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#the tigers of mompracem

elia-de-silentio · 2 years

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THE TIGERS OF MOMPRACEM

Chapter 1: The Pirates Of Mompracem

On the night of the 20th of December 1849 an extremely violent hurricane crashed upon Mompracem, a savage island, of sinister fame, hideout for terrific pirates, located in the sea of Malesia, a few hundred miles from Borneo’s western coasts.

In the sky, pushed by an irresistible wind, ran like wild horses, and mixing confusedly, black masses of vapors, which, from time to time, let fall furious storms on the dark forests of the island; on the sea, likewise lifted by the wind, huge waves crashed unorderly and crushed furiously, confounding their howls with the blasts, now short and dry now unending, of the lightnings.

Neither from the huts lined up at the end of the island’s bay, nor from the forts defending it, nor from the numerous boats secured beyond the cliffs, nor from under the woods, nor from the stormy surface of the sea, there was a light to be seen; but those who, coming from east, had looked up, would have seen on the peak of an high cliff, right on the sea, two bright spots, two windows vividly lightened.

Who could ever hold vigil at such an hour and with a similar storm, in the island of the bloodthirsty pirates?

In a labyrinth of crushed trenches, falling-apart embankments, gutted cages, next to which one could still glimpse broken weapons and human bones, rose a large and solid hut, decorated on the roof by a big red flag, with a tiger head in the middle.

A room in that house is lightened, the walls are covered in heavy red fabrics, velvets and brocades, of high quality, but crumpled, torn and stained here and there, and the floor vanishes under an high layer of Persian rugs, gleaming gold, but them too ripped and dirtied.

In the middle there’s an ebony table, engraved with mother-of-pearl and decorated with silver friezes, full of bottles and glasses of the rarest crystal; in the corner stand erect big scaffolds, partly ruined, chock full of jars overboarding golden bracelets, earrings, rings, lockets, precious sacred decorations, contorted or crushed, of pearls doubtlessly coming from the famous shores of Ceylan, of emeralds, rubies and diamonds that shone like many suns, under the reflexes of a golden lamp hanging from the ceiling.

In a corner sits a Turkish sofa with trimmings torn here and there; in another an ebony armonium with the keyboard missing and upturned, in a chaos beyond words, are scattered rolled up rugs, gorgeous dresses, paintings maybe due to famous brushes, upturned lamps, straight or upside down bottles, whole or crushed glasses, and then carved Indian carabines, Spanish arquebuses, sables, swords, axes, knives, guns.

In such an oddly decorated room, a man sits on a precarious chair; he’s tall, slender, with a powerful musculature, his features manly, energic, fierce and oddly beautiful.

Long hair falls on his upper arms; an extremely black beard frames his slightly tanned face.

His forehead is ample, shadowed by two wonderful, sharply arched eyebrows, a small mouth that shows teeth as sharp as those of the beasts, as shiny as pearls; two extremely black eyes, of a gleam that charms, that burns, that casts down every other gaze.

He had been sitting for a few minutes, his gaze fixed on the lamp, his hands nervously enclosed around the rich saber, which dangled from a large, red silken scarf, wrapped around a blue velvet tunic with golden embrodery. A formidable downpour, which shook the house down to its foundations, suddenly tore him away from such immobility. He threw down his long tresses, he fixed on his head the turban decorated with a beautiful diamond, as big as a walnut, and quickly rose, darting around a gaze in which one could read something dark and menacing.

“It’s midnight,” he muttered. “Midnight, and he still isn’t back!”

He slowly emptied a glass full of an amber liquid, then he opened the door, strode amongst the trenches that defended the hut and stopped on the brink of the great precipice, at which base the sea roared furiously. For a few minutes he stayed there, arms crossed, as still as the peak that supported him, breathing with pleasure the terrifying blows of the storm and gazing upon the upturned sea, then he slowly retreated, went back into the hut and stopped in front of the armonium.

“What a contrast!” he exclaimed. “Outside, the hurricane; inside, me. Which is the most dangerous?”

He brushed his fingers against the keyboard, producing extremely fast sounds, which had something strange, savage and then slowed down, until they extinguished amongst the thunders and the howling wind.

All of a sudden, he sharply turned his head towards the half-open door. For a moment he stood, listening, curved forward, his ears awake; then he quickly got out, right to the brink of the precipice.

In the brief light of a lightning he saw a small trunk of wood, the veils nearly lowered, enter the bay and mix with the still boats. Our man brought a golden whistle to his lips and sent three shrill notes; an high-pitched whistle answered a moment later.

-It’s him!- he exclaimed with true emotion. -It was about time!

Five minutes later a human being, huddled in a soaked cloak, stood in front of the hut.

“Yanez!” exclaimed the man with the turban, throwing his arms around him.

“Sandokan!” answered the newcomer, with a strong foreign accent. “Brr! What a hellish night, little brother”

“Come in!”

