VERNANIA: The Celebrated Works of Jules Verne in One Edition. Жюль Верн
had actually managed to catch, with only a pin and a piece of string, several dozen small fish, as delicate as smelts, called MOJARRAS, which were all jumping about in a fold of his poncho, ready to be converted into an exquisite dish.
At the same moment the hunters reappeared. Paganel was carefully carrying some black swallows’ eggs, and a string of sparrows, which he meant to serve up later under the name of field larks. Robert had been clever enough to bring down several brace of HILGUEROS, small green and yellow birds, which are excellent eating, and greatly in demand in the Montevideo market. Paganel, who knew fifty ways of dressing eggs, was obliged for this once to be content with simply hardening them on the hot embers. But notwithstanding this, the viands at the meal were both dainty and varied. The dried beef, hard eggs, grilled MOJARRAS, sparrows, and roast HILGUEROS, made one of those gala feasts the memory of which is imperishable.
The conversation was very animated. Many compliments were paid Paganel on his twofold talents as hunter and cook, which the SAVANT accepted with the modesty which characterizes true merit. Then he turned the conversation on the peculiarities of the OMBU, under whose canopy they had found shelter, and whose depths he declared were immense.
“Robert and I,” he added, jestingly, “thought ourselves hunting in the open forest. I was afraid, for the minute, we should lose ourselves, for I could not find the road. The sun was sinking below the horizon; I sought vainly for footmarks; I began to feel the sharp pangs of hunger, and the gloomy depths of the forest resounded already with the roar of wild beasts. No, not that; there are no wild beasts here, I am sorry to say.”
“What!” exclaimed Glenarvan, “you are sorry there are no wild beasts?”
“Certainly I am.”
“And yet we should have every reason to dread their ferocity.”
“Their ferocity is nonexistent, scientifically speaking,” replied the learned geographer.
“Now come, Paganel,” said the Major, “you’ll never make me admit the utility of wild beasts. What good are they?”
“Why, Major,” exclaimed Paganel, “for purposes of classification into orders, and families, and species, and sub-species.”
“A mighty advantage, certainly!” replied McNabbs, “I could dispense with all that. If I had been one of Noah’s companions at the time of the deluge, I should most assuredly have hindered the imprudent patriarch from putting in pairs of lions, and tigers, and panthers, and bears, and such animals, for they are as malevolent as they are useless.”
“You would have done that?” asked Paganel.
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, you would have done wrong in a zoological point of view,” returned Paganel.
“But not in a humanitarian one,” rejoined the Major.
“It is shocking!” replied Paganel. “Why, for my part, on the contrary, I should have taken special care to preserve megatheriums and pterodactyles, and all the antediluvian species of which we are unfortunately deprived by his neglect.”
“And I say,” returned McNabbs, “that Noah did a very good thing when he abandoned them to their fate—that is, if they lived in his day.”
“And I say he did a very bad thing,” retorted Paganel, “and he has justly merited the malediction of SAVANTS to the end of time!”
The rest of the party could not help laughing at hearing the two friends disputing over old Noah. Contrary to all his principles, the Major, who all his life had never disputed with anyone, was always sparring with Paganel. The geographer seemed to have a peculiarly exciting effect on him.
Glenarvan, as usual, always the peacemaker, interfered in the debate, and said:
“Whether the loss of ferocious animals is to be regretted or not, in a scientific point of view, there is no help for it now; we must be content to do without them. Paganel can hardly expect to meet with wild beasts in this aerial forest.”
“Why not?” asked the geographer.
“Wild beasts on a tree!” exclaimed Tom Austin.
“Yes, undoubtedly. The American tiger, the jaguar, takes refuge in the trees, when the chase gets too hot for him. It is quite possible that one of these animals, surprised by the inundation, might have climbed up into this OMBU, and be hiding now among its thick foliage.”
“You haven’t met any of them, at any rate, I suppose?” said the Major.
“No,” replied Paganel, “though we hunted all through the 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,