CHAPTER X

INTELLECTUAL LIFE

The relations between the development of language and social evolution--An enigmatic system of writing--Knotted cords, knotches in sticks, and their accessories--The evolution of literature among primitive races--Length of memory among races that have no written records--Historical value of legends transmitted by oral tradition--Nature of the more usual alterations to be met with in documentary folklore--The most general legends, fables and proverbs of the Moï.

The main fact which differentiates primitive groups among themselves is diversity of language. To this rule the Moï present no exception, for they offer the choice of a considerable number of dialects. There are very nearly as many dialects as tribes, and, what at first seems even more extraordinary, the dialect of one village is usually unintelligible to the inhabitants of any other. But this singularity vanishes when we investigate more closely, and for these reasons.

The development of a language is intimately connected with the simultaneous intellectual and social evolution of the race which employs it. Now the civilization of the Moï has been stationary, if not actually retrogressive, for a prolonged period, and accordingly it is to be expected that their language, far from consolidating itself, should be subject to all the influences which flow from contact with neighbouring populations.

The learned philologist Cabaton has classified the Moï dialects into three broad divisions, according to the degree in which they have been modified by the tongues spoken by neighbouring peoples who have advanced to a higher stage of civilization. These three divisions comprise:

(_a_) Dialects of Malayo-Polynesian origin.

(_b_) Dialects of Kmer origin.

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

This diversity of dialects is responsible for the fact that the word "Moï" has no ethnical sense at all and that it is a mere generic term which, as I have explained before, can conveniently be used to describe the whole complex of barbarous groups which dwell in the mountain uplands of Indo-China. The word does not signify an autonomous entity with clearly defined characteristics, but merely a medley of various elements, of which many have lost all trace of common origin.

It is even more difficult to catalogue the different races which go to make up the inhabitants of Indo-China than to catalogue the dialects. At first sight some of them seem to be pure, but closer inquiry soon dispels the illusion. There are many reasons to account for this, among which may be cited the prevalence of polygamy and the perpetual inter-tribal conflicts in the course of which the vanquished, after a short period, are absorbed by the victors, to the evident advantage of the latter.

If the dialects are innumerable, there is virtually only one method, employed by all the groups, of communicating ideas or transmitting thought. It consists of the use of certain conventional signs. The more common of these are triangular or hexagonal figures of bamboo or rattan, measuring one foot eight inches in their greater dimension and hung in some conspicuous place. These geometrical forms warn the traveller of impending danger or notify a prohibition to cross the boundary of a "taboo" village.

Another method of communication is by means of a string with a series of knots. This practice recalls the _quipos_ which were in use among the Peruvians and Mexicans to record important events and as a medium for the transmission of thought.

Suppose two friends want to arrange an appointment to meet in several days' time. They present each other with threads which have the same number of knots and as many knots as there are days to elapse before the meeting. Every day at sunrise each of them unties one of the knots. When at length there are no knots left they know that the appointed day has arrived.

It is very curious that the Moï, whose recollection of facts is almost infallible, are unable to recall either figures or dates without the assistance of mechanical aids to memory.

Doctor Noël Bernard, of the Colonial Forces, tells a very interesting story in his exhaustive monograph on the Kha.

"In a village situated in the plateau of Boloven I found the inhabitants stricken with terror. They informed me that a malevolent Genius had been enraged with them for more than a year and was decimating the population. To remedy their ill-fortune they rebuilt the village in a new place, and the death-rate decreased. I happened to ask them the number of the victims in that fatal year. They could not tell me. I renewed the question and the village chief gave me the figures in a highly novel manner. As he called out each victim by name he laid a small stick down at his feet. When the counting was completed the old man summed up as follows: 'Two died during seed time, three during harvest, four at the beginning of the rains,' and so on, concluding with a tragic, 'What a number!' But not a single native present could calculate that number, though there were only thirteen sticks at the feet of the incompetent arithmeticians!"

