Of all the races which inhabit Indo-China the Cham come easily first for the variety and individuality of their agrarian rites. There is practically no difference between the Bani and Kaphir in this respect. Both peoples recognize three kinds of sacred ricefields in which no manner of work may be carried on without the accompaniment of a special ritual. If, in the course of ploughing a rice-field, excessive fatigue has been occasioned to either man or beast, sufficient to cause illness, the field becomes taboo, "Hamu Tabung." The evil eye has been cast upon it, and no remedy exists but to sell the contaminated place at no matter what sacrifice. It need hardly be said that the only possible purchasers are the few Annamite Christians who are scattered throughout these regions. The Buddhist Annamites shun such a spot as if it were plague-stricken. The cause of the mischance is supposed to be the presence of some ancient burial-ground, the existence of which was not suspected.

Every village has its two or three sacred ricefields the "Hamu Canrauv," which are invariably the first to be ploughed. As a rule they are the property of the local aristocracy. The owner with his wife, who plays the principal part in the ceremony, goes to the field in question, either in the evening or at dawn. They lay down a mat at one corner and on it place two eggs, a cup of spirits and three betel leaves, which the wife offers as a sacrifice to Pô Olwah Tak Alâ, the great Lord of the Underworld, begging him to accept them. To set a good example, husband and wife share the good things between them while making three furrows round the field. After this ceremony ploughing and sowing may proceed in the ordinary manner.

There are also fields where cultivation is forbidden, the "Hamû Klaik Lavâ." To speak more accurately the interdict only extends to open cultivation and the tabooed area is ploughed and worked in secret. These operations are accomplished in the following manner. With the first signs of day the husband and wife go to the field and after making three furrows in silence return home. When morning comes they walk to the place and profess the greatest astonishment that the work of ploughing has already begun. "Who is the kindly Spirit," they exclaim, "who has worked for us while we slept?" Without loss of time they run back to their house to fetch suitable offerings. So great a marvel as a field which cultivates itself is worthy to be consecrated with a sacrifice. Accordingly they first bury five pieces of betel in the ground and throw a handful of rice into the three magic furrows, after which plough and bullocks are sprinkled with holy water and the remaining operations may be carried out without further concealment.

A sacrifice is offered as soon as the stalks have emerged from the ground and are tall enough "to hide the doves." Another marks the moment of flowering, and a third, the most important, celebrates the time of harvest. On this last occasion the owner cuts off the heads of three of the stalks and wraps them up in a cloth. The next step is to pass them through the smoke of a fire in which several pieces of eagle-wood are burning. These ears are the first-fruits offered to the goddess Pô Nögar, and they are afterwards hung in the owner's house until the next sowing time comes round. The same field will then be sown from the rice thus gathered.

For "unconsecrated" ricefields the ritual is less complicated. When the harvesting is due the oldest woman of the group is selected to cut three tufts, which she sets with much pomp against the bank which borders the field and harangues the grain as yet ungathered in the following terms:

"Follow the example you see here before you and you will be worthy of a place in my barns." After this address harvesting proceeds without interruption.

When the grain is safely gathered in, the Cham believe that it sleeps all day and only awakes at night. It would be the height of desecration and imprudence to disturb its slumbers, and consequently we soon learnt the futility of asking our hosts for paddy in the daytime. We were invariably informed that we must wait until night. It was only at a late hour that the owner would consent to open the door of his barn and give us what we wanted.

There was a very curious rite, fallen into desuetude since our occupation in 1888, which accompanied the gathering of the precious essence known as eagle-wood or aloe-wood. This substance is mentioned in the Bible, the Egyptian papyri, and by many Greek, Hindu and Arab writers. It seems to have been used extensively for embalming the dead, as also for combining with camphor to make a kind of incense burnt in the temples. It appears under different names, "ahalot" in Hebrew, "aghäluhy" in Arabic, "ἀγάλλοχον" in Greek, "agaru" in Sanscrit. The Cham call it "galao." Portuguese explorers, who seem to have been the first to discover its commercial value, used the Arabic name and translated it "pao de Aguila." In Latin this becomes "lignum aquilae," and so, in modern tongues, "eagle-wood," or "agal-wood," "adlerholz," and "bois d'aigle."

