But she was not entirely alone. For three times daily, at early dawn, at noon, and at twilight, the musicians came to perform their requiem for the soul of the dead “that it might soar on high from the flaming, fragrant pyre for which it was reserved and return to its foster parents, Ocean, Earth, Air, and Sky.” Mourning women joined the musicians in bewailing the early death of the child, extolling her beauty, her graces, and her virtues. Between the services four priests, who were relieved every fourth hour, chanted the praises of Buddha, bidding the spirit of the child “Pass on! Pass on!” and boldly sped it through the labyrinth before it, “through high, deep, and famous things, through good and evil things, through truth and error, through wisdom and folly, through sorrow, suffering, hope, life, joy, love, death, through endless mutability, into immutability!”
Three days later the King issued a proclamation to his foreign friends telling of the death of his little daughter:
The moreover very sad & mournful Circular from His Gracious Majesty Somdetch P’hra Paramendr Maha Mongkut, the reigning Supreme King of Siam, intimating the recent death of Her Celestial Royal Highness, Princess Somdetch Chowfa Chandrmondol Sobhon Baghiawati, who was His Majesty’s most affectionate & well beloved 9th Royal daughter or 16th offspring, and the second Royal child by His Majesty’s late Queen consort Rambery Bhamarabhiramy who deceased in the year 1861. Both mother and daughter have been known to many foreign friends of His Majesty.
To all the foreign friends of His Majesty, residing or trading in Siam, or in Singapore, Malacca, Pinang, Ceylon, Batavia, Saigon, Macao, Hong-kong, & various regions in China, Europe, America, &c. &c.…
Her Celestial Royal Highness, having been born on the 24th April, 1855, grew up in happy condition of her royal valued life, under the care of her Royal parents, as well as her elder and younger three full brothers; and on the demise of her royal mother on the forementioned date, she was almost always with her Royal father everywhere day & night. All things which belonged to her late mother suitable for female use were transferred to her as the most lawful inheritor of her late royal mother; She grew up to the age of 8 years & 20 days. On the ceremony of the funeral service of her elder late royal half brother forenamed, She accompanied her royal esteemed father & her royal brothers and sisters in customary service, cheerfully during three days of the ceremony, from the 11th to 13th May. On the night of the latter day, when she was returning from the royal funeral place to the royal residence in the same sedan with her Royal father at 10 o’clock P.M. she yet appeared happy, but alas! on her arrival at the royal residence, she was attacked by most violent & awful cholera, and sunk rapidly before the arrival of the physicians who were called on that night for treatment. Her disease or illness of cholera increased so strong that it did not give way to the treatment of any one, or even to the Chlorodine administered to her by Doctor James Campbell the Surgeon of the British Consulate. She expired at 4 o’clock P.M., on the 14th May, when her elder royal half brother’s remains were burning at the funeral hall outside of the royal palace, according to the determined time for the assembling of the great congregation of the whole of the royalty & nobility, and native & foreign friends, before the occurrence of the unforeseen sudden misfortune or mournful event.
The sudden death of the said most affectionate and lamented royal daughter has caused greater regret and sorrow to her Royal father than several losses sustained by him before, as this beloved Royal amiable daughter was brought up almost by the hands of His Majesty himself; since she was aged only 4 to 5 months, His Majesty has carried her to and fro by his hand and on the lap and placed her by his side in every one of the Royal seats, where ever he went; whatever could be done in the way of nursing His Majesty has done himself, by feeding her with milk obtained from her nurse, and sometimes with the milk of the cow, goat &c. poured in a teacup from which His Majesty fed her by means of a spoon, so this Royal daughter was as familiar with her father in her infancy, as with her nurses.
