Journal of the Siam Society; 96

Table of contents :
JSS_096_0_Cover
JSS_096_0a_Front
JSS_096_0b_Borrell_EarlyByzantineLampFromPongTuk
JSS_096_0c_Bradley_PiracySmugglingTradeInRiseOfPatani
JSS_096_0d_Breazeale_BishopBarthelemyBruguiere
JSS_096_0e_BishopBarthelemyBruguiere_DescriptionOfSiam1829
JSS_096_0f_Whyte_InscriptionOnWW1VolunteersMemorialBangkok
JSS_096_0g_Stadtner_MonOfLowerBurma
JSS_096_0h_Walker_KarenAndLahuEthnicAffiliationOrBaptistsIma
JSS_096_0i_Spinks_ThaiCoverBowlsOf14And15thCenturies
JSS_096_0j_Fryke_SiamIn1680s
JSS_096_0k_Reviews
JSS_096_0l_Obituaries
JSS_096_0m_Contributors
JSS_096_0n_Back

Citation preview

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-

Honorary Members (with year of election) (1985) (1992) (1992) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1995) (1996) (1997) (2000) (2000) (2000) (2000) (2001) (2001) (2001) (2002) (2002) (2002) (2004) (2004)

JSS

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.

Volume 96, 2008

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

Volume 96, 2008

Prof. PrawaseWasi Mr Anand Panyarachun Mr Dacre Raikes Phra Dhammapitaka Mrs Virginia Di Crocco Prof. Yoneo Ishii Mr Henri Pagau-Clarac Mr Term Meetem Prof. 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

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

The Journal of the Siam Society



The Siam Society under Royal Patronage 131 Sukhumvit Soi 21 (Asoke-Montri), Bangkok 10110 Thailand



Tel: (+662) 661 6470-7 Fax: (+662) 258 3491



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

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 Sampatisiri

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

Cover : Head of Silenus on the lid of the Pong Tuk lamp (National Museum, Bangkok)

This volume is respectfully dedicated to the memory of Her Royal Highness Princess Galyani Vadhana Krom Luang Naradhiwas Rajanagarinda Vice-Patron and Honorary President of the Siam Society 1985 – 2008

The Journal of the

Siam Society Volume 96 2008

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 2008

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

The Journal of the Siam Society Volume 96 2008

Contents Articles BRIGITTE BORRELL The early Byzantine lamp from Pong Tuk FRANCIS R. BRADLEY Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani, 1490-1600

27

KENNON BREAZEALE Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière, 1792-1835

51

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE Description of Siam in 1829 Translated and edited by Kennon Breazeale and Michael Smithies

73

1

BRENDAN AND SUTHIDA WHYTE The Inscriptions on the First World War Volunteers Memorial, Bangkok

175

DONALD M. STADTNER The Mon of Lower Burma

193

ANTHONY WALKER Karen and Lahu: ethnic affiliation or Baptists’ imagination?

217

From the archives CHARLES NELSON SPINKS Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries (Sawaddi 3/2 Nov-Dec 1964, pp.13-19, 26) CHRISTOPHER FRYKE Siam in the 1680s: A brief account first published in 1692

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

229

241

vii

viii

Contents

Reviews Roderich Ptak, Die Maritime Seidenstrasse: Künstenräume, Seefahrt und Handel in vorkolonialer Zeit. Munich, C.H. Beck, 2007. Reviewer Karl E. Weber. 243 Ian Harris, ed., Buddhism, Power and Political Order. London and New York , Routledge, 2007. Reviewer Pattana Kitiarsa. 247 Nicol Guérin and Dick van Oenen, Thai Ceramic Art - The Three Religions. Singapore, Sun Tree Publishing, 2005. Reviewer Dick Richards. 250 Bhawan Ruangsilp, Dutch East India Company Merchants at the Court of Ayutthaya: Dutch Perceptions of the Thai Kingdom, c.1604-1765. Leiden/Boston, Brill, 2007. Reviewer Han ten Brummelhuis.

253

Gijsbert Heeck, ed. Barend Jan Terwiel, A Traveler in Siam in the Year 1655. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2008. Reviewer Bhawan Ruangsilp. 257 Anthony Farrington and Dhiravat na Pombejra, The English Factory in Siam 1612-1685. London, The British Library, 2007, 2 vols. Reviewer Chris Baker. 259 Anthony Farrington, ed., Low’s Mission to Southern Siam, 1824. Bangkok, White Lotus, 2007. Reviewer Michael Smithies.

263

Tamara Loos, Subject Siam: Family, Law and Colonial Modernity in Thailand. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006. Reviewer Haydon Cherry. 265 Han ten Brummelhuis, King of the Waters: Homan van der Heide and the origin of modern irrigation in Siam. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books/ISEAS, Singapore, 2007. Reviewer James C. Ingram. 270 Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Contents

ix

Luigi Bressan and Michael Smithies, Thai-Vatican Relations in the Twentieth Century. Bangkok, Apostolic Nunciature, 2006. Reviewer Fr Sigmund Laschenski.

273

Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: The Politics of Despotic Paternalism. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007. Reviewer Andrew Turton.

276

Pasuk Pongpaichit and Chris Baker, eds., Thai Capital after the 1997 Crisis. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2008. Reviewer Malcolm Falkus. 280 Rory Mackenzie, New Buddhist Movements in Thailand: Towards an Understanding of Wat Phra Dhammakaya and Santi Asoke. London and New York, Routledge, 2007. Reviewer Peter Jackson.

283

Duncan McCargo, ed., Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence. Singapore, National University of Singapore Press, 2007. Reviewer Patrick Jory.

285

Maurizio Pelegggi, Thailand: the Worldly Kingdom. Singapore, Talisman Publishing, 2007. Reviewer Pattana Kitiarsa.

288

Don McCaskill, Prasit Leepreecha, and He Shaoying, eds., Living in a Globalized World: Ethnic Minorities in the Greater Mekong Subregion. Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2008. Reviewer Hjorleifur Jonsson. 291 Nancy Eberhardt, Imagining the Course of Life: Self-transformation in a Shan Buddhist community. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007. Reviewer Pinkaew Laungaramsri. 295 Vatthana Polsena and Ruth Banomyong, Laos, from Buffer State to Crossroads? trans. Michael Smithies. Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2006. Reviewer Martin Stuart-Fox. 297 Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96



Contents

Michel Jacq-Hergoualc’h, The Armies of Angkor: Military Structure and Weaponry of the Khmers, trans. Michael Smithies. Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2007. Reviewer Milton Osborne.

302

Joyce Clark, ed., Bayon: New Perspectives. Bangkok, River Books, 2007. Reviewer Bruno Dagens.

304

Olivier Cunin and Baku Saito, The Face Towers of Banteay Chmar. Tokyo, Goto Shoin Publishing, 2005. Reviewer Jane Puranananda.

310

Zhou Daguan, A Record of Cambodia, trans. Peter Harris, foreword by D. Chandler. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007. Reviewer Milton Osborne.

312

Okna Veang Thiounn, Voyage du Roi Sisowath en France, trans. Olivier de Bernon. Paris, Mercure de France, 2006. Reviewer David Chandler.

315

Christoforo Borri and Samuel Barron, Views of Seventeenth Century Vietnam, ed., Olga Dror and K.W. Taylor. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 2006. Reviewer George Dutton. 317 Virginia Morris, with Clive Hills, A History of the Ho Chi Minh Trail: The Road to Freedom. Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2006. Reviewer Sud Chonchirdsin.

320

Elizabeth Moore, Early Landscapes of Myanmar. Bangkok, River Books, 2007. Reviewer Donald Stadtner.

324

Wil O. Dijk, Seventeenth Century Burma and the Dutch East India Company 1634-1680. Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2006. Reviewer Bhawan Ruangsilp. 326 Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Contents

Ma Ma Lay, Not Out of Hate. trans. Margaret Aung-Thwin. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006. Reviewer Emma Larkin.

xi

329

F. Douaire-Marsaudon, B. Sellato, and C. Zheng, eds., Dynamiques identitaires en Asie et dans le Pacifique. Aix, University of Provence, 2006, 2 vols. Reviewer Karl E. Weber. 332 Noorhaidi Hasan, Laskar Jihad. Islam, Militancy, and the Quest for Identity in Post-New Order Indonesia. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 2006. Reviewer Karl E. Weber. 337 Books received for review

343

Obituaries HRH Princess Galyani Vadhana

344

James di Crocco

346

Notes about contributors Notes for contributors

347

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

353

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk Brigitte Borell Abstract Three different dates spanning more than half a millennium have been suggested for this bronze lamp. The two early datings clearly have to be reconsidered. Here new evidence is brought to clarify the dating of the lamp to the Early Byzantine period. It belongs to a class of bronze lamps common in the Eastern Mediterranean area in this period. In addition, it is compared to some very similar lamps forming a closely related group; the lamps of this group might have been manufactured in Byzantine Egypt. The archaeological importance of the Pong Tuk lamp lies in the fact that an Eastern Mediterranean artefact of the fifth or probably sixth century CE has been found in Thailand. It has to be seen in the context of longdistance trade in that period via the Red Sea to India and beyond which is described in great detail in a written Western source of the sixth century CE.1 The lamp (Figs. 1-4, 8, and 13) was found at Pong Tuk in Central Thailand, about 30 km west of Nakhon Pathom, at the site of a Buddhist architectural complex of the Dvaravati period. It was found in two parts by local inhabitants in 1927, and shown to G. Coedès on his first visit of the site on 12 August. He recognised it immediately as a Roman lamp and referred to it in the following year in his report on the excavations at Pong Tuk as an imported Roman lamp of the first or second centuries CE.2 Since then the lamp has attracted a lot of attention and has been quoted as evidence of early Mediterranean imports into Southeast Asia in many publications. Interest in the lamp increased when in 1955 the classical archaeologist C. Picard3 published an article suggesting an even earlier date for the lamp in the 1 In February 2007 the opportunity was given to me to study the lamp in detail in the Bangkok National Museum and to take photographs. Kind permission was granted and generous help given by Mr Somchai na Nakhon Phanom and Mr Disapong Netlomwong. Thanks for practical help and advice are also due to Rasmi Shoocongdej, Podjanok Kanjanajuntorn, and Ian Glover. Photo credits: Fig.7 M. Eberlein; Fig.9 H. Reichenwallner. All other photographs B. Borell. 2 Coedès 1928: 197–198, 204–205 pl.19. According to the information given the lamp was found in two parts by local inhabitants in 1927, some time between July and August 12, the date of Coedès’ first visit. Excavations by the Archaeological Section of the Royal Institute were carried out later in the year 1927. 3 Picard 1955. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96





BRIGITTE BORELL

Hellenistic period, i.e. sometime in the last three centuries BCE. Such a dating of the lamp is clearly too early as should already have been recognisable at the time of Picard’s writing but there was surprisingly little objection to it and many scholars accepted it.4 In 1989, in a careful analysis, R. Brown and A. Macdonnell rightly rejected both datings of the lamp as too early and argued convincingly for a date in the early Byzantine period.5 Since then several catalogues of important collections containing lamps of the Late Roman and Byzantine period and other relevant studies have been published.6 On the basis of the present state of knowledge it seems justified to take the matter up again to establish not only beyond doubt the place of the Pong Tuk lamp in the development of this category of lighting equipment but also to assign it to a group of closely related lamps of the early Byzantine period from the fifth to the mid-seventh centuries CE. While it is still difficult to make a good case for a more precise dating, a suggestion will be made to narrow down the region of its manufacture. Whereas, previously, due to the early dating of the lamp, the interest in it focused on the long-distance trade of the early Roman or even Hellenistic period, now the lamp has to be considered in the context of later trade networks, here presented mainly on the basis of a written Western source of the sixth century CE. Description of the lamp Found in the village of Pong Tuk (Kanchanaburi province, Tha Maka district), situated west of the Maekhlong River, in 1927. National Museum Bangkok, inv. no. TP. 1. 4 To my knowledge, the first published rejection of Picard’s early date of the Pong Tuk lamp — only a short note — comes from Heimberg 1981: 104, fig.36. 5 Brown and Macdonnell 1989. Karttunen 2000: 935–937. 6 It is slightly confusing that in the publications this class of lamps appears under different labels which are partly overlapping: a. Late Roman (Bailey 1996): This is the generic term applied to artefacts made in the Western as well as in the Eastern Roman Empire, referring to a period roughly from the late third to the seventh century. b. Early Byzantine: for the Eastern Roman Empire only, referring to the period from 330 CE, when Constantinopolis - replacing the former town Byzantium - was inaugurated as the new capital, until either the seventh/eighth century (the Arab conquest of great parts of the Byzantine Empire) or the eighth/ninth century (the iconoclastic period). c. Coptic (derived from the Greek word for Egyptian): a term with a wide range of meanings; in this context Coptic is understood as referring to the Late Roman period in Egypt until the coming of Islam 640/41 CE, in Bénazeth’s catalogue (Bénazeth 1992: 9 and in particular 12) the period roughly from the fifth to seventh centuries (cf. Bénazeth 2001: 8, where the term Byzantine is used). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk



L 29.5 cm. H 26.7 cm. L body of lamp (from rear socket for handle to nozzle) 22 cm. D of dished area of nozzle 7.4–7.7 cm. H of handle (from socket to top) 21.4 cm. H of handle (from lower sepals to top) 17.5 cm. max. width of handle (between the caudal fins of dolphins) 13.3 cm. D (inner width) of filling hole 4.6–4.7 cm. D lid 5.2 cm. Bronze.7 The lamp is complete and very well preserved, except for a hole on the left side of the body. The patina is dark blackish-green with patches of the exposed yellowish metal surface. The lamp is cast in separate pieces, assembled by soldering: body, handle, and plate with a sleeve for the socket underneath and inside the body. The circular lid over the filling hole is fastened with a hinge-pin. When found, the handle and body were apart, and their present assembly is modern. The body of the lamp is pear-shaped with a long flaring nozzle ending in a circular dished area with a small round opening for the wick (Figs. 1 and 2). The horizontal edge of the saucer-shaped dished area is decorated with three moulded concentric rings. The body of the lamp is plain and rests on a high flaring base. The upper part of the base is slightly receding and decorated with four faint grooves. The flaring lower part of the base is plain on the outside but has on the inner side a few concentric grooves. On the underside of the lamp (Fig. 3), flush within the base, is an inserted circular plate with a square socket, a device for placing the lamp on the tetragonal spike of a lampstand;8 the tapering sleeve of the socket extends within the oil-chamber of the lamp. On top of the body is the large circular filling hole, into which the oil was poured; it is not directly above the base but set further back towards the rear. The filling hole has a raised rim and is covered with a circular lid operated on a hinge at the rear. The lid still swivels freely. Its convex upper side (Fig.8) is decorated in relief with a head en face of a Silenus, one of the followers of Dionysos, the Greek god of wine. Characteristic for a Silenus in Greek and 7 The term ‘bronze’ is here used in a general sense to indicate a copper-alloy. So far no analysis has been carried out, therefore the precise composition of the metal is not known. However, a number of Late Roman lamps in the British Museum have been analysed. Whereas previously bronze (copper alloyed with tin) was the metal predominately used, from the third century AD onwards the proportion of lamps made of brass (copper alloyed with zinc) was ever increasing. For instance, of the thirteen lamps in Bailey’s group (i), the group with the closest comparisons to the Pong Tuk lamp, eleven lamps are made of brass and only one lamp is made of bronze (the other one has not been analysed), Bailey 1996: 74, and ib. appendix with a discussion of the analyses by D. Hook and P. Craddock, 148 fig.5; 150–152. It is therefore quite possible that the lamp from Pong Tuk was made of brass. 8 Very similar in this technical detail are the lamps described by Hayes 1984: 142 no.221, Bailey 1996: 70–71 Q 3802; 72 Q 3808. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96



BRIGITTE BORELL

Roman iconography is the round face of an old man with moustache and beard, a squat nose and thick lips; his bald forehead is adorned with a wreath of ivy with leaves and berries. The lid has two notches on both sides of the lug to accommodate the hinge. On the convex underside of the lid is a circular ridge fitting neatly the opening of the filling hole (Fig. 2). The elaborate palmette handle (Figs. 1, 4 and 13) was cast separately, inserted into a rectangular socket at the rear of the lamp body and originally fastened by soldering. Morphologically this palmette handle evolved from the heat shield or reflector usually placed on top of the handle proper – often ring-shaped to carry the lamp conveniently – protecting the hand from the heat and at the same time increasing the brilliance by reflecting the light of the flame. Here the handle consists merely of this ornamental part, and as most of the motifs are in openwork it could only partly function as a reflector. It is composed of several elements: at the base three sprayed sepals with a short five-leaved palmette between them; above a heraldic pair of diving dolphins and several stem-like vegetal elements, reminiscent of a Tree of Life motif, crowned with a large palmette with seven leaves, each leaf ending in a globular bead; each of the three central beads has a round hole on the top. On the back the palmette handle is flat and plain. The date and origin of the lamp The closed shape of the portable oil lamp of the Greek and Roman world evolved from earlier open forms over a long period from the fourth century BCE. In contrast to the clay lamps the bronze lamps follow their own line of development with a greater variety of forms. In the Late Roman period they were sometimes designed as hanging lamps suspended on chains or to be placed on a lampstand, as is the case here. Despite the fact that, among bronze lamps, there is a greater diversity of forms, and irrespective of their development in the course of time, there are some basic characteristics which they have in common. This explains why G. Coedès noticed rightly the general connection to metal lamps of the Roman period. Picard noted correctly the difference in shape and ornamentation to the Roman bronze lamps of the early Imperial period. He compared this lamp with another of very similar shape in the Louvre which had been purchased in Cairo and assigned to the Coptic period.9 Picard’s argument for rejecting the date in the Late Roman or Cop Picard 1955: 142–145 fig.4–5, Brown and Macdonnell 1989: 10 fig.2; it is now published in the Louvre catalogue, Bénazeth 1992: 129 (E 11685). The lamp in the British Museum, mentioned by Picard 1955: 146, is now published in Bailey 1996: 72 Q 3807 plate 82 and dated to the sixth century. 9

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk



tic period for the Pong Tuk lamp, as well as for the lamp in the Louvre, is mainly based on the motifs of the decoration, which derive from pagan imagery and - in his view - would not allow such a late dating. Instead, he suggested the lamp should be recognized as a product of Ptolemaic Egypt, made there in the Hellenistic period, i.e. the last three centuries BCE. Research by several scholars has shown that pagan mythology and imagery survived as part of the classical heritage into the period when Christianity became the dominant religion, and themes of pagan mythology appeared together with explicit Christian symbols. In some cases pagan themes were adapted to a Christian interpretation. In particular, for the dolphin in early Christian art several layers of Christian interpretations have been suggested, but also Dionysiac themes were not excluded from the artistic repertoire in early Christian contexts.10 However, in the case of the Pong Tuk lamp it might not be necessary to stress the point of a possible ‘Christian reading’ too much, given the absence of any explicit Christian symbol. The dolphin was a very popular motif in the decoration of antique lamps for reasons not fully evident to us, their shape making them suitable to be used as supports: for instance, the arrangement of two symmetrical diving dolphins – tails together in the centre and heads pointing outward – supporting an inscribed tablet appears already on lamp hangers of the Roman Imperial period,11 and on early Byzantine chandeliers the brackets supporting the lights are shaped as dolphins.12 A simpler version of the motif with two opposed dolphins flanking a palmette above is already found on a type of Roman clay lamp dating from the first century CE; the motif appears there on the flat triangular element of the handle, clearly derived from the reflector of bronze lamp which this particular type of clay lamp imitates. 13

10 Brilliant 1979. Buckton 1994: 38–40. Dionysiac motifs: Weitzmann 1979: nos.123 and 127. For the dolphin: Leclercq 1920. Weitzmann 1979: 624 no.560. Bénazeth 1992: 143–147. There are even lamps in the shape of a dolphin: Hayes 1984: 138 no.214 (Late Roman, fifth century, with cross). Bénazeth 1992: 146–150 (Coptic period, E11916 with cross). Bailey 1996: 18–19 pl.17 (Q 3590 and Q 3591 PRB, Roman Imperial period, first or second century CE). 11 Bailey 1996: 33–34 Q 3649 pl.35-37. Franken 2002: 369–381 (some of these with a votive inscription to the ‘highest god’), dated to the third century. 12 Late Roman chandeliers with brackets in the shape of dolphins: Bénazeth 1992: 30, 168–169 (Coptic period), with more examples. Bénazeth 2001: 219–223 nos.194–196. From written sources it has been concluded that the Latin word delphinus had a distinct meaning in the context of lighting equipment, probably referring to such a support element of the individual lamp holder. Among the donations made by Constantine to several of his newly founded basilicas in Rome the Liber pontificalis lists chandeliers specified by their number of 20, 30, 50, 80, or even 120 “dolphins” = lights or flames (Davis 1989: 16–17; 21–24; 115 s.v. lights). 13 Bailey 1988: 72–73 fig. 92 Q 1025 bis; the type of clay lamp with triangular handle-ornament (Broneer Type XXI) was very popular in Egypt, ib. 218–219 pl.34–36. The motif of the palmette flanked by two dolphins is found on such a handle ornament from Berenike in Egypt, Sidebotham and Wendrich 1998: 159 pl.5–9. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96



BRIGITTE BORELL

Here it will suffice to state that the ‘pagan’ motifs on the lamp cannot be taken as an argument for a pre-Christian dating. The shape of the lamp connects it clearly with the Late Roman or early Byzantine lamps, as R. Brown and A. Macdonnell have pointed out, more than half a millennium later than the dating of the lamp suggested by C. Picard. As further evidence, two close parallels to the lamp from Pong Tuk are shown here which are in a private collection in Munich.14 Both lamps represent the same type of bronze lamp, with very similarly shaped bodies. In size they are slightly smaller than the lamp from Pong Tuk, which is remarkable for its unusually large size and heavy weight.15 The first lamp in the Munich collection (Figs. 5-7) has a handle with an attachment in the shape of the Christian cross and a lid decorated with a Silenus mask in relief, demonstrating the coexistence of a Christian symbol and a motif of the former pagan imagery on the same object.16 The second lamp (Figs. 9-12) also has a similar pear-shaped body. The filling hole with a simple raised rim is fitted with a two-part lid: below is a round double-hinged sieve, fastened to the lamp at the rear, and above – joined to the hinge-pieces of the sieve at the front – the lid proper, which is of domed shape end-

14 Wamser and Zahlhaas 1998: 84–85 cat. no.74 (744); Stiegemann 2001: 206–208 cat. nos. II.1 (744) and II.2 (1092). Thanks are due to C. Schmidt for his kind permission to study the two lamps and take photographs. Measurements of lamp 744: L 21.6 cm, H 18 cm, L body of lamp 15.5 cm, D of dished area of nozzle 4.7–4.8 cm, D (inner width) of filling hole 3.7 cm. D lid 3.9 cm. Weight 1187 g. Measurements of lamp 1092: L 20.7 cm, H 18.5 cm, L body of lamp 15.2 cm, D of dished area of nozzle 4.8 cm, H of handle (from lower sepals to top) 12.7 cm, max. width of handle (between the caudal fins of dolphins) 8.3 cm, D (inner width) of filling hole 3.1 cm. Weight 956 g. 15 So far it has not been possible to determine the exact weight of the Pong Tuk lamp; my estimate would be around 2 kg. For comparison, a large and heavy lamp with two nozzles (handle and lid missing) in the Royal Ontario Museum, has a body of similar length (20.6 cm) to that from Pong Tuk, with a weight of about 2465 g, Hayes 1984: 145 no.225; a slightly smaller lamp (handle missing), has a body length of 16.2 cm, and a weight of 1180.9 g, Hayes 1984: 148 no.228. For the weights of the two lamps in Munich, which are of smaller dimension, their bodies being 6–7 cm shorter than the Pong Tuk lamp, see above n.14. 16 The combination of lamp and lid is without doubt ancient. This is evident from the patina on both parts and the hinge; it might well have been the original mounting in the workshop. However, on account of the diameter of the circular ridge on the underside of the lid it has been suggested that the lid was designed for a smaller filling-hole and is already an antique replacement for a lost lid, Stiegemann 2001: 206 (A.Effenberger). Even then it would be an ancient combination placing a pagan motif and a Christian symbol on the same object, Wamser and Zahlhaas 1998: 85 (C.Schmidt). For other examples of an alien lid, quite obvious from the ill-matching hinge-pieces, but possibly nevertheless an ancient replacement, see Bailey 1996: 75 Q 3818 EA pl.86, Bénazeth 2001: 125 no.107 (both lids with a Silenus head). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk



ing in a baluster knob.17 The striking feature of this lamp is the openwork shield of the handle, with palmette and two dolphins almost identical in design and style to that of the Pong Tuk lamp. The lamp and its stand with the Christian cross are thought to have originally belonged together (Fig. 9). The three lamps have several features in common, such as the shape of the elegant rounded body, the large nozzle, and the high flaring foot. They also appear to be related by their decorative motifs. Each of these elements taken alone would not carry much weight, for instance the Silenus heads (Figs. 7 and 8) are similar in general outline but different in detail and not of the same quality.18 However, it is hard to imagine that an elaborate design like the palmette handle was created independently in two different workshops (Figs. 12 and 13). Of course, there are some variations in detail – the general dimensions of the Pong Tuk lamp are larger and it is certainly crafted by a different hand – but the whole concept is so alike that one feels inclined to ascribe them to the same workshop. As is befitting for a costly object, which due to its size alone the Pong Tuk lamp must have been in its day, the rendering of all the details on the handle is of a high quality matching the fine relief of the Silenus mask. In addition, there are also some technical details which link these three lamps together, like the moulding of the socket for the handle, the grooves around the foot, the shape of the nozzle and the moulded rim of its dished area.19 Hence there is good reason to assume that all three lamps might possibly have been made in the same workshop, the Pong Tuk lamp undoubtedly being the masterpiece. The two lamps in the Munich collection and the lamp from Pong Tuk belong to a group of Late Roman metal lamps attributed in general to the Eastern Mediterranean area and therefore also classified as early Byzantine. Sometimes they are labelled Coptic, since many of them – provided that their provenance is known – have been found or at least acquired in Egypt. In particular, a number of the close comparisons in shape for the three lamps under discussion have an Egyptian

17 Cf. Bénazeth 1992: 128 E 11684bis, and Bailey 1996: 74–75 Q 3815 MLA pl.84 and Q 3816 MLA pl.85 with references to more lamps with double-hinged lids. 18 A Silenus mask on the lid appears on several early Byzantine lamps in the Coptic Museum in Cairo, Bénazeth 2001: 125 no.107; 132–137 nos.113–114, 116–117. Bailey 1996: 75 Q 3818 EA pl.86 (also from Egypt, ‘from the Great Church at Edfu’). In particular those in the Coptic Museum and the lamp Munich 744 (Fig.7) have a number of details in common: the general layout of moustache and beard, the rounded ears which are always placed too high, the two furrows between the eyebrows; they differ in the sometimes rather coarse execution of the details. Similar in type seems to be also the face on the lid of the lamp Hayes 1984: 147–148 no.228 (purchased in Cairo). 19 A very close comparison for the shape of body and foot is also the lamp Bailey 1996: 74–75 Q 3816 MLA pl.85 but with a different type of handle (double rod form), with references to other similar lamps from Egypt. Cf. also Bénazeth 2001: 119 no.101. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96



BRIGITTE BORELL

provenance.20 Taking everything into account, there is good reason to suppose that the Pong Tuk lamp might have been manufactured in Egypt. So far, a close dating of these lamps is not yet possible, but most scholars have suggested the fifth and sixth centuries. More recently, the sixth and seventh centuries have been put forward as a dating range for those lamps, assuming at the same time that the production of bronze lamps of this type came to an end with the Arab conquest of Egypt and other eastern territories of the Eastern Roman Empire in the mid-seventh century.21 However, there seems to have been a more general development of new types of lighting equipment more satisfying to the demand for bright illumination: bronze chandeliers holding several oil lamps made of glass came increasingly into use and, of course, candles, which are easy to handle and provide brighter lighting, in particular when used in multiple holders.22 Ordinary oil lamps in clay practically disappear from the archaeological record after the seventh century. In view of this, one is inclined to date such an elaborate piece as the bronze lamp from Pong Tuk not too late in the proposed time range but at a stage when this traditional type of lighting device was still widely used and was not yet out of fashion. This conclusion seems also to be indicated by the style of the figurative and ornamental motifs, which one would like to consider as not too far removed from the classical repertoire. Therefore, it is here tentatively suggested that the lamp from Pong Tuk was presumably made not later than the sixth century. Trade in the early Byzantine period From what we know about the routes along which trade from the Eastern Mediterranean and Egypt to India and beyond was conducted in this period, we might very well imagine that the lamp – on its way to Southeast Asia – travelled through the Red Sea. The Red Sea had figured prominently in long-distance trade 20 Bénazeth 1992: 127–129 (E 11684 bis, E 11702, E 11685): all three purchased in Egypt. Hayes 1984: 145–146 no.225 (with two nozzles): purchased in Jerusalem, 147 no.227 (body shape, rear socket): purchased in Cairo. De’ Spagnolis and De Carolis 1986: 73–74 no.33 (compare body shape and rear socket): provenance unknown. Bailey 1996: 74–75 Q 3816 (MLA) pl.85 (openwork rod-handle attached on the sides of the lamps, no rear socket, but body shape and foot similar; double-hinged): provenance unknown. Similar lamps with openwork rod-handle: Hayes 1984: 140–141 no.217 was purchased in Cairo, no.218 provenance unknown. Bénazeth 2001: 119 no.101. A Byzantine gold ring with a miniature oil lamp, representing the same type but with two nozzles, was found in Egypt in the western Nile delta at Canopus, Goddio and Clauss 2006: 285 no.58. For the body shape and handle of this miniature lamp compare Hayes 1984: 141–142 no.219 (only one nozzle) (purchased in Egypt). 21 Buckton 1994: 18 (D.Bailey). Bailey 1996: vii. For a general dating to the period from the fifth to seventh centuries: Bénazeth 1992: 9, 12 (Coptic), and Bénazeth 2001: 8 (Byzantine). 22 Theis 2001: 57–63. Olcay 2001: 77–80. Sorochan 2002. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk



to India during the early Imperial Roman period.23 After the decline of Roman trade during the third century, trade patterns changed somewhat. In particular, there was now strong competition from the Sassanians, who conducted active trade to India from ports in the Persian Gulf. Nevertheless, trade through the Red Sea, which had probably never ceased completely, recovered after the early fourth century and was active throughout the Byzantine period. Berenike was still an active port in the early fifth century, but of increasing importance now were the two ports in the north, Klysma - with Trajan’s canal connecting the Red Sea and the Nile - and Aila.24 Klysma in particular enjoyed a good reputation with the merchants arriving there from India.25 Of great interest in our context is a description of maritime long-distance trade to India and Sri Lanka found in the Christian Topography of Kosmas Indikopleustes, written in Greek, probably between 547 and 550 CE. Kosmas, probably a native of Egypt, with the surname meaning ‘who sailed the Indian seas’, was a merchant during the earlier part of the sixth century and wrote this book after he had withdrawn from his former life and became a monk in Alexandria. During his mercantile activities he travelled extensively; he explicitly mentions his sea voyages in the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, and he apparently went as far as Sri Lanka, called Taprobane by the Greeks. His main interest as a merchant might have been the import of spices, but he sold other things as well.26 In our context his description of the trade carried out in the Indian Ocean, and, in particular, of the trade centred in Sri Lanka, is most important.27 The island of Sri Lanka had by this time become a great centre of trade in the Indian Ocean and – owing to its central position – played an important role as an intermediary between trade from the East, i.e. China and Southeast Asia, and the 23 From the vast number of studies on the subject, two are selected here: Raschke 1978, and the more recent and very thorough discussion by Young 2001. 24 Young 2001: 74–89. 25 Itinerarium Egeriae, Appendix II, 6, reflecting the late fourth or early fifth century. Roth 1980: 320. 26 For instance, in Alexandria he also sold teeth of the hippopotamus from Ethiopia and/or Egypt, McCrindle1897: book xi 336, p.361–362. Wolska-Conus III 1973: book xi, 9, p. 332–333. 27 In book xi, McCrindle 1897: 358–373. Winstedt 1909. Wolska-Conus 1968–1973, vol.3: 314–357. - Kosmas was not an educated man, and the Christian Topography is very much in contrast to the scientific cosmographic literature, for instance, the Geography of Klaudios Ptolemaios, the famous mathematician and astronomer of the second century CE. The main objective of the Christian Topography was a theory of the universe, containing many rather fantastic and folkloristic elements. However, book xi is different in character, and it has been suggested that it was taken from an earlier work by Kosmas, a book on geography to which he refers in the prologue of his Christian Topography, strongly recommending it as further reading. The loss of this geography book has often been lamented, as it probably would have been of great interest for us nowadays. His description of Sri Lanka in book xi was certainly written by a person who had been there: Winstedt 1909: 4–5. Comes 1966. Pigulewskaja 1969: 110–129, esp. 119, 141–149. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

10

BRIGITTE BORELL

West, the Persian Gulf, Arabia, Eastern Africa, the Red Sea and the Mediterranean (Fig. 14). Kosmas mentions ships coming to Sri Lanka from Persia and Ethiopia, and from all the Indian lands, which – in his use of the term – would include ships from anywhere east of the Indus as far away as China and Southeast Asia.28 In addition, he says, the island sent out ships of its own. In this way the island received silk, aloes, cloves, wood of the clove tree, sandalwood, and other products from China and other trading places in the east, clearly including Southeast Asia, as is evident from the products mentioned. These goods were passed on to other markets such as those on the west coast of India, to Persia, south Arabia and Adulis in Ethiopia. From there in turn the island received imports, passing them to the remote places in the east, at the same time exporting its own products in both directions. From this description emerges a picture of Sri Lanka as a great centre for the entrepôt trade, with an exchange of goods from distant regions in all directions; hence it would have been possible in that period for a merchant to obtain a vast array of different commodities there. Kosmas had some notion about the lands east of India and the products exported from there. Sailing east from the southern part of the east coast of India, one would reach the ‘land of the cloves’ – quite obviously a reference to Southeast Asia and the Spice Islands – and finally Tzinista (China), which produced silk. The ‘land of the silk’ is the remotest, bounded by the ocean on the east. ‘Beyond Tzinista there is neither navigation nor any land to inhabit’.29 Kosmas had knowledge about two different ways to transport silk from China to the west: one by land, the other by sea. He says that the loads of silk transported by land, passing in turn through different peoples, arrived in Persia in a comparatively short time, whereas the distances of the sea route were vastly greater. This was, he explained, why in Persia there was always plenty of silk, because by transport overland the distances were much reduced. Here we must bear in mind that sericulture had at that time already been introduced into the Tarim Basin and possibly beyond. The silk industry had definitely spread westwards to the Fergana Valley and Sogdia. In Sassanian Iran silk fabrics with elaborate patterns were manufactured. Imports into the Byzantine Empire mainly concerned raw silks, which were then spun and woven according to local taste.30 The rivalry between Persian and Byzantine merchants in that period, which to some extent certainly resulted from the silk trade,31 is also illustrated in the 28 Comes 1966: 13. Weerakoddy 1997: 134. McCrindle 1897: book ii 137, p.47–48. Wolska-Conus I 1968: book ii, 30, p. 334–335 with n.30,1; book ii, 45, p.352–353. 29 McCrindle1897: book xi 337, p.367. Wolska-Conus III 1973: book xi, 16, p.346–349. McCrindle1897: book ii 137–138, p.47–49. Wolska-Conus I 1968: book ii, 45–47, p. 352–355. 30 Pigulewskaja 1969: 80–87, 146, 162–163. Raschke 1978: 622–623. 31 For the year 527 Prokopios laments that the Romans have to buy the silk from Persian traders, Prokopios I 20, 9–12. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

11

story of Sopatros, another Byzantine merchant.32 Kosmas relates an incident which happened more than 35 years earlier, that is, some time in the early sixth century. Sopatros had travelled – apparently on an Ethiopian ship from Adulis – to Sri Lanka when a ship from Persia arrived there. During an audience, the king of the island asked the Byzantine merchant Sopatros and a Persian merchant whose king was the greater and more powerful. After listening to the Persian merchant praising his king, Sopatros made the suggestion that the king of the island should form his own opinion and decide the question as their kings were present, referring to coins with the image of each king. Accordingly, the Byzantine gold nomisma and the Sassanian silver drachma came under scrutiny and were compared by the king. Of course, since the story was related by a Byzantine merchant, the gold nomisma and therefore the Byzantine emperor won. Kosmas explains that for trade with Sri Lanka coins of an especially good quality were selected. In another part of the text Kosmas proudly states that it is with Roman coinage that all nations carry on trade from one end of the earth to the other.33 However, this is not really reflected in the archaeological record. Compared to the large numbers of Roman silver and gold coins of the first and second centuries found in India, finds of Late Roman or early Byzantine gold coins are rare: only a few occasional finds of those gold coins have been documented from southern India and Sri Lanka dating from the late fourth, fifth and sixth centuries and later; in addition, a few Sassanian coins are known from Sri Lanka.34 Looking further east to China, finds of Sassanian silver coins there outnumber by far those of early Byzantine gold coins,35 the bulk of the Sassanian coins being from the fifth to seventh centuries and - as is evident from their predominantly northern distribution – documenting the trade by overland routes. However, there are also three sites in the south, in Guangdong, where several Sassanian coins have been found, dating from the fifth century; these clearly arrived by maritime trade.36 In this context it is interesting to note that the find of a fifth century Sassanian silver coin has been recorded from Yarang in south Thailand;37 and at Oc Eo a Sassanian glass paste was 32 McCrindle1897: book xi 338, p.368–370. Wolska-Conus III 1973: book xi, 17–19, p.348–351. 33 McCrindle1897: book ii 148, p.72–73. Wolska-Conus I 1968: book ii, 77, p. 392–395. 34 Bopearachchi 1993: 79. Bopearachchi 1996: 72. 35 Raschke 1978: 625–627. Thierry 1993: a total of more than 1400 Sassanian silver coins and their derivatives. Thierry and Morrisson 1994, a total of 27 Byzantine gold coins and their imitations are listed, only ten (or perhaps eleven) of which are genuine Byzantine solidi. Wang 2004: xiii-xiv, 34–35. 36 Thierry 1993: 124–125 nos. 27, 47, and 52, the finds from Guangdong containing a total of 32 Sassanian coins; the archaeological context of no. 27 with a date of 497 CE. 37 Srisuchat 1996: 246 (referring to several small Persian coins); illustration p. 270 bottom (Valkash 484–488 CE); it would be interesting to know also the reverse of the coin to ascertain the place of the mint. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

12

BRIGITTE BORELL

found, probably of a somewhat earlier date, perhaps the third or fourth century.38 Whereas only a few finds of the valuable gold coins, which one would expect to have been used in the long-distance trade, are documented from Sri Lanka, large quantities of small Late Roman copper coins from the fourth and fifth centuries have been found on the island, as well as locally-made imitations. They are thought to have been used there as a local currency in the fifth century and possibly some time later.39 Kosmas’ description of long-distance trade in his time gives a very good picture of the network of trade links eventually connecting both ends of the world as it was then known, involving merchants and carriers from many different regions. Most of the trade goods he mentions are perishable; only in special conditions is it possible that they can be traced in the archaeological record. Finds of botanical remains and other materials, preserved due to the dry climate of the Egyptian desert, have been made at the Red Sea port of Berenike, which was particularly active from the late first century BCE to the first century CE and again in the late fourth and fifth centuries, and to a certain degree until the early sixth century CE. For instance, black pepper, the merchandise mentioned by Kosmas as exported from the Malabar Coast, has been found there in considerable amounts, in contexts of the first to second centuries as well as in those dating from the fourth to early sixth centuries CE. The most spectacular find of the early phase is a large storage jar of probably Indian manufacture still nearly half full with 7.5 kg black pepper. From Europe a few finds of pepper from the Roman period are preserved in waterlogged conditions. The earliest dated find of peppercorns comes from a Roman legionary camp in Germany; the peppercorns must have arrived there between 11 and 8/7 BCE; and pepper has been found as far to the west as the Roman town of Bath in Britain.40 38 Manguin 2004: 299 fig.12.14. 39 Walburg 1985: 40–42. Walburg 1991. Walburg 2007 (forthcoming). They have also been found in southern India, in Madurai and Karur. In Sri Lanka the finds are concentrated mainly along the southwest and south coast. The value of the small copper coins in the Roman system was very low: 7,200 of them were worth one gold solidus. Their value in trading transactions in Sri Lanka might have been considerably higher, since Sri Lanka has no source of copper. 40 Cappers 2006: 111–119 (with further references). A leaden tag inscribed with the details of a delivery of eight Roman pounds of ‘fresh pepper’ (about 2,620 g) dated to the second century CE has been recovered from the river Moselle in Trier, Germany, Gerlach 2001: 97 fig.117. At Berenike have been found other species originating from India (or beyond): mung bean, rice, coconut, emblic, Job’s tear, teak, bamboo, and possibly sandalwood, Vermeeren 2000: 340; Cappers 2006: 164, 167–168. Several of the stone and glass beads are imports, with great certainty from south India and Sri Lanka, Francis 2000: 221–225. At the site were also found shards of Indian pottery which date mainly to the early phase but come also from fifth century deposits. It is beyond the scope of this article to give a list of all the imports in both directions in the earlier periods, however, one of the most prominent examples should be mentioned, the Indian ivory statuette found in Pompei, apparently part of a small table, which must have arrived there before 79 CE, Karttunen 1997. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

13

In Late Roman deposits at Berenike, dating from the late fourth to fifth centuries, several pieces of resist-dyed cotton cloth have been discovered which were most likely imported from India.41 According to Kosmas, it was from Kalliana, ‘a great emporium’ on the west coast of India, that fabrics for clothing were exported, fairly certainly referring to cotton.42 In addition, some of the cotton finds from Berenike have been identified as remains of sails made from Indian cotton, but apparently for a Mediterranean-type sail.43 However, among the remains of wood found at the site, teak imported from India was dominant. Some of the teak has been interpreted as re-used planks derived from dismantled ships, indicating the presence of Indian ships at Berenike.44 Among the trade goods Kosmas also mentions less perishable luxury items like precious stones and ivory. African emeralds, probably from Upper Egypt, were exported from Ethiopia to northwest India and from there to Central Asia to the White Huns, and elephant tusks were exported from Ethiopia among other destinations also to India.45 Concerning Sri Lanka, he says that on the island the gemstone ‘hyacinth’ was found. The name ‘hyacinth’ means a bluish-reddish stone and it is usually assumed that it designates the blue variety of corundum, i.e. sapphire. However, the huge ‘hyacinth’ mentioned later in the text which adorned one of the temples on the island is thought to have been an amethyst because of its size ‘as large as a large pine-cone’.46 Possibly the term was used without a strict mineralogical differentiation for several gemstones of bluish or reddish colour such as amethyst, sapphire, ruby, spinel, and garnet, which are all found in Sri Lanka.47 According to Kosmas, the gemstone almandine, a red garnet, was exported from Kaber, a port on the eastern coast of south India, probably to be identified with Kaveripattinam (today Poompuhar) at the mouth of the Kaveri River. It has long been assumed that red garnets from India were imported into early mediaeval Europe, where almandine was the favoured gemstone, lavishly used for adornment on jewellery, fibulae, clasps and weapons.48 The demand for almandine must have been enormous – an individual piece, a fibula of the late 41 Wild and Wild 1996: 251 Fig.13-3 (from fourth or fifth centuries deposit). Wild and Wild 2000: 272. Ray 2003: 218. 42 Pigulewskaja 1969: 143. 43 Wild and Wild 2000: 266–269. Wild and Wild 2001. 44 Vermeeren 2000: 340–341. 45 McCrindle1897: book xi 339, p.371–372. Wolska-Conus III 1973: book xi, 21 and 23, p. 352–355. 46 Pigulewskaja 1969: 147. McCrindle1897: book xi 336-7, p.364–5. Wolska-Conus III 1973: book xi, 13–14, p. 342–345. Weerakoddy 1997: 136–138. 47 The imprecise use of the names for precious stones was quite common in the past. A well-known example is the ‘Black Prince’s ruby’ in the British state crown, which in fact is a spinel. 48 Roth 1980. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

14

BRIGITTE BORELL

sixth century, could boast more than 200 almandines. Recent mineralogical studies proved that the garnets used in Merovingian cloisonné work of the fifth and sixth centuries are in very good agreement with reference samples from India and Sri Lanka.49 Only during the seventh century was there a shift to garnets from deposits in Bohemia, which were exploited from about the middle of the seventh century and then supplied most of the garnets. Almandines from India and Sri Lanka might have arrived in Europe by land routes via Persia and Armenia, but certainly also by the maritime route via the Red Sea and Alexandria to the Mediterranean, and then further. In Carthage a find contained more than a hundred almandines, representing the remains of a gem-cutters workshop which has been dated to the fifth and early sixth century.50 Seen in the context of such active trade networks and mutual exchange of goods as described by Kosmas, an elaborate bronze lamp was certainly not one of the usual commodities. It might have been a prestigious gift presented by a Byzantine merchant to his counterpart in the foreign port, or it might have been acquired directly in Egypt by one of the merchants coming from India, and successively have been passed on further. In a similar way the Roman coin of the third century found at U Thong might have reached Thailand as a curio or souvenir. It is an antoninianus of Victorinus, one of the usurper emperors of the Gallic Empire, minted at Cologne in 269/270 CE. The distribution of the debased billon coins of the Gallic Empire is in general limited to the western provinces, where they were in circulation until the end of the third century. They were not used in bulk in the long-distance trade with India.51

49 Greiff 1998. Quast and Schüssler 2000. Cf also Lennartz 2001: 268–270. At Berenike have been found four almandine beads, possibly from south India, Francis 2000: 221–222. 50 Roth 1980: 324–328. 51 Brown and Macdonnell 1989: 15, 42 colour plate. Chantawit 2002: 60 (illustration of obverse and reverse). Obverse: IMP C VICTORINVS P F AVG for: Imp(erator) C(aesar) Victorinus P(ius) F(elix) Aug(ustus) Head of the emperor to the right, wearing the radiated crown and the cuirass. Reverse: SALVS AVG for: Salus Aug(usti) (“Health of the emperor”) The Roman goddess Salus, the personification of well-being and health, stands to the right feeding from a bowl (patera) in her left hand a snake which she holds with her right hand and arm. It is an issue of mint II, situated in Cologne; this issue was minted in large numbers and has been dated to 269/270 CE, Schulzki 1996: 43–44, 76-86, esp. 83 no.21c pl.20. At the time of Victorinus (269–271) the silver content in the copper alloy of the antoninianus, also called a radiate by numismatists, was down to between 2% and 0.5% silver. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

15

The lamp in its context in Thailand Contacts and exchange in a western direction to India and beyond are well established from archaeological finds at several sites in southern and central Thailand from the last few centuries BCE onwards.52 The lamp from Pong Tuk provides evidence for the continuation of these long-distance trade links connecting Southeast Asia with regions as far away as Egypt and the Mediterranean well after the heyday of the so-called Indo-Roman trade. The Pong Tuk lamp is of particular interest because it is an object of a different category compared to small items like coins or intaglios, which are the usual western exotica in Southeast Asia. It is assumed that during the Dvaravati period the shoreline was more inland, and Pong Tuk would have been more accessible from the sea. The nearest urban centres were Nakhon Pathom, about 30 km to the east, and Ku Bua in a similar distance to the south in a coastal location.53 Pong Tuk was in a good position to receive goods arriving by maritime trade and then upstream from the mouth of the Maekhlong. Furthermore, it is situated on a very old trade route, attested since prehistoric times, leading northwest along the Maekhlong valley to the Three Pagodas Pass and from there into Burma. The architectural remains excavated at Pong Tuk belong to the Dvaravati period, but there is not much archaeological evidence for a more precise chronology of the place. G.Coedès’ excavations at Pong Tuk in 1927 revealed at the site, where the lamp was found, the laterite foundations of a square building, the sides measuring roughly 8 m x 8 m, and a few remains of its brick superstructure. Some laterite blocks, on the side of the building facing northeast, are probably the remains of a small antechamber. A road, 1.10 m wide, paved with bricks, has been observed over a length of about 20 m running in a northeastern direction along the central axis of the entrance side. The laterite blocks of the antechamber partly overlap a small square brick structure, apparently of an earlier phase. These sparse architectural remains are very plain and it is not possible to attach a more precise date to them.54 Scholarly interest concentrated on five Buddha statuettes found at Pong Tuk previous to the excavations, two of them from the site of the lamp. Initially, Coedès proposed the second century for one of those two statuettes, maybe under the im-

52 Bellina and Glover 2004.

53 Tanabe et al. 2003, Indrawooth 2004. 54 The square building has been addressed as ‘a stupa erected on a square basis, or a chapel, or some kind of shrine,’ Coedès 1928: 200–201, or a sanctuary containing the lost principal image and some donations, Dupont 1959: 107. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

16

BRIGITTE BORELL

pression of his early dating of the lamp, and the sixth century for the others. Later the dating of the bronze statuettes was revised to the eighth and ninth centuries.55 The remains of a more elaborate building at a distance to the northeast, the direction of the road, also seem to belong to such a later period.56 Based on stylistic grounds, the recessed ground-plan and the profiles of its laterite facing, Dupont considered this building to be chronologically a little later than the second state of Pra Paton and Wat Pra Meru in Nakhon Pathom.57 Since there were apparently no defensive ramparts, H.G. Quaritch Wales even felt that the settlement of Pong Tuk could have been established only at a relatively late date when ‘there was thought to be no possible danger of its ever having to defend itself’ and consequently suggested a date as late as the ninth century for it.58 However, one might ask whether it is justified to arrive at such general conclusions on the basis of only a few examples allowing a stylistical dating. Without a doubt, they provide very good evidence for the eighth and ninth century, but possible earlier phases are not to be ruled out. It is hoped that future investigations might allow a more precise chronology of the site.

55 Coedès 1928: the two from the site pl.16 right; pl.17, the others pl.15 right. Brown and Macdonnell 1989: 14. 56 Coedès 1928: 200–201 pl.9–13; he regarded this building near the San Chao as ‘the most important of the whole group’ and termed it a vihara. Later excavations about 450 m southeast of the San Chao revealed more Buddhist structures, Quaritch Wales 1936; unfortunately, several areas at Pong Tuk had been ransacked by treasure seekers after 1927. 57 Dupont 1959: 107. 58 Quaritch Wales 1969: 63–65, 117. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

Fig. 1. National Museum Bangkok, inv TP 1. From Pong Tuk. Length 29.5 cm, height 26.7 cm.

Fig. 2. Same as Fig. 1, seen from above, the lid swung back.

Fig. 3. Same as Fig. 1, bottom with the opening of the square socket.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

17

18

BRIGITTE BORELL

Fig. 4. Same as Fig. 1, seen from the side.

Fig. 5. Early Byzantine lamp. Munich, private collection, inv.744. Length 21.6 cm, height 18 cm.

Fig. 6. Same as Fig. 5, the lid swung back. Inside is visible the sleeve of the socket.

Fig. 7. Munich, private collection, inv.744. Lid with face of Silenus. Diameter of lid 3.9 cm.

Fig. 8. National Museum Bangkok, inv TP 1. From Pong Tuk. Lid with face of Silenus. Diameter of lid 5.2 cm.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

Fig. 9. Early Byzantine lamp and stand, thought to be the original set. Munich, private collection, inv.1092. Height 50.6 cm. Stand height 35.7 cm. Lamp: length 20.7 cm, height 18.5 cm.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

19

20

BRIGITTE BORELL

Fig. 10. Munich, private collection, inv.1092. Lamp with double-hinged lid with sieve and a high baluster-shaped top.

Fig. 11. Same as Fig. 10. Seen from above, the lid swung back. Inside is visible the sleeve of the socket.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

2

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

Fig. 2. Munich, private collection, inv.092. Openwork handle with palmette and dolphins. Handle: Height 2.7 cm, width 8.3 cm.

Fig. 3. National Museum Bangkok, inv TP . From Pong Tuk. Openwork handle with palmette and dolphins. Handle: Height 7.5 cm, width 3.3 cm.

!,%8!.$2)! +,93-! !),!

0%23)!

WITHPORTS EXPORT HORSES DUTY FREEIMPORT TO4APROBANE

"%2%.)+%



0!24)



-!.'!2/54(



3!,/0!4!.!



.!,/0!4!.!



0/5$!0!4!.!



-!2!,,/



+!"%2

EXPORT

MUSK COSTUSROOT NARD

3).$5 /22/4(! "!29'!:!

!$5,)3 !85-

%4()/0)!

EXPORT

( ) - 9! 2

ER

WITHPORTS EXPORTS

SUMM

FRANKINCENSE

+!,,)!.!

R

WINTE

EXPORT

3)"/2 -!

3/#/42!

"! 2 "! 2 ) !

,!

WITHPORTS EXPORT

EXPORT

"!

GOLD EMERALDS IVORY

COPPER SHISHAMWOOD CLOTH

EXPORT



/!

SPICES FRANKINCENSE CASSIA SWEETCANE OTHERPRODUCTS

 

2#

PEPPER

 



CHANKSHELLS



ALMANDINE

34 ENTREPOTTRADEGOODSFROM #HINAAND3OUTHEAST!SIA

SILK ALOE CLOVES WOODOF 



KM

hSHIPSFROMALLPARTSOF)NDIA FROM0ERSIAAND%THIOPIAv

EXPORT

4! 0 2 / "! . % THECLOVETREE SANDALWOOD

GEMSTONE@HYACINTH OTHERINDIGENOUSPRODUCTS

ANDOTHERPRODUCTS

Fig. 4. Ports and trade goods according to Kosmas Indikopleustes, first half of the 6th century CE. Drawing by B.Borell and A.Seidel, based on Roth 980: 39 fig.4, with amendments.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

22

BRIGITTE BORELL

Bibliography Bailey, D.M. 1988 A Catalogue of the Lamps in the British Museum vol. III: Roman Provincial Lamps. London: The Trustees of the British Museum. 1996 A Catalogue of the Lamps in the British Museum vol. IV: Lamps of Metal and Stone, and Lampstands. London: The Trustees of the British Museum. Bellina, B., and I. Glover 2004 The archaeology of early contact with India and the Mediterranean World, from the fourth century BC to the fourth century AD. In: Glover and Bellwood, q.v.: 68–88. Bénazeth, D. 1992 L’art du métal au début de l’ère chrétienne. Musée du Louvre, Catalogue du département des antiquités égyptiennes. Paris: Editions de la Réunion des musées nationaux. 2001 Catalogue général du Musée copte du Caire 1: Objets en métal. Cairo: Institut Français d’archéologie orientale. Bopearachchi, O. 1993 La circulation des monnaies d’origine étrangère dans l’antique Sri Lanka. In: Res Orientales V: 63–87. 1996 Seafaring in the Indian Ocean. Archaeological evidence from Sri Lanka. In: H.B. Ray and J.-F. Salles, eds., Tradition and Archaeology. Early maritime contacts in the Indian Ocean. New Delhi: Manohar: 59–77. Brilliant, R. 1979 Mythology, in K.Weitzmann, ed., Age of Spirituality. Late Antique and Early Christian Art. Third to Seventh Century. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art: 126–131. Brown, R.L., and A.M.Macdonnell 1989 The Pong Tuk lamp: A reconsideration. Journal of the Siam Society 77,2: 9–20. Buckton, D., ed. 1994 Byzantium. Treasures of Byzantine Art and Culture from British Collections. London: British Museum Press. Cappers, R.T.J. 2006 Roman Footprints at Berenike. Archaeobotanical evidence of subsistence and trade in the eastern desert of Egypt. Monograph 55, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, University of California Los Angeles. Chantawit, Nattapat, ed. 2002 Guide Book to the U-Thong National Museum. Bangkok: Archaeological and National Museum Division, Fine Arts Department (in Thai). Coedès, G. 1928 The excavations at P’ong Tük and their importance for the ancient history of Siam. Journal of the Siam Society 21,3 (March): 195–209. Comes, H. 1966 Did Cosmas come to India. Indica 3: 7–24.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

23

Davis, R. 1989 The Book of Pontiffs (Liber Pontificalis). Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. De’ Spagnolis, M.Conticello, and E. De Carolis 1986 Le lucerne di bronzo. Musei della Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Inventari e Studi 1. Vatican City. Dupont, P. 1959 L’archéologie Mone de Dvaravati. Paris: EFEO. Francis, P. 2000 Human ornaments. In: Sidebotham and Wendrich 2000: 211–225. Franken, N. 2002 Lampen für die Götter. Beobachtungen zur Funktion der sog. Vexillumaufsätze. Istanbuler Mitteilungen 52: 369–381. Gerlach.G. 2001 Zu Tisch bei den alten Römern. Eine Kulturgeschichte des Essens und Trinkens. Archäologie in Deutschland 17, special issue: 97 fig.117. Glover, I., and P. Bellwood, eds. 2004 Southeast Asia. From prehistory to history. London and New York: Routledge Curzon. Goddio, F., and M.Clauss, eds. 2006 Egypt’s Sunken Treasures. Munich: Prestel. Greiff, S. 1998 Naturwissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zur Frage der Rohsteinquellen für frühmittelalterlichen Almandinschmuck rheinfränkischer Provenienz. Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz 45,2: 599–646. Hayes, J.W. 1984 Greek, Roman, and Related Metalware in the Royal Ontario Museum. A Catalogue. Toronto: Royal Ontario Museum. Heimberg, U. 1981 Gewürze, Weihrauch, Seide – Welthandel in der Antike. Limesmuseum Aalen. Indrawooth, Ph. 2004 The archaeology of the early Buddhist kingdoms of Thailand. In: Glover and Bellwood, q.v., 120–148. Karttunen, K. 1995 Wooden tables with ivory legs. In: R.Allchin and B.Allchin, eds., South Asian Archaeology 1995. Proceedings of the Thirteenth Conference of the European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, Cambridge 5–9 July 1995: 557–562. 2000 Ex occidente lux. In: M.Taddei and G. De Marco, eds., South Asian Archaeology 1997. Proceedings of the Fourteenth Conference of the European Association of South Asian Archaeologists, held in the Instituto Italiano per l’Africa e l’Oriente, Palazzo Brancaccio, Rome, 7–14 July 1997, vol.II. Rome: 933–942.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

24

BRIGITTE BORELL

Leclercq, H. 1920 Dauphin. In: F.Cabrol, ed., Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie vol. IV, 1. Paris: 283–295. Lennartz, A. 2001 Die Rolle Ägyptens im mediterranen Fernhandel vom Ende des 6.Jahrhunderts bis zu seiner arabischen Eroberung. In: E.Pohl et al., eds, Archäologisches Zellwerk. Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte in Europa und Asien. Festschrift für Helmut Roth zum 60.Geburtstag. Rahden/Westf.: Verlag Marie Leidorf: 267–280. Manguin, P.-Y. 2004 The archaeology of the early maritime polities of Southeast Asia. In: Glover and Bellwood, q.v., 2004: 282–313. McCrindle, J.W. 1898 The Christian Topography of Cosmas, an Egyptian Monk. English transl. London: Hakluyt Society. Miller, J.I. 1969 The Spice Trade of the Roman Empire 29 BC to AD 641. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Olcay, B.Y. 2001 Lighting methods in the Byzantine period and findings of glass lamps in Anatolia. Journal of Glass Studies 43: 77–87. Picard, C. 1955 La lampe alexandrine de P’ong Tuk (Siam). Artibus Asiae 18,2: 137–149. Pigulewskaja, N. 1969 Byzanz auf den Wegen nach Indien. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Quaritch Wales, H.G. 1936 Further excavations at P’ong Tük (Siam). Indian Art and Letters 10: 42–48. 1969 Dvaravati. The Earliest Kingdom of Siam (6th to 11th century A.D.). London: Bernard Quaritch. Quast, D., and U.Schüssler 2000 Mineralogische Untersuchungen zur Herkunft der Granate merowingerzeitlicher Cloisonnéarbeiten (Mineralogical studies on the origin of the garnets in Merovingian cloisonné work). Germania 78: 75–96. Raschke, M.G. 1978 New Studies in Roman commerce with the East. In: H.Temporini and W.Haase, eds., Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, part II vol.9.2: 604–1361. Ray, H.P. 2003 The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient South Asia. Cambridge University Press. Ross, M.C. 1962 Catalogue of the Byzantine and Early Medieval Antiquities in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection vol. I: Metalwork, Ceramics, Glass, Glyptics, Painting. Washington, D.C.: Trustees for Harvard University.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Early Byzantine Lamp from Pong Tuk

25

Roth, H. 1980 Almandinhandel und -verarbeitung im Bereich des Mittelmeeres (The trade and working of almandines in the Mediterranean area: On the archaeological finds and textual sources in the Late Antique and Early Middle Ages). Beiträge zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Archäologie 2: 309–335 (335: English abstract). Schulzki, H.-J. 1996 Die Antoninianprägung der gallischen Kaiser von Postumus bis Tetricus (AGK). Typenkatalog der regulären und nachgeprägten Münzen. Bonn: Habelt. Sidebotham, St.E., and W.Z.Wendrich, eds. 1996 Berenike 1995: Preliminary Report of the 1995 Excavations at Berenike (Egyptian Red Sea Coast) and the survey of the Eastern Desert. Leiden: Research School, CNWS (Centrum voor Niet-Westerse Studies = School of Asian, African, and Amerindian Studies). 1998 Berenike 1996: Preliminary Report of the 1995 Excavations at Berenike (Egyptian Red Sea Coast) and the survey of the Eastern Desert. Leiden: Research School, CNWS. 2000 Berenike 1998: Preliminary Report of the 1998 Excavations at Berenike and the survey of the Egyptian Eastern Desert, including Excavations in the Wadi Kalalat. Leiden: Research School, CNWS. Sorochan, S. 2002 Light for Life and Death in Early Byzantine Empire. In: Zhuralev q.v., 2002: 111–119. Srisuchat, A., ed. 1996 Ancient Trades and Cultural Contacts in Southeast Asia. Bangkok: The Office of the National Culture Commission. Stiegemann, C., ed. 2001 Byzanz. Das Licht aus dem Osten. Kult und Alltag im Byzantinischen Reich vom 4. bis 15. Jahrhundert. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Tanabe, S., et al. 2003 Stratigraphy and Holocene evolution of the mud-dominated Chao Phraya delta, Thailand. Quaternary Science Reviews 22: 789–807. Theis, L. 2001 Lampen, Leuchten, Licht. In: Stiegemann (ed.) 2001: 54–64. Thierry, F. 1993 Sur les monnaies sassanides trouvées en Chine. Res Orientales V: 89–139. Thierry, F., and C. Morrisson 1994 Sur les monnaies byzantines trouvées en Chine. Revue Numismatique, 6e Série, vol.36: 109–145. Vermeeren, C.E. 2000 Wood and Charcoal. In: Sidebotham and Wendrich 2000: 311–342. Walburg, R. 1985 Antike Münzen aus Sri Lanka/Ceylon. In: Studien zu Fundmünzen der Antike, vol.3. Berlin: Gebr. Mann: 27–271.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

26

1991 2007

BRIGITTE BORELL

Late Roman copper coins from Southern India. In: Jha, A.K., ed., Coinage, Trade and Economy, January 8th–11th, 1991 3rd International Colloquium. Anjaneri: Indian Institute of Research in Numismatic Studies: 164–167. Ancient coins from Ceylon (forthcoming). Bonn: German Archaeological Institute.

Wamser, L., and G. Zahlhaas 1998 Rom und Byzanz. Archäologische Kostbarkeiten aus Bayern. Munich: Hirmer. Wang, H. 2004 Money on the Silk Road. The evidence from Eastern Central Asia to c. AD 800. London: British Museum Press. Weerakoddy, D.P.M. 1997 Taprobane. Ancient Sri Lanka as known to Greeks and Romans. Turnhout: Brepols. Wild, J.P., and F.C.Wild 1996 Textiles. In: Sidebotham and Wendrich 1996. 2000 Textiles. In: Sidebotham and Wendrich 2000: 251–274. 2001 Sails from the Roman port at Berenike, Egypt. The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 30.2: 211–220. Weitzmann, K., ed. 1979 Age of Spirituality. Late Antique and Early Christian Art, Third to Seventh Century. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Winstedt, E.O. 1909 The Christian Topography of Cosmas Indicopleustes, edited with geographical notes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolska-Conus, W. 1968–73 Cosmas Indicopleustès, Topographie Chrétienne. Greek text and French transl., vols. I–III. Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf. Young, G. K. 2001 Rome’s Eastern Trade. International commerce and imperial policy, 31 BC–AD 305. London and New York: Routledge. Zhuralev, D., ed. 2002 Fire, Light and Light Equipment in the Graeco-Roman World. BAR International Series 1019. Oxford: Hadrian Books.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

PIRACY, SMUGGLING, AND TRADE IN THE RISE OF PATANI, 1490–1600* Francis R. Bradley Abstract This article charts the rise of the Patani Sultanate as a commercial center in the sixteenth century through its connections to South China Sea trade networks. Patani’s ascendancy began with its pepper and porcelain trade with Ryukyu after 1490. Patani then emerged as one of a few major pepper ports after the fall of Melaka to the Portuguese in 1511 and maintained its position by engaging with “piracy” and “smuggling” trade networks along the Fujian coast. By the late 1560s, however, Ming officials were strong enough to chase the merchants from the South China Sea, after which they came to settle in Patani, bringing their immense economic capital to the city. Through this process, Patani not only experienced its greatest economic fortune but also attained the pinnacle of its political power at the dawn of the seventeenth century. Introduction: Towards an Autonomous History of Pat(t)ani1 John Smail first sounded the call for Southeast Asian historians to engage in studies of autonomous history when he criticized the field’s infatuation with the colonial relationship (Smail 1961). He found fault with colonial era scholarship and the nationalist counter-narrative because both approaches placed a contemporary imprint upon pre-nineteenth century Southeast Asia. Over the past two and a half decades, studies in autonomous history have been spearheaded by Sunait Chutintarinond and others, who have begun to illuminate locality in both modern and pre-modern Southeast Asian societies (Drakard 1986, Matheson 1986, Sunait 1989, Sunait and Baker 2002). The Malay-speaking region of southern Thailand, like Aceh and Mindanao, presents a special case because it does not fit neatly into

* The author would like to thank Dr. Eric Tagliacozzo for his suggestions on a draft of this article. 1 In this article, the spelling ‘Patani’ refers to the Malay sultanate and ‘Pattani’ to the modern Thai province and city. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

27

28

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

the European colonialism-nationalism paradigm. There remains a sense, however, that Pattani possesses a history of its own, but one that has become obscured by the twentieth-century nation-based historical paradigm. The present study focuses on the economic history of the Patani Sultanate during a period prior to its formal inclusion into Siam, when it was an important trade center with far-reaching maritime ties to other parts of Southeast and East Asia. This article focuses upon Patani’s rise to economic success in the sixteenth century. Previous scholarship has generally drawn attention to the region’s HinduBuddhist legacy dating back to the sixth-century kingdom of Langkasuka, from which Patani descended culturally, though the political connection between the two polities remains unclear.2 Such studies have also pointed to Pattani’s rich Islamic tradition, early conversion, and rise to prominence as a center for religious learning. While these studies serve to illuminate Patani’s cultural history, they generally remain firmly entrenched in the “nationalist” historical paradigm. Furthermore, scholarship on Patani’s sixteenth and seventeenth century history has focused too heavily upon its political relationship with Siam, owing to contemporary preoccupations with Pattani’s provincial status. Not until the mid- to late seventeenth century did Patani’s tributary relations and rebellions against Ayutthaya interfere with its commercial success. Patani’s economic fortunes, which were the bedrock of its political power and success in its so-called “golden age” in the seventeenth century, have received little attention. Rising from obscurity in the fifteenth century, Patani was, by the end of the sixteenth century, one of the premier Southeast Asian centers for Chinese and Japanese goods and a major player in the trade of the Malay Peninsula and South China Sea.3 Recent studies have given thorough analysis to trade on the South China coast, which was the locus of activity for the entire region, but no study has yet drawn attention to Patani’s role in these events. Commercial prosperity allowed Patani’s rajas to patronize Islamic institutions in the sultanate, enact extensive public works, and attract foreign merchants to their docks during the period of greatest prosperity, 1580–1640. This article focuses on the roots of this economic success.

2 Contemporary Pattani historiography owes much to the seminal work of Ibrahim Syukri, though his genealogy connecting Patani’s gilded past to twentieth century resistance movements has gone largely unchallenged in local historical writing in Malay. Recent works include Syukri (1985, 2005), Malek (1993), al-Fatani (1994), Bougas (1994), and Gilquin (2002, 2005). 3 Patani is home to one of the oldest Chinese gravestones in Southeast Asia, tribute to the early presence of Chinese merchants there (Franke 1984, 61). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

29

In order to understand Patani’s economic activities this article invariably engages with scholarship on “piracy” in Southeast Asia. James Warren, in his seminal work on Sulu society in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, argued for a repeal of commonly held views on early Southeast Asian sea raiding that paid no heed to the internal values of those societies (Warren 1981, 147–8).4 In many studies of sixteenth century “piracy” in the South China Sea the term is used uncritically, and the Chinese sources appear to be taken at face value. We employ the term “pirate” hesitantly, meaning merchants engaged in trade, smuggling, and any form of coastal raiding carried out in defiance of Ming Chinese attempts to suppress a trade that was central to the livelihoods of merchants from all parts of the South China Sea perimeter. This article treats “pirates” in the region as dispersed persons and analyzes their critical role in the flow and growth of trade in the sixteenth century. In this manner we move away from using “piracy” as a moralistic term informed from the bias of European or Chinese records. To enrich this study we also engage with recent scholarship on smuggling and piracy set within other contexts that focused either on coastal areas or on “artificial” borders that inhibited trade. Eric Tagliacozzo, in his study of late nineteenth and early twentieth century “secret trade” in the Straits of Melaka, framed smuggling within the context of frontiers, borders, and boundaries. He argued that “boundary production and boundary transgression” were two intimately connected parts of the development of a border (Tagliacozzo 2005, 3). In the present study, though focused upon a time and place when boundaries were far less clearly defined, the idea of boundaries and frontiers nevertheless played a central role in the process of developing smuggling networks. From the perspective of Patani and Portuguese merchants, Fujian was a frontier towards which they sailed to engage in profitable trade on the fringes of the South China Sea. Ming Chinese officials, meanwhile, viewed Fujian as a troublesome province on the fringes of the empire that they sought to conform to a broader imperial standard. To the people of Fujian, both locals and merchants who based themselves in Southeast Asian ports, the coastline was not a barrier, but rather a center for the influx of foreign goods, a place of embarkation for local commodities, and a medium for interaction between various peoples from around the South China Sea littoral. Lance Grahn, in his study of eighteenth-century smuggling along the northern coast of colonial Colombia, argues that smuggling generally complemented other commerce by providing a number of commodities that otherwise would have been unavailable, thus serving as an important and, at times, invaluable method of

4 Previous to Warren, studies had generally defended the use of the term “pirate” in the Southeast Asian context and relied upon a British legal definition of the phenomenon (Rutter 1930, 25–28; Tarling 1963, 1–2). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

30

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

trade (Grahn 1997, 15–30). This view we generally adopt here when examining the motivations of Fujian merchants who either worked at home or throughout the diaspora stretching south to Patani, though the pure necessity of maritime commerce to the people of the coast seems to have driven the smuggling operations more than the desire to obtain a particular commodity. Along the same line, J. L. Anderson notes that “piracy” could act either as a stimulus or a detractor to trade in his broad survey of the Southeast Asian phenomenon because “pirates” might either work in a parasitic manner by preying on existing trade routes or, through the process of plundering and slave-raiding, provide necessary resources and labor for the development of new routes and commodities of exchange (Anderson 1997, 90-6). Following Grahn and Anderson, we have generally chosen to treat smuggling as the main method of trade in the South China Sea and “piracy” as the means by which merchants established themselves and defended their routes, ships, and goods, though set within the peculiarities of sixteenth century trade routes, warfare, and political relations. Merchants engaging in “piracy” and smuggling were integral to sixteenth-century South China Sea trade and played central roles in the rise of Patani as a major commercial power. The momentous economic changes of the sixteenth century set the stage for trade relations throughout Southeast Asia in the century following, when Chinese, Dutch, English, Malay, Portuguese, Siamese, and other groups contended for control over the great volume of goods that flowed through the region. Patani established itself as an entrepôt of Chinese and Japanese goods through three major stages over the course of the previous century. First, Patani developed trade relations with the island kingdom of Ryukyu from 1490 onward, through which the sultanate developed its domestic pepper production and established connections to the Chinese market. Next, Patani became intimately connected to trade on the Fujian coast after the destruction of the Melaka pepper market in 1511 and developed valuable smuggling networks in collusion with Portuguese merchants. Finally, prominent bands of disaffected “pirates” and smugglers settled in Patani after 1567, who together solidified Patani’s position against its trade rivals on the Peninsula which the sultanate maintained until the Dutch and English trading companies began seriously to interfere with the commercial success of the port. Patani-Ryukyu Trade Relations, 1490–1543 The growth of relations between Patani and Ryukyu allowed the sultanate to establish itself as one of the main pepper markets of the South China Sea. The first phase in the rise of Patani as a regional trade center began in approximately 1490 when Ryukyu started sending mercantile missions to Patani as part of a broader trade it had carried out since the 1440s with a number of Southeast Asian ports such as Ayutthaya, Melaka, Palembang, northern Javanese polities, and others (Ishii 1990, Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

31

358).5 The Rekidai Hoan records these exchanges and shows that the Ryukyuans mainly traded Chinese porcelain and silk for pepper and sapan wood, one of a number of local aromatic woods for which the Patani region had been famous for many centuries (Kobata and Matsuda 1969, 177–82).6 Four key factors played a role in the emergence of the Patani-Ryukyu network. Patani’s Chinese community first appeared during the time of Zheng He’s expeditions, 1405–33. There are no records that show the exact number of people who settled in the area at that time, but one writer recorded that the Chinese had settled in such great numbers in the region that “their heels touched each other” (Chang 1618, in Chang 1991, 20). When they came to Patani, they brought with them knowledge of safe maritime routes to China and their participation in extensive trade networks soon tied Patani to Ryukyu, Fujian and other southern Chinese regions. Other local traders in Patani undoubtedly soon joined the growing Chinese community in the commercial activity in the region. Following the Chinese official ban on maritime trade in 1433 there had been a steady decline in Ming maritime power, resulting in the development of a number of illicit trading networks, but mainly placing trade in the hands of merchants operating out of Ryukyu (Chang 1990, 67; Reid 1993, 15). This island kingdom was uniquely situated south of Japan, east of the great sea emporium of Ningpo, and north of Taiwan and the Fujian coast where trade activity was the highest in all of maritime China. Many merchants from Fujian came to settle near the Ryukyuan capital of Okinawa after the establishment of the official trade ban and were among the most active in the Patani-Ryukyu network. Via well-established and well-maintained tributary relations with the Ming court, Ryukyu emerged from 1443 onwards as the major player in East Asian trade. Through Ryukyu’s network, the ports of Southeast Asia that had traditionally relied upon trade with China for the prosperity of their own economies had access to a steady flow of Chinese goods into their markets (Ishii 1990, 356–7; Chang 1991, 20). Patani was also evidently developing its own pepper-producing areas in the interior of the Peninsula and continued to do so throughout the period. It may well have been the aromatic wood of the region that first brought Ryukyuan traders there, but pepper soon became the primary commodity of trade. Patani’s peppergrowing regions continued to expand over the following century.7 Patani never 5 Ishii even speculates that trade between Ryukyu and Patani began earlier, but records of this activity have not survived. 6 The Chinese had considered the Patani region (and its progenitor Langkasuka) the best source for all the aromatic woods that came to their markets (Wheatley 1961, 265; Bougas 1994, 4). 7 Tomé Pires spoke highly of Patani as a center for the China Sea pepper trade and seemed to indicate that Patani became the center of trade along the entire east coast of the Malay-Thai Peninsula, its only significant rival at that time being Pahang (Cortesão 1944, 110, 268). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

32

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

rivaled other pepper-markets such as Sunda, Melaka (before 1511), or Aceh, but its close proximity to southern China likely played a role in the development of the port into one of the major centers for the pepper-porcelain trade. The fall of Melaka in 1511 brought much greater initial benefit to the pepper-traders of the South China Sea than to the Portuguese, who spent the following four decades attempting to tap into the Chinese market, with only limited success (Ferguson 1902, 94, 100, 156, 163).8 A new network emerged almost immediately in which pepper from Patani, Sunda, and Pahang was drawn northwards into the ports of Ryukyu and Fujian. This shift away from Melaka allowed for trade between Patani and Ryukyu to reach its height in the years 1508–43 (Kobata and Matsuda 1969, 181–2). No quantities can be estimated, but the largest number of surviving documents date from that period. Other than the major commodities already mentioned, Ryukyu also imported camphor, gold, tin, ivory, sandalwood, bezoar stones,9 dried prawns, birds’ nests, beeswax, and dried buffalo and deer meat from Patani10 in exchange for its own sulfur and horses, Chinese porcelain, silk and other cloth, copper coins, iron and ironware, and grain, and Japanese weapons, armor, and gold handicrafts (Sakamaki 1964, 387). The shift in trade from Melaka to Patani also brought a massive influx of Islamic merchants, who linked the sultanate into wider networks of the early sixteenth century, boosting the port’s position vis-à-vis its neighbors. These networks stretched as far as south Sulawesi, where the Portuguese noted Patani merchants as one of the most active groups of merchants by the 1540s (Reid 1983, 137). Through this process of expansion, Patani merchants also played a role in the forging of diplomatic and religious bonds with rulers across the region in places such as Gowa, Makassar, and elsewhere (Noorduyn 1956, 249). The establishment of Portuguese power in Melaka, however, severed what had been vital maritime trade routes through the straits, and thus cross-peninsular trade rose in the decades following, particularly the Kedah-Patani route, along which merchants made use of interior rivers for part of the journey (Reid 1993, 59). These overland routes, forged by Islamic merchants from both sides of the peninsula, kept trade between prominent Indian Ocean trade emporia and Patani alive throughout the sixteenth century. Further evidence of Melaka’s workforce having shifted to Patani can be

8 This has been dealt with extensively in the secondary literature and is only discussed here briefly to highlight the role of the shifting networks for Patani (Ptak 2002, 447–67). 9 Bezoar stones, produced in the stomachs of goats, were used as medicine against internal poisoning, poisoned wounds, and a host of other illnesses (Teixeira 1902, 230). 10 Patani did not export rhinoceros horn, as claimed by the Dutch merchant John Huyghen van Linschoten. He seems to have confused Patani with Patna, a polity on the Bay of Bengal near the Ganges (Burnell and Tiele 1884, 8–10; Linschoten 1910, 206–7). A clarification between the two states has appeared (Bowrey 1905, 222). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

33

seen in Peter Floris’s observations of the Javanese slave rebellion in 1613, when the discontented workers burned much of the city (Moreland 1934, 94–5). Their existence in Patani in such great numbers suggests that the sultanate absorbed at least a portion of Melaka’s underclass of laborers and craftsmen who served as a valuable asset in a region where the scarcity of manpower was commonplace. Ultimately, Ryukyu’s hold on trade with Patani and other Southeast Asian ports weakened during the 1520s and 1530s because of three interrelated factors (Sakamaki 1964, 388–9). First and foremost, “pirate” fleets originating along the coast of Fujian preyed upon ships that passed through their waters, a route that Ryukyuan ships took when accessing Southeast Asian ports other than Luzon. The shift of trade into the hands of Fujian merchants will be fully discussed in the next section of this article, but here it may suffice to say that Ryukyu steadily lost out to Fujian merchants and ceased to be a major factor in Patani trade by midcentury. Patani merchants engaged in the profitable pepper and porcelain trade may not have cared with whom they traded as long as they continued to gain access to Chinese goods. Furthermore, Fujian was geographically closer, and thus shipments returned more easily and quickly to Patani and the other pepper ports. Unlike the Ryukyu-based traders, the merchants of Fujian employed more aggressive tactics when dealing with coastal authorities and, at times, with each other. Perhaps most crucial was the influx of Portuguese firearms that enhanced the ability of Fujian seafarers to wage war on their enemies (Ptak 2004, 12). The Portuguese had just arrived on the scene and, in their attempt to gain access to Chinese porcelain and silk, opened up new trading links with the merchants of Fujian and, to a lesser extent, those of Guangdong. The first phase of Patani’s commercial success came to a close but was succeeded by another period of even greater economic activity as the Patani-Fujian-Portuguese networks triumphed decisively over the trade missions of Ryukyu. The Patani-Ryukyu trade nevertheless had profound effects on the local economy and allowed Patani to expand its pepper-growing regions. Though there is no available quantitative data concerning pepper production in the sultanate, it is clear that Patani maintained its position as a major pepper port visited by Chinese, Portuguese, and other merchants after its trade with Ryukyu declined. Throughout the first half of the century, Patani was second only to Ayutthaya in the number of trade missions it received from Ryukyu. Soon Portuguese traders came to establish warehouses in Patani in 1516, and the community had grown to about 300 merchants by the late 1530s (Hutchinson 1940, 22). Patani’s most active and profitable trade connections continued to be with Chinese merchants, however, now living in Fujian.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

34

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

Smuggling and “Piracy” in the Patani Trade Networks, 1511–67 During the second phase, Patani assumed a more direct role in the trade of the South China Sea. The official Ming ban on Chinese maritime trade had left merchants with two options: tributary trade missions or smuggling. Tributary trade missions as a method of attracting Chinese trade had declined by the late fifteenth century. Two of the polities that had sent active trade missions to the Ming emperors – Ayutthaya and Melaka – may well have blocked attempts by potential rivals such as Patani to follow the same course. The fall of Melaka to the Portuguese, however, placed the South China Sea pepper trade in the hands of merchants from Patani, Pahang, Sunda, and Fujian (Ptak 2002, 459). Of these, only Fujian was a major consumer of pepper – as the entry point for much of China – whereas the former three polities were the producers in the network. As a result, “small private merchant empires” emerged in the early decades of the sixteenth century, composed of now displaced Melaka-based Islamic merchants with connections to Fujian who traded for pepper grown in the three pepper-producing regions (Ptak 2004, 10). Pepper had to be smuggled into Fujian at various points along the coast beyond the gaze of Ming officials who patrolled tirelessly to prevent trade they considered illegal. Despite official efforts, smuggling grew from the 1520s onwards as the main economic activity in the South China Sea. The Portuguese soon realized that their capture of Melaka had done more to disperse trade to other ports than to draw it into their orbit. For the first decade after the conquest, however, when they were allowed to trade at Canton unhindered, the Portuguese managed to carry on a prosperous trade for Chinese porcelain and silk. But after the Portuguese were expelled from Canton in 1522 they had to search for trading connections elsewhere, for unlike the merchants of Patani and Pahang, who had long-standing connections with Chinese merchants, the Portuguese were bereft of such social capital (Chang 1934, 69). They had to seek out new economic ties along the east coast of the Peninsula, eventually establishing a mutually beneficial relationship with the Patani trading community that was just then emerging as the premier peninsular port for Chinese goods and pepper sales (Ferguson 1902, 162). The administration of the emerging Portuguese trade empire was weakest in the China Sea, which remained until at least mid-century a minor appendage to its burgeoning India and Maluku trade (Boyajian 1993, 63). Many Portuguese merchants engaged in trade for personal profit and had to rely upon their own armaments and ties to local rulers for protection of their mercantile interests (Boyajian 1993). When they entered the South China Sea trade, especially as it was conducted off the Fujian coast, they had no decisive military advantage over their rivals, nor could they risk open display of their guns lest they draw further wrath from the Ming central government. Thus the Portuguese, in close connection with Patani Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

35

merchants, entered into the complex milieu of the smuggling trade by acquiring pepper at Patani and Pahang and trading it in China along the Fujian coast. The geography of the Chinese provinces of Fujian, and to a lesser extent Guangdong, was quite amenable to smuggling (Murray 1987, 9). More than 700 islands dotted the sea off the coast of Fujian alone, where they functioned as refuges, trade havens, navigational markers, and anchorages for passing ships. Since the formal coastline was most heavily patrolled by Ming officials, most of the trade occurred amongst the many islands, where bargains could be struck more easily beyond the watchful eye of the coastguard ships (Chang 1934, 69–70). “Piracy” and “smuggling” in the context of Fujian must be seen as relative terms. As the semi-independent maritime trading entities emerged in the South China Sea after 1511, they might be seen both as economic and quasipolitical units which lay beyond the jurisdiction of Ming officials. Though merchant groups had an explicit interest in conducting trade, when they found their position threatened they either resorted to bribing Fujian élites for political protection or responded violently. The Ming records reflect the Chinese government’s belief that they possessed a monopoly on legitimate violence, even in Fujian waters where so-called “pirates” posed a direct challenge to their authority (Higgins 1981, 95– 148). Only those who attempted to enforce the Ming ban considered the merchants to be illegal smugglers. If the active trade along the Fujian coast proved anything it was the necessity of smuggling for the prosperity of the Fujian economy under the Ming ban and the permeability of the coastline for ships and merchants who carried goods in and out.11 Coastline merchants established their own set of rules, trading openly where weak authority or subtle bribery allowed, smuggling when forced to do so, and even resorting to coastal raiding when directly threatened. The Hikayat Patani, the royal chronicle of Patani, never uses any term equivalent to “pirate.”12 It is important to note that many of the “pirates” traded peacefully in Patani and only seem to have gained a reputation as coastal raiders in Ming waters. The Portuguese, at times, self-identified as pirates, but saw their actions as justified as the only available recourse to the Ming ban on maritime trade (Boxer 1953, 191). Individual merchants participated in Fujian trade at times as

11 Studies of the futility of governmental control over perceived crime elsewhere serve as a reminder of the limited ability pre-modern “policing” forces possessed against their rivals (Berdan 1999, 255–69). 12 In the discussion of the Chinese merchant who presented a cannon ball to the raja of Patani, the Hikayat Patani calls him a “mere merchant.” For references to the Hikayat Patani chronicle, we consulted the original 1839 Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir (Abdullah Menshi) manuscript in Jawi, the oldest known extant version of the chronicle. For the convenience of readers without access to the manuscript, references to Andries Teeuw and David Wyatt’s transliteration and translation have been included (LC 1839, 11–14; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 75–8, 152–4). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

36

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

peaceful merchants, at others as smugglers working undercover and, when threatened, as “pirates” in the eyes of the Ming officials, by employing force to conduct trade without harassment (Higgins 1981, 25–7). The Ming sources convey the impression that the merchants engaged in smuggling precisely because those who recorded the events had an interest in the reduction of trade and the reestablishment of Ming power in southern China. Characterizing the coastline as lawless here seems only to suggest that it remained beyond the control of China’s administration. To actors within this trading system, codes of conduct, how merchants established “legitimate” trade agreements between various groups, and how and when one waged war against rivals must have all possessed an internal logic or a variety of competing logics that should be viewed as akin to “laws”, though they never attained political legitimacy with which to support the independence of their societies. Trade remained the main interest of most, if not all, of the merchants toiling in Fujian waters. Though Portuguese records often portray their allies and competitors as passive members in the trading system, a close reading of such records reveals a more complex relationship. Gaspar de Cruz, for example, wrote that the Portuguese managed to enter into the Fujian markets because Chinese merchants of the diaspora who composed the bulk of their crew had contacts – whether financial or familial – with local merchants along the coast (Boxer 1953, 192).13 Many of the Chinese merchants aboard Portuguese ships came from Patani, where a large Fujian diaspora lived and where the Portuguese had a growing economic presence (Ptak 2002, 459). Ships arrived filled with pepper that merchants exchanged for local wares, foodstuffs, porcelain, and silk (Chang 1990, 74). This system put the Chinese merchants employed by the Portuguese at a clear advantage in bartering for their portion of the profits, because, when they were in Fujian, they could often rely upon family connections or other social relations to obtain better prices (Boxer 1953, 192). The same group of Chinese merchants also worked with local elites to gain access to capital, manpower, or protection for their trade activity (Chang 1934, 69-70; Chang 1983, 227; Ng 1995, 392). Furthermore, they worked as interpreters and arranged the exchange of goods, which naturally put them in a profitable position vis-à-vis the Portuguese. If the Portuguese possessed a counterweight to the social capital of the dispersed merchants it was their possession of firearms and their readiness to trade them in Fujian (Ptak 2004, 12). No records detailing quantities of gun sales are available, but one may take the rising level of violence as evidence of the influx

13 Fernão Mendes Pinto noted in several instances that Portuguese captains often hired Patani merchants and crewmen, who were said to be both loyal and trustworthy (Mendes Pinto 1989, 104–6, 135-8). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

37

of firearms into the smuggling networks. The 1530s and 1540s saw an increasing number of coastal raids and the Portuguese – in concert with their trading partners – gained a steady presence in Fujian (Boxer 1953, 191–2).14 Many “pirate” bands began to appear in open defiance of the Ming ban and operated within the smuggling networks for their own profit. The level of direct conflict reached a climax in 1548 when Ming officials managed to defeat Hsu Tung, whose band had gained great power through the preceding decade (Ng 1995, 394; Wills 1979, 211–2). Internal corruption, however, led to the dismissal of those officials who opposed smuggling along the coast and ushered in a brief reversal of the more serious attempts at suppressing trade. In this case, the “corruption” of Fujian officials might be seen as the pragmatic manner in which coastal authorities came to regard the necessities of trade in the region in defiance of the strictures imposed by the unrealistic Ming ideological environment. In general, the violence convinced many rulers on the perimeter of the South China Sea to seek military protection for their merchant vessels and thus led to a general escalation of ship armaments (Kathirithamby-Wells 1993, 124–5; Manguin 1993, 205–6). Furthermore, it might be speculated that Patani’s assault on Ayutthaya in 1564 was only possible because of the vast improvements in guns its rulers had acquired from the Portuguese and the expansion of its fleet during the preceding decades (LC 1839, 18–24; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 81–6, 157–61). Still, military threat seemed greatest along the Fujian coast where merchant ships most risked being attacked. When merchants dared not attack local officials, they bribed them to allow trade in the ports (Boxer 1953, 192). In one instance, a local governor attacked many of the smugglers in the region, including Portuguese ships. Having bested his enemies by force of numbers, the governor then gave the Portuguese captain the opportunity to offer a bribe. Apparently a satisfactory transaction occurred between the two parties, because soon after the governor temporarily opened Ningpo and the ports of Fujian to the Portuguese without harassment. Bribery was often an attractive alternative to force, not only because it was naturally safer, but also because it drew less attention from Ming officials who were not directly co-opted in the process. It also shows that the bureaucracy of Fujian was rife with “corruption” and people at the highest posts often involved themselves directly in illicit trade. Chinese and Muslim merchants based in Patani also engaged in trade along similar routes as the Portuguese (Mendes Pinto 1989, 104-6). Likewise, many Fujian merchants found it safer to transport their goods south to Patani and the other

Hsu Tung, one of the “pirate” chiefs, had previously traded at Melaka and maintained a close relationship with the Portuguese (Ng 1995, 394). 14

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

38

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

pepper ports where they could conduct their trade in relative peace and safety (Chang 1934, 69, 95; Ptak 2002, 458; Andaya 1993, 44; Roelofsz 1962, 263). In all of the dealings within the Patani-Fujian-Portuguese networks, there was a surprising level of cooperation between the three major players.15 Certainly individual merchants competed for sales when in port, but as the Portuguese adventurer Fernão Mendes Pinto noted in his colorful account, they often greeted each other at sea with a lessened degree of hostility than that which they showed Ming officials (Mendes Pinto 1989, 104–6). In comparison to the Fujian coast, where one had to be on constant guard, Mendes Pinto depicts Patani as a safe haven where Portuguese and other ships returned to safety after enduring the rigors of smuggling and raiding (Mendes Pinto 1989; Collis 1949, 67–9). The characterization of the period as one of “lawlessness” seems merely to convey Ming conceptions of all trade along the Fujian coast as illegal and should not be taken as any indication of the actual volume of trade conducted. There was a general rise in trade such that one might view the expansion of smuggling and “pirate” networks as the lifeblood of the overall economic fabric of the South China Sea in which Patani was becoming a significant player from the 1530s onward (Ptak 2002, 451). Following the death of Hsu Tung in 1548, “piracy” erupted to unprecedented levels of coastal raiding and smuggling, probably due to a combination of bureaucratic bribery and a splintering of the once relatively united “pirate” band into many competing factions. The block of Fujian smugglers who had tended to “cooperate” in preceding years now began to compete much more fiercely with one another as many new merchants were forced into the fray as a result of Ming policies suppressing coastal raiding, which disrupted the remaining stable trade centers (Wills 1979, 212). South China entered what was termed the wokou crisis, 1549-61. Originally the term was used to refer to the Japanese “pirates” who had entered the area for coastal raiding and smuggling, but later came to encompass all the people who conducted illegal trade along the Fujian coast, most of whom were Chinese. Spurred on by access to Portuguese guns, rival groups fought each other as much as they opposed Ming government interference in their affairs (Higgins 1981, 61, 63). Individual “pirate” bands often controlled one or more ports, which they used as bases for raiding and trade. The 1550s saw an increase in violence at sea, but trade continued to prosper with the influx of Japanese goods into Fujiancentered networks which finally eclipsed the Ryukyu trade. At this time Patani began to gain access to Japanese goods through the network when some of the wokou groups visited the port (Ptak 2002, 458). This trade, whether in the hands

15 Examples of cooperation and good relations between the Portuguese, Fujian, and Patani merchants appear throughout Mendes Pinto’s work (Mendes Pinto 1989; Ptak 2002, 466). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

39

of merchants from Fujian, Portugal, Japan, Siam, or Malay parts of the Peninsula, was clearly now in the hands of anti-Ming merchants and smugglers (Boxer 1953, 193). Wang Chih succeeded Hsu Tung as the leader of the largest band of wokou throughout the 1550s. He commanded a loose merchant empire that stretched as far south as Patani, where he is said to have traded his wares frequently without conflicts with the local authorities (Wills 1979, 211–2). He possessed great military skill and was an able commander at sea, where he harassed his enemies tirelessly. Ming officials even managed to bribe him into attacking rival bands in a slow process of elimination (Wills 1979, 213). The government did not enact serious measures to reassert direct control of Fujian until about 1557 and by 1561 sections of the coast were free of “pirate” bands. Ming control was finally reasserted in Fujian in 1564 and Guangdong in 1566 (Wills 1979, 211). The following year the central government lifted the ban on trade by issuing new licenses to local merchants. Almost overnight many small-scale merchants gave up smuggling to work within the new system, which allowed them to trade without fear of retribution (Ptak 1998, 187). The Portuguese had already established “legitimate” trade with China at Macau in 1553 and afterwards appeared to rely less upon mercantile connections they had previously garnered in Patani and other Southeast Asian ports. Patani merchants were, by that time, in a strong enough position to forge new connections with China Sea traders to further their own economic interests (Mendes Pinto 1989, 273). The decline of Ryukyu-Patani trade missions in the 1540s brought about no general downturn for the economy of the sultanate. Instead, Patani merchants in the period 1511–67, whether under the protection of Portuguese shipmasters or aboard their own ships, continued to establish new relations with merchants throughout the South China Sea networks centered on the Fujian coast. In many cases merchants from Fujian who had operated at ports in Ryukyu merely returned to their home province as the focus of the trade networks shifted southward. Along the island-dotted coastline of Fujian they continued to trade with Patani merchants, among others, which brought bountiful rewards for merchants who braved the seas. As the high era of “piracy” along the South China coast came to a close at the end of the 1560s, most smugglers of the region accepted the new Ming system of mercantile conduct. The Lian Dao-Qian Band in Patani, 1566–1600 Not all of the wokou groups accepted the new Ming policy, however. Lian Dao-Qian, a native of Guangdong and a prominent member of one of the “pirate” bands subdued in 1566, soon reorganized disaffected merchants and smugglers in the region under his leadership and by 1567 was again leading raids along the Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

40

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

coastline (Chan 1976, 927–30). The Ming authorities placed a bounty price upon him and supplied superior vessels to Fujian and Guangdong with which to apprehend him. The authorities also attempted to turn one “pirate” leader against another and even managed to co-opt Lian’s fleet against one of his rivals in 1569. Meanwhile, Lian feigned further cooperation as he rebuilt his own fleet and drew in stragglers from other bands to restore his group’s numbers. By July of that year, one report estimated he had has many as 5,000 followers armed with Portuguese firearms (Chan 1976, 928). For the following three years, he alternated between submission to and rebellion against the Ming court as he continued to dominate trade and smuggling along the coast. In the face of mounting opposition, Lian and his band fled south in 1573 along the coast, perhaps spending time in Taiwan and the P’eng-hu Islands, and settling at K’un-lun Island (Pulo Condore) in the South China Sea in 1574 (Chan 1976, 929; Wade 2004, 60, 75). He also probably spent time along the coast of central Siam, where a joint Chinese-Siamese force is said to have attacked him (Wade 2004, 59). In 1578, he moved his base to Patani, when his forces are thought to have declined to about 2,000 men (Wade 2004, 57, 62; Wee 1987, 223). There is no indication why he moved suddenly much further south, but it is possible that, following a major defeat, he relied upon long-standing trade connections with the sultanate and found welcome there. Local Pattani tales tell that Lian conquered the city, but given that the court chronicle of the sultanate, the Hikayat Patani, does not mention such an attack, it is probable that he gained influence there after a symbolic show of arms (Wade 2004, 56).16 The Ming records for 1580-81 show that authorities continued to try to apprehend Lian while he continued to lead raids from Patani against Chinese ships (Wade 2004, 56). Lian Dao-Qian quickly solidified his position in Patani by marrying a member of the royal family (Wade 2004, 75; Wee 1987, 223).17 While in local tales this is usually stated to be the raja’s daughter, the ruler at the time of Lian’s arrival was Sultan Bahadur, who was not known to have had any children. A more likely case is that he married one of Bahadur’s sisters, perhaps Raja Ijau. She was the eldest of three royal sisters, is not known to have entered into any other marriage, and succeeded Bahadur following his assassination in 1584. When he married the royal princess, Lian is said to have embraced Islam (Wee 1987, 223). The conversion

16 The authors of the Hikayat Patani, it might be added, were never shy to mention conflicts or potential threats to Patani, particularly those posed by Ayutthaya (LC 1839; Teeuw and Wyatt, 1970; Wade 2004, 75). 17 Wee based his account on stories said to have been common in the Pattani area in the 1920s and 1930s. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

41

of the Chinese merchant leader no doubt convinced many of his followers to do likewise. This process pays credence to the already strong influence of the Islamic merchants and the court culture that was emerging in Patani by the late sixteenth century. Lian also acquired a fief somewhere near Patani, where he established a short-lived port that bore his name (Wade 2004, 59–60). Chinese records even suggest that other members of Lian’s band attained prestigious positions in the raja’s service and that some members were bequeathed the local title of datuk (Kobata and Matsuda 1969, 179–80). The success of Lian and his band in Chinese and oral accounts thus exhibits the flexible nature of the Patani court to incorporate Malay, Chinese, and perhaps even Siamese interests, and thus affords a different view than that portrayed in the Hikayat Patani. Taken as a whole, Lian’s activities in Patani suggest that he and his followers sought to establish permanent ties in their new base. After 1581, he fades from the Ming records, which suggests that he retired from sea raiding and took up permanent residence in Patani.18 One of the most popular stories of Pattani tells of Lian’s sister, Lian GuNiang, arriving in Patani with a fleet of her own to search for her brother (Wee 1987, 223). Upon learning that he had adopted local Malay customs, religion, and dress, she begged him to return to China and embrace his own culture once more. Lian Dao-Qian refused and a battle ensued in which his sister was defeated. Her generals, refusing to accept defeat, committed ritual suicide and Lian Gu-Niang hanged herself from a tree. Years later, a gravestone was erected by members of her family bearing the Chinese date equivalent to 1574 (Franke 1976, 47).19 Though this date seems impossibly early, since the grave was constructed many years after her death, it is likely that the date was erroneously estimated by the engraver. Nevertheless the gravestone suggests that the two bands were active in the region in the late 1570s. Today a temple and small memorial remain near the Gresik mosque in the old city of Pattani.20 Lian Dao-Qian is best known in Patani as the person who cast its three famous cannons (Wade 2004, 76–7; Wee 1987, 223–4). In Malay accounts, he is only credited with furnishing the cannon ball as a gift to the raja of Patani. According to stories preserved by the Chinese community of Pattani, Raja Ijau requested three

18 Ming records last mention Lian in connection to a raid he led against Qiong-zhou and Ya-zhou (both administrative divisions on Hainan Island) in 1580-81 (Wade 2004, 56). 19 Franke was initially skeptical of a date so early for Chinese in the Pattani area, but after his study of a tombstone dated 1592, he found the earlier engraving to possess more authenticity (Franke, 1984, 61; Wade 2004, 75–6). 20 ‘Gresik/Kresik’ is the Malay spelling for the mosque and today is used to refer to the area around the old city of Patani. ‘Kru Se’ often appears in scholarly writing in English, which is the Romanization of the Thai spelling for the same word. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

42

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

cannons to be constructed and after merchants acquired the necessary amount of copper or brass, Lian constructed the cannons and gave each of them a name: Nang Patani, Seri Negeri, and Maha Lela.21 Various colorful tales tell that the greatest of the three cannons would not fire and that, after recasting it, Lian died during a test fire.22 All accounts agree that Raja Ijau had ascended the throne prior to the time of the casting of the cannons, thus suggesting that they were constructed at some point in the late 1580s. The fact that Raja Ijau had no children that succeeded her to the throne of Patani may also indicate that her possible marriage to Lian only lasted a brief period before he met his tragic end.23 The arrival of Lian Dao-Qian’s band in Patani in 1578 seems only to have increased the economic power of the sultanate. While Ming officials considered such smugglers and “pirates” as dangerous adversaries, other surviving records suggest that the rulers of Patani welcomed Lian Dao-Qian and that he and his followers enjoyed social positions among the elite of the court and marketplace. This fact provides further evidence that Lian Dao-Qian’s band possessed great economic power and played a direct role in forging enduring bonds between Patani and the merchants of China and Japan. Conclusion: The Commercial Boom and the Rise of Patani Patani’s growing trade connections that culminated with Lian Dao-Qian’s arrival brought great benefits to the sultanate. First and foremost, Patani exemplified a port polity caught in the general upturn of what Anthony Reid has termed the “Age of Commerce.” The great commercial boom of 1570–1630 saw a surge of economic activity and, in this respect, Patani might be seen as the herald of a wider trend, uniquely situated as it was on the southern end of the Gulf of Thailand, eastern side of the South China Sea, and on the northern end of the Malay world, where trade flourished long after the fall of Melaka to the Portuguese. In the sixteenth century, as in centuries before and after, the sea served as the great connector between far-flung ports, where profitable trade was conducted by innumerable merchants. The trade of the South China Sea and Patani’s place in that commercial activity is one example of the region-wide boom, and the manner in which the fortunes of

21 The above names were drawn from Chinese legends (Wade 2004: 76–7). Malay accounts name them Seri Negeri, Tuk Buk, and Nang Liu-Liu (LC 1839, 14; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 78, 154). 22 The Hikayat Patani also features this part of the story but again does not tell who recast the cannons (LC 1839, 14; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 78, 154). 23 Many later Chinese legends of Lian Dao-Qian claimed him as the progenitor of the entire community. This reflects his position as the founder of their community in the Pattani region (Wee 1987, 224). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

43

polities rose and fell according to their ability to attract merchants to their docks. Such trade gave rise to more powerful political regimes, introduced new products, commercialized the economies of the region with Japanese and American silver, gave birth to a diverse array of merchant diasporas, and created new relationships between distant communities who traded for mutual benefit. On a regional scale, Patani might be seen as having bested a number of rivals in its ascent to become one of the premier markets for Chinese and Japanese goods. In this regard, Patani did not gain a permanent advantage over Pahang and Nakhon Si Thammarat – its principal competitors for east coast peninsular trade – until the arrival of Lian Dao-Qian’s fleet in the 1570s.24 The “pirates” constituted a formidable force in Patani waters by warding off any attempts at political intrusion from the north or south. Despite their reputation as brigands and sea raiders, these “pirates” also possessed valuable trade connections throughout the South China Sea and possessed a great deal of capital with which to finance mercantile projects. Indeed, through the settlement of the region by Lian DaoQian’s followers, Patani gained the reputation as the “door to China and Japan” (Davies 1961, 70).25 Patani established direct trade relations with Japan by 1592, which became a significant part of the sultanate’s overall economic activity in the century following. A triangular trade between Patani, Fujian, and Japan prospered until the late seventeenth century, when internal political instability in the sultanate finally led to the deterioration of the links (Sarasin 1977, 62; Ishii 1998, 103–29). When the United East India Company (VOC) arrived in Southeast Asian waters at the dawn of the seventeenth century, Patani was one of the first ports visited, and the Dutch established a factory and carried on active trade there for the following two decades.26 By 1604, VOC officials had employed Chinese contacts in Patani to assist their diplomatic efforts in both Siam and China (Terpstra 1938, 22; Groeneveldt 1898, 14–9). In much the same manner, the English East India Company established a factory in Patani in 1612 but only managed a sporadic trade there throughout the seventeenth century (Moreland 1934). Though the trade ban had long served to inhibit the work of smugglers before 1567, the fact that Lian Dao-Qian and other “pirate” leaders refused to return to trading under the new system of official licenses suggests that they were, in fact, threatened by the abolition of the trade ban. Lian Dao-Qian attained great social prestige because of his success in obstructing the ban, not because he was

24 Reid seems to have erroneously dated their arrival to the 1560s (Reid 1993, 212). 25 Sarasin Viraphol noted that Patani and the Japanese port of Hirado were referred to as “sister ports” because of the flourishing trade conducted between them during the period 1611-28 (Sarasin 1977, 15–6). 26 For an account of VOC activities in Patani, see Terpstra (1938). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

44

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

a particularly gifted merchant.27 Despite the great strength of his followers and their impressive fleet, Lian Dao-Qian’s social position was contingent upon the maintenance of the ban itself. Once a majority of the former smugglers and “pirates” embraced the new trading system of official licenses after 1567, the social position of the “pirate” leaders became deflated. Thus it was not only military threat but also a peculiar social dynamic that compelled Lian Dao-Qian to relocate to Patani. The Chinese community in Patani flourished after the death of Lian DaoQian and continued to remain active in economic affairs in the region for at least a century. The Chinese residents managed to attain such prominent positions in trade that one early seventeenth century Dutch writer characterized Patani as effectively a Chinese colony that lay outside the political domain of China proper (van Noort 1926, 124–5; van Foreest and de Booy 1980, 222–3). Other early Dutch observers recommended Patani as the best place to engage in trade with China if Canton was not open to them (Unger 1948, 146–7). The Hikayat Patani only mentions the Chinese merchants in conjunction with the casting of the cannons, but this should not be taken as firm evidence of an otherwise exaggerated view of the Chinese in Patani. The chronicle was primarily concerned with affairs within the court and paid almost no attention to trade or local intrigue beyond the palace walls. Chinese descended from Lian Dao-Qian’s band are even said to have migrated south into Kelantan, where they engaged in gold mining and pepper planting, and where they preserved oral accounts of their origins (Wee 1987, 224). No doubt Malay-speaking and Muslims residents of Patani also benefited from the general economic boom and found opportunities to forge relationships with Chinese merchants for their own profit. Others, perhaps forced out by Chinese competition, sought out opportunities in other ports. The prominent position of Patani families in the wider Malay world is one of the most striking examples of Patani’s rise to economic success. In Makassar, by the turn of the seventeenth century, Patani merchants played a significant part in the economic activity of the city (Cummings 1998, 114). By the 1630s, Maharaja Lela, an orang kaya (member of the élite) from Patani, was selected as the leader of the Malays in Makassar and became a close ally of the sultan, fighting against the Dutch until their capture of the city in 1669 (Sutherland 2004, 80). Likewise in Batavia, Entji Amat, another Patani nobleman, was selected as leader of the community there and amassed a great personal fortune through trade and corruption (Reid 1993, 129).