M. A. Gaultier de Claubry, when he was Director of Public Instruction in Indo-China, had opportunities of making observations which throw light on the incident just related. He used to teach French to twenty-two natives between the ages of twelve and twenty and wished to follow the ordinary rational method of explaining the meaning of a lesson first and asking his pupils to learn it by heart only after that meaning had become clear in their minds.

After a period devoted to repeated attempts along these lines he had to confess himself beaten and that the method was impracticable so far as these particular scholars were concerned, for the more clearly they grasped the meaning of the words the greater was their difficulty in committing them to memory.

Contrary to all the recognized precepts of sound teaching, the Professor resolved to reverse the process, make his pupils first learn the lesson by heart and only proceed to its translation and explanation when they could recite the words without a slip. The results were even more unexpected, for the more quick and certain their memories became the greater was their difficulty in understanding the meaning of the words.

The Professor repeated this experiment from time to time and the same phenomena always recurred.

It seems, therefore, clearly arguable that in certain individual cases connection between the thinking and memorizing faculties is either missing or only imperfectly established. They seem unable to perform their functions simultaneously. The memory cannot work properly unless all other mental processes are suspended.

But to return to arithmetic, the custom of employing pieces of wood to assist calculation is to be found everywhere in the savage world. Our coolies were collected from many different quarters, but they all carried a bamboo in which each evening they cut a notch to reckon up the number of days of service. On pay days they lined up solemnly side by side and each produced his stick from his loin-cloth and presented it for inspection. It was very rarely that our accountants found any error in the number of the notches.

As will have been gathered from the answers of the Moï chief to Doctor Bernard, the estimation of time by years of twelve months is unknown in these regions. Savages date all the events of their lives by their relation to the occurrences which affect them most, that is to say, the variations of the monsoon and the forward or backward condition of the crops.

No one knows his age, for no practical benefit accrues from the attainment of that piece of knowledge.

The use of sticks is not limited to the purpose I have mentioned but extends to the transmission of orders or information. In the last case notches are cut on both sides of the stick and of various forms and depths. Also they will be separated by spaces of varying lengths. Each of these details has thus a special significance.

This is the method employed by one village to convey a declaration of war to another. Its general terms will be much as follows:

"Twelve days hence we shall seize any man who crosses our boundary. We will not release him except or ransom, four strong oxen which have already worked in the ricefields, or, failing them, two sets of gongs at least ten years in the making. Our tribe counts more than thirty young warriors trained to the bow, and a great number of old men, women and children."

Before being entrusted to the messenger charged with delivering it to the foe this ultimatum-stick is decorated, according to immemorial usage, with some egret's feathers, a burnt bamboo, and red pimento.

The symbolical significance of these accessories is as follows:

"Messenger! Thou must be as swift as the bird whose feather you bear. Thou shalt not stop by day or night, and this bamboo will point thy pathway in the hours of darkness. Thou shalt not fear if thou neglectest not to eat some pimento such as this."

I have often met women or old men with these notched laths hung round their necks. On inquiry they informed me that each notch represented a goat or chicken promised to the Pi of the forest in return for protection from the Tiger. As their slender means did not unable them to make a sacrifice in advance they were postponing the redemption of the promise until the next harvest.

I was indiscreet enough to inquire what would become of them if by any chance the vow was never fulfilled, but they looked at me in blank astonishment and indignantly denied that there could be any compromise with conscience. One of them, however, took me into his confidence. "I was unable to fulfil a certain vow during the last harvest, which was a particularly bad one, so instead of the five chickens which I first promised the Pi I now owe them one goat. If the next harvest is not better than the last, the goat will have to be replaced by a pig."

It sometimes happened that when we had broken up our encampment and were advancing to a new site some particularly well-inclined Chief dispatched a warrior-herald before us to announce our arrival by means of a notched stick. The contents of the message were such that before we had appeared the rice necessary for our escort and the paddy for our horses had all been prepared.

