Journal of the Siam Society; 95
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Table of contents :
JSS_095_0_Cover
JSS_095_0a_Front
JSS_095_0b_Rodao_CastiliansDiscoverSiam
JSS_095_0c_Polenghi_MarinisDellaMisioni1663AnnotatedTranslat
JSS_095_0d_Iwamoto_YamadaNagamasaAndSiam
JSS_095_0e_BakerPasuk_PhlaiKaeoOrdainsChapterFromKhunChangKh
JSS_095_0f_Eade_IrregularDatingInLanNa
JSS_095_0g_SuphawatTakeda_TeakLoggingInTransBoundaryWatershe
JSS_095_0h_KriengkraiWatanasawad_SocioculturalReflectionsOnA
JSS_095_0i_Smyth_JamesLowOnSiameseLiterature
JSS_095_0j_SiamAndSiameseAt1878ParisExhibition
JSS_095_0k_Reviews
JSS_095_0l_Obituaries
JSS_095_0m_Subscribers
JSS_095_0n_Exchanges
JSS_095_0o_Contributors
JSS_095_0p_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 2004-2006 2006-
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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.
The Siam Society under Royal Patronage 131 Sukhumvit Soi 21 (Asoke), Bangkok 10110 Thailand Tel: (+662) 661 6470-7 Fax: (+662) 258 3491
The Journal of the Siam Society [01-034]Cover JSS
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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.
Volume 95, 2007
Prof. PrawaseWasi Mr Anand Panyarachun Mr Dacre Raikes Phra Dhammapitaka Mrs Virginia Di Crocco Prof. Yoneo Ishii Mr Henri Pagau-Clarac Mr Term Meetem Mr James Di Crocco Prof. Michael Smithies 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
Volume 95, 2007
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 Mr Athueck Asvanund
The Siam Society
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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, 2006 - 2008
President
Mr Athueck Asvanund
Vice-Presidents
Thanphuying Putrie Viravaidya Mrs Bilaibhan Sampatisir
Leader, Natural History Section
Dr Weerachai Nanakorn
Honorary Secretary Honorary Treasurer Honorary Librarian Honorary Editor, JSS Honorary Editor, NHB
Mr Barent Springsted Mr Suraya Supanwanich Ms Anne Sutherland Dr Dhiravat na Pombejra Dr Weerachai Nanakorn
Members of Council
Mrs Eileen Deeley Mr James P Rooney Mr Paul Russell Mr Smitthi Siribhadra Mrs Susan M Sutton Prof. Dr Karl E Weber Mr Paravi Wongchirachai
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The Journal of the
Siam Society Volume 95 2007
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Editorial Board Tej Bunnag Chris Baker Dhiravat na Pompejra Michael Smithies Kanitha Kasina-Ubol Euayporn Kerdchouay Mary Eliades
advisor advisor honorary editor editor coordinator production assistant proof reader
© The Siam Society 2007
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: Abraham Ortelius, frontispiece c.1570, The Theatre of the World
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The Journal of the Siam Society Volume 95
2007
Contents Articles Florentino RODAO The Castilians discover Siam: Changing Visions and Self-Discovery
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Cesare POLENGHI G. F. de Marini’s Delle Missioni…(1663) : an annotated translation of the chapters on Cambodia, Siam, and Makassar
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Yoshiteru IWAMOTO Yamada Nagamasa and his relations with Siam
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Chris BAKER and PASUK Phongpaichit Phlai Kaeo ordains as a novice: a chapter from Khun Chang Khun Phaen
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J. C. EADE Irregular dating in Lan Na: an anomaly resolved
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SUPHAWAT Laohachaiboon and Shinya TAKEDA Teak logging in a trans-boundary watershed: an historical case study of the Ing River basin in Northern Thailand
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KRIENGKRAI Watanasawad Socio-cultural reflections on the address terms in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs
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From the archives David SMYTH James Low, On Siamese literature (1839)
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Siam and Siamese at the 1878 International Exhibition, Paris
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Contents
Reviews Forrest McGill, ed., The Kingdom of Siam: The Art of Central Thailand, San Francisco, Asian Art Museum – Chong-Moon Lee Center for Asian Art and Culture, 2005 Reviewer Martin STUART-FOX 205 Michel Gilquin, Muslims in Thailand, Ibrahim Syukri, History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Reviewer SURIN Pitsuwan
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Scot Barmé, Woman, Man, Bangkok: Love, Sex, and Popular Culture in Thailand, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006 Reviewer PATTANA Kitiarsa 214 Wattana Sugunnasil, ed., Dynamic diversity in southern Thailand, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Reviewer Karl WEBER
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G.J. Younghusband, The Trans-Salwin Shan of Kiang Tung Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005 Reviewer Andrew TURTON
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Andrew Walker, Merit and the Millennium: Routine and Crisis in the ritual lives of the Lahu people, New Delhi, Hindustan Publishing, 2003 Reviewer William DESSAINT 229 Norman G. Owen, ed., The Emergence of modern Southeast Asia: A New History, Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2005 Reviewer Milton OSBORNE 233 Craig Reynolds, Seditious Histories: Contesting Thai and Southeast Asian Pasts, Seattle and London, University of Washington Press/Singapore University Press, 2006 Reviewer Chris BAKER 236 Ronald B. St. John, Revolution, reform and regionalism in Southeast Asia, London, Routledge, 2005 Reviewer Martin STUART-FOX
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Contents
P.-A Chouvy and Joël Meissonnier, Yaa Baa: Production, traffic and consumption of Methamphetamine in Mainland Southeast Asia, Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2004 Reviewer Yale NEEDEL
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B.-P. Groslier, Angkor and Cambodia in the Sixteenth Century, trans. Michael Smithies, Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2006 Reviewer Milton OSBORNE
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Sappho Marchal, Khmer costumes and ornaments of the Devatas of Angkor Wat, Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2005 Reviewer Gillian GREEN 250 Vittorio Roveda, Images of the Gods: Khmer mythology in Cambodia, Laos, and Thailand, Bangkok, River Books, 2005 Reviewer John LISTOPAD 254 John Marston and Elizabeth Guthrie, History, Buddhism and New Religious Movements in Cambodia, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006 Reviewer Peter GYALLAY-PAP 258 Ian Harris, Cambodian Buddhism: History and Practice, Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006 Reviewer John MARSTON
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Colin Poole, Tonle Sap: The Heart of Cambodia’s Natural Heritage, Bangkok, River Books, 2005 Reviewer Steve VAN BEEK
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L. E. Bagshawe, The Kinwun Min-Gyi’s London Diary: The First Mission of a Burmese Minister to Britain, 1872, Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2005 Reviewer Michael CHARNEY
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Justin Watkins, ed., Studies in Burmese Linguistics, Pacific Linguistics, ANU, Canberra 2005 Reviewer Denise BERNOT
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Judith L. Richell, Disease and Demography in Colonial Burma, Copenhagen, NIAS Press, 2006 Reviewer Michael CHARNEY
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Emma Larkin, Secret Histories: Finding George Orwell in a Burmese Teashop, London, John Murray, 2005 Reviewer Michael CHARNEY 279 Susan Conway, The Shan: Culture, Art and Crafts, Bangkok, River Books, 2006 Reviewer Martin STUART-FOX
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Anthony Grant and Paul Sidwell, eds, Chamic and Beyond: Studies in Mainland Austronesian Languages, Pacific Linguistics, ANU Canberra, 2006 Reviewer Justin WATKINS 285 Anthony Reid, ed., Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem, Singapore University Press, 2006 Reviewer Harold CROUCH 289 Elizabeth Morrell, Securing a place: small-scale artisans in modern Indonesia, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 2005 Reviewer Karl WEBER 293 Vu Trong Phung, The Industry of Marrying Europeans, Ithaca NY, Cornell University Press, 2006 Reviewer Dana HEALY
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Karen Fjelstad and Nguyen Thi Hien, editors, Possessed by the Spirits: Mediumship in Contemporary Vietnamese Communities, Ithaca NY, Cornell University Press, 2006 Reviewer MONTIRA Rato
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Sadia N. Pekkanen and Kellee S. Tsai, eds., Japan and China in the World Political Economy, London, Routledge, 2005 Reviewer Shunichiro USHIJIMA
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Books received for review
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Obituaries Chetana Nagavajara Barend Jan Terwiel Tej Bunnag Vitthya Vejjajiva Bonnie Brereton Hiram Woodward
Prof. Sippanondha Ketudat Prof. Klaus Wenk Prof. David K. Wyatt Ambassador Vivadh Na Pombejra Dr Betty Gosling Dr Henry Ginsburg Journal of the Siam Society Vol. 95 2007
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JSS institutional subscribers and exchanges List of institutional subscribers to JSS
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List of JSS exchanges
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Notes about contributors
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Notes for contributors
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THE CASTILIANS DISCOVER SIAM: CHANGING VISIONS AND SELF-DISCOVERY Florentino Rodao1
Abstract Iberians were the first people in Europe to interact directly with Siam. Centuries elapsed between the time the first information about Siam was received in the Iberian Peninsula and the period when their rulers perceived this Asian territory in a more or less coherent framework. This work studies the changes in their perception of the Kingdom of Siam as it evolved from the earliest mythical references, in a long process that was neither uniform nor reliant merely on the receipt of data. Focusing on these early perceptions, this study notes the Iberians’ different reactions to this new knowledge, the role of individuals and how the parallelprocess of their own budding national identities affected theoutcome. Introduction The Castilians and Portuguese shared similar conceptions about the “Far East” in the Middle Ages. During the Renaissance they were in a privileged position to obtain deeper knowledge about the territories in that region, their rulers and forms of government. Due to the great navigations, they established direct contact. After the Portuguese settled in Malacca in 1511 and the Castilians in the Philippines in 1565, those contacts became frequent. Hence the medieval cognitive framework used to interpret data related to Siam was replaced by the Iberians earlier than by other Europeans. But this external process coincided with an internal evolution of the Iberians’ own identities, both as individuals and as members of a society. Natural curiosity to learn about new lands and peoples, coupled with advances in science, navigation and travel, made many question traditional Christian beliefs about the world created by God for the first time. After the Renaissance, this questioning gave birth to a new set of feelings and a psyche that 1
This article has benefited greatly from revisions to previous versions by Chris Baker, Mary Eliades, Michael Smithies, Peter Borschberg and Roderich Ptak, besides comments by Juan Gil. The author, however, is responsible for any mistakes. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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would lead people to make an increasing identification with the reigning monarchies, rather than with the closed communities where they spent their lives. The Iberian Peninsula also underwent a process whereby the landed estates of dukes or counts were increasingly absorbed by monarchs. Furthermore, by the turn of the fifteenth to the sixteenth centuries, some dynasties merged their territories, and Castile, the Basque country, Navarre or Aragon developed a common identity, increasingly hegemonized by Castile, which could appropriately be termed Spain by the end of the sixteenth century. The first Iberian contacts with Siam thus evolved along with the emergence of two new Iberian consciousnesses. The knowledge available about those regions far from Europe coincided with new inquiries rising from a different society in a mixture of external and internal inputs that changed greatly in every territory. The contrasting approaches between Portuguese and Castilians are a clear example of this, since while undergoing a similar evolution from the medieval era into early modern societies, differences abounded. The participants and the particular expectations counted as much as the general context or the direct references, changing along the way both the idea of the “other” and the concept of the “self”. The formation of a new framework for understanding Siam relied both on imagination and on reality, both in Europe and in Asia, and involved a much greater number of actors than before. This article traces the steady divergence between Castilians and their Portuguese neighbours in their images of Siam. It starts with their similar ideas of the region where Siam lay, continues with the impact of the data gathered by the great navigations, and with the new framework formed by Portuguese after conquering Malacca. It then deals with the contributions of individuals to narrowing the difference in perception between Portugal and Castile, and questions how differing perceptions led to differing strategies by Portugal (trade) and Castile (expansion) by the end of the sixteenth century. The pre-contact cognitive framework In the Middle Ages the Iberians formed their ideas about Siam from the two basic facts then available, its remoteness and its location somewhere in Asia. This continent and the “Far East” were known in Europe since the time of the Roman Empire. Later they were accommodated to early Christian beliefs. The region was widely believed by biblical experts and monks of the time to be the site of the Garden of Eden, a remote area somewhat difficult to reach, enjoying an eternal springtime and an idyllic setting traversed by a river. Such far-flung regions (other than Palestine) evoked stories where fears and dreams were combined and where their vaguely ascertained existences were the only limits to imagination: the
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farther away the place, the more exotic the tales that could be heard. Vastness, perils and hazards could abound but also wealth, abundance, great prizes and presumably immense rewards, as reflected in the literature about “admirable things” or “wonders” (known as mirabilia). The first direct European references to Siam were made by Marco Polo in the setting of this pre-modern cognitive framework of images. Although he had travelled through Southeast Asian waters and the Indian Ocean, Polo had no direct contact with Siam but seemingly heard about it from other travellers. In The Book of Travels (or Il Millione), Polo mentioned “Locac”, a rich kingdom of idolaters with its own language, many elephants, brazil-wood (similar to sappan-wood), few foreign visitors and widespread use of cowries and gold for payment. Furthermore, he provided wrong data on the location, mistaking Java for Champa, and his description could easily have been referring to Cambodia. The Arab traveller Ibn Battuta referred to a territory with elephants named Mul-Java which was probably the same place, although he probably meant Cambodia, in the opinion of Henry Yule (1966:155–157). Polo’s narrative was, in fact, merely one more of many books about remote places. Its popularity during the late medieval period ranked, for instance, behind one of the mirabilia narratives, The Travels by Sir John Mandeville (c.1336) and led to serious mistakes by those that tried to use his book to draw a map of the world. A further hindrance to a clear perception of Siam was the differences amongst handwritten copies of Polo’s work. This can be illustrated by taking a look at three of them: the book copied by the Italian editor Giambattista Ramusio, considered as being closest to the lost original; the one in Latin read by Christopher Columbus and published in Antwerp in 1485; and the first translation into Spanish from the Italian original, copied by the Dominican friar Rodrigo Fernández de Santaella, and published in 1503. On riches, Ramusio and Fernandez de Santaella were in agreement. Ramusio’s copy asserted that gold could be found “in incredible quantity” (Yule & Cordier, 1903–1920: Book Three, chapter VII) while that of Fernández noted that it could be “found in great quantity” (Gil 1987:259). However, the book printed in Antwerp indicated that the kingdom was “big and marvellously rich” (grande y rica a maravilla, Gil 1987:137). To explain Siam’s apparent isolation, the Antwerp edition and Santaella’s translation agree in pointing to its bellicosity and remoteness: “the region is far from being peaceful” and it was “out of the way” (Gil, 1987:137, 250). But Ramusio instead stresses savagery and fear of foreigners: “this is a very wild region, visited by few people; nor does the king desire that any strangers should frequent the country, and so find out about his treasure and other resources” (Yule & Cordier, 1903–1920: Book Three, chapter VII).
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In addition, the tendency for the text to reflect the traditional image increased with the number of intermediaries. The original Locac was corrupted into terms such as Lucach or Beach. Later versions of Il Millione added illustrations of alleged scenes of Polo’s journey, including imaginary figures resembling those described by Mandeville. The inventions by copiers and illustrators helped readers to imagine the world described by Polo, resulting in what Donald F. Lach also noted in his landmark study Asia in the Making of Europe: “the facts about Asia were often as wondrous as the fables told about it” (1994a: 110). Polo’s information did not help much in providing a more elaborate idea of the territory. New information was filtered through religious beliefs, and data that could challenge the old perception was discounted. The main advance in improving knowledge about Siam under the mirabilia cognitive framework was the association with the two major neighboring territories of India and Cathay, the first being better known and the second quickly catching up (Lach 1994a:20–71; 1994b: 109–110, 191 and Larner 2001:242–245). When the Iberians, who considered themselves at the centre of an ethnocentric world, were brought into contact with people culturally and racially different to them, they projected onto the unknown Asian territories described by Marco Polo the same mixture of fear, excitement and uncertainty they had about their own future. Medieval society in Europe did not demand great accuracy and Il Millione was merely a step forward from earlier representations. Weak challenges to old myths The Renaissance heightened the Europeans’ desire to advance further in the knowledge of Asia. The need to identify new territories, either by knowing exactly where they lay or by learning about their treasures, became more pressing. Meantime, technical advances allowed Europeans not only to travel to the region of Siam in Arab and Chinese ships as before, but also to travel, settle and trade using their own vessels. The ideas about Siam generated by Christopher Columbus and by Antonio de Pigafetta, the Italian narrator of the first circumnavigation of the world (1519–1521, led at first by Ferdinand Magellan and after his death by Juan Sebastian Elcano) were filled with new contradictions. When reading about Siam in Marco Polo’s Il Millione, Columbus wrote in the margins of the book the words “brazils”, “lemons” and “elephants”, as the references by which he could begin to distinguish this kingdom from all other territories (Gil 1987: 137). Furthermore, Columbus wrote in his diaries during his fourth trip to America about a province that neighboured Cathay with animals named using Polo’s terminology, and also announced a forthcoming voyage in search of “the gold mines of the province of Ciampa [Champa]” (Larner, 2001:230–31).
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Pigafetta wrote: “On the riverbanks in this kingdom of Siam (as we were told) live large birds which do not eat any dead animal carried there unless there come first another bird which eats the heart, and afterward they eat the rest” (1994:144). This nonsense shows that crossing the oceans was not enough to rid Siam and its region of the medieval cognitive framework. Columbus mistakenly added the reference to lemons since the version he read merely referred to brazil-wood as big “as lemons” (Gil 1987:137). The province that apparently neighboured Cathay in Columbus’ Diaries was in fact the territory of southern Cuba, and when he mentioned his future trip in search of gold mines, he was in reality on the Mosquito Coast, in present-day Nicaragua and certainly far from present-day central Vietnam where Champa lay (Larner, 2001:225, 230–231, 242–243). Columbus wanted to believe he was near the Cathay described by Polo and strove to prove that he had reached the Asian coasts as planned. Reading Polo’s Travels, therefore, was part of the exercise aimed at reorganizing his perceptions, his evaluations and his opinions in order to, in Larner’s words, “discover what he had discovered” (Larner, 2001:230; also Gil, 1987:X). As Juan Gil convincingly shows, citing a 1497 letter from the Bristol merchant John Day informing Columbus that he had found him a copy of Polo’s book (Gil 1991a:108–109), the Genoese apparently did not read Il Millione for pleasure — indeed he confessed to not reading much — and had in fact studied it only after he returned from America, most probably after his third trip, in order to refute during his next journey the critics’ claims that he had not reached Asia. The fable referred to by Antonio de Pigafetta is merely one of the many inaccuracies to be found in his account of the world’s circumnavigation. He drew on myths when referring to places not contacted directly by his expedition even though he only saw other human beings and came across islands, territories, landscapes and animals which could be compared to those already seen in Europe. There were many other sources of confusion, as seen in the glossary of words spoken by the peoples encountered along the way. His chances to get a deeper knowledge of the territories he encountered were slim, since he had to rely on Henrique, Magellan’s Sumatran slave, who in fact was really the first person to complete the circumnavigation of the globe.2 Pigafetta had difficulties in understanding and being understood by the Sumatran slave, but he had no choice other than to rely on him. So despite the 2
Henrique had first travelled from Asia to Europe before he boarded the expedition that circumnavigated the world. Therefore, he returned to Asia before the Europeans finished their journey. Considering that Magellan died in Cebu, Henrique can be considered the first person to circumnavigate the globe, although probably some of the crew members had visited Asia before one fifth of the members of the expedition were Portuguese, in spite of the Castilian policy of not hiring them. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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language problems, and despite his framework of understanding and, most importantly, the mirabilia-prone attitude of the public to which the book was aimed, Pigafetta probably offered the best information on Siam he could. The process of supplanting the mythological view had started centuries ago with the homo viator, the itinerant men of different origins who wandered across Europe during the Middle Ages and who now began to sail toward unknown territories (Soler, 2003:70). The members of these navigations carried with them the “scientific curiosity” of the Renaissance (Rubies, 2003:418), but also clung emotionally to their previous convictions. The failure to confirm the existence of Paradise or any other previous myth led to new hypotheses about its location, whether inland or on uncharted islands; old fables were re-created, partly due to the scant information gained from merely seeing a landscape or hearing words for the first time. Thus until new data surfaced, such as from Vasco Nuñez de Balboa’s expedition in 1513, the first to traverse the Pacific Ocean from America, these later homo viator (such as Columbus before his death) continued the former myths of exotic places and immense riches. The dilemmas of such men when weighing contradictory information reflected the circumstances of the emerging societies of those times. Castile, during these first decades after its unification with Aragon in the early sixteenth century, was populated with men and women brought up on stories of monsters and non-human beings populating far-away territories. They expected (and desired) that the new information received thanks to the great navigations would confirm these stories. Instead, the new input triggered consequences which would forcibly challenge the old visions. When looking at maps, for instance, the significance of locating Paradise and being reminded that God had created the world had diminished, while the desire to pinpoint oneself and one’s environment as accurately as possible on those charts increased – giving way, for instance, to the emergence of the concept of nation. The users of the new maps, however, still had to grapple with the scarcity of data. In his representation drawn in 1541, the Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator showed two territories (Locach and Beach) on a northern peninsula of the much-fabled territory that was said to cover the southern hemisphere Terra Australis — where he included Polo’s references to the lack of visitors. He replicated Polo’s mistakes about distances and directions, as well as various copiers’ corruption of names (Larner, 2001:243–244), revealing both a lack of discrimination in using his data and his own desire to show that the myth of the Terra Australis was true. Even though this map dated from two decades after the first circumnavigation of the globe, his depiction was copied for decades, for example in Ortelius’s Theatrum Orbis Terrarum dating from 1570. Donald Lach notes that “In the eyes of Europe, the image of Asia was constantly changing in detail while remaining surprisingly constant in general Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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outline” (Lach 1994a:822). However, in truth a new perception was emerging. Changes in detail occurred throughout history, but these important navigations generated data which presented the biggest challenge yet. Yet new data on distant territories were still insufficient to substantiate a complete reinterpretation, and instead triggered a reconsolidation of the old framework of understanding about Siam. Two complementary psychological reactions can explain this: premature cognitive closure (the conscious avoidance of discrepant information), typical of Columbus’ attitude, and perceptual satisfaction (forming a theory on scant information merely to reach a quick conclusion), as shown in Mercator’s maps. In order for there to be a new framework of understanding, people had to accept the disappointment over the old fables being disproved, and the data needed to be more complete. Until then, imagination still overwhelmed concrete information. Multiple pressures to change the framework After their seizure of Malacca in 1511, the Portuguese showed that it was feasible to speed up the emergence of a new perception. The background to their encounters was no different from that of the Castilians or the rest of Christendom, although they could count on new narratives from travellers along the Indian Ocean. But, more importantly, they had set foot in the region intending to remain and therefore needed to conduct business-like relations with any neighbouring authority, preferably non-Muslim. The Portuguese could benefit from new books depicting similar itineraries to that of Marco Polo, such as those of Niccolò Conti, the Venetian merchant who spoke Arabic, spent two decades in Asia and travelled from Southern Asia to Europe a century after Marco Polo. Another example some years later was Ludovico di Varthema, whose Itinerario (published in 1510) was the first narrative of a European traveller to present-day Southeast Asia. But those accounts were not significant advances on Marco Polo since they added little new relevant data. Conti’s insights are, as Rubiés points out, “very similar to those offered by Marco Polo” (Rubiés 2000:97), while some of Varthema’s descriptions are simply inventions. In fact, it is even uncertain whether Conti and Varthema visited Siam; both probably called at Mergui (Tenasserim) on the bay of Bengal, then under Siamese suzerainty, but there is no definite evidence to confirm this (Trakulhun, 2004:67, Lach 1994a:165, 494). Their 1511 occupation of Malacca compelled the Portuguese to shape a perception of Siam free from mirabilia. The architect of their Asian empire and commander-in-chief of the expedition, Afonso de Albuquerque, soon learnt that Siam was an important non-Muslim power in the area with a long history of confrontation with Muslim Malacca. Therefore, Siam was not only a possible ally
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but also an ideal territory to provide his people with needed supplies, as Maria da Conceiçao Flores asserts (1995:24). As a result, Albuquerque sent an envoy to its capital, Ayutthaya, among other embassies to neighbouring ports on the Coromandel Coast, Sumatra, Java and Pegu. Duarte Fernandes, the envoy, informed the Siamese authorities of the Portuguese intention to settle there and seek political alliances (Flores, 1995:25). Other expeditions followed, and one of Fernandes’ men wrote a report on the dress, customs, products and depths of the Siamese harbours after a two-year stay (Flores, 1998:138, Pintado, 1993:275, Villiers, 1998:125). The Portuguese decided to engage with other city-states in Asia. In order to continue commercial and diplomatic expeditions, the first treaty between Siam and a European country was signed in 1518, when King Ramathibodi II allowed the Portuguese to establish a permanent residence in Ayutthaya, as well as in various ports around the Malay Peninsula such as Mergui, Patani and Ligor (present-day Nakhon Sithammarat). The Portuguese disappointment about the limited profits from the merchandise sold in Ayutthaya was compensated by the supply of their basic staple, rice, as well as crucial information and partners in their advance towards the Chinese Empire (Costa & Rodrigues, 1992:95,174, Münch Miranda & Serafim, 1998:198–199). Over time, the close interaction with local powers increased mutual cooperation. The Portuguese crown’s interests were strongly intertwined with the expansion overseas and it tried to alter the patterns of trade in Malacca to its own advantage. Because the Portuguese presence was dependent on the local rulers, they had to avoid confrontation (Teixeira, 1983:21; Damrong, 1955:1–2; Reid, 2000:166). The contacts between Portuguese and Siamese were between equals sharing common interests. The Portuguese officials secured their supply of rice, satisfied their need for allies in their struggle against their “Moorish” trade competitors – sources refer to the already existing Malay, Indian and Persian Muslim traders – and consolidated their chances of establishing a trade network in southern China. The Siamese hoped that cooperation would provide them with Portuguese mercenaries to redress the military superiority of their Burmese enemies. King Ramathibodi II (1491–1529) was thinking of new commercial flows to Ayutthaya and other ports on the Malay Peninsula, such as Patani or Malacca, with Siam acting as an entrepôt between Fujian and the Muslim traders on the Indian Ocean. The Burmese King Tabinshwehti (1531–50) also tapped the Portuguese for military help, while Chinese and Arab traders had already started to introduce firearms (Andaya, 1992:416). Ayutthaya required skilled technicians, new military strategies and fortifications able to withstand the new artillery. Against this background of joint ventures, the myths, legends and mirabilia began to fade. The time and space for imagination had shrunk.
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But this stage of cooperation had an unexpected consequence. The Portuguese “men on the spot”, who fought in the Siamese armies and later settled in Ayutthaya, were now crucial parties in the mutual contacts and crucial agents for conveying a new image of Siam. The mercenaries helped Siam achieve a new balance of power with Burma (although the modernization of ancestral wars needed bigger investments of capital in new technology), and several who settled in the capital as personal bodyguards of the monarch gained direct peacetime access to the Siamese decision-makers (Flores, 1998:160, Subrahmanyam, 1993:256–261). Because of both their long-term expertise and their proximity to the court, active and retired soldiers became intermediaries for other Portuguese on such business matters as entry permits for ships and for relaying petitions. From the second half of the sixteenth century, Portuguese residents shaped Lisbon’s perception of Siam. They introduced important nuances to that perception, both because of their wealth of data, and because they endeavoured to further their own interests, whether these coincided with the official Portuguese agenda or not. This signalled a new stage in mutual contacts and perception. Before this, the accounts told by the Portuguese returning from the great navigations were in no position to challenge Portuguese official interests. The narratives written in the 1510s, such as Tome Pires’s Suma Oriental (1990) with references to Malacca, Java, Sumatra and the Spice Islands, or Duarte Barbosa’s Relaçao (1946), were kept in the Casa da India in Lisbon and remained secret, although the latter text was read by selected persons. Over time, however, the state’s grip on information relaxed, partly because of the diminishing need for secrecy (which facilitated the circulation of Pires’s work), but also because the flood of information provided by the residents in Siam made it much more difficult for officials to maintain secrecy. In Décadas (1552–1615), João do Barros relied extensively for his treatment of Siam on Domingo de Seixas, who had spent over two decades in the country, while for his Peregrinaçãm (1614, written decades earlier), Mendez Pinto based his account on Galeote Pereira, who fought against Pegu on the Siamese side in the 1540s (Spence 1998:28). The changes in Portuguese society after 1550 also helped to raise the value of the residents’ expertise. The significance of Asia declined as Brazil gained prominence in Portugal’s attentions, while there was a growing feeling that Portugal’s high moments of glory had already passed. Similarly, the joint reign of the Catholic Monarchs, Isabelle and Ferdinand, only a few decades earlier, was already being remembered as a glorious era never to return. The expatriates residing in Asia wanted the court in Lisbon to look again towards the East and send more resources to the region where they lived. They tried to achieve this by boasting about their own past deeds, intimating the possibility of future glories, and restating the mirabilia framework.
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Firstly, residents needed to glorify their achievements. An example was the increasing importance of shipwreck narratives, such as in the epic poem Os Lusíadas, a journey along the Indian Ocean replete with excitement and enemies, whose author, Portugal’s most honoured poet, Luís Vaz de Camões, narrowly survived a shipwreck which left him on the banks of the Mekong River. Next, the residents needed to make Siam seem more attractive and accessible. In his Décadas, Barros pointed to the similarities between Buddhism and Christianity, while Mendez Pinto in Peregrinaçam portrayed the kingdom as much more powerful and extensive than it really was (Villiers, 1998:120; Smithies, 1997:72; Lach, 1994a:494–499), while others recycled the old legends of the riches of the east. Finally, residents needed to make Siam more interesting, often by repeating the old mirabilia. Accounts of the first contacts referred to cannibalistic customs, unlikely to take place in a Buddhist country (Pintado, 1993:I 357). Barros also repeated such legends about Siam as the founding of the country as a consequence of the union of a dog and a woman. In fact, medieval ideas had retreated, but perceptions never die. The Portuguese, certainly, possessed direct information sooner and so refurbished their image of Asia more quickly than the neighbouring Castilians, but the mirabilia framework remained latent and was able to make a comeback. Those who had emigrated and were living in Asia were united in enhancing their adventures and the importance of the areas to which they had emigrated. At the same time society was more interested in learning about glories than about failures, and there was still much territory to discover. Therefore, there was still room to keep alive and even reinforce the legends and myths, despite official interest being contrary to them. Representations could differ not only among different nations but also among different interests within their societies, and the private interests of individuals could even predominate over those of the state, as happened later in the case of Castile. Individuals restructuring perceptions In the mid-sixteenth century, the gap between the views of Castile and Portugal over Siam was very wide. While the Portuguese and Siamese had trading relations in which they cooperated or opposed each other and relations improved or soured depending on any number of reasons, Castile still remained unknown to the Siamese and vice versa. Obvious reasons can be found to explain this. The Castilians were continually at war in Europe and still had immense territories to conquer and occupy in America; Charles V had recognized Portuguese hegemony in Asia by selling his rights in the Maluku, so thereafter the Portuguese blocked Castilian inroads into a region they considered as theirs. But while the royal courts
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looked in opposite directions and preferred not to compete directly, individuals helped to reduce that perception gap and lend a different outlook based on their personal interests by transferring information from one kingdom to another. Two Portuguese cartographers, three adventurers from the Atlantic coast of the Iberian peninsula, and a Portuguese bishop had a crucial role in doing what the governments did not dare to do, that is, help Spain to revise its image of Siam by establishing contacts between the two places. In doing so, they shaped a perception that was different to that of Lisbon. Portugal did its utmost to prevent information from being made public; King Manuel I ordered all information about routes and populations to be safeguarded in the Casa da India, while those responsible for violating the secrecy or leaking data could be condemned to death. However the cartographers Diogo Ribeiro and Pero Reinel contravened the order for complete secrecy about geographical discoveries. They were hired by the Castilian king, Charles V, and in 1529 drew the first world map that indicated with relative accuracy the position of territories in America and Asia and the extent of the Pacific Ocean. Once the Treaty of Saragossa, also dated in 1529, had separated the world into Portuguese and Castilian areas of influence – continuing the line established in 1474 for the Atlantic Ocean in the Treaty of Tordesillas – Charles V, whose Casa de Contratación was as secretive as its Portuguese equivalent (Del Pino, 1998:55n), was interested in claiming the newly found territories. Betraying the interests of their monarch, Ribeiro and Reinel’s map was inclined “to exaggerate the breadth of the Bay of Bengal and of the Archipelago in longitude, so that the Moluccas might fall within the Spanish hemisphere” (Thomaz, 1995:89, plate VII). And since they drew a “Regno de Ansiam” in its correct location, Castile obtained a first glimpse of the kingdom as a recognisable entity. Even though no Castilian had travelled there, the coasts were left blank and this map coexisted with contradictory references (such as those of Mercator), this was an important step forward. Three adventurers from northern Spain using Portuguese logistics were also crucial in drawing the Asian territories closer to Spain. The first was the Galician, Pero Díaz (sometimes Pedro, or Díez), who stayed several weeks in Patani in 1544 before travelling onwards to China, Japan and Maluku. His journey illustrates very well the arduous complexity of these travels and the difficulty of categorizing those first contacts through present-day eyes. Pero Díaz can be considered as the first to make the first direct recorded contact between Spain and Siam, but that depends on whether Díaz was a Spaniard and whether Patani was Siam. Patani had different allegiances. This city-state was a strategic meeting point for Malay and Chinese vessels, which had benefited from the fall of Muslim Malacca and had relations with Ayutthaya based principally on commercial interests like many other towns on the Malay Peninsula. Patani can be considered
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part of Siam when Díaz arrived, since periodic offerings to Ayutthaya of the bunga mas (the traditional ‘golden flowers’) as tribute points to its notional subjection. But Patani can be also be considered independent from Siam, as is shown by the fact that three years after Díaz’s visit, in 1547, the Sultan enforced Muslim law (Cheman, 1990:34–35; Bougas, 1994:12–14). Pero Díaz can be categorized as a Spaniard, although there are reasons for doubt. He came from Monterrey, a town in Orense province barely a few kilometres from the present Portuguese border. Galicians also share with the Portuguese a very similar culture and a common language and the fact that Díaz arrived on Asian shores using Portuguese routes and ships leads one to speculate that he was closer in outlook to Portugal than to Castile. The same was true of another Galician adventurer, Diogo Soares, who became the military commander and confidant of King Tabinshwehti (1531–1551) of Burma’s Toungoo dynasty, and was later stoned to death by an angry crowd (Reid, 2000:171, 180). But while we can wonder about the personal loyalty of Díaz towards either of the two Iberian monarchs, the issue seems to have been irrelevant to them. Díaz surely went to Patani using Portuguese logistics and made contact with some of the 300 resident Portuguese merchants who were able to benefit from the excellent relations between the sultan and Malacca. Díaz’s primary interests must have revolved around who held power in Patani and how he could continue his travels (Cabezas, 1995:101; Gil, 1991b:23). The information of Siam that Díaz was able to transmit to Castilians was based mostly on personal interests, such as the best connections and routes towards Asia and the business opportunities available in Patani. García de Escalante Alvarado, born in Laredo, Santander, the official factor on the Villalobos expedition, can be considered the first to report information on Siam in Spain. His expedition had departed from Spain two years earlier, crossed the Pacific Ocean, met Pero Díaz in Ternate (De la Vega, 1975:76) and was later detained by the Portuguese along with the other expedition members in the neighbouring island of Tidore. In the report after his return, dated Lisbon, August 1548, and copied by a fellow citizen from Laredo, Manuel Velasco Torre (Martinez Shaw, 1999:11), García de Escalante makes reference to Diego Freitas, who he met in Maluku, after meeting Díaz. Freitas’s elder brother was a Portuguese captain who had been in Siam and was thus an apparently reliable source on the kingdom. He reports how Freitas referred exultantly to the inhabitants of “the city of Siam” as “ready to work, white and with beards, dressed with silks and cloths, almost like us”, as well as the travel restrictions placed on the Siamese, apparently for fear of losing population (Escalante, 1999:126; Martinez Shaw, 1999:28). He also mentioned the trade in gold and silver, and the disputes between merchants from China and Ryukyu. It was another fact illustrating the numerous leaks of information occurring among Iberians.
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The Basque sailor (and later Augustinian) Andrés de Urdaneta was another person from the Iberian Atlantic coast whose information was crucial for the Castilians, since he solved the biggest logistic problem involved in setting foot in Asia: how to return via America. As a member of the Villalobos expedition, Urdaneta was detained in the Maluku, lived there for eight years and later returned to the Iberian Peninsula, passing through Malacca along Portuguese routes. Urdaneta apparently gained vital information that led him later, in the 1560s, to discover the tornaviaje, or return route across the Pacific Ocean. Thus, by discovering the route from Manila to Cape Mendocino and Acapulco in Mexico, the Castilians could establish an autonomous position in Asia without Portuguese aid, authorisation or interference. However, it should be noted that this step forward in identifying the region where Siam lay was achieved again thanks to information gained while Urdaneta was in Portuguese hands and obviously without official Spanish sanction. João Ribeiro Gaio, the bishop of Malacca between 1576 and 1601, also shaped the perception of Siam for the Castilians. Out of his conviction of the importance of returning Portugal to its golden age of maritime hegemony by joining forces with the Castilians in the recently-formed Iberian Union (1580), the bishop considered the seizure of the sultanate of Aceh in Sumatra as the primary task. Ribeiro Gaio proposed attacking Aceh with a Portuguese expedition sent from Goa to be coordinated with a Castilian fleet and around 2,000 soldiers who would seize Patani and Siam whose capital, he averred, could be conquered with a mere one thousand soldiers because the population was not bellicose (Boxer, 1969:127; Subrahmanyam, 1983:125). This proposal deserves special attention. He wrote detailed reports about the political, economic and military life of Aceh in his book Roteiro das cousas do Achem (Alves & Manguin, 1997), and explained how Siam would provide an agricultural base, as well as being a rich centre of trade. The bishop not only asserted that Siam was easy to conquer, as many others had, but also showed a knowledge of strategy, as Jorge dos Santos Alves asserts (1998: 325–327). By starting with minor targets, and expecting to benefit from the “divide and rule” tactics so successful in other territories, the bishop planned to take measured steps, depending on the scale of difficulty, leaving the conquest of Canton (Guangzhou) to the future. Ribeiro Gaio’s perception of the Southeast Asian mainland is especially interesting, since he considered this region as the main place in which to foster Iberian cooperation and expansion. These examples of individuals, whose role and behaviour did not differ much from the Portuguese “men on the spot” referred to earlier, show how crucial their contributions were. They felt free from total allegiance to distant monarchs, refused to depend completely on any one power, and had allegiances in the two continents in which they struggled. Working at the margins of the growing national
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interests represented by bureaucracies, they were at the crossroads of feudal loyalties and modern identities, while personal origins were less important than cooperation to achieve common targets. The highest ranking among them, Bishop Ribeiro Gaio, acted as an individual. While his ecclesiastical function allowed him to rise above political rivalries, the bishop was aware that cooperation between Portugal and Castile was essential to achieve their goals, especially when expectations of the Iberian Union (1580–1640) still ran high, and the Castilians were more easy manipulated due to their recent arrival. Due to the extreme fragility of the Castilian presence in Asia, the contribution by individuals had greater weight in Castile’s perception of Siam. On the one hand, this greater reliance on personal roles and on information provided on a personal basis made Castile more dependent on those contributions. The difficulties of finding crew members for the expeditions, as illustrated by Juan Gil (1989: 198n), clearly shows the crown’s need for individual contributions to its Asian plans. It even affected crucial journeys, such as the one led by Legazpi that would initiate the Spanish presence in the Philippines. Urdaneta, who had ordained as an Augustinian since his return to Mexico, refused to go to the Philippines, but Philip II gave him sealed instruction with orders that they be opened only after eight days at sea, when his margin for refusal had diminished (Gil 1989:86–87). On the other hand, the Castilian monarch was more receptive to individual agency. After 1580, Philip II reacted more attentively to demands from the settlers, even those in the area under Portuguese jurisdiction, in recognition of the settlers’ greater expertise. From this period, the Iberian crown started to delegate its monopoly on trade in the region by giving “letters of travel” (providos das viagens) or appointing “captains of travels” (capitães das viagens) that soon evolved into a kind of “private trade”, as Marques Guedes points out (1994:87). But this did not stop the official diplomatic activity to avoid alliances inimical to the crown’s interests. Philip II sent two letters (in 1589 and 1591) ordering the viceroy in Goa, Duarte de Menezes (1584–88) to offer Nandabayin, the Toungoo king of Pegu, the fleet he had sought to fight against Siam in 1591, with the aim of averting Nandabayin’s possible alliance with Aceh (Marques Guedes, 1994:89). As the Iberian presence in Asia expanded and the need for further backing from the crown diminished in both the Portuguese and, especially, Castilian camps, individual actions acquired a greater relevance. The different reaction from Castile When the Legazpi expedition from New Spain (modern-day Mexico) arrived in the Philippine islands in 1565 with the intention of settling, the imperatives were similar to those faced by Portugal, especially the need to obtain reliable information and elaborate a new cognitive framework that could help in under-
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standing the area. After 1571 the Castilians established themselves in Manila, a port better suited for defence and trade than any Portuguese port in Asia, and looking in particular towards China, unlike Cebu, where they first disembarked. To pursue this goal, they had to act as any other city-state in the area, seeking allies and looking out for enemies, and hence the Castilians became reliant on reliable information about the neighbouring territories. And, like the Portuguese, the aims of the settlers and officials in Manila were again split between diplomatic niceties and personal ambitions to obtain sudden glory and riches. By 1586, a new and more data-based cognitive framework on Siam had emerged among those in Manila, as numerous references in documentation show. The first official reference to Siam was dated 1578, when Governor Francisco de Sande (1576–80) located the kingdom between territories inhabited by pagans and idolaters. In Borney I obtained precise information concerning the entire archipelago and the mainland, as I found there people from China, Cuahi, Camboja, Sian, Patane, Pahan, Jabas, Samatra, Achen, Manancabo, Batuchina, Maluco, Vincanao, Limboton, and other islands thereabout. Concerning these I inform you only that as far as Sian there dwell Moros; and thence toward the north are idolaters. (Sande to Philip II, Manila, 29/VII/1578. B&R, IV, 1973:131). By 1586, Siam was often mentioned as a focus of commercial interests and colonial expansionism. Bellicose intentions were already clear. The Royal Audiency (Audiencia Real), the highest judicial body created in Manila three years earlier, met in 1586 for the first time to decide how to proceed in the islands and which petitions should be addressed to the king and which to the pope. The memorandum addressed to Phillip II included Siam as one of the enemy kingdoms that encircled the Philippines, together with Patani, Java, Burney (Brunei) and the Moluccas, while the biggest threats were posed by Japan and China, of which Siam was perceived to be a vassal (B&R, VI, 1973:178). The following year, after a visit by a Japanese emissary, Governor Vera relayed to Philip II the possibility of receiving Japanese soldiers from a friendly Daimyo¯, or feudal lord, in order to send an expedition either to China or to “Bruney, Siam or Maluco” (26/VI/1587. AGI, Secc. Filipinas 34, quoted in Ollé, 2000:91). The Jesuit Alonso Sánchez, who was appointed to send information to King Philip II “about everything in relation to this land [the Philippines] and about China, Japan, Siam, Patan [sic] and other Kingdoms”, reported on Siam after having consulted other monks and lay persons who had already visited the kingdom (AGI, Secc. Filipinas 18, Manila, 20-VI-1586). Sanchez’s report did not devote much space to ethnology but instead promoted Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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further expansion of the crown’s presence in the region: in his perception, as Manel Ollé gently asserts, East Asia was reduced “to mere object of desire – either missionary or colonial” (2000:56). At the same time, there were efforts to establish mutual trade. The first expedition from Manila to Ayutthaya appears to have taken place in 1586. In that year, Governor Santiago de Vera reported to King Philip II that Siam was one of the neighbouring kingdoms, along with Bruney and Mindanao, to which he had sent persons to make peaceful contacts. He continued: “... it has come to my knowledge that [the King of Siam] wanted to send ships to these Islands and have contacts and our friendship. I have sent a ship with some presents and offering him [what has been offered to] the others on behalf of Your Majesty and our desire to open the route.” (AGI, Secc. Filipinas 6. Letter to H.M., Manila, 26/VI/1586). In the same document, Siam is again referred to as a potentially problematic territory, while the possibility of profits is also mentioned: “This Kingdom of Çian is very big and of countless people and merchandise of which Your Majesty will be informed. The people are little bellicose, less than others of those Kingdoms.” Lastly, the Augustinian friar Juan González de Mendoza mentioned Siam in The Famous History of the Mighty Kingdom of China, a book also published in 1586, translated into many languages and probably the most important influence on the image of China at the time. González de Mendoza portrayed Siam as “the mother of all idolatries,” with an expanionist religion, noting also that its population was mostly “cowardly” (and thus dominated by Burma) though Siam did have important trade (381–83, 387–88). References about Siam in 1586, then, are scattered in the documentation but already significant. There is no further reference to what happened to that “embassy” sent by Governor De Vera and it appears to have been a trade mission with enhanced rank in order to ease protocol, similar to another embassy sent in 1598, when the first trade treaty between the two countries was signed. These mentions give a first glimpse of the new perception of Siam among recently arrived Castilians. They saw Siam as an in-between realm, neither big nor small and neither a (permanent) Muslim enemy nor a submissive ally: all options were open. It was ranked below Japan or China and partly subservient. Its suzerainty over Patani and the possibility of making deals made it more important than Aceh, Maluku or Brunei, while former wars against the Burmese or Cambodians went unnoticed. On the whole, Siam appears as a lesser threat among potential enemies and a key player to deal with. This image was clearly influenced by the perceptions recorded by individuals, as can be traced some years later, at the same time that letters from King Philip II were sent through Portuguese channels to the Burmese king Nandabayin offering an army against Siam, as mentioned above. In the end of the 1580s, two adventurers working for the King of Cambodia, Diogo Velloso and
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Blas Ruiz de Hernan Gonzalez, managed to convince Manila to send an expedition to mainland Southeast Asia, claiming officially that their purposes were to defend the Khmer king from Siamese attacks and to stimulate Christianity in the area through royal protection, although it is obvious that they aimed at physical expansion. This expansionist approach from Manila contrasts with the friendly relations conducted by Portugal at the beginning of the sixteenth century, showing that the same process, such as establishing direct intercourse with East Asia, ended with opposite results. Conclusion: new forms for expansionist aspirations The settlement of the Portuguese in East Asia in 1511, and of their fellow Iberians in 1565, were radically different, in spite of similarities. For a start, the political context changed over time. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Siam was a powerful centre in the region; after 1545 the kingdom underwent continuous conflicts with her neighbours to the north (Lan Na), to the west (the Burmese even occupied Ayutthaya in 1569), and to the east, especially when the Khmers tried to profit from its weakness. The Iberian settlements were also different. Portugal merely had some scattered fortified positions along the coasts and needed to work hand in glove with local rulers to maintain its presence and continue trade. The Castilians were aware they had found an excellent territory with a good harbour and with no threat of local rulers attacking from the rear, to the point that they considered Manila the ultimate stronghold in case Portugal lost Macao or Malacca (Ollé, 2002: 201). Malacca avoided the mistake of sending expeditions of conquest, but Manila did so twice. Why? Castilians should have benefited from all the data-gathering and from the consequent revised perception of Siam, but those two expeditions suggest that accumulated knowledge counted for little. By contrast, in the 1570s proposals for the conquest of China were discarded. Ollé suggests there had been a “change of paradigm” in the perception of the Central Empire by the 1580s, brought about not only by “direct observation of isolated data but its systematization and articulation through the study of the Chinese language” (2000: 60). Debate in the Iberian Peninsula about the need to justify wars might have stopped the two expansionist expeditions, but seems to have done no more than raise some doubts: the Bishop of Manila, Domingo Salazar, and many others who opted for pacific incursions into China, favoured a similar approach when dealing with mainland Southeast Asia (Ollé 2000:115-120; Ollé 2004:23), but the expeditions to further Castilian expansion nevertheless sailed forth.
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To explain the different outcomes of the Portuguese and Castilian presence, four points should be taken into consideration. First, the mirabilia framework proved very resilient, in spite of the many inputs that forced a reconsideration of classic illusions about Asia. The expected treasures had not yet been found, but this only stimulated the search more intensively. Strong economic interests spurred the search, since the royal treasury financed private endeavours (Gil, 1989:132). Second, the experience of the Castilians in America, where resistance to conquest proved weak, fuelled expansionist aims. In the Castilian imagination, filled with images of conquest in America, the Siamese were compared to the American Indians as people ready peacefully to accept a new ruler. Third, a crucial role was played by individual Castilians residing and travelling in the region, where their lack of allegiance to any one crown allowed them to pursue their own interests. The further they were from their bases, the more spontaneously the Westerners united for a determined purpose, forming groups based on very different considerations to national ones. Their national origins were less important than their ambitions to gain glory or gold in distant lands from whatever source. Their allegiances were transient and helped Castile to develop a kind of frontier spirit. The relative decline of Portuguese energy and the shift in its interests to Brazil in the second half of the sixteenth century made Castile the more promising sponsor for ambitious individuals who dreamt about riches. Finally, the preferred place for adventurers hoping to attract support from governments was the Southeast Asian mainland, where individuals could enjoy a role more important than they warranted. The multi-ethnic character of many ruling elites in Southeast Asia facilitated the welcome, accorded to numerous private traders, treasure hunters and adventurers in general, regardless of their national origins – Castilian, Portuguese, Basque, Florentine, Flemish or even Armenian, among others. At the same time, mainland Southeast Asia was where the European presence was at its weakest: east of Cape Comorin in the Indian Ocean, the Portuguese state had a greatly diminished capacity to act, and the same can be said of Spain west of the Philippines. The region was therefore the most appropriate setting for any kind of unofficial cooperation between the administrations of Goa and Manila (Flores, 1998:138; Ibn Muhammad Ibrahim, 1972: 110; Subrahmanyam, 1990:148–50). Unlike Portugal (or the Aragonese kingdom in Spain which forbade travel to Asia), Spain was lured on by adventurers in Southeast Asia who aimed to enrich themselves or gain fame or secure conversions, especially once the American colonies became a springboard to Asia. The Spanish authorities expressed concern about the many missionaries who travelled outside official control to mainland Southeast Asia (and Japan) and often upset formal relations. In fact, the expansionist drive faltered precisely when the missionaries recognized their lack of success in preaching to the Asian natives and decided to switch their focus to the Philippine lowlands. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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The context and perceptions of Asia had changed, certainly, but also the self-perceptions of those Portuguese, Castilians and Spaniards who had contact with or received information about new territories and new populations in a world that, finally, was getting to be known with some accuracy. The frontispiece of the famous “theatre of the world” designed by Abraham Ortelius around 1570 helps to understand those differences in representations of Siam. In its upper part, it enthrones Europe represented as a woman with symbols of Christianity. Below her are three other female characters: Asia, Africa as caryatids sustaining the theatre as columns, and America at the bottom of the scene, already recognized as a new continent, while holding up a human head. This representation denotes the change in European perceptions. Europeans considered themselves superior to the rest, and all other continents were subservient. Each of the other continents had its specific characteristics. Africa was almost naked, and aroused no interest. Savage America was in need of being Christianized in order to achieve a degree of civilization that would put an end to people killing and eating each other. Asia, richly clad, was the place of luxuries. The Portuguese and Castilians seemed to focus on different aspects of this image. The Portuguese had gained a new perception of these Asian luxuries and the riches they could obtain from their trade. The Castilians were taken by Asia’s subordinate position under the figure of Europe, and tempted to expand. Times had changed, and representations with them, although more as a result of creating new categories of representations rather than forgetting previous frameworks of understanding. These two Iberian peoples evolved and learnt about Siam as they became aware of their own developing and different identities. References Abbreviations AGI: Archivo General de Indias B&R: Blair and Robertson HPEO: Historia dos Portugueses no Extremo Oriente JSS: Journal of the Siam Society Alves, Jorge Manuel dos Santos (1998) “Cristianização e Organização Eclesiástica”, in HPEO, Vol. 1, Tomo I. Em torno a Macau. Séculos XVI-XVIII, n.p.: Fundação Oriente, pp. 299–347. & Pierre-Yves Manguin (1997) O Roteiro das Cousas to Achem de D. João Ribeiro Gaio: Um olhar portugués sobre o Norte de Samatra e finais do século XVI, Lisbon: Comissão Nacional para as Commemorações dos Descubrimentos Portugueses.
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Andaya, Barbara. W. (1992) “Political development between the 16th and 18th centuries”, in The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, ed. Nicholas Tarling. Vol. I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 58–115. Barbosa, Duarte (1946) Livro em que da relaçâo do que viu e ouviu no Oriente. ed. Augusto Reis Machado, Lisboa: Agência Real das Colonias. Blair, Emma H. and James A. Robertson (1973) The Philippine Islands, 1493–1898. 55 vols. Mandaluyong, Cachos (1st printing, Cleveland, A.H. Clark, 1903–1909). http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/13255 Bougas, Wayne A. (1994) The Kingdom of Patani. Between Thai and Malay Mandala Selangor: Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. Boxer, Charles R. (1969) “Portuguese and Spanish projects for the conquest of Southeast Asia, 1580-1600”, in Journal of Asian History, III, 2, pp. 118–36. Cabezas, Antonio (1995) El Siglo Ibérico en Japón, Valladolid: Universidad de Valladolid. Cheman, W.K. (1990) Muslim Separatism. The Moros of Southern Philippines and the Malay of Southern Thailand, Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press. Costa, João Paulo Oliveira & Victor Luís Gaspar Rodrigues (1992) Portugal y el Oriente: El Proyecto Indiano del Rey Juan, Madrid: Mapfre. Damrong Rajanubhab (1959) “Culture in Siam”, in JSS, VII, pp. 1–30. Del Pino Díaz, Fermín (1998) “La visión y representación de Filipinas en los viajeros españoles: el caso del Jesuíta Alzina (1668)”, in Nosotros. Anales del Museo Nacional de Antropología, V, pp. 49–82. De la Vega, Carlos Luis (1975) “Pero Díaz, el primer español que llegó a China”, in Boletín de la Asociación Española de Orientalistas, XI: 79–90. Escalante Alvarado, García de (1999) Viaje a las islas del Poniente. Estudio preliminar, Carlos Martínez Shaw. Santander, Universidad de Cantabria. Flores, Maria da Conceiçao (1995) Os Portugueses e o Siâo no Século XVI, Lisbon: Impresa nacional. Flores, Jorge Manuel (1998) “Zonas de Influência e de Rejeição”, in HPEO, Vol. 1, Tomo I. Em torno a Macau. Séculos XVI–XVIII, n.p.: Fundação Oriente, pp. 135–178. Gil, Juan (1987) El Libro de Marco Polo anotado por Cristóbal Colón. El libro de Marco Polo de Rodrigo de Santaella, Madrid: Alianza. (1989) Mitos y utopías del Descubrimiento, 2. El Pacífico, Madrid: Alianza Editorial. (1991a) El libro de Marco Polo : ejemplar anotado por Cristóbal Colón y que se conserva en la Biblioteca Capitular y Colombina de Sevilla / edición, traducción y estudios de ___; presentación de Francisco Morales Padrón. Madrid : Testimonio Compañía Editorial.
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(1991b) Hidalgos y samurais. España y Japón en los siglos XVI y XVII. Madrid, Alianza Universidad. González de Mendoza, Fr. Juan (1990) Historia del Gran Reino de la China. Biblioteca de viajeros hispánicos. Madrid, Polifemo. Ibn Muhammad Ibrahim (1972) The Ship of Sulaiman, London & New York: Kegan Paul International and Columbia University Press. Lach, Donald (1994a) Asia in the Making of Europe. Vol. I, The Century of Discovery, Chicago: University of Chicago Press (1st ed., 1965). (1994b) Asia in the Making of Europe. Vol II. A century of wonder. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press (1st ed., 1965). Larner, John (2001) Marco Polo y el descubrimiento del mundo, Barcelona, Paidós. Trans. Miguel Portillo Díez. 1st ed. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999. Lourido, Rui d’Avila (1996) “European trade between Macao and Siam, from its beginnings to 1663”, in JSS, vol. 84–2, pp. 75–101. Marques Guedes, M. A. (1994) Interferência e Integração dos Portugueses na Birmânia Ca 1580–1630, n.p: Fundação Oriente. Martínez Shaw, Carlos (1999) “Estudio preliminar” to Viaje a las islas del Poniente, by García de Escalante Alvarado. Santander, Universidad de Cantabria. Mendes Pinto, Fernão (1614) Peregrinação, (Lisbon; 1st Spanish translation, 1628). Münch Miranda, Susana & Cristina Seuanes Serafim (1998) “O Potencial Demográfico”, in HPEO. Vol. 1, Tomo I. Em torno a Macau. Séculos XVIXVIII, n.p.: Fundação Oriente, pp. 183–215. Ollé, Manel (2000) La invención de China. Percepciones y estrategias filipinas respecto a China durante el siglo XVI, Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz Verlag. (2002) La empresa de China. De la Armada Invencible al Galeón de Manila. Barcelona, El Acantilado. (2004) “Early Spanish insertion into Southeast Asia: The Chinese Factor” in Iberians in the Singapore-Melaka area and adjacent regions (16th to 18th century). Ed. Peter Borschberg. Wiesbaden-Lisbon: Harrassowitz-Fundaçao Oriente, pp. 23–33. Pigafetta, Antonio (1994) Magellan’s Voyage A Narrative Account of the First Circumnavigation. Trans. and ed. by R.A. Skelton. New York, Dover Publications, 1994 (1st ed. Yale, Yale University Press, 1969). Pintado, M. J. (ed.) (1993) Portuguese Documents on Malacca, Kuala Lumpur, National Archives of Malaysia. Pires, Tome (1990) The Suma Oriental of ___, An Account of the East from the Red Sea to Japan, Written in Malacca and India in 1512–1515. trans. and ed. by Armando Cortesão. New Delhi and Madras: Asian Educational Services. Reid, Anthony (2000) Charting the Shape of Early Modern Southeast Asia, Singapore: ISEAS. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Rubiés, Joan-Pau (2000) Travel and Ethnology in the Renaissance: South India through European Eyes, 1250–1625, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. (2003) “The Spanish contribution to the ethnology of Asia in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,” in Renaissance Studies, 17, 3: 418–448. Smithies, Michael (1997) “The Siam of Mendes Pinto’s Travels”. JSS 85, parts 1 & 2, pp. 59–73. Spence, Jonathan (1998) The Great Khan’s Continent, China in Western Minds, New York and London: W.W. Norton. Soler, Isabel (2003) El nudo y la esfera. El navegante como artífice del mundo moderno, Barcelona: El Acantilado. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay (1991) Improvising Empire. Portuguese Trade and settlement in the Bay of Bengal, 1500–1700, New York: Oxford University Press. (1993) The Portuguese Empire in Asia, 1500–1700: A Political and Economic History, London: Longman. Teixeira, Manuel, P. (1983) Portugal na Tailândia. Macau: Impresa Nacional do Macau. Thomas, Luís Filipe F. R. (1995) “The Image of the Archipelago in Portuguese Cartography of the 16th and early 17th Century” in Archipel, 49, pp. 79–124. (1998) “Introdução” to HPEO. Vol. 1, Tomo I. Em torno a Macau. Séculos XVI–XVIII, n.p., Fundação Oriente, pp. 15–121. Trakulhun, Sven (2003) “The widening of the world and the realm of history: early European approaches to the beginnings of Siamese history, c. 1500–1700,” in Renaissance Studies 17,3: 392–417. Villiers, John (1998) “Portuguese and Spanish sources for the History of Ayutthaya in the sixteenth century”, in JSS, vol. 86, parts 1 & 2, pp. 119–130. Yule, Henry (1966) Cathay and the way thither, being a collection of medieval notices of China. Trans. and ed. by ___ New edition revised by Henri Cordier. 2 vols. Taipei, Ch’eng-Wen Publishing Co. (1st ed. London, 1866). and Henri Cordier (1903) The Travels of Marco Polo, by Marco Polo and Rustichello of Pisa, et al, Including the unabridged third edition (1903) of Henry Yule’s annotated translation, as revised by Henri Cordier; together with Cordier’s later volume of notes and addenda (1920) http:// www.gutenberg.net/etext/12410
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Giovanni Filippo de MARINI, Delle Missioni… (1663): AN ANNOTATED TRANSLATION OF THE CHAPTERS ON CAMBODIA, SIAM, AND MAKASSAR Cesare Polenghi
INTRODUCTION 1. Giovanni Filippo de Marini and his Delle Missioni... of 1663 Giovanni Filippo de Marini1 was born in Taggia, in the Republic of Genoa, in 1608. He entered the order of the Jesuits in 1625, and in 1640 arrived in Goa, where he started a career as a missionary in Asia that lasted until his death in 1682. In his years in the East (1640–59 and 1666–82) he was for the most part based in Macao (1649–59 and 1675–82) and Tonkin (1647–49), but he also visited Siam three times (1641–42, in 1667 or 1668, and again in 1671), Japan and other places in the region. In the early 1660s, after he had returned to Europe to recruit new missionaries and to represent the “Province of Japan” at the 11th General Congregation of the Jesuits, he collected his experiences in Asia in a 548-page work entitled Delle Missioni de’ Padri della Compagnia di Giesu, nella Provincia del Giappone e particolarmente di quella di Tumkino (The Missions of the Fathers of the Company of Jesus, in the Province of Japan and in particular in Tonkin) which was printed in Rome in 1663 by Niccolò Angelo Tinassi and dedicated to His Holiness Pope Alexander VII. It comprised five books. The first three dealt with Tonkin, while Book Five was entirely devoted to the kingdom of Laos. Book Four contained short descriptions of Cochinchina (today’s Southern Vietnam), Cambodia, Siam, Makassar (in today’s Sulawesi, part of Indonesia), Canton and Hainan.2 Part of de Marini’s work was published in French in 1666, including six of the chapters about the Lao kingdom that have been recently translated into English by Walter E. J. Tips and Claudio Bertuccio (de Marini 1998). However, the rest of
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When referred to by family name only, we noticed that often de Marini is called only ‘Marini.’ We prefer to use ‘de Marini,’ since in Italian the prefixes de and di (meaning “from”) are considered an integral part of the family name. 2 For more detailed biographies of de Marini, see Luigi Bressan’s introduction in de Marini (1998) and Teixeira (1983, 38–83). Bressan’s introduction also contains interesting sections about the relations between de Marini and the other missionaries who contributed to the text. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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de Marini’s work has not been translated into English yet, and—despite the richness of its narration—historians essentially have not benefited from it. Thus, three and a half centuries after its publication in Italian, what follows this introduction is the first translation in English of three chapters from de Marini’s Book Four, describing Cambodia, Siam and Makassar. 2. De Marini’s literary style and issues related to this English translation De Marini’s Italian is typical of his day. He often used a reduplication of adjectives, typical of Cicero and thus of the classical Italian tradition of composition, which was revived from the fifteenth century on. Since Italian is richer in adjectives than English, these redundancies make the translator’s work challenging, especially when they are part of long run-on phrases with little punctuation. We have taken the liberty of breaking some of the longest sentences into two or more shorter ones, in order to make the translation more accessible to the contemporary reader of English. Another problem concerns the omission of most of the names of the historical characters mentioned in the text. When discussing events happening at the courts of Cambodia and Siam, rather than using proper names, de Marini (who might have forgotten them, as he was writing many years after the facts he described) opted for titles such as “the king,” or for familiar terms such as “the cousin.” These “informal” definitions might easily confuse the reader, already trying to keeping pace with complex court intrigues. Thus, when we found it necessary in order to add clarity, we have included in square brackets the names of the characters discussed in the narration. We have also divided de Marini’s three chapters into sections and given them titles, in order to make the translation easier to use as a reference. Finally, the numbers in indented brackets refer to the page numbers of the original edition. 3. Reliability as historical source De Marini’s translation is filled with interesting stories and details that will surely interest scholars of history and religion, as well as ordinary readers. Even though de Marini himself admitted that his memoirs had to be taken with a grain of salt, events described in the text (such as the Cochinchinese invasion of Cambodia and King Narai’s rise to power) are historically sound, confirmed by other sources, and confer to the whole work an aura of credibility. Obviously, while reading, it has to be kept in mind that de Marini was a seventeenth century Jesuit missionary. Thus, besides his biases due to his belief in the superiority of the Roman Catholic faith, we have to remember that he wrote during a period when not much was known in Europe about the traditions of Southeast Asia. Accordingly, his superficial descriptions of Siamese Buddhism, Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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seen as a “Cult of Idols”, and his contemptuous view of Islam certainly appear politically and intellectually incorrect today, but have to be seen in the historical framework of de Marini’s time. The chapters on Cambodia and Makassar, as in the case of the description of the Lao kingdom, rely for the most part on descriptions de Marini heard from his colleagues, while the chapter on Siam contains a long narration coming directly from his own experience. Of particular interest is the part relating the journey from Goa to Ayutthaya, which includes what is possibly the earliest description of the crossing of the “great forest,” the jungle of the Malay peninsula between Jalinga and Phetchaburi. While the historical relevance of the chapters on Siam and Cambodia is evident, we have decided to include the chapter on Makassar as well, considering that there are ties with Ayutthaya during this period. Chronologically, the two accounts of Siam and Makassar provide a neat framework for de Marini’s first tour of Southeast Asia, starting with his journey through Siamese territory in 1641–42 and ending with his visit to Makassar in 1659, before his return to Europe and the publication of his book. Geographically, as well, there are links that merit future research. Both Makassar and Siam were included in the Jesuit administrative region for East Asia, along with Cambodia, Vietnam, Macau and Japan. Hubert Jacobs (1988) provides extracts from documents during this period concerning Makassar, and these documents clearly contain much additional information about Siam that remains unpublished. Further work on these sources is likely to provide a better understanding of Jesuit activities in both kingdoms, the migration of some Makassarese to Ayutthaya and the violent events associated with them in the Siamese capital in 1686. De Marini’s account may also be of value, because his impressions differ from those provided by Jacobs concerning Portuguese relations with the Makassarese and causes leading to the eventual Portuguese withdrawal from the island. 4. Acknowledgements We wish to express our thanks to five individuals for their assistance. Dr Kennon Breazeale at the East-West center of Honolulu was fundamental in helping us to cross-reference sources, patiently correcting mistakes, and being always available to answer questions. Dr Leonard Andaya at the University of Hawaii gave precious advice for the chapter on Makassar. Dr Elisa Tallone was pivotal with helping us with the thorniest parts of the translation, thanks to her long experience of working with Latin, classical Greek and every sort of vernacular Italian. Finally we thank Mary Eliades and Michael Smithies for their meticulous editing of our text. Any errors which might appear, though, are entirely our responsibility. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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CHAPTER VII - MISSION OF THE KINGDOM OF CAMBODIA 1. Introduction {389} In this region of the Orient,3 Cambodia is a rather broad kingdom, but not densely inhabited. It is considered one of the most renowned for trading opportunities: there is abundance of every kind of goods necessary for life and has much excellent timber that can be used for building homes as it can be used to construct ships. The river that flows from the mountains crossing the kingdom of the Lao enters the ocean through two natural and two artificial mouths. It is famous as one of the greatest rivers in Asia, and accordingly is called “Menam,”4 which means “the mother of the waters.” When compared with it, the Nile would be only as big as one of the canals [of the Menam]. Such canals were opened to facilitate the navigation of vessels of every size and weight, since the ebb and flow of the waters at the mouths made the current so impetuous that it was not safe to navigate there. Then from the mouths of the river one penetrates inland and after many days and three hundred miles from the mouths, one reaches the docks that are right in the middle of the city. [There,] the waters are still very deep, thus they can be utilized as a harbor for many kingdoms far from the sea5 that carry down their goods to trade them [in Cambodia]. Close to the city are visible the ruins of great walls and a long stretch with many homes built of stone6 — whereas homes now are made of wood and straw. The prince who now dominates the kingdom is not a legitimate king, but a usurping tyrant, since in past centuries the kingdom of Cambodia was part of the inheritance of the kings of Siam, who still today claim it.7 2. Jesuit missionaries in Cambodia In order to talk now about the condition of the kingdom [of Cambodia] in past years, it has to be known that the Christian Faith never took root in this cursed land. Before we [Jesuits] had established our permanent presence, other religious
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De Marini was based in Tonkin (today’s North Vietnam), thus he is talking of the region that today is known as Southeast Asia. 4 De Marini probably learned the Thai word mae-nam while he was in Thai territory (1641–42) and applied it to the Mekong. 5 This probably refers to landlocked kingdoms, such as the Lao kingdom of Lan Sang, and possibly also to individual traders from mountain tribes. 6 This seems to be a second-hand reference to Angkor; refer to Groslier, Angkor et le Cambodge au XVI siècle d’après les sources portugaises et espagnoles (1958, English trans. 2006). 7 De Marini seems to consider Cambodia a renegade province of Siam. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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men8 came from the Philippines as chaplains of the mercantile ships. They reached these shores, stayed only until the sale of the merchandise was over, and then returned to their lands. Thus, a scant knowledge of the real God reached the blind [minds of the local] populace, whose lifestyle is entirely similar to that of animals. Then, {390} in the year 1630, when the rage of the persecution in Japan barred the Fathers [residing] there, among other kingdoms to which they turned was Cambodia. They did not consider the country so much for itself, but they found it convenient to move to countries near [to Japan]. Even without considering that advantage, the help that could be given to the Christians who arrive [in Cambodia] in great number with their cargoes from many other kingdoms of this part of the Orient (besides the ones who permanently inhabit it [Cambodia]) seemed a good enough reason to the superiors not to abandon this place, especially considering how [in Cambodia] there are no other religious men besides the Fathers of our company. Thus, ever since we entered Cambodia, we have continued to send somebody [there], and one of the earliest was Father Giuseppe Agnese, as stated earlier.9 The last emissary to that site was Father Carlo Rocca,10 a Piedmontese, in 1659. From him, I have heard what I am briefly going to say [about Cambodia]. Father Giovanni Maria Leria was also there for a while, waiting for an opportunity to re-enter the Lao kingdom, whose king, once he had found out the Father was in Cambodia, wasted no time and wrote, inviting him to return [to the Lao kingdom].11 As I have read in a letter from Father Giovanni Maria Leria, which I received in Tonkin in 1657, he was sent a precious gift from the king as well, and a more [another] urgent invitation to return [to the Lao kingdom]. But since now there is a scarcity of [evangelical] workers in the Province of Japan12 and the means to maintain them there are limited as well (as they are so far away and separated), the Father cannot leave his residence [in Cambodia] and go there, and is thus neglecting the Lao kingdom. To the king there, he can give nothing but hope.