27 Paul Nugent, in his study of smuggling along the Ghana-Togo borderland, noted that attempts at trade control and the abolition of “illicit” trade actually provided some ambitious merchants an opportunity to gain social prestige via smuggling. Within this schema, certain successful smugglers owed their newly acquired social capital to the existence and maintenance of the forces that worked to prevent them from trading (Nugent 2002, 77–113). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

45

One should not paint too rosy a picture of Lian Dao-Qian’s activities in Patani. With such an influx of powerful élites and their dominance, at least for a few decades, of economic affairs, there must have been resistance among alreadyestablished élites against threats to their power. These disaffected members of society may have been influential in urging Sultan Bahadur to impose high port taxes upon trade during the latter part of his reign. Early Dutch and English records state that conditions for trade were very poor when Sultan Bahadur ruled Patani and that prominent orang kaya deposed him and placed Raja Ijau upon the throne (van Foreest and de Booy 1980, 226). This dispels the feeble theory, perhaps first propagated by the French priest Nicolas Gervaise, that the queens had been installed because they were more easily controlled than male rulers (Gervaise 1688, 316–7). Instead, evidence suggests that Raja Ijau ascended the throne after being entrusted with rule by the leading families of Patani because she possessed a skill in economic bargaining that was widely attributed to women throughout early modern Southeast Asia (and even today) and governed the polity with greater wisdom and skill than her predecessor.28 Indeed, it has often been noted that property was better protected in Patani than in surrounding regions, here due to the fact that the orang kaya were more active in affairs of governance.29 It follows that protection of private property and the establishment of opportunities conducive to trading became the hallmark of Raja Ijau’s reign. Great economic success further allowed Raja Ijau to enact great public works. Most famously, she financed the casting of the three cannons, already discussed. Gresik mosque, one of the most powerful and enduring examples of the prestige of the sultanate, may indeed have been built at this time or slightly later, as a result of royal patronage.30 Most importantly in economic matters, Raja Ijau’s ministers constructed a number of canals that made fresh water available to Patani’s growing population (LC 1839, 49–50; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 105–6, 177–8). Other channels allowed more convenient transportation of goods within the city and connected the city center with the more distant docks. Gresik mosque and the canals of Raja Ijau, though perhaps less splendorous, are no less important to Pattani than the temples of Angkor and their famous irrigation works are to Cambodia, as potent reminders of the power, prestige, and prosperity attained during a polity’s golden age. 28 In the records of Dutch Admiral Jacob Van Neck, Raja Ijau plays an active part in trade negotiations (Terpstra 1938, 8). The prominence of women in commercial affairs elsewhere in Southeast Asia was often noted by travelers in the region (Reid 1988, 162–5). 29 Mendes Pinto mentions a Patani merchant of the 1530s who had had his property confiscated unfairly by the raja of Patani. The situation appears to have changed dramatically by 1600 (Mendes Pinto 1989, 105-6; Villiers 1990, 91). 30 The mosque attributed to Sultan Mudhaffar’s reign was probably an earlier, perhaps temporary, mosque that preceded Gresik mosque (LC 1839, 14–15; Teeuw and Wyatt 1970, 78–9, 154–5). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

46

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

Abbreviations LC 1839 – Abdullah bin Abdulkadir (copyist). Hikayat Patani. Singapore, 1839. Contained in the Library of Congress, Washington, DC, United States. Selected Biography Andaya, Barbara Watson. 1993. To Live as Brothers: Southeast Sumatra in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Barnard, Timothy P., ed. 2004. Contesting Malayness: Malay Identity Across Boundaries. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Berdan, Frances F. 1999. “Crime and Control in Aztec Society,” in Organised Crime in Antiquity, ed. Keith Hopwood, 255–69. London: Duckworth. Borschberg, Peter, ed. 2004. Iberians in the Singapore-Melaka Area and Adjacent Regions (16th to 18th Century). Lisbon: Funducão Oriente. Bougas, Wayne A. 1994. The Kingdom of Patani: Between Thai and Malay Mandalas. Occasional Paper on the Malay World, no. 12. Selangor: Institut Alam dan Tamadun Melayu, Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. Boyajian, James C. 1993. Portuguese Trade in Asia under the Habsburgs, 1580–1640. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Bowrey, Thomas. 1905. A Geographical Account of the Countries Round the Bay of Bengal, 1669 to 1679, ed. Richard Carnac Temple. London: Hakluyt Society. Boxer, C. R. 1953. South China in the Sixteenth Century. London: Hakluyt Society. Burnell, Arthur Coke and P. A. Tiele, eds. 1884. The Voyage of John Huyghen van Linschoten to the East Indies. London: Hakluyt Society. Chan Hok-Lam. 1976. “Lin Tao-Ch’ien,” in Dictionary of Ming Biography 1368–1644, 2 vols., ed. L. Carrington Goodrich, 927–30. New York: Columbia University Press. Chang Pin-Tsun. 1983. Chinese Maritime Trade: The Case of Sixteenth-Century Fu-Chien (Fukien). Princeton: Princeton University, Ph.D. Thesis. ________. 1990. “Maritime Trade and Local Economy in Late Ming Fukien,” in Development and Decline of Fukien Province in the 17th and 18th Centuries, ed. E. B. Vermeer, 63–81. Leiden: E. J. Brill. ________. 1991. “The First Chinese Diaspora in Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century,” in Emporia, Commodities and Entrepreneurs in Asian Maritime Trade, c. 1400–1750, eds. Roderich Ptak and Dietmar Rothermund, 13–28. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Chang Tien-Tse. 1934. Sino-Portuguese Trade from 1514 to 1644: A Synthesis of Portuguese and Chinese Sources. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Collis, Maurice. 1949. The Grand Peregrination: Being the Life and Adventures of Fernão Mendes Pinto. London: Faber and Faber. Cortesão, Armando, ed. 1944. The Suma Oriental of Tome Pires: An Account of the East, from the Red Sea to China, Written in Malacca and India in 1512–1515; and the Book of Francisco Rodrigues, Pilot Major of the Armada that Discovered Banda and the Moluccas. 2 vols. London: Hakluyt Society. Cummings, W. 1998. “The Melaka Malay Diaspora in Makassar, c. 1500-1669.” Journal of the Malaysian Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 71, no. 1: 106–21. Davies, D. W. 1961. A Primer of Dutch Seventeenth Century Overseas Trade. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

47

Drakard, Jane. 1986. “Ideological Adaptation on a Malay Frontier.” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 17, no. 1: 39–57. Dutra, Francis A. and João Camilo dos Santos, eds. 1995. Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Portuguese and the Pacific, University of California-Santa Barbara, October 1993. Santa Barbara: Center for Portuguese Studies, University of CaliforniaSanta Barbara. Fatani, Ahmad Fathy al-. Pengantar Sejarah Patani. Alor Setar: Pustaka Darussalam, 1994. Ferguson, Donald. 1902. Letters from Portuguese Captives in Canton written in 1534 and 1536. Bombay: Education Society’s Steam Press. Foreest, H. A. van and A. de Booy, eds. 1980. Di Vierde Schipvaart der Nederlanders naar Oost-Indie onder Jacob Wilkens en Jacob van Neck (1599–1604). The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Franke, Wolfgang. 1976. “Chinese Epigraphy in Thailand: A Preliminary Report,” in Chinois d’Outre Mer: Actes du XXIXe Congrès international des orientalistes, Paris, Juille t 1973. Paris: L’Asiathèque. ________. 1984. “A Chinese Tombstone of 1592 Found in Pattani.” Journal of the South Seas Society 39, no. 1-2: 61–62. Gervaise, Nicolas. 1688. Histoire Naturelle et Politique du Royaume de Siam. Paris: Chez Claude Barbin, au Palais, sur le second Perron de la Sainte Chappelle. Gilquin, Michel. 2002. Les Musulmans de Thailande. Paris: IRASEC. ________. 2005. The Muslims of Thailand, tr. Michael Smithies. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Goodrich, L. Carrington, ed. 1976. Dictionary of Ming Biography 1368–1644. 2 vols. New York: Columbia University Press. Grahn, Lance. 1997. The Political Economy of Smuggling: Regional Informal Economies in Early Bourbon New Granada. Dellplain Latin American Studies, no. 35 Boulder: Westview Press. Groeneveldt, W. P. 1898. De Nederlanders in China. Volume 1: De Eerste Bemoeiingen om den Handel in China en de Vestiging de Pescadores: 1601–1624. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Landen Volkenkunde van Nederlandsch-Indie. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Guillot, Claude, Denys Lombard, and Roderich Ptak, eds. 1998. From the Mediterranean to the China Sea: Miscellaneous Notes. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Higgins, Roland Louis. 1981. Piracy and Coastal Defense in the Ming Period: Government Response to Coastal Disturbances, 1523–1549. Ph.D. Thesis, University of Minnesota. Hutchinson, E. W. 1940. Adventurers in Siam in the Seventeenth Century. London: Royal Asiatic Society. Ishii Yoneo. 1990. “The Ryukyu in Southeast Asian Trade in the 15th and 16th Centuries,” in Asian Panorama: Essays in Asian History, Past and Present, eds. K. M. de Silva, et al., 353– 65. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. ________. ed. 1998. The Junk Trade from Southeast Asia: Translations from the Tosen Fusetsu-gaki, 1674–1723. Data Paper Series, Sources for the Economic History of Southeast Asia, no. 6. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Kathirithamby-Wells, J. and John Villiers, eds. 1990. Southeast Asian Port and Polity: Rise and Demise. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Kathirithamby-Wells, Jeyamalar. 1993. “Restraints on the Development of Merchant Capitalism in Southeast Asia before c. 1800,” in Southeast Asia in the Early Modern Era: Trade, Power, and Belief, ed. Anthony Reid. Asia East by South series. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 123–48.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

48

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

Kobata, Atsushi and Mitsugu Matsuda. 1969. Ryukyuan Relations with Korea and South Sea Countries. Kyoto: Kawakita Printing Co. Lin Renchuan. 1990. “Fukien’s Private Sea Trade in the 16th and 17th Centuries,” in Development and Decline of Fukien Province in the 17th and 18th Centuries, ed. E. B. Vermeer, 163–213. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Linschoten, Jan Huygen van. 1910. Itinerario: Voyage ofte Schipvaert van Jan Huygen van Linschoten Naer Oost ofte Portugaels Indien 1579–1592. vol. 1. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Lunsford, Virginia West. 2005. Piracy and Privateering in the Golden Age Netherlands. New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005. Malek, Mohd. Zamberi A. 1993. Umat Islam Patani: Sejarah dan Politik. Shah Alam: Hizbi. Manguin, Pierre-Yves. 1993. “The Vanishing Jong: Insular Southeast Asian Fleets in Trade and War (Fifteenth to Seventeenth Centuries),” in Southeast Asia in the Early Modern Era: Trade, Power, and Belief, ed. Anthony Reid. Asia East by South series. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 197–213. Matheson, Virginia. 1986. “Strategies of Survival: The Malay Royal Line of Lingga-Riau.” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 17, no. 1: 5–38. Meilink-Roelofsz, Marie Antoinette Petronella. 1962. Asian Trade and European Influence in the Indonesian Archipelago between 1500 and about 1630. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Mendes Pinto, Fernão. 1989. The Travels of Mendes Pinto, ed. & tr. Rebecca D. Catz. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Moreland, William H., ed. 1934. Peter Floris: His Voyage to the East Indies in the Globe, 1611–1615. London: Hakluyt Society. Murray, Dian. 1987. Pirates of the South China Coast 1790-1810. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ________. 1994. “Silver, Ships and Smuggling: China’s International Trade of the Ming and Qing Dynasties.” Ming Qing yanjiu (1994): 91–143. Ng Chin-Keong. 1983. Trade and Society: The Amoy Network on the China Coast 1683–1735. Singapore: Singapore University Press. ________. 1995. “Trade, the Sea Prohibition and the ‘Fo-lang-chi’, 1513–1550,” in Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Portuguese and the Pacific, University of California-Santa Barbara, October 1993, eds. Francis A. Dutra and João Camilo dos

Santos, 381–424. Center for Portuguese Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara. Noorduyn, J. 1956. “De Islamisering van Makasar.” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 112: 247–66. Noort, Olivier van. 1926. De Reis om de Wereld, door Olivier van Noort, 1598–1601, met Inleiding en Aanteekeningen Uitgegeven door Dr. J. W. Ijzerman. 2 vols. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Nugent, Paul. 2002. Smugglers, Secessionists & Loyal Citizens on the Ghana-Togo Frontier: The Lie of the Borderlands since 1914. Western African Studies. Athens: Ohio University Press. Perret, Daniel, et al. 2004. Etudes sur l’Histoire du Sultanat de Patani. Etudes Thematiques, 14. Paris: Ecole Française d’Extrême Orient. Ptak, Roderich. 1998. “Ming Maritime Trade to Southeast Asia, 1368–1567: Visions of a System,” in From the Mediterranean to the China Sea: Miscellaneous Notes, eds. Claude Guillot, Denys Lombard and Roderich Ptak, 157–91. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Piracy, Smuggling, and Trade in the Rise of Patani

49

________. 1999. “Sino-Portuguese Relations circa 1513/14–1550s,” in Portugal ea China: Conferencias no II Curso Livre de Historia das Relacoes entre Portugal e a China (seculos XVI-XIX), ed. Jorge M. dos Santos Alves, 19–37. Lisbon: Fundacão Oriente. ________. 2002. “The Fujianese, Ryukyuans and Portuguese (c. 1511 to 1540s): Allies or Competitors?” in Anais de Historia de Alem-Mar, vol. 3 (2002): 447–67. ________. 2004. “Reconsidering Melaka and Central Guangdong: Portugal’s and Fujian’s Impact on Southeast Asian Trade (Early Sixteenth Century),” in Iberians in the Singapore-Melaka Area and Adjacent Regions (16th to 18th Century), ed. Peter Borschberg, 1–21. Lisbon: Fundacão Oriente. Ptak, Roderich and Dietmar Rothermund, eds. 1991. Emporia, Commodities and Entrepreneurs in Asian Maritime Trade, c. 1400–1750. Beitrage zur Sudasienforschung SudasienInstitut, Universitat Heidelberg, no. 141. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Reid, Anthony. 1983. “The Rise of Makassar.” Review of Indonesian and Malaysian Affairs 17: 117–60. ________. 1988. Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce. Volume 1: The Lands below the Winds. New Haven: Yale University Press. ________. 1993. Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce. Volume 2: Expansion and Crisis. New Haven: Yale University Press. ________, ed. 1993a. Southeast Asia in the Early Modern Era: Trade, Power, and Belief. Asia East by South series. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993. Rutter, Owen. 1930. The Pirate Wind: Tales of the Sea-Robbers of Malaya. London: Hutchinson & Co. Sarasin Viraphol. 1977. Tribute and Profit: Sino-Siamese Trade, 1653–1853. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 76. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Sakamaki Shunzo. 1964. “Ryukyu and Southeast Asia.” Journal of Asian Studies 23, no. 3: 383–89. Santos Alves, Jorge M. dos, ed. 1999. Portugal e a China: Conferencias no II Curso Livre de Historia das Relacoes entre Portugal e a China (Seculos XVI-XIX). Lisbon: Fundacão Oriente. Shuhaimi bin Nik Abd Rahman, Nik Hassan. 1987. Kelantan Zaman Awal: Kajian Arkeologi dan Sejarah de Malaysia. Kota Bharu: Perbadanan Muzium Negeri Kelantan. Silva, K. M. de, et al, eds. 1990. Asian Panorama: Essays in Asian History, Past and Present. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Smail, John R. W. 1961. “On the Possibility of an Autonomous History of Modern Southeast Asia.” Journal of Southeast Asian History 2, no. 2: 72–102. So Kwan-wai. 1975. Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the 16th Century. Lansing: Michigan State University Press. Souza, George Bryan. 1986. Survival of Empire: Portuguese Trade and Society in China and the South China Sea, 1630–1754. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spence, Jonathan D. and John E. Wills, Jr., eds. 1979. From Ming to Ch’ing: Conquest, Region and Continuity in Seventeenth-Century China. New Haven: Yale University Press. Starkey, David J., et al, eds. 1999. Pirates and Privateers: New Perspectives on the War on Trade in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Exeter: University of Exeter Press. Sunait Chutintarinond. 1989. “Mandala,” “Segmentary State” and Politics of Centralization in Medieval Ayudhya.” Journal of the Siam Society 78: 89–100. Sunait Chutintarinond and Chris Baker, eds. 2002. Recalling Local Pasts: Autonomous History in Southeast Asia. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

50

FRANCIS R. BRADLEY

Sutherland, Heather. 2004. “The Makassar Malays: Adaptation and Identity, c. 1660–1790,” in Contesting Malayness: Malay Identity Across Boundaries, ed. Timothy P. Barnard, 76–106. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Syukri, Ibrahim. 1985. History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani, tr. Conner Bailey and John N. Miksic. Athens: Center for International Studies, Ohio University. ________. 2005. History of the Malay Kingdom of Patani, tr. Conner Bailey and John N. Miksic. Introduction by David K. Wyatt. Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books. Tagliacozzo, Eric. 2005. Secret Trades, Porous Borders: Smuggling and States along a Southeast Asian Frontier, 1885–1915. New Haven: Yale University Press. Tarling, Nicholas. 1963. Piracy and Politics in the Malay World: A Study of British Imperialism in Nineteenth-Century South-East Asia. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire. Teeuw, A. and D. K. Wyatt. 1970. Hikayat Patani: the story of Patani. Bibliotecha Indonesica, no. 5. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Teixeira, Pedro. 1902. The Travels of Pedro Teixeira; with his ‘Kings of Hormuz’ and Extracts from his ‘Kings of Persia’, ed. and tr. William F. Sinclair. London: Hakluyt Society. Terpstra, H. 1938. De Factorij der Oostindische Compagnie te Patani. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Trocki, Carl A. 1979. Prince of Pirates: The Temenggongs and the Development of Johor and Singapore 1784–1885. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Unger, W. S., ed. 1948. De Oudste Reizen van de Zeeuwen naar Oost-Indie 1598–1604. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Vermeer, E. B., ed. 1990. Development and Decline of Fukien Province in the 17th and 18th Centuries. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Villiers, John. 1990. “The Cash-crop Economy and State Formation in the Spice Islands in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries,” in Southeast Asian Port and Polity: Rise and Demise, eds. J. Kathirithamby-Wells and John Villiers. Singapore: Singapore University Press, 83–105. Wade, Geoff. 2004. “From Chaiya to Pahang: The Eastern Seaboard of the Peninsula in Classical Chinese Texts,” in Etudes sur l’Histoire du Sultanat de Patani, eds. Daniel Perret, et al., 37–78. Etudes Thematiques, 14. Paris: Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient. Warren, James Francis. 1981. The Sulu Zone 1768–1898: The Dynamics of External Trade, Slavery, and Ethnicity in the Transformation of a Southeast Asian Maritime State. Singapore: Singapore University Press. Wee Khoon Hock. 1987. “Kelantan and the Chinese Kelantanese,” in Kelantan Zaman Awal: Kajian Arkeologi dan Sejarah di Malaysia, ed. Nik Hassan Shuhaimi bin Nik Abd Rahman, 216–28. Kota Bharu: Perbadanan Muzium Negeri Kelantan. Wheatley, Paul. 1961. The Golden Khersonese: Studies in the Historical Geography of the Malay Peninsula before A.D. 1500. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press. Wills, John E., Jr. 1979. “Maritime China from Wang Chih to Chih Lang: Themes in Peripheral History,” in From Ming to Ch’ing: Conquest, Region and Continuity in SeventeenthCentury China, eds. Jonathan D. Spence and John E. Wills, Jr., 201–38. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop BarthÉlemy Bruguière (1792–1835) Kennon Breazeale Barthélemy Bruguière was from the southwest of France. He was born in the village of Raissac, in the newly created Department of Aude, in 1792, studied at the seminary of Carcassonne, also in the southwest, was ordained as a priest in 1815 and remained at the seminary as a teacher for the next decade. Then he went north to Paris, where he entered the seminary of the French society for foreign missions: the Missions Étrangères de Paris (MEP). Under the long-established French system, a priest who wanted to become a missionary did not have to join one of the regular orders, such as the Dominicans and Franciscans. Instead, as a local parish priest in France, he volunteered for mission work, obtained permission from his bishop, and went to the MEP seminary for a brief period of training, which prepared him for work in a foreign country. Bruguière studied at the seminary in Paris from September 1825 until the following February. He then set out on the long voyage to Asia, and his intended destination was southern Vietnam. By July 1826 he reached Batavia in northern Java. From there he sailed to Macau, which was the headquarters of the MEP procurer—an administrator who was responsible for providing logistical support to all the MEP missions in Asia, remitting funds and supplies to the bishops and, whenever necessary, reassigning new missionaries to places where priests were most needed. When Bruguière reached Macau, the French mission in Bangkok had only a single missionary. The bishop himself had been the only French priest in the Thai capital for 16 of the previous 17 years, and he was beginning to despair that anyone would ever be sent to Bangkok to take charge of the mission when he died. Bruguière was reassigned to him and set out on a longer journey than he had expected, not stopping in Vietnam but sailing all the way around to the west coast of the Malay peninsula. He reached Penang on 12 January 1827, at the end of a month-long voyage from Macau, and stayed briefly with the French missionaries, who were in charge of the seminary and the Christian churches on the island. He intended to travel by ship farther up the coast, visiting Christian communities in the region of Takua Pa and in Mergui, and then to follow the short trail across the peninsula to the east coast (at modern Prachuap Khirikhan), continuing north to Phetburi and finally Bangkok. Shipping in those days was not very regular, and he could not get passage as far as Mergui. He therefore changed his plan, went from Penang Island to Kedah, and set out from there, with assistance from the Thai governor,1 on the long trail through the nearly uninhabited forest to Nakhon Sithammarat. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

51

52

KENNON BREAZEALE

Bruguière wrote a detailed account of this overland journey, which was published in the Annales de la Propagation de la Foi (hereafter APF) in 1828 (APF 3: 242–71). Eye-witness descriptions of this part of the peninsula are relatively rare, in comparison with the much shorter transpeninsular trail from Mergui, and Bruguière provides us with some unique information not found elsewhere. He helps us to imagine what these journeys were like, including a voyage on a Thai ship from Nakhon Sithammarat to Paknam. He also recorded his first impressions of Bangkok and its people—a subject that he would take up again two years later. The French mission since 1767 At the time of Bruguière’s arrival in Bangkok, the French mission was at the lowest ebb in its history. A flourishing mission had developed in the course of a century, beginning with the first French missionaries in 1662 and continuing to the Burmese capture of the old capital at Ayutthaya in 1767. That century has been documented and described in great detail by Adrien Launay (1920) and Alain Forest (1998). The original cathedral, its school and all the seminary facilities were destroyed as a result of the Burmese invasion, and the remaining missionaries were taken into captivity in Burma. One of them, Jacques Corre, managed to escape and found temporary refuge in Chanthaburi and later on the Cambodian coast, before going to the new Thai capital at Thonburi in 1769. He was joined by the new bishop (Olivier Simon Le Bon) and another new missionary (Arnaud-Antoine Garnault) in 1772, but died the following year—before the next priest (Joseph Louis Coudé) arrived from France. King Taksin treated the missionaries well at first, but expelled them in 1779, near the end of his reign. Le Bon went to Goa and died there in 1780. Garnault subsequently worked in the region from Phuket to Penang. He was consecrated in 1787 as the new bishop, but resided in the south until the mid-1790s. When the new Thai dynasty and capital were established in 1782, there were no French missionaries at all in Bangkok. During the next few years, two worked there, but only briefly. Coudé returned in 1783, but the following year he went to the south, where he fell ill and died. He was buried at the church in Takua Thung. Jacques Liot, who was assigned to Cochinchina (the southern Vietnamese kingdom, under Nguyen rule), fled from his mission in 1784 because of hostilities during the civil war, and took his seminary students to safety in Chanthaburi. He The sultanate of Kedah, on the west coast of the Malay peninsula, was a dependency of the Thai kings. In 1821 the sultan fled and sought protection under the British, and a Thai governor, Phraya Aphaithibet (Saeng na Nakhòn), was appointed to Kedah (Chom 1963: 62). Kedah (called Saiburi by the Thai) remained under direct Thai rule until 1839. After a brief transition, the former sultan was restored in 1841. Penang Island belonged to the sultanate but was leased to the British East India Company in 1786. 1

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

53

ministered to the Vietnamese in that provincial town and went to Bangkok, in 1786, where he worked temporarily among the Vietnamese, before returning to his old mission post in 1789. Esprit-Joseph-Marie Florens, who reached the Siam Mission in 1788, was the only new missionary assigned to Bangkok during the two final decades of the eighteenth century. He was also the last priest to arrive directly from France prior to a long and troubled period, which began in 1789 with the French revolution and ended in 1815 with the final defeat of Napoleon. The next MEP priest to arrive was Jean-Baptiste-René Rabeau, who sailed in 1800 from Gravesend in England and reached the mission in 1801. Rabeau had the misfortune to be on Phuket Island when the Burmese invaded in late 1809. Several months later, he was on board a ship carrying war captives to Burma, was thrown overboard by Muslim crew members and drowned in the Andaman Sea. When Garnault died in 1811, Florens was the only missionary remaining in Bangkok. As the designated successor, he had to be consecrated by another bishop. Under ordinary circumstances, the principal consecrator would be assisted by two additional bishops. But the small number of prelates in eastern Asia at this time, and the difficulties of travel by sea, made it almost impossible for even two of them to be present on such occasions. Special dispensations were therefore made, so that consecrations could be performed by a single bishop, assisted by two ordinary priests. Florens thus had to go to southern Vietnam, the residence of the nearest bishop, Jean Labartette, Apostolic Vicar of Cochinchina, and was consecrated there in 1812. That year, or in 1813, Florens was joined by an Italian priest named Feretti, who had gone to China in the 1780s and subsequently worked for a year or two with Chinese students at the MEP mission post in Penang, before taking up residence in Bangkok. The French mission in Bangkok was cut off from its sources of support in France, not only during the troubled period in Europe up to 1815, but also for most of the next decade. In Paris, the MEP Seminary itself was abolished by the Emperor Napoleon in 1809, and its legal status was not restored until 1815. After Rabeau in 1801, no French missionary reached Bangkok until June 1822, when Mathurin Pierre Pécot appeared, after travelling overland from Penang to Nakhon Sithammarat. He stayed slightly less than a year, contracted malaria during a journey back to Penang and died there in July 1823. When the aged Feretti died in November 1825, Florens was again the only European missionary in Bangkok, and the work of the small parishes in the capital was carried on, as it had been throughout the Second Reign, by a few Asian priests, who were ordained by the French bishops and worked in their respective communities. Just before Bruguière’s arrival, Florens was assisted by only three local priests, all of them elderly (see APF 2 : 312). Bruguière brought with him a young seminarian from Penang, whom the bishop intended to ordain, and the number of local priests increased in the next Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

54

KENNON BREAZEALE

few years. The number reported in an August 1832 letter was seven, although two of them were old and infirm (APF 6: 614–5). French mission churches in Bangkok Bruguière probably began to learn the Thai language as soon as he reached Penang and made contact with the Thai community on the island, which had two Thai monasteries as well as two Catholic churches (Nouvelles annales des voyages 1827 : 392). He must have pursued his studies throughout the journey to Bangkok, while he was in the care of servants of the na Nakhòn family, who governed Kedah, Phatthalung and Nakhon Sithammarat. At Bangkok, however, he encountered other languages that had long posed a dilemma for missionaries. Most of the Christians in Bangkok were Chinese, Khmer, Vietnamese and parishioners of mixed Portuguese and Asian ancestry. Few were Thai. The great majority of Christians in the country was concentrated in Bangkok and was settled in four communities that had their own churches in different parts of the city. Some Christians were scattered in other parts of the country, and there was also a large community of Vietnamese Christians in Chanthaburi. In February 1830, two new missionaries arrived: Jean-Baptiste Pallegoix and Claude-Antoine Deschavannes. Pallegoix was sent to minister to the Christians in Ayutthaya, and while working there he wrote to the directors of the MEP in August 1832 (APF 6: 613–5), describing the churches of the mission as follows: Nearly 70 years ago the Burmese invaded the kingdom of Siam. The number of Christians who either were carried away into captivity or fled was about 5,000, both Europeans and natives. Quite some years later, some families returned to their native land, and new Christian communities took shape, which have carried on to this day at Bangkok. There are three of them. First, the camp [residential settlement] of the Conception, composed of about 600 Cambodians, brought as captives from Cambodia about 20 years ago. They have a priest of their nationality, and their chief, called Benait, was raised to the rank of a mandarin last year….2 Second, the camp of the Holy Cross [Santa Cruz], composed of about 450 descendants of Portuguese, Siamese, Chinese and Cochinchinese [southern Vietnamese]. Their old church, which looks like a barn, is built of rotted planks and is falling into ruins. They are constructing a new one of brick, which is not yet finished.

The spelling perhaps should be Benoît (the French counterpart for Benedict). Apparently he was appointed in 1831 in succession to the elderly head of this Luso-Khmer community, Phraya Wiset Songkhram, whose Christian name was Miguel and who was described six years earlier by the second British envoy (Burney 1971 ii–4: 90). This church seems to be the one listed in 1822 as Santa Anna by the first British envoy (Crawfurd 1968: 162). 2

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

55

Third and finally, the camp of the Assumption, where there is a beautiful church, the cathedral of the Apostolic Vicar, built 15 years ago, by means of an ample donation sent from America for its construction.3 A college of 15 Siamese students is there, and 140 Christians are scattered in the vicinity of the garden of the bishop. They are of diverse nationalities, descendants of Portuguese, Chinese, Siamese and Cochinchinese. At Chanthaburi, a small old town near the sea, there is a Cochinchinese Christian community of 620 people, with a priest of their nationality. In the part of Cambodia subject to the king of Siam [the Battambang region, which had a governor appointed by the king], there are about 200 Cambodian Christians, to whom the Apostolic Vicar is going to send a priest without delay. There are, moreover, some 100 Christians dispersed here and there, even up to the northern-most town, Pitsiloque [Phitsanulok], inappropriately named ‘Pourselouc’ on our French maps. The number of [Asian] priests of the country is seven, but two are very old and feeble. There are now only two European missionaries in Siam: Mgr. Florens (the Apostolic Vicar, feeble and aged 70) and me. Deschavannes, to whom God gave only one year in this mission...contracted a pestilential fever [malaria] that took him from us in 15 days [in September 1831].

Pallegoix does not refer to any other church in this 1832 description. Bruguière’s 1827 description mentions a fourth church, which was identified a year earlier by the British envoy, Henry Burney, as St. Rosario (Burney 1971 ii–4: 89). This church, also known as Nossa Senhora do Rosario (Our Lady of the Rosary) and as Calvary, had been formed by a schismatic group. In the mid–1780s, they broke away from the church of the Holy Cross (Santa Cruz), which is on the west bank of the river, and moved a short distance down-river and to the opposite bank, not far from the site where the Portuguese consulate was established in 1820. This group refused to recognise the authority of the French bishops and appealed numerous times to the Portuguese bishops in Macau and the Archbishops in Goa for a Portuguese priest, but without success. They were finally reconciled with the French mission about five years before Bruguière arrived. According to a much later description by Pallegoix, their original church was wooden and was rebuilt in a Chinese style (Pallegoix 2000: 407), perhaps reflecting ties with Macau. There was no Vietnamese church in Bangkok in Bruguière’s time, although many Vietnamese resided in the city. Not long after his departure, however, a large number of Vietnamese captives were taken to Bangkok, following the Thai military operations in the lower Mekong area in 1834. They were settled on the north side of the city, near the Khmer Christian settlement, where they founded the fifth church: St. Francis Xavier. According to Hilaire Courvézy, who succeeded Florens as Apostolic Vicar and was writing only two years later, the initial funds for the Church of the Immaculate Conception were received from a cardinal in Rome, who specified that the church must be dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Half of the construction cost, however, was contributed by a Portuguese friend of Florens in Bengal and by donations from Christians in Penang (APF 8: 104; APF 11: 526–7). 3

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

56

KENNON BREAZEALE

Many letters were selected for publication in the French missionary journal because they described the everyday lives of missionaries and their parishioners, or important (often tragic) events affecting them. In the case of Thailand, however, we learn relatively little from the journal about the day-to-day work of the priests. Moreover, the published letters provide almost no clues to the dramatic political events that were taking place at the time of Bruguière’s arrival in Bangkok. Major political events in 1827 The ship carrying Bruguière reached the mouth of the river on Sunday, 3 June 1827. During the previous week-end (although the news would not reach Bangkok for some time), Thai forces had entered and taken possession of the city of Vientiane, thereby bringing a rapid end to a war with the largest of the Lao kingdoms. In the second half of February 1827, while Bruguière was still at Penang, news had reached Bangkok of movements of Lao forces in the river valley between Lom Sak and Saraburi, and the arrival at Nakhon Ratchasima of the Lao king with his army. Thai officials issued orders immediately for a general mobilisation, and governors in places as far away as Songkhla were summoned to the capital. A messenger from Bangkok reached Songkhla probably in the second week of March 1827, carrying orders for the governor to mobilise all forces available.4 The governor of Songkhla hastened to Bangkok with ships and 1,000 men (Chom 1963: 62). The governor of Nakhon Sithammarat (Nòi na Nakhòn) sent more ships and about 2,000 men under the command of his son, the governor of Phatthalung (Thiphakòrawong 1934: 50). Bruguière’s description of his journey to Bangkok provides no hint that any of these events were taking place, and the reader is left unaware of the upheaval and the fact that Bruguière arrived in the midst of a major war. The reason for his smooth passage is that he was in the care of the powerful na Nakhòn family, all the way from Penang through the forest to Nakhon Sithammarat, and from there to Bangkok by ship. His description of his meeting with Nòi na Nakhòn, north of Phatthalung, conveys the impression of a governor conducting business as usual and travelling leisurely towards the town where one of his sons was the governor. In fact, Nòi could not lead forces to Bangkok in person. He had to delegate that duty to others, because he was already under orders to carry out another political mission, likewise missing from the published records by and about Bruguière.

Edict from the Kalahom Minister to Phraya Wichian Khiri (governor of Songkhla), 23 February 1827, and minute dated 31 March 1827 concerning the messenger (National Library, Bangkok, Manuscripts Division, document R3/1182/2). 4

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

57

Nòi na Nakhòn had been closely involved in the negotiations between the Thai ministers and the British envoy, Henry Burney, who was in Bangkok from December 1825 to July 1826 to conclude a treaty of commerce. Burney’s ship took him back to Bengal, for ratification of the treaty by the British governor general, and was expected to return to the west coast of the peninsula in early 1827. An agreement had been made with the British for Nòi to bring the copy of the treaty bearing the king’s seal and to meet Burney on the west coast, for the formal exchange of ratifications. We learn from Bruguière’s account that he met Nòi along the trail through the forest in May 1827. From Phatthalung, Nòi must have taken a trail that led almost due west across the mountains into Trang Province, where he met Burney two or three weeks later. While that meeting was taking place, Bruguière was sailing north from Nakhon Sithammarat, and the Thai forces were approaching Vientiane. Under ordinary circumstances, a foreigner such as Bruguière, who might well have been a spy in disguise, would have been stopped at the mouth of the river and possibly held under guard. In addition to the immediate emergency created by the war, Thai officials had been carrying out construction work for more than a year to strengthen their coastal defences. Fears of a British naval attack on Bangkok were unfounded, but had persisted ever since the British invasion of Burma three years earlier. Since Bruguière went up-river to the bishop’s residence on the day after reaching the mouth of the river, he clearly was not detained. Again, the reason must be that he was treated almost as an official guest. He was travelling with the Thai representative who had accompanied Burney to Bengal and back to Penang. The ship, moreover, must have belonged to the governor of Nakhon Sithammarat, may have been carrying supplies to assist with the war against Vientiane and would therefore have received special treatment by the authorities on arrival. Although we learn almost nothing from Bruguière about the war, he had plans for going to Vientiane himself. Soon after he reached Bangkok, he reported to colleagues in Penang that he might go to ‘the Lao kingdom’, where no missionary had yet been sent (APF 3: 271–2). At first glance, it would seem unlikely that he was referring to Vientiane, because of the war, and that he was referring to another of the Lao kingdoms: Luang Prabang or perhaps even Chiang Mai. Two years later, however, Bruguière identified the destination more precisely. He was offered the opportunity to go up to the Mekong, although at the time he could not be spared from the work in Bangkok. A governor who was setting out in 1829, for his new post, offered to take a missionary with him and build a church (APF 5: 42). Bruguière thought the governor was going to Vientiane (which had been abandoned by that time), but the destination must have been the new administrative centre down-river. The potential benefactor was probably the first governor of Nong Khai, Phra Prathum Thewa (Suwò), also known as Chao Suwanna Wongsa, who was a grandson of a king of Champasak. Suwò held office from the end of Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

58

KENNON BREAZEALE

the 1827–8 war with Vientiane until his death in March 1853,5 but in spite of his friendly gesture, no missionaries went into this region during his lifetime. This plan for opening a new mission field, like some of Bruguière’s other hopes, had to wait for future generations. Nearly half a century passed before the French missionaries had the resources necessary to pursue it and open a mission on the central Mekong. In Bruguière’s time, there were too few priests even for the most urgent work of ministering to the Christian communities in the capital and teaching in the schools sponsored by the churches. Bruguière as a teacher After his seminary days, Bruguière taught in Carcassonne for a decade. In Bangkok, he applied his talents as an exceptionally well qualified teacher. The modern Assumption College was founded more than a half century later, but its forerunner in the late 1820s, the school attached to the Church of the Assumption, had already become a centre of general education. Bruguière, who taught there for more than three and a half years, can be counted among its first professors. An important function of this educational institution was the theological training it provided to students who were destined to serve the Church and, for the gifted few, to pursue advanced studies and be ordained as priests. It also provided educational opportunities for laymen, some of whom entered Thai government service and were highly valued by King Rama III. The British envoy described several men who were involved with the British party in 1825 and 1826, and observed that the local Portuguese community received more favourable treatment by the Thai government than any other group of foreign origin. He attributed these privileges to their long history of loyal service, especially in the fighting against foreign invaders, and their service in various departments of the government (Burney 1971 ii–4: 88–90). One of Bruguière’s contemporaries outlined the major problems faced by the French missionaries in Bangkok: lack of manpower and financial resources, official resistance to conversion by Thai Buddhists, and the number of languages needed for work among other ethnic groups, reporting that 17 languages were spoken in Bangkok alone (APF 11: 535–40). Bruguière himself had no illusions from the outset. He did not regard the Thai as likely candidates for conversion. He observed the cosmopolitan character of Bangkok’s population, composed as it was of large numbers of traders, refugees and war captives, and concluded:

For a biography of this governor, see Prawat thao suwò (1969). For the date of his death, see Phongsawadan yò müang wiangčhan (1969: 150–1). 5

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

59

...the real Siamese [Thai] do not make up the majority of the country’s population. The largest number of inhabitants is a collage of Chinese, Vietnamese, Cambodians, Lao, Peguans [Mon], Malay and so on. It is among them that one can hope to make new Christians (APF 5: 41).

Bruguière, like some other writers, insisted that the majority of the population of Bangkok were not Thai. His young colleague Pallegoix thought that half the population was Chinese, Malay and Lao (APF 6: 595). Regardless of whether their impressions were correct, the mission itself was confined mostly to the urban area of Bangkok, where the proportion of potential converts was larger than in the countryside—far larger than the resources of the mission could manage for the foreseeable future. Consecration as a bishop, 1829 Florens had long been concerned about the survival of the French mission. Bruguière happened to arrive in Bangkok on Florens’ sixty-fifth birthday and in the fortieth year of his work in the kingdom. Few of the bishop’s predecessors had survived to work so long as a missionary, and Florens had already appealed to the directors in Paris for a successor. The arrival of Bruguière, aged thirty-five, brought hope for continuity. Bruguière was nominated by the MEP in Paris as coadjutor of the Siam Mission (that is, the designated successor to the bishop as Apostolic Vicar), and papal briefs of 5 February 1828 appointed him to this position and made him a bishop. Given the slow communications at that time, the news of his appointment and the papal bulls did not reach him until the following year. Florens described the grand occasion of the consecration of the new bishop, the first to be conducted in the country since the Ayutthaya period, in a letter to the directors of the MEP in Paris (APF 5: 49–50): On the 8th of May [1829], I received your letter and the letters from Rome that accompanied it, and I thank you very much. At last, my prayers are answered. You have foreseen my wishes, and you have done something that is quite agreeable to me in obtaining the nomination of Bruguière as my coadjutor. My letters to the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith, requesting him, had left here three months before his nomination. Thus you see that our wishes were the same. This dear colleague, after resisting for a long time, finally submitted himself to the will of God manifested in the voice of his superiors. His consecration took place on the feast day of Saints Peter and Paul [29 June 1829]. The ceremony was the most stately that has ever been witnessed in these lands. It was attended by a great number of idolaters—Siamese, Chinese and others—as well as by the Phra Khlang, who is the first minister of the king of Siam, ac-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

60

KENNON BREAZEALE

companied by his brother and his sister, wife of the king.6 Everything took place with great order and the greatest decorum. The Phra Khlang and his brother were perched on the bare wall of the new church, in the open air, with hard seats on the bricks. I am now at the heights of joy, and I shall die in peace, since I have a successor. I await an opportunity to send him to visit [the seminary in] Penang. The title with which he was consecrated is the Bishop of Capsa in pártibus.

The title may appear puzzling today, but at that time there was no ‘Bishop of Siam’. Like all the Apostolic Vicars, Bruguière was given the title of a place which, long ago, had been Christian and the seat of a bishop, but was, in his day, in the lands of unbelievers (in pártibus infidélium). Capsa had been a diocese in northern Africa and is now the oasis town of Gafsa in Tunisia. Florens was titular bishop of Sozopolis, a place in the Turkish Empire, now known as Sozopol, on the Bulgarian coast of the Black Sea. Neither he nor any of his predecessors ever went (or were even expected to go) to the dioceses after which they were named. Florens administered the Siam Mission as an Apostolic Vicar: a bishop serving outside his nominal diocese and ‘on mission’ to spread the Faith in Asia. The Apostolic Vicariate was not a regular diocese and, until the modern national boundaries were fixed, did not have a precise territorial definition. This system continued until 1965, when an archbishop was appointed for Thailand, and a regular diocese system with bishops was created. Departure for Singapore, 1831 Pierre Badailh came up from Penang to Bangkok, adding a third missionary to share the work temporarily during the year 1829. Then in February 1830, the long-awaited reinforcements from France finally appeared: Deschavannes and Pallegoix. In February 1831, with these two new missionaries expecting to remain permanently at the side of Florens, Bruguière left Bangkok to go to two other seaports that were under the jurisdiction of the Siam Mission. It was late in the sailing season for a voyage to the south, and because of contrary winds, his ship did not reach his first destination, Singapore, until early April 1831. There he confronted Father Francisco da Silva Pinto e Maia, a Portuguese priest who had arrived in Singapore in 1825, with authorisation from the Portuguese Archbishop of Goa, and was nominally under the jurisdiction of the Portuguese Bishop of Melaka. A February 1831 letter from Florens, carried by Bruguière, inThe brothers were Chao Phraya Phra Khlang (Dit Bunnag), who was acting minister 1822–4 and minister 1824–51, and Phraya Si Phiphat (That Bunnag), who was a senior official in the ministry. The Phra Khlang was the ministry in charge of foreign affairs, maritime trade and the administration of the eastern seaboard (the coastal provinces from Samut Sakhon to Chanthaburi). 6

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

61

formed Maia that the Holy See had given jurisdiction over Singapore to the Siam Mission, in a decree of 16 July 1827 (Teixeira 1961: 764). The French, however, had never tried to establish a church on the island, although one MEP missionary, Laurent Joseph Marius Imbert, who taught briefly at the Penang college, had reported to Florens on the need for a missionary there. His observations were made while passing through Singapore in 1821, only two years after the British administration was established on the island. When Bruguière arrived, Maia was in sole possession, refused (like most Portuguese priests) to accept the authority of a French bishop and was to cause much trouble for Florens and his immediate successors for the next two decades. Unable to accomplish anything, Bruguière continued on his journey almost immediately. Interlude at the General College, 1831–2 Later in April 1831, he reached Penang, where he joined the four other French missionaries and one Italian who were stationed there, and began teaching at the MEP seminary, known as the General College. Michel Charles Lolivier, who formerly worked in China, had been appointed the Superior of the college in 1808 and had been there from the beginning. The Italian Father Conforti, who likewise had experience in China, had taught in Penang since ca. 1812–4 but was not an MEP missionary. Jean-Baptiste Boucho had worked in Penang since 1824, Jean Pierre Barbe since 1826 and Jacques Honoré Chastan since 1828. All of them except Chastan were in Penang at the time of Bruguière’s first visit as a newly arriving missionary. Now he had returned as a bishop and was certainly the best qualified among them as a teacher of theology. The French missionaries in Penang belonged to the Siam Mission and were under the jurisdiction of the bishop in Bangkok. In contrast to Singapore, which had been founded by the British only a dozen years before Bruguière’s visit there, Penang had a well established MEP contingent, and its college had a long history before moving to the island. The college could trace its origins to the training of Asian students by French priests at Ayutthaya in the 1660s, soon after the arrival of the first MEP missionaries in the country. From the outset, the Ayutthaya seminary had trained students for service to the Church in all the missions of the MEP in Asia, and in the late-Ayutthaya period, French bishops in Vietnam and China were sending boys to Ayutthaya for a general education, leading ultimately to theological training. These students then returned to work in their home countries. During a period of four decades, the teachers and students of the original General College were forced to migrate several times. As the Burmese forces began to close in upon Ayutthaya, in the initial phase of the invasion of 1765, the seminarians were evacuated to Chanthaburi, and a safe haven for them was soon found on the coast of Cambodia, near the present-day boundary with Vietnam. The Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

62

KENNON BREAZEALE

seminarians later moved to the French colony of Pondichéry, on the east coast of India. Eventually, Penang Island came under consideration as a permanent home. In 1786 the British took possession of the island of Penang and established a trading station there, under a leasehold arrangement with the Sultan of Kedah. As noted above, Kedah was a dependency of the Thai king, it had already been officially added to the Apostolic Vicariate of Siam by a papal brief in 1784, and Christians continued to migrate to Penang during the following decades. Many of them were refugees, from the last Burmese invasion of Phuket in late 1809, and had settled in a part of Penang called Pulo Tikus (the Island of Rats). A new site for the General College was under debate, because Pondichéry proved to be uneconomical and inconvenient. The college was intended to serve all the bishops sponsored by the MEP in Asia, and at this time there were five apostolic vicariates: the Malabar Mission (with its seat at Pondichéry), Siam, southern Vietnam (with responsibility for part of Cambodia), northern Vietnam and China’s Sichuan Province. A decision was taken to move to Penang, and Lolivier, a missionary in China’s Fujian Province, was appointed Superior of the General College at Penang in June 1808. He remained in Penang until his death in December 1833, and was there when Bruguière arrived, first in January 1827 and again in April 1831. Like the bishop in Bangkok, the missionaries in Penang were cut off from resources of money and personnel in France, both before and after the college moved to the new site. For its survival and renewal in Penang, the General College depended partly on contributions from Spanish churches in Manila and from America (Henrion 1847 iv: 642), until the MEP could resume its support in the post-Napoleonic era. When Bruguière joined the college in 1831, Penang had five other missionaries, making it the largest contingent in the Siam Mission. His experience in teaching, especially at the advanced level of theological studies, was a great advantage for the students. The presence of a bishop added a certain prestige to the college. It also meant that students could be ordained as priests—a function that only a bishop could perform—without having to travel long distances. By this time, however, the operations no longer followed the intended plan. The head of the Sichuan Mission was the only bishop who was sending students, and it had become essentially a Chinese college. The other bishops preferred to manage their own schools, because it was less costly to do so (APF 7: 536). Preparations for a mission in Korea By the time he left Bangkok in 1831 for Penang, Bruguière had renewed hopes of becoming a pioneer in an entirely new mission field. It appeared that the missions in Asia were prospering. The MEP directors reported that 19 priests left Paris during 1830 and 1831 (APF 5: 555). The MEP’s five Asian missions now had Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

63

56 missionaries, whereas during Bruguière’s time at the Paris seminary in 1825 they had only 25. Pallegoix and Deschavannes had reached Bangkok during 1830, the number of Asian priests had increased and the Bangkok mission received a modest increase in funding from the MEP while Bruguière was there. At this juncture in his career, Bruguière was offered the possibility of opening and developing a mission field that had been proposed and discussed for more than three decades: the Korean peninsula. According to Bruguière, when he was a boy in France he had heard about the conversions of some Koreans by priests who worked in China, and he had been inspired by these new Christians, who lived in a land where no European missionary had been sent (APF 9: 196). In the 1790s, François Claude Letondal, as MEP Procurer in Macau, had been calling for the establishment of a mission in Korea. He was very active in the establishment of the General College at Penang and took Chinese students there himself in 1809 and 1811. Letondal’s proposal may have come to Bruguière’s attention, during his days at the seminary in Carcassonne, and it would have been a subject of his training at the MEP seminary in Paris. No doubt Bruguière’s interest in Korea was also stimulated by Letondal’s colleague Lolivier, the Superior of the General College, during Bruguière’s brief visit to Penang in 1827 and while he was working at the college during 1831–2. The Penang College had another connection with Korea, because Imbert, who taught at the college around 1821, had already volunteered to serve in Korea if a mission were established there. At that time, however, the MEP had neither the money nor priests to open a new mission, and after leaving Penang, Imbert worked in northern Vietnam and eventually settled at the Sichuan Mission in China. By the late 1820s, however, the resources seemed to be available. While he was still in Bangkok in 1829, Bruguière received a letter from the MEP directors, dated 1828, in which they discussed the proposal for creating a mission in Korea and offered to recommend him to take charge of it. Florens supported this plan (APF 9: 196), even though Bruguière’s departure would leave the Siam Mission with no coadjutor to take charge when Florens died. Bruguière thus had hopes of a much greater role in the MEP, and he wrote to Macau, asking Pierre Louis Legrégeois (Procurer of the MEP) and Raphael Umpières (the Procurer of the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith) for their advice, asking them to provide him with as much information as possible about Korea. He was already a consecrated bishop and could, if named by Rome, immediately take charge of an apostolic vicariate. The Sacred Congregation in Rome had not yet made a decision concerning Korea, however, and Bruguière remained in doubt about the proposals. When he reached Penang in April 1831, he had not received any further news about Korea. Two papal briefs, dated 9 September 1831, created the Apostolic Vicariate of Korea and named him Apostolic Vicar. These decisions were announced in the Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

64

KENNON BREAZEALE

January 1832 issue of the missionary journal in France (APF 5: 355), but another six months passed before the news reached Penang. At the beginning of July 1832, Bruguière received a very brief letter from Umpières in Macau, informing him that everything was in order for him to go to Korea and that, as coadjutor in Siam, he should name someone to take charge of the Siam Mission if the elderly Florens died before a successor arrived (APF 9: 198–9).7 At this point, Bruguière was aware of his appointment but had heard nothing from the MEP directors. Finally, on 25 July 1832 he received a letter from Paris, which ended his doubts. It confirmed that the Korea Mission had been officially established and that he had been appointed to take charge of it with the approval of the MEP. He quickly made preparations for his departure, and decided to take with him Joseph Wang, a Penang seminary student who was to accompany him on the long journey to the new mission field. He also received encouragement from Chastan, a fellow priest of the Siam Mission, who had worked at Penang since 1828 and who now volunteered to serve with Bruguière in Korea, but planned to travel to China at a later time. Odyssey across China, 1832–5 On 12 September 1832, Bruguière and Joseph Wang sailed from Singapore. They were fortunate to cross paths there with Pierre Julien Marc Clémenceau, a new missionary en route from France to Bangkok, who had just arrived in the British colony. Lacking the money needed for the voyage, Bruguière had to borrow from his young colleague (APF 9: 199). Unable to get direct passage to China at a reasonable cost, Bruguière and Joseph went first to Manila and found a ship to take them onward to Macau, where they arrived 17 October (APF 9: 199–201, 205). There, they had both Legrégeois and Umpières to provide funds, logistical support and advice for the journey across China. Bruguière also must have received help from Jean Baptiste Torrette, who was the Procurer of the French Lazarists (priests of the Congregation of the Mission, also known as Vincentians). The Lazarists had missions in the north of China, in the regions through which Bruguière would have to travel en route to Korea and where the MEP Procurer had little means of providing logistical support.

In fact, the successor had already been named and was en route. Hilaire Courvézy left France in March 1832, destined for Bangkok. The following month a papal brief named him Bishop of Bida (an ancient town, seat of a lapsed diocese in Mauritania in northwest Africa) and coadjutor for Siam. He was consecrated in Bangkok at the end of November 1833. Four months later, at the end of March 1834, Mgr. Florens died. 7

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

65

In February 1833 Bruguière sailed up the coast from Macau to Fujian, where he stayed at the Spanish Dominican mission, and then continued by ship to the coast of Zhejiang Province. He made part of his journey north through China on the Grand Canal, going ashore near Nanjing and then continuing in the direction of Beijing. At the beginning of September, more than two weeks after crossing the Yellow River, he was warned that it would be too dangerous to go to the Chinese capital, because of persecutions against Christians, and that he would surely be arrested and put to death if he attempted to make the journey on to Korea. He was thus obliged to turn west, and seek help from the Italian bishop in Shanxi Province. Although received and sheltered in Shanxi for almost a year, his arrival there in October was viewed with trepidation: it was feared that the mission would be in danger if the authorities became aware of the goals of his journey across China. Bruguière did not report ever being stopped by the authorities, and his movements through China appear to have been secretive, from one safe shelter to another, using the network of missions and assistance from Chinese Christians. While Bruguière was still in Fujian, he had sent Joseph on an investigative mission. Joseph went to Beijing, made contacts there, continued north beyond the Great Wall, began to identify routes across the northeast of China and then rejoined Bruguière on the coast of Zhejiang Province. From Shanxi, Joseph made several trips to Beijing and back, to make more contacts. He did not reach Shanxi for the last time until September 1834, bringing the information necessary for Bruguière to make a definite plan for the next stages of his journey. He would travel along a safe route north of Beijing to the next mission shelter. From there, Joseph would have to make further arrangements for the entry into Korea and for assistance by Christians along the way. Bruguière left Shanxi on 22 September 1834, reached the Great Wall on 7 October and arrived on 8 October at Xiwanzi.8 Some Christians had fled to this place during a period of persecution, and the village was mostly Christian. The French Lazarists had a church there, which they called their ‘Mongolian’ mission. At Xiwanzi, Bruguière rejoined Pierre-Philibert Maubant, whom he had met after arriving in Macau. Maubant was a new MEP missionary, originally bound for Sichuan, and he travelled by ship from Macau with Bruguière. At Fujian, he announced that he wanted to volunteer for the Korea Mission. He remained in Fujian during 1833, passed through Beijing in the spring of 1834 and then went to Xiwanxi, where he

Xiwanzi is called Sivang in most French sources. It is shown on an 1837 map of the missions in China as Si-ouen-tze (Sivang) in APF 10 (frontispiece of issue number 55, November 1837). Chinese characters for Xiwanzi and the names of many other places visited by Bruguière are provided in the volume by Joseph van den Brandt (1936). 8

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

66

KENNON BREAZEALE

studied Chinese and awaited Bruguière. The two missionaries remained in Xiwanzi for the next year, again not specifically for mission work but making preparations and waiting for Joseph to complete all the arrangements in the course of additional trips to Beijing and back. Entering Korea The three years spent in China are the story of Joseph Wang more than of Bruguière. From the outset in late 1832, Joseph had been sent north to Beijing, ahead of Bruguière. He paved the way for a successful entry to Korea by identifying routes and making contacts with Korean and Chinese Christians, who could facilitate the bishop’s journey. The long delays in Shanxi and Xiwang were due in part to the uncertainties arising from political changes in Korea, following the death of the old king in December 1834 and the establishment of a regency for his young grandson, King Hon Jong. Much time was also needed for the numerous trips that Joseph made to and from Beijing in his efforts to arrange a safe passage across Chinese territory and a safe refuge after the priests entered Korea. Bruguière was aware that the Korean king sent tribute annually to Beijing and that some of the men in the entourages of the Korean envoys were Christians. These were the contacts most eagerly sought by Joseph, but since the tribute bearers came only once a year, it took nearly three years to make all the arrangements, which included special clothing for Bruguière to wear when he slipped across the Korean frontier. Finally, all the arrangements were in place for the long-awaited entry to Korea. On 7 October 1835, Bruguière, Joseph and Maubant set out from Xiwanzi, along the route across Liaoning Province. After passing through Shenyang, they followed the main road that led towards the Korean frontier. One night they stopped at a Christian farmhouse in the countryside. The next morning, 20 October 1835, Bruguière suddenly became ill, and he died within the hour.9 He was buried on a nearby hillside. The epilogue to the bishop’s story is filled with tragedy for the Korea Mission. Bruguière’s travelling companions continued on their journey and reached Seoul. Maubant was later joined there by Imbert, who had taught briefly at the Just before leaving Xiwanzi, Bruguière completed a detailed account of his departure from the Siam Mission in 1832 and his travels through China during the next three years. It was sent in a letter to the MEP directors and was published in the French missionary journal in 1836 (APF 9: 196–331). This account is the main source for the brief summary of the travels in China provided in this article. A report of his death was published in the same issue (APF 9: 332). The place where he died was called Makiatzen by the French. Liu Ming, of the University of Hawaii’s economics department, who is a native of Liaoning Province, suggests (in a personal communication) that the pinyin for this name may be Majiazhen, meaning the little rural township (zhen) of the Ma family (Ma-jia). 9

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

67

Penang College in the early 1820s and had volunteered at the beginning of his career to work in Korea. To this group was added another old member of the Siam Mission: Chastan, who worked at Penang during 1828–33 and had promised Bruguière that he would go to Korea. Chastan had made an independent but unsuccessful attempt to enter Korea in 1834, without laying the foundations that Joseph Wang did, and he withdrew to Shandong Province for two years before finally joining his colleagues. These three priests were arrested by the Korean authorities and executed in September 1839, together with a large number of Korean Christians. The fact that news of this massacre was unknown to the missionaries in Beijing until January 1843 (APF 15: 449) reflects the extreme isolation of this place. Nearly a century later, Bruguière finally reached his destination. In 1931, for the centenary of the founding of the mission in Korea, his remains were moved from his original resting place and reburied in a cemetery in Seoul. Like many missionaries, he adopted a name that would be familiar to the local people, and this name was inscribed on the tombstone in Seoul: Su (蘇) in Chinese or So in Korean pronunciation. A concise history of the Korean mission, published in the May 1847 issue of the APF (19: 213–21), mentioned Bruguière only briefly. It did not credit him with any role in the founding of the French mission, but did attempt to portray, in a dramatic way, his final moments in the attempt to reach Korea: On the border of the peninsula, [Father] Maubant paid his last respects to his bishop, Mgr. Bruguière, the Apostolic Vicar of Korea, who, after wandering for a long time in the empty places of Mongolia [ie, beyond the Great Wall], often with nowhere to lay his head and without shelter, died in a poor thatched cottage, in sight of his woe-begone mission. (APF 19: 219).

Bruguière died in obscurity during a long and hard journey, before he reached his new mission. By contrast, his companion, Maubant, was martyred in Korea, beatified and eventually canonised, and he acquired an important place in mission history. If Bruguière had remained at his post as coadjutor and had succeeded Florens as apostolic vicar, he might have been remembered as an educator and scholar. One intellectual accomplishment of his days in Bangkok is his description of Thailand and its people, written in the year of his consecration and published in English translation in this volume of the Journal of the Siam Society. He might have refined and expanded this long essay into a book, and it might have become a basic reference work about the country in the nineteenth century. But Bruguière was unlucky in this respect, too, and gained little recognition for his intellectual efforts. These honours eventually went to his young colleague Pallegoix, who became bishop-coadjutor in 1838, Apostolic Vicar in 1841 and the author of a much acclaimed book in 1854. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

68

KENNON BREAZEALE

Barthélemy Bruguière gained no martyrdom, no fame as an author and no place in history for establishing new missions. During his residence in Bangkok, he ministered to the Christian communities and sought converts among non-Thai groups. Perhaps his most important contributions, largely unchronicled and long forgotten, were as a skilled teacher in the schools provided by the French missionaries. References

Annales de la Propagation de la Foi [Annals of the Propagation of the Faith], cited as APF. Bimonthly journal of French missionary activities, published in Lyon from 1822. Bowring, John. 1857. The Kingdom and People of Siam; with a Narrative of the Mission to That Country in 1855. 2 volumes. London: J. W. Parker and Son. Brandt, Joseph van den. 1936. Les Lazaristes en Chine, 1697–1935 [The Lazarists in China, 1697–1935)]. Pei-p’ing [Beijing]: Imprimerie des Lazaristes. Bruguière, Barthélemy. Undated letter (July 1826 or later) from Bruguière (Batavia) to his

family. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 4: 200–3 (April 1830). . Undated letter (July 1826 or later) from Bruguière (Batavia) to M. de Gualy (vicaire-gé néral de Carcasonne). Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 4: 203–6 (April 1830). . 4 February 1827 letter from Bruguière (Penang) to Charles François Langlois

(Superior of the Paris Seminary), 4 February 1827. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 3: 234–42 (1828) . 6 February 1827 letter from Bruguière (Penang) to the seminarians at

Carcasonne. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 4: 207–11 (April 1830). . 20 June 1827 letter from Bruguière (Bangkok) to Charles François Langlois (Superior of the Paris Seminary), 20 June 1827. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 3: 242–71 (1828). . 1 April 1829 letter from Bruguière (Bangkok) to Superiors and Directors of ME

Seminary Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 4: 215–9 (April 1830). . 19 May 1829 letter from Bruguière (Bangkok) to Directors of the ME Seminary, 19

May 1829. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 5: 38–44 (July 1831). . 1829 letter from Bruguière (Bangkok) to Vicar General Bousquet (Aire). Annals de la Propagation de la Foi (Lyon) 5: 63–144 (July 1831) and 5: 149–205 (October 1831), followed by his 10-page essay on the Thai language). Reprinted in a shortened version with the title ‘Lettre sur le royaume de Siam, par M. Brugueres [sic], Éveque de Capse

(1831) [sic]’ in Nouvelles annales des voyages (Paris) 55: 223–42 and 56: 314–33 (July-

September and October-December 1832). Translated anonymously [probably by William Dean], shortened and published with the title ‘Notices of the Religion, Manners, and Customs of the Siamese’ in the Chinese Repository (Canton) 13 (4): 169– 217 (April 1844). . 1829. Notice sur la langue siamoise [An Essay on the Thai Language]. Annals de la Propagation de la Foi 5: 206–15 (October 1831). . Undated letter (April 1831 to early 1832) from Bruguière (Penang) to an unspecified addressee. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 6: 602–9 (January 1834). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)



69

. 23 October 1832 letter from Bruguière (Macau) to the Archbishop of Manila, 23

October 1832. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 6: 544–5 (January 1834). . 28 October 1833 letter from Bruguière (Cham-Si [Shanxi Province]) to Raphael

Umpierre (Propaganda Procurer, Macau) and Pierre Louis Legrégeois (MEP Procurer, Macau), 28 October 1833. Annales de la Propagation de la Foi 7: 268–72 (July 1834). . 5 October 1835 letter from Bruguière (Sivang [Xiwanzi], West Tartary) to the Directors of the Missions Étrangères (Paris), 5 October 1835. Annales de la Propagation de

la Foi 9: 196–331 (January 1837). Burney, Henry. 1971. The Burney Papers. Reprinted in 5 facsimile volumes from the Vajiranana National Library edition (Bangkok, 1910–14), with an introduction by David K. Wyatt. Westmead: Gregg International Publishers. Chom na Songkhla. 1963. Phongsawadan müang songkhla [A History of Songkhla]. In Phongsawadan müang pattani phongsawadan müang songkhla phongsawadan müang nakhòn chiang mai müang nakhòn lampang müang lamphunchai [Histories of Patani, of Songkhla and of Chiang Mai, Lampang and Lamphun]. Prachum Phongsawadan [History Series] part 3, Khurusapha reprint series, vol. 3, pp. 35–86. Bangkok: Khurusapha, 1963. Crawfurd, John. 1968. Journal of an Embassy to the Courts of Siam and Cochin China. Facsimile reprint of the first edition (London: Colburn, 1828), with an introduction by David K. Wyatt. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Forest, Alain. 1998. Les Missionnaires français au Tonkin et au Siam (XVIIème-XVIIIème siècles: Analyse comparée d’un relatif succès et d’un total échec. Livre I. Histoires de Siam [The French Missionaries in Tonkin and Siam, 17th-18th Centuries: Comparative Analysis of a Relative Success and a Total Failure. Book 1: Accounts of Siam]. Paris: L’Harmattan. Henrion, [Mathieu Richard August,] baron. 1847. Histoire générale des missions catholiques depuis le XIIIe siècle jusqu’à nos jours [A General History of Catholic Missions from the Thirteenth Century to the Present Day]. 4 volumes (Tome premier, première partie; Tome premier, seconde partie; Tome second, première partie; Tome second, seconde partie.) Paris: Gaume frères, libraires-éditeurs. Launay, Adrien. 1920. Histoire de la Mission de Siam, 1662–1811 [History of the Siam Mission, 1662–1811]. Paris: Anciennes maisons Charles Douniol et Retaux; P. Téqui, successeur. . 1920. Histoire de la Mission de Siam, 1662–1811: Documents historiques, I-II [History of the Siam Mission, 1662–1811: Historical Documents, Volumes 1 and 2]. Paris: Anciennes maisons Charles Douniol et Retaux; P. Téqui, successeur. Nouvelles annales des voyages, eds. 1827. Population de Poulo-Pinang [Population of Penang]. Nouvelles annales des voyages (Paris) 35: 391–2. Pallegoix, Jean Baptiste. 1854. Description du royaume Thai ou Siam, comprenant la toporaphie, histoire naturelle, moeurs et coutumes, législation, commerce, industrie, langue, littérature, religion, annales des Thai et précis historique de la mission [Description of the Thai Kingdom, or Siam, Comprising Topography, Natural History, Customs and Habits, Laws, Trade, Industry, Language, Literature, Religion, Chronicles of the Thai and a Short History of the Mission]. Paris: Imprimerie de Vialat et cie. Translated by Walter E. J. Tips and published with the title Description of the Thai Kingdom or Siam: Thailand under King Mongkut (Bangkok: White Lotus, 2000). Phongsawadan yò müang wiangčhan [Abbreviated Annal of Vientiane]. 1969. In Prachum phongsawadan phak thi 70 rüang müang nakhòn čhampasak. [History Series, Part 70: Accounts of Champasak], Khurusapha reprint series, 44: 138–52. Bangkok: Khurusapha.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

70

KENNON BREAZEALE

Prawat thao suwò čhao müang nòng khai [A Biography of Suwò, Governor of Nòng Khai]. 1969. In Prachum phongsawadan phak thi 70 rüang müang nakhòn čhampasak. [History Series, Part 70: Accounts of Champasak], Khurusapha reprint series, 44: 171–3. Teixeira, Manuel. 1961. Macau e a sua Diocese, III, As Ordens e Congregações Religiosas em Macau [Macau and Its Diocese, Volume 3: The Religious Orders and Assemblies in Macau]. Macau: Tipografia Soi Sang. Thiphakòrawong, Chao Phraya. 1934. Phra ratcha phongsawadan krung rattanakosin ratchakan thi 3 chabap čhao phraya thiphakòrawong [Royal Chronicles of Bangkok in the Third Reign: The Chao Phraya Thiphakòrawong Version]. Manuscript (1869) published for the cremation of Phraya Phaibun Sombat (Dej Bunnag), 25 November 1934. Bangkok: Sihong Press.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bishop Barthélemy Bruguière (1792–1835)

Portrait of Barthélemy Bruguière, ca. 1825 Courtesy of M.E.P.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

71

72

KENNON BREAZEALE

Tombstone of Barthélemy Bruguière in Seoul Translation of the inscription in Chinese Tomb of Mr. So, bishop Translation of the inscription in Latin Barthélemy Bruguière of the Diocese of Carcassonne Titular Bishop of Capsa First Apostolic Vicar of Korea died in Mongolia on 20 October 1835 at the age of 44 transferred Anno Domini 1931

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

DESCRIPTION OF SIAM IN 1829 Barthélemy Bruguière Translated and edited by Kennon Breazeale and Michael Smithies The 1829 description of the Thai kingdom and its people was completed after Bruguière had lived in Bangkok for two years, and was sent in the form of a very long letter to the Vicar-General of Aire in his home region in the southwest of France. Bruguière composed it as a book-length work about the country, with attention to geography, natural history, the people (appearance, clothing, customs, occupations, food), religious beliefs and practices, court etiquette, the armed forces and a few remarks on the laws, legal system and sciences. This letter appears in a new English translation below. The French text was published in 1831 in the missionary journal, the Annales de la Propagation de la Foi, issued every two months in Lyon. The following year, a shortened version of the text appeared in the Nouvelles annales des voyages, a French geographical journal published in Paris. The Paris version is extensively truncated (about half of the text is omitted altogether), and some passages have been condensed by rephrasing. It also contains a few observations added by the Paris editors that do not appear in Bruguière’s text. In particular, the editors in Paris omitted references to the French missions in Siam and elsewhere, and also nearly all of the section on religious beliefs and practices. They probably considered this section, which is tainted by the strong religious prejudices of the time, to be of little value to their more scientific-minded readers, and they may also have been obliged to truncate the text to fit the space available in the journal. This section has been retained in the present translation, in spite of its unpleasant character, because it helps to document the attitudes and misconceptions of the missionaries—even very scholarly ones such as Bruguière—who were, unsurprisingly, never very successful in proselytising. The section also contains some details that may be of value to folklorists and ethnographers. The text was translated into English and published in 1844 in The Chinese Repository in Canton. The anonymous translator was apparently William Dean, a Baptist among the first American missionaries in Thailand, who worked in Bangkok from 1835, became very knowledgeable about the Thai people and moved to Canton in 1842. He made numerous editorial comments, judging Bruguière’s work to be valuable, in spite of its shortcomings, misinformed assertions and intolerant opinions about the Thai and their religion: On the whole, these pages, though at times giving a wrong impression to the reader, are calculated to convey much information of a country and people Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

73

74

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

little known, but who [the pages] contain much to interest the commercial and religious world. (Chinese Repository 1844: 215) Much, but by no means all, of Bruguière’s 1829 composition appears in Dean’s translation. The entire initial section (on geography, climate, fauna and flora) is omitted, perhaps because it contained little new information of interest to the trading community at Canton, who were the readers of the Repository. Also, as the published English version informs us, ‘The translation abridges the bishop’s language a little in leaving out some minor particulars.’ Some passages may have been regarded by Dean or by the editor of the journal as too critical. Some omitted passages were obviously of no value to local readers, including the sections about the Catholic Church and the Chinese in Bangkok, and the appended essay on the Thai language. One wonders how and why Bruguière collected all his information, and why he sent it to the Vicar-General of Aire, who must have been an old friend in the southwest of France. It is not a simple record of first impressions of the country, because he had been working in Bangkok for two years by the time he completed the work. No doubt he obtained many of his facts from the elderly bishop, Florens, and much else from the local priests and the students at the college in Bangkok. He may have begun collecting information about natural history during his first visit to Penang and his transpeninsular adventure of 1827. He surely also consulted numerous books about Siam before he left France, especially the late seventeenth century works that discussed earlier mission work. Several reasons for compiling this work are clear. Bruguière was originally assigned to Vietnam. But during his brief period of training at the seminary in Paris, he must have turned, for information about the nearby Siam Mission, to the most recent book on the subject: the two-volume study published in 1771 by François Turpin. Turpin’s work was encyclopaedic and included geography, trade, flora, fauna, government and political history—all adapted from materials provided by the last bishop to reside in Ayutthaya, as Turpin himself never went to Siam. But it was more than 50 years out of date, and was concerned with Ayutthaya (a capital that no longer existed) and with the French mission that had vanished in wartime. Nothing substantial about the country and the Thai people had appeared in print since then in French. Bruguière may have intended his study to fill the need for a new reference work, for the benefit of students at the Paris seminary and to attract potential missionaries in France to the mission in Siam. These intellectual endeavours were certainly inspired by the accomplishments of Charles Langlois, a mentor at the MEP Seminary, who was active in publishing works related to foreign missions in the 1820s. Further inspiration also came from the monumental work on Indian culture published in 1817 and 1825 by Jean-Antoine Dubois, a mentor at the seminary in Paris. But Bruguière did not have Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

75

the advantage of Dubois’ long experience in the field or the intellectual inclination to detach himself from his subject. He inserted much misinformed commentary, tinged with strong theological prejudice, which detracted from its appeal to general readers. Bruguière’s efforts were already overshadowed by a much longer work in English by the British envoy, John Crawfurd, who visited Bangkok in 1822 and published an important reference work about the country in 1828. Crawfurd’s book likewise overshadowed the more limited but scientific publication about the country by his own mission-colleague, George Finlayson, in 1826. Like the two Britons, Bruguière obtained a lot of his information at second hand. Unlike them, he had the advantages of long residence in the country (two years, compared with their visit of four months) and a knowledge of the Thai language. Also unlike them (both of whom had studied surgery at the University of Edinburgh), he had no training in sciences. He wrote from a very different perspective, as a theologian. His work did not reach a wide audience and was largely forgotten except by French missionaries in training, who must have read it eagerly. For them, it was a useful introduction to Bangkok and the Thai people, and the most up-to-date work of its kind in French. But it ceased to be of use, even for this small audience, after the publication of a major reference work in 1854 by Bishop Pallegoix, who must have learned a great deal at the outset of his career from Bruguière’s description. Pallegoix in turn was quickly overshadowed by the description of Siam published in 1857 by the British envoy, John Bowring, who drew some of his information from Bruguière’s work, which he acknowledged. The editors of the French missionary journal had another, practical reason for publishing the description. They had urged Florens to provide some interesting accounts of his mission for readers of the journal. But Bangkok was relatively peaceful and did not produce newsworthy events comparable to those in Vietnam, where missionaries were often persecuted, driven out of the country or killed by the authorities. If Bruguière intended his description to be published in the journal, he may have written it with fund-raising in mind, as a means of attracting the interest of pious European readers and stimulating them to donate generously to the foreign missions.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

76

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

Annales de l’Association de la Propagation de la Foi Recueil Périodique Tome Cinquième Lyon, Rusand / Paris, Rusand 1831 pp.63-215 Letter from Mgr. Bruguière, Bishop of Capsa, to M. Bousquet, vicar-general of Aire1 [63] Bangkok, 1829 J.M.J. [Jesus, Mary, Joseph] Good Sir, and dear friend, You asked me for some information about the country where I now find myself, about the customs, practices, the religion of the inhabitants, etc. You demand of me a [64] huge undertaking. However, to prove to you that there is nothing I would not undertake to please you, I am going to apply myself to the task. I shall try to be as concise as possible, while omitting nothing essential. I do not propose to relate anything uncertain or doubtful. It is quite likely, though, that some inaccuracies may occur, but that will be involuntary; I am eye-witness to many of the facts related here. You may find some disorder in my account; please forgive this negligence. I have written at different times and only when I was free to do so, which was not often. The apostolic vicariate constituting our mission includes all the provinces of the kingdom of Siam. The bishop [Mgr. Joseph Florens] even has under his jurisdiction several neighbouring states; he will certainly send missionaries to them when France supplies more. The English translation of Bruguière’s 1829 letter, apparently by the American Protestant missionary William Dean (see Cordier 1912, I 733-4), which appeared in the April 1844 issue of The Chinese Repository (Canton), was prefaced by the words ‘The translation abridges the bishop’s language a little in leaving out some minor particulars’. This was accompanied by ‘some notes at the foot of the page… furnished by a gentleman who has resided at Bangkok several years’, whom Cordier also identifies as Dean. As the notes often give some balance to Bruguière’s remarks, they have been included here as footnotes, prefaced with the initials CR. In this new translation, the punctuation of the original French text has not been respected, nor has the original paragraphing always been adhered to. The editors of this text would like to acknowledge their gratitude to the following for assistance provided: Père Moussay, archivist at the Missions Etrangères de Paris, Mme Claire Keefe-Fox at the Quai d’Orsay, Mgr Luigi Bressan, Archbishop of Trento, Mgr Salvatore Pennacchio, Apostolic Nuncio, Bangkok, Dr Warren Brockelman of Mahidol University, Prof. Emeritus Vilaileka Thavornthanasarn of Ramkamhaeng University, Jarujin Nabhitabhata, a Director at the National Science Museum of Thailand, and Olivier Pauwels, the Gabon Country Manager of the Smithsonian Institution. Most of the footnotes appearing in this letter of 1829 were written by Kennon Breazeale; Michael Smithies is chiefly responsible for the translation of the letter from French. 1

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

77

[LOCATION] The kingdom of Siam extends from the 5th to the 18th degrees in latitude north.2 The width is very unequal; it is very narrow in the south, and quite broad in the north. It is bounded in the south by a small number of different Malay peoples, and in the north by some little-known tribes, whose territory extends as far as China; to the east by Cambodia, Cochinchina,3 and the sea; [65] to the west by the sea and the kingdoms of Pegu and Ava. Bangkok today is the capital of this realm, since Juthia [Ayutthaya] was burnt by the Burmese some 80 years ago.4 Bangkok is located at the end of the Gulf of Siam, more or less in the middle of the country, at the 13th and a half degree latitude north, and 90th degree longitude east (Paris meridian). I should note that in the description of the kingdom of Siam which I have just given are included [66] a number of small kingdoms with their own names found on geographical maps. But they are all subject to Siam—such as Kedah, Ligor [Nakhon Sithammarat], Laos, etc. [CLIMATE] The climate of Siam is quite hot, but much less so than on the other side of the Ganges. (Every time I speak of the trans-Gangetic peninsula, I mean the peninsula so-called by the Europeans, or Indostan; this is relative to the different countries where one is located.) From the same latitude to the equator, to 8 degrees north or south, the heat is continual and excessive; winter chill is unknown, as are the gentle springtime temperatures; the sun like a glowing brazier heats the atmosphere. It is at times difficult to breathe. The relaxation of the nerves and organs, [and] continual and copious perspiration reduce the body to such a weak state that one does not have the strength to make the least movement. One begins to breathe when the sun nears its zenith, when the sky is covered with thick clouds which form for several months a kind of vast sunshade; abundant rains cool the atmosphere and allow the body to recover, These clouds always accompany the sun from north to south, to 2 This is roughly correct, but does not of course include the northern fiefs joined to the state during the late nineteenth century. Bruguière’s definition of Siam includes all the peninsular territory down to the Malay sultanates of Kedah and Patani and the territory in the Chao Phraya basin as far north as modern-day Tak and Uttaradit Provinces. The princely states farther north (such as Nan and Chiang Mai) were also considered to be within the sphere of the Siam Mission, although no missionaries worked there. A contemporary map of the French missions in mainland Southeast Asia was published with the title ‘Carte du Tong-king, de la Cochinchine, de Siam et de la Birmanie’ in Annales de la propagation de la foi 12 (1840): fold-out map facing p. 115. 3 There is an extended footnote here, probably by an editor of the missionary journal in Lyon, pointing out that Siam is not contiguous with Cochinchina, which claimed some authority over other parts of Laos, whose king was less a dependency of the king of Siam than the minor rulers of Kedah and Nakhon Sithammarat, who were more like provincial governors. 4 In 1767, as an added editorial footnote correctly states. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

78

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

about the 20th degree latitude. At the beginning and sometimes the end of the rainy season, the sky seems to be on fire; for several hours non-stop claps of terrifying thunder can be heard. Lightning often strikes, and then the air calms. This is but silent thundering agitation and causes no harm. In all the lands of the tropics, the rivers periodically flood, at least once a year. That at Bangkok [67] has an unusual feature: it floods only a month after the rains have stopped. As the river increases in size, its waters become clear, and become muddy when the floods subside, that is, when the rains have stopped; it is not easy to discover what causes this.5 [TIDES] At the end of the Gulf of Siam the tides are the reverse of those in Europe. Every year high tides occur in November and low tides in May. Every month the highest tides do not occur, as in France, on the first and thirteenth of the lunar month, but on the fifth and the nineteenth. In the daily tides [68], it is not when the moon has crossed the meridian that the tide is at its highest, but about five hours later. Towards the period of the new and full moon the tide rises for about twelve hours and goes down in about the same. The second tide is almost imperceptible during the other days of the moon. The tide rises and falls twice in twenty-four hours, as in France. You can write to the gentlemen in the longitude office to ask them to explain this phenomenon.6 [THE LAND] The Kingdom of Siam is a flat land. On all sides are broad plains, huge forests, and marshes. There are few rivers of any size. A few hills or some precipitous mountains in the distance give relief to this monotonous aspect. The hills are little more than a mass of rocks covered with a thin layer of earth. In the higher places there is thick vegetation, but there is little or [69] almost none in the low-lying areas. The trees never lose their leaves; when the old leaves fall, new ones appear. There are though two kinds of trees entirely leafless for two to three months; these are the cassia [Cassia siamea (Leguminosae) ต้นขี้เหล็ก?] and a variety of cotton tree [Ceiba pentandra (Malvaceae) ต้นงิ้วน้อย or ต้นนุ่น?] which is different from those producing cotton in Europe. I have even seen a tree lose all its leaves at the same time and immediately others appear. It is a fully-grown tree, producing at the extremities of its branches small bunches of yellow flowers with a very strong scent.7 Malay women make a kind of oil or essence from this which they rub into their hair. 5 Another footnote appears in the original here, referring to Tonkin, and chiding Bruguière for over-generalizing about ‘the rains, thunder, floods and other meteorological phenomena’ in the tropics. 6 Another footnote here refers to the tides in the Gulf of Tonkin. 7 Probably the Cassia fistula (Leguminosae) called ton kun ต้นคูน in Thai and Indian laburnum in English. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

79

The forests are full of wood which can be used in building. Some trees are extremely large, though their bulk does not correspond to their height. One often sees in these woods decayed tree trunks, the remains of old trees, bowled down by time, from which fresh sprigs appear which will replace them. There are few trees bearing edible fruit; the fruits to be found are usually bitter and sometimes dangerous. When you travel through these forests you have to take your own provisions. It is unwise to carry money, as to do so, one risks being killed. [BIRDS] These forests are full of game. They contain many birds unknown in Europe, and whose song is disagreeable; none of these birds has the melodious sound of the nightingale or the warbler. Only piercing, lugubrious and monotonous cries are to be heard. The most frequently met kinds of birds are peacocks, cockatoos, and parrots of all colours. There is also a small bird no bigger than one’s thumb; its plumage is delightful, part red, part white, with [70] touches of green. Unless I am mistaken, it is what Europeans call the colibri or hummingbird. Also to be found in these woods are wild cocks and hens, whose sounds, shapes and plumage are exactly the same as domesticated fowls. I have often heard them crow in the depths of the forests. To seize the male, a domesticated cock is placed in a remote spot, surrounded by a net. The wild cock immediately appears to fight the newcomer. The hunter hidden in the bushes pulls the net and the cock is caught. I have seen black swans, but I believe they do not originate in Siam. Among the large birds are those the Siamese call Noc-Ariam.8 When it walks, its head is a foot and a half above an average-sized man, and is proportionately big. Its feathers are ash-grey and sometimes the neck and the top of its back are red. Its head is as big as a man’s; its beak, nearly two feet long, is shaped like a cone. It sometimes flies so high it is out of view but its piercingly sharp cry announces its presence, even when its high flight path puts it out of one’s sight. This bird feeds only on seeds and plants. Its eggs are like those of an ostrich. It is commonly found in Siam, and sometimes flies around our seminary. I have seen a bird of prey, called Noccasoun9 which has a special way of satisfying its needs; when it has not been successful in its hunt, it attacks the vulture, seizes it by the throat and forces it to share the prey the vulture has just devoured. This unusual fight often takes place in Bangkok in the place where they cut up the dead. I shall tell you later what I mean on cutting up the dead.10 Probably one of several species of vulture called nok i-raeng นกอีแร้ง. Nok casun is perhaps nok kratung นกกระทุง, any of several species of pelican. 10 This took place at the base of the Golden Mount temple and is mentioned by many nineteenth century visitors. See the section on death rites. 8 9

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

80

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

[QUADRUPEDS] [71] The most interesting of the four-footed animals in the forests of Siam is firstly the monkey. They are to be found in all shapes and sizes. There is one which can more or less walk like a man, but its knees appear paralyzed, so it drags its legs and stands with difficulty when it has fallen on the ground. This is probably the ape which Buffon11 called Orang-Utang; indeed the Malays call the men who live in the forests Orang-Utang.12 Near Tonkin is said to be found a very dangerous ape. If it comes across a man in the middle of the forest, it takes him by the arms, and starts to laugh for all its worth for a long time, finally killing the unfortunate traveller. When one has to pass through these forests, one takes two lengths of bamboo (the bamboo is a kind of very high and thick reed with branches; it is good to eat when young. People in the Indies use bamboo a lot; their houses, furniture and seats are made of bamboo, they make sails, boxes etc. of it). When the ape appears, one places both arms in the bamboos. Usually the ape seizes the traveller’s arms, or rather the bamboo covering them. One then gently extricates one’s arms from the bamboo, without the ape being aware of it, and thrusts a dagger in the beast. This is not difficult, because the animal closes its eyes when it laughs. There is another type of ape which could be called a legless cripple; it can hardly take a single step, so weak are its legs. But this handicap is eminently compensated by the ease with which it leaps from tree to tree, remaining suspended by its front legs. I think I saw one in Java.13 [72] A few years ago there appeared in Siam an animal previously entirely unknown: it is a four-footed beast the size of a bull; its head is similar to an ape’s. It has a long thick tail, its neck and the top of its shoulders are red, the rest of the body is black. One of our Christians killed one a few years ago. When it appears anywhere, all the wild beasts flee while it is around. Its cry, similar to the roaring of a lion, causes the tiger to tremble. Its presence has been recently noted near Chantaburi. It is thought this animal came from China.14 Also to be found in these forests are gazelles, he-goats, buffaloes, and bears. There are two kinds of bears; one is similar to those found in France, but blacker; this one is timid and runs away when it sees humans. The other kind is very fierce, the size of a calf, with reddish hair. Voltaire was not prepared to believe there were bears in Palestine; what would he have said if he had met some in the forests of

George Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon (1707–1788), author of Histoire Naturelle (44 volumes from 1749). 12 More correctly orang-hutan, men of the forests. 13 This sounds very much like the orang-utang again. 14 This may be a gaur, a species of large wild ox. 11

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

81

Siam? Is it cooler here than in Jerusalem?15 There are also wild boars, rhinoceros and unicorns.16 After the elephant, the rhinoceros is the biggest and strongest of the four-footed animals; its head is similar to that of a pig and it has two horns one at the end of its nose, the other much smaller. The unicorn, to judge by the head that hunters brought to Penang some time back, is much bigger than a bull; it differs from the rhinoceros in shape and the positioning of its horn; it is on its forehead and points upwards. This beast always runs in a straight [73] line; the stiffness of its neck and its whole body do not allow it to move to one side. It has difficulty in stopping once it has dashed off. It overturns with its horn or cuts with its teeth medium-sized trees which obstruct its path. Thus the unicorn is not a fabulous animal, as some philosophers have insinuated to contradict the holy scriptures. It is a real animal, different from all the others. Excellent potions are made from its horn, teeth, blood and heart, which are sold very expensively.17 [ELEPHANTS] Of all the quadrupeds found in the forests, the elephant is without doubt the most curious and the most useful. Siam, of all the countries in the Indies, has the most. The Asian elephant is much bigger and stronger than the African one. It is from nine to thirteen feet high, and its tusks are commonly five feet long18 and fifteen inches in circumference. I have measured some more than six feet long; they are hollow at their root and end in a point. This is a very dangerous animal when it roams alone in the forests, and cruelly kills any unfortunate traveller it comes across. Sometimes it lifts a man up in the air with its trunk, throws him down violently, and runs its tusks though him; sometimes it crushes a man under its feet. Occasionally it digs a hole in the sand and buries him alive. It is not always safe, to avoid its wrath, to climb up a tree, for if the tree is not big, it batters it down. It is said that if the tree is too big, it calls out to other elephants. When they are assembled in sufficient numbers, they water the foot of the tree with the aid of their trunks, tear up its roots and overturn it.19 [74] Reduced to domestication, the elephant appears quite different: it is gentle, docile, and intelligent. It obeys the commands of its keeper, comes at his call, gives him its trunk when so ordered. When it is tired, it beats the ground with its trunk, making a sound rather like a horn, to warn its mahout that it is finally time to rest. As present we have two in Bangkok, one of which often goes to the market This reference to Voltaire’s work has not been traced. Bruguière repeats this below and later on [98]. What could this animal have been? It is

possibly a mistranslation from Thai, or maybe a single-horned rhinoceros. 17 It would seem Bruguière did not himself see the specimen mentioned in Penang. 18 Uncommonly, rather. 19 A tall elephant tale, perhaps. 15 16

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

82

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

in search of fruit; when it has filled its trunk, it returns and shares with its mahout the results of its trip. The other stands by the entrance to the king’s palace, and a big receptacle full of rice, together with a spoon, are brought to it. The elephant takes the spoon with its trunk and distributes rice to all the passing talapoins.20 It is difficult to believe how much affection the elephant has for its master, if there were not convincing proof of the fact. When its mahout falls asleep in the middle of the forest, it chases away insects which could inconvenience him. If he falls asleep when night has already come, it gently places him on its trunk and conveys him to his cabin. I have been assured that at the approach of a wild elephant, it takes its mahout, who is seated on its neck, encircles him with its trunk, places him below his mouth and fights with its tusks. The affection it has for its mahout causes it to place him in safety before attacking its adversary. When travelling, the elephant eats little in the daytime, but spends the whole night filling its large stomach. It eats hay, tree leaves and grains of rice. It loves sugarcane and especially alcoholic drinks. But one has to be careful not to let it drink them, for when drunk it does not acknowledge any master. [75] It sleeps little, lying down on one side, unless its mahout has tied its two rear feet to a tree. An elephant loves water, it enjoys marshy areas, and happily walks in the rain. When it comes across water, it sprays itself using its trunk. If it finds none, it extracts some from the depths of its stomach. It throws earth on itself, and wipes itself with a handful of hay or with the branch of a tree which is also used to chase away any insects troubling it. It goes down on its belly to receive its load or the traveller who is to ride it. It does the same thing when it encounters deep mud pits; it slides on its stomach and knees. The weight of its body is thus spread over a bigger base, and it sinks into the mud less. If it comes up to a river, it first sounds out with its trunk the depth of the water. If it touches bottom, it walks on, but if it finds none, it plunges in and swims under water, returning to the surface to breathe, then plunges again, and so on until reaching the other bank. Only the elephant can be used as a mount for long journeys; in the midst of marshy terrain, where no passage or path is discernable, where one travels axe in hand to clear a way, the elephant helps with its trunk and its feet overturning or splitting branches and medium-sized trees. From time to time one has to cry out to rally those in the party, and the guide sometimes lays down small branches on the path he has taken, so those following do not lose their way. There are some places so covered in undergrowth that it has to be burnt down. Instead of a saddle, the elephant’s back carries a big covered basket; the traveller is seated [76] in it as best he can. He has to cover his face and head, otherwise he runs the risk of dying, as the sun penetrates the skin to the point of drawing blood. The word talapoin was at this period commonly employed by Westerners to refer to Siamese Buddhist monks. It will be retained here. 20

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

83

The elephant is very strong, and can carry on its back parts of guns, men, etc. It can be made to walk more than twenty-four hours when one takes care to see it is well fed. I have ridden one which was made to walk for more than fifty hours; it only had six hours to eat and rest in that time. I pitied the poor beast, but it was not in my hands to procure it some respite. I am sure you will read with pleasure what I am about to relate concerning the way wild elephants are tamed.21 In March, a few female elephants are freed in the woods. Soon after, they are recalled with the sound of a horn, and return accompanied by a considerable number of wild elephants. All are led into an area with high palisades, [and] the door is closed on them. Men placed on a terrace protected in front by thick tree trunks throw over the elephant they want to capture a net or snare, and entangle it by its feet. There are no tortures they do not inflict on it when it is in their hands. With the help of a machine, they lift it in the air, beat it, ignite a fire under its belly, leave it without food a long time. They violently knock it over, run it through with a sharp iron, and finally, through the violence of these torments, force it to accept a master. The domesticated elephants help in these procedures, surrounding the wild elephant, threatening it, and forcing it to walk. The greatest number of elephants is taken a short distance from Ayutthaya. [77] It is very difficult to kill this beast with a firearm, as a bullet does not penetrate its skin. It has some parts of its body through which it can be mortally wounded, namely the eyes and the top of its head. This is the same for the rhinoceros and the unicorn. [OTHER QUADRUPEDS] While it is dangerous to meet, in these forests, any of the animals I have mentioned, the danger is much greater if one meets a tiger. This is unquestionably the fiercest of all these animals; its rage or fury can be seen in its eyes; it relishes in blood; its audacity equals its cruelty. It attacks an elephant, taking an upper hand by lacerating its trunk, jumping on its back and often ending by consuming it. When an elephant sees a tiger approaching, it puts its trunk in its mouth and presents its tusks. When a tiger sees that force will not succeed, it employs ruse. It is heartless and unfeeling; it could even be said that kind treatment irritates it rather than mollifies it; someone caring for it is often the first victim of its cruelty. It is endowed with remarkable speed and agility. The tiger is like a cat in the shape of its body and the way it seizes its prey. In Siam there are three kinds of tigers: the biggest, which the natives call Sua-Crong [süa khrong เสือโคร่ง, the tiger (Felis tigris)], is the most dangerous. This kind is as big as a calf and its skin is streaked red, white, yellow and black. The second kind of tiger is called Sua-Dau [süa dao เสือดาว, probably 21 Such accounts were standard fare in any description of Siam from the seventeenth century. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

84

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

the leopard (Felis viverrina), literally the ‘spotted cat’], as big as a large mastiff; this does not attack a man head-on, and cannot tolerate his looks; it waits for the moment when it cannot be seen; its skin is mottled with small black and yellow patches spotted with white. The third kind has a skin like a grey cat’s, but is twice as big. It always flees [78] man and feeds on fish, birds and chickens. It stalks at night around henhouses and attacks everything it meets. It is a kind of fox and the Siamese call it Sua-Pla [süa pla เสือปลา, literally the fishing cat]. Tigers climb up slightly sloping trees, but cannot climb those that are straight. Do you think that in the elephant and the tiger there is a vestige of the dominion God gave over the other animals to Adam? As I have said, the tiger cannot endure a man’s look, and even when it has devoured him, it tears away the skin on his skull, covering his face with it, to spare it the view of such a frightful sight for it. An elephant likewise can hardly endure seeing a man placed directly in front of it, even some distance away, and to make him move to one side, it ejects a jet of water from its bowels and sprays the indiscrete beholder; when it is about to pierce a man with its tusks, it closes its eyes, which sometime allows its would-be victim the possibility to escape. There are many squirrels in Siam; there are some, among others, which fly, so to speak, without having wings; the skin beside the ears spreads out broadly, allowing it to reduce the weight of its body. It flies from a tree in a diagonal line, towards another that is less high. I do not wish to end the comments on quadrupeds without telling you about a kind of rat as big as a cat. When tamed it is used in houses to catch smaller rats than itself and to kill insects. Cats, which have the reputation of not living peacefully with [79] rats, do not quarrel with this type of rat; they respect it because they are afraid of it. When we passed through Kedah, the governor presented one of these rats to the Siamese ambassador,22 but he gave two elephants to the English envoy.23 [LIZARDS] In Siam, as in other parts of the Indies, there are numerous lizards. The most notable are: 1. the schalin [Thai ching len จิ้งเหลน, Scincus officinalis, the skink], which has small wings or membranes which it spreads when it wants to run more quickly; we found some near Ligor.