This essence has attracted the attention of travellers of all nations owing to its various properties, and was formerly a commercial product of great importance among the Cham. It is found all over this region, which seems to have been the land of its origin, for it is never met with further north than the thirteenth or fourteenth degree of latitude.

Botanists are not yet agreed as to the class of trees from which it is produced. The most up-to-date investigators assert that it is produced by diseases due to malnutrition in certain trees such as the aquilaria secundaria, aloexylum agallochum, and aquilaria agallocha, all of the family of the aquilarinæa. It is an aromatic substance with a slightly resinous odour and bitter to the taste.

The natives distinguish three varieties, according to their commercial value. The first quality, which is almost impossible to find to-day, commanded a price of no less than fifty-four pounds a kilogramme. The medium quality was worth sixteen pounds for the same quantity, and the cheapest quality was worth rather more than one pound a kilogramme.

The variety of uses to which this accommodating substance can be put is astonishing, though it is not suitable for cabinet-making.

It is largely used for incense. When thrown into a fire it melts like wax and gives off an odour which is supposed to be particularly pleasing to the Gods. Certain other of its properties are no less useful to man, who values more material favours. Thus, for example, it has very great value as a safeguard against dysentery, which is prevalent throughout Indo-China. No Mandarin in all this region ventures forth on a journey without having a supply of this indispensable medicine with him.

Of course, the oriental imagination is not content to confine the virtues of this substance to those which have been demonstrated by actual experience. The supernatural is bound to appear somewhere, and accordingly all kinds of magical powers are also attributed to it. Thus every person who bears this talisman will never succumb, however long he may be deprived of food. On the contrary, his body will no longer be subjected to earthly necessities but will enter on a state of divinity which requires no sustenance. The Mandarins have every reason to appreciate this arrangement, especially at the time of their presentation at the Imperial Court at Hué. Etiquette exacts that until the Sovereign actually enters the throne-room they must remain quite motionless, and they sometimes find themselves compelled to stand for hours without stirring!

With properties so invaluable as this, it is hardly to be wondered at that eagle-wood figured largely in the gifts presented by the sovereign of Annam to the Emperor of China by way of tribute every three years. To ensure a sufficient supply, all trade in this substance, whether for home or export, was strictly prohibited, but the prohibition was removed after our occupation, when the obligation of tribute was suspended and finally annulled.

According to Masoudi, the celebrated Arab writer, eagle-wood has a celestial origin.

Other legends of Hindu origin say that the aloes tree grew in an earthly paradise and that fragments of it were swept over the face of the globe by a series of floods.

It is also said that the tree originally grew only on the tops of inaccessible mountains where fearful monsters or wild beasts guarded it from the greedy hands of man.

However that may be, it is certain that at the present time the public is not interested in the origin of this substance so much as its exploitation for commercial purposes. An industry formerly so flourishing should be systematically revived, if only for its prospective financial importance.

Balap, where the members of our mission remained for some time, is celebrated as the residence of Pô Galao, the "Lord of the Eagle-wood," on whom devolved in former times the duty of supervising the gathering of the precious substance. His associates were sixteen men of the same village and a certain number of the "Raglaï" Moï, a group living in the neighbourhood whose keen sense of smell is vital to success. A good nose is of far greater importance than good sight, for eagle-wood exhales a characteristic odour which has to be detected from among the various smells of the virgin forest. Indeed the task of finding the tree is beset with difficulties. The undergrowth is so thick, the vegetation so hardy and rampant, that progress can only be made by clearing a path with knife and hatchet. The decaying vegetation is a prolific source of fevers. It is easily understood that with so many perils ahead the expedition never sets out without a preliminary sacrifice to the deities who can assure or withhold success. Of these deities the most important to appease are the four tutelary divinities of the valley of Phanrang. To earn their goodwill it is necessary to build a special barn for the sacrifice and make offerings of a goat, cooked rice, eggs and spirits.

As soon as the expedition starts the searchers are bound by a religious law of silence. Should any member of the party speak it would be almost certain that the wood would lose its perfume, and therefore all its value.