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Christian Fathers from other orders. This refers to a previous part of the text that is not part of this translation. Teixeira (1983: 56–60) gives the dates 1634–49 for Agnese’s work in Cambodia. 10 Probably the same person as Carlos da Rocha, a Jesuit who sailed from Cambodia to Siam in August 1670 (Teixeira 1983, 370) and was working in the Portuguese quarter in Ayutthaya in 1675 (Launay 1920, I 61). 11 Leria had worked in Vientiane from 1642 to 1647, and then went to Tonkin. He never returned to Vientiane, but did return to Cambodia. In 1659 he went to Ayutthaya, and from 1661 to 1664 he served as the Father Provincial of the Jesuit Province of Japan. He had worked earlier in Cochinchina, was expelled from there in 1639 and worked in Cambodia until his departure for the Lao kingdom. This passage refers to his second visit to Cambodia. 12 The Jesuit province of Japan encompassed Japan, Macao, Tonkin, Cochinchina, Cambodia, Laos, Siam and Makassar. 9
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3. Description of some recent historical events in Cambodia 3.1 King Nak Can’s conversion to Islam Now, about Cambodia, the living king, named Nak Can,13 secured the crown by usurping the throne from his brother, whom he had mercilessly killed (with the complicity of his sister-in-law, the queen). This [woman], even though she was one of the first wives of the king and a near relative of the king of Cochinchina, never produced an heir. However, there were five sons of secondary wives.14 To obtain some endorsement, the queen adopted the eldest son, whose mother, the second wife of her husband, had died. As a reward for her [cooperation in the] infamous betrayal, she received the government of two provinces. The other four nephews remained in the care of their mothers, who lived at court. In the meantime, the king, since he was not as beloved by his subjects as the brother he had murdered, called [for help] from the neighboring kingdom the Malays, in order to strengthen his grip on the throne. They are the most proud and ungodly people in that part of the Orient, the most effeminate in their sexual weaknesses, and the most unrestrained in their lifestyle. They follow the religion of Mohammed, meaning they are perfidious as much as cruel. The king counted on them {391} for his own protection, and he divided among them the most prestigious positions and duties in the kingdom (perhaps only to strengthen his power, or if he was plotting more grandiose schemes.) All in all, it was the Malays who ruled, gave advice, directed all most important affairs of the kingdom [of Cambodia] and enjoyed the best positions at court, associated with the rank of mandarin. Since the practice of the same religion unites the souls (as much as different religions separate them), such Moors15 who dominated the king’s heart on every important matter persuaded him to switch to the adulation of the Koran.16 They insisted so much,17 until he finally surrendered and resolved to be circumcised.18 A single thought prevented him from immediately professing [the faith of the Koran]: the fact that, once he had 13
De Marini spells the king’s name “Nac Cian”. Mak Phoeun identifies this monarch as Râmâdipathî I (Can Bañâ Cand), and informs us he was also known as Ram Cûl Sâs (Phoeun 1995, 259) and (after his conversion to Islam) Sultan Ibrahim (Phoeun 1995, 261). He reigned from 1642–59, and had a Malay wife. (Hall 1981, 460). 14 Mak Phoeun talks about four of these nephews and gives some information about two of them (Phoeun 1995, 287). 15 “Moors” was the term loosely and incorrectly used to refer generally to Muslims. 16 Another theory is that after the assassination of the previous king, Nak Can felt he was “doomed” as a Buddhist (because of his karma), thus he switched to another religion (Mak Phoeun 1995, 260). 17 Literally de Marini says: “so much they were around him, and so much they told him.” 18 See Barbara Andaya’s discussion in The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia (1992, I 525). Cham and Malay Muslims were instrumental in the conversion of Nak Can to Islam around 1643. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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embraced that faith, he did not want to transgress it. In fact, in the Koran it is ordered not to partake of wine,19 and for him, who had been accustomed to drinking it for so many years, such a law was intolerable. However, those [Malay] masters, of the flesh, not of the spirit, immediately freed him from doubt. They belittled his scruples, and put his conscience at ease with the reassurance that their Casis,20 or Great Priest, had the authority to spare him from that prohibition. That sufficed for him to declare shamelessly that, if this was the case, then he would embrace the law of Mohammed. That done, he submitted himself to the authority of the Casis, and the first teaching he received was that, since Mohammed was saving him from idolatry21 with his Law (and this was an enormous gift) he should have shown gratitude by separating himself from the court, and chasing away any other thought, while leading a solitary and secluded existence. [He would be] now a pilgrim throughout woods and deserts, then lingering on the river aboard his galley, away from disturbances and mundane troubles. This [exercise was supposed to last] not for a short period, but for three years, three months, and three days. And the Malays were right in prescribing such a long span of time: in fact, in order to put into practice such a monstrous plan, consisting in changing from a Gentile half-animal with a cult for the idols, into a complete beast as the followers of Mohammed are, one needed not less time, and to be in all the places where [different] beasts dwell.22 The Malays promised that, once he [King Nak Can] had in that way completed his preparation for circumcision, the moment the rite took place, the heavens would have become an impoverished place, since all the graces would fall upon him. From that moment on, he would enjoy so much celestial protection, that he would have had no more difficulties [in his life]. [From the heavens] he would receive a long and prosperous life {392}, protection against any [exterior] power, and many other advantages that were promised with great generosity, since they were only [empty] words. Nonetheless, the king gullibly believed in such guarantees, and was convinced to accept the idea of the pilgrimage. [He did so] without pondering the fact that he was leaving the kingdom in the hands of some foreigners and his five nephews, after he had killed their father. [King Nak Can] had [already] sickened his own subjects, by stripping them of the richest and most honorable positions [at court] and by submitting them to the arrogant and despotic government of the Moors, who treated them as slaves, and not as natives
19
Here a fermented drink such as palm toddy or a distillate such as arrack. An Islamic religious teacher. De Marini spelled this term as cacife. It might have also been a typesetting mistake (cacife instead of casise). 21 Here meaning Buddhism in its Cambodian form. 22 The “woods, deserts and rivers.” This passage shows how de Marini considered local cults better than Islam, probably because the believers of the latter faith were more difficult to convert to Christianity. 20
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of the kingdom. Nonetheless, the king was convinced to undergo the challenge, which lasted three years, three months and three days. He was [then] circumcised, and professed in public the laws of the Koran, according to which he now lives. To prove his progress, and the sincerity of his embracing such laws, he published an edict saying that none of his vassals should even think about professing the faith of Christ. To the Casis who granted amnesty regarding permission to drink wine, he [King Nak Can] sent an offering of a good quantity of gold and silver. [The king then] abused his freedom to the point that, while he used to be a moderate winedrinker, after becoming a Moor23 he was drunk almost every day. Believing in the promises the Malays had made to him, he was sure that, in case of need, he would have Mohammed to protect him. Thus, without scruples he gave himself up to lust and he slept at ease. It is surprising how, during his period of pilgrimage, nobody had led a coup. In fact, during that period he was not challenged, nor were revolts or plots heard of. 3.2 The revolt of the five nephews The king, once he was finished with his [spiritual] training, decided to pass the crown to the third nephew. He had put all his love in him, perhaps because of his mother’s efforts, or because he felt an affinity with him. The people [of Cambodia] liked better and wanted [to see on the throne] the other brothers,24 who concealed the wounds in their hearts due to their father’s betrayal, and plotted revenge.25 The other brother,26 understanding it, refused the offer to succeed to the throne, and, even though he greatly wanted to reign, he hid his feelings well, and made his brothers believe he wanted to be part of the plot in order to avenge the affront of the killing of [their] father and to exterminate the Moors. It was well known how much irritation the people felt about the tyranny of the king [Nak Can], and in their scheme [of liberating the kingdom from the Moors], the nephews27 counted on them [the people of Cambodia], their favor and protection, as they sought to give them back their original freedom. [Thus,] the populace was devoted to them and they were ready to use [its support] whenever an occasion should arise. The day came, and the nephews, in order not to waste such a chance, had the whole population arise, take arms and run to the palace. However, the king [Nak Can] was informed {393} in time, and was able to retreat safely with the Malays. He 23
Meaning after Nak Can became a follower of Mohammed. De Marini switches often between “nephews” and “brothers”; however, he is, of course, talking of the same five princes. 25 According to a royal chronicle cited in Phoeun (1995, 287), they had been plotting revenge ever since their father’s death. 26 The third nephew that had been selected by King Nak Can as his successor. 27 See note 24. 24
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decided, or he was cleverly advised, to pretend to give up and wait for a better time, while that early impetuous popular fire burnt and extinguished itself. The nephews had taken over the palace; however, since they were young and inexperienced, they argued about their opinions and their demands, and could not complete their task. Their disagreements paved the way for their uncle [King Nak Can] to return; thus there was a complete reversion to the original state of things. 3.3 The third nephew is declared successor to the crown Yet, in order for King Nak Can to feel secure, it was not enough to extinguish the flames: he wanted to extinguish the hidden sparks also, to preempt what might happen in the future. Thus, he took the measure of completing his original project, and declared the third nephew as his successor to the crown. In order to separate him from [the company of] his brothers, he sent some trustworthy messengers to let him know that he had been chosen as successor and king, and thus he should leave his brothers swiftly. To protect him from them, the king sent him several divisions of Moorish soldiers and many elephants. He [the third nephew] had been waiting for such a moment and happily obeyed without hesitation, feeling as though he were reborn: it was clear that he was forgiven and destined to reign. Since such a coup would surely have struck profoundly at the heart of the other brothers, putting him at constant risk of death, he decided to resort to magic and spells — a disgusting art in which the Moors are masters. They cast an enchantment on him in order to make him invulnerable just in time, since the eldest brother was offended at having been pushed aside, and sent somebody to kill him [the third nephew]. He was struck many times, but he was unharmed. Once he heard of that offence, the king [Nak Can] decided to remain silent, waiting for the chance of a safe strike against that [eldest] nephew who had plotted [against the third nephew]. For such actions, those [Malay] barbarians have a certain weapon always ready: the kris. It has a blade of not more than about a palm’s span28 and a half of length, cast in a serpentine shape, as one would paint the long tail of a comet. It is reinforced with extremely powerful poison, and the slightest puncture that penetrates enough to generate a drop of blood causes a more certain and sudden death than the tooth of a furious snake, since no antidote can be found. The king had one of these weapons, and upon seeing his [eldest] nephew at court, told him he wanted to {394} make a test, and see if a certain weapon he had could wound somebody, knowing the eldest nephew was protected by a certain magic spell. If it worked, the king might adopt the same kind of spell. Thus, he struck 28
Palmo in Italian means handbreadth, span, and was used as a measure. It equals approximately 20 cm. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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lightly the first nephew with the kris and caused him to bleed. However, the incantation and the magic that had protected the third nephew from a more serious attack, worked also for the first [nephew]. The king’s strike had no effect, because the diabolical art shielded him from the poison. That event alarmed the prince, who began to suspect the truth: that his and his three brothers’ deaths were sought [by the king and the third nephew]. From the provinces this [eldest] prince was governing, with the help of his adoptive mother and a great number of Cambodian followers, he rebelled against his uncle. The third nephew barely escaped the fury of his brothers, and took refuge with his uncle [King Nak Can]. The guards protected him, and he was generously appointed general of the army and governor of his kingdom [of Cambodia]. He quickly called up as many armed men as possible, putting together a great force that suddenly, at a great pace, assailed his brothers, who had prudently taken refuge by locking themselves in a safe fortification. There the third nephew with his army surrounded them, preventing them from receiving any supplies, until they were exhausted. Thus, thinking they [the four brothers] were lost, they resolved to escape. Two managed to break out, while the other two were captured and fell into the hands of the king. He wanted to take the life of the [two] rebels, but they were saved by the law of Mohammed that he professed. Of the two who escaped, one was the eldest brother. He took refuge in one of the temples of the Idols [a Buddhist monastery], where he was safe. Not so for the mother who had adopted him and was a close relative of the king of Cochinchina. Since she had gone hand-in-hand29 with her brother-in-law [Nak Can] in the death of the [previous] king, her husband and the father of those five sons, she was stripped of the two regions she governed and condemned to death. Still, she was so convincing with the reasons she used to defend herself that the king [Nak Can], moved to compassion, spared her life and instead [of having her killed] stripped her of every honor and rank and condemned her to live as a slave. Then [the king] thought that, considering what he had accomplished, he could live safe and relaxed, with no thoughts or fear of any further peril. Thus, without any prejudice, he dedicated himself to pleasures and drunkenness without restraint. He thought it was time to begin to enjoy the promised happiness coming from Mohammed that the Malays, false prophets, had promised when they induced [the king] to become a Muslim. But those were empty words, soon followed by real disaster {395} that the king was not ready to deal with, leading to his ultimate misfortune.
29
De Marini says “aver tenuto mano,” lit.: “held his hand.” Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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3.4 The invasion of the Cochinchinese The king of Cochinchina30 avidly craved becoming a “Great King”.31 He had already gobbled up the whole kingdom of Champa and, like a goshawk aiming for prey, he was always ready to gain from the tumults [occurring in other kingdoms]. It did not take him long to fit out a great army on the land, and a great navy at sea. His victory banners were visible well before his soldiers had reached Cambodia,32 where the king [Nak Can], the queen and the princes, except the third, were taken as prisoners. These, having only few soldiers available, put up an early resistance. However, as the Cochinchinese were prevailing, he threw down his weapons, thinking he could run for dear life by swimming across the river to save himself. But it was time for this impious and cruel man to die, and no spell or witchcraft could help him. Mortally wounded, he begged for his life, but was not spared. Thus he paid for his impious and sacrilegious acts of not long before: the injuries he had caused to the person of Giovanni Maria Leria and to the holy images in his church and his house, as I will narrate soon. In the meantime, the general of the [Cochinchinese] army, who had taken the city and held the king and the queen as prisoners, wanted to learn from them where their treasure was and he threatened them with torture. They could not keep silent and revealed where it was buried. Twenty-seven ships and seventy barges were not enough to take away all the gold, silver, gems and other valuable goods. The general also had the city sacked and burnt down. The Dutch lost more than one hundred thousand scudi33 of merchandise. The English, whose ship was riding at anchor and already full [of cargo], could see no way out, since the river was packed with Cochinchinese ships. The Englishmen decided to save their lives and abandoned the ship, which was left prey to the [Cochinchinese] general. Many areas of the city were set ablaze, the flames flaring up and burning to ashes our house, our church and all that was inside. Whatever escaped the fire could not elude the rapacity of the [Cochinchinese] soldiers. Besides the [royal] treasure, they added to the booty eight hundred elephants, a much greater number of horses, 1,600 pieces of artillery, and also many lighter weapons. Everything was supposed to be carried to Cochinchina; however, the general [of the Cochinchinese] decided to use this opportunity to enrich himself. He handled the situation so well that his plan succeeded: he kept the best [part of the booty] for himself, and sent to Cochinchina whatever he did not want or need. 30
Nguyen Phouc Tan (also known as Hien Vuong), who reigned from 1649 to 1686 or 1687. Possibly meaning “emperor” in general. 32 According to Mak Phoeun (1995, 297), the invasion began in October 1658 and lasted until March or April 1659, when the Cochinchinese forces withdrew. 33 A silver coinage used in various Italian states in de Marini’s time. 31
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Together with the rich loot, he sent the king [Nak Can], the queen and the three princes34 as prisoners. The king of Cochinchina, once informed of their unhappy state, sent them words of comfort, saying he wished to meet them and he wanted to show clemency by setting them free. {396} The sister-in-law, who was living as a slave in Cambodia, had her triumph when she saw the king [Nak Can] embarked with the others of his blood.35 By then, she had been set free by the general [of the Cochinchinese], and the eldest of the princes, whom she had adopted as a son, remained in the kingdom [of Cambodia]. There, she hoped to revive her previous grandeur. To that end, she sent for her son to ask him to submit with reverence to the proud and victorious general [of the Cochinchinese]. 3.5 The eldest brother’s reconquest of Cambodia [The eldest of the princes] soon went to see the general; alas, he was not accustomed to bending his head, not to mention [going down on] his knees. He demanded to deal with the general [of the Cochinchinese] as an equal. The general had ambitions to be ruler and was full of himself after the victory, and he expected humility. Thus, he nearly had the head of the eldest of the princes chopped off. The tears of the mother, more than her prayers, spared the life of the eldest of the princes. It was then that the prince, now humbly imploring, threw himself at the general’s feet, and with that act of submission he pleased him enough to find favor and to be appointed Minister of Justice of his Cambodians. But that situation did not last long. In fact, that captain [the general of the Cochinchinese] was as ambitious for glory as he was thirsty for gold, and when he found out that the prince was earning riches through his position, he confiscated them all. [Then,] he ordered the prince to go and report his deeds to the king of Cochinchina. On this occasion, the prince offered a display of valor and wisdom. As though nothing had been taken from him, and the general had commanded him to undertake a pleasant chore, without showing any displeasure or resentment, he promptly appeared with a serene expression [on his face], and called himself fortunate and privileged because of this great opportunity he was given to leave his kingdom and to see new lands, especially Cochinchina, its court and its glorious king, who he was honored to attend. He said so in such a manner that he seemed sincere; thus, the Cochinchinese general was convinced that there was no need to double his guards to watch over somebody with such an earnest disposition, and he sent him to Cochinchina aboard a galley with only a few guards. During the night [the eldest prince], once he had reached a certain place, asked to drop anchor and to bathe in the river. That was 34 35
These were the second, the fourth and the fifth princes. The other members of the royal family. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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granted to him. The waters run very quickly in that spot. As he was pretending to bathe, he suddenly dashed away swimming and, in the twinkling of an eye, he reached the shore, where there was a forest with a thousand intricate and meandering paths. He entered that labyrinth, which he was familiar with, came out of it swiftly and took refuge in a town, where he was recognized as a prince and treated with honor. From there, he dispatched {397} messages to other villages and towns in the area, and he gathered many soldiers. [The eldest prince and his army] quickly traversed the kingdom and surprised the Cochinchinese, exterminating them. In the same dash for victory, he made a thrust with his men and assailed the [Cochinchinese] general, who came under attack, was defeated, and forced to retreat to his own country. Having achieved the victory, he [the eldest prince] kept alert, in case the enemy decided to return. Thus he kept a vigil by the sea, he fortified the land and guarded the borders. Triumphant and ecstatic, he entered the capital, and had himself crowned. So far, this is what it is known. The king of Cochinchina, then, once he realized that it was not easy to extend his reach far enough to occupy this kingdom [of Cambodia] without leaving his own kingdom open to attacks from Tonkin, set the uncle king [Nak Can] free so that he could return [to Cambodia] (if the first nephew who now rules will allow him to). However, before letting him go, he had him brought before him, tightly bound, and harshly reprimanded him for letting the Malays become so powerful in his kingdom and for letting them use him as a puppet as he had decided so lightly to follow their law. [The king of Cochinchina also rebuked Nak Can] for his addiction to alcohol, inquiring why he was so attracted to drinking when the use of wine was prohibited by the law he professed. With that, he dismissed him after giving him a few things: clothes to wear, a golden vase, and another made of silver, from which to eat.36 4. Father Giovanni Maria Leria 4.1 The condition of Christianity in Cambodia in the days of Father Leria {397} Now, let us move on to consider the condition of religion [in the kingdom of Cambodia]. I will have to repeat what I have said in the beginning: the country was delightful for everything else, yet unable to appreciate the efforts of the evangelical workers, even before the dreadful sect of the Moors had arrived
36
The final paragraph of this section, regarding the king of Cochinchina and Nac Can (then the former king of Cambodia), was placed at the end of the original text {405}. It has been moved here, as it provides a consistent conclusion to the historical segment written by de Marini. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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with its ruinous and harmful doctrine. At present, we are losing hope of obtaining any results. Moreover, whatever we had already accomplished has been lost, and we observe how the tender plants, which we were growing in the name of Christ,37 are drying up, [once they are] reached by the poisonous breath of the doctrine of the Koran. Thus the extremely fervent worker Father Giovanni Maria Leria maintains his position [in Cambodia] only out of enormous virtue and heroic withstanding. It is true that, if we are to speak about conversions in this kingdom, the Father was under strain;38 however, to suffer and labor in the name of Christ causes a hidden joy inside the heart and pushes one to suffer and labor even more, in the name of the glory of the Lord himself. If the conversion of the natives,39 a holy spiritual endeavor, would prevent the salvation of the ones who are doing the [evangelical] work,40 or would cause the sin that is the death of the soul, God would not ask them [the missionaries] to undergo such sacrifices. Thus, one who acquires merit for himself operates in a better and more fruitful way than the one who, even though he is reaping much from the natives, remains immature or deteriorates [in character]. Hence, the deeds of the Father and his [ability to withstand difficulties] greatly increased the fame and the glory of the Christian faith. He was cultivating those few Christians, more foreigners than Cambodians, who dwelt in the city or reached it from the outside on their trading ships.41 Even though he did not neglect any of the duties that the evangelical ministers use to accompany knowledge of the real God, there was nobody whose soul was penetrated by Christ’s doctrine and wanted to convert to Christianity. In part that was due to the royal prohibition, and those who did not respect it would pay with their lives, but it was also because of the obtuseness of those who, preferring to live as brute animals, extinguish any disposition and attitude {398} leading toward cooperation with the [Holy] Spirit. Therefore, the Father had the merit to do much [good], [even when] much [evil] was done to him. More than once he came close to a glorious death, but the Father was not afraid, nor did he try to escape. It was the tyrant42 who decided not to execute the Father, even when he was not lacking the audacity or the will [to kill him]. Before I describe [in detail] what happened, it is opportune to repeat what I have already said. 37
The priest’s Cambodian flock. De Marini says that Father Leria “e’ [...] mancata [...] la maggior consolazione.” Lit.: “He lacked the major consolation,” meaning that he was not successful in converting the natives. 39 Literally de Marini says “the good of the others,” meaning, of course, being converted to Christianity. 40 The salvation of the souls of the missionaries. 41 Probably many of them were Japanese who escaped their country during the persecution of the Christians, which peaked in the 1620s–1630s. 42 This is the third nephew who, as will be seen, took pleasure in tormenting Father Giovanni Maria Leria. 38
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4.2 The abuses at the hands of the third prince [When] the king [Nak Can] was completing his preparatory period of three years, three months, and three days, the Father had his dwelling near the river. The third nephew, the prince whom we left dead and dispatched in the river, still had his fleet of galleys anchored in the capacious harbor on the same river, which is open to any great ship and leads to the city where the court is. He was there to guard and secure that city. Every now and then, to amuse himself, he landed and entered the house of Father Giovanni Maria Leria, without any respect. [The prince did so] on a day the Father was out, and once he had reached the sacristy, in a barbarous and sacrilegious manner he repeatedly damaged the holy images and a holy cross he found there. When the Father was informed, he returned to his house and, not having much of a choice, he distributed all the holy objects among Christian homes and ships that were at a safe distance from his house. The impious [third nephew] returned the following day, to find the Father but no images. Very upset about this change, he found a book with a holy image that for some reason was still there, and in anger he tore it to pieces. As if this was not enough to satisfy his evil nature, he put [the image] under his feet and stepped on it with sacrilegious irreverence. The Father, filled with zeal, was obliged to condemn that action, and admonished the prince by telling him that such behavior was not fitting for one of his rank, and holy objects were not to be despised in such a way: if they were forbidden, all he had to do was to let him know, and he would ship them back to Macao on the first available vessel. Upon [hearing] these words of the Father, the prince grew furious, and without uttering a word, he reached for his scimitar and dashed forward as though to chop the Father’s head off. The Father, with indomitable heroism, not only did not pale somewhat, nor did he back off, but he promptly knelt, opened his vest and offered his neck to the tyrant. God, who had spared for the Father other crowns,43 did not want the blow to fall upon him, however, and the arm of the tyrant stopped as it was wounding [the Father], perhaps at the thought that his uncle, the king [Nak Can], would not have approved that a foreigner be executed without his permission; or because the {399} Father, offering his own life, had placated his anger. Nevertheless, soon after [the prince] was once again furious and ordered a spear to be brought over. He handed it to his captain, and told him: “Run it through that wicked man, from one side to the other.” As the prince said this, the Father, expecting the blow, uncovered his chest and prepared to receive the spear. But as the captain was ready to strike, all the courtiers44 restrained him, some with their
43 44
The crown of martyrdom, as he was to die (as a willing victim) some other time. The Cambodian nobles and/or soldiers accompanying the third nephew. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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muscles, other with their voices, asking for amnesty and forgiveness. The Father, content, with an affable and serene expression on his face, and as if nothing had happened, stood up and, with the others, attended the prince to the shore as he returned to his fleet. He [the prince], before embarking, turned and praised the heroism and the steadiness of the Father, and asked if he loved him or hated him. The Father answered that he respected His Highness as a person of royal blood, but that his conscience did not allowed him to praise such acts of contempt against the respect due to holy images. Again the prince, breaking loose like a furious beast, drew his scimitar and ran for the kill. He [the Father], intrepid as always, exposed his naked neck, waiting for his last moment to come, that precious hour in which he would have reached such a desirable goal, when he could have sealed with his own blood the Roman Faith he had preached and practiced. This time the courtiers stopped the blow and the prince, not at all placated, ordered his surgeon, of English nationality, to cut the body of the Father into pieces. However, the Father was not to receive the consolation of such divine favor,45 as the surgeon answered that his duty was to heal the sick, and not to harm the healthy. The prince boarded his ship, and the Father returned to his house, enriched by so many crowns.46 The prince immediately ran to inform his mother of these facts and all that had happened. She was completely committed to the bonzes and lived in their monasteries as a hypocritical devotee.47 Thus [she] hated Christ and his followers as much as she could. In her impiousness, she showed a great desire for the Holy Cross,48 and promised she would show how to deal with it, once [the third prince] found an astute way to seize it and bring it to her. [She proposed that the prince] return to see the Father, pretending to repent and showing a desire to convert to Christianity, that he praise that doctrine, and inquire upon its mysteries; in other words, that he act as though he were repenting and apologetic — all in order to receive the Holy Cross from the hands of the Father, or at least in order to have it shown to him so that he could seize it by force. However, God did not want a sacred thing to be given to a cur, [and] enlightened the Father so that he could recognize the evil and impious intentions that the hypocrite [prince] was hiding under his cloak of sudden devotion. Thus the Father never gave in to the prince’s requests. 45
He was not to become a martyr on that occasion. “rich in (Christian) glory.” A crown was the “prize” for martyrs. 47 The word pinzochera in the original, the etymology of which is unknown, was used in thirteenth century Tuscany to define the Franciscans who, while being lay, lived a life of devotion. Later on (in the days of de Marini), the meaning changed, and it was used to indicate a bigot, somebody who would pretend to live a religious life, while he or she did not. Thus de Marini attaches this term to the mother of the third nephew, who was staying in a Buddhist monastery but did not live according to any religious principles. 48 This must refer to a certain cross Father Leria kept in his house or in his church. 46
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{400} [The Prince] then revealed his perverted mind and showed himself to be the wolf he was. He became as furious as a dog, he hurled himself upon the Father, and rudely offending him with the worst words he could find, gave him many punches and kicks until the Father had been entirely battered. [Then,] after seizing and tugging his hair, he pulled his ears and made him black and blue all over. The prince was not satisfied, but he was tired, after he had tormented the Father, who had withstood everything like a docile lamb, with a serene mind and a jubilating heart, as he was honored for what he had withstood in the name of Christ. The wicked [prince] threatened to kill the Father, saying the reason he had not done so already was respect for the king who was dwelling nearby.49 He also said he was not finished with the Father: he was not killing him now since he would have killed him slowly, later and not one but many times. [The prince then] obtained from the king permission to put to death some criminals, and wanted the execution to take place in front of the house of the Father. The prince had the Father called, obliging him to attend and, as the executioner was carrying out his duties, the prince [again] threatened the Father with doing to him what he was doing to those miscreants. When the king [Nak Can] was finished with his pilgrimages and had returned to govern, he ordered that no execution was to be carried out on the street where the Father lived, and that nobody should disturb him. Yet one day the ferocious and dissolute youngster prince went to the street with his elephant and took pleasure and delight in demolishing the Father’s house. With rude manners he insulted the Father, who, thanks to his good heart, was able to swallow [such an affront]. However, as I have related already, it did not take long before the prince paid the penalty in exemplary style in that very river from where he used to land to bully [the Father]. From there he fell into the eternal fire, to satisfy the righteous wrath of God. 4.3 The Japanese Christians of Cambodia Once this harassment against the Father [Giovanni Maria Leria] had ended, another, even more bitter and unpleasant than the first, took place. It was played against the Father by those who were supposed to protect him and respect him. This caused serious damage among that idolatrous [Cambodian] people, and appalled the Gentiles at the expense of the law of Christ, which was [by them] misjudged.
49
That was possibly because the king, who was undergoing his spiritual training not too far from the capital, did not want foreigners to be killed without his permission. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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The cause was some Japanese who had left Japan in the days when the persecution was rampant and had come to take refuge in Cambodia. Thanks to their [initial] great fervor, they had obtained from the king50 a church, where they could congregate for their usual sacred practices. Even though the king had kindly given approval to them, there was no religious person51 who could constantly take care of them, and so their original zeal gradually diminished, and they became Christians basically only in name — as happens to those who not practice continuously the virtues received as gifts from God.52 The reason for the troubles was the following: {401} in the year 1630, two Fathers of the very religious Order of Saint Dominic53 came to Cambodia from the Philippines, as chaplains of a galleon. They were supposed to stay in Cambodia until some great ships ordered by the governor of the Philippines had been built in Cambodia, where there was plenty of excellent wood for [naval] construction. On that occasion, the Japanese entrusted their church to those preaching Fathers. These Fathers had returned to the Philippines once the construction of the ships was completed and gave up that church, passing it to Father Francesco Bozhuomo, of our Jesuit company, who had already been preaching in Cambodia for one year, after being exiled by the king of Cochinchina because of the [Christian] faith he had brought [to that kingdom]. Since then [ca. 1630] and to the present, no other missionaries have entered [the church]; thus our [Jesuit] Fathers have continued to use it for the usual public and private administration of the Sacraments and the word of God. Now, this church was built of wood and not of stone, and was so rotten and unsafe that it could have collapsed. Father Giovanni Maria Leria had the Japanese informed that it was dangerous and disrespectful to leave the church in such a state, and that no mass could be celebrated there with due dignity. But those [Japanese] did not listen, as they were busy with making money from their trading — and the more time they dedicated to their businesses, the less they dedicated to God. Seeing that, the Father appealed to a mandarin who, even though he was a native of Macao, was put in charge of the government of a province [in Cambodia], thanks to his excellence in the art of casting artillery. Informed of the matter, the mandarin immediately obtained two hundred workers. With that help, materials and wood ready, the old church was demolished and they began to rebuild a more beautiful and bigger one. The work was almost completed when the Japanese went to a governor who was the favorite of the king, to make accusations 50
The context implies that this king was Chei Chettha (1619–27), or possibly Sri Thoammaracha (1627–32), given the intense persecution in Japan from 1622 to 1629. 51 A Christian missionary. 52 This last sentence appears at the beginning of the paragraph, but for the sake of a readable translation has been moved here. 53 Two Dominican Fathers. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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against the Father. They demanded that the Father repay them for the church they had built with their money, and as they poured out their rage, or perhaps because of extreme wickedness, they told immeasurable falsehoods against the Father. So slanderous and dishonorable were they that even the Gentiles would have been ashamed to say such things about their priests. However, the wise governor understood well that such accusations came out of rancor, and attached no importance to them. He advised the Father to leave to the Japanese the terrain where the first church was originally built, and the old wood that he intended to use for the new [church]. Then the Father obtained permission to build as many churches as he wanted, as long as they were outside the quarter inhabited by the Japanese, and as far as possible from it. {402} The Father listened to that advice, and built a church not as big as the one he had begun to build [in the Japanese quarter], although it was sufficient for his needs. Once it was finished, the Japanese refused to congregate there, and were so obstinate that, rather than going there [to the new church], they preferred to remain without going to mass from June to Christmas. They wanted the Father to go every two Sundays to celebrate mass in their church, which they had in the meantime restored. The Father rejected that solution: the reason was that their church was a place that had already been violated by Gentiles, who could enter it in an unruly way to carry on their business. Rather than a house in which to pray, it had become a market place, whereas the new church was used exclusively to celebrate mass, preach and administer the sacraments of penance and the Eucharist. However, because of his compassion and zeal, the Father had no heart to witness the disgrace and the ruin of many souls; thus, [even though the Japanese] were so obstinate in their ideas that even the Gentiles were appalled, as a good shepherd, he had the duty to help that lost flock, which was impaired by its own weakness. Thus he forgot about all the insults, and went [to speak] to those who were responsible for the dispute, imploring them, exhorting them and reminding them how terrible the state of their souls was, [thereby] giving to the Gentiles reasons to curse the name of God. [He also pointed out] how many were led to follow them in the same sins, something they [the Japanese] would ultimately have to justify before God. But they were mute to all of this, and stubbornly persevered in their attitude. Then God cracked his whip over them and, with fatherly punishment, made them worthy to receive the beneficence of his mercy, subjecting them to the hands of his Divine justice. Since they did not listen to the lesson of the Father, [God made it so that] they would suffer materially, in order to be saved spiritually. [In fact,] many of the Japanese, especially those who were most guilty, experienced great losses of goods and health.
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To say [a few things] about some of them, there was [for example] one who had chased his Christian wife out of his house, and was living with another Christian woman, who bore him children. No advice could help him, as he had set his mind upon not being upright, and he was one of the most hostile towards the Father. Even so, when [the man] fell ill and became seriously sick, the Father went many times to pay visits, and with pious and holy sermons tried to prepare him for real penance. The [Japanese] man, feeling he was lost, received from God the light needed to repent his sorry state and, touched by sincere penance, he began by getting rid of the woman and, since his scandalous behavior had been public, {403} he wanted his repentance as well to be public. In front of many, he accused himself and humbly asked God for forgiveness, also for having been part of the conspiracy of those who had accused him [the Father] of pretentious charges and for the wrong reasons. Now he was repenting from the heart for having been a negative example to others, and for the outrage he had caused among the Gentiles, as he had dishonored our holy faith of which he now considered himself not worthy. The Father, having seen him so favorably disposed, with peculiar happiness listened to his confession and, as the illness worsened, he gave him the Holy Viaticum and finally the Extreme Unction. The sick man kept repenting and showing faith, while piously speaking to God and the Holy Cross that he had with him. He asked for the grace of death and, as he realized that it was near, he rejoiced, thinking it would extinguish his sins. With these humble requests and feelings of true repentance, he returned his fortunate soul to God, as we hope [we will be able to do]. Another [Japanese] man, similarly debauched in his lifestyle, together with his conscience had lost his honor and his decency, and was confined to bed and condemned to a painful existence by the arm of Divine vengeance. There, having found in his suffering the teachings he needed in order to learn to become wiser, he thought about the wrong he had done against God; and considering that, because of his shameful life, the Father had excluded him for many years from the Sacraments, he began to repent and to think about how to make up for his many faults. He had coerced to prostitution, and exposed to the public shame of filthy lucre, two of his daughters, in order to eke out a living without getting tired and to enjoy an easy life, thanks to the unrighteous price of their bodies. At this point, he realized his terrible mistake and opened his ears, which had always been closed to the words of the Father. The Father, once he learned about the unhappy state of this man’s body and soul, and knowing that the disease was so advanced that there was no hope to save his body, made up his mind to save [at least] the soul. Before visiting him he sent some good honest Christians to see him and to console him by giving advice about [how to] set his soul straight in front of God, who has great mercy and never turns down whoever sincerely repents and returns to him. The sick man received such advice, and God operated in his soul: considering improper that the
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Father had to go to his house, even though he was sick and in pain, he was accompanied to the church where he publicly condemned his wrongdoings and asked for forgiveness for the indignity he had caused by being part of the faction against the Father. {404} He took the Holy Confession from the Father, and to his daughters he firmly said that either they stop their sinful profession, or they should not even dream that he would recognize them as his daughters. They had started [their profession of prostitution] unwillingly, but [by then] were used to it, thus neither the prayer nor the authority of their Father sufficed to make them change their minds. He [the Japanese man], on [hearing of] their obstinacy, without even seeing them in person, declared they were the Devil’s daughters, and not his. Upon receiving the other Sacraments of the church,54 with great contrition, he died putting his soul in the hands of the merciful Lord he had so often insulted. The same happened to his wife, who even more than he had lived a wicked and loose life. It was, in fact, she who had induced the man to make such disreputable profit out of his daughters. Moreover, she was upset with the Father, as he had criticized her lifestyle, and with false accusations she had instigated against him not only her husband, but also her son-in-law. As much as she could, she persecuted [the Father] with implacable hatred, but since the benevolence of God surpasses every evil, he mercifully looked upon her, and she, even though seriously ill, repented and humbly asked the Father to confess her and not to abandon her at that moment, even though she was an unworthy sinner. In order to grant her more freedom, the Father wanted her to confess to another of our [Jesuit] Fathers who were there rather than with him. He said so also to the two I have already mentioned55 who happened to be there [in Cambodia]. But she as much as others said it had to be him [Father Giovanni Maria Leria], since it was he they [the repenting Japanese] recognized as their Father, after they had wrongly attacked him and had offended him with such unfair and malicious accusations. So, favorably disposed, she returned her soul to the Creator. What terrorized all the Japanese was the language God spoke, one that even the deaf understood. When mortal epidemics came to the Japanese quarter, they took away life, and the results were more or less serious according to how much they had participated in the humiliation and the accusations against the Father. To make it clear that it was the hand of God, who knows how to vindicate those who bear offences in his name, expose themselves for His glory, and know how to forgive, the punishment had to be evident not only in the lives of the guilty ones, but also with their goods. In fact, once the victorious Cochinchinese had entered
54 55
Probably the Extreme Unction. Father Carlo Rocca and Father Antonio Lopez. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Cambodia, the first quarter that was sacked was the one inhabited by the Japanese, even though it was not the most opulent or rich.56 The wonder was that in the same district there were many homes, belonging to people of different nations, but the fires started by the soldiers after they had sacked them {405} flared up in and burnt down only the dwellings of the Japanese, like the Angel of God, who had struck Egypt, had protected some homes to bring the flames to others. Once the Gentiles and the Talapoins,57 or should we call them bonzes, had observed this event, all said it was clearly a vengeance and a punishment that had come from Heaven. 5. Conclusion Such was the condition of the Christian religion in Cambodia where, as I have said, the first of those five nephews had become king by the use of force, and the whole kingdom is still in tumult. And since this condition persists, the [evangelical] workers, who are very few for such a vast Province [the Jesuit Province of Japan], would be idle for the most part. Thus it was decided that, while we are waiting for that kingdom [Cambodia] to become peaceful again, they had better be sent to other places, also considering how these three Fathers, all of them extremely good, had nothing left to live upon in that place after the fire had destroyed the furnishings in their homes and the accessories of the church, while the rest, whatever they had to wear and to survive, had fallen into the hands of the soldiers. On 15 June 1659, Father Giovanni Maria Leria, Father Carlo Rocca and Father Antonio Lopez left Cambodia and safely reached Macao, thanks to good and favorable winds. From there, Father Leria was sent to the Kingdom of Siam, where the Superior of the Mission, Father Tomasso Valguarnera,58 was occupied with the compilation of a dictionary or a lexicon of the Siamese language, which he knows better than anybody else. From him, the aforementioned Father Leria can receive great help that can be put into use not only in that kingdom [Siam] but also in the neighboring ones, especially in that of the Lao, where an almost identical
56
Perhaps the invading army thought the Japanese enclave to be the richest in town, since the Japanese of this period who lived in other towns in Southeast Asia, such as Ayutthaya in Siam, were reputedly wealthy traders. 57 This is a Mon term referring to a ‘Buddhist monk’ and was adopted from Mon into Portuguese and other European languages. Talapoin (plural Talapoins) is a standard spelling, but there are variations. 58 Tommaso Valguarnera was born in Palermo, Sicily, studied theology in Goa, worked for the Jesuit Society in Macao during the 1640s and was ordained there in 1649. He went to Ayutthaya to found a permanent Jesuit mission, worked there during 1655–69 and again from 1675 until his death in 1677. For his biography, see Gnolfo (1974). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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dialect is in use. Moreover, the king of Siam relies on Father Valguarnera as interpreter for the missives he receives from foreigners.59 [The aforementioned] mayhem obliged many of the foreigners {406} to leave the kingdom of Cambodia. As we await better news, the Kingdom of Cambodia is today subjected to considerable strain.60
59
The paragraph regarding the retirement of the Cochinchinese and the liberation of Nak Can was placed by de Marini here in the original text; however, it has been moved to the end of the historical section. 60 These last two sentences of the chapter were at the end of the paragraph which has been transposed. “Mayhem” refers of course to all the destruction caused by the struggles at court and by the Cochinchinese invasion. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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CHAPTER VIII - MISSION OF THE KINGDOM OF SIAM 1. A brief description of Ayutthaya and Siam in the early 1640s {406} Of all the kings of the Indies, besides the Great Mogul Emperor of India and the first and most powerful among the world’s main kings, the Chinese Emperor, there is no king in that part of the Orient who can match the King of Siam for the size of his domain, the fertility of the land and the ease of commerce. He is powerful on land and at sea, though the value of his subjects is not as high as their number, as they are often sluggish and lenient, living in lust and indolence. In Siam the only ones who tire themselves are the despised serfs, the slaves and, by the seashores, a great number of brigands and buccaneers. This king dominates not only one kingdom,61 but many others adjoining Siam. In that strip or arm of land more or less large, he has many provinces that the natives call “domains”, and they call their governors “kings”, while we would call them “viceroys”. Even considering that some of the contiguous realms are tributaries to this kingdom of Siam, the king does not refuse to discharge [the obligation] to pay tribute to the Chinese Emperor. Here I do not have the intention to describe this kingdom in detail. It is true that during the short period I dwelt there I saw things that are worthy of being told, but twenty years have passed. Since then, I have not received other accounts, besides two very succinct ones that Father Thomasso62 Valguarnera, Superior of the Mission [in Siam] sent to our Father General. Thus, I cannot rely too much upon my memory, which is fading with the years and becomes confused after I have seen so many kingdoms and customs, to the extent that this work is at the limit of reliability for a document destined to be printed. The metropolis of this kingdom, where the king lives, is called Ayutthaya [Iudia]. If we exclude China, which has cities that are more famous and celebrated, it is one of the greatest and more populous cities in this part of the Orient. The city [of Ayutthaya] is encircled by a great river,63 which is greatly frequented by foreign vessels that come to trade, since the weather is extremely pleasing and the place can be reached from anywhere in the Orient. The walls that surround [the city] are tall and robust, built in the European style64 to {407} protect the city from inundations.65 Every year floods last for the time that to us corresponds to midsummer to 61
De Marini uses the word Regno or its plural Regni four times in this paragraph. We have translated it as “kingdom” when referring to Siam, while “domains” is more appropriated for the provinces, and “realms” for the contiguous regions that paid tribute to Siam. 62 In the previous chapter, the spelling for the first name was “Tomasso”, and not “Thomasso”. 63 The Chao Phraya, referred to as “Menam.” 64 The walls were reconstructed in 1581. 65 It is unlikely that the walls were built as protection against flooding. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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autumn, and the waters rise more than usual, 15 or 20 palms’ span. Thus, the city homes and surroundings all have their little boats that are used to go to the market, which is located on a higher and flat terrain, thus free from flooding. Almost every home is built on high stilts made of wood, half-buried in the ground, so that the current of the river will not carry them away. [They] are covered with straw, and all around adorned with bamboo. Inside, for ornamentation, they are decorated with leaves or mats, also used to divide the apartments.66 For the doors, the same materials are needed, reinforced in the middle and on the sides so that the key, which is made of wood, combines with the keyhole, which is not made of iron. The Royal Palace is built with mortar and bricks and so are the buildings and stables for the elephants, the [Buddhist] temples for the Idols and the treasury towers. The country, besides what it necessary [to its people to survive], has an overabundance of delights for the palate: it is unbelievable how much can be bought in provisions and food for a low price. There are designated hours for shopping, and at times for one scudo67 they will give you one hundred chickens, and for one giulio68 so much rice that it lasts a hearty eater for a month. In some areas, however, the country is not so fertile, nor the climate salubrious, nor the waters very good. The citizens and the nobles, who really care about their rank, are affable to and friendly with foreigners. 2. De Marini’s journey from Goa to Ayutthaya, 1641–42 2.1 Goa to Tenasserím by ship Allow me now to move on and to mention, in passing, a few peculiar episodes that happened to me while traveling from India to this kingdom [of Siam], as I think that, because of their variety, these curious tales provided interesting material for my pen. The time came when it was possible to travel69 from the city of Goa to the city of Macao, and from there to enter Japan. Along with Padre Manuel Cardoso, a Portuguese, I boarded a merchant ship. To defend itself from the Malabari buccaneers,70 serious antagonists of the Christians, it was escorted by a fleet of warships which, by order of the Viceroy, patrolled that coast of India in order to keep it free of the aforementioned pirates. As we caught sight of the beach of Calicut, we found ourselves surrounded by four Dutch ships, which spent a good half day shooting at 66
The leaves and the mats were used as partitions to divide the different sections inside a home. Scudo: see note 33. 68 Giulio, another Italian monetary currency. 69 Because of favorable winds. 70 Pirates from the Malabar (west) coast of India. 67
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us with cannonballs that hit almost all galliots, save ours and a few others.71 The day after we landed in the city of Cochin, and after a month of rest in our college,72 we sailed toward the Fishery Coast,73 until we arrived in Nagapatnam. In that city, which was also Portuguese, we were {408} held up for a few months, to withstand the siege by the Naik,74 whom we would call the “Duke” of Tanjor. Once he had obtained tribute from the citizens, he left the city to its freedom. From this harbor, crossing the Gulf of Bengal, we arrived in Mergui, a harbor of the domain of Tenasserím, which is a province of the kingdom of Siam. There [in Nagapatnam] it happened that at the departure, our galliot, which was owned by Gentiles, got stuck, and seeing the difficulties of getting it off the sandbars and into deeper waters, the Gentile owner of the ship was ready to sacrifice a virgin maiden to the Idol, persuaded as he was by a Brahmin, who saw no other solution to such a desperate situation. However, the engineers75 avoided such horror and with their mechanical devices set the ship free, and on it we sailed for two months in an extremely stormy sea. After risking being sunk more than three times, we observed, I can say, a miracle produced by the glorious image of Saint Francis Xavier, which I laid at the base of the main mast and which saved us. The gulf, in ordinary conditions of good winds, would have been crossed in twelve days, whereas for us sixty days were barely enough. We had set sail on 29 September and on the 29 November [1641] we reached Tenasserim, where today our Fathers occupy a church and a residential house. There we celebrated the festival of Saint Francis Xavier,76 since we had found there some Portuguese who, after they had learned about the Dutch conquest of Melaka, were waiting for the monsoons to set sail towards India. We also celebrated there the festivities of Christmas, including a reenacting of the mystery77 in a simple hut, which, as much as it can be said, was appreciated by the local Gentiles and the king78 who attended it.
71
The Dutch were at war with the Portuguese, and all Portuguese ships (such as the one on which de Marini was sailing) were vulnerable to attack. Jesuits ordinarily sailed from their headquarters at Cochin to the Jesuit convent at Melaka, before continuing to the Jesuit convent at Macao. By the time de Marini left Goa in 1641, the Dutch had besieged Melaka (Malacca), which they captured in January 1641. With the Dutch in control of the routes by way of the straits, he was obliged to use another route. He went first to Tenasserim and then overland to the Gulf of Siam, arriving in Ayutthaya in early 1642. He did not reach Macao until 1643. 72 A ‘college’ where the priests lived and worked. 73 ‘Pescaria’ was the name given by the Portuguese to a section of the coastline between Cape Cormarin and Ceylon. 74 Yule and Burnell, Hobson-Jobson (1903) indicates this comes from Sanskrit, meaning “a leader, chief, general”, and was a title of honour in many parts of India. 75 In the earlier sense of the word: people dedicated to construction and operation of machines. 76 The festival of St. Francis Xavier is celebrated on 3 December. 77 The birth of Jesus. 78 Refers to the powerful governor of this city. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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2.2 Across the great forest: by foot, cart and boat from Tenasserim to Ayutthaya We embarked on the river for Siam, and in five days we were in Jalinga,79 which is the name both of a domain and of its chief town. Once we disembarked there, we stayed for a few days to recruit and wait for the carts and their conductors, without whom it is not possible to travel without facing clear danger. We grouped about one hundred people, to be able to cross safely the great forest inhabited by every sort of animal: not by lions, which have never been seen here, but full of countless tigers, so thirsty for human blood that no caravan, as the Portuguese call such a procession, transits without somebody getting killed or maimed by such beasts. Sixteen days, of travel, I mean, we walked through horrendous woods and between mountains completely covered in thick vegetation. The whole path was opened by axe and machete, in order for it to be possible to pass.80 In these woods I found a tree enormously huge at its bottom and tall in proportion. I measured its {409} circumference, to find that the length of it was more than ninety of my palm’s span.81 It is not surprising then to know that the royal barge which the king uses to navigate the rivers is made out of a single trunk, hollowed out and still so long that it can accommodate sixty rowers on each side. And when they want to use the sails, two perches twenty palms’ spans long82 are lifted at the stern; then they spread over them some cloth as light as linen, which suffices to make the craft run fairly well. The variety of birds is as beautiful and pleasant to the eye as one can wish for. It is sufficient to say that their plumage, besides being used for precious presents, is used as tribute to the Emperor of China. Such plumage is very precious for the making of hangings that are extremely original and, when new, more pleasant than Flemish tapestries.
79
An inhabited site called Jalinga was recorded by later travelers. It was in the middle of the peninsula along this forested route, which was otherwise uninhabited. De Marini’s text suggests that the territory controlled by the governor of Jalinga extended the entire length of the trail, beginning at the boat landing on the Tenasserím River. His description of his journey in early 1642 through “the great forest” may be the earliest one ever recorded, and it was probably the only occasion, during all of his travels, that he was exposed to such a dangerous environment. Jacques de Bourges was to retrace the same route in the company of the Bishop of Berythus, Lambert de La Motte, in 1662, en route from Mergui to Ayutthaya. A detailed account appears in Chapter IX, The Journey from Tenasserim to Siam, in de Bourges’ Relation du voyage de Mgr l’Evèque de Béryte... jusqu’au Royaume de Siam et autres lieux (Paris, 1666); see also JSS 81/2 1993: 113–129. 80 De Marini here says: “affinche [la via] corra al possible uniforme,” which literally translates as: “so that the road ran as even as possible.” That is, with axe and machete, they opened a path through the jungle as best as they could. 81 At 90 hand-spans (each ca. 20 cm), the trunk of this enormous tree must have been about 10 metres in circumference or 4 metres in diameter. 82 About four metres. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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To spend the nights in such forests is terrifying, considering the confusion of frightening howls, bellowing and squealing produced by rhinoceros, elephants, tigers and other animals. Thus, we were forced to stay vigilant to mount guard and to defend ourselves with fire and weapons from numerous tigers’ assaults. Only a Moor, who had gone to fetch some water from a brook together with five Christians, was badly wounded by one of these [tigers], while in the caravan that traveled before us two were killed. We went on foot with great difficulty, because of the poor condition of the carts, the unbearable heat of the day and the icy cold of the night. Since in these domains there is an excessive temperature during the three months we call spring, one needs also to consider the very ardent thirst, which we could quench only by the little water we extracted from lotus. It was not yet the time when the rain, almost exclusively during a single season, mostly in August and in September, falls from the sky producing the great and lasting inundation that leaves the terrain temperate and fertile, allowing for the growth of a great abundance of rice and legumes — although no wheat takes root [in this region]. On 4 February [1642] we reached the city of Phetchaburi83 and here we embarked on the river to arrive in the royal city of Siam, Ayutthaya, on the eleventh day. The rivers in these regions are really delightful and broad, and even though Europe as well has great ones, these [Southeast Asian rivers] surpass them. This one in Siam is broad and deep, softly covered on both shores by beautiful vegetation that reduces the heat. Other than [the period] after the rains, [the river] is so clear, that the waters seem made of crystal — so placid in its flow that it seems as though it is not moving. Over it, one can live in homes like the city dwellings that are raised on high poles stuck in the riverbed where [the waters] are at their most placid. There are other houses that are not fixed in place, {410} nor anchored, but mobile and floating, made of very big bamboo canes [that are] strongly tied together. [They] resemble floating islets that can be taken to wherever their dwellers wish. 3. Jesuit missionaries in Siam and the Talapoins 3.1 The Early Years in Siam Now, to continue [our previous discourse] from where we left off, it has been fifty years since Father Baltassar Siqueira84 of our company entered this kingdom [Siam] carrying the Evangels85 but, sickly as he was, he could not continue, and, determined to return to Goa or Cochin, died during the trip in the city of 83
The old name for this city was Pipeli. Balthazar Siqueira was the first Jesuit to evangelize in Siam for a short time, ca. 1606–7. 85 The New Testament or, more generally, the Christian religion. 84
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Phetchaburi. A few years later a Father of the Seraphic Family of Saint Francis called Fra’ Andrea86 went [to Ayutthaya], but his behavior was [considered] suspicious and thus he was expelled from the kingdom. Many years went by and there came a Father of the Holy Order of Preachers87 with the intention to stay, although, after he had experienced some sorrows at the hands of the king of Ayutthaya, he returned to Goa. Furthermore, on separate occasions, ordinary and secular88 clerics entered [Siam]. Among them was the Apostolic Father Pedro Morejon,89 nephew of the Archbishop of Toledo, and one of our Fathers who was exiled from Japan by the tyrant;90 and again, of ours, Father Giulio Cesare Margico, there venerated as martyr, and Father António Cardim, about whom I will speak in my relation on Lao.91 In the end, thirty years went by during which, because of the tribulations between that king92 [Song Tham] and the Portuguese nation, our Fathers had retired to Macao, and there was no permanent presence in Siam, but only some brief visits. 3.2 Father Tomasso Valguarnera (part I) In such a situation, our deeds could not satisfy the needs of the many Christians in the city. The majority of them were Japanese, who stayed in Ayutthaya more than in any other port in the Indies. They convened together and in the name of all of them sent a letter to our Father Visitor93 in Macao insistently praying him to send them the consolation of any Father who could take care of their souls. It 86
This Portuguese Franciscan was André de Santa Maria, who worked in Ayutthaya during the reign of King Ekathotsarot and for some years during the reign of King Song Tham. The Franciscans were also known as the Serafici, as “Serafico” was the nickname of their originator, Saint Francis of Assisi. 87 Lit.: “the Holy Order of the Preachers,” meaning the Dominicans. 88 By ‘ordinary and secular’ de Marini probably means ordained priests who did not belong to one of the regular orders (Augustinians, Dominicans, Franciscans and Jesuits), which were assigned to foreign missions in Southeast Asia. Sometimes these are called ‘lay’ or ‘secular’ priests, and they served as chaplains on Portuguese ships. 89 Pedro Morejon was a Portuguese Jesuit priest, who was serving in Kyoto at the time of the 1614 decree that expelled the missionaries from Japan. He went to Macao, and in 1626 he visited Ayutthaya in company with two other Jesuit priests: António Francisco Cardim (a Portuguese) and Nixi (a Japanese). 90 Refers to the Tokugawa Shoguns Ieyasu (the first Shogun, by then retired) and his son Hidetada. 91 De Marini’s Book V is entirely dedicated to the Kingdom of Lao. 92 These tribulations are related to a series of incidents initiated by some Castilians attacking a Dutch ship on the river on the way to Ayutthaya. The incident is reported by many sources; see for example Blair and Robinson (1973: v.22, 137–9). 93 The Padre Visitatore was second in the regional hierarchy, after the Father Provincial, who was in charge of all Jesuit activities in the region. This passage is significant because it was the Visitor who had the power to assign the Jesuit priests to specific countries or mission posts in the region. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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was exile and the misery of a life too hard for them that had forced these Japanese to live in a place such as Ayutthaya, where one can eke out a living with spending little, but is surrounded by Gentiles and followers of idols. [The Japanese of Ayutthaya] asked for two Fathers: one of them was the Sicilian Father Tomaso94 Valguarnera, who willingly and promptly accepted the order to go [to Siam] from the Visitor, Father Sebastião de Maya. In 1655 Valguarnera sailed from Macao [to Ayutthaya] making the voyage in favorable weather. He was welcomed by those [Japanese] Christians with celebrations and jubilation, who felt as though they were born again. [They] knew well of the Father’s great compassion, and how, only for the love of their souls, he had faced inconveniences. He had also left the many occupations he was fond of, in Macao, where he had the relief of conversation with the other Fathers. Once he had reached the limits of his charity, he multiplied his tasks since he was not satisfied with performing ordinary deeds. [Besides being] a master of spirituality, in order to {411} do more things, he strived to become a disciple of the [Thai] language, in order to be a valid help not only to the Portuguese, the Japanese95 and others who understood his mother tongue [Italian], but also to the Siamese and those of the Kingdom of Lao. [The latter] have frequent exchanges with this kingdom [Siam], and have only one single big and well-populated city [Vientiane]. A more or less similar language is spoken in both kingdoms. There is no doubt that there is a great difficulty in bringing the faith to the natives, not because they are ill-natured, but because the inferior class is dependent upon the middle class, the middle class upon the upper class, and these upon the king. Besides him, there is nobody who is free or an absolute lord, and thus can without restraint decide by himself. In 1657, eight native people from the city [of Ayutthaya] wanted to be baptized. They spoke the language96 well and through them much good could have been done for the benefit of the others, but now, shamefully, these early converts are pointed at and called Christians97 and the cross of Christ and the Christian way of thinking is considered stultilia gentibus.98 Also, about thirty Cochinchinese, refugees from recent wars, came to Siam to receive holy baptism in Siam. There, the Father, having received permission from the
94
Again, a different spelling for the first name. The lingua francas for trading in the region were Malay and Portuguese. Many Japanese spoke Portuguese. This passage suggests they also knew or at least understood Italian. 96 This might refer to the fact that these natives of Ayutthaya spoke the Thai language well, thus could have clearly explained Christian concepts to other Thai, or perhaps it means they could communicate with de Marini in Portuguese. 97 De Marini uses the Italian word Christiani. As Portuguese was the language of the missionaries, the term actually used must have been “cristãos,” adopted into Thai as “khristang”. In this case the term was used as an insult similar to “infidels”. 98 “Foolishness for the people.” 95
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governing king, brought on the edification of the spirit, and that of [a church],99 constructed in stone sent by ship from Macao,100 since none is found in the surroundings of the city [Ayutthaya]. Thanks to the local customs of colorfully painting and gilding, the façade’s architecture is so graceful that even the Gentiles are enchanted by it. 3.3 The Talapoins and their 10,000 temples What would really benefit the growth of the new Christian community [of Ayutthaya] would be the conversion of some of the Talapoins. To this end, the Father is trying with great assiduousness to conquer some of them, who, as trainees,101 might guide many others into the Evangelical fishing-net of the Gospel. Considering how big in this domain is the esteem the Talapoins enjoy from everyone, the simple example of one of them [converting to Christianity] would help countless [others] to understand the truth. It should suffice to consider that just in the city where the court is [Ayutthaya] and its district they have more than 10,000 monasteries, and in every convent they have a Temple of the Idol.102 As the people here are very devout and generous with their contributions, many of these temples are so richly and splendidly adorned that [looking at them] one sees nothing but sparkling gold. In the cloister of a very popular one there are aligned more than a thousand statues of the Idol, all sitting upon gilded stucco pillows. Many others are made of bronze, gilded and of enormous size. In one temple, among others, there is a statue of extraordinary size that lies reclining. Being oversized, part of it exceeds the length of the building, and an additional {412} structure103 has been erected for the feet, so that they do not need to rest beneath the sky. The Father [Tomasso Valguarnera] wanted to know which kind of statue was that, and the Talapoin answered it was a representation of Pra Non, the God of Sleep.104 However, to a further question, asking why such a name and whether the God of Sleep was actually slumbering or perhaps pondering about divine thoughts, the Father obtained only a smile as answer. Foreigners are amazed at the deference 99
In this untranslatable pun (“porta avanti con l’edificio spirituale un altro materiale”), de Marini speaks of edifying spiritually and materially. In the second case, of course, he speaks of the church that was built in Ayutthaya. 100 The stone was probably used as ballast by ships sailing from Macao. It might have been replaced in Ayutthaya by bulky goods such as rice and timber. 101 Delfino in Italian means an assistant destined to take over the place of a superior. 102 Probably referring to the main Buddha statue in the uposatha, or ordination hall. 103 Probably meaning a roof. 104 Better translated as a sleeping divinity. A phra non is a reclining Buddha image. Marini’s informant probably understood non only in its secular meanings: to lie down or to sleep. There are two in Ayutthaya. The biggest one is at Wat Lokayasutha; the other, smaller, is at Wat Yai Chaimongkol. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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toward these Talapoins that not less than the [ordinary] people, the most important nobles and the king himself show, honoring them no less than as though they were living gods, an attitude caused for the most part by the very composed behavior they use to cover their malicious deeds. In all that concerns appearances, the Talapoins observe their rules with rigor, following the law of the Institute of the Talapoins of Lao, the place where they go to learn as though they were going to a university. Based upon many of their traditions and stories, it is thought that they were reached by news of our holy books and of the Apostolic doctrine, and they keep under consideration many of the things that belong to the faith of our [Christian] mysteries. Yet, these are so strangely distorted and modified that, as we have already seen, the truth of the Christian faith is used in their fables, as is the case of the anima they have represented on top of their images in stucco or paper.105 4. Superstitions, uses and customs of the Siamese 4.1 The two “sacrifices” of the Talapoins Stunning and hilarious was the story of a certain Talapoin. I do not know what sort of devout thoughts he had in his mind, as he had resolved to sacrifice himself in public for the benefit of all to the idol called Xaca.106 The king,107 having heard this, praised his determination, and in order for such a rare deed to be accompanied [by an adequate retribution of honor] the king ordered a splendid, as much as noble, mausoleum made entirely of precious wood, positioned above a stack [of firewood]. Thereupon, the Talapoin who had volunteered, superbly dressed, was supposed to burn in front of an extremely numerous audience, anxious to witness such a great challenge. The king himself went with his majestic and very noble entourage, not so much to honor such a great and public sacrifice, but rather to obtain from Xaca some particular benefit for himself and happiness for his kingdom. And so the people were impatiently waiting for the voluntary victim to sacrifice himself. The Talapoin was already acclaimed among the Gods, believed 105
Thai Buddhist images were not usually made of these materials (stucco and papier-mâché), thus the description logically refers to the object ‘above’ the image. By anima (lit.: soul, spirit) de Marini is probably referring to the aureola, which is attached to the image itself and serves as a kind of ornamented frame or backdrop. There are two ways to interpret this passage. Either de Marini is implying that Buddhist images in Ayutthaya had an aureola-like decoration, that he assumed was borrowed from Christian “holy books” and from “the Apostolic doctrine”; or, more likely, he was comparing the alleged use the Siamese made of Christian “holy books” and “Apostolic doctrine” to the aureola, a decoration seen in Christian iconography. 106 Xaka, a Romanization for “Shakya,” the Buddha. 107 This event is not dated, thus it is not clear who was the king in question. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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to be a saint. As he was still seeing the stack in his imagination, he thought he would have been transported to the heavens by the wings of glory, surrounded by people clapping hands and shouting hurrahs. [However,] when he actually saw the fire burning, he felt that his zealous desire was disappearing, and the more he neared the heat, the more he became cold. As soon as he felt the flames, he retired, unwilling to have anything to do with them. The enthusiastic audience, expecting quite another kind of show, started to laugh, while the king grew furious. Taking the joke as a great offence, he ordered the Talapoin to be taken by force and thrown into the pyre, to burn in it and become a victim of {413} justice, since, after he had promised to sacrifice himself for the love of the people, he had withdrawn his offer. Since the potion he had swallowed could not deprive him of his consciousness and of his senses, in the way it had worked, as I have said, in Cochinchina,108 the Talapoin experienced how real the fire was, and how shallow was his faked ardor for charity. With it, the event ended. However, the other Talapoins, to regain the prestige they feared they had lost, spread the word that another [of them] had committed a sacrifice at midnight. In front of the temple there was a stupa. They said that a Talapoin went out in the middle of the night, and once he had set the fire ablaze to his robes, he burned himself alive [there], for the honor of Xaca. To make it believable, they called the people to see this Talapoin who had burned next to the pyramid, and Father Valguarnera also went. The corpse was taken and moved into a painted box as a holy body, and without many compliments, they exposed it in a great hall to public veneration with lights and perfumes; [now], every year they celebrate him as a saint with a festival. [The people], questioned by the Father as to whether anybody had actually seen the body burning, answered they had not. Thus one has to believe that, as usual, the Talapoins used the cadaver of somebody who had died of an illness to get away with their lies and extort alms in order to restore their decadent temple and to maintain the respect due to the saints. 4.2 The methods the Siamese use to placate the devil It is hard to describe how much the Devil concurs in this and treats these peoples harshly. The Siamese are scared of him and of his harsh rules that force them to venerate his malicious ministers [the Talapoins], as they were the only remedy to evil. The same error of the Manicheans is common, as people think that every evil is caused by the Devil: illness, death, the loss of material goods, they believe are all caused by the devil. Thus, they try to assuage him with, among other
108
This refers to an event mentioned previously, in one of the chapters about Cochinchina contained in Book IV. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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ceremonies, offerings of flowers and fruits, which they load on some little boats they make out of tree bark, and they place them upon the river, so that the waters will carry those little boats where the Devil is waiting for them. Or else they pay some male and female dancers so that they take turns in dancing continuously for many whole days and nights, and they also eat and drink, in order to keep the Devil pleased. Whenever somebody suddenly falls ill, they call the witch whom they call “the mother of the devil”.109 She earns her living by practicing this art. Once the witch has the sick person brought to her, she locks the door, preventing anybody from entering. Not even a single visit is allowed, so that that poor person, whose body and soul cannot be helped, dies unhappy. 4.3 The smallpox epidemic of 1659: remedies and burials In the year 1659, an epidemic of smallpox entered the town of Ayutthaya {414}, and many died: the king lost two of his sons,110 and left the old palace to move into a new one. Among the Siamese people there is a superstitious custom: every time a common or universal evil111 enters a private home, a vessel, or a city, a [sacred] cotton thread is strung out to fence off the place afflicted by the infection, and they are foolishly persuaded that this is enough to stop evil. For many, they celebrate funerary rites. Those who die of their own disease112 are not buried before the bodies are turned into ashes by fire, while if one has died of smallpox, the corpse is left unburied in the open, with a palisade around. Their flesh is devoured by some nasty predatory birds that enjoy a delicious supper without getting infected. 4.4 The Acehnese Queen of the Elephants The use of the same abominable superstition applies to both men and for animals. The Siamese people feel a certain sentiment of tender compassion toward elephants. In fact, when one of those that lives in the royal stables is not feeling well and loses its appetite, it is cured with efficacy and gentleness. If the condition worsens and the elephant dies, in that last hour of its life the mandarins assist it, the trials at court are suspended, and on the day of the death there is a funeral and burial in the river. The elephant is tossed in the waters after they have extracted the tusks, which are conserved for private use, but also as a remembrance of the de109
This term might be a translation of the Thai mae mot, a female medium and a practitioner of magic arts. 110 King Narai was born in 1633 and was thus aged 26 in 1659. These two sons must have been young children. They are not mentioned in any Thai records. 111 A contagious disease or an epidemic. 112 Those who die of natural causes. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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funct animal. However, I have never heard that the death of one of those enormous beasts caused the king [of Siam] to abuse the mahouts who are in charge [of the care of the elephants]. [However,] I was told that the Queen of the Acehnese,113 hearing of the death of an elephant she greatly loved and appreciated, condemned the mahout to a punishment even more atrocious than the one barbarously used by Mezentius.114 Once the dead elephant had been opened, the mahout was buried inside with his wife and his children, leaving only their heads out so that, as the beast became rancid inside, it was their destiny to rot before they actually died. They lost their lives little by little by sheer putrefaction. 4.5 The funeral of King Prasat Thòng The funeral organized for the present king’s father deserves to be mentioned. He died in 1657.115 Once the corpse was prepared and embalmed with perfumed oil, they kept it for the length of a year sitting on the throne, paying respect as though he were still alive and reigning. It was ridiculous to see the crown prince116 [Narai] and his younger brothers bow to their father every day, deal with him about [state] businesses and overall behaving exactly as they would have done if he were alive. In such a way they pompously daydreamed with imaginary appearances, and they pleased themselves with a life that had actually ceased to be. Deceiving sorrow and {415} alluring desire, all that was left was simply a cadaver of happiness, and the shadow of greatness that clouded their sight and left them indifferent to what real misery is. Once the year came to an end, the son [Narai] had a sumptuous monument built and provided a magnificent funeral. In order to honor his father, he had a very high cremation pyre erected, its pinnacle being higher than any building in the city. Around this he had put a crowd of three thousand statues, 113
This is most likely the Sultanah Taj al-Alam, who was described as very fond of elephants. See L. Andaya (2003,76). 114 Virgil in his Aeneid tells how this cruel tyrant, to execute his enemies, tied them to a rotting corpse. 115 Prasat Thòng actually died in August 1656. Two very brief reigns intervened, and then Narai came to the throne. The Thai chronicles (Cushman 2000, 232) record a date in the lunar calendar for King Narai’s accession, corresponding to Thursday, Karttika 16 CS 1018, or 2 November 1656 in Eade’s (1989) conversion tables. The cremation of Prasat Thòng is described in the chronicles but is undated. The next dates that appear in the chronicles are an incident during the lunar month of Pausha (Cushman 2000, 234), 15 December 1656 to 14 January 1657, followed by a barge procession on Tuesday, Magha 2 (Cushman 2000, 238), or 16 January 1657. The chronicler therefore gives the impression that the cremation took place some time in November or December 1656, or the early part of January 1657. De Marini’s description seems to place the cremation about a year later. The date 1657 may have been reported presumably by Valguarnera in reference to the cremation, whereas de Marini may have interpreted it to mean the date of death of the king. 116 This was Narai (here not yet consecrated as king), who had two young brothers. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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all so graciously adorned with flowers handmade by Chinese masters so accurately that it was impossible to distinguish them from real flowers. There were also extremely attractive paintings that, pleasing the eye of the observer, enriched and improved the whole masterpiece. A huge number of Talapoins was around and they chanted their psalms and recited their prayers, standing on smaller platforms, [divided] in many choirs. Once these ceremonies were over, a lighted candle was given to the king [Narai], and as he neared the great pyre, made entirely of precious eaglewood, sandalwood and calambac, he set it on fire. Upon it was the body, in a great urn covered with pure gold. They saved only two bones that were to be buried under the great stupa, while the rest of the dead body was to be turned into ashes into that golden urn. The entire vast surface of the pyre was enriched with perfumes and charms and covered in gold. Finally, to complete the ceremony, the king distributed abundant gifts for the soul of his father to the Talapoins, according to their status and rank. To the Superiors he presented a gilded box, covered by an extremely thin layer of shining lacquered paint, and filled inside with good textiles for robes, plus a chest filled with good food and preserves of the country, then a fan and a broom. To the other Talapoins he gave more textiles to make robes, but of lower quality, also with fans and brooms. To the novices he gave no fan, but only rough, common textiles. With all this done, the king returned to his palace, not thinking any more about the dead. 5. Events that led to the enthronement of King Narai As I narrate now how the present king [Narai] ascended to the throne, it is important to take into consideration how his father [Prasat Thòng] was a man of humble origins, basically a serf, but also a man of skill and value, [who] produced a son before taking the crown of such a rich and powerful kingdom. He ruled for thirty years,117 governing with complete peace and straightforward justice, being feared by his neighbors118 and earning the respect and love of his vassals, who were very contented with his rule.119 While he ruled, the princes who were supposed to inherit his kingdom never tried their luck,120 [each] thinking he would not enjoy for long the position he had usurped from more powerful ones, whose power and authority {416} they feared. Once he [Prasat Thòng] had managed to keep the kingdom at peace and for himself, he strived to leave it as safe as possible for his heir [Chai], by implementing fair edicts and by righteously amending [the 117
Prasat Thòng actually ruled from September 1629 to August 1656. Cambodians, Burmese, Lao of Lan Na, Lan Sang, etc. 119 De Marini’s description of Prasat Thòng contrasts with that of the Dutch merchant/historian van Vliet. See Baker et al. (2005, 241–44). 120 They never tried a coup, knowing they would not have succeeded. 118
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existing laws]. When he felt that his own death was near, he called to him the main lords, those whom he had conquered and made reliable by appointing them to rich and honorable ranks in the government and leading positions over civilians and the military. He entrusted them to put the crown on the head of his first-born. Those dignitaries had come from different nations, and for the most part [they were] foreigners: Japanese, Moors, Malay and some Portuguese. The king, as we have said, died in 1657. His first-born, who had come to this world before the father ascended to the throne, was supported by all the people mentioned above, thus he easily, without opposition, was crowned with all the great and solemn ceremonies of that kingdom.121 [However,] the dead king’s brother [Suthamma Racha122] was alive and so was, among other sons, the first son of a queen of royal blood [Narai], who was born after his father had acquired the crown. Loved by his people, he was a youth of high values, liberal, benevolent, winner of [all] hearts, gentle in [his] noble manners. [He] wanted the royal crown to weigh upon his own head, rather than revere the crown on the head of the brother who was born the son of a serf. Thus, he secretly plotted a conspiracy, and as he gave the signal to the armies, in a single blow they attacked and won. In two hours he had set his brother [Chai] on the run, took over the palace and took charge of the whole kingdom. Since he was magnanimous, of noble heart and of good manners, as a very kind and generous act, he presented the crown to his uncle, and wanted to declare him king, saying that it was undignified for an old[er] uncle to be obliged to be the first among those who pay respect to his young nephew.123 The uncle accepted this honor, but in order to respond to such generous courtesy, he wanted his nephew as a colleague under any circumstance. Together they began to punish the ones who had sided with the king, who was deposed, chased away, and despatched for good. However, soon after, the proverb saying that “a crown does not fit well upon two heads” became true. [The two rulers] disagreed and incomprehension and jealousy arose, soon nullifying their pact of peace. The first reason for the rupture was a Chinese, who was used too much in the government by the uncle. This man was despised and hated by everyone, but in the nephew’s crop in particular, he stuck like a lump. Thus, little by little the tension grew, people became alienated and, as a consequence, the [reciprocal] respect [between the rulers] was lost. Since most sided with the rising star of the nephew, the uncle secretly became envious and, from that moment, astutely hiding his intentions, began to plot the death of the 121
Thus Prasat Thòng’s firstborn son became King Chai, who briefly ruled in July and August 1656. 122 Called “Uncle” in the text: this is King Suthamma Racha, who ruled from August to October 1656. 123 From here, ‘nephew’ is the term used to refer to Narai. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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nephew, and tried to remove him from the kingdom and the world with the use of poison. But since he [Narai, the nephew], thanks to his amiable manners among such barbarians, {417} had his rule based upon the hearts of his subjects, rather than upon the power of weapons and treasures, he was told in time of the death-trap that his uncle had prepared for him by the very man who had been ordered to deliver the poison. Saying nothing [in public], he [Narai, the nephew], quickly informed only his most trusted men and with their help he took arms. The uncle saw that and, fearful, locked himself in his fortress with his Chinese and only two Portuguese he had with him.124 The other Portuguese, finding the fortress locked up, moved alongside the party of the nephew, and thus the other [Suthamma Racha, the uncle] said: “We are lost.” Such words, more than any powerful assault machine, destroyed the morale of his partisans who, rather than prepare for battle and resist, using the advantage of their position,125 began to run away. The nephew, who with his men had neared the fortress, took over after facing a brief resistance. The first to meet the nephew’s soldiers was the Chinese, who was beaten badly and wounded in the face, as the combatants were pouring out their disgust against that ill-fated man. In some other small skirmishes among the two parties another thirty men or so were killed, and the uncle-king was captured. According to the law it is customary in the kingdom [of Siam] that when a prince of royal blood deserves a violent death because of his faults, he will not been killed like the commoners. Thus the uncle was killed by a blow on the head with a pole made of sandalwood, a precious instrument used for executions. Commoners, when they are to be executed, are buried in the ground up to the hips, and the executioner, who, by the law of that kingdom is not an infamous person, with a well-sharpened scimitar, cuts them in two pieces, hitting with his stroke from the right to the left side. Now, the victorious nephew, finally worthy of the crown and pleased about such a quick and joyous victory, with his generous and liberal spirit, wanted to repay all those who had taken risks in order to help him to ascend the throne. [Thus,] he promoted them, including some Portuguese of high standing, to the highest positions in the kingdom, ranks that would correspond to grandee, marshal, duke and marquis. To the soldiers, besides their ordinary pay, he gave permission to sack the homes of the rebels, who, once their guilt was proven, were made to die a cruel death. All this was not enough to hinder the boldness of another two younger brothers, and to extinguish their thirst for the crown or to temper the growing, ardent desire for fortune and successes that pushed them to try their luck. This happened in 1658, when the king was twenty-five. These other two younger brothers plotted together in a conspiracy, and they set it in motion with such care that 124
From the continuation of the story, it is clear that there were others with the three identified persons. 125 The fortress to which they had retired. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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nothing emerged until, when the moment to give the final order came, {418} it was clear that the hearts of the ones they had convinced had changed. Thus the two brothers were left alone and were discovered, taken, killed and buried without any honor.126 With such chastisement, the kingdom has enjoyed peace. Since he had been a prince, the new king had the title of “the valiant one”, a title deserved because of his virtues, and not given to him just because of adulation. Under his government the people are thought to be rather happy, and all Christians pray to the Lord to give him [Narai] a long life, since under his pacific way of governing, our Faith can make great progresses. 6. More about the Jesuits in Siam 6.1 Father Tomasso Valguarnera (part II) To Father Tomasso Valguarnera, Superior of the Mission, the arrival of the Portuguese ship from Macao resulted in great help. The captain of the ship had given as a present to the king a painting of a fountain with pleasant water-plays depicted on it. Narai liked it so much that he wanted to know if anybody felt he was capable of giving real form to the image and to turn into reality what was only painted. The Father said he would undertake such a commission, so that His Majesty could be pleased. The work was so well done and the king was so happy that he promised the Father that he would have a house built for him, as soon as the kingdom was free from the preparations for war. There were in fact talks about a forthcoming assault coming from the King of Cochinchina.127 Thus, the king [Narai] sent an army to the border, putting at its head some Portuguese accompanied by Father João Cardoso, who, on his way, was free to spread the Gospel and leave in the heart of those willing to listen to him such a precious seed. By doing so, he enlarged the domain of Christianity, making us all very joyful. In the meantime, the Father Superior, sparing no energy and wasting no chances to help everybody, freely visited the jails and went to the Talapoins’ monasteries where, not without profit, he spoke of the Christian faith. He also reconciles divided souls128 and by doing so he has sparked the enthusiasm of many Christians — Portuguese, Japanese, and from other nations — who used to live in
126
These two brothers of King Narai are not mentioned in Thai sources. De Marini is referring to the Nguyen-ruled southern Vietnamese kingdom and its capital at Hué. This ruler was the chua (called ‘king’ in European records) Nguyen Phuoc Tan (Hien Vuong), r. 1649–86 or 1687, whose invasion of Cambodia and capture of the Cambodian capital at Lungvek (Lovek) in 1658 provoked this Thai response. Some vague information about the Thai mobilization, found in contemporary Dutch records, is provided by Pombejra (1984: 286). 128 People of conflicting faiths. 127
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dismay among these [Siamese] Gentiles. Morover, with great zeal, he opened a school for children, and besides how to read and write, [the Father] taught them how to live while surrounded by those who love the Idols, how to answer when interrogated by the Talapoins, and he made them put the Christian doctrine to good use. One of those Gentiles put his son’s education and services into the hands of the Father, and in a short time the youth has made so much progress in learning Christian law that he was challenging the Gentiles with his arguments. He is an excellent catechist, and we hope he can become a good Christian. In 1658, I do not know by which kind of negligence of a neighbor, a fire spread, {419} and the flames, carried by the wind, were so impetuous that they burned down the church and the Father Superior’s home. But there was no reason to cry about such a misadventure, since with it God wanted to make tributary to His honors the king, by moving his heart in feeling for [our] misfortune. [King Narai] ordered that a better place be assigned to us, with a square around, so that in the future we would not be damaged by similar fires. The Father, with great relief, has already moved, together with his companions into their new dwelling and already celebrates mass in the new church that he is completing in splendid style.129 Some of the Japanese Christians (they are some of those who had to withdraw to this kingdom [of Siam] as they were banned by the persecution that took place in Japan) are economically wealthy, but also spiritually gifted, and because of their devotion and zeal, have taken care of the expenses for a noble and holy festival in this church of ours, on the day of the glorious memory of the three Japanese martyrs of our Society of Jesus, the purification of Our Lady and of the two saints Ignacio and Xavier.130 In 1659 Father João Cardoso was sent from Macao to this kingdom [of Siam]. He had arrived in Macao from India a few years before, and, being sponsored by a devout old lady in Tenasserím, had enough support to take from p. 41 residence there.131 Never has there been a time and a government better than the present one in order to operate well [in Siam]. 129
Valguarnera originally had a church constructed of wood. After it was destroyed by fire in 1658, the parishioners built a new church of more durable materials, probably brick and mortar. This church, called São Paulo (St. Paul’s), was the main Jesuit church in Siam until the end of the Ayutthaya period. See Teixeira (1983, map facing 240) for a sketch of the Portuguese quarter’s churches; for a discussion about the churches: 63–5. 130 The text implies that only one celebration was held, but the annual feast days for these occasions are spread throughout the year: the Purification of Our Lady (2 February), St. Ignatius Loyola (31 July) and St. Francis Xavier (3 December). A 1627 papal brief gave the Jesuits permission to celebrate the office and Mass of three Japanese members of the Society of Jesus—Paul Miki, John de Goto, and James (Diego) Kisai—who were martyred in Nagasaki on 6 February 1597. These three were canonized in 1862. 131 Upon arrival in Siam from Macao in 1659, João Cardoso was assigned to the Jesuit mission in Tenasserím. He was still there in May 1662, when the first French apostolic missionaries and bishops arrived at that port city, en route to their missions in Vietnam. In 1663 he was transferred to Ayutthaya, and he returned to Macao in 1669. See Teixeira (1988, 364–5). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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6.2 Father Giulio Cesare Margico The stepping stone in this kingdom was Father Giulio Cesare Margico, not because he was the first of us to enter it,132 but because he was, among the few of his level, a man or rare virtue, who established what was his due mission and was venerated by those early Christians as the dearest Father of their spirit, with uncommon fame of being a saint. He is listed among the martyrs, as he was killed by poison mixed with food by a renegade Christian — actually worse than a renegade: incapable of accepting the Father’s sermons against a life of depravation that indulged in every kind of lust, and willing to get rid of him, the renegade falsely accused Father Margico in regard to some delicate government-related matters, saying he was plotting against the king [Prasat Thòng]. The monarch, a real tyrant who feared even the shadows,133 had the Father put in chains. [Even when] the many Christians who loved him had offered to set him free in various ways, he knew the value of the suffering one undergoes in the name of Christ, and simply thanked them [for their good intentions]. As he was lying prisoner of the Lord [vinctus in Domino], as is well and publicly known, poison was put in the little food he received from such a rogue. It is remembered that when he was dying, some of the ministers, out of compassion, wanted to set him free [of the chains], but he did not allow them to detract from the value {420} of his glory, and, understanding that his [martyr’s] crown was to be made out of such iron, he considered those chains so glorious that he sincerely implored to be buried with them on, as they were to be the honorable and precious prizes proving his triumph. 6.3 Conclusion After him [came] Father Pedro Morejon, Father António Cardim and then [others], one after another in that Kingdom [of Siam], and at the moment there are those I have talked about, who are there operating with much fervor. The Father Superior [Valguarnera] for two years took care of a Christian of bad manners who was a negative example, and his effort was not in vain, since he had conquered not only him, but also his mother and three sons. In fact, this man, once he had really returned to God, converted his family and, joyous with such achievement, he took them to the Father in the church, where, now well prepared, they were to be hap132
As de Marini notes, Margico was not the first Jesuit to visit Siam, but he was the first to work in the country for a substantial period of time. He arrived in 1627 and stayed until his death in 1630. 133 Clearly, de Marini did not realize that the “father” of Narai he was describing as “a man of skill and value” and this “tyrant who feared even the shadows” were the same person: King Prasat Thòng. Probably de Marini used information from two different sources (one could have been himself, since he visited Ayutthaya in 1642) and did not realize he was writing about the same king. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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pily baptized by the Father. He was also successful with a Japanese who had gone so far from observing the Law that the only Christian thing he had left was the name.134 This [Japanese] was ultimately so truly reconverted, that he lived the life of a saint for five months, and at the end of it he was called to receive his reward, as he died a holy person. Still in this year of 1659, many important Japanese came from Cochinchina, confirming the news from Japan I have given before.135 They admired the Christians in Siam, and the religious zeal of the newcomers became an example that made this community even more vivacious and lively, as they invite the moderates to burn with passion.