This person travelled in the company of Bruguière to Nakhon Sithammarat; Bruguière related his meeting with the envoy in another letter addressed to the superior of the seminary of Foreign Missions in Paris, dated 20 June 1827. 23 Almost certainly Henry Burney, who visited Penang in 1826 and 1827, and reported on affairs at Kedah. 22

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

85

2. the toukay [tukae ตุ๊กแก or gecko], which is quite big and usually lives in inhabited places; it even settles in beds. The Siamese confuse it, catch it with tobacco and eat it. 3. the hias [hia เหี้ย or monitor lizards], which are grey, live in forests and are about three feet long. I have seen some on this side of Thalang.24 4. the takum,25 which are eight to ten feet long, live in deserted spots, and do not harm man. One of our students encountered one near the sea, some time ago, but hardly had the lizard noticed it than it fled into the forest. 5. the crocodile, a kind of amphibious lizard sometimes 22 feet long; its voracity is in proportion to its size, and it delights in human flesh. If a small boat goes near the bank of the river, the crocodile pushes its head against the sand and, bending its back, tips the boat over and devours those inside. It is mostly in the Cambodian river [the Mekong] that the crocodile employs this stratagem. This monster has a mouth filled with four rows of very sharp teeth; when it is old, four of its teeth protrude from its mouth, like the tusks of a wild boar, in the shape of a half circle. Some crocodiles have a reddish back, others [80] have a dark brown back, but the underbelly is white. I have seen only this last type; there are many in the river at Bangkok. There are also some sharks which go upstream for some distance. [SNAKES] There are several varieties of snakes, some of which are extremely poison26 ous. There are: 1. Ngu-luam [ngu lüam งูเหลือม, the python] (ngu in Siamese means snake). It sometimes is as thick as a medium-sized beam, and is proportionately long. Its skin is magnificent, making a variegated pattern of very diverse colours. I have seen one still very young; even so, it was nine feet long and six inches in circumference, and swallowed a chicken with the greatest ease. Its parent swallowed a bull. To seize its prey, it hides behind some tree trunks or in the undergrowth, fixes its tail to a tree and forms a circle with the rest of its body. Deer, monkey, or buffalo passing by are taken as in a noose; the snake holds them in several coils and suffocates them; sometimes it places them against the tree to which it is attached and squashes them so violently that it breaks and crushes all their bones; it covers them with its saliva and then swallows them. Its gullet can expand extraordinarThalang, the old administrative centre of Phuket. The Thai name is derived from the name of the Malay settlement, Ujung Salang, as are numerous European variations such as Jong Céylan and Junk Ceylon. 25 Not identified. Possibly one of the larger monitor lizards. 26 Some of the snakes mentioned by the bishop are described in Cox (1991), which provides extensive illustrations. 24

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

86

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

ily. This snake is not poisonous. It crawls with difficulty; if seen in time, one can easily avoid it and flee. The ngu luam is probably that which Buffon described to us as the divine serpent. 2. Ngu-xang [ngu nguang chang งูงวงช้าง, Acrochordus javanicus, the elephant’s-trunk snake], or elephant snake, so called because its tail is like an elephant’s trunk; it is tanned, shorter than the ngu luam, but as broad. In autumn these two kinds of snakes come into Bangkok. We caught one last year in the garden. [81] 3. Ngu-kon-kop [ngu kon khop งูก้นขบ, Cylindrophus rufus].27 This is a medium-sized snake, mottled black and white; it is poisonous at the head and tail. If it bites, there is a remedy, but if it stings with its tail, there is none. A person stung feels suddenly faint, falls down, a deadly chill spreads through all his limbs and he dies immediately. I have seen one of these snakes which our students killed. Ngu-kon-kop means the snake which wounds with its tail. 4. Ngu-fai, meaning the fire snake.28 This is probably the same kind which God sent to the desert to punish the Hebrews.29 It is impregnated with so strong and burning a venom that it destroys all the plants it passes over; if it is touched with a dry wooden stick, the wood burns and takes on the colour of coal. It does not have the same effect on living or freshly-cut wood. Misfortune to anyone who comes near it; he dies the moment he is bitten. When the snake is dead, it can be touched with impunity. 5. Ngu-sam-lian [ngu sam liam งูสามเหลี่ยม, Bungarus fasciatus, the banded krait] is called the triangular snake because of its shape. It is poisonous, but more dangerous by night than by day. If a man walks in the dark, with a pitch-covered torch in his hand, this snake jumps at him. Nothing can be done when it is seen, but to throw the torch far away and flee. The snake at once runs after the flame. The name of the red-tailed pipe snake (kon khop) implies literally that its tail can bite. When disturbed, it makes a display of the tail, to detract attention from the head, and some people believe that both tail and head can bite–hence the popular name ngu sòng hua งูสองหัว, the snake with two heads. McFarland (1944: 5) describes this snake as non-poisonous. 28 The fire snake (ngu fai งู ไ ฟ ) may be the red cat-eye snake, ngu tòng fai งู ต้ อ งไฟ (Boiga

nigriceps), which can be an intensive hue of red. The idea of a snake that can cause wood to burn must be the bishop’s misunderstanding, rather than a fanciful tale. He make have asked about the meaning of the name, and was told that it refers to a snake whose body resembles the burning embers of a fire. He may, however, be referring to the Malayan pit viper Calloselasma rhodostoma, which is likewise red. 29 Bruguière’s attempts to identify animals in Siam with Biblical references, and thus with

known animals of the eastern Mediterranean, reflect the relative lack of knowledge about the spread and development of different species across long distances. One wonders whether the vicar-general of Aire had an interest in unusual animals or whether Bruguière hoped that his

observations might catch the attention of scientists and thus make a contribution to French knowledge of biology. 27

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

87

One of the bishop’s servants was almost the victim of its fury a few years back. He avoided the danger only by throwing away the torch he had in his hand. 6. Ngu-hau [the cobra], that is, the barking snake,30 is a viper, as thick as one’s arm. Its bite is fatal and causes unbelievable suffering. This snake sometimes imitates [82] the sound of a bell. Sometimes it whistles in such a way as to be heard some distance away. A few years ago the bishop was almost bitten by one of these vipers. It was beside his bed-head. The good Lord caused him to see it when it was still sleeping, which enabled him to kill it. One variety of these vipers has a bite that causes a man to have heart failure. The body of a person bitten turns green. After three hours the sick person dies if not given help within the first hour of being bitten. A Siamese was bitten by one of these snakes in our garden, but there was time to apply the remedy.31 7. Ngu-ngon-kai, [ngu ngòn kai งูหงอนไก่],meaning the snake with a cock’s comb. This snake is remarkable only for its poison, and the comb or crest on its head. It is perhaps the regulus the prophet Isaiah speaks about.32 8. Ngu-sung-travan, [ngu saeng tawan, also called ngu saeng athit งูแสงอาทิตย์, Xenopeltis unicolor], meaning sunbeam snake. This is the most beautiful of snakes and one of the most dangerous. It is half an ell33 in length. It is sky blue, shading into purple. Its skin is covered in scales. When the sun is on the horizon, it sparkles like crystal. Its scales continually give off showers of sparks somewhat like sunbeams. It loses its brilliance at night, but resumes it in the light of torches. Its bite is fatal. It is said though that some people know an effective antidote when it is applied the moment one is bitten. This snake is the very image of sin; externally it is delightful, while concealing a deadly venom. It is extraordinary that the person bitten by this snake always dies as soon as the sun has risen after the incident. So that, whether bitten at [83] seven in the morning or at midnight, one will certainly die the next day at sunrise. This snake is fairly common; we have some behind the seminary chapel; fortunately it does not move very quickly. 9. Ngu-pling [งูปลิง Enhydris plumbea, plumbeous water snake], that is, leech snake. This is as long as one’s finger, and the colour of a leech. It is usually only found in marshes, where it lives in the mud. Anyone unfortunate enough to be bitten by this snake dies almost instantly.

30 The word hao in the Thai name for the cobra (ngu hao งูเห่า) literally means ‘barking’ in the context of dogs, but should be translated ‘hissing’ in this context. 31 We are unfortunately not told what this potentially useful remedy was. 32 The Book of Isaiah (30: 6) in the Latin Bible refers to vipera et regulus volans (‘a viper and a flying serpent’). 33 An ell is roughly 45 inches (114 cm). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

88

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

10. Ngu-khiang-khon [ngu khwang khòn งูขว้างค้อน, maybe Enhydris plumbea, a water snake], the snake that attacks man.34 It is chiefly found by certain beaches. It jumps in the boats near the shore, attacks men, winding itself around their necks, and kills them with its poison. 11. Ngu-sing.35 This snake is non-poisonous. When it sees a man, it runs towards him, turning its body in a circle. If it reaches him, it gives him a sharp blow with its tail, and continues its trajectory. Such an unusual incident happened to one of our priests. 12. Ngu-samelang.36 This is a poisonous sea-snake. Its bite is not painful, but its effect is nonetheless fatal. A person bitten by it after a time feels drowsy and so to speak is forced to sleep. Too bad for the person who gives in to this desire, as once asleep he will not wake up. The patient can be saved only by preventing him from falling asleep, even if the most violent means are used in doing so. After twenty-four hours he is out of danger. This snake is identified by the way it swims; it rises on the surface of the water and goes to the depths in a perpendicular line very quickly. This snake [84] and others too are found in great numbers in these waters, chiefly in straits and near the coasts. I have seen some myself, but did not know what kind of snakes they were. Several people have spoken to me about a snake with wings, but I do not want to mention them here because not one of those who spoke about them had seen one. If true, the dragon, which the ancients have so often described, is not a mythical animal; I believe the Bible is avenged in speaking about this winged serpent. The Burmese in Bangkok are like the Psylles37 in ancient Egypt. They appear in public with snakes in their hands or wound about their neck. They provoke them to fight each other, have them bite them, put them in their mouth, and go so far as to seize them in their holes with their bare hands. They know about several plants, the sap of which halts the effects of the poison. It is true they are sometimes the victims of their recklessness. Often the poison is stronger than the plant’s qualities, and the doctor dies in spite of his specialized knowledge. During the flood period one sees the most snakes; some climb up into the trees. It is a terrible sight, to see a tree festooned with snakes. This does not often occur, as there are nearly always some places which are not flooded. I have heard many other things concerning snakes, but they did not seem to me to be sufficiently convincing, so I shall not mention Khiang must be a transcription error. The spelling should be khwang. The name literally means the ‘hurling hammer’ snake, a reflection of its ability to jump or hurl its body short distances. 35 Several species of snake are call ngu sing, including ngu sing thammada งูสิงธรรรมดา (Ptyas korros) and ngu sing hang lai งูสิงหางลาย (Ptyas mucosa). Both are called rat snakes in English. 36 The samaerang แสมรัง belong to the genus Hydrophis. Cox (1991: 321–34) describes twelve species of these sea snakes or mangrove snakes in Thailand. 37 The Psylles were a people of ancient Egypt and Libia, mentioned by the Greek historian Herodotus in the fifth century BC and known as snake-charmers. 34

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

89

them. They may be true, but are not certain. The Burmese and some Siamese eat snakes; to make them bigger and fatter they put sour lime in the hole occupied by the snake. Snakes do not like the smell of sour lime and retreat inside the den38 as much as they can. They contract, but gain in thickness what they lose in length [85]. After a few days the Burmese and Siamese dig into the hole and kill the snake. [INSECTS] I shall here give a few comments about poisonous and non-poisonous insects.39 Throughout this part of the Indies one finds two varieties of scorpions, black and yellow. The black ones are absolutely the same as those you find in France; they are sometimes four or five inches long. Their sting is incurable, and the patient dies within 24 hours, suffering terrible agonies. The yellow scorpions are longer; they have many legs, and are four to ten inches long. The biggest are found in the forests near the mountains. Their sting has the same effect as that of black scorpions, [but] if it is not fatal, the pain eases after 24 hours. There are also three types of leech. [One is found] in the sea, as thick as one’s leg. The Siamese eat them, and say they are delicious. They are on sale every day in the Bangkok market.40 The second type is the freshwater leech. It differs from yours only in that it is sometimes three fingers wide, and up to a foot long. The third type lives in the earth and does not need water; it is small. Among the non-poisonous insects are: 1. Bees, of which there are four types. The biggest is similar to a hornet. The second does not differ from the ordinary bee; it is found everywhere, and people do not trouble to keep it. It places its honeycombs in the hollows of old trees, and sometimes builds them on branches; the honey is excellent. The third type is a little bigger [86] than a gnat; in Penang its honey is collected to make vinegar. The smallest type is like a tiny midge; its honey is produced in such small quantities that no one bothers to collect it. 2. Hinghoi [หิงห้อย], small fireflies. These are like small flying stars found in great numbers in the woods. They are delightful to behold on a dark night. Each branch of a tree seems to give off electric sparks. 38 Bruguière uses the term la caverne, perhaps referring to the enlarged underground den at the end of the entrance hole. 39 The term ‘insect’ is used in a loose sense for small crawling or flying animals, and not in the scientific sense. His first two examples are not insects but arachnids (scorpions) and annelids (leeches). 40 These edible delicacies are Holothuria edulis, also known as sea cucumbers or bêche-de-mer. They are echinoderms and unrelated to the leech, which is an annelid. Bruguière thought they

were a type of leech, because the prefix to the Thai word for sea cucumber (pling-thale ปลิงทะเล) is also the Thai word for leech (pling ปลิง). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

90

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

3. Mosquitoes. They are widespread in Bangkok and extremely unpleasant; their bite causes a powerful burning itching. They are most numerous at the end of the rainy season. One can hardly protect oneself against them except by surrounding oneself in thick smoke. 4. Ants. No insect in Siam is so bothersome, so numerous and so diverse. There are white, black, red and grey ants; some fly, others crawl. There are small ones, medium-sized ones, and some as big as one’s thumb. They are ubiquitous, on the earth, in trees; they can be eaten and drunk; they are in our bedrooms with us. They are everywhere with us, even on the altar; they spoil all our edibles, bore through wood, eat up books. Bookcases are placed in water to be preserved from their voraciousness. Even so, one has to take care that the vases containing the water are very big, otherwise the books would not last long. The ants form a pontoon and with the help of this, reach their destination. The talapoins build their libraries in the middle of a pool; they have to take a boat to go and study. [TREES] I have seen no tree in Siam which is known in Europe, [87] apart from the orange and the pomegranate. I shall only speak about those whose names you know. 1. The palm tree. There are several kinds, such as the date palm, the coconut palm, the sago palm, the betel palm, and what the Siamese call the tontan [ต้นตาล Borassus flabelliformis, palmyra or sugar-palm]. All these trees commonly have a bare, straight, high and very supple trunk. They are topped by a splendid plume consisting of several leaves or branches which curve down in a half-circle, like feathers on a hat, which they resemble. The date, or the palm proper, produces an oblong bunch of fruit enclosing dates, which are sticky, yellow, or sometimes blackish. This fruit is delicious, has a sweet taste, but heats one. 2. The coconut (it has been proven that coconut trees grow from the seabed on the coasts of Siam).41 The average height of this tree is 45 feet; I have seen some, though, which were nearly 100 feet high, including the leaves, which are from 12 to 20 feet long by 3½ broad. Its fruit is in the form of a nut, which is twice as big as a man’s head and contains a slightly sweet and very fresh beverage. The inner wall of the nut is covered with a white substance that is tough and hardly healthy. It tastes rather like almonds. A liquor the colour and taste of milk is made from it, as is oil. The nut is enveloped in a thick and elastic skin like oakum. When the fruit is ripe, whatever the height of the tree, the shell does not break on falling. The coconut has nearly always fruit and flowers at the same time. There are some Bruguière actually writes ‘at the bottom of the sea’, which gives the wrong impression. The relevant point is that they can grow in shallow salt water. 41

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

91

coconut trees which produce nuts hardly bigger than one’s thumb, but others can be as big as a bushel.42 3. The sago. One does not eat [88] the fruit of this tree, but the wood. The trunk is cut into small pieces, boiled, and a substance containing small grains which you call sago is formed from it. 4. The betel palm produces a fruit similar to a small nut, only good for being chewed by the natives. 5. The ton-tan has nothing special about it; on the leaves of this tree the talapoins write their religious texts.43 6. The tamarind. This is a thickly-leaved tree, as high as a big elm; its leaves are dark green, as long and as broad as a finger; they are scalloped like the mimosa. Its flowers are small and bright yellow; its fruit is like a big pea pod, the inside of which is divided into small bays covered with a kind of yellow,44 sticky, acidic paste. Very healthy preserves are made with it, which taste like fruit preserved in grape juice. 7. The nutmeg tree has leaves more or less like a cherry tree, but paler, thicker, and less pointed; its five or six branches grow at an equal distance from the trunk and form a circle; above the first branches is another circle, and so on, until there are five or six levels of ever-diminishing size. Its fruit is like a small green peach; the nutmeg is located in the middle of the pulp. 8. The clove tree. People in the Indies send you the embryo of its flower after the leaves have fallen; this is what you call the clove.45 9. The cacao tree has smooth pale green leaves; it forms a lozenge two inches long by three-quarters of an inch wide. It produces a pod as long as a finger, in the shape of two cones joined at the base. This pod contains flat yellow bays, like a big bean. The kernel from which one makes chocolate is found in the bays. The [89] fruit is directly attached to the trunk and to big branches. The tree is like a pyramid, the trunk whitish.

Normally a measure of capacity, some eight gallons or 34 litres; a single nut could not be this big. 43 They do so on a variety of palm, producing palm leaves (bai lan) for manuscripts. 44 It is more often dark brown. 45 Bruguière notes below that some of the trees he describes are found only in Penang and not

in Siam. Finlayson (1826: 27–9) observed at Penang in 1821 that cloves, nutmeg and coffee had already become important commercial crops there. Neither the clove tree (Eugenia carophyllata ต้นกรามพลู or กานพลู) nor the cacao tree (Theobrama cacao ต้นโกโก้) was commercially cultivated in Siam. Coffee drinking was very rare in Bangkok in the 1830s, although some of the Thai elite had begun to adopt it (Bradley journal entry for 27 March 1839). 42

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

92

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

10. The coffee plant has leaves fairly similar to a common laurel, but not so thick. The flower is small, white and pleasant; it has a small green fruit which turns red when ripe. The fruit or fleshy substance contains the small beans, the coffee beans. 11. Tea. This bush, seven or eight feet high, has a completely [leaf-]covered trunk and is shaped like a cone balanced on its base. It is like a sloe tree in the shape of its leaves and the tips bristling from it. Its flower is white and sweet-smelling, and it is a bit like an apple tree. It produces a berry a little bigger than a pea. The leaves are gathered, roasted, and this is what you call tea. 12. The cinnamon tree is similar to a variety of laurel. Cinnamon is only the second bark of this tree. I know of no cinnamon in Siam, but I thought you would like to hear about it.46 13. The pepper vine is a kind of ivy trained to grow on hop poles. It produces a bunch as long as a finger, the seeds are attached to this bunch, and these small seeds are nothing less than pepper. White pepper has been shelled, black pepper is unshelled. 14. The vine. A kind of wild vine is found in Bangkok and nearby; the vine stock and shoots are covered with a sort of violet fur. The leaves are rather rough to touch; the grape it produces never comes to full maturity and is sour. Wine can be made with it if it is fermented with sugar; this mixture produces a liquor with the taste of Cyprus wine. There are some [90] places where it is not necessary to mix sugar with the must; the grape produces a passably good wine which can be kept for at least ten years. The bishop has done this. The Siamese do not cultivate this vine, which could produce good grapes if it were tended and planted in a favourable location. It cannot be propagated by cuttings, as the vine shoot dries up as soon as it is cut, but the seeds can be planted; the resultant vine stock produces fruit after three years. This vine produces everywhere many bunches of grapes, but some places are especially propitious for its fecundity. There is an island near one of our Christian outposts (I use these words because I cannot find better ones to describe a bringing-together of Christians forming something similar to a parish)47 where this wild vine is common. Some of the vine stocks bear as many as 30 bunches, just one of which produces sometimes 12, 15 or even 18 bottles of wine. The seed is a little smaller than a plum’s; the pip is as big as the coffee bean, but not so thick. A man can carry a bunch some distance only with difficulty. All The best quality cinnamon was produced in Ceylon, which became the main centre of export to Europe. Lesser quality cinnamon was exported from Vietnam and Java, and a wild variety grew in Thai territory on the western side of the Malay peninsula. The fact that the Thai have a name for cinnamon (opchoei อบเชย) demonstrates that it was well known to them, probably more for its medicinal uses than for cooking. 47 The word actually used is chrétienté. 46

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

93

these details I have from the bishop himself. He has spoken to me several times about this subject, has seen the fruit, and I have seen the pips.48 Mr de Vaussal,49 the naturalist, took some to France; after that, can one be surprised about what the Holy Spirit50 relates concerning the fertility of Palestine? 15. The cotton plant. Its branches and leaves, which are few, are like the lilac; it has a small white flower shaped like a bell-flower; the cotton and the seed are enclosed in a membrane-like envelope the size of a thumb; it opens naturally when the cotton is mature. To separate the seeds from the cotton, [91] a small machine is used. It has two horizontal cylinders, turned with a handle and placed one above the other. The cotton falls to one side and the seeds to the other. The cotton is then beaten with a cane to mix it up. A bowstring can also be used for this, producing what you call raw cotton. There is another type of cotton plant, but the cotton it produces has threads too short to be used for making cloth. 16. The cassia is very similar to the acacia, but has no thorns; its flowers are small, yellow, and fragrant. You probably know that its fruit is as thick as one’s finger and a foot long; some are much bigger. It is black, and has medicinal qualities. Orange trees are very common, and one variety produces oranges as big as melons; the French call it grapefruit.51 Some of the trees I have described to you are only found in Penang, but as this island is included in our mission,52 I thought it best to make no distinction. In the forests of Siam is found a tree with sweet-smelling wood; it is much sought after by persons of rank; it is, unless I am mistaken, the tree the Europeans call eagle-wood.53 There is another kind of sweet-smelling wood which is very expensive; the Siamese call it kalam-pae.54 It is found only in a forest in the domains This extensive description of the vine and its wine-making possibilities can be largely ascribed to the need of wine for sacramental purposes. 49 Unidentified. 50 Sic, meaning the Scriptures. 51 ‘Pamplemousse’ in the text, although this fruit did not grow in Siam. Bruguière is probably

referring to the som-o ส้มโอ or pomelo. 52 The Siam Mission included Siam proper and the princely states farther north (old Lan Na and Nan). Penang was the only place in the peninsular area where French missionaries resided, although the bishop’s jurisdiction extended theoretically all the way down the Malay peninsula and to Singapore. 53 This is correct. The tree went by many names, including aquillaria and allagoch. These are actually the genus and species names for eagle wood, also called aloes wood (Aquillaria agallocha, in Thai kritsana กฤษณา, also called trakhan ตระคัร). 54 The Thai term kalampac (kalam-pae seems to be a typographical error) refers to calambac, which the Thai claimed to be a product that was completely different from the product they called kritsana (aloes wood or eagle wood). The best-quality wood was obtained from the coast at Chanthaburi and from Cochinchina (Finlayson 1826: 258–60). 48

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

94

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

of the Cochinchinese king, who guards it carefully; only the kings and the greatest mandarins can obtain it. Several marvellous qualities are attributed to this tree; one, among others, seems too extraordinary to be true; you will doubtless consider it better to pass over it in silence. [92] There are more fruit trees than in Europe, and varieties are more numerous, but the fruits they bear, with the exception of four or five, are not as good as ours. In general they have a tart or insipid taste. Some give off an unpleasant smell;55 but we have the advantage of eating fresh fruit every day.56 [PLANTS] Among the plants worth mentioning are: 1. Banana or Indian fig. Its leaves are about eight feet long and two feet broad. Its fruit is oblong, slightly bent. It tastes like a fig. The fruit is healthful, but cold. 2. Sugar cane. This is like a reed, but its knots or rings are closer. It is whitish or violet. It has the taste and consistency of the maize stalk, more or less. The way the Siamese make sugar is very simple. They place two big trees perpendicularly which interlock; to one of these another tree is imbedded by means of which the whole contraption is turned. The canes are placed between the two trees, and the liquid which is produced falls into a press. It is then transferred to a copper pan, and after the liquid is boiled for some time the sugar alone remains. 3. Betel. This plant, which is greatly used in the Indies, is a kind of pale green ivy. The natives continually chew the leaf, after covering it with a thin layer of lime: the natives eat the lime and add sugar to the mortar. They fairly frequently also add a sliver of areca nut and a pinch of tobacco. Nothing is more disgusting than to see these people endlessly chewing the cud. Blood-coloured saliva dribbles from their mouths [93] and makes your heart miss a beat, but you have to be careful not to show this. This strange composition eats the tongue away and blackens the teeth. You can see every morning in Bangkok small boats filled with lime and betel; the Siamese fishwives invite passers-by to buy their merchandise, as in certain towns in France soft drinks sellers invite travellers to have a drink; to convince them, they partake themselves of their goods. 4. The boropet [bòraphet ต้นบรเพ็ชร or Tinospora cordifolia, one of many species of woody climber]. This plant grows in the air, so to speak. It hangs in the trees without adhering to them, without clinging tightly to them like ivy and other similar plants. Its roots are usually raised four feet above the earth. I have seen several species. I do not think they are to be found in Europe. The Siamese say this plant has many properties. 55 He appears to be thinking of the durian. 56 In contrast to Europe, where fruits are seasonal, limited largely to summer and autumn. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

95

Kitchen garden plants and vegetables found in Europe do not grow well in the tropics. The stalk of the onion is like a thread. Cauliflowers are no bigger than apples. There are some fairly good small white smooth-skinned melons. But these people do not lack other vegetables which are entirely unknown to you. They have one with flowers at the top of the stalk and the seed hidden in the ground. The Siamese have no cereals other than rice. They plant it in furrows in small square fields enclosed by a dyke. Water is fed into it and should remain there until the harvest; if there is no water after some time, the plant withers or does not yield. When the floods come, the fields around Bangkok are totally flooded for a fairly [94] long period of time; but the rice always rises above the water level and keeps pace with the rising waters of the river; if the water suddenly rises one metre, the rice rises likewise in 12 hours. Rice is very similar to oats in colour, the shape of its leaves, and its ears. To separate the grain from the husk, the ears are placed in a mortar, and are repeatedly beaten with a huge wooden pestle. Rice is the basic food for men and animals. Nothing can be simpler than the way the natives prepare it. They put the rice with a little water in an iron or terracotta cooking pot, and put the pot on the fire; as soon as the grains are somewhat swollen, they remove it and eat it at once, without condiments. Rice thus prepared is neither good nor bad; it has no taste. There are several varieties of rice. There is white rice, black rice, and some which can be grown and harvested in three months. Also to be found in Siam is a kind of millet which is quite good.57 The Siamese grow maize (Turkish wheat) too, but they do not do much with it; they just grill the seeds still on the cob, and eat it like bread. Wheat does not thrive; if sown, ants eat some and weevils consume the rest. The bishop tried growing some in a pond, to put it out of reach of this voracious insect, but the result was unsuccessful; one litre produced five ears, so the project was abandoned. Only rice is spared insects. Poor Siamese are not greatly interested in flowers, but the big landowners, the mandarins and the princes decorate the galleries in front of their houses with them. There are not many varieties [95] but some plants have pleasant-smelling flowers; many are odourless. But, to make up for this, a great number of trees, especially those producing spices, give off a perfume which one can sometimes smell at sea more than a league off. After talking to you about so many useful trees and plants, I should in justice say a word about those which are noxious. Do not be impatient, the list is not long; I shall only speak about two poisonous plants.

57

Possibly düai ต้นเดือย, Coix lachryma-jobi (Job’s tears), a cereal-producing grass. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

96

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

1. The mai-sac.58 This tree has leaves which poison the water of all the streams into which they fall. One has to be on one’s guard of drinking instinctively from all the springs one finds. As for the rivers, the volume of water they maintain, which is continually renewed, nullifies the effect of the poison. 2. The rangtang [probably rang-daeng รางแดง, Ventilago calyculata, a woody climber]. This is a poisonous plant found in the forests of Siam, mostly in the western part. The leaf is a little bigger than the vine, with bright red borders. The poison is in this border. If you touch it, you immediately experience an intolerable burning sensation. Your first desire is to go and plunge into water to extinguish the fire devouring you; but instead of finding anticipated relief, death awaits you. There is no remedy to cure the stricken person other than placing him on a wattle and lighting a fire beneath. When the red band of the leaf is cut off, its interior can be eaten without danger. When elephants see this plant, they pull it up very gingerly and throw it very far away; they know [96] their life depends on this. The king has had some of these leaves publicly displayed in Bangkok, so that everyone could recognize them and avoid the danger. One of our priests has seen this plant. We have in our garden a tree called mai-tourang.59 It has a fruit which has an unusual effect. If a few drops of the juice it contains fall on the skin, one scratches several days non-stop. Water only increases the itching. Only by applying mud on the place where the burning sensation is felt can there be some relief. [THE PEOPLE] Siam is a very fertile country, but under-populated and still more under-cultivated: it has ten times fewer inhabitants than France, on a similar sized land area. If one calculates the population by the number of births over ten years, compared with the number of deaths over the same period, a comparison I myself made in one of our settlements, it seems that the population declines by a ninth each year. So in less than a century Siam would be empty of people, if the great number of foreigners which commerce attracts, of whom many settle in the country, did not make good the deficit. Indeed, there are perhaps as many Chinese as true Siamese. The chief causes of this frightening reduction in population are 1. polygamy: the rich have many wives; the last king60 had one thousand; 2. the great number of This may be a reference to the sea-poison tree (Barringtonia asiatica), all parts of which are poisonous. Bruguière or his informant may be confusing this tree (called don thale ต้นโดนทะเล in Thai) with another mangrove tree called pa-sak (Bruguiera conjugata ต้นปะสัก), the Thai name of which sounds very like that of the teak tree (mai sak ต้นไม้สัก). The genus Bruguiera was named in honour of an eighteenth-century naturalist of that name at the University of Montpellier and is unrelated to our bishop. 59 This tree (or perhaps a climber attached to the tree) may have been a member of the Urticaceae family, called mai tarangtang ไม้ตะรังตัง in Thai. The irritants that cause the itching are minute hairs on the surfaces of the leaves or pods. 60 King Rama II, r.1809–1824. 58

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

97

talapoins; the number of these voluntary bachelors comprise a quarter of the men living in and around Bangkok; 3. the dirtiness of the inhabitants: they build their houses on a heap of mud, they live surrounded by pigs whose accumulated filth gives off a vile stench. They do not [97] know either how to build new channels to assist the runoff of rainwater, or how to clear those existing from the quantity of mud, leaves and grass which imperceptibly pile up in them. A European is shocked by such negligence, but they alone do not notice it; they are surprised at remarks that are made about the dangers of such excessive uncleanness. In general southern Asians are hardly clean, if I am allowed to judge by the individuals I have seen. This negligence, combined with the influence of the climate and the unhealthy foods the Siamese make much use of, results in a great number of illnesses, such as cholera, dysentery, pernicious fevers, intermittent fevers, scurf, ulcers, colic, and so many others it would take too long to list them. I hear talk of the dead or sick all the time. The Siamese are particularly subject to a kind of sickness they call afflicted by wind.61 You see people who seem perfectly well, suddenly afflicted by a syncope. It is very hard to bring them round. If the patient does not die in 24 hours, he is soon well again. I have been called many times at night to render Extreme Unction62 to persons attacked by this singular malady. The next morning I found men seated beside a big dish of rice and meat, eating with a healthy appetite. All these causes one can attribute to their weak constitutions; they are much less strong than Europeans and the least exercise exhausts them. Chinese doctors can recognise a European from 100 Asians just by the movement of the artery; they have no need to take his pulse. [TRADE] [98] However fertile the kingdom of Siam might be, the inhabitants are none the richer; all the specie and commerce is in the hands of the king, the princes, the mandarins and the Chinese, for in this country the nobility does not lose rank by trading. The king and the princes have their vessels, their shops, their trade goods; some even have the right to establish monopolies. The chief export items are gold leaf, sugar, salt, cotton, some silk, indigo, a small quantity of pepper, rice, elephants’ tusks, rhinoceros and unicorn horns, and dyes obtained from wood (they have one kind of wood [sappan] which produces a good purplish red). Imports include dyed cotton cloth, porcelain and faience vases, ironmongery, some firearms. But these different objects must not be too precious or they would find no buyers.

61 Pen lom in Siamese. 62 One of the Catholic rites for the dying. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

98

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

Only silver has currency in Siam; the coins are almost round, shaped like a button; the most highly denominated are worth only 3 francs; two are worth a piaster.63 This silver is pure if it has not passed though the hands of counterfeiters. For things of little value, the Siamese exchange small shells.64 Victuals here are very reasonably priced, but nothing is cheaper than bullocks. It is sometimes possible to buy one for a franc. They have become more expensive of late, because of the large number of vessels coming to Bangkok. [ORIGINS] It is time I spoke to you about the Siamese, having spoken so much about Siam. The inhabitants of the country are not called Siamese, but Thai, that is, people pre-eminently free.65 If ever a name was inappropriate, [99] it is this. Every Siamese is born and dies a slave to the ruler and the high mandarins. After labouring all day on public works, they receive a little poor quality rice and some blows from a stick, but they are content with their lot and think everything is perfect in this country. The origin of this people is not difficult to discover. According to a widespread tradition among them, the Siamese derive from a colony of Burmese who established themselves in Ligor. From there, these new settlers spread along the shores, went north, and founded Juthia [Ayutthaya], the former capital of the kingdom of Siam. Indeed the physique, religion, habits and customs are more or less the same among the Burmese and the Siamese, but the language is different.66 Although these two peoples have a common origin, they are not friendly to each other, and indeed there exists considerable antipathy. The Burmese67 have often ravaged Siam; last century they led away into captivity the [Siamese] king and all his family.68 Our Christians suffered a lot from all these wars and revolutions. In tempestuous times the missionaries are their only resource and consolation. They

Bruguière may be referring to the Spanish silver dollar, which weighed 26 grams, roughly twice the weight of the silver baht (about 15 g.). 64 Cowries, which mostly came from the Maldives. 65 Italics in the original. The Chinese Repository text of 1844 begins here. CR. ‘The Siamese may with more propriety be said to be slaves of the king. Children are sold into slavery by their parents, wives are slaves of their husbands. The common people are liable to be called upon at any time by the local officers for their services, while the officers and nobility have made their knees and elbows callous by daily prostrations before his majesty, who may appropriately be termed the master of a nation of slaves.’ 66 So too, he might have added, are the scripts. 67 CR. ‘From the best authority it is pretty evident that the Siamese are the descendants of the Laos, whose spoken language strongly resembles the Siamese, and that the latter could not have existed as a distinct nation for more than four or five hundred years. But there is nothing in the written on spoken language to indicate that the Siamese were descendants of the Burmans.’ 68 After the fall of Ayutthaya in 1767. 63

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

99

have to gather together those who have fled into the forests and lead them to a safe place. Slaves have to be bought back and often one has to buy one’s own freedom, and rice has to be procured for everyone, even when there is insufficient to go round for oneself and without any assistance or human aid. In these untoward circumstances [one sees] the truth of the oracle of Jesus Christ: ‘If the Holy Father feeds the small birds, he is still more likely to nourish you.’ I could cite facts which prove how much divine providence takes care of those who are with God: [100] but it is not to a priest, and to a priest such as you, that proof is required to demonstrate the goodness of God to men.69 [RELIGION] Before talking about the customs and habits of the Siamese, I thought it appropriate to give you an idea of their religion. But I must urge you in advance to take courage, because one needs it to keep reading all the absurdities and extravagancies I am about to describe. The talapoins who are like priests and doctors of religion, do not agree on several points. Most of them are unable to read the old religious texts so that each one assumes the right to add or delete some tenets. They invent fables which they present in public; they require to be believed on trust; but they find opponents among their brethren, resulting in disputes and even fights between them; this makes those witnessing the scene laugh at their expense. They still retain their authority and power over not just the people, but also the princes. I shall limit myself to relating the articles of their faith generally agreed among the Siamese; I shall give you firstly a summary of their doctrine and then explain each article in detail.70 1. There are several gods: they are uncountable in number; several are married and they have children; the others are not married. The idols are the images of the divinity. The Christians call both the idols and the temples, containing them pagodas.

CR. ‘From the allusion to the disciples of the Romish faith, the reader would naturally gather a more favorable opinion of their pious self-denial and consistent life, than would be drawn from a personal observation of those of the same faith, now inhabiting the country: who are even in the estimation of the Siamese, proverbially indolent, filthy and licentious. It is a common report among the Siamese, that among the Romish priests in that country, the man who performs the marriage ceremony retains the bride for several days at his own house. And it is somewhat remarkable that among the boys, constituting one of their schools designated a college, is a youth, whose complexion and features bear a striking resemblance to those of the bishop.’ 70 What follows is a total travesty of what is supposed to be Buddhism. Bruguière’s sources are

not known, but must have included Monsignor Florens (the only other Frenchman in Bangkok) and the Siamese priests of the mission, among other informants. 69

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

100

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

2. There is, among them, one which is eternal and therefore exists, but it is not the most important [101] of the gods; another, which they call Phra-PhuThi-Chau,71 has more power, although he has been created; the first is called PhraHin.72 3. Heaven and earth are eternal; they exist necessarily, but Phra-Phu-ThiChau, who is not eternal, who has been created, who was born and died on earth, created heaven and earth. 4. There are angels; they are not created. 5. All mankind derives from one man and one woman. 6. The soul is immortal (they have no concept of spirituality). 7. A heaven and hell exist. Heaven is above our heads, hell beneath our feet; there is fire there, but it is not eternal. 8. There are devils, but it is not known whence they come. These devils have a chief, who is to be found in the depths of hell; the others are his assistants. There are some on earth who torment reprobates. 9. There is a god who writes about men’s actions, good and bad. He is called Phra-Phum.73 10. The souls of the dead are individually judged. 11. Men can easily avoid hell, but not women. They can overcome this difficulty only by making considerable offerings to the talapoins. One has to understand that if their salvation depends on this condition, they will all be saved.[102] 12. All animals are our brothers. They were men before and will become such again; trees are animate. 13. There was once a flood in Siam; the god Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau placed a rainbow in the skies to reassure men who feared another flood.

The spelling today would be Phra Phuttha Chao, the Lord Buddha. There is a pedantic and inaccurate footnote in the text here, presumably not by Bruguière, indicating ‘ph is not pronounced as f, but is an aspirated p: u becomes ou, so Phra-phu-thi-chau is pronounced as if one wrote hpra hpour hti stchau.’ 72 It is impossible to make sense of Bruguière’s description of the Siamese religion. He

obviously fails to recognize the centrality of the Buddha. Phra Hin refers to Phra In (Indra), the king of the Hindu gods. 73 The guardian spirit of the land. A Western equivalent is the genius loci or tutelary spirit of a particular place. 71

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

101

14. There will be a general resurrection; this world will end. Phra-Sian,74 who has already come to the earth, will come a second time and make men eternally happy75 (Phra means God, so Phra-Sian is the god Sian or the Messiah). The ethics of the Siamese are reduced to these two points: give alms to the talapoins; kill no animals; the more a man eats, the more he obtains merit in the eyes of God.76 I shall not speak to you about all the abominations they relate concerning their gods. I do not know them myself; I know only that a reasonable man cannot listen to these licentious tales without feeling considerable indignation without silencing the impudent narrator. This, though, is the subject of the discourses the talapoins deliver in public places to a large audience comprising people of all ages and sex. It is exactly the same religious base as with the Greeks and Romans. It is the same code of immorality in all times and in all places. The devil is always the same. But let us look at details. In all eternity there existed a god called Phra-Hin [Indra พระอินทร์]; this god had a chicken. One day he wanted to try its strength; he collected some of the droppings of his chicken, and modelled two small dolls which he endowed with life. This was the first man and [103] the first woman, originators of the human race. The flood came soon afterwards. The angels existing through all eternity undertook to control heaven and earth. They are not gods. They have a more perfect nature and much more power than men. They control everything and it does not seem that anyone has given them this function. Heaven is divided into 12 levels, concave in shape; these 12 heavens are supported by a high mountain called Khau-Soumeng.77 The angels are scattered

74 Phra Sian is Phra Si An (พระศรีอาริย์, from the Sanskrit Śri Ariya), the future Buddha and basis of some messianic beliefs. The term phra has several connotations, depending on context; it can be a generic term for sacred beings, divinities and gods. Contrary to Bruguière’s understanding, it most often does not refer to a god. 75 CR. ‘In this summary of the religious creed of the Siamese, the bishop has given us some ideas which appear scarcely compatible with the Budhist [sic] system which they embrace. He states in the 6th article that they believe the soul immortal, whereas the consummation of their religious hopes is annihilation. He speaks of a general judgment, which appears scarcely in harmony with the usual belief of the Siamese that there is a transmigration of being from brute to man, and from man to superior being, and also the reverse according to the merit or the demerit of the individual. It may here be remarked that there is a want of uniformity in the religious opinions of the Siamese priesthood, and recently a number of more enlightened and leading members of this class rejected many of the absurdities of their books, and professed views more in harmony with reason and a pure religion; and it is to be hoped that the time may not be distant when instead of being the blind leaders of the blind, they may enjoy not only the enlightened influences, but the spiritual power of Christianity.’ 76 The last point seems more a reflection of Chinese merchants. 77 Khao Sumen, Mount Meru (Sumeru). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

102

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

among these 12 heavens. Some are white, some red. Some are also green. I believe there are none of any other colour. They are generally of colossal size. Crows and vultures are angels, because they eat human flesh; some claim that all the angels are white and very beautiful; take your choice. In the middle of heaven is a large pool where the angels go to bathe. When there are too many of them, the pool cannot retain the water; it splashes over the sides and produces rain. Lighting has two causes: the first comes from an old woman who, to make fun of us, moves a mirror in the air; the second is caused by angels, who sometimes produce fire with their tinderbox; the spark produced causes lightning. Thunder is produced by a horrible giant who has established himself in the firmament. He has teeth like the tusks of a wild boar, and when he chastises his wife, he does so so loudly that he causes the earth to tremble and this is thunder. But he is not always satisfied with chastising, and sometimes chases after her with an axe in his hand. If when really worked up he drops his axe, this produces thunder. Phra-Athit and Phra-Chan are the sun and the moon. These [104] two gods were men, and brothers. When they lived on earth they gave alms to the talapoins. The elder gave them every day a large amount of gold; the second gave silver. They had a younger brother, who also gave alms to the talapoins, but he gave them only rice in a very black receptacle. After their death, they became gods; the first is the sun, the second the moon; the third was less lucky. As punishment for his avarice, he was turned into an extremely black monster, with only arms, nails and ears. He is called Phra-Rahu.78 This punishment did not improve him; jealous of his two brothers’ good fortune, he waited for a long time for the opportunity of killing them. He often fights them, and this is the cause of eclipses. The Siamese, who dislike seeing their sun and moon being eaten, create a terrible noise to make PhraRahu stop. Throughout the eclipse, there is nothing but cries and shouts; drums are sounded, big bronze receptacles are repeatedly beaten, guns fired, the king has the cannons of the fort fired, the disorder is total. It would be easier to halt the eclipse than to disillusion them about this belief. They are cross with the Christians, because they remain unmoved: you Frenchmen, they say, do not like the stars which are so useful to you, since you do not trouble to come to their aid when they are in such great danger. They say it is not the earth which moves, but the sun: when it rises, it mounts an elephant; when it gets to its highest point above the horizon, that is, at midday, it changes its mount and sits on a buffalo or a horse (since I think I have heard of both). It goes down therefore on [105] one of these animals. At six in the evening it goes to hide behind Mount Meru, which I have already talked about.

He is not a god but a demon, who, it was thought, tried to devour the sun or the moon during an eclipse. 78

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

103

It is not necessary for it to go under the earth, because no one lives there, and no one can live there as they could not stand on their feet. There are stars which are divinities; the immobile stars are set in the vault of heaven. Learned Siamese do not agree about the cause of this obscurity which can be seen on the moon; some say it is a big tree, some that it is an old woman removing husks of rice, others, more scholarly,79 say it is a man busy making a basket. The earth, air, sea, and rivers are so many gods. The earth is flat, a big buffalo upholds it with its horns, to prevent it falling into space, but, as no prop was given to the buffalo, the earth is not stable. The ebb and flow of the sea is caused by a huge crab; when it emerges from its cave, the water rises, and when it goes inside, the tide goes down. It is not just ordinary people who believe all these absurdities; there are plenty who say they are educated and who believe them, so it is not always wise to wish to undeceive them. To maintain in seriousness to a Siamese who has had no contact with Europeans that we have travelled over the earth and found neither buffalo nor elephant, that the sun is not a man, still less a god, that it is a million times bigger than the earth, that one can be protected against lighting strikes, that one can travel in the air80 without being a bird, etc., is to take trouble to no purpose, for you would be treated as a charlatan. A British envoy81 and other persons have informed the king of Siam82 that the Europeans have discovered the means of [106] flying in the air, of sailing without sails or oars, using steam from water,83 that they had invented air guns: the king told them he did not believe them. The gods I have just told you about are visible gods, the others are invisible. The most famous and most important is Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau or Phra-Chau. I do not know in which century he was born, for he had a father and mother.84 While he remained a man, he committed all sorts of crimes; he was called Songmana Codom,85 that is, buffalo thief. Finally ashamed of his conduct, he wanted to become Emphasis in the original. Bruguière is probably referring to the still-novel flights in balloons. The very first such flight

took place in France less than ten years before he was born. 81 This could be either John Crawfurd (in 1822) or Henry Burney (in 1826). 82 Either King Rama III (Phra Nang Klao, r. 1824–1851), before or after his accession, or his predecessor, King Rama II (Phra Phuttha Loet La Sisulalai, r. 1809–1824). 83 Steam-powered ships were still a novelty. The first to appear in Burma was used five years earlier by the British forces, during the 1824–5 fighting against the Burmese along the Irrawaddy. The first to reach China arrived in 1830. Emperor Minh Mang’s purchase of one in 1840 was rumoured to be for military use against Bangkok. None was to be seen in Bangkok for nearly fifteen years after this account was written, when the Express arrived (Bradley journal entry 11 January 1844). 84 Bruguière possibly means that his parents were real people and therefore he must have been

born in historic time. 85 A corruption of the Buddha’s personal name, Siddhartha Gautama; what immediately follows is sheer nonsense. 79 80

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

104

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

a god. To this end, he dressed in yellow and became a religious hermit. He soon had up to 500 disciples. Weary of always staying in the same temple, he started to travel; from the island of Ceylon, where he then was, he came in just one step to a mountain above Ayutthaya86 (the distance between the two countries is 500 leagues). Overtaken by a rainstorm, he sheltered in a cave, which still exists; he left the mark of his body;87 [and] he formed the order of talapoin monks. After collecting alms, he ate such a great quantity of pork that his stomach exploded, and the god was felled by a haemorrhage before changing his robes, which, in the eyes of the talapoins, is a certain sign of reprobation. They add that their god wanted to return to the island of Ceylon before dying. He left to his disciples his yellow robes. Anyone who dons them becomes a god,88 and resumes being a man when he abandons them. When Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau died, he was annihilated; yet he was and remains a god, and is even the most powerful of the gods. Phra Hin, who exists by himself through all eternity, who created the father and mother of Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau, has been forced to give way to him [107]. Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau, who is not eternal, created heaven and earth which are eternal; when he came into the world, the earth existed and yet he created it.89 Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau is in hell because he died wearing his yellow robe; he is not in hell, since he is a god. Indeed he is nowhere, because he has been annihilated. But the talapoins have his body, which was at first placed in a coffin. An indiscrete person who dared to come too close to the bier received a kick from the dead and annihilated god which was strong enough to kill him. Do you think that the talapoins agree on all these contradictions? But the facts are certain. A Siamese king was so shocked at this [last] article of their beliefs that he had it expunged from their religious texts, but it does not seem that they were much troubled in conforming to the monarch’s orders. When they feel pressured by the Christians, they change their fire. Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau, they say, was born before heaven and earth existed: where then were his father and mother, they are asked, and where was he himself, since he had nowhere to go? - because according to their tenets nothing can exist in space without a base, a point of departure. 86 Phra Phutthabat, the site of the Sacred Footprint in Saraburi Province. It is believed that the Buddha left an impression of his foot in a stone on this mountain during this visit. 87 His foot, hence the modern name of the locality. 88 Here, Bruguière reveals important weaknesses in his information-gathering and his attempts

at logic. After concluding that the Thai term phra means a god, he fails to grasp that it has entirely different meanings in other contexts. In this instance, a man dons the yellow robes and becomes a phra (a bhikkhu or Buddhist monk), which Bruguière erroneously translates as ‘a

god’. He may also have misunderstood the purpose of the Thai noun-classifier khon, which is used for a layman but ceases to be used when a layman is ordained. 89 By collapsing conflicting viewpoints of dogma, which he only half understood (and through a probably less than competent translator), the author does his best to emphasise apparent conflicts and absurdities which, in his opinion, are displayed by the religion he describes so inadequately. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

105

Then they do not know what to reply, but say: ‘This is how it is in our scriptures,’ or they start to laugh and move to another topic. Those with some education feel the weak position of their religion; they make a point of not entering into a dispute with Christians. ‘Do not discuss things with the Farangs’ (meaning Christians) they say. ‘for they will make so many objections, will ask you so many times why and where, that you will soon be reduced to keeping quiet.’ Everything belonging to Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau is an object of veneration for the Siamese. From time to time the king of Siam sends a richly decorated vessel [108] to bring back a few relics of their supposed god; less than three years ago the last journey took place. The cave to which he withdrew, the fountain which gushes from it, and his footprint have become a place of pilgrimage for the Siamese.90 The trace of this footprint is about five feet long, studded with precious stones and covered with a rich cloth. All around it small iron spikes have been built, on which pilgrims place rings and gold ornaments which are offered to the god. The king has stationed guards there so that no one will remove these offerings. On another mountain next to this one are shown to those interested the bed and a few small pieces of furniture which belonged to the god Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau; but we know what to think about these supposed objects of veneration. A long time after the death of this god, an impostor carved into the rock all these imprints of the foot and the body of Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau, and announced this marvel throughout the country; the Siamese are so superstitious that they took everything at face value. The talapoins in the neighbourhood profited in order to receive abundant alms. They then announced that they possessed the body of the god. They handed out to pilgrims monkeys’ teeth which they said were the teeth of Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau; it is said that they still distribute some today. It is not difficult for the monks to deceive the Siamese; their word is taken on trust. They slaughtered a child on one occasion to remove the jewels he was wearing; they then placed the body next to an idol and smeared the blood of the victim on its mouth. They went to the king to accuse the idol of having eaten the child. The king believed them implicitly (gods cannot lie); the idol was condemned to having its mouth locked with a padlock and to be infamously called ‘consumer of [109] men.’ The deceit was finally discovered and the talapoins were punished with death, but the poor god nevertheless retained its name and its padlock.

CR. ‘This pretended footstep of Budha, a short distance from Ayuthia, and about one hundred miles north of Bangkok, is covered with a temple, and is made the place of an annual visit by the people from the capital and country, of all classes, high and low, priests and people; but it requires more than ordinary powers of imagination to discover any marks of deity, except the impress of His hands who hath made all things by his word.’ 90

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

106

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

The two brothers of Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau followed him one after the other in the rank of head of the talapoins. [THE TALAPOINS] I am sure you are anxious to know about these singular persons, [and] I shall [now] satisfy you. I am constrained to use terms employed by the Catholic Church to indicate the rank and different grades of talapoins; I regret this, but cannot express myself otherwise. The talapoins constitute a kind of hierarchical religious order: they have a general, provincials,91 priors, ordinary religious, novices and postulants or disciples, and lastly scholarly and learned men. According to their rules, the ordinary talapoin must obey the temple head in everything. About four in the morning, they give the signal to warn the Siamese to prepare rice for them.92 At six o’clock, they go to collect alms. Devout Siamese, especially the women, wait in a respectful posture for the talapoins to pass, and give them rice, fruit, meat, cakes and sometimes money. They must accept everything, without thanks and even without acknowledgement; it seems they obey their rules on this matter. On returning to the pagoda, the talapoin who has sought alms bows at the feet of his superior, and makes his confession. The sins of talapoins are of a special order, for example, looking to one side, looking more than five cubits93 ahead, returning a greeting, having inadvertently killed an insect. The confession over, the superior imposes an appropriate penance. They maintain, though, that to kill any animal, even inadvertently, without [110] transgression on one’s part, is an unpardonable crime, but the contradiction does not trouble them.94 When the talapoins have returned from alms gathering, the pagoda superior has the chapter enter the refectory. If the result of the collection is considerable, they stuff themselves with meat, and eat again at midday. The rest of the day is given over to games and sleep. From midday until the next morning, the talapoins can eat nothing, but scandal-mongers accuse them of having departed from the original law on this point, as with many others. Toward six in the evening, the gong is sounded to reassemble them; all the offices are indicated by the sound of a drum. Between six and nine o’clock, they recite a set form of prayer which lasts a good hour, and which almost none of them understand. It is said that it is not a true prayer, but a recital of the fabulous actions of their gods, some of which are less than edifying. In some pagodas, the talapoins pray every morning for a quarter of an hour; it is said that this practice is not long-established, [but] they wanted to copy the Christians. The talapoins wear yellow [robes]; they shave their heads and eyebrows twice An ecclesiastical term for the head or chief of a province or of a religious order in a province. Usually by sounding the temple gong. 93 Approximately 30 cm. 94 Sic. Between killing an insect and eating meat? 91 92

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

107

a month, the first and fifteenth days of the moon. According to their rules, they should not wear silk robes, should sleep on a plank, when they go out they should speak to no one, [but] have a fan in front of their eyes which limits their vision to five cubits’ distance. A layman armed with a stout stick should always be at their side to beat them sharply if they derogate from one of their rules, but the king, who claims he is the supreme head of the religion, has dispensed them from observing these traditions, and the talapoins considered it inappropriate to protest against this innovation; the lay chastiser [111] accompanies them now only when they enter the king’s palace. The talapoins can be considered the priests or ministers of the Siamese religion. They distribute to the people a kind of lustral water to which they attribute many properties; newly-weds have to present themselves before them to be sprinkled with this water. They have many rites which they have copied from the Christians; they have like us a Lent, an Easter, a pascal candle, a rosary, relics, [and] holy water. They write the names of their gods on a slip of paper which they wrap in cloth and attach small strips of cloth to. They give these supposed relics to the Siamese who are supposed to carry them with them at all times. They say they protect them against all kinds of misfortune or untoward events. They also have ordination. The admission of laymen to the ranks of talapoins takes place at the beginning of their Lent, that is, in their ninth month,95 corresponding to our July. Shortly before this the monarch carries in procession to certain pagodas areca nut [and] betel for the talapoins, strips of wood for cleaning their teeth, and lotus flowers for the new monks. The day established for their reception is usually the fifteenth of the lunar month. The monk-elect is positioned in a boat, with an old talapoin; the relatives of the monk-elect go with them, and also bystanders. The procession goes to the pagoda to the sound of instruments. Licentious songs are sung in honour of the gods, but in a language that, happily, the participants do not understand.96 On arrival at the pagoda, the postulant is led into the ceremonial hall; the superior comes to sit down on a mat or a carpet, rather like a tailor; with one hand he holds a fan which conceals [112] part of his face, and in the other hand he holds a gilded wooden mallet. The postulant prostrates himself before the superior, having his relatives at his side; one carries an empty bowl, another a fan, a third a length of yellow cloth. The participants are seated in a similar fashion, forming a semi-circle. After the first customary questions, the superior asks the postulant, ‘What was your

Bruguière is in error. The rainy-season retreat, which he calls Lent, begins on the full-moon day of the eighth Thai month (Ashada in the Buddhist calendar). In the year he was writing, that day happened to be 15 July 1829, but it can also occur in June. 96 The chants being in Pali, neither could the author understand; so to castigate them as ‘licentious’ is entirely unjustified. 95

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

108

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

conduct like in the world? Are you married? Are you a debtor? Do your creditors agree to your entering the pagoda? And your relatives also agree?’ He finishes by having him pledge to reject absolutely the worldly dress he is wearing (he is dressed in white), and to don the yellow robe which will make him a god. Immediately the postulant is undressed, and clothed in a yellow robe; a fan and a bowl are placed in his hands. Henceforth he is called Phra (God);97 he is worshipped, and also has the right to seek alms. The talapoins acknowledge no one, not even monarchs, but mere individuals should salute them, or rather adore them, because they are called gods. The way to greet them consists of joining one’s hands and raising them to the forehead; those in a hurry turn to one side and place their hands behind their ears;98 most do nothing. These strange divinities do not hold appointment for life; their dress makes them gods, and if they discard it or if it is removed from them by force, they become men again. A talapoin who has taken the vows should stay at least three months in the pagoda; after this period he can abandon his condition and resume it at will.99 To advance in rank, a talapoin should resume lay dress and

Much of Bruguière’s incomprehension of Buddhism derives from incorrectly understanding the meaning of phra, which in this context means a Buddhist monk or bhikkhu. 98 This appears to be describing the behaviour of the bhikkhus themselves. 99 CR. ‘The wats (what are here called pagodas) consist of a temple, or temples, containing images, and are surrounded by pagodas and dwelling-houses for the priests, and constitute the only school-houses and college for Siamese youth, and the priests are their only professors and teachers. It is customary for boys of all classes to enter these wats to learn to read, and as the language is simple, a few months are sufficient for them to learn to repeat the sounds found in a Siamese book, but many close their studies without learning to read intelligently, though this constitutes with them the sum of an education. Thus every Siamese boy is taught not only to preserve the yellow cloth, but actually to wear it himself, but though they shave the head, and wear the yellow cloth while in this capacity as novitiates, they have nothing to do with the duties of the priesthood more than to carry the rice pots and row the boats of the priests, as they pass from house to house to gather their daily food. The priests eat in the morning and take nothing after 12 o’clock, but a cup of tea; a supply of betel nut furnishes an occasion for an unceasing demand upon their powers of mastication. Every morning before sunrise the priests are out, each with a large iron pot or kettle for receiving their rice which has been boiled by the women of the respective families, and by them or their children is dealt out by a small ladle full to each priest as they pass in silence, while the donor adds to the gift an expression of reverence by folding the hands and raising them to the forehead. The king and his nobles thus with their own hands deal out rice to the priests. It is stated of one of the high ministers of state, that he had an African slave, who for some misconduct had by his master been promised a flogging. But the slave went and had his head shaved, and put on the yellow cloth, and the next morning passed before his master with his rice pot, and received from him a portion of this bounty and his salam. At certain season of the year, and on festival occasions, they receive from the king and his subjects yellow cloth of cotton and crape. They receive also from government an allowance in money of from two to six ticals per month, according to their rank and station. Their number at the capital is estimated at twenty thousand.’ 97

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

109

enter the pagoda a second time.100 The talapoins can take orders only at the age of 20; before that, they are novices. The provincial, who has among them the same authority as bishops in the Catholic Church, [113] has two assistants and exercises his authority over a certain number of pagodas. It is said that when he dies, a council is held, a layman appointed by the king presides, he gathers the votes and chooses the person he thinks best to fill the vacant post. The supreme patriarch,101 who is the head of all the talapoins, has at the same time jurisdiction over all the pagodas in Siam. He has four assistants; on his death, the king chooses his successor from among these four. The talapoins live in the pagodas and are lodged in a house contiguous with the temple. The pagodas of important persons are distinguished from the others by large columns102 erected in front of the temple (I shall explain below what these columns signify). The talapoins are the trustees of religion among the Siamese and the Burmese.103 They speak Pali when they understand it. It is the Latin of the Siamese; this language is mostly composed of Malabar104 and Cambodian words; it also includes some Malay and Siamese terms.105 Religious books are written in this language. Their books have a strange shape; they are thin strips of branches or leaves of a palm the Siamese call ton-tan, eight to ten inches long by an inch and a half wide; they incise on these leaves some characters which they blacken to make them clearer; these books and characters greatly resemble those used in Sanskrit, though they are not the same.

This sentence seems to mean the transition from the novitiate to monkhood, and not a second ordination in the monkhood. 101 ‘General’ in the text, as with the Jesuit order. 102 Presumably stupa. 103 CR. ‘The bishop is very safe in stating that the Siamese priests ‘speak Pali when they understand it’. This is unfortunately very seldom the case, and then it is used in the recital of prayers rather than in conversation. The statement that the ‘Pali is composed mainly of Malabar and Cambojan, with some words of Malay’ is rather hypothetical. Much is said in this connection about the analogy between the Siamese and Roman Catholic religion, but if the disciples of the latter find any cause of exultation in this resemblance, they must yield to the former the merit of originality, while the Catholics have here as in other countries labored to conform their customs to the prejudices and usages of the nations where they may chance to be. They have in Siam carried the principle of conformity to such an extent, as to render it extremely difficult in some cases to draw the line of distinction between their forms and those of pagan worship. ‘Lent and Easter’ when applied to the Siamese religion are merely terms used for accommodation.’ 104 On the southwest coast of India. This is far from the truth. Bruguière may have heard the

Thai term makhot (another name for the Pali language) and may have mistaken it for ‘Malabar’. 105 The vocabulary largely derives from Sanskrit, which language is mentioned a few lines later. 100

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

110

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

The talapoins, as I have already mentioned, have a Lent, but this is not a time of mortification for them. It begins in July and ends in November.106 They preach in their pagodas and elsewhere in this period; they invite the Siamese, by sounding [114] their drums, to come and listen to them. At a pre-designated time, a young talapoin appears carrying a large receptacle containing a religious text wrapped in a precious cloth. The preacher follows this silently and mounts a pulpit erected outside the pagoda; those present, humbly prostrated, listen avidly to the narration of revolting absurdity mixed with obscene anecdotes,107 often invented by the talapoins themselves. At the end of the sermon, they are careful to warn those present that the person who would give particular dishes, seasoned in such and such a manner, to the preacher would acquire much merit. The person giving this or that stew would have much less; the preacher always dislikes stew. The talapoin, after finishing his sermon, takes away with him baskets filled with meat, fruit, cakes, and candles, to which are attached several coins. Rich people invite the talapoins to come and preach in their houses and present the same offerings. Throughout their Lent, they can preach every day and eat wherever they are invited; for the rest of the year they preach only on the eighth and fifteenth days of the lunar month. Their Easter, which they call Passa,108 almost always falls in November. At this time, the king accompanied by his entire family and the great lords of the court, goes to visit the most important temples and offers new robes to the talapoins. This is truly a magnificent spectacle, the combination of richly decorated state barges bedecked with flags; some of the barges are gilded, others are painted in different colours; the cries of the oarsmen mingle with the sound of instruments; the palace guards and the soldiers accompanying the monarch, all seem to slide over the surface of the water so swiftly that one has difficulty in focusing on the spectacle. But how one’s [115] heart is touched when one reflects that this ostentatious show is destined to honour the devil and his acolytes! The white elephant, monkey, horse, and white rat are invited to the ceremony; it is like a festival of albino animals. The people in their turn go to visit the pagodas; processions are everywhere; [there is] shouting [and] terrible tumult on all sides, [with] people singing [and] laughing. On arriving at the pagoda, people scarcely worry about the gods; they have not come there to pray to them or to offer sacrifices. People spend their entire time eating and drinking 106 More usually October; during the decade prior to the 1829 essay, it always ended in October. 107 The author clearly understood these no more than the ‘licentious songs’ above. 108 Bruguière should have used the term òk phansa for the end of the three-month period of the

rainy-season retreat (phansa, which he earlier calls ‘Lent’). Here he is referring to the royal kathin-cloth ceremonies, which take place within a month after the retreat ends. They took place from about mid-October to mid-November when Bruguière was in Bangkok. Having equated

the retreat-period with Christian Lent, he is equating the ceremonies following Lent with ‘Easter’. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

111

and veritable orgies occur which last for whole nights on end. Thus is sanctified, for a month, their Easter. Although the Siamese give out that it is not permitted to catch fish, they commit this supposed crime on a daily basis. To appease the river god, who is extremely irritated by these daily murders and has many other causes for complaint, such as tipping rubbish into the river, hitting the water when rowing, etc.; to appease it, as I said, they make offerings to it. They give it fruit, eggs, rice, areca, betel, candles; they invite it to overlook its vexation and to eat to its full the food offered. This last ceremony takes place at the same time as the other one. The talapoins outwardly appear as strictly observing the rule of their religion which forbids the killing of animals. Catching fish near their temples is not allowed; they chase away and stone any fishermen they meet. Their establishments are general hospices which shelter all kinds of animals: monkeys, pigs, chickens, crows, and pigeons are found there in great number. It is said that this exposes them to great temptations, and more than [116] once they have violated the right of hospitality to the point of slaughtering their guests and even eating them. In addition to the animals the Siamese place in their pagodas to ensure they do not die, the talapoins feed others out of charity, they say, to their relatives who have become dogs, cats, monkeys or birds. Unfortunately these animals do not always show their gratitude; more than once they have eaten their foster fathers. Some time back an enormous tiger was caught in Siam; the poor beast ran the risk of dying because of its known misdeeds in the neighbourhood. The talapoins went in a group to plead for its pardon. The governor, pestered by their repeated solicitations, granted their request, though reluctantly. But the fierce beast did not show himself grateful to his rescuers. The first thing he did in his liberty was to carry off a talapoin whom he ate in the nearby jungle. The talapoins exercise no jurisdiction over the Siamese, unless invited by the king or individuals; they bless houses if asked; they go to visit the sick to teach them, they say, the way to heaven. When they enter a house they are worshipped and their feet are washed; those who perform this rite carry out a very meritorious act. After that, the idol which every family always has is brought into the bedroom of the sick person; the talapoin performs in front of this statue a great number of superstitious ceremonies. He forces the sick person to say with him Hora-hang! Hora-hang! which is the name of one of one their gods.109

109 Possibly arahan, meaning ‘disciple’? Whatever, a further example, if needed, of Bruguière’s incomprehension. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

112

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

If the talapoin is invited to a funeral, he is placed in the same barge as the dead person, and reads a book during the journey. When they arrive at the [117] place set aside for burning the dead, the talapoin removes as gently as possible the sheet covering the coffin, being afraid the dead person would notice and cause him to die. The talapoin receives as payment the winding sheet and other rewards. Every year during the flood period, the king sends a delegation of talapoins to order the waters to recede. Being prudent, they select the moment when the flood begins to diminish. They were not so lucky when they went to the port of Bangkok to exorcise the Asiatic cholera;110 they all caught the disease, and several died while performing their diabolic ceremonies. This is what they teach concerning their condition: to be a talapoin is a meritorious action, to be so for a long time still better, but to be a talapoin until dying is a great sin; if you die wearing the yellow robe, even if you did not have time to doff it, you are infallibly damned. The robe goes to hell where it is hung on a big iron bar, which breaks seven times a day, as so many yellow robes are hung on it. Nothing exceeds the delirious veneration of the Siamese for members of this sect. They scorn them and worship them. Sometimes after the death of a talapoin, they fight over the body. As no one intends to give way, they position a boat in the middle of the river, in which the corpse is placed. They attach two other boats to the first one. Each side rows in a different direction, and the side where the rope, linking it to the boat with the dead person, snaps is beaten. The other takes the corpse away in triumph and burns it. The king himself is entirely loyal to them, although he is forced to agree that the conduct of his gods is extremely scandalous (these are his own words). [118] He feeds 350 every day; he gives them everything he can find that is exquisite, while his soldiers die of hunger, if I can so express myself. Where he is offered some fruits or preserves, he does not eat them, but sends them to the talapoins, offering them with his own hands. No food is forbidden to the talapoins; they eat meat, provided they have not killed the animal, even though it has become proverbial among them that anyone who kills has sinned, and he who eats it will suffer the consequences. They teach that their merit, and that of alms-givers, increases in proportion with the quantity of food the talapoins take. So they gorge on meat to acquire this alleged merit. Heads of the pagodas can be seen, after consuming a bushel of rice, fruits and pork, having their stomachs compressed by their disciples, in order to be able to eat still more. A reasonable person would never believe that such naked gluttony would be raised to one of the primary virtues, if he did not witness it himself. What is still more unbelievable is the unquestioning attitude of these unbelievers who give no other proof of the divinity of their talapoins than their insatiable voracity. How, a 110

Presumably during the May 1820 epidemic. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

113

Siamese said to me when I was exposing the ridiculous beliefs of his religion, how could our talapoins not be gods, since they eat so much? We have talapoin nuns as well as talapoin monks. Our description of them will be shorter, and above all less tiresome. They are mostly old widows who do not know what to do, and retreat into a convert they call Haran.111 They are dressed in white, and should recite a kind of rosary, but this is [119] not difficult. They can chat with their neighbours, and even amuse themselves, providing the rosary beads remain in their hands. They are not goddesses, but have the right to seek alms, but they do not enjoy the same consideration by far as their brothers the talapoins. The people call them chi112 meaning persons in the pagoda. Their houses are near the temples, but outside the temple enclosure. There are not many of them; when they pray, they have to turn their backs on each other. [MORE ON RELIGIOUS BELIEFS] After Pra-Phu-Thi-Chau, the god with the greatest reputation is Phra-Sian, meaning God Messiah.113 This god was born near Juthia, in a hamlet with this name. He has no father, and his mother died many centuries ago. In his youth, Phra-Sian was most disobedient. His mother forbade him going to fish, but he always had his fishing line in his hands. She urged him to become a talapoin, but the god consistently refused to do so. Finally Phra-Sian suddenly changed for the better his sinful life and became a talapoin. Although he had never studied, he knew, instinctively, how to speak Pali. He became so wise in religious doctrine that no learned man could be compared to him; after his death he became a god. His fellow talapoins put up a golden statue of him, but its head could never be attached to the body. The talapoins were very embarrassed, when, to their great surprise, the real head of the god, whose body had not yet been burnt, came and positioned itself on the statue. The Siamese claim to possess this statue even now. Phra-Sian should be born again to make the universe happy; the period is not determined. The talapoins say that extraordinary signs in the sky and on earth will inform men that his second coming is near. They say that the world [120] as it exists today should come to an end. Before this fatal catastrophe there will be huge wars, men will massacre each other, they will become much smaller, and will be mere pygmies as big as dolls; they would need a hook and perhaps a ladder to collect vegetables in their gardens. Before the This should be aram, meaning everything within the monastery enclosure, both grounds and buildings. 112 Spelt xi in the text. ‘Nun’ would be a better translation, but Bruguière presumably does not

want to appear to sacralize the Siamese equivalents. 113 As indicated earlier, Phra Si An (a shortened Thai form of the name Sri Ariya Mettraiya

ศรีอริยเมตไตรย) is the future Buddha, whose era will begin after the end of the 5,000 years of the present era. 111

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

114

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

end of the world there will be two suns, then three, then more, up to seven. When the second sun appears, the streams will dry up; the rivers and probably the seas will dry up later. Plants and trees will wilt in turn. When the earth is completely denuded of grass and plants, the animals will die, and men will die after the animals; in the end, when the last sun appears, the whole universe will be reduced to ashes. Then Phra-Sian will come down from the heavens, will revive all mankind, and the land will be transformed into a delicious garden. There will be no more calamities in the world, no more worries, no more sickness, no hell. Men will be immortal and will enjoy peace, happiness, and eternal felicity, uniquely occupied in contemplation of the august face of Phra-Sian. To hasten the coming of this god-deliverer, abundant alms must be given to the talapoins. Phra-Thumalai [Phra Malai พระมาลัย] is a god who has the power to retrieve souls from hell; when he descends, the flames in the abyss are extinguished. Reprobates continually address their prayers to him. Phra-That Xulamuni [Phra That Chulamani พระธาตุจุฬามณี]. This god resides above the twelve heavens inhabited by angels. He is huge and looks like a green column.114 All men who die after living justly go to him and worship him [121]. They are well received if they add to the merit of their good deeds a water lily. After having spent some time in heaven, these happy souls will obtain permission to return to earth; they will be reborn as great lords, princes, kings, and even talapoins. Then they start again. In this way someone who has been to heaven could return to hell, and vice-versa. Phra-Vet-Somdon115 was at first a bird; he subsequently became a snake, an ant, and then was metamorphosed into all kinds of animals; in the end he became a man and a great lord. Disgusted by his wealth, he wanted to be a hermit, a recluse. He gave all his wealth to the poor, died, and was added to the number of gods. The Siamese relate about this god terrible tales concerning opposition to purity. The talapoins like to relate terrible stories in their sermons about Phra-Vet-Somdon, because they are sure of attracting many listeners. Phra-Phum is the busiest god. He is required to enter into a big book all the actions of men, both good and bad. Charitable Siamese build in front of their houses small chapels to protect Phra-Phum from the elements. Here I end the catalogue of Siamese divinities. I should never end if I wanted to say something about each of their gods.

114 As elsewhere, Bruguière has misunderstood the meaning of phra, which in this context refers to both a holy relic (phra that) and the Chulamani stupa, which enshrines it. 115 This should be Phra Wet Sandòn พระเวสสันดร, the Thai pronunciation of Vessantara, the

prince who was the tenth and last incarnation of the Buddha. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

115

The monarch of the demons is Phaja-Jom [Phraya Yommaban พระยายมบาล]. He is both the king of hell and the judge of the souls of the dead. He holds his sessions four times a month, on the first, eighth, fifteenth and twenty-first lunar days. Phra-Phun [Phum?] brings his book and according to what is in it, the guilty person is punished to a greater or lesser extent. The carrying-out of the sentence is the right of the Jom-Phra-Ban [yommaban ยมบาล]. These are [122] terrible giants; their faces are loathsome; from their mouth protrude long pointed teeth like those of a wild boar. Their job is to guard the gates of hell, and to go on earth to take the souls of the dead and torment reprobates. Here is a short form of the penal code of Phaja-Jom. All the reprobates are cast into a huge lake of fire and sulphur. This punishment is the same for all the damned, but there are some special ones, differing according to the crimes committed. For example, the soul of someone who has used a fishing line is suspended by his throat with a large fishhook and hung up like a fish. The soul of someone who has killed a pig has his head cut off and his stomach eviscerated. The mouth of the soul of talapoin who has eaten outside permitted hours is opened with two hooks, and he is forced to swallow molten copper.116 For some crimes, the soul is impaled on a young tree. The tree grows and thrives, and the guilty soul remains ever in the same condition until the tree dies and decays. Please note that this tree is planted in the middle of hell, and thrives, in consequence, in the midst of fires and flames of this place of torture. Someone who steals from a temple or who deposits filth nearby will be turned into a monster whose stomach is as big as the kingdom of Siam; his mouth will be as small as the eye of a needle. Someone who sleeps in a pagoda will be turned into a toad; lastly, someone who slumbers while a talapoin preaches will be changed into a big earthworm. After enduring these torments for several centuries, the souls of the reprobates will enter the body of an animal. When this animal dies, the soul passes into the body of a different kind of animal, until reaching an elephant or a monkey. Finally, the soul will become a human [123] again. We have a woman in Bangkok who publicly says, like Pythagoras,117 that she recalls three metamorphoses before being reborn as a human. It is from this false belief that animals are our brothers that the interdiction of killing them arises. Devout Siamese buy fish still alive and release them into the river. They offer, as I have said above already, pigs and other animals to be fed in the pagodas until they die a natural death. So the Siamese spend money on preserving the life of an animal, and provide it with shelter, but they will never think of founding a hospital to alleviate their sick brethren. Animals are their fellow creatures. Such is mankind when deprived of the light of the true religion! CR. ‘These penalites are as seldom inflicted as the threatened consequences attend the following crimes.’ 117 The Greek philosopher and mathematician of the sixth century BC. 116

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

116

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

To prove the extent to which it is criminal to kill an animal, even inadvertently, their learned men tell the following story. Formerly there lived a hermit who was very devoted to the talapoins. He gave such abundant alms, that just with the water in which the rice to give to the talapoins was cooked, was formed a river deep enough to receive rated118 ships. One day, when washing his beard, he accidentally killed a small fish that was in the water. He thought he had nothing to fear by this involuntary accident. He made a mistake. He died and went to hell. He was extremely surprised to see himself so cruelly frustrated in his hopes. ‘What!’ he said, ‘Can one without committing injustice refuse a little rice to someone who, throughout his life, gave so much to the talapoins?’ ‘It is true,’ he was told, ‘that you have carried out very many good [124] actions, but you have lost all the merit [gained] by inadvertently killing a small fish. Look,’ they said, to console him, ‘at that high mountain, the peak of which is lost in the clouds. Every 100,000 years, two angels will come and gently sweep the peak with a very delicate cloth; after this is done and when the mountain is reduced to the level of the plain, you will leave here.’ In spite of this fearsome sentence, the Siamese are not more cautious: they kill and eat animals like other nations.119 I was travelling with a Siamese who stubbornly maintained that men and animals are brothers. He made no objections though to killing pitilessly the chickens he came across. I remarked that his actions belied his beliefs. ‘If it is true,’ I said to him ‘according to your principles, that this chicken is your sister, you are committing a terrible crime in killing and eating one of your relatives.’ ‘All right,’ he replied, ‘I am excused in good faith; I am guiltless until she shows me a certificate of affinity.’ Although the interdiction of killing animals is general, the Siamese do not hold all in equal esteem and affection. They have a horror of dogs, I know not why. One would bring disgrace on oneself if one caressed a dog in front of a Siamese. Newly arrived missionaries in Siam have to watch themselves carefully on this subject, for fear of shocking the gentiles. But, on the contrary, they like cats a lot, because they kill rats that eat the talapoins’ books. Crows and vultures are highly esteemed; the hare is considered here to be very wily and resourceful. It has all the cunning the ancients and moderns attributed to the fox. [125] But nothing equals the veneration of the Siamese for the white elephants. The king should have at least one. It is like a palladium, the fate of which is linked to the monarch’s life and the prosperity of the country. If the elephant dies, the king loses all the merit he acquired by feeding it, and should even die in the year following the elephant’s death.120 This 118 In the sense of taxable. 119 CR. ‘The crime consists not so much in eating as in killing the animal, hence the priests excuse themselves for eating flesh by saying that others killed it.’ 120 In Bruguière’s time, this belief was probably reinforced by the fact that two of the white

elephants died in June 1824, and King Rama II died in July 1824 after a short illness. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

117

apprehension leads to the extraordinary care attached to the elephant’s health. The white elephant has the title of Chao-Phya, which title corresponds to the grandees of the first rank of Spaniards. It comes immediately after the princes of the blood. People are severely punished if it is called by its own name. It lives in a kind of palace, has a huge court, officers, guards, [and] valets. It wears a sort of diadem on its head; its tusks are decorated with several gold rings; it is served on golden or silver-gilt plates; it is fed with sugar cane and other delicious fruits. When it goes to bathe, a large retinue accompanies it. One of the guards beats rhythmically on a copper drum, and another spreads over its head a big red umbrella, an honour reserved for the grandees. Its officers cannot withdraw without bowing deeply to it. When it is sick, one of the court doctors has to treat it; the talapoins pay it visits and recite many prayers for its well-being, sprinkling it with their lustral water. In spite of all their attentions, the white elephant is often bad tempered and more than once would have killed all the talapoins if they had not taken care to put themselves as a distance, out of reach of the tusks and trunk of his lordship. The one held at present is very unruly and had to have its tusks cut. Every evening there is a large [126] concert given at the elephant’s quarters, governed by the etiquette of His Excellency, who should fall asleep only to the sound of musical instruments. When a white elephant dies, the king and the court are profoundly afflicted. Its body is honoured with the funerary pomp appropriate to the rank it held when living. It is said that the white elephant sometimes holds public audiences and is given presents; if it accepts them, it is an infallible sign that the donor has much merit; if it disdains them, it is proof that the heavens are displeased with him. I cannot vouch for the veracity of this last circumstance. A person who can capture one of these animals is exempt, he and all his descendants, from any taxes or corvée work. It is very difficult to account for such extravagant veneration of this animal. I think I have seen somewhere that the old kings of Siam said they were descended from a white elephant. Some Siamese think otherwise, saying that the soul of a dead king enters the body of a [white] elephant. This second opinion is not in complete opposition to the first. Others say they do not know, and I join their ranks, waiting for more detailed information. The white monkey enjoys almost the same privileges as the elephant. It is a Phaya, has access to the court, and officers coming under it, but has to give way before the Phaya elephant. The Siamese say that the monkey is a man, not very handsome, it is true, but so what, it is nonetheless our brother. If it does not speak, it is through prudence; it is afraid the king would press it into his service without paying it any salary. It would seem that formerly it spoke and it was sent as supreme commander to fight, if I am not mistaken [127], an army of giants; with a kick he

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

118

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

split a mountain in two. They say he concluded this war honourably.121 I do not know if its early bravery has entitled it to the King of Siam’s benevolence. The Siamese have more respect for white animals than those of another colour. I have been told that when a talapoin meets a white cock, he salutes it, but he does not pay the same honour to a prince. I have never seen that. It is also forbidden to Siamese, on pain of damnation, to break an egg. They say that eggs are animate; if they want to eat some, they get someone else to break them. Usually it is the Malays or the Chinese who perform this service. According to the Siamese, trees and plants also have a soul; this puts then in the cruel dilemma of dying of hunger or being damned; they have a marked predilection for the poplar,122 and place it in front of their pagodas; those brought from Ceylon benefit from the greatest consideration. When a talapoin wants to cut down a tree, he sends one of his disciples to give it the first blows from the axe, that is, to kill it, and when the tree has been killed, the talapoins finish the operation themselves. This cult and consideration for animals and plants leads to the practice among the Siamese to take their names; one person is called a dog, another a cat; we have a prince elephant, a prince tiger, a lord pomegranate.123 We have had a princess of the golden hoof and many other names that are hardly better. My digression about Siamese metempsychosis has caused me to lose sight of Phaya-Jom and its satellites. When a man is dying, Jom-Phraban, an envoy of hell, goes onto the roof to seize the soul as [128] it goes off. On another side three bulldogs which had belonged to a reprobate come to help the soul; these dogs are called Phuto, Tamo and Sangko. If they think they are not strong enough, they call up an angel, and a great struggle takes place, with the fate of the soul depending on the result; the victor carries off the soul. Some Siamese allege that it is PhraSian who takes this soul and then makes him go around the world; he then makes him cross a bridge strung over the abyss. Scarcely has the soul appeared than a big bulldog leaps out to eat it. If the soul shows it is fearless, its salvation is assured, and it goes at once to heaven. If, on the other hand, it is struck with fear, it loses its balance and falls into hell. Not all Siamese agree on this point; it would seem that they have taken this article of their beliefs from the Muslims. Independently of the devils in hell, the Siamese acknowledge another kind of devils which exist in the air, which they call Phi.124 They say these are demons 121 There are echoes here of elements of the Ramayana. 122 Presumably meaning the bo tree, the Indian fig. 123 Three of these names may refer to princes (phra ong chao chai) who were sons of the Front Palace Princes in the First and Second Reigns: Chang (‘elephant’), born 1781/2; Süa (‘tiger’),

born 1806/7; and Thapthim (‘pomegranate’), born 1808/9. The Front Palace Prince himself, at the time of writing, had the childhood nickname Phra-ong Chang (literally ‘Prince Elephant’). 124 Ghosts or evil spirits. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

119

which cause harm to men and sometimes appear in horrible forms. They blame these evil spirits for all the calamities which occur in this world. If a mother loses her child, Phi caused this bad luck; if a sick person is in despair, Phi is the cause. To assuage him, they invoke him and make offerings to him, which are strung up in deserted spots. They do not believe that these spirits are gods, but they say they are very powerful and it is better to treat them with circumspection. They often offer them cakes, coconuts, rice, [and] betel. They are convinced that these aerial gods come to smell these offerings. When travelling I have come across some of these [129] offerings hung up in the branches of trees. I asked my guide what these baskets were for. He replied, without guile, that they were gifts to Phi. The Siamese think that contagious illnesses, like the plague and Asiatic cholera, are living things, demons. They exorcise them and chase them out of the city; some people run after them with a dagger in their hands; they call that killing the plague. Among the Siamese can be found a good number of persons perverse enough to pray to the demons to harm their enemies. Every kind of superstition is practised in Siam: spells, charms, curses, philtres, conjuring up the dead; in a word all the dreadful secrets of black magic are set in motion when no other means to arrive at one’s goal are available, and all that is done with the help of these devils they call Phi. These diabolical activities produce such extraordinary effects that it is impossible to explain them naturally. The apparitions of the devil occur so frequently and in such a public manner that it would be unfair if one continued to deny it. It would be necessary to accuse of imposture the vicars apostolic and the missionaries who can bear witness to having not only seen with their own eyes the acts of the devil,125but also of having examined them with all the attention an educated and cautious person is capable of. Because these marvels rarely occur in Europe, one should not conclude that it is the same in Asia. Europe is entirely Christian, whereas most of Asia is still under the sway of the devil. Whatever the case, there should always be a proportional relationship between cause and effect. Just the sign of the [130] cross, a few drops of holy water, the mere presence of a Christian who happens to pass, makes all the actions of the enchanter void, is enough to make all the spectres flee, and nullify the skills of the magicians. Did God institute the sign of the cross to prevent a natural and necessary cause from producing the intended effect by the Creator? These, they say, are the secrets of the physical. But can one believe in good faith that a Siamese is a more skilled physicist than all the members of European academies? Without doubt, no. But enough of this subject; I am even afraid of having said too much. You Frenchmen, you do not believe it. 125 CR. ‘These apostolic vicars must either have been among the favoured few admitted to the secrets of these demoniacal agents, or we are reduced to the necessity to use the bishop’s language “of accusing them of imposture”.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

120

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

The Siamese are convinced that these demons are nothing other than the souls of those who have not been cremated. They distinguish between two kinds of Phi. Some, which they call Phi-Suk, meaning cooked devils, are the souls of those whose bodies have been cremated. These souls are harmless, and are no longer on earth. The others, which they call Phi-Dep,126 meaning raw devils, are the souls of those who bodies have not been cremated. The bodies of those who cannot be cremated, according to their laws, are those of pregnant women, of persons who have died a violent death or from a crushing apoplectic attack or similar accident. All these bodies are deposited in a little open dwelling they call Pacha.127 This is the place where the sorcerers meet to conduct their diabolical rites. The Siamese have temples and idols (the Christians call the pagan temples and the idols pagodas) which, they say, are the images of their gods. They think that these statues, as soon as they are enshrined in the temples, become real divinities. They do not carry out [131] sacrifices proper, but only present offerings of flowers and candles four times a month, on the 1st, 8th, 14th, and 21st lunar days. Sometimes people meet in the temple to play instruments. During great calamities, they carry in procession some of their most famous idols. When they need rain, they put their idols out in the sun. If there is too much rain, they open up the roof of the temple. They imagine that the idol, disturbed by the rain, will restore calm in the skies. Several of these idols have no name other than the material with which they are made; in this way than speak of the golden god [พระทอง], the glass god [พระแก้ว], etc. which is in such a pagoda; from wherever the statue comes, it will be well received in Siam, and its apotheosis will soon be assured. Europeans coming to this country should avoid giving the Siamese any kind of image if they do not wish to increase their superstitions; our Christians show in this respect a caution which could serve as an example to many French nationals. Not only do they never give the gentiles an engraving, but they courageously refuse the commission of the king to buy for them some statues when they go to Bengal. The monarch might well be irritated and threaten them, but they remain firm in their refusal. This causes the king to be told on more than one occasion that of all his subjects, only the Christians know how to say no. Some years back a glass statue was brought from the kingdom of Laos;128 this idol commands much respect in the court. Last year another, in gold, was brought, 126 Dip rather than dep. 127 The pacha ป่าช้า, in the text ‘Paxa’, is not a dwelling but an open area of ground. 128 An image made of crystalline stone that takes a high polish is called a phra kaeo. Bruguière has adopted another meaning (‘glass’) for the term kaeo, which is not correct in this context. The most famous image popularly known as the Phra Kaeo (and also as the Emerald Buddha) was brought from Vientiane to Thonburi in 1779 and kept in Wat Chaeng (renamed Wat Arun in the Second Reign), adjacent to the palace of King Taksin. When the new palace on the Bangkok side of the river was completed by King Rama I, the image was moved in March 1785 to the new monastery in the Grand Palace grounds, where it remains today. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

121

and has as much prestige as that made of glass.129 It was thought that the glass god could be seen to be somewhat jealous of its rival. It was feared, with reason, that resentment [132] would push it to some desperate action, and [it] might even go and put itself at the head of the Lao, its former compatriots, who had revolted. Our king, an astute politician, sought to prevent this misfortune. He therefore had the poor god chained up and assigned it guards. The Siamese temples have nothing unusual. They are fairly low, square and oblong structures; their roofs are sharply pointed and usually decorated with leaves130 or bizarre golden figures.131 The idols are placed at the far end of the temple. They are placed on a kind of step in the shape of an altar; they are gilded and embellished with a high mitre that ends in a point. Phra-Phu-Thi-Chau is placed in the middle, and is generally colossal. One of these idols is more than 40 feet long, and they were careful to represent it lying down.132 All these statues are hideous in shape and sometimes horrible.133 Some have a bird’s head, some a snake; some have a human form for the upper part of the body, and what appears to be an animal in the lower part.134 In front of the pagodas of some importance there is a small courtyard enclosed by a masonry wall. In the part of the wall facing the temple are brick columns topped by a gilded arrow. The highest columns are called Phra-Chaïdi [พระใจดี]. This is one of their gods who sacrificed his life to preserve that of his father.135 The smaller ones are pierced with several holes; they are called Phra-Chaïraï [พระใจร้าย], who are the four brothers of Phra-Chaïdi. They did not wish to save their father and as punishment for their inhumanity were transformed, after their death, into furious gods. In their anger, they had their bodies pierced with several holes, filled The gold image known as the Phra Bang was brought from Vientiane to Bangkok in early 1828, less than a year after Bruguière’s arrival in the capital. It was believed that the spirit of this image is incompatible with that of the Emerald Buddha, and the Phra Bang was taken in 1867 to Luang Prabang, which had been its original home. 130 Perhaps kantoei, decorative roof supports. 131 Probably the typical gable finial, chò fa ช่อฟ้า. 132 This may be a reference to the so-called ‘Sleeping Buddha’ at Wat Pho. 133 Such a remark suggests that Bruguière had little or no aesthetic sense. One wonders whether he had in mind the carvings of diabolical creatures that can be found in the portals and interiors of French churches, not to mention the gargoyles. 134 Probably the kinnari: a mythical creature that is part woman (the upper half) and part bird. The snake is probably a naga. The figures with birds’ heads are garudas. Bruguière may well have seen all of these works of art in Wat Phra Kaeo. CR. ‘There is an image in a reclining posture in one of the wats near the king’s palace, 130 feet long. A few years ago it was struck by lightning, and its head severed from its body.’ 135 Bruguière’s information concerning chedi contains only a grain of truth, since the structure

commemorates and may contain the ashes of a deceased person. He probably means Phra Chai Di พระใจดี, not phra chedi พระเจดีย์. 129

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

122

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

[133] these holes with cotton, swallowed a great quantity of oil and had themselves burnt. Phra-Chaïdi means the god with a kind heart, and Phra Chaïraï the cruel god.136 When the Siamese want to build a pagoda they place in the foundations the 12 principal stones, which they call the 12 marvellous sons.137 Facing the pagoda, but at a certain distance, they erect a wooden column. On this column they hoist a flag. Sometimes they place two armed statues dressed in the European fashion, as if to guard the flag.138 I shall stop this tiresome account. Such is the blindness of a people who nevertheless are fairly shrewd and sharp. Such is man given over just to the enlightenment of his reason and enslaved by his passions. Such would we be if God had not illuminated our ancestors, if He had not given them the necessary help to embrace the truth after knowing it. When one hears the Siamese churn out so many follies which they believe to be incontestable truths, one cannot stop oneself laughing out of pity;139 but when one considers that their obstinacy in continuing their erroneous beliefs must cause them eternal damnation, one is forced to weep at their strange obstinacy. Pray to God the Father of mercy to illuminate their minds and remove the iniquity in their hearts, so that they can recognise and worship God their creator, and He whom He sent, His son, the redeemer of the world. In the middle of so many follies, it is easy to perceive several dogma of the Christian religion, such as the creation of the world, the first man and women, the existence of angels and demons, the immortality of the soul, the flood, heaven, hell, the incarnation of the Word, the second coming, the virginity of the holy Mother,140 the signs and calamities which [134] will precede the second coming, the end of the world, the resurrection, the judgment, and eternal happiness. They certainly have some rituals from the Roman church. The hierarchy of the talapoins is absolutely the same as that of the Catholic Church. The Siamese believe that their religion comes from the island of Ceylon, but none of those I questioned could tell me at which period it began to be practiced among them. Phra Chai Di the benevolent deity, Phra Chai Rai, the cruel deity. This seems to be a reference to the stones (sima or luk nimit) that mark the boundaries of the ordination hall (uposatha) in a monastery, although Bruguière’s number is wrong. Ordinarily, one stone is placed at each of the eight compass points, and the ninth stone is buried within the resulting boundaries. 138 The guardian yak (giants) are not usually dressed in the European fashion, but many stone (usually granite) statues in the form of European soldiers were imported from China as ballast. Some are to be found at Wat Suthat, for example. 139 The same could be said for some of Bruguière’s interpretations. He was apparently relying

on very ignorant informants. Much is probably drawn from folk beliefs, in contrast to textual orthodoxy. 140 There is nothing about this in Bruguière’s extensive account of Siamese religious beliefs,

though a few paragraphs above Bruguière says that Phra Si An had a mother but no father, which may count as a virgin birth. 136 137

