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  Anna and the King of Siam

  Margaret Landon

  Illustrations by Margaret Ayer

  To the memory of my sister

  Evangeline Mortenson Welsh

  Her spirit burned away the flesh

  Until its calm and lovely light

  Became a beacon on the way

  Where pilgrims warmed their

  hearts at night.

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  1. Bangkok, 1862

  2. From Wales to India

  3. The Astrologer’s Prophecy

  4. A King’s Letter

  5. The First Night

  6. The Kralahome

  7. The Kralahome’s Household

  8. The Mattoons

  9. The First Audience with the King

  10. The Cremation of a Queen

  11. In the King’s Harem

  12. The New Home

  13. The School in the Palace

  14. The Red Snake

  15. The Palace City

  16. Moonshee Digs for Treasure

  17. The King’s English

  18. Lady Son Klin in the Dungeon

  19. The King’s Breakfast

  20. The Mansion of the Brass Door

  21. A Slave Is Freed

  22. The Death of the Fa-ying

  23. The King’s Spectacles

  24. The King’s Birthday

  25. A Baby Is Auctioned

  26. Royal Locusts

  27. The Service in the Temple

  28. The Affair of the Gambling Concubine

  29. L’Affaire Française

  30. The Slave Tuptim

  31. The King’s Vengeance

  32. The Death of the High Priest

  33. The Prince’s Tonsure

  34. The Death of the Second King

  35. The Mysterious Princess

  36. The Red Velvet Letter

  37. The Trip to Paklat

  38. The Princess of Chiengmai

  39. The Shadow Before

  40. Fulfillment

  About the Author

  PREFACE

  Anna Leonowens was introduced to me by the late Dr. Edwin Bruce McDaniel who extracted The English Governess at the Siamese Court1 from behind a row of books in his bookcase and handed it to me with the remark: “Here’s something you ought to read. The Siamese government did everything in their power to keep it from being published. I’ve been told they even tried to buy the whole edition to prevent its distribution. In fact there has been so much feeling against the book that I still keep my copy out of sight, just to be on the safe side.” I took the book and sat down. Outside on the one long street of Nakon Sritamarat in south Siam automobiles honked continuously. There was the jingle of horse-drawn gharries and bicycle bells. An occasional elephant padded by in ponderous majesty. But as I read all of this dropped away.

  Hours later I came up from the story in a daze, surprised to find myself still in the world of today. Dr. McDaniel also had Mrs. Leonowens’ second book, The Romance of the Harem,2 and that too I devoured. This happened almost fifteen years ago.

  My efforts to secure copies were unsuccessful. Both books had been out of print for more than fifty years. But my enthusiasm for them led me to urge various American friends to read them, since copies were in the New York and Chicago Public Libraries. It was my college roommate and close personal friend, Muriel Fuller, who said to me in 1937: “Why don’t you combine the biographical parts of the two books to make one? Omit the long discussions and descriptions. They only bore people who aren’t students of Siamese history. Then fit the various incidents together in sequence.”

  I liked the idea of trying to introduce Anna Leonowens to modern readers. The story of her life in Siam was more than interesting: it was the record of an amazing person. I had found the long descriptions far from dull, but I could see how they might be so to people without a special interest in Siam. In fact, a reviewer of Mrs. Leonowens’ time had made just this criticism of her book in The Nation for March 9, 1871. He gave it as his opinion that:

  Whenever the author is occupied with the story of her intercourse with the royal family, she is very lively and every way admirable.… What she has told us about the King, and what she saw in the process of “doing her education” on his household, is so interesting that we cannot help wishing she had recorded it more in detail.… As it is the book is half-filled up with geographical, historical, and other padding not very skillfully inserted, and very disorderly in its arrangement. Indeed, when the author comes outside of the palace gates, and away from the immediate care of her pupils, she grows uninteresting.

