defeat? Studies in Overseas History no. 1. Leiden: Universiteit Leiden, Research School of Asian, African and Amerindian Studies. Vliet, Jeremias van. 1975. The Short History of the Kings of Siam. Translated from Dutch by Leonard Andaya and edited by David K. Wyatt. Bangkok: Siam Society. Wade, Geoffrey Philip. 1994. The Ming Shi-lu (Veritable Records of the Ming Dynasty) as a Source for Southeast Asian History–14th to 17th Centuries. Ph.D. thesis, University of Hong Kong. Wyatt, David K., and Aroonrut Wichienkeeo, translators and editors. 1995. The Chiang Mai Chronicle. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Yim Panthayangkun, Thòngsüp Suphamak, Sathit Semanin, Tri Amattayakun, Manit Wanliphodom, Chaliao C˘ hansap and Kunlasap Ketmaenkit, editors. 1982. Prachum mai rap sang phak thi 1 samai krung thonburi [Memoranda of Instructions Received from the King, Part 1: The Thonburi Period]. Bangkok: Commission for Publishing Documents on History, Culture and Archaeology, Secretariat of the Prime Minister, B.E. 2525.

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Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu) Village Temples and their Buddhist Affiliations1 Anthony R. Walker

Abstract The Lahu peoples of the Yunnan-northern Southeast Asia borderlands are remarkable for the immediate importance they attach to their high-god, G’ui√sha, some communities building and staffing (with part-time priests) village temples for the worship of this creator-divinity. This paper argues that the Lahu Nyi temples and temple worship in north Thailand have antecedents in a Maha¯ya¯na Buddhist movement that swept through the Lahu and Wa areas of southwestern Yunnan, beginning circa the mid-eighteenth century. It argues also for Therava¯da Buddhist influences emanating from Tai societies in Burma and north Thailand. Preamble When I first began my study of Thailand’s Lahu Nyi or Red Lahu mountain folk in 1966, I was struck by the prominence of one particular building (Pl. 1) in the village that I had chosen for my residence. Where all the other structures were raised on piles (Pl. 2), this one was built directly on the ground. Where the others, if enclosed at all, could boast no more than a relatively insubstantial bamboo or bamboo-and-wood fence, a wall of stout wooden posts surrounded this building, unequivocally demarcating its space from that of the rest of the village. Moreover, the building was fronted with a number of carved wooden posts and surrounded by tall bamboo poles, from the ends of which yellow and white strips of cloth fluttered in the wind. Inside, the focal point of the building was a relatively simple threetiered altar (Pl. 3), above which hung yellow and white umbrella-like pieces of cloth, while, on either side, attached to the roof beams, were cloth streamers, rather like those fluttering from bamboo poles outside the building.

1

Dedicated to the memory of Pauline Hetland Walker (1.10.38 – 27.3.05), with eternal gratitude for more than thirty years of unceasing intellectual support and painstaking editorial assistance. If there be merit in the making of this work, then may it be transferred to her. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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It was not long before I learned that this building, called a haw— yeh√ (palace house) or bon yeh√ (merit house)2, was a special building put up principally for the worship of G’ui√ sha,3 the creator high-god of the Lahu people, and tended by a hierarchy of part-time priestly officials (in everyday life they were highland farmers like everybody else in the village), who were responsible for the twicemonthly ritual activities held in it on new- and full-moon days. Buildings (as opposed to simple shrines) designated for religious worship are far from common among the highland peoples of the northern Southeast AsiaYunnan borderlands — that is, apart from those who have formally adopted Buddhism or Christianity. Even among the Lahu themselves, there are many village communities that maintain no such edifice. Moreover, while the concept of a high god, creator of the universe and all therein, is a common feature of Southeast Asian indigenous religious systems, the usual attitude that Southeast Asians demonstrate towards this supernatural entity is one of ritual indifference. Viewing their high god as remote from and quite unconcerned about human affairs, those Southeast Asians who have not embraced the theistic traditions of Islam or Christianity typically feel little, if any, need to propitiate their theoretically omnipotent deity, an ideology that sits well also with those who have added a theologically-disengaged Therava¯da Buddhism to their older Southeast Asian world view. Of far more immediate and pressing ritual concern for these people are the spirits (in Lahu called ne◊, cognate with Burmese nat) that demand more-or-less constant ritual attention, lest they vent their spite on those who disregard them by inflicting sickness and other misfortunes upon them.

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In this paper, as in most of my other academic publications on the Lahu peoples, Lahu words are transcribed according to the romanization pioneered during the first half of the twentieth century by American Baptist missionaries in Burma and China (cf. Walker 2003: 653–4, 663–72). This orthography is still widely used among Christian Lahu in Burma and Thailand, as well as in Yunnan (despite the official introduction there, beginning in 1956, of a “reformed script” that itself is based on the Baptist system [Liang et al. 1992: Ch. 9, pp. 21–22]). A monosyllabic tonal language, Lahu has seven tones or “pitch contours”, six of which are indicated in the Baptist orthography by superand sub-script symbols (straight line, circumflex and hacek) following each syllable. The mid-level tone is unmarked, the high-rising tone is indicated by a superscript straight line, high-falling tone by a superscript hacek, low-falling tone by a subscript hacek, very-low tone by a subscript straight line, high checked tone by a superscript circumflex and low checked tone by a subscript circumflex. 3 The etymology of this word is uncertain, but g’ui√ may be linked to an ancient Tibeto-Burman root, *ray, meaning “being”, in the sense of “self-existing first cause” (Matisoff 1985); sha means “deity” [Matisoff 1988: 1155, s.v. sa]). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Certainly, the Lahu peoples — even those who have converted to a so-called “world religion” (in the Lahu case, Buddhism or Christianity) — accept the reality, and often fear the activities, of malicious spirits. But why, I wondered, were the Lahu or, more accurately, some Lahu — including those with whom I was living — apparently unique in their perceived need to erect a special building in which to perform ritual activities specifically to honour the high god they call G’ui√ sha? As my fieldwork progressed, it became increasingly apparent — from the occasions on which these Lahu Nyi made use of their haw— yeh√, from the reasons they gave for its use, from the types of offerings they brought to it, and from the lexicon of the prayers that were chanted or sung inside the building — that there must once have been Buddhist liturgical affiliations that the people themselves now scarcely recognized. It was not, however, until my initial four-year ethnographic field study was over and my detailed work on the corpus of Chineselanguage writings on Lahu history and ethnography was well under way that the links between Mah¡y¡na Buddhist temples in China’s Yunnan Province and Lahu Nyi village haw— yeh√ in North Thailand, as well as between Mah¡y¡na Buddhism’s ideology of transcendental Buddhahood and the Lahu’s G’ui√ sha-focused world view, became apparent to me. It is just these linkages that I wish to explore in this paper. But, before doing so, let me provide a brief ethnographic background to the Lahu people in general and the Lahu Nyi in particular. An Introduction to the Lahu The Lahu-speaking peoples, whose language belongs within the Central Yi division of the vast Tibeto-Burman family, number some three-quarters of a million, most of whom are upland-dwelling, traditionally swidden-farming folk of the Yunnan (Southwest China)-Northern Southeast Asia (eastern Burma, northwest Thailand, northwest Laos and northwest Vietnam) borderlands (Map 1).4 They are a population having greater linguistic than socio-cultural unity; nonetheless, they all apparently recognize themselves as “La◊ hu– ya◊” or “Lahu people”, vis-à-vis peoples of other ethno-linguistic affiliations (among fellow mountain folk: people such as Lisu, Akha [Hani] and Wa; and in the valleys and urban centres: principally Tai5 and Han). 4

See Walker 2003: 50–108 for an ethnographic survey of the Lahu-speaking peoples. I use the unaspirated “Tai” to refer to all Tai-speaking peoples in (so far as this paper is concerned) Yunnan, Burma and Thailand. I use the aspirated “Thai” to refer (a) to citizens of the Kingdom of Thailand, (b) to Siamese or Central Thai, and (c) to Tai Yuan or Khon Müang, when I designate them as “Northern Thai”, in other words as the dominant Tai group in North Thailand. 5

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Map 1. The distribution of the Lahu-speaking peoples Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The major linguistic divide among “mainstream” Lahu is between Lahu Na or “Black Lahu” and Lahu Shi or “Yellow Lahu” (the basis for these particular colour designations is complex and its history still far from clear;6 certainly it has nothing to do either with costume or with skin pigmentation). In addition, there are people known as Kucong (some, but not all of whom call themselves “La◊ hu–”), whose languages are quite closely related to those of the Lahu Na and Lahu Shi and who have rather recently been “identified” (i.e. officially designated) as “Lahu” by the central, provincial, prefectural and county administrations of the People’s Republic of China.7 In terms of religious culture,8 the indigenous situation is one common throughout the Southeast Asia region. We may dub it “animo-theism”: animistic because it is premised on the supposition that all phenomena in the visible world — or, more accurately, all culturally-significant phenomena — comprise two, mostly conjoined, parts: material form and non-material or “spiritual” essence,9 to which may or may not be attributed a special name and attributes; theistic, because this indigenous Southeast Asian world view also posits the existence of a number of deities, including (as already mentioned) a high god, the cosmic creator responsible for the genesis of all natural phenomena, including humankind and its principal social and cultural institutions. The Lahu Nyi or Red Lahu are a southerly branch of the Lahu Na or Black Lahu; once again, it is far from clear just how the colour designation “red” came to be applied to them. Some people maintain10 that, in this instance, it is indeed derived from traditional sartorial preferences. Red is the most striking colour in the traditional dress of Lahu Nyi women, resulting in Tai neighbours giving them the exonym “Mussur Daeng” (¡Ÿ‡™Õ·¥ß, literally “Red Hunters”); other Lahu call them “Lahu Nyi”. Other people11 believe the designation “red” indicates, as with meat, “rawness” and therefore “lack of sophistication” vis-à-vis the more northerly-dwelling Lahu Na. This interpretation probably evolved in Burma, a consequence of the meeting of educated, predominantly Christian Lahu Na, with their southern, traditionalist and preliterate neighbours. At any rate, the “Lahu Nyi” label is used in Burma, Laos and Thailand, but not in Yunnan. The religious culture of the Lahu Nyi, on the other hand, is clearly related to that of both Lahu Na and Lahu Shi still living under Chinese rule.

6

See Walker 2003: 94–6 & esp. n. 166. For introductions to Kucong ( ) see Shi (1993); Song (1981a,b; 1986) and Xu (1984). 8 See Walker (2003:111–168) and Nishimoto (2003) for further details. 9 Cf. Benjamin (1979) for a discussion based on data from the Malay peninsula. 10 E.g. Woodthorpe (1896: 597), and informants in my Lahu Nyi study village. 11 E.g. Young (1962: 9). 7

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The Lahu Nyi Village Temple At my study village in the mountains above the valley of Phrao in North Thailand12 the villagers regarded the site of their haw— yeh√, or community temple, including its front courtyard (Pl. 4), as sacred space and, consequently, surrounded it with a fence of stout wooden posts. The temple building itself, as I have already indicated, was encircled by tall bamboo poles, each one flying a length of cloth, either white (symbolizing purity) or yellow (the sacred colour of a Buddhist monk’s robes and, as such, symbolizing religious potency). The Lahu Nyi call such flags hto◊ pa– . I am uncertain as to the etymology of this word, but lean towards the Tai phrase thawt pha pa (∑Õ¥ºâ“ªÉ“), literally “laying down [thawt] the forest cloth [pha pa]”, the whole referring to the Tai custom of hanging a length of cloth on a tree branch for any passing Buddhist monk to use as a robe.13 In terms of their symbolic function, these Lahu hto◊ pa– are identical to the thungchaj (µÿß™—¬) or “victory flags” that Tai Buddhists set up around their temples, “to avert ill or evil spirits and secure good fortune”, in the words of the celebrated Thai folklorist Phya Anuman Rajadhon.14 In the symbolic idiom of the Lahu villagers themselves, these flags, representing the all-good, all-mighty G’ui√ sha, both frighten away malicious spirits and, as they flutter in the wind, “cry out” (Lahu bvuh√ ve) for the villagers’ good health and prosperity. In front of the temple in my study village stood a number of roughly-carved wooden posts called kaw mo◊ (Pl. 5). My Lahu Nyi informants explained to me that these posts are earthly representations of G’ui√ sha’s divine prototypes. The headman of my study village volunteered, in addition, that the incisions carved into the poles represent the villagers’ wishes respectively for good health, success in farming, and prosperity of livestock. But when we examine the origin of the Lahu word for these ritual posts, and observe the use that is made of them by other Lahu divisions,15 and, for that matter, by other ethnic groups, 16 alternative symbolic meanings immediately suggest themselves. First, the etymology of the word kaw◊ mo: it seems to lie in the Tai Yai (Shan) word kawngmu, meaning a Buddhist stupa or chedi;17 it is tempting, therefore, to interpret the Lahu kaw◊ mo

12

See Walker (1970; 2003: 3–49) for more detail. Cf. Rajadhon (1986: 81). 14 Rajadhon (1967: 179). 15 See Walker 2003: 364–66 for a fuller treatment. 16 Cf. Kauffmann (1971) for Lua’ (Lawa), Terwiel (1978) for Thai, Premchit and Doré (1992) for Northern Thai). 17 Matisoff (1988: 344), s.v. ko-mô). 13

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Interior and plan of Lahu Nyi village temple Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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as replica stupa, set up in front of their temples in imitation of the chedi that Tai Buddhists erect in the forecourt of their monastic complexes.18 The focal point of the temple interior (Fig. 1, Pl. 3), as mentioned at the start, was a wooden structure resembling a three-tiered altar. Informants explained that this was “G’ui√ sha’s sitting place” (G’ui√ sha ve mui kui√), and I understood that it represented for them G’ui√ sha’s heavenly throne. But my Lahu friends did not use their own word for throne (k’aw jaw), but rather the word caw– tcuh (probably from Chinese zhuozi ( ), “a table, stand”19). If the Lahu Nyi haw— yeh√ is indeed, as I shall argue in this paper, the lineal descendant of the Lahu Buddha temples of the past, then this modern-day altar is doubtless the lineal descendant of the platform on which the Buddha image or images were once set (see below). (As a matter of fact, I have visited rural Tai Buddhist temples in Yunnan whose altars closely resembled that at my study village and the former indeed had several Buddha images set on them.) This seems the likely explanation for the Lahu Nyi’s continuing use of the Chinese word for “table” for their temple altar, rather than their own word for “chair” (mui hk’aw—) or for “throne” (k’aw jaw). From the temple’s roof beams hung a number of long white or yellow cloth banners interspersed with symbolic umbrellas of the same colours. My informants interpreted the colours in identical fashion as they did those of the cloth flags fluttering outside the temple: white symbolizing purity, and yellow, religious potency (literally, the power of the meritorious side, bon hpaw◊ ve kan◊ pa^). But from Yunnan come data that hint at an older symbolism that Lahu Nyi in Thailand (now several generations removed from the Yunnan homelands) may well have forgotten. For in Yunnan one may still find Lahu village temples with similar banners on which are drawn images of the sun and the moon, symbolizing, according to one well-known Chinese ethnographer, “the fact that, with sun and moon shining above, the Buddhist rituals may be carried out without mistake.”20 Here it is as well to point out that both flags and umbrellas are common furnishings in Tai Therav¡da Buddhist temples, the latter a symbol of royalty in the Indic (hence Buddhist) tradition. The Lahu call the umbrellas either hpa§ mi◊ bon or else hpa§ caw– . The precise meaning of the first name still eludes me (hpa§ is from Yuan

18

There are, nonetheless, other possibilities. One is that they equate with the lak or wooden posts that Tai peoples often set up “in the name of the highest political authority” (Terwiel 1978: 159). Another is that they represent “cultural survivals” of similar posts that Lahu and other peoples frequently erect in honour of the guardian spirit or spirits of the locality. It is, moreover, often averred that they are fertility symbols, the pointed ones being male and the rounded ones, female. And there is compelling evidence that many Lahu communities (although, apparently, not the one I studied) do ascribe a sexual symbolism to their kaw◊ mo (cf. Walker 2003: 365). 19 Matisoff (1988: 495), s.v. cO@ cI]] 20 Xu (1993a: 5). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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[Northern Thai] pha, Siamese phra (æ√–), which variously may mean “god, lord, Buddhist monk, sacred object”), bon means “merit, blessing” (from Pali puñña through Tai bun [∫ÿ≠]), but the meaning here of mi◊ remains obscure to me. As for the second name, hpa§ caw– “the hpa§’s umbrella”, the umbrella, as a symbol of royalty, of course, is appropriate both for the historical Buddha and for the people’s own creator-divinity G’ui√ sha, whom Lahu address in prayer as mvuh◊ naw ma jaw◊ maw◊, “Lord (or King) of Heaven”. To the left of the central altar was a small trough of roughly carved wood known as baw— ti§ keh√. Baw— is almost certainly from the word baw— k’o_, “a cylindrical container”, but from what, precisely, baw¯ ti§ is derived I must plead ignorance; keh◊, on the other hand, means “clean, pure”. My Lahu Nyi informants told me that this water trough is for the co◊ ngeh◊ or “birds of life” to drink from — and the iconography indeed included a rough representation of a bird dipping its beak into the water (Pl. 6). The few people who could offer any deeper explanation of the baw— ti§ keh◊ said that G’ui√ sha, the creator-divinity, owned such birds and that they “cried out” (bvuh√ ve) for the long life of the people, a notion that receives clear support from Lahu Nyi prayer. For example, a Lahu Nyi New Year prayer goes:21 May the four eternal birds of the year nine times in one day and nine times in one night, cry out, count and look after these people of the year, people of the month. But if we remember, as I shall discuss below, that the likely historical background of Lahu Nyi village temples lies in Mah¡y¡na Buddhism, an additional explanation for these Lahu Nyi co◊ ngeh◊ is at hand, namely that they are the “birds of paradise” commonly represented in Mah¡y¡nist art and traceable to the Sukh¡vat™vy¢ha s¢tra, one of the principal Mah¡y¡nist scriptures, where it is written:22 The Bhagavat [the Blessed One, Buddha ¡kyamuni] said: ‘Do you see again, O Agita [a Bodhisattva], those flocks of immortal birds, making the whole Buddha country [the Sukh¡vat™ heaven or Pure Land] resound with the voice of Buddha, so that those Boddhisatvas are never without meditating on Buddha?

21 22

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I shall not attempt here to provide a complete inventory of the sacred paraphernalia inside a Lahu Nyi temple; the details, with many accompanying line drawings and photographic plates, may be found in my book Merit and the Millennium.23 But I will mention just a few more that demonstrate Buddhist affiliations. To the left and right of the main altar are placed or stacked numerous offerings that are presented to the temple on lunar festival days.24 One kind of offering is called a hpeu◊ k’o–, a small, loosely-woven, bamboo basket with attached cotton-topped bamboo sticks; Lahu Nyi informants likened it to the bowls of flowers their Tai neighbours set in front of Buddha images. Another is a bundle of bamboo sticks, bound tightly together and with cotton wool on top. These are called li◊ tsuh§, literally “custom bundles”, and probably are symbolic bundles of incense, an important accompaniment to Buddhist liturgical practice, both Mah¡y¡na and Therav¡da. Temple Rituals Turning to the major ritual activities that take place in a Lahu Nyi village temple,25 once again Buddhist prototypes are more or less immediately apparent. Twice a month, at the time of the new moon and of the full moon, the temple in my study village became the centre of the community’s ritual life.26 The ritual activity would begin on the eve of the new or full moon and continue through the following day and evening. The Lahu Nyi villagers called these twice-monthly lunar festival days shi— nyi (literally “precept days”, from Tai sin [»’≈], Pali s™la), but they interpreted the name as “making merit day” (“aw√ bon aw√ shi— te ve nyi). (Here both parts of the Lahu couplet are derived, through Tai, from Pali; aw√ bon through Tai bun [∫ÿ≠] from Pali puñña, and aw√ shi—, as just noted, from s™la.) The villagers also related a myth that accounted for their observance of such merit days, which went as follows: A long time ago, there lived in a Lahu village a great hunter, whose name was Sha— ca^. The hunter said, “When we shoot wild animals and make our fields, we kill many insects and we kill many animals. To wash away the demerit [Lahu, ven◊ ba◊ from Tai ween, “bad deeds” and ba, through Tai from Pali bap], twice a month, at the time when the moon begins to grow and the time when the moon

23

Walker (2003: 362–72). Ibid., (366–7 and Fig. 30). 25 See Walker (2003: 401–13), for further details. 26 Walker (1981; 2003: 401–08). 24

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begins to wane, we must observe a day of merit, on which we will prepare offerings to give to G’ui√ sha, and perform the water custom,27 in order to wash away our demerit.” So that is why we now do these things. On merit days the villagers abstained from all agricultural and hunting activities and from slaughtering domestic animals; many people also observed a strict vegetarian diet on this day. Given that the Lahu are among the most enthusiastic hunters in the Northern Thai uplands, it is clear that the reason they gave for their merit day observances is one they have derived from a once-alien ideology, that of Buddhism. Moreover, these merit days correspond not merely in name, but also in their occurrence with the wan sin or precept days of their Therav¡da Buddhist Tai neighbours. It is true that the Khon Müang (Tai Yuan or Northern Thai) observe not two but four precept days, one at each quarter of the monthly lunar cycle, but those that fall on new and full moon days (the Lahu’s shi— nyi) are the most important.28 The principal liturgical observances during a merit day at my study village involved ritual ablutions (Pl. 7), fashioning offerings for the temple, formal presentation of these offerings by the senior village priest to the creator-divinity G’ui√ sha (Pl. 8), and dancing inside the temple (Pl. 9), causing on occasion some villagers to become possessed, they said, by G’ui√ sha’s divine power. I will not burden this paper with all the details, but simply note that these liturgical practices represented a synthesis of Buddhist and indigenous (presumably pre-Buddhist) ideas. Three times a year, the Lahu of my study community observed what they called shi— nyi lon— or “great merit days”29 Each occasion fell on a full moon rather than a new moon day and corresponded to a particular event in the agricultural cycle: the completion of firing the new mountain fields, the first harvesting of certain major side crops (maize, chillies, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, etc.) and the maturation of the all-important rice crop. But the names of the three great merit days were associated not with these indigenous Lahu agricultural events, but with major calendrical observances of their Therav¡da Buddhist Tai neighbours. The first great merit day observance is called Sheh◊ kaw§ shi— nyi or “sand-heaping great merit day”, a reference to one of the Tai New Year observances, in which people collect sand from a stream or river, bring it to a Buddhist temple courtyard and there model it into miniature chedi or pagodas.30 The second of the three

27

An elaborate ritual hand washing; for the details, see Walker (2003: 402–3); also Plate 46. Cf. for Tai Yai (Shan), Saihoo (1959: 276). 29 For greater detail, see Walker (1984; 2003: 438–46). 30 Cf. Premchit & Doré (1992: 183–4). 28

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shi— nyi lon— is called Hkao◊ shi— nyi lon— or “going inside great merit day”, this time referring to the Buddhist festival that marks the beginning of the monastic retreat, when the monks go inside their monasteries to remain there throughout the rainy season.31 Finally, there is Aw^ shi— nyi lon—, or “going out great merit day”, corresponding to the Buddhist festival marking the end of the monastic retreat.32 Lahu ritual observances during great merit days are essentially similar to those of ordinary lunar festival days. But there are a couple of notable additions, both of which are clearly of Buddhist derivation. One is the villagers’ participation in a vegetarian meal inside the temple; the second is the construction of a sha— la^ (from Tai s¡l¡ [»“≈“], a pavilion set up in the courtyard of a Buddhist monastic complex for the benefit of visiting pilgrims,33 or any rest pavilion or hut set up elsewhere for the use of weary travellers). Just as their Buddhist neighbours set up such buildings in order to acquire merit, so too do the Lahu build their own “merit huts” on major pathways leading to their village. Again, however, the Lahu Nyi have adapted Buddhist customs to their own indigenous world view. The vegetarian meal is offered first to G’ui√ sha before being consumed as a “meal of unity” by the villagers themselves; as for the merit hut, it too is dedicated to the creatordivinity but, in addition, there are special shrines for the guardian locality spirit set up on either side of it. Temple Officials It is in its associated priesthood34 that the Lahu Nyi temple seems, perhaps, most at variance with those of the neighbouring Therav¡da Buddhist Tai peoples. After all, the Lahu Nyi temple officials, who function in their ritual offices as husband-andwife pairs, are in daily life ordinary farmers like every other villager. This is a very different situation from that of Buddhist monks and novices, whose celibacy, clothing and daily routine set them apart from the world of the lay man and woman. And yet, the names of the various Lahu Nyi temple officials have clear Therav¡da Buddhist affiliations. The senior priest in charge of a Lahu Nyi temple is the to bo pa– ; his wife is the to bo ma. Until very recently, it has been my contention that the syllable to is from the Lahu word aw√ to, “body”, while pa– and ma are the male and female suffixes respectively.35 Bo (or bon), on the other hand, is from Tai bun, “merit”, the

31

Ibid., 258–62). Ibid., 45–50). 33 See Kingshill (1991: 111). 34 See Walker (2003: 387–400) for greater detail; cf. Nishimoto (2003: 125–7). 35 E.g. Walker (2003: 388). 32

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whole therefore meaning “meritorious body”.36 I now suspect that the title, in toto, is derived from the Tai designation for certain holy men, viz., ton bun (µâπ∫ÿ≠), literally “source of merit”.37 The to bo pa and to bo ma are known also as paw hku◊ and meh hku◊ respectively, names taken wholly from Tai: phaw (æàÕ) “father”, meh (·¡à), “mother” and khr¢ (§√Ÿ, from Sanskrit, guru) “teacher”, thus “father teacher” and “mother teacher”. In Northern Thai Buddhism phaw khr¢ (æàÕ§√Ÿ) is a title given to the lay temple official otherwise known as the archarn wat (Õ“®“√¬å), archarn from the Sanskrit, acharya. Always a former monk himself, the phaw khr¢ leads the lay congregation in temple rituals and is the master of ceremonies, representing the congregation, when it presents gifts to the monks for the purpose of merit-making.38 Finally, the Lahu Nyi’s to bo pa– is sometimes also called pu– cawn◊, a name of impeccably Buddhist derivation, this time from Burmese through Shan. Cawn◊ is from Burmese chawng, “temple” and pu– (ºâ)Ÿ is from Tai and means “man”, thus “man of the temple”. There are other ritual officials who assist the Lahu Nyi’s to bo pa– and to bo ma in the affairs of the temple,39 but since their links to Buddhist prototypes are less evident than are those of the senior priest, I shall not discuss them in this paper. I should, on the other hand, like to return — if only briefly — to the matter of the apparently fundamental dissimilarity between the rôle of the celibate Therav¡da Buddhist monk and that of the necessarily married Lahu to bo pa– / paw hku◊ / pu– cawn◊, all of whose names suggest Therav¡da Buddhist affiliation. I suspect the answer to this anomaly lies in the prior encounter of many Lahu people with Mah¡y¡na Buddhism when, as we shall observe later, the men in charge of village temples were not ordained clergy (monks or novices) but married laymen. Another factor in the equation is that Lahu Nyi, among the most southerlydwelling of Lahu divisions, have long been exposed to the Therav¡da Buddhism of their lowland neighbours. I do not find it especially surprising, therefore, that a culture of temples and temple priests with, so I believe, clear-cut Mah¡y¡na antecedents has, among these southerly-dwelling Lahu Nyi, absorbed a Therav¡da Buddhist nomenclature.

36

The Thai researcher Sorot Sirisai (1989: 32) offers another thoroughly Buddhist etymology for to bo pa– , saying that it comes from the Tai tham bun (∑”∫ÿ≠), “to make merit”, plus the Lahu male suffix, and thus “the merit-making man”. Although, in general, I am much in favour of seeking Tai Buddhist origins for a great deal of Lahu Nyi ritual behaviour, I am not quite convinced by Sorot’s etymologizing. If it were true, I suggest, the Lahu name would be hta◊ bo pa– (the Lahu aspirated hta◊ from the Tai aspirated tham), not to bo pa– . 37 Cf. Cohen (2001: 227). 38 Swearer (1976: 156). 39 See Walker (2003: 390–94). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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But just what is my case for championing the Mah¡y¡na Buddhist antecedents of a significant part of Lahu Nyi religious culture? The final part of my paper seeks to answer this question. Mah¡¡y¡¡na Buddhism in the Lahu Mountains Unfortunately, in the absence of historical documentation of definitive authority, the task of reconstructing the early history of Buddhism among the Lahu peoples is fraught with difficulty. There are many, mostly quite brief, accounts by modern Chinese writers,40 but they are riddled with inconsistencies. Much of the difficulty rests in the fact that history and legend have become inextricably interwoven among the still largely-preliterate Lahu people, but many of the Chinese sources accord historical legitimacy to Lahu legends that, while they may certainly encapsulate the spirit of actual events, are not themselves historical documents. From my own reading of the materials, I surmise that there were at least two major early Buddhist missions to the principal Lahu settlement area, which the )41 or “Lahu Mountains”, Chinese formerly knew as the “Luohei Shan” ( and which roughly comprises the modern-day counties of Shuangjiang ( ) Gengma ( ), Lancang ( ), Menglian ( ) and Ximeng ( ). Here I 42 shall discuss only the first. This first visitation occurred sometime during the second half of the seventeenth century (a more precise dating eludes us) when Monk Yang Deyuan ( ) travelled to the Lahu Mountains from the famous Mah¡y¡na Buddhist monastic complex on Jizu Shan ( , “Chicken-foot Mountain”) in Binchuan ( ) County to the north of Dali. According to one relatively recent Chinese-language source,43 “Yang had been a respected figure prior to the fall of the Ming dynasty”, while another Chinese source44 describes him as “a former senior official under [Southern Ming] Emperor Yongli [reigned 1647–1661].” The implication for the recorders of both sets of data is that Monk Yang must have harboured resentment against China’s new Manchu rulers — indeed may even have come to the remote frontier region inhabited by Lahu and other mountain peoples for the purpose of fomenting revolt against the Qing usurpers. At any rate, at some time during the

40

E.g., Anon. (1993); Chen et al. (1986); Li & Zuo (1983); Liang et al. (1992); Qin et al. (1988); Wang and Yü (1986); Xu (1993b); Xu et al. (1990). 41 In Qing dynasty records the first character “luo” is rendered with the pejorative dog radical ( ) rather than the far more acceptable man radical ( ) used above. 42 For a much fuller account of these missions, see Walker (2003: 310–33); the second mission is described on pp. 330–33. 43 Liang et al. 1992: Ch. 2, p. 28. 44 Xu et al. (1990: 344). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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turbulent period that marked the collapse of China’s last Han imperial house at the hands of the Manchu founders of the Qing dynasty, Yang Deyuan took ordination and, settling in Jizu Shan, became, according to one of the Chinese sources,45 at once a learned monk and renowned medical practitioner. If Monk Yang did indeed combine the attributes of a privileged Ming dynasty background, hostility to the new Qing rulers, and a commitment to the practice of medicine, this must have represented a heady mix in the minds of many Lahu who encountered him. For the Lahu are a people with a predisposition for following men of obvious religious merit, particularly when that is perceived also to include the ability to cure sickness.46 Moreover, at the time of Monk Yang’s arrival amongst them, many Lahu were doubtless beginning to feel the pressure of increasing Han Chinese incursion into their homelands, a consequence both of Han Chinese immigration from China’s heartlands and the imperial government’s decision to begin implementing the policy of placing Han Chinese bureaucrats in overall charge of the border regions. 47 It is not difficult, consequently, to comprehend why these mountain folk could readily embrace the teachings of a religious leader who preached a new world order as, simultaneously, he tended to their physical ailments. Unfortunately, Lahu themselves appear not to retain any memory of the name of the Chinese monk who first brought to them Buddhism of the Mah¡y¡na school. They talk now only of their great fu– cu◊ pa– (from Chinese fozhu, “Buddha Lord”, with the Lahu male suffix pa–) or else of their G’ui◊ sha ye (from the name of the Lahu’s creator-divinity, plus the Chinese ye [ ], “grandfather”), the latter name clearly demonstrating that they had invested the Chinese monk with divinity. On the other hand, modern-day Lahu in Yunnan (some at least) do still aver that it was their fu– cu◊ pa– who was responsible for the building of the grand fu– yeh√ (literally “Buddha house”, from Chinese fo [ ] and Lahu yeh √ , “house”) at Nancha ( ), 48 the mother temple of Mah¡y¡na Buddhism among the Lahu, whose ruins (Pl. 10. 11, 12, Fig. 2) even today may be seen adjacent to the Lahu Na (Black Lahu) village that is still called Fofang Zhai ( ) or Buddha Temple Village in the largely Wa-occupied Angkang Township ( ) in the far north of Lancang County.49 When the Nancha monastery was ready, so it is told,50 fu– cu◊ pa– called upon several of his disciples from Dali to join him in the Lahu Mountains. We may safely assume that these men

45

Liang et al. (1992: Ch. 9. p. 28). Cf. Walker 2003: 505–47). 47 Ibid., 76–84 for a summary. 48 The Mandarin pronunciation is “Nanzha” or “Nanshan”, but local Lahu and Wa call it Nancha, hence the preferred Romanization here. 49 Xu (1993b); Walker (2003: 314–24). 50 Anon. (1993: 253). 46

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were also, predominantly, of Han Chinese ethnicity, or else sinicized Bai (Minchia). At the same time a number of local boys — both Lahu and Wa — were ordained as novices and received Buddhist instruction.51 With its fine buildings and active ritual life, it seems that the Nancha monastery soon became the centre for the dissemination of Buddhism among the neighbouring mountain peoples, mostly Lahu and Wa. “As soon as a disciple had been trained”, says one Chinese language source,52 “he would be sent out to preach.” Moreover, it is also told that, for a time, fu– cu◊ pa– left the affairs of Nancha in the hands of his fellow monks from Dali as he himself travelled widely through the Lahu Mountains to propagate Buddhism among the peoples.53 As former Nancha novices were ordained as monks and returned to their home areas, some of them set up temples of their own.54 Thus Nancha became the mother temple of a monastic organization that spread widely over the Lahu Mountains (Map 2). In this organization Nancha and its principal daughter temples ) or “great Buddha houses” (haw— yeh√ (e.g. Pl. 14, 15) became da fofang ( lon— in Lahu), each one heading a supra-local religio-political structure that descended, by way of a number of mid-level fofang, right down to the individual village communities. The mother temple at Nancha, in addition to training Buddhist clerics who would go on to establish their own monastic complexes elsewhere,55 soon became a major meeting point and pilgrimage destination for Lahu and Wa, who came here to listen to the teachings of their fu– cu◊ pa– and his successors.56 This, doubtless, was a principal reason for the evolution of the Nancha monastic complex and, subsequently, of its daughter temples into centres of political power. Whether or not Yang Deyuan himself (as a disgruntled former Ming dynasty official) encouraged the Lahu to resist Qing authority seems impossible to substantiate.57 What is certain, however, is that, by the end of the eighteenth century (by which time Yang Deyuan would likely have been dead about a century), Nancha had become an important focus of Lahu resistance to the rule of the Emperor’s proxy, the Tai Prince of Menglian.58

51

Liang et al. (1992: ch. 9, p. 29). Ibid. (p. 30). 53 Anon. (1993: 253). 54 Cf. Walker (2003: 324–27). 55 Xu (1993: 269). 56 Anon. (1993: 254); Xu (1993b: 269–70). 57 But see Xu et al. (1990: 344). 58 Anon. (1993: 254); Xu (1993b: 267–8). 52

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Map 2.

Location of principal Lahu and Wa Mah¡y¡na Buddhist temple complexes in the “Luohei Shan” or Lahu Mountains, southwestern Yunnan

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Temple Organization in the Lahu Mountains Every great temple controlled a number of subsidiary monastic complexes. These high- and mid-level institutions were built according to Chinese Buddhist architectural norms with, minimally, a public worship hall and residential quarters for the monks and novices. As a concession to Lahu tradition there had also to be an open space for gourd-pipe dancing. The principal building was the worship hall (Fig. 2), whose focal point was an altar on which stood at least one, and up to three, Buddha images. Where there was only one image, it seems to have been that of S¡kyamuni (the historical Buddha); where there were three images, they were of Guanyin (the Bodhisattva Avalokiteªvara), S¡kyamuni and the future Buddha Maitreya,59 a fairly common practice in Chinese Mah¡y¡na Buddhism, since they represent, inter alia, past, present and future epochs respectively. There is some indication60 that Lahu identified S¡kyamuni iconographically with their creator-divinity, G’ui√ sha. It is more certain that the two were identified ideologically.61 Just as high-level monastic complexes controlled mid-level ones, the latter, in turn, had jurisdiction over about a dozen or so individual village communities, each with its own local temple.62 These village temples were simple wood-andbamboo structures surrounded by thorny cactus bushes, trees or flowering shrubs that served to demarcate their sacred space (just as a stout wooden fence surrounded Lahu Nyi village temples in North Thailand for the same purpose). Inside, they had altars but no Buddha images; instead, set on the altar, were bamboo containers for holding incense sticks as well as offerings of “grains, gourds, fruits and sugar canes.”63 Lahu village temples were called fofang, “Buddha halls”, in Chinese, but in Lahu they were known either as fu– yeh√, “Buddha houses” or else as haw— yeh√, the term, as we saw earlier, still used by Lahu Nyi in North Thailand. Each of the major supra-village temple complexes constituted a regular Mah¡y¡na Buddhist monastic community that comprised a foye ( ), the senior monk or abbot, and a number of heshang ( ), who included both fully-ordained monks and novices — all of whom observed a celibate life of meditation, study and the chanting of Buddhist texts. According to one Chinese-language source,64 the temple bell would be rung four times each day, morning, noon, afternoon and night,

59

Song and Wang 1981: 1–2). Cf. Li and Zuo (1983: 28–9). 61 Cf. Du (2003: 258). 62 Liang et al. (1992, ch. 9, p. 41); also Wang and Yü (1986: 24). 63 Li and Zuo (1983: 28); Liang et al. ( 1992: ch. 9, p. 41). 64 Xu (1993b: 270). 60

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to announce the s¢tra-chanting sessions. The texts were always read in Chinese, but instruction on their meaning was given in Lahu and Wa languages. At the village level the situation was very different. Here there were no resident monks or novices and, doubtless for that reason, the village temples were devoid of Buddhist scriptures.65 Instead there was a temple caretaker, often the community’s headman himself, but sometimes another lay person could be appointed as fu– sheh– hpa◊, literally “master of the Buddha [hall]”. Besides caring for the building itself, the principal responsibility of the man in charge of a village temple appears to have been to ensure that two days each lunar month, at the time of the new and the full moon (precisely the occasions when Lahu Nyi in North Thailand still celebrate their shi— nyi or merit days), his fellow villagers observed a more thoroughly Buddhist lifestyle than was required on ordinary days. On these occasions, the fu– sheh– hpa◊ put on a simple robe and beat a gong to remind the villagers that this was a special day of religious merit when they must refrain from eating meat and consuming alcohol.66 In addition, on these days, and at other times when they faced sickness or other misfortune, the villagers would come to their temple to light incense sticks and to make obeisance to the Buddha/G’ui√ sha.67 Three times a year, at the lunar New Year and at the seasons for planting and harvesting the crops (still, as we have seen, important festive occasions for the Lahu Nyi), village headmen, temple caretakers and, on at least two of three occasions, ordinary villagers as well, would travel to their local monastic complex.68 Here they would present offerings of food, light incense sticks and beeswax candles in honour of the Buddha/G’ui√ sha and pay their respects to the abbot, who, besides chanting s¢tra and sprinkling the devotees with blessed water, would also offer guidance to them on secular matters, settling disputes among them and instructing them on agricultural matters as appropriate to the season. Later the lay visitors would celebrate the occasion by dancing to the music of the gourd pipes outside of the Buddha hall. This periodic and obligatory visiting by Lahu village headmen to their local abbots, who took the opportunity not merely to explain Buddhist doctrine and morality, but also to arbitrate unsettled disputes and to instruct the village leaders in the conduct of everyday affairs, provides clear evidence for the supra-local and extra-religious authority of the senior Buddhist clergy. The extra-village fofang became, in effect, the principal supra-local units of Lahu political organization, which in some places and during some periods challenged imperial Chinese rule as

65

Liang et al. (1992: ch. 9, p. 41). Li (1991: 116). 67 Li and Zuo (1983: 28). 68 Li and Zuo (1983: 42); Liang et al. (1992: ch. 9. p. 42); Wang and Yü (1986: 25). 66

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well as that of its proxies, the administrations of the local valley-based Tai princes. But Lahu Buddhism would pay dearly for its political confrontation with the might of the imperial Qing and of its surrogates. Inevitably, the clerics who led the Lahu in such confrontation, and the monastic centres from which they operated, were made to bear the brunt of imperial ire. As Chinese historian the late Fang Guoyu ( ) of Yunnan University wrote,69 “In the ten years of pacification during the reign of [Qing Emperor] Guangxu [1875-1908], almost all the fofang [temples] and foye [monks] in the Luohei [Lahu] Mountains disappeared; those that remained functioned very little.” Whereas, as Professor Fang rightly observes, the principal extra-local Buddhist temples largely disappeared and, along with them, their associated clergy, the village temples and their caretakers survived. The latter, without formal Buddhist instruction and operating only as part-time specialists, became increasingly distant from the centres of Mah¡y¡na orthodoxy. Not surprisingly, therefore, the Buddhist heritage of the temples and those who served in them became less and less obvious, while their specifically Lahu, G’ui√ sha-centred, character became ever more pronounced. Today, the casual visitor to Lahu villages, whether in Yunnan, Burma or Thailand will be hard put to identify the people’s Buddhist heritage. But, as I hope to have demonstrated in this paper, it is surely there. Consequently, Christian mission apologists Yamamori and Chan70 are a little off the mark when they write, so definitively, that “The Lahus’ ... unique folk religion has been mistakenly labeled Buddhism”. Conclusion In this paper I have presented the historical scenario for the temple traditions that still survive among many Lahu communities in Yunnan, Burma and North Thailand. But for the Lahu Nyi whom I studied in the mountains of North Thailand, there is another historical circumstance that must be taken into account. Among the Lahu peoples, these Lahu Nyi are essentially “southerners” and, as such, have had long contact with the Therav¡da Buddhist traditions of their Tai-speaking neighbours, whether Shan in Burma or Tai Yuan (Northern Thai) in Thailand. Consequently, although the Lahu people’s temple tradition has its origins, I believe, in Mah¡y¡na Buddhism, Therav¡da traditions have also influenced it, especially in the more southerly areas of Lahu settlement.

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I contend also that it is precisely the historical accident of the Lahu people’s exposure to Mah¡y¡na Buddhism — resulting in the canonically untenable but very real identification of G’ui√ sha with Buddha ¡kyamuni — that has provided the Lahu with a notion of immanent divinity so remarkably at odds with the nebulous conceptions of transcendent creator-gods that are commonplace among indigenous Southeast Asian peoples. For the Lahu, then, syncretism is evident both in religious architecture and in the most fundamental tenets of the people’s worldview.

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References Anonymous 1993 Lahu Zu Fojiao Xinyang Jishi ( ) [Records of the Lahu Nationality’s Buddhist Religion]. In Simao Lahu Zu Chuantong Wenhua Diaocha ( ) [Investigative Reports on Traditional Lahu Culture in Simao], Xu Yong-an ( ), ed. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 251–63. Benjamin, Geoffrey 1979 Indigenous Religious Systems of the Malay Peninsula. In The Imagination of Reality: Essays in Southeast Asian Coherence Systems, A.L. Becker and Aram A. Yengoyan, eds. Norwood (NJ): Ablex Publishing Corporation. 9–27. ) et al. Chen Jiongguang ( 1986 Lahu Zu Jian Shi (

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Cohen, Paul T. 2001 Buddhism Unshackled: The Yuan “Holy Man” Tradition and the NationState in the Tai World. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 32(2): 227–47. Cowell, E.M. et al., eds. 1969 Buddhist Mahâyâna Texts. New York: Dover Publications. Du Shanshan 2003 Is Buddha a Couple? Gender-Unitary Perspectives from the Lahu of Southwest China. Ethnology 42(3): 253-71. Fang Guoyi ( ) 1943 Dian Xi Bian Qu Kao Cha Ji ( ) [Record of an Investigation of the Western Areas of Yunnan]. Kunming: Guoli Yunnan Daxue, Xinan Wenhua Yanjiu Shi ( )[National Yunnan University, Office of Southwestern Cultural Studies]. Kauffmann, Hans E. 1971 Stone Memorials of the Lawa. Journal of the Siam Society 59(1): 129–51.

