Anna thought how little the child knew of poverty and its different but no less urgent problems. She respected his sincerity and intelligence too much, however, to point out what his own powers of observation would show him later—that the lot of a poor boy in a country like Siam where he was at the beck and call of some noble was far from idyllic. The poor boy of whom Prince Chulalongkorn was dreaming would have to be branded on the wrist to show to whom he owed allegiance. He would be subject to not less than three months’ service every year, and if he made the mistake of showing great ability, his term of service would be lengthened. Anna was convinced that the low level of literature and art in Siam was due to the fear that every talented person felt of being impounded into royal service if it became known that he had more than ordinary gifts.
As the terrible heat of March and April approached Anna grew more listless and weary. She had written Tom Wilkinson, her husband’s cousin, asking him to try to find a school for Louis. She had determined to send him home as soon as possible. Her friends were urging her to return with him, and there were days when she wanted nothing else. Francis Cobb, who was leaving Singapore, had written begging her to use him in any way she cared to, if she decided to go to Europe. He had ended the letter in the usual devoted way—“Put your foot upon me, dear, and step upwards.”
Before she had reached a decision her health broke completely. She was taken violently ill with a return of the fever, and Beebe hurried for Dr. Campbell from the British Consulate. Day by day he attended her as Anna’s fever remained high and her strength diminished. One afternoon he told her gently that she might not be strong enough to survive and that she had better appoint a guardian for her children. The British Consulate would, of course, carry out her wishes. The effect of the warning was to release her from the pressing weight of her troubles. She felt a sharp pang for her children, Avis in London and Louis in Bangkok. But she was so weary and sick, both in body and spirit, that the prospect of rest and of reunion with Leon, who had been dead six years now, seemed undiluted pleasure. The hard years in Siam had sapped her will to live.
In one of the lucid intervals between periods of delirium she had her red leather trunk moved out from under her bed. It had held her important papers for many years. Once while she was still living on the other side of the river it had almost been stolen. She thought it was the interpreter who was to blame. Like everyone else in Bangkok she slept under a mosquito net. Hers was large, almost like a room, and she had kept a lighted lamp on a table next to her bed so that she could see quickly if awakened. Opening her eyes one night with a start, she had felt someone in the room. Suddenly she saw the corner of her red leather trunk emerge from under the bed. She held her breath until she saw a greased arm follow the trunk, and a sinuous brown body, also greased, follow the arm. Then she snatched the lamp and flung it at the thief crying, “Pen arai ma!” (Who do you think you are?), and fell back fainting with fright. When she opened her eyes again the shattered lamp and the trunk were there, but the thief had gone.
She remembered this incident now and had the trunk opened. She sorted out the few papers that would be important to Louis and Avis. Then she called Beebe and had her burn the rest, her little keepsakes, and all the personal letters, even her prized letters from Leon. She was determined they should not fall into the hands of her enemies or even the idly curious. Her will was already made. She turned it over to Dr. Campbell. She was ready for the end.
Still her life hung on by a slender thread. She seemed to have no will to fight, yet death did not come. Then one day Dr. Campbell brought her a message from the King, saying that she might die in peace, for he would adopt her son. The shock was a stimulant. She drew Dr. Campbell down and whispered weakly, “He means it well, I know, but I’d rather live a thousand years in any kind of torment than let him adopt my son!” From that moment she began to rally.
In April she had a long friendly letter from the King. It closed with what he called a “Very private post script,” which took her mind back to the Palace:
Will you have remembered? once before some several months ago where you have said to me that I should dignify my first son or Prince Chaufa Chulalongkorn as my heir apparent like the Prince of Wales of England? I have refused and denied your word and have stated unto you that our general people do not have more pleased on me and my descendant, I am very sorry even many foreigners are so as our native general people. Although I have been doing nothing unfavorable to right of general people they considered me as unpopular! then you have denied to me that you have learnt such from none, sometime since your arrival to Siam until that very day. Why! how will you have learnt such the word! as almost every one of our native people and foreigners as ascertainedly knowing that you are really my partisan even may be my spy! Who would say such before your audience!
