Ascending the Meinam (or Chow Phya) from the gulf, and passing Paknam,
the paltry but picturesque seaport already described, we come next to
Paklat Beeloo, or "Little Paklat," so styled to distinguish it from
Paklat Boon, a considerable town higher up the river, which we shall
presently inspect as we steam toward Bangkok. Though, strictly speaking,
Paklat Beeloo is a mere cluster of huts, the humble dwellings of a
colony of farmers and rice-planters, it is nevertheless a place of
considerable importance as a depot for the products of the ample fields
and gardens which surround it on every side. The rice and vegetables
which these supply are shipped for the markets of Bangkok and Ayudia. At
Paklat Beeloo that bustle of traffic begins which, more and more as we
approach the capital, imparts to the river its characteristic aspect of
activity and thrift,--an animated procession of boats of various form
and size, deeply laden with grain, garden stuffs, and fruits, drifting
with the friendly helping tide, and requiring little or no manual labor
for their navigation, as they sweep along tranquilly, steadily, from
bank to bank, from village to village.
Diverse as are the styles and uses of these boats, the most convenient,
and therefore the most common, are the Rua-keng and the Rua-pêt. The
former resembles in all respects the Venetian gondola, while the Rua-pêt
has either a square house with, windows amidships, or (more commonly) a
basket cover, long and round, like the tent-top of some Western wagons.
The dimensions of many of these boats are sufficient to accommodate an
entire family, with their household goods and merchandise, yet one
seldom sees more than a single individual in charge of them. The tide,
running strongly up or down, affords the motive-power; "the crew" has
but to steer. Often unwieldy, and piled clumsily with cargo, one might
reasonably suppose their safe piloting to be a nautical impossibility;
yet so perfect is the skill--the instinct, rather--of these almost
amphibious river-folk, that a little child, not uncommonly a girl,
shall lead them. Accidents are marvellously rare, considering the
thousands of large, heavy, handsome keng boats that ply continually
between the gulf and the capital, now lost in a sudden bend of the
stream, now emerging from behind a screen of mangroves, and in their
swift descent threatening quick destruction to the small and fragile
market-boats, freighted with fish and poultry, fruit and vegetables.
From Paklat Beeloo a great canal penetrates directly to the heart of
Bangkok, cutting off thirty miles from the circuitous river route. But
the traveller, faithful to the picturesque, will cling to the beautiful
Meinam, which will entertain him with scenery more and more charming as
he approaches the capital,--higher lands, a neater cultivation, hamlets
and villages quaintly pretty, fantastic temples and pagodas dotting the
plain, fine Oriental effects of form and color, scattered Edens of
fruit-trees,--the mango, the mangostein, the bread-fruit, the durian the
orange,--their dark foliage contrasting boldly with the more lively and
lovely green of the betel, the tamarind, and the banana. Every curve of
the river is beautiful with an unexpectedness of its own,--here the
sugar-cane swaying gracefully, there the billow-like lights and shadows
of the supple, feathery bamboo, and everywhere ideal paradises of
refreshment and repose. As we drift on the flowing thoroughfare toward
the golden spires of Bangkok, kaleidoscopic surprises of summer salute
us on either hand.
Presently we come to Paklat Boon, a place of detached cottages and
orchards, fondly courting the river, the pretty homesteads of husbandmen
and gardeners. Here, too, is a dock-yard for the construction of royal
barges and war-boats, some of them more than eighty feet long, with less
than twelve feet beam.
From Paklat Boon to Bangkok the scene is one of ever-increasing
splendor, the glorious river seeming to array itself more and more
grandly, as for the admiration of kings, and proudly spreading its
waters wide, as a courtier spreads his robes. Its lake-like expanses,
without a spiteful rock or shoal, are alive with ships, barks, brigs,
junks, proas, sampans, canoes; and the stranger is beset by a flotilla
of river pedlers, expertly sculling under the stern of the steamer, and
shrilly screaming the praises of their wares; while here and there, in
the thick of the bustle and scramble and din, a cunning, quick-handed
Chinaman, in a crank canoe, ladles from a steaming caldron his savory
chow-chow soup, and serves it out in small white bowls to hungry
customers, who hold their peace for a time and loll upon their oars,
enraptured by the penetrating brew.
