Anna and the King of Siam

by Margaret Landon

  The noblemen sent were all of high rank. They had instructions to do everything in their power to ingratiate themselves with Lord John, and to disarm any feelings of ill-will he might have. According to the custom of the country they took with them large presents of fresh food for the officers and men of the ships—sugar, bunches of bananas, and chests of tea.

  Lord John received the committee of welcome affably, although he declined the gifts they had brought on the grounds that it was contrary to British custom to accept them. He inquired after the health of the King and the members of the council of the Senabodi. The motors of the Coquette were started and before dusk she lay at anchor below the British Consulate. The Thai noblemen breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing at all untoward had happened on the way.

  Within an hour Sir Robert sent a letter to the King advising him that Lord John Hay had come to present his respects to His Majesty and the government. Would His Majesty be so gracious as to appoint an hour at which Lord John might be received in audience?

  The next afternoon the King sent for Anna peremptorily. School was over for the day and she was sitting comfortably in her parlor enjoying a book. It was one of the cool and sunny afternoons, full of the golden light peculiar to autumn in Siam, that make December a pleasant month. She shut her book impatiently, and followed her guide to the Palace. She was conducted to the audience chamber of the inner court, which was used only by the women of the King’s household.

  The King took no notice of her at first. He was anxiously scrutinizing some pretty young women who were prostrate before him. Each of them was beautifully dressed in a gauzy costume and jewels which displayed to advantage their arms and shoulders. At last he seemed to become aware of Anna’s presence and turned to her.

  “Mem,” he said, “shall it be proper for English Ambassador to make request to see some of our most beautiful women?”

  Anna was astonished. She had shared with the rest of the city the intense excitement that had gripped the people at the knowledge that British men-of-war were on their way to Bangkok. She had been turning over in her mind what she and Boy ought to do if shelling started. The two of them with Beebe and Moonshee had stood on the piazza the evening before and watched the slim shape of the Coquette, with the last of the sunlight glinting on its uncovered guns, moving up to the British Consulate across the river.

  She had heard the rumors that flooded the capital—how the Second King had hurriedly gone up-country more than a week before; and how his officials and close friends had been packing and following ever since. This was regarded as a sign that trouble was expected, for the Second King had long been a close friend of Mr. Knox at the British Consulate. Hadn’t Mr. Knox worked for the Second King as drill sergeant when he first came to Siam from India penniless more than ten years before? And hadn’t the Second King provided Mr. Knox with a wife from among the girls of his household? What more natural, then, that Mr. Knox should return these favors now by warning the King so he might flee and hold himself available in case his older brother, the First King, should fall a victim to armed invasion? Perhaps the British were even plotting with the Second King to overthrow Mongkut and supplant him with his more popular brother in return for favors and concessions in the Malay provinces.

  When Anna received the summons to the Palace she supposed that a serious crisis had arisen, perhaps even that the King was about to flee upriver to Ayuthia and wanted her to accompany his harem. His calm examination of the girls on the floor, and his strange question amazed her.

  “What did Your Majesty say?”

  “Lord John Hay! Shall it be proper for him to make request to see some of the ladies from the Palace?”

  The King’s preoccupation with so trivial a thing was reassuring. Somehow he had become convinced that there was nothing alarming about the arrival of the British ships. Anna breathed a sigh of relief and answered guardedly, “Has Lord John Hay asked to see some of the women?”

  “No, not yet, but he will. Shall it be proper?”

  She did not question the King’s source of information, for she knew that even the consulates were full of his spies.

  “If Your Majesty were in England or America,” she said judiciously, “you would wish to see the prettiest girls in either country, and it’s natural that Lord John Hay wishes to see some of the most beautiful women here, since he’s never been in Siam before. Of course, he takes it for granted that they are in the Palace.”

  “But I can’t let him see them as they are with black teeth and no shoes on feet,” the King countered, throwing her a speculative and cunning look. Apparently he had determined to make a grand impression if he let the unprecedented audience take place. “He will go back to Queen Victoria and tell her that our women are black and without clothes, or stockings or shoes on feet, and she will consider me as barbarian of Sandwich Islands. So, Mem, you must educate some of these young women in European etiquette and costume for presentation to the English Ambassador of Great Britain.”

  “But, Your Majesty …”

  He waved his hand imperiously. “I shall appoint women to sew for you, and you will cut out according to proper pattern. And I will have sent to you bolts of Chinese and Indian silks for your selection, and you shall choose the best for making the handsomest gowns. Now you must tell me which of these girls are most like European beauties.”

  Anna surrendered, although she was apprehensive. The girls were all pretty according to Siamese standards. Even by English standards they were lovely in every respect but two. Their teeth were black from betel, black teeth being esteemed as beautiful by the fashionable ladies at court, but the King assured her that a barber would take care of that. And their noses were flat. Anna did not mention this unalterable fault, but chose among the girls those whose noses were the least irregular.

  “And when does Your Majesty require that the girls be ready?”

  “Saturday afternoon at two o’clock.”

  Anna sighed. A day and a half!

