Thinking about the forest girl while lying awake that night, I came to
the conclusion that I had made it sufficiently plain to her how little
her capricious behaviour had been relished, and had therefore no need
to punish myself more by keeping any longer out of my beloved green
mansions. Accordingly, next day, after the heavy rain that fell during
the morning hours had ceased, I set forth about noon to visit the wood.
Overhead the sky was clear again; but there was no motion in the heavy
sultry atmosphere, while dark blue masses of banked-up clouds on the
western horizon threatened a fresh downpour later in the day. My mind
was, however, now too greatly excited at the prospect of a possible
encounter with the forest nymph to allow me to pay any heed to these
ominous signs.
I had passed through the first strip of wood and was in the succeeding
stony sterile space when a gleam of brilliant colour close by on the
ground caught my sight. It was a snake lying on the bare earth; had I
kept on without noticing it, I should most probably have trodden upon
or dangerously near it. Viewing it closely, I found that it was a coral
snake, famed as much for its beauty and singularity as for its deadly
character. It was about three feet long, and very slim; its ground
colour a brilliant vermilion, with broad jet-black rings at equal
distances round its body, each black ring or band divided by a narrow
yellow strip in the middle. The symmetrical pattern and vividly
contrasted colours would have given it the appearance of an artificial
snake made by some fanciful artist, but for the gleam of life in its
bright coils. Its fixed eyes, too, were living gems, and from the point
of its dangerous arrowy head the glistening tongue flickered ceaselessly
as I stood a few yards away regarding it.
“I admire you greatly, Sir Serpent,” I said, or thought, “but it is
dangerous, say the military authorities, to leave an enemy or possible
enemy in the rear; the person who does such a thing must be either a bad
strategist or a genius, and I am neither.”
Retreating a few paces, I found and picked up a stone about as big as
a man’s hand and hurled it at the dangerous-looking head with the
intention of crushing it; but the stone hit upon the rocky ground a
little on one side of the mark and, being soft, flew into a hundred
small fragments. This roused the creature’s anger, and in a moment with
raised head he was gliding swiftly towards me. Again I retreated, not
so slowly on this occasion; and finding another stone, I raised and
was about to launch it when a sharp, ringing cry issued from the bushes
growing near, and, quickly following the sound, forth stepped the forest
girl; no longer elusive and shy, vaguely seen in the shadowy wood, but
boldly challenging attention, exposed to the full power of the meridian
sun, which made her appear luminous and rich in colour beyond example.
Seeing her thus, all those emotions of fear and abhorrence invariably
excited in us by the sight of an active venomous serpent in our path
vanished instantly from my mind: I could now only feel astonishment
and admiration at the brilliant being as she advanced with swift, easy,
undulating motion towards me; or rather towards the serpent, which was
now between us, moving more and more slowly as she came nearer. The
cause of this sudden wonderful boldness, so unlike her former habit, was
unmistakable. She had been watching my approach from some hiding-place
among the bushes, ready no doubt to lead me a dance through the wood
with her mocking voice, as on previous occasions, when my attack on the
serpent caused that outburst of wrath. The torrent of ringing and to
me inarticulate sounds in that unknown tongue, her rapid gestures, and,
above all, her wide-open sparkling eyes and face aflame with colour made
it impossible to mistake the nature of her feeling.
In casting about for some term or figure of speech in which to describe
the impression produced on me at that moment, I think of waspish, and,
better still, avispada--literally the same word in Spanish, not having
precisely the same meaning nor ever applied contemptuously--only to
reject both after a moment’s reflection. Yet I go back to the image of
an irritated wasp as perhaps offering the best illustration; of some
large tropical wasp advancing angrily towards me, as I have witnessed a
hundred times, not exactly flying, but moving rapidly, half running and
half flying, over the ground, with loud and angry buzz, the glistening
wings open and agitated; beautiful beyond most animated creatures in
its sharp but graceful lines, polished surface, and varied brilliant
colouring, and that wrathfulness that fits it so well and seems to give
it additional lustre.
Wonder-struck at the sight of her strange beauty and passion, I forgot
the advancing snake until she came to a stop at about five yards from
me; then to my horror I saw that it was beside her naked feet. Although
no longer advancing, the head was still raised high as if to strike;
but presently the spirit of anger appeared to die out of it; the lifted
head, oscillating a little from side to side, sunk down lower and lower
to rest finally on the girl’s bare instep; and lying there motionless,
the deadly thing had the appearance of a gaily coloured silken garter
just dropped from her leg. It was plain to see that she had no fear of
it, that she was one of those exceptional persons, to be found, it is
said, in all countries, who possess some magnetic quality which has a
soothing effect on even the most venomous and irritable reptiles.