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

123

Their religion is absolutely the same as the Burmans and the Peguans. It was at first the same as that of Chinese bonzes,141 the followers of Fo.142 Even today there are many connections between them. There can be no doubt that these peoples obtained their religious system from the ancient inhabitants of the Southeast Asian peninsula,143 but did they receive it directly from the Indians, or did the Chinese or the Burmese transmit it to the Siamese? I do not know. Tonkin and Cochinchina were formerly Chinese provinces. Probably Siam was too. The Siamese kings are still required to send every three years an ambassador and presents to the Chinese emperor. Following this hypothesis, would they not have received their religion from their former rulers? I leave it to others more learned than me to decide a question which is unimportant. [CHRISTIANITY IN SIAM] The Portuguese were the first to have preached the Gospels in Siam.144 This mission was some time later entrusted to French missionaries,145 who have maintained it since then.146 It was in Siam that our first apostolic vicars began to exercise their jurisdiction.147 In Siam the first general seminary was established for most of the eastern missions beyond the Ganges. This seminary does not exist any more;148 the wars [135] with the Burmans and the huge distances obliged the

141 CR. ‘If it had been stated that Budhism, the religion of Siam, Burmah etc., prevails very extensively in China, it would have given a more correct impression.’ 142 Fo ( ) is a Chinese name for the Buddha. Bruguière may have visited Chinese Buddhist

temples in Batavia, Macau and Penang prior to his arrival in Bangkok. And he may have become acquainted with Chinese Buddhism during his studies at the Paris seminary. 143 Bruguière actually writes ‘the ancient inhabitants of the peninsula beyond the Ganges’. 144 The Portuguese arrived in Siam in 1511, but did not immediately launch into religious endeavour. The earliest-known Portuguese Dominicans arrived in 1567. 145 In 1662 in fact: on 22 August Jacques de Bourges, Pierre Lambert de la Motte, and François Deydier arrived in Ayutthaya, but Siam was not the intended destination of the French missionaries. A July 1669 papal brief gave them jurisdiction in Siam. The first bishop (Louis Laneau) to be appointed for Siam was consecrated in Ayutthaya, but not until 1674, after living there for ten years. 146 Typical of French priests, Bruguière denigrates the roles of other Europeans (largely

Portuguese, but also Italians, Flemings, Spaniards and others), who maintained the Jesuit, Dominican, Franciscan and Augustinian missions in Ayutthaya. They worked separately from the French mission, although they were nominally under the jurisdiction of the bishops (all of whom were French). 147 As noted above, this statement is untrue. The first French bishops were on mission as apostolic vicars to Vietnam and China. At first, they had no jurisdiction in Siam. 148 This statement is true only in the sense of the seminary buildings at and near Ayutthaya, which were destroyed by the Burmese during the 1765–7 war. The seminarians were moved at that time to Cambodia, subsequently to the French colony of Pondichery and, finally, settled permanently at Penang (where Bruguière had taught prior to going to Bangkok). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

124

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

Apostolic Vicars to establish individual seminaries in their respective provinces. Some years ago another was established at Pulo Pinang (Prince of Wales Island), but there are only young Chinese ecclesiastics there, from Su-Tchuen [Sichuan] province. They have to travel more than 800 leagues overland or by sea to reach their seminary, and the same to return to their country. Although the mission in Siam has far fewer Christians than the flourishing missions in China, Tonkin, and Cochinchina, the holy ministry does not function without success. Siam is indeed not a fertile soil [for conversions], but neither is it a land entirely sterile: God has his elected, as elsewhere. Christians of solid piety exist; I know some who have amply confessed their faith in the torments of death. Every year we baptise a certain numbers of adults; in order to do so, some have to make rather painful sacrifices. The bishop, who is better able to judge the intentions of these people, maintains that if there were in Siam a greater number of European priests, there would be more gentiles converting. The Christian religion in Penang, tended by two French priests, flourishes and clearly increases. A great number of the faithful, relative to the population, seek instruction. It is true that many of these neophytes, such as the Chinese, return to their own country. But does it matter? They remain nonetheless children of the Church,149 although no longer forming part of our mission. The Siamese convert with difficulty, but this difficulty should not discourage a missionary. There are many other [136] nationalities to which he can preach, like the Chinese, Cochinchinese, and Cambodians, for in the kingdom of Siam there are at least as many foreigners as Siamese. There are many adults, especially among the Chinese, who ask for baptism on the point of dying. There is no hospital in Bangkok. When a foreigner falls sick, there is nowhere to help him but the pagoda; he finds there shelter from the elements, a little rice, and that is all.150 The bishop considered it appropriate to have constructed in the grounds of his seminary a fairly large and convenient house. He receives in it all the sick persons who present themselves, without discrimination; they are fed, looked after, and taught the chief articles of the Christian religion; almost all receive baptism.151 CR. ‘What is here related might lead us to think that many of the Siamese had professed Christianity, whereas the facts of the case go to prove that while many Cochinchinese, a few Chinese and other foreigners have been baptised, not one pure Siamese has ever professed the Catholic faith. We are confirmed in this opinion from what we have heard from the Siamese and from the Catholic priests residing in that country.’ 150 Bruguière is badly misinformed. Many bhikkhu were herbalists and skilled in treating the ill and infirm, and medical treatises were kept in monastic libraries. 151 Monsignor Florens established the first Western-style hospital in Bangkok, albeit on a small scale. Six years after this description was written, the first American medical missionary arrived in Bangkok and set up an infirmary in a floating house, where he dispensed medicines and his message of the Protestant faith. 149

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

125

When adults obstinately refuse to listen to the missionary, his ministry because of that has not been in vain. He is consoled by baptizing children in danger of dying;152 there is no obstacle to this: the parents believe that they are being given a cure which will bring them good health again. It is remarkable that, for nearly two centuries, baptism has been administered in this country, there is almost no gentile who hesitates to have his child baptised. They present themselves, and their children, to receive water which has such marvellous results. Our Christians, who often baptise more than us, are so discrete that I cannot stop admiring them; they are very silent on this point. The princes and the people are persuaded that we are practising medicine, and call that doing good works. As for us, we let them believe what they will; though it is never permitted to speak against the truth, neither is there always an obligation to tell the whole [137] truth.153 Almost all these children die after receiving baptism. They are so many predestined souls who pray for the conversion of their parents and the prosperity of the mission. This activity does not gratify one’s self-respect, no doubt, but the result is nonetheless real, and less dangerous. The small number of priests forces the bishop to give this good deed to [unordained] believers. The Christian soldiers who were in Lao have baptised a great number.154 From this, it is easy to believe that the presence of a missionary is not completely useless in Siam. Native priests, either here or elsewhere, could never substitute for European missionaries. In the Indies edifying priests are formed, who are fairly well educated and even zealous. But they have not the activity or necessary talent to find resources on occasions when everything seems hopeless, or the courage to push a perilous undertaking to its conclusion. They can preserve and care for the Christians already existing, but I do not think they would greatly increase the number of converts if they were left to themselves; they are gentle, quiet and know how to control themselves. They work well when there is a European at their head; then they are courageous and successfully work for the conversion of infidels. Perhaps they even do more good than the missionaries, because they know the language and customs of the country. They know better what one has to do to insinuate oneself among the gentiles; but, as ever, they need a guide. Therefore, send us some humble, obedient and zealous priests. They are not absolutely required to be very talented; providing they are saintly, that is good enough. You do not need transcendent genius to argue with ignorant infidels who [138] profess the most absurd and revolting errors. The saint-like nature of a missionary has more force

152 In the belief that baptized children can go to heaven. 153 Bruguière’s casuistry is rather startling. 154 By ‘in Lao’ Bruguière means in the lands that were Lao-speaking. One of his letters

mentions a plan to go there, possibly referring to the area of Nong Khai. The ‘Christian soldiers’ may have been local priests ordained by the French missionary or may have been lay-workers. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

126

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

than drawing conclusions from two propositions. However, one must be prepared for many difficulties. It is the nature of the true religion always to have enemies and gainsayers. Jesus Christ promised his apostles no other reward in this world than persecution and suffering. The difficulties encountered today by the propagation of the Faith in these countries are the same as occurred in the early centuries of the Church: the superstition of some, indifference, passions, love of independence in others, fear in everyone. The monarch fears his subject, and his subjects fear incurring the wrath of the monarch if they convert to Christianity. There is another incitement among the great personages: polygamy and the fear they have of Europeans. The huge power of the English in India has inspired terror throughout the Orient. Almost all [the] peninsula beyond the Ganges has submitted to them, not to count the Sophy of Persia,155 who has become virtually their vassal. They have conquered the Mogul empire, and the last successor of Genghis Khan and Tamerlane has become a pensioner of a group of merchants. Their flag floats over more than 16,000 leagues of coastline. This formidable power, ever increasing, has thrown all the courts of Asia into consternation. The King of Siam fears one day being tipped off his throne. When he sees a European he always thinks it is an English emissary; he makes no distinction between a priest and a lay person. My presence in Kedah caused a great sensation. The king was alerted to it by special courier, and without the protection of the King of Ligor,156 [139] who undertook to overcome all the difficulties, I would have had to have taken another route. The King of Cochinchina has closed all his ports to the English. The Emperor of China has expressly required the English company157 not to take on board any European missionaries; happily for us little attention is paid to this prohibition. It is impossible to convince an Asian ruler that a European would come to the end of the world just to convert the heathens, at the cost of his life. They always suspect a hidden motive. They are afraid that the missionary might be a spy sent to their realm by the Europeans, to weave some plot, or draw up plans of localities, towns, provinces, etc. A geographic map, a book written in an unknown language, some lines written on a scrap of paper, which fell by chance into the hands of a provincial governor, are enough to set a vast empire in motion and provoke violent persecution. Many fail to distinguish between [Catholic] Christians and the [secular] English; others are reasonably aware of the different European states. I was surprised to hear Malay, Siamese, and Chinese speak about France, the revolution, Bonaparte and some aspects of his life in some detail. But they imagine that all Christians have a common goal. They even believe that at the 155 A general term among Europeans for the King of Persia. 156 This was described in an earlier letter. It was not the king of Nakhon Sithammarat, but the quasi-hereditary governor, often referred to by Europeans as the ‘rajah’. 157 The East India Company. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

127

approach of the English all their Christian subjects will join forces with them, so little do they understand Christian principles. These then are the difficulties holding back the progress of the Gospels, but this does not stop it completely. The grace of God is stronger than hell, and God is sufficiently powerful to extract from the darkness of unbelieving those [140] He has elected for all eternity. One can find in [the] apostolic vicariate of Siam, especially in Penang, Christians from all parts of the globe. Respect, veneration and affection for the priests, decency, modesty and contemplation in the churches; these are the chief characteristics singling out the Christians in this country. Divine service is celebrated with discipline and solemnity, which somewhat surprised and edified me when I first witnessed this. I had never expected to see in Siam a bishop celebrate services with a ceremonial equal to that in French cathedrals. The young priests, and even the choirboys, carry out their duties with an exactitude and unity one does not often find elsewhere. It is true that this is somewhat due to their nature. Almost all our Christians can read, many can sing plainchant. They have talent for music; their voices are clear, gentle and in tune. The Chinese, on the contrary, have no inclination for or ability in singing. In Bangkok, there are more instructions, sermons, [and] catechisms than in any church in France. Can you believe that the stations [of the cross] are observed during Lent, and three sermons a week are preached? The priest does not experience, unlike in France, difficulties in approaching the sick. He does not need to be circumspect in getting them to confess; the sick person and all his relatives forewarn him; they call in the priest even before the danger is imminent. It never occurs to them that a minister of religion could cause a sickness to worsen. The Christians in Bangkok have not forgotten their first fathers in the Faith, the Portuguese missionaries. They consider themselves in honour bound to speak their language; they all have Portuguese names; many [141] even want to be considered as descendants of the old Portuguese established in the Indies. They imitate them in the architecture and decoration of their churches, in the order of their processions, and many other things. They freely adopt European dress, but are not fussy about what they put on: one person will wear a jerkin with the corners cut off, another an English frock-coat; this person will appear in public dressed like a gamekeeper, another like a policeman with two enormous colonel’s epaulettes. One can see children rigged out in a dressing gown of broad stripes, or a kind of red doublet, like Henri IV, and usually barefoot. They above [all] are unaware of this mixture, and are convinced this is correct European dress. The bishop has his residence in the seminary. I do not know what terms to employ to designate the place where His Lordship lives. It is neither a palace nor a bourgeois mansion. Imagine a few planks placed on four beams, forming a small Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

128

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

rectangle covered with maize straw, and you would have a fairly accurate idea of the hovel which His Lordship has chosen for his residence.158 The only furniture is an old chair, a bench on which are balanced a few books, and a plank for sleeping on. His wardrobe is no better; it consists of two cassocks, one violet and kept in reserve for great occasions. The other is black, patched on one side and torn on the other. This is the one Monsignor usually wears. He has a pair of shoes, but wears them only to say mass. The chapel corresponds to the simplicity of the furnishings. A small silver chalice, some copper ewers, a mitre his Christians presented to him, a wooden crozier, a ring with a setting holding a piece of [142] glass for want of a precious stone: this is what comprises the chapel of the Apostolic Vicar of Siam. Monsignor is happy in this show of poverty. He is concerned only about his seminary and his poor. He was reduced to terrible trials for many years; he received nothing from France. It is easy to imagine his distress in a country which offered no resources. Today, thanks to the charity of fervent souls constituting the Association of the Propagation of the Faith,159 Monsignor can hope to satisfy the needs of his seminary. Besides, if the Bishop of Sozopolis160 is poor in precious furniture, he is very rich in virtue. I particularly admire his equanimity, which nothing disturbs. Such examples of meekness and patience were very necessary for me! We enjoy for the moment much tranquillity, but one should not count on it. It is a calm day in a stormy sea, which can change at any moment into a violent tempest. The king we have does not dare require a Christian to do anything if it is forbidden by our holy religion. When he gives an order to the Christians, he first asks then if they can carry it out without sinning. He realizes that his predecessors came off so badly by persecuting Christianity that he is always afraid of incurring the same fate in imitating their behaviour. He is especially severe about the holy nature of Sunday. When he instructs Christians to do something on a feast day, he only has to be informed that they are busy that day with their religious devotions, than he at once revokes the order. Too many Frenchmen would treat this scrupulousness of conscience as fanaticism or childishness unworthy of a king! But He will be their judge on judgement day. [143] I should not let you be unaware that the adversary has come to sow tares among the good seeds, though happily this unwelcome germ has up to now not produced many results: I speak of Methodist missionaries which various Protestant organizations have sent, at great expense, to the four corners of the world. In contrast to the mental image that a Frenchman might have of a bishop in France, Monsignor Florens led a life of poverty equal to that of his parishioners. 159 Which published this letter. 160 This was the official title of Monsignor Florens (in this position 1811–1834); from the seventeenth century the Roman church appointed bishops to lapsed sees and did not create regular dioceses in Southeast Asian countries. 158

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

129

They assume the title of apostolic missionaries, though God and his Apostles have not sent them. They have published an account of their missions, in which they wrote what suited then.161 There are some who have dared to compare their work to that of the Apostles; however, if one is to judge the success of their colleagues by the success of those I have seen, the result of their labours is no consolation. There is one in Penang who scatters piastres by the handful; his wife supports his efforts employing the same means, but they labour in vain. No one, or almost no one, wants to join them.162 When a heathen wants to take instruction in the Christian religion, he goes directly to the Catholic missionaries; he sees in the same place several societies who all oppose each other, who all claim to be the true church of Jesus Christ; but he always chooses the company of Catholics, who promise no material advantages. Whence comes this preference of a Chinese, a Malay, or a Kaffir163 for the Catholics over the Anglicans, the Armenians and the Methodists? Is it not because the legitimate spouse of Jesus Christ, the true mother of the children of God, enshrines such self-evident legitimate characteristics that it is easy, even for the most ignorant heathens, to distinguish it from all those who are but unnatural mothers. The greater danger does not come from English preachers; [144] the mass of unprincipled irreligious Europeans, almost entirely devoid of morality, who swarm in the East Indies, is still more to be feared. But among these travellers the French are perhaps the most dangerous; their frivolous playful talk, their bad habit of joking about everything, of speaking about everything without rhyme or reason, is highly conducive to producing the most lamentable impression on the minds of heathen and converts. What do you want these poor natives to think, when a fool who prides himself on being a compatriot of the Apostolic Vicar and the missionaries, on professing the same religion, attacks the principles of the same religion with indiscreet conversation and impious banter, and dishonours it with immoral conduct? What would you have them think when they do not see such a person attend any service, or only come to cause a scandal? The English, it is true, are not more edifying, but there is a ready-made answer – they are English heretics. That is enough to destroy the impression a bad example can give. But what can one say, how can one put paid to the scandal, when a Catholic Frenchman gives this example? The

Bruguière says elsewhere in his letter that he does not speak English, so he could not have read this account. There were no Methodists in Thailand. While in Penang, Bruguière must have learned about the Penang mission of the non-denominational London Missionary Society, which also had missions in Melaka and Singapore. Here he may be referring more generally to the WMMS Reports: Reports of the Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society published annually in London from 1818. 162 Bruguière is as charitable to the Protestant missionaries as he is to the Siamese talapoins. 163 A black, an African. 161

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

130

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

bishop is unwell every time the arrival of some European is announced. But divine providence happily does not allow for these visits frequently. Few French people come to Siam. It is extremely sad to be reduced to fearing the presence of a compatriot, the sight of whom should produce a great sensation of joy and happiness in a strange country, so far from the motherland!164 [PHYSIQUE] I ought now to speak to you about the customs and even the physical constitution of the Siamese; but as I have already observed that Siam comprises many foreigners, I thought you would not be adverse to my speaking at the same time about the habits and prejudices of all these peoples when they are different from those of the Siamese: again, I shall relate only what I consider worthy of mentioning. The Siamese are of indifferent height and fairly similar, almost without the physical defects so common in Europe. Perhaps a single province in France comprises more blind, lame and similarly afflicted persons than the whole kingdom of Siam. Their heads are square rather than round; their faces are flat and lozenge-shaped. Their cheeks are slightly hollow, the cheek bones, [150] lips and the corresponding part of the jaw are slightly projecting, the nose is squashed, the eyes black and fairly wide open, the hair very black, rough and spiky. The Siamese men and women readily shave their heads, but most often they just crop their hair very close. They keep in the front a tuft which they push back by using a kind of oil. Women do not have this tuft of hair. Some are copper-red in colour, and others lemon-yellow.165 I have seen Asiatics from all the kingdoms and nearly all the provinces between the 5th and 41st latitude north, and 91º and 118º longitude east, meridian of Siam, that is, from Ligor to Tartary in China, from the Ganges to the sea.166 It seems to me that all these Asians had some similar features, either in the shape of the body or in their colour: each of these peoples no doubt has characteristic features. It is easy to distinguish between a Siamese and a Cochinchinese, a Chinese and even someone from Tonkin. But the difference is hardly more noticeable than that existing in Europe between a Frenchman, a Spaniard, and a German. The Malays are different; they are darker and have more pronounced features than the Siamese. Some peoples are very close to the equator, and yet they are as pale as those Europeans who are very dark. Such are the inhabitants of the island of

The published text has a break here on p.144, and resumes in the subsequent issue of the Annales on p.149. 165 CR. ‘The Siamese both male and female shave the head, leaving a tuft on the top which stands erect. The priests shave the head entirely.’ 166 The sea presumably being the South China Sea. 164

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

131

Nias,167 which is only 2 degrees 30 minutes latitude north and 95º longitude east, meridian of Paris. These people are very gentle, with simple and pure customs: all those who come to [151] areas occupied by Europeans become Christians. In all the peoples I have written about their colour is uniform. One does not see, as in Europe, gradations of blond, white, and rosy-pink. It is as though they all wear a yellow paper mask. The Chinese have smaller eyes than the Siamese; their eyelids form a diagonal angle pointing towards the nose. It is as though they were forever taking a nap, but this is not so at all, because they constitute the sharpest and most astute people in the world. To deceive a Chinese, or not to be deceived by one if you often have dealings with him, is almost extraordinary (I refer to pagan Chinese). All the peoples who live on the Malabar and Coromandel coasts,168 Bengal, and in a word the inhabitants of India,169 are darker, at the same latitude, than those beyond the Ganges.170 But their traits are similar to those of Europeans: there are clearly marked nuances in their faces, though perhaps their bodies are more spare and slight than Europeans’. [DRESS] The dress of the Siamese is very simple. They go barefoot and bareheaded. Their only clothes are a piece of coloured cloth they tie to their belt; they bring it round to the rear, which makes the cloth look like shorts (I shall call it langouti171). This is the usual dress of both men and women. Poor persons rarely make use of a parasol; the grandees, on the contrary, always have one. Market women cover their heads with a hat that is nothing but a straw basket. When a person of low rank comes before his superior, he adds a silk belt to his dress. The colour varies according to the rank of the wearer. [152] First class mandarins have a white belt. On the first day of the four phases of the moon, which can be considered as a Siamese Sunday, all the court wears a white langouti. The king is in no way distinguished from his subjects in either the form or the sumptuousness of his dress. Princes sometimes wear footwear like sandals. When inferiors come before a mandarin, or any other person holding rank, they remove their footwear, if they have any, which is rare. It is the same when they enter a church. In Penang, the Malay women who have embraced the Christian religion scrupulously observe this custom. In Siam young boys up to the age of 10 or 12 go completely naked. Little girls at the age of 5 or 6 are given 167 Off the west coast of Sumatra. At the time of this writing, there was a plan to send French missionaries from Penang to Nias—which explains Bruguière’s familiarity with this island. 168 Respectively parts of the western and eastern coasts of the sub-continent. 169 Indostan in the original. 170 That is, in Southeast Asia. 171 A term, very common in later French colonial writing, deriving from Hindi, for a piece of cloth hanging in front, normally from a waistband, worn by the poor in India. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

132

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

the langouti to wear. The infidels are so crass that they do not consider the indecency or the dangers of such an abominable costume. Howsoever indecent the costume of the Siamese might be, it is tolerable when compared with that of some Indians on the other side of the Ganges, whose brazen impudence fringes on brutality. Christian women are more aware of the rules of modesty which are so appropriate to their sex; they are always decently dressed when they appear in public. The Siamese do not use pocket handkerchiefs; they have a very simple way of clearing their nose. They cannot see without being horrified a European take his handkerchief, use it, and put it back in his pocket. Do you not think they are right? Wealth among the Siamese is not in the grandeur of their clothes, as they are almost entirely naked. It is seen in precious stones and jewellery of all kinds. One sees children covered in gold and gems from head [153] to toe.172 Asian ostentation and the little care some people take with their children are sometimes the cause of much misfortune; robbers, meeting these children in out-of-the-way places, have cut off their arms or even killed them to seize their jewellery. You can see some natives who go so far as to wear rings on their toes. There are women who wear gold pendants and brooches in their noses; I think they come from Indostan. The dress of the China, Tonkinese, and Cochinchinese is very decent; they all wear, both men and women, loose trousers with a jacket or shirt above.173 People of substance in China wear long silk gowns, and above them a kind of rochet of blue silk, usually lined. They have small boots of white silk and cloth shoes cut away at the heel; their sole is half [154] leather and half cardboard or thread; some are richly embroidered. The Chinese wear their hair so long that sometimes it reaches the ground. They shave part of the head and retain only the hair in the middle, of which they make a plait which they let hang behind them. Sometimes they wind it round their head. The Cochinchinese do not plait their hair, but arrange it on their heads. All these people like to grow a beard, but theirs is not very attractive; they admire those of Europeans. The Siamese, on the contrary, greatly dislike beards and pull out the hair with tiny tweezers. [THE LOT OF WOMEN] The costume of Chinese women is no different from that of men, except that their robe is longer. They keep all their hair which they tie up in the same way as Cochinchinese. From the age of five or six they twist the toes, but not the biggest,

CR. ‘Children generally wear rings upon the ankles and wrists, the rich of gold or silver, and the poor of the inferior metals, but they are far from being “covered with gold”, or indeed with anything else, as their bracelets and anklets constitute in general the only clothing of children.’ 173 An extensive editorial note appears here in the original going into great detail about dress codes in Tonkin and Cochinchina. 172

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

133

under the sole of the foot. [155] This barbaric custom began some time after our ordinary era. The emperor Schou174 of the sixteenth dynasty introduced it to make women more sedentary. Indeed, they walk with difficulty. It is as though they walk with shackles or on thorns. This practice is not generally adopted. Chinese ladies always have a fan in their hands. When they go out, which is very rare, they are seated in a sedan chair which is like a cathedral stall; it is covered and carried by two men. In Macao they enjoy rather more freedom; in many places they smoke like their husbands: they are copied in this by the Spanish ladies in Manila. I have seen Portuguese women smoke in Macao, but do not know if this practice is general. Malay and Siamese women chew tobacco like sailors, but they add various ingredients. In Siam, and in all parts of Asia where Christianity has been unable to improve their lot, women are all more or less slaves of their husbands; one can clearly see the threat God issued to persons of their sex in the person of Eve. Among the nobility, women are shut up in the harem, from which they almost never emerge. When the princes grant audience, the women position themselves at the end of the gallery, but at a lower level, or behind a straw curtain which allows them to see and hear everything, while being seen by no one. They never eat with their husbands; in their presence they contrive not to be at the same level as them. If a woman positioned herself somewhere where she was at a higher level than her husband, or if she accidentally displayed a handkerchief [156] or a belt above the level of his head, nothing more would be needed to upset the household, and perhaps lead to open rupture. The husband would consider this an insult, and incontestable proof that his wife sought to dominate the household. To ask a mandarin news of his wife, to greet her, to speak to her, even in the presence of the husband, are so many things forbidden in Siam and elsewhere. Such actions would cause both surprise and scandal. An Asian could never be persuaded that a woman is a person important enough for a sensible man to be in the least concerned about, or take an interest in her health.175 In one province in this kingdom, men would consider themselves dishonoured if they passed somewhere soiled by the presence of a woman.176 One of our priests who was sent on a mission among these people was told sometimes ‘Do not go there; women go there.’ Men do not want the women to enter the house through the same door as them. On the same principle of equity,177 they refuse to 174 Bruguière is probably referring to a Song-dynasty emperor of the tenth century, when footbinding began. 175 There is at this point in the original an editorial footnote indicating the same attitude in ‘Indostan’. 176 CR. ‘As we know not where the “province” here alluded to is situated, we cannot decide as to the accuracy of this statement.’ 177 Italics in the original. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

134

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

admit them to heaven. They think it would be unworthy for a man to find himself in heaven with a woman. Low class women can go out of their houses, but not to go for a walk, only to work in the countryside or conduct some minor trading. While most often the husband is at play, drinks, sleep or works for the monarch, the woman attends to maintaining the whole family by her labour and industry. [157] The Christians alone do not share these prejudices. They conduct themselves in regard to their wives more or less like Europeans. Polygamy is permitted to all men. The king gives the title of queen to only one of his wives, in relation to whom the others are inferior in every respect. She is called Ackhamaessi [akkhara mahesi อัครมเหสี]. Ordinary individuals also have the right to select one wife who carries the title Mia-jai [mia yai เมียใหญ่], that is, big wife; she has authority over all the others. When a Siamese wants to marry, he does not take a wife, he buys her. The price is not fixed, but depends on the goodwill of the relatives of the future wife. By virtue of this contract, the law allows the husband the right to beat her, dismiss her, or sell her as a slave. He is allowed to kill her in only one instance. These rights are not reciprocal. Thus, if the woman flees to her relatives because of being badly treated, the husband has the right to reclaim her as an object belonging to him by contract of sale. But women driven to despair often poison their husbands. Parents have the right to sell their children, and frequently do so. Nothing is more common in Siam that to see children sold as slaves. The circumstances of these poor children are not very harsh, as the Siamese are naturally gentle. Their parents can buy them back by returning the money they had received. This custom, as inhuman as it is, is less barbaric than that of the Chinese, who murder their own children. In Fukien [Fujian] province, the parents retain the lives of all the boys, but rarely retain more than two daughters. All those born afterwards are killed without pity. It is the mothers who are the slaughterers of their own children: [158] when the woman has given birth, the husband returns and asks if she gave birth to a boy; if the reply is negative, he leaves, not hiding his ill temper, and the sentence of death is pronounced for this innocent creature who has just been born. The unnatural mother immediately takes her daughter and smothers her with her own hands! The government is far from acting against those guilty of such actions. It is generally acknowledged in China that nature allows parents the right to dispose of their children or raise them, as they wish. During a period of persecution of the Christians, some of our books were seized. A commission of well-read mandarins was named to examine them; all, with one exception, declared that they contained nothing bad. The person who delivered a contrary opinion maintained this religion was bad and the books pernicious because, he said, one of the books related that the God of the Christians severely punished a father who had

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

135

unjustly killed his daughter (he had read the life of St Barbe178); this, he added, was clearly dangerous. Does a father not have the right to put to death his daughter if he wishes to do so? I do not think these horrors exist in all the provinces of the empire. Perhaps it is even possible that this execrable custom has significantly diminished in some places. Since Christianity came to China, the heathens began to be ashamed of their barbarism. It is to be hoped that as the number of Christians ever increases, infanticide will become almost unknown in that unhappy land. [OBDURACY IN BELIEFS] The Siamese are, it is said, less vicious than other infidel peoples, but one should not think that in consequence they are greatly imbued with moral virtues. [159] Only Christianity makes men truly virtuous. Pride, insensitivity, cruelty even, lewdness often carried to the most shameful excesses have always been, and always will be, the attributes of heathens. All these people of the Indies, who have been so much praised no doubt because they were pagans, are much less than perfect. It is impossible that they be sincere in relation to some matters which they permit; their fate is doubtless to be pitied, and there is no sacrifice a charitable Christian should not make to obtain their conversion. But, in the end, it is easy to see that their censure is deserved, and that divine justice only punishes in them their voluntary obduracy; on the contrary, all those who faithfully follow their conscience are always those who become Christians. The Brahmins, the Samnias179 among the idolaters, the Santons180 and dervishes among the Mohammedans are distinguished from the generality of heathens only by their more arrogant pride and by their greater hypocrisy. [THE NATURE OF THE SIAMESE] The Siamese are by nature quite gentle, frivolous, unthinking, timid, and light-hearted: they like people who are gay. They dislike disputes and anything which smacks of anger or impatience; I refer to scientific disputes, for in other matters they often turn a dispute into a full combat where there are several partisans. They would be almost scandalized to see a priest continue the mass after speaking with zeal and vehemence in his sermon. They are lazy, inconstant, and take pleasure in amusements; a trifle catches their attention and a trifle distracts them. They are constant applicants for favours; everything pleases them and they ask for everything, from the most precious objects to things of little value. This fault is 178 A legendary virgin and martyr. 179 Bruguière is possibly referring to the Samnias, a warlike tribal people of Samnium in

southern Italy, who fought a series of wars with the early Romans beginning in the fourth century BC. 180 Santon is a European designation for a monk or hermit among Muslims. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

136

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

found in both ordinary people and grandees. A prince of the blood does not think it beneath [160] his dignity to ask for some tobacco, a pencil, a watch, a pig: that even happened to me. The king is no more scrupulous than his subjects. It is true they are not annoyed when a favour is asked of them. Polite Siamese behaviour requires that one exchanges presents. When visiting, the first things that are offered are tea and betel. When travelling and visiting certain persons, I have been accompanied by many servants, some carrying rice, vegetables and fruits, others bearing meat, fish, etc. They put all these different foodstuffs in huge brass receptacles, which they take care to carry in a way that everyone can see what they contain. Surrounded by all these people, one seems like a procurer of victuals who has just done the shopping. The Lao give their presents in a very delicate and ingenious manner. They appear before the person they wish to honour with their benevolence and to pay their compliments. During the course of the conversation, they cleverly place beside him, without him noticing, the present they wish to give him, salute him once more and withdraw. They say one should not make a show of one’s gifts. The Siamese are generally alms-givers. The king should, according to ancient custom, make public donations many times a year. On these occasions people present in his name to all the poor who assemble rice, clothes and money. The present king, it is said, distributes every day to Bangkok’s beggars a certain quantity of consumables. [AMUSEMENTS] The king and the people love games of pure amusement or exercise. They have other entertainments which are less frequent, such as wrestling, boxing, [161] cock fights, fighting fish or two snakes fighting. They have an entertainment they call Nang, because leather is used [in the figures]. This amusement is always very dangerous, because of the swords, daggers, and halberds with which the acrobats and tumblers are bristling. It is like a great magic lantern-show.181 There are also tight-rope dancers. But the amusement which pleases them most and which they run to witness in great haste is what they call lameng-lakhong;182 this is a kind Bruguière may have witnessed a performance of khon na cho nang โขนหน้าจอหนัง, one of the major forms of Thai dance-drama (khon), which is performed in front of the screen of the shadowplay (nang or nang yai). Descriptions of these performing arts are provided by Rutnin (1993). To explain the effect to his reader, Bruguière makes a comparison with the European magic lantern, which projected an image onto a screen. He may be referring in particular to a very popular type of theatrical performance (lakhòn) known as lakhòn na cho nang ลครหน้าจอหนัง, in which ten or more dance-drama (khon) players perform scenes from the Ramayana in front of the screen of a shadowplay (Rutnin 1993: 90), which may have included battles with much display of weapons. 182 This description is unclear, no doubt, because the author admits below he has

never witnessed a performance. The term lameng lakhòn ละเม็งละคร is not a specific type of theatrical performance (lakhòn), but a generic term. The prefix lameng is a paired word, added for

euphony, but does not change the meaning of the term lakhòn. 181

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

137

of part-comic, part-pantomime drama. It is said to be the school of every vice. The talapoins, who are not over-scrupulous, condemn this entertainment, which they nevertheless watch themselves, disguised in lay dress. This is said without scandal-mongering. I think you will be sufficiently charitable not to believe I was an eyewitness to these acts. It is not the spectators who pay the actors, but the individual who is providing the entertainment. When the king orders public amusements to be held, his treasurer pays for the expense. The salary of the entertainer is determined by the apparent pleasure he gave the king.183 You rarely see in Siam fanatics who mutilate themselves or commit suicide in a public show of courage or piety in support of their false gods. They leave such terrible displays to the inhabitants of Indostan.184 They believe their lives are too precious to sacrifice so easily. There was, though, one sad case, about two years ago, of someone who announced he was going to burn himself to death in public. And he did indeed go onto the funeral pyre, but hardly had he felt the heat of the flames than he went off to throw himself in the river.[162] [TALENTS, INDUSTRY and BUILDINGS] The Siamese are said to have wit and to be intelligent. But as the king takes into his service every person who succeeds in whatever profession it might be, their laziness and the state of servility they live in do not allow them to develop their talents and industry; it is the Chinese who do everything. They alone practise the mechanic arts. Most Siamese have not the means to acquire the workers they would need. They have to do everything by themselves. They are at the same time masons, carpenters, weavers, tailors, etc: you can imagine the level of perfection of the resulting work. They have the same kind of architecture as the Chinese. It is all baubles, pavilions, many roof levels piled one on top of the other, columns and pyramids185 which they partially cover in gold leaf. This architecture has certainly some charm, but you would look in vain for the noble and dignified character to be 183 Bruguière may have witnessed some of the performances that he describes during April and May 1828. Public entertainments were held for seven days and seven nights preceding the cremation of Queen Amarin (the king’s paternal grandmother, who was the chief queen of King Rama I) on 2 May 1828. At least six other high-ranking people were cremated soon after, probably with similar public entertainments (Thiphakòrawong 1934: 71–2). Bruguière may have been perplexed by funerary ceremonies that were accompanied by public festivities, very unlike the strictly solemn observances relating to funerals in Europe, and such observances may have appeared ‘scandalous’ in his eyes. 184 There is an editorial cross-reference here to an account of this in a previous issue of the Annales. 185 The ‘columns’ and ‘pyramids’ are probably stupas in Buddhist temples. The word ‘pyramid’ was used by seventeenth century French visitors to describe these structures; it was also used to describe canopies. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

138

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

found in European monuments. This architectural ostentation, howsoever imperfect it might be, is limited to a few pagodas and a very small number of public monuments. Ordinary individuals are not so fussy. They erect quite simply some stakes on which they place a straw or reed cabin, rather like a bird’s nest. There are piled up the father, mother, grandparents, children, in addition to all the domestic animals. The wealth of the furnishings corresponds to the magnificence of the architecture: a mat (made from straw or a kind of rush similar to a reed), a plank or a wattle on which to sleep, a stone on which to place the cooking pot, a few small receptacles, a net in which to place small children when they want to sleep—this [163] is all the internal decoration of these sad hovels. The more elegant, or less poor, have wooden houses. The princes, though they are very wealthy, are scarcely better housed. They sometimes hold audience under a shed. The [dwellings in the] city of Bangkok as well as the suburbs are constructed in this fashion. It is criss-crossed by a great number of canals, through which travel a huge number of barges and gondolas. Those of the king and the princes are decorated; those of ordinary individuals and even the great mandarins ought not to be. You can move about and pay visits only by boat. There are few horses and no palanquins. You would think you were in Venice if the dress and language of the inhabitants, and the miserable hovels lining the banks, did not quickly warn you that you were in Siam. In Bangkok you can find what you can often see in China. The Chinese merchants, to spare themselves greater expense, build their houses on the river. They make rafts of bamboo,186 and tie them up on both sides to posts erected along the river banks. They build their houses and shops on these rafts; as the ropes retaining the rafts tied to the posts are not fixed, the house rises or falls with the tide. If necessary one can in a moment transport both house and goods to another place. The anchor is weighed and the house and inhabitants, using oars, move off at little cost. [DEFENCES] Bangkok has some ramparts, but they are flimsy and exposed on all sides. In recent years a few brick walls have been built at the entrance to the port [164] protected by cannons. The Siamese call these forts. I do not know what Vauban187 would have called them. Since I am writing about Bangkok’s ramparts, I must relate a fact which proves to what extent a naturally gentle and humane race can become savage. When a new gate in the city ramparts is built, or when an extant one is repaired, it is required, by I know not what superstitious rule, that three innocent men be sacrificed. This is how this barbaric execution is conducted. The king, after secretly holding council, sends one of his officers near to the gate he 186 A brief editorial note describing bamboo appears in the original here. 187 Sebastien Le Prestre de Vauban (1633–1707). Commissioner-general of fortifications from 1678. He fortified a number of strongholds on the French frontiers. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

139

wishes to repair. This officer appears from time to time to want to call someone; he repeats several times the name to be given to this door. It happens more than once that the passers-by, hearing someone call out, turn their heads.188 Immediately the officer, helped by other men posted nearby, arrests three of those who looked back. Their death is from that moment irrevocably decided. No task, no promise, no sacrifice can free them. In the gate a ditch is dug, and above it is placed, at a certain height, an enormous beam. This is held in position by two ropes and suspended horizontally rather like that used in a wine press. On the day designated for this fatal and horrible sacrifice, a splendid meal is served to the three unfortunates. They are ceremoniously escorted to the dreaded ditch. The king and all the court come to salute them. The king charges them, on his own account, to guard well the gate about to be entrusted to them, and to come and give notice if enemies or rebels appear to seize the town. At that moment the ropes are cut, and the unfortunate victims of superstition are [165] crushed by the heavy mass which falls on their heads. The Siamese think that these unfortunates are changed into these spirits they call Phi.189 Ordinary individuals sometimes commit this horrible homicide against their slaves, to make them the guardians, they say, of the treasures they have hidden. Less than five years ago this ceremony worthy of cannibals was performed. Among the three unfortunates arrested was the son of a rich Chinese merchant. His father offered an enormous sum of money to secure the son’s release. To no purpose: the seizure was irrevocable. The devil has at all times wanted to be worshipped with human sacrifice. The same man who does not dare kill an insect, for fear of committing an unpardonable crime, does not have the least scruple when it comes to murdering three of his fellows. He thinks he has acted in order to ensure peace and prosperity for a whole empire! Divine providence on this occasion protected the Christians, in a special way. It allowed one of the princes of the blood, who greatly favours the Christians, who was summoned to the council where this barbaric decision was taken, secretly to warn them, right from the next day, not to pass by this gate for some time, or at least not to look around themselves, no matter what cries or noise they heard, because their lives depended on it. [OCCUPATIONS AND NAVIGATION] The most common profession of the inhabitants of Bangkok is fishing and navigating, but even though so often on water, they are not the best sailors. They have no notion of nautical science; if they do not have the wind behind them and 188 CR. ‘We are not aware that any custom of this kind exists in Siam.’ 189 A variant of this tradition, which is also said to have existed in Burma, has a pregnant woman caught and offered as a sacrifice to guard the gate. Anna Leonowens, in her fictionalised writing about Bangkok, where she lived from 1862 to 1867, represented Bruguière’s tale as a real, contemporary event. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

140

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

land beside them, they lose their heads. For this reason they take years to complete a two-month journey. Although they go to sea only in the most favourable season, [166] they are not always lucky; I frequently hear about shipwrecks. It is true this is not always the fault of the sailors and the captain; the poor construction of the vessel is greatly responsible. The vessels are mostly Chinese junks, which at the least puff of contrary wind cannot hold fast to their route and drift. These junks are crescent-shaped; for tackle they have but three simple masts without spars; the sails are made from straw or reeds, rattan ropes, and wooden anchors. I did not notice if they had spare masts or sails. Recently they have begun to build European-style vessels, but I fear errors of judgement will not make navigation safer. If the Siamese do not often consult the map when they are at sea, one has to agree they often consult the devil. They paint on the masts and rudder superstitious signs.190 When I was with them, I showed my displeasure; they began to laugh, but did not change their ways. The Chinese are perhaps even more superstitious on their vessels. They always have an idol with them, which they worship several times a day, consult, pray to it, ask it for good weather and favourable winds. They do not eat before having offered it all their dishes. It is true that the pilot sometimes takes advantage of his fellows. When he wants to eat fresh meat, he warns the captain that the idol wants a duck or a chicken for its dinner. The captain dares not refuse anything the idol demands, fearing its resentment. That works to the advantage of the crew, because the idol does not eat, and is content with [167] the smell of meat. Anything makes them frightened, and the idol is always their last resort. One of our colleagues threw into the water something which encumbered him; nothing more was needed to cause trouble throughout the ship. Many claimed this action was a very bad augury. Others did not know what to say. They went to ask the devil-idol what he thought of this case, but the good Lord saw to it that the reply was so ambiguous that no one could understand it at all. Thus the uproar slowly diminished, and the missionary was out of danger. He ran the risk of being thrown into the sea if the demon had given an unfavourable reply. In addition to the idol, they also have quite often a big snake. They think shipwreck CR. ‘It is now pretty generally known that through the enterprise of Chau-fa, the younger son of the late king, together with a son of the minister of foreign affairs, several ships have been constructed after European models, the principles of navigation have been studied by the above-named person[s] and taught to other Siamese in their service, and reduced to practice by taking these ships to China and the Straits under the guidance of Siamese navigators. In this respect the Siamese are deserving all praise, and are consequently much in advance of surrounding nations, and of themselves too in other respects.’ [This Chau-fa was Prince Chuthamani (1808–1866), the younger full brother of the prince-bhikkhu who succeeded to the throne as King Mongkut (r.1851–1866). Prince Chuthamani was known in the 1830s and 1840s by the title of Prince Itsaret Rangsan and reigned from 1851 until his death with the royal title of King Pin Klao. He resided in the Wang Na (Front Palace) and was the only ‘second king’ who ever actually had the titles of a king. Eds] 190

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

141

Description of Siam in 1829

is inevitable if the snake escapes. I should point out to you here that many people in Asia venerate the snake.191 It is as though the devil likes to be worshipped in the form of the snake, which it used to seduce the first woman. [THE SCIENCES] In Siam the sciences are no more flourishing than the arts. Learned Siamese know just about how to read and write. They have no idea of physics or astronomy; you can see that in what I told you about their mythology and their visible gods. They do not even know how to construct an almanac. I have heard that they need [in order to do so] the help of the Chinese, who are hardly better astronomers. They have an easier way of revealing the secrets of nature or explaining phenomena. They do not lose themselves in [168] conjectures like our profound philosophers: when something troubles them, they have a ready made answer: pen-phra, pen phi, they say, meaning ‘It’s the god’, ‘it’s the demon’. If they see a barometer announcing a storm or calm, they cry out in surprise Pen-phi, the devil is in it. Mathematics is totally unknown to the Siamese. They have though some notion of arithmetic; they express quantities with the aid of 10 figures, as follows: nung, song, sain [sam], si, hoc [ha],192 hok, tchet, peet [paet], kaou, soun

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

0

Calculation using decimals is acknowledged by all civilized people in Asia. The Siamese calculate in the same way as us for multiplying units, up to 10 million. They have no term in their language to express larger units. They have special words to designate the numbers hundred, thousand, ten thousand, million, ten million: 100 roi; 1,000, phan; 10,000 mun; 100,000 seen [saen]; 1,000,000 kot; 10,000,000 lan.193 They are not better informed about geography than other sciences. They think all the towns they hear about are so many kingdoms. It takes some time to explain to them that, for example, one can be both French and a native of Narbonne at the same time. I have had people ask in all seriousness if the Kaffirs originally came from France. 191 There is an editorial cross-reference here to another text. 192 In the original, hoc (for 5) is probably a typesetting error and should be ha. Bruguière’s

numerals and also the letters of the Thai alphabet were reproduced in the Annales (1831) from handwritten script that he supplied. 193 Kot (โกฏิ , meaning 10,000,000) and lan (ล้ า น , meaning 1,000,000) have been reversed, probably by the printer. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

142

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

[169] No Siamese, not even the talapoins, are interested in literature or history. The only works of this nature are the annals of the kingdom. It is said they are exact. They are kept by a mandarin who does not allow everyone to consult them, especially when he is bad-tempered. According to a long-established tradition, the king should be read these annals when he is free of any serious occupation. Almost all the Siamese dabble in medicine, but almost no one studies this science; it is not necessary to take a degree in a university or to sit for examinations; it is enough to be armed with a few herbs and some prescriptions. The first and often the only remedy the Siamese doctors prescribe for their sick is bathing. If you are cold, hot, have a cold, or a fever, you have to bathe. They order bathing in circumstances which would cause a French doctor to tremble, but experience shows that they are often right.194 On the contrary, it can be proved that treatments following the principles of European medicine are always dangerous and can lead to death. I have seen this with my own eyes. The diet prescribed for sick persons is no less extraordinary than the treatment. In France a very strict diet is prescribed for serious illnesses; here the sick person must eat, even if he is dying; if he refuses to eat, he is forced to do so, and this is what saves him. It is proved that a sick person who insists on taking only beef-tea while having a fever will recover only with difficulty. In Europe, the sick are given fresh fish, poultry, fresh eggs, well-cooked rice and liquids. In Siam, such sustenance makes the illness worse; the sick person is made to eat fresh pork, salty sun-dried fish,195 [170] lightly cooked rice, and sometimes salted eggs. Chicken meat, in the Indies, is an unhealthy food, as it contains mercury. Siamese doctors rarely take one’s pulse. This is quite different from Chinese doctors; they sometimes take half an hour to do so, and are considered very clever in this matter. As for surgery, this is an art almost unknown to our doctors. In this country, the sick often cry out loud over the slightest of infirmities; they say it relieves them. The Siamese bathe frequently, even when they are well. Their way of bathing is very simple and much more salutary than in Europe. They go down, dressed, into a pool or the river, and pour buckets of water over themselves. They say it is the only way to get rid of the internal heat in their body.

194 This is a reflection on the attitudes to hygiene prevailing in Europe at the time. 195 CR. ‘There is no doubt but that disease in Siam as in other tropical climates requires a modified course of treatment in which foreigners have much to learn from the natives, but that an analogy is so far lost as to sanction the course here alluded to no one can for a moment admit. Though we are not aware that the Siamese are now in the habit of treating their patients as above mentioned, yet the practise universally prevalent among them of roasting the mother before a hot fire, for two or three weeks after child-birth, is not less barbarous.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

143

[FIRES] They like fire as much as water. They light fires everywhere and throw small embers around their houses, which are all made of straw or wood. This imprudence often causes fires. Last year there were up to 11. That occurring in December last burnt down nearly 1,500 houses. When such calamities occur, there is much disorder and tumult. The crowds are huge, and from all sides come the sounds of weeping and confused cries. Some flee with what they have managed to save from the flames, others rush up to carry off everything they can lay their hands on. Some are crushed or suffocated under the debris of their burning houses. Many are smothered under foot, many die, the victims of their foolhardiness or avarice. Old persons and children [171] run the greatest risk; in these sad circumstances everyone just thinks of himself, and the desire to save oneself from danger means little heed is taken of the misfortunes of others. This thought obliterates all others, for it is not among the heathens that one should look for actions of heroic devotion to one’s fellows. As much as they are common among Christians, so they are rare among pagans. If the fire threatens to consume the entire city, the king, the princes and all the mandarins go to the site in person to give appropriate orders. All the elephants are brought; these animals, of prodigious strength, knock down all the houses which the flames have not yet reached and hurl the wreckage afar. They thus stop the fire by removing the materials that sustain it. I should not leave you unaware that the houses of Christians are the only ones the fire spares. This particular protection of Providence in favour of the Christians dates from time immemorial. The pagans acknowledge this; more than once, enraged and urged on by diabolical jealousy, they have tried with their own hands to burn down the Christian quarters, but they have never succeeded; they were confounded, or the fire did not advance.196 [ETIQUETTE] Siamese etiquette and politeness are very different from yours. When the Siamese greet one, they join their hands and bring them before their face, sometimes above their head. They sit on the ground or lie down, according to whether the person they are addressing is more or less important in rank. If they have to change position, they walk deeply stooped, or shift on their knees [172] and their hands; if they are in front of a great prince, the vang-na197 or the king, they are always prostrate on their elbow and knees. This posture is very painful if the audience is

196 CR. ‘The Catholics live a little removed from the business and densely populated portions of the city, and generally keep a herd of swine under the house, and in the compound; hence the mud and filth may render their dwellings less combustible than those of the other inhabitants.’ 197 Literally the front palace, which was the residence of the highest-ranking prince in the land, almost always chosen by the king himself. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

144

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

protracted. Whatever position they take, they always try to place themselves lower than their superiors. When they are talking to an equal, they call him Sir, than, and refer to themselves as kha, [your] servant.198 If they speak to a superior, they give him the title My Lord, chaukha, but if the superior is very high in rank, they call him khorap, meaning ‘please receive my homage’. If they call themselves by the humiliating denomination dixan [ดิฉาน], this is a diminutive of dierexan [ดิรัจฉาน], meaning animal. At audiences, when a Siamese speaks to his sovereign, he addresses him with the words thoun-xramong [ทูลกระหม่อม], meaning placed on my head. If the subject speaks of himself, he refers to himself as phom [ผม], [meaning] hair of the head, or else touli-phrabat [ธุลีพระบาท], the dust of his divine feet. When they speak about the king among themselves, they give him titles which for sure would not please a French king. For example khoun-loang, wet-nurse of the talapoins;199 chaoxivith [เจ้าชีวติ ], master of life; chao-pheendin, master of the land; chau-muang, master or proprietor of the kingdom, the town, etc. In books they call him phra-ong, divine personage or god. To reign, in Siamese, is translated as savenirat [เสวยราช], meaning eating the people; one also says saverinaja sombat [เสวยราชสมบัติ], meaning enjoyer or dispenser of wealth.200 One does not say of a mandarin that he is governor of such a town; one says ‘he eats the town’,201 and often this is closer to the truth than one might think.202 The Siamese always speak in the third person [173] either when they are speaking to someone or when they refer to themselves. When they reply affirmatively (it is very rare that they say no), they simply repeat the title of the person questioning them. For example ‘Have you done such a thing?’ ‘My lord.’ They have personal pronouns, but rarely use them. Kou is the same as ‘I’, ‘me’, and designates the pride or anger of the person using it. Meung, meaning ‘thou’, is very offensive. Man, meaning ‘him’, is scarcely better. The king, speaking of himself, says kha,

Kha has different meanings in different contexts. In this case, it is one of many first-person pronouns. 199 This passage must be corrupted, possibly at the source. Khun-luang ขุนหลวง is a generic term for a king. 200 Bruguière has confused the rat (ราช) element (meaning ‘royal’) in saowoei ratcha sombat

เสวยราชสมบัติ with the homonym rat ราษฎร์ that means ‘people’, thus erroneously translating the compound term as ‘eating the people’. 201 The Thai administrative term kin müang กิ น เมื อ ง literally means to ‘eat’ or

‘consume’ the town or polity, but should be read more in the sense of ‘living off the land’, since provincial governors and other officials received no salaries and, in a generally non-monetary economy, were expected to extract their revenues from local resources. The term sawoei ratcha sombat has a similar meaning in the royal language, when expressing the relationship between a king and his realm. 202 Some of the information in this paragraph, derived second - or third - hand one suspects, is inaccurate. 198

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

145

meaning ‘your servant’. He refers to the people he is addressing by the titles they have been awarded. Women are commonly referred to as Nang, which is like the French word ‘madame’. When someone is over thirty he is fairly routinely called thachei [thao kae เฒ่าแก่], old man, for anyone who has no other title. The magistrates and all those of rank position themselves in a raised place away from their inferiors. They always have cushions to rest on. They sit down or lie down, as they wish. The most noble position consists in putting the right leg on the left knee, and to hold one’s foot with one’s hand. The king, when he grants an audience, is placed on a high gilded dais; his seat is enclosed by mirrors,203 and the participants are prostrate on a rich carpet stretching the whole length and breadth of the hall. If presents are offered to the king, they are spread in front of the donor. The audience hall is square and very large, painted red with some designs in gold. There are no seats, and no furnishings except some crystal glassware and rather fine chandeliers. It is said that a European ambassador, granted audience by the king, was [174] very surprised when he was told not to stand up; as he could see no seat on which to sit, he at once decided, being a man of resolution, to stretch out at full length in front of the king. The monarch, in despair at seeing someone else take up such a noble posture, quickly had a seat brought for him. Important people usually ask only three questions of foreigners who visit for the first time. They are always of little importance and sometimes ridiculous; but before anything else they ask you your age. Siamese of lesser importance do not ask more witty questions; I have met some who, after asking my age, as custom requires, overwhelmed me with very impertinent questions, like ‘Are you God?’,204 “Are you very rich?”, “How many times a day do you eat?”, “Can you pray, can you preach to us in your language?” etc. The Cochinchinese greet one by joining the hands at the fingertips, bringing them down to the knees, bowing, getting up, and bringing their hands to their head. They perform this ceremony standing. The Chinese salute [an important person] more or less in their usual fashion, but in the grand salutation they go down on their knees one before the other and bow their head to the ground many times. When greeting the Emperor of China, one stands with one’s head covered, but you cannot look directly at him; when a mandarin speaks to him, he concentrates his attention on one of the buttons of his jacket. Imperial majesty does not allow a monarch to address one of his subjects who is not of sufficient rank. When he wants to speak to a mere individual, he has a button given to him to be placed in his bonnet, and 203 No other description, to our knowledge, of the Siamese throne has this detail. He may be referring to mirror-mosaic decoration. 204 He probably asked Than pen phra mai? (Are you a priest/monk?). Bruguière’s insistence

on mistranslating phra as god (which is only one of the word’s meanings and depends on circumstances) leads to manifest absurdities of his making. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

146

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

in this way raises him to the rank of mandarin. The emperor has always 24 mandarins in front of him; when the monarch [175] laughs, they laugh too and stop at the same time as him. If he is sad, all their faces are sad and serious; it is as though their faces were on springs and the emperor had the secret of making them move when he desired it. To take one’s hat off to a Chinese is to insult him. In Peking, the priests have obtained permission to celebrate mass with the heads covered with a bonnet. I have seen some people from Peking attending mass; they were on their knees, arms hanging down, and head covered, though the holy sacrament was on view; for them this is the most modest and respectful posture. In Siam, when the king dismisses his officials, they have to join their hands, and bow their heads to the ground three times. Etiquette requires that they each have a white cloth spread in front of them. In Burma, when the mandarins leave an audience, they join their hands behind their backs until they are out of the audience hall. [MEALS] The Siamese eat at seven in the morning and about five or six in the evening; at midday respectable people have a light meal. They have neither tables nor chairs; the meal is laid out on a mat or a carpet; before serving, the dishes are placed in large brass receptacles. These are covered with a lid shaped like a cone. The meat is cut into small pieces and placed in porcelain dishes sometimes smaller than a saucer. They have neither spoons, nor forks, nor knives; they have just a small mother-ofpearl spoon for taking food from the dishes, and their fingers do everything else. Quite often their nails are used as knives, toothpicks and to clean their ears. The Siamese like highly spiced stews; fresh pork, fish, fruits, preserves and pastries are the ordinary dishes of [176] the rich; the poor make do with a handful of cheap rice and a little dried fish. They sometimes eat a kind of earth which they fry; it is a very unhealthy food.205 For drink the Siamese take water; they also drink a lot of tea. Low class people often abuse a liquor they call lau or arac; it is distilled from rice, and is an extremely dangerous liquor. The king and the princes have a horror of all people who drink arac. A mandarin suspected of taking it would be disgraced.206 To drink in turn the sauce in a communal dish is a mark of Siamese

205 This din-niao was until recently still consumed in the North-East. 206 CR. ‘Ten years ago it was a rare thing to see a Siamese intoxicated, but so fearful has been the growth of intemperance that in 1832 a Chinese paid to the Siamese government for the ‘spirit farm’, or the licence of manufacturing ardent spirits for the city of Bangkok for one year fortyfive peculs of silver, or $96,000. This is exclusive of the expense of material, and the labor in the manufacture, when it is retailed to the people for less than sixpence a pint. From this may be formed some idea of the quantity consumed. It is now no uncommon thing to see the Siamese, even the nobles and the priesthood, intoxicated.’ [A picul was equal to 4,000 baht-weight of silver, or approximately 60 kg. Eds.] Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

147

politeness. The king is distinguished from his subjects only by the sumptuousness of his table service. No one can enter the palace kitchen when food is being prepared; an official who has the monarch’s confidence has the dishes sealed and goes with them to the dining room. Only the king breaks the seals; but before touching the food, he has everything presented to him tasted by an official; only after this precaution does he dare eat. Mealtimes are sacred for the Siamese. If the master needs his slave for an urgent matter when the slave is eating, he waits until he has finished, or calls someone else. Even the king respects this practice. I have yet to get my cleric to interrupt his dinner: if he is eating when I need him to give the sacraments to a dying person, I have to make use of someone else, because he will reply laconically ‘I am eating.’ Although the Siamese are not fussy over the selection of food, they appear to be fastidious when compared to the Chinese and Cochinchinese. These [latter] people delight in stews [177] of dogs, worms, rats, lizards, snakes, and silkworms. Hatching eggs, when the chicken is already formed, are greatly in demand, and are usually served only to princes and mandarins. They also eat birds’ nests. I would like to add that the Cochinchinese eat with delight the vermin which are found in great numbers in their hair, but I am afraid of making you feel sick. They love raw fish, when it is still alive. It is good manners, for them, to fill the mouth when eating; instead of spoons and forks, they use two small round sticks shaped like a spindle. They make fun of Europeans because they drink milk and eat cheese, and because they are completely put out if they do not have in their hands a knife, a spoon, and a fork. I forgot to tell you that the Chinese always in their meals offer the first morsel to the devil. For the last few years opium, which was unknown in Siam and all the countries nearby, has become one of the most important articles of trade. Everyone takes this dangerous sap, smoking it as if it were tobacco. I do not know if, in the ports, one could find a man of modest circumstances who did not use it.207 Governments may well prohibit it, but the force of habit is stronger than fear of punishment. Every day one sees the unfortunate effects of opium, and people prefer to kill themselves with it, rather than deprive themselves of it. Up to now, I have not heard it said that Christians have contracted this untoward habit, but it is widespread among the heathens, and herein lies another difficulty relating to their conversion. No [178] missionary baptizes a Christian convert under instruction if he has not yet given

207 CR. ‘We could not adopt the statement “I do not know a person in these parts who does not take it.” It would be a large estimate to suppose that there was ever a time when one fourth of the population used opium, and the stringent measures adopted by his majesty during the last few years have greatly lessened the number of that proportion.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

148

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

up using opium. There is a good number who have generously made this sacrifice, howsoever painful it might be. It is the Europeans who have encouraged the use of opium throughout East Asia.208 They sell to these poor natives, for a very high price, the poison which will cause their death, and makes them commit many crimes to obtain some. To accumulate merit, the Siamese must have a big stomach and eat to excess. If a man like this passes in the street, you hear the good Siamese cry out in admiration, “Oh, how much merit this man has!”209 The present king did not think it necessary to give a more convincing proof of this than that of the queen mother, in relating the quantity of fruit she ate at her dinner. It is as though this people do not know how to appreciate the merit of someone without scales and a measure in their hands. The peoples in Siam share this prejudice, and extend it in the judgement of the merit of other objects. Thus when they hear you say that such a picture, such a statue, are masterpieces, they say to you without guile ‘Are they therefore very big?’ If a man has all the advantages we have just spoken of, and adds that of having a very square stature, a broad flat face, almost no nose, small slit eyes, very black teeth, nails three inches long, a long plait of hair, this individual is, in Chinese eyes, a person who combines in his person the perfection of all times, the ideal of what is handsome, beauty par excellence. If a Chinese so built appears before his compatriot holding a fan in one hand and a long red pipe in the other, all those present [179] hasten to show him marks of respect and veneration. ‘How that man is favoured by the heavens,’ they say to each other. ‘Look at those fine black nails! Admire that huge stomach!’ You think this is a joke? It is absolutely true. A Chinese Christian assured me that one of his compatriots owed his fortune to the length of his nails. The Burmese tattoo or paint their bodies; they say that such a fine painting gives a man a martial air. [SIAMESE PREJUDICES] If so many practices and prejudices opposed to yours are rather shocking for you, be aware that there are many things among the Europeans which displease Asians. For example, they despise Europeans because they have large noses, blond hair, white teeth, pink cheeks, and mostly big blue eyes. They show their scorn quite openly. They find it odd that Europeans bite their nails; but it is the subject of blue eyes which troubles them most. They hate all animals with eyes that are bluish. Some time ago, a thief stole a horse from a Christian, but returned it the next day, because he noticed that this horse had eyes rather like a European – that 208 The text has haute Asie, upper Asia. Unfortunately, this assertion is correct. 209 Bruguière may have been misled here by another homonym, mistaking a comment that a

person is sombun (สมบูรณ์, a polite way of saying portly) for the two separate elements som

(สม, full of) and bun (บุญ, Buddhist merit). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

149

is the reason he gave. Although it was eleven at night when I arrived in Bangkok, the seminary students came to pay me a visit, and soon noticed I had blue eyes. This did not please them, and they went to rejoin their fellows to transmit this disagreeable news. Our dress, our way of sitting, and eating, the European habit of going for walks, makes them laugh greatly at our expense. It often happened when I was taking a walk, that [180] a great number of people ran to see the extraordinary thing I was doing. One of them once asked the person accompanying me, ‘What is that Christian doing, always walking backwards and forwards in the same place?’ But they cannot hide their indignation when they see European ladies sit down at table, leave their houses, go for walks, and ride horses. ‘What!’ they say, ‘how can a civilized nation tolerate such abuses? Can one even think that a man has so little consideration of himself to allow a woman to eat with him?’ The Chinese are those who most rail against this practice. [DEATH RITES] When a Siamese dies, the relatives put the body in a well-closed coffin. They do not take it out through the door, but go into the street though a hole made in the wall. They take the body three times around the house, running as quickly as they can. They believe that if they did not take this precaution, the dead person would remember the path it had taken, and would return in the night to play a nasty trick on the family. Once at the funeral pyre, the relatives open the coffin and give the body to the person whose task it is to burn it, in return for a coin which is carefully placed in the mouth of the deceased. The sampareu210 as this person is called, washes the face with coconut milk. If the deceased decided before his death to be eaten by the vultures and crows, the sampareu cuts the body in pieces and gives the flesh to the birds of prey, which make sure they arrive early for the ceremony; this is why the Siamese have placed these birds among the angels.211 After this horrible and disgusting operation, the fleshless skeleton is thrown into the flames. Sometimes [181] the sinews are contracted by the heat of the fire, and the corpse stands up or jumps out of the pyre. The sampareu tries hard to retain it with iron pitchforks, but often it escapes. The spectacle of the convulsions made by the corpse is a truly frightful sight; the mouth goes through horrible contortions, the eyes come out of their sockets, grease flows freely and gives off an intolerable stench. For his part, the sampareu works at this blue-black skeleton. It is like witnessing a scene in hell. The relatives take part in this ceremony dressed for mourning. For important bereavements, the Siamese dress in white and shave their heads. Undertaker (sapparoe สัปเหร่อ). 211 CR. ‘The Siamese are in the habit of burning their dead, and the place selected for this purpose is near the wats; but the case here related where “the flesh was cut from the body and given to the vultures” must have been an uncommon one.’ 210

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

150

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

As soon at the king of Siam dies, his face is covered by a gold mask; several thousand talapoins come in turn to pray by the corpse.212 Some time before the day determined for the funeral, the new king authorizes public festivities and distributes money to the poor for the repose of the dead person’s soul. Instead of making this distribution individually, they throw payable-on-sight notes [chalak, ฉลาก], or put many coins in fruits, and throw them into the middle of the crowd, which results in many of the spectators being crushed to death. The dead king’s body is placed on a magnificent bed for lying in state. The bed is placed on a gilded hearse, with guards all around, some dressed as elephants and tigers, others as giants. The chief of the talapoins also mounted on a gilded chariot, conducts the ceremony, and comes before the king. These two chariots are pulled by men. A prince of the royal house heads the mourners. He is armed with a large receptacle full of rice, which he throws to both sides as the procession advances. The king, the princes and all the [182] mandarins constitute the cortege. The palace women, numbering several thousand, follow; they try, as best they can, to express grief which they really do not feel at all: they weep, cry out and sob. To do this, they use a violent means which forces them to shed tears.213 Nothing is missing from the spectacle unless it be the sincerity of their feelings. They relate, in the most elegant and refined terms, the great actions of the monarch who has just died; they recall his justice, his tenderness, his administration and all his qualities; they are full of praise in commonplace terms about the prosperity of his reign and the next. Although the way these ladies express the funeral oration for the monarch is hardly appropriate to cause tears to be shed, yet the good Siamese, who pay more attention to the form rather than the substance, willingly cry too. Actually, the voices and cries of the women can be heard, but they themselves cannot be seen; they are in a gallery covered by a tapestry hanging. The new king lights the pyre. An ordinary frame is not used for this ceremony; they use a flame caused by a flash of lighting, which is preciously stored. If the flames go straight into the sky, the king is in heaven; if it wobbles, that is a bad sign. They are careful to choose a day when there is no wind. The amphitheatre where the bodies of monarchs are burnt comprises several columns and many pavilions placed one on top of the other in ever-diminishing size. The bones which are not completely burnt are collected and reduced to powder. This is made into a kind of paste and small statues are made with it. These statues are placed in a temple given over [183] to that.214 The king often goes to see them and 212 King Rama I was cremated in May 1811 and King Rama II in April 1825. Monsignor Florens and others of the Bangkok mission may have witnessed these ceremonies and provided Bruguière with the details he records here. 213 Evidently the reader is expected to imagine what this means might be, since we are not told. 214 The Phra Thepphabidòn or Royal Pantheon is not a temple but a building in the palace

grounds, where the ashes of the kings are enshrined. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

151

honour them like gods. It is permitted to ordinary individuals also to make statues from the bones of their relatives, but they cannot put them in temples. On the death of the king, all his subjects, men and women, have to shave their heads and wear mourning. On the death of the queen, only the women and officials of her household wear mourning. Chinese funeral ceremonies are very different from those of the Siamese. As soon as a Chinese dies, the son has to buy from the devil the water he needs to wash the face of the dead person. But this devil is so stupid he thinks pieces of paper covered with a thin sheet of copper are genuine gold. Then the tablet for the soul is made, that is, one writes on a plank ‘Here resides the soul of so-and-so’, and they really believe the soul is located in the characters. The form followed at funerals is as follows. A bonze heads the procession and bangs two pans together while reciting a few prayers, so that no evil spirit will stop the dead person on the way. Another buys from the devil the right of way, but always pays in paper money. The bonze is followed by four men in ceremonial dress, carrying on a bier the soul, or tablet, of the deceased. The soul rests in a rather pretty pavilion with four columns. Two small, magnificently attired children stand on the sides. Next comes the dead person, placed in a rich coffin. Behind the corpse is a bonze swathed in a red scarf. The relatives and the rest of the escort conclude the procession. Care is taken to carry the coffin in such a way that the feet of the dead person are always in front; without this precaution the dead man could readily observe [184] the house he has left; this must be meticulously avoided, for fear he does not return the next night to strangle one of his relatives. If the procession comes to a bridge, great care has to be taken not to cross it without asking for permission from the evil spirit which rules over it. The dead person might be compromised by this spirit who could cause plenty of trouble for it in the next world. To prevent this misfortune the relatives openly declare the purpose of the journey. They ask for forgiveness for importuning the spirit, or pay to it their dues, a few paper candles. On receiving this modest payment, the dead person continues on its way in complete safety. The tombs of the Chinese are oven-shaped, and the entrance is closed by a huge stone on which is written the name of the deceased. Usually there is in front of the tomb a small paved enclosure. Two or three days after interment, relatives come to visit the place where the body has been interred. This is called making the tomb perfect. On certain days of the lunar calendar, they light small candles in front of the tomb’s entrance. I saw this superstitious ceremony in Macao. The procession, on returning, brings back the soul’s tablet. It is placed in a kind of chapel called the hall of the ancestors. The ancestors are given three cups of tea every day. Visits are paid to them and they are saluted on the first and fifteenth of each lunar month, on the day they were born and the day they died, and every time a matter of serious importance is in the offing. On all these occasions small Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

152

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

candles are lit in front of the tablets. Twice a year a big meal is offered to all the dead relatives, but only the living eat the [185] food, the dead making do with the smell. At the end of the ceremony the dead are dismissed and sent back to the other world. This feast lasts several days. If a young man dies before having contracted the marriage with his fiancée, she may, if she wishes, marry the tablet of the dead man. The ceremony is the same as for a real marriage. Often the relatives, fearing that the soul of the deceased has no means in the other world and might be reduced to being hungry, take care to send him a residence complete with clothes, servants, money, and above all pigs. Moreover the expense is not ruinous, since everything is made of paper, which is converted in the next world into gold, into furniture, houses, horses and men, but the paper has first to be reduced to ashes. The emperors of the present dynasty began to construct their tombs from the first day of their reign. Usually they hollow out a mountain and build in it a town and an underground palace, so that everything will be ready when they go to inhabit it after their death. In the province of Canton, as soon as the relatives have completed the funeral ceremonies, they send for a magician to learn from him what is the day the deceased has chosen to smother one of the members of his family; the sorcerer selects any old day. The relatives, forewarned, set up a table loaded with choice victuals in a separate room, which is carefully shut up. On the designated day, the ghost invisibly enters the room prepared for it, and invisibly eats. After the meal, it reflects on the evil nature of the action it is about to commit; it thinks of the great ingratitude it would show in putting to death [186] people who had treated it so well. These thoughts calm it, it returns to the other world, and the relatives do not need be afraid any more. The Cochinchinese we have in Bangkok observe the same funeral ceremonies as the Chinese, except that they carry a small idol. When they arrive at the burial site the relatives sit down on the ground and the deceased passes over them. [MEASUREMENT OF TIME AND ASTROLOGY] The Siamese have two eras, one civil, the other used only by the talapoins; they are now in their twelfth century of their common era, that is, the year 1191.215 They have a period of twelve years, which they start again when one cycle is completed; they call this period rop [รอบ], that is, cycle. Each of three years has the name of one of the twelve constellations of the zodiac. All this comes from China. In order, their names are 1. the year of the rat, 2. the cow, 3. the tiger, 4. the hare,

215 The year 1191 of the Chulasakkarat (Lesser Era) began on 13 April 1829 and ended on 12 April 1830. This observation indicates that Bruguière’s essay was written no earlier than mid-April 1829. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

153

5. the big snake, 6. the small snake, 7. the horse, 8. the goat, 9. the monkey, 10. the chicken, 11. the dog, 12. the pig. They have two years; one is religious and begins on the first lunar day in December, the other is lay and begins more or less on the first lunar day of April.216 The year 1828 corresponds to the year of the pig.217 Their year comprises twelve lunar months. The first two have a special name [ai อ้าย (also called chiang เจียง) and yi ยี]่ , and the others are designated by the ordinal number in which they appear, that is, third month, fourth month [and so on]. If you ask a Siamese in what year and what month he was born, he will reply, ‘In the fifth month of the year of the chicken.’ ‘I undertook such and such a journey on the fifth lunar month in the year of the horse,’ etc [187]. Every three years, the year has 13 months; then they observe a second eighth month, which corresponds to our month of July.218 They have weeks like us; Sunday is the first day of their week, and which they call the day of the sun, and Monday is the day of the moon. The other days have the names of certain stars which I suspect are planets; in this case the days of their weeks would have the same names as those of the ancient Romans. The ordinary day is divided into eight parts of three hours each, which they call jam [ยาม]. The jam of the artificial day219 are divided into three mong [โมง], or three of our hours. Night-time hours are called thum [ทุ่ม]. The mong and the thum contain three malica [นาฬิกา],220 each malica comprises eight bat [บาท], the bat is divided into 16 nathi [นาฑี],221 the nathi being the last division of time among the Siamese, our hour containing 384.222

The Thai calendar is much more complex than Bruguière suggests, but he was probably trying to simplify his explanation for his reader. The lunar month Margasirsha in the Buddhist calendar is called the ‘first’ month in the central Thai calendar, but it is not the beginning of the year. When Bruguière was in Bangkok, this month began in November or December. The Thai new year (Songkran) is, moreover, a solar event (the moment in April when the sun enters Aries), which helps to keep the lunar months aligned with the seasons. 217 The year 1828 (a year of the rat) must be a typographical error for 1827, which was a year of the pig. 218 By adding an intercalary month (always a second eighth month, or second Ashada in the Buddhist calendar), seven times in nineteen years (not once in three years, and not in a simple mathematical way), the lunar calendar is further aligned to the seasons. In the Chinese lunar calendar, however, the intercalary months are inserted in a different way. 219 Sic. The division is artificial, the day is not. 220 Bruguière appears to be in error here, as 1 nalika (a Sanskrit term) should be the same as one hour. The hour was divided into 10 bat, and thus 1 bat was equal to about 6 minutes. 221 Nathi means minute in modern usage. 222 Bruguière’s calculations are mathematically correct, but these tiny increments of time were of concern only to astrologers. In the Fifth Reign the Western system of calculating time was adopted. 216

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

154

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

All these intervals and names which seem ridiculous to us are not so for them. As the Siamese are extremely superstitious and much given to judgmental astrology, they say that these names help them to know which year, which month, which day of the moon or week are good to go on a journey, or when it would be dangerous to continue it. They maintain they can determine the fate of a baby born, for example, in the year of the tiger or what would be the propensities of someone who came into the world in the year of the hare. They have other portents derived from animals or birds. Often an ordinary incident is enough to upset all their plans and make them change what had been decided. [YEARLY FESTIVALS] I have spoken to you already about some Siamese festivals and ceremonies, but not about all of them. I am going [188] to give you a kind of calendar with them all, according to their importance and their relationship with the moon, because with the Siamese, as with other heathen nations, the moon is the main object and the basis of their superstitious religion.223 1. The 1st, 8th, 15th and 22nd days of the lunar month are holy days for the Siamese; they call them Lord’s days.224 Fishing, hunting and all other occupations of similar nature are strictly forbidden on these days. Neither meat not fish can be bought in the market. Infringers are given a fine and, in addition, a flogging.225 The whole court that day should wear a white langouti. There is, though, a place where meat can be bought, provided it is not for the talapoins. 2. The 1st and 15th lunar days, [there is] praying at the court and everywhere when the talapoins are called in. The preaching is nothing if not edifying; the previous day all the talapoins shave their heads and eyebrows. 3. The first three lunar days in April are solemn holidays for faithful Siamese. Those days Lucifer opens the gates to hell; the souls of the deceased shut up there come out to eat a meal on the earth with members of their family; they are splendidly received. On one of these days one of the talapoins goes to the palace to preach in front of the king; at the end of the sermon, at a given sign, the cannons in all parts of the town are fired, to chase the devil outside the city walls or kill it if it dare resist. From the first day a temporary king is named, with the title phaja-

This seems to be a foolish argument, like stating that the sun is the basis of Christian superstition since Europeans adopted a solar calendar. 224 That is, wan phra, holy days. 225 CR. ‘This account would lead one to suppose the Siamese to be more strict observers of their Sundays than the facts will warrant. It would be difficult to discover less business on that day than any other, though perhaps it is true that there may be more drunkenness and dissipation.’ 223

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

155

phollathep [พระยาพลเทพ]. He enjoys for these three days all the royal prerogatives (the real king remains shut up in his palace);226 he forms a [189] a guard of honour from all the galley slaves in the kingdom. A flag precedes him and he walks to the sound of music. Everything he sees during his procession belongs to him; everything in the market or in the shops which are not closed is confiscated for his use. He also sells for his benefit the vessels which enter the port in those three days. On the first day he goes, in imitation of the ceremony which takes place the same day in the emperor’s227 palace, to a field located close to a pagoda. He marks out a few furrows with a gilded plough, and then goes to lean on a tree-trunk, places his right foot on his left knee and stands upright on his other foot. This is why he is called the hop-scotch king. Whilst the phaja has this noble and practical posture, one of his officials sows rice, beans and a variety of peas. After this, three cows are brought to the field which has just been sown. The first type of seeds one of these cows eats will be very expensive during the year. The public is therefore sufficiently prepared, and everyone takes precautions. 4. At the beginning of the lunar month of July, the monarch sends in great pomp to the talapoins water-lily flowers and small packets of wood to pick their teeth with and to clean their gums. 5. The 15th of the lunar month of July, the general ordination of the talapoins occurs, at the beginning of their Lent. At this time of the year the talapoins have their greatest freedom, eat excessively and commit all sorts of crimes.228 6. The 15th of the lunar month of February is the talapoins’ Easter. They call it passa in their language.229 This festival lasts about six weeks. It is in this period [190] that the king, accompanied by all his court, goes in extraordinary pomp to the chief temples, to greet the talapoins and give them new robes.230 The people celebrate the solemnity of this festival with all sorts of excesses. Unrestrained licence prevails everywhere. [THE CROWN AND THE PALACE] The Siamese state is monarchical and feudal. In the capital and nearby everything is done directly in the name of the king, but in distant provinces nothing is done but in the name of the governors, whose rank is hereditary. In Siam, the CR. ‘This must be taken with many important limitations.’ 227 The use of ‘emperor’ seems to imply that the annual royal ploughing ceremony in Bangkok took place on the same day that the same ceremony was held in Beijing. 228 No proof or examples are provided. 229 Phansa is actually the word for the Buddhist Lent or rainy-season retreat. Here, Bruguière

appears to be referring to October (not February) and the fifteenth day of the lunar month, which marks the end of the rainy season retreat, or òk phansa. 230 The presentation of new robes (or thòt kathin) takes place during the 30 days following the

end of the Lent, which lasts three months. 226

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

156

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

crown is inherited, but the eldest in the royal family does not succeed as of right, and the king has the option of choosing his successor. This manner of elevation often causes trouble in the palace. Each of the monarch’s wives aspires to becoming queen mother. Intrigues are formed, and the different parties use all sorts of means to place on the throne the prince they favour. This mostly occurs when the reigning king dies without having named a successor. It does not seem, though, that these court intrigues ever produce open ruptures. If the state is shaken by revolutions, the cause nearly always comes from the discontent of the people, revolt by governors, the ambition of individuals, and often foreign wars. I do not know what was the situation of this kingdom 50 years ago, but since then, and especially since the death of the ill-fated Constance,231 so cruelly murdered by those he had laden with bounties (Constance was not an ambitious adventurer, as some French historians have given out);232 since that time, as I was saying, it has been exposed to many revolutions; in less than 40 years we have seen three [191] different dynasties.233 Only the Christians have shown inviolable fidelity to their legitimate sovereigns. Not one has, in all these upheavals, sided with the rebels; although they were persecuted by these same rulers, they were always their last resource. When a prince is declared king, he has to make, with all the pomp of royalty, a tour of the capital’s walls. He is carried on a litter, which is like a day bed. He throws into the middle of the crowd a great quantity of small coins. I shall return to this ceremony. When the king leaves the palace, which occurs but rarely, he is preceded by an official who carries a rod in his hands; this official has orders to keep the crowds at a distance. The death penalty is exacted of anyone who approaches the monarch without having obtained permission. One has to stay at a great distance and prostrate one’s head to the ground. You have to be careful not to choose a raised viewpoint; if you do, you run the risk of losing your life, even if you are lying with your belly on the ground. On one occasion, a sentry on duty on the ramparts did not have the time to come down when the king was passing, and was about to be put to death, but the king, who is by nature kind, pardoned him. You would be very badly received in Siam if you went in haste to the monarch to greet him with cheers. Siamese who are very familiar with court etiquette flee when they hear the signal announcing the approach of the king. In all Asian lands, the kings and their subjects live separate from each other, fear each other and flee 231 Constantine Phaulkon, a Greek who rose to high office at the end of the reign of King Narai (1656–88), was killed by the son of Narai’s successor Phetracha, who conducted a palace coup on 18 May 1688; Narai died in June. Opinions are sharply divided on the character of Phaulkon. 232 The point is disputed. 233 The number 40 must be a typesetting error. About 60 years earlier (1767), the Ayutthaya dynasty came to an end, followed by the rise of Taksin, who was succeeded in 1782 by the founder of the current dynasty. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

157

from each other. The King of Siam does not allow his children234 who have reached the age of 13 or 14 to remain in the [192] palace. He has a house set up for them. When they come to the audience or when they attend any ceremonies, they must always be in a separate place at a great distance from the king. The palace in which the king lives comprises several separate structures, hardly more elaborate than a middle-class house; the architecture is very simple. The palace is enclosed by three surrounding walls. The external enclosure and gates in them are put in charge of men. The innermost enclosure is guarded by women. They number about 4,000 and constitute a corps of the army, with its own commander and officers. Those who have the rank of an ordinary soldier keep guard at the main gate, armed with a stick shaped like a musket. These women are not counted among the king’s wives; they receive their pay and ranks like soldiers in Europe. In the third enclosure, guarded by these women, is a curious garden. It is a huge enclosure containing in miniature everything larger in the universe. There are woods, mountains, ploughed fields, rivers, a sea with islands and reefs, warships, merchant vessels of all nations, boats, a town, villages, a market, a stand owned by the palace ladies, a fortress with cannons, temples of all the religions known in Siam, and models representing the different people on earth, with their individual shape and dress. All four-legged animals, all birds, trees and the rarest plants which the king could obtain are all gathered there. The Siamese call this garden Suamuthiyam [suan utthayan สวนอุทยาน], meaning [193] garden of delights, or terrestrial paradise; it is on the model of the one in Peking. Since in these Asian palaces are people who have never seen and will never see the world, [and] are locked up, it is thought that they should not be deprived of the consolation of having some idea of it.235 At night this huge garden is lit up by a vast number of lanterns. The ladies of the harem go into the Suan-uthayam and amuse themselves to daybreak if they wish. When some repairs are needed, the workers are issued with a ticket. I have all these details from several Christians whom the king has summoned to work in this unusual garden. When you pass the pavilion facing the palace,236 all the oarsman have to be seated and everyone must fold up their sunshades; there are archers posted to ensure that no one fails to do so. The text has enfants (‘children’), but the rule applied to males only. 235 CR. ‘It must be but a poor idea of the world, which anyone can gather from a representation of this kind made by a people who know nothing of countries and men beyond their immediate neighborhood. After an examination of a world like this in miniature, one can easily imagine that it may bear a greater resemblance to its prototype in Peking than to the world.’ 236 Here Bruguière seems to describe the floating pavilion that served as the landing place at the front of the palace for the royal barges and other river craft. 234

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

158

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

The king of Siam eats and walks to the sound of music; that is, in his presence cymbals, drums and timbrels are sounded; a few other vulgar instruments are played at the same time; our musicians produce harsh and bizarre sounds from them, the least annoyance being the monotony. The distinctive signals of royal dignitary are 1. the way of hitting the drum which they call chong-keck; 2. the gold cloth parasol; 3. the gilded ivory sedan chair with a support on each side in the form of a balustrade. Princes of the blood have only a silk parasol; they can be white, green or red. Their chairs are like the king’s, but smaller and less decorated. The first rank of grandees, called chau-phaja, has red parasols, but the material is not silk; their chairs are not carved and have no [194] side supports. Important dignitaries of second rank have a red parasol, but their seat is like a folding chair. Ordinary mandarins have neither parasol nor chair. The king gives to princes a box containing five gold receptacles, one for water, one for areca nut, the third for betel, the fourth for lime, the fifth for tobacco. Governors-general receive this box, but the receptacles are silver-gilt. Dignitaries called phra receive the box, but the receptacles are only silver; lesser mandarins do not normally receive these distinctive symbols. A mandarin, or any other person of rank, never goes out without an escort; among his men there is always one who carries his parasol, another his betel box, a third his cheroot, a fourth has a lit wick, and sometimes there is a fifth who receives in a spittoon the residue of the mastication of the phaja. After the king, the vaugna [Wang Na]237 is the most important person in the realm. He is the commander-in-chief of all the armies when the king is absent; he has more power than the former connetable [high constables] of France. He has a palace and his own court, and even the title of second king. The vauglang238 comes immediately after the vaugna. These two high positions are not hereditary. The chao-phaja are also very powerful; many have hereditary governorships; they have the right to levy taxes in their respective provinces, without being required to give account of them to the king; they are the chief justices; they have to pay some dues; in case of war, they must supply troops. They can be considered as the great vassals of the crown; beneath them are lesser governors or minor vassals. They can be demoted or even condemned to death for felony. [195] I did not want to give you the details about the coronation ceremony of the King of Siam, before speaking about the grandees and their distinctive external insignia. Now let me describe this ceremony. The whole of the route to be taken

237 The text consistently has vaugna, probably a typographical error. Wang Na, meaning the Front Palace, is an informal name. The Prince of the Front Palace was the highest-ranking and usually the most powerful of the princes. The formal name of the palace was Phra Ratcha Wang Bawòn Sathan Mongkhon. 238 Wang-lang, prince of the rear palace. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

159

by the king is bordered on both sides with an infinite number of very rich altars, covered with vases of flowers, pictures, and incense burners in which perfumes are continually burnt. The Chinese mandarins are in charge of this. Archers and officials head the procession, all dressed in their special uniforms; they carry only sticks; their commander is borne on a litter; they are followed by four important mandarins, mounted on horseback and dressed in long robes. They carry crossbows and have many small flags of different colours tied to their backs.239 The army comes next, walking in two rows. The different regiments are distinguished by special uniforms. They carry muskets and bayonets. The artillery draws up in the rear. The leaders are in the middle of the two ranks. Two Christian officials each have an enormous standard; they are on horseback and dressed in the European fashion. The person who acts as chief general, or meethop แม่ทัพ], wears on this occasion only a turban of I know not how many ells long. His head appears to be as big as a barrel. This turban is white and trimmed with gold braid. The king comes immediately afterwards. From as far as he can be seen, everyone prostrates themselves. All the musicians, placed beside the altars I have described, play their instruments. The Siamese think this music admirable. I shall refrain from contradicting them, but shall not retract what I have said [196] above. The king is seated on a rather rich throne; there are several steps to climb to mount it. This throne is placed beneath a magnificent canopy borne aloft on four columns. One of his officials is positioned before him, holding in his hand a huge fan which he flutters continuously. Two other mandarins, placed on either side of the throne, carry the monarch’s huge golden parasols. All that the king wears is a langouti, a rich cloth-of-gold belt, a black felt hat with large turned-down sides. It is perhaps an ell in diameter, topped with a plume, and decorated with gold braid and tassels. The king is the only person with no robe: everyone taking part in the procession–princes, mandarins, soldiers–is decently covered from head to toe. The king has on one side a big scimitar and on the other a large gold vase filled with small silver coins, each worth 65 centimes. In his hand he holds a golden goblet and uses this to dip into the large vase to take the coins and continually throws them into the assembly for as long as his journey lasts. A young prince immediately follows him, doing the same. As these vases are soon empty, next to the monarch are men with sacks of silver to refill them. This lavishness is nothing compared to the quantity of notes [chalak ฉลาก] thrown into the crowd. Some are worth the price of a horse, an elephant, a house, a bear, etc. Whoever finds one of these notes has only to present himself to the treasury, and he immediately receives the value of the objects indicated on the note. 239 This appears to be a description of a Chinese rather than a Siamese mandarin. Bruguière himself did not witness a coronation. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

160

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

After the king come four princes on horseback, [197] their heads covered with feathered hats. All the other princes of the royal household, numbering 80, follow in procession and end it; they are all accompanied by officials of their households. One of these officials holds the horse’s bridle, a second carries a scimitar, a third covers the prince’s head with the prince’s parasol, others bear betel leaves, areca nut, lime, tobacco, a light etc., without which the Siamese could not last a second. Throughout the time the procession lasts, the vaugna [vangna] stays in the palace, the entrance to which he guards, holding a naked sword. When a prince is raised to the rank of vaugna, he has to leave the palace he has lived in until then to take possession of the palace which goes with this rank. But when he arrives at the city gate, he finds it shut. He has to unsheath his scimitar and climb onto the ramparts. It is only after doing this that he and his escort can enter the palace reserved for him.240 The ceremonies I have just described, curious as they might be, are not superstitious. This is not really so concerning the king’s children who reach the age of puberty. When a prince of the royal family is 13 or 14, the king, as I mentioned above, assigns a house for him and distances him from his person. But before anything he must put on a new langouti and a talapoin must cut his hair.241 For this, the most qualified persons among the four nations in Siam are brought to the court; each has to wear the costume of his country. A kind of mountain is created with a path going to the top. Their tents are erected [198] at the summit of this mountain. A little below figures of one or two elephants are placed from which water issues; this water falls into a receptacle right at the bottom of the artificial mountain. When everything is ready, the mandarins and soldiers line up in two rows. The cortege leaves the palace in this order to make a rather long procession. The prince for whom this ceremony is performed is seated on his chair carried on the backs of his officials. On his head he wears a very high but not pointed bonnet; he has slippers on his feet; his arms are covered with gold bracelets. In front of him a kind of frame of bells is shaken, as if to signify he is still a child. An instrument like a flute is played, as are tambourines and trumpets. The princess who is to become his wife walks before him, with hands clasped; she holds, between the thumb and first finger, a bunch of peacock’s feathers. When the procession enters the palace, the prince goes to prostrate himself at the feet of his father, the king; the king takes him by the hand and leads him into the temple where rest the ashes of his ancestors. The young prince salutes them, or 240 This is a little confusing, since the prince’s original palace is likely to have been within the city walls. One suspects that all these passages about court rituals are second-hand, supplied by an informant. 241 Contrary to Bruguière’s assumption, this was a Brahmin ceremony for cutting the top-knot­ —the ceremonial tonsure that took place on the symbolic Mount Kailasa. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

161

rather worships them. This ceremony is repeated for three consecutive days. The fourth day the talapoin cuts his hair in the ancestors’ temple, and he is given the white langouti, instead of the red one worn before in the ceremony. The same day he goes to the artificial mountain, always accompanied by a great throng, washes in the receptacle, and then climbs in the company of three or four grandees to the top of the mountain, and enters the pavilion. What does he do there? No one knows, except those who accompany him. It is believed that more superstitious ceremonies take place there. This has much in common with the ceremonies practiced [199] by the Romans when their male children took the toga virilis. In Siam, court etiquette requires that the king has a soothsayer close by him. The monarch consults him about the success of a war, the results of a battle and other instances, which often place the poor soothsayer in difficulties: when he happens to be reasonably correct, the king pays him generously. If the prediction proves false, the monarch has the bastinado inflicted on him or has him placed in that state in the burning sun, to teach him to be more circumspect in the future. This soothsayer, who sometimes predicts what he himself should do, announced some time back that a Christian village would be burnt on such a day. In order not to be accused of ignorance on this occasion, he sent one of his trusties to set the place on fire; fortunately the agent was arrested at the very moment when he was going to carry out his commission. He revealed the whole plot, and the soothsayer received a severe bastinado; but all the same retained the king’s confidence. According to an ancient custom, the King of Siam has a treasure which he should not touch except in exceptional circumstances. His successor always adds to what his predecessor has already amassed. The present king is said to be very rich. It would seem that all Asiatic monarchs do likewise. The Emperor of China has melted down every year minted coin to the value of about 30 million francs. These ingots are the shape of big square bricks. The monarch has all this bullion sent to Tartary and has it thrown into a pool he has had dug near a river. Mandarins and a considerable number of troops guard this treasure. This is the destiny of the enormous sums the Europeans regularly send each year to Canton, to receive [200] in exchange some silks, some porcelain much inferior to that in France, and tea. It would seem to me to have been better for all this money to have remained buried in the bowels of the earth; at least miserable slaves would have been spared much hard labour. [THE ARMY] In these countries the rights of man are not the same as in Europe. War is waged as did formerly the Assyrians. Towns are destroyed, the countryside is laid waste, and the inhabitants are led away in captivity. In the suburbs of Bangkok can be seen villages composed of Burmans, Peguans [Mon], Laotians [Lao], Malays, etc. These devastations are equally disastrous to the vanquished as to the vanquishJournal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

162

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

ers. In the course of a single campaign, which took place last year and lasted only six months, the number of men who died of hunger, exhaustion, destitution and sickness is uncountable.242 The military profession is hereditary and more or less within the same rank. It is not known here what is to disband troops. One is a soldier until one dies. The Siamese have no uniform, or to be more exact, the Siamese have a uniform only when under arms. The different regiments are distinguished by the colour of the uniform.243 The chiefs have a uniform of a short silk robe brocaded in gold. The Christians are dressed in the European manner; they are all either engineers or officers in the medical corps, or governors. They are very incompetent in their profession. Some of them concede that without the particular protection of providence, they would have been victims of their ignorance; yet it is they who know the most. They say the Siamese do not lack courage, but they have no knowledge of military arts. [201] At the moment of departure, the army gets into small boats and positions itself in the middle of the river. The talapoins, who are everywhere, consult the omens, pray to the devil, have the general lift one foot, then the other; they make him perform a thousand other apish antics of this nature. One of them climbs into a very high chair, and from there throws buckets of a kind of lustral water over the entire army. The Christian soldiers stay to one side, though, so as not to receive this infernal water; the king has nothing to say about this. They erect a figurine, which represents the prince or the rebel they are going to fight; previously it was [not a figurine but] a criminal condemned to the ultimate penalty; the present king, who is very humane, has substituted a figurine. The executioner deals a mighty blow on its head with an axe; if its head falls at the first strike, the omen is favourable; if not, the augury is poor. When the ceremony is over, the general proudly unsheathes his scimitar, and the army marches off to the sound of all kinds of instruments. Although the Siamese are close observers of omens on all occasions, they are still more so in matters concerning war: the flight of a bird, the cry of some animal is enough to make these brave soldiers tremble; they are more afraid of the capers of a monkey that comes to hide among the ranks than the entire enemy army. These superstitious ideas often have unfortunate results. They believe, for example, that if a craft crosses the river at the same time as the ballon (which means small boat)244 242 The first stage of the war between Bangkok and Vientiane took place in 1827. Here, Bruguière is referring to the second stage, in 1828, when Thai forces were sent to the city the second time. 243 CR. ‘The only uniform we have ever seen worn by the Siamese soldiers is a red band about the head, having as their only dress a waist cloth in common with the rest of the people.’ [Dean’s observations are misleading and apparently refer only to the daily routine of ordinary soldiers, when they wore only personal clothing. For important occasions such as public processions in Bangkok, formal uniforms and weapons were issued by the government storehouses and armouries. Eds] 244 A ballon is more correctly a barge of state. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

163

transporting the commander-in-chief is going to pass, the army is threatened with a great disaster of some kind. To thwart this dire augury, they kill all the people in the craft. To avoid such untoward accidents, the army is always [202] preceded by town criers sent by the monarch, warning all the craft on the river to line up along the banks at the approach of the army; but it is rare, in spite of these precautions, that some misfortune does not occur. When the army leaves the river, the ammunition is loaded on elephants. The different battalions march under their flags, but in little order. The flags are red, with designs of different colours. The navy’s flag has for armorial bearings an elephant; by means of these flags the commander-in-chief transmits his orders; the different ways they are waved inform the army if it should advance or prepare to retreat. It is said the Siamese fight in platoons. They conceal themselves behind trees and undergrowth to fire at the enemy with greater advantage. It they are very numerous, they form a crescent in order to surround the enemy’s army. When the elephants are well-trained, they cause greater carnage than many soldiers together. They fight with their tusks, their trunks, their feet and the enormous mass of their bodies. It is very difficult to wound them mortally with firearms.245 [JUSTICE] The Siamese have some laws which are quite good, but others which are far from being perfect. The deficiency would be tolerable if the laws were observed. Justice is very badly administered. When the different parties come before the judge to plead their cause, he puts both contenders in prison so that the accuser pays the expenses, if the accused, though guilty, has not the money to pay the costs. The judge has the ability to let the case drag on, in order to extract money from both sides. [203] There is no means of complaining to the king; the magistrate is always right, he knows how to muddle the case so that he is nearly always absolved, and the unfortunate accuser is punished for having told the truth and sought justice for a legitimate complaint. Money in this country is an infallible means of avoiding the laws and getting out of difficulties. Even a criminal can have the punishment given to him reduced and rendered virtually void; he has only to promise money to the executioner. Custom, which has the force of law in the kingdom, allows creditors to demand 30 percent; but it is very rare they are content with such huge interest; if the person who has borrowed is poor and has a pressing need of money, the lender demands 60 or even 120 percent; if, at the end of the contract, the debtor cannot repay his debt, the creditor has the right to take him to be his slave; or in default of that, to 245 Again, none of this information is likely to have been gathered by the missionary at first hand. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

