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diff --git a/old/trtra11.txt b/old/trtra11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bef0fc --- /dev/null +++ b/old/trtra11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2935 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Tartarin de Tarascon +by Alphonse Daudet + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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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 elimiinate 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 Ladevèze 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... à 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 Rhône. + +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 Rhône. 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 Carrée 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 Château 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 somethig 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 pronouced "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, "Hé!...Hé!...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, Caillé‚ 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 Château, 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 Ladevèze 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 decription 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 ths 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 Ladevèze 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 +stoicly, "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 Rhône, 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 Ladevèze 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 +medecine 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 tp 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!" "Hé!...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?" "Hé! 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 grabbong 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 cafés 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 discretly 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 +théatre. 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, "Mé!...Mé!....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, "Mé!...Mé!...Mé!.... And then louder still, "MÉ!...MÉ!...MÉ!... + +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 eract +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, +he 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 arrved 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 enought 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 cemetary 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 livliness 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 théatre, 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 appearence 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 Théatre in Algiers, like the "Opera" in Paris, organises every +Saturday night during the winter a Bal Masqué‚. 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 promanade, "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. "Hé! 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 café. "Hé! 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 Rhône, 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 Joncquières 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 curés 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 cafés 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 café, 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 paralyised 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 thse 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 morniing 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 futher 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 governer 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-existant 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 Ramée 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 cafés, 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 fêtes 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! Misère!... 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 cafés. 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: "Hé!...Hé!...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." + +"Hé!...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 café 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 remakable 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 Ladevèze, 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 proceded 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 Etext of Tartarin de Tarascon +by Alphonse Daudet + |