In your voyage down the west coast of Africa, after passing the southern extremity1 of Morocco, you sail for days and nights together past the shores of a never-ending land of desolation. It is the Sahara, “the great sea without water,” to which the Moors2 have given also the name of “Bled-el-Ateuch,” the land of thirst.
These desert shores stretch for five hundred leagues without one port of call for the passing vessel3, without one blade of grass, one sign of life.
Solitude4 succeeds solitude with mournful monotony; shifting sandhills, vague horizons—and the heat grows each day more intense.
At last there comes in sight over the sands an old city, white, with yellow palm trees set here and there—it is St Louis on the Senegal, the capital of Senegambia.
A church, a mosque5, a tower, houses built in Moorish6 style—the whole seems asleep under the burning sun, like those Portuguese7 towns, St Paul and St Philip of Benguela, that once flourished on the banks of the Congo.
As one draws nearer one sees with surprise that this town is not built on the shore, that it has not even a[10] port, nor any direct means of communication with the outer world. The flat, unbroken coast line is as inhospitable as that of the Sahara, and a ridge8 of breakers forever prevents the approach of ships.
Another feature, not visible from a distance, now presents itself in the vast human ant heaps on the shore, thousands and thousands of thatched huts, lilliputian dwellings9 with pointed10 roofs, and teeming11 with a grotesque12 population of negroes. These are the two large Yolof towns, Guet n’dar and N’dar-toute, which lie between St Louis and the sea.
If your ship lies to awhile off this country, long pirogues with pointed bows like fish-heads, and bodies shaped like sharks, are soon seen approaching. They are manned by negroes, who row standing13. These pirogue men are tall and lean, of Herculean proportions, admirable build and muscular development, and their faces are those of gorillas14. They have capsized ten times at least while crossing the breakers. With negro perseverance15, with the agility16 and strength of acrobats17, ten times in succession have they righted their pirogue and made a fresh start. Sweat and sea water trickle18 from their bare skins, which gleam like polished ebony.
Here they are in spite of all, smiling with an air of triumph, and displaying their magnificent white teeth. Their costume consists of an amulet19 and a bead20 necklet, their cargo21 of a carefully sealed leaden box, which contains the mails.
In this box also are orders from the governor for the newly arrived ship, and in it, too, are deposited papers addressed to members of the colony.
[11]
A man in a hurry can safely entrust22 himself to these boatmen, secure in the knowledge that he will be fished out of the sea as often as necessary with the utmost care, and that eventually he will be deposited on the beach.
But it is more comfortable to continue one’s voyage as far south as the mouth of the Senegal, where flat-bottomed boats take off the passengers and convey them smoothly23 by river to St Louis.
This isolation24 from the sea is one of the chief causes of the stagnation25 and dreariness26 of this country. St Louis cannot serve as a port of call to mail-steamers or merchantmen on their way to the southern hemisphere. One goes to St Louis if one must, and this gives one the feeling of being a prisoner cut off from the rest of the world.
II
In the northern quarter of St Louis, near the mosque, there stood a little solitary27 house belonging to one Samba-Hamet, trader on the upper river. It was a lime-washed house. The cracks of its brick walls, the crevices28 in its heat-shrunken wood-work harboured legions of white ants and blue lizards29. Two marabout cranes haunted its roof, clacking their beaks30 in the sunshine, and solemnly stretching out their featherless necks when anyone chanced to pass along the straight, unfrequented street.
O the dreariness of this land of Africa!
The slight shadow of a frail31 thorn palm moved in its slow daily course along the whole length of the[12] heated wall; the palm was the only tree in the quarter, where no green thing refreshed the eye. On its yellowed fronds32 flights of those tiny blue or pink birds, called in France bengalis, would often come and perch33. But all around lay sand, sand, nothing but sand. Never a tuft of moss34, never a fresh blade of grass grew on the soil, parched35 by the burning breath of the Sahara.
III
On the ground floor dwelt a horrible old negress called Coura n’diaye, once the favourite of a great negro monarch36. There she had her collection of grotesque tatters, her little slave girls, decked with beads37 of blue glass, her goats, her big-horned sheep, her half-starved, yellow curs.
In the upper storey there was a large, lofty room, square in shape, to which an outside staircase of worm-eaten wood gave access.
IV
Every evening at sunset, a man in a red jacket, with a Mussulman fez on his head—in a word, a spahi—entered Samba-Hamet’s house. Coura n’diaye’s two marabout cranes used to watch him from a distance as he approached. From the farther end of the dead-alive town they would recognise his gait, his step, the striking colours of his uniform, and would show no nervousness at his entry—so long had they known him.
