THE SMUGGLER
The tempest of the morning has long been over.The sun is verging towards the horizon.Some hours have elapsed, since the Strangler introduced himself into Djalma's cabin, and tattooed him with a mysterious sign during his sleep.
A horseman advances rapidly down a long avenue of spreading trees.
Sheltered by the thick and verdant arch, a thousand birds salute the splendid evening with songs and circlings; red and green parrots climb, by help of their hooked beaks, to the top of pink-blossomed acacias;
large Morea birds of the finest and richest blue, whose throats and long tails change in the light to a golden brown, are chasing the prince-
oriels, clothed in their glossy feathers of black and orange; Kolo doves, of a changeable violet hue, are gently cooing by the side of the birds of paradise, in whose brilliant plumage are mingled the prismatic colors of the emerald and ruby, the topaz and sapphire.
This avenue, a little raised, commanded a view of a small pond, which reflected at intervals the green shade of tamarind trees.In the calm, limpid waters, many fish were visible, some with silver scales and purple fins, others gleaming with azure and vermilion; so still were they that they looked as if set in a mass of bluish crystal, and, as they dwelt motionless near the surface of the pool, on which played a dazzling ray of the sun, they revelled in the enjoyment of the light and heat.A
thousand insects--living gems, with wings of flame--glided, fluttered and buzzed over the transparent wave, in which, at an extraordinary depth, were mirrored the variegated tints of the aquatic plants on the bank.
It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the exuberant nature of this scene, luxuriant in the sunlight, colors, and perfumes, which served, so to speak, as a frame to the young and brilliant rider, who was advancing along the avenue.It was Djalma.He had not yet perceived the indelible marks, which the Strangler had traced upon his left arm.
His Japanese mare, of slender make, full of fire and vigor, is black as night.A narrow red cloth serves instead of saddle.To moderate the impetuous bounds of the animal, Djalma uses a small steel bit, with headstall and reins of twisted scarlet silk, fine as a thread.
Not one of those admirable riders, sculptured so masterly on the frieze of the Parthenon, sits his horse more gracefully and proudly than this young Indian, whose fine face, illumined by the setting sun, is radiant with serene happiness; his eyes sparkle with joy, and his dilated nostrils and unclosed lips inhale with delight the balmy breeze, that brings to him the perfume of flowers and the scent of fresh leaves, for the trees are still moist from the abundant rain that fell after the storm.
A red cap, similar to that worn by the Greeks, surmounting the black locks of Djalma, sets off to advantage the golden tint of his complexion;
his throat is bare; he is clad in his robe of white muslin with large sleeves, confined at the waist by a scarlet sash; very full drawers, in white cotton stuff, leave half uncovered his tawny and polished legs;
their classic curve stands out from the dark sides of the horse, which he presses tightly between his muscular calves.He has no stirrups; his foot, small and narrow, is shod with a sandal of morocco leather.
The rush of his thoughts, by turns impetuous and restrained, was expressed in some degree by the pace he imparted to his horse--now bold and precipitate, like the flight of unbridled imagination--now calm and measured, like the reflection which succeeds an idle dream.But, in all this fantastic course, his least movements were distinguished by a proud, independent and somewhat savage grace.
Dispossessed of his paternal territory by the English, and at first detained by them as a state-prisoner after the death of his father--who (as M.Joshua Van Dael had written to M.Rodin) had fallen sword in hand --Djalma had at length been restored to liberty.Abandoning the continent of India, and still accompanied by General Simon, who had lingered hard by the prison of his old friend's son, the young Indian came next to Batavia, the birthplace of his mother, to collect the modest inheritance of his maternal ancestors.And amongst this property, so long despised or forgotten by his father, he found some important papers, and a medal exactly similar to that worn by Rose and Blanche.
General Simon was not more surprised than pleased at this discovery, which not only established a tie of kindred between his wife and Djalma's mother, but which also seemed to promise great advantages for the future.
Leaving Djalma at Batavia, to terminate some business there, he had gone to the neighboring island of Sumatra, in the hope of finding a vessel that would make the passage to Europe directly and rapidly; for it was now necessary that, cost what it might, the young Indian also should be at Paris on the 13th February, 1832.Should General Simon find a vessel ready to sail for Europe, he was to return immediately, to fetch Djalma;
and the latter, expecting him daily, was now going to the pier of Batavia, hoping to see the father of Rose and Blanche arrive by the mail-
boat from Sumatra.
A few words are here necessary on the early life of the son of Kadja-
sing.