1 files changed, 3096 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/2375.txt b/2375.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..803d807
--- /dev/null
+++ b/2375.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3096 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin de Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Tartarin de Tarascon
+
+Author: Alphonse Daudet
+
+Translator: Oliver C. Colt
+
+Release Date: March 21, 2006 [EBook #2375]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN DE TARASCON ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Oliver C. Colt and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+TARTARIN DE TARASCON
+
+By A. Daudet.
+
+
+Translated by Oliver C. Colt.
+
+
+
+
+
+Introduction.
+
+The tale of Tartarin de Tarascon was written by Alphonse Daudet in 1872,
+and was one of the many works which he produced. In it he pokes gentle
+fun at a type of Frenchman who comes from the Midi, the area where he
+himself was born. Tartarin has characteristics which may remind the
+English-speaking reader of Toad of Toad Hall, a boastful braggart,
+easily deceived, but good-hearted au fond.
+
+The world he inhabits is, of course, very different from ours. There is
+no radio or television, the motor car is no more than a plaything for
+the rich. There is only the beginnings of a telephone system. Much sea
+transport is still by sailing ship and the idea of mass air travel is in
+the realm of science-fiction. France lost the Franco-Prussian war at the
+battle of Sedan in 1870, which accounts for the flood of refugees from
+Alsasce. She had also, in the 19th century rush to carve up the African
+continent, seized among other places, Algeria, which she held in
+subjection by force of arms. So-called Big Game Hunters were regarded
+with some admiration, and indeed it was a much more perilous activity
+than it is today, when high power repeating rifles with telescopic
+sights make motor-borne "Sportsmen" little more than butchers.
+
+Daudet's humour is on the whole inoffensive, but anti-semitism was rife
+in certain circles in France. It was the era of the Dreyfus scandal, and
+he indulges in one or two tasteless gibes at the expense of the Jews,
+which I have suppressed or at least amended. He also has a passage which
+might well offend the delicate susceptabilities of the less tolerant
+believers in Islam, although to anyone with a nodding acquaintance with
+the tents of that faith, the incident is so far-fetched as to neutralise
+"The willing suspension of disbelief" I have therefore decided to
+eliminate it from this version of the story. It is not very amusing and
+is no great loss.
+
+Although Daudet's humour is in the main kindly, he does not spare the
+French colonial administration of the time. His treatment of the subject
+is acidly satirical. It may be said that Daudet seems to know little
+about firearms, less about lions and nothing about camels, but he is not
+striving for verisimilitude. After all, the adventures of James Bond do
+not mirror the reality of international espionage, nor do the exploits
+of Bertie Wooster and Jeeves truely reflect life in the upper echelons
+of British society.
+
+This is not a schoolroom exercise in translation. It might be more
+accurately described as a version in English. I have not tampered with
+the story line nor made any changes in the events related, but where
+I thought it necessary I have not shrunk from altering the words and
+phrases used in the original to describe them. All translation must be
+a matter of paraphrase. What sounds well in one language may sound
+ridiculous if translated literally into another, and it is for the
+translator to judge how far this process of paraphrase may be carried.
+
+I have attempted to produce a text which will entertain the average
+reader. Those who want to know exactly what Daudet wrote must consult
+the French original.
+
+
+
+
+TARTARIN DE TARASCON
+
+
+
+Chapter 1.
+
+
+Although it is now some twelve or fifteen years since my first meeting
+with Tartarin de Tarascon, the memory of the encounter remains as fresh
+as if it had been yesterday.
+
+At that time Tartarin lived near the entrance to the town, in the third
+house on the left on the Avignon road, a pretty little Tarascon villa,
+with a garden in front, a balcony behind, very white walls and green
+shutters.
+
+From outside the place looked perfectly ordinary, one would never have
+believed that it was the home of a hero, but when one went inside,
+well... My goodness! The whole establishment had an heroic air, even the
+garden!
+
+Ah...! The Garden... there was not another like it in Europe. Not one
+indigenous tree grew there, not one French flower; nothing but exotic
+plants, gum trees, calabashes, cotton trees, coconut palms, mangos,
+bananas, cactuses, figs and a baobab. One might have thought oneself in
+the middle of Africa, thousands of miles from Tarascon. Of course none
+of these trees was fully grown, the coconut palm was about the size of
+a swede and the baobab (arbos gigantica) fitted comfortably into a
+pot full of earth and gravel. No matter.... For Tarascon it was quite
+splendid, and those citizens who were admitted, on Sundays, to have the
+privilege of inspecting Tartarin's baobab went home full of admiration.
+
+You may imagine my emotions as I walked through this remarkable
+garden... they were nothing, however, to what I felt on being admitted to
+the sanctum of the great man himself.
+
+This building, one of the curiosities of the town, was at the end of the
+garden, to which it opened through a glass door. Picture a large room
+hung from floor to ceiling with firearms and swords; weapons from every
+country in the world. Guns, carbines, rifles, blunderbusses,
+knives, spears, revolvers, daggers, arrows, assegais, knobkerries,
+knuckledusters and I know not what.
+
+The brilliant sunlight glittered on the steel blades of sabres and the
+polished butts of firearms. It was really quite a menacing scene... what
+was a little reassuring was the good order and discipline which ruled
+over this arsenal. Everything was neat tidy and dusted. Here and there a
+simple notice, reading "Poison arrows, Do not touch." or "Beware. Loaded
+firearms." made one feel it safe to approach.
+
+In the middle of the room was a table. On the table was a flagon of
+rum, a turkish tobacco pouch, The voyages of Captain Cook, stories
+of adventure, treatises on falconry, descriptions of big-game hunts
+etc... and finally seated at the table was the man himself. Forty
+to forty-five years of age, short, fat, stocky and ruddy, clad in
+shirt-sleeves and flannel trousers, with a close-clipped wiry beard
+and a flamboyant eye. In one hand he held a book and with the other he
+brandished an enormous pipe, its bowl covered by a metal cap; and as
+he read some stirring tale of the pursuit of hairy creatures, he made,
+pushing out his lower lip, a fierce grimace which gave his features,
+those of a comfortable Tarascon "Rentier", the same air of hearty
+ferocity which was evident throughout the whole house. This man was
+Tartarin... Tartarin de Tarascon... the intrepid, great and incomparable
+Tartarin de Tarascon.
+
+At that time Tartarin was not the Tartarin which he is today, the great
+Tartarin de Tarascon who is so popular throughout the Midi of France,
+however, even at this epoch, he was already the king of Tarascon.
+
+Let us examine how he acquired his crown. You will be aware, for a
+start, that everyone in these parts is a hunter. From the highest to the
+lowest hunting is a passion with the Tarasconais and has been ever since
+the legendary Tarasque prowled in the marshes near the town and was
+hunted down by the citizens.
+
+Now, every Sunday morning, the men of Tarascon take up arms and leave
+town, bag on back and gun on shoulder, with an excited collection of
+dogs, with ferrets, with trumpets and hunting horns, it is a splendid
+spectacle.... Sadly, however, there is a shortage of game... in fact
+there is a total absence of game....  Animals may be dumb but they are
+not stupid, so for miles around Tarascon the burrows are empty and the
+nests abandoned. There is not a quail, not a blackbird, not the smallest
+rabbit nor even the tiniest wheatear.
+
+These pretty little Tarascon hills, scented with lavender, myrtle and
+rosemary are very tempting, and those fine muscat grapes, swollen
+with sugar, which line the banks of the Rhone, are wonderfully
+appetising... yes, but there is Tarascon in he distance, and in the world
+of fur and feather Tarascon is bad news. The birds of passage seem to
+have marked it with a cross on their maps, and when the long wedges of
+wild duck, heading for the Camargue, see far off the town's steeples,
+the whole flight veers away. In short there is nothing left by way of
+game in this part of the country but an old rascal of a hare, who has
+escaped by some miracle the guns of Tarascon and appears determined to
+stay there. This hare is well known. He has been given a name. He
+is called "Speedy". He is known to live on land belonging to
+M. Bompard... which, by the way, has doubled or even tripled its value.
+No one has yet been able to catch him, and at the present time there
+are not more than two or three fanatics who go after him. The rest have
+given up and Speedy has become something of a protected species, though
+the Tarasconais are not very conservation minded and would make a stew
+of the rarest of creatures, if they managed to shoot one.
+
+Now, you may say, "Since game is in such short supply, what do these
+Tarasconais sportsmen do every Sunday?" What do they do? Eh! Mon Dieu!
+They go out into the country, several miles from the town. They assemble
+in little groups of five or six. They settle down comfortably in
+some shady spot. They take out of their game-bags a nice piece of
+boeuf-en-daube, some raw onions, a sausage and some anchovies and they
+begin a very long luncheon, washed down by one of these jolly Rhone
+wines, which encourage singing and laughter.
+
+When all have had enough, they whistle for the dogs, load their guns and
+commence the shoot. That is to say each of these gentlemen takes off his
+hat, sends it spinning through the air with all his strength and takes
+a pot-shot at it. The one who hits his hat most frequently is proclaimed
+king of the hunt and returns to Tarascon that evening in triumph, his
+perforated hat hanging from the end of his gun and to the accompaniment
+of much barking and blowing of trumpets.
+
+One need hardly tell you that there is a brisk trade in hats in the
+town, and there are even hatters who sell hats already full of holes and
+tears for use by the less skillful, but scarcely anyone is known to buy
+them except Bezuquet the chemist.
+
+As a hat shooter Tartarin had no equal. Every Sunday morning he left
+with a new hat. Every evening he returned with a rag. In the little
+house of the baobab, the attic was full of these glorious trophies.
+All of Tarascon recognised him as their master in this respect. The
+gentlemen elected him as their chief justice in matters relating to
+the chase and arbitrator in any dispute, so that every day, between the
+hours of three and four in the afternoon, at Costecalde the gunsmith's
+one could see the plump figure of a man, seated gravely on a green
+leather arm-chair, in the middle of the shop, which was full of hat
+hunters standing about and arguing. It was Tartarin delivering justice.
+Nimrod doubling as Soloman.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 2.
+
+In addition to their passion for hunting the good people of Tarascon
+had another passion, which was for drawing-room ballads. The number of
+ballads which were sung in this part of the world passed all belief. All
+the old sentimental songs, yellowing in ancient cardboard boxes, could
+be found in Tarascon alive and flourishing. Each family had its own
+ballad and in the town this was well understood. One knew, for example,
+that for Bezuquet the chemist it was:-"Thou pale star whom I adore."
+
+For the gunsmith Costecalde:-"Come with me to the forest glade."
+
+For the Town Clark:--"If I was invisible, no one would see me." (a comic
+song) Two or three times a week people would gather in one house or
+another and sing, and the remarkable thing is that the songs were always
+the same. No matter for how long they had been singing them, the people
+of Tarascon had no desire to change them. They were handed down in
+families from father to son and nobody dared to interfere with them,
+they were sacrosanct. They were never even borrowed. It would never
+occur to the Bezuquets to sing the Costecaldes' song or to the
+Costecaldes to sing that of the Bezuquets. You might suppose that
+having known them for some forty years they might sometimes sing them to
+themselves, but no, everyone stuck to his own.
+
+In the matter of ballads, as in that of hats, Tartarin played a leading
+role. His superiority over his fellow citizens arose from the fact that
+he did not have a song of his own, and so he could take part in all of
+them, only it was extremely difficult to get him to sing at all.
+
+Returning early from some drawing-room success, our hero preferred to
+immerse himself in his books on hunting or spend the evening at the
+club rather than join in a sing-song round a Nimes piano, between two
+Tarascon candles. He felt that musical evenings were a little beneath
+him.
+
+Sometimes, however, when there was music at Bezuquet the chemists,
+he would drop in as if by chance, and after much persuasion he would
+consent to take part in the great duet from "Robert le Diable" with
+madame Bezuquet the elder.
+
+Anyone who has not heard this has heard nothing. For my part, if I live
+to be a hundred, I shall always recall the great Tartarin approaching
+the piano with solemn steps, leaning his elbow upon it, making his
+grimace and in the greenish light reflected from the chemist's jars,
+trying to give his homely face the savage and satanic expression of
+Robert le Diable.
+
+As soon as he had taken up his position, a quiver of expectation ran
+through the gathering. One felt that something great was about to
+happen.
+
+After a moment of silence, madame Bezuquet the elder, accompanying
+herself on the piano, began:
+
+"Robert, thou whom I adore
+
+And in whom I trust,
+
+You see my fear (twice)
+
+Have mercy on yourself
+
+And mercy on me."
+
+She added, sotto voce, "Its you now Tartarin."
+
+Then Tartarin, with arm extended, clenched fist and quivering nostrils,
+said three times in a formidable voice which rolled like a clap of
+thunder in the entrails of the piano "Non! Non! Non!" Which as a good
+southerner he pronounced "Nan. Nan. Nan" Upon which madame Bezuquet
+repeated "Mercy on yourself and on me" "Nan! Nan! Nan!" Bellowed
+Tartarin even more loudly... and the matter ended there.... It was not
+very long, but it was so well presented, so well acted, so diabolic that
+a frisson ran round the pharmacy and he was made to repeat his "Nan.
+Nan. Nan." four or five times.
+
+Afterwards Tartarin wiped his forehead, smiled at the ladies, winked at
+the men and went off triumphantly to the club, where, with a casual air,
+he would say, "I've just come from the Bezuquets. They had me singing in
+the duet from Robert le Diable." What is more he believed it.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 3.
+
+It was to the possession of these various talents that Tartarin owed his
+high standing in the town. There were, however, other ways in which he
+had made his mark on society.
+
+In Tarascon the army supported Tartarin. The gallant Commandant Bravida
+(Quartermaster. Ret) said of him "He's a stout fellow," and one may
+suppose that having kitted out so many stout fellows in his time, he
+knew what he was talking about.
+
+The magistrature supported Tartarin. Two or three times, on a full
+bench, the aged president Ladeveze had said of him "He's quite a
+character".
+
+Finally, the people supported Tartarin, his stolid appearance, the
+heroic reputation he had somehow acquired, the distribution of small
+sums of money and a few clips round the ear to the youngsters who hung
+around his doorstep, had made him lord of the neighbourhood and king
+of the Tarascon market-place. On the quay, on sunday evenings, when
+Tartarin returned from the hunt, his hat dangling from the end of his
+gun, the stevedores would nod to him respectfully and eying the arms
+bulging the sleeves of his tightly buttoned jacket, would murmur to one
+another, "He's strong he is. He's got double muscles." The possession of
+double muscles is something you hear about only in Tarascon.
+
+However, in spite of his numerous talents, double muscles, popular
+favour and the so precious esteem of the gallant Commandant Bravida
+(Quartermaster. Ret) Tartarin was not happy. This small-town life
+weighed him down, stifled him. The great man of Tarascon was bored
+with Tarascon. The fact is that for an heroic nature such as his, for a
+daring and adventurous spirit which dreamt of battles, explorations, big
+game hunting, desert sands, hurricanes and typhoons, to go every Sunday
+hat shooting and for the rest of the time dispense justice at Costecalde
+the gunsmith's was... well... hardly satisfying. It was enough indeed to
+send one into a decline.
+
+In vain, in order to widen his horizon and forget for a while the club
+and the market square, did he surround himself with African plants; in
+vain did he pile up a collection of weapons; in vain did he pore over
+tales of daring-do trying to escape by the power of his imagination from
+the pitiless grip of reality. Alas all that he did to satisfy his lust
+for adventure seemed only to increase it. The sight of his weapons kept
+him in a perpetual state of furious agitation. His rifles, his arrows
+and his spears rang out war-cries. In the branches of the baobab the
+wind whispered enticingly of great voyages.
+
+How often on these heavy summer afternoons, when he was alone, reading
+amongst his weaponry, did Tartarin jump to his feet and throwing down
+his book rush to the wall to arm himself, then, quite forgetting that
+he was in his own house at Tarascon, cry, brandishing a gun or a spear,
+"Let them all come"!!... Them?... What them? Tartarin did not quite know
+himself, "Them" was everything that attacked, that bit, that clawed.
+"Them" was the Indian brave dancing round the stake to which his
+wretched prisoner was tied. It was the grizzly bear, shuffling and
+swaying, licking bloodstained lips. The Toureg of the desert, the Malay
+pirate, the Corsican bandit. In a word it was "Them!"
+
+Alas it was fruitless for the fearless Tartarin to challenge them... they
+never appeared; but though it seemed unlikely that they would come
+to Tarascon, Tartarin was always ready for them, particularly in the
+evenings when he went to the club.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 4.
