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A PASSION IN THE DESERT
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ernest Dowson
A PASSION IN THE DESERT
“The whole show is dreadful,” she cried coming out of the menagerie of M. Martin. She had just been looking at that daring speculator “working with his hyena,”—to speak in the style of the programme.
“The whole show is awful,” she exclaimed as she left Mr. Martin's menagerie. She had just been watching that bold gambler “working with his hyena,”—to put it in the language of the program.
“By what means,” she continued, “can he have tamed these animals to such a point as to be certain of their affection for——”
“By what means,” she continued, “could he have trained these animals so well that he can be sure of their affection for——”
“What seems to you a problem,” said I, interrupting, “is really quite natural.”
“What seems like a problem to you,” I said, interrupting, “is actually quite natural.”
“Oh!” she cried, letting an incredulous smile wander over her lips.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, her face breaking into an astonished smile.
“You think that beasts are wholly without passions?” I asked her. “Quite the reverse; we can communicate to them all the vices arising in our own state of civilization.”
“You think animals are completely without feelings?” I asked her. “Actually, it’s quite the opposite; we can pass on to them all the vices that come from our own civilized society.”
She looked at me with an air of astonishment.
She looked at me in disbelief.
“But,” I continued, “the first time I saw M. Martin, I admit, like you, I did give vent to an exclamation of surprise. I found myself next to an old soldier with the right leg amputated, who had come in with me. His face had struck me. He had one of those heroic heads, stamped with the seal of warfare, and on which the battles of Napoleon are written. Besides, he had that frank, good-humored expression which always impresses me favorably. He was without doubt one of those troopers who are surprised at nothing, who find matter for laughter in the contortions of a dying comrade, who bury or plunder him quite light-heartedly, who stand intrepidly in the way of bullets;—in fact, one of those men who waste no time in deliberation, and would not hesitate to make friends with the devil himself. After looking very attentively at the proprietor of the menagerie getting out of his box, my companion pursed up his lips with an air of mockery and contempt, with that peculiar and expressive twist which superior people assume to show they are not taken in. Then, when I was expatiating on the courage of M. Martin, he smiled, shook his head knowingly, and said, ‘Well known.’
“But,” I continued, “the first time I saw M. Martin, I admit, like you, I did let out a gasp of surprise. I found myself next to an old soldier with his right leg amputated, who had come in with me. His face caught my attention. He had one of those heroic looks, marked by the signs of battle, and the stories of Napoleon were written on him. Plus, he had that honest, good-natured smile that I always find appealing. He was definitely one of those soldiers who are unfazed by anything, who can find humor in the twisted expressions of a dying comrade, and who bury or rob him without a second thought, standing fearless in the line of fire;—in fact, one of those guys who don’t waste time thinking things over and wouldn’t hesitate to befriend the devil himself. After studying the owner of the menagerie as he stepped out of his box, my companion pursed his lips in a mocking and contemptuous way, with that unique and expressive twist that people with superiority use to show they aren’t fooled. Then, while I was praising M. Martin’s courage, he smiled, shook his head knowingly, and said, ‘Well known.’”
“‘How “well known”?’ I said. ‘If you would only explain me the mystery, I should be vastly obliged.’
“‘How “well known”?’ I asked. ‘If you could just explain the mystery to me, I would really appreciate it.’”
“After a few minutes, during which we made acquaintance, we went to dine at the first restauranteur’s whose shop caught our eye. At dessert a bottle of champagne completely refreshed and brightened up the memories of this odd old soldier. He told me his story, and I saw that he was right when he exclaimed, ‘Well known.’”
“After a few minutes, as we got to know each other, we went to eat at the first restaurant that caught our eye. For dessert, a bottle of champagne really brought back the memories of this strange old soldier. He shared his story with me, and I realized he was right when he said, ‘Well known.’”
When she got home, she teased me to that extent, was so charming, and made so many promises, that I consented to communicate to her the confidences of the old soldier. Next day she received the following episode of an epic which one might call “The French in Egypt.”
When she got home, she playfully teased me, was so charming, and made so many promises that I agreed to share with her the secrets of the old soldier. The next day, she received the following episode from an epic one could call “The French in Egypt.”
During the expedition in Upper Egypt under General Desaix, a Provencal soldier fell into the hands of the Maugrabins, and was taken by these Arabs into the deserts beyond the falls of the Nile.
During the expedition in Upper Egypt led by General Desaix, a soldier from Provence was captured by the Maugrabins and taken by these Arabs into the deserts beyond the waterfalls of the Nile.
In order to place a sufficient distance between themselves and the French army, the Maugrabins made forced marches, and only halted when night was upon them. They camped round a well overshadowed by palm trees under which they had previously concealed a store of provisions. Not surmising that the notion of flight would occur to their prisoner, they contented themselves with binding his hands, and after eating a few dates, and giving provender to their horses, went to sleep.
In order to create enough distance from the French army, the Maugrabins pushed themselves to march quickly and only stopped when it got dark. They set up camp around a well shaded by palm trees, under which they had previously hidden some supplies. Not expecting their prisoner to think about escaping, they simply tied his hands, and after eating a few dates and feeding their horses, they went to sleep.
