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Updated: June 10, 2025
Nevertheless, the brief stop had brought back poignantly certain old days choking dust, thirst, the heat of a heavy sun, the long day that led one nowhere The noon mirages were taking shape, throwing stately and slow their vast illusions across the horizon.
'Blessed be the English and everything they own. Cursed be the Infidels that bow to wood and stone! 'Amen, quo' Jobson, 'but where I used to lie Was neither pew nor Gospelleer to save my brethren by: 'But a desert stretched and stricken, left and right, left and right, Where the piled mirages thicken under white-hot light A skull beneath a sand-hill and a viper coiled inside And a red wind out of Libya roaring: "Run and hide!"
What I am going to add may seem to you great foolishness; but are we always mistress of such mirages of the imagination? I have often told you of my arguments with Louise de Chaulieu in relation to the manner in which women ought to look at life. I used to tell her that the passion with which she never ceased to pursue the ideal was ill-regulated and fatal to happiness.
He stooped, got her across his shoulder, struggled to his feet and went staggering up the dune. Here he paused, swaying drunkenly. Strange! The very same mirage presented itself to his eyes blue sails, turquoise sea, feathery palms, white houses. "By God!" he croaked. "Mirages they don't last, this way! That's real that's real water, by the living God!"
And when, at length, we made an absurdly smooth start, without any semblance of adventure, I felt woefully disappointed. The train sped on; the broad fields with their blue-green border trees, and the villages nestling in their shade flew past in a stream of pictures which melted away like a flood of mirages. It was evening when we reached Bolpur. As I got into the palanquin I closed my eyes.
Here there were interminable sandy plains, there mountains whose peaks were lost above the clouds. In the deserts were mirages, on the hill-sides shadows of fleeting clouds sweeping over the forests. They were in a land of amber-colored date-palms and cypresses, of tamarisks, green myrtles, and oleanders.
Travelers in deserts, she had read, took all sorts of fancies, saw mirages, heard sounds that were not. But she had not been out long enough to have caught such a desert fever. Perhaps she was going to be sick. Still that faint echo made her heart beat wildly. She dragged herself to her knees, then to her feet, standing painfully with the weight on her well foot.
Between his eyes and the type-blackened paper mirages of the past trembled and wavered; old faces, old scenes, old illusions took unsubstantial form, dissolved, blended, faded away: a saddening show of shadows. His heavy eyelids drooped; slumber's drowsy vestments trailed lazily athwart the sea of consciousness....
All those fine novelties, those mirages of that famous so-called progress, are simply traps and snares of the eternal tempter, causes of perdition and death. Why seek any further, why constantly incur the risk of error, when for eighteen hundred years the truth has been known? Truth! why it is in Apostolic and Roman Catholicism as created by a long succession of generations!
The idea that carries Milkau from the Old World to the New is an ideal of human brotherhood, high purpose and dissatisfaction with the old, degenerate world. In the State of Espirito Santo, where the German colonists are dominant, he plans a simple life that shall drink inspiration in the youth of a new, virgin continent. He falls in with another German, Lentz, whose outlook upon life is at first the very opposite to Milkau's blend of Christianity and a certain liberal socialism. The strange milieu breeds in both an intellectual langour that vents itself in long discussions, in breeding contemplation, mirages of the spirit. Milkau is gradually struck with something wrong in the settlement. Little by little it begins to dawn upon him that something of the Old-World hypocrisy, fraud and insincerity, is contaminating this supposedly virgin territory. Here he discovers no paradise
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