"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 program.
"By what means," she continued, "can he have tamed these animals to such a
point as to be certain of their affection for----."
"What seems to you a problem," said I, interrupting, "is really quite
"Oh!" she cried, letting an incredulous smile wander over her lips.
"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
She looked at me with an air of astonishment.
"Nevertheless," 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 intrepid heads, stamped with the seal of
warfare, and on which the 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 lightheartedly, who stand intepidly 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 peopIe 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.'
"How `well known'? I said. `If you would only explain to me the mystery I
should be vastly obliged.'
"After a few minutes, during which we made acquaintance, we went to dine at
the first restaurateur'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 said he had every reason to exclaim,
When she got home, she teased me to that extent and made so many promises that
I consented to communicate to her the old soldier's confidences. Next day she
received the following episode of an epic which one might call "The Frenchman
During the expedition in Upper Egypt under
General Desaix, a Provençal
soldier fell into the hands of the
Mangrabins, and was taken by these
Arabs into the deserts beyond the falls of the Nile.
In order to place a sufficient distance between themselves and the French
army, the Mangrabins made forced marches, and only rested during the night.
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.
When the brave Provençal saw that his enemies were no longer watching
him, he made use of his teeth to steal a scimitar,
fixed the blade between
his knees, and cut the cords which prevented using his hands; in a moment he
was free. He at once seized a rifle and dagger, then taking the precaution to
provide himself with a sack of dried dates, oats, and powder and shot, and to
fasten a scimitar to his waist he leaped onto 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 Mangrabins, whose nomad life seemed to
smile on him now that he was afar 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
inversely 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.
But when, after counting the palm trees, he cast his eye 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 farther than sight could
reach in every direction, and glittered like steel struck with a bright light.
It might have been a sea of looking glass, or lakes melted together in a mirror.
A fiery vapor carried up in streaks 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
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 Provençal threw his arms around 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 Provençal 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.
Looking by turns at the black expanse and the blue expanse, 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 fellow soldiers, 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 waved over the spread sheet of the desert. Fearing 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 Arabs, or perhaps he might hear the sound of cannon, for at this time
Bonaparte was traversing 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 was 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 farther down,
he resolved to guard himself from their visits by placing a barrier at the entrance of his
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 sign
the solitude; the soldier shuddered as though he had heard some voice predicting woe.
But like an heir who does not long bewail a deceased parent, 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.
Fatigued by the heat and his work, he fell asleep under the red curtains of his wet cave.
In the middle of the night his sleep was troubled by an extraordinary noise; he sat up,
and the deep silence around him allowed him to distinguish the alternative accents of a
respiration whose savage energy could not belong to a human creature.
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 shadows two faint yellow lights. At first
he attributed these lights to the reflection 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 ahuge animal lying but two steps from him. Was it a lion, a tiger, or a crocodile?
The Provençal was not educated enough 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 an
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, profounder--so to speak--filled the cave, and when the
Provençal became sensible of this, his terror reached its height, for he could not longer
doubt the proximity of a terrible companion, whose royal dwelling served him for shelter.
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.
This lion of Egypt slept, curled up like a big dog, the peaceful possessor of a
sumptuous niche at the gate of a hotel; its eyes opened for a moment and closed again; its
face was turned toward 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.
Twice he placed his hand on his scimitar, intending to cut off the head of his enemy;
but the difficulty of cutting 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.
He could now examine the panther at ease; its muzzle was smeared with 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."
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 unburnished gold,
very lissome and soft, had the characteristic
blotches the form of rosettes which distinguish the panther from every other feline
This tranquil and formidable hostess snored in an attitude as graceful as that of a cat
lying on a cushion. Her bloodstained 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.
If she had been like that in a cage, the Provençal 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.
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.
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 in 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.
"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 his
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.
"A regular petite maîtresse,"
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 Mangrabins. 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 toward 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 our
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.
"She is exacting," said the Frenchman, smilingly.
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.
The sultana of the desert showed herself gracious to her slave; she lifted her head,
stretched out her 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
poignard 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 Provençal 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.
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.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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 her good graces.
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.
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
conclusive 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.
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."
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.
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 sawlike
cry more dreadful even than the sound of her leaping.
"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
backward, drew him as if by magic out of the whirling sand.
"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.
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.
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 Provençal who talked to her as one would to a tame 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."
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.
Some days passed in this manner. This companionship permitted the Provençal
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.
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.
At last he grew passionately fond of the panther; for some sort of affection was a
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
He devoted the greater part of his time to sleep, but he was obliged to watch like a
spider inits 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.
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."
One day, in a bright midday sun, an enormous bird coursed through the air. The man
left his panther to look at this new guest; but after waiting a moment the deserted sultana
"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."
The eagle disappeared into the air, while the soldier admired the curved contour of the
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
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 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.
"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.
"Well," she said, "I have read your plea in favor of beasts; but how did two so well
adapted to understand each other end?"
"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."
"Yet sometimes at the best moments a single word or a look is enough--but anyhow
go on with your story."
"It's horribly difficult, but you will understand, after what the old villain told me over
"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 lied not 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.'
"`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 carcass about a good
deal, but never have I seen anything like the desert. Ah! yes, it is very beautiful!'
" '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.'
Yes, but explain----'
"'Well,' he said, with an impatient gesture, 'it is God without mankind.'"
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