FIRST IMPRESSIONS
The entrance into the kingdom of Siam by the great river, which divides
the country east and west, brings the traveller at once into all the
richness and variety of tropical nature, and is well suited to produce
an impression of the singular beauty and the vast resources of the "Land
of the White Elephant." For this is the name which may properly be given
to the kingdom since the flag of the country has been established. A
very curious flag it makes--the white elephant on a red field--and very
oddly it must look if ever it is necessary to hoist it upside down as a
signal of distress; a signal eloquent indeed, for anything more helpless
and distressing than this clumpsy quadruped in that position can hardly
be imagined.
The editor of this volume, who visited Siam in one of the vessels of the
United States East India Squadron in 1857, and who was present at the
exchange of ratifications of the treaty made in the previous year, has
elsewhere described[6] the impressions which were made upon him at his
first entrance into the country of the Meinam, and reproduces his own
narrative, substantially unaltered, in this and the two following
chapters.
There is enough to see in Siam, if only it could be described. But
nothing is harder than to convey in words the indescribable charm of
tropical life and scenery; and it was in this, in great measure, that
the enjoyment of my month in Bangkok consisted. Always behind the events
which occupied us day by day, and behind the men and things with which
we had to do, was the pervading charm of tropical nature--of soft warm
sky, with floating fleecy clouds and infinite depths of blue beyond
them; of golden sunlight flooding everything by day; and when the day
dies its sudden death, of mellow moonlight, as if from a perennial
harvest moon; and of stars, that do not glitter with a hard and pointed
radiance, as here, but melt through the mild air with glory in which
there is never any thought of "twinkling." Always there was the teeming
life of land and sea, of jungle and of river; and the varying influence
of fruitful nature, captivating every sense with sweet allurement. Read
Mr. Tennyson's "Lotos Eaters" if you want to know what the tropics are.
It was drawing toward the middle of a splendid night in May, when I
found myself among the "palms and temples" of this singular city. It had
been a tiresome journey from the mouth of the river, rowing more than a
score of miles against the rapid current; and, if there could be
monotony in the wonderful variety and richness of tropical nature, it
might have been a monotonous journey. But the wealth of foliage, rising
sometimes in the feathery plumes of the tall areca palm--of all palms
the stateliest--or drooping sometimes in heavier and larger masses,
crowding to the water's edge in dense, impenetrable jungle, or checked
here and there by the toil of cultivation, or cleared for dwellings--was
a constant wonder and delight. Now and then we passed a bamboo house,
raised high on poles above the ground, and looking like some monstrous
bird's nest in the trees; but they were featherless bipeds who peered
out from the branches at the passing boats; and not bird's notes but
children's voices, that clamored in wonder or were silenced in awe at
the white-faced strangers. Sometimes the white walls and shining roofs
of temples gleamed through the dark verdure, suggesting the
architectural magnificence and beauty which the statelier temples of the
city would exhibit. Bald-headed priests, in orange-colored scarfs, came
out to watch us. Superb white pelicans stood pensive by the river-side,
or snatched at fish, or sailed on snowy wings with quiet majesty across
the stream. Or maybe some inquiring monkey, gray-whiskered, leading two
or three of tenderer years, as if he were their tutor, on a naturalist's
expedition through the jungle, stops to look at us with peculiar
curiosity, as at some singular and unexpected specimen, but stands ready
to dodge behind the roots of mangrove trees in case of danger.
It will be fortunate for the traveller if, while he is rowing up the
river, night shall overtake him; for, beside the splendor of the tropic
stars above him, there will be rival splendors all about him. The night
came down on me with startling suddenness--for "there is no twilight
within the courts of the sun"--just as I was waiting at the mouth of a
cross-cut canal, by which, when the tide should rise a little, I might
avoid a long bend in the river. By the time the tide had risen the night
had fallen thick and dark, and the dense shade of the jungle, through
which the canal led us, made it yet thicker and more dark. Great fern
leaves, ten or fifteen feet in height, grew dense on either side, and
fanlike, almost met over our heads. Above them stretched the forest
trees. Among them rose the noise of night-birds, lizards,
trumpeter-beetles, and creatures countless and various, making a hoarse
din, which, if it was not musical, at least was lively. But the jungle,
with its darkness and its din, had such a beauty as I never have seen
equalled, when its myriad fire-flies sparkled thick on every side. I had
seen fire-flies before, and had heard of them, but I had never seen or
heard, nor have I since then ever seen or heard, of anything like these.
