Anna and the King of Siam

by Margaret Landon

  “But I only begged harder. I laid the money before her three times, as is the custom, and pleaded with her to accept it. ‘Take double, most honored and gracious lady, only let me go!’

  “‘Never!’ she screamed in a terrible voice. ‘Be still at once! I’ll never set you free!’ And then as if she had guessed half of my thought she asked suddenly, ‘Do you wish to be married? Is that it? Very well, I’ll find you a good husband, and you shall bear me children as your mother did before you. Pick up your money and go, or I’ll order you flogged!’

  “So it was all in vain. I gathered up my silver and returned to my slave’s life, hopelessly defeated. I soon recovered from my disappointment, though, because I had made up my mind to escape. The Chao Chom was suspicious of me for more than a year. My companions saw that I had fallen into disgrace, and they pitied me, but I paid no attention to them and wouldn’t answer their questions. I did my best to appear obedient and cheerful. After two years the Chao Chom gradually took me into her confidence again, although she never let me go out of the Palace. Finally she arranged a marriage for me with Nai Thim, one of her favorite men slaves. I didn’t object. I even pretended that I was happy at the prospect of being free to spend six months of every year with my husband.

  “The day before my marriage I was sent to see Nai Thim’s mother with a small present from my mistress. Two strong women accompanied me. I had hidden my purchase money in my panung. As soon as we entered my future mother-in-law’s house, I asked permission to speak to her in private. She thought that I had some communication from the Chao Chom and took me to the back part of the house. I sat down on the edge of the bamboo raft, which kept her house afloat. Without giving her time to ask any questions, I told her my whole story. Then I took the money from my panung and shoved it into her hands. And before she could refuse it I plunged into the river. I heard one startled scream above me as I disappeared under the water.

  “I am a good swimmer, and I swam desperately for my life. The current took me rapidly downstream. I came to the surface from time to time for air, and then dived back under. The old lady’s house was far below the Palace and there were no boats there as there are here in the heart of the city. When I found my strength failing I made for the opposite bank and climbed its steep sides. I dried my clothes in the breezes that came upon me as if let free from heaven. There were no houses about and I was sure that no one had seen me from the moment I sank below the water. The old lady would think that I had drowned myself and the slaves would go back to the Chao Chom with her story. She, too, would count me dead. I had accomplished what had been the beginning and end of all my thoughts for two years. It seemed to me at first that perhaps it was a dream. Then I knew that it was not, and my joy was so great that I laughed out loud, and danced, and sang.

  “From day to day my soul had been slowly withering away. Now it blossomed forth afresh as if it had never known a moment of sorrow. My laughter came back to me, and in very truth, gracious lady, I shall never again rejoice and sing in the desert places of my heart, or in the solitary places of my native land, as I did on that day. In the extremity of my emotion I forgot that night was a possibility. I could do nothing but rejoice. I do not know how many hours I sat there, but they were as minutes. Suddenly the sun set. The night descended. Darkness covered the earth as with a mantle. The wind began to blow in fitful gusts. I heard strange sounds, which seemed to come not from the earth but from some hideous realm beyond. But I knew that there were angels who heard the cries of human distress. So I prayed to them to come and hover near me, and as I prayed a deep sleep came upon me.

  “When I awoke the stars were in the sky, but the strange noises disturbed me so that I fell on my knees and cried, ‘O God! where art thou? Bring, oh, bring the day! Come with thy swift chariot and bring the light! Come and help thy unworthy handmaiden!’ ‘To believe,’ says the Prophet, ‘is to have the world renewed every day.’ So in answer to my prayer came the Angel Gibhrayeel and snatched away the dark mantle of Phra Kham, god of the night, and swift came Phra Athit, god of the day, scattering the shadow monsters of the world of darkness and making his glory fill my heart with praise, even as it filled my glad eyes with light.”

  She paused again musing. “I had been dazzled with the idea of liberty. But now I was faced with the question: Where shall I go? Who will employ me? There was no one in all this vast city to whom I could turn but the merchant and his slave woman. It was evening when I entered the hut of Damni, footsore and weary. Damni was overjoyed to see me. She gave me food and shelter and her best robe.