134
Many Japanese Christians were given Christian names. The news was that of the persecution in Japan, and apparently refers to an earlier comment in de Marini’s text. 135
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CHAPTER IX - MISSION OF THE ISLAND OF MAKASSAR 1. The condition of the Jesuits and the state of Christianity in Makassar {420 continued} Makassar, also known as Celebes, is one of the great and famous islands of the Oriental Ocean. It is surrounded by other islands, some larger, some smaller. Under its sky, the seasons change little, but there are considerable variations between day and night, which are [respectively] excessively hot and remarkably cool. This island in itself is not very rich or fertile; however, its location is extremely favorable for commercial exchanges and the harbor136 consists of a marine gulf so easy to reach for the navigators that those sailing in the region are induced to call in. The king obtains [his revenue] by granting safe passage to ships from all nations. The dominion137 is divided among four or five sovereigns; however, the King of Makassar is the principal, the most {421} powerful and, because of the [aforementioned] harbor, the most known. He belongs to a sect of Mohammedan Moors. Previously, all inhabitants were followers of pagan cults and were idolaters, although frequent exchanges with the Moors and reasons of state had introduced the law of Mohammed, with enormous damage to the souls [of the indigenous population]. [The Moors,] with their merchandise, visit only the seaports and do not penetrate inland, where the light of the Gospel had reached many parts of the island. It was brought over by the Portuguese who then had settled, built homes for their convenience and wanted somebody to take care of their souls and to conquer others.138 After a few flying visits, our [Jesuit] Fathers (who then resided there) had always judged the site mediocre and of small hope. In the year 1646, when the place seemed to promise many results, they were sent from Macao. The Superiors had then known that the Pantingalóa,139 uncle of the king, was favorably disposed toward the Portuguese nation as no other [Makassarese] had ever been before. Thus, they began to hope that under his protection the Evangelical ministers could freely dedicate themselves to preaching our holy law. [They also had expectations that] the sterility they had experienced for many years, when dealing with the Moham-
136
De Marini uses “Macassar” as both the name of the island and that of its main port. The island is today known as Sulawesi, and, being known for some years as Ujung Pandang, the port city has recently reverted to the name Makassar. 137 The southwest peninsula of Sulawesi. 138 Converting the natives to Christianity. 139 In de Marini’s text, Pantingaloa, preceded by the article “il”, seems to be a title of nobility. It was instead a misspelling of the given name of a prince chief minister, Patingalloang. His title was Karaéng, meaning ‘ruler’ in Makassarese, and he was fluent in Spanish and Portuguese. For more information about him, see Boxer, 1967. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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medan inhabitants of the seaports, would have been repaid when the fruits of blessing were reaped inland, where idols140 were adored. The king did not allow people to penetrate into the interior, but the Pantingalóa, like the king, was not gifted with human wisdom, nor did he understand the Divine design, and they both died soon. The son of the king, who was worse than the two who had come before, succeeded them on a sad day for the Christians and their law. Soon enough, he proved his barbarity by harshly treating the Christians and by sacrilegious orders when one night, in 1658, he entrusted his men to set the church on fire. The vigilance of those [Christians] who had predicted such an attack helped to limit the damage, as they quickly extinguished the flames. Thus, the church was not burnt on that occasion; however, the tyrant, dominated by passion, decided to obtain by violence what he could not achieve by deception. A few days later, he sent his threat: in his kingdom, he wanted no church except for the one of the Portuguese priests.141 We [Jesuits] were permitted only to reside there, our church was to be quickly dismantled, and we were not to preach or dedicate ourselves to deeds of Christian compassion. 2. The poisoning of Father João Nogueira and Father Pedro Francisco At that time, the [Jesuit] Superior in that region was Father João Nogueira, who, extremely depressed because of the barbarous order of that Moorish king, and seeing that he was wasting time without obtaining much of a result, for the time being {422} decided to yield. Accompanied by Father Pedro Francisco, procurer of the College of Cochin,142 who happened to be there on business in the name of his province, they moved to an island located a few days’ sailing away.143 As soon as they had landed, they were cheerfully invited by the local petty ruler. The felon, who, in such a pretentiously festive atmosphere, was concealing a deception, as he was actually planning to plunder all that the Fathers and the captain of their ship were bringing along with them. To this end, he invited them to eat with him, and he mixed poison in their food, to hide his betrayal. The first to feel the effects of the toxin was Father João Nogueira, who soon after eating lost his appetite because of a certain nausea and became extremely weak. [His] heart 140
Here the gods of the local tradition (spirit beliefs) are called “idols”, the same term used in Cambodia and Siam for the Buddha and Buddhist divinities. Thus de Marini clearly differentiates Islam, but throws all other East and Southeast Asian traditions into the same “idolatrous” cauldron. 141 Probably Dominicans or Franciscans. 142 The Father Procurer was responsible for all financial and logistical matters concerning the missionaries. In the 1640s Makassar was under the Jesuit province of Cochin (Malabar) and therefore the responsibility of the Jesuit procurer in Cochin. It was later transferred to the Province of Japan, and came under the Jesuit procurer in Macao. 143 Nogheira and Francisco went to Ade, a kingdom on the northeast tip of Timor. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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was exhausted as the poison worked its way through and extinguished his life. Shortly after, he was followed by the captain, who experienced the same succession of symptoms. The last to succumb to the forces of evil, and the one who suffered the most, was Father Pedro Francisco. Who knows? It could be that God had allowed such a misadventure to happen in order to punish the imprudence of those Fathers, who had undertaken such a mission without consulting the experts. Even worse, they went without waiting for the order of the Superiors, which is absolutely necessary when undertaking similar actions, since God does not bless, nor protect missions without such authorization. The other Fathers were sorry to hear of such misfortune. The compassion of Father Matello Saccano and Father Jermain Macret obliged them to reach that island, in order to both verify the place where the corpses were buried, and also to recover the many items of paraphernalia and holy garb that had been brought there by the Fathers Nogueira and Francisco, who had left many in Makassar. According to a report he sent to the Fathers in Lyon, it seems that Father Jermain Macret had recovered some of the objects; however, they were subsequently lost at sea during a storm. He also described some of the things he had seen or heard during the trip. 3. De Marini in Makassar Recently, as I was on that island [Makassar144] in June 1659 waiting for the chance for a passage to Europe, I saw a letter by Father Matello Saccano. In it, while reporting about himself, he explained how remote were the chances for the Faith to take root in the other island, where he had been invited by the petty ruler; being so far from the commercial routes, the employment of a Father there was a waste, and could have been more fruitful somewhere else. Accordingly, he was waiting for a ship to take him away, since, at the time he was writing, he was insolvent, with only five bowls of rice left. He strongly felt he wanted to return to that island [Makassar], where at the moment he was not allowed to operate because of the recent prohibition {423} issued by the king. He was sorry about the hard life of the Christians [of Makassar], who were gradually dispersing, because of the strong prohibition against conversion. Some apostatized, as I had sadly witnessed with my eyes during the three months I was forced to stay there. During such period, there was not a single Moor — and this should not be surprising — nor a Gentile who asked to be baptized. There were instead ninety local Christians who apostatized because of the fear of the threats of death by the tyrant. And if, with strenuous effort, any of those repenting is reconverted to Christianity, it is enough that the king hears about it to have him sentenced to 144
De Marini stopped in Makassar for about three months (June-September 1659) en route from Macao to Rome (Jacobs 1988, 29). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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death. He summons the re-Christianized man to his presence with kind words, and he induces him to repeat the previous mistakes [of apostatizing], promising gifts and forgiveness. The poor souls, not gifted with much intelligence to be protected by such attacks, under the pressure of respect and fear, give up and apostatize. Then the barbarian king, without waiting any more, gives orders to one of his servants, who is ready for the order to wound the renegade with the weapon, which I have talked about before, called a kris. Similar to a knife with a blade bent like a snake, it is made in the islands of Java and Borneo: it is skillfully fabricated and to it is added efficacious and mortal poison. The liar and inhumane king is then entertained by cruelly observing the power of the poison, taking effect at times slowly, at others quickly. His consideration of the used weapon grows, according to the rapidity it takes to kill. 4. Conclusion From such events we can assume that to have Christians living in such a country, as long as there is not a more tolerant and open-minded king, can be recommended only for those who trade, [since in Makassar] they could store and preserve their source of income: the precious sweet-scented sandalwood, that is so called in the nearby islands of Solor.145 Considering how its virtues and utility are well known both to the Indians and to the Chinese, I do not believe that is only the fragrance of the wood that attracts the ships to this island [of Makassar]. Thanks to the convenience of the place as a port of call, vessels from that part of the Orient and from our Occident flock to Makassar for the nutmegs, cloves and other aromatic substances, which are brought from Maluku. In itself, this island of Makassar has nothing of value, and I have nothing more to say about it, if not about the barbarous custom the people there still use: when one is recognized guilty of murder before he is summoned to justice, he takes the liberty to kill anyone whoever he can, and unlucky is the one who has the misfortune to be accidentally around.146 He defends himself from anybody and he does not forgive anyone and consequently can be killed by anybody. Thus, one can see one of these [men acknowledged as guilty] running around the streets like a furious tiger, and those who are not able to kill him run away, while those who can 145
A Portuguese governorship of the islands of Solor and Timor was established early in the eighteenth century, though the Portuguese were already trading in the islands in the sixteenth century and had missionaries there. 146 This is, of course, a description of the behavior of ‘running amok,’ where amok is a Malay word that can be loosely translated as ‘uncontrollable rage.’ Dirk van der Cruysse (1991, 416) cites French missionary reports in Ayutthaya in 1686. The French thought that the Makassarese died happy when running amok, as long as they had killed someone. The French interpretation seems to be similar to de Marini’s interpretation. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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attack him, do so {424} in the manner they prefer. Apparently, just as in the case of Samson (we would say), the condemned man believes that it is a consolation to die together with others and does not want to go to the next world unaccompanied.
References Andaya, Barbara, 1993. “Political Development between the Sixteenth and Eighteenth Centuries” in The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Andaya, Leonard Y., 2003. “A very good-natured but awe-inspiring government”, in Hof en Handel, Aziatische Vorsten en de VOC 1620–1720. Leiden: KITLV Uitgeverji. Baker, Chris, Dhivarat na Pombejra, Van der Kraan, Alfons, and Wyatt, David K., 2005. Van Vliet’s Siam. Bangkok: Silkworm. Blair and Robertson, 1973. The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898: Explorations by early navigators, descriptions of the islands and their peoples, their history and records of the Catholic Missions, as related in contemporaneous books and manuscripts, showing the political, economic, commercial and religious conditions of those islands from their earliest relations with European nations to the beginning of the nineteenth century, edited and annotated by Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson, with historical introduction and additional notes by Edward Gaylord Bourne; translated from the originals. Mandaluyong, Rizal: Cachos Hermanos. Bourges, Jacques de, 1666. Relation du Voyage de Mgr l’Evèque de Béryte, vicaire apostolique du Royaume de la Cochinchine, par la Turquie, la Perse, les Indes &c jusq’au Royaume de Siam & autres lieux. Paris: Denys Bechet. Boxer, C. R., 1967. Francisco Vieira de Figueiredo: A Portuguese MerchantAdventurer in South East Asia, 1624–1667. The Hague : Nijhoff. Cruysse, Dirk van der, 1991. Louis XIV et le Siam. Paris: Fayard. Cushman, Richard D., translator, 2000. The Royal Chronicles of Ayutthaya, A Synoptic Translation. Bangkok: The Siam Society. De Marini, G. F., 1998. A New and Interesting Description of the Kingdom of Laos. Translated from French by Walter E. J. tips and Claudio Bertuccio. Bangkok: White Lotus. Eade, Christopher, 1989. Southeast Asian Ephemeris: Solar and Planetary positions, AD 638–2000. Studies on Southeast Asia No.5, Ithaca, New York: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University. Gnolfo, Giovanni, 1974. “Giovanni Gnolfo, Um Missionario Assorino – Tomasso dei Conti Valguarnera, S.J., 1609–1677”, cited in Teixeira 1983: 336–9.
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Groslier, Bernard Philippe, 1958. Angkor et le Cambodge au XVIe siècle d’après les sources portugaises et espagnoles. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1958. Hall, D.G.E., 1981. A History of Southeast Asia. Fourth edition. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Hutchinson, E. W.,1940. Adventurers in Siam in the Seventeenth Century. London: Royal Asiatic Society. Iwao, Seiichi, 1941. “Early Japanese Activities in Indo-China,” in Contemporary Japan: A Review of Far Eastern Affairs, 10: 619–34. Jacobs, Hubert, 1988. The Jesuit Makasar Documents: 1615–1682. Rome: Jesuit Historical Institute. Launay, Adrien, 1920. Historie de la Mission de Siam, 1662–1811: Documents historiques. Paris: Anciennes maisons Charles Douniol et Retaux; P. Téqui, successeur. Mak Phoeun, 1995. Histoire du Cambodge: de la fin du XVIe siècle au début du XVIIIe. Paris: Presses de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient. Pombejra, Dhiravat na, 1984. A Political History of Siam under the Prasatthong Dynasty, 1629–1688. Ph.D. thesis, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. Teixeira, Manuel. 1983. Portugal na Tailândia. Direcção dos Serviços de Turismo: Impr. Nacional de Macau. Yule, Henry, and A.C. Burnell, 1903. Ed. William Crooke, 1903. Hobson-Jobson, a glossary of colloquial Anglo-Indian words.... London: John Murray.
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YAMADA NAGAMASA AND HIS RELATIONS WITH SIAM Yoshiteru Iwamoto1
Abstract Yamada Nagamasa became head of the Japanese community in Ayutthaya in the 1620s, and died during a succession dispute in 1630. Japanese documents show that he was a person of modest origins who managed by his own wits to turn himself into an important intermediary between the Siamese court and the Japanese shogunate. In the era of the Imperial Japanese Army’s “southern advance”, Yamada Nagamasa was projected as a pioneer of Thai-Japanese cooperation and friendship. Thai scholarship has tended to react against this enthusiasm. Newly translated documentary information concerning Yamada Nagamasa’s life and exploits offers an opportunity to re-evaluate his historical role from both Thai and Japanese perspectives. There is a gap in perception between Japanese and Thai concerning the life of Yamada Nagamasa.2 Japanese accounts of Nagamasa’s life, and even his very existence, are widely denied in Thailand. The rejection of Nagamasa, and of what Japanese people hold as “common knowledge”, has its origins in Japanese imperialism. What invited Nagamasa’s removal from Siamese history dates back to 1942, during the years of the Second World War, when Japan’s Ministry of Education published a Textbook of Moral Education for Japanese school children. In this textbook the figure of Nagamasa is praised for acting to enhance Japan’s “national glory”, as is revealed at length in the following extract. About 320 years ago Yamada Nagamasa went to the country of Siam. Siam is, of course, the country we now call Thailand.
1
Translated by Simon James Bytheway, affiliated with Nihon University, Tokyo. In the following essay Yamada Nagamasa will be referred to by his given name of Nagamasa, rather than by his ubiquitous surname. 2
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At around that time, Japanese gathered in ships and travelled prosperously to and from the southern islands and countries. Many Japanese went to live there, forming Japanese colonies. The Japanese in Siam are said to have numbered about 5,000 people. Although only in his twenties when crossing the seas to Siam, Nagamasa soon rose to become the chief of a Japanese town. Filled to the brim with courage and honesty, he was truly a man of chivalrous spirit. The King of Siam was called Songtham, and he was a very good king. For the sake of Siam, Nagamasa formed an army of Japanese volunteers, becoming its captain, and this force often distinguished itself in exploits. The King of Siam ordered Nagamasa to become a military officer, and in no time at all, Nagamasa became a general of the highest rank. Among the Japanese in Siam, Nagamasa and his 600 brave samurai followers excelled in their knowledge of military arts and science. Nagamasa also came to command many Siamese soldiers, in addition to his band of Japanese warriors, and these forces were always off fighting for Siam. Nagamasa rode a splendid chariot and wore a brilliant suit of armour threaded in scarlet braid, and when he returned in glory from his victorious campaigns, the whole town would be overflowing with people who had gathered to see him. For his daring military exploits and his services to the country, Nagamasa was awarded with Siam’s highest ranks and offices. At the same time, Nagamasa worked tirelessly for the Japanese town, looking after ships that passed through, and making foreign trade prosperous. Almost every year he sent the less wealthy ships to Japan so that they could return to Siam with great wealth and honour. After Nagamasa had crossed the seas to Siam for some twenty years or so, the good King Songtham passed away, and a succession of young princes claimed the throne. Around this time, the Siamese dependency of Nakhon took advantage of the unstable situation and became almost ungovernable. And so it was in these circumstances that the king appointed Nagamasa as the new ruler of Nakhon.
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The Siamese royal family then held an elaborate ceremony for Nagamasa on his appointment. The young king, who was only ten years old, presented Nagamasa with a crown designed especially with the same motifs as his own, and Nagamasa was awarded a mountain of treasure and riches.With their usual flair, Nagamasa, his samurai warriors, and a large force of Siamese soldiers proceeded to their new post in Nakhon. Of course, in almost no time at all, Nakhon bowed to Nagamasa’s dignity, and the king’s order once again prevailed. Sadly, after reigning as the ruler of Nakhon for only a year, Nagamasa passed away. We are still unsure of Nagamasa’s birthplace in Japan, and when he arrived in Siam. But we know that once he arrived in Siam, he became the chief of a Japanese town, was a principal actor in foreign trade, and was awarded with Siam’s highest ranks and offices. Moreover, Japan’s military renown shook heaven and earth in the southern countries, the sound of which still reverberates around the world. Among those Japanese that have gone to foreign countries, Nagamasa is still held in great standing, as his exemplary deeds were done for the sake of the Japanese people.3 These words clearly present the notion of Japan’s “southern advance”, widely propagated by the Imperial Japanese Army at that time, and amount to a philosophical invasion, about which the people of Thailand are very sensitive and wary to this day. Thai antagonism, engendered by the textbook, must be a source of discomfort for those Japanese people who innocently think of Nagamasa as an interesting historical figure, and particularly for those who adore Nagamasa. Certainly, Nagamasa arrived in Siam during the age of Ayutthaya, and the area where he was appointed ruler was called Nakhon, an abbreviation of Nakhon Sithammarat, which was also called Ligor. Although the Japanese textbook claimed that much of Nagamasa’s life was unknown, historical records show that Nagamasa was born in Sunpu (present-day Shizuoka city) in 1590, as the son of Tsunokuniya-Kyuzaemon. There are accounts from around 1605 which suggest that Nagamasa served as a palanquin bearer for Okubo Tadasuke, the daimyo (feudal lord) of Numazu; nevertheless, Nagamasa never distinguished himself in Japan. Then, in 1612, at twenty-two years of age, Nagamasa is said to have travelled to Siam via Formosa.
3
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Having sailed to Siam during 1612, it was not until 1620 or 1621 (at the age of 30 or 31) that Nagamasa became the chief of the Japanese “town” in Ayutthaya. Even with Nagamasa’s letters and other primary historical sources, however, there are three important points that are yet to be clarified. In the official shogunate documents of Tokugawa Hidetada, there is a letter addressed to one Doi Toshikatsu, a distinguished member of the shogun’s Council of Elders, which raises the first point. I submit my humble report...I have been asked by the King of Siam [Songtham] to deliver a message to the great Shogun [Tokugawa Hidetada] asking for his blessings and indulgences. As you are no doubt aware, the King of Siam has dispatched an envoy of two Siamese men, and Ito Kyudayu, according to your august wishes. The King here has also presented the envoys with letters of introduction, in which he asks that you grant them your favours. And one very small thing, please allow me to extend my personal courtesies, the envoys carry two sheets of decorative sharkskin and 200 kin [12 kilograms] of gunpowder as a present for you. Yours most respectfully, Eleventh day of the fourth month, the seventh year of Genwa. [1621] from the country [Kingdom] of Siam Yamada Nizaemon Nagamasa4 To the honourable Doi Oinokami Toshikatsu (via your page servants) Incidentally, an identical document was also addressed to Honda Masazumi, another senior member of the shogun’s Council of Elders. Both Doi and Honda, however, were left scratching their heads, as they had no idea who “Yamada Nizaemon Nagamasa” was. Fortunately, a monk employed to keep the shogunate’s diplomatic records, Konchi-in Suden, found reference to a certain Nagamasa as “a palanquin bearer” for Okubo Tadasuke (as mentioned earlier). This is the man who we presume is the historical Yamada Nagamasa. According to official records like Tsuko Ichiran and Konchi-in Suden’s Ikoku Diaries, the King of Siam’s letter, carried by two Siamese envoys with Ito Kyudayu acting as their translator, arrived in Edo (present-day Tokyo) on 26 August 1621. Six days later, on 1 September, the Siamese envoys and their
4
Tsuko Ichiran, vol. 6 (Kyoto: Kokusho Publishing, 1913), pp. 534–5. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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translator were granted an audience with the shogun. They presented Tokugawa Hidetada with a letter, written in classical Chinese, requesting the continuation of amity and trade between their two countries. In addition, the envoys carried many ceremonial gifts for the shogun from their king. These included a pair of long and short swords, an ink stone, two matchlocks, a golden tray, a pure gold tray, ten sets of elaborate floral curtains, and forty-five elephant tusks. Just two days later, on 3 September, the Siamese envoys and their translator were granted a second audience with the shogun. They were asked to present the King of Siam with a message of friendship from the shogun, and a variety of gifts, including three gold-leafed folding screens, three suits of lacquered armour, two long swords, and three fine horses. In addition, Doi and Honda handed the two Siamese envoys a jointly signed letter, which entrusted “an official of the Siamese Government” to present their king with the gift of one long sword, and a fine horse. Finally, for their efforts, the shogun awarded the two Siamese envoys with ten padded silk garments and 300 silver pieces each (with the translator receiving five padded silk garments and just twenty silver pieces). We should also mention that Doi and Honda did indeed receive gifts of sharkskin and gunpowder from Nagamasa (as promised in Nagamasa’s letters to them), and in return they asked the Siamese envoys to personally deliver a jointly signed letter and twenty bolts of bleached cotton cloth to Nagamasa. Incidentally, in their letter to Nagamasa, Doi and Honda addressed Nagamasa with the suffix no jo, as they would any other junior officer, for example a lieutenant or captain in a modern army. The second point of controversy relating to Nagamasa is caused by a votive picture found at the Sengen Shrine in Sunpu, near Nagamasa’s place of birth.5 This picture has a dedication that reads as follows: As I leave Sunpu, I offer a prayer and make sacred vows at this shrine. By heaven’s grace, I have made many vows. Their fulfilment is my prayer... Born in Suruga-Province [Shizuoka], now in Siam An auspicious day of the second month, the third year of Kanei. [1626] Yamada Nizaemon no jo Nagamasa6 5
A votive picture or tablet (ema in Japanese) is usually a piece of wood with a picture on the front and a prayer or wish on the back. Usually they are burnt in bonfires at New Year. This large example, over a metre in length, somehow survived and is kept in the treasure house at the Sengen Shrine in Sunpu, now in Shizuoka, Japan. The shrine generously provided the picture for appearance in this article. 6 See the Nagamasa votive picture found at the Sengen Shrine in Shizuoka, and also Tsuko Ichiran, vol. 6, (Kyoto: Kokusho Publishing, 1913), pp. 520–1.
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The issues surrounding this votive picture are noted in official foreign affairs documents of the Tokugawa shogunate, such as Tsuko Ichiran. The details of the votive picture itself are also fascinating: they show a ship, unlike the usual merchant vessels, with two cannon on the bow, eight cannon along the side, and over thirty samurai warriors aboard, resplendent in Japanese-style helmets and armour. One possible explanation of the picture is that perhaps it offers a likeness of Nagamasa’s imagined activities from around that time in Siam. Unfortunately, the original votive picture was burnt with the rest of the shrine in the great Sunpu fire of November 1788, and so we have to consider that the present picture is a reproduction. The third point of controversy relating to Nagamasa is raised by a letter found in the official shogunate documents of the third shogun, Tokugawa Iemitsu, dated 3 March 1629. Addressed to one Seki Chikara-no-suke, a personal attendant of Sakai Tadayo, a member of Iemitsu’s Council of Elders, the letter reads as follows: I have received your gracious letter. Only last year [1628], as you surely recall, I presented you with a few small gifts and asked you to humbly deliver a message to the great Shogun [Tokugawa Iemitsu] informing him of my fortunes. Now I must tell you [Seki Chikara-no-suke], I have received your gift of five pairs of tanned leather hakama [wide skirt-like trousers worn by samurai] with many thanks. Actually, the King over here [Songtham] unfortunately passed away quite recently [on 12 December 1628], and so the new King [Chettathirat] has ordered his representatives to deliver a message of greetings to the Shogun. Accordingly, three men, Okluang Sakontek, Okkhun Wahkehit and OkkhunYokohatt, serving as envoys, and a translator named Gozaemon, will soon pay their respects, sailing in a merchant ship that I have prepared for them. On arrival [in Japan] they will deliver their king’s message of greeting forthwith. Please pass on my kindest regards to the great Shogun [Tokugawa Iemitsu], asking for his blessings and indulgences. As a matter of fact, a merchant ship was supposed to be sailing to Japan in the summer of last year [1628] to deliver a message to the Shogun from the former king [Songtham]. Unfortunately, though, owing to a series of delays at that time, the ship never left harbour. Anyway, as in ordinary years, I will prepare merchant ships to visit you and ask that you grant them your kind favours. Through Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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all this, thank heavens, I have at last received a letter issued, and sealed in vermillion, from the Shogun himself, conferring upon me his trust in my efforts to carry out commerce and trade. Recently, I have suffered many hindrances and setbacks; nevertheless, I would like to give a few humble presents to both the great Shogun [Tokugawa Iemitsu] and the distinguished former Shogun [Tokugawa Hidetada] to show my keen respect and affection for their highnesses. Please inform them of this if you think it is appropriate. And one more very small thing, the envoys carry ten bolts of red silk crepe and two rugs of the finest floral carpets as trifling presents for you. Please accept them as tokens of my esteem for your office. I ask for your gracious favours in making this announcement [of the envoy’s impending visit] known to you. Yours most respectfully, Third day of the third month, the sixth year of Kanei. [1629] Yamada Nizaemon Nagamasa7 To the honourable Seki Chikara-no-suke (an announcement) According to the letter, a relationship between Seki Chikara-no-suke and Nagamasa had obviously been established some time after 1621 (the year in which Nagamasa became the chief of the Japanese settlement in Siam), and Nagamasa had dispatched a “merchant ship” to sail to Japan in the summer of 1628, delivering a message from King Songtham to the shogun. Incidentally, the Tsuko Ichiran, an official document of the shogun’s foreign affairs, notes that an identical document was also addressed to Doi Toshikatsu. According to Tsuko Ichiran, Nagamasa’s merchant ship with its three Siamese envoys and their interpreter sailed to Edo via the entrepot of Nagasaki, arriving on 13 September 1629. Just four days later, on 17 September, the envoys were granted an audience with the shogun Iemitsu, and the former shogun Hidetada, where they delivered their king’s message. Siam’s new King Chettathirat, on accession to the throne, requested the continuation of amity and trade between their two countries. In light of this, the envoys delivered many luxurious gifts to the shogun from their king, such as incense (a box in both fine and superior grades), crystals (one each, in both fine and superior grades), four bolts of western-style 7
Tsuko Ichiran, vol. 6, (Kyoto: Kokusho Publishing, 1913), pp. 11–12. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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damask silk, five sets of fine western-style curtains, two rugs of the finest floral carpets and five elephant tusks. The Siamese envoys then presented the former shogun with a box of fine-grade incense, a fine-grade crystal, two bolts of westernstyle damask silk, four bolts of orchid-patterned fine damask silk and four sets of fine western-style curtains. The Siamese envoys also presented a gift on behalf of Kalahom, a leading Siamese official, to Doi Toshikatsu and Sakai Tadayo (Seki Chikara-no-suke’s lord and master). As important members of the shogun’s Council of Elders, they both received two elephant tusks, five fowler’s nets, five sets of western-style curtains, a set of floral curtains, and three bolts of orchidpatterned damask silk. As a matter of course, the three Siamese envoys and their translator were received in a second audience with the shogun Iemitsu fifteen days later, on 2 October, when they were asked to present the new king with a message from the shogun desirous of continued friendship and commercial intercourse. As in King Songtham’s case, King Chettathirat was presented with a variety of gifts, the most significant being three gold-leafed folding screens, three suits of lacquered armour, two long swords, and three fine horses. In addition, Doi and Sakai asked the Siamese envoys to deliver a jointly signed letter addressed to Kalahom, and to present their king with the gift of two fine horses (that is, one from Doi and one from Sakai). For his efforts, Kalahom was also to receive forty bolts of bleached cotton cloth, twenty each from Doi and Sakai. Furthermore, the shogun presented envoy Okluang Sakontek with ten padded silk garments and 200 silver pieces, Okkhun Wahkehit with ten padded silk garments and 100 silver pieces, and Okkhun Yokohatt with three padded silk garments and fifty silver pieces, with the translator Gozaemon receiving one padded silk garment and twenty silver pieces. The former shogun, Hidetada, also presented the three envoys and their translator with additional (and respective) gifts of one hundred, fifty, thirty, and twenty silver pieces. On the following day, 3 October, the Siamese envoy met with the shogun’s Council of Elders, where Sakai Tadayo used the opportunity to entrust the envoys with delivering twenty bolts of bleached cotton cloth to Nagamasa as a reward for his efforts. It should be noted that on this occasion Sakai Tadayo talked of Nagamasa as if they were of the same rank, addressing him as the “Honourable Yamada Nizaemon”. Naturally enough, Doi Toshikatsu used the opportunity to entrust the envoys to deliver gifts to Nagamasa, as recompense for his great efforts, and while in 1621 Doi had referred to Nagamasa using the humble suffix no jo, Nagamasa was now addressed with honorific titles such as “His Excellency” and “the Honourable”. This particular change in circumstances is a clear indication of the importance of trade with the shogunate, and reflects highly upon Nagamasa’s efforts and practical skills.
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Significantly, in the last ten days of October, the Commissioner of Kyoto, Itakura Shigemune, also joined the Council of Elders in their meetings with the envoys, entrusting them to deliver a letter to Kalahom, in his capacity as a minister of the Siamese government. In the letter, the Commissioner expresses sadness to hear of the loss of the former king (Songtham), and clearly states his hope that the new king (Chetthatirat) will insure that amicable relations, commerce and trade continue between the two countries. Letters such as this suggest that the strength of relations between Siam and the shogunate were not at this stage as active as Japanese parties felt they should be.8 The entire time the envoys were visiting the shoguns in Japan, however, the Siamese throne was in turmoil. In August 1629 King Chetthatirat was murdered. His successor, Athittayawong, was forced to appoint the Kalahom as his regent on accession to the throne, but was nevertheless soon murdered, sharing the fate of his brother. The regent Kalahom then placed himself on the throne, with the name Prasat Thong. As a sideshow to the regicide, Nagamasa was also murdered, by poisoning, sometime in late August or early September 1630. Given the chaos and confusion that reigned in Siam at that time, it is doubtful that Nagamasa ever received the letters sent to him by Doi Toshikatsu and the other Council of Elders addressing him as the “Honourable Yamada Nizaemon”. Moreover, Nagamasa had been removed from Ayutthaya, and was serving as the governor of Ligor (Nakhon Sithammarat) at the time of his poisoning. A Dutch source, entitled “A Memo of the Events Surrounding the Arrival and Departure of Our Ship in Siam: from the end of February to 13 December 1629”, held at the Municipal Archives of the Hague, attests to this: The Japanese Okya Senaphimuk [the Thai title of nobility of Yamada Nagamasa] was threatened by Okya Kalahom, and so moved the entire Japanese community to Bangkok. It is guessed that it was at this time that Nagamasa travelled to Ligor, in order to become its Governor. These events illustrate the uncertainties of the present times. It should be noted, however, that these reports are based entirely upon what we have been able to glean from the Siamese.9 The above account describes Nagamasa as having travelled to Ligor as its new governor while relocating the Japanese community from Ayutthaya to Bangkok. 8
It should be noted that Nagamasa was never personally received by the shogunate in Japan, and that the shogunate never sent its own official envoys to him in Siam. 9 “A Memo of the Events Surrounding the Arrival and Departure of Our Ship in Siam: from the end of February to 13 December 1629”, Municipal Archives of The Hague, Netherlands. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Therefore, Nagamasa was not so much “appointed” as the new ruler of Nakhon by the King of Siam, as claimed by the Ministry of Education’s Textbook of Moral Education, but rather it seems more likely that circumstances forced Nagamasa to accept the king’s orders, and leave Ayutthaya for Ligor under some duress. References to the Siamese diplomatic mission of 1629 in the shogunate’s diplomatic records, the Tsuko Ichiran, were to be the last made in relation to Siam. News of Nagamasa’s death in Siam, and the manner in which he was poisoned and died, were dutifully recorded by the shogunate. To what extent Nagamasa’s precipitous rise and tragic fall in Siam influenced the shogunate in implementing its bold policy of “closed country” isolationism in 1639 is a matter of conjecture. In “Ayutthaya and the Japanese”, Professor Nidhi Eoseewong wrote the following outline of Nagamasa’s life in Siam: Notwithstanding the conflict in the early 1610s, the Japanese community gained trust from the king not long after. Since by the mid 1620s, the Japanese formed the king’s crack troops again, they were assigned to lead an attack against a Spanish galleon in the river of Chao Phraya. And as generally known, Yamada Nagamasa, the chief of the community, became one of the trusted officials of the king in 1628. Again in the late 1620s, when the king was on his death bed, he tried to have his son succeed him instead of his brother, who had already amassed men and power under his control during his reign. The king sought help from a Siamese noble and Yamada Nagamasa, who was then the official head of the Japanese Volunteer Corps, with highest noble rank. Both were successful in putting the king’s son, aged 15, on the throne in 1628. Real power was in the hands of the Siamese noble and Nagamasa. The young king reigned for a short time before being put to death by the Siamese noble with the approval of Nagamasa. They put the king’s brother, who was even younger, on the throne. Before long the Siamese noble wanted to force the child off the throne in order to assume the kingship himself. His desire was not supported by Nagamasa, but the Siamese noble had the king executed anyway and took the crown for himself in 1629, to be known as King Prasat Thong. To pave the way for usurping the throne, the Siamese noble had persuaded Nagamasa to assume the governorship of Ligor, the
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centre of tin production in Siam, before having the young king executed. Nagamasa went down to Ligor with his Japanese troops and learnt belatedly that he had been deceived by the Siamese. However, he still followed the orders from Ayudhya to suppress the rebellion in Pattani and was wounded in the battle. The new king of Ayudhya plotted with the former governor of Ligor to poison Nagamasa. Nagamasa died in 1630. His son, by name of O-in, took the helm and rebelled against Ayudhya. However, he could not control the Japanese troops in Ligor, which separated into factions and fought one another. The upheaval was joined by the local Siamese, which made Ligor unsafe for the Japanese. Ayudhya was sending a big army to crush the Japanese rebellion, so there was no other way out for the Japanese in Ligor except evacuating themselves from Ligor and also out of Siam (presumably to Cambodia).10 Using recent research in Thailand, Nidhi presents Nagamasa in an authentic light, rather than obscuring the real image of Nagamasa with flattery or praise. The false image of Nagamasa as a symbol of Japan’s philosophical invasion and “southern advance” has been effaced. It cannot be denied, however, that Nagamasa’s deeds amounted to political interference in the affairs of Siam, and that he took advantage of internal division within Siam’s royal family to further his own power, to the point of becoming involved in the usurpation of the throne. Any attempt to glorify Nagamasa’s role in promoting cultural exchange between Siam (Thailand) and Japan is therefore nothing less than a whitewash, and must be seen for what it is: an historical deception. As noted at the beginning of this paper, the Japanese account of Nagamasa’s life, and even his existence, are widely denied in present-day Thailand. Given this, it is indeed surprising that on almost any day of the week in Ayutthaya you can find busloads of Japanese tourists queuing up at shops and stalls to buy Nagamasa postcards and souvenirs. A deeper irony is that often at gatherings or parties of Thai and Japanese people, the guests or the hosts quite innocently propose a toast to Nagamasa in the spirit of international friendship, or start speeches by praising Nagamasa for his role in promoting peace between Thailand and Japan.
10
Nidhi Eoseewong, “Ayudhya and the Japanese”, The Tenth Fukuoka Asian Culture Prize Forum, (Fukuoka: Fukuoka Asian Culture Prize Secretariat, 1999), pp. 92–3; slightly edited. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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PHLAI KAEO ORDAINS AS A NOVICE: A CHAPTER FROM KHUN CHANG KHUN PHAEN Chris Baker and Pasuk Phongpaichit Khun Chang Khun Phaen is a story developed in the late Ayutthaya period by troubadours who recited episodes for local audiences and passed on the story by word-of-mouth. It became the most popular text for such performances, probably because the troubadours incorporated local tales and constantly adjusted the story to please the audience. It is thus a product of the culture of its time, rather than of the imagination of a particular author. It is also unusual among old Thai literary works in two ways: it is an original and unique work, not an adaptation from another language; and it is set, not in the court or the heavens, but among relatively ordinary people—the minor provincial gentry of the lower Chaophraya basin. The story was later written down as a poem, possibly beginning in the late Ayutthaya period, though the surviving versions mostly date from the second to fourth Bangkok reigns. The written versions are unsigned, but the authors of various chapters are believed to include King Rama II, King Rama III, and Sunthon Phu, as well as some recitation masters such as Khru Jaeng. In 1917–18, Prince Damrong Rachanuphap oversaw editing of a printed version that has become the standard.1 This version is written in klon meter (mostly klon paet), and consists of 23,000 lines divided into 43 chapters.2 The poem has never been translated in full. There is an incomplete précis in English, a summary version in French, and one chapter rendered sternly word-forword in German.3 The extract presented here is a sample from the first attempt to translate the whole poem. This chapter (the third) has been selected as it is representative of the flavor of the early part of the poem, and because it includes a novice ordination, monastic education, celebration of Songkran, and recitation of the Mahachat. The poem seems intent on recording details of weddings, funerals, 1
Sepha Khun Chang Khun Phaen is currently available in several versions, including a 3-volume set from Khurusapha, a 2-volume set from Sinlapa Bannakan, and a single volume from Ek Phim. The main source of information on the development of Khun Chang Khun Phaen is Prince Damrong’s preface to this version. A draft translation of this preface, summary of the full story, and working translations of other chapters are available at http://pioneer.netserv.chula.ac.th/~ppasuk/ kckp/index.htm. We welcome any comments, criticisms, and suggestions on the translation to [email protected]. 2 Prince Bidyalankarana wrote two articles about the poem in JSS (1926, 1941). He noted that he refused to take part in a proposed translation project as ‘it would take more time than a lazy man can afford.’ 3 Prem Chaya 1955, 1959; Kasem Sibunruang 1960; Wenk 1985. Part of the latter, though not the translation, appeared as Wenk 1986. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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household ceremonies, festivals, court cases, dress, preparation of food, local beliefs, and other ethnological detail of its time. The authorship of this chapter is unknown, but internal evidence (vocabulary, construction) suggests it is among the earliest chapters to be written down, possibly dating from the first Bangkok reign, and transcribed from troubadours with relatively little modification. The rhyming unit of klon paet is a stanza of two lines. Each line consists of two hemistiches of eight syllables, with several mandatory rhymes which the poet can embellish with further rhyme and alliteration. This translation makes no attempt to reproduce the rhyming scheme, but retains the stanza as a unit. Within a stanza, we sometimes rearrange clauses to suit the flow in English, but we retain the division into stanzas in the translation and in the layout. The story so far: Phlai Kaeo (later Khun Phaen), Khun Chang, and Phim Philalai (later Nang Wanthong) were childhood friends in Suphanburi, and are now grown to teenage. Phlai Kaeo is handsome and clever, but poor because his father was executed by the king and his family ruined. Khun Chang is fat, bald, and crass, but comes from a rich family and has connections at the Ayutthaya court. Phim is the beauty of the town. In this chapter, the two men start competing for her in the love triangle which is the plot framework for the entire poem. Principal characters: Phlai Kaeo, later Khun Phaen Khun Krai, his father, executed by the king a decade earlier Thong Prasi, his mother Khun Chang Kaen Kaeo, his wife Phim Philalai, later Nang Wanthong Siprajan, her mother Saithong, her foster-sister Master Bun, abbot of Wat Som Yai, Kanburi Master Mi, abbot of Wat Palelai, Suphanburi
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Chapter 3: Phlai Kaeo ordains as a novice When Phlai Kaeo’s father died, his mother, Thong Prasi, fled with her son to Kanburi.4 They lived there until he grew up to age fifteen.5 He could not stop thinking of his late father, Khun Krai. For over a year, he could not get him out of his mind. He wanted to be a valiant soldier like his late father, so begged his mother, ‘Please, I’d like to gain knowledge.6 Mother, please take me to a learned monk and put me under his care as a teacher. Let me ordain as a novice.’ Thong Prasi had no objection at all. ‘If you want a teacher skilled in the inner ways,7 the abbot of Wat Som Yai is good. You have the right idea, dear Kaeo. I’ll take you to Master Bun. Once you learn about the military arts and invulnerability, you can be a real descendant of your father Khun Krai.’ She gave orders to the servants without delay. ‘My most beloved son is going to be ordained. Go out and get some goodquality cloth to make his jiwon, sabong and sabai.8 Also, get the right sort of cloth bag and a bowl. Get on with this all today. Ai-Thi and I-La, come and help me.’ The servants went off to fetch betelnut, paan, and banana leaves. They all helped to stitch leaf cups, peel betelnut, coil and bind paan leaves, and roll wax candles. They measured white cloth, cut and sewed it into a sabong with a nice flat hem. They cut out the jiwon and sabai neatly with scissors, and sewed the pieces together. 4
°“≠®πå∫ÿ√,’ old Kanchanaburi, was around 18 kilometers west of the current site. It was a strategic town guarding the route up the Khwae River and over the Three Pagodas Pass into Burma. The city was destroyed and the site abandoned in the wars of the late eighteenth century. 5 The traditional Thai way of counting ages begins with one rather than zero, so this would be fourteen in Western reckoning. 6 «‘™“°“√, wichakan, meaning the disciplines, or taught knowledge. This included reading, writing, and numerical skills, religious and ethical teachings, astrology, and military skills. At the time of King Taksin of Thonburi (1767–82), and probably in the preceding Ayutthayan era too, there was a krom wichakan, a department of knowledge, which looked after texts on warfare, and distributed charms and formulas for invulnerability to soldiers. 7 Meaning skills in tapping exceptional forces, believed to be latent within the individual, through various methods, including meditation, yoga, and formulas (mantra). These skills stem from a tantric tradition embedded in Thai Buddhism. 8 The three cloths of a monk’s robes. Jiwon is the outer robe; sabong is an inner lower cloth, from waist to shin; sabai is a breastcloth (today usually called sankati). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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They made an inner cloth9 from soft chicken-skin silk,10 and sewed on silk toggle buttonholes. They all sat round in a circle, making lots of noise, but working busily with devotion. Some went out to get turmeric, pounded it all up, then went back for more. ‘Oh, have you never done this before? You’ve dyed the cloth too light so it doesn’t look good. Pour some vinegar in. That’ll make the ochre color deeper and brighter.’ ‘That’s fixed it!’ Laughing merrily, they tied a clothesline for drying the dyed cloth, then put the triple robes on a pedestal tray. A team of the very best cooks steamed and boiled frantically, their faces burnt black from the wood-stove. They cleaned the rice and put it in pans; fried and boiled; made phanaeng;11 curried river-snails; mixed spicy salad; made sweets; arranged fruit for offerings; and set everything on many rows of trays. When all was ready, Thong Prasi shouted at the servants to come quickly. ‘Ai-Mong, I-Ma,12 why are you so slow? Take the big bowl and fill it with water. What have you done with the turmeric and dinso13 powder? Yesterday I put them in the crock.’14 She bathed her son, getting rid of all the sweat and grime, than rubbed him with turmeric, powdered his face, and combed his hair. Phlai Kaeo was dressed in a yok15 lower cloth with a pleated front like folded leaves, a gown16 with gold embroidery, a conical hat17 with waving flowers, a belt embroidered in two rows, and a diamond ring with a beautiful glittering stone. He was given incense, candles, and lotus flowers to hold in a folded pouch. 9
Õ—ß –, angsa, a monk’s inner cloth.
10
A fine silk which crinkles like chicken skin. A thick red curry. The name is probably distorted from Penang. 12 Ai- and I- are prefixes denoting commoners, male and female respectively. 13 A fine powdered clay, used to cool the body. 14 ∂È”, tham, a pottery or lead container used to retain fragrance and exclude damp, mostly used for tea (K&NT: 656). 15 ¬°, yok, means to raise or lift, and is used for a cloth with a raised design such as a twill weave. Throughout the poem, yok is used to refer to a smart lower cloth, generally of silk. 16 ‡ ◊ÈÕ§√ÿ¬, seua khrui, an outer garment worn on ceremonial occasions. 17 ≈Õ¡æÕ°, lomphok, a tall, tapering conical hat with an upturned brim decorated with golden flowers. It originated from Persia, where it was known as taj, and was formerly a royal head-dress that later became a standard part of court attire (Floor 1999: 277–89). It became part of Siamese noble regalia during the era of King Narai (1660–88), as recorded by the illustrators of the French diplomatic missions in the 1680s. 11
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Strapping Nai Dam was summoned to carry him aloft with an umbrella overhead. Thong Prasi walked along beside. The gaggle of servants carried the offerings. At Wat Som Yai, the offerings were placed in the front sala. Mother took bright-eyed Phlai Kaeo to pay respects to the abbot. ‘Lord Abbot, I’ve brought my son to be ordained. Please teach him to be something of substance so he can make merit and share some of it with his father Khun Krai whose time was up. Also, teach him to read and write so he can learn from an early age.’ Abbot Bun sighed heavily before he spoke. ‘Such a pity Khun Krai passed away. His son Phlai Kaeo is very much like him. His looks makes me sorrow for his father. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.’ He turned to give instructions to Novice Khong. ‘Call the monks downstairs. Lay mats and arrange the seating. Shave Phlai’s head and bring him back.’ Then he went down to the big sala, and the monks all came down together. Phlai Kaeo carried his triple robes and paid respects. Master Bun initiated him as a novice. When the ordination was over, Thong Prasi chivvied the cooks so loudly her body shook. All the monks’ bowls were lined up, and the pots of rice were carried in. Everyone helped place food into the monks’ bowls, and then presented the usual offerings.18 After eating, the monks chanted the offertory blessing.19 Novice Kaeo and Thong Prasi poured water on the ground.20 After the ordination, Novice Kaeo studied diligently. He had a quick and nimble mind. Whatever he studied, he got down so quickly that the teachers were intimidated by his cleverness. Among all the many elders and novices there, none could match him. Within less than one year as a novice, he had things by heart, every book without exception including translated texts. The abbot had nothing left to tell him. He patted Kaeo on the back and the head and said, ‘That’s the end of my gut,21 my dear Novice Kaeo. 18
Meaning everyday articles for the monks’ use. Today this includes things like soap and toothpaste. Probably at that time it included candles, fire-making equipment, cloth, etc. 19 ¬∂“ —ææ’, yatha sapphi, a Pali formula chanted after monks have been fed or received offerings (K&NT: 656). 20 A way of sharing some of the merit made with spirits stranded in hell (K&NT: 656). 21 Meaning that’s the extent of the knowledge he can impart. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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There’s only the big treatise with the heart22 formulas. I’ve been collecting them since I was a youth. Until now in my old age, I haven’t shared them with anyone. This is the limit of my knowledge. Because I love Novice Kaeo, I’ll pass it on to you. There’s everything - invulnerability, robbery, raising ghouls23 - something for every occasion.’ Novice Kaeo took the master’s treatise, but in his own interest, he still wanted to study some more. So one day he went to pay respects and beg leave to go to Suphanburi. ‘I want to study further.’ The abbot was pleased and laughed heartily. ‘The abbot of Wat Palelai24 is very able. He and Thong Prasi know one another.’ Novice Kaeo took his leave and went to his mother. Thong Prasi rushed out to welcome him. ‘Why have you come, darling son?’ ‘Mother dear, the abbot sent me. My studies there are finished. He told me that Wat Palelai is very good. He said you’ve known the abbot there for ages. Please take me and put me under his care.’ Thong Prasi laughed with pleasure. ‘That’s right, dear novice. As I recall, in Suphan there are two good at the inner ways the abbot of Wat Palelai and the master at Wat Khae.25 I used to send food over there. He and Khun Krai loved one another a lot. It’s no problem to place you under his care.’ 22
À—«„®, hua jai or heart mantras, were abbreviated forms used for purposes of memorization, and for quick application. Often these were two or three syllables taken from a longer version and formed into a mnemonic, e.g. i-sawa-su. A collection of 108 heart formulas was well-known (K&NT: 308; Thep III: 136–42). 23 ‚Àßæ√“¬, hong phrai, a spirit resulting from a violent death, and susceptible to control through mantra. 24 A large and very old wat situated 4 kilometers west of the river, outside the old town site of Suphanburi. Its massive main Buddha image, known as Luang Pho To, is claimed by some to date back to the U Thong era. Initially the image was probably in the open air, deteriorated quickly, and went through repeated restorations; as a result any trace of its old style is obscured. The wihan was built to enclose the image in the Ayutthaya period, possibly on orders from King Phetracha at the end of the seventeenth century. By the late Ayutthaya era, the wat was substantial. Several other Ayutthaya-era structures, now ruined, are scattered around the wat compound, including another wihan, an ubosot, and a chedi. The latter are known as bot mon and chedi mon, possibly recording a long past back to the time the population of Suphan spoke Mon. (Manat 2004: 133–45). It would have been a forest wat. When Sunthon Phu visited in 1841, he described walking through forest between the town and the wat (Nirat meuang suphan, stanza 140, in Sunthon Phu 2000: 185). 25 A wat on the west bank of the Suphan river in the northeast of the old town of Suphanburi. It is probably an Ayutthaya-era wat, which was abandoned for a long time and revived after the Second World War. To attract visitors, the wat has recently built a ‘House of Khun Phaen’ in the compound (Manat 2001). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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She immediately instructed the servants to bring elephants. ‘Harness the cow-elephant Bu for me and bull-elephant Kang for the novice. Put things in the howdah, including enough to feed the monks both morning and noon. Ai-Sen and Ta-Phum will go along to look after matters.’ When everything was ready, they left the house at Cockfight Hill26 and crossed the grassland towards the forest. In three days they reached Suphanburi. Entering Wat Palelai, they went straight to the kuti27 of Master Mi. Thong Prasi paid respects to him. ‘I haven’t come to see you for a long time.’ The abbot was pleased and laughed merrily. ‘I haven’t seen your face for many years. Whose son is this novice? I don’t know him.’ Thong Prasi said, ‘He’s my own son. Since Khun Krai passed away, I’ve been a widow on my own. I had my son ordained so he could study and be something.28 But he’s shooting up like a beanpole and I’m too far away to help. I want to put him under your care, Master. Please give him knowledge and look after him. If he’s lazy and doesn’t study, punish him with the cane.’ The abbot said, ‘Don’t be impatient. If he doesn’t listen to the teaching, why should I look after him? But I’m not the sort of person to use threats. I’ll teach him what his own mind can take. If he’s good, he alone will get the praise; if bad, they’ll blame the teacher. He has a respectable name and pedigree. If he sullied that, it would be a mistake.’ Thong Prasi chuckled at the master’s words. ‘Dear Novice Kaeo, remember this well.’ She left her son, took leave, and returned home to Cockfight Hill. Novice Kaeo had an agile mind without comparison, and was diligent without being told. After three months of practice, he had sermons down by heart.
26
Khao chon kai lies to the north of old Kanburi, and was probably once the city’s sacred hill. There is a stone circle on the flat summit, which is legendarily called Khun Phaen’s cockfighting arena, but was probably a shrine. 27 °ÿØ‘, residential building for monks in a wat. 28 ‡ªìπ∫∑‡æ≈ß, pen bot phleng, to be the lyrics to a tune. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Whether it was the Mahachat,29 sermons on the teachings, or anything, he spoke beautifully with peerless choice of words, and a voice as charming as a flute.30 Wherever he gave sermons, people loved to come and listen. He soon gained such a reputation for his proficiency that villagers and market folk were almost crazy about him. Elders and novices would skip the noon meal and sit waiting to beg him to recite something. He studied hard on reading, writing, recitation, and questioning. He absorbed the major treatises on the arts of war, the sun and moon, auspicious times of day, invulnerability, invisibility, and illusions used in fighting. He also liked studying love charms for captivating a woman’s heart without any chance of escape. His master laughed. ‘Young Kaeo, I know you’re interested in the stuff about being a lover. Don’t do damage to people’s wives, but old maids and widows, take them! I’ll teach you everything about sacred mantras and formulas. You’ll be a real gem.’ He spat out the betel he was chewing and passed it to Novice Kaeo to eat the remains. Then the master hit him with a pestle, almost chipping his skull. ‘There! It didn’t crack or bruise. Like hitting a stone.’ The master rolled about with laughter. Kaeo regularly fanned and waited upon the abbot, who loved him more and more. The abbot taught and tested the novice until his mind was quick, and his confidence grew by the day.
29
Mahachat means the ‘great birth’ or ‘great Jataka.’ The Jataka or birth stories are accounts of the previous lives of the Buddha before his final incarnation as Siddhattha, the historical Buddha. In the popular religious tradition throughout Buddhist Southeast Asia, the Jataka stories were the main form of moral instruction, expounded in sermons, recited at festivals, dramatized in various forms of performance, and depicted in wat decoration. The Buddha is said to have had 550 prior lives, and in the Jataka, these are presented as recalled and recounted by the Buddha himself. The last ten Jataka are of special importance, for they are the stories of how the Bodhisatta or Buddhato-be achieved the Ten Perfections (thotsabarami) – giving, moral conduct, renunciation, wisdom, energy, patience, truthfulness, resolution, loving-kindness, and equanimity – as a result of which he could be reborn as the Buddha. Most important of all is the tale of Prince Vessantara (Phra Wetsandon), the very last life before his incarnation as Siddhattha. This Jataka illustrates the Perfection of Giving, and in the Thai tradition is known as the Mahachat. Annual recitations of the Mahachat were a major form of merit-making in the late Ayutthaya and early Bangkok periods (Anuman 1980; Jory 2002; Nidhi 2005: 199-226). 30 ‡√‰√, rerai, a simple blown instrument. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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When Khun Chang was in his youth, his head was as bald as an adjutant stork,31 while his chin and chest were a mess of whiskers and hair. His face looked like a forest monkey. He fell for Kaen Kaeo, the daughter of Muen32 Phaeo from Bigfence33 village. He asked the parents for her hand and they consented, so Khun Chang got himself a wife. She came to live in his house as bedmate, sharing pillows side-by-side for over a year. Then she fell sick with a fever which lasted a long time, and developed into dysentery and piles. She grew thin, her face turned hard and scaly, and her eyes became sunken. She had a huge craving for duck, chicken, and unwholesome things. Khun Chang was lonely and miserable. Watching his wife ache with fever, he gradually lost heart. In desperation, he sent for doctor Don, left money on a tray beside the bed, and pleaded with the doctor to give her medicine. The doctor said, ‘The disease has passed into the fatal stage. Treatment would be useless. The fever is so severe she’s close to death. Why didn’t you send for me at the beginning?’ After the doctor took his leave, Khun Chang was depressed and full of remorse. He felt he was burning inside, and did not know what to do. Before long, Kaen Kaeo’s life was snuffed out. Khun Chang sat and cried. He arranged a noisy cremation, and frequently made merit for her.34 In Suphanburi at Songkran time,35 everybody came to Wat Palelai to make merit and give alms with devotion. Crowds of men and women, young and old, shuttled back and forth with sand to build chedi all around the wat.36 The monks, who would be fed the next day, chanted prayers in the afternoon. Everybody celebrated the sand festival noisily, then returned home 31
µ–°√ÿ¡, takrum, leptoptilos javanicus, technically called a ‘lesser adjutant’, has a dark grey head with a fringe of light grey round the back, which gives the impression of a bald dome. 32 À¡◊Ëπ, literally ten thousand, a low military-official rank. 33 √—È«„À≠à, rua yai, Khun Chang’s home village, immediately southwest of Suphanburi town. 34 He performed some deed or ceremony believed to make merit (such as feeding the monks), and prayed that part of the merit be shared with Kaen Kaeo to improve her status in her next life. 35 Thai new year, which falls around mid-April. 36 Building a wat or other religious building is believed to result in a great gain in merit. Building temporary chedi from sand became a custom practiced on the eve of the new year in many parts of Buddhist Southeast Asia (Anuman 1975: 94–6). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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to prepare food for the monks. They got everything ready - grilling, roasting, making namya sauce,37 river-snail curry, plain soup, and chicken phanaeng. They sliced gourd, carved marrow, baked ho-mok,38 boiled eggs, fried dried fish, and prepared offal curry.39 They made jelly in syrup, sago, and sticky rice with pork topping. On benches they laid out rows of rice fritters, popped young rice in syrup, oranges and other fruits, maprang,40 langsat,41 rattan fruit, banyan fruit, pomelo, sour orange, and finger bananas. Every house was busy until late at night when all fell asleep in a trice. At dawn, golden sunlight lit up the sky. Everyone got dressed quickly. Young and old, men and women, crowded noisily into Wat Palelai.42 Among them were Phim and her mother, followed by their servants carrying food to put in the alms bowls, and trays set out ready with incense, candles, and flowers. At the wat, they all sat down at the sand chedi and paid their respects. The wat was full of people laying out mats to wait for the monks. Elders and novices donned their robes, came down to the main sala, and sat in order. The faithful paid their respects happily. Each monk was presented with a tray of medicines. They arranged their shoulder cloths properly, and began the prayers. Abbot Mi chanted the precepts, and the monks gave a blessing with clasped hands raised. All the women scurried to fetch pots and get ready to offer alms to the monks one after the other. They gave offerings by placing food in front of the pupils, elders, and novices, then watching to see who finished their curry so they could ladle another portion.
37
A curried fish sauce, often eaten with khanom jin, a form of rice noodles. Originally a mixture of fish and herbs, wrapped in banana leaves, covered with mud, and baked with charcoal in a hole in the ground. 39 ·°ß∫«π, kaeng buan, an old dish made with pork offal and pork skin (Suphon 1975: 26). 40 Bouea burmanica, a fruit about the size and shape of a small egg with a fine, smooth skin which turns from yellow to orange when ripe. 41 Aglaia domestica, a berry-like fruit with a fawn skin and translucent white flesh. 42 On normal days, monks went out to collect alms, but on Songkran, families cooked food and took it to the wat in the morning to feed the monks. This was a chance to give the monks a treat. It was also an opportunity for young girls to dress up and show off (Anuman 1975: 87–8). 38
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Phim devoutly brought bananas, sweets, and sharp oranges on a large tray. She carried a bowl of rice and walked gracefully to offer from the seniors downwards. Coming to Novice Kaeo, she glanced at him and hesitated, remembering something from the past. ‘This novice and I seem to know one another.’ She ladled a big scoop of food with a heap of fried pork, dried fish, chicken curry, halved boiled eggs, sausages, dried fish, watermelon, and a bowlful of curry – enough to fill him up. Novice Kaeo had his head bowed and did not know who it was. Seeing so much food, he lifted his head with eyes opened wide. He saw Phim’s face, smiling with her eyes averted. ‘Is she teasing me or what?’ ‘You’re giving me so much my bowl is packed to overflowing. How can I pick it out to eat? There’s too much, both sweet and savory, but you don’t give me what I really like.’ Phim broke into a smile. ‘Oh novice, when I saw the empty bowl, I thought it was an old beggar,43 so I put in heaps. You accuse me of teasing. Would you rather have me lose merit?’ Phlai thought for a moment with his heart thumping. ‘I can remember. I think you used to play with me. Your name is Phim Philalai. You’ve grown up so beautiful it makes my eyes hurt.’44 The monks finished eating. The abbot said the offertory blessing, repeated by the other monks. The lay faithful poured water on the ground. Everybody merrily bustled off home, noisily singing songs and dancing to celebrate the almsgiving. Time passed. In the tenth month of the seventh year of the cock,45 just one day short of the Sat festival,46 the Buddhist faithful in Suphan had the idea of staging a devotional recitation of the
43 44
À≈«ß‡∂π, luang then, an old person who stays in a wat in order to eat from the alms donations. ∫“¥µ“, wounding the eyes, an old phrase meaning ‘irresistibly beautiful... A most charming,
fascinating beauty enslaving all male hearts’ (Gerini 2005: 239). 45 ªï√–°“ —ªµ»° (pi raka sappata sok), meaning the seventh appearance of a cock year. There is a 120-year cycle consisting of ten iterations of the twelve animal years. Since the cock is the tenth year in the animal cycle, this would mean the (12 x 6) + 10 = 82nd year in a cycle. By derivation from a similar date mentioned in Khamhaikan khun luang ha wat (2004: 172), such years would fall in 1549/50, 1669/70 and 1789/90. 46 “√∑, autumnal merit-making festival at the end of the tenth month (early October). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Mahachat47 in all thirteen episodes at Wat Palelai on the next holy day. The lay elders held a meeting at the wat. Certain persons agreed to sponsor the episodes of the Ten Blessings, Himaphan, and The Gifts. Someone with lots of kids took over the Chuchok episode in daytime. Siprajan48 was allotted the Matsi episode. The Great King of a Thousand Lives episode, which always had the audience rolling with noisy laughter, was scheduled for the middle of the night. Old Muen Si agreed to take on the nicely quiet and restful episode of the Six Princes. Nang Wan took the Small Forest episode, to be recited by Novice On, a new and very accomplished performer. Abbot Jai would recite the Great Forest episode, and Grandpa Tai immediately agreed to be the sponsor. Grandpa Phae and Grandma Khli took on the Entering the Forest episode by the abbot of Wat Khae. ‘Eh, who should we give the big episode to? It’s not easy for just anyone of the faithful to sponsor.’49 47
See footnote 29 above on the Mahachat. In the usual form of these recitations in late Ayutthaya and early Bangkok, the whole story was recited in the space of a single day, in thirteen kan, or episodes. Local dignitaries sponsored episodes to make merit and display their status. Sponsorship included decorating the wat to appear as the Wongkot forest in which the story is set, and making offerings to the monks. The thirteen episodes are: 1. The Ten Blessings. A prologue. 2. Himaphan. Wetsandon is born and ascends to the throne of Sonchai. When a neighboring city suffers a drought, Wetsandon gives away his rain-making white elephant, and as a result is banished by his furious subjects. 3. The Gifts. Wetsandon gives away his possessions to the needy before leaving, and then gives away his horses and chariot along the way. 4. Entering the Forest. Wetsandon and his wife Matsi travel to the Wongkot forest and take up residence in a hermitage. 5. Chuchok. An old Brahmin, whose young wife is ridiculed by the neighbors for having to do all the housework, decides to go and ask for Wetsandon’s two children to be his slaves. 6. Small Forest. Chuchok travels. 7. Great Forest. Chuchok travels and displays his bad character. 8. The Children. Chuchok arrives at the hermitage while Matsi is away. He asks for the children, and Wetsandon consents. Chuchok takes the children and beats them before Wetsandon’s eyes. 9. Matsi. To prevent Matsi returning in time to chase after the children, Indra delays her return. 10. The Powerful One. Indra disguises himself and asks for Matsi. Wetsandon consents, but Indra returns her to him. 11. The Great King of a Thousand Lives. Wetsandon’s father sees the children and ransoms them from Chuchok, who dies from over-eating on the proceeds. 12. The Six Princes. The children lead an expedition which finds Wetsandon at the hermitage. 13. The City. They return to the city where Wetsandon is restored to the throne and rules until he is 120 years old. 48 Phim’s mother. 49 Traditionally, the scale of the offerings and decorations for each episode was in direct relation to the episode’s length in verses. For example, the sponsor was expected to decorate the wat with the same number of flags and candles as there were stanzas in the episode (Anuman 1975: 286–7). With 101 stanzas, The Children was one of the longest episodes and thus required heavy investment. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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‘The Children? Yes, that’s true. Give it to the bald fellow from Bigfence village. Nai Bun, you know him well. Pop over there.’ Nai Bun went to Khun Chang’s house and presented the request: ‘The Mahachat in thirteen episodes will be performed at Wat Palelai on the next holy day. Sir, would you not like to show your devotion and make some merit? Siprajan and Phim have the Matsi episode. There is still no taker for The Children.’ Khun Chang laughed with pleasure. ‘I’d be happy to have the great, great episode! Don’t spare a thought about the expense. Even if it costs me some five chang50 I won’t run away. I’ll be born rich in my next life. I’m only too willing to make merit in such a way.’ Nai Bun hastened back happily. Monks were asked to distribute the notice: ‘All thirteen episodes in sequence.’ The villagers began making preparations. Khun Chang was expansive and generous to the point of extravagance. ‘You lot, go and fetch wood and don’t take too long about it. You, weave some hampers51 in preparation. And you, take this cash and buy all the everyday stuff to offer to the monks. Find some good quality cloth to make triple robes. You women, go and find the offerings for the episode. You pound the rice and sift the flour to make wheel sweets.52 Do it straightaway. And don’t stint. I want a hundred of everything. Don’t worry about using lots of oil. Just go and buy some more, and every type of orange and fruit. Cheap or expensive is not a problem. Don’t be stingy and create gossip. I’m considered gentlefolk.’ Siprajan called out, ‘Phim, come over here and give some help.’ She shouted at the servants, ‘Come in here and lend a hand at once.’ They mixed the sweets, coated them in flour, and fried them in sputtering oil. ‘Hey, this fire is too hot! Pull some firewood out.’ I-Khong scooped them up saying, ‘Done to a turn!’ 50 51
™—Ëß, a monetary unit equal to 80 baht. °√–®“¥, krajat is a basketwork receptacle woven from bamboo with a small round base and much
wider mouth. Those used for carrying offerings for the Mahachat were very large and ornate. The rim of the mouth was fashioned in the shape of lotus petals, decorated with colored paper, and hung with tassels (Anuman 1975: 286–7). 52 ¢π¡°ß, khanom kong, bean paste shaped like a chakra wheel of the law, and deep-fried. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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The chamot53 and wheel sweets were laid out neatly. Candles were cut and lined up so they would not get crushed. Shortbread and crackers were tossed in Phetburi54 sugar and placed alongside, looking good. Young rice mixed with flour was deep fried, then hollowed out with a stick for inserting egg, coconut, and sweet palm sugar. ‘When they’re done, pierce them on sticks, Ai-Luk-Khon.’ The crowd of servants milled around, scooping flour, helping one another with this and that, and making a racket like a mask-play.55 Siprajan scolded and chivvied them, ‘Pass them over carefully! Don’t throw them or they’ll break!’ The sponsor of the Ten Blessings episode woke and got up before the cock. As dawn broke, he rushed over to Wat Palelai with all the offerings for the episode, and laid them out on trays in the preaching hall. He lit incense and candles to offer to the Buddha and left them smoldering. The abbot chanted precepts, spoke of sharing the merit, and recited the Pali junniyabot.56 The episodes of the Ten Blessings, Himaphan, and The Gifts were soon over, and the stage was set up anew for the Great Forest episode by Abbot Jai. When that was over, he returned to the kuti. Khun Chang woke late and washed his face in a panic. ‘You lot, come over here everybody. Oh, I’ve forgotten the betel for the episode.57 53
¢π¡™–¡¥, coconut rolled in sugar, coated with flour, and fried. These sweets could be decorated with colored flour to make them attractive as festival offerings (Anuman 1975: 287–8). 54 æ√‘∫æ√’, Phripphri, an old spelling. Then and now, Phetburi is famous for palm sugar. 55 ‚¢π, khon, a dramatic genre in which masked actors play stories from the Ramakian, the Thai version of the Ramayana. This genre probably developed in the middle Ayutthaya era, and was enthusiastically revived by the court in early Bangkok. 56 ®ÿ≥≥’¬∫∑, phrases from the Pali version of the story, pronounced at the start of the episode and other break-points. It was considered more meritorious to chant the Mahachat in Pali, but few could understand it. Sometimes, all or part of the Pali text would be chanted by the monks prior to the Thai recitation. The junniyabot were probably retained in the Thai version to allow some listeners to follow the story in the Pali text, or just as a stylized reminder of the more meritorious Pali version (Nidhi 2005: 204–7). 57 The ‘betel’ here means a bowl or tray which the sponsor of the episode offered while paying respects to the Buddha image in the hall used for the chanting. This tray contained paan leaves folded and inserted in a leaf pouch, whole betelnuts, candles, and incense. Sponsors showed off by adding other decorations (such as the carved figures mentioned below) to catch the eye (Anuman 1975: 298). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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I’ve been a widower for many years, and there’s nobody to do these things. Shaping animals from papaya has me stumped. Is there anybody here who can do it?58 If there’s no one in our household, we’ll have to go and find some carvers elsewhere.’ Nang Meuang spoke up, ‘Me. I can give it a try. I’ll soon get the hang of it.’ They bought a Chinese basket of papaya, and in no time she sliced them all and carved them into shapes. At the top were placed folded banana leaves59 and bunches of mulberry60 seeds. In front was a carving of an abbot riding on an elder, novices in the middle, and then vultures eating a corpse. Rak flowers were slotted in among them, mixed up with daoruang.61 It all looked very odd. Khun Chang was delighted. As reward, he gave Nang Meuang a ring made of brass, which was not that expensive but worth several feuang.62 She took it and put it on her finger. He then ordered the servants to carry the offerings for the episode in a noisy procession along the road so people would see. ‘Be careful with all the offerings for the episode. If you drop or lose anything, I’ll kick you along like a ball.’ The servants carried the offerings to Wat Palelai, shouting as they went. The offerings were set down in rows in front of the main sala. Everybody milling around there in a noisy crowd had to take a look. Phim Philalai summoned the servants. ‘Make the betel for the episode for me. Go and fetch betelnut, paan leaf, and cotton.’ They brought lots of papaya to slice and carve, added color to make the figures bright and attractive, and set up the whole display as a mountain range.