Now I can have witness or testimony of that statement which had been said to you by me before.
There is a newspaper of Singapore entitled Daily News just published after last arrival of the Steamer Chowphya at Singapore, in which paper, a correspondence from an Individual resident at Bangkok dated 16th March 1866 was shown, but I have none of that paper in my possession. Mr. Jan Kim Ching did not sent to me for my perusal. I have read one in hand of an individual here I did not notice the number and date to state to you now but I trust that the paper must be in hand of several foreigners in Bangkok, may you have read it perhaps otherwise you can obtain the same from any one or by order to obtain from Singapore after perusal thereof you will not be able to deny my statement forementioned moreover as general people both native and foreigners here seem to have less pleasure on me and my descendants than their pleasure and hope on other amiable family to them until present day. What was said there in for a princess considered by the speaker or writer as proper or suitable to be head of my harem (a room for confinement of women of Eastern monarch) there is no least intention occurred to me even once or in my dream indeed I think if I do so I will die soon perhaps!
The said correspondence date 16th March 1866 I conject must from one of the British consulate but not from the Consul himself or must from the consul of D. no doubt, not from American journalists or Mr. Chandler the idea of whom may be otherwise.
This my handwriting or content hereof shall be kept secretly.
I beg to remain
Your faithful and well wisher
S.P.P.M. MONGKUT R. S.
on 5441st day of reign
the writer hereof beg to place his confidence on you always.
The reference to the “other amiable family” seemed to show that the King’s jealousy of his brother’s popularity had not ended even with his brother’s death. Anna looked up the objectionable reference in the Singapore paper. It read: “The King has his eye upon another princess of the highest rank, with a view to constituting her a queen consort.” This in itself would not have been so bad if the context had not made it clear that the writer had been led to believe that the princess in question was Princess Duang Prapha, familiarly called Princess “Tui” (Tubby). She was a woman of about twenty-eight, one of the older daughters of the Second King, and therefore His Majesty’s niece. Obviously the correspondent had heard the rumors about the Princess of Chiengmai and had confused the persons involved.
The Bangkok Recorder had added salt to the wound by rebuking the King in its comment on the Singapore report:
Now, considering that he is full threescore and three years of age, that he has already scores of concubines and about fourscore sons and daughters, with several Chowfas among them, and hence eligible to the highest posts of honor in the kingdom, this rumor seems too monstrous to be credited. But the truth is, there is scarcely anything too monstrous for the royal polygamy of Siam to bring forth.
Anna quite understood the King’s resentment of this less than tactful remark, but she was a little puzzled by the King’s virtuous indignation. Of course he had no designs on his niece. But was it so certain that he had not some interest in
the Princess of Chiengmai? It was five years since there had been a consort who was regarded as of the rank of queen. Except for the fact that she had been his brother’s wife, the Princess of Chiengmai would have been in many ways an ideal queen. Furthermore, her marriage to the King would have tied the recalcitrant Prince of Chiengmai to the throne.
By the time that Anna was well enough to return to the Palace curiosity about the Princess of Chiengmai was dead. The Inside was stirring with other gossip. Even Bangkok had grown tired of the topic that had absorbed everyone for months. The notorious M. Aubaret was returning to Bangkok in June, and speculation about the meaning of his unwelcome reappearance had the foreign community agog.
The Palace was preparing for Prince Chulalongkorn’s entrance into the novitiate of the priesthood, which was set for July 19. When he emerged at the end of October he would be considered too old to live within the confines of the Inside. Preparations were under way to alter a building close to his father’s palace, within the outer but not the inner wall, for his new residence. The building had been occupied by a division of the Palace treasury whose duty it was to procure and store the articles used by the King in merit-making. It was being refurbished for the prince. Henceforth it was to be called Wang Suan Kulap (Rose Garden Palace). Princess Lamom was busy getting ready to move and take over its management. There were even rumors that the King had selected his son’s first wife, who would be installed in the new residence in due order. The choice would probably fall on a granddaughter of the Kralahome.
