CHAPTER III

RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS

The beginnings of Islam in Indo-China--Rites which accompany initiation into the priestly caste--The gods of Cham--Temples--Resemblance between the architecture of the Cham and that of the Kmer--Phallic rites--A visit to a royal sepulchre.

The date of the introduction of Islam into Indo-China has never been more than approximately fixed. The better opinion is that it made its way into the country in the twelfth century through the medium of Persian or Arab traders. However that may be, the new faith maintained itself more or less in its primitive purity among the Cham, thanks largely to the zeal of the Malays who had proved ready converts and migrated into Indo-China, and more especially Cambodia, in large numbers from the fourteenth century onwards. In Annam, on the other hand, Islam was speedily blended with Hinduism to form a compound in which the original ingredients almost defied recognition.

Among the Mohammedan Cham, known as the Cham Bani, the head of the priestly caste is called "Pô Gru" or "Ong Gru," titles the sense of which may be rendered by "Leader of the Faithful." He is selected from the Imôns, the priesthood who are assisted in the discharge of their ceremonial duties by various religious officials of lower rank.

The rank of a priest is indicated by the length of the scarlet and gold tassels on his turban. Otherwise there is no distinction in the costume which consists of a white sarong, a white shirt fastened with yellow glass buttons and a white girdle also ornamented with tassels. The crook is a long rattan stalk carried in the hand. The High Priest's crook is distinguished by having its roots plaited together to form a kind of basket.

Few of the priests read Arabic and that with difficulty, while the surahs they recite by heart bear only a distant resemblance to the Koran. The very word "Koran" is unfamiliar. It is usually referred to as "The Book of Islam," or "The Book of Praise," or the "Treatise of the Faith."

In Annam the Ramadan lasts only three days, though the priests observe the fast for the full prescribed month.

On the evening before the fast begins each priest makes his way to the mosque and takes up his station in the building with his impedimenta. He is careful not to forget his minimum of necessaries. His first act is to spread out with meticulous care the mat which is to serve him for a bed. At one end of this he places a cube of lacquered wood, his pillow. Next he solemnly unrolls the palm leaves on which the sacred lines have been engraved with some sharp instrument. Then he hangs his string of amber beads on the wall. As earthly indulgences are not entirely forbidden to him, he takes good care to bring his cigarettes and the apparatus for preparing betel and tea.

As long as the fast lasts he is prohibited from leaving the building, so the two vessels containing water for the nine liturgical ablutions are set up under the porch just within reach. These ablutions are a very serious part of the business, for it is absolutely essential that no part of the ceremony should be omitted, even in forgetfulness.

First he washes his hands, spraying the water up to his elbows, then his mouth, nostrils, forehead, and finally his feet as far as the ankles. Woe to him if he forgets to recite his five daily prayers or his nightly salaam, religious exercises which he usually consigns to oblivion at other times! The meticulous observance of the rites during these four weeks is a guarantee of sanctity and the redemption of sins, past, present and prospective.

Of these sins the commonest are breaches of the multifarious regulations, affecting both the Kaphir and Bani priests, prohibiting the consumption of certain specified foods. That sins of this character should be distressingly frequent is hardly surprising when we remember that each month, and even each day of the month, has its particular prohibition. Thus stews, hashes, hare and poultry are strictly forbidden on Mondays in the second month. All foods containing oil and dark-coloured meat may not be touched on Thursdays in the fifth month. Prohibitions so strict and comprehensive show the road to certain transgression in a country where in the nature of things there can be little variety of diet.

Historians have noted in all peoples, whatever the degree of civilization that has been attained, the prevalence of the idea that some intermediary is necessary to establish communication between man and his God. Thus, in Egypt of the Pharaohs, the King was considered the son of God, and as such the proper medium through which his subjects should address their deity. This sacred office of the King was recognized by the deity himself. On certain appointed days the statue of the god made some conventional sign to indicate his approval and assent. We have the evidence of bas-reliefs in the temples to show that this fiction was still maintained in the days of the Roman Empire. At a subsequent period the sacred function was delegated to a special priestly caste; under the later Empire we find the High Priests of Amon at Thebes usurping the royal authority in its entirety.