Following the direction of my eyes, she too glanced down, but did not
move her foot; then she made her voice heard again, still loud and
sharp, but the anger was not now so pronounced.
“Do not fear, I shall not harm it,” I said in the Indian tongue.
She took no notice of my speech and continued speaking with increasing
resentment.
I shook my head, replying that her language was unknown to me. Then by
means of signs I tried to make her understand that the creature was safe
from further molestation. She pointed indignantly at the stone in my
hand, which I had forgotten all about. At once I threw it from me, and
instantly there was a change; the resentment had vanished, and a tender
radiance lit her face like a smile.
I advanced a little nearer, addressing her once more in the Indian
tongue; but my speech was evidently unintelligible to her, as she stood
now glancing at the snake lying at her feet, now at me. Again I had
recourse to signs and gestures; pointing to the snake, then to the stone
I had cast away, I endeavoured to convey to her that in the future I
would for her sake be a friend to all venomous reptiles, and that I
wished her to have the same kindly feelings towards me as towards these
creatures. Whether or not she understood me, she showed no disposition
to go into hiding again, and continued silently regarding me with a look
that seemed to express pleasure at finding herself at last thus suddenly
brought face to face with me. Flattered at this, I gradually drew nearer
until at the last I was standing at her side, gazing down with the
utmost delight into that face which so greatly surpassed in loveliness
all human faces I had ever seen or imagined.
And yet to you, my friend, it probably will not seem that she was
so beautiful, since I have, alas! only the words we all use to paint
commoner, coarser things, and no means to represent all the exquisite
details, all the delicate lights, and shades, and swift changes of
colour and expression. Moreover, is it not a fact that the strange or
unheard of can never appear beautiful in a mere description, because
that which is most novel in it attracts too much attention and is given
undue prominence in the picture, and we miss that which would have taken
away the effect of strangeness--the perfect balance of the parts and
harmony of the whole? For instance, the blue eyes of the northerner
would, when first described to the black-eyed inhabitants of warm
regions, seem unbeautiful and a monstrosity, because they would vividly
see with the mental vision that unheard-of blueness, but not in the
same vivid way the accompanying flesh and hair tints with which it
harmonizes.
Think, then, less of the picture as I have to paint it in words than of
the feeling its original inspired in me when, looking closely for the
first time on that rare loveliness, trembling with delight, I mentally
cried: “Oh, why has Nature, maker of so many types and of innumerable
individuals of each, given to the world but one being like this?”
Scarcely had the thought formed itself in my mind before I dismissed it
as utterly incredible. No, this exquisite being was without doubt one
of a distinct race which had existed in this little-known corner of the
continent for thousands of generations, albeit now perhaps reduced to a
small and dwindling remnant.
Her figure and features were singularly delicate, but it was her colour
that struck me most, which indeed made her differ from all other human
beings. The colour of the skin would be almost impossible to describe,
so greatly did it vary with every change of mood--and the moods were
many and transient--and with the angle on which the sunlight touched it,
and the degree of light.
Beneath the trees, at a distance, it had seemed a somewhat dim white
or pale grey; near in the strong sunshine it was not white, but
alabastrian, semi-pellucid, showing an underlying rose colour; and
at any point where the rays fell direct this colour was bright and
luminous, as we see in our fingers when held before a strong firelight.
But that part of her skin that remained in shadow appeared of a dimmer
white, and the underlying colour varied from dim, rosy purple to dim
blue. With the skin the colour of the eyes harmonized perfectly. At
first, when lit with anger, they had appeared flame-like; now the iris
was of a peculiar soft or dim and tender red, a shade sometimes seen
in flowers. But only when looked closely at could this delicate hue be
discerned, the pupils being large, as in some grey eyes, and the long,
dark, shading lashes at a short distance made the whole eye appear dark.
Think not, then, of the red flower, exposed to the light and sun in
conjunction with the vivid green of the foliage; think only of such
a hue in the half-hidden iris, brilliant and moist with the eye’s
moisture, deep with the eye’s depth, glorified by the outward look of
a bright, beautiful soul. Most variable of all in colour was the hair,
this being due to its extreme fineness and glossiness, and to its
elasticity, which made it lie fleecy and loose on head, shoulders, and
back; a cloud with a brightness on its surface made by the freer outer
hairs, a fit setting and crown for a countenance of such rare changeful
loveliness. In the shade, viewed closely, the general colour appeared a
slate, deepening in places to purple; but even in the shade the nimbus
of free flossy hairs half veiled the darker tints with a downy pallor;
and at a distance of a few yards it gave the whole hair a vague, misty
appearance. In the sunlight the colour varied more, looking now dark,
sometimes intensely black, now of a light uncertain hue, with a play of
iridescent colour on the loose surface, as we see on the glossed plumage
of some birds; and at a short distance, with the sun shining full on her
head, it sometimes looked white as a noonday cloud. So changeful was it
and ethereal in appearance with its cloud colours that all other human
hair, even of the most beautiful golden shades, pale or red, seemed
heavy and dull and dead-looking by comparison.