On her being only aged six months, His Majesty took this Princess with him and went to Ayudia on affairs there; after that time when she became grown up His Majesty had the Princess seated on his lap when he was in his chair at the breakfast, dinner & supper table, and fed her at the same time of breakfast &c. almost every day, except when she became sick of colds &c. until the last days of her life she always eat at same table with her father. Where ever His Majesty went, this princess always accompanied her father upon the same, sedan, carriage, Royal boat, yacht &c. and on her being grown up she became more prudent than other children of the same age, she paid every affectionate attention to her affectionate and esteemed father in every thing where her ability allowed; she was well educated in the vernacular Siamese literature which she commenced to study when she was 3 years old, and in last year she commenced to study in the English School where the schoolmistress, Lady Leonowens has observed that she was more skillful than the other royal Children, she pronounced & spoke English in articulate & clever manner which pleased the schoolmistress exceedingly, so that the schoolmistress on the loss of this her beloved pupil, was in great sorrow and wept much.
… But alas! her life was very short. She was only aged 8 years & 20 days, reckoning from her birth day & hour, she lived in this world 2942 days & 18 hours. But it is known that the nature of human lives is like the flames of candles lighted in open air without any protection above & every side, so it is certain that this path ought to be followed by every one of human beings in a short or long while which cannot be ascertained by prediction, Alas!
Dated Royal Grand Palace, Bangkok,
16th May, Anno Christi 1863.
A few days later the same royal barge that had come to summon Anna to the deathbed of the Fa-ying, bearing the same female slaves, came again in haste to her house. His Majesty commanded her presence at once.
“Is someone else ill with the cholera?” she asked in alarm. But they would not say. They seemed to be full of a suppressed and almost pleasurable excitement.
When she arrived at the school pavilion she found it decorated with flowers. Her chair had been painted red, and around the back and arms and legs fresh flowers had been twined. The books of the Fa-ying were laid out in order on the table in front of Anna’s accustomed place. Across them had been placed a sheaf of roses and lilies.
Mystified and interested, Anna tried to get a hint of what the proceedings meant from the women of the harem who were bustling about. Some of them whispered to her that an extraordinary honor was about to be bestowed on her. Puzzled and apprehensive, she submitted quietly to being enthroned in the gorgeous chair. The paint was hardly dry, and she groaned inwardly at the thought of the damage to her dress. Boy, with the conservatism of childhood, protested nervously.
In a little while a messenger came from the King to ask whether Anna had arrived. As soon as he knew that she was in her place, he descended from his chambers, accompanied by the great ladies of the harem, the dowagers, his sisters, cousins, and aunts, paternal and maternal.
When he had shaken hands with Anna and Louis he explained the nature of the occasion. He was about to confer on Anna a distinction that had never been given to any foreigner. It was in consideration of her devoted interest in his daughter, and for her “courage and conduct,” as he expressed it, at the deathbed of his well beloved royal child, the Somdet Chao-fa-ying. Then bidding Anna remain seated he carefully took seven threads of unspun cotton and passed them over her head and over the dead child’s books and then placed the end of each single strand in the palm of each of seven of his elder sisters. This done he solemnly waved in rhythmic and formal motion a few gold coins, and dropped twenty-one drops of water from a jeweled conch shell. Finally he chanted a passage of Sanskrit in a low tone, and then placed in Anna’s hand a small silk bag and commanded her to rise Chao Khun Kru Yai (Lord Most Excellent Teacher).
Later, she found the bag contained a patent of nobility and the title to many roods of land which pertained to it. The estate was in th
e district of Lopburi. Inquiry revealed that to reach it she would have to make a journey overland through dense jungle on the back of an elephant. She decided to leave it to its inhabitants—tigers, elephants, rhinoceroses, wild boars, armadillos and monkeys—to enjoy unmolested and untaxed, while she went on the even tenor of her way. In fact, she and Boy decided not to mention the matter at all. She had become so much more accustomed to hard work and opposition than to adulation that the only emotion she had felt during the ceremony had been one of acute discomfort, and fear that she was being made ridiculous. The solemnity of the occasion, the importance that the Siamese attached to her title, had only increased her discomfort.