I must add that I speak of exceptional occurrences. The rule was that no herald preceded us, or if he did his message was of very different tenor. In such cases, the great majority, we could do nothing but seize by force of arms what ought to have been conceded with good grace.

The Moï regarded our written characters as a species of magical invention. Accordingly the powers thus attributed to the letters themselves were speedily extended to the paper on which they were written. They began to furnish themselves with a "Sra," or sheet of paper, whenever they set out on a journey, in the belief that it would guarantee them against delay or mishap _en route_. A courier would always carry an envelope, generally empty and unaddressed. Armed with this talisman he was secured against the attacks of tigers and evil spirits and freed from all anxiety as regards what La Fontaine has described as "bon souper, bon gîte, et ... le reste."

This use of notches as written symbols is also found among certain peoples of southern China. Father Crabouillet tells us something of this in his writings. In the course of his missionary work he discovered that the natives are able to represent by these means not only concrete objects but also abstract ideas. They were familiar with the ideographic characters of the Chinese, yet they preferred to use their own enigmatic system for the transaction of business.

We can only conclude that their object is to keep their affairs private from their neighbours the Celestials, whom they have particular reason to distrust.

The literary evolution of primitive peoples follows soon after their musical evolution, to which I have already referred. In the first stages, poetry, song and dance are inextricably associated. The spoken word plays a quite subordinate part in this æsthetic trinity. It serves to explain the meaning of the rhythmical movements but cannot be dissociated from them. The form of this rudimentary poetry is frequently a simple exclamation, a cry or imitative call. The interjectional refrains which we find to-day among savage tribes are only the relics of those wordless romances which preceded spoken verse in the first stage.

Metre is none other than the outcome of man's natural leaning to measured sounds. The verse of primitive folk is accordingly distinguished by the shortness of its lines. There is no rhyme except that which results from the combination of assonances. The length of a line may be used as a test of the standard of civilization to which a people has attained, for it only reaches appreciable dimensions when rules of metre and prosody have been formulated and enforced.

In China there is a mass of documentary evidence which throws light on this process of evolution. The line in that country was originally of four feet only, and did not attain to seven feet for a very considerable period. In India the Sanscrit line is very short in the Rig-Veda and gradually lengthens in the Epics, concluding with the dimensions of fifteen syllables divided by a hemistich, the relic of an earlier period in which the line was very short.

At the peril of seeming paradoxical I have lingered over the sense of rhythm among primitive peoples because so many travellers have expressed surprise at the immense impression which can be produced on a savage by uttering a poetic phrase or merely inserting a line of verse in ordinary conversation.

One of our party, a poet in his own way, frequently took advantage of the impression thus produced. He always addressed our coolies in verse, and though his knowledge of the language was only elementary, he was better understood and more speedily obeyed than others of us who spoke the dialects fluently. He united with this gift of rhyme a facility of metaphor which was remarkable. His conversation was sown thick with images, many of them quite ridiculous, but yet not so absurd as to prevent even our appreciation of them.

I have already remarked that in the infancy of society æsthetic manifestations were confined to choral dances representing simple subjects of an impersonal character, and no more than the reflection of the current life and thought of the group. But in course of time that way of life and thought became profoundly modified by new influences and movements, resulting from conflicts between rich and poor, master and slave. A new literature arose which expressed other feelings and aspirations, a literature which found voice in the popular artists who invented a new profession in all countries. The rhapsodists of Greece, the scalds of Scandinavia, and the Celtic bards, furnish familiar examples.

Everywhere these wandering minstrels presented the vague popular traditions in set forms. Their works reflect quite faithfully the movements and aspirations of their own day, and being transmitted by oral tradition, they form to-day a body of material which is virtually our only source of information as to the folklore of primitive races.

Accordingly, no study of a group can be complete which takes no account of its legends, myths and fables; if a group has no written records they form our only historical evidence. It has often been remarked that the non-existence of such records has served the purpose of improving the memories of those who have only oral tradition to rely on.

