THE PRINCESS SUNARTHA VISMITA.
AN hour after dark I again sought the good and tender-hearted Thieng,
who not only hurried me off, telling me in a voice of great exultation
that the physician's report had in a great measure ameliorated the
rigorous confinement to which the royal prisoner had hitherto been
subjected, but bravely sent two of her women to tell the Amazons to
show me the apartment to which the sick princess had been removed.
The small apartment into which I was ushered was dimly lighted by
a wick burning in an earthen vessel. The only window was thrown
wide open. Immediately beneath it, on a pair of wooden trucks which
supported a narrow plank, covered with a flowered mat and satin pillow,
lay the wasted form of the Princess Sunartha Vismita. Her dress was
that of a Laotian lady of high rank. It consisted of a scarlet silk
skirt falling in firm folds to her feet, a black, flowered silk vest,
and a long veil or scarf of Indian gauze thrown across her shoulders;
some rings of great value and beauty and a heavy gold chain were her
only ornaments. Her hair was combed smoothly back, bound in a massive
knot behind, and confined by a perfect tiara of diamond-headed pins.
She was not beautiful; but when you looked at her you never thought of
her features, for the defiant and heroic pride that flashed from her
large, dark, melancholy eyes fixed your attention. It was a face never
to be forgotten. At her feet were two other truckle-beds; on these
were seated the two young Laotian women who shared her captivity,
and who looked very wan and sad.
[Illustration: LADIES OF THE ROYAL HAREM AT DINNER.]
Advancing unannounced close to this mournful group, I sat down near
them, while the dark, depressing influence of the place stole upon my
spirits and filled me with the same dismal gloom.
The princess, who had been gazing at the little bit of sky, of which
she could only get a glimpse through the iron bars of the open window,
turned upon me the same quiet, self-absorbed look, manifesting neither
surprise nor displeasure at seeing me enter her apartment.
It was a look that spoke of utter hopelessness of ever being extricated
from that forlorn place, and a quiet conviction that she was very ill,
perhaps dying, yet without a trace of fear or anxiety.
The air was heavy and difficult to breathe, and for a moment or two I
was silent, confounded by the unexpected bravery and fortitude evinced
by the prisoner. But, quickly recovering my self-possession, I inquired
about her health.
"I am well," said the lady, with a proud and indifferent manner. "Pray,
why have you come here?"
With a sense of infinite relief I told her that my visit was a private
one to herself.
"Is that the truth?" she inquired, looking rather at her women for some
confirmation than at me for a reply.
"It is indeed," I answered, unhesitatingly; "I have come to you as one
woman would come to another who is in trouble."
"But how may that be?" she rejoined, haughtily. "You must know, madam,
that all women are not alike; some are born princesses, and some are
born slaves." She pronounced these words very slowly, and in the court
language of the Siamese.
"Yes, we are not all alike, dear lady," I replied, gently; "I have not
come here out of mere idle curiosity, but because I could not refuse
your foster-sister May-Peâh's request to do you a service."
"What did you say?" cried the lady, joyfully rising, and drawing me
towards her, putting her arms ever so lovingly round my neck, and
laying her burning cheek against mine. "Did you say May-Peâh, May-Peâh?"
Without another word, for I could not speak, I was so much moved, I
drew out of my pocket the mysterious letter, and put it into her hands.
I wish I could see again such a look of surprise and joy as that which
illuminated her proud face. So rapid was the change from despair to
gladness, that she seemed for the moment supremely beautiful.
Her bps trembled, and tears filled her eyes, as with a nervous movement
she tore open the velvet covering and leaned towards the earthen lamp
to read her precious letter.
I could not doubt that she had a tender heart, for there was a
beautiful flush on her wan face, which was every now and then faintly
perceptible in the flickering lamp-light.
A smile half of triumph and half of sadness curved her fine lip as she
finished the letter and turned to communicate its contents to her eager
companions in a language unknown to me.
After this the three women talked together long and anxiously, the two
attendants urging their mistress to do something to which apparently
she would not consent, for at last she threw the letter away angrily,
and covered her face with her hands, as if unable to resist their
arguments.
The elder of the women quietly took up the letter and read it several
times aloud to her companion. She then opened a betel-box and drew out
of it an inkhorn, a small reed, and long roll of yellow paper, on
which she began a lengthy and labored epistle, now and then rubbing out
the words she had written with her finger, and commencing afresh with
renewed vigor. When the letter was finished, I never in my life saw a
more unsightly, blotted affair than it was, and I fell to wondering if
any mortal on earth would have skill and ingenuity enough to decipher
its meaning. But she folded it carefully, and put it into a lovely blue
silk cover which she took from that self-same box,--which might have
been Aladdin's wonderful lamp turned inside out, for aught I knew to
the contrary,--and, stitching up the bag or cover, she sewed on the
outside a bit of paper addressed in the same mysterious and unknown
letters, which bore a strong resemblance to the Birmese characters
turned upside down, and were altogether as weird and hieroglyphic as
the ancient characters found in the Pahlavi and Deri manuscript. When
all her labors were completed, she handed it to me with a hopeful smile
on her face.
Meanwhile the princess, who seemed to have been plunged in a very
profound and serious meditation, turned and addressed me with an air of
mystery and doubt: "Did May-Peâh promise you any money?"
On being answered in the negative, "Do you want any money?" she again
inquired.
"No, thank you," I replied. "Only tell me to whom I am to carry this
letter, for I cannot read the address, and I'll endeavor to serve you
to the best of my ability."
When I had done speaking she seemed surprised and pleased, for she
again put her arms round about my neck, and embraced me twice or thrice
in the most affectionate manner, entreating me to believe that she
would always be my grateful friend, and that she would always bless
me in her thoughts, and enjoining me to deliver the letter into no
other hands but those of May-Peâh, or her brother, the Prince O'Dong
Karmatha, who was concealed for the present, as she said, in the house
of the Governor of Pak Lat.
I returned her warm embraces, and went home somewhat happier; but I
seemed to hear throughout the rest of the night the creaking of the
huge prison door which had turned so reluctantly on its rusty hinges.