The Treasured One The Story Of Rudivoravan Princess Of Siam

9593 V95b 57-11^59

Voravan^ Rudi, $3.95

The treasured one; the story of
Ritdivoravan^ Princess of Siam, as
told by her to Ruth Adams Knight*

9593 V95t 57-148S9

Voravan, Rudi, 1911- $3*95

The treasured one; the story of
Riidivora^anj, Princess of Siarn^ a0
told by her to Ruth Adams Knight
Button, 1957*
Illusu

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0001 D3bbt,7D 7

THE TREASURED ONE

THE

TREASURED ONE

The Story of Rudivoravan
Princess of Siam

AS TOLD BY HER TO

RUTH ADAMS KNIGHT

Illustrated

E. E Dutton & Company, Inc.

NEW YORK, 1957

All rights reserved. Printed In the U.S. A.
Copyright, , 1957, by E. P. Button cb* Co., Inc.

FIRS T K D I T I O N

51 No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form 'without perttmmm in 'writing
fro?n the publisher, except by a reviewer
who wishes to quote brief passages in con-
nection with a review written for inclusion
in magazine or newspaper or broadcasts.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 57-8999

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Facing page
Kings of the Chakri Dynasty, Rama I to Rama VII 3 2

The Grand Palace 33

The Chakri Palace 33

Princess Rudivoravan broadcasting over the Voice of

America to the women of Thailand 64

Princess Rudivoravan, in the classic costume of a Thai

dancer, with her daughters, Konthip and Vanchit 64

Princess Rudivoravan, age four, in Pang Nara Palace,

her father's home in Bangkok 65

Princess Rudivoravan, age sixteen, in her costume for

the Heavenly Food Ceremony 65

Princess Rudivoravan's mother, Soon Penkul 128

Her father, His Royal Highness, Prince Narathip

Prabhanbongse 128

Queen Lakshamilavan, Princess Rudivoravan's sister,

with her husband, King Vajiravudh 129

Queen Lakshamilavan in the uniform of a Cavalry Scout 1 29

Princess Rudivoravan and her first husband, Prince

Jitjanok 160

Princess Rudivoravan and her second husband, Mr. Pooh

Prabhailakshana 1 60

The Voravan family, photographed in Bangkok in 1 92 8 1 6 1

The Chakri Dynasty and the Penkul family Front end paper

THE TREASURED ONE

PLACE

Thailand, or Siam; known as "Land of the Free" since 1932, but
the modern and the historic names are used interchangeably.

TIME

The present, with a view backward as far as the reign of Maha
Mongkut.

CHARACTERS
King Mongkut my grandfather Rania IV of Siam.

Prince Narathip Prabhanbongse my father a son of King
Mongkut.

Soon Penkul my mothergranddaughter of Chow Phaya Ma-
hindtharodom Pen, head of the Penkul family.

King Chulalongkorn my uncle Rama V, son of King Mongkut,
Rama IV.

C73

King- Vajiravudh my cousin and brother-in-law Rnnui VI, son
"of Rama V.

Queen Lakslvamihwm my sister, wife of Rama V Inickname

Tew.

King Prajadipok my cousin, Rama VII, son of Rama V and
brother of Rama VL

Queen Rambai Barni his wife.

Prince Muhidol my cousin, !>rother of Rama VI and VII, father

of Rama VIII and Rama IX.

King Ananda Muhidolmy second cousin or nephew in the Thai
way Rama VIII; nephew of Rama VII.

King Pumiphon Aduldej my second cousin or nephew in the

Thai wayRama IX; younger brother of Rama VIII,

Princess Ghutharat referred to as my royal aunt; actually my
cousin on my father's side; a high-ranking daughter of king
Chulalongkorn.

Prince Powbhenbhat tuy second cousin, to whom I was be-
trothed at birth; son of Prince Pichai; a grandson of King
Chulalongkorn and nephew of Princess Chutharat (nick-
name Pi Pow),

Princess Phanbenkaemy cousin; sister to Prince Powbhenbhat
(nickname Pi Ying Pen),

Prince Jitjanok my first husband; grandson of King Mongkut,
son of Prince Kridakara.

Prince Kridakara (Naresra) My father-in-law; son of Rama IV,
Mom Cham my mother-in-law.

Princess Wanwilai My sister-in-law and godmother; sister of
Prince Jitjanok.

Prince Chula Chakrabongse-my second cousin and childhood
companion; son of Prince Chakrabongse grandson of King
Chulalongkorn.

Prince Sakol Warnakorn my eldest brother.

Prince Wan Waithayakorn-my next to eldest brother, who has
our father's title. Popularly known as Prince Wan, he is at
present Thai minister of foreign affairs and president of the
General Assembly of the United Nations.

Prince Chanta Nakorn my younger brother.
Prince Suntharakorn my youngest brother.
Proi Bunnag Princess Wan, my sister-in-law.
Wiwan Worawan my niece, daughter of Prince Wan.

Mr. Pooh Prabhailakshana my second husband; Thai financial
attache in Washington 1947-1949.

Prince Pithyalongkorn my brother-in-law, a descendant of Pra
Pin Klao, minor King to King Mongkut, Rama IV.

Princess Pornpimolabhan my eldest sister, married to Prince
Pithyalongkorn.

Princess Warnrabhathewccmy next to eldest sister, once be-
trothed to Rama VI.

Princess Warnranisrisamorna sister (nickname Toi).
Princess Orrathipprabhan a sister in London (nickname Tui).
Princess Nanthanamarasri a sister.

Princess Banchcrtwarnawarang a sister (nickname Taew) .
Princess Srisaangnaruennon a sister (nickname Tuitng).
Princess Ubonparani a sister (nickname Tui).

Prince Wimwathit my second cousin or Thai nephew and first
suitor.

Chow Chorm Kien my paternal grandmother; widow of King
Mongkut.

Smoe my girl friend at Thai legation in London*

Lord Burimy first host in London; Thai minister to England;
Smoe's father.

Lady Nouengrny hostess in London; wife of Lord Buri, Smoe's
mother.

Mrs. Ambrose Sturges- Jonesmy "mummy" in England.
Song Sang my commoner aunt; my mother's sister.
Term my nurse at Grand Palace.

Kuril my nurse at Pang Nara Palace (my father's palace).
Kru-Bua my translator; a teacher at Udorn Villa.
Vanchit Pra my elder daughter.
Konthip my younger daughter.
Somjanok Kridakara -my son.

Note: In Thailand, children of a family who have the same father
and different mothers regard one another as full brothers and sis-
ters. The western relationship of cousin becomes that of aunt or
uncle, niece and nephew, or brother and sister. Consequently, I
had the status of aunt to all of the grandchildren of King Chula-
longkorn, who was my father's brother. Princess Chutharat, who
was my uncle's daughter, was called my aunt.

According to oriental custom, a person does not call by name
anyone who is his elder or who has higher rank. In fact, given
names are seldom used. Instead, we employ a word which shows
position, or a nickname which indicates the relationship. How-
ever, this is confusing to readers in the West, and since this is a
book for them, I have used a form which was not permitted to rne
in my childhood in Siam and have mentioned my royal relatives
by name.

THE TREASURED ONE

"To HER Serene Highness, Princess Rudivoravan, a royal
Saema."

I was in the Chakri Palace, in the Bangkok of niy child-
hood. The voice was that of Vajiravudh, Rama VI. As I
crouched at his feet, His Majesty bent forward. Over my
head he slipped a silver chain from which hung the royal dec-
oration of blue enamel into which the king's initials were set
in diamonds.

Again I heard my name spoken -"Rudivoravan." The
oriental scene faded. I came back to the reality of an after-
noon in October 1956, in Washington, D.C The place was
the Department of Interior auditorium, and the man waiting
for me on the platform was Mr. Theodore C. Streibert, at that
time director of the United States Information Agency. I
went forward to receive from him the Commendable Service
Award for a radio program which, in the Thai Department
of the Far Eastern Division, I broadcast to the women of
my native land, Thailand, over the Voice of America.

Of the two decorations, this one gave me the greater happi-
ness. It was proof of the power of a faith which, five years be-
fore, had brought me to America with a small daughter cling-

ing to cither hand and only a few coins in my pocketbook a

faith that here, without royal rank or possessions, i could win
recognition for what 1 was as a person.

However, 1 was pleased that America honored me also as
a princess. A few months before receiving the U.SJ.A.
Award 1 had attended as reporter a ceremony at which copies
of a letter sent in 1859 ky ^" ls Majesty, King Aiongkut of
Siam, to a former president of the United States, Eraitklin
Pierce a letter which had established the king's policy of
friendship with the Western nations were officially to be
presented to the government of Thailand. 'These were to go
to His Majesty, King Pumiphon Aduldej; to the prime min-
ister, P. Pibulsonggram; and to I lis Excellency, Potc Sarasin,
the Thai ambassador. When my identity was discovered, a
fourth copy was prepared for Rudivoravan, granddaughter
of King Mongkut.

Dual roles such as this can prove confusing to me as well
as to those who know me. But the entire pattern of my life has
been one of sharp contrast. As a child, my home was the City
of Forbidden Women, in the Grand Palace in Bangkok. I
went to school in rural England* Back in Siani, I attended my
sister Queen Lakshami and lived with her in the villa of Dusk
Palace. I married a prince, and later scandali'/ed my royal
family by getting a divorce. For love, I became the wife of a
commoner. I am the mother of three children. A princess of
Siam, 1 have also been a designer, a restaurant keeper, an ac-
tress, a dancer, a reporter, an area air controller, and the wife
of a diplomatic attache. In these widely differing 1 positions I
have lived in both East and West and have learned, in the in-
timate way of a woman, to know the heart of each.

The blend is there, although on either side of the world
people quote to me these hackneyed, dreary lines:

East is East, and West is West,
And never the twain shall meet . . .

I smile and let it pass, knowing it is not true. For in me, a
child of the East grown into a woman of the West, they have
met and fused. The result has been violent conflict between
mind and blood, between traditions, which are my ancestral
heritage, and the challenge of the future. It is my nature to
plunge into the new; something in me clings stubbornly to the
old, and such contradictory forces often threaten to tear me
apart. It is only when I am able to regard the turmoil within
me as symbolic rather than personal, and realize that complex
problems like mine can never be resolved quickly, that I find
peace. For 1 know that, here a little, there a little, I am learn-
ing to reconcile warring East- West elements within myself.

Yet much that is Western in my nature is not acquired. It
was mine from the beginning. I believe my father knew that.

Let me speak to you of him.

I was born in the Pang Nara Palace in Bangkok, April i,
1911, the youngest daughter and twenty-second child of His
Royal Highness, Prince Narathip Prabhanbongse of Siam.
He named me Rudi. Rudi means one who brings joy; who is
greatly beloved. Always my father made me feel that I was a
treasured one. My father was called Voravan. Before his gen-
eration, members of the royal family of Siam were known by
their dynasty. But the Chakri dynasty, founded in 1782 by
Rama I, grew so large that, to identify the descendants of

King Mongkut, his children were given individual names.
These names became the last part of the names of his grand-
children.

My father combined Rudi with his own name to show his
affection and his hope for me. Because of the delight he took
in his baby daughter, he wished me to have great happiness in
my own life and advantages beyond those usual for women of
my country. While I was small he gave me many pleasures,
and according to the standards of his time he provided for my
welfare and tried to safeguard my future. While he used his
power over me arbitrarily during my childhood, later he al-
lowed me to make many of my own decisions, with only a
warning to me that my youthful values might prove to be
false, that true happiness must come from within and great
courage and effort often were required to achieve it.

There is an admonition of my father that I carry in my
heart:

Never be as $ stone, wty d&itgbter! Be #s a ball. A, stone
thrown into the wffter sinks to the bottom twd remains
there. A ball filled 'with air, no matter how far down it is
flitftg, comes hounding to the surface. So the human spir-

it, when it is cast into the depths , mnst force its way up-
ward again to light md life.

At the time he spoke those words I was a small, spoiled
child, and they meant little. But in rime they became a price-
less heritage, for I found myself flung into water deep and
wide which stretched between the still-medieval confines of
the royal household and the individual independence neces-

sary to undertake a life and a mission in the modern world.
My father, a poet and an idealist, was also a man of great prac-
ticality. I believe that very early he sensed in me a capacity
for living which he knew would be at odds with the tradition-
al Thai attitude of polite compliance. He valued it, and yet it
made him apprehensive about my future, and he tried to pre-
pare me for the difficulties he was sure I must one day face.
Fortunately I have his buoyant spirit as well as his counsel
and, remembering his words when the way has not been easy,
I have held my head high. The Princess Rudivoravan has
often been cast into the depths, but she has never been as a
stone.

Much remains for me to learn, yet of this I have become
sure. You must have known pain in order to appreciate happi-
ness. Tomorrow's promise is more important than yesterday's
disappointment. And being grateful for good which is past
opens the door to good which is yet to be.

The philosophy my father taught me is understood by
Americans, who accept life fully and who possess naturally
a spirit which rebounds. In adversity they refuse to acknowl-
edge dismay or defeat. My broadcasts to Siam remark on this
characteristic, for it is in contrast to the fatalism of the East.
Thai women need the democratic approach, the freedom
found in American life. Since the day when Anna Leono-
wens, in the court of my grandfather, made her violent pro-
test against the ancient customs of the harem, Siamese women
have moved steadily, but much too slowly, toward lives of
their own. For all our acquired Westernism, we are still prone
to evade reality, to float all of our lives on a tide of pleasant
acquiescence.

Oil

Mrs. Leonowens, now known around the world as the
Anna of Anna md the King of Suwi and The Khig md I is a
continuing ambassador between our two countries. As a
teacher of the royal family in Bangkok a century ago, she in-
terpreted Western thinking to King Mongkut; as a character
in recent books and plays she interprets Siam to the West.
There are things in her report of us we Siamese believe are not
accurate. Yet, viewed through Anna's eyes, America iinds
the East more understandable; the members of the Siamese
court of my grandfather's day are transformed from myste-
rious Orientals to likable fellow beings. Our wats, our palaces,
our glistening multicolored steeples change from travel folder
pictures into identifiable backgrounds for universal human
drama. And to the valiant Welsh teacher belongs part of the
credit for the friendship between Siam and America, first of-
ficially expressed in letters from my grandfather, written by
her to the presidents of your United States in far-away Wash-
ington.

Today I work in that Washington, in the manner of any
American woman who has a job. I have a small apartment
which is home to me and my two young daughters, which we
take care of ourselves. My daughters go to public schools;
they have many American friends. This is a life different
from that of the diplomatic circles in Washington which was
once all I knew of America. It is different from life in the
Grand Palace in Bangkok, where many households lived in
oriental splendor inside of guarded walls. It is different from
life in my sister's royal palace, where I had many people to
wait on me, and from that in my own Bangkok home, where
old family servants took charge of everything. But in it I ex-

press myself and I serve my country. So I regard it as a good
life; one in which today ! am finding contentment and ful-
fillment

Tomorrow? We shall sec, when tomorrow comes. This
book is to be about yesterday.

23]

II

IT is not easy, a recital of my past life, for it is like a mosaic,
made up of vSinall designs which must be carefully fitted to-
gether or the pattern is lost. I may find that I have mislaid
some of the pieces. There have been many separate lives and
many Rudis with little apparent relation to one another. But
1 shall try to connect them and to speak about them all.

I was the only daughter of Prince Narathip's young wife,
Soon PenkuL In Thailand the king now takes but one wife at
a time and the royal family follows his example. This change
in custom began with Rama VII, who came to the throne in
1925. Before then it was usual for royalty to have many
women in a household, both queens and consorts. Some of
these were chosen by the king; some were presented to him
as gifts. Sisters occasionally were installed as wives also, for
two reasons, one practical, one traditional A royal sister
could marry no one but a king. Unmarried, site had to be
confined to the palace, where, if ambitious, she might prove
a troublemaker. A simple solution was to make her a queen.
From a religious angle there existed the classical Buddhist ex-
ample; sister marriage in order to keep the royal line pure, a
custom going back to the family of Gautama himself. Tt is
well known that my grandfather, King Mongkut, had many

establishments. Even my father, who for his day was ad-
vanced in his thinking, maintained several households. But
his was not a harem in the truly oriental sense. There was no
head wife and no open favoritism shown toward any of the
women. They ranked as equals and the children of one wife
were not given superiority over another.

Of Prince Narathip's wives, my mother was reputed to be
the most beautiful, and I have always believed that my father
loved her best. After she died, far too soon, my father always
kept her picture beside his bed. He said I resembled her. Per-
haps it was for this reason that he showed special affection for
me. And I was so much younger than any of my half sisters
that I had a position in the family all my own.

In Thailand the theater and ceremonial dancing are an im-
portant part of court life. My mother was extremely talented,
both as an actress and as a dancer, and always in demand in
the Royal Theater. She was very kind and good. Women
were always bringing their troubles to her, and she was known
as "Stone Lion" because she never betrayed a confidence. It
was remarkable that I felt close to her, for we had so little
time together. My heart still aches for the young mother who
had to leave me when I was three months old to go to Singa-
pore and Penang with my father, and who cried every day,
missing me. When I was ten and had been sent out of the
country to school, she took a child who looked like me and
gave her the same nickname. She pretended that she held me,
and kissed and petted her, saying my name over and over:

"Mai Noi, my little Noi!"

I had my own games of pretend. Often I too longed des-
perately for her. But I had loving substitutesPrincess Chu-

tharat, my aunt, and a great lady, with whom J went as a child
to live in the Grand Palace; my sister, Queen Lakshami, wife
of Rama VI, in whose palace 1 stayed when i came home from
England; Mrs, Ambrose Sturges-Jones, whose homo in Nor-
folk was mine for several years and whom i called ""A lum-
my"; Lady Noueng, the mother of my girl chum, who cared
for me in London; and my mother-in-law, Mom Chan, who
treated me like her own daughter. All were wonderful wom-
en. Substitutes though they were, we gave each other a great
deal Perhaps i was the richer for exchanging affection with
so many.

My father, however, was the important person in my life,
and he joined with all the others in helping to spoil me. Not
only did my parents and my older brothers and sisters
pamper me, I was the pet of my paternal grandmother,
Chow Chorm Kien, a widow of King Mongkur. She was a
beautiful woman even when she was old, even when she
died, at almost a hundred. She took charge of me when I
was born, bringing one nurse after another to our palace.
Then she would nor trust them, hut would take care of me
herself. When I was still very small I learned the trick of
asking her questions about my fabulous grandfather, partly
because I wanted to know the answers, but mostly because
talking about him pleased her and put her in a humor to say
"yes" to whatever I wanted,

What a man he was, as I see him backward through time,
this monk-king Mongkur, who served as a Buddhist priest
for twenty-seven years in the strict order known as Tliar-
mytit, which he founded. Much has been said about his dedi-
cation, also his learning; he studied mathematics and astron-

oniy, Latin and French and English, and the languages of
the Orient as well as religious subjects, and when, finally,
he came to the throne he did great things for the advance-
ment of his country. But little has been revealed of the cour-
age he showed through years of political danger, when he
constantly had to fear for his life at the hands of the sup-
porters of his half brother, Phra Nang Klao. These nobles
had put Phra Nang Klao on the throne, and histories have
sometimes referred to him as The Usurper. With his full
brother, Prince Chuthamani, who later became a second
king, Maha Mongkut became practically a prisoner of state.
When, in his orange monk's robe, he would walk in the
street in the early morning and hold his bowl for the daily
meal as is the custom of Buddhist priests, his enemies would
pour scalding water into it. It took a brave man not to drop
it. But when a priest drops a bowl containing a gift, it places
a curse upon the house of the giver, and Mongkut as a monk
would not curse even his enemies. The Pra Sang is the sword
of the king and placing it beside him when he is on the
throne is mere ceremony now, but in my grandfather's time
it was there for protection, and Mongkut knew how to use
k. He was a strong man, a fighting man. But he was also an
excessively modest man, very shy with women. Chow Chorm
Kicn said if he began to punish one of his householdand
whippings were not too unusual in those days the girl had
only to tear open her bodice and His Majesty would stride
away in confusion. I suppose he had his contradictions, too,
my grandfather.

My grandmother, who had been the foremost dancer in
his court, laughed tenderly when she talked of him. Even as a

child I sensed that she had loved him very much. She made
me love him, certainly.

Besides the stories, 1 remember what lovely toys and clothes
I had in my earliest days, and the quantities of sweetmeats.
As to why everybody made such fuss over me 1 am not clear,
for later my sisters told me that I had so little hair they called
it cigarette tobacco, because it resembled the straggling ends
of our loosely packed Siamese cigarettes, and that I always
looked cross about something. My family seem to have loved
me greatly in spite of it. Why I appeared angry 1 do not
know. I do not remember feeling that way. Perhaps I was
play acting, trying, among so many older people, to make
myself important.

There was one place where it was difficult for anyone but
His Highness to be important, and that was during his meals.
It was then that my father was completely royal His lunch
and dinner were ceremonial affairs at which he ate alone, sit-
ting on the floor on a large rug over which a clean white cloth
was spread. Nearby, his wives crouched on the floor, and the
older children had to crouch, too. We younger ones were al-
lowed to sit up, but no one of us was supposed to speak. It was
at these meals that my father, who was very well educated,
gave us lectures on many subjects. I Ic said the general knowl-
edge we would get in this way was as important as the educa-
tion we received at school Certainly we learned a great deal
from him.

It was not until years later that our family all ate together,
sitting in chairs at a table, but my father's habits were consid-
ered very modern for the time. He was served both Thai and
Western food nnd had cooks who could prepare them very

[283

well. His wives made special dishes for him, and my mother
and my grandmother were always fixing some marvelous
concoction. I have the reputation of being a good cook and I
should be, for all my young life I was with those who made
cooking an art.

While we watched respectfully, my father would eat first
Western-style soup and an entree, either fish or chicken;
then Thai food with rice as the main course; then thin soup,
Thai style, then curry made with coconut milk. There would
also be fried foods, vegetables, and fish. Each came to the
table in a separate dish with its own cover. The manner of eat-
ing was to put rice on an entree plate, then place helpings of
all other foods on another plate, and finally pile them on top
of the rice. There were always two bowls of soup, with a
china spoon in each, and a bite of the rice mixture was alter-
nated with every taste of soup or curry.

At the end there was a choice of many desserts. Usually
my father had three or four: a couple of puddings and fruits
of various kinds. We have delicious fruits in Thailand; dur-
ian, which is as large as a melon, smells very bad but tastes de-
licious; mangoes; guava; gnaws, which are a small fruit; and
more than thirty varieties of bananas horm, which are like
those yon have in America; namwa, short ones with a tight
texture and full of vitamins; kai, large and sweet; harkmook,
big ones which must be cooked, among them. Also we have
the most marvelous grapefruit, pineapples, and papayas. Only
on rare occasions did my father relax the rules and give to us
children a taste of the sweets. But always he gave us good
talk.

We liked being there with him, but there was none of the

American attitude of parents and children meeting on an
equal footing. My older brothers and sisters showed him deep

respect, and, for all the spoiling, 1 felt the reverence for my
father I would for a god.

Rather like a god, my father had power over my life.

When I was a baby, he gave me to my royal aunt, Princess
Chutharat. I was five when I was sent to live with her in the
Grand Palace,

1 call the princess my aunt, in the Thai manner. I lere in
America she would be my cousin. She was a daughter of King
Chtilalongkorn, who was my father's brother. We Siamese
have our own method of indicating relationships. 1 lusbands
and wives call one another brother and sister, in the ancient
manner of the Orient. In the old clays, younger wives often
regarded the daughters of older wives as their sisters. Half
brothers and sisters were held as clear as real ones. As for
Princess Chutharat, my aunt and I were doubly related.
On our father's side we had the same grandfather; on my
mother's side, her grandfather was my great-grandfather.

This maternal ancestor of mine was a remarkable and
greatly respected Chinese named Pen, who was the head of
the Penkul family. He came to court in a strange way. It was
the custom to invite the monks into homes to deliver sermons,
and Maha Mongkut, while a priest, had spoken to the house-
hold of an important Chinese family. They had brought Pen,
then a laughing baby, in on a tray, and presented him to the
monk. Maha Mongkut had loved the child very much. He
educated him, and, when Mongkut finally came to the throne,
the young Chinese was made a member of the royal house-
hold and elevated to the highest rank a nobleman can hold,

0]

Chow Phaya Mahindtharodom. Pen was the only man be-
sides the king ever allowed inside the City of Forbidden
Women in the Royal Palace.

When I first heard that I had a Chinese great-grandfather,
I was bewildered. How could that be, when I was Siamese?

"It explains why you are such a clever girl," my father told
me, laughing at my puzzled face. "People with mixed blood
are much smarter than those who have only one blood."

Years later I remembered the remark and felt glad that in
this way I could be like Americans, in whose veins mingles
the blood of many nationalities.

However it may appear to Western eyes for my parents to
give me to Princess Chutharat, it was in accordance with ac-
cepted Thai custom, and a proper provision for my future
welfare. In this period girls were placed in important house-
holds to be instructed in the royal way of living and fitted for
high positions. There were few who could provide more in
this respect than Princess Chutharat.

My aunt's home in the Grand Palace was in what was
known as The Inside, once called the City of the Nang Ham,
the Forbidden Women. It was one of about thirty palaces
which remained not far from the section where Anna Leono-
wens once taught the wives and children of King Mongkut,
and which later had been occupied by the households of King
Chulalongkorn, some of whose members still resided there.
The name Grand Palace is misleading, however, for it is
not a building at all. It is a walled city, about a mile square,
with entrances through gates with such poetic names as
the Gate of Knowledge, the Gate of Merit, the Gate of
Earth, and the Gate of Heaven. It includes other magnificent

palaces, pavilions, and temples, among them the kinfs own
temple, the Wat Phra Keo, the world-famous Temple of the
Emerald Buddha. The Forbidden City, protected by three
walls, lay far beyond it to the south.

The Grand Palace was the traditional residence of the king
and his household and during my childhood King Vajira-
vudh, Rama VI, was on the throne. Although there arc some
stretches of lawn and lovely gardens and along the Chao
Pay a, the Mcnam (Thai for river), which the palace faces to
the west, is an esplanade with grass and trees, much of the
area is paved with stone, Rama VI liked better the Phya
Thai Palace, which his father had built two miles from the
city as a rural retreat and where there was more of nature. A
few years later he moved his bachelor residence there and
came to the Grand Palace only for state occasions. At this
time, however, it was still his chief residence,

Princess Chutharat maintained a fine establishment, with
many ladies in waiting, attendants, and servants.

When the day came for me to go there, my mother told
me of the wonderful life I would have with my aunt. I did
not care. 1 wanted only to stay with my family. But I had
little to say in the matter, in fact it was never discussed with
me. My clothes were packed, and I was off,

It is a tradition that the Grand Palace should always be seen
first cither in the early morning or in the evening at sunset,
and should be approached from the river. Then the rays of
light turn the many tall spires into gold and the inlays on the
gables sparkle like diamonds, and the whitewashed walls
which surround it, the tall gate buildings, and the many col-
ored roofs are bathed in a rosy glow, I went at about six

o'clock in the evening, but I did not approach from the river
and there was no sunset. I recall the scene clearly. I was
driven there with my father and mother in our black Mar-
mon car. It was a dark and dismal day, the early part of the
rainy season. I still dislike rain and fear thunderstorms, and I
always associate them with this unhappy time.

We rode along streets that were muddy and wet and
strewn with palm fronds blown down by the monsoon winds.
Finally we came to the palace walls, broad, white, and squat,
with f ortlike buildings on top, overlooking the entrances. We
went in by the gate called Pratu Vises Jaisri, The Gate of
Supreme Victory.

There were uniformed military guards here and, as our car
rolled through, all of them saluted my father. For a moment I
felt excited and important, then my heart remembered. Even
my mother's pointing out the king's white elephant, the sa-
cred beast chained in his elaborate pavilion nearby, failed to
divert me, for I learned now that our car could pass only be-
yond the second wall and that my father would remain in it,
since he could go little farther with us, anyhow. Although
Rama VI had not yet taken a wife, no man was permitted
within the City of Women. I was told to say good-by to His
Royal Highness here,

I looked up into his face, the dearest in the world to me, a
handsome, sensitive face, with dark, beautiful eyes. It was a
dreadful moment, the worst that my five short years had
known. I managed to kiss him bravely. Then I trotted away,
clinging tightly to my mother's hand and trying not to cry.

The walk to the next gate did not take long, but to me it
was an endless journey. The stone pavements were hard and

C33]

slippery in this strange, vast palace of marble and gold, so un-
like my father's bright, cheerful home. Finally my eyes
blurred with tears and I stumbled and fell. When my mother
picked me up I pulled backward, tugging at her with all my
strength. It was useless. She dried my eyes and comforted
me. But she led me on.

The outer walls of the Grand Palace were guarded by men,
but at the gate of the inner court stood huge female creatures
such as I had never seen before, Amazon-like women, made
even more frightening to me by the brilliant blue-and-white
uniforms they wore. Mother stopped to speak to one of them,
to arrange for passage through when she came back. But the
gates would be closed for the night by that time, the guard
told her, and exit would be impossible.

My mother insisted.

How it would have ended I do not know, for I interfered.
This was too much. I had supposed she would at least spend
the night with me in this new palace. I stood there in my little
silk blouse and panung, my long hair damp with rain, and I
began to sob wildly.

"Don't leave me," I pleaded. "Stay just one night with me.
Stay tonight. Oh, please"

When my mother did not answer, I looked up, and saw
that her face was as sorrowful as mine. She was trying to be
brave but the parting hurt her, too. After a moment she
nodded.

"I will stay. Wait while I go back and tell your father,"

I wanted to go with her, both to see my father once more
and to get away from the guard, who seemed a giantess, fierce
and terrible. But I was too shaken to protest, and stood, in

C34]

shivering silence, for what seemed a very long time, until my
mother returned. She took my hand again and we moved to-
ward the inner gate together.

The gateway had a raised threshold. Mother pointed to it.

"Do not step on that," she warned me. "Be sure you put
your foot over it."

If I had been my usual self I would have jumped on it be-
fore now. But I was in no mood for games.

"Why can't I tread on it? " I asked, not really caring.

"Because the spirits that guard the Grand Palace are there,
so it is sacred."

I stared at it. Then I stretched my short legs in a high step,
but I didn't quite make it, going over.

"Will the spirits be offended with me?" I asked, looking
back at Mother anxiously.

Mother smiled. "Not if you bow to them nicely," she as-
sured me.

I quickly put my two palms together and ducked my head
toward them in the bow we call "Wai" or "Krab," which is
both a greeting and a sign of respect. When I looked up I saw
my mother was removing her shoes. She stepped over the
threshold carefully without touching it and then put her
shoes on again.

"Why did you do that, when I didn't have to?" I de-
manded.

She smiled a little wistfully. "You are a princess. A prin-
cess may cross the threshold of the Grand Palace wearing
shoes. A commoner may not."

Was my mother, then, a commoner? What did that mean,
I wanted to know.

1:35:1

"It means I am not of royal blood. You are, for your father
is a prince. It is because I am a commoner that you must go to
your aunt. If you were a boy, you could remain at home and
be instructed by your father. Since you are a girl of royal
family, you must live with a princess."

My mother, commoner or not, was to me the most wonder-
ful woman in the world. I did not want to stay in a palace she
must remove her shoes to enter. But it was too late to try to
turn back. The Amazon in the uniform had clanged the gate
behind us.

It was still quite a way to my aunt's home. We walked it in
silence.

But when we reached there I found it was not too bad. The
palace was a handsome one. Princess Chutharat greeted me
affectionately. She put me at once in the charge of another
aunt, Song Sang, a commoner, a sister of my mother. I also
met my cousins, Pi Ying Pen and Pi Pow. They were the
children of Prince Pichai, Princess Chutharat's brother. They
lived with her and now would become my playmates.

It was the hour for dinner and we children had it together.
We ate in a kind of Roman style, reclining on the floor and
resting on one elbow. I had a woman attendant, whose name
was Term, to feed me. It seems ridiculous now, but it was
then still the custom to feed children until they were quite
big and even to carry them about.

After dinner, Aunt Chutharat told us we should go to bed
quickly, "as soon as the rice is laid down neatly in your stom-
ach," as the Thai saying goes. So Aunt Song Sang took me to a
bathroom. A large china barrel covered with beautiful de-
signs stood in a corner, on a zinc floor. My aunt undressed me

but wrapped a band of red material below my waist. A Sia-
mese girl never bathes unclothed, and for royalty the covering
must be red. My aunt put water from the barrel into a silver
bowl, and poured it over me, rubbed me with soap and then
rinsed my body with several more bowls of water.

It was pleasant to be waited on in a way which made me
feel grown up. I took to the new luxury as our water birds do
to the pond. I could yield to the allurements of the Grand
Palace, because my mother was still with me. When, finally,
I was ready and placed in the great four-poster bed in the
room which was to be mine, my mother came and lay beside
me. She sang me a little song. Her voice was sweet-

A small bird lies in the nest
For the last time I went to sleep wholly her child.

Ill

How SHALL I speak to you properly of Bangkok? I do not
have the words, either in Siamese or English, to tell you what
it was, this city of my birth.

Once, because of the beauty of its canals, it was called the
Venice of the East. I do not know Venice. But I do know that
the Bangkok of my childhood was like no place else in the
world, not to be described in comparison with other cities. It
contained many wonders, yet, strangely perhaps, what it
created in the heart was not due to what may be seen,
touched, or heard. Not to the magnificence of its three hun-
dred temples, with prangs pointing to the sky and jewel-
encrusted wats where Buddha ever smiles in contemplation;
not to the palaces with their sparkling roofs and golden pa-
vilions, nor to courtyards where jasmine and hibiscus bloomed
and fountains threw sprays of rainbows. These were not the
city, only its adornments.

Nor was the wonder of my city wholly from the sounds
and scents of the land. Palm and mango trees did not make
my Bangkok, or the city's ancient gates, or Sapan Han, the
old, old covered bridge where the sweet shops were, or the
colorful fantasy of the Chinese sector. Not even the beckon-
ing way of the New Road, although in this great artery of the
city many peoples swarmed; orange-clad monks struck their
bowls like bells; saronged Malays, Indians in great wrapped

turbans; Arabs with long beards; dark Mons from Burma
mingled here. All these were Bangkok, but Bangkok was not
in any one of them, nor in all of them together.

My Bangkok was neither place nor people. It was a spirit-
serene, gay, golden. Bangkok was the heart finding happiness.

As a child I felt this all-pervading joy of the city, rebuking
my personal small miseries and disappointments. It must have
soothed the anger with which I was said to have been born.
When I went to the Grand Palace I was still very young, very
puzzled. I was like a small flower wrenched from the parent
stem which has nurtured it and which it had regarded as the
source of life. There was in me the shock of the tearing apart,
the transplanting, the struggle to put my frail roots into new
soil and find my own nourishment. At five I did not know
this, and could only suffer dumbly. But like a plant uncon-
scious of reason, after a time I began to find food, and to grow,
and to unfold new leaves into the sunlight.

To the Thai of that time, Siam still was the center of the
universe, although since my grandfather's day we had learned
that it did not constitute the entire globe, as once we had be-
lieved it did. On our maps it now lay clearly between Cam-
bodia and Laos and Burma and Malay. To the north were the
teak forests, to the south the sea. Bangkok was in the middle
of the great rice plain, three miles up the Menam from the
Gulf, and beyond it the mountain ranges bulged in like a
camel's hump, with the tail curling down the Malay Penin-
sula. Bangkok lay in the curve of the river, with the Grand
Palace at the tip of the bend.

In this Bangkok of 1916 royal life centered in the Grand
Palace, Maha Vajiravudh, Rama VI, had been king for six

c 39 :i

years. His father, Chulalongkorn, Rama V, to whom my
father was brother, had died in 1910. But remnants of Chula-
longkorn's household lingered here, and the spell of Mongkut
still lay over its ornate pavilions. It had been a large house-
hold. King Chulalongkorn, taught by Anna Leonowens, had
abolished slavery in Siam, but, although he had discussed dis-
continuing the harems, he had been advised that the time had
not yet come for such drastic change of custom. In the end,
he had had almost as many wives as his father had, and they
had borne him seventy-seven children.

Who can tell how Fate, from among so many, selects the
Siamese child who will become king and perpetuate his fa-
ther's line? The crown prince customarily was the son of the
king's favorite. Chulalongkorn's three favorite wives were
sisters, and his half sisters, the daughters of Mongkut and
Lady Piem, a wife half Chinese. The first sister, Sunantha,
had been his heart's love. They had a small daughter and he
hoped she also would bear him a son to be the crown prince.
But she, and the daughter, and the unborn child had been lost
when a launch, in which she was traveling to the Summer
Palace, mysteriously capsized. The daughter had been flung
into the water and Sunantha instantly had plunged after her.
Two accounts are given of what followed one that the queen
never came up; the other that she struggled in the canal, hold-
ing her child, and no one went to her rescue, since in that clay,
under no conditions whatever, might anyone lay hands on
the queen, even to save her life. The mystery of such an acci-
dent on a smooth klong never was solved. But an ugly rumor
circulated that while the king mourned, heartbroken, there
were ambitious ones in court who secretly rejoiced.

[40]

Seven years later Prince Vajirunhis, the handsome son of
the second sister, Sawang Watana, became crown prince, but
died of a fever before he was crowned. After fifteen years it
was Prince Vajiravudh, son of the third sister, Saovabha
Pongsi, who was heir to his father's throne.

