daylight. And the day was not long in coming. Then the Frenchman was
able to examine the beast; its muzzle was stained with blood.
"It has eaten a good meal," thought he, undisturbed as to whether the
meal had been of human flesh or not; "it will not be hungry when it
wakes."
It was a female; the hair on the stomach and thighs was a dazzling
white. A number of little spots, like velvet, formed dainty bracelets
around her paws. The muscular tail was white also, but ended in black
rings. The upper part of the coat, yellow as unpolished gold, but very
smooth and soft, bore the characteristic marking of rose-shaped spots
which serve to distinguish panthers from other varieties of the feline
family. That placid but formidable hostess lay snoring in an attitude
as graceful as that of a cat lying on the cushion of an ottoman. Her
blood-stained paws, muscular and provided with sharp claws, were above
her head, which rested on them; and from her muzzle projected a few
straight hairs called whiskers, like silver thread. If he had seen her
thus in a cage, the Provençal would certainly have admired the beast's
grace and the striking contrast of the bright colours which gave to her
coat an imperial gloss and splendour; but at that moment, his eyes
were bewildered by that terrible sight. The presence of the panther,
even though asleep, produced upon him the effect which the snake's
magnetic eyes are said to produce upon the nightingale. For a moment
the soldier's courage oozed away before that danger; whereas it would
doubtless have been raised to its highest pitch before the mouths of
cannon vomiting shot and shell. However, a bold thought entered his
mind and froze at its source the cold perspiration which stood on his
brow. Acting like those men who, driven to the wall by misfortune, defy
death and offer themselves defenceless to its blows, he detected in
that adventure a tragedy which he could not understand, and resolved to
play his part with honour to the last.
"The Arabs might have killed me day before yesterday," he thought.
Looking upon himself as dead, he waited with anxious curiosity for his
enemy to wake. When the sun appeared, the panther suddenly opened
her eyes; then she stretched her paws, as if to limber them and to
rid herself of the cramp; finally she yawned, showing her terrifying
arsenal of teeth, and her cloven tongue, hard as a file.
"She is like a dainty woman!" thought the Frenchman, as he watched her
roll about and go through the prettiest and most coquettish movements.
She licked off the blood which stained her paws and her nose, and
scratched her head again and again, with the most graceful of gestures.
"Good! give a little attention to your toilet!" said the Frenchman to
himself, his gayety returning with his courage; "in a moment we will
bid each other good day."
And he grasped the short poniard which he had taken from the Maugrabins.
At that moment the panther turned her face towards the Frenchman and
gazed steadfastly at him without moving. The rigidity of her steely
eyes, and their unendurable brilliancy, made the Provençal shudder,
especially when the beast walked towards him; but he gazed at her with
a caressing expression, and smiling at her as if to magnetise her,
allowed her to come close to him; then, with a touch as gentle and
loving as if he were caressing the fairest of women, he passed his hand
over her whole body from head to tail, scratching with his nails the
flexible vertebrae which formed the panther's yellow back. The animal
stiffened her tail with pleasure, her eyes became softer; and when the
Frenchman performed that self-interested caress for the third time,
she began to purr, as cats do to express pleasure; but the sound came
forth from a throat so deep and so powerful that it rang through the
grotto like the last notes of an organ through a church. The Provençal,
realising the importance of his caresses, repeated them in a way to
soothe, to lull the imperious courtesan. When he felt sure that he had
allayed the ferocity of his capricious companion, whose hunger had
certainly been sated the night before, he rose and started to leave the
grotto. The panther allowed him to go; but, when he had climbed the
hill, she bounded after him as lightly as a sparrow hops from branch to
branch, and rubbed against his legs, curving her back after the manner
of a cat; then, looking into her guest's face with an eye whose glare
had become less deadly, she uttered that wild cry which naturalists
liken to the noise made by a saw.
"She is very exacting!" exclaimed the Frenchman, with a smile.
He tried playing with her ears, patting her sides, and scratching
her head hard with his nails; and finding that he was successful,
he tickled her skull with the point of his dagger, watching for an
opportunity to kill her, but the hardness of the bones made him afraid
that he might not succeed.
The sultana of the desert approved her slave's talents by raising
her head, stretching out her neck, and demonstrating her delight by
the tranquillity of her manner. Suddenly the Frenchman thought that
to murder with a single blow that savage princess he would have to
stab her in the throat, and he had already raised his blade, when the
panther, satiated no doubt, gracefully lay down at his feet, casting on
him from time to time glances in which, despite their natural savagery,
there was a vague expression of kindness. The poor Provençal ate his
dates, leaning against one of the palm-trees; but he gazed by turns
at the desert in search of rescuers, and at his terrible companion to
observe the progress of her uncertain kindness. The panther watched
the place where the date-stones fell, whenever he threw one away, and
her eyes then expressed a most extraordinary degree of suspicion.
She examined the Frenchman with the prudent scrutiny of a tradesman;
but that scrutiny was evidently favourable to him, for, when he had
finished his meagre meal, she licked his shoes, and with her rough,
strong tongue removed as by a miracle the dust that had become caked
in the creases of the leather.
"But what will happen when she is hungry?" thought the Provençal.