58
Figures carved in raw papaya had become a customary part of the offerings at the festival. The point of this passage is to show Khun Chang’s crassness in flaunting his wealth without understanding the aesthetics. 59 ∫—ß„∫, bang bai, the rows of neatly folded segments of banana leaf used in making baisi, kratong, and similar decorations. 60 ¬Õ, yo, morinda citrifolia, noni, Indian mulberry. 61 Calotropis gigantean (rak) and tagetes erecta (daoruang). These two flowers are very different and would not usually be used together in decoration. 62 ‡øóôÕß, one eighth of a baht. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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The carvings included a lion with a full face standing in a majestic pose; deities worshipping Brahma; Indra soaring through the air holding a crystal; and Narai mounted on Garuda,63 leaping across the sky. ‘Carry them along for everyone to see.’ The servants set off immediately, and put them on display at the sala. The lay faithful crowded around to look. ‘Oh, they did everything and so beautifully!’ ‘All that hard work was certainly not wasted!’ ‘The animals look real, both the standing ones and the sitting ones.’ ‘Outstanding! As neat as a painting.’ ‘They know how to carve!’ The whole preaching hall was full of loud praise. Approaching the time, Khun Chang ordered his servants to take turns carrying water to fill a big tub to the brim. He bathed cheerfully. Servants crowded around scrubbing him until the grime flowed away, then rubbed his body all over with turmeric. But his skin was still as green as water hyacinth. ‘Quick, the Great Forest episode is almost finished.’ Back in his room, he dissolved dinso powder in water and patted it all over his body, making a pattern on his belly. He scooped up pomade,64 shaped his hair like a wing, then swept it across to hide his bald pate, but the middle was still as bare as a buffalo’s water-hole.65 ‘My head’s a disaster! I’m so ashamed.’ He put on a yok in a kanok66 pattern with golden swans, like a royal garment that nobody else could possibly have. He added a woolen67 waist sash embroidered with gold and flower garlands, and a pink handkerchief to dab away perspiration.
63
ÿ∫√√≥, suban, Suparna, a name for Garuda, the mythical bird which is the mount of Vishnu, who is called Narai throughout the poem. 64 ¡ÿÀπà“¬, munai, a hair cosmetic, made from Tani oil (a type of coconut oil) mixed with soot and lime. 65 Farmers often make a water hole in their rice fields for buffalo to keep cool. The animals’ wallowing denudes the surrounding area, creating a bald patch. 66 °π°, a traditional flame-like motif. 67 à“π, san, from the Persian word, shal (and possibly further back from Syriac, sa’r), which is the origin of the English word, shawl. Shal meant a patterned twill-woven fabric made from spun wool using a technique similar to European tapestry weaving. Earlier the word applied to rough, thick fabrics but later was mainly used for cloth made from fine goat-hair, such as those known as cashmere or pashmina (Floor 1999: 296–7, 314). In Siam, the term seems to have acquired more broad meaning as a fine, expensive fabric, generally made from wool or similar material. In modern Thai, the word means ‘wool.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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‘Today, I’ll dress to the hilt. I’ll show off to Phim and make her smile.’ On his little finger, he put a snake ring in wasp-nest shape; on his index finger, a diamond ring; and on his wedding finger, a ring decorated with rubies. ‘Like this, Phim is almost mine! This set of rings with five jewels belonged to my father. The people of Suphan will quail before such a rich man!’ He crept over to look at himself in the big mirror. ‘Ugh! My head is as horrid as a shithole.68 Yet a ghastly head can still belong to a gentleman. You lot, come here and take the mats. About ten of you, come with me. But follow my arse and don’t go off anywhere. Ai-Jit, carry the water jug and the nak69 betel tray, and don’t give yourself airs and graces.’ Khun Chang came down from the house, and strutted along with his head in the air, nodding in greeting to bystanders. Before long he was bathed in sweat like a butting buffalo. At the main preaching hall, the lay elders were gathered in front. They made way for Khun Chang to enter. His servants laid a reed mat, and Khun Chang sat down, striking a dignified pose. A group of friends came over to greet him and chat. Some of them had big mouths and talked too much. ‘My god, why are you sweating like this?’ Khun Chang was offended and snapped his face away. ‘People should not pass remarks.’ He looked away and called for pillows, pointing his hand, ‘Hey you!’ He ordered his servants, ‘Pile up the offerings for the episode - all the taro, potato, white sugarcane, red sugarcane, water melon, pomelo, maduk, mafai,70 chamot and wheel sweets, red sticky rice, touchstone sweets,71 clam sweets,72 and big melons. Put things in order outside the sala! Don’t muddle things up! Bring in the monks’ robes and bowls, the mats, mattresses, seats and cushions! And don’t hide away the betel tray for the episode! Place it out in front of the tray for the triple robes.’
68 69
≈àÕߧ’,Ë long khi, a hole cut in the floor of a house on stilts. π“°, an alloy of gold, silver, and copper.
70
The fruits of Beilschmiedia roxburghiana and baccaurea ramiflora. À‘πΩπ∑Õß, hin fon thong, a round sweet with a dimpled top filled with some grated coconut, named for similarity to a goldsmith’s touchstone. 72 §√Õß·§√ß, khrong khraeng, flour paste shaped as clam shells, then either cooked in coconut milk, or dusted with sugar and fried. 71
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Incense and votive candles were lit. The abbot made the recitation. The lay elders and faithful lit candles and offered flowers in worship. Phim said, ‘It’s almost time for our episode. Let’s go, mother.’ She hurried off to bathe and change her clothes. She briskly rubbed turmeric all over her body, shaped her hairline, put oil on her hair, and powdered her face so it glowed like the sheen of a gourd. She polished her teeth with chi73 so they glinted shiny jet black in the mirror. She put on a yok with a kanok pattern on a red background and a shimmering golden kanyaeng74 motif. She wore a soft inner sabai75 in pink, overlaid by an elegant ruby-colored cloth with gold stripes and brilliant flowers, bound to delight the men. She added a diamond ring decorated with rubies, and a snake ring with a moving tongue on her little finger. ‘Come here, kids. Bring the nak betel set and the enamel bowl.’ The servants powdered themselves, got dressed, combed and oiled their hair, and trimmed their hairlines. When everything was ready, they assembled in front of the house in good time. When Siprajan saw her daughter, she said, ‘I’m already grey-haired and past it. Why should I get dressed up? A Tani76 yok and an upper cloth with gold flowers are enough.’ Her daughter laughed out loud. ‘Mother dear, aren’t you ashamed you’ll look out of place?’ Siprajan looked at herself and cried, ‘Karma, karma!’ She changed into a lower cloth in black check, and a pakoma as upper cloth. Siprajan led the way with Phim following, looking as beautiful as a court lady. The ranks of servants brought up the rear, carrying the offerings for the episode.
73
™’Ë, an old toothpaste made from ground charcoal and salt.
74
A symmetrical pattern with intertwined flowers and stems inside a grid of squares or diamonds. In the eighteenth century, cotton dyed in this pattern was made on the Coromandel coast of India for shipment to Siam (Choti 2005: 59; Barnes 2002: 74–7). 75 A woman’s breastcloth. 76 Meaning Pattani, an important port and Muslim settlement mid-way down the eastern coast of the peninsula. Cloth from Pattani was popular in the late Ayutthaya era (Maxwell 1990: 249). Near Wat Lotchong, at the northeast corner of Ayutthaya on the opposite bank, was a settlement of Pattani people who wove and dyed silk and cotton cloth (Khamhaikan: 180). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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The preaching hall was bright with incense and candles. Siprajan and Phim laid out their mats, sat down, and happily prostrated to pay their respects. The monk finished recitation of The Children episode. The bald-headed sponsor rushed to make his offerings while a music ensemble played. Phim and Siprajan had their servants carry in the offerings for their episode - almsbowls, cloth-bags, articles for everyday use, trays, triple robes, oranges, many other fruits, and various sweets. Everything was set out in rows with the betel for the episode in front. The music ensemble played louder. The abbot summoned Novice Kaeo and said, ‘I’ve been sick for several days, and I’m not up to it. You give the Matsi recitation instead of me.’ Novice Kaeo paid his respects and rushed off in a flap. He grabbed Matsi and began reading. He memorized the words and practiced reciting in the style of his teacher, until he had got it down pat. He even committed the Pali verses and junniyabot accurately to memory. Then he called Novice On. ‘Come and carry the text for me.’77 Novice On agreed and went off to arrange his colored chicken-skin upper cloth. Then he paid his respects to the texts, wrapped them up, and waited ready at the stairs. It was evening. To give the recitation, Novice Kaeo changed clothes, putting on a novitiate robe which clung tightly to his body. He went to pay respects to Master Mi. Leaving the abbot’s room, he prayed to enchant beeswax, and rubbed it on his lips.78 With Novice On carrying the text in front, he walked from the kuti to the sala. He sat at a lower level than the monks and composed himself. His eyes slid sideways and saw Phim’s soft face. She glanced up and their eyes met. Shyly, she bowed her head and kept still.
77
The text, written on bailan, would be treated with great respect, and always carried to the recitation in front to emphasize its greater importance over the reciter. 78 He applied the enchanted beeswax to his lips to enhance the impact of his words on the listeners. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Mural from Wat Palelai, Suphanburi, by Acharn Muangsing Janchai, reproduced with permission
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Novice Phlai repeated a love formula to join their hearts and eyes by special power. The force of the mantra made Phim succumb and drew her gaze irresistibly to his. As their eyes met, he nodded to her with warmth and desire welling in his heart. ‘Please come closer. The abbot is not coming. He’s sick, so he had me come to give the recitation. As patron of this episode, what do you say?’ Phim smiled and replied, ‘Whoever does it, it’s the same to me. I’m not saying whether master or novice is bad or good. As long as it follows the Pali.’79 While speaking, she smiled, and met his eyes. She pushed the betel tray to Saithong,80 who knelt and placed it as offering. The novice went up to the pulpit, picked up the text, cradled it carefully in his hands, and read faultlessly from the junniyabot up to the passage when Queen Matsi comes across a lion and tigers on her path; she goes on begging to pass by until night falls and a moon shines brightly;81 she reaches the hermitage, and is chilled not to find her beloved children; sobbing with grief, she sets out to search for them. The sound of ‘Sathu!’82 rose from the audience in unison as all were inspired to devotion. Nang Phim took off her ruby upper cloth, folded it, paid respects three times, and joyfully laid it on the offering tray. She remained prostrate with hands clasped offering prayers full of devotion.
79
A stock phrase meaning as long as it’s accurate. The Mahachat, as other Jataka, is written as being related by the Buddha himself, and thus the words are considered especially sacred. To approximate this sacredness, any translation from the Pali must be absolutely faithful. This phrase probably dates from a time when the reciting monk read from a Pali text and improvised the Thai on the spot. 80 Saithong appears here with no explanation of who she is. Over the next few chapters, it becomes clear she is someone who has been adopted into the family to serve as a companion to Phim - part foster-sister, part maid. 81 To test Wetsandon, Indra delays Matsi’s return until it is too late for her to chase after the children. He transforms three deities into two tigers and a lion, which block her path. Matsi pleads with the animals, but they wait until nightfall before relenting. Arriving back at the hermitage, Matsi is distraught to find the children missing. Wetsandon refuses to speak. She searches around all night in despair, returning to the hermitage at dawn. She collapses, and Wetsandon believes she has died. After a time, she recovers and Wetsandon tells her the truth, which she accepts. This is one of the most poignant passages of the story. 82 A word meaning ‘good’ or ‘I approve,’ uttered to show appreciation during sermons, recitations, etc. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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‘I salute the almighty power. I offer alms. May I have rank and servants into the future, and be rich and joyful in every way.’ She sat up and listened attentively. Khun Chang saw her offer the cloth. ‘Oho! Even a woman can do that! If I sit here quietly, I’ll lose face by comparison. People will gossip.’ He spoke out, ‘Sathu mothana!83 Such deep devotion! Even though I’m not the patron of this episode, I feel moved to great piety.’ He turned to look at Phim with a smile, and took off his embroidered upper cloth. He folded it, raised it above his head in clasped hands, and made a prayer. ‘I salute the almighty power who has a heart of loving kindness. Please grant fulfillment to my mood of love, quickly, as my heart desires, within this evening, without fail.’ He placed his cloth beside that of Phim. ‘May the ruby cloth not escape me. May it miraculously float this way, before too long, within the evening of this day.’ Phim felt disgusted and gravely offended. She clicked her tongue, spat in shame, and ordered servants to pick up the tray. I-Phrom and I-Bu understood their mistress’ feeling. They walked straight over, lifted up the tray with the cloth, and passed it over the head of Khun Chang in the middle of the sala. Khun Chang stared angrily into their eyes. Saithong cried out, ‘Hey, I-Phrom! The end of the cloth brushed the gentleman’s head. Didn’t you see? Your manners are so wretched! Let’s go, Phim. Don’t listen.’ Phim strode out. ‘I’m so ashamed. Really and truly. Oh dear me. He’s worse than a farmer’s son but knows no better!’ She returned straight home, cursing him. After Phim left, Novice Kaeo was love-struck and in turmoil. He skipped through the rest of the recitation, cutting it short.
83
‚¡∑π“, another cry of affirmation. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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He reached the final verses of the episode, brought the recitation to an end, and came straight down from the pulpit. They launched quickly into the Powerful One episode,84 and continued until all thirteen episodes were complete. The lay faithful, male and female, poured water onto the ground from cups and bowls, expressed their appreciation of the abbot, and left at the second watch.85 Deep in the night, a gentle wind blew and a brilliant moon shone. In the quiet stillness of Wat Palelai, the little novice could not get her out of his troubled mind. ‘Oh my soft, fair Phim, after you left, did you think of me at all? Or did you forget me without any feeling?’ He moaned and groaned over half the night. ‘What must I do to get Phim?’ His mind would not stay still. He sobbed, ‘I love you so much I want to swallow you, Phim. All the millions of other women don’t interest me at all. If we can share a pillow, I’ll sweep you up and enjoy you so there’s no single night without love. What must I do, precious Phim, to talk with you just a couple of words? I don’t even know where you live. When I met you it was almost dark. I saw your face only in the middle of making the recitation. That accursed Khun Chang messed things up. You took the servants off home in a boiling rage. I lost my cool and made lots of mistakes in the reading. After you disappeared, I felt so miserable. I’ll seek you out by guesswork tomorrow morning. Even if you’re hidden away in some hill or valley, I’ll find you wherever you are.’ The more he thought of her, the worse it got. The cock hastened the passing of the night. He hugged Phim’s ruby cloth, kissing it, stroking it, and inhaling its fragrance to bathe his heart, becoming ever more mixedup all through the night until almost the first streaks of the sun.
84
—°√∫√√æ, Sakkarabap, meaning the chapter of the Powerful One (sakra), one of the appellations
of Indra. 85
Õ߬“¡, song yam. The night is counted in three watches, the first running from 6 to 9 p.m., the second from 9 p.m. to midnight, and the third from midnight to 3 a.m. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Near dawn, while Phim was sleeping soundly, she began to dream. She and Saithong were swimming briskly across a stretch of water; at the shore, her feet touched and she stood up; Saithong handed her a golden lotus flower; she inhaled its fragrance, awash with joy, wrapped it in her upper cloth, and made her way back across the water. As the dream ended, she woke up. Missing the golden lotus, she groped around for it. ‘Oh what a pity! It’s gone.’ She promptly shook Saithong awake and told her the dream. ‘What’s going to happen? Tell me what it means, please, pretty please!’ Saithong knew the meaning without a shadow of doubt. ‘I’ve been noticing things for some time. Don’t be worried, my darling. Dreaming about having a lotus means you’re going to have a lover. It seems this man isn’t far away, and perhaps you’ll get him very soon. The fact that you dreamed I picked the lotus and handed it to you probably means you’ll depend on me in the time ahead. If you get what you desire, please be kind enough to let me have some benefit too.’ Phim cried out, ‘Oh, Saithong! Why do you come up with this interpretation? Where did you see any hint of such a thing in the years we’ve been together? Have you ever seen me all het up and restless and irritable? Is that why you’re teasing me? I may have dreamed of a golden lotus and it may still be there in my mind’s eye, but I don’t agree this means a man for me. In the dream it was you who picked the lotus. If the man goes straight for you, I’ll laugh. Please give an interpretation more to my liking and you’ll get a pot of silver or pot of gold.’ Thinking of Phim, Khun Chang could not go to sleep. He tossed and turned, pined and longed. ‘Oh my Phim Philalai! When you shouted at me, it sounded so mellow and bright. You’re so elegant with your slender waist. Among thousands of girls, there’s none other the same.
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You were wearing a ruby upper cloth trimmed with gold over your green inner sabai.86 Your arm is shapely, and your bottom enchanting. Your eyes were beautiful when you glanced my way. What must I do to hold you tight! I’ll raise you over my head. I’ll fondle and caress you all the time. I’ll place food in your mouth to eat, provide you with an elephant to ride, surround you with perfume while you sleep, make you a shower-spray to bathe, and not allow you to walk on the earth lest it irritate you. I love you as much as my own life, but I worry I’m wasting my thoughts, as they’ll come to nothing. I fear you’ll hate my ugly body. Even if you loved me, you’d worry about your reputation. Stop thinking about it. Why fret now? Let’s find out first whether things turn out well or badly. If you’re free, I’ll find some way to plead my case so you soften up.’ He opened his mosquito net. ‘Is it dawn yet? Oh, the moon’s still high in the sky. This is a sign that I’ll find my radiant Ketsuriyong87 for sure!’
References Anuman Rajadhon, Phraya. 1975. Prapheni kieo kap thesakan (Customs associated with festivals). Bangkok: Social Science Association of Thailand. Anuman Rajadhon, Phraya. 1980. ‘Thet-Maha-Chat.’ In Essays on Thai Folklore, Bangkok: Social Science Association Press of Thailand. Barnes, Ruth et al. 2002. Trade, Temple and Court: Indian Textiles from the Tapi Collection. Mumbai: India Book House. Bidyalankarana, Prince. 1926. ‘The pastime of rhyme-making and singing in rural Siam.’ Journal of the Siam Society, 20. Bidyalankarana, Prince. 1941. ‘Sebha recitation and the story of khun chang khun phan.’ Journal of the Siam Society, 33. Choti Kalyanamit. 2005. Phojananukrom sathapattayakam lae silpa kieo neung (Dictionary of architecture and related arts). Bangkok: Meuang Boran.
86
Her sabai was pink, but this passage is painting Khun Chang as a buffoon. The heroine in a popular story titled Suwannahong, composed as an outer drama by Prince Phuwanetnarit (1801–1856), a poet and son of King Rama II. The hero Suwannahong flies a kite which comes down in Mattan land at the palace of Queen Ketsuriyong. Suwannahong follows the string, meets her, and makes love to her (K&NT: 658; Nidhi 2005: 49). 87
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Floor, Willem. 1999. The Persian Textile Industry in Historical Perspective 1500–1925. Paris: L’Harmattan. Gerini, G. E. 2005 [1904]. ‘On Siamese proverbs and idiomatic expressions.’ Journal of the Siam Society, 93. Jory, Patrick. 2002. ‘The Vessantara Jataka, barami, and the Boddhisatta-kings.’ Crossroads, 16, 2. Kanchanakphan (Khun Wichitmatra) and Nai Tamra na Muang Tai (Pleuang na Nakhon). 2002 [1961]. Lao reuang Khun Chang Khun Phaen (Telling the story of Khun Chang Khun Phaen). Bangkok: Amarin (cited as K&NT). Kasem Sibunruang, J. 1960. La femme, le héros et le villain: Poème populaire thai. Khun Chang, Khun Phen. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1960. Khamhaikan khun luang ha wat (Testimony of the king who took refuge in a wat). 2004. Bangkok: Sukhothai Thammathirat University. Manat Ophakun, ed. 2001. Prawat wat khae (History of Wat Khae). Distributed at the wat, 8th printing, 1 August 2001. Manat Ophakun. 2004. Prawatisat meuang suphan (History of Suphanburi). Bangkok: Silpa Watthanatham, 2004. Maxwell, Robyn. 1990. Textiles of Southeast Asia: Tradition, Trade and Transformation. Melbourne and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nidhi Eoseewong. 2005. Pen and Sail: Literature and History in Early Bangkok. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Prem Chaya (Prince Prem Purachatra). 2 vols, 1955, 1959. The Story of Khun Chang Khun Phaen. Bangkok: Chatra Books. Sepha khun chang khun phaen. 3 vols, 1917–8. Bangkok: Vajirayana Library. Sunthon Phu. 2000. Chiwit lae ngan khong sunthon phu (Life and works of Sunthon Phu). Bangkok: Khurusapha. Suphon Bunnag. 1975. Thi raleuk nai ngan phrarachathan phloengsop nang suphon bunnag (Memorial volume for the cremation of Suphon Bunnag). Bangkok. Thep Sarikabut. 5 vols, n.d. Phra khamphi phrawet (Sacred texts and formulas). Bangkok: Utsahakam kan phim. Wenk, Klaus. 1985. Studien zur Literatur der Thai: Texte und Interpretationen von und zu Sunthon Phu und seinem Kreis. Hamburg and Bangkok: DK. Wenk, Klaus. 1986. ‘Some remarks about the life and works of Sunthon Phu.’ Journal of the Siam Society, 74.
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IRREGULAR DATING IN LAN NA: AN ANOMALY RESOLVED J. C. Eade
Abstract A large number of Lan Na records from the Chulasakarat 850s (1490s AD) appear to be disrupted when considered in isolation. And there are so many exhibiting the same “error” (a one-day difference in reckoning) that one suspects there may be a single reason for it. Since the geographic range of these inscriptions argues against it being a local idiosyncrasy, one looks to the system used to determine the calendar—and there indeed is an explanation, since a rule governing how the calendar was to be organised was (legitimately) broken for the first time in the Era. An explanation is given of what was involved, as a preliminary to a table showing which inscriptions accommodated the rare event and which did not. Appendices deal also with three inscriptions that involve difficulties of another kind. There was an unusual amount of inscriptional activity in Lan Na in the Chulasakarat 850s (from the late 1480s AD) and the inscriptions are of particular interest from one aspect, in that while many of the dates appear to be irregular when considered in isolation and judged against the norm of reckoning, when viewed together many are found to have a common basis. Indeed, the explanation for their apparent irregularity allows us to categorise them as exhibiting a difference in common rather than an error in common. The technicalities that allow us to gain a clear picture of the situation involve initially the way in which the civil days in the calendar relate to the lunar days of waxing and waning. Just as with the years, a series of ten words and a series of twelve were paired together. The ten-series is :
°“∫ ¥—∫ √«¬ ‡¡◊Õß ‡ªï° °—¥ °¥ √â«ß ‡µà“ °“ The twelve-series is:
„®â ‡ªÑ“ ¬’ À¡â“ ’ „ â –ßâ“ ‡¡Á¥ —Èπ ‡√â“ ‡ Á¥ „§â The combinations are limited to 60 since only odd with odd and even with even are allowed; but the sixty pairs are themselves combined with the weekday, so that a Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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complete cycle, from Sunday kaap cai to Saturday kai khai, runs to 420 days and no combination can appear twice in a year. Both the cyclic pairs and the weekdays tie in directly with the ahargana (elapsed days in the era), which gives them a fixed and secure relation to a given date. This means, too, that they have a correspondence with a Western date, as having the day of the week in common. But it is not also the case with luni-solar calendars that a given Western date must have one single lunar date answering to it. There was, for instance, a rule in Thailand that if a lunar year had an extra month, it could not also have an extra day; whereas in Burma a lunar year could have an extra day only if it also had an extra month. Thus the Thai lunar calendar could differ for much of the time from the Burmese lunar calendar and both would not necessarily be in agreement with Indian reckoning.1 These potential differences make it necessary to be on the alert for what are genuine differences in reckoning as opposed to seeming or palpable errors in the record. And it is essential to have clear and dependable benchmarks by which to assess what was the norm for a given system. In this regard the Northern Thai inscriptions are particularly useful, since they contain as standard elements extra information that in one sense is redundant but in a more important sense is invaluable, because all these “superfluous” elements (anything beyond day-month-year) must constitute a coherent whole and so serve as checks upon one another. A rogue element is one that cannot simultaneously be true if the other elements in a record hold good and combine to tell against it. The apparent problem with some of the Lan Na dates from CS 850 onwards is that they consistently appear to be running one day out by standard reckoning. The anomaly can be seen in inscription Phayao 6. It contains the date 3 waxing Asvina of CS 855. The stone also exhibits a duang chata (horoscope) flanked by two numbers that have been variously read: Silpakorn (17.4; repeated in Prachum Charuk Müng Phayao2 deciphered 10457 and 31466 (5 digits); Lanna Inscriptions3 detected 10457 and 312465 (correctly, and with 6 digits). This latter, the ahargana, combines with the nakshatra (rksa) specified as Citra, to make it plain that Friday, 13 September 1493 is intended. But it is also clear on the stone that the day is labelled “3” waxing, and by standard reckoning 3 waxing comes to Saturday, 14 September, the next day. This one-day difference is evident not only by reference to the benchmark one uses to check the dates, but also by contrast to a
1
The primary difference between Indian modes and Southeast Asian modes was that in India adjustments to the lunar calendar were made as they fell due, whereas in Southeast Asia adjustments were made only at fixed points. 2 Prachum Charuk Müng Phayao: Inscriptional History of Phayao, [Bangkok, 1995], p. 136. 3 Lanna Inscriptions, Part I: Inscriptions from Chiang Rai, Nan, Phayao, and Phrae. 2 vols, James Thompson Foundation, Bangkok, 1991, p. 111. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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number of records from the same time and region that do not exhibit the one-day lag. The task, then, is to find a reason, perhaps geographic and in any case systematic, to explain the anomaly. And as it happens a convincing explanation does comes to hand, one that involves an event of very rare occurrence, not encountered up to this date in the Thai system of reckoning. To understand what was involved it is necessary to examine the system by which the chief problem inherent in a luni-solar calendar was handled. We can say in round terms, sufficient to make the problem visible, that a solar year has 365.25 days in it and a lunar year normally has 354 days in it (12 times 29.5 days, distributed as alternate months of 29 and 30 days). Again in round terms, this means that the lunar year falls 11 days short of the solar year, so some means has to be found to make up the shortfall. This is where intercalation comes into play. The solution was to divide the years up into blocks of 19 years and 57 (3 times 19) years. In this longer span there would be 20819 solar days, but if every lunar year had only 354 days, there would be only 20178 lunar days in the same length of time.4 The lunar calendar would therefore be a massive 641 days behind. The solution was to find a way of inserting 641 extra days into the lunar calendar, in a manner similar to our needing, on a much lesser scale, to give February an extra day once every four years. Clearly with a number this large the backlog of 641 days could be substantially cleared by inserting entire lunar months into the reckoning (of 30 days each in a second Ashadha month); and it was found that the frequency needed to be 7 extra months in every 19 years, amounting to 21 extra months in every 57 years, or 630 days in all. This left a remainder of 11 days still be to be found, and this gap was taken up by adding an extra day, on the frequency of 11 in 57, to the month of Jyestha, which then would contain 30 days rather than its normal 29.5 There was a fixed pattern at any one time for the insertion of these extra months such that, for instance, some Northern Thai MS calendars from the nineteenth century routinely record the year’s ‡»… (remainder), i.e. its value modulo 19 that indicates whether or not this is an adhikamas year. It would be such if the remainder answered to years 2, 4, 7, 10, 12, 15, 18 in the given block. The problem of tabulating the years that were adhikawan was more complicated, partly because
4
The lunar days in this context are not “tithi”, which Southeast Asia largely ignored, but successions of waxing and waning days in the month (measured in fact as “nights”). 5 Since it was the lunar months that governed the year, it could be said in more general terms that the overall objective was to prevent the lunar months from falling by degrees out of step with the seasons. It is an unresolved problem why, as will be seen later, what is now geographically Thailand variously adopted three different months to be called their first month, ranging from September to November. Some consider that the reason must be agricultural. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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two lots of four and one of only three were required, and since they had to be interspersed evenly between the adhikamas years this left many alternatives open.6 Of course there were more technical ways of determining intercalary position, which involved examining the values of two of the five elements that give a year its profile. If we use inscription Phayao 6 as an example, we find as follows (planetary position here is exactly the same as on the stone):7
The two numeric values already mentioned as being recorded on the stone are (or were intended to be) the ahargana and the masaken; and the two numbers that would indicate whether or not the year is adhikawan (called calendar “B” in the table below) are the kammacabala and the uccabala. It was their value on astronomical New Year’s Day that counted, and it so happened that in this year the two numbers were, respectively, 242 and 137.8 One of the rules generating an
6
In the nineteenth-century MS calendars there is a definite pattern, running on occasion counter to the position theory would determine, but the distribution adopted is by no means the only feasible solution despite the constraints that symmetry imposes. 7 The diagram was generated solely by giving our computer program “SEAC” the three values 855-asvina-2. It can be downloaded at [email protected]. 8 This can in fact be deduced. It will be seen that the number of days into the year is 168. Now, the kammacabala increases by 800 units per day, where 800 * 168 is 134400. If the current value is 134642 it must therefore have begun at 242. The avoman increases by 11 units per day up to 692=0, where 137 + (168 *11) - (692*2) = 601 as required. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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adhikawan year was that the avoman had to be 137 or less, and this condition was satisfied by CS 855. But remarkably, for the first time in the CS Era this value generated a twelfth adhikawan year in its block of 57 years. Now, any person using a mnemonic or a rule of thumb similar to the remainder value for the adhikamas years would miss this unique event; and even those who saw that the avoman value was indeed 137 could well imagine that something was wrong with the supposed rule. The consequence of missing this extra day falling at the end of Jyestha would be as follows: with adhikawan:
without adhikawan:
Thur kaa sai
Jyestha 29
Jyestha 29
Fri kaap sanga
Jyestha 30
Ashadha 1
Sat dap met
Ashadha 1
Ashadha 2
The failure to register the extra day would cause the reckoning to fall one day behind the norm, which would be emphasised by the cyclic day combination being also in arrears (a valuable check). And it is this one-day default that most, though not quite all, the Lan Na inscriptions that do not conform to expectation exhibit. Before the list of dates is presented there is one other technicality requiring consideration. This involves the Thai habit of using numbers in preference to Sanskrit names for the lunar months. If we consider Caitra as being the start of the month sequence, its numeric equivalent in the South is 5, in the North it is primarily 7, but in parts of the North it is 6. Some Northern records give both a number and a name, which makes the given system clear, and it is also sometimes revealed by the numeral for the intercalary month Ashadha, which may appear as 88, 99, or 1010. Finding a designation for these three systems is unexpectedly complicated: my own solution has been to designate them by the places with which, in Thailand, they can be associated: Sukhothai (Skth), Keng Tung (KT) and Chiang Mai (ChM).9 In the period commencing in CS 855 the one-day dislocation prevailed: of the first 26 inscriptions listed below, only 8 conform to theory and so imply that the extra day has been included; but of the last 11 inscriptions, none fails to conform to theory.
9
There is, to my eye, no clear grouping of the inscriptions that recognised the extra day with either region or the numeric style of the lunar month. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Dates that comply with the theoretical computation and observe the extra day do not have a weekday entry under their Western date (col. 4).10 cycles lunar date complete / (1 waxing = 16, etc.) year in cycle
weekday / cyclic day
year type11
Western date
place12
44:18
854 Vaisakha 3: Friday visakha duan 7 (KT) kaa rao (10)
1492 Mar 30
C
Chiang Mai Wat Tapotharam
44:18
854 Karttika 27: duan yi (ChM)
Friday kaap cai (1)
1492 Nov 16
C
Phayao 4 Wat Wisuttharam
44:19
855 Asvina duan 12 (KT)
Friday dap plao (2)
1493 Sep 13 Sat rawai yi (3)
B
Phayao 6 Wat Nang Mun
45:1
856 Asvina 12: hura duan 11, Thai duan chieng (Skth / ChM)
Appendix A
A
Phayao 26 Wat Aram Pa Noi
45:2
857 Jyestha 8: jyestha, duan 9 (ChM)
Appendix B
C
Phayao 27 Wat Li
45:2
857 Sravana 9: hura duan 9. duan 10, Thai duan 11 (!)
Friday ruang mao
1495 Jul 31
C
Phayao 7 ? Wat Aram Pa Ya
45:2
857 Sravana 15: duan 11 (ChM)
Wednesday rawai san (33)
1495 Aug 6 Thursday müng rao (34)
C
Chiang Rai 2 (1st) Muang
45:2
857 Pausha 1: pusya, Thai duan si (ChM)
Wednesday kat rao (46)
1495 Dec 17 Thursday kot set (47)
C
Phayao 39 Wat Choi Sae
45.2
857 Pausha 13: duan 4 (ChM)
Monday ruang rao (58)
1495 Dec 29 C Tuesday tao set (59)
Chiang Rai 2 (2nd) Muang
45:3
858 Caitra 16: citra, Thai duan 7 (ChM)
Tuesday kaa sai (30)
1496 Mar 30 Wednesday kaap anga (31)
Chiang Mai Wat Rang Ban Nongnamthung
A
10
It is of course possible that some of the dates that follow contain a local error and not a systematic difference; on the whole, however, the dates contain ancillary data that increase their verifiability. 11 Years that are normal are here designated A; years with an extra day are B; and years with an extra month are C. 12 Places are given according to those assigned by the various editions. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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weekday / cyclic day
year type11
Western date
117
place12
45:3
858 Jyestha 2 duan 8 (KT)
Friday pœk yi (15)
1496 May 14 Saturday kat mao (16)
A
Lampang 6 Wat Ban Dan
45:3
858 Jyestha 16 duan 9 (ChM)
Friday tao si (29)
1496 May 28 Saturday kaa sai (30)
A
Phayao 89 Wat Ban Pan
45. 3
858 Ashadha 18 duan 10 (ChM)
Sunday tao set (59)
1496 June 28 Tuesday kaa[p] cai (1)
A
Chiang Rai 2 (3rd) Muang
45:3
858 Sravana 1 duan 11 (ChM)
Sunday rawai cai (13)
1496 Jul 11 Monday mœng pao (14)
A
Chiang Mai 16 Wat Sri Bun Ruang
45:3
858 Bhadrapada 1 duan 11 (KT)
Monday dap sai (42)
1496 Aug 9 Tuesday rawai sanga (43)
A
Chiang Saen Wat Prasat
45:3
858 Margasirsha 19 Wednesday duan 3 (ChM) tao si (29)
1496 Nov 24 Thursday kaa sai (30)
A
Lampang Wat Pa Bong
45:3
858 2 Caitra 10 duan 6 (KT)
Sunday ruang sai (18)
1497 Mar 12 Monday tao sanga (19)
C
Lampang 2 (1st) Wat Phra Dhatu
45:4
859 Bhadrapada 11 duan 10 (Skth)
Wednesday kat mao (16)
1497 Sep 7 C Thursday kot si (17)
Phayao 8 Wat Pa Mai
45:4
859 Margasirsha 21 Thursday duan 3 (Chm) pœk sanga (55)
1497 Dec 15 Friday kat met (56)
Chiang Mai (Silapakorn, 14.5)
45:5
860 Vaisakha 27 duan 7 (KT)
Wednesday ruang mao (28)
1498 May 17 A Thursday tao si (29)
Lampang 2 (2nd) Wat Phra Dhatu
45:6
861 Magha 23 duan 4 (KT)
Thursday pœk san (45)
1500 Jan 24 Friday kat rao (46)
B
Lampang 2 (3rd) Wat Phra Dhatu
45:7
862 1Ashadha 15 duan 9 (KT)
Wednesday mœng mao (4)
1500 Jun 11 Thursday pœk si (5)
C
Nan 2 Wat Phra Koet
45:7
862 Sravana 5 duan 10 (KT)
Friday pœk sanga
1500 Jul 31
C
Lamphun 26 Wat Mahabot
C
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cycles lunar date complete / (1 waxing = 16, etc.) year in cycle
weekday / cyclic day
45:7
862 Margasirsha 15 mikasira, Thai duan chieng (Skth)
45:7
862 Magha 2 Wednesday magha, Thai duan 3 ruang kai (48) (Skth.)
45:8
863 Pausha 9 duan 3 (KT)
45:9
year type11
Western date
Appendix C
place12
C
Lamphun 15 Wat Phra Dhatu Hariphunchai
1501 Jan 21 Thursday tao cai (49)
C
Chiang Mai Wat Sri Suphan Aram (1st)
Friday tao sanga (19)
1501 Dec 18 Saturday kaa met (20)
A
Lampang 2 (4th) Wat Phra Dhatu
864 Jyestha 24 duan 9 (ChM)
Monday [not given]
1502 May 30
A
Lamphun 19 Wat Phaya Ruang, Phayao
45:9
864 Ashadha 13 duan 8 (Skth)
Thursday kaa [met] (20)
1502 June 17 A Friday kaap san (21)
Chiang Mai Wat Sri Suphan Aram (2nd)
45:9
864 Phalguna 6 duan 6 (ChM)
Wednesday kaa rao
1503 Feb 1
A
Chiang Rai 5 Wat Srisutthavasa (1st)
45:9
864 2 Caitra 15 duan 7 (ChM)
Sunday tao cai
1503 Mar 12
A
Chiang Rai 5 Wat Srisutthavasa (2nd)
45:10
865 Vaisakha 4 Thursday visakha, Thai duan 6 kot sanga (Skth)
1503 Mar 30
C
Chiang Mai, Wat Sri Suphan Aram (3rd)
45:10
865 1 Ashadha 27 duan 9 (KT)
Tuesday tao si
1503 Jun 20
C
Phayao 10 Wat Ban Don
45:10
865 Pausha 26 duan 3 (KT)
Friday pœk sanga
1504 Jan 12
C
Lampang 2 (5th) Wat Phra Dhatu
45.11
no record
B
45.12
no record
C
45:13
868 Asvina 24 duan chieng (ChM)
Sunday ruang pao
1506 Oct 11
A
Lamphun 22 Wat Wisuttharam, Phayao
45:14
869 Phalguna 30 duan 5 (KT)
Wednesday pœk si
1508 Mar 1
A
Lamphun 18 Weluwan-aram
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weekday / cyclic day
year type11
Western date
119
place12
45:15
870 Sravana 11 duan 11 (ChM)
Monday mœng met
1508 Aug 7
C
Phayao 11 Wat Phu Po
45:16
871 Ashadha 11 ashadha, duan 8 (Skth)
[Thursday] tao san
1509 June 28
B
Chiang Mai Wat Sri Suphan Aram (4)
45.17
no record
A
45.18
no record
C
45:19
874 Ashadha 17 ashadha, duan 10 (ChM)
Wednesday kot yi
1512 June 30
A
Lamphun 34 Suwanna-aram
46:1
875 Caitra 23 citra, Thai duan 7 (ChM)
Tuesday tao set
1513 Mar 29
B
Phayao 12 Wat Phra Koet
There are five dates in inscription Lampang 2, four of which (CS 858, 860, 861, 863) have not included the extra day, whereas the fifth (CS 865) has; similarly, Wat Sri Suphan Aram has four dates, two of which (CS 862, 864) do not include the extra day and two of which do include it (CS 865, 871). They have it in common to come back into line in their entry for CS 865. It is difficult to see how a return to standard reckoning could have been achieved other than by edict or by general consultation and consensus. Those who employed theory could have assimilated the extra day without even realising that it was unusual; but those who followed the rule of thumb would not have in it any mechanism to accommodate an exception. In short, the error (or, more neutrally, the difference) in reckoning would not simply correct itself. We have the evidence of the Padaeng Chronicle (under CS 934 ff.) for a lengthy and acrimonious dispute about the calendar some eighty years later, but nothing (known at least to this author) about this earlier problem. There is, however, a similar complication mentioned much later, when it is noted by a Chotmaihet Hon for CS 1094 Jyestha 29 (22 June 1732): “Rat, CS 1094. In this year there was an extra day for a second year running”.13 And in that instance there is nothing in the New Year values to indicate where or how the error occurred.
13
Prachum Phongsawadan, vol. 8 (Bangkok, 1808, repr. 1964), p. 113. The Thai is not explicit and says “2 years side-by-side”. But the previous year, CS 1093, had been a regular adhikawan, so the pair of years will have been 1093–4, not 1094–5. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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It is satisfying to be able to find a reason for what could otherwise appear to be a considerable disarray in the Northern record. From a calendrical point of view the Lan Na material is the most interesting of the Thai modes of recording a date and in other respects it exhibits a high degree of accuracy. Detecting the presence or absence of the extra day gives us a different perspective on this supposedly rogue element in the data. Appendix: Month Style versus Irregular Intercalation A: Phayao 26 Dates sometimes contain sufficient information to indicate that for some reason they are one month, rather than one day, out from what would be expected. Phayao 26, for instance, gives Asvina 12 waxing as Saturday pœk set, which is correct for Karttika 12 waxing: 856 Asvina 12 taam Buddhasaasan hura wa duan 11 [= Skth] Thai wa duan chieng [= ChM] ook 12 ... pœk set meng wan 7
Saturday pœk set = Karttika waxing 12 = 1494 October 11
Phayao 26 Wat Aram Pa Noi
The month is here described elaborately: “according to the Buddha-sasana the horas say month 11, the Thai say the first month”, the “first” being the numeric designation of Asvina in Chiang Mai style. And here may lie the confusion: we can imagine a situation in which Karttika was called “month 1”, as it was in the intermediate Keng Tung mode, and then misidentified as Chiang Mai month 1. Once this category mistake had been made, it would be natural to consider its “Buddhist” equivalent to be month 11 and therefore to create an equivalence with Asvina, not Karttika. But the weekday, cyclic day, and rksa all side with Karttika against Asvina. The confusion here as to the month did not also entail the omission of the extra day, and to this extent the inscription is orthodox.
Asvina
Skth 11 KT 12 ChM 1
Karttika
Skth 12 KT 1 ChM 2
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B: Phayao 27 857 Jyestha waxing 8 duan jyestha Thai duan kao ... wan kot yi meng wan athit
Sunday kot yi = 1st Ashadha waxing 8 = 1495 May 31
Phayao 27 Wat Li
The month is given as follows: “month Jyestha, the Thai say month 9”. This is Chiang Mai style, but the ahargana (given correctly in Prachum Charuk Mœng Phayao as 313090) and the cyclic day both belong to 1st Ashadha (= Keng Tung month 9). The text is also specific about the time: “midday plus three measures (bat) of water, rksa 11, called Buppaphaguni”. This is true of 1st Ashadha 8 waxing and so of course not also true of Jyestha, the previous month. Here the difference between the supposed date and the actual one is 31 days: from 27th in order to 58th. It is clear, though, that the same category mistake has been made as in Phayao 26. The numeric value “Thai 9” has been misinterpreted as the Chiang Mai month 9, one before Ashadha as month 10, when the data plainly and solely fits with the Keng Tung month 9, which is also Ashadha. If a monk accustomed to the “Chiang Mai” mode of reckoning got hold of a calendar constructed according to the Keng Tung mode, he would see “9” and assume the intended month was Jyestha, there being nothing in the layout of the document to warn him. To judge by later MS calendars it is necessary to know by their position and value what the various numerals signify. It may be noted that again there is no one-day difference in the count when applied to the intended month:
Jyestha
Skth 7 KT 8 ChM 9
Ashadha
Skth 8 KT 9 ChM 10
C: Lamphun 15 862 Margasirsha Full Moon: mrikasiramaasa ...Thai duan chieng [= Skth] meng wan chandra Thai wan dap met
Monday dap met = Pausha 15 = 1501 January 4
Lamphun 15 Wat Phra Dhatu Hariphunchai
The dislocation here includes a conflict between the month and day against the nakshatra. The month is specified as “Mrikhasira, Thai month one” and the rksa as “Bharani”. Now, Bharani is number 2 and the month Margasirsha is so Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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named because rksa 5: Mrgasira will normally be in operation at Full Moon, and the moon cannot cover the intervening ground (nearly 27˚) in one day. However, the month is also in conflict with the cyclic day combination,: “Meng Monday, Thai kaap med”, which answer to Pausha 15 (and moves even further away from the nakshatra named). This puts in question what element, if any, to privilege in the data. It is sometimes plausible to imagine that the author has turned to the wrong page in an almanac. This time, however, any simple explanation does not work because Pausha in nobody’s month 1:
Margasirsha
Skth KT ChM
1 2 3
Pausha
Skth KT ChM
2 3 4
There is no evidence either way as to whether calendars or almanacs were used or whether dates were calculated from scratch. In the present case, however, one would opt for poor calculation made (to judge by the date of the duang chata at the head of the stone) eight years later. It is unusual to find that of three elements in the data all three are in conflict with one another.14
14
It may be worth mentioning here that the text also includes a vague reference to shadow length. Unfortunately there is no text (at least none known to this author) in which shadow length is combined with reference to a lagna. If there were such a text, it would be possible to deduce the height of the gnomon used for sundials and hence to interpret sundial references. In the case of Wat Phra Yun (Griswold & Prasert, JSS, 62.1 (January 1974)) Billard’s time of “about 9 a.m.” entails a gnomon of just under 9 units for a shadow of 15 units. The Suryasiddhanta iii.2 (ed. Ebenezer Burgess, University of Calcutta, Calcutta, 1935, p. 108) specifies a height of 12 units. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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TEAK LOGGING IN A TRANS-BOUNDARY WATERSHED: AN HISTORICAL CASE STUDY OF THE ING RIVER BASIN IN NORTHERN THAILAND Suphawat Laohachaiboon and Shinya Takeda
Abstract This paper explores the circumstances of teak logging from 1909 to 1924 around the Ing River, in the Mekong watershed. Teak logging in the Ing forests was not a simple phenomenon occurring in a geopolitical vacuum. First, teak logging practices were made possible by the French control of French Indochina, including part of the right bank of the Mekong River, which Siam had ceded to France in 1904. Second, the actual logging operations in this region depended upon the geographical location of the Mekong River. That is, teak logs from the Ing forests could only be transported via the river, which crosses the borders of Siam and French Indochina.
Introduction This paper examines the circumstances of teak logging from 1909 to 1924 around the Ing River, a tributary of the Mekong River, to understand the conditions that restricted and facilitated the logging operations in the trans-boundary area. The plentiful supplies of teak (Tectona grandis) in Southeast Asian countries such as Burma, Indonesia, and Thailand were a magnet for European colonists (Hurst 1990, 245; Peluso et al. 1995, 196). Patterns of teak logging in these countries were influenced to a large extent by German and British scientific forestry, which called for all forest areas to be mapped, enumerated, demarcated, and preserved (Vandergeest 1996, 160-1). However, teak logging in Thailand was exceptional, in that it was practiced not only in the Chao Phraya, the domestic watershed, but also in the watersheds of the Mekong and the Salween, the so-called “international rivers” of today (Figure 1). This study starts with a discussion of the importance of teak as a resource at the end of the nineteenth century and its subsequent implications for political conflicts in Siam, Thailand’s official name until 1939. Then a brief account of the practices of teak logging in the watersheds of the Chao Phraya and the Salween is Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Figure 1
Map of the watersheds of the Chao Phraya, the Salween and the Mekong.
provided, before focusing on the particular conditions of teak logging operations along the Ing River of the Mekong watershed. Background In the past, teak was one of Thailand’s most important natural resources. Also scattered throughout central and southern India, Burma, the upper Mekong territory of Indochina, and Java, teak was the most sought-after timber for shipbuilding in the world during the colonial period, due to its quality and durability (Oliver 1901, 529; Dickson 1908, 170). When British and French colonialists expanded into mainland Southeast Asia, one of their objectives was to obtain teak resources. In British Burma, the British quest for teak timber began in the 1820s, and led to three successive extensions of territorial control, in 1826, 1852, and 1886 (Jorgensen 1980, 81–3). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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During these periods, various unsettled disputes about teak logging interests flared up between the British and the Burmese governments, eventually culminating in the third British invasion, into Upper Burma (Bryant 1997, 206). Due to the ensuing warfare and the concomitant decline of teak supplies in British Burma, the British shifted their sources of teak extraction from British Burma to the Lanna kingdom, a tributary state of Siam (Falkus 1989, 137–8). In Siam, conflicts over teak logging were not dissimilar to those in Burma during the mid-1880s. The result of the Bowring Treaty in 1855, a British treaty that forced Siam to open up to Western colonialism, was that the country became more vulnerable to the extraction of its raw materials, including teak timber. Under the provisions of the Bowring Treaty, the Siamese government lost the right to stipulate its import and export duties, and was forced to concede extraterritorial rights to the British (Lysa 2004, 328). In the 1880s, after teak forests in British Burma had declined, Europeans began scrambling for teak forest concessions, especially in Chiang Mai and other areas in northern Thailand, then known as “Western Laos” or the “Siamese Shan States” (Brailey 1999, 514). Burmese foresters, especially the Shan, were the main concessionaires in the teak logging business, while Chinese and local Lanna people played minor roles. To work the teak forests, the Shan often borrowed large sums of capital from British logging companies, which embarked on the teak business in the Lanna kingdom from 1888. Because the chiefs and local lords in the area traditionally possessed the rights to teak forest concessions, access to teak logging operations required permission from these local chiefs in return for royalties and sometimes a premium paid to the forest owners. Contracts were written on palm leaves, without reference to any official logging regulations (NA r5 M 16/10, 5 May 1902). Often the same forest area was granted to more than one lessee, resulting in indiscriminate cutting of teak (Ingram 1971, 106-110). As a result, the number of conflicts over leases for teak logging between the local lords and the Shan soared. As the Shan were British subjects, this meant that Siam was potentially susceptible to British colonialism. The government of Siam gradually attempted to appease the British government, while at the same time applying its own rule of law to teak forest management. The problem of overlapping teak concessions was addressed in the Anglo-Siamese Treaty (the Chiang Mai Treaty) of 1874, as well as an 1883 treaty. It was cautiously stipulated in both treaties that the Prince of Chiang Mai would prevent forest owners from forging agreements with more than one party in the same teak forest (Le May 1999, 55–6). Also, according to the treaty of 1883, written permission issued by the central government for working teak forests became imperative (Truetanai 2001, 18–9). During the 1880s, the lack of regulations on teak logging operations resulted in large numbers of teak trees being felled without girdling, which caused considerable damage and loss to teak resources. The disorder of forest leases also Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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made it difficult for the government to raise taxes and royalties from the extraction of teak timber. Because of these drawbacks, the government of Siam deemed it necessary to sort out the disorganization of teak forests in the north, in accordance with the ongoing plan to reform the country’s administration. The 1892 administrative reform, enacted by the central government, brought the Royal Forest Department of Siam into existence under the Ministry of the Interior. Established in the province of Chiang Mai, as recommended by H.A. Slade in 1896, the Royal Forest Department was the sole state organization in charge of managing and controlling Siam’s teak logging operations. Its supervising roles were pervasive, although never comprehensive, and were vital in regulating teak logging practices throughout the country from the end of the nineteenth century. The Chao Phraya watershed The Chao Phraya watershed was the main area of teak logging in Lanna. From west to east, it encompassed the Ping, Wang, Yom, and Nan river basins. From 1896 to 1925, 81 per cent of the teak harvested in Lanna was transported along the Chao Phraya River to Bangkok, while 16 per cent was floated down the Salween River to Moulmein in Burma, and 3 per cent down the Mekong River to Saigon in Cochin China (Suehiro 1996, 30). Siam’s teak logging operations were dominated by six foreign logging companies. Of these, four were British-owned (the Borneo Company Limited, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, the Siam Forest Company Limited, and the Louis T. Leonowens Company Limited), one Danish (the East Asiatic Company Limited), and one French (the French East Asiatic Company Limited). The British logging companies played the most important roles in Siam’s teak logging industry. The Borneo Company, which began operations in 1888, was the pioneer, and the largest teak firm in the country. Its early success was based on close relations with Siam’s royal family (Falkus 1989, 138). However, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, which arrived later during the 1890s, appeared to become the most influential, as can be seen from its acquisition of permits for half of the forested areas within the Chao Phraya River basin by the end of the 1900s (Macaulay 1934, 75). Of all teak logging leases granted from 1896 to 1930, European firms accounted for 85 per cent, while local lessees held only 14 per cent, and the Royal Forest Department a meager 1 per cent (Brown 1988, 119). After the establishment of the Royal Forest Department, regulations covering teak logging were implemented to manage forest resources on a sustainable basis. H.A. Slade, the first Chief Conservator of Forests, from 1896 to 1901, initially proposed that unsystematic methods of extraction should be controlled, mistakes of granting concessions over large areas to one firm remedied,
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and trade in non-teak woods encouraged as a means of livelihood for local people (NA r5 M 16/3, 1900). For example, in 1897 and 1899, the minimum girth of teak trees to be cut was regulated and royalty rates were fixed (Bourke-Borrowes 1927, 15–7). The first regular system of leases split each area into two, each half to be harvested over a six-year period. This created a “felling cycle” of twelve years. In 1909, W.F. Lloyd, who headed the department from 1905 to 1923, introduced the Dietrich Brandis system, which divided forest areas into two portions to be harvested over fifteen years each, one open and one closed, thereby making a thirty-year felling cycle (Loehseh 1958, 5). The royalty for the open areas was set at 4, 6, and 12 Baht, for small-, medium-, and large-sized logs. (NA r6 M 14/1, 12 Oct. 1923). During this period, the Royal Forest Department gained more control over teak forests, thanks to the three newly reorganized forms of permission: concessions or forest leases (94 per cent), state-owned logging (3.5 per cent), and local exploitation of teak timber (2.5 per cent) (ibid). Among Siam’s export products, the ranking of teak timber shifted between second and fourth in importance, although generally behind rice and tin (De’ Ath 1992, 51). Prior to the 1930s, the major destinations for teak exports from Bangkok included India, Hong Kong, and Singapore. At the beginning of the 1890s, worldwide teak exports were dominated by the Siamese (48 per cent), British subjects (42 per cent), and French subjects (10 per cent) (Ingram 1971, 107). After that, however, European timber firms, particularly those owned by the British, began to take over the teak forests of Siam, which gave these firms the ability to produce teak logs for the global market. This occurred between 1905 and 1909, when teak exports peaked both in volume and value (Silcock 1970, 46). The Salween watershed Unlike in the Chao Phraya forests, there was only one foreign timber firm involved in teak logging in the Salween watershed. Traditionally, in the province of Mae Hong Son, the local chiefs held the rights to teak logging. Prior to 1909, the local chiefs, including Chao Ratchawong, worked the teak forests in Mae Hong Son and Mae Lan. In the Upper Salween forests, Chao Upparat of Mae Pai and Chao Suriyawong of Mae Moei were the local concessionaires. However, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation took over their leases when, in 1909, the Royal Forest Department issued a new consolidated lease encompassing the localities of Mae Yuam, Khun Yuam, and Mae Pai in Mae Hong Son Province, together with forest areas in Mae Ngae, Mae Moei, and Mae Lan ( NA r6 M 14/1, 12 Oct. 1923). The forest regulations in the Salween watershed were designed to maximize taxes and royalties. But even though Siam’s government sent forest officials into the Salween forests to monitor logging and collect royalties, the method Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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proved ineffective because of the limited number of officials in charge of vast forest areas. In addition, little attention was paid to the marks on teak logs distinguishing their origins, most of which could have been extracted from Siam (NA r5 M 16.3/2, 10 Nov. 1898). To solve this problem, in 1899 H.A. Slade devised a plan to collect the royalties for teak logs from the Salween forests at Kado station near Moulmein, which was the teak exporting port and market in British Burma. In addition, the Royal Forest Department implemented a new regulation that no logs without hammer marks could be exported from Karenni of the Shan states or Siam into Lower Burma. In 1909, the royalties levied on Salween teak were set at 15 Baht for large logs, 6-7 Baht for medium, and 4 Baht for small (NA r6 M 14/1, 12 Oct. 1923). As civil servants of the Siamese government, Limouzin, J.G.F. Marshall, Khun Phon Plarak, E. MacNaught, and W. L. Palmer were dispatched to be in charge of the Kado station from 1899 to 1914 (NA r5 M 16.3/3, 25 Jun. 1899). As a result of the natural pattern of drainage, the teak logs from the Salween forests, although originating in Siam, had to be floated down into the Salween watershed in British Burma. Because the Salween River has a very rapid flow, the teak logs could be assembled into rafts only near Kyodan, 75 miles north of the river mouth (Pendleton 1963, 227). Royalties were collected at Kado station. The forest workers in the Salween forests were Karen, Shan, and Khmu. Up to the middle of the 1890s, half of the total teak output from the Salween forests was transported down the Salween River for transshipment to India and Europe (Chatthip and Suthi 1981, 9). The annual volume of Siamese teak sent to Moulmein was approximately 120,000 logs at this time, while in later years it fell to less than 20,000 logs (Dickson 1908, 170). Teak logging in the Ing River basin The management of teak logging along the Ing River of the Mekong watershed differed significantly from the Chao Phraya or the Salween because of specific geopolitical features. To clarify the conditions that affected the teak logging in this trans-boundary watershed, it is necessary first to examine the political background of the Siamese struggle with French colonialism from 1893, before detailing the history of teak logging operated by the French in the Ing River basin. The political struggle of Siam against French colonialism in the 1890s During the last decade of the nineteenth century, each teak harvest domain was politically vulnerable to the influences of the great powers competing to
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colonize Southeast Asia. Logs from the Ing forests found their way to international markets along the Mekong River, which was controlled by the French in French Indochina. The teak logging in that area was not a simple phenomenon occurring in a political vacuum. Rather, it took place in the context of a three-cornered struggle between Siam, the French, and the British over possession of the banks of the Mekong River. By 1887, the sphere of influence of the British and French colonial empires had expanded to the point that confrontations were likely at the geopolitical margins. To the west of Siam, the British had occupied the Irrawady delta, and had come to dominate Burma and the Shan states. To the east, the French had gained control over Tonkin, Annam, and Cochin China, after making Cambodia a French protectorate (Landon 1941, 30). In the early 1890s, the French encroached upon the Laotian provinces of the Siamese empire. The French endeavored to legitimize their claim over the left bank of the Mekong River, including Luang Prabang, by invoking “the incontestable rights of Annam,” namely the claim that Annam had once governed the entire east bank of the Mekong River, and even part of the territory on the west bank (Landon 1944, 14). Control over the Laotian provinces would have granted the French two strategic benefits. First, the French would have been able to regulate the use of the Mekong River as the pivotal route linking Cochin China and Cambodia with Annam and Tonkin, thereby connecting the French colonies in Southeast Asia. Second, French control over these areas would have established a trade route into the southern provinces of China, enabling France to exploit the economic prosperity of that region (Hirshfield 1968, 28). Siam was diplomatically forced by the British to function as a buffer between the French colonies to the east and the British ones to the west, but Siam was reluctant to cede the east of the Mekong River. Daily skirmishes took place between the troops of France and Siam on the left bank of the Mekong River, with the tussle coming to a head in July 1893, when two French gunboats entered the mouth of the Chao Phraya River. Partly at the suggestion of the British, the Siamese government eventually acquiesced to the French ultimatum that Siam not only cede to France the left bank of the Mekong River, including the greater part of Luang Prabang and the islands in the river, but also compensate the French for losses incurred. Moreover, the Siamese government was no longer permitted to construct any military fortifications in the provinces of Battambang and Siem Reap, or within a 25 kilometer wide demilitarized zone along the west bank of the Mekong (Tuck 1995, 123). On 15 January 1896, the rivalry between the British and the French for Siam was cordially settled through the Anglo-French Declaration. This pact also endorsed the independence of Siam, as well as the neutrality of the Chao Phraya
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River basin (Goldman 1972, 212–3). As stipulated in the declaration, both Britain and France would observe a mutually agreed limit on the extent to which they could trespass on Siamese territory, and would pledge not to enter into any agreement with any third power to intervene in this area (Jeshurun 1970, 116). Nevertheless, the declaration had essentially no effect on relations between France and Siam. After the crisis in 1893, Siam still had to relinquish more territory to France in the 1900s, regardless of the guaranteed sovereignty of Siam by the two imperialists. Siam lost the provinces of Melouprey and Tonle Repou, the semi-autonomous kingdom of Bassac, and a portion of the provinces of Siem Reap to French Cambodia in 1902. In 1904, Great Britain and France again came to terms with an Entente Cordiale (Goldman 1972, 218). In the same year, Siam lost the right bank of the Mekong River to France. On 13 February 1904, a new Franco-Siamese Convention divided Siam into various spheres of influence, with only the Chao Phraya valley exempt from the colonialists’ ambitions (Christian 1941, 187). Through concerted efforts, France had come to control several strategic areas along the expanse of the Mekong River. This made the French logging operations in the Ing River basin not only politically possible but also physically possible due to the Ing basin’s position as a part of the Mekong watershed. The European quest for working teak forests in the Mekong watershed It was not surprising that concessions to work the Mekong forests, and the Ing forests in particular, were sought after by numerous Europeans, beginning in the last decade of the nineteenth century. Among teak forests in the northern tributary states of Siam, none were comparable to those of the Mekong forests of the Ing and Kok river basins, in which the most beautiful and abundant teak trees were found (NA r5 M 16/10, 5 May 1992). Teak logging operations in each watershed appear to have been diverse, although the Ing and Kok river basins were similar in that the teak had to be transported via the Mekong watershed. The Kok River basin In 1909, the Borneo Company gained the rights to work the Fang forests situated in the Kok River basin within the Mekong watershed (NA r7 KS 5.1/3, 10 Nov. 1929). In 1899, the government of Siam had owned the rights to logging in this region. The Kok forests were situated on the hills of the headwaters, from which the only possible line of transportation of teak timber was via the Mekong River. However, the Siamese government proposed that teak timber from the Fang forests be transported across the ridge of Phi Pan Nam Mountain, into the Ping River, a major tributary of the Chao Phraya watershed. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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A route plan for teak timber “exports” from the Fang River to the Ping River (Source: NA r5 M 16.1/23 Mae Ing Forests in relation to France, 28 Jan. 1902)
The Fang forests were geographically contiguous with the Southern Shan states of British Burma, and the government of Siam preferred to lease the forests to any British timber firm possessing adequate capital to extract the teak trees over the watershed into the Ping River. According to a survey by the Borneo Company, there were two possible lines of export into the Ping valley region, both requiring machinery and a light railway, with the southern route preferred (Figure 2) (NA r5 M 16.1/23, 28 Jan.1902). To deter French encroachment, a crucial condition of the leases issued by the Siamese government in the 1890s was that the timber of the Fang forests would not be transported along the Mekong River (ibid). Although this condition conflicted with the natural drainage of the Kok River, the teak of the Fang forests harvested by the Borneo Company from 1912 to 1930 was transported into Mae Phan and Mae Poi, tributaries of the Ping River in the Chao Phraya watershed. The Company constructed a tramway on which loaded trucks were drawn by elephants from the final delivery point in the forest to the top of the watershed, and a chute or timber-slide to transport the logs down the precipitous slopes from the highest point on the watershed at the end of the tramway (Bourke-Borrowes 1927, 40).
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The Ing River basin From the 1890s, several Europeans worked the teak forests in the Ing River basin of the Mekong watershed. It was said that teak trees could be found in every part of the Ing River basin and that they grew more beautifully, although relatively fewer in number, around the area where the Ing River debouched into the Mekong (Dauphinot 1905, 632). The government of Siam attempted to reserve this section of forest, not allowing concessionaires of either nationality to operate there. In spite of such efforts, in 1873 the French devised a plan to exploit the Ing forests and transport the teak along the Mekong River (Berrier-Fontaine 1873, 440). Eventually, in 1909, a concession for the Ing forests was granted to the French East Asiatic Company, partly due to the pressure of the French at Siam’s borders, and more substantially due to the geographical constraints of teak logging in the Mekong watershed. As French imperial pressure on Siam increased from the 1890s, many French colonists and companies asked for rights to operate teak logging businesses in the Ing forests. In 1899, a French merchant named Leon Gravy petitioned for concessions of the Mekong forests, in particular, the Ing forests at Chiang Khong in Chiang Rai Province. The Siamese government declined on the grounds that no single Siamese company would be involved in the entire operation, contrary to what the government had previously thought (NA r5 M 16.2/14, 31 Jan.1899). In 1901, M. C. Waternau, who worked for the French newspaper République Française, also sought permission to work teak forests in the Ing and Kok river basins. He claimed that only the French were in a strategic position to exploit these areas because of their ability to export the timber along the Mekong River. Despite the validity of his statement, the Siamese government refused to confer the Ing and the Kok forests on Waternau because of the political sensitivity of these forest concessions (NA r5 M 16.2/8, 9 Mar. 1901). This policy was not confined to the Ing and Kok watersheds. In the sub-district of Phayao in Lampang Province, also within the Mekong watershed, the government of Siam was reluctant to release control over teak forests. At first, the Siamese government wanted to maintain control on this section of forest as a strategy to deter French encroachment. Eventually, however, the government made an important decision to open the Mekong forests, including those in the Nan region, to the French, although the government still preferred to grant the concessions to either the British or local chiefs. Initially, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation expressed enthusiasm about leasing the Ing forests. In 1901, after the corporation heard of the ongoing plan of the French to practice teak logging in that area, it asked the government of Siam for a concession (NA r5 M 16.2/5, 30 July 1908). In response, the govern-
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ment hastily agreed in the hope that the British presence would curb the increasing influence of the French. The intention of the government accorded with a report on the Ing forests authored by W. F. L. Tottenham in 1902, which claimed that exclusion of the French from working the teak forests in this area was “absolutely necessary” (NA r5 M 16.1/23, 28 Jan. 1902). However, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation did not make use of the concession, as there were many difficulties involved in working the Ing forests. In particular, the teak logs had to be floated down the Mekong River, and there was no local market along the river. Instead, the corporation worked the forests at Tam Yai and Tam Noi in the sub-district of Phayao in Lampang Province, from where the logs could be transported via the Yom River to the Chao Phraya. After the project of granting the British the rights to work the Ing forests failed to materialize, the government’s hopes were revived when the local chief of Nan, Chao Suriyaphong Pharitdet, asked for a six-year concession in the Ing and the Nan forests (NA r5 M 16.2/53, 9 Jan. 1903). Still, the government questioned his intentions, as he could have been acting as a nominee for the French to tap the teak forest resources in the Ing River basin. Although the requests of the chief were later authenticated, in 1902, the government granted him only a six-year concession to work the teak forests in the region. Four years later, in 1906, the Siam Forest Company also asked to operate teak logging in the Ing River basin, especially the part located in the region of Nan adjacent to the Ngao forests in Lampang District, which were already being worked by the same company (NA r7 KS 5.1/2, 10 Dec. 1926). The company wanted to extract trees that were already girdled in this part of the Ing forests, and then transport them into the Yom River, in spite of the fact that these forests lay within the Mekong watershed. According to Prince Damrong, the company should actually have been granted the concessions of the Ing forests, because the company was the primary timber firm expressing its intention to practice teak logging in the Ing forests, and the teak timbers were likely to be exported into the Chao Phraya watershed. Nevertheless, the government was uncertain how to manage the Ing forests due to mounting pressure from the French. To deal with these problematic forests, the Siamese government eventually decided that the Ing forests would be subdivided into three sections — north, central, and south forests. The south section, the timbers of which could be worked into the Yom River, was granted to the Siam Forest Company. However, the north and central sections, from where the only feasible export route was via the Mekong watershed, were eventually given to the French East Asiatic Company in 1909. The Siam Forest Company had difficulty in extracting teak from the south section, the Chun forests in the Nan region, because of the distance to the Yom River. The area was geographically closer to the head watershed of the Ing River
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than to any tributary of the Chao Phraya watershed (ibid). Because the company was required to float the teak logs down the Yom River, a logging railway had to be constructed to transport the logs from Phayao to a tributary of the Chao Phraya watershed (Pendleton 1963, 226). In 1909 the French East Asiatic Company finally won concessions, and began teak logging operations in the Ing forests. The teak harvested by the French East Asiatic Company from the Ing forests was floated down the Ing River, and then continued its long and difficult journey down the Mekong River to Saigon. The practice of teak logging in the Ing River basin The division of the Ing forest into north, south, and central zones was determined by the relative feasibility to extract teak to either the Mekong or the Chao Phraya watershed. Between 1909 and 1924, the French East Asiatic Company was the major firm operating in the central and north sections, located in the Nan region, where the company had to drag the timbers down to the Mekong River. The Louis T. Leonowens Company also asked to work a small portion in the north section of the Ing forests for eight years, and later sold the resulting logs to the French company (NA r5 M 14.1/16, 20 June 1917). Meanwhile, the Siam Forest Company shared part of the Ing forest concessions, especially in the south section in Lampang District, and had to transport the timber to the Yom River. Although the French company invested a sizeable capital, it harvested only a meager quantity of teak because of the difficulties of the local landscape. Therefore, in 1912, the French company asked the government to grant another portion of forest of comparable size to that of the Ing forests. The government of Siam allotted the Kok forests, with a concession period lasting from 1925 to 1940. As noted above, in 1909 the Royal Forest Department stipulated that any concession area would alternate between open and closed periods of 15 years. This condition was also applied to the Mekong forests. The French company was allowed to harvest the Ing forests for the first 15 years (1909–1924), and then the Kok forests for the latter 15 years (1925–1940). Because the government recognized that forest operations in the Ing River basin were much more difficult than in the Chao Phraya watershed, it reduced royalty payments to 10 Baht for large timber and 6 Baht for small logs, while a cubic foot of timber was taxed at one satang, working out at roughly one Baht per log (NA r6 M 14.1/2, 13 May 1924). Teak royalties from the Chao Phraya watershed were gathered at the Paknampho duty station. For the Mekong watershed, Prince Damrong established a tax station at the confluence of the Ing River under the supervision of forest
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officials in Nan. In practice, the Royal Forest Department ruled that a quarter of the total amount of the royalty would be collected at the site of logging, and the remaining three-quarters be collected at the confluence of the Ing River with the Mekong (ibid). The royalty rate for teak logs originating from the Ing forests was applied regardless of the watershed from which the teak timber was extracted. The difference, however, concerned the location of the duty station: either at the confluence of the Ing River, for areas of the Mekong forests worked by the French East Asiatic Company, or at Paknampho, for areas worked by the Siam Forest Company. The process of teak logging in the Ing River basin Teak logging in the Ing River basin was practiced in similar fashion to that of other river basins. However, the forest operations in the Ing River basin were not conducted without difficulty. In general, the operations in this basin began in June or July, at the beginning of the high-water period, when teak logs were transported mainly by Khmu laborers to the Mekong River (B 1898, 546). The route to Saigon, the final destination, was both long and difficult because of the natural characteristics of the landscape. The teak was felled in the upper watershed of the Ing River, in the areas of Ban Tam Nai, Ban Ronghai and Ban Phin near Phayao town. The logs were brought to the Mekong River by the French East Asiatic Company, passing through Thoeng town. In the period of tributary kingdoms in northern Thailand, Thoeng was an important centre, comparable to Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, and Nan. With the implementation of provincial administrative reform in Siam in 1897, however, Thoeng came under the Protectorate of Nan. The town was later transferred to the authority of Chiang Rai, in 1904 (Suepsak 2000, 10). At Thoeng, a large number of teak logs were made into rafts to be sent down the Ing River to the Mekong. Some logs were also processed locally at Thoeng, in a sawmill located by the Ing River. The logs floated down the Ing River to its confluence at Chiang Khong. More timber was logged around this lower part of the Ing watershed, and also made into rafts to float down the Mekong River. The floating of timber in this region was problematic, because the natural course of the Ing River was very sinuous, with many lhong, the local dialect word for a ‘meander’. At Thung Ang village near the confluence of the Ing, the French company had to cut a canal joining the two ends of a large horseshoe bend in the course of the river. The modification of lhong was advantageous to the practices of teak logging in this part of the Ing River in many ways. The dangerous curves in the river course had caused the deaths of some laborers. Logs had been damaged by collisions with the sharp curves. The canal functioned as a shortcut and the
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cutting of the canal at the junction of two bends of the river created a log yard, where the teak logs could be made into rafts or stockpiled to wait for the river to rise before continuing the journey toward the confluence of the Ing River. To work the Ing forests, the French East Asiatic Company also invented a special cart, known as “high wheels,” which had enormous wheels and axles high above the ground (Bourke-Borrowes, 1927, 33). The logs were loaded under the axles, giving the cart a low center of gravity and hence great stability, while the large circumference of the wheels allowed the carts to travel at higher than usual speed. The Royal Forest Department established a duty station at Ban Ten, near the confluence of the Ing and Mekong rivers, to collect royalties and taxes on the teak before it entered the Mekong River. At this point, the violent currents near the junction of the two rivers also created difficulty. If the water levels in the Ing and Mekong were unequal, a back-flow of water would occur in one of the rivers, making down-river floating of the teak logs unfeasible. From the confluence of the Ing River at Chiang Khong, teak logs were floated down the Mekong River to Saigon. Log floating began in March or April. From Chiang Khong to Luang Prabang, the Mekong River had few obstacles, with the exception of some minor rapids at Praduhor and Chan (NA r5 M 16.2/61, 29 July 1892). Some teak logs were sold locally at markets in Luang Prabang, while others continued on to Vientiane. Along this stretch from Pak Ta (near Luang Prabang) to Nong Khai (opposite Vientiane), Khmu laborers, originally from Luang Prabang, were employed for rafting services because they had experience at rafting on the Mekong River and could be hired for inexpensive wages (Dauphinot 1905, 630; Bedetty 1900, 648). Logs were moored at Vientiane before being sent onward to Savannaket or Kemmarat, where they were assembled into rafts (Cordier 1907, 665). Between there and Saigon, the movement of the teak logs was hindered by the Khone rapids of the Sipandon area, the Mekong River’s most formidable geographical feature, composed of numerous rocky islands. Two methods were used, depending on the season (NA r5 M 16.2/61, 29 July 1892). During the rainy season, the rafts were landed at certain islands, including Don Dek and Don Khone, and dismantled so that individual logs could be floated down small gorges between the islands. During the dry season, timber was landed on Don Khone, the largest island in the area, carried across the island by railway, and reassembled into rafts for the remainder of the journey. It took approximately two years for logs to be floated from Chiang Khong to Saigon (Cordier 1907, 666). The French East Asiatic Company processed about 4,000 logs annually at two sawmills, one near Saigon and the other near Phnom Penh (Smith 1915, 20). The sawmill near Saigon, located some 35 km from the city, was well equipped with several cut-off saws, and handled the larger volume. The French company Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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stocked about 700 tons of teak logs at the sawmill, the biggest stock of teak in Indochina, while far smaller stocks were held at the sawmill in Phnom Penh and a few local sawmills run by Chinese (ibid). From 1913 to 1924, the principal markets for Mekong teak included France, the United States, Great Britain, Singapore, and Hong Kong. In the earliest period of teak export from French Indochina, the sole destination of the product was France, due to a ban on the export to any other country. However, after 1914, the ban was lifted, allowing shipments to Great Britain and her colonies, including Singapore and Hong Kong (ibid). Concluding remarks Teak logging along the Ing River within the watershed of the Mekong River was made possible by two factors. First, the French were able to overcome the Siamese government’s political reluctance to grant logging concessions to the French because of strategic implications. The French overcame this barrier through their aggressive stance towards Siam, which resulted in major cessions of territory along the Mekong, and through their diplomatic entente with the British. The French East Asiatic Company was able to gain the rights to work the Ing forests under the aegis of the Franco-Siamese Convention of 13 February 1904 (Cordier 1907, 664). Second, the French gained control over the route which, because of the natural geography, was the only feasible means for moving teak from the Ing forests to a port giving access to international markets. The Ing forests were situated within the Mekong watershed; the French controlled the ports at the mouths of that river; and after the territorial gains of 1893 and 1904, the French also controlled the banks of the river in between. Although the Siamese (with British connivance) initially resisted the implications of these geopolitics, the attempts to transport logs out from the Ing forests via the Chao Phraya watershed were eventually defeated by geography. The French East Asiatic Company was able to work the Ing forests because of the geography of the Mekong River. Teak logging in the Ing River basin also has to be understood within the spatial discourse over national boundaries between Siam and French Indochina (Thongchai 1994, 129). The Siamese government tried to manage forest rights, and control people, by drawing national boundaries to delineate an exclusive frontier of forest resources (Vandergeest 1995, 388; Vandergeest 1996, 159). The French disrupted this project because a formal rigid demarcation would not only make France lose access to rich teak timber along the Siamese border, but also could potentially prevent them from securing a strategic area for controlling trade flowing between the southern part of China and French Indochina (Walker, n.d., 23; Walker 1999, 27). Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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In practice, the Siamese government in Bangkok was unable to impose its control on this remote aea, and unable to overcome the specific difficulties involved in logging this terrain. In particular, the taxing, transportation of logs, and the employment of labor for teak logging operations posed problems for the government. Therefore, a critical incompatibility existed between the local realities of teak logging in the Mekong watershed, and the rhetorical discourses concerning the new spatial entities of Siam and French Indochina. References A. Manuscript Sources The manuscripts from the National Archives in Bangkok, Thailand, are one of the crucial sources upon which the information for this article is based. Kept by the Royal Secretariat, these manuscripts are the correspondence between the King and the departments and ministries of the Siamese government. The documents are catalogued first by reign: King Chulalongkorn 1868–1910: r5 King Vajiravudh 1910–1925: r6 King Phrajadhipok 1925–1935: r7 and then by ministry: Ministry of the Interior: M (Mahatthai) Ministry of Agriculture: KS (Kasetrathikan) and finally by subjects identified by the numerical classification. Series 5 M 16 3. Report of the Chief Conservator of Forests 10. Prince Phen’s Report on Forests Series 5 M 16.1 23. Mae Ing Forests in relation to France Series 5 M 16.2 5. 8. 14. 53. 61.