He was a tall man, of proud, erect38 carriage; he was[13] of pure European race, although the African sun had already deeply embrowned his face and chest. This spahi was a remarkably39 fine-looking man, a grave and manly40 type of beauty, with large clear eyes, almond-shaped like an Arab’s. From under his fez, which was pushed to the back of his head, a lock of brown hair had escaped and hung in disorder41 over his broad, unsullied brow.
The red jacket was admirably becoming to his well-moulded figure, and his whole build was a compound of litheness42 and muscular strength.
As a rule he was serious and thoughtful, but his smile had a seductive charm, and gave a glimpse of teeth of remarkable43 whiteness.
V
One evening, the man in the red jacket could be seen climbing Samba-Hamet’s wooden staircase with more than his customary air of abstraction.
It was a curious place, this lodging45 of the spahi’s. It was a bare room, furnished with mat-covered benches. Strips of parchment, written upon by the priests of Maghreb, and talismans46 of various kinds hung from the ceiling.
He went to a large casket, raised on feet, ornamented47 with strips of copper48 and variegated49 with brilliant colours, a box such as is used by the Yolofs for locking up their valuables. He tried it and found it locked.
[14]
Thereupon he lay down on a tara, a kind of sofa made of light laths, the work of negroes of the Gambia shore. Then he took from his pocket a letter, and began to read it, first kissing the corner with the signature.
VI
It was without doubt a love-letter, written by some fair one—an elegant Parisienne, perhaps, or possibly a romantic senora—to this handsome spahi d’Afrique, who seems of the very mould for playing leading r?les as the lover in melodrama50.
This letter will perchance furnish us with the clue to some highly dramatic adventure, which will serve as prelude51 to our tale.
VII
The letter, which the spahi had touched with his lips, bore the postmark of a village hidden away in the Cevennes. It was written by a poor old hand, trembling and unpractised. Its lines overlapped52, and it was not free from mistakes.
The letter said:—
My dear son,—The present is to give you news of our health, which is pretty good just now; we thank the good God for it. But your father says he feels himself growing old, and as his eyes are failing a good deal, it is your old mother who is taking up the pen to talk to you about[15] ourselves. You will forgive me, knowing that I cannot write any better.
My dear son, I have to tell you that we have been in great trouble for some time. Since you left us three years ago, nothing has gone well with us. Good fortune, as well as happiness, left us when you did. It has been a bad year on account of a heavy hailstorm which fell on the field and destroyed nearly everything except at the side of the road. Our cow went sick, and it cost us a lot of money to have her attended to. Your father’s wages are sometimes short, since he came back to this country of young men, who work faster than he. Besides this we have had to have part of our roof repaired, as it threatened to fall in with the heavy rains. I know that soldiers haven’t much to spare, but your father says that if you can send us what you promised without stinting53 yourself, it will be very useful to us.
The Mérys, who have plenty of money, could easily lend us some, but we don’t like asking them, especially as we do not want them to think us poor people. We often see your cousin, Jeanne Méry; she grows prettier every day. Her chief joy is to come and see us, and to talk about you. She says she would ask nothing better than to be your wife, my dear Jean. But her father will not hear of the marriage, because he says we are poor, and also that you have been a bit of a scapegrace in your day. I think, however, that if you were to get your quartermaster’s stripes, and if we could see you coming home in your fine uniform, he would perhaps end by consenting after all. I could die happy if I saw you married to her. You would build a house near ours, which would no longer be fine enough for you. We often make plans about it together with Peyral in the evenings.
My dear son, send us a little money without fail, for I assure you that we are in great trouble. We have not been able to manage this year, as I told you, because of[16] that hailstorm and the cow. I see your father worrying himself terribly, and at night I often see him, instead of sleeping, thinking about it and turning from side to side. If you cannot send us the whole amount, send what you can.
Good-bye, my dear son; the village folk often ask after you, and want to know when you are coming back. The neighbours send hearty55 greetings. As for me, you know that I have had no joy in life since you went away.
I enclose my letter, embracing you, and Peyral does likewise.
Your loving old mother,
Fran?oise Peyral.
VIII
... Jean leaning on his elbow at the window fell into a reverie, looking absently at the wide prospect56 of African scenery stretched out before him—the pointed outlines of the Yolof huts, grouped by hundreds at his feet—in the distance the troubled sea and the ceaseless onset57 of the African breakers; the yellow sun about to set, still shedding upon the desert, further than the eye could see, its wan54 radiance; sand interminable; a distant caravan58 of Moors; flights of birds of prey59 swooping60 through the air; and yonder, a point on which he fixed61 his eyes, the cemetery62 of Sorr, whither he had already escorted some of his comrades, mountain-bred like himself, who had died of fever in that accursed climate.