The peculiarity of them was--not that they were so many, though they
were innumerable--not that they were so large, though they were very
large--but that they clustered, as by a preconcerted plan, on certain
kinds of trees, avoiding carefully all other kinds, and then, as if by
signal from some director of the spectacle, they all sent forth their
light at once, at simultaneous and exact intervals, so that the whole
tree seemed to flash and palpitate with living light. Imagine it. At one
instant was blackness of darkness and the croaking jungle. Then suddenly
on every side flashed out these fiery trees, the form of each, from
topmost twig to outmost bough, set thick with flaming jewels. It was
easy to imagine at the top of each some big white-waistcoated fire-fly,
with the baton of director, ordering the movements of the rest.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF BANGKOK.]
This peculiarity of the Siamese fire-flies, or, as our popular term
graphically describes them, the tropical "lightning-bugs" was noticed as
long ago as the time of old Kämpfer, who speaks concerning them as
follows:
"The glow-worms settle on some trees like a fiery cloud, with this
surprising circumstance, that a whole swarm of these insects, having
taken possession of one tree and spread themselves over its branches,
sometimes hide their light all at once, and a moment after make it
appear again, with the utmost regularity and exactness, as if they were
in perpetual systole and diastole." The lapse of centuries has wrought
no change in the rhythmic regularity of this surprising exhibition. Out
upon the river once again; the houses on the shore began to be more
numerous, and presently began to crowd together in continuous
succession; and from some of them the sound of merry laughter and of
pleasant music issuing proved that not all the citizens of Bangkok were
asleep. The soft light of the cocoanut-oil lamps supplied the place of
the illumination of the fire-flies. Boats, large and small, were passing
swiftly up and down the stream; now and then the tall masts of some
merchant ships loomed indistinctly large through the darkness. I could
dimly see high towers of temples and broad roofs of palaces; and I
stepped on shore, at last, on the
"Dark shore, just seen that it was rich,"
with a half-bewildered feeling that I was passing through some pleasant
dream of the Arabian Nights, from which I should presently awake.
Even when the flooding sunlight of the tropical morning poured in
through the windows, it was difficult for me to realize that I was not
in some unreal land. There was a sweet, low sound of music filling the
air with its clear, liquid tones. And, joining with the music, was the
pleasant ringing of a multitude of little bells, ringing I knew not
where. It seemed as if the air was full of them. Close by, on one side,
was the palace of a prince, and somewhere in his house or in his
courtyard there were people playing upon instruments of music, made of
smoothed and hollowed bamboo. But no human hands were busy with the
bells. Within a stone's throw of my window rose the shining tower of the
most splendid temple in Bangkok. From its broad octagonal base to the
tip of its splendid spire it must measure, I should think, a good deal
more than two hundred feet, and every inch of its irregular surface
glitters with ornament. Curiously wrought into it are forms of men and
birds, and grotesque beasts that seem, with outstretched hands or claws,
to hold it up. Two thirds of the way from the base, stand, I remember,
four white elephants, wrought in shining porcelain, facing one each way
toward four points of the compass. From the rounded summit rises, like a
needle, a sharp spire. This was the temple tower, and all over the
magnificent pile, from the tip of the highest needle to the base, from
every prominent angle and projection, there were hanging sweet-toned
bells, with little gilded fans attached to their tongues; so swinging
that they were vocal in the slightest breeze. Here was where the music
came from. Even as I stood and looked I caught the breezes at it. Coming
from the unseen distance, rippling the smooth surface of the swift
river, where busy oars and carved or gilded prows of many boats were
flashing in the sun, sweeping with pleasant whispers through the varied
richness of the tropical foliage, stealing the perfume of its blossoms
and the odor of its fruits, they caught the shining bells of this great
tower, and tossed the music out of them. Was I awake I wondered, or was
it some dream of Oriental beauty that would presently vanish?