When the brave Provencal saw that his enemies were no longer watching him, he made use of his teeth to steal a scimiter, fixed the blade between his knees, and cut the cords which prevented him from using his hands; in a moment he was free. He at once seized a rifle and a dagger, then taking the precautions to provide himself with a sack of dried dates, oats, and powder and shot, and to fasten a scimiter to his waist, he leaped on to a horse, and spurred on vigorously in the direction where he thought to find the French army. So impatient was he to see a bivouac again that he pressed on the already tired courser at such speed, that its flanks were lacerated with his spurs, and at last the poor animal died, leaving the Frenchman alone in the desert. After walking some time in the sand with all the courage of an escaped convict, the soldier was obliged to stop, as the day had already ended. In spite of the beauty of an Oriental sky at night, he felt he had not strength enough to go on. Fortunately he had been able to find a small hill, on the summit of which a few palm trees shot up into the air; it was their verdure seen from afar which had brought hope and consolation to his heart. His fatigue was so great that he lay down upon a rock of granite, capriciously cut out like a camp-bed; there he fell asleep without taking any precaution to defend himself while he slept. He had made the sacrifice of his life. His last thought was one of regret. He repented having left the Maugrabins, whose nomadic life seemed to smile upon him now that he was far from them and without help. He was awakened by the sun, whose pitiless rays fell with all their force on the granite and produced an intolerable heat—for he had had the stupidity to place himself adversely to the shadow thrown by the verdant majestic heads of the palm trees. He looked at the solitary trees and shuddered—they reminded him of the graceful shafts crowned with foliage which characterize the Saracen columns in the cathedral of Arles.
When the brave Provencal saw that his enemies were no longer watching him, he used his teeth to snatch a scimitar, wedged the blade between his knees, and cut the cords that had bound his hands; in an instant, he was free. He quickly grabbed a rifle and a dagger, then took precautions to pack a sack of dried dates, oats, powder, and shot, and secured a scimitar to his waist. He jumped on a horse and urged it on vigorously in the direction where he thought he would find the French army. He was so eager to reach a camp again that he pushed the already tired horse at such a speed that its flanks were cut by his spurs, and eventually, the poor animal collapsed, leaving the Frenchman alone in the desert. After walking for a while in the sand with all the determination of an escaped convict, the soldier had to stop, as the day had already ended. Despite the beauty of the night sky over the East, he felt he didn’t have the strength to continue. Luckily, he had found a small hill with a few palm trees rising into the sky; their greenery visible from afar had brought hope and comfort to his heart. His exhaustion was so overwhelming that he lay down on a granite rock, shaped whimsically like a camp bed; there he fell asleep without taking any precautions to protect himself while he rested. He had sacrificed his life. His last thought was one of regret. He wished he hadn’t left the Maugrabins, whose nomadic lifestyle now seemed appealing since he was far from them and without help. He was awakened by the sun, whose relentless rays beat down on the granite and created unbearable heat—he had foolishly positioned himself in the way of the shadow cast by the majestic green palm trees. He stared at the solitary trees and shuddered; they reminded him of the elegant columns crowned with foliage that characterize the Saracen columns in the cathedral of Arles.
But when, after counting the palm trees, he cast his eyes around him, the most horrible despair was infused into his soul. Before him stretched an ocean without limit. The dark sand of the desert spread further than eye could reach in every direction, and glittered like steel struck with bright light. It might have been a sea of looking-glass, or lakes melted together in a mirror. A fiery vapor carried up in surging waves made a perpetual whirlwind over the quivering land. The sky was lit with an Oriental splendor of insupportable purity, leaving naught for the imagination to desire. Heaven and earth were on fire.
But when he finished counting the palm trees and looked around, a deep sense of despair filled his soul. Before him lay an endless ocean. The dark sand of the desert stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, shining like steel under bright light. It was like a sea of glass or lakes that had merged into a mirror. A fiery mist rose in crashing waves, creating a constant whirlwind over the shimmering land. The sky was illuminated with an overwhelming, dazzling brightness, leaving nothing for the imagination to wish for. Heaven and earth were ablaze.
The silence was awful in its wild and terrible majesty. Infinity, immensity, closed in upon the soul from every side. Not a cloud in the sky, not a breath in the air, not a flaw on the bosom of the sand, ever moving in diminutive waves; the horizon ended as at sea on a clear day, with one line of light, definite as the cut of a sword.
The silence was overwhelming in its wild and terrible grandeur. Infinity, vastness, surrounded the soul on all sides. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, not a whisper in the air, not a blemish on the smooth surface of the sand, which flowed in tiny waves; the horizon ended just like at sea on a clear day, with one line of light, sharp as the edge of a sword.
The Provencal threw his arms round the trunk of one of the palm trees, as though it were the body of a friend, and then, in the shelter of the thin, straight shadow that the palm cast upon the granite, he wept. Then sitting down he remained as he was, contemplating with profound sadness the implacable scene, which was all he had to look upon. He cried aloud, to measure the solitude. His voice, lost in the hollows of the hill, sounded faintly, and aroused no echo—the echo was in his own heart. The Provencal was twenty-two years old:—he loaded his carbine.
The Provencal wrapped his arms around the trunk of one of the palm trees, as if it were the body of a friend, and then, in the shade of the thin, straight shadow cast by the palm on the granite, he wept. Sitting down, he stayed where he was, deeply contemplating the unyielding scene that was all he had to look at. He cried out, trying to measure his solitude. His voice, fading into the hollows of the hill, sounded faint and stirred no echo—the echo was in his own heart. The Provencal was twenty-two years old: he loaded his carbine.
“There’ll be time enough,” he said to himself, laying on the ground the weapon which alone could bring him deliverance.
“There’ll be plenty of time,” he told himself, dropping the weapon that was his only chance of escape onto the ground.
Viewing alternately the dark expanse of the desert and the blue expanse of the sky, the soldier dreamed of France—he smelled with delight the gutters of Paris—he remembered the towns through which he had passed, the faces of his comrades, the most minute details of his life. His Southern fancy soon showed him the stones of his beloved Provence, in the play of the heat which undulated above the wide expanse of the desert. Realizing the danger of this cruel mirage, he went down the opposite side of the hill to that by which he had come up the day before. The remains of a rug showed that this place of refuge had at one time been inhabited; at a short distance he saw some palm trees full of dates. Then the instinct which binds us to life awoke again in his heart. He hoped to live long enough to await the passing of some Maugrabins, or perhaps he might hear the sound of cannon; for at this time Bonaparte was traversing Egypt.
