From time to time appears, amidst the picturesque assemblage, the boat of some European, always to be recognised by his “chimney-pot” or silk hat.
Drawn by M. Sabatier, from a Sketch by M. Mouhot.
A PRIEST IN HIS BOAT.
All these scenes passed rapidly away, and, before long, I could only hear the distant sounds of the music, and see a few scattered boats adorned with streamers, passing up or down the river, being often skilfully managed by girls and very young children, who amused themselves by racing. It is evident, from the careless gaiety of these people, that they do not suffer the frightful poverty but too often met with in our large cities. When his appetite is satisfied—and, for that, all that is necessary is a bowl of rice, and some fish seasoned with capsicum—the Siamese is lively and happy, and sleeps without care for the morrow; he is, in fact, a kind of Lazzaroni.
Drawn by M. Thérond, from a Photograph.
THE NEW PALACE OF THE KING OF SIAM, BANGKOK.
PAIN OF SEPARATION.
My friend M. Malherbes accompanied me for a few hours’ sail from Bangkok, and then we parted with a warm clasp of the hand, and, I confess, not without tears in both our eyes, trusting that destiny might reunite us here or elsewhere. My friend’s light boat glided rapidly down the stream; in a few minutes he was out of sight, and I was again left alone—for how long a period being quite uncertain. I rarely allow myself to dwell on the subject; but separations are painful to the traveller who has left behind him all he holds most dear in the world,—family, country, home, and friends,—to visit countries inhospitable, and in many ways dangerous, without comfort or companionship. It is equally painful to think that, during long months, his impatient family are living in anxiety, and forming a thousand conjectures as to his fate. I know what awaits me, having been warned both by the missionaries and the natives. During the last twenty-five years, only one man, as far as I know, a French priest, has penetrated to the heart of Laos, and he only returned to die in the arms of the good and venerable prelate, Mgr. Pallegoix. I know the discomfort, fatigue, and tribulations of all sorts to which I am again about to expose myself; the want of roads, the difficulty of finding means of conveyance, and the risk of paying for the slightest imprudence by a dangerous or even fatal illness. And how can one be prudent when compelled to submit to the hardest life of the forest, to suffer many privations, and to brave all inclemencies of the weather? Nevertheless, my destiny urges me on, and I trust in the kind Providence which has watched over me until now.