Of course, an occasional direction to the "Raglaï" Moï is unavoidable, and for this purpose the Cham make use of certain brief vivid expressions. For example, if they wish to indicate an axe they say "the wood-pecker." When they want to speak of fire they say "the red."

For a long time it was believed that this conventional language was a form of religious speech, somewhat similar to the "Bhasa Hantu," or language of the Spirit, employed by the Malays. Further research, however, has proved that these expressions are confined to a few detached words borrowed from the Raglaï dialect and used by the Cham to communicate with them alone.

The women who remain behind in the villages are strictly forbidden to quarrel amongst themselves while their husbands are away looking for eagle-wood. A breach of this regulation would mean that the men would run grave risk of being attacked by tigers or bitten by serpents. The cynical, however, assert that even this evil possibility is insufficient to preserve harmony in the village!

While I was at Malam near Phantiet I was present at the annual festival of the Cham Bani of that village. The ceremony is known as "Raja," a name which is also applied to the priestess who officiates.

On reaching the courtyard of the compound to which I was invited I observed a large hut and several sheds ornamented with branches of trees on which sheets of coarse cotton were spread. The sheds served to accommodate the many guests who, like myself, had accepted the invitation to be present at the festival. The hut was devoted to the ceremonies of ancestor-worship, which were that day celebrated.

This building faced the east. On entering I immediately noticed at the back of the room a kind of trough serving as an altar. From the ceiling hung paper figures of boats, carts, animals and various domestic objects. In the middle of the room, suspended from the two principal beams, was a swing with its seat covered with brightly-coloured materials, which took on a strangely gay and barbaric aspect under the lights of many little candles.

The native orchestra comprised a flute, a stringed instrument with some resemblance to a guitar, gongs and tambourines. The conductor, who seemed to be the principal performer, also improvised on a flat drum, timing his melodious drone to fill the intervals when the priestess was resting.

The latter, clothed in a long white robe and with a wreath of flowers in her hair, joined with an assistant priest in the steps of a saraband. Together they gave vent to their feelings in dancing, singing, prayers, imprecations, tears, grinding of teeth and hypnotic ecstasies, all with the object of appeasing the shades of the ancestors. Suddenly the priestess seated herself on the swing in the narrow passage left between the candles. She swung herself slowly to and fro, running her hands up and down the supporting ropes and droning through endless prayers. When she had finished the priest followed her example and went through the same rigmarole. So curious was the scene that I could not resist the malevolent idea of taking a photograph and without reflection I fired a piece of magnesium ribbon.

Woe to me for my impatience! In the confusion which followed the flash both I and my camera were almost upset. I had purposely given the company no notice of my intention in order to avoid the "posing" which self-conscious sitters cannot avoid. The Faithful, in their amazement, had taken the sudden apparition as an emanation of the Gods themselves. Something more than explanations was necessary to allay the general alarm, and it was only after a generous distribution of tobacco that I was able to restore some measure of harmony.

The religious celebrations lasted three days, interspersed with feasts and other diversions, notably an acrobatic display by a performer who roused his audience to a frenzy of enthusiasm. At the beginning of each feast a priest called all the deities by name and executed the movements of a dance in their honour. These evolutions are an invitation to the divinities to take their place in the celebrations.

At dawn on the second day the priestess filled with cakes and fruit a toy boat hollowed out of the trunk of a banana-tree by some ingenious artisan. In this frail canoe a rag monkey was placed, squatting on its haunches in a very grotesque position. The boat was meant to commemorate the vessel which in former days came from China every three years to fetch the tribute exacted from a vassal state.

After this the roysterers fell upon the improvised temple and hacked it to pieces amongst general rejoicings.

The next day, by way of applying the closure to the festivities, the whole crowd, headed by the priest and priestess, marched to a neighbouring canal, taking the symbolical boat with them. While the orchestra poured forth an unmelodious symphony the lilliputian vessel was entrusted to the waters, in which it speedily filled and disappeared.

There are strong resemblances between this Cham ceremony and the celebrations in India which mark the changes of the monsoon. In this latter country travellers find the same gaily bedecked sheds, the same rude figures cut out of paper, and the same swing scene. The Hindus regard the backward and forward movement of the swing as a symbol of the movements of the seasons.

