WIXLIB

Siamovertakes us in the endless succession of thericefields.At the endstops.Weof a two hours' journey the trainare at Mytho, which is the terminusof the line, the end of this unpretentious littlecolonial railway.Here the scene changes, ashappens commonly in this region. The cloudshave melted from the sky, and the nocturnalblue stretches limpid, wonderful, with its sowingof stars.are in the neighbourhood of aWelarge, tranquil river, theMekong hard by;herea steamboat should be waiting to take me, firstof all, to Cambodia, by way of the river. Theroad which leadsbank of themeto the spot, along thethe avenue of someriver, is liketrim park, only the trees that overhangtheir branches are larger than ours,anditwithfireflieseverywhere flicker their nimble, dancing fires.Peace and silence. The place would be perfectwere it not for the eternal heaviness of the airand the enervating perfumes. A number oflights in row amongst the greenness indicatethe streets, or rather the alleys, of the humbleprovincial town, which was laid out in a singleplanning on the level plain. And how can onedescribe the sadness, the brooding pensiveness,in the night-time, of these corners of France, of14

Siamthese outposts of the fatherland astray in thethick bushland of Asia, isolated from everything,even from the sea ?Little groups of soldiers in.white linen uniforms are taking their monotonousevening stroll along the road I am following,and, as they pass, I can detect in their voicesthe accent of Gascony, now the accent ofnowmy ownnativeprovince.Poor fellows!themothers that bore them are waiting anxiously atfar distant firesides;while they, perforce, mustsquander here a year or two of the most preciousof life. Perhaps they will leave behind themlittlebyhalf-bred tokens of their being,littlemayinfiltratewholittlethe French blood into thisstubborn yellow people; then they will returnhome, with blood for long impoverished by thesojourn in this climateor, perhaps, they willnot return, but lay their bones, like so manythousand others, in the red earth of the;neighbouring cemeteriesin that they are so vast,which are disquietingand so overgrown withrank weeds.IThe steam-boat gets under way as soon asam on board we begin to ascend the Mekong,keeping;near to thebanks,where the treesseem to stretch out a curtain intensely black,and the fireflies continue their sparkling15

Siamdances.Beforeforests of Siam,wewewhole of Cambodiaatreachshallthe border of thehave to traverse thebut I purpose stoppingthePnom-Penh,capital of the good kingNorodom, wherenight.I;shallarriveby to-morrow

CHAPTERIII

CHAPTERIIIiSunday, 24th November 1901.MYlittlesteam-boathasbeen making waynight against the current of the majesticriver, journeying towards the north.Daybreakallfinds us continuing thesame peaceful naviga-tion through this Indo Chinese bush, the endless curtains of which were so black under the-stars,light.but are become glorious now in the sunBanana - palms, cocoanut - palms, man-groves, bamboos, rushes, packed close togetherin a serried and endless mass.At first sight onemight think the country was uninhabited butlooking more closely one sees clearly enough;how cunninglyopulent green mantle has beenpenetrated underneath by the human microbe.Here and there tracks, such as might be madeby thebeastsitsoftheforest,debouch frombeneath the trees and lead to theare thepassthemriver.Theyindication of the villages.As weat close quarters, the perfumes of19first

Siamtheflowersbecomeanimal odourscoweringmingledwithoffensivea few poor huts are disclosed,among the branches, and human;beings appear, lowly and, as it were, negligible,under the sovereign eternal verdure.LeanAnnamites with bodies of the colour ofYoung womenoftencountenance, butsmile andshowpleasingrepulsiveasAsoonastheytheir teeth lacquered in black,which make the mouth lookcave.saffron.body andinlikediminutiveata gloomyonce in-humanity,which has scarcely evolvedsince the time of the prehistoric ancestor, andhas been hidden for centuries in the foliage offantineandold,this tropical flora.There are a number of native canoes on theriver, fashioned each one of them out of ahollowed tree -trunk; and everywhere alongthe banks primitivekinds of fishing-tackleof reeds or bamboo.madewattle-like thingsFor the most part they resemble huge cocoons,which, as they emerge from the green confusion,plunge at once half-way into the water. Youmight almost imagine that they were thechrysalides out of which these little yellowa sort ofpeople were bornhere toitwaswhose business20:wormor maggot,gnawthe wonder-