But more than form and colour and that enchanting variability was the
look of intelligence, which at the same time seemed complementary to and
one with the all-seeing, all-hearing alertness appearing in her face;
the alertness one remarks in a wild creature, even when in repose and
fearing nothing; but seldom in man, never perhaps in intellectual or
studious man. She was a wild, solitary girl of the woods, and did not
understand the language of the country in which I had addressed her.
What inner or mind life could such a one have more than that of any wild
animal existing in the same conditions? Yet looking at her face it
was not possible to doubt its intelligence. This union in her of two
opposite qualities, which, with us, cannot or do not exist together,
although so novel, yet struck me as the girl’s principal charm. Why had
Nature not done this before--why in all others does the brightness of
the mind dim that beautiful physical brightness which the wild animals
have? But enough for me that that which no man had ever looked for or
hoped to find existed here; that through that unfamiliar lustre of the
wild life shone the spiritualizing light of mind that made us kin.
These thoughts passed swiftly through my brain as I stood feasting my
sight on her bright, piquant face; while she on her part gazed back
into my eyes, not only with fearless curiosity, but with a look of
recognition and pleasure at the encounter so unmistakably friendly that,
encouraged by it, I took her arm in my hand, moving at the same time a
little nearer to her. At that moment a swift, startled expression came
into her eyes; she glanced down and up again into my face; her lips
trembled and slightly parted as she murmured some sorrowful sounds in a
tone so low as to be only just audible.
Thinking she had become alarmed and was on the point of escaping out of
my hands, and fearing, above all things, to lose sight of her again so
soon, I slipped my arm around her slender body to detain her, moving
one foot at the same time to balance myself; and at that moment I felt
a slight blow and a sharp burning sensation shoot into my leg, so sudden
and intense that I dropped my arm, at the same time uttering a cry of
pain, and recoiled one or two paces from her. But she stirred not when
I released her; her eyes followed my movements; then she glanced down at
her feet. I followed her look, and figure to yourself my horror when I
saw there the serpent I had so completely forgotten, and which even that
sting of sharp pain had not brought back to remembrance! There it lay,
a coil of its own thrown round one of her ankles, and its head, raised
nearly a foot high, swaying slowly from side to side, while the swift
forked tongue flickered continuously. Then--only then--I knew what had
happened, and at the same time I understood the reason of that sudden
look of alarm in her face, the murmuring sounds she had uttered, and the
downward startled glance. Her fears had been solely for my safety, and
she had warned me! Too late! too late! In moving I had trodden on or
touched the serpent with my foot, and it had bitten me just above the
ankle. In a few moments I began to realize the horror of my position.
“Must I die! must I die! Oh, my God, is there nothing that can save me?”
I cried in my heart.
She was still standing motionless in the same place: her eyes wandered
back from me to the snake; gradually its swaying head was lowered again,
and the coil unwound from her ankle; then it began to move away, slowly
at first, and with the head a little raised, then faster, and in the end
it glided out of sight. Gone!--but it had left its venom in my blood--O
cursed reptile!
Back from watching its retreat, my eyes returned to her face, now
strangely clouded with trouble; her eyes dropped before mine, while the
palms of her hands were pressed together, and the fingers clasped and
unclasped alternately. How different she seemed now; the brilliant face
grown so pallid and vague-looking! But not only because this tragic end
to our meeting had pierced her with pain: that cloud in the west had
grown up and now covered half the sky with vast lurid masses of vapour,
blotting out the sun, and a great gloom had fallen on the earth.
That sudden twilight and a long roll of approaching thunder,
reverberating from the hills, increased my anguish and desperation.
Death at that moment looked unutterably terrible. The remembrance of all
that made life dear pierced me to the core--all that nature was to me,
all the pleasures of sense and intellect, the hopes I had cherished--all
was revealed to me as by a flash of lightning. Bitterest of all was the
thought that I must now bid everlasting farewell to this beautiful being
I had found in the solitude--this lustrous daughter of the Didi--just
when I had won her from her shyness--that I must go away into the cursed
blackness of death and never know the mystery of her life! It was
that which utterly unnerved me, and made my legs tremble under me, and
brought great drops of sweat to my forehead, until I thought that the
venom was already doing its swift, fatal work in my veins.