+
+The knight of the temple preparing for a sortie against the Saracen. The
+Chinese warrior equipping himself for battle. The Comanchee brave taking
+to the warpath were as nothing compared to Tartarin de Tarascon arming
+himself to go to the club at nine o'clock on a dark evening, an hour
+after the bugle had blown the retreat. He was cleared for action as the
+sailors say.
+
+On his left hand he had a metal knuckleduster. In his right he carried
+a sword-stick. In his left pocket there was a cosh and in his right a
+revolver. Stuck into his waistband was a knife. Before setting out, in
+the privacy of his den, he carried out a few exercises. He made a pass
+at the wall with his sword-stick, drew his revolver, flexed his
+muscles and then taking his identity papers he crossed the
+garden... steadily... unhurriedly... a l'Anglais. That is the mark of true
+courage.
+
+At the end of the garden he opened the heavy iron gate. He opened it
+brusquely, violently, so that it banged against the wall. If "They" had
+been behind it, it would have made a fine mess of them. Unfortunately
+they were not behind it.
+
+Having opened the gate Tartarin went out, cast a quick look right and
+left, closed the gate swiftly and double locked it. Then he set off.
+
+On the Avignon road there was not so much as a cat. Doors were shut and
+curtains drawn across windows. Here and there a street light blinked in
+the mist rising from the Rhone.
+
+Superb and calm Tartarin de Tarascon strode through the night, his heels
+striking the road with measured tread and the metal tip of his cane
+raising sparks from the paving-stones. On boulevards, roads or lanes he
+was always careful to walk in the middle of the causeway, an excellent
+precaution which allows one to see approaching danger and moreover to
+avoid things which at night, in the streets of Tarascon, sometimes fall
+from windows. Seeing this prudence you should not entertain the notion
+that Tartarin was afraid. No! He was just being cautious.
+
+The clearest evidence that Tartarin was unafraid is that he went to the
+club not by the short way but by the longest and darkest way, through
+a tangle of mean little streets, at the end of which one glimpsed the
+sinister gleam of the Rhone. He almost hoped that at a bend in one of
+these alleys "They" would come rushing from the shadows to attack him
+from behind. They would have had a hot reception I can promise you;
+but sadly Tartarin was never fated to encounter any danger... not even a
+dog... not even a drunk... Nothing.
+
+Sometimes however there was an alarm. The sound of footsteps... Muffled
+voices. Tartarin comes to a halt, peering into the shadows, sniffing
+the air, straining his ears. The steps draw nearer, the voices more
+distinct... there can be no doubt..."They" are here. With heaving
+breast and eyes ablaze Tartarin is gathering himself like a jaguar and
+preparing to leap on his foes, when suddenly out of the gloom a good
+Tarasconais voice calls "Look! There's Tartarin! Hulloa there Tartarin!"
+Malediction! It is Bezuquet the chemist and his family who have been
+singing their ballad at the Costecaldes. "Bon soir, bon soir" growls
+Tartarin, furious at his mistake, and shouldering his cane he disappears
+angrily into the night.
+
+Arrived at the club the fearless Tarasconais waits a little longer,
+walking up and down in front of the door before entering. In the
+end, tired of waiting for "them" and certain that they will not show
+themselves, he throws a last look of defiance into the dark and mutters
+crossly "Nothing... nothing... always nothing" With that our hero goes in
+to play bezique with the Commandant.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 5.
+
+With this lust for adventure, this need for excitement, this longing for
+journeys to Lord knows where, how on earth, you may ask, does it happen
+that Tartarin had never left Tarascon? For it is a fact that up to the
+age of forty-five the bold Tarasconais had never slept away from his
+home town. He had never even made the ritual journey to Marseille which
+every good Provencal makes when he comes of age. He might, of course,
+have visited Beaucaire, albeit Beaucaire is not very far from Tarascon,
+as one has only to cross the bridge over the Rhone. Regrettably,
+however, this wretched bridge is so often swept by high winds, is so
+long and so flimsy and the river at that point is so wide that... Ma
+foi... you will understand...!
+
+At this point I think one has to admit that there were two sides to our
+hero's character. On the one hand was the spirit of Don Quixote, devoted
+to chivalry, to heroic ideals, to grandiose romantic folly, but lacking
+the body of the celebrated hidalgo, that thin, bony apology of a body,
+careless of material wants, capable of going for twenty nights without
+unbuckling its breastplate and surviving for twenty-four hours on a
+handful of rice. Tartarin, on the other hand, had a good solid body,
+fat, heavy, sybaritic, soft and complaining, full of bourgeois appetites
+and domestic necessities, the short-legged, full-bellied body of Sancho
+Panza.
+
+Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the same man! You may imagine the
+arguments, the quarrels, the fights. Carried away by some lurid tale
+of adventure, Tartarin-Quixote would clamour to be off to the fields of
+glory, to set sail for distant lands, but then Tartarin-Sancho ringing
+for the maid servant, would say "Jeanette, my chocolate." Upon which
+Jeanette would return with a fine cup of chocolate, hot, silky and
+scented, and some succulent grilled snacks, flavoured with anise;
+greatly pleasing Tartarin-Sancho and silencing the cries of
+Tartarin-Quixote.
+
+That is how it happens that Tartarin de Tarascon had never left
+Tarascon.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 6.
+
+There was one occasion when Tartarin nearly went on a long
+journey. The three brothers Garcio-Camus, Tarasconais who were in
+business in Shanghai, offered him the management of one of their
+establishments. Now this was the sort of life he needed. Important
+transactions. An office full of clerks to control. Relations with
+Russia, Persia, Turkey. In short, Big Business, which in Tartarin's eyes
+was of enormous proportions.
+
+The establishment had another advantage in that it was sometimes
+attacked by bandits. On these occasions the gates were slammed shut, the
+staff armed themselves, the consular flag was hoisted and "Pan! Pan!"
+They fired through the windows at the bandits.
+
+I need hardly tell you with what enthusiasm Tartarin-Quixote greeted
+this proposal; unfortunately Tartarin-Sancho did not see the matter in
+the same light, and as his views prevailed the affair came to nothing.
+
+At the time there was a great deal of talk in the town. Was he going or
+not going? It was a matter for eager discussion.
+
+Although in the end Tartarin did not go, the event brought him a great
+deal of credit. To have nearly gone to Shanghai and actually to have
+gone there was for Tarascon much the same thing. As a result of so much
+talk about Tartarin's journey, people ended by believing that he had
+just returned, and in the evenings at the club the members would ask him
+for a description of the life in Shanghai, the customs, the climate, and
+big business.
+
+Tartarin, who had gathered much information from the brothers was happy
+to reply to their questions, and before long he was not entirely sure
+himself whether he had been to Shanghai or not; so much so that when
+describing for the hundredth time the raid by bandits he got to the
+point of saying "Then I dished out arms to my staff. Hoisted the
+consular flag and we fired 'Pan! Pan!' Through the windows at the
+bandits." On hearing this the members would exchange suitably solemn
+looks.
+
+Tartarin then, you will say, is just a frightful liar. No!.... A
+thousand times no! How is that? you may say, he must know vey well that
+he has not been to Shanghai... to be sure he knows... only.... Perhaps the
+time has come when we should settle the question of the reputation for
+lying which has been given to the people of the Midi.
+
+There are no liars in the Midi, neither at Marseille, nor Nimes, nor
+Toulouse, nor Tarascon. The man of the Midi does not lie, he deceives
+himself. He does not always speak the truth but he believes he speaks
+it. His untruth, for him, is not a lie, it is a sort of mirage. To
+understand better you must visit the Midi yourself. You will see a
+countryside where the sun transfigures everything and makes it larger
+than life-size. The little hills of Provence, no bigger than the Butte
+Montmartre will seem to you gigantic. The Maison Carree at Nimes, a
+pretty little Roman temple, will seem to you as big as Notre Dame. You
+will see that the only liar in the Midi, if there is one, is the sun;
+everything that he touches he exaggerates. Can you be surprised that
+this sun shining down on Tarascon has been able to make a retired
+Captain Quartermaster into the gallant Commandant Bravida, to make a
+thing like a turnip into a baobab and a man who almost went to Shanghai
+into one who has really been there.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 7.
+
+Now that we have shown Tartarin as he was in his private life, before
+fame had crowned his head with laurels. Now that we have recounted the
+story of his heroic existance in modest surroundings, the story of his
+joys and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurry forward to the
+important pages of his history and to the event which lent wings to his
+destiny.
+
+It was one evening at Costecalde the gunsmith's; Tartarin was explaining
+to some listeners the working of a pin-fire rifle, then something quite
+new, when suddenly the door was opened and a hat hunter rushed into
+the room in a great state shouting "A lion! a lion!" General amazement,
+fright, tumult and confusion. Tartarin grabbed a bayonet, Costecalde ran
+to close the door. The newcomer was surrounded and questioned nosily.
+What they learned was that the Menagerie Mitaine, returning from the
+fair at Beaucaire, had arranged to make a stop of several days at
+Tarascon, and had just set itself up in the Place du Chateau with a
+collection of snakes, seals, crocodiles, and a magnificent African
+lion.... An African lion at Tarascon!... such a thing had never been seen
+before, never in living memory.
+
+The brave band of hat hunters gazed proudly at one another. Their manly
+features glowed with pleasure and, in every corner of the shop, firm
+handshakes were silently exchanged. The emotion was so overwhelming, so
+unforseen that no one could find a word to say. Not even Tartarin. Pale
+and trembling, with the new rifle clutched in his hands, he stood in a
+trance at the shop counter. A lion!... an African lion!... nearby... a few
+paces away... A lion, the ferocious king of the beasts... the quarry of
+his dreams... one of the leading actors in that imaginary cast which
+played out such fine dramas in his fantasies. It was too much for
+Tartarin to bear. Suddenly the blood flooded to his cheeks. His eyes
+blazed, and with a convulsive gesture he slapped the rifle onto his
+shoulder, then turning to the brave Commandant Bravida (quartermaster.
+Ret) he said in a voice of thunder, "Come, Commandant, let us go and
+see this." "Excuse me. Excuse me. My new rifle." The prudent Costecalde
+hazarded timidly, but Tartarin was already in the street, and behind him
+all the hat hunters fell proudly into step.
+
+When they arrived at the menagerie it was already crowded. The brave
+people of Tarascon, too long deprived of sensational spectacles, had
+descended on the place and taken it by storm. The big madame Mitaine
+was in her element; dressed in an oriental costume, her arms bare to the
+elbows and with iron bracelets round her ankles, she had a whip in one
+hand and in the other a live chicken. She welcomed the Tarasconais to
+the show, and as she too had "Double muscles" she aroused almost as much
+interest as the animals in her charge.
+
+The arrival of Tartarin with the rifle on his shoulder produced
+something of a chill, all the bold Tarasconais who had been walking
+tranquilly before the cages, unarmed, trusting, with no notion of
+danger, became suddenly alarmed at the sight of the great Tartarin
+entering the place, carrying this lethal weapon. There must be something
+to fear if he, their hero.... In the blink of an eye the area in front of
+the cages was deserted, children were crying with fright and the ladies
+were eying the doorway. Bezuquet the chemist left hurridly, saying that
+he was going to fetch a gun.
+
+Little by little, however, the attitude of Tartarin restored their
+courage. Calm and erect, the intrepid Tarasconais strolled round the
+menagerie. He passed the seals without stopping. He cast a contemptuous
+eye on the container full of noise, where the boa was swallowing its
+chicken, and at last halted in front of the lion's cage.... A dramatic
+confrontation.... The lion of Tarascon and the lion of the Atlas
+mountains face to face.
+
+On one side stood Tartarin, his legs planted firmly apart, his arms
+resting on his rifle, on the other was the lion, a gigantic lion,
+sprawling in the straw, blinking its eyes drowsily and resting its
+enormous yellow-haired muzzle on its front paws... they regarded one
+another calmly... then something odd happened. Perhaps it was the sight
+of the rifle, perhaps it recognised an enemy of its kind, but the lion
+which up until then had looked on the people of Tarascon with sovereign
+disdain, yawning in their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger.
+First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its
+forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head,
+shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most
+ear-splitting roar.
+
+This was greeted by a cry of terror. Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the
+doors. Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the
+brave Commandant Bravida himself. Only Tartarin did not move... he
+remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes,
+and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well. After a
+few moments, the hat shooters, somewhat reassured by his attitude and
+the solidity of the cage bars, rejoined their chief, to hear him mutter
+"Now that is something worth hunting." And that was all that he said.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 8.
+
+Although at the memagerie he had said nothing more, he had already
+said too much. The following day all the talk of the town was of the
+impending departure of Tartarin for Africa, to shoot lions.
+
+You will bear witness that the good fellow had not breathed a word
+of this, but you know how it is... the mirage.... In short the whole of
+Tarascon could talk of nothing else.
+
+On the pavement, at the club, at Costecalde's shop, people accosted one
+another with an air of excitement.
+
+"Et autrement, have you heard the latest, au moins?"
+
+"Et autrement, what now, is Tartarin going, au moins?" For in Tarascon
+every remark begins with "Et autrement" which is pronounced "autremain"
+and ends with "au moins" which is pronounced "au mouain" and in these
+days the sound of "autremain" and "au mouain" was enough to rattle the
+windows.
+
+The most surprised person in the town to hear that he was leaving for
+Africa was Tartarin, but now see the effects of vanity. Instead of
+replying that he was not going and had never intended to go, poor
+Tartarin, on the first occasion that the subject was broached adopted a
+somewhat evasive air, "He!... He!... perhaps... I can't say." On the
+second occasion, now a little more accustomed to the idea, he replied
+"Probably" and on the third "Yes, definitely."
+
+Eventually, one evening at the club, carried away by some glasses of
+egg-nog, the public interest and the plaudits, he declared formally that
+he was tired of shooting at hats and was going shortly in pursuit of the
+great lions of Africa.
+
+A loud cheer greeted this declaration, then came more egg-nog,
+handshakes, embraces and torchlight serenades until midnight before the
+little house of the baobab.
+
+Tartarin-Sancho, however, was far from pleased. The idea of travelling
+to Africa and hunting lions scared him stiff and when they went into the
+house, and while the serenade of honour was still going on outside, he
+made the most frightful scene with Tartarin-Quixote, calling him a crazy
+dreamer, a rash triple idiot and detailing one by one the catastrophes
+which would await him on such an expedition. Shipwreck, fever,
+dysentery, plague, elephantiasis and so on... it was useless for
+Tartarin-Quixote to swear that he would be careful, that he would dress
+warmly, that he would take with him everything that might be needed,
+Tartarin-Sancho refused to listen. The poor fellow saw himself already
+torn to pieces by lions or swallowed up in the sands of the desert, and
+the other Tartarin could pacify him only a little by pointing out that
+these were plans for the future, that there was no hurry, that they had
+not yet actually started.
+
+Obviously one cannot embark on such an expedition without some
+preparation. One cannot take off like a bird. As a first measure
+Tartarin set about reading the reports of the great African explorers,
+the journals of Livingstone, Burton, Caille, and the like, there he saw
+that those intrepid travellers, before they put their boots on for these
+distant excursions, prepared themselves in advance to undergo hunger,
+thirst, long treks and privations of all sorts.
+
+Tartarin decided to follow their example and took to a diet of "Eau
+bouillie". What is called eau bouillie in Tarascon consists of several
+slices of bread soaked in warm water, with a clove of garlic, a little
+thyme and a bay leaf. It is not very palatable and you may imagine how
+Tartarin-Sancho enjoyed it.
+
+Tartarin de Tarascon combined this with several other sensible methods
+of training. For instance, to habituate himself to long marches he would
+go round his morning constitutional seven or eight times, sometimes at a
+brisk walk, sometimes at the trot with two pebbles in his mouth. Then to
+accustom himself to nocturnal chills and the mists of dawn, he went into
+the garden and stayed there until ten or eleven at night, alone with his
+rifle, on watch behind the baobab.
+
+Finally, for as long as the menagerie remained in Tarascon, those hat
+hunters who had stayed late at Costecalde's could see in the shadows, as
+they passed the Place du Chateau, a figure pacing up and down behind
+the cages... it was Tartarin training himself to listen unmoved to the
+roaring of lions in the African night.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 9.
+
+While Tartarin was preparing himself by these strenuous methods, all
+Tarascon had its eyes on him. Nothing else was of interest. Hat shooting
+was abandoned, the ballads languished; in Bezuquet the chemist's the
+piano was silent beneath a green dust cover, with cantharides flies
+drying, belly up, on the top... Tartarin's expedition had brought
+everything to a halt.
