Her days were full of the school and of her own children. A year after Leon’s death the substratum of sadness was still there, underlying everything she said or did, but without the overwhelming stab of grief that she had known at first. The two children absorbed her thoughts increasingly. They were very different. Avis was gentle and affectionate. Louis was like a shaft of sunlight or quicksilver.
“I remember Papa best,” Louis shouted one day in the garden. “I remember everything about him.”
“Well,” said Avis with quiet persistence, “I remember how he used to ride and how he used to take us for walks.”
“Why, that’s nothing,” Louis countered excitedly. “I remember how Papa used to jump when he was a little boy.”
Anna, watching them from above, burst into laughter, then stopped short. She had thought she could never laugh again.
Her greatest worry was that the school was proving a failure financially. The officers sent their children willingly but often forgot to pay the fees. What was she to do to support the three of them? Her stepfather had written that she and the children might return to Carnarvon if she would admit that she had been at fault in defying him and marrying Leon. But could she live in the beloved old house with her stepfather now that her mother was dead? No, she told herself passionately, that she could never do.
Before she had come to a decision her school had attracted the attention of Mr. W. Tan Kim Ching, the Siamese Consul at Singapore, who had been instructed by the King of Siam to secure an English governess for the royal children. After protracted negotiations Anna had received a letter from the King himself:
English Era, 1862, 26th February.
Grand Royal Palace, Bangkok.
To Mrs. A. H. Leonowens:—
Madam: We are in good pleasure, and satisfaction in heart, that you are in willingness to undertake the education of our beloved royal children. And we hope that in doing your education on us and on our children (whom English call inhabitants of benighted land) you will do your best endeavor for knowledge of English language, science, and literature, and not for conversion to Christianity; as the followers of Buddha are mostly aware of the powerfulness of truth and virtue, as well as the followers of Christ, and are desirous to have facility of English language and literature, more than new religions.
We beg to invite you to our royal palace to do your best endeavorment upon us and our children. We shall expect to see you here on return of Siamese steamer Chow Phya.
We have written to Mr. William Adamson, and to our consul at Singapore, to authorize to do best arrangement for you and ourselves.
Believe me
Your faithfully,
(Signed) S. S. P. P. MAHA MONGKUT.
5
THE FIRST NIGHT
In the early afternoon the Chow Phya began its slow and careful passage up the winding river. Tables were set on deck and the passengers ate and talked. The reddish-brown water curved between banks of lush green. Monkeys swung from bough to bough. Birds flashed and piped among the thickets.
After half an hour the ship anchored again at a squalid little town where the captain went ashore to report to the governor and the customs officials. The passengers occupied themselves with watching the life of the village. In the open shed of the Custom House interpreters, inspectors, and tidewaiters lounged on mats, chewing betel and tobacco, extorting money, goods, or provisions from the owners of the various craft anchored at the wharf. Under the flimsy houses of bamboo, pigs and dogs and dirty babies played together in the mud. Across from the town on a small island was the delicate spire of a marble temple. It shone like a jewel on the breast of the river and was duplicated in the quivering shadows of the waters below. A fitful breeze stirred.
When the Chow Phya resumed its journey up the river, the Englishwoman and her son were standing against the rail. The nearer they came to the city the more frequent were the houses, thatched with atap palm, the pyramids and spires and turrets of the larger buildings. The sun was already setting when they caught sight of a roof of English pattern. Presently a white chapel with green shutters appeared beside two houses standing among shade trees, evidently the compound of the American missionaries. The swaying of the trees over the chapel, the peaceful and homelike quality of the scene, stole into the heart of the Englishwoman. Ahead was the glamour of the approaching night, the darkness and mystery of the land to which she had come. The thought filled her suddenly with indefinable dread. She wished for a brief instant that she had listened to her friends in Singapore. Then she put fear away resolutely.