They quickly crossed the trenches and entered the lit up room, closing the door behind them.

Sandokan filled two glasses and giving one to the stranger, who had got rid from the cloak and the carabina at his neck, he told him with an accent of almost affection: “Drink, my good Yanez”

“To your health, Sandokan”

“To yours”

They emptied their glasses and sat at the table.

The newcomer was a man of about thirty-three or thirty-four years, that is, slightly older than his companion. He was of average height, extremely sturdy, with a very pale skin, regular features, clever grey eyes, his lips thin and sneering, clues of a steel will. One could tell at a glance that he was not only European, but belonging to some Southern race.

“Well, Yanez?” asked Sandokan with a certain emotion. “Did you see the golden-haired maiden?”

“I didn’t, but I do know what you wanted to know”

“Didn’t you go to Labuan?”

“Yes, but you’ll understand, on those coasts guarded by English cruisers, landing is difficult for people of our kind”

“Tell me about this maiden. Who is she?”

“I’ll tell you, she’s a marvelously beautiful creature, so beautiful that she’d bewitch the most formidable pirate”

“Ah!” exclaimed Sandokan.

“They told me her hair is as blonde as gold, her eyes more blue than the sea, her flesh as white as alabaster. I know that Alamba, one of our fiercest pirates, one evening saw her taking a walk in the island’s woods and he was so struck by such beauty that he stopped the boat to admire her better, at risk of getting butchered by the English cruisers”

“But, to whom does she belong?”

“Some say she’s the daughter of a colonist; others of a lord; other still that she’s no less than a relative of the governor of Labuan”

“Strange creature” Sandokan murmured, pressing his forehead on his hands.

“And so …?” Yanez asked.

The pirate didn’t answer. He had briskly risen under a lively emotion and he had gone in front of the harmonium, sliding his fingers on the keys.

Yanez just smiled and, taking out an old mandola, started plucking at its chords, saying:

“That’s good! Let’s do some music”

But he had barely begun playing a Portuguese little tune, wheen he saw Sandokan briskly approach the table, pressing his hands on it with such strenght as to bend it.

He wasn’t the same man anymore: his brow was stormly furrowed, his eyes shone darkly, his lips, retracted, showed convulsely clenched teeth, his limbs shivered. In that moment he was the formidable leader of the fierce Mompracem pirates, the man who had been bloodying the coasts of Malaysia for ten years, the man who had fought terrible battles in every place, the man whose extraordinary boldness, whose untamed bravery had earned him the moniker of Tiger of Malaysia.

“Yanez!” he cried with a voice that no longer held anything human. “What did the English do at Labuan?”

“They get stronger” answered the European calmly.

“Perhaps they are plotting something against me?”

“I believe so”.

“Ah! You believe so? Just they dare raise a finger against my Mompracem! Tell them that just they dare defy the pirates in their hideouts! The Tiger will destroy them down to the last man and will drink all of their blood. Tell me, what do they say about me?”

“That’s time to end it with such a ferocious pirate”

“Do they hate me very much?”

“Enough that they’d be content with losing all of their ships, if it was to hang you”

“Ah!”

“Do you perhaps doubt it? Little brother, it’s many years since you do one worse than the other. Every coast bears the traces of your attacks; every village and every city has been assaulted and sacked by you; every Dutch, Spanish and English forts have received your cannonballs and the deep of the sea is littered by ships you took down”

“It’s true, but whose fault is it? Perhaps that the white men haven’t been ruthless with me? Perhaps that they didn’t dethrone me with the excuse that I was becoming too powerful? Perhaps that they didn’t murder my mother, my brother and sisters, to destroy my descendence? What wrong had I done them? The white race had never had to complain about me, yet it wanted to crush me. Now I hate them, be they Spanish, or Dutch, or English, or Portugueses like you, I abhor them and I’ll have terrible vengeance on them, I swore so on the corpses of my family and I’ll keep my word!

Yet, if I have been ruthless with my enemies, I hope some voice will raise to say that I have been generous sometimes”

“Not one, but a hundred, a thousand voices can say that you have been even too generous with the weak” said Yanez. “This can attest all those women fell in your power that you brought back in the docks of white man, at risk of being brought down by cruisers; this can say the weak tribes against the pillages of the arrogant, the poor sailor deprived of their woods by storms and that you saved from the waves and covered in presents, and a hundred, a thousand others that will always remember your benefits, Sandokan.

But now tell me, little brother, what do you think to conclude?”

The Tiger of Malaysia didn’t answer. He had begun pacing up and down for the room with his arms crossed and his chin pressed down on his chest. What was that formidable man thinking about? The Portuguese Yanez, for whatever long he had known him, couldn’t have guessed.

“Sandokan” he said after a few minutes. “What are you thinking about?”

The Tiger stopped, staring at him, but still didn’t answer.

“Do you have some thoughts that torments you?” asked Yanez. “Ah! One would say you worry that the English hate you so much”

Again, the pirate remained silent.