Professor Foucart, in his "History of Religions,"[4] shows that the origin of the sacerdotal caste is to be sought in remote antiquity. Man has always experienced the need of a privileged class, set apart for the purpose of ensuring the observance of certain religious rites and securing their transmission from generation to generation in their primitive purity. These rites, which are usually simple in character and in essentials common to all religions, are generally accompanied by mystic phrases, the sum of which constitutes Ritual. As the phrases are often high-sounding and impressive, historians have been tempted to attribute to them a meaning which is not warranted in fact. In most cases the words used do nothing more than define the character of the ceremonial act which they accompany. But as the essence of Magic is the endowment of a simple phrase or object with an ulterior mystical significance it is not surprising that the ritual-makers should spare no pains to produce an illusion in the minds of the worshippers. Their obvious motive is to exploit, in the interest of their own class, a science which results in material advantages.

The education of the priests is not confined to the study of the secret language but extends to a knowledge of the special objects used in religious ceremonies. Consequently a period of initiation, a phenomenon noticed in all ages and among all races, is regarded as essential for aspirants to the priestly ranks. The rites which mark this period of initiation are substantially similar among all races. They are directed in the main towards the purification of the neophyte from the sins inherent to the secular state and to set the stamp of legality on his adoption of the religious life. In general, they consist of a rite of separation to mark the abandonment of old ties, a rite of purification proper, and rites of adoption into the new association. From this it is easy to see why ceremonies of this kind always enshrine the metaphor of a death to the old life and a re-birth in the new one. Whether we turn to the Shamans of Siberia, the Lamas of Thibet, the Brahmins of India, the Bonzes of Cambodia, the Padjaos of the Cham, we find the essence of the ceremony identical, however diversified the details may be.

All those familiar with the practice of the Roman Catholic Church know that among certain of the Orders the ceremony of entry or taking the veil includes the Burial Service followed by a hymn of triumph to hail the resurrection of the new spirit reclaimed from the world. In other religions the procedure is a heavy sleep from which the novice awakes to find himself consecrated by Heaven.

The rudiments of this idea are found in the rites which mark the ordination of a Padjao among the Kaphir Cham. A Padjao is not so much a priestess as a prophetess in whom resides the power of foretelling the future and also of protecting from all evil when the Spirit--or rather the "Transport," to adopt the professional phrase used by her class--takes her.

Properly speaking the Padjao does not "take vows," but rather devotes herself to strict celibacy. If she is married when the heavenly call comes to her her husband must leave her at once. The observance of continence, apparent if not actual, is obligatory, and any breach of this rule would be visited by the Spirits with the most condign punishment affecting both the transgressor and her accomplice.

According to a certain priest of Phanrang, "Padjao" means "Princess," and the modern priestesses perform the functions which formerly devolved on the ladies of royal blood who filled religious offices in ancient Champa. On the other hand, "Padjand" in old Javanese, means "Moonlight," and in this connection it is significant that the Cham identify with the moon one of their most highly venerated divinities, the "Celestial Padjao." However this may be, the ordination of these women in Annam is marked by some very curious ceremonies. The novice is selected by the Priestess herself when, feeling herself advancing in years, the choice of a successor becomes an urgent matter. The fortunate object of her selection receives the name of "Happiness of the Human Race." She falls on her knees before her spiritual mother and offers her two eggs, a cup of spirits and some betel, a sign of her dutiful submission. The recipient of these gifts now takes off her girdle and passes it round the head of her newly appointed assistant who is bound henceforth to appear in this form of turban at every public ceremony. Then they both swallow three grains of rice and salt, symbols of plenty. The novice next falls into a sleep or trance, during which her soul departs to the moon to be consecrated by the great "Celestial Padjao," who will reveal to her all the mysteries of life and the secrets of mortals. This trance is, of course, the counterpart of the symbolic death and resurrection which we have seen to be characteristic of the change from the earthly to the heavenly life.

During this ceremony, which is called the "Deification of the Padjao," the Faithful sacrifice a black kid and burn eagle-wood, the odour of which is supposed to be particularly agreeable to the dwellers in the Heavens.

Priestess and novice next indulge in a religious dance known as the "Tania." In their left hands they wave a scarlet scarf while holding a fan in their right. Then taking a betel leaf the priestess passes it through the flame of a candle and offers it to her who is thenceforward to share her office. It must not be imagined, however, that the novice secures her entry into the priestly caste by this ceremony. Her admission is temporary and is only confirmed when, after a novitiate of a year, the Gods indicate their consent to delegate their powers to her. A second ordination is thus necessary which must be attended by all those who were present at the first. If, however, some of the original spectators have died in the meantime the rites are satisfied if they are represented by members of their families of the same sex.

