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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1862-0.txt b/1862-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff4d0e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1862-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3955 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tartarin of Tarascon + +Author: Alphonse Daudet + +Release Date: August, 1999 [EBook #1862] +Last Updated: October 1, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + + + + +Produced by Donal O’Danachair + + + + + +TARTARIN OF TARASCON + +By Alphonse Daudet + + + + +EPISODE THE FIRST, IN TARASCON + + + +I. The Garden Round the Giant Trees. + + +MY first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon has remained a +never-to-be-forgotten date in my life; although quite ten or a dozen +years ago, I remember it better than yesterday. + +At that time the intrepid Tartarin lived in the third house on the left +as the town begins, on the Avignon road. A pretty little villa in +the local style, with a front garden and a balcony behind, the walls +glaringly white and the venetians very green; and always about the +doorsteps a brood of little Savoyard shoe-blackguards playing hopscotch, +or dozing in the broad sunshine with their heads pillowed on their +boxes. + +Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none would ever +believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped inside, ye gods and +little fishes! what a change! From turret to foundation-stone--I mean, +from cellar to garret,--the whole building wore a heroic front; even so +the garden! + +O that garden of Tartarin’s! there’s not its match in Europe! Not a +native tree was there--not one flower of France; nothing hut exotic +plants, gum-trees, gourds, cotton-woods, cocoa and cacao, mangoes, +bananas, palms, a baobab, nopals, cacti, Barbary figs--well, you would +believe yourself in the very midst of Central Africa, ten thousand +leagues away. It is but fair to say that these were none of full growth; +indeed, the cocoa-palms were no bigger than beet root and the baobab +(arbos gigantea--“giant tree,” you know) was easily enough circumscribed +by a window-pot; but, notwithstanding this, it was rather a sensation +for Tarascon, and the townsfolk who were admitted on Sundays to the +honour of contemplating Tartarin’s baobab, went home chokeful of +admiration. + +Try to conceive my own emotion, which I was bound to feel on that day of +days when I crossed through this marvellous garden, and that was capped +when I was ushered into the hero’s sanctum. + +His study, one of the lions--I should say, lions’ dens--of the town, was +at the end of the garden, its glass door opening right on to the baobab. + +You are to picture a capacious apartment adorned with firearms and steel +blades from top to bottom: all the weapons of all the countries in the +wide world--carbines, rifles, blunderbusses, Corsican, Catalan, and +dagger knives, Malay kreeses, revolvers with spring-bayonets, Carib and +flint arrows, knuckle-dusters, life-preservers, Hottentot clubs, Mexican +lassoes--now, can you expect me to name the rest? Upon the whole fell a +fierce sunlight, which made the blades and the brass butt-plate of the +muskets gleam as if all the more to set your flesh creeping. Still, +the beholder was soothed a little by the tame air of order and tidiness +reigning over the arsenal. Everything was in place, brushed, dusted, +labelled, as in a museum; from point to point the eye descried some +obliging little card reading: + + + ----------------------------------------- + I Poisoned Arrows! I + I Do Not Touch! I + ----------------------------------------- + + Or, + + ----------------------------------------- + I Loaded! I + I Take care, please! I + ----------------------------------------- + +If it had not been for these cautions I never should have dared venture +in. + +In the middle of the room was an occasional table, on which stood +a decanter of rum, a siphon of soda-water, a Turkish tobacco-pouch, +“Captain Cook’s Voyages,” the Indian tales of Fenimore Cooper and +Gustave Aimard, stories of hunting the bear, eagle, elephant, and so +on. Lastly, beside the table sat a man of between forty and forty-five, +short, stout, thick-set, ruddy, with flaming eyes and a strong stubbly +beard; he wore flannel tights, and was in his shirt sleeves; one hand +held a book, and the other brandished a very large pipe with an iron +bowl-cap. Whilst reading heaven only knows what startling adventure of +scalp-hunters, he pouted out his lower lip in a terrifying way, which +gave the honest phiz of the man living placidly on his means the same +impression of kindly ferocity which abounded throughout the house. + +This man was Tartarin himself--the Tartarin of Tarascon, the great, +dreadnought, incomparable Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +II. A general glance bestowed upon the good town of Tarascon, and a +particular one on “the cap-poppers.” + + +AT the time I am telling of, Tartarin of Tarascon had not become the +present-day Tartarin, the great one so popular in the whole South of +France: but yet he was even then the cock of the walk at Tarascon. + +Let us show whence arose this sovereignty. + +In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in these +parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local craze, and +so it has ever been since the mythological times when the Tarasque, as +the county dragon was called, flourished himself and his tail in the +town marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up against him. So +you see the passion has lasted a goodish bit. + +It follows that, every Sunday morning, Tarascon flies to arms, lets +loose the dogs of the hunt, and rushes out of its walls, with game-bag +slung and fowling-piece on the shoulder, together with a hurly-burly of +hounds, cracking of whips, and blowing of whistles and hunting-horns. +It’s splendid to see! Unfortunately, there’s a lack of game, an absolute +dearth. + +Stupid as the brute creation is, you can readily understand that, in +time, it learnt some distrust. + +For five leagues around about Tarascon, forms, lairs, and burrows are +empty, and nesting-places abandoned. You’ll not find a single quail or +blackbird, one little leveret, or the tiniest tit. And yet the pretty +hillocks are mightily tempting, sweet smelling as they are of myrtle, +lavender, and rosemary; and the fine muscatels plumped out with +sweetness even unto bursting, as they spread along the banks of the +Rhone, are deucedly tempting too. True, true; but Tarascon lies behind +all this, and Tarascon is down in the black books of the world of fur +and feather. The very birds of passage have ticked it off on their +guide-books, and when the wild ducks, coming down towards the Camargue +in long triangles, spy the town steeples from afar, the outermost flyers +squawk out loudly: + +“Look out! there’s Tarascon! give Tarascon the go-by, duckies!” + +And the flocks take a swerve. + +In short, as far as game goes, there’s not a specimen left in the land +save one old rogue of a hare, escaped by miracle from the massacres, who +is stubbornly determined to stick to it all his life! He is very well +known at Tarascon, and a name has been given him. “Rapid” is what +they call him. It is known that he has his form on M. Bompard’s +grounds--which, by the way, has doubled, ay, tripled, the value of the +property--but nobody has yet managed to lay him low. At present, only +two or three inveterate fellows worry themselves about him. The rest +have given him up as a bad job, and old Rapid has long ago passed +into the legendary world, although your Tarasconer is very slightly +superstitious naturally, and would eat cock-robins on toast, or the +swallow, which is Our Lady’s own bird, for that matter, if he could find +any. + +“But that won’t do!” you will say. Inasmuch as game is so scarce, what +can the sportsmen do every Sunday? + +What can they do? + +Why, goodness gracious! they go out into the real country two or +three leagues from town. They gather in knots of five or six, recline +tranquilly in the shade of some well, old wall, or olive tree, extract +from their game-bags a good-sized piece of boiled beef, raw onions, a +sausage, and anchovies, and commence a next to endless snack, washed +down with one of those nice Rhone wines, which sets a toper laughing and +singing. After that, when thoroughly braced up, they rise, whistle the +dogs to heel, set the guns on half cock, and go “on the shoot”--another +way of saying that every man plucks off his cap, “shies” it up with all +his might, and pops it on the fly with No. 5, 6, or 2 shot, according to +what he is loaded for. + +The man who lodges most shot in his cap is hailed as king of the hunt, +and stalks back triumphantly at dusk into Tarascon, with his riddled +cap on the end of his gun-barrel, amid any quantity of dog-barks and +horn-blasts. + +It is needless to say that cap-selling is a fine business in the town. +There are even some hatters who sell hunting-caps ready shot, torn, and +perforated for the bad shots; but the only buyer known is the chemist +Bezuquet. This is dishonourable! + +As a marksman at caps, Tartarin of Tarascon never had his match. + +Every Sunday morning out he would march in a new cap, and back he would +strut every Sunday evening with a mere thing of shreds. The loft of +Baobab Villa was full of these glorious trophies. Hence all Tarascon +acknowledged him as master; and as Tartarin thoroughly understood +hunting, and had read all the handbooks of all possible kinds of venery, +from cap-popping to Burmese tiger-shooting, the sportsmen constituted +him their great cynegetical judge, and took him for referee and +arbitrator in all their differences. + +Between three and four daily, at Costecalde the gunsmith’s, a stout +stern pipe-smoker might be seen in a green leather-covered arm-chair in +the centre of the shop crammed with cap-poppers, they all on foot and +wrangling. This was Tartarin of Tarascon delivering judgement--Nimrod +plus Solomon. + + + +III. “Naw, naw, naw!” The general glance protracted upon the good town. + + +AFTER the craze for sporting, the lusty Tarascon race cherishes one +love: ballad-singing. There’s no believing what a quantity of ballads +is used up in that little region. All the sentimental stuff turning into +sere and yellow leaves in the oldest portfolios, are to be found in full +pristine lustre in Tarascon. Ay, the entire collection. Every family has +its own pet, as is known to the town. + +For instance, it is an established fact that this is the chemist +Bezuquet’s family’s: + +“Thou art the fair star that I adore!” + +The gunmaker Costecalde’s family’s: + +“Would’st thou come to the land Where the log-cabins rise?” + +The official registrar’s family’s: + +“If I wore a coat of invisible green, Do you think for a moment +I could be seen?” + +And so on for the whole of Tarascon. Two or three times a week there +were parties where they were sung. The singularity was their being +always the same, and that the honest Tarasconers had never had an +inclination to change them during the long, long time they had been +harping on them. They were handed down from father to son in the +families, without anybody improving on them or bowdlerising them: +they were sacred. Never did it occur to Costecalde’s mind to sing +the Bezuquets’, or the Bezuquets to try Costecalde’s. And yet you may +believe that they ought to know by heart what they had been singing for +two-score years! But, nay! everybody stuck to his own,and they were all +contented. + +In ballad-singing, as in cap-popping, Tartarin was still the foremost. +His superiority over his fellow-townsmen consisted in his not having +any one song of his own, but in knowing the lot, the whole, mind you! +But--there’s a but--it was the devil’s own work to get him to sing them. + +Surfeited early in life with his drawing-room successes, our hero +preferred by far burying himself in his hunting story-books, or spending +the evening at the club, to making a personal exhibition before a Nimes +piano between a pair of home-made candles. These musical parades seemed +beneath him. Nevertheless, at whiles, when there was a harmonic party at +Bezuquet’s, he would drop into the chemist’s shop, as if by chance, +and, after a deal of pressure, consent to do the grand duo in Robert +le Diable with old Madame Bezuquet. Whoso never heard that never heard +anything! For my part, even if I lived a hundred years, I should always +see the mighty Tartarin solemnly stepping up to the piano, setting +his arms akimbo, working up his tragic mien, and, beneath the green +reflection from the show-bottles in the window, trying to give his +pleasant visage the fierce and satanic expression of Robert the Devil. +Hardly would he fall into position before the whole audience would be +shuddering with the foreboding that something uncommon was at +hand. After a hush, old Madame Bezuquet would commence to her own +accompaniment: + + “Robert, my love is thine! + To thee I my faith did plight, + Thou seest my affright,-- + Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!” + +In an undertone she would add: “Now, then, Tartarin!” Whereupon Tartarin +of Tarascon, with crooked arms, clenched fists, and quivering nostrils, +would roar three times in a formidable voice, rolling like a thunderclap +in the bowels of the instrument: + +“No! no! no!” which, like the thorough southerner he was, he pronounced +nasally as “Naw! naw! naw!” Then would old Madame Bezuquet again sing: + + “Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!” + +“Naw! naw! naw!” bellowed Tartarin at his loudest, and there the gem +ended. + +Not long, you see; but it was so handsomely voiced forth, so clearly +gesticulated, and so diabolical, that a tremor of terror overran the +chemist’s shop, and the “Naw! naw! naw!” would be encored several times +running. + +Upon this Tartarin would sponge his brow, smile on the ladies, wink to +the sterner sex, and withdraw upon his triumph to go remark at the club +with a trifling, offhand air: + +“I have just come from the Bezuquets’, where I was forced to sing ‘em +the duo from Robert le Diable.” + +The cream of the joke was that he really believed it! + + + +IV. “They!” + + +CHIEFLY to the account of these diverse talents did Tartarin owe his +lofty position in the town of Tarascon. Talking of captivating, though, +this deuce of a fellow knew how to ensnare everybody. Why, the army, +at Tarascon, was for Tartarin. The brave commandant, Bravida, honorary +captain retired--in the Military Clothing Factory Department--called him +a game fellow; and you may well admit that the warrior knew all about +game fellows, he played such a capital knife and fork on game of all +kinds. + +So was the legislature on Tartarin’s side. Two or three times, in open +court, the old chief judge, Ladevese, had said, in alluding to him: + +“He is a character!” + +Lastly, the masses were for Tartarin. He had become the swell bruiser, +the aristocratic pugilist, the crack bully of the local Corinthians +for the Tarasconers, from his build, bearing, style--that aspect of a +guard’s-trumpeter’s charger which fears no noise; his reputation as a +hero coming from nobody knew whence or for what, and some scramblings +for coppers and a few kicks to the little ragamuffins basking at his +doorway. + +Along the waterside, when Tartarin came home from hunting on Sunday +evenings, with his cap on the muzzle of his gun, and his fustian +shooting-jacket belted in tightly, the sturdy river-lightermen would +respectfully bob, and blinking towards the huge biceps swelling out his +arms, would mutter among one another in admiration: + +“Now, there’s a powerful chap if you like! he has double-muscles!” + +“Double muscles!” why, you never heard of such a thing outside of +Tarascon! + +For all this, with all his numberless parts, double-muscles, the +popular favour, and the so precious esteem of brave Commandant Bravida, +ex-captain (in the Army Clothing Factory), Tartarin was not happy: this +life in a petty town weighed upon him and suffocated him. + +The great man of Tarascon was bored in Tarascon. + +The fact is, for a heroic temperament like his, a wild adventurous +spirit which dreamt of nothing but battles, races across the pampas, +mighty battues, desert sands, blizzards and typhoons, it was not enough +to go out every Sunday to pop at a cap, and the rest of the time to +ladle out casting-votes at the gunmaker’s. Poor dear great man! If this +existence were only prolonged, there would be sufficient tedium in it to +kill him with consumption. + +In vain did he surround himself with baobabs and other African trees, +to widen his horizon, and some little to forget his club and the +market-place; in vain did he pile weapon upon weapon, and Malay kreese +upon Malay kreese; in vain did he cram with romances, endeavouring like +the immortal Don Quixote to wrench himself by the vigour of his fancy +out of the talons of pitiless reality. Alas! all that he did to appease +his thirst for deeds of daring only helped to augment it. The sight of +all the murderous implements kept him in a perpetual stew of wrath and +exaltation. His revolvers, repeating rifles, and ducking-guns shouted +“Battle! battle!” out of their mouths. Through the twigs of his baobab, +the tempest of great voyages and journeys soughed and blew bad advice. +To finish him came Gustave Aimard, Mayne Reid, and Fenimore Cooper. + +Oh, how many times did Tartarin with a howl spring up on the sultry +summer afternoons, when he was reading alone amidst his blades, points, +and edges; how many times did he dash down his book and rush to the wall +to unhook a deadly arm! The poor man forgot he was at home in Tarascon, +in his underclothes, and with a handkerchief round his head. He would +translate his readings into action, and, goading himself with his own +voice, shout out whilst swinging a battle-axe or tomahawk: + +“Now, only let ‘em come!” + +“Them”? who were they? + +Tartarin did not himself any too clearly understand. “They” was all +that should be attacked and fought with, all that bites, claws, scalps, +whoops, and yells--the Sioux Indians dancing around the war-stake to +which the unfortunate pale-face prisoner is lashed. The grizzly of the +Rocky Mountains, who wobbles on his hind legs, and licks himself with a +tongue full of blood. The Touareg, too, in the desert, the Malay pirate, +the brigand of the Abruzzi--in short, “they” was warfare, travel, +adventure, and glory. + +But, alas!! it was to no avail that the fearless Tarasconer called for +and defied them; never did they come. Odsboddikins! what would they have +come to do in Tarascon? + +Nevertheless Tartarin always expected to run up against them, +particularly some evening in going to the club. + + + +V. How Tartarin went round to his club. + + +LITTLE, indeed, beside Tartarin of Tarascon, arming himself capa-pie +to go to his club at nine, an hour after the retreat had sounded on the +bugle, was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon the infidel, +the Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the Comanche warrior +painting up for going on the war-path. “All hands make ready for +action!” as the men-of-war’s men say. + +In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the +right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in +the right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under garment, +lay a Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows--they are weapons +altogether too unfair. + +Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he exercised +himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and thrusts, lunging at +the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he took his master-key and +went through the garden leisurely; without hurrying, mark you. “Cool and +calm--British courage, that is the true sort, gentlemen.” At the garden +end he opened the heavy iron door, violently and abruptly so that it +should slam against the outer wall. If “they” had been skulking behind +it, you may wager they would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not +there. + +The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to the +right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly with +double-locking. Then, on the way. + +Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road--all the doors closed, and +no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish lamps, +well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist. + +Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night, ringing +his heels with regularity, and sending sparks out of the paving-stones +with the ferule of his stick. Whether in avenues, streets, or lanes, +he took care to keep in the middle of the road--an excellent method of +precaution, allowing one to see danger coming, and, above all, to avoid +any droppings from windows, as happens after dark in Tarascon and the +Old Town of Edinburgh. On seeing so much prudence in Tartarin, pray do +not conclude that Tartarin had any fear--dear, no! he only was on his +guard. + +The best proof that Tartarin was not scared is, that instead of going to +the club by the shortest cut, he went over the town by the longest and +darkest way round, through a mass of vile, paltry alleys, at the mouth +of which the Rhone could be seen ominously gleaming. The poor knight +constantly hoped that, beyond the turn of one of these cut-throats’ +haunts, “they” would leap from the shadow and fall on his back. I +warrant you, “they” would have been warmly received, though; but, alack! +by reason of some nasty meanness of destiny, never indeed did Tartarin +of Tarascon enjoy the luck to meet any ugly customers--not so much as a +dog or a drunken man--nothing at all! + +Still, there were false alarms somewhiles. He would catch a sound of +steps and muffled voices. + +“Ware hawks!” Tartarin would mutter, and stop short, as if taking root +on the spot, scrutinising the gloom, sniffing the wind, even glueing his +ear to the ground in the orthodox Red Indian mode. The steps would +draw nearer, and the voices grow more distinct, till no more doubt was +possible. “They” were coming--in fact, here “they” were! + +Steady, with eye afire and heaving breast, Tartarin would gather +himself like a jaguar in readiness to spring forward whilst uttering his +war-cry, when, all of a sudden, out of the thick of the murkiness, he +would hear honest Tarasconian voices quite tranquilly hailing him with: + +“Hullo! you, by Jove! it’s Tartarin! Good night, old fellow!” + +Maledictions upon it! It was the chemist Bezuquet, with his family, +coming from singing their family ballad at Costecalde’s. + +“Oh, good even, good even!” Tartarin would growl, furious at his +blunder, and plunging fiercely into the gloom with his cane waved on +high. + +On arriving in the street where stood his club-house, the dauntless one +would linger yet a moment, walking up and down before the portals ere +entering. But, finally, weary of awaiting “them,” and certain “they” + would not show “themselves,” he would fling a last glare of defiance +into the shades and snarl wrathfully: + +“Nothing, nothing at all! there never is nothing!” + +Upon which double negation, which he meant as a stronger affirmative, +the worthy champion would walk in to play his game of bezique with the +commandant. + + + +VI. The two Tartarins. + + +ANSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin of +Tarascon never left Tarascon with all this mania for adventure, need of +powerful sensations, and folly about travel, rides, and journeys from +the Pole to the Equator? + +For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dreadless +Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room. He had not even +taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which every sound Provencal +makes upon coming of age. The most of his knowledge included Beaucaire, +and yet that’s not far from Tarascon, there being merely the bridge to +go over. Unfortunately, this rascally bridge has so often been blown +away by the gales, it is so long and frail, and the Rhone has such +a width at this spot that--well, faith! you understand! Tartarin of +Tarascon preferred terra firma. + +We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero there were +two very distinct characters. Some Father of the Church has said: “I +feel there are two men in me.” He would have spoken truly in saying this +about Tartarin, who carried in his frame the soul of Don Quixote, the +same chivalric impulses, heroic ideal, and crankiness for the grandiose +and romantic; but, worse is the luck! he had not the body of the +celebrated hidalgo, that thin and meagre apology for a body, on which +material life failed to take a hold; one that could get through twenty +nights without its breast-plate being unbuckled off, and forty-eight +hours on a handful of rice. On the contrary, Tartarin’s body was a stout +honest bully of a body, very fat, very weighty, most sensual and fond +of coddling, highly touchy, full of low-class appetite and homely +requirements--the short, paunchy body on stumps of the immortal Sancho +Panza. + +Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man! you will readily +comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made! what strife! what +clapper-clawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for Lucian or Saint-Evremond to +write, between the two Tartarins--Quixote-Tartarin and Sancho-Tartarin! +Quixote-Tartarin firing up on the stories of Gustave Aimard, and +shouting: “Up and at ‘em!” and Sancho-Tartarin thinking only of the +rheumatics ahead, and murmuring: “I mean to stay at home.” + + + THE DUET. + + QUIXOTE-TARTARIN. SANCHO-TARTARIN. + (Highly excited.) (Quite calmly.) + Cover yourself with glory, Tartarin, cover yourself + Tartarin. with flannel. + + (Still more excitedly.) (Still more calmly.) + O for the terrible double- O for the thick knitted + barrelled rifle! O for waistcoats! and warm + bowie-knives, lassoes, knee-caps! O for the + and moccasins! welcome padded caps + with ear-flaps! + + (Above all self-control.) (Ringing up the maid.) + A battle-axe! fetch me a Now, then, Jeannette, do + battle-axe! bring up that chocolate! + + +Whereupon Jeannette would appear with an unusually good cup of +chocolate, just right in warmth, sweetly smelling, and with the play +of light on watered silk upon its unctuous surface, and with succulent +grilled steak flavoured with anise-seed, which would set Sancho-Tartarin +off on the broad grin, and into a laugh that drowned the shouts of +Quixote-Tartarin. + +Thus it came about that Tartarin of Tarascon never had left Tarascon. + + + +VII. Tartarin--The Europeans at Shanghai--Commerce--The Tartars--Can +Tartarin of Tarascon be an Impostor?