As Rama VI, Vajiravudh made no official pronouncement
in regard to his father's feminine household. It became
known, however, that those of its inmates who had relatives
would be allowed to leave and go home to them, if they made
formal request to do so. Eventually the women's quarters of
the Forbidden City were to become deserted. But in the five
years the Grand Palace was my home I did not lack for little
princes and princesses as playmates. Boys were allowed to re-
main there until they were ten, and they greatly relieved for
me the tedium of all-feminine households.

It was a strange playground for a child, these secluded pa-
vilions within a thrice-walled city. Although it was soon to be
a symbol of a forgotten way of life, the Grand Palace was not
truly ancient. Bangkok had not been founded until 1783,
Before that, the capital of Siam had been Ayudhia, The In-
comparable, but its wonders had been destroyed by the Bur-
mese, who invaded it. When my great-great-great-grand-
father, the Phra Bhudhayodfa Chulaloke, a Siamese warrior,
achieved final victory for us in Cambodia, he was offered a
crown by his people. He proclaimed himself Rama I and es-
tablished our dynasty, which became known as the Chakri
The Powerful-dynasty. On the bank of the Menam, where
Bangkok now stands, were Chinese settlers. Across the water
from them a new capital was built at Dhonburi. When, after
three great battles, Rama I finally drove the Burmese from

our borders, he moved his court to the place where Bangkok
is today. The Chinese went southward, to a quarter called
Sanipeng. They are still there. About one fifth of the people
in Thailand are Chinese and the greatest concentration is in
Bangkok.

Of the palaces built by Rama I, two still are magnificent
and in use Dusk Maha Prasad, which he built for the great
court ceremonies, such as the coronation of kings and the
lying-in-state of royal remains; and Phra Tinang Amarindr,
which means u where the king sits/ 7 or Royal Palace. The
Dusk Maha Prasad is still spoken of as the finest building
within the Grand Palace walls. Its form is that of a cross, and
from its center a spire goes up, tier upon tier. In its great
chamber there is a throne with a stone slab for a seat, and on
this slab one of our kings in the thirteenth century sat to hold
audiences with his people. King Mongkut found it in the ruins
of the ancient capital at Sukhodai, and had it brought here.
Another reminder of olden times is the gilt pavilion nearby,
where twice a year the king takes a ceremonial bath, a custom
which has come down from the time of the Cambodians in
Siam. On the west side of the Amarindr Palace is a small, un-
important-looking sala with tightly drawn curtains, but we
Siamese regard it with reverence, for here Rama I sat when
the Thais offered him the crown.

Wat Phra Keo, the famous Temple of the Emerald Bud-
dha, is also within the Grand Palace walls, although it is sep-
arated from the palace proper. This temple is the most sacred
place in Siam, and my breath used to come very fast when I
was allowed to enter it to venerate the jasper image of the
Buddha which sits in a mysterious half-light, high on the top

of a gilded altar of many tiers. At the foot of this altar are gold
and silver trees, and in the corner stand two life-sized statues,
said to represent Rama I and Rama II and to contain gold in
an amount equal to the weight of these monarchs. The Emer-
ald Buddha has golden clothes, too, studded with diamonds,
three changes, one for each of our three seasons wet, cold,
and dry. The cloisters which surround these buildings have
more than one hundred and fifty panels showing scenes from
the Ramayana, which I thought were fascinating, and studied
endlessly.

Beyond these was the Chakri Palace. I remember most
clearly there the vast staircase and the throne hall with its
ceiling of glass and the nine-tiered white umbrella of state
over the old-fashioned throne. Today the thought of these
buildings creates in me the same stirring of the heart as when
I was a child.

But these were public buildings. The inside lay beyond
them. In those early days of which I speak now I was more at
home in three pavilions nearer my aunt's palace, which had
once been the center of the royal household. One was where
Anna Leonowens had taught; its modern name was The
Temple of the Mothers of the Free. The other two retained
their ancient dedications to Buddha the Omniscient and Bud-
dha the Infinite. They were beautiful In great niches the
images of Buddha stood or sat, teaching, contemplating, bless-
ing; the vaulted enclosure in the anteroom of each building
reached upward almost to the highest level of the roof, and
through the lofty windows the sunlight came downward in a
stream to touch the golden countenances below. No one
seemed to know who had built these temples; they went back

[43]

into antiquity and I was told Rama I had found them here
when he had moved the capital across the Chow Phya to the
east bank. I knew little of religion, but I liked the serenity of
these halls as I padded through them, even though my
thoughts might be on eluding my aunt Song Sang, or my
nurse Term, and getting in a game of Mother Snake with my
playmates before I should be called for dinner.

Behind the ChakrI palace apartments there was a kind of
roof terrace from which there was a view of the entire Inside,
and in the Forbidden City was a lovely place to play called
Tortoise Garden. The Forbidden City had its own shops,
run, of course, by women, and it contained humble resi-
dences as well as palaces. My aunt's home, in the best residen-
tial district, was a large building made of brick, with white
walls. It was built Thai fashion, high above the ground, so high
that the space underneath, paved with stone, was used for
quarters for her ladies in waiting. Pi Pow, Pi Ying Pen, and I
were the only children who lived with her, but many young
people in other royal households were nearby. All of us were
guarded carefully; we had to go to school, to study, to learn
deportment and court behavior. We had a head teacher called
Kru-Durn. Km means teacher and Dum means black. She
was dark for a Thai, and had black frizzy hair and a big,
strong face and flashing black eyes. She taught me the first
English words I ever learned, and I thought she spoke the
language beautifully. I was envious, but I did not get much
beyond the alphabet.

In addition to our studies, we had to be in respectful attend-
ance on Princess Chutharat when she had her meals. Aunt
Song Sang was very careful about all I did, and with her and

C443

Term both watching me I did not have much free time to
play. Aunt Song Sang loved me, I think, but she was not pa-
tient with my complaints. Term was mean to me; maybe I
gave her reason to be, for I was not a meek child. She pinched
me when I did not take my nap. I told Aunt Song Sang. She
said only, "Be obedient and then you will not need to be pun-
ished." I would have liked to tell my troubles to Princess
Chutharat, but I did not quite dare. She was such a very im-
portant lady, and while I was a favorite, and it was said I
would inherit a large estate from her, I was a little afraid to go
to her with complaints. So usually I buried my grievances and
had what fun I could.

At playtime, the Mother Snake game was my favorite. It
was a rather rough one, in which the players lined up behind
the leader, or mother, who tried to protect her little "snakes"
from the father snake, whose purpose was to catch them. It
required a number of children and some fast running. I also
liked a jumping game, Black Jade, in which you started with
a leap from the low step of a flight, and one by one went high-
er and higher, until you got to ten. In this I often landed on
nose or chin, shed some blood and got spanked for it One
other game we children enjoyed, Term regarded as a moral
offense. It was played with stones, something like "jack-
stones" in America, and Term called it a low kind of amuse-
ment. Aunt Song Sang agreed with her. She said it was pick-
ing the bones of your ancestors. I got spanked for that, too,
but I played it anyhow.

Of my playmates I was, of course, most with Pi Ying Pen
and Pi Pow. Pi Pow was a young bully, but to me he seemed
a hero and I meekly did everything he ordered me to. "I am

going to marry him when I grow up," I told everyone. Prin-
cess Chutharat always smiled when I said that; i had no way
of knowing she had thought of it before I had, and she did not
tell me her plans.

It was when I was about eight years old that my father and
my aunt decided that I should go for a time to a French con-
vent school in Bangkok, called St. Joseph's. Two of my older
sisters already were there, Princess Banchert, whose nick-
name was Taew, and Princess Srisaang, who was called Tu-
ang. They were in much higher grades than I was, and I was
not very close to them, but at least I could feel that some of
my family was nearby. We boarded at the convent but oc-
casionally went away for week ends; sometimes to my aunt's;
sometimes to my father's palace. Long vacations were the best,
for many of my royal relatives had bungalows by the sea and I
was allowed to visit them. By this time I was getting used to
being moved about and not having a fixed home; even used to
being away from my mother and to having my aunt own me.
It had seemed frightening at first, but nothing remains
strange. After a while you adjust to whatever must be.

The teachers at St. Joseph's were Sisters of a French order
and very gentle and sweet. I remember the names of three of
them; Madame Angelica, Madame Claire, and Madame Te-
rese. We students wore uniforms, black-and-white checked
ones, and whenever I wanted a clean one I had to get it from
Madame Terese. The school routine was very monotonous.
We had long prayers in the morning and again in the evening.
They were not in Thai, so I did not understand them. I knew
no Latin and I was only beginning to learn French to study it
was one of the reasons I was sent to the convent. At that time

I was not even sure what the religious faith there was; later I
realized, of course, it must have been Roman Catholic.

I have few memories of these days, I find. I remember best
the sound of the organ and a game we played called Balloon.
I remember, too, the dormitorieslong rows of beds and a
basin beside each one to wash in. And a, dining room where
we had for breakfast a piece of bread and a banana; for lunch,
curry; for tea, a piece of bread put in our hand. Dinner was a
good meal; we ate it late and hurried to bed. We had to rise
early, and I liked to wake before we were called, for then I
could peek at the Sister in charge, combing her hair. I thought
most of the Sisters looked like angels and their hair was long
and lovely. I never saw hair more beautiful than theirs.

It was still dark when we got up. We would stumble
around, sleepily, washing our faces and tying our ribbons. I
was not too unhappy except when I was sick and had to stay
in the dormitory all by myself. I hated the rows of empty
beds then. On week ends, too, when sometimes the other girls
all would be taken home and I would be left alone. I remem-
ber how I sat with my chin on the windowsill, watching.
Headlights would flash up the driveway and the cars for the
other girls would come and go, and I would still be hoping
and waiting. Mine was an uncertain life. Some days I was sent
for, and some days I was not. I never knew.

I wanted very much to become a day student and pleaded
for it. It was a long time before my father would give his per-
mission, but finally he did, and for a while I had his car take
me to school every morning. I remember those days as the
happiest. Perhaps that is one reason for the feelings that come
over me when T think of Bangkok. I recall how beautiful it

was in the morning light as I rode through the streets on my

way to school-
But that happiness was not for long. One day I learned

another change was planned for me.
I was to go to England to live.

C48]

IV

AT THIS time education was not general in Siam; it flourished
chiefly in the monasteries. My father was a scholar and he
wished that his children should be also. He provided for all of
us the best instruction that our country offered. In addition
he insisted that my brothers study in other countries, and
these plans were furthered by the fact that all of them won
scholarships for such work. Some went to Japan, and to Ger-
many and America. But the largest number went to England.
Rama VI was an Oxford graduate, and princes of the royal
house, following his example, often became students there.

The princesses were not so fortunate. Curiously, women in
Siam had always been free, except those of the upper classes.
The king was now making real eff orts for our education and
advancement. But at the time I was growing up, education for
a woman was not a usual thing, and foreign study for one al-
most unheard of. I was the only daughter of Prince Narathip
Prabhanbongse to be given such an advantage.

At the time it was arranged for me, I did not regard going
to England as a privilege. Now that I was a day student at the
convent I had more freedom than I had had when I was con-
fined in the Grand Palace, and more opportunities to be at
Pang Nara, which I still wistfully clung to in theory as home.
I was terrified at the prospect of making a sea voyage to an

unknown country. I had been given one lesson in the submis-
sion expected of females in my country when I had been arbi-
trarily deposited in the Grand Palace. But this time I had
more warning. I decided to protest.

"I still have a great deal to learn at St. Joseph's," I told my
father. "The Sisters say I do well in my French. If I go off to
England now, it will be interrupted."

"If there are no good teachers of French in England, those
lessons can be resumed when you return," he assured me.

cc lt is cold in England, and I have no proper clothes. A win-
ter wardrobe will cost a great deal."

He surveyed me with outright amusement. My wardrobe
had long been a matter of family discussion, since my royal
relatives, including the king, frequently made me presents of
clothes. The dresses often were much too elaborate, but al-
though my mother objected, after a conference it always was
decided I must wear them, rather than risk offending the
giver. Now my father said, "Yes, Mai Noi, simple, warm
clothing will be one of the necessary expenses of this most
important project."

"But it is not fair to my sisters that I should have more than
they do," I maintained nobly. "Let me stay here, Father, and
do as they do."

My father patted my head. "You need not be so sacrific-
ing, my daughter. It is all arranged." Then he tipped my head
back and looked into my eyes. "The trip must not frighten
you, Mai Noi. One day you will be glad you have gone."

"How can I be glad, when it sends me from you?" I de-
manded, now in angry tears. "Won't you even miss me?"

"I shall miss you very much. But life is not a matter of our

[50]

personal feelings. You are being sent to England f or apurpose.
Please accept that fact, and make the most of your opportuni-
ties. 7 '

"What purpose? Tell me!"

I asked it many times in the next weeks, but he never ex-
plained it to me in words. He only gave me to understand
that I had a destiny which I must accept.

Years passed before I fully understood what my father had
hoped that destiny would be, and with what earnestness he
had prepared me for it.

I became aware very soon after this, however, of a new ex-
citement in Pang Nara Palace. At first I thought it was be-
cause of my trip, for which plans were being made far in ad-
vance of my departure. One of my elder sisters, Princess Or-
rathipprabhan, was married to a secretary in the Thai lega-
tion in London and it was arranged that she would take me to
England when the time came. We were to travel on the same
ship with Prince Sukothai and his wife, Princess Rarnbai
Barni. This prince was a brother to King Varijavudh, Rama
VI. No one could know then, of course, that he would one
day be King Prajadipok, Rama VII, but he was much re-
spected. My childish reaction ended there. Three younger
princes, all of them my cousins, also were going on the boat,
and I was more excited about their company than that of their
elders. One of these boys was Prince Chula Chakrapongse, a
handsome nephew of the king, whose distinguished father,
Prince Chakrapongse, had recently died. Like me, Chula was
going off to school in England. Chakrapongse was a Chao Fa,
or heavenly prince.

It was a distinguished party, and I supposed my parents

were pleased to send me off in such good company. But
there was a much more important reason for their smiles of
satisfaction. The special excitement, I learned one day, grew
out of the fact that Rama VI had renamed several of my sis-
ters. To be named by the king always was a great honor, but
this ceremony had had unusual significance. Names are con-
sidered most important by Siamese people; it is believed that
those who marry should have names with letters which com-
bine in a way satisfactory to the astrologers. So the royal act
had been taken to indicate that one of these girls might be se-
lected as a queen by His Majesty.

Princess Warnrabhathewee, who was near the age of
Rama VI, seemed the obvious choice, but a younger sister, the
one nicknamed Tew, also of marriageable age, was especially
beautiful and popular. When the king named the younger
one Lakshamilavan, her admirers raised their brows and be-
gan to whisper, for in Siamese mythology Lakshami is the
Goddess of Luck, also she is the wife of King Narai of Siam.
People began to look at this sister of mine and say, "She could
be the one. Laksbami could be the queen!"

There were other signs. Rama VI was a poet and a play-
wright and in his heart I think the Royal Theater was almost
as dear to him as the Royal Palace. Members of our family
were constantly being called to court to take part in his plays.
My mother was a great favorite there, as an actress and as a
person. Of the women eventually decorated by the king, she
was the only one not the mother of a queen. But when His
Majesty cast himself as the hero, it was usually Lakshami who
was the heroine and the love scenes were played very realis-
tically.

My sisters had teased Lakshami about this. "Is it necessary
for His Royal Highness to hold you so tightly as the curtain
descends?" they would ask her. And she would look embar-
rassed but happy. So we were not unprepared for an an-
nouncement concerning her.

The time clearly had arrived to proclaim a royal betrothal
to someone. In these nine years of Rama VFs rule he had been
without a consort and there had been great competition for
this honor. Mothers had tried every imaginable strategy to
have their daughters chosen. The story went that one of these
overly ambitious women was responsible for finally pushing
the king into an engagement announcement. Knowing that
Princess Warnrabhathewee was being considered, she said
to him, "It is too bad about that girl. She is a sickly one." This
was not tme, and the king knew this was an effort to trick
him and it made him angry. His quick reply was, "If Warn-
rabhathewee is ill, I will marry her and see that she is prop-
erly cared for." That was the king's way. He made up his
own mind. If Warnrabhathewee had been as strong as an
elephant, or weak as a flea, the engagement would still have
been made public.

At once the attention of all Bangkok centered on our fam-
ily. With his Sandhurst and Oxford background, the king
was modern in his ideas. He would have none of the Thai
custom of sending for his bride-to-be to come to him. Instead,
he went to call upon her, Western fashion. That, of course,
was always an occasion, for many attendants came with him,
also the friendly and the curious flocked in. It was over-
whelming, the number of our acquaintances who wished to
show courtesy to my father, and who managed to arrive at

this particular time. Our palace was crowded, and the king's
visits to his betrothed turned into huge receptions. Finally
His Majesty decided to give Warnrabhathewee a palace of
her own, where they could meet with some privacy. It was
not far from Pang Nara, but for a while after that all our fam-
ily saw of the royal suitor was a glimpse of his feet as he
passed by, while we crouched to give him a Thai bow.

But apparently Rama VI still went on thinking about the
other daughters of Krom Pra Narathip Prabhanbongse. My
father had made a poem out of our names and this is how it
went:

Pornpimolabhan

Warnrabhathewee

Warnranisrisamorn

Orrathipprabhan

Nanthanamarasri

Lakshamilavan

Banchertwarnawarang

Srisaangnaruermon

Ubonparani

Rudivoravan

Maybe, as Rama VI said this verse over to himself, he re-
gretted his hasty choice; maybe on better acquaintance he
found his fiancee uncongenial. No one ever really knew what
happened, only that there never was a wedding for the king
and Warnrabhathewee. Eventually she was raised to a royal
highness and the palace and the jewels and other gifts were
hers to keep. But it was Princess Lakshami that Rama VI
chose to be his wife and his queen.

54:1

Lakshami immediately received Paruskawan, one of the
finest royal palaces, and lived there during her engagement.
She was provided with a large number of attendants and
servants, and food from the royal kitchen. This sister, whom
I loved very much, looked like a queen and behaved like one
from the beginning. Almost at once she had an important
household, for as soon as people learned she was to wed the
king they came, carrying flowers and candles as a token of
respect, and brought their daughters to her to serve as ladies
in waiting. If they hoped their daughters also might become
consorts of the king, which usually was their ambition, they
did not disclose it. Even if His Majesty took no notice of a
girl, it was considered a great honor to live with a queen.
Lakshami accepted all of the candidates, some to remain in
the palace with her, some to serve only on special occasions.

I was miserable when I learned that the wedding would not
take place before I left for England. The plans for it were
breathtaking, the clothes, the jewels, the celebrations would
be magnificent. This would be a great state affair, but it
would be more than that to the people who had waited so
long for a queen. Rama VI was a popular sovereign, kindly
looking, with a fine figure, wide shoulders, and narrow hips.
Many people regarded Lakshami as the most beautiful prin-
cess in Siam. To them the marriage was very romantic, par-
ticularly so since the king had come out strongly against
polygamy and announced that the time-honored custom of
many wives in the royal household was to be abolished. He
promised that there would be no other queen, no wife, no
consort for him but Lakshami.

Perhaps love inspired him, for Rama VI now wrote more

plays than ever, and the members of my family all acted in
them. Even I, small as I was, had a part. At the Winter Fair,
which is a big event in Bangkok, I played the role of a child
buying articles at one of the fair booths. In rehearsal, I just
pretended. But the night of the performance I actually was
to take the articles. And when the play was over, Rama VI
gave them to meevery one an armload of trinkets and dolls
and jewelry and toys.

The king always was kind to me. Once when I was lame,
because I had stepped on a rusty nail, he had me carried to the
royal palace where he was holding an audience, and he
placed me on a stool right at his feet. I liked him very much.

Since my father was a writer, too, considered one of the
finest in Siam, and since the king took his literary work so
seriously, there must have been a strong sense of rivalry be-
tween the two men. But they never showed it openly. Rama
VI came to my father's theater to see his plays, and every-
thing my father had was at the king's disposal.

Every moment was precious to me now, with time short
before my departure. There was nothing I enjoyed more than
being in my father's theater. It was named Pridalai and stood
only a short distance from his palace. It was a large wooden
building with an auditorium, loges, and a balcony which
held more than a thousand persons. Its decorations were most
artistic and it had up-to-date stage equipment. I would sit
hour after hour, still as a mouse, watching rehearsals and
dreaming of the day when I, too, might be a heroine in one
of my father's plays.

The path to Pridalai was a branch of the main road which
led to Pang Nara Palace, where all of my father's household

lived. To my childish eyes it was simply home, but I realize
now how impressive a residence it was. The road to it passed
the lodge of a gatekeeper, who must be dealt with before any-
one could approach the entrance. The palace had great stone
steps before the central door, with curving staircases on each
side, steps on which I loved to jump and play.

The rooms in a Siamese palace must always be large to per-
mit space for the elaborate lying-in-state ceremonies which
are so important a part of our funerals. The reception hall at
Pang Nara was like a deep veranda with blinds. No windows
in Thailand have glass in them. Birds fly in and out at will.
This reception hall led to another wide veranda, which ex-
tended around the building to the great drawing room. There
was also a large dining room. On one side were the study
and the bedroom of my father. Kitchen and servants' quar-
ters were, as they always are in Siam, in a separate building
in the rear, reached by a covered path.

My father's apartments were my favorite rooms in the pal-
ace. His study was filled with books and manuscripts other
people's plays and writings as well as his own, of which there
were many. His bedroom opened on a lovely patio with a
bridge which led to my mother's quarters. The bridge was
surrounded by trees and a pond. Beyond it there were more
bridges connecting with the quarters of other wives.

The window in my father's room was low. I could scram-
ble in and out of it, or leap from the sill onto his bed, a liberty
no one else ever dared take. His room was richly appointed
the furnishings of your Williamsburg remind me of those of
this period in Siam. There was a fine carpet, dressing table," a
writing desk, a wardrobe, and a form on which to fit his uni-

form while placing his medals on it. Siamese beds have no
springs. They usually have firm mattresses placed on slats.
They are very hard, but comfortable when you get used to
them. My father had a large double one, but no one slept in it
with him. In front of it was a lower, smaller bed. This was the
connubial couch. In the Siam of those days a wife of lesser
rank never came into the bed of her royal husband, or re-
mained to sleep with him after love-making. She went to her
quarters. He returned to his bed alone. Only one who was
an equal might be his sleeping partner.

In one corner of my father's bedroom winding stairs led to
the attic. It was one spot I did not like. I feared what the attic
contained, for up there were ranged the golden urns which
held the bones of my ancestors. I knew that I was supposed to
worship them, but the truth was they gave me the shudders.
I feared ghosts then. I fear them to this day, probably because
my nurses always used the threat of them to scare me into
good behavior. I loved to play in my father's room when he
was about, but I would never stay there by myself.

In those days I still regarded my father with a mixture of
veneration and adoration. It made me happy when his attitude
toward my mother was a romantic one, when she would pout
and he would coax and flatter her into good humor and she
would give him a glance and a smile. She was inclined to such
behavior. As a young wife, she sometimes played the co-
quette. Since at that time I knew nothing else, their life, the
life of our whole family, seemed to me perfectly natural.
There was little open display of affection, yet there was a
bond between all of us brothers sisters half brothers and
sisters, and wives.

There were, of course, rivalries and jealousies sometimes
among the wives, but I remember very few serious ones. My
father had six wives at Pang Nara Palace at this rime, and he
kept peace among them to a degree which would amaze a
monogamous American husband. I do not know whether this
was because of diplomatic handling or traditional Thai-wife
compliance.

Our expressions of love were strange from a Western
point of view, I supposemouth kissing, which was at that
time almost unknown in Siam, was linked wholly with sex.
The conventional Siamese manner of kissing was placing the
nostrils against the cheek or hand and drawing in the breath.
The casual public caress of today in America would have
been unthinkable. I was warm by nature, and as the baby girl
of the family I got an unusual amount of petting. But restraint
was the customary thing.

My mother's quarters in the palace were attractive. As I
remember them, the furnishings were Western, but this
touch may have been added after I returned from England.
It was customary to provide wives whose children had been
educated in Europe with more modern furnishings than the
traditional Thai. A few years later my people would be sit-
ting on chairs at desks, but at that time the floor served as
desk stool. I can still see my father's low writing bench and
table, and the bowl of pens with which he wrote, hour after
hour. During the reign of his brother King Chulalongkorn,
he had been minister of finance; now he was retired from gov-
ernment activity. But he was always busy. He had many
projects his theater, public sendees, a teak forest, a farm, a
streetcar line, a railroad, a seaside resort. He had a fortune,

[59]

and these were his pastimes, not practical matters of business.
However, he had great shrewdness, and was amused and de-
lighted when he detected business ability in me. He never
permitted me to forget I was a princess, yet he was so liberal
in his views that I heard him say one day he would not object
if one of his daughters married a commoner.

This was a startling remark. For while a prince of the royal
family sometimes married a commoner, for a princess to do
so was a scandal.

Rank was very important in Siam. There were many dis-
tinctions, and all of them were taken seriously. Royal high-
nesses were of three grades. The lowest were those who had
been promoted to the rank. They were known as Pra Wara-
wong Theor or Pra Ong Chow, The second grade were those
of a consort mother, known as Pra Chow. The highest rank
went to a royal mother and to the child of a king, Som Dej
Chow Fa. The position of a princess who held this grade of
royal highness was most irksome. She could many only a
king, since no other rank was equal to hers. Often her life was
spent in absolute seclusion.

Among serene highnesses, Tan Ying, a princess, was called
Morn Chow; Tan Chai, a prince, was Mom Chow Chai. The
wife of a prince who was also a princess was called Pra Chaya.
A princess who was the wife of a serene highness was Chaya.
A commoner wife of a prince was Mom.

There were various other grades, too numerous to explain
here. A commoner's title was much simpler. A husband was
Sarni. A wife was Paraya.

Not only were royal titles diff erent, so were royal words.
In a royal vocabulary the names of objects bore no relation

[60D

to the ones by which they were called by commoners. Since
ancient days, language had been one of the things which set
majesty apart. In royal terms, for example, cigarette box is
sztbhanam; in common language, it is heeb mark. At times
the differences can lead to great confusion.

It was a special world, a world apart, this royal one into
which I had been born and in which I had lived for almost
ten years, pampered and petted, loved and loving, yet with a
feeling of not belonging to anyone in it, even my own parents.
Still, it was the only world I knew and I shrank from leaving
it. I had no idea what England would be like. My alarm, I
think, was chiefly at going so far away.

As the day of departure came close, my sense of grievance
grew that I must miss the royal wedding. Lakshami was my
ideal, and the night before I left I dreamed of her in magnifi-
cent wedding robes, driving to the Grand Palace in the golden
coach of state, with many horses, being for the first time in
the history of Siam the one queen, the only wife of the king.

These were the plans to which the king had pledged him-
self. I did not learn until a long time later of their disillusion-
ing outcome.

V

OUR PARTY, bound for England, was to sail on the French
ship Paul Lecat. To board it, we had to go by rail to Pcnang.
I dreaded the departure, but when the time came the parting
turned out to be much like the partings I had known before,
and I was more bewildered than saddened. I cried a little, I
remember, and my mother cried a great deal, and my father
embraced me tenderly, and it was over. I was lifted up the
steps into the railway car and the train puffed away.

I do not recall many details of the voyage, only that it was
a long and lonely one. My sister tried to cheer me, but we had
never been close, and my feeling of insecurity could not be
dispelled quickly. The others in the party were nice to me,
too, Prince Chula especially. We had things in common-
seasickness and homesickness. Chula is Eurasian his mother
was Russianand although he is only three years older than
I am, he seemed to me at that time very grown up and self-
possessed. After the seasickness was gone, Chula took me
over the ship on a tour of exploration to make nie forget my
homesickness, held the handle of the fountain when I wanted
a drink of water, and played games with me. Although he has
made his home in England, I met Prince Chula several times
after that trip, and always the sight of him brought back the
feeling of gratitude which began when I was ten.

London at first overwhelmed me; the city seemed old and

strange and formidable. The legation was at 21-23 Ashburn
Place and consisted of two attached buildings with a garden
behind them. In addition to the official rooms and the resi-
dence of Lord Buri, the Thai minister, and his wife, Lady
Noueng, there were many small rooms occupied by Thai stu-
dents who stayed there. These rooms were marked A through
Z and I was pleased when I found I recognized most of the
letters. But that was about all that was left of the English I
had begun to learn several years before at the Grand Palace.
I had spoken French at the convent and Thai at home and
the English was forgotten.

Lord Buri and his wife were very gracious; he was a rela-
tive of my grandmother and took a special interest in me for
that reason. Their daughter, Smoe, was about my age, and it
was not long before I thought of her as a sister and of her par-
ents as my foster mother and father. The friendship Smoe
and I began at that time continues to this day. Smoe had in-
herited height and dignified carriage from her handsome fa-
ther and a lovely oval face and bright twinkling eyes from
her mother. She kept me entertained until the first home-
sickness wore off, and gradually I began to find London an
exciting place.

My sister's daughter also was about my age, and she and
Smoe and I played together. We always spoke Siamese. This
gave me a feeling of home and, in spite of scoldings, I made
no effort with my English lessons. I did not anticipate what
the result of this would be, but it came about speedily. It was
decided that the purpose of my coming to England, which
was to become familiar with the Western way of life, would
be defeated if I remained at the legation. So I was uprooted

[63]

again! I was to go to live with a family in a small English vil-
lage. The place selected for me was the home of the Reverend
Ambrose Sturges-Jones, who was the rector in Garbaldisham,
Norfolk.

Lord Buri and his wife took me there and then went back
to London the same day. Again I said good-by and this time
the word really brought desolation, for the Sturges-Jones
family spoke only English. I could not understand one word
that was said to me nor did I know any words to make my
wants known.

I had grown accustomed to London, but Garbaldisham
bore no resemblance at all to that city. It was a tiny country
village. The rectory was a brick house with a graveled court
in front of it and wide lawns. A drive went around to a barn
on the left and on the right was a summerhousc. In Siam,
flowers bloom the year round; here was an autumn bareness
I had never seen before. To my Eastern eyes the inside of the
house looked equally strange, as Mrs. Sturges-Jones, in an ef-
fort to make me feel at home, took me on a tour of inspection.

It was a well-meant gesture, not so futile as it might seem;
even though I did not get the meaning of her explanations, I
used my eyes and drew conclusions from what 1 observed.
An entrance hall led into what the English call a morning
room, where later I played and studied. To the right was the
dining room; then a round hall, and behind this the drawing
room, with French windows leading to a rose garden. It was
a comfortable room, with its piano and desk and easy chairs.
Off the hall were other doors; one led to the Reverend Am-
brose-Jones's study and one to the kitchen. Stairs went up
from the morning room to a landing, with a bathroom to the

Princess Rudivoravan broad-
casting over the Voice of Amer-
ica to the women of Thailand

American Weekly Photographs by Charles Bajtl

Princess Rudivoravan, in the
classic costume of a Thai
dancer, with her daughters,
Konthip and Vanchit

Princess Rudivoravan, age
lour, in Pang Nara Palace,
her father's home in Bang-
kok

Princess Rudivoravan, age six-
teen, in her costume for the
Heavenly Food Ceremony

left and a couple of bedrooms. Then there was a passageway,
and from it opened Mrs. Sturges- Jones's room, two more
bedrooms, and then the room which was to be mine.

After my things were put away there, I was taken down-
stairs to meet the family. Besides Mrs. Sturges-Jones, who was
sweet and motherly, it included four daughtersRuth, the
eldest, in her twenties, then Catherine, then Eleanora. The
youngest girl, Elizabeth, was ten, about my own age. The
Reverend Ambrose Sturges-Jones, a reserved, austere man,
at once pulled my hands from my mouth and shook his head
at me for biting my nails. A grandmother and an aunt, who
lived some distance away, had also come to greet me. Al-
though I must have been as much a problem to them as they
were to me, they were much too well bred to show it, and
they all tried to make me feel welcome.

My memory of the first weeks there is dim, but the life
comes back vividly from the time I began to speak English.
During the early part of my stay I studied at the rectory,
and Catherine was my teacher. She took me through the
courses of the second, third, and fourth grades of the English
school. When I was ready for the fifth I was sent to boarding
school

But long before that I had settled contentedly into the rou-
tine of English country life. Mrs. Sturges-Jones became
mummy to me, the rector was daddy, and I quarreled with
Elizabeth and made up again as though she were my own sis-
ter. We dressed our dolls in the summerhouse, hunted for
eggs in the barn, climbed trees in the orchard. I had two spe-
cial joysI had learned to play tennis and I was taking piano
lessons. I had even overcome, to some extent, the night fears

which had haunted me since my nurse had told me my first
ghost story. I could sleep quietly by myself if Prince, the big
black cat, was allowed to come up the trellis and curl up at
my feet. I was not above pretending a pain now and then, if
I felt lonely, and Mummy usually got me a glass of milk and
let me creep into her bed. We both knew I was not really ill.
In spite of cold and dampness and fog the climate in England
with its changing seasons agreed with me better than the per-
petual summer of Thailand. As for my fears, Mummy cud-
dled me and disposed of them by explaining to me that I was
always safe, because God loved me and He was everywhere,
and He took care of me.

This puzzled me. I was not sure this was the same God I
had known in Thailand. Mummy talked about Jesus Christ
and Daddy preached about Him, but when I asked about
Buddha they looked strange and spoke of something else. I
had seen the face of Buddha thousands of times I can't tell
you how many statues of him there are in the Grand Palace-
yet I did not know very much about what he taught. In spite
of all the temples in Thailand, religion there seemed mostly
for the priests and for the old people, who were the ones most
often seen worshiping. As a small child I had gone through
the necessary Buddhist formalities and I went through those
of the Episcopal service now, but I cannot honestly say either
of them touched me at the time. I did comprehend more than
I had of the Catholic services at St. Joseph's. But I accepted
church and Sunday school and the order of morning and eve-
ning prayers the way in which I had accepted so much in my
life, not as something I chose, but as something that had to be.

I had learned a Buddhist prayer to say at night, and some-

[66]

times I repeated it to myself, while the other girls were say-
ing the Lord's Prayer. My petition was, "Namo Thasa Parka-
ivato Arahato SamaSambhud Thasa" which means, "I would
center my thoughts to worship Lord Buddha and obey his
teachings." I am sure, if they had known it, this would have
distressed Mummy and Daddy, for they would have liked me
to be baptized and confirmed as an Episcopalian. It was to be
many years before the seeds of faith they sowed so diligently
bore fruit.

But when I needed it, faith was there.

Now I was an outsider. Daddy once asked a group of chil-
dren in the church how many crosses there were there. They
looked about and counted three. He said no, there were four-
teen, for there was a cross on the forehead of every child who
had been baptized. I rubbed my own head unhappily. I wore
no cross.

Still I loved the festivals of the church. Christmas was a
delight. I helped bring in greens for the Yule decorations and
listened excitedly to stories about Father Christmas, and hung
up rny stocking with all the others. And although Christmas
has no significance in Siam, it had been arranged by my father
that I should have gifts on Christmas morning with the others.
I shall remember always that Erst Christmas in England,
when I stole down with Elizabeth to find our stuffed stock-
ings. We had presents, too, on the table, but Mummy made
us eat our breakfast before we opened those. And there were
still more gifts under the tree. I got a bicycle I had longed
for, and a watch, and a piggy bank among other things from
my family, and a dress from the king.

My English friends thought it was thrilling to receive a

[67]

Christmas present from His Majesty. As we tramped to
church under the cold, bright stars, Mummy reminded me
that those who brought the first Christmas gifts of all were
kings of Orient, too. And I felt pleasure knowing that, on his
throne in the Grand Palace in Siam, this king of Orient had
remembered a child far away, and although this Christian
festival could have no meaning for him, he had called to her
across the seas, "Merry Christmas, Mai Noi."

Easter also was a wonderful time in England. I liked to
work in the church and I cleaned the brass and helped ar-
range flowers for the altar.

Such celebrations, of course, were new to me. Birthdays I
knew about, although the English way of observing them
was certainly different from our own. In England you get
presents for your birthday; in Thailand you give them. In
Bangkok the presents we gave were foodone more set of
food than you are years old. The cook prepares these sets the
night before first putting rice into a banana leaf, then two
kinds of meat or fish. There is also fruit. On a birthday, food
is given to a sister, a father, and a grandmother, and to the
priests. This presentation must be made early in the morning,
about six o'clock. A priest can never receive the food from
a woman's hand. She places it upon a cloth from which he
lifts it. A bottle of water is kept close by during the cere-
mony, and when it is over the water is poured and a prayer
is said:

Young Kinchi Kusala Tharm-moung Kanthrappoung
Ki ri young marma."

"I make a wish that all the merit makings that I have be-

[68]

stowed will be beneficial to my ancestors, parents, and those
I hold dear that have passed away."

That is your secret prayer. Then you say three times
"Chow prakun" which means "Please, Buddha."

But an English birthday was very different. We went days
ahead of time to Norwich, which was the nearest large town,
to buy gifts. And we wrapped them in bright paper tied with
ribbon. And before the birthday girl came down in the morn-
ing to breakfast all the others had been to the garden and
brought in flowers to surround her plate. And there was a
cake with candles on it not the same number of candles as
years, the way it is in America, but always one more candle,
for good fortune in the coming twelve months.