On the evening before this second ceremony all those who are to take part in it must take the bath of purification.

As the approval of the Celestial Padjao is by no means a foregone conclusion her answer is awaited by the priestess with some trepidation. With a view to securing her favourable regard the latter brings an offering in a basket on which she sets up two lighted candles. These candles are the medium through which the divine will is to be revealed. If they go out or burn with a smoky flame this is a clear indication to the novice to abandon her hopes and return to her old life. In that case a successor to her will be found in due time. But if the candles burn up brightly the year's apprenticeship has been judged sufficient to qualify her for divine approval.

A person whose assistance is indispensable to the Padjao is the "Meûdoun," an individual who does not belong to the priestly caste but who is in constant touch with the deities by virtue of his office. The period of initiation is short and is occupied by learning to perform on the drum and reciting liturgical phrases. The "Meûdoun" is appointed by his predecessor and enters upon his duties immediately. His services are requisitioned when exorcisms, incantations or divinations are on foot.

Among the Cham of Cambodia another variety of ceremonies marks the ordination of their Prophetess. In the first place, the social status enjoyed by that official is not as high as in Annam. She seems to inspire a kind of awe rather than any sentiment of veneration. Here the rites of initiation savour of Demonology.

The requirements of time and place are satisfied by a clear moonlight night and a deserted ant-heap in the depths of the forest. The prospective Prophetess appears and with one sweep with a sword severs a cock in twain from its head to its tail. Then, totally naked, she executes a frenzied dance, accompanied by weird incantations before her victim until the mystic moment when, thanks to the powers of magic and the veil of night, the severed halves join together and the resurrected fowl utters a pæan of victory!

Priestesses of all these regions have this in common, that they dress either in white or in black and red. The flesh of swine and lizards is absolutely forbidden, no mean hardship in a portion of the globe where the lizard is regarded as a great delicacy.

It is to be observed that, contrary to the practice prevailing among most semi-barbarous peoples, the Cham allow young and middle-aged women to perform religious functions. The age of twenty is, in fact, the normal time for entering the sacerdotal caste. This is all the more remarkable because it has frequently been demonstrated that among primitive races women are not admitted to the privileges of men until after the menopause.

The Pantheon of the Cham Bani consists of the "Heroes of Civilization" to whom they ascribe the foundation and development of their three ancient capitals. Thus Pô Oulah, or Allah the Mighty, made his residence during the eleventh century in the town of Bal Sri Banôy. It is more than likely that this potentate was the actual conqueror who first brought Islam into Indo-China.

Pô Klong Garai is said to have founded the second capital, Bal-Hangov, the "City of Pine Trees," the reputed traces of which have been discovered near Hué. Finally Pô Binôsuor shed the lustre of his name on Bal Angouai, the ruins of which are still visible at Cha Bàn in the province of Binh Dinh. Some philologists associate this city with the ancient town of Balonga mentioned by Ptolemy. For this last ruler, however, whose great achievement was the repulse of the Annamite invasion, the Cham have substituted the name of Pô Ramé, a prince of no great fame, who seems to have been a kind of adventurer who sprang into importance by marrying a princess of royal blood.

It need hardly be said that these great heroes are credited with all manner of marvellous exploits. The supernatural even enters into their birth, for they are supposed to have been born of virgin mothers, a detail which enhances their resemblance to the Brahminic divinities. In this connection it may be observed that the members of the Hindu Trinity, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva, with their "Saktis," or wives, Umâ, Lasmî and Kali, are universally confused with the native deities of the Cham either under their own or substituted names. For example, Pô Inö Nögar, the Black Lady, the Queen of Women, is none other than ancient Bhagavati, the sakti of Siva.

The Pantheon of the Kaphir Cham is no less nondescript. At its head stand out three masculine divinities. The first is Pô Amö, Lord of Creation, who bears a close resemblance to Brahma. The second, Pô Yâta, is only an emanation of Pô Amö and reigns over the Vault of Heaven. The third is Pô Allah, an incorporeal deity whose sanctuary is at Mecca and who has been borrowed from the pantheon of the Cham Bani.

