Diamonds And Hearts
by
A Sketch of Rio de Janeiro.
CHAPTER I.
The sun was setting on the Passeio Publico. On one side the fading light gilded the delicate green of the palms, and on the other it shimmered on the placid waters of the bay.
It whitened the little lodges, nestling in the luxuriance of foliage, and glistened on the gaudy boats, lying motionless on the pearly bosom of the deep. It sparkled on the little lakes where troops of joyous children gathered around the swans, and lost itself in the blue mists that circled the green and purple mountains in the distance.
Past the clustered giants of the sea, whose banners told of mighty nations that made war, past the forts where the sentries kept weary pace on the ramparts, it lighted up the “Pao de Assucar;” through the crowded thoroughfares where the hum of traffic told of multitudes in peace, it glowed on the Corcovado.
Far into the golden west, past the islands that dotted the harbor, past the last villa of Sao Christovao, it burned and blazed among the hills, until shadowy peaks, that seemed but ghosts in the dim remoteness, burst resplendent on the view, gorgeous in their prodigality of color.
Rio de Janeiro had mustered her children in crowds. Long and broad as was the promenade, its marble mosaics scarce contained room for the multitude. Anxious matrons, on one side, gathered on the granite stairs to watch their children in the garden beneath; heedless youngsters, on the other, hung over the balustrades for a view of the tide swelling at the foot of the wall; fair young donnas, bewildered at the throng of admirers, filled the air with peals of glad laughter; exquisite senhors, thrilled by the music, yielded themselves willing captives to the seductive influences of the hour.
Who but a Latin can understand the wild abandon of a festa? who but he can enter into the spirit of the many fete-days sanctioned by his ancient Church?
Armand Dupleisis, in his seat over the sea, stared absently at the jocose revelers, for he was a stranger in a strange land. He leaned back on the granite railings with the easy indolence of an invalid, though his frame was robust and sinewy as a mountaineer’s. The hidden power of his bronzed and Moresque features, if developed, might inspire a certain amount of wonder; but then you would as readily have sought expression in the statues below. His gaze was almost indifferent; yet the unmoving eyes took a mental inventory of everything. Had their owner been provided with a memorandum-book and a stubby pencil, the catalogue could not have been more complete.
Among the hundreds present, those eyes picked out one man and one woman. They followed them in their rambles through the dome-roofed shelters; they scrutinized them as they lingered near the band; they searched them out when mingled with the throngs on the promenade. They did not seem to be watching, but they were; and their owner did not look interested, but he was.
The man, physically speaking, was a marvel; but there was an air of foppish elegance in his movements, and a silky kind of beauty, like that of a leopard. His head was small, but finely formed, and covered with flossy hair black as ebony. His features, though clearly cut, wore, from their extreme delicacy, an almost feminine expression. His hands were small and exquisitely shaped; his mustache curled gracefully from his lip; and, when speaking, he bit the ends of it in a nervous, almost embarrassed way.
The woman was a proud, passionate daughter of the sun. The brown blood of the sun burned in her veins, and the soul of the sun streamed shaded from her eyes. A sumptuous splendor mingled, moist and languid, with their light. She was clothed in the sunlight. It glistened in the soft darkness of her hair; it glowed in the rubies that clung to her swelling throat; it flashed on her robe tremulous with radiance. From a coquettish little hat a long white plume fluttered over her curls, and a floating cloud of fleecy under-sleeve half concealed an arm of snowy purity. Her life, though in its spring, seemed goldened with the flush of summer; her morning flashed with the meridian luster of perfect day; and yet the eyes that scanned so closely remained undazzled. Their owner had heard of her, and of her conversation, sparkling with wit and humor and mocking irony; but he was not fascinated. He saw but a woman for whom no surprises appear to survive. What see we?