The Portuguese rose, lit a cigarette and proceeded towards a door hidden in the tapestry, saying:

“Good night, little brother”

Sandokan was startled at these words and, stopping the Portuguese with a gesture, said:

“One word, Yanez”

“Speak then”

“Do you know that I want to go to Labuan?”

“You! … To Labuan!”

"Why such surprise?"

"Because you're too daring and you'd do something foolish in the hideout of your fiercest enemies"

Sandokan stared at him with blazing eyes and emitted a sort of low growl.

“Brother” the Portuguese continued. “Don’t try your luck too much. Beware! The famelic England has put its eyes on our Mompracem and maybe is just waiting for your death to throw itself at your tiger cubs and destroy them. Beware, because I’ve seen a cruiser full of cannons and armed men run around in our waters, and that’s a lion that is waiting for nothing but a prey”

“But it will meet the Tiger!” cried Sandokan, clutching his fist and shaking from head to toe.

“Yes, he’ll meet him and perhaps hee will perish in the fight, but his death cry will reach the coasts of Labuan and others will move against you. many lions will die, because you’re strong and terrible, but the Tiger will die too!”

“I …!”

Sandokan had jumped forward, his muscles tight in his wrath, his eyes ablaze, his hands clenched as if he was clutching weapons. It lasted for a moment, through: he sat in front of the table, he drank in one gulp a cup still full and he said with a perfectly calm voice:

“You’re right, Yanez; yet I will go to Labuan tomorrow. An irresistible force draws me to these beaches, and a voice whispers to me that I must see the golden-haired maiden, that I must …”

“Sandokan …!”

“Silence, little brother: let’s go to sleep”

Morale della fiaba: tira più un pelo di *mistoconnettendodallaretepubblica* che un carro da buoi. If you’re learning Italian and you want to translate that, you’re welcome.

Anyway, I admit I laughed pretty much from start to finish. I had never read the Sandokan novels before, and … to a modern point of view, they’re pretty trashy, alright. Exoticism, Sandokan’s almost histrionic attitude, the way we are hit with a truckload of exposition in the most obnoxiously tell-don’t-show way …well. Let’s try to explain some of the context around it to understand why it was so popular, then.

First of all, this stylistic choice might have been motivated that it was published chapter-by-chapter in a magazine, like many novels of the time, so Salgari had to grab the reader's attention from the get-go. So, in this first chapter, we are already promised exotic extravagance, adventure, and romance. And these were things that the audiences of the time liked: it was in full exoticism, the fascination for places outside the western world (often exaggerated and embellished) ran rampant. It was the age of Stevenson with his Treasure Island, Rudyard Kipling with his jungle novels. If anything, Salgari gets points for taking squarely the side of the natives and painting the British Empire as a bunch of ruthless invaders instead of the heroes of civilization.

Then, right in this first chapter, we see a type of character foiling Salgari liked a lot: a boisterous, volatile, passionate personality who has by his side a phlegmatic, relaxed, cold character (Sandokan and Yanez).

The Tigers of Mompracem was first published between 1883 and 1884 in a literary magazine, and then as a complete novel in 1900. To be clear, the geography is mostly invented, because Salgari never traveled more south than Brindisi; the setting is all fruit of his literary researches in the library. Mompracem, for one, doesn't really exist, even if it was indicated in the maps back in Salgari's day; a lot of attempts were made to identify an actual physical place among the Malaysian islands, but nothing certain was reached.

This is all for the moment. I hope you liked this translation!

If you did, please consider supporting me with a ko-fi (link in reblog)?

#emilio salgari #the tigers of mompracem #sandokan #yanez #italian literature #19th century #elia's translations

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dolcifusa · 1 year

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Che piacere ritrovare Sandokan, Yanez, Mompracem, conosciuti grazie alla miniserie TV: ero bimba ma già stregata dal conturbante Kabir Bedi e i suoi occhi magnetici e misteriosi, truccati con il kajal, per non parlare della sigla, immortale, a firma degli Oliver Onions. Onestamente ricordavo solo i personaggi, perciò ascoltare il libro è stato piacevole e avvincente: mi hanno divertito molto i termini scelti da Salgari, figli di un altro tempo ma così calzanti, e poi i personaggi, che se visti con occhi moderni apparirebbero stereotipi sorpassati, hanno invece un fascino senza tempo: l'eroe forte come una tigre, la donzella bella come un perla, l'amico fedele e astuto, l'armi e gli amori, le pugne e le fughe rocambolesche... C'è tutto in questo libro, scorre veloce con una prosa incalzante. Con questo titolo partecipo alla challenge #santaiscomingreadingchallenge aggiudicandomi il Polar Express, completando così il mio villaggio di Natale; partecipo anche alla challenge #classiciperunanno nella categoria 'un classico del quale ho amato la trasposizione cinematografica'. "Le tigri di Mompracem” (The Tigers of Mompracem) by Emilio Salgari for #sfidadeiclassici and #mangioaudiolibriacolazione; 🥯 donut with oats and nuts; wooden prop by @gdan07. photo #Fujifilm: ©Dolci Fusa https://www.instagram.com/p/CnFk2mCL7Fa/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#santaiscomingreadingchallenge #classiciperunanno #sfidadeiclassici #mangioaudiolibriacolazione #fujifilm

