Katya & The Prince of Siam

Katya during her trip back to Bangkok to attend the funeral of Prince Chakrabongse. Standing from left: Prince Traitip and Prince Priddhitepong Devakul and Prince Mahidol. Seated from left: Princess Pichitchirapa Devakul and Katya.

 

 

Notwithstanding her joy at seeing him again and the pleasure she derived from the companionship of her dog, L’Or, who seldom left her side, this period before the cremation when she could see the elaborate royal funeral pyre rise higher every day against the summer sky was a traumatic ordeal. Warring emotions – memories of shared happiness within the gates of Paruskavan, closed forever against her now – and vain remorse for sharp words and bitter wrangles that seemed at present so trivial before death’s irrevocable finality, tormented her. In addition, from what Chula told her of Chakrabongse’s last days, she felt he had been hurried towards his end by the childish irresponsibility of Chavalit. And years later, as quoted before, this still provoked an anguished cry of regret in a letter to her son: ‘If we had not parted, he might still be alive!’ She meant, of course, that being medically trained, she would have realised how gravely ill he was and, unlike Chavalit, would not have urged him to leave his cabin for the deck on that last fatal voyage to Singapore.

While she was in Bangkok, Katya had several audiences with the King, during which Chula was naturally the main topic of discussion. The monarch, now Chula’s official guardian, had created his nephew a Royal Highness, and had decreed he should go to England, first to private tutors and then to Sandhurst, as he himself had done. Katya’s suggestion that she should live in England to be near him and look after him was agreeably but firmly turned down. Vajiravudh believed that Chula should ‘rough it on his own’ as he and other princes had, adding graciously that Katya might see him during his long summer holidays.

As all had been decided without reference to her, she knew she had been relegated, courteously but definitely set aside, so that whatever part she eventually played in Chula’s life would be within limits set by the King, which would effectively remove her son from her influence. And while she perceived that, under the circumstances, this was only to be expected she began to feel alienated from the country and people she had once made her own. This in its turn made her realise there was no going back and that she must make a new life for herself elsewhere.

She also learned that the King, being an absolute monarch, had suspended Chakrabongse’s will in which he had left his entire fortune to Chavalit, and to Chula on her death. The King decreed instead that Chula, Katya and Chavalit should each receive income from Chakrabongse’s estate, but could not touch the capital. Furthermore, Paruskavan was to be returned to the Crown, and Chavalit was ordered to move to the much smaller house at Ta Tien, scene of many a romantic rendezvous with Chakrabongse when they were first in love.

As it happened, this frivolous light-hearted girl who, if she had not caused, had precipitated the break-up of his marriage to Katya, quite soon forgot him for she married one of her cousins, Prince Amorn, only a year after Chakrabongse’s death, in 1921. As Prince Amorn was well-connected and wealthy, he presumably had no objection to Chavalit giving up her income from Chakrabongse’s estate, a condition imposed by the King before he would grant her permission to marry.

The day of the Cremation – a day dreaded by Katya for months – arrived and was conducted with the impressive formality and moving ceremony she knew so well. However, she again suffered from a now familiar feeling of alienation, as though it was not she who walked so slowly and solemnly in the lengthy procession but someone else – a former self. And that evening her thoughts turned as though just liberated, to Peking and Harry Stone, who had proposed to her before she left. Being then uncertain what awaited her in Bangkok she had neither answered ‘yes’ nor ‘no’ but begged him to wait until her position was clear. Now she began to wonder whether during her lengthy absence he had begun to waver and perhaps to change his mind. She felt her life was in suspension: she neither belonged in Siam nor knew for certain what awaited her in China.