On my birthday I had a really overwhelming gift from
Rama VI. He sent me twenty pounds more spending money
than I had ever had at one time in my life. So I knew he had
not forgotten me.

The boarding school to which I was sent was in East-
bourne, and it was called The Links. It was selected for me
because Miss Potts, the head mistress, once had been govern-
ess to Princess Alice of England and had had experience with
royal pupils. Princess Alice, who had visited Siam, came to
the school while I was a resident there, and I was called to
the drawing room to meet her. She seemed quite old to me
then, but very pleasant, and we two highnesses sat in state
with Miss Potts, sipping our tea and talking about the Girl
Guides.

At first I did not like it at The Links. None of the girls
there had met a Siamese before. They did not call me high-

[69]

ness, or Rudi, or even use my nickname of Noi. They called
me Blackle, which I did not care for at all. Because I was a
serene highness I was put in a room by myself and I did not
like that either. We younger girls lived in the main building
but there were not dormitories like the ones in the convent,
but regular bedrooms, with four girls in each room except
mine. Finally I had a piece of luck. One of the girls became
ill and had to have a room to herself. Mine was the only avail-
able one, and so I traded places with her and was able to room
with other girls for a while. This way I really came to know
them and soon I had many friends.

It was a duty of the older girls to put us younger girls to
bed at night before they went down to dinner. We were sup-
posed to stay there, but often we sneaked out. We were also
supposed to give any candy sent to us to the teacher, and then
have it doled out to us, but sometimes we managed to avoid
that, too. We would pass a box of sweets and talk, when we
were supposed to be asleep. When we got caught we got a
demerit, but it was worth it.

The routine here was not so severe as it had been at the
convent We got up at seven, dressed, heard a chapter from
the Bible, and then went to Chapel. On leaving, we curtsied
"Good morning" to Miss Potts and went to breakfast and
classes. At eleven we were supposed to run about on the lawn
surrounding the big stone building which was the school,
and then we had a glass of milk. In the afternoon we had Girl
Guide activities or went for crocodile walks, two by two,
sometimes as far as Beachy Head, which was where we swani.

The English love walking. I hated it, but I enjoyed tennis
and became a good player. I liked music, too, and practiced

[70]

regularly. Western music pleased me, but I could not make
the girls like Eastern music. I played my Thai records for
them sometimes, and they thought they were terrible. In
their opinion Thai music just went "eeeeeeeee."

Vacations back in Garbaldisharn were fun. Plans for gar-
den parties and bazaars originated in the manor house, oc-
cupied by the family of Major Dennis, and the Sturges-Jones
family always was called upon to take an active part in them.
We were joined by the Montgomery children. I remember
these playmates well Rose Mary, Lavender, Anthony, and
Montague. In winter we all went sledding and skating to-
gether. I delighted in the snow, which I had never seen before
coming to England, and was so careless about wearing my
mittens when I played in it that I frequently had chilblains.
Even shopping became more exciting in winter; we rented
a car, piled in under a great blanket, and made a big day of it
in Norwich. In the summer we each planted a garden, and a
prize was given for the best one. I longed to go to London, but
saw little of it, except as I changed trains going to and from
school.

But I had not forgotten my London friends. Mrs. Sturges-
Jones allowed me to have Smoe come to the rectory for a
visit. We had a wonderful time together, but seeing her gave
me my first lesson in style in a forceful way. On my arrival
in Garbaldisham I had been fitted out with the type of clothes
worn there and had accepted their correctness without ques-
tion. When Smoe appeared, I realized that there were West-
ern clothes of a very different sort. She was dressed so smartly
that I felt like the child of a rice-paddy worker. I begged
Mummy to get me some frocks like them, but she shook her

head. She believed firmly that the sturdy tweeds and flower-
wreathed hats she had provided me with were much more
suitable. I suppose no one person can have everything, and
Mummy had so much that she should be forgiven her taste
in little girls' clothes. She was absolutely right in one thing
my demands for high heels and tight belts were absurd. But
how I wished I could have frocks like Smoe's and go to danc-
ing parties, which at the rectory were strictly taboo.

The Reverend Ambrose Sturges-Jones was still my men-
tor; he corrected my church deportment, my English, and
daily my habit of nail biting. Yet in spite of the restrictions,
life at the rectory was warmhearted and satisfying. Again I
had put down my roots and become a part of my little world.

But all my life it has been the same waythe good times do
not last the change always comes. I faced one now.

Thailand had come to seem a faraway place to me. I was al-
ways happy to receive letters from my family, especially from
my father. At first I had read them over and over and slept
with them under my pillow. But now I realized uneasily that
it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to decipher the
Thai script. I had to go into my room where I could be un-
disturbed and concentrate very earnestly to puzzle it out.
When during spring vacation a letter came to me one day
that spoke of my return home, I was not sure what was meant.
But Mrs. Sturges-Jones had one, too, in English, which ex-
plained that my brother-in-law was leaving the legation, and
that, since I would no longer have a close relative in England,
it was thought best that I return home at the end of the school
year.

We were all stunned. Mummy tried to comfort me by say-

ing she would write to my father herself, and ask if the de-
cision could not be changed. After all, I had scarcely seen my
sister and brother-in-law since I had come to the country
three years before; the Sturges-Joneses seemed my family
now. I clung to the hope of a reprieve, but I realized it was a
slim one. I returned to school with a heavy heart.

Everybody seemed sorry when I told them I might go
home. I was not punished once that term, and the girls said
how much they would miss me. I felt I could not bear leav-
ing them. But when the term ended, I went to Garbaldisham
to learn the worst.

Mummy's plea had been a vain one. My father had written
that I was to come to Bangkok at once.

My dear English family was as sad as I was. I was going so
far away, the parting seemed almost as final as death. When-
ever we spoke about it, we youngsters sniffled. Mummy was
wistful.

"Good-by isn't as bad as it sounds," she kept saying, trying
to reassure us all. "It isn't farewell. It means 'God be with
you.' And He always will be, Rudi, wherever you go."

As usual, Daddy showed little emotion, and in the days be-
fore I left he gave special attention to correcting me for my
nail-chewing habit. He bade me an austere Godspeed. It was
only after I was on the train for London I realized that when
I had turned for a last glimpse of the family on the rectory
lawn, the Reverend Ambrose-Jones himself had been biting
his finger nails.

C733

VI

IN MY country clothes, my face puckered up dismally under
my little round hat, I went back to London.

My wardrobe was English, my speech was English, and
my thinking was English. Young things live in the present,
and what had happened before I arrived here was to me al-
most like the memory of a dream. To return to it, I must leave
behind me all that now seemed important. I tried not to
grieve, but it was no use. I did not want to go to Siam.

I hoped it would be exciting enough in the city to make me
forget how unhappy I was. But no one I knew was there. My
sister's family and that of Lord Buri had already departed.
The present Thai minister, Phya Prapah, was living alone in
the minister's quarters. It seemed very bleak after all the com-
panionship to which I had grown accustomed. But Phya
Prapah greeted me cordially and said he would take me to
Marseilles himself. There I was to join Prince Mahidol and
his wife, Princess Sangwalya, who were also returning to
Bangkok and who would have charge of me on the way
home.

Prince Mahidol was a high prince, one of the sons of King
Chulalongkorn and a half brother of Rama VI. Two of his
sons would one day be kings of Siam, but the only child he
had at this time was a tiny girl named Galyani. The boys

C743

who were to become Rama VIII and Rama IX were not yet
born. I knew that Prince Mahidol and his wife both had stud-
ied in America, but the fact meant little to me. America was
only a name. I had heard little of it, and I was not even curious.
I simply hoped these relatives would feel friendly toward me
during the long voyage home.

To reach Marseilles, of course, the minister and I had to
cross the English Channel by boat. That crossing is one of
the worst experiences in the world. The day we made it, it
was especially rough. Being a minister, Phya Prapah had a
cabin, and he headed straight for it. I soon left him there and
went to the deck for some air. After a while I persuaded him
to come up, too. Though windy, it was better than below,
where you bounced about as if you were inside of a churn.
By the time we landed I did not feel too well, and the minis-
ter was a very queer color indeed.

We arrived in late afternoon, and went at once to the hotel.
I was afraid the minister would not be hungry after his rough
crossing. But he said when we had rested and freshened up he
would take me out to dinner.

We had rooms next to each other, but the door was locked
between them. I unpacked some things and decided I would
take a hot bath, but I could not find any soap. I did not want
to pound on the door and ask Phya Prapah how to get some,
so I decided to use my French, which had been neglected at
The Links. I found a row of buttons, but the French words
above them I did not understand. I just picked out one and
pushed. After a long time a boy came.

I began importantly, "Voulez~vou$ donner moi le?"

There I hung. I could not even remember the word. He

[75]

waited and waited, and my face got very hot. Finally I made
the motion of washing my hands. He laughed then and said
"Oui! Oui! Le savon, Mademoiselle," and went away and
pretty soon a maid brought a scented cake of soap, very
French.

While I took my bath, I remembered the Sisters had told
us that we should think in French before we spoke it. I found
I could no longer do this. That accent which was to have
been cherished in England had been crowded out by other
things. Then I tried to think in Thai. To my dismay I found
I could not do that either. I remembered very little of either
language.

It was lucky for me, I thought, that the Thai minister
spoke English.

I was ready when he knocked on my door, and he took me
out and gave me a fine dinner. Afterward, when he saw how
excited I was about being in a city, he said we could stroll
about a little. We passed a gramophone shop and I told him
how interested I had become in Western music. He promised
that the next day he would buy me some records to take home
with me. When he asked me what I wanted and I promptly
said, Carmen, he seemed surprised. But I had learned the op-
era in England and I could picture myself playing the music
for my sisters and explaining to them what it was all about.

"I shall need a gramophone when I get home," I an-
nounced, "although my sister Chow Peong Ying Lakshami
probably will have one when I go to see her in the Grand
Palace."

I said the words grandly. It was my first chance to use my
sister's new title to a Thai. The minister looked at me.

"Her Royal Highness in not" he started to say. Then he
stopped.

"Not going to waste her time listening to Western rec-
ords? Is that what you think?" I demanded. "They are very
exciting. I'm sure she will like them."

"Her Royal Highness is a busy woman," Phya Prapah
said rather stiffly.

"She won't be too busy to listen to Carmen" I assured him.

It would be so wonderful to see Pee Tew being a queen.
I hoped Rama VI would remember me kindly, too. I started
to ask questions about them when the minister changed the
subject by saying he had had a message. Prince Mahidol
would meet us on board the French ship on which we would
sail late the next afternoon.

We looked in some more shopwindows. I was so sleepy
when finally we got back to the hotel that Phya Prapah
laughed at me.

"Sleep late in the morning," he told me. "I shall have work
to do in my room. Why don't you have your breakfast in
bed?"

It seemed a wonderful idea. I went to sleep thinking what
a luxurious time I was having, so different from my boarding-
school routine. When morning came and I looked at the row
of buttons I did not have the slightest idea which one would
get my breakfast. Again I poked one at random, and this time
a maid carne. She did not understand English, either, but I
gathered she was not the one to bring me a tray. Finally I al-
most screamed, "Manger! Manger.^ She nodded then, and
made a little speech in very rapid French. Probably she told
me which button to press to call a waiter. I did not under-

[77]

stand her, but by that time I was so embarrassed that all I
wanted was to be left alone. So I said "Merci" and she went
away.

I stared at the buttons again, hungrily, but I decided I
would not risk another mistake. In desperation I took out a
box of candy which had been given to me and began to eat
that. In Phya Prapah's room I could hear the clatter of dishes.
I knew he was in there having a big meal, but I was too proud
to let him learn I did not know how to get one, too. So my
luxury breakfast was a pound of chocolates!

As a result, I did not feel too bright when we went to meet
Prince Mahidol and Princess Sangwalya. But I forgot about
myself when I saw them. The prince was a dignified but
friendly man and the princess one of the most genuine ladies
I ever met. The minister told me a story about her which
shows what kind of person she was. While she and the prince
were living in America, Princess Sangwalya had been with
friends one afternoon and they all were doing fine embroi-
dery. She pulled out of her bag some of her husband's socks to
darn. Everyone laughed and remarked how funny it was that
she, a princess, should be mending socks. But she had not
thought it strange at all. She said "Yes, I am a princess, and I
try to behave as one. I am also a wife, and I must behave as a
wife, too." That was exactly like her. She was simple and un-
affected, yet truly royal

The nurse brought the baby for me to see. She was only a
few months old and a darling, and her parents were devoted
to her.

The prince and princess had a suite on the boat and I had a
cabin, but they often invited me to be with them. In fact,

[78]

almost at once the prince took me for his protegee. The rea-
son for this was that when he spoke to me in Thai I could
not understand him.

Prince Mahidol plainly was shocked.

"This will not do at all," he said. "A Siamese princess must
not return to her native land and not speak her own language."
Then, when he saw how ashamed I was over it, he stopped
looking stern. "But do not be unhappy. We can correct it. I
will give you lessons during the trip, and both the princess
and I will often speak Thai to you. Much of it will come back
to you before we reach Bangkok."

I resolved to try hard. It had been bad enough, speaking
only Thai in England, but to speak only English in Siam
would be a disgrace. I practiced not only with the prince and
princess, but with two Thai students who were traveling
with us. One of those boys is now secretary general of the
Ministry of Commerce with the rank of Luang Tawin, and
the other is the uncle of the present queen. But then they
were just a pair of agreeable lads who took me to breakfast
when I was lonely. Looking back, it seems to me I was alone
much of the time both on the trip over and on the trip back.
But every day I had my lessons with the prince. He usually
spoke Thai as he had promised, but on occasions he would
use English. I asked him why.

"I am telling you important things then, and it is essential
that you understand them. You cannot say they are not clear
to you if I put them into English."

That was the nearest he ever came to scolding me. But I
began to dread having him use English words, because it
meant I had done something for which I must be corrected. I

[79]

wanted him to think well of me, and I also tried to please the
princess. She was very kind and thoughtful One night there
was to be a big party on board ship.

"What are you going to wear? " the princess asked.

All my clothes were of the dowdy type which Mummy
had provided for me. The princess, who dressed smartly,
probably suspected I had nothing suitable. And when I
brought out my best Sunday frock, her face for an instant
showed what she thought of it. Then she smiled quickly.

"That was nice for England. But it's not quite right for a
party on board ship. Let me see what I can do."

She took my hand, and leading me to her cabin, pulled
down an armload of dresses from her wardrobe. She studied
them carefully, and finally selected one.

"This will be the best, I think. It is too large for you, but
Nurse will help you to alter it. Perhaps you can make it do."

I held it up to me and gasped. It was a lovely dress. I had
never had anything like it. The nurse and I cut and stitched
and when we had it finished it fitted me perfectly. Many
people at the party admired it, and I had a very happy time.

The princess is the queen mother now. She lives much of
the time in Switzerland, and it is a long time since we have
met. But I shall never forget her gracious act.

Yet I am not sure she actually did me a favor. In England,
I would have been a child for a while longer. Mummy would
have kept me in simple clothes and flat-heeled shoes and made
me act my age. The new dress made me look older and feel
older. Seeing myself in it, suddenly I began to think about
being grown up, and independent, and able to do as I pleased.

After that party, I could not wait for the trip to be over. It

[80]

became clear to me that, much as I had loved England, I had
left it behind for good. What I wanted now was to see again
the members of my Siamese family who had faded almost to
shadows in my mindmy brothers, my mother, and, most
of all, my father. Overnight I stopped playing at being a little
English girl, and became a Siamese princess, on her way
home. What awaited me there I could not know. But I was
ready for it.

I was the first person on deck the day the boat docked at
Singapore.

[81]

VII

YET WHEN I looked from a car window and saw my family,
I felt shy and almost afraid of these people who were my
nearest and dearest. My father and mother and several of my
sisters had made the trip out of Bangkok to meet me, and
were about to board my train. My knees began to shake and
my head spun. What should 1 say and do? I did not know.

All my old reverent feeling for my father came back. I saw
him approach, and when he reached me I kept my eyes
down, and made him a formal bow. But he put out his arms
and embraced me. Then he held me away from him so he
could look at me with those lovely eyes of his.

"You are pretty," he said. "Oh, I am proud of you. I am
very proud of this daughter of mine."

A wave of joy surged through me. He approved of me. He
loved me. My mother would come soon and love me, too. I
was at home, really at home.

My mother did come. And when she saw me she began to
cry. She smiled, with tears running down her cheeks. She
held me tightly, and said over and over again, "Oh, look at
my daughter! She is pretty, like a star. Rudivoravan is like
a star!"

My sisters wiped her eyes for her and she laughed, but in a
moment her cheeks were wet again.

"You must all think I am very silly," she said.

[82!

"Why is my mother crying?" I asked my sisters, when
they came crowding around to hug me.

"It is because she Is happy/' they told me. "The tears come
because she is glad to see you again."

I was happy, too. As the train went on toward Bangkok,
they all made a great fuss over me. We asked each other ques-
tions so fast no one had time to listen to the answers. To me
the answers did not matter too much. I would learn them
eventually. What was important was that I was with my
father and mother again. Life began to grow brighter.

My study on the boat had not done what Prince Mahidol
had hoped it would; I could speak to them only a little in
Thai. But what my sisters wished to hear from me was not
Thai. They kept poking me and saying, "Speak English. Say
words in English' 7 1 wanted to show off, yet I was shy. So my
performance was not too much of a success, but they thought
my English voice was remarkable. My French made a dif-
ferent impression. On the French ship, coming back, I had
learned to say "Ooo-la-la!" and frequently did. They con-
sidered that very funny.

So we all visited. It was quite a while before I was able to
have a conversation alone with my father, and to tell him how
happy I was to be with him and my mother and how I hoped
we could remain together. The moment I spoke the words, I
saw in his face that it was not to be that way.

"Have you brought me back here to live again with my
aunt in the Grand Palace?" I asked him dolefully.

"Princess Chutharat does not spend much of her time now
in the Grand Palace," my father replied. "She has a new
home called Sunantha Villa, near your sister Lakshami."

"But Pee Tew and the king live in the Grand Palace," I
pointed out. My father shook his head.

"The king always regarded those stone pavements as un-
healthful. And your sister moved to Udorn some time ago."

I vaguely remembered Udorn Villa, built by Rama V to
be used sometimes as a summer palace. It stood in the Dusit
Park grounds near the Great Umphorn Palace and it had
lovely surroundings wide lawns, beautiful trees, klongs for
swimming or boating. I had never been inside of Udorn, but
I recalled it had a bridge connecting the second floor with the
Umphorn Palace, and that in Rama V's time the queen usu-
ally occupied it, while the king had his quarters in Umphorn,
where there was a throne room.

"Are they there now the king and my sister?" I asked
excitedly.
. My father hesitated.

"Your sister occupies Udorn Villa alone, Mai Noi," he
said finally. I looked at him, puzzled.

"But the king is he not at Umphorn?"

"Rama VI now resides in Phaya Thai Palace."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. I had been told in letters
that I had received in England that the wedding I had wanted
so much to attend had taken place. Since Lakshami had mar-
ried Rama VI and was queen of Siam, why was she living in
Udorn Palace alone?

My father showed no inclination to tell me. There was an
awkward pause.

"I am glad when I am with my aunt that I shall also be near
Pee Tew," I said finally, trying to be polite.

"The plans are that you will reside with your sister, instead

[84]

of with your aunt," my father said gently. "It will be best for
you that you live with Queen Lakshami."

"What would be best for me would be to stay with you
and Mother," I burst out. My father took my hand.

"I would like that also. But it is to your interest that you
live with the queen. Believe me, Mai Noi."

I loved my queen sister, and to live with her certainly
would be no burden. But longing for my parents probably
still showed in my face, for my father went on.

"Your mother will come and stay with you whenever you
ask her," he promised. "I shall come often, too, although the
rules are as they were in the Grand Palace, and no man may
remain within the walls after nightfall But we shall be to-
gether frequently."

"Father, will His Majesty like having me there "I was
beginning. My father placed his hand across my lips.

"We will not speak of the king now," he said. "Later all
will be explained to you."

I was mystified, but even had he permitted it, it would have
been difficult for me to go on with the argument. I really had
to struggle to remember many Thai words.

However, when we returned to the group, nobody seemed
to mind my limited vocabulary. They looked at me admir-
ingly and continued to demand, "Speak English." And
pretty soon, instead of being shy, I began to feel important. I
had never felt important in England. I had been a little girl
and been treated as one. Now, suddenly, I began to fancy I
was a young lady.

So, laughing and chattering and all very gay, we arrived
in Bangkok. We went in my father's automobile directly to

[853

Udorn Villa. Queen Lakshami seemed very glad to greet me,
and when I saw the inside of her palace I could not be sorry
it was to be my future home. The rooms were exquisitely
decorated, and furnished more richly than any I had ever
seen. There were many ladies in waiting about, and servants
everywhere. I was shown to a room with a huge four-poster
bed draped with silk curtains. There were several chests
against the wall, and when I opened the drawers I found that
a complete wardrobe had been prepared for me, blouses and
pasins, with ribbons and beads to match each costume.

When I had left Bangkok the panung, the traditional Sia-
mese garment for both men and women, had still been gen-
erally worn. Translated, pa means cloth and nung means to
fold or put on. A panung is made from a width of cloth
wrapped about the waist and twirled to make a loose knee-
length pair of pants. It is a cool and comfortable garment for
our climate. Women wear it with a long, loose blouse. But
during my absence the pasin, a kind of wrapped skirt which
originated in Laos, had come into popularity for women to
wear in public. For home wear, the palai from India had been
adopted. This was similar to the panung, but made of flow-
ered instead of plain material. I thought the new garments
were enchanting. Later, I learned the pasin was the most
practical, as three pasins could be made from the material re-
quired for one panung. With both a blouse was worn, and
outside of the house a woman also must wear a stole. The
Thai stole comes from the shoulders, crosses in front, and
fastens at the waist.

Men still often wore the panung. For most state occasions
those of the royal family had them made of blue taffeta, and

C86]

wore them with five-buttoned white coats. For the pouring
of the lustral water ceremony and on the Thai Sabbath Day,
the panung was a red one. It was an impressive costume. I re-
member wishing that my father would wear a silk panung to
my welcome-home party that evening.

Excitedly I set about making my own toilette. This new
palace of my sister had every luxury, even a modern bath-
room, better than any I had seen in England. I could have a
tub, instead of water poured over me as in former times. And
when I began to dress for dinner, I was in ecstasy. With my
new interest in clothes, I exclaimed over every outfit, and
could scarcely choose which one to put on. I wished to look
my best for the banquet my queen sister was giving for me,
for all of my brothers and sisters would be there. It took me
a long time to get ready to greet my family.

Finally I came to the grand salon and saw them waiting for
me. My father was wearing a white coat and blue silk pa-
nung, and he looked like a king, with his stately bearing and
sensitive, noble face. My mother was like some lovely blos-
som, my brothers were handsome, and my sisters all pretty
and beautifully attired. I was proud that they were my
people.

They ate in Western style now. At dinner, Queen Lak-
shami sat at one end of a long table and my father at the other.
A man stood beside my sister, rhythmically waving a big fan
to cool the air, and there were many other servants about to
wait on us. It was exciting to be the guest of honor. When-
ever my mother looked at me she laughed with pleasure. "It
does not matter that all my daughter tells us is c Ooo-/#-/#/' "
she said. "She is beautiful!" The others made flattering

[87]

remarks about me, too. I felt more and more important.

It was long after dinner when the guests told me good-by,
and went home, all except my mother. She was to spend the
night with me. It was late when we left Queen Lakshami and
were alone in my new, beautiful room. But then, finally, my
mother told me why my sister and the king were not together.

Remembering it, I realize now how delicately she did it,
for it was a difficult situation to explain to a child.

To understand what had happened it is necessary to be
familiar with royal tradition as it had existed during the years
of our dynasty. In the way of the Orient, our kings, until
now, had had many wives. The wives who bore children gen-
erally were in favor and were most likely to be made queens.
Doubtless Rama VI had been honest in his intent to alter this
custom and to take only one wife and queen. He was a quiet,
studious man with a classical English education. When his
brother the crown prince died, he had approached the throne
with frank reluctance. He would have liked to devote his life
to translating Shakespeare and producing plays in the Phya
Thai Palace Theater. He despised intrigue, and was deter-
mined to keep his life simple and dignified.

But ancient ways are not abandoned easily. A wave of
public opinion arose against his plan for sudden and radical
change. To become a part of the royal household was the one
great feminine ambition in Siamu On every side the king
found himself besieged by eager women, determined to
throw themselves or their daughters at his feet.

The official announcement of his betrothal to Lakshami
had been a knell to many hopes. When she heard the news,
one girl who had believed she might be selected as a consort

[88]

took poison. That her life was saved was a miracle. After-
ward Rama VI, always compassionate, did not send her away
from the palace. This was at once construed as a sign the king
might take more than one wife, after all, and that his heart
still could be touched.

At once the ladies renewed their efforts. Devious methods
in competing for royal favor are as old as the Orient itself.
When seeking it, there appears to be no trick which is not
regarded as justifiable. To compel the king to continue his
household in the traditional way, all of them were used.
Many scandalous stories began to circulate. Some had a basis
of truth; others, undoubtedly, were gross exaggeration. A few
were completely false. The most sensational was the tale of a
girl who claimed she had been chosen as a consort by the king
and had borne him a son. With this kind of deception, polit-
ical and personal influences went to work at court. The king,
a credulous, soft-hearted man, found his position very diffi-
cult to maintain. Soon decisions regarding his personal life
were virtually taken from his hands.

My mother's explanation was a gentle one, without blame
for anyone. But there was no way for her to cover the fact
that, contrary to His Majesty's promise to her, Lakshami was
not the only wife of Rama VI. Nor was she the only queen.

What my sister had suffered because of these things rny
mother did not tell me, nor did I ever hear it put into words.
The queen was proud, and she kept her grief to herself. But
she was young and sensitive and advanced in her thinking. It
is not difficult to imagine what her state of mind must have
been.

Our father, long accustomed to the problems of court life,

[89]

had tried to comfort and reassure her. He had told her that
the king's devotion was hers; that her position was dignified
and secure; that she must accept these other relationships, as
Chulalongkorn's queens had done before her. But Lakshami
had found it impossible. She remained fond of her husband,
but the first great love was gone. Soon, although friendly,
they had preferred to live apart.

As I listened, I found the tragedy was beyond my youthful
comprehension. On the day I left for England, Lakshami, a
radiant bride-to-be, had seemed to have within her delicate
hands all the joy life could hold. I remembered how smiling,
how eager she had been. She had been going toward love at a
time when I was leaving it behind me. Now, a few years later,
she had only a kind of magnificent desolation.

How could such things be?

My eyes filled with tears as I listened. My mother put her
arms about me.

"You must not brood over the matter, Mai Noi. The situa-
tion does have much that is difficult in it, of course. One of
the worst things for Lakshami is that she has no freedom. As
queen, she cannot appear outside her palace without the
Kr om-Wang-Thou-Kae. "

The name was new to me, and I frowned, perplexed.

"He is her official attendant, and a very stern bodyguard
indeed. There must also always be at least one lady in waiting
with her. She can never go to public places of entertainment,
or mingle with people. In many ways her life seems a barren
one. But she has this villa, with food from the royal kitchen,
and a large household. She is beginning to engage in many

[90]

worth-while activities. She has established a school and a dor-
mitory for children here in the Udorn Palace, and she sup-
ports a large number of charities. Your sister keeps herself
very busy. But she wants you to stay with her, and she needs
you. Do try to help her to be happy."

"What about my royal aunt?" I asked. "Does Princess
Chutharat know I am not coming back to her?"

"Your father has told her," my mother said, with a trace of
anxiety in her voice. "I hope she is not offended, for she had
been interested in your return, and I am sure she counted on
you to attend her at Sunantha Villa."

"Sunantha gives her a third palace," I said. "What does she
do with the others now?"

"Although she prefers Sunantha, she maintains her home
in the Grand Palace also. Her brother stayed on in the third
one, the Outside Palace, until he died. Now the old attend-
ants from Chulalongkorn's household are living out their last
days there."

I had been to the Outside Palace as a child. I remembered
it fondly.

"Does the little bungalow still stand by the river?" I asked.

My mother nodded.

"Pi Ying Pen and Pi Pow and I used to have our tea there."
I could see us clearly Pi Pow lording it over us, and we two
girls his devoted admirers. I heard myself saying I was going
to marry him one day. But that had been before England. \
didn't intend to be bullied any more.

"Where is Pi Ying Pen now?" I asked.

"She still lives with her aunt. You will see her soon. Pi Pow,

as you know, is away at school." JViy mother looked at me in
a strange way, I thought. "Princess Chutharat will tell you
about Pi Pow one of these days," she added.

I wasn't too interested. "I hope school is improving his
manners and his figure/' 1 remarked. "He was too fat and
too rude."

My mother smiled. "You have become rather outspoken
yourself," she said gently. "You must maintain our Thai rep-
utation for great politeness. Now that you are both growing
up, you may find Pi Pow more attractive. And you must
never forget your duty to your aunt, whatever happens. You
belong to her in a special way, you know."

I did not need to be reminded of the fact. The nature of life
in Siam, grown dim in the mind of an English schoolgirl, was
rapidly becoming clear again. But it was good to be with my
mother. I put up my hand and stroked her soft cheek. My
father always said she had the skin of an angel.

"I will call upon my aunt in the morning," I promised.
"But could the rest of tonight belong only to us? Please lie
beside me as you did when I was small, and tell me all you
did while I was gone from you."

My mother put out the light and settled herself in the bed,
with her arm over me in the protecting way I remembered.

"I would rather you told me first what you did in that
strange, cold place called England."

I did not explain that it had not proved to be strange and
cold that, instead, it had given me the only real sense of
home I had ever had. Precious as my time with my mother
had been, its hours always had been stolen ones, brief periods
snatched from an implacable Fate. And it was the same way

now. I had my mother tonight. Tomorrow she would be
gone. But I did not intend to dwell on it. For the little time
we had, I wanted us to speak as mother and daughter; to shut
out the world, and be happy together.

[933

VIII

PRINCESS CHUTHARAT never forgot she was a king's daughter,
and she received me with graciousness. She did not say one
word about my not coming back to live with her, but she did
have admonitions for me.

"You look grown up, Ying Noi," she told me. "You must
behave in a grown-up fashion now." Then she added, "It is
nice that you can be with Queen Lakshami. You will be near
me, so that I may see you often, and you must come and stay
when you can."

She sounded so pleased about everything that I was a little
hurt that she did not seem really to want me back. Never
through the years did she refer to my desertion. It was not
until she died that I saw evidence that she had been deeply
offended.

But the day after my return we seemed to be friends. My
cousin, Pi Ying Pen, was there, and the moment we saw each
other we felt the same love we had had as children. She
showed me through my aunt's new palace and I was pleased
to see how modern we had become in Siarn. There were
Western bathrooms now, with marble tubs and good plumb-
ing, and all sort of improvements. So I could not brag too
much about English ways, for Siam had begun to adopt them.

My life settled quickly into a new routine. Queen Lak-
shami's palace was my official home. However, I spent some

nights In the palace of my aunt and some in that of my father.
He seemed to like to have me with him, and I liked to be
there.

But our relationship had changed. I grew bolder. I began
to speak much more freely to him than I had done before, or
than his other children did. I shocked the family with my
frank manner. My father did not seem to mind it. He said,
"That is the Western way." In a sense he was right. It was the
Western way to speak out and not to crouch in fear of a par-
ent. But little by little my conduct began to go beyond that.
As the days passed I let the spoiling I received make me con-
ceited and arrogant. I began to behave like a prima donna.

My residence at my sister's palace encouraged this. Most
of my wishes were gratified there. As soon as I returned, I
demanded a piano and a tennis court. My sister gave me her
own piano for my lessons, and a brother-in-law ordered a ten-
nis court built near his palace, where I could play every week.
That generous gesture of his was for my pleasure, but it
brought him an unexpected reward. His daughter became in-
terested. I taught her to play and she became the female ten-
nis champion of Siam, although I remained an amateur.

Of course, being a queen, my sister could not go to public
places of entertainment, so we had motion pictures of our
own at the palace every Saturday night, and often on other
nights, too. We would have many reels; my sister would
watch feature after feature until four o'clock in the morning,
and I was supposed to stay with her. I liked movies very
much, but In England I had grown used to a seven-o'clock
bedtime and sometimes I would have to give up and go to my
room. Then the next day my sister would not begin her day

[951

until noon, and I must wait and breakfast with her. She al-
ways wanted me to eat with her, as I was the only one in the
palace of high enough rank to do so, and I broke that rule
only when my appetite got the better of me.

In Siam we eat, not heartily, but very often; four or five
meals a day. The Udorn Palace was served in a special way.
A corps of men servants was allowed to come in to serve the
food which came from the king's kitchen, and also to care for
the main rooms, but they must leave the palace at night. None
of the work in the royal sleeping quarters, making the bed or
arranging the queen's private apartment, was done by ser-
vants, but always by her ladies in waiting. I myself had three
persons to serve me two maids who spoke only Thai, and
their supervisor, a teacher called Kru-Bua. She would inter-
pret for me when I did not understand or could not recall the
Thai words necessary to give an order.

Udorn Palace is large, with many gracious rooms. I never
grew tired of wandering through them, or strolling under the
trees in the gardens, or swimming in the klongs. I began to
feel I was made for a life of ease and luxury. But I soon be-
came bored with the artistic pursuits of the ladies in waiting,
who sat hour after hour making leis by putting long needles
through a banana leaf and then threading on rose petals, or
building up a candle made of Thai jasmine, or constructing
flower rabbits with violets for eyes. Nor did I care to make
needlepoint, or sew silver and gold into dance costumes for
the Royal Theater, an art taught in every household. I did
teach English for a little while in my sister's palace school. I
had about twenty students in classes of girls between ten and
twenty years old. But they were very shy and would not an-

swer me when I spoke to them. I grew impatient and left
them, to search for something more exciting to do.

My quest caused my older relatives to criticize me sharply,
but always my father defended me. He seemed to feel what-
ever I chose to do was right, even staying up late at night,
wearing high-heeled shoes, behaving in a way my mummy in
England would have thought scandalous. He excused my re-
bellious ways still as "Western." For myself, I paid little at-
tention to unpleasant comments. I felt free for the first time
in my life, and was really having a good time.

I think the most fun during this period was the February
Fair. At this time pilgrimages are made to the shrine at Phra
Buddha Bat, northeast of Ayudhya, where an impression of
Buddha's foot is to be seen.

Buddha was a royal prince, and this fair is known as Pra
Bhat, which in the royal vocabulary means "feet." It was said
in the old days that if you go to the Fair to worship the sacred
footprints seven years running, you will go to heaven. It is
considered a blessed thing to do. In addition to its religious
significance, the Pra Bhat offers great entertainment and
many amusements.

I had gone there often as a child. One section of my father's
railway ran to this district, and he supervised it personally.
The princes, by custom, let someone else handle business de-
tails for them but my father had a large income from the rail-
road, and kept a close check on it. I liked to ride in the cars
and to visit the booths. Each year people from the north came
and showed their wares. The Burmese always brought rich
silks and great scarves of gauze, and gongs that sounded mu-
sically. But this year it seemed to me better than ever before.

[97]

I liked being in the office, too, where the tickets for the rail-
road were sold. My mother or one of my sisters acted as book-
keeper and secretary. And this year my father had a sudden
idea. When he saw how much interest I took he said, "Why
do we not let you sell tickets, Mai Noi? You have a good head
for figures, and will do it well. And you're so pretty it may
help the sale."

Nothing could have delighted me more. I liked to do work
of that kind and I wanted to please my father, so I was very
careful. Many people thought it was a good thing and con-
gratulated me. But some members of the royal family who
came and saw me at the ticket counter were shocked and said
my father had not been wise to permit it.

But my father did not listen to them. He had loved this rail-
road for many years and he wanted me to love it, too. He had
built it up from a menace with rickety, old-fashioned cars
into a really modern line. I remember we went there first
when I was a small child, and there were many accidents and
people were hurt. No one stayed away because of this; they
seemed to expect it. I hated to see the injured lying in my
father's headquarters, which he turned into a hospital for
them. My sisters and my mother acted as nurses, and Lak-
shami, especially, was expert at caring for people. She was al-
ways calm and gentle and the patients loved her. Now there
were no accidents and no need for nurses.

In addition to selling tickets, I made money another way.
At that time, in our money, one hundred satangs made a tical
and a tical was a baht, and the government rate was about
twelve bahts to the pound sterling. I was very independent

[98]

and never liked to ask anyone, even my father, for money.
But I decided it would be all right to borrow from him. So I
asked him to lend me a few deals. There was a place where
they had ice and a saw to cut it with, so people could fix ice
water. The ice was sold very cheap. I bought fruit syrup and
ice and made some sweet drinks and got a good price for
them, and at the end of the day I paid my father back and had
a profit for myself. My father was very proud of this, too. He
said to everyone who would listen, "Oh, this girl is wonder-
ful. She has a head for business." Some people agreed with
him, and others thought my actions were all wrong. I paid
them no heed. I was enjoying myself.