--The Mirage. + + +UNDER one conjunction of circumstances, Tartarin did, however, once +almost start out upon a great voyage. + +The three brothers Garcio-Camus, relatives of Tarascon, established +in business at Shanghai, offered him the managership of one of their +branches there. This undoubtedly presented the kind of life he hankered +after. Plenty of active business, a whole army of under-strappers to +order about, and connections with Russia, Persia, Turkey in Asia--in +short, to be a merchant prince! + +In Tartarin’s mouth, the title of Merchant Prince thundered out as +something stunning! + +The house of Garcio-Camus had the further advantage of sometimes being +favoured with a call from the Tartars. Then the doors would be slammed +shut, all the clerks flew to arms, up ran the consular flag, and zizz! +phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars. + +I need not tell you with what enthusiasm Quixote-Tartarin clutched this +proposition; sad to say, Sancho-Tartarin did not see it in the same +light, and, as he was the stronger party, it never came to anything. But +in the town there was much talk about it. Would he go or would he not? +“I’ll lay he will!”--and “I’ll wager he won’t!” It was the event of the +week. In the upshot, Tartarin did not depart, but the matter redounded +to his credit none the less. Going or not going to Shanghai was all one +to Tarascon. Tartarin’s journey was so much talked about that people got +to believe he had done it and returned, and at the club in the evening +members would actually ask for information on life at Shanghai, the +manners and customs and climate, about opium, and commerce. + +Deeply read up, Tartarin would graciously furnish the particulars +desired, and, in the end, the good fellow was not quite sure himself +about not having gone to Shanghai, so that, after relating for the +hundredth time how the Tartars came down on the trading post, it would +most naturally happen him to add: + +“Then I made my men take up arms and hoist the consular flag, and zizz! +phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars.” + +On hearing this, the whole club would quiver. + +“But according to that, this Tartarin of yours is an awful liar.” + +“No, no, a thousand times over, no! Tartarin was no liar.” + +“But the man ought to know that he has never been to Shanghai”-- + +“Why, of course, he knows that; but still”-- + +“But still,” you see--mark that! It is high time for the law to be laid +down once for all on the reputation as drawers of the long bow which +Northerners fling at Southerners. There are no Baron Munchausens in the +south of France, neither at Nimes nor Marseilles, Toulouse nor Tarascon. +The Southerner does not deceive but is self-deceived. He does not always +tell the cold-drawn truth, but he believes he does. His falsehood is not +any such thing, but a kind of mental mirage. + +Yes, purely mirage! The better to follow me, you should actually follow +me into the South, and you will see I am right. You have only to look at +that Lucifer’s own country, where the sun transmogrifies everything, +and magnifies it beyond life-size. The little hills of Provence are no +bigger than the Butte Montmartre, but they will loom up like the Rocky +Mountains; the Square House at Nimes--a mere model to put on your +sideboard--will seem grander than St. Peter’s. You will see--in brief, +the only exaggerator in the South is Old Sol, for he does enlarge +everything he touches. What was Sparta in its days of splendour? a +pitiful hamlet. What was Athens? at the most, a second-class town; and +yet in history both appear to us as enormous cities. This is a sample of +what the sun can do. + +Are you going to be astonished after this that the same sun falling upon +Tarascon should have made of an ex-captain in the Army Clothing Factory, +like Bravida, the “brave commandant;” of a sprout an Indian fig-tree; +and of a man who had missed going to Shanghai one who had been there? + + + +VIII. Mitaine’s Menagerie--A Lion from the Atlas at Tarascon--A Solemn +and Fearsome Confrontation. + + +EXHIBITING Tartarin of Tarascon, as we are, in his private life, before +Fame kissed his brow and garlanded him with her well-worn laurel wreath, +and having narrated his heroic existence in a modest state, his delights +and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurriedly skip to the +grandest pages of his story, and to the singular event which was to give +the first flight to his incomparable career. + +It happened one evening at Costecalde the gunmaker’s, where Tartarin was +engaged in showing several sportsmen the working of the needle-gun, +then in its first novelty. The door suddenly flew open, and in rushed a +bewildered cap-popper, howling “A lion, a lion!” General was the alarm, +stupor, uproar and tumult. Tartarin prepared to resist cavalry with +the bayonet, whilst Costecalde ran to shut the door. The sportsman was +surrounded and pressed and questioned, and here follows what he told +them: Mitaine’s Menagerie, returning from Beaucaire Fair, had consented +to stay over a few days at Tarascon, and was just unpacking, to set up +the show on the Castle-green, with a lot of boas, seals, crocodiles, and +a magnificent lion from the Atlas Mountains. + +An African lion in Tarascon? + +Never in the memory of living man had the like been seen. Hence our +dauntless cap-poppers looked at one another how proudly! What a beaming +on their sunburned visages! and in every nook of Costecalde’s shop what +hearty congratulatory grips of the hand were silently exchanged! The +sensation was so great and unforeseen that nobody could find a word to +say--not even Tartarin. + +Blanched and agitated, with the needle-gun still in his fist, he +brooded, erect before the counter. A lion from the Atlas Range at pistol +range from him, a couple of strides off? a lion, mind you--the beast +heroic and ferocious above all others, the King of the Brute Creation, +the crowning game of his fancies, something like the leading actor in +the ideal company which played such splendid tragedies in his mind’s +eye. A lion, heaven be thanked! and from the Atlas, to boot! It was more +than the great Tartarin could bear. + +Suddenly a flush of blood flew into his face. His eyes flashed. With one +convulsive movement he shouldered the needle-gun, and turning towards +the brave Commandant Bravida (formerly captain in the Army Clothing +Department, please to remember), he thundered to him-- + +“Let’s go have a look at him, commandant.” + +“Here, here, I say! that’s my gun--my needle-gun you are carrying off,” + timidly ventured the wary Costecalde; but Tartarin had already got round +the corner, with all the cap-poppers proudly lock-stepping behind him. + +When they arrived at the menagerie, they found a goodly number of people +there. Tarascon, heroic but too long deprived of sensational shows, had +rushed upon Mitaine’s portable theatre, and had taken it by storm. Hence +the voluminous Madame Mitaine was highly contented. In an Arab costume, +her arms bare to the elbow, iron anklets on, a whip in one hand and a +plucked though live pullet in the other, the noted lady was doing the +honours of the booth to the Tarasconians; and, as she also had “double +muscles,” her success was almost as great as her animals. + +The entrance of Tartarin with the gun on his shoulder was a damper. + +All our good Tarasconians, who had been quite tranquilly strolling +before the cages, unarmed and with no distrust, without even any idea +of danger, felt momentary apprehension, naturally enough, on beholding +their mighty Tartarin rush into the enclosure with his formidable engine +of war. There must be something to fear when a hero like he was, came +weaponed; so, in a twinkling, all the space along the cage fronts was +cleared. The youngsters burst out squalling for fear, and the women +looked round for the nearest way out. The chemist Bezuquet made off +altogether, alleging that he was going home for his gun. + +Gradually, however, Tartarin’s bearing restored courage. With head +erect, the intrepid Tarasconian slowly and calmly made the circuit +of the booth, passing the seal’s tank without stopping, glancing +disdainfully on the long box filled with sawdust in which the boa would +digest its raw fowl, and going to take his stand before the lion’s cage. + +A terrible and solemn confrontation, this! The lion of Tarascon and the +lion of Africa face to face! + +On the one part, Tartarin erect, with his hamstrings in tension, and +his arms folded on his gun barrel; on the other, the lion, a gigantic +specimen, humped up in the straw, with blinking orbs and brutish mien, +resting his huge muzzle and tawny full-bottomed wig on his forepaws. +Both calm in their gaze. + +Singular thing! whether the needle-gun had given him “the needle,” if +the popular idiom is admissible, or that he scented an enemy of +his race, the lion, who had hitherto regarded the Tarasconians with +sovereign scorn, and yawned in their faces, was all at once affected by +ire. At first he sniffed; then he growled hollowly, stretching out his +claws; rising, he tossed his head, shook his mane, opened a capacious +maw, and belched a deafening roar at Tartarin. + +A yell of fright responded, as Tarascon precipitated itself madly +towards the exit, women and children, lightermen, cap-poppers, even the +brave Commandant Bravida himself. But, alone, Tartarin of Tarascon +had not budged. There he stood, firm and resolute, before the cage, +lightnings in his eyes, and on his lip that gruesome grin with which +all the town was familiar. In a moment’s time, when all the cap-poppers, +some little fortified by his bearing and the strength of the bars, +re-approached their leader, they heard him mutter, as he stared Leo out +of countenance: + +“Now, this is something like a hunt!” + +All the rest of that day, never a word farther could they draw from +Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +IX. Singular effects of Mental Mirage. + + +CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin had +unfortunately still said overmuch. + +On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but the +near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting. You +are all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not breathed +a word on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its usual effect. In +brief, all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the departure. + +On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde’s, friends accosted one +another with a startled aspect: + +“And furthermore, you know the news, at least?” + +“And furthermore, rather? Tartarin’s setting out, at least?” + +For at Tarascon all phrases begin with “and furthermore,” and conclude +with “at least,” with a strong local accent. Hence, on this occasion +more than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the windows +shivered. + +The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was +going away to Africa, was Tartarin himself. But only see what vanity is! +Instead of plumply answering that he was not going at all, and had not +even had the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of them mentioning +the journey to him, observed with a neat little evasive air, “Aha! +maybe I shall--but I do not say as much.” The second time; a trifle more +familiarised with the idea, he replied, “Very likely;” and the third +time, “It’s certain.” + +Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde’s and the club, carried away by +the egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the impression +that bare announcement of his departure had made on the town, the +hapless fellow formally declared that he was sick of banging away at +caps, and that he would shortly be on the trail of the great lions of +the Atlas. A deafening hurrah greeted this assertion. Whereupon more +egg-nogg, bravoes, handshaking, slappings of the shoulder, and a +torchlight serenade up to midnight before Baobab Villa. + +It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted. This idea of +travel in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder beforehand; and +when the house was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary concert +was sounding under the windows, he had a dreadful “row” with +Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a cracked head, a visionary, imprudent, +and thrice an idiot, and detailing by the card all the catastrophes +awaiting him on such an expedition--shipwreck, rheumatism, yellow fever, +dysentery, the black plague, elephantiasis, and the rest of them. + +In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any +imprudence--that he would wrap himself up well, and take even +superfluous necessaries with him. Sancho-Tartarin would listen to +nothing. The poor craven saw himself already torn to tatters by the +lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like his late royal highness +Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to appease him a little by +explaining that the start was not immediate, as nothing pressed. + +It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise +without some preparations. A man is bound to know whither he goes, +hang it all! and not fly off like a bird. Before anything else, the +Tarasconian wanted to peruse the accounts of great African tourists, the +narrations of Mungo Park, Du Chaillu, Dr. Livingstone, Stanley, and so +on. + +In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their +sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand to +support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of privation. +Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day forward he lived +upon water broth alone. The water broth of Tarascon is a few slices of +bread drowned in hot water, with a clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, +and a sprig of laurel. Strict diet, at which you may believe poor Sancho +made a wry face. + +To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other +wise practices. To break himself into the habit of long marches, +he constrained himself to go round the town seven or eight times +consecutively every morning, either at the fast walk or run, his elbows +well set against his body, and a couple of white pebbles in the mouth, +according to the antique usage. + +To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, he would go down into his +garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, alone with his +gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab. + +Finally, so long as Mitaine’s wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, the +cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde’s might spy in the shadow +of the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious figure +stalking up and down. It was Tartarin of Tarascon, habituating himself +to hear without emotion the roarings of the lion in the sombre night. + + + +X. Before the Start. + + +PENDING Tartarin’s delay of the event by all sorts of heroic means, +all Tarascon kept an eye upon him, and nothing else was busied about. +Cap-popping was winged, and ballad-singing dead. The piano in Bezuquet’s +shop mouldered away under a green fungus, and the Spanish flies +dried upon it, belly up. Tartarin’s expedition had a put a stopper on +everything. + +Ah, you ought to have seen his success in the parlours. He was snatched +away by one from another, fought for, loaned and borrowed, ay, stolen. +There was no greater honour for the ladies than to go to Mitaine’s +Menagerie on Tartarin’s arms, and have it explained before the lion’s +den how such large game are hunted, where they should be aimed at, at +how many paces off; if the accidents were numerous, and the like of +that. + +Tartarin furnished all the elucidation desired. He had read “The Life of +Jules Gerard, the Lion-Slayer,” and had lion-hunting at his finger ends, +as if he had been through it himself. Hence he orated upon these matters +with great eloquence. + +But where he shone the brightest was at dinner at Chief Judge +Ladeveze’s, or brave Commandant Bravida’s (the former captain in the +Army Clothing Factory, you will keep in mind), when coffee came in, and +all the chairs were brought up closer together, whilst they chatted of +his future hunts. + +Thereupon, his elbow on the cloth, his nose over his Mocha, our hero +would discourse in a feeling tone of all the dangers awaiting him +thereaway. He spoke of the long moonless night lyings-in-wait, the +pestilential fens, the rivers envenomed by leaves of poison-plants, +the deep snow-drifts, the scorching suns, the scorpions, and rains of +grasshoppers; he also descanted on the peculiarities of the great lions +of the Atlas, their way of fighting, their phenomenal vigour; and their +ferocity in the mating season. + +Heating with his own recital, he would rise from table, bounding to the +middle of the dining-room, imitating the roar of a lion and the +going off of a rifle crack! bang! the zizz of the explosive +bullet--gesticulating and roaring about till he had overset the chairs. + +Everybody turned pale around the board: the gentlemen looking at one +another and wagging their heads, the ladies shutting their eyes with +pretty screams of fright, the elderly men combatively brandishing their +canes; and, in the side apartments, the little boys, who had been put to +bed betimes, were greatly startled by the sudden outcries and imitated +gun-fire, and screamed for lights. Meanwhile, Tartarin did not start. + + + +XI. “Let’s have it out with swords gentleman, not pins!” + + +A DELICATE question: whether Tartarin really had any intention of going, +and one which the historian of Tartarin would be highly embarrassed to +answer. In plain words, Mitaine’s Menagerie had left Tarascon over three +months, and still the lion-slayer had not started. After all, blinded by +a new mirage, our candid hero may have imagined in perfectly good faith +that he had gone to Algeria. On the strength of having related his +future hunts, he may have believed he had performed them as sincerely +as he fancied he had hoisted the consular flag and fired on the Tartars, +zizz, phit, bang! at Shanghai. + +Unfortunately, granting Tartarin was this time again dupe of an +illusion, his fellow-townsfolk were not. When, after the quarter’s +expectation, they perceived that the hunter had not packed even a +collar-box, they commenced murmuring. + +“This is going to turn out like the Shanghai expedition,” remarked +Costecalde, smiling. + +The gunsmith’s comment was welcomed all over town, for nobody believed +any longer in their late idol. The simpletons and poltroons--all the +fellows of Bezuquet’s stamp, whom a flea would put to flight, and who +could not fire a shot without closing their eyes--were conspicuously +pitiless. In the club-rooms or on the esplanade, they accosted poor +Tartarin with bantering mien: + +“And furthermore, when is that trip coming off?” + +In Costecalde’s shop, his opinions gained no credence, for the +cap-poppers renounced their chief! + +Next, epigrams dropped into the affair. Chief Judge Ladevese, who +willingly paid court in his leisure hours to the native Muse, composed +in local dialect a song which won much success. It told of a sportsman +called “Master Gervais,” whose dreaded rifle was bound to exterminate +all the lions in Africa to the very last. Unluckily, this terrible gun +was of a strange kind: “though loaded daily, it never went off.” + +“It never went off”--you will catch the drift. + +In less than no time, this ditty became popular; and when Tartarin came +by, the longshoremen and the little shoeblacks before his door sang in +chorus-- + + “Muster Jarvey’s roifle + Allus gittin’ chaarged; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle + ‘il hev to git enlaarged; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle’s + Loaded oft--don’t scoff; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle + Nivver do go off!” + +But it was shouted out from a safe distance, on account of the double +muscles. + +Oh, the fragility of Tarascon’s fads! + +The great object himself feigned to see and hear nothing; but, under the +surface, this sullen and venomous petty warfare much afflicted him. He +felt aware that Tarascon was slipping out of his grip, and that popular +favour was going to others; and this made him suffer horribly. + +Ah, the huge bowl of popularity! it’s all very well to have a seat in +front of it, but what a scalding you catch when it is overturned! + +Notwithstanding his pain, Tartarin smiled and peacefully jogged on in +the same life as if nothing untoward had happened. Still, the mask +of jovial heedlessness glued by pride on his face would sometimes +be suddenly detached. Then, in lieu of laughter, one saw grief and +indignation. Thus it was that one morning, when the little blackguards +yelped “Muster Jarvey’s Roifle” beneath his window, the wretches’ voices +rose even into the poor great man’s room, where he was shaving before +the glass. (Tartarin wore a full beard, but as it grew very thick, he +was obliged to keep it trimmed orderly.) + +All at once the window was violently opened, and Tartarin appeared in +shirt-sleeves and nightcap, smothered in lather, flourishing