For another half hour the ship moved on into the darkness, dropping anchor near several rotting hulks of Siamese men-of-war. A little farther up the river Anna could discern a long white wall over which towered dimly, tier on tier, the roofs of the Royal Palace. She stood looking at them absorbed, oblivious of the innumerable rafts, boats, canoes, gondolas, junks, and ships that filled the river, the pall of black smoke from the steamer, the roar of the engine, the murmur and jar. Here she was, and there was the Palace where she was soon to take up her work. Would they take her there tonight? Would anyone from the British Consulate meet her?
The circus people were preparing to leave. Siamese officers had already come to conduct them to the place where they were to stay. Over the side of the ship went their bundles and trunks into small boats. Off went the dogs, barking and whining. Off went the people. The hatches were opened. The cargo was being unloaded. And still no one had come for Anna, either from the Siamese government or from the consulate. She began to feel a little frightened and very forlorn.
Then out of the deepening shadows flashed a long gondola, beautifully carved like a dragon, with torches reflected on the rhythmic dip of rows of wet paddles. On its deck was a small gilded cabin, hung with curtains, and in it lay a Siamese official on a carpet and cushions. In front of him a slave crouched with a fan.
This official mounted the side of the Chow Phya swaying with an air of unconcern. A length of rich red silk folded loosely about his person did not reach his ankles. He wore no coat. His brown skin gleamed in the torchlight. He was followed by a dozen attendants who sprawled on the deck like toads, doubling their arms and legs under them. As if at a signal every Asiatic on the ship, coolies and all, prostrated themselves. Only the Englishwoman, her Hindustani nurse, and her bearded Persian Moonshee were left standing. The startled Moonshee gazed at the haughty man in the red skirt, and began to mumble his prayers, exclaiming as he finished each one, “Great God! What is this?”
The Englishwoman stood composedly and waited. The official, equally composed, also waited. Out of the shadows stepped Captain Orton.
“Mrs. Leonowens, may I present His Excellency, Chao Phya Sri Suriyawong, Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Siam? Your Excellency, Mrs. Anna Leonowens.”
The Englishwoman bowed slightly with hauteur. The torches flickered across the firmly modeled face of the prime minister. Although he was half naked and without any emblem to denote his rank, Anna knew at once that this Siamese noble compelled respect. There was about him an air of command and latent power oddly at variance with his attire.
He beckoned a young attendant, who crawled to him as a cur approaches an angry master. A rapid flow of unintelligible syllables, and the man on the deck turned to Anna and addressed her in English:
“Are you the lady who is to teach the royal family?”
She inclined her head slightly. “I am.”
“Have you friends in Bangkok?”
“I know no one in Bangkok at all.”
There was a quick flow of the Siamese language after this. The Englishwoman could not know that the owner of the proud black eyes, which watched her so intently, understood perfectly what she said. His face was without expression other than arrogance. The interpreter spoke to her again: “What will you do? Where will you sleep tonight?”
A muscle moved convulsively in her face. “I don’t know,” she replied, holding her voice steady by an effort of w
ill. “I am a stranger here. But I understood from His Majesty’s letter that a residence would be provided for me on my arrival. And he has been informed that we were to arrive at this time.”
Interpreter and lord surveyed her insolently. The lord spoke, the interpreter translated. “His Majesty cannot remember everything,” he said indifferently. “You can go wherever you like.”
The prime minister strode off and down the gangway, followed by his slaves and minions. The dragon boat with its flickering torches and flashing paddles disappeared into the night.
Anna Leonowens was stunned by the callousness of her reception.
“Do you see now what I mean?” asked Captain Orton. “How much consideration can you expect from men like that?”
Anna could not answer. In a kindly tone he continued: “You may stay here, if you wish. But we’ll be unloading all night, and the Chinamen and the smoke will make it unpleasant.”
“Thank you,” she said in a low voice.
The captain turned and walked off, then came back. “And my other offer is still open.”