164

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

take his wife and his children. I have to say, in praise of the present king, that he lends money to his subjects without requiring any usury, but the great lords are not so delicate. If a master hits his slave with an instrument used for stirring rice, or with the chopsticks the Chinese use instead of a fork, the slave is free, and the master loses his money; but if he rains blows on him, the slave cannot complain. This I find a most curious viewpoint. The law permits parents who have sold their daughter to her husband for her to be kept as a domestic for as long as the tree, planted in front of their hut the day they marry, remains alive. The newly-weds take care to select an areca palm, which dies easily. Custom limits the period to [204] three years. Thus, thanks to this extraordinary contract, the wife becomes the slave of the husband and servant of the relatives. This abuse does not exist among Christians.246 The right of asylum exists in Siam. Our churches and the enclosures around them also enjoy the right of sanctuary. The king has not touched this privilege, under any pretext. A criminal who takes refuge in a pagoda cannot be forcibly removed. The king can only ask the talapoins to hand him over. If he takes the robes of a talapoin, it is unusual if he does not obtain his pardon. That alone is enough to give you an idea of the sanctity of these bonzes. Since I have been here I have often heard about some offence by these supposed Siamese gods.247 Only a fortnight ago one of these holy personages assassinated a man who was chastising him for his unbecoming behaviour. He was not punished with death, although convicted. At the present time there are legally 60 accused of different crimes. The penal code is not severe. The king is very reluctant to sign a death sentence. He is always afraid of committing a sin. Torture, though, is practiced. There are also some frightful punishments unknown to Europeans, which are reserved for the worst criminals; but I doubt if they have been carried out once in a century. An ordinary individual condemned to death has his head cut off. Great nobles are cudgelled, sewn into a sack,248 and thrown into the river. This seems to me to be a sad privilege. After capital punishment, the worst and most dishonourable penalty is to be condemned to feed the elephants. The unfortunates receiving this punishment have to go every day to collect a certain quantity of grass. When in spite of their application and their [205] exhaustion, they cannot complete their task, they are roundly beaten. They cannot have themselves replaced, nor obtain 246 CR. ‘The Catholics give a wife to such of the Chinese as will profess the Catholic faith. By this inducement many are added to their number.’ [Almost all Chinese immigrants were male, and therefore any prospect of marrying a local woman was an inducement. Eds.] 247 Again, the author’s misconception (or deliberate misinterpretation) of the meaning of the word phra leads him into gross error. 248 The order is wrong: they are placed in a sack and then cudgelled. This was so that no royal blood would fall on the ground. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

165

help, nor buy grass with their own money. They are marked on their foreheads; their punishment is for life. In general they mark the faces of all the criminals who are to be mistrusted. The slaves brought from afar249 and which should not be ransomed bear marked on their arm the name of their master. All the Chinese who enter Siam ought to wear on their arm a special bangle to prove they have paid the king a head tax.250 A criminal condemned to death has to go round the city walls three times, and to warn passers-by that he, so-and-so, convicted of such-and-such crime, has been condemned to capital punishment.251 I must finally stop. I think I have filled my commission; perhaps I have gone beyond what you expected. On a separate sheet you will find a notice about the language of the country; it will give you an idea of oriental languages, as they have many affinities to each other. I recommend to your fervent prayers and your blessed thanksgiving the infidels, the Christians and the missionaries in the apostolic vicariate of Siam; but I recommend to you above all he who has the honour to be

Your most humble servant and your most faithful friend BRUGUIÈRE, miss. apost.252

And so most probably captives of war. 250 CR. ‘The Chinese instead of labouring upon the public works pay triennially a poll tax of $3, and for a few weeks, during the time of collecting this tax, each man as he pays his money takes a receipt and had a cord tied around his wrist, and sealed by the government officers to secure him against paying the tax again the same year. Sometimes this seal is broken off by accident, or on purpose by evil-designing persons, who then take the unfortunate man before a magistrate by whom he is compelled to repay his tax and take a new certificate.’ 251 CR. ‘In the bishop’s account of Siam we are pleasingly reminded of many things of which we have been an eye-witness, as well as informed of some things which were altogether new to us. On the whole, these pages, though at times giving a wrong impression to the reader, are calculated to convey much information of a country and people little known, but who [sic] contain much to interest the commercial and religious world. The commerce is becoming a monopoly with the officers of government. The port charges, amounting to about one thousand dollars on an ordinary vessel of four hundred tons, present a serious obstacle to the trade of European and American shipping, while the Siamese without this expense can take their produce with their own vessels to the free ports of Singapore and Hong Kong. It is believed that a visit to Bangkok by an English or American man-of-war might very easily place the commerce of that country on a better footing, better for foreigners, better for the Siamese government , and surely better for the native inhabitants. It is to be hoped that among the representatives of foreign powers now in China there may be those who will interest themselves in removing the existing evil in Siam, while by so doing the interests of their own country may be promoted.’ At the end of The Chinese Repository version of Bruguière’s letter here are added ‘a few paragraphs concern ing the use of tobacco, opium, guncha [cannabis] or bang, and spirits among the people, extracted from a missionary circular recently received from Bangkok.’ As this is not of the pen of either Bruguière or Dean, it is omitted here. 252 Apostolic Missionary, in abbreviated Latin (missionárius apostólicus, a missionary with

faculties from the Holy See). 249

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

166

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

[206]

Notice on the Siamese language In the apostolic vicariate of Siam more than 20 different languages are spoken. Most are as close as French and Arabic, but the knowledge of all these languages is not absolutely necessary. The most common are Portuguese, English, Malay and Siamese. I do not know English. Portuguese as spoken in the Indies is very easy, [learning it] is a matter of a few days. Malay is a language which seems to me quite regular. It is gentle and harmonious and is pleasant on the ear. French people learn it quickly; three months is sufficient to speak Malay tolerably. The people who speak this language are Muslim, followers of the sect of Ali,253 if I am not mistaken. The Malays are scattered throughout the Malacca peninsula, in all the islands of Sunda, the Philippines, Andaman, Borneo, etc. The Malays are a people apart, and differ a lot from their neighbours in their physique, customs, and character. It does not seem that they were the original inhabitants of the lands they occupy today. The Siamese call them Quix [khaek แขก];254 this word means foreigner, advena. Siamese is not as easy to learn as Malay.255 It is more difficult for several reasons, namely the lack of grammar, a dictionary256 and other basic texts, pronunciation, the construction of phrases, idioms, etc. These people have no concept of grammar, have almost no fixed rules, and one cannot learn the few they have before knowing the language perfectly. Siamese is a poor language, with very few words; when [207] one wants to speak about the arts, sciences, and especially religion, one cannot find the terms, and has to find circumlocutions which rarely give the idea one wishes to express; but there are many expressions to indicate the most common objects. This language is monosyllabic and difficult. It has many aspirations, it is melodious (here people do not speak, they sing); the sounds of this language are not by themselves clear, distinct or well-articulated, and are even more so in the mouth of a Siamese, always filled with betel, areca nut, lime, and tobacco. Siamese properly speaking has no declensions, no genders, and no numbers; there are very few words which are by their nature substantives or adjectives. 253 Shias. 254 How one is expected to pronounce this word is unclear. The Siamese today often refer to the Malays as khaek, which is also a generic term for Muslims, South Asians and visitors (or immigrants) in general. 255 If Bruguière’s somewhat confusing discussion that follows reflects his grasp of the Thai lang uage at this juncture, one can readily appreciate why his efforts at evangelisation produced so few results. The Thai probably assured him with typical politeness that they understood him, and then went away wondering what he was trying to say. 256 These wants were soon to be filled by Monsignor Pallegoix, who published a Thai grammar at the Assumption College in Bangkok in 1850 and a Thai-Latin-French-English dictionary in Paris in 1854. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

167

To express gender, they add after the common word these expressions ‘which is male… which is female.’ For example, mae [sic, ma ม้า] in Siamese means ‘horse’ in general. If I want to say ‘I have a horse’ I have to express the phrase thus ‘Me have horse, male being, being one’; two, three ‘two being’, ‘three being’. If I want to say I have a mare, I have to say ‘Me have horse, female being or substance, being one.’ To indicate the indefinite plural, for example, ‘I have horses’, one says in Siamese ‘I have horse, several beings.’ Their verbs are active and passive at the same time. They express the present, the past and the future with the aid of two particles which they put before the verb; they have yet other particles to indicate other parts of the discourse, for the same word is anything one wants it to be. Thus rac means to love. I love, dai rac I have loved, cha-rac I shall love, kwam-rac love, thi-rac or na-rac loveable, duai-rac amiable, rac loving, tong-rac [208] being loved, dai-tong-rac having been loved. In this language, verbs have only three tenses, so it is not only difficult, but even impossible to express all the nuances found in verbs in Latin, French, etc. If the rule of which I have just given you an example were fixed and invariable, we could comprehend, but it is not so, and for another word one has to adopt a different formula. One can regard this rule as general.257 The Siamese language has no inceptive, argumentative and frequentative verbs. There exist, though, composite verbs. For example, au means ‘take’, ma means ‘come’; if you join au to ma (au-ma) you form a verb meaning ‘bring’. If you join au to pai, which means ‘go’, ‘leave’, you have a verb meaning ‘to take away’. In composite verbs, the direct object is placed in the middle and the indirect object at the end of the verbs. So, if I say to a Siamese domestic, ‘Bring me this book’ or ‘Bring this book to me’ he would not understand, he would certainly reply ‘Father say what? I no understand.’ I could have used Siamese expressions, but if I revise the phrase thus: ‘You take book volume, that come to me’ he would clearly understand what I was saying to him; but I am not sure if you yourself would have understood. The lack of declensions and conjugations makes the Siamese follow the natural order of ideas in the construction of phrase. They always place the subject at the beginning, then the verb and its complement. When the proposition has complex meaning, they immediately join to the word which expresses the main idea all the other words which serve to limit it or simply to develop its meaning. This [209] language does not have long phrases; a sentence which is slightly extended leads to such confusion in the discourse that it is impossible to understand anything. One must always proceed step by step, and take with one many particles which never change, which results in a monotonous and tedious construction. Here is a phrase in the Siamese fashion, taken randomly from the New Testament “Prince three 257 Bruguière is trying to apply Latin grammatical rules to a language that is quite different, and the attempt is in vain. Something of what he says about tenses is correct, much is not. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

168

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

persons questioning, have asked saying Lord very great king, ruler, lord of Judea which a short while ago be born; this being so, Lord in what place in what part be born; for we have see the star of Lord in the regions to the east side; we therefore come bend down, offer our homage to Lord. When the King Herod have hear that, so the King Herod then have been troubled etc.” In English:258 “The three magi said ‘In what place is born the king of the Jews? We have seen his star in the east, and we have come to adore him. At these words Herod was troubled.” It is elegant in Siamese to repeat continually the rank of the person being addressed, and the word which expresses sentiments of respect on the part of the speaker. It is also a mark of elegance to begin all the phases of a story with this formula: ‘after that too’, or ‘also say’. Thus the three words of Caesar ‘Veni, vide, vici’ would appear trivial expressions to a scholarly Siamese. He would say ‘We be come, after that we have seen, after that we have conquered.’ Precision is not one of the qualities of this language. It is quite another matter when they are dealing with a lofty subject. They then assume an emphatic tone, they pile up one above the other synonyms which they [210] lard with terms taken from Pali, which have all the more merit because those listening understand them but little. I have before me a sample of this genre taken from a Siamese manuscript. The author wanted to produce something sublime. Here it is: ‘Although in truth that be place place which be full always, always, always, with darkness, darkness of death, cover, cover these too, be overcome be arrived tumult, tumult, tumult, tumult, tumult, spreading all hell, when, when, when God very great Jesus have feel pain, misery, suffering until death greater when, when Lucifer make overturn him, fall from high, come from heaven.’ Can you believe that the author wanted to translate literally the phrase, taken from a book printed in Europe, ‘Although hell is always a place of affliction, nevertheless the tumult which occurred when Jesus Christ died was greater than when Lucifer was chased out of heaven.’ Some French travellers who only admire, like their compatriots, what they do not have at home, would find that admirable; so be it, but in spite of their testimony and my goodwill, my poor taste only allows me to see in it so much gibberish. The greatest difficulty lies in the pronunciation. A word written in the same way has often many different meanings, which are sometimes opposites, depending on whether the tone is raised or not. Here is a sample: ‘be near’ ju-klai [อยู่ใกล้], ‘be far’ ju-klai [อยู่ไกล]; ‘who is selling eggs in the fortress? No one, the seller is sick,’ khai khai, khai kai nai khai? Ha mi khai pha-khai khai [ใครขายไข่ไก่่ในค่าย หามีใครไม่ พ่อค้าไข้]. I could give many more examples, but shall limit myself to cite one more, and I shall stop. ‘It is [211] said that near the old city of Ayutthaya nine mountains 258 Actually in French in the text. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

169

can be seen which are in the shape of an ox; inside the city is sold a kind of white rice which causes severe itching in the knee, and makes one scratch.’ A Siamese would say: Kau bok elai meuang kao-ko mi phu-khao kau an pen rup-khau ko-khau khrung mi khau khau thi tham hai khau kau hua khau [เขาบอกอะไร เมืองเก่าก็มภี เู ขาเก้าอัน เป็นรูปเขาโค เข้ากรุงมีขา้ วขาว ทีท่ ำให้เขาคันหัวเข่า]. I defy all the French who do not know the language to pronounce the different khau in a way a Siamese could understand.259 But a native, by going up and down the scale with its sharps and flats, its aspirations, lengthening and shortening the sounds, would succeed in making himself perfectly understood by his compatriots, because they have such slight difference in some of their tones that a European has the greatest difficulty in the world in appreciating them. There are six tones in this language very short (:), short (u), long (–), high (’), low (‘) and medium.260 To indicate that the o is closed, the Siamese put a circumflex above it (ô).261 The very short tone equals a quarter or a third of a plainchant note, the short tone a half-note, the long nearly two notes. When the middle tone is on G (sol), the highest tone goes to B (si), and the lowest goes down to D (ré). But these tones are not completely whole; they slide over the intermediate notes to go from G to B or to go down to D. The symbols I have just spoken about are used only by the Christians who use the Roman alphabet; the Siamese have the value of the tones and the different sounds are mixed and as it were fused with their characters.262 Even though the language is difficult, one soon learns it. The necessity of speaking is [212] the reason one makes more progress in a few months in this country than one would in ten years in France. After six months of serious study a young missionary can easily explain all the books, he can preach, confess, etc; he will undoubtedly not speak perfectly, he will pronounce poorly, but he can be followed and understood, which is enough. The Siamese write like us from left to right. Then use a wooden stylus; their books are a kind of cardboard folded zigzag rather like the way cloth merchants fold their lengths of material. They write with ink or chalk, depending on whether the cardboard is black or white. I spoke to you about the Pali language; it is chiefly from Pali that the Siamese obtain their forms of address when they speak to princes etc, for they have many languages; there is one for the people, one for the king, etc. Misfortune for he who uses a vulgar expression, no matter how respectful it may 259 Of course, the meaning changes depending on which of the five tones of central Thai is employed, and whether the vowel sound is long or short. The written forms in Thai are easily distinguished, one from another, whereas Bruguière’s simplified romanisation is not. 260 No symbol is given for this. Most agree that there are five tones in central Thai, and the author here confuses tones with vowel length. 261 As noted below, the Siamese do not use a circumflex. Here, he may be referring to the ò

sound in words such as kò ก็. 262 That is, the Thai system of writing determines the tone of a vowel. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

170

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

be elsewhere, when speaking to a person of rank; he will not be pardoned readily for this mistake. The Siamese have an alphabet which has much in common with ours, and which has 54 letters. They calculate having 38 consonants and 16 vowels. They do not have the sound ze, xe, ja, jo, ga as we have in French. They have four consonants we do not have in our language. The Christians express this sound with the letters xe [?], but pronounce it like the Portuguese. The second is represented by the two characters ch []; you pronounce this consonant as a Frenchman would pronounce tch, in one breath. The third is represented by the consonant je []; the Siamese pronounce this like the Spanish and the Portuguese [213] pronounce it as in Jerusalem and Jeremiah. They represent the fourth by the two consonants ng []; the sound designated by this consonant has much in common with the lowing of a bull. Europeans have trouble in pronouncing it correctly. When the Christian Siamese want to aspirate the K, P, and T (they have no other aspirated consonants), they put an h immediately after. Note that ph does not give the sound fe, because it is an aspirate. Their r is always a gentle sound. They never pronounce it like us in the words errors, irritate; the Siamese write their vowels in European letters: Here is what they correspond to:

a

e

ee

ì

o

ô

ó

ủ

au

a

a

é

ai

i

o

au eu

u

aou ou

Consonants in Siamese letters and letters they correspond to:263

ก

Kō

ฉ

xó

ท

ข

khò

ช

xò

ฐ

ฃ

khó

ซ

sō

น

ค

khò

ณ

xo:

บ

ฅ

khō

ฆ

khō:

ญ

ด

jō

ป

dō

ผ

ง

ngō

ต

tō

ฝ

จ

chō

ถ

thó

พ

thò

tho:

nō

bō

pō

phó

fó

phò

ฟ

ภ

ม

ย

ร

ล

ว

ส

fō

pho:

mō

jō

rō

lō

ห

ฬ

ฤ

ฤา

ฦ

ฦา

hò

l’ō

rû’c

rū’

lû’c[e?]

vō

só

lū’

Bruguière deviates slightly from the modern standard order of consonants. For xo: he gives ณ, which is incorrect; the very similar correct character ฌ (which is not in the table) should be in this place. Between jō ญ and bō บ, the consonants are not in the standard order, and six are omitted (ฎ, ฏ, ฐ, ฑ, ฒ and ธ). Four others (ศ, ษ, อ and ฮ) are omitted near the end of the list. The table of vowels omits the letter for a that is sounded only between two consonants (as in วัน). It also does not show the combinations of vowels that produce diphthongs and some short-vowel forms such as แอะ. 263

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

171

Description of Siam in 1829

[214] Vowels in Siamese letters and what they correspond to in our language



Ō

ā

i:

ī

u’

ū’

u:

ū



è

eē

ăi

ài

ò

aù

âm

a:

Here is the Lord’s Prayer in Siamese in European letters, with an interlinear translation; I shall try to render word for word the meaning corresponding to the Siamese terms. Prôt Phra: phuthi Bida heeng khà - phà O Dieu auguste père des serviteurs de chaù Thâng la’i, thân jû savân hai namaxù Monseigneur tous, Seigneur être au ciel, que nom Phra: phuthi Bida, xalo’ng rùng ru’ang pâi mu’ang Dieu auguste Père sanctifié glorifié, aller royaume Phra, phuthi Bida khròp khrong nan khò haì Dieu, auguste père gouverneur cela demander que ma thûng, khó haì leeu nu’ng nam phra venir jusques demander que se fasse volonté hú’rû’thai, nâ: pheen din samo’ nâ: savân ade Dieu sur surface terre comme dans ciel, nourhán liang khà phà chaù thuk vân riture nourrir serviteur de Monseigneur tous jours, khò phra:tan nâ: cala vân ni, khò demander accorder dans temps jour celui-ci demander phra: mahá caruna prôt jôc nì Dieu très-grand miséricordieux daigner remettre dettes [215] khâ phà chaù, mu’án khâ phà serviteur de Monseigneur comme serviteur de chaù prôt kee khâú khò melta praMonseigneur remetter à eux demander miséricorni Phra: phuthi Bida chaù khà, ja dieux Dieu auguste père Seigneur de serviteur ne la: vang khà phà chaù, nâi point abandonner serviteur de Monseigneur dans

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

172

BARTHÉLEMY BRUGUIÈRE

pa chôn lò luang thôt-long prakan dâi, tentation trompeuse tenter quiconque, khà phà chaù thâng lai, phôn serviteur de Monseigneur tous délivrer oînnarai. Amen. mal. Ainsi soit-il.264

tee và vài mais que chac phû de ce qui

[BRUGUIÈRE’S ROMANISED LORD’S PRAYER IN THAI SCRIPT ADDED BY EDITORS]

โปรดพระพุทธิบดิ าแห่งข้าพระเจ้าทัง้ หลาย ท่านอยูส่ วรรค์ ให้นามชือ่ พระพุทธิบดิ า ฉลองรุง่ เรืองไป เมืองพระพุทธิบิดาครอบครองนั้น ขอให้มาถึง ขอให้แล้วหนึ่ง[?]น้ำพระฤทัย ณแผ่นดินเสมอณสวรรค์ อาหารเลี้ยงข้าพระเจ้าทุกวัน ขอประทานณเวลาวันนี้ ขอพระมหากรุณาโปรดยกหนี้ข้าพระเจ้า เหมือน ข้าพระเจ้าโปรดแก่เขา ขอเมตตาปราณีพระพุทธิบิดาเจ้าข้า อย่าละหวังข้าพระเจ้าในประจญ ล่อลวงทดลอง ประการใด แต่ว่าไว้ข้าพระเจ้าทั้งหลาย พ้นจากผู้อันตราย[?]. อาแมน. [215] This is the prayer which all the [Christian] children at the age of six to seven learn, and then understand it, at least when they have reached the age of 10 or 12. The Burmese write like the Siamese, but almost all their letters have the shape of an o. The Malays use Arabic characters and they write from right to left like the Jews. Their books start where ours end. The Tonkinese and Cochinchinese use Chinese characters and write in the same way too, that is from top to bottom. We have in the Indies this big dictionary which appeared in France some years back, and which can be found in nearly all libraries.265 A Chinese scholar told me it was good, but it can be of no use to our missionaries who desire to go to China, because all the words in it are Mandarin terms, which the people do not use.266

Bruguière has translated word-for-word from the Thai into French, rather than translating the meaning of each phrase. To French readers, the resulting sentence structure must have seemed bizarre, with a word sequence that is barely comprehensible and only because the reader already knows this prayer. The diacritics of the vowels in this passage are not the same as the ones outlined in his table of Thai vowels. 265 Bruguière is probably referring to the 1813 Glemona dictionary and the 1819 Klaproth

supplement. 266 Not quite. The peoples of southern China, which Bruguière is most likely to have come into contact with at this date, spoke Hainanese, Hokkien, Cantonese, Fujianese, Teo Chiu and so on, which are certainly very different from what used to be called Mandarin, spoken in the north. By ‘our missionaries’ he is surely referring to the French society, which at this time had a mission in Sichuan Province but none in Mandarin-speaking areas. 264

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Description of Siam in 1829

173

Editors’ References Bradley, Dan Beach. Journal of the Reverend Dan Beach Bradley, M.D., 1832–73. Manuscript (25 volumes) in the Oberlin College Library; microfilmed by the U.S. Library of Congress. Cordier, Henri. 1912. Bibliotheca indosinica. Dictionnaire bibliographique des ouvrages relatifs à la péninsule indochinoise. Volume I: Siam. Paris: Imprimerie nationale; Ernest Ledoux, éditeur. Crawfurd, John. 1968. Journal of an Embassy to the Court of Siam and Cochin China. Facsimile reprint of the first edition (London: Colborn, 1828), with an introduction by David K. Wyatt. Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press. Cox, Merel J. 1991. The Snakes of Thailand and Their Husbandry. Malabar, Florida: Krieger Publishing Company. Finlayson, George. 1826. The Mission to Siam, and Hué the Capital of Cochin China, in the Years, 1821–2. London: John Murray, 1826. Reprinted in facscimile with an introduction by David K. Wyatt; Singapore, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press; in association with the Siam Society, Bangkok, 1988. Glemona, Basilius a. 1813. Dictionnaire chinois, français et latin: publié d’après l’ordre de sa majesté l’empereur et roi Napoléon le Grand. Compiled principally from the Chinese-Latin dictionary of Basílio di Gimona (d. 1703); edited by Chrétien Louis Joseph de Guignes and Julius von Klaproth. Paris: Imprimerie impériale. Klaproth, Julius von. 1819. Supplément au dictionnaire chinois-latin, du P. Basile de Glemona [sic] (imprimé en 1813, par les soins de M. de Guignes): publié d’après l’ordre de sa Majesté Le Roi de Prusse, Frédéric-Guillaume III. Paris: Imprimerie royale. McFarland, George Bradley. 1944. Thai-English Dictionary. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. Photolithic reprint of the 1941 Bangkok edition. Pallegoix, Jean-Baptiste. 1850. Grammatica Linguae Thai. Bangkok: Collegii Assumptionis. Pallegoix, Jean Baptiste. 1854. Description du royaume Thai ou Siam, comprenant la topographie, histoire naturelle, moeurs et coutumes, législation, commerce, industrie, langue, littérature, religion, annales des Thai et précis historique de la mission. Paris: Imprimerie de Vialat et cie. Rutnin, Mattani Mojdara. 1993. Dance, Drama, and Theatre in Thailand: The Process of Development and Modernization. Tokyo: Centre for East Asian Cultural Studies for Unesco; The Toyo Bunko. Reprinted by Silkworm Books, Chiang Mai, 1996. Turpin, François Henri. 1771. Histoire civile et naturelle du royaume de Siam, et des révolutions qui ont boulversé cet empire jusqu’en 1770 [Civil and Natural History of the Kingdom of Siam and of the Revolutions That Have Kept This Empire in Confusion up to 1770]. Two volumes. Paris: Costard.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

THE INSCRIPTIONS ON THE FIRST WORLD WAR VOLUNTEERS MEMORIAL, BANGKOK Brendan and Suthida Whyte Abstract The First World War Volunteers Memorial in Bangkok commemorates the nineteen (non-combat) casualties of the 1,300-man Siamese Expeditionary Force sent to France by King Rama VI in 1918. The inscriptions on the monument are translated from the Thai, and the dates and locations of death of the nineteen casualties are mapped and analysed. Siam’s contribution as an Allied power during the First World War is relatively well known amongst Thais today, but is little more than a footnote in Western literature on the war. This is partly because Siam’s contribution, while very minor in terms of manpower sent to the front, and which included no combat casualties,1 was for Siam itself a crucial step towards acceptance as an equal by other nations (e.g. see Somphala 1971 & Wimonphan 2004, ch.36) and therefore has more significance for Thai history than Western military history. Thus while there are numerous Thai works dealing specifically with the country’s involvement,2 the literature in English, apart from short articles by Hart (1982) and Whyte (2007), consists of subsections of more general works covering modern Thai history,3 the reign of Rama VI,4 and Thailand’s military history and development,5 or concentrates on peripheral issues, such as the politics of Siam’s initial neutrality6 or the post-war mutual abolitions of nineteenth century unequal treaties.7 As a contribution towards a comprehensive English-language account of Siamese participation in the First World War, the inscriptions on the main memorial to the war are translated and analysed here for the first time. 1 Hart (1982, 135) incorrectly implies otherwise. 2 For example, Anonymous 1917, Wichai 1966, Ophat 1968, Suphan 1973, Manit 1976, Manit & Phukphan 1977, Chali 1977, Manit 1979, Rot 1988, Khanakammakan Chamra Prawattisat Thai 1991, Sang n.d.). 3 e.g. Office of the Prime Minister 1982, Rong 1993, Terwiel 2005. 4 e.g. Vella 1978, Greene 1999. 5 e.g. Young 1995, RTAF 2004. 6 e.g. Chalong 1973. 7 e.g. Oblas 1971, 1972, 1974. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

175

176

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

Located on a traffic island at the northwestern corner of Sanam Luang in central Bangkok, a monument called the Volunteer Soldiers’ Monument [อนุสาวรีย์ทหารอาสา / Anusawari Thahan Asa], commemorates the nineteen Siamese soldiers of the Siamese Expeditionary Force (SEF) who died during the First World War (Figure 1).8 The monument is a four-sided chedi of polished white stone. According to the historical signboard nearby, it was designed by Somdet Phrachao Borommawong Thoe Chaofa Kromphraya Naritsara Nuwattiwong, while Mom Chao Prawit Chumsai oversaw construction. A short analysis of the memorial with respect to architecture and nationalism is given by Wong (2006, 50–53), who describes it as “a Srivijaya Buddhist stupa” and “an artistic paean to militarism” (2006, 52), but who does not translate the inscriptions. The ashes of the nineteen dead were interred in the base of the monument by King Rama VI on 24 September 1919,9 three days after the return of the SEF from France (Figure 2). The monument was publicly unveiled on 22 July 1921, the fourth anniversary of Siam’s declaration of war (Wong 2006, 52), and the same month, several French pilots flew to Bangkok from Saigon to lay wreaths at the memorial (Young 1995, 23). The monument also featured on a set of six stamps issued on 15 January and 14 March 194410 to celebrate the completely unrelated Thai annexation of several Malay states during the Second World War (#313–318 in Sakserm 2000, 25–26). The monument has an inscribed plaque on each of its four faces. The plaques on the northern and southern sides explain the history of Siam’s involvement in the First World War, particularly with regard to the despatch to France of the 1,300-man SEF. The eastern and western plaques list the names of the 19 dead, together with their dates of birth and death and place of death. In contrast to most western memorials where dead from the two world wars are listed in surname order irrespective of rank, the Thai memorial lists the dead in descending order of rank, and within each rank by chronological order of death. The dates on the monument are given in terms of the Buddhist Era (B.E.), counting years from the achievement of parinirvana by Gautama Buddha, traditionally taken by Thais to be 543 B.C. The use of the B.E. chronology, together with a New Year’s Day of 1 April, was introduced only in 1912 by King Rama VI, replacing Besides this main monument, the dead of the First World War are also commemorated along with Thai casualties from other wars at the National Monument [อนุสรณ์สถานแห่งชาติ / Anuson Sathan Haeng Chat] at the intersection of Viphawadi Rangsit and Phahon Yothin roads north of Don Meuang airport. There is apparently also another small monument to the casualties of the war in front of the 4th Infantry Division HQ in Phitsanulok (Bangkok Post 2000). 9 Wong (2006, 52) citing Vella (1978, 120) says the interment occurred on 23 September. The monument itself, however, reads 24 September. 10 Sakserm (2000, 25) incorrectly converts 2487 B.E. to A.D. 1943, but the occasion of the issue and the dates of the preceding issues indicate that it is the A.D. year and not the B.E. which is incorrect. 8

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

177

a chronology counting from the foundation of Bangkok (A.D. 1782) introduced by King Rama V in 1888 and having New Year’s Day at Songkran in mid-April. New Year’s Day was finally aligned with the international calendar in 1941 by Prime Minister Phibun Songkhram’s decree that 1 January be the start of the New Year. The year B.E. 2483 thus had only nine, not twelve months (April - December A.D. 1940), to allow B.E. 2484 and A.D. 1941 to both begin on 1 January. Therefore the subtraction of 543 from the B.E. year to get the A.D. year only works completely from A.D. 1941 onwards. For years between A.D. 1912 and 1940, B.E. dates from 1 April through 31 December of a given year should still have 543 subtracted from them, while dates from 1 January through 31 March of the same B.E. year should only have 542 subtracted. For dates between 1888 and 1912, the subtraction of 542 is extended from 1 January until mid-April, the exact date in April of the New Year altering slightly each year (Diller 2000, Eade 2007a, Finestone 1989, 20–21, Wikipedia 2007). These complications have been allowed for in the chronological conversions that follow. With regard to the identification of European toponyms written in Thai (Table 1), the German place-names were more easily identifiable from their Thai versions than the French place-names, because German is much more a phonetic language than French, so that there are few if any spelling variations to consider for any given sound. French is less easily transcribed into Thai. The most difficult place-name to identify was Jubécourt, whose second syllable is written -khru [-ครูต์] on the monument, but is spelled -khun [-คูรท์] in another source (Ngan Phiphitthaphan Thahan n.d.), although in both the silenced final Thai letters mimic the silent ‘t’ of the original French. Additionally, the size classifiers (krung, กรุง; mueang, เมือง; tambon, ตำบล) prefixing the actual Thai place-names were all appropriate in size except for the use of mueang for Avord and Jubécourt, both localities being better described as tambon.





Table 1: Places of death of SEF soldiers, backtranslated from Thai Thai

กรุง ปารีส เมือง อาวอรด์ เมือง ชาลองส์ เมือง ลันเดา เมือง มาร์เซย เมือง นอยสตัดท์ เมือง ยูเบครูต์ ตำบล ไกนะชายม ตำบล กอดรัมสติน ตำบล มสสบัฆ

Thai romanisation Krung Parit Mueang Awon Mueang Chalong Mueang Landao Mueang Masey Mueang Noisatat Mueang Yubekhru Tambon Kainachayom Tambon Kodramsatin Tambon Motsabak

Latin alphabet Paris Avord Châlons Landau Marseille(s) Neustadt Jubécourt Geinsheim Godramstein Mußbach/Mussbach

The four plaques on the monument are translated as follows: Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

178

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

South Face 1. 11 On 22 July 2460 [1917] Phrabatsomdet Phra Ramathibodhi Sisintaramaha Vajiravudh Phra Mongkut Klao Chaoyuhua12 ordered Phra Surasi Hanat 13 to declare war against Germany and Austria-Hungary, which two countries had, since 1 August 2547 [1914], been at war with the countries forming the Allied Powers, including England, France, Russia, Belgium and Serbia. Later Italy and countries in North America and elsewhere also joined the Allied Powers. Because the king felt that Germany and Austria-Hungary were ignoring the norms of warfare and fighting in an immoral way, the king wanted to uphold respect for these norms and to keep them sacrosanct, and thus he opposed those who fought immorally. So on 21 September 2460 [1917] the king ordered the Minister of War14 to call for volunteers who wanted to join the king’s [or ‘royal’] war in Europe. There were many volunteers, both soldiers and civilians, so the officers selected only as many as they needed. After selection the volunteers were formed into an aviation unit,15 a unit of automobile drivers and a medical unit, to be sent as the Thai16 contribution to the Great War.17 On 19 June 2461 [1918] the soldiers left Bangkok by ship for Europe. They landed at Marseilles, France, on 30 July the same year. Then the groups were separated for further training in different towns.

All years are left as inscribed, in B.E. terms, and converted to A.D. terms in square brackets immediately following. 12 King Rama VI. Ramathibodhi is the dynastic name introduced by Rama VI for himself and retrospectively for his forebears. In Western usage it is usually abbreviated to Rama, followed by the regnal number of the king in question, thus Rama VI, etc. Vajiravudh was the king’s actual name, and the remainder of the inscribed title was his regnal name. 13 Chao Phraya Surasi (Choei Kanlayanamit), Minister of the Interior, January 1916 - August 1922 (Greene 1999, 98 & 149). 14 Chao Phraya Bodin (Mom Rachawong Arun Chatrakun), Minister of War from 1914 until his death in 1921 (Greene 1999, 98 & 150). 15 The Thai word, used three times in this sentence, is gong [กอง]. 16 We translate คนไทย [Khon Thai] and ชาติไทย [Chatthai] literally as ‘Thai’ and not the more grammatically and temporally correct English adjective/adjectival noun ‘Siamese’ in order to highlight the fact that on the monument, and in the Thai language generally, the country was called Siam [สยาม], but the people and their nationality were called ‘Thai’, and not ‘Siamese’ [ชาติสยาม / Chatsayam]. 17 Elsewhere in the inscription, referred to by what may be translated as the “king’s” or “royal” war [พระราชสงคราม / Phrarat Songkhram], the war is here specifically designated “Great War” [มหายุทธสงคราม / Mahayut Songkhram], presumably because it refers to the war as a whole and not just Siam’s part in it. 11

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

179

North Face 2. Then on 14 October 2461 [1918] the motor transport corps was sent to the front. From 26 to 31 October they supplied French troops in an area under [German] artillery bombardment. They did this with such courage that the French government awarded them an emblem for their flag. This emblem was called the Croix de Guerre.18 When the enemy was defeated and signed the armistice on 11 November, the Allied Powers occupied the left bank of the Rhine in Germany. The motor transport corps was stationed with these Allied forces. They remained on enemy territory until the German government signed the Peace Treaty [at Versailles] on 24 June 2462 [1919]. But the aviation squadron did not see combat because they had not completed their training programme before the enemy was defeated. The aviators came back to Siam and arrived in Bangkok on 1 May 2462 [1919]. The motor transport corps arrived in Bangkok on 21 September 2462 [1919], and the king presented them with the medal of the Order of Rama19 to acknowledge their bravery. The names of the soldiers on this monument were all volunteers who joined the king’s [or ‘royal’] war. Two of them died before leaving Bangkok, the rest died in Europe on active service. They gave their lives for the king, and for the prestige of Thai manhood and of Siam, and to uphold international morality. Therefore this monument was erected to contain their ashes, so that all Thais can remember them and follow their example in perpetuity. Their ashes were interred here on 24 September 2462 [1919].

18 The Croix de Guerre was a French medal created in April 1915. Over two million were awarded during the First World War for acts of heroism involving combat with enemy forces and to those mentioned in French dispatches. It was awarded both to individual French and Allied soldiers and to entire military units, a streamer of red and green stripes matching the medal’s ribbon then being displayed on the unit’s flag (Champenois n.d., The Institute of Heraldry n.d.). 19 The Order of Rama was created by King Rama VI in April 1918. The king awarded the decoration not only to the colours of the motor transport corps, but also to many individual soldiers of the SEF (Vella 1978, 115) and subsequently to the Allied commanders Marshals Foch and Pétain of France and Field Marshal Douglas Haig of Great Britain (Office of the Prime Minister 1982, 249). All members of the SEF also received the Siamese First World War Victory Medal. For photos of the Order of Rama and Victory medal, respectively, see Secretariat of the Cabinet (n.d.) and Yashnev (n.d.). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

180

war:

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

West Face Names of soldiers who died on active service during the king’s [or ‘royal’] Second Lieutenant Sanguan Thanduan Born 11 December B.E. 2437 [1894] Died 11 February B.E. 2460 [1918] At the Army Air Force Base, Don Muang, Siam. Senior Sergeant-Major20 Yuean Sangayut Born 29 February B.E. 2439 [189721] Died 15 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the 57th American Hospital,22 Paris, France. Sergeant-Major/Staff Sergeant (Acting) Mom Luang Un IsarasenaNakrungthep Born 31 October B.E. 2436 [1893] Died 4 March B.E. 2461 [1919] On the street in Neustadt,23 Germany.

20 The monument gives Yuean Sangayut’s rank as นายดาบ [Naidap, Senior Sgt-Mjr], and thus places him in second place beneath นายร้อยตรี [Nairoitri, 2nd Lt] Sanguan Thanduan. However, Ngan Phiphitthaphan Thahan (n.d.) gives Yuean Sangayut’s rank as น.ต. [Nawa Akat Tri, Squadron Leader] and thus lists him above Thanduan. The monument is assumed to be correct. 21 Subtracting 542 from this February B.E. date yields A.D. 1897, which was obviously not a leap year [in fact, B.E. leap years between A.D. 1888 & 1940 are evenly numbered, which 2439 is not]. The error might be explicable in one of several ways: due to a mistake in the original records; by a misreading of the date (9 for 5 [๙ for ๕]?); or by a sloppy back-conversion of the year (perhaps the American hospital’s [western-dated] records were used, and mistakenly added 543, instead of 542, to the leap year 1896 to get 2439). It seems least likely that there has been an error in recording the month, as in Thai, February [กุ ม ภาพั น ธ์ / Kumphaphan] is not easily mistakable for any other month (Eade 2007b). 22 Base Hospital No.57 was organized on 2 April 1918 at Camp Greenleaf, Georgia, USA. It arrived in France, via England, on 21 August, where at Juilly, Seine-et-Marne, it took over the hospital operated by Evacuation Hospital No.8, which had about 250 patients, mostly French battle casualties. On 16 September 1918 the unit was ordered to Paris to establish a 1,000-bed hospital. In Paris, Base Hospital No.57 took over a large school building and functioned there as a part of the Paris district, with a normal bed capacity of 1,800 in 75 wards, although during October 1918, as many as 2,000 sick and wounded were in the hospital. The hospital admitted a total of 8,585 surgical and medical cases, and a further 7,292 patients at its central dental infirmary. The unit left France on 13 August 1919, arrived in the United States on 22 August, and was demobilized shortly afterwards (Ford 1927, 681–2). 23 Known until c.1937, and again from 1945–1950 as Neustadt-an-der-Haardt, but from c.1937–1945 and since 1950 as Neustadt-an-der-Weinstrasse. The current population is about 30,000 (57,000 including incorporated villages) (Polizei Rheinland-Pfalz n.d.). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

181

Sergeant-Major Charoen Phirot Born 4 April B.E. 2434 [1892] Died 26 January B.E. 2461 [1919] At Godramstein24 village, Germany. Sergeant Pui Khwanyuen Born 8 April B.E. 2440 [1898] Died 22 January B.E. 2461 [1919] At Mussbach25 village, Germany. Lance Corporal Nim Chakhrirat Born 21 November B.E. 2434 [1891] Died 2 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the 57th American Hospital, Paris, France. Lance Corporal Chuen Naphakat Born 21 July B.E. 2441 [1898] Died 6 April B.E. 2462 [1919] At the Military Hospital in Marseilles,26 France. Private Tu27 Born 4 July B.E. 2441 [1898] Died 1 March B.E. 2460 [1918] At Chulalongkorn Hospital,28 Siam. 24 Today a village of 3,000 people, 3 km NW of the city of Landau-in-der-Pfalz, of which it forms a part (Stadt Landau-in-der-Pfalz 2007b&c). 25 Today a village of 4,000 people, 3 km NE of the city of Neustadt-an-der-Weinstrasse, of which it forms a part (Polizei Rheinland-Pfalz n.d.). 26 Marseille is spelt with a final ‘s’ in English, but without this in French. The Marseilles military hospital opened in 1848 with 500 beds, and was soon overwhelmed by casualties evacuated from the Crimean War of 1853. It was renamed in October 1913 in honour of Michel Lévy (1809-72), the head of the army medical corps from 1841, who, along with Florence Nightingale, enormously improved military medical hygiene during that war. The hospital specialised in treating the most seriously wounded, along with tropical diseases, and during the First World War saw patients not only from the Western Front, but also Salonika and the Dardanelles, where malaria was rampant. An increased capacity of 1,100 beds was still insufficient, and an additional 2,400 beds were made available via auxiliary hospitals. Functionally replaced by the newly built Laveran Military Hospital in 1963, the Michel Lévy became a civilian hospital run by the Assistance Publique from 1965 to 1987, then was sold in 1988 and demolished in 1991 to make way for housing (Serratrice 1996). 27 No family name is given, probably not unusual in that surnames were only manadatory after a decree by Rama VI in 1913, but this was not fully enforced until 1941 (Terwiel 2005, 239, esp. fn33). 28 Opened in 1914, the hospital still exists, on Rama IV Road, Pathumwan, Bangkok. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

182

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

Private Chua Onueanwong Born 11 June B.E. 2437 [1894] Died 21 October B.E. 2461 [1918] At Février Hospital, Châlons,29 France. East Face war:

Names of soldiers who died on active service during the king’s [or ‘royal’] Private Phrom Taengtengwan Born 4 March B.E. 2437 [1895] Died 14 November B.E. 2461 [1918] At the garage of the 3rd Platoon, Jubécourt,30 France. Private Suk Phuangphoemphan Born 17 May B.E. 2439 [1896] Died 29 January B.E. 2461 [1919] At the Medical Section of the Motor Transport Corps, Neustadt, Germany. Private Nueang Phinwanit Born 5 January B.E. 2440 [1898] Died 3 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the Artillery Hospital, Avord,31 France.

Hôpital complémentaire n° 19 (caserne Février), specializing in the treatment of contagious diseases, operated from 1 January 1914 to 7 November 1918 in the city of Châlons-sur-Marne, initially with 750 beds, and later 1,015. The city itself was renamed Châlons-en-Champagne in 1998 and today has a population of about 50,000 (Ville de Chalons-en-Champagne n.d., Girod 2005, Gehin 2006). 30 Jubécourt is a hamlet of a few score houses, 6 km east of the village of Clermont-en-Argonne, and into which commune (current population 1,800) it was absorbed in 1972. The hamlet is 20 km west of Verdun on the road to Châlons-en-Champagne (Quid.fr n.d.). 31 A military camp was established at Avord after the Franco-Prussian war of 1870. In 1912 a training school for pilots was established at the camp. By 1916/17 it was the most important flying school in the world, and in 1918 had over 1,000 aircraft and 6,000 personnel. Together with the flying schools at Istres and Pau, it trained the Siamese aviation squadrons of the SEF. Today Avord town has a population of about 2,500 people, while the camp has become French Air Force Base 702 (Base Aérienne 702 «Capitaine Georges Madon» de l’Armée de l’Air), employing 2,300 people (INSEE n.d., Ministère de la Défense n.d.). 29

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

183

Private Nak Phuimiphon Born 8 July B.E. 2439 [1897] Died 6 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the Medical Section of the Motor Transport Corps, Neustadt, Germany. Private Bun Phraiwan Born 9 June B.E. 2435 [1892] Died 7 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the 57th American Hospital, Paris, France. Private Po Suksonphai Born 10 June B.E. 2438 [1895] Died 7 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the 57th American Hospital, Paris, France. Private Chueam Premprungchai Born 10 October B.E. 2439 [1896] Died 9 February B.E. 2461 [1919] At the 57th American Hospital, Paris, France. Private Sila Nopphukhiao Born 26 August B.E. 2437 [1894] Died 2 March B.E. 2461 [1919] At the Medical Section of the Motor Transport Corps, Neustadt, Germany. Private Phong Amatayakun Born 1 February B.E. 2436 [1894] Died 29 April B.E. 2462 [1919] At Geinsheim32 village, Germany.

32 Today a village of about 2,000 people, 10 km ESE of Neustadt-an-der-Weinstrasse, of which it forms a part (Polizei Rheinland-Pfalz n.d.). Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

184

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

Private Plian Numpricha Born 19 March B.E. 2438 [1896] Died 13 June B.E. 2462 [1919] At Landau33 Hospital, Germany. Analysis of the dates and places of death The 19 casualties were aged from 19 years 8 months to 27 years 2 months, with an average age of 23 years 5 months. Tabulating and mapping the locations of death (Table 2 and Figure 3) we find that two died in Bangkok during the pre-departure training of the SEF; nine died in France, all but one in hospitals; and eight died in Germany, half in hospitals. It seems likely that those who died outside of hospitals died of accidents, while those in hospitals died of either accident or disease. Table 2: Deaths by location Location Bangkok Thailand (total) Jubécourt Châlons Paris Avord Marseilles France (total) Neustadt Mussbach Geinsheim Landau Godramstein Germany (total)

TOTAL

hospital 1 1 - 1 5 1 1 8 3 - - 1 - 4

elsewhere 1 1 1 - - - - 1 1 1 1 - 1 4

Total 2 2 1 1 5 1 1 9 4 1 1 1 1 8

13

6

19

Landau-in-der-Pfalz had the largest French garrison during the post-War occupation of the Rhineland. Today it has a population of 27,000 people (43,000 including incorporated villages) (Stadt Landau-in-der-Pfalz 2007a-c). 33

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

185

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

Tabulation and graphing (Table 3 and Figure 4) of dates of death reveals that all deaths occurred between February 1918 and June 1919. The two deaths in Thailand, presumably during training accidents, occurred in early 1918. There were no deaths on either the voyage to France or the return voyages. Of the deaths in Europe, only one occurred before the armistice, but as this soldier died well behind the front lines in a hospital specializing in contagious diseases, he seems very unlikely to have been a combat casualty. The other 16 deaths occurred during the post-war occupation of Germany. Interestingly, over half of the deaths occurred in the 25 days from 22 January to 15 February 1919, including all five deaths in the American Hospital in Paris. This was late winter, and the first and only winter the troops spent in Europe, so these deaths are likely to have been due to climate or climatically-induced disease. Table 3: Deaths by month

Jan : Feb : Mar : Apr : May : Jun : Jul : Aug : Sep : Oct : Nov : Dec : TOTAL :

1917 - - - - - - 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

1918 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 4

1919 3 7 2 2 0 1 0 0 0 - 15

Note: a hyphen (-) signifies months before Siam declared war and after the troops returned home. It is presumed that the Thai Ministry of Defence holds the personnel files for the 1,300 members of the SEF. With the last veteran, mechanic Yod Sangrungruang, having died in 2003, and the centenary of the war approaching, it is hoped historians will compile a full history of Thailand’s involvement in the war, including a list of all those who served, the actual causes of death of the 19 soldiers named on the monument, and the correct date of birth for Senior Sergeant-Major Yuean Sangayut. This will provide posterity with a more complete and human record of Thailand’s participation in the Great War. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

186

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

References Anonymous, 1917, รวมเรื่องกรุงสยามประกาศสงครามต่อประเทศเยอรมัน และออสเตรีย ฮังการี วันที่ 22 กรกฎาคม พ.ศ. 2460. ตอนที่ 1 [Ruam Rueang Krung Sayam Prakat Songkhram To Prathet Yoeraman Lae Ottria Hangkari Wanthi 22 Karakadakhom Pho So 2460. Ton Thi 1 / Collection of Articles about Siam and its Declaration of War against Germany and Austria-Hungary 22 July B.E.2460 [i.e.1917] vol.1.], Rongphim Sophonphiphatthanakon, Bangkok. Bangkok Post 2000, “Commission for veteran”, 7 January. Online at http://archives.mybangkokpost. com/bkkarchives/frontstore/search_result.html?type=a&key=commission%20for%20vete ran accessed 30 March 2007. Chali Iamkrasin, [ชาลี เอีย่ มกระสินธุ] 1977, พระมงกุฎเกล้าฯ กับสงครามโลกครัง้ ที่ 1 [Phra Mongkut Klao Kap Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 / King Rama VI and World War 1], Praphansan, Bangkok. Chalong Soontravanich, 1973, “Siam and the First World War: the last phase of her neutrality”, Nusantara, 4 (Julai):83–90. Champenois, Marc, n.d., “Croix de Guerre 1914–18”, on the website France Phaleristique online at http://www.france-phaleristique.com/cg1418.htm accessed 1 April 2007. Diller, Anthony, 2000, Thai Time, a revised version of the Keynote Speech presented before HRH Princess Galayani Vadhna on the occasion of her presiding over the International Conference on Tai Languages and Cultures, Thammasat University, 7–8 December 1995, online at http://dspace.anu.edu.au/bitstream/1885/41890/3/thai_time.html accessed 1 April 2007. Eade, John Christopher, 2007a, email to B.Whyte confirming the B.E. to A.D. conversions, 3 April. Eade, John Christopher, 2007b, email to B.Whyte discussing the 29 February 1897 dating error, 4 April. Finestone, Jeffrey [ไฟน์สโตน, เจฟฟรี] 1989, จุฬาลงกรณราชสันตติวงศ์: พระบรมราชวงศ์แห่งประเทศไทย The Royal family of Thailand: the descendants of King Chulalongkorn [Chulalongkon Na Ratchasantatiwong: Phraborom Ratchawong Haeng Prathet Thai], Phitsanulok Publishing/White Mouse, Bangkok/[London]. Ford, Colonel Joseph H., MC, 1927, The Medical Department of the United States Army in the World War, Vol.2 “Administration American Expeditionary Forces”, prepared under the direction of the Surgeon General Maj.-Gen. M.W. Ireland, United States Government Printing Office [Washington D.C.]. The work includes a photo of the hospital’s building in Paris as Figure 141. Text online at http://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwi/adminamerexp/ default.htm Photo online at http://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwi/adminamerexp/ ch24fig141.jpg. Both webpages accessed 30 March 2007. Gehin, Gérard, 2006, message posted 7 January 2006 to the online forum “hôpitaux temporaires,  ambulances...”, in “Forum Pages d’Histoire: service santé 1914–1918”, on the website www. pages14-18.com, online at http://pages14–18.mesdiscussions.net/pages1418/Forum-Pagesd-Histoire-service-sante-1914–1918/hopitaux-temporaires-ambulances-sujet_8_1.htm Girod, Alain, 2005?, “Les Formations Sanitaires du Département de la Marne en 1914-1918”, Les documents de Mémorial-GenWeb, online at www.memorial-genweb.org/html/documents/ FORMATIONS_SANITAIRES_MARNE.pdf accessed 30 March 2007. Greene, Stephen Lyon Wakeman, 1999, Absolute Dreams: Thai government under Rama VI, 19101925, White Lotus, Bangkok. Hart, Keith, 1982, “A Note on the Military Participation of Siam in the First World War”, Journal of the Siam Society, 70(1&2):133–136. Chulalongkorn University library holds an undated Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

187

unpublished typescript of this paper, titled “The Military Participation of Siam in the First World War (1914–1918)”, but otherwise identical. Heraldry, The Institute of, U.S. Army, n.d., “Croix de Guerre, France”, online at www.tioh.hqda. pentagon.mil/Awards/croix%20de%20guerre%20france1.html accessed 3 April 2007. INSEE (Institute National de la Statistique et des Études Économiques, France), (n.d.), “Département: Cher, Commune:Avord, E_DEMO - Evolutions démo 1982-1999” online at www.recensement.insee.fr/RP99/rp99/wr_demopage.affiche?p_id_nivgeo=C&p_id_ loca=18018&p_id_princ=E_DEMO&p_theme=ALL&p_typeprod=ALL&p_langue=FR accessed 1 April 2007. Khanakammakan Chamra Prawattisat Thai Lae Chatphim Ekkasan Thang Prawattisat Lae Borankhadi Samnakngan Khadi Samnak Lekhathikan Nayokratthamontri [คณะกรรมการชำระประวัตศ ิ าสตร์ ไทย และจัดพิมพ์เอกสารทางประวัติศาสตร์และโบราณคดี สำนักงานคดี สำนักเลขาธิการนายกรัฐมนตรี / The Committee for the Revision of Thai History and the Publishing of Papers on History and Archaeology, Secretariat of the Prime Minister] 1991, ไทยในสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 จากเอกสาร ในชั้นล่างของสถานทูตในกรุงบอน์น (เบอร์ลิน) และปารีส และกองเอกสารของอังกฤษและเยอรมัน [Thai Nai Songkhramlok KhrangThi 1 Chak Ekkasan Nai Chan Lang Khong Sathan Thut Nai Krung Po (Boelin) Lae Parit Lae Kong Ekkasan Khong Angkrit Lae Yoeraman / Thailand and World War 1, from the Documents in the Basements of the Embassies in Bonn (Berlin) and Paris and the National Archives of England and Germany], the Committee, Bangkok. Manit Chumsai, Mom Luang [มานิจ ชุมสาย, ม.ล.] 1976, ไทยกับสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 (จากหลักฐานของทาง ราชการที่เก็บไว้ ณ ใต้ถุนสถานทูตไทย ณ ฝรั่งเศสและเยอรมัน) [Thai Kap Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 (Chak Lakthan Khong Thang Ratchakan Thi Kep Wai Na Taithun Sathan Thut Thai Na Farangset Lae Yoeraman) / Thailand and World War 1 (from the official documents kept in the basement of the Thai embassies in France and Germany)], Phitthayakhan, Bangkok. _____ [มานิจ ชุมสาย ณ อยุธยา, ม.ล.], 1979, ไทยกับสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 [Thai Kap Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 / Thailand and World War 1], Phitthayakhan, Bangkok. _____, & Phukphan Phakdikun, [มานิจ ชุมสาย, ม.ล. & ผูกพันธ์ ภักดีกุล] 1977, ไทยในสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 [Thai Nai Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 / Thailand’s Involvement in World War 1], Rongphim Wiratham, Bangkok. Ministère de la Défense (France) (n.d.), “Historique de la base”, www.ba702.air.defense.gouv.fr/index.php?option=content&task=view&id=127&Itemid=173 accessed 30 March 2007. Ngan Phiphitthaphan Thahan, Kong Prawattisat Lae Phiphitthaphan Thahan, Krom Yutasueksa Thahan [งานพิพิธภัณฑ์ทหาร, กองประวัติศาสตร์และพิพิธภัณฑ์ทหาร, กรมยุทธศึกษาทหาร / Military Museum Section, Division of History and Military Museum, Armed Forces Education Department (Thailand)] (n.d.), “สงครามโลกครัง้ ที่ 1” [Songkhramlok Khrangthi 1 / World War 1] online at http://web.schq.mi.th/~afed/history_www/bbb1-1.htm accessed 21 April 2007. Oblas, Peter Brian, 1971, “‘A Very Small Part of World Affairs’: Siam’s Policy on Treaty Revision and the Paris Peace Conference of 1919”, Journal of the Siam Society, 59(2):51-74. _____, 1972, “Treaty Revision and the Role of the American Foreign Affairs Advisor 1909-1925”, Journal of the Siam Society, 60(1):171-186. _____, 1974, Siam’s Efforts to Revise the Unequal Treaty System in the Sixth Reign (1910-1925), Ph.D. thesis, University of Michigan. Office of the Prime Minister (Thailand), 1982, Foreign Records of the Bangkok period up to A.D.1932, Bangkok. Ophat Sewikun [โอภาส เสวิกุล] ed., 1968, ไทยกับสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 [Thai Kap Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 / Thailand and World War 1], Kasem Ban Kit, [Bangkok].

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

188

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

Polizei Rheinland-Pfalz (Germany), n.d., “Polizeiinspektion Neustadt – Anschrift”, online at www. polizei.rlp.de/internet/nav/52b/52b509c6-071a-9001-be59-2680a525fe06.htm accessed 30 March 2007. Quid.fr , n.d., “Clermont-en-Argonne”, online francophone encyclopedia at www.quid.fr/communes.html?mode=detail&id=21194&req=Clermont-en-Argonne&style=fiche accessed 30 March 2007. Rong Syamananda, 1993, A History of Thailand, 8th ed., Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok. Rot Chintamat [โรจน์ จินตมา], 1988, แนวความคิดของผู้นำไทยเรื่อง “ชาติ” กับการเข้าร่วมสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 ของไทย [Naeo Khwamkhit Khong Phunam Thai Rueang “Chat” Kap Kan Khao Ruam Songkhramlok Khrang Thi 1 Khong Thai / The Attitudes of Thai Leaders towards “Nation” and Participation in World War 1], n.p. RTAF (Royal Thai Air Force), 2004, ๙๐ ปี นภานุภา - Ninety Years of Air Power, [Bangkok] Sakserm Siriwong [ศักดิ์เสริม สิริวงศ์], 2000, แสตมป์ไทย 2543 คู่มือการสะสมแสตมป์ไทย Thai Stamps 2000 Standard Catalogue of Thai Postage Stamps, บริษัท สยามแสตมป์เทรดดิ้ง จำกัด Siam Stamp Trading Company, Bangkok. Sang Phatnothai [สังข์ พัธโนทัย], n.d., “บันทึกกองทหารไทยในมหาสงครามโลกครั้งที่หนึ่ง” [Banthuek Kongthahan Thai Nai Maha Songkhramlok Khrang Thi Nueng / Record of Thai Troops in World War One], in สงครามครั้งสำคัญในสมัยกรุงรัตนโกสินทร์ [Songkhram Khrang Samkhan Nai Samai Krung Rattanakosin / “Major Wars in Rattanakosin Period” (sic)], ชมรมพระนิพนธ์สมเด็จฯ กรมพระยาดำรงราชานุภาพ [Chomrom Phraniphon Somdet Kromphraya Damrong Rachanuphap / “Collection of the Writings of Somdet Khromphraya Damrongrachanuphab” (sic)], Bangkok, 38-49. The English translations of the title and publisher of this work are those pencilled on the cover of the copy in Chulalongkorn University, and under which it is catalogued. Secretariat of the Cabinet (Thailand) [Samnak Lekhathikan Khanaratthamontri, สำนักเลขาธิการคณะ รัฐมนตรี] n.d., “The Honourable Order of Rama”, online at www.cabinet.thaigov.go.th/eng/ d_Rama00.htm accessed 4 April 2007. Serratrice, G., 1996, Vingt-six siècles de médicine à Marseille, Jeanne Laffitte, Paris. Details from this work were sourced by email from the Bibliothèque de Marseille à Vocation Régionale on 21 March 2007 and from Noémie Fornier at the Musée d’Histoire de Marseille 22 March 2007. Neither were able to trace any French libraries holding the more specific work by Montel (Médecin Commandant), (1936), L’histoire de l’hôpital militaire de Marseille, Charles Lavauzelle, Paris, which appears to be held only by the French Department of Defence’s Historical Service at location “A1i1189” (“Histoire du Service de Santé” online at www.servicehistorique.sga.defense.gouv.fr/03rechercher/bibliographies/pagesbiblio/ servicesante.htm accessed 30 March 2007). Somphala Sinlapawuthi [สมพล ศิลปวุฒ]ิ , 1971, บทบาทของประเทศไทยในการเข้าร่วมสงครามโลกครั้งที่หนึ่ง และ ผลที่ประเทศไทยได้รับ [Botbat Khong Prathet Thai Nai Kan Khao Ruam Songkhramlok Khrang Thi Nueng Lae Phon Thi Prathet Thai Dairap / The Role of Thailand in World War One and the Results of the War for Thailand], วิทยานิพนธ์การศึกษามหาบัณฑิต [Witthaya Niphon Kansueksa Maha Ban Thot / M.Ed. thesis], วิ ท ยาลั ย วิ ช าการศึ ก ษาประสามมิ ต ร [Witthayalai Wicha Kansueksa Prasammit / Prasammit Higher Teacher Training School (now Srinakharinwirot University)]. Stadt Landau-in-der-Pfalz, 2007a, “Die Stadt Landau in der Pfalz” online at www.landau.de/subnav. phtml?NavID=343.238&La=1 accessed 30 March 2007. Stadt Landau-in-der-Pfalz, 2007b, “Die acht Ortsteile der Stadt Landau” online at www.landau. de/subnav.phtml?NavID=343.131&La=1 accessed 30 March 2007. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

189

Stadt Landau-in-der-Pfalz, 2007c, “Godramstein”, online at www.landau.de/subnav. phtml? NavID=343.140&La=1 accessed 30 March 2007. Suphan Motsakun [สุพรรณ โหมดสกุล], 1973, ประเทศสยามกับสงครามโลกครั้งที่ 1 [Prathet Sayam Kap Songkhramlok Khrangthi 1 / Siam and World War 1], Rongphim O Dian Sato Kan Phim, Bangkok. Terwiel, Barend Jan, 2005, Thailand’s political history: from the fall of Ayutthaya in 1767 to recent times, River Books, Bangkok. Vella, Walter, 1978, Chaiyo! King Vijiravudh and the development of Thai nationalism, University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu. Ville de Châlons-en-Champagne (France), n.d., “Châlons-en-Champagne : histoire d’un nom et d’une ville” online at www.chalons-en-champagne.net/fr/accueil/decouvrir-chalons/unpeu-dhistoire/histoire-dun-nom.aspx accessed 30 March 2007. Whyte, Brendan, 2007, “The Role of Siam in World War One”, Strategy and Tactics, 245:34-36. Wichai Tansiri [วิชัย ตันศิริ], 1966, สงครามโลกครั้งที่หนึ่ง และบทบาทของไทย [Songkhramlok Khrangthi Nueng Lae Botbat Khong Thai / World War One and Thailand’s Role], Rongphim Krom Kan Thahan Suesan, Bangkok. Wikipedia, 2007, “Thai solar calendar”, online at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thai_solar_calendar, last updated 2 April 2007, accessed 10 April 2007. Wimonphan Pitthawatchai [วิมลพรรณ ปีตธวัชชัย], 2004, สมเด็จพระเจ้าบรมวงศ์เธอ กรมพระยาเทวะวงศ์วโรปการ [Somdet Phrachaoborommawongthoe Kromphraya Thewawong Waropakan / HRH Prince Devawongse Waropakarn], 2 volumes, โรงพิมพ์กรุงเทพฯ (1984) จำกัด [Rongphim Krungthep (1984) Chamkat], Bangkok. Wong, Ka F., 2006, Visions of a Nation: Public Monuments in Twentieth-Century Thailand, White Lotus, Bangkok. Yashnev, Yuri, n.d., world medals and decorations website За заслуги [For merit], “Таиланд Thailand, Медаль Победы В 1-Й Мировой Войне World War I Victory Medal”, online at www.netdialogue.com/yy/Asia/Thailand/WWI/WWI.htm accessed 4 April 2007. Young, Edward M., 1995, Aerial Nationalism, a history of aviation in Thailand, Smithsonian Institution, Washington D.C.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

190

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE

Figure 1: Volunteer Soldiers’ Monument, Sanam Luang, Bangkok, January 2007 (authors’ photo)

Figure 2: The monument base on the day the soldiers’ ashes were interred, 24 September 1919 (photo courtesy of Royal Thai Army Museum, Bangkok)

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Inscriptions on the First World WarVolunteers Memorial

Figure 3: Map of locations mentioned in the text

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

191

1 1

ct O

19 19

9

91

l1

Ju 9

91

50

r1 19

19

60

Ap n

Ja 18

19

80

1 1 ct

O 70

Cumulative % of deaths

40

1 8

91

l1

Ju 8

91 18 17

19

19

r1

n

Ap O

ct

Ja

1 1 1 1 7

91

l1

Ju

SEF drivers arrive home SEF drivers leave France Treaty of Versailles SEF aviators arrive home

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

au

Figure 4: Siam Expeditionary Force Timeline, July 1917 – September 1919

nd

Armistice

10

La

90

im SEF aviators leave France he s ns ille ei se G ar t t M ad d st sta ris s i is is t d eu u N Ne Pa ar ar ar ad or ris dt P P P st Av Pa sta tein ch eu u ms ba e N ra ss od Mu G

20

N

ns lo

k ko

0

t ur ha C

co be Ju

SEF arrives France

k ng

ko Ba

ng Ba

SEF leaves Siam

30

Deaths by location labelled diagonally, other events labelled vertically 100

Siam declares war

1

BRENDAN & SUTHIDA WHYTE 192

THE MON OF LOWER BURMA Donald M. Stadtner Abstract Researchers have long suggested that Mon culture centered in Lower Burma contributed to the formation of Pagan in Upper Burma. However, a recent thought-provoking book by Michael A. Aung-Thwin, The Mists of Rāmañña: The legend that was Lower Burma, has argued that Mon were not only absent from Lower Burma before the rise of Pagan, but that Pagan owed far more to the Pyu, whose first-millennium centers are located in Upper Burma. Such far-reaching thinking about early Burma requires a fresh examination of previous assumptions about the sources for Pagan civilization. This article describes the rich range of cultural artifacts found in Lower Burma in the first millennium, indicating that Lower Burma was equal to Upper Burma, inhabited by the Pyu. It then connects this cultural activity to the Mon; this second objective is more challenging, primarily because the early Mon epigraphic record in Lower Burma is far less rich than for the Pyu in Upper Burma. The Mon presence at Pagan, according to later Burmese chronicles, was triggered by the conquest of Thaton in Lower Burma by the ruler Aniruddha, or Anawrahta (c. 1044 – c.1077).1 The purpose of capturing Thaton was the seizure of the Pali canon, which became the basis of the introduction of Theravada Buddhism upon the return to Pagan by Anawrahta. A simple version of this event was recorded first in the Kalyani inscription of King Dhammazedi (1470–1492) in Pegu, but it was later included, with many embellishments, in the major Burmese chronicles. For example, Anawrahta is said to have proceeded from Thaton with “the thirty sets of the Piṭakas on the king’s thirty-two white elephants”, together with Mon “skilled in carving, turning, and painting”. Among the captives were even “forgers The most influential chronicle for the Mon Paradigm was the Hmannan Mahayazawin-daw-gyi, a portion of which was translated into English and is known by the title of The Glass Palace Chronicle (Pe Maung Tin and G.H. Luce 1923). Other “histories” treated the events in slightly different ways. See the Vaṃsadīpanī, translated and discussed by Patrick Pranke (Pranke 2004, 145–146). 1

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

193

194

DONALD M. STADTNER

of cannon, muskets and bows”, suggesting how later compilers conflated history (Pe Maung Tin and Luce 1923: 78). Such a role for the Mon at Pagan, however fanciful or exaggerated, became the basis for what has been labeled the “Mon Paradigm” in Aung-Thwin’s The Mists of Rāmañña…, being a view fostered by colonial-era historians who championed the Mon as the founders of Pagan’s culture to the neglect of the Pyu or Burmese. If it can be shown that the Pyu occupied Lower Burma, and not the Mon, then the Mon could scarcely have contributed to Pagan’s civilization. That the Pyu have been vaulted into prominence at the expense of the Mon is suggested by the title of an opening chapter in Aung-Thwin’s book, “The Pyu Millennium.” In sum, a fresh “Pyu Paradigm” has replaced a discredited “Mon Paradigm”, as one reviewer, Pierre Pichard (2006: 203–6), poignantly phrased his objections.2 Earlier generations of historians apparently overlooked the formative influence of the Pyu. Indeed, the former scholarship that advocated the Mon Paradigm served up a cornucopia of “Orientalism” ripe for debunking. The Mon Paradigm, however, was scarcely the repressive monolithic juggernaut that has been suggested by Aung-Thwin. The fabled fall of Thaton in 1057 was adopted in some quarters but never accepted literally by the audience to which Aung-Thwin’s book was designed to appeal. Even G. H. Luce and Than Thun, two major figures in Burmese history, openly challenged much of the traditional account offered in the chronicles (Luce 1969–1970: I. 26, 43; Than Thun 1978: 6). These scholars and others have recognized that the flamboyant conquest of Thaton and the king’s sudden infusion of Theravada Buddhism to Pagan can be rejected while at the same time affirming Mon influence at Pagan. However, Aung-Thwin is so dedicated to disproving the specifics of this conquest that he propels himself unwittingly into the labyrinthine tempest of the later chronicles. The Pyu Millennium? Burma.

The Pyu Paradigm hinges on the premise that the Pyu inhabited Lower The Mon Paradigm continued unabated despite the fact that throughout the same years archaeological data suggested that another culture, an ethnolinguistic group of Tibeto-Burman speakers popularly known as the Pyu, had been present earlier and found throughout most of the country for an entire

Other reviews include those by Michael Charney (2006), Jacques Leider (2006: 199–203), and Victor Lieberman (2007 : 377–383). Forthcoming reviews include Robert Brown (Journal of Asian Studies) and Tilman Frasch (Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlaendishen Gessellschaft). This paper was summarized at a conference, “Discovery of Ramanya Desa: History, Identity, Culture, Language and Performing Arts”, 10-13 October 2007, Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok. 2

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

195

millennium. They had been centered in Upper Burma, with settlements also in Lower Burma [italics ours]. But the influence of the Mon Paradigm was so pervasive and dominant that scholars acknowledged the information in the most perfunctory manner and continued as if the Pyu evidence had little or no bearing on their concerns (Aung-Thwin 2005: 4).

Aung-Thwin’s single cited source for the “settlements also in Lower Burma” is a well-known monograph by Janice Stargardt (1991), The Ancient Pyu of Burma – Vol. 1, Early Pyu Cities in a Man-made Landscape. Nowhere in Stargardt’s work, however, is there the suggestion that Pyu civilization extended south of Śrī Kṣetra (near Prome), or indeed anywhere in Lower Burma. In fact, Stargardt (1991: 147) characterized the ancient Mon and Arakanese as “urbanized communities”, sharing Burma with the contemporaneous Pyu. In addition, there is not a single Pyu inscription south of Śrī Kṣetra. The absence of Pyu inscriptions in Lower Burma does not by itself prove that the Pyu never populated Lower Burma, but this striking omission is probative.3 Nevertheless, that many Mon inscriptions have been found in Thaton and in its vicinity argues strongly for a Mon presence in Lower Burma. Aung-Thwin (2005: 81) has also noted “Pyu fingermarked bricks” in Lower Burma, even at Thaton, the traditional Mon capital. Archaeologists, however, have cautioned that the find-spots of finger-marked bricks per se have no predictive value, since they have been recovered over such a wide area, from locations in India, central and northeast Thailand and at scores of sites in Upper and Lower Burma (Moore 2007: 134). Elizabeth Moore observed, “Finger-markings can be used as a rough guide only, but provide valuable evidence of first millennium AD habitation...” (2007: 135–6). That finger-marked bricks occur throughout southeastern Burma, or the Mon homeland, is yet one more indication of first-millennium brick architecture. Aung-Thwin’s contention that Lower Burma during the first millennium was relatively backward, compared to Upper Burma, is crucial to the Pyu Paradigm. If Lower Burma had little to offer, then how could it possibly contribute to the great civilization of Pagan? A dichotomy between Upper and Lower Burma is therefore set out by concluding that before the conquest, pacification and settlement of Lower Burma by the kingdom of Pagan, much of it was probably a swampy, frontier area, sparsely inhabited, with only a few coastal towns and villages, remnants of the early Pyu state...Lower Burma, in other words, did not yet possess the geographic, demographic, economic,

A short stone inscription preserved in the Śrī Kṣetra museum from the village of Thegone is the most southerly findspot for a Pyu inscription. Thegone is approximately 32 kilometers south of Śrī Kṣetra. 3

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

196

DONALD M. STADTNER

political and cultural wherewithal to have supported any kingdom or polity, much less to have been the source of civilization for another in Upper Burma, the size and scope, and scale of Pagan (Aung-Thwin 2005: 66–67).

Civilization was somehow stunted in Lower Burma, although the region was in the hands of a Pyu state. Aung-Thwin declined to explain why Pyu culture never flourished in Lower Burma, but the reader is left to identify the culprits as too few Pyu and too many swamps (“swampy, frontier area” and “sparsely inhabited”). But for whatever reasons, Pyu culture failed to flower in this vast region and by the time of Pagan’s conquest of Lower Burma in the eleventh century there were simply the “remnants of the early Pyu state”. In this view, little took place in Lower Burma in the first millennium, both quantitatively and qualitatively, compared to Upper Burma. Indeed, the glaring paucity of material from Lower Burma is a leitmotif in Aung-Thwin’s book, with a concomitant flow of civilization from Upper to Lower Burma. It is a seductive argument, especially for those unfamiliar with the hard evidence on the ground. This view of Lower Burma, however, also ignores a fundamental theoretical and practical consideration: If the entire coastline of mainland Southeast Asia was engaged in a sophisticated material and religious culture during the first millennium, especially after c. 500, why was Lower Burma so excluded from this broad development that stretched from Arakan to Vietnam? Even “swampy” Arakan created large walled-habitation centers and craftsmen there fashioned stone sculpture and bronzes in this long epoch. Indeed, among the six largest walled cities in Burma, two are in Arakan (Hudson 2004: fig. 81). In neighboring Thailand and Cambodia similar civilizations arose along the coast. Each of these early societies adopted Indic scripts for Pali and Sanskrit or for transcribing indigenous languages. These same cultural and economic changes also took place inland, and the Pyu in Upper Burma rivaled their counterparts in the south during the course of the first millennium. It would therefore be reasonable to expect that Lower Burma participated in this extensive development that overtook all of coastal Southeast Asia during the first millennium. Another critical issue neglected by Aung-Thwin is southeastern Burma’s contiguity with the “Dvāravatī Mon” in the lower and central Chao Phraya basin, where stone records in Mon from the first millennium indicate that the “dominant ethnic group was the Mon” (Skilling 2003: 105). While mountain ranges separate Burma from Thailand, we must remind ourselves that speakers of the same or a similar language, or even related dialects, generally inhabit contiguous areas. For parallels, there are the Shan-Tai speakers ranging today over Burma, Thailand and Yunnan, or the Chin, who are spread between the hills dividing western Burma and Mizoram, India. These peoples, despite natural boundaries, are linked at least linguistically, a connection reflecting close and ancient origins. This suggestion, Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

197

however, in no way diminishes the numerous differences that surely separated the early Mon in Lower Burma from the “Dvāravatī Mon” in the first millennium. The Gulf of Martaban Coin Series Coins were minted over widely separated parts of Burma in the first millennium. A number of types have been associated with the Pyu in Upper Burma, while another separate single series has been identified in Lower Burma. This series is comprised of coins found in and around Pegu and throughout a wide arc facing the Gulf of Martaban, reaching to Muttama (Fig. 1). This special group, marked by the conch and śrīvatsa on either side (Wicks 1999) and a single denomination, has long been noted. Moore (2007: 144) labeled the group the “Bago type”: “This Bago-type of conch coins is not found at Pyu sites but seen at other sites near Kyontu [northeast of Pegu] and Kyaikkatha [at the mouth of Sittaung] and also Dvaravati sites in Thailand”. Pamela Gutman (1978: 16) also highlighted this series and labeled it a “Mon type”. Robert Wicks (1992: 110–121) also attributed this group to the same region and dated the series to as early as possibly the fifth century. A study by Dietrich Mahlo (1998) labeled the same series “Gulf of Martaban type”, or “Group 5”, which he attributed to the ninth-tenth centuries. Referring to this series, Bob Hudson (2004: 126) concluded : “Finally, the concentration of the Group 5 coins around the Gulf of Martaban suggests that whether they were produced early in the first millennium A.D. by small maritime polities in contact by sea with India, or as Mahlo suggests, much later, in the ninth or tenth centuries, they belong in either case to a system separate from the Upper Burma Pyu / Early Urban system” [italics ours] . Moreover, Wicks (1992: 112) maintained that this Gulf of Martaban series from Lower Burma later inspired the Pyu series of Upper Burma, together with other coinage of mainland Southeast Asia. If Hudson, Gutman, Mahlo, Moore and Wicks are correct and this special class of coins is confined to southeast Burma (from Pegu to Mottama), then this is highly suggestive of significant cultural continuity in what is considered the Mon homeland. The minting of coins and their distribution over such a wide area in Lower Burma also directly conflicts with the picture of Lower Burma as backward and without the “demographic, economic, political and cultural wherewithal to have supported any kingdom or polity...” (Aung-Thwin 2005: 67), especially in light of Wick’s conclusion that Pyu coinage derived from the earlier series in Lower Burma. Why coinage is omitted in Aung-Thwin’s volume is unclear, but it needs to be addressed in order to understand Lower Burma.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

198

DONALD M. STADTNER

Winka, Zothoke, Kyaikkatha and the Maung Di Stupa Monasteries, stupas, artifacts, inscriptions, and large walled enclosures reveal that the Mon in Lower Burma participated fully in the transformation of mainland Southeast Asia during the first millennium. Winka is located about 28 km to the northwest of Thaton. Excavations in the 1970s uncovered monastic brick residential units and at least one octagonal stupa base faced with laterite (Myint Aung 1977, 1999). One ruinous brick stupa mound produced 127 votive tablets of various types. One category is identical to those found elsewhere in Burma, Thailand and Indonesia (Moore 2007: 212; Pattaratorn 1997: fig. 7; Guy 2002: 23, fig. 3.5). Four plaques of a different variety bear incised Mon inscriptions of four lines (Fig. 2). The inscriptions were identified as Mon and dated paleographically to the sixth century (Myint Aung, 1999: 52–53; Nai Pan Hla 1986: 6) , but a more a recent reading and translation, reinforcing the identification of the language as Mon, appears below.4 These inscriptions are therefore additional evidence for associating the Mon with Lower Burma. Mon Text 1. ________________ 2. (pa?) sarva __________ 3. ________[…] wa ḅār kyāk 4. ___________ 67 wo?

Translation (do?) all two, holy object 67 this

Aung-Thwin (2005: 198) acknowledged the existence of these inscribed tablets but concluded : But the tablet [one of the inscribed examples from Winka] is not dated; nor has it been shown to have been unearthed in a scientific excavation process that stratigraphically placed it in a pre-Pagan level. So its provenance and chronology are unclear and unknown. In fact, there is some question as to the date of Winga [sic] itself since the most recent thermoluminescence analysis of two Winga shards date to the very late fifteenth and seventeenth centuries, which were actually not coincidentally the glory days of the late Mon Kingdom of Pegu.

The inscribed plaques were in fact found in the course of scientific excavations, with an exact provenance, namely, within brick stupa WK 6. To dismiss Winka as fifteenth or seventeenth century evades the evidence in the published reports. Other early votive tablets with Mon inscriptions in Lower Burma have been recovered from near Thaton and Syriam (Luce 1985: I. 174–75). This reading was provided by Dr Mathias Jenny, University of Zurich (personal communication, December, 2007). 4

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

199

Also excavated at Winka was a large terracotta panel that relates directly to a well-known group of plaques at Kyontu (Luce 1985: II. figs. 79-81), only 20 km northeast of Pegu (Fig. 3).5 That the style, size and mode of manufacture of this tile are almost identical with those from Kyontu strongly argues for a homogenous culture zone uniting a major section of Burma’s coastline, that is, from Kyontu near Pegu to Winka close to Thaton (Fig. 1). It is also no coincidence that this arc bending around the Gulf of Martaban matches the same range as the coins series. Since the Pegu area adjoins nearby Yangon, it is also likely that the Yangon-Twante region belonged to the same cultural zone. The Winka finds therefore provide valuable physical evidence for the presence of sophisticated Mon Buddhist communities in the Thaton region, with connections to Kyontu and nearby Pegu and the modern Yangon-Twante area. Also, near Winka in the village of Zothoke is a large stupa base attributed by scholars to the first millennium. The height of the square plinth measures at least two meters and is faced with large laterite blocks. Nearby is a massive laterite wall sculpted with elephants and lions (Luce 1985: I. 160–162). Omitted in Aung-Thwin’s Mists, these published examples are further indications of impressive first-millennium monumental architecture in Lower Burma. Another related first millennium site is Kyaikkatha at the mouth of the Sittaung, between Pegu and Thaton, excavated between 1986 and 1998 (Moore 2007: 203–206 ; Moore and San Win 2007: 208–213). This is the largest of the walled cities in Lower Burma, encompassing 375 hectares (Hudson 2005: fig. 81). Brick monasteries were also found here, together with a huge cache of coins belonging to the Gulf of Martaban series. Nearby is Kunzeik, the find-spot of an early stone inscription incised with a passage from the Paṭicca-samuppāda, the “Chain of Causation”, passages of which are found in Śrī Kṣetra and in Dvāravatī Mon Thailand (Skilling 1997: 95–96). Kunzeik is located on the east bank of the Sittaung and belongs within this arch defined by coins and similar artifacts. Close to Yangon is the Maung Di stupa (Fig. 4), some 11 km east of Twante, west of the Yangon River. The stupa’s large square base is surmounted by two wide octagonal terraces capped by three or possibly four narrow circular terraces (Fig. 7). The exterior is faced with laterite blocks. The stupa drum was composed of large bricks, suggesting its ancient manufacture (Duroiselle 1915: 14–16; Luce 1969–1970: I. 259–260, III. 79b).6 Placed against two of the circular terraces were

Each square tile measures about 50.8 cm and is about 11.43 cm thick. They were found set into a low brick wall, probably in their original positions. 6 The Maung Di pagoda is described by Ch. Duroiselle (1915: 14–15). The votive tablets are the largest in Burma, measuring 68.58 cm in height; the tablets, with some bricks, are prsevered in a godown adjacent to the pagoda. Each brick is 40.64 cm long, 20.32 cm wide and 10.16 cm thick. 5

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

200

DONALD M. STADTNER

once a number of large terracotta tablets inscribed individually with the name of Anawrahta. The stupa itself was therefore either constructed at the time of Anawrahta or during an earlier stage when the region was under Mon control. This large stupa belonging as to the early Pagan period, or before, suggests that monumental architecture had long been part of Lower Burma’s traditions. Some of Yangon’s pagodas today probably had similar origins but were rebuilt, like the Botataung, or refurbished so greatly as to have lost their identity, such as the Kyaikkasan, the Kyaikkalot and Kyaikkale. Near Maung Di a handful of Buddhist bronzes have been discovered which can be dated to the middle of the first millennium and which also have strong affinities to a bronze from Thaton (Moore 2000: 201–02; Luce 1985: II. fig. 76b–c) (Fig. 5). The bronzes and the hundreds of well-known first-millennium objects deposited in the relic chamber of the Botataung Pagoda in Yangon suggest that this entire region was rich in material culture (Luce 1985: II. figs. 72–73).7 How far this culture extended west of Twante has not yet been determined, but the Yangon-Twante region probably belonged to the same Mon cultural zone witnessed in nearby Pegu and Kyontu. During the early Pagan period, the Yangon region came under the control of Upper Burma (Frasch 2002). Thaton To establish a date for Thaton that is post-Pagan is important for the “Pyu Paradigm”, since if Thaton did not exist at the time of Anawrahta then his invasion of the city could scarcely have taken place. Aung-Thwin tackles the problem of Thaton’s universally-accepted first-millennium date by attempting to prove that its “largely rectangular shaped plan resembles the cities that arose after Pagan” (2005: 82). To this end, Aung-Thwin cited a number of ancient cities with rectangular plans in Burma and even throughout Southeast Asia that came into existence after the Pagan period. Overlooked, however, was the well-published rectangular plan of a major first-millennium Pyu site named Halin in Upper Burma. Moreover, Thaton’s walls, made of earth and brick, contain finger-marked bricks throughout their lowest levels, emblematic of first millennium habitation throughout Burma and Southeast Asia (Moore and San Win 2007: 222). Over 700 objects in the relic chamber of the Botataung Pagoda were exposed after debris was cleared following the stupa’s destruction in the Second World War. The relics vary greatly in age, from the second half of the first millennium to probably the fourteenth or fifteenth century, suggesting repeated refurbishment (Luce 1985: II. pls. 72–73). Some votive plaques resemble those in the Mon region (Luce 1985: II. 73a), while others are in the style of Pyu plaques common to Śrī Kṣetra (Luce 1985, II. 73e). An image of the “fat monk”, possibly identified as Gavampati, probably dates to some time in the second millennium, especially since it revealed traces of lacquer on its exterior (Luce 1969–1970: II. 75). 7

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

201

Bolstered by discrediting Thaton’s first-millennium date, Aung-Thwin claimed that there is no evidence to suggest that the “…..Thaton of legend ….. is older than Pagan, or that it was inhabited by Mon speakers during the first millennium” (2005: 82). For this assertion it is necessary to examine the inscriptions at Thaton. Mon Inscriptions at Thaton A number of Mon stone epigraphs have been noted in Thaton and its environs, all belonging to the opening of the second millennium. Two important examples, labeled by Luce trāp and paṇḍit, were issued by a ruler named in these records as Makuṭa, styled “king of kings”, or rājānāma rājādhirāja (Luce 1969–1970: I. 24) That there is no mention of an overarching suzerain suggests that Makuṭa was an independent ruler. The paṇḍit inscription provides a list of all 28 Buddhas of the Past and the last ten jātakas, probably the earliest reference to these two concepts in Burma (Luce 1974: 133). H. L. Shorto (1971: xxxviii) dated both epigraphs to the eleventh century, while Luce (1956: 295) placed them approximately in the middle of the same century. This Makuṭa is often identified as king Manuha of the chronicles, who was forcibly removed to Pagan. This particular incident may be legendary, but it is entirely possible that this king was the last independent Mon king ruling at Thaton. The approximate dates of these Mon inscriptions at Thaton are important in establishing a Mon presence in Lower Burma. Whether they belong before or after the alleged conquest by Anawrahta in 1057 is by itself of no consequence, since they were composed by Mon speakers in Thaton long before the end of the Pagan period. Since discrediting the attributed dates of these inscriptions is a crucial underpinning of the “Pyu Paradigm”, Aung-Thwin (2005: 106) concluded : The stones [trāp and paṇḍit at Thaton ] were written partly in Old Mon and partly in Pali, but since the Old Mon language in Burma remained basically unchanged from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries, while its script remained the same for an even longer period of time, there is no certainty that the language and script on the stones are necessarily eleventh-century Old Mon rather than, say, fifteenth-century Old Mon.

These Thaton inscriptions therefore could be eleventh century, as Luce and Shorto suggested, or, as Aung-Thwin suggested, belong to the fifteenth century when the Mon, ruling from Pegu, are known to have inhabited Lower Burma. To explain why the language and script “remained basically unchanged” for nearly half a millennium, the reader is directed to the following endnote:

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

202

DONALD M. STADTNER

Shorto, Dictionary of Mon Inscriptions, x. Shorto does not explain this linguistic continuity, but I guess that early written Old Mon was relatively isolated, and that only later in the sixteenth century, when Pegu became the capital of the Upper Burma Toungoo Dynasty, did Old Mon make the kinds of contact with the dominant language in the country, Burmese, which may have produced the first noticeable changes [in language] (Aung-Thwin 2005: 354 ).

After claiming that the Mon language “remained basically unchanged from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries”, Aung-Thwin inferred that that there were also no changes in the Mon script during the same long period. However, a careful reading of Shorto (1971) reveals that there were in fact significant changes during this long period. Indeed, the standard nomenclature, Old Mon, c. sixth-thirteenth centuries, and Middle Mon, c. fourteenth-sixteenth centuries (Bauer 1991: 78), was devised to recognize such progression in the language. These important inscriptions (and others mentioned below) are too easily dismissed, with no convincing analysis. Another Mon inscription at Thaton recorded the dedication of an ordination hall, or sima, whose boundary stones depict the last ten jātakas. Two shorter inscriptions are incised on two sculptures, one in Thaton and the other now in the Kawgun Cave, about 41 km north of Moulmein (Gutman 2004). All of these epigraphs have been attributed to the eleventh century (Luce 1985: I. 172, 174, 176; Shorto 1971: xxxviii). Kyanzittha’s Inscriptions in Thaton While Anawrahta himself perhaps did not invest Thaton to seize the tipiṭakas, King Kyanzittha (c. 1084–c. 1113) was in Thaton, or at least his representatives were. Two of his Mon inscriptions were located near Winka and both recorded repairs, one to a cetī (stupa) and the second to a temple, “the prāsāda of the great relic or mahādhat” (Luce 1969–1970: I. 56). Duplicates of these inscriptions are found in Thaton itself, one on the hill overlooking the town and the other “two furlongs” south of the hill. One of the inscriptions is dated to 1098. Were there no Mon in the Thaton region in c. 1098 , or only “the remnants of the Pyu state”, then there was scant reason for Kyanzittha to inscribe these four records in Mon in Thaton and nearby. Also, that Kyanzittha elected to erect duplicates of his inscriptions in Thaton is yet another indication of the long-standing importance of Thaton as a regional center.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

203

Jātakas at Thaton Thaton’s Thagya Pagoda is a square-based stupa comprised of three receding concentric terraces faced in laterite.8 Some 60 large terracotta plaques were once in niches in the middle terrace, illustrating the last ten jātakas (Fig. 4). The sequence in which the jātakas plaques are disposed matches the order found in the paṇḍit epigraph at Thaton (Piriya 1974), and also agrees with the standard sequence for the last ten jātakas at Pagan, found in the rarely used set comprising 550 tales and the far more common collection of 547 (Luce 1969–1970: I. 40). This order for the last ten is still in use in Burma and Thailand and differs slightly from the one found in Sri Lanka. Luce suggested that the ordering of the last ten jātakas witnessed at Thaton was introduced to Pagan, seen first among the tiles at the East and West Hpetleik stupas. In these two stupas, the order of the last ten conformed to the sequence found at Thaton in the paṇḍit inscription and the jātakas embedded in the terrace of the Thagya Pagoda (Fig. 6). At the Hpetleik stupas the number of each jātaka was deeply incised on the top of the plaque, together with the name of the jātaka. To refute Luce’s suggestion that the Mon system of ordering influenced early Pagan, Aung-Thwin claimed that all of the numbers were incised during a later repair to the West Hpetleik stupa, which is suggested to have occurred in the late nineteenth century. Aung-Thwin concluded that “We cannot know, therefore, if the Hpetleik Jātakas plaques, their total number, or their sequence (if that is even a significant issue) were original to the temple” (2005: 25). This conclusion implies that residents in nineteenth century Pagan were able not only to identify all 550 jātakas but also to replicate the style and orthography of eleventh-twelfth century inscriptions, a replication that presumably eluded epigraphers for decades. That Luce recorded plaques at the West Hpetleik bearing numbers 549 and 550 renders this conjecture moot in any case. Additionally, Aung-Thwin overlooked the fact that 14 long Mon-language captions were incised in the original plaster placed over the brick separating the two horizontal registers of jātakas in the West Hpetleik (Luce 1969–1970: I. 266; Stadtner 2005: 200–201). Finally, recognizing the necessity to substitute Pyu for Mon influence, Aung-Thwin (2005: 254) claimed that “The Jātakas probably arrived [in Pagan] well before the Pagan period ” and cites Duroiselle’s claim that a terracotta panel at Śrī Kṣetra represented the Mūghapakkah Jātaka. Luce disputed this identification, and his appraisal has remained unchallenged. That no jātakas have been noted among the Pyu must throw into question the assertion that Pagan derived its set For a photograph of the stupa before its many refurbishments, see O’Connor (O’Connor 1907: 337). 8

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

204

DONALD M. STADTNER

from the Pyu. The sources were also not in Pala, India, where jātakas were not an important tradition. The Hindu Images at Thaton Three stone Hindu images were discovered in Thaton in the late nineteenth century. One depicts Śiva and Pārvatī, while two feature a theme found widely in Indian and Khmer art, Viṣṇu recumbent upon a serpent. A related Viṣṇu image is near Thaton, in the Kawgun Cave. Only the Viṣṇu in the Kawgun Cave has survived, as the others were destroyed during the Second World War when they were kept in the Rangoon University Library. Their function is difficult to determine, especially since their exact find-spots are unrecorded. They may have been worshiped by foreign traders, but were probably created for those indigenous to the region, since a mix of Hindu and Buddhist imagery is consistent with other early Southeast Asian communities (Skilling 1997: 98 ; Skilling 2003: 105). The Thaton-Kawgun Hindu images have been assigned various dates, from the c. ninth - tenth centuries (Ray 1932: 55) to the eleventh century (Gutman 2007: 5). The four sculptures therefore reveal Thaton’s eclectic religious milieu at the turn of the first millennium. These Viṣṇu images in Lower Burma depart completely from standard depictions of this theme, since three deities emerge from the god’s navel, rather than one (Fig. 7). This very unusual iconography is repeated, however, in Upper Burma at Pagan, where a Viṣṇu in this mode is the chief image of the Nat Hlaung Kyaung temple, an important early shrine situated within the city walls. This depiction at Pagan may well have derived from Lower Burma (Stadtner 2005: 144), especially in light of the early dates proposed for the Thaton sculpture. One sculpture with the same motif is known at Śrī Kṣetra, but it appears to date to some time after the first millennium (Gutman 2007: 4). The Mon at Pagan One window into Pagan’s rich diversity is Kyanzittha’s famous “Palace Inscription”, which reflects the city’s ties to a wide Asian community. Its long Mon text is sprinkled with numerous Sanskrit and Pali technical words, by itself an indication of Pagan’s borrowings, perhaps via the Mon in Lower Burma. The consecration rites for the palace were conducted by various types of Hindu Brahmin ritualists, Brahmin astrologers and Buddhist clerics, a combination that has marked most Southeast Asian courts from the very beginning. A chief deity was Viṣṇu, or “Nārāyaṇa”, invoked in connection with the installation of the wooden posts (Blagden 1920). The scholastic flavor of the rites is reminiscent of Sanskrit architectural manuals that grew up after the Gupta period in north and south India, Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

205

another indication of foreign borrowings. Versed in traditional “housebuilding”, Burmese Brahmins and probably Mon Brahmins participated in the rituals (Blagden 1920: 57; Luce 1968–1969: I. 68). At the same time, monks performed rites before images of the Buddha, Gavampati and a tipiṭaka set. Descriptions of the palace archways recall an ubiquitous motif found above doorways in Pagan that was probably borrowed from eastern India, another reminder of Pagan’s far-reaching connections. Once the Brahmans bathed the pillars, Burmese, Mon and Pyu (called tricul in the inscription) commenced singing (Blagden 1920: 42). The Pyu were evidently limited to this solitary contribution. On the other hand, there were 126 Mon officiants who carried water vessels in procession, and there were Mon chiefs, or their children, who resided in Pagan’s Jetavana Monastery, presumably the most prestigious in the land. This inscription leaves little doubt that the Mon played a greater role in this key event at Pagan than the Pyu, but it is also clear that Mon shared the stage with many others and that Pagan’s culture cast its net widely. The Pyu were, of course, an element in early Pagan, to judge from the famous four-sided inscribed Myazedi pillars dated to 1113 (Mon, Burmese, Pali and Pyu). However, that no Pyu inscriptions of note succeed this single record suggests that the Pyu became increasingly unimportant. Had the Pyu been in Pagan in great numbers, or if a small group occupied an elevated position, ample opportunities existed for the Pyu to express themselves in epigraphs during the twelfth century. Rather, it was Mon that dominated the corpus of stone inscriptions during Kyanzittha’s long reign, and it is Mon that appears in captions beneath Pagan’s earliest wall art. But like Pyu, the use of the Mon language faded at Pagan, and by the end of the twelfth century Burmese overtook Mon as the preferred language for inscriptions and captions. Reasons for the decline of the Mon language at Pagan cannot be yet identified, but its rise and demise raise a host of issues. Were the Mon a small but highly influential group in early Pagan, respected because of their cultural and religious heritage? Or did the Mon constitute a rather high percentage of the population that later intermarried with Burmese and assimilated to the dominant culture? Did the early kings at Pagan compel the Mon to migrate to Pagan or did they cajole or entice key Mon clerics and craftsmen to Upper Burma? Or were the Mon in Upper Burma in large numbers even before the reign of Anawratha? Were Mon Buddhist traditions more important than Sri Lanka Buddhist traditions? These important questions cannot yet be answered, but the ubiquitous use of Mon during Kyanzittha’s long reign implies that the Mon enjoyed a greater influence than the Pyu. In what ways was this elevated status translated into concrete influence must still be investigated. In the final analysis, Aung-Thwin (2005: 245) cannot explain the use of Mon: “The short answer is that we do know for certain [why Kyanzittha’s inscriptions Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

206

DONALD M. STADTNER

are in Mon]”. Aung-Thwin thus advances “a simple practical reason” for Kyanzittha’s use of Mon, arguing that Anarawhta’s conquests of Lower Burma captured “an influx of Mon speakers [from Thailand], perhaps fleeing the so-called cholera epidemic or the advance of Khmers into the Lower Burma region” (2005: 246). Even if cholera or the Khmer were responsible for driving the Mon into Lower Burma , the choice of Mon in official royal inscriptions was unlikely to have been made to accommodate the hapless Mon refugees. Moreover, this solution offered by Aung-Thwin rests entirely on much later chronicles, one of which incidentally says that the Mon returned to Thailand (Jayawickrama 1968: 104). The Pyu at Pagan A thriving community existed at Pagan throughout most of the first millennium and can probably be associated with Pyu speakers, in view of the city’s location between Śrī Kṣetra in the south and Halin in the north, two walled cities and home to Pyu inscriptions (Hudson, Nyein Lwin, and Win Maung 2001). However, it has not yet been possible to chart a clear continuum between the archaeological remains from the first millennium and monuments associated with the earliest historical rulers at Pagan, such as Anawrahta. For example, while there are thousands of first-millennium finger-marked bricks at Pagan, there are no standing Pyu structures at Pagan. Also, Chinese chronicles add that much of Upper Burma under the Pyu succumbed to invading forces from Yunnan as early as the ninth century, an observation repeated in all modern histories of Burma but not proven by hard evidence on the ground. Nonetheless, it would appear that the Pyu were somewhat marginalized by the eleventh and twelfth centuries, to judge from surviving epigraphs. The Pyu survived into the second millennium, witnessed in the Myazedi inscriptions and Pyu singing at the palace consecration, but they were scarcely as important as the Mon during the same period whose language dominated inscriptions during the influential reign of Kyanzittha. An old thesis revived by Aung-Thwin was that Pyu temples at Śrī Kṣetra served as prototypes for Pagan. This contention has been fully rebutted in a review by Pichard (2007), so it is unnecessary to repeat his observations. However, it is sufficient to say that many of the brick temples at Śrī Kṣetra cited by Aung-Thwin and others as prototypes for Pagan probably belong to the Pagan period or much later and therefore could not have acted as later models for Pagan. Conclusion Pagan’s diversity impels researchers to look beyond the Pyu or the Mon, but unraveling Pagan’s cultural strands requires both depth and subtlety, like Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

207

understanding ancient Rome or Taxila. The history of art, for example, offers many cases where artistic influences were not tied to religious or cultural influences. The well-known Buddhist sculpture of Gandhara is one illustration. It was influenced by Western classical styles, but Gandharan society was largely untouched by imported ideas from the West. At Pagan, the art of the Pala dynasty in eastern India played an indisputable role in shaping the city’s sculpture, architecture and painting, but the Mahayana Buddhism of eastern India never took root at Pagan (Stadtner 2005: 38, 190–191). For example, the jātakas were not within the normal repertoire of Pala art, but jātaka sets were a major component in Pagan’s art. On the other hand, Sri Lanka probably enjoyed great religious authority at Pagan, but artistic influence from Sri Lanka at Pagan has been difficult to identify. The Mon certainly were influential in Pagan’s early development, to judge by inscriptions, but it is difficult to know to what degree and in what ways the Mon contributed to the civilization as a whole. If the ordering of the jātakas was one influence stemming from the Mon, then this implies that at least some religious literature passed through the hands of the Mon in Lower Burma and was introduced at Pagan at an early stage. This is suggested, but not proved, by the long passages from Pali texts translated into Mon and appearing beneath Pagan’s murals. Even the famous historical chronicle from Sri Lanka, the Mahāvaṃsa, was put into Mon and is found on the walls of the Kubyauk-gyi temple, in Myinkaba, c. 1113.9 In this sense, the Mon may have acted as a filter of Pali influences, but this is speculative, and it would be entirely unwarranted to think that there was no Buddhist practice in Pagan before the advent of Anawrahta and his successors. Also, the very tradition of placing jātaka tablets onto terraced stupas, an important feature of Pagan’s landscape, may have derived from the Mon (as in the Thagya Pagoda, Thaton). Another likely Mon contribution was the peculiar form of Viṣṇu, the centerpiece of the Nat Hlaung Kyaung Temple. Certain elements of Mon civilization in Lower Burma were not borrowed at Pagan. For example, the carved sima stones, enlivened with jātaka scenes, find no parallel in Upper Burma, but relate more closely to the “Dvāravatī Mon” (Piriya 1974). Also, the terracotta jātaka plaques from Thaton’s Thagya Pagoda also find no exact affinities with those at Pagan, but only agree in a general way with those at the Hpetleik stupas. Also, a stone sculpture of the Buddha at Thaton could never be mistaken for a work from Pagan, or from Pala India, with its very distinctive facial modeling (Fig. 8).