  “Some days after this the merchant came to visit me. I felt dimly that the hardness of my heart would be complete if I resisted his kindness, and yet I could not believe that a rich merchant would marry an outcast slave like me. But one morning I found a white sari in my humble shed. After Damni had dressed me in it she led me to a room where the Mullah, the merchant, and a few of the merchant’s friends were waiting.

  “The Mullah put down his hookah and stood up. He put his hands before his face and uttered a short prayer. After that he took the end of my sari and bound it securely to the end of the merchant’s angrakah, gave us water in which myrtle and jessamine flowers had been dipped, and placed a gold ring on my finger. Then he blessed us and went away. That was our marriage ceremony.

  “During the days that followed I was as one drunk with new wine. I thanked Allah for the sun, for the beautiful summer days, the radiant yellow sky. I thanked him for the freshness of dawn and for the dew of evening. The glory of God shone upon me and filled my soul with intense delight. It blossomed like a garden of flowers in the perfect pattern of happiness.

  “One day, about three or four months after my marriage, as I was sitting on the steps of my home, I thought I heard a voice in my ear. I had hardly time to turn when I was seized, gagged, bound hand and foot, and brought back to this place. When I was taken into the presence of my mistress, she ordered me chained to this post. Here I was chained until my time came and my child was born. A month after his birth I was chained here again, and my child was brought to me to nurse. This was done until he could come to me alone. But they are not unkind. When it is very wet the slave woman takes him to sleep under the shelter of her little shed.”

  L’Ore’s voice had become feeble and almost inarticulate. “I could free myself from these chains if I would promise never to quit the Palace. That I will never do,” she said in an exhausted whisper. Her head drooped on her breast. Then she fell forward on the stones, her hands clasped, her face buried in the dust. Anna knelt quickly beside her, but it was not a faint. She had fallen into a sort of stupor.

  Anna sat back again on the stone coping of the pond to stretch her cramped legs and think. She looked at the woman lying inert on the pavement before her and marveled. The rudeness of her appearance, the sun-parched skin, the unkempt hair! But four years of unremitting cruelty, of exposure to sun and wind and rain, had not dimmed her courage or broken her spirit. Surely the slave’s body could not endure much more, nor could her mind. Anna had a little awe-struck feeling that she herself was the answer to L’Ore’s impassioned prayers. Else how had she come to the brass door? In the labyrinth of the Palace her seemingly aimless wanderings had had direction.

  Anna reached down and touched L’Ore softly on the shoulder. The slave turned up a haggard face and asked if she had been dreaming. Her mind seemed to be in a daze so that she sometimes imagined her life only a nightmare which would pass, and not reality. Anna, looking deeply into that gutted face, gave up any attempt to comfort L’Ore with words of promise. Action alone would serve, and it was impossible to tell what could be done.

  She left the slave face down on the burning pavement once again and passed through the silent door. The wind still soughed through the grass in the crevices of the old wall, but there were no shadows. The long dark street was empty as before. Anna moved soundlessly over the pale grass that covered it.

  After twenty minutes of straying i
n and out of the harem streets she found one that was familiar. When she reached the schoolroom it was twelve o’clock and her pupils were all in their places waiting for her. In the ordered bustle of the temple that strange scene in the far corner of the Inside seemed completely unreal.

  21

  A SLAVE IS FREED

  When school was over that afternoon Anna went to find the shop of the Naikodah Ibrahim. She had little difficulty, for it was in the section of the city where Indian cloth merchants had congregated, called Mussulman Square. It was a prosperous shop full of rich silks, perfumes, altar candles, scented tapers. The Naikodah himself was a tall Indian with kind eyes. Anna asked to speak to him privately and was taken into the apartment back of the shop. When she told him that she had come from his wife and child in the Palace, he was at first overjoyed to know that both his wife and the son about whose existence he had never heard were alive, and then moved to tears by their distress.