Blankets and pillows made a bed for Louis on deck. In the darkness Anna sat beside her child, more frightened than she would admit. Again and again the idea which returned to mock her was that it was by her own will that she had placed herself and her child in this position. None of her friends had approved. But what else could she have done? Unless she were to marry Francis Cobb or George Orton? “Leon, dear Leon!” she whispered through stiff lips, half drunk with grief. “I couldn’t: I couldn’t.” She was shaking with sobs she made no effort to stifle.
At a little distance from her in the shadows the captain paced the deck, back and forth, back and forth, cursing softly under his breath. Occasionally he glanced at the figure of the sleeping child, and the bent head of the woman. The crane screamed overhead and the thick black smoke from the engine blotted out the stars. The chattering of the coolies was like the cawing of some strange night crows. An hour passed.
Then a boat approached the Chow Phya. In a moment it was at the gangway.
“Captain Orton?” came a loud and cheerful shout. The captain bounded forward in relief. A jovial Englishman with graying hair and a round, ruddy face sprang aboard laughing.
“Did you bring any word from the consul?” asked the captain.
“Sir Robert? No, he’s out of the city for the hot season. I just thought I’d drop around to see you.”
Everything was arranged in a few minutes. Captain John Bush, the harbor master, would be glad to look after Mrs. Leonowens until the King sent for her. He had a room at his house, plain, you know, but clean. Certainly, certainly, anything you say, sir. Glad to oblige, sir, certainly, certainly.
Louis, half asleep, Beebe and Moonshee, Bessy the Newfoundland, the trunks and boxes, and last of all Anna herself were soon in the boat with Captain Bush. Captain Orton waved them away, shouting farewells and best wishes over the rumble of the unloading. Four men leaned on the oars and the small craft shot out into the dark river. The friendly side of the Chow Phya dropped away and with it the last vestige of the familiar.
Under the steady sweep of the oars the boat moved through a dream-like scene: high ships with lofty prows, tapering and elaborately carved, pretty little gondolas and canoes that passed continually. Yet in all the life and motion it was the sweet underlying murmur of the water that filled the ears of Anna Leonowens. At the bottom of her pit of despair the simple medicine of sound was good. No rumbling of wheels, nor clangor of bells, nor scream of engines. Only the fairy-like boats and the singing river.
“By-the-by,” broke in her new friend cheerfully, “you’ll have to go with me to the play, ma’am, because my wife is there with the boys, and the house key is in her pocket.”
“To the play!”
“Oh, don’t be alarmed, ma’am! It’s not a regular theater, only a catchpenny show got up by a Frenchman who came from Singapore a fortnight ago. And having so little amusement here, we are grateful for anything that may help to break the monotony. The playhouse is in the palace grounds of Prince Wongsa. I’ll introduce you to the prince if he’s about. He’s the King’s younger brother. Great chap!”
She did not answer. The news was anything but pleasing to her. A Siamese noble had too lately disturbed her equilibrium.
A few more strokes of the oars in the silent current and the boat ran alongside a wooden pier surmounted by two lanterns. Captain Bush handed her out gallantly. Louis, startled from deep sleep, would not stay with Beebe, but wailed over and over, “I want my mama, I want my mama!” With him in her arms she struggled up the steps to the landing, where a form was coiled on a strip of matting. In the wavering light of the lanterns it looked alarmingly like a bear. The clumsy mass untangled itself, extending a fat human arm at the end of which dangled a fat human hand.
“His Royal Highness Prince Wongsa,” said Captain Bush in a matter-of-fact way, rolling the strange syllables easily off his tongue. “Mrs. Leonowens, the new governess, Your Royal Highness.” A soft hand closed on hers and a not unpleasant voice greeted her. Nearby stood a silent figure. A flicker of the lantern showed a sardonic face. There in the same costume that he had worn earlier in the evening, with a pipe hanging out of the corner of his mouth, looking at her with enigmatic eyes and an aspect of secret pleasure at her obvious terror, was the prime minister.