+
+You should have seen the success of our hero in the drawing-rooms. He
+was seized, squabbled over, borrowed and stolen. There was no greater
+triumph for the ladies than to go, on the arm of Tartarin, to the
+menagerie Mitaine and to have him explain, in front of the lion's cage,
+how one goes about hunting these great beasts, at what point one
+aims and at what distance, whether there are many accidents, and so
+on... through his reading Tartarin had gained almost as much knowledge
+about lion hunting as if he had actually engaged in it himself, and so
+he spoke of these matters with much authority.
+
+Where Tartarin really excelled, however, was after dinner at the home of
+president Ladeveze or the brave Commandant Bravida (quartermaster. Ret)
+when coffee had been served and the chairs pulled together, then with
+his elbow on the table, between sips of his coffee, our hero gave a
+moving description of all the dangers which awaited him "Over there"
+He spoke of long moonless watches, of pestilential marshes, of rivers
+poisoned by the leaves of oleanders, of snows, scorching suns, scorpions
+and clouds of locusts; he also spoke of the habits of the great lions
+of the Atlas, their phenomenal strength, their ferocity in the mating
+season.... Then, carried away by his own words, he would rise from the
+table and bound into the middle of the room, imitating the roar of the
+lion, the noise of the rifle "Pan! Pan!" The whistle of the bullet.
+Gesticulating, shouting, knocking over chairs... while at the table faces
+are grave, the men looking at one another and nodding their heads, the
+ladies closing their eyes with little cries of alarm. A grandfather
+brandishes his walking-stick in a bellicose manner and, in the next
+room, the small children who have been put to bed earlier are startled
+out of their sleep by the banging and bellowing, and greatly frightened
+demand lights.
+
+Tartarin, however, showed no sign of leaving for Africa... did he really
+have any intention of going? That is a delicate question and one to
+which his biographer would find difficulty in replying. The fact is that
+the menagerie had now been gone for three months but the killer of lions
+had not budged... could it be that our innocent hero, blinded perhaps
+by a new mirage, honestly believed that he had been to Africa, and
+by talking so much about his hunting expedition believed that it had
+actually taken place. Unfortunately, if this was the case and Tartarin
+had once more fallen victim to the mirage, the people of Tarascon had
+not. When it was observed that after three months of waiting the hunter
+had not packed a single bag, people began to talk.
+
+"This will turn out to be another Shanghai." Said Costecalde, smiling,
+and this remark spread round the town like wildfire, for people had lost
+their belief in Tartarin. The ignorant, the chicken-hearted, people like
+Bezuquet, whom a flea could put to flight, and who could not fire a gun
+without closing both eyes, these above all were pitiless. At the club,
+on the esplanade, they accosted poor Tartarin with little mocking
+remarks, "Et autremain, what about this trip then?" At Costecalde's
+shop his opinion was no longer law. The hat hunters had deserted their
+leader.
+
+Then there were the epigrams. President Ladeveze who in his spare time
+dabbled in provencal poetry, composed a little song in dialect which
+was a great success. It concerned a certain hunter named master Gervaise
+whose redoubtable rifle was to exterminate every last lion in Africa.
+Sadly this rifle had a singular fault, although always loaded it never
+went off.... It never went off... you will understand the allusion. This
+song achieved instant popularity, and when Tartarin was passing, the
+stevedores on the quay and the grubby urchins hanging round his door
+would chant this insulting little ditty... only they sang it from a safe
+distance because of the double muscles.
+
+The great man himself pretended to see nothing, to hear nothing.
+Although at heart this underhand, venomous campaign hurt him deeply, in
+spite of his suffering, he continued to go about his life with a smile;
+but sometimes the mask of cheerful indifference which pride had pinned
+on his features slipped, then instead of laughter one saw indignation
+and grief. So it was one morning when some street urchins were chanting
+their jeers beneath the window of the room where our poor hero was
+trimming his beard. Suddenly the window was thrown open and Tartarin's
+head appeared, his face covered in soapsuds, waving a razor and shaving
+brush and shouting "Sword-thrusts, gentlemen, sword-thrusts, not
+pin-pricks!" Fine words but wasted on a bunch of brats about two bricks
+tall.
+
+Amid the general defection, the army alone stood firmly by Tartarin,
+the brave Commandant Bravida continued to treat him with esteem. "He's a
+stout fellow," He persisted in saying, and this affirmation was worth
+a good deal more, I should imagine, than anything said by Bezuquet the
+chemist.
+
+The gallant Commandant had never uttered a word about the African
+journey, but at last, when the public clamour became too loud to ignore,
+he decided to speak.
+
+One evening, the unhappy Tartarin was alone in his study thinking sad
+thoughts, when the Commandant appeared, somberly dressed and gloved,
+with every button fastened "Tartarin!" said the former captain, with
+authority, "Tartarin, you must go!" and he stood, upright and rigid in
+the doorway, the very embodiment of duty.
+
+All that was implied in that "Tartarin you must go" Tartarin understood.
+Very pale, he rose to his feet and cast a tender look round his
+pleasant study, so snug, so warm, so well lit, and at the the large,
+so comfortable armchair, at his books, his carpet and at the big white
+blinds of his window, beyond which swayed the slender stems of the
+little garden. Then advancing to the the brave Commandant, he took his
+hand, shook it vigorously and in a voice close to tears said stoically,
+"I shall go, Bravida." And he did go as he had said he would. Though not
+before he had gathered the necessary equipment.
+
+First, he ordered from Blompard two large cases lined with copper and
+with a large plaque inscribed TARTARIN DE TARASCON. FIREARMS. The
+lining and the engraving took a long time. He ordered from M. Tastevin
+a magnificent log-book in which to write his journal. Then he sent to
+Marseille for a whole cargo of preserved food, for pemmican tablets
+to make soup, for a bivouac tent of the latest design, which could be
+erected or struck in a few minutes, a pair of sea-boots, two umbrellas,
+a waterproof and a pair of dark glasses to protect his eyes. Finally,
+Bezuquet the chemist made up a medicine chest full of sticking plaster,
+pills and lotions. All these preparations were made in the hope that
+by these and other delicate attentions he could appease the fury of
+Tartarin-Sancho, which, since the departure had been decided, had raged
+unabated by day and by night.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 10.
+
+At last the great day arrived. From first light the whole of Terascon
+was afoot, blocking the Avignon road and the approaches to the little
+house of the baobab. There were people at windows, on roofs, up trees.
+Bargees from the Rhone, stevedores, boot-blacks, clerks, weavers,
+the club members, in fact the whole town. Then there were people from
+Beaucaire who had come across the bridge, market-gardeners from
+the suburbs, carts with big hoods, vignerons mounted on fine mules
+ornamented with ribbons, tassels, bows and bells, and even here and
+there some pretty girls from Arles, with blue kerchiefs round their
+heads, riding on the crupper behind their sweethearts on the small
+iron-grey horses of the Camargue. All this crowd pushed and jostled
+before Tartarin's gate, the gate of this fine M. Tartarin who was going
+to kill lions in the country of the "Teurs". (In Tarascon: Africa,
+Greece, Turkey and Mesopotamia formed a vast, vague almost mythical
+country which was called the Teurs... that is the Turks). Throughout
+this mob the hat shooters came and went, proud of the triumph of their
+leader, and leaving in their wake, as it were, little trails of glory.
+
+In front of the house of the baobab there were two large handcarts. From
+time to time the gate was opened and one could see men walking busily
+about in the garden. They carried out trunks, cases and carpet-bags
+which they piled onto the carts. On the arrival of each new package the
+crowd stirred and a description of the article was shouted out. "That's
+his tent! There's the preserved foods! The medicine chest! The arms
+chest!" While the hat shooters gave a running commentary.
+
+Suddenly, at about ten o'clock, there was a great movement in the crowd.
+The garden gate swung back violently on its hinges.... "It's him!....
+Its him!" they cried.
+
+It was indeed him. When he appeared on the threshold, two cries
+of amazement rose from the crowd:--"He's a Teur!.... He's wearing
+sun-glasses!".... Tartarin, it is true, had believed that as he was going
+to Algeria he should adopt Algerian costume. Large baggy pantaloons of
+white cloth, a small tight jacket with metal buttons, a red sash wound
+round his stomach and on his head a gigantic "Chechia" (a red floppy
+bonnet) with an immensely long blue tassel dangling from its crown.
+Added to this, he carried two rifles, one on each shoulder, a hunting
+knife stuck into the sash round his middle, a cartridge-bag slung on
+one side and a revolver in a leather holster on the other. That was
+it. Ah!... forgive me... I forgot the sun-glasses, a huge pair of blue
+sun-glasses which were just the very thing to correct any suggestion of
+extravagance in his turnout.
+
+"Vive Tartarin!... Vive Tartarin!" Yelled the people. The great man
+smiled but did not wave, partly because of the rifles, which were giving
+him some trouble and partly because he had learned what little value one
+can place on popular favour. Perhaps even, in the depths of his soul, he
+cursed these terrible compatriots who were forcing him to leave, to quit
+his pretty little house with its green shutters and white walls, but if
+so he did not show it. Calm and proud, though a little pale, he marched
+down the pathway, inspected his handcarts and seeing that all was in
+order set off jauntily on the road to the station, without looking back
+even once at the house of the baobab.
+
+On his arrival at the station he was greeted by the station-master,
+a former soldier, who shook him warmly by the hand several times. The
+Paris-Marseille express had not yet arrived, so Tartarin and his general
+staff went into the waiting-room. To keep back the following crowd the
+station-master closed the barriers.
+
+For fifteen minutes Tartarin paced back and forward, surrounded by the
+hat shooters. He spoke to them of his coming expedition, promising to
+send them skins, and entering their orders in his note-book as if they
+were a list of groceries. As tranquil as was Socrates at the moment
+when he drank the hemlock, the bold Tartarin had a word for everyone.
+He spoke simply and affably, as if before departing he wished to leave
+behind a legacy of charm, happy memories and regrets. To hear their
+chief speak thus brought tears to the eyes of the hat shooters, and to
+some, such as the president Ladeveze and the chemist Bezuquet, even a
+twinge of remorse. Some of the station staff were dabbing their eyes in
+corners, while outside the crowd peered through the railings and shouted
+"Vive Tartarin!"
+
+Then a bell rang. There was a rumbling noise of wheels. A piercing
+whistle split the heavens... All aboard!... All aboard!... Goodbye
+Tartarin!... Goodbye Tartarin!. "Goodbye everyone" murmured the great
+man, and on the cheeks of the brave Commandant Bravida he planted a
+farewell salute to his beloved Tarascon. Then he hurried along the
+platform and got into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who almost
+died of fright at the appearance of this strange man with his revolver
+and rifles.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 11.
+
+On the first day of December 186-, in the clear bright winter sunshine
+of Provence, the startled inhabitants of Marseille witnessed the arrival
+of a Teur. Never had they seen one like this before, though God knows
+there is no shortage of Teurs in Marseille. The Teur, need I tell you,
+was none other than Tartarin de Tarascon, who was proceeding down the
+quay followed by his case of arms, his medicine chest and his preserved
+foods, in search of the embarkation point of the Compagnie Touache and
+the ferry-boat "Le Zouave" which was to carry him away.
+
+His ears still ringing with the cheers of Tarascon and bemused by the
+brightness of the sky and the smell of the sea, Tartarin marched along,
+his rifles slung on his shoulders, gazing around in wonder at this
+marvellous port of Marseille, which he was seeing for the first time and
+which quite dazzled him. He almost felt that he was dreaming and that
+like Sinbad he was wandering in one of the fabulous cities of the
+Thousand and one Nights.
+
+As far as the eye could see, there stretched a jumble of masts and
+yards, criss-crossing in all directions. The flags of a multitude of
+nations fluttering in the wind. The ships level with the quay, their
+bowsprits projecting over the edge like a row of bayonets, and below
+them the carved and painted wooden figureheads of nymphs, goddesses
+and saintly virgins from which the ships took their names. From time to
+time, between the hulls one could see a patch of sea, like a great sheet
+of cloth spattered with oil, while in the entanglement of yardarms a
+host of seagulls made pretty splashes of white against the blue sky.
+On the quay, amid the streams which trickled from the soapworks, thick,
+green, streaked with black, full of oil and soda, there was a whole
+population of customs officers, shipping agents, and stevedores with
+trollies drawn by little Corsican ponies. There were shops selling
+strange sweetmeats. Smoke enshrouded huts where seamen were cooking.
+There were merchants selling monkeys, parrots, rope, sailcloth and
+fantastic collections of bric-a-brac where, heaped up pell-mell, were
+old culverins, great gilded lanterns, old blocks and tackle, old rusting
+anchors, old rigging, old megaphones, old telescopes, dating from the
+time of Jean Bart.
+
+There were women selling shellfish, crouched bawling beside their wares,
+sailors passing, some with pots of tar, some with steaming pots of stew,
+others with baskets full of squid which they were taking to wash in the
+fresh water of the fountains. Everywhere prodigious heaps of merchandise
+of every kind. Silks, minerals, baulks of timber, ingots of lead,
+carobs, rape-seed, liquorice, sugar cane, great piles of dutch cheeses.
+East and west hugger-mugger.
+
+Here is the grain berth. Stevedores empty the sacks onto the quay from
+a scaffold, the grain pours down in a golden torrent raising a cloud of
+pale dust, and is loaded by men wearing red fezes into carts, which
+set off followed by a regiment of women and children with brushes and
+buckets for gleaning.
+
+There is the careening basin. The huge vessels lie over on one side and
+are flamed with fires of brushwood to rid them of seaweed, while their
+yardarms soak in the water. There is a smell of pitch and the deafening
+hammering of shipwrights lining the hulls with sheets of copper.
+
+Sometimes, between the masts, a gap opened and Tartarin could see the
+harbour mouth and the movement of ships. An English frigate leaving for
+Malta, spruce and scrubbed, with officers in yellow gloves, or a big
+Marseilles brig, casting off amid shouting and cursing, with, in the
+bows, a fat captain in an overcoat and a top hat, supervising the
+manoeuvre in broad provencal. There were ships outward bound, running
+before the wind with all sails set, there were others, far out at sea,
+beating their way in and seeming in the sunshine to be floating on air.
+
+Then, all the time the most fearsome racket. The rumbling of cart
+wheels, the cries of the sailors, oaths, songs, the sirens of
+steam-boats, the drums and bugles of Fort St. Jean and Fort St. Nicolas,
+the bells of nearby churches and, up above, the mistral, which took all
+of these sounds, rolled them together, shook them up and mingled
+them with its own voice to make mad, wild, heroic music, like a great
+fanfare, urging one to set sail for distant lands, to spread one's wings
+and go. It was to the sound of this fine fanfare that Tartarin embarked
+for the country of lions.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 12.
+
+I wish that I was a painter, a really good painter, so that I could
+present to you a picture of the different positions adopted by
+Tartarin's chechia during the three days of the passage from France to
+Algeria.
+
+I would show it to you first at the departure, proud and stately as it
+was then, crowning that noble Tarascon head. I would show it next when,
+having left the harbour, the Zouave began to lift on the swell. I would
+show it fluttering and astonished, as if feeling the first premonitions
+of distress.
+
+Then, in the gulf of Lion, when the Zouave was further offshore and
+the sea a little rougher, I would present it at grips with the storm,
+clutching, bewildered, at the head of our hero, its long blue woollen
+tassel streaming in the spume and gusting wind.
+
+The fourth position. Six in the evening. Off the coast of Corsica. The
+wretched chechia is leaning over the rail and sadly contemplating the
+depths of the ocean.
+
+Fifth and last position. Down in a narrow cabin, in a little bed which
+has the appearance of a drawer in a commode, something formless and
+desolate rolls about, moaning, on the pillow. It is the chechia, the
+heroic chechia, now reduced to the vulgar status of a night-cap, and
+jammed down to the ears of a pallid and convulsing invalid.
+
+Ah! If the townsfolk of Tarascon could have seen the great Tartarin,
+lying in his commode drawer, in the pale, dismal light which filtered
+through the porthole, amongst the stale smell of cooking and wet wood,
+the depressing odour of the ferry boat. If they had heard him groan
+at every turn of the propeller, ask for tea every five minutes, and
+complain to the steward in the weak voice of a child, would they have
+regretted having forced him to leave? On my word, the poor Tuer deserved
+pity. Overcome by sea-sickness, he had not the will even to loosen
+his sash or rid himself of his weapons. The hunting knife with the big
+handle dug into his ribs. His revolver bruised his leg, and the final
+straw was the nagging of Tartarin-Sancho, who never ceased whining and
+carping:--"Imbecile! Va! I warned you didn't I?.... But you had to go to
+Africa!.... Well now you're on your way, how do you like it?"