“How did I look, Boy,” she asked Louis on their way home, “with my head in string like a grocer’s parcel?”
“Silly, Mama!” he giggled.
23
THE KING’S SPECTACLES
The routine of school was broken again in July when the King decided that his family should accompany him to Ayuthia. Anna was required to go with them. Louis enjoyed the change immensely and wrote to Avis: “We had a pleasant trip to Ayuthia in the King’s beautiful yacht called Royal Sovereign. I saw some oh such large idols and I carried off one of the little ones.” Anna enjoyed it, too, but was sick when she returned home to discover that her house had been ransacked by thieves and plundered of all its valuable contents. There was no doubt in her mind that her old enemy, the Kralahome’s half-brother and interpreter, was responsible. The antagonism which had sprung up between them on the first meeting had never diminished—and he lived next door. She was able to buy back a few things at the pawnshops, but others were gone forever.
As the school grew it had been necessary to divide the classes. Some of the children made more rapid progress than others and this entailed further subdivision. Anna had been looking at her older pupils speculatively for months, hoping to find among them one or two who could help teach the younger children.
Lady Son Klin was far enough advanced, but because of her unfortunate position in the harem Anna hesitated to employ her assistance. Furthermore, the Mon princess was deep in a project of her own with which Anna was helping her twice a week. In the course of her reading she had discovered Uncle Tom’s Cabin and was entranced. She read the book over and over until she talked about the characters as if she had known them intimately for years. Her grief over the early death of Little Eva was as real as if the child had been her own. Every time she read that part of the book she wept, and for days afterward went about with the saddened face of one in deep mourning. Suddenly the idea of translating it had come to her. Excited and happy, she worked with unflagging enthusiasm, turning the beloved story into Siamese.
Her admiration for the author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin was extravagant. She told Anna one afternoon that she had decided to adopt the name of Harriet Beecher Stowe as part of her own, in token of her veneration for the American woman. From that time on she signed her frequent little notes to Anna “Harriet Beecher Stowe Son Klin,” although she pronounced it “Stow-a.”
The next most promising candidate for assistant teacher was one of the King’s ladies-in-waiting named Prang. She was a girl of about sixteen, always dressed in the gayest colors. She was tall and slender with a dark complexion, waving jet black hair, and laughing eyes. Anna had noticed her at once on the first day she came to the temple. There was a vivid look of high spirits about her. Then, too, her hair was conspicuous. Unlike the other women she wore it long, in a heavy knot, fastened either with jeweled hairpins or a garland of fresh flowers. The frank smile with which she approached Anna that first afternoon was different, also, from the cringing and timid air that was generally affected by girls on their entrance into the school.
The minute Anna started to teach Prang a thrill of excitement went through her. The girl had a quick and brilliant mind. In a few weeks Anna was sure that she had found someone who could help her with the teaching. Prang rapidly overtook and passed the other pupils. Anna began to devote an hour a day to helping her and was delighted to see that she progressed with a speed impossible to the rest of the school. The girl explored the world of English books with enthusiasm as fast as she was able to read them. She committed long passages to memory for the sheer joy of learning.
Then after months of advancement quite unparalleled in Anna’s experience, Prang’s attitude changed. She was as vivacious as ever, but apathetic about her lessons. This was a disappointment to Anna, who had been planning to turn some of the classes over to her in a few months.
Any number of the women of the harem had shown a brief flare of interest in the school, only to grow bored a few months later, as Mrs. Mattoon had warned her they would. Intellectual discipline was foreign to them. Once the novelty of learning English had palled they returned to their own less exacting pursuits. But Prang had seemed different. She had ability and she had tasted the pleasure of study for the sake of knowledge. Her mind was too good to be abandoned without an effort to vacuity. Anna was sure of this. Therefore she tried in many little ways to revive Prang’s interest, thinking that the girl had reached one of those plateaus where some stimulus from her teacher was needed to rally her interest.