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Kingshill, Konrad 1991 Ku Daeng. Thirty Years Later: A Village Study in Northern Thailand 1954–1984. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University. Li Wenhan ( ) and Zuo Ren-an ( ) 1983 Lancang Xian Lahu Zu Shehui Yishi Diaocha ( ) [An Investigation into the Social Ideology of the Lahu in Lancang County]. In Yunnan Shaoshu Minzu Zhexue Shehui Sixiang Ziliao Xuanji 4 ( ) [Selected Materials on the Philosophy and Social Ideas of the Minority Nationalities in Yunnan Volume 4]. Kunming: Zhongguo Zhexueshi Xuehui Yunnan Sheng Fenhui Bian ( ) [Editorial Board, Yunnan Provincial Branch of the Chinese Society for the Study of the History of Philosophy]. 3–51. ), editor Li Yaming ( 1991 Lahu Zu ( ). In Simao Diqu Minzu Zhi (Song Shen Gao: Shang) ( ) [Records of the Nationalities in Simao Prefecture (Manuscript for Approval Vol. 1)]. Simao: Simao Xingshu Minzu Shiwu Weiyuanhui Bianyin ( [Simao : Editorial Office of the Simao Nationalities Commission]. 112–121. Liang Kesheng ( ) et al., editors 1992 Lahu Zu Shi (Song Shen Gao) ( ) [A History of the Lahu Nationality (Manuscript for Approval)]. Menglang (Lancang County): “Lahu Zu Shi” Biancuan Weiyuanhui ( ) [Editorial Committee for the “History of the Lahu Nationality”]. Mimeographed. Matisoff, James A. 1985 God and the Sino-Tibetan Copula, With Some Good News Concerning Selected Tibeto-Burman Rhymes. Journal of Asian and African Studies (Tokyo) 29:1-81. 1988

The Dictionary of Lahu. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.

Nishimoto, Yoichi 2003 The Religion of the Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu) in Northern Thailand: General Description with Preliminary Remarks. Studies and Essays, Behavioral Sciences and Philosophy, Faculty of Letters, Kanazawa University 23: 115–38. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Premchit, Somnai and Amphay Doré 1992 The Lan Na Twelve-Month Traditions. Chiang Mai: Chiang Mai University. Qin Guangguang, ( ) et al. 1988 Lahu Zu ( ). In Zhongguo Shaoshu Minzu Zongjiao Gailan ( ) [An Introduction to the Religions of China’s Minority Nationalities]. Beijing: Zhongyang Minzu Xueyuan Chubanshe ( ) [Central Institute of Nationalities Publishing House]. 253–8. Rajadhon, Phya Anuman 1967 Notes on the Thread-square in Thailand. Journal of the Siam Society 55(2): 161–82. 1986

Popular Buddhism in Siam and other Essays on Thai Studies. Bangkok: Thai Inter-Religious Commission for Development and Sathirakoses Nagapradipa Foundation.

Saihoo, Pataya 1959 The Shan of Burma: An Ethnographic Survey. B.Litt. thesis, Oxford University. ) Shi Lianda ( 1993 Jinping Xian Lahu Zu Kucong Ren Dingju Qian Hou ( ) [The Lahu Nationality (Kucong people) in Jinping County Before and After Resettlement]. In Yunnan Minzu Gongzuo Huiyilu 1 ( ) [Memoirs of Nationalities Work in Yunnan, Volume 1], Yang Shi ( ), ed. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 230–40. Sirisai, Sorot — 1989 Botb¡t Khawng Ph¢nam S¡tsan¡ Kap K¡n Pl™anplaeng Th¡ng — Daeng: Su’s¡ Chaphaw — Watthanatham Khawng Ch¡o Khao Phao Musoe — — Kawrani Chanu Phay¡, M¢b¡n Mae P¢n L¢ang, Tambon W™ang, Amph¢’a W™ang P¡ Pao, Changwat Ch™angr¡i [The Rôle of Religious Leaders and Culture Change among the Mussur Daeng Hill People: A Case Study of Hpaya Ca Nu, Mae Pun Luang Village, Tambon Wiang, Amphoe Wiang Papao, Changwat Chiang Rai]. Bangkok: Mahidol University, Institute of Language and Culture for Rural Development.

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Song Enchang ( ) 1981a Jinping Xian San Qu Wengdan Xiang Lahu Xi Diaocha ( [Investigations of the Lahu Shi in Wengdang Township, Third District, Jinping County]. In Lahu Zu Shehui Lishi Diaocha - 2 ( ) [A Social History of the Lahu Nationality Volume 2], Song Enchang ( ) and Wang Shuwu ( ), eds. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 81–98. 1981b Jinping Xian Citongba Xiang Da Zhai Guozhou (Hei Kucong) Ren Diaocha ( ) [A Social Investigation of the Guozhou (Black Kucong) in Da Zhai, Citongba Township, Jinping County]. In Lahu Zu Shehui Lishi Diaocha - 2 ( ) [A Social History of the Lahu People Volume 2], Song Enchang ( ) and Wang Shuwu ( ) eds. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 108–12. 1986

Kucong Ren de Yuanshi Shehui Canyu ( ) [Remnants of the Primitive Society of the Kucong]. In his Yunnan Shaoshu Minzu Yanjiu Wenji ( ) [Collection of Essays on the Minority Peoples in Yunnan]. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 157–66.

Song Enchang ( ) and Wang Shuwu ( ), editors 1981 Lahu Zu Shehui Lishi Diaocha - 2 ( ) [A Social History of the Lahu People Volume 2]. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe: Zhongguo Shaoshu Minzu Shehui Lishi Diaocha Ziliao Congkan [ [Series of Survey Materials on the Social History of the Minority Nationalities of China]. Swearer, Donald K. 1976 The Role of the Layman Extraordinaire in Northern Thai Buddhism. Journal of the Siam Society 64(1): 151–68. Terwiel, B.J. 1978 The Origin and Meaning of the Thai “City Pillar”. Journal of the Siam Society 66(2): 159–71.

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Walker, Anthony R. 1970 Lahu Nyi Village Society and Economy in North Thailand. 2 vols. Chiang Mai: Tribal Research Centre. Mimeographed edition of 100 copies. 1975

Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu) New Year Texts—II. Journal of the Siam Society 63(2): 161–98.

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Shi— Nyi: Merit Days among the Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu), North Thailand. Anthropos 76: 665–706.

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Shi— Nyi Lon— : Great merit Days among the Lahu Nyi (Red Lahu) People of North Thailand. Asian Folklore Studies 43(1): 275–302.

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Merit and the Millennium: Routine and Crisis in the Ritual Lives of the Lahu People. New Delhi: Hindustan Publishing Corporation (= Studies in Sociology & Social Anthropology).

) and Yü Lijia ( ) Wang Zhati ( 1986 Lahu Zu (Xu Yi) ( [Lahu Nationality: Additional Materials]. Yunnan Shaoshu Minzu Zhexue Shehui Sixiang Ziliao Xuanji - 6 ( [Selected Materials on the Philosophy and Social Ideas of the Minority Nationalities in Yunnan Volume 6]. Kunming: Zhongguo Zhexueshi Xuehui Yunnan Sheng Fenhui Bian ( ) [Editorial Board, Yunnan Provincial Branch of the Chinese Society for the Study of the History of Philosophy]. 1–45. Woodthorpe, R.G. 1896 The Country of the Shans. The Geographical Journal 7(6): 577–602. Xu Yong-an ( ) 1984 Kucong Ren Jianzhi (Simao Bufen) ( ( ) [A Brief Introduction to the Kucong People (Simao Section)]. Xueshu Taolun Wenji: Yunnan Minzu Lilun Yanjiu Xuehui Simao Fenhui ( ) [Academic Discussion Collection: Yunnan Nationalities Theory Study Institute, Simao Branch] 3:113–26. 1993a Lancang Xian Nanduan Cun Longzhupeng Zhai Lahu Zu Chuantong Wenhua Diaocha ( ) [An Investigative Report on the Traditional Culture of the Lahu Nationality at

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Longzhupeng Village, Nanduan Administrative Village, Lancang County]. In Simao Lahu Zu Chuantong Wenhua Diaocha ( ) [Investigative Reports on Traditional Lahu Culture in Simao], Xu Yong-an ( ), ed. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 1–58. 1993b Nancha Fosi Diaocha ( ) [An Investigation of the Nancha Buddhist Temple]. In Simao Lahu Zu Chuantong Wenhua Diaocha ( ) [Investigative Reports on Traditional Lahu Culture in Simao], Xu Yong-an ( ), ed. Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe ( ). 264–74. ) et al. Xu Yong-an ( 1990 Simao Shaoshu Minzu ( ) [Minority Nationalities of Simao]. Kunming: Yunnan Minzu Chubanshe ( ). Yamamori, Tetsunao and Kim-Kwong Chan 2000 Witnesses to Power : Stories of God’s Quiet Work in a Changing China. Carlisle (Cumbria, UK): Paternoster Press. Young, Oliver Gordon 1962 The Hill Tribes of Thailand: A Socio-ethnological Report. Bangkok: The Siam Society.

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Plate 1. A Lahu Nyi village temple: structurally unique and set apart from other village buildings

Plate 2. Bamboo and wood houses with grass- or leaf-thatched roofs and set on piles: Typical Lahu Nyi domestic architecture in upland North Thailand in the 1960s Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Plate 3. Simple wooden altar: the focal point of a Lahu Nyi temple

Plate 4. Lahu Nyi village temple surrounded by log fence and by cloth streamers flying from bamboo poles; carved sacred posts in front courtyard Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Plate 5. Lahu Nyi village priest (right, holding candle) offers to the creator-divinity G’ui sha carved wooden posts newly ˇ set-up in temple courtyard for an annual festival

Plate 6. Carved wooden water trough with “life bird” inside Lahu Nyi village temple in upland North Thailand

Plate 7. Lahu Nyi village women, led by senior priestess (foreground) performing “water exchange” ritual Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Plate 8. Senior Lahu Nyi village priest beating temple gong as he presents newly-made temple offerings to the creator-divinity G’ui sha

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Plate 9. Specially dressed and made-up Lahu Nyi village girls dancing at night inside the village temple on the occasion of a bi-monthly lunar festival day Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Plate 10. Surviving remains of the main “Buddha hall” at Nancha, Lancang County, Yunnan

Plate 11. Brick (left) from Nancha temple embellished with image of mythical qi lin or Chinese unicorn (shown complete, for comparison only in modern ceramic on right)

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Plate 12. Brick fragment with floral embellishments from Nancha

Plate 13. Shrine to the Long Wang, the Dragon King (still honoured, as indicated by incense sticks in foreground), behind remains of Buddha hall at Nancha (Fig. 2 indicates precise location) Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Plate 14. The remains of the Mengka temple complex in Ximeng County, Yunnan

Plate 15. Modern-day local Lahu Na dancing in front of the Mengka temple remains at New Year time

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Remembering local history: Kuba Wajiraphanya (c.1853–1928), Phra Thongthip and the Müang way of life1 Andrew Turton

Abstract This article sets the life of an important religious leader from Mae Sruay, Chiang Rai, Kuba Wajiraphanya (c. 1853–1928) in the context of the history of the latter years of the Chiang Mai kingdom. It links personal biography with the famous image of Phra Thongthip, brought from Luang Prabang to Mae Sruay in the sixteenth century, and with the efforts of Princess Dara Rasmii and Kuba Srivichai to revitalise Müang culture in the early twentieth century. It also reflects on some of the means by which local memory is perpetuated, and how biography and local history are combined and memorialised in present-day popular religious practice and secular knowledge. Remembering Lannatai history In an essay written more than ten years ago, Tanet Caroenmuang raised the issue of lack of public concern for the history, and historiography of Northern Thailand, the Chiang Mai kingdom or Lanna, as it is variously known. The following excerpt can stand as an epigraph and motive for my own essay. The life and role of Cao Dara Rasmii, whom we may regard as a person of the greatest importance for the recent history of relations between Chiang Mai and Bangkok, is similar to that of Phaya Mangrai, who founded the Lanna state nearly 700 years ago, in that 1

This paper is dedicated to the memory of Kuba Wajiraphanya who was the teacher of the late Pho Nan Nuan Mahawudh (of Ban Dorn Salii, Tambon Padeed, Amphur Mae Sruay, Chiang Rai; who was my own most important teacher of Müang knowledge and practices. Pho Nan Nuan, was acan wat at Wat Ban Pong and was, in turn, called kuba acan by many people. He was interested in comparative, speculative and critical thought. But he also made things happen, and helped people with their physical, spiritual and existential well-being. He was in addition a good farmer, particularly good with cattle, and an entrancingly beautiful dancer. In the Müang manner this dedication has also to be an apology: kho suma karawa kuba acan toe. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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the people of Lanna–despite their living at a time of unprecedented volume and up-to-dateness of information–nonetheless know extremely little about these two persons This is notwithstanding [the existence of] the monument [anusornsathan] to Phaya Mangrai. This is smaller than the forecourt of any filling station in Chiang Mai, and its whereabouts are known to hardly anybody. We do not have a memorial to Cao Dara Rasmii for the general public to pay their respects and learn some history. Anyone who has been to the highest point in Thailand, to the summit of Mount Inthanon and site of the stupa containing the ashes (sathup bancu athi) of Cao Inthanon–which Cao Dara Rasmii [his daughter] played a leading part in setting up–will discover that this stupa has not been seriously looked after, much as Phaya Mangrai’ s memorial has been treated. ..... In educational institutions in Lanna there is no study of local histories so that people of the region might know the history of their forbears and their institutions, in order that they might be proud of the past as the origin of the present, and so help one another to care for, and preserve, their common heritage. (Tanet 1993: 194; present author’s translation) Regional and historical context Phra Thongthip The present district of Mae Sruay, Cangwat Chiang Rai, is part of the valley of the river Mae Lao which rises in the region of Doi Langka and Doi Maetho on the Mekong watershed where the borders of Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai and Lampang provinces meet, some 50 kilometres to the northeast of Chiang Mai city. The Mae Lao flows into the Mae Kok, which is a tributary of the Mekong River. Mae Sruay is approximately one-third of the way between Chiang Mai and Chiang Tung and was formerly on the route from Luang Prabang to Chiang Mai. It was also on one of the itineraries of Phra Naresuan, as is attested by the royal visit to Mae Sruay on 25 January 1969 to perform a phithi buangsuan winyan Phra Naresuan. This occurred just three weeks after my first arrival in the district. Mae Sruay is a relatively small, quiet and naturally well-endowed place, which has been a refuge for many independent migrants, but has clearly been involved in many wars and invasions. There are ruins of several wiang ho, Chinese (Yunnanese) fortified hill towns. Villagers tell stories of being conscripted to defend against the Shan rebellions of the early twentieth century, and I have heard Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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first hand accounts of participation in the Thai army in support of the Japanese advance on Chiang Tung in the Second World War. During this war the villagers dug air raid shelters, and a Japanese pilot crash landed (and survived) in the wide and shallow Mae Lao not far from where I lived later. The Phra Thongthip chronicle (damnan) tells the story of how the image of Phra Thongthip was brought from Luang Prabang about AD 1576 or so and installed on the west bank of the Mae Lao about two kilometres from Ban Pong, in present-day Mae Sruay. This was the place where a convoy of small boats coming from Luang Prabang up the Mekong, the Mae Kok and the Mae Lao, had become stuck and was unable to go any further. The boats were bringing the young Prince Chaicetana Rajakuman, son of the ruler of Luang Prabang and his queen, who was the daughter of the recently deceased king of Chiang Mai, to Chiang Mai to assume the throne. He had ‘invited’ Phra Thongthip to come with him, as Phra Thongthip was particularly sacred to him, having granted his parents’ wishes for a child, himself, fifteen years earlier. The prince promised to return to pay his respects to Phra Thongthip whenever he took this route again. The damnan records other critical dates when Wat Phra Thongthip was rebuilt, in 1782, and 1854. According to the damnan, it was once again rebuilt in 1877 when: Phra Rajaya Cao Dara Rasmii and Cao Kaeow Nawarat Cao Phu Khrong Nakorn Chiang Mai came to venerate Phra Thongthip. They stayed many nights in the forest. They saw that the vihan had fallen seriously into disrepair. So they asked (naenamhai) Khruba Chaiwudh Wajiraphanya, Wat Ban Pong, to rebuild it, and gave 200 rupees (thaep) to help in the construction. Khruba Chaiwudh Wajiraphanya accepted (phrom duai). The monks and the congregation (khanna satha) completed the vihan that year. (Sanguan 1965: 613) This damnan version contains several obvious anachronisms. The settlements around present-day Ban Pong were known as Ban (or Müang) Nong Khwang until well into the twentieth century. Wat Ban Pong was formerly (and probably at that time) called Wat Salii Bunlyan, only fairly recently adopting the trend to name wat after the chief administrative village. It may well have other inaccuracies. Cao In Kaeo Nawarat was Cao Chiang Mai from 1911 until 1939, and was the last of his dynasty, a cousin (luukphunong) of Princess Dara Rasmii. Princess Dara was born in 1873, and her visit to Phra Thongthip was almost certainly some time after 1914, when she returned at the age of 41 to Chiang Mai from Bangkok. She had been at court in Bangkok since she was about 13 years old.

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In 1914 Kuba Wajiraphanya might have been about 60 years old. At least one old lady I spoke to in 1969 remembered clearly having seen Princess Dara when she visited Phra Thongthip. It is probable that villagers presented the princess with gifts, including their fine woven cotton cloth, as they did on the occasions of royal visits to the district in 1957 and 1969 (which latter occasion I witnessed). Müang Nong Khwang Ban or Müang Nong Khwang features in the journal of possibly the first farang visitor, Captain W.C.McLeod, on a mission in 1837 from Moulmein in British Tenasserim to Chiang Mai, Chiang Tung, Chiang Rung (and beyond if he had been allowed) (see Turton and Grabowsky 2003). He departed from Chiang Mai with elephants, oxen and horses on 29 January 1837 and reached ‘the village of Nónquan’ in six nights and seven days (exactly the time I was told by a retired trader that it used to take his caravan of oxen). His descriptions of what are presentday Wiangpapao and Mae Sruay districts, especially economic specialisations, coincide with much of what I encountered some 130 years later. An exception was the high proportion of distinctly Lawa villages on the earlier occasion (a population he estimated at 4,000 locally in 10–12 villages), many of whom McLeod reports as ‘becoming Buddhist’. Of Nónquan itself McLeod writes: (Nónquan) ... is inhabited by people belonging to [sc. owing suay tax to the respective princes of] Zimmé, Labong, and Lagong [Chiang Mai, Lamphun and Lampang], all eager to be in advance to participate in the profits from hunting elephants, the sale of the flesh of wild animals (with which the woods abound) and the clandestine trade with Kiang Tung, with which place there is constant communication. My ethnographic field notes have many references to the former ownership of elephants in the area and the particular skill of the Ban Pong people in catching wild elephants, some of whose equipment I inspected. Ban Pong in the nineteenth century and into the twentieth was largely—perhaps at times exclusively—a (ngieo) khoen population, similar in culture to the people of Chiang Tung, where they are also referred to as (a type of) Shan. Even today outsiders refer to people of Ban Pong as ngieo, although not many people even speak that language. Most villagers during my visits would call themselves (khon) müang or khon müang and ngieo

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(khoen), others as ngieo dtae dtae (‘true’ ngieo). Local people say that ‘people from Chiang Mai’ came to live in the already settled area in the mid-nineteenth century or so, and there are longstanding kinship links with villages in Doi Saket. But we must recall that these too might have also been khoen settlements, given the frequent forced movement of people from Chiang Tung into the Chiang Mai kingdom after 1774. Following the 1803-4 Siamese invasion of Chiang Tung, some 100,000 people are said to have been moved from the Chiang Tung state to northern Thai or Siamese territories. The ‘clandestine trade’, as McLeod calls it, refers to avoidance of trade tax or monopoly prohibition. The trade between Müang Nong Khwang and Müang Chiang Tung, especially in betel nut, apparently, would have reinforced and been facilitated by other khoen associations of language, kinship and so on (for khoen solidarities see Tanabe 1984). At the same time, people would have accompanied the annual journeys to Chiang Mai and elsewhere, to take tax goods (suay, such as rice, dried and smoked game, ivory, honey, etc.). And there were links with various wat and teachers to the south. So the area was both well integrated into a wide economic and cultural region between Chiang Tung and Chiang Mai-Lamphun and at the same time relatively autonomous in the century up to the 1920s. Kuba Wajiraphanya’s adult life coincided almost exactly with a period in which the northern Thai region as a whole went through a cataclysmic process of events for the old ‘Lanna Kingdom’. These all had their reverberations in the locality and some of their capillary effects may well lie behind some of the local events and attitudes I could ascertain during my fieldwork in the years 1969-70, 1976 and later. The following notes sketch some chronological reference points. The year 1874 saw the appointment of the first Siamese Commissioner in Chiang Mai, and in 1883 the British Consulate was established and exercised extraterritorial powers. The unsuccessful Phaya Phap rebellion, possibly supported by some of the Chiang Mai aristocracy and royalty and involving many people of khoen origins (Tanabe 1984), occurred in 1889–90. From 1894 to 1904 various treaties between Siam, Britain and France fixed the present international borders. Then 1902, also the year of an uprising in Phrae province, is recalled locally as the first establishment of a rudimentary system of village headmen, but it was not until 1917 that the first Siamese district officer was installed in the present location. From 1902 ‘... the local character of Lanna was progressively and comprehensively destroyed in every respect: political, administrative, economically, socially, and in terms of religion and culture’ (Sopha 1991: 54–5, drawing on Somchot Hongsakun). The latest social uprising in this period, of the sort that the authorities reported as being led by a phumibun (spiritual leader) was in Chiang Kham, Cangwat Chiang Rai in 1907. It moved to several other districts, including Phayao (Sopha 1991).

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Up to about 1942 most headmen were not literate in central Thai, and administrative documents were frequently bilingual, written in both dtua müang and Thai scripts. As far as I can tell, there was no village school until after the Kuba’s death in 1928. Forms of communication were changing continuously in the region as a whole (telegraph Bangkok to Chiang Mai in 1888, telephone Chiang Mai-Chiang Rai 1905, railway Bangkok-Chiang Mai 1919). But at the time of my first visit in January 1969 there was no reliable all-year road from Mae Sruay to Chiang Rai. There was no hard surface road between Amphur Doi Saket in Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai via Mae Sruay; and the track was impassable for most motor vehicles much of the time. Electricity was produced on a very few small portable generators – mainly used for important religious festivals (poi luang) – with the exception of the district office and police station, and immediately surrounding the market area. Villagers recount that as early as 1921 village labour was requisitioned to help build an airstrip in Chiang Rai, and in the same year the landing of a biplane in the district was the occasion of a six satang aeroplane tax! Outlines of a biography of Kuba Wajiraphanya dtio mo noeng khai pen hai kham [the pot cloth becomes a golden rice steamer] Kuba Wajiraphanya is referred to in the Thai language version of the damnan of Phra Thongthip as ‘Khruba Chaiwudh Wajiraphanya’. In conversations I had he was usually referred to simply as kuba or kuba acan. If speakers gave him a personal name, it was with only one exception Kuba Wajiraphanya. I recorded only one use of the name Kuba Wudh Wajiraphanya. I know of no other personal or family name. It was only when I looked at a photograph of a drawing of him that I had not seen for many years, that I saw the caption ‘Luang Pho Chaiwudh Wajiraphanya’, the name, if not the title, given him in the damnan. I shall refer to him as Kuba Wajiraphanya, or ‘the Kuba’ for short. The name Wajiraphanya has a powerful resonanance for the later reputation of the Kuba. Wajrapãni is the name for the Bodhisattva who is often represented as a protective figure at the side of the Buddha in ancient iconography. He is also identified with Indra, king and god of the lowest of the heavens, who can be beseeched to intervene in human events. In iconography and literary reference he is known as ‘the one who holds the thunderbolt’. Etymologically the name contains wajra (thunderbolt) and pãni (Skt. and Pali ‘hand’) (see Seckel 1964, and photograph p. 109) Kuba Wajiraphanya was born about B.E. 2396 (1853), if we accept the oldest estimate of his age at death in 1928, namely 75. I think the year of his death

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is, however, likely to be remembered quite precisely. This date of birth would then make him approximately 24 years old in B.E. 2420 (1877) which is the year the damnan of Phra Thongthip states he was commissioned to rebuild Wat Phra Thongthip. This may have been the date of a reconstruction, though, as we have seen, the visit by Princess Dara Rasmii was unlikely to have been until after 1914. It is quite likely that both 1877 and 1914 (or soon after) were dates of reconstruction by the Kuba. We might recall that Kuba Srivichai started his series of major works at the age of 26. I heard that Kuba Wajiraphanya was born into a very poor family - mee saat kap morn phai bo napthyy (had only a mat and a pillow, no one respected them). He was born in Ban San(khilek), then a relatively new settlement in the cluster of settlements that was Ban Nong Khwang or Ban Pong. His father suffered from leprosy (‘was a leper’, pen khitoot) and took his own life by hanging himself from a tree at the edge of the Mae Ta Cang river on the path from the village to the pa hieo (cremation grove). Kuba Wajiraphanya buat pha (was ordained a novice) at the age of 15 in Wat Ban Pong. He would almost certainly have spent at least two years previously as a khayom (in central Thai dekwat, a non-ordained ‘temple boy’ or postulant) in the wat, and as such to have begun to learn to read and write tua müang before ordination. When he was about 20 years old, the age when pha either sik (laa sikkha, leave the wat) or pek dtu (are ordained a dtu [cao]) a rich man named Phu Yee, from a village a few kilometres away (Huai Mo Tao), on the death of his father, and on the instructions of his father, looked for someone of the right age to pek, as a meritorious act. The young novice, later Kuba Wajiraphanya, was chosen and pek at the expense of this family at a poi khao sang. It was said that he rode (aeo pha naag, aeo luk kaeow) to Huai Mo Tao on an elephant. This may have been to visit his pho ork (sponsor) and other senior people and/or to have spent some time in another wat, but he is also said to have spent his entire ordained life in Wat Ban Pong. On one occasion when I was told some of these details, the speaker–a man who had never been ordained–used the quite common saying dtio mo noeng khai pen hai kham (the pot cloth becoming a golden rice steamer). saksit dtae dtae [really sacred and powerful] It is not possible to say with any accuracy when Kuba Wajiraphanya became dtu luang (central Thai cao awat, or senior monk in the wat) or began to be referred to as kuba, kuba acan, etc. In some usages Kuba may be used to mean any most senior monk whatever their age or reputation (see McFarland 1944: 183, 478; Met 1965: 58; Udom 1990: 220, 672; Sun Watanatham 1996: 120, 408). It may in

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a transitional period have been used to refer to a Cao Khana Amphur or a Cao Khana Tambon. But I think in the most ordinary, popular usage it does connote a degree of special respect. It can also be used of any especially respected lay teachers of local knowledge. The damnan and the people I heard no doubt used k(h)ruba anachronistically to refer to him in retrospect at any time of his life. The following paragraph [in which the square brackets contain my comment] is a near-verbatim transcript from my notes. The speaker is Ooi Nan Pan, aged 78, Ban Nong Yen, Tambol Padeed, Amphur Mae Sruay [26 Mar 70]. Ooi Pan was born in Ban Nong Yen. His father came from Lamphun. He is an artist and craftsman; I regard him as an intelligent man with a seemingly good memory. He was ordained (pek dtu) in Wat Padeed in about 1912 and was a luuksit (pupil) of Kuba Wajiraphanya, which suggests that the Kuba taught more widely than just in one wat. Ooi Nan Pan would have known the Kuba as an adult for about sixteen years. Kuba Wajiraphanya was a luuksit of Kuba Sooriya. [Note the need to establish this pedagogical and perhaps ordinational genealogy.] Kuba Sooriya came from Wat Srikert, Chiang Mai. [So we can assume that he came as a monk. If so, then in retrospect he came perhaps with a mission to (re-)found and revitalise, rather like the mission of Kuba Srivichai.] At that time Wat Mae Phrik and Wat Mae Sruay Luang probably existed already. He spent three wassa in Wat Ban Sop (now deserted); three wassa in [Wat] Phakhwao (now no more). Then he founded [my notes have the English word but I think the Thai word sang was used] Wat Padeed, then Wat Ban Pong, and then Wat Srithoi. [It is not clear whether these were regarded by the speaker as reconstructions or new foundations. Almost certainly the former in the case of Wat Ban Pong, whose thammat (pulpit, see Plate 3), for instance, was said to long pre-date the Kuba]. After Kuba Sooriya [at Wat Padeed?], followed by two Kuba before Kuba Wajiraphanya: Kuba Tha (at Wat Thakencan) and after him Kuba Phom (at Wat Mae Sruay Luang). Since Kuba Sooriya was titled phrarajakhru (and a senior one at that, specifically I heard Phra Rajakhru Kâo) he may have been a ‘missionary’ for the müang sangha, a ‘wandering’ (carik) or forest monk (pha tudong) looking to settle, or the advance guard of the centralisation movement in the Thai Sangha. This latter began formally with the Sangha Administration Act of 1902. Sopha says that as early as 1896 the northern sangha began to be drawn into the centralised bureaucracy. Kuba Srivichai resisted this to the end, with major episodes of confrontation in 1908–10, 1911–21, and 1935–36 (Sopha 1991). He was charged most specifi-

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cally with conducting ordination without permission and carrying out construction projects all over the north without reference to the formal, externally imposed local sangha hierarchy. There were other specific charges, such as not attending meetings or refusing to conduct a household survey, not to mention creating a personal following and constituting a charismatic popular focus of power outside the system preferred by the increasingly absolutist Siamese state. Official reports expressed concern that such religious leaders may be phumibun (Sopha 1991; see also Chatthip 1984) which, it occurs to me anachronistically, is not unlike the official fear and excommunication of anyone branded as communit and phukokanrai in the 1960s and 1970s (Turton 1984). From the accounts I heard, Kuba Wajiraphanya was regarded as having been a staunch adherent of the müang sangha and its liturgy. Those of his pupils whom I met showed an enthusiastic preference for the müang liturgy. During fieldwork in 1969–70 and in 1976 when the reputations of senior monks were discussed –in itself a frequent and much enjoyed topic it seemed to me–one of the key markers was whether the monks in question thoe thai or thoe müang (i.e. followed, or respected, the Thai or the müang liturgy). In Wat Ban Pong, Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh made sure that the longer, vernacular and altogether more muan (enjoyable) and therefore popular müang texts were used, the khampi bailan in dtua müang. I was surprised, therefore, when on looking at the photograph of the drawing of the Kuba many years later (on 25 May 1999) I saw not only the appellation Luang Pho (which I had never heard used of him) but also adit cao khana amphur Mae Sruay (former head of the district sangha), which is to say, presumably, an appointee under the 1902 Sangha Administration Act. This seems to reflect the specific meaning given to ‘Kuba’ by Ooi Nan Pan when he said that there were two kuba (two holders of that office) between Kuba Sooriya and Kuba Wajiraphanya. I can only interpret this as yet another example of the endless ‘cross hatching’ of Thai cultural discourses that I emphasised in my introduction to the papers on ‘Thai constructions of knowledge’ (Turton 1991). That is to say, that the Kuba was both an official appointee of the new Siamese order, and at the same time a resister of that order. When Kuba Wajiraphanya died he received a funeral peculiar to senior monks in the north. His funeral bier was ‘fired at’ along paths and across the dry rice fields at a range of about 50 metres with rockets (bork fai) tied to a two wheeled vehicle (the whole thing being referred to as chaluad). The rockets were decorated with the animals of the twelve year cycle, some cut-outs (paper or cloth) in the shape of people ‘and images of cats and dogs because he liked them’. The rockets never hit the bier, which is assumed to be a sign of power and invulnerability. Two vultures (iiheng) were seen to descend into the smoke of the funeral pyre, taken as an omen that had ‘never been seen before’. He was–at least in retrospect—saksit

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tae tae (most sacred, truly powerful). He was said to have known and visited Kuba Srivichai (nak bun haeng lannathai was the phrase I heard, the rather Thai-sounding title on his memorial, rather than ton bun). Kuba Wajiraphanya was, in the words of one person—no doubt evincing a very local loyalty—one of ‘the two most saksit men in the North’. Several villagers had visited Kuba Srivichai’s memorial in Chiang Mai, though in 1969 the majority had never travelled to Chiang Mai and quite a few had never left the district. waa hyy dtai dtai lyyi [if he wished their death, they would die] Kuba Wajiraphanya was a monk who tried to adhere to the vinaya. He was a skilled and knowledgeable man, well versed in the arts and practices of building construction, livestock management, agriculture, and community leadership. In local terms he was a kuba acan, a teacher of all sorts of knowledge and proven practices (medical—yaa müang—control of spirits and a range of other ‘ritual’ practices, knowledge of ‘magic’ for invulnerability, etc.) He was said to be kham (‘invulnerable’; see Turton 1991b); he was feared and respected (even caonai kua, the officials feared him, regarded him with awe); he was rather ‘fierce’ (suak pong) and sharp tongued (paak cep). The remarkable drawing, Plate 1, in pencil and charcoal of the Kuba, which I have no means of dating, is worthy of more careful analysis than I can offer. It suggests a strong and possibly ‘fierce’ personality, an intense, perhaps charismatic personality, and if not an ascetic, then at least not a self-indulgent person. Apart from likeness and personality, the draughtsman is clearly concerned to represent the cultural markers of müang robes and the banap around the neck. The Kuba is remembered as raising horses and liking cats and dogs. He displayed certain signs of special powers or abilities. He would return from a long walk in wet conditions with clean feet while his companions were all muddy; ‘he walked a little bit above the ground’. Photographs of him never came out (‘he could not be photographed’). He could produce or prevent rainfall over Ban Pong, when it fell or did not fall elsewhere in the valley [I noted that patchy and variable rainfall of this sort was an observable phenomenon during my stay]. He (re-)built at least one wat (Phra Thongthip) and probably others (including Wat Ban Pong). Above all, he was a strong and protective person, whose powers derived from his religious knowledge or at least the knowledge he learnt from the tham (bai laan scriptures) and damraa (mulberry paper textbooks on a great variety of more and less ‘religious’ and ‘secular’ subjects, mostly copied and stored in the wat). Some of these he undoubtedly found in the wat when he was ordained; others he probably collected and copied from visitors and other wat and knowledgeable

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persons in the locality and beyond, perhaps in Chiang Mai. It is certain that some of the manuscript texts I saw, copied, had transcribed, and discussed with Pho Nan Nuan Mahawudh, were collected and written by the Kuba. This knowledge, combined with experience and practice, made him a leader. The following two episodes at least suggest this. Whether they are two emblematic events, two among many such events, or just the only ones that occurred or were remembered, I cannot tell. They may have acquired an iconic status since I heard these on a number of occasions. Kuba Wajiraphanya was remembered as having made an inventory of the Buddha images in several local wat, perhaps as part of his duties as Cao Khana Amphur and to forestall the ‘requisitioning’ of any of them by outsiders. As we know from the Phra Thongthip story and elsewhere, particular Buddha images were regarded as the epitome and palladia of kingdoms, and they were no less so those of smaller localities. The following story was told as it emerged from a more general talk about forms of ‘magic’, especially kham magic. The speaker had been talking about how he learnt kham (hien kham) and other katha, which can provide extraordinary protection and at the same time be dangerous to the owner. The conversation continued: One day a Chinese person came to purloin or obtain Buddha images for the cao nai. The Kuba would not give them up. The person attempted to fire a gun in the vihan, at the Kuba, but his gun failed to fire [ying bo ork, which is the commonest example given of the kham power of the person fired at]. Villagers assembled with guns and swords, but Kuba Wajiraphanya said yaa yaa (don’t [do it]) let him go, don’t kill him, tham bo dii dtay bo dii (do ill die badly) [i.e. he will get his just reward as a result of the workings of karma—an utterance which seems to me to be somewhere between a warning and a curse]. There was another version of this, or possibly it was a later, similar event, since it was told to me by a man who would have been a very young child at the time of the previous event. It is both shorter and more detailed in some respects: The cao nai and Kuba Srithoi [this possibly suggests Kuba Wajiraphanya was not present, i.e. it was after his death] wanted to get them [some Buddha images]; drum(s) were beaten; a meeting was held; ‘we were ready to fight; if they had entered [the vihan] we would have fought them off’.

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One other story seems to epitomise people’s respect for Kuba Wajiraphanya’s powers. Khween Coom, a state-appointed headman living in Ban Klang (one of the settlements of ‘greater’ Ban Pong), had ordered the cutting of a branch of the ancient dton salii (Bodhi tree, ficus religiosus) which is just outside the wat. This was to allow the more convenient passage of a rajathut (literally, an ambassador, conceivably a farang, more likely I think to be a senior royal emissary, just possibly even the occasion of Princess Dara’s visit, though I think that would have been told me). Making easy the path and caring for the well-being of senior travellers was of course a major obligation of local officials. This was the time when Chiang Mai’s autonomy was being steadily eroded by ‘the Thai’, as villagers still called the ‘Siamese’. Kuba Wajiraphanya was not consulted and he disapproved of the action. One can only speculate that his wrath combined a sense that this was metaphysically a bad thing to do (possibly khoet, loosely ‘taboo’), and likely to lead to worse consequences, together with his being offended at not having his authority recognised by the Khween. He may well have had in mind the story of how the cutting of the tutelary tree of Chiang Mai (a banyan tree in this case) led to the fall of the kingdom to the Burmese in the sixteenth century (see Tanabe 1999). The Kuba cursed (daa, caeng) Khween Coom, who, although he was a rich man at the time, later died in poverty (without a grain of rice, bo mii khao sak met). This assumed power was generalised in other conversations. If he cursed someone they would die or become poor (waa hyy dtai dtai loei). Kuba Wajiraphanya exercised a kind of sovereignty, even if this was localised and perhaps contested (by Khween Coom at least, and by the Sangha Act). People would come from all over the district to pay their respects (dam hua), ‘even the caonai’. This would have most likely been in the context of the annual ceremony to venerate Phra Thongthip in the eighth month or at New Year, or both. He travelled all over the district on the horses which he is said to have raised. Both these examples of the exercise of his powers of life and death seem to be of leadership exercised in defence of religious values, and even their defence as against specific secular and state powers. Religious leadership and local autonomy In my assessment, this small valley müang had a great capacity for an autonomous existence within a wide social, cultural and economic region. For much of its existence over the past 100 years or so, maybe much longer, it had been remarkably autonomous. This was probably enhanced by the fact that the end of the old overarching political order, the Lanna kingdom, seems to have occurred before there was a strong implantation of the new order, whether in politicaladministrative, economic, or cultural and educational terms. The period of the

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Second World War, which reinforced a return to economic and technological autarky in some respects, was no doubt another brake on the Bangkok government’s modernisation project in the locality. In this kind of situation local figures, basing their authority on cultural and religious knowledge, could emerge as leaders. It seems that this is a very ancient potentiality in Tai cultures, as the eminent historian Charnwit Kasetsiri makes clear: It seems that in the early stages of Thai history it was religious men, either monks or laymen, or people who led a different way of life from ordinary laymen, who were the most important leaders of the society. Besides monks, other types of religious men were known, such as risi chipakhao or chipphakhao, and khru-ba-acan. ..... The khru-ba-acan was simply a teacher to a large number of people. This kind of teacher had gone through a form of religious education; he might at one time have become a monk or have had an intense educational life with monks. These three types of religious men were the most active leaders of the old society. They had the advantage of high education and yet they were free from the strict regulation of Buddhism since they no longer remained within the Sangha. (Charnvit Kasetsiri 1976: 5; see also Swearer 1976) ..... power in pre-Ayudhaya times was relatively accessible to any potential leaders, ... there was no close circle of families dominating political development in the area. Claims to kingship derived from the successful assertion or demonstration of power, whether by religious leaders such as rusi, khru-ba-acan, or laymen, such as setthi, khahabodi, and phumibun. In short, sources of leadership were varied and political power was quite open to different contenders. (Charnvit 1976: 107–8) Shalardchai Ramitanondh and John Ferguson, who conducted research on ‘monks and hierarchy’ in Amphur Müang Chiang Mai in the early 1970s, found a situation not too dissimilar in many respects from the one I am describing. In their interpretation: Left to itself [i.e. without state interference] the Sangha, following its ancient guidelines and laws in the Vinaya, builds its minimal sociological structures on the basis of seniority, honor due to teachers and ordinators [upphachaya], and charismatic qualities of particular monks who attract followers...

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The nature of the abbot’s role has undoubtedly changed over the last three-quarters of a century in this area of Thailand. A number of senior monks, particularly those with over 40 years (phansa) of experience, referred to the days when the abbot’s word was the law from which there was no appeal and with which there was no interference. We were told that, justly or unjustly, the abbot handed out his decisions, but now his traditional power has been slowly but surely modified... Certainly each abbot no longer reigns like an absolute ruler in the old style, but he retains the powerful support of his laity. (Ferguson and Shalardchai 1976: 107–8, 121, 140) Kuba Wajiraphanya remembered and venerated kuba uu wai waa [the Kuba said ...] We have already begun to see some clues as to how Kuba Wajiraphanya is remembered—at least in the ethnographic present of 1969–1976. Fragmentary though they are, when assembled they constitute a fuller biography than most younger people would have had at the time of fieldwork. I had many opportunities to appreciate the pervasive sense of awe and awareness of his power and importance. People used his name or just referred to ‘Kuba’ when they referred to particular attributes and powers. I never heard any mention of ton bun, phu wiset, or phu mi bun. The commonest reference was the phrase ‘Kuba waa ...’ or ‘Kuba uu wai waa ...’ (the Kuba said...) at the beginning of many a statement about why or how something was done or should be done, or was or should be believed. The listing of his skills and attributes resembles quite closely that of Kuba Srivichai. The latter is reported as having skilled knowledge in the fields of medicine, building, astrology, defensive and other magic (saiyasat, wetmon katha akom), boxing, and weaponry. In any case mention of these things may be the result of the construction of oral biography with more or less conscious reference to textual, formulaic lists of marks of distinction. Kuba Srivichai seems to have deliberately cultivated them in order to be seen as ton bun (Sopha 1991). Some of them are specifically mentioned in references to Kuba Wajiraphanya, and others feature prominently in his textbooks and the practices of his pupils. I have formed the impression that Kuba Wajiraphanya probably did not have a reputation for abstemiousness, at least to the degree of Kuba Srivichai, who is said to have eaten only one meal a day, no raw meat or fish, no animals ‘that have

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souls’ (winyan) and very little in the way of condiments (Sopha 1991). But then it was specifically pointed out to me that Kuba Wajiraphanya ate only two meals a day, except ‘once or twice a year’, whereas, to say the least, it was not at all uncommon to hear that pha and dtu normally ate an evening meal. I heard nothing about his practice of meditation (phawana). Kuba Srivichai practised concentration meditation (phatibat dan smathitham). But some such meditation is a part of advanced kham knowledge and practices, which we know he used. And he was strict in insisting on the müang practice of requiring pha mai (newly ordained novices) to yuu kam for three days following their ordination, when they are not allowed to move more than 2.5 metres forward or 1 metre to the side, and had to recite ‘long phrases’ (kham yao) while moving the beads of their banap or maknap—a string of 108 ‘beads’ made from the wood of a kao salii (or clay and a mixture of the wood). The beads represent: 56 for Phracao, 38 for Phratham, and 14 for Phrasong (see Plate 1, in which Kuba Wajiraphanya is wearing one, and Plate 4 of a dtu cao meditating (phawana) with banap inside the bot, or ordination hall). On ordinary days, so to speak, the Kuba must have performed functions rather like those of a primary and secondary school headmaster, in addition to everything else. This observation is prompted by a rather charming anecdote by Acan Nan Nuan, who was a pha noi about fourteen years old when the Kuba died. This version is slightly composed, given the number of diversions and interspersed comments in the original. When I was a pha noi, there was no school and the wat usually had 30–40 pha and 7 or 8 dtu. The congregation (sathaa, ‘the faithful’), which was only about 100 plus households, liang bo pae (could hardly feed us all). The novices used to hunt [probably with crossbows and arrows or thano, bows using stone shot] very close to the village: big birds in the rice fields opposite the wat and monkeys in the trees around the villages and in the gardens of the villagers’ houses. Kuba cursed us (daa) when we went too far or went home too frequently (aeo nak lumpai). Once I shot and wounded a bird and put it in a cage in the field so that Kuba would not see it. Of course he did. I said I was trying to heal it. So Kuba helped me heal it and it recovered. When Kuba said let it out and release the bird (poi man) I did ... and the novices ate it.