+
+What was every bit as cruel was that, shut in his cabin, between his
+groans he could hear the other passengers in the saloon, laughing,
+eating, singing, playing cards. The society in the Zouave was as
+cheerful as it was diverse. There were some officers on their way to
+rejoin their units, a bevy of tarts from Marseille, a rich Mahommedan
+merchant, returning from Mecca, some strolling players, a Montenegran
+prince, a great joker this, who did impersonations.... Not one of these
+people was sea-sick and they spent the time drinking champagne with the
+captain of the Zouave, a fat "Bon viveur" from Marseille, who had an
+establishment there and another in Algiers, and who rejoiced in the name
+of Barbassou. Tartarin hated all these people. Their gaity redoubled his
+misery.
+
+At last, in the afternoon of the third day, there was some unusual
+activity on board the ship, which roused our hero from his torpor. The
+bell in the bows rang out... the heavy boots of the sailors could be
+heard running on the deck... "Engine ahead!... engine astern!." Shouted
+the hoarse voice of Captain Barbassou. Then "Stop engine!"
+
+The engine stopped, there was a little tremor and then nothing. The
+ferry lay rocking gently from side to side, like a balloon in the air.
+This strange silence horrified Tartarin. "My God! We are sinking!" He
+cried in a voice of terror, and recovering his strength as if by magic,
+he rushed up onto the deck.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 13.
+
+The Zouave was not sinking. She had just dropped her anchor in a fine
+anchorage of deep, dark water. Opposite, on the hillside, was Algiers,
+its little matt-white houses running down to the sea, huddled one
+against the other, like a pile of white washing laid out on a river
+bank. Up above a great sky of satin blue... but oh!... So blue!
+
+Tartarin, somewhat recovered from his fright, gazed at the landscape,
+while listening respectfully to the Montenegrin prince, who standing
+beside him, pointed out the different quarters of the town. The Casbah,
+the upper town, the Rue Bab-Azoum. Very well educated this prince of
+Montenegro. What is more he knew Algiers well and spoke Arabic. Tartarin
+had decided to cultivate his acquaintance when suddenly, along the rail
+on which they were leaning, he saw a row of big black hands grasping it
+from below. Almost immediately a curly black head appeared in front of
+him and before he could open his mouth the deck was invaded from all
+side by a swarm of pirates; black, yellow, half naked, hideous and
+terrible. Tartarin knew at once that it was "Them" The fearsome "Them"
+who he had so often expected at night in the streets of Tarascon. Now
+they had arrived.
+
+At first surprise glued him to the spot, but when he saw the pirates
+hurl themselves on the baggage, tear off the tarpaulin covers and begin
+to pillage the ship, our hero came to life. Drawing his hunting knife
+and shouting "Aux armes!... Aux armes!" To his fellow passengers, he
+prepared to lead an assault on the raiders. "Ques aco?... What's the
+matter with you?" Said Captain Barbassou as he came off the bridge.
+"Ah!... There you are Captain.... Quick! Quick! Arm your men!" "He!... Do
+what? Why for God's sake?" "But don't you see?" "See what?" "There,
+in front of you... the pirates!" Captain Barbassou regarded him with
+astonishment..... At that moment a huge monster of a black man ran past
+carrying the medicine chest. "Wretch! Wait till I catch you!" Yelled
+Tartarin, starting forward with his knife held aloft. Barbassou caught
+him and held him by his sash. "Calm down for Chrissake." He said,
+"These are not pirates, there have been no pirates for ages, these are
+stevedores." "Stevedores?" "He! Yes, stevedores who have come to collect
+the baggage and take it ashore. Put away your cutlass, give me your
+ticket and follow that negro, an excellent fellow, who will take you
+ashore and even to your hotel if you wish."
+
+Somewhat confused Tartarin surrendered his ticket and following the
+negro he went down the gangplank into a large boat which was bobbing
+alongside the ferry. All his baggage was there, his trunks, cases of
+weapons and preserved food, as they took up all the room in the boat,
+there was no need to wait for other passengers. The negro climbed onto
+the baggage and squatted there with his arms wrapped round his knees.
+Another negro took the oars... the two of them regarded Tartarin, laughing
+and showing their white teeth.
+
+Standing in the stern, wearing his fiercest expression, Tartarin
+nervously fingered the handle of his hunting knife, for in spite of what
+Barbassou had told him, he was only half reassured about the intentions
+of these ebony-skinned stevedores, who looked so different from honest
+longshoremen of Tarascon.
+
+Three minutes later the boat reached land and Tartarin set foot on the
+little Barbary quay, where three hundred years earlier a galley-slave
+named Michael Cervantes, under the whip of an Algerian galley-master,
+had begun to plan the wonderful story of Don Quixote.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 14.
+
+If by any chance the ghost of Micheal Cervantes was abroad on that bit
+of the Barbary coast, it must have been delighted at the arrival of this
+splendid specimen of a Frenchman from the Midi, in whom were combined
+the two heroes of his book, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
+
+It was a warm day. On the quay, bathed in sunshine, were five or
+six customs officers, some settlers awaiting news from France, some
+squatting Moors, smoking their long pipes, some Maltese fishermen,
+hauling in a large net, in the meshes of which thousands of sardines
+glittered like pieces of silver; but scarcely had Tartarin set
+foot there when the quay sprang into life and changed entirely its
+appearance.
+
+A band of savages, more hideous even than the pirates of the boat,
+seemed to rise from the very cobble-stones to hurl themselves on the
+newcomer. Huge Arabs, naked beneath their long woolen garments, little
+Moors dressed in rags, Negroes, Tunisians, hotel waiters in white
+aprons, pushing and shouting, plucking at his clothes, fighting over his
+luggage; one grabbing his preserves another his medicine chest and, in a
+screeching babel of noise, throwing at his head the improbable names
+of hotels.... Deafened by this tumult, Tartarin ran hither and
+thither,struggling, fuming, and cursing after his baggage, and not
+knowing how to communicate with these barbarians, harangued them in
+French, Provencal and even what he could remember of Latin. It was a
+wasted effort, no one was listening.... Happily, however, a little man
+dressed in a tunic with a yellow collar and armed with a long cane
+arrived on the scene and dispersed the rabble with blows from his stick.
+He was an Algerian policeman. Very politely he arranged for Tartarin to
+go to the Hotel de l'Europe, and confided him to the care of some locals
+who led him away with all his baggage loaded on several barrows.
+
+As he took his first steps in Algiers, Tartarin looked about him
+wide-eyed. He had imagined beforehand a fairylike Arabian city,
+something between Constantinople and Zanzibar... but here he was back
+in Tarascon. Some cafes some restaurants, wide streets, houses of four
+stories, a small tarmac square where a military band played Offenbach
+polkas, men seated on chairs, drinking beer and nibbling snacks, a few
+ladies, a sprinkling of tarts and soldiers, more soldiers, everywhere
+soldiers... and not a single "Teur" in sight except for him... so he found
+walking across the square a bit embarrassing. Everyone stared.... The
+military band stopped playing and the Offenbach polka came to a halt
+with one foot in the air.
+
+With his two rifles on his shoulders, his revolver by his side,
+unflinching and stately he passed through the throng, but on reaching
+the hotel his strength deserted him. The departure from Tarascon. The
+harbour at Marseille. The crossing. The Montenegrin prince. The pirates,
+all whirled in confusion round his brain. He had to be taken up to his
+room, disarmed and undressed... there was even talk of sending for a
+doctor, but hardly had his head touched the pillow than he began to
+snore so loudly and vigorously that the hotel manager decided that
+medical assistance was not required, and everyone discreetly withdrew.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 15.
+
+The bell of the government clock was sounding three when Tartarin awoke.
+He had slept all evening, all night, all morning and even a good part of
+the afternoon. It has, of course, to be admitted that over the preceding
+three days the chechia had had a pretty rough time.
+
+His first thought on waking was "Here I am, in lion country!" and it
+must be confessed that this notion that he was surrounded by lions
+and was about to go in pursuit of them produced a marked chill, and he
+buried himself safely under the bedclothes.
+
+Soon, however, the gaiety of the scene outside, the sky so blue, the
+bright sunshine which flooded into his room through the large window
+which opened towards the sea, and a good meal which he had served in
+bed, washed down by a carafe of wine, quickly restored his courage. "To
+the lions! To the lions!" He cried, and throwing off the bed clothes he
+dressed himself hurriedly.
+
+His plan of action was this. Leave town and go well out into the desert.
+Wait until nightfall. Lie in hiding, and at the first lion that comes
+along... Pan! Pan!.... Return in the morning. Lunch at hotel. Receive the
+congratulations of the Algerians and hire a cart to go and collect the
+kill.
+
+He armed himself hastily, strapped onto his back the bivouac tent, the
+pole of which stuck up above his head, and then, held rigid by this
+contraption, he went down to the street. He turned sharply to the right
+and walked to the end of the shopping arcade of Bab-Azoum, where a
+series of Algerian store-keepers watched him pass, concealed in corners
+of their dark boutiques like spiders. He went through the Place du
+theatre, through the suburbs and eventually reached the dusty main road
+to Mustapha.
+
+Here was a fantastic confusion of traffic. There were coaches, cabs,
+curricles, military supply wagons, great carts of hay drawn by oxen,
+some squadrons of Chasseurs d'Afrique, troops of microscopic little
+donkeys, negresses selling galettes, loads of emigrants from Alsasce,
+some Spahis in red cloaks. All passing in a great cloud of dust, with
+cries, songs and trumpet calls, between two rows of miserable shacks,
+where could be seen prostitutes applying their make-up at their doors,
+tap-rooms full of soldiers and the stalls of butchers and slaughtermen.
+The tales I have been told about this place are quite untrue, thought
+Tartarin, there are fewer "Teurs" here than there are in Marseille.
+
+Suddenly he saw striding past him, long-legged and proud as a turkey
+cock, a magnificent camel. The sight quickened his pulse; where there
+were camels lions could not be far away, and indeed within five minutes
+he saw coming towards him with guns on their shoulders, a whole company
+of lion hunters with their dogs.
+
+A cowardly lot, thought Tartarin, as he came alongside them... hunting
+lions in a group and with dogs... for it had never occurred to him that
+In Algeria one could hunt anything but lions. However these hunters
+looked like comfortably retired businessmen, and Tartarin, curious about
+this way of hunting lions with dogs and game-bags, took it on himself to
+address one of them.
+
+"Et autrement, my friend, a good day?"
+
+"Not bad" Replied the other, looking with some surprise at the heavy
+armament of our Tarascon warrior.
+
+"You have killed some of them?"
+
+"Yes... a few... as you can see." And the Algerian pointed to his
+game-bag, bulging with rabbits and woodcock.
+
+"How is that?... you put them in your game-bag?"
+
+"Where would you like me to put them?"
+
+"But then they... they must be very small!"
+
+"Some big, some small." Said the hunter, and as he was in a hurry to
+catch up with his companions and go home, he made off at high speed.
+Tartarin stood, stupefied, in the middle of the road. Then after a
+moment of thought "Bah!" He said to himself, "These people are trying to
+have me on, they haven't shot anything." And he continued on his way.
+
+Already the houses were becoming more scattered, the passers-by less
+frequent. Night was falling. Objects becoming less distinct.... He
+marched on for another half an hour, and then he stopped. It was now
+completely dark, a moonless night spangled with stars. There was no one
+on the road, but in spite of that Tartarin reckoned that lions were
+not like coaches and would not stick to the highway. He set off across
+country. At every step there were ditches, thorns and bushes. No matter,
+he walked on until at last he reached a spot he thought suited to his
+purpose. A likely place for lions.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 16.
+
+He was in a vast, wild desert, bristling with bizarre plants. African
+plants, which have the appearance of savage animals. In the faint light
+from the stars their shadows spread over the ground in all directions.
+On the right was the confused, looming mass of a mountain, the Atlas
+perhaps, to the left could be heard the dull surge of the invisible sea.
+An ideal spot to tempt wild animals!
+
+Placing one rifle on the ground before him and taking the other in his
+hands, Tartarin settled down and waited... he waited for an hour... two
+hours.... Then he remembered that in his books the famous lion hunters
+always used a kid as bait, which they tethered at some distance in front
+of them and made to bleat by pulling on a string attached to its leg.
+Lacking a kid, he had the idea of trying an imitation and began to bleat
+in a goat-like manner, "Me!... Me!...." At first very quietly, because, in
+the depths of his heart he was a little afraid that the lion might
+hear him... then seeing that nothing happened he bleated more loudly,
+"Me!... Me!... Me!...." And then louder still, "ME!... ME!... ME!..."
+
+Suddenly, a few paces in front of him, something black and gigantic
+materialised. He shut up... the thing crouched, sniffed the ground,
+leapt up, turned and ran off at a gallop... then it came back and stopped
+short. It was a lion! There could be no doubt. Now one could see quite
+clearly the four short legs, the formidable forequarters and two
+huge eyes gleaming in the darkness.... Aim!... Fire!...
+Pan!... Pan!.... Tartarin backed away, drawing his hunting knife
+
+Following Tartarin's shot there was a terrible outcry, "I've got him!"
+Cried the good Tarasconais and prepared himself to receive a possible
+attack, but the creature had had enough and it fled at top speed,
+bellowing.... He, however, did not budge: he was waiting for the
+female... as happened in all his books. Unfortunately the female failed
+to turn up, and after two or three hours of waiting Tartarin became
+tired. The ground was damp, the night was growing cool, there was a nip
+in the breeze from the sea... "Perhaps I should have a nap while I wait
+for daylight" he said to himself, and to provide some shelter he had
+recourse to the bivouac tent. A difficulty now arose, the bivouac tent
+was of such an ingenious design that he was quite unable to erect it. He
+struggled and sweated for a long time, but there was no way in which he
+could get the thing up, so at last he threw it on the ground and lay on
+top of it, cursing it in Provencal.
+
+Ta!... Ta!... Ta!... Tarata! "Ques aco?" said Tartarin, waking up with a
+start. It was the trumpets of the Chasseurs d'Afrique sounding reveille
+in the barracks at Mustapha. The lion killer rubbed his eyes in
+amazement. He who had believed that he was in the middle of a
+desert... do you know where he was?... In a field full of artichokes,
+between a cauliflower and a swede... his Sahara was a vegetable patch.
+
+Nearby, on the pretty green coast of upper Mustapha, white Algerian
+villas gleamed in the dawn light, one might have been among the suburban
+houses in the outskirts of Marseille. The bourgeois appearance of the
+sleeping countryside greatly astonished Tartarin and put him in a bad
+humour. "These people are crazy", he said to himself, "To plant their
+artichokes in an area infested by lions. For I was not dreaming, there
+are lions here and there is the proof".
+
+The proof was a trail of blood which the fleeing beast had left behind
+it. Following this blood-spoor, with watchful eye and revolver in hand,
+the valiant Tarasconais went from artichoke to artichoke until he arrived
+at a small field of oats.... In a patch of flattened grain was a pool
+of blood and in the middle of the pool, lying on its side with a large
+wound to its head, was... what?... a lion?... No Parbleu!... A donkey!
+One of the tiny donkeys so common in Algeria, which there are called
+"Bourriquots".
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 17.
+
+Tartarin's first reaction at the sight of his unfortunate victim was
+one of annoyance. There is after all a considerable difference between
+a lion and a bourriquot. This was quickly replaced by a feeling of pity.
+The poor bourriqout was so pretty, so gentle, its warm flanks rising and
+falling as it breathed. Tartarin knelt down and with the end of his sash
+he tried to staunch the blood from its wound. The sight of this great
+man tending the little donkey was the most touching thing you could
+imagine. At the soothing contact of the sash, the bourriquot, which
+was already at death's door, opened a big grey eye and twitched once
+or twice its long ears, as if to say "Thank you!... Thank you!". Then a
+final tremor shook it from head to tail and it moved no more.
+
+"Noiraud!... Noiraud!" Came a sudden cry from a strident, anxious voice,
+and the branches of some nearby bushes were thrust aside. Tartarin had
+barely time to get up and put himself on guard. It was the female!...
+She arrived, roaring and terrible, in the guise of an elderly Alsation
+lady in a rabbit-skin coat, armed with a red umbrella and calling for
+her donkey in a voice which woke all the echoes of Mustapha. Certainly
+it might have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with an angry
+lioness than this infuriated old lady. In vain he tried to explain what
+had happened... how he had mistaken Noiraud for a lion, she thought he
+was trying to make fun of her and, uttering loud cries of indignation,
+she set about our hero with blows from her umbrella. Tartarin, in
+confusion, defended himself as best he could, parrying the blows
+with his rifle, sweating, puffing, jumping about and crying "But
+Madame!... But Madame!". To no avail. Madame was deaf to his pleas and
+redoubled her efforts.