After this fair I became more headstrong than ever. Just
going into my teens, I was determined to do things suitable
for Western girls much older than I was to dress in a sophis-
ticated manner; to go to dances; to be seen by boys. I had little
chance at freedom. I was never permitted to go anywhere
alone but I had a most independent attitude. When I went to
my father's palace my grandmother, Chow Chorm Kien,
looked at me disapprovingly. I was sorry, but I had picked up
too many modern ideas in England to conform to my grand-
mother's code. My elder brother, Sakol, always had seemed
to be her favorite among the boys of the family; I had been
especially petted among the girls. Now, she told me unhap-
pily that I was daring and impertinent; that when she was
young, girls never had behaved as I was doing. I would try to
explain to her that times had changed. She shook her head.
She was truly shocked. But she still was grateful when I fixed
the betel nut for her.

[99]

Betel chewing, which originally some people believed to
be beneficial, but which later came to be regarded as forming
a dangerous narcotic habit, was abolished in Siam in 1952.
But when I was growing up there, most older women and
many of the younger ones indulged in it. To enjoy it took
certain preparations. The betel nut, which comes from the
areca palm, is large, with a tough shell, and can be cut in sec-
tions, like an orange. The green peel is taken off and the un-
derlying yellow skin is pushed back and shredded, Then clo-
ver leaves are spread with a substance called poon (quicklime
mixed with red powder made from the ground seeds of the
poon tree) and rolled into long cigarettes, which are chewed
together with the betel nut and the shredded yellow skin.
Tobacco is sometimes also chewed along with it. For those
who have no teeth, the shreds must be ground to a powder,
and this was the way I fixed it for my grandmother. She put
the betel powder and the poon together into her mouth, and
then sucked on the rolled-up leaves. Continued chewing
made the teeth black, and everyone who chewed betel spit
red. It was quite intoxicating. I tried it once and it made my
head reel, so I never did it again. I gave it all to my grand-
mother. But in spite of Chow Chorm Kien's thanks for this
service to her, I knew I shocked her.

Princess Chutharat also began to show signs of disapproval.
It was not only because I had acted against her wishes in go-
ing to live with the queen; there was another matter. The
princess had plans for my future. I had not been long at home
when one day she spoke to me about her nephew, Pi Pow.

Her manner of bringing up his name reminded me that my

mother had warned me of something on my first night at
home. Now the princess came straight to the point.

"You know, I suppose, that you are betrothed to this
cousin of yours?"

Astounded, I gaped at her. "I, betrothed? To Pi Pow?
That is ridiculous. What nonsense!"

'It is a fact."

"How can it be, without my knowledge? 1 '

Her look grew severe. "Didn't you know it? When you
were very small you used to say you were going to marry
him someday. What did you mean by it? "

"Nothing. Nothing at all. It was the sort of thing children
often say. There was no arrangement"

"The arrangement was between your mother and me. It
was made before your birth. One day we were discussing
the inheritance from our grandmother, and I said to her,
c Soon, if your child is a girl, we will marry her to my nephew.
In that way we will keep the possessions of our ancestors all
within the family.' You know, of course, that many treasured
things will descend to you in this way?" She beamed at me.
"Is it not fortunate that you two like one another you and
Pi Pow?"

I had liked Pi Pow as a little boy, but I was not at all sure
I liked him in a romantic or any other way now that he was
grown. And I certainly did not intend to be rushed into a
marriage. I knew enough not to argue with the princess. But
the next day I went to my father.

"My aunt has told me of a plan to consolidate family for-
tunes by betrothing me to Pi Pow. Do you really expect me
to marry him for that reason?"

"It is a not unusual arrangement. Your aunt and mother
planned It so," he said mildly.

"/ did not plan. I wish to unplan it."

His eyes widened. Siamese girls did not speak this way to
their fathers. But in spite of it I got die feeling he himself
was not overly enthusiastic about this betrothal.

"Pi Pow will make a good husband, 77 he tried to assure me.

"Not for me. When I am ready I will choose for myself
what man I will marry. That is the custom in England; it will
be my custom. So have this betrothal canceled at once, if you
please."

My father's tone still was soothing.

"Why not wait and see how you feel about the matter
later? There is plenty of time, many things may happen. You
are still a child"

I was a child, with no slightest conception of what love
and marriage were about. But I had a sense of my own inde-
pendence, my own power. I used it.

"Cancel the engagement," I almost screamed at him. "/
will never marry Pi Pow"

That night, alone in my room, I thought about it all. I was
only old enough to be touched by the edge of a dream of ro-
mance. I wanted to see men, to talk to them, to know them.
It would be exciting to be admired and sought after. But not
to be betrothed to anyone. Not for a long, long time yet. And
then only to a man I would choose myself.

IX

KRU-BUA, the teacher, was with me much of the time during
these days, translating for me and correcting my Thai. We
became quite friendly. One morning, when I was at break-
fast with the queen, she summoned Kru-Bua to speak with
her about the palace school. While they were talking, a uni-
formed guard was brought in, bearing a message. My sister
tore it open, read it, and left us without a word of explanation.
But I saw her face was troubled.

"Something has disturbed Her Highness, Kru-Bua," I said.
"Was that a message from the king?"

Kru-Bua nodded. "Serene Highness, the guard who
brought it was from His Majesty."

"Is that a reason for worry? My sister certainly has noth-
ing to fear from him."

Kru-Bua hesitated.

"I should not discuss this matter with you, Serene High-
ness," she said at last, "but your sister may have cause for con-
cern. She has this palace, as you know, larger and lovelier
than her residence would be in the Grand Palace. She has a
household and many servants and much money from the
king. Still, she may not feel her position is secure."

"If a queen is not secure, who is?" I demanded.

I thought Kru-Boa looked amused.

"Perhaps the only person less secure is a king," she said.

"In the West they say, 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a
crown.' But the entire Chakri dynasty, down to the present
king, has been loved and admired by its subjects, and received
great loyalty. Her royal highness, your sister, is loved, too.
I think her problem is a personal one. It is probable, if she and
Rama VI do not go back together soon he will take one more
wife."

I gasped. Such a possibility as that had never occurred to
me. Queen Lakshami's situation made me unhappy. But be-
cause my father took it calmly, I had told myself it was tem-
porary, that one day soon the two would make up their dif-
ferences. I knew my father's thoughts were of ways to bring
them together. But if the king had still another wife in mind,
Lakshami would never go back. That would ruin everything.

A great struggle regarding such matters had been going on
within me ever since I had returned. I had been born into a
world which accepted without question the fact that a man
had many wives. My father had them; all my royal relatives
had them. It was a tradition. But I had become aware that
such thinking was sharply challenged in England. I could not
imagine the Reverend Ambrose Sturges-Jones having more
than one wife, and that wife as anyone other than Mummy.
To me that had seemed right. It was the way I felt things
were meant to be. I could accept the custom of members of
the older Thai generation for them but not for those of to-
day. Rama VI, with two queens and a consort already, made
a situation hard for me to approve. And now a new one! It
was too much.

"Can you believe that is true, Kru-Bua? That Vajiravudh
'will marry again? "

n i o 4 3

She gave me a quick look. "You hear it whispered every-
where that he will revive the public ceremony of the Prep-
aration of the Sacred Food."

The ceremony was traditionally connected with the se-
Itction of a royal bride. That did sound as if he thought of
marriage. But I refused to be convinced.

"The Heavenly Food does not have to mean a wedding,
Kru-Bua. In my aunt's palace we ate this Food of the Angels
once every year the new fruits, coconuts, bananas, mixed
with sugar-"

"But then it was made in the royal kitchen. When it is pre-
pared in the public ceremony, it is to determine whether the
princesses who participate in the rite are virgin," Kru-Bua
declared firmly. "And that will be the king's purpose."

I shuddered. "How awful it must be, standing there stir-
ring, with all the people staring at you. It is enough to make
a girl die of anxiety."

Kru-Bua laughed at my fearful face.

"You would need to have no concern. No ant would cross
the white garments of our little Noi, nor would a speck fall
on her stole. All about you would remain white as lotus
petals."

I was not reassured. The test appalled me. If, while the
young princesses stirred the mixture known as the Sacred or
Heavenly Food, a fly alighted on a girl's hand, or a bit of
crumpled leaf fell on her veil, she stood condemned. To make
such a test of a woman's virtue seemed absolutely ridiculous,
yet for centuries it had been used on the groups of young
girls from which the kings chose their wives.

It had been a long time now since the ceremony had been

[105]

performed in public. Perhaps the rumor it was to be revived
was baseless. I felt this gossip was beneath me. Still, I could
not keep from asking a question about Rama VFs possible
new bride.

"Who could the girl be, Kru-Bua? Do you have any idea? "

She hesitated. "The palaces buzz with speculation. There
is one they name, Serene Highness."

I feigned indifference. "She will have to be very beautiful
to be a rival for my sister."

"She is beautiful. But the prediction is based on more than
that. Her horoscope is said to promise her rich gifts."

**How can your palace gossips know her horoscope?" I
asked. "They assume too much. And so do you. Give me
facts, Kru-Bua, or cease speaking about the matter."

Kru-Bua hesitated again, then apparently decided to go on.

"This is not all gossip, Serene Highness. It is known for a
fact that Princess Chutharat took the girl's birth date to the
royal astrologers and had a full horoscope cast for her." Kru-
Bua glanced toward the door, and her voice sank to a whis-
per. "There was no question about it. The signs are there."

"What signs?" I demanded impatiently. I wanted to dis-
miss the subject but was held to it by an irresistible curiosity.
"Is she born under Leo, the royal sign, this new one?"

"No, not that."

I shrugged.

"But there are other portents. The sun, though it is in the
fourth house of her horoscope, is exalted," said Kru-Bua.
"So through the death of some royal personage she could
become a queen"

"There is a great difference between 'could' and 'will/ " I

[1063

protested. "Is that all they have to base this wild prediction
on?"

"They say that Venus conjuncts the planet Saturn. That
also could make her wife to a king. And there is more"

She went on, piling up bits of astrological evidence. No
sign was conclusive, but the combination was hard to ignore.
Finally I checked her.

"Are there no complications at all?*'

Kru-Bua appeared to answer with reluctance. "The planet
Uranus rising gives her dignity and great pride, but"

"So! She has Uranus rising? The fortunes of such people
are known to change at the flick of an eyelash! " I exclaimed
triumphantly. "There may be great controversy. Kru-Bua,
who is this girl who claims to have the heavens smile on her?"

"She herself has claimed nothing at all, Serene Highness."

"Then who is the one suspected by my aunt"

"Have I not made that clear also? Your royal aunt con-
sulted the astrologers. She does not suspect anyone. She
knows"

Princess Chutharat promoting a rival for Queen Laksha-
mi! It did not make sense.

"My aunt is loyal to my sister. If she really believes this re-
port, she will tell the queen, and this pretender will be dealt
with."

Kru-Bua shook her head.

"Your royal aunt is aware it is not wisdom to go against
that which the stars ordain. I do not believe she will attempt
to interfere with the fates. Rather, she will yield her own
wishes."

I could only stare at her. Submission on the part of the

Princess Chutharat was inconceivable. When at last I spoke,
anger made my voice shrill.

"The stars will never place this interloper in the palace! 7 '

Kru-Bua turned away.

"If you are to drive out with Her Royal Highness this
morning you had better make ready," she suggested.

Even in my temper I knew she was right. My duty was al-
ways to my sister. If Lakshami sat with her sewing, I was sup-
posed to sew also. If she walked in the garden, I, too, admired
the flowers there. If she went in her carriage, I must be in at-
tendance.

Kru-Bua followed me to my room. I permitted her to take
my house garments from me, but I declined to be distracted.

"Do not think you have put me off by changing the sub-
ject/' I commanded. "My sister and the king are not in agree-
ment, as all Bangkok knows. But they are not enemies. The
breach between them might be healed. But not if the king
takes another consort."

"Rama VI is not a young man. And he has no heir," Kru-
Bua reminded me quietly.

I felt embarrassed. I blushed. But I went determinedly on.

"Queen Lakshami still may give him one. As for my aunt,
she loves my sister. I cannot imagine she would take interest
in her possible rival. Why should she?"

Kru-Bua had laid out a blouse and pasin for me, and now
seemed absorbed in matching accessories to them. I repeated
my question.

"Why would my royal aunt secure the horoscope of this
person, Kni-Bua?"

"Perhaps she did no more than seek information about the

future of a favorite princess. How should she know in ad-
vance that one could become a queen? "

I looked at Kru-Bua suspiciously. The girl is very glib with
her talk, I thought. Was she embroidering a rumor, or even
making the whole thing up?

"Are you sure, Kru-Bua, that this fantastic story did not
begin with you? " I asked accusingly.

"I have it from Princess Chutharat's ladies in waiting, who
swear it is the truth."

"Then tell me the girl's name," I commanded.

I had heard it said often that gossip like this was the curse
of the court. By means of it, half-truths, intangible but dis-
turbing, became woven into the pattern of our lives.

There was no reply from Kru-Bua.

"You are making it up," I said contemptuously.

Kru-Bua lifted her head and faced me. For a moment we
stood gazing into each other's eyes. Suddenly I felt that she
had decided to speak. But, instead, she sighed, picked up a
mirror, and placed it against her breast, standing as though
holding it for me to complete my dressing before it.

"The name'' I insisted again.

Slowly, silently, Kru-Bua turned the glass, offering it to
me. It was a strange gesture. My look questioned it. But my
image stared back at me from the mirror's depth for a long
time before I grasped what she was telling me.

Then, finally, I understood.

I gave a strangled sort of cry and flung myself upon my
bed. I wrapped my head in the silken coverlet. In my ears the
beat of my heart sounded as loud as the tappings of a tern-
pone. Before my eyes a series of pictures flashed-the events

of the past months, my sudden summons home, my transfer
from my aunt's household to the queen's palace-the permis-
sion, obtained with amazing ease, to break my long betrothal

to Pi Pow

I had been too naive to understand that only for other and
far greater plans would that demand of mine have been met.
Childishly, I had believed I was giving the orders. Instead, I
had been receiving them.

There in the silken darkness my newly acquired sophisti-
cation vanished. I became instead a victim seeking release
from a terrifying sentence. My thoughts blended into a single

protest.

"Not yet not yet! Oh, I am not ready to think of these
things not for many moons"

To a young Siamese princess like myself companionship of
the princes was greatly enhanced in value because it was
forbidden. There was for us none of the easy growing up to-
gether enjoyed by boys and girls of the West. We met sel-
dom, always in the presence of a chaperone and under the
most ceremonial of circumstances. A girl's normal dreaming
had begun in me, a desire to be noticed by men, to be thought
pretty and attractive. We Siamese say many things with a
look, a smile, a gesture. Lately my thoughts had turned to-
ward these symbols of romance. I wanted them. Indeed, I
longed for them intensely. But for no more than that not for
a long, long time.

I realized now there were others who planned far beyond
that. I knew who they were. And that they did it with love.

From the hour his youngest daughter was born, Krom Pra
Narathip had set her apart from others. If Princess Chutharat

had sought astrologers regarding me, it was because my fa-
ther had sent her. Probably he had gone with her. The wise
men had consulted their charts and made a prediction and he
had believed them, for they confirmed his own desires.

I had been brought home for a purpose, I was to be pre-
pared for a high destiny. The stars had spoken. They had de-
clared that Krom Pra Narathip's youngest daughter was one
who might marry a king!

The girl in the prophecy was the Princess Rudivoravm!

X

FROM THE earliest days of our history my people have placed
great confidence in predictions of astrologers and wise men.
They are consulted on every important matter. It would have
been impossible for me not to be impressed by Kru-Bua's
story, indeed, overwhelmed by it. Yet I did not speak about
the matter to anyone. I only thought about it secretly and
constantly, until something happened which drove all else
from my mind.

My lovely mother suddenly fell ill.

At the time of the Pra Buddha Bhat Fair, it had been com-
mented on that she had received a larger amount of money
for her services in the railway office than any of the other
wives. This was a usual custom when a woman was pregnant,
and now we learned that my mother was again to have a baby.
My brother, four years younger, named Chanta Nakorn, and
I, were her only children, and we were delighted to learn
there would be another in our household. I had had little op-
portunity to know Chanta Nakorn well. While I had been
away he had been happily at home, and perhaps I had been a
little jealous. But now we felt affectionate toward each other
and wanted to take the best possible care of our mother.

Soon Penkul was an eager, intense person, always active.
And right at this time she was called back to court. Rama VI

C "211

had decided to put on a play in which she would have an im-
portant role. She should not have accepted it, but she did, and
studied and rehearsed endlessly, and nothing we could say
to her stopped her. She went out in all weather, and in the
rainy season, because she was exhausted, she took a heavy
cold, which she did not throw off.

Until he realized she was ill, my father encouraged her in
her work, for he was proud of her talent. His pride went back
to the days when she had been in his company when he pro-
duced plays for his brother, King Chulalongkorn. My moth-
er's distinguished father, and her grandfather also in his day,
had had theaters where they presented plays for the reigning
monarchs, so you can see that it was in our blood. Soon Pen-
kul had remained a fine artist, although of course after she
married my father she appeared only in the Royal Theater,
in the plays of Rama VI. Acting was all-important to her. It
absorbed her, as it absorbs me. It is impossible for me to over-
emphasize the extent to which the theater entered into our
lives, or how much my mother wished to be in this play.

I think she had another reason, too, for her eagerness to
return to court. One day she said to me, trying to make it
sound casual, u You have not seen the king since you returned
from England. He asks about you. Later, when the play is
more in shape, I will take you to rehearsals with me. You may
meet him there."

So then I suspected she was in the plot, too! Perhaps the
king had cast her in his play for this purpose, to enable us to
come together.

Incredible as it seems, that is the way such a thing would
have had to be managed. The king could not seek me out, nor

could I go to court except on a special occasion. If we were
to see each other, it must appear to come about by accident.
To approach a girl before a betrothal was to cause a scandal

But the plan did not work. In spite of bad health, my moth-
er kept on with her busy schedule and with her habit of
doing things for other people, until a day when she had ar-
ranged a banquet for a lady in waiting who was to be mar-
ried. She went to see if the room for it was in order, and
found a rug out of place. She stooped to straighten it. The
rug was heavy. She injured herself, and after that she became
very sick indeed.

My father called the best doctors and they did what they
could for her, but they were not able to give her much treat-
ment because of her condition. Her illness grew more and
more serious. We were all frightened. Finally, three months
before her time, she began to have pains, and we were in a
panic. But my grandmother, Chow Chorm Kien, who had
seen many births, said to us, "Perhaps this is good. Now that
the child is coming, the doctors can take care of your mother
properly. She will recover and the baby, although premature,
may be all right, too. I will pray to Buddha for both of them."

During this time I stayed at my father's palace, and my
grandmother prayed and prayed, and we were glad when the
doctor said that, although our mother was only six months
pregnant, the child might live. But when it was born, it ap-
peared to be already dead, and the doctor shook his head and
laid the little body aside and only took care of my mother. My
father was much grieved. The child was a boy, and he
wanted another son. But my grandmother was there and she
put on her most determined look and went to the child and

picked him up. She breathed into his mouth, and said, "I do
not think this baby is dead. I think he can live. Give him at-
tention, if you please."

So the doctor came very fast, and took the baby from her
and patted him and held him by his feet and swung him, and
in a few moments he began to cry. It was a thin little wail, but
it went on and on. My grandmother looked triumphant.

"You see! " she said happily. And she took the tiny boy and
wrapped him warmly in blankets and held him in her arms.

The doctor still was dubious, but he said, "If we had some
kind of an incubator it might be possible to save him." At the
time this was a very new idea. There was no incubator in
Bangkok. At once my father had one made. It was like a little
room of wire netting, lined with soft material, and it had a
door through which the nurse could reach to lift the child
out. It was warmed by light bulbs one burned in the daytime
and two at night. The baby stayed in the incubator, and soon
he began to breathe regularly and take a few drops of milk.
And we all knew he owed his life to our wise grandmother.

So now we thought all our worry was over, and our mother
and our little brother could be well. But our mother did not
improve. The doctors said her system was poisoned. She had
a high fever; her cheeks were always hot, and her eyes glassy,
and often she spoke strangely.

We took turns sitting with her and once, when I was there
alone, she asked me to bring her a glass of water. When I held
it for her, she said, "I can't drink that. You have put cotton
wool in it." The water was perfectly clear but she acted so
upset I did not know what to do. I sent for the doctor and he
came and quieted her. But she was not like my mother at all.

After that she was watched closely and given many medi-
cines. But she had been ailing too long. Her system did not
seem strong enough to combat the infection. Everyone in my
father's palace felt unhappy and frightened as the dreary
days went by and she did not improve.

One morning, very early, my father sent a message to me
to come to my mother at once. I flung on my clothes and ran
to her room. Before I reached her she had died.

Once again I was separated from my mother. This time it
was forever.

I had never before seen anyone who was dead. In the be-
ginning, as I stood beside my brother looking at her, I did not
feel grief, only a stunned, empty sensation. But when Chanta
Nakorn and I went into a private room the tears came, and
we cried together. We not only felt sad and lonely but aston-
ished, for our mother was too young to go. She was only
thirty-three and had so much to live for. 1 was glad now that
I had come back from England when I did. I had at least had
this time with her. But it had been very short. My brother
and I both sobbed as we talked about these things. Not until
we had control of ourselves did we come out, holding to each
other's hands and trying to behave bravely.

As Buddhists, we Siamese believe in the continuity of life,
and our acceptance of the appearance of death is a philosoph-
ical one. But there is much ceremony connected with it.
Eventually there is always cremation of the remains. For per-
sons of great importance there is first a lying in state, for
which the body is placed in a huge urn. For lesser ones, there
is temporary burial in a casket.

My mother was to be buried at once. Later the casket
would be taken up and placed on a pyre.

I went back into my mother's room and saw that a candle
had been lighted. It stood beside her bed. I was told that when
it burned out, her body would be placed in the coffin. Her
hair was being combed for the last time. When it was ar-
ranged, her comb was broken. She had been dressed in white,
and white bows were tied in her long, dark hair. There was
still color in her cheeks, and her eyes were closed as if she
were quietly sleeping. She looked breathtakingly beautiful.

When the time came, my father lifted her in his arms and
placed his face against hers for a long time. Then, as if she
were a drowsy child he was putting to bed, he laid her in the
casket.

I felt I could not bear the pain of it. Stony-faced, I stood
while people came to pay their respects to my mother and,
as is customary, pour scented water over her waxen hands.
Inside myself I was crying, but I kept the tears from my eyes.
I could not show my sorrow to these watching people.

I learned afterward that I was criticized for this seeming
coldness. People said my life in a Western country had made
me hard. It seemed to them I did not care that my mother was
gone. So because I did what I thought was right, because I
concealed my emotions in public, I was misunderstood. This
was an early incident in a long series of misunderstandings
in regard to my conduct.

Always my father had been sentimental about my mother.
His name for her, Yi Soon, meant pink rose, and pink roses
were his symbol for her. After the cremation, her ashes were

not put Into the conventional urn. Instead, he had a frame
made. On the front was her picture, with roses painted
around It. The ashes were placed in the back.

All the rest of his life he missed Soon Penkul and longed
for her. Other women wanted my father. He was beloved
wherever he went. But Yi Soon w r as his young wife, his dar-
ling. I had felt many things for him, love, reverence, a respect
which sometimes had bordered on fear, but on the day my
mother was burled, all these were swallowed up In pity.

XI

MY MOTHER had gone from us. My tiny brother lived on, but
he was a frail baby. He had to be watched all the time and
have constant care and special feeding. My grandmother
would not leave him for a moment. In my father's palace he
could have had good nurses, but my grandmother, who had
not trusted me to them when I was a well child, would not
turn a sick one over to them now. Pretty soon Chow Choral
Kien, too, became ill from the strain.

My father was alarmed. He said, "This small child has no
mother, and what he needs most of all is a mother's care."
But my grandmother would not give him up.

So one night my father stole his own son, and took him
away and gave him to one of his older daughters, to keep as
her own child. And that youngest brother of mine grew up
calling my half sister "Mother" and calling me "Aunt." It
seems strange, but relationships often used to become con-
fused in this way in Siam.

I went back to Queen Lakshami's palace. But, despite the
luxury in which I lived, my world now was a sad place. I felt
very lonely, and longing for England and my mummy there
welled up in me. I did not want to tell this to my father, but
we were very close in these days and he seemed to know
what I was thinking. Since my mother's death, he appeared to
love me more than ever, but he was willing for me to go. I

think he did not wish to depress me with his grief. And for
the time being he had little zest for carrying out plans for me
or anyone else. He said that since I was still so young, if there
was a career I wanted to follow, he had no objection to my
returning to England for further education.

As I thought about it, an idea came to me. On the voyage
home to Siam, during my lessons with Prince Mahidol, he had
told me if ever I wanted to continue my studies abroad to
come to him and he might be able to help me. At the time I
had thought this unlikely. But now my father said I might
speak with him on the subject.

Prince Mahidol greeted me cordially and listened to all that
I had to say. My hopes rose when he said he approved of a
royal princess studying away from Siam.

"I shall be glad to assist you," he assured me. "There are,
however, two conditions. One is that you study in America,
The other is that your education is in nursing or in medicine."

My hopes fell with a thud at that, although I might have
expected his reaction. Both Prince Mahidol and his wife were
enthusiastic about the United States, to which they were
about to return. They also believed education in medicine
and nursing care would greatly benefit Siam. But I had little
desire to go to America and none at all to study medicine or
anything associated with it.

When the prince tried to discover the reason for my dislike
of hospitals, I blurted out a confession of my lifelong fear of
ghosts.

Prince Mahidol smiled. "All Siamese children fear ghosts,"
he said. "But you are no longer a child."

I felt I would be of little value to the sick and the dying, I

said, until the fear was overcome, and asked if there was not
some other field I could enter with his help.

"I am afraid not," Prince Mahidol said regretfully, "I may
go back to Harvard Medical School myself and medicine
and nursing are the professions I have pledged myself to
support."

In spite of his gentleness, I knew he would not change his
mind. And although he said at the end of the interview, "Go
home and think things over, maybe you will decide to be-
come a nurse in spite of your childish superstitions," I believe
he knew I would not change mine.

My decision would be the same today, for I have never lost
my awe of the supernatural.

Evidences of the supernatural appear frequently in Siam,
even in everyday life. Every dwelling in Bangkok has a tiny
house near the entrance gate where the spirits are believed
to live, spirits which may bring disaster and death to the fam-
ily, as well as luck and happiness. These spirits must be wor-
shiped and cared for, or they will become angry, and bad
fortune will fall upon those who have neglected them. Every
day, before eleven o'clock, food must be placed for them,
and it is well to give them gifts, flowers, candles, miniature
dolls or animals, and to burn incense in their honor.

Our family treated the spirits with much respect. Only
one member, an aunt of mine, a sister of my mother, ever re-
fused them reverence. She became very ill. It was suggested
to her that the spirits were angry with her, but she did noth-
ing; about it until one of them, an old man with a long white
beard, came to her in a dream with a warning. The next day
she worshiped them, and sent them many presents, and al-

most at once she was well. It does not do to anger the spirits,
for they are always about, and can bring harm as well as
great good.

The Mon are an ancient people, many of whom live in
Siam. They have unusual psychic powers. One of their cus-
toms is to u bring the ghost." The "ghost" can enter the body
of no one but a girl whose father is a Mon. This takes place
at a ceremony which is performed to weird xylophone mu-
sic. The ghost is invoked, and asked to show his presence.
When he enters the girl's body, she begins to shiver and
shake, and without any volition of her own she performs a
wild dance in which she is controlled by the spirit.

I have often seen this and other psychic manifestations.
There is a ceremony by which a priest may make a man in-
vulnerable to the edge of the sharpest knife, and I have been
told that many of our soldiers avail themselves of it before
going into battle, and return unscathed. I have seen other
happenings even more mystifying, which I will not talk
about here. In the West you scoff at such things, but in the
East the veil between the material world and the world of
the spirits is thin. Perhaps I am unusually sensitive to this fact
because of tales told to me by my nurses when I was small.
Whatever the reason, I perceive much that is not apparent
to other eyes.

When I was a child, this frightened me. Now, I had my
own kind of courage. When, in my mother's face, I looked
upon death for the first time, I did not run away from it. But
neither did I reach out to seek what lay beyond, The invisible
world could become too real to me for comfort. I knew I
must find my Hfework in fields not closely related to it.

In the end I did not leave Slam for further education. I re-
mained the queen's constant companion at Udorn Palace. She
was very kind to me, and little by little she began to play a
role that was almost that of a mother, and to give me guidance
and advice. Out of her own heartaches she had gained the

o>

knowledge of how to minister to others. So we strove to com-
fort each other.

T-

L A -

XII

WHEN THE period of mourning for my mother had passed,
Queen Lakshami began to take me with her when she made
the many ceremonial visits to members of the royal family
which custom required of her. In some of the palaces there
were young princes. Although I had no opportunity to talk
with them, I stole secret glances in their direction, and won-
dered what it would be like to be free to have them as friends
and companions.

I had no way of learning. It was with women attendants
only that I was permitted to sit in the patio where the bloom-
ing ladda made the air heavy with fragrance, or travel on the
river where sometimes the Suparnahongse appeared. This
royal kathin, or barge of the king, was manned by a crew of
seventy in crimson uniforms. It was a long, slender craft,
golden in color, with a dragon on the prow. Amidships, the
throne was curtained in brocade. The oarsmen dipped their
paddles in unison with the tap of a silver spear on the deck.
It was an inspiring sight, and I longed for a romantic com-
panion to share it. Another colorful pastime was to be rowed
past the floating markets. There wares were picturesquely
displayed in boats along the shore and Bangkok did its daily
buying. But I was chaperoned on those occasions, too, and at
the pools where I swam, and even while I plucked water

lilies, or played with a fawn-colored gibbon chained in the
garden. The gibbon was a beautiful creature. It had every-
thing it could wish for, except freedom. We had much in
common, I thought, for often I felt I was only a chained and
pampered pet myself.

I was permitted no public appearance at all until the time
came for the winter fair. Since 1932 this event has been
known as Constitution Day Fair, as Constitution Day is De-
cember i o. But for a long while before that it was a gala occa-
sion in Bangkok. It was held in one of three royal parks, Chitr
Lada, Saranrom, or Dusit. At this time one of my older bro-
thers, Prince Wan Waithayakorn, who later was to inherit
my father's title and become Thai ambassador to the United
States and a president of the United Nations General Assem-
bly, was in the Foreign Ministry of Siam. He was in charge
of a booth for his department at the fair, and my father said
I was to go and help him in it. This both delighted and terri-
fied me. I stood very much in awe of my brilliant brother.

The winter fair had two divisions. The first was a popular
one, with amusements and games, and small souvenirs for
sale in the Chinese stalls. It drew great crowds. The other
division was of a cultural nature, with fine music and exhibi-
tions of classical Thai dancing, patronized extensively by the
aristocrats. Here there were artistically arranged displays,
and ladies of high rank offered exquisite Siamese lacquer-
work and art objects for sale. Prince Wan wished to make
the Foreign Ministry booth one of the finest.

The royal family always attended the winter fair.
Thoughts which had been crowded from my mind by grief
for my mother came back with a rush as I realized that now,

after five years, I would again see Vajiravudh face to face. I
was about to meet the king!

A sobering second thought was that Queen Lakshami
would meet him, too.

I was baffled by my ignorance of what she felt about him.
My sister grew strange and remote when she spoke of her
husband. Although they continued to live apart, she main-
tained that there was no anger between them. But such words
as she spoke about him seemed meant to conceal her feelings,
rather than to reveal them. I am sure my father thought so,
too, for he again tried to promote a reconciliation by his ar-

guments.

The king's other consorts were not of royal blood, he con-
tended, although one had been raised to rank. The first queen
of Siam should be by birth a princess. Lakshami was a prin-
cess, and she had a duty to her position. He did have a point.
But in this matter I found I was on her side, not his. To my
father she was a queen, mistakenly separated from the king.
To me she was just a girl any girl whose lover had proved
unfaithful. When my father defended Rama VI, I protested
stubbornly. "He did take other wives 'when she was to have
been the only one" I kept repeating, and nothing my father
could say convinced me this was a custom Siamese women
should accept. If the others were sent away, then perhaps it
might be Lakshami's duty to go back again, but not until
then. And my father need not look at me in surprise. He had
sent me to England to learn just such ideas.

My thoughts in regard to my own place in the picture
also were extremely confused. I suspected that my father was
not without motive in permitting me to go to the fair, but my

paramount wish was that the royal couple might live happily
together again.

Perhaps the king has forgotten how beautiful and kind
she is, I thought. If he comes to the fair and sees her there,
things may come right between them. I determined to hold
to this idea firmly, and not to dwell, even for a moment, on
that other possibility which I knew the astrologers had put
into the mind of my father.

Nothing more had been heard of the revival of the Cere-
mony of the Heavenly Food. Probably it had been gossip,
and the king had never meant to do it at all. As for the proph-
ecy about me coming true, if I was destined to be a queen,
need it follow that my king was Rama VI? I was greatly re-
lieved to realize that the day of such decision could be post-
poned.

But because I was a very young, very romantic girl, to
wear at the Foreign Ministry booth the opening night of the
winter fair I selected my most becoming blouse and pasin,
and put fresh flowers in my hair. And I was happy when my
mirror told me I looked pretty.

As I prepared to leave for the park, excitement pricked
along my nerves, and by the rime I took my place in the booth
my knees were shaking and my hands were icy. I felt that all
of us were play acting, yet the scene was a very real one. I
bowed to my relatives; I showed the booth's contents; I did
my best to conceal any special eagerness. But my eyes grew
strained from watching the entrance. It seemed that His
Majesty would never come.

It was late in the evening when I became aware of a general
commotion, and then attention seemed to be concentrating

on our booth. First I saw palace guards approaching, and
then the corps of princes who, in public, always attended
Rama VL And then, finally, magnificent in uniform, I saw
the king himself.

Historians have described Rama VI as reserved and with-
drawn even with his own brothers. But during the years of
his reign, Vajiravudh had introduced a new democracy. In a
land where once only a privileged few had been able to
glimpse the face of their supreme ruler, this monarch moved
easily and with friendliness among his subjects. Through the
gaily-decorated pavilions he was walking slowly now, speak-
ing with those near him, regarding those who crowded about
him with a mild, pleasant glance. I found him little changed.
He was slightly heavier, a little more bald, but he still had the
broad shoulders and narrow hips I remembered. He was a
royal figure in this brilliant throng. Motionless, as if cemented
to the floor, I stood staring at him, willing him to look at me.

But between us my sister stood. He saw her first. As their
eyes met, I was conscious of the way Queen Lakshami's eye-
lashes fluttered and the corners of her mouth turned upward
in an enchanting way she had. And then she was talking with
the king.

Watching them, you would have thought the meeting
was an everyday occurrence. The tone of their voices was
cordial, their smiles seemed sincere. But ignorant as I was of
the way of a man and a woman, I sensed that this was not the
friendliness of two who are bound in a marriage. This was
the detached amiability of emotional indifference. At that
moment I knew their love was over. What was being ru-
mored could be true. Rama VI might seek a new consort.

Princess Rudivoravan's mother, Soon
Penkul, and father, His Royal
Highness, Prince Narathip Prabhan-
bongse

Queen Lakshamilavan, Princess Ru-
| divoravan's sister, with her husband,
King Vajiravudh

Queen Lakshamilavan in the uni-
form of a Cavalry Scout

The question in my mind almost overwhelmed me. Was
this the man at whose side the astrologers' prophecy and my
father's dream might one day place me?

Dazedly I watched the king move from one display to an-
other, examining the lovely, priceless objects. He began pur-
chasing them, bestowing gifts upon those about him. With
care he selected a set of jewels and presented it to Lakshami.
She accepted it with a gracious smile.

It seemed a very long time before he came to where I
waited. But at last he stood before me.

I bowed. I felt his eyes upon me, studying me. He had been
fond of me as a child. Would he regard me now as a woman?
Blood rushed to my cheeks. Suddenly I felt as a woman.

My sister stepped close to me.

"You must ask His Majesty for a gift," she whispered.

Such a request was customary. It was considered a compli-
ment to a king to suggest a present from him. But I could not
make myself do it. The words stopped in my throat, and I
only looked at him. Talk went on about us; I felt its flow and
ebb, but I took no part in it. Finally, as if at a signal, those
about him bowed, and the king moved on.

But as he passed me he paused. He reached for my hand,
lifted it. About my wrist he snapped a diamond bracelet.

"For that small Serene Highness, Princess Rudivoravan,"
he said, and smiled at me. "You are growing up, Ying Noi."

He was gone. I stood, gazing down in enchantment at the
jewels which blazed on my arm.

Diamonds/ What did they mean? Did his words and his
jewels have significance? Were they a sign that the king
realized how young I was realized that all his favor might

bestow lay far ahead of me? Could he possibly know that I
felt even more strongly than Lakshami about other wives?
But if he waited and if a day carne when he wanted one
queen only

For weeks I lost myself in a child's impersonal dreams of
future glory. I was roused from them rudely. The king was
not waiting not for Lakshami not for me not for anyone.
There was a royal announcement. Rama VI had taken a new
consort.