Most of the rites which obtain among the Cham, in fact, recall the ritual observances of the Vedic and Brahminic religions, of which the following are among the most characteristic features.

The place selected for the crowning act of sacrifice, "Devayajana," is always an open space, whether at a cross-roads or in an enclosure. The improvised temple is made of branches or clods of earth and is invariably destroyed by the worshippers after the solemn ceremony is over.

Each sacrifice is regarded as the conclusion of a treaty between the gods and mortals. The value of the offering is in proportion to the extent of the favours desired. Most sacrifices are for heat or rain, two necessaries of life without which neither health nor prosperity is possible.

The officiating priest and his bodyguard of acolytes are housed and fed at the expense of the "Yajamana," the individual for whose ultimate benefit the benevolence of the gods is solicited. I ought to add that the previous life and blamelessness of this person have nothing to do with the efficacy of the sacrifice. On the contrary, the only thing that matters is the exact, punctilious observance of the rite itself.

It is plain that intellect plays little part in these religious ceremonies. Throughout, each act is designed to fire the imagination and arouse the emotions, rather than carry conviction.

It is equally certain that rites of undoubted Dravidian origin are to be observed among the Cham. The common denominator of all the religions of India is the worship of divinities personifying the earth or the elements, generally in the shape of a woman, and almost always considered malevolent.

Horrible sacrifices are offered to appease them, and the religious ceremonies usually terminate in the most abandoned orgies. The presiding priest, or "Devil Dancer," after a series of frantic contortions, falls to the ground in a hypnotic trance, during which the incoherent expressions that fall from his lips are greedily noted and repeated by the Faithful, who regard them as the words of Divinity itself.

For a last example there are certain fêtes, such as the "Durgapuja" in Bengal, marked by buffoonery and pantomime, in which the worshippers conclude the ceremonies by carrying a statue of the goddess in procession to the river banks, and casting it into the waters to the strains of an ear-shattering orchestra.

CHAPTER V
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (continued)

The exorcisms of the "Padjao" directed towards expelling disease from the bodies of the Cham are too similar to those of the Moï sorceress to merit description, which would be little more than repetition.

On the other hand, the burial rites of the Kaphir Cham are highly characteristic.

Children who die before the age of puberty, and therefore not initiated into the full rights and mysteries of manhood, are buried in the earth, while adults of both sexes are cremated. The reason for this distinction is not far to seek. The adults are regarded as a class set apart with its own complex of funeral rites and observances. Further, those who die while still of tender years die in innocence and need no such purification from their sins as is implied in the practice of submitting the bodies of their elders to the scourge of fire.

After death the spirits of the little ones are supposed to dwell in the bodies of rats, and their memory is perpetuated from time to time by ceremonies in which the head of the family, clad in a new robe for the occasions, makes offerings, waves his hands in the air to imitate the movements of a bird, performs certain mystical passes, and puts a red flower in a bronze vase.

The burial rites which are still practised by the Kaphir Cham of Phanrang and Phanry serve as excellent comments on the duties of the priest in case of the death of any inhabitant of a village.

The fundamental notion on which all the observances are based is that the soul of the deceased must have a new body in which it may take refuge after the loss of its earthly dwelling-place. All the ceremonies are designed to create this new body. It is universally agreed that rice alone can operate the necessary transformation, and as the rice must be of the finest quality procurable, each family preserves the best stalks from the harvest and lays them up in anticipation of a death.

When the dread moment arrives the selected grains are mixed in a bowl into which a gold ring, symbol of immortality, has been dropped. The priest now glues a few grains together with melted wax to form a soft round ball, which is introduced under the dead man's tongue. A few mystical passes, and the soul leaves its old shell for the new ætherial body thus called into existence. The next and last step is to give the soul its necessary directions. These depend upon the manner of life of the deceased. Virtuous men are sent to the sun, women against whom there is no reproach to the moon. If the credit and debit items of a man's moral account balance out he is dispatched to the planets. The wicked are dispersed among the clouds, as are also the poor and lowly, an inequitable disposition worthy of a theocracy!

The actual ceremony of cremation follows after a period which is determined by the state of the corpse and the financial position of the deceased's family. From the moment of death to the cremation custom exacts that all visitors to the family should be housed and fed at the expense of the relations. These visitors come to keep the deceased company and pretend to entertain him by their wit and conversation. They also cheer up the relations and do their best to keep sorrow at a convenient distance.