The rite of entering into the novitiate of the priesthood was more solemn than the tonsure but much simpler. The first day was devoted to the performance of the Wien-thien, the revolving of the candles in blessing. This took place in the Audience Hall before a select company of guests, who were later feasted.
On the second day the prince was dressed in costly white robes and ornaments similar to those he had worn at the tonsure. Earlier that morning his eyebrows and his hair, which had begun to grow in a short brush all over his head, had been shaved. He was taken in charge at his father’s palace by a body of priests and conducted to the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. On the way his barefoot escort chanted hymns from the Buddhist liturgy. At the entrance to the temple another band of priests divested him of his fine robes and dressed him in simple white, as the chanting continued. Within, the monks were arranged in a double semicircle, each with a lighted taper in his folded palms. The prince advanced humbly toward the high priest in the center of the semicircle with his back to the altar, and bowed three times asking to be admitted to the Order. The high priest received him and with their hands mutually interfolded, one upon the other, the prince vowed to renounce the world with all its cares and temptations, and to observe with obedience the rules of the novitiate. This done he was dressed in the yellow robes of the Order, instructed briefly in his duties, and the ceremony was complete.
After breakfast had been served to the priests, gifts were presented to him. His father was the first to make a gift, then his brothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins; then the prime minister and other high officials; and finally the Chinese and Indian merchants. Most of these gifts were to be turned over by the prince to his associates in the priesthood. After the presentation the prince’s brothers entertained the assembly on a little stage. Dressed in full state costume, loaded with gold and precious stones, they put on a performance of fencing, in the Siamese style. A Chinese nobleman took this opportunity to give each of them a gold watch, much to the delight of the children and His Majesty. When it was all over Prince Chulalongkorn was led from the Palace which had been his home for almost fourteen years, to the monastery at Wat Bawonniwet, where he was to stay for three months.
36
THE RED VELVET LETTER
August 10, 1866, was another of the days Anna was never to forget. It began pleasantly enough. Beebe had found some delicious custard apples in the market, and Anna and Louis had them for breakfast. The morning was clear and sweet. There was nothing in the weather to warn of approaching storm, nor did Anna have any premonition that the curtain was going up on the last act of her drama with the King.
His Majesty sent for her early. “Mem,” he said as she entered, “write a letter at once to tell Sir John Bowring I have changed my mind. I do not want him for ambassador to France in writing of new treaty. I shall send an embassy from this place with Phya Suriwong Wai Wat.”
The King’s changes of mind were too common to arouse her indignation any longer, although she did feel that Sir John was being treated rather shabbily. On the last day of June M. Aubaret had returned from Paris. The French in Bangkok openly rejoiced. They saw in him a Gallic Stamford Raffles who would wrest from Siam further rich territories, and might even manage the annexation of the entire kingdom to the Empire. They were well aware of the superstitious fear that the King felt for the peppery little consul with his fierce mustaches and beady black eyes.
M. Lamache, who had been discharged for his insolence toward the King the year before, had returned to the royal employ. A correspondent had written the Bangkok Recorder asking why it was that the King had restored M. Lamache, “the once famous Drill Master, to his former position and rank. Is such conduct as he has been guilty of a guarantee for favoritism?” Dr. Bradley printed the letter with the question, “Can any one of our readers oblige our correspondent with a solution to his query?”
One of the French merchants, M. Alloin, berated old Dr. Bradley for this. He told him bluntly that he imperiled his life by such impertinence, and that M. Lamache had it in his heart to give him a thorough thrashing, and, in fact, had threatened to kill him at the first opportunity. Dr. Bradley pulled at his gray beard and replied imperturbably: “He would then reveal himself a murderer, and worse than I had supposed him. Furthermore, he would have to pay the penalty for his act with his life.”
