T haunts my thoughts morn, night, and noon, The story of the woman, Boon,— Haunts me like restless ghost, until I give myself to do its will; Cries voiceless, yet as voices cry,— "O singer, can this tale pass by Untold by thee? Thy heart is wrung In vain, if dies the song unsung." I am unworthy: master hands Should strike the chords, and fill the lands From sea to sea with melody All reverent, yet with harmony Majestic, jubilant, to tell How love must love, if love loves well; How once incarnate love was found On earth, dishonored, martyr-crowned, Crowned by a heathen woman's name,— O blessed Boon, of peerless fame! In Siam's court the Buddhist King Held festival. Fair girls to sing, And dance, and play, were led between Close ranks of Amazons in green And gold. In chariot milk-white Of ivory, and glittering bright With flowers garlanded, rode Choy, The young, the beautiful; with joy And subtle pride no words could tell, Her virgin bosom rose and fell. No dream the Siam maiden knew More high or blest than that which grew In Choy's poor blinded heart,—to be The favorite of the King, and see The other wives beneath her feet. From babyhood, that this was sweet The child was taught. How should she know They told her false, and worked her woe!
The song, the dance, the play, were done, Choy's fatal triumph had been won. The old king's bleared and lustful eyes Had marked her for his next new prize. Asking her name, as low she bowed Before the throne, he called aloud,— "Which of my nobles springs to lead Her chariot ponies? Do I need Speak farther?" Speak farther?"On the instant, two Young nobles robed in white sprang through The crowd, and kneeling as to queen, With low-bent head and reverent mien, They walked the chariot beside. The bands burst forth in swelling tide Of music, and the curtain fell. One noble, smitten by the spell Of Choy's great beauty, whispered, "God, How beautiful thou art!" How beautiful thou art!""My Lord, Have care," the scornful Choy exclaimed: "'T were ill for thee, if thou wert blamed By me." By me."The other noble silent gazed, With eyes whose glance strange tumuit raised Within Choy's breast. He did not speak: All spoken words had fallen weak, After his look. Yet Choy's heart burned To hear his voice. Sudden she turned, And leaning forward said, "How now, What seest thou in air that thou Art dumb?" Art dumb?"With trembling lips he spoke,— "O Lady, till thy sweet voice broke Upon the air, I thought I saw An angel; now, with no less awe, But greater joy, I see thou art A woman," A woman,"Ah, they know not heart Of man or woman, who declare That love needs time to love and dare. His altars wait,—not day nor name, Only the touch of sacred flame.
The song, the dance, the play were done. Oh, fatal triumph Choy had won! Oh, hateful life she thought was sweet! She knelt before the old king's feet, A slave, a toy, a purchased thing, Which to his worn-out sense might bring Pleasure again of touch, of sight. Doting, he named her "Chorm," "Delight," Decked her with jewels, gave her power, And day and night, and hour by hour, With hideous caresses sought Joy in the thing which he had bought. And hour by hour, and night and day, Wasted poor Choy's young life away. One thrilling voice, one glowing face, One thought of such a love's embrace, Haunted her thoughts, and racked her breast, Robbed her of peace, robbed her of rest, Made of her life such living lie, Such torture, she but prayed to die.
Months passed, and she knew not the name Of him she loved. At last there came The fated day. A woman slave, New in the palace, quickly gave, Answering Choy's artful questioning, The noble's name. The noble's name."Ah, go and bring Me news of him," said Choy. "He bore Himself so loftily, I more Recall him than all else that day. Seek out minutely in what way He lives; what may his harem hold. He seemed to me so silent, cold, No doubt some Houri keeps him chained," With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned, Cried Choy. Cried Choy.At dusk of night returned The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned Itself on Choy's glad heart. Itself on Choy's glad heart.The Duke, Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook His harem on the day he led The Favorite's chariot ponies. Dead He seemed to all he once had loved: No fear, no joy, his spirit moved. His friends believed that he was mad, Or else some mortal illness had. A feverish joy filled all Choy's thought, She knew by what this change was wrought. Love's keenest pain, if shared like this, No longer seemed a pain, but bliss. Again the faithful slave she sent, With message of one word, which meant But "I remember." But "I remember.""I love much," The Duke sent back. Ah, madness such As this was never seen. The halls Of tyrants' palaces have walls Higher than Love's and Hope's last breath, Wider than Life, deeper than Death!