  That night a deputation of Mohammedans, headed by the Mullah Hadjee Baba, called on Anna. Together they drew up a petition addressed to the King, which Anna agreed to deliver the next morning. The same invisible power that had drawn her to L’Ore seemed to be working still, for she was summoned early to the King’s presence. She carried the petition with her and a gift, a small book entitled Curiosities of Science.

  The King was very much pleased with the book and very gracious as she handed him the petition. He read it carefully, and then gave it back to her saying, “Inquiry shall be made by me into this case.”

  On the next day she received a note from him:

  LADY LEONOWENS:—I have liberty to do an inquiry for the matter complained, to hear from the Princess Phra Ong Butri, the daughter of the Chao Chom Manda Ung, who is now absent from hence. The princess said that she knows nothing about the wife of Naikodah, but that certain children were sent her from her grandfather maternal, that they are offspring of his maid-servant, and that these children shall be in her employment. So I ought to see the Chao Chom Manda Ung, and inquire from herself.

  S.S.P.P. MAHA MONGKUT, RX.

  His Majesty was as good as his word. As soon as Chao Chom Manda Ung returned, he ordered the chief of the female judges of the Palace, her ladyship Khun Thao Ap, to make an investigation. This turn of events pleased Anna, for she counted the judge a friend, and knew her to be scrupulously just.

  By the King’s order Anna carried to Khun Thao Ap the petition that the Mohammedans had signed. She found her in the open sala that formed one side of the prison and was the court. As Anna entered the judge raised her eyes from the scroll of the Law that she had been studying.

  “Ah, it is you, Mem,” she said, taking off her spectacles. “I wish to speak to you.”

  “And for my part,” Anna said, with more boldness than she felt—for she was almost as much in awe of the stern woman before her as were the ladies of the harem—“I have something I should like to lay before you.”

  “Yes, I know. You have a communication to make that has already been presented to His Majesty. Well, your petition is granted.”

  “Granted! How?” Anna asked in astonishment. “Is L’Ore already free to leave the Palace?”

  “Oh, no! But His Majesty’s letter gives us authority to proceed against the Chao Chom Manda Ung.”

  “But I thought your authority extended to all the women in the Palace.”

  “Yes, in a way it does. We are said to have the right to compel any woman in the Palace to come before us, but these great ladies will not appear personally unless they are summoned by a royal letter such as this one,” she explained. “They merely send a frivolous excuse and do not come.”

  Seeing that Anna was still puzzled she explained what L’Ore had already explained in part—that the Chao Chom Manda Ung (Mother of a Royal Child Ung) was the daughter of one of the great families of Bangkok in addition to having been a consort of the late King. Her family’s influence at court and her own position were such that in practice she was immune to any but the King’s specific orders, which of course were law for everyone. Furthermore, her only daughter, Princess Butri, had been a consort of the King and was believed to be high in his favor. She had been the teacher of the late queen, mother of Prince Chulalongkorn. She was thus a privileged person, and in addition she was much admired and respected as an authority on palace etiquette and as a fine poet.

  Anna smiled fleetingly at the last words. She had been correct, then, in her guess that L’Ore’s manner of speech was not an accident, but the result of her education.

  Khun Thao Ap turned to one of the female sheriffs, and sent her for the Chao Chom Manda Ung, the Princess Butri, and the slave woman L’Ore. It was nearly two hours before the dowager consort and the princess appeared. They were accompanied by an immense retinue of female slaves bearing luxurious appointments for their royal mistresses’ comfort during the trial. There were fans and cushions, betel sets and trays of refreshments. The sheriff, bending very low, followed the procession at a respectful distance.

  The great ladies took their places on embroidered velvet cushions obsequiously placed for them by their slaves. Anna looked at them curiously. They were both small and finely boned, much alike except for the difference in age. They had unusually well-shaped noses for Siamese, disdainfully arched; heavy-lidded eyes; and thin tight-lipped mouths. There was an air of authority about them, and a subdued insolence in their manner toward the judge.