Then follows a certain number of female divinities, among whom Pô Inö Nögar of the Cham Bani appears as Pô Yang Inö Nögar Taha, the Great Mother-Goddess of the Kingdom who is endowed with authority over the others. This venerable matron, born, it is said, from a wave of the sea, married no less than ninety-seven husbands. Her offspring, however, amounted to no more than thirty-eight daughters, a poor compliment to the prolific powers of her spouses.

These girls remained virgins all their lives and showed the effects of their enforced celibacy in their sour tempers. This unpleasant characteristic, however, has made them objects of peculiar veneration to the natives whose utilitarian morals teach them to neglect the deities reputed to be amiable and concentrate all their fervour on those considered evilly disposed towards man.

In addition to housing these disagreeable virgins, the Heavens are also the abode of a young queen who can grant or withhold all human joys. Her name is Padjao Yang and she personifies the Moon, the faithful minister of Pô Adityak, the Sun. When the Sun passes before Padjao Yang she shows her good breeding and training by bowing to the ground before her Master, a mark of respect which produces the phenomenon of eclipse. One characteristic which this immortal person shares with her mortal sisters is worthy of remark. She is never more than thirty years old! This figure has been selected probably because thirty is the average number of days in a lunar month. It need hardly be said that she never complains of this burden of youth. Some of the more gallant Cham go further, and seeing her sometimes arrayed in a diaphanous halo, swear that her age never exceeds that of her robe! How many of those same mortal sisters would like to say the same!

The temples in which the ritualistic ceremonies of the Cham take place differ according to the observances of the various sects. Thus the mosques of the Cham Bani are narrow huts which could hardly accommodate a single family. It is doubtful whether more than a dozen are to be found in the whole of Annam. They invariably face west, the direction of Mecca, and for furniture and accessories contain a few mats for the use of the worshippers, a drum to call them to prayer and a pulpit which never seems to be occupied. On the very holiest of holy days strips of white cloth are hung over this pulpit and spread over the floor. On Fridays is held the general service of prayer, which, however, is usually but sparsely attended. The Koran requires a quorum of forty, but in practice that figure is seldom reached. At the conclusion of this ceremony wine and spirits are freely circulated among the worshippers though these liquids are taboo to the true Mussulman.

The hut-temples of the Siva-worshippers among the Kaphir Cham are not more elaborate. The chief object to be seen in one of these is the "Mukha-Linga," a piece of stone cut to resemble the male organ of generation but adorned with the face of the god Siva, which is made more life-like by a dressing of coloured plaster. On special occasions this curious object is dressed up in a scarlet mantle. A stone receptacle for holy water and a few other utensils complete the necessary accessories.

These temples, however, are not the only outward and visible signs of religious life among the Cham. A certain number of ancient monuments, which both Annamites and Europeans erroneously call towers, but which are in fact exclusively devoted to religious uses, are carefully preserved. These constructions are always to be found on hills or at other conspicuous points dominating the surrounding country. The choice of the site is not without significance. It is a matter of universal knowledge that most races attach a sacred character to heights. For example, Mount Sinai and Mount Tabor are mentioned as holy mountains in the Bible. The temple of Delphi stood on a hill. The Acropolis looks over Athens, and the Celts always selected some prominent spot as the scene of their sacrifices.

The best preserved of the temples which date from the days when the kingdom of the Champa stood at its apogee is only a few miles distant from Phanrang. It was built early in the fourteenth century and was consecrated to Pô Klong Garai. I had plenty of opportunity to examine the ruins carefully, for with the sacrilegious indifference of Europeans we had erected on them the lofty mast which was essential to our geodetical operations.

They consisted of a principal building with three annexes. All four faced east and were made of brick. As we made our way into the sanctuary for the first time, through the opening which served for sole entrance and exit, we were greeted by a nauseating smell and the clapping of innumerable wings. The place was literally infested with bats, and, in addition, was pitch dark, so that a torch was a prime necessity.

The interior was not what might have been expected from inspection of the exterior. As access to light and air was only provided by the one narrow doorway, it is not difficult to imagine how the sanctuary had become the favourite resort of all the bats in the district.

A stone altar stood against the back wall. The upper surface was slightly concave to enable liquids to run off. On one of its sides was a "Mukha-Linga" with black beard and whiskers, which contrasted strangely with the pallor of the face. In the vestibule, with a necklace round its throat was a "Nandi," the White Bull of Siva, which the Cham call "Kapila." He it is who bears away the dead on his back to Keylasa, of which he is the guardian. According to the Hindus the "Nandi" is also Siva's favourite mount and frequently their identities blend in the figure of a Hermit with the body of a man and the head of a bull.

