THE KING CHANGES HIS MIND.
About two o'clock that very afternoon I was startled to see two
scaffolds set up on the great common in front of my windows, opposite
the palace. A vast crowd of men, women, and children had already
collected from every quarter, in order to see the spectacle, whatever
it might happen to be. A number of workmen were driving stakes and
bringing up strange machines, under the hurried instructions of
several high Siamese officials. There was an appearance of great
and general excitement among the crowd on the green, and I became
sufficiently aroused to inquire of my maid what was the reason of
all this preparation and commotion. She informed me that a Bâdachit
(guilty priest) and a Nangharm (royal concubine) were to be exposed and
tortured for the improvement of the public morals that afternoon. It
was afternoon already.
As I afterwards learned, I had no sooner left the king than the woman
judge I had met at the head of the staircase laid before him the
proceedings of both the trials, of Bâlât and Tuptim. On reading them
he repented of his promised mercy, flew into a violent rage against
Tuptim and me, and, not knowing how to punish me except by showing me
his absolute power of life and death over his subjects, ordered the
scaffolds to be set up before my windows, and swore vengeance against
any person who should again dare to oppose his royal will and pleasure.
To do justice to the king, I must here add that, having been educated
a priest, he had been taught to regard the crime of which Tuptim and
Bâlât were accused as the most deadly sin that could be committed by
man.
The scaffolds or pillories on which the priest and Tuptim were to be
exposed were made of poles, and about five feet high; and to each
were attached two long levers, which were fastened to the neck of the
victim, and prevented his falling off, while they were so arranged as
to strangle him in case this was the sentence.
All the windows of the long antechamber that filled the eastern
front of the palace were thrown open, and I could see the hurried
preparations making for the king, the princes and princesses, and all
the great ladies of the court, who from there were to witness the
exquisite torture that awaited the hapless Tuptim.
Paralyzed by the knowledge that the only person who could have
done anything to mitigate the barbarous cruelty that was about to
be perpetrated--her Britannic Majesty's Consul, T.G. Knox, now
Consul-General--was then absent from Bangkok, I looked in helpless
despair at what was going on before me. I longed to escape into the
forest, or to take refuge with the missionaries, who lived several
miles down the river; but so dense was the crowd and so horrible the
idea of deserting poor Tuptim and leaving her to suffer alone, that I
felt obliged to stay and sympathize with her and pray for her, at the
least. I thus compelled myself to endure what was one of the severest
trials of my life.
A little before three o'clock the instruments of torture were brought,
and placed beside the scaffolds. Soon a long, loud flourish of trumpets
announced the arrival of the royal party, and the king and all his
court were visible at the open windows; the Amazons, dressed in scarlet
and gold, took their post in the turrets to guard the favored fair ones
who were doomed to be present and to witness the sufferings of their
former companion.
Suddenly the throng sent up a thrilling cry, whether of joy or sorrow
I could not comprehend, and, the moment after, the priest was hoisted
upon the scaffold to the right, while Tuptim tranquilly ascended that
to the left, nearest my windows. I thought I could see that the poor
priest turned his eyes, full of love and grief, towards her.
I need not attempt to depict the feelings with which I saw the little
lady, with her hands, which were no longer chained, folded upon her
bosom, look calmly down upon the heartless and abandoned rabble who,
as usual, flocked around the scaffold to gloat upon the spectacle, and
who usually greet with ferocious howls the agonies of the poor tortured
victims. But, on this occasion, the rabble were awed into silence;
while some simple hearts, here and there, firm believers in Tuptim's
innocence, were so impressed by her calm self-possession, that they
even prostrated themselves in worship of that childish form.
My windows were closed upon the scene; but that tiny figure, with her
scarlet scarf fluttering in the breeze, had so strong a fascination
for me, that I could not withdraw, but leaned against the shutters,
an unwilling witness of what took place, with feelings of pain,
indignation, pity, and conscious helplessness which can be imagined.
Two trumpeters, one on the right and one on the left, blared forth
the nature of the crime of which the helpless pair were accused. Ten
thousand eyes were fixed upon them, but no sound, no cry, was heard.
Every one held his breath, and remained mute in fixed attention, in
order not to lose a single word of the sentence that was to follow.
Again the trumpets sounded, and the conviction of the accused, with the
judgment that had been passed upon them, was announced. Then the spell
was broken, and some of the throng, as if desirous to propitiate the
royal spectator at the window, made the air ring with their shouts;
while others, going still further, showered all manner of abuse upon
the poor girl, as she stood calmly awaiting her fate upon those shaking
wooden posts.
Nothing could surpass the dignity of demeanor with which the little
lady sustained the storm of calumny from the more mercenary of the
rabble around her; but the rapidity with which the color came and went
in her cheeks, which were now of glowing crimson and now deadly pale,
and the astonishment and indignation which flashed from her eyes,
showed the agitation within.
The shrill native trumpets sounded for the third time. The multitude
was again hushed into a profound silence, and the executioners mounted
a raised platform to apply the torture to Tuptim. For one moment it
seemed as if the intense agony exceeded her power of endurance. She
half turned her back upon the royal spectator at the window, her form
became convulsed, and she tried to hide her face in her hands. But she
immediately raised herself up as by a supreme effort, and her voice
rang out, like a clear, deep-toned silver bell: "Chân my di phit;
Khoon P'hra Bâlât ko my me phit; P'hra Buddh the Chow sap möt." She
had hardly done speaking when she uttered an agonized cry, wild and
piercing. It was peculiarly touching; the cry was that of a child, an
infant falling from its mother's arms, and she fell forward insensible
upon the two poles placed there to support her.