  The next morning the schoolroom was converted into a sewing room. Silks, jewels, flowers, laces, and every assistance were placed at her disposal by one of the high female chamberlains. Anna had often seen such gifts on the marble pavement before the King’s private palace. They were placed there every morning for his acceptance, and he looked them over on his leisurely progress from bed-chamber to breakfast hall. Sometimes there were bales of brocade or velvet on silver trays, boxes of tea in carved and jeweled chests, swords in gold or silver scabbards, calicoes, embroidered muslins, fans, priests’ robes, precious spices, silver, gold, and curiosities of all kinds—everything that money could purchase or the most abject sycophancy could imagine as likely to please the King. Each noble, prince, and merchant tried to obtain the royal favor by gifts so presented, for it was fully understood between the donor and the receiver that whoever gave the most costly presents might expect the largest share of the royal patronage. Sometimes there were young girls lying on the pavement, too—guarded by old duennas who waited to make the presentation to the King.

  Besides the dozens of bolts of heavy silk and brocade brought from the storehouses for Anna’s selection, pocket handkerchiefs, hose, and jeweled slippers were provided. The only omission was material suitable for undergarments. When Anna remonstrated with the chamberlain on her neglect, she simply replied that there was not time to make any.

  Fortunately a pretty little English dressmaker named Annie Eliott happened to be in Bangkok, and she came to help. The two women enjoyed handling the gorgeous materials, cutting, fitting, and planning. They trimmed the court robes with costly laces threaded with gold. The effect was most satisfactory. The Princess Phanrai, half-sister of Prince Chulalongkorn’s late mother, had been chosen as most suitable of the women to receive the commodore. The five pretty girls whom Anna had selected were to be her maids-in-waiting. They were both excited and fearful, flattered by having been chosen, and alarmed at the ordeal ahead of them. But they thought it great fun to have hoopskirts lik
e the Mem, and each paraded up and down the temple in hers as soon as it was finished.

  True to his word, the King sent the royal hairdresser and barber to scrape the teeth of the six until they were as white as milk. On Saturday morning a Chinese artist arrived at the temple to paint their skins white also. Their heads were covered with wigs of European hair, curled in the latest fashion, and bound with ropes of pearls, rubies, and diamonds. With the addition of jeweled brooches, necklaces, and bracelets, they were really a dazzling sight.

  Then it was time for their drill in European etiquette. All that was required of them was that they sit behind a magnificent crimson curtain, wrought with gold, that had been hung across the temple at the King’s command. When the curtain was drawn and His Majesty made the presentation, they were to rise, bow, and retire backward. Somebody had told the King that no one ever turned his back when presented to Queen Victoria, but withdrew face forward. His Majesty was imperative, therefore, in requiring this on his own behalf and that of the English Ambassador.

  The girls promised strict obedience; but they were excited and inattentive and Anna was soon in despair. None except the princess was more than fifteen. Each had a small looking-glass. They were so delighted with themselves that even while Anna made them walk in and out of the temple, bow to her in the Western fashion, and then retire, they would be peering at their faces in the mirrors they held in their hands. Over and over Anna made them practice the simple maneuver, while they laughed and grimaced and jabbered all the time until she almost lost hope of making any kind of impression on them.

  She was nearly exhausted as two o’clock approached. At last a distant bugle announced the arrival of the grand visitor. Anna gave up further coaching and seated her charges on the row of gilt chairs that had been brought in for them. She could do nothing to quiet their giggling, but they looked charming in their hooped skirts of rich blue and rose and green with the jewels sparkling on their wigs and necks, arms and fingers. Anna knew a brief pang of regret that there had been no time for undergarments, although a critical examination reassured her that the heavy brocades were so thick that no one could possibly have guessed the omission.

  By the time Anna succeeded in marshaling them to their chairs in proper order, Lord John and the King were already in conversation. The public audience, at which the nobles of the court and the officers of the ship had been present, was over. The King had withdrawn to his private chambers where he had been followed at a discreet interval by Lord John and Sir Robert. The King was questioning Lord John about his purpose in coming to Bangkok. Lord John replied that in his three years in the Orient he had visited every other court but Siam’s. Now that he had completed his tour of duty and was to return to London in five months he had embraced this opportunity of calling to pay his respects to the King. He said that he had heard of His Majesty’s remarkable accomplishments in the use of the English language, and had rejoiced to know that the King’s regard for the English was so great as to have induced him to master this most difficult foreign tongue. He went on to add that it had occurred to him that he might further the cause of Siamese-British amity if he could report to Her Majesty Queen Victoria that he had waited upon her good friend, the King of Siam, before taking his leave of the East. From this the King was able to deduce that the visit of the two warships and the commodore was a tacit apology for the recent shelling of Trengganu in which the King had learned that Lord John had had no part. It had been ordered by Governor Cavenagh and carried out by a subordinate. Lord John went on to say that he had planned to come to Siam earlier, but had not been able to do so. And he understood that in the interval Her Majesty Queen Ramphoei had passed away. He wanted to know if another queen had been elevated to the throne, and if so, he requested the privilege of paying his respects to her also.