Scenes from the Mahāvaṃsa are depicted in the entrance corridor to the main shrine, on either side. These depictions may not be drawn directly from the Mahāvaṃsa but from later collections in which the Mahāvaṃsa appears, with certain changes (Skilling 2007: 102). 9

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

208

DONALD M. STADTNER

In addition, the style of narration found at Thaton was never used in Pagan’s sculpture or tile work. This can be seen on some of Thaton’s tiles and sima stones in which two episodes of the same story are depicted simultaneously, one above and one below. In a sima stone at Thaton the prince is shown at the top in the stormy sea and again below holding on to the broken mast for dear life (Mahajanaka Jātaka) (Fig. 9). In a Thaton tile, the bodhisattva-to-be appears at the bottom, taking refuge with a family of potters, and then above, going forth in a chariot (Mahosadha Jātaka) (Fig.10). These distinctive artistic traditions in Thaton are nonetheless compatible with the notion of an influential Mon presence in early Pagan. To press the case too hard for Mon or Pyu influence at Pagan is to undervalue the vitality and diverse cultural strands that made up Pagan’s civilization and, indeed, much of the later history of Burma. This paper seeks not to triumph the Mon over the Pyu but to recognize that there is room for many paradigms in a balanced exploration of Pagan. The Pyu and the Mon shared the landscape at Pagan, but the Mon were more influential, to judge from the epigraphic record. But widespread and specific Mon influence at Pagan is difficult to discern, unlike, for example, the obvious debt Pagan’s art owes to Pala India. Much of the discussion today is clouded by the touchy issues of ethnicity and language that too often lurk uncomfortably beneath the surface of Burma’s history. That Mon and Burmese were inscribed on Bayinnaung’s Pagan bell inscription and were also used in the fifteenth-century inscriptions at the Shwedagon, or that Burmese, Mon and Shan captions were ordered for paintings at the Kaunghmudaw Pagoda near Sagaing, are poignant reminders of the plurality of cultures that make up Burma. References Aung-Thwin, Michael A., 2005. The Mists of Rāmañña: the legend that was Lower Burma. Honolulu, University of Hawaii Press. Blagden, O. C., 1920. “The Mon Inscriptions No. 1 to No VIII B”, Epigraphia Burmanica, I, pt I. Rangoon, Government Printing Office reprinted Rangoon 1960. Brown, Robert L., 1999 (ed.). Art from Thailand. Mumbai, Marg Publications. _____, 2008. Review of Michael Aung-Thwin, The Mists of Rāmañña…, Journal of Asian Studies (forthcoming). Charney, Michael, 2006., “On Michael Aung-Thwin’s The Mists of Rāmañña…, H-Net Book Review, [email protected], February, 2006. Duroiselle, Charles., Archaeological Survey, Burma, for the year ending 31 March, 1915. Rangoon, Government Printing Office. Frasch, Tilman., 2002. “Coastal peripheries during the Pagan Period”, in Gommans and Leider, page 59–78. _____, 2008. Review of Michael Aung-Thwin, The Mists of Ramanna…, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenlaendishen Gessellschaft (forthcoming). Glover, Ian and Peter Bellwood, 2004., Southeast Asia: From pre-history to history. London and New York, Routledge Curzon. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

209

Gommans, Jos and Jacques Leider., 2002, eds. The Maritime Frontier of Burma: Exploring Political, Cultural and Commercial Interaction in the Indian Ocean World, 1200–1800. Leiden, KITLV Press. Green, Alexander and Richard Blurton., 2002. Burma: Art and Archaeology. London, The British Museum. Guillon, Emmanuel, 1999.,The Mons: A Civilization of Southeast Asia. Bangkok, The Siam Society. Gutman, Pamela., 1978. “The Ancient Coinage of Southeast Asia.” Journal of the Siam Society, 66 : 8–21. _____, 2007. “The Court Art of Thaton and its Political and Religious Implications,” unpublished conference paper : Discovery of Ramanya Desa : History, Identity, Culture, Language and Performing Arts, 10–13 October. _____ and Bob Hudson, 2004. “The Archaeology of Burma (Myanmar) from the Neolithic to Pagan”, in Glover and Bellwood, eds., pages 149–176. Guy, John., 1999. “The Art of the Pyu and Mon”, in Stadtner, ed., pages 13–28. _____, 2002. “Offering up a rare jewel: Buddhist merit-making and votive tablets in Early Burma” in Green and Blurton, pages 23–33. Hudson, Bob., 2004. The Origins of Bagan: the archaeological landscape of Upper Burma to AD 1300. Unpublished Dissertation, University of Sydney, 2004. _____, Nyein Lwin and Win Maung, 2001.“The Origins of Pagan: New Dates and Old Inhabitants”, Asian Perspectives , 40/1 : 48–74. Jayawickrama, N.A., 1968. The Sheaf of Garlands of the Epochs of the Conqueror, being a Translation of Jinākāmalīpakaranam of Ratanapañña Thera. London, Pali Text Society. Le Bonheur, Albert, et al. , 1999 Art of Southeast Asia. New York, Harry N. Abrams. Leider, Jacques., 2006. Review “Michael A. Aung-Thwin, The Mists of Rāmañña…, Aséanie, 18 : 199–203. Lieberman, Victor., 2007. Review article: “Excising the ‘Mon Paradigm’ from Burmese historiography,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 38/2 : 377–383. Luce, Gordon H., 1956. “The 550 Jatakas in Old Burma.,” Artibus Asiae, XIX. 3/4 : 291–307. _____, 1969-1970. Old Burma – Early Pagan, 3 vols. New York, J.J. Augustin. _____, 1974. “The Advent of Buddhist to Burma” in Buddhist Studies in Honour of I.B. Horner, eds. L. Cousins, A. Kunst, and K.R. Norman. Boston, P. Reidel Publishing Company, pages 119–138. _____, 1985. Phases of Pre-Pagan Burma: Languages and History, 2 vols. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Mahlo, Dietrich., 1998. “Fruhe Munzen aus Birma: Thesen”, Indo-Asiatische Zeitschrift, 2 : 88–94. Moore, Elizabeth., 2007. Early Landscapes of Myanmar. Bangkok, River Books. _____, and San Win, 2007. “The Gold Coast: Suvannabhumi? Lower Myanmar Walled Sites of the First Millennium A.D”, Asian Perspectives, 46/1 : 203–232. Mya Maung., 1931-1934. Archaeological Survey of India, Annual Report, 1930–1934. Pt. 1 : 195–203. Myint Aung., 1977. “The Capital of Suvannabhumi unearthed?”, Shiroku. 10 : 41–53. _____, 1999 “The excavations of Ayetthema and Winka (?Suvannabhumi)”, in Studies in Myanmar History. Vol. 1: Essays Given to Than Tun on his 75th Birthday, Yangon, Inwa Publishing House, pages 17–64. Nai Pan Hla., 1986. “Oldest Mon Inscriptions on votive tablets – [pt] 4”. The Working People’s Daily, Rangoon, 1 March 1986. O’Connor, V.C.S., 1907. Mandalay and other Cities of the Past in Burma. London, Hutchinson. Pattaratorn Chirapravati, M.L., 1997. Votive Tablets in Thailand. Kuala Lumpur, Oxford University Press. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

210

DONALD M. STADTNER

Pe Maung Tin and Gordon H. Luce., 1923, trans. The Glass Palace Chronicle of the Kings of Burma. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Piriya Krairiksh, 1974., “Semas with scenes from the Mahanipata-Jatakas in the National Museum at Khon Kaen”, in Art and Archaeology in Thailand. Bangkok, Fine Arts Department, pages 35–65. Pichard, Pierre, 2006., “Remarques sur le chapitre IX. [Aung-Thwin 2005] ‘The Mon Paradigm and the Evolution of the Pagan Temple’ ”, Aséanie, 18 : 203–206. Pranke, Patrick A., 2004. The ‘Treatise on the Lineage of Elders’ (Vamsadipani): Monastic Reform and the Writing of Buddhist History in Eighteenth-Century Burma. Unpublished Ph.D dissertation. University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Shorto, H. L., 1971. A Dictionary of the Mon Inscriptions from the Sixth to the Sixteenth Centuries. London, Oxford University Press. Skilling, Peter., 1997. “The Advent of Theravada Buddhism to Mainland South-East Asia”, Journal of the International Association of Buddhist Studies, 20/1 : 93–107. _____, 2003. “Dvaravati: Recent Revelations and Research”, in Dedications to Her Royal Highness Princes Galyani Vadhana Krom Luang Naradhiwas Rajanagarindra on her 80th birthday. Bangkok, The Siam Society, pages 87–112. _____, 2007. “Geographies of Intertextuality: Buddhist Literature in Pre-modern Siam”. Aséanie, 19 : 91–112. Stadtner, Donald M., 1999a. “The Art of Burma”, in Albert Le Bonheur et al., pages 39–61. _____, 1999b, ed., The Art of Burma: New Studies. Mumbai, Marg Publications. _____, 2005. Pagan: A Buddhist Plain of Merit. Bangkok, River Books. Stargardt, J., 1990. The Ancient Pyu of Burma: early Pyu cities in a man-made landscape. Vol. 1. Cambridge and Singapore, Publication on Ancient Civilization in South Asia and Institute of South East Asian Studies. Temple, R.C., 1893. “Notes on Antiquities in Ramannadesa”, Indian Antiquary, XXII : 327–366. Than Tun, 1978. “Buddhism in Burma A.D. 1000–1300”, Journal of the Burma Research Society, XLI, pts. 1–2 : 1–265. Wicks, Robert S., 1992. Money, Markets and Trade in Early Southeast Asia: The Development of Indigenous Monetary Systems to AD 1400. Ithaca, NY, Southeast Asia Program Cornell University. _____, 1999. “Indian Symbols in a Southeast Asian Setting: Coins and Meals of Ancient Dvāravatī”, in R.L.Brown, ed., pages 8–18.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

Fig 1. Map of Lower Burma. Distribution of Gulf of Martaban Coin Series (after Hudson 2004, fig. 118).

Fig 2. Terracotta votive tablets, Winka, c. fifth-sixth centuries (after Nai Pan Hla 1986, 7).

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

211

212

DONALD M. STADTNER Fig 3. Winka, terracotta panel, c. fifth-sixth centuries. Mon Cultural Museum, Moulmein (courtesy Elizabeth Moore).

Fig 4. Maung Di Pagoda, near Yangon, c. 1050 or earlier.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma Fig 5. Standing Buddha, bronze, Thaton (after Mya 1930–1934, pt. I. pl. CXII, d).

Fig 6. Thagya Pagoda, c. eleventh century. Terracotta plaques in the middle terrace, Thaton.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

213

214

DONALD M. STADTNER

Fig 7. Viṣṇu recumbent on serpent, Thaton, destroyed in Rangoon during the Second World War (after Temple 893, pl. XIV).

Fig 8. Part of a standing Buddha, Shwesayan Pagoda godown, Thaton, c. eleventh century.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

The Mon of Lower Burma

Fig 9. Kalyani Sima, c. eleventh century, Thaton (after Guillon 1999, fig. 39).

Fig 10. Terracotta plaque, c. eleventh century, Mahosada Jātaka. Shwesayan Pagoda godown, Thaton.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

215





KAREN AND LAHU: ETHNIC AFFILIATION OR BAPTISTS’ IMAGINATION?1 Anthony R. Walker Abstract

Three generations of the Young family: William Marcus (pioneer American Baptist missionary among the Lahu people of Kengtung, Burma and across the northern border into Yunnan); son, Harold Mason and grandson, Oliver Gordon have championed the view that there is a close ethnic relationship between Karen and Lahu. This paper contends that the claim cannot be substantiated either ethnologically or linguistically. It concludes that Lahu-Karen ethnic affiliations derive from ideas espoused by Baptist Karen evangelists who were sent from Lower Burma (principally the Bassein area) to assist William Young’s missionary efforts in Kengtung.

Karen and Lahu: Supposed Ethnic Affiliations

Those who have read Gordon Young’s The Hill Tribes of Northern Thailand (1961, 1962) may possibly recall the first paragraph of his chapter on the Lahu Nyi and Lahu Na, where he writes of the ‘similarities and relationships which all the Lahu “tribes” [for which read “sub-ethnic divisions”] have with the Lisu and Akha, suggesting a common (Lo-lo) origin’ (O.G. Young 1962:9). Leaving aside the thorny question of ethnogenesis, in linguistic terms Young is absolutely right. All three languages belong within the Yi (or Loloish) branch of the Tibeto-Burman family, although Lahu is more closely affiliated with Lisu (both languages belong to the Central Yi branch of the family) than with Akha (which belongs to the southern branch) (Matisoff 1986). But Young then goes on to aver that ‘Lahu traditions would place themselves closer to the Karens, having as they claim, been “brothers of the same clans” at one time’ (O. G. Young 1962:9).

This paper is dedicated to the memory of Peter Hinton (1939–2004), Karen specialist, former adviser to the Tribal Research Centre (later Institute) in Chiang Mai, senior member of the Department of Anthropology, Sydney University, mentor and friend. 1

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

217

218

ANTHONY R. WALKER

I do not doubt for one moment that Gordon Young is here accurately

articulating a claim made by Lahu themselves, in this case almost certainly

Christian Lahu (see below). After all, Young was born and grew up among these

people and Lahu was his first language (cf. O. G. Young 1967: Ch. 1; French

1968); only subsequently did he acquire English. But why would Lahu claim their closest ethnic affiliations to be with Karen? Certainly, their respective languages are far apart, with historical linguists still debating whether the Karenic languages belong within or outside of the

Tibeto-Burman family (Matisoff 1983:66–7). Matisoff (ibid.), a Tibeto-Burman (and specifically Lahu) specialist, favours their inclusion within Tibeto-Burman; the late Paul Benedict did not. But even if we accept such affiliation, the Karen languages have to be placed on the same level of segmentation within the TibetoBurman family as the Lolo-Burmese division, the latter dividing into Burmish and Loloish, and Loloish into northern, central and southern branches, before we reach Lahu (together with Lisu) in the central branch. Put another way, the Karen languages are no closer to the Lahu languages than are the Naga or Tibetan languages — and no anthropologist, I think, would say that Naga and Lahu are ‘brothers of the same clans’. If linguistic affiliations are hardly very close, neither are geographic ones. It is true that there is some evidence in ‘Karen tradition’ of past residence in what is now China. (Obviously, we have to be wary here—just as was Peter Hinton (1983)—of what the ethnic label ‘Karen’ actually signifies and of whether any single ‘tradition’ associated with it actually exists.) Be this as it may, there are indeed Karen traditions (Renard 1980: 33) that talk of an original homeland far to the north and of this people having crossed over a ‘river of running sand’ or ‘river of water flowing with sand’ on the journey southwards that would eventually lead them into Southeast Asia. Writers on Karen ethnohistory have (inter alia) identified this as the Gobi desert (Mason 1882:831), the Salween (Gilmore 1911) and the Yellow River (Marshall 1922:6). Since the Lahu have a rather similar story and Chinese ethnohistorians (cf. Liang et al. 1992: Ch. 1, p. 3) have identified the river concerned as the Jinsha Jiang (literally, the ‘Golden Sands River’) that divides Yunnan and Sichuan, let me throw this in as well. All this notwithstanding, the fact is that Karen-speaking peoples, in historic times (reliable data prior to the late eighteenth century are very scarce), have been concentrated in central and lower Burma and in adjacent parts of Thailand. Here they are typically a Southeast Asian minority people, or better perhaps “peoples” (whether as highlanders or lowlanders), with complex links to Mon, Burman and T’ai lowland polities and cultures. By contrast, the Lahu in historic times (for them, this means since the late seventeenth century) have been a people of Southwest China, where their closest neighbours were (and still are) Hani (Akha), Lisu, Wa and various Yi Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karen and Lahu: Ethnic Affiliation or Baptists’ Imagination

219

groups in the mountains, and, in the valleys, T’ai and Han. (In other words the Mon and Burman cultural complexes, so important for the Karen, are unknown to Lahu, except as mediated through one or another of the T’ai peoples with whom they have historically been associated.) To this day, some 60 percent of the Lahu-speaking peoples live under the flag of the People’s Republic of China; there are no Karen communities in China.2 How come, then, that at least some Lahu (as Gordon Young reports) believe themselves ‘clan brothers’ (whatever this is supposed to mean in two essentially bilateral societies) of the Karen? The likely answer, I suggest, lies in the history of the two peoples’ Christianization and, especially, in the part played by Karen pastors, working under Gordon Young’s grandfather, William Marcus Young, in the conversion to Baptist Christianity of a sizeable proportion of the Lahu population, first in Burma and, subsequently, in China.

Baptist Christianity among the Karen

It is certainly not my intention here to add to the already voluminous

literature on the Baptist enterprise among the Karen.3 The briefest adumbration, together with a few highlights that are especially pertinent to the Karen-Lahu

association, must suffice. The first Karen to convert to Christianity (cf. Brain 1910; F. Mason 1846), a former brigand and murderer named Ko Tha Byu (circa 1778–1850), was instructed in the new religion by pioneer American Baptist missionary Adoniram Judson (1788–1850). Judson (cf. E. Judson 1883) had arrived in Burma in 1813, but evinced little interest in the Karen until, when stationed in Moulmein, he encountered Ko Tha Byu in 1827, hired him as a household servant and began to instruct him in the Christian faith. The following year (1828), the American Baptists decided to open a new mission station in Tavoy, under the direction of Pastor George Dana Boardman. Still unbaptized, Ko Tha Byu was sent by the missionaries to assist Boardman at Tavoy, where the latter baptized him on 16 May 1828.

Mosely’s (1973:42, 70) datum that some Karen are living in Yunnan’s Baoshan Prefecture, where they are known as Shantou, is incorrect. Shantou ren, meaning “mountain-top people”, was an exonymn given to Jingpo or Kachin during the late Qing and Republican eras (Wang 1997:6). 3 Eg., Beaver 1963; Brockett and Brooklyn 1891; Heald 1900; Hovemyr 1989, pp. 97–100; Hughes 1926, pp. 59–86; Lewis 1924, pp. 97–107; McMahon 1876, pp. 161-204; Marshall 1922, pp. 296–314; E. Mason 1862; Maung Shwe Wa 1963, pp. 67–74, 89–101, 156–190; Pifer 1951, pp. 65–74; Scoglund 1951, pp. 3–26; Smeaton 1920, pp. 84–209; Sowards 1954, pp. 4–8); Vedder 1927, 111–18; and Zan & Sowards 1963. 2

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

220

ANTHONY R. WALKER

Ko Tha Byu quickly became an ardent field evangelist and, in no small part due to his efforts, a Christian movement rapidly gathered momentum among the Karen-speaking peoples of the Tavoy region; later Judson himself proselytized among Karen living to the north of Moulmein, while stations for work among the Karen were established from the 1850s onwards at Rangoon, Bassein, Toungoo, Shwegyin, Henzada, Maubin and Loikaw (Sowards 1954:4). Of these, Bassein, with its concentration of Baptist educational and theological institutions and its ‘Karen Home Mission Society’ (established in 1876 to support Karen evangelists among their own people and, subsequently, among other mountain peoples) was especially important for the later Lahu Christian movement. By 1925, less than a century after Ko Tha Byu’s baptism, the American Baptist Mission claimed a largely self-supporting Karen membership (of baptized adults) numbering 60,000 people, with 886 churches and 807 pastors (Hughes 1926:59). The figure for the Baptist Karen community as a whole, at this time, was around 200,000 (cf. Marshall 1922: 300). The evangelistic efforts of the Baptist missionaries among the various Karen-speaking peoples, whether American foreigners or local Karen (the latter, as Ko Tha Byu’s case demonstrates, of vital importance, almost from the start) seem to have been greatly facilitated by a number of indigenous cosmological beliefs (many of them shared with Lahu, as we shall see later) that permitted easy assimilation of the newly-introduced Christian dogmas with the preChristian Karen worldview. Indeed, contemporary missionaries were so impressed by what they perceived as Christian-like theological traits among the Karen (most notably, belief in a Creator-Divinity or High God and a ‘Golden Book’ of wisdom) that they quickly assumed the people’s prior Christian affiliations. (An Islamic matrix might have been more credible, given the significant Muslim communities to the west and north of the Karen settlement areas, but that would have been nowhere near so convenient for these foot soldiers of Christianity.) The varied religious traditions of the Karen people prior to contact with Christianity can, however, just as well be seen as demonstrating an indigenous religious culture that is widespread throughout the Southeast Asian region. This we may label as ‘animo-theistic’: ‘animo’ because it encompasses belief in ‘spirit essence’ or ‘soul force’ associated with both natural and sociological phenomena, and ‘theistic’ because it simultaneously posits the existence of various unique divine forces, including, typically, a creator divinity (the Karen Y’we, Lahu G’ui sha), responsible, inter alia, for the creation of the first human beings and their primal institutions. It is an indigenous Southeast Asian religious complex that encompasses both the ethnic majority peoples (who subsequently added to it a canonical religion: predominantly Brahmanism and Buddhism in mainland Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karen and Lahu: Ethnic Affiliation or Baptists’ Imagination

221

Southeast Asia, Brahmanism and Islam in much of island Southeast Asia and Christianity in the Philippines) and the ethnic minority peoples, such as Karen and Lahu, whose adoption of canonical religions (if done at all) has been more recent. It is a religious culture wherein sickness is typically interpreted as the consequence of soul loss or soul disturbance, brought about by the activities of offended—or simply malicious—spirit entities that often must be appeased or expelled by a knowledgeable ritual specialist, sometimes a shaman. It is not one that builds elaborate sacred edifices or supports a complex local ecclesiastical organization. On the other hand, it is a religious culture that, during times of socio-cultural (including, of course, political) crisis, has the capacity to generate charismatic leaders—prophets, holy men—who are able to unite disparate, politically and culturally acephalous communities into a wider and tighter politico-religious polity than is the norm, in order to combat external aggression. Among the minority peoples of the region, the indigenous religious complex also frequently includes a mythological explanation for why they, in contrast to the dominant peoples of the region, lack literacy (judged rightfully to be theirs) and how this will one day be returned to them. Putting these various religious traits together in their Karen form, we have the story (at least as interpreted by many of the Baptist missionaries) of

an essentially monotheistic people whose indigenous spirit beliefs are an aberration, just as the so-called ‘idol worship’ of their Buddhist neighbours is an abomination. We are told how the Karen people were cheated of the divine

gift of writing, which was rightfully theirs, and how this would one day be restored to them by a younger ‘white brother’, who would come to them

bearing a ‘golden book’. While evangelizing amongst the Karen, the Christian missionaries more than once encountered religious movements led by charismatic holy men or ‘prophets’, who sought to restore the golden age of Karen religion and society. Sometimes, these Karen holy men were instrumental in preparing the way for the subsequent adoption of the Christian religion by their devotees.

Baptist Karen Evangelism among the Lahu

The American Baptist missionary William Marcus Young (1861-1936) was the first to bring Christianity to the Lahu of Kengtung State, Burma. Young had arrived in Burma in 1892 and evangelized first among the Western Shan (T’ai Yai) people of Mongnai and Hsipaw, in whose language he became fluent (Henderson 1936; Robbins 1936; Telford 1936). He came to Kengtung Town in February, 1901 (W. Young 1901, 1902), expecting to work primarily among

the T’ai-speaking peoples of Kengtung State (Khün, Tai Yai, Lü, Yuan and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

222

ANTHONY R. WALKER

Northern Shan). Young used to preach in the town’s main market and, at first, most of those who bothered to listen to him seem indeed to have been T’ai. But at least by early 1903, almost exactly two years after his first arrival in Kengtung, Young (1903:3) began to report ‘an awakening among the hill people’, associated with a number of indigenous Lahu holy men or prophets. He commented at the time that ‘work [among these hillmen] I feel sure will be most fruitful’. By the end of the following year (November 1904) he was able to report (1904: 1–3):

The work among the Muhsos [Lahu] is … now opening up in a way that far exceeds our expectations. [There are] Muhso teachers [who] have a wonderful influence over the people. They … seem to be deeply pious men … They have a description of heaven that corresponds very clearly with that given in [the biblical Book of] Revelation. … Two Muhso teachers came from China. … They gave us their traditions and in turn I had the [Karen] preachers give them a clear statement of the Karen traditions and how the Karens had accepted Christ. It made a deep impression on them [emphasis added].

The Lahu ‘traditions’ to which Young refers bore an uncanny resemblance to those the early missionaries had encountered among the Karen in lower Burma, including belief in a creator divinity, G’ui sha, and legends concerning their ancestors’ loss of literacy and of its return in the form of a li suh (white/silver/pure book), which would be brought to them by a ‘white’ (but it could also be ‘pure’) foreigner. Young does not, as a matter of fact, mention that the preachers who informed the visiting Lahu holy men (for that was what they were) of the ‘Karen traditions’ were themselves Karen. But I strongly suspect this to have been the case, for by then Young already had the services of a number of Karen workers delegated by the aforementioned ‘Karen Home Mission Society’ of Bassein in lower Burma.

Pastor Ba Te’s Espousal of Karen-Lahu Affinity

Among the most notable of the early Karen missionaries to the Lahu was Pastor Ba Te, a gifted linguist and formerly a practising lawyer (cf. Cochrane 1912). He was among those Bassein Karen who were wedded to the idea of converting the peoples of northeastern Burma to the Christian religion. In a March 1905 letter to the Baptist Mission’s magazine The News, Young (1905a: 11) reports Ba Te undertaking a preaching tour (doubtless this was towards the end of 1904, or else very early in 1905, thus more or less right at the start of the Mission’s Lahu work) to the north of Kengtung Town, ‘where there are some Muhso [Lahu] teachers who claim to have miraculous powers’. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karen and Lahu: Ethnic Affiliation or Baptists’ Imagination

223

By April 1905, Young (1905b:2) begins to report on how Ba Te ‘thinks that … the Muhsos and Kwes [Lahu Na and Lahu Shi] … are … allied to the Squa [Skaw] and Pwo Karens.’ At Young’s instigation, Pastor Ba Te himself penned a short piece for the The News (published in the June 1905 issue), in which he wrote of ‘a connecting link between the Karen and Muhso traditions’, claiming that the Karen tradition of migration southwards out of China could be linked to the much-loved Lahu legend of the separation of the respective followers of a Lahu brother and sister. The story tells how the sister thought she had been short-changed by her brother when he gave her so little of the flesh of a porcupine, which, from the size of one of its quills, she judged to be a huge beast. Angrily, she led her followers southwards, away from her brother’s people. The sister’s people, Ba Te reported learning from a ‘Muso teacher … who had traveled in some parts of China, Siam, and also in different sections of Kengtung State’, were the Karen, who had migrated southwards long before the Lahu. Whether or not Pastor Ba Te himself accepted the literal truth of the Lahu legend and its variant (far from widely accepted among Lahu themselves) that identifies the sister’s people as Karen, is not at all clear. But he certainly writes (ibid.) that ‘So far as my observations of their [the Lahu’s] manners, habits and character is concerned, I can only say how many times I said in my heart, “They are Karens”, while watching them talk, laugh, work and play. There is a strong family resemblance in character and disposition.’ He concludes, ‘As regards the common origin of the Karens and Lahus in the distant past, there seems to be very little room for doubt.’

Championing Lahu-Karen Affiliation: Three Generations of the Young Family

In a letter to The News of July 1905, Young (1905c) reiterates that ‘Our Karen helpers say [emphasis added] the Muso main tribe, the Lahuna [Lahu Na] or Black Musos, correspond closely to the Sgaw Karens, the Kwes [Lahu Shi] to the Pwo Karens’ and adds: ‘The Karen workers now identify the Kaws (Akha) with the Red Karen.’ He restates this opinion in his contribution to the 40th Annual Report of the Burma Baptist Convention, where he writes (Young 1905d: 17): ‘It now seems certain that the Lahu tribes here, that is, the Muhsos, Kwes and Akhas, are one stock with the Karens’, adding that ‘It has been gratifying to see what a strong interest the native Christians in Lower Burma [viz. the Karen] have taken in this work.’ Again, in an article for The Baptist Missionary Review (Young 1905e: 469), he writes, ‘a closer study reveals the fact that the Karens and the Lahu are but different branches of the same people.’ Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

224

ANTHONY R. WALKER

William Young’s son, Harold, (father of Oliver Gordon Young) brings championship of Lahu-Karen fraternity into the second generation of Young family writings on the Lahu. Indeed, he elaborates on the connection, tying it more firmly to Lahu legend than did his father, or even Pastor Ba Te. In his, lamentably, unpublished work ‘To the Mountain Tops: A Sojourn among the Lahu of Asia’ (n.d., 1–2), Harold writes:

By the time they [the Lahu] had wandered into South China, about the year 1830,4 their numbers were greatly increased. In addition to their own groups, another tribe known as the Karens, who now live in the delta districts of the Irrawaddy basin and in southern Burma and Thailand, joined them in their southward migration. Accompanied by the Karens they settled in the mountains, avoiding the valleys … the main settlement was near a valley which was only sparsely inhabited by a race called the Shans. The menfolk were great hunters, and, according to tradition, one day while hunting near the foothills, they shot a large stag which had long grass twined about its antlers. This animal had been feeding in the valley, so when they saw the length of [the] grass, they at once realized that the land must be very fertile. When the hunters reported their discovery, a council was called of all the elders of both the Lahu and Karens [and] … it was decided that the Lahu would move from the mountains to the valley where there would be greater possibilities for agricultural work. The Karens, reluctant to give up their mountain stronghold, decided to remain behind because their dreamers said that though they were destined to live in the valleys later on, this was not the right valley. …

The tale continues with Lahu dominating Shan and then themselves being defeated by Chinese, after which they ‘rejoined their Karen brothers in their stronghold, high in the mountain fastnesses …’.

Through a misunderstanding … the two brotherly tribes [Lahu and Karen] were finally separated and weakened. Before this, both groups had regarded the chiefs of their respective tribes with the same respect, and paid the same tribute to each. It was the custom to set aside a portion of the meat taken during a hunt for each chief. One day the Lahu hunters shot a large sambar deer and sent a portion of the meat to the Karen chief. The following day the hunt was not so successful. After hunting all day, the only animal shot was a porcupine. As usual they divided up the meat and sent a share to the Karen chief with a large quill sticking in it. When the Karens saw the small portion of meat, with a very large hair on it, they thought that they had been cheated, for surely an animal with hair of that size should be very large! They said to the Lahu, ‘Yesterday you sent our chief a large portion of meat … and the hairs sticking to the wrappers were very small, but today you have sent only a very small portion, yet the hair is that of a great

4 This date, incidentally, is far too recent. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karen and Lahu: Ethnic Affiliation or Baptists’ Imagination

225

animal. Why have you cheated our chief …?’ The Lahu tried … to explain but the Karens would not believe them. After the dispute, the Karens took their women and children and all their livestock and left for the south. At the time of parting they said, ‘Brothers, we will go to the Southland, and when we find that which is of great price [an allusion to the Christian message] we will return and search for you who are left behind.’

Subsequently, according to Harold’s version of the legend, the Lahu decided to set out to search for their brothers, the Karen. They did discover a Karen campsite, but misread the signs of recently-roasted crab shells turned red in colour and recently-cut banana stumps sprouting new shoots as indicating the Karen brothers had long ago departed. Consequently, they gave up all hope of meeting up with them again. But the Lahu remembered the Karen’s parting words about returning with ‘that which is of great price.’ Harold concludes his rendition thus:

… when my father first contacted the Lahu, he was accompanied by Karen assistants [emphasis added], and they were received by the Lahu as their long lost brothers from whom they had been parted generations before.

Many of the major themes—the deer horns entangled with luxuriant grass, war with the Chinese, the dispute over the sharing of porcupine flesh, misinterpretation of signs of recent inhabitation as ancient—are well known by Lahu throughout their settlement area and among communities that have no affiliations with the Christian religion nor any knowledge of the Karen people. Lahu converts and their early Karen pastors must surely have inspired Harold Young’s version of the legend. Given the views of Ba Te (and, for certain, he was not alone in holding them among the Karen pastors who pioneered Christian evangelism among the Lahu in Kengtung) and the acceptance of these Karen opinions, first by William Young and then by his son, Harold—and given also the striking similarity between Karen and Lahu versions of the ‘lost wisdom’ and its ultimate return in a ‘golden’ (Karen) or ‘silver’ (Lahu) book (which impressed both elder and younger Young quite as much as it did the Lahu converts themselves) surely we have the answer as to why Gordon Young wrote (in the same manner as his grandfather and his father) of Lahu and Karen as at one time having been ‘brothers of the same clans’. Doubtless Gordon heard his father tell the story many times; and doubtless, also, he heard it for himself among the Christian Lahu and their Karen pastors, in whose midst he spent his youth. The ethnology may be questioned, but the importance of this Lahu Baptist ‘mythical charter’ can scarcely be doubted. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

226

ANTHONY R. WALKER

References

Ba Te, 1905. ‘Karens and Musos’, The News (Rangoon) 18(6): 26. Beaver, Raymond W., 1963. ‘The Pwo Karen Churches’ in Burma Baptist Chronicle. Rangoon Board of Publications, Burma Baptist Convention, pp. 327–337. Brain, Belle M., 1910. ‘Ko Thah Byu: The Karen Apostle’, The Missionary Review of the World 33(5): 364–374. Brockett, L.P. and N.Y. Brooklyn, 1891. ‘Modern Missionary Marvels: The Bassein-Arakan Mission among the Sgau and Pwo Karens’, Missionary Review of the World 14(5): 828– 840. Cochrane, W.W., 1912. ‘The Story of Saya Ba Teh [sic]’. Missions 3(5): 368–72. French, Cherrie, 1968. ‘The Adventures of Gordon Young’. Sawaddi (American Women’s Association, Bangkok) 6(3): 14-15, 26–27. Gilmore, David, 1911. ‘Karen Folklore: I’. Journal of the Burma Research Society 1: 75–82. _____, 1900 The Social Progress of the Karens Under Christianity. B.D. dissertation, Department of Church History, The Divinity School, University of Chicago. Henderson, A.H., 1936. ‘William M. Young, D.D.’ The Burma News (Rangoon) 49(6): 90. Hovemyr, Anders P., 1989. In Search of the Karen King: A Study in Karen Identity with Special Reference to 19th Century Karen Evangelism in Northern Thailand. Uppsala (Studia Missionalia Upsaliensia 49). Hughes, Lizbeth B., ed., 1926. The Evangel in Burma: Being a Review for the Quarter Century 1900–1925 of the Work of the American Baptist Mission Society in Burma. Rangoon, American Baptist Mission Press. Judson, Edward, 1883. Adoniram Judson, D.D.: His Life and Labours. London, Hodder and Stoughton. Lewis, James Lee, 1924. The Burmanization of the Karen People: A Study in Racial Adaptability. M.A. dissertation, Department of Practical Theology, University of Chicago. Liang Kesheng et al., eds, 1992. ‘Lahu Zu Shi (Song Shen Gao)’ [A History of the Lahu Nationality (Manuscript for Approval). Menglang (Lancang County): ‘Lahu Zu Shi’ Biancuan Weiyuanhui [Editorial Committee for the ‘History of the Lahu Nationality’]. Mimeographed. McMahon, A.R., 1876. The Karens of the Golden Chersonese. London, Harrison. Marshall, Harry Ignatius, 1922. The Karen people of Burma: A Study in Anthropology and Ethnology. Columbus (OH), The Ohio State University. Mason, Ellen H.B., 1862. Great Expectations Realized, Or, Civilizing Mountain Men. Philadelphia, American Baptist Publication Society. Mason, Francis, 1846. The Karen Apostle Or, Memoir of Ko Thah-Byu, The First Karen Convert … Boston, Gould, Kendall, and Lincoln. Matisoff, James A., 1983. ‘Linguistic Diversity and Language Contact’, in Highlanders of Thailand, John McKinnon and Want Bhruksasri, eds, Kuala Lumpur, Oxford University Press, pp. 56–86. _____, 1986. ‘The Languages and Dialects of Tibeto-Burman: An Alphabetical/Genetic Listing …’ Contributions to Sino-Tibetan Studies, John McCoy and Timothy Light, eds. Leiden, E.J. Brill, pp. 3–75. Maung Shwe Wa, 1963. ‘Introducing the Tree of Life on the Banks of the Irrawaddy: A Study of the Planting and Growth of the Church in Burma. Book 1’ in Burma Baptist Chronicle. Rangoon, Board of Publications, Burma Baptist Convention, pp. 1–269. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karen and Lahu: Ethnic Affiliation or Baptists’ Imagination

227

Moseley, George V.H., 1973. The Consolidation of the South China Frontier. Berkeley, University of California Press. Pifer, John Marshall, 1951. The Karen problem of Burma. M.A. thesis, University of Virginia. Renard, Ronald D.,1980. Kariang: History of Karen-T’ai Relations from the Beginnings to 1923. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Hawaii. Robbins, J.C., 1936. ‘The Passing of a Missionary Pioneer’, The Watchman-Examiner (Philadelphia) 30. Skoglund, John E., 1951. The Spirit Tree: The Story of Baptist Work among Primitive Peoples. Philadelphia, The Judson Press. Smeaton, Donald M., 1920. The Loyal Karens of Burma. London, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner. Sowards, E.E., 1954. Glimpses of Baptist Work in Burma. Rangoon, Aung Meit Sat Press for the 86th Meeting of the Burma Baptist Convention, 1954. Telford, James Haxton, 1936. ‘William M. Young, D.D’, The News (Rangoon) 49(6): 90. Vedder, Henry C., 1927. A Short History of Baptist Missions. Philadelphia, The Judson Press. Wang Zhusheng, 1997. The Jingpo Kachin People of the Yunnan Plateau. Tempe, Arizona State University, Program for Southeast Asian Studies. Young, O. Gordon, 1962. The Hill Tribes of Northern Thailand: A Socio-ethnological Report. Bangkok, The Siam Society (first published 1961, Bangkok, United States Operations Mission to Thailand). _____, 1967. Tracks of an Intruder. London, Souvenir Press. Young, Harold Mason, n.d., ‘To the Mountain Tops: A Sojourn among the Lahu of Asia. (Unpublished MS deposited in The Library of Congress, Washington DC). Young, William Marcus, 1901. Kengtung. The News (Rangoon) 13(11): 2–4. _____, 1902. ‘A New Station in Shanland’. The Baptist Missionary Magazine 82(5): 179–81. _____, 1903. Letter to Rev. T.S. Barbour, dated Kengtung 11 April, 1903. (American Baptist Missionary Archives, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania). _____, 1904. Letter to Rev. T.S. Barbour, dated Kengtung 5 November, 1904. (American Baptist Missionary Archives, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania). _____, 1905a. ‘Shan Mission: Kengtung’. The News (Rangoon) 18(3): 11. _____, 1905b. ‘Shan Mission: Kengtung’. The News (Rangoon) 18(4): 13. _____, 1905c ‘Shan Mission: Kengtung’. The News (Rangoon) 18(7): 31. _____, 1905d Keng Tung. Fortieth Annual Report of the Burma Baptist Convention, Rangoon, Burma Baptist Mission Press, pp. 7-18. _____, 1905e ‘The Awakening in Keng Tung’. The Baptist Missionary Review 11(12): 469–76. Zan, U, and Erville E. Sowards, 1963. ‘Baptist Work among Karens’, in Burma Baptist Chronicle. Rangoon, Board of Publications, Burma Baptist Convention, pp. 304–326.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

228

ANTHONY R. WALKER

Map 1. Places mentioned in text and approximate distribution of Karen and Lahu populations

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai Cover Bowls of the FOURTEENTH and FIFTEENTH Centuries Charles Nelson Spinks1 Reprinted with permission from Sawaddi Nov.–Dec. 1964, vol.3, no.2 pp. 13–14, 19, 26.

From the close of the thirteenth century to the middle of the fifteenth century the Thai produced several types of unusual glazed wares. Large quantities of these wares were exported to the Philippine and Indonesian archipelagoes, where they competed principally with the cheaper export wares of South China and Annam. In this way, the Thai kilns came to play a significant role in the great ceramic trade of that era. The Thai wares of this period were manufactured at two large ceramic centers in the kingdom of Sukhothai. One center was near the old walled capital, a little northeast of Wat Si Chum. The wares produced at these kilns are known as Sukhothai wares. They are strikingly similar to the famous Tz’u Chou wares of North China, and there is considerable evidence that the kilns were actually established by Chinese potters from Tz’u Chou, who came to the Thai kingdom as a result of one of the embassies dispatched to the Court of Kublai Khan by King Rama Kamhaeng in the closing years of the thirteenth century. The other ceramic center was at a place called Ban Ko Noi (บ้านเกาะน้อย) on the main Menam Yom ( แม่ น้ ำ ยม ) north of the ancient walled city of Sawankalok, at a point some 24 kilometers upstream from the present town of that name. This center had been producing wares with a lustrous brown glaze long before Chinese ceramic influences had resulted in the establishment of the Sukhothai kilns. The early Ban Ko Noi wares were essentially Thai in concept and spirit, showing little if any Chinese or other foreign influence. These brown monochromes are usually known as Chaliang ware, after the old Thai name of district in which the kilns were located. Around the beginning of the fourteenth century, however, Chinese ceramic influences also reached the Ban Ko Noi kiln site, resulting in the production of a type of celadon ware. There is little doubt

1 Among other publications of the author on the subject of Siamese pottery are two monographs published by The Siam Society, the first of which appeared in the August 1956 issue of the Society’s Journal. Titled ‘Siam and the Pottery Trade’, it was reproduced in 1961 in a special collection of Journal articles. The second monograph, titled ‘Siamese Pottery in Indonesia’, was published by The Siam Society as a separate publication in 1958 [original end note in Sawaddi]. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

229

230

CHARLES NELSON SPINKS

that this development was inspired by the wares of the famous Chinese celadon center of Lung-ch’uan and, as at Sukhothai, there is again little doubt that Chinese potters were brought to Ban Ko Noi from Luang-ch’uan in response to another Thai embassy to Peking. Eventually the Ban Ko Noi kilns, or the Sawankakok kilns as they are usually called, began producing decorated wares in addition to the Chaliang brown monochromes and the Sawankalok celadons. While the Sawankalok decorated wares also reveal Tz’u Chou influences in their style of painting, they are distinctly different from the Sukhothai wares, not in the physical character of their paste and glaze but in the treatment of their painted decoration. In the early periods of production, Chinese decorative styles are most apparent, but with the passage of time these wares became more and more Thai in spirit. The wares of Sukhothai remained wedded to the Chinese traditions of Tz’u Chou and the Sawankalok celadons continued throughout the period of their production to adhere closely to the Chinese traditions of Lung-ch’uan. On the other hand, the Chaliang brown monochromes and the Sawankalok painted wares became distinct from all other Asian ceramics and are consequently most expressive of the Thai spirit. Of the two, Sawankalok painted wares are perhaps of greater interest, not only because of their extraordinary variety, but also for the examples they offer of contemporary Thai decorative styles. In form and decoration they combined elegance with refinement, boldness with restraint, and artistry with a functional purpose. Like all the Thai wares, they possess that utilitarian quality of having been made to be used but yet not at the sacrifice of aesthetic appeal. The Sawankalok painted wares are a fairly hard-fired stoneware approaching the porcelaineous character of the Sawankalok celadons. The paste, however, is more granular and the exposed parts of the body are generally a light grey. The paste was first covered with a grey slip upon which the designs were painted with a ferrous pigment which fired to dark brown or black, over which a thin, transparent glaze was applied. One of the most representative forms among the Sawankalok painted wares is the bowl or box with a lid. The cover bowl was a ceramic form popular in China and one which the Annamese potters exploited to the fullest in their underglaze blue wares, but the Thai cover bowls express forms more characteristic of India than China, even though much of their decorative elements are plainly Chinese. These interesting vessels belong to the area of Southeast Asian culture where influences from China and India met and were synthesized to create a local expression with a distinct character of its own. For the most part, the Thai cover bowls are of a globular or ovoid shape, their dome-formed lids being roughly one-third the height of the vessels. Occasionally pieces of more squat proportions are found, the lids of which are Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

231

generally less dome-shaped or are even flat, resembling the cover bowl shapes most commonly seen among the Annamese wares. Sawankalok cover bowls range in size from miniature pieces only two or three centimeters in diameter to vessels sixteen or more centimeters across the mouth. The lids are close fitting, resting snugly against a narrow flange on the inner side of the bowl’s mouth, leaving the outer surface of the lid flush with the outer surface of the bowl itself. Bowl and lid thus form a single, integrated unit, and the painted decoration frequently extends over the two parts in a continuous pattern. Most of the lids have handles, usually in the shape of the lotus bud or a narrow, more extended form suggesting a spire or finial. Some pieces have no handles, or have only what might be called a token handle representing the stem of a fruit. The bowls of this later category came to be known among the seventeenth century tea masters of Japan, who were avid collectors of Thai wares, as the kaki-no-te or persimmon type of bowl, since the general shape of the vessel with its stem-shaped token handle set closely against a few molded leaves on the top of the lid fittingly suggested the persimmon. The persimmon is not indigenous to Thailand, however, but since the tree is common in China, it would logically appear that this ceramic fruit shape was introduced at the Sawankalok kilns by potters from China, especially since the persimmon is frequently depicted in Chinese art. Sotogari Soshin, a Japanese specialist on Southeast Asian ceramics, has offered what is undoubtedly an acceptable explanation of this peculiar fruit-shaped Thai vessel. While these bowls certainly resemble the persimmon, they resemble equally well the mangosteen, a fruit more likely to have been within the purview of the Thai potters. Moreover, the term kaki-no-te was first applied to this Thai bowl form by Japanese tea masters familiar enough with the persimmon but who most likely had never seen or even heard of the mangosteen. But in ceramic parlance the fruit-shaped Thai pieces are invariably called the kaki-no-te, a term which will undoubtedly persist. The more common ovoid Thai cover bowl with a lotus bud or spire handle owes its origin to the ancient Indian reliquary urn. In the Taxila Museum in Pakistan there are a number of Gandhara period reliquary vessels of stone which are almost identical in shape with many of the Sawankalok cover bowls. Similarly-shaped reliquary vessels made of crystal ware recently excavated from an old chedi above the site of the Bhumipol Dam in the province of Tak in northcentral Thailand; and in the National Museum in Bangkok there are several large bronze cover vessels of this characteristic Indian shape, which were excavated at Sukhothai. These bronze vessels are known as kalasa (spelt กลศ in Thai and pronounced klos). They were apparently used to hold flower petals as a scent, or as a receptacle in which to steep flower petals in water to make a cosmetic or lustration. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

232

CHARLES NELSON SPINKS

The decorative elements on the Sawankalok cover bowls as well as on the Sawankalok painted wares generally are dominated by floral motifs. The element most commonly seen on the cover bowls is the so-called T’ang or Chinese grass motif, what Japanese ceramic specialists call the kara kusa. This design consists of a continuous repetitive floral scroll that encircles the body of the cover bowl, often extending over both the bowl and its lid. The repetitive floral scroll has innumerable variations, and is a decorative element continually met in Chinese wares. The Sawankalok potters delighted in the use of the repetitive floral scroll, but for some reason this attractive device was employed far less frequently by the Thanh Hoa potters of Annam. Other floral elements consist of vertical arrangements of sprays of leaves, or a single leaf resembling the bamboo (or possibly intended to represent the lotus petal) extending upward from the base. The two elements are usually combined in alternating panels around the surface of the bowl, and the same arrangement was used on the lids, the alternating designs radiating from the center of handle of the lid. Other arrangements with alternating panels combined a floral motif with a geometric pattern, usually some form of the lattice. Not all the Sawankalok cover bowls have patterns executed in underglaze painted designs against a grey ground. In some pieces the decoration is formed by the use of the brown Chaliang glaze combined with a creamy white glaze for the ground or, alternately, the white glaze forming the decoration and the brown glaze the ground. In this method of decoration the design was first carved in the paste and the brown or creamy white glaze applied within the carving, which gives the decoration the appearance of having been executed in a slight relief. Less common than the foregoing types of cover bowls are the Sawankalok monochrome pieces. For some reason, however, a celadon glaze was never used; at least no examples have ever come to my attention. In addition to celadons the Sawankalok kilns also produced wares with a white glaze which has a subdued tinge of blue. This glaze has a rather coarse, pitted quality, the result of small air bubbles which formed on the surface during the firing. The white glaze was produced through excessive oxidation by adding a considerable quantity of wood ash to the usual celadon glaze mixture and then permitting more oxygen from the air to enter the kiln in contrast to the reducing process of firing which was required to produce the characteristic greens of the celadons. The Sawankalok potters favored the pitted, white glaze for their larger cover bowls and for some of their large water jars. Among the small cover bowls, however, this type glaze is most often found in combination with the Chaliang brown glaze, the bowl, and frequently the handle of the lid, being in the oxidized white glaze, the flat-type lid being covered either wholly or in part with the brown glaze. The elegant simplicity of bowls of this type has a great appeal to collectors, but they are rather rare. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

233

While the decorative elements on the smaller cover bowls show certain Thai characteristics, the elements themselves remained basically Chinese. Among the other Sawankalok painted wares, however, notably the large plates and bowls, it is possible to trace a distinct emergence of Thai styles of expression as well as the incorporation of Thai or Indian decorative elements. Reginald le May first called attention to this obvious reassertion of the local genius some years ago in an article in The Journal of Siam Society (“A Visit to Sawankalok,” Vol. XIX, part 3, September, 1925, pages 63-82), Especially noteworthy was the appearance of such Indo-Thai elements (usually in the center of plates and bowls) as the hoi sang, or conch shell, the mongkut, or tiered crown, the cakra, or discus, and the Buddhist swastika. The small cover bowl shape, however, did not lend itself to the application of these more pictorial designs, and their decorative elements consequently retained the standard Chinese forms. Animal or human figures are never found on the Sawankalok cover bowls, but were occasionally painted on the larger Sukhothai bowls. Unlike the Chinese, the Thai potters never labelled their wares with reign marks and dates, or the name of a particular kiln or potter. A few Thai pieces have been found, however, bearing dedicatory inscriptions in Thai letters. Occasionally a Thai piece is found with some form of marking incised in the paste on the base or painted in that area. The pieces I have seen with such marks are so few and the marks have been of such an unintelligible character as to suggest that they were merely doodling on the part of some mischievous artisan. The cover bowl has become a prized item among collectors of Thai ceramics. These unusual vessels were made in large quantities. Some of them may have served as reliquary urns, but the great majority were most likely used as containers for food, spices, medicines, cosmetics, or the assorted ingredients used in betel chewing. An interesting feature of the work of the Sawankalok potters which is not found among the Sukhothai wares was the miniaturization of their pieces. We can only guess at the purposes for which such small articles were made, and while we cannot rule out their possible use as containers for medicines or spices, it would appear that their principal purpose was to serve as votive offerings at household and other spirit shrines, along with the small human and animal figurines for which the Sawankalok kilns were also famous. The production of these unusual decorated wares came to an abrupt and violent end in the middle of the fifteenth century, when the SawankalokSukhothai area became a battleground between the rival kingdoms of Ayudhya and Chiengmai, resulting in the destruction of the kilns and the dispersal of their potters and other craftsmen. There was a subsequent revival of the Thai ceramic industry in the far north of Siam, but for some reason for which an explanation is still to be found these later kilns at Kalong, Samkampaeng and Phan appear to Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

234

CHARLES NELSON SPINKS

have forsaken the once popular small cover bowl form. Larger, red earthenware cover bowls and jars have been made by the Thai to the present day, and the small cover bowl became an exceedingly popular form among the bencharong porcelains with enamel glazes, which were custom-made in China from around the seventeenth century in Thai shapes and with decorations in the Thai style. The small Sawankalok cover bowls consequently represent an unique but ephemeral expression of the Thai genius in the ceramic medium. In their manufacture of these small cover bowls, the Thai potters were plagued by a special problem. The bowls were fired with their lids fitted in place. As a result the two parts were frequently fused together by the melting of the glaze. The number of wasters found in this condition indicates that such fusing of lid to bowl was a common occurrence. I have an exceptionally fine Sawankalok cover bowl unmarred by a single flaw or blemish. The lid, however, is firmly fused to the bowl. When the piece is shaken a faint tinkling sound comes from within, caused by some small bit of vitrified clay or sand. The intriguing sound always heightens the temptation to try to cut the lid loose in some way and thereby expose the dark interior of the vessel to the light of day for the first time since some unnamed potter at Ban Ko Noi last set the lid in place centuries ago just prior to placing the bowl in the kiln. The temptation has been scrupulously resisted, however, not only out of respect for that nameless craftsman whose skill fashioned this supernal piece, but for the more mundane consideration that by attempting to do so I might irreparably damage an otherwise perfect example of this unique expression of the Thai genius.



Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

235

[Here are] some of the old Thai bowls described in the article by Dr Spinks. The largest is the Sawankalok cover bowl in the ovoid, reliquary urn shape with a finial type handle; the smaller bowls have incised decoration in brown and creamy white glaze. These bowls are from the collection of Bangkok resident Dean Frasché, as are all those reproduced in Dr Spinks’ article except the final one shown, which is from his own collection. [Sawaddi vol.3, no.2, Nov.–Dec. 1964, p.4]

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

236

CHARLES NELSON SPINKS

Examples of small Sawankalok cover bowls with incised decoration in brown and creamy white glaze.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

Small Sawankalok cover bowls of the more squat shape. The bowl at the upper left is in creamy white glaze with part of lid in Chaliang brown glaze.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

237

238

CHARLES NELSON SPINKS

Large type of Annamese cover bowl or dish in white glaze with design molded in relief under the glaze.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Thai cover bowls of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries

Miniature Sawankalok cover bowls.

The cover bowl of the author with the lid fused to the bowl by the melted glaze.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

239

FRYKE ON SIAM IN THE 1680s

Christopher Fryke came from a medical family in Ulm, and had, he says, early on a great desire to travel the world. He satisfied this by joining the VOC, and between 1680 and 1686 acted as surgeon on various VOC vessels sailing to and in the East Indies. He made a brief visit to Ayutthaya (“Odia”) during this period, but as he dates nothing in his account, it is not possible to pinpoint further his visit. His text was published in German in Ulm as Christoff Frikens Ost Indienischen Räysen und Kriegs-Dienste in 1692. A Dutch translation by S. de Vries appeared in Amsterdam in 1694, and an English translation in 1700. This, together with the less interesting account of Christopher Schweitzer of Würtenberg, another minor employee of the VOC, who did not go to Siam, was republished in 1929 in London by Cassell, with an introduction by C. Ernest Fayle, and this was again republished by Asian Educational Services in New Delhi in 1997. Chapter XII (pp.138-9 in the 1929/1997 editions) contains the very brief account of “Odia”, which is reproduced here since its source is little known. When we were come up to the corner of that Island1 we took the Elevation of the Pole, and found we were to Sail more to the Northward; and in a short time we came to the River, which runs through the Kingdom of Siam, up which we sailed as far as the Town Bontempia,2 and there we cast Anchor. Our Master and the Factor went straightway in the Long-Boat to the Chief City Odia; which is 30 Leagues3 up the River; as soon as they were come back they went to Unlading.4 I then went on Shore too, and visited the Dutch Factory there.5 The House which the Dutch Factors have there, is amazing both for its Largeness, Beauty, and Strength. Above are all the Lodgings, which are wonderful Stately both without and within: Under are the Warehouses, which are of a 1 The last island mentioned in the previous paragraph is “Matuna”, probably Natuna. 2 Fayle inserted here in the 1929 edition “[Bangkok]”, but Bontempia is most probably a corruption of Ban Chaophraya, which the Dutch usually called Bantiauphia. It was a Dutch warehouse close to the mouth of the Chao Phraya River. It is mentioned in Chris Baker et al Van Vliet’s Siam (2005) 71-4, 81-2, 177, and appears as “Amsterdam, Loge des Hollandais” in the La Loubère map of 1691. 3 A league was approximately 4 km. 4 That is, they discharged their cargo. 5 Apparently in Ayutthaya, not Bantiauphia. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

241

242

Fryke on Siam in the 1680s

vast bigness; and richly stored with all manner of commodities.6 The city of Odia is very large; but most of the houses are very low: So that all the Towers of their Temples (which are computed to be above Five thousand) being rais’d much higher, and being all easily seen by reason of the other Buildings being so low, seem altogether like a Forest in Winter. It is impossible for any one to conceive what vast numbers of People is [sic] continually moving about in that City, insomuch, that a Man who is newly come, would be apt to ask what’s the matter, and take that for a gathering of the Mob, or an unusual Croud, which is but the usual Concourse of the Town. It is seated upon the River Menam, which is likewise filled with Ships, Praws,7 &c. This River is of the same Nature with the Nile, the Niger, and the Ganges, and like them, overflows all the Fields about Odia, and makes them very fruitful: spreading it self over great part of the Country, by means of several Arms or Creeks which Providence hath ordered for that purpose. And besides this Advantage which this Inundation affords to the Country, it is a mighty Fence to the city Odia; because the River overflowing at certain Seasons, no Enemy can Besiege it but for some Months, during which the City is always able to defend it self, being extraordinarily well Situated and Fortified. Through most of the Streets run fine Channels, as at Rotterdam, so that one may go with a Boat from one part of the Town to the other, which renders it mighty Commodious for Trade; I may say, that considering all things, there is not a finer City in all India.8 Our Ships having now been in little more than a Fortnights time unladen, and taken in their full Lading, which consisted of several Commodities, as Buck and Roe-Skins,9 Jappan-Wood,10 &c. we fell down the River, and with a fair Northerly Wind set sail homewards again. Though brief, this account interestingly emphasizes the populous nature of the Siamese capital and the importance of trade there. Editor 6 For a fuller account, equally impressed, of the Dutch “factory”, see Gijsbert Heeck’s Journal of 1655. 7 Prau or native boats. 8 Meaning the Indies. 9 These deer skins were destined for the Japanese market, but the ships were going to Batavia. 10 The 1929 English text had the footnote “A mistake for Sapan wood, a wood yielding a red dye.” Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

REVIEWS Roderich Ptak, Die Maritime Seidenstrasse. Küstenräume, Seefahrt und Handel in vorkolonialer Zeit. Munich, C. H. Beck, 2007, 368 pp., 46 ills, 14 maps (Historische Bibliothek der Gerda Henkel Stiftung). Literally translated, the title reads ‘the maritime silk road, its coastal areas, seafaring and trade in pre-colonial times’. This, as in the original German wording, does not reveal the book’s rather seminal approach and gist, which challenge the European-trained perspective and, much more importantly, almost close a gap while studiously pinpointing certain lacunae. The coastal area of present-day China is dotted with entrepôts that established and operated maritime links across the oceans, roughly between the longitudes of 35ºE (the Red Sea) and 132ºE (Kyushu, Japan and Moluccas, Indonesia). The researcher and author, professor of sinology at the Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich, Germany, draws a parallel between Rome reaching out towards the East, in succession to the Greeks, at a time when China began to make westward seaborne contacts with India, in the epoch covered by Pliny the Elder (p. 73). On the choice of the term ‘maritime silk road’, the author refers to the recent publication by Liu Yingsheng titled Silu wenhua. Haishang juan, presented in two volumes, one covering maritime routes and the other land routes (p. 18). As pointed out by Ptak,

‘silk’ is only one of several possible similes, such as ‘spices’ or ‘ceramics’. While the vast ocean is an entity defined by physical conditions, its numerous various segments are distinguished by cultures and histories of exchange. The segmentation recorded in texts of the Song Period (960–1281) is apparently based on Arab categorization. European advances connecting the Asian, Atlantic and Pacific regions of the globe confine the time frame of this presentation. Through an essay rather than an introduction, the author offers a discourse of the Mediterranean model by Fernand Braudel (La Méditerranée et le monde méditerranéen à l’époque de Philippe II), a seminal work that has reinforced interest in historical research into maritime relations elsewhere. Though triggered by this academic stimulus, the Asian physical, geographical factors require a distinctively different approach, coupled with a perspective originating from the East. In great detail, ocean and drift currents as well as wind directions are described in relation to challenges posed by reefs and atolls, and examples given of the time required for certain sea passages. Research findings are presented in chronological order, however, in an east-west direction, to probe how and in which way the sub-regions traversed by the ‘maritime silk road’ grew together, which structures emerged, which changes occurred, and what particular perceptions were kept on record. The maritime space covered by this book encompasses Asia’s eastern oceans

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

243

244

Reviews

with the Gulf of Bohai, the Yellow Sea, and the East China Sea; the South China Sea and Sulu Sea; the East Indonesian Seas; the Melaka Straits, the Andaman Sea and the Gulf of Bengal; the Arabian Sea and the coast of East Africa; and the Persian Gulf and Red Sea. Likening this maritime space to an (oriental) tapestry carpet, the author traces what evolved from the early beginnings to the turn of the present era AD, with foci on East Asia’s coasts into the Han Period (206 BC–220 AD); the virtually terra incognita of Southeast Asia; the underrated South Asia; and the seemingly known coasts of West Asia and East Africa. Han sources describe vessels designed, built and used in warfare, implying technical expertise, knowledge of logistics, and navigation skills (p. 60). After all, the settling of migrants from present-day Indonesia on Madagascar did, in all likelihood, depend on proven navigation skills, suitable vessels, and rigid organization (p. 62). The growing together, ca. 1–600 AD, of the ‘Eastern Ocean’ (Dongyang) and the ‘Southern Ocean’ (Nanyang), followed by the unfolding of the Western Ocean (Xiyang), as recorded in Chinese annals, and encompassing in the Western Ocean, first, the Eastern Indic / Indian Ocean and, then, linkingup to the Western Indic / Indian Ocean, complete with the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, resulted in what the author paraphrases as the Mare Euro-Asiaticum. During the span of time of the Tang Empire in China (ca. 600–950/1000)

and the Caliphate of the Sassanids, followed by the Omayyads, then Abbasids, Asia’s eastern oceans were dominated by the Tang. Seaborne trade reinforced the spread of Buddhism towards the east, while the South China Sea became the scenario of encounters between Southeast Asians, Chinese and ‘Persians’. Also, across the Eastern Indic / Indian Ocean trade and cultural transfer between India and Southeast Asia intensified. From the west, Islam spread across the lands bordering the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, from where it reached out into the Western Indic /Indian Ocean region (p. 138). Around 950/1000, the maritime space became absorbed by the pull of the Far East, which held sway until 1350, under the leadership of the Song and Yuan, initially in Asia’s eastern oceans and expanding across the South China Sea and the East Indonesian Seas, and then reaching further east. At the same time, trade links were extended across the Eastern Indic/Indian Ocean and beyond into the Western Indic/ Indian Ocean, as far as the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, within the coordinates of Aden and Hormuz, Gujarat and Kerala, as depicted on the Jiuling shouling tu, a map dated 1125 (p. 170). Period sources report on improvements of the compass and inventions for navigating. For the Song economy, profits from overseas trade were substantial. Its pull effect made Hangzhou probably the biggest maritime entrepôt worldwide. The use of Song coins in Southeast Asia signals the start of monetization (p. 165).

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Among the travellers and geographers was Wang Dayuan who, in the 1330s, reported in his Daoyi zhilüe about a Chinese pagoda built in 1267, during the Song Period, near Nagapattinam on India’s Coromandel Coast (pp. 191– 192). Towards the end of the thirteenth and early in the fourteenth centuries, when the Mongols ruled over China and Persia, the coasts of East Asia and Iran were under the control of one and the same power. Early in the fourteenth century, there were virtually no obstacles to maritime traffic between Quanzhou and the ports of West Asia (p. 204). The following 150 years are characterized as an epoch of turning points in the course of fragmentation after the end of the Mongol domination (ca. 1350–1400). Of great significance was the Ming state-run seafaring, beginning early in the fifteenth century, upon the ascension of Emperor Zhu Di, known as the Yongle Emperor, in 1403, and the start of an enormous ship-building programme, resulting in numerous fleets, complete with ‘treasure vessels’ (baochuan) (p. 234). Among several admirals, Zheng He and Wang Jinghong gained lasting fame. Zeng He commanded seven large fleets across the ‘Western Ocean’ (Xi yang), 1405–1433. Most probably, priority was given to trade and diplomacy, with occasional military interventions of secondary importance. This is substantiated by the surge in tributary embassies received by Emperor Yongle, which characteristically also entailed private transactions. The author highlights innovations

245

created by that first-ever statal might ruling the seas of Asia, including political interventions far away from the power base, logistics, control of rear links, and state-run depots called ‘official places’ (guanchang) in such locations as Palembang, Kalikut or Melaka, or ‘official islands’ (guanxu) (pp. 241–242). While the first to fourth decades of the fifteenth century saw the grand and mighty seaborne missions of the Ming crossing the oceans and calling on ports near and far, other seafarers also plied the various maritime segments from early in the fifteenth century onward. Increasingly, the Ryukyu Islands and Ayutthaya gained in importance. A conspectus highlights two distinctive though related matters: the fundamental trends germane to Asians and Portuguese in the maritime world after 1500, and a comparison of the Ming state-run seafaring with the Estado da Índia of the Portuguese. Virtually contravening the author’s resolve to highlight the whole, precisely because it is more than the sum of its parts, a few salient points with a focus on the part of Southeast Asia that eventually constituted early Siam are highlighted here. The Gulf of Siam was probably one of the busiest maritime trading zones for several centuries (p. 36). Chinese texts report on sea links across the ‘Little Western Ocean’ (Xiao Xiyang) with the east coast of the Malay Peninsula and onward via overland connections to its west coast, reasoning that vessels

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

246

Reviews

from China could not directly navigate around its southern tip, owing to equatorial calms (pp. 38–39, 46). The Nan Yue Kingdom was in contact with the Malay Peninsula via seagoing vessels (p. 61). Han sources relate trade with Southeast Asia. References to the tanned seafarers of Southeast Asia (Kunlun ren) in Chinese texts attest to early Chinese scholars’ interest in the maritime world and seaborne exchange (p. 65). Chinese records contain intensive references to Srivijaya from the end of the seventh century (p. 122). Srivijaya re-activated older tributary contacts with China in the Early Song Period (p. 126). Song sources report on tribute embassies from Srivijaya during the tenth and eleventh centuries (p. 175). Zhu Yuanzhang sent delegations and received embassies from Zhenla, Angkor and Xianluo, the latter identical with the central region of present-day Thailand (pp. 221–222). These delegations presented sapan wood, elephants, ivory and spices, among other items (p. 222). In 1390, an embassy from Xianluo arrived with 80 tons of ‘aromatic substances’ presented as tribute, not including the huge volume of commodities for private transaction (p. 222). This book is elegantly written and presented. Its content is structured for ease of comprehension of the enormously complex subject matter. Thematic maps focusing on essentials elucidate routes, linkages, activities and events, supplemented by attractive reproductions of illustrative historical maps. Pictures and sketches of boats, ships, or

vessels enhance the reader’s perception. Two appendixes enrich the presentation, one describing commodities in great detail, and another introducing various types of ships and ship-building, complete with illustrations. Commodities discussed in extenso include cloves, nutmeg, camphor, various woods, spices, precious stones, animals, and many more. The reference literature (pp. 334–351) is categorized into larger regions and epochs, and compendia on themes or regions such as commodities and geographic areas. An elaborate index (pp. 355–368) listing topographical names, individuals, dynasties, empires, commodities and select subjects makes for a well-rounded presentation. This is a superb book. It deserves to be translated into English for a certainly keen and large readership of scholars and interested lay persons.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karl E. Weber

Reviews

Ian Harris, ed., Buddhism, Power and Political Order. London and New York, Routledge, 2007, 237 pp. Ian Harris should be congratulated for his efforts to bring together a collection of fresh and thoughtful essays written by nine leading scholars working on Theravada Buddhism in mainland Southeast Asia. Given the ongoing political crises in several Theravada Buddhist states, especially Burma, Cambodia, and Thailand, the release of this publication is intellectually relevant and timely. This edited volume is the product of an intensive multidisciplinary symposium on the interface between religion and politics in Theravada South and Southeast Asia, which Harris organized in mid-April 2004 while serving as a senior scholar at the Becket Institute, St Hugh’s College, Oxford University. The central theme of the volume deals with how and to what extent Theravada Buddhism has, as a religious institution and culture, interacted and negotiated with political and other forces of modernization, such as secular education, forms of governance, kingship, and post-colonial politics in mainland Southeast Asian countries (excluding Vietnam) since the late pre-modern period. It particularly focuses on the ways Theravada Buddhism has defined and redefined “a general concept of power conceived from a political perspective”. (p.3) Essays in this volume cover diverse subjects and different periods in political history of four modern nation-states. The quality of the contributions is rather

247

uneven. Although they are brought together under the common theme of Buddhism, power, and political order, individual authors discuss Theravada Buddhism from different entry points, historical periods, and disciplinary angles. It is difficult to pinpoint the central arguments in the volume, which begins with a discussion on comparative monastic education in Burma and Thailand. In Chapter One, “Idealism and Pragmatism: A Dilemma in the Current Monastic Education Systems of Burma and Thailand”, Ven. Khammai Dhammasami discusses some common dilemmas of monastic education in Burma and Thailand, such as whether or not the Sangha should embrace secular Western subjects, which are denoted by the derogatory term of “animal sciences” (tiracchanavija), in their monastic curricula. Idealistic and pragmatic stances have emerged in both the Burmese and Thai Sangha regarding the goals and contents of monastic education. This dilemma is indicative of how Buddhist orders in both countries have been struggling to make themselves relevant in the modern world. Burmese Buddhism and its role in politics are the contents in the next two chapters. In Chapter Two, “Rajadhamma Confronts Leviathan: Burmese Political Theory in the 1870s”, Andrew Huxley provides an account of Burma’s Buddhist political theory through works by U Kyaw Htun and U Hpo Hlaing. Huxley’s essay is well documented and thoughtful. His attempts to reconstruct an unfinished work on traditional

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

248

Reviews

Buddhist kingship written by leading Burmese Buddhist scholars demonstrate his own original scholarship. Through a careful reading of these indigenous scholars, Huxley argues that Burmese Buddhist scholars, at least in the nineteenth century, were highly conscious of radical political and economic changes in the modern world. Juliane Schober, in Chapter Three: “Colonial Knowledge and Buddhist Education in Burma”, demonstrates how monastic education has been politicized by the government in Burma and how modern knowledge was incorporated into Buddhist curricula. Schober shows the consistent government manipulation of monastic education, as well as its attempts to reorient its purpose to serve the political status quo. Monastic education and Sangha affairs were always included as key elements in a national agenda and drew serious attention from the country’s pre-modern and modern leaders. The next two chapters deal with Buddhism and politics in postcolonial Cambodia. In Chapter Four, “Reconstructing the Cambodian Polity: Buddhism, Kingship and the Quest for Legitimacy”, Peter Gyallay-Pap skillfully draws some theoretical implications out of case studies of Khmer Buddhist political culture and tries to understand why Western liberal or representative politics continue to be elusive in postcolonial Cambodia. He argues that any attempts to understand the political culture in Cambodia must include the Buddhist monarchy, the Sangha, and village-based society. In a way, Cambodia’s model could provide

a criticism of the Western-centric paradigm of a liberal representative polity. John Marston, in Chapter Five, “The Cambodian Hospital for Monks”, tells a story of how a Cambodian hospital for monks was built “at the moment of the country’s independence” (p.104). He points out that the construction of a hospital was indeed a modern project embedded in Cambodia’s traditional/ pre-modern cultures and institutions of kingship and Buddhism. It serves as an example of how reformed Buddhism is consistent with specific visions of modernity in the country. The volume includes two chapters on Lao Buddhism, which is usually a neglected area in the world of Theravada studies. Both chapters are concerned with the pre-modern Laos Buddhist kingship and prophetic literature of the Lao people residing on both sides of the Mekong. In Chapter Six, “Buddhism, Power, and Political Order in Pre-Twentieth Century Laos”, Volker Grabowsky examines when and how Theravada Buddhism became the dominant religion and how it shaped the conceptions of kingship in pre-colonial Laos. He believes that Laos fully entered the Theravada world later than most neighboring polities. Rulers and elite had embraced the religion around the mid-fifteenth century. Lao kings took the concepts of righteous king (dhammaraja) and universal ruler (cakkavattin) seriously and the royal domains of land and manpower were crucial in the pre-colonial Lao Buddhist polity. In the following chapter, “Past, Present and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Future in Buddhist Prophetic Literature of the Lao”, Peter Koret deals with Lao prophetic Buddhist literature in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and considers how Buddhist Lao anticipated modernization and its consequences through prophetic literature. He argues that prophetic literature describing the decline of Buddhism illustrates the historical, cultural, and literary dimensions of the meaning of the future as prophesied in the past. This chapter is written more like a preliminary study and its analysis needs expansion. The two final chapters consider topics on Thai Buddhist cultures from widely separated spectra. They discuss subjects as diverse as a contemporary cult of a Buddhist earth deity with fertility power and legal literature in pre-modern Siam. Elizabeth Guthrie in Chapter Eight, “In Defence of the Nation: The Cult of Nang Thoranee in Northeast Thailand”, argues that the beliefs and practices surrounding the cult of Nang Thoranee are embedded in contemporary Thai political and economic realities. The cult can be seen as one of many emerging nationalist cults in the midst of the country’s economic crisis and the Thais’ psychological despair at takeovers by foreign financial interests. This chapter is descriptive by nature with less illustrative theoretical and ethnographic analysis. The place of the cult of Nang Thoranee in the northeastern Thai popular religion is debatable, and so is its modern political significance. The final chapter, “King, Sangha and Brahmans: Ideology, Ritual and Power

249

in Pre-modern Siam”, by Peter Skilling, presents a textual analysis of pre-modern Siamese ideals of political superstructure. He uses the model of the ritual state to explain how political ideologies of kinship, Buddhist monastic order, and Brahmans formed the hybrid complex cosmology for the Siamese ruling class. He argues that these combinations were distinctively Thai. Skilling includes the Brahmans into what otherwise is generally known as Buddhist polity and criticizes the concept of legitimizing power. His reading of Thai-language sources provides many new insights. While one can admire the overall contributions in this volume to the field of Theravada Buddhist studies, it should be noted that the book has its disadvantages. The essays are not neatly tied together, and seem to be arranged rather by countries or bounded Buddhist traditions rather than scholarly themes. The related themes or contents in the individual essays are not always fully discussed in terms of theoretical or ethnographical comparison. The theoretical and empirical highlights need to be more substantially and intensively discussed right from the beginning. The volume does not situate itself firmly or critically within the contexts of contemporary scholarship in the field and the introductory chapter fails to address these needs. Buddhism, Power and Political Order is, in spite of these criticisms, a timely and rich volume. Some of the individual chapters are stronger in their scholarship than others. The book remains a very

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

250

Reviews

useful reader for students and others with a serious interest in the complex junctures between modern politics and the Theravada Buddhist worlds in mainland Southeast Asia. Pattana Kitiarsa

Nicol Guérin and Dick van Oenen, Thai Ceramic Art – The Three Religions. Singapore, Sun Tree Publishing, 2005, 310 pp., 439 colour plates, 396 figures and line drawings. This beautifully illustrated book on Thai ceramics is extremely interesting and engaging. It takes a very different approach to the subject than previous studies. Roxanna Brown, in her earlier review in the September–October 2005 Southeast Asian Ceramics Newsletter has written, ‘It is a work of interpretation in contrast to past inventory-like books on Thai ceramics.’ The authors have examined ceramic production of the present-day Sukhothai region during the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries in the light of Thai history, culture and religion, with the focus of the work on the ‘ecclesiastical usage of Thai ceramics.’ Many new and stimulating ideas are introduced in the book; some are controversial and deserve serious discussion. The complex history of the early Thai states and the influences that shaped their philosophies, politics and religions are presented in an interesting, sometimes lyrical, way. The evolution of Thai art, craft and architecture is discussed, with considerable detail devoted to the analyses of the motifs featured on the ceramics. The meaning of Thai figurative art has been the subject of much scholarly debate. The authors have examined a variety of ceramic vessels and figurines that may have been used in animist, Buddhist and Hindu ritual

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

processes. They have also tried to identify some of the personages depicted in ceramic sculpture by reference to their social milieu. Their findings are speculative and will no doubt generate debate. This is a multifaceted study, covering a lot of ground in its ten chapters. The difficulty of dating Thai ceramics is addressed in an open manner, with an invitation to the reader to make adjustments should fresh evidence emerge. The approximate terminus date for Sawankhalok production is given as 1583, a date that is generally accepted. The book has an encyclopaedic number of photographs and drawings of ceramic forms and decorative motifs; it is certainly the most comprehensive collection published to date and each topic is covered in depth. For example, there are many images of the traditional hunchback water droppers and related figures, including the fascinating but largely ignored representations of Chinese and other foreigners, perhaps merchants or emissaries who attended the Sukhothai and Sawankhalok courts. The Chinese and Thai figures are relatively easy to identify by their hair styles, costumes and facial features, but other people wear a variety of head-dresses and some have elongated bearded faces and slanted, almond-shaped eyes, suggesting that they could represent people from central or western Asia. The authors have grouped Sukhothai province ceramics in a cultural context: ‘Reliquary use, Religious use, Offering wares, Lustration wares, Semi Religious

251

Cult use and Animistic use’. A relatively limited number of figures and vessels have been associated with Buddhist or animist practice in the past. They include: temple guardians, Naga and Makara finials, ceramic sculptures of deities, elephants and architectural fittings, balustrades and lamps, stemmed paan or offering bowls and zoomorphic pouring vessels, or kendi. Many previous writers defined the myriad of small ceramic figurines of domestic and wild animals, including buffalo, elephants, ducks, chickens, anteaters, dogs, tigers and bears, as merely toys, but an exception is the doll-like male and female kneeling figures (often decapitated) holding infants. These are discussed extensively in the book and the ‘decapitation theory’ of the so-called tukata female and male figures is re-examined in some detail. The authors have again carefully associated the entire group of models with various religious practices. They also draw some interesting comparisons with related ceramics from China, Cambodia and India. A separate section examines animal figures associated with Thai Buddhism, especially elephants, but also monkeys, horses, deer and hares. A small but fascinating section follows on ‘Anthropomorphic Figurines.’ The discussion of the large and expressive fragment of the ceramic image of the head of Buddha in the Sawankhalok Museum is particularly interesting. From the proportions of the face the authors calculated that the original seated figure would have been 1.705 metres high.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

252

Reviews

They compare the exaggerated arched eyebrows to a late Sukhothai style bronze sculpture described by Diskul in Sukhothai Art (fig. 60). The image of a torso of a crowned deity with Thai facial features, delicate moustache and beard on the dust jacket of the book is described as a ‘royal figure.’ It has an urna in the form of a spiral surmounted by a flame similar to the one on the brow of the face fragment of the Buddha. A similar design is found on early Sawankhalok ‘fish and flower’ decorated underglaze stoneware, where it is combined with a stylised ‘Thai orchid tree flower’ (Bauhinia variegata). The orchid trees with their striking purple flowers still grow close to the ancient kilns at Sawankhalok. The book does not cover the considerable range of export wares from Sawankhalok and Sukhothai, produced, as Piriya Krairiksh wrote in his foreword, ‘between the mid-fourteenth to mid-sixteenth century, at a time when Thailand was then a major centre of ceramic production in the world, second only to China.’ But there is an overlap between the two streams of ceramic production. For example, underglaze decorated and monochrome stoneware covered boxes were exported to maritime Southeast Asia in huge quantities. Their form and the lotus bud handles on the lids appear to be derived from much earlier Indian turned-stone reliquary containers. The larger Thai boxes are often described as reliquary containers, but the only examples of ceramics used for burial purposes found by the Thai-Australian ceramic

research project at Sawankhalok during the 1980s were medium-sized jars. A shallow cemetery was discovered between kilns at Ban Ko Noi. The mainly unglazed stoneware baluster-shaped jars with flared mouths, sealed with inverted plain conical bowls, had been used for re-inhumation. They have been identified by Don Hein as Mon. Larger burial jars of a similar shape but with moulded decoration were made at the Supanburi kilns. Baluster jars are also the subject of a detailed study in the section on ‘ecclesiastical vases’ and their form is discussed in relation to Indian and Khmer types, especially purnakalas. Kendi, described in the book as ‘lustration wares,’ are another example of a ceramic type that could serve multiple roles. They were also exported in large numbers. Both writers are passionate collectors of Thai ceramics and have spent several decades travelling the world to study public and private collections of Thai wares. Much of this is evident in the background research of the book. The preface refers to their own extraordinary collection — they have ‘permanent access to about 800 pieces, few of which had been published before.’ Unfortunately the publisher has reproduced the map of Southeast Asia in small scale, making it impossible to read without a magnifying glass. A photograph of a reconstructed kiln, pl. 33, is at Sukhothai, not Ban Ko Noi. There are a number of attributions in the book that might be challenged, but that only makes the book more interesting.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

The present work is definitely a ‘must’ for scholars and collectors of Thai and Southeast Asian ceramics. Dick Richards

253

Bhawan Ruangsilp, Dutch East India Company Merchants at the Court of Ayutthaya: Dutch Perceptions of the Thai Kingdom, c. 1604-1765. Leiden/ Boston, Brill. 2007, 279 pp., EUR 73.Thai scholars who have managed to command the seventeenth and eighteenth century Dutch language sufficiently to get access to the sources of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) are rare indeed. Bhawan Ruangsilp might be the second scholar after Dhiravat na Pombejra who has done so. Her study covers the whole area of the VOC presence in Siam, which, however, does not mean that there is much overlap with the work done by others. The classical study in the field is without doubt George Vinal Smith’s work from 1977, The Dutch in Seventeenth-Century Thailand. Although its author seems to have disappeared from Thai Studies, everybody who works with the VOC sources about Siam still depends on his efforts. His well-documented presentation of the facts from the archives covers only the seventeenth century; Bhawan adds much original material from the later period between 1694 and 1765. But the main difference with Smith is in approach. Where Smith presents a reliable bone structure, the merit of Bhawan is that she has added some flesh. Bhawan’s perspective is reflected in the word “perceptions” in the subtitle of her book. Perceptions she sees “as a ‘cognitive’, ‘active’, and ‘selective’ search of an ordered world” and perceiving is “an act of construction which is

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

254

Reviews

guided by the pre-concept of the observer as well as influenced by the immediate circumstances around him” (p. 4). She wants to “ascertain how the VOC Dutch observers developed their process of understanding and representing the Siamese court, and what factors were decisive in the construction of Dutch knowledge” (p. 5). In this constructive approach Bhawan goes a step beyond presenting the “pure facts” and tries to see how these facts were formed and what processes produced them. While this intention might be too ambitious to realize completely, it certainly results in a method that differs from the older studies, Smith’s in the first place. Bhawan succeeds in giving a thematic structure to a book whose topic is unavoidably chronological. The book starts with a chapter that outlines the relatively equal positions of Company and Court in commerce, politics, and diplomacy. Chapter Two examines the position of the VOC men in Siam, with special attention to the question of their legal status within the jurisdiction of the Siamese court. Chapters Three and Four describe a twofold learning process of the Company men during the reign of King Prasat Thong. First, how they attempted to find a “common language” to share with their Thai hosts, which they found in the “language of ritual”, and second, how they tried to understand the political culture and reality of Ayutthaya. Chapter Five examines the VOC–Siamese relationship during King Narai’s reign, when changes in circumstances forced the Dutch in Siam to find

a strategy to cope with the new developments around the king, in particular the French presence and the political rise of Constantine Phaulkon. In Chapter Six we see how under King Phetracha the Dutch more and more withdrew and had to give up the favored position they had attained at the inception of the reign. Chapter Seven, the longest chapter, is devoted to the eighteenth century. In this chapter historians of Thailand may find much material new to them. We find here also, probably for the first time, a clear account of the differences between the seventeenth and eighteenth century interaction between the Siamese and the Dutch. We see how Dutch presence and interaction changed, often in response to different political regimes. The VOC became less involved with the court and after 1690 the Dutch retreated into the background as observers. Bhawan talks of a growing sense of disillusionment between the Dutch and the Siamese during the eighteenth century as the possibility of gaining profit from mutual trade diminished. She lets us understand the eighteenth century VOC material more adequately. We may add here her general remark from the introduction (pp. 8–9) that, while in the seventeenth century the Europeans and the Thai were on a more or less equal level, European scientific advancement and the Enlightenment during the eighteenth century shaped the way the Dutch looked at Asian religions, life-styles and forms of government and gave rise to an increased sense of difference. Over the years “fixed Dutch/European

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

categories” of the Dutch perception of the Siamese court elite were created (p. 221). Does this imply that their perceptions became more prejudiced, with less space for inquisitive and sensitive individuals? And is it true that the more we enter the eighteenth century the more prejudiced perceptions became? We learn from her book that we have to distinguish not only between the different periods, but also between the different VOC officials writing reports. This is well demonstrated by the difference in perception and observation of Joost Schouten’s description of court ritual during the reception of the Dutch Embassy in 1628 (pp. 52–62) and the indifferent account of the same topic prepared by Jan Joosten de Roij in 1633, who became irritated by the “unnecessary flatteries and lack of substance” in the correspondence (pp. 62–64). We understand that Schouten was a person of rather unique capacities. It was not VOC policy that made him into a detailed and sensitive observer; it was his own understanding and ambition. Nowhere can we find such a complete portrait of Joost Schouten as the one presented here. Apart from Schouten’s classical and well-known Short Description of Siam, his unpublished texts from the dagregister (daily journal) about the interactions with the court may in particular impress the reader and provide the core material for Chapters Three and Four about “learning the language of ritual” and “learning Siam’s politics.”

255

Well documented and described in detail are the various limitations the so-called unlimited power of the king was subjected to, in other words the limitations of Ayutthaya’s despotism. Although the courtiers had to suffer the king’s whims, they were also in a position to manipulate information to and from him (pp. 10–11). In 1634 Schouten therefore advised Van Vliet that the Dutch should not only treat the king but also his officials discretely. Ultimately “it was indeed negotiating and arranging with the King’s servants which consumed most of their time, eating it up even more than attending court events.” (p.103). Bhawan’s description of the ruler’s monopoly in trade, his imposing display of wealth, the measures the ruler had to take to prevent access to wealth on the part of his officials to protect his own central position, and the attempts of officials and nobles to accumulate wealth or power as soon as the opportunity arose – all this can serve as a textbook illustration of the centripetal and centrifugal tendencies of the mechanisms of Max Weber’s patrimonial bureaucracy. Bhawan follows a statement from VOC director Coenraad van Beuningen, who in 1685 observed that the VOC was “not just a Company of commerce but also of state”. She points to the hybrid character of the VOC as a merchantwarrior, a commercial and a political institution. It is not surprising that we can distinguish the relations of the VOC with Asian states in (a) relations through “conquest of land or the coercion of

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

256

Reviews

favorable trade conditions through the medium of violence” and (b) relations through gift-giving and diplomacy (p. 97). Siam obviously belonged to the second type. We would emphasize that this state-like character forced the VOC factory also to operate as part of a large bureaucratic machinery. Its functioning forced the officials to produce innumerable documents – and sometimes detailed accounts of daily events. The VOC men had continuously to inform their superiors in Batavia of the market situation and all political and social conditions that influenced the market. The material Bhawan had to study is without doubt also dry and boring, but its great merit is that it is close to reality. Like most travel accounts, it was not written to entertain a greater public. We find, therefore, almost eyewitness reports of many violent changes in the Ayutthaya regimes of this period: Joost Schouten about King Prasat Thong (1629), Volkerus Westerwolt about King Narai (1656), Johannes Keyts about King Phetracha (1688), Arnout Cleur about King Prachao Sya (1703), Pieter Sijen about King Borommakot (1733), and Nicolaas Bang about Prince Thammathibet (1756–1757). A fascinating addition to the literature is the way Bhawan has pulled together pieces of information into a description of the VOC settlement (pp. 41–53). This Dutch settlement had evolved to include not only the Company lodge but also an adjacent village, referred to with the Malay word kampong. Its population was composed of descendants of VOC

employees and the Dutch free burghers and, in greater number, indigenous people who were attracted because of the prospect of paid jobs and the protection which the Company could afford. Within the lodge the Dutch were more or less autonomous, but in practice they had jurisdiction over the whole settlement as well, an arrangement based on a common understanding through which they could offer a kind of immunity from local law enforcement. This Dutch settlement formed only a small section of the total Ayutthaya population, less than one percent, not more than 1,500 persons. To them the VOC fulfilled the role of a patron to dependent clients and, on the other hand, the VOC used them for all kinds of labor and services, as carpenters, coolies, rowers or sailors. Bhawan describes this with detailed information about daily affairs and has a good argument to qualify George Vinal Smith by emphasizing that the Dutch contacts went beyond the highest levels of court and khunnang. The Dutch also administered a small part of the population of Ayutthaya, although this became more and more evident in the course of the eighteenth century. Within this community intimate relations between the VOC men and Siamese women developed and this “cohabitation and miscegenation” has produced many mestizo children, some of whom later became a source of conflict between individual VOC men and the Siamese authorities. Only in rare circumstances were children allowed to follow their fathers to Batavia (pp. 51–52).

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Bhawan’s study demonstrates that doing an archival study is like interviewing. The answers one gets depend highly on the questions and the perspective of the researcher. She has looked differently to more or less the same sources as others did before her. The result is a study that cannot be disregarded by anyone who has a serious interest in the history of Ayutthaya. Its importance goes far beyond Dutch–Thai relations. Her sources are so close to reality that she could write a book that sometimes has the character of an ethnographic study. Han ten Brummelhuis

257

A Traveler in Siam in the Year 1655: Extracts from the Journal of Gijsbert Heeck. Translated and introduced by Barend Jan Terwiel, transcribed from the handwritten Dutch manuscript by Renée Hoogenraad. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2008, v+124 pp., pb, ills. The history of Thailand during the Ayutthaya period (c. 1350–1767) is known for the paucity of contemporary indigenous written sources. Historians are often obliged to consult foreign, especially Western, records in which the kingdom of Ayutthaya was known as Siam. Generally consulted, because they are already published and translated into English and/or Thai, are the accounts by French missionaries and diplomats. In recent years, a few more European source publications have appeared, such as the collection of writings by the Dutch merchant Jeremias van Vliet (2005), and the records of the English East India Company in Siam (2007). Among the Western sources, Dutch records are probably the most extensive, but still very much underexplored and less accessible except to a limited number of researchers who read Dutch. To improve the situation, Dutch and Thai scholars have combined forces to make Dutch historical texts accessible to a broader public. The volume under review is the first in the series of source publications by the Editorial Committee for VOC Texts about Siam. Barend Jan Terwiel, one member of the committee, undertook the task to translate and introduce the journal of Gijbert Heeck.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

258

Reviews

Gijsbert Heeck was a medical attendant in the service of the VOC (the Dutch East India Company), which operated in the kingdom of Ayutthaya from 1604 to 1765. He originally wrote this journal during his two-month visit to Ayutthaya in 1655. The introduction by Terwiel explains the discovery of the manuscript. The text was first published in 1910–1911 in its original language, with many omissions. The version under review presents the first publication of the full text, both in original Dutch and in English translation. The journal has two levels. Firstly, it is an account of what Heeck observed each day in Siam. Secondly, the author expands his story by adding some information and assumptions with reference to his previous knowledge. Heeck’s powers of observation and representation give a vivid picture of seventeenth century Siam. In the introduction to the book, Terwiel points out the value of Heeck’s journal for Thai history in several areas: foreign relations of Siam regarding the Dutch and the Portuguese; historical geography of the lower Chao Phraya River; gender studies; Dutch settlements and technology transfer in Siam; and social and cultural life of Ayutthaya. But Terwiel also reminds the readers of the limitation of Heeck’s powers of observation. The journal betrays its author’s lack of understanding or appreciation in particular when it concerns the indigenous court and religious rituals and beliefs. While the Siamese King (Prasatthong) is portrayed as

despotic and cruel, Buddhist monks are called “disciples of Satan”. (p. 42) Still, Siam’s material wealth, such as expressed in the construction of temples, managed to impress the Dutchman. It is typical for European observers of Asia in Heeck’s time to refer to their superiority based on their adherence to Christianity, but often to be awed by the material prosperity of the East. After all, one must also bear in mind that Heeck’s intolerance was not directed only at some habits of the Siamese, but is also shown in his harsh judgment of his colleague Joost Schouten, who was executed in Batavia for having committed sodomy, an act considered as offending God. The journal provides some information on Siam’s foreign trade policy (including bans of export of wood and rice), and more extensively on the microeconomics (petty trade) of the kingdom. The author records the practice of various professions in the region between the capital city and the mouth of the Chao Phraya River: farming, potting, woodcutting, boatbuilding, the cultivation of fruit plantations, etc. Heeck’s journal is very informative if one wants to study the state of relations between different groups in Siamese society. It suggests several levels of unequal and exploitative relationships between the king and his subjects, between the court elite and commoners, between the Dutch Company and the Siamese court, and between VOC European employees and their indigenous female partners. Having related

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

an act of open hostility between the Dutch and the Portuguese at the river mouth in the beginning of his journal, Heeck then describes the actual relations between the Dutch and the Portuguese living in Ayutthaya as a “Machiavellian friendship”. (p. 61) This translation of Gijsbert Heeck’s journal has been executed with great care and accuracy. Baas Terwiel has done terrific work in interpreting and identifying Dutch corruption of Thai words. The VOC maps and illustrations reproduced here are of good quality and very useful. This book and the abovementioned recent publications on this topic will help broaden new horizons in the study of Ayutthayan history. It is also valuable for those who are interested in historical European perceptions of the East, inter alia. We look forward to reading the next book in this series, the account of another VOC employee, Cornelis van Nijenrode, from the year 1621. Bhawan Ruangsilp

259

Anthony Farrington and Dhiravat na Pombejra, eds, The English Factory in Siam 1612–1685, 2 vols. London, British Library, 2007, 1,439 pp. Almost a century ago, as part of Prince Damrong’s project to give Siam a western-style national history based on source materials, five volumes of selected seventeenth-century records copied from western archives were printed by the Wachirayan Library in both English and Thai. For some reason, the selection was rather over-weighted with documents on the English East India Company (EIC), and the collection has since been a major source for studies on early relations between England and Siam. In this new publication, Anthony Farrington, scholar and archivist, has taken the EIC documents from the Wachirayan collection and added another two hundred sources. Some of the additions are complete documents, while many others are extracts which refer to Siam and the EIC. Most of these additions come from the India Office Records. A few are from other collections in the British Library, from the Records of Fort St George (Madras), from published anthologies such as Purchas and Hakluyt, and from the British Public Record Office. The editors state, ‘The aim of the present collection has been to trace all surviving material on the English factory in Siam and to present it, as far as possible, in its original form.’ The 759 documents, running to 1,300 pages, must be an exhaustive compilation of seventeenth-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

260

Reviews

century records on Siam and the EIC. Dhiravat na Pombejra has contributed an introduction which elegantly summarizes the story told in these sources. The two editors have added many useful footnotes, biographical notes on over fifty of the main characters involved, a glossary of places and obscure terms, a bibliography, and an index. In truth, the EIC played a rather minor part in the story of Siam in the age of commerce, and Siam played rather a minor part in the story of the EIC. In terms of trade at Ayutthaya, the English trailed some way behind the Dutch, Portuguese, Japanese, Moors and (for a short time) the French. The EIC probably trailed somewhat behind the English ‘interlopers’ or private traders. The EIC had a factory in Ayutthaya only for the two short periods of 1612–27 and 1674–85. On both occasions, the factory had hardly opened before the head office in London wanted to close it. The venture never turned in a profit. Most of the documents in this collection are about efforts to clear up some mess or disaster – debts, personal squabbles, political crises, shipwrecks, deaths, arson, and corruption. When the menon-the-spot contemplated returning to Ayutthaya after the cataclysm of 1688, London snapped at them, ‘Syam never did nor never will bring the Company twopence advantage, but many thousands of pounds loss… and therefore spend none of our money about it.’ D. K. Bassett has written a series of scholarly studies on the EIC and Siam which probably amount to all the atten-

tion that the subject deserves. The enormous benefit from this comprehensive and convenient collection will probably accrue to studies of other topics, including Siam, Pattani, and Asian trade in general. The documents fall into three main clusters. In the first cluster of records from the 1610s, there is a fragmentary view of the importance and unique character of Pattani. We see the queen as an active merchant, buying up languishing stocks of cloth from English merchants at knockdown prices, lending them money at very profitable rates, and gouging them with port taxes. We also see her entertaining the foreigners: on one occasion, ‘all the gentilitie were commanded to dance, from the greatest to the smallest, or att leaste to make a shewe or demonstration thereof, which caused no small laughter;’ and at another ‘there was played a commedye all by women.’ There is also a description of a slave revolt, which ended with much of the town burnt to the ground. Such regal trade, jolly entertainment, and rebelliousness were probably all much more common than most of the sources and historical writings convey. The second cluster of records concerns the Company’s first sojourn at the Siamese capital. By 1618, the Englishmen on the spot had concluded that Ayutthaya had more potential than Pattani or any other port on the mainland. But for European traders, Siam had very little produce they wanted to buy, and very few people to whom they

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

could sell. The port was primarily an entrepôt, a point of exchange between east and west. For Siam, European traders were useful if they came with goods that added something to the market. For the kings, they were a bonus if they had soldiers and weapons which the kings could use against rivals and rebels. But the English brought little to this party. They imported some Indian cottons which had many rival suppliers. They did a little gun-running, but never offered the kings any troops. They were too late to muscle into the Siam-Japan trade, which gave the Dutch their profits. They were really only petty hustlers on the fringes of Southeast Asian commerce. The frisson in reading the 1620s documents comes from watching the Company merchants gaily cheating one another. A ship is dispatched from Ayutthaya to the Company trader in another Asian port. Months later a letter is received lamenting that on arrival the hides had all been eaten by worms and the spices damaged by sea water or rats. As a result the sales proceeds are regrettably much less than expected…. Not very surprisingly, when two or three of these merchants chanced to meet in the same port, the dinner inevitably turned into a brawl with sword fights, gun play, and challenges to duelling. Most of the documents (900 of the 1,300 pages) fall into the third cluster, about the fifteen years from the Company’s return to Ayutthaya in 1674 to the aftermath of King Narai’s death and Phetracha’s coup in 1688.