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cedi kuba and kao salii Acan Nan Nuan led the congregation of Wat Ban Pong in regular acts of paying respects and asking for forgiveness at the cedi kuba, a brick and cement structure built to the northeast of the wat, the bot, and the dton salii, which is the most auspicious and powerful direction or location in müang geomancy. The cedi in 1969 had a dton salii growing out of it. Some villagers seem to think that these trees are not deliberately planted but are naturally seeded or ork eng. Ooi Nan Pan told me a story about the old dton salii: Ya Khamun [Ya = mother’s older sister and father’s older sister] died when still a sao num (unmarried teenager). She was buried in the pa hieo. A kao salii grew out of her chest. [On another occasion the speaker assumed it had grown out of her skull.] It was replanted in the present site. When the branches of this young tree and those of the venerable old kao salii one day grow to intertwine [which they were not far from doing], the monks in Wat Ban Pong will ao phong, len sao (will have a go, flirt with the girls). On hearing this story my companion said humorously ‘Oh, it’s a sao, that’s why people say that if you pass the tree three times you’ll want to stay’ (a story told me often to explain why I chose to stay in that village—I could see the tree from my rented house). Another person, Mae Ooi Cy (Grandmother Cy), said the tree grew out of Ya Phom, a sao thao (old maid) who used to send food to the wat every day and so was buried near the wat. It is possible that the old tree was planted (if it was) and grew to maturity before the first wat was built on this site, because there are other wat sites in the vicinity (at or below ground level, indicating the antiquity of the overall site), in which case the wat was sited in relation to the tree rather than vice-versa. The Kuba’s tree was apparently male in that it had been buat, that is to say ordained by being the subject of an ordination ceremony in which the monk’s yellow robes had been tied round the trunk. Recall that the Kuba’s bones–or ashes–were said to be in the cedi and the link made with dton salii growing out of human remains. Recall too that some of the Kuba’s pupils who had learned from him various forms of special knowledge–still circulating–for personal attractiveness and immunity (e.g. mahaniyom and kham) had reputations for being or having been generally bold, strong, talented, attractive young men. But at this remove what now interests me is the predominantly female gendering of the old tree and the re-telling of this in different ways (e.g. whether it grew out of a sao num or sao thao) by both men and women. One hardly needs the benefits of a now largely discounted structuralist approach to note that the tree was treated as the

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male ‘offspring’ of an unmarried local woman, as the ‘mother’ who in death offered her ‘son’ for ordination. A further gendered connotation is in the practice, said to be rare, of a young man writing a girl’s name on a bo tree leaf and putting it into a yan to make that girl fall in love with the owner of the yan. The young man who told me this said he disapproved. Recall again the story of the Kuba’s curse on the Khween who cut the tree —I heard from a non-ordained man and women that if anyone cut the tree they would become phikan (disfigured, blinded, crippled, etc.). This was followed in conversation, I noted, by the often repeated remark (a kind of ‘Homeric epithet’) that the Kuba was saksit dtae dtae (really, really sacred/powerful). Almost inevitably, I also heard tell that some people thought the tree had been planted by the Kuba himself, though others thought it was much too old for that to be the case. In any case, by its location and multiple uses and meanings–which we have far from exhausted here–this particular tree is deeply implicated in processes of remembering the Kuba, as is this species of tree generally in remembering the Buddha and his teachings. The ceremony at the Kuba’s cedi is a relatively simple matter. On about five occasions each year, offerings (khao tork dorkmai) are brought to the wat by nearly every household. They are placed in ‘offering trays’, khan dork, either at the ‘altar’ or, if it is an especially big event (such as New Year or khao wassa), in one of the ‘cloisters’ or on the ground outside the vihan. They are put in trays, one for Buddha, one for Dharma, one for Sangha, one each for the acan wat and his assistant, and one for kuba acan. They are all placed by the altar in the morning ceremony; after the wentan they are offered by hand to each recipient who touches it in receipt (pha song and acan), or it is placed in contact with the recipient (pha cao, pha tham). When the Triple Gems and the acan have been thus venerated, perhaps more usually at a second part of the ceremony in the afternoon, the latter leads the congregation (khana satha) and the monks and novices (khana song) out of the vihan to the cedi kuba. I attended three such events. The first occasion was at New Year on 14 and 15 April 1969, when I had been living in the village, without interruption, for about three months. I noticed and noted that the preparations (on 14 April wan nao, the day of putrefaction) of bringing sand from the riverbed of the Mae Ta Chang for the making of elaborate cedi sai (see further discussion of this ceremony below) in the wat compound on 15 April (wan phayawan, the prince of days). I noticed that sand had also been scattered tidily around the boundaries of other locations: the vihan, the bot, the dton salii, the cedi kuba, and the ho cao luang khamdaeng and other tutelary spirits (see Turton 1972). I further noted that after the ceremony in the vihan, ‘Some people go home but most stay to karawa (pay respects to) ‘Phrakhru Waijiraphanya’. All monks and novices chant and one group of older men place offerings at the foot of the cedi. Ceremony over in five minutes.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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On the second occasion (khao wassa 1969) the offerings to the Kuba were first made in the vihan in the morning (uthit pai hai kuba acan) in the wat. In the afternoon, led by Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh, a few men and women and monks and novices took out the khandork (also in this instance referred to as a khan suma) for the Kuba. My notes then say that the dtu luang (‘abbot’) ‘sacrifices to the kuba’ by which I meant placed the khandork against, in touch with the cedi with a chanted offertory address. This is to karawa, or suma karawa kuba acan. Candles are stuck (with their own molten wax) onto the cedi and flowers rested up against the cedi. I noted that the khandork contains (in addition to the ‘minimal’ flowers, candles and ‘popped rice’, khao tork or khao taek) small amounts of money and food offerings. My third entry is for ork wassa 1969. The afternoon ceremony in the vihan started at about 2.00 pm. ‘At 3.00 pm the acan wat (Acan Nan Nuan) and most women and very few men go out to kho suma kuba at the cedi kuba and ask for blessing. I am sitting next to Phi Nan Pan (Ban Klang) throughout. He says kho suma is for any offence caused the Kuba since his death, such as walking too close to his tomb.’ I used ‘tomb’ and ‘shrine’ in my notes, as well as cedi kuba, which is the word I heard. The cedi was said to contain the ashes of the Kuba, presumably recovered after cremation using firewood. Neither bones nor ashes are normally the subject of any post-funerary attention. Wat Phra Thongthip Another very material set of practices that specifically invoke the Kuba are those connected with Phra Thongthip, and Wat Phra Thongthip. The story of Phra Thongthip or parts of it, seem to be quite widely known. A copy of the printed version of the damnan Phra Thongthip in the edition edited by Sanguan Chothisukarat cited here was kept in the library of Wat Hua Fai, Ban Hua Fai, sometimes called Ban Neua (the village at the head of the irrigation weir, or north village in relation to Ban Pong). On my first visit to the present wat, accompanied by a young former novice, I was told it was wat kao wat derm (an ancient wat) founded by khon lao [Lao people from Luang Prabang] who came by boat and brought the image with them, and that it was formerly a wat pa and had burned down some 20 years earlier. I have recorded a number of dates when it had burned down, no doubt due to forest fires. It had been partly rebuilt, and all the trees around it cut down. A possible combination of both meteorological conditions and religious associations is suggested by the comment that on the very same day that Wat Thongthip burnt down in B.E. 2481 (1938), a fire occurred on Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai. Only after writing this, at the moment of converting the BE to an AD date did I realise that this was the year of the death of Kuba Srivichai. Perhaps this was taken as an omen. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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When the Kuba was alive people from all over the district would come for the major festival at Phra Thongthip, phrapheni doen 8 peeng. A mark of the size and heterogeneous congregation on this occasion was that there was regularly some fighting or fisticuffs between young men at the event. Thongthip was the name given also to a new village settlement set up in 1962 when it had some 30 (later the headman told me 46) households that were formerly part of Ban Pawai. The wat had a rather old and attractively plastered wall round a very large space. The vihan was incomplete and had a partly grass roof. The congregation of Wat Ban Pong had contributed an altar which had the village name and a date on it. At the time of fieldwork it had over 70 households. Three years earlier the congregation of Wat Ban Pong had decided to (re-)construct the vihan. A prominent Ban Pong man and builder (a highly intelligent former dtu luang whose lifestyle had somewhat spoiled his reputation) had the building contract. On 8 December 1969 he organised a thot pha pa visit to Wat Phra Thongthip. The day before he had used the wat loudspeaker to encourage donations (I have a fairly detailed record of his skilful rhetoric). About 150 people were announced as having contributed sums from 25 satang to 20 baht, including one visiting Lahu man. The participation of hill villagers of other ethnicities recalls the good relations Kuba Srivichai had with them. On the day itself about 70 people made the journey, setting out at 5.30 pm and returning home by about 9.30 pm. The journey on foot took little more than half an hour each way and several ‘grandmothers and grandfathers’ were among the group, which included about 14 monks and novices from Ban Pong and one from Hua Fai, together with the acan wat Hua Fai, Pho Nan Phanya, another pupil of the Kuba. The loudspeaker was put on an ox cart. There were six musicians (woodwind, string, and percussion), another processional (hae) group with drums, gongs and cymbals, and four young girls were dancing, wearing their best clothes and heavy make-up. There was dancing and singing all the way, mainly in single file. A few young men rode motorbikes, but not many people owned these at that time; the bicycle was still the key to courtship! Many of the men were pretty tipsy when we left; drinking continued on the way and even inside the vihan after arrival. The acan wat and host headman partook of alcohol and ‘apologised’ for it too. The headman had been a novice at Wat Ban Pong. The two wat are wat phi wat nong (brother/sister wat). The headman of Ban Pong apologised–as all good hosts must—for a thot pha pa offering that was not small but not big either; Ban Pong had made seven thot pha pa this year (and none were made to Ban Pong). The host headman apologised for the food offered to the visitors. The ceremony of offering was conducted by the acan of Wat Hua Fai. My notebook records that he chatted about Kuba Wajiraphanya and bits of history (e.g. ‘the days when there was only one oxcart in the area’, and so on) in between tawai tan and the blessing

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by the monks and the final dedication to the dead. Interestingly, the acan wat Ban Pong did not attend. Both these men and others I knew were said to khoen kuba acan (to be his dependents and supporters) and yang mii amnat yuu (were still powerful men). It is normally the case that two senior and powerful experts do not both attend, and certainly not officiate at the same function. Only one can officiate; there is a professional etiquette and sensitivity, not to mention personal rivalry, involved in such matters. On the last occasion when Wat Phra Thonghtip burnt down, the image was partly molten and taken for storage in Wat Comcaeng Mae Sruay (the location which is mentioned in the printed damnan). Villagers expect that one day the image will be returned to Wat Phra Thongthip, though they express some anxiety and doubt about this. In June 1970 the Cao Khana Amphur called a meeting in Wat Comcaeng, which was attended by acan wat Ban Pong (Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh). The Cao Khana asked everyone if the image of Phra Thongthip was the genuine one; all present agreed. Acan Nan Nuan specifically agreed and used the opportunity to ask about another image kept by the Cao Khana, which he claims belongs to Ban Pong; everyone concurred with this too. This seems in retrospect to be a good example of official accountability—unless there is more to it than meets the eye. Localising history, historicising locality The previous sections have made much use of the methods of narrative and biography. Here I wish to offer reflections on some of the rich, multi-layered words and concepts in the Buddhist and Müang culture that have been introduced. There are two overarching images: the Kuba as a remembered person, and the Cedi Kuba, a physical memorial to that person. These are linked, and indeed embodied in various practices and discourse. If one were to offer a single overarching concept, it would be that of memory, or the less historical ‘mindfulness’. But that will not suffice on its own, and the following is an attempt to amplify and deconstruct the notion in the particular historical practices that are the subject of the essay. The simple Thai word most readily used to gloss the English word ‘remember’ is cam. One of the most culturally and historically sensitive Thai-English dictionaries, McFarland (1944), also gives many combinations, such as cam sin, cam wassa, etc., where the sense is recollecting, ‘keeping’, observing (a practice, rules, teaching), obligation and so on. This has links with an important cultural cluster of terms for various degrees and practices of ‘respect’. There is a kind of crescendo of strength of meaning, for example: napthoe, khaorop, sakkara, bucha. Some terms are used in doublets: karawa dam hua, sakkara bucha. The field covers such English notions (again in a rough order of strength) as: courtesy,

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esteem, respect, honour, reverence, veneration, worship. Of course, history and local cultures play havoc with any structured model ideas. For example, the Dictionary of Buddhist Terms, includes under sakkara such nice glosses as: hospitality, attention, and appreciative action. Various modes and degrees of respect have their own specific forms and practices such as wai khru, dam hua, khan bucha, bucha thien, ruup khaorop, phithi thaanhaa and so on. The notion of apology as a part of respect is quite emphatic: the khan bucha or khan dork can be also called khan suma. The notion of discipleship or allegiance is present, especially with the word khoen, as in: khoen khru, khoen thao thang sii, khoen kuba, khoen cao Chiang Mai and so on. Buddhist teaching reminds us of the impermanence of phenomena. This sharpens the question as to what does, or is considered to, ‘remain’ after individual life and collective action have passed by in time, and what our attitudes might be to such relics or survivals. In a simple sense, what remains is what endures physically or in memory (in a very wide understanding of the term). Remembering previous existences is a discipline practised by some Buddhist adepts. Remembering–and taking refuge in–Buddhist teachings is at the heart of regular and popular Buddhist practice. This is remembering with respect. There is also a remembering of things that are not in themselves worthy of respect. This might be seen nonetheless as a respectful remembering of the ‘lessons of history’, edifying tales of the unedifying. This is one of the points insightfully discussed by Nidhi in his article on secular and religious imagery, monuments and memorials, where he alludes to the way in which say Nazi war crimes are memorialised (Nidhi 1995 especially pp. 89–124 songkhram anusawari kap rat thai; see also Evans 1998) cetiya This brings us to the practice of making three dimensional memorials such as tombs, statues, buildings and so on, or designating as sacred certain natural objects, such as trees, rocks, and mountains. The Mahachulalongkorn University Dictionary of Buddhism (Phrarajaworamuni 1985) gives as a first set of meanings for the term cedi (cetiya): ‘person, place or object worthy of worship; reminder’, and only as a secondary set the specific memorialising objects themselves: ‘a sepulchral monument; pagoda; shrine; dagoba; ..... stupa; Phra Cedi’. So perhaps the most basic, and historically earliest, sense of cedi is that of a funeral mound covering the ashes of a dead person worthy of veneration. The notion precedes Buddhism, but it is in Buddhist practices that it assumes its greatest importance. The most sacred sites are those held to contain relics of the Buddha (Phra That). Cedi may also hold the remains of any distinguished religious persons, or copies of Buddhist teachings. Buddhist buildings (e.g. the vihara), images Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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of the Buddha and Bodhisattvas, and sacred trees may all be analogous to or have resonances with the cedi (see McFarland 1944; Anuman 1952; Seckel 1964, Sommai et al. 1981). The most lofty definition is given by Seckel (1964: 126), the cedi is ‘the body, the very essence of the Enlightened One; it represents the Buddha in the state of nirvaña, and itself becomes a symbol of nirvaña, i.e. of the Absolute’. Such symbols, Seckel argues, have at the same time ‘a “historical”, biographical and narrative function’. The form of the cedi may be varied, according to local traditions, but there is a common structure. They have a ground plan which indicates a cosmic design with a centre, in a horizontal configuration. The vertical dimension is always multilayered and represents a progression, towards a topmost point, of levels of existence and levels of attainment. The levels therefore represent an axis of time, of progressive incarnations and eventual nirvana. The form and function partly resemble the frequently used ad hoc structure made for the ceremony of khoen thao thang sii, at which offerings are made to Indra, Nang Thoranii and the four lokapalas. This precedes most other ceremonies in müang culture. It can be seen to some extent as a localised version of the sao inthakhin ceremony in Chiang Mai, which has been documented and discussed by Tanabe (2000). There is a semi-permanent structure inside the wat compound used before major wat festivals, including the annual village-wide ‘exorcism’ (song khro ban) held at New Year. It is also performed in a sort of nesting structure of localities (named sub-villages, neighbourhoods, multi-household compounds, and individual houses). It is a prerequisite for house-building ceremonies. It is used in several forms of exorcistic ceremonies. The officiant in both the thao thang sii ceremonies was Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh. Temporary cedi are found also in the sensually attractive ceremony of cedi sai at New Year. Sand from the riverbed is brought into the wat compound and little cedi made of sand–with careful gradations–are decorated and attached with cotton to the key structures of the wat, such as the main Buddha image in the vihan. Every grain of sand is said to represent the life of a sentient being, with the intention of recalling and asking for forgiveness for each life taken. Each household brings sand and water to the wat in this way and afterwards scatters the same around their houses. Analysis could be deepened and extended much further, but I hope to have shown some of the multiple connections and resonances of ideas and practices that constitute the memorialisation of Kuba Wajiraphanya and combine with a wide range of elements of Buddhist Müang culture. I hope too to have shown that these practices also constitute local mnemonics, or mnemesis (see Alting 2000), ways in which people recall and rehearse their own, local, or ‘internal’ histories. They are ways that, to the academic outsider, may not always be recognisable as forms of historiography and living transmitters of history. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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‘Public intellectuals’ in ‘contested spaces’ Princess Dara Rasmii, Kuba Srivichai, Kuba Wajiraphanya The ‘partial connections’–a term used by Strathern (1998) to indicate the impossibility in both physics and social relations of complete congruence or adherence–between Kuba Srivichai, Kuba Wajiraphanya and Princess Dara Rasmii that have been alluded to in this account are of course to some extent partial because of the inevitably fragmentary nature of my record. But in a strictly biographical sense they were indeed partial. Each of them had met the other two. Princess Dara had commissioned both Kuba to reconstruct a historically famous wat, namely Wat Phra Singh, Nakorn Chiang Mai, and Wat Phra Thongthip, Müang Nong Khwang. They were all three enthusiasts for lanna or müang culture. Each according to their considerable powers and opportunities contributed to the consolidation, flowering and transmission of various aspects of müang culture. Of course, their contributions varied greatly in scale. But it seems to me not to be useful to distinguish their social location or the status of their social action by such terms as elite and popular, central and peripheral, religious and secular, or ‘great tradition’ and ‘little tradition’ (see the discussion in Turton 1991a). Princess Dara was ‘active’ so to say, in the north for some 20 years, from 1914 until her death in 1933; Kuba Srivichai for some forty years from the time he pek dtu in 1898, but more particularly from 1904 until his death in 1938; and Kuba Wajiraphanya for about fifty years from the time he pek dtu in about 1873 until his death in 1928. Their periods of activity all overlap during the years 1914–1928 (see Nongyao 1996; Sopha 1991). My own links with this whole narrative are also ‘partial’. I nonetheless talked with people who were the spiritual descendants of these three distinguished persons, some of whom were the pupils of Kuba Wajiraphanya, in particular my principal teacher Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh. So my connections were both partial and participatory. Such links are always already partly there. I thought I might have been the first Englishman to have written about the district until I discovered that Captain W.C.McLeod (well, a Scot) had beaten me to it by nearly 150 years. The rubric of the Conference on Thai Studies (held in Amsterdam 1999), for which an earlier version of this paper was prepared, spoke of the theme of the growth of ‘civil society’, where this is interpreted as to do with the ‘autonomy and freedom of citizens within a state’, and of ‘a shift of the boundaries between government control and individual or communal initiative’. The more detailed rubrics for some panels spoke of ‘public intellectuals’ operating in ‘contested’ and ‘manoeuvrable space’. All three distinguished persons I have referred to seem to me to have operated within the constraints of various state, societal, and sangha structures,

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cross-hatching civil and state, religious and secular, ancient and modern (I owe the useful notion of cross-hatching to Craig Reynolds (Reynolds 1991)). They all three seem to me to be ‘public intellectuals’. All three were working in ‘contested space’, where boundaries between government and, in this case, regional as well as local or communal political and cultural control were in question. I am not sure to what extent each saw their work as a kind of defence. There is some evidence that they all compromised in some ways, perhaps not much, but perhaps in the interest of maintaining local (regional) interests under the new dispensation. We know that, in brief, the region lost out fairly comprehensively. But in 1969-70 and again in 1976 I witnessed remarkable resilience of Khon Müang culture—if I may be permitted momentarily the convenience of this inadequate reification—as distinguished from, and sometimes opposed to, that of Thai dtae dtae or Thai dtai (the real Thai, or the southerner Thai) terms used at the time to describe non-Khon Müang officials. It will be interesting to follow other contributions to the debate on this theme of regions and regionalism within an emerging civil society, and to see whether and how all this might be involved in a new round of discussion and social action in which new social forces draw upon the old in new configurations and transformations of ‘civil society’. Epilogue In February 2000 I returned to Ban Pong. I was made welcome by many friends, especially Pho Dterng and Mae Nang Saengin Srikhamlert, who have been my generous hosts over many years since my first visit in 1969. I was also welcomed by Pho Luang Kaeo Srikhamlert, for many years the headman (kae baan) of Ban Pong. Alas, my revered teacher Pho Nan Nuan Mahawudh had died, aged over 80, a few years earlier, in an accident in which he had been knocked off his bicycle, by a speeding motorcycle, as he was turning into the wat compound. The vihan of Wat Ban Pong was being rebuilt. A large wooden structure, the ho (palace) Cao Luang Khamdaeng - the chief ‘locality spirit’ - was nearing completion. These projects gave me the welcome opportunity to contribute to their completion as a former member of the congregation. One of my most enduring memories of this visit, however, was being able to pay my respects at the Cedi Kuba. This had been slightly refurbished and there were signs of previous offerings of respect. Together with Pho Dterng, I tied a monk’s yellow robe round the cedi, lit a candle and spoke some words—in the kham müang language—dedicated to the memory of Kuba Wajiraphanya, my teacher’s teacher.

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Portrait of Kuba Wajiraphanya (c. 1853–1928).

Portrait of Acan Nan Nuan Mahawudh, aged 62.

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Phra Phut, Phra Tham–the ancient thammat (C. Thai thi thet tham, lectern throne).

A monk (dtu cao) meditating in the ordination hall bod), using his string of beads (banap). He is sleeping (cam wat) in the bod during the rainy season retreat (wassa). His pillow is visible on his right.

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The cedi kuba, with Acan Nan Nuan leading monks and congregation in paying respects to Kuba Wajiraphanya.

Offerings (khan dork) by householders to the Triple Gems, acan wat and the Kuba, in front of the main Buddha image in Wat Ban Pong.

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Offerings by householders to tao thang sii (the four lords or lokapala, guardians of the four corners of the universe, also to Indra and Mae Thoranii). This is a village-wide exorcism (song khro ban) at New Year, with participation of monks. Each large tray of offerings is from one of four village sections.

Offerings by householders in remembrance of the souls of all departed sentient beings, cedi sai (sand cedi) in the wat compound at New Year.

Offerings to tao thang sii, a more local and informal version of that shown above, made by a single village section, in a rice field. Acan Nan Nuan is again leading, but without participation of monks.

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References Alting von Geusau, Leo. 2000. ‘Akha internal history of marginalisation and ethnic alliance system’, in Andrew Turton (ed.) Civility and savagery: social identity in Tai states. London: Curzon, 122–60. Anuman Rajadhon. 1952. ‘Phra Cedi’, Journal of the Siam Society, 40.1. Charnvit Kasetsiri. 1976. The rise of Ayudhaya: a history of Siam in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Chatthip Nartsupha. 1984. ‘The ideology of Holy Men revolts in North East Thailand’, in Andrew Turton and Shigeharu Tanabe (eds.) History and peasant consciousness in South East Asia. Senri Ethnological Studies, No.13, Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 111–34. Evans, Grant. 1998. The politics of ritual and remembrance: Laos since 1975. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Ferguson, John P. and Shalardchai Ramitanondh. 1976. ‘Monks and hierarchy in Northern Thailand’, Journal of the Siam Society, 64.1, 104–50. McFarland, George Bradley. 1944. Thai-English Dictionary. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Met Ratanaprasit. 1965. pocananukrom thaiyuan-thai-angkrit. [no publisher or place given.] Nidhi Aeusriwongse. 1995. chat thai, müang thai: baep rian lae anusawari. Bangkok: Matichon. Nongyao Kancanacari. 1996. Dara Rasmii: phraprawat phraracaya caodararasmii. Chiang Mai: Suriwong Book Centre. Phrarajaworamuni. 1985. Dictionary of Buddhism. Bangkok: Mahachulalongkorn Rajawithayalai. Reynolds, Craig. 1991. ‘Sedition in Thai history: a nineteenth-century poem and its critics’, in Manas Chitakasem and Andrew Turton (eds.) Thai constructions of knowledge. London: SOAS, 15-36. Sanguan Chotsukkharat. 1965. Damnan müang neua. Bangkok: Odeon Store. Seckel, Dietrich. 1964. The art of Buddhism. London: Methuen. Sommai Premchit et al. 1981. Phracedi Lannathai. Chiang Mai: Social Research Institute, Chiang Mai University. Sopha Chanamun. 1991. Khruba Srivichai ‘dton bun’ haeng lanna p.s. 2421–2481. MA thesis, Faculty of Arts, Thammasat University, 113 pp. Strathern, Marilyn. 1991. Partial connections. Savage MD: Rowman and Littlefield, ASAO Special Publications No.3. Sun Watanatham Cangwat Chiang Mai. 1996. pocananukrom phasathin phakneua. Chiang Mai: sun watanatham lae sun silpawatanatham sathaban rajaphat chiang mai.

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Swearer, Donald K. 1976. ‘The role of the layman extraordinaire in Northern Thai Buddhism’, Journal of the Siam Society, 64.1, 151–68. Tanabe, Shigeharu. 1984 ‘Ideological practice in peasant rebellions: Siam at the turn of the twentieth century’ In Andrew Turton and Shigeharu Tanabe (eds.) History and peasant consciousness in South East Asia. Senri Ethnological Studies, No.13, Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 75-110. . 2000. ‘Autochtony and the Inthakin cult of Chiang Mai’, in Andrew Turton (ed.) Civility and savagery: social identity in Tai states. London: Curzon, 294–318. Tanet Caroenmüang. 1993 (2nd ed. 1995). ma caak lanna. Bangkok: Kled Thai. Turton, Andrew. 1972. ‘Matrilineal descent groups and spirit cults of the Thai Yuan in Northern Thailand’, Journal of the Siam Society, 60.2, 217–56. . 1984. ‘Limits of ideological domination and the formation of social consciousness’, in Andrew Turton and Shigeharu Tanabe (eds.) History and peasant consciousness in South East Asia. Senri Ethnological Studies, No.13, Osaka: National Museum of Ethnology, 19-73. . 1991a. ‘State poetics and civil rhetoric: an introduction to Thai constructions of knowledge’, in Manas Chitakasem and Andrew Turton (eds.) Thai constructions of knowledge. London: SOAS, 1-14. . 1991b. ‘Invulnerability and local knowledge’, in Manas Chitakasem and Andrew Turton (eds.) Thai constructions of knowledge. London: SOAS, 155-82. . and Volker Grabowsky. 2003. The gold and silver road of trade and friendship: the McLeod and Richardson diplomatic missions to Tai states in 1837. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Udom Rungruansri. 1990. pocananukrom lanna-thai. 2 vols. Bangkok: Amarin Printing Group.

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Jan Struys, The Perillous and most Unhappy Voyages of John Struys...., translated by John Morrison, London 1683 Introduction to the chapters on Siam The account of the three voyages of Jan Janszoon Struys was first published in Dutch in Amsterdam in 1676 and was reprinted in 1686, 1741–2, and 1746. German editions appeared in 1678 and 1705, a French edition in 1681 (with at least three reprints), and English editions in 1683 and 1684. The edition of 1683 comes with a six-page preface from the translator, of almost total irrelevance and great pretentiousness, stuffed with Latin quotes. We are told of the three voyages to be related, but “It was intended also to publish his 4th Voyage with this, which has not yet bin printed in any language, but finding the Authors leisure not answerable to those Intentions, we shall deferr it to the next Edition, if this prove but so acceptable” [sic]. Apparently it was not, for none appeared. A summary of the three voyages follows; only the first takes the author to Africa and East Asia, though he does spend some time in Persia on the third voyage. Struys in his first voyage describes how he left Holland in 1647 at the age of 17 with a desire to see the world and to escape his father’s chastisements, enlisting as an under-sailmaker. His vessel took him to Genoa, then Madagascar and Sumatra. In chapter III he explains how he entered the service of the Dutch East India Company, the VOC, and went to Siam, which he describes in general terms; he says he left Batavia on 15 January 1650, and so must have arrived in Siam late January-early February (the next precise date given is 23 February). Chapters IV-VI and VIII-X elaborate on aspects of Siam. Chapter VII is nonexistent rather than missing, apparently simply due to a printer’s error; a recent French edition also has only eleven chapters in the First Voyage. Chapter XI deals with Formosa (Taiwan), and chapter XII describes Nagasaki, a brief return to Siam from 22 January to 15 February 1651 to take on a cargo of elephants inter alia, and the return to Batavia and thence Holland. The seven chapters describing Siam are our primary concern and are reproduced here. Chapter III deals with “Iudia” (Ayutthaya) and Bangkok, and provides on p.27 a print of the capital, apparently taken from a well-known anonymous Dutch painting of the city (located in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam), dated to c.1650, in part imaginative, and to which have been added in this edition a quantity of sailing vessels and a few palm trees. The temples and royal palace are described, as well as the soil and products of the land. Chapter IV deals with the way of living of the “Siamers”, their industry, organization, and wealth in gold, and

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writes of Burmese attacks in 1648 (unsupported by the Siamese or Burmese chronicles and not mentioned in Phayre or Wyatt). Chapter V deals with the revenues and treasury of the king of Siam (Prasat Thong, a usurper, reigned 1629–1656), the lack of pay for soldiers, the priesthood and its practices. Chapter VI deals with daily life, the cleanliness of Siamese houses and bodies, their dress, early marriage, cremation after death, and their liberality to strangers. Chapter VIII (to follow the erratic numbering of this edition) tells of the head of the Dutch godown, the Sieur van Muyden (Jan van Muijden, director of the VOC in Ayutthaya 1646–1650: Brummelhuis 1987, 32), being invited to the cremation of the king’s only legitimate daughter, and how the author went too, but arrived late. He describes in detail the funerary pyre and the money thrown to the crowds. In Chapter IX the plot thickens. The princess is burnt, but a part of her body remains intact. She was declared poisoned. An incredible witch hunt then ensues with her servants and attendants, and later many of the mandarins and their families, being tortured and killed (this is the excuse for a dramatic print, “The Massacring of the Mandorins and great Personages in Syam” [sic] at p.45). Still more are judged guilty and murdered. On 2 March “the Youngest daughter of the late King” (probably meaning King Songtham, r.1610–1628, since Prasat Thong murdered the two intervening kings, legitimate heirs of Songtham, in quick succession) was brought forth and declared she had administered the poison, which was intended for the king himself; she and her only brother were hacked to death and thrown into the river. Chapter X seems to be a hoax, giving two versions purporting to be the titles of the King of Siam (the language seems invented and is certainly not court Siamese); it ends with a description of the king commanding the withdrawal of the river waters. Chapter XI indicates that after the Dutch ship taking Struys was loaded with hides and sandalwood it set sail on 12 April for Formosa, where Struys maintains he saw a man with a tail (thus invalidating much else that he says he saw). Chapter XII describes the Dutch outpost at Nagasaki and mentions the vessel’s brief three week stay in Siam again, taking the director van Muijden back to Batavia, with Struys then proceeding to Holland. Cruelty was certainly not unknown in Siam at this period (and was practised in Western countries, as the torture and death of the VOC’s faithful servant Jan Schouten in Batavia shows), and the visitor, Jacques de Coutre, in Siam for nine months in 1595 in the reign of King Naresuan (1590–1605) relates some of the tortures inflicted on the poor palace servants when one of them purloined a small piece of gold (see Van der Cruysse 2002, 31–2). In addition, Prasat Thong’s fiery temperament is well recorded: Van Vliet (1640/1975, 96–7) wrote: “He is inclined to drink and excesses... He is more feared than any other king before him. No one dares contradict him... He is more avaricious than any other former Siamese

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king...” Nevertheless the speech given by the daughter of King Songtham (if such she was) seems to be largely invented by Struys, who after a few weeks in the country could hardly have acquired enough Siamese to understand and translate her diatribe against the present ruler, and one wonders if she would have been allowed to continue her extensive public condemnation of the king. If the reliability of this text is suspect, some things are right: the cleanliness of person of the Siamese (something very different from Europeans of the period), the way they bring up their children, the large trade passing through the capital, the export of ray skins to Japan, the soldiers having no pay, the incredible flocks of deer, and so on. The architectural terminology used to describe a meru in chapter VIII does not seem that of a mere sail-maker. Some things are very wrong: the priests are said to use the “Pegu or Borneo tongue”, and the names of the two customs houses, Canon Bantenau for that near Ayutthaya, and Canon Bangkok for that near the mouth of the Chao Phya River, appear to be further corruptions of Tabanque or Tabanca (a Portuguese term apparently deriving from the Malay pabean), though “Bantenau” remains uncertain. While the ceremony of the parting of the waters in Chapter X is superficially accurate, the supposed titles of the king seem to be poppycock. And the story at the end of chapter XII of the elephant accidentally receiving a bowl of hot soup and nearly overturning the vessel transporting it seems strangely familiar; it was perhaps no more than one of the stock-in-trade tales which did the East Asian rounds. The text is therefore offered with serious reservations. It may well have been entirely invented, drawing on Schouten (1636) and a fertile imagination. If the downright lie of having seen men with tails in Taiwan can pass, and if chapter X was largely invented, there is no reason why the butchery described in chapter IX should not be fodder for contemporary European tastes. As Alfons van der Kraan (C. Baker et al., Van Vliet’s Siam, 2005, 42–3) has it, “publishers, then as now, had at least one eye on market demand, and in choosing among the various Indiesrelated manuscripts that came their way, they emphasized the adventurous, the strange, and the exotic.” Siam was certainly that. Van der Kraan goes on to make the pertinent point that seventeenth-century Dutch and English publications emphasized the tyranny of Asian rulers, partly because Holland was a republic and England was in the process of asserting parliamentary control, but also because, while “cruel and sadistic punishments” were not unknown, and European criminal law was scarcely more enlightened, such texts “drew attention to the arbitrary way in which Asian kings could exercise power.” It seems highly probable that this text was printed largely to assuage the taste for exotic voyages at the period, and was considerably dated by the time it appeared in English, which, however, was when Phaulkon, a former servant of the English East India Company, was at the height of his power in Siam and known for such, and this may account for the publication of the volume in 1683. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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As this text should perhaps be read as no more than a curiosity, and treated with all the scepticism of a traveller’s yarn, it has not been given all of the usual scholarly apparatus, but some explanatory footnotes have been kindly supplied by Dr Dhirarat na Pombejra, and the erratic spelling, punctuation, grammar and vocabulary of the original English edition are preserved. A superficial comparison with the most recent French edition (Chandeigne, 2003) shows marked differences in the two texts, and there are probably differences when compared to the Dutch originals. The copy from which this extract was taken is sometimes unclear (the glosses were particularly hard to read), and where interpretations were doubtful, this is indicated by question marks, or by dotted lines for omissions. M.S.

The City Judia

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CHAP. III The Author’s departure from Madagascar, Arrival at Sumatra… The Author admitts himself into the service of the [Dutch] East India Company. His Voyage to Siam. An accurate description of that Kingdom. …[26] On the 15 January [1650] , I was put aboard the Black Bear, bound for Siam, where we safely arrived, and cast anchor in the Bay. The Kingdom of Siam lies in the most Easterly part of East India, from 7 to 8 degr. Northerly Latitude. There are many Cities, and Towns of note in it, and those very populous, among which Iudia is the chief, being the Metropolis of India extra Gangem, and the city where the King has his Court and Residence. The land is very fertile, affoarding all that may serve for the delight and sustenance of human Bodies, the Fields stored with many sorts of Cattel, the Rivers with Fish, and the Towns with Magazines of rich Merchandizes. The Inhabitants are of a tawny and yellowish complexion, and superstitious Pagans in Religion, as appears by their great Zeal, in adorning of their Temples, and strict Reverence for their Priests which are here too great and numerous for the Laity. Their Government is Monarchical, and the King for many ages has been absolute Sovereign, over this and the neighbouring Territories and Dominions, and that with as much Power, Grandour, and Reverence from the Subject, as any Potentate or King, under the canopy of Heaven. In short, Siam in regard of it’s [sic] Fertility, Wealth, Number of Inhabitants, and subordinat Principalities, may paralel any other Empire in the Universe. Iudia, which (as we have already said) is the Imperial Town of Siam, lies about 16 degrees Northerly Latitude from the Æquator, and is seated on one of the fairest Rivers (without doubt) in all the Eastern World, where a Ship of the greatest burthen may come up close to the Kay, to load or unload, without fear of sustaining dammage. In going from the mouth of the River upwards about 30 Leagues, we found several Inlets and swift Currents, which disgorge themselves into this great and noble River, with abundance of fair Orchards, pleasant and delectable Groves, an infinit number of Villages, Religious Houses, Hamlets, and other amiable Prospects; the Fields all the while casting a fragrant smell from her spicy FlowJournal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Jan. 1650. Arrival at Siam. The Kingdom of Siam described

Judia.

The River, and delight-some Countrey there about.

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CustomeHouses.

*Fifteen making a degree, it follows than 5 Dutch miles must be 12 English land miles, or 4 Leagues at Sea.

ers; and the Groves affoarded a most ravishing melodie of Birds, warbling their wanton strains, and chanting in the shades and thick[27]ets, whither they retired to shelter themselves from the too powerfull raies of the scorching Sun, and those answered again by the soft whispering gales of the gentle Wind, and the base murmurings of the great Cataracts and Water-falls at a distance, rais’d and depress’d with the unconstant turnings of the Wind : all which feemed to have such Harmony, that it ravish’d us as much, as ever the renowned the Thessalsers [?] Tempe could the men of old. The Land is for the most part level, of a clay and sandy earth; few Hills appear, or any thing else seems to surmount the Horizon, save the high Towers and Pyramids, whereof we found an incredible number. About 8 leagues up the River is a small City, of a triangular Platform, and environed with a wall, called Bangkok. In the same City is the Kings first Toll–or Custome–house, which they call the Canon Bangkok, and every Ship and Junk to whomsoever they belong are obliged to come to anchor there, and give in their information, upon what account they come, and from whence; as also what Men and Goods they have aboard. Having performed that Duty, they pay their Toll, and receive their Billet, with Letters of Conduct, to go so far up as they list, till they come within a League of Iudia, where the second Toll-house is, called, the Canon Bantenau; and here they are a second time bound to anchor, and exhibit their Cockets, which having shown, they have their liberty to go further. This second Canon, is erected only to see that the Prince have his due, and to examin whether that the Stranger be not defrauded by the Commissioners of the first; and to give Licences to enter the Town, and traffique. It is also to be understood, that when any Ship is outward bound, they are to pay their Toll at the Canon Bantenau which at coming up was the second, now the first Custome-House; and are to pass an Examen at the Canon Bangkok, as they did before at the other, without paying any thing, if they can manifest by their Cocket, that they have already paid : and this every Vessel how mean soever it be, is bound to do, or in case of refusal to forfeit Ship and Carga. Siam although it have abundance of Towns, yet there are but 5 that are walled, in all the Kingdom, whereof Iudia is the strongest, being about 3 *Dutch miles in circuit : The walls are con[28]siderably strong, with round Bulwarks after the old way, but after its manner very Stately and magnificent. Within the Town are some Thousands

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of Temples, Cloysters; and gilded Turrets, which together do make a pompous show. The streets of this City are very long and spatious, the Town it self surrounded with a River about 2 Musquet-shot in breadth, and divides it self into 8 streams, at that place where the King has his Court and Residence. The Royal Palace is very magnificent and Costly, strongly walled about, and fortified, within also are very stately and noble Appartments,1 a Fabric which for Workmanship and Riches surpasses all that ever I have seen in India, and certainly, for the Power and Grandour of the Prince, Splendour of the Palace, immense Wealth of the Inhabitants, Fertility of the Countrey, and Temperateness of the Climate, it is second to no place in India, if China may be excluded. The Soil is very good, and the Land fertile, producing yearly a vast increase of Rice and other Corn; It is also rich of Cattel, as Kind, Hoggs, Bussels, Elks, Hares and Coneys, incredible Flocks of Deer, which are more hunted for their Hides than Carcases, they reckoning That one of the Staple commodities, and export many Thousands yearly to Iapon, and other places of Traffic, so that the main Trading of the [voc] Company there to Iapon, consists in that Merchandise. Wild-beasts are also here in great abundance, as, Elephants, Rhinocerots, Leopards, Tygres, and the like; as also all kinds of Fowl, both great and small, that I have seen in Europe, Swans and Nightingales onely excepted, which I dare not be positive whether there be any or not. Nor are the Rivers, as also the Sea without good store Fish, and that of many kinds: The Sea-shore lies thick with Oisters, and Lobsters, which are as delicate as they are plentifull. They use the Fishing Trade also as in other places, and make great profit, especially in a kind of Scate,2 that they take chiefly for the Skin, which those of Iapon hold in great esteem, paying sometimes at the rate of 50, or 60 Ducats for one Skin, if it be choice and good; yet such is the difference, that I have seen a hundred Pieces of Eight paid for a single Skin, whilst it has been known, that a whole hundred would not yield 4 Rix-dollars. These Skins they first dry, and with [29] great care

1

Soil and Fertility of Siam.

Fish.

The great value of Scate-Skins.

It is highly unlikely that Struys would have seen the interior of the royal palace with his own eyes. No foreign trader was allowed inside the royal “apartments”. If Struys had accompanied a VOC envoy, then perhaps he might have seen some of the outer audience halls, but no more. 2 The reference to the “scate” is interesting: it was most probably the ray. Rayskins were a key export of Siam (especially to Japan via Dutch vessels). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Crocodiles used for Medicine.

pack them up, and so export them. There are also in this River many Crocodiles, which the Siamers call Cayman, and use them for Physic. There are also many venemous Creatures as Serpents, Adders, Scorpions and Snakes. It exuberates, besides the several Products already mentioned, in Sugar, Oil, Kitchin and Medicinal herbs, and various kinds of Fruit: and in a word Siam is so well provided by nature of it self that the Inhabitants may supply themselves with what is necessary for human Life, and Recreation; without the means of exotic Commerce, and importation of forreign Commodities.