+
+Happily a third party arrived on the field of battle. It was the husband
+of the Alsation lady, also an Alsation.... A tavern keeper and a shrewd
+man of business. When he saw with whom he was dealing and that the
+assassin was willing to pay for his crime, he disarmed his spouse and
+took her to one side. Tartarin gave two hundred francs. The donkey was
+worth at least ten, which is the going price for bourriquots in the Arab
+market. Then the poor Noiraud was buried beneath a fig tree, and the
+Alsation, put in a good humour at the sight of so much money, invited
+our hero to break a crust at his tavern, which was not far away at the
+edge of the main road. The Algerian hunters went there every Sunday
+for luncheon; for the countryside was full of game, and for two leagues
+about the city there was not a better place for rabbits. "And the
+lions?" Asked Tartarin. The Alsation looked at him with surprise... "The
+lions?" "Yes, the lions, do you see them sometimes?" Tartarin replied,
+with a little less assurance. The tavern-keeper burst out laughing,
+"Lions!... Lions!... What is all this about lions?" "Are there no lions
+in Algeria then?" "Moi foi! I have been here for twenty years and I have
+never seen any.... though I did once hear... I think there was a report
+in the newspaper... but it was long ago... somewhere in the south"....
+
+At that moment they reached the tavern, a wayside pot house, the sort of
+thing one can see by any main road. It had a very faded sign above the
+door, some billiard cues painted on the wall and the inoffensive name
+"Au rendezvous des lapins".
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 18.
+
+This first adventure would have been enough to discourage many people,
+but seasoned characters such as Tartarin are not so easily disheartened.
+The lions are in the south, thought our hero, very well I shall go to
+the south.
+
+As soon as he had swallowed his last morsel, he got up, thanked his
+host, took leave of the old lady without any ill-feeling, shed a last
+tear over the unfortunate Noiraud and headed quickly for Algiers, with
+the firm intention of packing his trunks and departing that same day for
+the south.
+
+Sadly, the main Mustapha road seemed to have grown longer during the
+night. There was so much sunshine, so much dust, the bivouac tent was
+so heavy, that Tartarin could not face the walk back to the town and
+he hailed the first horse-drawn omnibus which came along and climbed
+in.... Poor Tartarin! How much better it would have been for his
+reputation if he had not entered that fateful vehicle, and had continued
+his journey on foot, even at the risk of collapsing from the heat and
+the weight of his two double-barreled rifles and the bivouac tent.
+
+With Tartarin aboard, the omnibus was now full. At the far end was an
+Algerian priest with a big black beard, his nose stuck in his breviary.
+Opposite was a young Moorish merchant, puffing at a large cigarette,
+then a Maltese seaman, and four or five Moorish women, with white linen
+masks, whose eyes alone were visible. These ladies had been on a visit
+to the cemetery of Abd-el-Kader, but this did not seem to have depressed
+them. Behind their masks they laughed and chattered among themselves and
+munched pastries.
+
+It seemed to Tartarin that they cast many glances in his direction, and
+one in particular, who was seated opposite him, fixed her gaze on him
+and did not remove it.
+
+Although the lady was veiled, the liveliness of her large dark eyes,
+emphasised by kohl, a delicate little wrist, encircled by gold
+bracelets, which one glimpsed from time to time amidst her draperies,
+the sound of her voice, the graceful movements of her head, all
+suggested that beneath her garments was someone young, pretty and
+loveable.
+
+The embarrassed Tartarin did not know which way to turn. The silent
+caress of these beautiful dark eyes set his heart aflutter. He blushed
+and paled by turns. Then to complete his downfall he felt on his
+massive boot the lady's dainty slipper scurrying about like a little
+red mouse.... What was he to do?... Reply to these looks, this touch?...
+Yes... but an amorous intrigue in this part of the world can have
+terrible consequences. In his imagination Tartarin already saw himself
+seized by eunuchs, decapitated or even worse, sewn into a sack and
+tossed into the sea with his head beside him.
+
+This thought cooled his ardour a little, but the little slipper
+continued to tease and the he eyes opened very wide, like two black
+velvet flowers which seemed to say "Come and gather us!"
+
+The omnibus stopped. It had arrived at the Place du theatre, at the
+entrance to the Rue Bab Azoum. One by one, enveloped in their billowing
+garments and drawing their veils about them with savage grace, the Moors
+dismounted. Tartarin's neighbour was the last to leave and as she rose
+to go her face was so close to that of our hero that their breaths
+mingled and he was aware of a bouquet of youth, jasmine, musk and
+pastries.
+
+He could no longer resist. Drunk with love and ready to face anything,
+he scrambled after the Moor... At the sound of his clumsy footsteps she
+turned and put her finger to her lips, as if to say "Hush" and with
+the other hand she tossed him a little scented garland made of jasmine
+flowers. Tartarin bent to pick it up, but as he was somewhat overweight
+and much encumbered by his weapons, the operation took a little
+time... When he rose, the garland pressed to his heart, the little Moor
+had disappeared.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 19.
+
+Sleep, lions of the Atlas! Sleep tranquilly in your lairs amongst the
+aloes and the cactus! It wil be some time before Tartarin de Tarascon
+comes to slaughter you. At the moment his equipment, his arms, his
+medicine chest, the preserved food and the bivouac tent are piled
+up peacefully in a corner of room 36 in the Hotel de l'Europe. Sleep
+without fear, great tawny lions! The Tarasconais is searching for his
+Moor.
+
+Since the events in the omnibus, the unhappy man seems to feel
+constantly on his feet the scurrying of the little red mouse, and the
+sea breeze which wafts across his face seems somehow perfumed by an
+amorous odour of patisserie and anise. He must find his Dulcinea; but to
+find in a city of one hundred thousand inhabitants a person of whom one
+knows only the scent of their breath, the appearance of their slippers
+and the colour of their eyes is no light undertaking. Only a lovesick
+Tarasconais would attempt such a task. To make matters worse, it must be
+confessed that beneath their masks all Moorish ladies tend to look very
+much the same; and then they do not go out a great deal, and if one
+wants to see them one must go to the upper town, the Arab town, the town
+of the Teurs.
+
+A real cut-throat place that upper town. Little dark alley-ways, very
+narrow, climbing steeply between two rows of silent, mysterious houses
+whose roofs touch to make a tunnel. Low doorways and small windows,
+opaque and barred, and then, to right and left, little shops within
+whose deep shade fierce "Teurs" with piratical faces, glittering eyes
+and gleaming teeth, smoke their hookahs and converse in low tones, as
+if planning some wicked deed.... To say that Tartarin walked through this
+fearsome township unmoved would be to lie. He was on the contrary moved
+a good deal, and in those obscure alleys where his large stomach took
+up almost the entire width, the brave fellow advanced with the greatest
+caution, his eyes alert, his finger on the trigger of his revolver, just
+as he used to be at Tarascon on his way to the club. At any moment he
+expected to be jumped on from behind by a whole gang of janissaries and
+eunuchs, but his desire to find the lady endowed him with the courage
+and determination of a giant.
+
+For eight days the intrepid Tartarin did not quit his search. Sometimes
+he could be seen hanging about the turkish baths, waiting for the women
+to emerge in chattering groups, scented from the bath. Sometimes he
+appeared at the entrance of a mosque, puffing and blowing as he removed
+his heavy boots before entering the sacred premises. On other occasions,
+at nightfall, when he was returning to the hotel, downcast at having
+discovered nothing at the mosque or the baths, he would hear, as he
+passed one of the Moorish houses, monotonous songs, the muffled sound
+of guitars, the rattle of tambourines and the light laughter of women,
+which made his heart beat faster. "Perhaps she is there" He would say to
+himself, and approaching the house he would lift the heavy knocker and
+let it fall timidly.
+
+Immediately the song and the laughter stop. Nothing can be heard within
+but faint vague cluckings as if in a sleeping hen-house. Hold on thinks
+our hero, something is about to happen, but what happened mostly was a
+big pot of cold water on his head, or orange peel and fig skins.... Sleep
+lions!
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 20.
+
+For two long weeks the unhappy Tartarin searched for his Algerian
+lady-love, and it is likely that he would be searching still, if that
+providence which looks after lovers had not come to his aid in the guise
+of a Montenegrin gentleman.
+
+The Theatre in Algiers, like the "Opera" in Paris, organises every
+Saturday night during the winter a Bal Masque,. This is, however,
+a provincial version. There are few people in the dance-hall; the
+occasional drifter from out of town, unemployed stevedores, some rustic
+tarts, who are in business but who still retain from their more virtuous
+days a faint aroma of garlic and saffron sauce... the real spectacle is
+in the foyer, which has been converted for the occasion into a gambling
+saloon.
+
+A feverish, multicoloured crowd jostles about the long green cloths.
+Algerian soldiers on leave, gambling their meagre pay. Moorish merchants
+from the upper town. Negroes. Maltese. Colonists who have come a hundred
+miles to wager the price of a cart or a pair of oxen on the turn of a
+card. Pale, tense and anxious as they watch the game.
+
+There are Algerian Jews, gambling en famille. The men in oriental
+costume, the women in gold coloured bodices. They gather round the
+table, chatter and and plan, count on their fingers, but play little.
+From time to time, and only after long consultation, an elderly, bearded
+patriarch goes to place the family stake. Then as long as play lasts
+there is a concentration of dark hebraic eyes on the table, which
+would seem to draw the gold pieces lying there as if by an invisible
+thread....
+
+Then there are the quarrels. Fights. Oaths in many languages. Knives
+are drawn. A guard arrives. Money is missing.... In the midst of this
+saturnalia wandered poor Tartarin, who had come that evening in search
+of forgetfulness and peace of heart.
+
+As he went about through the crowd, thinking of his Moor, suddenly, at
+one of the gaming tables, above the cries and the chinking of coins, two
+angry voices were raised. "I tell you, there are twenty francs of mine
+missing, m'sieu!" "M'sieu!!!" "Well, what have you to say, m'sieu?" "Do
+you know to whom you are talking, m'sieu?" "I should be delighted to
+find out, m'sieu!" "I am prince Gregory of Montenegro, m'sieu!"
+
+At this name, Tartarin, much moved, pushed through the crowd until he
+reached the front row, delighted to have found once more his prince, the
+distinguished Montenegrin nobleman whose acquaintance he had made on the
+packet-boat.
+
+Unfortunately this title of prince which had so dazzled the worthy
+Tarasconais, did not produce the least impression on the officer of the
+Chasseurs with whom the prince was in dispute. "A likely story" said the
+officer with a sneer, and then turning to the onlookers, "Prince
+Gregory of Montenegro, who has ever heard of him?... No one!" Tartarin,
+indignant, took a pace forward. "Pardon... I know the prince." He said
+firmly in his best Tarrascon accent.
+
+The officer of the Chasseurs stared him in the face for a few moments,
+then shrugging his shoulders, he said "Well now, is'nt that just
+fine?... Share out the twenty francs between you and we'll leave it at
+that." So saying he turned on his heel and was lost in the crowd.
+
+Tartarin, furious, wanted to go after him, but the prince prevented him.
+"Leave it... It's my affair." He said, and taking Tartarin by the arm he
+led him outside.
+
+When they had reached the square, prince Gregory of Montenegro took off
+his hat, held out his hand to our hero and vaguely recalling his name
+began in vibrant tones, "Monsieur Barbarin..." "Tartarin." Breathed the
+other, timidly. "Tartarin... Barbarin, it makes no difference, we are
+now friends for life." And the noble Montenegrin shook his hand
+with ferocious energy. Tartarin was was overwhelmed by pride.
+"Prince.... Prince" He murmured in confusion.
+
+Fifteen minutes later the two gentlemen were seated in the Restaurant
+des Platanes, an agreeable spot whose terraces sloped down toward the
+sea, and there before a large Russian salad and a bottle of good wine
+they renewed their acquaintance.
+
+You cannot imagine anything more beguiling than this Montenegrin prince.
+Slim, elegant, his hair curled and waved, smooth-shaven and powdered and
+decked with strange orders, he had a sharp eye an ingratiating manner
+and spoke with a vaguely Italian accent, faintly suggestive of a
+renaissance Cardinal. Of ancient aristocratic lineage, his brothers,
+it seemed, had driven him into exile at the age of ten, because of
+his liberal opinions; since when he had travelled the world for his
+instruction and pleasure... a philosopher prince. By a remarkable
+coincidence the prince had spent three years in Tarascon, but when
+Tartarin expressed astonishment at never having seen him at the club or
+on the promonade, "I didn't go out much" Said the prince in a somewhat
+evasive manner, and Tartarin discretely asked no more questions.
+Important people, he knew, had diplomatic secrets.
+
+All in all a very fine prince this Gregory. While sipping his wine he
+listened patiently to Tartarin, who told him of his Moorish love, and
+as he claimed to have contacts among these ladies, he even undertook to
+help look for her.
+
+They drank long and deep. They drank to the ladies of Algeria. They
+drank to free Montenegro. Outside, below the terrace, the sea rolled,
+the waves slapping wetly on the beach. The air was warm, the sky bright
+with stars, in the plane trees a nightingale sang... It was Tartarin who
+paid the bill.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 21.
+
+The Montenegrin prince was as good as his word. Shortly after the
+reunion at the Restaurant des Platanes he arrived early one morning at
+Tartarin's room. "Quick!... quick!... get dressed" he said, "Your Moor has
+been found... her name is Baia... as pretty as a picture, twenty years
+old and already a widow." "A widow!.... Well that's a bit of luck" Said
+Tartarin who was a little uneasy at the thought of Moorish husbands.
+"Yes, but closely guarded by her brother" "Oh! That's a bit awkward"
+"A ferocious Moor who sells hookahs in the bazaar" There was a silence,
+"Good!" Said the prince, "You're not the chap to be put off by a little
+thing like that, and anyway we can perhaps buy off this villain by
+purchasing some of his pipes. So come on, get dressed... you lucky dog!"
+
+Pale and excited, his heart full of love, Tartarin jumped out of bed and
+as he climbed into his ample underwear he asked "What shall I do now?"
+"Write to the lady quite simply and ask for a meeting" "She understands
+French then?" Said Tartarin with an air of disappointment. For his
+dreams had been of an Arabian Houri, uncontaminated by the west. "She
+doesn't understand a word" Replied the prince imperturbably, "but you
+will dictate the letter to me and I shall translate it." "Oh prince,
+how good you are." And Tartarin strode about the room silent and deep in
+thought.
+
+As you may imagine one does not write to a Moorish lady as one might to
+a little shop-girl in Beaucaire. Happily our hero was able to cull from
+his reading many phrases of oriental rhetoric and combining these with
+some distant memories of the "Song of Songs" he was able to compose the
+most flowery epistle you could wish for, full of unlikely similes and
+improbable metaphors. With this romantic missive Tartarin would have
+liked to combine a bouquet of flowers with emblematic meanings, but
+prince Gregory thought it would be better to buy some pipes from the
+brother, which could not fail to soften the savage temperament of the
+gentleman and would please the lady, who greatly enjoyed smoking. "Let
+us go quickly then and buy some pipes," Said Tartarin. "No, no." Replied
+the prince, "Let me go alone, I shall get them at a better price." "Oh
+prince! How good you are to take such trouble." And the trusting fellow
+held out his purse to the obliging Montenegrin, exhorting him to neglect
+nothing which might make the lady happy.
+
+Unfortunately, the affair which had started so well, did not progress as
+rapidly as one might have wished. Very touched, it seemed, by Tartarin's
+eloquence, and already three parts won over, she would have liked
+nothing better than to have received him, but her brother had scruples,
+and to lay these to rest it was necessary to buy an astonishing number
+of pipes. Sometimes Tartarin wondered what on earth the lady did with
+them all, but he paid up nevertheless, and without stinting.
+
+At last, after the purchase of many pipes and the composing of many
+sheets of oriental prose, a rendezvous was arranged. I need hardly tell
+you with what fluttering of heart Tartarin prepared himself; with what
+care he trimmed, washed and scented his beard, without forgetting--for
+one must always be prepared--to slip into his pockets a life-preserver
+and a revolver. The ever-obliging prince attended this first meeting in
+the role of interpreter
+
+The lady lived in the upper part of the town. Outside her door lounged a
+young Moor of fourteen or fifteen, smoking a cigarette, it was Ali, her
+brother. When the two visitors arrived he knocked twice on the postern
+and retired from the scene. The door was opened and a negress appeared,
+who, without saying a word, conducted the two gentlemen across a narrow
+interior courtyard to a small, cool room where the lady awaited them,
+posed on a divan.