Siamful covering of the plains.Andover and aboveoutspread snares are the innumerablebird-fishers, long-legged, long-necked, with long,the somanyMencruel beaks always ready for their prey.and wading birds alike waylay the myriadsof silent, rudimentary lives which pass withinthe river. From all antiquity their flesh hasbeen nourished on the colderMore than oncemyflesh of fish.pilot loses hiswayinthe winding of these banks, so endlessly alike,andintostraysborderedalwaysverdure.And wetodeceptive little tributaries,with the same curtains ofget stranded there and haveback.make our wayAs evening approachesthehumantypeThe few inhabitants of the banks,changes.of whom we get glimpses through the reeds,are more Hindoo, more Aryan in typetheir;eyes are large and straight, and the eyebrowswell marked moustaches shadow the lips of the;men. The habitationsand raised on piles.also are different, higherWeno longer inCochin-China. We have entered Cambodia.And an hour after midnight we moor ourboat to a quay before the town of Pnom-Penh,which is asleep under the stars.21are

CHAPTERIV

CHAPTERIVMonday, 25th November 1901.THEairSaigon,Onealready less oppressive than atcharged with electricity and moisture.herelessfeelsismorealive.Anda melancholy of a different kind emanatesfrom this town, lost as it is in the interior of aland -boundsailors,country, without ships, withoutwithout animation of any sort. It iscomparatively but a few years since KingNorodom confided his country to France, andalready everything that we have built at PnomPenh has taken on an air of old age under theThe fine straight roadsscorching of the sun.we traced here, along which no one passes, aregreen with weeds. It might be one of thoseancient colonies, the charm of which lies indesuetude and silence.To-day, nevertheless, is the third day of thetraditional water festival, and in the evening, asthe sun turns to a coppery red, the banks of the25

Siamsuddenly become animated. In one of theroyal junks, the prow of which represents theenormous head of some monster of Cambodianriverdream, I watch, in company with a score or soFrench men andwomenliving in exile here atPnom-Penh, the progress of the long racingThey go past in a furious eddy ofspray, manipulated by half -nude men, whopaddle standing, with movements of dexterousgrace, shouting, at the same time, encouragingcanoes.cries.26

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VTuesday, 26th November 1901.STANDING back from the bank of theriverstretch the vast quarters of the King, investedWith their denuded courts theyin silence.were, a kind of glade in the midst ofthis country, by the side of this town so overform, asitand the roads of reddishgrown withtrees,earth whichsurround themlarge imprintsarepittedwithfrom the daily promenade of theelephants.This morning at half past six o'clock, wandering alone in the early sunshine, I enter the gateof one of the courtyards of the palace a court-yard of considerable extent, paved in white.the middle, isolated in the bare emptiness,Inisaslim pagoda of white and gold, the roof ofwhich bristles with golden spikes, and isolatedsideof thissolitudetwoalsoat eitherhighbell- turrets of gold, extraordinarily pointed,littlewhich are supported on a kind of rock-work,decked with orchids and a diversity of rare29

Siamblooms.IBut theperceive no sign of living thing.is of apeculiar kind; asilence heresound as of rustling mingles with it in anundertone without disturbing it a vague, aerialmusic which at first escapes definition; it isthe concert of thelittle silver bellssuspendedat each point of the bell-turrets and of theroofs ; the least breath of air that passes makesthem tinkle softly.The pagoda, whichsplendentitsisin the whitenessglistening golds.Itsquite new, is reof its marble andwindowsare decoratedwith copings of gold, which, against the whitebackground of the wall, stand out like piecesof fine jewellery.Its roofs, coveredceramics, are ornamentedatwith gildedeach corner withhorns of extraordinary length, which curve andrecover,menacingin all directions.Comparedwith these the horns of the Chinese pagodasseemverily only rudimentary things, little betterthan shootsgiant bulls, one is tempted tosay, have been uncoifed to decorate this strangeThe different peoples of the yellowtemple.;manyrace have been haunted for centuriesbythisconception of horned roofings for their religiousedifices, but it has been left to the Cambodiansto surpassthemall inextravagance.30