CHAP. IV The Nature and Way of living of the Siamers. Their several Trades and Profession. Travail of their Merchants. Government and Politie. The great State of the Emperour, and Magnificency of his Throne: his Cavalcade, and manner of shewing himself to his People. The Riches of his Vessels, the Elephants served in Gold and Silver. The Wars about the white Elephant, against Ava and Pegu. Siam, as I said before, is very populous, and the Inhabitants generally of a good and free disposition. They Negotiate strongly in every kind of Merchandise, whereof they can make a profit, and that more especially within Land. They are great incouragers of Art and Artists, especially the Mechanicks, and such as they cannot well want, as House- and ShipCarpenters, Masons, Smiths, Braziers, Founders, Turners, Plummers, Pewterers, Painters, Carvers, Gold-Smiths, Fullers, Sawiers, Joyners, Weevers, and an infinit number of Jewellers and Lapidaries; Nor are they without their Physicians, Chirurgeons,3 and Lawiers, after their own manner. Here are also Pedlars by Thousands, that travail from Town to Town, like such as follow the Fairs in Europe;4 these have no fast dwelling, but are in motion the whole year round, and sleep always in the booths which they erect wheresoever they come. Fish-

3

The Siamese were, according to La Loubère, unacquainted with the art or skills of surgery. King Narai had to hire a VOC surgeon, a French Huguenot by the name of Brochebourde. 4 Within the traditional Siamese manpower control system (of mun nai–phrai), it is highly improbable that there would have been “Pedlars by Thousands, that travail from Town to Town, like such as follow the Fairs in Europe”. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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ing and Husbandry are well promoted, for every man, be he never so mean, if he have [30] a fast Residence, has his Lands, either less or more, which are cultivated with all imaginable diligence, as appears by the yearly Product of Grain, which not only supplies themselves, but is also exported into other Countreys, as well on the main Continent, as the adjacent Islands. And so cheap is all manner of necessary Provision and sustenance, that Labourers and common Slaves will work and fervile work for 3d a Day. Every City has a Pretor, or Deputy, who derives his power from the King, and with a Council of Assistance is to determin of all Matters and Affairs, as well Civil as Criminal. The same Pretor, or Vice-roy has also charge over the Imperial Revenues, Tolls, and Customs, to see that they be payd without defrauding of the King, and that the Sub-commissioners of the said Duties do not exact upon Forreigners, that are not acquainted with the Rates imposed upon their Goods. This Officer, as also every Officer of State, is only to continue three years in one place, and at the expiration of that term, is either removed to a place of greater Trust and Eminency, or has his Discharge sent him. Their Suits at Law are presently brought to an end, and Sentence pass’d according to equity, without regard to the Degree and Quality of the Parties; the Client first going to a Notary, and has his case fairly stated, which then is brought to an Advocate, who is to discuss and comment it before the Pretor, as in most places in Europe: with this difference only, that the Advocate or Attorney has the power to continue or give over the Suit, as he thinks fit; which is ordained to prevent tedious Appeals, and perpetual clamours at Court. Criminal Affairs are punished severely enough, especially, Treason and Murther, nor do they dispence with any places of Refuge, or Sanctuary, for the Perpetratours of such enormous Crimes.5 There is no Potentate in the East may paralel this Emperour for Magnificence and Pomp. He never sets his foot upon the Earth, but is carried on a Throne of Gold, from place to place, and usually appears once a day before his Peers and Grandees, which always attend the Court: these show him all imaginable Reverence, and ascribe [31] him such honour as accrews to no mortal. When any desires to speak with him, so soon as he gets admission, presents

5

Malefactors severely punished.

Struys’ views on the Siamese judicial system are somewhat sanguine, and quite at variance with the statements of others (e.g. van Vliet). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Stately Throne of the King.

himself upon his knees, his hands folded, and his countenance cast to the Ground, then bowing of his body and kissing the Earth, he begins his Harangue, which is alwaies done with a submissive voice, and at the end of every Sentence, rehearses his Title, JAOUA TJAUW PERRE BOEDE TJAUW JAOUA, which by an Idiotism of our own, is King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. His supreme Throne is of massive Gold, made after the form of a Pyramid, and so contrived that none can see him ascend. On each side of the Throne stand several Statues, and Creatures of monstrous shapes; as is recorded of the Judgment-seat of Solomon, which was guarded with Lions. His Person is secured with a very noble Guard, and well arm’d; several Elephants alwaies ready in the inner court of the Pallace also, for his Pleasure and Service upon occasion; these are mounted with Trappings of rich Silk, simbriated and imbossed with Gold, and precious Stones. When he goes abroad to visit his Pagods and Religious Houses, or to take his Divertisement (which is ordinarily twice or thrice every year) he is attended with an infinit Retinue of Grandees, and Officers at Court, as also all his Wives and Concubines, which are very numerous, all mounted upon Elephants. When this Setting forth is not performed with a Cavalcade, but by Water; there are a certain number of Praws, brought up close to the Pallace. These are almost like a Barge, but far greater, having 20 or 30 Oars a piece, with 5 men to an Oar; without they are richly gilded and charged with Festons and Foliages on a diapered ground. Others there are less noble and rich, which serve only to transport the Soldatesque, and aboard every Praw are several that play upon Wind Instruments and Drums, which make a confused noyse; Upon the hearing of this, every one, whether Citizen or Peasant, Freeman or Slave, Young or Old, is injoyned to come forth and fall prostrate, with all imaginable Reverence, upon very severe Penalties, according to the Quality and Discretion of the Party. This Injunction is observed very strictly, and certain Officers ordained to take notice of the Delinquents, whose Rule is Arbitrary, and Mesures sudden; they are so correct in punishing such that few escape; I my self having seen, while I was there, some two or three beheaded with a Scimitar, only for being too remiss, in doing [32] Worship, although in such as want Discretion, or otherwise unable to perform the Ceremony, through invalidity of Body or Mind, the Offence is either dispenced with, or expiated with some inconsiderable Forfeiture. This Solemn Appearance happen-

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ing so rarely, and that with such Majestie, creates great Loyalty and veneration in the heart of the Subjects for their Prince: and surely the conclusion and effect of every Maxim in Politic Affairs is the securest Index; or Distinction from a Contrary, which almost all the Kingdoms and Dominions of the East affoard and Example of, and more notedly the Sophy of Perfia, who when with a huge Retinue he makes a Cavalcade (which might seem to be for no other end than to be seen) none dare presume to appear in the street, upon pain of Death; of which more hereafter. Gold is here in such plenty that not only Plates, Chargers, Goblets, Bowls, Basons, Lavers, and whatsoever els is usefull for the Kings Table, is all of solid Gold, but also greater vessels in the Kitchin; which had I not seen them my self, should have held it incredible, if the weight and greatness had truly been reported. But what is yet more, the white Elephant, with the rest (which are about 6 or 8 in Number) kept within the Palace, are serv’d in Gold and Silver. The Gallantry of the Court, and the gorgeous attire of the Courtiers, is unspeakeably rich. And to be brief, if I should repeat the Maiesty of that Prince in Power and Command; The profuse Emulation of the Courtiers in Embroydery, Jewels and other costly Ornaments, and the Magnificent Structure of the Palace and other stately Fabrics; I should either prove too weak, in the performance of such a Province, or, hazard my reputation, in giving a Narrative of the Pomp which I have in reality beheld, to such as have not seen it, who would in all probability be too timerous to take things of that nature upon Credit. This I shall only add, that rather than to be undeservedly tax’d with hyperbelizing Froth, I’le content my self with a recommendation thereof to other modest Gentlemen that have been there, and published their Journals for the public perusal of the Curious in general. The present King of Siam, has lived in great peace and tranquillity, ever since he first sway’d the Scepter : But in the time of the late King, that nation has been deeply ingaged in foreign [33] troubles : Specially with Pegu, Ara and Lingjander, partly out of the ambitious minds of those Princes, and partly out of a fordid covetousness; as of the king of Pegu, who indeavoured to make himself Master of the white Elephant, which he of Siam had : but after the depopulation of the countreys, and loss of many thousand Souls, they made Peace upon strict Articles.

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Great plenty of Gold.

The Elephants served in Gold and Silver.

Of their Wars

Quic-quid delirant teges, plectuntar Achivi.

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In the year 1648, the King of Ava with the assistance of a neighbouring Potentate, invaded part of Siam,6 and took in some open Villages, and Towns of smaller note; but the king of Siam coming to have notice of this sudden Expedition, levies an Army of 200000 men, or upwards, marching himself at the head in Person; and encamped about 2 English Miles from the Enemy, where without either Battel or Skirmish they lay for 3 Moneths, when the Enemy not finding himself able to continue longer in camp, for want of Provision, and Recruits of men, was fain to break up; and march homewards. Those of Patany, had sent Ten Thousand men, all well disciplin’d and arm’d, for Auxiliaries in the Service of the king of Siam; but those arrived too late, the King being just upon his March for Iudia; where about 20 days after, he was Solemnly fetch’d in by his Nobles with great Triumph and Joy, as if he had obtained some notable Victory : and certainly it was the most prudent course he could have taken, to spare his own people, by shunning the Bloodshed of so many innocent souls, vanquishing the Hostility by the restraint of his Arms; and in making himself formidable with the greatness of his Battalions. There was also a Navy of Twenty Thousand Praws, pressed for the behoof of the Army, to transport the Baggage and Provision; and besides the standing Militia and Voluntairs, 52000 Citizens press’d for this Expedition, whom the King allowed Rice for Victualling, the rest they were to take care for themselves. The Mandate was no sooner out, but this Body was completed, which gave occasion of wonder, to some, when they observed the readiness and obedience of those Pagans to their lawfull Soveraign. The weapons used then for that Dispatch, were mostly fire-arms, and about 20 Pieces of Ordnance, which were committed to the charge of 2 expert Gunners; besides 5 Thousand Elephants, and 2 Thousand Horse; those that were mounted on Elephants were armed with Bows, Arrows and Darts, and the Cavalry with Firelocks, Sci[34]matars and Bucklers, which Armory is alwaies ready for use in the Kings Repository. As for Powder they are never at a loss thro want of it, having such plenty of Salt-peter, which is the main Ingredient thereof : so that it is most certain, the Siammers are never destitute of any necessary Ammunition for War, either upon

6

There are no records (neither Siamese nor Western) about this particular Siam-Ava (non-) war which Struys claims took place in 1648. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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offensiv or defensiv Occasions. Nor yet second to any for true valour and courage, which is checked by a prudent Conduct, and politic Direction of their Power; and thereby the Prince, and the leading Officers of the Army, become dreadfull to the Neighbouring Potentates abroad, and awfull to the Subject at home.

CHAP. V The Revenues and Treasury of the King of Siam. The Religious zeal of those Kings in building of Temples, and Houses for pious uses. Soldiers without pay. The great Slavery and Charges of the Citizens and Plebeians, their Obedience, and Liberality in devotion. Ample Revenues of the Spiritual. Habit and Function of their Priests. The Multitude and monstrous bigness of some of their Idols. Their Ceremonies in Worship; wherein congruous to those of the Romish Religion. The Revenues of the King of Siam, as we have elsewhere said, consist mostly in Customes, Tolls and Excise, for all exported Wares and Commodities, besides the Fishing, and Growth of the Land, as Corn, Fruit, Trees, &c. There are also in the Countrey several subterrannean and fossible things, Mines of Gold and Silver, Lead and Pewter, besides great store of Sappan-wood, as good as that of Brasilia, which is reputed a very rich Commodity, and sent abroad both to Coromandel, Dabul, China, Iapon, and other Islands in the East.7 When Any that is imployed in the Kings service dies, 2 Thirds of his Estate fall to the King, and the residue to the Wife and Children of the deceased; or else in lieu thereof such a Salary as they are contented with. The like when any Merchant Stranger comes to die within the Kingdom, two Thirds of his Estate are brought into the Chamber of Finances. The King having that special mean of making the Army support it’s self [sic], is at very litle Charges else, save what his zeal moves him to [35], in Building of Temples, Religious Houses and

7

Revenues of the King of Siam.

The...zeal of the Kings of Siam in crecting of Pagods, Religious Houses and Temples.

Siam did not have any silver mines, and in the 1640s its gold came from Laos (or perhaps via Laos from China). This is definitely an imaginative account of the King’s revenues and the country’s resources. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Soldiers without Pay, and used as Slaves.

The Condition of the Citizens.

*Dutch Tuns, without dispute.

Towers, to the Honour of his Gods, which indeed are infinitely numerous and costly in this Countrey, the enobling of his court, with some unnecessary things tending to his own Honour, about which much money is consumed; and lastly providing of Annunition [sic] and Shipping upon occasion of War: but as we have already mentioned, the Soldaresque have no Pay from the King, except a certain allowance of Rice, and what Spoil they can take from the Enemy; and these, although they goe under the Denomination of Soldiers, yet are but Slaves at best, being imployed in all servile uses, as Labourers, when, and where, the King commands. The Citizens (which may be called Freemen or Proprietaries) are but half a remove from Soldiers, they being obliged to maintain and repair all the Fortifications at their own cost, and defend them in time of need. Yet notwithstanding those heavy burthens imposed on the Commonalty, in the performance whereof they are not found remiss or tardy, they bring up above twenty* Tun of Gold yearly, for Offerings to their Pagods, and the behoof of the Spiritual; insomuch that the Priests, with the large Offerings of the King, and Liberality of the People, grow rich and in great esteem, notwithstanding their being so numerous in this Kingdom. The King and People embrace no other Religion than barely Gentilism, which, as appears by the ruins of Monasteries and Cells every where, has been anciently professed among them. Their Ceremonies they seem to have borrowed from the Roman, or Greek Church, which they ape, as near as may be, with reservation of Paganism. They are incessantly building, repairing and adorning the Temples of their Pagods, founding Cloysters, and erecting of Pyramids; wherin they spare not for money : for though they spend their whole Estates, about them, they must be gilded without, and richly hung within. Their Bonzi, or Priests, are distinguished from the Laïty by a yellow Vesture, and those again differing among themselves by certain Badges, or tokens, denoting their degrees: Their Beards, Head and Eiebrows are always shaven. According to their Order, they may not handle Money, Marry, nor make use of Women, upon severe Penalties; for if any be taken [36], in company with a Female, he is burn’d alive, or at best banished the Kingdom during the Term of Life; and certainly if their Codpiece were not fastned with such a heavy Padlock; the Laymens Wives and Daughters could never be secure, from that pestiferous rout? Tis true by their Rule they are not to handle money, yet like the Jesuits, have accumulated to them-

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selves vast Treasures, which are accompanied with a great reverence and honour from the Commonalty, who whether they have sustenance for their Family and Children at home, will not see the Bonzi destitute of what he has a mind to, whether it be in Victuals or Apparrel. Their Function is to exhort and teach the People, for which end they have certain Lectures, four times every moon, and at that time set open the Temples, where all the people resort, and meet in due order. So soon as they have buzz’d over a few formal words, they begin a kind of Admonition, insisting upon several good works and moral vertues, but especially to be liberal to the Bonzi, or Priests and the Pagods : How far this prevails upon them appears truly in their free-will offerings, which are indeed very considerable, in Gold, Silver, Garments and Meat, which the Bonzi then receive at the Offertory, promising to make some new Gods therewith, or adorn the Old. At morning and at night they go to prayers, which they rehearse with a loud voice, that any stranger thereto induced by curiosity, may be permitted to see and hear. They go also to visit the Sick, and pray for the Deceased, with great sobbings, and tokens of sorrow. When they have done Prayer they sing all together in a Chorus, in the* Pegu or Borneo Tongue, and that with a tolerable good Harmony; that done, they walk leisurely towards the head of the Temple, and kiss the Pagods. The Pagods are images of divers sorts of Metalls, as some of Gold, Silver and Brass, others of Wood or Stone. In the Cathedral of Iudia are twelve Pagods of a vast Bigness, sitting all cross legged, like Taylors upon a Table: the chief whereof was 13 fathom high, as he sat, being of a due Symmetry and Analogy, through all his members. This is usually called by the Dutch, Den grouten Afgodt van SOES [?], that is, The great Idol of SOES.8 The rest were somewhat than this, and were placed directly one before another. The Ceremonies [37] which we have already said to have affinity with the Church of Rome, are, Burning of Lamps, Consecrated, or Holy-water, Auricular Confession, Indulgences, and Pilgrimages, under taken for themselves and others, whereby they are of opinion that they merit much, One of them would (if I had given my Consent) have gone on a long and tedious Pilgrimage for me. They have

8

*Which are their ghostly Languages, as Arabic in the Alcoran, and Latin att Mass.

The “Borneo” tongue is hardly likely to be used in a Buddhist ceremony. The Great Idol of Soes, however, is intriguing (it also appears in Heecq, also a 1650s source) and perhaps refers to the large Buddha image at Wat Phananchoeng, not far from the VOC factory. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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*For that were not consistent with money [?] catching in those Countreys, where they could never yet finger it by Violence and Tyranny.

some special kindness for the Hollanders, in that they allow Liberty of Conscience, and revile not their *Gods, as do the Mahumetans, for which reason the Opinion of that grand Impostor, could never get footing in this Kingdom.9

CHAP. VI Good materials for building in Siam. Their manner of House-keeping, and entertainment of Friends. Neatness and cleanliness in their Houses and Bodies. Their way of dressing them selves, both men and Women. Strange Contracts of matrimony. Early marriage. Education of their Children. Learning and learned men had in great veneration. Rites about their deceased. Urbanity in their Conversation. The great Affection of the Emperour towards Strangers etc.

Good Materials for buildings in Siam.

House-keeping and entertainment of Friends.

*As Coffee in the Levant or...in Spain.

Cleanly in their Chambers and...

Siam has of it self whatsoever is requisite in building either for Houses or Shipping: they neither want Lime, Stone, Lead, Iron, nor Wood, or whatsoever else is necessary. Yet notwithstanding Stone be here in plenty enough, yet they build their Dwelling-houses mostly of Wood, and reserve Stone for the use of their Pagods, Temples, Pyramids, Fortifications and other Public Edifices. Their Houses they cover with Tiles, and within have several Appartments, as we have in Europe. They use not many moveables in their Houfes neither use they Benches, Stools, or Tables. Their Floors are all spread with Matts which they use for cleanliness, and upon these they sit down. But if a person of Eminency comes to visit them they honour him with another Matt, or else an Arabian Carpet, which is of excellently well wrought Tapestry. When he is set, they give him Fairwater in Gold or Silver Goblets, and a *Siery Pinang, which is the chief thing wherewith they caress their Friends. They are very nice and curious about their Vessels in the Kitchin and Dishes, which for the [38] most part are of brass, and of a neat fashion, but generally chased. They are also very cleanly in their Chamber, and surpass

9

The Muslims were, contrary to Struys’ statement, quite well established in Siam by the 1650s, even at the royal court, if we are to believe the chronicles of the Bunnag family and The Ship of Sulaiman. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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any other people that I have seen, either before or since. They keep their bodies cleaner than the Turks themselves, and bath themselves ofter than they eat, which is not only their Head, Hands and Feet, as was the Custome of the Talmudists, and those under the Levitical Law, but all over : which being done, they anoint themselves with perfumed Confectures, made of fragrant Spices, and Herbs. Some of them I have known use an Oyntment made of Xylaloës, or, wood of Aloës, Sandal, Musk, and Ambergreece, tempered with Rosewater, which besides the delectable odour it renders, is a great Preservative against epidemical and pestilential Airs. Whensoever their Devotion moves them to go and visit their Friends, or the Pagods, which they frequently adore, they bath and anoint themselves after this wise, and afterwards, attire themselves in a Garb peculiar to such Solemnities : the Men have all their fingers loaden with gold Rings, as many as they can well put on, without hindring the due use of their Joynts, and a long Cotton Robe, or Cassock, of divers colours either so woven, or painted; which appears very gorgeously : this is their Habit from the middle downward; under that they wear a Shirt of very fine Linnen, or Cotton, of red, white, or other colours : above the middle a kind of Surplice, with wide sleeves (like the Gown of a Batchlour of Art in our Universities) Head, Hands and Feet are all bare. The Women have their hair tied up in a round ball, on the crown of the head, fastned with a golden Bodkin, 5 or 6 inches long. At their Ears they hang Pendants of Gold about a finger long, which are fastned to the Tips of their Ears, by great wide holes, bored when they are Young, the head where they fasten the Pendant is set with Precious stones, as Ruby, Diamond, Amethist, Emerald or Pearls. Besides the Rings, which are also set with Diamonds, or other Stones, and sometimes plain, they wear others about their arms, which are massie and ponderous. They wear also a long Vesture of 7 or 8 foot long, and 6 or 7 broad, painted of divers colours, being fastned with a Surcingle about 16 foot long, wound round their body, which is neatly embroidered with Gold; From the middle upward they have nothing but a Cotton-cloth, or a Scarf of [39] coloured Silk which they throw about their shoulders to cover their breasts. To be brief the Habit of Men and Women, as well as Children, is as costly as gaudy, and their Persons of a very handsom stature, but rather with the shortest; so that with the stateliness of attire, and comeliness of bodie, they present better than those of China or Japan. When they

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Men how attired when a-broad.

Women how attired.

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Marriages the Siammers.

Polygamy

walk the streets, they are attended with a retinue of Slaves conformable to their Rank and Abilitie, which are also in gentile habir. The Siammers, although Pagans, have a sacred veneration for Matrimony, and are generally very chast; Yet they do not esteem it a dishonour or shame to be Adulterers. Whoredom is in some regard dispenced with (or at least connived at) nevertheless they are not much inclined to Venery, but content themselves with such as they are ingaged to by Wedlock : and in their honest demeanor towards their lawfull Consorts (of whether sex it be meant) may convince most of us, that profess the Faith of Christ : The conjugal Love of Man and Wife is so mutually observed on both sides, and the filial Duty of Children towards their Parents, so reciprocally paid, that some who pretend to a more than natural Light, need not to reckon those too mean a precedent for Morality. The parents are very carefull to educate their children, when they are young, and the children diligent in nourishing and providing for their parents, when they are grown aged, and unable to help themselves. A Batchlour desirous to marry, and consequently having settled his thoughts upon a Maid, must address himself (or send some friend) to the Father of the party, or having none, to her Guardian, and not the Maid her self, with whom they may not converse; and these are to treat together upon the matter. But it is more usual, that the Parents of both the parties make the Overture, among themselves. They have no respect to Consanguinity or Affinity, but marry sometimes with the nearest relations they have, Brother and Sister only excluded, unless they have different Mothers. But to strangers they rarely marry, although it were to a Family of a better rank or Fortune. They look much after Wealth and Beauty, but not so much after vertuous Inclinations, as we do; neither are they prone to be led aside with affability, or flattery, as sometimes happens among us, which tends frequently to a future discontent and irrevocable [40] calamity. Now as the Parents alwaies make up the Marriage, so the young couple may not of themselves dissolve it; and the better to avoid any dissatisfaction, which may arise from the dislike that the one may have of the other, they are generally married before they come to maturity, when they are not capable of judging, as at 10 years of age. I have seen a Couple married, the man at 12 and the Women not fully 9. Another couple I have known, who had 2 Children, and both their ages could not make up 25 years. Polygamy is here allowed, for every man may marry so many Wives, as he lists, unless he be under

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some particular obligation to the contrary. They are sometimes divorced for slender reasons, but alwaies when they cannot procreate Children; and being seperate they may severally marry again. Their Marriages are not confirmed by the Spiritual, but Temporal Magistrate, yet always the Priest, must be present to do Sacrifice on behalfe both the Parties, They are very punctual in observing all the Articles specified in the Covenant of Matrimony, without the constringency of the Law. They regulate themselves in Hous-keeping, Education of their Children and the like, mostly after the Law of Nature, without restraint or compulsion. Their Children are very flexible and obedient, without beating or other severe chastisement. When they are young their Parents commit them to the Bonzi, who instruct them in all Sciences and good manners; as also mechanical Professions and Trades, whereby they afterwards get their living : Although most of them desire rather to stick to their studies, and so embrace the Function of Priest-hood, such being among them esteemed honorable, that have any tincture of Learning. Their Dead they bury not, but, after the manner of the old Romans, burn them; which is celebrated with great pomp, and expences, proportionable to the merits or abilitie of the Partie. The Ashes they conserve in an Urn, which they inclose in a Pyramid, erected to the Memory of the Deceased : others out of Zeal cause Churches and Monasteries to be built; or bequeath large Revenues to the Pagods and Bonzi: nay, there is hardly a Slave among them but gives something for Religious uses, or perhaps all that he was master of; and upon these occasions they are burned at the [41] charges of the Convent. Those that die of any disease which they repute unclean as Small-pox, Feavers, &c. are not burned, but either thrown into a River with a stone about their neck, or given to the Beasts of prey. The same they do with Children, if they come to die before a certain age, for that they say, That for want of discretion they could not rightly Worship their Deïty, and consequently do not deserve an Urn. They are of a very liberal nature, and civil to converse withall, but especially to Strangers. English, Portugueezes, Hollanders, and Moors, without respeεt to their Profession, have liberal access to enter, inhabit and traffic in the Land, by order of the King; and enjoy as much Liberty, and benefit of the Law, as his own natural subjects; which draws abundance of Forreigners, from all Countreys, who come thither, either upon the accout of Commerce, or to seek protection.

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Learning and Learned men in great esteem.

The dead burned to Ashes.

Urbanty in their conversation.

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The Crown hereditary.

This concurrency of so many several sorts of People doth not only daily teach new Politie, but renders the Prince so formidable to his neigbouring Potentates, who know his Kingdom to be so populous and the people so deeply ingaged to their Sovereign. The Crown is succssiv, yet during the minority of the Heir (which is at 15 years) the Uncle or some Guardian nominated by the King, takes place as Administrator : By this Precedent also are all the Officers in the Kingdom regulated, that are successiv.10

[There is no Chapter VII] CHAP. VIII The Sieur van Muyden invited to the Exequies of the Princess. A stately Scaffold erected for the Solemnity of the day. A magnificent and sumptuous Altar Ornaments of the Corps. The Train attending the Ceremony. Order of the same. Money thrown among the People. Stages erected for the Almosners. Artificial Fireworks. The vast Charges of this Preparation. February 1650

On the 23 of February, the Sieur van Muyden, Consul for the Company,11 was sent for, by two Interpreters, to wait upon the King; who invited him to attend the Ceremony of burning the Corps of his sole legitimat Daughter. I went my self also [42] to see the Exequies performed, but by the remissness of the Messengers, came too late to see the Train; for the Corps was brought to the place, before we got thither; but yet came in time enough to get to the stage, which was erected for us. On the middle of the Parade before the pallace,were erected 5 Towers; upon each Tower a poll, that which stood in the middest was 30 fathom high, the other 4 that stood in a quadrangular form, each 20 fathom. The Fabric of those Towers was very artificial : Round about under the Architraves, they were neatly painted with Foliage, rais’d with Gold, and depress’d with Umber and burn’d Ivory. On the Stylobat were carved Heads of Leopards, Tygres

10

Struys’ version of the Siamese royal succession is very similar to van Neijenrode’s (1620s), particularly concerning the rights of a royal son to succeed after he attains the age of 15 (implicit in the passage). 11 Van Muyden was indeed the chief or director of the VOC factory in Ayutthaya at that time (not the “Consul”). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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and Panthers. Under the Projecture, Supporters in antic-work, and emblematical to that occasion; the Scima, or Cornish with close Leaves suitable to the Phrise and Architrave, but could not at the distance I was at, perceive whether it was carv’d or painted. Within the great Tower which stood in the midle, was a very costly Altar, covered with Gold, and set with Sapphirs and other stones, being about 6 foot high from the Ground. Upon this Altar was the Corps of the Young Lady laid, after it had lay imbalmed about 6 Moneths within the Pallace. The Body was attired in a Royal Garb, with Gold chains, Bracelets and Collars of Gold and fastned with Diamonds. She was set in a Coffin of solid Gold, in which she sate upright, with her Hands conjoyned, and her face looking upwards : upon her head was a Crown of Gold, very richly set with stones. Then came all the Mandorins, or, Grandees of the Nation, with their Ladies, attired in White, without any ornament, for White is their Mourning colour; they feigned themselves sorrowfull for the Dead, and passing by strow’d the Corps, with Flowers and odorous Waters. When these Ceremonies were done, the Corps was brought out of the Tower, and set upon a Chariot of Triumph, richly gilded, and shown to the Grandees of the Empire, whereupon all the Ladies began to weep aloud, which was not altogether real, but feigned; every one emulating to show a greater appearance of Sorrow than the rest; which was with such earnestness, that it might have been heard all through the Town. After the Chariot had stood there about 2 short hours, it was removed to another place, where the Body was to be burned; and was followed by the Mandorins, and their Ladies, who went softly after. [43] In the first rank went the Kings eldest son, aged about twenty Years,12 who was only brother to the Deceased, and was mounted upon a Young Elephant all in White : next him were two brethren of his, by another Queen, mounted also upon Elephants, on each side one : each of these had a long silk Scarf fastned to the Herse, in their hand. On each side the Herse were 14 of the Kings Sons, with green twigs of palm in their Hands, who all the time went in a heavy posture, their eies dejected to the Ground, framing a sad Countenance, and uttering many sighs and expressions of Sorrow. On each side of the way, by which the Herse must pass (that was about 6 foot broad) were erected several stages, for the Mandorins of

12

The king’s eldest son (about twenty years old) was Chaofa Chai, who was briefly king in August 1656. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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*which is a piece of Money Valuing about 2s 8d Stering. † which is half a Ficol.

Presents sent the Bonzi, for their good Service praying for the Soul of the deceased.

13

a meaner rank. These at the passing by of the Herse, threw Oranges among the common people, in some of which were *Ficols,13 and † Mafes. this occasioned such a throng of People, that several lay under foot, and 7 Persons trodden to death. When they were come to the Altar, the Corps was taken down by the Mandorins, with Waits and Wind-Music, which made a melancholic noise, and was carried with great Solemnity to the Altar, where it was set down, and laid round with aromatic Woods, and Drugs, amongst which was poured many sorts of perfumes and odorous balsams. When this was done the Princes of the blood, and the Mandorins returned to the Kings Palace, but the Ladies were injoyned by the Emperour to remain at the Altar and bewail the Dead, for two days longer; at which time the Bodie was to be burned : and accordingly they stay’d there till the time was expired, striving, who could manifest the most sorrow, hoping so to obtain the greater favour from the Emperour. But the greatest folly I could observe among them was, that when any of them could not dissemble, or let down tears, they were whipped with thongs, by some persons, thereto appointed, till they wept indeed, and this was duly executed without having regard to their Persons. Near those Towers, was erected a stage, covered with thick gilded paper, whereupon sate the Chief of the Bonzi, and a litle lower sat the Priests of a lower degree and rank, of which there was a great number; these (like those under the Hierarchy of Rome) were imployed to pour forth praiers for the Soul of the Deceased. Which when they had done by order of the King, there were several Gifts sent them which for the most part, consisted in Ap- [44]parrel, House-furniture and mechanical Implements, of every sort. At the going down of the Sun there were several Fire-works play’d off, which issued out of Twenty Turrets, covered with gilded paper. All these preparations, besides what was that day given to the Bonzi, and distributed among the poor, according to the relation given to the Heer van Muyden, by the Kings Agent, amounted to 5000 Catti of Siam Silver, which is about 66000 pound Sterl, besides the Images that were bestowed on the chief Temple, whereof two were of Gold, about 4 foot high, which also amounted to a great sum : for what Gold, Jewels, or other Gifts were in her life time presented her, by the King, or Mandorins, were expended upon these exequial Rites.

“Ficols” is a misprint for “ticals” Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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CHAP. IX The Body of the Princess burnt. A remarkable token, whereby, it was concluded that she was poysoned. The Kings fury against all the Domestics of the Princess, who are committed to custody. The cruel Punishment of the suspected Parties. A strange way to find out the guilty. Elephants used as Executioners. Fifty men and Women executed in one day, some by Elephants, others buried in the Earth, to the Head, where they are suffered to starve. A Young Lady with her Brother taken and dispatched. Their Candour, and free resolvedness to die. Two days after the Corps were brought forth, the King went himself in person, and gave fire to the wood with a Torch, which was done with great Solemnity, and Music of all sorts, that all the time play’d very dolefull Airs. The Chest of Gold, together with all the Costly Ornaments, wherewith she was attired, when she lay in state, were burn’d with the Corps, and reduced to dust. We may not ommit to relate a very remarkable passage which happened about these Exequies; for when the King went to gather up the Ashes, which were to be put in a golden Urn, he found a piece of Flesh, about the bulk of a Young childs head, fresh and unconsumed.14 This seeing, he was mainly altered, and turning about to one of the Magi who stood at his left hand, Asked him; What his opinion was? and, What might be the reason that this gobbet of [45] flesh remained unburn’d. The Sage judging it to be done by some Enchantment, durst not declare his opinion about it, but to satisfy the King, replied, That his Majesty could not but be sensible of the Cause, since nothing could ly occult from his searching Wisdom : the more in regard it was a thing so palpable and open. The King by the Saying of this Parasite, concluded with himself that she had been poysoned, cries out with great ragings, At length I have discovered the certainty of what I ever had in suspicion : My Daughter is without doubt poysoned. Upon that in great discontent he went into his Mourning appartment whence he issued an Order for the sudden Apprehension of all the Ladies, that attended the Princess in her Life time, who were in obedience to his Royal Will immediately secured. 14

An odd Passage.

One should perhaps compare a similar episode in the Siamese Royal chronicles (though in the chronicles it was a son and not a daughter whose body was being cremated). This may make the Struys account of Ayutthaya perhaps less easy to dismiss. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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*which is a kind of Curse [?] like that in the Levitical Law, when the Woman is to drink the water of Jealousy.

On the day following divers others of the greatest rank were siezed and committed to Custody, who were wont to converse with the Princess, although they had not been in her presence for the space of a whole year. Shortly after in was my fortune to be Spectator to such a cruel Tragedy as ever I have seen elsewhere. The King being now possessed wthi [sic] Jealousy, and suspecting several to be factious in the matter, yet could not find out any certainty in the thing, he therefore to sift it out, who those should be that were concerned in the deed, practised this cruel Stratagem and impious way of Trial. The king sent a Messenger to summon up some of the chief Nobility in the land to Court, where being come to give attendance, were shut up in Prison, till the Prison would not hold any more, so that he was fain to find a new place, where to committ those unhappy Gentlemen. When the principal Officers and Courtiers were taken into Security. The king not contented so, sent also for their Wives, and several Young Ladies, who were known to be familiar with the Princess some time before her death: these were apart, that they might not have the benefit of Communication, also secured in a place. When the Emperour had as many Persons in Custody, as he, or others that advised him suspected, he gave order to make several Pitts in the ground about 20 foot square, one near another, which the Soldiers were commanded to fill with Charcoal, kindle and blow it up with long Fans, such as the Slaves in Siam do fan their Lords and Ladies with. When all was performed according to the Commandment of the king, they brought forth some ot those Personages [46] that were impeached with their hands tied behind their backs being all the time guarded with a Body of Soldiers : and being come to the place, they stript them naked and put their feet in warm Water, to make them tender; after that, the Soldiers paired of the skin with razours. Afterwards they were brought before certain Officers, nominated by the King as Examinators for that day, and were assisted by the chief of the Bonzi, who insisted upon them to confess the Fact, but upon their stedfast denial, had the *Rigoloza pronounced against them, and so transmitted to the Tormenters, who were forced to run over the hot coals without their natural Shoes. So soon as they were come through the fire their feet were visited; and if they were blistered, it was concluded by the Bonzi, that they were guilty, and so led away to the place appointed for them to be kept in, till all the supposed Criminals were turn’d through the Furnace: but when those Officers had don

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their visits as they were injoyned, they found none, but what were blistered, and consequently condemned as guilty some there were on whom this impious Test was imposed, that indeed with a strong resolution ran through, without receiving much damage : yet many there were who fell down flat in the middle of the Fire, where they expired their last, for (as we were afterward inform’d) there was a strict charge given, as well to the Spectators, as Officers, not to reach forth their hand to pull any person out, upon pain of Death. A Scene (I must confess) so sad as I have never seen as yet, and hope I never shall. That Perillus was thrown into the brazen Bull, which he had presented to the Tyrant Phalaris, to punish such as he was offended with, had good colour of Justice, but that so many in innocency should be massacred upon bare supicion [sic], and that with such unheardof Cruelty, is in no wise justifiable. It is a spectacle dismal enough, none can deny, to see a Ship rent upon the Rocks, and the distressed marriners Swimming upon masts and planks, to save their lives, but yet harder to see so many rare Personages burnt alive, and fried in their own blood : for that is from a Divine hand, to which we ow our very Lives and Being : but this the effects of a wretched Tyranny from our fellow-creatures, where Justice it self had nothing to demand. Every person who had past this horrid Purgatory, and by the aforesaid rule convicted, was led aside, and by the Soldiers made fast [47] to a pale : which done the Elephants were brought forth. Now the reader must understand that at Syam they have no other Executioners, on the score of Death, than Elephants. When the great Elephant was brought, and viewed the Condemned party, went twice or thrice round about him and at last took him up with his trunk, pole and all, and toss’d him aloft into the Air, and catch’d him at coming down upon his teeth, which struck quite through his body, afterwards throwing him off, trampled him under his feet till his Gutts burst out, and trode his body flat to the ground. When the Elephant had dispatched, the Soldiers draggd the Carcases to the River, which made the way slippery with blood. On this manner were the greatest part executed, but others were brought to the path, which leads to the City, and there put in holes, digged in the Earth on purpose, where they were closed up, to the neck, and every one that passed by, was to fulfill the Emperours pleasure. (forsooth) commanded to spit upon them, to which order I was fain to submit my self, being to pass by that way, so that I could not avoid it. These were to remain there to

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Elephants the Executioners in Siam.

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till they died, and none daring to give them any thing to eat or drink. It was lamentable to hear them cry out to every one that passed by to dispatch ’em, but the Officers kept so strict an eie that none durst move his hand. Four moneths long dured this horrible Massacre, and every day a great number put to death: on one day I have seen 50, and the like number on a forenoon. The general number of all that died was by some reckoned to be 2900 Souls, by others almost 300 more, and certainly few had escaped if they had not absented themselves from Court during the implacable fury of the King.15 This may seem to be a mean reason, for so great a piece of Tyranny, but it was well known afterwards that the King had formerly a design to cut of the chief of the Mandarins,16 of whom he himself began to stand in aw, and therefore took an opportunity to do it under this specious pretence : and the better to effect it without mutiny or rebellion, he had newly levied an Army of 250000 men, and made as if he would denounce war against China. On the 28 of Febr. were 300 of the Domestics of the late Princess brought to the place of Execution, who were also led through the [48] fire, but having passed through, were (I know not for what reason) set at liberty. Shortly after was the Youngest daughter of the late King with all her Houshold, committed to Custody : and the king as it appeared had a great suspicion of her, the more when he was informed that whilest other Ladies at Court, were bewailing the Dead, she could hardly all the time restrain her self from laughing : but what made the Matter have a better hue, was, her complaining to the king how that her daughter (who was also the kings Child) was had in contempt, and his eldest Daughter, in her life time promoted to great honour. On the first of March, was the said Princess brought forth, and a great number of Ladies, who were all led through the Fire; but (according to common fame) none but the Princess were blistered on the feet. Hereupon she was secured with Silver Fetters, and brought into a Dungeon, where none was permitted to have Communication with her.

15

Struys may have read the letters of the earlier Dutch chief in Siam, Reijnier van t’Zum, who wrote of many people being maimed and killed almost daily during 1643–1644 in the aftermath of the Tha Sai Prince’s rebellion in December 1642. 16 The “Chief” of the “Mandarins” referred to here is a puzzle: the case resembles that of Okya Phitsanulok, got rid of in 1636 on trumped-up charges of treason. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The next day the said Princess was brought forth again into the Palace, where the Mandorins were assembled in the Auditory. So soon as they began to make inquisition, upon threatning to put her to torment, if she would not make an ample discovery of the Truth, she, whether out of Fear, or Glory, is uncertain, uttered these Words, or to the same effect, If the King will promise upon his Royal word, that so soon as I have exhibited the Cause of his Daughters death, he will speedily execute me, without making, me a mocking-stock to the World, I will also promise upon the Honour of a dying Princess, to manifest the whole affair without further trouble. Upon that liberal saying, several of the old Mandarins then present, who had a great honour for her Royal Father, were moved to pity, and ’twas thought, that they would have interceded to the King for pardon for her, if the present fury of the King had not kept them in stricter aw. However after the fairest manner they could made report to the King, who promised to grant her request, and sent the Mandarins, back, to take her into further examination. Being returned, they brought her the result of her Petition, and willed her to confess the Cause and Circumstances : whereupon she declared in presence of them all, That she with the Help of her Nurse were both guilty of the Fact, and that they had used certain exorcisms therein, which was the reason, that that flesh was not combustible, [49] as the rest. She added further, That her ignominious death did not concern her so much, as thus her just Design should have no better issue; whereby the small remainder of her Stock should be reduced to their pristin state, and free’d from the Slavery of so fierce a Tyrant. When she was further examined in some circumstantial things, She protested that it was not provided for the innocent Princess, but for the King himself. So soon as Report was made to the King how she had made a liberal Confession, and what it was, he commanded instantly that an Executioner should be sent for, who being come, he gave him order to cut a gobbet of flesh out of her Body, and force her to eat it.17 When the Executioner went to fullfil the Kings command, the Lady suffered the flesh to be tore out with wonderfull patience, but when he tendred it her to eat, she refused, crying out, O wretched Tyrant, thou mayst be my Executioner, but thou canst not conquer my noble mind. Know, 17

The cannibalism punishment seems to be straight out of De Coutre, whose life–including his account of Siam–appeared in print in 1640. The son of King Songtham executed was unlikely to have been killed in 1649 (no other record corroborates this): again, this must presumably have come from earlier data (Van Vliet, Van t’ Zum, or possibly Moerdijck). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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that I defy thy Cruelty; and that the end of thy Sham-poyson will speedily come, when the remaining Vertue of my Royal Race shall avenge themselves of thee, and thy Tygre-brood. With these and the like words she reviled the King, till by a second Charge sent to the Executioner from the Palace, she was hackt in pieces, and thrown into the River. The same day her only brother, aged 20 years, was brought to the place of Execution, who during all these showers of Cruelty, had feigned himself distraught, by which means, they told us he was excused. But whether he was guilty or not, it appeared so soon as he was mounted the stage, that he had his Witts about him : for he behaved himself with such candour and modesty, that some of the Mandarins could not forbear tears; and with a bitter Harangue so reviled the King, and vindicated himself for what he suffered, that the Plebeïans were almost moved to an Insurrection; declaring himself more sorrowful for the fruitless attempt of his sister, than his own Death. So soon as he saw the Executioner come to him, he cried out, Innocent indeed I am, as was my Sister, but now Thou inhuman Tyrant, it is thy will it should be so, I scorn, although I were sure of enjoyment, to desire thy pardon, that thou shouldst not hope for the lest pity from the Hands of them that shall revenge my Blood in afier times. With these and the like words he seemed to declare his Innocency, yet uttered some expressions which contradicted those Protestations, that probably were [50] to only in spire of the King. Thus was the last of the former Kings race extirpated, except one Daughter, which was not capable of doing any thing against the Interest of the present King.

CHAP. X The proud, and blasphemous Titles of the King of Siam. The great Preparations used to asswage the Waters of the Ganges. You have heard by what we have related in the former Chapter, with how much power and aw, the king of Siam rules. It will further appear how well he knows it, by the proud, swelling Titles he assumes to himself, two of which were presented me by a Mandarin, Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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and I hope will not seem impertinent to insert here; although the Reader may be pleas’d to take notice, that the Idiom of their Tongue is so barbarous, that it will hardly bear sence, when rendred, however we shall give it Word for Word.18 THE Alliance written with letters of fine Gold, being full of God-like glory. The most Excellent, containing all wise Sciences. The most happy, which is not in the World among men. The Best and most Certain that is in Heaven, Earth and Hell. The greatest Sweet, and friendly Royal word. Whose power full-sounding Properties, and glorious Fame range through the World, as if the Dead were raised by a God-like power, and wonder fully purged from a Ghostly and Corporal Corruption. At this both Spiritual and Secular men admire with a special Joy, whereas no Dignity may be here with Compared. Proceeding from a friendly, illustrious, inconquerable, most mighty and most [51] high Lord; and a Royal Crown of Gold, adorned with nine sorts of Precious Stones. The Greatest, Clearest and most God-like Lord of unblameable Souls, The most Holy, seeing every where, and Protecting Soveraign of the City Judia, whose many Streets, and open Gates are throng’d by Troops of Men. Which is the chief Metropolis of the whole World. The Royal Throne of the Earth that is adorn’d with nine sorts of Stones, and most pleasant Valleys. He who Guides the Rains of the World, and has a house more than the Gods, of fine Gold and of Precious Stones, they the God-like Lords of Thrones of fine Gold, the White, Red and Round-tayl’d Elephant; which Excellent Creatures are the Chiefest of the nine forts of Gods. To none hath the Divine Lord given, in whose hand is the victorious sword; who is like the fiery-Armed God of Battails, to the most Illustrious. The second is as as blasphemous as the first, though hardly swells so far out of Sence. THE highest Paducco Syry Sultan, Nelmonam, welgaca, Nelmochadin Magiviitha, Jouken der eauten lillaula fylan, King of the whole world, who makes the Water rise and flow. A King that is

18

It is impossible even to begin to translate the king’s titles back into Thai, though it is very interesting that part of the name is in Malay [p.51], indicating that Siamese officialdom, via the translators, used Malay in communicating with the Dutch. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Lucifer

Trappings

Has the... Scotch...