+
+At first glance it seemed to Tartarin that she was smaller and sturdier
+than the Moor on the omnibus... were they in fact the same? But this
+suspicion was only momentary: the lady was so pretty, with her bare
+feet and her plump fingers, rosy and delicate, loaded with rings; while
+beneath her bodice of gold cloth and the blossoms of her flowered robe
+was the suggestion of a charming form, a little chubby, dainty and
+curvaceous. The amber mouthpiece of a narghile was between her lips and
+she was enveloped in a cloud of pale smoke.
+
+On entering, Tartarin placed his hand on his heart and bowed in the most
+Moorish manner possible, rolling big, passionate eyes... Baia looked
+at him for a moment without speaking, then letting go of the amber
+mouthpiece, she turned her back, hid her face in her hands and one could
+see only her neck, shaken by uncontrollable laughter.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 22.
+
+If you go in the evening into some of the coffee-houses of the Algerian
+upper town, you will hear even today, Moors speak among themselves,
+with winks and chuckles, of a certain Sidi ben Tart'ri, an amiable,
+rich European who--it now some years ago--lived in the upper town with a
+little local girl called Baia.
+
+This Sidi ben Tart'ri was of course none other than Tartarin. Well what
+could you expect. This sort of thing happens even in the lives of Saints
+and Heroes. The illustrious Tartarin was, like anyone else, not exempt
+from these failings and that is why for two whole months, forgetful of
+lions, forgetful of fame, he wallowed in oriental love, and slumbered,
+like Hannibal in Capua, amid the delights of Algiers.
+
+He had rented in the heart of the Arab quarter, a pretty little local
+house with an interior courtyard, banana trees, cool galleries and
+fountains. He lived there quietly in the company of his Moor, a
+Moor himself from head to foot. Puffing at his hookah and munching
+musk-flavoured condiments. Stretched on a divan opposite him, Baia with
+a guitar in her hands droned monotonous songs, or to amuse her master
+she perhaps mimed a belly-dance, holding in her hands a small mirror in
+which she admired her white teeth and made faces at herself.
+
+As the lady did not understand French and Tartarin did not speak a
+word of Arabic, conversation languished somewhat and the talkative
+Tarasconais had time to repent of any intemperate loquaciousness of
+which he might have been guilty at Bezuquet's pharmacy or Costecalde
+the gunsmith's shop. This penance even had a certain charm. There was
+something almost voluptuous in going all day without speaking, hearing
+only the bubble of the hookah, the strumming of the guitar and the
+gentle splashing of the fountain amid the mosaic tiles of his courtyard.
+
+Smoking, the Turkish bath and "l'amour" occupied his time. They went out
+little. Sometimes Sidi Tart'ri, with his lady mounted on the crupper,
+went on mule-back to eat pomegranates in a little garden which he had
+bought in the neighbourhood... but never on any account did they go down
+to the European part of the town, which with its drunken Zouaves, its
+bordellos full of officers and the sound of sabres trailing on the
+ground beneath the arcade, seemed to him to be insupportably ugly.
+Altogether our Tartarin was perfectly happy. Tartarin-Sancho in
+particular, very fond of Turkish pastries, declared himself entirely
+satisfied with his new existence. Tartarin-Quixote had perhaps now and
+then some regrets, when he remembered Tarascon and the promised lion
+skins... but they did not last for long, and to dispel these moments of
+sadness all that was needed was a look from Baia or a spoonful of her
+diabolic confections, scented and bewitching like some brew of Circe's.
+
+In the evenings prince Gregory came, to talk a little about free
+Montenegro. Of indefatigable complaisance, this agreeable nobleman
+undertook in the house the function of interpreter and, if need be, even
+that of steward, and all for nothing. Apart from him, Tartarin had only
+"Teurs" as visitors. All of those ferocious bandits which in the depths
+of their dark shops he once found so frightening, turned out to be
+harmless tradesmen, embroiderers, spice sellers, turners of pipe
+mouthpieces. Discrete, courteous people, modest, shrewd, and good at
+cards. Four or five times a week they would spend the evening with
+Tartarin, winning his money and eating his confitures, and on the stroke
+of ten leaving politely, giving thanks to the Prophet.
+
+After they had left, Sidi Tart'ri and his faithful spouse would finish
+the evening on their terrace, a large white-walled terrace which formed
+the roof of the building and looked out over the town. All about them
+a thousand other terraces, tranquil in the moonlight, dropped one below
+the other down to the sea. Suddenly, like a burst of stars, a great
+clear chant rose heavenward and on the minaret of the nearby mosque a
+handsome Muezzin appeared, his white outline silhouetted against the
+deep blue of the night sky. As he invoked the praise of Allah in a
+splendid voice which filled the horizon, Baia laid aside her guitar and
+with her eyes fixed on the Muezzin seemed to be rapt in prayer. For
+as long as the chant lasted she remained ecstatic, like an Arabic
+St. Theresa. Tartarin watched her and thought that it must be a beautiful
+and powerful religion which could give rise to such transports of faith.
+Tarascon hide your face, your Tartarin dreams of becoming apostate.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 23.
+
+One fine afternoon of blue sky and warm breeze, Sidi Tart'ri, astride
+his mule, was returning alone from his little garden, his legs spread
+widely over hay filled bags which were further swollen by citrus and
+water-melon. Lulled by the creaking of the harness and swaying to the
+clip-clop of the animal the good man progressed through the delightful
+countryside, his hands crossed on his stomach, three-quarters asleep
+from the effect of warmth and wellbeing. Suddenly, as he was entering
+the town, a loud hail woke him up. "He! You, you great lump! You're
+Monsieur Tartarin aren't you?" At the name of Tartarin and the sound of
+the Provencal accent Tartarin raised his head and saw, a few feet away,
+the tanned features of Barbassou, the Captain of the Zouave, who was
+drinking an absinthe and smoking his pipe at the door of a little cafe.
+"He! Barbassou by God!" Said Tartarin, pulling up his mule.
+
+Instead of replying Barbassou regarded him wide-eyed for a few moments,
+and then he began to laugh and laugh, so that Tartarin sat stunned among
+his water-melons. "What a get-up, my poor monsieur Tartarin. It's true
+then what people say, that you have become a Teur? And little Baia, does
+she still sing 'Marco la belle' all the time?" "Marco la belle," said
+Tartarin indignantly, "I'll have you know Captain, that the person
+of whom you speak is an honest Moorish girl who doesn't know a word of
+French!" "Baia?... Not a word of French?... Where have you come from?" And
+the Captain began to laugh again, more than ever. Then noticing the long
+face of poor Sidi Tart'ri, he changed tack. "Well perhaps it isn't
+the same one," He said, "I've probably got her mixed up with someone
+else... only look here, M. Tartarin, you would be wise not to put too much
+trust in Algerian Moors, or Montenegrin princes." Tartarin stood up in
+his stirrups, and made his grimace, "The prince is my friend, Captain!"
+He said. "All right... all right... Don't let's quarrel... would you like
+a drink?... no. Any message you would like me to take back?... none. Well
+that's it then. Bon voyage.... Oh!... While I think of it, I have some
+good French tobacco here, if you would like a few pipes-full take some,
+help yourself, it will do you good, it's those blasted local tobaccos
+that scramble your brain."
+
+With that the Captain returned to his absinthe and Tartarin pensively
+trotted his mule down the road to his little house. Although in his
+loyal heart he refused to believe any of the insinuations made by the
+Captain, they had upset him, and his rough oaths and country accent had
+combined to awake in him a vague feeling of remorse. When he reached
+home, Baia had gone to the baths, the negress seemed to him ugly, the
+house dismal, and prey to an indefinable melancholy, he went and sat by
+the fountain and filled his pipe with Barbassou's tobacco. The tobacco
+had been wrapped in a fragment of paper torn from "The Semaphore" and
+when he spread it out the name of his home town caught his eye.
+
+"News from Tarascon," He read, "The town is in a state of alarm. Tartarin
+the lion killer, who went to hunt the big cats in Africa, has not
+been heard of for several months.... What has happened to our heroic
+compatriot? One dare hardly ask oneself, knowing as we do his ardent
+nature, his courage and love of adventure.... Has he, like so many
+others, been swallowed up in the desert sands, or has he perhaps fallen
+victim to the murderous teeth of those feline monsters, whose skins he
+promised to the municipality.... A terrible incertitude! However, some
+African merchants who came to the fair at Beaucaire, claim to have met,
+in the heart of the desert, a white man whose description corresponds
+with his and who was heading for Timbuctoo. May God preserve our
+Tartarin!"
+
+When he read this, Tartarin blushed and trembled. All Tarascon rose
+before his eyes. The club. The hat hunters. The green armchair at
+Costecalde's shop: and soaring above, like the extended wings of an
+eagle, the formidable moustache of the brave Commandant Bravida. Then to
+see himself squatting slothfully on his mat, while he was believed to be
+engaged in slaying lions, filled him with shame. Suddenly he leaped to
+his feet. "To the lions!... To the lions!" He cried, and hurrying to the
+dusty corner where lay idle his bivouac tent, his medicine chest, his
+preserved foods and his weapons, he dragged them into the middle of the
+courtyard. Tartarin-Sancho had just perished, only Tartarin-Quixote was
+left.
+
+There was just time enough to inspect his equipment, to don his arms and
+accoutrements, to put on his big boots, to write a few lines to prince
+Gregory, confiding Baia to his care, to slip into an envelope some
+banknotes, wet with tears, and the intrepid Tarasconais was in a
+stage-coach, rolling down the road to Blidah, leaving the stupefied
+negress in his house, gazing at the turban, the slippers and all the
+muslim rig-out of Sidi Tart'ri, hanging discarded on the wall.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 24.
+
+It was an ancient, old-fashioned stage-coach, upholstered in the old way
+in heavy blue cloth, very faded, and with enormous pom-poms, which after
+a few hours on the road dug uncomfortably into one's back. Tartarin had
+an inside seat, where he installed himself as best he could, and where,
+instead of the musky scent of the great cats, he could savour the ripe
+perfume of the coach, compounded of a thousand odours of men, women,
+horses, leather, food and damp straw.
+
+The other passengers on the coach were a mixed lot. A Trappist monk,
+some Jewish merchants, two Cocottes, returning to their unit, the third
+Hussars, and a photographer from Orleansville.
+
+No matter how charming and varied the company, Tartarin did not feel
+like chatting and remained silent, his arm hooked into the arm-strap and
+his weaponry between his knees.... His hurried departure, the dark eyes
+of Baia, the dangerous chase on which he was about to engage, these
+thoughts troubled his mind, and also there was something about this
+venerable stage-coach, now domiciled in Africa, which recalled to him
+vaguely the Tarascon of his youth. Trips to the country. Dinners by the
+banks of the Rhone, a host of memories.
+
+Little by little it grew dark. The guard lit the lanterns. The old coach
+swayed and squeaked on its worn springs. The horses trotted, the bells
+on their harness jingling, and from time to time there sounded the clash
+of ironmongery from Tartarin's arms chest on the top of the coach.
+
+Sleepily Tartarin contemplated his fellow passengers as they danced
+before his eyes, shaken by the jolting of the coach, then his eyes
+closed and he heard no more, except vaguely, the rumble of the axles and
+the groaning of the coach sides....
+
+Suddenly an ancient female voice, rough, hoarse and cracked, called the
+Tarasconais by name: "Monsieur Tartarin!... Monsieur Tartarin!" "Who is
+calling me?" "It is I, Monsieur Tartarin, don't you recognise me?... I
+am the stage-coach which once ran... it is now twenty years ago... the
+service from Tarascon to Nimes.... How many times have I carried you
+and your friends when you went hat shooting over by Joncquieres or
+Bellegarde... I didn't recognise you at first because of your bonnet and
+the amount of weight you have put on, but as soon as you began to snore,
+you old rascal, I knew you right away." "Bon!... Bon!" Replied Tartarin,
+somewhat vexed, but then softening, he added: "But now, my poor old
+lady, what are you doing here?" "Ah! My dear M. Tartarin, I did not come
+here of my own free will I can promise you. Once the railway reached
+Beaucaire no one could find a use for me so I was shipped off to
+Africa... and I am not the only one, nearly all the stage-coaches in
+France have been deported like me; we were found too old fashioned and
+now here we all are, leading a life of slavery." Here the old coach gave
+a long sigh, then she went on: "I can't tell you monsieur Tartarin how
+much I miss my lovely Tarascon. These were good times for me, the time
+of my youth. You should have seen me leaving in the morning, freshly
+washed and polished, with new varnish on my wheels, my lamps shining
+like suns and my tarpaulin newly dressed with oil. How grand it was
+when the postillion cracked his whip and sang out, 'Lagadigadeou, la
+Tarasque, la Tarasque' and the guard, with his ticket-punch slung on its
+bandolier and his braided cap tipped over one ear, chucked his little
+yapping dog onto the tarpaulin of the coach-roof and scrambled up
+himself crying 'Let's go!... Let's go!' Then my four horses would start
+off with a jingle of bells, barking and fanfares. Windows would open and
+all Tarascon would watch with pride the stage-coach setting off along
+the king's highway.
+
+"What a fine road it was, Monsieur Tartarin, wide and well kept, with
+its kilometre markers, its heaps of roadmender's stones at regular
+intervals, and to right and left vinyards and pretty groves of olive
+trees. Then inns every few yards, post-houses every five minutes... and
+my travellers! What fine folk!... Mayors and cures going to Nimes to see
+their Prefect or Bishop, honest workmen, students on holiday, peasants
+in embroidered smocks, all freshly shaved that morning, and up on top,
+all of you hat shooters, who were always in such good form and who sang
+so well to the stars as we returned home in the evening.
+
+"Now it is a different story... God knows the sort of people I carry. A
+load of miscreants from goodness knows where, who infest me with vermin.
+Negroes, Bedouins, rascals and adventurers from every country, colonists
+who stink me out with their pipes, and all of them talking a language
+which even our Heavenly Father couldn't understand.... And then you
+see how they treat me. Never brushed. Never washed. They grudge me the
+grease for my axles, and instead of the fine big, quiet horses which I
+used to have, they give me little Arab horses which have the devil in
+them, fighting, biting, dancing about and running like goats, breaking
+my shafts with kicks. Aie!... Aie! They are at it again now.... And the
+roads! It's still all right here, because we are near Government House,
+but out there, nothing! No road of any sort. One goes as best one can
+over hill and dale through dwarf palms and mastic trees. Not a single
+fixed stop. One pulls up at wherever the guard fancies, sometimes at one
+farm, sometimes at another. Sometimes this rogue takes me on a detour of
+two leagues just so that he can go and drink with a friend. After that
+it's 'Whip up postillion, we must make up for lost time.' The sun burns.
+The dust chokes... Whip!... Whip! We crash. We tip over.
+More whip. We swim across rivers, we are cold, soaked and half
+drowned... Whip!... Whip!... Whip! Then in the evening, dripping wet...
+that's good for me at my age... I have to bed down in the yard of some
+caravan halt, exposed to all the winds. At night jackals and hyenas
+come to sniff at my lockers and creatures which fear the dawn hide in
+my compartments. That's the life I lead, monsieur Tartarin, and I shall
+lead until the day when, scorched by sun and rotted by humid nights, I
+shall fall at some corner of this beastly road, where Arabs will boil
+their cous-cous on the remains of my old carcase."
+
+"Blidah!... Blidah!" Shouted the guard, opening the coach door.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 25.
+
+Indistinctly, through the steamed up windows, Tartarin could see the
+pretty square of a neatly laid out little township, surrounded by
+arcades and planted with orange trees, in the centre of which a group of
+soldiers was drilling in the thin, pink haze of early morning. The cafes
+were taking down their shutters, in one corner a vegetable market was
+under way. It was charming, but in no way did it suggest lions. "To the
+south, further to the south." Murmured Tartarin, settling back in his
+corner.
+
+At that moment the coach door was opened, letting in a gust of fresh
+air, which bore on its wings, amongst the scent of orange blossom,
+a very small gentleman in a brown overcoat. Neat, elderly, thin and
+wrinkled, with a face no bigger than a fist, a silk cravat five fingers
+high, a leather brief-case and an umbrella. The perfect image of a
+village notary. On seeing Tartarin's weaponry, the little gentleman, who
+was seated opposite him, looked very surprised, and began to stare at
+our hero.
+
+The horses were changed and the coach set off... the little gentleman
+continued to stare. At length Tartarin became offended and staring in
+his turn at the little gentleman he asked "Do you find this surprising?"
+
+"Not at all, but it does rather get in the way." Was the reply, and
+the fact is that with his tent, his revolver, his two rifles and their
+covers, not to mention his natural corpulence, Tartarin de Tarascon did
+take up quite a lot of space.