Recent research among primitive peoples in this very subject has demonstrated that the average duration of the recollection of an event is six generations, or about one hundred and fifty years. During that period, if the event is one of importance but yet in the natural order of things such as an earthquake or a flood, or even a political occurrence, such as a change of dynasty or a revolution, its memories will remain practically unmodified. Of course this applies only to groups among which the use of writing is unknown. Otherwise, the absence of any necessity for oral tradition greatly diminishes the length of its life. During our expedition we had many occasions to observe the ease with which the Moï Chiefs recollected events long since past and generally forgotten. Father Durand made the same discovery during his long residence in Annam. He told me of historical events in the eighteenth century of which the Moï had spoken to him with the most circumstantial detail. For example, they remembered the revolt of Thang Khoi in 1834 as if it had been an occurrence of only yesterday, and recounted an exploit, long since forgotten, of two Cochin-Chinese adventurers.

These pirates, some years before the capture of Saigon, managed to force the barrier and enter the Imperial palace under fire from the guns of the citadel of Hué, while the Emperor Tu Duc fled in terror.

The Annamites have a great regard for this retentiveness of memory and their consistent hostility towards all their neighbours robs that regard of all taint of partiality. However, once the fact is established, it follows that many legends founded on actual occurrences but transmitted orally from generation to generation in default of any written record may have as much authority for ethnography as if their authenticity had been established by documentary proof. But it cannot be denied that the imagination of the Moï has equally played a part in the composition of some of the current stories which were originally true statements of fact. Like all other peoples they have been subject to those influences which silently introduce elements of the apocryphal into the well of truth. Their folklore exhibits the same phenomena which can be studied at all times in similar groups. For example they transform the hero of some particular locality into a hero of the whole group, or, in other words, make a national property of what is strictly a local possession. To the same end they substitute the name of their country for the name of the place where great events have taken place. In these ways all get credit for what only the few deserve, and in the end they have a fine collection of heroes and adventures filched from every source. But in spite of these alterations, the motive of which seems to be the ambition to have more great men and stirring deeds than their neighbours, it is patent that these legends faithfully reflect the principal conceptions of these primitive folk.

As the prevalent superstitions vary in different localities it would be absurd to suppose that all the legends, myths and fables which I am about to speak of enjoy universal currency. On the contrary, some circulate in one part of the country, others elsewhere. But I have attempted in making a selection to confine myself to those which are most widely known. Some of them originated among the Laotians or Annamites. Very few are of native origin, for the imagination of this group has always been undeveloped.

The biblical account of the early history of the world has been curiously adapted and transformed. The great deluge, for example, appears under the following guise.

In the beginning a Genius incarnated in a kite disputed with one of his colleagues incarnated in a crab, and a lively quarrel ensued, in the course of which the latter had his shell broken by the beak of the bird, an insult of which he bears the mark to-day. Casting about for some means of revenge, the Crab-Genius conceived the idea of raising the waters of the sea until they covered the high mountain on which the Kite-Genius was perched. Every human being perished with the exception of a young couple, brother and sister, who saved their lives by taking refuge in a huge pumpkin. This original boat deposited them safe and sound on the top of the highest mountain. The rescued couple at once sought far and wide for any other survivors of the human race, but all in vain. Their fellow beings had all perished. A tortoise which they met with advised them to marry to ensure the continuance of the race. The young man, horrified at the suggestion, cut the creature in pieces as a punishment, but the pieces quickly reunited, a marvel of which the tortoise has ever since borne the traces. The couple then renewed their wanderings and soon met a bamboo which offered the same advice, and was treated in the same way. Again the pieces reunited, and from that day to this the bamboo has always had knots. Finally, a Spirit descended to earth to terminate so embarrassing a situation. He offered the girl eight beans, promising her that if she ate one each year she would conceive on each occasion. In delight at the gift and the prospective fulfilment of all her hopes, she hastened to put the beans in her mouth, and, forgetting her instructions, swallowed them all at once! What the Spirit foretold then came to pass. She produced eight children at a birth and these founded the principal human families.