The family build a special shed under which the corpse is laid, after having been dressed in eight robes, one over the other. Thus swathed in white linen the body looks exactly like a package with the head, covered with a thin veil, emerging from one end. It is strictly forbidden to offer any nourishment to the deceased before he leaves his own house. The bed on which the corpse is laid is turned towards the south and surmounted by a kind of canopy from which hang birds cut out of paper. It seems that the function of this winged escort is to conduct the soul to its future home. Clumps of hemp and various foods are strewn around the bier and the walls of the shed are hung with martial trophies.

Three times a day the priestess prepares a meal for the deceased. An orchestra plays from morning to night almost without intermission. It is soon plain that this lying-in-state, so far from being a rite of mourning, is more like a festival. The guests consume enormous quantities of food and drink, and only the unfortunate relations are under ban to refrain from meat until after the cremation.

When at length the great day arrives the priests construct a catafalque adorned with paper figures, the mourners line up in procession behind, and all proceed to the appointed place. Every villager dons his white scarf—white being the colour of mourning—brandishes a spear, sword, or flag, and joins in the cortège. The bearers perform the most remarkable evolutions with the body, carrying it now feet first, now head first, or turning it round and round in order to confuse the spirit and prevent it from finding its way back. This essential object is also secured by a priest, known on these occasions as "Pô Damoeun," "Lord of Sorrow," who remains in the house of the deceased, shuts himself in, and calls on every object, animate and inanimate, to prevent the soul from entering and molesting the living.

When the funeral procession is within a hundred yards from the exit from the village a priest takes a spade and marks out the spot destined for the funeral pyre. Wood is brought and piled up and the corpse is stripped of its wrappings and offered its last meal. As soon as the flames break out the clothes of the deceased are thrown into them. Now comes the moment, marked by the passage of the soul to the life beyond, when the living send gifts to their dead relations. Each man writes his list of presents on a slip of paper and then burns it. The list is exhaustive, including such homely and necessary articles as a pipe, spittoon and the inevitable receptacle for betel and lime. Even underclothing and small change are not forgotten. During the progress of the conflagration the spectators joke and chatter together, leaving the serious business of desolation to the hired mourners, who weep aloud and tear their hair. At the conclusion of the ceremony the frontal bone of the deceased is carefully broken in nine pieces, which are collected in a metal box, the "klong," a special kind of urn. Every man provides himself with one of these receptacles in anticipation of his own death, but the usual practice is to conceal it in some place known only to his family, as it is not altogether pleasant to be perpetually reminded of the terror to come.

The fragments of bone are now subjected to a long and tedious process of purification, after which they are buried at the foot of a tree, which is carefully noted, as being only a temporary depository. For the next seven years on each anniversary the family dig up the box, carry it back to their house, and offer sacrifices in its honour. After the seventh year the interment is permanent. A spot is chosen near to the best of the family ricefields, trees are planted round it, and a tombstone is erected.

Sometimes the rites require that for the first interment the "klong" of a man and a woman must be used together. It follows that in small families where many years may elapse between the deaths of its members the first "klong" runs a great risk of exceeding its seven compulsory years of waiting before reaching its final resting-place.

The direction in which the urn is placed varies with the sex of the deceased. The "klong" of a woman points to the west, that of a man to the east.

I have described these rites at some length on account of their intrinsic interest, but it would be illuminating to compare them with similar ceremonies obtaining among other groups.

The Man Quan Trang, or "white-breeched" Man of Tonkin, bury the hair and portions of the nails and bones in a different place from that of the corpse itself. The reason for this is that these fragments are considered the abode of the Material Soul and the Vital Spirits.

The Bouriates of Siberia bury some of the bones of their priests at the foot of a tree.

The Egyptians made a set speech to their dead, in which they gave directions for the guidance of the soul to the distant regions, and enumerated a list of necessary articles to accompany it. The recitation of these articles dispensed with the necessity of furnishing them. The will was thus considered as good as the deed.