Despite the shudder caused by that idea, the soldier began to observe
with a curious ardour the proportions of the panther, certainly one
of the finest examples of the species; for she was three feet in
height, and four feet long, not including the tail. That powerful
weapon, as round as a club, measured nearly three feet. The face,
which was as large as a lioness's, was distinguished by an expression
of extraordinary shrewdness; the unfeeling cruelty of the tiger was
predominant therein, but there was also a vague resemblance to the face
of an artful woman. At that moment, that solitary queen's features
disclosed a sort of merriment like that of Nero in his cups; she had
quenched her thirst in blood, and was inclined to play. The soldier
tried to come and go; the panther allowed him to do as he pleased,
contenting herself with following him with her eyes, resembling
not so much a faithful dog as a great Angora cat, distrustful of
everything, even her master's movements. When he turned, he saw beside
the spring the remains of his horse; the panther had brought the body
all that distance. About two-thirds of it were consumed. That spectacle
encouraged the Frenchman. It was easy then for him to explain the
panther's absence and the forbearance with which she had treated him
during his sleep. Emboldened by his good fortune to tempt the future,
he conceived the wild hope of living on good terms with the panther
from day to day, neglecting no method of taming her and of winning her
good graces.
He returned to her side and had the indescribable joy of seeing her
move her tail with an almost imperceptible movement. Thereupon he sat
down fearlessly beside her and they began to play together: he patted
her paws and her nose, twisted her ears, threw her over on her back,
and scratched roughly her soft, warm flanks. She made no objection,
and when the soldier attempted to smooth the hair on her paws, she
carefully withdrew her nails, which were curved like Damascus blades.
The Frenchman, who had one hand on his dagger, was still thinking of
thrusting it into the side of the too trustful panther; but he was
afraid of being strangled in her last convulsions. Moreover, he had in
his heart a sort of remorse, enjoining upon him to respect a harmless
creature. It seemed to him that he had found a friend in that boundless
desert.
Involuntarily he thought of his first sweetheart, whom he had nicknamed
Mignonne, by antiphrasis, because she was so fiendishly jealous that,
throughout all the time that their intercourse lasted, he had to be on
his guard against the knife with which she constantly threatened him.
That memory of his youth suggested to him the idea of trying to make
the young panther answer to that name; he admired her agility, her
grace, and her gentleness with less terror now.
Towards the close of the day, he had become accustomed to his hazardous
situation and he was almost in love with its dangers. His companion
had finally caught the habit of turning to him when he called, in a
falsetto voice:
"Mignonne!"
At sunset, Mignonne repeated several times a deep and melancholy cry.
"She has been well brought up," thought the light-hearted soldier, "she
is saying her prayers."
But that unspoken jest only came into his mind when he noticed the
peaceful attitude which his companion maintained.
"Come, my pretty blonde, I will let you go to bed first," he said,
relying upon the agility of his legs to escape as soon as she slept,
and trusting to find another resting-place for the night.
He waited impatiently for the right moment for his flight; and when it
came, he walked rapidly towards the Nile; but he had travelled barely
a quarter of a league through the sand, when he heard the panther
bounding after him, and uttering at intervals that sawlike cry, which
was even more alarming than the heavy thud of her bounds.
"Well, well!" he said, "she has really taken a fancy to me! It may be
that this young panther has never met a man before; it is flattering to
possess her first love!"
At that moment he stepped into one of those quicksands which are so
perilous to travellers, and from which it is impossible to extricate
one's self. Feeling that he was caught, he uttered a cry of alarm; the
panther seized him by the collar with her teeth, and with a powerful
backward leap rescued him from death as if by magic.
"Ah!" cried the soldier, caressing her enthusiastically, "it's a matter
of life or death between us now, Mignonne!--But no tricks!"
Then he retraced his steps.
From that moment the desert was, as it were, peopled for him. It
contained a living creature to whom the Frenchman could talk, and
whose ferocity was moderated for him, without any comprehension on his
part of the reasons for that extraordinary friendship. However desirous
the soldier was to remain up and on his guard, he fell asleep. When he
awoke he saw nothing of Mignonne; he ascended the hill, and saw her
in the far distance, bounding along according to the custom of these
animals, which are prevented from running by the extreme flexibility
of their spinal column. Mignonne arrived with bloody chops; she
received her companion's proffered caresses, manifesting her delight by
reiterated and deep purrs. Her eyes, full of languor, rested with even
more mildness than before on the Provençal, who spoke to her as to a
domestic animal:
"Aha! mademoiselle--for you are a good girl, aren't you? Upon my word!
how we like to be patted! Aren't you ashamed! Have you been eating up
some Arab? Never mind! they're animals like yourself. But don't go
eating Frenchmen, at all events. If you do, I shall not love you any
more!"
She played as a huge puppy plays with its master, allowing him to roll
her over and pat her by turns, and sometimes she challenged him, by
putting her paw upon him, with an appealing gesture.
Several days passed thus. That companionship enabled the Provençal
to admire the sublime beauties of the desert. From the moment that
he found there moments of dread and of security, food to eat, and a
creature of whom he could think, his mind was excited by contrasts.