[130

XIII

WHAT MY father in his heart had believed possible in regard
to Rama VI, to Lakshami, and to myself I was never to learn.
The subject was not mentioned again between us. Suvathana,
the new consort, was a friend of Lakshami, and there was no
resentment on my sister's part toward her. My secret opinion
was that my sister was relieved, and truly hoped for her hus-
band's happiness in the new relationship.

My own reactions were strangely mixed. I was mature
enough to admit to myself that I had been beglamoured by
the prophecy that I might marry a king, any king. But I also
knew that I had viewed with abhorence the idea of taking a
husband who had other wives. My father had several wives,
and our home life and family relationships had been happy,
the custom was traditional Siamese. But to accept such a rela-
tionship for myself was impossible.

If you loved a mm, it was impossible to share him.

I told my father this violently. He smiled at me, a grave,
wise smile.

"You little child," he said. "What can you know about
love?"

He had used almost those same words in combating my ob-
jections to my betrothal to Pi Pow. But people could not go
on saying "You are a child" to me forever.

I was growing up, beyond question, in ways other than
those symbolized by my still inappropriate high-heeled shoes
and late hours. As the novelty of empty vanities passed, I be-
gan to take real pains with my costumes. I experimented with
my hair, doing it first one way, then another. Once all women
in Siam had worn their hair very short. Many of the eldest
still did. In Chulalongkorn's time a round cut to resemble a
lotus blossom had been popular. Now some had their hair
short and some had it long, done up in a kind of bun. My
mother had always worn her hair long. I deliberately copied
her style, in coiff eur and in dress. It emphasized my resem-
blance to her, and pleased my father. I felt closer to him be-
cause of it.

It was at this time that I began to develop a love for color
and for fabrics. There were special colors to be worn on
each day of the week, and members of the royal family al-
ways appeared in them. On the Sabbath Day we wore red.
Red was the royal color. I find it strange that it is the color of
Communism now. On Monday, the color was yellow. Tues-
day, pink or light mauve. Wednesday, green. Thursday,
brown or apricot. Friday, blue. On Saturdays our costumes
were purple. So I had dresses in all of these colors. But I was
constantly designing new ones, for I had beautiful materials.
These carne to me in an unusual way.

It w r as a custom of members of the royal family that dur-
ing songran, the hot season in March and April, visits were
made to elder members, to give a blessing and to pour the
scented water which is an important feature of all our cere-
monial occasions. At this time some new cloth was usually
taken as a gift. My father and my sister made many such

visits. Then my father and my grandmother had a day when
all their younger relatives came to them, bringing presents.
My father gave gifts in return. They were tied to a tree, and,
when the solemn ceremonies were over, there was a distribu-
tion and much gaiety. After these visits my father had many
bolts of lovely fabrics to divide among his children. Always
he gave me some for my dresses.

These gatherings were climaxed by one which brought to-
gether all the members of the royal family at one time. This
was the Ceremony of the Pouring of the Sacred Water, held
each year in April in the Grand Palace. The sacred water,
blessed by the priests and prepared in advance, was poured
from a gold-rimmed shell by the king. Clad in the royal red,
we came to the ceremony by families. We were received ac-
cording to rank and age. The king sat upon his throne, and
we all reverted to the ancient custom of crouching as we
approached him, then crawling to his feet. The water was
poured upon our heads, and our foreheads and eyelids were
touched with a powdered substance that was mixed with it.

These various gatherings afforded little more than quick
glimpses of young princes who one day might become suit-
ors. And they certainly gave small chance to select prospec-
tive brides. But they did provide new opportunities for young
people of royal birth to meet, and every year several mar-
riages resulted from them. Daily my impatience increased
with such restrictions, which circumscribed everything I did.
I remembered, with longing, the personal freedom I had had
in England. I considered my present luxurious existence a
limited way of living, and inwardly I rebelled against it more
and more.

To keep occupied, I threw myself into every possible ac-
tivitymy piano practice, tennis, art work, and designing. I
also spent much time in dancing, which is always important
in Siam. Thai dance drama tells a story, usually from the
Sanskrit. The dancers sway, glide, retreat, as they enact tales
from the Ramayana. Almost every small girl is trained to be-
come a dancer. In Bangkok in those days a mother automat-
ically lifted the hands of her small daughter every time the
child came near her, and bent the fingers backward. This
daily practice, begun very early, makes the hands remarkably
supple. My hands were trained, and I knew and could per-
form many of the Thai dances.

This was not enough for me. I longed to go to a party
where I was sure I would display my grace and proficiency.
But I was still considered far too young for that, even under
the most careful chaperonage.

One great pleasure I did have was going with my father to
a seaside resort he was developing, called Chaum. Before I
left for England, when we had wanted the sea we had gone
to Hua Hin, which is still the royal vacation spot. But the
land there belonged to one of my uncles and my father
wanted a place of his own. He was inventive and creative and
and also intensely practical, and he did some exploring, tak-
ing a train out of Bangkok and then walking and walking, un-
til he found a remote beach with beautiful fine white sand
and behind it deep woods and then the mountains. No one
lived near but the provincials and no one from Bangkok ever
had stayed there. My father bought a great tract of land and
built a road into it and improved it. Then he divided it, and
gave a plot of land to each of his wives. He began to develop

Chaum, and to invite his friends to see it. He spent much time
there, and gradually it became one of his big projects.

My father had had many undertakings, the railroad I told
about, and the streetcar concession in Bangkok. After that,
he had built apartments in Bangkok to improve the housing
in the city. But finally he sold them all. He was like that. It
was the building of things he enjoyed. After a project was
completed and operating he lost interest and went on to some-
thing else. All the time he kept writing, but he wanted these
other things, too.

So now his great interest was Chaum. He built a bungalow
there for each wife. Many friends came. They were sup-
posed to rent places, but my father always acted like a host
instead of a landlord and never collected the right amount of
money. That has seemed sometimes to be a characteristic of
our family the ability to do things that make a great deal of
money but never to hold on to it.

But when we spoke to my father about this he only
laughed. In certain respects he was severe. He demanded a
great deal from people in the way of intelligence and effi-
ciency. But he loved to give to others and to help them, and
he could not resist doing it. It was not only his royal relatives
he helped. It was the provincial people, too. He came to be
like a father to the local residents of Chaum. He advised them
with their community problems and their business problems
and since there was no doctor there he gave them quinine and
aspirin. Later, after my father's death, his secretary became
mayor of the place and my father its patron saint.

To go there gave me a happy summer. But in Bangkok life
became less pleasant. Although my sister Queen Lakshami

and Queen Suvathana, Rama VFs new consort, were friends,
Suvathana was striving for position. And now that he was
living with a consort, Rama VI planned to reside in Amphora
Palace, right next to Udorn, where my sister had her home.
Naturally, she could not continue there and naturally, too,
despite their friendship, Suvathana wanted Lakshami at a
distance. She might not have had her way in this, but she be-
came pregnant, so her wishes were respected. My sister was
transferred to another palace. She was still within Dusit Gar-
dens and she had a beautiful villa and a large allowance and
queenly privileges. But she could no longer be served from
the royal kitchen and must set up her own, and she had re-
sponsibility for a household, which she had never carried
before. She was not too pleased about it, and our life was less
easy than at Udorn.

It was at this rime it was decided that I was to attend a
fashionable finishing school which had been started in Bang-
kok by an English Eurasian girl. It was called Siam Marathi.
It observed many English customs I liked. I even had a real
English Christmas celebration there. It was a wonderful
school in which to study the language. If we spoke no Thai
all day and used English only, at the end of the week we got
a credit that entitled us to go to the movies. Everything in the
school was in Western styletable linen, fine china, service.
It was too good to last, that school. Before long it lost so much
money it had to close. After that I went to a day school, called
St. Francis Xavier, to continue my French.

Looking back, I can see that I must have presented a real
problem to my family. At that time I was aware only that
they presented a real problem to me. I was full of adolescent

dreams and longings and rebellions, convinced, as I have
learned since most girls of that age are convinced, that I was
misunderstood by everyone. I needed the authority of some-
one I respected. But my father, still held in reverence by his
mature and important elder sons, still like a god to the rest of
the family, was the proverbial putty in my hands. He never
rebuked my impertinence; he never punished my impu-
dence. Lakshami once told me that she had to become a queen
before she lost her fear of our father, but I felt no fear of him
at all. Perhaps that was my tragedy, that he loved me too
much to impose the discipline that every child needs. What I
unknowingly craved, I think, was to be under authority I
respected and to have responsibilities of my own. My life was
too easy and too empty, for all the devotion lavished on me.

To the usual conflicts of adolescence, there were added
those between East and West. When the news had come that
Suvathana was to bear a child, I regarded Lakshami's serene
face with amazement.

"How can you be so calm about such a matter?"! de-
manded in bewilderment.

"I am more than calm. I am happy for my husband," she
said.

"Because another woman is to bear him a child?"

"Because he is to be the father of one. He has wanted a
child so very, very much. Pray Buddha that he has one."

I could not doubt she meant it. She was glad.

All Siam also was glad, and hoped for a son, a son who
would be crown prince and inherit the throne of his father.
The months sped by and the day grew nearer and nearer for
the birth of the royal heir.

[1373

XIV

ONE EVENING my sister was weary and we retired shortly
after midnight, an early hour for us. I fell at once into a deep
sleep. When a commotion in the palace aroused me, I had the
sensation of having been fathoms deep. Drowsily I raised my-
self on an elbow to listen. Through my window I saw lights
come on in room after room, and then the sound of running
feet echoed in the compound. Almost at once there was a
knocking at my door, and without waiting for my call Kru-
Bua entered.

"Her Royal Highness wishes you to attend her," she an-
nounced breathlessly.

Alarmed, I threw back the covers.
"At this hour? Is she ill? " I asked.

"She is in good health. It is His Majesty. Queen Lakshami
is called to his side. You are to accompany her."

As she spoke, Kru-Bua moved about, collecting clothing
for me. Now she came to the bed, holding it out.

"Quickly. Quickly," she urged. "There is no time to lose."
I ran to a bowl, splashed cool water on my eyes to banish
sleep, and began to dress as rapidly as I could. This alarm had
the nightmarish quality of the one which had called me to
my mother's deathbed, I thought, and my hands shook. Kru-
Bua adjusted my garments.

"Tell me all that has happened, Kru-Bua."

"I do not know any particulars, only that there is an emer-
gency and Her Royal Highness leaves in haste. Come."

She flung my stole over my shoulders and we ran through
the palace which by now was ablaze with lights, the rooms
filling with excited ladies in waiting. When we reached the
main entrance, my sister was about to enter her car. As
though this sudden trip were a regular procedure, her uni-
formed attendants stood in full readiness. I remember won-
dering whether they slept with their clothes on, and then be-
ing ashamed of such trivial speculation on an occasion so
serious.

Our car sped through the Dusit grounds, its headlights
picking up the forms of the saluting guards. Never before had
I failed to feel a thrill at this gesture, but tonight it was mean-
ingless. I reached for my sister's hand. It was cold, and her
fingers clasped mine as if seeking reassurance.

"Pee Tew, what has happened? What have you heard?'' I
asked her.

"Only that His Majesty has had an attack of some kind."

The car made a sudden turn.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "This is not the way to
the Amphorn Palace."

"The king became ill at the Grand Palace. There was a
ceremonial occasion there, with many of the princes present.
In the midst of it he was stricken"

Lakshami's fingers tightened on mine.

"Why did they not take him home?"

"They did not dare to move him," my sister told me.
"They carried him only as far as the royal apartments, and
then summoned his physicians and the relatives."

139:1

"What could be the matter?"

"You know all that I know, Mai Noi."

There seemed nothing more to say. We drove in silence
along the wide avenue with its marble bridges and bordering
trees.

As we entered the familiar confines of the Grand Palace 1
recalled another arrival I had made through these same gates.
The memory of the evening when first I was brought here
came back to me clearly, with all its accompanying desola-
tion. More than ten years had passed since that lonely twi-
light, but the apprehension it had instilled in my childish
heart had never left me. I had learned early that life as well
as death can bring its separations.

Was dread of losing someone beloved always with you? I
wondered. It was a terrifying thought.

I was an easy prey for terror. For years the Grand Palace
had been my home, but it was still to me an overwhelming
place. My thoughts went to Vajiravudh, lying within. Here
he had been born. Here he had been crowned a king. Here
his bones would lie when he was dead. In this palace a king
of Siam had his beginning and his end. Did these great halls,
these gilded pavilions, these giant statues, sometimes over-
whelm even him? Did the awe that filled me now touch even
the mightiest monarch?

I looked back at the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. In
my mind I pictured the king as he had bowed so often before
the shrine of the jasper image. Would the Buddha spare him
this green god at whose feet young lovers plighted their
troth, women prayed for children, tired old people asked for
a better Karma? I did not know.

The pantheon, the library, the tall golden pagoda were be-
hind us, then the Maha Prasad, which tonight seemed to me
to be haunted by the spirits of all whose bodies once had lain
in state here. I shuddered uncontrollably. And then at last we
reached the chief residence.

In this section of the Grand Palace were the royal living
quarters: Amarindra Hall, the public chamber of audience;
the Daksina, or inner audience chamber; and the residence
proper, which included the state bedroom. In the public
chamber many people stood now, their faces troubled, speak-
ing together in low tones. My father was among them. He
appeared to be watching for us, and came to us at once. My
sister looked at him searchingly.

"The illness of His Majesty is it a grave one?"

My father's expression was one of sympathy and love.

"His Majesty's heart is said to be very weak. The doctors
are consulting."

"Was there no warning?" Lakshami's voice disclosed the
anxiety she strove to conceal.

"None. One moment he appeared smiling and happy. The
next he turned pale and fell backward, helpless. He had to be
lifted from the throne."

"IsSuvathanahere?"

"Not yet. The doctors have thought it best to tell her no
more than that the king has become indisposed. They fear
the eif ect of the shock if she learns the truth, since her time is
very near."

"I know," said Lakshami. She waited. But my father added
nothing more. "Vajiravudh has asked for her?" she ques-
tioned him finally.

My father nodded. "He asked also for you, Lakshami."

"What shall I do?"

"At the moment there is nothing to do but wait."

We moved on, toward the inner chamber. It was less
crowded. Only those of highest rank were admitted there.
But still I had the feeling of taking part in an ugly fantasy, for
this room, too, seemed charged with impending tragedy.

"The doctors will have to give us an official report soon,"
my father said. "The news must be released to the public."

People were bowing about my queen sister, but she looked
neither to the right nor to the left. She moved across the room
and took a seat near the door of the royal bedchamber. Sud-
denly I realized that it had been her bridal chamber.

She spent much time there in the days that followed. The
doctors' pronouncement on the king's condition came. It held
little hope. Rama VI was loved by his subjects, and the news
cut like a knife through the heart of Siam. I think it pierced
the heart of my sister in the same way, but she put her devo-
tion into service, not words. Since the days when she had
tended the injured in the railway wrecks at Pra Buddha
Bhat she had been a skilled nurse, and the qualities which
had made her seem a ministering angel then had not changed.
His Majesty liked to have her in his sickroom and she went
to him often.

Tradition said that a king's child must be born in the Grand
Palace, so it was not long before Queen Suvathana was
brought there to be delivered, and all Bangkok waited for
the announcement of the royal heir. But when the baby ar-
rived it was not the hoped-for crown prince. The child was
a little daughter.

The king, however, showed no disappointment. Lakshami
came from the royal bedroom with tears on her cheeks.

u Vajiravudh wanted this child so much/' she said, in a
choked voice. "He looked so longingly and so lovingly at the
baby, but he is too weak even to hold her."

In the Grand Palace birth and death were companions
now. But it was not to be so for long. A great demonstration
always attends the arrival of a royal child. Before this cele-
bration was over, Rama VI was gone.

Until I lost my mother, death had been a stranger to me.
But now and for many months to come I was involved in its
solemn observance: in the ten days' ceremony, and the fifty
days' ceremony, and the hundred days' ceremony, and finally
in the cremation, for all of these together make up the funeral
for a king of Siam.

I had hardly known Vajiravudh as a person. He had been a
cousin, the husband of my sister, a friend who had thought of
me on my birthday. He had been the king. But he had been
most real to me as that shadowy figure in the distant future
who is the prince in every young girl's dream.

Now all Siam grieved for him. But mine was a special
grief, for a loss that was all my own.

XV

A ROYAL Siamese funeral is at once a solemn religious rite and
a magnificent spectacle. The services, which culminate when
the king's remains are placed in a purifying fire, are a kind of
spiritual coronation for the dead ruler; they prepare him for
the existence to come, but they seek to win favor from him
for the world he has left behind. These ceremonies, which
began as Buddhist practices, gradually took on also the gran-
deur of Brahman rituals.

At the time Rama VI died I had never witnessed such a
funeral and was too young to understand its complete sig-
nificance. But as a child I had learned the veneration of an-
cestors. And, as I have already explained, the close prox-
imity of the sacred places, the Holy of Holies, the Wat Phra;
the Dusit Maha Prasad; the room in the Chakri Palace where
urns held the bones of the kings of our dynasty, had given
me a sense of the ever presence of those who have passed on.
My sister took part in all the ceremonies for His Majesty, and
as her attendant I was also present, and a further impression
of this was made on my mind.

A suggestion of the magnificence of the event lies in the
fact that everything associated with the body of a dead king
of Siam must be made of gold. When Rama VFs eyes closed
for the last time, a golden robe Avas placed over him at once.
His brother, Prince Prajadipok, was named as his successor.

C i44 H

As soon as that was announced, Vajiravudh's body was
bathed with scented water and dressed in garments of golden
cloth a panung and a vest of silk. The balderic, a kind of belt
with a strap over the shoulder, was also of gold, studded with
diamonds. On his feet were placed golden shoes, and golden
bands encircled his arms. In ancient belief it was necessary
to pay admission to get through the Gates of Paradise, and a
golden coin was always placed in the mouth for this purpose.

All of these services were performed with appropriate rit-
ual by those of high rank. When the king had been com-
pletely arrayed, his hands were joined and placed before his
face, in the attitude of reverence to Buddha. His knees were
bent, so that his body assumed a sitting position on strips of
fine cloth, which were pulled upward and fastened above his
head.

His brother came to the king when all had been made
ready and placed a jeweled chain about his neck and a crown
upon his head. Then the sorrowing members of the court
gathered about him, and we all venerated our departed ruler.
No longer was he to me a kindly brother-in-law, nor the man
I had dreamed I might one day marry to become a queen. By
the greatest powers of the universe he had been a majesty,
the Lord of Life, and it was as such that I worshiped him.

When this part of the ceremony was over, the body of
Rama VI was placed in an urn.

Our burial urns are in two parts. There is an inner case of
silver, in which the body is enclosed, and which then goes in-
to an outer case of gold, which has a tall spire. This urn, used
for all the kings, is magnificent, studded with many jewels.
After it was sealed, it was carried in a procession to the Dusit

[H5 1

Maha Prasad. There it was elevated on a catafalque. Then the
Buddhist monks in their orange robes gathered, to begin a
ceaseless reading of the scriptures and chanting.

For the royal family, white is the color of mourning. In
her spotless garments, my sister went each evening to the
shrine where the urn rested. She prostrated herself, and sat
before the urn for hours in contemplation. With her she took
a great bowl of flowers which she herself had arranged. Be-
ing a queen, she could not carry the flowers, so when the time
came for her to present them, I must ascend the steps and
bring them to her. Then I would sit beside her, in veneration
of the dead king,

My feeling at first was one of great sadness. But as days and
weeks pass, such a ceremony becomes an almost automatic
ritual. Little by little I grew aware of those about me, of the
fact that many people came here to pay their respects, and
that this gave me an opportunity to see and be seen. I was
ashamed of my thoughts, and tried to repress them, but after
a time grief lessened for all of us. We mourners began to talk
among ourselves. Many princes sat about the shrine, and as I
crawled upward toward my sister, carrying the bouquets, I
knew eyes followed me. I was glad it was so. Now it could be
known what my f ather's youngest daughter looked like.

By the time the hundred days' mourning were over, the
ceremony had taken on somewhat the nature of a formal so-
cial affair.

For the cremation, a great funeral pyre, called Phra Meru,
was built on the royal plaza. It seemed to me magnificent be-
yond all I had ever seen. In fact, the whole occasion was one
of splendor. Everything for the ceremony had to be new, and

of the finest, and could never be used again. The pyre was
enclosed in a pavilion made of teakwood. A long flight of
stairs led up to it, and its doors were hung with exquisitely
embroidered silk. In the center was a prasad, to hold the um,
and four pavilions in prasad style surrounded it. In them
orange-clad monks chanted almost unceasingly.

About the Phra Mem were other red and gold pavilions
for the court and for the important guests. These buildings,
gilded and built in Siamese fashion with many roofs, were
beautiful as the palaces in a dream.

The day of the cremation was to me strange, frightening,
and wondrous. Masses of flowers were everywhere. At the
Grand Palace, while the Brahmans filled the air with majestic
music, the urn was opened and the crown and jewels re-
moved. Then the urn was placed on a great funeral chariot of
gold, built in the form of an ancient vessel painted with Thai
designs. Two similar carriages went before it. In one sat a
high prince, scattering roasted rice as an off ering to the spirits
of the dead. In the other a high priest read aloud holy passages
of scripture. A white satin ribbon linked it with the funeral
chariot, so that the spirit of the dead king might profit from
the prayers. The carriages were pulled by ropes in the hands
of men who wore costumes of the brightest red. In the long
procession were many bands. These played funeral marches,
but the musicians who walked just ahead of the urn beat an-
cient drums and blew wailing trumpets. The sound of these
trumpets tears out your heart.

Troops in full-dress uniform and the highest princes and
dignitaries of the country walked in the solemn parade. Near
the Phra Meru, in the royal pavilion, stood the new king. Fol-

[ i47 3

lowing an ancient custom, he gave to people in the crowds
wooden limes, and in each lime was a prize, a coin or a deed
to land or to a house. When the funeral procession arrived,
he moved to Phra Mem. About him the royal family, the
princes and princesses, all gathered.

As far as my eyes could see, hushed crowds stood waiting.

Reverently the great urn was carried up the steps. The in-
ner casket was removed and placed on the pyre. There was a
moment of silence. Then a giant roar seemed to split the
heavens. It was the guns in salute.

Prince Prajadipok took a torch and set the first flame. The
royal persons about him followed his example. Soon there
were many flames. As we watched, a great fire bkzed to the
. sky.

The next day a new urn stood in the upper chamber of the
royal palace. Rama VI had joined his ancestors.

XVI

MY FEELINGS at this time were, I think, similar to those of all
Siam. For a long while we had been plunged into grief and
mourning. It is human nature after sorrow to wish to turn the
face to the sun. We were ready for festivities which would
mark the coronation of Prajadipok as Rama VII.

Prince Prajadipok was King Vajiravudh's younger bro-
ther. To understand the succession in Siam requires knowl-
edge of the complicated relationships within the royal fam-
ily. To clarify them for those who are not students of my
country's history I shall outline here the monarchs and their
reigns in the Chakri dynasty.

Rama I- 1782-1809 Chao Phya Chakri known as Phra

Bhudhayodfa Chulaloke.

Rama II 1 809- 1 8 24 son of Rama I, known as Phra Bhuda-

lertlar Nabhalai.

Rama III 1824-1851 son of Rama II known as Phra Nang

Klao. A younger brother of Rama
IV and sometimes known as The
Usurper.

Rama IV 185 1 -1868 brother of Rama III known as Phra

Chom Klao, or as King Mongkut.

C 149]

Rama 1868-1910 son of King Mongkut, Rama IV,

known as Phra Chula Chom Klao, or
as King Chulalongkorn.

Rama 11910-1925 son of King Chulalongkorn, Rama V.

Known as Phra Mongkut Klao, or
King Vajiravudh.

From here on the succession involves members of the royal
family I have mentioned before, three daughters of King
Mongkut and a part Chinese wife, the Lady Piem, who be-
came the three most important queens of King Chulalong-
korn. It will be remembered that the only child of the first
queen, Sunantha, had been drowned with her. Vajirunhis,
the son of the second queen, Sawang Watana, had been
named crown prince, but in 1895 he died of a fever before
coming to the throne. At the death of King Chulalongkorn,
the crown had been bestowed upon the eldest son of the third
queen, Saovabha Pongsi. He was Vajiravudh, Rama VI.

During his reign, three of Rama VTs brothers died. Prince
Prajadipok, now about to come to the throne, was the young-
est son of Queen Saovabha Pongsi and the last of her children
to rule. After him, the succession returned to the descendants
of the second queen, Sawana Watana. Prince Mahidol, who
had shown so much kindness to me, was her son, and even-
tually his sons, first Ananda and then Pumiphon, became
kings of Thailand.

But in 1926 Ananda, born in America, was not yet a year
old, and the thoughts of Siam were directed toward Rama
VII, the new king.

The Court Circular for November 26, 1925, the day after

the death of King Vajiravudh, had contained this announce-
ment:

"His Royal Highness, the Prince Prajadipok of Sukho-
daya, succeeded to the throne in accordance with His late
Majesty's commands, as confirmed by a meeting of the royal
family and the cabinet in special joint session last night."

As was the custom, Prince Prajadipok had at once left his
own home and taken up his residence in the Grand Palace,
but he did not occupy the state apartments until after his
coronation, which took place in February 1926. This early
date was set because, under Siamese custom, the heir to the
throne is no more than a regent until he is anointed and
crowned, and is not qualified to perform the priestly func-
tions "which are a part of his duties as supreme ruler.

We Siamese use the ancient term Rajabhiseka for corona-
tion. It means a royal anointing, although the crowning is
now the high moment of the ceremony. Basically the pro-
cedure is the same as the one instigated by Rama I, who stud-
ied all the ancient rites of the Ayudhya period, and then had
himself invested in accordance with them. Some of these cus-
toms went back to an early period in India. Before Prince
Prajadipok's coronation, I knew little about the ceremony,
for it was the first one I had been aware of. But my father was
an authority on such matters, and as the preparations went
forward I learned a great deal from him about this most im-
portant occasion. And I was to remember, for he wrote many
poems about it. I shall not try to give all the details here, but
to relate those things which greatly impressed me and which
give a general idea of the ritual which in Siam transforms a
man into a king, the Lord of Life.

Coronation was actually three ceremonies in onethe
crowning itself, the installation of the queen, and the assump-
tion of the royal residence. All were to be performed within
the confines of the Grand Palace, principally in the chief
residence and the older palaces dating back to Rama I, the
Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the Maha Prasad, and the
Chakri Palace.

The coronation and the installation of the queen, my father
explained to me, were a curious intermixture of Buddhist
and Hindu rites. The assumption of the royal residence was
strictly Buddhist. But for three days before the coronation
itself, both Brahman and Buddhist priests were occupied
with appropriate services. Near the Maha Prasad images of
Hindu deities were placed upon the altars by the Brahman
priests, fires were lighted before them, and worship offered
in ceremonies performed after dark whenever possible. These
purifying rites hallowed nine basins of water, placed before
the altars. Leaves steeped in this liquid were sent to the king,
who brushed his body with some and burned others, reciting
words which were to absolve him from all sin.

Offerings also were placed before the Hindu gods in all
Brahman temples, and before the royal white umbrellas, the
symbols of kingship, that their spirits might be propitiated.

The Buddhist rites during this period began with the light-
ing of the great candle of victory, which is about five feet
tall, weighs more than twenty-five pounds, and has a wick of
one hundred threads, a sacred number. The flame comes from
celestial fire, obtained with a burning glass, and kept in a
lamp, ready for sacred use. The king himself always lights
this candle, a ceremony which begins all great Buddhist cere-

monies. After he had done this, the priests recited Paritta
suttaSy or protective prayers, as they stretched threads of un-
spun cotton about all sections of the chief residence. Each
day a monk of the highest standing delivered a sermon, which
Prince Prajadipok attended. At the end of the three days, the
prince sent food to all the Buddhist monks and offerings to
the Hindu deities. On the morning of coronation day, the
candle was put out.

Wide-eyed and more than a little awed, I went with Queen
Lakshami to attend such coronation services as were per-
mitted the ladies of the royal household. The time for the
actual coronation had been set by the astrologers and began
early in the day. To the first services only princes and high
officials were invited, but our father gave us an account of
them. They included the profession of the Buddhist faith
and the taking of a purificational bath. For this, Prince Pro-
jadipok was wrapped in a white robe, and the sacred water
used came from the five great rivers of Siam, and from water
sanctified by the priests of the seventeen provinces, which
had in it butter and honey. The ceremonial bath was taken in
the pavilion I had passed so often as a child. My father told me
water was first offered the prince in a golden bowl, into
which he dipped his hand and sprinkled the drops on his head.
Then, from above, water was poured on him through the
petals of a golden lotus. And finally water was offered to him
by royal relatives and high officials.

But if we women were not allowed to witness the bathing
ceremony, we could not be kept from its sounds. For while it
went on, the ancient guns of the Grand Palace were fired, a
choir of Buddhist monks chanted in the Baisale Hall, and the

Brahman music which marks the high point of every state
ceremony, a combination of drum, bells, gongs, and conch
trumpets, blared forth a series of fanfares.

When the bathing ceremony was completed, Prince Pra-
jadipok retired. He returned wearing the gold-cloth panung
and gold-embroidered robe of his high office. Then there was
a solemn procession to Baisale Hall, led by Brahmans bear-
ing images of both Hindu and Buddhist gods, and others play-
ing on conch horns and drums. In the hall, His Highness sat
on the octagonal throne, under the seven-tiered white um-
brella of state, and there was further anointing, as sacred wa-
ter was presented to him from all points of the compass with
such words as these:

"May it please your Majesty! Whoever creates evil in this
quarter, may the sovereign, through his might, triumph over

them all in a righteous manner Through the power of the

Triple Gem the Buddha, the Law and the Brotherhood, and
through this water poured down upon him, may the king be
awarded success in the way hithertofore invoked."

The king's reply went in this way:

"May it come to pass as you have said. ... I shall remain on
earth, further protecting this kingdom, and her Buddhist re-
ligion and her people."

When the ceremony of the octagonal throne was con-
cluded, the king moved toward the Bhadrapitha throne,
made of gilded figwood, covered with a white cloth, and
then with a cloth of gold, embroidered in scarlet with a royal
lion. The royal pages follow him, bearing the articles of the
regalia, each with a particular significance. My father named
them all. I had seen a few. Others were strange to me. They

each had a special position in the procession but I list those I
remember: the great white umbrella of state, the Brahman
girdle, the golden tablet, the great crown of victory, the
scepter, the girdle of brilliants, the girdle of nine gems, the
sword of victory, the fan, the whisk of the yak's tail, the
whisk of the white elephant's tail, the slippers, the diamond
ring, the personal sword, the long-handled sword, the dia-
mond spear. Each had significance. To relate its meaning and
history would be a book in itself. I speak with only the rec-
ollection of long-past years. But the very sound of the names
evokes the picture of oriental splendor, the princes in full
regalia, the king mounting the throne, the high priest of Shiva
bowed before him, paying him homage, and handing him the
golden tablet of title, with a plea:

"May your Majesty take upon Yourself the business of
government, and for the good and happiness of the populace,
reign on in righteousness! "

The king's reply was, "So be it, Brahman."

The high priest then handed to the prince the great crown
of victory, which he took between his palms and lifted to his
own head, for a king of Siam cannot be crowned by mortal
hands, but must crown himself. As he did so, the Brahman
music rang out again, monastery bells sounded, salutes were
fired, and the Buddhist monks in the palace recited a blessing.

The high priest of Shiva handed the articles of regalia to
the king, who touched them one by one in token of his ac-
ceptance of them. The high priest of Vishnu then handed the
nine-tiered white umbrella to the king, replacing the seven-
tiered one. The Brahmans chanted Mmtras in praise of Vish-
nu and Shiva, while their musicians played their thrilling mu-

['553

sic. And then, finally, the high priest of Shiva, kneeling be-
fore the throne, pronounced a final benediction on the man
who had just become King Prajadipok:

"May His Majesty, the Supreme Lord, who now reigns
over the kingdom here, triumph over all and everywhere,
always."

With pages carrying the full regalia after him, the king,
first removing his crown in token of humility, went to meet
the Buddhist priests and receive the first royal blessing from
the chief patriarch.

After that there was a general audience, in which the king
received the princes and visitors of state. And after that there
was the installation of the queen. This I was permitted to at-
tend.

King Prajadipok had in 1917 married his cousin, Princess
Rambai Barni, and had no other wife or consort. For her in-
stallation Her Royal Highness wore a draped costume which
was a relic of ancient times, differing from both the pasin and
the panung, which were then in vogue. I thought she looked
very beautiful and unusual in this dress. Prince Darnrong, my
uncle, who was lord privy seal, read a proclamation that the
king intended to raise his consort to the status of queen, and
then, wearing his full state robes and the Kathina crown, the
king anointed the queen with sacred water poured from a
conch, and placed upon her the insignia of rank and the royal
order of Chakri They then sat side by side on a royal chair,
and we princesses were allowed to gather about them and
pay our homage.

This was my first grown-up experience at court. I had re-
membered it only as a child who had sat at Rama VFs feet.

Now I was almost a woman. I wanted so much, to be part of
court life. I wore my finest dress and tried to look my best,
and for the portion of the ceremony I was allowed to attend
I managed to be in the uncurtained part of the hall, between
the Kang Nai or Inside, where the princesses sat and the Kang
Nork, or Outside, where the princes were, so I could see and
be seen. I felt excited and exalted, straining toward something
I did not truly comprehend.

The final ceremony of the coronation was the assumption
of the royal residence, a kind of regal housewarming, de-
signed to placate all the spirits and make the home secure. It
is a Buddhist ceremony, but in addition to the three days
rites performed by the priests, the Brahmans went through a
protective service. When all this was finished, the king and
the queen proceeded to the royal bedchamber, an ancient
room where tradition said a king must spend the first night
of his reign. They were attended by princesses of the royal
family, who carried symbolic articles: a cat, symbol of do-
mesticity; a grinding stone, symbolizing firmness; a gherkin,
cool, meaning happiness; grains, symbols of fertility. A great
golden key was handed to the king in token of his ownership
of the royal household, and then in a final rite he lay down on
the royal couch and received the blessings of the two senior
relatives, the queen Aunts Sawang Watana and Sukhumal.

Then the crowds departed, leaving the royal couple alone.
I looked back at Queen Rambai Barni in mingled admiration
and envy. To be a wife the only wiftand a Queen as well

All this on earth, and Nirvana beyond. What more could
existence hold?

c 157 1

XVII

THE impatience that had been growing in me ever since my
return to Siam had reached a point where it threatened an
explosion.

The problems of my age were ones which plague young
girls of fifteen everywhere, no matter what their background.
I suppose the feeling of being frustrated and misunderstood
in the adolescent years is universal. I could have handled it, I
think, if it had not been exaggerated by the restrictions of
my position and my glimpse of Western freedom. Thinking
longingly of England, I felt as a chick might, that had
emerged from a shell into the world, looked about, and begun
with happy independence to peck for food, and then been
forced back into the shell again. I was driven into a kind of
frenzy by those words which symbolized the life of the royal
family: Kang Nork, the outside, for men, and Kang Nai, the
inside, for women. The royal princesses were no longer lit-
erally confined to a forbidden city, but there were times
when it seemed to me we all might as well be there.

I was still treasured, and no doubt because of it a severe
standard of conduct was demanded of me by the royal fam-
ily. It was meant kindly, but I felt more and more picked
upon by all of my relatives. I longed for affection, and deep
down I knew a great deal of it was given to me. But also I be-

158:1

lieved, as I do today, that what many of my people feel is
concealed; that their love is not shown, but stays hidden in
the heart. I was of a sentimental nature and at a sentimental
age. The Siamese idea that most relationships are brotherly
and sisterly ones bewildered me. A concept of a marriage in
which your husband becomes your brother and you are a sis-
ter to him left me baffled.

What romance could there be in this?

I sputtered about it to Queen Lakshami and to my father.
They were both patient, but clearly of the opinion that my
ideas were something to be endured until I outgrew them.

My sister, however, did what she could to relieve the ten-
sion. Every Thursday I was permitted to take a half day off
from my studies at the convent. That was the day she visited
my father at Pang Nara, and she took me with her. Her of-
ficial government escort and an older lady in waiting went
also. We would be ready about one o'clock, and a car of the
royal household would be sent for us. It always came to a spe-
cial entrance at which only the king's cars were permitted.
The king maintained many automobiles, since all the high
princesses were required to use them. Other members of the
royal family had their own cars, as my father had his, but
their automobiles were not permitted to drive up to this par-
ticular entrance. The royal household cars, painted yellow,
with the government crest on them, were very impressive.

These visits to Pang Nara came to mean a great deal to me.
My sister frequently would have motion pictures sent to my
father's; palace, and if we stayed late watching them we did
not worry, because the gates had to remain open until Queen
Lakshami returned. There were other pleasant things about

the visits. I got to see my brothers, and they made much of
me. And often royal princes would come to greet my sister
and pay their respects and I would have a glimpse of them
and they of me.

It was in this way that I was finally able to get to a dance.
I had begged and begged, with no result. But when the Doll
Fair was held at the Phya Thai Hotel, with dancing every
evening, I coaxed and stormed until at last my father and sister
agreed that I might go just once. I had to be well chaperoned,
of course. My elder sister, Princess Wararanisrisamora, who
was very attractive and gay and clever, agreed to take me. I
thought I should die from the excitement of it, and I spent
hours getting ready. When we arrived, we found there was
a place with boxes or loges where the chaperones sat and
watched. The princes would come and ask the girls to dance
and the chaperones would give permission.