SiamSteps are approaching, heavy steps, and threeelephants appear. Paying no heed to me theycross the courtyard with an intelligent, businesslike air, as of people who know what they haveThe sound ofto do.bellstheirmarch and of theat their collars breaks for ahunginto the seolianconcert whichfallsfrom above, and then, as soonmusicalgone, thesilencemomentdiscreetlythey havea silenceasreturnsexquisite here in the purity and comof the morning.freshnessparativeThe open doors of the pagoda invite me towhichisenter.Onitsceiling,onitswalls, goldsof extra-everywhere, andmy footsteps resound on flags of bright newsilver with which the pagoda is paved throughordinaryout.brillianceThere arestilleven in our times,sanctuariesglistencountries then, where,menthink toAlmost immediately, through adifferent door,there enter four small creatures,young,alllike boys,the ear.build such!ofthemallofthemslender, with hair cut shortand a gardenia bloom fastened overThe beautiful silks which cover them,outlining their scarcely-formed breasts, indicatethem to be women of the palace dancing girls31

Siambeyondatheredoubt, forisscarcelyoldwomankind at the court ofNorodom. To the movement whichotheranyKingmakeItowithdraw they reply by a charming, timid sign,"Pray, stay where you are you arenot disturbing us." And I thank them withas if to saya bow.:;humanThiscourtesy which we haveof the earth, and oflearnt at opposite endswhich just now we have madewere, the exchange,we haveis,common.indistantly, as itperhaps, the only notionIn the course of my lifehad met with many women of this type,women who, in their relation to life, are littlebetter than dolls or toys, but never before hadIIcomeandacross the littleathome;watch with interest these four as, with1silent stepandeasy, unaffected grace, theyabout over thehoodCambodiansilver floor.Frommoveearly child-their bodies, their every limb,have beenmadesupple by those long, ritual dances, whichare the custom here on feast days and days offuneral.Whatisitbringsthemso early toWhat childish scruple ? Andthe temple ?what can be the nature of the prayers formulated by their little souls, that are revealed now,anxious, in their eyesThe heatis?already oppressive as I return32

Siamby the French, to lookfor shade on board my little steamboat mooredProstration and silence in theagainst the bank.streets, so straightly made but so empty, whereSavethe weeds encroach upon the footpaths.for some naked Cambodian slaves, who, carelessand happy, are watering the lawns of thestrangely -flowered gardens, I meet nobody.to the quarters occupiedThecapitalKing Norodom has goneoftosleep till the close of the day, under the dazzlingAnd clearly one gets thebrilliance of the sun.impression that this little cornerwhich has been grafted here, willwill not " make good," such an airand abandonment has it taken onshort years.At three o'clock inofFrance,not endure,of antiquityafter a fewthe afternoon Imakemyready to continuejourney towards the ruinsof Angkor, against the current of the Mekong.Pnom-Penhdisappears at once and the prodigious Asiatic bush envelops us again withinAt the same time thereits profound curtains.isof;revealed, everywhere around, an animalextraordinaryintensity.which we almost brushof hole armiesstanding on the watchin passing,:marabouts.33Frequentlyc

Siamthe airisblackened with flights of crows.Inclouds of green-coloureddust, which as they approach are seen to beHere andflights of innumerable paroquets.the distance ariselittlethere the trees are full of monkeys, and youcan see the long tails hanging in lines like aonfringeFromallthe branches.time to time,humanhabitations in anAlways a long shaft of golddominates them, pointing into the skytheisolated group.pagoda.men having asked that they might beallowed to provision themselves with fruits forthe journey, I call a halt, at the hour of twilight,Myata large village built on piles right on thebank of thecomeandSomesmiling Cambodiansforward at once offering fresh g proceeds, an enormous redbeyond, over the infinitude of therisesfalls asthemoonforests.we resume ourjourney. Criesofbeastsof owls, cries ofprey, an infinite concert of all kinds of musical insects, deliriousNightwith the frenzy of the night-time in thein-extricable verdure.Andthatthen, later on, the waters expand soare enterlonger see the banks.34we noWe

