TUPTIM'S TRIAL.
About seven o'clock on the following morning I was in the Sala or San Shuang, which is within the second enclosure of the palace, but outside of the third or inner wall, which is that of the harem. This building is of one story only, and totally unlike that occupied for similar purposes in the interior of the grand palace. The main entrance was through a long, low corridor, on both sides of which opened apartments of different dimensions, so dilapidated as to be scarcely habitable, looking out upon the barracks, the magazine, and the fantastic grounds of the palace gardens. On entering the hall one was at once struck by the incongruities that met the eye; the windows were large and lofty, and might have served for the casements of a royal residence, while the doors were very narrow and mean, and the floor merely a collection of worm-eaten boards roughly nailed down. One interesting and picturesque peculiarity was the monstrous size of the spiders, who must have had undisturbed possession of the walls and ceiling for at least a century. Altogether, it was very dark, dull, and dreary, even depressing and sepulchral, when not illumined by the direct rays of the sun.
Several of the men and women judges were already there, interchanging greetings and offerings of the contents of their betel-boxes. P'hayaprome Baree Rak, the chief of the men, and Khoon Thow App, chief of the women judges, sat apart, the latter with her head bowed in an attitude of reflection and sadness. Before them were low tables, on which lay dark rolls of laws, Siamese paper, pens, and ink. Some lower officials and clerks crouched around. They all eyed me with curiosity as I entered and took a seat at the end of the hall, near the two priests who were present as witnesses; but no one made any objection to my stay.
I had not been there long when a file of Amazons appeared, bringing in Tuptim and the two other girls under guard. These were Maprang and Simlah, Tuptim's most intimate friends, whom I had always seen with her when she came to the school-room.
But was that Tuptim? I sat stupefied at the transformation that had been wrought in the Tuptim I had known. Her hair was cut close to her head, and her eyebrows had been shaved off. Her cheeks were hollow and sunken. Her eyes were cast down. Her hands were manacled, and her bare little feet could hardly drag along the heavy chains that were fastened to her ankles. Her scarf was tied tightly over her bosom, and under it her close-fitting vest was buttoned up to the throat. Her whole form was still childlike, but she held herself erect, and her manner was self-possessed. When she spoke, her voice was clear and vibrating, her accent firm and unflinching.
The Amazons laid before the judges some priests' garments and a small amulet attached to a piece of yellow cord. The vestments, such as are worn by a nain (young priest), were those in which Tuptim had been arrested, and in which she had probably escaped from the palace; the amulet, in appearance like those worn by all the natives of the country, had been taken from her neck. On opening the yellow silk which formed the envelope of the latter, a piece of paper was found stitched inside, with English letters written thereon. Khoon Thow App was sufficiently versed in English to spell out and read aloud the name of "Khoon P'hra Bâlât."
Tuptim was then ordered to come forward. She dragged herself along as well as she could, and took her place in the centre of the hall. She made no obeisance, no humble, appealing prostration, but neither was there any want of modesty in her demeanor. She sat down with the air of one who suffered, but who was too proud to complain. I caught a glance of her eyes; they were clear and bright, and an almost imperceptible melancholy smile flitted across her face as she returned my greeting. I was more astonished than before; the simple child was transfigured into a proud, heroic woman, and, as she sat there, she seemed so calm and pure, that one might think she had already crystallized into a lovely statue.
Simlah and Maprang were examined first, and, without apparent reluctance, confessed all that poor Tuptim had ever confided to them, and a great many other irrelevant matters. But when Simlah spoke of her friend's escape from the palace as connected with Khoon P'hra Bâlât's coming in for alms,[4] Tuptim interrupted her, telling her to stop, and saying: "That's not true. You are wrong, Simlah, you know nothing about it. You know you don't. And it was not at that time." Then, as if recollecting herself, she added, proudly: "No matter. Go on. Never mind me. Say all that you want to say"; and resumed her former position.
"Well!" said P'hayaprome Baree Rak, the chief man judge; "if your companions know nothing about it, perhaps you will tell us exactly how it was."