his razor +and shaving-brush, and roaring with a formidable voice: + +“Let’s have it out with swords, gentlemen, not pins!” + +Fine words, worthy of history’s record, with only the blemish that they +were addressed to little scamps not higher than their boot-boxes, and +who were quite incapable of holding a smallsword. + + + +XII. A memorable Dialogue in the little Baobab Villa. + + +AMID the general falling off, the army alone stuck out firmly for +Tartarin. Brave Commandant Bravida (the former captain in the Army +Clothing Department) continued to show him the same esteem as ever. +“He’s game!” he persisted in saying--an assertion, I beg to believe, +fully worth the chemist Bezuquet’s. Not once did the brave officer let +out any allusion to the trip to Africa; but when the public clamour grew +too loud, he determined to have his say. + +One evening the luckless Tartarin was in his study, in a brown study +himself, when he saw the commandant stride in, stern, wearing black +gloves, buttoned up to his ears. + +“Tartarin,” said the ex-captain authoritatively, “Tartarin, you’ll have +to go!” + +And there he dwelt, erect in the doorway frame, grand and rigid as +embodied Duty. Tartarin of Tarascon comprehended all the sense in +“Tartarin, you’ll have to ago!” + +Very pale, he rose and looked around with a softened eye upon the cosy +snuggery, tightly closed in, full of warmth and tender light--upon the +commodious easy chair, his books, the carpet, the white blinds of the +windows, beyond which trembled the slender twigs of the little garden. +Then, advancing towards the brave officer, he took his hand, grasped it +energetically, and said in a voice somewhat tearful, but stoical for all +that: + +“I am going, Bravida.” + +And go he did, as he said he would. Not straight off though, for it +takes time to get the paraphernalia together. + +To begin with, he ordered of Bompard two large boxes bound with brass, +and an inscription to be on them: + + ----------------------------------------- + I TARTARIN, OF TARASCON I + I Firearms, &c. I + ----------------------------------------- + +The binding in brass and the lettering took much time. He also +ordered at Tastavin’s a showy album, in which to keep a diary and his +impressions of travel; for a man cannot help having an idea or two +strike him even when he is busy lion-hunting. + +Next, he had over from Marseilles a downright cargo of tinned +eatables, pemmican compressed in cakes for making soup, a new pattern +shelter-tent, opening out and packing up in a minute, sea-boots, a +couple of umbrellas, a waterproof coat, and blue spectacles to ward off +ophthalmia. To conclude, Bezuquet the chemist made him up a miniature +portable medicine chest stuffed with diachylon plaister, arnica, +camphor, and medicated vinegar. + +Poor Tartarin! he did not take these safeguards on his own behalf; +but he hoped, by dint of precaution and delicate attentions, to allay +Sancho-Tartarin’s fury, who, since the start was fixed, never left off +raging day or night. + + + +XIII. The Departure. + + +EFTSOON arrived the great and solemn day. From dawn all Tarascon had +been on foot, encumbering the Avignon road and the approaches to Baobab +Villa. People were up at the windows, on the roofs, and in the trees; +the Rhone bargees, porters, dredgers, shoeblacks, gentry, tradesfolk, +warpers and weavers, taffety-workers, the club members, in short the +whole town; moreover, people from Beaucaire had come over the bridge, +market-gardeners from the environs, carters in their huge carts with +ample tilts, vinedressers upon handsome mules, tricked out with ribbons, +streamers, bells, rosettes, and jingles, and even, here and there, a few +pretty maids from Arles, come on the pillion behind their sweethearts, +with bonny blue ribbons round the head, upon little iron-grey Camargue +horses. + +All this swarm squeezed and jostled before our good Tartarin’s door, who +was going to slaughter lions in the land of the Turks. + +For Tarascon, Algeria, Africa, Greece, Persia, Turkey, and Mesopotamia, +all form one great hazy country, almost a myth, called the land of the +Turks. They say “Tur’s,” but that’s a linguistic digression. + +In the midst of all this throng, the cap-poppers bustled to and fro, +proud of their captain’s triumph, leaving glorious wakes where they had +passed. + +In front of the Indian fig-tree house were two large trucks. From time +to time the door would open, and allow several persons to be spied, +gravely lounging about the little garden. At every new box the throng +started and trembled. The articles were named in a loud voice: + +“That there’s the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that’s +the physic-chest; these the gun-cases,”--the cap-poppers giving +explanations. + +All of a sudden, about ten o’clock, there was a great stir in the +multitude, for the garden gate banged open. + +“Here he is! here he is!” they shouted. + +It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two outcries of +stupefaction burst from the assemblage: + +“He’s a Turk!” “He’s got on spectacles!” + +In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to +Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers, small +tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around the +waist, the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez, or +chechia, on his head, with something like a long blue tassel thereto. +Together with this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder, a broad +hunting-knife in the girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a revolver +on the hip, swinging in its patent leather case--that is all. No, I cry +your pardon, I was forgetting the spectacles--a pantomimically large +pair of azure barnacles, which came in partly to temper what was rather +too fierce in the bearing of our hero. + +“Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!” roared the +populace. + +The great man smiled, but did not salute, on account of the firearms +hindering him. Moreover, he knew now on what popular favour depends; +it may even be that in the depths of his soul he cursed his terrible +fellow-townsfolk, who obliged him to go away and leave his pretty little +pleasure-house with whitened walls and green venetians. But there was no +show of this. + +Calm and proud, although a little pallid, he stepped out on the footway, +glanced at the hand-carts, and, seeing all was right, lustily took the +road to the railway-station, without even once looking back towards +Baobab Villa. Behind him marched the brave Commandant Bravida, Ladevese +the Chief Judge, Costecalde the gunsmith next, and then all the +sportsmen who pop at caps, preceding the hand-carts and the rag, tag, +and bobtail. + +Before the station the station-master awaited them, an old African +veteran of 1830, who shook Tartarin’s hand many times with fervency. + +The Paris-to-Marseilles express was not yet in, so Tartarin and his +staff went into the waiting-rooms. To prevent the place being overrun, +the station-master ordered the gates to be closed. + +During a quarter of an hour, Tartarin promenaded up and down in the +rooms in the midst of his brother marksmen, speaking to them of his +journey and his hunting, and promising to send them skins; they put +their names down in his memorandum-book for a lionskin apiece, as +waltzers book for a dance. + +Gentle and placid as Socrates on the point of quaffing the hemlock, the +intrepid Tarasconian had a word and a smile for each. He spoke simply, +with an affable mien; it looked as if, before departing, he meant to +leave behind him a wake of charms, regrets, and pleasant memories. On +hearing their leader speak in this way, all the sportsmen felt tears +well up, and some were stung with remorse, to wit, Chief Judge Ladevese +and the chemist Bezuquet. The railway employees blubbered in the +corners, whilst the outer public squinted through the bars and bellowed: +“Long live Tartarin!” + +At length the bell rang. A dull rumble was heard, and a piercing whistle +shook the vault. + +“The Marseilles express, gen’lemen!” + +“Good-bye, Tartarin! Good luck, old fellow!” + +“Good-bye to you all!” murmured the great man, as, with his arms +around the brave Commandant Bravida, he embraced his dear native place +collectively in him. Then he leaped out upon the platform, and clambered +into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who were ready to die with +fright at sight of this stranger with so many pistols and rifles. + + + +XIV. The Port of Marseilles--“All aboard, all aboard!” + + +UPON the 1st of December 18--, in clear, brilliant, splendid weather, +under a south winter sun, the startled inhabitants of Marseilles beheld +a Turk come down the Canebiere, or their Regent Street. A Turk, a +regular Turk--never had such a one been seen; and yet, Heaven knows, +there is no lack of Turks at Marseilles. + +The Turk in question--have I any necessity of telling you it was the +great Tartarin of Tarascon?--waddled along the quays, followed by +his gun-cases, medicine-chest, and tinned comestibles, to reach the +landing-stage of the Touache Company and the mail steamer the Zouave, +which was to transport him over the sea. + +With his ears still ringing with the home applause, intoxicated by the +glare of the heavens and the reek of the sea, Tartarin fairly beamed as +he stepped out with a lofty head, and between his guns on his shoulders, +looking with all his eyes upon that wondrous, dazzling harbour of +Marseilles, which he saw for the first time. The poor fellow believed he +was dreaming. He fancied his name was Sinbad the Sailor, and that he +was roaming in one of those fantastic cities abundant in the “Arabian +Nights.” As far as eye could reach there spread a forest of masts and +spars, cris-crossing in every way. + +Flags of all countries floated--English, American, Russian, Swedish, +Greek and Tunisian. + +The vessels lay alongside the wharves--ay, head on, so that their +bowsprits stuck up out over the strand like rows of bayonets. Over it, +too, sprawled the mermaids, goddesses, madonnas, and other figure-heads +in carved and painted wood which gave names to the ships--all worn by +sea-water, split, mildewed, and dripping. Ever and anon, between the +hulls, a patch of harbour like watered silk splashed with oil. In the +intervals of the yards and booms, what seemed swarms of flies prettily +spotted the blue sky. These were the shipboys, hailing one another in +all languages. + +On the waterside, amidst thick green or black rivulets coming down +from the soap factories loaded with oil and soda, bustled a mass of +custom-house officers, messengers, porters, and truckmen with their +bogheys, or trolleys, drawn by Corsican ponies. + +There were shops selling quaint articles, smoky shanties where sailors +were cooking their own queer messes, dealers in pipes, monkeys, +parrots, ropes, sailcloth, fanciful curios, amongst which were mingled +higgledy-piggledy old culverins, huge gilded lanterns, worn-out +pulley-blocks, rusty flukeless anchors, chafed cordage, battered +speaking-trumpets, and marine glasses almost contemporary with the Ark. +Sellers of mussels and clams squatted beside their heaps of shellfish +and yawped their goods. Seamen rolled by with tar-pots, smoking +soup-bowls, and big baskets full of cuttlefish, from which they went to +wash the ink in the milky waters of the fountains. + +Everywhere a prodigious collection of all kinds of goods: silks, +minerals, wood in stacks, lead in pigs, cloths, sugars, caruba wood +logs, colza seed, liquorice sticks, sugar-canes. The East and the West +cheek by jowl, even to pyramids of Dutch cheeses which the Genoese were +dyeing red by contact with their hands. + +Yonder was the corn market: porters discharging sacks down the shoots +of lofty elevators upon the pier, and loose grain rolling as a golden +torrent through a blonde dust. Men in red skullcaps were sifting it as +they caught it in large asses’-skin sieves, and loading it upon carts +which took their millward way, followed by a regiment of women and +youngsters with wisps and gleaning baskets. Farther on, the dry docks, +where large vessels were laid low on their sides till their yards dipped +in the water; they were singed with thorn-bushes to free them of sea +weed; there rose an odour of pitch, and the deafening clatter of the +sheathers coppering the bottoms with broad sheets of yellow metal. + +At whiles a gap in between the masts, in which Tartarin could see the +haven mouth, where the vessels came and went: a British frigate off for +Malta, dainty and thoroughly washed down, with the officer in primrose +gloves, or a large home-port brig hauling out in the midst of uproar and +oaths, whilst the fat captain, in a high silk hat and frockcoat, ordered +the operations in Provencal dialect. Other craft were making forth under +all sail, and, still farther out, more were slowly looming up in the +sunshine as if they were sailing in the air. + +All the time a frightful riot, the rumbling of carts, the “Haul all, +haul away!” of the shipmen, oaths, songs, steamboat whistles, the bugles +and drums in Forts Saint Jean and Saint Nicolas, the bells of the Major, +the Accoules, and Saint Victor; with the mistral atop of all, catching +up the noises and clamour, and rolling them up together with a furious +shaking, till confounded with its own voice, which intoned a mad, wild, +heroic melody like a grand charging tune--one that filled hearers with a +longing to be off, and the farther the better--a craving for wings. + +It was to the sound of this splendid blast that the intrepid Tartarin +Tarasco of Tarascon embarked for the land of lions. + + + + +EPISODE THE SECOND, AMONG “THE TURKS” + + + +I. The Passage--The Five Positions of the Fez--The Third Evening +Out--Mercy upon us! + + +JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter--a great artist, +I mean--in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this second +episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin’s red cap in the +three days’ passage it made on board of the Zouave, between France and +Algeria. + +First would I show you it at the steaming out, upon deck, arrogant and +heroic as it was, forming a glory round that handsome Tarasconian head. +Next would I show you it at the harbour-mouth, when the bark began +to caper upon the waves; I would depict it for you all of a quake in +astonishment, and as though already experiencing the preliminary qualms +of sea-sickness. Then, in the Gulf of the Lion, proportionably to the +nearing the open sea, where the white caps heaved harder, I would make +you behold it wrestling with the tempest, and standing on end upon the +hero’s cranium, with its mighty mane of blue wool bristling out in the +spray and breeze. Position Fourth: at six in the afternoon, with the +Corsican coast in view; the unfortunate chechia hangs over the ship’s +side, and lamentably stares down as though to plumb the depths of +ocean. Finally and lastly, the Fifth Position: at the back of a narrow +state-room, in a box-bed so small it seemed one drawer in a nest of +them, something shapeless rolled on the pillow with moans of desolation. +This was the fez--the fez so defiant at the sailing, now reduced to the +vulgar condition of a nightcap, and pulled down over the very ears of +the head of a pallid and convulsed sufferer. + +How the people of Tarascon would have kicked themselves for having +constrained the great Tartarin to leave home, if they had but seen him +stretched in the bunk in the dull, wan gleam through the dead-light, +amid the sickly odour of cooking and wet wood--the heart-heaving perfume +of mail-boats; if they had but heard him gurgle at every turn of the +screw, wail for tea every five minutes, and swear at the steward in a +childish treble! + +On my word of honour as a story-teller, the poor Turk would have made +a paste-board dummy pity him. Suddenly, overcome by the nausea, the +hapless victim had not even the power to undo the Algerian girdle-cloth, +or lay aside his armoury; the lumpy-handled hunting-sword pounded his +ribs, and the leather revolver-case made his thigh raw. To finish him +arose the taunts of Sancho-Tartarin, who never ceased to groan and +inveigh: + +“Well, for the biggest kind of imbecile, you are the finest specimen! I +told you truly how it would be. Ha, ha! you were bound to go to Africa, +of course! Well, old merriman, now you are going to Africa, how do you +like it?” + +The cruellest part of it was that, from the retreat where he was +moaning, the hapless invalid could hear the passengers in the grand +saloon laughing, munching, singing, and playing at cards. On board the +Zouave the company was as jolly as numerous, composed of officers going +back to join their regiments, ladies from the Marseilles Alcazar Music +Hall, strolling-players, a rich Mussulman returning from Mecca, and a +very jocular Montenegrin prince, who favoured them with imitations +of the low comedians of Paris. Not one of these jokers felt the +sea-sickness, and their time was passed in quaffing champagne with the +steamer captain, a good fat born Marseillais, who had a wife and family +as well at Algiers as at home, and who answered to the merry name of +Barbassou. + +Tartarin of Tarascon hated this pack of wretches; their mirthfulness +deepened his ails. + +At length, on the third afternoon, there was such an extraordinary +hullabaloo on the deck that our hero was roused out of his long torpor. +The ship’s bell was ringing and the seamen’s heavy boots ran over the +planks. + +“Go ahead! Stop her! Turn astern!” barked the hoarse voice of Captain +Barbassou; and then, “Stop her dead!” + +There was an abrupt check of movement, a shock, and no more, save the +silent rolling of the boat from side to side like a balloon in the air. +This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian. + +“Heaven ha’ mercy upon us!” he yelled in a terrifying voice, as, +recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and +rushed upon deck with his arsenal. + + + +II. “To arms! to arms” + + +ONLY the arrival, not a foundering. + +The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead--a fine one of black, +deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated ground +ahead rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a dead +cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into the sea. +It was like Meudon slope with a laundress’s washing hung out to dry. +Over it a vast blue satin sky--and such a blue! + +A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on +the landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince, who +stood by his side, as he named the different parts of the capital, the +Kasbah, the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A very finely-brought-up +prince was this Montenegrin; moreover, knowing Algeria thoroughly, and +fluently speaking Arabic. Hence Tartarin thought of cultivating his +acquaintance. + +All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the +Tarasconian perceived a row of large black hands clinging to it from +over the side. Almost instantly a Negro’s woolly head shot up before +him, and, ere he had time to open his mouth, the deck was overwhelmed +on every side by a hundred black or yellow desperadoes, half naked, +hideous, and fearsome. Tartarin knew who these pirates were--“they,” of +course, the celebrated “they” who had too often been hunted after by him +in the by-ways of Tarascon. At last they had decided to meet him face to +face. At the outset surprise nailed him to the spot. But when he saw +the outlaws fall upon the luggage, tear off the tarpaulin covering, and +actually commence the pillage of the ship, then the hero awoke. Whipping +out his hunting-sword, “To arms! to arms!” he roared to the passengers; +and away he flew, the foremost of all, upon the buccaneers. “Ques +aco? What’s the stir? What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Captain +Barbassou, coming out of the ‘tweendecks. + +“About time you did turn up, captain! Quick, quick, arm your men!” + +“Eh, what for? dash it all!” + +“Why, can’t you see?” + +“See what?” + +“There, before you, the corsairs” + +Captain Barbassou stared, bewildered. At this juncture a tall blackamoor +tore by with our hero’s medicine-chest upon his back. + +“You cut-throat! just wait for me!” yelled the Tarasconer as he ran +after, with the knife uplifted. + +But Barbassou caught him in the spring, and holding him by the +waist-sash, bade him be quiet. + +“Tron de ler! by the throne on high! they’re no pirates. It’s long since +there were any pirates hereabout. Those dark porters are light porters. +Ha, ha!” + +“P--p-porters?” + +“Rather, only come after the luggage to carry it ashore. So put up +your cook’s galley knife, give me your ticket, and walk off behind that +nigger--an honest dog, who will see you to land, and even into a hotel, +if you like.” + +A little abashed, Tartarin handed over his ticket, and falling in +behind the representative of the Dark Continent, clambered down by the +hanging-ladder into a big skiff dancing alongside. All his effects were +already there--boxes, trunks, gun-cases, tinned food,--so cramming up +the boat that there was no need to wait for any other passengers. The +African scrambled upon the boxes, and squatted there like a baboon, +with his knees clutched by his hands. Another Negro took the oars. Both +laughingly eyed Tartarin, and showed their white teeth. + +Standing in the stern-sheets, making that terrifying face which had +daunted his fellow-countrymen, the great Tarasconian feverishly fumbled +with his hunting-knife haft; for, despite what Barbassou had told +him, he was only half at ease as regarded the intention of these +ebony-skinned porters, who so little resembled their honest mates of +Tarascon. + +Five minutes afterwards the skiff landed Tartarin, and he set foot upon +the little Barbary wharf, where, three hundred years before, a Spanish +galley-slave yclept Miguel Cervantes devised, under the cane of the +Algerian taskmaster, a sublime romance which was to bear the title of +“Don Quixote.” + + + +III. An Invocation to Cervantes--The Disembarkation--Where are the +Turks?--Not a sign of them--Disenchantment + + +O MIGUEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, if what is asserted be true, to wit, +that wherever great men have dwelt some emanation of their spirits +wanderingly hovers until the end of ages, then what remained of your +essence on the Barbary coast must have quivered with glee on beholding +Tartarin of Tarascon disembark, that marvellous type of the French +Southerner, in whom was embodied both heroes of your work, Don Quixote +and Sancho Panza. + +The air was sultry on this occasion. On the wharf, ablaze with sunshine, +were half a dozen revenue officers, some Algerians expecting news from +France, several squatting Moors who drew at long pipes, and some Maltese +mariners dragging large nets, between the meshes of which thousands of +sardines glittered like small silver coins. + +But hardly had Tartarin set foot on earth before the quay sprang into +life and changed its aspect. A horde of savages, still more hideous than +the pirates upon the steamer, rose between the stones on the strand and +rushed upon the new-comer. Tall Arabs were there, nude under woollen +blankets, little Moors in tatters, Negroes, Tunisians, Port Mahonese, +M’zabites, hotel servants in white aprons, all yelling and shouting, +hooking on his clothes, fighting over his luggage, one carrying away the +provender, another his medicine-chest, and pelting him in one fantastic +medley with the names of preposterously-entitled hotels. + +Bewildered by all this tumult, poor Tartarin wandered to and fro, swore +and stormed, went mad, ran after his property, and not knowing how +to make these barbarians understand him, speechified them in French, +Provencal, and even in dog Latin: “Rosa, the rose; bonus, bona, +bonum!”