Looking alternately at the vast dark desert and the blue sky, the soldier dreamed of France—he delighted in the smell of the gutters of Paris—he remembered the towns he had passed through, the faces of his comrades, and the smallest details of his life. His Southern imagination quickly brought to mind the stones of his cherished Provence, shimmering in the heat that waved above the wide desert. Realizing the danger of this cruel illusion, he descended the opposite side of the hill from the way he had come up the day before. The remnants of a rug indicated that this refuge had once been lived in; not far away, he saw some palm trees heavy with dates. Then the instinct that connects us to life stirred once more in his heart. He hoped to live long enough to see some Maugrabins pass by, or perhaps he might hear the sound of cannons; for at that time, Bonaparte was moving through Egypt.
This thought gave him new life. The palm tree seemed to bend with the weight of the ripe fruit. He shook some of it down. When he tasted this unhoped-for manna, he felt sure that the palms had been cultivated by a former inhabitant—the savory, fresh meat of the dates were proof of the care of his predecessor. He passed suddenly from dark despair to an almost insane joy. He went up again to the top of the hill, and spent the rest of the day in cutting down one of the sterile palm trees, which the night before had served him for shelter. A vague memory made him think of the animals of the desert; and in case they might come to drink at the spring, visible from the base of the rocks but lost further down, he resolved to guard himself from their visits by placing a barrier at the entrance of his hermitage.
This thought brought him new energy. The palm tree seemed to bend under the weight of the ripe fruit. He shook some of it down. When he tasted this unexpected manna, he felt certain that the palms had been tended by a previous inhabitant—the delicious, fresh meat of the dates were evidence of his predecessor's care. He suddenly shifted from deep despair to almost crazy joy. He climbed back up to the top of the hill and spent the rest of the day cutting down one of the barren palm trees, which had sheltered him the night before. A vague memory made him think of the desert animals; and to prevent them from drinking at the spring, which was visible from the base of the rocks but concealed further down, he decided to protect himself by putting up a barrier at the entrance of his hermitage.
In spite of his diligence, and the strength which the fear of being devoured asleep gave him, he was unable to cut the palm in pieces, though he succeeded in cutting it down. At eventide the king of the desert fell; the sound of its fall resounded far and wide, like a sigh in the solitude; the soldier shuddered as though he had heard some voice predicting woe.
Despite his hard work and the intensity fueled by the fear of being eaten while he slept, he couldn't chop the palm into pieces, even though he managed to bring it down. At sunset, the king of the desert fell; the noise of its collapse echoed far and wide, like a sigh in the emptiness; the soldier shivered as if he had heard a voice foretelling disaster.
But like an heir who does not long bewail a deceased relative, he tore off from this beautiful tree the tall broad green leaves which are its poetic adornment, and used them to mend the mat on which he was to sleep.
But just like an heir who doesn't mourn a dead relative for long, he ripped off the tall, broad green leaves from this beautiful tree, which were its poetic decoration, and used them to fix the mat he was going to sleep on.
Fatigued by the heat and his work, he fell asleep under the red curtains of his wet cave.
Fatigued by the heat and his work, he fell asleep under the red curtains of his humid cave.
In the middle of the night his sleep was troubled by an extraordinary noise; he sat up, and the deep silence around allowed him to distinguish the alternative accents of a respiration whose savage energy could not belong to a human creature.
In the middle of the night, an unusual noise disturbed his sleep; he sat up, and the complete silence around him enabled him to identify the varying sounds of breathing that had a wild intensity that couldn't possibly belong to a human being.
A profound terror, increased still further by the darkness, the silence, and his waking images, froze his heart within him. He almost felt his hair stand on end, when by straining his eyes to their utmost he perceived through the shadow two faint yellow lights. At first he attributed these lights to the reflections of his own pupils, but soon the vivid brilliance of the night aided him gradually to distinguish the objects around him in the cave, and he beheld a huge animal lying but two steps from him. Was it a lion, a tiger, or a crocodile?
A deep fear, made worse by the darkness, the silence, and his waking thoughts, froze his heart. He almost felt his hair stand on end when, by straining his eyes as much as he could, he noticed two faint yellow lights in the shadows. At first, he thought these lights were just reflections from his own eyes, but soon the bright glow of the night helped him gradually make out the objects around him in the cave, and he saw a huge animal lying just two steps away. Was it a lion, a tiger, or a crocodile?
The Provencal was not sufficiently educated to know under what species his enemy ought to be classed; but his fright was all the greater, as his ignorance led him to imagine all terrors at once; he endured a cruel torture, noting every variation of the breathing close to him without daring to make the slightest movement. An odor, pungent like that of a fox, but more penetrating, more profound,—so to speak,—filled the cave, and when the Provencal became sensible of this, his terror reached its height, for he could no longer doubt the proximity of a terrible companion, whose royal dwelling served him for a shelter.
The Provencal wasn't educated enough to know what kind of creature his enemy was, but his fear only intensified, as his lack of knowledge led him to imagine all sorts of horrors. He suffered in silence, acutely aware of every change in the breathing nearby, too scared to move even a little. An odor, sharp like that of a fox but even stronger and deeper, filled the cave. When the Provencal noticed this, his terror peaked because he could no longer doubt that a fearsome presence was close by, using the cave as its royal home.
Presently the reflection of the moon descending on the horizon lit up the den, rendering gradually visible and resplendent the spotted skin of a panther.
Currently, the moonlight setting on the horizon illuminated the den, gradually revealing and shining a light on the spotted fur of a panther.
This lion of Egypt slept, curled up like a big dog, the peaceful possessor of a sumptuous niche at the gate of an hotel; its eyes opened for a moment and closed again; its face was turned towards the man. A thousand confused thoughts passed through the Frenchman’s mind; first he thought of killing it with a bullet from his gun, but he saw there was not enough distance between them for him to take proper aim—the shot would miss the mark. And if it were to wake!—the thought made his limbs rigid. He listened to his own heart beating in the midst of the silence, and cursed the too violent pulsations which the flow of blood brought on, fearing to disturb that sleep which allowed him time to think of some means of escape.