  I was still faced with the seeming impossibility of finding copies of the books. Then on March 17, 1938, while my husband was looking for an obscure book on China in the Economy Bookstore in Chicago I strolled into the section marked OUT OF PRINT NOVELS. I could hardly believe my eyes when under “L” I found The Romance of the Harem. I was almost afraid to look at the price for one of my acquaintances had paid three pounds for a copy of The Governess in London! Inside the back cover was penciled “$1.00.” Only a few weeks later I read in the paper that Marshall Field’s was to put on its counters fifty thousand unsorted books, Incredible as it seems, I found The English Governess at the Siamese Court for fifty cents and half an hour’s search!

  A careful rereading of both books showed that I should need more information than they contained if I were to make a connected narrative. I knew nothing of Mrs. Leonowens’ descendants except that her son had had a lumber firm in Siam and had died there. The final coincidence occurred in the winter of 1939 when my husband was having lunch with a group of ministers in Evanston, Illinois.

  He was introduced as from Siam, and the Very Reverend Doctor Gerald G. Moore, then Dean of St. Luke’s, leaned across the table and remarked:

  “Mother would like to meet you. She had a friend—the wife of a cousin, in fact—who used to live in Siam many years ago. Mother still talks about Aunt Annie and her letters from Siam.”

  “Not Anna Leonowens, surely?” my husband asked in astonishment.

  “Why, yes,” Dr. Moore said, equally astonished, “that was the name!”

  My husband quickly revolved the fact that it was more than seventy years since Mrs. Leonowens had left Siam and said:

  “It would have been pleasant to have met your mother. My wife and I are interested in Mrs. Leonowens and would have liked very much to have met someone who had actually known her.”

  Dr. Moore’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Mother lives only a few blocks from here. Would you care to come with me and see her now?”

  As a result of this chance encounter we met Dr. Moore’s sister, Miss Kathleen Moore, and his mother, Mrs. Lizzie Avice Moore, who had been a young girl in Enniscorthy, Ireland, when Anna Leonowens came home from Siam in 1867, and who remembered her clearly. The Moores arranged my meeting with Miss Avis S. Fyshe of Montreal, Canada, Mrs. Leonowens’ granddaughter, who supplied me with copies of letters and other pertinent material in her possession. I should like to express here my gratitude both to the Moores and to Miss Fyshe. I am indebted to Miss Fyshe not only for her material and for permission to use it in this book, but also for her kindness in answering my many questions.

  In the fall of 1939 I began the book. It proved to be a much more intricate and difficult task than I had supposed it would be. I had been interested in the reign of King Mongkut for some time and as a result had read a good deal on the history of nineteenth-century Siam. Then, too, in the ten years I had lived in Siam, all b
ut one of them in the provinces where I was usually the only white woman, I had listened to endless stories out of the past which served to illuminate the world of yesterday that has disappeared from modern Bangkok. But I found when I began to fit the story of Anna Leonowens together that there were hundreds of specific questions which would have to be answered if it was to be a coherent whole.

  The Siam of 1927–1937 which I had known was different in endless detail from the Siam of 1862–1867 that she had known. For instance, in the time that I lived in Siam I never saw a single person who had been branded. But in the period that Anna Leonowens lived there it was the rare man who did not have on his left wrist the brand of the great noble to whom he owed allegiance, and if he had lived under two reigns his brand would appear both on the outside and the inside of the wrist.

  Then, too, in attempting to set in order the various experiences which she had recorded so vividly I found it necessary to search for specific information on obscure historical events. As an example, there is the story of the reception of Lord John Hay by the ladies of the harem. Both the date and the occasion for Lord John’s visit to Bangkok were extremely difficult to find. It was not until I discovered in the Library of Congress among the then unlisted books in the Siamese language the first volume of King Mongkut’s letters that I was able to find either. King Mongkut himself in the eighth letter of this series had written a long description of the occasion and circumstances of the visit—though not the incident that Anna Leonowens recorded. It was then possible to find also several letters of Lord John Hay’s relating to the so-called Trengganu incident, in which in the careful language of diplomacy he deprecated the actions of Governor Cavenagh.