--all that he knew--but to no purpose. He was not heeded. +Happily, like a god in Homer, intervened a little fellow in a +yellow-collared tunic, and armed with a long running-footman’s cane, who +dispersed the whole riff-raff with cudgel-play. He was a policeman of +the Algerian capital. Very politely, he suggested Tartarin should put up +at the Hotel de l’Europe, and he confided him to its waiters, who carted +him and his impedimenta thither in several barrows. + +At the first steps he took in Algiers, Tartarin of Tarascon opened his +eyes widely. Beforehand he had pictured it as an Oriental city--a fairy +one, mythological, something between Constantinople and Zanzibar; but +it was back into Tarascon he fell. Cafes, restaurants, wide streets, +four-storey houses, a little market-place, macadamised, where the +infantry band played Offenbachian polkas, whilst fashionably clad +gentlemen occupied chairs, drinking beer and eating pancakes, some +brilliant ladies, some shady ones, and soldiers--more soldiers--no end +of soldiers, but not a solitary Turk, or, better to say, there was a +solitary Turk, and that was he. + +Hence he felt a little abashed about crossing the square, for everybody +looked at him. The musicians stopped, the Offenbachian polka halting +with one foot in the air. + +With both guns on his shoulders, and the revolver flapping on his +hip, as fierce and stately as Robinson Crusoe, Tartarin gravely passed +through the groups; but on arriving at the hotel his powers failed +him. All spun and mingled in his head: the departure from Tarascon, the +harbour of Marseilles, the voyage, the Montenegrin prince, the corsairs. +They had to help him up into a room and disarm and undress him. They +began to talk of sending for a medical adviser; but hardly was our +hero’s head upon the pillow than he set to snoring, so loudly and so +heartily that the landlord judged the succour of science useless, and +everybody considerately withdrew. + + + +IV. The First Lying in Wait. + + +THREE o’clock was striking by the Government clock when Tartarin awoke. +He had slept all the evening, night, and morning, and even a goodish +piece of the afternoon. It must be granted, though, that in the last +three days the red fez had caught it pretty hot and lively! + +Our hero’s first thought on opening his eyes was, “I am in the land of +the lions!” And--well, why should we not say it?--at the idea that lions +were nigh hereabouts, within a couple of steps, almost at hand’s reach, +and that he would have to disentangle a snarled skein with them, ugh! a +deadly chill struck him, and he dived intrepidly under the coverlet. + +But, before a moment was over, the outward gaiety, the blue sky, the +glowing sun that streamed into the bedchamber, a nice little breakfast +that he ate in bed, his window wide open upon the sea, the whole +flavoured with an uncommonly good bottle of Crescia wine--it very +speedily restored him his former pluckiness. + +“Let’s out and at the lion!” he exclaimed, throwing off the clothes and +briskly dressing himself. + +His plan was as follows: he would go forth from the city without saying +a word to a soul, plunge into the great desert, await nightfall to +ambush himself, and bang away at the first lion who walked up. Then +would he return to breakfast in the morning at the hotel, receive the +felicitations of the natives, and hire a cart to bring in the quarry. + +So he hurriedly armed himself, attached upright on his back the +shelter-tent (which, when rolled up, left its centre pole sticking out +a clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as +though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody, from +fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and +threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of Algerian +Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so many spiders; +crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer ward, and lastly came +upon the dusty Mustapha highway. + +Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney coaches, +corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts drawn by bullocks, +squads of Chasseurs d’Afrique, droves of microscopic asses, trucks +of Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet cloaks--all filed by in a +whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts, songs, and trumpetcalls, between +two rows of vile-looking booths, at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais +women might be seen doing their hair, drinking-dens filled with +soldiers, and shops of butchers and knackers. + +“What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!” grumbled the great Tartarin; +“there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles.” + +All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely, +stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock, +and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not be +far Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes’ time he did see a whole band +of lion-hunters coming his way under arms. + +“Cowards!” thought our hero as he skirted them; “downright cowards, to +go at a lion in companies and with dogs!” + +For it never could occur to him that anything but lions were objects of +the chase in Algeria. For all that, these Nimrods wore such complacent +phizzes of retired tradesmen, and their style of lion-hunting with +dogs and game-bags was so patriarchal, that the Tarasconian, a little +perplexed, deemed it incumbent to question one of the gentlemen. + +“And furthermore, comrade, is the sport good?” + +“Not bad,” responded the other, regarding the speaker’s imposing warlike +equipment with a scared eye. + +“Killed any?” + +“Rather! Not so bad--only look.” Whereupon the Algerian sportsman showed +that it was rabbits and woodcock stuffing out the bag. + +“What! do you call that your bag? Do you put such-like in your bag?” + +“Where else should I put ‘em?” + +“But it’s such little game.” + +“Some run small and some run large,” observed the hunter. + +In haste to catch up with his companions, he joined them with several +long strides. The dauntless Tartarin remained rooted in the middle of +the road with stupefaction. “Pooh!” he ejaculated, after a moment’s +reflection, “these are jokers. They haven’t killed anything whatever,” + and he went his way. + +Already the houses became scarcer, and so did the passengers. Dark came +on and objects were blurred, though Tartarin walked on for half an hour +more, when he stopped, for it was night. A moonless night, too, but +sprinkled with stars. On the highroad there was nobody. The hero +concluded that lions are not stage-coaches, and would not of their own +choice travel the main ways. So he wheeled into the fields, where there +were brambles and ditches and bushes at every step, but he kept on +nevertheless. + +But suddenly he halted. + +“I smell lions about here!” said our friend, sniffing right and left. + + + +V. Bang, bang! + + +CERTAINLY a great wilderness, bristling with odd plants of that Oriental +kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble starlight their +magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. On the right loomed up +confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain--perhaps the Atlas range. On the +heart-hand, the invisible sea hollowly rolling. The very spot to attract +wild beasts. + +With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of +Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good couple, +and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his books, the +great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having a lamb or a +kid along with them, which they tied up a space before them, and set +bleating or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. Not having any +goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an imitation, and he set +to crying in a tremulous voice: + +“Baa-a-a!” + +At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little +alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa-ed +more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many times +running at the top of his voice, till the “Baa, baa, baa!” came out with +so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a bull. + +Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing appeared. +He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the ground, bounded +up, rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but returned and stopped +short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for now its four short legs +could plainly be seen, its formidable mane and its large eyes gleaming +in the gloom. + +Up went his gun into position. Fire’s the word! and bang, bang! it +was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing of the +hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian’s shot a terrible roaring replied. + +“He’s got it!” cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his +sturdy supporters, he prepared to receive the brute’s charge. + +But it had more than its fill, and galloped off; howling. He did not +budge, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story-books +always lay it down she should. + +Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours’ waiting the +Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was getting cool, +and the sea-breeze pricked sharply. + +“I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight,” he said to himself. + +To avoid catching rheumatism, he had recourse to his patent tent. But +here’s where Old Nick interfered! This tent was of so very ingenious a +construction that he could not manage to open it. In vain did he toil +over it and perspire an hour through--the confounded apparatus would +not come unfolded. There are some umbrellas which amuse themselves under +torrential rains with just such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out +with the struggle, the victim dashed down the machine and lay upon it, +swearing like the regular Southron he was. “Tar, tar, rar, tar! tar, +rar, tar!” + +“What on earth’s that?” wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused. + +It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d’Afrique sounding the turn-out in +the Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, for +he had believed himself out in the boundless wilderness; and do you know +where he really was?--in a field of artichokes, between a cabbage-garden +and a patch of beets. His Sahara grew kitchen vegetables. + +Close to him, on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha, the snowy +villas glowed in the rosy rising sun: anybody would believe himself in +the neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides and bastidons. + +The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped +country much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour. + +“These folk are crazy,” he reasoned, “to plant artichokes in the +prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. Lions +have come here, and there’s the proof.” + +What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its +flight. Bending over this ruddy trail with his eye on the lookout and +his revolver in his fist, the valiant Tarasconian went from artichoke to +artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled grass was a pool +of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its flank, with a large +wound in the head, was a--guess what? + +“A lion, of course!” + +Not a bit of it! An ass!--one of those little donkeys so common in +Algeria, where they are called bourriquots. + + + +VI. Arrival of the Female--A Terrible Combat--“Game Fellows Meet Here!” + + +LOOKING on his hapless victim, Tartarin’s first impulse was one of +vexation. There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack! His +second feeling was one of pity. The poor bourriquot was so pretty and +looked so kindly. The hide on his still warm sides heaved and fell like +waves. Tartarin knelt down, and strove with the end of his Algerian sash +to stanch the blood; and all you can imagine in the way of touchingness +was offered by the picture of this great man tending this little ass. + +At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not twopennyworth of +life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked his long ears two or +three times, as much as to say, “Oh, thank you!” before a final spasm +shook it from head to tail, whereafter it stirred no more. + +“Noiraud! Blackey!” suddenly screamed a voice, choking with anguish, as +the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same time. + +Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon guard. This +was the female! + +She rushed up, fearsome and roaring, under form of an old Alsatian +woman, her hair in a kerchief, armed with large red umbrella, and +calling for her ass, till all the echoes of Mustapha rang. It certainly +would have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a lioness +in fury than this old virago. In vain did the luckless sportsman try to +make her understand how the blunder had occurred, and he had mistaken +“Noiraud” for a lion. The harridan believed he was making fun of her, +and uttering energetical “Der Teufels!” fell upon our hero to bang him +with the gingham. A little bewildered, Tartarin defended himself as +best he could, warding off the blows with his rifle, streaming with +perspiration, panting, jumping about, and crying out: + +“But, Madame, but”-- + +Much good his buts were! Madame was dull of hearing, and her blows +continued hard as ever. + +Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield, the Alsatian’s +husband, of the same race; a roadside innkeeper, as well as a very good +ready-reckoner, which was better. When he saw what kind of a customer he +had to deal with--a slaughterer who only wanted to pay the value of his +victim--he disarmed his better-half, and they came to an understanding. + +Tartarin gave two hundred francs, the donkey being worth about ten--at +least that is the current price in the Arab markets. Then poor Blackey +was laid to rest at the root of a fig-tree, and the Alsatian, raised to +joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats, invited the hero to have +a quencher with him in his wine-shop, which stood only a few steps off +on the edge of the highway. Every Sunday the sportsmen from the city +came there to regale of a morning, for the plain abounded with game, and +there was no better place for rabbits for two leagues around. + +“How about lions?” inquired Tartarin. + +The Alsatian stared at him, greatly astounded. + +“Lions!” + +“Yes, lions. Don’t you see them sometimes?” resumed the poor fellow, +with less confidence. + +The Boniface burst out in laughter. + +“Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here?” + +“Are there, then, none in Algeria?” + +“‘Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years in the +colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing--leastwise, I +fancy the newspapers said--but that is ever so much farther inland--down +South, you know”-- + +At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a +withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted on the +wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, feeding: + + “GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE.” + +“Game fellows!” It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida. + + + +VII. About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine. + + +COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first adventure, but +men of Tartarin’s mettle do not easily get cast down. + +“The lions are in the South, are they?” mused the hero. “Very well, +then. South I go.” + +As soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful he jumped up, thanked his +host, nodded good-bye to the old hag without any ill-will, dropped a +final tear over the hapless Blackey, and quickly returned to Algiers, +with the firm intention of packing up and starting that very day for the +South. + +The Mustapha highroad seemed, unfortunately, to have stretched since +overnight; and what a sun and dust there were, and what a weight in that +shelter-tent! Tartarin did not feel to have the courage to walk to the +town, and he beckoned to the first omnibus coming along, and climbed in. + +Oh, our poor Tartarin of Tarascon! how much better it would have been +for his name and fame not to have stepped into that fatal ark on +wheels, but to have continued on his road afoot, at the risk of falling +suffocated beneath the burden of the atmosphere, the tent, and his heavy +double-barrelled rifles. + +When Tartarin got in the ‘bus was full. At the end, with his nose in his +prayer-book, sat a large and black-bearded vicar from town; facing him +was a young Moorish merchant smoking coarse cigarettes, and a Maltese +sailor and four or five Moorish women muffled up in white cloths, so +that only their eyes could be spied. + +These ladies had been to offer up prayers in the Abdel Kader cemetery; +but this funereal visit did not seem to have much saddened them, for +they could be heard chuckling and chattering between themselves under +their coverings whilst munching pastry. Tartarin fancied that they +watched him narrowly. One in particular, seated over against him, had +fixed her eyes upon his, and never took them off all the drive. Although +the dame was veiled, the liveliness of the big black eyes, lengthened +out by k’hol; a delightfully slender wrist loaded with gold bracelets, +of which a glimpse was given from time to time among the folds; the +sound of her voice, the graceful, almost childlike, movements of the +head, all revealed that a young, pretty, and loveable creature bloomed +underneath the veil. The unfortunate Tartarin did not know where to +shrink. The fond, mute gaze of these splendrous Oriental orbs agitated +him, perturbed him, and made him feel like dying with flushes of heat +and fits of cold shivers. + +To finish him, the lady’s slipper meddled in the onslaught: he felt the +dainty thing wander and frisk about over his heavy hunting boots like a +tiny red mouse. What could he do? Answer the glance and the pressure, +of course. Ay, but what about the consequences? A loving intrigue in the +East is a terrible matter! With his romantic southern nature, the honest +Tarasconian saw himself already falling into the grip of the eunuchs, +to be decapitated, or better--we mean, worse--than that, sewn up in a +leather sack and sunk in the sea with his head under his arm beside him. +This somewhat cooled him. In the meantime the little slipper continued +its proceedings, and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black +velvet flowers, seemed to say: + +“Come, cull us!” + +The ‘bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue +Bab-Azoon. One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers, and +drawing their mufflers around them with wild grace, the Moorish women +alighted. Tartarin’s confrontatress was the last to rise, and in doing +so her countenance skimmed so closely to our hero’s that her breath +enveloped him--a veritable nosegay of youth and freshness, with an +indescribable after-tang of musk, jessamine, and pastry. + +The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and ready +for anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling sound of +his belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled mouth, as +one who would say, “Hush!” and with the other hand quickly tossed him a +little wreath of sweet-scented jessamine flowers. Tartarin of +Tarascon stooped to pick it up; but as he was rather clumsy, and much +overburdened with implements of war, the operation took rather long. +When he did straighten up, with the jessamine garland upon his heart, +the donatrix had vanished. + + + +VIII. Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace! + + +LIONS of the Atlas, sleep!--sleep tranquilly at the back of your lairs +amid the aloes and cacti. For a few days to come, any way, Tartarin +of Tarascon will not massacre you. For the time being, all his warlike +paraphernalia, gun-cases, medicine chest, alimentary preserves, dwelt +peacefully under cover in a corner of room 36 in the Hotel de l’Europe. + +Sleep with no fear, great red lions, the Tarasconian is engaged in +looking up that Moorish charmer. Since the adventure in the omnibus, +the unfortunate swain perpetually fancied he felt the fidgeting of +that pretty red mouse upon his huge backwoods trapper’s foot; and the +sea-breeze fanning his lips was ever scented, do what he would, with a +love-exciting odour of sweet cakes and patchouli. + +He hungered for his indispensable light of the harem! and he meant to +behold her anew. + +But it was no joke of a task. To find one certain person in a city of +a hundred thousand souls, only known by the eyes, breath, and +slipper,--none but a son of Tarascon, panoplied by love, would be +capable of attempting such an adventure. + +The plague is that, under their broad white mufflers, all the Moorish +women resemble one another; besides, they do not go about much, and to +see them, a man has to climb up into the native or upper town, the city +of the “Turks,” and that is a regular cut-throat’s den. + +Little black alleys, very narrow, climbing perpendicularly up between +mysterious house-walls, whose roofs lean to touching and form a tunnel; +low doors, and sad, silent little casements well barred and grated. +Moreover, on both hands, stacks of darksome stalls, wherein ferocious +“Turks” smoked long pipes stuck between glittering teeth in piratical +heads with white eyes, and mumbled in undertones as if hatching wicked +attacks. + +To say that Tartarin traversed this grisly place without any emotion +would be putting forth falsehood. On the contrary, he was much +affected, and the stout fellow only went up the obscure lanes, where his +corporation took up all the width, with the utmost precaution, his eye +skinned, and his finger on his revolver trigger, in the same manner as +he went to the clubhouse at Tarascon. At any moment he expected to have +a whole gang of eunuchs and janissaries drop upon his back, yet the +longing to behold that dark damsel again gave him a giant’s strength and +boldness. + +For a full week the undaunted Tartarin never quitted the high town. Yes; +for all that period he might have been seen cooling his heels before +the Turkish bath-houses, awaiting the hour when the ladies came forth in +troops, shivering and still redolent of soap and hot water; or squatting +at the doorways of mosques, puffing and melting in trying to get out of +his big boots in order to enter the temples. + +Betimes at nightfall, when he was returning heart-broken at not having +discovered anything at either bagnio or mosque, our man from Tarascon, +in passing mansions, would hear monotonous songs, smothered twanging +of guitars, thumping of tambourines, and feminine laughter-peals, which +would make his heart beat. + +“Haply she is there!” he would say to himself. + +Thereupon, granting the street was unpeopled, he would go up to one of +these dwellings, lift the heavy knocker of the low postern, and timidly +rap. The songs and merriment would instantly cease. There would be +audible behind the wall nothing excepting low, dull flutterings as in a +slumbering aviary. + +“Let’s stick to it, old boy,” our hero would think. “Something will +befall us yet.” + +What most often befell him was the contents of the cold-water jug on +the head, or else peel of oranges and Barbary figs; never anything more +serious. + +Well might the lions of the Atlas Mountains doze in peace. + + + +IX. Prince Gregory of Montenegro. + + +IT was two long weeks that the unfortunate Tartarin had been seeking his +Algerian flame, and most likely he would have been seeking after her to +this day if the little god kind to lovers had not come to his help under +the shape of a Montenegrin nobleman. + +It happened as follows. + +Every Saturday night in winter there is a masked ball at the Grand +Theatre of Algiers, just as at the Paris Opera-House. It is the undying +and ever-tasteless county fancy dress ball--very few people on the +floor, several castaways from the