I was not told that there was one high prince my sister par-
ticularly wished me to dance with; in fact, it was the reason
I had been allowed to go. So I simply enjoyed my partners
for their skill in dancing, and did not pay much attention to
their rank. I noticed my sister growing cross as the evening
advanced. At last she said to me, "We will leave after the
next dance."

I did not want to leave, but there was nothing I could do
about it. I was quitting the dance floor when the high prince
came to me and asked for the next dance. I had to say I could
not give it to him, because we were going home. He walked
away very stiffly and I knew I had offended him. When we
were in the car, I asked my sister why she had taken me away
so abruptly and she told me it was because the high prince

Princess Rudivoravan and her first
husband, Prince Jitjanok

Princess Rudivoravan and her sec-
ond husband, Mr. Pooh Prabhailak-
shana

had not danced with me. It seemed to be some sort of social
disgrace. So then I told her he had asked me, and I had re-
fused. She was furious with me.

"Don't you know anything, Noi? " she scolded. "Of course
you could have stayed to dance with himl "

I thought I saw my chance, so I said, "He will be there
tomorrow night. If we go again, I can dance with him then."

Actually I did not care for the man. But if dancing with
him could get me to parties, I was willing to do it. So my sis-
ter consented. The high prince was there the next night, but
he barely spoke to me. I knew if I did not dance with him my
sister would not bring me another time, so I managed to walk
past His Royal Highness with my partner, and I said to him,
"I was sorry I could not stay to dance with you last night. But
I have free dances this evening. Can we have one now?"

I was so inexperienced that I did not know enough not to
lay myself open to being snubbed. I thought I should die of
embarrassment when he said, "I am not accustomed to being
refused as you refused me last night. I certainly shall not
ask you again."

So for the second time I was taken home in disgrace, al-
though I could not understand why I deserved it. And it was
a long while before I went to a dance again. The stuffy for-
mality of our life had beaten me once more.

My escape from all this was Chaum. My mother's bunga-
low there had been given a name by my father, the meaning
of which was "The dwelling of an angel." After Mother's
death it became mine. Queen Lakshami also had a big house at
Chaum. The place was becoming more beautiful all the time,
for my father had had many rare flowers and trees planted.

He liked his bungalow as well as he did his palace in Bangkok
and did more and more of his writing there.

From Chaum we went game hunting for wild boar, at least
the men and Queen Lakshami did. I tagged along. Sometimes
we rode to the wild places in a cart with a buffalo to pull it.
Sometimes we walked. The method of hunting was interest-
ing. Those who were to do the shooting were placed certain
distances apart with their guns, and then the natives would
make a loud noise with a drum, and the animals would be
frightened and run away from them, in the direction of the
gunners. The native hunters had a curious custom. Their
bullets were not made of lead but of a kind of sticky earth
mixed with poison. When a shot hit, the animal died of poi-
soning, even though the wound might have seemed a minor
one.

Actually it was not the hunting I enjoyed, it was the picnic
aspect of the outing. We took wonderful lunches, wrapped
in banana leaves. The outdoor exercise and excitement al-
ways made me very hungry. I have never known food to
taste better.

At the bungalow there were amusements, too. The houses
were right by the sea, and there was a promenade in front of
them. After our swim we could sun bathe, and there was a
place to play golf on the sand. And I had another great pleas-
uremy father had had a tennis court built for me.

I played tennis a great deal here with a princess who was
separated from her husband and lived alone, caring for her
small child. This girl was a granddaughter of King Chulalong-
korn and my father was very fond of her. He had given her a
bungalow and treated her like one of his daughters. We be-

came close friends at this time. I found our relationship pleas-
ant, but I had no idea how important it was to be in my later
life. The girl was one of ten children, all of the same mother,
and her brothers and sisters frequently came to visit her. One
day she told me two brothers were arriving, and asked me to
go to the station with her to meet them. They turned out to
be men I regarded as ancient. Actually the younger brother,
Prince Wimwathit, was nine years older than I was; and since
I 'was still a schoolgirl we seemed far apart. At first I did not
pay any attention to him. But Prince Wim kept coming back
to Chaum. And after a time it became apparent that he was
interested in me.

I did not take this seriously. I was doing some exciting
things just then. One of them was taking part in a play my
father was producing for his sister's birthday. It was a trans-
lation of the French play Gigi made by my brother-in-law,
Prince Pithyalongkorn. I played a maid, and in a short scene
I had to slap the face of the hero, played by a brother, and I
almost knocked him down. They all teased me, and said I was
so green I did not even know how to slap a man's face prop-
erly. But they decided my acting was so realistic they would
give me a lead. The play was a great success. Rama VII was a
guest of honor, and he was so pleased with the performance
that he asked us to repeat it at Umphorn Palace for the
Queen's birthday.

Rama VII was a diff erent type of monarch than his brother
had been. King Vajiravudh had been a writer and chiefly in-
terested in the artistic. King Prajadipok was much more prac-
tical. There had been some public criticism of government
expenditures and as soon as he came to the throne he began

cutting them down. Rama VI reputedly spent a great deal of
money on clothes a story that he had paid 10,000 ticals for
his Chinese lounging suits had scandalized Bangkok. Rama
VII squandered nothing. He had every expenditure in the
palace checked, even the telephone calls. Rama VI had been
a lavish entertainer. Rama VII was not in good health and
was on a strict diet, so the meals at Umphorn Palace became
quite meager. His first official act was to discharge thousands
of people who had held sinecures. This caused much con-
sternation, but it certainly made the government bureaus
more efficient. When the king went out to play his first game
of golf many nobles were on hand to attend him. He dis-
missed them in short order, remarking that he had come to
play a game, not to be a spectacle, and if there was not enough
official work to keep them busy, he could make another cut
in the government.

The economies extended to every department. Even the
decorations bestowed as signs of official favor became smaller.

^ o

Those with the king's initials were called Saemas. The ones
given by Rama VI were of blue enamel and the medals of the
first class had diamonds on both sides; those of the second
class on one side; the third class ones had no diamonds. The
medals given by Rama VII were of green enamel, half the
size of those presented by Rama VI, and they had fewer
jewels.

But for all his practicality, Rama VII was well liked. And
he by no means eliminated the grandeur of the court. When
he appeared in his white-and-gold uniforms, in his cream-
and-red car, the people bowed with real reverence and aflf ec-
tion. He was a short man, but he carried himself with dignity,

and he had dark, deep-set eyes that were almost hypnotic.

He always made me feel that he took a special interest in
me. There was an attraction between us, a spark, a current,
the kind of magnetic pull that can occur even when people
are total strangers. I was much too young to analyze it. But
I once sang a prayer at his wife's birthday celebration, and his
eyes showed his appreciation, although all he said was, "You
are a sweet child." I was flattered. I thought about him a
great deal.

I was sixteen now. I began to receive attentions from sev-
eral young princes. One of them was the same high prince I
had snubbed and been snubbed by at the dance. Our fathers
were friends, and his family once spent a vacation at the sea-
shore. My queen sister liked this prince very much, or at
least she liked the fact that he was a royal highness. Prince
Wim was only a serene highness, as I was, and my sister felt
I should do better. Everyone thought the royal highness
might one day become king, so he was one of the most eligible
men in Siam. My sister had never forgiven me for my awk-
wardness at the Doll Fair, but I cannot say that I was too re-
pentant. The truth was that this royal highness was not es-
pecially good-looking and did not attract me. I did like his
father and his five sisters, however, and I was polite for their
sakes.

My queen sister had begun to scold me about my manners
again, and say I must come to my senses and, although I was
much too young to be engaged, give some serious thought
to my future. I promised to try. Soon after we went on a
picnic a couple of miles from our bungalow a large party, in
several cars. When it was time to go home, His Royal High-

ness said to me, "Let's not ride. Let's walk home along the
beach."

I knew I was supposed to be pleased at this, but I was feel-
ing lazy. I said that I preferred to go home in the car, because
I was tired. So His Royal Highness walked home with an-
other girl. And when I got back to our bungalow I was really
in disgrace. I was told by my family how stupidly I was be-
having. But more and more I had to have my own way. I was
not going to waste time on men who did not interest me, no
matter who they were.

I was not even particularly nice to Prince Wim, but I think
that was because I was a little afraid of him. He was not only
older, he was very smooth and sophisticated in his manner,
and I was never really sure of myself in his company. As I
look back, I am ashamed, for he was so sweet to me. He had
had his sister speak to my father, and say that when I was
older he hoped to marry me, and that until then could he see
me and be friends?

My father said we could meet and become better ac-
quainted, but he asked me to promise not to become engaged
until I was eighteen. My father liked Prince Wim, and I think
he wanted me to marry him. But since my queen sister op-
posed, I suppose he felt he could not push the matter.

When we went back to Bangkok, Prince Wim came to my
father's palace almost every Thursday. Once he brought me
a big box of candy, but I said I could not accept it. I pom-
pously stated that it was proper to accept gifts only on a
birthday. Another time he brought a beautiful sweater. This
time he said he had ordered it for himself, and it was too small,
and would I please take it, as a favor. I did, although I was

[166]

sure he had made up the story, and had bought the sweater
for me. When I said I wanted to learn to play golf, he came
one day, dragging a set of clubs. I finally accepted those, but
I made him wait until my birthday to give them to me. I was
about as difficult as a sixteen-year-old girl can be. He treated
me as though I were twenty. I guess that was what was
wrong. Four years at that time can make a great difference.

Perhaps, too, I felt my father hoped I eventually would
take Prince Wim. I was really perverse. If my father said,
"Turn right," I felt I had to turn left to show my inde-
pendence.

There is so much in those years that I regret. ! behaved so
badly. But my father never punished me, never really scolded
me. Once when I was helping him with some work and he
had told me to do several things immediately, I burst out that
it was impossible I could not look up words and wrap a
package and copy his manuscript all at the same time. I ran
away to my room in a fit of temper. My father followed me,
and he should have disciplined me then and there. Instead, he
only asked me gently not to do that again. He said, "When
you stamp your feet at me in anger, it is as though you
stamped them on my heart."

I learned so much from my father during this time how to
work, how to be efficient, how to have confidence in myself.
He held that nothing is impossible, if you have faith and put
all your effort into the thing you want to succeed. He used
the ball simile I have mentioned again and again; he urged
me never to let myself become heavy with despair. These
were among the most precious hours of my life, and how stu-
pidly I wasted them! But I was mixed up and confused, with

my father urging me to accept one suitor, my sister favoring
another, rny royal aunt a third, and with my own knowledge
that I had the astrological chart of a queen. Sometimes I won-
dered if, in my behavior toward my royal highness suitor, I
had scorned that high destiny. Sometimes I let myself imagine
that it would be through Rama VII that all my horoscope
predicted could come true. But there was no way to be sure
of the right course, to know what the future really held. And
I was not good at waiting.

XVIII

MY father began to spend his time at Chaum even when it
was out of season, and he asked my queen sister if I might stay
with him there. She gave her permission. At first I feared it
would be lonely, but it turned out to be very pleasant. My
father was writing constantly now, sometimes not even leav-
ing his desk for his meals. He wrote many dramas and poems.
He was so distinguished a playwright that when we went to a
theater the players on the stage stopped their performance to
bow to him. But he was never content with what he had
done. He was always trying to do better. I copied manu-
scripts for him and looked up references, and read proof. In
the evening I played the many gramophone records he had
ordered for me.

When Prince Wim found I was to be away from Bangkok,
he asked my father's permission to write to me, and letters
from him came frequently, also baskets of the fruits I liked.
He was very attentive. Once he sent me a powder container
that played like a music box when the lid was raised. It de-
lighted me, and I raised the lid very often. I looked forward
to his letters. But I always showed them to my father.

One evening my father called me into his study and put his
arms about me very tenderly.

"I believe my little daughter is in love with a man," he said.

"Why do you think that?" I asked him defensively.

"Your eyes. They say you are, Mai Noi."

I denied it vigorously. "I like Prince Wim, if that's what
you mean. I do not love him."

My father's look was searching.

"Perhaps you are afraid to admit what you feel."

Certainly my emotions were mixed ones, but it was easier
for me to deny them than to examine them. I found Prince
Wirn disturbingly attractive. I liked the attentions he showed
me. But he was alarmingly clever, and a little on the cynical
side. His attitudes were mature; mine were extremely adoles-
cent, and my romantic imaginings had little basis in actuality.
I was far from ready for real love. Instinctively I wished to
conceal this emotional confusion. I was not going to reveal
any of my real feelings. I shook my head stubbornly.

My father spoke to me so seriously that night about love,
trying to explain what a marriage between two people who
cared deeply for each other could mean. His words were
very moving, very convincing. Yet even while I listened I
told myself that he could know nothing about the kind of
marriage I wanted. His ideas were necessarily oriental; he
had had several marriages, several wives. I meant to have one
marriage only, a Western-type marriage, a perfect marriage.
How could a man who had lived in the old Siamese tradition
advise me about that? So I disregarded all that he said. What
my life would have been if I had learned as I listened I cannot
say. That method of gaining wisdom seldom is the method of
youth. What I know is that, after years of heartbreak, I
found all he said to me that night to be profoundly true.

But, not yet seventeen and with more than a year ahead be-
fore I could officially become engaged, I preferred to post-

pone seriously considering the matter of marriage. If my
father's approval of Prince Wim as a husband for me had in-
creased, Queen Lakshami's disapproval was as strong as ever,
and I did not want to go against her in anything. The easy
method for me was to make no decision and keep drifting.
I used it.

It was this same year that the king and queen came to
Chaum to visit my father. One day, after lunch, my brother
read palms for entertainment. At this time there was quite a
bit of talk in Bangkok because the king had no heir. After the
royal couple had gone my brother told us excitedly that their
palms showed that the queen would never have a child, but
that Rama VII might have one by another woman. Even be-
fore my father spoke, the expression in his eyes warned me of
his thoughts. The queen's father, who was an uncle of mine,
once had made a slighting remark about my father's having
lost a king as a son-in-law. The comment had not been for-
gotten. When a conversation now began on the subject of
King Prajadipok taking a second wife, so that he might have
an heir, I knew what was in my father's mind.

Such thought was in many other minds, too. So far Rama
VII had only one wife, and he had said he would take no
other. I am sure no one believed it. They were certain that
the pressure of custom would be too much for him, as it had
been for Rama VI. But there was no sign of any weakening
on King Prajadipok's part, until suddenly, one day, he made
a royal announcement that the Heavenly Food Ceremony
was to be revived.

I had not thought about the Heavenly Food Ceremony
since the days of the rumor Rama VI would use it to choose

a new wife. That had not happened, and any possibilities it
held had faded. But this time it was really to take place, and
soon I was notified that I was to be one of the ten young
princesses to have a part. Among those who would serve with
me was a sister of Prince Wim.

The Sacred or Heavenly Food is for the angels to eat. The
ancient public ceremony of preparing it, which originally
determined the fitness of those young girls who took part to
be royal consorts, was a high occasion, and taken very seri-
ously. It had been held for that purpose alone, and at least
one of the girls in it was selected to be a wife of the king.
There was a great buzz of discussion as to whether that
would be the purpose now, or whether Rama VII simply
wished to restore a colorful and time-honored spectacle. As
the time drew near, we were all very nervous.

Whatever the purpose, the members of my family were
determined that I should be at my best. The costumes had to
be all white, and mine was truly exquisite. It was made of
white silk shot with silver, a pasin and a stole, with a heavy
gold belt. For jewelry I wore only diamonds, my father's and
some from my royal aunt diamond bracelets, diamond neck-
lace, and four diamond rings on each hand. On my feet were
white sandals and on my head I wore a great spool of white
unspun cotton thread the holy thread.

The ceremony itself takes several hours. We began it in a
position of reverence to Buddha, saying prayers with our
hands folded. Then the Buddhist priests gave us sacred water
to make ourselves pure. Then the Brahmans entered in, and
they, too, said prayers. We were surrounded by masses of
blossoms and we worshiped with the flowers, while the peo-

pie watched. This all took a long time. After a final prayer
to Lord Buddha, we ten girls were guided to a long, white-
painted platform. The wail behind it was hung with white
draperies, and the floor was covered with a spotless cloth. On
the platform were large pots, also white. We were given
great stirrers, and it was our duty to mix in these pots the
fruits, coconut, and sugar which made up the Heavenly
Food. We had been selected because we were supposed to
be pure and undefiled. But what happened now would be the
proof. One black speck on a girl's clothing or equipment was
accepted as evidence that she was not a virgin, and she would
never outlive the disgrace.

I was shaking with fright. I was a virgin, and I was as pure
and holy as sacred water and prayers could make me. But I
was also logical. I did not have faith that these facts would
keep ants away from the tempting fruits and sugar. If an ant
approached the pot that I was stirring, I was sure I would die
on the spot. To make matters worse, Prince Wim's mother
was in the audience, and had taken up a position directly in
front of me. Presumably she was there to watch her own
daughter, who was just across from me, but her eyes were
more often on me than on her. That day I said some prayers
to Lord Buddha that the priests did not hear.

We were a trembling lot as we mixed and stirred. But at
last the Food of the Angels was ready and presented to the
king. Not one fly had buzzed. Not an ant, red or black, had
ventured onto the white covering of the platform. The sigh
of relief from the white-clad maidens was like the wind in
the willows.

So I had proof from heaven that I was pure, and when I

C'73]

walked down from the platform the first one to congratulate
me and tell me how pretty I looked was Prince Wirn's
mother. Many people said that day that I was the prettiest of
the girls, and the king's eyes said it, too, if his lips did not.
My father heard it everywhere, and again I saw that look in
his eyes when the boldest ones whispered that undoubtedly
this had been for a purpose, and that I would be the next
queen.

My own thoughts were muddled, as usual. I tried to sort
out the facts. My father declared that a king should have an
heir that it was his right. So, although Rama VII seemed
satisfied with his one beautiful wife, it appeared probable he
would take a second queen. If his choice fell on me, it could
solve other problems. Should I marry Prince Wim to please
my father, and displease my sister? Should I marry Pi Pow
and please my royal aunt? Should I try to re-establish myself
with the high prince and please everyone but myself? This
would be a way out that might please us all.

What did the king intend?

The answer came only with rime. Rama VII apparently
had had no personal motive at all in reviving the Heavenly
Food Ceremony. When we met, the air continued to be elec-
tric, but the king made no move to select another wife.

The following February I went again to the Pra Bhat fair.

As I have said, this was always a happy occasion for me,
filled with pleasant childhood memories. I looked forward to
it and counted on it. The events that preceded it this year
made me especially eager to have it a holiday, a time free
from any troubling thoughts.

Shortly after the Heavenly Food Ceremony, Prince Wim

and his sister-in-law paid a visit to my father. Prince Wim
told him formally that he hoped to marry me, and asked per-
mission. My father was pleased. I think he would have liked
to seal the bargain then and there. But that was not his way.
He told them again that he had asked for my promise that I
would not become engaged to anyone until I was eighteen.
And that, while he liked Prince Wim very much and would
speak in his behalf, I was free to select my own husband. He
could do no more than hope I would choose the man he
wished me to marry. He also told Prince Wim that he must
discuss the matter with Queen Lakshami, that I had been un-
der her supervision since my return from England and that
she had influence over me.

So, on one of the Thursday afternoons when Queen Lak-
shami came to my father's palace, Prince Wirn asked her con-
sent to our marriage. Although she did not want it, she did
not show disapproval. She said quietly that it would be quite
a while before I became eighteen, and that it was early for
any final decisions. He must go on waiting until I was older.
Prince Wim had been waiting for quite a while already. He
was a popular and sophisticated bachelor, extremely eligible,
and must have felt very important. But he received little sat-
isfaction from me. I continued to see him, but when he tried
to speak about love I stopped him. "I am sorry, I promised
my father," I would say, and make him talk of something
else. Maybe he knew I was still frightened of him. Maybe he
thought I was deliberately being difficult. I never knew.

I cannot say what might have come of it, if I had not gone
to the Pra Bhat fair. But I did go, with several of my brothers
and sisters. And there I met Prince Jitjanok, a cousin, whose

[I75H

sister, Princess Wanwilai, was my godmother and one of my
dearest friends. Prince Jitjanok, who had returned from Eng-
land, was in the army and just out of Sandhurst, and I was
impressed by him. He was not a tall man, but he had a good
figure and in a bright blazer he appeared really stunning. He
was handsome, with an oval face and a small mustache which
I thought very intriguing.

We liked each other at once, and the days at the fair were
very gay. Prince Jitjanok played the ukulele and sang, and
we danced and went to many parties together. He was a good
friend of one of my brothers, who also had just come back
from England, and that was another bond. We were always
carefully chaperoned, but when we got back to 1 Bangkok 1
was able to see a great deal of him. This was made easy be-
cause my sister approved of him, and began to sponsor the
match.

I am not too clear as to why she felt as she did, but I remem-
ber her telling me very earnestly, "Prince Jitjanok is a nice
boy and he will be faithful to you all of your life and love you
forever." Perhaps her own experience had made her value
very highly the promise of this. Perhaps she favored it be-
cause the relationship to him was closer than that to Prince
Wim. Certainly she made her wishes plain to me.

Fortune was with her, because when Prince Wim found
that I had become interested in another man he was jealous,
and he made sarcastic and unkind remarks that provoked
quarrels. Finally, he declared he would not wait any longer
and he went to my father and obtained his consent to pro-
pose to me at once.

That had to be done in the Thai way, which is enough to

wreck any romance. First, I had to get my sister's permission
to receive the proposal I was very much embarrassed.

"What will I say? What will I do?" I wailed helplessly.

The queen was quite brusque about it.

"If you love him, and want him for a husband, say yes' and
marry him. If not, just say you don't love him, and can't ac-
cept his proposal. But you can't be alone with him when he
makes it, you know. I will send a lady in waiting to sit at the
door while you are together."

This was not my idea of love-making, but I did not dare
disagree with my sister. Prince Wim came, and we sat in a
room with the lady in waiting within earshot and he said he
loved me and wanted to marry me. And almost I said "Yes,"
for again I found him very attractive. But I knew that that
would spoil my happy relationship with my sister. I fumbled
for words and finally heard myself telling him, "I like you
very much, but I can't marry you." And he got up and
bowed stiffly and left.

And that was the end of that.

For a while I felt unhappily that I had lost something I
valued, but my sister made things easy and pleasant for Prince
Jitjanok. He was given a chance to propose very soon after
this, with no eavesdropping at the door. All he said was,
"May I have your hand?" I said "Yes," and waited. He
bowed and thanked me politely. I would not admit I was dis-
appointed, but I had become engaged without having re-
ceived even my first kiss.

We did not wish to announce the engagement yet and
many people still believed Prince Wim was to be my fiance.
For months his big car had been parked near my father's pal-

[1773

ace each Thursday when I was there and fortunetellers both
in Chaum and in Bangkok had predicted publicly we would
marry. Rumors of our engagement had gone far, and word
was brought to my father that the king had said if we did
marry, he would not pour the sacred water which is part of
the ceremony for every royal wedding.

Rama VII had given as his reason for refusal that, although
Prince Wim was nine years my senior, I was his aunt. Marry-
ing an aunt is forbidden in Siam, although the relationship is
what in America you would call that of second cousins. Some
people said the truth was, that the king did not want me to
marry anybody. Gossip started about it, and it seemed a good
idea for me to go away for a while. So again I went to Chaum
with my father.

I was happy there, although I missed my fiance. My father
knew, of course, what had happened, but he offered no ob-
jection. Certain comments he made were for my benefit, such
as the remark that a man is at his worst when he first gets up
and when he is hungry, and that delicate concealment is more
attractive in a woman than careless or brazen undress. But
my approaching marriage was not discussed.

When my eighteenth birthday grew close, Princess Wan-
wilai, my beloved godmother, came to my father and told
him officially about the engagement. My father said, "If my
daughter loves your brother, they have my blessing. But the
engagement must not be announced until her birthday."

To make certain of being married by the king, which is the
proper way for members of the royal family, permission for
the engagement must be secured in advance from His Maj-
esty. My father wrote a letter asking for it, but he put it away

and would not let anyone see it until April i . All he said to me
was that it was important to have the sacred water poured by
a very high prince at a royal wedding.

"I know that. And the king would not pour it for me if I
married Prince Win," I pointed out.

"7 would pour it for you if you married him," my father
told me. Maybe he thought there was still hope. But that
would not have satisfied me. I intended to have the king per-
form the ceremony, and try as he might he could find no
excuse for not doing it if I married Prince Jitjanok.

So, on the morning of my birthday, Prince Jitjanok came
with his sister, and they brought the engagement ring,
a beautiful big diamond surrounded by small ones, and my
father said formally that he gave his permission for the mar-
riage, and he sent the letter by messenger to the king.

I felt very excited and happy. I had a handsome fiance, I
loved the members of my fiance's family, and I looked for-
ward eagerly to the new freedom I thought I should have as a
married woman, for since I had come back from England I
had not been unchaperoned in public for one moment. Even
now that I was engaged, I was not expected to go out alone
with my fiance. Many people came to congratulate us, among
them Prince Wim, who behaved well in spite of the way I
had kept him dangling so long. If he hoped that I might one
day wish I had behaved differently, he did not show it. He
and Prince Jitjanok were coolly courteous to each other.

It was during the months before the wedding, which was
to take place in November, that my father, iny sister, and I
went to Singapore to meet a brother who was returning from
England. On the way we visited a waterfall called Nam-

tokyong, which has a huge basin and is very spectacular. In
these days you can go there by car, but when we went you
had to travel on elephants. If you are not accustomed to it,
that can make you quite ill, and I remember my brother was
so uncomfortable that he got off and walked all the way.
Traveling with Queen Lakshami, of course, was quite an af-
fair, for wherever she went she was entertained by the gov-
ernor or high officials. My father kept a daily record of all
that happened, and later put it into poems, and he teased me
a great deal because, wherever I was, I was always waiting
for a letter from my fiance.

After the trip, we began to prepare in earnest for the wed-
ding ceremony. Such preparations take months. The guests
at a wedding must be given presents and all these must be
made. The principal gift usually is a lei; then there are sachets
and handkerchiefs, embroidered with the initials of the bride
and groom. My father had an original way of fixing the leis.
Instead of having flowers all the way around, which often
soils the neck of a gown, he had flowers only at the ends of
the lei, and had the strip across the back of the neck crocheted
in several colorsin the color of the day he was born which
was green; then my father-in-law's color, blue, then the
groom's color, red; then my color, mauve. They were very
striking. I helped to make them, although a bride is not sup-
posed to do any work for her wedding.

There was the business of getting my clothes ready, too.
My sister was most generous to me about a trousseau. She said
all I had must be new, and provided me with dresses enough
to last for years. In addition there were jewels, sets of them,
a necklace, ring, and bracelet and sometimes earrings, too. I
had diamonds, rabies, emeralds, pearls, and mauve stones. I

[180]

had much more than most girls, because I had gifts not only
from my father, but from my sister and from my aunt.

I moved about in a kind of dream those days. I refused to
face my own misgivings, my father's disappointment, my
memories of Prince Wim, my fleeting dream of Rama VII,
even the disapproval of my royal aunt, who might have re-
linquished me to a king, but who believed that otherwise I
belonged to Pi Pow. Over and over she told me I was making
a mistake that it was my duty and my privilege to wait for
her nephew.

"You were betrothed at birth," she warned. "Such a
pledge should not be broken."

But I scarcely heard her. What could Princess Chutharat
know of such matters? She had been shut away for years in
the City of Forbidden Women. How could she speak of love
and marriage and a man? In my excitement, I did not heed
her at all.

It is obvious what all this meant to me the prospect of at
last being independent; of having a home of my own, which
my new sister-in-law was having built for us on the grounds
of her palace; of having beautiful clothes and luxury and a
devoted husband; and of what I described to myself as doing
exactly as I pleased. If I had been eight instead of eighteen I
could not have been more ignorant of life and its challenges.
I thought only that at last I would have my freedom.

I do not mean that I did not care for my fiance. I did. And
that feeling was bolstered by my sister's approval. But with-
out realizing it I was in love with the idea of being" married,
not with the man who was to be my husband. I doubt that
a girl ever approached marriage who was more poorly
equipped for her new role.

XIX

AND so the great day came.

In Siam we have no wedding ceremony, as you know it
here in America. For a royal marriage, a couple goes to the
king and he pours the sacred water. For the marriage of com-
moners, it is necessary only to sign the register. Some couples
do no more than take a vow before the Emerald Buddha. For
weddings in the royal family the sacred water may be se-
cured from the king, and poured by someone else, and there
is a ceremony at home, with many guests. But democratic as
he was, my father was determined that tradition should be
strictly kept and I would have only the best. My husband
and I must go to the king, at the Umphorn Palace.

For my wedding I wore a pale blue pasin trimmed in gold
and a blouse with gold lace. I went in a car with my queen
sister and my father, and my fiance went with his sister.
When we arrived in the audience chamber, the king was sit-
ting in his royal golden chair with the queen. I crawled to
him in the way of our forefathers, in a sort of crouched posi-
tion, with my head bowed very low. He poured the lustral
water first over the bridegroom, then over me. When I lifted
my face, he put the three dots of watery powder on my fore-
head, in the manner I have described in other solemn cere-
monies.

The king's eyes were as compelling as they always had

been, but today I was too excited to understand their message
or even to wonder what he was feeling. It was all very sol-
emn, but over quickly. We signed our names in the royal
marriage book. Then the king and queen said they hoped we
would be very happy, and they gave us the traditional gift.
This was a white bag made of starched cotton, filled with
silver coins. The number of coins depends on the rank of the
couple. Ours was a great, bulging sack. The next day we
would take it to the Ministry of Finance and get bills for it,
but today we had to carry it as it was.

The entire royal household stood about for the ceremony
and everything was stiff and formal. I did not know whether
I was supposed to smile or not, and afterward my husband
said I had looked very solemn. So had he. In a short time we
left, riding in a royal carriage with the crest on it, and accom-
panied by officials and women attendants until we reached
my father's home.

Now came the time when I was supposed to rest, for in-
vitations had been issued to a banquet which would last late
into the night. For that I put on a costume made of gold lace,
with red under the skirt. I stood with my husband and re-
ceived many guests. Almost the entire royal family had come
to wish us well. The food was spread in the great hall, and
there were banks of flowers, and candles and incense, and it
was a gala celebration. I should have been ecstatic, for every-
one was congratulating us and saying how beautiful I was,
and everywhere there were gorgeous wedding presents. But
I was not happy. I was anything but a joyous bride. Instead,
I felt numb. I realized suddenly that a wedding was not all
parties and presents, and getting away from restrictions and

183:1

having your own way. A wedding was saying good-by to
your home and all that had been dear to you; it was leaving a
beloved father and a wonderful sister. A wedding was grow-
ing up and going off with a man, a man you did not know too
well, a man you were not at all sure you wanted to live with
for the rest of your life. A wedding did not remain an event
far off in the future. It caught up with you. And my wedding
was now. I was leaving here tonight.

Every part of a Siamese wedding is set by the astrologers.
They consult their charts to determine whether the persons
involved are born under signs that will make their union a
good one. They name the time when the ceremony is to take
place, and the time for going to the new home. The hour ar-
rived for us to drive to the new bungalow on my sister-in-
law's land.

I went to my room to get ready, and my father came to me
there. Against my will I began to sob. I cried and cried, and
could not stop. The numb feeling was gone. I was scared.
I was wretched. I did not want to be a married woman. I
wanted to be a little girl and stay on here with my father for-
ever and ever. When he took me in his arms to comfort me,
I blurted out my innermost feelings, all my terror and my
dread. He listened until I had finished, and then he told me
very quietly that I was a married woman now and that my
duty was to make my marriage a happy one. But although I
would have new responsibilities, that did not mean I would
not have the pleasure of the old relationships.

"You are not going away from me, Mai Noi," he said,
stroking my cheek. "I shall be here, just as I always have
been, and you can come to me whenever you wish."

"I don't want to go away from you," I sobbed. "I want to
stay here always."

"That is not possible," he said. "This is the moment when
you must leave for your new home. You must not be late.
But I will go with you. I will take you there myself."

So he did. He took me in his own car. I cried all the way.
But when we arrived my tears were dried. He had comforted
me and convinced me that I must behave like a happy bride.
Many guests had come with us, for there was still another
ceremony to go through. When a newly-wed couple enter
their new home, it is customary to have an old married cou-
ple, who have long lived happily together, to spread the bed
and say prayers and wish them well. Such a couple were
waiting for us.

And then the time came, which the astrologers had set,
when the guests must go away and leave us alone. My father
was the last to depart. His look said to me that I must not cry
again. I told him I was all right now; I had conquered my
fright and nervousness. He smiled at me.

"Every young bride feels the same way," he said to my
husband. "Take good care of her."

He left us. I was what I so long had wanted to' be, free and
independent, a married woman.

Remembering the part sex had played in feminine intrigues
which for generations had been used by those battling for
position in the household of the kings, I cannot explain, even
to myself, how I could have come to marriage uninstructed
in the facts of life. But in spite of the many "mothers" of my

185 3

childhood, and my years of residence in my sister's palace, I
was ignorant about sex and would have been embarrassed by
the most ultra- Victorian approach to it. My father's admoni-
tions that a marriage called for patience and forbearance as
well as romance had fallen on uncomprehending ears. So on
this most important night of my life I would have found it
impossible to fit any man into my highly romanticized con-
cept of a lover, and I am sure I was as disappointing as I was
disappointed. The truth was, once past the first perishable,
boy-girl attraction, there was no attunement in our marriage
possible for Prince Jitjanok and me, physically, mentally, or
emotionally, and I think we both knew it at once.

But it was years before we accepted the full implications
of that fact.

After a wedding in Siam, it was customary for the couple
to call on each of the elderly relatives of both bride and
groom, and take an offering. This usually was a bundle of
incense sticks or candles, tied together with a satin ribbon.
On top of it was placed a container of banana leaves filled
with flowers. For the relative of highest rank there was a Thai
tray, holding a flower of purest gold.

Resolutely my husband and I took our gifts the next morn-
ing and with the expression we believed proper fixed on our
faces went with them to our royal relatives. We knelt at their
feet and received their blessings. In return we also were given
gifts, magnificent gifts. These frequently were pieces of jew-
elrybrooches and cufflinks and necklaces studded with dia-
monds and other rare stones. But some gave us trays of gold
or beautiful ornaments for our home. No one appeared aware
that there was anything amiss between us. They welcomed us

Hi 86 3

warmly and predicted that ours would be a very good mar-
riage, and assured us we were a very lucky couple.

Certainly in a material way our future seemed a secure one.
Prince Jitjanok was an officer in the army. We had the very
attractive home which his sister had given us, and everything
to furnish it, and we owned quite a lot of property. While we
were engaged, Rama VII had given my father a large tract
of land, and he had divided it among those of his children
who were not married. He had included one sister of mine
who was engaged and had not yet made the fact public, but
he had left me out. I had been very angry, and I had gone to
him and said, "Why am I cheated of my share because I say
openly I am going to marry a man, while my sister, who keeps
the fact a secret, receives land?" I made such a fuss about it
that my father redivided the property and I had a share. I
also had the bungalow at Chaum, and one day I would inherit
a valuable market from Princess Chutharat and other proper-
ties from my father. My husband, too, had substantial family
possessions. So our position outwardly appeared a secure one.
We had everything necessary for a successful marriage
everything except the right kind of love.

I know now that this was no one's fault. It was our youth-
ful misfortune. In a way, I cared for my husband, and he
cared for me. But I was highly emotional, spoiled, and un-
disciplined. He was without understanding of a woman's na-
ture. I could not accept his matter-of-fact attitudes. He could
not handle my tantrums. I expected romance and sentiment.
It was not in his nature to give them. He expected from me
maturity, which was quite beyond me.

So from the very beginning our marriage presented the

[187]

greatest difficulties. It did not even give me what I had
wanted most freedom and independence. I could go about
now without a chaperone; I did not have to attend anyone; I
could make my own plans. But my new life imposed other
obligations. I learned that in the place of the bonds I had shed
I had assumed new ones, different in nature, but as restraining.
Young as I was, I knew I had made a bargain with life,
and lost.

[188]

XX

WHEN I had been married only two months I became preg-
nant. Almost at once I felt very ill.

My sister-in-law and my mother-in-law tried to console
me by telling me that the discomfort from which I suffered
was temporary and would soon pass. They wanted to be re-
assuring, these relatives of my husband, and I loved them for
it. From the time I had first known she was my godmother, I
had regarded Princess Wanwilai with admiration for her
quick mind and her charm. Mom Cham, my small, dark
mother-in-law, was gentle and always kind. Her chief in-
terest in life was her religion. Nothing was ever allowed to in-
terfere with it. Once, when I had a fainting spell, I sent for
her, and the answer came back that she was reading prayers
to her household and could not come until she had finished.
When she did arrive, she took care of me beautifully. She
would not have cut her devotions short if she had known I
would die before she got there. But she loved me sincerely.

The well-meant predictions of these two were wrong.
During the entire period before my baby arrived, I was weak
and able to do very little. Princess Chutharat, my royal aunt,
became ill and died during this time, and I was not allowed
even to go to her lying in state, as that was not supposed to be
good for an expectant mother. As a royal prince, my husband
had a position to maintain at court and frequently I should

have gone there with him. But to do so required great effort.
I seldom went out at all. Now that, taking a maid with me,
I was free, as a married woman, to move about Bangkok as I
pleased, I was too wretched to do anything but lie on the bed.

