Indo-China and its primitive people

by Henry Baudesson

Singing seems to be a form of diversion confined to the women. On the other hand, a woman in an orchestra is an exceptional phenomenon, and it is only on rare occasions that she is allowed to take part even in a dance. The song seems to be nothing more than an emission of sounds having no musical relation to each other whatever. It is a monotonous recitative, broken only by more or less passionate interjectional explosions. The series of notes is dependent solely on the singer's sweet will. She seems to have no idea of what she is singing, for frequently when a particular phrase caught our fancy and we asked for it again she confessed her utter inability to repeat it. The sounds are harsh and piercing, and usually recall the cries of wild beasts.

Strange though it may sound, it is nevertheless true that the hearing of the Moï is extremely quick and well trained. He can recognize the ticking of a watch ten yards away and the sound of a rifle at a distance of four miles. Of course there is all the difference between having quick hearing and a good ear for music. The latter quality depends, not on the physical construction of the organ, but on artistic education, in which the Moï have always remained lacking.

It is an old saying that the savage always prefers something which appeals to him by its violence. The more harsh and strident are the sounds the more they will appeal to his musical taste. To put this theory to the proof we frequently tested the native preferences with our gramophone.

No one could imagine the curiosity aroused in the village the first time we gave a concert on this instrument. Our geodetical operations were in full swing and, apart from the interest created by these, we had gathered huge audiences of women and children by filling up the intervals of our work with impromptu performances for their benefit. Our main "turns," which never varied, but of which they never seemed to grow weary, were as follows. We used to light a cigarette from a distance by means of a magnifying glass, or show them a compass of which the needle seemed to move exactly where and when we pleased. Other objects of immense popular interest were our watches with their mysterious ticking, the cork-screw of a wonderful eight-bladed knife, and, marvel of marvels, the astronomical telescope which made it possible to recognize a friend at a distance of more than three hundred yards and which compelled him to walk on his head!

In view of these wonders our fame spread abroad, and when our concert was announced each man told his neighbour that a trick yet more marvellous than any yet seen was about to be performed by the bearded strangers with pockets bulging with tobacco!

In a very short time the huts were empty though the heat was appalling. Even the village sluggards left their perpetual siesta, and in many cases women and children brought their menfolk by main force. No one was allowed to remain behind on so important an occasion. Soon the audience was gathered round us, the children in front, the mothers squatting in groups, the warriors standing about with an affected air of lofty indifference. A lively dispute as to the choice of records roused public interest to fever heat, and as no two of us thought alike, each holding out for his favourite piece, we settled the vexed question by drawing lots. The choice fell on the "Spring Song," which, however, met with little favour. The audience evidently had no opinion of Mendelssohn. The small children made for their mother's arms in terror and were only consoled with difficulty. The general feeling was one of astonishment passing to displeasure. We hastily took off that record and replaced it by a hunting-chorus well sprinkled with the blare of horns. This met with a most enthusiastic reception.

The standard and canons of musical taste among the Moï were thus brutally revealed to us. We took the hint at once. The beautiful collections of chamber-music which had so often charmed our ill-temper with its memories of far-away France were hastily dismissed to the bottom of the box. We put on all the loudest band records we had and then raided our stock for selections on all the noisiest instruments. The neighbouring forest was soon echoing the strident notes of xylophone, banjo, ocarina and trombone. We went to the music-halls and called on the singers and whistlers, and when the interval was announced after "Fou Rire," the entire audience went off almost convulsed with attempts to imitate it.

Quite recently we prevailed on the Chief of a neighbouring tribe to allow us to make a record of his speeches at a wedding-feast to which we had been invited. Without giving any warning we then turned on the disc. The audience pricked up its ears and seemed intensely interested to hear the well-known voice under such novel circumstances. Suddenly, before the record was half-way through, a slave seized hold of a jar of spirits and tried to empty its contents down the trumpet of the instrument. It took all my strength and eloquence to dissuade him from this fell purpose. The audience, however, seemed to take his intervention as a matter of course. The explanation of this unforeseen attack was simple. The gramophone, faithfully recording the utterances of the chief, had demanded, on its own behalf, something to drink!