The tradition of the dispersion of the human race is also perpetuated. The Djarai Moï, for example, give the following description of the event.

"Our own land was the centre of the earth where the peoples of mankind, having outgrown their resources, built the Tower of Separation before scattering over the surface of the globe. The tower was so lofty that the topmost story could only be secured by bands of strong fibre which the workmen fastened by clinging to them with all their weight. Perched on the very top was one who thus surveyed the whole expanse of earth spread out before him. His duty was to indicate to those below the paths which led to the most fertile portions. After a short survey he called out to the workmen who were holding the ropes: 'To the Eastward I see a wondrous plain washed by the ocean, to the Westward a rich valley watered by a great river.' Before he could continue, however, an ominous rumbling was heard, the tower trembled for the space of a moment, and then fell to the earth with a crash, burying him under its ruins. The Annamites and Laotians were the unkind workmen who had all let go in their frantic haste to find the prosperous regions so eloquently described! As for the Moï, they were far too lazy to enter into an exhausting competition, so they remained on the forest-clad mountains which no one envied them."

The story of Joshua stopping the sun is replaced by that of a Spirit exhibiting the same powers.

"In the beginning there dwelt in the land of the Moï-Bahnar a valiant chieftain named Diong, whom the gods themselves were unable to subdue. So great was the fame of his exploits that women frequently deserted their husbands in order to follow him. One of these offenders was the wife of the chief of the Moï-Djarai, who resolved to punish the author of his wrong, and declared war on him. The two tribes composed of equal numbers of skilled warriors fought with the utmost desperation, but fortune finally favoured Diong, who ended the day by slaying the injured husband with his own hand. Firmly convinced that his triumph was only due to celestial intervention, the victor begged the Spirits to put back the course of the sun in order to allow him time to annihilate his foes. His prayer was answered, for the gods drew back the sun and started it again at midday."

Most of these legends have been collected by the Catholic missionaries, whose work among the people of Bahnar has met with a large measure of success. It is possible that the higher standard of education to which the people of this region have attained has made possible the investigation of these biblical stories. Other groups, when questioned on the subject, can give no account of their legends whatever. I ought to say, however, that the story of the pumpkin saving the human race at the time of the deluge is well known among all the semi-savage peoples of Indo-China.

Sometimes the individual characteristics of a group are illuminated by a legend or fable which explains their origin. For example, the origin of the Moï practice of filing the teeth may be sought in a Cambodian fable.

When Buddha dwelt among men he was fed by each of his faithful disciples in turn. He visited the Moï and after them the Cambodians and asserted that the meats offered him by the former were much inferior to those of the latter. The reason for the difference was then made clear to him. The Moï were too lazy to pound the rice and contented themselves with grinding it in their teeth. The Master was greatly incensed at this lack of respect towards himself and condemned them to file their teeth in such a way that a repetition of the offence would be impossible. Further they were compelled to wear in their hair the small sticks which served for cooking utensils and, to add to their shame, he pierced their ears and forbade them to wear anything but the plainest clothing. The Moï found these restrictions more than they could bear and they fled to the mountains, leaving the plains to the Cambodians who dwell there to this day.

The extraordinary configuration of the regions inhabited by the Moï was bound to give birth to many legends which would furnish them with some satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon. The chief characteristics of these stories will be illustrated by the following examples, which I have selected at random.

The highest point of the great Annamite chain is a lofty mountain with a curious needle-shaped peak. The summit is inaccessible, and our surveyors had to be content with establishing their geodetical station at its foot. The peak is a well-known landmark and, according to the Moï, none other than the wife of a Spirit, who turned her into stone. In the beginning of creation a company of demigods dwelt on this spot. One day the husband went to get food, leaving his wife at home. She took advantage of his absence to deceive him, and in the fulness of time became pregnant. On his return the Spirit learned of the injury he had suffered and turned on the accomplice who took to flight. The husband gave chase, came up with his rival as he was on the point of casting himself into a river, seized him, cut off his head and turned his corpse into a stone.