This lion from Egypt was sleeping, curled up like a big dog, comfortably settled in a fancy spot at the entrance of a hotel; its eyes opened for a moment before closing again; its face was directed toward the man. A thousand jumbled thoughts raced through the Frenchman’s mind; first, he considered shooting it with a bullet from his gun, but he realized he was too close to aim properly—the shot would miss. And what if it woke up!—the thought made his limbs stiff. He heard his own heart pounding in the silence and cursed the intense beats that the rush of blood brought on, worried he might disturb that peaceful sleep, which gave him time to think of an escape plan.
Twice he placed his hand on his scimiter, intending to cut off the head of his enemy; but the difficulty of cutting the stiff short hair compelled him to abandon this daring project. To miss would be to die for CERTAIN, he thought; he preferred the chances of fair fight, and made up his mind to wait till morning; the morning did not leave him long to wait.
Twice he put his hand on his scimitar, planning to behead his enemy, but the challenge of slicing through the stiff short hair made him rethink this bold idea. He felt that missing would definitely mean death, so he chose to take his chances in a fair fight and decided to wait until morning; fortunately, morning came quickly.
He could now examine the panther at ease; its muzzle was smeared with blood.
He could now look at the panther comfortably; its snout was covered in blood.
“She’s had a good dinner,” he thought, without troubling himself as to whether her feast might have been on human flesh. “She won’t be hungry when she gets up.”
"She’s had a good dinner," he thought, not caring if her meal had been human flesh. "She won’t be hungry when she gets up."
It was a female. The fur on her belly and flanks was glistening white; many small marks like velvet formed beautiful bracelets round her feet; her sinuous tail was also white, ending with black rings; the overpart of her dress, yellow like burnished gold, very lissome and soft, had the characteristic blotches in the form of rosettes, which distinguish the panther from every other feline species.
It was a female. The fur on her belly and sides was shining white; many small spots like velvet created beautiful bracelets around her feet; her sleek tail was also white, ending with black rings; the top part of her coat, yellow like polished gold, was very flexible and soft, and had the distinctive rosette-shaped spots that set the panther apart from all other cat species.
This tranquil and formidable hostess snored in an attitude as graceful as that of a cat lying on a cushion. Her blood-stained paws, nervous and well armed, were stretched out before her face, which rested upon them, and from which radiated her straight slender whiskers, like threads of silver.
This calm and impressive hostess snored in a pose as graceful as a cat lounging on a cushion. Her blood-stained paws, both tense and well-prepared, were stretched out in front of her face, which rested on them. From her face, her straight, slender whiskers radiated like threads of silver.
If she had been like that in a cage, the Provencal would doubtless have admired the grace of the animal, and the vigorous contrasts of vivid color which gave her robe an imperial splendor; but just then his sight was troubled by her sinister appearance.
If she had looked like that in a cage, the Provencal would definitely have admired the grace of the creature and the strong contrasts of bright colors that made her coat look regal; but at that moment, he was unsettled by her ominous look.
The presence of the panther, even asleep, could not fail to produce the effect which the magnetic eyes of the serpent are said to have on the nightingale.
The presence of the panther, even while asleep, was sure to create the same effect that the serpent's mesmerizing eyes are said to have on the nightingale.
For a moment the courage of the soldier began to fail before this danger, though no doubt it would have risen at the mouth of a cannon charged with shell. Nevertheless, a bold thought brought daylight to his soul and sealed up the source of the cold sweat which sprang forth on his brow. Like men driven to bay, who defy death and offer their body to the smiter, so he, seeing in this merely a tragic episode, resolved to play his part with honor to the last.
For a moment, the soldier's courage started to waver in the face of this danger, although it would have surged if he faced a cannon loaded with shells. Still, a brave idea brightened his spirit and stopped the cold sweat forming on his forehead. Like cornered men who challenge death and present their bodies to the attacker, he saw this merely as a tragic moment and decided to play his role with honor until the very end.
“The day before yesterday the Arabs would have killed me, perhaps,” he said; so considering himself as good as dead already, he waited bravely, with excited curiosity, the awakening of his enemy.
“The day before yesterday, the Arabs might have killed me,” he said; so, thinking of himself as good as dead already, he waited bravely, with eager curiosity, for his enemy to wake up.
When the sun appeared, the panther suddenly opened her eyes; then she put out her paws with energy, as if to stretch them and get rid of cramp. At last she yawned, showing the formidable apparatus of her teeth and pointed tongue, rough as a file.
When the sun came up, the panther quickly opened her eyes; then she extended her paws vigorously, as if to stretch them and shake off any cramping. Finally, she yawned, revealing her impressive teeth and her pointed tongue, which felt as rough as a file.
“A regular petite maitresse,” thought the Frenchman, seeing her roll herself about so softly and coquettishly. She licked off the blood which stained her paws and muzzle, and scratched her head with reiterated gestures full of prettiness. “All right, make a little toilet,” the Frenchman said to himself, beginning to recover his gaiety with his courage; “we’ll say good morning to each other presently;” and he seized the small, short dagger which he had taken from the Maugrabins.
“A typical little mistress,” thought the Frenchman, watching her move around so gently and playfully. She licked the blood off her paws and face, scratching her head with repeatedly cute gestures. “Okay, let’s tidy things up,” the Frenchman told himself, starting to regain his cheerfulness along with his courage; “we’ll say good morning to each other soon;” and he grabbed the small, short dagger he had taken from the Maugrabins.