Embroidered with a thread of gold On silk, and hidden fold on fold, As if an amulet she wore, Her lover's name the poor Choy bore By night, by day, upon her heart. The new slave woman, with an art As tender as a sister's, sought To comfort her. Each day she brought New message from the Duke, each night Lay at her mistress' feet till light. O Buddha! pitiful, divine, All-seeing, gav'st thou no sign To warn these faithful, loving three, Who were as faithful unto thee As to each other! Didst thou teach The cruel tyrant how to reach Their life blood, that thy arm might save Them by the surety of the grave? Might give to their expiring breath The gift of life, in shape of death? Ah, Buddha! pitiful, divine, Thy gifts of death record no sign Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave Some voice of surety for the grave. The hours grew ripe: the hour was set, The night had come. Choy slumbered yet, While faithful Boon, with footsteps light, Made all things ready for their flight. Sudden a clash of arms,—a gleam Of fire of torches! From her dream Choy waked, and on her threshold saw, Dread sight which chilled her blood with awe, Standing with panting voice and breath, Maï Taïe, Mother of Death, Cruelest of all the Amazons, Slayer of all convicted ones Who braved the tyrant's wrath and hate. Choy called on Boon. Too late! too late! Boon fettered lay with gag and chain; Most piteous eyes, faithful in pain, Unto her mistress lifting still. With blows and jeers wreaking their will, The soldier women, fierce and strong, Dragged weeping Choy and Boon along The by-ways of the silent town, And flung them, chained and helpless, down Into a dark and loathsome cell. Soon as their footsteps' echoes fell Faintly afar, Choy whispered low,— "O Boon, dear Boon! tell me hast thou Confessed?" Confessed?""Dear Lady, no!" she cried. "No tortures tyrants ever tried Shall wring from me one word of blame Against Phaya Phi Chitt's dear name." That instant, flashing through Choy's heart Strange instinct swept. Strange instinct swept."Tell me who art Thou, Boon," she said: "why dost thou cling To me through all this suffering? All other women I have known Had left me now to die alone, O Boon, conceal from me no more! Tell me the truth in this dread hour!" Then, looking newly at her face, She saw it beauty had, and grace; Saw that the feet were lithe and fine, The hands were small and smooth: each sign Of tender nurture and high blood This loving woman bore, who stood To her as slave. Unearthly sweet Grew Boon's pale face, as to the feet Of Choy, all crippled, chained, she crept, And, as she strove to speak, but wept And sobbed,— And sobbed,—"O Lady dear, forgive That I deceived thee! I but live For thy dear Duke. I am his wife Dumb wonder sealed Choy's lips. A strife Of fierce mistrust warred in her breast. At last, stern-faced, "Tell me the rest," She said. She said.Closer, more humbly still Boon crept, and said,— Boon crept, and said,—"Lady, I will; And, by the heart of Buddha, thou Canst but forgive when thou dost know The whole. "The day my husband came Home from the fête, he spoke thy name And told thy beauty unto me, And said that from that moment he, His thought, his heart, his blood, were thine,— Thine utterly, and no more mine Again. What could I do but weep? I saw him pine. No food, no sleep, He took. I thought that he must die. What could I do? O Lady, I So loved him that I longed as he That fate might give him joy and thee. I vowed to him that I would win Thee for his wife. How to begin I knew not, when I found thou wert The King's last favorite. It hurt My pride to be a slave. The gold Lies in the sea for which I sold Myself to thee, rather than break My vow. But easy for his sake, I loved him so, thy service came, Soon as I found that his dear name Was dear to thee as thine to him; That, when I spoke it, it could dim Thine eyes with passion's tears, like those Which he had shed in passion's throes, For want of thee. O Lady, none Of all thy sighs and tears, not one, But I have flown and faithful told, That he might know thou wert not cold. Each word of beauty, nobleness, Which thou didst speak, I bore to bless His heart with knowledge more complete Of thee. O Lady, the deceit Was only for his precious sake And thine: no other way to take I knew. My husband is so great, So good, I was but humble mate For him. As shadow follows shape, My heart in life cannot escape From following his; nor yet in death Shall it be changed: with dying breath, From Buddha I one joy will wrest, That he find rapture in thy breast." Boon ceased, and in her slender hands, Which scarce could lift her fetter bands, Buried her face. Choy did not speak. Her reverence knew not where to seek For fitting