Unsatisfied with this act of vengeance the murderer retraced his steps and likewise turned into stone everyone who had assisted the flight of his rival. On entering his palace he observed a crowd gathering round his wife who, in the throes of childbirth, had summoned a midwife and all her friends. The sight maddened him, and with a wave of his hand he transformed every living creature within reach into a mountain. Even the elephants, which in this country serve as transport animals, did not escape his vengeance. That is why this massive group of peaks is known as "The Mother and Child," a name preserved even by our cartographers.

Even more general than legends are ballads, fables and popular songs. Some of the chants which approximate to liturgical psalms are only known to a few select spirits who sing them together on special occasions.

Henri Maître, the commissioner, has translated one of these rhapsodies which he discovered in the course of his ethnographical researches. A few extracts will illustrate the halting simplicity which characterizes these compositions.

"The Gods created the Earth and the trees. That is why men know how to make gongs and tom-toms with which they accompany their sacrifices to the Spirits....

"Men create jars for spirits and the hollow bamboo tubes through which they suck up the liquid....

"Parents bring children into the world and feed them until they are able to look after themselves....

"Thanks to the protecting care of the Spirits, the children grow up hardy and splendid like a tall tree or a great river....

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

By the side of such outpourings with their sprinkling of archaic words and their more or less religious flavour there are also numbers of jovial popular songs which the young men hum at work or sing to the girls who catch their fancy. If the lady deigns to reply these songs develop into a kind of choral repartee. This practice is confined to the Laotians and their immediate neighbours.

The Laotians also still preserve the Court of Love, which has many features in common with the celebrated European institution of the Middle Ages.

At the period of the year when the rice harvest has been gathered in and work in the fields is temporarily suspended the chief occupation of the young men is to court the girls. Stages are erected on which the Laotian ladies in search of a husband assemble. At their feet burn lamps, by the light of which every detail of form or costume is discreetly brought to the notice of the swains. A plate of betel and a bamboo spittoon pass from hand to hand. Squatting in a row before their lady-loves the young men compose verses in their honour, and the ladies reply according to the burden of their hearts. Each couple keeps up the interchange of vocal repartee before a public only too ready to record its approval when one party or the other scores a point. The couples are not allowed to touch each other. If the burden of a song requires the performance of this act the singer symbolically touches himself. Both the singing and acting are accompanied by measured music, which adds to their charm.

The Malays also frequently improvise rhapsodical poems called "Pantouns," in which two persons converse together. The Malayan literary tournaments have acquired a widespread reputation.

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

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

"Your legs and bosom are like ivory!

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

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

"If you walked in the forest to gather moss and batatas, I should wish to meet you alone to offer you some betel! (That being the emblem of accepted love.)

"If you will marry me I can give you a large rice-bowl, a warm coverlet for the cold nights, and an ox from my stables!...

"At night we will lie on the same mat as close together as the legs of a shackled elephant!"...

The girl's answer is cruel:

"If you could give me ten silver necklaces and five ropes of white pearls I would have none of you or your offerings, but tell your brother, the swift hunter, that he can have me for a green banana!"...

I have already dwelt on some of the superstitions which have gathered round certain animals, and it only remains to say that there is hardly a creature which is not the subject of a legend, a fable, or, at least, a popular saying. From a comparison of the relative importance of these legends or fables, it is plain that the Moï believe in a regular hierarchy in which each species has its place. This belief is shared by the Annamites, and its existence was clearly demonstrated by the following tragic incident.