At this moment the panther turned her head toward the man and looked at him fixedly without moving. The rigidity of her metallic eyes and their insupportable luster made him shudder, especially when the animal walked towards him. But he looked at her caressingly, staring into her eyes in order to magnetize her, and let her come quite close to him; then with a movement both gentle and amorous, as though he were caressing the most beautiful of women, he passed his hand over her whole body, from the head to the tail, scratching the flexible vertebrae which divided the panther’s yellow back. The animal waved her tail voluptuously, and her eyes grew gentle; and when for the third time the Frenchman accomplished this interesting flattery, she gave forth one of those purrings by which cats express their pleasure; but this murmur issued from a throat so powerful and so deep that it resounded through the cave like the last vibrations of an organ in a church. The man, understanding the importance of his caresses, redoubled them in such a way as to surprise and stupefy his imperious courtesan. When he felt sure of having extinguished the ferocity of his capricious companion, whose hunger had so fortunately been satisfied the day before, he got up to go out of the cave; the panther let him go out, but when he had reached the summit of the hill she sprang with the lightness of a sparrow hopping from twig to twig, and rubbed herself against his legs, putting up her back after the manner of all the race of cats. Then regarding her guest with eyes whose glare had softened a little, she gave vent to that wild cry which naturalists compare to the grating of a saw.
At that moment, the panther turned her head towards the man and stared at him intently without moving. The coldness of her metallic eyes and their unbearable shine made him shiver, especially as the animal walked closer to him. But he looked at her affectionately, gazing into her eyes to attract her, and let her approach him. Then, with a movement that was both gentle and loving, as if he were caressing the most beautiful woman, he stroked her entire body, from head to tail, scratching the flexible vertebrae that ran along the panther’s yellow back. The animal swayed her tail enticingly, and her eyes softened; and after he performed this tender act for the third time, she let out one of those purrs that cats use to show they’re happy; but this sound came from a throat so powerful and deep that it echoed through the cave like the last notes of an organ in a church. The man, realizing the significance of his touches, intensified them to the point of surprising and bewildering his commanding companion. When he felt confident that he had calmed the wildness of his unpredictable friend, whose hunger had luckily been satisfied the day before, he stood up to leave the cave; the panther allowed him to exit, but once he reached the top of the hill, she sprang forth with the grace of a sparrow hopping from branch to branch, and rubbed against his legs, arching her back like all cats do. Then, looking at her guest with eyes that had softened somewhat, she let out that wild cry which naturalists liken to the sound of a saw grinding.
“She is exacting,” said the Frenchman, smilingly.
“She is demanding,” said the Frenchman, smiling.
He was bold enough to play with her ears; he caressed her belly and scratched her head as hard as he could. When he saw that he was successful, he tickled her skull with the point of his dagger, watching for the right moment to kill her, but the hardness of her bones made him tremble for his success.
He was bold enough to play with her ears; he stroked her belly and scratched her head as hard as he could. When he saw that he was successful, he tickled her skull with the tip of his dagger, waiting for the right moment to kill her, but the hardness of her bones made him hesitate about his success.
The sultana of the desert showed herself gracious to her slave; she lifted her head, stretched out her neck and manifested her delight by the tranquility of her attitude. It suddenly occurred to the soldier that to kill this savage princess with one blow he must poniard her in the throat.
The desert queen was kind to her servant; she lifted her head, extended her neck, and showed her pleasure through her calm demeanor. Suddenly, the soldier realized that to take down this fierce princess with a single strike, he needed to stab her in the throat.
He raised the blade, when the panther, satisfied no doubt, laid herself gracefully at his feet, and cast up at him glances in which, in spite of their natural fierceness, was mingled confusedly a kind of good will. The poor Provencal ate his dates, leaning against one of the palm trees, and casting his eyes alternately on the desert in quest of some liberator and on his terrible companion to watch her uncertain clemency.
He lifted the blade when the panther, apparently satisfied, lay down gracefully at his feet and looked up at him with a mix of her natural fierceness and a kind of goodwill. The poor Provençal ate his dates while leaning against one of the palm trees, glancing back and forth between the desert in search of a savior and his fearsome companion to gauge her unpredictable mercy.
The panther looked at the place where the date stones fell, and every time that he threw one down her eyes expressed an incredible mistrust.
The panther stared at the spot where the date stones dropped, and each time he tossed one down, her eyes showed an intense mistrust.
She examined the man with an almost commercial prudence. However, this examination was favorable to him, for when he had finished his meager meal she licked his boots with her powerful rough tongue, brushing off with marvelous skill the dust gathered in the creases.
She looked at the man with a careful, almost business-like interest. However, this assessment worked in his favor, because when he finished his small meal, she licked his boots with her strong, rough tongue, skillfully cleaning off the dust that had collected in the creases.
“Ah, but when she’s really hungry!” thought the Frenchman. In spite of the shudder this thought caused him, the soldier began to measure curiously the proportions of the panther, certainly one of the most splendid specimens of its race. She was three feet high and four feet long without counting her tail; this powerful weapon, rounded like a cudgel, was nearly three feet long. The head, large as that of a lioness, was distinguished by a rare expression of refinement. The cold cruelty of a tiger was dominant, it was true, but there was also a vague resemblance to the face of a sensual woman. Indeed, the face of this solitary queen had something of the gaiety of a drunken Nero: she had satiated herself with blood, and she wanted to play.
“Ah, but when she’s really hungry!” thought the Frenchman. Despite the shudder this thought gave him, the soldier began to curiously measure the panther, certainly one of the most magnificent specimens of its species. She was three feet tall and four feet long, not including her tail; this powerful weapon, thick like a club, was almost three feet long. The head, as large as that of a lioness, had a rare expression of elegance. The cold cruelty of a tiger was evident, but there was also a faint resemblance to the face of a sensual woman. In fact, the face of this solitary queen had a hint of the merriness of a drunken Nero: she had feasted on blood, and she wanted to play.