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gaetanobarbagallo · 2 years

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Mompracem #salgari #malaysia #mompracem #tiger #ettore #instagram #instagood #catsofinstagram #cats #animals #chetelodicoafare #adios (presso Mompracem) https://www.instagram.com/p/CcDbN8asM2X08JbxGPYwXPU6pACNo1od3w2ym80/?utm_medium=tumblr

#salgari #malaysia #mompracem #tiger #ettore #instagram #instagood #catsofinstagram #cats #animals #chetelodicoafare #adios

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faerioll · 3 years

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During my life I have been fond of other ships, before JoeNicky. Some of them were "on paper" like Sandokan and Yanez (The tigers of Mompracem) or Cho Hakkai and Sha Gojyo (Gensomaden Sayiuki). Other "in the flesh": Dean and Sam, Charles and Erik, Steve and Bucky... but while I see that others keep affection and love for their old ships, since Joe and Nicky existed in my life ... well, it's like the previous ones never existed for me. Even if some of them I've followed for some years...

It seems like since there's been such a beautiful, healthy, balanced and, above all, "real" couple (I mean that I don't need to create an alternate world in order to see them together) like JoeNicky I don't need anything else, anymore.

#joe x nicky #joenicky

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primeoftrash · 3 years

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Hey yo Sandokan fandom or other fellow nerds who have read the series!

I have faced a problem

Which is the first book??

The english bookcovers say it would be "The Tigers Of Mompracem" but one source says it is "The Pirates Of The Malaysia" and one says it's "The Mystery Of The Black Jungle"?! Which one is it really??

#Sandokan #Help #I will buy them all if I don't get an answer #emilio salgari #Sandokan book #Sandokan fandom

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 4 years

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A third of the way through The Tigers of Mompracem and I'm genuinely angry I'm not getting the full experience by reading this as an Italian preteen in 1895. Sandokan is the most extra main character I've read in years. He's always screaming about getting revenge on whitey and sustaining horrible chest wounds. His love interest is a seventeen-year-old girl who hunts tigers for sport, and their relationship plays love at first sight completely straight on both sides. This is a book that deserves to be read by a wide-eyed kid just discovering adventure fiction, and even as a twenty-first-century adult reading it in translation I love it wholeheartedly.

Tagging @vintagegeekculture in this because why not.

#emilio salgari #sandokan #books #reading #italian literature

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foxspirit1928 · 6 years

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Miss Fisher Reading List (38)

Continuing the theme of my previous reading list post about Zane Grey, this one is about Buffalo Bill, who was an American scout, bison hunter, and showman (1846 – 1917). He founded Buffalo Bill’s Wild West performing company in 1887 and toured in the U.S. and later in Great Britain and Europe. (See Wikipedia for details) Although he had never set foot in Australia, his fame evidently spread across the ocean as Jack had been saving a badge for him since he was 10 years old.

In S1 and S2, Jack was known as Shakespeare Man who recited the Bard’s words by heart with his dulcet tones. The revelation of his love for Zane Grey and Buffalo Bill in S3 added a different dimension to him that I found endearing. It’s not surprising that he was into cowboys as a kid, but he apparently retained the sense of adventure after growing up, and that’s why the precarious Miss Fisher intrigued him from the beginning. In S3E6 Game, Set and Murder, I have this mental image of him heading home after getting the Special Constable paperwork ready and fishing out the badge hidden in a little tin box that was filled with various mementos like old coins and stamps. I could picture that familiar and irresistible smirk on his face as he was thinking of pinning the badge on his newly anointed Special Constable Phryne Fisher.

Back to my reading list. I chose “Buffalo Bill Cody: An Autobiography” as it got pretty decent customer reviewers on Amazon (4.4 out of 5 stars). The description on Amazon mentioned “The adventure story writer Emilio Salgari met Buffalo Bill in Italy, saw his show, and later featured him as a hero in some of his novels.” I was curious about these novels and did some research on the writer. According to Wikipedia, Salgari (1929 – 1989) was considered the father of Italian adventure fiction and Italian pop culture, and the “grandfather” of the Spaghetti Western that emerged in the mid-1960s. The young Clint Eastwood stared in three of his films.

As for his novels, I didn’t find any that was specifically tied to Buffalo Bill, but they all sounded quite fanciful. I randomly selected “Sandokan: The Tigers of Mompracem” (English translation by Nico Lorenzutti, 2007) about a band of rebel Malaysian pirates in 1849 fighting for the defense of tiny native kingdom against the colonial powers of the Dutch and British empires. Several critics used the work “swashbuckling” (engaging in daring and romantic adventures with ostentatious bravado or flamboyance). I am totally in!