  But Khun Thao Ap was unimpressed. The soft eyes in her heavy face did not alter their aloof expression. Only her graceful hands adjusted her spectacles as if better to see the women before her. She looked at the great ladies for a moment and asked, “Where is the slave woman, L’Ore?”

  The dowager cast a malicious glance at the judge, but did not answer. She busied herself with tucking a pinch of tobacco under her lower lip before beginning to chew the fresh cud of betel which a prostrate slave held out to her. In the silence of the court her unspoken defiance echoed more loudly than words.

  Around the open sala a rabble of slave women and children had collected, crouching on their heels in all sorts of attitudes and all sorts of rags. Anna, looking out over the stubbled heads, was deeply moved by the expressions on their faces. One of their humble number had challenged the great ladies of the Palace, and they hardly dared to believe that she could succeed in gaining her freedom. They all knew her story.

  They saw the superciliousness and contempt on the faces of the queen dowager and her daughter. They looked from them to the austere face of the judge with anxious concentration, evidently astonished at her temerity, trying to fathom her enigmatic expression. The queen dowager had openly defied the judge. Would Khun Thao Ap really dare …? Hope burned in unblinking eyes. For not one of them, lowly and half-clad, but knew that in the heart of the dark stern woman before them there was as great respect for the rights of the meanest as for those of the queen dowager herself.

  With deliberation the judge read aloud in a clear voice the letter she had received from the King. When it was finished the dowager and her daughter saluted the letter by prostrating themselves three times before it.

  Then the judge asked the ladies, “Can you advance any reason why the slave woman L’Ore should not be emancipated when she has offered to pay the full price of her freedom?”

  Every eye in the crouching throng outside the pavilion left the face of the judge and fastened on the face of the queen dowager. She spoke with difficulty, struggling to control the rage that shook her. From head to foot her whole person mocked the judge. “The slave L’Ore was born in bondage. We do not choose to free It, since It has been useful to our daughter.”

  Khun Thao Ap’s face looked sterner, more impassive. She ignored the calculated discourtesy of the other woman and spoke in a slow, measured voice: “It is the law and custom of this country that bondservants have the right to redeem themselves.” And taking from a casket a dark scroll of the Law she read:

  In the one thousand five hundred and fifty-
seventh Year of the Buddha (A.D. 1013), in the sixth lunar month, during the waxing of the moon, the day being Sunday, His Majesty Baroma Bapit, being seated on his throne, gave command to his four chief Ministers that they should write an Appendix to the Law of Servitude. The sixth clause of this Appendix reads, “A bond-servant who is not pleased to abide with his master and who has secured the price of his redemption is hereby empowered to offer such redemption money to his master with a view to redeeming himself thereby. Any refusal on the part of the master to accept the redemption money and thus free the bond-servant is contrary to law, and punishable by fine.”

  The queen dowager cried in a ringing voice, “And what if every slave in my service should bring me the price of her freedom?”

  All eyes turned again to the judge, sitting calmly on her little strip of matting. Every ear strained to catch her reply. “Then, lady,” she said with quick emphasis, “you would be bound to free every one of them. That is the law.”

  “And serve myself?” screamed the dowager, her rage no longer controlled.

  The voice of the judge was as cool as a lake. “Even so, my august mistress,” she said, bowing low.

  A sigh escaped the squatting crowd outside the pavilion. The Chao Chom Manda Ung turned very pale and trembled slightly.

  Khun Thao Ap went on in her measured tones, ignoring both the mounting excitement of the rabble and the blazing anger of the royal ladies. “The bond-servant L’Ore desires to be free. It is the wish of the Kru Yai to redeem her, and His Majesty’s pleasure that this shall be done in accordance with the Law of Servitude. I therefore declare and decree that the bond-servant L’Ore is no longer the slave of the Chao Chom Manda Ung, but the property of the Kru Yai. I do further decree that the price of her redemption shall be set at forty ticals.”

  The dowager looked at Anna spitefully. “Let her purchase money be paid down now and she is freed from my service forever.”