The Ceremony used to aswage the River Ganges.

like a God, and shines like the Sun at noon day. A King that gives a glance like the Moon when it is at full. Elected of God to be worthy as the North-star; being of the Race [52] and offspring of the great Alexander; with a great Understanding, as a round Orb, that tumbles hither and thither, able to guess at the Depth of the great Sea. A King that hath amended all the Funerals of the departed Saints, and is as righteous as God, and of such power that all the World may come and shelter under his Wings. A King that doth right in all things, as the Kings of old have don. A King more liberal than all Kings. A King that hath many Mines of Gold that God hath lent him; who hath built Temples half Gold and half Brass, sitting upon a throne of pure Gold, and of all sorts of Precious stones. A King of the white Elephant, which Elephant is the king of all Elephants, efore whom many Thousands of other Elephants must bow, and fall upon their knees. He whose eies shine like the Morning-star A king that hath Elephants with four Teeth; Red, Purple and Pied Elephants, ay, and a Buytenaques Elephant; for which God has given him many and divers sorts of Apparrel wrought with most fine Gold, enobled with many Precious stones : and besides these, so many Elephants us’d in Battel, having Harnesses of Iron, their teeth tipt with teel and their Harnesses laid ore with fhining Brass. A King that has many Hundred Horses, whose Trappings are wrought with fine Gold, and adorned with Precious stones of every sort, tbat are found in the Universal World, where the Sun shines, and [53] those shod with fine Gold. Besides so many Hundred Horses that are used in War, of everykind. A King who has all Emperous, Kings, Princes and Soveraigns in the whole World from the Rising to the Going down of the Sun, under Subjection; and such as can obtain his Favour are by him promoted to great Honour, but on the Contrary, such as revolt, he burns with fire. A King who can show the Power of God, and what ever God has made. And so by this time I hope you have heard enough of a King of Elephants and Horses (though not a Word of his Asses) in this Instrument called a Title : and thereby perceive the Pride and Folly of this unpolish’d Potentate, where we shall leave him and take a walk towards the Ganges. The River of Siam is a branch of the famous Ganges, and ebbs and flows at the same time with that noble River. When it is at highest and ready to fall of it self, according to it’s natural Recourse at a certain time of the Year, as doth also the Nile, the King imbarks

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himself in a Galley which is within and without so richly Gilded, that it seems to be all of massy Gold. Within the same is a Throne of solid Gold, upon which the King sits, having a Canopy richly set with Pearls, Diamonds and other Precious Stones. About him sit the greatest of the Mandorins, on Chairs suitable to their Quality; and on his left hand the Chief of the Bonzi, in his Hierarchical Garb. On the Galleries of this Galley, sit several Musicians, which are answered by the inferiour Mandorins and Plebeïans, who are placed all along the Banks with Musical Instruments, and Flags of an infinite number. The Imperial Galley is followed with a Retinue of some Thousands of smaller Shipping and Yachts. When the King is come to the place where the Ceremony is usually performed, he steps out into a Prawe, where the High Priest delivers him a golden sword upon his knees. After the repetition of some formal words, he beats the Water three times, and commands it with a God-like Authority to fall down, and so re[54]turns into the Galley : upon which all they that are on the Banks fall down flat upon the ground and shout. And thus the blind People, who have not the Benefit of Chronicle or Antiquity, and ignorant of the course of Nature, the hand-maid of God, do really take it for a miracle, effected by their Pagan Sovereign.

CHAP. XI Departure from Siam... Arrival at Formosa... A Description of Formosa... Our Ship having now taken in her whole Carga, we had all order to come aboard. Our Loading was most Bucks-hides, Sanderwood,19 and Amrack, which is a kind of Colour, used by the Iaponeezes in their Cahinet-work for Vernishing : and on the 12 of April we set Sail, directing our Course for Tojovan or Formosa…

19

April 1650

“Sanderwood” – this looks improbable because Siam did not have sandalwood among its export commodities. Perhaps another aromatic wood, “Agerwood” (i.e. eaglewood), was meant here. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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CHAP. XII The Author departs from Formosa. His arrival in Japon. The description of Nanguesaque... Departure from Japon. Arrival at Formosa the second time. Their return to Siam, where they take in Elephants. The Author beat with a ropes end at the Main-mast, and why. His return for Holland, and End of the first Voyage. May 1650

February 1651 The Author dismiss’d. His return for Holland.

…[63] [we] cast anchor before the Fort Zeelandia. Upon our arrival there I was put aboard the Post-brase, which was bound for Siam, where we arrived on the 22th of Ianuary, and there took in the Sieur Van der Muyden, Consul for the Company at Iudia; who was to go for Batavia. Here we took in 8 young Elephants, with Provender, which was Palmes [?] and Sugar-cane, as also a certain quantity of Rice. Here I may not ommit a certain passage, which (though unadvisedly done) had almost cost me my neck. About noon when the dinner was ready, I went to the Cook for a bowl of hot broth, which having got I came to bring it to 2 of my Comrades, and passing by the Hold, one of the Elephants wound me about the leggs with his Trunk (or snout) that I came tumbling down, Plater and all, which being scalding hot, fell upon the Elephants back and made him to roar out and stamp, that the Ship tumbled and shaked again, this so amazed the Commander that he came running out of his Cabin to know what was the matter. Here I was in a great strait fearing to cry out, being sensible that he was a choleric man, and yet durst not stay below for the Elephant, who if he could have come at me would have trodden me as flat as a Flounder : but considering with my self that the Captain would assuredly come to hear of it, one time or another, and if I staid long I was sure this beast of vengeance would send me to my Grandsir. I cryed out and the Commander in all hast sent one to pull me up. So soon as they had got me upon the Deck, he gave order to tie me to the mast, and commanded a fellow to lick me lustily with a ropes end. On the 15 of February we set Sail for Batavia, where I was discharged of my Service, and permitted to go for Holland : and in order thereto went aboard the Ship Zelandia, which was then almost ready to set Sail. On the 26 we set out, having a good Wind, and a fine serene air. Within a few days we sailed through the Straits of Sunda; and thence set our course for S. Helena.

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On the 21 of April we got sight of Saint Helena, where we came safe into the Harbour, being 7 Sail in all. As soon as we were arrived, we went up into the Island to Hunt, fish and range the Woods for Oranges, Lemons and other Fruits. Having now refreshed our selves sufficiently, and all things in a readi[64]ness we set sail in order to the pursuit of our Voyage, and made Land on the 10th of August, where we bartered with fuch Goods as we had aboard, for Oxen, Sheep, and other necessarys : and so forwards for Holland, where by God’s gracious Conduct we arrived on the first of September 1651, and put in at Gogree [?].

The Massacring of the Mandorins and great Personages in Syam

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Arrival at St. Helena.

May.

The end of the first Voyage.

Abbé François de Langlade du Chaila Unknown artist Oil on canvas 44 x 34 cm Reproduced with permission Conseil-Générale de la Lozère Ignon-Fabre Departmental Museum Mende, France

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The Abbé de Chaila 1648–1702: from tourist in Siam to persecutor in the Cévennes Michael Smithies

The former libertine and transvestite, the Abbé de Choisy, was coadjutant ambassador to the Chevalier de Chaumont in the embassy sent in 1685 by Louis XIV to Siam with the object of converting the king to Catholicism and obtaining better terms of trade (in both of which it singularly failed). On the outward journey, in addition to Choisy, there were three French Missionaries (from the Missions Etrangères in Paris), Vachet, Basset, and Manuel; Chaumont’s personal almoner, the Abbé de Jully; the ship’s almoner M. Le Dot; and six mathematical Jesuits on their way to China, namely, their superior de Fontaney, Bouvet, Gerbillon, Le Comte, Tachard, and de Visdelou. Of these, Tachard was to return to France with the embassy and play a significant and wholly deleterious role in Franco-Siamese affairs. Also among the ecclesiastics on board was the Abbé François de Langlade du Chaila (who signed his name thus, though many documents refer to him as the Abbé du Chayla), who was travelling to Siam with no particular purpose. He was not a Missionary attached to the Missions Etrangères in Paris (though Forbin, writing in his memoirs (1729/1996: 32), thought he was), nor a Jesuit; neither was he a trader, an explorer or a scientist. He may have vaguely thought of becoming a missionary, but had not yet made up his mind on this score; clearly the object of the French embassy would have helped him decide if he had a vocation. He was therefore a tourist, travelling as much for the pleasure of the journey as for the opportunities it might afford to decide him on his career. Chaila’s background is curious in the extreme, and detailed in Poujol (1986), to whom we are indebted for the information concerning his family and early life. He was a scion of impoverished minor nobility in the Massif Central, a wild and inhospitable region. His mother died when he was twelve, worn out by thirteen pregnancies, three from her first marriage, and one for each year of her marriage to her second husband Balthazar de Langlade. De Langlade père was a swashbuckling character, constantly on the wrong side of the law (he commandeered the crops and possessions of others at whim), and was forever in debt: he had, in addition to ten children to provide for, a grand château to complete and support (it had two wings of 85 m long and a central one of 50 m, and is said to have had 365 doors and windows; built at an altitude of 1,230 metres it must have cost a fortune to heat in winter). He died in 1682, aged sixty-five, on the run from the long arm of the law, but in his bed (though he was condemned at the beginning of that year to have his head cut off for a whole string of crimes). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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After the death of his mother in 1660, the same year when his father was condemned to the galleys and ordered to pay a hefty fine for seizing crops (he managed to avoid both punishments), François du Chaila, born in 1648, was, at the age of twelve, left largely to his own devices. His education was probably provided by stewards and servants. Very little is known about his early years. He was tonsured (that is, destined for the church) about 1660, and was a made a bachelor of canon and civil law from Avignon in 1673; through a great-uncle he received the income of the priory of Molezon. It is not certain where or when he took orders, but it was probably in 1681 at Toulouse (where he may have become a doctor of theology in 1679). His vocation, if there was one, was thus rather tardy. Between the death of his mother and his departure for Siam, he spent much time running the family estate and château in the part of the Cévennes known as the Gévaudan. In 1672, aged 24, he attacked the bailiff who had come to carry out two injunctions for the seizure of cattle by his father. The bailiff and his assistants were locked up in the prison of the château, and only released after two days. Seven years later, when he was 31, he had an encounter with the salt tax agents when travelling from Clermont; he spent more than three weeks in prison before being judged for striking with his pistol an agent of the state, and was fined 300 livres (reduced through family influence to 100 livres). He was returning with pictures to complete a room at the château. These two incidents show that he was a very worldly cleric, closer in temperament to his brothers, who were all in the army. The Abbé also periodically spent time in Paris, in order to follow up on the numerous law suits contested by his family. In 1683 the château was attacked and set on fire while Abbé François, his eldest brother and some friends were playing cards. This incendiary act was carried out by members of the d’Apchier family, that of the first husband of du Chaila’s mother, and a man was killed in the fracas. Astonishingly, there was no criminal case; instead a legal agreement was reached between the two families to settle their differences, with Abbé François signing for the Langlades. Two years after his father’s death, his eldest brother Joseph-Jean, viscount of Langlade, a captain in a cavalry regiment, managed to pull off the coup of marrying a rich heiress, Elisabeth de Bauquemare, whose father was a senior judge in the Paris Parlement, and whose mother frequented the literary salons of the capital, including that of Mme de Scudéry. The Abbé’s sister-in-law Elisabeth took over the running and improvement of the château, giving Abbé François no reason to remain (he is also known to have been adverse to feminine company, giving him an additional reason to depart). He went to Paris in October 1684, frequented the salons, thanks to his brother’s mother-in-law, and looked for an ecclesiastical position through the President Bauquemare. The president’s wife probably introduced him to the Abbé de Choisy, who knew everyone at court through his scheming mother. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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The two Abbés made an odd pair. The worldly Choisy, well-known for his transvestite aberrations (including dressing up young girls as men whom he, dressed as a woman, deflowered in his bed), had recently had a severe illness and had decided to renounce his frivolous past. He spent some time convalescing at the Missions Etrangères in the Rue du Bac, without formally joining the missionaries. At the time of his departure for Siam he was aged 41, and had still not been ordained a priest. Chaila, aged 37 in 1685, had probably taken orders some four years previously, as noted, but had led an extremely worldly, not to say combative, existence for most of his life. He had no connections at court (whereas Choisy was on familiar terms with the king’s only brother, no less), and was a mere impecunious upper class provincial with few graces or interests and limited education. It was undoubtedly through Choisy’s influence that du Chaila secured a place on board the Oiseau to go to Siam. Like Choisy, du Chaila had to borrow from a Parisian money lender, sieur Braque, 1,150 livres on 30 January 1685, to take part in the mission to Siam. Choisy, in his delightful account of his Journal of a Voyage to Siam 1685–6, mentions the Abbé du Chaila four times in his account. The tourist cleric apparently fulfilled his duties as a priest on board competently. Choisy’s first mention of du Chaila, on 4 March 1685, simply notes him among the Missionaries Basset and Manuel, and most of the six Jesuits making the journey, as throwing up half their souls in the rough Bay of Biscay crossing out of Brest. On 25 March, Choisy (who was only to take orders in Lopburi in December 1685) mentions Chaila again: The Abbé du Chayla preached the sermon; it was wellreasoned, easily understood, and appropriate for sailors to whom one has to make oneself understood. He is an admirable person thus far, lending a hand to everything, always in the background. We do not yet know what role he will play in the Indies, but if he devotes himself to the missions, he will be a solid workman, for he has zeal and capacity. (Choisy trans. Smithies 1993: 55) Chaumont, the ambassador, saw du Chaila (whom he spells Chailar) as “an able man who often preached to us” (Chaumont and Choisy 1997: 128); therein lay all his virtues for the upright and unbending envoy. Choisy mentions his travelling companion du Chaila again on 26 February 1686 on the return journey: “The Abbé du Chayla just gave a discourse on [the] restitution [of items incorrectly acquired]. The subject is important...” (1993: 258); it certainly was, as far as du Chaila’s father was concerned. Chaila appears for a final time in Choisy’s account on Good Friday, 12 April 1686, on the return

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journey: “The Abbé du Chayla has just preached a very fine Passion. I said he could have preached it at Saint Paul” (1993: 268); Choisy probably means here the parish church of his friend the Abbé de Dagneau in the Marais quarter in Paris, rather than to Saint Paul himself. Choisy apparently had few reservations about du Chaila, a view not shared in the Foreign Missionaries’ headquarters in Paris. Dirk Van der Cruysse, in his edition of Choisy’s Journal (1995: 60) notes that the directors of the Missions Etrangères (in Paris) were extremely wary of du Chaila: M. Fermanel [the bursar in Paris for Bishop Lambert in Siam] had written on 14 February 1685 to Mgr Pallu [Bishop of Heliopolis], then in Rome “I also think that the Abbé du Chayla, who is accompanying M. de Choisy, is a person about whom one should be extremely cautious, and, whatever good intentions he shows, one should attach little importance to it. I think I should indicate this to you so that in Siam one should not readily embrace him. I even advise the Abbé de Choisy to dismiss him if he can.” (Archives of the MEP, vol.9, p.522) Choisy learnt soon after arriving in Siam that the hopes he had entertained of being an instrument in the conversion of King Narai were chimerical, and that he would return with the embassy at the end of the year. We know nothing about the activities of the Abbé du Chaila in Siam. He presumably was included in all the festivities arranged by Phaulkon, the de facto minister of trade and foreign affairs, and went to all the elephant round-ups with the other members of the embassy. In particular, du Chaila would have witnessed the forceful way of calming wild elephants prior to training, described in detail by Choisy on 11 December 1685 and Tachard in Book V of his first Voyage de Siam, and, of particular relevance, the unequal combat between a tiger and three elephants (again described by Choisy on 26 November, and by Tachard in passing), which perhaps later gave du Chaila ideas for the treatment of Protestants in France. This tiger and elephant fight is the subject of a naïve watercolour found in the Bibliothèque Nationale’s Cabinet des Estampes, Od.95. Chaila certainly returned to France with Chaumont, Choisy, the Missionaries Bénigne Vachet and the Abbé de Lionne, the scheming Jesuit Guy Tachard (who omits to mention in his account of the voyage to Siam the presence of du Chaila on both outward and return journeys, probably considering him a provincial of no consequence), and the return Siamese embassy led by Kosa Pan, reaching Brest on 18 June 1686.

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Chaila on his return made no attempt to contact the Missions Etrangères, perhaps aware of Fermanel’s opinion of him. He went to his eldest brother’s town house, the Hôtel d’Anspach, where he was received by Joseph-Jean and his wife Elisabeth as a returning hero. But he still needed a position. The religious situation in France in 1686 was conditioned by the revocation on 18 October 1685 of the Edict of Nantes, in which Henri IV had, on 13 April 1598, given Protestants the right of freedom of worship. The revocation was signed by Louis XIV at Fontainebleau on the very day the Chevalier de Chaumont in Ayutthaya was presenting King Narai with Louis XIV’s letter and trying to secure his conversion to Catholicism, most probably with the Abbé du Chaila present. Repression became the order of the day in France, with “dragonnades” (the billeting of Catholic troops with Protestant families), and forced conversions of Protestants, especially in the densely Protestant areas of Poitou and du Chaila’s native Languedoc. There, the administrator was the efficient Nicholas (sometimes François) de Lamoignon de Bâville, also spelt Basville (1648–1724). What better occupation than to become part of his administration on the religious side? Chaila made contact in the traditional seventeenth (and sometimes twentyfirst) century fashion, through family connections. His eldest brother’s father-inlaw, Nicolas de Bauquemare, worked alongside the brother of Bâville, Chrétien de Lamoignon, advocate-general of the Paris Parlement. Du Chaila was introduced and Bâville agreed to du Chaila’s nomination as inspector of missions in the Cévennes in the diocese of Mende, after having secured the agreement of the Bishop of Mende, whose traditional hostility to the Langlade family had been mollified by the payment of a debt of 34,000 livres in dues owed by the family. Chaila’s experience in Siam may have been of some use. The Cévennes were considered “the Indies and Japan in heresy in France”, and du Chaila become Bâville’s trusted man. The situation was difficult; the Protestants were strong in the region, in some localities constituting as much as 95 per cent of the population, though overall they only formed about one-sixth. The Protestants were energetic and included some of the leading families of the region, though du Chaila’s own family had always adhered to a somewhat feudalistic form of Catholicism. Chaila, who lost no time in calling on the Bishop of Mende in November 1686 to take up his duties, saw much of the problem in superficial (forced) conversions, and a lack of adequate priests to oversee them. He settled in Saint-Germain-de-Calberte, where Protestants were active, and established a seminary there. His hand was strengthened in 1689 when Bâville, fearing insurrection at the heavy-handed suppression of the Protestants, and with troops needed on the frontiers, made du Chaila’s eldest brother, Joseph-Jean, Vicomte de Langlade, commander of the provincial infantry regiment in Gévaudan.

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The Abbé took his duties seriously and before long became one of the four archpriests of the diocese He worked hard at the repression of Protestant plots, their preachers and open assemblies, and millenarian “prophets”. The precise tally of his exactions on the population is hard to establish; up to 1699 they included 11 executions, 61 condemnations to the galleys, five condemnations to life imprisonment, 145 forced incarcerations of young women in convents and 55 boys in religious colleges (many more Protestant youths were sent to perform military service). To those must be added about a thousand forced to flee aboard, usually to Geneva or Lausanne, several hundred cases of imprisonment, numerous cases of houses being devastated, and thousands of fines for non-attendance at mass and collective punishments. A slightly less onerous approach to religious orthodoxy at the end of 1699 did not stop du Chaila and the other agents of repression in the Cévannes from further condemnations. Early in 1702 the anti-prophetic activities of du Chaila increased; his sermons became more direct and he authorized increased police interventions. He realized there were personal dangers to him. He took a retreat in June to decide whether to stay in the Cévennes; he was ordered to do so by the Bishop of Mende. In the middle of July 1702, a guide by the name of Massip led a group of three girls and four boys across the mountains with the object of reaching Geneva. They were intercepted, arrested, and taken to du Chaila’s house in Pont-de-Montvert. Massip was secured day and night between two beams, and the boys as well (though only by day); the three girls were incarcerated in a convent in Mende. Chaila sent for the hangman to come from Mende. Two local Protestant leaders, Mazel (who was not to die until 1710, fighting) and Séguier, decided to act. Chaila was paid in kind on 24 July 1702 in Pont-de-Monvert, when the house he was staying in, which held his Protestant prisoners in its cellars, was attacked by some sixty Protestants (the figure was to be increased as the news was spread) and set on fire. Chaila was forced to flee from the upper floor windows, and was set upon by the mob. In the laconic words of the Count of Broglie, writing on 28 July to the Minister of War, Chamillart, “The Abbé du Chaila, missionary, in charge of the parishes of the diocese of Mende close to the Guévaudan, has just endured a disagreeable adventure... Recent converts numbering nearly two hundred... fired at him and despatched him with several blows of the dagger.” (cited in Poujol 1986: 243) This untoward event is recorded in one of the classics of English literature, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes (1879), written by the Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894). In the last part of his book, ‘The Country of the Camisards’, the second chapter is called ‘Pont de Montvert’, and Stevenson writes:

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Pont de Montvert, or Greenhill Bridge, as we might say at home, is a place memorable in the story of the Camisards. It was here that the war broke out [between the Protestants and the Catholics]... Now the head and forefront of the persecution—after Lamoignon de Baville—François de Langlade du Chayla (pronounced Chéïla), Archpriest of the Cévennes and Inspector of Missions in the same country, had a house in which he sometimes dwelt in the town of Pont de Montvert. He was a conscientious person, who seems to have been intended by nature for a pirate, and now aged fifty-five, an age by which a man has learned all the moderation of which he is capable. A missionary in his youth in China, he there suffered martyrdom, was left for dead, and only succoured and brought back to life by the charity of a pariah... Where Stevenson obtained such inaccurate information is not known (indeed, he may have used literary licence to make his tale more interesting). There is no record of du Chaila having returned to the Orient after his three month stay in Siam or having gone on to China. He certainly suffered no martyrdom. Stevenson’s castigation of him as a natural pirate may indicate he knew something of his adventurous youth and family background. Stevenson continues: having been a Christian martyr, du Chayla became a Christian persecutor... His house in Pont de Montvert served him as a prison. There he closed the hands of his prisoners upon live coal, and plucked out the hairs of their beard, to convince them that they were deceived in their opinions. And yet had not he himself tried and proved the inefficacy of these carnal arguments among the Buddhists in China? But Stevenson seems to be taking literary licence here, with his “live coal” and “plucked... beard”. Chaila may well have applied force in his attempts to secure conversions, but sadistic torture does not seem to have been his mark, and torture was only permitted for those accused of capital crimes. Nevertheless, one can see why the Foreign Missions had deep reservations about him. Not only was life made intolerable in Languedoc, but flight was rigidly forbidden. One Massip, a muleteer, and well-acquainted with the mountain paths, had already guided several troops of fugitives in safety to Geneva; and on him, with another convoy, consist-

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ing mostly of women dressed as men, du Chayla, in an evil hour for himself, laid his lands... Stevenson then relates the events of 24 July 1702, when a crowd of Protestants, led by Pierre Séguier, at about ten at night, broke into du Chaila’s house, forced the prisons, and set fire to the house. Du Chaila, in his nightshirt, and his men lowered themselves by knotted sheets from the upper floors “but the Archpriest fell, broke his thigh, and could only crawl into the hedge.” The roof fell in, the flames showed where he had hidden, and, according to Stevenson, he was dragged into the town square (not so; he was knifed and died by the bridge in front of his house). The priest was stabbed, we are told, by each of the Camisards in turn, first by the leader of the revolt, Séguier. “This,” they said, “is for my father broken on the wheel. This for my brother in the galleys. That for my mother or my sister imprisoned in your cursed convents.” Each gave his blow and his reason; and then all kneeled and sang psalms around the body till the dawn... The source for this dramatic touch seems to be the account by the Protestant historian Antoine Court, Histoire des troubles des Cévennes (3 vols, Villefranche 1760). Stevenson concluded this episode: “Du Chayla’s house still stands, with a new roof, beside one of the bridges of the town; and if you are curious you may see the terrace-garden into which he dropped.” Poujol (1986: 232) brings us up to date: “Only some of the cellars remain of the original house, the rest being a modern reconstruction... Fortunately the south terrace and the garden facing the Rieumalet have retained their appearance of 1702.” Du Chaila’s body was taken by military escort and hastily buried on 26 July (for fear of further Protestant attacks), according to his desire expressed in his wills of 1694 and 1698, in the tomb he had prepared for himself in Saint-Germain-deCalberte. His wills and prepared tomb show he was a prudent man, and perhaps aware of the dangers to which his position exposed him. Séguier, who had taken the first name of Esprit, was soon captured, and on 12 August 1702 his right hand was cut off and he was burnt alive in the public square at Pont-de-Montvert. Some of Stevenson’s account is undoubtedly romantic elaboration of facts, but the core would appear to be true. What is not in doubt is the ferocity of the repression of the Protestants in France in the reign of Louis XIV after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. It is an irony of history that on 18 October 1685, the day the French ambassador to Siam, the Chevalier de Chaumont, accompanied by his

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co-adjutant ambassador the Abbé de Choisy, almost certainly in the presence of du Chaila, were presenting Louis XIV’s letter to King Narai in Siam, seeking his conversion to Catholicism, such repression should have been licensed. It turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes in the not always glorious reign of Louis XIV, for the haemorrhage of talent and persons which the revocation caused was to cost France dearly. None of the French who had gone to Siam in 1685 appears to have been deeply touched by the extreme religious tolerance practiced in the country, though several were to try to take advantage of it. The Siamese were held to conceive of heaven as a palace with many doors, and many paths led there. The absolutism of France (one king, one religion) had no echo in Siam in the religious sphere. But even Bâville, after watching a public hanging of two Protestant preachers on 14 February 1690 at Montpellier, is said to have remarked to the regiment colonel de Villevieille, “One has to admit, sir, that if the God which these people adore is the same as that we worship, we run a great risk of being extremely unhappy one day” (cited by Poujol 1986: 159). One wonders if du Chaila had his doubts. Perhaps not; he does not seem to have been that kind of person. He did his job competently, without apparent regrets, just like the interrogators at Tuol Sleng in Cambodia nearly three hundred years later. The death of du Chaila caused the revolt of the Protestant mountaindwellers, known as “Camisards”, from the Langue d’Oc word camiso, meaning shirt. They were familiar with the land they operated in, and attacked Catholic châteaux to procure arms. The most famous leaders were Jean Cavalier (1680–1740), who fled to England and ended up governor of Jersey; Roland, who was betrayed and killed in 1704; and Abraham Mazel, executed in 1710. The armed revolt, brutally suppressed by Louis XIV’s troops, largely fizzled out within a couple of years, though with sporadic renewals. The persecutions continued, with occasional respites, until 1787, when Louis XVI signed the Edict of Tolerance. Protestants were henceforth permitted to exercise a trade, to marry legally, and to record the birth of their children before state officials. Two years later, with the Revolution, they were granted complete freedom of worship and full citizenship rights. So much blood was spilt unnecessarily, and France lost a huge number of its nationals it could ill-afford to lose (estimates vary between 200,000 and half a million), largely by emigration of talent to the neighbouring countries of England, Holland, the German states, and Switzerland. France was weakened both diplomatically and economically by the exodus. King Narai’s policy of tolerating and even assisting all religions was infinitely wiser, and contributed in no small degree to the prosperity of Ayutthaya during his reign.

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Bibliography CHANDLER, David, Voices from S-21, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2000. CHAUMONT, Alexandre de, Relation de l’Ambassade de M. le Chevalier de Chaumont à la cour du Roi de Siam, Paris, Seneuze et Horthemels, 1686. , Chevalier de, and Abbé de CHOISY, Aspects of the Embassy to Siam, 1685, edited by Michael Smithies, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 1997. CHOISY, Abbé François-Timoléon de, Journal of a Voyage to Siam 1685–1686, translated and edited by Michael Smithies. Kuala Lumpur, Oxford University Press, 1993. , Journal du Voyage de Siam, ed. by Dirk Van der Cruysse. Paris, Fayard, 1995. FORBIN, Claude de, The Siamese memoirs of Count Claude de Forbin 1685–1688, ed. Michael Smithies, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 1996. FOREST, Alain, Les Missionnaires français au Tonkin et au Siam, XVIIe-XVIIIe siècles. Livre I. Histoires du Siam, Paris, L’Harmattan, 1998. POUJOL, Robert, Bourreau ou Martyr? L’Abbé du Chaila (1648–1702), Du Siam aux Cévennes, Montpellier/Paris, Presses du Languedoc/Editions O.E.I.L., 1986. STEVENSON, Robert Louis, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes (first published 1879), numerous editions. TACHARD, Guy, [Premier] Voyage de Siam des Pères Jésuites..., Paris, Seneuse et Horthemels, 1686. VAN DER CRUYSSE, Dirk, Louis XIV et le Siam, Paris, Fayard, 1991.

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REVIEWS Betty Gosling, Origins of Thai Art. Bangkok, River Books, 2004, ills, pp.196, Bt.1,495. The last few years have been exciting for those in the field of Thai art history because of new publications that shed light on several periods, subjects, and revised attribution of dates. These books range from highly technical books written for specialists such as The Art and Architecture of Thailand, by Hiram Woodward, Jr. (Brill, 2003), to less technical books, written by specialists but for general readers, such as Betty Gosling’s new book Origins of Thai Art. New light has also been shone on the most up-to-date archeological research on prehistoric periods by Charles Higham’s book, Early Cultures of Mainland Southeast Asia (River Books, 2002). Both Gosling’s and Woodward’s books share similar goals: tracing the origins and stylistic connections of what became the iconographic and stylistic appearances of different periods of Thai art (Sukhothai to Bangkok periods). Both books also attempt to trace specific religious sects of Buddhism and Hinduism, which spread to present-day Thailand from other parts of Asia, namely India, Sri Lanka, China, Burma, and Cambodia. Both books cover the periods before the first Thai kingdoms were established. The major difference between these two books is that while Woodward contributes new ideas and

interpretations that convincingly link together various Buddhist and Hindu archeological sites from different time periods, Gosling’s book is a summary of other, mainly English language, books written by specialists in the fields of Thai and Khmer cultural and visual studies. Most notable are those of Charles Higham, Hiram Woodward, Robert L. Brown, and Piriya Krairiksh, to all of whom Gosling gives special thanks in the preface for their vital contributions. Unfortunately, unlike her previous publications on Sukhothai art, in this book Gosling provides few new contributions, except in the last two chapters where she discusses what she thinks were the main sources of what would later became the most important architectural symbols of Thai Buddhist art and architecture: the bell-shaped stupa and Khmer-derived prang. Origins of Thai Art is divided into ten chapters that cover the pre-historic periods (c. BC 2300) through to the beginning of the Thai periods (thirteenth century). It covers a wide range of material from different regions of Thailand as well as from many countries in Asia. It also includes a variety of visual documents, such as beautiful color photographs, line drawings, plans, and maps. The first chapter, “The Complexities of Thai Art,” explains the complex sources of ideas, philosophical and religious concepts, and decorative elements that later became vital components of Thai art. “Neolithic, Bronze, and Iron Period Art”, the second chapter, covers the prehistoric periods when pottery, jewelry, and bronze weapons

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and instruments were produced as contributions to funerary practices and to show status. The third chapter, “The Introduction of Buddhist Art in the Central Plains,” traces the development of Buddhist art in India. Examples are given from the Gandhara region (northwest India and present-day Afghanistan), the Sanchi stupa, and the Amaravati stupa (in south India). Summaries of the Buddha’s life and of different sects of Buddhism are included; however, the sources Gosling uses are somewhat out of date. Gosling also tries to place important Buddhist events precisely within current geopolitical entities and to relate them to specific schools of Buddhism, which she claims are reflected in the architectural forms and motifs of these regions. Art historians have often tried to pinpoint Buddhist sects for which they think art works were produced. Thus various sects, schools, and lineages (e.g., Sravastivada, Sthaviravada, Theravada, Ariya Buddhism (from Burma), Tantrism, and Mahayana Buddhism), with or without written records, have been employed in differentiating art works. In my opinion, more often than not these attempts have been misguided. Buddhist studies, like other fields, are continually changing, so it is critical for art historians to keep up with current research. Because of limited space, it is not possible for me to address the various problematic sections in this book that deal with the differentiation of Buddhist sects. Rather, I refer the reader to Peter Skilling’s recent article, “Ubiquitous and elusive: in quest of Theravada,”

presented at the conference “Exploring Theravada Studies: Intellectual Trends and the Future of a Field of Study” (National University of Singapore), for the most up-to-date approach to the topic of Buddhist schools in Thailand. Chapters Four and Five, “The Emergence of Dvaravati” and “Art of the Dvaravati Heartland,” respectively, deal with the earliest remains of Buddhist art from many sites in the central plains such as Nakhon Prathom, U-Thong, and Ku Bua (Ratchaburi). Gosling tries to trace the origin of styles that strongly influenced this region, specific types of Buddhist sects, and the links between some of these sites. The products of Buddhist art, namely stupas, dharmacakra, sculptures, and votive tablets, are included. Chapters Six and Seven, “The Peninsula, the Pasak and Nontraditional Art in the Central Plains - Fifth to Ninth Centuries AD” and “Khmer and Dvaravati-related Art on the Khorat Plateau - Seventh to Ninth Centuries AD,” describe the continuation of Mon culture to the southern and northeastern regions of Thailand. The materials from chapters four to seven form a good summary of excellent works by Brown, Krairiksh, and Woodward. The eighth and ninth chapters, “Khmer Art on the Khorat Plateau Tenth to Twelfth Centuries AD” and “Art in the Central Plains and the Northern Highlands - Twelfth to Thirteenth Centuries A.D.,” respectively, focus on the increasing power of the Khmer kingdom of Angkor and its influential religions, architectural forms, and stylistic

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appearances, which unmistakably dictated major changes within the region. Hiram Woodward’s significant works on Khmer materials (from 1966–1997) clearly influenced Gosling’s reading in these two chapters. In chapter eight, Gosling focuses on Prasathin Phimai, an important Tantric Buddhist temple that predates Angkor Wat and gave it various architectural and stylistic elements. Instead of the usual quincunx of towers atop a pyramidal structure like temples in Angkor, Phimai’s tower has a unique form: a single tower on a very low base. Gosling overstates its influence by claiming “If there is any doubt as to Prasat Phimai’s architectural and iconographic influence on later royal buildings, one does not have to look far.” (p.124). The reign of Jayavarman VII of Angkor and its Buddhist art, with a focus on Prasat Muang Singh (in Kanchanaburi), are the main topics of Chapter Nine. Even though the Mahayana Buddhist triad (seated Buddha protected by naga hoods and flanked by Avalokitesvara and Prajnaparamita) became the most revered form, Gosling claims that the Phimai tradition was revived and provided the prototypes for future sculptural pieces in the plains (p. 159). Gosling then concludes in the tenth chapter that prangs from other Thai periods derived from Phimai, but that its significant symbolism has long been forgotten because of the predominance of Theravada Buddhism, and because of the nineteenth century quest for defin-

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ing “Thainess” in terms of Sukhothai. Although other art historians, such as Jean Boisselier, consider that the main tower of Wat Mahathat at Lopburi was the first true prang, Gosling claims that it was Phimai where “incipient pranglike features” came from (p. 166). In my opinion, although Phimai was certainly a significant and influential site in the early part of the twelfth century, there is not enough evidence to convincingly support Gosling’s theory that prang structures in later Thai periods (from the thirteenth century to present) specifically symbolized Phimai. In the field of Thai art, there have generally been either books written by specialists that are not easily approachable by non-specialists, or coffee table books with beautiful photos. Gosling’s book introduces a new increasingly popular category: a summary of scholarly works that is written in a simple and approachable manner, and illustrated with attractive photographs. However, there are various problematic topics as well as mistakes in the content and captions. For example, a detail of Wat Mahathat, Lopburi (first photo on p. 164), is actually of Wat Mahathat at Ayutthaya. Moreover, Gautama is called a “Nepalese prince” (p.39), identifying him with a country that did not yet exist. Pattaratorn Chirapravati

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Chris Baker, Dhiravat na Pombejra, Alfons van der Kraan and David K. Wyatt, eds., Van Vliet’s Siam. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005. pp. x + 346, illustrations, maps, index. Historical reprints which allow key primary sources to speak to us directly from the ‘foreign country’ of the past are always welcome. As the editors point out, the four texts written by Jeremias van Vliet between 1636 and 1640 are undoubtedly key sources, “unmatched in length and detail by anything written on Siam before the nineteenth century”(vii). There are a number of reasons, however, why Van Vliet’s Siam is especially valuable to those seeking to understand Thai history, Southeast Asian social conditions in the early modern period, or the nature of international relations in the region’s past. First and foremost is the convenience and insight which flows from having all four texts written by this perceptive merchant in the same volume. Three of the four had previously been published in English translation, all at the hands of the Siam Society. The Description of the Kingdom of Siam (1636), the best known of the four, was published in Dutch in 1692, and in English in 1910, in a translation by L.F. van Ravenswaay published in the JSS. The Short History of the Kings of Siam, the earliest version of the Ayutthayan chronicles, was transcribed from its manuscript version by Miriam Verkuijl and translated by Leonard Andaya in a separate short monograph of 1975. Both translations

have been maintained in the present volume with only minimal corrections deemed necessary, though Chris Baker has added numerous notes to the Description. The third item already known to specialists was the Historical Account of King Prasat Thong (1640), published originally not in Dutch but in a very imperfect French edition of 1663. This French version was rendered into English by the owner of the Bangkok Times, W.H. Mundie, and published as a book in 1904 and an issue of JSS in 1934. In the latter year, perhaps stimulated by its republication, Iwao Seiichi found the original in the Rijksarchief. Not until 1958, however, did he publish a transcription of it, as well as reprinting the French version, making clear the inadequacies of the latter. For Van Vliet’s Siam, Alfons van der Kraan has now provided the first adequate translation of this text, with useful notes by the two Bangkok-based editors. Bringing these three texts together, alongside a wholly new one in The Diary of the Picnic Incident, makes it possible to understand the context of Jeremias van Vliet’s writing and the character of the man. The Picnic Incident was the first of the four to be written, and the motivation for beginning the series. As acting head of the Ayutthaya factory of the VOC, Van Vliet had felt obliged to apologize and grovel before the king to save from execution some of his men who had offended some monks and royal retainers by their drunken behaviour on an outing at the

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end of 1636. The Governor-General of the time, Antonio van Diemen, thought this a disgraceful humiliation and summoned him to Batavia to answer charges of dereliction of duty. This text is his defence, in the form of a daily diary of events, highlighting Van Vliet’s own actions and statements and the reasons for them. It impressed Van Diemen, who then asked him for more information, which resulted in the Description, also apparently written while in temporary disgrace in Batavia in 1637–8. This, too, as the editors make clear, had a very explicit political purpose. It aimed to show how the absolutism of King Prasat Thong gave rise to such arbitrary actions, but also to show the essential weakness of the kingdom, combined with its commercial advantages, to argue for an aggressive Dutch strategy towards the kingdom. Chris Baker sagely comments that “The European records have proved invaluable in providing a viewpoint different from that of the royal chronicles. But, just like the chronicles, they too are political tracts” (98). Jeremias van Vliet (1602–63) emerges as a very capable renaissance man, acute in his observations and broad in his tastes. He served the VOC in Asia from 1628 until he was dismissed on suspicion of corruption in 1646. After initial experience in Japan, he was sent to Siam in 1633 as assistant to his friend and mentor Joost Schouten, the first of the Dutch Thai-specialists unfortunately executed in 1644 for the homosexual practices he picked up in Siam. Apart

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from the time he was in trouble in Batavia (1637–8), Van Vliet remained in Siam until 1642, in charge of the factory for the last four of these years. His close relations with the Thai elite were facilitated by the remarkable Soet Pegu, his very well-connected Mon concubine who bore him three daughters. His writing showed appreciation for the tolerance, civility and taste of the Siamese elite, and a shrewd understanding both of commercial opportunities and of political realities. Van Vliet read and appreciated Machiavelli, quoting his dictum “that the wisdom and authority of a single Prince should decide all matters of state” (299). As the editors point out in introducing his text on Prasat Thong, he regards that king as successful despite the terror and bloodshed by which he came to power, much as Machiavelli explained Cesare Borgia (252). The second particular advantage of this volume is the newly translated text, already mentioned, on the Picnic Incident. Published in Dutch earlier than Van Vliet’s other texts, in 1647, this had been largely ignored by subsequent scholars. As a detailed diary of 40 tension-filled days in Ayutthaya it is a wonderful window into court politics and the way various interest groups were handled. Every party to disputes, of whatever ethnicity, deployed their own lobbyists as avenues to the centre of power. Van Vliet himself called on the Phra Khlang, the Shahbandar, the king’s brother and his mother (a confidant of Soet Pegu), the chief Chinese

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interpreter whom he calls Tjoucko and various others, while a set of other interests, including the Japanese, he sees as ranged against him. Thirdly, the Thai historical expertise brought to bear by the authors provides a safe guide through problems of translation and orthography of Thai titles and personae in the text. Thai characters, temples and festivals are carefully identified, in both romanised and Thai letters, making this a much more usable version than the older translations. Three of the texts have new introductions and notes, only the Short History remaining content with the critical apparatus provided by David Wyatt in 1975. In a perfect world the learned editors might have added to their number authorities on Malay, Mon and Chinese dialects, but they must leave a little for subsequent readers to discover. On the Malay side, orang kaya is mistranslated as “big people” (129–87) and the Laksamana title of the chief of the Malays is not picked up (149–125). While we are on the slips (of which there is very little to complain of), there are two occasions disconcertingly early in the book (2, 3) where fifteenth century is stated when sixteenth is meant. Finally, fortified by a generous grant from the Jim Thompson Foundation, the historical introduction to this volume is wonderfully provided with detailed reproductions, many in colour, of the best seventeenth century maps of Ayutthaya.