The attendant physicians soon restored her to consciousness, and,
after a short interval, the torture was again applied. Once more her
voice rang out more musical still, for its quivering vibrations were
full of the tenderest devotion, the most sublime heroism: "I have not
sinned, nor has the priest my lord Bâlât sinned. The sacred Buddh[6]
in heaven knows all." Every torture that would agonize, but not
kill, was employed to wring a confession of guilt from the suffering
Tuptim; but every torture, every pang, every agony, failed, utterly and
completely failed, to bring forth anything but the childlike innocence
of that incomparable pagan woman. The honor of the priest Bâlât seemed
inexpressibly more precious to her than her own life, for the last
words I heard from her were: "All the guilt was mine. I knew that I was
a woman, but he did not."
After this I neither heard nor saw anything more. I was completely
exhausted and worn out, and had no strength left to endure further
sight of this monstrous, this inhuman tragedy. Kind nature came to my
relief, and I fainted.
When I again looked from my window the scaffolds were removed, the
crowd had departed, the sun had set. I strained my eyes, trying if I
could distinguish anything on the great common before the house. There
was a thick mist loaded with sepulchral vapors, a terrifying silence,
an absolute quiet that made me shudder, as if I were entombed alive.
At last I saw one solitary person coming towards my house through
the gathering darkness. It was the slave-girl, Phim, whose life had
been saved by the resolute bravery of her mistress; for it was she
who had bought the priest's dress and aided her mistress to escape
from the palace. She came to me in secret to tell me that the most
merciful and yet the most dreadful doom, death by fire,--which is the
punishment assigned by the laws of Siam to the crime of which they were
accused,--had been pronounced upon the priest and Tuptim by that most
irresponsible of human beings, the King of Siam; that they had suffered
publicly outside of the moat and wall which enclose the cemetery Watt
Sah Katè; and that some of the common people had been terribly affected
by the sight of the priest's invincible courage and of Tuptim's heroic
fortitude. With her low, massive brow, her wild, glistening eyes,
and her whole soul in her face, she spoke as if she still beheld that
fragile form in its last struggle with the flaming fire that wrapped
it round about, and still heard her beloved mistress's voice, as she
confronted the populace, holding up her mutilated hands, and saying:
"I am pure, and the priest, my lord Bâlât, is pure also. See, these
fingers have not made my lips to lie. The sacred Buddh in heaven judge
between me and my accusers!"
The slave-girl's grief was as deep and lasting as her gratitude. Every
seventh day she offered fresh flowers and odoriferous tapers upon the
spot where her mistress and the priest had suffered, firmly believing
that their disembodied souls still hovered about the place at twilight,
bewailing their cruel fate. She assured me that she often heard voices
moaning plaintively through the mellow evening air, growing deeper and
gathering strength as she listened, and seeming to draw her very soul
away with them; now tenderly weeping, now fervently exulting, until
they became indistinct, and finally died away in the regions of the
blessed and the pure.
I afterwards learned that the fickle populace, convinced of the
innocence of Bâlât and Tuptim, would have taken speedy vengeance on the
two priests, their accusers, had they not escaped from Bangkok to a
monastery at Paknâm; and that the twenty caties offered for the capture
of Tuptim had been expended in the purchase of yellow robes, earthen
pots, pillows, and mats for the use of the bonzes at Watt Rajah Bah
ditt Sang, no priest being allowed to touch silver or gold.
The name Bâlât, which signifies "wonderful," had been given to the
priest by the high-priest, Chow Khoon Sah, because of his deep piety
and his intuitive perception of divine and holy truths. The name which
his mother bestowed upon him, and by which Tuptim had known him in her
earlier years, was Dang, because of his complexion, which was a golden
yellow. On being bereft of Tuptim, to whom he was tenderly attached, he
entered the monastery, and became a priest, in order that, by austere
devotion and the study of the Divine Law, he might wean his heart from
her and distract his mind from the contemplation of his irreparable
loss.
For more than a month after Tuptim's sad death I did not see the
king. At last he summoned me to his presence, and never did I feel so
cold, so hard, and so unforgiving, as when I once more entered his
breakfast-hall. He took no notice of my manner, but, as soon as he saw
me, began with what was uppermost in his mind. "I have much sorrow for
Tuptim," he said; "I shall now believe she is innocent. I have had a
dream, and I had clear observation in my vision of Tuptim and Bâlât
floating together in a great wide space, and she has bent down and
touched me on the shoulder, and said to me, 'We are guiltless. We were
ever pure and guiltless on earth, and look, we are happy now.' After
discoursing thus, she has mounted on high and vanished from my further
observation. I have much sorrow, mam, much sorrow, and respect for your
judgment; but our laws are severe for such the crime. But now I shall
cause monument to be erected to the memory of Bâlât and Tuptim."
Any one who may now pass by Watt Sah Katè will see two tall and slender
P'hra Chadees, or obelisks, erected by order of the king on the spot
where those lovely Buddhists suffered, each bearing this inscription:
"Suns may set and rise again, but the pure and brave Bâlât and Tuptim
will never more return to this earth."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: The Siamese in their prayers and invocations abbreviate
the titles of the Buddha; the more educated using the word "Buddh," and
the common people "P'huth."]