Something like this Æolian tower there must be in the adjacent kingdom
of Birmah, where the graceful pen of Mrs. Judson has put the scene in
verse:
"On the pagoda spire
The bells are swinging,
Their little golden circlets in a flutter
With tales the wooing winds have dared to utter;
Till all are ringing,
As if a choir
Of golden-nested birds in heaven were singing;
And with a lulling sound
The music floats around
And drops like balm into the drowsy ear."
The verse breathes the spirit, and gives almost the very sound, of the
bewitching tropical scene on which I looked, and out of which "the music
of the bells" was blown to me on my first morning in Bangkok.
No doubt my first impressions (which I have given with some detail, and
with all the directness of "that right line I") were fortunate. But
three or four weeks of Bangkok could not wear them off or counteract
them. It is the Venice of the East. Its highway is the river, and canals
are its by-ways. There are streets, as in Venice, used by pedestrians;
but the travel and the carriage is, for the most part, done by boats.
Only, in place of the verdureless margin of the watery streets, which
gives to Venice, with all its beauty, a half-dreary aspect, there is
greenest foliage shadowing the water, and mingling with the dwellings,
and palaces, and temples on the shore; and instead of the funeral
gondolas of monotonous color, with solitary _gondoliers_, are boats of
every size and variety, paddled sometimes by one, sometimes by a score
of oarsmen. Some of the bamboo dwellings of the humbler classes are
built, literally, on the river, floating on rafts, a block of them
together, or raised on poles above the surface of the water. The shops
expose their goods upon the river side, and wait for custom from the
thronging boats. The temples and the palaces must stand, of course, on
solid ground, but the river is the great Broadway, and houses crowd upon
the channel of the boats, and boats bump the houses. It is a picturesque
and busy scene on which you look as you pass on amid the throng. Royal
boats, with carved and gilded prows, with shouting oarsmen, rush by you,
hurrying with the rapid current; or the little skiff of some small
pedler, with his assortment of various "notions," paddling and peddling
by turns, is dexterously urged along its way. Amid all this motion and
traffic is that charm of silence which makes Venice so dream-like. No
rumble of wheels nor clatter of hoofs disturbs you. Only the sound of
voices, softened as it comes along the smooth water, or the music of a
palace, or the tinkling of the bells of a pagoda, break the stillness.
It is a beautiful Broadway, without the Broadway roar and din.
Of course there is not, in this tropical Venice, anything to equal the
incomparable architectural beauty of the Adriatic city. And yet it
seemed to me that the architecture of Siam was in very perfect accord
with all its natural surroundings. In all parts of the city you may find
the "wats" or temples. When we started on our first day's sight-seeing,
and told the old Portuguese half-breed, who acted as our interpreter, to
take us to a "wat," he asked, with a pun of embarrassment, "What wat?"
Of course we must begin with the pagoda of innumerable bells, but where
to stop we knew not. Temple after temple waited to be seen. Through
long, dim corridors, crowded with rows of solemn idols carved and
gilded; through spacious open courts paved with large slabs of marble,
and filled with graceful spires or shafts or columns; along white walls
with gilded eaves and cornices; beneath arches lined with gold, to
sacred doors of ebony, or pearly gates of iridescent beauty; amid
grotesque stone statues, or queer paintings of the Buddhist _inferno_
(strangely similar to the mediæval Christian representations of the same
subject), you may wander till you are tired. You may happen to come upon
the _bonzes_ at their devotions, or you may have the silent temples to
yourself. In one of them you will find that clumsy, colossal image, too
big to stand, and built recumbent, therefore--a great mass of heavy
masonry, covered thick with gilding, and measuring a hundred and fifty
feet in length. If you could stand him up, his foot would cover eighteen
feet--an elephantine monster. But the roofs, of glazed tiles, with a
centre of dark green and with a golden margin, are the greatest charm of
the temples. Climb some pagoda and look down upon the city, and, on
every side, among the "breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster,"
you will see the white walls roofed with shining green and gold, and
surmounted by their gilded towers and spires. Like the temples are the
palaces, but less splendid. But everywhere, whether in temples or
palaces, you will find, not rude, barbaric tawdriness of style, but
elegance and skill of which the Western nations might be proud. Good
taste, and a quick sense of beauty, and the ability to express them in
their handiwork, all these are constantly indicated in the architecture
of this people. And they make the city one of almost unrivalled
picturesqueness to the traveller, who glides from river to canal and
from canal to river, under the shadow of the temple towers, and among
the shining walls of stately palaces.