The soldier tried if he might walk up and down, and the panther left him free, contenting herself with following him with her eyes, less like a faithful dog than a big Angora cat, observing everything and every movement of her master.
The soldier tested if he could walk back and forth, and the panther let him be, satisfied to track his movements with her gaze, more like a big Angora cat than a loyal dog, watching everything her master did.
When he looked around, he saw, by the spring, the remains of his horse; the panther had dragged the carcass all that way; about two thirds of it had been devoured already. The sight reassured him.
When he looked around, he saw, by the spring, the remains of his horse; the panther had dragged the carcass all that way; about two thirds of it had been eaten already. The sight reassured him.
It was easy to explain the panther’s absence, and the respect she had had for him while he slept. The first piece of good luck emboldened him to tempt the future, and he conceived the wild hope of continuing on good terms with the panther during the entire day, neglecting no means of taming her, and remaining in her good graces.
It was simple to justify why the panther was missing, and the admiration she had for him while he slept. The first bit of good fortune gave him the courage to take a chance on the future, and he formed the daring hope of staying on good terms with the panther all day, using every possible way to win her over and keep her favor.
He returned to her, and had the unspeakable joy of seeing her wag her tail with an almost imperceptible movement at his approach. He sat down then, without fear, by her side, and they began to play together; he took her paws and muzzle, pulled her ears, rolled her over on her back, stroked her warm, delicate flanks. She let him do what ever he liked, and when he began to stroke the hair on her feet she drew her claws in carefully.
He came back to her and felt an incredible joy as he watched her tail wag with a subtle movement when he got close. He then sat down next to her, feeling safe, and they started to play together; he held her paws and snout, tugged on her ears, rolled her onto her back, and stroked her warm, soft sides. She allowed him to do whatever he wanted, and when he started to pet the fur on her feet, she carefully retracted her claws.
The man, keeping the dagger in one hand, thought to plunge it into the belly of the too confiding panther, but he was afraid that he would be immediately strangled in her last convulsive struggle; besides, he felt in his heart a sort of remorse which bid him respect a creature that had done him no harm. He seemed to have found a friend, in a boundless desert; half unconsciously he thought of his first sweetheart, whom he had nicknamed “Mignonne” by way of contrast, because she was so atrociously jealous that all the time of their love he was in fear of the knife with which she had always threatened him.
The man, holding the dagger in one hand, thought about stabbing the overly trusting panther in the belly, but he was afraid he would be quickly strangled in her last desperate struggle; besides, he felt a kind of guilt that urged him to respect a creature that had done him no harm. He seemed to have found a friend in a vast desert; half unconsciously, he thought of his first girlfriend, whom he had nicknamed "Mignonne" as a contrast, because she was so outrageously jealous that throughout their relationship he was always afraid of the knife she constantly threatened him with.
This memory of his early days suggested to him the idea of making the young panther answer to this name, now that he began to admire with less terror her swiftness, suppleness, and softness. Toward the end of the day he had familiarized himself with his perilous position; he now almost liked the painfulness of it. At last his companion had got into the habit of looking up at him whenever he cried in a falsetto voice, “Mignonne.”
This memory of his early days reminded him of the idea of calling the young panther by this name, as he was starting to admire her speed, agility, and gentleness without as much fear. By the end of the day, he had grown accustomed to his risky situation; he almost found a strange enjoyment in it. Eventually, his companion had begun to look up at him whenever he called out in a high-pitched voice, “Mignonne.”
At the setting of the sun Mignonne gave, several times running, a profound melancholy cry. “She’s been well brought up,” said the lighthearted soldier; “she says her prayers.” But this mental joke only occurred to him when he noticed what a pacific attitude his companion remained in. “Come, ma petite blonde, I’ll let you go to bed first,” he said to her, counting on the activity of his own legs to run away as quickly as possible, directly she was asleep, and seek another shelter for the night.
As the sun was setting, Mignonne let out a deep, sorrowful cry several times. “She’s been raised well,” said the carefree soldier; “she says her prayers.” But he only thought of that when he saw how calm his companion was. “Come on, my little blonde, I’ll let you go to bed first,” he told her, planning to use his own quick legs to escape as soon as she fell asleep and find another place to spend the night.
The soldier waited with impatience the hour of his flight, and when it had arrived he walked vigorously in the direction of the Nile; but hardly had he made a quarter of a league in the sand when he heard the panther bounding after him, crying with that saw-like cry more dreadful even than the sound of her leaping.
The soldier impatiently awaited the time of his flight, and when it finally came, he strode purposefully toward the Nile. But he had barely traveled a quarter of a mile in the sand when he heard the panther chasing after him, letting out that horrific cry that was even more terrifying than the sound of her leap.
“Ah!” he said, “then she’s taken a fancy to me, she has never met anyone before, and it is really quite flattering to have her first love.” That instant the man fell into one of those movable quicksands so terrible to travelers and from which it is impossible to save oneself. Feeling himself caught, he gave a shriek of alarm; the panther seized him with her teeth by the collar, and, springing vigorously backwards, drew him as if by magic out of the whirling sand.
“Ah!” he said, “so she likes me; she’s never met anyone like this before, and it's really quite flattering to be her first love.” In that moment, the man fell into one of those dreadful quicksands that are so dangerous for travelers and from which there’s no escape. Realizing he was stuck, he let out a scream of panic; the panther grabbed him by the collar with her teeth and, jumping back with strength, pulled him out of the swirling sand as if by magic.
“Ah, Mignonne!” cried the soldier, caressing her enthusiastically; “we’re bound together for life and death but no jokes, mind!” and he retraced his steps.
“Ah, Mignonne!” the soldier exclaimed, hugging her excitedly. “We’re connected for better or worse, but no jokes, okay?” and he turned to walk away.
From that time the desert seemed inhabited. It contained a being to whom the man could talk, and whose ferocity was rendered gentle by him, though he could not explain to himself the reason for their strange friendship. Great as was the soldier’s desire to stay upon guard, he slept.