(Posted 03-Nov-2018)

#miss fisher reading list #game set and murder #foxypedia #miss fisher #missfisher #mfmm

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andresabiuso · 5 years

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The Tigers of Mompracem.

Gouache.

Andrés Abiuso, 2019.

Instagram: @abiusoart

#Illustration #Character Design #gouache #salgari #comics

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yamania-uttlc-kikiturkos · 2 years

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Reposted from @simplycanyaman Il cast si ingrandisce... @elenasofiaricci_officialpage Nel cast di Sandokan 👏👏👏👏👏👏👏 #CanYaman #LuxVide @canyaman Repost @canyamanfanpageitalia #CanYaman #SandokanTheSeries #ViolaComeIlMare #LuxVide Can Yaman was adopted by Italy. The Turkish actor, who became famous thanks to the soaps broadcast on Canale 5, made the big leap. Become the protagonist of prime time fiction, from "Viola come il Mare" alongside Francesca Chillemi who we will see on the Mediaset flagship at "Sandokan", the most important proof of him ever. The event series will be one of the flagships of Rai1. We anticipate that the filming of Sandokan will begin in May 2022. In the cast Can Yaman in the role of Sandokan, the tiger of Mompracem. One of the most famous roles in the history of Italian TV, played in the original series by Kabir Bedi, was born from the pen of Emilio Salgari. Alongside Can there will be a stellar cast because Lux Vide and Rai Fiction want to create an event like only they can do. Starting from the broadcast. If the production plans are not modified, Sandokan could be broadcast on Rai1 in February 2023, being able to benefit from the promotion in Sanremo. Luca Argentero will be Yanez. For the role of Marianna, the final choice was not, even an international actress competing. Finally, we talk about Elena Sofia Ricci in the cast of Sandokan. Excellent premises. https://www.instagram.com/p/CWdV7gRoKY1/?utm_medium=tumblr

#canyaman #luxvide #sandokantheseries #violacomeilmare

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concert-for-piano-and-intp · 6 years

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What are your top 10 books? Congrats on so many followers!!

Thank you!!

I’ll probably change my mind about this top tomorrow or in five minutes because it’s hard to pick a favorite book, but my top 10 right now is:

A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking.

Cosmos, by Carl Sagan.

The Left Hand of Darkness, by Ursula K. Le Guin.

Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury.

Macbeth (do plays count?), by William Shakespeare.

The Colours of Madeleine series by Jaclyn Moriarty.

The Neverending Story, by Michael Ende.

All the books from the His Dark Material series by Philip Pullman.

A Study in Scarlet, by Arthur Conan Doyle.

The Tigers of Mompracem, by Emilio Salgari (I read this when I was a kid and it’ll always have a special place in my heart).

Wow, that was even harder than expected.

Thanks for stopping by!

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dwarfanonymice · 6 years

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I was tagged by @lena221b for the 20 questions tag. Thank you! I’ll try to answer what I can.

Name: That will remain a mystery.

Nickname: Lilliri. My mother gave it to me. Don’t ask.

Height: I’m a dwarf

Orientation: straight

Nationality: Italian

Favorite Fruit: Banana

Favorite Season: Spring/Early Summer (if you really knew Italian Summers, you’ll understand why the early).

Favorite flower: Roses

Favorite scent: Freshly cut grass

Favorite color: Red, purple, blue

Favorite animal: felines

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: tea

Average hours of sleep: 7 or 8. I can push till 10, if the day before has been very lucky. If I’m stressed is 5 or 6.

Dog or cat person: I’m both

Favorite fictional character: Harry Hart

Number of blankets you sleep with: 2 blankets in winter, 1 or 0 in spring/summer

Blog created: 2016 (but I had a previous one that I cancelled)

Number of followers: 34 (hello there)

Random fact: Emilio Salgari created an entire series of novels based on a pirate named Sandokan, the Tiger of Mompracem, despite never having been outside of Italy. He consulted maps and other pieces of information from travelling journals to create his world. It’s pretty accurate too. Too bad that tigers don’t live in Mompracem or in Borneo.

I’m tagging: @bagginshield-love @krissielee @unwinthehart @lovingvincent @kingalahad @thejustcuriousme @thegamemrshudsonison @arlessiar @barullera and whoever wants to play.

#cose mie #it's me #hello again

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elia-de-silentio · 2 years

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The Tigers Of Mompracem

Healing And Love

Lady Marianna Guillonk was born under the beautiful Italian sky, on the coasts of the gorgeous Neapolitan Gulf, from an Italian mother and English father. She had found herself an orphan at the age of eleven and heir of a conspicuous fortune, she had been taken in by her uncle James, the only one of her relatives who back then was in Europe.

