To M. Charles Mouhot (his Brother).
Bangkok, 13th October, 1860.
To you, my dear brother, I address my last letter before quitting Bangkok for my long journey to Laos. I have waited till the last moment for the steamer which ought to bring me letters from Europe, but unfortunately I am obliged to set out without receiving any answers to those which I sent in May, on my return from Cambodia. I fear that, once in the interior of the country, I shall have no means of sending letters; arm yourself, therefore, with patience, dear brother, and do not think me neglectful if you do not receive any; but be sure that I, alone in those profound solitudes, shall suffer more than you, from my ignorance of everything concerning those dear to me; and during the eighteen or twenty months which the journey will probably occupy I shall not see a European face nor hear a word which can recall to me my beloved country.
I have done everything in my power to obtain letters and passports from the French and Siamese authorities here, but all have been nearly useless. I have obtained nothing but a letter from the King’s brother, who has the superintendence of the provinces north of Laos, and with that I trust to be able to get on. The good Dr. Campbell has supplied me with medicines of all kinds, and as I am nearly acclimatized, and have with me devoted followers—one particularly, Phrai, who would die for me—you may be easy on my account. Besides, and I really know not why, I have hitherto been much liked by the missionaries and natives, and I am sure it will be the same there. Fever does not kill all travellers. I have traversed many dangerous districts in my journey to Cambodia, and I am safe. Let us trust in God, my brother, that I shall be as fortunate in this expedition, and that we shall meet again. Nothing is requisite but courage, hope, and patience. I am sober, and drink nothing but tea. My food is the same as that of the natives, dried fish and rice, and sometimes a little game which I shoot, and roast on a spit after the fashion of the natives, that is, by two bamboos stuck into the ground and another laid horizontally on them, which is turned from time to time. My amusements are hunting, arranging my collections, my drawings, to which I devote a great deal of time, and of which some are not bad, as you may judge by those sent to the Geographical Society of London, and my journal; with those I pass many pleasant hours. Besides, you know how I love nature, and am only really happy in the woods with my gun, and that when there, if I know you all to be happy, I have nothing to wish for. I often think of our good old father, but as long as you are with him I feel easy about him; you will make him bear my absence patiently, repeat often to him how I love him, and how happy I shall be when I can tell him about my long journeys. And you, my brother, love and cherish your two dear children, my little nephews; inculcate in them the love of nature, and teach them to think that virtue is recompensed even here, and a good conscience ennobles more than patents of nobility, or orders in the button-hole; bring up your little ones in the love of God, and of all that is good and great. Think and talk sometimes with Jenny of the poor traveller. Adieu, my brother!
To Madame Charles Mouhot (his Sister-in-law).
Khao Khoc, 21st December, 1861.
An unexpected opportunity presents itself, my dear Jenny, to send you a few words before proceeding farther. A new year is about to commence: may you, my dear little sister, experience in its course only joy and satisfaction; may your interesting little family cause you unmixed happiness; in a word, I desire every possible good for you. As for myself, I ask nothing but the happiness of seeing you all again. Think occasionally of the poor traveller whom every day removes farther and farther from civilization, and who for eighteen months or perhaps two years is about to live alone in a strange place, where I shall not have even the consolation of meeting those good missionaries as at Brelum and in Cambodia.
You know my manner of life, so I shall not repeat it. The heat and the musquitoes make a real hell of this place. Those who praise it must have hard heads and skins, or else must be comfortably lodged, and surrounded by an army of slaves. They know nothing but its enjoyments. If there is one pleasant hour in the morning and another in the evening, one must think oneself lucky, for often there is no peace night or day. My pleasures are, first, liberty, that precious thing without which man cannot be happy, and for which so many have fought and will fight still; then, seeing so much that is beautiful, grand, and new, and which no one has seen before me. From these I draw my contentment. Thank God! my health is as good as when I left you, although three years have passed over me.
Soon I shall be in Laos, and then, what strange things I shall see daily! what curious beings I shall meet, to whom I shall be equally an object of curiosity! I shall have delightful days, then, perhaps, sad ones, if my servants have the fever, which happens at intervals. If only to enliven these solitudes, I could have you here, my dear Jenny, or if I could sing like you, or even like a nightingale! Sometimes I do make use of my falsetto voice, and hum the beautiful airs of Béranger, and feel strengthened by the sublime odes of that great man of genius.
Two or three thin volumes—I say thin, for the white ants have eaten the greater part of them—and a few old newspapers (new to me) compose my library; but I have blank paper, which I fill as I best can; it is an amusement, at least; and if it turn out of no other use than to serve to amuse you all, I shall be satisfied, for I am not ambitious. I dream as I smoke my pipe, for I must confess that I smoke more than ever.