From that time on, the desert felt alive. It had a presence that the man could speak to, and its fierce nature softened in his company, though he couldn't understand why they shared such an unusual bond. Despite the soldier's strong urge to remain vigilant, he fell asleep.
On awakening he could not find Mignonne; he mounted the hill, and in the distance saw her springing toward him after the habit of these animals, who cannot run on account of the extreme flexibility of the vertebral column. Mignonne arrived, her jaws covered with blood; she received the wonted caress of her companion, showing with much purring how happy it made her. Her eyes, full of languor, turned still more gently than the day before toward the Provencal, who talked to her as one would to a tame animal.
Upon waking, he couldn’t find Mignonne. He climbed the hill and saw her bounding toward him like those animals that can’t run due to their incredibly flexible spine. Mignonne reached him, her jaws stained with blood; she enjoyed the usual affection from her companion, purring to show how happy it made her. Her eyes, filled with drowsiness, turned even more softly than the day before toward the Provencal, who spoke to her as if she were a domesticated animal.
“Ah! mademoiselle, you are a nice girl, aren’t you? Just look at that! So we like to be made much of, don’t we? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? So you have been eating some Arab or other, have you? That doesn’t matter. They’re animals just the same as you are; but don’t you take to eating Frenchmen, or I shan’t like you any longer.”
“Ah! Miss, you’re such a nice girl, aren’t you? Just look at that! So, we like to be pampered, right? Aren’t you a bit ashamed? So, you’ve been seeing some Arab or someone like that, huh? That’s okay. They’re just as much animals as you are; but don’t start eating French people, or I won’t like you anymore.”
She played like a dog with its master, letting herself be rolled over, knocked about, and stroked, alternately; sometimes she herself would provoke the soldier, putting up her paw with a soliciting gesture.
She played like a dog with its owner, allowing herself to be flipped over, tossed around, and petted, sometimes in turns; at times, she would even tease the soldier, lifting her paw with a playful gesture.
Some days passed in this manner. This companionship permitted the Provencal to appreciate the sublime beauty of the desert; now that he had a living thing to think about, alternations of fear and quiet, and plenty to eat, his mind became filled with contrast and his life began to be diversified.
Some days went by like this. This companionship allowed the Provencal to admire the stunning beauty of the desert; now that he had a living being to think about, with moments of fear and calm, along with enough food, his mind was filled with contrasts and his life started to become more varied.
Solitude revealed to him all her secrets, and enveloped him in her delights. He discovered in the rising and setting of the sun sights unknown to the world. He knew what it was to tremble when he heard over his head the hiss of a bird’s wing, so rarely did they pass, or when he saw the clouds, changing and many colored travelers, melt one into another. He studied in the night time the effect of the moon upon the ocean of sand, where the simoom made waves swift of movement and rapid in their change. He lived the life of the Eastern day, marveling at its wonderful pomp; then, after having reveled in the sight of a hurricane over the plain where the whirling sands made red, dry mists and death-bearing clouds, he would welcome the night with joy, for then fell the healthful freshness of the stars, and he listened to imaginary music in the skies. Then solitude taught him to unroll the treasures of dreams. He passed whole hours in remembering mere nothings, and comparing his present life with his past.
Solitude shared all her secrets with him and wrapped him in her joys. He found in the sunrise and sunset sights that were unknown to the world. He felt the thrill of a bird's wing passing overhead, so rare to see, or watched as the clouds, colorful and shifting travelers, blended into each other. At night, he observed how the moon affected the ocean of sand, where the hot wind created swift waves that changed rapidly. He lived for the Eastern day, amazed by its incredible splendor; then, after enjoying the sight of a hurricane across the plain where the swirling sands formed red, dry mist and ominous clouds, he welcomed the night with delight, for it brought the refreshing brilliance of the stars, and he imagined music in the skies. Then solitude taught him to unfold the treasures of his dreams. He spent hours reminiscing about trivial things and comparing his current life with his past.
At last he grew passionately fond of the panther; for some sort of affection was a necessity.
At last, he became deeply fond of the panther because he needed some kind of affection.
Whether it was that his will powerfully projected had modified the character of his companion, or whether, because she found abundant food in her predatory excursions in the desert, she respected the man’s life, he began to fear for it no longer, seeing her so well tamed.
Whether his strong will had changed his companion's character, or if she respected the man's life because she found plenty to eat during her hunting trips in the desert, he no longer feared for it, seeing how well adjusted she was.
He devoted the greater part of his time to sleep, but he was obliged to watch like a spider in its web that the moment of his deliverance might not escape him, if anyone should pass the line marked by the horizon. He had sacrificed his shirt to make a flag with, which he hung at the top of a palm tree, whose foliage he had torn off. Taught by necessity, he found the means of keeping it spread out, by fastening it with little sticks; for the wind might not be blowing at the moment when the passing traveler was looking through the desert.
He spent most of his time sleeping, but he had to stay alert like a spider in its web, ready to seize the moment of his escape if anyone crossed the line of the horizon. He had given up his shirt to make a flag, which he hung at the top of a palm tree after stripping off its leaves. Learning from necessity, he figured out how to keep it spread out by securing it with small sticks, since the wind might not be blowing when a passing traveler was scanning the desert.
It was during the long hours, when he had abandoned hope, that he amused himself with the panther. He had come to learn the different inflections of her voice, the expressions of her eyes; he had studied the capricious patterns of all the rosettes which marked the gold of her robe. Mignonne was not even angry when he took hold of the tuft at the end of her tail to count her rings, those graceful ornaments which glittered in the sun like jewelry. It gave him pleasure to contemplate the supple, fine outlines of her form, the whiteness of her belly, the graceful pose of her head. But it was especially when she was playing that he felt most pleasure in looking at her; the agility and youthful lightness of her movements were a continual surprise to him; he wondered at the supple way in which she jumped and climbed, washed herself and arranged her fur, crouched down and prepared to spring. However rapid her spring might be, however slippery the stone she was on, she would always stop short at the word “Mignonne.”