Parisian students’ ballrooms or +midnight dance-houses, Joans of Arc following the army, faded characters +out of the Java costume-book of 1840, and half-a-dozen laundress’s +underlings who are aiming to make loftier conquests, but still preserve +a faint perfume of their former life--garlic and saffron sauce. The real +spectacle is not there, but in the green-room, transformed for the nonce +into a hall of green cloth or gaming saloon. + +An enfevered and motley mob hustle one another around the long green +table-covers: Turcos out for the day and staking their double halfpence, +Moorish traders from the native town, Negroes, Maltese, colonists from +the inland, who have come forty leagues in order to risk on a turning +card the price of a plough or of a yoke of oxen; all a-quivering, pale, +clenching their teeth, and with that singular, wavering, sidelong look +of the gamester, become a squint from always staring at the same card in +the lay-out. + +A little apart are the tribes of Algerian Jews, playing among +acquaintances. The men are in the Oriental costume; hideously varied +with blue stockings and velvet caps. The puffy and flabby women sit up +stiffly in tight golden bodices. Grouped around the tables, the whole +tribe wail, squeal, combine, reckon on the fingers, and play but little. +Now and anon, however, after long conferences, some old patriarch, with +a beard like those of saints by the Old Masters, detaches himself from +the party and goes to risk the family duro. As long as the game +lasted there would be a scintillation of Hebraic eyes directed on the +board--dreadful black diamonds, which made the gold pieces shiver, and +ended by gently attracting them, as if drawn by a thread. Then arose +wrangles, quarrels, battles, oaths of every land, mad outcries in all +tongues, knives flashing out, the guard marching in, and the money +disappearing. + +It was into the thick of this saturnalia that the great Tartarin came +straying one evening to find oblivion and heart’s ease. + +He was roving alone through the gathering, brooding about his Moorish +beauty, when two angered voices arose suddenly from a gaming-table above +all the clamour and chink of coin. + +“I tell you, M’sieu, that I am twenty francs short!” + +“Stuff, M’sieu!” + +“Stuff yourself; M’sieu!” + +“You shall learn whom you are addressing, M’sieu!” + +“I am dying to do that, M’sieu!” + +“I am Prince Gregory of Montenegro, M’sieu.” + +Upon this title Tartarin, much excited, cleft the throng and placed +himself in the foremost rank, proud and happy to find his prince again, +the Montenegrin noble of such politeness whose acquaintance he had begun +on board of the mail steamer. Unfortunately the title of Highness, which +had so dazzled the worthy Tarasconian, did not produce the slightest +impression upon the Chasseurs officer with whom the noble had his +dispute. + +“I am much the wiser!” observed the military gentleman sneeringly; and +turning to the bystanders he added: “‘Prince Gregory of Montenegro’--who +knows any such a person? Nobody!” + +The indignant Tartarin took one step forward. + +“Allow me. I know the prince,” said he, in a very firm voice, and with +his finest Tarasconian accent. + +The light cavalry officer eyed him hard for a moment, and then, +shrugging his shoulders, returned: + +“Come, that is good! Just you two share the twenty francs lacking +between you, and let us talk no more on the score.” + +Whereupon he turned his back upon them and mixed with the crowd. The +stormy Tartarin was going to rush after him, but the prince prevented +that. + +“Let him go. I can manage my own affairs.” + +Taking the interventionist by the arm, he drew him rapidly out of doors. +When they were upon the square, Prince Gregory of Montenegro lifted his +hat off; extended his hand to our hero, and as he but dimly remembered +his name, he began in a vibrating voice: + +“Monsieur Barbarin--” + +“Tartarin!” prompted the other, timidly. + +“Tartarin, Barbarin, no matter! Between us henceforward it is a league +of life and death!” + +The Montenegrin noble shook his hand with fierce energy. You may infer +that the Tarasconian was proud. + +“Prince, prince!” he repeated enthusiastically. + +In a quarter of an hour subsequently the two gentlemen were installed in +the Platanes Restaurant, an agreeable late supper-house, with terraces +running out over the sea, where, before a hearty Russian salad, seconded +by a nice Crescia wine, they renewed the friendship. + +You cannot image any one more bewitching than this Montenegrin prince. +Slender, fine, with crisp hair curled by the tongs, shaved “a week +under” and pumice-stoned on that, bestarred with out-of-the-way +decorations, he had the wily eye, the fondling gestures, and vaguely the +accent of an Italian, which gave him an air of Cardinal Mazarin without +his chin-tuft and moustaches. He was deeply versed in the Latin tongues, +and lugged in quotations from Tacitus, Horace, and Caesar’s Commentaries +at every opening. + +Of an old noble strain, it appeared that his brothers had had him exiled +at the age of ten, on account of his liberal opinions, since which time +he had roamed the world for pleasure and instruction as a philosophical +noble. A singular coincidence! the prince had spent three years in +Tarascon; and as Tartarin showed amazement at never having met him at +the club or on the esplanade, His Highness evasively remarked that he +never went about. Through delicacy, the Tarasconian did not dare to +question further. All great existences have such mysterious nooks. + +To sum up, this Signor Gregory was a very genial aristocrat. Whilst +sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to Tartarin’s +expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to find her +speedily, as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. + +They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to “The ladies of Algiers” and +“The freedom of Montenegro!” + +Outside, upon the terrace, heaved the sea, and its rollers slapped the +strand in the darkness with much the sound of wet sails flapping. The +air was warm, and the sky full of stars. + +In the plane-trees a nightingale was piping. + +It was Tartarin who paid the piper. + + + +X. “Tell me your father’s name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower.” + + +PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird. + +On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince Gregory +was in the Tarasconian’s bedroom. + +“Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found, Her name +is Baya. She’s scarce twenty--as pretty as a love, and already a widow.” + +“A widow! What a slice of luck!” joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who +dreaded Oriental husbands. + +“Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother.” + +“Oh, the mischief!” + +“A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar.” + +Here fell a silence. + +“A fig for that!” proceeded the prince; “you are not the man to be +daunted by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be pacified, +I daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be quick! On with +your courting suit, you lucky dog!” + +Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the +Tarasconian leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up his +capacious nether garment, wanted to know how he should act. + +“Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst.” + +“Do you mean to say she knows French?” queried the Tarasconian +simpleton, with the disappointed mien of one who had believed thoroughly +in the Orient. + +“Not one word of it,” rejoined the prince imperturbably; “but you can +dictate the billet-doux, and I will translate it bit by bit.” + +“O prince, how kind you are!” + +The lover began striding up and down the bedroom in silent meditation. + +Naturally a man does not write to a Moorish girl in Algiers in the same +way as to a seamstress of Beaucaire. It was a very lucky thing that +our hero had in mind his numerous readings, which allowed him, by +amalgamating the Red Indian eloquence of Gustave Aimard’s Apaches with +Lamartine’s rhetorical flourishes in the “Voyage en Orient,” and some +reminiscences of the “Song of Songs,” to compose the most Eastern letter +that you could expect to see. It opened with: + +“Like unto the ostrich upon the sandy waste”-- + +and concluded by: + +“Tell me your father’s name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower.” + +To this missive the romantic Tartarin would have much liked to join an +emblematic bouquet of flowers in the Eastern fashion; but Prince Gregory +thought it better to purchase some pipes at the brother’s, which could +not fail to soften his wild temper, and would certainly please the lady +a very great deal, as she was much of a smoker. + +“Let’s be off at once to buy them!” said Tartarin, full of ardour. + +“No, no! Let me go alone. I can get them cheaper.” + +“Eh, what? Would you save me the trouble? O prince, prince, you do me +proud!” + +Quite abashed, the good-hearted fellow offered his purse to the obliging +Montenegrin, urging him to overlook nothing by which the lady would be +gratified. + +Unfortunately the suit, albeit capitally commenced, did not progress +as rapidly as might have been anticipated. It appeared that the Moorish +beauty was very deeply affected by Tartarin’s eloquence, and, for that +matter, three-parts won beforehand, so that she wished nothing better +than to receive him; but that brother of hers had qualms, and to lull +them it was necessary to buy pipes by the dozens; nay, the gross--well, +we had best say by the shipload at once. + +“What the plague can Baya do with all these pipes?” poor Tartarin wanted +to know more than once; but he paid the bills all the same, and without +niggardliness. + +At length, after having purchased a mountainous stack of pipes and +poured forth lakes of Oriental poesy, an interview was arranged. I have +no need to tell you with what throbbings of the heart the Tarasconian +prepared himself; with what carefulness he trimmed, brilliantined, and +perfumed his rough cap-popper’s beard, and how he did not forget--for +everything must be thought of--to slip a spiky life-preserver and two or +three six-shooters into his pockets. + +The ever-obliging prince was coming to this first meeting in the office +of interpreter. + +The lady dwelt in the upper part of the town. Before her doorway a boy +Moor of fourteen or less was smoking cigarettes; this was the brother in +question, the celebrated Ali. On seeing the pair of visitors arrive, he +gave a double knock on the postern gate and delicately glided away. + +The door opened. A negress appeared, who conducted the gentlemen, +without uttering a word, across the narrow inner courtyard into a small +cool room, where the lady awaited them, reclining on a low ottoman. At +first glance she appeared smaller and stouter than the Moorish damsel +met in the omnibus by the Tarasconian. In fact, was it really the same? +But the doubt merely flashed through Tartarin’s brain like a stroke of +lightning. + +The dame was so pretty thus, with her feet bare, and plump fingers, fine +and pink, loaded with rings. Under her bodice of gilded cloth and the +folds of her flower-patterned dress was suggested a lovable creature, +rather blessed materially, rounded everywhere, and nice enough to eat. +The amber mouthpiece of a narghileh smoked at her lips, and enveloped +her wholly in a halo of light-coloured smoke. + +On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as +Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes. + +Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but then, +dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her hands, +and they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild laugh like a +bag full of pearls. + + + +XI. Sidi Tart’ri Ben Tart’ri. + + +SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian upper town +after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the natives chatting +among themselves, with many a wink and slight laugh, of one Sidi Tart’ri +Ben Tart’ri, a rich and good-humoured European, who dwelt, a few years +back, in that neighbourhood, with a buxom witch of local origin, named +Baya. + +This Sidi Tart’ri, who has left such a merry memory around the Kasbah, +is no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed. + +How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of +saints, too, it happens the same way--there are moments of blindness, +perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian was no more +exempt from this than another, and that is the reason during two months +that, oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in Oriental amorousness, +and dozed, like Hannibal at Capua, in the delights of Algiers the white. + +The good fellow took a pretty little house in the native style in +the heart of the Arab town, with inner courtyard, banana-trees, cool +verandahs, and fountains. He dwelt, afar from noise, in company with the +Moorish charmer, a thorough woman to the manner born, who pulled at her +hubble-bubble all day when she was not eating. + +Stretched out on a divan in front of him, Baya would drone him +monotonous tunes with a guitar in her fist; or else, to distract her +lord and master, favour him with the Bee Dance, holding a hand-glass up, +in which she reflected her white teeth and the faces she made. + +As the Esmeralda did not know a word of French, and Tartarin none in +Arabic, the conversation died away sometimes, and the Tarasconian had +plenty of leisure to do penance for the gush of language of which he had +been guilty in the shop of Bezuquet the chemist or that of Costecalde +the gunmaker. + +But this penance was not devoid of charm, for he felt a kind of +enjoyable sullenness in dawdling away the whole day without speaking, +and in listening to the gurgling of the hookah, the strumming of the +guitar, and the faint splashing of the fountain on the mosaic pavement +of the yard. + +The pipe, the bath, and caresses filled his entire life. They seldom +went out of doors. Sometimes with his lady-love upon a pillion, Sidi +Tart’ri would ride upon a sturdy mule to eat pomegranates in a little +garden he had purchased in the suburbs. But never, without exception, +did he go down into the European quarter. This kind of Algiers appeared +to him as ugly and unbearable as a barracks at home, with its Zouaves +in revelry, its music-halls crammed with officers, and its everlasting +clank of metal sabre-sheaths under the arcades. + +The sum total is, that our Tarasconian was very happy. + +Sancho-Tartarin particularly, being very sweet upon Turkish pastry, +declared that one could not be more satisfied than by this new +existence. Quixote-Tartarin had some twinges at whiles on thinking of +Tarascon and the promises of lion-skins; but this remorse did not last, +and to drive away such dampening ideas there sufficed one glance +from Baya, or a spoonful of those diabolical dizzying and odoriferous +sweetmeats like Circe’s brews. + +In the evening Gregory came to discourse a little about a free Black +Mountain. Of indefatigable obligingness, this amiable nobleman filled +the functions of an interpreter in the household, or those of a steward +at a pinch, and all for nothing for the sheer pleasure of it. Apart from +him, Tartarin received none but “Turks.” All those fierce-headed pirates +who had given him such frights from the backs of their black stalls +turned out, when once he made their acquaintance, to be good +inoffensive tradesmen, embroiderers, dealers in spice, pipe-mouthpiece +turners--well-bred fellows, humble, clever, close, and first-class hands +at homely card games. Four or five times a week these gentry would +come and spend the evening at Sidi Tart’ri’s, winning his small change, +eating his cakes and dainties, and delicately retiring on the stroke of +ten with thanks to the Prophet. + +Left alone, Sidi Tart’ri and his faithful spouse by the broomstick +wedding would finish the evening on their terrace, a broad white roof +which overlooked the city. + +All around them a thousand of other such white flats, placid beneath the +moonshine, were descending like steps to the sea. The breeze carried up +tinkling of guitars. + +Suddenly, like a shower of firework stars, a full, clear melody would +be softly sprinkled out from the sky, and on the minaret of the +neighbouring mosque a handsome muezzin would appear, his blanched form +outlined on the deep blue of the night, as he chanted the glory of Allah +with a marvellous voice, which filled the horizon. + +Thereupon Baya would let go her guitar, and with her large eyes turned +towards the crier, seem to imbibe the prayer deliciously. As long as +the chant endured she would remain thrilled there in ecstasy, like an +Oriental saint. The deeply impressed Tartarin would watch her pray, and +conclude that it must be a splendid and powerful creed that could cause +such frenzies of faith. + +Tarascon, veil thy face! here is a son of thine on the point of becoming +a renegade! + + + +XII. The Latest Intelligence from Tarascon. + + +PARTING from his little country seat, Sidi Tart’ri was returning alone +on his mule on a fine afternoon, when the sky was blue and the zephyrs +warm. His legs were kept wide apart by ample saddle-bags of esparto +cloth, swelled out with cedrats and water-melons. Lulled by the ring of +his large stirrups, and rocking his body to the swing and swaying of the +beast, the good fellow was thus traversing an adorable country, with +his hands folded on his paunch, three-quarters gone, through heat, in a +comfortable doze. All at once, on entering the town, a deafening appeal +aroused him. + +“Ahoy! What a monster Fate is! Anybody’d take this for Monsieur +Tartarin.” + +On this name, and at the jolly southern accent, the Tarasconian lifted +his head, and perceived, a couple of steps away, the honest tanned +visage of Captain Barbassou, master of the Zouave, who was taking his +absinthe at the door of a little coffee-house. + +“Hey! Lord love you, Barbassou!” said Tartarin, pulling up his mule. + +Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a space +ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart’ri sat back +dumbfounded on his melons. + +“What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, what +they say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is she still +singing ‘Marco la Bella’?” + +“Marco la Bella!” repeated the indignant Tartarin. “I’ll have you to +know, captain, that the person you mention is an honourable Moorish +lady, and one who does not know a word of French.” + +“Baya does not know French! What lunatic asylum do you hail from, then?” + +The good captain broke into still heartier laughter; but, seeing the +chops of poor Sidi Tart’ri fall he changed his course. + +“Howsoever, may happen it is not the same lass. Let’s reckon that I +have mixed ‘em up. Still, mark you, Monsieur Tartarin, you will do well, +nonetheless, to distrust Algerian Moors and Montenegrin princes.” + +Tartarin rose in the stirrups, making a wry face. + +“The prince is my friend, captain.” + +“Come, come, don’t wax wrathy. Won’t you have some bitters to sweeten +you? No? Haven’t you anything to say to the folks at home, neither? +Well, then, a pleasant journey. By the way, mate, I have some good +French ‘bacco upon me, and if you would like to carry away a few +pipefuls, you have only to take some. Take it, won’t you? It’s your +beastly Oriental ‘baccoes that have befogged your brain.” + +Upon this the captain went back to his absinthe, whilst the moody +Tartarin trotted slowly on the road to his little house. Although his +great soul refused to credit anything, Barbassou’s insinuations had +vexed him, and the familiar adjurations and home accent had awakened +vague remorse. + +He found nobody at home, Baya having gone out to the bath. The negress +appeared sinister and the dwelling saddening. A prey to inexpressible +melancholy, he went and sat down by the fountain to load a pipe with +Barbassou’s tobacco. It was wrapped up in a piece of the Marseilles +Semaphore newspaper. On flattening it out, the name of his native place +struck his eyes. + +“Our Tarascon correspondent writes:-- + +“The city is in distress. There has been no news for several months from +Tartarin the lion-slayer, who set off to hunt the great feline tribe +in Africa. What can have become of our heroic fellow-countryman? Those +hardly dare ask who know, as we do, how hot-headed he was, and what +boldness and thirst for adventures were his. Has he, like many others, +been smothered in the sands, or has he fallen under the murderous fangs +of one of those monsters of the Atlas Range of which he had promised the +skins to the municipality? What a dreadful state of uncertainty! It is +true some Negro traders, come to Beaucaire Fair, assert having met in +the middle of the deserts a European whose description agreed with his; +he was proceeding towards Timbuctoo. May Heaven preserve our Tartarin!” + +When he read this, the son of Tarascon reddened, blanched, and +shuddered. All Tarascon appeared unto him: the club, the cap-poppers, +Costecalde’s green arm-chair, and, hovering over all like a spread +eagle, the imposing moustaches of brave Commandant Bravida. + +At seeing himself here, as he was, cowardly lolling on a mat, whilst his +friends believed him slaughtering wild beasts, Tartarin of Tarascon was +ashamed of himself, and could have wept had he not been a hero. + +Suddenly he leaped up and thundered: + +“The lion, the lion! Down with him!” + +And dashing into the dusty lumber-hole where mouldered the shelter-tent, +the medicine-chest, the potted meats, and the gun-cases, he dragged them +out into the middle of the court. + +Sancho-Tartarin was no more: Quixote-Tartarin occupied the field of +active life. + +Only the time to inspect his armament and stores, don his harness, get +into his heavy boots, scribble a couple of words to confide Baya to +the prince, and slip a few bank-notes sprinkled with tears into +the envelope, and then the dauntless Tarasconian rolled away in the +stage-coach on the Blidah road, leaving the house to the negress, +stupor-stricken before the pipe, the turban, and babooshes--all the +Moslem shell of Sidi Tart’ri which sprawled piteously under the little +white trefoils of the gallery. + + + + +EPISODE THE THIRD, AMONG THE LIONS + + + +I. What becomes of the Old Stage-coaches. + + +COME to look closely at the vehicle, it was an old stage-coach all +of the olden time, upholstered in faded deep blue cloth, with those +enormous rough woollen balls which, after a few hours’ journey, finally +establish a raw spot in the small of your back. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had a corner of the inside, where he installed +himself most free-and-easily: and, preliminarily to inspiring the rank +emanations of the great African felines, the hero had to content himself +with that homely old odour of the stage-coach, oddly composed of a +thousand smells, of man and woman, horses and harness, eatables and +mildewed straw. + +There was a little of everything inside--a Trappist monk, some Jew +merchants, two fast ladies going to join their regiment, the Third +Hussars, a photographic artist from Orleansville, and so on. But, +however charming and varied was the company, the Tarasconian was not in +the mood for chatting; he remained quite thoughtful, with an arm in the +arm-rest sling-strap and his guns between his knees. All churned up his +wits--the precipitate departure, Baya’s eyes of jet, the terrible chase +he was about to undertake, to say nothing of this European coach; with +its Noah’s Ark aspect, rediscovered in the heart of Africa, vaguely +recalling the Tarascon of his youth, with its races in the suburbs, +jolly dinners on the river-side--a throng of memories, in short. + +Gradually night came on. The guard lit up the lamps. The rusty diligence +danced creakingly on its old springs; the horses trotted and their bells +jangled. From time to time in the boot arose a dreadful clank of iron: +that was the war material. + +Tartarin of Tarascon, nearly overcome, dwelt a moment scanning the +fellow-passengers, comically shaken by the jolts, and dancing before +him like the shadows in galanty-shows, till his eyes grew cloudy and his +mind befogged, and only vaguely he heard the wheels grind and the sides +of the conveyance squeak complainingly. + +Suddenly a voice called Tartarin by his name, the voice of an old fairy +godmother, hoarse, broken, and cracked. + +“Monsieur Tartarin!” three times. + +“Who’s calling me?” + +“It’s I, Monsieur Tartarin. Don’t you recognise me? I am the old +stage-coach who used to do the road betwixt Nimes and Tarascon twenty +year agone. How many times I have carried you and your friends when you +went to shoot at caps over Joncquieres or Bellegarde way! I did not know +you again at the first, on account of your Turk’s cap and the flesh you +have accumulated; but as soon as you began snoring--what a rascal is +good-luck!