Where so much wealth is lavished on the public buildings there must be
great resources to draw from; and, indeed, the mineral wealth of the
country appears at almost every turn. Precious stones and the precious
metals seem as frequent as the fire-flies in the jungle. Sometimes, as
in the silver currency, there is an absence of all workmanship; the
coinage being little lumps of silver, rudely rolled together in a mass
and stamped. But sometimes, as in the teapots, betel-nut boxes,
cigar-holders, with which the noblemen are provided when they go abroad,
you will see workmanship of no mean skill. Often these vessels are
elegantly wrought. Sometimes they are studded with jewels, sometimes
they are beautifully enamelled in divers colors. Once I called upon a
noble, who brought out a large assortment of uncut stones--some of them
of great value--and passed them to me as one would a snuff-box, not
content till I had helped myself. More than once I have seen children of
the nobles with no covering at all, except the strings of jewelled gold
that hung, in barbarous opulence, upon their necks and shoulders; but
there was wealth enough in these to fit the little fellows with a very
large assortment of most fashionable and Christian apparel, even at the
ruinous rate of tailors' prices at the present day. To go about among
these urchins, and among the houses of the nobles and the king's
palaces, gives one the half-bewildered and half-covetous feeling that it
gives to be conducted by polite but scrutinizing attendants through a
mint. Surely we had come at last to
"Where the gorgeous East, with richest hand,
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold."
Of course, of all this wealth the king's share was the lion's share.
Then, as for vegetable wealth, I do not know that there is anywhere a
richer valley in the world than the valley of the Meinam. All the
productions of the teeming tropics may grow luxuriantly here. There was
rice enough in Siam the year before my visit to feed the native
population and to supply the failure of the rice crop in Southern China,
preventing thus the havoc of a famine in that crowded empire, and making
fortunes for the merchants who were prompt enough to carry it from
Bangkok to Canton. Cotton grows freely beneath that burning sky. Sugar,
pepper, and all spices may be had with easy cultivation. There is
gutta-percha in the forests. There are dye-stuffs and medicines in the
jungles. The painter gets his gamboge, as its name implies, from
Cambodia, which is tributary to their majesties of Bangkok. As for the
fruits, I cannot number them nor describe them. The mangostene, most
delicate and most rare of them all, grows only in Siam, and in the lands
adjacent to the Straits of Sunda and Malacca. Some things we may have
which Siam cannot have, but the mangostene is her peculiar glory, and
she will not lend it. Beautiful to sight, smell, and taste, it hangs
among its glossy leaves, the prince of fruits. Cut through the shaded
green and purple of the rind, and lift the upper half as if it were the
cover of a dish, and the pulp of half transparent, creamy whiteness
stands in segments like an orange, but rimmed with darkest crimson where
the rind was cut. It looks too beautiful to eat; but how the rarest,
sweetest essence of the tropics seems to dwell in it as it melts to your
delighted taste!
This is the Land of the White Elephant, so singular, so rich, so
beautiful; but we need also to tell what manner of men the people are
who live beneath the standard of the elephant, or what kings and nobles
govern them.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Hours at Home, vol. iv., pp. 464, 531; vol. v., p. 66.