  The King replied that no one had been elevated to the position as yet. Sir Robert interposed smoothly, “It is surely most regrettable, Lord John, that you did not visit Bangkok during the lifetime of Her Majesty, but I believe that her younger sister is still living. And it may be that she can be prevailed upon to receive you, with His Majesty’s consent.”

  Lord John turned a questioning eye on the King and added that he would be delighted to present his compliments to the Queen’s sister, if she would be so gracious as to receive them. His Majesty frowned, thought a moment, and said that it could be arranged. He then dispatched a slave to tell Anna to have the girls in their place in about fifteen minutes.

  The giggling and chattering of the girls had gradually subsided, only to be replaced by nervousness. There were bursts of hysterical laughter mixed with agitated questioning. One girl, trembling from head to foot, turned to Anna and inquired, “What kind of men are farangs?”

  Another, obviously pale under her paint, clasped her hands tightly on her lap and asked, “Is it true that they have hair on their chins like goats, and are cannibals?” There was a rumor in the harem that all Englishmen were bearded—very repulsive to a beardless people—breakfasted off little children, and carved up young girls for dinner. And furthermore, that many of them had evil eyes, terrible blue eyes that could look straight into their victims’ souls and trap helpless spirits forever. The girls had remembered these stories at the critical moment, and it was as much as Anna could do to keep them from running away.

  A second time the silver bugle sounded. His Majesty entered at the other side of the temple with Lord John and Sir Robert. A ruffle of flute music followed and the curtain vanished. The Englishmen and the Siamese beauties were face to face.

  Unfortunately Lord John did wear a full beard and a heavy mustache, which mingled and flowed down upon his breast, leaving only his eyes and nose visible. This was a profound shock to the Siamese girls, who sat frozen in their chairs. It was what they had feared and expected, however, so it was Lord John Hay who was taken most completely by surprise. He was quite unprepared to find what seemed in the half-light of the temple to be European ladies in the royal harem of Siam. As if to make sure, he raised his monocle to his right eye and began to examine them from head to foot as the King made the presentation.

  Then he bowed profoundly in his most courtly manner. The girls instead of rising and bowing, all uttered little shrieks of terror, clapped their hands over their faces, and peered between their extended fingers at what they regarded as an awful goat-headed monster out of some unbelievable European mythology, and not a human being at all, since human beings did not have hair on their faces.

  Seeing that the creature continued to gaze at them calmly through his glass eye one of them cried, “The evil eye!” No doubt he was enmeshing their helpless spirits with his stare. Another screamed, “I won’t let him look at my face! I won’t! I won’t!” And with one accord they started up from their seats, threw their skirts over their heads to protect them, and fled from the temple.

  Anna ran after them desperately. Frantically she tried to bring them to a sense of the childishness and impropriety of such conduct before a stranger, to explain that many European men were bearded, that the monocle was no different from the King’s spectacles.

  “No, no,” they cried in an agony of terror, “we can’t let him look at our faces.” She argued, cajoled, pleaded. But it was useless. Not even fear of the King’s wrath could dispel their unreasoning horror of the monster in the temple and persuade them to go back. They scampered off hither and thither like a flock of frightened sheep.

  Anna went dejectedly to the temple alone, prepared to face the music. The ambassador and the King had gone. The curtains had been removed. Some of the elder ladies told her that the King was furious with her for not having taught the girls better manners. In a short time a dozen or more women came running breathlessly into the temple, saying, “Make haste, make haste, the King calls you!” With something of the sense of misgiving the girls had felt Anna entered the King’s presence. She could guess the vitriolic things he would have to say at this ignominious end to his attempt to make a grand impress
ion. But he was mild in his rebuke.

  “Wherefore have you not educated those girls more scientifically?” he demanded. And she knew what he meant, since good manners were almost a science among Orientals. Then as she braced herself for the specific charges of failure and omission that she thought were coming, he added, “And wherefore have you not acquainted them with English custom of spying-glass? They were quite unprepared, and our women are too modest to let a strange man look on their faces.”

  18

  LADY SON KLIN IN THE DUNGEON

  One afternoon a few weeks later, when Anna went to Lady Son Klin’s house for the semi-weekly private lesson in English, she found Prince Krita sitting in the window, his face unusually sad.

  “Where’s your mother, dear?” Anna inquired.

  “With His Majesty upstairs I think,” he answered uncertainly, without looking at Anna. His eyes were fixed on the corner of the street, as though he expected his mother to appear there at any moment.

  “Will she be back soon?” Anna persisted.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “She’s been gone a long time.”

  Anna was puzzled and vaguely alarmed. This was a strange circumstance! It seemed unlike Lady Son Klin, who was most punctilious in all her engagements. The only possible explanation was that she had been summoned by the King so unexpectedly that she had had not even a moment to send one of her slaves with a message for Anna. There was something ominous about her failure to return or to send reassurance to Krita. The King’s hatred of her was too deeply seated for speculation on a possible change in his attitude. Any call to his presence meant trouble. As Anna returned home she revolved the matter in her mind, and the more she thought about it the more puzzled and filled with forebodings she became.