261

In this period, the Company did at least have a strategy. First, it refocused on Pattani and other peninsular ports as the first stages of the events which would eventually create British Malaya. Second, it hoped to profit more from the Bay of Bengal trade and hence took special interest in the port of Mergui. But the Company did not put the resources behind these ambitions. Both plans exploded in their faces. The Company was outplayed at Mergui by the Moors and the locals, resulting in the massacre of 1687. Siam and the Company declared war on one another and indulged in competitive piracy. When Ayutthaya discovered that the Company was probably gun-running to Pattani and other truculent tributaries on the peninsula, the Company introduced a smart Greek to cover this up by schmoozing the Ayutthayan court and officialdom. Through language skill and native cunning – two qualities which the Company bosses in Siam seem to have totally lacked – Phaulkon was soon lording it over his former employer. Through these documents, we watch Phaulkon’s rise and fall from the jaundiced but intimate standpoint of the Company’s men in Ayutthaya. Phaulkon spirited goods away from the Company warehouse while having the Company’s books doctored to show the goods were lost at sea, sold to phantom buyers, or greatly depreciated because of damage. When challenged, Phaulkon brazenly accused the Company of ‘endeavouring to staine my creditt & reputation with scurrilous and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

262

Reviews

scandalous reports,’ while casually mentioning ‘the great trade I managed for His Imperiall Majestie my Great Master’ in case the Company should dream of seeking any official redress. Two months later the Company’s godown was gutted by fire, but it is impossible to tell whether this was Phaulkon’s intimidation, an inside job, or sheer drunken carelessness. A Company man who called Phaulkon ‘a Greek powder monkey’ finished up in the stocks, subject to public ridicule. By 1687, there were fifty Englishmen employed by Phaulkon in the service of Siam – far more than ever worked for the Company in Siam. The King of England ordered them all to resign, without any apparent effect. The final sections of this publication reprint several pamphlets issued in London on the backwash of the Mergui massacre and the events of 1688. Some of these have appeared elsewhere, but others are less accessible, and read together they nicely present the sequence from charge through counter-charge to character assassination, legal threat, and philosophical lament – ‘we live in a profligate age which doth produce new prodigies of vilany.’ One measure of the English lack of interest in Siam is that these 1,300 pages of documents contain no significant description of Siam, Ayutthaya, or the Siamese, except a short one filched from the Dutch. This contrasts to the many writings by the Dutch, French, Portuguese, Japanese, and Persians on Siam, and to the voluminous writings by the British on India. There is also very little

narrative of political events in Siam, and only of a superficial nature, except in some of the 1688 pamphlets. One clarification. On pp. 1371–2, there is a table labelled ‘Ship arrivals and departures Madras/Siam 1689–1750,’ with no explanation of the source of the data or its significance. The editors tell me that the information was compiled from shipping movements at Madras recorded in the Diaries and Consultations of the Madras Council (India Office Records, series G/19), and that the table shows that English country trade ships continued to visit Siam after 1688 until the final years of Ayutthaya. The East India Company is the focus of this collection because the Company had an institutional presence much more important than its Siam operation, and because it had a system for recordkeeping. But, as Dhiravat points out in his Introduction, the non-Company ‘country traders’ or ‘interlopers’ were probably much more important but are much more difficult to study. These two volumes contain glimpses of these figures. They also contain a huge amount of data, including several very detailed trade accounts, and some fascinating material on currencies and exchange rates, which will help a broader understanding of Southeast Asian trade in this era.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Chris Baker

Reviews

Anthony Farrington, ed., Low’s Mission to Southern Siam, 1824. Bangkok, White Lotus, 2007, x + 126 pp. Price not given. Not content with producing, with Dr Dhiravat na Pombejra, the magnificent two-volume compendium of texts in The English Factory in Siam 1612–1685 in 2007, the now retired deputy director of the British Library in charge of the India Office and Oriental collections, Anthony Farrington, has also found the time to publish in the same year a slim volume detailing James Low’s abortive mission to Nakhon Sithammarat in 1824. Low was an unusual character. Along with Henry Burney, he was the only officer in the Indian army who bothered to learn both Malay and Siamese; Low produced the first account of Siamese literature (reproduced in JSS 2007) and the first grammar of Siamese in a Western language. Sent on a mission to what was known to foreigners as Ligor, and simply Nakhon to locals, to find out if support might be forthcoming from its ‘rajah’ in the form of boats to supplement the planned British attack on Burma, Low was also deputed to discover the extent of the writ of its quasi-feudal ruler. During the course of the mission it became very clear that the ‘rajah’, unlike the Malay kinglets further south, was entirely subject to the rule of the ‘Emperor of Siam’, and did not dare make a move without the agreement of his overlord. In fact, on this mission Low was not given permission to travel overland to

263

Ligor, and never met the ‘rajah’, but only his youthful son, who proved surprisingly competent a diplomat. Low refused to divulge the subject of his request to meet his father, and reasonably enough the ‘rajah’ refused to move and meet him until the subject was revealed. So Low hung out in the Trang River and sent numerous missives to Nakhon, while the Siamese played the long-tried game of polite delay and inaction. The British had declared war on Ava on 5 March 1824, the causus belli being frontier incursions into India, and by 10 May were in complete possession of Rangoon. By then, the need for supplementary boats had passed; so had the need for support in any form from Siam, and the limited authority of Ligor’s ‘rajah’ had also become obvious. All this is detailed in this delightful little book. It takes the form of a general introduction to Low, his report of his Mission, dated 1 August 1824, the journal of his mission from 5 May to 8 August in that year, and relevant official correspondence from March to July 1824, which starts off with a ‘Secret Letter from the Governor General of India in Council’, Calcutta, 12 March 1824, to the Governor of Penang, announcing ‘the declaration of hostilities’ with the state of Ava, the anticipated need of boats, and the possible occupation of Tavoy, Mergui and Junk Ceylon (Phuket) – the last-named not to be. The book concludes with a bibliography of Low’s extensive writings and cartographic work in the region, helpful end notes, and an index.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

264

Reviews

Unlike the French expeditions of 1685 and 1687-8, Low had the good sense to take along an artist, probably recruited in Penang, Bun Khong, whose works, reproduced elsewhere by the late Henry Ginsburg, are charming Siamese examples of the Company School. The Low album in the British Library shows details of a Buddha statue being carried in procession, which has often been reproduced; there is also a pencil drawing of a Ramayana performance which Low witnessed on 4 June at Phangnga, and one of the arrival at Trang harbour of ‘the Boota or Boot’, i.e. the son of the ‘Prince of Ligor’ on 24 June 1824. Low, well known for his maps and indeed enriched by them (he was granted 2,000 Spanish dollars for his map of Siam, Cambodia, and Laos presented to the Penang government in April 1824), is not so well served here. The 1824 map of Siam reproduced in this volume is on too small a scale to be of much use. A detailed one of southern Siam (or an enlargement of the 1824 map of this part of the country) would have been useful for current readers. The cover of this volume, though, an enhanced version of the now faint drawing (found on p. 12) of Low’s meeting with the Boota, is extremely successful. It becomes a pleasure to read Low’s elegant, some might say pompous prose, though while accepting that ‘gratulating under the idea’ or ‘two inosculating streams’ are terms that could be expressed more directly, it is better than certain would-be with-it historians’ use of terms like trope, Other, oecumene, or

topos. Even Low has lapses, though, as with ‘to distinctly understand’ (p. 8). Low returns several times to his belief that the Malays of southern Siam ‘detest and fear the Siamese’, though offers little proof of this. There was, of course, no love lost for the Burmese, and what he terms ‘man-stealing’, a long-practised occupation, remained common: ‘the Siamese have carried many thousands of Burman families into captivity’. He was probably right to believe that the Siamese ‘entertain [the notion] that the attack on Ava is only a prelude to one upon Siam.’ Like so many of his time – though, in the end, not of the authorities in Calcutta – he is convinced that ‘Salang’ (i.e. Junk Ceylon, otherwise Phuket) and its inhabitants would be better off ‘if placed by negotiation under British rule… diffusing happiness, the chief end of good government’, a thought, fortunately for the Thai treasury today, which remained no more than that. He carefully explores the coast and details the products and economy of the different southern provinces coming under the governancy of Nakhon. There is a good deal of information here about the west coast, in particular Phangnga and Phuket, which were virtually depopulated and unknown at the time. As an observer, he is often acute, and was very aware of the evils of corvée labour, leaving the women to work the fields as well as cope with household and family chores. He notes that the Chinese are very leniently taxed, in part

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

because they contribute to the flow of funds to Bangkok. In short this is a very good read, and while one must be thankful that his expedition bore no fruit, one must also be grateful for his having left so fascinating a record of it. Michael Smithies

265

Tamara Loos, Subject Siam: Family, Law, and Colonial Modernity in Thailand. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, 234 pp., Bt 625. In Subject Siam, Dr Tamara Loos examines changes in family law in Thailand, formerly Siam, beginning in 1855, when Rama IV signed the first of several unequal treaties with foreign powers, and ending in 1935 when the government finally promulgated the family law code. In this period, at the behest of the crown, Siamese jurists who had studied abroad and various foreign legal experts rewrote Siamese family law. In the newly incorporated Muslim south, the country’s rulers created separate ‘native’ courts for the application of Islamic family law, modelled after colonial forms of jurisprudence in neighbouring British Malaya. In the rest of the kingdom, after much debate, Siamese legal reformers eventually abolished polygyny and established monogamous marriage as the legal norm, following the conventions established by Siam’s neighbouring imperial powers. The debate over polygyny had important implications for the legal definition of a legitimate wife and the inheritance of wealth and status. After legal reforms in the reign of Rama VI, ideal male citizens were those who had stable marriages with “honorable” women, not with harlots, prostitutes, or mistresses. According to Dr Loos, family law was “the pivotal arena in which the leaders of Siam negotiated modernity, proved its

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

266

Reviews

‘civilized’ status to foreign powers, and legislated the meanings of modernity to its subjects” (p. 3). Dr Loos supports her arguments with court cases drawn from the records of the Dika Court, the court of final appeal. This is because “all case records from courts of the first instance, including those decided in the Islamic courts, are burned after ten years unless they have been appealed to higher-level courts” (p. 25). Dr Loos acknowledges that these cases are in some sense unique and that it is “doubly difficult to argue that conclusions drawn from them apply broadly to Siamese society.” She contends, however, that these records give “access to the lives, loves, and concerns of those – criminals, the lower classes, women, and others – who have not otherwise merited attention in Siam’s histories.” (p. 26) These people still receive disappointingly little attention in this book, however. Subject Siam is “not a study of legal subjectivity ... of how litigants understood laws and engaged the legal system” (p. 25). It presents very little, therefore, from the points of view of those ordinary Siamese whose most intimate affairs – whose marriages, divorces, inheritances, romantic and sexual lives – were profoundly shaped by the kingdom’s changing legal environment. This is perhaps because so much space in Subject Siam is devoted instead to mechanical genuflections and ostentatious gropings at the rosary beads of “postcolonial” theory: gender, law, heterosexuality, transnationalism,

cosmopolitanism, globalization, and modernity. Almost every fashionable topic gets a nod. Of all of these, however, Dr Loos seems most obsessed with the concept of modernity. Indeed, she is practically feverish with it. She uses the word seven times on p. 3, at least 76 times by the end of the introduction. She makes the concept do an enormous amount of work – sometimes it is the object of explanation, sometimes it is that which is supposed to explain, very often it is simply “negotiated,” whatever that means. The concept is so important to her discussion that it is worth paying it closer attention here. Dr Loos admits that modernity is “notoriously difficult to define” (p. 19), but proceeds to do so anyway. She immediately gets into a muddle. First she tells us that “Allusions to European modernity ... refer to an archetype of modernity – one that never existed, even in Europe, except as an ideal” and that “this paradigm of modernity was transported throughout the world by colonialism as a conceptual model.” However, in the next paragraph she tells us that “modernity refers to inseparable political, economic, social, and cultural processes – all of which evolved in relation to colonial conquest – that developed in eighteenth-century Western Europe.” Modernity slips from referring to an “archetype,” a “paradigm,” and a “conceptual model,” none of which are the same thing, to referring to a series of “inseparable ... processes” (p. 19). Dr Loos develops a definition of modernity from a mish-mash of writings

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

by other scholars, most notably Dipesh Chakrabarty. The philosophical rationale of modernity, she writes, “included the doctrine of progress, rationality, secularity, individualistic understandings of the self, mastery over the forces of nature by human knowledge, and the abolition of ‘superstition.’” Economically, she contends, “modernity refers to the global expansion of trade, capitalist development, and the institutionalization of market-driven economies, products, material wealth, and consumption.” Politically, “modernity’s transformations include the shifts from absolutism, religious rule, and feudalism, to secularity, bureaucratically administered states, popular forms of government, rule of law, and territorial sovereignty that are characteristic of the nation-state” (p.19). From this definition of modernity, Dr Loos develops the concepts of “alternative modernity” and “colonial modernity.” “Alternative modernity” refers to an “historically contingent and contextually specific formulation of modernity,” modelled after, yet formulated against, European “modernity,” while “colonial modernity” emphasizes “the fact that most countries around the globe experienced modernity under the radically asymmetrical global conditions of imperialism” (pp. 20–21). All this raises several problems. For a book concerned with “modernity” in Thailand, and one allegedly “attuned to the specificities of cultural practices” in that country (p. 19), it is astonishing that Subject Siam contains no discussion of the Thai concepts of “modernity”

267

(kwampensamaimai, kwamtansamai), or their cognates, “modern” (samaimai, tansamai), or “to modernize” (tamhaitansamai, tamhaipensamaimai). These words do not appear in the glossary or the index. In fact, Dr Loos gives no account of what Siamese rulers, jurists, intellectuals, or anyone else for that matter meant when they used the word “modernity”, or how they related it to issues of the family and legal reform. In fact, it is not clear from her discussion that anyone in Thailand ever believed in an idea of modernity remotely like the one she has assembled, let alone an “alternative modernity.” This would not be important if Dr Loos intended “modernity” only as an analytical category, though even then it has grave shortcomings. The definition she cobbles together is easily open to dispute as including too much or too little, as being too vague, too Eurocentric, or as not describing a condition that ever obtained in Europe, let alone elsewhere. Dr Loos’s concept of colonial modernity is also of very dubious value since there is nothing inherently colonial about modernity nor modern about colonialism. Indeed, many colonial situations were profoundly non-modern, even by her own criteria. The notion of alternative modernity is equally problematic. On one hand, it is not clear why an alternative modernity should be called a modernity at all. If any form of innovation produces a modernity, then the term can be of little analytical value. On the other hand, if alternative modernities are formulated against a European moder-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

268

Reviews

nity, it is not clear where the boundary lies between their being non-modern and alternatively modern. What Dr Loos really needs is not alternative modernities but alternatives to modernity as an analytical concept. Indeed, it is of such little value and it is so poorly discussed that the book would be improved if the entire section on “Alternative Modernities” (pp. 18–24) were removed. If Subject Siam is conceptually weak, the empirical support for many of its claims is correspondingly feeble. This is particularly evident in the third chapter, “Colonial Law and Buddhist Modernity in the Malay Muslim South” (pp. 72–99), in which Dr Loos argues that Siam “both suffered under a plural legal system imposed by imperial powers and simultaneously forced a plural legal system on the Muslim population in the South” (p. 74). By “the South,” Dr Loos means Patani, “the historical areas encompassed by the present day provinces of Pattani, Yala, and Narathiwat” (p. 74). In her discussion of Islamic family courts there in the early twentieth century, she is undeterred by the facts that “the main documents extant ... are ephemeral Thai language reports written by ... officials who came predisposed to interpret the methods of local administration as barbaric,” (p. 89) and that “no Siamese documents on the Muslim practice of polygyny exist from this period” (p. 89). Dr Loos offers her own innovative but methodologically questionable solution, writing that “because of a lack of sources about turn-of-the-century Patani, sources on

Kelantan are used to speculate about social and religious life in Patani” (p. 89). If this were not enough to cast doubt on the claims she makes, Dr Loos then fails to cite any primary sources on Kelantan in the Arkib Negara Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur, or the Public Records Office, Kew Gardens, and instead cites decades-old secondary sources by William Roff (1974) and W.A. Graham (1908). Furthermore, because she was denied access to documents relating to Patani in the National Archives in Bangkok, Dr Loos instead relies heavily on a Thai master’s thesis from Sri Nakharinwirot University by Somchot Ongsakun, Kan-patirup kanpok-khrong monthon pattani (p.s. 2449–2474) (The Administrative Reform of Monthon Pattani [1906–1931]) (1978), “which utilizes sources from this archive” (p. 74, fn. 7), though obviously in an abridged and highly selective fashion. While problems with the use of sources in this chapter are particularly acute, they are symptomatic of others found throughout the book. The writing in Subject Siam is less than limpid. It is filled with awkward, lumbering, crook-backed sentences. Dr Loos writes, for example, that “While the notion of alternative modernity acknowledges the indispensability of European political thought to representations of non-European political modernity, it refutes the value-ridden historicism embedded in defining people, practices, and concepts as non- or premodern that serve to delimit the term modernity” (p. 20, emphasis in original).

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Even short sentences are often hopelessly vague, such as “The incongruities and global migrations of colonial translations and knowledge production abound” (p. 30). Sentences are often crammed with obscure and annoying jargon, such as “instantiations of modernity” (p. 19), “acts of transgressing social status” (p. 37), “Euro-American imperial discourses” (p. 119), and “polygyny’s multivocality” (p. 182). Many of the images Dr Loos conjures are confused and imprecise. In one early paragraph, for example, she writes that “law was the pivotal arena in which the leaders of Siam negotiated modernity...” (p. 3), and later in the same paragraph that “law, more than any other domain, provided the overarching penumbra under which other negotiations ... about the meanings of modernity took place” (p. 3). It is difficult to imagine, however, what could possibly pivot, or turn, upon an arena or how the law provided an encompassing “partially shaded area” in which modernity was negotiated. What it seems Dr Loos wants to say is that legal reform was “crucial” or “important” to Siamese attempts to become “modern,” however they conceived that term. Dr Loos seems to have given little thought to her choice of words. When she writes that “Polygyny existed as Siam’s source of distinction in the eyes of imperial power and as a crucible through which the country would prove, through the abolition of polygyny and the adoption of monogamy, its transition to modernity” (p. 110), by “crucible” she apparently

269

means something like “instrument” or “method.” Dr Loos claims that Subject Siam is “the first book-length study that integrates court cases, as well as legal codes, into Siam’s history, and among the first to analyze gender and families as categories with a history” (p. 25). It is a pity, therefore, that it is so conceptually flawed, empirically weak, and poorly written. Scholars of social and legal history need to subject Siam to much more careful study.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Haydon Cherry

270

Reviews

Han ten Brummelhuis, King of the Waters: Homan van der Heide and the origin of modern irrigation in Siam. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007, xvi+409 pp., Bt 695. The core of this important work of scholarship is an account of the years spent in Siam by J. Homan van der Heide, the Dutch irrigation engineer who was engaged by the government in 1902 to survey Siam’s needs and prospects and to draw up plans for irrigation in the lower Menam delta. This core, focused on irrigation, is preceded by three remarkable chapters in which Brummelhuis surveys the social, economic, and political background of “Old Siam”. These chapters and, indeed, the entire book are the fruits of the author’s years of research into both archival and secondary sources, especially recent works by Thai and other scholars. Along the way he provides us with valuable commentary on the historiography of Siam. The title comes from an occasion in which King Chulalongkorn introduced van der Heide to a guest as “King of the Waters”. In addition to a recognition of his eminence in irrigation, this may have been a sly allusion to the belief in seventeenth century Siam that the Dutch had no country of their own but lived on ships as landless buccaneers. In Old Siam, Brummelhuis argues, there was no real irrigation in the modern sense, nor was there much need of it. Rice farmers grew just enough rice for their own needs, and to pay

the land tax. The klongs that were dug during this period were primarily for transportation, though farmers did draw water from them into their fields. But after about 1850, when trade increased dramatically (coincidentally with the Bowring Treaty, says Brummelhuis), the variation in rainfall and frequent crop failures aroused interest in irrigation. Crop failures reduced rice exports and led to unwelcome decreases in government revenues. After a valuable survey of the Chakri reforms made in the latter half of the nineteenth century, Brummelhuis says these reforms strengthened the central government and made it more capable of undertaking irrigation projects. King Chulalongkorn, impressed with irrigation systems he had seen during his travels in Europe and Java, began in the 1890s to encourage a study of the situation in Siam. Prince Damrong and other ministers shared this interest, and it was decided to search for a Dutch irrigation expert – specifically a Dutch engineer in accord with Siam’s policy of hiring foreign advisers from several different countries. So it was that Homan van der Heide was hired. Brummelhuis describes his arrival in Bangkok in June 1902 and his energetic beginning. With the help of W.A. Graham, R.A. Gilpin and others, van der Heide studied existing data on water. He traveled extensively into the country, measured flows of rivers and streams, and calculated distances and elevations. He also talked with rice farmers and local officials. He visited

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

the Rangsit area, where the Siam Lands, Canals, and Irrigation Company (Borisat) had dug a system of klong, but he stated that this was not irrigation at all, just water distribution, and that it had several problems (the powerful Borisat was a private company controlled by high-ranking members of the elite). The company had been given the right to dig these klong in a large unpopulated area east of the Chao Phya River and to claim the land on either side of them to a distance of 40 sen. It made large profits from the sale of this land. Van der Heide later opposed the Borisat’s plan to expand its operation into the west bank. Soon after his arrival, van der Heide began sending reports on his activities and findings to the Minister of Agriculture, Chao Phya Thewet, who forwarded them to other ministers and to the king, who was impressed with his energy. On one of these early reports, King Chulalongkorn noted, “He is exceptionally industrious!”, as indeed he was. In December 1902, just six months after his arrival, van der Heide completed his 200-page “General Report on Irrigation and Drainage in the Lower Menam Delta”, a remarkable achievement in such a short time. Brummelhuis summarizes the General Report, which lays out an ambitious plan to bring the great Chao Phya River under control and irrigate nearly all of the rice-growing area of the delta. It would require a large investment and ten years to complete. The General Report was not limited to technical analysis of the irrigation

271

system; van der Heide also discussed at length the many economic and social benefits that would accompany irrigation. These went far beyond simply reducing the frequency of crop failure, and he used cost/benefit analysis to make the case that the project could be made to pay for itself. Government revenues would rise from increased taxes, water tolls and transport charges. He argued that the whole project should yield a net return to the government. Much of the rest of this book is concerned, one way or another, with the debate over van der Heide’s Great Scheme, or some smaller variation of it. Brummelhuis takes the reader through this debate, using his archival research to show the parts played by different participants. In the process he provides fascinating glimpses into the workings of the Siamese bureaucracy. La Mahotière, a French engineer responsible for Bangkok’s water supply, strongly opposed van der Heide’s scheme, and wrote a long memo criticizing it. Van der Heide quickly wrote a fiery rebuttal. W.A. Graham, an English adviser to the the Ministry of Agriculture, strongly favored the Great Scheme. He praised van der Heide’s use of economic analysis, and even suggested that the irrigation plan could also take care of Bangkok’s need for a potable water supply and render unnecessary the railway to Uttaradit (because of improved water transportation). Brummelhuis notes that “there is not a single hint that Graham’s staunch support for Homan van der Heide had any effect at all.” The

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

272

Reviews

financial adviser, Rivett-Carnac, flatly opposed any irrigation activity at all “for many years to come,” a total reversal of his previous position. Meanwhile, Thewet equivocated, not knowing what to make of it all. The matter was referred to a distinguished special committee made up of the ministers most directly concerned: Princes Damrong (Interior), Thewawong (Foreign Affairs), Mahit (Finance), Narit (Local Government), and Chao Phya Thewet (Agriculture). A commoner, Chao Phya Thewet, was uncomfortable in that group. Van der Heide took an active role in the protracted debate, and Brummelhuis makes it clear that his personality became an important factor. He was a very stubborn and determined man, but he also lacked tact and was ill-mannered by Siamese standards. These traits damaged his effectiveness. Brummelhuis tells us that as decision time approached, “ubiquitous caution prevailed”. Much was at stake: irrigation competed with railways, while foreign loans to finance irrigation might jeopardize Siam’s independence (the French threat to the east was still alive in 1903). The huge project itself had risks. Was Siam capable of managing such a large project? It was well known that some early Dutch irrigation projects in Java had failed, and others had been studied for several years before being implemented. The Special Committee was charged with this decision, but above them always loomed the dominant figure of King Chulalongkorn himself.

The archival record shows that he read many of the various reports, letters, and memos, and often wrote candid comments on them. Brummelhuis cites several instances in which he cut through the tangle to clarify issues. By the end of 1903 the decision was taken – NOT to proceed with the Great Scheme. Though bitterly disappointed, van der Heide responded by drawing up a succession of smaller schemes, pieces designed to be compatible with the Great Scheme, if it were ever to be revived. He also undertook some smaller projects, digging canals and installing locks, and thereby winning the confidence of rice farmers in several areas. They saw that what he did worked. He also succeeded in establishing a Royal Irrigation Department, of which he was the first director. Brummelhuis shows that van der Heide continued to have difficult, prickly relationships with the Siamese bureaucracy, especially the Ministry of Finance and the Treasury. Finally, when he returned after having taken a year’s leave, van der Heide realized that prospects for irrigation in Siam were bleak. None of his smaller schemes had ever been approved, and his budget was repeatedly cut. He resigned and left Bangkok in 1909, seven years after he arrived. He had spent the prime of his life in this failed effort. Brummelhuis says the failure haunted him to the end of his life. He blamed the British for it. Brummelhuis equivocates about whether Siam made a mistake in not going ahead with the Great Scheme in

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

1903. But he suggests that the outcome might have been different with a different cast of characters. If, for example, van der Heide had been reporting to Prince Damrong, instead of the weak, timid Thewet, the outcome might have been different. As it happened, an irrigation project similar to the Great Scheme was built in the 1950s with foreign loans and World Bank assistance. It was a great success. As noted, this is not a biography of Homan van der Heide, but one could wish for a little more information about the man. We are not even told whether his family came to Bangkok. On the very last page there is a single mention of a wife, riding with him in a farm cart after World War II. Van der Heide had National Socialist sympathies in the 1930s and was arrested after the war. He died in an internment camp in 1945 at the age of 80. Altogether, this is an impressive and valuable contribution to the economic and social history of Thailand. There is an excellent index and many useful photographs and maps James C. Ingram

273

Luigi Bressan and Michael Smithies, Thai-Vatican Relations in the Twentieth Century. Bangkok, Apostolic Nunciature, 2006, 178 pp., ills. This volume arrives as the third of a trilogy involving the same authors, whose first two volumes were Siam and the Vatican in the Seventeenth Century (2001), and, by Luigi Bressan alone, King Chulalongkorn and Pope Leo XIII (1998). The present concluding volume of the trilogy was published in 2006, in the words of Michael Cardinal Michai Kitbunchu, Archbishop of Bangkok, “to celebrate the auspicious occasion of the 60th Anniversary of His Majesty’s Coronation”, that of Phra Bat Somdej Phra Paramindara Maha Bhumibol Adulyadej. After the preface of Cardinal Michai Kitbunchu and acknowledgements, there follows an introduction covering the advent of Christianity in Thailand and early contacts with the Vatican. Then Chapter 1, ‘The First Decade’, covers the death of Pope Leo XIII in 1903, who in 1897 had received in audience King Chulalongkorn; the election of Pope Pius X in the same year; King Chulalongkorn’s letter of congratulations on his election; the death of King Chulalongkorn in 1910, and the accession of King Vajiravudh, who had earlier been part of King Chulalongkorn’s entourage visiting Pope Leo XIII in 1897; King Vajiravudh’s letter informing the Pope of the death of his father, and his own accession to the throne; and a letter from Pope Pius X expressing

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

274

Reviews

his sincere condolences on the death of King Chulalongkorn and best wishes to the new king. Chapter 2, ‘The Second Decade’, includes letters from the Vatican to King Vajiravudh informing His Majesty of the death of Pius X in 1914 and election of Pope Benedict XV; from the Pope announcing his election; and from the King congratulating the Pope. Chapter 3, ‘The 1920s’, takes up documents relating to the death of Pope Benedict XV in 1922; the election of Pope Pius XI; letters to and from the Pope and King Vajiravudh; an unofficial visit to the Vatican of HRH Prince Mahidol; the death of King Vajiravudh in 1925; and the accession of King Prajadhipok. ‘The 1930s’, chapter 4, records the visits to the Vatican of HRH Prince Damrong Rajanubhab in 1930 and then of their Majesties King Prajadhipok and Queen Rambai in 1934, including their Majesties’ presence at the canonization of St. John Bosco; the abdication of King Prajadhipok from England in 1935; the accession to the throne of King Ananda Mahidol. Chapter 5, ‘The 1940s and 1950s’, tells of the death of Pope Pius XI and letter from Pope Pius XII to King Ananda Mahidol; King Ananda Mahidol’s visit to Assumption Cathedral accompanied by Bishop Perot in 1946, a month before His Majesty’s death; the accession of King Ananda Mahidol’s brother, King Bhumibol Adulyadej, to the throne in the same year; Prime Minister Field Marshal Phibul’s private audience with Pope Pius XII in 1955; the Pope’s

creation of the Apostolic Delegation in Thailand, 1957; the death of Pope Pius XII and election of Pope John XXIII in 1958. Next, chapter 6, ‘The 1960s’, recounts in great detail the third Royal Visit to the Vatican from Thailand, this time that of Their Majesties King Bhumibol Adulyadej and Queen Sirikit in 1960; the death of Pope John XXIII and election of Paul VI in 1963. Chapter 7, ‘The 1970s’, recalls the establishment of diplomatic relations between Thailand and the Holy See and the opening of the Apostolic Nunciature in Bangkok, 1969; private audiences with the Holy Father, Pope Paul VI, of the Buddhist “Delegation of Messengers of Peace”, including Phra Thep Sophon and Phra Dhamkosacharn, senior Thai Buddhist monks, 1971; of Dr. Thanat Khoman in also 1971; of a special delegation of Thai Buddhist monks in 1972; and documents between the King and the Vatican on the occasion of the death of Pope Paul VI, the election of Pope John Paul I, the death of John Paul I, and the election of Pope John Paul II – all in 1978. Chapter 8, ‘The 1980s’, features the news of the elevation of Archbishop Michael Michai Kitbunchu to the rank of Cardinal in 1983, and the state visit of Pope John Paul II to Thailand in 1984. Pope John Paul II was met at the airport in Bangkok by the Crown Prince Vajiralongkorn on behalf of His Majesty, together with government representatives, and from the airport went immediately to visit King Bhumibol

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Adulyadej and Queen Sirikit at the Grand Palace, and from there to visit the Supreme Patriarch of the Buddhist Sangha in Thailand, before beginning to meet, in an unbelievably crushing schedule, officials at Government House, and his Catholic flock. After that there were private audiences with Pope John Paul II at the Vatican with HRH Crown Prince Vajiralongkorn in 1985 and with HRH Crown Princess Sirindhorn in 1988. Lastly, chapter 9, ‘Into the 21st Century’, closes with moving messages between His Majesty King Bhumibol and the Vatican on the occasion of the death of Pope John Paul II and the election of Pope Benedict XVI in 2005. What stands out in this third volume of the trilogy is the nature of the relationship between Their Majesties, the monarchs of Thailand, and their governments, with the Popes and the Vatican over 400 years and climaxing in the twentieth century. It could be held, given the friendly relations over such a long period, that the purpose to begin with was basically political, in the sense that the royal governments have consistently respected the freedom of all religions within the Kingdom of Thailand, and in its turn the Vatican has been deeply appreciative of this. Nevertheless the characteristics of the relationship go far beyond that. For, reviewing the relevant documents presented in this volume, one can only be moved by the sincerity, human concern, integrity and, one cannot help but notice, genuine friendship displayed to each

275

other by both the Kings of Thailand and their court and the Popes with their entourages, beginning in particular with the visit of King Chulalongkorn in 1897, despite the tense relationship at that time between the Italian Government and the Vatican. The continual concern and warmth of expression is evident, both in the documents to and fro with repeated blessings from the Popes on the King, his reign, his family and all the people of Thailand, and likewise from Their Majesties for the Pope and the peoples of the Catholic Church; such affection was even more apparent during the royal visits and papal audiences, not to mention Pope John Paul II’s visit to Thailand. There was no hidden agenda: it was a transparent relationship, and the Popes and the Kings were truly friends. If in doubt, read the documents. As the Catholics of Thailand are noted for their love and loyalty to Our Holy Father, the Pope, so is their gratitude, love and loyalty to His Majesty the King equally profound. What an amazing phenomenon in today’s world! No wonder Catholics take a special pride in being Thai. In conclusion, it must be mentioned that this book is extremely valuable for its presentation of clear photocopies of the numerous relevant documents and their translations. This was accomplished through painstaking and thorough research of the various archives concerned both in Thailand and at the Vatican. In addition, the text is accompanied throughout by clear, historic

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

276

Reviews

photographs of many of the events it portrays, helping the reader to relive in imagination those happy, blessed events. The book concludes with five pages of annexes containing lists detailing a chronology of Thai-Vatican relations in the twentieth century; the reigns of Thai monarchs and Supreme Pontiffs in the twentieth century; Thai envoys to the Holy See and the presentation of letters of credence; and Vatican envoys to Thailand. And the very last page after the annexes contains enlightening details of the lives of its two authors, Luigi Bressan and Michael Smithies. Worth reading carefully. Worth preserving! Sigmund J. Laschenski, S.J.

Thak Chaloemtiarana, Thailand: The politics of despotic paternalism. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007, xxiii + 284 pp., pb, Bt 695. Much value has been added to this new edition of an important book. In terms of quantity, I estimate an additional 30 per cent, if you include a new Foreword (13 pp.) and Postscript (30 pp.), an index and at least fifty photographs that were not in the first edition of 1979. The publisher Silkworm Books has to be congratulated once again. The new edition has better paper, binding, fonts and editing, though there are still a few avoidable errors. Thak Chaloemtiarana is a senior Thai political scientist who has long been at Cornell University. He started his PhD research on the Thai military just a month or two before the November 1971 coup d’état which, in his new Foreword, he describes as ‘a coup against the rising demands of civil society’ and ‘an attempt to rejuvenate and to maintain the political system that Sarit devised’. He turned his attention to Sarit himself – a ‘paternalistic despot’ (phokhun uppatham baeb padetkan). He asks the question whether in Thailand ‘the legitimacy of a civil leader[ship] can ever be based solely on legal-rational institutions’. The question is once again of contemporary relevance. Many people have a feeling that Thailand’s political development has been, or is in danger of being, set back, maybe to the 1960s, or even to before 1932. Whether you have

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

277

Reviews

read the first edition, as I did, or not, this book is of great interest and relevance to today’s political debates. The fact that a Thai language edition was published in 2005 is also a great help. The structure of the book is not quite what you might expect, and I guess this owes something to its origins as a PhD thesis. It is not a biography of Sarit, nor is it a detailed account of all the activities and process and stages of his period of rule (1957–1963). Nor is there any substantial treatment of the ThanomPhrapas government (1963–1973), which tried to continue the Sarit system of government. One-third of the book covers the period covering approximately 1943– 1957, and this is very good. In the four main chapters (3–6) the emphasis is primarily on Sarit’s style of leadership, his ideology of Thai-style political leadership and the way he developed a coherent system with ever-increasing power in his own hands. The ways in which he controlled the bureaucracy, the military, the monarchy and the development process are key elements in the Sarit story. Sarit Thanarat, a north-easterner, graduated from the military academy in 1928. Unlike the leaders of the 1930s, who were strongly influenced by the West, Sarit and his henchmen were ‘indigenous products’. He was already a colonel in the offensive in the Shan States in 1942. By 1957, as a Lieutenant-General in command of the 1st Division of the army, he was an (apparently reluctant) member of Phibun’s coup

group. He was to play a leading role in forcefully suppressing the ‘Palace coup’ of 1949 and the ‘Manhattan rebellion’ of 1951. Tak emphasises the importance of Sarit’s notion of ‘revolution’ (patthiwat), which is how Sarit characterised his 20 October 1958 coup. Thak agrees that it was revolutionary in the sense given to it in a Revolutionary Council statement of 1965 (Thanom’s period): The revolution of October 20 1958 abolished democratic ideas borrowed from the West and suggested that it would build a democratic system that would be appropriate to the specific characteristics and realities of the Thai. It will build a democracy, a Thai way of democracy.

The statement continues: The Thai people in general do not wish to have a part in national politics. They wish only for a leader who has khuntam (moral responsibility) and ability. A majority of Thai people feel that the power to rule belongs to the monarch ... and the chao nai. ... The social division between the ruler and the ruled is absolute ... and the two classes could never be equal in any way.

Sarit tended to equate statism (ratthaniyom), which he promoted, with phraratchaniyom (royalism), which he began to revive in a new form. According to Thak, Sarit believed that ‘social mobilization should be minimised, for it caused the disintegration of traditional institutions and values.’ Instead, the overriding principle was samakhitham (the moral principle of solidarity). This is a slogan issued from many quarters that has strong resonances today.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

278

Reviews

This was far from the populism of say, Peron in Argentina, or the mass mobilization in fascist Italy or nationalsocialist Germany. When I first arrived in Thailand in June 1962, I had just spent a few months in Franco’s Spain, and from the first I felt strong echoes of that regime. Let me rehearse a few ‘facts’ from Sarit’s six-year regime. For someone opposed to Western political forms, Sarit was remarkably open to the West, and especially the USA. Urged by the World Bank, and listening to his civilian technocratic advisers, Sarit heralded the first National Economic Development Plan in 1961. By 1960, 5,000 US troops were stationed in Thailand; infrastructural work began on roads, airfields, harbours and so on. By 1964 the US had a massive military presence that was to grow. The extensive road-building programme was chiefly to improve access for military and officials in ‘insecure areas’. In these areas army Mobile Development Units spearheaded crude community development schemes, causing ‘increasing bitterness and resentment among villagers’. Thailand had thrown itself enthusiastically into the Cold War from the early 1950s. Sarit strengthened the Anti-Communist Activities Act of 1952 in 1958. Internationally, Sarit made good use of highly talented civilian experts, such as Thanat Khoman, Phote Sarasin, Puey Ungphakorn and others. Sarit ‘actively and consciously directed the activity of the monarchy.’ This led to overseas state visits to twenty countries by the

King and Queen between June 1960 and Sarit’s death in November 1963. According to Thak, this helped legitimise Sarit’s leadership and ‘minimise foreign criticism of the regime for being dictatorial’. Sarit arrested a great many politicians, journalists, writers and others who were ‘suspected of communist activities’. Many spent long periods in prison, some disappeared. He had four such suspects publicly executed. Sarit also authorised the public execution of five arsonists, one heroin producer, and one millenarian religious leader. I have no way of knowing whether this was all. Nor do I know of the extent of extra-judicial killings in the Sarit period, of the sort that became widespread after his death. It is noteworthy, however, that these executions, without due process and in any case barely legal under a clause in the constitution, were all public and Sarit emphasised his personal responsibility for them. This is in marked contrast to the later style of denials, disclaimers, distancing etc. They were not massacres. As a young British Council officer in Thailand from 1962–64, I felt the same sort of stifling intellectual atmosphere I had experienced in Madrid. There were some rare exceptions that I knew of, a few of which I had the pleasure to be slightly involved with. One was the setting up of the Social Science Association Press by Sulak Srivarak, and later the journal Sangkhomsat Parithat. This was an exceptional beacon of civil liberty and freedom of expression that

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

may have had consequences not anticipated by its sponsors. Cit Phumisak and Tongbai Thongpao and many others were in prison. Tak reminds us that ‘a whole generation of intellectuals who expressed a deep social consciousness, was eliminated.’ The Buddhist Sangha was ‘reformed’ to ‘facilitate political control and penetration.’ Sarit apparently had ‘an obsession with cleanliness, purity and discipline’. I suspect that, on the back of some of Phibun’s cultural regulations, Sarit may have influenced much of what still passes for standard Thai public etiquette in schools and official settings. He declared opium use illegal from 1 January 1959. He banned pedicabs from Bangkok in 1959. He cleared the streets of beggars, hooligans, and stray dogs, and punished people for littering. He stressed the importance of external beautification of villages as a sign of ‘development’. He banned rock-and-roll from official parties and dancing ‘the twist’ in public places. (It was certainly the rave in private places!) A few initiatives were blatantly populist and truly popular, such as reducing the price of iced black coffee (oliang), a common and especially working class beverage (though traders cheated). This was in part a sign of bias against Thai-Chinese people. Thak’s research yields some fine details. Some of my favourite passages concern the Lao crisis of 1957–62; the influence of Luang Wichit on Sarit’s ideological thinking, ‘Socialising of the bureaucracy’, drawing on data from par-

279

ticipation in the National Defense College 1956–79; ‘Harnessing the military’, drawing on contributions to the army journal Yuttakhot 1947–1969; and ‘The role of the monarchy’, drawing on daily records of royal activities 1963–71. This latter source lists the amount and purpose of charitable donations received by the monarchy, which contributed to the expansion and justification of an independent base for the monarchy to intervene in social and political agendas, and for its increasing independence from government control and direction. Thak’s approach is suited to his subject. He is quite rightly concerned, from the outset, to investigate ‘the importance of historical and cultural constraints on the nature of [Thai politics]’, which had hitherto been given insufficient attention by the mainly American scholars whom he quotes frequently (Riggs, Jacobs, Wilson, Yano et al.). He discusses most perceptively Sarit’s ‘popularity’ despite his ‘distasteful and tight-fisted [iron fisted, heavy handed?] rule’. His study could be seen as more of a hermeneutics than a critique. Almost completely absent in the footnotes (there is no bibliography) are references to Thai or Western critical or theoretical sources. The prevailing approach is empirical and culturalist (he agrees that Sarit’s style was ‘quite Thai in character’). He also agrees with what he identifies as a consensus among commentators at the time, that Sarit’s regime was ‘successful’, though this begs many questions. He asserts that Thai democracy ‘is still young and finding its way’ (it is, though,

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

280

Reviews

already older than the entire Soviet communist regime). He asserts that ‘Thai democracy has made great progress since 1932.’ The September 2006 coup was a setback. So we might conclude, and some would applaud while others reserve judgement, that this eminent scholar is cautious and even rather conservative in his judgements, and on the whole optimistic about the future direction of Thai political culture and institutions. I would count myself among those who might welcome a more critical, certainly sceptical, and theoretically informed analysis. Even within the remit of the first edition, greater attention might have been give to the role of the USA, and more extensive treatment given to the Thanom-Phrapas years. But this is probably asking for a different book. I much enjoyed this book. It is readable and well written. I think Thak’s approach to Sarit’s style of political leadership is pertinent for a contemporary understanding not only of the Sarit years, but of the Sarit legacy that reaches beyond 1973 into the present; I am sure this book will and should remain a classic. Andrew Turton

Pasuk Pongpaichit and Chris Baker, eds, Thai Capital after the 1997 Crisis. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2008, xv +309 pp., paperback. The aim of this book is to analyze how Thai domestic capital has fared since the watershed crisis of 1997. The aim is a worthy one. In the boom decade before 1997 domestic capital played a notable part in economic growth. High rates of domestic savings, cheap labour, government encouragement and liberal bank lending policies all fuelled growth rates which were among the highest in the world. Foreign capital flowed in too, often in joint ventures with Thai partners, and often in conjunction with advanced technology and skilled foreign management. Given the depth of the 1997 crisis, the shock to established patterns of business behaviour, the subsequent rise (and fall) of Thaksin and his TRT party, and the changed domestic and international economic environment, it is, indeed, appropriate that a study should be made of the way the Thai economy has been able to adapt. The question is, though, does the present book succeed in its aim? Thai Capital… is the product of a research project funded by the Thailand Research Fund. Fourteen researchers, most of them from Thai academia, contributed to an original study published in Thai in two volumes in 2006.Now we have an English version, pruned and updated, with eight substantive papers (instead of the original thirteen), twelve contributors (ten from the earlier pub-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

lication together with the two editors who each have a jointly-written piece here), and an introduction and conclusion contributed by the editors. Of course, one must approach any publication of collected academic papers on tip-toe. Inherent problems with such compilations are manifest: uneven quality, lack of uniformity in approach and length, gaps in coverage and overlap among the papers. Let it be said at the outset that this book is, by and large, unified in theme, eminently readable, and, without exception among the papers, informative and original. While allowing the contributors latitude to develop their own approaches and arguments, the editors have organized the material intelligently to give direction and coherence to the volume. Thus we have a lengthy initial chapter which takes an overall look at the way the crisis affected the structure of Thai big business. This is followed by three papers on ‘Sectors’ (automobiles, retailing and mobile phones), two ‘Survivors’ (liquor and the Crown Property Bureau), two ‘Localities’ (Rayong and Chiang Mai), and finally two under the rubric ‘Prospects’ (Thai overseas investment and ‘rents and rent-seeking’). Looked at differently, nearly all the papers here, with the exception of the opening chapter, are straightforward narrative accounts of particular Thai companies and entrepreneurs, drawing for their material largely on the financial press and, often, on interviews. All these chapters, without exception, allude to the significance of political links for

281

the survival and development of business. The level of economic analysis is limited. Thus we are told unhelpfully that one Chiang Mai entrepreneur in the 1960s ‘left school and became a market labourer… ferrying goods by tricycle. He progressed from tricycle to a truck, and gradually expanded until he was the largest transport contractor in the city…’ (p.222). Similarly Charoen ‘rose to dominate the liquor business in part because of his extraordinary talent for managing and manipulating the monopoly, and in part because many of his potential rivals abandoned the business as too old-fashioned.’(p.151). The Crown Property Bureau ‘not only survived the crisis but also emerged far stronger’ due to ‘excellent management and strategic restructuring’ (p.184). In Rayong, among the three prominent business families, ‘the Pitudecha clan from Ban Khai emerged strongest from the crisis. Perhaps because it had been the most godfather-like of the families, it had the resources to shift away from the old mode of primitive accumulation and into a new economy of manufacture, exporting, and urban services’. (p. 213). Several points can be made about these essentially narrative accounts. First, no number of particulars can produce a generalization. In other words, the multiplying of case studies still leaves untouched what should be the core theme of the subject – the size, structure and overall direction of Thai domestic capital after 1997 and the forces which determined them. Second, that bane of conference collections,

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

282

Reviews

incomplete coverage, becomes all too evident. There is nothing on the role of the banking sector – surely critical; and nothing on any government-supported mega-project. And is there any general conclusion to be gleaned from studies of Rayong and Chiang Mai, with nothing on Bangkok, the South, or the Northeast? Third, while undoubtedly interesting and even fascinating, accounts that are based on interviews and the financial press can go no further than such sources allow. The arguments presented here are thus often rather simplistic. Of course, one cannot expect detailed archival research and studies of company accounts for a period so recent and for businesses so secretive. But at least the level of analysis could be more profound. We are given an account of the rise of postcrisis multinational retailing, without even a mention of the collapse of the baht (which gave huge and long-lasting advantages for foreign acquisition), nor of the collapse of domestic bank lending. There are attempts here and there to discuss the search for ‘economic rent’ as a motive force for the direction of capital investment, though this often amounts to no more than describing market imperfections bought by political favours. Finally, the chosen format for these studies makes it impossible to stand back from the particular and to present an overall picture (though the editors do attempt something of the sort in their introductory and concluding chapters). A case in point is the brief and perceptive Foreword by Ammar Siamwalla

– oddly, his name does not appear on the contents page. Siamwalla laments the lack of dynamism and risk-taking by Thai capital throughout the decade following the crisis, yet one can read this book from cover to cover without so much as a hint of these shortcomings or their causes. Separate mention, though, must be made of the opening chapter. This substantial piece, ‘Companies in Crisis’, is based partly on some detailed and invaluable data provided by the eminent Japanese scholar Akira Suehiro. The core of this paper is contained in tables that chart the changes in the relative standing of the leading business groups between 1979 and 2000, and which show the concentration of shareholding and the extent of family control over the period 1996–2006. Here is the reality of the crisis, the changing fortunes of the dominant business groups, their survival or disappearance, and their vulnerability to foreign acquisition. The data bring out clearly the continued, even growing, concentration of assets in the country, and even in banking “the old controlling family still hung onto control in four of the top five” (p. 55). Like the crisis itself, this book has both positive and negative features. Positive, certainly, is the information contained in the case-studies presented here. The stories of the Rayong and Chiang Mai family-controlled businesses, of the rise of Thaksin’s mobile phone empire, of the survival of the Crown Property Bureau, of the clashes between the competing interests in the

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

lucrative liquor business, and others, are instructive and fascinating. They are also depressing. Everywhere politics and political affiliations intrude. Lurking just below the surface, or sometimes visible upon it, are corruption and political favours, and even violence and criminality. Indeed the book is more about the darker side of politics and business than about economics. Far from opening and liberating markets, the crisis enhanced the active participation of business in politics, reaching its apogee in the Thaksin era. Positive also, as already mentioned, is the opening chapter, which will certainly be mined for its wealth of data. Negative is the book’s lack of any overall perspective on the performance of Thai domestic capital, and the lack of any economic analysis in most of the chapters. All in all, though, this is a book to read and to reflect upon, and to make us wonder yet again at the extraordinary power of Sino-Thai business groups to survive and adapt to changing circumstances. Malcolm Falkus

283

Rory Mackenzie, New Buddhist Movements in Thailand: Towards an Understanding of Wat Phra Dhammakaya and Santi Asoke. London and New York, Routledge, 2007, 253 pp., notes, index and bibliography. The topic of this book, comparing two new but quite different Buddhist movements, is highly relevant to understanding what has been happening amongst primarily middle-class, urban-based Thai Buddhists over the past three decades. Rory Mackenzie’s key findings, that both the Santi Asoke and Wat Phra Dhammakaya movements reflect “a disenchantment with traditional expressions of mainstream Thai Buddhism and a desire for Buddhist solutions for contemporary living” (p. xi), mirror the views of many more thoughtful Thai Buddhists and also catch the tenor of much public discourse about Buddhism in Thailand, in both the Thai- and English-language press, over the past twenty years or more. However, given the continuing importance of Buddhism to notions of Thai identity, and the prominence of debates about the appropriate and proper forms of Buddhist religious practice in Thailand today, I was disappointed that this book did not offer more. The original fieldwork for this book seems to have been quite limited, and the report of field research at Wat Phra Dhammakaya and Santi Asoke reads more like a day-by-day diary – “I did this, then I did that” – than a systematic analysis of new empirical information.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

284

Reviews

The author draws on a diverse range of theoretical and analytical frameworks. For example, in considering the Wat Phra Dhammakaya movement, Mackenzie draws on work by Glock and Stark, Bryan Wilson, Roy Wallis, and Lance Cousins – all in half a dozen pages. However, these frameworks are merely listed in sequence one after the other, without any consideration of the extent to which they are consistent, or perhaps contradictory. This creates a scatter-gun effect and a lack of intellectual focus. The author seems more concerned to quote every possible authority rather than to sift the information at hand and come to a considered conclusion about which particular form of analysis provides the most fitting and intellectually insightful approach. The transcription of Thai is idiosyncratic, erratic, and unrelated to any of the academically accepted systems for romanising Thai. On many occasions it took me some time to decipher what Thai term the author intended, distracting me from the arguments the author tries to make. Amongst the many examples are te am (for thiam, “false, artificial”), laa te (for latthi, “belief, cult”), pom bi … (for phom pai …, “I went to …”), monetee (for mulanithi, “foundation”), lukanuwat (for lokanuwat, “globalization”), patepattam (for patibat tham, “to engage in Buddhist practice”), and mi gin neua (for mai kin neua, “not eating meat”). Considerably more can be added to this list. The editing is the sloppiest I have come across in many a year. For exam-

ple, I was initially nonplussed by reference to a book on the 1992 Thai political crisis by an author I had never heard of, listed both in the text and bibliography as “K. Thefravit”. I assumed this was a European or North American commentator. However, after some reflection I realized that the citation includes a spelling error (repeated even in the bibliography) and Mackenzie is in fact referring to a book by the Thai academic Khien Theeravit! In both the text and the bibliography, the author follows the Western system and lists Thai authors by surname, rather than adopting the accepted academic standard of listing Thai authors by first name. For me the most interesting part of the book is a small anecdote on pages 36 and 37 about an Englishman who apparently went by two names, William Purfurst and Richard Randall. This Englishman was ordained as a Buddhist monk at Wat Paknam in 1954 by Luang Phor Sot, the abbot who established the dhammakaya meditation system that in later decades became the foundation of the Wat Phra Dhammakaya movement. Purfurst (aka Randall), who took the Pali name Kapilavaddho, later had a falling-out with Luang Phot Sot and returned to England in 1956, where, according to Mackenzie, he became an important force in the development of Theravada Buddhism in Britain. Those interested in contemporary Thai Buddhism will find this book most useful as a summary of what has been written on the topic in English over the past couple of decades, rather than as

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

a source of new insights. The author quotes the Bangkok Post so often that this newspaper seems to be his primary source of information. Not even The Nation gets much of a look-in, let alone the Thai-language press, which the author ignores completely. The book is primarily an extended, poorly edited literature review that compiles secondary sources in a mostly uncritical format. It would seem that very little if any work has been done in transforming this text from its original format, a PhD dissertation submitted to the International Christian College in Glasgow, into a monograph. The publisher, Routledge, certainly needs to pull its socks up and make sure that raw, error-strewn texts such as this are subjected to at least a modicum of professionally competent editing. Peter Jackson

285

Duncan McCargo, ed., Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence. Singapore, National University of Singapore Press, 2007, 225 pp. One of the challenges in publishing academic studies on violent contemporary conflicts is how well what one has written stands the test of time, since by its very dynamic nature a situation of violent conflict can rapidly change. Moreover, violent conflict presents some extreme methodological problems for academic inquiry: accessing the conflict zone for sufficient periods required to gather usable data; being able to sift through the misinformation circulating in the propaganda war; conditions of martial law; and even the ability to obtain information from those involved in the conflict, who, out of an understandable desire to protect themselves, may not be willing to offer information, or else the information they offer may out of necessity be highly partisan or deliberately designed to misinform. The case of the conflict in southern Thailand, currently Southeast Asia’s most violent, is a particularly acute example of this challenge. To the problems stated above can be added the difficulties that researchers face coming to terms with the cultural and linguistic differences of the local population, and even the existence of Thailand’s draconian lèse majesté law, which prevents any critical discussion of matters relating to the monarchy, which undeniably has taken a close interest in the situation in the south. Perhaps it is for all of these

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

286

Reviews

reasons that, as has often been pointed out, the violence in southern Thailand is one of the “murkiest”, most difficult to understand conflicts in the region, if not the world, today. Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence thus comes as a welcome attempt to address these challenges. The book is an updated version of a collection of essays that were first published in a special issue of the journal Critical Asian Studies in March 2006, based on papers presented at a workshop held in Pattani in February 2005. The stated aim of the volume is to help provide some answers to the question, “what lies behind the violence in the Thai South” (p. 3). Written at a time when the international “war on terror” was still being vigorously pursued and explanatory frameworks based on studies of international terrorism had considerable influence on the way the violence in the south was represented in the media and in much scholarship, the essays in this book aim to “challenge the reader to question conventional categories and lazy assumptions” such as “the Thai state”, “militant groups”, “Muslim communities” and “security agencies” (pp. 8–9). The book’s principal message is that the answer to the question of the reasons for the violence lies in understanding Thailand’s – and the southern region’s – political and social context. Having stated an overly modest claim of making a “small start” in the direction of finding answers to the question above, the book has clearly succeeded. Rethinking Thailand’s Southern Violence is a tightly edited collection

of seven essays written by some of the most prominent Thai and international scholars working on the conflict in southern Thailand. One of the book’s strengths is that the broad range of issues covered by the essays, including the politics of monuments in the south (Chaiwat Satha-Anand); the relationship between the violence in southern Thailand and the political struggle between Thaksin and “network monarchy” (Duncan McCargo); the Thaksin government’s “hawkish” response to the violence (Ukrist Pathamanand); socioeconomic factors behind the violence (Srisompob Jitipiromsri with Panyasak Sobhonvasu); the role of “jihadism” and Islamist ideology (Wattana Sugunnasil); local perceptions of the conflict (May Tan-Mullins); and the representation of the conflict in the terrorism studies literature (Michael K. Connors). The result is a well-rounded perspective on the reasons for the conflict. One can always make criticisms, not always fairly, of what or who else might have been included in an edited volume; in this case one feels that a “Patani Malay” voice may have given the collection an additional important point of view. The book will be particularly noted for its inclusion of the second half of McCargo’s famous and controversial “network monarchy” thesis – the first half, “Network monarchy and legitimacy crises in Thailand”, was published in a 2005 issue of the journal, The Pacific Review, and ought to be read in conjunction with the essay in this volume. McCargo’s essays count as

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

the most novel contribution to the now voluminous scholarly literature on the outbreak of violence in the south since 2004. “Network monarchy” is the term he uses to refer to “the dominant mode of governance used in Thailand since 1980”, in which “the monarchy operates through proxies led by former prime minister and Privy Council President Prem Tinsulanond”. According to McCargo, Thaksin aimed to displace network monarchy governance with a more centralized form of political control headed by the Prime Minister himself. Significantly, the political management of the south since the early 1980s was centred on a “governance network” headed by Prem, himself a southerner and a key figure in the suppression of the communist insurgency in the 1970s and 1980s. The violence in the south, a highly sensitive and complex part of the country, given its ethnic and religious mix, lucrative trade in smuggled goods, and entrenched interests of the military, can thus be viewed as the main battlefield in Thaksin’s attempt to “wrest control” of Thailand from “network monarchy” (pp. 39–67). Overshadowing most of the essays in this volume is the figure of Thaksin, and his government’s widely criticized handling of the conflict. Following the overthrow of Thaksin by a royalist coup on 19 September 2006 it was expected by numerous professional observers, including many academics, that the situation in the south would improve, given that supposedly the main problem, i.e. Thaksin, was now gone. The

287

royalist regime installed after the coup made much of this expectation, with the newly appointed Prime Minister and former Privy Counselor Gen. Surayudh Chulanond making a highly publicized apology to the local Muslim community for the previous government’s handling of the conflict. In fact, the conflict intensified following the coup, with the number of violent incidents, deaths and injuries significantly jumping. So the natural question is to ask why. It is tempting also to ask whether the criticism of Thaksin’s handling of a severe national security issue in the south, especially by influential figures allied with or part of McCargo’s “network monarchy”, was part of a coordinated movement to discredit Thaksin with the eventual aim of overthrowing his government. This collection of essays will remain essential reading for scholars and others who seek to examine how the conflict broke out. Has it stood the test of time? The limitation of understanding the conflict as merely a local version of an international terrorist struggle is now widely accepted. Subsequent studies of local factors behind the conflict add to, but do not in general contradict, the main theme of the essays in this volume. Yet if we accept McCargo’s argument of another struggle, between “network monarchy” and forces loyal to Thaksin, which continues through the time of writing this review (late 2007), the volume poses perhaps the biggest question which has yet to be answered: to what extent does this conflict con-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

288

Reviews

tinue to cloud our understanding of Thailand’s southern violence? An eagerly awaited monograph on the situation in the south is currently being prepared by the editor of the volume under review, Duncan McCargo, based on his own fieldwork of a year in the region. That book may answer this and other unanswered questions thrown up by this volume. Patrick Jory

Maurizio Peleggi, Thailand: The Worldly Kingdom. Singapore, Talisman Publishing, 2007, 256 pp. Thailand: the Worldly Kingdom should be welcomed by students and general English-speaking readers with strong scholarly or even mundane interest in the country’s modern history. It is a fresh and up-to-date reinterpretation of this history. Maurizio Peleggi pieces together chains of events and stories of Thailand’s nation-building project in the past two centuries. He unveils the underlying fact that the complex historical processes that make Thailand ‘a worldly kingdom’ are essentially global. The emergence of Thailand is indeed closely tied with international connection, exposure, influence, and negotiation. A history of Thailand, as well as other modern nation-states, would be incomplete if written with a sole focus on local processes and a series of famous heroic contributions of ‘great men’. Peleggi argues that Thailand as a modern nationstate has come into existence through reaction with the world. Civilization and globalization, the two most encompassing forces that have powerfully reshaped the world, particularly in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, not only define Thailand’s state formation and its nationhood, but also play a very important role in determining the Thai identity, or Thainess. For him, such identity is ‘a syncretic product’, resulting from the ‘translation, assimilation, and adaptation of exogenous ideas, practices and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

materials to the indigenous socio-cultural terrain.’ (p.21) Peleggi’s approach to understanding Thailand’s modern history, by his own confession here, is ‘unorthodox’ (p.8). It is a trendy global history approach, which resituates Thailand in the wider process of the emergence of the modern world. In employing this approach, Peleggi intends to move away from at least three existing historiographical conventions, namely, (1) recounting historical actors and events in chronological or linear framework; (2) describing chains of historical events from a ‘from-above’ perspective or through agencies of great men, e.g., kings, noblemen, and the elite; and (3) narrating historical changes from the popular or ‘from-below’ perspective of commoners. Putting this book into the particular context of Thai and Southeast Asian historiographies, he apparently wishes to demystify the ‘exceptionality of Thai nation building’ (p.8) by interjecting an alternative view of claims, such as Thailand never having been a colonized country, or Thailand’s emergence of the modern nation state owing a great deal to modernizing initiatives launched by wise and powerful modernizers. These views he considers rather overrated, if not patriotically biased. There is no such exceptional or uniquely Thai path that gave birth to the Thai modern nationhood, because Thailand has been part of a common global process and shared cultural experience of modernity with her Southeast Asian neighbours and most

289

countries around the globe in the past two hundred years. While the scholarly success and impacts of Peleggi’s attempt to write a Thai edition of global history remain to be seen, his move is admirably creative and experimental. The fundamental part of Peleggi’s approach is an analytical insight of both archaic and modern global processes which have created ‘a diffuse geo-cultural space’ (p.11). The historical process and imagination are fuelled by diffusion, interaction, adaptation, and localization of layers of geo-cultural spaces, such as Indic, Sinic, European, American, Theravada Buddhist, and indigenous geo-cultural terrains. Peleggi explores actions and reactions, continuities and discontinuities within and/or between these geo-cultural spaces as his major themes of modern Thai history. Instead of arranging the domain of modern Thai history into periods, reigns, or centres of political power, he opts for the thematic treatment. Included are the themes of landscapes, boundaries, institutions, ideologies, modernities, mnemonic sites, and others. These themes make up the book’s seven chapters, highlighting ‘the relationship of the forces constitutive of [sic] the Thai nation-state to the constellation of phenomena—from imperialism to nationalism, from urbanization to the diffusion of mass media, from the institutionalization of religion to the politicization of youth’ (p.8). These themes are carefully chosen and extracted from the vast quantity of historical sources. Peleggi’s thematic treatment of mod-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

290

Reviews

ern Thai history is an answer to existing volumes, particularly Keyes (1987), Wyatt (1982), Pasuk Pongphaichit and Chris Baker (2000), and Scot Barmé (2006). Like these works, Peleggi’s book is written for general readership. His smooth prose is readily accessible. He weaves together selective events and presents them in an easy-to-grasp manner. However, Peleggi’s book is different from the rest with its global approach and insistent arguments pertinent to the global process. It stands sharply apart from Keyes’ insistence on Buddhist fundamental contributions to, and Wyatt’s emphasis on agency of kings and noblemen in, the making of the modern Thai nation state. It is different from Pasuk and Baker’s political-economic focus. It also refuses exclusively to explore the roles of commoners or popular media in the historical process, methodological and theoretical stances adopted by Barmé. There are some limitations and weaknesses in Thailand: the Worldly Kingdom. First, Peleggi’s emphasis on civilization and globalization leads to an unavoidable and too intensive analysis of external influences. The global version of Thai history which Peleggi presents is not global enough. There are few discussions on Siamese civilization and globalization from European or American perspectives. Second, a global history implies concentrations on global contacts, which are most likely represented by Bangkok and its political leaders, the cosmopolitan elite and wealthy tycoons. People liv-

ing in the geo-cultural spaces beyond or with less exposure to globalization are methodologically neglected. Third, thematic analysis, while providing some comprehensive picture of the bounded subject, is selective rather than intensive or exhaustive by nature. This approach opens itself to the criticism of what is a historical theme and how a theme can be identified out of some complex, disorderly and disjointed events or against the actors’ complicated motivations. A theme usually carries plural and multivocal contents, therefore, and could be either overlapping or repetitive. Finally, the book contains too many minor factual and spelling errors. The decision to transliterate all personal names, especially names of kings, princes and other public figures, is rather anti-conventional and problematic. The transcription of Thai terms does not strictly follow the rules set forward by the Royal Institute. Inconsistencies or misspellings of Romanized Thai words are numerous throughout the book. e.g., thansamai or samai mai, not than samaimai (p.10), san chao or hing phi for spirit’s shrine, not ban phi (p.50), names of folk dance genres in the North and Northeast (p.51), sao praphet song, not sao praphet ying (p.89), or Chaopraya, not Chaophrya (p.189). Some English translations of Thai terms are rather awkward, e.g., kan phatthana, not phatthana for development (p. 11, 17), phum panya thongthin, not phum panya for local knowledge or native wisdom (p.21). There are many factual errors: the government offered a general amnesty

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

to the Communist Party of Thailand (CPT) in 1979, not 1980 (p.18), Puey Ungphakorn was a one-time governor, not director, of the Bank of Thailand (p. 73), a location for a new national capital proposed by Phibun was Phetchabun, not Phetchaburi (p. 124), the stronghold of the Communist Party of Thailand in Isan covered not only Sakhon Nakhon, but many neighboring provinces in the northeastern part of the region – indeed, the first armed fight between a CPT unit and the government force took place in Nakae district, Nakhon Phanom (p. 132) – or making Thao Suranari the wife of Nakhon Ratchasima’s governor rather than deputy governor (p.187). There are also many misspellings and inaccuracies in the bibliography. Peleggi’s book may look too general for serious students of Thai and Southeast Asian history, but his global history approach should spark some interesting debates in the field. Some of his insightful views and brave treatments of the global formation of modern Thai nation-state and identity should offset the factual errors and shortcomings appearing in the book. Thailand: the Worldly Kingdom is the most up-to-date reader on the introductory history of modern Thailand. Pattana Kitiarsa

291

Don McCaskill, Prasit Leepreecha, and He Shaoying, eds., Living in a Globalized World: Ethnic Minorities in the Greater Mekong Subregion. Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2008, pb, xi+374 pp., Bt 895. Living in a Globalized World is an indication of new times in the research and publication about the region, both in its focus on China and mainland Southeast Asia, and in the collaboration among scholars from Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and China. This is a new and positive development, and hopefully indicates a trend of thinking past national boundaries. The nicely designed cover of the book shows (someone dressed as) an ethnic minority woman talking on a cellphone and simultaneously working on a laptop computer. She has an ipod, but it is unplugged because she is already on the phone and the internet. The picture draws on a stereotypical contrast between tradition and modernity, the local worlds of ethnic minorities and the global realities that they are being pulled into The introductory chapter, written by the three editors, relates some of the features of globalization, such as an increasing interconnectedness that may undermine the ties of culture and place, and gives an overview of national integration policies in the four countries. The bulk of this chapter is concerned with the results of surveys in Dai, Hmong, and Mien study villages. The findings persistently make statements in relation to ethnicity, such as that “77

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

292

Reviews

percent [of Hmong in Vietnam stated] that they had a strong knowledge of the culture compared to 18 percent in Thailand and only 6 percent in China” (36). The samples are small, between 17 and 52 people in each setting, the largest from a town of 10,000 people. In the study villages, “individuals were asked to be interviewed by local representatives, often the village headman” (27). In at least two of the study areas, Doi Pui village in Chiangmai and the Dai Culture Park in Yunnan, the inhabitants make a living from looking ethnic to tourists. To rely on answers to survey questions administered by a government official and without any follow-up, from people whose livelihood depends on enacting certain ethnic stereotypes, is fundamentally naïve. The chapter “Religious conversion and ethnic identity: The Karen and Akha in northern Thailand”, by Khwanchewan Buadeng and Panadda Boonyasaranai, is based on more convincing research methods, and builds on considerable familiarity with the research settings. The authors suggest that previously, people engaged with identity in relation to kin-groups and village membership, and argue that “ethnic identity, based on common descent and shared culture, has been constructed as part of the greater process of modernization and globalization” (62). This is an important argument, and one that challenges the ethnicist framework of the introductory chapter. Traditional religious practices among Akha and Karen united and divided people by village and kinship, by

patriline among the Akha and matriline among the Karen. Khwanchewan and Panadda’s account of conversions stresses individual and family decisions in relation to village factionalism and a range of options for affiliation. For some, there are on-going shifts among Buddhist, Catholic, and Protestant networks. At least for Karen, Ywa refers equally to their creator spirit, the Buddha, and the Christian God, and “many see them as the same being” (82). Prasit Leepreecha writes on “The role of media technology in reproducing Hmong ethnic identity.” His chapter contains a valuable account of the pervasive Thai-ization that he experienced growing up in Thailand, and how he later reconnected to Hmong identity and culture as a budding academic. Prasit shows the complex interconnections that facilitate contemporary Hmong senses of identity. In the 1980s, Hmong in Thailand became aware of fellow Hmong in China and the West through a Hmong magazine published in the USA. The cultural knowledge that had been the preserve of elders and experts is now accessible to anyone literate in Hmong. Video CDs serve to create transnational links among Hmong peoples, and, along with embroidered story cloths, enable the remaking and reproduction of Hmong history. This includes a film that combines fiction and history and ends with the defeat of Pathet Lao forces by the Hmong. Alongside such fantasy outcomes, internet communication helps build a more positive self-esteem that counters the pervasive vilification of Hmong people in Thailand.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Nguyen Van Thang and Nguyen Thi Minh Nguyet describe “Changes in healing practices among the Hmong in Vietnam,” and Tran Van Ha and Le Minh Anh write on “The transformation of rituals in two Mien villages in Northeast Vietnam.” The former chapter deals with the Sapa area of Lao Cai province, and the latter Quang Ninh province. Both are well informed and insightful, and show the complex interplay of government policies, economic changes, tourism, and international aid. The latter chapter shows and explores a resurgence in ritual activity by the 1990s. It mentions that many of the younger people intermarry with ethnic Vietnamese and are more keen on karaoke and Vietnamese pop music than local ritual practices. But the ethnic label Mien is misdirected in this case, and seems to draw on an editorial decision to replace official labels (such as Yao and Kariang) with local group-references that are more varied. The authors mention that they worked among Than Phan people (141), who are one kind of Yao (variously spelled Dao, Zao, and Dzao in Vietnam). The material on language, lineage names, and ritual practice is significantly different from what is known about Mien peoples. The choice of the Mien label creates an artificial similarity with other cases in the book, and detracts from this valuable study. Three chapters on China show varied aspects of contemporary changes in the southwestern region. Xiong Zhang, Jinrong Liu and Ma Li write on “Hydropower development on the Lancang: A recommendation for affected minori-

293

ties,” He Shaoying, Lou Hailin, and Luo Ping write on “The inheritance of Dai culture and the preservation of Dai park in Xishungpanna,” and Liu Jiang writes on “Khmu identity and survival in globalizing China.” The chapter on hydroelectric dams shows how national policy threatens local livelihood, in this case Lahu, Yi, Hani, and Dai peoples. The government has policies aimed at mitigating any negative cultural impact, but so far these efforts all seem aimed at attracting tourists to culture shows and ethnic parks. The case of the Dai Culture Park shows what appears to be a genuine boost to the preservation of culture, and turns out to be a corporate profit-venture run by outsiders who relegate local Dai to low-paid jobs. The park fits a larger effort to expand tourism to help with economic development, but there are various disjunctures between national, corporate, and local interests. “Somehow, I still think that my ID card is not quite right” (234). This quote is from a Khmu woman in Yunnan. Khmu are not recognized as a nationality in China, and the authorities insist that they register as Bulang, Hani, or Dai. Liu Jian’s informative chapter describes some of the Khmu people’s history along the Lao border, and the shift from swidden farming to rubber cultivation. Promoted as a move to prosperity, rubber farms have had devastating ecological consequences and have created significant economic vulnerability related to international market prices, something the Khmu had already experienced with sugar-cane farming in the 1980s.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

294

Reviews

Given this knowledge, it is somewhat disturbing to learn in the following chapter that Chinese entrepreneurs are establishing rubber and sugarcane cultivation across the border in Laos. Houmphan Rattanavong’s chapter on “The changing livelihoods of the Akha in Muang Sing and Muang Long in Laos” describes various challenges to Akha livelihood. Many adverse effects relate to the eradication of opium cultivation and a move to the lowlands. The chapter concludes with a range of suggestions for a reasoned approach to the range of social, ecological, and economic problems in the area. Don McCaskill’s chapter on the “Transformation of Hmong Culture and Identity” combines a theoretical discussion of globalization, objective and subjective realities, with the results of surveys and interviews in Doi Pui village on Doi Suthep, above Chiangmai City. In contrast to the fieldwork-based chapters that make up most of the book, the material comes across as superficial. In spite of the theoretical ambitions of the chapter, the material never goes beyond verbal statements about such things as “the most important things in Hmong culture” (303) and a list of the “most important factors that caused the changes to Hmong culture” (310). In the book’s Epilogue, Pinkaew Laungaramsri ably draws together some of the book’s collective findings in a discussion anchored to the dynamics of state control, globalization, and the negotiation over tradition. The book is an example of new kinds of collaborations, but at the same time it

appears to reinforce national boundaries and ethnic divides. Chinese scholars study matters in China, Thai scholars Thailand, and so on. For the most part, the scholars are ethnic majority people (along with a Westerner) looking at their minorities. There are important exceptions in the book, and it would be a nice experiment to have a similar group of researchers trade places and make sense of ethnicity, development, economic disparities and the like in each other’s countries. Among the things to explore, aside from trends in development and change in minority areas, is the importance of national research traditions and to what extent they lend particular shape to how we understand the basic matters of identity, culture, national histories, and global dynamics. This book raises a range of excellent questions, and provides valuable cases with which to think about the changes taking place in the region. One of the unanswered questions is how the Greater Mekong Subregion becomes a framework for engaging with the world, and what difference it makes that this notion is actively backed by the Asian Development Bank. If a major financial institution can define how scholars demarcate their fields, it is certainly worthy of some exploration. Studies of ethnic minorities are still important, but it is to be hoped that other dimensions of globalization and the making of regions also come into view as cultural and social phenomena worthy of serious study.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Hjorleifur Jonsson

Reviews

Nancy Eberhardt, Imagining the Course of Life: Self-Transformation in a Shan Buddhist Community. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, xiv+244 pp., pb, Bt 695. Drawing on two extended periods of ethnographic fieldwork in the 1980s and 1990s conducted in a Shan village in Mae Hong Son province, Eberhardt has written a compelling account of Shan perceptions of selfhood, life trajectories, and well-being as articulated in everyday life experiences, ritual practices, and community activities. Central to her argument is the dialectical and fluid relationship between individual self and society embedded in the Shan theories of human development, the theories she would rather call “Shan theories of person development” (p.165), as they transcend the rigid and linear course of change. A contribution to the field of ethno-psychological study, the book not only fills the recognizable gap in the literature on indigenous world views and practices of selfhood and ‘life course’ in mainland Southeast Asia, but also offers a reflexive formulation of how such issues can be contemplated beyond the conventional boundaries between Buddhist doctrine and popular religion, culture and psychology, mind and body, thought and feeling, and individual and society. Opening with an account of a healing rite, Eberhardt delves into the heart of the Shan thinking and practice of a healthy self. For the Shan, the body is not only a physical entity, but a contested site

295

between two opposing forces: the soul (khwan) and the spirit (phi). Although both life forces are in a transformative continuum of births and deaths, the separation between the two realms, the life-world khwan and the spirit-world phi, is essential in maintaining the wellbeing of the body and self. Through pat phi (sweeping away the spirits) and haung khwan (calling the souls), the spirit is driven away, the soul is propitiated and thus there is a reconnection of khwan and body in a reinstalled self. The connection between khwan and self is, however, disrupted at the time of death, when khwan becomes phi, setting off on a new passage of life to be reborn again. Yet the path towards this transition can be divergent, depending on the nature of death (usual or tragic) and degree of emotional attachments of the dead to loved ones and home. Merits made for the deceased through proper funerals and offering ceremonies such as kotsaa, a merit-making ceremony performed in the eleventh lunar month for those who have died in the previous year, are therefore crucial to facilitate the process of transformation and to ensure the disconnection between the life and spirit worlds. But self is never an empty entity or a complete coherence since birth. The stories of rebirth are captivating accounts of how past selves and present souls are constantly re-interconnected in the actual world. As the deceased is reborn into a new child, the process of guiding the self towards maturity starts anew. Eberhardt nicely draws a common thread between

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

296

Reviews

spirits, souls, and children, showing how each share a basic nature of immature self—the temptation and susceptibility of being lured by desires. The hungry spirit can be manipulated and controlled through human rites. The wandering soul needs the right treat to be persuaded to return to the body. The wild child is to be tamed and taught to know how to be self-restrained. All of these are significant processes in which selves are domesticated and made mature. Shan people maintain their health and well-being personally and collectively through ritual assistance. The story of three annual rituals which were performed in one day, illustrated by Eberhardt, is a good example of how the technology of rituals is extensively employed by villagers to sustain various levels of healthy life. The mei wan (repairing the village) is aimed at purification and revitalization. The liang tsao moeng (feasting the village guardian spirit) is to reaffirm the reverential relationship with the guardian spirit whose power protects the livelihoods of village members. The song phi (sending away the spirits) leads bad spirits out of the realm of the human world. These are only a few of the countless rituals performed by the Shan in order to ensure the well-being of the self. Rituals as cultural strategies thus allow the Shan properly to prepare themselves to cope with the uncertainty of the world they live in. Paui Sang Long, the well-known Shan novice ordination, is another terrain of ritual Eberhardt explores at great

length in order to see how this theatrical rite represents a site of multiple forms of maturity-making. Her way of capturing this ritual is interesting and her interpretation revealing. Whereas much of the literature on Buddhism and gender emphasizes gender inequality, Eberhardt highlights the agency aspect of gender relations, the role of woman sponsors in the ritual and the social meaning embedded in their active involvement. In so doing, she demonstrates to the reader how Paui Sang Long is simultaneously a unique rite of passage for boys and a rite of maternity for middle-aged women. As the ordination symbolizes the path towards adulthood of young boys, it is also enthusiastically anticipated by women. Through the devoted role of mae kham, the sponsor of the novice ordination, the rite of Paui Sang Long comes to mark the rite of maturity for both men and women, by which women sponsors also gain respectable status and prestige through their dedication. For the Shan, maturity as a form of self-transformation does not end when one achieves adulthood, but continues while aging. In old age, one learns to understand life and reality more deeply through detachment from the worldly world, the process Eberhardt calls “the second socialization”. Long years of knowledge and experience, and closer connections with Buddhist practices, allow old people, especially temple-sleepers, to gain insightful contemplation of life, ‘personhood’, and self-control, a significant moral stage of human development looked up to by the young ones in the community.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Imagining the Course of Life is a rich and engaging ethnography. Eberhardt’s stories are entertaining; one can feel the lively presence and energetic involvement of the anthropologist in everyday life of the Shan world as she moves from one ritual to the other. Focusing on specific events, yet with broader cultural reflections, this ethnography is a fascinating achievement of how dualism between personal understanding of self and human development and structural imperative of the cultural world can be resolved without abandoning its tension. The final chapter also suggests further terrains of exploration, including changes and their implications, significant topics that deserve closer investigation. This is a work of great value, not only to the field of ethno-psychology in particular but also to students of mainland Southeast Asia more broadly. Those who are particularly interested in ritual, selfhood, and human development will find the book both insightful and illuminating. Pinkaew Laungaramsri

297

Vatthana Pholsena and Ruth Banomyong, Laos: From Buffer State to Crossroads? translated by Michael Smithies. Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2006, 225 pp., Bt 525. At first glance, the sub-title of this book From Buffer State to Crossroads? suggests that what is on offer is an historical argument about how Laos has evolved over the past two decades, with just some doubt insinuated by that coy question mark. But this is misleading. What the book is about, rather, is revealed by its original French title: Le Laos au XXI siècle: Les défis de l’intégration régionale (Laos in the 21st century: The challenges of regional integration). The approach the two authors have adopted is analytical, rather than historical. The first three chapters make the case for Laos as a buffer state; examine its subsequent integration into the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN); and assess the continuing importance of relations with Vietnam and Thailand. The next four chapters analyse the situation Laos faces today: the problems posed by aspects of its underdevelopment; by subregional transportation and communications links; by cross-border contacts and influences; along with some of the social responses to changes taking place. The argument that Laos had developed as a buffer state between expanding Vietnamese and Siamese empires, which had been in conflict with each other for ‘over a thousand years’, was

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

298

Reviews

first made by Hugh Toye in his book Laos: Buffer State or Battleground (1968). This, for Toye, provided the historical basis for what he believed should have been the role of Laos during the Cold War: to be a neutral buffer state, in preference to becoming a battleground for contending ideologies. Pholsena and Banomyong broadly accept the notion of Laos as historically a buffer state, as they indicate by their sub-title and in their introductory chapter. Given this context, Laos as crossroads is a new departure, though as the authors point out (pp. 131–134), it was always linked by trade to the region. I read Lao history rather differently. The movement of peoples in mainland Southeast Asia has historically been from north to south, following the flow of great rivers (the Irrawaddy, the Chao Phraya, the Mekong), or down the coast of Vietnam. Conquests were at the expense of the Pyu, the Mon, the Khmer and the Cham. The Lao were part of this north-south movement, along with the Burmese, Siamese and Vietnamese. The kingdom (mandala) of Lan Xang that the Lao constructed on the middle Mekong was not a buffer state: it was a kingdom of comparable extent and might to Siam and Dai Viet, a kingdom which successfully defended its unity and independence from invaders from both east and west. Only after Lan Xang split into three (Luang Phrabang, Viang Chan and Champasak) in the early eighteenth century were these weakened Lao kingdoms eventually forced to accept

the suzerainty of Siam. Even then they were not buffer states: they were tributary meuang of the expanded Siamese mandala. But they also maintained political relations with Vietnam and China as well as Siam, relations which ebbed and flowed in proportion to the relative power and interests of each. The culture of Lao foreign relations was never shaped by the idea of neutrality or being a buffer between contending powers. It was shaped by the infinitely flexible political structure of the meuang, whose nested hierarchical relationships comprised the mandala of Meuang Lao. No fixed frontiers held antagonistic kingdoms apart. Trade and diplomacy in the form of tribute missions kept the Lao kingdoms in constant contact with the region. Even after the destruction of Viang Chan (Vientiane) in the Lao-Siamese war of 1827-28, Lao meuang, most notably Luang Phrabang, but also the Sipsong Chau Thai, Xiang Khuang and some lesser meuang on the Mahaxai Plateau, kept up regional contacts designed not to maintain some kind of neutrality, but to preserve a degree of independence through a flexible accounting of power relationships. Only with the arrival of antagonistic European powers was the notion of a buffer state introduced into Southeast Asian political thought – and then, as Pholsena and Banomyong acknowledge, it applied to Siam, not Laos. The Lao territories were divided: what is Laos today was part of French Indochina; the rest remained part of Siam. The French justified their rule over

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

Laos (and Cambodia) as protection from Siamese domination, only to open the way to domination by Vietnam. Only with the advent of the Cold War was independent Laos cast in the role of a buffer state between communist North Vietnam and capitalist Thailand. But it was a role that rested solely on the interference of outside powers. Laos was in fact not neutral, but divided into spheres of control: Chinese in the north (after 1962), Vietnamese down the eastern mountains, and US/Thai along the Mekong valley. After 1975, Laos was tightly tied to Vietnam. It took the Third Indochina War to begin to unravel Vietnamese ‘regional hegemony’, and the ‘solution’ of the Cambodian conflict in 1993 to complete it (despite the continuing Lao-Vietnamese ‘special relationship’ – on which more below). Laos as a neutral buffer state was an invention of the West, an intrusion of Western strategic thinking into Southeast Asia. Once the West withdrew, once Vietnam no longer possessed the prop of the Soviet Union, the countries of Southeast Asia could begin to revert to the regional relationships they previously enjoyed. The ‘great power’ in the region is once again China. But there is no military/strategic alliance among mainland Southeast Asian states to ‘balance’ Chinese power and no buffer between them. Security for mainland Southeast Asian states derives, as it traditionally did, from diplomacy underwritten by moral expectations, recognition of China’s status, and the mutual benefits of trade. This may not

299

satisfy realist analysts, but it worked fairly well in the past. This interpretation dispenses with the notion of Laos as a buffer state as a temporary Western imposition, an aberration in the historical pattern of mainland Southeast Asian regional relations. What we now see is a return to more flexible and more firmly historically grounded relationships, but in the modern guise of ASEAN. Pholsena and Banomyong devote the best part of a chapter to considering why Laos (and Vietnam and Cambodia) joined ASEAN, and the challenges and benefits this poses for Vientiane. While the authors give due weight to the end of the Cold War and the UN ‘solution’ in Cambodia, they do not, I think, take sufficient account of the extent to which the Lao decision depended on Vietnam. This is not to say that Lao reasons for joining ASEAN were the same as those of Vietnam: just that if Vietnam had not joined, Laos would not have become a member. For Vietnam, security in the face of a rising China was the first consideration. Given the events of 1979 and disputed sovereignty over islands in the South China Sea, Vietnam was desperate not to face China alone. China would be less likely to attack a member of ASEAN than to teach an isolated Vietnam a second ‘lesson’. But this was not a primary concern of the Lao. Pholsena and Banomyong examine three sets of explanations of why Laos joined ASEAN, which are really accounts of what Laos stood to gain. A neo-institutionalist

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

300

Reviews

argument is that Laos would benefit from inclusion in ASEAN’s cooperative multilateral institutions to raise its voice in world forums. A realist view would be that Lao national security would be protected, not as in the case of Vietnam from China, but from Thailand, which fought a more recent border war with Laos in 1988. The authors prefer a constructionist perspective. They argue that joining ASEAN permits Laos to contribute to building a ‘security community’, by means of which it would be able to pursue a genuinely neutralist foreign policy of peace and friendship with all other states (even if some friends, like Vietnam, remain more equal than others.) Though the authors do not stress this point, such a policy has the benefit of ensuring that Laos continues to receive aid and investment from the widest possible cross-section of donors. A chapter is devoted to examining bilateral relations with both Vietnam and Thailand. The roots of the ‘special relationship’ with Vietnam are found in the events of 1945 when, at the direction of the communist controlled Vietminh front, Vietnamese living in Laos seized power in the Lao Mekong towns alongside the Lao Issara (Free Lao) nationalists and a handful of Lao Marxists. From there we jump to the establishment of a Pathet Lao liberated zone in northeast Laos in 1953, thanks to Vietminh forces. And from 1953 we leap to the present. There is no mention of the decade of warfare from 1964 to 1973, during which Lao and Vietnamese

forces fought side-by-side under the rain of American bombs. Yet this was the period when the all-important military relationship was consolidated. For it is the military relationship above all that has caused the ‘special relationship’ to persist, not that in its current form it is ‘multidimensional’. Since the death of Laos’s first state and party president, Kaysone Phomvihan, who was half Vietnamese, his two successors have both been army commanders. It is true, however, as the authors argue, that the relationship is mutually beneficial in terms of both trade (legal and illegal, mainly timber) and security. Vietnam has always understood the relationship as strategic, as protecting its long and vulnerable western frontier. The analysis of the ‘tense’ relationship between Laos and Thailand is much more searching and revealing, as one might expect from authors who are, respectively, Lao and Thai. But here again there is a curious lacuna. No mention is made of the event that still bulks large in Lao national consciousness – the sack of Viang Chan. Just as the Thai can never forget the utter destruction of Ayutthaya at the hands of the Burmese, so the Lao can never forget the equally total destruction of Viang Chan and the brutal treatment of its ruling family. The relationship with China is only mentioned in passing, as ‘an increasing influence’. But it is more than that. The Chinese presence in Laos is growing steadily. Substantial numbers of Chinese have moved into northern Lao towns, where much of the commerce is now in

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

their hands. Chinese companies have built factories, established plantations and begun mining. Their expanding political influence has been at the expense of the Vietnamese. Already the Lao are careful to balance their relations with Hanoi and Beijing. Once the last of the revolutionary generation of Lao military leaders have retired, the balance may well tip in China’s favour. Chapter four moves directly to the Lao economy, but the reader is not sure why. No attempt is made to set the chapter in the context of the transition from buffer state to crossroads. The discussion is informed and informative, and one assumes that the point being made is that Laos is ill-prepared to stand as some kind of sub-regional economic hub. The weakness of Lao financial institutions and the country’s economic dependency are stressed. This is contrasted with selfsufficiency in food production. Economic dependency is indicated by the country’s balance of payments deficit, which the authors argue will not be quickly reversed by the construction of large dams (notably the Nam Theun II) and sale of hydropower to Thailand, the only buyer. There is, however, no discussion of mining. Yet in 2005 and 2006, the value of Lao exports grew faster than for any other ASEAN member state, thanks largely to the boost provided by mineral exports from the large Australian owned and operated gold and copper mine at Sepone in central Laos (which also provided substantial revenue to the Lao government.) (Statistics in the French publication of 2004 have been

301

updated for the English edition, but still run a few years late. “The last three years” mentioned at one point actually refer to 2000–2003.) In chapter 5 the authors address that question mark in their title: does the future of Laos lie in becoming the crossroads (or in their terminology, the ‘logistics platform’) of mainland Southeast Asia? Forms of, and improvements to, transportation and communications are discussed with the help of tables on such matters as comparative transport costs and time spent at frontier crossings. The roles played by ASEAN agreements and the Asian Development Bank in promoting its Greater Mekong Sub-region project (which includes the Chinese province of Yunnan as well as mainland Southeast Asian states) are examined, but the authors rightly conclude that such theoretical concepts as ‘growth areas’ (triangles, quadrilaterals) including parts of Laos and ‘economic corridors’ following transport routes across the country “still have to prove their worth on the ground.” Nevertheless, as the authors correctly assert in chapter 6, there is no possibility that landlocked Laos can remain semiisolated from the global changes sweeping the rest of Southeast Asia. A massive increase in tourism, increasing labour migration, epidemics such as HIV/Aids and SARS, and smuggling of timber (the example they examine), livestock and wildlife, all cut across borders and force Laos to confront the challenges of expanding regional integration. But then, as the authors point out, to claim

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

302

Reviews

that historically Laos was isolated from the region was to perpetuate a myth. Chapter 7 turns to social change, the failure of Marxism, the crisis of political legitimation and the resurgence of Buddhism. The attitudes of Lao youth are revealed through answers to the Vientiane Social Survey, and the chapter ends with a brief note on ethnic minorities in the face of resettlement and regional integration. Each is of interest, but treated as separate issues. The conclusion is inconclusive, because at the end of the day the authors present no clearly argued case, either in terms of direction of change or of the economic and political challenges Laos faces today. Both can be glimpsed but could have been presented in a more connected way. That said, any book on Laos is a welcome addition to a woefully small literature, and this book is packed with useful information that will be new to most readers. There is a chronology that runs from 1353, the date of the founding of Lan Xang, to 2005, and a useful bibliography and index. The translation from the French by Michael Smithies runs smoothly, making the book an easy read. Martin Stuart-Fox

Michel Jacq-Hergoualc’h, The Armies of Angkor: Military Structure and Weaponry of the Khmers, translated by Michael Smithies, Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2007, xiii + 178 pp., Bt 1,350. Michel Jacq-Hergoualc’h, Orchid Press, and Michael Smithies as translator of the original French edition, are all to be congratulated for the publication of this book with its intriguing subject. As Jean Boissellier points out in his Preface, the study of narrative bas-reliefs in the temples of Angkor have been of great importance for our understanding of a society that left behind such a limited number of written—or, more correctly, incised—records. Today, as scholarship has advanced so substantially, it is all too easy, even for a less-than-casual visitor to Angkor, to fail to recognise how much has been deduced from approximately 1,200 inscriptions, many of which have little to do with the material life of the Angkorian period. It is in these circumstances that the importance of narrative bas-reliefs has long been recognised. Lunet de Lajonquière, whose fame rests on his having been responsible for mapping temple sites throughout Cambodia in the first two decades of the twentieth century, observed in 1911 that temple bas-reliefs constituted ‘a veritable mine of information’ about Angkorian society and urged scholars to exploit this ‘mine’. This was a challenge partially met by George Groslier, in his Recherches sur les Cambodgiens, d’après les textes et les monuments depuis les premiers siècles de notre ère, published in Paris

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

in 1921. And through his work, and that of others, much information has been assembled about daily life in Cambodia. The bas-reliefs along the outer galleries of the Bayon are, of course, the bestknown sources in this regard. Yet, again quoting Boisselier, surprisingly enough the armies so frequently displayed in these bas-reliefs have not received the attention they deserve, and it is here that our gratitude must go to the present author. In meticulous detail, and sensibly using line drawings rather than photographs for the greater clarity this achieves, deals with the entire gamut of military aspects associated with the royal armies that existed during the reigns of Suryavarman II and Jayavarman VII and which were depicted on three key temples: Angkor Wat, the Bayon and Banteay Chmar. In doing so, Michel Jacq-Hergoualc’h sets himself three aims: the selection of bas-reliefs and the study of the weapons used by the different constituents of the army; the study of these constituent parts and their relative importance to each other; and, finally, an examination of the crowds of people surrounding the armies that are depicted. All of this is done against the conclusion that, contrary to the assumptions of various previous commentators, the Khmer armies were not modelled on traditional armies in India. In each of the sections just mentioned the author approaches his task in detail, so that what follows is greatly simplified and should be seen in this light. In terms of weaponry, Jacq-Hergoualc’h makes clear that, with the exception of

303

a limited number of ‘war machines’, for example, a chariot-like mount with defensive shielding used by warriors to launch their spears (figure 29, page 37) or other primitive ‘ballistae’, including ones mounted on elephants, the armaments of the Khmer army were ‘fairly primitive’ and included swords of various types, axes, bows and arrows and spears. From his examination of the basreliefs, the author concludes that the Khmer armies of the period under review were composed of four basic corps: war chariots, cavalry, elephants and the infantry. To this he adds a further classification, allies and mercenaries, while giving separate attention to enemies, and treating the use of boats for warfare as a separate classification. In his detailed examination of these various fighting arms the author comes to a conclusion that would not surprise soldiers of many wars, past and present. Impressive though the cavalry might have been, and intimidating as the elephants surely were, in the end it would seem that the most important role in any battle was that played by the group known for centuries, irreverently, as the ‘poor bloody infantry’. As the author puts it, the elephants were ‘so impressive, so numerous, so cumbersome, and possibly so useless’. Images of tanks, incompetently used as they were during the First World War, before their role was rethought by strategists as diverse as Liddell Hart, Charles de Gaulle and Hans Guderian, immediately come to mind. And likewise with his analysis

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

304

Reviews

of battles fought on water, the images that he conjures up sit more closely with accounts of Salmis or even Lepanto than any later naval engagements in which armaments and manoeuvrability played a vital role. To the extent the bas-reliefs have a story to tell, it is of the boats of rival armies seeking to join battle alongside each other, with the hope of each boat’s crew that it could board and overcome its opponents. Following his discussion of accessories and camp followers, the author offers a tightly formulated ‘conclusion’ reinforcing his arguments for the paramount importance of the infantry and the uniquely Khmer character of the army. But he does more, for he allows his imagination, soundly based on what he has written and analysed previously, to give us a picture of how he believes the army appeared as it marched off to battle. It is a vision of colour and noise, of a ‘shimmering multitude of parasols, standards and insignia’, of bells and strummed instruments and ‘the booming gong’. As he writes, ‘what a din that must have made!’ Specialist in character though this book undoubtedly is, its appearance will be welcomed by all those for whom a visit to Angkor is more than an occasion for a brief, if wondrous, excursion. The author is to be commended for his contribution to our greater understanding of a society that still remains so elusive in many ways. Milton Osborne

Joyce Clark, ed., Bayon: New perspectives. Contributors: Ang Choulean, Olivier Cunin, Claude Jacques, T.S. Maxwell, Vittorio Roveda, AnneValérie Schweyer, Peter D. Sharrock, Michael Vickery, and Hiram Woodward. Bangkok, River Books, 2007, ix–409 pp., numerous colour and b/w ills, bibliography, glossaries, index. Last of the ‘temple-mountains’ built at Angkor, the Bayon embodies several centuries of architectural tradition – even if borrowings from Angkor Wat, the earlier twelfth century state temple, are the most evident. In addition, the Bayon is the first and only Buddhist Khmer state temple and, contrary to Borobudur (which is in a way its Javanese counterpart), it was from the beginning conceived and built as a Buddhist monument. That, however, in the Angkorean context, does not imply structural differences with Brahmanistic monuments, but signifies another old Khmer tradition most probably nourished by fresh ideas derived from India around the end of the eleventh century, perhaps even later (but definitely before the exodus from India of Buddhist theologians alluded to by Tāranātha, the Tibetan historian). It is on such a double architectural and ideological basis that the Bayon was ‘invented’ by individual or numerous artists and theologians from the retinue of Jayavarman VII, bearing in mind that theology and political science were there closely linked, and also remembering that the initial construction was followed by one

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

or several revisions (to say nothing of post-Jayavarman VII avatars). These various orientations determine the framework of any investigative study about the Bayon: one cannot avoid questioning traditions, inventions and revisions and it may better to deal with the several disciplinary fields involved separately. The present book is made up of ten papers (including a foreword and an introduction), which guarantees multiplicity. This being the case, not being the integrated study which was planned at the start (see the editor’s preface), it looks very much like those festschrifts where each author deals with his own topic in his own way and with little regard to what may be found in the other papers. Internal cross references are few and connection between ‘materialistic’ and ‘idealistic’ (Vickery’s terms) specialists is rarely evident. Thus one is surprised to see that nobody has told Vickery that the (so-called) Dufour ground plan of the Bayon is not to be taken as a reference: like all pre-Dumarçay Bayon ground plans, it is erroneous and marked by several oddities such as a supplementary but non-existent tower on the western side of the monument (it may be said in the defence of Vickery that the same Dufour plan illustrating the Bayon appears in a scholarly Angkor guidebook recently published in Bangkok and Geneva). Lastly, some topics are dealt with repeatedly in several papers and one looks in vain for at least a kind of integrative synthesis (e.g. about the face-towers or the socalled ‘gallery passages’, alias kui).