Siaming the immense lake formed here every yearby the potent river, which periodically inundatesCambodia and a part ofNot a breath of wind.As if we were floating on oil, we trace, ingliding over this fever breeding lake, smooththe low-lying plains ofthe forests of Siam.And the warmwhich the moon silvers.inour progress,whichwecleaveair,rapidlyis encumbered with clouds of giddily - circlinginsects, which assemble in a regular vortex atthe sight of our lanterns, and fall upon usfoldslikerain:gnats, mosquitoes, day-flies, beetles,dragon-flies.About midnight, when we hadnight, andopen,weswarm ofretired for thelay, half-dressed, with the windowswere visited without warning by alarge,blackbeetles,covered withprickles like a chestnut, but otherwise inoffen-which crawled very rapidly overploring our chest and arms.sive,35us, ex-

CHAPTERVI

CHAPTERVIWednesday,'21thNovember 1901.ONthe lake, large as a sea, behold the risingof the sun.And in a few minutes everythingtakes on colour.Theeastern horizon becomessuffused with pink, and a line of beautifulChinese green indicates the endless continuation of the inundated forest.on the western horizonbe seenBy way of contrastwhere the shoreistooa massing of sombre,chaotic, terrifying things, which seem to weighupon the waters things which hold togetherfar off tothereisand remainin position, as do the heapings ofandstand out as clearly as realmountains,mountain summits against the clear sky; butwhich seem, nevertheless, to be on the point oftoppling in downfalls as formidable as those ofthe end of the world. And the whole of thisheaped-up mass is ravined and caverned andcontorted, with deep shadows in its folds, andlightsof reddishcopper39onitsprominences.

SiamAndright aboveit, as if it had been placedthethere,old, dead moon, a large full moon ofthe colour of tin, begins to fade before the sunwhichrises opposite.All this western horizonwould be asight from which to avert the eyes,a sight to strike terror, did one not know whatin fact it isa storm, of an aspect a hundredtimes more terrible than ours, which broodsthere as if sleeping, and in all probability will:not break.Itwas tothiswe owedthe heat and the kindof electric tension so enervating in its effect,which had oppressed us towards the end of theFromexperience of these climates wehad guessed before seeing it that somewhereor other in the air there was a monster of thenight.But as we watch it begins to lose shape,become attenuated so that it no longer hasthe appearance of consistence, and we breathemore and more freely in proportion as it allkind.togradually dissolves. At the moment there area few negligible clouds presently there remains;nothing but a light vapour which does no morethan cover with a warm mist the western sideof thisNotlittlesea over whichwetravel alone.a canoe in sight, no more sign of manthan before his first appearance amongst the40

Siamterrestrial fauna.But here and there longtrailsof a pinkish-white streak the greenish waterssaturated with organic substances.They arecompanies of pelicans, sleeping as they float.Until the middle of the day, we continue ourprogress over this motionless lake, which gleamsOn the eastern horizon whatlike polished tin.of green foam stretcheslooks to be a kindendlessly,and with an endless sameness:tallof which are entirely subsothatthemerged,tops alone rise out of theIt is only an illusory shore, for beneathwater.the verdure the lake continues its extent fortrees,the trunksno more than theboundary of the deeper waters in which theindefinitedistances.vegetation has lostItitsisfooting.Thirty leagues, forty leagues of submergedforest unroll in this way while we continue ourpeaceful course towards the north. An immensezone, useless during this season from the pointof view of man, but a prodigious reservoir ofanimal life. Shades full of snares and ambushes,of ferocious beaks and claws, of little venomousteeth, of little stings, sharpened for deadly stingings.There are branches that bend beneaththe weight of grave marabouts in reposeandtrees so laden with pelicans that in the distance;41

Siamthey look to be abloom with large pale-pinkflowers.in the course of our navigation, weclose to this forest of eternal green, so asWhen,drawalmost to touchit,the hosts of the branchesto flight.And then,see what can only bebecome alarmed and takeatclosequarters,wedescribed as skeins of creeping plants wound,as it were, round the trees, binding them onetothat the forest presents itselfto us as one single inextri

siam by pierreloti translatedfromthefrenchby w.p.baines illustrated london t.wernerlaurie,ltd. clifford'sinn