The Bombay Burmah Corporation Monsieur Waternau Asks to Work Forests in Mae Kok and Mae Ing Mr. Gravy Asks to Work Forests at Chiang Khong, Chiang Saen Chao Nakhon Nan Asks to Work Forests on Mae Ing Mr. Castenskiold Asks for Teak Lease in Northern Part of Muang Lao
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Series 5 M 16.3 2. Collecting Royalty Along the Khong River 3. Changing the Officials Collecting Royalty on the Mae Khong Series 6 M 14 1. Thoughts on Managing Forests and on Form of Forest Leases Series 6 M 14.1 2. French East Asiatic Co. Asks to Work Forests in Various Tambons 10. Appointments of Mr. MacNaught and Mr. Palmer as Officials of Forest Department at Tambon Kado at Moulmein 16. Leonowens Co. Lease to Work Forests on Northern Mae Ing in Changwat Chiang Rai Series 5–7 KS 5.1 2. Anglo Siam Co. Works Forests in Various Tambons 3. Borneo Co. Works Forests in Several Tambons
B. Printed Sources B. 1898. Siam: L’exploitation du bois de teak. Revue Française de l’étranger et des colonies et Exploration gazette geographique 23: 544–547. Bedetty, R. 1900. Le teck au Siam. Bulletin Economique de l’Indo-Chine. Library of Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto; Zug, Switzerland: Inter Documentation Company, microfiche. Berrrier-Fontaine. 1873. Notes sur l’exploitation et le commerce du bois de teck dans le royaume de Siam. Revue Maritime et Coloniale 36: 427–441. Bourke-Borrowes, D.R.S. 1927. The Teak Industry of Siam. Bangkok: The Ministry of Commerce and Communications. Brailey, Nigel J. 1999. The scramble for concessions in 1880s Siam. Modern Asian Studies 33 (3): 513–549. Brown, Ian. 1988. The elite and the economy in Siam c.1890–1920. Singapore: Oxford University Press. Bryant, Raymond L. 1997. The political ecology of forestry in Burma. London: Hurst and Company. Chatthip Natsupha and Suthi Prasatset. 1981. The political economy of Thailand, 1851–1910. Bangkok: Sangrung Printing. Christian, John L. 1941. Thailand renascent. Pacific Affairs 14 (2): 184–197.
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Cordier, P. 1907. L’exploitation des tecks du bassin du Mekong et le chemin de fer de Savannaket à Quang-Tri. Revue Indo-Chinoise. Library of Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto; Paris: Association pour la conservation et la reproduction photographique de la presse, microfilm. Dauphinot, G. 1905. Les forêts de teck au Siam. Bulletin Economique de l’Indo-Chine. Library of Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto; Zug, Switzerland: Inter Documentation Company, microfiche. De’Ath, Colin. 1992. A history of timber exports from Thailand with emphasis on the 1870–1937 period. Natural History Bulletin of Siam Society 40: 49–66. Dickson, A. J. C. 1908. The teak industry. In: Twentieth century impressions of Siam: Its history, people, commerce, industries, and resources. Ed. Oliver T. Breakspear and Arnold Wright. London: Lloyd’s. Falkus, Malcolm. 1989. Early British business in Thailand. In: British business in Asia since 1860. Ed. R. P. T Davenpot-Hines and Geoffrey Jones. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goldman, Minton F. 1972. Franco-British rivalry over Siam, 1896–1904. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 3 (2): 210–228. Hirshfield, Claire. 1968. The struggle for the Mekong banks, 1892–1896. Journal of Southeast Asian History 9 (1): 25–52. Hurst, Philip. 1990. Rainforest politics: Ecological destruction in Southeast Asia. London: Zed Books. Ingram, James C. 1971. Economic change in Thailand, 1850–1970. 2nd ed. Kuala Lumpur, London, Singapore: Oxford University Press. Jeshurun, Chandran. 1970. The Anglo-French declaration of January 1896 and the independence of Siam. The Journal of the Siam Society 58 (2): 105–126. Jorgensen, Anders Baltzer. 1980. Forest people in the world of expansion. Transactions of the Finnish Anthropological Society (2): 77–96. Landon, Kenneth P. 1941. Thailand’s quarrel with France in perspective. The Far Eastern Quarterly 1 (1): 25–42. . 1944. Thailand’s struggle for national security. The Far Eastern Quarterly 4 (1): 5-26. Le May, Reginald. 1999. An Asian arcady: The land and people of northern Siam. Bangkok: White Lotus. Loehseh, F. 1958. Report to the government of Thailand on forest inventory of the northern teak bearing provinces. Rome: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO). Lysa, Hong. 2004. ‘Stranger within the gates’: Knowing semi-colonial Siam as extraterritorials. Modern Asian Studies 38 (2): 327–354. Macaulay, R.H. 1934. History of the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation, 1864–1910. London: Spottiswoode, Ballantyne and Co.
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Oliver, J.W. 1901.Teak Industry of Siam. The Indian Forester 27: 529–533. Peluso, Nancy Lee, Peter Vandergeest and Lesley Potter. 1995. Social aspects of forestry in Southeast Asia: a review of postwar trends in the scholarly literature. Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 26 (1): 196–218. Pendleton, Robert L. 1963. Thailand: Aspects of landscape and life. 2nd ed. New York: Van Rees Press. Silcock, T.H. 1970. The economic development of Thai agriculture. Canberra: Australian National University Press. Smith, Franklin. 1915. Teak in Siam and Indo-China. Washington: Government Printing Office. Suehiro, Akira. 1996. Capital accumulation in Thailand, 1855–1985. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Suepsak Phromyaem. 2000. Muang Thoeng: Wiang sung, phu saui, sam sainam. Chiang Rai: Board of Culture in Thoeng District. Thongchai Winichakul. 1994. Siam mapped: a history of the geobody of a nation. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Truetanai Nophakun. 2001. Pamai Thai: Bot sarup khong amnat lae phonprayot. Bangkok: Siamsin Print and Pack Company. Tuck, Patrick. 1995. The French wolf and the Siamese lamb: The French threat to Siamese independence, 1895–1907. Bangkok: White Lotus. Vandergeest, Peter and Nancy Lee Peluso. 1995. Territorialization and state power in Thailand. Theory and Society 24: 385–426. Vandergeest, Peter. 1996. Mapping nature: Territorialization of forest rights in Thailand. Society and Natural Resources 9: 159–175. Walker, Andrew. n.d. Upper Mekong borderline dialogues in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. unpublished manuscript. . 1999. The legend of the golden boat: Regulation, trade and traders in the borderlands of Laos, Thailand, China and Burma. Honolulu: University of Hawaii.
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Socio-Cultural Reflections on the Address Terms in the Lyrics of Thai Country and City Songs1 Kriengkrai Watanasawad
Abstract This study aims to investigate the address systems and the socio-cultural reflections embedded in these systems in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs. It appears that there are specific characteristics of address systems in these songs which are different from a previous study (Tinhsabadh and Prasithrathsint, 1986). That is, the address terms in these two forms of songs can be any one or a combination of two or more of the following: pronoun, kinship terms, rank, occupation/title, name, and expressive terms. The three most frequently used forms of address terms in Thai country songs are pronoun/title, kinship terms, and expressive terms, respectively. In contrast, the three most frequent address terms found in Thai city songs are in a different order, pronoun/title, expressive terms, and kinship terms. The study also shows that the various forms of address in Thai country and city songs not only indicate the degree of intimacy between the singer and the addressee, but also reflect the social relationship between men and women in Thai society. Introduction Address terms are interesting linguistic phenomena that appear in many languages, especially in Southeast Asian languages. As a result, many linguists try to study forms and uses of address terms to account for the social situation. They have found that address terms are not only complicated and elaborate, but also embedded in the socio-cultural reflections. In some languages, such as Thai, a great number of address terms are found. Tinhsabadh and Prasithrathsint (1986) noted that there are at least two specific characteristics of forms and uses of address systems in Thai: firstly, the address
1
I would like to thank the Thailand Research Fund (TRF) through the Royal Jubilee Ph.D. Program for their financial support, and I am very grateful to Prof. Dr. Khunying Suriya Ratanakul, Dr. Pattiya Jimreivat, Assoc Prof. Dr. Kitima Indrambarya and Ajarn Jaruek Rajsombat for their helpful comments and editing. Any errors are mine. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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term consists of two important parts, i.e., an obligatory and an optional part. The first part can be any one or a combination of two or more of the following words, arranged in this order: pronominal, kinship terms, rank, occupation/title, name and expressive terms. The other part is one of the sentence-ending particles that convey social information, such as /khráp/ (a polite particle for males) or /khá/ (a polite particle for females). The three most frequently used forms of address terms, however, are name, pronominal + name, and pronominal. The terms of forms of address which a speaker selects for an addressee are determined by the degree of respect and intimacy. The purposes of this paper are to investigate the address systems and their socio-cultural implications in Thai country songs, /ple:N lû:k thûN/ and Thai city songs, /ple:N lû:k kruN/2. The data used in this study were collected from 474 Thai country songs and 483 Thai city songs. Most songs were from the Half-Century of Thai Country Song Program, the Royal Phonograph Record Contest, and the Golden Antenna Awards; in addition, they include popular songs from song books, magazines, CDs, VCDs and cassette tapes. The study of terms of address is an analysis of language in context. An in-depth study of address terms used in these two types of songs will help us understand more about language situations in Thai. A comparative study of the forms and use of address terms in Thai country and city songs will also provide a better understanding of the characteristics of language used in each type of song. Basic concepts of address terms This section provides the basic concepts: terminology, definitions, and classification of address terms. The concept of address terms has long been an issue of interest in linguistic studies, especially in sociolinguistics. Many linguists have provided the terminology and definitions to elucidate phenomena involved in addressing or naming other persons. Address terms are a well-known linguistic concept, known variously as “vocative”,3 “address terms”, “address forms”, “forms of address”, and “theory of address”. Trudgill (1972: 9) defines address terms as “words or phrases used to address other people in conversation, meeting, letters, etc”. Similarly, Bruan (1988: 7) states that address terms are “words and phrases used for addressing. They refer to the collocutor and thus contain a strong element
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The contents of Thai country and city songs are different; i.e., those of Thai country songs mainly reflect the people’s way of life in rural society, whereas Thai city songs always reflect urban society. 3 This term is a grammatical rather than a sociolinguistic term. It refers to a form of a noun, a pronoun or an adjective used in some languages when addressing a person or thing. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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of deixis. Often they designate the collocutor(s), but not necessarily so, since their lexical meaning can differ from or even contradict the addressee’s characteristics”. These two definitions can be summarized by stating that address terms are words or phrases that a speaker uses to call or speak to a listener. Studies of address terms generally focus on eliciting and comparing the systems of classification or taxonomies of address systems in each language. They also attempt to relate address terms to the socio-cultural context or situations in which address terms may occur. In other words, the study of address terms is based on the sociolinguistic perspective “address behavior”. The main idea of this view is that the way in which an addresser correctly uses and selects address variants suitable for the addressee in a given context, and variations in forms and uses of address terms, reflects the relationship between the addresser and the addressee, depending on the differences in age, sex and social status. Previous research carried out by linguists supports the idea that address behavior is normally influenced by social factors and linguistic backgrounds. The classic and most influential study of the differences in second-pronoun usage in several European languages, which has become a model of address term study, is by Brown and Gilman (1960). They found that the use of “familiar second pronoun T” and “polite second pronoun V”4 was governed by two social features: “power semantics” and “solidarity semantics”. Historically, these two semantic features were used to determine the use of European second pronouns in different periods of time. That is, power semantics, which derived from superior and inferior social status and governed the non-reciprocal and asymmetrical relationships5 in the use of two pronouns was primarily used in the Middle Ages, whereas solidarity semantics, which involved the degree of closeness and intimacy and led to a reciprocal and symmetrical relationship, was secondarily applied in later centuries. Moreover, apart from their major analysis of the development and changes
4
The symbols T and V were applied by Brown and Gilman to designate the deferential second pronoun usage in such European languages as French, Italian, and German, originating from the first letter of the Latin words “tu” and “vos”. These two words were earlier used to identify the difference between a “singular/familiar pronoun” and “plural/polite pronoun”. In sociolingusitics, this concept is currently known as “T and P pronouns”. 5 “Reciprocity and symmetry”, the two terminologies suggested by Brown and Gilman (1960), and even more emphatically by Brown and Ford (1964), are used for explaining the concept of use and relationship of address terms. That is, “address is reciprocal when two speakers exchange the same form of address (or equivalent ones). ... Correspondingly, address is nonreciprocal when the forms used by the two speakers in a dyad are different (or non-equivalent). ... All forms of address in a given dyad being used reciprocally, the address relationship is symmetrical. When different forms are used, the address relationship is asymmetrical. A relationship can be called partly symmetrical if part of the forms are used reciprocally.” (Bruan, 1988: 13) Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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in power and solidarity semantics, Brown and Gilman drew another conclusion worth mentioning about address behavior in French, German, and Italian. They discovered that, by the mid-twentieth century, solidarity semantics almost completely dominated power semantics as the most important choice-governing factor in selecting T/V pronouns. Solidarity has now become the important factor for speakers of all three languages. In English, as well as other languages, the selection of a variant addressing form system is in many ways parallel to the T/V dichotomy. Two classical studies of American English address term use conducted by Brown and Ford (1964) and Ervin-Tripp (1972), together with the researches of Lambert and Tucker (1976), Bates and Benigin (1975) and Paulston (1976), followed the Brown and Gilman methodology and came to the conclusion that the involvement of power and solidarity semantics can “vary substantially not only from language to language, but from one community where the language is spoken to another, and from one social grouping to another in the same community” (Fasold, 1984: 35). Besides the two semantic factors mentioned above, many linguists who have studied address form systems have also found that the use of address forms was based on other social factors and linguistic background such as demographic characteristics, age, sex, social class (Lambert and Tucker, 1976), religious prohibition, economic status (Das, 1968), and ethnicity (Friske, 1978). According to Bruan (1988: 7), the classification of address terms in most languages can be generally divided into three word classes: (1) Pronouns of address, (2) Nouns of address, and (3) Verb forms of address, as shown in Figure 1. Figure 1 does not mean that all languages must have all forms of address terms. The variations and variants of address forms differ, depending on the available forms and the socio-cultural factors in each language. That is, in all societies, there are norms concerning who uses which form to whom, what the social implications are of using one form or another, and on which occasions particular forms may be used. Bruan (1988: 12) observes that, the system of address terms comprises the totality of available forms and their interrelations in one language. Languages as well as varieties of languages differ in their repertory of address and in the number of variants. In some languages there is only one pronoun of address for an individual addressee (English), in others two (German), three (Romanian), or many (Sinhalese). It goes without saying that the existence of several variants, pronominal or other, makes nonreciprocal usage easier and more frequent and allows a more detailed encoding of differences in age, sex, social, or occupational status. Moreover, cultural norms and values can be reflected
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Address Terms
▼ Pronouns of address
▼ Nouns of address
▼ Verb forms of address Optional Subject Pronouns/Nouns
▼
▼
T/V Pronouns in French: Tu / Vous
Title
Names John Jimmy
Mr / Mrs
▼
▼ Rank
Kinship Terms Dad / Mom
Count / Duke / Major
▼
▼
Occupational Terms
Terms of Endearment
Waiter / Chauffeur
Darling / My dear
▼
▼
Abstract noun
Words for Expressing Certain Relations
(Your) Excellency / (Your) Honor Neighbor / Colleague
▼ Words of Defining Addressee’s Relations Abu Ali “father of Ali” Figure 1. The classifications of address terms (adapted from Bruan, 1988: 9–11)
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in an address system. Address systems in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs The data analysis shows that address terms appearing in the contents of Thai country and city songs are varied in form and use. The songwriters always use address terms as language strategies in order to address a receiver of or listener to the message, as if he/she were the speaker. Consequently, it could be said that the song texts are full of address terms, as illustrated by the following examples. (a) Use of address terms in the lyrics of a Thai country song From the song /pu: khàj kàj l∏N/6 “crab full of eggs goes astray” ?
ta:m tChâ:N thPŸ khon N a: m khO&: plOŸ:j 7 forget it Exp. let release along “A beautiful girl! Let it be as my fortune is.”
wâ:sàn≈: fortune
phî: mâj mi: parinja: khwaˇn ta: mO:N nâ: tham mP:n... 1st Pro. not have a degree Exp. look face do turn away “I do not have a degree so you are not interested in me.” phî: tCon khon ráj st 1 Pro. poor person without “I am poor and penniless.”
NPn money
dP:n jâm tók nO⁄⁄: N bOŸ:k walk step idly Kin. say “I have to walk idly so you say I am a pauper.”
wâ: that
so: ... poor
kOŸ:t kàp khon tCon nâ: mon tC âo bòn wâ: m∞n nd hug with person poor Exp. 2 Pro. complain that bad smell “When I embraced you, you complained that I was smelly.”
6
This song is a popular Thai country song originally sung by Chaythong Songphon in 1972. The abbreviations used in these excerpts from the contents of songs are: Exp. = expressive term, Kin. = kinship term, Pro. = pronoun, and Par. = final particle. Transcription. The phonetic transcription in this study is based on the work of M.R. Kalaya Tingsabadh and Arthur S. Abramson (1999: 147–150). 7
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kO:t kàp khon mi: khì: bé:n nuá jen tCaj hug with person have drive Benz Exp. heart tên ta: to:... beat eye big “When you hugged a rich man driving a Mercedes, you were overwhelmed and delighted.” (b) Use of address terms in the lyrics of a Thai city song From the song /mEfl: jOfl:t rák/8 “my sweetheart” suíN tCaj mEfl: jOfl:t rák appreciate heart Exp. “My sweetheart! I appreciate you.” phî: pluî:m tCaj nák dâj nO⁄:N st 1 Pro. please very get Kin. “I am very delighted that you are mine.”
ma: come
khiaNkrO:N possess
Na:m nO⁄⁄:N Na:m tChâj Na:m tEŸ: phiaN rû:p thO:N beautiful Kin. beautiful not beautiful but only shape golden “Your beauty is not only your golden shape...” nO⁄:N Na:m tháN Kin. beautiful both “...but also your mind.”
tCìtCaj... mind
nO⁄⁄:N ?P:: j phî: tCèp khra:w nán... st Kin. + Par. 1 Pro. hurt time that “My dear! When I was hurt at that time.” tCâo maj dìattCh≈n klâjtCít nd 2 Pro. not disgust close “You did not mind taking care of me.”
khO:j wait
jiawja: heal
Na:m ná:mtCaj h≈: khraj m≈j kP:n kEflfl:wta: beautiful kindness find who not over Exp. “In the beauty of the two your kindness no equal can be found.” 8
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In the lyrics of the two songs above, it is noticeable that such address forms as expressive term (/khon Na:m/ “a beautiful person”; /khw≈n ta:/ “my darling, my sweet heart”; /nâ: mon/ “lovely face”; /nuía jen/ “cool skin”), kinship term + (final particle) (/nO⁄:N/ “younger sibling”; /nO:N ?P:j/ “ younger sibling + final particle”), and pronoun (/tCâo/ “2nd Pro.”) are used by the singers in order to refer to the listener or addressee, as illustrated by the figure below. The data analysis of 656 and 618 address forms appearing in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs presented in Table 1 reveals that there are seven patterns of address forms in each type of song. Considering the structural combination of each pattern, the data show that the address terms used in Thai country and city song are composed of two important parts: obligatory and optional parts, as illustrated in the diagram below.
Expressive Term
▲ ▲
Address Terms
Pronoun
▲ Kinship Term
Figure 2. The address terms used in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs
Obligatory + (Optional1)+ (Optional2)9 As the above structural diagram shows, the obligatory part can be a single unit or a combination of two or more units of the following types: pronoun/title, expressive term, kinship term, occupational term and name. The optional part can consist of two parts. That is, the first position of the optional part (Optional1) is more limited: it may be only an expressive term, and the second optional part (Optional2) is a final particle. From the data analysis, there are six final particles used in this part: viz., khráp ( §√— ∫ ), khá? ( §– ), tC≈: ( ®ã “ ), ?P:j ( ‡Õ¬ ), ?P&:j (‡Õã¬), and kh≈: (¢“).
9
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Number of Occurrences Thai country songs Thai city songs Raw Score Percentage Raw Score Percentage
1. Pronoun / Title (+Final Particle)
309
47%
340
55%
2. Expressive Term (+Final Particle)
132
20%
138
22%
3. Kinship Term (+Final Particle)
168
25%
103
17%
4. Name (+Final Particle)
6
0.9%
16
2.6%
5. Occupational Term
20
3%
-
-
6. Pronoun / Title + Expressive Term
25
4%
9
1.5%
7. Kinship Term + Expressive Term
5
0.75%
5
0.8%
8. Name + Expressive Term
-
-
4
0.6%
656
100%
618
100%
Total
Table 1. The number of occurrences of address terms for each pattern in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs
Figure 3 shows the percentage of the three most frequent address terms found in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs. In country songs these were pronoun/title, kinship term and expressive term. Pronoun/title occurred the most frequently (309 words, or 47%), followed by kinship term (168 words, or 25%) and expressive term (168 words, or 25%). Meanwhile, in the three most frequent address terms found in the lyrics of Thai city songs, the last two terms appear in a different order: pronoun/title, expressive term and kinship term. Pronoun/title was the most frequently used (340 words, or 55%), followed by expressive term (138 words, or 22%) and kinship term (130 words, or 17%). Socio-cultural reflections in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs As mentioned earlier, social factors and linguistic background are the two important factors governing the use of address form. At the same time, differences in forms of address terms also provide socio-cultural insights concerning society. This is true in the study of address terms in Thai country and city songs. All possible forms of address terms found in this study are governed by social factors such as social status, age and sex differences. Moreover, the results of this study show that the song genre is another important factor governing the use of address forms in the lyrics of both types of songs. That is, songwriters use address forms as language strategies to refer to the addressee depending on the genre of the song. It was found that both song genres are mostly love songs that normally reflect relationships between lovers and partners and almost all song lyrics were Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Figure 3. The three most frequent address terms found in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs
songs sung by male singers. Consequently, the social distance and social relationship between men and women were manifested in many complex selections in the use of address forms in the lyrics. Several address forms appearing in male singers’ songs reveal that women’s social status is different from men’s. The selection of address forms exhibits the social relationship between the addresser and the addressee in Thai society. After a closer look at the data, we found that the patterns of address terms are chosen according to the social relationship between men as the addresser and women as the addressee. When the lyrics concern the relationship between lovers, such address forms as name (/tCh≈nthana:/, /pia/); name + final particle (/kàj tC≈:/, /da:w ?P:j/, /riam ?P:j/); expressive terms (/sa:m waj/, /n¨!a jen/), and pronoun/title (/thP:/, /khun/, /tCâ:o/), and pronoun/title + final particle (/khun khráp/, /s≈:w ?P:j/) are used to signal a symmetrical/reciprocal relationship (equivalent stature and intimacy). Surprisingly, the patterns of address terms change to an asymmetrical/non-reciprocal relationship (non-equivalent and superior status) when the lyrics concern a relationship between spouses. A man as a husband uses more non-deferential and intimate patterns of address terms such as kinship terms (/nO⁄:N/, /mEfl:/); kinship terms + final particle (/mia tC≈:/); expressive terms (/khw≈n ta:/, /khon di:/, ·°â«µ“ /kEfl:w ta:/), and kinship terms + expressive terms (/nO⁄:N khon di:/, /nO⁄:N kEfl:w/,) to address a wife, while such address terms as kinship terms (/phî:/) and kinship terms + expressive terms (/phOfl:khw≈n r¨an/, /phOfl: kìN thO:N/, /ph≠a thî: rák/) and kinship terms + final particle (/ph≠a tC≈::), which indicate deference and intimacy, are used by a wife to address her husband.
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More interestingly, some restricted forms of address terms reflect puritanical Thai cultural values concerning sexual relations between men and women. Traditionally, a Thai woman should remain a virgin until her wedding day and should not strongly express her reciprocal love. The expression /rák nuan s´N≠an tua/, “to preserve virginity for the one who she loves”, is a clear reflection of this belief and is also displayed in the selection of address forms by songwriters. Comparing the frequency of occurrence of address terms appearing in songs sung by male and female singers, it was found that expressive terms, words or phrases, which the singers employ in order to express their special feeling to the addressee, support Thai cultural values. Among the 132 and 138 occurrences of such words (see Table 1) found in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs, almost all were in songs sung by men, as shown in Figure 4.
Figure 4. The frequency of expressive terms in the contents of Thai country and city songs
Conclusion and discussion The findings of this study were different from those of Tinhsabadh and Prasithrathsint (1986) in that the three most frequently used address forms differed due to the difference in the sources from which data were collected. Moreover, the results of this study also confirmed the idea that the language of song lyrics differs from ordinary texts; as Merriam (1980: 188) remarked: “... language behavior in song is a special kind of verbalization which sometimes requires special knowledge of the language in which it is couched.” Many forms of address terms such as expressive terms, which are a common feature in songs, are elaborate language Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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used only in song texts. However, the study of address terms in Thai country and city songs also leads to the conclusion that not only can language be used to express a way of thinking, but it also provides insight into the culture and society with which it is intimately associated. Analysis of address terms in Thai country and city songs yields evidence which confirms that language is, as always, related to culture and society.
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Some examples of forms of address terms found in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs
Patterns of Address Terms
Thai Country songs nd
Thai city songs nd
1. Pronoun / Title (+ Final Particle)
/thP:/ (2 Pro.), /thP: t C≈: /, /tC≈:w/ (2 nd Pro.), /tCâ:w ?P: j/, /khun/ (2 nd Pro.), /khun ?P& : j/, /thâ:n/ (2 nd Pro.), /thâ:n kha/, /kE:/ (2nd Pro.), /?eN/ (2nd Pro.), / kh≈o/ (3nd Pro.), /na:N/ (Lady/ Mrs.), /s≈:w/, /s≈:w tCâ:w/, /mEfl: s≈:w/, /mEfl: na:N/ (a young lady/ Miss), /khun phû:jπN/ (Lady/ Madame)
/riam/ (1 Pro.), /thP:/ (2nd Pro.), /thP: ?P:j& : /, /tCâ:w/ (2 nd Pro.), /tC≈:w ?P: j/, /khun/ (2 nd Pro.), /khun kh ≈: /, /thâ:n/ (2 nd Pro.), /kh≈o/ (3nd Pro.), /na:N/ (Lady/ Mrs.), /s≈:w/ (a young lady/ Miss), /noN ra:m/, /noN khra:n/ (a beautiful girl), /júphin/ (a beautiful woman)
2. Expressive Term (+ Final Particle)
/khon di:/ (a good person), /khon Na:m/, /Na:m NO:n/, /Na:m kh≈m/ (a beautiful girl), /tCO:m khw≈n/, /tCO:m tCaj/ (a beloved woman), /ta: w≈:n/ (lovely eyes), /nâ: mon/ (lovely face), /jOfl:t rák/ (my sweetheart), /thî: rák/ (my dear), /thî: rák tC≈:/, /w≈:n tCaj/ (my honey), tCh∏:m Na:m sa:m tChe:j/ (a lovely girl)
/kEfl : w ta:/ (my daring, my beloved), /khw≈n tCaj/, /khw≈n ta:/ (my daring, my sweetheart), /khon di:/ (a good person), /duaN tCaj/ (my beloved, my sweetheart), duaN tCaj ?P:j/, /jOfl:t rák/ (my sweetheart), /jOfl : t jπN/ (the perfect woman), /sùt thî: rák/ (my dearest), /sa:m tChE:j/ (an attractive woman), /sa:m waj/ (a young woman), /n¨!a thO:N khO&:N phî:/ (my golden skin)
3. Kinship Term (+ Final Particle)
/phOfl: / (father), /mEfl:/ (mother), /mEfl : t C≈: /, /ph≠a/ (husband), /ph≠a t C≈: /, /mia/ (wife), /mia t C≈: /, /phî:/ (older sibling), /phî: ja:/ (male older sibling), /nO⁄ : N/ (younger sibling), /nO⁄ : N tC≈:/, /nO⁄:N ?P&:j/, /nO⁄:N ja:/ (female younger sibling)
/phOfl:/ father), /mEfl:/ (mother) /mEfl: t C≈: /, /phî:/ (older sibling), /phî: ?P&:j/, /nO⁄:N/ (younger sibling), /nO⁄:N ?P:j/, /mia/ (wife), /mia ?P:j/
4. Name (+ Final Particle)
/tCh≈ntana:/, /ta:n/, /thom/, /lânthom/, /?E&:w/, /kâj tC≈:/, /riam ?P&:j/
/khw≈n/, /mûaj/, mûaj t C≈: /, /tCantra:/, /pia/, /pia tC≈:/, /já:t rúN/
5. Occupational Term
/tCha:w na:/ (farmer), /tCha:w raj/ (agriculturalist), /lû:k tháp ?a:ká:t/, /lû:k tháp fá:/ (Airman), / mEfl: khá/ (female shopkeeper), / s≈:w suan tE:N/ (melon gardener), /?âj nùm taN ke:/ (fisherman)
Not found
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Appendix
Some examples of forms of address terms found in the lyrics of Thai country and city songs (continued)
Patterns of Address Terms
Thai Country songs
Thai city songs
6. Pronoun / Title + Expressive Term
/mEfl : khon s ≠ aj/, /mEfl : t CO: m khw≈n/, /mEfl: jOfl:t rák/, /mEfl: ta: w≈:n/
/tCâ:w jOfl:t jiˇN/, /mEfl: duaN tCaj/, /mEfl: jOfl:t rák/
7. Kinship / Title + Expressive Term
/nO⁄:N khon di:/, /nO⁄:N khon Na:m/, /nO⁄:N khon s≠aj/
/nO⁄:N khon di:/, /nO⁄:N kEfl:w/, /phOfl: nák bun/
8. Name + Expressive Term
Not found
/khw≈n tChu: tCâ:w/, /já:t rúN khon di:/, /kùsùma: jOfl:t tChú:/
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References Bates, Elizabeth and Benigi, Laura. 1975. Rules of Address in Italy: A Sociological Survey. Language in Society 4: 271–288. Brown, Roger and Gilman, A. 1960. The Pronouns of Power and Solidarity. In T.A. Sebeok, (ed.). Style in Language, pp. 235–276. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Brown, Roger and Ford, Marguerite. 1964. Address in American English. In D. Hymes, (ed.). Language in Culture and Society, pp. 234–244. New York: Harper and Row. Bruan, Friederike. 1988. Terms of Address: Problems of Patterns and Usage in Various Language and Culture. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Das, Sisir Kumar. 1968. Forms of Address and Terms of Reference in Bengali. Anthropological Linguistics 10: 4. Duranti, Alessandro. 1999. Linguistic Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ervin-Tripp, S.M. 1972. On Sociolinguistic Rules: Alternation and Co-occurrence. In J. J. Gumperz and D. Hymes, (eds.). Directions in Sociolinguistics, pp. 213–250. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Fasold, Ralph. 1984. The Sociolinguistics of Society. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Friske, Shirley. 1978. Rules of Address: Navajo Women in Los Angeles. Journal of Anthropological Research 34, 1: 72–91. Lambert, Wallace E. and Tucker, Richard. 1976. Tu, Vous, Usted: a Social-Psychological Study of Address Patterns. Rowley, Mass: Newbury House. Merriam, Alan P. 1980. Anthropology of Music. Chicago: Northwestern University Press. Paulston, Christina Bratt. 1976. Pronouns of Address in Swedish: Social Class Semantics and Changing System. Language in Society 5: 359–386. Tinhsabadh, Kalaya and Abramson, Arthur S. 1999. Thai. In Handbook of the International Phonetic Association, pp. 147–150. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tinhsabadh, Kalaya and Prasithrathsint, Amara. 1986. The Use of Address Terms in Thai during the Ratanakosin Period. Bangkok: Research Division, Chulalongkorn University. Trudgill, Peter. 1972. Introducing Language and Society. London: Penguin English.
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James Low, On Siamese Literature (1839) James Low was one of the first serious Western scholars of Thai. Although best remembered for his A Grammar of the T,hai or Siamese Language (1828), the earliest surviving example of Thai print, he wrote a number of other substantial articles on a wide range of aspects of Siamese history and culture. His article ‘On Siamese Literature’ was drafted in 1829, revised in 1836 and finally published in Asiatic Researches vol. XX pt. II in 1839; it was, at the time, the most informed treatment of the subject to have appeared in a Western language. James Low was born in Kettle in Fifeshire, Scotland on 4 April 1791. He joined the East India Company as a cadet in 1811, and reached the rank of lieutenant in the Madras Native Infantry in 1817. At the beginning of 1818 he was transferred to Penang, where he studied Thai and Malay. In 1822 he presented the manuscript of his Grammar to the Asiatic Society of Calcutta and two years later he was awarded a special bonus for his proficiency in Thai. The Grammar lay in the library of the Asiatic Society for six years, until 1828, when Robert Fullerton, the Governor of the British settlements in the Straits of Malacca, proposed that it should be printed to encourage wider study of the Siamese language. Low was meanwhile employed in an unsuccessful diplomatic mission to try to secure Siamese assistance against the Burmese at the beginning of the Anglo-Burmese War in 1824. In 1827 he led a raid on an alleged pirate stronghold, but his capture of the pirate leader backfired when it transpired that the pirate was an official in the service of the local ruler. Despite official complaints about Low’s conduct, he was officially exonerated by the East India Company and later made Superintendent of Province Wellesley, where he acquired land and established his own spice plantations. He served as Assistant Resident in Singapore from 1840 until 1844 and retired the following year, returning to his plantations in Province Wellesley. In March 1850 he left Penang to re-settle in his native Scotland, where he died two years later. Prior to Low’s article, the most substantial published account of Thai literature was that by John Leyden, in his 131-page article ‘On the Languages and Literatures of the Indo-Chinese Nations’, which appeared in Asiatic Researches in 1808. The 10-page section on ‘Thay’ includes a list of 41 of the ‘most popular’ ‘Cheritrás’, which Leyden glosses variously as ‘historical and mythological fables’ and ‘romantic fictions’, single sentence summaries of most of these, a brief paragraph on versification and an excerpt, with translation, from Maha Chinok. Low takes Leyden’s list of works as the basis for his article and attempts to expand upon each. Thus, where Leyden simply tells us that ‘Un-na-rút narrates the story of Anírud’ha, the grandson of Krishna’, Low manages to write 32 lines, largely a summary of the plot, but also including his own rather condescending evaluation.
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Commenting on some works, he corrects Leyden, while in others he simply repeats Leyden’s words verbatim, noting that he has not examined that particular work. Many of the works listed by Leyden and repeated by Low are unknown to today’s experts on classical Thai literature, while most of what is today regarded as the classical canon goes unmentioned. Whether this was primarily due to the limited knowledge of local informants, communication difficulties, poor judgment by Leyden and Low, or simply that current ideas on literary merit were institutionalized at a much later date, remains a matter of speculation. Whatever, Low does not appear to have fully grasped how Thai verse forms worked, and embarks on a misguided attempt to apply Western concepts of versification to analyze Thai poetry. Curiously, he makes no mention of the immediate vocabulary difficulties that face the Western student of Thai poetry, and with Pallegoix’s monumental Dictionarium linguae thai still nearly a quarter of a century away, we are left to wonder how he managed to produce such eloquent translations - and to wish we knew more about his informants. There are other questions, too, which Low leaves frustratingly unanswered. How did Leyden compile the original list of works? Was it compiled from diverse sources, or was it a catalogue of the contents of a particular library? Were the texts in Bangkok? Did Low retrace Leyden’s footsteps? What state were the manuscripts in? How were they preserved? How were they transmitted? Who wrote them? Who read— or listened— to them? And how widely known were they, locally and nationally? If today we read Low’s work as a curiosity, an example of outdated nineteenth-century scholarship, rather than part of a foundation upon which our knowledge of Thai literature has been built, we can nevertheless admire him for his pioneering spirit in trying to broaden the Westerner’s knowledge of the culture of Siam. Despite the occasional derogatory remarks about the country and its people, Low’s interest in Siam and things Siamese was genuine, and in the years that followed the appearance of ‘On Siamese Literature’, he published articles, mostly in the Journal of the Indian Archipelago or the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, on the government of Siam, the laws of Siam, the discovery of coal deposits on the Siamese coast, white elephants, Buddhism, and the historical connections between Kedah and Siam. David Smyth
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The Universal Exhibition, Paris 1878 This exhibition was formally opened in May 1878, and open to the public from 20 May to 10 November, by which time it had been visited by just over 16 million visitors. Thirty-six countries participated, and the site, at the Trocadero and the Champ de Mars, covered 75 ha. Among the pavilions were those of Siam and China, and the curiosities on display included a square Japanese piano and a prototype of the Statue of Liberty by the French sculptor Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi (1834–1904). In the 1860s he conceived the idea of presenting the United States with a monument for its 1876 centennial; construction began in 1875 and was funded by a special lottery that brought in $400,000. It was shipped to the United States in numerous crates, reassembled, and inaugurated in 1886.1 Edoardo Sonzogno in Milan planned to publish L’Esposizione i Parigi del 1878 illustrata in two volumes (there is some doubt as to whether the second volume ever appeared). In the first volume, a collection of a series of weekly magazines all dedicated to the exhibition, appear a few lines of description and line drawings of the Siamese and Chinese pavilions at the Trocadero and of the general reception on their opening held on 5 May. In the illustration of the opening, in the front left foreground two Chinese envoys can be seen in traditional mandarin robes, together with a youngish, vaguely oriental person with long black hair and a significant lack of moustache and beard, unlike the surrounding Europeans, dressed in frock coat, white bow tie, and waistcoat, with a tricorne in his white-gloved left hand. This is almost certainly Prince Prisdang (1852–1935), who, however, does not mention the event in his autobiography. But King Chulalongkorn’s diary (Chotmaihet Phraratchakit raiwan phak 8, Bangkok 1971) notes on 26 July 1878, that Gréhan, the Siamese Consul in Paris,2 reported that Prince Prisdang had been to the exhibition and then returned to London. Again according to King Chulalongkorn’s diary, Prince Prisdang, a grandson of King Rama III, was accompanied to Paris in 1878 by Nai Thuan Surawong, later Phra Phairatchaphak-phakdi, a son of ‘Chaokhun Thahan’ (Won Bunnag). Prince Prisdang had graduated brilliantly in engineering in 1876 from King’s College, London and, as he says in his own words, ‘By the middle of C.E. 1877 I had asked for royal permission to go
1
We understand that a Thai translation of Etienne-Galloix, Le Royaume de Siam au Champ de Mars en 1878 et à la Cour de Versailles en 1686 – Deux Rois de Siam (Paris, Challamel Aîné, 1878) was published by the Fine Arts Department in 1971, but this information was only received when this note was in press. 2 Gréhan was given the title Phra Siam Dhuranuraks on 6 May 1863, probably the same day as his appointment as ‘Consul de Sa Majesté le Suprême Roi de Siam’. He published Le Royaume de Siam in 1867, with many subsequent editions. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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back to train and gain knowledge in civil engineering...’ He arrived in London that winter and became a student apprentice in the civil engineering firm of Sir John Hawkshaw, working from 1877–79 as an engineer trainee in England and Holland. Unfortunately, there are no entries in Prince Prisdang’s autobiography for 1878. The prince appears to have been marked out early for a diplomatic career, which formally started in 1879 when he was recruited for special diplomatic missions; the following year he entered the Foreign Service. Siam took part in other international exhibitions, notably the Lousiana Purchase Exposition in St Louis in 1904, when again a special pavilion was erected and filled with art and craft objects, while Siamese wares were distributed in other buildings constructed for the exhibition. LB TB SJ MS
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The Chinese pavilion
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The Siamese pavilion
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The Universal Exhibition, Paris 1878
The formal opening of the exhibition, May 1878
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REVIEWS Forrest McGill, ed. The Kingdom of Siam: The Art of Central Thailand, 1350–1800. San Francisco, Asian Art Museum - Chong-Moon Lee Center for Asian Art and Culture, 2005, pp.200. This is the catalogue published to accompany the exhibition by the same name first held at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco and then at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts, in 2005. The exhibition brought together 89 of the finest examples of the arts of the Ayutthaya period of Siamese history (1351–1767), together with a few from the Thonburi and early Bangkok periods loaned by museums around the world, especially national museums in Thailand. A catalogue, by its very nature, is designed to accompany a visual experience. Its introductory essays sketch the historical, social and artistic context essential to an understanding of the art, and its notes on individual items give viewers information about what confronts them. But catalogues are also collectors’ items, to be treasured as aids to memory, to be dipped back into as a means of recall for those lucky enough to have seen the exhibition. For those not so lucky, a catalogue must have an additional purpose. Many readers of this review will, like the reviewer, not have seen the exhibition, but they may well have seen several of the items illustrated, in the National Museum in Bangkok, or in museums
elsewhere, and will recall other items similar to those in this exhibition. For others this catalogue will provide an introduction to Siamese art, and its peculiar forms and expressions. How successfully does it perform this role? To begin with, the production is excellent. There are striking full-page photographs of the architectural remains of Ayutthaya, Buddha images, painting and inlay work, and smaller, but still adequate, illustrations of the exhibition items. A strength of the book is its comprehensive bibliography, which provides interested readers with all the necessary leads for further study. There is also a useful list of Siamese kings, and a good index, but no glossary. Roughly half the book is devoted to the items of the exhibition, and half to the introductory essays. These cover a variety of themes. Forrest McGill provides a cautious introduction to the history and culture of Siam over these four and a half centuries - cautious because the historical destruction of Ayutthaya makes it almost impossible for the art historian to provide a connected account or stylistic flowchart for Siamese art. For what we have left of the art of Ayutthaya are mere fragments preserved by the accidents of time. The sacking of the city in 1767 was so thorough that almost nothing survived. The ruins of temples provide stark reminders of what was lost, for so much fine art was religious. Of palaces nothing remains. The murals and painted banners, sculpture and wood carving that adorned the great royal temples have irretrievably gone.
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McGill outlines what we might call the material religious context, the component elements of Buddhist temples and the place of image, stupa (or chedi), and narrative relief or mural painting. This is essential, but so too is an understanding of the worldview that this art expresses and communicates - and this is not well covered, in any of the essays. There is no outline of Buddhist cosmology, no discussion of the legitimation of power provided by royal donations to the Sangha and the construction and beautification of Buddhist temples, and passing reference only to the purpose of making merit. An understanding of Buddhism is assumed, but this is surely an unwarranted assumption for many Americans who viewed the exhibition, and even for readers of the catalogue. The second essay is by Dhiravat na Pombejra on foreign contacts and trade with Ayutthaya in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This makes the very important point that Ayutthaya was a remarkably cosmopolitan city, and key hub in a trading network that connected Siam with China to the east and both the Indian sub-continent and the Muslim world to the west. The addition of Europeans to this mix further stimulated trade, but only over time. From an artistic point of view, the influence of India and China was always more important, at least until the nineteenth century. The importance of Ayutthaya in the network of trade lay not in its strategic location (as in the case of Malacca or Batavia), but in its goods on offer. Dhiravat makes the point that it was lucky for the Siamese that these did not
include spices, for that would have attracted occupation, as it did in the spice islands. Siamese trade goods were mostly drawn from an extensive hinterland, which included the inland kingdoms of Lan Na and Lan Xang. It was control of this trade that gave Ayutthaya the edge in the Tai world, but never enough to unify it in the face of the threat from Burma. In artistic terms, to the earlier Cambodian influence, always strong, were added influences from the north (Lan Na) and west (Sri Lanka, either directly or via Burma). What the Europeans brought were luxury items for the amusement of the nobility and, most importantly, new technology and knowledge, mainly military, but in medicine, too. They affected the construction of fortifications, not temples. The next four essays focus on architecture and art. Hiram Woodward provides an informed discussion of the Buddha images of Ayutthaya. Then follow Santi Leksukhum’s study of the evolution of memorial towers and M. L. Pattaratorn Chirapravati’s interesting account of the treasures discovered in the crypt of the main tower of Wat Rachaburana. Finally there is a fine study of Ayutthayan painting by Henry Ginsburg. There is something a little illogical about the order here, which derives, I surmise, from the failure to provide an account of the growth of Ayutthaya, both as an urban centre, and more importantly in terms of the symbolism expressed in urban relationships (of palaces and temples and administrative and com-
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mercial areas). Provided with such a context, Santi’s more narrowly architectural study of the various forms of prang and chedi would make better sense (always supposing that this is sufficiently germane to the focus of the exhibition.) Then would follow naturally chapters on the Buddha image, the artefacts discovered in Wat Rachaburana, and Ayutthayan painting. Because Ayutthayan art is so overwhelmingly religious, and because Buddha images are the focus of worship, some sense must be made for the nonBuddhist reader of the plethora of forms and postures that confronts anyone visiting the exhibition or reading the book. Woodward does this well, categorizing images in terms both of the four postures (iriyapatha) - standing, sitting, walking and reclining - and of hand gesture (mudra). He also devotes attention to peculiarly Siamese forms, such as the Buddha in royal attire and the Sihing type of seated Buddha with the right hand resting on the right knee. Woodward indicates the significance of famous Buddha images, and notes how very few survived the sack of Ayutthaya. Santi’s detailed exposition does have the benefit of drawing attention to architecture (and by extension, art) outside the capital, and to the eclecticism of Siamese borrowing of architectural forms (the prang from Cambodia, the bell-shaped stupa from Burma via Sri Lanka, the octagonal stupa from Mon Haripunjaya). What the Siamese did was to elaborate upon these forms, particularly in the Baroque decoration of the later stupas.
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The crypt of Wat Rachaburana was rather hurriedly excavated by the Fine Arts Department of Thailand in 1957, after looters got away with some twenty bags of gold objects, so Pattaratorn reminds us. But how do we know there were twenty bags? How big were the bags? Was any of this loot recovered? Fascinating questions, which Pattaratorn leaves us wondering about. What escaped the thieves still made up an extraordinary collection, without which our knowledge of Ayutthayan art would be very much the poorer. What is particularly significant was that we know precisely when the votive plaques, small Buddha images, and finely wrought gold objects were deposited in the crypt (in 1424). This assists enormously in dating not only these objects, but in establishing dating criteria for a whole range of Siamese arts and crafts. Two points are particularly of note about this collection, both of which reinforce our understanding of Zthe importance of international relations at this time, both for trade and for religious contacts within the Buddhist world: one is the evident Chinese influence (well before the arrival of Europeans); the other is the number of artefacts of foreign Buddhist provenance. Painting, as Ginsburg reminds us, is particularly subject to damage through war, weather, and neglect. What must have been wonderful mural paintings in the great temples have disappeared almost completely. The best that remain are in Phetchaburi and Bangkok, not in the ruins of Ayutthaya. Banner paintings are almost as poorly represented. Our
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knowledge of Ayutthayan painting derives overwhelmingly from miniature panels flanking the text in folded paper manuscripts - and few enough of these remain. Ginsburg’s contribution strikes just the right note: comprehensive, informative, and expert. Most of the notes on exhibition items are provided by Forrest McGill, with additional notes by other contributors on the walking Buddha, votive plaques, the wonderful statue of Uma (?), and early books on Siam. McGill also provides useful longer notes on categories of artefacts, including images of Maitreya, crowned Buddha images, and manuscript cabinets. These latter are worth special mention for the fineness of their decoration in gold leaf against a black lacquer background. One is decorated with two figures, one European, the other Indian, said to be King Louis XIV of France and the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb. All exhibition items are illustrated, thus providing a complete record. Some, such as stone and bronze statues of Hindu gods (Shiva, Vishnu), are shown from different angles, or in detail. Such statues remind us of the continuing Brahmanical influence at the Siamese court, and bring home yet again the remarkable extent to which Siamese artists were in contact with, and prepared to adopt, foreign influences and made of them something uniquely Siamese. Martin Stuart-Fox
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Ibrahim Syukri, History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani (Sejarah Kerajaan Melayu Patani), translated by Conner Bailey and John N. Miksic. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005, pp.xx+115, Bt 395. Michel Gilquin, The Muslims of Thailand, translated by Michael Smithies. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005, pp.164, ills., Bt 595. The raging violence in Thailand’s Deep South which began in early 2004 has taken many people by surprise. The region had been relatively calm and away from the media for quite some time. Many have analyzed the situation in terms of poverty, power abuse, violations of human rights, and ethnic chauvinism, and a minority of academics ascribe it to “jihadist foreign intervention”. The two timely books under review give us an historical dimension, and a socio-anthropological context of the Patani uprising. Both combine to shed some analytical light on the ongoing conflicts in the southern border areas. Ibrahim Syukri provides us with a political history, nay, a political pamphlet, aimed at inspiring “succeeding generations....(to be) aware of the circumstances concerning their kingdom in ancient times....(and) to learn a little of the life and circumstances of their ancestors...and then to inspire them to study and compile more detailed books such as this.” (p. 2). Syukri does not mean his book to be a definitive work on “the history of
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Patani.” He merely wants to arouse the “Patani Malays,” as he calls them, to be “conscious of their fate, agree to struggle until the end for democracy.” (p. 101). The fact that he chose to write in the Jawi script (Malay with the Arabic letters), testifies to the fact that, according to David K. Wyatt, a foremost authority on the subject, Syukri intended to communicate with his Patani or Southern Thai audience, without “attempting to mobilize a wider Malay (or Indonesian) opinion, for which he would have employed the Roman script, nor did he express himself in Thai or English, both of which languages he apparently knew.” Thus, the real objective of Ibrahim Syukri was not the historical accuracy of his work, but rather a “political action” to be stirred by emotional appeals to Patani’s past glory. He did not really want his audience, the succeeding generations of Patanis, to be aware only of their past, but to “act politically” as a result of that awareness. Little wonder that the book has never appeared in Thai since its first publication in Kelantan in the late 1940s. The language used by Syukri is both stirring and sarcastic, bitter and foreboding, despairing and inspiring, all at the same time. Wyatt, in the foreword to the edition under review, describes it as giving “voice to the pained historical consciousness of Patani.....[during a time] when a full force of Thailand’s policies of national integration began to bear upon the Malays of the Peninsula.” (p. ix).
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The book is divided into four chapters portraying Patani’s ancient history, the genealogy and the height of Patani’s power, the period of decline and, finally with Syukri’s passionate call for the “reawakening” of the people of Patani. It is a story of humiliation and defeat retold for the purpose of agitation for a political movement at a time when Thailand was under authoritarian rule and the Malay states further south were being prepared for independence in a form of federation. While readers should not look for “rational facts and history” in Syukri’s book, as Wyatt warns in the foreword, we should at least appreciate his aspiration for a concise record of the rise and fall of the Patani kingdom. It is obvious that the author entertains a fervent desire to make use of that “history” to breathe life into a dormant movement for Patani independence after the Second World War, a time of fluidity in state formation in Southeast Asia. Syukri’s chronology of wars and defeats on the part of the Patani people under their “rajas” also gives us a better understanding of the emotional quotients behind the Patani independence movement. The current uprising and ongoing turmoil in the Deep South could be seen as a “centennial” of the “ultimate fall of the country of Patani” to Thai rule of 1902. According to Syukri, …A.D. 1902 was the year of the ultimate fall of the country of Patani, the loss of the sovereignty of its rajas, the destruction of the
right of suzerainty of the Malays in the country of Patani, and the pawning of all rights to liberty and independence to the Raja of SiamThai. This was the last and most unfortunate year in the history of the fall of the Malay Kingdom of Patani (p. 81). Seen in this light, Syukri is right in assuming that “memories” of historical events could serve as a powerful tool of inspiration for the people under “the yoke of subjugation.” (p. 79 ) He brings “the pained historical consciousness” to life. And, since 2002, the violent situation in the south seems to go from bad to worse and has no end in sight. If Syurki gives us a passionate account of the history of Patani, Michel Gilquin’s The Muslims of Thailand, translated by Michael Smithies, provides us with a wider perspective of the Muslim community in Thailand. Being a sociologist with an interest in Muslim societies and their experiences in socioeconomic and political integration, Gilquin brings a fresh approach to the study of the Muslims in Thailand. The book is an excellent background for the understanding of the current violent conflict in the three border provinces of the south. Gilquin begins his book by analyzing “the origins of Islam in Thailand.” But his is not a typical historical perspective—he digs deep into the social transformation of “the Chao Phraya basin.” Gilquin’s description of the waves of migrants and foreign cultures,
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i.e., the Chinese, the Portuguese, the Persians, the French and the Greeks, the Indians and Bengalis and the Chams of the Khmer empire, gives the readers a glimpse into the process of the “melting” of various cultures into a rather heterogeneous Siam of yore. Islam and the Muslims came to Siam’s “melting pot” of cultures from various directions. The Chinese Muslims came to the north with the migration of the Hui, or Chinese Muslims (p.15), the Arabs, Indians and Persians entered Ayutthaya early in the seventeenth century (p. 18), and Patani was converted to Islam as early as 1457 (p.11). All came to a kingdom loosely strung together by Theravada Buddhism, which makes it more interesting to sociologists and historians. Siam, with a tolerant form of Buddhism as the state religion, gave support and respect with high tolerance to the foreign Muslim communities within its realm. The author describes with insight this unique symbiotic relationship between the Buddhist kings and the Muslims: There was some ambiguity on both sides [about the Muslims submitting to the “ungodly” authority]. .....For Thais, in their accepted version of history, allegiance implied ipso facto recognition of the nation, religion, and the sacred nature of the Siamese monarchy, whereas for the Muslims this submission only had a tactical dimension and did not imply the recognition of an “ungodly” authority, particularly in
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matters of legislation. (p.13) The “ambiguity” that is mentioned above continues to plague the relations between Bangkok and the Muslim South to this day. But more than in matters of legislation, the conflicts now center on matters of policy espoused in and from Bangkok. What used to be described as “tactical” and “distant” has become immediate and close. The extension of power and control of the “ungodly” authority down to the Muslims in the south has made it impossible to live in isolation and to be shielded from impact of policy initiatives. Muslims in the South deem certain policies to be threats to their identity and cultural heritage. This ambiguity also explains the stiff resistance to the trend of centralization of power and policy formulation perpetuated by the Thaksin Shinawatra government in the past five years. Gilquin’s analysis of a Thai Muslim identity is fascinating as well as illuminating. Islam in Thailand finds itself “in a society which is impregnated with religiosity but which is not coercive about its observance.” (p. 25). The Theravada Buddhist Thai culture is soft, accommodating, open and tolerant, making it secure and comfortable for religious minorities of all denominations. The monarch is regarded as “the Supreme Patron of All Religions.” (p.43). The king’s solicitude for his Muslim subjects is praised as an “example [which] encourages Buddhists to show goodwill to Muslims. It gives a concrete form to the national principle
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of tolerance. It suggests acceptance of cultural and religious diversity.” (p.109). In this environment, the Muslim identity is protected and the Muslim community sustained. Michel Gilquin tries to explain “Thai Muslim structures and demographic importance” in detail. Overall the author does a good job in providing information about the spread of the Muslim community throughout Thailand. Some of his facts appear to be misleading, however. The fault lies not with the author alone, however, since figures and statistics on the Muslim demography are not very well collected and analyzed. For example, Gilquin shows his frustration with the “numerical counts,” quoting different numbers from different sources. In the end, there is no consensus as to the real number of Muslims in Thailand. It ranges from 2.1 to 3 to 7.3 million people. (p. 38). The description of the power structure of Thai Muslim society is very informative. It explains how the leadership of Muslim society has been determined from the time of Sheikh Ahmad of Qum during the Ayutthaya period down to the present time. Still, some facts cited should be rechecked for accuracy. For example, the author claims that “By tradition the king is the spiritual head of national Islam, and article 7 of the 1997 constitution gives this legal force by designating the monarch as the patron of all religions in the country (sasanu-pathamphok).” (p.43). And the author confuses the National Council for Islamic Affairs
with the Islamic Centre of Thailand and states wrongly that the present nomination of the Chularajamontri (a Thai version of Sheikh ul Islam) is brought before the Parliament. In fact, there is no tradition claiming that the king is the spiritual head of national Islam, like the monarch of the United Kingdom being the spiritual head of the Church of England. While the position of the king as the patron of all religions is stipulated in the constitution, although not in Article 7, the Parliament has no role in the nomination of the Sheikh ul Islam or the Chularajamontri. But, all in all, the general treatment by the author of the Thai Muslim society is helpful in better understanding the current state of Muslim social structures in Thailand. Part II of the book discusses the issue of “The Muslims of the Deep South,” their history and their integration into the Thai state. It gives a clear picture of how the central authority tried to appropriate the remnants of the old sultanate of Patani and the pervasive resistance among its people. The readers could find some useful information about the organized resistance under the leadership of the Pattani United Liberation Organization (PULO), the Barisan Revolusi Nasional (BRN), the National Liberation Front of Patani (Barisan Nasional Pembebasan Pattani, BNPP), the Barisan Bersatu Mujahiddin Pattani (United Mujahiddin Front of Patani, BBMP), and the Gerakan Mujahiddn Islam Pattani (GMIP). All these organizations and their subsidiaries have been claiming responsibility for the current
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violence rampaging in the Deep South. A real contribution to the study of Muslims in Thailand comes in the last part of the book when the author takes up the issue of “Islam and the Thai Nation.” It paints a picture of a maturing community struggling to play an active role in the democratization process of the country. It describes a wave of awakening or renewal among the Muslim intellectuals at the national level. It also sheds some light into the efforts on the part of Muslims to find representation in parliament and in the cabinet, the highest decision-making body of the State. The two books under review are particularly to be welcomed by general readers and specialists in Thai Muslim studies during this time of insecurity and instability in the Deep South. While Ibrahim Syukri provides an historical backdrop of a frustrated people of Patani negotiating the pressures of change and transformation to maintain their identity and culture, Michel Gilquin gives us a larger picture of a minority Muslim society in a Theravada Buddhist kingdom, also trying to protect its unique religious and cultural heritage in a time of high fluidity in national political and economic transformation. Both books are valuable additions to the growing volume of works on the Muslims in Thailand. Surin Pitsuwan
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Scot Barmé, Woman, Man, Bangkok: Love, Sex, and Popular Culture in Thailand. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, pp. 273. Students of Thai history are usually obsessed by the subjects of the monarchy and the royal elite. A series of theoretically-informed approaches have been crafted in and around these longlasting, hegemonic institutions. Scot Barmé’s book, first published in 2002 and now reissued by Silkworm for a Southeast Asian edition, can be viewed within the monarchy-focused academic tradition, even though Barmé clearly wishes to distance himself from the dominant “Great Man” theory of history (p.3). He takes a look at the breakdown of the absolute monarchy from the popular stance. He definitely does not intend to write about the monarchs and the nobles and their civilizing missions, but their shadow still looms large throughout the book. From the popular perspective, he seeks to recapture the cultural life of the critical political transition at the beginning of the twentieth century. Barmé’s research materials and sources are extraordinarily rich. He writes a vibrant social history of Bangkok cosmopolitanism by reliving and retelling fascinating accounts of public debate, emerging progressive ideas, complaints, satirical protests, and other intellectual social commentaries retrieved from the archives of newspapers, magazines, novels, short stories, film booklets, and cartoons. He believes that “the development of modern technologies of
mechanized print media and film during the early decades of the twentieth century marked the beginning of a new era in Siam’s history” (p.2). The transformation from absolute to constitutional monarchy in Siam, marked by the 1932 coup, has occupied a prominent place in recent Thai historiography. Barmé argues that understanding how Siam embraced Westernstyle modernity and carried on its nation-building process, particularly after the collapse of the absolute monarchy, through the lense of the elite is far from adequate. The monarchs and the nobles turned the wheel of the national history, but it is at least intellectually incomplete not “to say [something substantial] about commoners being the harbingers of political and social change and renewal” (p. 3). For Barmé, a major way to perceive what the commoners actually thought and how they reacted to the flush of new ideas and technologies in their time is through a careful reconstruction of the early “modern Thai life” displayed in the print media and film records. He discovers that contemporary issues, such as class, gender, lifestyle and taste, popular nationalism, the position of women and their rights, commercial popular/hybrid culture and consumption, which have been branded by many as postmodern phenomena, have much deeper historical roots in urban Bangkok (p. 257). The growing middle class and the ever-expanding cosmopolitanism in Siam’s capital constitute key factors in understanding the country’s nation building, economic
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and political upheavals, as well as its dynamic cultural life. There are a number of ways to appreciate Barmé’s contributions to the growing body of scholarship on Thai studies. First, this book introduces the ‘from below’ approach to the Thai historiography. Its analytical focus establishes the approach that the city, the nation, and thus, the historical significance, are formed by the people. It brings back the agency of commoners to the place they deservedly belong - the center stage of Thai history. Of course, it is always debatable whether the commoners, the people, or the masses in early twentieth century Bangkok are proportionately represented in the print media and film. How representative were the educated and the members of the middle class in Bangkok, and to what extent did Bangkok dominate Siam’s popular culture at that time? Are the media accounts popular enough to be considered as manifestations of popular culture? Are their media-saturated voices sufficiently well captured to be discussed as something equivalent to Raymond Williams’ “structure of feeling”, expounded in his Marxism and Literature (1977)? Second, Barmé’s work belongs to a growing body of scholarship challenging the dominant paradigm in Thai historiography that Thongchai Winichakul calls the “royal nationalist history” (prawatsat racha chatniyom). Some leading figures in the challenging paradigm include Craig Reynolds, Nidhi Aeusrivongse, Thongchai Winichakul himself, Thanet
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Aphonsuwan, and Tamara Loos, among others. Barmé’s lively accounts of protofeminism, women’s education, sexual intimacy, and love and romance in many ways show continued interest in taking a critical look at the intellectual as well as the private life of the emerging urban middle class featured in many works by his colleagues. Finally, Barmé’s work provides scholarly contributions in multiple fields of Thai studies beyond its historical base. Disciplines like cultural studies, historical anthropology, gender studies, media studies, political science, and urban studies focusing on modern Thailand and beyond will benefit from the breadth and depth of this book. Its historical focus on Bangkok’s middle class and its urban life should well complement Marc Askew’s Bangkok: Place, Practice and Representation (2002). Although this book is not as deep or as intriguing as James Francis Warren’s two masterpieces about people’s history in colonial Singapore (Ah Ku and Karayuki-San of 1993 and Rickshaw Coolie of 1986), it can easily claim ground-breaking status in its own right. The book contains some minor drawbacks. It is perhaps beyond its scope, but Buddhism deserves more substantial attention or even a major chapter. It is one of the major persistent cultural forces and values determining the social life in the country. It would be interesting to trace how the middle class and ordinary people of urban Bangkok made sense of their modernizing world through their traditional popular Bud-
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dhist Weltanschauung. It is rather surprising that Buddhist ideas were not extensively featured in the Bangkok media during that time. On the technical side, the book lacks a glossary of key Thai terms, maps, and images, which would help the reader better enjoy Bangkok’s recent past. Images or pictures of the early twentieth century Bangkok are definitely lacking; as we all know, a photograph is worth a thousand words. The camera was available long before the period under study. There are also some transliteration errors, as on p. 107, where than phu saksi becomes than phu saksit. The reference to Warren’s book in note 38 (p. 91) is wrong. The correct one is found in the bibliography. Woman, Man, Bangkok is highly recommended for scholars and students of Thai studies and those whose interests are concerned with comparative fields of humanities and social sciences in Southeast Asia and beyond. It is also intellectually stimulating for general readers, as it is written in an entertaining and accessible fashion. It is virtually free of technical/theoretical jargon. Its thesis concerning early modern life from the popular perspective and its well-crafted coverage of multiple contemporary issues will certainly be well received by scholars involved in the subaltern/postcolonial and postmodernist debates. This anthropologically oriented reviewer treasures Barmé’s book as an historically-
grounded gem in the expanding field of cultural studies in Thailand. Pattana Kitiarsa
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Wattana Sugunnasil, ed., Dynamic Diversity in Southern Thailand. Pattani, Prince of Songkhla University, and Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2005, pp.x + 333, Bt.795. In 2002, representatives of communities in seven southern provinces, volunteers, and academicians convened in the city of Pattani to present results of their recent fact-finding. Called the First Inter-Dialogue Conference on Southern Thailand, the event was cohosted by the Pattani Campus, Prince of Songkhla University, and the Department of Anthropology, Harvard University, and financially supported by the Rockefeller Foundation, and the Toyota Foundation, as well as the Asia Center and the Department of Anthropology, both of Harvard University. The diversity of Southern Thailand is not the gist of this book. Rather, it contains eleven contributions on diverse facets in selected areas of Southern Thailand, supplemented by one on a community abroad. It would have been helpful to have had an introduction - at best an essay on diversity and related dynamics - as well as subject and geographical indexes. Southern Thailand being large in size and diverse in the extreme, the necessity of topographical differentiation is not only obvious but also mentioned in some contributions, as in Duncan McCargo’s paper. The collection of papers contains a wealth of information that is grouped by this reviewer into the categories of
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‘roots’, ‘transition’, ‘current affairs’, and ‘wider context’. In her study on Spirit Mediumship in Southern Thailand: The Feminization of Nora Ancestral Possession, falling into the category of ‘roots’, Marlane Guelden reports on her field work conducted in Pattani, Songkhla and Phatthalung provinces, from October 2000 to December 2004. Her research highlights the ritual side of nora, which involves few people and is limited to village life, compared to the public entertainment side. There are an estimated one hundred or more traditional nora groups. With a focus on gender transition from male to female prominence in the nora performance, four central findings are presented. Firstly, women among nora active participants have increased to 70-80 percent, and among nora troop leaders to 10-30 percent; secondly, flexibility in ancestral beliefs is warranted by a melange of elements of Buddhism, Brahmanism, Taoism, Islam, and animism; thirdly, female nora performers are joined by mostly female mediums; and, lastly, nora rituals are seen as particularly valuable to women clients. A tendency toward empowering women seems to have gained strength. This study of spirit mediumship is deemed a fine methodical example of gender analysis - as well as a most informative research on the authentic, ritual nora. The paper on Popular Culture and Traditional Performance: Conflicts and Challenges in Contemporary ‘Nang Talung’ by Paul Dowsey-Magog covers
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the sacred as well as the profane, studied in Songkhla, Phatthalung, Trang, Nakhon Si Thammarat and Surat Thani provinces. Previously an important village ritual practice, nang talung has become widespread in southern towns as professional entertainment. The authentic performance of nang talung still serves the original, ritual purpose of communicating messages focused on adverse conditions. Nang talung juxtaposes the nai, the master, and the phrai, the lowly commoner, with a clown, tua talok, representing the genius of rural people. Inherent is saksit, meaning sacrosanct, even sacred items and practices, embedded in ritual knowledge and believed to exert magical power over oppressors. As reported, the significance of clowns and older ritual practices is connected to the shared southern identity. Reading this in-depth study is like glimpsing behind the screen, gaining insight into cultural and social facets. It fosters the understanding of socio-cultural dynamics, in their complexity and diversity. The adage ‘the grass on the other side of the fence is always greener’ comes to mind in reading the paper entitled Paradise at Your Doorstep: International Border Fluidity and Cultural Construction amongst Kelantan’s Thai Community, the third contribution placed in the category of “roots”. The author, Irving Chan Johnson, conducted fieldwork in Ban Bo On, situated opposite Amphoe Sukhirin of Thailand’s Narathiwat Province, during August
2001-December 2002. He distinguishes between how the Thai community has upheld its ethnic identity, while identifying itself as Malaysian, reminiscing about a ‘golden past’, remaining devout to Buddhist institutions in Thailand, maintaining kin relationships, expressing positive sentiments, and yet perceiving a corruption of moral values across the border—in short, “an ambiguous locale of contradictory meanings”. The Kelantanese Thai villagers’ glimpse across the “southern fence” could perhaps be likened to a reverse mirror image of current affairs, an ideal in a magic mirror. It likely exemplifies mutual respect among different ethnic and religious groups. Among immigrants of various ethnic origins, the Chinese put down their roots rather recently. They formed ever more nodes of expanding networks. This is described by Suleemarn N. Wongsuphap in her paper entitled The Social Network Construction of the Baba Chinese Businesses in Phuket. As highlighted, the identity requires five major conditions to establish itself and to expand business, as exemplified by the Ganthawee family’s “cultural capital”. They are: assimilation through the network of the women’s families; brotherhood; relatives and bonds; friends, associates, and connections; as well as patronage and networks. The findings are based on a study of the Ganthawee clan, whose founder settled in Phuket in 1897. Examined are their business patterns, deemed characteristic of how Chinese tin-mine man-
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ager-owners established themselves and represented the driving force of the southern capital group in Phuket. The evolution up to the year 1984 is one of Baba Chinese male and Yonya female Chinese actors’ own historical experience, rather than the experience of Chinese either on the mainland or elsewhere. Ultimately, their Chinese-ness is a product of Thailand’s nationalizing process, which has resulted in creating the “Phuket Chinese”. Given the significance of the Chinese element in the potpourri of ethnic groups not originally intended to form one group, this case study conveys essential information. One of the two contributions focused on ‘transition’ relates Voices from the Grassroots: Southerners Tell Stories about Victims of Development. Based on 44 studies of 55 cases, including 41studies by 42 identified authors, as well as one each by the Pak Phanang River Basin Community, by students from Prince of Songkhla University, and by a Pattani Bay Network, adverse impacts are reported on natural resources as a means of livelihood, as well as on essentials of sustenance, caused by ‘development’ project planning, implementation, or management. Cases of natural resources jeopardized in the course of development refer to forests, agro-forests or forest gardens, fresh water resources, wetlands, and coastal aquatic resources. Sources of livelihood compromised or threatened are community forest conservation, farmland exposed to degradation, declining field crop yields, degradation
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caused by counter-productive irrigation, inland fisheries, coastal fisheries and aquaculture, water-borne transportation, communities in orchards and forests threatened by eviction from areas demarcated as national parks, maritime commons of littoral communities, cultural heritage, environmental pollution, narcotics, and pipeline construction. Initiatives for alternative strategies are geared to build productive communities, and to foster self-reliance, environmental conservation, ‘green market networks’, formal education, occupational training, advancement of women, sustainable ecosystems, sustainable natural resource management, off-season rice cropping, and preservation of traditional crafts. Thirty-eight of the 44 studies were conducted in the provinces of Chumphon, Nakhon Si Thammarat, Narathiwat, Pattani, Satun, Songkhla, Trang and Yala. At least ten authors bear Malay names. This lends credibility to heralding ‘voices from the grassroots’. Considering the significance of diversity and its inherent dynamics, these voices from the grassroots are deemed of core importance. The underlying action research, exploring and reflecting on conditions and stimulating change for the better by employing rapid rural appraisals is, in itself, proof of the ongoing transition from reactive adjustment to pro-active assertiveness, from blind protest to alternative proposal. Given the vast scope and sheer magnitude of development ventures
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gone awry, the reader should have been offered the whole load of information. That opportunity was missed. Rapporteurs compressed it into a far too brief summary report. Paths to a Possible South: The Dhamma Walk for Songkhla Lake, a paper authored by Theodore W. Mayer, relates to action research. By 2003, eight Dhammayatra had been conducted. The lake walk reflects a unique encounter between a highly intellectual, socially critical, activist Buddhist movement and the problems surrounding an important identifying feature of the southern Thai landscape - Songkhla Lake. A small group of Buddhist monks, members of the Sekhiyadhamma, an organization dedicated to the appropriate training in dhamma, travelled to Tambon Khun Khut in Sathing Phra District of Songkhla Province in 1994. Its president, Phra Kittisak, felt inspired by the activist role of Muslim leaders at the Khun Khut mosque. The printed announcement of the first Dhamma Walk described its objectives as conserving natural resources, the formation of an ecumenical network, coordination anchored in religious centres, and adherence to shared religious principles, satsanatham. It became evident that these hopes were highly unrealistic. With a view to grasping the scope of the conflict, understanding its dynamics, and working towards a non-violent solution, this meticulous ‘travelogue’ offers more than just insight. It diagnoses social ills and prescribes remedies. ‘Current affairs’ are addressed in four
contributions. The one entitled Consuming Modernity in a Border Community by Wattana Sugunnasil introduces Buddhist villagers in an old, fictitious Thai settlement, which seems to be located in Phron or Khosit sub-districts of Tak Bai District and, hence, is not “remotely” situated. How the villagers have fared over the past decades is related through bits of information scattered across the paper. As a result, there is repetition. Most irritating are inconsistent statements. Against the background of radical changes since 1971, evident from comparative official statistics and household data regarding use of appliances and other durable goods, as well as employment, it does not come as a surprise that drastic changes have continued to occur. After all, the village is within easy reach of Sungai Kolok, one of the busiest hubs. In short, the village is not situated at the periphery of modernity either. Apart from inconsistencies, tedious repetitions, and redundant generalizations, the author’s portrayal of a community is informative, in many of its facets. The drawing of contradictory inferences can be traced to the author’s fusion of well researched and documented village society dynamics with ideological prescriptions of harmony. ‘Current affairs’ at the regional level and of trans-boundary significance are addressed in Phil King’s contribution entitled The Indonesia-Malaysia-Thailand Growth Triangle: How the South Was Won ... and Then Lost Again. The
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southern provinces of Thailand, northwestern Malaysia, and the Indonesian provinces of Aceh and North Sumatra were identified as components of a distinct subregional territory. This was deemed a boon for Thailand’s southern provinces. Also, the potential role for ethnic Malays was considered an opportunity, not a constraint, for economic development. Malay identity was presented as a form of “social capital”. The blueprint prepared by the Asian Development Bank (ADB) did not seriously address issues of Malay participation or the complexities driving poverty cycles. Based on a document published by Thailand’s National Economic and Social Development Board {NESDB), the Seamless Songkhla Penang Medan corridor (SSPM) was created. The most virulent opposition came from the Malay fishing villages most directly affected by the proposed pipeline and gas separation plant. In an ironic twist, the folksy symbolism that had long been part of the promotional material developed into a potent force of its own. In effect, the forms of “social capital” that were considered irrelevant to the development of the Indonesia-Malaysia-Thailand Growth Triangle are fully capable of bringing core dimensions of the project to a halt. Given the recent emergence of a novel trans-boundary culture, also subsumed under ‘current affairs’ is the study by Jovan Maud of The Nine Emperor Gods at the Border: Transnational Culture, Alternate Modes of Practice, and
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the Expansion of the Vegetarian Festival in Hat Yai. The field study, conducted in 2001, focuses on Chinese ethnicity in the context of the local tourist industry for which Chinese-ness is mobilized as a resource. Vegetarianism, coupled with ‘moderate asceticism’ and worship of the Nine Emperor Gods, are distinguished. Both are mediums through which connections are made between southern Thai Chinese and people in Malaysia and Singapore, who participate to experience an exotic yet familiar Chinese-ness conditioned by another national context. The host state’s cultural rather than racial definition of “Thai-ness” implies that “nation-ness” is defined by practice and allows the Chinese to maintain the public veneer of “Thai-ness” while creatively combining Chinese practices with the prescribed Thai behaviour. The author’s vivid description of the festival’s dynamics keeps the reader engrossed. Aspects of the ‘wider context’ of dynamic diversity are covered by three sections of varied scopes. The broadest scope is addressed by Omar Farouk Bajunid in his paper on Islam, Nationalism, and the Thai State. Undoubtedly, it conveys relevant information, yet the paper sheds little light on the theme of the book. Solely of relevance are the Malay Muslims who have fought for their community space and the sustaining of their native Jawi language. Muslim parliamentarians in the southern provinces established an inter-party political faction called Al-Wahdah in 1986
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to promote and safeguard collective interests through democratic means. The concluding paragraph reads like a set of research hypotheses, as follows: democracy seems to be the best guarantee for the Malay Muslim communities’ survival; in the democratic Thai state, the Muslims will be able to harness their potential fully as equal and loyal citizens; the compatibility of Islam with Thai nationalism is a timetested fact; and Muslims can be expected to assume a commitment to the ideals of Thai nationhood. The reader is left with the impression that the challenge to conduct research conducive to conflict resolution continues. Another feature of relevance with a sharp regional focus is the paper by Duncan McCargo on Southern Thai Politics: A Preliminary Overview. It does not deal with Thailand’s government policy in regard to the South, but with the dynamics of southern politics. The author’s summary of points may serve as orientation: southern Thai politics are shaped by a distinctive history; troubled politics of the southern border have overshadowed the politics of the region as a whole; the border region is the most studied part of the South from a political perspective; contrasting identities are manifested in violent conflicts; and the south more generally has a reputation for lawlessness and banditry. Sketched in informative abstracts, politics in the ‘Lower or Deep South’ are diagnosed, as distinguished from politics in the South overall, including the ‘Middle’
and ‘Upper South’. Muslim politics shifted from parliamentary means to an unconventional path with no specific form or operational procedures. Violence was fuelled by alienation, and by a range of grievances. Since1973, a significant “counter-elite” has emerged to challenge the official elite. The South has been a potentially renegade region with a propensity for disorder, begging questions about the origins and nature of banditry. Arguably, the border provinces are the “theatre” of much infighting over considerable resources among influential groups. These gangs have comprised regional and provincial level government officials, wealthy and corrupt businessmen, and top local gangsters. Not only does this overview open and, most of all, train perspectives on the South of Thailand but it also stimulates the conceptualization of further exploration, beyond the researched track. The paper Southern Thai Women in Development: A Tale of Two Villages by Jawanit Kittitornkool is categorized as belonging to the wider context, seemingly with a focus on southern women in development. Alas, the tales of women from two southern villages are paid too little attention. A summary of the few studies cited is supplemented with information obtained by interviewing 14 persons, eleven of them in Southern Thailand. The presentation of the core matter is signalled under the heading of “The Villages and The Women”, in Ban Khao Bua and Ban Tha Hin. Their different topographies
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might have been selection criteria. Moreover, one is a village where community development groups have been promoted by government agencies, whereas in the other a council was formed under the leadership of the abbot and monks. Instead of any comparative analysis, profiles of ‘The Leading Women’ are lumped together as if they lived in one and the same village. Consequently, there is neither rationale nor need for any further comment. Worse yet, a halfbaked description is offered in that it covers one village exclusively, to the effect that the section entitled “The Analysis of Women’s Participation in Development” remains void of any analytical finding. Ultimately, the drawing of conclusions is unfeasible. In spite of these criticisms, this book is strongly recommended to readers of all walks of life. It contains information that might well fill in lacunae of earlier, completed, or ongoing research. All persons who are concerned about the situation in the south of Thailand and desirous to see the plethora of predicaments alleviated will gain valuable insight. Karl E. Weber
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G.J. Younghusband, The Trans-Salwin State of Kiang Tung, ed. David K. Wyatt. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, pp. xiv + 80, 4 pull-out maps and plans, paperback, Baht 395. First comes one Englishman to shoot birds or beasts, then come two Englishmen to make a map, and then comes an army to take the country. It is better therefore to kill the first Englishman. Pathan saying quoted in G.J. Younghusband A Soldier’s Memoirs in Peace and War (1917, 320). The general in direct command of the so-called ‘Third Anglo-Burmese War’, which started in November 1885, was General Sir Frederick Roberts VC (1832–1914). He was Commander-inChief of the British Army in India 1885–93, and later became Field Marshal Earl Roberts of Kandahar. He was in Mandalay from November 1886 to February 1887, a period that coincided with the visit to Chiang Tung of 28-year-old Lieutenant George Younghusband, of the Queen’s Own Corps of Guides. By then, what remained of the Kingdom of Burma (‘Upper Burma and the Shan States’ to the British) had been incorporated into British India. It had taken only a few weeks to capture Mandalay and secure the surrender and exile of the Burmese king. But the ‘pacification of the countryside’ was to take several more years. ‘Punitive expeditions’ against ‘rebels’
and ‘dacoits’ continued into the twentieth century. At the height of the war, the British Indian Army in Burma numbered some 40,000 troops and 15,000 armed police. The Shan State of Chiang Tung presented the British with a problem, not only because of its relative size and independence - they had recently murdered all the Burmese Commissioners but also because of its geographical location on the wrong side of the River Salween. This made it difficult for a modern army to march on it directly from Burma. In late 1886 Younghusband was briefed by Colonel Bell VC in Simla, the British Indian Army HQ, for a mission to collect military intelligence on routes to Chiang Tung through Siam and its northern dependencies. General Roberts knew Younghusband personally and may have suggested him for the mission. In an anecdotal chapter in one of Younghusband’s later memoirs, he refers to Roberts’s personal kindness in awarding him the Burma War Medal for his services in Chiang Tung. The official and secret report on the mission of which only two copies exist - is reproduced in the present publication, which also has a valuable introduction and glossary by Professor Wyatt. What the young lieutenant did in 1887 by visiting Chiang Tung could probably be accomplished today by any military attaché from Bangkok, driving up to Chiang Tung in a 4 x 4 on a family holiday of about two weeks. Nor would (s)he need a supporting cast
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of guide, interpreter, driver, mechanic, cook and someone with a shotgun. The resulting intelligence would probably be just about as irrelevant, or unused. In the event, Younghusband’s advice to ‘hand over’ Chiang Tung to China was not heeded. In 1890 Chiang Tung peacefully became part of British Burma, or ‘submitted’ and ‘accepted the position of feudatory’ as Scott has it (Scott 1901: 307). In his introduction, ‘Spy and Counterspy in the Shan States’, Wyatt emphasises the theme of military espionage and the way in which the Shan kept Younghusband at arm’s length, but under surveillance and subject to harassment, theft and threat. Wyatt highlights the disingenuous way in which Younghusband’s popular published version of his travels (Eighteen Hundred Miles on a Burmese Tat, published in 1888) - hereafter 1,800 miles.... – a tat is a Burmese pony - described his journey as the adventures of a young officer on unpaid leave from India, out for a bit of fun and small game hunting. This review looks at the context of his journey and the quality and value of his report. First, I compare the volume under review [KT] with 1,800 miles... I use only the comparable sections of the journey from Chiang Mai to Chiang Tung and back to Chiang Rai. In 1,800 miles... the relevant sections (pp. 39–80 of 162 pages) are of approximately the same length as KT, more or less 10,000 words. In brief, KT is only slightly different from 1,800 miles... but crucially so. The preface to 1,800 miles... reads:
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‘The following pages give an account of a journey made during six months leave [not true] in the beginning of 1887. They do not profess any literary merit whatever [by and large true] but are merely a faithful [not entirely true] record of new countries and new nations, as seen with the eyes of an ORDINARY BRITISH SUBALTERN’ [not quite true] I am obliged to present the differences between the texts in summary form, but they can be checked. In short, as we would expect, the popular text includes some relatively trivial or anecdotal material that is not in KT, and omits references to specifically political and strategic information and comment. This includes reference to disguises and subterfuge, to maps, weaponry, military strengths, logistics, city defences, roads passable for guns, artillery ranges, best routes for lines of advance and positions for siege and attack. It also includes reference to political analysis and advice. Younghusband has a chapter devoted to his time in Burma and Siam in each of his two later volumes of memoirs. In A Soldier’s Memoirs...1917, Chapter 7 (of 21) is entitled ‘A Burmese adventure’ and in Forty years a Soldier... 1923, Chapter 6 (of 16) ‘An Adventure in Siam’ (Wyatt refers only to the latter). Each of these is brief and contains little new except for the first published evidence of his role in ‘the Intelligence Branch’, and an expanded story of how he bought some fake European am-
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ethysts in a Shan amethyst mine (in 1887!). It is instructive to compare KT with Captain W.C. McLeod’s 1837 report (Grabowsky and Turton 2003 [henceforth McLeod]). Younghusband reprints McLeod’s route Chiang Tung-Chiang Rung, but makes no further use of McLeod. In a six month excursion from India and back, Younghusband spent just nine full days in Chiang Tung city and 27 days in the province altogether. McLeod spent fourteen days in Chiang Tung city and 43 days in the province altogether. In all McLeod spent four times as long in the (comparable) region as a whole, including Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai, and his report is about four times as long. The McLeod and Younghusband visits to Chiang Tung, in 1837 and 1887 respectively, could hardly be more contrasting. McLeod was four years older, had recently been promoted captain, was more widely experienced and had lived in Burma for over ten years. Much more importantly, he had an ambassadorial role. He bore letters and gifts between heads of state. He followed protocol. He spoke excellent Burmese, and perhaps a little Tai. Younghusband knew almost nothing of the situation, spoke no relevant languages, and, moreover, despised his interpreter, whereas McLeod’s interpreter deputised for him and was of great assistance. Younghusband had the benefit of the reports of previous visitors. People on the ground included (since the Treaty of 1883) the British Vice-
Consul in Chiang Mai, Mr Archer, and the American Missionary, Dr Cheek. Like McLeod, he received advice from the Chinese (Yunnanese Muslim) traders. He is generally less recognisant of his helpers and sources than McLeod. Younghusband avoided official contact, adopted disguises and pretended to be poorer than he was to avoid theft and the obligation to give gifts. He ends his report with the words: ‘This information for the most part is that of the Bazár, and not official’. This does not necessarily downgrade the value of the information, but it underlines the limits of his access. So not only did he spend less time in Chiang Tung and write less than McLeod, but his report is less soundly based. He is not as gifted an observer or writer as McLeod, or (Sir) James Scott, who was soon to follow. Scott gives credit to McLeod and many others, but makes not a single reference to Younghusband (Scott 1901). KT contains some trivial, prejudiced and self-regarding material, which I find cumulatively distasteful. He describes the Chiang Tung Prince, who is twelve years old, as a ‘rather idiotic-looking youth, with a face that may turn into a very cruel one’. He writes offensively about his interpreter David, whom he renames Ananias: ‘a poisonous beast and the most unholy coward’ (Forty Years), ‘the most fearful and hopeless coward God ever created’, ‘that skunk Ananias’. Then there are the rather dreadful, and often malicious thumbnail sketches of faces of people he met, some
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twenty-two in all in the present volume. He is also self-regarding in a rather unattractive way. One portrait reproduced here and in 1,800 miles... is captioned in the former ‘Myself, about 3 months after leaving civilization’ (he is heavily bearded and has long hair) and in the latter ‘My own sweet self after leaving Zimme’. His boastful and exaggerating style is echoed in Forty Years: ‘Sir George White with his army was now attacking from the West (though we did not know it at the time [?]), whilst Judh Bir [his orderly] and I were attacking from the South’ (p. 100). Even towards Judh Bir, a Gurkha, and therefore close in the British military hierarchy of martial races to the epitome of the Pathan ‘tribesman’, he manages to be condescending, in such phrases as ‘a famous little fellow’ and ‘a right tight brave little man and companion’. Wyatt calls these attitudes ‘cavalier’. I suppose this goes with phrases he uses in later books, such as ‘dash my wig’! Younghusband’s mission was, for him, a minor episode in a long career that included military action in India, Egypt, Afghanistan, Burma, Philippines (with the US army) and South Africa (against the Boers). Wounded in France in the First World War, he was rewarded with the sinecure of Keeper of the Jewel House, in the Tower of London, a post he held with the title Sir George Younghusband KCMG, KCIE, FRGS until his death in 1944. He wrote a Short History of the Tower of London, which has the same anecdotal style and forced levity as his three (now four) other
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published books. He dined out on the story of the fake amethysts. About other deceptions practised on him, we might assume he may have been more discreet. As for the ‘Trans-Salwin State of Kiang Tung’, if that is the direction you view it in, it has remained a contested area, demonstrating well the sound judgement of Younghusband, though he meant it slightly differently: ‘The Kiang Tung province in the hands of the British can never be anything but a source of weakness to the integrity of the Burmese Kingdom, ... a constant challenge to outsiders.’ (KT p.13). In 1943 it was ceded to Thailand, to be returned after the war. In 1953 it was largely occupied by insurgents and Chinese (KMT) irregular forces. In 1983 there were some nineteen insurgent groups in the Shan and Kachin states, representing various ethnic and political alliances. The Shan State of Chiang Tung will long remain a focus of fascination for historians and politicians alike. The editor suggests that ‘There is much in Younghusband’s report that remains good reading.... He rarely lets us forget, however, that he was on serious duty as a military spy.’ (KT p. x, emphases added). I would give a different emphasis and say that it is once again interesting, precisely because of the military angle. It needs to be read as a symptomatic text and not as a rattling good tale, nor as a mine of useful data. And, as the editor says, the wider context of intelligence interest in Chiang Tung at the time, by the British Foreign
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Office, and by the Siamese and Chiang Mai governments, requires that we read this report ‘more carefully and skeptically than we might otherwise do’. (KT p. xii). Professsor Wyatt and Silkworm Books are to be congratulated on living up to their high standards of editing, annotating and publishing manuscripts and long out-of-print texts of historical interest. Andrew Turton
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Anthony R. Walker, Merit and the millenium: routine and crisis in the ritual lives of the Lahu people. New Delhi, Hindustan Publishing Corporation, 2003, pp. xxxi + 907, maps, pp. illustrations. Anthony Walker spent nearly four decades studying the religious beliefs and practices of the Lahu. He now presents us with this massive volume in which he records and explains how the Lahu people view the super-human world, and describes and analyzes the ritual practices through which they interact with that invisible world. The author bases his work on his participant observation of ritual life in a Lahu Nyi village in Lanna (northern Thailand) in the late 1960s, as well as on later field research among the Lahu of Yunnan. As a result, he explains the ideas and practices that he found in “his” Lahu village in northern Thailand in terms of the wider context of the Lahu-speaking peoples. This may incidentally help to demonstrate that the highland populations of southern China and northern South-East Asia interact fairly often, at least on the periphery, with lowland civilizations. In addition, the author scrutinizes much of the widely scattered and extremely heterogeneous publications concerning the Lahu which have been written by Western travellers and Chinese administrators, as well as by colonial officers, evangelical missionaries and sundry other observers.