305

Hiram Woodward’s foreword contains, as usual, stimulating suggestions (especially about Buddhist “layers” which may be identified). Michael Vickery’s task in the ‘Introduction’ was more complicated, for he had to present the preceding research, to summarise in an integrated overview the other papers and to express his own ideas. For the past, the presentation is rapid and, as often with this book, work done in the 1960s (especially Dumarçay’s) is overlooked, with the result indicated above with the Bayon ground plan. An excursus on the name of the Bayon could have been enhanced by the first mention of the Bayon in Europe found in the English edition (1864, v.II p.2) of Mouhot’s diary (which is far more complete than the French one referred to here): known as Prea sat Ling poun, it meant, according to Mouhot, “the Pagoda where they play hide and seek.” As regards the vexed problem of the certain Shaivite upsurge during the thirteenth century (notwithstanding Claude Jacques), the Jayavarman VIII hypothesis seems a little late for a phenomena which had seemingly quietened down by the time of Zhou Daguan’s sojourn in Angkor. In any case, as I have related elsewhere, the Indian and sectarian origin of that violent fundamentalist but short-lived phenomenon is more likely than its attribution to a deliberate royal policy of one of Jayavarman VII’s successors. Claude Jacques, in ‘The historical development of Khmer culture from the death of Sūryavarman II to the sixteenth century’, expands on the theory he has

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

306

Reviews

been developing for some years and which denies any decline at Angkor after the death of Jayavarman VII. To give it a ‘materialistic’ ground, he lengthens the construction period of the monuments of the so-called Bayon style, while attributing to the rule of Jayavarman VIII (in the second half of the thirteenth century) some specific changes brought to older monuments (Phimai, Baphuon, as well as Angkor Wat or Beng Mealea). However, archaeological and architectural evidence put forward are mere hypotheses, as is the replacement of the Buddha statue in the sanctum of the Bayon by a Harihara image, to say nothing of the interpretation of the notes of Zhou Daguan. Claude Jacques’ paper ends with an excursus about the “gallery passages” or kui. On that point I must add that such temporary structures built with thin walls and light covering are most probably those ‘provisional temples’ (balālaya, balagha, etc., literally ‘infant temples’), which in the Indian tradition are used to shelter the cult image (or a substitute for it) of a temple or chapel during repairs or under construction. A.–V. Schweyer’s paper, ‘The confrontation of the Khmers and Chams in the Bayon period’, starts with a tedious military history of Khmer-Cham relations between circa 1050 and Jayavarman VII, in the middle of which is inserted a short excursus on ‘Khmer influence on Cham art’; however, the statues dealt with are testimonies of Khmer colonial art at the time of Jayavarman VII, while temples of Banhit reflect Khmer architecture of the late

tenth century more than of the twelfth. Dealing with the events of 1177, the author follows Vickery but with some curious arguments (Chams being excellent sailors, they do not need a Chinese guide, or as there is a good land route, why come via the Mekong and the Tonle Sap?). More interesting is the development dealing with the control of Champa by the Khmers during the reign of Jayavarman VII and the emphasis on the expression ‘the 32 year war’ applied to the period of Khmer occupation in Cham inscriptions. As usual, T.S. Maxwell’s paper, ‘Religion of the time of Jayavarman VII’, is a very stimulating one, even if one is inclined to differ on many points. It starts by a presentation of the coming of Indian religions to South-East Asia, interestingly but surprisingly leaving out reference to the numerous imported Indian Sanskrit texts, which are the backbone of Indian culture in South-East Asia. Some statements may be doubtful, such as the opposition of a southern Funan where Viṣṇu would have been predominant while the north was the field of the cult of Śiva, but he insists rightly on what he calls ‘Hindu-Buddhist tendency’ or ‘coalescence’, giving some good examples (e.g. Prasat Ampil Rolum and inscriptions K. 162–163). He could have added that Khmer architecture as a whole is non-sectarian and that the shift of a cult-place from one creed to another is easy and not rare (e.g. Bat Chum in the tenth century). Lastly, when dealing with the immediate background of Jayavarman VII, it would

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

have been better to have taken notice of the important Mahayanist temples built in the decades preceding his reign and where plenty of place is allowed for Brahmanic themes (e.g. Beng Mealea and the series of ‘temples d’étapes’ (staging-post temples) between Angkor and Prah Khan of Kompong Svay). After a confused presentation of the Bayon’s ‘short inscriptions’, comes an excursus of several pages on the face towers. Maxwell seems inclined, like nineteenth century travellers, to look for their invention outside Cambodia, that is to say, in India, but where? It is not very clear. He establishes a dubious parallel between those faces applied to a tower’s main body and Indian śukanāsa pediments which pertain to foreparts (and are exact counterparts of the numerous Khmer porch pediments). While leaving aside once more the textual background, Maxwell then emphasises in a footnote the idea of ‘Southeast Asian voyagers visiting India and returning with useful elements of that culture’, for which it would be good to be given at least some positive arguments. Regarding the short inscriptions, he elaborates on their role and on their absence in some places where images could have been installed, while not mentioning the problem of the date of their engraving and of their possible relative chronology. Then dealing with the gods they list, he extends some remarks made by Coedès in 1913 to suggest that the Buddha of the central sanctum of the Bayon is in fact the Hindu god Harihara. We have already seen that C. Jacques suggested that a Hari-

307

hara image replaced that of the Buddha at the time of Jayavarman VIII. Let us remember, however, that of the two goddesses whose presence in inscriptions leads to the creation of those hypothetic Harihara, one (Dharaṇī) is a common Buddhist deity, while the other (Pārvatī) is said in the Kāraṇḍavyūhasūtra to be a future Buddha! Further on, Maxwell questions the rationale of worshipping numerous ‘separate images of the same aspect of the same Buddha in a single temple’. Let us remember the more than one hundred Śivaliṇgas occupying each a chapel in the Phnom Bakheng temple at Angkor or are installed in the galleries of Bṛhadīśvara temple in Tanjore in South India. The same kind of remark may be made about what is said concerning the installation of a new image near an older one, a triviality in Cambodia as in India; this being the case, Maxwell well shows the Khmers’ profound knowledge of Indian culture, knowledge which allows them to invent new interpretations for their own use. T.S. Maxwell appends to his paper a synchronistic edition and translation of all ‘The short inscriptions of the Bayon and contemporary temples’. Though convenient, it is however difficult to use without going back to the more precise works of Coedès or Groslier. Olivier Cunin covers the materialistic aspect of the temple but his paper ‘The Bayon: an archaeological and architectural study’, the longest of the book, has been little used by other authors. It is lavishly illustrated by numerous plans and cross-sections (most of them seem-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

308

Reviews

ingly based upon Dumarçay’s), as well as useful axonometric or bird’s eye view reconstructions. In its reconstruction of the outer gallery, Cunin proposes that it comprised eight face towers, using simultaneously some elements of such towers found in the ‘Commaille heaps’ and the Banteay Chmar model; the hypothesis is interesting, but remains to be verified by actual reconstruction of some, at least, of the supposed face towers. However, his most important contribution is to propose a rearrangement of the chronology of the construction work of the Bayon, a rearrangement based upon several criteria, among which and for the most part comprise the study of magnetic variation of sandstone by the University of Waseda petrology team. The result is a chronology more compact than Dumarçay’s (especially concerning the third level); it seems as a whole quite convincing, even if some new findings may appear a little doubtful (e.g. concerning the gallery of the second level). Some remarks seem a little hasty (e.g. about the so-called library-like towers 50 and 51 and their relation to towers 19 and 20). This being the case, one may again deplore the fact that Peter S. Sharrock is, amongst the other authors, the only one who has applied an idealistic eye to the results of O. Cunin’s very materialistic study. The faces of the Bayon (and some other monuments) have often been dealt with, but the paper by Peter D. Sharrock, ‘The mystery of the face towers’, is welcome. It furnishes a fair review of the present state of the studies, gives

precise hints about possible connection with Nepal face stupas and lastly elaborates three interpretations: Hevajra, Vajradhāra and Vajrasattva. Hevajra is very popular, as shown by several bronze images and a single huge but dilapidated and dismembered statue found near the eastern gate of Angkor Thom. However, its multiple heads would make it unsuitable for face towers (this may or may not be so). Vajrasattva and Vajradhāra share several features and appear quite frequently in Jayavarman VII monuments: Vajradhāra especially in hospital temple libraries, while Vajrasattva is often found on internal lintels of Buddhist shrines (at Prah Khan of Kompong Svay it appears on lintels of small shrines and has been subsequently deprived of upper arms, probably in order to be more coherent with Theravāda iconography!). Sharrock’s argument (based inter alia upon votive tablets showing the Mahayanist pantheon, see Woodward’s article of 1981) leads him finally to propose the Vajrasattva face as the one seen on the Bayon towers. While admiring Sharrock’s well-documented ‘theological’ argument, I wonder if it takes into account the Bayon’s political aspect and function. Vittorio Roveda, in his paper, ‘Reliefs of the Bayon’, deals with the monument’s iconography as a whole (excepting the faces on the towers) and in a general way looks at it more or less in a synchronic mode. The paper is an inventory (first of the reliefs of galleries, then of the pediments and some lintels of towers), followed by some

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

proposals of interpretation. The inventory is quite cursory, especially for the galleries, where a good visual memory of the reliefs is often needed to follow descriptions as given, but there are very good photographs of some of the hidden pediments of the second level towers. For the interpretation of the outer gallery, Roveda follows the views of Vickery and Schweyer about the naval battle, adding new questionable arguments (the boats are not sea-going ships) and proposes that it is a ‘mythic’ (rather, ‘mock’) battle commemorating the nonexistent historical one. The arguments he gives against the identification of Malyan rebellion are probably more specious (Cham inscriptions tell us that Cham troops attended the event but do not appear on the carved scene). Concerning the inner gallery, the distinction between original and re-carved images is sometimes questionable (e.g. about Śiva’s image in room VIII), but it is well-known that there may be endless discussions about this point. The conclusion of the book is given by Ang Choulean, whose paper has a title ‘In the beginning was the Bayon’ I would willingly reverse, as the legacy of the past reflected in the Bayon is often left aside in this book. This being the case, Ang Choulean shows us how the Bayon is at the centre of re-appropriation by the present-day Khmer cosmogical myths figured at Angkor, primarily the Churning of the Sea of Milk. He also reminds us that the reinterpretation of the Bayon, as of Angkor as a whole, has been a continuous process since the

309

fifteenth century and that the sixteenth century marks an important date in this interpretation. To conclude, this collective work is more stimulating in the divergent interpretations it gives to some specific subjects than as a general presentation of the present state of studies of the Bayon. It is therefore a good addition to the bibliography dealing with the most puzzling period of Angkorean history. Lastly, we should indicate that the fine general appearance of the book is impaired by use of a very small type and of an even smaller one for footnotes, which are virtually illegible. Narrower margins and the suppression of some figures of little interest would have contributed to a less tiresome reading without increasing the number of pages. Misprints are few but one of them concerns an old master of Khmer epigraphy, Au Chhieng, whose name is misspelt (Au Chhing) in the text as in the index, but not in the bibliography. In that last the reference to Jacques Dumarçay’s seminal Atlas has been muddled: it should be ascribed to 1967 and not to 1973, which is the date of the book co-authored with B.-Ph. Groslier.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bruno Dagens

310

Reviews

Olivier Cunin and Baku Saito, The Face Towers of Banteay Chmar. Tokyo, Goto Shoin Publishing, 2005, 141 pp. The monumental and awe-inspiring stone faces of Angkor that smile so enigmatically upon the Cambodian countryside have intrigued Western artists and scholars for more than a century, but for one Japanese photographer they have become a passion. Baku Saito began travelling to Cambodia in the early 1990s. His frequent solo excursions brought him in touch with a land visited at the time by only a few foreign travelers. The scenery and architecture captured his imagination and in 1994 he decided to photograph all of the monumental stone faces that still existed at Angkor. The project to document all 228 of the faces took six years and culminated in the publication of a UNESCO sponsored book “Bayon I – The Faces of the Towers, Part I Plates”. While Saito’s photography of all the faces of Angkor met with great acclaim and an UNECSO sponsored exhibition, the photographer was not satisfied with his work because he soon discovered that similar faces to those appearing at Angkor Thom and the Bayon could be found at two other locations in Cambodia: Banteay Chmar, a site which lies over 100 kilometres northwest of Angkor and close to the Thai border, and Preah Khan at Kompong Svay, which is located to the east of Angkor in an area know for iron mining. Both sites posed enormous challenges to the determined photographer because

of their locations in much less accessible areas. In addition, the work had to be carried out with serious time constraints, making the shooting chaotic, according to the photographer. Trees and branches had to be removed from faces before they could be photographed and the best angles for shooting pictures were often on top of wobbling piles of stone. Banteay Chmar, which has not been restored, remains one of Cambodia’s most extensive ruins. Undaunted by such challenges, Saito was able successfully to complete the project. He photographed 31 new faces and documented the existence of others which have fallen to ruin. His efforts culminated in The Face Towers of Banteay Chmar, a valuable work documenting an important aspect of the reign of the late twelfth century Khmer ruler Jayavarman VII, whose face is believed to have served as the inspiration for the large stone images. The book, which is in both English and Japanese, is divided into two main sections. The first part consists of one hundred pages of photographs in both color and black and white. This is followed by a chapter written by Olivier Cunin, based on research he carried out at the Institut National Polytechnique, Lorraine, France, for a Ph.D. thesis demonstrating that there are additional face towers at Bayon which are today in ruin. The book’s photographic section commences with color photographs of Banteay Chmar, its adjacent satellite temples and Mebon and also includes color photos of Preah Khan of Kom-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

pong Svay. Captions tend to be poetic, such as, “Pediment bathed in sunlight / Banteay Chmar (entrance of the main temple)”. This section is followed by black and white photos of all the faces found at each site with precise information about each one’s location. The second part of the book presents an extremely detailed 40-page text by Cunin. The chapter starts with a comprehensive list of sources for scholars who have visited and written about the monument in the past. As the author points out, up until the 1920s these faces were originally mistaken as representing one of the Hindu gods, possibly Brahma or Siva, due to the mistaken classification of the Bayon period to a much earlier era. Only in 1924, when a carving of the Avalokitesvara was discovered at the Bayon, was the monument correctly linked to a later date and Mahayana Buddhism. Unfortunately, as the author also points out, due to its remote location, Banteay Chmar has suffered from extensive pillaging. Cunin mentions that in 1999 Thai border police found a large section of the western gallery, which was being smuggled into Thailand. Those in Thailand at the time remember that the large gallery section with an image of the Avalokitesvara was placed on display at the National Museum in Bangkok before it was returned to Cambodia, where the pieces are now kept at the museum in Phnom Penh. Cumin’s text is supported with maps, plans, photographs and detailed drawings which include comparisons with

311

other architectural sites in Cambodia which have monumental faces. Under the section “Where Are the Face Towers Found”, the author briefly refers to Preah Khan of Kompong Svay. The section also includes an inventory of face towers which are in ruin. This is accompanied by a series of black and white photographs, where stone sections believed to be part of the face tower are highlighted in color. Any serious visitor to Banteay Chmar, “the citadel of the cats” as the impressive Khmer ruins are called, would find reading this book extremely useful in serving to explain the layout and design of the almost overwhelming fields of stone rubble. Members of a recent Siam Society trip can attest to the fact that reaching the site is still a difficult journey over bumpy roads and touring the monument requires prowess at climbing over mounds of uneven stone. How Saito in a short time managed to photograph all the faces and accurately remember where each image is located in the maze of stone rubble is difficult to imagine. However impressive Saito’s efforts, The Face Towers of Banteay Chmar does have certain limitations. One main drawback is the fact that the book is written in two languages and certain sections, such as “For the Catalogue” and the “Editorial Notes”, are poorly translated into English. Book distributors tend to avoid multi-language books for reasons which are apparent in this book. As the present reviewer does not know Japanese, no comments can be made as

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

312

Reviews

to the quality of the translation of Olivier Cunin’s text. Another problem concerning the book is the inclusion of photographs of the face towers of Preah Khan of Kompong Svay without the provision of a separate text and explanation about this monument. The explanatory text written by Olivier Cunin only covers Banteay Chmar. While Preah Kahn is mentioned in passing in Cunin’s text, the book would be more balanced if a short separate section about this monument had also been included. Despite the problems mentioned above, anyone wishing to visit Banteay Chmar would find in this volume extremely useful introduction to this little-known site. The many diagrams and drawings which accompany Cunin’s text help to make sense of a complex archeological site. Baku Saito’s attempt to document the challenging archaeological sites of both Banteay Chmar and Preah Khan of Kompong Svay is admirable, and is well complemented by Olivier Cunin’s precise text. Any visit to these two remote Khmer sites would be enhanced by a thorough study of this book. Jane Puranananda

Zhou Daguan, A Record of Cambodia, the Land and its People, translated with an introduction and notes by Peter Harris, foreword by David Chandler. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007, xv + 150 pp. For anyone with more than a passing interest in the great Cambodian empire centred on Angkor, the name of Zhou Daguan is immediately familiar, though for some of a certain age, including the present reviewer, there is still a tendency to think of this obscure but immensely important observer of Angkor in the thirteenth century by the pre-pinyin rendering of his name as Chou Ta-kuan. His importance stems, of course, through the fact of his being the only eyewitness chronicler of the city of Angkor and its inhabitants while it was still a major, if fading, power in mainland Southeast Asia. Until quite recently, it is a fair assumption that most Anglophone readers will have encountered Zhou Daguan in the translation from French of Paul Pelliot by J. Gilman d’Arcy Paul, first published by the Siam Society in 1967. And, since 2001, these same Anglophone readers have had the opportunity to consult a more up-to-date and elegant rendering of the French by this journal’s editor, Michael Smithies, published again by the Siam Society. Few readers, whether Anglophone or Francophone, will have gained access to Zhou Daguan by returning to the French translation of this work by Paul Pelliot, published in 1902, let alone the first translation from

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

313

Reviews

Chinese into French accomplished by Jean-Pierre-Abel Rémusat in 1819. Now, for the first time in over fifty years, Peter Harris has provided us with a translation of Zhou’s text, working directly from Chinese into English. And he has done so with a very detailed accompanying scholarly apparatus that places Zhou Daguan in his place and time, while explaining his reasons for varying his translation from those offered by his predecessors working from French into English. One point to which the translator gives particular emphasis is the fact that Zhou Daguan’s ‘record’, as we have it, is only part of the document he prepared after spending a little less than a year in Cambodia in 1296–97. For those not schooled in a deep knowledge of Chinese history, what Harris has to say about Zhou’s background makes for fascinating reading. As Harris says in his introduction, after establishing that Zhou was born near the Chinese port city of Wenzhou in southeastern China, this ‘is not a place many people outside China have heard of’, but its character as a dynamic and open location, peopled by individuals with a ‘strong sense of identity . . . pleasure seekers and bon vivants’, gives clues to the sort of person Zhou would have been. And it is indeed possible to see in reading Zhou’s account of Angkor that he was, as Harris suggests, a man appreciative of good living and able to enjoy what he sees. Yet this débrouillard view of the world went hand in hand with a degree of prudishness which some-

times intrudes on his account of sexual practices, most of which he reports on hearsay rather than through personal observation. To what extent does this new translation overtake those previously available? I would suggest that this is a question that can be answered in two ways. At one level the existence of Harris’s version certainly does not mean we should cast previous French into English versions into the outer darkness. A non-specialist reading Paul or Smithies will still come away with a broadly satisfactory understanding of what Zhou Daguan had to say, with the essentials of his account well and truly available. Indeed, at first glance, this new translation appears like a paraphrase of earlier versions of Zhou’s text. Take, for instance, the ‘chapter’ headed ‘Agriculture’ in the Paul translation and ‘Cultivating the Land’ in Harris. The first sentence of this section in Paul reads: Generally speaking, three or four crops a year can be counted, for the entire Cambodian year resembles the fifth and sixth moons of China, and frost and snow are unknown.

Whereas in Harris it is: In general crops can be harvested three or four times a year, the reason being that all four seasons are like our fifth and sixth months, with days that know no frost or snow.

On other occasions there are rather more than minor differences in the

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

314

Reviews

rendering provided by Harris. Consider as an example the section dealing with ‘Villages’. In Paul’s version it reads: Each village has its temple, or at least a pagoda. No matter how small the village may be, it has a local mandarin, called the mai-chieh. Along the highways there are resting places like our post halts; these are called sen-mu (Khmer, samnak). Only recently, during the war with Siam, whole villages have been laid waste.

is:

The Harris rendering of this passage In every village there is a Buddhist temple or pagoda. Where the population is quite dense there is normally an official called maijie who is responsible for the security of the village. Resting places called senmu, like our posting-houses, are normally found along the main roads As the result of repeated wars with the Siamese the land has been completely laid to waste.

So, and at a second level, for anyone concerned with the minutiae of translation, the detail of flora and fauna, and the contested nuances in undertaking a translation from the original Chinese text, Harris deserves high praise. His explanations are admirably detailed and informed by references to Chinese historical texts, the abundant French literature on Angkor, and the linguistic work of Michael Vickery and the late Judith Jacobs. The book is helpfully illustrated with twenty-six photographs chosen to focus on issues raised in the text. The author and Silkworm Books are to be congratulated for making this important new contribution to Angkorian scholarship available to a wide audience.

In the lengthy footnote (99) that relates to this passage Harris explains his reasons for doubting that it can be read to suggest Buddhism was by this time ‘paramount in villages’; he expands the role assigned to the maijie, pointing out that it may be a Chinese rendering of the Khmer for a village headman, mai s’rok; and his translation, with ‘wars’ in the plural contrasts with the singular reference to conflict in Paul. This, as another reviewer, Chris Baker, has suggested, raises unanswerable questions about the extent to which conflict between Angkor and the rising Siamese states to the west was already a feature in the fourteenth century. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Milton Osborne

Reviews

Okna Veang Thiounn, Voyage du roi Sisowath en France. Translated from Khmer by Olivier de Bernon. Paris, Mercure de France, 2006, xx + 267 pp. On 7 May 1906, the sociable 66year-old Cambodian monarch, Sisowath (r. 1904–1927), embarked on a three-month-long journey to France. The voyage was dutifully recorded in Khmer by his Palace Minister, okna Veang Thiounn (c. 1860–1944). Thiounn’s text was never published in his lifetime, but to commemorate the centenary of the occasion, it was recently printed in Khmer in full. Olivier de Bernon’s deft and accessible translation into French brings this charming, belle époque account to the attention of twenty-first century readers. In 1906, France was ‘at the apogee of its power’, as de Bernon writes, and Cambodia was a jewel in its imperial crown. King Sisowath, unlike his older brother Norodom (r. 1863-1904), was justifiably regarded as a friend as well as a protégé of France. The overriding purpose of his visit was to display France to the King of Cambodia and the King of Cambodia to France. Judging from Thiounn’s account and others published at the time, the visit as an exercise in public relations was an unqualified success. The appeal of Voyage en France stems from the zest and thoroughness of Thiounn’s account, especially whenever it frees itself from its dutiful format to display Thiounn’s excitement, shared

315

by the monarch and his wide-eyed entourage, as they encountered a pleasing, tumultuous, hospitable and almost entirely different world. Thiounn punctiliously reports every stage of the long sea-voyage, starting with a visit to Saigon, which ‘had been conquered by the French’ (p. 42) and where the King had a tooth removed. Stops and ceremonies followed in Singapore, Ceylon and Port Said before the Cambodians, arriving in France, were greeted (p.105) by ‘the entire population’ of Marseilles: ‘People said that they had never heard or seen anything like it. They had never seen the French people so enthusiastically welcome a monarch from anywhere in the world.’ Soon afterwards, Thiounn lists dozens of hotels, shops and banks in Marseilles – the names presumably taken down from innumerable cartes de visite. De Bernon heroically attempts to decode the Khmer transcriptions of these names, which appear en bloc and remind us that Voyage en France records the surfaces of everything seen, met and experienced by Sisowath and his entourage. Significant and apparently meaningless events receive the same deadpan, fastidious treatment. The costumes that the king wore and the routes he travelled, for example, are set down in as much detail as what he said when he called on the President of the French Republic. Everything that Sisowath did in the eyes of the Khmer, after all, was of sublime importance, and was recorded in a vocabulary reserved specifically for those with royal blood.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

316

Reviews

Sisowath’s corps de ballet performed in Marseilles at the Colonial Exhibition. It was its first appearance outside the Royal Palace in Phnom Penh. The evening was a great success, and Thiounn tells us (p. 134) that the king, arriving at the theatre in his ‘glittering, multi-colored clothing was as beautiful as a god descending into the world of men.’ In his introduction, however, de Bernon points out that this public performance aimed at strangers cleared the way, as time went on, for a gradual ‘modernization’ and cheapening of a sacred artistic genre. From Marseilles, the Cambodians travelled to Paris, where the crowds were consistently ‘delirious’ (p. 177). Their seventeen-day visit was crowded with presentations, formal visits and celebrations. When Sisowath called on Armand Fallières, a perhaps forgettable President of the Republic (p. 162), he expressed his gratitude to France for helping Cambodia to flourish, adding that he considered France to be ‘like a mother and a father’ to his country. M. Fallières responded graciously by repeating the king’s remarks, without the parenthood clause. Officially, Sisowath visited a range of ministries, high-ranking figures and institutions. He absorbed everything courteously and with pleasure. His ceremonial schedule was lightened by shopping excursions, visits to Fontainebleau, two nights at a circus and one at the Opera (Samson and Delilah), as well as an afternoon at the races (pp. 88–90), where

he lost one bet, won another, and was loudly cheered by the crowd. At the end of the day, he presented a carved silver box to one of the winning jockeys. In Paris shortly before going home, Sisowath sponsored an hour-long performance by the royal ballet at a ‘garden party’ given in his honor for 30,000 people at the Elysée Palace (pp. 208– 210). The Cambodians then spent three days in Nancy and eight more in Paris, before departing for Marseilles and their voyage home on l8 July. Unfortunately, Thiounn’s account breaks off inexplicably on 6 July, when the king arrived in Nancy, although we know from other sources that the rest of the visit was as crowded and as happy as the days that had gone before. Voyage en France celebrates a signal moment in what Alain Forest has called the ‘painless colonization’ of Cambodia. Forest’s optimistic assessment has been astutely called into question by Penny Edwards and others, but the fact remains that the survival of Cambodia as a quasisovereign state in the nineteenth century owes much to France. The enduring Francophilia of the Cambodian royal family and older members of the elite is genuine, a generally positive legacy of the colonial era. In the ‘blame game’ that occupies so much writing about contemporary Cambodia, France has less to answer for, we would argue, than many other powers, including the United States, China, and Cambodia’s larger neighbors. With these ideas in mind, and for friends of Cambodia tout court and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

for la belle époque, this delightful book can be read with pleasure, without being taken, as the visit certainly was not, too seriously. David Chandler

317

Views of Seventeenth-Century Vietnam: Christoforo Borri on Cochinchina and Samuel Barron on Tonkin, introduced and annotated by Olga Dror and K.W. Taylor. Ithaca, NY, Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2006, 290 pp. $23.95 (paper), $46.95 (cloth). One of the standard laments by historians and teachers of early modern Vietnamese history is the relative paucity of primary source materials that can take us beyond the often frustratingly terse style of the various court chronicles. These chronicles tend to emphasize events at the court, descriptions of military conflicts, social upheaval, and other affairs of state. They rarely offer any glimpses into the more mundane aspects of Vietnamese lives, or even much detail regarding life in the capitals themselves. Beginning in the seventeenth century, as increasing numbers of Europeans made their way to the shores of Dai Viet, we begin to have travelers’ accounts that offer eyewitness descriptions of some of these sociological details. While often confused in the details and betraying some lack of comprehension of certain elements of Vietnamese society or culture, these accounts are invaluable complements to Vietnamese official court histories. The volume under review here, Views of Seventeenth-Century Vietnam: Christoforo Borri on Cochinchina and Samuel Barron on Tonkin, makes two of the earliest and best-known European accounts of Dai Viet available to a wider audience. This volume

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

318

Reviews

includes the texts of complementary and largely contemporaneous accounts by European residents in the northern and southern Vietnamese courts in the seventeenth century. As such, they are a natural pairing, enabling the reader to compare the situations in the northern Trinh and southern Nguyen realms at this time. Christoforo Borri’s account is based on his five years of residence in the southern realm between 1617 and 1622, just prior to the outbreak of the protracted civil war between the Trinh and Nguyen (1627–1672). Samuel Barron’s report is based primarily on his residence in Thang Long in the late 1670s and early 1680s, though he had been born in Tonkin, and lived there for some time as a boy. Thus, each represents the insights of a man who had spent substantial amounts of time living in the Vietnamese realms, making them particularly valuable. Barron, who was fluent in Vietnamese, was perhaps the more thorough informant, though Borri’s account is also an indispensable source for this period. This republication of the two accounts is substantially enhanced by the lengthy introduction to the texts, written by Olga Dror for the text by Borri, and Keith Taylor for Barron’s account. Furthermore, the editors have richly annotated the texts themselves, offering clarification and commentary on some of the more obscure elements of the texts, particularly the transliterations of certain Vietnamese terms. I was also very pleased that the volume includes twelve illustrations, which were contained in

the original Barron account. These very early images depicting elements of life in the northern capital of Thang Long are invaluable for representing such things as a marriage procession, the civil service examination compound, the courts of the Emperor and the Lord, and military and naval exercises. Of the two prefatory essays, Dror’s is the lengthier and more detailed, offering a substantial survey of Borri’s life, peregrinations, scientific inquiries, and the problems he encountered with the Jesuit hierarchy for his scientific views. His sojourn in Cochinchina was only a short part of his life, most of which was spent in Europe moving between Portugal, Italy, and Spain. Although quite intriguing as an account of this complicated man and the difficulties he encountered over the course of his career, Dror’s lengthy essay strays well beyond the circumstances of Borri’s description of Cochinchina. While it offers some very useful background to the text and its creation, I found the detailed information about Borri somewhat extraneous. Her essay concludes with an exploration of the recently published, selective translation of Borri’s work into Vietnamese, which offers very useful insights into the ways in which Vietnamese scholars continue to amend or expurgate historical sources to protect nationalist sensibilities. Taylor’s account of Barron’s life is much briefer, ten pages versus Dror’s fifty for Borri, necessitated by the sketchier material available on Barron. On the other hand, it does offer sufficient context

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

for understanding Barron’s illuminating insights regarding the nature of society and politics in Tonkin. Moreover, it usefully situates Barron’s account as being in part a response to Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s 1680 description of Tonkin, which was based on secondary materials and apparently riddled with errors. Overall, the presentation of this supplementary material is very well done, though I lament the absence of an index, and would have preferred more professionally drawn maps than those included here. What about the contents of these accounts themselves? Borri’s account is valuable on numerous fronts. He offers a brief description of a wide range of aspects of Cochinchinese society and culture. He describes local produce, common elements of diet and drink, and dress — largely in silks. The work includes explanations of local habits and practices (such as marriage rituals), and the roles of scholars and physicians in society. Borri provides an account of the role and training of elephants and offers a description of the rhinoceros. He talks about education, government structures, and the Nguyen arts of war. He describes language, climate, and trade. In short, Borri offers brief snapshots of many significant elements of Nguyen material life. He also addresses their spiritual lives, for, being a Jesuit priest, Borri was particularly concerned with such issues. His account of Vietnamese religious practices offers a rather confused depiction of Buddhism and Daoism, as Dror points out in her preface, intermin-

319

gling the two belief systems in ways that extended well beyond the existing Vietnamese syncretism of the two. Not surprisingly, the description of religious beliefs and practices is very much set in the context of the Christian mission and its attempts at gaining converts. Thus, the lens Borri uses substantially skews his depiction of religious practices. Nonetheless, it is useful when read with the cautions provided by the annotations. Samuel Barron was the son of an English trader and a Vietnamese woman, and apparently lived for some years in affiliation with the English factory outside of Thang Long. His account reflects an informed knowledge of significant elements of early seventeenth century Vietnamese society. Fortunately for us, it parallels Borri’s account in numerous aspects, similarly examining trade, local produce, geography, habits, medical practices, and the status of scholars and education. He provides a more detailed account of the political structures in the north than Borri did for the Nguyen realm describing the nature of the divided rule between the Trinh lords and the largely ceremonial Le Emperors. He gives particular attention to numerous state rituals, including the annual “heaven and earth” sacrifice, which was overseen by the Emperor, and also imperial funerals and their elaborate processions. His account concludes with a brief survey of religious beliefs, which diverges from Borri’s in that it makes virtually no reference to Christianity or to the Catholic missions, only offer-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

320

Reviews

ing a confused account of the alleged early Chinese exposure to Christianity. Mostly, it consists of basic descriptions of the two chief ‘sects’ he sees in Tonkin, namely, Confucianism and Buddhism. In sum, this volume is a very welcome contribution to the study and teaching of early modern Vietnamese history. While many historians of Vietnam are acquainted with these two accounts at second hand, I would guess that few have read them in their entirety, an opportunity that now presents itself. Furthermore, these are welcome in the classroom as well, for they offer readily accessible texts that enable students to gain insights into some of the more ordinary aspects of seventeenth century Vietnamese life. The editors are to be greatly commended for combining these texts and through their context-setting prefaces and annotations bringing them to life for a new audience. George Dutton

Virginia Morris with Clive A. Hills, A History of the Ho Chi Minh Trail: The Road to Freedom. Bangkok, Orchid Press, 2006, 180 pp., ills. The book is the outcome of the author’s year-long journey along the tortuous Ho Chi Minh Trail, which runs through Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, although she spent much of her time travelling in Laos. It is a well-balanced travelogue intertwined with history and weaves a clever dialogue between the past and the present. One of the main purposes of the book is to give Laos a place in the history of the Vietnam War, or, as the author rightly refers to it, the Indochina War, because ‘Laos was written out of its history’ (p.26). The history of the Ho Chi Minh or Truong Son Trail dates back to 1959. The violation of the 1954 Geneva Accord by the United States of America and the South Vietnamese regime by the failure to hold a general election in Vietnam in July 1956 led North Vietnam in 1959 to reinstate Resolution 15, which revived the revolutionary war to unify the North with the South (p.6). This marked the beginning of the history of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which, until the end of the Vietnam War, was known among the North Vietnamese as the Truong Son Trail or Duong 559 (p.11). In May 1959, the Special Military Action Group, or the 559th Transportation Unit, was formed, with the responsibility to build the road which would transport men and military supplies to

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

321

Reviews

the battlefield in the south. Initially, the route was to be confined to just inside the border of Vietnam, but to avoid the problems of infiltrating the DMZ, it was decided that the route would be built down the western side of the Truong Son mountains in Laos. In the mid-1960s, Lieutenant General Dong Si Nguyen was appointed the commander of the 559th Unit and it was under his command and leadership that the successful construction and expansion of the Trail took place. The Trail in Laos covered the larger part of southern Laos. The American air raids and the heavy bombing towards the end of the 1960s on the Trail in Laos pressured Hanoi to build more roads in Laos. This was to avoid the risk of one main supply route being completely blocked, as the leadership in Hanoi decided that ‘never again would there be only one main road’ and the 559th Corps set about opening multiple bypasses in vulnerable locations’ (p.39). The Trail’s penetration into this already politically destabilised kingdom in the 1960s did not work in its favour. It further divided the locals between those who supported the Pathet Lao communists, the Neutralists and the Royalists. Together with their bitter memories of the colonial period and the American and other Western involvements during the Vietnam War, it is not surprising to find that in many places in Laos where the author and her companions visited, their presence was met with mistrust among the Lao and roused painful memories. This chapter of Lao history and the Vietnam

War is well described: …Scars were not just physical but mental, and families were torn between love and politics. We were just the reminder of a string of broken promises from all sides…. (p.42)

Her ‘epic journey’ on the Trail, which led her to travel hundreds of kilometres by various forms of transport through lower Laos, reveals two striking features; i.e., the suffering this small country and its people had to endure during the war and after and its fantastic ethnic diversity. As for the suffering, the author’s passage through many villages in order to find the Trail and to see war equipment damaged during battles reveals some of the ugly features of the Vietnam War. Since a major proportion of the Trail ran through Laos, it was heavily targeted by American air raids. She also reminds us of the damage the war has caused to human beings. The chemical warfare – especially the use Agent Orange or dioxin – caused serious damage, both to humans and to the environment. When Virginia Morris and her team arrived at Ban Lang Khang, they found that the trees there were small because the area had been chemically sprayed and even today women give birth to malformed children and their livestock die (p.37). There is no need to mention the Unexploded Ordnance (UXO) that still kills local people when they farm their land, which will take many years to clear entirely. Even though her journey reminds us of the pain and suffering the war caused,

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

322

Reviews

there are also pleasurable moments when she touches upon other subjects. Her visits to the villages of many ethnic inhabitants add interesting aspects to the book. This is due to the fact that ‘Truong Son boasts an array of linguistic groups, all of which practise their own political and cultural beliefs…’ (p.70). Her experiences of cultural variations and differences practised by many different ethnic groups in Laos, such as black magic, animism and supernaturalism, logically led her to conclude that ‘I had ceased to resist any seemingly illogical actions. The more at peace I was with them the greater my ability became to identify other cultural phenomena’ (p.74). As the title of the book suggests, it is not just an account of the negative aspects of the Vietnam War. On the contrary, it glorifies the role the Trail played in this chapter of Vietnamese history. Many chapters describe the great achievement the Ho Chi Minh Trail represented and the successes it brought to North Vietnam, culminating in the freedom and unification of the country. Chapter by chapter, the author takes readers back into the history of Vietnam and the Vietnam War from the 1950s. The successful story of the painstaking effort by Hanoi to build the Trail against all odds, as retold to the author by Nguyen Si Dong and other military leaders involved in the Trail project, enables readers to understand clearly why Hanoi won the battle. The North Vietnamese effort to build the Trail demonstrates how this project drew together so many sectors of Vietnamese

society – the army, the youth, students and women, to name but a few – each of whom took responsibility for a particular aspect. Neither the heavy American air raids in Laos or in North Vietnam nor the severe natural environment could deter the determination to build the roads to reach South Vietnam. One of the most outstanding achievements of the Trail was the building of a pipeline to supply fuel from the North to the South. By 1968, there was a chronic shortage of fuel in the South and ‘if the fuel did not go south, nothing else would’ (p.99). Brigadier-General (present rank) Phan Tu Quang and Brigadier-General (present rank) Mai Trong Phuoc were given the command to oversee the fuel pipeline project. It was indeed a very daunting task because: …Apart from the lack of skilled workers, the pipeline had to be carried to position piece by piece, and much of the line had to be hung from trees, laid along mountainsides or buried in shallow trenches. The most pressing affair was that the Soviets did not agree with the project and refused to supply large quantities of pipeline or send experts to advise, on the grounds that it would fail…(p.99)

Against all odds, the pipeline project materialised and ‘it had taken the Trail into a new era. They had minimised losses of fuel and human lives, and there was no need to transport bulk fuel by road’ (p.99). Did the Americans know what was going along the Trail, given that they possessed advanced reconnaissance

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

323

Reviews

technology? They surely did, but the question was how effective they were in responding to their enemy’s activities. After the Paris agreement was signed on 27 January 1973 and the American air raids came to an end, the military leadership in Hanoi increased its activities to reach the South. The Truong Son Trail officially became known as the Ho Chi Minh Trail and played a vital part to allow the mobile army from the North to reach the South at, as General Vo Nguyen Giap put it, ‘lightning speed’ (p.135). Only two years after the Paris agreement was signed, Saigon and the southern regime fell into the hands of Hanoi on 30 April 1975. The Vietnam War eventually came to an end and for Hanoi, the Ho Chi Minh Trail had fulfilled its duty as the ‘road to freedom’. However, in the author’s opinion, the strategic and logical importance of the Trail has not been recognised, and has even been played down by the West. We certainly cannot ignore the importance and the achievements of the Trail, but the question is whether the freedom and the victory the Trail brought about is for everybody? Tourists now can enjoy some scenic routes of the Trail which were troubled areas in the past and certainly involved trouble for many people involved. The author poignantly observes that:

how many had been French or American supporters? And of those who had, how many were still doing so today? I got the feeling that some locals were pleased to see us and wanted to speak, whereas others I suspected even lied to Mr.Vong [the author’s guide in Laos], reluctant to discuss these matters with foreigners! For them, ‘The Trail’ was still secret and politically their lips were sealed. So sadly these questions might never be answered as this important part of history dies out with the individual. (p.127)

Unlike the tortuous Trail itself, the book is written in a concise and straightforward style and gives readers a multifaceted viewpoint, embracing history, politics, anthropology and a travel diary. The main feature of the book — covering an aspect of the complicated history of the Vietnam War — makes reading it both pleasurable and thought-provoking.

…We had heard stories, met people and seen the routes, but how much did I really know?...I wondered how many locals had truly contributed their ‘eyes and ears’ to the People’s War, as in Vietnam; how many were mere bystanders;

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Sud Chonchirdsin

324

Reviews

Elizabeth H. Moore, Early Landscapes of Myanmar. Bangkok, River Books, 2007, 271 pp., ills. Isolated for decades, Burma (Myanmar) was a virtual terra incognita until the country slowly opened to foreign investigators, beginning largely in the early 1990s. This new openness, coupled with spurts of energy on the part of the Department of Archaeology, has meant that the nation’s early archaeological record is finally coming out of the shadows. Scores of articles by Burmese and foreign scholars since the early 1990s have broadened our horizons considerably, notably an entire issue of Asian Perspectives (40/1, 2001) devoted to Burma in 2001, followed by an updated overview in 2006 by Bob Hudson and Pamela Gutman (“The Archaeology of Burma [Myanmar] from the Neolithic to Pagan” in Southeast Asia: From prehistory to history, London, 2006). Elizabeth Moore’s Early Landscapes is, however, the first comprehensive survey to appear between the covers of one book, replete with over a hundred color illustrations, numerous maps, line drawings and an extensive bibliography. Moreover, much of the material has never been illustrated or has been tucked away in poorly distributed reports published in Burma. The bulk of the photographs were taken by the author during decades of field research, studying first-hand the principal sites and public and private collections. The ambitious scope of the work is a summary of the major archaeological

sites and key trends, beginning with hunters-and-gatherers and concluding in ca. 900 A.D., when Pagan is thought to have become inhabited by Burmans. The Introduction is a synopsis of the subsequent chapters, together with a useful survey of the development of archaeology in Burma, beginning with the British and taking the story up to the present, including the important role of aerial photography. The first four chapters are devoted to the early pre-historic material, presenting for example the Neolithic presence of polished stone tools throughout much of the country. Included here are also some of the possible megalithic sites of Upper Burma. The Pyu and Mon are treated in a lengthy penultimate chapter, while the last chapter is a summation. Many sites the author has covered in her articles over the years, but this handy volume unites this material in a continuous narrative. Indeed, the fresh discoveries in the Upper Chindwin in Upper Burma, the Samon valley south of Mandalay, and along the Sittaung, Salween (Thanlwin) and Tavoy (Dawei) rivers have expanded our vision of early Myanmar immeasurably. Also, the immense scale of Burma’s early walled cities is conveyed by a handful of wartime aerial photographs drawn from the Williams-Hunt Collection at SOAS. The Samon region has yielded an astonishing number of Bronze-Iron Age findings over the last three decades, much, unfortunately, the product of looting. Especially impressive is a wide assortment of beads, such as carnelian, with affinities to Pyu ornaments and

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

what is also found in Lower Burma. The Samon valley appears to have connections to the Yunnan bronze cultures of the Dian, a focus the author sees as shifting to South Asia with the rise of Buddhist kingdoms and the earliest inscriptions. For the historic period the most exciting new finds are those near Tavoy, from Thagara, where excavations in 2001 revealed brick structures and remarkable sandstone figures with connections to Indian sculpture, Pagan, and to other Southeast Asian cultures. Equally important are previously unpublished remains from the Buddhist monasteries excavated at Winka, an early Buddhist site near Thaton. Excavated over twenty years ago by U Myint Aung, none of the most impressive finds had been illustrated until the appearance of this publication. A large terracotta plaque in the Moulmein (Mawlamyine) Museum from Winka features two rampant lions disposed in a fashion reminiscent of lions depicted in relief on the laterite wall (‘Hsindat-Myindat’) in Zothoke. Even stronger parallels exist with the famous terracotta roundels from Kyontu, only 25 km northeast of Pegu (Bago), suggesting a homogenous cultural zone uniting a major swatch of Burma’s coastline, that is, from the Thaton region to Pegu. For decades the Kyontu terracottas appeared in a vacuum, unrelated to anything, but these finds near Pegu can now be tied to developments much further down the coast. In a broader context some of the discoveries from Winka share an affinity to stone work from Dvaravati Mon sites in Thailand,

325

notably a motif depicting alternating lozenges-and-circles. Also, at least one type of votive tablet at Winka relates to a common type found in Thailand. That this important material was excavated so long ago and has only now come out indicates the extent to which the archaeological record in Burma is so poorly known. Other new riches include three standing Buddha bronzes found south of Twante, across the Rangoon (Yangon) River from Rangoon, discovered accidentally by a farmer in 2005. The three relate to other bronzes in the area and to one discovered long ago from the Thaton area. This material and much more rounds out our picture of Lower Burma, especially the Delta and the lower peninsula bordering Thailand. Indeed, the material from Lower Burma in this new book irrevocably redresses the previous focus on the Pyu sites in central and Upper Burma. Burma has been blessed with a rich tradition of chronicles, beginning in earnest in the sixteenth century. The chronicles touch on major pre-historic sites, such as Sri Ksetra, Tagaung Beikthano, but their direct bearing on events in the first millennium has yet to be established. The shortcomings of later chronicles and Chinese sources are noted in the introduction, but this later body of indigenous history continues to muddle our understanding of Burma’s past. Indeed, these diverse chronicles provide the matrix for the government’s desire to confirm myths gleaned from these sources. The recent discovery of Pyu material at Tagaung and the rush to vindicate the chronicle accounts is

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

326

Reviews

only one example. (“Such findings [from Tagaung] will also be able to rebut with evidence the scoffs at Myanma history books as though what was said in them were legendary.”, New Light of Myanmar, March 9, 2004). The author, however, carefully sifts the hard archaeological evidence and the chronicles, but readers unfamiliar with the pitfalls of the chronicles may find the close juxtaposition of archaeological descriptions with the later myths a trifle confusing. Also, some of the information cited from the chronicles is perhaps given too much weight, such as the splitting of three groups upon the legendary demise of Tagaung, known in the chronicles (p. 236). On the other hand, this valuable legendary material will be of great interest, especially for those new to the subject. The cornucopia of newly-published discoveries, skillfully woven together with more well-known material, makes this essential reading for those interested in the early history of Burma and mainland Southeast Asia. As such, it is a landmark that one hopes will encourage similar publications. Donald M. Stadtner

Wil O. Dijk, Seventeenth-century Burma and the Dutch East India Company, 1634–1680. Singapore, Singapore University Press, 2006, xvii + 348 pp., 12 maps (with appendices in CD-Rom). In 1939 the renowned historian of South-East Asia, D. G. E. Hall, observed that the history of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) in Burma received almost no attention. That remained true for some 60 years, before Wil Dijk undertook her doctoral research at Leiden University on this subject. Although the research is based mainly on the records written by VOC employees, this book is not merely a history of trade between Europeans and Asians in the early modern period. As those familiar with these records can confirm, in order to trade effectively the VOC merchants also became perceptive of local politics and society. Besides writing an extensive history of the VOC-Burmese relations from 1634 to 1680, the author seeks to reconsider issues relating to Burmese economic history, Burmese political and military historiography, and the history of VOC’s operations in Burma. The book begins with the historical background of seventeenth-century Burma, which was stabilized and increasingly centralized under the rule of the Restored Toungoo Dynasty (1597–1752). The Company’s men-onthe-spot had the opportunity to observe and report local conditions in Burma; these included natural resources, law, military capacity, the monetary system, the Buddhist religion and ethnic ten-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

sions. As in many other places in early modern Asia where the political elite also governed economic activities, the VOC had to contact the Burmese royal court for permission to trade in the kingdom, which made the observance of the court protocol essential for the survival of the Dutch. What attracted the Dutch Company to come and settle in Burma, or the ‘Kingdom of Pegu’ as the Dutch often called it, was that the kingdom offered the opportunity to trade with the Bay of Bengal and China. As the author puts it, the VOC’s Burma trade was textilebased, which was part of the ‘ancient inter-Asian sea-borne traffic between the Coromandel Coast and Burma across the Bay of Bengal’ (p. 115). Impressive details of sailing conditions between the Bay and Burma are given here. There was a long list of rivals for the Dutch in this trade: the Portuguese, the Muslims (‘Moors’), the English, the Danes, and the French. Also appealing to the VOC was Burma’s commercial connection to China. But, like other foreigners, the Dutch were not allowed to access the Burmese-Yunnanese border, especially at the market town of Bhamo. They had to buy Chinese goods from the Burmese court and local merchants. Economic history of early modern Burma has to be seen in a new light. VOC sources reveal that textile imports were cheap and meant for everyday use by common people, contrary to the earlier assumptions that they were luxuries intended for the elite. This and new statistics on wages paid to Burmese labourers indicate the fairly substantial

327

purchasing power of the indigenous people. Interestingly, the Company records also refer to the wages of its own employees operating in Burma and those of the Indian workers on the Coromandel Coast. The author’s assumption that Burma’s standard of living was considerably higher than that of contemporary Coromandel must still be counterchecked with other sources (p. 142–143). VOC records confirm the condescending attitudes of the Burmese towards the Peguans as well as the animosity between Burma and Arakan. Contrary to the existing understanding, Dijk proves that the Burmese court did not procure arms from the Dutch and other foreigners, but took them away from these people, presumably for security reasons (p. 40). The political history of Burma from 1649 to 1669 shows a precarious situation in which the kingdom’s integrity was threatened by Chinese raiders, revolts in the south, and a regicide. However, basing her argument on VOC’s increased shipping activities, the author suggests that these two decades were the ‘golden years’ of the Company trade in Burma. Importantly, she emphasizes that, despite difficulties and setbacks, VOC’s Burma trade was profitable throughout (p. 196). The greatest strength of this book is the author’s ability to make utmost use of her chosen sources. It is misleading to think that the VOC, thus the Dutch, archives are the prerogative of the historians of Indonesia. More and more research into the histories of other Asian

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

328

Reviews

countries based on these sources has appeared and will come to light. Dijk’s study offers a lot of unique new data on both Burma and the VOC. As the author states herself, the detailed nature of the business data allows a precise evaluation of volume of trade and profit and loss of VOC’s Burma trade. Readers will benefit from both the clear structure of the analysis and the extreme details of commercial data recorded by the Company, presented as appendices in the attached CD-Rom. The data includes, among other things, Dutch imports into and exports from Burma, a listing of VOC ships plying the Burma trade, the exchange of gifts between the Company and the Burmese court, a glossary of Indian textiles for the Burmese market, textile prices in Burma and India, and the wages of the VOC employees, the Burmese, and the Indians. As mentioned before, Dijk manages to prove that Burmese trade was flourishing despite the turbulences in the mid-century. However, I wish the author had explained more how Burma succeeded in maintaining its position, or how the Burmese court coordinated its commercial activities in the time of troubles. Dijk explains that the VOC decided to leave Burma in 1680 because of the many unfavourable conditions in the Kingdom, such as restrictions on the export of Burmese goods and the prohibition of access to Bhamo, as much as difficulties within the Company, including its financial troubles, the effect of wars in Europe, and turmoil within the Dutch Republic. But most of all, she ascribes the Company’s withdrawal to

the fundamental shift in its commercial priorities, from the intra-Asian trade to direct trade between Asia and Europe, which reduced the Company’s need for trade with Burma. These explanations are lucid and sensible, but not quite satisfactory. Besides suffering from similar circumstances of frustrating Thai rules and regulations and royal monopolies of goods, the VOC trade with neighbouring Ayutthaya was declining in the second half of the seventeenth century, or did not grow. Still, the Company stayed on almost until the fall of the Thai kingdom in 1767. In sum, this book is a rewarding answer both to the personal connection of the author to Burma and to D. G. E Hall’s challenge to use Dutch sources to study Burmese history. The result of the study shows that although its political centre was set in the hinterland, early modern Burma was significantly part of the intra-Asian trade and maritime interactions, and that Europeans like those in the VOC were determined to make the most of its offerings. This book strengthens the image of Burma, which was, besides being a territorial power of mainland South-East Asia, a dynamic trading polity in Asia. It offers an insightful reading with a great deal of new information for not only economic historians of Burma and the VOC but also for those interested in historical interactions between Asia and Europe.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Bhawan Ruangsilp

Reviews

Ma Ma Lay, Not out of Hate, translated by Margaret Aung-Thwin. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2006, 216 pp. When US-based Margaret AungThwin first decided to translate the Burmese language novel Monywei Mahu into English, she was not able to locate a copy of the book. Anna Allott, a Burmese language teacher at London University’s School of Oriental and African Studies, had to send her photocopied chapters from England. Their efforts resulted in an admirable outcome: Monywei Mahu, or Not Out of Hate, became the first Burmese novel to be translated into English outside of Burma. First published in 1991, this latest 2006 edition was released by Silkworm Books in Thailand and is still one of only a handful of novels translated from Burmese into English. A helpful introduction by Allott places the novel in its literary and historical context. Not Out of Hate was written by Ma Ma Lay (1917–1982), a pen-name for a female Burmese journalist, shortstory writer and novelist. The Burmese language edition of Not Out of Hate, published in 1955, was so popular that it ran to at least five editions. Composed before the era of oppressive government censorship in Burma and set in colonial times just before the outbreak of the Second World War, the novel is an honest and heartbreakingly grim portrayal of the dichotomy between British, or Western, values and the traditional Burmese way of life. The tensions are portrayed through the ill-fated love story of Way

329

Way, a young woman who lives in a small town in the rice-growing regions of Lower Burma. The story opens with Way Way excitedly peeping at the next-door house, which is awaiting the imminent arrival of a new member of staff for a British trading firm based in Rangoon called Bullock Brothers. The furniture that has been moved into the house is so grand and the servants are so smartly dressed that everyone in the neighbourhood assumes the new arrival is a British man – a rarity in the town – and are surprised to find out that he is, in fact, Burmese. U Saw Han, the new Burmese Bullock Brothers representative, may not be British but he is an incurable convert to all that is English. He wears a pith helmet and peppers his speech with English words: “Cheers,” he says, or “Cheerio”, “Sorry”, and “Good night”. To begin with, Way Way is in awe of this new arrival and enamoured of his worldly manners. She becomes embarrassed by her family’s small-town Burmese ways, ashamed of the teapot with its broken spout and the way coffee served by her aunt has been sloppily spilled into the saucers. Way Way goes so far as to reorganise the household eating arrangements, so that family members sit on chairs and eat off a dining table rather than sitting on mats spread over the kitchen floor. Her attempts to make the house look “sophisticated and Westernised” are met with scorn by her brother, who proclaims, “It’s a white man’s house!”

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

330

Reviews

It is perhaps not surprising that Way Way is so impressionable. She leads an isolated life. Her mother abandoned the family to become a nun in faraway Sagaing, the holy centre of Buddhist learning in Upper Burma. Her siblings are both married and no longer live in the family home. While Way Way looks up to U Saw Han, he in turn is besotted by her innocence and malleability. But what begins with a young and simple girl’s curiosity rapidly deteriorates after the family allows U Saw Han to marry Way Way. Much of the tension in the couple’s doomed relationship is tantalisingly played out over food. At the first meal in which Way Way and her family are invited to dine at U Saw Han’s house, she frets over the use of cutlery (which she is not accustomed to, as Burmese traditionally eat with their hands): “She…became worried all over again as to how to use the knives and forks set near each plate. She was thoroughly intimidated by the sight of things she had never seen before. She had occasionally eaten a chicken pilaf with a spoon and fork at a danbauk [Indian biryani] shop in Rangoon, but never had she seen such an array of cutlery as on U Saw Han’s table. She was so frightened that she could hardly look at it.”

As it turns out, she performs quite well during the meal and is even able to take some pleasure in her first experience of English cuisine, admiring the composition of chicken, potatoes, green beans and red beets on her plate and reflecting that the taste is pleasantly

different. But her pleasure is fleeting. When her ill father’s tuberculosis worsens and he is moved to Rangoon for treatment, she becomes a captive in her husband’s house, forced to abandon the familiar and comfortable Burmese traditions of her childhood. U Saw Han is considerably older than her and takes full control of her day-to-day existence. In his eyes, she is “a precious little doll” or “a delicate piece of porcelain” – something to be mollycoddled and moulded into his image of the ideal Westernised woman. Way Way follows her husband’s lead. She wears the clothes he recommends, even forsaking Burmese sandals for “lady shoes”, or closed-toe shoes, which she gleefully kicks off as soon as he leaves for work so that she can walk about the house “Burmese style, free and unhampered”. It is always at the dining table that the couple’s differences are exacerbated. In deference to her husband, Way Way quashes her desire for Burmese food. She eats the bland fare her husband favours and dutifully devours eggs and milk. Secretly, though, she longs for the pungent delicacies of their native cuisine: hot chilli peppers, raw garlic cloves and powdered dried shrimp. Though she occasionally sneaks over to her family home to feast on Burmese food, she fears that her husband will find out when he smells the garlic on her breath. In one excruciating scene, U Saw Han unexpectedly visits Way Way’s

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

family home and finds her eating with her brother. Way Way is literally caught red-handed as her fingers are smeared with curry sauce, “all sticky and gooey and delicious”. U Saw Han’s displeasure at his wife returning to the uncouth ways of her upbringing is extreme. It is as if he has stumbled upon an unspeakable crime and his controlled fury is almost sinister. A “cold chill” passes over Way Way when she sees her husband and her face turns ashen when she realises she has been discovered. Events come to a dramatic head when Way Way receives a telegram from Rangoon saying that her father is dangerously ill. U Saw Han forbids her from going to pay her respects, afraid that his “little flower” will catch her father’s highly-contagious disease. Her father dies the next morning and a distraught Way Way leaves to attend his funeral, after which she escapes to her mother’s nunnery in Sagaing. Her brief moment of delirious freedom comes to an end when she learns she is pregnant and so returns to her husband. The fates, however, are against the union between these two disparate souls. Way Way loses the baby and is diagnosed with tuberculosis, the disease that killed her father. True to his Western ways, her husband nurses her with scientific rigour, which involves a gruelling regimen of daily injections. Unable to muster the strength to fight against his ministrations of milk and medicine, Way Way wastes away and succumbs to her illness. Not Out of Hate is a compelling story that explores the dark, psychological

331

underbelly of colonialism. The searing tensions between the two sides are examined within the intimate confines of one Burmese family and a single relationship between a husband who aspires to being British and a wife who only knows how to be Burmese. Played out against the rising tide of Burmese nationalism and the chaos of the Japanese occupation of Burma in the Second World War, the narrative has a desperate inevitability. As Way Way’s brother revels in the advance of the Japanese army and the retreat of the British, her husband stubbornly clings to his Western lifestyle; their pantry is stocked with his favourite Western brands of whisky, cigarettes, soap, toothpaste, English tea biscuits and tinned butter. As a good Burmese wife, Way Way caters to her husband’s needs and tries to please him till the bitter end, forsaking traditional treatments for her illness that have been offered by her family and sticking with the failing scientific knowledge her husband adheres to. Yet she continues to dream of her old way of life – a way of life that has been forbidden by her husband and is no longer accessible to her. Each day, U Saw Han makes Way Way take a walk around the garden for exercise. On one of her daily perambulations, the emaciated Way Way hears the cries of food vendors in the streets around her house. “Mohsein baung! Nice and hot!” cries one vendor. Way Way used to eat the steaming cake with her family over breakfast, and recalls how it was generously sprinkled with

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

332

Reviews

freshly shredded coconut and ground sesame seeds. “Kaunghynin baung!” yells another vendor, conjuring up in Way Way’s head fond memories of her family eagerly helping themselves to handfuls of warm and sticky rice. Even just to listen to these cries seems like a crime and, though the restrictions enforced by U Saw Han are now impossible for Way Way to shirk off, it is only with a joyless sense of duty that she acquiesces: “Her mouth watered as she heard each vendor, and then she thought of the bread and butter awaiting her on the table in the house and her appetite left her.” Emma Larkin

Françoise Douaire-Marsaudon, Bernard Sellato, Chanthal Zheng, eds, Dynamiques identitaires en Asie et dans le Pacifique. I. Enjeux sociaux, économiques et politiques. II. Pratiques symboliques en transition. Aix-enProvence, Publications de Université de Provence, 2006. Volume I, 240 pp., Volume II, 208 pp. Twenty-four papers from an international symposium organized by the Maison Asie Pacifique and the Center for Asia Pacific Area Studies of the Academia Sinica Taiwan, convened at Marseille, 23–25 June 2005, are published here in two volumes. The authors are affiliated with five French institutes of higher education, as well as three from Taiwan. Seven contributions are translated versions, though the original titles are not given. In Volume I contributions on sociological, economic, and political facets are presented, preceded by the editors’ introduction. Under the title of ‘Des Ang-yi au Rotary. Sociétés, associations, fondations, clubs. Solidarité et linguistique chez les Chinois de Thaïlande’ [15–28], Jean Baffie highlights different modes of solidarity among Thailand’s Chinese communities. He distinguishes between secret societies, vernacular associations, patronymic groups, charitable associations, and prestigious clubs. Lan-Shiang Huang traces the successive establishment of different groups of Chinese immigrants in one particular harbour settlement on the

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

coast of Annam. In his ‘Établissement et transformation des villes chinoises outre-mer au Viêt-Nam : le cas de Hôi An’ [29-41], he considers the different Chinese communities that evolved from the fifteenth century, resulting in the emergence of Hôi An as a major port and trade centre. Reflecting most recent developments, findings of two research projects into extending the middle classes in Taiwan in the 1990s are presented by Hsin-Huang Michael Hsiao under the title ‘Favoriser les recherches sur la classe moyenne en Asie de l’Est et du Sud-Est: essai de programme’ [43–49]. The rationale of an ethnic group native to the coast and offshore islets of Malaita Island, Solomon Islands, to retain its traditional mode of trading, complete with shell-money as their currency, was studied by Pei-Yi Guo in ‘De la monnaie à la dynamique d’initiative; la monnaie de coquillage chez les Langalanga contemporain, Iles Salomon’ [53–75]. The Langalanga associate ethnic identity with their currency and resist modernization. Reasoning that something has been remiss in the study of prostitution, especially with regard to addressing male roles and vital issues of public health, Laurence Husson focused his research on the male clients. In his contribution titled ‘Les clients locaux et les touristes sexuels en Asie du Sud-Est sont d’anonymes rois’ [77–105], the author identifies the vast majority of clients as Asians, and analyzes this clientele

333

by age, profession, conduct during the transaction, self-expressed motivation, and pretensions. The growing demand for one of the highest-priced non-timber forest products of Southeast Asia, swiftlets’ (‘birds’) nests, triggered research conducted by Bernard Sellato and reported as ‘Les Chinois mangent-ils vraiment ces nids d’hirondelles? Environnement, commerce, transformations sociales et ethnicité à Bornéo oriental (XVIIe–XXe siècle)’ [107–125]. This study highlights how the state infringed on the source of livelihood of a coastal tribe, how the shift to the formal market triggered the formation of social classes among the Dayak, and how this polarized a group of Punan, thus also adversely affecting people in the interior of Kalimantan. The clash between modern marketing and traditional production, trade, exchange, and gift-giving determined by gender is the theme of a contribution titled ‘Le marché et le travail: ambivalences et contradictions à Wallis (Polynésie Occidentale)’ [127–147] by Paul van der Grijp. Disputes erupted out of lack of knowledge about the local mentality, conflicting vested interests, and the structure of the economy that cannot supply produce in the quantity and of the quality required for and by a formal, central market. A case study on the interaction of foreign investor and domestic labour force is based on evidence of Taiwanese enterprises operating factories in Vietnam. Its author, Hong-Zen Wang, presents findings under the title of ‘Analyse post-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

334

Reviews

coloniale de pratique de management des Taïwanais au Viêt-Nam’ [149–167]. The entrepreneurs’ managerial and commercial practices are guided by authoritarian principles, provoking resentment by the Vietnamese labourers. The pros and cons of Taiwan’s independence are discussed with regard to ethnic affiliation and social class in the contribution titled ‘Ethnicité, classe et politique nationale à Taïwan’ [171–195] by Mau-Kuei Chang. The author sheds light on this issue at the global, regional, and national levels. Emphasis is placed on history and cultural heritage, concerns which both unify and separate. Mass violence is diagnosed as a pervasive, endemic phenomenon in Southeast Asia, owing to its history of murderous warfare between countries, ethnic groups, majority against minority, and belligerent Western colonialism. With reference to Northeast Asia, JeanLouis Margolin identifies the mechanics of mass murder, and offers a typology of massacres in his contribution titled ‘Statut de la violence de masse en Asie du Sud-Est’ [197–213]. The People’s Republic of China as an upcoming giant is, according to Laurent Gédéon, not only on an economic but also a diplomatic and military offensive. As stressed in his contribution titled ‘Montée en puissance internationale de la Chine et géopolitique chinoise en mer de Chine méridionale’ [215–222], its relations with neighbouring countries are strained by claims to maritime territory that could escalate to become a major geopolitical conflict.

Addressing the criticism of APEC, the Asia-Pacific Economic Co-operation, as not meeting expectations, David W. F. Huang analyzes the declarations of the leaders of its member countries and official documents, focused on the two guiding principles: trade as well as investment liberalization, and economic as well as technological development. His conclusion to ‘Définir le cadre institutionnel de l’APEC: une étude préliminaire’ [223–237], is that, though APEC is nothing but a forum, its members conduct themselves as if real institutional constraints were imposed upon them. Volume II presents contributions on cases of migration, diffusion, acculturation, intervention, and reconciliation, and are summarized below, again preceded by the editors’ introduction. Ethno-archaeological evidence, upon which Jean-Michel Chazine chanced when joining speleologists on their explorations in the interior of East Kalimantan, leads him to formulate a provocative hypothesis, as reported in ‘Des Tuamotu à Bornéo ou “le long périple des Océaniens” revisité’ [17–24], and throws doubts on existing theories concerning the origins of Austronesians and Pre-Austronesians. A comparison of texts on alchemy, one written in the China of the fourth century, the other composed in Europe during the sixteenth century, led Philippe Che to study the cause of their similarity. As he points out in his contribution ‘La transmission des savoirs de la Chine à l’Europe à travers le monde

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

arabe’ [25–31], the instructions on how to produce gold and silver, as well as experiments using mercury, had been passed on by Arab merchants. To study an example of how acculturation really is the result of a reciprocal projection, Fong-Mao Lee appraises ‘Les possibilités de l’intégration des communautés taoiste en Malaysie par delà les disparités ethniques et géographiques’ [35–53]. Efforts by Malaysia’s Chinese community to get Taoism recognized as one of the official religions failed, in the absence of charismatic leaders and the need to forge a structure above and beyond ethnic affiliation. The penetration of Confucianism and its adoption in Vietnam is the gist of the contribution by Van Thao Trinh titled ‘Indochine: identification d’une société confucéenne (le Viêt-Nam de 1802 à 1858)’ [55–85]. Setting out from its ‘importation’ during the second and third centuries, the author underlines the co-existence of Buddhism, Taoism and Confucianism until in the fourteenth century, when Confucianism was decreed the state ideology. Highlighted is its strong impact on the contemporary literature, family structure and meritocracy, resulting in the adoption of the Chinese patrilineal clan system. Those members of the Chinese community of the Hoa, inhabitants of the city of Cholon since the seventeenth century who stayed on after reunification in 1975, found themselves as ‘the losers among the losers’. How miserable they feel is related by Michel Dolinski in his contribution titled ‘Évolution

335

identitaire au sein de la communauté Hoa du Viêt-Nam de 1975 à nos jours’ [87–107]. Formerly self-esteemed as superior on account of background and adherence to Confucianism, the Hoa of Cholon suffer the collective trauma of social demotion. The interfacing of society, religion and politics is highlighted in the contribution titled ‘L’Église catholique à Taïwan. Nouvelles approches culturelles et politiques de la construction nationale’ [109–120] by Chantal Zheng. She juxtaposes the politically oriented Presbyterian Church, which lends support to the independence movement, and the Catholic Church, derogatorily labelled the “Kuomindang Church”. An ancestors’ cult, centred on the belief that the deceased do not go to heaven but pass on to the “island of the dead” in the Tanimbar Archipelago, is reported by Simmone Pauwels in her contribution titled ‘Le christianisme dans l’île de Selaru (Moluques, Indonésie orientale)’ [121–126]. Evangelized by Dutch Protestant missionaries in 1917, the locals have practised some sort of fusion, reasoning that their timehonoured deity named Hula Sou (Moon and Sun) is identical with the Christians’ God, whom they call Tuhan Allah. Polynesians converted to Christianity by the middle of the nineteenth century are still in the process of adjusting their traditional cults to the Christian belief. As Françoise Douaire-Marsaudon reports in her contribution titled ‘Christianisation et ancestralité à Tonga, Wallis et Futuna’ [127–132], on Futuna

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

336

Reviews

the murderer of a priest in 1841, who became the first martyr in Oceania, was recently pronounced a ‘negative hero’, yet a ‘hero’ nonetheless, who acts as mediator on divine matters. Disentangling the thread that leads one to comprehend the research findings of Paul Mus, the great orientalist, is the gist of the contribution titled ‘La sociologie de Paul Mus, entre théorie et sens sur l’altérité vietnamienne’ [135–148] by Laurent Dartigues. Recognizing the scholar as a veritable intercessor between two worlds, the author highlights the theoretical framework and the anthropological model created by Paul Mus. ‘White supremacy’ ruled colonial populations, defining life in the cultural, social, economic and political spheres. The study by Gilles de Gantès titled ‘Les métis franco-indochinois à l’époque coloniale. À l’interface des dominants et des dominés ou à leur marge?’ [149–171] is focused on the people of mixed blood, who, despite their double identity, had no place in colonial society, rejected by the French and the Vietnamese. Between 1948 and 1956, Bayard, a Catholic magazine for children and youth, published a cartoon featuring Europeans who had gone into the world to preach the gospel or to colonize. That analyzed by Alain Guillemin in his contribution titled ‘“Parachutés au Laos”. La guerre du Viêt-Nam racontée aux enfants catholiques’ [173–189] relates the expulsion of the Japanese and the mission to subdue the ‘rebels’,

in other words, the communists. Gender relations are the beacon of Taiwan’s three matrilineal societies of the Kavalan, Amis and Puyuma. The significance of these symbolic systems and corresponding rules of interaction are reported by Pi-Chen Liu in the contribution titled ‘Cerfs à chasser, coqs/cochons à sacrificier. Politique de sexe chez trios groupes austronésiens matrilinéaires de Taïwan’ [191-205]. In all three societies, ritual practices are symbolically carried out using a totem animal – executed by men who act as mediators with the supernatural – and not by women. Given the variety of topics and geographical spread, it is not feasible to highlight any particular aspect, or else recommend some over others. However, it seems justifiable to draw attention to those contributions which render research findings on phenomena of direct relevance for Southeast Asia. Variation is also evident in the presentations. While most by far are made complete with footnotes and/or listed references (‘bibliographie’), some seem sparingly documented, and a few leave one wondering if there really had been no relevant research hitherto conducted and results published. The contributions by Che, Dolinski, de Gantès, van der Grijp, Guo, Husson, Margolin, Sellato, and Wang contain numerous useful references to the pertinent literature published in the French, European or Asian languages. To readers interested in anthropology, archaeology, ethnology, history,

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

linguistics, political science, sociology, and the broad spectrum of related interfacing, this set of collected papers might prove to be a mine of information that holds some valuable trouvailles. Karl E. Weber

337

Noorhaidi Hasan, Laskar Jihad. Islam, Militancy, and the Quest for Identity in Post-New Order Indonesia. Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press (Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications (Studies on Southeast Asia, 40), 2006, 220 pp. The presentation of facts, narration of events, explications of intersections or interfacing, and rigorous diagnosis are accomplished here almost to perfection – except for the flawed ‘Conclusion’. For the jihad in the Moluccas approximately 7,000 fighters of the Holy War Force, Laskar Jihad (LJ) volunteers, were deployed to Ambon, beginning 30 April 2000. Their arrival imbued the local Muslim struggle with the spirit of jihad and intensified the aggressiveness. This stimulated Christian Moluccans to organize themselves. The commanderin-chief, Thalib, was acknowledged nationally as a hero. The greatest achievement of LJ was perhaps its successful dissemination of propaganda in Bahasa Indonesia and English. Laskar Jihad Online became an interactive channel, conveying messages worldwide. The government of President Abdurrahman Wahid sent a combined battalion to Ambon. The decisive attack in Kebun Cengkeh led to the defeat of LJ fighters on 24 June 2001. After the attacks of September 11, 2001, allegations linking LJ to al Queda multiplied. Thalib admitted that he had met with Bin Laden and that a Bin Laden envoy had met him in Ambon. Thalib, however, accused Bin Laden of

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

338

Reviews

being a sectarian (khariji), ignorant of proper Islam, thus repeating the harsh criticism of Bin Laden he had published in the journal Salafy seven years earlier. Laskar Jihad Online published a fatwa by the highest Saudi ‘ulama, declaring that Bin Laden deviated from proper Islam because of his rebellion against the Saudi Arabian government. Indonesian government ministers met with representatives of Muslim and Christian parties in Malino, South Sulawesi where, on 12 February 2002, the Second Malino Agreement was signed. Five days after the bombing in Bali, on 12 October 2002, LJ disbanded. Tracing the evolution of the ideology, the author focuses on the Salafi Islamic propagation movement, da’wa, representing the most puritanical sect of Islam, Wahhabism, and its expansion. The Salafis call themselves ‘the people of the Prophetic Traditions’. The four main aims of the Salafi da’wa are to teach, purify, revive, and disseminate. The Salafis ‘believe that the Muslim umma failed to avoid various forms of polytheism (shirk), reprehensible innovation (bid’a), and superstition (khurafa)’. Salafi communities multiplied, which led to the emergence of foundations. Beginning in the 1990s, they no longer needed to organize their activities secretly, upon the launching of an official Islamization strategy. Addressing the antagonism of ‘apolitical Salafism’ and ‘jihadist activism’, the author set the theme by stating that ‘the jihad discourse among Laskar Jihad fighters exemplifies a successful

amalgamation of doctrinaire-revivalist ideas and a militant battle cry’. The key criteria under deliberation are tawhid, ‘to accept and believe in the oneness of God and His absolute authority’; ahl al-Sunna wa’l-jama’a, the followers of the Sunna of the Prophet and the first generation of Muslims (Salif al-Salih); al-Wala wa’l-bara, al-wala meaning ‘to love, support, help, follow, defend’ and al-bara, meaning ‘to despise, desert, denounce; hizbiyya, involvement in partisan politics; and hakimiyya, governance belongs to God, owing to God’s absolute sovereignty. Paradoxically, the Salafis accuse the Muslim Brotherhood of being enmeshed in the sins of bid’a, reprehensible innovations, especially because of its ambition to unite the Muslim umma. The Salafis oppose their rivals’ active involvement in partisan politics, hizbiyya, for the following reasons : (1) it deviates from the way of faithful Muslims; (2) its leader comes perilously close to the sins of bid’a; (3) its members are committed to the doctrine of al-wala wa’l-bara on the basis of their loyalty to a particular leader rather than the Qur’an and Sunna; and (4) it teaches fanaticism. The Salafis insist that one devastating result of the hizbiyya movement is the spread of a revolutionary spirit among Muslims. A total rejection of democracy distinguishes the Salafis from members of the Muslim Brotherhood and Jama’at-I Islami. Salafis’ inconsistency in their attitudes toward political activism seems unequivocal given the fact that they pio-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

neered the call for jihad in the Moluccas. Salafis’ repudiation of political activism is not an intrinsic part of their ideology, but rather a tactic and strategy. What they mean by jihad is clearly an armed war as a manifestation of the completeness of a Muslim’s submission to God, which constitutes a higher obligation than the pilgrimage, prayer, or fasting. Given the contemporary scenario, with President Abdurrahman Wahid determined to foster democracy in discord with the military establishment that fanned the conflict rather than smothered it, the Salafis construed an emergency to justify their appointment of a contemporary imam who would unite them. Thus, Thalib had himself appointed leader, thereby disregarding the Salafists’ repudiation of any hizbiyya, i.e. political partisanship. The militancy of the Salafist movement is explained as the interfacing of nine factors: (1) the Hadramis’ role in the dynamics of Islam in the archipelago; (2) the impact of the Persatuan Islam (Persis), a reformist organization established in 1923 whose members engaged in the Sarekat Islam (Islamic League, SI), active in criticizing nationalism, communism, and secularism; (3) the biography of the founder of LJ, Thalib, born into a Hadrami family active in al-Irsyad, a modernist Muslim organization of predominantly non-sayyid Hadramis, and granted a scholarship, in 1986, to study at the Mawdudi Islamic Institute in Lahore, Pakistan, where he volunteered to join the mujahidin in the Afghan War; (4) Thalib’s support of

339

the Jama’at al-Da’wa ila al-Qur’an wa Ahl-I Hadith, a strict Salafi faction and Saudi Arabian ‘principality’ led by Jamil al-Rahman, which developed the most hostile attitude towards non-Muslims, frequently attacking journalists and humanitarian workers, resorting to iconoclasm, destroying statues and monuments, and attacking local religious practices they considered anathema to Islam; (5) Thalib’s appointment, immediately upon his return from Afghanistan, as both the director of and teacher at the Pesantren al-Irsyad Tengaran; (6) Thalib’s visit to Yemen, in 1990, to deepen his insights into Wahhabi teachings with Muqbil ibn Hadi al-Wadi’I, known as a Salafi ideologue par excellence, and then succeeding in gaining support that facilitated the dispatch of hundreds of Indonesian youth to study at the Islamic teaching centers associated with al-Wadi’i; (7) the Sururiyya issue, inflamed by Thalib to highlight the conflict between the Salafis and, particularly, the Muslim Brotherhood so as to reinforce his relationships with prominent Salafi authorities in Middle Eastern countries; (8) the wide propagation of the utopian scenario through the periodical Salafy; and (9) the network centered in the Ihyaus Sunnah, the pesantren established by Thalib in 1994 at Degolan Kaliurang, north of Yogyakarta. Indonesia’s transition to democracy challenged the Salafi movement to engage in realpolitik shortly after the collapse of the New Order regime in May 1998. The constellation that was deemed

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

340

Reviews

conducive is diagnosed as caused by six factors: (1) With Habibie in power and given his attempt to involve hard-line Muslim organizations in helping him resist opposition challenges provided access for the Salafis to institutional action, particularly when the challenge faced by Habibie mounted in relation to the emergence of Megawati Sukarnoputri as a candidate for president. (2) The conflict between Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas erupted on 19 January 1999, and reached its peak after Wahid came to power in October 1999. In their battle against Wahid, the Salafis enjoyed the support not only of hard-line Muslim organizations but also of military elites, who saw the chance to utilize militant Muslim groups to retaliate against Wahid for sacking them from key military positions. (3) In January 2000, the Salafis issued their jihad resolution and proclaimed the establishment of the Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunnah wal-Jama’ah (FKAWJ), which was openly hostile to Wahid’s political stance, thereby mobilizing a consensus. (4) By projecting the Moluccan conflict as evidence of a conspiracy to undermine Islam and destroy the territorial integrity of Indonesia, the Salafis combined religious rhetoric and nationalist sentiment. (5) The determination to fight jihad required the Salafis to request fatwas from religious authorities in the Middle East whom Thalib visited in order to persuade them personally. (6) To recruit and dispatch voluntary fighters, the FKAWJ organization was crucial with its hierarchical and bureaucratic

structure as well as network. FKAWJ also did not deny having received financial support from the transnational Salafi da’wa network. Most LJ members were ethnically Javanese, aged between twenty and thirty-five years, almost half of them students, dropouts or graduates from science and engineering departments of a dozen universities. These recruits asserted their claim to be true Muslims by trading their Javanese (abangan) names for Arabic (Islamic) ones. Wherever they clustered and settled, they constructed enclaves, called ‘titik daura’ (‘turn’, i.e workshop sites), a social system centered on modest mosques or musallas, smaller places to pray. The Salafis’ enclave culture reinforced a hegemonic masculinity, a configuration of gender practice that legitimized the patriarchy as well as polygyny. The Salafi enclave did not have any particular political agenda. Nor did it have a specific programme of action. What it pursued was apparently mere rhetoric. It formed a domain in which a resistance identity was created. This resistance oscillated between two poles: enclave and jihad, which can transform marginality into centrality and defeat into patriotism. Research is based on content and discourse analyses of a wide range of publications, including LJ internal documents, speeches, talks, public sermons, and two stints of intensive fieldwork with visits to Jakarta, Bandung, Cirebon, Semarang , Salatiga, Solo, Yogyakarta, Surabaya, Makassar and Ambon. Inter-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Reviews

views were conducted with LJ group leaders and members, sympathizers, veterans of LJ missions in the Moluccas, common people, local militia members, and leaders of Muslim and Christian communities, totaling around 300 persons. The author also recorded life histories, participated in collective prayers and religious gatherings, and contacted institutions and organizations to trace the relationship between LJ and other Islamic groups. What the author offers under the label of ‘Conclusion’ (pp.215–221) are assorted findings already presented in various chapters; some fallacies, few research hypotheses, and authentic conclusions underpinned by original research. The author’s authentic and salient conclusions deserve to be summarized as follows: (1) The Salafis’ resort to violence by LJ proves that their repudiation of political activism was more a strategy to deal with the distressing and discouraging political situation that prevailed under the New Order regime. (2) The decision to resort to violence went hand-in-hand with the radicalization of its ideology. (3) Deprived youth felt that jihad is one way to express their resentment and frustration. By joining the LJ, they had the opportunity to flaunt their new religious identity, negotiate their illusory strength, and resist their own sense of marginalization. (4) This action was an endeavor to shore up their self-image as the most committed defenders of Islam, and thereby reinforce their identity. (5) Despite its limited

341

contribution in terms of participation in real battles, LJ claimed the public role of heroes predestined to sacrifice their lives in defending Moluccan Muslims. This is both a perturbing and elucidating research study. The reader is challenged to grasp the sheer complexity of LJ dynamics in its turbulent context, as reflected in the somewhat complicated narration and diagnosis of an episode that sadly caused the death of many people. A list of abbreviations, glossary, extensive bibliography supplemented by listings of newspapers and magazines as well as websites, and a highly detailed index enhance the timely usefulness of this book.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Karl E. Weber

book received for review to 15 april 2008

Amporn Marddet, Sexual Culture among Young Migrant Muslims in Bangkok. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007. Direk Jayanama, ed. Jane Keyes, Thailand and World War II. Chiang Mai, Silkworm, 2008. Lee Hock Guan and Leo Suryadinata, eds, Language, Nation and Development in Southeast Asia, Singapore, ISEAS, 2007. Dawn Rooney, Ancient Sukhothai, Thailand’s cultural heritage. Bangkok, River Books, 2008. Sao Sanda, The Moon Princess, Memories of the Shan States. Bangkok, River Books, 2008. Peter Skilling, ed., Past Lives of the Buddha: Wat Si Chum – Art, Architecture, and Inscriptions. Bangkok, River Books, 2008. Shigeharu Tanabe, ed., Imagining Communities in Thailand: Ethnographic Approaches. Chiang Mai, Mekong Press, 2008. Daniel Viedlinger, Spreading the Dhamma: writing, orality, and textual transmission in Buddhist northern Thailand. Chiang Mai, Silkworm Books, 2007.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

343

344

Obituaries

HRH Princess Galyani Vadhana, with the then President of the Siam Society Khun Bilaibhan Sampatisiri and Dr Dhiravat na Pombejra (kneeling), watching the Pra Sat at Wat Sra Bua Kaew being hoisted into position. Nong Song Hong, Khonkaen province, 12 January 2001.

Her Royal Highness at an informal gathering at the Society, with the late Prince Suphadradis Diskul and the late Mom Ratchawong Patanachai Jayant, both former Presidents of the Society. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Her Royal Highness Princess Galyani Vadhana Krom Luang Naradhiwas Rajanagarindra 1923–2008 Members of the Siam Society under Royal Patronage learnt with great sadness of the passing on 2 January 2008 of the Society’s Vice-Patron and Honorary President since 1985. Her Royal Highness succumbed after a long battle against cancer at Siriraj Hospital, to which she was admitted in June 2007. Her Royal Highness was unfailing in her support of the Society and its activities. She graciously accepted every invitation to its functions, and showed a sincere and lively concern with regards to its activities. Her counsel will be sorely missed. Whether it was to preside over a formal re-dedication, to which Her Royal Highness travelled by helicopter, of Wat Sra Bua Kaew in Amphur Nong Song Hong, Khon Kaen province, which had been restored by the Siam Society, or to examine an exhibition in the Society’s home of old books on Siam from M. L. Manich Jumsai’s collection, she showed a keen interest in everything, and, good educator that she was, a constant readiness to learn more. Her Royal Highness presided in person at the Siam Society debate in 1988 on the controversy about the Ramkhamhaeng inscription, defending, as the then president of the Society noted, “the spirit of intellectual freedom so crucial to true scholarship.” Her Royal Highness had an amazing memory for names, and carefully read everything sent to her from the Society. She combined simplicity with a royal touch, and had a keen sense of humour. The preface to the volume of articles dedicated to Her Royal Highness, published by the Society on the occasion of her 80th birthday in 2003, rightly noted, “she is indeed an exemplar of the Siam Society ideal ‘Knowledge Gives Rise to Friendship’.” Many members, and particularly many presidents of the Society, will have fond memories of Her Royal Highness, and will recall occasions with her with affection. She will be greatly missed. The Siam Society under Royal Patronage Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

345

346

Obituaries

James V. di Crocco

A long-time member of the American

expatriate community in Bangkok, James

V. di Crocco died on 3 January 2008 after a

protracted illness. Jim Di Crocco was born in 1922

and grew up in Staten Island, New York.

He took degrees at both Columbia and George Washington Universities and studied

Japanese at the University of Colorado. He was an officer in the United States’ navy during the Second World War and the Korean War, and was a graduate of the U.S. Naval War College. He was fluent in several European and East Asian languages; this competence was put to good use when he served as a radio announcer for the Voice of America, broadcasting in several foreign language programs in the 1940s. After retiring from U.S. government service, he lectured at the Thai Military Academy and Chulalongkorn University for several years. In Thailand he will perhaps best be remembered for his long association with the Siam Society. He served as Honorary Editor of the Journal of the Siam Society from 1989 to 1994, and was also Vice-President of the Council of the Society from 1993 to 1994. He was elected Honorary Member of the Society in 1996, and was editor and translator of Emmanuel Guillon, The Mons, a Civilisation of Southeast Asia, published by the Society in 1999. He was also a great lover of classical music, particularly the operas of Giuseppe Verdi.



While in press, news has been received of the demise of Mom Kobkaew Abhakara na Ayudhya, Honorary Vice-President of the Siam Society, on 19 May 2008, and of Dr Roxanna Brown, ceramics archaeologist and life member of the Society, on 14 May 2008. Obituary notices will appear in JSS 2009. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Notes about contributors

Chris BAKER taught Asian history and politics at Cambridge before becoming resident in Thailand in 1979. He is the co-author, with Pasuk Phongpaichit, of Thailand: Economy and Politics (2nd ed. 2002), Thaksin, the Business of Politics in Thailand (2004) and A History of Thailand (2005), and translations from Pridi Banomyong and King Rama V, inter alia. BHAWAN Ruangsilp is a lecturer in the History Department of Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok. She obtained her MA in European History and German Literature at Tübingen University in 1999. Her doctoral thesis on early modern Thai-Dutch relations, conducted at Leiden University, was published in 2007 and is reviewed in this issue. Brigitte BORELL graduated from the University of Heidelberg, Germany, as a classical archaeologist in 1975. She has worked for the German Archaeological Institute on the excavations in Olympia, Greece, and for the Institute of Classical Archaeology at the University of Heidelberg. She then followed her husband in the German diplomatic service to Singapore and Ho Chi Minh City. Her book Singapur in vorkolonialer Zeit (Singapore in the pre-colonial period) was published in 2001.

Francis R. BRADLEY is a PhD candidate in Southeast Asian history at the University of WisconsinMadison. As a Fulbright IIE fellow, he is currently engaged in research for his dissertation titled The Social Dynamics of Islamic Revivalism in Southeast Asia: The Rise of the Patani School, 1785-1909. He was previously awarded a Social Science Research Council grant for historical research in southern Thailand. Kennon BREAZEALE is a projects coordinator at the EastWest Center and honorary chairman of publications for the Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Hawaii. His recent books include Breaking New Ground in Lao History: Essays on the Seventh to Twentieth Centuries (2002) and From Japan to Arabia: Ayutthaya’s Maritime Relations with Asia (1999), and his article “Whirligig of diplomacy: a tale of Thai-Portuguese relations 1613-1619” appeared in JSS 2006. Han ten BRUMMELHUIS is an anthropologist associated with the Amsterdam School of Social Science Research (ASSR) of the University of Amsterdam. He has published about the history of modern irrigation in Thailand, Dutch VOC sources about Siam, and the Thai community in the Netherlands. In 2007 he published King of the waters: Homan van der Heide and the origin of

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

347

348

Notes about contributors

modern irrigation in Siam, reviewed in this issue. David CHANDLER is Emeritus Professor of History at Monash University in Melbourne, Australia. His most recent book, published in 2007, is an expanded fourth edition of A History of Cambodia, which was first published in 1983. Other volumes include The Tragedy of Cambodian History (1991), Brother Number One, A Political Biography of Pol Pot (1992), The Khmers (1995, with Ian Mabbett), Facing the Cambodian Past (1996), Voices from S-21(1999), and Paul Mus (1902-1969) et l’Asie: l’espace d’un regard (2006, co-edited with C. Goscha). Haydon CHERRY is a doctoral candidate in the Department of History at Yale University. Originally from New Zealand, he obtained his first degree in Southeast Asian Studies from the National University of Singapore in 2002, and an M.A. in History from the same university in 2004. His doctoral dissertation is a social history of the urban poor in colonial Saigon, c. 18801954. Bruno DAGENS was a Fellow of Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient from 1969 to 1986, specializing in the ancient history and archaeology of South and Southeast Asia. He is now professor emeritus, Université de la Sorbonne NouvelleParis III. In Cambodia from 1965-1970 he was in charge of the archaeological

store of the Conservation d’Angkor and oversaw the evacuation to Phnom Penh of the artefacts (1970-72). He has taken part in a number of recent high-level UNESCO meetings concerning the conservation of Angkor’s treasures. George DUTTON is Associate Professor of Vietnamese history and Southeast Asian Studies at the University of California in Los Angeles (UCLA). He is the author of The Tay Son Uprising: Society and Rebellion in Eighteenth-Century Vietnam (2006). His research interests include eighteenth and nineteenth century Vietnamese history, as well as Vietnamese print culture of the 1930s. Malcolm FALKUS is Emeritus Professor of Economic Histtry at the University of New England, Australia. He taught previously for many years at the London School of Economics, and has published widely in the field of Asian economic history. He now lives in retirement in Thailand. James C. INGRAM is professor of economics emeritus at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, with specialization in international economics and economic development. He was a visiting member of the London School of Economics (1963-64) and visiting professor at Thammasat University (1969-71). He is the author of Economic Change in Thailand, 18501970 (1973).

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Notes about contributors

Peter JACKSON is a senior fellow in history, Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, Canberra. He specializes in the cultural history of Buddhism, gender, sexuality, and globalization in Thailand. He published with the Siam Society in 1988 Buddhadasa: a Buddhist thinker for the modern world.

349

ing her Master’s in Asian History. Her writing has been published in numerous magazines and newspapers and she is the author of Finding George Orwell in Burma (2005), a non-fiction book about Burma.

Patrick JORY teaches Southeast Asian Studies in the Regional Studies Program, School of Liberal Arts, Walailak University, Nakhon Sithammarat. His research interest is in Thai cultural history. He is co-editor, with Michael J. Montesano, of Thai North, Malay South: Ethnic Interactions on the Plural Peninsula (Singapore, 2008).

Sigmund J. LASCHENSKI is a member of the Society of Jesus in the Catholic Church. In 1958 he volunteered to join a group opening a major seminary for young men of Burma preparing to become priests. After eight years, the Burmese Government asked most foreign missionaries in Burma to leave. He then joined the Jesuits working in neighbouring Thailand, where he is now a member of the staff of Lux Mundi in Sampran, the major Catholic seminary in Thailand for diocesan priests.

Hjorleifur JONSSON is a cultural anthropologist and teaches at Arizona State University. His work has focused on ethnic minority peoples, primarily on Mien (Yao) in northern Thailand and currently on Lao Mien in the United States. His publications include Mien Relations: Mountain People and State Control in Thailand (2002/2006) and “Moving House: Migration and the Place of the Household on the Thai Periphery,” JSS v.87, 1999.

Milton OSBORNE is an independent author and consultant based in Sydney, Australia. He is the author of ten books on the history and politics of Southeast Asia, and is adjunct professor in the Faulty of Asian Studies at the Australian National University, Canberra, as well as visiting fellow at the Lowy Institute for International Policy, Sydney. His most recent book is Phnom Penh, a Cultural and Literary History (2008).

Emma LARKIN was born and brought up in Asia, and has been visiting Burma for over ten years. She studied the Burmese language at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London while tak-

PATTANA Kitiarsa is Visiting Fellow in Southeast Asian Studies Programme, National University of Singapore. He holds his doctoral degree in socio-cultural anthropology from the University of Washington,

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

350

Notes about contributors

Seattle, USA. He has published both in Thai and English in the fields of Thai popular Buddhism, transnational labour migration, Thai boxing, and films. He is the editor of Religious Commodifications in Asia: Marketing Gods (2008). PINKAEW Laungaramsri has a PhD in anthropology from the University of Washington and is a lecturer in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology, Chiang Mai University. Currently she is conducting post-doctoral research with a fellowship in the Southeast Asian Studies Programme, National University of Singapore. Jane PURANANANDA a graduate of Barnard College, Columbia University, she serves as a consultant to the James H. W. Thompson Foundation, helping to organize conferences, editing publications and assisting with exhibitions at the Jim Thompson Art Center. She has lived in Asia for over 25 years working as an editor, writer and consultant. She is the author of two children’s books and regularly lectures about Thai art and culture. Dick RICHARDS was Curator of Asian Art at the Art Gallery of South Australia where he was responsible for developing a large collection of Southeast Asian ceramics. Now retired, he travels widely and works as a freelance curator and lecturer.

Michael SMITHIES after an academic career in Southeast Asia from 1960, he retired in 1992 from the United Nations in Bangkok. He edited the Journal of the Siam Society from 1969-71, and again since 2003. His most recent publication was a translation of Michel Jacq-Hergoualc’h, The Armies of Angkor (2007). He was made Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres by the French Government in 2006. Donald STADTNER was for many years an associate professor at the University of Texas, Austin, after receiving his PhD at the University of California, Berkeley. He is the author of Ancient Pagan, A Buddhist Plain of Merit (2005) and the forthcoming Sacred Sites of Burma. He divides his time between the San Francisco Bay area and research trips to Southeast Asia and India. Martin STUART-FOX is Professor Emeritus in the School of History, Philosophy, Religion and Classics, in the University of Queensland, Australia. He is the author of several books and more than fifty book chapters and articles on Laos. He is currently working on a history of the three capitals of Laos, entitled Naga Cities of the Mekong. SUD Chonchirdsin gained his first degree from Chulalongkorn University in 1982 and then studied at the University of London. After receiving his PhD in history, he returned to teach Vietnamese history and lan-

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Notes about contributors

guage at Chulalongkorn University for five years. He is currently the curator of the Vietnamese collection at the British Library, London, and also teaches at the London School of Oriental and African Studies. SUTHIDA Whyte graduated from Chulalongkorn University and completed her PhD in Australia in 2003 on responses to the Asian financial crisis of 1997-8. She teaches Human Resource Management in the Faculty of Management Science, Ubon Ratchathani University, where she is also Deputy Dean. Andrew TURTON was educated at Cambridge University and the London School of Economics. He first came to Thailand in 1962 with the British Council, and returned in 1968 to conduct research for a PhD. He recently retired as Reader from SOAS, London. His most recent book, with Volker Grabowsky, is The gold and silver road of trade and friendship: the McLeod and Richardson diplomatic missions to Tai states in 1837.

351

Karl E. WEBER graduated from Heidelberg University 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, Thailand, from 1978-2002. He has conducted research in South and Southeast Asia, notably in Bangladesh, Nepal, Pakistan, and Thailand. Brendan WHYTE was born in New Zealand, and moved to Australia where he completed a PhD in political geography in 2002, examining the history of the 200 enclaves along the northern India-Bangladesh frontier. After a postdoctoral fellowship at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, he moved to Thailand in 2006 and currently teaches in the Faculty of Management Science at Ubon Ratchathani University.

Anthony WALKER is Professor of Anthropology and Sociology at Universiti Brunei Darussalam and has taught anthropology in Fiji, Malaysia, Singapore, and USA. As a graduate student at the Institute of Anthropology, Oxford University, he began field work among the Lahu people in north Thailand almost forty years ago and has published extensively about them. Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Notes FOR contributors

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 five-line 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 (including footnotes and references). One copy should be sent by e-mail (preferably as a Word document) and a hard copy should be posted, printed on one side of the paper only with double line spacing (preferable 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. Quotations of more than four lines should be indented.

Contributors using special fonts, such as for various Asian languages, should consult the editor in advance. References in the text should where possible use the form ‘(Jones 1970: 82)’ and full details should appear in the list of references at the end of the article. These references 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). Titles of the books and periodicals should, of course, be italicized. Footnotes are to appear as such, not as end notes, and should be numbered consecutively. References to articles or books 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.

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

353

354

Notes for contributors

Style

Each paper should follow a consistent form of dating, capitalization (to be kept to a minimum) and other aspects. The style adopted 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 nonspecialists. Articles and reviews should avoid 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. Date forms should be day–month–year, without contractions (e.g. ‘13 April 2007’). Acronyms must always be spelt out when first used e.g. ‘National Economic and Social Development Board (NESDB)’. Measurements should be metric, not imperial. 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-gener-

ated, then the appropriate disks should be sent indicating format, together with a hard copy. Do not embed any graphics in the text on the disk or print-out, 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. Illustrations to articles should be limited to a maximum of ten; many articles may need no accompanying visuals. 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 20 offprints will be supplied free to authors

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

Notes for contributors

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 by e-mail with double spacing as for articles. Full bibliographic details about the book under review must be supplied, including ISBN, number of pages and price, if known. Disclaimer and resolution of conflict The opinions expressed in the JSS are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the Siam Society. The editor’s decision is final.

355

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

Journal of the Siam Society 2008 Vol. 96

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