Lastly the funeral rites I have described find analogies among the Laotians and the peoples of Cambodia. Here also a death is celebrated as a happy event, as being merely a step to a new existence far more blessed than the life on earth. The face of the corpse is covered with a mask in gold leaf which is moulded to the features, and the process of decomposition is retarded by the introduction of mercury. The catafalque is large or small according to the social position of the deceased. A king, for example, has a regular monument known as the "Mén." A Minister of State or a High Priest is honoured with a rather smaller edifice, while those of humble estate have to be content with a simple pyramid. A large white cloth is hung over the catafalque, of which the opening is guarded by a small figure in the mask of a monkey. This is "Yéac," a subject of Couvera, the God of Riches, whose statue adorns every place where a mystical transformation is to be accomplished. The quaint figure holds in its hand a reel of white cotton, of which one end is secured to the coffin and which will guide the soul after it has left the body. The torch which fires the funeral pyre is lit at a brasier which contains the sacred embers which must never be extinguished. When cremation is complete the bones are collected into a box made of precious metal, which is buried under a tower, the height of which varies with the wealth of the deceased.

All these rites, however much they vary among themselves in detail, seem to be based on the same popular ideas of the significance of death.

Like ourselves, the Cham write from left to right. Their alphabet varies in different regions. In Cambodia it comprises four vowels, two diphthongs, and twenty-nine consonants. In Annam there are five short vowels, five long vowels, and four diphthongs. Both of these alphabets have two special signs which correspond to the "Anusvara" and "Visarga" of Sanscrit. There are also certain signs usually employed in conjunction with the vowels which influence their pronunciation. With the exception of the figures 4 and 0 the numerals are only a modified form of the letters.

The popular pen is a short bamboo cut to a point and manipulated like a paint-brush. The European pen is, however, coming into fashion with the progress of Western ideas.

In Cambodia manuscripts are written in a beautiful free hand on paper of Western form and manufacture. On the other hand, the Cham of Annam use sheets of rice-paper of tremendous size imported from China. Occasionally the traveller meets with inscriptions made with a needle on palm-leaves.

The priests of Annam employ a hieratic writing, which they call "Akhar Rik," especially for such purposes as engraving magical inscriptions on amulets. A secret system and an abbreviated system are also used when occasion requires.

A curious feature of their books is that the authors display a tendency to coin new words from Sanscrit or Arabic roots even when the idea expressed in those roots has only the remotest similarity to the meaning they wish the word to convey.

The Cham Bani of Phanrang are the proud possessors of the manuscript of a Bible, the text of which has been modified in many places by Mohammedan influence. The truth of this will be demonstrated from the examples translated by Father Durand.

Then follow the story of the flood, the lives of Abraham and David, without conspicuous discrepancies.

The Cham, like the Kmer, have taken little trouble over the composition of their legends and fables.

Apart from certain legends which by internal evidence and local flavour can only be regarded as having originated among the Cham, all the others are more or less successful adaptations of Hindu tales. In almost all countries, and conspicuously in the Far East, popular fancy fastens and feeds on the fabulous, or, at least, incredibly romantic, adventures of the ancient Kings. It is at least true to say that these adventures furnish a canvas on which imagination has worked wondrous pictures.

The origin of the special tight-fitting costume worn by the Cham women is explained on this wise.

In the darkness of the Past a Cham Prince named Hon Hoî declared war on a Laotian Princess, whose ricefields he coveted. In accordance with the customs of the women of her race, the Princess, Diep Lieu, was arrayed in nothing more than a scanty covering of bamboo fibres. The barbarity and ignorance of her subjects was incredible. All buying and selling went on by night, and in the darkness it was impossible to determine the quality of the wares displayed except by their fine smell. The Prince had no difficulty in overwhelming her forces and making her his prisoner. But she found favour in his sight, and within a short time she exchanged captivity for freedom and honour as his wife. The Prince, however, was shocked at the summary attire of his betrothed and for the wedding-day he gave her a costume of his own making. This was a kind of sack, at the top of which was a narrow hole for the head to come through. The Cham also honour the thesis that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so the women adopted this new mode with avidity, and it has survived all the attacks of time and feminine caprice.