The editors provide a Cook’s tour of the city in Van Vliet’s time, lovingly illustrating each quarter with details from the Vingboons or Coronelli maps. The Vingboons map is reproduced as a whole in an endpaper, and the large ‘Judea’ painting adapted from it and now in the Rijksmuseum adorns the cover. The use Chris Baker has made of the Van Vliet version of the chronicles to revise our understanding of Ayutthaya’s origins1 makes it appropriate to draw particular attention to this fascinating semi-mythical material. In the Description, apparently written largely from memory in Batavia, Van Vliet compressed two Chinese interventions into one brief origin myth (103–5). But in the much more elaborate section which begins the Short History (196–202) two time-scales are depicted. The first is a clearly mythical story placed 2000 years in the past when a son of the Chinese emperor was sent into exile and established himself at Kui, opposite Tenasserim in the north of the Peninsula, from whence the Siamese kingdom began. The other is a more detailed story of an exiled prince of “several provinces in China”, sent away in junks with thousands of followers some three hundred years earlier (thus the fourteenth century). This prince establishes himself first at Langkasuka a little upriver from Patani, then in Ligor, and then in Kui. There he established a fruitful alliance with the Emperor of China, who sent

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him his daughter as a consort and gave him the title U Thong, the name all versions of the chronicles agree as the founder of Ayutthaya. Then he moved north, discovering the merits of the Thai form of Buddhism at Petchaburi, and finally establishing Ayutthaya after magically clearing its swamp from disease. These maritime origins and Chinese connections are, as Baker has shown, suggestively different from the canonical understanding of Siamese history. This book will be treasured as an indispensable tool for the historian, and a delightful slice of the past for more general readers. Anthony Reid

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B. J. Terwiel, Thailand’s Political History: From the Fall of Ayutthaya to Recent Times. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp.328. Bas Terwiel’s first contributions to Thai studies were in the guise of an anthropologist with a special focus on religious practice. In the mid 1970s, he researched an important village-based study of the co-existence of Buddhism and spirit beliefs. Subsequent publications widened the focus to treatments of Buddhism on a national scale. However, his interests seem to have been driven by a basic inquisitiveness, and not bounded by academic discipline or national boundary. He wrote on cholera, the Bowring Treaty, tattooing, demography, the local history of Chanthaburi, slavery, Phibun Songkhram, Mon migrations, and the beliefs of the Tai Ahom in Assam. During this inspired ramble, he produced in 1983 a book entitled A History of Modern Thailand. It gained a reputation for two main things: first, being rather difficult to find; and second, ending its account at the quirkily chosen date of 1942. Perhaps for these reasons, it was always overshadowed by Wyatt’s Thailand : A Short History which appeared a year later. Wyatt’s book has just reappeared in a modestly revised edition, and hot on its heels comes Terwiel’s. The book has a new title, and the preface claims this reflects the extent of revision including ‘newly discovered sources... sometimes leading to changes in the argument.’ In fact, the main text

(up to 1942) has scarcely changed at all. There is an extra page or so of scenesetting at the start of the first two chapters, a handful of added sentences on minor issues, and about twenty-five new footnotes either providing extra background or supplying a source reference to data already present in the earlier version. There are four other changes. First, River Books has made the new version much more easily available, and much more beautiful. The copy-editing is much better. There are lots of photos, and the layout is unusually attractive for a history book. Second, the coverage has been extended to ‘Recent Times,’ meaning that there is mention of the 1997 economic crisis, the new constitution, and Thaksin’s election in 2001. While this extension starts well with an account of Thailand’s incorporation into the Cold War, it then loses any thematic thrust and becomes an annotated list of prime ministers. Third, the chapter names have been changed. In the earlier book, the chapters followed the traditional practice of treating reigns as historical units, and were labelled: First Reign, Second Reign, Third Reign, etc. Now the reigns have been removed, and thematic subtitles have been promoted to chapter titles (Innovation in the guise of orthodoxy, Trade and poetry, etc). But this is purely cosmetic, as the time coverage is still by reign, and the focus of the book remains very much on the kings. Ordinary people appear only as things the

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king can tax and send to war. The book might better have been renamed as the Terwiel Chronicle of Rattanakosin, given how closely it follows the traditional style of writing Thai history. Each chapter begins with the king’s succession and initial appointments. Then come major events of the reign treated episodically, just like the chronicles. These include the wars, foreign relations, ritual events, and family crises which had always been the focus of the chroniclers, but also things like trade and taxation which started to figure in the chronicles in later Ayutthaya and early Bangkok. Each chapter then ends with the king’s demise and a summary assessment of the reign. In the 1986 book’s preface, Terwiel admitted that he had been ‘influenced’ by the chronicle style, and that the book was much more ‘a history of kings’ than the more social history he would have liked to have written. This admission has disappeared from the new edition. The fourth change from the 1983 book is eight pages of ‘Concluding Remarks’, including a note on ‘The subtle craft of history writing in Thailand.’ Terwiel claimed in the 1986 version that he was writing athwart the ‘hagiographical’ tendency in Thai history. He claims in the new edition that he has ‘avoided, as far as possible, [having] to rely upon interpretations by fellow-historians.’ His account is thus based very largely on his own reading of contemporary sources, including Thai and Western documents. He also draws

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heavily on some European secondary works from the 1970s (e.g., Stransky on the Taksin reign). By this method, he claims to modify the ‘standard’ account of Thai history. For example, he questions whether Taksin truly became mad, necessitating the overthrow of 1782, and suggests the madness may have been invented later to justify what might have been a coup. He undermines the status of the Bowring Treaty as a ‘landmark’ by demonstrating how much a money economy had developed prior to mid-century. He questions to what extent the treaty was imposed from outside by drawing attention to strong local interests in favour of such a change. He shows that attempts to present King Mongkut as a nationalist fighting off colonialism have imported later concerns into his reign. He presents a very detailed account of the Front Palace Incident of 1874. He paces through the reforms of the Fifth Reign with less gobsmacked admiration than found in some accounts. He does not spare King Rama VI, but describes his idiosyncrasies and his profligacy in some detail. He notes that the Seri Thai movement during the Second World War did not really get going until late 1943. In the final four pages, he criticizes Thai historiography in three ways. First, Thai history is always being rewritten ‘to serve the purpose of fostering admiration in the reader.’ Second, this is part of a general trend in which the state tries to control the production of knowledge. Just as the chronicles were once the sole

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repository of the past, now the state tries to ensure there are only standard editions of all literary and historical texts, and approved textbooks for schools. Third, Thai history has been severely perverted by nationalism and the protective attitude towards the monarchy. Anyone who challenges the obviously faulty history that results from these limitations risks being accused of ‘ill-will towards the nation.’ There are several individual passages in this book where Terwiel’s careful use of contemporary sources make a very important contribution to the understanding of individual events. Overall it is a good narrative, which is easy and enjoyable to read. But the book was written over twenty years ago and has not really been changed at all. Moreover, it was conceived in the traditional style, with the focus on the court, to such an extent that it falters as soon as the king departs from centre stage. The 1932 revolt appears out of a clear blue sky, and the narrative tends to flounder from then onwards. Terwiel’s critique of Thai historiography was largely fair in 1983. But can you justify such a critique today without reviewing the last two decades of this historiography? Terwiel’s revision does not even incorporate his own post1983 research (e.g., on demography), let alone work by other people. His critique of Thai historiography remains true and justified by the ‘official’ version still found in school textbooks. But it ignores what two new generations of academic historians have produced in both Thai

and English. And it seems unaware of the extra-academic production of history by Sinlapa Watthanatham magazine and several publishing houses. These researchers have produced new interpretations on such matters as Taksin’s fall, Mongkut’s reign, and the context of the Fifth Reign reforms which go much farther than Terwiel in revising the old view. More fundamentally, they have abandoned the focus on the king and the periodisation by reign which tie Terwiel’s account firmly to a traditional framing of the course and meaning of Thai history. This book is, though, an important period piece, and we should be grateful to Bas Terwiel and River Books for this attractive new edition. Chris Baker

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Chris Baker and Pasuk Phongpaichit, A History of Thailand. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, pp. 301, ills, GBP 14.99. Modern Thai historiography was born in the late nineteenth-early twentieth centuries when the threat of colonialism and a newly created absolute monarchy demanded a unified, linear, heroic, national myth. The myth was amplified around the mid-century during a flirtation with fascism when the national and racial myth became embedded in the school curriculum and popular imagination. Later the Cold War and military dictatorship required that the myth be perpetuated in the name of national security, so the writing of serious history became well nigh impossible. Late in the twentieth century of the writing of history was released from its iron cage. Thai thinkers led; others were slow to follow; indeed Baker and Pasuk are the first writing in English to reveal a whole new way of perceiving the history of this country. In chapter 1 of this volume, Baker and Pasuk deal succinctly with the pre-modern period. What we perceive as “Thailand” today was rather like pre-modern Italy or Germany, a collection of loosely-knit city-states and principalities that juggled for precedence. Gradually those with the greatest economic and strategic advantages came to dominate and draw into their orbit more distant regions. Chapter 2 deals with the early Bangkok period and describes a crucial, liminal era between the traditional

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(Indic) and modern (Western) worlds. Most historians have supposed that between the fall of Ayuthya in 1767 and the early Bangkok period the Siamese were trying to restore the past. But Baker and Pasuk propose a more radical theory: that the early Bangkok rulers were well aware of the failure of the recent past (Ayuthya) and therefore searched into the distant past to create a new beginning. By the time of Rama III, however, the Bangkok intelligentsia was looking to the West for new ideas. Baker and Pasuk propose that the new thinking (from Rama I to Rama III) was of one piece and of indigenous origin. I question this view as, long before he came to the throne, Prince Mongkut and several of his contemporaries, though rejecting Christianity, were in dialogue with the missionaries and were interested in Western science and secularist thought. Chapter 3 deals with bureaucratic reforms between 1850 and 1910. When Rama IV signed the Bowring Treaty in 1855 he brought Siam, economically, into the modern world, which at that time and place meant the British Empire. Under King Chulalongkorn, Siam became a nation-state on the European model, with borders delineated for the first time by French and British geographers. One of the problems Chulalongkorn faced was proving to the Western powers that Siam was “civilized”. This he achieved with brilliant royal theater both at home and on visits to the West. Another problem he had was choosing how modern Siam should be governed. The

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King had what could be termed a “soft choice” and a “hard choice”, and this is one of the key concepts with which Baker and Pasuk interpret the rest of modern Siamese/Thai history. The “soft choice” was proposed by Prince Prisdang in 1885: that Siam should become a democratic constitutional monarchy on British lines; the “hard choice” was that the country should be ruled firmly from above, along colonial lines, like British India. King Chulalongkorn rejected Prince Prisdang’s “soft” proposal and embraced the “hard” choice. We do not know why. He may have thought that a Siamese absolute monarch could best protect the nation from colonialist threats; or he may have bowed to the demands of British interests who liked the idea of exploiting Siam without the expense of administering it. Chapter 4 considers the economic and social changes that took place between the 1870s and 1930s. This is an admirable sketch of the social, demographic and economic changes taking place in Siam at that time. But the authors’ concluding sentence, “In the early decades of the twentieth century, these new urban social forces challenged the absolutist conceptions of the nation-state” is intriguing; if the new urban social forces did that, then they did so ineffectually. Baker and Pasuk do not discuss this matter. There seem to this reviewer to be a number of interrelated reasons for Siam’s political stagnation through the first three decades of the twentieth

century. First, the “new urban social forces” were truly new, weak and fragmentary, and they were opposed by a formidably efficient colonial-style administration. Second, the Paknam incident of 1893 was still fresh in mind, so the ruling elite had every reason to beware colonial threats and to prevent any internal disorder that might invite European intervention. Third, this caution was augmented first by the fall of the Romanovs and then the Ching dynasty. Fourth, and perhaps most important, were relationships within the ruling elite. Rama V had reigned with immense charisma for over 40 years. Thanks to the law of primogeniture (so vigorously insisted upon by the Western powers), he was succeeded in 1910 by Prince Vajiravudh, a well-meaning person without the charisma of his father. Thus Siam was politically paralyzed for over 15 years. Rama VI had rejected the “soft” policy of democratization in favour of the “hard” policy of absolute monarchy and auto-colonialism. In the meantime, Siamese society had been changing in ways over which the King had no control, and he himself had subverted what control he had by sending commoners for education in the West, supposing that they would remain loyal to the absolute monarchy, but by 1932, in the reign of King Rama VII, patience had run out. In Chapter 5 the authors return to roughly the same time-frame as that covered in Chapter 4, but concentrate on ideological developments.

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In the late nineteenth century King Rama V had turned pre-modern Siam into a nation-state, unlike the failed states of Asia that had fallen to colonialism. He seems to have achieved this without recourse to ideology. It fell to Rama VI to formulate ideological underpinnings to support, explain and justify his father’s achievement. The writings of Rama VI are didactic, aiming to inculcate virtues like order, obedience, patriotism and loyalty that the king presumably considered lacking in his subjects. The revolutionaries seem to have intended well, but they had an inherent flaw: they called themselves the “People’s Party”, but all of them were either senior bureaucrats or military officers, with interests in promoting their own status, power and prosperity. The “People”, urban and rural, remained outside the magic circle. Furthermore, the timing was inauspicious. In the 1930s the liberal democracies like Britain, France, and the United States were widely perceived as effete, while the masterful ideologies of Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany and militarized Japan were seen as holding the key to the brave new future. No wonder Siam’s new ruling class was seduced by an ideology that provided them with ample legitimacy as champions of the Greater Thailand. The authors’ conclusion is again impeccable: the “hard” mode of governance had triumphed once more, leading Thailand into another disaster, namely, participation in World War II on the losing side.

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Chapter 6 covers the War, its aftermath and the beginning of the Cold War. In 1945–46 a window of opportunity opened for the Free Thai who represented the “soft” option of participatory democracy. But this window was soon closed by the onset of the Cold War. The Western powers needed a “strong” Thailand to oppose the spread of Communism, so members of the Free Thai were stigmatized as Communist sympathizers, and rehabilitated Fascists returned to lead Thailand into the modern world as champions of liberty and democracy. During this period much material progress was achieved. Urbanization advanced, wealth increased, but not without costs. The arts were trivialized and commercialized, traditional village solidarity was trashed, and rural selfsufficiency became impossible as the cities commanded the market. Baker and Pasuk conclude here: “The Second World War proved to be a boundary between eras......The liberal nationalist ideas of the 1920s and 1930s were first pushed aside by the militaristic nationalism of the wartime era, then crushed by the anticommunist fervour in the aftermath... “Opposition to neo-colonialism, military dictatorship, and rapid capitalist exploitation also looked for inspiration both backwards into Thailand’s pre-American past and outwards to America’s Cold War rivals. The crucible for this conflicting mix of new ideas was a new generation of students.”

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Chapter 7 covers ideologies from the 1940s to the 1970s. Thais reacted to the changes in the period diversely. Some welcomed material progress and the opportunity to make a fortune; others deplored the immorality and injustice of the new order. These affections and disaffections help to explain the explosion of 1973 and the implosion of 1976, and the laborious process of reconciliation and reconstruction that followed. For instance I suspect that when bureaucrats invited provincial tycoons to mobilize the Village Scouts (resulting in the massacre at Thammasat in 1976), the bureaucracy forfeited much of its aura of authority to an arguably disreputable class that has since then taken over mainstream politics. Chapters 8 and 9 deal in a masterly fashion with world trends (globalization and mass society) and Thai politics in the late twentieth century. As American interest in Southeast Asia weakened and China developed a taste for capitalism, in Thailand the Cold War mentality cooled, and intelligent generals and businessmen decided that democracy might be a good idea after all. Thus a window opened once again for a more liberal, civil, participatory society. The problem was that by this time a few super-tycoons and their allies were in a position to control the state and take over its organs of administration and communication. The result was the triumph of money politics. The present government has reintroduced the

“strong state” concept without, however, any external threat, real or imagined. Its only “wicked other” is internal: a limited Muslim insurgency in the South which might be resolved if approached intelligently and honestly, but which the government has wilfully and consistently exacerbated by resorting to violent oppression while failing to address the real causes of discontent. In their postscript, Baker and Pasuk meditate upon the conflict between the authoritarian strong state and its liberal, civic, law-observant and participatory alternative. The authors note how, time and again, the need for a strong state has been invoked to counter a mythical threat, and how often, time and again, democracy has been subverted in order to protect the vested interests of an elite minority. A History of Thailand is the first attempt in English to write a history of this country in the modern sense of “history”. All earlier attempts, however well-meaning, fell into the twin traps of racism and nationalism prevalent during the colonial and Cold War eras. This book is essential reading for anyone seriously interested in Thailand: how it came about; its present strengths and weaknesses; and its potential in the future of a very unstable world. Michael Wright

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Santanee Phasuk and Philip Stott, Royal Siamese Maps: War and Trade in Nineteenth Century Thailand, foreword by HRH Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn. Bangkok, River Books, 2004, pp.210, ills, hardback, Bt.1,795. Unlike the West’s vast corpus of extant maps and other cartographic artifacts, precious little remains of Thailand’s early mapmaking, its geographic thought and cartographic practices. Europe’s fondness for the medium of printing exponentially increased any given prototype’s chances of survival in some form; its prodigious replication of manuscript maps, use of durable media, relatively benign climate, prevalence of buildings that have survived centuries and wars, and cultural regard for posterity, together insured that enough would survive of her cartographic history that even many of the missing pieces could be extrapolated from the extant corpus. Except for manuscript replication, Thailand enjoyed none of these, and even extensive manuscript copying could be negated by the phenomenon of chamra, the periodic purging of documents that were no longer current. As a result, the virtual absence of pre-modern Thai geographic maps (that is, maps neither cosmographic or religious) could never be construed as proof that they were not an integral part of Thai history. Thai civilization did not lack the sense of spatial awareness, geographic perspective, literate tradition, and arguably the practical ‘need’ that in some societies found expression in the

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making of maps, but so precious little is known to be extant that few conclusions could be drawn. Thus we can be especially grateful to Sarinee Manakit and Nopphawan Leetachewa, who in 1996 discovered a cache of seventeen intriguing nineteenth century Thai geographic maps, and to Dr. Santanee Phasuk, senior teacher at Chitrlada School, and Philip Stott, Professor Emeritus in the University of London, for writing this excellent book chronicling the maps’ discovery and subsequent restoration and analysis. Royal officials Ms. Sarinee and Ms. Nopphawan discovered the maps while working in the Princess Abbhantri Paja Mansion of the Grand Palace. Recognizing the importance of their find, they brought the maps to the attention of Achan Julathusana Byachrananda of the Royal Institute, who in turn informed Her Royal Highness Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn. The maps now reside in HRH Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn’s personal library in the Chai Pattana Building of the Chitrlada Palace in Bangkok. Royal Siamese Maps is presented as the starting point for future research into the maps, not a comprehensive or definitive work on them, but the handsome volume is a very fine starting point indeed. Chapter One is a summary of the maps’ discovery, and in particular of their painstaking restoration, preservation, and photography. It concludes with a general description of the maps and a table of their characteristics and features, the first of many very useful tables in the book.

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Chapter Two confronts the paramount question of the maps’ dating, which before the authors’ research was presumed by many to be late nineteenth century. But by examining their internal evidence, their orthography, and artistic elements, the authors argue for pushing the date back to the first half of the nineteenth century, and nine of the maps contained sufficient clues to ascribe a likely year of drawing, these ranging from 1809 to ca. 1850. One map believed to date from about 1809, for example, depicts a Western fortress at Penang, which is identified as that built by Francis Light in 1786. Particularly fascinating is the ‘Muang Phrataphang’ map, detailing the state of a Vietnamese battle against Cambodia, which at that time was changing allegiance between Vietnam and Thailand according to which alignment might afford it a better chance of peace. On the verso of the map is an inscription recording its being brought to Bangkok and reaching the capital on 27 November 1841, which date tallied well when the authors checked historical records of the war. Since so few readers will have any background in the specialized field of orthography, the authors wisely explain and illustrate the historical changes in Thai consonants and vowels that, they conclude, support the dating of the maps to the earlier Bangkok period, some maps again being more precisely datable than others. Finally, a stylistic and artistic analysis of the maps by Henry Ginsburg also points to an origin in the first half of the nineteenth century.

Although a few isolated statements in this chapter caused me to pause (I easily get squeamish at too much being read into circumstantial evidence used to demonstrate a date pre-something), in their sum the authors’ arguments in favor of early to mid nineteenth century dating struck me as sound. I finished the chapter comfortable that the evidence supports their conclusions. Despite the tedious effort that was put into dating the Thai maps, a vastly easier task, that of affixing accurate dates to the Western maps illustrated, falls short. Most images of Western maps are identified only as being ‘nineteenth century’, a hundred-year margin of dramatic evolution in the West’s knowledge of the Southeast Asian interior. This is unnecessary, as the Western maps they chose are printed and are easily datable to a precise year of publication. In the case of one map (page 192), even the century is wrong - it is again identified generically as ‘nineteenth century’, though clearly it is the Henri Chatelain map of 1719, itself a slavish copy of the Mortier map of 1700, leaving an error in perception of as much as two very critical centuries and creating a misleading juxtaposition of the Western and Thai maps. Chapter Three, ‘Cartographic and Historical Reliability’, attempts to decode the maps’ internal evidence. In the process, the newly discovered maps help answer existing questions rather than just being the object of questions. For example, one map records ‘Wangpor’, a place on the frontier between Thailand and Burma of disputed identity, and so

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the authors examine the map’s depiction of the locale in an attempt to identify more precisely where it was. Another example is the place-name, Sa Si Mum, which was heretofore unknown. This chapter’s clever tables were particularly appreciated, concisely presenting data that under lesser hands would have been confusing. There are however some isolated comments that are less than coherent, such as the reference to Map 3’s directional compass as being ‘possibly unique’. Unique how, or among what, the reader is left without a clue, nor is it even unique among the present group of maps, as another such compass is readily visible on Map 14. Chapter Four, ‘The Royal Maps: a Working Catalogue’, comprises well over half the book. Here researchers will find a wealth of useful images of the maps, as well as the authors’ commentary about what is shown and conclusions that can be drawn. Inscriptions are translated, serving not only to illuminate the mapmaker’s intent and the historical context, but also show them to be working tools of the people who made them. These include notes recording that a strait or sea passage is adequate only for smaller vessels, seashores that disappear at high tide, distances recorded in the typical time (rather than linear) measure, notes recording events in wars, and even editorial comments: the author of the map from the war zones in Cambodia repeatedly used the pejorative ‘damn’ in referring to the Vietnamese. The book’s cornucopia of fine illustrations includes not just many images

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and details of the seventeen newly-discovered maps, but also other diverse images: aerial views and satellite images of the topography they chart, photographs of natural and man-made features they illustrate, other relevant early Thai documents, early views of cities marked, modern maps, and a key map in which images of all seventeen maps are superimposed on a modern map of eastern Asia. The book is so generously and intelligently illustrated that I am being very picky in citing what I feel is its one omission: its lacks full images of the few other surviving early Thai geographic and Traiphum maps, though details are shown. A concluding essay entitled ‘The Maps in the Wider World’ summarizes the known inventory of early indigenous Thai maps, which—aside from these seventeen—the authors count as one or two: the extraordinary ‘Map of Nakhon Si Thammarat’, dating from the early seventeenth century (though it should be noted that other scholars, e,g, Joseph Schwartzberg, place this map towards the end of the seventeenth or early eighteenth century), and the ‘Strategic Map’ that is ostensibly from the reign of King Rama I (r.1782–1809), but which is probably a later copy. The two extant Traiphum with maps are cited by the authors but not included in the tally, presumably because they are not sufficiently empirical. They deem the seventeen newly-discovered maps to be ‘the only significant corpus of indigenous Siamese topographic maps currently known.’ This is true, though the

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only common denominator among the maps is that they all had ended up in the Grand Palace. How these seventeen fit into the ‘wider world’ is the key question, and is the only significant quibble I have with the book, for here the authors draw more conclusions than the evidence can justify. The authors contend that the techniques employed in the making of these maps are too developed not to be part of a larger tradition. It struck me that the authors refer to the cartographers of one map as being ‘highly skilled in traditional topographical mapping techniques’, when the ‘tradition’ to which they refer is the very mystery in question, and these seventeen maps comprise nearly all the extant pieces of that puzzle. To make the leap that these maps are not only part of, but indeed typical of, a larger indigenous tradition, risks circular reasoning, and should not be ventured even as a theory until the maps are scrutinized for evidence of external influence, an issue which is not addressed. If, as seems evident, non-indigenous sources were tapped, both for geography and mapping techniques, one must consider to what extent the maps’ cartographic ‘tradition’ may be a foreign tradition. Even the flaunted directional compasses (one accompanied by what appears to be a Western-style linear distance scale) should have raised a red flag here; and we know, for example, that Westerners had been hired by the Thai government for help in mapping the kingdom in the nineteenth century, accurate mapping being particularly im-

portant at the time due to the specter of Western imperialism among Thailand’s neighbors. The very fact that, with virtually no precedent, seventeen turn up in one place is curious and worth exploring. Simple happenstance? Or for a reason that itself makes them atypical, something akin to the relative abundance of extant Burmese maps, which were made by request for Westerners? As exciting as these Thai maps are, they are quite late even at the optimum dating proposed and, showing as they do signs of outside influence, they are insufficient pieces of the puzzle to make broad conclusions. Thailand’s early cartographic tradition, whatever it was, remains an enigma. Imagine that only one pre-modern topographic European map was known, and then seventeen nineteenth century European maps were discovered in London or Paris which bore foreign cartographic and geographic elements; what conclusions would we draw from them about the early indigenous European mapping tradition? In short, the discovery of these seventeen maps does not, as stated in the foreword, ‘prove the existence of an extensive and hitherto unsuspected cartographic tradition in Thailand.’ On the contrary, to both points: that tradition has long been ‘suspected’, but remains more conjecture than fact. Even if we assume that mapmaking was an integral part of Thai civilization, are these maps typical of a coherent tradition of mapmaking? Or was mapmaking more static and isolated, varying markedly with era and region?

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On balance, my criticisms of the book are minor, and indeed may become moot if, as the authors believe, this cache of maps represents only the ‘tip of the iceberg’ of early Thai maps that may yet come to light from obscure hiding places. Let us hope they do. If more maps are discovered, further afield in both time and place over what is now Thailand, we can begin to piece together its cartographic past. Encouraging the hunt may be a bonus of the book. Royal Siamese Maps is a most welcome volume, well-researched, and beautifully produced. More than simply illuminating Thai mapmaking in the early Bangkok period, it succeeds in the daunting task of doing justice to a most remarkable discovery, these seventeen extraordinary maps. Thomas Suarez

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Philip Cornwel-Smith, Very Thai, Everyday Popular Thai Culture by photographs by John Goss. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp. 256. For eight years Philip Cornwel-Smith was editor of Bangkok Metro, one of the first publications to offer up-to-date listings of activities in the city. Possibly as a result of such journalistic experience, this comprehensive examination of popular Thai culture is written in a breezy style that is far more accessible to the average reader than most scholarly works on the same subject. Similarly, some 500 brightly-coloured photographs by John Goss and the general layout (the cover displays a range that extends from Buddha images and a beauty-contest queen to street food and a motorcycle taxi driver) suggest a lighthearted, attention-grabbing approach not very far from that of many magazines, including Metro. But appearances (and style) are misleading in this case. If it is not exactly the “pioneering” work promised on the jacket blurb (most of the areas have been covered before by other writers), it is also not just another of the countless superficial books now being produced, presumably aimed at tourists looking for a souvenir of their visit to Thailand. Cornwel-Smith has been diligent, even obsessive, in his research, and no matter how well-informed a reader may consider himself he is certain to come across something new and provocative in nearly every chapter.

Very Thai is divided into four general sections—Street, Personal, Ritual, and Sanuk—which are further sub-divided into a broad spectrum of individual categories. The extent of these can be gathered by mentioning only a few of the titles. Under Street, for example, among the entries are “Dinner on a Stick,” “Drink in a Bag,” “Tiny Pink Tissues,” “Blind Bands,” and “Truck and Bus Art.” Personal encompasses “Uniforms,” “Katoey and Tom-Dee,” “Sniff Kiss,” “Potted Gardens,” and “Cute,” while the Ritual entries include “Royal Portraits,” “Amulet Collectors,” “Magical Tattoos,” “Fortune Tellers,” and “Ghost Stories.” Sanuk ranges from “Temple Fairs” and “Festivals” to “Soap Operas” and “Songs for Life.” Even from this partial selection it should be clear that there is a good deal of overlapping, as well as some inevitable repetition. One has the sense that Cornwel-Smith got a little carried away by all the oddities he unearthed and was determined to squeeze as many of them as possible into his narratives. That, combined with the small type-face decided upon by his designers, can be somewhat daunting to a reader, who may feel that he is getting rather more than he really wants to know about, say, “Motorcycle Taxi Jackets” and “Gambling.” Probably the best way to read Very Thai is little by little, making it an ideal book for bedside tables. Many of the entries go considerably beyond the subject matter indicated by their titles. In the one called “GrecoRoman Architecture” (subtitled “Dress-

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ing Thailand in classical chic”), for example, far more is covered than just the Thai penchant for blending architectural styles with a wild, sometimes surrealistic abandon. (Not a new phenomenon, incidentally; Geoffrey Gorer commented on it back in the 1930s.) Cornwel-Smith goes back into the history of similar blendings in other countries like India and Indonesia, discusses the influences of King Chulalongkorn’s trips to Europe, and guides the reader to a few outstanding examples of what he calls “camp panache” like Rangsan Torsuwan’s mind-boggling Chatpetch Tower on the Chao Phraya River, which manages to incorporate a medieval rose window (without the stained glass; it serves as an air vent for the car park), classical columns, and a gothic dome. Such structures, Cornwel Smith says, are just “plain skyscrapers and malls sporting brazenly preposterous drag.” Similarly “Blind Bands (Bringing joy to the street)” not only discusses the different kinds of music offered by these sightless pavement performers but also Thai attitudes towards the handicapped in general and the reasons for discrimination by the police in particular. “Encountering a blind band is a life lesson,” writes Cornwel-Smith in a characteristic observation. “A triumph of beauty over pain, of spirit over body, of talent over intolerance, they perform a true social service. Blind buskers more than play the blues; they really live it.” “Beauty Queens” claims that there are nine contests per week somewhere in the

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country, ranging from the national trinity of Miss Thailand, Miss Thailand World, and Miss Thailand Universe to local ones like Miss Durian. “Further expanding the definition of beauty, Miss Jumbo Queen has since 1999 selected women over 80kg who display the grace of an elephant... It aims to promote elephant conservation and increase selfesteem among large women.” Even the coverage of standard guidebook subjects like “Festivals” can include amusing revelations. “To attract tourists,” Cornwel-Smith notes, “new festivals may focus on wacky activities. Farmers turned casual water buffalo contests into the staged Chonburi Buffalo Races. Surin revived elephant corralling into an Elephant Round-Up, along with costumed ‘battles’ and elephant football. Even the scientific Elephant Conservation Centre in Lampang hosts an annual satoke (Northern feast) for pachyderms.” (He also finds space to mention such related matters as “the horrific Songkran road toll—which in 2003 outstripped allied deaths in the Iraq invasion.” Now and then a seemingly unsubstantiated statistic—for example, that Bangkok has 25,000 stray cats—may prompt one to raise a questioning eyebrow, but these are remarkably few. At the end of the book Cornwel-Smith meticulously lists his main sources for each chapter, and in the text he constantly quotes from assorted experts, among them the founder of a gay disco on why so many such places enjoy success for only a short time, the scholar

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Vithi Phanichphant on the origins of Buddhist amulets and their evolution into magic charms, and the late Pimsai Amranand on the Thai fondness for the topiary creations known as mai dut. In other words, he has done a vast amount of reading, interviewing, and on-thespot observation. As a result Very Thai deserves a wide readership, not just foreigners who live in any large city in Thailand, but also Thais who may be surprised at some of the things they will discover about their own culture. William Warren

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Donald M. Stadtner, Ancient Pagan: Buddhist Plain of Merit, photography by Michael Freeman and Donald M. Stadtner. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp. 286. Gordon Hannington Luce, whose magnificent Old Burma - Early Pagan (3 vols., Artibus Asiae, Ascona and New York 1969) brought Pagan to scholarly attention, would be delighted to read this new and masterly work by a scholar well-known for his work on Burma. Stadtner was commissioned to write a guide book, but this is a volume which will be welcomed not only by the discerning traveller but also by art historians. The introductory section, which covers history, religion, materials, architecture, painting and sculpture, is wellworth reading before a visit. While much earlier material is brought together in an accessible way for the first time, it also incorporates recent research on some subjects, including divisions within the sangha and the role of women. Thirty-three monuments, conveniently divided into five groups, are then described in detail. These include many of the major monuments and others well-chosen to tell a different part of Pagan’s larger story. The book is profusely illustrated throughout, each image appropriately reflecting the text. Two of Colesworthy Grant’s delightful nineteenth century watercolours are reproduced at the ends. The frontispiece by Michael Freeman is the most evocative I have seen, and his lighting and

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treatment of detail throughout the book is, as always, exquisite. Stadtner approaches Pagan as a living entity and does not restrict himself to those remains dating from its days of glory from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries. He refers to the evidence of the Pyu, whose remains predate the city as we know it, as well as to the renovations and new buildings dating from the fourteenth century until today’s travesties. Both the pre- and post-Pagan phases have often been misunderstood or ignored in the literature, and the book makes a significant contribution in this area. Stadtner treats his historical sources with great caution, wisely, as research on Pagan intensifies and many earlier views have come into question. Strachan (Pagan: Art and Architecture of Old Burma, Kiscadale, 1989: 37) already queried Luce’s assumption that the early temples were derived from Mon prototypes, and proposed Pyu. More recently, Michael Aung-Thwin has sought to further minimize Mon influence at Pagan (The Mists of Ramanna: the Legend that was Lower Burma, Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, 2005). The book deals with this subject circumspectly, stating that the Mon cultural influence was strong, that political influence from Pagan probably extended into Mon territory in the time of Anawratha (1044–1077), and that the Mon were perhaps accorded special religious and cultural status despite their relatively low numbers.

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Recent research on early Pagan has addressed the question of continuous occupation of the site from the Neolithic and Bronze Ages (e.g. Bob Hudson, “The Origins of Pagan” Doctoral Dissertation, University of Sydney, 2005, http://setis.library.usyd.edu.au/adt/ public_html/adt-NU/public/adtNU20050721.144907/index.html) and the beginnings of urbanism, and has queried the role of the Burmans in the foundation of the city. Indeed, King Kyansittha (c.1084–1112), in his palace inscription, alludes to the role which the Mon and the Pyu played in its cultural development. The influence of the Mon in early Pagan art and architecture, while over-stated by Luce, still remains to be clarified satisfactorily. Stadtner is prudent when discussing the range of influences on painting and sculpture, attributing not only the usually-discussed Pala style, but also its variants as far north as Ladakh. While the Pala practiced Mahayana Buddhism and in Pagan Theravada dominated, he notes that such religious distinctions mattered little to Pagan’s artists and residents. The reason why, in a basically Theravada context, certain Mahayana themes are accepted and others rejected (as in the Kubyauk-gyi [Myinkaka] and the Abeyadana) remains a subject for investigation. The paintings at Pagan, which are still subject to UNESCO restoration, are today far more visible to scholars and other visitors than before. While the identification of many subjects is dependent on the pioneering studies of Luce

and Ba Shin, Stadtner has also consulted the more recent work of Pratapaditya Pal, Than Tun and Bautze-Picron, and, together with his own observations, makes a considerable contribution to the history of painting in Burma. He has been able to clarify many details and also offers suggestions for future research. Following Brown, he rejects the idea that the paintings had a didactic function, and suggests that they were considered an important part of the efficacious nature of the donation. In discussing the variations in the Jataka series, he notes that comparison with the earliest surviving examples in Sri Lanka and in Thailand will perhaps reveal interesting connections. The discussion of mural technique and stylistic development will be of particular interest to both scholars and travellers. Unlike many earlier writers, he has assessed the paintings made after the capital moved to Ava in the fourteenth century, when Pagan remained a pilgrimage destination. Of interest are the many Buddhas painted intrusively within the corridors of a number of important temples in the fourteenth century by the monk Anandasura, fifteenth century murals at monastery 225 and the eighteenth century Konbaung mural work represented at the Upali Thein and the Ananda Brick Monastery. The Abeyadana (eleventh to twelfth centuries), with its depictions of Hindu and Tantric deities and its prominent Bodhisattvas often juxtaposed with Jatakas, has long intrigued scholars of art and of Buddhism. Stadtner asks

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whether this amazing pantheon is sourced from a specific text or an iconographic manual from Eastern India, Nepal or Tibet, or whether the artists or patrons chose themes from a variety of sources such as artists’ sketchbooks from India. He concludes that the borrowing from eastern India was not so much an absorption of Mahayana beliefs as a cultural and artistic appreciation. It could be said that the iconography is one of the more interesting experiments of early Pagan, but one which bore little fruit. There may well be some truth in the legend that it was built by Kyansittha’s wife Abeyadana, a princess from east Bengal, especially as a central painting of the sanctum depicts what Luce, followed by Bautze-Picron, identified as the pregnant Maya, mother of the Buddha-to-be. Described here (p.189) as probably representing Maya holding the Buddha in her lap, both hands are actually raised outwards above her knees with an embryonic Buddha seated in her transparent womb clearly depicted. If Kyansittha regarded himself as a Bodhisattva (Michael Aung-Thwin, Pagan: the Origins of Modern Burma, Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press, 1985, p.49), a Buddhato-be, why should his queen not have seen herself as mother of a Buddha-tobe? Coming from east Bengal she may well have engaged artists familiar with her own tradition to illustrate the cult she endorsed. But in this book, which is after all an introductory guide, Stadtner has been careful not to indulge in such speculation.

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He does however challenge several orthodoxies. He suggests that the four majestic gilded Buddhas standing in deep tall niches within the central core of the Ananda date to the Konbaung period in the eighteenth or early nineteenth centuries, as wood was never used for central images in the Pagan period. If there were originally standing images in these shrines they would probably have been made of brick and stucco. He concludes that it is more probable that there were originally seated Buddhas in these four niches. Given the proportions of the niches this appears to be unlikely. In the case of the Manuha temple, associated in Burmese legend with the Mon king captured by the Burmans and brought to Pagan, Stadtner dates the current structure to some time around the early Konbaung period, given its uncharacteristic ground plan and the large reclining Buddha in the hall attached to the rear, which, together with the example in the Shwesan-daw compound, is of comparatively recent origin. In these cases, as in many others, we would have to agree. Reclining Buddhas of this scale do not seem to have been part of the Pagan repertoire in the days of its greatness. It is important to mention the many restorations and the looting which have taken place since the fourteenth century, and especially since the 1990s. The average travel writer is ignorant of these, and without a book like this mistakes and inaccuracies will be perpetuated. Some earlier restorations, such as the eighteenth century renovation of the

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Pitakataik, are quite sympathetic, others, like the East Hpetleik made in the early twentieth century, much less so. Stadtner sadly remarks on the “deeply scarred landscape” that the recent controversial rebuilding has created, its reconstructions “too often based on conjecture that many times borders on fantasy”. The ugliness these impose, together with the insensitive building of hotels and roads, may eventually repel rather than attract the “cultural” tourists they were meant to lure. A number of these 1990s mockeries are enumerated: the ridiculous reconstruction of the NgaKwe-Nadaung and the speculative tower of the Kubyauk-Gyi (Wetkyi-In) among many. We are indeed fortunate in having Pierre Pichard’s magnificent 8-volume Inventory of Monuments at Pagan (UNESCO,Kiscadale 1992– 2001), produced following the 1974 earthquake, to remind us of the original form of a great many monuments, and this is often acknowledged in the book. In describing the decline of Pagan, Stadtner rejects many accepted causes, saying that

It remains to be seen whether a future historian will have to cite the ignorance, greed and lust for power of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries as a cause of its final demise. Pamela Gutman

There is no evidence of destruction brought on by an invasion, pestilence, climatic change, a massive earthquake or a peasant revolt. Loss of patronage was almost certainly the chief culprit in explaining why Pagan’s monuments fell into ruin, but the reasons for the loss of support remain conjectural.

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Sheila E. Hoey Middleton Intaglios, Cameos, Rings and Related Objects from Burma and Java: the White Collection and another small private collection. Oxford, BAR International Series 1405, 2005, £32.00. pp. iii+204, ills. This well-researched book describes two important private collections acquired in Burma and twenty rings from Java. The author, who has published widely on engraved gems from Europe and the Middle East, has attempted to examine these in their regional context, making comparisons with similar material from India, Sri Lanka, Southeast Asia and elsewhere. In this she pays particular attention to materials and shape, style and technique, use and iconography. A brief introductory section places the collections in their historical context. Each item in the collections has been photographed, as have impressions made from the intaglios and seals. Of particular interest are the comparisons of each object with similar items from the region or beyond. Notes on the materials used are appended, together with indices of materials, objects and inscriptions, all of which scholars and collectors will find valuable. The book is an important contribution to our knowledge of Pyu culture, a sorely neglected field, and to its relations with mainland Southeast Asia and beyond. The collection of rings from Java, while mostly of the better-known type, also contains a number which may have been imported and can be connected with the

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mainland and with Sri Lanka. Both Burma collections are said to come from Pyu sites in central Burma. Traditionally finds such as these have been attributed to Sriksetra, the most “Indianized” of the Pyu sites, and a wellknown dealer and scholar who may have been the source of both collections has told me that Sriksetra was indeed the provenance. Archaeologists will point out the limitations imposed by a lack of context, but in the Southeast Asian archaeological environment such finds are rare. The great majority of similar engraved objects at Oc Éo described by Malleret were not found in context, and the recent ÉFEO excavations there reportedly uncovered none at all. Moreover, dealers usually eschew fragmentary objects in materials such as terracotta or bone in favour of semi-precious gems. Fortunately the second collection described in the appendix (“another small private collection”) includes a number of the former. Middleton acknowledges Malleret’s work as the benchmark on the subject, and through rigorous comparative analysis is able to suggest some interesting connections. For instance, many standing figures engraved on carnelian in Sri Lankan collections are close to examples from Oc Éo, some close enough to come from the same workshop. Middleton points out that the dominant motif in both collections and in Sri Lanka is the recumbent bull, and rightly points out that this does not necessarily signify the presence of Shaivism. The

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bull is the best-known device on royal seals in India, where Shiva’s Nandi does not appear until the fourth century. A symbol of wealth and of power, the bull still plays an important role in ritual exchange amongst some Southeast Asian peoples who have received little, if any, Indian influence, and the depiction of a bull would resonate with pre-Indic practice. Those bulls juxtaposed with a crescent moon may be more Shaivite in intent. Middleton has made an interesting comparative study of the variations of the bull motif from its early Greek, Roman and Indian forms on seals and coins and its diffusion in Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia. Similarly, the conch need not necessarily denote Vaishnavism, but as one of the auspicious symbols common to Brahmanism and Buddhism usually suggests water and its association with wealth and fertility. Animals represented in the Burma collections also include the lion (some forms dependent on Greek and Indian and, interestingly, Nepalese precedent), elephants, boars, deer, and horses. Geese show similarities to those found on stamped bricks from Pyu sites. Many symbols are well-known from coins and medals found at old sites throughout Southeast Asia, not all of which have been satisfactorily identified. Middleton has attempted to identify one major group as “fire altars”, although she has not explored the implied significance of Vedic or Zoroastrian ritual in early urban Southeast Asia. Middleton has noticed that the designs on two rings in the White collec-

tion (106, 107) can be read either as a ka¯la, or monster, mask or as a pair of pu¯rnakala´sa, or vases of plenty, standing on a lotus base, and in one case (107) the reversed design could be interpreted as a vase of plenty. Similarly, 108, described as a tri´sula or trident over a lotus pad, could also be read as a ´sr™vatsa. This multiple reading of motifs is also found in Pyu architecture. Temple 996 at Pagan, a Pyu shrine encased in a later structure, has at the base of the extant stucco pediment an ornate lotus throne for a Buddha image which can also be read as a ka¯la mask (Gutman and Hudson 2005:21). The vegetal volutes on either side of the stucco design closely resemble those on the rings. Further investigation of Pyu art may bring further examples of this interesting trait to light. The inscribed objects in the collections are of particular interest. The White Collection No. 62 is a tabloid blue-green glass inlaid with a Sanskrit inscription in gold aprama¯da “non-negligence” “care”, which also appears at Oc Éo and in Vataka inscriptions. Other Deccan-style inscriptions paleographically datable to around the fourth to fifth centuries appear on agate and carnelian stones and read nanditavyam, “rejoice”, j™vadaya¯, “compassion for life”, and dayadanam, “gift of compassion”, some of which have parallels at Oc Éo and elsewhere and suggest religious intercourse with southern India. A clay sealing (App. 58) is inscribed in what is described as “Pali written in Pyu script”. Different scripts were used by the Pyu

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for Pali, Sanskrit and the Pyu language; those used for Pali and Sanskrit were close to Indian prototypes. This script should be more precisely described as Pyu Pali. The reading nagara Thiri, “auspicious city”, is spurious. Red glass beads inscribed with “Mohammed” or “Ali”, similar to examples from Oc Éo and to Malay and Javanese charms, were tested as selenium ruby glass and must date to after 1891. The “small private collection” described in the appendix complements the White Collection, some intaglios so close they may have come from the same workshop. It also contains some interesting stamped pottery sherds, similar to those recorded by U Aung Thaw at Beikthano and other Pyu sites, and at Chansen. A few sherds (e.g. App. 63) appear to be similar to the fine moulded ware noted at Oc Éo sites (Tan 2003: 111–112). A couple of European intaglios with monograms dated to the late eighteenth or early ninteenth centuries illustrate the continuing movement of such objects throughout history. This book supplements the recent research on trade and trade objects by Glover and Bellina, in particular. The attention paid to the symbols illustrated on the range of objects will be of interest to those concerned with the nature of religious belief as it evolved in the early urban period. On the whole, however, it would appear that the motifs

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used are usually derived from Indic and non-Indic symbols of prosperity, appropriate in a society fast developing its regional and international trade. Pamela Gutman

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Sanskrithandschriften aus den Turfanfunden. Teil 9: Die Katalognummern 2000–3199 beschrieben von Klaus Wille, herausgegeben von Heinz Bechert. [Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland, Band X, 9]. Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag, 2004. pp. xi, 471 (ISBN 3-515-07346-9). € 80,-. Birmanische Handschriften. Teil 5: Die Katalognummern 901–1015 bearbeitet von Anne Peters, herausgegeben von Heinz Bechert. [Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland Band XXIII, 5]: Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag 2004, pp. xxix, 159, 4 Tafeln. (ISBN 3-515-04860-6). € 60,Handschriften der Yao. Teil I: Bestände der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek München Cod.Sin. 147 bis Cod. Sin. 1045 in Verbindung mit Michael Friedrich herausgegeben von Thomas Höllmann mit Beiträgen von Lucia Obi, Shing Müller, Xaver Götzfried. [Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland, Band XLIV,1]. Stuttgart, Franz Steiner Verlag, 2004, pp. 723 (ISBN 3-515-08403-7). € 90,-.