O to return home to his aged63 parents, to live in a little house with Jeanne Méry, quite close to the humble64 paternal65 roof. Why had he been exiled to this land of Africa? What had he in common with[17] this country? As for this uniform and this Arab fez in which they had dressed him up, and which, for all that, gave him so grand an air, what a burlesque66 disguise for him, the humble little peasant from the Cevennes.
He remained there a long time lost in thought, dreaming of his village, this poor soldier on the banks of the Senegal. With sunset and nightfall, his thoughts plunged67 themselves in unrelieved gloom.
From the direction of N’dar-toute came the hurried drumming of the tom-tom, summoning the negroes to the bamboula, and fires were lighted in the Yolof huts. It was an evening in December; a vexatious winter wind sprang up, whirling the sand in eddies68 here and there, and the great, parched land shuddered69 with an unwonted sensation of chill.
The door opened, and a yellow dog with straight ears and a look suggesting the jackal, a dog of the country, of the Laobé breed, bounded into the room and gambolled70 about his master.
At the same time, a young negro girl, with a merry smile, appeared at the door of the lodging. She made a little jerky bow, brusque and comic, the negresses’ salutation, and said Kéou! (Good-day).
IX
The spahi glanced at her absently.
“Fatou-gaye,” he said in a mixture of creole French and Yolof, “open the casket; I want to take out my money.”
[18]
“Your khaliss!” (your coins), exclaimed Fatou-gaye, opening her eyes so that the whites showed against the black eyelids71. “Your khaliss!” she repeated with the mixture of fear and effrontery72 of children who have been surprised in a fault and are afraid they will be punished.
And then she showed him her ears, on which hung three pairs of exquisitely73 worked gold earrings74.
They were ornaments75 of pure Galam gold, wonderfully delicate, such as are made by black craftsmen76 who possess the secret of this art, plying77 their trade in the shade of small, low-roofed tents, where they work mysteriously, crouching78 on the desert sands. Fatou-gaye had just been buying these trinkets, long-coveted, and that was what had become of the spahi’s khaliss, a hundred francs or so, accumulated little by little, the fruit of a soldier’s petty economies, and set aside by him for his old parents.
The spahi’s eyes flashed, and he made as if to strike her with his whip, but his arm sank harmlessly to his side. He soon regained79 his self-control, Jean Peyral; he was gentle, especially towards the weak.
He uttered no reproaches, knowing that they would be useless. It was his fault no less than hers. Why had he not been more careful to hide away this money, which he must now at all costs procure80 elsewhere?
Fatou-gaye knew how to soothe81 her lover with catlike caresses82; how to clasp him in her black silver-braceletted arms that were shapely as the arms of a statue; how to lean her bare bosom83 against the red cloth of his jacket, rousing in him feverish84 desires[19] that would bring about pardon for her offence....
And the spahi sank with indifference85 on the tara beside her, putting off until the morrow the task of raising the money for which his old parents were waiting in their cottage overseas.
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1
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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2
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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4
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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5
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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6
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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7
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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8
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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9
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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10
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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11
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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12
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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13
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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14
gorillas
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| n.大猩猩( gorilla的名词复数 )；暴徒，打手 | |
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15
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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16
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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17
acrobats
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| n.杂技演员( acrobat的名词复数 )；立场观点善变的人，主张、政见等变化无常的人 | |
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18
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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19
amulet
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| n.护身符 | |
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20
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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21
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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22
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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23
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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24
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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25
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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26
dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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27
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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28
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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29
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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30
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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31
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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32
fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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33
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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34
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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35
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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36
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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37
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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38
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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39
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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40
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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41
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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42
litheness
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43
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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44
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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45
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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46
talismans
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| n.护身符( talisman的名词复数 )；驱邪物；有不可思议的力量之物；法宝 | |
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47
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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49
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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50
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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51
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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52
overlapped
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| _adj.重叠的v.部分重叠( overlap的过去式和过去分词 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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53
stinting
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| v.限制，节省（stint的现在分词形式） | |
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54
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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55
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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56
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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57
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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58
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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59
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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60
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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61
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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62
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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63
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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64
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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65
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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66
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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67
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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68
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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69
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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70
gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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72
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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73
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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74
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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75
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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77
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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78
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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79
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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80
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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81
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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82
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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83
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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84
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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85
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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