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Chapter 8. Departmental Kings of Nature
The preceding investigation has proved that the same union of sacred
functions with a royal title which meets us in the King of the Wood at Nemi,
the Sacrificial King at Rome, and the magistrate called the King at Athens,
occurs frequently outside the limits of classical antiquity and is a common
feature of societies at all stages from barbarism to civilisation. Further, it
appears that the royal priest is often a king, not only in name but in fact,
swaying the sceptre as well as the crosier. All this confirms the traditional
view of the origin of the titular and priestly kings in the republics of
ancient Greece and Italy. At least by showing that the combination of
spiritual and temporal power, of which Graeco-Italian tradition preserved the
memory, has actually existed in many places, we have obviated any suspicion of
improbability that might have attached to the tradition. Therefore we may now
fairly ask, May not the King of the Wood have had an origin like that which a
probable tradition assigns to the Sacrificial King of Rome and the titular
King of Athens? In other words, may not his predecessors in office have been a
line of kings whom a republican revolution stripped of their political power,
leaving them only their religious functions and the shadow of a crown? There
are at least two reasons for answering this question in the negative. One
reason is drawn from the abode of the priest of Nemi; the other from his
title, the King of the Wood. If his predecessors had been kings in the
ordinary sense, he would surely have been found residing, like the fallen
kings of Rome and Athens, in the city of which the sceptre had passed from
him. This city must have been Aricia, for there was none nearer. But Aricia
was three miles off from his forest sanctuary by the lake shore. If he
reigned, it was not in the city, but in the greenwood. Again his title, King
of the Wood, hardly allows us to suppose that he had ever been a king in the
common sense of the word. More likely he was a king of nature, and of a
special side of nature, namely, the woods from which he took his title. If we
could find instances of what we may call departmental kings of nature, that is
of persons supposed to rule over particular elements or aspects of nature,
they would probably present a closer analogy to the King of the Wood than the
divine kings we have been hitherto considering, whose control of nature is
general rather than special. Instances of such departmental kings are not
wanting.
On a hill at Bomma near the mouth of the Congo dwells Namvulu Vumu, King
of the Rain and Storm. Of some of the tribes on the Upper Nile we are told
that they have no kings in the common sense; the only persons whom they
acknowledge as such are the Kings of the Rain, Mata Kodou, who are credited
with the power of giving rain at the proper time, that is, the rainy season.
Before the rains begin to fall at the end of March the country is a parched
and arid desert; and the cattle, which form the people's chief wealth, perish
for lack of grass. So, when the end of March draws on, each householder
betakes himself to the King of the Rain and offers him a cow that he may make
the blessed waters of heaven to drip on the brown and withered pastures. If no
shower falls, the people assemble and demand that the king shall give them
rain; and if the sky still continues cloudless, they rip up his belly, in
which he is believed to keep the storms. Amongst the Bari tribe one of these
Rain Kings made rain by sprinkling water on the ground out of a handbell.
Among tribes on the outskirts of Abyssinia a similar office exists and has
been thus described by an observer: The priesthood of the Alfai, as he is
called by the Barea and Kunama, is a remarkable one; he is believed to be able
to make rain. This office formerly existed among the Algeds and appears to be
still common to the Nuba negroes. The Alfai of the Barea, who is also
consulted by the northern Kunama, lives near Tembadere on a mountain alone
with his family. The people bring him tribute in the form of clothes and
fruits, and cultivate for him a large field of his own. He is a kind of king,
and his office passes by inheritance to his brother or sister's son. He is
supposed to conjure down rain and to drive away the locusts. But if he
disappoints the people's expectation and a great drought arises in the land,
the Alfai is stoned to death, and his nearest relations are obliged to cast
the first stone at him. When we passed through the country, the office of
Alfai was still held by an old man; but I heard that rain-making had proved
too dangerous for him and that he had renounced his office.