Three miles below the capital are the royal dock-yards, where most of
the ships composing the Siamese navy and merchant marine are built,
under the supervision of English shipwrights. Here, also, craft from
Hong-Kong, Canton, Singapore, Rangoon, and other ports, that have been
disabled at sea, are repaired more thoroughly and cheaply than in any
other port in the East. There are, likewise, several dry-docks, and, in
fact, an establishment completely equipped and intelligently managed. A
short distance below the dock-yards is the American Mission, comprising
the dwellings of the missionaries and a modest school-house and chapel,
the latter having a fair attendance of consuls and their children. Above
the dock-yards is the Roman Catholic establishment, a quiet little
settlement clustered about a small cross-crowned sanctuary.
Yet one more bend of the tortuous river, and the strange panorama of the
floating city unrolls like a great painted canvas before us,--piers and
rafts of open shops, with curious wares and fabrics exposed at the very
water's edge; and beyond and above these the magnificent "watts" and
pagodas with which the capital abounds.
These pagodas, and the _p'hra-cha-dees_, or minarets, that crown some of
the temples, are in many cases true wonders of cunning workmanship and
profuse adornment--displaying mosaics of fine porcelain, inlaid with
ivory, gold, and silver, while the lofty doors and windows are overlaid
with sculptures of grotesque figures from the Buddhist and Brahminical
mythologies. Near the Grand Palace are three tall pillars of elegant
design, everywhere inlaid with variegated stones, and so richly gilt
that they are the wonder and the pride of all the country round. These
monuments mark the places of deposit of a few charred bones that once
were three demigods of Siam,--the kings P'hra Rama Thibodi, P'hra Narai,
and P'hra Phya Tak, who did doughty deeds of valor and prowess in
earlier periods of Siamese history.
The Grand Royal Palace, the semi-castellated residence of the Supreme
King of Siam, with its roofs and spires pointed with what seem to be the
horns of animals, towers pre-eminent over all the city. It is a great
citadel, surrounded by a triplet of walls, fortified with many bastions.
Each of the separate buildings it comprises is cruciform; and even the
palace lately erected in the style of Windsor Castle forms with the old
palace the arms of a cross, as the latter does with the Phrasat,--and so
on down to an odd little conceit in architecture, in the Chinese style
throughout.
In front of the old palace is an ample enclosure, paved, and surrounded
with beautiful trees and rare plants. A gateway, guarded by a pair of
colossal lions and two gigantic and frightful nondescripts, half demon,
half human, leads to the old palace, now almost abandoned. Beyond this,
and within the third or innermost wall, is the true heart of the
citadel, the quarters of the women of the harem. This is in itself a
sort of miniature city, with streets, shops, bazaars, and gardens, all
occupied and tended by women only. Outside are the observatory and
watch-tower.
Some of the grandest and most beautiful temples and pagodas of Siam are
in this part of the city. On one side of the palace are the temples and
monasteries dedicated to the huge Sleeping Idol, and on the other the
mass of buildings that constitute the palace and harem of the Second
King. From these two palaces broad streets extend for several miles,
occupied on either side by the principal shops and bazaars of Bangkok.
Leaving the Grand Palace, a short walk to the right brings us to the
monuments, already mentioned, of the three warrior kings. From noble
pedestals of fine black granite, adorned at top and bottom with cornices
and rings of ivory, carved in mythological forms of animals, birds, and
flowers, rise conical pillars about fifty feet high.
The columns themselves are in mosaic, with diverse material inlaid upon
the solid masonry so carefully that the cement can hardly be detected.
No two patterns are the same, striking effects of form and color have
been studied, and the result is beautiful beyond description. Close
beside these a third pillar was lately in process of erection, to the
memory of the good King P'hra-Phen-den Klang, father of his late
Majesty, Somdetch P'hra-Paramendr Maha Mongkut.
On the outer skirt of the walled town stands the temple Watt Brahmanee
Waid, dedicated to the divinity to whom the control of the universe has
been ascribed from the most ancient times. His temple is the only shrine
of a Brahminical deity that the followers of Buddha have not dared to
abolish. Intelligent Buddhists hold that he exists in the latent forces
of nature, that his only attribute is benevolence, though he is capable
of a just indignation, and that within the scope of his mental vision
are myriads of worlds yet to come. But he is said to have no form, no
voice, no odor, no color, no active creative power,--a subtile,
fundamental principle of nature, pervading all things, influencing all
things. This belief in Brahma is so closely interwoven with all that is
best in the morals and customs of the people, that it would seem as
though Buddha himself had been careful to leave unchallenged this one
idea in the mythology of the Hindoos. The temple includes a royal
monastery, which only the sons of kings can enter.