+
+This reply from the little gentleman annoyed Tartarin, "Do you suppose
+that I would go after lions with an umbrella?" Asked the great man
+proudly. The little gentleman looked at his umbrella, smiled and
+and asked calmly, "You monsieur are...?" "Tartarin de Tarascon, lion
+hunter." And in pronouncing these words the brave Tartarin shook the
+tassel of his chechia as if it were a mane.
+
+In the coach there was a startled response. The Trappist crossed
+himself, the Cocottes uttered little squeaks of excitement and the
+photographer edged closer to the lion killer, thinking that he might be
+a good subject for a picture. The little gentleman was not in the least
+disturbed. "Have you killed many lions, Monsieur Tartarin?" He asked
+quietly. Tartarin adopted a lofty air, "Yes many of them. More than you
+have hairs on your head." And all the passengers laughed at the sight
+of the three or four yellow hairs which sprouted from the little
+gentleman's scalp.
+
+The photographer then spoke up, "A terrible profession yours, Monsieur
+Tartarin, you must have moments of danger sometimes like that brave
+M. Bombonnel." "Ah!... yes... M. Bombonnel, the man who hunts panthers."
+Said Tartarin, with some disdain. "Do you know him?" Asked the little
+gentleman. "Ti!... Pardi!... To be sure I know him, we have hunted
+together more than twenty times." "You hunt panthers also M. Tartarin?"
+"Occasionally, as a pastime." Said Tartarin casually, and raising his
+head with a heroic gesture which went straight to the hearts of the two
+Cocottes, he added "They cannot be compared to lions." "One could say,"
+Hazarded the photographer, "That a panther is no more than a large
+pussy-cat." "Quite right." Said Tartarin, who was not reluctant to lower
+the reputation of this M. Bombonnel, particularly in front of the ladies.
+
+At this moment the coach stopped. The guard came to open the door and
+he addressed the little old man, "This is where you want to get off
+Monsieur." He said very respectfully.
+
+The little gentleman got up to leave, but before he closed the door
+he said "Would you permit me to give you a word of advice M. Tartarin?"
+"What is that Monsieur?" "Go back quickly to Tarascon, M. Tartarin, you
+are wasting your time here... There are a few panthers left in Algeria,
+but, fi donc! They are too small a quarry for you... as for lions, they
+are finished. There are no more in Algeria, my friend Chassaing has just
+killed the last one."
+
+On that the little gentleman saluted, closed the door and went off,
+laughing, with his brief-case and umbrella. "Guard!" Said Tartarin,
+making his grimace. "Who on earth was that fellow?" "What! Don't you
+know him?" Said the guard, "That's Monsieur Bombonnel!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 26.
+
+When the coach reached Milianah Tartarin got out and left it to continue
+its journey to the south. Two days of being bumped about and nights
+spent peering out of the window in the hope of seeing the outline of a
+lion in the fields lining the road, had earned a little rest; and then
+it must be admitted that after the misadventure over M. Bombonnel,
+Tartarin, in spite of his weapons, his terrible grimace and his
+red chechia, had not felt entirely at ease in the presence of the
+photographer and the two ladies of the third Hussars.
+
+He made his way along the wide streets of Milianah, full of handsome
+trees and fountains, but while he looked for a convenient hotel, he
+could not prevent himself from mulling over the words of M. Bombonnel.
+What if it were true... what if there were no more lions in Algeria? What
+then was the point of all this travel and all these discomforts?
+
+Suddenly at a bend in the road our hero was confronted by a remarkable
+spectacle. He found himself face to face with--believe it or not--a
+superb lion which was seated regally at the door of a cafe, Its mane
+tawny in the sunshine.
+
+"Who says there are no more lions?" Cried Tartarin, jumping back. On
+hearing this exclamation the lion lowered its head, and taking in
+its jaws the wooden begging bowl which lay on the pavement before it,
+extended it humbly in the direction of Tartarin, who was paralyzed by
+astonishment... a passing Arab tossed in a few coppers. Then Tartarin
+understood. He saw what his surprise had at first prevented him from
+seeing, a crowd of people which was gathered round the poor tame lion,
+which was blind, and the two big negroes, armed with cudgels, who led it
+about the town.
+
+Tartarin's blood boiled. "Wretches!" He cried "To debase this noble
+creature!" And running to the lion he snatched the sordid begging bowl
+from the royal jaws.... The two negroes, believing they were dealing
+with a thief, threw themselves on Tartarin with raised cudgels. It was
+a terrible set-to. Women were screeching children laughing there were
+calls for the police and the lion in its darkness joined in with a
+fearsome roar. The unhappy Tartarin after a desperate struggle, rolled
+on the ground among copper coins and road sweepings.
+
+At this moment a man pushed through the crowd. He dismissed the negroes
+with a word and the women and children with a gesture. He helped
+Tartarin to his feet, brushed him down and seated him, out of breath,
+on a bollard. "Good heavens... prince... Is it really you?" Said Tartarin,
+rubbing his ribs. "Indeed yes my valiant friend... it is I. As soon as
+I received your letter I confided Baia to her brother, hired a
+post-chaise, came fifty leagues flat out and here I am just in time to
+save you from the brutality of these louts.... For God's sake what have
+you been doing to get yourself dragged into a mess like this?" "What
+could you expect me to do, prince, when I saw this unfortunate lion with
+the begging bowl in its teeth, humiliated, enslaved, ridiculed, serving
+as a laughing stock for this unsavoury rabble...?" "But you are mistaken
+my noble friend." Said the prince, "This lion on the contrary is an
+object of respect and adoration. It is a sacred beast, a member of
+a great convent of lions founded three centuries ago by
+Mahommed-ben-Aouda, a sort of wild fierce monastry where strange monks
+rear and tame hundreds of lions and send them throughout all north
+Africa, accompanied by mendicant brothers. The alms which these brothers
+receive serve to maintain the monastry and its mosque, and if those two
+negroes were in such a rage just now, it is because they are convinced
+that if one sou, one single sou, of their takings is lost through any
+fault of theirs, the lion which that are leading will immediately devour
+them."
+
+On hearing this unlikely but plausible tale, Tartarin recovered his
+spirits. "It seems evident after all," He said "That in spite of what M.
+Bombonnel said, there are still lions in Algeria." "To be sure there are,"
+said the prince, "And tomorrow we shall begin to search the plains by
+the river Cheliff and you shall see." "What!... prince. Do you mean to
+join in the hunt yourself?" "Of course" Said the prince "Do you think I
+would leave you to wander alone in the middle of Africa, among all those
+savage tribes, of whose language and customs you know nothing? No! No!
+My dear Tartarin. I shall not leave you again. Wherever you go I shall
+accompany you." "Oh!... prince!... prince!" And Tartarin clasped the
+valiant Gregory in a warm embrace.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 27.
+
+Very early the next morning the intrepid Tartarin and the no less
+intrepid prince Gregory, followed by half a dozen negro porters, left
+Milianah and descended towards the plain of the Chetiff by a steep
+pathway, delightfully shaded by jasmine, carobs and wild olives, between
+the hedges of little native gardens where a thousand bubbling springs
+trickled melodiously from rock to rock, a veritable Eden.
+
+Carrying as much in the way of arms as the great Tartarin, the prince
+was further adorned by a magnificent and colourful kepi, covered with
+gold braid and decorated with oak leaves embroidered in silver thread,
+which gave his highness the appearance of a Mexican General, or a
+Middle-European Station-Master. This fantastic kepi greatly intrigued
+Tartarin and he asked humbly for an explanation.
+
+"An indispensable form of headgear for the traveller in Africa." The
+prince replied gravely; and while polishing the peak on his coat-sleeve
+he instructed his innocent companion on the important role played by the
+kepi in colonial administration, and the deference which its appearance
+inspires. This to such an extent that the government has been obliged
+to issue kepis to everyone from the canteen worker to the
+registrar-general. In fact, according to the prince, to govern the
+country there was no necessity for an elaborate regime. All that was
+needed was a fine gold-braided kepi glittering on the end of a big
+stick.
+
+Thus conversing and philosophising, they went there way. The bare-footed
+porters leapt from rock to rock, shouting and chattering. The armaments
+rattled in their case. The guns glittered in the sun.. The locals who
+passed bowed deeply before the magical kepi.... Up on the ramparts of
+Milianah, the chief of the Arab bureau, who was walking with his lady in
+the cool of the morning, hearing these unusual noises and seeing between
+the branches the flash of sunlight on the weapons, feared a surprise
+attack; whereupon he lowered the portcullis, beat the alarm and put the
+town in a state of siege.
+
+This was a good start to the expedition. Regrettably, before the end of
+the day, the situation deteriorated. One of the negroes was taken with
+the most fearful colic, having eaten the plasters in the medicine
+chest. Another fell, dead drunk, by the wayside, as a result of swigging
+spirits of camphor. A third, in charge of the log-book, deceived by the
+gold lettering on the cover, thought he had hold of the treasures of
+Mecca and made off with it at top speed.... Clearly some planning was
+needed, so the party halted and took council in the shade of an old fig
+tree. "In my opinion" Said the prince, trying unsuccessfully to dissolve
+a tablet of pemmican in a cooking pot, "In my opinion, after this
+evening we should get rid of these negro porters. There is an Arab
+market near here and our best plan would be to go there and buy some
+bourriquots." "No!... No!... No bourriquots!" Interrupted Tartarin, who
+had become very red at the memory of Noiraud, adding hypocritically,
+"How can these little creatures carry all our equipment?"
+
+The prince smiled, "You are mistaken my illustrious friend," He said,
+"The bourriquot may seem to you a poor weak creature, but it has a great
+heart... It needs it to support all it has to bear... ask the Arabs. This
+is their idea of our administration. On top they say, is the governor
+with a big stick which he uses to thump his staff. The staff in turn
+thump the soldiers. The soldiers thump the colonist. The colonist thumps
+the Arab, the Arab the negro, and the Negro thumps the bourriquot. The
+poor little bourriquot having no one to thump, bares its back and puts
+up with it. So you can see it is well able to carry all our gear."
+
+"That's all very well." Replied Tartarin, "But I don't think that
+donkeys add much colour to the general appearance of our caravan. Now if
+we could have a camel...!"
+
+"Just as you wish." Said his highness, and they set off for the market.
+
+The market was held some distance away on the bank of the Cheliff.
+There were five or six thousand Arabs milling around in the sun, trading
+noisily among piles of olives, pots of honey, sacks of spices and heaps
+of cigars. There were fires at which whole sheep were roasting, dripping
+with butter. There were open air butcheries where almost naked negroes,
+their feet paddling in blood and their arms red to the elbow, were
+cutting up the carcases of goats hanging from hooks... In one corner, in
+a tent repaired in a thousand different colours, was a Moorish official
+with a big book and spectacles. Over there is a crowd. There are cries
+of rage. It is a roulette game that has been set up on a corn bin and
+the tribesmen gathered about it have started fighting with knives.
+Elsewhere, there are cheers, laughter and stamping of feet, a
+merchant and his mule have fallen into the river and are in danger of
+drowning.... There are scorpions, crows, dogs and flies, millions of
+flies, but no camels.
+
+Eventually a camel was discovered which some nomads were trying to
+dispose of. This was a real desert camel, with little hair, a sad
+expression and a hump which through long shortage of fodder hung
+flaccidly to one side. Tartarin was so taken with it that he wanted the
+two partners to be mounted. This proved to be a mistake.
+
+The camel knelt, the trunks were strapped on, the prince installed
+himself on the creature's neck and Tartarin was hoisted up to the top of
+the hump, between two cases, from where he proudly saluted the assembled
+market and gave the signal for departure.... Heavens above!.... If only
+Tarascon could see him now!
+
+The camel rose, stretched out its long legs and took off. Calamity! The
+camel pitched and rolled like a frigate in a rough sea and the chechia
+responded to the motion as it had on the Zouave. "Prince... prince"
+Murmured Tartarin, ashen-faced, and clutching the scanty hair of the
+hump, "Prince... let us get down, I feel... I feel I am going to disgrace
+France." But the camel was in full flight and nothing was going to
+stop it. Four thousand Arabs were running behind, bare-footed, waving,
+laughing like idiots, six hundred thousand white teeth glistening in
+the sun.... The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to the
+inevitable, and France was disgraced.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 28.
+
+Despite the picturesque nature of their new mode of transport our lion
+hunters were forced to dismount, out of regard for the chechia. They
+continued their journey as before, on foot, and the caravan proceeded
+tranquilly toward the south with Tartarin in front, the prince in the
+rear and between them the camel with the baggage.
+
+The expedition lasted for a month. For a whole month, Tartarin, hunting
+for non-existent lions, wandered from village to village in the immense
+plain of the Chetiff, across this extraordinary, cock-eyed French
+Algeria, where the perfumes of ancient Araby are mingled with a powerful
+stink of Absinthe and barrack-room; Abraham and Zouzou combined, a
+strange mixture like a page of the Old Testament rewritten by Sergeant
+Le Ramee or Corporal Pitou.... A curious spectacle for those who would
+care to look.... A savage and decadent people whom we are civilising
+by giving them our own vices. The cruel and uncontrolled authority of
+Pashas, inflated with self-importance in their cordons of the legion of
+honour, who at their whim have people beaten on the soles of their feet.
+The so-called justice of bespectacled Cadis, traitors to the koran and
+to the law, who sell their judgements as did Esau his birthright for
+a plate of cous-cous. Drunken and libertine headmen, former batmen to
+General Yussif someone or other, who guzzle champagne in the company of
+harlots, and indulge in feasts of roast mutton, while before their tents
+the whole tribe is starving and disputes with the dogs the leavings of
+the seigniorial banquet.
+
+Then, all around, uncultivated plain. Scorched grass. Bushes bare of
+leaves. Scrub. Cactus. Mastic trees... The granary of France?... A granary
+empty of grain and rich only in jackals and bugs. Abandoned villages.
+Bewildered tribesfolk who run they know not where, fleeing from famine
+and sowing corpses along the road. Here and there a French settlement,
+the houses dilapidated, the fields untilled and raging hordes of locusts
+who eat the very curtains from the windows, while the colonists are all
+in cafes, drinking absinthe and discussing projects for the reform of
+the constitution.
+
+That is what Tartarin could have seen, if he had taken the trouble, but
+obsessed with his fantasy the man from Tarascon marched straight ahead,
+his vision limited to searching for these monstrous felines, of which
+there was no trace.
+
+Since the bivouac tent obstinately refused to open and the pemmican
+tablets to dissolve, the hunting party was compelled to stop daily at
+tribal villages. Everywhere, thanks to the prince's kepi, they were
+received with open arms. They were lodged by chieftains in strange
+palaces, great white buildings without windows, where were piled up
+hookahs and mahogany commodes, Smyrna carpets and adjustable oil lamps,
+cedar-wood chests full of Turkish sequins and clocks decorated in the
+style of Louis Phillipe. Everywhere Tartarin was treated to fetes and
+official receptions. In his honour whole villages turned out, firing
+volleys in the air, their burnous gleaming in the sun: after which the
+good chieftain would come to present the bill.
+
+Nowhere, however, were there any more lions than there are on the Pont
+Neuf in Paris: but Tartarin was not discouraged, he pushed bravely on to
+the south. His days were spent scouring the scrub, rummaging among the
+dwarf palms with the end of his carbine and going "Frt!... Frt!" At each
+bush... Then every evening a stand-to of two or three hours... A wasted
+effort. No lions appeared.
+
+One evening, however, at about six o'clock, as they were going through
+a wood of mastic trees, where fat quail, made lazy by the heat were
+jumping up from the grass, Tartarin thought he heard... but so far
+off... so distorted by the wind... so faint, the wonderful roar which
+he had heard so many times back home in Tarascon, behind the menagerie
+Mitaine.
+
+At first he thought he had imagined it, but in a moment, still far
+distant, but now more distinct, the roaring began again, and this time
+one could hear, all around, the barking of village dogs; while, stricken
+by terror and rattling the boxes of arms and preserves, the camel's hump
+trembled. There could be no more doubt.... It was a lion! Quick!... Quick!
+Into position! Not a moment to lose!
+
+There was, close by them, an old Marabout (the tomb of a holy man) with
+a white dome: the big yellow slippers of the deceased lying in a recess
+above the door, together with a bizarre jumble of votive offerings which
+hung along the walls: fragments of burnous, some gold thread, a tuft
+of red hair. There Tartarin installed the prince and the camel,
+and prepared to look for a hide. He was determined to face the lion
+single-handed, so he earnestly requested His Highness not to leave the
+spot, and for safe keeping he handed to him his wallet, a fat wallet
+stuffed with valuable papers and banknotes. This done our hero sought
+his post.