One morning one of our engineers, a man named Petaud, was found crushed to death by elephants while engaged in tachymetrical operations. He was quite unrecognizable and it was plain that one of the infuriated monsters had flung him to the ground and the whole herd had then stamped his body into dust. We were quite unable to assign a cause for this terrible catastrophe. The only plausible explanation was that the unfortunate victim had been so preoccupied with his observations that he had stumbled into the midst of a sleeping herd and had taken them for rocks. The part of the forest in which he was found was, in fact, studded with huge granite boulders, many of which resembled elephants in colour and form. Without loss of time we set to work to clear the neighbourhood of the dangerous foe. Many of the monsters fell beneath our bullets and it occurred to us to send the feet to one of our countrymen on the coast, with a request to send them by an Annamite junk to Saigon. We knew of a naturalist in that town who makes elephants' feet into stands for flower-pots. Our discomfiture was complete when we were informed that no one would undertake the carriage of the booty to the coast at any figure we named. The following reason was advanced for this refusal.

"The elephant is the highest of the animals which reign on earth, but his powers can only be exercised on land. At sea the whale is mistress and she is very jealous of any encroachment on her prerogative. Accordingly, if we took any part of an elephant into her domain she would manifest her displeasure by capsizing our vessel."

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

Wild beasts and, in fact, all animals which may be harmful to man are given high-sounding titles by the Moï in the hope of tickling their vanity and thus earning their gratitude. On the other hand, harmless creatures, especially those which cannot be used for food and are therefore useless to mankind, are given names of derision or contempt. Further, certain species whose wiles defy all attempts at capture are considered as being emanations of the spirits themselves. Suppose a rat has the impertinence not merely to avoid all the traps, but also to defy the Chief of the tribe and watch from a beam while a jar is being opened. Its ordinary name is immediately transformed. Henceforth, everyone refers to it as "the gentleman with magic powers." The same title is extended to the termite ants who succeed in making a home in cooking utensils in spite of all efforts to keep them out.

Other insects, such as the spider, are considered by their presence to incite married persons to infidelity. Accordingly a wife never goes to bed without making a thorough search for the malignant creature. If a spider fell from the ceiling between husband and wife the lady would know for a certainty that her spouse had torn up the marriage contract.

Popular fancy has also fastened on certain products of the vegetable kingdom. When the millet or rice is in flower no one is allowed to pass by who carries a truss of hay, for these plants are very sensitive and would invariably follow the example of the hay, which bears no grain.

If a pregnant woman were stupid enough to eat a double banana she would infallibly give birth to twins whose fingers would be knotted together.

There are numbers of nursery tales for children, many of which bear strong traces of Hindu influence. The following are good specimens:

* * * * *

THE RABBIT, THE TIGER AND THE ELEPHANT

One day the Rabbit met the Elephant, who looked very distressed. The small quadruped asked the big one the cause of his trouble.

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

"I have wagered my life with the Tiger and lost the wager. To-morrow I must put myself at his disposal and he will eat me, but he has given me one day in which to bid farewell to my children."

The Rabbit thought a moment and then told his friend to take heart for he had frequently found a way out of much more formidable complications. The Elephant believed in the assurances of his friend, and they separated after fixing a rendezvous for the next day.

The monster turned up punctually to the moment and found the Rabbit already waiting for him. The Rabbit told him to lie at full length on the ground. When the Tiger was heard bounding through the forest the Rabbit jumped on the Elephant's back and began to cry out at the top of his voice:

"I have just had an elephant for my dinner but I really don't feel equal to a tiger for dessert."

Terrified at such a miracle the King of the Jungle covered eight yards at a bound and vanished in a twinkling into the depths of the forest.

* * * * *

THE TIGER AND THE TORTOISE

One evening when the Tortoise was slowly walking up a mountain path she was brusquely ordered out of the way by a Tiger who wished to drink at the river.

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

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

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

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

"Done!"

As it was then getting late they agreed to postpone the trial of speed to the next day. The Tortoise, however, was not idle during the night, but called together twelve of her sisters, to whom she gave instructions to take up their stations on the top of each of the twelve hills and to pretend to the Tiger that it was his rival whom he found waiting for him.

Her instructions were carried out to the letter and daybreak found each of the tortoises at her post.