“And why shall he care about that,” shrieked M. Alloin, “if he may take yours? He may then kill himself. Why not?” Then he added, “When M. Aubaret returns he will prosecute you, anyway, for publishing in your Bangkok Calendar that he caused a hubbub at the Palace last August.”
“And do you deny that it was true?”
The merchant had no reply, only more imprecations for the American who dared to publish unpleasant references to the acts of the French Consul.
M. Aubaret brought an autographed letter from the French Emperor, and a magnificent sword for the King, as well as a sword from the Prince Imperial of France to Prince Chulalongkorn. These were presented in formal audience. All this looked friendly, but as everyone in Bangkok was confidentially informing everyone else, behind lay a grand plot to transform Siam into a French protectorate. M. Aubaret added fuel to these suspicions by immediately opening negotiations for revision of the treaty in relation to Cambodia that he had forcibly extracted from the Siamese the year before. One article of that treaty had not been satisfactory to his superiors in Paris. It read:
Article IV. The boundary lines of the province of Battambang, Nakon Siemreap, together with the Laos provinces belonging to Siam, bordering on the kingdom of Cambodia, the French agree shall remain as they are at the present time supposed to be fixed.
Battambang and Siemreap had been governed directly from Bangkok since 1794, while the rest of Cambodia had been governed feudally through its own king. Since these two provinces had once been a part of Cambodia proper the French regarded them as the next step toward domination of the area they had marked out for conquest. Thus they did not want to acknowledge that they were Siamese, even temporarily.
The King was stubborn. The most that M. Aubaret could get from him was a reluctant promise to send an ambassador to Paris to negotiate, and a secondary promise that the Siamese would send a delegate and suitable display to the great exhibition to be held in 1867. Anna had been ordered to write to Sir John Bowring requesting his services as plenipotentiary to the Court of France. This letter had hardly had time to reach its destination, and now the King had changed hi
s mind and planned to send the son of the Kralahome instead. She sighed and set to work.
Before she had anything written the King added a further injunction. She was to explain the countermanding of the appointment in such a way as to attribute His Majesty’s change of mind to the advice of Mr. Thomas George Knox, the British Consul, whom she well knew the King disliked so heartily that he was quite ready to embarrass him with his influential countryman. Or, if she had scruples on that point, to say anything else she liked as long as she justified the King’s course without antagonizing Sir John. Why not say that the advice was her own?
Anna started up from her chair. “Your Majesty,” she exclaimed, “I’ll consent to do nothing of the kind.” Then, warned by the rage gathering in the King’s face, she added that she would express to Sir John His Majesty’s regrets, but that she would not attribute his change of mind to Mr. Knox or to herself, since neither of them had had anything to do with it. She had expected that he would be angry, but not that his anger would reach the proportions it did. His fury was so vast as to seem grotesque. His talent for invective was always formidable. He tried to beat down her resistance with vicious terms of opprobrium, and when these failed, with threats. She stood up, and without replying, walked out of the Palace, across the commons, and into her home.
The pleasant coolness of the morning had been replaced by gathering heat. The atmosphere became sultry, and every now and then a rumble of distant thunder reached Anna’s ears as she sat at home trying to work on her own correspondence, which was much in arrears. No breeze stirred the heavy air. The parched trees and leaves drooped. Nervous and upset by her scene with the King, she began to wish more and more that she had left Siam as her friends had been urging her to do. If she had not been so deeply absorbed in her work, particularly in the education of young Prince Chulalongkorn, she would have gone long ago. She had been held by the knowledge of her influence over him. Now that he had entered the novitiate there was no assurance that she would be permitted to continue teaching him after the three months had passed. Perhaps it would be better to go to England with Louis as soon as she could arrange it, and give up the unequal battle with the King.
Anna and the King of Siam Page 41