A legend has gathered round each of the kings who has been raised to the ranks of divinity by the Cham. Pô Klong Garai was born of a Virgin Mother, Pô Sah Ineu, who rose alive from the waves. Though hardly yet a woman she conceived her son while sipping water from a stream which flowed through a rock. The child was smitten with the horror of leprosy from birth. While he rested near a rock, a dragon emerged from a cavern, licked the sores caused by the fell disease, and the child was immediately cured. From that day he felt himself endowed with matchless celestial powers. On one occasion, when about to make a distant journey, and at a loss for a receptacle in which to carry water he saw a pumpkin.

At the first touch of his hand the fruit broke its stalk and offered its services as a gourd. When this magician became King he built several dams in the valley of Phanrang and turned an arid desert into a fertile plain. So great were his services to his people that finally the gods rewarded him by calling him to be one of themselves.

Hardly less humble in origin than this prince was Pô Romé. He also was born of a Virgin Mother, whom the family drove from their doors in horror at the alleged crime. Nature, too, was not more kindly to the tiny bastard, who had neither arms nor legs and rolled over the ground like a cocoa-nut (a peculiarity from which he soon took that name). In spite of his deformity, however, the reigning sovereign praised him to his mother and appointed him to guard the cattle. Destiny was watching over him and a Dragon soon appeared to tell him of all the glories the future had in store. Warned of the approaching miracle by the court astrologers, the King set himself to win the regard of one who might one day prove a formidable rival to himself. He finally decided to abdicate in the young man's favour and added to his benefits by giving him the hand of his daughter in marriage and two other wives of the second and third degree. But Cocoa-nut was not happy even with his three wives. Hardly had he ascended the throne than he lost his crown through the artifices of his second wife. This lady was the daughter of the King of Annam who coveted his neighbour's lands and was not above treachery to secure them. At this time the tutelary deity of the Cham was shut up in the trunk of a tree, known as the "Kraik," and so long as this tree was alive no misfortune could befall the race beneath its ægis. The second wife, adopting the counsel of her evil father, pretended to be smitten with a grave malady. She refused all cures and asserted that her only hope was the destruction of the Kraik. Cocoa-nut, who had a strong affection for this wife, had her carefully examined by the four most eminent medicine-men of his kingdom. All four agreed that the illness was a sham, and all four paid for their truthfulness with their heads. Meanwhile the lady's condition seemed to go from bad to worse, and the King decided to fell with his own hand the tree on which hung the destinies of his people. Streams of blood flowed from the smitten trunk and soaked the ground around. The King had not long to wait for retribution. Betrayed by his treacherous spouse, his kingdom was wrested from him and he was hacked in pieces by his triumphant foe. His incisors alone were restored to his first wife that she might pay the honour due to his remains. The ex-Cocoa-nut, become Pô Romé, now dwells among the Gods, but even there, it seems, his domestic tribulations have pursued him, and he is often glad, when distracted by the factious quarrels of his womenfolk, to get away from his palace and leave it to them.

The Cham have a certain partiality for songs and lyrical poems not destitute of taste and feeling have acquired popularity among them. A romance which the girls of Phanrang sing on their fishing expeditions is as follows:

Finally, there is the skeleton, not much more, of a literature. Here are some extracts from a bedside book which all girls are supposed to study before making their own homes.

Of such homely advice consists the very ancient manuscript which Moura translated and which escaped the wreck in which all the others were lost.

I expect modern young ladies will find these mother's words somewhat out of date. But what European husband would not occasionally envy the Cham so perfect a partner?

THE END

BIBLIOGRAPHY

I have kept the scientific side of my researches in the background in this book, but the curious may consult the following works with advantage:

Aymonier, E., "Les Tjames et leurs Religions." Paris, Leroux, 1891; "Légendes historiques des Chams," in Excursions et Reconnaissances, No. 32, 1890.

Barth, "Les Religions de l'Inde." Paris, Fichbacher, 1879.

Barthélémy, de, "Au pays Moï." Paris, Plon Nourrit, 1903.

Bernard, Dr. Noël, "Les Khas, peuple inculte du Laos," in Bulletin de géographie historique et descriptive, 1904.

Bergaigne, A., "L'Ancien Royaume du Champa dans l'Indochine," in Journal Asiatique. Paris, 1886.

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