Wordless and more upset than ever, she hurried after Captain Bush, who squeezed through a narrow bamboo door, then through a crowd of hot people, to seats fronting a sort of altar. A number of Chinese men of respectable appearance sat in the more distant places, while the seats immediately behind Captain Bush and Anna were filled with men and women of the foreign community who looked at her curiously. On a raised dais hung with kincob curtains, embroidered with gold flowers, some Siamese ladies reclined. About them their children, shining in silks and ornaments of gold, laughed and prattled and gesticulated. Under the eaves on every side human heads were packed, each with a tuft of hair like a stiff black brush inverted. In every mouth there seemed to be a cud of areca nut and betel, for Anna observed that these human cattle were ruminating with industrious content.
A juggler appeared. He was a keen little Frenchman who plied his art nimbly. His ventriloquial doll talked, his empty bag became full of eggs, his stones turned into candies and his candies into stones, and his stuffed birds sang. The audience was delighted. There were applauding murmurs and occasional shrieks from behind the kincob curtains.
The Englishwoman in the front row held her small son tight. His head drooped against her breast. Sleep closed his eyes. She was weary and disheartened, waiting with agonized patience for the end of the performance. It came at last. Captain Bush arose and, with her in tow, passed out of the theater. In the confusion he had not been able to locate his wife. “She’ll be home before us, no doubt,” he said.
The glare of many torches fell on the dark and silent water as they climbed down into the boat. It made the swarthy bodies of the boatmen weird and Charon-like. The landing fell away, and the boat swept out into the river, quieter now than before.
In half an hour they drew up at a small landing. The tired and forlorn little group climbed out. The boatmen unloaded the trunks and boxes. Across a sandy yard, smooth and clean, up wooden steps to a verandah they straggled wearily. Mrs. Bush stood waiting for them, a sleeping baby in her arms. Unruffled and unsurprised by the arrival of strangers, she welcomed them with a pleasant smile. Her gentleness and simplicity dispelled a little their feeling of forlornness.
“It’s wonderfully kind of you to have us,” Anna said, realizing that for all Captain Bush’s bluff heartiness it was asking a great deal of the mother of six children to take in four unexpected guests in the middle of the night.
“Not at all. It’s a pleasure,” Mrs. Bush replied comfortably, handing her baby to a nurse, and taking them in charge. In a calm manner she led Anna and Louis to a room, lighted a lamp for them, pushed out the shutters. There was a clean i
ron bed covered with a clean net, white sheets and a round white bolster. Unhurriedly Mrs. Bush arranged mats on her back verandah for Moonshee and Beebe. Bessy took up her position at the door.
A boatman brought up the trunks and Anna chose one for the night. Louis hardly wakened as she undressed him and got him into his sleeper. She laid him on the bed and pulled the net tight. Mrs. Bush had gone. Though she was undressed and ready for bed, sleep eluded Anna. The strange scenes of the day chased each other in confusion across her mind. She was profoundly discouraged by her reception. It confirmed the worst fears of her friends. Perhaps Captain Orton was right, she was making a mistake. The prime minister’s refusal to assume any responsibility for her welfare had left her resentful and frightened. Her future was again precarious. Fear of the unknown rose in a tidal wave and washed over her reason. She lay tossing, unable to be still. Then she arose, and wearily knelt by the window where she could see the stars, the only familiar sight in this strange land. Her head slipped to her hands. And as she prayed, a troubled sleep came upon her. When she awoke the dawn was climbing a low wall and creeping in through the half-opened windows.
6
THE KRALAHOME
Anna started up, all the gloom of the night before descending upon her like a flock of vultures. Louis was still asleep. Dressing quickly and combing her hair, she braced herself for the day ahead. There was water in a pitcher, there was a basin, soap, a towel. She scrubbed her face vigorously, but the mirror told her that no water and soap could wash away the shadow of fear and loneliness. Louis awoke as he heard her stirring. His eyes were eager and questioning, his smile bright and rested. A sudden ray of sunshine caught in his soft hair.
Anna and the King of Siam Page 4