The Samaritans also favoured animal-headed deities. It will be remembered that Thartac had a donkey's head and Anubis that of a dog. Other analogies between various early religious systems readily suggest themselves.

Thus the Babylonian Ishtar stood for the principle of fecundity and must be compared with the goddess Kali, the sakti of Siva, who is also known as "Yomi," the "Fertile Womb."

The Assyrians worshipped another Ishtar, a highly formidable goddess, who always appears in her statues armed with some murderous weapon. This characteristic of cruelty is equally prominent in Kali, the goddess of Blood, Lust and Death, whose statues always represent her grimacing and repulsive with a necklace and bracelets of human skulls and bones.

The doorway of the temple is formed of three granite monoliths of which the two uprights are covered with inscriptions. Above is a bas-relief on a kind of sculptured lintel, representing Siva dancing. It is remarkably well-preserved. The god has six arms. The lowest pair grasp a trident, as is usual in statues of Siva, and a lotus-bloom, which is more generally associated with Vishnu. The middle pair brandish a scimitar and a dagger. The other pair are clasped behind the god's head.

Four small stone elephants complete the accessories of the sanctuary. They represent the wild elephants which, so legend says, entered the temple while it was being built.

There is a broad general resemblance between the temples of the Cham and those of the Kmer who also professed the Brahminic religion. The Kmer also selected rising ground with a wide sweep of view as the site for their sacred edifices. Great care was taken that the main façade should face towards the east. The interior consisted of a single hall with an entrance sometimes so low that it was necessary to stoop to get in. The walls were innocent of all decoration and became damp and clammy in the darkness. The outside walls and especially the doorway, however, were the objects of considerable artistic effort. The doorway in particular was usually surmounted by a lintel with figures of the gods and their distinctive symbols. Thus Vishnu is represented astride of Garuda, the parrot-headed god, Brahma rides on geese and Indra a three-headed elephant. The dancing Siva, with a multitude of arms disposed halo-wise around his head, is one of the commonest figures. I remember seeing one on the façade of the Temple of Pô Klong Garai.

The architecture of the Javanese also furnishes some equally remarkable resemblances.

I have already remarked that the Siva-worshipping Cham, like their Hindu co-religionists, have adopted the symbol of a linga to represent that deity. It is worthy of note in this connection that the Egyptians represented their god Osiris in the form of a phallus, the equivalent of a linga. This phallus-worship made its way into Greece, and especially Babylon where the earliest inscriptions are found engraved on large clay phalli.

Phallus-worship, transformed into linga-worship, was introduced into the Far East by the Hindus. Traces of it have been found in Java. In spite of the distance, Japan also welcomed it along with many other foreign cults but to-day it only remains a tradition in that country, though there are some Japanese villages where huge phalli, made of bamboo covered with canvas, figure in the local processions. At the top of these weird structures is a small opening from which urchins make a pretence of haranguing the crowd.

Barth considers the origin of linga-worship to be wrapped in obscurity. We know that phallic rites were part of the religions of the Veda but that there was no actual phallus-worship.

Some say it came from the west, probably Greece, but it is at least as likely that the Hindus evolved this particular symbolism themselves. However that may be, it is certain that the cult made its appearance simultaneously with Siva-worship.

The linga is often represented in conjunction with the yoni, the female organ and the symbol of Devi, wife of Siva.

It should be said at once that these objects are treated symbolically, not realistically. The linga is a simple cone, the yoni a triangular prism. This abstract treatment is said by some to be the outcome of a protest against idolatry, in proof of which they point to the fact that Vishnu and Lasmî his wife are represented respectively by a fossil-shell, the Calagrama, and a plant of the sweet-basil species, the Tulosi. It should be added that Hindu art is remarkable for its freedom from suggestiveness and that, in whatever guise the mystery of life is symbolized, the form selected is one which never provokes indecent ideas.

The Kaphir Cham of Phantiet and Phanry have another cult of the same kind, the worship of the yoni in another form. This rite is the introduction into some cavity, the hollow of a tree perhaps, or the fissure of a rock or the burrow of an animal, of a large rudely carved wooden cylinder. The worshipper recites the wish on the fulfilment of which his hopes are set while pouring spirits on the cylinder. He makes his prayer to Pô Yang Dari, the Shameless Goddess who can cure children of all diseases.