--I twigged you straight away.” + +“All right, that’s all right enough!” observed the Tarasconian, a shade +vexed; but softening, he added, “But to the point, my poor old girl; +whatever did you come out here for?” + +“Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of my +own free will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I was +considered good for nought, and shipped away into Algeria. And I am not +the only one either! Bless you, next to all the old stage-coaches of +France have been packed off like me. We were regarded as too much the +conservative--‘the slow-coaches’--d’ye see, and now we are here +leading the life of a dog. This is what you in France call the Algerian +railways.” + +Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before proceeding. “My +wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I regret my lovely Tarascon! +That was the good time for me, when I was young!--You ought to have seen +me starting off in the morning, washed with no stint of water and all +a-shine, with my wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace +of suns, and my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely +when the postillion cracked his whip to the tune of ‘Lagadigadeou, the +Tarasque! the Tarasque!’ and the guard, his horn in its sling and laced +cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always in a fury, +upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: ‘Right-away!’ + +“Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks, and +horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look with +pride upon the royal mail coach dart over the king’s highway. + +“What a splendid road that was, Monsieur Tartarin, broad and well +kept, with its mile-stones, its little heaps of road-metal at regular +distances, and its pretty clumps of vines and olive-trees on either +hand! Then, again, the roadside inns so close together, and the changes +of horses every five minutes! And what jolly, honest chaps my patrons +were!--village mayors and parish priests going up to Nimes to see their +prefect or bishop, taffety-weavers returning openly from the Mazet, +collegians out on holiday leave, peasants in worked smock-frocks, all +fresh shaven for the occasion that morning; and up above, on the top, +you gentlemen-sportsmen, always in high spirits, and singing each your +own family ballad to the stars as you came back in the dark. + +“Deary me! it’s a change of times now! Lord knows what rubbish I am +carting here, come from nobody guesses where! They fill me with small +deer, these negroes, Bedouin Arabs, swashbucklers, adventurers from +every land, and ragged settlers who poison me with their pipes, and all +jabbering a language that the Tower of Babel itself could make nothing +of! And, furthermore, you should see how they treat me--I mean, how they +never treat me: never a brush or a wash. They begrudge me grease for my +axles. Instead of my good fat quiet horses of other days, little Arab +ponies, with the devil in their frames, who fight and bite, caper +as they run like so many goats, and break my splatterboard all to +smithereens with their lashing out behind. Ouch! ouch! there they are at +it again! + +“And such roads! Just here it is bearable, because we are near the +governmental headquarters; but out a bit there’s nothing, Monsieur--not +the ghost of a road at all. We get along as best we can over hill and +dale, over dwarf palms and mastic-trees. Ne’er a fixed change of horses, +the stopping being at the whim of the guard, now at one farm, again at +another. + +“Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to have +a glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum. After which, ‘Crack on, +postillion!’ to make up for the lost time. Though the sun be broiling +and the dust scorching, we whip on! We catch in the scrub and spill +over, but whip on! We swim rivers, we catch cold, we get swamped, we +drown, but whip! whip! whip! Then in the evening, streaming--a nice +thing for my age, with my rheumatics--I have to sleep in the open air +of some caravanseral yard, open to all the winds. In the dead o’ night +jackals and hyaenas come sniffing of my body; and the marauders who +don’t like dews get into my compartment to keep warm. + +“Such is the life I lead, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, and that I shall +lead to the day when--burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp nights +until unable to do anything else, I shall fall in some spot of bad +road, where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones of my old +carcass”-- + +“Blidah! Blidah!” called out the guard as he opened the door. + + + +II. A little gentleman drops in and “drops upon” Tartarin. + + +VAGUELY through the mud-dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon caught a +glimpse of a second-rate but pretty town market-place, regular in shape, +surrounded by colonnades and planted with orange-trees, in the midst +of which what seemed toy leaden soldiers were going through the morning +exercise in the clear roseate mist. The cafes were shedding their +shutters. In one corner there was a vegetable market. It was bewitching, +but it did not smack of lions yet. + +“To the South! farther to the South!” muttered the good old desperado, +sinking back in his corner. + +At this moment the door opened. A puff of fresh air rushed in, bearing +upon its wings, in the perfume of the orange-blossoms, a little person +in a brown frock-coat, old and dry, wrinkled and formal, his face no +bigger than your fist, his neckcloth of black silk five fingers wide, +a notary’s letter-case, and umbrella--the very picture of a village +solicitor. + +On perceiving the Tarasconian’s warlike equipment, the little gentleman, +who was seated over against him, appeared excessively surprised, and set +to studying him with burdensome persistency. + +The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in, whereupon the coach +started off again. The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin, who in the +end took snuff at it. + +“Does this astonish you?” he demanded, staring the little gentleman full +in the face in his turn. + +“Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me,” responded the other, very tranquilly. + +And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in +their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural corpulence, +Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room. + +The little gentleman’s reply angered him. + +“Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with your +umbrella?” queried the great man haughtily. + +The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with +the same lack of emotion, inquired: + +“Oho, then you are Monsieur”-- + +“Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!” + +In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the blue +tassel of his fez like a mane. + +Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction. + +The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered little +screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent over towards +the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled honour of taking his +likeness. + +The little gentleman, though, was not awed. + +“Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions, Monsieur Tartarin?” + he asked, very quietly. + +The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner. + +“Is it many have I killed, Monsieur? I wish you had only as many hairs +on your head as I have killed of them.” + +All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing up on +the little gentleman’s skull. + +In his turn, the Orleansville photographer struck in: + +“Yours must be a terrible profession, Monsieur Tartarin. You must +pass some ugly moments sometimes. I have heard that poor Monsieur +Bombonnel”--“Oh, yes, the panther-killer,” said Tartarin, rather +disdainfully. + +“Do you happen to be acquainted with him?” inquired the insignificant +person. + +“Eh! of course! Know him? Why, we have been out on the hunt over twenty +times together.” + +The little gentleman smiled. + +“So you also hunt panthers, Monsieur Tartarin?” he asked. + +“Sometimes, just for pastime,” said the fiery Tarasconian. “But,” he +added, as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed +the hearts of the two sweethearts of the regiment, “that’s not worth +lion-hunting.” + +“When all’s said and done,” ventured the photographer, “a panther is +nothing but a big cat.” + +“Right you are!” said Tartarin, not sorry to abate the celebrated +Bombonnel’s glory a little, particularly in the presence of ladies. + +Here the coach stopped. The conductor came to open the door, and +addressed the insignificant little gentleman most respectfully, saying: + +“We have arrived, Monsieur.” + +The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door was +closed again: + +“Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?” + +“What is it, Monsieur?” + +“Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, rather +than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, Monsieur +Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do remain a few +panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! they are too small +game for you. As for lion-hunting, that’s all over. There are none left +in Algeria, my friend Chassaing having lately knocked over the last.” + +Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and trotted +away chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella. + +“Guard,” asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, “who under +the sun is that poor little mannikin?” + +“What! don’t you know him? Why, that there’s Monsieur Bombonnel!” + + + +III. A Monastery of Lions. + + +AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach to +continue its way towards the South. + +Two days’ rough jolting, two nights spent with eyes open to spy out of +window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion in the +fields beyond the road--so much sleeplessness well deserved some hours +repose. Besides, if we must tell everything, since his misadventure with +Bombonnel, the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at ease, notwithstanding his +weapons, his terrifying visage, and his red cap, before the Orleansville +photographer and the two ladies fond of the military. + +So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah, full of fine +trees and fountains; but whilst looking up a suitable hotel, the poor +fellow could not help musing over Bombonnel’s words. Suppose they were +true! Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria? What would be the +good then of so much running about and fatigue? + +Suddenly, at the turn of a street, our hero found himself face to face +with--with what? Guess! “A donkey, of course!” A donkey? A splendid lion +this time, waiting before a coffee-house door, royally sitting up on his +hind-quarters, with his tawny mane gleaming in the sun. + +“What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them?” + exclaimed the Tarasconian, as he made a backward jump. + +On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head, and taking up in his +mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway, humbly held it +out towards Tartarin, who was immovable with stupefaction. A passing +Arab tossed a copper into the bowl, and the lion wagged his tail. +Thereupon Tartarin understood it all. He saw what emotion had prevented +him previously perceiving: that the crowd was gathered around a poor +tame blind lion, and that two stalwart Negroes, armed with staves, were +marching him through the town as a Savoyard does a marmot. + +The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once. + +“Wretches that you are!” he roared in a voice of thunder, “thus to +debase such noble beasts!” + +Springing to the lion, he wrenched the loathsome bowl from between his +royal jaws. The two Africans, believing they had a thief to contend +with, rushed upon the foreigner with uplifted cudgels. There was a +dreadful conflict: the blackamoors smiting, the women screaming, and the +youngsters laughing. An old Jew cobbler bleated out of the hollow of his +stall, “Dake him to the shustish of the beace!” The lion himself; in +his dark state, tried to roar as his hapless champion, after a desperate +struggle, rolled on the ground among the spilt pence and the sweepings. + +At this juncture a man cleft the throng, made the Negroes stand back +with a word, and the women and urchins with a wave of the hand, lifted +up Tartarin, brushed him down, shook him into shape, and sat him +breathless upon a corner-post. + +“What, prince, is it you?” said the good Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. + +“Yes, indeed, it is I, my valiant friend. As soon as your letter was +received, I entrusted Baya to her brother, hired a post-chaise, flew +fifty leagues as fast as a horse could go, and here I am, just in time +to snatch you from the brutality of these ruffians. What have you done, +in the name of just Heaven, to bring this ugly trouble upon you?” + +“What done, prince? It was too much for me to see this unfortunate lion +with a begging-bowl in his mouth, humiliated, conquered, buffeted about, +set up as a laughing-stock to all this Moslem rabble”-- + +“But you are wrong, my noble friend. On the contrary, this lion is an +object of respect and adoration. This is a sacred beast who belongs to a +great monastery of lions, founded three hundred years ago by Mahomet Ben +Aouda, a kind of fierce and forbidding La Trappe, full of roarings +and wild-beastly odours, where strange monks rear and feed lions by +hundreds, and send them out all over Northern Africa, accompanied by +begging brothers. The alms they receive serve for the maintenance of +the monastery and its mosques; and the two Negroes showed so much +displeasure just now because it was their conviction that the lion under +their charge would forthwith devour them if a single penny of their +collection were lost or stolen through any fault of theirs.” + +On hearing this incredible and yet veracious story Tartarin of Tarascon +was delighted, and sniffed the air noisily. “What pleases me in this,” + he remarked, as the summing up of his opinion, “is that, whether +Monsieur Bombonnel likes it or not, there are still lions in Algeria.”-- + +“I should think there were!” ejaculated the prince enthusiastically. +“We will start to-morrow beating up the Shelliff Plain, and you will see +lions enough!” + +“What, prince! have you an intention to go a-hunting, too?” + +“Of course! Do you think I am going to leave you to march by yourself +into the heart of Africa, in the midst of ferocious tribes of whose +languages and usages you are ignorant! No, no, illustrious Tartarin, +I shall quit you no more. Go where you will, I shall make one of the +party.” + +“O Prince! prince!” + +The beaming Tartarin hugged the devoted Gregory to his breast at the +proud thought of his going to have a foreign prince to accompany him +in his hunting, after the example of Jules Gerard, Bombonnel, and other +famous lion-slayers. + + + +IV. The Caravan on the March. + + +LEAVING Milianah at the earliest hour next morning, the intrepid +Tartarin and the no less intrepid Prince Gregory descended towards +the Shelliff Plain through a delightful gorge shaded with jessamine, +carouba, tuyas, and wild olive-trees, between hedges of little native +gardens and thousands of merry, lively rills which scampered down from +rock to rock with a singing splash--a bit of landscape meet for the +Lebanon. + +As much loaded with arms as the great Tartarin, Prince Gregory had, over +and above that, donned a queer but magnificent military cap, all covered +with gold lace and a trimming of oak-leaves in silver cord, which gave +His Highness the aspect of a Mexican general or a railway station-master +on the banks of the Danube. + +This plague of a cap much puzzled the beholder; and as he timidly craved +some explanation, the prince gravely answered: + +“It is a kind of headgear indispensable for travel in Algeria.” + +Whilst brightening up the peak with a sweep of his sleeve, he instructed +his simple companion in the important part which the military cap plays +in the French connection with the Arabs, and the terror this article of +army insignia alone has the privilege of inspiring, so that the Civil +Service has been obliged to put all its employees in caps, from the +extra-copyist to the receiver-general. To govern Algeria (the prince is +still speaking) there is no need of a strong head, or even of any head +at all. A military cap does it alone, if showy and belaced, and shining +at the top of a non-human pole, like Gessler’s. + +Thus chatting and philosophising, the caravan proceeded. The barefooted +porters leaped from rock to rock with ape-like screams. The guncases +clanked, and the guns themselves flashed. The natives who were passing, +salaamed to the ground before the magic cap. Up above, on the ramparts +of Milianah, the head of the Arab Department, who was out for an airing +with his wife, hearing these unusual noises, and seeing the weapons +gleam between the branches, fancied there was a revolt, and ordered the +drawbridge to be raised, the general alarm to be sounded, and the whole +town put under a state of siege. A capital commencement for the caravan! + +Unfortunately, before the day ended, things went wrong. Of the black +luggage-bearers, one was doubled up with atrocious colics from having +eaten the diachylon out of the medicine-chest: another fell on the +roadside dead drunk with camphorated brandy; the third, carrier of +the travelling-album, deceived by the gilding on the clasps into the +persuasion that he was flying with the treasures of Mecca, ran off into +the Zaccar on his best legs. + +This required consideration. The caravan halted, and held a council in +the broken shadow of an old fig-tree. + +“It’s my advice that we turn up Negro porters from this evening +forward,” said the prince, trying without success to melt a cake of +compressed meat in an improved patent triple-bottomed sauce-pan. “There +is, haply, an Arab trader quite near here. The best thing to do is to +stop there, and buy some donkeys.” + +“No, no; no donkeys,” quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming quite red +at memory of Noiraud. “How can you expect,” he added, hypocrite that he +was, “that such little beasts could carry all our apparatus?” + +The prince smiled. + +“You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend. However weakly and +meagre the Algerian bourriquot may appear to you, he has solid loins. He +must have them so to support all that he does. Just ask the Arabs. Hark +to how they explain the French colonial organisation. ‘On the top,’ they +say, ‘is Mossoo, the Governor, with a heavy club to rap the staff; the +staff, for revenge, canes the soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, +and he hammers the Arab; the Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats +the Jew, and he takes it out of the donkey. The poor bourriquot having +nobody to belabour, arches up his back and bears it all.’ You see +clearly now that he can bear your boxes.” + +“All the same,” remonstrated Tartarin, “it strikes me that jackasses +will not chime in nicely with the effect of our caravan. I want +something more Oriental. For instance, if we could only get a camel”-- + +“As many as you like,” said His Highness; and off they started for the +Arab mart. + +It was held a few miles away, on the banks of the Shelliff. There were +five or six thousand Arabs in tatters here, grovelling in the sunshine +and noisily trafficking, amid jars of black olives, pots of honey, bags +of spices; and great heaps of cigars; huge fires were roasting whole +sheep, basted with butter; in open air slaughter-houses stark naked +Negroes, with ruddy arms and their feet in gore, were cutting up kids +hanging from crosspoles, with small knives. + +In one corner, under a tent patched with a thousand colours, a Moorish +clerk of the market in spectacles scrawled in a large book. Here was a +cluster of men shouting with rage: it was a spinning-jenny game, set on +a corn-measure, and Kabyles were ready to cut one another’s throats over +it. Yonder were laughs and contortions of delight: it was a Jew trader +on a mule drowning in the Shelliff. Then there were dogs, scorpions, +ravens, and flies--rather flies than anything else. + +But a plentiful lack of camels abounded. They finally unearthed one, +though, of which the M’zabites were trying to get rid--the real ship of +the desert, the classical, standard camel, bald, woe-begone, with a long +Bedouin head, and its hump, become limp in consequence of unduly long +fasts, hanging melancholically on one side. + +Tartarin considered it so handsome that he wanted the entire party to +get upon it. Still his Oriental craze! + +The beast knelt down for them to strap on the boxes. + +The prince enthroned himself on the animal’s neck. For the sake of the +greater majesty, Tartarin got them to hoist him on the top of the hump +between two boxes, where, proud, and cosily settled down, he saluted +the whole market with a lofty wave of the hand, and gave the signal of +departure. + +Thunderation! if the people of Tarascon could only have seen him! + +The camel rose, straightened up its long knotty legs, and stepped out. + +Oh, stupor! At the end of a few strides Tartarin felt he was losing +colour, and the heroic chechia assumed one by one its former positions +in the days of sailing in the Zouave. This devil’s own camel pitched and +tossed like a frigate. + +“Prince! prince!” gasped Tartarin pallid as a ghost, as he clung to the +dry tuft of the hump, “prince, let’s get down. I find--I feel that I +m-m-must get off; or I shall disgrace France.” + +A deal of good that talk was--the camel was on the go, and nothing could +stop it. Behind it raced four thousand barefooted Arabs, waving their +hands and laughing like mad, so that they made six hundred thousand +white teeth glitter in the sun. + +The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to circumstances. He +sadly collapsed on the hump, where the fez took all the positions it +fancied, and France was disgraced. + + + +V. The Night-watch in a Poison-tree Grove. + + +SWEETLY picturesque as was their new steed, our lion-hunters had to give +it up, purely out of consideration for the red cap, of course. So +they continued the journey on foot as before, the caravan tranquilly +proceeding southwardly by short stages, the Tarasconian in the van, the +Montenegrin in the rear, and the camel, with the weapons in their cases, +in the ranks. + +The expedition lasted nearly a month. + +During that seeking for lions which he never found, the dreadful +Tartarin roamed from douar to douar on the immense plain of the +Shelliff, through the odd but formidable French Algeria, where the old +Oriental perfumes are complicated by a strong blend of absinthe and the +barracks, Abraham and “the Zouzou” mingled, something fairy-tale-like +and simply burlesque, like a page of the Old Testament related by Tommy +Atkins. + +A curious sight for those who have eyes that can see. + +A wild and corrupted people whom we are civilising by teaching them our +vices. The ferocious and uncontrolled authority of grotesque bashaws, +who gravely use their grand cordons of the Legion of Honour as +handkerchiefs, and for a mere yea or nay order a man to be bastinadoed. +It is the justice of the conscienceless, bespectacled cadis under +the palm-tree, Maw-worms of the Koran and Law, who dream languidly of +promotion and sell their decrees, as Esau did his birthright, for a dish +of lentils or sweetened kouskous. Drunken and libertine cadis are they, +formerly servants to some General Yusuf or the like, who get intoxicated +on champagne, along with laundresses from Port Mahon, and fatten on +roast mutton, whilst before their tents the whole tribe waste away with +hunger, and fight with the harriers for the bones of the lordly feast. + +All around spread the plains in waste, burnt grass, leafless shrubs, +thickets of cactus and mastic--“the Granary of France!”