With uncertain steps I moved to a stone a yard or two away and sat down
upon it. As I did so the hope came to me that this girl, so intimate
with nature, might know of some antidote to save me. Touching my leg,
and using other signs, I addressed her again in the Indian language.
“The snake has bitten me,” I said. “What shall I do? Is there no leaf,
no root you know that would save me from death? Help me! help me!” I
cried in despair.
My signs she probably understood if not my words, but she made no reply;
and still she remained standing motionless, twisting and untwisting her
fingers, and regarding me with a look of ineffable grief and compassion.
Alas! It was vain to appeal to her: she knew what had happened, and what
the result would most likely be, and pitied, but was powerless to help
me. Then it occurred to me that if I could reach the Indian village
before the venom overpowered me something might be done to save me. Oh,
why had I tarried so long, losing so many precious minutes! Large drops
of rain were falling now, and the gloom was deeper, and the thunder
almost continuous. With a cry of anguish I started to my feet and
was about to rush away towards the village when a dazzling flash of
lightning made me pause for a moment. When it vanished I turned a last
look on the girl, and her face was deathly pale, and her hair looked
blacker than night; and as she looked she stretched out her arms towards
me and uttered a low, wailing cry. “Good-bye for ever!” I murmured, and
turning once more from her, rushed away like one crazed into the wood.
But in my confusion I had probably taken the wrong direction, for
instead of coming out in a few minutes into the open border of the
forest, and on to the savannah, I found myself every moment getting
deeper among the trees. I stood still, perplexed, but could not shake
off the conviction that I had started in the right direction. Eventually
I resolved to keep on for a hundred yards or so and then, if no opening
appeared, to turn back and retrace my steps. But this was no easy
matter. I soon became entangled in a dense undergrowth, which so
confused me that at last I confessed despairingly to myself that for
the first time in this wood I was hopelessly lost. And in what terrible
circumstances! At intervals a flash of lightning would throw a vivid
blue glare down into the interior of the wood and only serve to show
that I had lost myself in a place where even at noon in cloudless
weather progress would be most difficult; and now the light would only
last a moment, to be followed by thick gloom; and I could only tear
blindly on, bruising and lacerating my flesh at every step, falling
again and again, only to struggle up and on again, now high above the
surface, climbing over prostrate trees and branches, now plunged to my
middle in a pool or torrent of water.
Hopeless--utterly hopeless seemed all my mad efforts; and at each pause,
when I would stand exhausted, gasping for breath, my throbbing heart
almost suffocating me, a dull, continuous, teasing pain in my bitten leg
served to remind me that I had but a little time left to exist--that by
delaying at first I had allowed my only chance of salvation to slip by.
How long a time I spent fighting my way through this dense black wood I
know not; perhaps two or three hours, only to me the hours seemed like
years of prolonged agony. At last, all at once, I found that I was free
of the close undergrowth and walking on level ground; but it was darker
here darker than the darkest night; and at length, when the lightning
came and flared down through the dense roof of foliage overhead, I
discovered that I was in a spot that had a strange look, where the trees
were very large and grew wide apart, and with no undergrowth to impede
progress beneath them. Here, recovering breath, I began to run, and
after a while found that I had left the large trees behind me, and was
now in a more open place, with small trees and bushes; and this made me
hope for a while that I had at last reached the border of the forest.
But the hope proved vain; once more I had to force my way through dense
undergrowth, and finally emerged on to a slope where it was open, and
I could once more see for some distance around me by such light as
came through the thick pall of clouds. Trudging on to the summit of
the slope, I saw that there was open savannah country beyond, and for a
moment rejoiced that I had got free from the forest. A few steps more,
and I was standing on the very edge of a bank, a precipice not less than
fifty feet deep. I had never seen that bank before, and therefore knew
that I could not be on the right side of the forest. But now my only
hope was to get completely away from the trees and then to look for the
village, and I began following the bank in search of a descent. No break
occurred, and presently I was stopped by a dense thicket of bushes. I
was about to retrace my steps when I noticed that a tall slender tree
growing at the foot of the precipice, its green top not more than
a couple of yards below my feet, seemed to offer a means of escape.
Nerving myself with the thought that if I got crushed by the fall I
should probably escape a lingering and far more painful death, I dropped
into the cloud of foliage beneath me and clutched desperately at the
twigs as I fell. For a moment I felt myself sustained; but branch after
branch gave way beneath my weight, and then I only remember, very dimly,
a swift flight through the air before losing consciousness.