CHAPTER VII.
A SIAMESE WEDDING.
In a Siamese home, which stood in the midst of most beautiful fruit-gardens, where the rosy-cheeked pomegranate nodded and played hide-and-seek among its leaves with the purple mangosteen, and the fragrant blossoms of the luscious mango pelted and showered themselves down upon the thorny durian, and the tall cocoanut frowned loftily on the graceful waving leaves of the banana,—in such a lovely spot, amidst singing birds and fragrant flowers and most glorious sunshine, about twenty years ago a little baby girl was born.
When the dear little stranger first opened her eyes she saw only gloom and smoke. A Siamese infant is not carefully bathed by gentle hands, and dressed in softest, purest linen, and laid in the clean white bed beside the mother, who gathers it close in her arms and thanks God for such a treasure. No; this new-born babe was first well rubbed with a red and yellow powder, and strings with a silver coin attached were tied around her wrists and ankles; then, being wrapped in some pieces of their dirty, worn-out waist-cloths, she was put on a cotton pillow under a round framework, something the shape of a bird-cage, covered with dark muslin. Baby and cage were then set away in a corner of the hot, close room, where the mother, as Siamese custom requires, was lying on a bare board before four or five smoking firebrands, and, as the house had no chimney, of course the room was filled with smoke. The little brown baby was looked at occasionally, and brought to the mother to be nursed, and she was bathed once or twice a day by having tepid water poured over her with the hands, and whilst the skin was still wet rubbed over with the turmeric powder and softened chalk. She was also fed with the fingers, the food being boiled rice mixed with mashed bananas.
What would you think to see a baby not a week old put into a smoke-house and fed on rice and scraped apple? Well, as might be expected, many of these little brown babies die. Nevertheless, this little one lived through all, and as the days and months and years went by grew up into a pretty little girl, and, being the youngest of the children, was petted by all the family like many a winsome darling in our own Christian land.
I do not know much about the earliest years of Leang, save that she lived most of the day out of doors among the flowers and fruit trees; and I think she must have had the birds for her companions, for her merry laugh always reminded one of their carols. When I first met Leang she was a bright child of six or seven summers, for the year in Siam is one long bright summer. She had soft black eyes, and hair that was black also, but all shaven off except one little place on the top of her head, where it had been allowed to grow long, and was worn twisted into a tight, smooth knot fastened by a long gold pin, the head of which was as large as the end of your thumb and set full of precious stones.
She was very friendly, and often visited at the house of one of our missionaries who lived near her bamboo hut, and when Mrs. House started a school for children on her veranda Leang was invited to join them. Here she learned to sing, read, write and sew. In later years she joined the church, and was often in our family and much loved for her winning ways.
When Leang was about seventeen years old her parents thought it time for the maiden to be married. In Siam when a man wants a wife he gets two or three elderly persons who are friends of the maiden’s parents to intercede for him and offer a certain sum of money for her, and often, whether she is willing or not, the daughter is married to the one who will pay the highest price.
Leang’s parents received an offer from a wealthy Chinaman who had already two or more wives, but, attracted by her pretty face, wanted this young girl—not because he loved her, but to add a new ornament to his harem. He was a heathen, much older than herself, and the girl’s heart had long been in the keeping of a young Siamese Christian who had met her in the mission-house, where he also visited. Her parents scolded, took away her ornaments, beat her and threatened banishment from home, but Leang refused to marry the Chinaman. At length, after a long period of trial and waiting, which perhaps only strengthened their love, the young Siamese won the reluctant consent of her parents to marry their daughter.
And now perhaps you think it is time to prepare for the wedding. No, not yet. The Siamese have a superstition that persons born in certain years are incompatible with each other. For instance, if one were born in the “year of the Dog” and another in the “year of the Rat,” or one in the “year of the Cow” and the other in the “year of the Tiger,” they would not live happily together. The matter is accordingly referred to some fortune-teller, who for a small fee generally pronounces no difficulty is in the way. The matter of birthdays being settled favorably, the elders make another call for a further discussion of the preliminaries. They say, “Since birthdays do not interfere, what shall be said about the usual stock for the young couple to commence life upon, and the money for the building of a house?” for, according to Siamese custom, the bridegroom puts up the house on the premises of the bride’s parents, and as near the old home as possible, so that it is almost one family. When a Siamese has several daughters married and gathered thus around the old homestead, there is quite a little family settlement. In reply to this inquiry of the elders the girl’s parents will probably answer, “We are not rich and not able to give our daughter much of a dowry. How is it with the parents of the young man? What will they do for their son?” The elders reply, “It depends upon yourselves.” The parents then suggest that a certain sum be appropriated for the building of the house, and name another sum for mutual trade; and it is agreed that they contribute areca-nut, red lime, seri-leaf, cakes and so forth for the wedding-feast. The plan of the new house and the number of the rooms are also specified.