Note 1 — Chapter V

As I have previously said, my house possessed every comfort that could possibly be desired. It was built of hewn stone, so that in case of an attack it could serve as a small fortress. The front overlooked the lake, which bathed with its clear and limpid waters the verdant shore within a hundred steps from my dwelling; the back part looked upon woods and hills, where the vegetation was rich and plentiful. From our windows we could gaze upon those grand majestic scenes which a beautiful tropical sky so frequently affords. At times, on a dark night, the summits of the hills suddenly shone with a weak faint light, which increased by degrees; then the bright moon gradually appeared, and illuminated the tops of the mountains, as large beacon-fires would have done; then again, calm, peaceful, and serene, she reflected her soft poetic light over the bosom of the lake, as tranquil and unruffled as herself. It was indeed an imposing sight. Towards evening, Nature at times showed herself in all her commanding splendour, infusing a secret terror into the very soul. Everything bore evidence of the sacred influence of the Divine Creator. At a short distance from our house we could perceive a mountain, the base of which was in the lake and the summit in the clouds. This mountain served as a lightning conductor to Jala-Jala: it attracted the thunder. Frequently heavy black clouds, charged with electricity, gathered over this elevated point, looking like other mountains trying to overturn it; then a storm began, the thunder roared tremendously, the rain fell in torrents; every minute frightful claps were heard, and the total darkness was scarcely broken by the lightning that flashed in long streams of fire, dashing from the top and sides of the mountain enormous blocks of rock, that were hurled into the lake with a fearful crash. It was an admirable exemplification of the power of the Almighty! Soon the calm was restored, the rain ceased, the clouds disappeared, the fragrant air bore on its yet damp wings the perfume of the flowers and aromatic plants, and Nature resumed her ordinary stillness. Hereafter I shall have occasion to speak of other events that happened at certain periods, and were still more alarming, for they lasted twelve hours. These were gales of wind, called in the Chinese seas Tay-Foung. At several periods of the year, particularly at the moment of the change of the monsoon,1 we beheld still more terrifying phenomena than our storms—I allude to the earthquakes. These fearful convulsions of nature present a very different aspect in the country from what they do in cities. If in towns the earth begins to quake, everywhere we hear a terrible noise; the edifices give way, and are ready to fall down; the inhabitants rush out of their houses, run along the streets, which they encumber, and try to escape. The screams of frightened children and women bathed in tears are blended with those of the distracted men; all are on their knees, with clasped hands, their looks raised to Heaven, imploring its mercy with sobbing voices. Everything totters, is agitated; all dread death, and terror becomes general. In the country it is totally different, and a hundred times more imposing and terrific. For instance, in Jala-Jala, at the approach of one of these phenomena, a profound, even mournful stillness pervades nature. The wind no longer blows; not a breeze nor even a gentle zephyr is perceptible. The sun, though cloudless, darkens, and spreads around a sepulchral light. The atmosphere is burdened with heavy and sultry vapours. The earth is in labour. The frightened animals quietly seek shelter from the catastrophe they foresee. The ground shakes; soon it trembles under their feet. The trees move, the mountains quake upon their foundations, and their summits appear ready to tumble down. The waters of the lake quit their bed, and inundate the country. Still louder roaring than that produced by the thunder is heard: the earth quivers; everywhere its motion is simultaneously felt. But after this the convulsion ceases, everything revives. The mountains are again firm upon their foundations, and become motionless; the waters of the lake return by degrees to their proper reservoir; the heavens are purified and resume their brilliant light, and the soft breeze fans the air; the wild buffaloes again scour the plain, and other animals quit the dens in which they had concealed themselves; the earth has resumed her stillness, and nature recovered her accustomed imposing calm.