The race began at once. The Tiger started off, covering yards at each bound. When he reached the top of the first hill he looked back in contempt for the Tortoise.

"Where are you, Tortoise?"

"Here I am," replied the first Tortoise. "Don't waste time chattering but get on your way."

Astounded that his competitor had displayed such a fine turn of speed the Tiger resumed the race without a moment's delay. In a few bounds he had reached the next hill, only to find (as he thought) the Tortoise waiting for him with a few mocking words for his slothfulness.

The Tiger lost heart and leapt forward in desperation, but the effort was too much for him. He was soon out of breath and collapsed in a heap long before his goal was in sight.

* * * * *

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

One day the Toad said to the Tiger:

"Will you run a race with me?"

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

"Come on all the same. I feel myself possessed by an invisible force and I am sure I can beat you."

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

They agreed that the winner should eat the loser. A tortoise who chanced to pass by was selected as judge and performed the office of starter. The Tiger, with his customary astuteness, claimed that he need only touch the starting-post with the end of his tail. The Toad was up to this and promptly caught hold of his rival's tail and refused to be shaken off during the race. When within a few paces of the goal the Tiger suddenly stopped short and the Toad shot over his head. He was greatly chagrined to see the Toad thus arrive before him and complained bitterly to a monkey who had witnessed the contest.

"I saw it all," the monkey said. "The Toad owes his success to a trick. He caught hold of your tail and it was your sudden stop that precipitated him in front of you. Try to get him to run another race with you, and this time be careful to tie a stone to your tail to prevent a repetition of his underhand behaviour."

The Tiger was delighted with this advice and invited the Toad to a second trial of speed, offering his wife as an additional prize.

The monkey induced the Toad to agree and both watched the Tiger start off. He had not gone far, however, before he plunged into a stream which crossed the course. The weight of the stone dragged him down, and in spite of his struggles he perished miserably.

The monkey, tortoise and Toad were highly delighted.

* * * * *

THE TOAD AND THE KING OF WATER

In the beginning of things a drought of several months completely dried up a marsh in which a Toad dwelt. By reason of this catastrophe the Toad could not bring up his young, so he decided to make a complaint in person to the King of Water.

To give greater weight to his plea he begged the Fox, the Bear and the Tiger to go with him.

The journey was long and wearisome, but at length the four animals, marching in single file, left behind them the narrow path which leads to heaven, and reached the gate.

A tom-tom was hung there, and the Toad banged it vigorously to announce his presence, while his companions discreetly drew aside.

Hearing the noise, the King of Water sent a genius to find out who the new-comer was.

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

The King ordered the cocks to put the intruders to flight, but the Fox flew at them and made a mouthful of them.

The King ordered the dogs to seize and punish the Fox, but then it was the Bear's turn to give them his deadly embrace. The King became more and more angry and ordered his archers to shoot the Bear with poisoned arrows.

With one bound the Tiger laid low the warriors before they could even stretch their bows, and torn by his fangs and claws they soon took to their heels.

The King, seeing himself thus at the end of his resources and tired of war, had the Toad brought into his presence, and inquired the object of his visit.

"I salute thee humbly, Sire," said the Toad, "and would make an urgent supplication before thee. The great heat hath turned the ground to stone, since thou hast forgotten to send rain for many weary months. I can no longer feed my children who are on the point of death through thy neglect."

Touched at the story, the King acknowledged his remissness and at his command a refreshing shower immediately fell upon the earth, which soon revived.

Since that fortunate interview, whenever there is a drought men hear the toad croaking his petition and rain falls without further delay.

* * * * *

It will be noticed in these fables how careful the Moï is to give the Tiger, his dreaded foe, the rôle of the vanquished. They also show signs of education in the habits of the animal world. It is just because the croaking of the toad coincides with a change in the atmosphere that the Moï attributes to that plaintive sound the power to bring down rain.

Is it not equally true that the illustrious chanticleer had only to utter his morning call to cause the sun to rise?