These three voumes continue an ambitious project to catalogue all oriental manscripts preserved in libraries in Germany. Although the overall programme has been very briefly sketched by Peter Skilling in his review of “Singhalesische

Handschriften Teil 2 (Singhalese Manuscripts part 2) [1997]” in JSS 86, 1998, p. 247f., it may be useful to recall that, according to the original plan as conceived by Wolgang Voigt (1911–1982), late chief librarian of the Collection of Oriental Manuscripts, Preussische Staatsbibliothek, Berlin, and announced by him in Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 107/1957, p. 1 as “Katalogisierung der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland (Cataloguing of Oriental Manuscripts in Germany, KOHD)”, cf. K. L. Janert, KOHD Volume II, 11, p. 413, only those manuscripts are included which have never been properly catalogued before. This huge project is divided into 45 groups with occasionally numerous parts. The material is grouped together according to the respective language of the manuscripts described: I. Mongolian, II. Indian, III. Georgian, IV. Armenian, V. Syriac, VI. (XXXIV.) (Illuminated) Hebrew, VII. Nakhi, IX, Thai, X. Sanskrit Mss. from Turfan, XI. Tibetan, XII. Chinese, XIII. Turkish, XIV. Persian, XV. (Illuminated) Athiopan, (XVI.) XXXVII. (Illuminated) Islamic Manuscripts, XVII. (XLIII.) Arabic, XVIII. Middle Iranian, XIX. Egytian, XX. Ethiopian, XXI. Coptic, XXII. Singhalese, XXIII. Burmese, XXIV. African, XXV. Urdu, XXVII. Japanese, XXVIII. Batak, XXX. Kurdish, XXXI. Javanese, XXXII. Lao, XXXIII. Nepalese, XXXV. Malay, XXXVI. Khmer, XXXIX. Shan, XLI. Tocharian, XLII. Mon, XLV. Korean.

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The volume by Höllmann and Friedrich begins a new group of manuscripts (XLIV), and may be considered as a pioneer effort, since this is the first time that manscripts of the Yao, living in China, Laos, Vietnam, Thailand and Burma, have been catalogued in accordance with present day standards. After the outward appearance of the individual manuscripts is described, the title, the beginning and end of the text are given, both in Chinese characters and in pinyin. Moreover, the content of individual manuscripts is briefly placed into its cultural context, then the scribe, date and owner are given where these data are available. The lengthy introduction discusses the general features of the manuscripts, which, written in Chinese characters, sometimes are accompanied by glosses in other languages such as Thai or Lao. The authors, Höllmann and Friedrich, who earlier published a study on the Yao under the title “Botschaften an die Götter. Religiöse Handschriften der Yao (Messages to the Gods. Religious Manuscripts of the Yao)” in 1999, succeed in this catalogue in paving the way for further research on the Yao by presenting an unusually rich and extensive material in an exemplary way. On the other hand, the “Burmese Manuscripts” and the “Sanskrithandschriften aus den Turfanfunden” (SHT), both continue parts XXIII and X respectively of the KOHD series. In “Burmese Manuscripts”, some changes have been introduced to accelerate the cataloging. Thus it was unfortunately, but under-

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standably, necessary to abbreviate the often rather long colophons, which were previously given in full, with a regrettable loss of information. Moreover, the numbers of the catalogue now refer to codices, and no longer to individual manuscripts. The change from English used in parts 1–4 to German as the language used in the descriptions is not explained. However, there still is an English version of the introduction facilitating acccess for non-German speakers. The different titles of Pa¯li or Burmese texts are listed in an appendix, which also contains the names of authors, scribes, donors, owners, place names, and dates (the oldest manuscript catalogued here is an Abhidhammatthasa¬gaha-nissaya copied in AD 1760). The preceding volume 4 has been reviewed by Peter Skilling JSS 89. 2001, p. 131f., who also introduced part 8 of SHT in JSS 88, 2000, p. 249. The number of fragments described in part 9 of SHT, 1200, has grown considerably when compared with merely 200 in the preceding part. One reason is the diminishing size of the individual fragments. Almost all the larger ones have been dealt with earlier, leaving the more thankless task to the cataloguer to take stock of occasionally minute remains of texts. In spite of the obvious difficulties with small fragments, K. Wille has succeeded in an astonishingly high number of cases in identifying texts or at least text groups. As he mentions in his introduction, no. 2026, a rather

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long fragment, is of particular interest, because an author is mentioned [krtir bhiksor arya-Dharmattr¡tasya], p. 53, folio rR, x “the work of the monk Dharmatr¡ta”, whose identity awaits to be ascertained. At the same time, this is one of the birch-bark fragments in the Turfan collection (p. VIII). Although the texts are written in Sanskrit, there are occasionally glosses in other languages such as Chinese, Soghdian, Tocharian, Uigur, including tiny bits in a so-far unidentified language (nos. 2079, 3069). At the end, there is a long list of additions and corrections to parts 1–8 (pp. 368–432) followed by another list of texts from the Turfan collection, which have been published since part 8 appeared. This may be supplemented now by the major edition of a Turfan text by Eli Franco: The Spitzer Manuscript. The Oldest Philosophical Manuscript in Sanskrit. 2 Volumes. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Vienna 2004. As usual, all these catalogues again contain a wealth of material, which will considerably enrich the study of Buddhist texts in different traditions. The decriptions are presented in a careful and circumspect manner. The task for the future is to describe further collections, manuscripts or fragments—in the case of SHT, another four thousand. Oskar von Hinüber

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Jennifer Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China: Franchising a Tai Chieftaincy under the Tusi System of Late Imperial China. Sinica Leidensia, 70. Leiden, Brill, 2005, pp.xviii+318, 7 ills. EUR 89.- / US$ 120.-

Tai as used here refers to a trans-national linguistic grouping to which Thai belongs. It includes speakers of other languages who might not refer to themselves as ‘Tai’, such as the Zhuang people of Guangxi, China, the focus of this book. Recent years have seen brisk activity in Tai studies, with the Siam Society and this journal providing notable dynamism. As academics in Thai universities have taken up new comparative and historical Tai directions in their research, some have been accommodated by the establishment of Thai/ Tai studies centres (thai-khadi-sueksa units) in their institutions. A few overseas universities also contribute to this research effort, but not necessarily in centres designated as ‘Tai Studies’. An Australian example is the University of Melbourne’s active Zhuang research group, located in the Department of Chinese Studies. A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China is based on doctoral research undertaken in association with this group. The author, Jennifer Took, is not only highly proficient in Chinese and knowledgeable regarding relevant local sources, but also has a solid professional legal background. These factors combine to make this book one of unique perspectives and innovative sig-

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nificance. It is also clearly written, meticulously researched and of the highest critical calibre. Zhuang is used officially by Chinese authorities to refer to 16 million or more Tai speakers in Guangxi and is increasingly used by local people themselves. The focus of the study is a native chieftaincy or tusi of the Tai-speaking Chinese-Vietnamese frontier area. The Zhuang tusi of Anping, on the Chinese side of the border roughly between Cao Bang in Vietnam and Longming in Guangxi, was recognised by Chinese courts as a semi-autonomous administrative unit from 1368 until 1906. Unlike many political borders of the current Southeast Asian map, this particular margin is of long standing, with Chinese suzerains seeing Anping’s strategic location as a buffer polity with defence and bandit-suppression significance. The chieftaincy is transversed by the Heishui River with nearby low-lying wet rice areas, surrounded by mountains with passes calling for surveillance and control. This geographical conception is convincingly illustrated in the book through traditional maps (pp. 56–61), including reproductions of Ming block prints. The book summarises the earlier history of the area based on Chinese records. Included is a compelling treatment of the rebellion of Nong Zhigao, the Zhuang cultural hero and subject of local legends who challenged Song authority in the eleventh century. His defeat is considered to be a ‘pivotal point in the history of the Zhuang peoples’ of

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the area (p. 48), important in determining the context of the Anping tusi. The formal inception of the native chieftaincy is described and its development traced through the Ming and Qing eras to its relatively recent absorption into the Chinese state system. A regular reader of this journal would be quick to connect the Anping tusi with a Tai mueang, noting both similarities and differences. On the local level the native official or chief had many of the core attributes of a traditional chao mueang in Tai areas to the south and west. For centuries a Zhuang lineage of Anping, the Li, provided a hereditary line for selection of native officials. Succeeding chiefs were formally enfranchised by the Chinese court and subject to shifting investiture regulations. The Li were clearly bicultural. They came to be externally Sinified in what the author refers to as a ‘pragmatic bargain’. Chinese courts imposed judicious exactments and required recognition of imperial sovereignty, along with defence obligations. It is suggested that ‘fictive Han ancestries’ were sometimes manufactured for official display. However, inside his own realm the local official was supreme chief and was free to make his own regulations and to uphold selected customary Tai-Zhuang norms and practices. The careers of a succession of 23 incumbent chiefs are assembled and summarised in the book, the last official terminated in 1930 in early Red Army activity. As with succession in a typical mueang, some contention was predictable, especially when the pal-

pable choice to succeed as native official was not the oldest son of the former official’s principal wife, or when that son could be removed by other candidates. Unlike Chinese familial norms, matrilineal lines of descent entered into ancestral ceremonies. Chapters of the book are devoted to relations with the Chinese court, the native official’s local power, classes of people in the chieftaincy, village-level administrative apparatus and land tenure, given especially nuanced analysis. Pressures to assimilate to Chinese norms and to form hybrid Han-Zhuang cultural blends are described. These became increasingly significant in the late Qing. Some comparisons are made with nonTai tusi chieftaincies of other Chinese outlying areas, along with a few brief Thai/Tai references, e.g. regarding judicial functions and types of slavery. Some patterns familiar in other Tai areas are examined: the native official’s power as realised in control of land tenure, irrigation dams, rice distribution and his leadership in key ceremonial rituals. Over 85 per cent of the population constituted house slaves and serfs, referred to in Zhuang as loek na, ‘children of the wet fields’, with specific agricultural and service obligations. Control of manpower and village administration are described in detail. The official maintained this control through systems of entourage and patronage. Relations with neighbouring towns were not always peaceful. Taiping to the southeast once dispatched an Anping chief with poisoned arrows. Later, the

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Taiping rebellion (1850–64) was suppressed with cooperation from Anping forces. The author’s background in law is welcome not only in explicit attention to legal and judicial matters but also in general methodology: alertness to critical sources of evidence and the careful amassing, sifting and evaluating of different strands. Through the long period under review, ideology of various casts has affected the preservation and transmission of documents, as well as specifics of Chinese phraseology, all competently discussed. A vital source located by the author is a set of field interviews and reports dating from a Chinese survey of 1956. Through interviews collected in this source, eye-witness depictions of the last years of the Anping tusi become accessible. The data require careful handling, however, given the Marxist frame of reference projected by the researchers. The outlook of the survey was more to emphasise hardship and feudal injustices than to report local Zhuang beliefs and values. In spite of this, the author has gleaned much material of value from this survey. This is translated and incorporated into various sections of the book, providing a wealth of little-known ethnographic material. Those interested in comparing traditional Tai marriage, childbirth, funeral and other cultural practices will find much of interest, some placed in convenient appendices. Production, including charts, tables, black and white pictures, maps, Chinese glossary and a good index, is highly pro-

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fessional. Western and Chinese bibliographies are comprehensive for relevant studies in these languages. There is little negative to be said about this work, but if one had to indicate something, it would be the exorbitant price. In spite of this obstacle, the book deserves a wide readership and stands to make a continuing contribution to Tai studies. Anthony Diller

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Patricia Cheesman, Lao-Tai Textiles: The Textiles of Xam Nuea and Muang Phuan. Chiang Mai, Studio Naenna, 2004, pp. 297. The research, writing and photography for this book have clearly been a labour of love. Patricia Cheesman has been studying the textiles of northern Laos for thirty years. This volume builds on her previous published work1 and reflects her own love of textiles as a weaver herself. The book is well produced, and includes over 570 photographs, by far the most in colour. For lovers of the wonderfully rich variety of textiles from these two regions of northern Laos, the photographs alone make the book a collector’s item. The book is divided into eleven chapters, with three useful appendices and a bibliography, but there is no glossary or index, both of which would have added to its value, both for general readers and for scholars with an interest in Lao history and culture. The first two chapters cover the geographical and historical setting. The next presents Cheesman’s system of classifying the textiles she is interested in, namely the historical textiles (those more than fifty years old) of the two regions of Xam Neua and Xiang Khuang produced by the various Tai groups who live there. Then comes a chapter on the culture of these groups, concentrating mainly on religion and

ritual. Five chapters then discuss in considerable detail the textiles used by women every day, by women for ceremonial occasions, by men for religious rituals and ceremonies, and for household purposes. The last two chapters provide information on the techniques used for dyeing and weaving and on the principal weaving motifs and their symbolism. This structure may make sense for someone who already knows quite a lot about textiles and weaving techniques, but the general reader really needs to be introduced to the technical terms and what they mean before these are used to classify and identify various categories of textiles—especially since there is no glossary to refer to. The chapter on textile motifs and their symbolism would also have better been placed earlier, since these both reflect Tai culture and are important for an understanding of the significance and use of different designs, and how these help in classification. The history of the northeastern Lao provinces of Huaphan and Xiang Khuang is extremely complex—both because of the movement of different peoples in and out of both areas (not to mention invading armies), and because of the tributary relations each had with various contending centres of power (neighbouring kingdoms, or mandalas).2 Cheesman begins this history with some

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Patricia Naenna, Lao Textiles: Ancient Symbols - Living Art. Bangkok, 1988; Patricia Cheesman Naenna, Costume and Culture: Vanishing Textiles of Some of the Tai Groups in Lao PDR. Chiang Mai, 1990. 2 See Martin Stuart-Fox, The Lao Kingdom of La¯n Xa¯ng: Rise and Decline (Bangkok: White Lotus Press, 1998) Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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highly speculative early population movements of Tai peoples in China. She is on firmer ground with the fourteenth century formation of the Sipsong Chu Tai, centred on the middle basins of the Black and Red rivers and covering territory now part of southern China, northwestern Vietnam, and northeastern Laos (including part of Phongsali province, which Cheesman does not include in her study.) The twelve principalities (meuang) of the Sipsong Chu Tai actually comprised many more, smaller, tributary meuang, so Xam Neua was never an integral, single entity. By contrast, Meuang Phuan (or Meuang Xiang Khuang) was a separate small kingdom, with its centre of power and population further south on the Plain of Jars (though it too comprised constituent meuang.) It was established by Tai-Phuan, who formed part of the same migrations that brought the Tai-Lao into the middle Mekong basin. For Meuang Phuan, too, the first firm historical references date back only to the fourteenth century. From then on it maintained a fragile independence through paying tribute, when possible, to both of its powerful neighbours—Dai Viet (northern Vietnam) and Lan Xang. Because of its geographical position, it was much more open than was Xam Neua to both trade and invading armies. Textiles were the crowning achievement of high Phuan culture, and Phuan weavers were called upon to produce fine textiles for the Lao court at Luang Phrabang. Both regions suffered grievously during the past century and a half. In the nineteenth century Meuang Phuan was

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affected far more than Xam Neua by the forced depopulation policy of the Siamese court. Tens of thousands of Phuan were resettled closer to the Mekong and in the Chao Phraya basin north of Bangkok. But whereas Xam Neua was separated from other parts of the Sipsong Chu Tai by French-imposed borders that left most of the Tai highlands in Vietnam rather than Laos, Meuang Phuan lost only the upper reaches of the Song Ca River. Both regions were fought over during the First Indochina War (1946-1954). As Xam Neua formed part of the Pathet Lao liberated zone and the Plain of Jars was a contested strategic area, both were heavily bombed during the Second Indochina War (between 1964 and 1973). Most of the population of both regions became internal refugees, or fled into the forest or hid in caves while their villages were destroyed. What is extraordinary is that throughout all this time women continued to weave under often impossible conditions. Perhaps even more extraordinary is that they saved from destruction so many of their precious textiles. Many of these found their way onto the international market in the economically depressed decade following the Pathet Lao victory of 1975 (when Cheesman bought her first northeastern Lao textiles in Vientiane.) Others have been kept as heirlooms, and for ceremonial occasions. These older textiles are what Cheesman discovered during her years of research, and about which she writes so warmly.

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Textiles contribute centrally to the self-identity of ethnic groups, down to the use of different colours and motifs by different lineages and clans. TaiDam, Tai-Daeng, Tai-Khao, and other ethnic minorities are distinguished by what they wear. What Cheesman discovered, however, was that so much interaction and borrowing had occurred as a result of so many population movements that it was impossible to classify textiles in relation to ethnography. All that proved possible was to differentiate weaving styles and designs, materials and motifs, according to geographical location. On this basis Cheesman classifies Xam Neua textiles into four substyles, and Meuang Phuan textiles into five, all beautifully illustrated. Each of the five chapters on kinds and uses of textiles is sub-divided accordingly. For many readers the most fascinating part of this book will be the chapters on the shamanic beliefs and rituals of the upland Tai (chapter 4) and the textiles worn by the shamans performing these rituals (chapter 8). Bringing these two together, along with an explanation of the principal shamanic symbols and motifs woven into the cloth, would have strengthened this section even further. Cheesman has had the privilege of witnessing many of these shamanic rituals herself, and there are some wonderful photographs. Only the Tai-Daeng employ women shamans as well as men. In the other Tai groups Cheesman studied, all shamans are male, though in cases where the spirits which possess them are female, they

dress as women (when they are known as mô mot, as opposed to mô mon). These shamans perform mainly rituals associated with sickness and appeasement of the ancestors. A special category of shamans performs rituals for the dead, and are always elaborately dressed for the occasion. At funerals, the dead are dressed in their finest clothes. Deceased women wear multiple sets of blouses and special tube skirts (known as sin ph™, or ‘spirit skirts’) into which are woven highly schematic motifs of ancestral figures. Mourners, by contrast, wear simple white or very pale indigo mourning clothing, with the exception of daughters-in-law, who wear colourful blouses and multiple sin ph™. The photographs of these sin and the funeral banners and coffin screens (for the animist groups bury their dead) are among the finest in the book. A final note must be included on Cheesman’s idiosyncratic use of certain terms and spellings, because both crop up in the title of the book. The first is her use of the term ‘Lao-Tai’, which she uses throughout the text. This departs from the usual scholarly convention of using ‘Tai’ as the inclusive term for all those groups which speak Tai languages and define themselves culturally and ethnically as Tai (reserving ‘Thai’— though it is the same word—to refer to the citizens of modern-day Thailand). Ethnic Lao can thus be referred to as Tai-Lao and the Siamese of central Thailand as Tai-Syam. Cheesman uses LaoTai because some, but not all, scholars believe ‘Lao’ was the earliest term used

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by the Chinese to refer to the ancestors of the Tai peoples in China. This has the benefit of giving equal billing to the Lao, now that the Thai have appropriated the general term for themselves—and perhaps also stresses the provenance of these textiles. But it does so at the expense of making it difficult to refer to ethnic Lao. Cheesman never uses the term ‘Tai-Lao’. When she wants to refer to the influence of lowland Lao weaving techniques and designs on those of Xam Neua and Meuang Phuan, she refers to Lan Xang, the name of the Lao kingdom that existed in the middle Mekong basin from the mid-fourteenth to the early eighteenth century. But this is a political, not a cultural or ethnographic term, and so seems inappropriate. My other quibble is with transliteration, always a problem for Lao because there is no officially endorsed system, as there is for Thai or Chinese. Cheesman uses a modified Library of Congress transcription, with a doubling of the letter to indicate long vowels. This results in some inconsistencies (Lan Xang, but ‘saang’ for elephant as a motif), but is acceptable overall—except for one diphthong, the sound as in hearse, to use Cheesman’s example. This is usually transliterated as ‘eu’, as

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in meuang (which Cheesman writes muang), but Cheesman for some reason reverses the order (to give Xam Nuea, as in her title, instead of Xam Neua, or Sam Neua, the alternatives used on every map of Laos I have ever seen.) This choice is the more surprising in that it cannot be read by an English speaker with anything near the correct pronunciation, while Cheesman goes out of her way to ensure that other combinations closely reflect pronunciation (for example, ‘oa’ as in ‘groan’, instead of ‘oo’ for the long o, and ‘or’ for the ô in nakhôn.) A personal reason why I do not like Cheesman’s use is that it reduces the ngeuak (Cheesman: ngueak), the great mythical river dragon that is the commonest motif in all Lao weaving,3 and one of my favourite beasts, to something that appears to rhyme with ‘squeak’. That said, for anyone interested in the textiles of Laos, arguably among the finest expressions of Lao culture and now represented in many of the great museums of the world, this book will be an essential reference for years to come. Martin Stuart-Fox

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Ngeuak have been tamed by Buddhism to become naga (nak in Lao), protectors of the Dhamma. So ubiquitous are they as a weaving motif that Viengkham Nanthavongdouangsy called her little book on Lao woven textile motifs Weaving Cloth, Weaving Nagas (Vientiane: Phaeng Mai Gallery, 2004). Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Gillian Green, Traditional Textiles of Cambodia: Cultural Threads and Material Heritage. Bangkok, River Books, 2003, pp.320, ills, hardback, Bt.1,795. This book is the culmination of Gillian Green’s research, over a ten-year period, into the textile and dress traditions of Cambodia. The book is lavishly illustrated, with over three hundred colour images drawn from important private collections and from museum sources in Australia, Cambodia, America and Europe. The book begins with a brief history of Cambodia with reference to Khmer, Cham, Malay, Tai, Chinese and SinoKhmer people, whose weavers contributed to the development of weaving techniques, to the patterning and design of cloth, and to dress styles. The author also cites Hindu, Buddhist and animist traditions that helped shape the iconography associated with textiles produced in this region. Using Khmer sculpture as illustration, she traces the history of Cambodian dress as seen in the exquisitely draped, folded, pleated, sometimes tailored, and patterned garments of Angkor, Bayon and Banteay Srei. This is a necessary historical starting point, as in the tropical climate of Cambodia textiles and dress have not survived beyond one hundred to one hundred and fifty years. What is not so clear is where these fabrics, portrayed in stone, actually came from. India, China, Siam and Java are cited here as possible sources. There are some intriguing statements in the chapter dealing with raw materi-

als, particularly cotton. Cambodia, it is claimed, exported raw cotton to the Malay Peninsula, Sumatra and Vietnam and became, by the beginning of the twentieth century, the most important producer in Southeast Asia. Yet, according to the author, the Cambodians rejected indigenous cotton in favour of imported cotton yarn purchased from Chinese merchants. Itinerant Ho were the major buyers of raw cotton in the states of inland Southeast Asia, but did they also deal in cotton yarn for export to Cambodia? A study of trade records might provide the answer. A comprehensive chapter explains loom types, equipment associated with production, warp and weft patterning methods and the technique of tie-dyeing cloth after it is woven. The illustrations include sets of finely carved loom pulleys, warp board guides, reel stands and warp brushes, and outstanding examples of red and black lacquered weft thread dyeing (hol) stands. The beauty of these objects bears testimony to the importance attached to all aspects of cloth production. Chapter Five comprises an amazing array of Khmer design schemes, patterns and motifs. The author searches for design origins, drawing on Indian silk patola cloths and printed and painted cloth from the Coromandel coast, as well as Indian cotton textiles made for the Siamese market, a Chinese garment with diamond lattice patterns, excavated from a tomb dated to the first century CE, and Javanese and Malay textiles. This chapter focuses particularly on

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complex and rich, yet subtle, Khmer hip wrappers and women’s skirts, woven in 1/2 twill. Over fifty fine examples are included in the illustrations. There is also a section highlighting resist tiedyed head cloths that are compared with similar cloths from Malaysia and south Sumatra. The chapter on Cambodian dress is more problematic because, the author argues, there is little evidence following the ninth to twelfth century stone sculptures described earlier, until actual samples that have survived from the late nineteenth century. She refers to early and late twentieth century Khmer Buddhist mural paintings and contemporary sculptures for clues. Nineteenth century photographs might have provided some further information, if there were such a source. There are photographs of the Royal Khmer Dance Troupe (circa 1900–1930), showing how richly patterned tailored and draped cloth and ornaments were worn at that time. The author’s contemporary photographs of the Cambodian diaspora in Australia provide an interesting comparison. The final chapters deal with Buddhist textiles and ship cloths, explaining their significance in religious practice. Again, the illustrations are excellent, highlighting scenes from the Vessantara Jataka and the Buddhist cosmology. The main types of ship motif and the “tree of life” symbol are explained in useful diagrammatic form. In conclusion, this book is an important contribution to the study of Khmer textiles and provides a basis for future

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research. The beauty of the textiles illustrated here will hopefully provide inspiration to artists and designers, as well as stimulate academic research. Susan Conway

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David W. and Barbara G. Fraser Mantles of Merit: Chin Textiles from Myanmar, India and Bangladesh. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp. 288, ills, Bt.1,895. Mantles of Merit is an authoritative reference book on the textiles from the Chin Hills of Myanmar and outlying areas, which include border areas of India and Bangladesh. There are eight chapters, an appendix, bibliography and index. The text is well illustrated with quality photographs and/or diagrams on nearly every page. The American authors have studied textiles for over 20 years and have previously written on this subject in Arts of Asia 2003 volume 33. David W. Fraser is a research associate at the Textile Museum in Washington DC and the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, and has authored “A Guide to Weft Twining and Related Structures with Interacting Wefts” and other articles on textile structures. In order to achieve this in-depth research, the Frasers travelled into many of the areas covered and examined numerous international collections of Chin textiles. The authors have obviously found great pleasure in analysing weaving structures and unravelling weaving techniques that at first glance appear similar and rather simple. We are led into a world of subtleties, where tone-on-tone fabrics and the width of a stripe can distinguish a textile of high rank from that of an ordinary person. We are told “the skill of the weaver is reflected in the density of these (plain) black weft faced

stripes and the success in hiding the underlying warp colours” (p.95). This is a book steeped in the intricacies of back-strap loom technology, suitable for textile scholars and weavers who will be intrigued by the ingenious ways in which the Chin weavers have accomplished subtle differences in surface decoration and colour with the most simple equipment and limited iconography, while collectors will refer to it to identify their textiles. Indeed, examples of misidentified textiles in public and private collections worldwide are given. The general reader will enjoy the many excellent photographs, which beautifully display their minimal qualities and capture the artistic merit of the textiles, for which the authors make a plea in their first sentence: “As art objects, Chin textiles deserve to be much better known”. With the authors’ intricate description of each textile, readers will find themselves turning the pages back and forth to follow the recommended illustrations explaining each technique or to find an early photograph illustrating a textile’s use in former times. These early photographs are a compelling part of the book, bringing the textiles into their cultural context and illustrating well the authors’ title, Mantles of Merit. The authors have successfully matched many early textiles, now in private collections, with those being worn in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century photographs. These photographs were taken by missionaries and British administrators, whose agenda was not the documenta-

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tion of the textiles or dress, but nevertheless have proved invaluable to this research. In particular, those of the Rev. J. Herbert of the American Baptist Church taken between 1908 and 1920 seem to have been the most prolific. The authors have achieved their goals outlined in the preface, one being to present the nineteenth century Chin textiles as art objects by unveiling their “technical virtuosity”, and the other presenting them as cultural objects that “deserve to be understood for their integral role in the core Chin effort to achieve merit in this life and the next”. Missing areas of research have been cleverly covered by reference to other researchers or by interviewing people in some of the main towns. It is obvious that the authors hold the Chin in great respect as they credit “the expert weavers of exemplary textiles” as a central theme to the book and name many people in the figure captions. New technologies such as standing looms and trade items are given minimal coverage, and from the lack of photographic data from the field made by the authors themselves, it is clear that they found little traditional clothing in use today. Indigenous names of textiles are not always provided and would have been useful, particularly in the captions. Furthermore, it is not easy to understand the inconsistency of the English given in parentheses after some indigenous names, nor the role of bold lettering used occasionally. It is perhaps also apt to mention that the maps provided did not suffice my curiosity and love of good

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maps. No legends are provided and the maps at the beginning of chapters 2, 4, 5, 6 and 7 fail to show all the towns and locations mentioned in the respective text. Kalemyo, for example, does not appear on the map of the northern Chin area (p.57), and the reader is forced to turn back to page 10 to find its location. The Chin Hills, so important and often mentioned in the text, are not named on any map, whereas the Chittagong Hills are. There are inconsistencies in spellings and town locations such as Tiddim, which is shown southeast of Falam on p.10 and southwest of Falam on p.57. The introduction gives a general anthropological background of the Chin peoples as Sino-Tibetans and compares the opinions of various anthropologists, most of whom seem to differ in their analysis of the Kuki-Chin peoples and rely on linguistics for their classification systems. We learn that the Chin originated in the Himalayan Plateau around 4000 BC and came into Southeast Asia approximately AD 1000, with half currently living in Myanmar and the other half in India, with a small population in Bangladesh. They speak at least 44 separate languages, the most common being Lai. An appendix at the end of the book gives the names of 22 loom parts and related items in 32 of these languages, most of which are credited to Bahadur. However, despite the authors’ claim in the preface that “the orthography of the Chin languages is not standardized, so phonetic spellings are the rule”, it is a shame that a specific phonetic system was not specified for

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the book, nor a glossary provided for readers with a keen eye for languages. A table of Kuki-Chin languages taken from Grimes, and geographic, topographic and climatic information are given on pages 15–16. In Chapter 2 the studies of numerous scholars and missionaries are drawn upon for the history and cultural setting of the Chin, but the historical information is minimal. The missionaries’ accounts seem to be less useful than their photographs, as “the primary motivation (of the missionaries) was not recording of Chin history but the translation of the Bible” (p.19). More recent anthropological studies made in the 1950s and 1960s have been more useful for cultural information, but these research pockets of Chin culture and cannot be taken as representative of the whole, as such a vast variety of cultural aspects exist. We are told that the primary social aim in the past of the entire Chin population was power by control over land, the ability to demand high bride prices and to organize large war parties. Today many of these standards still exist, and the Chin are preoccupied by status and material wealth that is displayed in feasts of merit, when hosts sacrifice massive mithans to feed large numbers of the community. Interestingly, textiles are the only home-produced items included in Chin heirloom items. Chapter 3 is the crowning accomplishment of these authors, whose magnificent drawings of textile structures and avid descriptions of the weaving

techniques show concise and clear understanding of the subject. We are guided into noticing the subtlest additions to textiles such as laid-in wefts that can hardly be seen but play an important role in the status of a textile, and alternated wefts that give depth to red warps by using a black weft and warmth to black warps by changing to a red weft in the same textile. Although most Chin textiles are warp faced, the authors document numbers of textiles that alternate from warp to weft face in the same piece by bunching warps together or even by cutting them off to reduce the warp count. Interesting techniques such as false embroidery and eccentric weft twining are introduced, and stitching methods have been carefully drawn. Unfortunately the “vai puan stripe” is not sufficiently described, given its continuous mention throughout the book, and its discontinuous supplementary weft sections are not seen in the suggested photographic reference of figure 95. Information sadly lacking in this technical chapter is on natural dyes used in the nineteenth century, which the authors admit they were unable to research due to the common practice of chemical dyeing today. It is likely that chemical dyes reached these areas very early, due to the British involvement there since the late eighteenth century, but no information is given of this trade or possible dating of textiles by their dye sources. Bright red, for example, was purportedly made from lac, but it is known that lac does not dye well on vegetable fibres such as cotton, hemp

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and flax, the main materials for many Chin textiles. The authors doubt the originality of the red tunics of the Khmau, calling it “a matter of debate”, but fail to suggest chemical dyes as a possible reason for the greater use of red, nor do they analyse the possible significance of silk in red sections of the textiles, as silk dyes easily in lac. The next four chapters are devoted to a description of the textiles themselves. One wonders why blankets are not included in the sections on “wear”, but are described together with sleeping blankets, whereas they seem in some cases to be one of the few garments worn and are, after all, body mantles. Sub-headings within the textile types would have assisted easier reference and greater clarity. Unfortunately, the marvellous ability of the authors to describe the weaving techniques and structures of each textile was not applied to the methods of dress, perhaps due to the lack of information in the field. Chapter 7 on Ashö textiles describes some of the most fascinating textiles in the book. Despite the relocation of the six Ashö groups south of the Chin Hills in Burmese and Rakhine controlled areas, they seem to have maintained more sophisticated early textiles styles than the Haka, who are often thought of as the creative force behind Chin textiles. It is very interesting that these textiles show a high level of impressive weaving, even though they are only used on ceremonial occasions and the people have adapted themselves to more modern living.

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The last chapter, “Wellsprings and Flow of Textile Ideas”, is a summary of the finds made by the authors and is a pleasing conclusion to the book. We learn that resist dyeing may have been the Karen influence, and that the Laytu, an Ashö group, may have been the original creators of the twill technique. The “vai puan stripe” is of possible Laytu and Bawm origins. The Frasers’ dedication to detail has been triumphantly rewarded, as illustrated by one of their final statements: “In many cases structural analysis confirmed groupings (of the different Chin peoples) suggested by linguists and anthropological study” (p276). Mantles of Merit poses many questions, but has successfully filled an enormous gap in our knowledge of Chin textiles and is a veritable dictionary on the subject. Patricia Cheesman

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Donald K. Swearer, Sommai Premchit and Phaitoon Dokbuakaew, Sacred Mountains of Northern Thailand and their Legends. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2004, pp. 112, Bt. 395. The mountains of northern Thailand, famous to pilgrims and tourists alike, are associated with monastic asceticism, as well as shamanism and animist beliefs. Drawing on a number of Thai and vernacular sources, this book presents new translations of tamnan, legendary chronicles, associated with the mountains of northern Thailand. Two of the translations, the Tamnan Ang Salung (Chronicle of Water Basin Mountain) and the Tamnan Phra Doi Suthep (Chronicle of Doi Suthep) are the result of collaboration with Thai scholars, Phaitoon Dokbuakaew and Sommai Premchit, respectively. Swearer contributes two thoughtful introductory chapters and introduces the translations, and is the sole translator of the legends of Phra That Doi Kham and Chao Luang Kham Daeng. The first chapter, entitled “Buddhism, Nature, and Culture”, examines the contribution of religion, particularly Buddhism, to debates surrounding the “global environmental crisis”. Swearer proposes that the attempts to tackle the environmental crisis have neglected “humanistic, ethical and religious perspectives” (p. 1), and that these dimensions urgently need to be addressed in order to move the debate forward. Swearer suggests that the teaching of the historical Buddha can be interpreted as

directly relevant, and the doctrinal justifications used by the Buddhist environmental movement are briefly explored. These are put into a Thai-specific context by a short review of the late Buddhadasa Bhikkhu’s interpretation of the relationship between nature and the Dhamma, the Buddha’s teachings. In Chapter 2 we turn to a more detailed examination of the many meanings and roles ascribed to the mountains of northern Thailand. Illustrated by a simple diagram on page 22, we see how the mountain has been linked with notions of kingship and cosmology, Buddhism, Brahmanism, legends and deities. Here we examine the apparent tensions between nature and culture, a false opposition in the opinion of the author, who suggests that “when culture is perceived as a total way of life of a group of people, then nature becomes part of the way in which a people understand and construct their very existence” (p. 23). Swearer goes on to examine some of the similarities between the tamnan, discussing ways of understanding the Buddha’s travels around northern Thailand and his encounters with local peoples and places, giving names to places and distributing relics. The Buddha’s presence and journey serve to create an order, “within which particular locations derive meaning as a result of being integrated into a larger scheme of things grounded ultimately in the Buddha.” The signs, relics, place names, stories, folklore and legends he leaves in his wake serve as reminders of his “continuing presence”.

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Chapter 3 contains the translation of the Tamnan Doi Ang Salung, the Chronicle of Water Basin Mountain, Thailand’s third highest mountain. The text is translated from palm leaf manuscript in northern Thai script, from a monastery in the Chiang Mai district kept in microfilmed copy in the Social Research Institute’s archive at Chiang Mai University. The manuscript used is dated Chulasakarat 1306 (1944 C.E.), though the author suggests this version probably dates from the early nineteenth century. The authors have slightly altered the order in which the elements of the original are organised in order to make the text more straightforward and readable, meaning that elements can work independently of the main narrative. The text comprises three elements, arranged into five shorter sections for ease of reading. In this type of legendary text, which draws together figures of religious authority who may be diachronically separated by centuries, and places which may be geographically far apart, into a single synchronic narrative of localised sacred place, literal interpretation is not the intention. Thus, we read of the Buddha being accompanied by King Asoka and attended by his disciple Ananda, and events from his biography are transposed from an Indian to a northern Thai context. The tamnan relates the Buddha’s journey around northern Thailand and his encounters with various ethnic groups, including the Lawa, Tai and Burmese, converting the people and the land and distributing relics and leaving his mark

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(in the form of a footprint) as he goes. Often these relics are of a rather surprising nature, as when a Lawa farmer is presented with a relic from the mucus which drips from the Buddha’s nose. The chapter concludes with the Legend of Chao Luang Kham Daeng, Lord Burnished Gold, in which we learn how the son of the king of Champa’s mysterious death at the hands of a yakkha (demon) lead to him becoming the guardian spirit of the cave in which he disappeared. He still “rules over the spirits and lords of the forest and the mountains in northern Thailand all the way to the Burma border” (p.67). In Chapter 4 we turn to that most famous of Thai mountains, Doi Suthep. The Tamnan Phra Doi Suthep is translated from a microfilm copy in the Social Research Unit, Chiang Mai University. The manuscript was palm leaf, written in Lan Na script and dated C.S. 1186 (1824 C.E.). This legend again gives an account of the Buddha visiting northern Thailand, and includes the well-known story of the journey on an elephant’s back to the summit of Doi Suthep of the Buddha relic brought from Sukhothai by the holy monk Mahasumana Thera. This text also incorporates the lineage of the kings of Chiang Mai and the building of the chedi, and details the correct way in which to make offerings. The chapter concludes with the translation of the Legend of Doi Kham, the golden mountain. This includes the legend of Chamathewi, and the history of the yakkhas Pu Sae and Ya Sae, and their

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son, the ascetic Wasuthep, whose story explains the annual buffalo sacrifice held at Doi Kham. This is a short book and is of interest to anyone who cares about Thailand’s cultural and physical heritage. Of course, it will be of particular interest to historians and scholars of Buddhist studies, but it is written in accessible language appropriate to the general reader. It is an ideal companion volume to Swearer and Sommai Premchit’s Legend of Queen Cama (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998). There are thirteen colour plates which accompany the text; however, the inclusion of a simple map would have aided readers unfamiliar with the location. The decision to convert the distances described in the text from Thai wa to metres seems rather strange and jars somewhat with the rest of the translated text. The fact that footnotes are kept to a minimum and there is no separate bibliography means that pointers to further reading on Buddhist environmentalist movements in Thailand and beyond are minimal. These minor points notwithstanding, this book makes a fascinating read for scholars and interested individuals alike, and is a welcome addition to the body of work of Professor Swearer. Catherine Newell

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Donald K. Swearer, Becoming the Buddha: The Ritual of Image Consecration in Thailand. Princeton, Princeton University Press, 2004, pp.336, USD 37.95. This wide-ranging study has as its focus the abhiseka ritual to consecrate a new Buddha image. Although Professor Swearer concentrates upon the ritual as it has developed in the Chiang Mai area of northern Thailand, he engages in a variety of scholarly debates about the nature and history of Buddha images and image consecration. He also explores at length the person and nature of Gotama, the historical Buddha, as understood by monks, scholars and lay devotees since his miraculous birth. The study considers the Buddha image from its manufacture by skilled artisans to its installation in the temple setting in a lengthy and complicated ceremony rich with meaning, which culminates in the ritual opening of the image’s eyes. As well as the author’s considerable descriptive and analytical study, a number of suttas, sermons and other ritual texts appear in whole or in fragments, many of them in new translation. The text is supplemented by 49 pages of footnotes, plus a glossary of selected Thai and Pa¯li terms. 21 black and white photos accompany the text, the majority of them showing scenes from image consecration rituals in the Chiang Mai region. The book is arranged into three sections and eight chapters. Part 1 incorporates three chapters, which consider the Buddha image itself from a number

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of scholarly and theoretical angles. Drawing on Pali and Thai and vernacular sources, Chapter 1 explores the ways in which the Buddhist tradition has accounted for the existence of Buddha images. This discussion sheds light on the nature of the Buddha image and how it should be treated, themes which are developed later in the book. Swearer then turns to the art historical debates, which have sought to agree on the origin of the first Buddha image, its style, dating and location, as well as the suggested impetus for this development. Chapter 2 considers the location of the Buddha image within its physical context, the Thai wat (temple-monastery), and explores a number of scholars’ interpretations of the nature and significance of the stupa (the ancient Indian memorial mound in which relics are enshrined). Chapter 3 is largely given over to the translation of three northern Thai texts concerned with the proper construction of a Buddha image. There is also a description of the image-making itself, followed by a discussion of the notable features and themes drawn from the texts, including a fascinating discussion on the nature and use of yantras (Thai: yan), magical diagrams with protective properties. Part 2 begins with a description of the image consecration ceremony. Its location, various elements and actors are described and discussed in context. Swearer explores the relationship between Gotama Buddha and his relics, images and “material signs”, asking if the Buddha may be said to be present in

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such objects (pp.108–115). In order to “become the Buddha’s double” (p.122), the image needs to be instructed in the life story of the Buddha, by the recital of texts which relate key events in the Buddha’s life. Two such texts, the Pathama Sambodhi (Thai, Pathom Somphat, The Buddha’s Supreme ¯ k Buat Enlightenment) and Sitta¯t O (Siddhatta’s Renunciation) appear here in translation (pp.129–137 and 138–151 respectively). As well as being “instructed” in the life of the Buddha, the image must also be empowered by the ritual implanting (Thai: plu¯k) of the knowledge, qualities and powers of Gotama Buddha. This is done by the monastic recital of texts which describe in detail the circumstances, and, crucially, the precise nature of his enlightenment. In part 3 the various elements of the book are brought together. There is an illuminating consideration of image consecration ceremonies in other Buddhist countries. While there are many (often surprising) similarities, Swearer argues that what makes the northern Thai ritual under consideration unique is “the charismatic intervention of monk-meditators” (p.230). It is the emphasis on the life and, particularly, the enlightenment of Gotama Buddha which leads Swearer to conclude in the final chapter that the buddha¯bhiseka ceremony “transforms the image into the living reality of the Buddha...[the ritual] creates a cult icon by the mimetic repetition of the events that constitute Buddhahood” (pp.230–231).