Opposite the Brahmanee Watt, at the distance of about a mile, are the
extensive grounds and buildings of Watt Sah Kâte, the great national
burning-place of the dead. Within these mysterious precincts the
Buddhist rite of cremation is performed, with circumstances more or less
horrible, according to the condition or the superstition of the
deceased. A broad canal surrounds the temple and yards, and here, night
and day, priests watch and pray for the regeneration of mankind. Not
alone the dead, but the living likewise, are given to be burned in
secret here; and into this canal, at dead of night, are flung the rash
wretches who have madly dared to oppose with speech or act the powers
that rule in Siam. None but the initiated will approach, these grounds
after sunset, so universal and profound is the horror the place
inspires,--a place the most frightful and offensive known to mortal
eyes; for here the vows of dead men, howsoever ghoulish and monstrous,
are consummated. The walls are hung with human skeletons and the ground
is strewed with human skulls. Here also are scraped together the horrid
fragments of those who have bequeathed their carcasses to the hungry
dogs and vultures, that hover, and prowl, and swoop, and pounce, and
snarl, and scream, and tear. The half-picked bones are gathered and
burned by the outcast keepers of the temple (not priests), who receive
from the nearest relative of the infatuated testator a small fee for
that final service; and so a Buddhist vow is fulfilled, and a Buddhist
"deed of merit" accomplished.
Bangkok, the modern seat of government of Siam, has (according to the
best authorities) two hundred thousand floating dwellings and shops,--to
each house an average of five souls,--making the population of the city
about one million; of which number more than eighty thousand are
Chinese, twenty thousand Birmese, fifteen thousand Arabs and Indians,
and the remainder Siamese. These figures are from the latest census,
which, however, must not be accepted as perfectly accurate.
The situation of the city is unique and picturesque. When Ayudia was
"extinguished," and the capital established at Bangkok, the houses were
at first built on the banks of the river. But so frequent were the
invasions of cholera, that one of the kings happily commanded the people
to build on the river itself, that they might have greater cleanliness
and better ventilation. The result quickly proved the wisdom of the
measure. The privilege of building on the banks is now confined to
members of the royal family, the nobility, and residents of acknowledged
influence, political or commercial.
At night the city is hung with thousands of covered lights, that
illuminate the wide river from shore to shore. Lamps and lanterns of all
imaginable shapes, colors, and sizes combine to form a fairy spectacle
of enchanting brilliancy and beauty. The floating tenements and shops,
the masts of vessels, the tall, fantastic pagodas and minarets, and,
crowning all, the walls and towers of the Grand Palace, flash with
countless charming tricks of light, and compose a scene of more than
magic novelty and beauty. So oriental fancy and profusion deal with
things of use, and make a wonder of a commonplace.
A double, and in some parts a triple, row of floating houses extends for
miles along the banks of the river. These are wooden structures,
tastefully designed and painted, raised on substantial rafts of bamboo
linked together with chains, which, in turn, are made fast to great
piles planted in the bed of the stream. The Meinam itself forms the main
avenue, and the floating shops on either side constitute the great
bazaar of the city, where all imaginable and unimaginable articles from
India, China, Malacca, Birmah, Paris, Liverpool, and New York are
displayed in stalls.
Naturally, boats and canoes are indispensable appendages to such houses;
the nobility possess a fleet of them, and to every little water-cottage
a canoe is tethered, for errands and visits. At all hours of the day and
night processions of boats pass to and from the palace, and everywhere
bustling traders and agents ply their dingy little craft, and proclaim
their several callings in a Babel of cries.
Daily, at sunrise, a flotilla of canoes, filled with shaven men in
yellow garments, visits every house along the banks. These are the
priests gathering their various provender, the free gift of every
inhabitant of the city. Twenty thousand of them are supported by the
alms of the city of Bangkok alone.