--a granary void +of grain, alas! and rich alone in vermin and jackals. Abandoned camps, +frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine, they know not whither, +and strewing the road with corpses. At long intervals French villages, +with the dwellings in ruins, the fields untilled, the maddened +locusts gnawing even the window-blinds, and all the settlers in the +drinking-places, absorbing absinthe and discussing projects of reform +and the Constitution. + +This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the trouble; +but, wrapped up entirely in his leonine-hunger, the son of Tarascon went +straight on, looking to neither right nor left, his eyes steadfastly +fixed on the imaginary monsters which never really appeared. + +As the shelter-tent was stubborn in not unfolding, and the compressed +meat-cakes would not dissolve, the caravan was obliged to stop, morn and +eve, at tribal camps. Everywhere, thanks to the gorgeous cap of Prince +Gregory, our hunters were welcomed with open arms. They lodged in the +aghas’ odd palaces, large white windowless farmhouses, where they +found, pell-mell, narghilehs and mahogany furniture, Smyrna carpets +and moderator lamps, cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins, and French +statuette-decked clocks in the Louis Philippe style. + +Everywhere, too, Tartarin was given splendrous galas, diffas, and +fantasias, which, being interpreted, mean feasts and circuses. In his +honour whole goums blazed away powder, and floated their burnouses in +the sun. When the powder was burnt, the agha would come and hand in his +bill. This is what is called Arab hospitality. + +But always no lions, no more than on London Bridge. + +Nevertheless, the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened. Ever bravely +diving more deeply into the South, he spent the days in beating up the +thickets, probing the dwarf-palms with the muzzle of his rifle, and +saying “Boh!” to every bush. And every evening, before lying down, he +went into ambush for two or three hours. Useless trouble, however, for +the lion did not show himself. + +One evening, though, going on six o’clock, as the caravan scrambled +through a violet-hued mastic-grove, where fat quails tumbled about in +the grass, drowsy through the heat, Tartarin of Tarascon fancied he +heard though afar and very vague, and thinned down by the breeze--that +wondrous roaring to which he had so often listened by Mitaine’s +Menagerie at home. + +At first the hero feared he was dreaming; but in an instant further the +roaring recommenced more distinct, although yet remote; and this time +the camel’s hump shivered in terror, and made the tinned meats and arms +in the cases rattle, whilst all the dogs in the camps were heard howling +in every corner of the horizon. + +Beyond doubt this was the lion. + +Quick, quick! to the ambush. There was not a minute to lose. + +Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout’s, or saint’s, tomb, +with a white cupola, and the defunct’s large yellow slippers placed in a +niche over the door, and a mass of odd offerings--hems of blankets, gold +thread, red hair--hung on the wall. + +Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in search of +a good spot for lying in wait. Prince Gregory wanted to follow him, but +the Tarasconian refused, bent on confronting Leo alone. But still he +besought His Highness not to go too far away, and, as a measure of +foresight, he entrusted him with his pocket-book, a good-sized one, full +of precious papers and bank-notes, which he feared would get torn by the +lion’s claws. This done, our hero looked up a good place. + +A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose-laurel +shook in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up. +There it was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself, one knee on the +ground, according to the regular rule, his rifle in his hand, and his +huge hunting-knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank. + +Night fell. + +The rosy tint of nature changed into violet, and then into dark blue. +A pretty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand-glass over the +river-pebbles; this was the watering-place of the wild animals. + +On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which +their heavy paws had traced in the brush--a mysterious path which made +one’s flesh creep. Join to this sensation that from the vague swarming +sound in African forests, the swishing of branches, the velvety-pads of +roving creatures, the jackal’s shrill yelp, and up in the sky, two or +three hundred feet aloft, vast flocks of cranes passing on with screams +like poor little children having their weasands slit. You will own that +there were grounds for a man being moved. + +Tartarin was so, and even more than that, for the poor fellow’s teeth +chattered, and on the cross-bar of his hunting-knife, planted upright +in the bank, as we repeat, his rifle-barrel rattled like a pair of +castanets. Do not ask too much of a man! There are times when one is +not in the mood; and, moreover, where would be the merit if heroes were +never afraid? + +Well, yes, Tartarin was afraid, and all the time, too, for the matter +of that. Nevertheless, he held out for an hour; better, for two; but +heroism has its limits. Nigh him, in the dry part of the rivulet-bed, +the Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of pebbles +rolling. This time terror lifted him off the ground. He banged away both +barrels at haphazard into the night, and retreated as fast as his +legs would carry him to the marabout’s chapel-vault, leaving his knife +standing up in the sand like a cross commemorative of the grandest panic +that ever assailed the soul of a conqueror of hydras. + +“Help! this Way, prince; the lion is on me!” + +There was silence. “Prince, prince, are you there?” + +The prince was not there. On the white moonlit wall of the fane the +camel alone cast the queer-shaped shadow of his protuberance. Prince +Gregory had cut and run with the wallet of bank-notes. His Highness had +been for the month past awaiting this opportunity. + + + +VI. Bagged him at Last. + + +IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and dramatic +eve that our hero awoke, and acquired assurance doubly sure that the +prince and the treasure had really gone off, without any prospect +of return. When he saw himself alone in the little white tombhouse, +betrayed, robbed, abandoned in the heart of savage Algeria, with a +one-humped camel and some pocket-money as all his resources, then did +the representative of Tarascon for the first time doubt. He doubted +Montenegro, friendship, glory, and even lions; and the great man +blubbered bitterly. + +Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary, holding +his head between his hands and his gun between his legs, with the +camel mooning at him, the thicket over the way was divided, and the +stupor-stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen paces +off. It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars, which made +the temple walls shake beneath their votive decorations, and even the +saint’s slippers dance in their niche. + +The Tarasconian alone did not tremble. + +“At last you’ve come!” he shouted, jumping up and levelling the rifle. + +Bang, bang! went a brace of shells into its head. + +It was done. For a minute, on the fiery background of the African sky, +there was a dreadful firework display of scattered brains, smoking +blood, and tawny hair. When all fell, Tartarin perceived two colossal +Negroes furiously running towards him, brandishing cudgels. They were +his two Negro acquaintances of Milianah! + +Oh, misery! + +This was the domesticated lion, the poor blind beggar of the Mohammed +Monastery, whom the Tarasconian’s bullets had knocked over. + +This time, spite of Mahound, Tartarin escaped neatly. Drunk with +fanatical fury, the two African collectors would have surely beaten him +to pulp had not the god of chase and war sent him a delivering angel +in the shape of the rural constable of the Orleansville commune. By a +bypath this garde champetre came up, his sword tucked under his arm. + +The sight of the municipal cap suddenly calmed the Negroes’ choler. +Peaceful and majestic, the officer with the brass badge drew up a report +on the affair, ordered the camel to be loaded with what remained of the +king of beasts, and the plaintiffs as well as the delinquent to follow +him, proceeding to Orleansville, where all was deposited with the +law-courts receiver. + +There issued a long and alarming case! + +After the Algeria of the native tribes which he had overrun, Tartarin of +Tarascon became thence acquainted with another Algeria, not less weird +and to be dreaded--the Algeria in the towns, surcharged with lawyers and +their papers. He got to know the pettifogger who does business at the +back of a cafe--the legal Bohemian with documents reeking of wormwood +bitters and white neckcloths spotted with champoreau; the ushers, the +attorneys, all the locusts of stamped paper, meagre and famished, who +eat up the colonist body and boots--ay, to the very straps of them, and +leave him peeled to the core like an Indian cornstalk, stripped leaf by +leaf. + +Before all else it was necessary to ascertain whether the lion had been +killed on the civil or the military territory. In the former case the +matter regarded the Tribunal of Commerce; in the second, Tartarin +would be dealt with by the Council of War: and at the mere name the +impressionable Tarasconian saw himself shot at the foot of the ramparts +or huddled up in a casemate-silo. + +The puzzle lay in the limitation of the two territories being very hazy +in Algeria. + +At length, after a month’s running about, entanglements, and waiting +under the sun in the yards of Arab Departmental offices, it was +established that, whereas the lion had been killed on the military +territory, on the other hand Tartarin was in the civil territory when he +shot. So the case was decided in the civil courts, and our hero was +let off on paying two thousand five hundred francs damages, costs not +included. + +How could he pay such a sum? + +The few piashtres escaped from the prince’s sweep had long since gone in +legal documents and judicial libations. The unfortunate lion-destroyer +was therefore reduced to selling the store of guns by retail, rifle by +rifle; so went the daggers, the Malay kreeses, and the life-preservers. +A grocer purchased the preserved aliments; an apothecary what remained +of the medicaments. The big boots themselves walked off after the +improved tent to a dealer of curiosities, who elevated them to the +dignity of “rarities from Cochin-China.” + +When everything was paid up, only the lion’s skin and the camel remained +to Tartarin. The hide he had carefully packed, to be sent to Tarascon +to the address of brave Commandant Bravida, and, later on, we shall +see what came of this fabulous trophy. As for the camel, he reckoned on +making use of him to get back to Algiers, not by riding on him, but by +selling him to pay his coach-fare--the best way to employ a camel in +travelling. Unhappily the beast was difficult to place, and no one would +offer a copper for him. + +Still Tartarin wanted to regain Algiers by hook or crook. He was in +haste again to behold Baya’s blue bodice, his little snuggery and his +fountains, as well as to repose on the white trefoils of his little +cloister whilst awaiting money from France. So our hero did not +hesitate; distressed but not downcast, he undertook to make the journey +afoot and penniless by short stages. + +In this enterprise the camel did not cast him off. The strange animal +had taken an unaccountable fancy for his master, and on seeing him leave +Orleansville, he set to striding steadfastly behind him, regulating his +pace by this, and never quitting him by a yard. + +At the first outset Tartarin found this touching; such fidelity and +devotion above proof went to his heart, all the more because the +creature was accommodating, and fed himself on nothing. Nevertheless, +after a few days, the Tarasconian was worried by having this glum +companion perpetually at his heels, to remind him of his misadventures. +Ire arising, he hated him for his sad aspect, hump and gait of a goose +in harness. To tell the whole truth, he held him as his Old Man of the +Sea, and only pondered on how to shake him off; but the follower would +not be shaken off. Tartarin attempted to lose him, but the camel always +found him; he tried to outrun him, but the camel ran faster. He bade +him begone, and hurled stones at him. The camel stopped with a +mournful mien, but in a minute resumed the pursuit, and always ended by +overtaking him. Tartarin had to resign himself. + +For all that, when, after eight full days of tramping, the dusty and +harassed Tarasconian espied the first white housetops of Algiers glimmer +from afar in the verdure, and when he got to the city gates on the noisy +Mustapha Avenue, amid the Zouaves, Biskris, and Mahonnais, all swarming +around him and staring at him trudging by with his camel, overtasked +patience escaped him. + +“No! no!” he growled, “it is not likely! I cannot enter Algiers with +such an animal!” + +Profiting by a jam of vehicles, he turned off into the fields and jumped +into a ditch. In a minute or so he saw over his head on the highway +the camel flying off with long strides and stretching his neck with a +wistful air. + +Relieved of a great weight thereby, the hero sneaked out of his covert, +and entered the town anew by a circuitous path which skirted the wall of +his own little garden. + + + +VII. Catastrophes upon Catastrophes. + + +ENTIRELY astonished was Tartarin before his Moorish dwelling when he +stopped. + +Day was dying and the street deserted. Through the low pointed-arch +doorway which the negress had forgotten to close, laughter was heard; +and the clink of wine-glasses, the popping of champagne corks; and, +floating over all the jolly uproar, a feminine voice singing clearly and +joyously: + +“Do you like, Marco la Bella, to dance in the hall hung with bloom?” + +“Throne of heaven!” ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he +rushed into the enclosure. + +Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of the +little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, +tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing “Marco la Bella” with a ship +captain’s cap over one ear. She had on no blue vest or bodice; indeed, +her only wear was a silvery gauze wrapper and full pink trousers. At +her feet, on a rug, surfeited with love and sweetmeats, Barbassou, the +infamous skipper Barbassou, was bursting with laughter at hearing her. + +The apparition of Tartarin, haggard, thinned, dusty, his flaming +eyes, and the bristling up fez tassel, sharply interrupted this tender +Turkish-Marseillais orgie. Baya piped the low whine of a frightened +leveret, and ran for safety into the house. But Barbassou did not wince; +he only laughed the louder, saying: + +“Ha, ha, Monsieur Tartarin! What do you say to that now? You see she +does know French.” + +Tartarin of Tarascon advanced furiously, crying: + +“Captain!” + +“Digo-li que vengue, moun bon!--Tell him what’s happened, old dear!” + screamed the Moorish woman, leaning over the first floor gallery with a +pretty low-bred gesture! + +The poor man, overwhelmed, let himself collapse upon a drum. His genuine +Moorish beauty not only knew French, but the French of Marseilles! + +“I told you not to trust the Algerian girls,” observed Captain Barbassou +sententiously! “They’re as tricky as your Montenegrin prince.” + +Tartarin lifted his head + +“Do you know where the prince is?” + +“Oh, he’s not far off. He has gone to live five years in the handsome +prison of Mustapha. The rogue let himself be caught with his hand in the +pocket. Anyways, this is not the first time he has been clapped into +the calaboose. His Highness has already done three years somewhere, +and--stop a bit! I believe it was at Tarascon.” + +“At Tarascon!” cried out her worthiest son, abruptly enlightened. +“That’s how he only knew one part of the Town.” + +“Hey? Of course. Tarascon--a jail bird’s-eye view from the state prison. +I tell you, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, you have to keep your peepers +jolly well skinned in this deuce of a country, or be exposed to very +disagreeable things. For a sample, there’s the muezzin’s game with you.” + +“What game? Which muezzin?” + +“Why your’n, of course! The chap across the way who is making up to +Baya. That newspaper, the Akbar, told the yarn t’other day, and +all Algiers is laughing over it even now. It is so funny for that +steeplejack up aloft in his crow’s-nest to make declarations of love +under your very nose to the little beauty whilst singing out his +prayers, and making appointments with her between bits of the Koran.” + +“Why, then, they’re all scamps in this country!” howled the unlucky +Tarasconian. + +Barbassou snapped his fingers like a philosopher. + +“My dear lad, you know, these new countries are ‘rum!’ But, anyhow, if +you’ll believe me, you’d best cut back to Tarascon at full speed.” + +“It’s easy to say, ‘Cut back.’ Where’s the money to come from? Don’t you +know that I was plucked out there in the desert?” + +“What does that matter?” said the captain merrily. “The Zouave sails +tomorrow, and if you like I will take you home. Does that suit you, +mate? Ay? Then all goes well. You have only one thing to do. There are +some bottles of fizz left, and half the pie. Sit you down and pitch in +without any grudge.” + +After the minute’s wavering which self-respect commanded, the +Tarasconian chose his course manfully. Down he sat, and they touched +glasses. Baya, gliding down at that chink, sang the finale of “Marco la +Bella,” and the jollification was prolonged deep into the night. + +About 3 A.M., with a light head but a heavy foot, our good Tarasconian +was returning from seeing his friend the captain off when, in passing +the mosque, the remembrance of his muezzin and his practical jokes made +him laugh, and instantly a capital idea of revenge flitted through his +brain. + +The door was open. He entered, threaded long corridors hung with mats, +mounted and kept on mounting till he finally found himself in a little +oratory, where an openwork iron lantern swung from the ceiling, and +embroidered an odd pattern in shadows upon the blanched walls. + +There sat the crier on a divan, in his large turban and white pelisse, +with his Mostaganam pipe, and a bumper of absinthe before him, which he +whipped up in the orthodox manner, whilst awaiting the hour to call true +believers to prayer. At view of Tartarin, he dropped his pipe in terror. + +“Not a word, knave!” said the Tarasconian, full of his project. “Quick! +Off with turban and coat!” + +The Turkish priest-crier tremblingly handed over his outer garments, as +he would have done with anything else. Tartarin donned them, and gravely +stepped out upon the minaret platform. + +In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the +moonbeams. On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few belated +guitars. The Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for the effort +during a space, and then, raising his arms, he set to chanting in a very +shrill voice: + +“La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the Koran, +bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties--they are all not worth a fly’s skip! +There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live Tarascon!” + +Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and +Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea, +town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other muezzins +answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to minaret, and the +believers of the upper town devoutly beat their bosoms. + + +VIII. Tarascon again! + + +MID-DAY has come. + +The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of the +Valentin Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling telescopes, and, +with the colonel at their head, looking at the lucky little craft that +was going back to France. This is the main distraction of the staff. On +the lower level, the roads glittered. The old Turkish cannon breaches, +stuck up along the waterside, blazed in the sun. The passengers hurried, +Biskris and Mahonnais piled their luggage up in the wherries. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue de +la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, +accompanied by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left on the +Moorish strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he had to sail +for Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty pockets. He had +barely leaped into the captain’s cutter before a breathless beast slid +down from the heights of the square and galloped towards him. It was the +faithful camel, who had been hunting after his master in Algiers during +the last four-and-twenty hours. + +On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to know +him, but the camel was not going to be put off. He scampered along the +quay; he whinnied for his friend, and regarded him with affection. + +“Take me away,” his sad eyes seemed to say, “take me away in your ship, +far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the East, full +of locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so sorely out of +keeping that I do not know what will become of me. You are the last real +Turk, and I am the last camel. Do not let us part, O my Tartarin!” + +“Is that camel yours?” the captain inquired. + +“Not a bit of it!” replied Tartarin, who shuddered at the idea of +entering Tarascon with that ridiculous escort; and, impudently denying +the companion of his misfortunes, he spurned the Algerian soil with his +foot, and gave the cutter the shoving-off start. The camel sniffed of +the water, extended its neck, cracked its joints, and, jumping in behind +the row-boat at haphazard, he swam towards the Zouave with his humpback +floating like a bladder, and his long neck projecting over the wave like +the beak of a galley. + +Cutter and camel came alongside the mail steamer together. + +“This dromedary regularly cuts me up,” observed Captain Barbassou, quite +affected. “I have a good mind to take him aboard and make a present of +him to the Zoological Gardens at Marseilles.” + +And so they hauled up the camel with many blocks and tackles upon the +deck, being increased in weight by the brine, and the Zouave started. + +Tartarin spent the two days of the crossing by himself in his stateroom, +not because the sea was rough, or that the red fez had too much to +suffer, but because the deuced camel, as soon as his master appeared +above decks, showed him the most preposterous attentions. You never did +see a camel make such an exhibition of a man as this. + +From hour to hour, through the cabin portholes, where he stuck out his +nose now and then, Tartarin saw the Algerian blue sky pale away; until +one morning, in a silvery fog, he heard with delight Marseilles bells +ringing out. The Zouave had arrived and cast anchor. + +Our man, having no luggage, got off without saying anything, hastily +slipped through Marseilles for fear he was still pursued by the camel, +and never breathed till he was in a third-class carriage making for +Tarascon. + +Deceptive security! + +Hardly were they two leagues from the city before every head was stuck +out of window. There were outcries and astonishment. Tartarin looked +in his turn, and what did he descry! the camel, reader, the inevitable +camel, racing along the line behind the train, and keeping up with it! +The dismayed Tartarin drew back and shut his eyes. + +After this disastrous expedition of his he had reckoned on slipping +into his house incognito. But the presence of this burdensome quadruped +rendered the thing impossible. What kind of a triumphal entry would he +make? Good heavens! not a sou, not a lion, nothing to show for it save a +camel! + +“Tarascon! Tarascon!” + +He was obliged to get down. + +O amazement! + +Scarce had the hero’s red fez popped out of the doorway before a loud +shout of “Tartarin for ever!” made the glazed roof of the railway +station tremble. “Long life to Tartarin, the lion-slayer!” And out burst +the windings of horns and the choruses of the local musical societies. + +Tartarin felt death had come: he believed in a hoax. But, no! all +Tarascon was there, waving their hats, all of the same way of thinking. +Behold the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the armourer, the +Chief Judge, the chemist, and the whole noble corps of cap-poppers, who +pressed around their leader, and carried him in triumph out through the +passages. + +Singular effects of the mirage!