It was during the long hours, when he had lost all hope, that he entertained himself with the panther. He had come to recognize the different tones of her voice, the expressions in her eyes; he had studied the playful patterns of all the rosettes that dotted the gold of her coat. Mignonne wasn't even annoyed when he grabbed the tuft at the end of her tail to count her rings, those graceful ornaments that sparkled in the sun like jewelry. He took pleasure in admiring the sleek, elegant lines of her body, the whiteness of her belly, the graceful position of her head. But it was especially when she was playing that he found the most joy in watching her; the agility and youthful lightness of her movements always amazed him; he marveled at the elegant way she jumped and climbed, groomed herself and arranged her fur, crouched down and got ready to pounce. No matter how fast her leap was, or how slippery the stone she was on, she would always come to a stop at the word “Mignonne.”
One day, in a bright midday sun, an enormous bird coursed through the air. The man left his panther to look at his new guest; but after waiting a moment the deserted sultana growled deeply.
One day, under the bright midday sun, a huge bird flew through the sky. The man left his panther to check out his new guest; but after a moment of waiting, the abandoned sultana growled deeply.
“My goodness! I do believe she’s jealous,” he cried, seeing her eyes become hard again; “the soul of Virginie has passed into her body; that’s certain.”
“My goodness! I really think she’s jealous,” he exclaimed, noticing her eyes turn cold again; “the spirit of Virginie has definitely taken over her body.”
The eagle disappeared into the air, while the soldier admired the curved contour of the panther.
The eagle vanished into the sky, while the soldier admired the sleek shape of the panther.
But there was such youth and grace in her form! she was beautiful as a woman! the blond fur of her robe mingled well with the delicate tints of faint white which marked her flanks.
But there was so much youth and grace in her figure! She was beautiful like a woman! The blonde fur of her robe blended nicely with the soft shades of pale white that marked her sides.
The profuse light cast down by the sun made this living gold, these russet markings, to burn in a way to give them an indefinable attraction.
The bright light from the sun made this living gold, these reddish-brown markings, shine in a way that gave them an irresistible charm.
The man and the panther looked at one another with a look full of meaning; the coquette quivered when she felt her friend stroke her head; her eyes flashed like lightning—then she shut them tightly.
The man and the panther stared at each other with a meaningful glance; the flirt trembled when she felt her friend touch her head; her eyes sparkled like lightning—then she closed them tightly.
“She has a soul,” he said, looking at the stillness of this queen of the sands, golden like them, white like them, solitary and burning like them.
“She has a soul,” he said, gazing at the stillness of this queen of the sands, golden like them, white like them, alone and intense like them.
“Well,” she said, “I have read your plea in favor of beasts; but how did two so well adapted to understand each other end?”
“Well,” she said, “I’ve read your argument for animals; but how did two beings so well suited to understand each other end up like this?”
“Ah, well! you see, they ended as all great passions do end—by a misunderstanding. For some reason ONE suspects the other of treason; they don’t come to an explanation through pride, and quarrel and part from sheer obstinacy.”
“Ah, well! You see, they ended like all great passions do—through a misunderstanding. For some reason, one suspects the other of betrayal; they don’t seek clarification because of pride, and they argue and separate out of sheer stubbornness.”
“Yet sometimes at the best moments a single word or a look is enough—but anyhow go on with your story.”
“Yet sometimes in the best moments, a single word or glance is enough—but anyway, continue with your story.”
“It’s horribly difficult, but you will understand, after what the old villain told me over his champagne. He said—‘I don’t know if I hurt her, but she turned round, as if enraged, and with her sharp teeth caught hold of my leg—gently, I daresay; but I, thinking she would devour me, plunged my dagger into her throat. She rolled over, giving a cry that froze my heart; and I saw her dying, still looking at me without anger. I would have given all the world—my cross even, which I had not got then—to have brought her to life again. It was as though I had murdered a real person; and the soldiers who had seen my flag, and were come to my assistance, found me in tears.’
“It’s incredibly difficult, but you’ll understand after what the old villain told me over his champagne. He said—‘I don’t know if I hurt her, but she turned around, as if angry, and with her sharp teeth grasped my leg—gently, I suppose; but I, thinking she was going to eat me, stabbed her in the throat. She fell over, letting out a scream that froze my heart; and I watched her die, still looking at me without any anger. I would have given anything—even my cross, which I didn’t have then—to bring her back to life. It felt like I had murdered a real person; and the soldiers who had seen my flag and came to help found me in tears.’”
“‘Well sir,’ he said, after a moment of silence, ‘since then I have been in war in Germany, in Spain, in Russia, in France; I’ve certainly carried my carcase about a good deal, but never have I seen anything like the desert. Ah! yes, it is very beautiful!’
“‘Well, sir,’ he said after a brief pause, ‘since then I’ve been in war in Germany, Spain, Russia, and France; I’ve definitely dragged my body around a lot, but I’ve never seen anything like the desert. Ah! Yes, it’s really beautiful!’”
“‘What did you feel there?’ I asked him.
“‘What did you feel there?’ I asked him.
“‘Oh! that can’t be described, young man! Besides, I am not always regretting my palm trees and my panther. I should have to be very melancholy for that. In the desert, you see, there is everything and nothing.’
“‘Oh! that can't be explained, young man! Besides, I'm not always missing my palm trees and my panther. I'd have to be really sad for that. In the desert, you see, there's everything and nothing.’”
“‘Yes, but explain——’
“Yes, but explain—”
“‘Well,’ he said, with an impatient gesture, ‘it is God without mankind.’”
“‘Well,’ he said, waving his hand impatiently, ‘it's God without humanity.’”
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