Back then James Guillonk was one of the most audacious sea wolves of the two worlds, owner of a ship armed and equipped for war, to cooperate with James Brooke, later rajah of Sarawack, for the extermination of the Malaysian pirates, terrible enemies of English commerce in those faraway seas. Despite that lord James, harsh as all sailors, unable to feel whatever affection, didn’t feel any terrible tenderness for his young niece, rather than leave her to stranger hands, had her boarded on his boat taking her to Borneo and exposing her to the grave dangers of those harsh cruises. For three years, the little girl had born witness to those bloody fights, during which thousands of pirates died and which gave to the future rajah Brooke that sad fame that deeply moved and indignated his own compatriots.

But one day lord James, tired of butcheries and dangers, maybe remembering having a niece, had abandoned the sea and had taken residence to Labuan, burying himself under the great woods of the center.

Lady Marianna, then going on fourteen, and who in that dangerous life had acquired an unique energy and fierceness, despite looking like a fragile child, had tried to rebel to his uncle’s wishes, believing herself unable of getting used to that isolation and almost wild lifestyle, but the sea wolf, who seemed not to have much affection for her, had remained unmovable.

Forced to endure that strange prisony, she had dedicated entirely to complete her own education, which up to that point she hadn’t had any time to attend to. Endowed of a tenacious will, little by little she had tamed the fierce fits contracted in those harsh and bloody battles, and that roughness contracted in the continuous vicinity with people of the sea. She had so become a passionate lover of music, flowers, and beautiful arts, thanks to the instructions of an old confidant of her mother, later consumed by the scorching tropical climate. With the progression of her education, even while preserving in the depths of her soul something of her old fierceness, she had become good, generous, charitable.

She hadn’t abandoned her passions for the arms and violent exercises, and often, as an untamed Amazon, she ran for the woods, following even tigers, or like a Naiad she bravely dived into the blue waves of the Malaysian sea; but more often she found herself where misery or misfortune hit, bringing aid to all the natives around, those natives who lord James hated with a passion, as descendants of ancient pirates.

And so that maiden, with her bravery and goodness and beauty, had deserved the nickname of ‘Pearl of Labuan’, nickname who had run so far away and had made the heart of the formidable Tiger of Malaysia beat faster. But under those woods, almost far away from every civil creature, the child, turned girl, had never noticed she was a woman; but when she had seen that proud pirate, without knowing why, she had felt a strange perturbation. What was it? She ignored it, but he was always in front of her eyes, and in her dreams at night, that man of such proud figure, with the nobility of a sultan and the gallantry of an European knight, that man with shining eyes, long black hair and visage on which it could be clearly read a more than indomitable courage and a more than unique energy. After she had charmed him with her eyes, with her voice, with her beauty, she in turn had been charmed and won.

She had at first tried to fight against that heartbeat, new to her, as new it was for Sandokan, but in vain. She always felt that an irresistible force pushed her to see that man again and she couldn’t find peace but with him; she only felt happy at his bedside and when she calmed his acute pains with her chats, her smiles, her uncomparable voice and her mandola. And he was a sight to behold in those moments, Sandokan, when she sang the sweet songs of her faraway mother country, accompanying them with the delicate sound of the melodious instrument.

Then he was no more the Tiger of Malaysia, no more the bloodthirsty pirate. Mute, wanting, covered in sweat, holding his breath, to not disturb that musical and argentine voice, he listened like a man who dreams, as if he wished to impress in his mind that foreign tongue that inebriated him, that suffocated the pangs of his wounds, and when the voice, after vibrating on the last note, died on the last note of the mandola, you could see him remain for a long time in that position, his arms extended as if he wanted to pull the maiden to himself, his blazing gaze fixed in that liquid of hers, his heart lifted and ears pricked as if he was still listening.

In those moments he no longer remembered being the Tiger, he forgot his Mompracem, his prahos, his tiger cubs and the Portuguese, who perhaps at that time, believing him forever extinguished, avenged his death with who knows what bloody vengeances.

Thus the days flew away quickly and his healing, powerfully aided by the passion that devoured his blood, proceeded fast.

In the afternoon of the fifteenth day the lord, suddenly gone in, found the pirate on his feet, ready to leave.

“Oh! My worthy friend!” he cheerfully exclaimed. “I’m so happy of seeing you on your feet!”

“It was no longer possible to remain in bed, milord” answered Sandokan. “After all, I feel strong enough to fight a tiger”

“Excellent, so I’ll soon put you at task!”

“In which way?”

“I have invited some good friends to hunt a tiger that often comes to prowl about my park’s wall. As I see you healed, this evening I’ll go to tell them that tomorrow morning we’ll hunt the beast”

“I’ll be of the party, milord”

“I believe so, but tell me now, I hope you’ll remain as my guest for some time”

“Milord, serious matters call me elsewhere and I need to leave you soon”

“Leave me! Don’t think about it, there is always time for matters and I warn you that I won’t let you leave sooner than a few months; now, promise me you’ll stay”

Sandokan stared at him with flashing eyes. For him, staying in that villa, next to the maiden that had charmed him, was everything. He didn’t ask for more for the moment.