One day Prang would be in her chair, working over hard sentences, spelling out words, writing and translating for hours on end. Even when the other pupils had gone home she would sit poring over her books, smiling to herself as the meaning of what she had read dawned on her. But the next day she would be listless and indifferent, or worse. She would spend her time impishly kicking the children under the table, hiding their books, or making faces at them. If Anna remonstrated with her, she would be absent from school for days or even weeks. On the other hand, if Anna ignored her pranks, she would take advantage of this seeming indulgence to wreck the ordered activity of the school. Yet she had a shrewd understanding of just how far she could go. Every time Anna had decided to be severe Prang would show such industry that Anna would begin to hope again that the girl’s interest in her studies was firmly rooted at last.
If Prang had not been so capable of development, Anna could have handled her drastically without compunction, even if it meant that she left school permanently. But Anna could not put away the secret thought that in this girl she had the material of a good teacher. The problem was to find some way of controlling Prang’s erratic ambition, and of curbing her puckish inclination to mischief. The girl was like a highly bred colt kicking its heels in the sun, determined not to be mastered. Anna thought ruefully that she herself seemed to have been cast more in the role of trainer than teacher. Nor could she make up her mind whether it was the part of wisdom to persist with kindness or to use an occasional flick of the whip.
Then one morning Prang arrived at the schoolroom very late. Anna looked up in annoyance from her little class to see the girl walking slowly across the floor. Her pretty face had a contrite look that stopped the sharp words of rebuke on Anna’s lips. “She knows how I dislike having people come in late,” Anna thought, mollified a little by the appeasing glance Prang sent her. “I won’t scold her in front of the children.”
Prang had hardly taken her seat before Anna heard titters and little shrieks from the children. So far as Anna could see, however, the girl had done nothing out of the way. Anna reproved the children quietly and turned back to her class, gathered around her at the head of the table. Every now and then a half-suppressed giggle told her that something was going on which amused the school. She looked at Prang suspiciously, but the girl was sitting near the far end of the table studiously reading a book.
When the disorder continued Anna dismissed the five children in her class and stood up to enforce attention. Then she saw the reason for the excitement. Seated on Prang’s shoulder was a little black monkey, dressed in tiny crimson trousers, a crimson fez, and a blue shirt. He was holding one of Prang’s books upside down, and seemingly was as much absorbed in study as his mistress. The sight was so funny that Anna could not help laughing. This was a signal f
or the children to give vent to the merriment they had been trying to smother.
The monkey accepted the compliment. He dropped his book and planted himself on Prang’s head. He began to take the jeweled pins out of her hair, one by one, grinning and chattering at the children all the time. Prang took no notice of him and pretended to be completely engrossed in her book. He pulled her hair and scratched her head as if he were looking for fleas, and climbed all over her, but she did not look up. Then he darted at the other children as far as the string by which he was tied permitted. The children shrieked with delight, but still Prang acted as though she were unaware of the commotion.
Anna sighed. If the girl had deliberately set out to create a situation in which her teacher would have to resort to authority, she could not have found a better way. “Prang,” Anna said, “your monkey is disturbing the other children. Take him outside, please!”
The girl darted a quick appraising look at Anna. “Oh, please let him stay, Mem cha,” she pleaded. “He’ll be good. Mentu, come back here and be quiet or the Mem will send you away!”
Anna shook her head firmly. “I’d like to let him stay, Prang. He’s really very clever. But no one will be able to study as long as he’s here. So tie him outside until school is over and then we can all watch him do his tricks.”
The girl began to pout. “If you won’t let Mentu stay, I won’t come to school any more.” Then she flashed her most winning smile at Anna. “Just try him once more, Mem cha. I promise you that he’ll sit perfectly still and not bother anyone.”
Anna and the King of Siam Page 25