At noon, all the clamor of the city is suddenly stilled, and perfect
silence reigns. Men, women, and children are hushed in their afternoon
nap. From the stifling heat of a tropical midday the still cattle seek
shelter and repose under shady boughs, and even the prows cease their
obstreperous clanging. The only sound that breaks the drowsy stillness
of the hour is the rippling of the glaring river as it ebbs or flows
under the steaming banks.
About three in the afternoon the sea-breeze sets in, bringing
refreshment to the fevered, thirsty land, and reviving animal and
vegetable life with its compassionate breath. Then once more the
floating city awakes and stirs, and an animation rivalling that of the
morning is prolonged far into the night,--the busy, gay, delightful
night of Bangkok.
The streets are few compared with the number of canals that intersect
the city in all directions. The most remarkable of the former is one
that runs parallel with the Grand Palace, and terminates in what is now
known as "Sanon Mai," or the New Road, which extends from Bangkok to
Paknam, about forty miles, and crosses the canals on movable iron
bridges. Almost every other house along this road is a shop, and at the
close of the wet season Bangkok has no rival in the abundance of
vegetables and fruits with which its markets are stocked.
I could wish for a special dispensation to pass without mention the
public prisons of Bangkok, for their condition and the treatment of the
unhappy wretches confined in them are the foulest blots on the character
of the government. Some of these grated abominations are hung like
bird-cages over the water; and those on land, with their gangs of living
corpses chained together like wild beasts, are too horrible to be
pictured here. How European officials, representatives of Christian
ideas of humanity and decency, can continue to countenance the apathy or
wilful brutality of the prime minister, who, as the executive officer of
the government in this department, is mainly responsible for the
cruelties and outrages I may not even name, I cannot conceive.
The American Protestant missionaries have as yet made no remarkable
impression on the religious mind of the Siamese. Devoted, persevering,
and patient laborers, the field they have so faithfully tilled has
rewarded them with but scanty fruits. Nor will the fact, thankless
though it be, appear surprising to those whose privilege it has been to
observe the Buddhist and the Roman Catholic side by side in the East,
and to note how, even on the score of doctrine, they meet without a jar
at many points. The average Siamese citizen, entering a Roman Catholic
chapel in Bangkok, finds nothing there to shock his prejudices. He is
introduced to certain forms and ceremonies, almost the counterpart of
which he piously reveres in his own temple,--genuflections,
prostrations, decorated shrines, lighted candles, smoking incense, holy
water; while the prayers he hears are at least not less intelligible to
him than those he hears mumbled in Pali by his own priests. He beholds
familiar images too, and pictures of a Saviour in whom he charitably
recognizes the stranger's Buddha. And if he happen to be a philosophic
inquirer, how surprised and pleased is he to learn that the priests of
this faith (like his own) are vowed to chastity, poverty, and obedience,
and, like his own, devoted to the doing of good works, penance, and
alms. There are many thousands of native converts to Catholicism in
Siam; even the priests of Buddhism do not always turn a deaf ear to the
persuasions of teachers bound with them in the bonds of celibacy,
penance, and deeds of merit. And those teachers are quick to meet them
half-way, happily recommending themselves by the alacrity with which
they adopt, and make their own, usages which they may with propriety
practise in common, whereby the Buddhist is flattered while the
Christian is not offended. Such, for example, is the monastic custom of
the uncovered head. As it is deemed sacrilege to touch the head of
royalty, so the head of the priest may not without dishonor pass under
anything less hallowed than the canopy of heaven; and in this Buddhist
and Roman Catholic accord.
The residences of the British, French, American, and Portuguese Consuls
are pleasantly situated in a bend of the river, where a flight of wooden
steps in good repair leads directly to the houses of the officials and
European merchants of that quarter. Most influential among the latter is
the managing firm of the Borneo Company, whose factories and warehouses
for rice, sugar, and cotton are extensive and prosperous.
The more opulent of the native merchants are grossly addicted to
gambling and opium-smoking. Though the legal penalties prescribed for
all who indulge in these destructive vices are severe, they do not avail
to deter even respectable officers of the government from staking heavy
sums on the turn of a card; and long before the game is ended the
opium-pipe is introduced. One of the king's secretaries, who was a
confirmed opium-smoker, assured me he would rather die at once than be
excluded from the region of raptures his pipe opened to him.