words which she might dare To use to Boon. The midnight air Heard only sobs, as close between Her arms she drew Boon's head to lean Upon her breast. The long night waned, And still in silence sat the chained And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled, Poor, and untrue, beside this one Great deed she never could have done. "Ah, me! his wife has loved him best," In bitterness her heart confessed, Yet jealousy for shame was dead. Her tears fell loving on Boon's head: "Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low, "To Buddha pitiful we go." Next morning when the judges dread Cross-questioned Boon, she simply said, "My Lords, what can a poor slave know?' Weary at last, the fearful blow Of lashes on her naked feet They ordered. Blood ran down the sweet Soft flesh: still came the answer low, "My Lords, what can a poor slave know? Be pitiful!" The swift blows fell Again: no cry, no sound, to tell That it was pain, Boon gave; no sign Of faltering. They poured down wine To stay her strength, and then again,— Oh, surely fiends they were, not men!— Again, from slender neck to waist, The cutting blows in angry haste With tenfold violence they laid. Each blow a line of red blood made; Yet, when they paused, the answer came Steadfast, heroic, in the same Pathetic words, more feeble, slow, "My Lords, what can a poor slave know?" Then in the torture of the screw, Whose pain has led strong men to do Dishonor to their souls and God, They bound this woman's hands. Sweat stood In bloody drops along her brow, Yet from her lips not even now Was heard one syllable. Was heard one syllable.In rage, The baffled tyrants to assuage Her sufferings tried every art Which could be tried by kindest heart, And snatched her back from death again, Again to tortures fresh; in vain! Night came, and from her lips no word Had fallen. All night they faintly stirred, As if in sleep she dreamed and spoke. Choy watching, weeping by her, took Her hand, and said,— Her hand, and said,—"Oh, tell thy Choy, Art thou in mortal pain?" Art thou in mortal pain?""My joy Is greater than my pain," she said, "That this poor flesh hath not betrayed My love. Thanking great Buddha now, I pray unceasing, till we go Again to torture." Then no more Boon spoke. To Choy, but little lower Than angel she appeared. Ah! true It was the wife loved best! Love knew His own. His angels comforted Her soul with joy through hours which bred But anguish in Choy's breast. But anguish in Choy's breast.Too soon Came cruel day, and brought to Boon Again the lash, the screw; again Unto the door of death in vain They tortured her: no word escaped Her bloodless lips. Her face seemed shaped Of iron, so calm, so resolute; A superhuman light her mute And upward gaze transfigured, till In awe the torturers stood still. Then, binding up her wounds, they laid Her on a couch to rest. New shade Of anguish now her face revealed, Waiting Choy's words. All unconcealed, No doubt, the weaker love lay bare Before her instinct. It could dare For self: now that for self remained No hope, no future to be gained, Could it for him be true, be great? Ah, this true torture was,—to wait Another woman's courage! Eyes Of fire Boon fixed on Choy. To rise She helpless strove, in impulse vain, As if by touch she could sustain Choy's strength. Her gaze was like a cry. "Oh, what is death, is suffering, by The side of truth? If thou dost love Another, thought of self can move Thee not. If thou dost love, to bear The worst is nothing. Dost thou dare Betray, thou art a coward, liar!" Entreated, warned Boon's eyes of fire. They held Choy's eyes as by a spell. Feeble the judges' stern tones fell, Idle the threats of torture seemed, Beside the scorching look which gleamed Upon that woman's face. Upon that woman's face.Thus stayed And stung, Choy bore the blows which laid Her quivering flesh in furrows. Feet And neck and shoulders, all the sweet Fair skin was torn: her blood ran down As Boon's had run,—not of her own Resolve, but born of Boon's the strength Which silent sealed her lips. At length The one sure pain which torturers know They tried. No rack, no fire, no blow, Is dreadful as the screw. At first Sharp turn it gave, a loud cry burst From Choy,— From Choy,—"O Boon, forgive, forgive! I cannot bear this pain, and live! And, shrieking out her lover's name, She cowered before Boon's eyes of flame. One cry of uttermost despair From Boon rang out upon the air, Her fettered arms above her head She lifted, and fell back as dead. Ah! true it was, the wife loved best! How true, that cry of Choy's confessed. To love which she had so betrayed, No prayer she for forgiveness made: On him whom she had thought her life She called not, but upon his wife.