What did he care that the pirates of Mompracem mourned him for dead, when he could see that divine maiden for many days still? What did he care for his faithful Yanez, who perhaps looked anxiously for him on the beaches of the island, betting his life, when Marianna started to love him? And what did he care if he didn’t hear anymore the thunder of the fumin artilleries, when he could still hear the delightful voice of his beloved woman, or feel the terrible emotions of the battles, when she made him feel more sublime emotions? And lastly, what did he care if he ran the risk of being discovered, maybe taken, maybe killed, when he could still breathe the same air that fed his Marianna, live in the midst of the great woods where she lived?

He would have forgotten everything to keep like this for a hundred years still, his Mompracem, his tiger cubs, his boats and even his bloody vengeances.

“Yes, milord, I’ll stay for as long as you want” he said impulsively. “I accept the hospitality you so cordially offer me and if a day, don’t forget these words milord, we’ll have to meet each other as no longer friends, but fierce enemies, weapons at hand, I’ll remember then the debt I owe you”

The Englishman stared at him astonished.

“Why do you speak me so?”

“Maybe one day you’ll know” Sandokan answered gravely.

“I don’t want to investigate your secrets for now” said the lord with a smile. “I’ll wait for that day”

He took his watch and checked.

“I need to depart immediately, if I want to warn my friends of the hunt we’ll engage. Goodbye, my dear prince” he said.

He was about to get out, when he said, stopping:

“If you want to go to the park, you’ll find my niece, whom I hope will keep you good company”

“Thank you, my lord”

It was what Sandokan desired; to find it himself, even for a few minutes, alone with the maiden, perhaps to reveal the enormous passion which devoured his heart.

As soon as he found himself alone, he quickly went to a window facing on an gigantic park.

There, in the shadow of a Chinese magnolia littered with sharply-scented flowers, sitting on the revolted trunk of an arenga, was the young lady. She was alone, thoughtful, her mandola on her knees. To Sandokan, she looked like a celestial vision. All of his blood went to his head, and his heart started beating with indescribable violence.

He stayed there, his eyes piercingly fixated on the maiden, even holding his breath, as if he feared to disturb her.

But he suddenly backtracked, with a strangled cry, which sounded like a faraway roar. His visage scarily alterated, taking on a fierce expression.

The Tiger of Malaysia, up to that moment charmed, bewitched, now that felt healed, suddenly reawakened. The fierce man returned, ruthless, bloodthirsty, his heart unaccessible to every passion.

“What am I about to do?” he exclaimed, waving his hand on his scorching forehead. “Is it true that I love that maiden? Was it a dream or inexplicable madness?Am I no longer the pirate of Mompracem, to feel attracted by irresistible force to that daughter of a race to which I vowed eternal hatred?”

“Me, love! … I, who never felt anything but fits of hatred and bear the name of a bloodthirsty beast! … Would I forget my savage Mompracem, my faithful tiger cubs, my Yanez, who wait for me in who knows which anxieties? Do I maybe forget that the compatriots of that girl don’t wait for anything but the right moment to destroy my might?”

“Out with this vision that persecuted me for so many nights, out these shivers unworthy of the Tiger of Malaysia! Let’s extinguish this vulcano that burns my heart and let’s instead make a thousand abysses between me and that bewitching siren!...”

“Come on, Tiger, let your roar be heard, bury the gratitude you owe to these people who healed you, go, run far from these places and return to that sea which unwittingly pushed you to these shores, return to being the fearsome pirate of the formidable Mompracem!”

So speaking, Sandokan had risen in front of the window with his fists closed and gritted teeth, all shaking from the rage.

It seemed to him that he had become a giant, and to hear from far away the cries of his tiger cubs who called him to the fight and the thunderin of the artillery.

Still he remained there, as if nailed in front of the window, held back by a force stronger than his wrath, his eyes always burningly fixed on the young lady.

“Marianna!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Marianna!”

At that beloved name, that fit of rage and hatred evaporated like fog in the sun. The Tiger returned a man, and a lover to boot!...

His hands unwittingly ran to the hook and with a quick movement he opened the window.

A breeze of warm air, charged with the scent of a thousand flowers, entered the room. In breathing those balsamic perfumes, the pirate felt himself inebriated and reawakening in his heart, stronger than ever, that passion he had tried to suffocate a moment before.

He bent on the windowsill and admired in silence, writhing, deliriously, the fair lady. An intense fever devoured him, fire slithered in his veins pouring into his heart, red clouds ran in front of his eyes, but even amidst these he saw the one who had bewitched him.