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Textual analysis revealed numerous references to ideas and institutions that were obviously of Buddhist origin, such as monks, merit, and demerit. Furthermore, these Lahu ritual texts are sprinkled with words and expressions derived from Pali or Sanskrit, but also occasionally from Dai, Chinese or Burmese. These characteristics of Lahu ritual texts, together with the significance of the village temple and the recurrent phenomenon of prophets and messianic movements, led the author to investigate as much as feasible the Lahu’s Mahayana Buddhist heritage in Yunnan. Having recorded the rich and varied ritual life of the Lahu in the village in which he carried out his field work before proceeding to the analysis of the ritual texts he had collected, Anthony Walker found that there was much less variation among the ritual texts than among the ritual practices. Explanations offered by informants about ritual practices and their underlying premises were often divergent, sometimes contradictory or confused, whereas exegetical commentary on textual materials tended to be much more coherent and comprehensive, as well as considerably less divergent. In the first part of this hefty volume, entitled “A Lahu village in North Thailand and its socio-historical matrices” (p 3–108), Anthony Walker sums up his study of a Lahu Nyi village near Phrao, Chiang Mai province, carried out between 1966 and 1970. He briefly describes the layout of the village, the
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economic basis of the inhabitants’ livelihood, the daily round of village life, the phenotype and dress of the villagers, their material culture, and some aspects of their social organization. In a section called “Through the mists of the past: from hypothetical Qiang to proven Lahu”, Walker goes on to attempt to make some sense out of the rather scanty and frequently obscure available material that may reveal something of the prehistory, protohistory and history of the Lahu people. He then discusses the controversial etymology of the ethnonym Lahu. There follows a section about the differences between Lahu groups such as the Lahu Na, the Lahu Nyi, the Lahu Shehleh, and the Lahu Shi. The author notes that linguistic differences do not always coincide with socio-cultural differences. He also discusses the relationship between the Kucong and the Lahu proper. Whether the Kucong should be considered to be a division of the Lahu or a separate people (in China, they have applied, without success, for official recognition as a shaoshu minzu) is a moot point. This leads to a discussion of the geographical distribution and demography of the Lahu, dispersed as they are in the mountain areas of southern Yunnan (411,476, including 30,051 Kucong, in 1991), the eastern Shan State of Myanmar (probably more than 200,000 nowadays), northern Thailand (60,321 in 1987), northwestern Laos (about 16,000, including at least 3,000 Kucong, in 1985), and northwestern Vietnam (about 5,400, mostly
Kucong, in 1993). The hard core of the book is entitled “The diverse strands of Lahu supernatural ideas and ritual practices” (pp. 111–547). The author investigates “animism” and “theism” in Lahu ontology. Among the Lahu, there seems to be a consensus on the existence in every human being of both a material body and some spiritual essence, which are intimately interrelated. Whereas almost all Lisu would agree that men have nine ha and that women have seven ha (a Lisu term which I would prefer to render in English as “vital spirit” rather than “soul”), the author’s Lahu informants were very vague about the number of awv ha (a Lahu term translated as “soul” in this book). Their replies to the author’s questions ranged from two to thirty-two, such presumably mystic numbers as three, four, twelve and seventeen being most often mentioned as possibilities or certainties, while thirty-two is likely to reflect Yuan (Khon Müang) influence. What happens to these awv ha after a person dies is equally vague. In the case of “good deaths” or “natural deaths” – i.e. deaths which have not occurred during childbirth or in bizarre circumstances and that have not resulted from an act of violence such as murder, suicide or accident - at least one of the awv ha departs for the Land of the Dead. Predictably, the anthropologist’s queries about where the Land of the Dead is located and what it is like frequently elicited replies such as “How can I know, I’ve never been there! Have
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you?” (p. 126). Therefore the author tends to keep an open mind about “traditional” Lahu ideas on this subject. Walker then relates what he has learned about “traditional” Lahu beliefs concerning the world of the neˇ (spirits) before going into the question of Lahu “theism”, certainly a major aspect of Lahu metaphysics. The Lahu (or, at least, some of them) appear to be quite exceptional among comparable peoples in eastern and southeastern Asia in that they attribute great importance to G’uiv sha, their original creator and supreme deity. The author admits willingly that “among almost all the other peoples we have mentioned (and the dozens upon dozens unmentioned) the high or almighty creator deity is regarded as a remote, almost insignificant supernatural being in comparison with the much more immediate territorial guardians, sickness-bearing spirits, etc.” (p. 160). He contends that the interest of the Lahu (or at least, some sections of them) has evolved gradually as a result of Mahayana Buddhist influence, beginning in the latter part of the eighteenth century. A lengthy chapter concerns the practice of “animism”. After having introduced the practitioners, maw- pa_ and she_ pa_, the author describes various methods of divination practised among the Lahu (they vary somewhat, of course, from group to group). He gives considerable details about the ceremonies in which awv ha are recalled whenever someone falls sick as a result of one or more awv ha wandering off.
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Much detailed material is also offered concerning spirit propitiation and spirit exorcism. In another chapter, the author examines what he calls rather appropriately “the extremes of an animistic continuum”, namely the garnering of merit and the practice of sorcery. In the next section, Walker investigates the circumstances under which Mahayana Buddhism spread among the Lahu of southwestern Yunnan in the late eighteenth century - to the extent that the rather scarce and often imprecise historical records permit. He attempts to evaluate the legacy of this episode among what he calls the “postMahayana Buddhist Lahu”. Detailed ethnographic materials are mustered to indicate how this Mahayana Buddhist heritage has been incorporated with animistic and theistic ideas into the routine of their ritual lives. Village temples, together with their attendant officials and the rituals which take place in them, are described. Some attention is also paid to the annual cycle and to the life cycle. Particularly interesting is the chapter concerning the messianic movements that have led to significant changes in the beliefs and rituals of various Lahu-speaking peoples. Indeed, a recurrent phenomenon is the appearance of men - styling themselves as prophets or messiahs - who claim unity with G’uiv sha, pretend to possess miraculous healing powers, and proclaim the need for profound changes (including the end of Han or Dai hegemony in their area). The third part of the book (pp. 551–733) is concerned with the spread
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of Baptist and other forms of Christianity among the Lahu. The author strives to identify the reasons why Christian missionaries have been much more successful in spreading their religious convictions among the Lahu than among most other highlanders in that part of the world. He estimates that about 10 per cent of the Lahu have embraced Chistianity, the percentage being much higher, perhaps 30 per cent, in Thailand than elsewhere. However, it would seem that some of the converts drift away from Christianity almost as easily as they have adhered to it. The author incorrectly equates the Palaung with the Bulang. Thus he states that “the Austroasiatic (and Buddhist) Palaung (Bulang in Pinyin romanization) recognize Sagya in this role” (p.159). Elsewhere, one reads about “the Bulang (Palaung) of the YunnanKengtung area” (p.144, note 69) and “the Bulang (Palaung) Mountains in Xishuanbanna’s Menghai County” (p. 381)... In fact, “Palaung” is not at all a variant of “Bulang”. It is a Burmese exonym for the Ta’ang (De’ang) people who live in the western and northwestern parts of the Shan State of Burma and in adjacent districts of the Dehong Dai-Jingpo Autonomous Zhou in western Yunnan. The Ta’ang are very seldom in contact with the Lahu, except to a very limited extent in an area north of Lashio, where there are significant numbers of persons of both “ethnic groups” (or “nationalities”, as they say in Myanmar or “national minorities”, as they are termed in China). The Bulang
are quite distinct socially and culturally from the Ta’ang/Palaung and they speak a different Austroasiatic language. Living in southwestern Yunnan, they come into contact more or less frequently with the Lahu. On the Chinese side, the Ta’ang and the Bulang constitute two separate entities among the fifty-five shaoshu minzu (national minorities) that are officially recognized. One of the most welcome features of this book is its rich illustrative material. A large number of high quality photographs, technically excellent and highly informative, are presented on 72 plates. Some of them are quite attractive and exceptionally striking. This work is an important contribution to the study of the ritual life of the Lahu. It cannot possibly be overlooked by any future researcher in this special field or in related fields. The author has gathered and published a huge amount of ethnographic details about routine and crisis in Lahu ritual life, which will be invaluable for comparative purposes. Generally speaking, detailed ethnographic work of this kind is indispensable to make well-informed comparisons and to validate theoretical constructions. William Lang Dessaint
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Norman G. Owen, editor, The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia. Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2005, pp.xxiii + 541. The publication of The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia (henceforth Emergence) is, as this review will go on to elaborate, very much to be welcomed. At the same time, and particularly for those whose engagement in the Southeast Asia region spans several decades, the book’s evolution deserves some initial comment. Six of the eight authors of the present book – David P. Chandler, Norman G. Owen, William R. Roff, David Joel Steinberg, Robert H. Taylor, Alexander Woodside and David K. Wyatt – were associated with the book’s predecessor, In Search of Southeast Asia (henceforth In Search) either in its initial, 1971 publication form, or with its revised successor, published in 1987. The newcomers to the book, at least so far as the text is concerned, are Norman G. Owen and Jean Gelman Taylor: Owen as editor and contributor, and Taylor as a replacement for John R.W. Smail, to whom the new volume is dedicated and whose particular interest was Indonesia. In its initial form, In Search was a remarkably successful collaborative effort which drew on the country-specific talents of its multiple authors, while each member of the group played a part in the chapters dealing with general issues. As is made clear in the ‘Preface’ to Emergence, the period when In Search was written shaped the authors’
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approach to their subject. They wrote at a time of ‘the seeming triumph of secular nationalism and the ongoing war in Vietnam’. Although the revised 1987 edition of In Search took account of the many great changes that had taken place between 1971 and the mid-1980s, it was still clearly recognisable as the revised version of an earlier text. Both editions of In Search were graced by an outstanding and extended ‘Bibliography’, which in the 1987 edition ran to no fewer than sixty-nine pages. With brief but helpful annotations, this was an extremely valuable scholarly tool in itself. The absence of a similar bibliography, and of a glossary of terms that was also part of In Search, is one of the immediate differences apparent to a reader of Emergence. Presumably removed as a costcutting measure, the loss of both is a matter of real regret. That the book has been conceived as a teaching tool is immediately apparent from the section headed ‘How to Use This Book’, which notes the authors’ assumption – surely correct – that few of those who read Emergence will do so from cover to cover. Rather, the authors suggest, the book has been constructed in a fashion that allows readers either to focus on ‘general thematic’ chapters or to follow the histories of particular countries within the Southeast Asian region. These are sensible observations, particularly for those who are new to the discipline of Southeast Asian history. But they are observations that raise the question as to just who will benefit from
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reading this book. It is no distraction from my enthusiastic endorsement of this book’s value to suggest that its ideal reader is someone who has already developed a basic knowledge and understanding of the region’s history. For this is, indeed, a book that provides a sophisticated account of an area of the world that poses a challenge to those who seek to write about it. As the authors observe in their ‘Preface’, this is a challenge that ‘is compounded by its myriad peoples, each with its own past, sense of cultural and social identity, and shaping geographic reality’. Without doubt the authors of Emergence rise to these challenges, whether in relation to the histories of the individual countries or in the chapters devoted to thematic analysis. In doing so they demonstrate the detailed knowledge and understanding of their subjects that are a reflection of the many decades they have spent in studying and writing about the region. Yet, to return to an earlier remark, the depth of their knowledge and understanding can, I think, be intimidating to a newcomer. Chapter 17, ‘Channels of Change’, provides an example of the point I am making. I think it is admirable in its analysis and coverage, and there is nothing that I would wish to criticize about it. I simply think that the readers who will benefit most from reading it are those who have already gained a basic knowledge of the history of a number of Southeast Asian countries, as well as more general knowledge of issues associated with urbanism and education,
to note the two issues that are the particular preoccupation of this chapter. The final chapters dealing with the very recent history of each Southeast Asian country bring the story of the region almost up-to-date and are perceptive accounts of the essential features of society and politics within each of those countries. These chapters provide a fitting end to the country-specific chapters throughout the book as a whole. In each case these final chapters end with a thought-provoking question or observation - none of which have been invalidated by the passage of time since the manuscript was completed. To note just two of these final country-specific points, I am struck by the accuracy of the chapter on Laos ending with the question as to whether that country can be kept ‘from becoming an informal annex of southern China’, and by the observation that, in the Philippines there remains an unresolved issue in the ‘struggle for the right to rule and represent’ that country. Overall, the book is a triumph of collaborative effort and one that we can confidently expect to stand the test of time, even as the study of Southeast Asian history continues to develop with a greater depth of scholarship and an expansion of the topics that come under study. It is not too much to state that the text is essentially seamless, so that even those acquainted with the writings of the individual authors will not feel that they are reading a collection of essays. Read against the fact that the first important general history of Southeast
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Asia – that of the late Professor D.G. Hall – was published only fifty years ago, this book is a testimony to how far the discipline and writing about it have progressed. Milton Osborne
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Craig J. Reynolds, Seditious Histories: Contesting Thai and Southeast Asian Pasts. Seattle and London, University of Washington Press, 2006, pp. xix + 367. Craig Reynolds is one of the most distinctive historians working on Thailand, largely because he is fundamentally a historian of ideas – a relatively rare variant of the genus on the world scale, and almost unsighted in Thailand until his appearance on the scene. Through his writing, teaching and inspiration he has helped to make this area a relatively major part of Thai historical writing in recent years. Much of his output has been in articles, several of which have acquired classic status. This book assembles twelve pieces, previously scattered in journals, proceedings, or edited collections over three decades. Two appear here for the first time. Four are significantly expanded and reworked from earlier published incarnations. The others are reprinted with minor polishing, including new titles to keep up with the times. The stolidly academic title “The Case of K. S. R. Kulap: A Challenge to Royal Historical Writing in Late Nineteenth Century Thailand” (from JSS 1973) is transformed into the rather harrypotterish, “Mr. Kulap and Purloined Documents.” Three of the pieces are review articles. These include a contribution to the debate on what defines Southeast Asia as an idea in history; a roundup of models of the premodern southeastern
Asian state, including the Asiatic mode, theatre state, and mandala; and a sort of anti-review about the absence of gender in Thai historical writing. The rest of the articles all have a distinctive approach: they are about documents. Reynolds selects a key text or clutch of texts, puts them in their historical context, and then squeezes out their significance and legacy by walking round them and examining them from all angles. The documents stretch across the Bangkok era. They start with a Buddhist chronicle (Sangkitiyavamsa) of the First Reign, and range through to the soundbites of public intellectuals confronting globalization over the last decade. Along the way, Reynolds walks around Chaophraya Thiphakorawong’s Kitchanukit, the Traiphum, manuscripts which Kulap “borrowed” from the palace library, Nirat Nongkhai, the cultural mandates of the Phibun era, historical texts on feudalism in the 1960s and 1970s, the output of the official culture industry, and the whole genre of manuals on everything from healing through warfare to business success. Reynolds’ two book-length pieces were similar, more exhaustive studies of documents, namely Prince Wachirayan’s autobiography, and Jit Phoumisak’s Real Face of Sakdina Today. This is quite a range of texts and subjects. Although the articles span the Bangkok era from the First Reign to the present, Reynolds does not present them to us in chronological order. Indeed, chronology is something which has be-
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come steadily less and less important in his work. The first piece, written in the 1970s, takes a lot of space anchoring Phra Phonnarat’s chronicle firmly in its historical context. The latest piece, written in the 2000s, ignores time almost altogether and considers manuals ranging from the treatises on warfare in the Ayutthaya period to the how-to books that crowd present-day bookstands as a single genre with no consideration whether there is any “development” over time. In his history of ideas, the ideas increasingly surmount the history. Instead of using chronology, Reynolds divides the articles into two batches. The first batch contains the “seditious histories” that give the book its title. These articles focus on documents which were written to disrupt. K. S. R. Kulap not only challenged the palace’s exclusive right to own the chronicles and other key texts of Thai history, but also challenged their exclusive right to change them. Thim Sukkhayang used the poetic form of the nirat for the highly unusual (and, at the time, dangerous) role of political criticism. Jit Phoumisak used the royal chronicles to up-end mainstream history and drag Thailand into Marxist discourse. Reynolds pictures all three of these intellectuals as pioneers who helped to change the public culture, and suffered jail as a result. In selecting these subjects of study, Reynolds was consciously disrupting the mainstream of Thai historical writing in the 1970s and 1980s, which seemed bent on glorifying those who held power and thereby
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dominated the production of ideas. Reynolds’ second category of “cultural studies” is more in the mainstream. The main focus of these articles is the adjustment of the Siamese elite to the West over the course of the nineteenth century. Reynolds shows how the elite changed to accommodate new ideas coming from the powerful West, but ultimately he stresses how much the elite managed to retain in the process. The science of the Traiphum was discarded so that its philosophical support of social hierarchy could be retained. Polygamy was elegantly defended by Chaophraya Thiphakorawong, using arguments designed to appeal to a western moral sensibility. The theme of the last two articles is how “Thainess” has been manufactured and manipulated over the past century. The first is an expanded version of the introduction to National Identity and Its Defenders. The second is rather lazily titled “Epilogue”, which forces the reader to wade a long way in before discovering this is a discussion of Thainess and globalization. Reynolds argues that “Thainess” was manufactured as an idea based on culture and heritage rather than ethnicity, because the ethnic mix was always problematic. It has always been bound up with concerns for national security, and has tended to be more of a state weapon than a popular feeling. In the era of globalization, Thainess has been recruited to every possible agenda. On the one hand, cultural expansionists gaze northwards at various Tai-language groups
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beyond the borders. On the other, cultural defenders squeal about the threat to Thainess from globalization. In the background of this collection of articles is the post-modern revolution in social science over the past generation. Reynolds totally avoids the jargon of postmodern writing, and Foucault gets only one passing mention, not worth even recording for the index. But all through these articles, Reynolds is conscious that the writing of history itself is part of the history of ideas. It is not surprising that his work is popular with the new generation of historians who have grown up academically with the postmodern view. But there is a cost. Some of the later pieces seem to plait the contending discourses and counterpointed ironies so densely that any overall conclusion is difficult to see. This is a superb collection which anyone with an interest in Thai culture and history will enjoy. Chris Baker
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Ronald Bruce St John, Revolution, Reform and Regionalism in Southeast Asia: Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. London, Routledge, 2006, pp. xvi + 282. Indochina was a French invention, a product of colonial logic that wilfully disregarded historical political and cultural realities. In particular it ignored the most significant cultural divide in Southeast Asia, which runs down the Annamite Cordillera between Confucian Vietnam and Theravada Buddhist Laos and Cambodia. But it also ignored patterns of historical interaction. Not until the Nguyen dynasty in the nineteenth century did Vietnam evince much interest in extending its political influence west into Laos and Cambodia. Prior to that, the direction of both Vietnamese migration and its projection of political power were from north to south, at the expense of the Cham, rather than of the Lao kingdoms to the west. Only in the last phase of Vietnamese expansion were Cambodian interests directly challenged. A Vietnamese attempt in the 1830s to extend political control to the west encountered the equally expansionist ambitions of Siam. After years of inconclusive conflict, Vietnam and Siam agreed to exercise joint hegemony over Cambodia. Paradoxically, while claiming to have preserved Cambodian and Lao independence, French colonial power held only Siam at bay. For the Vietnamese the way was left open for renewed migration and the possibility of greater political influence. The vision of an expanded Viet-
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namese empire was shared by both the conservative right and revolutionary left of Vietnamese politics. It was not shared by Lao or Cambodians. In post-colonial Indochina, it was the vision of the left - of Indochina held together through ‘special’ relationships between ruling Marxist-Leninist parties - that dominated during what the Lao call the ‘thirty-year struggle’ from 1945 to 1975 to throw off the last remnants of colonialism (French to 1954 in the First Indochina War) and imperialism (American to 1975 in the Second Indochina War). But then came the phenomenon of the Khmer Rouge, and a Third Indochina War was required to bring Cambodia back into the sort of relationship Vietnam wanted – to the annoyance of China. After 1979 Vietnamese political influence first waxed, then waned, in Cambodia, while it diminished more slowly in Laos. Changing relations have largely been in response to external circumstances, though internal policy differences have also contributed. Since the later 1990s, when all three countries joined the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), intra-ASEAN relations and developing regionalism within the Greater Mekong Sub-region (GMS) - not least the inclusion of China - have further reduced the significance of any exclusively ‘Indochinese’ regional grouping. St John tells the story of the postcolonial, post-imperial unravelling of Indochina since 1975, not as narrative history, but as a chronological survey
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of developments in the political economy of all three countries. In order to do this, he begins by telling us what the French vision of Indochina was all about, and saying something about the Vietnamese conception of ‘special relationships’ linking the three countries. But the latter is covered too sketchily in the opening background chapter, and the leap from French Indochina to 1975 leaves out too much. We would like to know something about the intervening years, particularly with respect to Cambodian-Vietnamese relations. Indeed the whole Khmer Rouge period from 1975 to the end of 1978 gets very cursory treatment. In contrast to Vietnam and Laos, no section is devoted just to Cambodia in chapter two on the ‘rush to socialism’; though thereafter coverage is approximately equal for all three states. St John assumes some knowledge not just of broad historical developments, but also of who the principal dramatis personae were. Names are introduced with few biographical references. Despite this, however, the story of post1975 ‘Indochina’ is well told, through a wealth of political detail and economic data. What are not covered are those cultural and social dimensions that have contributed to internal policy differences since the early 1990s, as regimes in all three ruling parties seek to shore up their legitimacy in a post-communist world. For example, there is little on religion. St John does have interesting things to say about political culture in Laos and Cambodia, but is strangely silent on the
very different political culture of Vietnam. This is a pity, because a comparison would shed light on the different prospects for development for Vietnam on the one hand, and Laos and Cambodia on the other. A strength of the book is the attention it gives to regional relationships, notably between the three ‘Indochinese’ states, but also more widely as they engage with ASEAN in the 1990s. Diverging foreign policies are also well covered. So too is the history of regional integration, which goes back to the mid-1950s, when the Economic Commission for Asia and the Far East (ECAFE) produced two reports, and continued with the formation of the Mekong Committee in 1957. Integration was placed on hold during the Second Indochina War and the aftermath of the Third, but gathered strength after the UN-imposed political settlement in Cambodia, in the form of the GMS, promoted by the Asian Development Bank, and ASEAN membership. St John is an indefatigable author, an independent scholar who in his own words writes “with a three-fold geographical focus on North Africa and the Middle East, Andean America, and Southeast Asia.” Given this wide range of interests, one might expect this book to be a somewhat cursory study. But St John has combed the literature and combined it with his own knowledge of the region to produce a broad and compelling synthesis. A great amount of information is packed into the pages of Revolution, Reform and Regionalism,
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so much that at times one loses the argument in the mass of detail and the relentless parade of economic data. This is not a book for the casual reader or the faint-hearted, but for those with a genuine interest in the region it is a useful and informed addition to the literature. It will be of value not just to students, but also to all those working in the region in the fields of aid, commerce and diplomacy. Martin Stuart-Fox
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Pierre-Arnaud Chouvy and Joël Meissonnier, Yaa Baa: Production, Traffic and Consumption of Methamphetamine in Mainland Southeast Asia. Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2004, pp.xxii + 210.
Yaa Baa, by Pierre-Arnaud Chouvy and Joël Meissonnier, is a well-researched and informative addition to the fields of ethnography and geopolitics. Yaa baa, or “crazy drug” as it is commonly known in Southeast Asia, is an illicit amphetamine-type stimulant (ATS) or methamphetamine. While illegal drug use has been present in Southeast Asia for generations, this new synthetic and cheap alternative to “harder” drugs has taken a firm footing in the region as people seek out alternative means of coping with the stresses of life and modern society. The study, a translation of a 2002 French publication, sets out to investigate methamphetamine production, distribution and consumption in mainland Southeast Asia. The research is useful in accounting for the recent rise in illicit synthetic “designer” drug production and consumption throughout Asia due to past and present socio-economic and political circumstances. The complete range of methamphetamine production, trafficking and consumption is explored using a geopolitical approach, as this methodology highlights production and trafficking patterns with which the study is concerned (p.xix). The book is divided into three parts with ten chapters, including a detailed
introduction and comprehensive conclusion. In Part 1, “Yaa Baa, An Illicit Drug from the Golden Triangle,” geographer Pierre-Arnaud Chouvy provides an historical and geopolitical background of methamphetamines and their production throughout Asia. Part 2, “The Circuits of Yaa Baa,” by sociologist Joël Meissonnier, describes the contemporary conditions in mainland Southeast Asia, specifically Thailand, that aid in sustaining the yaa baa market from its origins to its present status. Part 3, “Sociological Context of the Explosion in Methamphetamine Use in Thailand,” also by Joël Meissonnier, is a chronological outline of the conditions encountered by consecutive generations of Thai youth and adolescents at the end of the twentieth century. This section also contains an analysis of the present condition of the school and the family in Thailand in order to examine some of the reasoning behind the attraction to yaa baa and other illicit drugs among Thai youth. Each chapter of the book’s three sections delivers well-structured and assessed historical and current data based on research and observations in the regions discussed. The information is provided to lay the framework for the geographical, geopolitical and socioeconomic conditions and patterns that support the development, production, distribution and consumption of yaa baa and other ATS in mainland Southeast Asia. This allows for a detailed account and investigation of the diversity of individuals and institutions involved in the proliferation of illicit drugs, as well as the people who buy and use them.
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Chapter 1 provides a scientific examination and summary of methamphetamines, including addiction, psychological and physiological effects, and methods of treatment for addiction. Chapter 2 is a general outline of ATS, specifically methamphetamines, from its initial chemical synthesis in Germany in 1887 (p.7) to present-day production. Chapter 3 focuses on the emergence and development of the “Golden Triangle” region formed between Burma, Laos and Thailand, beginning with the initial cultivation of the opium poppy in China. Emphasis is placed on the Western military presence in the region, Communism and its effects, and the Indochinese War, which are believed to have facilitated opium cultivation, transportation and consumption in the Indochinese highlands. Also described is the evolution of illicit drug production in Burma, including the country’s recent social and political history and its ever-present internal military conflicts. In Chapter 4, the final section of Part 1, an analysis of how the Golden Triangle emerged as a major production site, and mainland Southeast Asia as a major consumption region, for synthetic illicit drugs is discussed. The situation in Burma, Cambodia, China, Laos and Thailand is looked at with reference to drug patterns emerging during the 1990s, a period viewed as the “boom time” for methamphetamine production and consumption in Asia. Also investigated are the routes of methamphetamine trafficking in the Golden Tri-
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angle, highlighting methods and paths of transportation traditionally and frequently used in northern and southern Thailand, southwestern Laos, western Cambodia and southeast Burma. Noteworthy is an examination in the rise in illicit drug abuse in the region seen in direct relation to poorer socio-economic conditions, especially the 1997 Asian financial crisis, which rocked the region. Beginning Part 2, Chapter 5 is a description of the modes and methods of movement of yaa baa from its production in Burmese towns along the Thai border, through its cross-country journey, to its final destination in Thailand. The circulation of methamphetamine pills as they pass through the various middlemen and intermediary drug runners and dealers to the eventual consumer is explained through an in-depth analysis of activities and events. This section analyzes the various players that have a role in yaa baa’s distribution networks. The complex distribution patterns of the drug and its users throughout various regions in Thailand are mapped, highlighting areas of high usage density as well as possible explanations for the elevated level of consumption among various ethnic, social and economic groups in each region. Chapter 6 analyzes the popularity of yaa baa among manual laborers and low income groups. The “uniqueness” of yaa baa consumers is noted, as they include members from all levels and groups of the Thai social strata, which in turn creates a problem when trying to identify or pinpoint the target con-
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sumer group. While in the past, drug abuse in Thailand was linked and categorized by a consumer’s socio-economic status, such as opium and heroin with low income rural or urban slum dwellers, and cocaine with high society or upper class individuals, yaa baa has transcended the standard division of users based on socio-economic categorization, creating one large encompassing group with members from each level of society. In order to identify the social profile of methamphetamine consumers, two corresponding methods are utilized. First, consumption habits of members of the lower class in Thailand who are commonly believed to be the initial users of methamphetamines on a widespread basis are examined. Second, user trends among Thai youth and adolescents who more recently became major methamphetamine users are discussed, with several points being raised regarding the rise in popularity of yaa baa in Thai society. Noteworthy is the rapid transition of Thailand from an agricultural-based society to a modern and globalized industrial one over a relatively short period of time beginning in the 1970s. This rapid industrialization and urban migration forced changes in the work habits of laborers and raised employer expectations of output and productivity. Another reason for the increase in yaa baa is ascribed to the change in behavior among heroin users who switched to yaa baa mainly due to its low cost and relative ease of availability. Here yaa baa is described
by consumers as a means of escape and coping with poverty and adverse home or work conditions, corporal and mental fatigue, or numbing physical and psychological pain. Chapter 7 is a discussion of yaa baa’s alarmingly high rate of consumption and acceptance among young people in Thailand, now viewed as the target consumer group of the drug. An important theory regarding the exponential increase in the number of methamphetamine consumers among Thai youth in the last decade is presented. The authors infer that “in Thailand the propensity to imitate others’ behaviour is particularly strong. Every young yaa baa user belongs to a group of friends who also consume the drug” (p.83). This explains the sociability and wide acceptance of the drug among Thai youth. As any keen observer of Thailand would note, Thais are rarely ever alone by choice; peer or group interactions and relationships are what binds Thai society together. Just as in the West, where drinking, eating, etc. are viewed as inherently social activities, so too is drug consumption in some degree in Thailand. Because drinking alcohol or taking drugs alone is viewed as a sign of despair or even addiction, Thai society does not condone alcohol or drug consumption by oneself. In this sense, yaa baa acts as a crucial link among group members. The act of consuming drugs, as it is shared among group members, enhances and reinforces the group’s social bonds and collective identity.
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Part 3, Chapter 8, provides an historical overview of circumstances faced by succeeding generations of Thai youth during the last quarter of the twentieth century. This is undertaken to identify the socio-historical origins of yaa baa consumption among Thai youth and young adults. The authors surmise that the political, social, economic and cultural conditions of Thailand in the late 1990s have been very favorable to the methamphetamine boom (p. 115). This is believed to have given rise to the current “fun-seeking” and hedonistic attitude popular among Thai youth and young adults. Environmental and social conditions thus went well with and provided further support for the proliferation of yaa baa within Thai society. Yaa baa abuse is seen almost as a playful game, where consumption equals fun, enjoyment and excitement experienced in a group or among peers with the individual desire to have a good time. Chapter 9 focuses on the current state of three major social establishments in Thailand: the school, Sangha (monkhood) and family. This is done to display how each has unintentionally aided in increasing the number of Thai youth and young adults who consume or experiment with yaa baa. The assessment explains how the mechanisms of these institutions effectively render many young people vulnerable and powerless against the potential of being enticed into illegal drug abuse in Thailand.
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Chapter 10, the final chapter, conceptualizes a sociological model based on Max Weber’s “ideal type” theory. This model enables the authors to create an amalgamated profile of yaa baa consumers based on certain “characteristic traits” (p.143). This model distinguishes methamphetamine consumers based on their motives and economic interests. Additionally, this model acts as a basis for increasing the geographical range of the study. From this original abstract model, associated hypotheses are created for ATS consumption in neighboring Burma, Cambodia and Laos. This model demonstrates the intricacy of social patterns that promote and support yaa baa production and consumption in mainland Southeast Asia. The chapter concludes with a brief discussion of a recently introduced synthetic ATS in Thailand, ecstasy, an expensive psychotropic drug usually imported from Europe. This relatively new entrant into the Thai illicit drug market has produced a new social class among ATS consumers. The switch to or preference for ecstasy over yaa baa among recreational drug consumers in Thailand has created an “ecstasy elite” of high-end, high profile, upper-class consumers. The authors conclude that the yaa baa explosion in Thailand is intrinsically connected to the country’s own sociohistorical conditions. It is asserted that the popularity and rapid growth of yaa baa consumption in Thailand, particularly among youth and young adults, is due to a combination of (local) factors
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not present in Western societies. These local factors have made yaa baa a “normal” drug believed to lack physical or social consequences, thus removing the possibility for temptation or attraction that a drug of such widespread abuse and popularity would generally be subjected to in the West (p.164). The authors makes clear how and why yaa baa has taken such a strong foothold in Thailand and surrounding countries. In spite of this, there are a few shortcomings which, if addressed, would greatly add to the book’s overall presentation and clarity. For example, the book’s title is very deceiving, as the research is focused mainly on Thailand rather than mainland Southeast Asia as a whole. Although discussion is provided on surrounding countries, no definitive explanations or conclusions are made in any great detail in comparison with the information on Thailand. More specifically, Chapter 5 opens with a discussion of middleman distributors of yaa baa, but does not expand on the subject and fails to refer to Bonacich’s 1973 discussion of middleman minorities, which is pivotal to any dialogue on the subject. In addition, the authors claim of yaa baa being available “in seemingly every nook and cranny of ordinary life in Thailand,” (p.61) is not correct for the present day situation or even when the book was translated to English in 2004. For instance, since the last Prime Minister of Thailand, Thaksin Shinawatra, began his “war on drugs”, (p. 25) the position and popularity of yaa baa in Thailand
has changed considerably, yet the authors fail to discuss any of the events or circumstances that have evolved since his personal crusade began, only briefly mentioning this early in the book. In Chapter 6, a discussion of yaa baa consumption and distribution in Bangkok’s Klong Toey notorious market and slum district paints a false and very outdated picture of the current situation in the area. The authors’ claim that yaa baa is out of control and widely abused in the area is based mostly on secondary sources obtained from governmental or state-run agencies that fail to address the problem in terms of the actual situation. The availability and abuse of yaa baa in Klong Toey has changed considerably from the open-market atmosphere of a couple years ago and is now greatly frowned upon and discouraged among residents and shopkeepers in the district. The statistics provided here, as well as in the previous chapter, are quite dated and should have been revised for the current publication of the book. A suggestion for future editions would be to revise and update several of the facts and figures regarding addiction and consumption. The state of affairs since Mr Thaksin’s crusade against drugs, which began before the book was translated, should have been included, at least in the conclusion. Yale Needel
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B.P. Groslier, Angkor and Cambodia in the Sixteenth Century, translated by Michael Smithies. Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2006, pp.x+ 186. The republication in translation of Bernard-Philippe Groslier’s 1958 book, Angkor et le Cambodge au XVIe siècle d’après les sources portugaises et espagnols, is a notably welcome event. The original Presses Universitaires de France version of this work has long been out of print and was, in any case, originally restricted to a relatively limited print run. That the book should now be available in a clear English translation means that this important work is now accessible to a much wider audience. Both Orchid Press and the translator, Michael Smithies, are to be warmly congratulated in bringing this project to completion, and for making the book available in such high quality binding. At the time of its publication the book was seen as contributing to our knowledge of Cambodian history in three main areas. First, Groslier, then the Conservateur of the Angkor temples and more broadly an archeological scholar, took up the much-disputed issue of the royal succession following the death of the great Angkorian king, Jayavarman VII, in the thirteenth century CE. Events following this event, in the period leading up to the removal of the Cambodian court from Angkor and the temporary establishment of that court in Phnom Penh in the fifteenth century, have long been a subject of historical
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debate. Secondly, the author, in this book, and with the assistance of Charles Boxer, the noted historian of Iberian maritime expansion, presented for the first time a coherent account of what might legitimately be called the ‘Iberian Period’ in Cambodian history. And finally, though far from exhaustively since the book is full of rewarding ‘ asides’, Groslier used this publication to advance his theories on the nature of the Angkorian hydraulic system, which, in his eyes, needed to be understood in terms both of its practical agricultural and religious symbolic character. The first and last of the areas just noted involve issues that are still not fully resolved. While it is probably correct to say that so far as the royal succession is concerned, scholars have moved towards a greater degree of agreement than was the case when Groslier published in 1958, there are still some matters over which there is dispute among specialists. Moreover, and while it is still common to find 1431 CE cited as the date at which the court left Angkor, there is no absolute certainty about this date. For there is the real possibility that the move to Phnom Penh could have taken place at any time between the 1431 date and, perhaps, as late as 1450. As for Groslier’s theories concerning Angkor’s hydraulic system, in which, simplifying greatly, he proposed that the whole of that system combined practical and religious considerations, these have come under sustained attack in recent decades. In particular, his sugges-
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tion that the great Angkorian barays, or reservoirs, played a major part in enabling the city of Angkor to feed a population possibly as large as one million, was forcefully rejected by more recent scholarship, notably by Philip Stott, W. van Liere and Robert Acker. (Their arguments are helpfully summarised in Chapter 8 of Charles Higham’s 2001 publication, The Civilization of Angkor.) Nevertheless, the issue of just how the city of Angkor supported its large population continues to be open to further discussion. In this regard the research being undertaken by the Greater Angkor Project (GAP), primarily based at the University of Sydney but also involving APSARA, the Cambodian authority responsible for the administration of the Angkor temples, and the Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient, is highly relevant. The work already undertaken by the GAP, while not simply endorsing Groslier’s proposals concerning the hydraulic system and the role it played in sustaining a large population, increasingly points to the existence of largescale canals as playing a vital part in enabling the cultivation of very large quantities of rice. In contrast to the issues discussed above, it is unlikely that the book’s discussion of the role of Portuguese and Spanish missionaries and freebooting adventurers in Cambodia in the sixteenth century will be surpassed by any later scholarly endeavour. The story that Groslier has to tell is, of course, a record of imperial greed and rapine mixed with evangelising zeal, all of which are now
the subject of politically correct opprobrium. However that may be, the account of the fruitless efforts of the missionaries and the ultimately failed attempts by men such as Diego Veloso and Blas Ruiz to play a role in the governance of Cambodia remains fascinating nonetheless. What is more, so far as the role of the adventurers is concerned, it casts an important light on the weakness of the Cambodian court in the late sixteenth century and on its readiness in that period of weakness to turn to Western foreigners for assistance. Mention has already been made of the valuable role played by Michael Smithies in translating Groslier’s work. The further point should be made that not only has he done so in a felicitous manner, he has in addition overseen the timeconsuming transcription of Portuguese and Spanish names that were not always consistently cited in the original. So far as technical matters are concerned I will only refer to one very minor typographical error, which occurs on page 105, where the date for Doudart de Lagrée’s visit to Angkor is noted as having taken place in June 1867. The visit was, in fact, in June 1866. I beg the Journal’s editor and readers’ indulgence to allow this reviewer a brief personal observation in ending this review. I first met Bernard-Philippe Groslier in 1960 and came to know him better in 1966, when I was carrying out research in Cambodia on the nineteenth century. He was both a man of great charm and a scholar of the highest repute. He was also someone who was
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ready to assist students, such as I was, through his deep understanding of the entire span of Cambodian history. A member of the fourth generation of his family to work in what was once ‘French Indochina’, and the son of George Groslier, the long-time Director of the Phnom Penh museum, the final years of his life were tragic, personally and in scholarly terms. He was forced to leave Siem Reap during the Cambodian civil war that erupted in 1970. Removed to Phnom Penh, he suffered serious injuries when he confronted a burglar in his apartment, wounds from which he never fully recovered. It is fitting that this important work has now been translated and so made accessible to a wider audience. It is a fitting, additional memorial to his life and achievements. Milton Osborne
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Sappho Marchal, Khmer Costumes and Ornaments of the Devatas of Angkor Wat (1927). Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2005, pp.xx + 99, 41 plates, $16. Sappho Marchal’s book was first published in French in 1927. Her father, Henri Marchal, was a conservator at Angkor and so, says Victor Goloubew in his foreword, she “grew up in the shadow of the temples”. Indeed the devatas, or apsaras as they are more commonly known, may well have been her surrogate companions despite being sculpted in bas-relief. While many can be examined at close quarters, others are less accessible. One can imagine the author, hatted to ward off the intense heat, with binoculars or even a camera at hand to record the data she sought. The book has the translator’s note, followed by Goloubew’s foreword and Marchal’s concise notes on the apsaras’ costumes, jewellery, flowers and coiffures. An inventory of the numbers of apsaras at different architectural locations at Angkor Wat is followed by a table showing the distribution of coiffure types in these locations. Forty-one plates of drawings follow, accompanied by brief comments on the salient distinguishing features selected for illustration, particularly the spectacular hairstyles and their ornamentation. She numbers the apsaras at 1,737, excluding those on the towers of Angkor Wat, which if included would bring the total to 1,860. But there were more which, over the course of time, suffered damage due to natural and unnatural
causes that erased additional information. While apsaras are not unique to Angkor Wat, these particular examples are the focus of Marchal’s work which, being almost life-size, facilitate depiction of details on the reliefs with a high degree of accuracy. Marchal has ordered her drawings according to a particular plan. The first plates (1-XVI) demonstrate the simplest hairstyles, where long tresses are dealt with by simply looping, knotting or binding. The next group introduces ornamentation commencing with plate XV11 (figs E, G, I), which shows the hair supported by a “diadem”, while on plate XV111 no tresses appear, only headpieces termed “bonnet[s]” by Marchal. It is not clear visually whether there is any difference between the bonnet and the diadem, though English does distinguish between them, the former having ties beneath the chin, and the latter being a “lightly jewelled circlet”. On some Khmer statues sculpted in the round, a diadem with ties at the back of the head does appear. The most elaborate of the apsaras’ head adornments, with their characteristic triad of tall triangular cone shapes and a variety of additional ornamentation, feature on plates XXX1V to XL. The final plate, XL1, shows headpieces with a single central pointed cone, which the author argues is in effect the prototype of the mkot that has since became the form of the crown in Siam and Cambodia for royalty and dance dramas such as the Reamker.