The primitive conception which underlies all this symbolism must, of course, be traced to the belief in imitative magic, which endows the performance of a ritualistic act with the power of inducing other beings or objects to imitate that act. It is thus quite natural that the idea of fecundity, the word being taken in its widest sense, should be closely associated with every phase and form of phallus-worship.

It is a thousand pities that from the beginning of the nineteenth century the spread of pharisaical prudery has prevented even those best qualified by long residence among uncivilized races from probing into questions concerning sex and publishing the results of their researches. The explorers of the eighteenth century were not so hampered, and their observations, from which the veil of priggish reticence is withdrawn, furnish us with much valuable information on a department of human activity which is of surpassing interest and importance to the ethnographer.

The Kmer took their architecture from the Hindus. There is an obvious resemblance between the religious edifices of the two peoples and in addition both built their temples in naturally secluded places, a preference which is amply explained by the nature of a religion which endows its deities with so formidable a character that only priests may approach them. The rank and file of worshippers have to be content with following the sacrifices with their thoughts. They congregate in the outer paved courts of the temples and make themselves shelters of bamboos and leaves. In some places asylums for ailing pilgrims are built in the immediate neighbourhood of the temples. These hospices are under the charge of monks who care for the stricken wayfarers.

Of the slight differences which distinguish the buildings of the two peoples the most noticeable is the treatment of the roof. The Kmer roof is a kind of ogival dome recalling the edifices of the Arabs, while the Hindus crown their quadrangular pyramids with a four-sided cone.

The artistic skill of the Kmer has mainly been lavished on pyramids, sacred pools and rock-surfaces, many of which are entirely covered with figures of gods. There are also many towers which serve as shrines for images of the deities. It will be remembered that the stupas of the Hindus are devoted to a similar use.

The temples face east, an arrangement which is explained by the fact that the services usually take place early in the morning on that side of the building which receives a maximum of sun. On the other hand certain temples devoted to the worship of the Gods of the Lower Regions face to the west, for the reason that the rites are always celebrated at sunset.

The statuary of the Cham seems to owe much both to the Kmer and the Hindus. One fact, indeed, is incontestable, that the human type represented is clearly the Aryan, whereas the Cham artists spent all their lives among men of a totally different type. It is plain that they did not take their own people for their models. The explanation can only be that the Cham imported their art of sculpture just as they imported their religion. Another remarkable fact is that in their statues of gods and prophets the figures are almost destitute of clothing, while their kings and heroes are always represented in gorgeous apparel. In this connection it may be remembered that the prophets of one of the two principal sects of the Jainists call themselves the "Digambara," which means "They who are clothed in space."

The usual type of head-dress is conical or cylindrical in shape. The lobes of the ears are elongated and pierced with holes from which earrings are hung. The feet are always bare. The figures of women show them as of the same type as the men, and their hair is dressed in similar fashion. The upper half of the body is uncovered, exposing their breasts which are full and perfect in shape. The lower half is concealed by a kind of skirt secured at the waist by a girdle with fringes which sweep to their feet. Their ears, neck, legs and arms are adorned with jewels.

These main features are found reproduced in the few antique statues still to be found among the Cham.

I have a lively recollection of one occasion on which, so I was told, I was the first European to enter a certain temple. No experience in my varied life has left a more indelible impression on my memory. The Mission was engaged in scientific operations between Phantiet and Phanry, the ancient home of the Cham, and our headquarters consisted of a number of rude huts in the very heart of the forest.

One day I received a visit from the headman of a neighbouring village, a diminutive individual with a face the colour of a dead leaf. I had previously rendered him some service by treating him for severe ophthalmia and he now proposed to show his gratitude by revealing to me the whereabouts of a ruined temple which was so concealed in the forest as hitherto to defy discovery by Europeans. He told me I should find two statues, in excellent preservation, of kings who had been raised to the rank of deities by their subjects. Also I was to have every opportunity of sketching and taking photographs.

The temple was not more than thirty miles distant, so my expedition was duly announced as a mere excursion for pleasure. We set out, accompanied by two young natives, my usual companions in my private wanderings, who had charge of the photographic and other apparatus as well as our arms and provisions. Our journey was without incident, for my kind guide gave me the fullest instructions as to the route to the Temple of Song Sui.