How long did he stay there? Surely a long time, because when he shook himself, the young lady was no longer in the park, the sun had went down, the darkness had fallen and a thousand stars glimmered in the sky.

He started to walk across the room, his hands crossed on his chest and the head bent, submerged in dark thoughts.

“Look!” he said, returning to the window and exposing his scorching forehead to the fresh night’s air. “Here’s happiness, here’s a new life, here’s a new drunkness, sweet, quiet; there Mompracem, a stormy life, hurricanes of iron, thunders of artillery, bloody butcheries, my swift prahos, my tiger cubs, my good Yanez! … Which of these two lives?”

“Yet all of my blood burns, when I think about this maiden who made my heart beat before I even saw her, and I feel molten bronze run in my veins, when I think of her! One would say I put her before my tiger cubs and my revenges! Yet I feel shame on me, thinking she’s daughter of that race I hate so vehemently! What if I forgot about her?

“Ah! You bleed, my poor heart, don’t you want so?

“Before I was the terror of these seas, before I had never known affection, before I had never tasted anything but the drunkness of battles and blood … and now I feel I could never taste anything far from her!...”

He fell silent, listening to the rustling of leaves and the whistle of his blood.

“What if I put between me and that divine woman the forest, then the sea, then hatred? …” he continued. “Hatred! Could I hate her? Yet I need to escape, to return to my Mompracem, to my tiger cubs! … If I stayed here the fever would end up devouring all of my energy, I feel that I’ll put down forever my might, that I would no longer be the Tiger of Malaysia … Come on, let’s depart!”

He looked down: only three metres separated him from the ground. He listened; he heard no noise.

He jumped over the windowsill, and lightly stepped among the flower beds and went towards the tree, on which a few hours before Marianna had sat down.

“It was here that she rested” he whispered sadly. “Oh! How beautiful were you oh Marianna! … And I’ll never see you again! … And I won’t hear your voice anymore, never … never!...”

He bent over the tree and plucked a flower, a wild rose, that the young lady had let fall. He admired it for long, smelled it several times, and passionately hid it in his chest, then he swiftly moved towards the walls of the park whispering:

“Let’s go, Sandokan; all is over!”

He had reached the fence and was about to lunge, when he backtracked, his hands in his hair, his gaze dark, emitting a sort of sigh.

“No, no!” he cried desperately. “I can’t, I can’t! … Let Mompracem go down, let my tiger cubs kill themselves, let my might be dispersed, I’m staying!”

He started running in the park as if he feared finding himself under the fence, and he didn’t stop until he was under the windows of his room. He exitated another time, then with a leap he grasped to a tree branch and reached the windowsill.

When he found himself in that house he had left with the firm decision of no longer return, a second sigh rumbled in the back of his throat.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “The Tiger of Malaysia is about to go down!...”

Repetitia iuvat: tira più un pelo di figa che un carro da buoi. To make a short recap: after Sandokan had fallen from the boat in the last translated chapter, he had been picked up, ironically, from one of the English colonizers, lord James, who had decided to save and heal him believing him to be some prince. So Sandokan can finally see the woman he has obsessed insofar. Now, I had previously said that Salgari had characterized Sandokan as extremely impulsive, almost unable to control himself, but here’s some prime material! How many times has he changed his mind?

Thank to everyone who read this translation. If you liked it, please consider offering me a coffee!

#emilio salgari #sandokan #italian literature #19th century #elia's translations

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andrea-pecchia · 5 years

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Tiger of Mompracem • • • #andreapecchiaart #tattooart #pecchiatattooer #tattooartistinrome #guestspotartist #tigertattoo #tigerofmompracem #tigerofmompracemtattoo #tattoo #tattoodo #inkstagram #tiger #tattooartist #tattoo #followmytattoo #moretattoofollowers @ale_eiaculazio 💪🏻 🐅😜 https://www.instagram.com/p/B2WMuNHILxy/?igshid=1xe0x58eqapn9

#andreapecchiaart #tattooart #pecchiatattooer #tattooartistinrome #guestspotartist #tigertattoo #tigerofmompracem #tigerofmompracemtattoo #tattoo #tattoodo #inkstagram #tiger #tattooartist #followmytattoo #moretattoofollowers

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ravensandstarsss · 7 years

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@arithanas I just had a thought... what if Yanez was super surly and kind of an asshole at the beginning. Like he knows there is something about the man that drew him in but he hasn’t unlearned all the toxic European ideas and ideals yet so he’s essentially stuck in a world he’s always wanted but feels like he can’t touch.

Sandokan has the patience of a saint (He usually doesn’t and the tigers are shocked by how he treats this strange European) and teaches Yanez how things are done in Mompracem, how things are done when living with the tigers.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Yanez lets himself let go and this is what turns him into the man we know in the books.

#idk but i was inspired #and I promise the tremal-naik/kammamuri fic is coming up lol #sandokan

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findesieclelit1880-1909 · 5 years

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1900

Colette (1873-1954)