Finally the patron prince sent word that we must give that family up. He could endure the odium no longer. When I refused, he threatened to take the matter into court. To this I replied that I was perfectly willing that the case be tried; but it should not be tried before a Lāo court, but before the Commissioner. If they could convince him that the sickness in the village was caused by a malicious spirit resident in that family, they should be sent off immediately. But, I added, it would be fair to make one condition. If the accusers failed, they should be driven off. This—as I knew it would do—put an end to the whole affair. We heard no more of it. It was a great victory in the demon controversy; and, later, as we shall see, it proved a boon to scores of helpless victims. Before the arrival of the Commissioner such an outcome would have been impossible. No Lāo court would have refused to expel persons so accused. The family of Pā Sêng Bun proved to be a treasure, becoming one of the most influential and valuable in the Chiengmai church.
XIX
THE EDICT OF RELIGIOUS TOLERATION
Our narrative has now brought us to a point where an apparently trivial circumstance became the occasion of an event not only of utmost importance to us and to our work, but of far-reaching consequences to the country at large. Sometime near the middle of this year, 1878, the eldest daughter of Nān Inta was to be married to a Christian young man studying for the ministry. Both parties at that time were virtually members of our family. The expected bride was a pupil of Mrs. McGilvary’s, and the groom was a private pupil of mine. The immediate family connections on both sides were Christians. Inasmuch as this was the first Christian marriage in the church, we had prepared to celebrate it with a little wedding feast. Besides the Christians, a few princes and a few special friends were invited, all anxious to see a Christian marriage ceremony. Among the invited guests was Chao Tēpawong, Nān Inta’s liege-lord, and brother of the Uparāt.
We learned that the family patriarch—known to be a violent opposer of Christianity—had threatened to prevent the marriage, unless we first paid to him, as tribal head of the family, the spirit-fee originally designed to furnish a feast for the spirits. It was a small sum—among common people not more than six rupees. That payment would legalize marriage without any further ceremony. In fact, the payment may be regarded as a distinctively religious act, since it recognizes the spirits as the guardians and protectors of the family. When one becomes a Christian, that allegiance is cast off. By an unwritten law or custom of the country, that fee belonged to the patriarch, and he decided to exact it or make trouble. I had explained the marriage ceremony to the princes and to the Commissioner. I knew that the latter recognized the justice of our position, and I assumed that the government would support us if the patriarch caused any trouble.
Sure enough, early in the morning the patriarch’s loud voice was heard in our yard threatening dire punishment to the family if his demand were not granted. The bride’s father became alarmed, and thought we must have some official backing, or he would surely get into trouble. The guests had arrived, and every one was on the qui vive to see which side was to win in the contest. I went to the liege-lord of the family for his sanction; but he said it was too big a question for him to pass upon. I must go to a higher authority. It had evidently become a question that could not be settled that morning. Old Adam would have said, “Marry them and trust to the justice of your cause. Let the old patriarch whistle!” But we teach our Christians to be obedient to the law, and we wished to avoid unnecessary trouble. So there was nothing to do but to swallow our mortification, apologize to our guests, invite them to partake of the feast, and seek legal sanction afterwards.
After dinner that same day Dr. Cheek and I called upon the Commissioner. We had failed, and were come to him for advice. His sympathies were easily enlisted, but he had no authority to interfere in local or tribal matters. He advised us to go to the Prince. We did so, meeting him and the Princess alone. Their position was like that of the Commissioner. They, too, sympathized with the young couple and with us. But it raised a new question for them, and they feared to give offence. The Princess said they had been criticised by our enemies for standing by us; but if the Chao Uparāt would give his sanction, no one else, they thought, would dare oppose. So we went next to the Uparāt; but there we ran against a stone wall. He inwardly laughed at our predicament. He had us just where he wanted us to be. If our young people could not marry, our work would be virtually stopped. He said that no one but the King of Siam had authority to interfere in such a question.
We returned home signally defeated. Next day I went alone to the Chao Uparāt, and argued the justice of our case. The parties had renounced their allegiance to the spirits. It was clearly unreasonable to require what we could not conscientiously submit to. I even begged him to come to our aid, since both the Commissioner and the Prince had said that they were sure that no one else would oppose his decision. If we were compelled, we must appeal to His Majesty the King of Siam, though we should be very reluctant to do so. Since marriage is a civil as well as a religious rite, I was sure His Majesty would admit the justice of our appeal. Either thinking that we would not make the appeal, or that the appeal would be in vain, he at last refused to discuss the question further. Little did he know, nor did we then, that he was doing the best possible thing for us.
I returned then to the Commissioner to report. The conflict which, as we have seen, was probably inevitable between the royal authority represented by the Commissioner on the one hand, and the local rulers on the other, was becoming inevitable sooner than was anticipated. The Commissioner just then was himself having great trouble with officials who were restive under his authority. The Lakawn Princes had a difficulty among themselves, and had come to the Commissioner to have the case adjudicated. His decision had been unfavourable to one of the higher officials—probably the chief himself. Whoever it was, he had committed the unpardonable offence of departing to Lakawn without taking leave of the Commissioner, presumably intending to appeal to Bangkok. So that morning I found His Excellency indignant at the insult offered to him, and, through him, to his sovereign. The royal authority which he represented was challenged. Moreover, some of the acts of the Chao Uparāt had offended him. His impressions were confirmed and strengthened by the recital of our grievances. He advised me to write these all out in full, giving specifications that could be substantiated—and such were rapidly multiplying. For, provoked at Nān Inta and his family, and emboldened with his own success in stopping the wedding, the Chao Uparāt had summoned Nān Inta and had set him to watching his summer-house on the river—the work of a menial, such as Nān Inta had never yet been reduced to doing.
At last the moment had come when an appeal for religious toleration might be made with fair prospect of success. As the only way of avoiding continual interference in the future, the Commissioner himself advised that the appeal be made for religious toleration in general, rather than for freedom of Christian marriage, which was only a single item. The Commissioner was busily engaged in writing out a report of his own grievances, to be sent to the King. He said that he would mention our case also in his report, and offered to forward my letter with his despatches.