  I am especially indebted to Dr. Philip M. Hamer of the National Archives and Dr. Horace I. Poleman of the Library of Congress for making available to me material that helped in the reconstruction of the historical background for the book. I should like to express my appreciation also of the help given me by Luang Dithakar Bhakdi, First Secretary of the Royal Thai Legation, in finding the correct form of obscure Siamese names and words, from which the English transliterations have been made in accordance with the official system used by the Thai government.

  The method of presentation was determined by the form of the incidents as recorded by Anna Leonowens herself. While it was not possible to do what I originally intended—that is, piece together her own writings without alteration in language or style—as little change has been made as seemed consistent with the change from a first-person to a third-person narrative, and from the 1860’s to the 1940’s. If I were asked to give the fabric content of the book I should say that it is “seventy-five per cent fact, and twenty-five per cent fiction based on fact.”

  There are two people who have helped and encouraged me throughout the four years that I have been writing, and to them I am especially grateful. Both of them have pushed and pulled me over apparently insuperable difficulties. One of them I have already mentioned, my friend Muriel Fuller. The other is my husband, Kenneth Perry Landon, who encouraged me to write the story of Anna Leonowens, has shared in the research, has turned up new sources of material when none seemed available, and who has in other ways served as midwife in the long, slow effort of bringing this book into being.

  Washington, D.C. MARGARET LANDON

  1. Leonowens, Anna Harriette, The English Governess at the Siamese Court, Boston, Fields, Osgood and Company, 1870.

  2. Leonowens, Mrs. Anna H., The Romance of the Harem, Boston, James R. Osgood and Company, 1872.

  1

  BANGKOK, 1862

  The Siamese steamer Chow Phya, most modern of the ships plying between Singapore and Bangkok, came to anchor outside the bar at the mouth of the River Chow Phya. A troupe of circus performers were hanging over the rails trying to catch the first glimpse of the country whose king had invited them to entertain his extensive family. Their trained dogs were barking and snarling at the two dogs belonging to the captain of the ship, George Orton, but Jip and Trumpet were disdainful and superior.

  Somewhat apart from the rough and laughing group an Englishwoman was leaning against the rail. Her dress of lavender mull had a neat high collar and modest wrist-length sleeves. She was slender and graceful as she stood there with a light breeze ruffling her full skirts. Chestnut curls framed a face that was pretty except for the rather prominent nose. Her dark eyes were turned toward the line on the horizon that was land. She stood almost motionless, fingering a curious brooch on her breast, a gold brooch into which were set two tiger claws. Beside her a Newfoundland dog stood as quiet as she.

  The circus dogs came close, sniffed and barked, but the Newfoundland did not return their greeting. She was aloof, reposeful, dignified, not to be cajoled into confidences with strange dogs. She kept her eyes fixed on her mistress’ face as it looked across the water to the distant shore.

  The sun rose higher. Golden rays danced and sparkled on the slow blue swells of the gulf. The laughter and shouting on deck continued. The dogs raced about. But the woman was as remote from the confusion as if she were separated from it by an invisible wall.

  A carefully dressed boy of about six came up from below deck, followed by a Hindustani nurse in a richly patterned sari. He had the same look of good bones, the same delicate air of breeding that distinguished the woman at the rail. His brown hair was curly and his brown eyes danced.

  “Mama, Mama,” he cried, dashing up to the still figure. “Are we there? Are we there?”

  She turned to him with a smile. “Yes, Louis. We are there. In a little while we’ll be in Bangkok. Shall we not, Captain Orton?” she inquired of the bronzed young man in an immaculate uniform who had stepped up behind her son.

  “We’ll go over the bar with the tide,” the officer answered, “and you’ll sleep on shore tonight.”

  Louis ran shouting with the news to the circus performers, and the Newfoundland gravely padded after him. “Stay with him, Beebe,” the woman directed in Malay.

  “Beebe and Bessy take good care of you and Louis, don’t they?” asked the captain.