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The author speculates about the way other, more complex, hairstyles may have been devised. About one style (plate VI figs. B, C) she says it must use “pierced patterned cloth” through which the hair is pulled. It can, however, more easily be explained with reference to hair styles contemporary today, where fine plaits in multiple narrow bands lying close to the head are currently favoured by so-called ‘rap artists’. In other styles Marchal uses the word cuille translated as “cut” (plate 1X sketch I; plate XV1 fig. G). This is difficult to interpret as sketched and most probably is more appropriately glossed as “parted”. This look would then correspond to the fashion called “French plaiting” so popular in the 1980s-1990s, where loosely parted locks of hair are intertwined. Indeed, chronologically, the Angkor styles may be regarded as prototypes of these styles. Marchal speculates as to how the hair itself was dressed so as to allow those locks to maintain their upright sweep if, actually, the forms thus depicted were not simply the sculptor’s interpretations. Was it a frame secured to the head over which the dark tresses were draped? Was perhaps some sort of pomade applied? Twentieth century Khmer custom may yield some clues. Informants report that hair is dressed with oils from coconut or papaya to which ash was added if “... you wanted to have stiff hair that would not fall down”.1 There is also a hair
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product made from samrong fruit mixed with wax. Men used it to twist moustaches into buffalo horn shapes, for instance. These traditional preparations, the ingredients of which are endemic to Cambodia, may well have been available in Angkorean times. Marchal also surmises that some particular ornamental additions were probably flower stalks of coconut palm and areca nut plants, the ends of which were directly inserted into the hairstyle. Present-day custom indicates that white jasmine flowers threaded onto stalks and found everywhere as ornamentation could well have been similarly constructed and used. This wealth of details, though concerned principally with hairstyles, has unexpected benefits for those interested in Khmer costume of the time. Marchal has sketched the apsaras’ costumes in some cases. The Khmer term for this style of hip wrapper is sampot. She attempts to explain the construction of the patterned waist to ankle hip wrappers, “sarong”, with flowing or arching sidepieces (Figs. 1–3). Her conclusion is “merely a hypothesis”, but on close examination, it fails the test on two grounds, one conceptual and one technological. The main objection concerns the fact that the length of cloth is cut to fit the form with one end scalloped. Cloth used as hip wrappers then or now would never have been cut and tailored in this part of Asia or in the Hindu tra-
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Muan I. (ed.), Seams of Change. Clothing and the Care of the Self in 19th and 20th Century Cambodia, pp. 252–3. Phnom Penh, Reyum Publishing, 2003. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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dition from which Khmer hip wrapper styles were derived. And scissors would be needed to cut the scalloped edges of the cloth and the slot for a belt arrangement as indicated. Scissors were not one of the tools of the time. But the appearance of a few apsara figures (plate X1V fig. F: XV111 figs. A,b,E) wearing simple wrapped garments which would now be termed shorts or culottes, with a voluminous bow at the back and with the ends flowing to the side, provides much more useful evidence as to how the prestigious hip wrapper ensembles were constructed. If these shorts were worn underneath the wrap-around length of cloth — the sarong — then the mode of construction of this ensemble becomes quite clear. Finally, jewellery in the form of upper arm bands, bangles, “gorgets” or neckpieces, belts and chunky earrings complete the look of the day, in Angkorean times, at least for these companions of the deities in their virtual heaven. Lotuses complement these man-made adornments in the patterns on the headpieces and in the hands of the apsaras. What was Mlle Marchal’s purpose in recording these decorative details, if indeed she had one other than a love of design and the opportunity to record these unique examples? We do not know. Goloubew suggests that the French love of all things Khmer resulting from the 1906 visit of the royal Khmer dance troupe to France could 2
have inspired designers to try to source traditional patterns for adapting Khmerstyle fashion to French taste. In which case, Marchal’s drawings would have been a unique source. Whatever the purpose, scholars of Khmer cultural history have tremendous reason to be grateful for what she did. As noted above, she has detailed decorative features which have been more or less bypassed in the study of classical Khmer sculpted art. Little details, such as the culotte forms worn by some apsaras, have rarely been noted by others, but now their visualisation has afforded confirmation of the apsaras’ elaborate hip wrapper forms as being constructed of two layers of cloth as suggested elsewhere.2 The strength of this slim volume is in the wealth of illustrations serving as reference detail for scholars both Cambodian and beyond. Sketches may transcend language, so the benefit of translating the accompanying text from the original French into English is not in the translation per se. Instead, firstly, it re-introduces this 1927 publication into the mainstream and, secondly, it allows non-French speakers access to the questions raised by Marchal, despite being presumably secondary to her artistic purpose. It could have a further very positive outcome. It may stimulate some munificent benefactor to fund scholars to delve into those French archives which shelter other documentary treasures and translate them to make
Green, G., Traditional Textiles of Cambodia. Bangkok, River Books, 2003, p. 32. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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them accessible to a wider, non-Frenchspeaking readership. First on this reviewer’s list would be the records of the Commission des Moeurs et Coutumes, compiled in the few decades prior to their deposition in 1950 as microfilm at the Asiatic Society in Paris. These record cultural practices as related by Khmer achars (ceremonial officiants), monks and villagers which, in subjects similar but different, could reveal much more to illuminate Khmer cultural studies. Gillian Green
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Vittorio Roveda, Images of the Gods: Khmer mythology in Thailand, Cambodia, and Laos. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp.544, Bt.2,495. Images of the Gods fills 548 pages and is illustrated with over 2,400 color photographs, with 856 digital photographs indexed in a database on an accompanying CD-ROM. An ambitious undertaking, it explores Khmer Buddhist and Hindu mythology and visual narrative through relief sculpture. Paintings, free standing sculpture and cult images are not within the scope of the study, though a few modern narrative sculptural compositions are included. In his introduction, Roveda states that “Khmer sculptural reliefs are the major artifacts that survive to document this nation’s history and culture from the 8th to the 14th centuries,” that sculptural reliefs are important beyond their aesthetic value as works of art, that they contain important information not only about Khmer culture and religion, but also that the development of narrative reliefs can aid in confirming the chronological development of art and architecture. He then briefly introduces many points crucial to the understanding of both religious art and its context: what is the meaning of mythology; how do reliefs function in their environmental context; and what visual parameters of Khmer mythology will be covered. The book is divided into three parts, beginning with a study of the making of images of deities and their planned placement, followed by an “attempt at a com-
prehensive overview of the visual narratives found not only in Cambodia, but also in Thailand and Laos, once part of the Khmer empire.” All the images used to illustrate this and other portions of the text are, wherever possible, in their original context, in situ on the temples for which they were created or nearby on temple grounds, with very few examples depicted from museum collections. A conscious decision was made to exclude reliefs that were no longer in their original context. The last section is “an attempt to verify the impact of Khmer visual narrative on the indigenous culture of Thailand.” The first section, Making Images of the Gods, explores the reasons for the creation of images of the gods and the processes involved, largely from the perspective of the Hindu and Buddhist traditions of South Asia. This is followed by a discussion of a brief history of the development of the Hindu and Buddhist religions, especially as is relevant to Khmer belief and practice. The major deities and their principle symbols are clearly and concisely introduced, illustrated sparsely with images from Khmer temple reliefs. There are then subsections further discussing religious syncretism, local beliefs and animism, the Devaraja, the cult of ancestors, and historic personages who were deified. South Asian literary sources are then presented, with the great epics, the Mahabharata, Harivamsa, Ramayana and the Puranas, introduced in a direct and concise manner, again providing material essential
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to placing Khmer temple reliefs in proper context. The next section, Images in Khmer Art, covers the technical and physical aspects of images in Khmer art and architecture, beginning with the fundamental division of relief types into decorative or purely ornamental, heraldic or figures posed in a static or proclaiming/ announcing attitude and not engaged in a narrative action, and narrative reliefs which depict an event or action that progresses in time and leads to or from another event. The location to which each of these relief types is usually associated is discussed and artistic elements such as composition and the establishment of pictorial space are introduced. A brief synopsis of the relationships between heraldic and narrative reliefs and architectural elements upon which they are placed follows, illustrating the interrelated development of these types of reliefs and the stylistic development of pediments, lintels, and pilasters. This is followed by a subsection on the history of scholarship concerning the function of the reliefs and their symbolism in terms of royal power. The structural symbolism of Khmer temples is introduced to further help the reader understand the reliefs in their original context. This section ends with a brief discussion of portraiture, use of landscape scenes, and the iconoclasm and destruction of Buddhist reliefs during the thirteenth century after the death of Jayavarman VII. Section 3, Chronology of Khmer Images and Styles, consists of two clear
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and well thought out timelines. The first presents the relative development of visual narrative by architectural position, illustrated with key monuments, on one page. The other, a three-page foldout, presents the reigns of Khmer kings relative to the artistic styles and key monuments of Khmer architecture in both Cambodia and Thailand. Sections 4, 5, and 6 present the actual religious subjects depicted on Khmer temple reliefs. Section 4 and its subsections cover myths relating to both Vaishnava and Shivaite Hindu practice. The first subsection includes reliefs about the deity Vishnu and his avatars. The second subsection discusses myths about Krishna, the third the Mahabharata, and the fourth the Ramayana, the Legend of Rama. The fifth subsection explores myths about Shiva. The sixth subsection covers the lesser Hindu and Vedic gods. Section 5 covers the portrayal of mythical animals and demi-gods such as ganas and yakshas, and local legends in reliefs. Section 6 presents Buddhist reliefs, with the first subsection discussing the life of the Buddha, the second portrayals of the Jataka stories, the third Mahayana and Vajrayana images, while the sixth subsection explores heraldic images of the Buddha. Section 7 presents reliefs depicting historical and secular subjects, Section 8 tapestry or decorative reliefs, and Section 9 reviews reliefs where the identity or source of the subject mater is unknown. All of the above sections and subsections are clearly and logically in the
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same format and thus a discussion of section 4.4 on the Ramayana also applies to all. The Ramayana is introduced as it appears in the Khmer context, as well as how its presentation in Khmer art differs from that of South Asia. The seven kandas, or sections of the Ramayana, are then briefly outlined, presenting the themes that appear in temple reliefs. The specific events portrayed in Khmer visual art are then listed, with brief comments on how frequently they appear and whether they are more common in certain periods or regions. Each scene from the Ramayana that appears in Khmer art is then introduced, with Roveda’s personal observations, as well as those of other scholars. The discussion of each scene is illustrated on the opposite or following pages with color photographs, often drawn from different monuments and periods of Khmer history. Where appropriate, examples from Thailand and Laos are also included. A CD symbol accompanied by image numbers at the bottom of the page indicates that additional images are available in the image database on the CD-ROM that accompanies the text. The story or deity is discussed with accompanying photographs, which provide a clear idea of the iconographic and stylistic variations that occur on Khmer temples in an easily accessible location, not at the end of the chapter, a photo section, or the end of the book. Rather than looking at the images on the CD-ROM as being inconvenient to look at while reading or while actually visiting temples, it should be viewed as a
bonus that a significant amount of additional material that could not be included in the book has been made available. While some readers might find problems with some of the author’s interpretations of specific reliefs, the study of Khmer visual narratives is still a relatively new field and there are many subjects about which scholars are not yet in full agreement and which are open to discussion. What is most important is that this book makes available on the same page many reliefs that have never been published, are published in books which are out of print, or are not easily accessible. Section 10: the Diffusion of Images, has two subsections, one covering the diffusion of images in Cambodia and the other in Thailand and Laos. While the proceeding sections of the book present Khmer reliefs by subject, this section is more properly a guide to Khmer temples. It moves away from the book’s stated core subject of Khmer mythology as presented in reliefs, to very broadly introducing individual temples, with their brief histories, descriptions of their layouts and freestanding sculptural programs, as well as very brief descriptions of the location and identification of reliefs. The text concludes with Visual Narratives: A Summary, which raises specific questions about the narratives and suggests possible theories concerning the significance of deities holding a staff or dander, the reason for the paucity of Shivaite narrative reliefs, the presence of Buddhist reliefs prior to the
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reign of Jayavarman VII, and the relationship of patronage and the development of narratives through the arrival of succeeding waves of fresh Hindu influence from South Asia. This concluding section is followed by the ground plans of some of the most important sites in Cambodia, as well as the temple complexes of Phimai and Phanom Rung in Thailand. A short glossary and bibliography conclude the book. Attached to the rear cover of the book, as mentioned, is a CD-ROM with an 856-image database that is optimized for both PC and MAC operating systems. As tested on a PC, the format of the database permits searches on single or multiple fields and groups of images can be formed across different fields using a clear, logical command interface. Controls are in a column to the left. A window with thumbnail images selected is in the middle and the main window displays the image selected for study. At the bottom of the main window is the image information displayed in fields that are also used for searching the database, including: title, location, additional information, reference number, page reference, personage, and architectural object. Searches and image displays are quick. The book is well conceived and is a valuable addition to any library on Southeast Asian art, as well as Hindu and Buddhist studies. There are a few problems which appear to have occurred in poof reading and editing, the most serious of which are that some of the references noted in the text, such as
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(Moore, Stott, and Sukasvasti, 1996) on page 496 (a reference to Ancient Capitals of Thailand), are missing from the bibliography and, hopefully, this will be corrected in future editions. As already noted, the fields of Khmer art historical and religious studies are evolving and as epigraphical and textual sources are limited, some intriguing areas such as the synchronism between Shiva and the Buddha, as well as the meaning behind certain reliefs, have a far more complex scholarly dialogue surrounding them than can be addressed in the scope of a broad survey such as this. As a result, there will be disagreements over some of the theories presented or privileged, as well as some of the identifications, a fact that should not detract from the value of this work. John Listopad
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John Marston and Elizabeth Guthrie, History, Buddhism and New Religious Movements in Cambodia. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, pp.270, Bt.650. After some two decades of isolation (or virtual isolation), Cambodia opened its doors to independent field research in the early 1990s on the heels of the United Nations-brokered peace settlement. Yet even before the 1970–75 civil war, only the anthropologists May Ebihara and Gabrielle Martel engaged in any extensive fieldwork in Cambodia, while philologist François Bizot, who was detained and miraculously released by the Khmer Rouge in 1972–73, began collecting heterodoxical Buddhist manuscripts in remote Khmer wats. With the recent opening of Khmer society, a number of younger scholars, in large part American students of (or encouraged by) cultural anthropologists Charles Keyes and Jane and Lucien Hanks and historian David Chandler, turned to Khmer studies. History, Buddhism, and New Religious Movements in Cambodia, a well edited volume initially published by the University of Hawai´i Press in 2004, has brought together findings by a number of these humanities-oriented researchers. A spate of political science studies also emerged on Cambodia that focused on the United Nations-sponsored peacekeeping process. These international relations-type studies distinguished themselves by being more or less oblivious of the local historical-cultural, social, and political realities, which rest
on a fluid bedrock of “religion,” that is the strength of the present volume. Most chapters in this book stem from articles originally presented in 1998 to an Association for Asian Studies panel on Cambodian religion. As in the neighboring Therav¡da countries, religion in Cambodia cannot be categorized as a separate sphere of human activity, much less as a basis for effecting a western separation of religion (“church”) and state. In spite of decades of western secular-scientific official vocabularies, whether capitalist- or socialist-sponsored, religion in Cambodia since the social upheavals of the 1970s and 1980s has revived as a multi-dimensional way of life rather than as a religion in that western sense. In his introduction, editor John Marston affirms that religion in the social space of post-socialist Cambodia is anything but a static phenomenon removed from everyday reality, but is rather a “matrix of social change itself” that is “in a perpetual process of reforming and recreating itself”(p.1). The convulsions of the 1970s and 1980s, a by-product of warring foreign ideologies, led to a settlement sponsored by the international community based on principles of liberal democracy. As tenuous as this template has proven to be, it has produced a free-market economy (whose downside has included the plundering of Cambodia’s natural and public resources, the introduction of the drug and sex trades, a flagrant widening of the gap between rich and poor, and a consumer culture concen-
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trated but not confined to Phnom Penh), greater freedom of expression, the appearance of a multi-party system, and the return of a marginalized monarchy. This veneer of western-type democracy also provided cover for the re-emergence of less perceptible (to the outsider) religious forces in the 1990s documented in this book. After being subjected as a special target for destruction by the Khmer Rouge, Buddhism spontaneously sprang back to life at the grassroots level in the 1980s, albeit under the tight control of the Vietnamese-backed regime. Major restrictions on the practice of Buddhism were lifted in 1989 with the departure of Vietnamese troops, triggering the U.N. peace process between resistance factions based in Thailand and the Vietnamese-installed Peoples’ Republic of Kampuchea. Villagers began in earnest to rebuild their wats and ordain their sons. A month after Prince Norodom Sihanouk returned to Cambodia in November 1991 at the invitation of the regime (now renamed the interim State of Cambodia), he restored the two Buddhist orders, the Mahanika¯ya and Thammayutika¯ya. Yet as this book attests, Therava¯da Buddhism as part of Cambodia’s cultural-religious matrix did not revert to a pre-1970s status quo ante, except at the official level where, for example, the 1960s administrative structures and curricula for monk education were re-instated. Far more revealing, for its human response to the conflagrations of the previous decades, has been the religious revival at the societal
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level. A strong thread woven through most of the essays is the phenomenon of a spontaneous upsurge in the 1990s of cultic and other supernatural and symbolic religious acts. This surge clearly spoke to psychic needs for healing and reconciliation — personal, communal, and “national” — in part as a way of finding meaning from the catastrophic events. Bertrand Didier discusses the revival of mystic pa¯ram™ (sacred power or energy) practices and their close relationship not only to Therava¯ da Buddhism but also kingship. Unlike in Thailand, Burma/Myanmar, and Sri Lanka, the gru¯ pa¯ram™, or mediums, who risk losing their power if they are not moral exemplars observing the Five Precepts, frequently occupy ritual space in Buddhist temple premises. For the mediums, who “reveal the creative vitality that animates Cambodian society,” the pa¯ram™, tellingly, “have come to make order among the living and the dead and to repair a collective trauma. ...These pa¯ram™ identities link political, social, and cosmological orders so that they can address the contemporary situations and expectations of Cambodian society” (pp.168,166). The 1990s also witnessed the re-emergence of religious asceticism within or on the margins of Therav¡da Buddhism. The female ascetics, ya¯y or tu¯n j™, seeking nibba¯na as described by Elizabeth Guthrie, are as a rule more disciplined and morally exemplary than the new generation of monks, few of whom harbor personal salvation as their goal. Marston’s article
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on ta¯pas (ascetics frequently claiming supernatural powers) cult movements suggests a linkage between individual and national identity, or “the practice of individuals exercising symbolic agency to rebuild the nation”(p.188). He monitored five prophetically linked building projects in the country, completion of which would augur an era of peace and prosperity. In a newer turn, the peace and reconciliation walks, or Dhammaya¯tra¯s, organized in the 1990s by the spiritual leader of Cambodian Buddhism, Ven. Maha Ghosananda, are interpreted by Kathryn Poethig primarily as a modern, or postmodern, transnational expression of Buddhism with some indigenous roots. Translated as a “walk for righteousness,” this “reparative” public ritual nonetheless struck a deep, cathartic chord among the villagers touched by these annual pilgrimages. They were initially organized and always funded to a large extent by expatriate peace organizations which discretely remained behind the scenes. But the Dhammaya¯tra¯s’ link to global issues embraced by “socially engaged Buddhists” (peace through non-violence, banning of landmines, environmental concerns) belied how the walk was ritually experienced and interpreted by many of the villagers. In the prophetic terms of the Buddhamna¯y, they saw the appearance of the light-skinned Khmer “holy man from the west” coming back to save his people after the brutal reign of the damil (dark-skinned infidels). Hours before daybreak and well into the morning, thousands of
families lined the roads on their knees, palms clasped, next to buckets of lustral water (blessed by P¡li chants), with lotus flowers, candles, and incense ready to be sprinkled or washed by Ghosananda and the monks to “extinguish the fire of war” (p.197). It deserves to be noted parenthetically that while the monks led the processions, the driving force of the Dhamma- ya¯tra¯s, both in terms of numbers and disciplined commitment, were the lay devotee nuns (tu¯n j™). The unique features of the Dhammaya¯tra¯ notwithstanding, it remains difficult to determine in an empirical sense the extent to which the above experiences, with their millennial undertones, were characteristic of Buddhism in pre-1970s Cambodia. The paucity of social research for earlier periods renders informed comparisons less than adequate. Millenarian ideas and movements in general, though, have been shown to flower in times of existential crises, when the social order is subjected to stress or radical change. The historical chapters in this volume, covering the so-called Middle Period (between the fall of Angkor and the onset of modernity) and the colonial period, when, respectively, the Cambodian polity was under the threat of extinction and the stress of adapting to westernization, suggest that magicocosmological thinking, the breeding space for millennial movements, has been a constant of Khmer consciousness. Relying largely on iconographic evidence, cultural historian Ashley
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Thompson postulates an association of the stupa with the Maitreya (“Buddhato-come”) cult, where the promise of the Buddha’s return is seen not in terms of ushering in a new world but restoring the old through the consecration of a political renaissance by the cakkavattin king. She makes a persuasive case for Khmer cosmological order based on Maitreya as an attempt to re-establish sociopolitical order amidst the turbulences of the Middle Period. In a related article on the iconography of the Leper King (purportedly Jayavarman VII), Thompson associates the body of the statue, whose subject suffers for want of healing, with the body of the Khmer kingdom, where the idea of the king as a body stands metonymically for his kingdom, paralleling ways that the body of the Buddha is seen as integrating and ordering the physical world. She defines the “spectral structure of power” in Cambodia as consisting of the king’s natural (and infected) body/the body politic/the body of the dhamma, where the king as a sovereign standing in for the whole of society becomes through the principle of substitution a vehicle for healing power. Both Anne Hansen and Penny Edwards, using primary documentary sources, deal with the colonial period, revealing in nuanced ways how Buddhism and the Khmer language were appropriated by a few modernizing Khmer intellectuals to construct a new Khmer identity embodied in the “nation”. Central to this project was the demystification of the Khmer cosmo-
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logical Buddhist universe in favor of a rational worldview through, in part, scriptural literalism. One cannot help wonder to what extent this process of disenchantment, where the cultural nationalism which they illuminate later spilled over into political nationalism, a pattern starkly similar to what unfolded in Europe in the nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth centuries, played a role in unraveling the Cambodian socio-political order. The main value of this volume is in how it brings to light spontaneous initiatives in the social complexity of 1990s Cambodia to re-knit that order at the level of the psyche. The editors anticipated lacunae in this book by choosing not to deal with non-Khmer religious practices (viz., the indigenous peoples, Vietnamese, Muslim Chams, and Chinese, who in all comprise less than ten percent of the population) and by not delving into a concerted effort since the mid-1990s to evangelize the Cambodian population. Outcomes of the latter project, led by American Protestant evangelicalpentecostals, many of them using Khmer-American converts, were in any case too early to assess in this admirable and in many ways pathbreaking collection of essays on the underbelly of Cambodia’s still discordant political system. Peter Gyallay-Pap
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Harris, Ian, Cambodian Buddhism: History and Practice. Hawaii, University of Hawaii Press, 2005 and Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, pp.368, Bt 650. Ian Harris’ Cambodian Buddhism: History and Practice represents a substantial contribution to scholarly literature on Cambodia and a significant step toward putting Cambodia on the larger map of Buddhist studies. If one looks for a precedent for this volume, as a detailed overview of specifically Cambodian Buddhism, one must go back as far as Adhémard Leclère’s 1899 volume, Le Bouddhisme au Cambodge, and it is the first book in English to attempt to treat Cambodian Buddhism in this degree of thoroughness. We are not likely to have another one anytime soon. Harris draws on an impressive range of sources, which he brings together with intelligence and ingenuity. The book’s extensive bibliography is itself a helpful tool. The book glistens with interesting, illuminating details, many gleaned from sources having little to do with Buddhism per se. He uses a straightforward chronological narrative that follows standard periodization from the Angkor period to the present, departing from the historical record to insert chapters on the “Territorial and Social Lineaments” of Cambodian Theravada Buddhism – basically, the kinds of things documented in ethnographies – and “Literary and Cult Traditions” – a way of combining discussion of the textual tradition with the esoteric Buddhism described by Bizot. As a guide to infor-
mation of time and place and forms of practice, attempting a degree of completeness, it will be an invaluable resource to students and scholars approaching the issue of Cambodian religion. The most notable specific strengths of the book are perhaps that: 1) Harris’ knowledge of Sanskrit and solid grounding in the historical schools of Buddhism and Brahmanism enable him to provide a nicely nuanced assessment of previous scholarship on the pre-Angkor and Angkor periods, often based on the evidence of inscriptions. 2) He has thoroughly assimilated the work of François Bizot on esoteric traditions of Cambodian Buddhism, a topic sometimes daunting to English-speaking scholars. Beyond his useful summary of Bizot’s work, Harris succeeds in illustrating the influence of esoteric practices throughout different periods. 3) His field research on Buddhism and politics in the last 25 years has uncovered much important, fascinating information. Any work as detailed as this is bound to have a few factual errors and scholars devoted to different aspects of Cambodian Buddhism may come up with their own lists. The section I was least comfortable with was that on spirit practices. The disparate secondary sources that Harris draws on here have led him to some mistaken conclusions: that boramei “spirits” are always female and that arak mediums are also always female. Many key Khmer terms are mistranslated, for example rup as “priest,” beisach as “retinue,” and ktom
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as “shrine”. But these are relatively minor details that do not too greatly detract from the overall weight of the book. The fact that Harris does not have a consistent transliteration system for Khmer has been criticized in a previous review of the book, and one risks being pedantic in dwelling on it. But it becomes more than an issue of transliteration when, as occurs several times, one finds the same word transliterated more than one way (bray and priey, for example). In the most embarrassing cases, there is some question as to whether Harris realizes that the two spellings represent the same word and the same concept. A Khmer word list at the back of the book, which gives a key to how transliterated words are written in Khmer script, should in theory have pointed to the problem and helped to solve it – but turns out to be only a partial list. This is something which should not be too difficult to resolve if, as one hopes, there are future editions of the book. With the possible exception of the discussion on esoteric Buddhism that threads through the volume, the pleasures of the book are more in the richness of its details than what it reveals about the broader contours of Cambodian Buddhism – although any criticism of its overview must be prefaced by the acknowledgement that the mere fact of bringing together masses of information helps us to raise questions which we otherwise might not have been able to do. I am uncomfortable with the book’s reference to “the essential conservatism
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of Cambodian religious traditions” (p.80) or that “Theravada Buddhism subsisted in a relatively steady state with no major shocks or shifts to the established religious order for several hundred years” (p. 227), a perspective that certainly has precedent in the literature but in the end is more a statement of what we do not yet know than a meaningful assessment of Cambodian history. Harris gives no hint of being aware of the post-colonial argument that colonial intervention was justified by a discourse of a changeless past. Needless to say, it is precisely at the moment of colonialism that, in Harris’ account, change begins to occur in Cambodian Buddhism. One cannot accuse Harris of taking a pro-colonialist position, but he also does not particularly challenge or rethink the assumptions of colonialist discourse or delve too deeply into the power dynamics of Buddhism under colonialism. Since he sees a division between a timeless past and the changes beginning with colonial intervention, it is not too surprising that in the modern period he emphasizes the difference between “non-reformed” and “reformed” Buddhism, a dichotomy which perhaps makes sense in pre-Pol Pot twentieth century Cambodia, but is more strained as he applies it to Cambodian Buddhism in the wake of socialism, where the terms re-emerge but begin to signify different things. To say that Maha Ghosananda, the expatriate Khmer monk who organized peace marches in the 1990s, is in the same “reformed” category as the prewar patriarch Chuon
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Noth, obscures more than it reveals. Similarly, it seems naive not to distinguish between the “non-reformed” Buddhism of remote rural areas and the self-styled “non-reformed” magical Buddhism of monks close to high-ranking politicians. Harris’ analysis does not go so far as to capture the irony that, after the years under socialism, the Buddhism that called itself “reformed” was often the most conservative, whereas some of the Buddhism which called itself “non-reformed” was more daring in its adjustment to new political and economic realities. John Marston
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Colin Poole, Tonle Sap: The Heart of Cambodia’s Natural Heritage, photographs by Eleanor Briggs. Bangkok, River Books, 2005, pp. 172. The Tonle Sap easily ranks as one of the wonders of the natural world. During the rainy season, the Mekong Delta, unable to absorb overwhelming volumes of monsoon run-off, blocks the Mekong’s downstream flow, forcing the river to reverse its direction. The swollen waters pulse up the Tonle Sap River and into the lake itself, swelling it to five times its dry season dimensions. With the end of the rainy season, a tamer Mekong again flows freely to the South China Sea, draining the lake and returning it to its original contours. For eons, this phenomenon has been vital to Cambodia’s prosperity. As in ancient times, the lake holds the world’s largest concentration of freshwater fish. It also nourishes the second of the country’s two staple foods: rice. During the Angkorian period, the receding waters exposed moist, fertile soil, which was planted in the rice consumed by Angkor’s population. Nineteenth century travelers like Henri Mouhot commented upon its fecundity and the wealth of flora and fauna of Cambodia in general. Its ecology and the people who have depended upon its bounty comprise a fascinating story. This book’s title, backcover blurb, and table of contents with evocative sub-headings—Mountains and Forest, the Ancient Environment, Living on the Lake, the Fishing Lots of
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Battambang, Core Areas of the Biosphere Reserve, the Tonle Sap River and Phnom Penh, and the Cambodian Mekong—enhance the reader’s expectation that he will traverse this bounty and learn of the interrelationship between the people and their lake. He soon discovers, however, that the title is a bit misleading. While the Tonle Sap forms the core of the book, the author wanders the length of Cambodia and even up the Mekong to China in a text that meanders through a consideration of the sad state of the forests and wildlife in the regions along the Mekong. The reader encounters disheartening tales of the demise or impending extinction of tigers, crocodiles, waterbirds—nearly everything except the fish. The text also embraces a cursory consideration of the lifestyles of the people who harvest these beasts for sustenance and sale. The author brings considerable credentials to his task – Director of the Asia Program for the Wildlife Conservation Society (WCS) – and has worked and traveled in Cambodia for eight years. His travels have imbued him with an understandable pessimism about the future of the country’s natural heritage under the onslaught of burgeoning population, lack of economic alternatives, absence of vision or political will, and lack of control (or unwillingness to intervene) over its resources by Cambodian authorities. While laudable for its wealth of detail and while its heart is in the right place, the book suffers from a frustrat-
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ing lack of organization. Because the author fails to provide a roadmap, the reader wanders all over the map (literally and figuratively) of environmental abuse in the past 30 years of Cambodian history (whose abuses of humans, even today, far outweigh those imposed on the landscape). The book’s principle problem is that the author fails to integrate the various elements. As a result, the reader is left with a bag of bits without a structure, an interpretation, or a greater comprehension of the culture that depends upon the Tonle Sap’s—or Cambodia’s, for that matter—largesse, nor the mindset that is hastening its environmental destruction. Worse yet, the text soon devolves into a laundry list of abuses more appropriate to a United Nations ‘State of Wildlife in Cambodia’, a dry litany of environmental destruction. Instead of evoking the magic and wonder of the Tonle Sap, thereby making us want to save it, the reader is banged on the head with numbing detail of disappearing nature. It is all valid, but we have read it elsewhere about most of the world’s wild areas. A few anecdotes would have particularized it for Cambodia, and driven home the point in more poignant manner, integrating the reader into what is happening and how it affects individuals, rather than standing back and surveying from a great distance. What the book needs is a foundation stone. It begins with a consideration of Phnom Kulen, then, a short while later, mentions in passing Angkor’s stone reliefs depicting a plethora of wildlife and
waterlife at Angkor. It then digresses to a section on the tigers of Mondulkiri on the Vietnamese border; one of many boxed stories which disrupt the flow. A few pages later, it devotes an entire chapter to Angkor and its historical note in the region. The book might better have started here and followed a chronological progression, illuminating the tragedy of disappearing species by discussing early in the book what was there in the past. These types of digressions are repeated elsewhere. On page 64, the author provides a somewhat lyrical setting evoking the magic of the Tonle Sap, and the reader begins to gain an appreciation of the lake’s wonder. But soon the author tugs the reader in a new direction. On page 74, he considers the history and fate of the freshwater crocodile. It then moves to a consideration of introduced pests like golden apple snails and African catfish, and then continues with a two-page discussion of herbal pests like mimosa pigra, water hyacinth, and on to a new port project and the problem of immigrants. There, the chapter ends. The reader turns the page to find another boxed story, only one page long, devoted to...crocodiles. The book is also riven with asides and non-sequiturs. For example, in the middle of a discussion of the wildlife black market trade, there appears a paragraph on artifact looting which is not germane to the text. These asides appear to have been dropped on the page haphazardly without consideration of their importance or relevance, and with-
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out integrating the diverse elements into a whole. The tragedy is that they mar one’s appreciation of the author’s scholarship. Throughout, one seeks an analysis of root causes beyond grinding poverty and official corruption. At the very least, one expects a summation and perhaps a prognosis and prescription. Instead, the final chapter is devoted to the Mekong dolphins and the dangers they face. One turns the page and abruptly finds oneself in the book’s footnote section. Thus, there are no concluding thoughts, no analysis of how to remedy a dire situation, and not a single mention of the Tonle Sap the book title led the reader to assume would be the subject, since the dolphins inhabit the Mekong near the Lao border. In the end, the reader emerges unclear about what makes the Tonle Sap unique. With no blueprint of how the situation might be rectified, the book becomes a tract rather than a treatise, seemingly reflecting WCS hand-wringing impotence—evident in every page—in finding solutions to halting the depredation. The reader can only conclude that the situation is hopeless and beyond remedy, yet the photos superbly capture the lake’s teeming human and natural life. Readers seeking a comprehensive exploration of how the stories of natural resources and people are interwoven are in for some hard work. Perseverance has its rewards, but the task would have
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been considerably lightened with greater care in its presentation. Steve Van Beek
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L. E. Bagshawe (tr.), The Kinwun Mingyi’s London Diary. Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2006, pp.412. This book involves two men well known for their contributions to our knowledge of Burma. The first, U Gaung, otherwise known as the Kinwun Mingyi (actually a title, not a personal name), a scholar-official of pre-conquest Burma (and collaborator with the colonial regime afterwards), travelled to the West twice (London and Paris) in the early 1870s, made meticulous notes of his travels, and introduced the Burmese court to Europe. The second, L. Euan Bagshawe, is a former colonial officer (Indian Civil Service from 1941 until independence) and later employee in the Rangoon office of Imperial Chemical Industries until nationalization in 1964 (see the foreword to The Maniyadanabon of Shin Sandalinka). After a subsequent thesis written on colonial education in Burma at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London), Bagshawe embarked on a series of useful translations of some of the most significant texts of the Konbaung period (Shin Sandalinka’s Mani-yadana-bon and U Po Hlaing’s Raza-dhamma-thingaha-kyan) and colonial-era, retroactive compilations of data on it (U Tin’s Myanma-Min Okchok-poun-sadan). The translation offered in the present volume is that of U Gaung’s diaries of his journey to London and back in 1872–1873, as published in two volumes under the editorship of Pe Maung
Tin in 1953–1954 (another edition, used by the present reviewer, was published in 1908 and edited by U Ba Gun). Bagshawe’s is not the first translation. An earlier translation of sorts was made in 1974 by the Burmese nationalist historian Maung Htin Aung in the Journal of the Burma Research Society, but Htin Aung’s version amounts to a summary rather than a formal translation. Bagshawe, who completed his own translation before he read the former, has made use of the very useful introductory matter provided by Htin Aung in his 1974 publication. In addition to Gaung’s diaries, Bagshawe has collected a number of articles on the embassy, printed in various newspapers in the British Isles, that help to shed more light on the events discussed. Gaung’s travels had a major impact on the Burmese court and on Burmese intellectual trends. Until then, the Burmese had only vague notions about the world outside of Asia (and even large parts within it). Newspaper accounts, drawings, information gathered from European visitors, and so on, certainly provided some data, but it was really only with the circulation of Gaung’s reports of his travels that this information could be brought together within a new conceptual framework. This was especially so with distances travelled, giving the court a much more realistic idea of the dimensions of the globe and Burma’s place (and size) on it. Nevertheless, it is easy to overestimate the impact of Gaung’s records, as they would suggest, from the numerous
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sentences pregnant with intimations of surprise at the scale and organization of Western industry, that this was something completely new to the Burmese mind. It was not. Burmese had become knowledgeable about such things during visits to government installations in Calcutta (and earlier through texts on Western science) over the previous four decades, and indeed the Burmese themselves had already begun to experiment with Western machinery. What the reader might miss in what appears to be evidence of Burma’s backwardness in the face of Western superiority is that this text is really about a quite apposite development—for the first time, Burmese (aside from a few youths taken away by missionaries to Europe for religious training) had left Asia on their own initiative to build connections with the West and to gain more information regarding it. It was a major moment in Burma’s opening up to the outside world. Bagshawe provides a very thorough historical introduction, although focused on British-Burmese relations (however, one would have expected much more on Gaung himself, such as personal contacts with the British on the frontier where he was posted and his personal connections to Mindon), in pp. ix-xlvi. The translation itself represents a significant amount of labour on Bagshawe’s part. The original text is not always easy to translate into English, especially since Gaung was describing many technical subjects for which Burmese terms did not yet exist and
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attempting to make sense of things whose internal mechanisms he did not understand (the mechanical Turk, for example, on p. 392). It is also a very lengthy text. For these reasons it is commendable that Bagshawe undertook this project rather than focus on many of the shorter texts available from the precolonial period (although these too are important for their own reasons). The result is a very rewarding text, a pleasure to read and informative with every page. As with Bagshawe’s other translations, the original editor’s introductions have been retained and translated. The only real drawbacks to the book, and these are minor in view of the translator’s greater contribution, are that (1) his footnotes are extremely informal and (2) more research could have been conducted regarding proper names. This reviewer suspects that comments made in the footnotes may be the original, unadulterated jottings one takes down on paper in the process of translation. Footnote 108, “Literally ‘iron head fillet’—don’t know what it means” should not have remained in this form in the published work. Although minor, sentences of this kind pepper the footnotes throughout and it gives the reader less confidence in the translation, as if the whole remains a work in progress. On a similar note, the identification of Western proper names, the people U Gaung met, the companies he encountered, and the places he visited are too frequently given with a parenthetical question mark. Again, the reader hesi-
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tates to place much confidence in the identification in question. Yet these questions could have been resolved with a little more effort at the identifications. Perhaps this problem can be rectified in later editions of the work. A problem perhaps attributable to the publisher and not to Bagshawe is the index, which misses key topics in the text and sometimes organizes them in confusing ways (one can only find automata under ‘Crystal Palace,’ not independently, as it should have been). The present volume is an enormous boon to scholars working on precolonial Burma, although it may be especially useful to a growing number of scholars, not trained in the Burmese language, who seek to do comparative work on Burma and other South-East Asian societies. The present translation, just as was the case with Bagshawe’s earlier translations, thus provides a bridge into the understudied, yet critical, Konbaung period. The present reviewer highly recommends the volume for scholars and students alike. Michael W. Charney
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Justin Watkins, ed., Studies in Burmese Linguistics. Canberra, Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University, 2005. For many reasons this book is welcome. One is that the Burmese language, its amazing specificity, its richness and variety of styles, and its long life as a written language, deserved such a remarkable set of contributions. Another reason is its dedication to John Okell. He has constantly promoted this language in various forms and through all sorts of activities. For instance, when mixing with a Burmese itinerant theatrical troop, he heard the literary language of plays throughout whole nights on end, and during the day noted the players’ colloquial speech. He became expert in esoteric poetry, in laborious translations from Pali (nissaya), and in dialectal Burmese, thanks to his fieldwork in ‘restricted’ areas, etc. Useful indications are given at the very beginning concerning the general structure of the book. The list of abbreviations and conventions includes the transcription and transliteration of Burmese. Then come subtle analyses of the contributions in James A. Matisoff’s preface, and the genesis of the work is explained in Justin Watkins’ foreword. The contributions are arranged logically. First come those concerning phonology, then syntax and verb semantics, linked together by (the last paper on syntax) ‘The verb “give” as a causativiser in colloquial Burmese’; then follow discourse and stylistic register, a
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new approach particularly appropriate for Burmese, where the meaning is so dependant on the context. More classical are contributions concerning old Burmese, but they are enlightening for the history of the language. The last part concerns lexicography, with a clear paper pointing out the specific difficulties of Burmese in that field. References are grouped in a general list at the end. In the introductory part, the transcription of consonants and vowels appears as simple as it could be, systematically using IPA international symbols. For tones, specifically Burmese, John Okell had already used (1969) an economic — and very Burmese — method: one tone unmarked, two others each marked by an accent. But here, Okell’s accent for the creaky tone indicates high tone, his accent for high tone indicates low tone and an additional mark under the vowel indicates the creaky tone. Is this progress? The transliteration is certainly such. It is used in the Library of Congress as well as internationally and improves the system of Epigraphia birmanica since it allows a better rendering of the Burmese writing: for instance, simple and double ‘ñ’ are now distinguished. Constant use of both systems throughout the book facilitates one’s reading. A note at the end of Justin Watkins’ foreword invites ‘readers to regard the terms Burmese and Myanmar as equivalent and interchangeable’, so the title of the book is justified. Turning to the different contributions, D. Green’s ‘Word, foot and syllable
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structure in Burmese’ applies to Burmese the theory of optimality, a constraint-based theory. The author describes carefully the segments of the language, from syllable to phrase; his approach allows him to detect constraints specific to Burmese. His distinction between major and minor syllables is equally fruitful. Describing competing constraints, he points out how the canonic form of Burmese syllables is shown in loanwords. However, the Burmese writing of ‘chocolate’ is surprising (p. 24). Usually the last syllable was written -lak and not -lek. It may be a case of orthographic evolution, showing the constant evolution of languages, especially Burmese. Andrew Simpson and Justin Watkins’ paper, ‘Focus in Burmese: an investigation and experimental study of information structure and prosody’ is a systematic and well-documented study. Information was provided by talks with Burmese speakers and recordings, and completed by the remarks and comments of experienced Birmanophones. Experiments were conducted with native speakers and the help of acoustic analyses. The investigation ‘Concerning the area of Eastern Asia’ might be less new than is stated in the introduction to this contribution: René Gsell, a Thai specialist and phonetician, was perfectly aware of the importance of prosody (intensity, duration, intonation and pause) in languages of Southeast Asia. Such an investigation in Burmese is promising and calls for a larger exploitation of prosody versus structure.
D. Bradley’s ‘Reflexives in Literary and Spoken Burmese’ shows reflexives as a category of terms amazingly recurrent in written and spoken Burmese. They are studied from the twelfth century up to the present. On the way, one learns that the literary reflexive mi mi is a reduplication of ‘person’ in TibetoBurmese, and is reminded that pause has a grammatical role in Burmese. Even if one hesitates to admit that reflexive ‘body’ and the syntactic particle -ko have the same etymon, one can appreciate how comparative Tibeto-Burmese studies and historical background benefit from such an investigation. V. B. Kassevitch’s ‘Syntactic and morphological markers in Burmese: are they really optional?’ insists on the various possibilities of marking syntax and morphology without using markers. Possibilities are word order, word-class specification, and context. Despite a constant avoidance of redundancy – ‘a typological feature of Burmese’ for Kassevitch – the choice, between markers or other possibilities, is far from being free. Let me quote a personal experiment: deletion of an agent marker after a personal name, which functioned as a substitute of the pronoun ‘he’, changed the meaning of that name to ‘I’, an unpredictable change in a ‘markdrop language’. In ‘The verb “give” as a causativiser in Burmese’, Kenji Okano illustrates a new trend in Burmese language: the multiplication of versatile verbs. They are functioning now either as pre- or post-head verbs. Formerly ‘give’ fol-
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lowed the head-verb and carries still more meanings in this position. Concerning the possible Mon origin of the use of ‘give’ as auxiliary, the author has doubts, for historical reasons. In her contribution, Uta Gärtner gives a complex answer to the title: ‘Is the Myanmar language really tenseless?’. The Burmese language is said to be ‘tenseless’, according to a concept of tense based on Indo-European languages; ‘however, Myanmar turns out to be ambiguous with respect to tense (as well as in other respects)’. Her analysis, illustrated by numerous examples, shows a subtle use of numerous verbal particles and grammaticalised lexical items, following or preceding the verb. This environment might indicate aspect, modality and even tense. The indication is clear only if the verbal syntagma is embedded in a context. The great number of examples is very useful. They enlighten the complexity of the subject: in several of them, where the statement refers to past tense, the final marker is may, the marker of supposition most often referring to the future. There is a clarification of this complexity in F.K.L. Chit Hlaing (Lehman)’s paper: in ‘Towards a formal cognitive theory of grammatical aspect and its treatment in Burmese’, he demonstrates the imbrication of time, aspect and modality, basing his theory on analyses of Burmese examples. It becomes clear that an event already past, or a previous state, therefore both carrying the factual modality, might be enunciated as a supposition, by the speaker, in a cognitive perspective.
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Alice Vittrant’s ‘Burmese as a modality-prominent language’ is near to Lehman’s theoretical position. She insists on the pervasiveness of modality. Her demonstration is based on a precisely delimited corpus of sentences, collected and controlled ‘in the field’ and placed in their situational context. The prominence of modality would, perhaps, appear more clearly if the possibility of aspectual signification were considered. Paulette Hopple’s ‘Topicalisation in Burmese expository discourse’ is the first paper among three concerning ‘Discourse and stylistic register’. In fact most of the papers in the book indicate which style their examples belong to and in which kind of discourse they appear; but here, the influence of discursive and stylistic register on grammar is the target of the contribution. Hopple concentrates her study on one linguistic subject: topicalisation, on one text only, the National Day text, expository discourse, and one style: modern written Burmese. Burmese is one of those topic-prominent Tibeto-Burmese languages, where the topic to comment relation has more importance than the subject to predicate relation (Kassevitch already signalled that the presence of a grammatical subject is not necessary in Burmese). In fact, implications are numerous in Burmese. Let us quote P. Hopple’s realistic ‘cultural’ remark: ‘the unstated knowledge implied by the writer...can leave second language readers of Burmese perplexed’. Less fruitful is the choice of a single text, of the ‘expository’ genre,
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where the style is more official than representative of modern written Burmese. San San Hnin Tun also, in ‘Discourse particles in Burmese’, writes about the situation-dependant nature of particles; she, also, focuses on only two particles: two only. She chose them because the speaker’s or the writer’s feelings show through them, their use is sometimes characteristic of a speaker, and the addressee himself is cognizant of their presence. But their emotive function appears only when they are used in connection with certain other particles. This subtle analysis is based on various examples, belonging to written and spoken styles, but also on the knowledge a Burmese linguist has of her native tongue. U Saw Tun’s ‘Writing Modern Burmese: an examination of the status of colloquial Burmese’ has the same advantage. The contribution begins with a clear history of the matter, at least from 1965 onwards. In fact the gap between written and spoken Burmese alarmed Burmese writers long before. But in 1965 began the organized modern attempt for solving the problem, arguments for and against the renewal of written Burmese spread, and the government entered the controversy in order to extend its control in the linguistic field. In spite of consultations with specialists of the Burmese language, the authorities were not always expert, and fashion dictated many things, including errors: unsuitable literary markers were substituted for proper ones used in both styles. U Saw Tun evidences these
errors and deplores the introduction of spoken vocabulary in literary texts and of sophisticated literary terms in the spoken language. Numerous examples help to understand his criticisms. Rudolf A. Yanson in his ‘Tense in Burmese: a diachronic account’ re-examines the problem of tense in Burmese. For him, in the modern language the semantic content of the final markers does not justify their assimilation to tense markers. As for old Burmese, the numerous inscriptions show that the verb was obviously tenseless. Concerning classical Burmese, the author demonstrates how innumerable translations from Pali provoked an evolution of ancient Burmese verbal markers, which eventually modified their grammatical category and led to the introduction of a few Pali grammatical elements (such as the optative suffix). Ohno Torru’s contribution, ‘The structure of Pagan-period Burmese’ gives the reader an impressive amount of information. It is perfectly organized and easy to consult, sources are listed at the beginning, and an index of the grammatical forms follows the text. The main source is the collection of rubbings of inscriptions published between 1972 and 1983. The numerous examples quoted have been deciphered by the author. As Burmese writing was not yet settled in Pagan, the same word was written in different forms. The list of vowels, the words where they appear and the study of phonology show an important evolution of the Burmese vocalic system: modern ui was uiv, eiv, i,
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modern e was i. In fact it is still i in Arakanese and in Marma, dialects of Burmese. As for the consonants, the author assumes that aspirated and unaspirated stops were contrasting, but exemplifies the contrast between voiced and voiceless consonants only with loan words. In modern Burmese it is still difficult to find contrasting voiced and voiceless consonants. As one might expect, contrast between aspirated and unaspirated consonants is seen also in two categories of verbs: causatives and non-causatives. Interrogation marks (for a ‘yes or no’ question), hi for ‘to be’ and negative sentences ending with the verb of Pagan Burmese were still used in the Marma dialect this reviewer collected in 1951. Annemarie Esche, in ‘The experience of writing the first German-Myanmar Dictionary’ speaks of her ‘arduous enterprise’ as somebody who could not help undertaking it and who loved to do it. She begins with a detailed presentation of her sources, Myanmar Dictionary, Myanmar-English Dictionary, and many others, evaluating their respective advantages, and includes standardized orthography, short examples, indication of the pronunciation, and botanical names of plants. As for the lexicographical problems, equivalency of terms comes first; it is already difficult when the translation is between two European languages, but it is worse to try to find equivalents between two different cultures: the translation might become an explanation. Orthographic reforms in Myanmar were another problem, and
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the choice between written and spoken language another one. One of her final remarks is to accept the fact that ‘such a work...is never finished’. All these contributions have painted a vivid portrait of Burmese language, a mysterious entity with a long history and a strong personality. Denise Bernot
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Judith L. Richell, Disease and Demography in Colonial Burma. Copenhagen, NIAS Press, 2006, pp.xiv + 327, tables, maps, glossary, bibliography, appendices, index. As Ian Brown explains in his foreword to the book, Judith Richell died in 1999 at the age of fifty-six while enrolled in the doctoral programme in History at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London). Although close to completion, school regulations prevented the posthumous submission of her thesis, leaving publication as the only available route to circulating this valuable study. As a result, the author was absent in the final editing process and thus we do not know exactly what changes would have been made or indeed how the final volume would have looked. A review must thus examine the book within this context. As the reader will find, Richell’s voyage into Burmese demography and public health is innovative and much needed. In addition to an introduction and conclusion, Richell’s book is divided into six chapters covering (1) “Numbering the People,” (2) “Birth Rates and Death Rates in Colonial Burma,” (3) “Infant Mortality,” (4) “The Family and Childhood in Colonial Burma,” (5) “Adult Morbidity and Mortality and the Development of Public Health in Burma,” and (6) “The Determinants of Mortality: Nutrition and Malaria in Colonial Burma.” The appendices also include compilations from the census data on the numbers of Chinese, Mus-
lims, and Hindus in Burma covering the decades between 1911 and 1931. Scattered throughout the text are very clear tables and graphs and some very useful maps. The book can generally be divided into two broad sections. The first section, consisting of Chapters One and Two (pp. 1–84), is heavily quantitative, with the discussion focused on the problems of locating reliable statistics, calculating more reliable figures, and identifying the boundaries (time and space) of Richell’s case study. The lack of a substantial general body of work on demography in Burma (previous work on Burmese demographic history has been limited to the works of A. R. Vyatkin and R. M. Sundrum) presented Richell with both a challenge and an opportunity, both of which she fully undertook. On the one hand, the lack of substantial secondary literature forced Richell to undertake the onerous task of sifting through censuses and related reports for detailed statistics and, on the other, the paucity of literature allowed her a free hand in shaping a demographic study on her own terms. For Richell, a number of factors weighed heavily in favour of a more circumspect analysis of Burmese population statistics. Difficulties in discerning between indigenous and immigrant Muslims were avoided, by excluding Arakan from the study. The necessity for reliable government data also favoured Lower Burma and several districts just to the north, due to the consistency and longer duration of colonial record-keep-
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ing. Thus, much of Upper Burma, including all the hill (and thus ethnic) areas, as well as most of Tenasserim, were also excluded. Ultimately, Richell’s case study focuses on areas of the Irrawaddy Delta that coincidentally share certain features: (1) predominant sedentary agriculture, (2) “Burmese” culture, and (3) Theravada Buddhism as the prevailing religious orientation (p. 6). Richell similarly had to reject several sources of information that would have otherwise seemed useful. The annual reports from 1862–1865, for example, were subject to severe underestimation, both by local headman and colonial administrators alike, while the 1872 and 1881 censuses, both covering years prior to the annexation of Upper Burma, necessarily only referred to Lower Burma. The second section of the book, which include Chapters Three to Six, while rich in statistics, becomes much more qualitative in its analysis than in the first section and this discussion is focused on public health (as it impacts demography). In Chapters Three and Four, Richell carefully considers how child-bearing women’s nutrition and breast milk feeding, infant food supplements, and various infant diseases (smallpox, malaria, venereal diseases) affected infant mortality rates, as well as Burmese attitudes toward child-bearing and child-rearing. Richell also documents the British public health response, which was deficient in part because of hesitance to appoint female doctors (p. 125). Chapters Five and Six focus on adult mortality, including the impact of
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diseases (cholera, plague, smallpox, and malaria) and nutrition levels. In this context, Richell also provides information on the emergence of the colonial public health department. Richell makes an important contribution in her argument that the much feared epidemic diseases of cholera, smallpox, and the plague were the cause of only ten percent of adult mortality (p. 169). Richell turns to other causes of adult mortality, such as diarrhoea and dysentery, which actually saw a steady and significant decline in the late colonial period, while deaths from respiratory disease saw a roughly comparable inverse trend. The major factors in adult mortality, Richell finds, were actually two problems for which the colonial reaction was either very slow or almost non-existent. First, chronic and widespread malnutrition among the Burmese population made them vulnerable to all sorts of health problems, especially beri-beri. Second, under the guise of “fevers”, malaria laid low many Burmese to an astounding degree, made worse by commercial factors and civil engineering projects. Curiously, however, the classic study of this problem in Sri Lanka (Rhoads Murphey, “The Ruin of Ancient Ceylon”, Journal of Asian Studies 16.2, 1957), which also made allusions to this problem for the classical and early modern era Burma, has escaped this discussion and the bibliography. In any event, “fevers”, of which fifty percent of deaths were due to malaria, Richell concludes, constituted the single greatest threat to the indigenous population in terms of deaths caused by disease (p. 258).
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There are minor drawbacks. Even without being able to draw up statistics comparable to the Irrawaddy Valley districts, more attention probably should have been paid to Arakan, Tenasserim, and the hill areas, if only in terms of qualitative data and if only to include the bulk of non-Burman ethnic groups in a study that seeks to examine health and demography in colonial Burma. The study also does not make use of Burmese-language material, which may have otherwise enriched the discussion of problems in gathering health data or yielded light on how Burmese viewed the shaping of public health around (and for) them. Even so, the present volume represents a very important contribution to the field and one that should stand the test of time. The book presently under review is a solid, comprehensive examination of public health in colonial Burma that must be read by any researcher working on this period and place. The breakdown of chapters into clearly outlined sub-topics of public health makes it an especially effective case study for comparative studies of the state of health in Asia generally. This book is highly recommended as well for undergraduate and postgraduate courses focused on the more human side of Southeast Asian History. Michael W. Charney
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Emma Larkin, Secret Histories: Finding George Orwell in a Burmese Teashop. London, John Murray, 2005, pp.vii + 232. Emma Larkin is a journalist with an M.A. in Asian History at the School of Oriental and African Studies. In the present volume, Larkin explores the state of contemporary Burma and locates its past by following a trail pinned to major points in the experiences of George Orwell during his stay in Burma in the 1920s as a colonial policeman. Orwell’s numerous books, including Animal Farm, Burmese Days, and Nineteen Eighty-Four painted a bleak picture, in the age of totalitarianism in which they were written, of the control of man by man and the suppression of the individual and the human spirit. Seventy years on, Larkin finds, Orwell’s writings are just as relevant to the Burma of today, a “much more terrifying landscape ... a real-life Nineteen Eighty-Four where Orwell’s nightmare visions are being played out with a gruelling certainty” (p. 4). Moreover, Burma remained relevant to Orwell’s perspectives until his last days for, as Larkin explains, Orwell had left at his deathbed plans to write another book, one which would revisit his memories of Burma. In the present volume, Larkin in one sense completes a journey Orwell died too soon to make. Between the Prologue and Epilogue are five chapters devoted to (1) Mandalay, (2) The Delta, (3) Rangoon, (4) Moulmein, and (5) Katha, all points following Orwell’s experiences in the
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country. Throughout the chapters, Larkin introduces the reader to ghosts, Burmese Orwell fans, teashop intellectuals, an unwitting bicycle trip into a military compound, and everywhere stories of personal tragedy. To these two narrative strands is added a third, a summary of Burmese historical events placed at different points in the book to make the reader aware of the broader significance of what Larkin sees or hears. The book is not, and was not intended to be, an academic study, but relatively light reading. Even so, Larkin’s impressions of contemporary Burma, seen through the framework provided by Orwell’s life, provide a potent reminder to readers sitting comfortably in the West of just how badly off the contemporary Burmese are. As such, Larkin’s book is not so much a new contribution as it is an updated contribution to an extensive field of travel literature regarding contemporary Burma, all of its parts seeking to relay the same basic account of Burma. Larkin’s book is more intelligent than most and the emphasis on Orwell (for, by the end of the book, one clearly sees that this is really more a story of Burma than of Orwell), helps to make the volume as a whole engaging reading. There is, of course, a problem with depending too much on the information in the book. Many people in this book exist in a realm of anonymity and thus are unavailable for verification, probably due to the need to avoid retaliation by the state. Some vague statements in the book may mislead readers unfamiliar with Burma’s past: “Not long after
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Burma became independent from Britain in 1948, a military dictator sealed off the country from the outside world, launched ‘The Burmese Way to Socialism’ and turned Burma into one of the poorest countries in Asia” (p. 2) is rather sweeping, even if one does accept that 1962 happened not long after 1948 (fourteen years), and the suggestion that emancipating local businesses and trade from Western control amounted to isolation from the outside world misunderstands both the Ne Win years and the role of the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia (and other Communist bloc states) during the period. More striking is Larkin’s observation that “it is not easy to get English-language books in Burma” (pp. 7–8). This is a major misrepresentation, as one quick jot down to Pansodan or 37th Lan, or hundreds of shops in Rangoon, Mandalay, and elsewhere, would quickly reveal. Larkin’s discussion of the changing of place names in Burma also fails to discuss the full dimensions of the issue. Myanmar, for example, is not a “new” name as Larkin suggests (p. 11), but rather a form of the original name (Myanma) that was grossly corrupted by Europeans (Burma). There is also good reason why Mandalay was unchanged: it was one of the examples of indigenous names that the British failed to change beyond recognition, hence it was retained, and this should have been stressed as it supports the government’s claim, dismissed by Larkin, that this was simply a move to delete “colonial tags”. Although unnamed, the very respected and prolific Burmese historian
referred to (p. 32) appears to be the late Professor Than Tun. Even if not, Than Tun’s experience can suggest a word of caution of reading too much into the “erasure” of identity plot. Than Tun’s experience, for example, as bad as it was, was not like that in Nineteen Eighty-Four, as suggested by the unnamed writer quoted by Larkin in reference to the equally unnamed historian. In Than Tun’s case, government censorship did not amount to a permanent erasure of his identity, but on and off harassment that continually relaxed after tempers had subsided. Certainly, this was a grave, difficult time for Than Tun. Nevertheless, comparing these kinds of experiences to the Orwellian nightmare does not do the latter justice, nor does it give accuracy to the experiences of such men (and women) as the former. This is not to rob critics of the regime of the legitimacy of their goals, but rather to suggest that such inaccuracies do not do anyone any good in attempting to understand Burma accurately. Such problematic observations aside, the volume remains an interesting perspective on the state of the country. It is a well-written book, stylistically, and is certainly accessible to the general readership. The general readers will find that the numerous stories in the volume will heighten the attraction of travel to Burma, to see for themselves what Burma is really like. Michael W. Charney
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Susan Conway, The Shan: Culture, Art and Crafts. Bangkok, River Books, 2006, pp. 212, 300 photographs and colour illustrations. This is a beautiful book. It is beautifully produced, and beautifully written. It is worth buying for the illustrations alone: not just for the colour photographs of Shan arts and crafts, architecture and textiles, but also for the wonderful collection of historical black-andwhite photographs that the author has assembled. But the book also makes a valuable and fascinating scholarly contribution to a little studied and poorly understood part of the Tai world. Susan Conway is that rare combination of both artist and scholar. She is a curator of exhibitions (most recently on Lan Na, Shan and Siamese Nineteenth Century Court Dress at the Jim Thompson Centre in Bangkok), and exhibits her own art work. And she is a Research Associate at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London who has published widely in scholarly journals. Her previous book, Silken Threads Lacquer Thrones, was about the court textiles of Lan Na. So this volume on the Shan is a logical progression. As in Silken Threads Lacquer Thrones and her catalogue for her Bangkok exhibition, in this volume on the Shan Conway brings together politics, social status, and culture (from architecture to textiles and dress to crafts such as lacquerware and silver) in order to show how one reinforces the other, how the politics of status were
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served by dress and the display of artistic finery. The importance of dress in defining social status is not much appreciated in the present age of dark suits and discreet cocktail dresses. Nor are fine arts items of public display by presidents, prime ministers or company CEOs in their dealings with each other. But both were well understood by the Burmese in promulgating their sumptuary regulations defining exactly what each tributary ruler had the right to wear and display. Conway shows us how dress mattered for the Shan, as both a badge of identity and a statement of political association. To flaunt Burmese sumptuary laws, for example, would be to claim autonomy — or at least the protection of a more powerful suzerain, such as China. Conway begins by setting the scene, something that is not easy to do for such a geographically and ethnically diverse area as the Shan states of Burma. Her way in through maps and landscape works nicely. Where she encounters difficulty, as anyone would, is in the definition of ethnic groups. Here several criteria intersect: geography, altitude, linguistic affiliations, and culture. This is the same difficulty encountered in trying to categorize the ethnic diversity of Laos. No single criterion will work, but to apply a combination only multiplies diversity. Conway lists four groups in the Shan region: Tai, Wa, Kachin and Karen, which in the glossary are defined purely in terms of overlapping geographical location, but later mentions a fifth, the
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Palaung. This does not get us very far. None but the Tai figure much in the text, which is understandable: this is a book about the Shan. But difficulties arise with the Tai, four groups of which for Conway constitute the Shan (a term none of them use). All overlap, and none are limited to the Shan states. The largest group, the Tai-Yai (also known as Tai-Ngio), are also found in Lan Na, but for Conway comprise the Shan proper. But she also uses the term to include the Tai-Khoen (also found in Lan Na) and the Tai-Neua and Tai-Lue, both of whom spill across from the Sipsong Pan Na. To these overlapping geographical relationships can be added historical ones resting on claims to priority. Conway refers to George Young to sort this out, but Georges Condominas would have been more useful. Politically Conway rightly focuses on the muong/meuang, an institution finely tuned to variations in the balance of power and status, but most confusing in its multiple shifting relationships. These drove the British nuts, but if they had learned to read the language of court dress, they might have been less confused. Muong structure and relationships as expressions of Tai political culture are impossible to understand outside the context of the Theravada Buddhist worldview. Here Conway should certainly have said more. ‘Karma’ does not even warrant an entry in the index (though ‘merit’ does). And since it is court dress as indicative of political status that she is interested in (and very
good on), the basis of Tai political culture really does deserve elaboration. Conway does, however, cover a lot of ground — from the organization of Shan society to the role of women, the social importance of Buddhist monasteries, spirit worship and astrology, villages and palaces, and back to women again. A separate chapter is devoted to the history of the Shan states. But as Conway lists 43 such states (five comprising the northern states and 38 the southern ones), her task is well nigh impossible in a few pages. Sensibly, she deals with the Shan as a group, differentiating only a few major states, and examines their relations with Burma, the upper part of which was ruled in the fourteenth century by Shan kings, with Lan Na and Siam, and with the Sipsong Pan Na and China. With colonialism comes a clearer narrative, and some wonderful photographs. The strength of The Shan lies in the next four chapters on male and female dress, court life, and arts and crafts. Here Conway is in her element, making full use of archival sources, travel memoirs and historical photographs from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The photographs of Burmese court dress are extraordinary. Both for men and women, this resembles nothing so much as samurai armour and looks quite uncomfortable compared to the dress men and women wore even on more formal occasions back in their home states. The rigidity of Burmese sumptuary laws and extreme consciousness of status led to some innovative use of pat-
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terns and materials by Shan princes, thus adding to the amazing variety of male dress. Rank was of supreme importance, indicated by multiple collars, chains and umbrellas held over princes in procession. Beside such symbols the later British honours system of sashes and medals was but a pale reflection! Male dress in particular had political implications. The prince of Muong Sing, for example, whose territory then covered both banks of the Mekong, sometimes wore Tai-Lue dress to indicate his identification with the Sipsong Pan Na, and sometimes a Chinese dragon robe as a tributary of China. In the end, the more substantial part of his realm was included in French Laos. Female dress was more variable, reflecting the cross influence of ethnic elites, or marriages arranged to cement political relationships. The wives of a Shan prince might be Wa or Karen or Palaung, as well as Shan. Each would wear ethnic dress on appropriate occasions, to reflect both ethnicity and political relationships. The greater versatility in female dress sometimes reflected fashion, incorporating new silks from China, or styles of embroidery using silver or gold thread, or machine-made lace from Europe. Conway also explains how female dress reflected religious belief. Thus Buddhist women always wore skirts with waist bands, so as to differentiate waist from easily polluted hem, which was not a consideration for animist Karen, Kachin, or Wa. Conway describes different female dress styles by state, though only ten are
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mentioned. One wonders what was the basis of choice? Perhaps only the availability of photographs whose provenance could be identified. Beautiful examples of Shan fabrics (both indigenous and imported), skirts and embroidery are illustrated, most from private collections. In a fascinating chapter on princes and palaces, Conway shows how the architecture of palaces, their furnishings of elaborate thrones and decorated shrines, their gilded couches and artistic treasures, all proclaimed the status of the ruler. Drawing on the descriptions of early explorers and officials, Conway reveals the life of the palace. Servants, who lived outside the palace compound, were summoned by drum. Food was brought from kitchens in containers. But what did they use as toilets? There is no mention of garderobes of the kind found in medieval European castles. There is a drawing by Louis Delaporte, the artist of the French Mekong Expedition, which Conway reproduces, showing the prince of Muong You receiving the French explorers. Around him are placed his finest possessions, which attest to his status. These include lacquer ware, repoussé silver work, ceramics and inlaid wood carving. For these Shan craftsmen were famous. Conway devotes a chapter to Shan arts and crafts, giving prominence especially to weaving, embroidery and appliqué, but also revealing the finer points of metalworking and the preparation of palm leaf manuscripts. The final chapter is on trade. The Shan were great long-distance traders.
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Conway discusses trade routes and the items traded with China to the north and Burma to the south. But Shan traders also made their way down the Mekong, through the Lao territories as far as Cambodia. Many village traders were women, who played a far more significant economic role (as did women all across the Tai world) than women in China. In the end it was trade that undermined Shan arts and crafts, especially weaving, by introducing cheap massproduced materials. Tourism has cheapened the quality of the Shan arts once crafted for princes. And the Burmese military has put an end to Shan court life. Conway records a world that is sadly lost, and she does it remarkably well. Martin Stuart-Fox
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Anthony Grant and Paul Sidwell, eds, Chamic and Beyond: Studies in Mainland Austronesian Languages. Canberra, Pacific Linguistics, Australian National University, pp.xvii+271, A$63.00. With his twin specialisms in Chamic and Mon-Khmer, no human on earth is better situated than Paul Sidwell to team up with Anthony Grant, the author of nearly half the material in this volume, to edit a collection of articles representing the cutting edge of research into the problematic Chamic branch of Austronesian. Chamic resists the relatively more straightforward classificatory paradigms of other branches of Austronesian because of its typological proximity to Mon-Khmer and other mainland South-East Asian language families. The mechanisms, processes, stages and details of this typological shift are, put simply, complex. Mark Brunelle’s ‘A phonetic study of Eastern Cham register’ aims to address the question of the Mon-Khmerisation of Eastern Cham in a phonetic context, by examining the phonetic detail of the Mon-Khmer-style registral contrast in Eastern Chamic, uncontroversially derived from a loss of initial consonant contrasts, possibly as a result of contact with Mon-Khmer languages. Brunelle investigates whether or not the Eastern Cham registers have evolved further into lexical tone as a consequence of coda-consonant weakening and subsequent deletion. He finds first that Written Cham labial and palatal coda consonants typically debuccalise
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to homorganic glide+glottal stop sequences (or laryngealised homorganic glides), while Written Cham final coronal, velar and glottal stops are usually articulated as such. The experimental work is reported in detail. The 3-D graphic representations of the effects on fundamental frequency of final consonants are particularly well-conceived, though a range of other phonetic correlates of final consonants are also explored, with supporting statistical analysis. Especially valuable is the complementary perceptual test, which suggests that the register contrast is perceived from a complex of acoustic cues. ‘The Effects of Intimate Multidirectional Linguistic Contact in Chamic’ is the first of two chapters contributed to the volume by Anthony Grant, one of its editors. This is a substantial article of some 70 pages which examines the socio-historical reasons for the relatively much greater divergence of Chamic from its Proto-Malayo-Chamic roots than Malayic languages. Grant provides a considered and digestible account of a highly complex set of linguistic influences on Chamic languages brought about through contact with various languages at various times, and relates phonological changes in Chamic in specific terms to events during two millennia of Chamic speakers’ social history. This article builds in particular on the work of Graham Thurgood’s (1999) article From ancient Cham to modern dialects: two thousand years of change. Grant’s second article, ‘Norm-referenced Lexicostatistics and the case of Chamic’ assesses the merits of various
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lexicostatistical methods, contrasting ‘horizontal’ with ‘vertical’ varieties. He discusses the shortcomings of Isidore Dyen’s (1965) ‘horizontal’ pair-referenced study A lexicostatistical classification of the Austronesian languages, in which all forms are compared to all others, for determining higher-level interrelationships between branches of Malayo-Polynesian. Grant endorses instead ‘vertical’ norm-referenced lexicostatistics, a methodology which compares many forms to one historical norm (which must have been reconstructed independently of the languages under examination). Applying his chosen method to Chamic, using the ‘default’ Austronesian word list drawn up by Robert Blust (1981), Grant finds that Acehnese is as similar to more conservative Chamic languages as Malay is. The findings are discussed at length and the statistical data are presented in full in tabular form. Peter Norquest’s ‘Word Structure in Chamic: Prosodic Alignment versus Segmental Faithfulness’ is an optimality theoretic account of the stages in shift from light disyllables to heavy monosyllables, changes wrought on ProtoMalayo-Chamic word structure under the influence of Mon-Khmer, as described in Graham Thurgood’s (1999) monograph From ancient Cham to modern dialects : two thousand years of language contact and change. For each stage in the process – first from ProtoMalayo-Polynesian to Proto-MalayoChamic, thence to Proto-Chamic and on into diverse Chamic daughter languages
(looking in particular at Kwara’ae, Hlai, Rotuman and Tsat), Norquest provides a readable and accessible summary of the facts, illustrated with abundant examples, and then applies the OT framework. Pittayawat Pittayaporn’s article ‘Moken as a Mainland Southeast Asian Language’ looks at the variety of Moken spoken at Rawai on Ko Phuket, Thailand. Pittayawat’s main argument is that Mon-Khmerisation is too blunt a theory to account for the ‘mainland’ features observed in Moken phonology, and assigns these features instead one of three categories: the influence of loanwords, internal restructuring or conservative Proto-Austronesian word structure. He justifies his argument in terms of a language-contact model (based on Thomason and Kaufman, 1988 and Ross, 2003) which characterises Moken speech communities as internally closeknit, but yet multilingual and maintaining open relationships with the speech communities nearby. On the one hand the internal tightness of the community assures the continued use of Moken as the primary language, but with inevitable interference from imperfect learning of mainland South-East Asian contact languages. Paul Sidwell’s article ‘Acehnese and the Aceh-Chamic Language Family’ examines the position of Acehnese relative to Malayic and Chamic generally. In several areas, Sidwell raises as many questions as he seeks to answer. For instance, he finds a phylogenetic model with a process of separation and branch-
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ing an implausible explanation for the relationship between Malayic and Chamic. He posits the presence of an unattested and extinct ‘substratu- mised’ branch Mon-Khmer in Chamic. Sidwell’ s conclusion, after detailed discussion of Thurgood’s (1999) treatment of Acehnese and extensive discussion of the complex historicallinguistic context, is a reconfiguration of the higher branches of the MalayoChamic tree, with an Acehnese-Chamic subfamily yielding Acehnese and ProtoChamic, in preference to Thurgood’s (1999) classification of Acehnese as ‘Chamic’. This in itself calls for much re-examination of the data. Graham Thurgood seems to be looking over the shoulder of the reader throughout much of this volume, but he makes an actual appearance, along with Ela Thurgood, in the last article of the volume: ‘The Tones from Proto-Chamic to Tsat [Hainan Cham]: Insights from Zheng (1997) and from Summer 2004 fieldwork.’ The Thurgoods chart the development of suprasegmental phenomena in Tsat from Proto-Chamic. The present-day five-tone system is described in terms of its diachronic origins, identifying laryngealised allotones of four of the phonological tones conditioned by glottal finals. The creaky phonation of the glottal allotones is clearly demonstrated by well-illustrated instrumental analysis. One of the strengths of this book is that it contains, on the one hand, work which builds on, clarifies and adds detail to our existing understanding of
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Chamic languages. On the other hand, in particular in the work of Pittayaporn and Sidwell, the book challenges our understanding, providing a very valuable safeguard against the fossilisation of unjustifiably ‘received knowledge’, while so many facts, both present-day and historical, remain unknown, or at least unclear or in doubt. The significance of Thurgood’s (1999) monograph, alongside other major contributions to the field, remain paramount throughout the volume, but the work contained in this book collectively represents a major next step in Chamic scholarship. Justin Watkins
References: Blust, Robert A. (1981). ‘Variation in the retention rate in Austronesian languages.’ Paper presented at the Fifth International Conference on Austronesian Languages, Denpasar, Bali. Dyen, Isidore (1965). A lexicostatistical classification of the Austronesian languages. Baltimore, MD: International Journal of American Linguistics, Memoir 19. Ross, Malcolm (2003) ‘Diagnosing prehistoric language contact.’ In R. Hickey (ed.), Motivations for language change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 174–198.
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Thomason, Sarah and Terrence Kaufman (1988). Language Contact, Creolization, and Genetic Linguistics. Berkeley, LA; Oxford, UK: University of California Press. Thurgood, Graham (1999). From ancient Cham to modern dialects: Two thousand years of language contact and change. Oceanic Linguistics Special Publication No. 28. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Zheng Yiqing (1997). Huihuiyu yanjiu. [A study of Tsat]. Shanghai yuandong chubanshe [Shanghai Far East Publishing House].
