Jules Verne For Children: 16 Incredible Tales of Mystery, Courage & Adventure (Illustrated Edition). Jules Verne
wood. It is vexing, for it would have been a splendid chase. A jaguar is a bloodthirsty, ferocious creature. He can twist the neck of a horse with a single stroke of his paw. When he has once tasted human flesh he scents it greedily. He likes to eat an Indian best, and next to him a negro, then a mulatto, and last of all a white man.”
“I am delighted to hear we come number four,” said McNabbs.
“That only proves you are insipid,” retorted Paganel, with an air of disdain.
“I am delighted to be insipid,” was the Major’s reply.
“Well, it is humiliating enough,” said the intractable Paganel. “The white man proclaimed himself chief of the human race; but Mr. Jaguar is of a different opinion it seems.”
“Be that as it may, my brave Paganel, seeing there are neither Indians, nor negroes, nor mulattoes among us, I am quite rejoiced at the absence of your beloved jaguars. Our situation is not so particularly agreeable.”
“What! not agreeable!” exclaimed Paganel, jumping at the word as likely to give a new turn to the conversation. “You are complaining of your lot, Glenarvan.”
“I should think so, indeed,” replied Glenarvan. “Do you find these uncomfortable hard branches very luxurious?”
“I have never been more comfortable, even in my study. We live like the birds, we sing and fly about. I begin to believe men were intended to live on trees.”
“But they want wings,” suggested the Major.
“They’ll make them some day.”
“And till then,” put in Glenarvan, “with your leave, I prefer the gravel of a park, or the floor of a house, or the deck of a ship, to this aerial dwelling.”
“We must take things as they come, Glenarvan,” returned Paganel. “If good, so much the better; if bad, never mind. Ah, I see you are wishing you had all the comforts of Malcolm Castle.”
“No, but—”
“I am quite certain Robert is perfectly happy,” interrupted Paganel, eager to insure one partisan at least.
“Yes, that I am!” exclaimed Robert, in a joyous tone.
“At his age it is quite natural,” replied Glenarvan.
“And at mine, too,” returned the geographer. “The fewer one’s comforts, the fewer one’s needs; and the fewer one’s needs, the greater one’s happiness.”
“Now, now,” said the Major, “here is Paganel running a tilt against riches and gilt ceilings.”
“No, McNabbs,” replied the SAVANT, “I’m not; but if you like, I’ll tell you a little Arabian story that comes into my mind, very APROPOS this minute.”
“Oh, do, do,” said Robert.
“And what is your story to prove, Paganel?” inquired the Major.
“Much what all stories prove, my brave comrade.”
“Not much then,” rejoined McNabbs. “But go on, Scheherazade, and tell us the story.”
“There was once,” said Paganel, “a son of the great Haroun-al-Raschid, who was unhappy, and went to consult an old Dervish. The old sage told him that happiness was a difficult thing to find in this world. ‘However,’ he added, ‘I know an infallible means of procuring your happiness.’ ‘What is it?’ asked the young Prince. ‘It is to put the shirt of a happy man on your shoulders.’ Whereupon the Prince embraced the old man, and set out at once to search for his talisman. He visited all the capital cities in the world. He tried on the shirts of kings, and emperors, and princes and nobles; but all in vain: he could not find a man among them that was happy. Then he put on the shirts of artists, and warriors, and merchants; but these were no better. By this time he had traveled a long way, without finding what he sought. At last he began to despair of success, and began sorrowfully to retrace his steps back to his father’s palace, when one day he heard an honest peasant singing so merrily as he drove the plow, that he thought, ‘Surely this man is happy, if there is such a thing as happiness on earth.’ Forthwith he accosted him, and said, ‘Are you happy?’ ‘Yes,’ was the reply. ‘There is nothing you desire?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘You would not change your lot for that of a king?’ ‘Never!’ ‘Well, then, sell me your shirt.’ ‘My shirt! I haven’t one!’”
CHAPTER XXV
Between Fire and Water
BEFORE turning into “their nest,” as Paganel had called it, he, and Robert, and Glenarvan climbed up into the observatory to have one more inspection of the liquid plain. It was about nine o’clock; the sun had just sunk behind the glowing mists of the western horizon.
The eastern horizon was gradually assuming a most stormy aspect. A thick dark bar of cloud was rising higher and higher, and by degrees extinguishing the stars. Before long half the sky was overspread. Evidently motive power lay in the cloud itself, for there was not a breath of wind. Absolute calm reigned in the atmosphere; not a leaf stirred on the tree, not a ripple disturbed the surface of the water. There seemed to be scarcely any air even, as though some vast pneumatic machine had rarefied it. The entire atmosphere was charged to the utmost with electricity, the presence of which sent a thrill through the whole nervous system of all animated beings.
“We are going to have a storm,” said Paganel.
“You’re not afraid of thunder, are you, Robert?” asked Glenarvan.
“No, my Lord!” exclaimed Robert. “Well, my boy, so much the better, for a storm is not far off.”
“And a violent one, too,” added Paganel, “if I may judge by the look of things.”
“It is not the storm I care about,” said Glenarvan, “so much as the torrents of rain that will accompany it. We shall be soaked to the skin. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest won’t do for a man, and you will learn that soon, to your cost.”
“With the help of philosophy, it will,” replied Paganel.
“Philosophy! that won’t keep you from getting drenched.”
“No, but it will warm you.”
“Well,” said Glenarvan, “we had better go down to our friends, and advise them to wrap themselves up in their philosophy and their ponchos as tightly as possible, and above all, to lay in a stock of patience, for we shall need it before very long.”
Glenarvan gave a last glance at the angry sky. The clouds now covered it entirely; only a dim streak of light shone faintly in the west. A dark shadow lay on the water, and it could hardly be distinguished from the thick vapors above it. There was no sensation of light or sound. All was darkness and silence around.
“Let us go down,” said Glenarvan; “the thunder will soon burst over us.”
On returning to the bottom of the tree, they found themselves, to their great surprise, in a sort of dim twilight, produced by myriads of luminous specks which appeared buzzing confusedly over the surface of the water.
“It is phosphorescence, I suppose,” said Glenarvan.
“No, but phosphorescent insects, positive glowworms, living diamonds, which the ladies of Buenos Ayres convert into magnificent ornaments.”
“What!” exclaimed Robert, “those sparks flying about are insects!”
“Yes, my boy.”
Robert caught one in his hand, and found Paganel was right. It was a kind of large drone, an inch long, and the Indians call it “tuco-tuco.” This curious specimen of the COLEOPTERA sheds its radiance from two spots in the front of its breastplate, and the