Swift sped the feet of them who sought The lover. Ere the noon, they brought Him also. Boon, with anguished eyes, Beheld him there. She could not rise, But, creeping on her hands and feet, She cried, in tones unearthly sweet,— "O Lords! O Judges! look at me, And listen. It was I, not he. I am his wife. I laid the plot. Except for me, the thought had not Been his. 'T was only I deceived The Lady Choy. He but believed What I desired.The guilt is mine, All mine. Tell them it was not thine, My husband,—I can bear the whole." And, as she turned to him, the soul Of love ineffable set smile Upon her face. Her piteous guile, Transparent, thrilled each heart and ear That heard her pleading voice. A tear Fell from the sternest Amazon, Fierce Khoon Thow App, as in a tone No mortal from her lips had heard Before, she said, "O Boon, what stirred Thy heart to this? Thy motive tell!" The question all unanswered fell. Boon lay again as if in death, With closed eyes and gasping breath.
All night, low on the dark cell's floor, Lay Boon and Choy; for Boon no more Remained in life. When Choy crept near, And humbly spoke, she answered, "Dear, Farewell!"—no other word. Choy strove,— Poor Choy! her feebler, lesser love. Avenging on herself its sin,— Strove from the greater love to win Some healing stay. Too sweet to pain, Too loyal and too true to feign, Boon made but one reply, which fell Fainter and fainter, "Dear, farewell!" That night, at midnight, sat the King And Lords in council. For the thing Phaya Phi Chitt and Choy had planned, Scarcely in all that cruel land Was known a punishment which seemed Sufficient. Fierce his red wrath gleamed, As cried the King,— As cried the King,—"At dawn shall fly The vultures with their hungry cry. Rare feast for them ready by noon Shall be three traitors' bodies hewn In pieces, and with offal cast Abroad, that to the very last Low grade of life they may return, And grovel with the beasts to learn, Through countless ages, in what way Kings punish when their slaves betray. Long generations shall forget Their base-born names, ere souls are set Again within their foul, false flesh, To murder love and trust afresh!"[2]
Ah! true it was, the wife loved best! Love knew his own, gave her his rest; And, to the other woman, doom Of life-long woe and life-long gloom. O cruel friends who prayed the King, Who dreamed Choy to this world could cling! Reprieved from death, to life condemned, Sad prisoner forever hemmed Within the hated palace-wall; By all despised, and shunned by all, Lonely and broken-hearted, she Weeps day and night in misery. And day and night one picture haunts Her weary brain, her sorrow taunts,— Picture of Buddha's fairest fields, Where every hour new transport yields, And where the lover whom she slew, Loyal at last, and glad and true, In full Elysium's perfect rest, Walks with the one who loved him best! It haunts me morn, and night, and noon: This story of the woman, Boon,— Haunts me like restless ghost, that says,— "Oh, where is love in these sad days! Rise up, and in my might and name Plead for the altar and the flame." I am unworthy: master hands Should strike the chords, and fill the lands From sea to sea with melody Of such transcendent harmony That it all jubilant might tell How love must love, if love loves well. Yet, telling all, and flooding lands With melody, the master hands Could strike no deeper chord than I, When from a woman's heart I cry,— "O martyred Boon, of peerless fame, Incarnate in thy life, Love came!"
THE STORY OF BOON.
"With trembling lips he spoke."
THE STORY OF BOON.
"Sudden a clash of arms,—a gleam Of fire of torches!"
↑This story of Boon is strictly true. It is told by Mrs. Leonowens, the English Governess at the Siamese court. She took it down from Choy's own lips.
↑The Siamese believe that, whenever a dead body is not burned, its soul is condemned to begin life again in the lowest animal form.
T haunts my thoughts morn, night, and noon,