Actually I was burdened by my new position. Why, it is
hard to say. Our new home, in a sense, was part of Princess
Wanwilai's establishment and she had a household of more
than sixty. Mom Cham, who lived with her, had her own at-
tendants. And I had a staff also, about seven, I think. I remem-
ber a housekeeper, a cook, a nurse, a laundress, a waiter, a
chambermaid, and a gardener. Still I had a sense of insecurity
and often of loneliness. I felt having a baby was one more
step in growing up, but I was frankly frightened of the re-
sponsibility.

Pee Jit, as I called my husband, was very proud and happy
and long before the baby was due sent off for an electric train
for his new son to play with.

A few months before our baby was born, Princess Wan-
wilai had an addition to our house built for us, so that there
was room for a nursery. This much could be done. But ac-
cording to Thai tradition, nothing could be made for the
coming child, not a garment cut nor a stitch taken, until he
was actually being born. There is a Siamese superstition that
preparations ahead of time may cause something to happen
to a child. This delay made me nervous, as I thought it would
be dreadful for my infant to come into the world and find no
outfit waiting for him. But my mother-in-law laughed at me.

"About that, have no worry," she ordered. "No child has
lacked a wardrobe when I have been in charge. Leave the
preparations for this grandchild of mine in my hands."

[ 19 3

So I did. My doctor told me when to expect the baby. But
he made a mistake. One morning I got up and as soon as I
stood on my feet I felt pain. I sent a message to my mother-in-
law. I had to depend on her and Princess Wanwilai, for my
queen sister, of course, could visit only in the house of our
father and a few high relatives, and was not permitted to
come to me. Mom Cham came, and stayed with me, and after
a time she said, "Yes. You are in labor. We must call the
physician."

But my physician, who had not expected the baby to arrive
for some time, was away, so another doctor had to be sent for.
While he was coming, my mother-in-law set to work. She
summoned many servants, and put in operation what was
practically a factory. Cotton wool was brought in a big bas-
ket, and separated and made into a mattress. Some of the ser-
vants worked on dresses for the child, some on little shirts,
some hemmed diapers. Of course a mosquito net was pre-
pared, for in Thailand one must be over every bed. Everyone
about me was sewing; by hand, on the machine, there were
thousands of stitches.

At first I was afraid they would not finish in time, but I was
the slow one. The clothes were ready long before the baby
was there to wear them. The family waited anxiously, but it
was three o'clock the next morning before I gave birth to a
little son.

My husband beamed. The train had not been purchased
in vain.

As soon as the baby was washed and dressed and laid on
his mattress on the bed, a melon was placed near him and a
piece of paper and pencil. The melon was so that he would

have a full life, and the pencil and paper so that he would
have a full head.

On the third day after his birth there was a celebration.
Relatives brought him gifts and looked at him admiringly and
said politely he was the most wonderful child in the world. I
was sure he was, and my father, who had come to Bangkok
from the seashore just to greet him, thought so, too. I was so
happy to have my father with me, but shocked when I saw
him. He had been ill, and the sickness showed in his face. It
frightened me. But he did not complain. He looked at me
lovingly as always, and he brought his grandson many fine
presents.

It is considered a great honor in Siam to have the king vol-
unteer to name your child. Rama VII sent word that he
wished to name our son Somjanok Kridakara, which meant
a son satisfying to the father. My father had selected the
name Hathaijanok, which meant the heart of the father, but
of course he yielded to the king. This was Rama VIFs last
gesture in my directionthe end of our unacknowledged
romance.

When a Siamese child is a month old, there is a very special
celebration and it is at this time that a baby is first put into his
cradle. Like so many others in my land, it is both a Buddhist
and Brahman ceremony. For my son, it began early in the
morning, when we gave food to the Buddhist priests. At
eleven they came to the house and said many prayers for the
child. The astrologers had told us the right hour for the boy
to go into his new bed, and it was at noon. So at twelve the
Brahmans came, dressed in their white costumes, and with
their long hair knotted at their shoulders.

They sat in front of the cradle. A Thai cradle is not like a
Western one. It hangs high, between two tall stands, like a
hammock, but the frame is of wood, oblong, three and a half
feet high and four feet long. As the hour struck, the Brah-
mans fastened a piece of silver chain to the cradle and began
to swing it.

In the cradle were two mattresses, a large one and a small
one, and silken coverlets, and a pillow trimmed with lace.

A Brahman began to sing in his own language. He sang a
song of his hope that our son would grow up to be good. He
wished, too, that the boy would be quick and alert. As a sym-
bol of such quickness, his companions brought a cat, and the
cat was put into the cradle and then invited to sleep with a
lullaby. At least that was the idea. But this cat would not go
to sleep, but ran around and around inside the cradle, until
they took it out and put my son in.

But the baby could not swing in his cradle until another
ceremony had been performed. Traditionally, a child, before
the date fixed by the astrologers, is under the influence of a
mystic spirit known as kwafi. Unless this spirit leaves him he
is in danger, and not fully identified as a personality. With
the benediction of the priests, a lock of hair which supposedly
protected the kwafi was cut from my baby's head and he was
safe. Then he was laid in his new bed and rocked, and that
day my little boy slept long and peacefully.

In the evening all the members of the royal family came
and we had a dinner, and Thai music, far into the night. It
was a happy occasion. I began to feel well and take interest
in life again. We were both proud of the baby, and in being
parents we drew closer to each other.

The king had announced that he wished to present a play
for his motlier-in-law's birthday, and i was asked to take the
leading part. After many months of inactivity, this was an
honor I was eager to accept. I was still weak, but I learned
my lines, and went regularly to rehearsals. I worked very
hard. Then at night I would rush home to nurse my baby. !
was keyed up and the excitement sustained me. But when one
of the queen aunts died and the play had to be canceled, I
collapsed.

For weeks after that I dragged about. I tried to attend
court functions with my husband, as he wished and as it was
my place to do. But I had fainting spells which frightened
me. My friends laughed, suspecting I was going to have an-
other baby. But my doctor said I had a nervous condition
which affected my heart, and that my illness was serious. He
insisted I should be watched constantly, and had me moved
to a house near the one where he and his wife lived.

Then one day came black news. My father was desper-
ately ill. All of his family was called to come to him at Chaum.

My doctor was also one of my father's physicians and was
asked to go, too. He said I might travel there, since he and his
wife would be with ine. So, with them and the baby, I went
to the seashore. It was not the holiday season, and the place,
usually beautiful to me, now appeared very dreary. Even the
water looked gray and frightening. Many members of our
family already were there. Each of us lived in our own bun-
galow, but we spent most of our time at my father's house,
taking turns watching over him. I was worried about him,
and most unhappy. Every place here was full of memories. In
the twilight I imagined I could see my father as he used to be

[1943

when I first came here as a young girl, and he would put on
his blue coat and take his hat and stick and walk along the
beach with me, to take me home to Queen Lakshami's house.
I would remember how his voice had sounded as we sat to-
gether in the swing in the moonlight and he advised me about
many things, not crossly, but warning me gently about the
rules of life. He had given me good counsel. I had listened,
but I had not heeded. I had been stubborn and headstrong. I
had gone my own way. Already I knew how wrong I had
been, and that I had no one to blame but myself. 1 felt my
father was sorry for me. But he could not help me, even while
he was here.

And he might not be here long

I could not bear that thought. The local people who loved
him, too, stood all day about his house, waiting anxiously for
news. As I watched them, tears ran down my face and fell on
the warm little head of the baby I held in my arms. My father
had given these people law and justice. He had been like a
god to them. He had brought them light. I was realizing too
late how much light he also had brought to me. Now that
light seemed about to go out.

There was almost nothing I could do for him, since the
nurses took care of him. But I sat beside him, and sometimes I
took his temperature and gave him a little food.

Usually he was quiet. But at times his mind wandered and
those who heard him speak said he had delusions. Then wor-
ried thoughts which lie had concealed from us all became
apparent. There had been a prediction by our astrologers that
in the one hundred and fiftieth year of the Chakri dynasty,
which would be 193 2, there would be trouble. Much thought

had been given to averting this, especially after an anti-royal-
ist plot had been discovered during the reign of Rama VI.
There were plans to put up a fine statue of Rama I, and to re-
mind the people of the benefits they had gained under Chakri
kings, who* had kept Siam independent in the midst of colo-
nization all about it. But, in spite of his liberal policies, Rama
VII was, like his predecessors, an absolute monarch. There
were many rumors of unrest and talk of a demand for a con-
stitution. All members of the royal family did not think alike
on this subject. My democratic father wanted our people to
have Western ways, without bloodshed, and all this preyed
on his mind. He was especially concerned about Queen
Lakshami.

"We must prevent revolution before it is too late. There
will be fighting in the streets!" he would cry. "Hide your
gold! Hide your jewels, Mai Tew! The looters will take
everything. They will kill us"

Over and over we told him there was no revolution, Siam
was peaceful. But although my father had seldom spoken to
me of politics, saying they were not a concern for a woman,
I knew what he feared. He was speaking words of farseeing
wisdom. The rights of the people and freedom and democ-
racy were dear to his heart and he believed his country must
have them in order to endure,

In his lucid moments he appeared weaker and weaker. Fi-
nally, after a family consultation, the doctors performed a
minor operation. He improved a little. It was thought, since
he could not have hospital care here, and proper medicine
was not easily available, it would be best to move him to

Bangkok. As the member of our family having the highest
rank, Queen Lakshami made the decision, then my father was
consulted, and he agreed. So we all packed up, and the next
morning the bearers came to carry him to the train.

Sick as my father was, he was still in command. He was
moved to the car on a kind of rattan divan, and he told the
bearers just what to do.

"When I say, Take hold,' you grasp the edges," he said
"And when I say 'Lift/ you lift." He told them how to move
to hurt him the least, and how to get the divan down the
steps. They put him in the car very gently. But there was a
strange look on his face. I know he feared he would not see
his beloved Chaum again.

When he got on the train, he seemed tired, and at once fell
asleep. When he awoke, he was desperately ill. The doctors
thought he was dying, and we were all called to him. But he
rallied, and at last we reached Bangkok.

It was not considered proper for a prince of my father's
rank to go to a hospital, but he required surgical care, so it
was decided that if an entire building at Chulalongkorn Hos-
pital was set aside for him, he might stay there. And that was
where he was taken. He was given rooms on the second floor
of the building. Two of his wives stayed on the first floor and
a large drawing room and a dining room and kitchen were
established, so that our family and the many guests who came
would be cared for. Queen Lakshami and another sister had
the extra rooms on the second floor, and remained near my
father all of the time.

I did not seem to be able to bear the strain of this. I had

n w ]

fainting spells, and frightened everyone. The doctor said I
must not go to my home, but must stay nearby, where he
could watch me constantly, so I remained in a house close to
the hospital. When I was strong enough, I would take my son
to visit my father. And my father would smile at him, and
make noises with his mouth, the way people do to babies, or
gently ring the bell he kept to summon the nurse. My son
would laugh and grab his finger, and my father would look
at him proudly.

But although he was brave, my father was not getting any
better. He knew it. He had morphine constantly for the pain.
When his mind was clear, he wanted his children near him.
He let the nurses do the professional things, but he liked his
daughters to bathe his face and to feed him. When I helped
him, he would look at me with such a sad expression in
his eyes.

"I am worried about you, Mai Noi," he said. "I am troubled
as to what will happen to you when I am gone."

He was dying. He knew it and we knew it, and we could
do nothing but wait.

One day the doctors told us it must come very soon. We
gathered in his room. He was not conscious. I was faint, and
I lay with my head in my sister's lap. For a time no one
stirred. Then the doctor told us our father had drawn his
last breath.

I was still afraid of the dead. But I did not fear my father.
I went to him and I held his feet for a long time.

All my father's children cried. But my aged little grand-
mother was different. Chow Chorm Kien shed no tears. She
was straight and her head was held high as she walked to her

CI983

son's bedside. She said nothing. She made no motion. She only-
stood and looked at him. Then, all at once, she fell down as
though she, too, were dead.

The doctors worked over her for a long time. They said
her heart actually stopped beating. But they were able to re-
vive her. She was the bravest of us all.

We took my father home, back to Pang Nara Palace for
the bathing ceremony. He was dressed in beautiful robes and
laid on a golden Thai bed in the great drawing room. He
looked very peaceful. He could sleep quietly, I thought. No
more bad dreams of soldiers and revolution and bloodshed.
Whatever the future held for us, it would not touch my
father now.

The hundreds of guests who came to bathe his hands, the
placing of his body in the casket, the days of lying in state,
were like a dream. Every evening I would bring flowers and
sit for hours before his urn, hearing his voice and remember-
ing the dearness of his presence. Everything he had been re-
mained vividly. He was forever in my heart, forever with me
there. But in the cold world of reality I was this time wholly
alone.

C 1993

XXI

"You must not grieve so, Mai Noi."

"You still have us, you know. Come to us if you have
problems."

"You are not the only child. We, too, have lost our father.
We will comfort one another,"

In this way my brothers and sisters tried to console me. I
loved them for it. They meant well, and they truly wished to
help me. But they were older; they were better adjusted;
they had their own lives. Not one of them felt, as I did, that
everything which had belonged to childhood, which had
given security and a sense of permanence to life, had van-
ished. I only was dizzily alone in space. My mother was gone.
My aunt, Princess Chutharat, was gone. My father was gone.
Queen Lakshami was still very dear to me, but, because of her
position, I could no longer see her often. I clung with in-
creased intensity to my sister-in-law, feeling that she was the
one person left who understood me and on whose affection
I could rely.

Then Princess Wanwilai became ill. She was taken to the
hospital. One day word came that she, too, had died.

I was desolate indeed.

I hoped that there might be compensations. I told myself
that it would be right that my husband should fill the empti-
ness in my heart, that life must go on, and that I must forget

my sorrow in being a good wife. I did my best, and I am sure
my husband, too, strove to establish a happy relationship be-
tween us. But we were widely apart in nature, in feeling, and
in convictions. It is not possible to travel in opposite direc-
tions hand in hand. Our home was not a happy one.

When, finally, the fact had to be faced that our marriage
was failing, our small son, Somjanok Kridakara, was two and
a half and I sent him to a convent school called Mater Dei,
run by sisters of varied nationalities. This was a girls' school,
but boys were allowed to attend until they reached first
grade. Somjanok had a Eurasian girl for a teacher. He liked
her very much, and I believe it laid a beginning for a later in-
ternational mindedness to develop. As soon as he became five,
I entered him as a boarder in the kindergarten class of King's
College. It hurt me to do this, for while he was a day student
we could still be very close. I put him in bed each night, and
stayed with him until he went to sleep. When he became a
boarder, he came home only occasionally. The separation
gave him pain, too.

"I find it hard not to feel lonesome when you are not there
at bedtime," he told me. "Some of the other boys make a fuss
about wanting their mothers, and cry very loudly. But I am
brave the way you asked me to be."

He was such a little man, my son, standing there reassuring
me in his uniform of blue trousers and a buttoned-up Thai
coat with the silver initials of the school on his shoulder. My
heart filled with pride, although I had to turn away to hide
my tears.

But I had begun to live my own life now. There was a
strong creative drive in me and I wanted to accomplish some-

[200

thing worth while. With his sister gone, my husband wished
very much that we could have a house of our own. My finan-
cial prospects had not fully materialized. My aunt had shown
her displeasure at last by leaving me nothing. But Queen Lak-
shami gave us a piece of land, so with some of the money from
my father I built a bungalow. I also decided to put part of my
money into a business. At first 1 feared my husband would
object, but he was proud of my ability and ambition and I
did not allow my work to interfere with our social life. I al-
ways had liked to fashion fabrics, and I took a couple of
my friends as my partners, and we opened a dress shop in
Bangkok.

We made lovely things, and were the first dressmaking
establishment in Siam to show costumes on live models. I
trained my girls well, and entered one of them in the national
beauty contest and she became the first "Miss Thailand,"
Since there are few ready-to-wear clothes in the East, and
women's attire is usually custom made, many came to buy
our dresses. But none of us owners possessed shrewdness in
business matters and we did not handle our affairs well. We
gave credit, and then could not collect our money. After a
short time we had to close our shop.

I was disappointed, but still determined to increase the
money left to me. When the English Students' Alumni gave
a benefit performance, a brother of mine and I did a number
based on the song "I Won't Dance," made famous by Ginger
Rogers. We went through the audience, picking out partners
and asking them to dance. We made a great hit and I had
many compliments, and was dubbed the "Ginger Rogers of
Thailand." As a result, I decided to open a music and dancing

studio. I felt that this would appeal to Thai girls, for I would
off er everything from classic ballet to tap. I hired an English
girl for the ballet. The rest of the instruction I gave myself.

I had taught my small son to dance, and he was so good that
when I was ill and unable to appear at another English Stu-
dents' Alumni performance, he danced in my place. A six-
year-old doing a number as an eighteenth-century Britisher
with a long mustache made a great hit.

All this was fun, of course. But still I could not seem to
make money. After a time the dance studio, too, had to be
closed.

It was in this period that my Eurasian cousin, Prince Chula,
who had won my childish heart with his kindness when I was
lonely on the ship, returned from England to pay his country
a visit. He had become an attractive man, and much sought
after. At a party my queen sister gave for him I met him
again.

"What is this I hear about your being the Ginger Rogers
of Thailand?" he asked me. I explained the act, and he was
much amused.

"By Jove, I'll wager you are a good dancer! The little girl
I knew has grown up to be one of the loveliest of princesses.
Would you do me the honor to open the Grand Ball at the
Constitution Fair with me tomorrow night?"

That was to be one of the big events of his visit. I was de-
lighted. I took pains with my costume and was told I looked
gorgeous, and Prince Chula's eyes said that, too.

"I don't suppose you remember that on the ship going to
England you said you would wait for me?"

I did not remember it. I seemed to have been under obliga-

[203]

tions to wait for many men. I laughed and said, "It would
have been a long wait. Why didn't you come back sooner?"

"I wish I had," Prince Chula said. We stopped dancing
close to Queen Lakshami, and Prince Chula spoke to her. "I
was telling Princess Rudivoravan that any man who marries
one of your father's daughters is a very lucky chap."

I was sorry when Prince Chula left, to return to England.
He was one of the nicest links with my childhood. Later I
learned he had married an English girl. In writing about the
wedding, the newspapers had commented on the fact that
his father had divorced his Russian wife to marry a Siamese
girl. Would Prince Chula have better luck with his English
bride? they asked.

I wondered about that, too. I was disillusioned about mar-
riage. None of the efforts I had been making seemed to im-
prove my relationship with my husband. Instead, it grew
steadily worse. Finally the day arrived when our marriage
became so unhappy for both of us that there seemed but one
thing to do.

We decided to get a divorce.

The technicalities were simple. We had only to cancel our
marriage contract at the registry. But divorce was not com-
mon in Siam and for a princess it was almost unheard of. I
believe that in the history of our dynasty it had occurred but
once before, but I was so engrossed in my own troubles that
it did not occur to me that my royal relatives would be
shocked. I naively believed they would understand my pre-
dicament and be sympathetic, and give me at least moral
support. Instead, even the ones who loved me best seemed
scandalized.

[204]

My mother-in-law was heartbroken. She was never unkind
to me, she only said over and over again, "I love you both so
much. How could you do #?" Others were sharp in their
criticism, implying that I had betrayed the royal family. I was
hurt the most by the way Queen Lakshami acted. Probably
she felt responsible for me because she had helped bring me
up and perhaps she feared public criticism would also be di-
rected against her for my action. She protested vigorously
against the divorce, and when I insisted on getting it she was
very angry with me and refused to see me. The rest of my
family followed her example. Many denounced me openly.

So at a time when I most needed my relatives I was made to
feel I was an outcast. Of all my brothers and sisters, only one
came to my rescue at this time. He was my eldest brother,
Sakol, the prince I always used to call "the English gentle-
man" because it was so apparent he had been educated at
Cambridge. Sakol was married to a German girl and was
leaving soon to meet her in England. But when I found my-
self alone, he took me into his home in Bangkok. He treated
me as though I were an English girl, gave me a key to the
door, and let me come and go with complete independence.
He made few comments and did not try to tell me what to
do, and he was a cheering person to be with. He had a nat-
urally happy disposition and each morning I would hear
him singing away in his bath, and it comforted me to know
that someone could be so gay in a world that for me had
turned desolate.

But our companionship could not last for long. With his
departure I had some grim facts to face. One was my serious
financial situation. In my affluent days I had lived too elabo-

[205]

lately, given away much without thought, continued the
extravagant habits which had become mine in the palace of
my queen sister. When my practical husband had questioned
an expenditure, I had taken care of it from my own funds.
In building our own home, and in my ill-fated business ven-
tures, I had dissipated what wealth had come to me from my
mother and father. Princess Chutharat, as I have explained,
had cut me off from my inheritance from that branch of our
family. As the situation with my husband had worsened I had
sold everything I had of value, including my jewels, rather
than ask him for money.

Now I found myself not only barred from the manner of
living I had always known, I was in disgrace, and I was almost
penniless. I had no way of insuring my son's future and was
forced to agree that he remain with his father, but I wanted
no help from Prince Jitjanok for myself. I had for some time
been eager to work, and had made gestures in this direction.
Now it could no longer be a gesture, without financial re-
turn. I had to make money or starve. Yet I had no doubt that
I could support myself, given a chance. I began seeking a job.

It did not come easily. I found I lacked the training and
experience required in the business world. I was pushed al-
most into panic before I found a position. It proved to be one,
however, for which I was well suited.

Efforts to preserve and advance Thai literature, music, and
drama had been made by both Rama VI and VII. In 1934
the National Dance and Music School had been founded in
Bangkok, and later the actors from the Royal Theater had
been transferred there. I had grown up in the Royal Theater

[206]

and was familiar with its operation. I became a teacher in the
drama department of the Fine Arts School.

The name "teacher" covered a variety of activities. I
helped with dramatic productions, I taught the girls to sing
and dance, I designed costumes. It kept me hard at work,
but I enjoyed all I did, and although the pay was small, as it
always is in government positions, I managed to get along
during the term. But as vacation time approached, I realized
that when school closed I would be without a roof over my
head.

It was a terrifying feeling, and I worried about it desper-
ately. Finally, in the emergency, the officials of the Fine Arts
School agreed to let me stay in the school during the vacation
period. I was grateful for a shelter. But at night the place was
deserted and I was the only one in the great, dark buildings.
In my whole life I had seldom been alone; I was timid, super-
stitious, and filled with fear as well as with unhappiness. I
suffered in that solitude. I felt that I groped my way through
weeks of stark loneliness and terror. Only a determination
that, whatever came, I was not going to be defeated, kept
me from collapse.

We have a belief in Siam that the twenty-fifth year of life
is the most difficult of all. Certainly mine was a time when my
misery was so great that it seemed unbearable. Yet I had no
regrets over the decision I had made and which I felt to
be right. And gradually, instead of breaking me, the ordeal
through which I was passing strengthened me. I was able to
examine my position objectively.

My entire world had been the royal family. Now I was

[ 207 ]

outside that world. Those on whose love I had depended had
failed me, and the props which had supported my life until
now had collapsed. Without them I still frequently fell. But
doggedly, again and again, I scrambled to my feet. I resolved
that I would learn to stand unaided, that I would make a life
quite apart from that of the palaces of Bangkok, a life that
was completely my own.

[208]

XXII

I HAD known few commoners. As a child I had been greatly
shocked when my father, expounding his democratic prin-
ciples, had said that if a well-educated commoner should ask
for a daughter of his, and they loved each other, he would
permit their marriage. The idea had seemed so fantastic then
that I had not really believed him. A royal prince might take
a commoner wife, but a princess never took a commoner hus-
band.

But since I was frowned upon by my royal relatives I had
to look elsewhere for companionship. Once this would have
been impossible, but in the half-dozen years since my father's
death there had been many changes in my country, both in
government and in custom. My father had never approved
of women concerning themselves in politics and I had been
ignorant of the significance of much that had been going on
around me. I shall not try to report on it now, but only to give
the series of events which terminated the absolute monarchy
of the Chakri dynasty and altered the destiny of our entire
royal family.

My father's fear of a revolution had grown out of his be-
lief that a constitution should be granted without delay, or the
people would demand it. King Prajadipok appeared to hold
this view, and when in 1931 he went to the United States for
a widely reported operation which would remove one of the

cataracts that were dimming his vision, he had announced this
intention to the American press. There were murmurs in
Bangkok that he would do well to hurry with it. Prince Pari-
batra, a son of King Chulalongkorn who was regent in Rama
VIFs absence, had put in force a grim program of retrench-
ment for the army. There was general unrest because of a
financial slump, the effect of Britain going off the gold stand-
ard. The uncertainty of the succession, which had been a
matter of concern ever since the tragic death of Prince Mahi-
dol in 1929, added to the problems. Princess Sangwalya had
been left with three children: Princess Galyani, the baby I
had loved on my return trip from England in 1923, Prince
Ananda, born in 1925, and Prince Phumipon, born in 1927.
Unless King Prajadipok named another successor or had an
heir of his own, Prince Ananda would follow him as ruler of
Siam. King Prajadipok was not a well man, and Ananda was
still a child. The Supreme Council, composed of high princes,
was not popular, and there was a growing feeling that the af-
fairs of the country had become too much for them to handle
and that the people themselves should have a voice in the
government. We all expected that on April 6, 193 2, the anni-
versary of the Chakri dynasty against which there was an
ominous warning, the king would grant the constitution. But
he made no mention of it.

In June, while the king was at his seaside resort, there was
a sudden uprising of a group known as the People's Party, led
by a soldier, Captain Luang Pibulsonggram, and a lawyer,
Pridi Panomyong, later named as Luang Pradit. It was said
that these young men felt the monarchy had grown so weak
that they must take it over to save it from the Communists.

[210]

Some of the senior princes were taken as hostages and held in
the palace, while an ultimatum was sent to the king, demand-
ing a constitution and a one-house parliament, known as a
General Assembly. The king, who was in danger of losing his
life, might have fled. Instead, he returned bravely to Bangkok
and, after certain negotiations, the new constitution was
adopted with great ceremony.

We all breathed sighs of relief. The happy arrangement
did not last very long, however. In 1933 the People's Party
split over an economic plan, which attempted to nationalize
all rural land and make all farmers government officials. The
king denounced the plan as communist, and there was so
much bitterness in regard to it that Parliament was prorogued
and for a time government was by decree. This brought about
another coup, in which Luang Pibulsonggram was again a
leader. When a new government was formed, my brother,
Prince Wan Waithayakorn, who had been in retirement
since the first coup, was asked to accept the post of civilian
adviser. A few months later, real civil war broke out, sharp
and bitter, and the king left the country. His announced pur-
pose was a second eye operation, this time in England. But
Rama VII had said a last farewell to his native land, and Siam
was to see him no more. In 1 93 5, unable to come to agreement
with a mission sent to him in London by the Siamese govern-
ment, he abdicated. So, suddenly and completely, he van-
ished from my life.

The royal succession returned to Prince MahidoFs sons. In
1935, Ananda Mahidol became king, a regent serving until
he completed his education in Switzerland. But the govern-
ment of Siam was no longer the responsibility of the Chakri

family alone. Siam was now officially known as Thailand,
Land of the Free, old ways were being discarded and the
people moved toward democracy.

Ever since the year of my father's death popular attitudes
had been changing. Mine changed now, too. My family had
abandoned me. I could not live the rest of my life a solitary
princess. I proceeded to look for new friends, and found
them among commoners.

One of them was Mr. Pooh Prabhailakshana. He was in the
Ministry of Finance, where he had made his way up from a
clerk to the position of secretary to the foreign adviser of the
department. He was an attractive man, tall for a Thai, and
quite good-looking. I admired him because he was intelligent
and capable, and I was grateful to him because he was kind to
me. He was a good dancer, I loved to dance, and we began to
go out together. After a time I began to consult him about my
affairs. It was comforting to have someone who cared what
happened to me. He did, and there was no one else.

What happened next was inevitable, I suppose. We were
drawn to each other. I was lonely. He was devoted. There
were practical obstacles, consideration of which might have
discouraged us if the attraction between us had not been so
strong. Pooh Prabhailakshana had been married before and
had three daughters who lived with his mother and he had
them all to support. But I would not let that be a barrier to
our happiness. When he asked me to marry him, I said, "Yes."
We were both very much in love.

We skipped most of the usual ceremonies of the common-
ers' marriage. It is customary for the parents to take the horo-
scope or Poog Duang of the bridal pair to the astrologers to

determine whether the match is a good one. The belief is if
certain essentials are not present in the combination, the
marriage cannot succeed. Time in Siarn falls into cycles of
twelve years each, and there are rules which govern the union
of those born in these periods. The cycles are:

1. Chuad year of the mouse.

2. Chalu year of the cow.

3. Kamyear of the tiger.

4. Thor year of the rabbit.

5. Marong year of the big snake.

6. Maseng year of the small snake.

7. Mamaeir year of the horse.

8. Mamer year of the goat.

9. Walk year of the monkey.

10. Raka year of the cock.

11. Chaw year of the dog.

1 2 . Goon year of the pig.

Many birth superstitions are connected with these cycles.
I had been born in the year of the goon, 191 1, on a Saturday.
Saturday's child should be dark; I was fair. A fair child born
on a dark day has bad fortune. My bridegroom had been bom
on Wednesday, a dark day and he, too, was fair. The signs
were not promising. But we had no parents to consult astrol-
ogers for us.

For a commoner's wedding both parties may, if they wish,
wear on their heads the monkon of threadlike cotton, and the
saying goes that whoever takes it off first will be the boss of
the family. In a royal wedding the king or a high prince pours
the sacred water for the couple. But for a commoner's wed-

[213]

ding, every guest pours it, and in the old days a couple some-
times remained on their knees on the floor for hours while this
was done. Today they have kneeling benches, which relieve
the strain a little.

We did none of these things. In order to marry, I had to
get the consent of the king to renounce my title. I was re-
quired to send him my divorce papers and the name of my
prospective husband. An investigation was made of Pooh
Prabhailakshana's suitability, and permission was granted for
the marriage. Then we simply went to the registry, had a
civil ceremony, and gave food to the priests. I turned my back
on being a royal princess. I became Paraya, the wife of a com-
moner, although people still often addressed me as serene
highness.

For a time my new husband and I kept to ourselves, com-
pletely absorbed in each other. We had rented a house and I
went on working until I became pregnant, then I gave up my
position at the Fine Arts School. That made a change in our
living necessary. Without my income, we had to get along
with incompetent help. I did not mind this too much. For the
first time in my life I did homemaking tasks, washed dishes,
even ironed my husband's clothes. Our irons were filled with
charcoal to heat them, and our stoves were pottery with coals
on top. But I thought it was a lark. I was like a little girl
playing house.

We both wanted the expected little one very much. My
husband hoped for a boy. I secretly wished for a girl. But
most of all I wished to carry it the full term and have a healthy
baby. A couple of times I thought I was to have a premature
child, as my mother had, and I was rushed to the hospital.

But the danger was averted. Finally I gave birth to a little
daughter.

I wanted her to have a link with my family and I named
her Vanchlt.

It hurt me that she could not have the beautiful things that
her brother had had. I loved her very much and she helped
the loneliness I felt In so seldom seeing him. For three years,
although we had a limited amount of money and few luxuries,
we were a very happy family. I met my husband's friends, but
went out little. I had my home, and I was content.

But there Is a bond of the blood. I missed my royal rela-
tives. And, the first shock of my marriage over, they were
less condemning. I began to see them and to enjoy doing so. I
learned that time can heal even the deepest wounds. I knew
that my husband resented my visits to them, but we never
spoke of it. That part of my life was my own.

Again I wanted to make money. So, with my husband and
a few others, I opened a restaurant. We had high hopes for it,
but it, too, was ill-fated. Soon we had to take another loss. I
would have been more unhappy over it if I had not again
been pregnant. This time, with four daughters, my husband
wished very earnestly for a son.

With us at this time was my youngest brother, Sunthara-
korn, who, as a baby when my mother died, had been given
to a sister of mine to raise. We had been separated for years,
but now we became dear to each other. He was much inter-
ested in my coming child and insisted that he must be god-
father.

My other full brother Chanta Nakorn, who had been edu-
cated in Japan, gave us help at this time, too. Certain officials

in my husband's department were to be transferred to Japan;
it seemed that he, too, had a good chance to go, and it would
mean a big advancement. Chanta Nakora, out of his knowl-
edge of the country, advised us about this. We regarded the
matter as settled, sold some of our things, and were packing
others when my husband came home one day with tragedy in
his face. There had been changes in his department, new
people were in charge, and he would not go to Japan,

My husband was disappointed and discouraged and I sym-
pathized with him, for he was capable and worked hard, and
this had seemed his great chance. He became very moody,
and I was glad I had my brothers to help me keep his spirits
up.

I was about six months' pregnant when World War II be-
gan for us.

I remember the day well. It was in December 1941. I had
gone to visit one of my sisters and we were making dresses,
when the report came that Japan had invaded provinces of
Thailand. We were frantic. We did not know what this was
about. Then we were told more that Japanese planes had
killed many of our people; that we were defenseless against
them; that we would have to let the Japanese occupy Thai-
land.

We were also told that we must prepare dugouts and air-
raid shelters and be ready for any emergency. Then the
Japanese began to come in and take over our houses. Luang
Pibul, our premier, informed us in 1 942 that we were at war
with England and America. I was not able to think of Eng-
land as an enemy, and although I knew almost nothing about
America, I could not hate it, either. But soon the Allied air

[216]

raids began, and that was really bad. We had a dugout near
our house. In the first raid I took my baby and went there.
We all stood stiff and tense, and did not move. We were like
statues, although I tried to hide my terror, because I did not
want Vanchit to feel fear.

There came a period of low moon and floods, and that
brought a respite from the bombing. I could shut out the ter-
ror of war and think only the thoughts of a mother. But as the
day approached for me to have my baby, the bombing be-
gan again. My husband was much occupied with government
business, so it was arranged that when the hour to go to the
hospital arrived, my young brother would take me.

We had not expected that an air raid and my labor pains
would start at the same time. But one night, just as the sirens
sounded, I realized that that was what had happened.

Bangkok was, of course, completely blacked out. Ordinar-
ily, I would have taken Vanchit and hurried to the dugout
and kept her there until the raid was over. But things were
progressing too rapidly for that. I knew, war or no war, I
must be on my way to the hospital. How we could get across
the darkened city to it was a question, but we must try it, and
at once. I spoke to Vanchit quietly and told her to go with
her nurse, and I gave instructions for keeping her in the safest
place possible. Then I bundled my hospital clothing together
and urged my brother to hurry.

Because of the shortage of automobiles, he had arranged
with a driver of trishaw (a three-wheeled ricksha) to pedal
us across the city. The driver started, but even the first few
yards were frightening. We could not show a light; no one
was supposed to be on the roads at all We simply crawled

along. It was black as the inside of a dragon, but every once in
a while the moon would drift out from behind the deep clouds
for a moment. Then I felt our trishaw must be clearly visible
to those above. Frequently we were stopped by angry guards,
but when they learned why we were not in a shelter they let
us pass. It was confusing, for in the same breath they urged us
to go slowly because of the darkness, and to hurry, to escape
the bombs.

The hospital we were headed for was called Siriraj. Prince
Mahidol had sponsored it after he returned from his advanced
medical studies in America. In ordinary times it was quite
luxurious and you could have your maid stay there with you.
Tonight I was not sure I could even have a cot. At last
we reached the building. The moon came out just as we
pulled up; the great Red Cross sign on the roof would show
plainly. My brother said, in an effort to cheer me up, "That
big cross can be seen from above. They won't bomb this
place. You will be safe here." I nodded. Actually neither of
us had any reason to feel confident. Bombs do not always land
where they are supposed to.

The hospital was dark, and we groped our way inside. In
the corridors were a few screened candles. As many patients
as could be moved had been taken to the dugouts. But there
would be no dugout for me. I was too far gone in labor.

The nurse who took me in charge tried to reassure me.

"Do not worry," she said. "The planes tonight are Ameri-
can ones. They fly low, and usually they hit their targets. It
is the British who are to be feared. They fly so high one never
knows where their bombs will land."

Pain racked as I was, I was furious with her. No one could

criticize anything English to me, not even the British method
of bombing. I was about to give the nurse a piece of my
mind when suddenly I was cut short. I made one of the quick-
est trips to the labor room on record. There, with warning
sirens screaming, and the roar of enemy planes overhead, I
proceeded to have my second daughter. She arrived before
the doctor did. The nurse said I was the worst patient they
had ever had. I screamed all the time.

The next evening my husband and my brother came to see
me. My husband was a little rueful because this child was not
a boy, but he took one look at her and loved her. She had the
prettiest, most delicate skin. It was angel skin like my moth-
er's, and I decided at once to name her Konthip. We were all
happy together, and glad that the birth and the raid both were
over. But I was exhausted, and as soon as my visitors left, the
nurse said I must be quiet and sleep. I was glad to try.

My eyes had no sooner closed than the warning sirens be-
gan to go again.