This remarkable sanctuary is the tomb of an ancient king of the Cham and the object of a very popular pilgrimage at certain seasons of the year. It consists of three separate pavilions in a large enclosure which is divided into two halves, one higher than the other. The lower half is used by the general public while the upper is reserved for the family of any worshipper who desires to make a sacrificial offering.

The statue of the King is in the central building. It is cut from a single block of granite and coloured to show a robe of red and gold. On the King's head is a fez to which a golden helmet is added on special occasions. The neck and the ears are pierced with holes from which necklaces and earrings are suspended. The eyebrows meet above the nose, the moustaches are twisted upwards and the eyes are half-closed.

The door of the central pavilion is of beaten iron, hand-forged. Of the two other pavilions one alone remains, a picturesque ruin. The other has completely disappeared in the undergrowth, a few stones remaining to mark the site. In the survivor there is a statue of one of the King's two wives standing between two elaborate steles. The Queen's hair is arranged in the shape of a cone, a fashion which is typical of the statues of the Kmer. The nails are stained red, and all the fingers (except the middle one), and also the thumb, are covered with rings.

A balustrade, very similar to those which decorate European tombs, runs round behind this pavilion. In this enclosure an unhappy black goat is chained up, destined to decapitation at the precise moment when the sacrifice is consummated. The floor is made of stone with a narrow trench through which the blood is drained off.

Having exhibited the resemblances between this temple and those of the Kmer I propose to suggest other resemblances, not less striking, between it and some of the ancient Egyptian tombs.

The royal steles of the Egyptians are of a fairly regular outline, gently rounded at the top and usually semicircular. As is well known, their purpose was to hand down to posterity the identity and genealogy of a particular Pharaoh. The monarch's statue, on the other hand, was the actual living image of the departed, for it was universally believed that the dead man's double returned to make its abode in his form. It is even possible that the first idea of statuary had its origin in this conception of a magical reanimation.

The deceased was always represented in his robes of state (however scanty) and seated on the throne. Food was set on a small table within his reach. The figure was dressed, covered with jewels and smothered in perfumes. The nails were coloured with henna and the eyes blackened. Every step in the proceedings was accompanied by formal chanting.

In the case of royal statues these ceremonies were observed up to the twelfth dynasty. They then fell into desuetude and it became customary merely to paint up the statue with clothes, jewels and other accoutrements in as realistic a manner as possible. In the British Museum there are three large wooden statues, taken from royal tombs of the thirteenth century, which are remarkable illustrations of this process of evolution in statuary.

It is to this process of evolution, due to a change of ideas, that we must ascribe the gradual disappearance of the belief that the soul of the deceased returned to dwell in his statue, and also of the equally primitive belief that the purpose and meaning of offering a sacrifice was to furnish the deceased with food in his new existence.

I was extremely interested in my visit with its valuable discoveries, and it may readily be imagined that I was in great haste to return to camp and develop my plates. My guide announced that he knew a route which would save us many miles. The morning passed uneventfully enough. On many occasions we crossed the tracks of elephants, but I was not to be moved from my purpose. Hunting was out of fashion that day. We were too bent on getting home.

To be ready for any emergency I gave one of my rifles to the Cham chief who was a good shot. Some alligators were sunning themselves on the sandy banks of a stream. We broke in upon their siesta without hesitation and without apology.

My companion informed me that we should pass through a certain village and that, at the rate at which we were then marching, we should reach it before nightfall. However, our two boys, less accustomed to forced marching than their elders, began to show signs of distress. I could see them shifting from one shoulder to the other the bamboo-pole from which our impedimenta was slung and they soon began to complain of the thorns in the path which lacerated their feet. The two boys were quite young, the elder being perhaps sixteen. They had been attached to the Mission for more than six months, a long period for natives, who dislike regular occupation and are ever in search of change. I had a peculiar affection for these two. They were indefatigable servants and remarkably docile and even-tempered.

Their complaints seemed reasonable enough and to relieve them the chief and I shouldered the bamboo-pole. We set off again but soon put a large and growing distance between ourselves and the younger generation lagging behind. Meanwhile the sun was hastening towards his western bed. At one time the loiterers seemed to have put on a spurt, but the effort exhausted itself and they fell behind once more. At a bend of the path we decided to wait until the boys came up. We kept ourselves carefully out of sight lest the vision of our halt should inspire them to a similar indulgence.