  “Yes, they’re very faithful.” She smiled faintly, her eyes on the hurrying back of the ayah. “Beebe and Moonshee have been with me since before I was married, you know. And good old Bessy is a member of the family, too. She’d guard us with her life.”

  Captain Orton stood silent a moment. A puff of fresh wind blew the woman’s curls back. “Mrs. Leonowens, that ought to be a man’s job,” he said in a low voice to the pink ear that hardly reached his shoulder. “A maid, a dog, and an old Persian professor aren’t enough. I don’t like your going in there. For some women, yes. For you, no. People go in there and never come out again.” Dark color moved under the clear tan. “Forgive me for saying so much, but you can’t even imagine what it will be like.”

  “You forget that I’ve lived in the Orient ever since I was fifteen.”

  “Yes, in British colonies with British soldiers to protect you. This is Siam!”

  The woman bit her lip, but did not turn her eyes toward him. “I can’t go back now. I’ve given my word.”

  “You will not go back now?”

  “I cannot!”

  He paused, hesitating, then forged ahead. “There’s always Mr. Cobb. He’s a gentleman and rich!”

  She flushed deeply. When she did not speak, he went on in a savage voice, but low. “There is also myself, as you know. Perhaps not a gentleman, and certainly not rich!”

  She turned to him then, the deep brown eyes full of tears. “Dear Captain Orton, don’t belabor yourself so! To me you are a gentleman, a kind gentleman who has made this difficult trip endurable. But—please try to understand, that for me there has only ever been one man—Leon—and now that he’s—gone—there will never be anyone else.” She looked out across the water, but her eyes were unseeing. A tear ran down her cheek and she dried it hurriedly with a handkerchief. The man leaned on the rail beside her.

  “Mrs. Leonowens, you’re too young to
bury your heart in a grave.” There was a note of pleading in his voice. “Believe me, I would not ask much. Just to take care of you, and Avis, and Louis.”

  She answered slowly, “But I can’t give even that little. I don’t know why, but I haven’t it left to give.” She lifted her face toward his and for a long moment he looked deeply into her eyes, then turned away scowling. Halfway down the deck he wheeled and came back. “I’ll be in port every month. If ever you need me, the Chow Phya and I are at your service.” And he was gone without waiting for a reply.

  The sun was hot now. Sighing, but a little reassured, the slight, graceful woman went below.

  2

  FROM WALES TO INDIA

  She had been born in Carnarvon in Wales on November 5, 1834. No one is left there now who remembers Anna Harriette, the daughter of Thomas Maxwell Crawford and his wife. But half a world away in one of the strangest and loveliest cities of Asia, she is remembered still.

  Carnarvon was a good place to begin life, a clean town with narrow regular streets. There was a fresh wind from the sea, and ships coming and going in the blue and spacious bay. On a summer evening it was pleasant to walk out along the terrace at the north end of the city wall and watch the sun go down in a paradise of clouds back of the Anglesey Hills. On the opposite side of the town crouched Mount Snowdon, brooding over it. Storms roared down its rocky defiles in winter, and in the spring a child could pick snowdrops and pale primroses at its foot.

  There was much in that countryside to remind one of the heroic past: remains of encampments, lines of circumvallation, fortresses, castles, cromlechs, abbeys. Into this land the ancient Britons had retreated before successive invaders. The Romans had never fully subjugated them, for all the many garrisons they had kept on Welsh soil. One of the most powerful of these military stations was still clearly visible hardly half a mile from town—Segontium, now only a shadow of vanished pomp. From there Suetonius Paulinus had set out with his cohorts to exterminate the Druids at the command of the Emperor Claudius. The Druids were fanatic lovers of their country’s freedom and the uncompromising foes of Roman rule. The stern general had fed the bearded priests to their own altar fires, cut down the sacred oaks draped with mistletoe, and destroyed all visible evidence of the faith except the cromlechs—those round altars of sacrifice—and the huge sepultures of the dead called carnedds. But the Romans had not stamped the love of freedom out of Welsh hearts.