It was a life full of opposing sensations. Solitude made manifest all
its secrets to him, enveloped him in all its charm. He discovered
spectacles unknown to the world, in the rising and setting of the
sun. He started when he heard above his head the soft whirring of the
wings of a bird--rare visitant!--or when he watched the clouds melt
together--ever-changing, many-tinted voyagers! During the night he
studied the effects of the moon on the ocean of sand, where the simoom
produced waves and undulations and swift changes. He lived in the
gorgeous light of the Orient, he admired its wonderful splendours; and
often, after enjoying the awful spectacle of a storm on that plain,
where the sand rose in a dry, red mist, in death-dealing clouds, he
rejoiced at the approach of night, for then the delicious coolness of
the stars fell upon the earth. He listened to imaginary music in the
skies. Solitude taught him, too, to seek the treasures of reverie. He
passed whole hours recalling trifles, comparing his past life with his
present one. Lastly, he conceived a warm regard for his panther, for
affection was a necessity to him.
Whether it was that his will, magnetically strong, had changed his
companion's disposition, or that she found abundant food, because of
the constant battles which were taking place in those deserts, she
spared the Frenchman's life, and he finally ceased to distrust her
when he found that she had become so tame. He employed most of his time
in sleeping; but he was obliged to watch at times, like a spider in the
midst of its web, in order not to allow the moment of his deliverance
to escape, if any human being should pass through the circle described
by the horizon. He had sacrificed his shirt to make a flag, which he
had hoisted to the top of a leafless palm-tree. Advised by necessity,
he invented a way to keep it unfolded by the use of sticks, for
the wind might not have stirred it at the moment when the expected
traveller should look across the desert.
But it was during the long hours when hope abandoned him that he played
with the panther. He had ended by learning the different inflections of
her voice, the different expressions of her eyes; he had studied all
the gradations of colour of her golden coat. Mignonne no longer even
growled when he seized the tuft of hair at the end of her redoubtable
tail, to count the black and white rings--a graceful ornament, which
shone in the sunlight like precious stones. He took pleasure in gazing
at the graceful and voluptuous lines of her figure, and the whiteness
of her stomach, as well as the shapeliness of her head. But it was
especially when she was playing that he delighted in watching her, and
the youthful agility of her movements always surprised him. He admired
her suppleness when she bounded, crept, glided, crouched, clung, rolled
over and over, darted hither and thither. However swift her bound,
however slippery the bowlder, she always stopped short at the word
"Mignonne."
One day, in the dazzling sunlight, an enormous bird hovered in the sky.
The Provençal left his panther to scrutinise that new guest; but after
waiting a moment, his neglected sultana uttered a low growl.
"God forgive me, I believe that she is jealous!" he cried, seeing that
her eyes had become steely once more. "Surely Virginie's soul has
passed into that body!"
The eagle disappeared while the soldier was admiring the panther's
rounded flank. There was so much youthful grace in her outlines! She
was as pretty as a woman. The light fur of her coat blended by delicate
shades with the dead-white of her thighs. The vivid sunshine caused
that living gold, those brown spots, to gleam in such wise as to make
them indescribably charming. The Provençal and his panther gazed at
each other with an air of comprehension; the coquette started when
she felt her friend's nails scratching her head; her eyes shone like
flashes of lightning, then she closed them tight.
"She has a soul!" he cried, as he studied the tranquil repose of that
queen of the sands, white as their pulsing light, solitary and burning
as they.
* * * * *
"Well," she said to me, "I have read your argument in favour of wild
beasts; but how did two persons so well fitted to understand each other
finally come out?"
"Ah! there you are! It ended as all great passions do, by a
misunderstanding. Each believes in some treachery; one refrains from
explaining from pride, the other quarrels from obstinacy."
"And sometimes, at the happiest moment," she said; "a glance, an
exclamation is enough--well, finish your story."
"It is very difficult, but you will understand what the old veteran had
already confided to me, when, as he finished his bottle of champagne,
he exclaimed:
"'I don't know how I hurt her, but she turned as if she had gone mad,
and wounded my thigh with her sharp teeth--a slight wound. I, thinking
that she meant to devour me, plunged my dagger into her throat. She
rolled over with a cry which tore my soul; I saw her struggle, gazing
at me without a trace of anger. I would have given anything in the
world, even my cross, which I had not then earned, to restore her
to life again. It was as if I had murdered a human being; and the
soldiers who had seen my flag and who hurried to my rescue found me
weeping. Well, monsieur,' he continued, after a moment's silence,
'since then I have fought in Germany, Spain, Russia, and France; I have
marched my poor old bones about, but I have seen nothing comparable to
the desert. Ah, that is magnificent, I tell you!'
"'What were your feelings there?' I asked.
"'Oh, they cannot be told, young man. Besides, I do not always regret
my panther and my palm-tree oasis: I must be very sad for that. But I
will tell you this: in the desert there is all--and yet nothing.'
"'Stay!--explain that.'
"'Well, then,' he said, with a gesture of impatience, 'God is there,
and man is not.'"
1830.
End of Project Gutenberg's Little French Masterpieces, by Honoré de Balzac