Some minutes passed, but no one appeared. Had the rascals given up the attempt to follow us or had they lost their way? I ran back to the bend in the path. The route by which we had come stretched away in a straight line for miles, but no human being was in sight.

Our coolies had fled!

The mask-like countenance of my companion betrayed neither surprise nor any other emotion. The truants were not of his faith nor did they hail from his village. They were but vulgar Annamites, at best a race of sneaking hucksterers. His sympathies were evidently confined to the faithful of his own parish.

I confess I was irritated by his obvious indifference. To my knowledge the forest through which we had passed was infested with tigers and the stunted leafless trees were the most illusory refuge from the brutes. I had an uncomfortable premonition that our pleasure-party, so happily begun, was entering the realms of tragedy.

In the course of our three years' residence in southern Annam no less than twelve natives had been devoured by tigers. Several of the victims were attached to the Mission, and on more than one occasion I had been the hapless witness of their horrible sufferings.

On one occasion a coolie suddenly vanished through the wicker-work floor of our hut, which was built on piles quite nine feet high. The tiger, however, had climbed on to a baulk of timber which was lying on the ground below and using this as a platform had succeeded in catching hold of one end of his victim's waist-cord which happened to be hanging through the interstices of the floor. The beast gave a violent tug and dragged the hapless coolie through the floor. The man, taken by surprise, was helpless and fell, an unresisting prey, into the tiger's jaws.

I feel considerable diffidence in telling a story which I myself should not have believed had the tragedy not occurred before my very eyes.

On another occasion one of my colleagues and myself were taking our evening meal, waited on by a Cham boy about twelve years old. It was shortly after seven, I think, and the rain was falling in torrents. All at once we heard a shriek proceeding from the direction of the kitchen and in a moment the boy entered, white with terror.

"The Tiger," he could hardly get the words out, "seized hold of my coat." He showed us a huge rent in the flimsy material which covered his trembling body. Outside it was pitch dark. We had no lamps and it seemed highly risky to venture forth with so undesirable a neighbour watching us. We quickly set about protecting ourselves by barricading the entrance to the room with a palisade of wattles. The real mystery was how the beast had made its way into the enclosure, guarded as it was by a solid fence made of baulks of timber and forming a veritable blockhouse. An hour later we heard the stamping of hoofs, violent kicks and terror-stricken neighing. Then silence. About midnight our light went out. It would have been madness to go to the kitchen to fetch another, so we found ourselves condemned to wait in the darkness, listening for every sound and our nerves on edge. Needless to say, sleep was impossible. At dawn we ventured out. Everything was in confusion. Our horses had broken loose and stampeded over the fence. One of them lay disembowelled before us and half its hindquarters had disappeared. On the face of the embankment on which our house was elevated, immediately before the door of the room where we had been sitting, were the traces of a tiger's paws clearly visible in the clay.

The boy had not been mistaken. He had indeed been seized by the beast and owed his safety to his worn and tattered clothing. The marks of teeth and claws on some of the baulks of the palisade showed us that the visitor had climbed over. We learnt one lesson from this experience. Our camp, with its solid rampart ten feet high, was only an illusory protection against a really determined man-eater!

All these horrible recollections--and many others which can find no place here, this not being a story of adventure--flashed through my mind in the space of a few seconds.

Meanwhile time was flying and night came down on us unheralded by twilight as in Europe. Our search was all in vain and no answer came to our repeated shouts. The coolies had gone.

It was not until late at night and after much struggling that we reached the village. In spite of the friendly light thrown by a torch I remained all night a prey to the most vivid hallucinations. Time after time I watched a huge tiger spring out of the darkness with the corpse of one of the missing boys in his jaws.

Two days later the elder of the two came into the village. He was shivering with fever and dared not present himself before me, so I went to see him. Ghastly was the story he had to unfold. Just before the bend in the path which I have mentioned the two boys had been unable to go further and had sat down. When we were out of sight they had attempted to continue their journey, but before they had advanced a few yards a huge tiger had sprung upon the younger, while the elder had remained dumb with astonishment and terror. Helpless with fear and weariness the survivor had wandered in the forest and at last, in sheer desperation, had climbed into a tree expecting at every moment to share the fate of his luckless companion.

The Cham chief, who listened to this harrowing story with an air of indifference and barely concealed scorn, at length delivered himself of an aphorism:

"Fear claims far more victims than courage."