+
+About a hundred yards in front of the Marabout, on the banks of an
+almost dry river, a clump of oleanders stirred in the faint twilight
+breeze, and it was there that Tartarin concealed himself in ambush,
+kneeling on one knee, in what he felt was an appropriate position, his
+rifle in his hands and his big hunting knife stuck into the sandy soil
+of the river bank in front of him.
+
+Night was falling. The rosy daylight turned to violet and then to
+a sombre blue.... Below, amongst the stones of the river bed, there
+glistened like a hand-mirror a little pool of clear water: a drinking
+place for the wild animals. On the slope of the opposite bank one could
+see indistinctly the path which they had made through the trees: a view
+which Tartarin found a bit unnerving. Add to this the vague noises of
+the African night, the rustle of branches, the thin yapping of jackals,
+and in the sky a flock of cranes passing with cries like children being
+murdered. You must admit that this could be unsettling, and Tartarin was
+unsettled, he was even very unsettled! His teeth chattered and the rifle
+shook in his hands; well... there are evenings when one is not at one's
+best, and where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid?
+
+Tartarin was, admittedly, afraid, but in spite of his fear he held on
+for an hour... two hours, but heroism has its breaking point. In the dry
+river bed, close to him, Tartarin heard the sound of footsteps rattling
+the pebbles. Terror overtook him. He rose to his feet, fired both
+barrels blindly into the night and ran at top speed to the Marabout,
+leaving his knife stuck in the ground as a memorial to the most
+overwhelming panic that ever affected a hero.
+
+"A moi! prince!... A Moi!... The lion!"... There was no answer.
+"Prince!... prince! Are you there?".... The prince was not there. Against
+the white wall of the Marabout was only the silhouette of the worthy
+camel's hump. The prince Gregory had disappeared, taking with him the
+wallet and the banknotes. His highness had been waiting for a month for
+such an opportunity.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 29.
+
+The day after this adventurous yet tragic evening, when at first light
+our hero awoke and realised that the prince and his money had gone and
+would not return; when he saw himself alone in this little white tomb,
+betrayed, robbed and abandoned in the middle of savage Algeria with a
+one-humped camel and some loose change as his total resources, for the
+first time some misgivings entered his mind. He began to have doubts
+about Montenegro, about friendship, fame and even lions. Overcome by
+misery he shed bitter tears.
+
+While he was sitting disconsolately at the door of the Marabout with his
+head in his hands, his rifle between his knees and watched over by
+the camel... behold! The undergrowth opposite was thrust aside and the
+thunderstruck Tartarin saw not ten paces away a gigantic lion, which
+advanced towards him uttering roars which shook the ragged offerings on
+the wall of the Marabout and even the slippers of the holy man in their
+recess. Only Tartarin remained unshaken. "At last!" He cried, jumping
+to his feet with his rifle butt to his shoulder... Pan!... Pan!...
+Pft!... Pft!... The lion had two explosive bullets in its head!
+Fragments of lion erupted like fireworks into the burning African sky,
+and as they fell to earth, Tartarin saw two furious negroes, who ran
+towards him with raised cudgels. The two negroes of Milianah... Oh!
+Misere!... It was the the tame lion, the poor blind lion of the convent
+of Mahommed that the bullets of the Tarasconais had felled.
+
+This time Tartarin had the narrowest of escapes. Drunk with fanatical
+fury, the two negro mendicants would surely have had him in pieces had
+not the God of the Christians sent him a Guardian Angel in the shape
+of the District Police Officer from Orleansville, who arrived down the
+pathway, his sabre tucked under his arm, at that very moment. The
+sight of the municipal kepi had an immediate calming effect on the two
+negroes. Stern and majestic the representative of the law took down the
+particulars of the affair, had the remains of the lion loaded onto
+the camel, and ordered the plaintiff and the accused to follow him to
+Orleansville, where the whole matter was placed in the hands of the
+legal authorities.
+
+There then commenced a long and involved process. After the tribal
+Algeria in which he had been wandering, Tartarin now made the
+acquaintance of the no less peculiar and cock-eyed Algeria of the towns:
+litigious and legalistic. He encountered a sleazy justicary who stitched
+up shady deals in the back rooms of cafes. The Bohemian society of the
+gentlemen of the law; dossiers which stank of absinthe, white cravats
+speckled with drink and coffee stains. He was embroiled with ushers,
+solicitors, and business agents, all the locusts of officialdom, thin
+and ravenous, who strip the colonist down to his boots and leave him
+shorn leaf by leaf like a stalk of maize.
+
+The first essential point to be decided was whether the lion had been
+killed on civil or military territory. In the first case Tartarin
+would come before a civil tribunal, in the second he would be tried by
+court-martial: at the word court-martial Tartarin imagined himself
+lying shot at the foot of the ramparts, or crouching in the depths of
+a dungeon... A major difficulty was that the delimitation of these two
+areas was extremely vague, but at last, after months of consultation,
+intrigue, and vigils in the sun outside the offices of the Arab Bureau,
+it was established that on the one hand the lion was, when killed, on
+military ground, but on the other hand that Tartarin when he fired the
+fatal shot was in civilian territory. The affair was therefore a civil
+matter, and Tartarin was freed on the payment of an indemnity of two
+thousand five hundred francs, not including costs.
+
+How was this to be paid? The little money left after the prince's
+defection had long since gone on legal documents and judicial absinthe.
+The unfortunate lion killer was now reduced to selling off his armament
+rifle by rifle. He sold the daggers, the knives and coshes. A grocer
+bought the preserved food, a chemist what was left of the medicine
+chest. Even the boots went, with the bivouac tent, into the hands of
+a merchant of bric-a-brac. Once everything had been paid, Tartarin
+was left with little but the lion-skin and the camel. The lion-skin he
+packed up carefully and despatched to Tarascon, to the address of the
+brave Commandant Bravida. As for the camel, he counted on it to get him
+back to Algiers: not by riding it, but by selling it to raise the fare
+for the stage-coach, which was at least better than camel-back. Sadly
+the camel proved a difficult market, and no one offered to buy it at any
+price.
+
+Tartarin was determined to get back to Algiers, even if it meant
+walking. He longed to see once more Baia's blue corslet, his house, his
+fountain and to rest on the white tiles of his his little cloister while
+he awaited money to be sent from France. In these circumstances
+the camel did not desert him. This strange animal had developed an
+inexplicable affection for its master, and seeing him set out from
+Orleansville it followed him faithfully, regulating its pace to his and
+not quitting him by as much as a footstep.
+
+At first Tartarin found it touching. This fidelity, this unshakable
+devotion seemed wholly admirable; besides which the beast was no trouble
+and was able to find its own food. However, after a few days Tartarin
+grew tired of having perpetually at his heels this melancholy companion,
+who reminded him of all his misadventures. He began to be irritated.
+He took a dislike to its air of sadness to its hump and its haughty
+bearing. In he end he became so exasperated with it that his only wish
+was to be rid of it; but the camel would not be dismissed. Tartarin
+tried to lose it, but the camel always found him. He tried running
+away, but the camel could run faster. He shouted "Clear off!" and threw
+stones: the camel stopped and regarded him with a mournful expression,
+then after a few moments it resumed its pace and caught up with him.
+Tartarin had to resign himself to its company.
+
+When, after eight days of walking, Tartarin, tired and dusty, saw
+gleaming in the distance the white terraces of Algiers, when he found
+himself on the outskirts of the town, on the bustling Mustapha road,
+amid the crowds who watched him go by with the camel in attendance, his
+patience snapped, and taking advantage of some traffic congestion he
+ducked into a field and hid in a ditch. In a few moments he saw above
+his head, on the causeway, the camel striding along rapidly, its neck
+anxiously extended. Greatly relieved to be rid of it, Tartarin entered
+the town by a side road which ran along by the wall of his house.
+
+On his arrival at his Moorish house, Tartarin halted in astonishment. The
+day was ending, the streets deserted. Through the low arched doorway,
+which the negress had forgotten to close, could be heard laughter, the
+clinking of glasses, the popping of a champagne cork and the cheerful
+voice of a woman singing loud and clear:
+
+"Aimes-tu Marco la belle,
+
+"La danse aux salons en fleurs..."
+
+"Tron de Diou!" Said Tartarin, blenching, and he rushed into the
+courtyard.
+
+Unhappy Tartarin! What a spectacle awaited him!.... Amid bottles,
+pastries, scattered cushions, tambourine, guitar, and hookah, Baia
+stood, without her blue jacket or her corslet, dressed only in a silver
+gauze blouse and big pink pantaloons, singing "Marco la belle" with a
+naval officer's hat tipped over one ear... while on a rug at her
+feet surfeited with love and confitures, was Barbassou, the infamous
+Barbassou, roaring with laughter as he listened to her.
+
+The arrival of Tartarin, haggard, thin, covered in dust, with blazing
+eyes and bristling chechia cut short this enjoyable Turco-Marseillaise
+orgy. Baia uttered a little cry, and like a startled leveret she bolted
+into the house, but Barbassou was not in the least put out and laughed
+more than ever: "He!... He!... Monsieur Tartarin. What did I tell you? You
+can hear that she knows French all right."
+
+Tartarin advanced, furious: "Captain!.." He began; but then, leaning
+over the balcony with a rather vulgar gesture, Baia threw down a few
+well-chosen words. Tartarin, deflated, sat down on a drum, his Moor
+spoke in the argot of the Marseilles back-streets.
+
+"When I warned you not to trust Algerian women," Said Captain Barbassou
+sententiously, "The same applied to your Montenegrin prince." Tartarin
+looked up, "Do you know where the prince is?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, he is not far away. He will spend the next five years in the
+fine prison at Mustapha. The clown was foolish enough to be caught
+stealing... and anyway this is not the first time His Highness has been
+inside, he has already done three years in gaol somewhere, and... hang
+on!... I believe it was in Tarascon!
+
+"In Tarascon!" Cried Tartarin, suddenly enlightened, "that is why I never
+saw him there. All he knew of Tarascon was what he could see from a cell
+window."
+
+"He!... without a doubt.... Ah! My poor M. Tartarin, you have to keep both
+eyes wide open in this devilish country if you don't want to be taken
+in. Like that business of the Muezzin."
+
+"What business?... What Muezzin?"
+
+"Ti!... Pardi!" The Muezzin opposite, who was courting Baia; all Algiers
+knew about it. Not all the prayers he was chanting were addressed
+to Allah, some were directed to the little one, and he was making
+propositions under your nose. "It seems that everyone in this beastly
+country is a crook", Wailed the unhappy Tartarin. Barbassou shrugged his
+shoulders, "My dear fellow, you know how it is. All these sort of places
+are the same. If you take my advice you will go back to Tarascon as
+quickly as possible."
+
+"That's easy to say, but what am I to do for money? Don't you know how
+they robbed me out there in the desert?"
+
+"Don't worry about that," laughed the Captain, "the Zouave is leaving
+tomorrow and I'll take you back if you want... does that suit you,
+colleague?... All right... Good! There's only one thing left to do, there
+is still some champagne and some pastries left. Come, sit down and let
+bygones be bygones." After a little delay which his dignity required,
+our hero accepted the offer. They sat down and poured out a drink.
+Hearing the clink of glasses, Baia came down and finished singing Marco
+la Belle, and the party went on until late in the night.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter 30.
+
+It is mid-day. The Zouave has steam up and is ready to depart. Up
+above on the balcony of the cafe Valentin, a group of officers aim the
+telescope, and come one by one, in order of seniority, to look at
+the lucky little ship which is going to France. It is the principle
+entertainment of the general staff. Down below, the water of the
+anchorage sparkles.... The breeches of the old Turkish cannons, mounted
+along the quay, glisten in the sunshine.... Passengers arrive.... Baggage
+is loaded onto tenders.
+
+Tartarin does not have any baggage. He comes down from the Rue de
+la Marine by the little market, full of bananas and water-melons,
+accompanied by his friend Captain Barbassou.
+
+Tartarin de Tarascon has left on the Moorish shore his arms, his
+equipment and his illusions, and is preparing to sail back to Tarascon
+with nothing in his pockets but his hands. Scarcely, however, had he set
+foot in the captain's launch, when a breathless creature scrambled down
+from the square above and galloped towards him. It was the camel, the
+faithful camel, which for twenty-four hours had been searching for its
+master.
+
+When Tartarin saw it, he changed colour and pretended not to know it;
+but the camel was insistent. It frisked along the quay. It called to its
+friend and regarded him with tender looks. "Take me away!" Its sad eyes
+seemed to say, "Take me away with you, far away from this mock Arabia,
+this ridiculous Orient, full of locomotives and stage coaches, where I
+as a second-class dromadary do not know what will become of me. You are
+the last Teur, I am the last camel, let us never part, Oh my Tartarin!"
+"Is that your camel?" Asked the Captain.
+
+"No!... No!... Not mine." Replied Tartarin, who trembled at the thought of
+entering Tarascon with this absurd escort; and shamelessly repudiating
+the companion of his misfortunes he repelled with his foot the soil of
+Algeria and pushed the boat out from the shore. The camel sniffed at the
+water, flexed its joints and leapt headlong in behind the boat, where it
+swam in convoy toward the Zouave, its hump floating on the water like a
+gourd and it neck lying on the surface like the ram of a trireme.
+
+The boat and the camel came alongside the Zouave at the same time. "I
+don't know what I should do about this dromadary." Said the captain, "I
+think I'll take it on board and present it to the zoo at Marseille, I
+can't just leave it here." So by means of block and tackle the wet camel
+was hoisted onto the deck of the Zouave, which then set sail.
+
+Tartarin spent most of the time in his cabin. Not that the sea was
+rough or that the chechia had to much to suffer, but because whenever
+he appeared on the deck the camel made such a ridiculous fuss of its
+master. You never saw a camel so attached to anyone as this.
+
+Hour by hour, when he looked through the porthole, Tartarin could see
+the Algerian sky turn paler, until one morning, in a silvery mist, he
+heard to his delight the bells of Marseilles. The Zouave had arrived.
+
+Our man, who had no baggage, disembarked without a word and hurried
+across Marseilles, fearing all the time that he might be followed by
+the camel, and he did not breathe easily until he was seated in a
+third-class railway carriage, on his way to Tarascon... a false sense of
+security. They had not gone far from Marseilles when heads appeared at
+windows and there were cries of astonishment, Tartarin looked out in
+turn and what did he see but the inescapable camel coming down the line
+behind the train with a remarkable turn of speed.
+
+Tartarin resumed his seat and closed his eyes. After this disastrous
+expedition he had counted on getting back home unrecognised, but the
+presence of this confounded camel made it impossible. What a return
+to make, Bon Dieu!... No money... No lions... Nothing but a camel!....
+"Tarascon!... Tarascon!"... It was time to get out.
+
+To Tartarin's utter astonishment, the heroic chechia had barely
+appeared in the doorway, when it was greeted by a great cry of "Vive
+Tartarin!... Vive Tartarin!" Which shook the glass vault of the station
+roof. "Vive Tartarin!... Hurrah for the lion killer!" Then came fanfares
+and a choir. Tartarin could have died, he thought this was a hoax: but
+no, all Tarascon was there, tossing their hats in the air and shouting
+his praises. There stood the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the
+gunsmith, the President Ladeveze, the chemist and all the noble body of
+hat shooters, who pressed round their chief and carried him all the way
+down the steps.
+
+How remarkable are the effects of the "mirage". The skin of the blind
+lion sent to the Commandant was the cause of all this tumult. At the
+sight of this modest trophy, displayed at the club, Tarascon and beyond
+Tarascon the whole of the Midi had worked themselves into a state of
+excitement. "The Semaphore" had spoken. A complete scenario had been
+invented. This was no longer one lion killed by Tartarin, it was ten
+lions, twenty lions, a whole troop of lions. So Tartarin, when he
+reached Marseilles was already famous, and an enthusiastic telegram had
+warned his home town of his imminent arrival.
+
+The excitement of the populace reached its peak when a fantastic animal,
+covered in dust and sweat, stumbled down the station steps behind our
+hero. For a moment they thought that the Tarasque had returned.
+
+Tartarin reassured his fellow citizens, "It is my camel" He said, and
+already under the influence of the Tarascon sun, that fine sun which
+induces fanciful exaggeration, he stroked the camel's hump and added,
+"It is a noble creature, it saw me kill all my lions." So saying,
+he took the arm of the Commandant, who was blushing with pride, and
+followed by his camel, surrounded by hat shooters and acclaimed by the
+people, he proceeded peacefully toward the little house of the baobab;
+and as he walked along he began the story of his great expedition.
+
+"There was one particular evening," He said, "When I was out in the
+heart of the Sahara..."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin de Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN DE TARASCON ***
+
+***** This file should be named 2375.txt or 2375.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/2375/
+
+Produced by Oliver C. Colt and David Widger
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.