In the backwoods of Cambodia live two mysterious sovereigns known as the
King of the Fire and the King of the Water. Their fame is spread all over the
south of the great Indo-Chinese peninsula; but only a faint echo of it has
reached the West. Down to a few years ago no European, so far as is known, had
ever seen either of them; and their very existence might have passed for a
fable, were it not that till lately communications were regularly maintained
between them and the King of Cambodia, who year by year exchanged presents
with them. Their royal functions are of a purely mystic or spiritual order;
they have no political authority; they are simple peasants, living by the
sweat of their brow and the offerings of the faithful. According to one
account they live in absolute solitude, never meeting each other and never
seeing a human face. They inhabit successively seven towers perched upon seven
mountains, and every year they pass from one tower to another. People come
furtively and cast within their reach what is needful for their subsistence.
The kingship lasts seven years, the time necessary to inhabit all the towers
successively; but many die before their time is out. The offices are
hereditary in one or (according to others) two royal families, who enjoy high
consideration, have revenues assigned to them, and are exempt from the
necessity of tilling the ground. But naturally the dignity is not coveted, and
when a vacancy occurs, all eligible men (they must be strong and have
children) flee and hide themselves. Another account, admitting the reluctance
of the hereditary candidates to accept the crown, does not countenance the
report of their hermit-like seclusion in the seven towers. For it represents
the people as prostrating themselves before the mystic kings whenever they
appear in public, it being thought that a terrible hurricane would burst over
the country if this mark of homage were omitted. Like many other sacred kings,
of whom we shall read in the sequel, the Kings of Fire and Water are not
allowed to die a natural death, for that would lower their reputation.
Accordingly when one of them is seriously ill, the elders hold a consultation
and if they think he cannot recover they stab him to death. His body is burned
and the ashes are piously collected and publicly honoured for five years. Part
of them is given to the widow, and she keeps them in an urn, which she must
carry on her back when she goes to weep on her husband's grave.
We are told that the Fire King, the more important of the two, whose
supernatural powers have never been questioned, officiates at marriages,
festivals, and sacrifices in honour of the Yan or spirit. On these occasions
a special place is set apart for him; and the path by which he approaches is
spread with white cotton cloths. A reason for confining the royal dignity to
the same family is that this family is in possession of certain famous
talismans which would lose their virtue or disappear if they passed out of the
family. These talismans are three: the fruit of a creeper called Cui,
gathered ages ago at the time of the last deluge, but still fresh and green; a
rattan, also very old but bearing flowers that never fade; and lastly, a sword
containing a Yan or spirit, who guards it constantly and works miracles with
it. The spirit is said to be that of a slave, whose blood chanced to fall upon
the blade while it was being forged, and who died a voluntary death to expiate
his involuntary offence. By means of the two former talismans the Water King
can raise a flood that would drown the whole earth. If the Fire King draws the
magic sword a few inches from its sheath, the sun is hidden and men and beasts
fall into a profound sleep; were he to draw it quite out of the scabbard, the
world would come to an end. To this wondrous brand sacrifices of buffaloes,
pigs, fowls, and ducks are offered for rain. It is kept swathed in cotton and
silk; and amongst the annual presents sent by the King of Cambodia were rich
stuffs to wrap the sacred sword.
Contrary to the common usage of the country, which is to bury the dead,
the bodies of both these mystic monarchs are burnt, but their nails and some
of their teeth and bones are religiously preserved as amulets. It is while the
corpse is being consumed on the pyre that the kinsmen of the deceased magician
flee to the forest and hide themselves, for fear of being elevated to the
invidious dignity which he has just vacated. The people go and search for
them, and the first whose lurking place they discover is made King of Fire or
Water.
These, then, are examples of what I have called departmental kings of
nature. But it is a far cry to Italy from the forests of Cambodia and the
sources of the Nile. And though Kings of Rain, Water, and Fire have been
found, we have still to discover a King of the Wood to match the Arician
priest who bore that title. Perhaps we shall find him nearer home.
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