ON the morrow of our arrival (Sunday,14th July 1889)our photographers were early stirring.Once more we traversed a silent town;many were yet abed and asleep;some sat drowsily in their open houses;there was no sound of intercourse or business.In that hour before the shadows,the quarter of the palace and canal seemed like a landing-place in the ARABIAN NIGHTS or from the classic poets;here were the fit destination of some 'faery frigot,'here some adventurous prince might step ashore among new characters and incidents;and the island prison,where it floated on the luminous face of the lagoon,might have passed for the repository of the Grail.In such a scene,and at such an hour,the impression received was not so much of foreign travel -rather of past ages;it seemed not so much degrees of latitude that we had crossed,as centuries of time that we had re-ascended;leaving,by the same steps,home and to-day.A few children followed us,mostly nude,all silent;in the clear,weedy waters of the canal some silent damsels waded,baring their brown thighs;and to one of the maniap's before the palace gate we were attracted by a low but stirring hum of speech.
The oval shed was full of men sitting cross-legged.The king was there in striped pyjamas,his rear protected by four guards with Winchesters,his air and bearing marked by unwonted spirit and decision;tumblers and black bottles went the round;and the talk,throughout loud,was general and animated.I was inclined at first to view this scene with suspicion.But the hour appeared unsuitable for a carouse;drink was besides forbidden equally by the law of the land and the canons of the church;and while I was yet hesitating,the king's rigorous attitude disposed of my last doubt.We had come,thinking to photograph him surrounded by his guards,and at the first word of the design his piety revolted.We were reminded of the day -the Sabbath,in which thou shalt take no photographs -and returned with a flea in our ear,bearing the rejected camera.