The epilogue considers the role of the Buddha image in contemporary Thailand and includes the reflections of the late Buddhada¯sa Bhikkhu on popular misinterpretation of the concept of “taking refuge” in the Buddha. It also includes a short response from wellknown Thai scholarly monk P.A. Payutto (Phra Dhammapitaka) on the question of “Sacred Objects, Efficacious Deities, and Miracles”. The book closes with the efforts of Santi Asok (the Thai utopian Buddhist movement which eschews all Buddha images) to reinterpret the traditional amulet consecration ritual as a ceremony to morally empower the movement’s members. Although this study concentrates on one ritual in one region of Thailand, Swearer extrapolates from the relatively small area of focus to illuminate a large area of debate. Swearer is not afraid to wade into some of the thorniest issues to have occupied scholars of Buddhist studies since the inception of the discipline, and makes a timely and intelligent critique of the overly simplistic view that paints Buddhists and Buddhist history in terms of iconic/aniconic, Hinaya¯na/Maha¯ya¯na, and popular/monastic polarities. Catherine Newell

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Martin Jelsma, Tom Kramer, and Pietje Vervest, eds, Trouble in the Triangle: Opium and Conflict in Burma. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005, pp. 231. This book is the result of research on drugs and conflicts in Burma. A conference on the subject was organized in 2003 by the Transnational Institute (TNI). The book contains ten papers grouped into three sections, one each on local, regional, and global perspectives. In their introduction, the editors call for a more humane drug policy in Burma. They express concern over the drug ban initiated by the Wa Authority in June 2005, as well as plans by the Government of the Union of Myanmar to eliminate drugs throughout the country in 2014. Seeing such bans as efforts to bring about “quick solutions” to complex problems, the editors suggest that easing the deadlines while increasing international humanitarian assistance would be more appropriate. Paper writers included journalists, the son of a Shan prince, social scientists, and one person working in a development project. Also contributing, in an appendix at the end of the first section (but left unmentioned in the introduction, as well as in the contributors’ section, the latter at their own request), were accounts by two opium poppy growers, one from southern Shan State and one from Kachin State. Eight papers are on Burma, while two provide balance by examining drug situations in Columbia and Afghanistan, respectively the world’s largest producers of cocaine and

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opium. Two authors are from Burma, while the rest are from elsewhere, except, of course, the two anonymous poppy growers. Although the editors want to “move the debate forward”, it is not clear what the pros and cons of the debate are. But based on clues in different texts, the debate is between the proponents of the war on drugs conducted by the United States since 1971 and those who authored the articles in the book calling for the more humanitarian approach. One side of the debate was presented convincingly on 6 October 2005 in Paris by Professor Al McCoy. He concluded a meeting on “Drug Production and State Stability” by charging that the war on drugs was failing. Referring to what he called a donor-driven US-United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) partnership, McCoy claimed that since this war began, drug production had increased, the substances used had multiplied, while usage had both soared and entered new sectors of society. He added that harsh control measures, such as fumigating crops in Latin America, created negative social and environmental impacts. The United States has shaped UNODC policy since 1971, when President Nixon began actively trying to control drugs. That year, White House deputy for Domestic Affairs, Egil (Bud) Krogh, traveled to Chiang Mai with the message that the United States would fund drug control work in Thailand. Soon a workplan was drafted for the first project of then newly-formed United

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Nations Fund for Drug Abuse Control (now UNODC) that adopted the crop replacement approach pioneered by King Bhumibol Adulyadej. Prince Bhisatej Rajani directed both the UN and the Royal Project, although they later diverged. Until 1984, when the Thai government began eradicating the poppy crops, law enforcement was secondary to development work. Even then, as dozens of international, bilateral and NGO projects worked in poppy-growing areas, economic development was the focus. Later, similar projects began in Laos, Vietnam and Burma. The biggest drug-related project in this region now is the UNODC Wa Project, operating with a total budget of about US$16 million since 1998. Major activities include agricultural development to increase food production, feeder road construction, and health and education components. This project is discussed in the papers by one of the editors, Tom Kramer, and a lonely project official, Jeremy Milsom. Despite efforts by the editors to remain neutral in the debate, they sometimes distort its parameters. For example, Kramer shows too close a link between US/UNODC policy (and implicitly the war on drugs) and the 2005 ban in the Wa region. Although he writes that the United Wa State Army (UWSA) proclaimed the Wa region drug free, the article also states that “particularly” China, Thailand, and the US pressured the Wa into the ban. He overlooks the fact that the ban was planned in 1990. When the Wa leaders did this, neither

the US or UN had any influence on this decision and the Burmese government influence there was not strong. Neither he nor any of the other authors explain that China has been waging its own war on drugs for over 40 years. After Mao Zedong took power in 1949, China aggressively reversed conditions that had started a century earlier, when the British fought wars for opium from 1839 to 1842. Many in Mao’s government disdained the aggression that had forced them to cede Hong Kong, as well as starting what they saw as an outrageous part of a century of aggression against them. When the Chinese Communist Party suppressed opium, neither the US nor the UN played any role. For over 25 years, without UN or US involvement, China remained virtually drug free. The impetus for the ban in the Wa is seen clearly in the Wa leader, Bao Yuxiang’s, answer when questioned whether he was serious about the ban in 2005: “If I do not carry out the ban, you can send my head on a platter to Beijing.” China’s concern over opium exports from Burma changed in the 1980s, when poppy cultivation from the Shan State increased as one result of the US war on drugs that shut down poppy cultivation in the Middle East, leading drug cartels to find new sources. By 1985, when public notices were posted in Jinghong announcing the execution of drug dealers, China was facing a new drug problem that grew to over a million opiate users in China in a decade. Beijing sees China’s problems as flow-

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ing east from Shan State, into Yunnan and thence elsewhere in China. By not recognizing these factors, the frame of the debate in the book is skewed. This is understandable to some degree because, as the editors note, many constraints impede knowing the drug situation on Burma, such as gaining access to opium poppy growing areas. No journalists from anywhere except China have been able to visit the Wa region for over a year, causing many observers to rely on Shan border groups that are often politically motivated. Such constraints contribute to some papers focusing on the oft-told story of ethnic conflict and Burmese warlords. With little current information on the area (despite brief trips by two editors to the Wa region in 2003), the book continues the discussion in terms of hurried UN and US wars on drugs, which force deadlines on the growers. The present drug control situation is more prosaic. Almost all the old opium armies and rebel groups have signed ceasefire agreements and laid down their arms. Both UN and American estimates of opium production find decreased poppy cultivation over the last decade. Priorities now include increasing rice production, providing better health care, expanding education, and other development activities. As for the articles themselves, the veteran journalist Adrian Cowell presents an authoritative background to the situation by correlating the production of opium and the rise of anarchy in Shan State. Basing his account primarily on

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trips he made at four intervals with different Shan guerrilla groups, from 1964 to 1992–1994, he balances the information gained first-hand from, as he calls them, “the principal predators” of the trade, with data from other sources. He reviews the growth of the opium trade, showing its connection with the principal Shan State rebel groups. He leaves the issue of the ceasefires and bans to the other authors. The late Chao Tzang, descended from a leading Shan princely family and to whom the book is dedicated, does address this issue, considering ceasefires and bans more as business arrangements by which the opium trade can continue. He suggests that only political changes that “restore a functional relationship between the state and broader society in Burma” will accomplish this. Tom Kramer also discusses the ceasefires. He is concerned that international assistance to the country, due to reluctance by donors since 1988 to provide aid to the country, is insufficient to provide much help to the opium farmers. Fearing that there will be much suffering in the Wa region when the ban goes into effect (as it now has), he hopes that the authorities extend the deadline (which they have not and will not). The paper by Jeremy Milsom, presently the manager of the UNODC Wa Area Development Project, is the only one (besides the appendix noted above) that presents the point of view of the Wa leaders and ordinary farmers. Although the politics of the region has led to many in Thailand and the West

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seeing the Wa as purveyors of all manner of drugs, they are in fact a diverse group with many factions. Despite the Wa leadership having been indicted as drug dealers by the United States last year, the UN Wa Project has continued. It seeks viable alternatives to opium production, which impoverishes more growers than it enriches. Milsom’s paper presents the most up-to-date account of changes in the Wa region ever written. In the second section, Don Pathan discusses Thailand’s war on drugs. After reviewing Burma-Thai border relations, he details the policies introduced by Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra to aggressively reduce drug problems in Thailand that led, according to the Ministry of the Interior, to 81,000 suspected drug dealers being detained, about 270,000 drug users entering treatment programs, and over 2,000 deaths. Pathan focuses on the internal politics of Burma, suggesting that drug exports to Thailand were facilitated by the ongoing presence of warlords and a state of lawlessness that the ceasefires (which he says were not political settlements) did not eliminate, thus ensuring continued drug production. Guilhem Fabre discusses the recent rise of heroin use in China, which, he says, creates a demand for opium larger than the supply reported by the UNODC. Although he believes that increased imports from Afghanistan might be filling any decline in exports from Burma, his figures of usage in China may also be wrong, because he

does not estimate dosage levels which might in fact be less than he thinks. Although he calls on China to avoid finger-pointing and to cooperate in drug control, he seems to ignore the fact that China signed the 1992 UN Sub-regional Memorandum of Understanding and has joined other international groups to counter the spread of drugs and has, as noted above, pressured the Wa to ban drugs in 2005, a ban that is indeed being enforced, although poppy cultivation may, as Fabre suggests, be moving elsewhere, such as Kachin State. Soe Myint examines the trade of Burmese drugs across the border into India. It is precisely because China is clamping down on the trade across its borders that drug cartels have begun shipping in the other direction, through central Burmese towns such as Mandalay and Monywa on newly-improved roads to India. His calls for increased awareness, educational initiatives, and increased international assistance for this region are appropriate, but may be difficult to implement. Martin Jelsma begins the third section by assessing the global market for opium in the past and shifts in supply and demand. Despite variations in individual countries, he states that the combined world production has remained relatively stable for over a century. He also reviews the opium ban in the Wa region, which he, too, incorrectly links to the initiatives promoted by the United States and the United Nations since the late-1990s. He correctly notes, however, that the humanitarian consequences of

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rapidly banning opium may be severe, particularly on the poor farmers who are least able to find alternative livelihoods. The final two papers, in the third section, cover the situation in the two major narcotic crop producing areas in the world: Afghanistan (by Alain Labrousse) for opium and Columbia (by Ricardo Vargas M.) for coca, which is processed into cocaine. Because both countries seem to have more serious problems with armed groups and civic unrest than Burma, they offer some hope that the problems in this country may be on the road to repair. The book itself is well produced, though an index would have been useful, especially since many authors discussed overlapping topics as well as the same people and locales. Overall the book contributes to our knowledge of drug issues in Burma, while at the same time indicating difficulties in keeping abreast of conditions in this country. Ronald D. Renard

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Andrew C. Willford, Kenneth M. George (eds), Spirited Politics: Religion and Public Life in Contemporary Southeast Asia. Ithaca, NY, Cornell Southeast Asia Program, 2005, pp. 210. Beginning in the early 1980s, certain anthropologists have shifted their attention from face-to-face communities to the study of the culture of the public world. Considering the rise of middle classes, the press and public opinion about nationalism, political affairs, justice and the shape of tomorrow throughout the twentieth century, this shift of focus came rather late. Since then, however, the unfolding of the cultural space between the state-owning elite and the little people, as well as the globalization of the media, the economy, and travel, has created a legitimate field of cultural analysis; the book to be reviewed is a fine example. The contributions to the volume focus on the interconnections between the state, politics, religion, society and individual life-worlds. Gone are the days of the theatre of religious pomp to lend glory to the state and its ruling class. It has been replaced by rhetoric about the nation and by religious discourse manipulated or on its own as major sources of legitimacy. In its current mobilization, there is nothing non-modern about religion that, in Spirited Politics, is seen as an enduring and increasingly significant precinct of Southeast Asian politics and public life (p.9) (which may, at a certain point of time, appear as a bold overstatement).

The eight chapters that comprise the book vary enormously in their contents and focus, even as they show the entwinement of the state, or politics, and religion. Sometimes this happens in unintended ways, as Brenner’s essay on Islam and gender politics in Indonesia demonstrates. When Suharto came to power, he not only wanted to destroy communism, but also to emasculate political Islam. With the gradual disillusionment with the New Order, Islam became a symbol of opposition and even a moral stance. This, combined with global impulses, led to an impressive revival of the religion, which in turn led the New Order to accommodate it. The subsequent efflorescence of Islam resulted in various internal debates on its role in politics and the state, modernity, democracy and gender, and whereas Brenner focuses on the last, she also demonstrates that any generalization about “Islam and its role in the modern state”, or in the world, for that matter, is a dangerous simplification. If Islam as a social force was powerful enough to struggle free from New Order rigidity, the creation of an alien other within through the denial of its own religiosity continued the colonial practice of setting the Chinese apart while denying them assimilation into the multi-ethnic Indonesian nation. It is only in the post-Suharto era that the people of Chinese descent may be “admitted”, although they still have a long way to go. This is illustrated in Abalahin’s chapter on Confucianism and the negotiation of Indonesian-Chinese identity that

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takes its point of departure in the long struggle of a couple to have their marriage recognized by the state even if it was sanctified through Confucian ritual. The self-contradictory nature of nation-building through the exclusion of minorities is also highlighted by the marginalization of the Hindu Tamil community of Malaysia. To illustrate the non-accommodation of Hindu practices in an ideology of national purity, Willford focuses on the vicissitudes of a single spirit medium who, in his treatment, becomes an icon of the “private”, non-national space of Hinduism in the country: that space is a cage or a zone of confinement into which subjects (not citizens) have been coerced by the state. In the Philippines something of an opposite nature takes place when ardent academic nationalists, not the state, proclaim certain popular religious sites and practices as eminently national, as epitomizing the kernel and secrets of Philippine identity and culture. On the lower slopes of Mt Banahaw this gave rise to the appropriation of a cult, the Ciudad Mistica de Dyos, that, as Lahiri shows, grew out of its local boundaries and became a vehicle for a politician in search of publicity. In a way, the interest of said nationalist academics reflects in the 1980s the opinions of equally zealous Americans bound to civilize the Filipinos through denying that the latter had any culture worth noting, apart from a tendency toward idolatry, mimicry and imitation. By way of often circumstantial but equally humorous facts and stories,

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Cannell is convincing in showing that American colonial prejudices found their roots in a “Protestant” mentality, yet what she further wants to demonstrate with her discussion of “idolatry” and “fetishism” remains both farfetched and unclear. The point, however, that lowland Christian Filipinos think of themselves as having no culture and no identity is a lesson they learned well from their colonial masters and an opinion I still encounter every day in spite of the nationalists’ appropriation of Banahaw “mysticism”. In the same vein as a politician seeks an audience and his advantage through banking on a cult’s popularity, Thai politicians exploit the opportunity of seeking the limelight at wakes and cremations. As Fishel demonstrates, this phenomenon could arise through the shift of venue of funerary practices from the forest to the urban temple and the consequent “domestication of death” in the wake of the growth of Thai middle classes. The other piece situated in Thailand is White’s discussion of fraudulent popular religiosity in the public sphere. The State campaign to outlaw spirit mediums whose prophecies led to arson lead him to argue that although such mediums persist (in the margin of popular religiosity), “the State”—or is it politics—is currently too weak, too unorganized, too unwilling and uninterested, to campaign for the eradication of irrational, pre-modern mediumship— whose focus, by the way, has changed from arson to enhancing middle-class prosperity.

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As far as I know, in Thailand anything having to do with the appropriation of the supernatural still goes and those who bank on the gullibility of the public hold on to their positions even as there are significant shifts of focus, such as the newspaper pages devoted to amulets and supernaturally powerful monks giving way to sports and pictures of pretty girls. Be that as it may, the deep-down interest in the mysterious remains a fact of life, at the same time that Buddhism lives on for the sake of merit-making, auspiciousness, visibility, family and funeral rites (rather than because of the attractions of modern reformism). Even so, the state—or politics— keeps a watchful eye on public manifestations it finds displeasing, as exemplified by its suppression, in the 1980s, of the “Bureau of the Heavenly Grandfathers”, where, in my days, quite a few Chiang Mai academics sought guidance from Napoleon, the Fifth Reign or certain long-departed luang phi. It is unfortunate that White does not give any attention to the other instances of state or political interference in popular religious manifestations, such as the said Bureau (1980s) or the esoteric Dhammakaya sect (1990s), or even the reformist Santi Asoka sect (1970s); had he done, he could have made a case. Of the eight authors, Laheri, Willford and George seek to see the universe in a grain of sand, a procedure I am in sympathy with. Perhaps this is most pointedly so in the last chapter by George on the reaction to violence and religion of the Acehnese painter Pirous. Through

focusing on the growth of his political and religious awareness in parallel to his artistic development, we get a fascinating commentary on the tragic story of Aceh and the predicaments of Indonesian citizenship. On the whole, Spirited Politics does what it sets out to do, namely, to give insight into the complex relationships between state, religion, society and individuals, and into a public sphere filled by the cacophony of their voices that sometimes result in discursive space and also in the headstrong desire to exclude and not to communicate. In much of the book, however, the message is cloaked in academic esotericism and a flood of verbiage relished by old-fashioned German professors. I doubt whether this is a service to the reading public and the English language. Niels Mulder

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Pratapaditya Pal, Art from Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia (Asian Art at the Norton Simon Museum, Vol. 3). New Haven and London, Yale University Press in association with the Norton Simon Art Foundation, 2004, pp.255. This is Volume 3 in the set Asian Art at the Norton Simon Museum. Volume 1 (2003) described ‘Art from the Indian Subcontinent’, while Volume 2 (2003) dealt with ‘Art from the Himalayas and China’. All three books, written by Pal, are sumptuously produced, and have detailed indexes and bibliographies. Norton Simon (1907–1993) had a passion for Asian art, which led him to amass what must be one of the biggest and most extraordinary private collections in the world, now housed in the handsome Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, California. The collection covered in this volume includes objects from all of the countries and cultures of the region. The Introduction discusses the nature of the artwork and its relations to the Indian subcontinent and to Buddhism and Hinduism. The lucid and balanced essay sets the stage for the catalogue, which presents the objects according to region or type. The first section is ‘Pottery of the Ban Chiang and later periods’. The collection has several very fine pieces, remarkably intact. Next is ‘Drums’—fourteen bronze ‘rain drums’ of various provenances and dates. This is followed by ‘Sri Lanka’. Noteworthy are an ivory fan handle, an extraordinary sword made of silver inlaid with gemstones,

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and a pair of silver manuscript covers with intricate decorations. The next section is devoted to Indonesia. Here there is a fine small bronze of the goddess Chunda. As Pal’s brief note shows, Chunda was an important deity. Unfortunately she has been rather neglected by modern scholarship; an exception is a recent article by Robert Gimello, ‘Icon and Incantation: The Goddess Zhunti and the Role of Images in the Occult Buddhist of China’,’ (Chapter 7 in Phyllis Granoff and Koichi Shinohara, ed., Images in Asian Religions: Texts and Contexts, Vancouver and Toronto: UBC Press, 2004). Both this image and a bronze Tara are inscribed with the ye dharma stanza, which connects them with a ritual practice widespread in the greater Buddhist world by the Pala period. The pride of the collection is the objects from Thailand and Cambodia. In his long and useful introduction to the section, Pal briefly touches upon one of the most puzzling icons of the ‘Dvaravati’ culture: the so-called Banaspati images, or images of a Buddha, often flanked by a pair of deities or bodhisattvas, riding on a garuda or a mythical creature. The icon is not explained by any inscription or extant text, and many theories have been proposed. None of these has been convincing, including a recent proposal by Sarah Tiffin and Martin Stuart-Fox (‘Dvaravati ‘Buddha on a Monster’ stelae: a possible interpretation’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Third Series, Vol. 12, Part I, April 2002, pp. 47–65), which is

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flawed by some basic misunderstandings. Pal cites a ‘Javanese prayer to the Buddha to avert a smallpox epidemic’ which, as he notes, ‘sheds light on the possible identification of the creature’ (italics mine). That is, the prayer, from another culture and context, cannot solve the mystery, but it offers a new perspective to consider. My own position remains agnostic: that is, in the absence of any contemporary and local inscriptional evidence, the issue cannot be decided. I suspect that Dvaravati had a rich literature of its own, including narrative or ritual texts that may have explained the icon, but that no longer survive. Among the especially fine objects from Siam are a stone standing ‘Hindu deity’, and several gold plaques depicting deities, all believed to be from Si Thep. Two masterful bronzes are from the Prakhon Chai finds: an Avalokiteshvara and a Maitreya. In contrast, there are several images which to me appear clumsy and of doubtful authenticity (see e.g. Cat. nos. 90, 92, 99, 100). From Cambodia are eight stone lingams — objects notoriously difficult to provenance or date — and a representative collection of stone deities, most in good condition. The final section brings together a miscellany of objects from Laos, Burma, and Vietnam. The ‘Buddhist Manuscript with covers’ is not in Pali, but in one of the Tai dialects used in the Shan states, Northern Thailand, Northern Laos, and Yunnan, It is finely calligraphed in the ‘Tham’ script, and

has a pair of handsome covers. Among the rare inscribed objects in the collection are two betel boxes from Burma. As in volumes 1 and 2 of the series, the photography is superb—colour close-ups bring out the sensuous beauty of the artifacts and the texture and patina of their surfaces. Together, the photographs and the intelligent and well-written text provide an excellent survey of the Norton Simon Museum collection. Peter Skilling

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Books received for review

Baker, Chris, and Pasuk Phongpaichit, A History of Thailand, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005

Poole, Colin, Tonle Sap: The Heart of Cambodia’s Natural Heritage, Bangkok, River Books, 2005

Chouvy, P.-A., and Joel Meissonnier, Yaa Baa: Production, traffic and consumption of Methamphetamine in Mainland Southeast Asia, Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2004

Roveda, Vittorio, Images of the Gods: Khmer mythology in Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand, Bangkok, River Books, 2005

Gilquin, Michel, Muslims in Thailand, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Marchal, Sappho, Khmer costumes and ornaments of the Devatas of Angkor Wat, Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2005 Ismail Marcinkowski, M., From Isfahan to Ayutthaya: Contacts between Iran and Siam in the 17th century, Singapore, Pustaka Nasional, 2005 Morrell, Elizabeth, Securing a place: small-scale artisans in modern Indonesia, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 2004 Owen, Norman G., ed., The Emergence of modern Southeast Asia: A New History, Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2005

St. John, Ronald B., Revolution, reform and regionalism in Southeast Asia, London, Routledge, 2005 Sarassawadee Ongsakul, The History of Lanna, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Ibrahim Syukri, History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Walker, Andrew, Merit and the Millennium: Routine and Crisis in the ritual lives of the Lahu people, New Delhi, Hindustan Publishing, 2003 Wattana Sugunnasil, ed., Dynamic diversity in southern Thailand, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Younghusband, G. J., The Trans-Salwin Shan State of Kiang Tung, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005

Pompe, Sebastian, The Indonesian Supreme Court: a study of institutional collapse, Ithaca NY, Cornell University Press, 2004

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NOTES ABOUT CONTRIBUTORS

AYE CHAN was born in Burma in 1949 and obtained an MA in history from Rangoon University in 1980, where he taught history from 1976 to 1983. He was awarded a Japanese government scholarship and studied in Kyoto University from 1983 to 1988, obtaining its D.Litt. degree in 1988. Back in Burma, he was arrested after taking part in the pro-democracy demonstrations of 1988 and spent seven years in prison (five in solitary confinement). In 1998 he went to teach Asian history in the USA and since 2001 he has taught at Kanda University of International Studies, Kyoto. Chris BAKER taught Asian history and politics at Cambridge in a previous life. Resident in Thailand since 1979. Co-author of A History of Thailand (CUP, 2005); Thailand: Economy and Politics (OUP, 1995; second edition 2002); Thaksin: The Business of Politics in Thailand (Silkworm, 2004); and translations from Pridi Banomyong, King Rama V, the Communist Party of Thailand, Chatthip Nartsupha, and Nidhi Eoseewong. Kennon BREAZEALE is a projects director at the East-West Center and honorary chairman of publications for the Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Hawaii. His most recent publications are Breaking

New Ground in Lao History: Essays on the Seventh to Twentieth Centuries (2002), and From Japan to Arabia: Ayutthaya’s Maritime Relations with Asia (1999). Patricia CHEESMAN has been teaching at Chiang Mai University in the Thai Art Department since 1984, and has written numerous books and articles on Lao and Thai textiles. She worked with the UN in Laos between 1973 and 1981 on development projects and studied weaving and natural dying with villagers in both Laos and Thailand. She designs textiles for the Weavers for the Environment (WFE) women’s groups, and gives workshops and lectures worldwide. Hung-Guk CHO is Professor of Southeast Asian History in the Graduate School of International Studies, Pusan National University, South Korea. He obtained his PhD at Hamburg University, with a dissertation on Thai history in the reign of King Narai. His recent research has been on ethnic Chinese in Thailand, Thai kingship, and the historical background of Thai-Malay conflicts. He is currently conducting a project reconstructing the history of Korean intercourse with Southeast Asia.

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Susan CONWAY trained as a painter and studied textiles at Goldsmiths’ College, University of London. After a stay in Thailand she published in 1992 with the British Museum Press Thai Textiles. She was recently Adjunct Professor of Southeast Asian Art at Parson’s.New School University, New York, and is now Research Associate, School of Oriental and African Studies, London. Anthony DILLER is Emeritus Director of the National Thai Studies Centre, Canberra. He has contributed studies in Thai epigraphy and historical-comparative linguistics to JSS and to other publications. Early Southeast Asian history is a related interest. These research strands are combined in ‘Evidence for Austroasiatic strata in Thai’, in Language Contacts in Prehistory, edited by Henning Andersen, John Benjamins, 2003. Pamela GUTMAN is an Honorary Associate in the Department of Art History and Theory at the University of Sydney. She has been working on the art and architecture of Burma since the 1970s and has a particular interest in the symbolism of power in early urban Southeast Asia. She is currently writing a biography of Gordon Luce, the author of the first definitive history of the art and architecture of Pagan. A revised edition of her book Burma’s Lost Kingdoms: Splendours of Arakan (Orchid Press 2001) will appear in 2006.

Oskar von HINÜBER born 1939, received his PhD in 1966 from the Johannes Gutenberg University, Mainz; since 1981 teaching Indology at the Albert Ludwigs University in Freiburg. Professor von Hinüber’s particular interests cover historical grammar of the middle IndoAryan languages, especially Pali, Pali literature and the manuscript tradition of Pali. His most recent publications include A Handbook of Pali Literature (1996), Die Palola Sahis (2004), and Indiens Weg in die Moderne (2005). Niels MULDER retired to the Philippines where he works on his intellectual biography. His main projects were Individual and Society in Java, Inside Thai/Philippines Society, and Inside Southeast Asia, that aim at developing interpretations of everyday life and the personal experiences, and Thai/Indonesian/Filipino/ Southeast Asian Images that have the culture of the public world as their subject. Catherine NEWELL is currently undertaking fieldwork in Thailand as part of her Religious Studies PhD at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. She works in Buddhist Studies, particularly within Theravada Buddhism, and her PhD thesis focuses on twentieth century meditation movements in Thailand.

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M.L. PATTARATORN Chirapravati is a professor of Asian art at California State University, Sacramento. She is the author of Votive Tablets in Thailand: Origin, Styles, and Uses (Oxford University Press, Kuala Lumpur, 1997). Her most recent research has been on Wat Ratchaburana and Wat Si Chum. She is co-curator of the international Thai art exhibition “The Kingdom of Siam: Art from Central Thailand (1340-1800)”. Anthony REID is the foundation Director of the Asia Research Institute of the National University of Singapore, and taught previously at UCLA and the Australian National University. His books include Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, c.1450–1680, 2 vols (1988–93), newly available in Thai translation, and Charting the Shape of Early Modern Southeast Asia (1999). Ronald D. RENARD is a former Hon. Editor, Journal of the Siam Society and in 2001 published with Silkworm Books Opium Reduction in Thailand, 1970–2000, a Thirty-Year Journey for the United Nations International Drug Control Programme. He is currently working in the Wa region of Burma. Peter SKILLING is a research fellow of the Lumbini International Research Institute (Lumbini, Nepal) and a Special Lecturer at Chulalongkorn University (Bangkok).

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At present he is Visiting Numata Professor of Buddhist Studies at the University of California, Berkeley. Michael SMITHIES born London 1932, educated Oxford, Berkeley, and Paris (ENS). First came to Thailand in 1960 with the British Council, and subsequently worked in Cambodia, Hong Kong, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea, and Singapore, ending up in UN-ESCAP Bangkok before retirement in 1992. Hon. Member, The Siam Society; Hon. Editor, Journal of the Siam Society (1969–71). His recent publications include a collection of several previously unpublished texts, Witnesses to a Revolution: Siam 1688 (2004). Martin STUART-FOX is Professor Emeritus in the School of History, Philosophy, Religion and Classics, in the University of Queensland, Australia. He is the author of several books and more than fifty book chapters and articles on Laos. He is currently working on a history of the three capitals of Laos, entitled Naga Cities of the Mekong. Thomas SUAREZ is the author of Early Mapping of the Pacific (Tuttle/Periplus Editions, 2004), Early Mapping of Southeast Asia (Periplus Editions, 1999), Shedding the Veil (World Scientific, 1992), as well as several scholarly articles about early maps, and was a contributing author to P. Cohen’s Mapping the West (Rizzoli, 2002).

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Andrew TURTON was educated at Cambridge University and the London School of Economics. He first came to Thailand in 1962 with the British Council. He returned in 1968 to conduct research for a PhD. He recently retired as Reader from SOAS, London. His most recent publication, with Volker Grabowsky, is The gold and silver road of trade and friendship: the McLeod and Richardson diplomatic missions to Tai states in 1837 (Silkworm Books, 2003).

Michael WRIGHT is an independent scholar whose chief interests lie in South and Southeast Asian studies. A life member of the Siam Society, he is advisor to the Arts and Culture magazine under the aegis of the Matichon newspaper group.

Anthony WALKER is Professor of Anthropology and Sociology at Universiti Brunei Darussalam. As a graduate student at Oxford University, he first began working among the Lahu people in north Thailand almost forty years ago, and began his Yunnan-based studies in 1990, under the aegis of Ohio State University. Walker has published extensively on the Lahu Nyi in JSS and other academic journals, and has also done work on the Toda of south India and in Fiji.

William WARREN American by birth, he has lived in Thailand since 1960. He was a lecturer at Chulalongkorn University for 30 years and has written numerous articles and books on aspects of Thai culture. Among his books are Jim Thompson: The Unsolved Mystery, Thai Style, The Tropical Garden, Thai Garden Style, and The Arts and Crafts of Thailand.

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Comments and Corrigenda

Wilhelm G. Solheim II, Ph. D. Faculty Consultant

Archaeological Studies Program University of the Philippines, Palma Hall Basement U.P.-Diliman, Quezon City, 1101 Philippines Telefax: [632] 426-14-60 e-mail address: [email protected]

19 August 2005 Michael Smithies, Editor The Journal of the Siam Society Bangkok, Thailand Letter to the Editor [slightly edited] Dear Michael Smithies, I was interested in reading Stéphane Dovert’s article on “From the composition of national histories to the building of a regional history in South-East Asia” (JSS vol.93 2005), in seeing a different argument in establishing that Southeast Asia is truly a region and not a figment of someone’ s imagination. I thought that this has been pretty well established by 20 years ago with a somewhat similar article by an American political scientist Donald K. Emmerson (1984 “Southeast Asia”: What’s in a name? Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 15 (1)1–21) and my answer to him (1985 “ Southeast Asia”: what’s in a name, another point of view: Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 16 (1): 141–147). As Emmerson never replied to my criticisms I assume he was in agreement with them. Emmerson stated (page 1): “Most Southeast Asianists, myself included, would sooner consider themselves botanists of the real, writing science, than zoologists of the unreal, writing fiction. But each self-image is incomplete. To combine the two is to understand that those who first named and depicted the region as a whole wrote, without realizing it, a kind of science fiction, in which ‘Southeast Asia’, like ‘spaceship’, labeled something that did not exist—but eventually would.” The beginning of my 2nd paragraph (page 141) expressed the focus of my argument against Emmerson’s article. “Before reading the article from beginning to end I had scanned the footnotes to see what archeological reports or publications by archaeologists he had referred to, and found none. I wondered how could he talk seriously about Southeast Asia as a region, or whether it was and is a ‘real’ region, without referring to the prehistory of the area?” Dovert’s article is much the same. He apparently has not read the considerable archaeological, historical and anthropological literature which over the last 20 years and more has clearly established that “Southeast Asia” is real and has been real for many thousands of years. His Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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“Bibliography” lists almost none of the many authors of articles and books that should be included in a paper such as he presented. One book that would be very instructional for him is O.W. Wolters (1999) Revised Edition of his History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives. The revised edition has considerable changes from the original edition in 1982. The changes came about because he started reading a number of archaeological reports and articles on the prehistory of the “Region”. This points up an other problem, i.e. that most scholars in Europe do not read American and Canadian journals or books and the same for American scholars, many of them not reading European publications. The English are somewhat of an exception. I must admit that this is true for me as well, as the majority of the authors listed in Dovert’s article I have never heard of before. Sincerely, Wilhelm G. Solheim II

Reply to Wilhelm Solheim’s letter concerning the article ‘From the composition of national histories to the building of a regional South-East Asia’, published in JSS Vol. 93 2005, pp.101–127

Written sources are definitely not sufficient to provide a proper image of ancient times in Southeast Asia. The lack of indigenous written sources on leaves, parchment or paper, the relative scarcity of stone inscriptions and their allegoric tendencies, do not supply a comprehensive view of the history of the numerous peoples who long have inhabited the mainland and islands of what is now termed “Southeast Asia”. In this context external texts, including Chinese chronicles, are of tremendous value. But their records are limited to certain places at particular times. Moreover, the conceptions of the Chinese travelers were particularly influenced by their own civilization, and they tended to misunderstand and misjudge what they experienced and observed in countries located far from their birthplace. In such a situation, Dr Wilhelm G. Solheim is definitely right in pointing to the importance of archeology as a leading source for the researchers working on ancient history in the region. Being myself much inclined to favor transversal approaches, not to say holistic ones, I cannot disagree with the comments made by Dr Solheim about the need to study carefully the material sources, including monuments, statues, burials and artifacts, to understand the civilizations and their interactions. Of course, I do not overlook the work of O. W. Wolters who has, along with others, brought to light considerable new knowledge during the past thirty years. Fortunately, despite the suggestion of Dr Solheim, their work is used worldwide, without any consideration nationality whatsoever. Apart from the innumerable excavation reports from American, European, Japanese and more and more frequently local teams that sometimes provide essential data, the already classical works of archeologists like Charles Higham or Pierre-Yves Manguin, as well as prehistorians like Peter Bellwood or linguists such H.L. Shorto, are very precious. And they do not consider the current political borders of the region as relevant limits to appreciate the ancient periods from the metal ages to what Anthony Reid has termed “the age of commerce”. Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94

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Every researcher agrees in saying that the nations of ancient times are not to be compared with the current ones. It is clear as well that contacts, exchanges of goods and populations movements (about which Volker Grabowsky has produced a couple of important articles in JSS) have played a central role in the history of the region, tending to invalidate an analysis in terms of “ nation-states” closed to each other. Is that enough, as Dr Solheim suggests, to “clearly establish that ‘Southeast Asia’ is real and has been a reality for many thousands years”? Probably not. In terms of political perceptions, Southeast Asia is definitely a new concept. Prior to the twentieth century, nobody could have called himself a “Southeast Asian” or enounced some related notion. And if exchange networks used to be more dynamic than we long thought they were, they have not occurred within the delimited borders of what it is now Southeast Asia. The pearls discovered in numerous places by archeologists have revealed an important exchange flow five millennia ago between the Indian east coast and some ports in what are now Thailand, Viet Nam and the Philippines. More recently the Arakan kingdoms had closer relations with India than with what is now Southeast Asia. For a long time, the populations of the Red River Delta had closer cultural links with the populations of South China (they were both referred to as “Yue” in the Chinese chronicles) than with the “Southeast Asian” Cham. And some academics such as Charles Holcombe have concentrated on the genesis of East Asia (as he entitled his book relating to the period 221 BC–AD 907 published in 2001 at the University of Hawai’i Press) without any consideration for subdivisions that could eventually include Southeast Asia. No geographic space or human group can be considered as a relevant community without questioning the criteria that determine their integration in or exclusion from it. Buddhist networks have always involved Sri Lanka but have never included the archipelago of the Philippines. Later on, Islam became a unifying faith for the Malay peninsula, Java and Champa and a part of India, but not for the rest of “Southeast Asia”. Religions, cultures, traditions and economic interests have been shared by some neighbors but not by others inside or outside “Southeast Asia”. What could be considered as unifying on a certain scale regarding particular criteria and for a special moment of time could be different from, or even in radical contrast to, earlier or later periods. In other words, the relevant geographic scale must be determined regarding the topic and the field of interest in a particular period. In this respect, Southeast Asia, as defined by the postSecond World War context, appears to be relevant only when regional construction is considered. Southeast Asia, like all human concepts, is definitely based on self-belief. The purpose of my paper, in similarity with the article of Donald Emmerson mentioned by Dr Solheim, was not to give a comprehensive account of thirty centuries of history. It was rather to question the mental categories we commonly construct without taking time to discuss the conditions for their emergence and the limits of their relevance.

Stéphane Dovert 25 October 2005

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Reply to review by Peter A. Jackson of Richard Totman’s The Third Sex: Kathoey - Thailand’s Ladyboys, which appeared in JSS vol. 93 2005, pp.316–319.

Peter Jackson offers a critical review of my book The Third Sex, in the Journal of the Siam Society, vol. 93, 2005. In this he claims that 1 have copied large sections of an article written by him, ‘Male Homosexuality, and Transgenderism in the Thai Buddhist Tradition’. On reviewing the section of my book in which this paper is an important source, and on asking colleagues for their comments, I realize there is a case to answer. This source is not properly acknowledged and it might appear I have presented Jackson’s work as my own. This was not my intention but clearly I owe Jackson an apology for this oversight. I will ensure that in any future editions of the book, this mistake will be rectified. Jackson comments on a photograph reproduced in my book that was taken by Charles Buls, a Belgian mayor and traveller in Siam in the late nineteenth century and published in his book, Croquis Siamois in 1901. This shows a group of nine performers relaxing off-stage. However Jackson insists these are not actors but ‘noblewomen attended by a group of female servants’. In my book, the caption to this photograph reads ‘“Actresses” as seen by Buls’. These words and indeed the inverted commas are not my invention but come from the English language translation of Buls’ book, by, E.J. Tips in 1994. Buls’ depiction of this ensemble as a group of gender-ambiguous Siamese performers is surely the one to be believed, in that unlike either Jackson or myself he was actually there at the time. Finally, I make a claim in the book that a sub-population of kathoey are exceptionally tall—that is, above the average height of a Thai male. This of course refers to physiological height and has nothing to do with shoes or headgear and is supported by the three gender reassignment surgeons with whom I spoke. There is a credible biological basis for this to do with abnormal levels of testicular oestrogen during puberty—a regulating factor in the growth of the long bones of the arms and legs. I am disappointed that Jackson did not like my book. Nonetheless I stand by the integrity of the accounts and ideas in it and indeed the format and accessible style which I deliberately chose to adopt. Richard Totman February 2006 Dr Peter Jackson declined the right of reply.

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Volker Grabowsky, ‘Population and state in Lan Na prior to the mid-sixteenth century’ JSS vol. 93, 2005 Corrigenda Page 1, note Line 3: Saraswadee (not: Saruswadee); insert “Harald Hundius,” after “Renoo Wichasin” Line 4: “for helpful and critical comments” (not: for the helpful and critical comments and contributions) Page 2, footnote 3, line 3: Liew (not: liew) Page 5 Paragraph 2, line 5: Lan Na (not: Nan Na) Page 8 Footnote 35, line 6: Prathetsarat (not: Phrathetsarat), delete the first “h” Page 11, last paragraph, last line: Emerald Buddha (not: Jade Buddha); Phra Kaen Can Dang (not: Phra Kaeo Can Daeng) Page 21 Footnote 89, line 2 (in the Thai text): ™ÿ·Ààß (not: ™Ÿ·Ààß) Page 22 Last line, at the end of Table 1: Replace as follows: Source: PC-TMP-HSH, Aroonrut et al. 1984: 16–17. The indices used for the phonetic transcriptions of Tai Yuan words in tables 1–4 designate one of the six tones in Thai Yuan language. Based on the dialect of Nan the following tones can be differentiated: /1/ = high-rising, / 2/ low-even, /3/ low-falling, /4/ high-even, /5/ high-falling, /6/ low-rising. See Hundius 1990: 58–63. Footnote 93: PC-TMP-HSH, Aroonrut 1984: 16-17 (ff˚ 41–42 in the original manuscript). ... Page 23 Caption to the Map (on the panna system of Phayao) The numbers in brackets correspond to the sequence in Table 2 (not: Table 3) Page 24 Table 2, line 2: Phonetic transcription: /khook3 luan6/ (not: kook) Siamese transcription: ‚§√°À≈«ß (not: ‚§°À≈«ß) Page 33 Footnote 120, line 5: donors (not: donator)

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Page 43 Footnote 139, line 3: delete the mai tho in the word kaeo: ·°«∂«“¬ (not: ·°â«∂«“¬) Page 53 Footnote 198, line 2 (Thai text): 6 µπ·≈ (not: 6 •π·≈) (tò tao, not: khò khon) Page 60 Line 7: irrigation (not: irration) Line 14 (Thai text): ≈¡Ÿ≈ (not: ≈¡ÿ≈) Line 19: Insert between lines 19 and 20 the following additional reference: Aroonrut Wichienkeeo et al. Õ√ÿ≥√—µπå «‘‡™’¬√‡¢’¬« ·≈–§≥– (transcr.) 1984. µ”π“π‡¡◊Õßæ–‡¬“ µâπ©∫—∫ „∫≈“π ÀÕ ¡ÿ¥·Ààß™“µ‘ (The Phayao Chronicle, palm-leaf manuscript, National Library). Chiang Mai: Chiang Mai Teachers’ College. Page 62 Line 4 from bottom: Phosarat (not: Khosarat) Page 64 Line 10 from bottom: delete the karan in: æß»å»√’‡æ’¬√å Page 66 Line 7: insert the following reference: Hundius, Harald 1990. Phonologie und Schrift des Nordthai. Stuttgart: Steiner.

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NOTES FOR CONTRIBUTORS

The Journal of Siam Society welcomes original articles and reviews of a scholarly nature in conformity with the principles and objectives of the Siam Society, investigating the arts and sciences of Thailand and neighbouring countries. Articles Articles should be primarily in English, and must be accompanied by a ten-line abstract in English and a fiveline biographical note about the author (s). The word length of the contribution must be given in a covering letter, supplying full postal and e-mail addresses, and the author (s) must confirm that the article has not been published elsewhere in any form, nor is currently under consideration for publication elsewhere. Articles submitted to JSS are subject to review by external referees. Typescripts should not normally exceed 7,000 words, and must be typed on one side of the paper only with double line spacing, preferably using 12 point Times New Roman font. Two copies of the typescript should be submitted by post together with the text by e-mail sent as a Word document. Contributors using special fonts, such as for various Asian languages, should consult the editor in advance. References and bibliographical entries should follow modern academic

practices appropriate to the field in which the article is written. Bibliographical entries must be complete and include the full name of the author(s), title, and publication data including the place of publication, publisher, and date of publication (with the original date of publication if the item used is a reprint). References to articles written in Thai should include the title in Romanized Thai followed by a translation into English in parentheses. Romanization in general follows the system of the Royal Institute. If in doubt concerning form or how to reference non-standard sources, please consult the Chicago Manual of Style (most recent edition), or Hart’s rules for compositors and readers at OUP (most recent edition). If in doubt over spelling, use, as with the United Nations, the Concise Oxford Dictionary (most recent edition), taking the first entry where variants are allowed. Style Each paper should follow a consistent form of dating, capitalization (to be kept to a minimum) and other aspects. The style adapted should be appropriate for scholarly journals with an audience of specialists in a diversity of fields and nationalities; this said, jargon is to be avoided and articles should be readily comprehensible by non-special-

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ists. Measurements should be metric, not imperial. Footnotes are to appear as such, not as end notes, and should be numbered consecutively. Non-native speakers of English are strongly advised to have their contributions checked by a native speaker before submission. Both British and American English variants are admitted, but an article must be internally consistent in the use of whichever is selected. Figures Figures, site plans, maps, etc., should be drawn on strong paper, white card, or good quality tracing film, and suitably lettered for printing. They should measure approximately twice the intended final size which should be indicated where possible. If these have been scanned or are computer-generated then the appropriate disks should be sent indicating format, together with hard copy. Do not ‘embed’ any scanned graphics in the text on the disk. A published full-page illustration may not exceed 210mm x 140mm. Photographs should be printed on glossy paper and mounted on thin card. Figures, maps, and plates should be titled and numbered; originals should be numbered lightly on the back in pencil only. A list of captions to figures and plates must be provided on separate sheets. Authors must obtain approval, before submission, for reproduction of illustrations or other material not their own.

Redrawing or lettering of maps or figures cannot be undertaken by the Siam Society or the editor, who may omit or return sub-standard work for representation. Proofs and offprints Page proofs will be sent to authors if time allows. Authors are reminded that these are intended for checking, not rewriting: substantial changes to the text at this stage will result in the contribution being rejected. Failure to return proofs by the required date may lead to substitution of the editor’s corrected proofs. One copy of the Journal and thirty offprints will be supplied free to authors on publication of the issue in which their contribution is included. Reviews Unsolicited book reviews are not normally accepted. Offers to write reviews should be directed to the Editor, Journal of the Siam Society. Reviews should normally be 1,0002,000 words in length, written in English and supplied as a print-out and on disk with double spacing as for articles. Full bibliographic details about the book under review must be supplied, including number of pages and price, if known. Disclaimer and resolution of conflict The opinions expressed in the JSS are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of theSiam Society. The editor’s decision is final.

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Correspondence Typescripts, books for review, and all correspondence should be sent to The Editor, The Journal of The Siam Society, 131 Sukhumvit Soi 21 (Asoke), Bangkok 10110, Thailand. Tel. (662) 260 2830-32, 661 6470-75 Fax. (662) 258 3491 E-mail: [email protected]/ [email protected]

Subscription, membership enquiries and orders for publications should be addressed to Membership Services, at the address given here. Information about exchange copies of Siam Society periodicals may be obtained from the Honorary Librarian, at the address above.

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