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Anthony Reid, ed., Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem. Singapore, Singapore University Press, in association with Seattle, University of Washington Press, 2006, pp. xxx + 397. The initial versions of the fifteen chapters of this book were originally discussed at a conference in Singapore in May 2004 when, as the editor points out in his preface, ‘the prospects for a negotiated consensual solution to the long-standing problem of Aceh appeared particularly dark’ (xiii). Aceh’s prospects looked even worse when, at the end of that year, the province was hit by a huge earthquake and tsunami (which took the life of one of the contributors, the Acehnese historian, M. Isa Sulaiman, to whom the book is dedicated). Yet, most extraordinarily, a little over half a year later representatives of the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) met in Helsinki and signed an agreement that brought an end to the fighting of the previous three decades. The authors of the chapters in the first half of the book, which are concerned with pre-colonial and colonial history, were not forced by developments during 2005 to re-consider their perspectives, but the authors of the later chapters now face the challenge of trying to accommodate the successful outcome of the peace talks into their generally gloomy pre-tsunami prognoses. On the basis of most of these chapters, readers could not have predicted that at least part
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of the ‘Aceh Problem’ was on the brink of being solved. The chapters, the editor reminds us, were undergoing final editing at exactly the time that the Memorandum of Understanding was being signed in Helsinki. Several of the authors have added a few hurried paragraphs to take account of the peace negotiations, but the reader gets the impression that these are just ‘add-ons’ that are difficult to integrate with the pre2005 discussion. This reviewer, I should add, sympathizes very much with their predicament because he too shared their earlier pessimism and was surprised by the eventual outcome. The early chapters trace developments in Aceh up to the Indonesian revolution against Dutch colonial rule. The authors of these chapters have their own concerns, but together they provide a coherent overview of a long period. Edwards Mckinnon surveys archaeological evidence indicating early Indian and Chinese trading contacts during the first millennium and he notes Muslim tombstones from the early twelfth century. It was only in the early sixteenth century, as Peter Riddell explains, that an Islamic Sultanate began to emerge and develop, in the seventeenth century, into a major regional power extending into the Malay peninsula during the reign of Sultan Iskandar Muda. Aceh’s Islamic identity was strengthened, although customary law (adat) continued to coexist with Islamic law. During the last six decades of the seventeenth century the Islamic state of Aceh was ruled by a succession of women until the Sher-
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iff of Mecca issued a fatwa outlawing that practice in 1699. Anthony Reid outlines the expansion of Aceh’s trade, especially with the Ottoman empire, and then with Europeans. But by the nineteenth century Aceh was seeking wider international contacts as the Dutch threat loomed larger, culminating with the war launched in 1873 which eventually subjugated Aceh. Lee Kam Hing notes that Aceh’s external links were more with the British Straits Settlements than with Batavia and asks why it was not able to survive as an independent entity like Siam, which was balanced between the French and the British. He finds the answer in the 1824 Treaty, which left the Indonesian archipelago within the Dutch sphere while the Malay peninsula was left to the British. Anthony Reid then takes the story through the Dutch invasion of Aceh and eventually to Indonesia’s war of independence. Finally Teuku Ibrahim Alfian provides a link with the contemporary chapters in his discussion of the concept of Holy War in Acehnese history. The second half of the book is concerned with the ‘Aceh Problem’, particularly the resistance to Jakarta that began under the leadership of the Darul Islam (DI) in the 1950s and continued under GAM from 1976 to 2005. Isa Sulaiman’s chapter traces the evolution of Acehnese resistance to Jakarta from Darul Islam (DI) to GAM by focusing on the life of Hasan di Tiro. DI and GAM were separate movements, one aiming to achieve an Islamic Indonesian nation while the other sought indepen-
dence from Indonesia, but they had common roots in Jakarta’s treatment of Aceh in the 1950s. Initially an Indonesian nationalist, Hasan worked for the DI and advocated federalism, but the DI’s defeat led him eventually to launch GAM in 1976. As Isa points out, ‘the nationalist movement started by Hasan di Tiro did not emerge suddenly in 1976 or the 1980s, but developed gradually’ (139). The continuity between DI and GAM, despite their different objectives, is also a theme of Edward Aspinall’s chapter. Although he agrees that New Order military brutality was a major factor driving GAM’s demand for independence, he points out that such brutality was also common in the 1950s. Although military outrages did not turn DI into a separatist organization, they produced ‘the first signs of the process which decades later gave rise to fullblown ethnic separatism’ (151). William Nesson even more strongly rejects the view that GAM was primarily a reaction to brutal repression during the New Order. He suggests that GAM’s struggle for independence was ‘a product of longer-standing historical sentiments that stretch back to the fight against the Dutch and of even deeper, centuries-old feelings that the Acehnese have about their unique place in the world’ (185). GAM is strong in the north and east of Aceh not because of social disruption caused by New Order exploitation of oil and natural gas in those areas but because ‘the north and the east were historically the heart (not the entire body) of Acehnese resistance from
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Dutch times through the PUSA[AllAceh Union of Ulamas]-led social revolution and DI’ (186). This argument, however, does not make it easy to explain GAM’s post-tsunami acceptance of a peace agreement without independence. Damien Kingsbury and Lesley McCulloch’s study of military business in Aceh faces a similar question. Like many scholars, they explain that the military is dependent on extra-budgetary funding obtained from its own business enterprises and various forms of extortion. Thus, ‘the economic interests of the military explain, at least in part, the government’s reluctance to pursue a political solution to the problems in Aceh’ (211) and ‘To facilitate such profiteering and enrichment, the military now have a vested interest in maintaining a level of conflict that justifies their presence’ (212). These were reasonable judgements before 2005, but we now need to ask why the military accepted the peace agreement. Why is the military not actively undermining the agreement as it did in the cases of the earlier cease-fire agreements in 2001 and 2003? These questions could not, of course, have been anticipated by the writers when they first wrote their chapters but, as the peace agreement becomes increasingly embedded, further explanation is needed. Michelle Miller shares the pessimism of these authors. Her chapter analyses ‘special autonomy’, especially the special autonomy law adopted in 2001. This law never generated much enthusiasm in Aceh and virtually lost any meaning
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after the introduction of the military emergency in 2003. In a Postscript written after the tsunami but before the peace agreement, she expected that ‘the capacity of civilian institutions to govern in Aceh will continue to be constrained by the interests and priorities of the Indonesian military’ and that ‘the TNI [military] is unlikely to leave any time soon’ (311). The remaining three authors are more detached in their approach. Kirsten Schulze carefully examines the military and political strategies of both GAM and the Indonesian government. On the government’s side she notes that ‘between 1977 and 2004 there was not one successful attempt at addressing the primary causes of the conflict - economic and social inequalities, the feelings of exploitation, and the loss of dignity and of the space for political, cultural and social expression ...’ (264). On the GAM side, she mentions ‘increasing criminalization of some of its rank and file as well as the ethnically and politically motivated targeting of civilians.’ (265). Aleksius Jemadu warns that ‘it is too simplistic to depict the Aceh problem as a conflict between a sovereign state and a separatist movement.’ (275). To understand government policies it is necessary to examine rivalries between political and economic interests in Indonesia’s new democracy. He therefore discusses the shaping of Aceh policy during the Habibie, Wahid and Megawati presidencies. Writing as the informal talks were just beginning in Helsinki, he asks ‘How much of the
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current tendency towards peaceful conflict resolution is based on the pragmatism of some Indonesian political leaders and businessmen whose main interest is the lucrative business of Aceh’s post-tsunami reconstruction projects?’ (288). (Being somewhat pragmatically inclined myself, I would add ‘If it works, why not?). Like Jemadu, Rodd McGibbon also dismisses the tendency ‘to pit Aceh against Jakarta in a simple vertical conflict between centre and region’ and argues that one of the keys to the conflict is ‘the failure of successive local elites, and their Jakarta-based patrons, to establish leadership claims over local politics’ (315–6). His chapter provides a masterly detailed survey of the rise and fall of local elites from the colonial period to the present and, unlike most of the contributors, ends on a guardedly optimistic note. This book covers a lot of ground and provides a comprehensive overview of Aceh’s history and recent politics. It also includes many insights and information on the events of recent years. The peace agreement, reached in the totally unexpected circumstances caused by the tsunami, have brought into question some of the judgements on the recent period, but the authors can hardly blamed for that. Maybe they will be spurred to bring out an updated edition. Harold Crouch
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Elizabeth Morrell, Securing A Place: Small-scale Artisans in Modern Indonesia. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2005, pp.220. This book is of greater relevance than its title suggests. Findings of fieldwork in South Sulawesi are pertinent to smallscale enterprises throughout Southeast Asia. It is concluded that regional art and craft production articulate transformations and paradoxes. Although such production can ensure continuity of local material culture and strengthen roles for artisan producers, economic continuity and strength will be more difficult to achieve. The author’s lengthy professional preoccupation with two of Sulawesi’s major population groups, the Bugis and the Sa’dan Valley Torajan, entailed fieldwork from 1994 until 2004. Hence, both research ventures are longitudinal studies. The author is commended for her admirably executed ethnography, which appears well balanced between strong empathy and critical assessment. The studies have in common the geographical location on Sulawesi’s southwestern peninsula, and the distinctions, within each population, between self-employed, home-based artisans and smallscale entrepreneurs operating with employee artisans. Most other aspects are in stark contrast, including historical cultural traits, present-day religious affiliation, residual impact of deep-rooted social organization, gender roles, hori-
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zontal mobility, tourism impact, demand for handicrafts, and tendency toward modernity. This review is structured to attract a large readership, also rationalized by referring to the author’s emphasis on how small-scale artisans secure a place in their homeland’s dual economy. To get to know the Bugis artisans, it is suggested to read, first, chapter 4, about “The Sound of Life”. It was ‘recorded’ in two locales, one filled with the voices of independent, self-sufficient women weavers, and another where the rhythmic clicking of non-mechanized looms operated by employee weavers was resounding. The author introduces 13 weavers of different socio-economic status, some of whom weave out of economic necessity, or to generate supplementary income, or for lack of formal employment matching professional qualification, or else for the pleasure of creating elaborate designs. There is a stark contrast between self-employed backstrap weavers and weavers employed by enterprises operating a non-mechanized loom known as ATBM, short for Alat Tenun Bulan Mesin. Labour divisions and production methods are determined and controlled by entrepreneurs. Four entrepreneurs are introduced, including one woman, which reflects the dominance of male owners. With minimal working capital, they use synthetic fibres to avoid high initial costs, and to maximize income through bulk production. Most weaving and associated activity is generated in the surroundings of
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Sengkang, officially promoted as the “City of Silk”. Two streams of silk weaving have emerged, which can be classified as “independent-traditional” and “entrepreneurial-modern”. Almost exclusively, women operating the “independent-traditional” stream avoid competition by producing either complex brocaded textiles or simpler sarongs in brilliantly colored patterns. They are backstrap weavers using silk to produce the sarung Bugis of heavy filaments and strong texture. Their “phonic quality” gives wearers the enjoyment of the sound made by silk cloth as they walk. The “entrepreneurial-modern” stream is dominated by operators of workshops in which weaving and associated tasks are separate activities performed by different employees, mostly producing synthetic textiles. Thread preparation, dyeing, painting, and tying are largely done by women, in a system of dispersed labour, where no single worker acquires the skills to complete the process from concept to finished textile. Drastic changes are reported in chapter 5, “Commerce, Autonomy, and Creativity”. The officially planned revitalization of the silk industry in Wajo, an historical kingdom and now a district, was envisaged as a small, specialized handloom manufacture of high-quality fabrics. As of 1995, Wajo plans were appropriated by officials interested in economic growth and by entrepreneurs. Independent backstrap weavers, however, retain a niche that holds potential for extension. In the method of altering
a pattern known as seribu semacam, “from one come a thousand”, one basic motif offers opportunities for innovation through modest experiments and gradual changes. Despite the success of these artisans in creating a place in the market and earning enough to support themselves, independent weaving activity is still widely dismissed as insignificant to regional and national economic development. Whereas the silk industry has been publicized by regional and government developers to project a corporate image of progress arising from highly respected traditions, the textile industry is dependent upon low wages and on structures of employment that restrict development of the individual capabilities and resourcefulness which characterize small-scale household weavers. In the political economy of development, the status accorded to silk textiles is greater than the status accorded to the maker, and the artifact takes precedence over the artisan. An historical overview is given under the heading of “Identity, Silk, and Status” (chapter 2). Discussed are patterns encapsulated in quadrate domains; interfacing between center and periphery; the question of concord or competition; the sarung Bugis as signifiers of commerce; the influence of Islam; the interplay of silk, Islam, and power; and the importance of textiles as political emblems. Upland Toraja population groups are different in fundamental aspects. Again,
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the reviewer recommends to make oneself familiar, first, with “The Artisans” (chapter 8). The author herself emphasizes that “the objects created by Torajan artisans are well known, yet the artisans themselves remain anonymous”. The author distinguishes the categories of fine artists and souvenir makers, producers of antiques made to order, ceremonial sculptors, women engaged in carving, entrepreneurs dealing in products created by artisans, and woodcarvers as artists. Examples of fine artists and souvenir makers are the members of one particular family of full-time, creative and innovative artisans, who observe market trends yet do not use an assembly-line production process. The category of producers of antiques made to order is personified by a sculptor who sees himself as an interpreter of Torajan tradition responding to market demand. His portfolio comprises reproductions of sculptures such as antique ancestral figures, known as tau-tau, many sold as antiques, which conform to measurements of cargo containers that demand more precision than do the customary funerary carriages. The exact opposite is a ceremonial sculptor who produces mainly funerary figures used by Torajans in their rituals. He rejects primitivism and creates modern tau-tau memorial figures. In one of the many paradoxes found in ethnographic art, this sculptor polishes with commercial varnish the ritual objects
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created for use by Torajans to express modernity, while he artificially ages the objects produced for the tourist consumer to express tradition. Women engaged in carving represent the lowest socio-economic level of Torajan artisans who, as a group, are among the poorest. Most carve small wooden and bamboo objects for the souvenir industry. Need for income has locked many women into production of the low-cost, high-turnover sector, restricting the development of wider skills. The exemplary entrepreneur dealing in products created by artisans values creative autonomy, and subcontracts work so that carvers produce a number of objects in a limited range. They retain control of their own production. A young, successful woodcarver is representative of artists who create landscape panels depicting images of Torajan daily life. Supporting artisans, redefinition of artifacts, influence of the external market, the innovators, and tradition and transition are addressed under the heading of “Innovation and Transition” (chapter 9). Most supporting artisans have been forced into the souvenir industry by lack of alternatives. However, the exponential expansion of labor and production in the limited tourist art market restricts incomes. The influence of the external market has bordered on the bizarre. Most fine art works commissioned by foreign dealers adhere to notions of tradition which are defined largely by Western
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concepts of Torajan authenticity. A major influence is the body of printed material. The photocopy machine has become a standard tool for artisans, needed to copy photographs of objects in museum catalogues and books brought by visitors intent on ordering reproductions of artifacts. Photocopies impose notions of historical veracity governed by consumer desire for the primitive and exotic. Tradition and transition run in parallel. Externally, international attention has been a catalyst for the assertion of Torajan identity in transition. Internally, the rationale for elaborate ceremonies, and for the building of tongkonan houses, ancestral physical foci for the kinship groups, and rice barns, remains within the institutions and structures of Torajan society, and tourism provides a means of generating income to fund such traditional activities. The author identifies and describes “An Emerging Art Industry” (chapter 7). It has produced traditional objects for local consumption; re-integrated syncretism in the form of such items as screenprinted textile banners; and developed commercial fine art objects as well as replicated antique objects, souvenirs, popular arts, decoration objects, and popular music; as well as fostered cultural assimilation solely through finely detailed sculptural human figures. Modern artisan activities are performed by bead workers, weavers, and woodcarvers. The majority are independent workers who carry out all stages of production. Weavers produce sarongs
and other textiles in brightly colored commercial cotton yarn, woven on backstrap looms. During periods when demand is strong and production steady, even the poorest artisans are able to attain their individual levels of self-sufficiency. An overview of cultural roots and traits is heralded with what reads like a Torajan artisan’s exclamation “We Have No New Art ...” (chapter 6). The author stresses ancestral connections, traces social networks, describes modes of articulating ideals and the interfacing of Christianity and the material culture of animism, refers to “Toraja Handmade”, and characterizes changing aesthetics. In the author’s words, “while urban artisans’ creations are removed from the souvenir objects made by peasant artisans, this small group has paradoxically introduced primitivism through non-traditional techniques requiring higher levels of technology. They have capitalized on the Western appreciation of primitivism, which they utilize to establish themselves within the modern world.” A peculiar feature of the presentation of the two studies is the inverted overlapping of the contents of the opening section, entitled “Artisan in Society” (chapter 1), and the concluding section, entitled “Negotiating Change” (chapter 10). At the outset, the author presents a single, elaborate introduction, coupled with a summary of select findings, instead of raising questions or expressing assumptions. Some such salient findings appear to be of significance overall. Thus, the sur-
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vival strategy is propelled by “resourcefulness, tenacity, and resilience”. The apparent contradiction of invoking tradition to achieve progress is overridden by local concepts of modernization as an evolutionary mechanism. Above all, “the motivation to express ethnic identity is so compelling that it shapes modern creativity.” In drawing comparisons, the author stresses the following points: distribution of familiar crafted objects results in standardization; cultural uniqueness is collective and articulated through imagery which is distinctively Bugis or Torajan; Bugis identity is upheld in that “tradition provides the foundation, rather than the medium of modernization”; Toraja identity is based on “tradition that acts as a medium of modernization through visual practices of animist belief, reinforced by tourist concepts of exotic primitivism”. To sum up, the author’s introductory, albeit not explicit, research proposition is confirmed in the concluding section. The question as to how small-scale artisans fared in “securing a place”, or “which place” rather, is answered through the author’s words that “most artisans return profits to the family rather than the business, and they prioritize self-sufficiency over entrepreneurial ideals”. The author’s critical appraisal of implementation as well as management of related governmental plans is encapsulated in two among several such evaluative inferences. She concludes that “for most artisans, production is
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merely a stop-gap activity which does not offer the relief from unemployment that planners have hoped to achieve”. In general terms, she stresses the point that “assuming the premise that economic development should provide improved access to a range of services, including education, nutrition, and health, then it is clear that artisans have largely been excluded from the development process”. The author also deplores the official disregard of the dynamics of contemporary culture owing to official prioritizing of the “exotic” and “primitive”, which has restricted the evolution of modern fine arts. Among the author’s numerous, highly useful references is one to Thailand’s modern handloom silk industry. Her longitudinal study of how small-scale artisans have fared seems to convey a lesson for Thailand’s current One Tambon One Product project. Karl E. Weber
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Vu Trong Phung, The Industry of Marrying Europeans (Ky˜ nghê⁄ lâ´y Tây), translated, with introduction, by Thúy Tranviet. Ithaca, NY, Cornell Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2006. This book is a translation of the 1930s reportage written by a famous Vietnamese writer, Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng. Western readers have only recently been able to enjoy Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng’s wit and sharp observations. The Light of the Capital: Three Modern Vietnamese Classics, published in 1996, includes Greg Lockhart’s translation of a short piece by Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng entitled Cóm thâ`y cóm cô (translated as ‘Household Servants’). More recently, since 2004, thanks to the efforts of Peter Zinoman and Nguyen Nguyet Cam, foreign readers have been able to absorb themselves in the adventurous exploits of Red Haired Xuân, the protagonist of the novel Sô´ Ð ó (Dumb Luck). Alongside these now takes its place Thúy Tranviet’s translation of Ky˜ nghê. lây Tây (The Industry of Marrying Europeans). By the time the Vietnamese writer Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng was born, in 1912, the French had firmly established their colonial presence in Indochina. The penetration of Western culture and thinking facilitated through the French mission civilisatrice resulted in an inevitable clash of cultures and fostered fundamental changes in the political, social and cultural consciousness of the Vietnamese population. For a writer with keen observation skills, razor-sharp
wit and a heightened sense of scepticism, Vietnam at that time provided a setting saturated with endless potential. The interaction between different cultures is an intricate process. While some may view it as an enriching journey of discovery, a source of excitement and anticipation of change and new discoveries, for others it becomes a barbaric act of destruction, which pollutes and annihilates indigenous values. In early twentieth century Vietnam these opposing attitudes to modernization were epitomized by a generational divide. For the older generation of traditional scholars, the radical challenges to the preexisting cultural paradigms were painful and irreconcilable; not only were the new values ushered in by a conquering colonial civilization, in an aggressive manner, with military power propped up by a mighty political and administrative apparatus, but also, most importantly, these changes defied the core of their philosophy of life. The younger generation, already born into the new regime, on the other hand, found it easier to adjust to the changes and embrace them. Although Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng opted, more often than not, for satirical renditions of the clash between tradition and modernity in Vietnam, his humorous dialogue, amusing characterizations and use of parody conceal a sombre social critique and expose the complex nature of the human character. Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng was a prolific writer who managed to cram a remarkable literary career into his short life. He lived most of his life in the heart of
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Hanoi in the area known as the 36 Guild Streets, a buzzing commercial part of the city. This lively neighbourhood placed him at the epicentre of social transformation: a colourful panoptic of people from all walks of life — traders, craftsmen, prostitutes, beggars, petty criminals, servants, rickshaw pullers, street peddlers, gamblers, opium addicts, domestic servants and their masters — provided the writer with sufficient examples of how the people of Vietnam adapted to the changing social order. For most of the twentieth century, with the exception of a few years during the 1950s, the work of Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng remained marginalized and even banned in Vietnam. The Vietnamese communist authorities suppressed the author’s significance by eliminating him from official histories of Vietnamese literature. They objected to his lack of revolutionary zeal, to his rejection of communism (he refused to join the Party) and to his refusal to use his talent to promote the revolutionary reconstruction of Vietnam on its road to socialism. Censorship of his work meant that he remained unknown to the younger generation of Vietnamese. It was only after 1986, when the political climate was liberalized and censorship softened following the introduction of , ,´ renovation (dôi moi), that he was rehabilitated and the younger generation had the opportunity to acquaint itself with his work. Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng would have enjoyed the paradox inherent in his posthumous transformation from a
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banned author marginalized by a political regime to a stalwart of bookshops firmly installed in the school syllabus. The Industry of Marrying Europeans (Ky˜ nghê. lâ´y Tây) was first published in 1934. In this work, Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng presents his readers with an unconventional genre which blends reality and fiction. This ‘documentary narrative’ or ‘fictional reportage’ is a genre he loved and perfected. His ability to fictionalise the truth, to reconstruct, invent, and imagine dialogues, earned him the title of ‘a king of reportage’ (ông vua phóng su.). As Thúy Tranviet reminds us, ‘he was known for writing a reportage that reads like a novel and a novel that reads like a reportage’ (p.11). The Industry of Marrying Europeans is the outcome of the author’s interviews with Legionnaires and their Vietnamese ‘wives’ in a village of Thi Cau north of Hanoi. The work offers a fascinating glimpse into a cross-cultural society, a hybrid society ‘where imported cheese and butter have crossed the oceans to conquer people from different social status’. Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng admitted that he became curious about the nature of relationships between the European Legionnaire soldiers and Vietnamese women upon hearing a Vietnamese woman in a courtroom state that her occupation was ‘marrying Europeans’. In the foreward to the translation of Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng’s novel, Sô´ Ðó (Dumb Luck), Zinoman points out Phung’s well-known reservations about ‘the new woman’ and his fondness for traditional Confucian morality and female virtues. This sentiment is mani-
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fested in his intentional use of the word ky˜ nghê. (industry) in the title; the term immediately satirises such unions and leaves no space for any misunderstanding of the motivations behind such liaisons, which have nothing to do with love, romance and commitment and have everything to do with mutually beneficial business transactions. The Industry of Marrying Europeans is a fascinating work and it is a credit to the translator that her version presents a masterful rendition of the Vietnamese original. The complex and layered Vietnamese original presents many challenges, as translating from Vietnamese has its own specific problems, for example, the complicated system of terms of personal reference dependent on gender, marital status, age, social position and level of familiarity. Furthermore, the original text is imbued with satirical language, puns, double meanings and cultural connotations, which require careful unwrapping. Yet by far the most demanding challenge lies in the original’s use of a mixture of languages. Apart from the Vietnamese, the original contains passages in French and in a hybrid ‘pidgin’ French. In order to convey the speech of the lower classes, who lacked a proper knowledge of French, Phu⁄ng employs a Vietnamized transliteration of French called Tây bô`i. Neither the women nor their Legionnaire ‘husbands’ are native speakers of French and they communicate in this distorted ‘mishmash’ language – a veritable trial for the translator. The translator first transliterates this pidgin
French into proper French and then translates the French into English. As Thúy Tranviet points out, the translator not only needs to understand the literal meanings of the words, but must also take into account the cultural aspects of the language, as well as the mood of the author, in order to capture ‘the tone’ of the work. This translation certainly succeeded in this respect. Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng’s work still awaits serious scholarly evaluation both inside and outside Vietnam. The introductory essay included in this volume places Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng in a wider historical and social context and provides a useful analysis of The Industry of Marrying Foreigners. Remembering Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng, the , , Vietnamese poet Luu Tro. ng Lu once said that ‘Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng’s work exposes and condemns all that is ugly, corrupt, and grotesque about humankind during our era’. Times have changed but human beings remain prone to the seduction of the glitter of superficiality. Contemporary Vietnamese society, at a time of globalization and consumerism, finds itself in the midst of a clash of cultures; the collapse of traditional values, the uncritical adoration of Western consumer goods, the blind worship of money and lack of respect for genuine morality – all spawn confusion over values and generate tension. In this context, Vu˜ Tro. ng Phu.ng’s work seems surprisingly topical. Anyone interested in Vietnamese literature, modern history and colonialism or fascinated by the French Foreign
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Legion will enjoy this excellent translation. Most of all, it will be enjoyed by all who are intrigued by the nature of human behaviour. Dana Healey
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Karen Fjelstad and Nguyen Thi Hien, editors, Possessed by the Spirits: Mediumship in Contemporary Vietnamese Communities. Ithaca, NY, Cornell Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2006, pp. 186. Since the 1980s, Vietnamese popular rituals and religions have been revitalized, including Len Dong spirit possession rituals and the worship of female goddesses. The connection between economic development and the revival of popular religions in contemporary Vietnam has become an intriguing question among those who are interested in Vietnamese studies. The volume Possessed by the Spirits: Mediumship in Contemporay Vietnamese Communities gives readers a vivid picture of various aspects of contemporary Vietnamese spiritual life in the midst of the rapid changes of lifestyles and values due to the economic reform, known as Doi Moi (Renovation), in the late 1980s. What makes this volume different from other previous works on Vietnamese popular religions and rituals, such as Thien Do’s Vietnamese Supernaturalism: Views from the Southern Region, and Philip Taylor’s Goddess on the Rise: Pilgrimage and Popular Religion in Vietnam, is its focus on the study of Len Dong spirit possession rituals and mediumship in contemporary Vietnamese communities, both in urban and country areas, as well as in the homeland and abroad. The volume starts with the article “The Mother Goddess Religion: Its
History, Pantheon, and Practices” by Ngo Duc Thanh. It explores the development and practices of Len Dong rituals which are closely connected to the worship of the Mother Goddess religion in pre- and post-Renovation Vietnam. The author also provides thorough background knowledge of the worship of mother goddesses in Vietnamese society, including the origins of the Mother Goddess religion, its pantheon and main practices. The author also tries to establish why the Mother Goddess religion is considered an indigenous religion of the Kinh people and how it is incorporated with Taoism, Buddhism and the beliefs of other indigenous ethnic groups in Vietnam. Pham Quynh Phuong’s article “Tran Hung Dao and the Mother Goddess Religion” introduces the worship of Saint Tran (Tran Hung Dao), a general who served the Tran Dynasty, who freed the country from the Mongol and Chinese occupation. He is unarguably regarded as a national hero and thus venerated as a saint who can expel evil spirits. The author points out that the worship of Saint Tran in the pantheon of the Mother Goddess religion and the fact that female mediums are possessed by Saint Tran is an interesting phenomenon in Vietnamese society, because female mediums have been seen as sexual wantons and immoral. The incorporation of the cult of Saint Tran into the Mother Goddess religion shows the attempt to avoid political authority in the Socialist era, when the practices of Len Dong were illegal. This is because the
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incorporation of Saint Tran gives legitimacy and higher status to the Mother Goddess religion. The author also suggests that the popularity of the belief in supernatural power in Vietnam is linked to the rapid growth in the business and economic sector. More people in urban areas have become involved in spirit possession rituals because of their exposure to ‘the uncertainty of the market economy’. Likewise, Nguyen Thi Hien’s article, “A Bit of Spirit Favor is Equal to a Load of Mundane Gifts: Votive Paper Offerings of Len Dong Rituals in Post-Renovation Vietnam” observes that the practices of Len Dong and the use of votive paper offerings of Len Dong rituals in Post-Renovation continues to grow despite the government’s restrictions. This is because: While the increase in ritual practices may be in response to the stressful and difficult living conditions for many Vietnamese, as well as their religiosity, some people have found a way out of poverty by building lucrative businesses that capitalize on the growing demand for votive paper offerings. (p. 127) Nguyen Thi Hien not only gives a clear explanation as to why votive paper offerings have been an important part of the Len Dong rituals, but also raises an interesting question about religion and business by giving a comparison of two case studies: a female experienced medium turned to business to
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help her practice as a medium; whereas a fourth generation specialist of votive paper offerings became a medium to support his business. A concern about materialism in Len Dong performances and the tension between materialism and religion are also found in Vietnamese communities in Silicon Valley, in the United States of America, where the mediums are criticized for ‘buying and selling spirits’ [buon than ban thanh], as shown in Karen Fjelstad’s study, “We Have Len Dong Too: Transitional Aspects of Spirit Possession”. A great contribution to this volume is the cross-boundary study of Vietnamese popular beliefs. Two articles by Karen Fjelstad and Lisa Maiffret highlight the important role of Len Dong rituals and mediumship in the Vietnamese communities of Silicon Valley. There is a sense of nostalgia in the performances of Len Dong among overseas Vietnamese: The earliest arrivals to Silicon Valley found emotional solace in possession ceremonies that evoked memories of Vietnam and a home they had recently left. For later arrivals, spirit possession ceremonies are important symbols of a culture and tradition they value and want to keep alive. (p. 100) Other articles in this volume also present different aspects of the study of Len Dong. For example, Barley Norton’s article discusses how the idea of gender and the construction of gender are reflected in chau van bands,
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performing for the Len Dong rituals, and through views concerning mediums. “Spirit Performance and the Ritual Construction of Personal Identity in Modern Vietnam” by Kirsten W. Endres provides interesting stories of mediums. The article, “Children of the Spirits, Followers of a Master: Spirit Mediums in Post-Renovation Vietnam”, coauthored by Viveca Larsson and Kirsten W. Endres, explores the relationship between masters, mediums and followers in a temple community. Laurel Kendall’s study, “Do the Four Palaces Inhabit an East Asia Landscape?” ends this volume by summarizing what is discussed in previous chapters. The author also attempts to put the Mother Goddess religion and Len Dong possession rituals in the larger context of East Asia, where Confucian influence prevails. Ethnographical reports and anecdotes from fieldwork are also a strong point of this collection, because they provide readers with good first-hand information on practices. In sum, the scholarship of this book is admirable because it helps fill a gap in the studies of the religious practices in Post-Renovation Vietnam. It is also an invaluable addition to the understanding of contemporary Vietnamese communities, both inside and outside Vietnam. Montira Rato
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Sadia N. Pekkanen and Kellee S. Tsai, eds, Japan and China in the World Political Economy. London, Routledge, 2005, pp.245. This book analyses the experiences in recent economic reform in Japan and China in a comparative framework. The focus is given to structural reform since the bursting of the asset bubble in Japan, and to reform and opening up since the late-1970s in China. While the literature about these two reform policies considered separately is abundant, it is quite rare for them to be taken up at the same time in a comparative way. In this sense, this book can be viewed as a pioneering achievement. Over the past 15 years or so, Japan and China, which sharply contrast with each other in stages of economic development and political systems, have faced the common trend of so-called globalization and have struggled to adjust their economic systems to increasing pressure for world economic integration. The basic idea of this book is that under such circumstances the once popular concept of the developmental state, which was conceptualized by making post-war Japan and “newly industrializing economies” (NIEs) a model, is not relevant any more when considering the role of the state for economic development. Instead, this book commends the concept of the late liberalizer as appropriate to describe the role of the state in the contemporary world political and economic situation. It is widely understood that the devel-
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opmental state adopts state-centered or state-dominated economic policies with various protection measures and incentives, and actively promotes infant industries and exports. In contrast, the liberalizer in this book is thought to pursue the freeing-up of the domestic economy by adopting market-oriented policies in response to increasing pressure from globalization. The word “late” used above means that the country started implementing market-oriented domestic policies at a later historical juncture than others and is likely to face greater international pressure to carry out liberalizing policies that may destroy or significantly modify the old economic system. Therefore, compared to the developmental state, the late liberalizer will more often encounter strong resistance from vested interest groups or from losers created by its policies. Battles between pro- and anti-liberalization forces characterize the policy process in the era of liberalization. There are two viewpoints emphasized throughout this book. One is how the role of a state has shifted from the developmental state to the liberalizing state, and the other is on the latest situation in the battle between pro- and anti-liberalization forces in each country. Although China deviates from the developmental state model in many respects, the description of how China deviates from such a model helps the reader to understand the characteristics of Chinese policy-making institutions and policy. This book’s approach makes
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the comparative policy analysis of two distinctively different countries interesting and its contents rich. Five key areas, i.e. development, trade, investment, finance and technology, are considered separately by specialists for each country. Two articles in the development section give a general overview of economic development after the war in Japan and China, respectively. By helping the reader to understand difficulties encountered by policy makers in the transition from developmental state to liberalizer, this section serves as a good guide for the following sections. The author of the Japanese part of the development section, T. J. Pempel, writes: ...instruments and characteristics critical to success at one point in time might themselves become impediments to continued growth once initial development goals had been achieved. It is this difficulty of adaptation that continues to hamper the political and economic reorientation of Japan to a world in which economic liberalization has become the predominant paradigm. (p. 42) This is exactly the point which the proponents of structural reform in Japan have repeatedly emphasized during the long stagnation after the bursting of the economic bubble. This type of historical dynamism in the policy-making process also exists in China and is described in the Chinese part.
The four sections which follow analyze areas of specific development, with trade and investment sections explicitly dealing with international pressure to liberalize and domestic responses to it. As the form or strength of resistance against liberalization is not necessarily the same and sometimes quite different according to area, the structure of this book seems appropriate to clarify the factors which have contributed to the acceleration of liberalization and the factors which have obstructed it. With findings in each area being integrated by the editors to draw overall lessons and implications, readers are able to obtain both the overall picture and area-specific details about the processes of recent liberalization in the two countries. Looking back at the post-war economic development of Japan and China, economic relations between the two were negligible, even though both countries were geographically close, and each traced a distinctly different development path up until the end of the 1970s. It is since the early 1990s, when the two governments further strengthened market liberalization efforts, that economic relations between the two have deepened significantly. At that time, Japan experienced an unprecedented sharp appreciation of the yen against the dollar, accompanied by a large-scale shift in production overseas, which in turn led to increased efforts in structural reform by the government. At the same time, the Chinese government accelerated reform and the opening-up
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process under a new slogan, the “socialist market economy”. As economic conditions were strongly complementary to each other, the acceleration of liberalization policies in the two countries led to a significant deepening of the economic relationship between them. In this, the two governments vigorously acted as liberalizers from the early 1990s, resulting in new economic opportunities for both countries in a mutually beneficial way. At present, the economic integration of East Asia is proceeding spontaneously and both countries are trying to take a leading role in this integration process. Ideas for more formal integration, such as the “East Asian Community”, are surfacing. In such a situation, the future directions of both countries will be of great concern for many people, because they will have a significant influence on the process and the way in which East Asian economic integration will be formulated. Will the two countries which dominate East Asian economies by their size continue to advance in the direction of liberalization? Or is it more likely for them to encounter a backlash against liberalization? This book seems to reserve answers to these questions and cautions against the simplistic idea that the policies of the two countries will advance straightforwardly in the direction of liberalization. In addition to the uncertainty stemming from the dynamism of the process of policy formation on which this book lays great emphasis, the following viewpoints or findings by the
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authors and editors of this book seem to contribute to cautious reservations about the future: firstly, the Japanese government still seems to retain the attitude of a developmental state, and has not embraced wholeheartedly all the liberalization measures in the past; and secondly, in China, because of growing internal difficulties, such as an increasing inequality in income distribution as a result of economic liberalization and rapid growth, there exists a not negligible risk with respect to the acceptability of a policy of liberalization in the future. Globalization is likely to continue and pressure to make economies more consistent with so-called global standards will increase. But, as this book emphasizes, there still exists many forms of resistance to further liberalization. The case of the liberalization of the postal services in Japan exemplifies this point. In Japan, prime minister Koizumi struggled hard to overcome resistance to his agenda of structural reform, even within the ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP). In the case of the privatization of the postal services, when strong resistance within the LDP led to the rejection of draft privatization law in the Diet, Koizumi purged opponents in the LPD, dismissed the lower house of the Diet and called a general election. He won the election and the postal services privatization law was enacted. This occurred in 2005, four years after he began his campaign for this reform. If Prime Minister Koizumi had been defeated in that election, the privati-zation
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of the postal services would have been postponed indefinitely. Dramas of this kind have happened in the past and will be repeated in the future. The situation in China will be more or less the same, in that there have been battles between pro- and anti-marketoriented policy groups within the Communist Party, which will also be repeated. Therefore, to talk about future policy formation requires careful investigation of the balance of power between related groups even within the ruling parties and the government. The authors and editors of this book are quite aware of this point. This book certainly helps readers deepen their understanding about policy formation in the two countries, and also provides a useful framework for considering development policy in general. Shunichiro Ushijima
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BOOKS RECEIVED FOR REVIEW
Bressan, Luigi, and Michael Smithies, Thai-Vatican Relations in the Twentieth Century. Bangkok, Apostolic Nunciature, 2006.
van Oenen, Johan, Thai Ceramic Art: The Three Religions. Singapore, Sun Tree Publishing, 2006.
Cunin, Olivier, The Face Towers of Banteay Chmar. Tokyo, Goto Shoin Publishing, 2005.
Pompe, Sebastian, The Indonesian Supreme Court: A Study of Institutional Collapse. Ithaca NY, Cornell University Press, 2005.
Dijk, Wil O., Seventeenth century Burma and the Dutch East India Company 1634–1680. Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2006.
Thiounn, Okna Veang, tr. Olivier de Bernon, Voyage du Roi Sisowath en France. Paris, Mercure de France, 2006.
Douaire-Marsaudon, F., B. Sellato, and C. Zheng, Dynamiques identitaires en Asie et dans le Pacifique, 2 vols. Aix, University of Provence, 2006.
Vatthana Polsena, Post-War Laos: The Politics of Culture, History and Identity. Singapore, Institute of South-East Asian Studies, 2006.
Hasan, Noorhaidi, Laskar Jihad. Islam, Militancy, and the Quest for Identity in Post-New Order Indonesia. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 2006.
Vatthana Polsena and Ruth Banomyong, Laos, from Buffer State to Crossroads? Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2006.
Loos, Tamara, Subject Siam: Family, Law and Colonial Modernity in Thailand. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006. Marcinkowski, M. Ismail, From Isfahan to Ayutthaya: Contacts between Iran and Siam in the 17th century. Singapore, Pustaka Nasional, 2005. McCargo, Duncan, ed., Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence. Singapore, National University of Singapore Press, 2006.
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OBITUARIES Professor Sippanondha Ketudat Prof. Dr Sippanondha Ketudat, member of the Siam Society, distinguished scholar and administrator, passed away on 16 July 2006. He was 75. Born into a family of government officials and professionals (his father, Phraya Thayan Pikat, was one of the founders of the Royal Thai Air Force), his loyalty to the country and the Crown was uncontested. He often related that he owed to his father a practical sense of life, and it is not surprising that the Harvard-trained physicist possessed both a remarkable intellectual capacity and a high sensitivity to practical demands. Professor Sippanondha served his country well in various capacities. It would be superfluous to enumerate all the appointments he held and all the honours, both national and international, bestowed upon him. Starting his career as a university teacher and researcher, he had a number of published international papers to his credit. But larger educational issues attracted his attention. Acharn Sippanondha took up educational planning and administration seriously, beginning with the University Development Project that led to a systematic strengthening of graduate education in Thailand, especially in the sciences. He later addressed the issue of educational reform that was to have far-reaching effects until today. As Deputy Minister of Education, and subsequently as Minister of Education and Minister of Industry, he knew how to apply his intellectual prowess to these political appointments. When called to assume an important responsibility in launching the first major petrochemical industry in Thailand, he accepted the challenge and became successful as an industrialist and business executive. Acharn Sippanondha does not need a hagiography. But the following anecdote can give a faithful picture of what he really was. While serving as Minister of Industry, he inevitably had to negotiate with foreign investors and businessmen. Once an industrialist from a Western country visited him with plans to launch a large-scale project in Thailand. It did not take long before the visitor began to offer bribes (a gesture that might have worked with other politicians or officials). Being a well-read man, Acharn Sippanondha reacted Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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by quoting a famous passage from the play Life of Galilei by the German poet Bertolt Brecht. He who does not know what the truth is, is just a blockhead. But he who knows what the truth is and still calls it a lie, is a criminal. Some crafty businessmen could be well-read, too! The ugly Westerner packed his bag and took leave of the Minister. How many Thai ministers would have acted likewise? That Acharn Sippanondha could survive amidst the morally obnoxious environment of the present world must remain a marvel. What is certain is that he will survive in the memory of those who knew him as a man of integrity. Chetana Nagavajara
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Professor Klaus Wenk On 22 September 2006, Klaus Wenk passed away, aged 79. His funeral was held within a select circle consisting of his direct family and a few intimate friends. He specifically instructed to let this event pass in an unobtrusive manner: no flowers, no speeches, no fuss. However, I am certain that he would not have objected to be remembered in the Journal of the Siam Society in the form of a short obituary. Klaus Wenk was born on 24 March 1927 in Hamburg-Altona. The Second World War broke out during the time he was attending secondary schooling. Thus, as a schoolboy he first helped at an anti-aircraft post, was then drawn into military service, sent to the front, and ended the war as a prisoner-of-war. His health suffered and he spent a long time recuperating in a military hospital. In 1948, at the age of 21, he began studying law in Hamburg University, where he obtained his doctorate in 1955. He was admitted to the bar in 1957. When looking back to this time, he recalled that he did not like legal work at all. Already in 1957 he had decided to change the direction of his life. He applied for and obtained a German Government scholarship to study in Thailand at the renowned Chulalongkorn University for a period of two years. This was followed by a research fellowship of the German Research Foundation. This time he had found the type of occupation that suited him. This became apparent through a series of publications that already showed a remarkably broad palette. Between 1959 and 1962 there appeared in various German publications articles on the Lawa, on Thailand’s Constitution, on one of King Chulalongkorn’s visits to Germany, and on Traditional Thai Literature. In 1961, just four years after deciding to begin this new career, he obtained his second doctorate at Hamburg University. This time his dissertation centred on an analysis of the metric system of Thai poetry. This completed the shift from a practitioner of the legal profession to that of a scholar. His academic career began with a Research Fellowship, financed by the German Research Foundation, attached to the Department for Thailand, Burma und Indochina. This gave him the opportunity to write further books and articles, thus preparing himself for his “habilitation”, in Germany at that time an essential part of the qualification for a
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full-time professorship. The habilitation took place in 1965 and almost five years later, in 1970, he obtained a permanent professorship and became the head of the department concerned with Thailand, Burma and Indochina at his alma mater, a position he held for more than twenty years, until his retirement in 1992. On 14 August 1984 he received a Honorary Doctorate from the Fine Arts University in Bangkok, from the hand of the Thai King himself. In 1995 he was elected Honorary Member of the Siam Society. These honours are rarely awarded and were proper tributes to the scholar who spent the greater part of his life discovering and interpreting Thailand’s culture and history. His list of publications is too extensive to reproduce here, but he will perhaps be chiefly remembered for his Murals in Thailand, other works on Thai and Burmese murals, and his many publications on Thai literature. I first met Klaus Wenk in 1971 during the 28th International Conference of Orientalists in Canberra, Australia. This first encounter led to an exchange of letters and eventually to an invitation to stay a year at his institute as a Humboldt Fellow. I am still grateful for all the kindness extended to myself and my family by Klaus Wenk and his wife Marianne during that period. Little did I suspect that more than a decade later I would become his successor as Head of Department, finding in Hamburg Wenk’s legacy: Germany’s foremost centre for Thai studies. Barend Jan Terwiel
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Professor David K. Wyatt
The Siam Society lost one of its most distinguished members when David Wyatt passed away on 14 November 2006. For me, it was a terrible double blow when I was informed of the news at the evening chanting for my mother, who had died four days earlier. The following day, when the Editor of the Journal of the Siam Society e-mailed to ask me to do the obituary for the JSS, I felt highly honoured, for David had been a dear friend for more than 40 years. It all started in 1965 when I read David’s article, “Thai Historical Materials in Bangkok”, which he had coauthored with Connie Wilson and published in the Journal of Asian Studies in November of that year. In those easy-going, halcyon days at Oxford, one was accepted by one’s College without a very clear idea of what one was going to do with one’s time there; Faculty and University were remote, and College tutors left one to pursue one’s interests on one’s own. In my case, it was a choice between the seventeenth and the nineteenth century, but after a couple of months, it became clear that King Chulalongkorn’s reign was the more interesting to study. This choice was reinforced by David’s article, which assured one that materials were plentiful in Bangkok. When my thesis proposal was accepted, the authorities readily agreed to appoint David as my supervisor, even though he was teaching at SOAS. At our first meeting, as I walked into his room, he dashed out to give a lecture, asking me to help myself to his card-index bibliography. This spontaneity and generosity were typical of David, who had already shown in one of his earliest articles that he was always ready to share his knowledge, thoughts and ideas with his students, colleagues, and the wider public. David Wyatt and Connie Wilson were pathfinders for an entirely new generation of Thai historians. Before them, only a handful of people had ventured into the dusty old National Archives, which were housed in one wing of the beautiful King Chulalongkorn-era Thawonwatthu Building in front of Wat Mahathat, overlooking Sanam Luang. David and Connie’s article introduced the National Archives not only to the international community but to Thai scholars as well. The Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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foremost Thai historian of my generation, Nithi Ieosriwongse, followed them into the archives, where, in 1962-1963, David had befriended the chief archivists, Khun Charat Kamphalasiri and Khun Praphat Trinarong, and got the other officials used to the idea of researchers asking to search for documents, rather than rare civil servants who went in to demand documents for official publications of departmental histories. From 1966 to 1969, David was my supervisor. He had just finished his thesis “The Beginnings of Modern Education in Thailand, 1868–1910” for Cornell, which he gave me to read, and it became the model for my own. I was not David’s first Thai student; the honour for that goes to Dr Thamsook Numnond, who was at SOAS and did her thesis on Thai diplomacy during King Chulalongkorn’s reign. In the immediately following years, when David had returned to the United States and was teaching at Cornell, I think his hope was that his students would study every aspect of King Chulalongkorn’s reign, which would make a thorough and comprehensive history of that reign possible. Craig Reynold’s thesis on monastic reform was following on that path, and Noel Battye had started on the Ministry of Defence. Perhaps this project exists only in my imagination, for it has never been realized, and historical studies seem to have moved on to other fields of interest. David was a perfect supervisor. He was a sympathetic listener of ideas and contributed more of his own. He was a conscientious reader of papers and drafts of chapters, which he returned quickly with helpful comments and corrections on both substance and style. He was a stickler for syntactical and grammatical correctness, which, unfortunately, are not strictly upheld any more; split infinitives and misplaced adverbs were definitely not for him. He supervised one’s thesis to the very end and, in fortunate cases, followed it to publication as its “anonymous” reader, whose remarks and handwriting were unmistakably familiar. All his students owe him a great deal. When he taught Southeast Asian history at SOAS from 1964 to 1969, David was consolidating his career as the leading historian of Siam. In 1968, for example, he published two major articles, the first of which was “The Diaries of King Chulalongkorn”, in the June Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies. This introduced an important published primary source, which is under-utilized to this day. The second was “Family Politics in Nineteenth Century Thailand”, which appeared in the Journal of Southeast Asian History in September 1968. He had earlier rehearsed this article at a seminar at St. Antony’s College, Oxford, to which I had asked the chairman, Dick Story, to invite him. His presentation was so brilliant that some members of the audience gasped aloud. In return, he wrangled an invitation for me to present a paper at C.D. Cowan’s seminar at SOAS where, in trepidation, I had to field a pointed question from O.W. Wolters on the reliability of official documents, which still sticks in my mind.
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David’s The Politics of Reform in Thailand: Education in the Reign of King Chulalongkorn was published simultaneously by Yale University Press and Thai Wattana Panich in 1969. It was a revised and expanded version of his Cornell Ph.D thesis. The book revolutionized the study of King Chulalongkorn and his long reign. In place of linear inevitability, David introduced flesh and blood conflicts for political supremacy in order to reform and modernize the country in the face of pressure and aggression from France and Great Britain. It was a monumental achievement, based on solid archival materials, the like of which had never appeared before. It fired and inspired a new generation of historians to look anew at not only King Chulalongkorn’s reign but the whole of Thai history. Its importance cannot be exaggerated. In 1969, David returned to the United States with international acclaim. After a short stint at Michigan, in 1970 he was offered a tenured position at Cornell, where he stayed till he retired in 2002. Until quite recently, we corresponded regularly, latterly by e-mail. We met from time to time. While I was posted at our Washington Embassy, in 2000-2001, on my first official visit to Cornell I asked that he be invited to lunch, where we sat together and chatted long after the other guests had left. When I look him down to his car, I was impressed by his deft handling of his electric wheelchair, which he drove as fast as he used to walk. He was delighted when he was called out of retirement to serve as interim curator of Cornell’s world famous Echols Collection in 2005. All the time, David worked hard and continuously made major contributions to Thai studies. He was instrumental in getting The Short History of the Kings of Siam by Jeremias Van Vliet translated into English by Leonard Andaya. He edited the translation and obtained financial assistance from the Breezewood Foundation for its publication. As the then Honorary Editor of the Journal of the Siam Society, I saw the volume through the press of Sompong Chaicharoen in 1975 with cover design and art work by our eternal Manager, Euayporn Kerdchouay. This “earliest known comprehensive version of Siamese history to have been based on indigenous sources” has been translated into Thai and reprinted in English. The role of the Siam Society in its publication is barely acknowledged. Throughout his life, David was keen to get primary sources translated and published so that they would be available to scholars and the general public. As early as 1966, he edited The Nan Chronicle, published by the Cornell University Southeast Asia Program as number 59 in the Data Papers series with dark red soft covers, which are now collector items. He later improved on this when he translated the chronicle from the original script which, with customary discipline and determination, he had more or less taught himself. This was published in 1994 by Cornell’s Southeast Asia Program as “Studies on Southeast Asia No.16”. In 1970, together with A. Teeuw, he published the Hikayat Patani: The Story of Patani,
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which remains the best source for the history of Patani to this day. More than thirty years later found him translating The Chiangmai Chronicle, with Aroonrut Wichienkeeo (Silkworm Books, 1995). Ten years later, Silkworm published G.J. Younghusband’s The Trans-Salwin Shan State of Kiang Tung, edited with an introduction and glossary by David. This was the last occasion I had the pleasure of working with him, from the time I sent him a copy of the Confidential Print found by Sompong Sanguanban when he was serving at our Yangon Embassy. David was very excited by the discovery and retyped “the entire volume” himself. He had the maps of Chiang Rai (Kiang Hai) and Keng Tung (Kiang Tung) redrawn to his satisfaction, while xeroxed copies of two maps I had provided him were “simply reproduced”, thanks to Trasvin Jittidecharak, the founder, owner and publisher of Silkworm Books, who was close to David in “his twilight years”. Thai and Myanmar scholars do not seem to be aware yet of this book, whose painstaking introduction alone would open their eyes to a world of “Spy and Counterspy in the Shan States” in the late 1880s, the true background to a highly successful and internationally acclaimed recent novel. From his earliest article, “Samuel McFarland and Early Educational Modernization in Thailand, 1877–1895” (Vol.1, Felicitation Volumes of Southeast-Asian Studies Presented To His Highness Prince Dhaninivat, Siam Society, 1965), David’s interest in Thai history ranged far and wide. This can be seen from his Studies in Thai History: Collected Articles (Silkworm Books, 1994), which reprints, for instance, “Almost Forgotten: Ban Phraya Nana School” from In Memoriam Phya Anuman Rajadhon, which Michael Smithies and I edited for the Siam Society in 1970, to his contribution to the heated controversy that continues to polarize the Thai academic community, Thai society, and the Siam Society itself, “Contextual Arguments for the Authenticity of the Ramkhamhaeng Inscriptions” from The Ramkhaeng Controversy: Collected Papers, ed. James R. Chamberlain (Siam Society, 1991). David also looked for new sources of historical evidence. His Temple Murals as an Historical Source: The Case of Wat Phumin, Nan (Chulalongkorn University Press, 1993) grew into Reading Thai Murals (Silkworm Books, 2004). Thanks to his presentation and reading of these murals, Nan comes alive before one’s eyes some forty years after he edited its chronicle. David’s magnum opus appeared in 1984. Thailand A Short History (Yale University Press and Thai Watana Panich), with a revised and updated edition in 2003, is the standard history of Thailand. Starting with The Beginnings of Tai History and bringing the reader up to almost the present day, it is the best introduction to the history of the Tai peoples, their city states, principalities, and kingdoms, the end of the Absolute Monarchy, the ascendancy of the military and nationalism, the era of national development, and the political and economic uncertainties of our days. It is a masterly achievement, beautifully written and presented; above all, it is balanced and objective. Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Although Thai history was the centre of David’s work, he was never Thai-centric. He also made important contributions to the study of Southeast Asian history. With his peers, he collaborated in In Search of Southeast Asia: A Modern History (OUP, KL and Singapore, 1971). This book starts with The EighteenthCentury World of Southeast Asia and broke new ground with its thematic approach and coverage of every social strata at centres and peripheries, formation and evolution of new states and political societies, bureaucratic and economic development, social and cultural transformations. Yet the analysis is carried forward with a sure-footed narrative drive towards modern times. It was an acclaimed tour de force, quickly sold out, and the authors and publishers were constantly badgered for a second edition, which appeared in 1988. The book was extensively rewritten and expanded in The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia. A New History (University of Hawai’i Press and Singapore University Press, 2005) edited by Norman G. Owen, to which David was again a contributor. It is even better than the earlier volume, for David and his peers, together with new colleagues, had become even better over the years, like the study of Southeast Asian history itself. In the last ten years or so of his life, David was still pioneering new ways of approaching Thai and Southeast Asian history. Even before he began to read and interpret the Nan murals, he had written “Assault by Ghosts: Politics and Religion in Nan in the Eighteenth Century” (Crossroads 4:2, 1989, Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Northern Illinois University). It seems that more can be read into the chronicles. Southeast Asians did think before the question was asked in another context, and an approach to discovering how they thought had appeared in Moral Order and the Question of Change: Essays on Southeast Asian Thought, which David edited with Alexander Woodside in 1982. Twenty years later, he published a collection of thoughts on the intellectual history of Thailand entitled Siam in Mind (Silkworm Books). He allowed his “ imagination to run freely”, as he “no longer” had “any illusions about” his “mortality”, and the resulting ideas he delivered can keep the next generation of Thai historians occupied for years to come. All his life, David was always giving. The most amazing example of this was his editing of The Royal Chronicles of Ayutthaya: A Synoptic Translation by Richard D. Cushman (Siam Society, 2000). When Richard Cushman died in 1991, his family presented David with 1,200 pages of typescript of this unfinished work. Out of “enormous respect for Cushman’s work”, for which he had helped to find financial support in the first place, David started to work on the typescript from 1992 by using “computer technology to optically scan the translation into computer files” . Three years later, he wrote a characteristically modest introduction describing what he had had to do to edit the work, admitting on the way that he had not been able to find some of what Cushman had referred to. In other words, and to
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anyone else, it had obviously been an onerous and time-consuming task, yet he did it because of “the enormous value and importance” of Cushman’s “accomplishment”. As he wrote in the introduction, he considered “it a privilege to have had the opportunity of furthering this work”, and he was “grateful to the Cushman family for entrusting (him) with the task”. It is no wonder that David was so loved by most of his students, most of whom became his friends for life. Looking back on David’s productive life, what stands out most is the quality of his work. He started off at a time when the practice of history was still traditional and straightforward, not fragmented and politicized as it became over the years. One mastered the chronology and narrative, the shape and form of the subject, asked questions, researched the archives, and wrote up what one had found. The past spoke for itself through records, which exist in diverse forms, not only in official documents but chronicles and local histories, legends and tales. Temple murals also record and there are also oral memories, all of which can be used critically to create history as objectively as possible. David trod this path with distinction. His work was solidly based on primary sources, which he read carefully and critically with meticulous attention to details. He had no theories or hidden agenda. He wrote up what he found, perceptively, and with no jargon. What he wrote made sense in the Thai and Southeast Asian context. He had an instinctive feel and a sure touch for historical reality. This is what made him an outstanding teacher, mentor, and historian. David led a full, happy, and fulfilled life. During his long career, of course, he had his fair share of uncouth and unsympathetic colleagues, unappreciative and ungrateful students. There were strained moments when he served as Cornell’s Director of Southeast Asia Program, which coincided with the last years of the Vietnam War. But he got through it all, thanks to his moral rectitude, self-confidence, and sense of humour. It was generally agreed that he served with distinction as President of the Association for Asian Studies in 1993–1994. He was most fortunate in always having Alene at his side, and in his sons, of whom he was so proud. Moreover, he always had Gilbert and Sullivan to perform and sing. I have always been grateful for his generosity, and it was most moving to me when I last met him for a long chat at his flat in Chiangmai on 15 January 2002, when he signed one of his books to me, “who long has proved to be a generous friend”. I shall never forget him and shall always cherish his memory. Tej Bunnag
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Ambassador Vivadh Na Pombejra There is always a sense of nostalgia every time one loses one’s friend or loved one and mourns his departure. Oftentimes, one feels especially nostalgic because of the fond and lingering memories of the deceased’s past or because of the manifold associations in so many areas and aspects of his long life that it seems like the passing of an era, of the good old times perhaps forever gone. Such indeed is the case of the recent demise at the age of 91 of the much loved and admired Ambassador Vivadh Na Pombejra, whose credentials, inter alia, definitely include his life-long membership of and devotion to our venerable Society. Born in Bangkok in 1915 at the beginning of the First World War, he led a long and eventful life past the Second World War (1939–1945), in which he was personally and actively involved, thanks to the unique circumstances he found himself in. He spent virtually his entire diplomatic career during the Cold War, only to retire, as Thailand’s Ambassador to Australia, in 1976, at the close of the Vietnam War, an important chapter in regional and world history. Ambassador Vivadh would live in peaceful and happy retirement during his remaining 30 years, thus completing a span of almost a century of a full and fulfilled life amidst the changed and changing world, which he himself was wont to observe and ponder over. Ambassador Vivadh’s family background reads like a page of the social history of Thailand - an apt illustration of how Thai society, and in particular its ruling elite, has evolved in the past two centuries or so. Ambassador Vivadh had a distinctive and distinguished family lineage, being descended on his father’s side from a long line of governors in and around Ayutthaya, who traced their origin back over 250 years to the days when Ayutthaya was the capital city with Pombejra, an old military fort, situated right at its centre, from which comes the family name. His maternal ancestors were from the well-known and expansive Jotikasthira family, whose founder, Phya Joduk Rajsrethee, was the royally-appointed titular head of the Foreign Trade Department and of the Chinese community in the kingdom during King Rama V’s reign in the late nineteenth century. Ambassador Vivadh’s forebears on both sides, originally of immigrant Chinese stock, within one or two generations became prominent in official and court circles, thanks to Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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their innate ability, their loyalty to their adopted land and their devotion in serving their “King and Country” in so many diverse fields and aspects of Thai national life. Through successive reigns and generations, the families, like a few others in similar circumstances, became part and parcel of the establishment, the national leadership and elite, which has helped to sustain the strength and cohesiveness of the open, absorbent and mobile Thai society. With such family heritage, Ambassador Vivadh seemed destined for a career in the public service, which he in fact readily took up as he successfully continued the ancestral tradition and mission of serving King and Country. Ambassador Vivadh will long be remembered as an accomplished diplomat. His accomplishments were apparent in every respect, be it in the discharge of official duties or in social entertaining, which is considered by some the staple of diplomatic life. Many who were privileged to know him never failed to observe that whatever the Ambassador did - making a speech or hosting a dinner - was always done with taste, flair and class. Though much admired as a diplomat ‘par excellence’, Ambassador Vivadh would be the first to reject any notion of his being ‘diplomatic’ to a fault. His lively personality, liberal thinking plus innate outspokenness would never allow him to be overly ‘diplomatic’. He would speak his mind, and even freely criticize whomever or whatever, always with a gifted and abiding sense of humour, a characteristic of his, which will forever remain in the memory of those who were fortunate enough to enjoy his company. His wife of over 50 years, the much respected Mom Rajawongse Nivatwan née Sonakul, who was always by his side, happily shared this wonderful abundance of humour, especially the ability to laugh at oneself. Thanks to his travels and long years spent abroad, especially in England, Ambassador Vivadh came to learn, know and appreciate Western arts and culture, particularly music, painting and theatre, all of which he was able to indulge in to the full during his retirement years when, with his wife and two sons, he would spend the summer in England and travel all over Europe. He was very happy and proud to see the healthy growth of classical music in Thailand and, in particular, of the Bangkok Symphony Orchestra, of which he became a firm and generous supporter. Despite his Western exposure and orientation, Ambassador Vivadh remained at heart a Thai connoisseur, deeply immersed in Thai traditions and customs. In this regard, he took great interest in and actively supported the on-going project to restore Phya Thai Palace to its former splendour. In this day and age when there are so many so-called experts, Asian on the West or vice versa, Ambassador Vivadh would stand out not as an expert - a term he would abhor - but rather as someone who was able to straddle or bridge the great divide of the two cultures, partaking appreciatively of the best of both.
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On his ninetieth birthday in December 2005, Ambassador Vivadh presented his family and friends with a beautifully designed book, an autobiography in which he forthrightly and typically reminisced on his life, his profession and his ancestry, not forgetting even to expose a few of the skeletons - or at least the bric-à-brac - in the family cupboard. This book, highly readable and a true literary reflection of Ambassador Vivadh’s persona, is entitled, in Thai, Cheewit Tee Pen Pai. Literally translated, the title refers to “Life that has Unfolded”, a factual recounting of things past. Yet, arguably, one could detect beneath the wording of the title some sense of resignation on the author’s part about the vicissitudes of life, the ups and downs, joys and sorrows, fulfilments and disappointments. Additionally, an even more far-fetched and speculative interpretation of the title would see in it a hint of Destiny, whose hands guided and dictated the path that life had to follow. Or it could just be the way Ambassador Vivadh, with a little shrug of his shoulders, characteristically made his final pronouncement: “That’s life”, “C’est la vie”. And would we not, in response, echo in amazement and marvel “What a life!” “Quelle vie!”? Vitthya Vejjajiva
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Dr Betty Gosling
The field of Thai art history lost one of its most dedicated pioneering scholars when Betty Gosling passed away on 21 February 2007 in Ann Arbor, Michigan. A regular contributor to JSS for several decades and the author of four books, she played a leading role in researching the architectural and religious history of Sukhothai. Betty Gosling was born in 1928 Elizabeth Montgomery Blair in Atlanta and grew up in Marietta, Georgia. After graduating from Sweet Briar College in Virginia, she married and moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan, where she raised three children. During that time, she also traveled widely in Southeast Asia, and lived in Malaysia and Thailand for several extended periods. Devoted to her family, she entered graduate school at the University of Michigan after her children were grown up. In 1983 she completed her dissertation, which was published as A Chronology of Religious Architecture at Sukhothai: Late Thirteenth to Early Fifteenth Century (Ann Arbor: Association for Asian Studies / Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books, 1996). Dr Gosling soon became an integral part of a lively discussion about Sukhothai monuments and inscriptions that had begun with the writings of A. B. Griswold and Prasert na Nagara and continues to this day. That discussion included the controversy that erupted over the authenticity of Inscription No. I. Dr Gosling responded by organizing a double panel and presenting a paper on the topic at an Annual Meeting of the Association for Asian Studies, which led to a volume edited by James Chamberlain, The Ram Khamhaeng Controversy: Collected Papers (Bangkok, Siam Society, 1991). When Dr Gosling took on the daunting task of sorting out Sukhothai architecture and history in the mid-1970s, it was still a fledgling field of study. Thus her contributions, including her second book, Sukhothai: Its History, Culture, and Art (Singapore, Oxford University Press, 1991), together with a long list of articles, established her as one of the foremost authorities on the subject. It was also a time when certain remote parts of Sukhothai were considered dangerous and the local police sometimes insisted on escorting her to the sites. When Laos first opened to travelers in the late 1980s, she went there to conduct research that culminated in Old Luang Prabang (Kuala Lumpur, Oxford University Press, 1996). Dr Gosling’s most recent work, Origins of Thai Art (Trumbull CT, Weatherhill / Bangkok, River Books, 2004), is a landmark in that it is the only book Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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that intelligently pulls together the intricate cultural contexts in which the art of Thailand evolved from prehistoric times to the thirteenth century. More than just a survey, the book should become a part of the library of every art historian studying Asia. Betty’s art historical instincts grew out of her deep aesthetic sensibilities. She had a fine eye for beauty, which was apparent in the serene environment she created wherever she lived and the works of art that she collected. To those who knew her, Betty was a loyal friend, a gracious hostess, and a generous colleague who was always willing to share her ideas with others in the field. She often opened her home to friends and visiting scholars for animated conversations over dinner. Betty will be missed not only for her keen intellect and original approach to Thai art, but also for her warmth, elegance, charm, and wit. She is survived by her three children and their families. Bonnie Brereton
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Dr Henry Ginsburg Dr Henry Ginsburg died at the age of 66 in New York City on 19 March 2007 of complications following an aortic dissection that had occurred on 12 March, hours before his scheduled return to London. He is survived by a brother, Carl, of Bad Soden, Germany, and a sister, Deborah Ginsburg Ramsden, of Woodstock NY. Henry was the author of Thai Manuscript Painting (London and Honolulu, 1989), a subject on which he was the world’s leading authority. Raised in New York City and in Tarrytown NY, he graduated from Columbia and then served in the US Peace Corps in Thailand (Group Seven, the “Jet Set”). Following a stay at the East-West Center, he migrated to the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, where under the guidance of Stuart Simmonds he wrote a dissertation on the Thai derivations of the Indian Pancatantra (see “The Thai Tales of Nang Tantrai and the Pisaca Tales”, Journal of the Siam Society, July 1975). He subsequently became curator of the Thai and Cambodian collections at the British Library, and London became his permanent home, broken only for a period in the mid-1970s during which he also taught at the University of California, Berkeley. As someone who took deep joy in the arts (his father had been a wellknown dealer in American antiques, his mother, in textiles), Henry was the ideal person to expand and to research the library’s holdings of illustrated manuscripts. Many of these manuscripts came to Bangkok in 1996, in an exhibition that also included long-held documents. The exhibition, at the Thailand Cultural Centre, was opened by H. M. Queen Elizabeth II, then on a state visit coinciding with the fiftieth anniversary of the accession of H. M. King Bhumiphol, and subsequently became the basis for the book Thai Art and Culture: Historic Manuscripts from Western Collections, 2000, which also included manuscripts in the New York Public Library and elsewhere. In his position as an American in London, in 2003 Henry played a key role in ensuring that the British Library, the British Museum, and the Victoria and Albert Museum all received gifts of Southeast Asian art from the Doris Duke Cultural Foundation, which was in the process of distributing objects acquired by the heiress Doris Duke to American institutions. More recently, Henry was involved in the 2006 exhibition at the Jim Thompson House, Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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“Siam in Trade and War—Royal Maps of the Nineteenth Century,” and contributed to the catalogue. At the time of his death, he was at work on a book about Thai banner painting and a catalogue of the Thai manuscripts in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. A man of deep sympathies and wide-ranging talents (he was an accomplished musician and good at languages), Henry lived in many worlds and had countless friends in all of them. His home in the Islington section of London was a place of refuge for visiting scholars and musical friends. On one memorable occasion in September 2005, Henry brought some of his worlds together when he organized for H. R. H. Princess Sirindhorn (who was attending a congress of the International Association of Buddhist Studies) a concert and a dinner. Henry first performed, together with a flautist, on the piano in his parlor for the benefit of the Thai TV cameras; then, the cameramen sent away, the assembled crowd moved to the ground floor, to hear Henry play his beloved harpsichord. Hiram Woodward
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List of Institutional Subscribers December 2006 This list has been compiled from the Siam Society’s records. It undoubtedly contains errors, and the administration would be grateful if institutions would indicate where these occur. AUSTRALIA National Gallery of Australia The Serials Librarian G.P.O. Box 1150 Canberra, ACT 2601 Macquarie University Library Serials Section Sydney, NSW 2109 Uni of Qld Serials Section Central Library St. Lucia Campus Brisbane QLD 4072
Canberra UNI-CE7 122295 c/o DA Information Services P O Box 231 Micham VIC 3132 Curtin University of Technology Robertson Library Kent Street Bentley WA 6102 University of Western Australia Library Serials & Electronic Resources (M209) 35 Stirling Highway Crawley WA 6009 DENMARK
James Cook University Info-Tech & Resources Library/Serials Section Townsville QLD 4811
Det Kgl Bib Nationalbibl og Kbh. Univ. bibl. Udenlandske Tidsskrifter Christians Brygge 8 1219 Copenhagen - K
Art Gallery of South Australia Librarian North Terrace Adelaide SA 5000
Nordic Institute of Asian Studies Att: Library Leifsgade 33 2300 Copenhagen - S
Serials Office Monash University Library Monash Libr Dispatch Library Monash Uni Vic 3800
FRANCE Bibliothèque Nationale de France G.C.A.- Filière Périodiques Quai F. Mauriac 75706 Paris Cedex 13
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Bibliothèque Interuniversitaire des Langues Orientales 4 Rue de Lille 75007 Paris Cedex 07 GERMANY Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz-Haus 2/ Abteilung Bestandsaufbau Potsdamer Str. 33 (Tiergarten) 10785 Berlin
JAPAN Nagoya University Bungakubu Library Furo-Cho Chikusa Nagoya 4648601 Kobe U 6 Kokusai 4-6-23 Hotarugaike-Higashi Toyanaka - Shi Osaka, 560-0032
Universitat Bibiothek, Bielefeld Postfach 10 02 91 D-33502 Bielefeld
(Momoyama G U Lib Perio) 4-6-23 Hotarugaike-Higasi Toyanaka Osaka, 560-0032
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Tokyo Gaikokugo University Library 3-11-1 Asahi-cho Fuchu-Shi, 183-8534
HONG KONG
MALAYSIA
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ISRAEL Hebrew Univ. of Jerusalem Truman Research Institute Mount Scopus Jerusalem 91905
KIT Information Service 2004 Postbus 95001 1090 HA Amsterdam
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NEW ZEALAND University of Canterbury Serials Department The Library Private Bag 4800 Christchurch University of Otago Collection Management - Serials P O Box 56 Dunedin
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University of Kent Templeman Library Canterbury CT2 7NU University of Leeds Librarian Brotherton Library Leeds LS2 9JT UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Pokfulam Univ 6021323 P.O. Box 830470 Birmingham AL 35283
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Serials Department Green Library Stanford University Stanford CA 94305-6004
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University of Colorado - University Libraries Serials Acquisitions 1720 Pleasant St. 184 UCB Boulder, CO 80309-0184
Periodicals Dept Bowdoin College Library 3002 College Station Brunswick ME 04011-8421 Ladd Library Bates College 48 Campus Ave Lewiston, ME 04240-6087
Smithsonian Institution P.O. Box 37012 Freer Gallery of Art-Lib RM. 2063-MRC 707 Washington DC 20013 University of Chicago Library Serials Department 1100 East 57th Street Chicago, IL 60637-1502 Acquisitions Dept 12 University of Illinois 1408 W Gregory Dr Urbana, IL 61801-3607 University Library Univ of Massachusetts 154 Hicks Way Amherst, MA 01003-9275 Thomas P. O’Neill Library Serials Department Boston College 140 Commonwealth Ave. Chestnut Hill, MA 02467-3810
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Acquisitions Serials McKeldin Library University of Maryland College Park MD 20742
Continuation Division Ohio State University Libraries 1858 Neil Avenue, Columbus, OH 43210-1286 Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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University of Oklahoma Libraries Serials Department Rm LL211 401 West Brooks St. Norman, OK 73019-0001
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Washington State University Library Holland Serials Rec-Ebs 100 Dairy Road Pullman, WA 99164-0001
Acquisition Dept/Serials Knight Library 1299 University of Oregon Eugene, OR 97403-1205 MIR 91177 RUS LIB Skanfo Inc. P.O. Box 3618 Bala Cynwyd PA 19004 Hillman Periodicals 7500 Thomas Blvd Rm 339 University of Pittsburgh Pittsburgh, PA 15260 Serials Dept 126 Paterno Library Penn State Univ University Park, PA 16802-1808 Rice University - Serials MS 235 Fondren Library PO Box 1892 Houston TX 77251-1892 BYU Harold B Lee Library Serials Section-Ess P O Box 26889 Provo, UT 84602-6889 Standing Order Unit Earl Gregg Swem Lib College of William and Mary P O Box 8794 Williamsburg, VA 23187-8749
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JSS Exchange List December 2006 This list may contain errors. Institutions are requested to inform the administration of the Siam Society of any corrections needed. AUSTRALIA Research Library, Australian Museum, College St, Sydney NSW 2010 Museum of Victoria, GPO Box 666 E, Melbourne, Victoria 3001 Monash Asia Institute, Monash University, Blg 11A, Victoria 3800 BELGIUM National Botanic Garden Library, Domein van Bouchout, B-1960 Meise BURMA/MYANMAR Director, Universities Historical Research Centre, Amarahall Yangon University Campus, Yangon (Rangoon) 11041 FRANCE Bibliotheque de l’IRSEA CNRS Maison Asie-Pacifique, 3 Place V. Hugo 13331 Marseille Cedex 03 Ecole Française d’Extrême Orient, Bibliotheque, 22 ave du President Wilson, Paris, 75116 Editor, Peninsule, Université de Paris-Sorbonne IV, 1 rue V. Cousin, 75230 Paris Cedex 05 Musée National des Arts Asiatiques Guimet, 6 Pl. d’Iéna, 75116 Paris Société Asiatique, Bibliothèque, 52 rue du Cardinal Lemoine, Paris 75005 GERMANY Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Ethnologisches Museum, Arnimallee 27, Berlin 14195 Tai Culture c/o SEACOM, Fixcherinsil (Box 13.07) 10179 Berlin Bibliotek, Geographische Institut der Universitat Bonn, Meckenheimer Allee 166, Bonn 53115 Akademie der Wissenschaftern zu Goettingen Schriftentausch, Theaterstr. 7, Gottingen 37073 Universitat Hamburg, South-East Asia Dept, Von-Melle Park 6, Hamburg 13 Journal of the Siam Society 2006 Vol. 94
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HONG KONG Royal Asiatic Society, Hong Kong Branch, P O Box 3864 INDIA All-India Kashinaj Trust, Fort Ramnagar Varanasi, UP Asiatic Society, 1 Park St, Kolkata 700016 ITALY Biblioteca della Societa Italiana di Scienze Naturali Corso Venezia 55, 20121 Milano Universita degli Studi di Napoli ùLûOrientale’, Dip. di Studi Asiatici, Biblioteca ‘M. Taddei’, Piazza S. Domenico Maggiore 12, Napoli 80134 Instituto Italiano per l’Africa et l’Oriente, Via Aldrovandi, Roma 16-00197 JAPAN The Toyoshi-Kenkyu-Kai, Faculty of Letters, Kyoto University, Kyoto 606 Library, Institute of Developing Economics, JETRO, 3-2-2 Wakaba, Mihamaku, Chiba-shi, Chiba 261-8545 Library, Institute of Oriental Culture, University of Tokyo, 7-3-1 Hongo Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo 113-0033 Library, Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa, Tokyo University of Foreign Studies, 3-11-1, Asahi-cho, Fuchu-shi, Tokyo 183-8534 The Toyo Bunko, Oriental Library, Honkomagome 2-chome 28-21, Bunko, Tokyo 113-0021 International College for Postgraduate Buddhist Studies (ICPBS), 5-3-23 Toranomon, Minato-ku, Tokyo 105-0001 MALAYSIA Perioca Islamica, Balai Berita, 31 Jl Riong, 59100 Kuala Lumpur The Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 130 Jl Thamby Abdullah, off Jl Tun Sambanthan, Brickfields, 50470 Kuala Lumpur Malaysian Nature Society, P O Box 10750, 5724 Kuala Lumpur Director, Sarawak Museum, Jl Abang H. Openg, 93556 Kuching
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NETHERLANDS KITLV Library, P O Box 9515, 2300 RA Leiden RUSSIA Russian Academy of Sciences Library, Exchange Dept, Birgevaja Linia 1, St Petersburg 199034 SINGAPORE Serials, National University of Singapore Library, 12 Kent Ridge Crescent, 119077 SWEDEN National Museum of Ethnography, Djurgardsbrunnsvagen 34, Box 27140 S10252, Stockholm Biblioteket Ostasiatiska Museet, Box 16381, S-10327 Stockholm SWITZERLAND Bibliotheque, Conserevatoire et Jardin Botaniques, Case Postale 60, CH-1292 Chamesy-Geneve TAIWAN Exchange Dept, Chung Hwa Institute of Buddhist Studies, 14-4 Banling Rd, Sanjie Village, Jinshan 208, Taipei THAILAND Library, SPAFA Regional Centre, 81/1 Si Ayutthaya Rd, Theves, Bangkok 10300 Fine Arts Department, Archaeology Section Library, Si Ayutthaya Rd, Bangkok 10300 Library, NIDA, Klong-Jan Bangkapi, Bangkok 10240 Research Information Center, National Research Council, 196 Phahalyothin Rd, Bangkok 10900 Library of Congress Office, c/o American Embassy, 95 Wireless Rd, Bangkok 10330 National Library of Thailand, Agricultural Division, Tanon Samsen Nai, Bangkok 10300 Sirindhorn Anthropology Center Library, 20 T. Boromratchonnee. Talingchan, Bangkok 10170 Journal of the Siam Society 2007 Vol. 95
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Editor, Manusia (periodical), Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University, Pathumwan, Bangkok 10330 Editor, Sarakadee (periodical), 1242 Akan Wiriyapasit 3/f, T. Krung Kasem, A. Pomprab, Bangkok 10300 UNITED KINGDOM Royal Asiatic Society, 14 Stephenson Way, London NW1 2HD Library (Serials), SOAS, Thornhaugh St, Russell Sq, London WC1H OXG UNITED STATES Florida Smathers Libraries, P O Box 117 007, Gainsville FL 32611-7007 University of Florida Libraries, Serials IACS 9842, Library West, Gainsville FL 32611-2048 Hawaii University of Hawaii Library, Serials, 2550 McCarthy Mall, Honolulu, 96822 Illinois Field Museum of Natural History, Library Exchanges. 1400 S. Lake Shore Drive, Chicago IL 60605-2496 Massachusetts Serials Library, Museum of Fine Arts, 465 Huntington Ave, Boston MA 02115 New York CTS Serials Southeast Asia, Cornell University, Ithaca NY 14853-5301 Washington DC Smithsonian Institution Libraries, Serials P O Box 37012, 20023-7012
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NOTES ABOUT CONTRIBUTORS
Chris BAKER taught Asian history and politics at Cambridge before becoming resident in Thailand in 1979. Co-author of A History of Thailand (CUP, 2005), Thailand: Economy and Politics (OUP, second ed. 2002), Thaksin, The Business of Politics in Thailand (Silkworm, 2004), and translations from Pridi Banomyong, King Rama V, inter alia. Denise BERNOT was born in Paris in 1922. From 1941 to 1946 she attended the Ecole des Chartes and studied Hindi, Sanskrit, and Tibetan. She married in 1946 and in 1951–2 she and her husband spent one year in the Chittagong Hill Tracts among the Marma, a Burmese sub-group, where she studied the Marma dialect and Burmese. In 1958 she went to Burma and in 1959 began teaching Burmese in Paris. Michael CHARNEY (PhD, University of Michigan, 1999) is Senior Lecturer of South-East Asian History at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London). He specializes in the intellectual history of Buddhist South-East Asia and warfare in South-East Asia generally. In addition to numerous articles, he has recently published two books, Powerful Learning: Buddhist Literati and the Throne in Burma’s Last Dynasty (University of
Michigan Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, in press) and Southeast Asian Warfare, 1300–1900 (Brill, 2004), as well as numerous edited volumes. Harold CROUCH is an emeritus professor in the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, which he first joined in 1985. He has taught political science at the University of Indonesia, the National University of Malaysia, and the University of the Philippines. His main research has been done on the politics of Indonesia and Malaysia. William DESSAINT is a social and cultural anthropologist trained at Colombia University, the University of Minnesota and Cornell University. He has held posts at the University of Strathclyde, the University of Ulster, and the School of Oriental and African Studies (University of London). He has conducted several years of field research in the Balkan peninsula and the Himalayan region, as well as in Thailand, Burma, and the Tibetan borderlands. His published work includes books and articles on the Lisu (related to the Lahu).
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J. C. EADE is a Visiting Fellow in Asian Studies at the Australian National University and at the National Library of Australia. He has worked for some years on the Thai inscriptional record, in collaboration with Hans Penth at the Archive of Lan Na, followed by the Burmese record in Pagan, in collaboration with Pierre Pichard, and is currently a member of the EFEO Corpus des Inscriptions Khmer project, headed by Gerdi Gerschheimer. Gillian GREEN has a Master’s degree in Art History from the Australian National University, Canberra. She is the author of Traditional Textiles of Cambodia: Cultural Threads and Material Heritage, which in 2004 won the Shep prize awarded by the Textile Society of America. She is an Honorary Associate in the Department of Art History and Theory, University of Sydney, Australia. Peter GYALLAY-PAP is a political scientist who received his PhD from the London School of Economics in 1990. An adjunct professor at Adams State College (USA), he lived and worked in Cambodia (including two years in the refugee camps along the Thai-Cambodian border) for ten years in the 1990s. He has published numerous articles on social aspects of Buddhism in Cambodia. Dana HEALY has taught Vietnamese language and literature at the School of Oriental and
African Studies, University of London, since 1988. Her publications include Teach Yourself Vietnamese, a Vietnamese cultural reader for advanced students, and a number of articles on contemporary Vietnamese literature. Yoshiteru IWAMOTO is Professor of Economic History at Tohoku Gakuin University, Sendai, Japan. Educated at the Economics Faculty of Tohoku University, where he studied the socio-economic systems of remote northern Japanese villages, his research spans anthropology, economics and history. In a career of almost forty years, his output includes twentytwo books, twenty other collaborative publications, eighteen local histories, twelve edited volumes of historical works, and hundreds of articles for social science journals. KRIENGKRAI WATANASAWAD received his Ph.D in Linguistics from Mahidol University in 2006. He is currently working as a lecturer in the Department of Linguistics, Faculty of Humanities, Kasetsart University. His research interests focus on ethnolinguistics, sociolinguistics and language planning in ethnic minority groups in Thailand, and Vietnamese. He is now conducting research on VietnameseThai and Thai-Vietnamese Multimedia Dictionary and Vietnamese Cooking Terms. John LISTOPAD received his PhD from the University
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of Michigan, Ann Arbor, in 1995, with a dissertation on the art and architecture of the reign of King Narai. He is currently teaching as adjunct faculty at the College of San Mateo and California State University, Sacramento. John MARSTON worked with Khmer refugees in Thailand and the Philippines and completed a doctorate in anthropology at the University of Washington in 1997. Since then he has taught Southeast Asian Studies at the Center for Asian and African Studies at El Colegio de México in Mexico City. He is co-editor of History, Buddhism, and New Religious Movements in Cambodia, published by University of Hawaii Press. Yale M. NEEDEL is a postgraduate in the Department of Anthropology at the Australian National University in Canberra. He has conducted research in India, Israel and Thailand. His recent work includes a forthcoming (2006) study on the ritual acculturation of the Indian-Jewish communities of Bombay. He is currently conducting research on the religious beliefs among motorbike-taxi drivers in Thailand’s urban slums, specifically, an in-depth study of Buddhist amulets, charms, votive tablets and tattoos. Milton OSBORNE is an independent author and consultant based in Sydney, Australia. He is the author of nine books on the history and politics of Southeast Asia, including
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Southeast Asia: An Introductory History and The Mekong: Turbulent Past, Uncertain Future. He is an Adjunct Professor in the Faculty of Asian Studies at the Australian National University and a Visiting Fellow at the Lowy Institute for International Policy. MONTIRA RATO is assistant professor in Vietnamese language and literature at the Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok. She specializes in post-war Vietnamese literature. Her most recent publication is the Thai translation of Dang Thuy Tram’s Diary. PASUK PHONGPAICHIT is Professor of Economics at Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok, and has a PhD from the University of Cambridge. She has written on the Thai economy, Japanese investment, labour, migration, prostitution, and corruption. PATTANA KITIARSA holds a doctoral degree in sociocultural anthropology from the University of Washington, Seattle. He taught for several years at Suranaree University of Technology, Nakhon Ratchasima, Thailand and from 2004 he was a postdoctoral research fellow in the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore. In 2007 he joined the NUS Southeast Asian Studies programme. He has published articles in the fields of popular Thai Buddhism, cultural studies, and transnational labor migration.
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Cesare POLENGHI teaches history at the University of Hawaii in Honolulu. After six years teaching Italian in Japan, he moved to the U.S., where he received a degree in Asian Studies (2003) and an MA in Asian History (2006). He is currently working on a PhD research project on Japanese enclaves in Southeast Asia in the seventeenth century. He lives with his wife and son, dividing his time between Honolulu, Kyoto, and his native northern Italy. Florentino RODAO holds a Ph.D. in History from the Universidad Complutense de Madrid, and is a Ph.D. Candidate at the University of Tokyo. He teaches at the Faculty of Journalism of the Universidad Complutense and has also taught at the Universities of Wisconsin-Madison, Keio (Tokyo) and Ateneo de Manila. He was president of the Spanish Association for Pacific Studies and board member of EUROSEAS. He has published largely on the Spanish presence in East Asia. Martin STUART-FOX is Professor Emeritus in the School of History, Philosophy, Religion and Classics, at 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.
SUPHAWAT LAOHACHAIBOON is a PhD candidate studying in the Department of Ecology and Environment, Division of Southeast Asian Area Studies, Graduate School of Asian and African Area Studies, Kyoto University. Partly developed from a study in the history of teak logging in Thailand, his research has recently shifted to focus on domesticated elephants as a reflection of social change in the country. SURIN PITSUWAN, born in 1949, for many years Democrat Party MP for Nakhon Si Thammarat, was formerly a lecturer in political science at Thammasat University, Bangkok. He was Minister of Foreign Affairs from November 1997 to February 2001, during which time Thailand became an observer at the Organization of the Islamic Conference. His publications include Islam and Malay Nationalism: A case study of the Malay Muslims of Southern Thailand (1985) and ‘The Lotus and the Crescent: Clashes of Religious Symbolism in Southern Thailand’ (1988). David SMYTH is senior lecturer in Thai at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. His published works include Teach Yourself Thai (1995, revised 2003), Thai: an essential grammar (2002), and Colloquial Cambodian (1995). He has also translated a number of Thai novels and short stories into English, including Sriburapha’s Behind the Painting.
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Shinya TAKEDA is Associate Professor in ecology and environment in the Division of Southeast Asian Area studies, Graduate School of Asian and African Area Studies, Kyoto University. His recent fields of interest include the historical development of forest management in Thailand, and forest products and rural development in Burma and Laos. 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). Shunichiro USHIJIMA Born in 1947, he worked as an economist in both domestic and international affairs for the Economic Planning Agency and the Cabinet Office of the Japanese government after graduating from Tokyo University in 1971. He served as international economic advisor to the Minister of Economic and Fiscal Policy between 2001 and 2004 and also worked in OECD. He is currently executive advisor of Dentsu Inc.
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Steve VAN BEEK Resident in Asia since 1966, he is a writer and filmmaker on cultural topics, but more particularly on the role of rivers and water in Asian folklore and thought and in their impact on economic, historical and cultural development. Justin WATKINS studied Chinese and Russian before going to the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in the University of London to learn Burmese and conduct research on the phonetics of the northern Mon-Khmer language Wa. Now Senior Lecturer in Burmese, he is compiling dictionaries for Wa and Khumi Chin, with plans to develop resources for other languages spoken in Burma. Karl WEBER graduated from Heidelberg University, Germany, in ethnology (MA 1965) and sociology (PhD 1966). Formerly with the South Asia Institute in Heidelberg, he was professor at the Asian Institute of Technology, Pathum Thani, Thailand, from 1978 to 2002. His work in Asia over more than 40 years includes research in the countries of South and Southeast Asia, notably Bangladesh, Thailand, Nepal, and Pakistan.
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The Journal of the 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. Do not use a multiplicity of fonts, do not indent for paragraphs (leave a line blank) and do not give any right-hand alignment. One copy 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 placed at the end of an article must be complete bibliographical entries and include the full name of the author(s), title, and publication data, including the place of publication, publisher, and date of publication (including the original date of publication if the item 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-specialists. Articles and reviews should avoid
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the use of the first person singular, numbers below 11 are written out, as are century numbers (e.g. ‘nineteenth century’) and First/Second World War. Acronyms must always be spelt out when first used e.g. ‘National Economic and Social Development Board (NESDB)’. 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 and illustrations 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 graphics in the text on the disk, but send them separately. A published full-page illustration may not exceed 210 mm x 140 mm. 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 the 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 re-presentation. Proofs and offprints Page proofs will be sent to authors if time allows. Authors are reminded that these are intended for checking, not re-writing: 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 30 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 1,000–2,000 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.
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Disclaimer and resolution of conflict The opinions expressed in the JSS are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the Siam Society. The editor’s decision is final. Correspondence Typescripts, books for review, and all correspondence should be sent to The Editor, Journal of the Siam Society, 131 Sukhumwit Soi 21 (Asoke Montri), 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 above. Information about exchange copies of Siam Society periodicals may be obtained from the Honorary Librarian, at the address above.
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Printed by Amarin Printing and Publishing Public Company Limited 65/16 Chaiyaphruk Road, Taling Chan, Bangkok 10170 Tel. (662) 422-9000 Fax. (662) 433-2742, 434-1385
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