It was a horror I shall never forget, that night. I was in a
ward of new mothers, and we were all frantic with fear for
our children. Some patients were evacuated to the dugouts,
but the doctor said several of us could not be moved. It was
not possible to give us necessary care in the shelter. We must
take our chances where we were.

"But our babiesl" I said wildly to the nurse. "The nursery
is in the wing. It has no protection at all."

"One part of the hospital is as likely to be hit as another.
There is no protection anywhere if the bombs fall here," she
said casually over her shoulder as she left me.

I knew her attitude was pretense. She had never before

faced bombings, any more than any of the rest of us. We had
no experience in war. We were awkward in trying to show
courage. I made up my mind to demand to be taken to the
nursery.

A little later she came back. Two other nurses were with
her, and they moved from patient to patient, distributing
bundles which in the dimness looked like bedding. Finally
they reached me, and deposited on my arm a roll of blanket.
I was about to refuse it. Then I heard a small cry and felt
against my cheek the soft silk of my baby's hair.

"We thought you might like to have your babies with you,
since it's too dark to read," the nurse said to the room at large.
Her tone was matter of fact; this might have been a part of
her regular routine. But we all knew it was not. Our babies
had been brought to us for one reason only; so that, if the
hospital was hit, we would die together.

The siren wail grew louder. I curved my body to cover my
baby as much as I could. We waited. All night the roar of
planes filled the air.

[2203

XXIII

WHEN I returned home with my little Konthip, the raids had
increased in frequency. Often bombs fell near our house. It
was very frightening, and I would not have the children
away from me at night, so our whole family slept on one
mattress on the floor, under a single mosquito netting.

Almost everything was rationed. Even water was sold on
the black market. I could get only a limited supply of milk
for the baby. Once, when I took her to the seashore, I gave
her, instead, water with a little rice crushed in it. She took it
eagerly, but it made her very sick. I was so worn out with
constant terror that when we could not get a doctor I became
hysterical. My husband finally brought a priest, and he
poured sacred water for her. Gradually she recovered. But I
had become so nervous about the children that I decided we
must evacuate them to the country, even if the increased ex-
pense made it necessary for me to go back to work.

We took a boat through the klongs into the country and
found a nice place with farm people, where the children
could be cared for during the day. With my husband I came
into Bangkok every morning to work, and we went back to-
gether each evening. I found a new job that I liked very
much. It was, in a way, still associated with the theater.

Of course, during the war, no new films could come into
Thailand, so we had to play the old silent films, and the meth-

[221]

od was to put narration back of them. One day when I was
listening to one of these I had the idea that it would be much
more effective if actual dialogue could be recorded and
dubbed in, instead of narration. I talked to my brother about
this and he liked the plan. We rehearsed, and gave an audi-
tion at the studios. Soon we were playing the man and wom-
an parts in many pictures. We had more work than we could
handle. We got old American films and dubbed voices into
them, too, although this was difficult, because we had no
script and had to make up the dialogue.

At first I was ashamed of this work, but I came to feel quite
proud of it. The undertaking was a success and we made
money at it, and it led to other things. I was engaged by the
Crown Property Band to develop stage shows. I had to pro-
vide the setting for them and direct the singers and dancers.
I was called upon for many services for which I had no train-
ing. These demands on me were exciting, and always I man-
aged to meet them somehow.

Our life in these days held both good and bad. The work
and the income were fine; the tension was terrible. We would
be in the midst of rehearsing a gay scene and the sirens would
sound. We would all have to run into the street and lie flat,
with our faces hidden. We could hear the planes come nearer
and nearer. We were told if a bomb was let loose straight
above us it would not touch us, as bombs fell at an angle.
Often an angle brought them hideously close; death would
be all about me. When we went home to the country at night,
the boat might pass a place where a bomb had fallen and the
bodies were still lying, and there would be arms and legs
scattered along the shore.

[222]

The war became an intimate part of our lives. At any in-
stant, day or night, we might have to flee from it. And there
was the bewildering fact that more people were killed in the
dugouts than in the open. Sometimes at night, when I got to
our house in the country, I would put my babies in a canoe
and paddle for hours, going as far away as I could. As if I
could paddle to any place which would be beyond the ene-
my's bomb range!

I could not believe that the horror would ever end. But one
day it did. The war was over. Many people in Thailand had
been killed, in shelters and out of them. But there was one
strange, impressive fact. With all the temples there are in our
country, not one ever was hit. They were the sacred places,
the secret places of Buddha, and all the people who sought
refuge in them had been safe.

We began to pick up the threads of normal life again. We
had an economic problem. Our household was large it now
included our own two children, my husband's three daugh-
ters, his mother, and a nurse. Although I had made money
during the war, it had not been possible to save any. We were
considering ways and means, when suddenly a new possi-
bility developed. My husband learned that assistant financial
attaches were to be sent to both England and America. He
decided to try for one of the positions.

Naturally, I would have liked best to go to England, but
we realized that living was very difficult there; that there was
food rationing and times were hard. America I knew very
little about. The only Americans I had met were the G.I.'s
and they had rather frightened me. In Thailand their be-
havior had often seemed outspoken and rough. But my broth-

[223]

er, Prince Wan, was now Thai ambassador to the United
States, so I felt we would not be utterly alone. And I had
friends who were glad to recommend my husband for the
position in Washington. So we concentrated on that.

When the appointment came through, everything was a
great rush. With our two daughters, we left in early August
1947. The Ministry advanced us enough to pay our fare and
we did not even wait for government expense money.

We made the trip by American freighter, which gave us
fifty-six days to practice our English. There were stops in
Egypt for sight-seeing, and the children thought it was very
gay. My husband was happy, too. He never mentioned it,
but I knew that the fact that I was of royal blood and he was
not had troubled him in Thailand. He believed coming to
America, which was a democracy without class distinctions,
would solve some of our problems. He was pleased with his
assignment. It promised real opportunity for him.

The trip was long and I was often seasick, but at last we
arrived in Boston. Our ticket said we must disembark at the
first American port, so off we got. I remember I fretted be-
cause I had no hat, and I had been taught in England that all
Western ladies wore hats. An effort had been made by the
new government at home to make Thai women wear hats,
too. You could not go to the market without one, and big
straw bonnets were for rent, in case you forgot yours or did
not own one. But the Thai women resisted, and kept from
wearing them whenever they could. I was much relieved
when I saw that many girls in Boston were bareheaded.

Boston appeared strange to me, and we were shocked when
a taxi driver charged us twenty dollars to take us from the

[224]

pier to the railway station. Washington was not what I ex-
pected, either. I had looked for old buildings like those in
England, but I found many new ones, similar in style to those
we were now building in Bangkok. The Potomac River was
like our Menam, our Chow Paya River. Constitution Avenue
looked like one of our streets, and the Capitol was similar to
our Congress House. This part seemed as much Thailand as
America.

There were differences, of course. One that struck me first
was that the houses here seldom had fences around them. In
Siam we not only had fences around the compound, they
were made of barbed wire on which vines often grew. I
thought I should never get used to this lack of privacy, but
when our next-door neighbor kindly mowed our lawn, along
with his own, I was won to the American way completely. I
had also found that my English, which I spoke with a very
British accent, was not at all American. But after a time I
grew accustomed to the new way of speaking the words.

Prince Wan, with several other officials, met us at the sta-
tion in Washington. Arrangements had been made by my
brother for us to stay with friends until we found a suitable
home. I also had to get a nurse for my children, who were
now five and eight. They were a little overwhelmed by the
new country, and I wanted someone with them who was
gentle and kind. I was fortunate in finding a nice Swedish
girl, Margaret, who had a baby of her own. My girls adored
the little blond child. The changes from a warm country to a
cold one startled them, however, and they were frightened
by the snow that covered the ground. They had seldom been
separated from me, and the first evening I left them they

[225]

made a great scene, and rushed out In the snow to find me.
But soon they settled down, and grew to like Washington as
much as I did.

We sent cards to all members of the diplomatic corps and
invitations began to arrive. Social life is very important in
diplomatic Washington, and it Is necessary to attend and give
many parties. They start with coffee at ten In the morning,
and they go on until late at night. We had some trouble get-
ting a house, but finally we moved into one on Reno Road,
with a yard for the girls to play in and a living room big
enough for entertaining. It had gray walls, and black satin
sofas near the fireplace. We got an old organ on which I
could play, while our guests sat around and sang. After I be-
came accustomed to the endless social round I fully enjoyed
it, and it contributed importantly to my husband's official
life.

I had many other duties, too. They commenced when my
sister-in-law, Proi Bunnag, Princess Wan, was invited to
make a recording, discussing Red Cross activities in Thailand.
She asked me to help with it, and I was glad to go to the stu-
dio and to learn the techniques used there, and plan ways to
make the show dramatic as well as instructive. The movie
experience I had had was valuable, and we built up quite a
production.

This and an interview Ruth Crane had with me on WM AL
were so highly praised that they gave me the first idea of be-
ing an ambassador for both countries over the air waves. I
also became interested in other Red Cross activities. One of
my new friends, Virginia Russels, was chairman of the public
relations section, and arranged a show at the Pan-American

[226!

Union which featured the children of diplomats. My two
girls, with Prince Wan's daughter, Wiwan, danced a Thai
dance in the Aztec Garden. They loved to wear their Thai
costumes and dance at the Embassy on National Day for the
visitors. Any performance usually was to them a treat. I re-
member only once, when they were in an evening show and
it grew very late before their turn came, both of them de-
clared they were too tired to dance and went sound asleep. I
had a dreadful time rousing them and getting them onstage.

The wife of the British ambassador cemented English-Sia-
mese relations by giving us a Siamese cat. These beautiful
animals originally came from Korat and all Siamese love
them. Our cat was fawn colored, blue-eyed, and exception-
ally gentle. When one day it was run over the girls were
desolate. They held a big funeral in the garden, with children
from all the embassies attending. It was a truly international
ceremony.

I became a member of the Home Hospitality Committee,
too, and helped arrange parties for the men in uniform sta-
tioned nearby. I would dance at these parties until my feet
felt ready to drop off, but I never grew tired of the affairs,
nor of any of the life in Washington. My husband and I made
many friends, and came to feel completely at home.

I also gained one more "mother," this time an American
one, the wife of General Harry Kenneth Rutherford. Her
daughter Dorothy and I became very close and they treated
me as one of the family.

It was during this time that I saw my childhood idol, Prince
Chula, again. During the reign of Rama VII, Chula, who was
young but of high rank, had continued to live in London and

had been asked by the king to represent him frequently on
state occasions in European countries. Chula had devoted a
great deal of his time to such activities. For a period after the
death of his father, Prince Chakrabongse, the king had al-
lowed him only the income from his rich estate, but finally it
was all released to him. As his government duties lessened he
was able to turn to personal interests, and he had become a
successful journalist and famous as the owner of prize-win-
ning racing cars. He and his English wife, Lisba, were mak-
ing a visit to the United States, and they came to Washing-
ton. When they learned that my husband and I had never
been to New York they invited us to spend a week end with
them there. We went sight-seeing, and visited theaters and
restaurants and supper clubs, and my husband and I found
their stories of their international life very entertaining. Gos-
sip columns to the contrary, their marriage appeared to be a
happy one. At that time I thought it might be succeeding
where other interracial ones had failed because Chula had
become so thoroughly Westernized. But Lisba did her part in
entering into her husband's life. A few years later she took
the unusual step for an Englishwoman of embracing the Bud-
dhist religion, and was accepted into the faith by the Supreme
Patriarch Vajirayana at the Bavoranives Monastery where
he lives, and where our great ancestor, King Mongkut, was
once abbot.

Prince Chula and I had much in common, including our
liking for the Western countries, our affection for Prince
Wan, who had been Chula's guardian when he was a young
lad in England and my brother was Siamese minister in Lon-
don, and our love of dancing. I remember telling Chula how

[228H

much I liked America and how I looked forward to the four
years of happiness which I was certain my husband's appoint-
ment in Washington assured us. We had a good life here for
ourselves and our daughters and we were able to do more
for Pooh's mother and children in Bangkok than if we had
remained in Siarn. I was confident that our troubles were
over.

It was like an earthquake when word came to us suddenly
soon after that that the position my husband held in Washing-
ton was to be abolished and that we must return to Thailand
at once. At first I would not believe it. I appealed to everyone
I thought might help in having the order revoked. When it
became apparent it was final, Pooh and 1 both sought desper-
ately for another suitable position in Washington. We were
without success. But even as I sorrowfuly began packing, I
did not believe I was leaving America forever. I went to a
fortuneteller in Washington, and she looked in a crystal ball
and assured me that one day I would come back. A reader of
tea leaves said the same thing. It gave me some comfort, but
the pain of leaving was very real.

To cheer me, my husband got transportation home for us
by way of England, so that after all the years I might again
see my dear English family. I gave them a complete surprise.
I called Elizabeth, who had been my playmate, at an office
where she worked. I had remembered the British as reserved,
but when I told her who I was, she actually screamed into
the telephone. She arranged to have all my former girl play-
mates meet in London, and we had a grand reunion. Then I
went to the country to see my mummy. The Reverend Am-
brose Sturges-Jones had died and she did not live in Norwich

[229]

any longer. She had moved to Gloucestershire. But if the
house was different, everything inside was as I remembered
it. Mummy, too. She hugged me and looked at the red suit I
was wearing and laughed and said she had known I would be
wearing that color. We had tea from the same pot I remem-
bered so well, and sugar from the same bowl. And I found
myself behaving exactly like an English schoolgirl, sitting up
very straight and eating my bread and butter nicely before I
took any cake, and sipping my tea daintily.

Catherine, the daughter who once had been my teacher,
was married and lived in a lovely home nearby. We went
there for dinner. When we came home, Mummy showed me
to my room. I asked her if I could not sleep in her room in-
stead, as I once did. She fixed a cot for me there, and brushed
my hair and tucked me in, in the old way. I fell asleep forget-
ting that I had a husband and two children waiting for me
in London. I was a child again.

The next morning Mummy told me I could still be a little
girl and have my tea in bed with her. It was then that I talked
to her about my unhappiness in leaving America and my wish
to return there. Her answer was as unchanged as everything
else. She said in her sweet way that I should take my prob-
lems to God and He would show me what to do.

I had to admit that in the years since I went away from her
I had not been a religious person. I thought that it was perhaps
because I had been so overwhelmed by religious ceremonies
of all kinds in my childhood that I was neither a good Bud-
dhist nor a good Christian. I had learned words that had no
meaning for me; I had made gestures with an empty heart.
Mummy refused to be discouraged.

[230]

"Do you have faith in God? " she asked me. I thought about
it, and believed that I did. Who God was or what He was I
did not know, but that He existed I was sure.

"Then He will protect you," Mummy told me confidently.
"If you cling to Him, no matter how hard the way is, He will
bring you through your trials."

I told her of my father, and of his philosophy that for the
dedicated human spirit nothing is impossible, and she nodded.

"You always were a ball, Rudi. You will never sink."

I left her with new courage and spirit. But I still could not
see my way clearly. I told myself if America held what was
best for my children, I would be shown how to take them
back there. But while my heart went in that direction, my
face was turned toward Thailand.

[23*]

XXIV

BANGKOK was beautiful, as ever. But I had seen the new
world. To me Siam was not the same, never could be the
same again. Beneath a surface visible to the eyes the land of
my youth was undergoing many changes.

A struggle for power was going on among forces which
sought everything from the return to an absolute monarchy
to Communism. It was democracy that my people wanted
and toward which they were advancing. But the progress
was not easy. Even I, who so approved of it in theory, balked
over ceremonial trifles. One of the traditions of the royal fam-
ily was that the head of a person must never be above that of
his superior in rank. The head of a princess was almost sacred.
And until I left Siam, my hairdresser must always bow before
beginning work. Customs are slow in changing.

After the 1932 coup, the new constitution had said that no
member of the royal family might serve in the government.
Soon this rule was modified. One brother of mine was the
first of our family to be returned to Parliament, representing
Ayudya, the district where my father had operated the rail-
road; Prince Wan remained government adviser. I hoped
then, as I hope today when I see the part he is playing in the
United Nations, that my father knows and is proud of him,
as I am proud.

[232]

King Ananda, Rama VIII, became ruler in Thailand in
1935. Luang Pibulsonggram, leader of the military party,
had come into power, but in 1945 he had been displaced. In
1946, under circumstances still a mystery, King Ananda
died. Luang Pibulsonggram led a new coup in 1948 and be-
came our premier, a position which he has continued to hold.

Prince Pumiphon, King Ananda's younger brother, next
in the royal succession, was still at school in Switzerland, and
his power was vested in a regency until 1950, when he re-
turned to become Rama IX. He brought as his bride the
pretty teen-aged daughter of Prince Nakkat, of the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs, who as a child had been told by a fortune-
teller that her palm showed she would one day sit on a throne.

Theirs was a story-book romance, the kind America loves
to hear about. King Pumiphon had been born in Cambridge,
when his father, Prince Mahidol, had returned to Harvard
Medical School for further study. When Prince Mahidol
died in 1933, his wife, Princess Sangwalya, took their chil-
dren to Switzerland to be educated. At Lausanne University,
Prince Pumiphon studied architecture and later law. But he
also had hobbies which he took seriously. One was jazz music
and another was photography. At the Thai embassy in Paris
he met Mom Rajawongs Ying Sirikit, who liked the same
things. In completely Western fashion he fell in love with
her. One day her father, then Thai ambassador in London,
was summoned to Lausanne. Prince Pumiphon was to return
almost immediately to Thailand to be crowned, and he
wished Sirikit to go with him.

In March 1950 the couple arrived in Bangkok, first to be
married in a magnificent ceremony, and then to be crowned

[233:1

king and queen of Thailand. Queen Sawang Watana, the
king's grandmother, was the only person in Thailand with
rank high enough to pour lustral water for the couple, and
it was in her palace that the wedding was held. The ceremony
was one of even more than traditional splendor, Sirikit wear-
ing cream silk embroidered in gold, the king in the full-dress
uniform of the royal House of Chakri. The aged queen
smiled as she poured the sacred liquid over their clasped
hands. She must have remembered her own days of youthful
glory, and wished King Chulalongkorn could have been
there to see his grandson. A few days later the tall, dark
young king, wearing cloth-of-gold and rich brocade robes,
placed upon his head the jeweled spired crown, and became
to our eighteen million people the Lord of Life.

For all this ancient splendor, Thailand was taking on ap-
pearances of the West. Western customs and styles were
now intermingled with Thai ceremony and dress. There
were jazz palaces and jitterbugs, and chewing gum. Startling
incongruities appeared, such as priests drinking Coca-Cola at
a lying-in-state ceremony. My husband is an adaptable per-
son and he found no difficulty in adjusting to the changes.
But I reacted in a diff erent fashion. I wanted no transition
period, no intermingling of cultures. I wanted my democracy
straight. I had fallen completely in love with America and I
had determined to live there and to bring up my daughters in
the American way.

I thought constantly of my father's assurance that the
heart's desire could always be attained with hard work and
perseverance. I worked and persevered, but a return trip to

[234]

America remained a haunting dream. Sometimes I would re-
call the glamorous travel of my younger days and think that
now I would travel in any fashion, even steerage, to go back
to the West. Not even that course seemed a possibility. I tried
to cling to the cheering predictions of the Washington crys-
tal gazer and the gypsy with her tea leaves, but my faith in
them was not as absolute as it once would have been. I found
it impossible to forget other mistaken forecasts. There had
been the queenly promises of my horoscope. There had been
a declaration made by a famous Indian fortuneteller, Kumara
Swami, that my first admirer would marry a girl whose nick-
name was "Noi." A wise man had once come to my father's
palace and solemnly given me the initials of Prince Win-
wathit as those of my future husband. My heart sank when-
ever I was reminded that none of these predictions had be-
come a reality. It appeared that those who could foresee the
future could also make mistakes. I realized, too, that a pre-
destined future was at variance with my father's philosophy
of the power within a person to shape his own destiny.

My attitude was the reverse of that of my mother's father,
Sang, who had jumped overboard from the ship that was
bearing him away to another land because he could not bear
the pain of leaving Siam. Much as I loved my homeland, if I
had had the strength I would have tried to swim to America.
Finally I took my whole problem to an astrologer in Bang-
kok, who told me positively that one day I would return to
Washington. But he would not say when that day was to be.

I worked on several projects that I thought might make a
trip possible, such as a plan to take to America a troup of

[235]

Thai singers or dancers, but I could get no backing for it. In
the meantime, I had a series of interesting jobs. I did not seek
them; they seemed to fall into my lap.

One day I went to rent a house on Mahainek Road. I was
about to walk toward Place Saladang, when an American,
who had a car, offered to drive me there. He told me an air
control was being established near Bangkok to instruct planes
after they passed Burma, reporting the weather and guiding
them to the tower. Americans were to organize the service,
and then the Thais were to take over. Thai girls who spoke
English were needed for the work. The preparation was dif-
ficult, he warned metwo years' training was to be jammed
into three months, eight hours' study a day was required in
navigation and meteorology. But to me it was exciting, and
I decided to try it.

I completed the training and worked at the Air Control
for five months. We had to learn about the weather; the time
and speed of planes; we had to know how to bring aircraft in
on different levels. We worked in shifts, one from 6 A.M. to
3 P.M; one from 3 P.M. to n P.M.; one from n P.M. to 6
A.M. A girl sat at a desk calculating time and speed; another
gave instructions to planes over a microphone. Everything
we said was recorded. If wrong instructions were given, we
were responsible.

The strain was tremendous. I remember only once before
in my life trying to face a work challenge so great. That was
when my father, in his great ambition for me and confidence
in my ability, had the idea that I should learn Sanskrit and
study the great Pali literature. Sanskrit, which is difficult to
master, developed from the ancient Vedic, and Pali, the lan-

[236]

guage in which the classical literature of India is written, is a
dialect of it. My father wished that my studies should cor-
respond with those of the Buddhist priests, and that I should
become the first girl Barian, which would mean that I would
attain the ninth or final credit of the Tharmyut Order estab-
lished by King Mongkut, when he was a priest.

Siamese men generally enter the Buddhist priesthood for
a period the time may range from weeks to years. As priests
they dedicate themselves to gentleness, self-denial, and com-
passion, and are subject to the more than two hundred rules
of the order. Copying Lord Buddha, they sleep on the ground
or a very thin mattress; wear but one garment, an orange
robe; go barefoot or in light sandals. They are not allowed to
touch money, they eat only what food is offered to them, and
after noon they are not allowed to eat at all, and drink only
tea or water. When they wish to leave the order they give
flowers to the high priest. If he accepts them, they are free.
Those who are students become deeply learned and are
highly venerated. It was with them that my father had wished
me to compete, and he expressed every confidence that I
would succeed.

For a time, burying myself in the ancient books, I had
struggled toward this lofty goal. Only after heroic efforts
did I finally admit I could not reach it. I believe my father
always felt that I might have done so.

The Air Control work was a different type of challenge
but I held to it with the same determination. Eventually,
however, I decided that my talents were better suited to some
other form of broadcasting.

I returned to government service as a newscaster in the

237]

Government Publicity Department, putting on a program
of overseas news, Thai music, and local promotion. My voice
was a part of the Voice of Thailand, and the work brought
me in close contact with the United States Information Serv-
ice. I acted as a liaison officer in the Foreign Division. There
I worked with journalists, reported interviews between offi-
cials and correspondents, and often acted as interpreter in
meetings with the prime minister.

I talked endlessly about my desire to return to the United
States. It had no apparent effect. I asked that my name be sent
to Washington as that of a candidate for broadcaster for the
Voice of America. For a long while nothing came of that,
either.

I had almost accepted defeat, when, without warning,
news came that the position was mine.

Having the opportunity, I was afraid to grasp it. To per-
suade my husband that I should leave Thailand without him
at first seemed too difficult. But for him to come with us now
was clearly impossible. We had five girls to support and to
educate and we faced that duty squarely. Ever since our re-
turn we had been convinced that what we wanted for our
daughters had to be secured for them in America; it was not
to be had in Siam. In the United States they would have an
education which was completely Western; they would grow
up in an operating democracy; they would become inter-
national minded in their thinking and attitudes. The decision
to live apart for a period to make these things possible was not
one that should be hampered by our emotional reactions.
After many long talks, my husband and I came to the same

[238]

conclusion. We must not selfishly cling to our own past, but
build for our children's future.

Quickly I began my preparations. The trip required all of
my savings. This time there could be no slow freighter to the
land of opportunity. With my two girls I was to fly to Eng-
land and then on to New York.

I thought I had become invulnerable to gossip, but on the
night of my departure from Bangkok die past again rose up
to taunt me. Before I was even aboard the plane, a scandal
sheet reported me as seen in London with Prince Chula, and
renewed the old speculation as to whether the time had come
for him to repeat his father's pattern in marriage, and discard
his English bride for a Siamese one. But I was too happy to
let the tabloids trouble me. When I reached London, the few
days I had there were busy and happy ones. Then we were
off to New York.

There was no turning back now. Through the long night
I thought longingly of my husband and his love and protec-
tion. But in the morning when we landed, although I had only
a quarter and two pennies left in my pocketbook, I was in
America, with a wonderful feeling that I had come home.

I discarded my title entirely. The Princess Rudivoravan
became plain Mrs. Rudi Voravan.

I borrowed money against my first month's salary, and
moved without unpacking when I discovered the hotel room
I had taken cost nine dollars a day. The Voice of America
studios where I was to work were in New York City then. I
had to be in the studio at an early hour in the morning and
did not get home until late afternoon, yet I did not want the

[239]

girls to live in the city. I found a home for us in Forest Hills,
Long Island, and twice daily faced the subway rush, which
for me was an ordeal.

It was a strange existence. Except for a short interval after
my divorce, even in my poorest days I had had service of some
sort; now I had to be wage earner, housekeeper, cook, nurse-
maid, and mother. However, gradually we developed a rou-
tine, and my daughters learned to do a great deal for them-
selves and helped me beautifully. After a time the studios
were moved to Washington, where we were given a much
finer building and equipment, and living conditions were
easier.

My childlike joy at being in America received some rude
shocks and I was made unpleasantly aware at times of being
both foreign and dark-skinned. I was insulted in a bus for not
giving up my seat. A surly shopkeeper growled at me, "Why
don't you people stay in your own country?" when I was
slow about change. A couple once got out of a cab rather
than share it with me; a taxicab driver refused to take me to
the station. But my American friends did not let me take
these things seriously. "We know just how you feel," I was
told. "We felt that way, too, when we joyfully went to Paris
and were shoved off the sidewalks, and read scrawled signs
on the walls that said, 'Americans, go home.' " They wouldn't
let me feel sorry for myself, and pretty soon I could laugh
such things off for what they are, the experiences a stranger
in a strange land must undergo at the hands of a few people.
At times they added so much to my discouragement that I
was on the verge of giving up. But in the end the kindness
of the many always outweighed them.

[240]

I was happy to be back in the capital, but it was a very dif-
ferent Washington than the one I had known in the days of
my husband's service here. The diplomatic life had been one
to which I was born. Now there was no social whirl, and
my skeptical friends predicted I would not like the change.
But holding a job as a professional broadcaster was a chal-
lenge, and for the first three years there was little time for
anything but hard work, so hard that often I was ill from
overdoing. But I had been fortunate enough to meet Dr. and
Mrs. Murray Israel, and they became my good friends. Dr.
Israel gave me professional treatment, and Marian Israel pro-
vided loving care until I became well and strong. They even
offered to sponsor me if I decided to become a permanent
resident here. What could I feel but love for a country where
I found people like these?

In the Thai Department of the Voice of America where I
worked there were five full-time and two part-time broad-
casters, a desk chief, and a secretary. My duties included
preparing and broadcasting daily a half -hour program for
Siamese women. It was beamed to San Francisco and then
rebroadcast to Thailand. It consisted of news, information,
commentary, art and cultural notes, women's features, and
music. It was a glorious opportunity to tell the democratic
story as it affects a woman's life, and I did my best to use it
well.

At first I felt I was operating in a vacuum. I sent the mes-
sage, but I had no idea how many of my countrywomen, if
any, listened to it. To find out, we offered a calendar to those
who wrote in, and received 10,000 replies. There seemed to
be proof I had an audience. From the beginning, broadcast-

ing was an Inspiring task. I did not mind the demands it made,
the long hours, the constant pressure. It was what I was here
for. It still is.

Soon after my return, I had to make important decisions in
regard to my daughters. When we had been in Washington
in the Diplomatic Service In 1947, I had enrolled both of
them in a private school They had done well enough in their
studies, but I was aware of the fact that they were given spe-
cial treatment because of their position. They were never re-
quired to do anything against their will. So, apart from the
expense involved, this time I felt the situation must be differ-
ent, and I entered them both in the public schools.

I believe it was a wise step. They have grown up as Ameri-
can girls and have developed as individuals. They are not
alike. Vanchit, the elder, is now past seventeen and is re-
garded by some people as a beauty. She is quiet, gentle, ar-
tistic, a fine cook, a good housekeeper. Fifteen-year-old Kon-
thip, whose nickname is Lek, which means "little," is more
studious. She keeps in the top group in her class; she has a
mathematical flair like her father; also she is more athletic.
She is a cheerleader on the sports field. She shows talent, too,
as a painter, and she likes to design clothes. In aU of these
things both girls have had free expression. They have made
their own way in open competition with American young
people and I am pleased with their records.

Time seemed to pass swiftly in our new home, and its flight
brought new decisions. When I came to work for the Voice
of America in 195 1 I was admitted to the United States as a
visitor, with permission to remain here for two years. That
had seemed a sufficient period for me to establish myself, and

[242;]

for my husband to make his arrangements to join us. But the
period was up and that had not been possible. There was a
pull on my heart for all we had left behind, but I could not
give up the dream that we would make our life here. I asked
that my status be changed to that of "exchange visitor" and
went on working and hoping.

The time limit on my stay with that status expired in Jan-
uary 1956.

The hour for ultimate decision was upon me. I must face
final separation from my husband, or I must leave this coun-
try which meant so much to me, forever.

I was torn to bits by a conflict of desires. My mind was in
tumult for days, but my decision was made for me by a con-
viction which at last shone clear. I was committed beyond
possibility of change to Western thinking. I must live out my
life in America.

No course was left to me but to ask to be made a permanent
resident of the United States.

To take this step, it was necessary to make application from
outside the country. How to do this was what King Mong-
kut is said to have termed a "puzzlement," since I lacked time
and means for a long trip. Finally an arrangement was made
to send my papers to Canada, and I applied for leave from
Washington in order to go there to sign them.

I felt overwhelmed by the tremendous thing which was
about to happen to me. My hope had been a trembling one
for so long. Although I had seen members of the royal family
frequently in Washington and we were all friendly once
more, a desire to live in Siam again, even in luxury, was out-
weighed by my satisfaction with my life here. I knew I was

about to take a step which would determine the future course
of my life. For days I had to fight the alternating waves of
fear which came whenever I thought of the finality of my act,
or when it occurred to me that my plans might miscarry and
I would find myself automatically shipped back to Thailand,
with no chance of returning.

There is no way to explain to those who have citizenship in
America as their birthright how intense my anxiety was. I
had come to love this country, to enjoy every moment of the
freedom, the simple dignity, the warm friendliness it offered.
Once my application was accepted, I would no longer be a
visitor, an outsider peering through a glass partition at the life
within. I would belong to it, I would be a part of the democ-
racy which is America. I would no longer have to try to be
like an American. I could be an American.

It seemed almost too satisfying to be true. And when, hav-
ing obtained my leave, I boarded the train for Montreal, I
discovered that perhaps it was not true. As we approached
the border, the Canadian immigration officials came through
the train checking the passengers. They looked at my identi-
fication and credentials and then at me, sternly.

"These papers do not permit you to enter Canada, Miss,"
they told me.

"I do* not plan to stay there. I am going only to Montreal
on an errand"

"It makes no difference why you go, or for how long. You
won't be allowed to cross the border at all."

I told them the purpose of my visit. They were polite but
they did not appear to regard it as important. Their interest
was in one thing only I was trying to enter their country il-

legally and it was their duty to prevent it. Nothing I could
do or say persuaded them that I should go to Montreal, even
for an hour.

I explained once more, with tears in my eyes, that I was on
leave from a government job, that I had to file the application
in Montreal quickly, and that this afforded the only way pos-
sible for me to obtain American citizenship. I argued use-
lessly. Then I began to plead. I was sure that arrangements
had been made for my coming here, since papers had been
sent ahead. Wouldn't they at least call their superior, and ex-
plain rny difficulties, and get a ruling on the matter?

When I finally persuaded them to make the attempt, their
superior could not be reached. A message was left for him,
but time was up. We had reached the border and they were
about to lead me from the train when word came that special
permission had been granted to me to proceed as far as Mon-
treal. Once there, I must remain in the custody of the immi-
gration officials until the whole matter of my trip was checked
with the Americal consul.

For the rest of the journey I sat like a convict, under the
watchful eye of the law. Obviously I had failed to make the
proper moves. Something was wrong. If through some blun-
der I lost this last chance to stay in America, it was all over.
What would I do then?

Whatcoz/WI do?

It was at that moment that seeds of faith planted in a distant
past bore sudden fruit. It was not a faith of any one religion
or creed. Rather, it was a combined remembrance of all that
I had been taught by many people, in England, in Siam, in
America, of the power of good and of man's ability to appeal

to that power. All at once, without conscious decision, I
found myself praying, not with flowers of the Orient, not
with the sign of the Cross, only with deep and desperate need
of a God who knew and cared and who heard the cry of
troubled hearts.

u Dear God, please get me to Montreal. Have my papers
there. Please let me stay in America." Then I added words
that seemed to me somehow to justify this appeal from a
stranger at the gates of heaven, who had neither a cross on her
forehead nor a candle in her hands.

"And please help me to be a good American."

I had learned several rituals. I had recited my Latin for the
Sisters in the convent. I had read the Episcopal service in the
cold chapel in England. I had murmured broken phrases in
childish appeal to Buddha. But I think this was my heart's
first real prayer. After I had prayed it, I could sit quietly until
the train arrived in Montreal.

The immigration officials went with me to a telephone
booth in the railway station and stood beside me while I called
the American consul. His words seemed the most beautiful I
had ever heard.

"Everything is all right, Rudi Voravan. Your papers are
ready for you."

My heart sang as I signed my name. My prayer was an-
swered.

Five years is not a long period of time, and the busy days
fly by. And they are good days. I have joy in my daughters,
my home, and my work. My son, Somjanok Kridakara, is
graduated from Sandhurst. In Thailand, he is making the
army his career. When he came for some special study at

[246]

Fort Knox, he was able to visit me. He is married, and now
from Bangkok I receive pictures of my small grandson. This
happiness I find in my children often reminds me of niy father
and his joy in me.

I find it curious that in this city of the West, far from my
birthplace, my father seems closer to me than ever before.
Perhaps it is because his thought had so much in common with
the American idealism. Everything I do my broadcasting
my efforts to promote understanding between the two lands
I love best, the telling of my story in this bookall is dedicated
to him.

People sometimes offer me sympathy. They say that work-
ing as I do for the Voice of America must be difficult. That
surely it is hard for a royal princess to build a career in a
democratic country. I do not require any condolence. I be-
lieve that the Voice of America, broadcasting around the
globe in forty-three languages, is doing a magnificent service
for the world and that, as a princess who regards herself first
as a free human being, it is right that I should be a part of such
a service. I am fortunate to live and work in a country where
I feel secure and confident, where there is friendliness on
every side as reassuring as a handclasp.

With this attitude, I can face the future with tranquillity,
much preferring my work to the seclusion of any forbidden
city. I am no longer afraid; I have a fund of hard-won wisdom
to protect me. I have traveled far, often painfully. But as I
look back along the way I see that suffering is for a purpose.
Life is a lesson. We must learn it.

I feel that I begin to regard this process of learning as my
father did. Our Siamese tendency, which is to go to any

lengths to avoid hurting others, has deep roots in our desire
never to be hurt ourselves. Yet not to be vulnerable to pain
is to lack capacity for true joy. To avoid deep experience is
to run the risk of never really living at all, of only existing, in
what a Lebanese poet described as a "seasonless world, where
you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but
not all of your tears." * I believe what my father wished for
me was not that I should not weep, but that, having wept all
my tears, I might in the end laugh all my laughter. I try to
travel in the way he would have me go.

And in this land which he never knew, but of which he
dreamed, I know that his love is with me always, and Rudi-
voravan is still a treasured one.

* From The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, by permission of Alfred A.
Knopf, Inc. Copyright 1923 by Kahlil Gibran, Renewal copyright 1951 by
Administrators, C. T. A. of Kahlil Gibran estate, and Mary G. Gibran.

GLOSSARY

Wat Siamese temple

Bot Chapel where laymen are ordained and become
priests.

Vihar Preaching hall.
Chedi Shrine.
Stupa Relic shrine.
Pranga Cambodian tower.
Klong Canal.
Muhala Crown.
Kathin Royal barge.

City of the Nang Ham the section of the Grand Palace
occupied by the king's household, the Forbidden
Women.

Kang Nai inside the secluded area for the royal prin-
cesses and female members of the king's household.

Kang Nork outside the area for the princes and no-
bles.

Panung traditional Siamese garment for both men and
women of Siam; made of a broad strip of cloth
wrapped about the waist and brought forward be-
tween the knees.

Pasin a wrapped skirt.
Ternpone drum-like musical instrument.
249;]

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