--the hide of the blind lion sent to +Bravida was the cause of all this riot. With that humble fur exhibited +in the club-room, the Tarasconians, and, at the back of them, the whole +South of France, had grown exalted. The Semaphore newspaper had spoken +of it. A drama had been invented. It was not merely a solitary lion +which Tartarin had slain, but ten, nay, twenty--pooh! a herd of lions +had been made marmalade of. Hence, on disembarking at Marseilles, +Tartarin was already celebrated without being aware of it, and an +enthusiastic telegram had gone on before him by two hours to his native +place. + +But what capped the climax of the popular gladness was to see a +fancifully shaped animal, covered with foam and dust, appear behind the +hero, and stumble down the station stairs. + +Tarascon for an instant believed that its dragon was come again. + +Tartarin set his fellow-citizens at ease. + +“This is my camel,” he said. + +Already feeling the influence of the splendid sun of Tarascon, which +makes people tell “bouncers” unwittingly, he added, as he fondled the +camel’s hump: + +“It is a noble beast! It saw me kill all my lions!” + +Whereupon he familiarly took the arm of the commandant, who was red +with pleasure; and followed by his camel, surrounded by the cap-hunters, +acclaimed by all the population, he placidly proceeded towards the +Baobab Villa; and, on the march, thus commenced the account of his +mighty hunting: + +“Once upon an evening, you are to imagine that, out in the depths of the +Sahara”-- + + + + +APPENDIX + +Obituary of Alphonse Daudet. + + + 17th December 1897 + DEATH OF A FRENCH NOVELIST. + ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +M. Alphonse Daudet, the eminent French novelist and playwright, died +suddenly yesterday evening while at dinner The cause of death was +syncope due to failure of the heart. + +Alphonse Daudet was born of poor parents at Nimes in 1840. He studied in +the Lyons Lyceum, and then became usher in a school at Alais. Going +to Paris to seek his fortune in literature in 1858, he succeeded in +publishing a book of verses entitled Les Amoreuses, which led to his +employment by several newspapers. He published many novels and tales, +and about half a dozen plays. His most popular work is “Les Morticoles.” + His son, Leon Daudet, is a litterateur of promise. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + +***** This file should be named 1862-0.txt or 1862-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/1862/ + +Produced by Donal O’Danachair + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tartarin of Tarascon + +Author: Alphonse Daudet + +Release Date: November 23, 2009 [EBook #1862] +Last Updated: October 1, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + + + + +Produced by Donal O'Danachair, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + TARTARIN OF TARASCON + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Alphonse Daudet + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> EPISODE THE FIRST, IN TARASCON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> EPISODE THE SECOND, AMONG “THE TURKS” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> EPISODE THE THIRD, AMONG THE LIONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + EPISODE THE FIRST, IN TARASCON + </h2> + <p> + I. The Garden Round the Giant Trees. + </p> + <p> + MY first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon has remained a + never-to-be-forgotten date in my life; although quite ten or a dozen years + ago, I remember it better than yesterday. + </p> + <p> + At that time the intrepid Tartarin lived in the third house on the left as + the town begins, on the Avignon road. A pretty little villa in the local + style, with a front garden and a balcony behind, the walls glaringly white + and the venetians very green; and always about the doorsteps a brood of + little Savoyard shoe-blackguards playing hopscotch, or dozing in the broad + sunshine with their heads pillowed on their boxes. + </p> + <p> + Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none would ever + believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped inside, ye gods and + little fishes! what a change! From turret to foundation-stone—I + mean, from cellar to garret,—the whole building wore a heroic front; + even so the garden! + </p> + <p> + O that garden of Tartarin’s! there’s not its match in Europe! Not a native + tree was there—not one flower of France; nothing hut exotic plants, + gum-trees, gourds, cotton-woods, cocoa and cacao, mangoes, bananas, palms, + a baobab, nopals, cacti, Barbary figs—well, you would believe + yourself in the very midst of Central Africa, ten thousand leagues away. + It is but fair to say that these were none of full growth; indeed, the + cocoa-palms were no bigger than beet root and the baobab (arbos gigantea—“giant + tree,” you know) was easily enough circumscribed by a window-pot; but, + notwithstanding this, it was rather a sensation for Tarascon, and the + townsfolk who were admitted on Sundays to the honour of contemplating + Tartarin’s baobab, went home chokeful of admiration. + </p> + <p> + Try to conceive my own emotion, which I was bound to feel on that day of + days when I crossed through this marvellous garden, and that was capped + when I was ushered into the hero’s sanctum. + </p> + <p> + His study, one of the lions—I should say, lions’ dens—of the + town, was at the end of the garden, its glass door opening right on to the + baobab. + </p> + <p> + You are to picture a capacious apartment adorned with firearms and steel + blades from top to bottom: all the weapons of all the countries in the + wide world—carbines, rifles, blunderbusses, Corsican, Catalan, and + dagger knives, Malay kreeses, revolvers with spring-bayonets, Carib and + flint arrows, knuckle-dusters, life-preservers, Hottentot clubs, Mexican + lassoes—now, can you expect me to name the rest? Upon the whole fell + a fierce sunlight, which made the blades and the brass butt-plate of the + muskets gleam as if all the more to set your flesh creeping. Still, the + beholder was soothed a little by the tame air of order and tidiness + reigning over the arsenal. Everything was in place, brushed, dusted, + labelled, as in a museum; from point to point the eye descried some + obliging little card reading: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ————————————————————- + I Poisoned Arrows! I + I Do Not Touch! I + ————————————————————- + + Or, + + ————————————————————- + I Loaded! I + I Take care, please! I + ————————————————————- +</pre> + <p> + If it had not been for these cautions I never should have dared venture + in. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the room was an occasional table, on which stood a + decanter of rum, a siphon of soda-water, a Turkish tobacco-pouch, “Captain + Cook’s Voyages,” the Indian tales of Fenimore Cooper and Gustave Aimard, + stories of hunting the bear, eagle, elephant, and so on. Lastly, beside + the table sat a man of between forty and forty-five, short, stout, + thick-set, ruddy, with flaming eyes and a strong stubbly beard; he wore + flannel tights, and was in his shirt sleeves; one hand held a book, and + the other brandished a very large pipe with an iron bowl-cap. Whilst + reading heaven only knows what startling adventure of scalp-hunters, he + pouted out his lower lip in a terrifying way, which gave the honest phiz + of the man living placidly on his means the same impression of kindly + ferocity which abounded throughout the house. + </p> + <p> + This man was Tartarin himself—the Tartarin of Tarascon, the great, + dreadnought, incomparable Tartarin of Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + II. A general glance bestowed upon the good town of Tarascon, and a + particular one on “the cap-poppers.” + </p> + <p> + AT the time I am telling of, Tartarin of Tarascon had not become the + present-day Tartarin, the great one so popular in the whole South of + France: but yet he was even then the cock of the walk at Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + Let us show whence arose this sovereignty. + </p> + <p> + In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in these + parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local craze, and + so it has ever been since the mythological times when the Tarasque, as the + county dragon was called, flourished himself and his tail in the town + marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up against him. So you see + the passion has lasted a goodish bit. + </p> + <p> + It follows that, every Sunday morning, Tarascon flies to arms, lets loose + the dogs of the hunt, and rushes out of its walls, with game-bag slung and + fowling-piece on the shoulder, together with a hurly-burly of hounds, + cracking of whips, and blowing of whistles and hunting-horns. It’s + splendid to see! Unfortunately, there’s a lack of game, an absolute + dearth. + </p> + <p> + Stupid as the brute creation is, you can readily understand that, in time, + it learnt some distrust. + </p> + <p> + For five leagues around about Tarascon, forms, lairs, and burrows are + empty, and nesting-places abandoned. You’ll not find a single quail or + blackbird, one little leveret, or the tiniest tit. And yet the pretty + hillocks are mightily tempting, sweet smelling as they are of myrtle, + lavender, and rosemary; and the fine muscatels plumped out with sweetness + even unto bursting, as they spread along the banks of the Rhone, are + deucedly tempting too. True, true; but Tarascon lies behind all this, and + Tarascon is down in the black books of the world of fur and feather. The + very birds of passage have ticked it off on their guide-books, and when + the wild ducks, coming down towards the Camargue in long triangles, spy + the town steeples from afar, the outermost flyers squawk out loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Look out! there’s Tarascon! give Tarascon the go-by, duckies!” + </p> + <p> + And the flocks take a swerve. + </p> + <p> + In short, as far as game goes, there’s not a specimen left in the land + save one old rogue of a hare, escaped by miracle from the massacres, who + is stubbornly determined to stick to it all his life! He is very well + known at Tarascon, and a name has been given him. “Rapid” is what they + call him. It is known that he has his form on M. Bompard’s grounds—which, + by the way, has doubled, ay, tripled, the value of the property—but + nobody has yet managed to lay him low. At present, only two or three + inveterate fellows worry themselves about him. The rest have given him up + as a bad job, and old Rapid has long ago passed into the legendary world, + although your Tarasconer is very slightly superstitious naturally, and + would eat cock-robins on toast, or the swallow, which is Our Lady’s own + bird, for that matter, if he could find any. + </p> + <p> + “But that won’t do!” you will say. Inasmuch as game is so scarce, what can + the sportsmen do every Sunday? + </p> + <p> + What can they do? + </p> + <p> + Why, goodness gracious! they go out into the real country two or three + leagues from town. They gather in knots of five or six, recline tranquilly + in the shade of some well, old wall, or olive tree, extract from their + game-bags a good-sized piece of boiled beef, raw onions, a sausage, and + anchovies, and commence a next to endless snack, washed down with one of + those nice Rhone wines, which sets a toper laughing and singing. After + that, when thoroughly braced up, they rise, whistle the dogs to heel, set + the guns on half cock, and go “on the shoot”—another way of saying + that every man plucks off his cap, “shies” it up with all his might, and + pops it on the fly with No. 5, 6, or 2 shot, according to what he is + loaded for. + </p> + <p> + The man who lodges most shot in his cap is hailed as king of the hunt, and + stalks back triumphantly at dusk into Tarascon, with his riddled cap on + the end of his gun-barrel, amid any quantity of dog-barks and horn-blasts. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to say that cap-selling is a fine business in the town. + There are even some hatters who sell hunting-caps ready shot, torn, and + perforated for the bad shots; but the only buyer known is the chemist + Bezuquet. This is dishonourable! + </p> + <p> + As a marksman at caps, Tartarin of Tarascon never had his match. + </p> + <p> + Every Sunday morning out he would march in a new cap, and back he would + strut every Sunday evening with a mere thing of shreds. The loft of Baobab + Villa was full of these glorious trophies. Hence all Tarascon acknowledged + him as master; and as Tartarin thoroughly understood hunting, and had read + all the handbooks of all possible kinds of venery, from cap-popping to + Burmese tiger-shooting, the sportsmen constituted him their great + cynegetical judge, and took him for referee and arbitrator in all their + differences. + </p> + <p> + Between three and four daily, at Costecalde the gunsmith’s, a stout stern + pipe-smoker might be seen in a green leather-covered arm-chair in the + centre of the shop crammed with cap-poppers, they all on foot and + wrangling. This was Tartarin of Tarascon delivering judgement—Nimrod + plus Solomon. + </p> + <p> + III. “Naw, naw, naw!” The general glance protracted upon the good town. + </p> + <p> + AFTER the craze for sporting, the lusty Tarascon race cherishes one love: + ballad-singing. There’s no believing what a quantity of ballads is used up + in that little region. All the sentimental stuff turning into sere and + yellow leaves in the oldest portfolios, are to be found in full pristine + lustre in Tarascon. Ay, the entire collection. Every family has its own + pet, as is known to the town. + </p> + <p> + For instance, it is an established fact that this is the chemist + Bezuquet’s family’s: + </p> + <p> + “Thou art the fair star that I adore!” + </p> + <p> + The gunmaker Costecalde’s family’s: + </p> + <p> + “Would’st thou come to the land Where the log-cabins rise?” + </p> + <p> + The official registrar’s family’s: + </p> + <p> + “If I wore a coat of invisible green, Do you think for a moment I could be + seen?” + </p> + <p> + And so on for the whole of Tarascon. Two or three times a week there were + parties where they were sung. The singularity was their being always the + same, and that the honest Tarasconers had never had an inclination to + change them during the long, long time they had been harping on them. They + were handed down from father to son in the families, without anybody + improving on them or bowdlerising them: they were sacred. Never did it + occur to Costecalde’s mind to sing the Bezuquets’, or the Bezuquets to try + Costecalde’s. And yet you may believe that they ought to know by heart + what they had been singing for two-score years! But, nay! everybody stuck + to his own,and they were all contented. + </p> + <p> + In ballad-singing, as in cap-popping, Tartarin was still the foremost. His + superiority over his fellow-townsmen consisted in his not having any one + song of his own, but in knowing the lot, the whole, mind you! But—there’s + a but—it was the devil’s own work to get him to sing them. + </p> + <p> + Surfeited early in life with his drawing-room successes, our hero + preferred by far burying himself in his hunting story-books, or spending + the evening at the club, to making a personal exhibition before a Nimes + piano between a pair of home-made candles. These musical parades seemed + beneath him. Nevertheless, at whiles, when there was a harmonic party at + Bezuquet’s, he would drop into the chemist’s shop, as if by chance, and, + after a deal of pressure, consent to do the grand duo in Robert le Diable + with old Madame Bezuquet. Whoso never heard that never heard anything! For + my part, even if I lived a hundred years, I should always see the mighty + Tartarin solemnly stepping up to the piano, setting his arms akimbo, + working up his tragic mien, and, beneath the green reflection from the + show-bottles in the window, trying to give his pleasant visage the fierce + and satanic expression of Robert the Devil. Hardly would he fall into + position before the whole audience would be shuddering with the foreboding + that something uncommon was at hand. After a hush, old Madame Bezuquet + would commence to her own accompaniment: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Robert, my love is thine! + To thee I my faith did plight, + Thou seest my affright,— + Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!” + </pre> + <p> + In an undertone she would add: “Now, then, Tartarin!” Whereupon Tartarin + of Tarascon, with crooked arms, clenched fists, and quivering nostrils, + would roar three times in a formidable voice, rolling like a thunderclap + in the bowels of the instrument: + </p> + <p> + “No! no! no!” which, like the thorough southerner he was, he pronounced + nasally as “Naw! naw! naw!” Then would old Madame Bezuquet again sing: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!” + </pre> + <p> + “Naw! naw! naw!” bellowed Tartarin at his loudest, and there the gem + ended. + </p> + <p> + Not long, you see; but it was so handsomely voiced forth, so clearly + gesticulated, and so diabolical, that a tremor of terror overran the + chemist’s shop, and the “Naw! naw! naw!” would be encored several times + running. + </p> + <p> + Upon this Tartarin would sponge his brow, smile on the ladies, wink to the + sterner sex, and withdraw upon his triumph to go remark at the club with a + trifling, offhand air: + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the Bezuquets’, where I was forced to sing ‘em the + duo from Robert le Diable.” + </p> + <p> + The cream of the joke was that he really believed it! + </p> + <p> + IV. “They!” + </p> + <p> + CHIEFLY to the account of these diverse talents did Tartarin owe his lofty + position in the town of Tarascon. Talking of captivating, though, this + deuce of a fellow knew how to ensnare everybody. Why, the army, at + Tarascon, was for Tartarin. The brave commandant, Bravida, honorary + captain retired—in the Military Clothing Factory Department—called + him a game fellow; and you may well admit that the warrior knew all about + game fellows, he played such a capital knife and fork on game of all + kinds. + </p> + <p> + So was the legislature on Tartarin’s side. Two or three times, in open + court, the old chief judge, Ladevese, had said, in alluding to him: + </p> + <p> + “He is a character!” + </p> + <p> + Lastly, the masses were for Tartarin. He had become the swell bruiser, the + aristocratic pugilist, the crack bully of the local Corinthians for the + Tarasconers, from his build, bearing, style—that aspect of a + guard’s-trumpeter’s charger which fears no noise; his reputation as a hero + coming from nobody knew whence or for what, and some scramblings for + coppers and a few kicks to the little ragamuffins basking at his doorway. + </p> + <p> + Along the waterside, when Tartarin came home from hunting on Sunday + evenings, with his cap on the muzzle of his gun, and his fustian + shooting-jacket belted in tightly, the sturdy river-lightermen would + respectfully bob, and blinking towards the huge biceps swelling out his + arms, would mutter among one another in admiration: + </p> + <p> + “Now, there’s a powerful chap if you like! he has double-muscles!” + </p> + <p> + “Double muscles!” why, you never heard of such a thing outside of + Tarascon! + </p> + <p> + For all this, with all his numberless parts, double-muscles, the popular + favour, and the so precious esteem of brave Commandant Bravida, ex-captain + (in the Army Clothing Factory), Tartarin was not happy: this life in a + petty town weighed upon him and suffocated him. + </p> + <p> + The great man of Tarascon was bored in Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + The fact is, for a heroic temperament like his, a wild adventurous spirit + which dreamt of nothing but battles, races across the pampas, mighty + battues, desert sands, blizzards and typhoons, it was not enough to go out + every Sunday to pop at a cap, and the rest of the time to ladle out + casting-votes at the gunmaker’s. Poor dear great man! If this existence + were only prolonged, there would be sufficient tedium in it to kill him + with consumption. + </p> + <p> + In vain did he surround himself with baobabs and other African trees, to + widen his horizon, and some little to forget his club and the + market-place; in vain did he pile weapon upon weapon, and Malay kreese + upon Malay kreese; in vain did he cram with romances, endeavouring like + the immortal Don Quixote to wrench himself by the vigour of his fancy out + of the talons of pitiless reality. Alas! all that he did to appease his + thirst for deeds of daring only helped to augment it. The sight of all the + murderous implements kept him in a perpetual stew of wrath and exaltation. + His revolvers, repeating rifles, and ducking-guns shouted “Battle! + battle!” out of their mouths. Through the twigs of his baobab, the tempest + of great voyages and journeys soughed and blew bad advice. To finish him + came Gustave Aimard, Mayne Reid, and Fenimore Cooper. + </p> + <p> + Oh, how many times did Tartarin with a howl spring up on the sultry summer + afternoons, when he was reading alone amidst his blades, points, and + edges; how many times did he dash down his book and rush to the wall to + unhook a deadly arm! The poor man forgot he was at home in Tarascon, in + his underclothes, and with a handkerchief round his head. He would + translate his readings into action, and, goading himself with his own + voice, shout out whilst swinging a battle-axe or tomahawk: + </p> + <p> + “Now, only let ‘em come!” + </p> + <p> + “Them”? who were they? + </p> + <p> + Tartarin did not himself any too clearly understand. “They” was all that + should be attacked and fought with, all that bites, claws, scalps, whoops, + and yells—the Sioux Indians dancing around the war-stake to which + the unfortunate pale-face prisoner is lashed. The grizzly of the Rocky + Mountains, who wobbles on his hind legs, and licks himself with a tongue + full of blood. The Touareg, too, in the desert, the Malay pirate, the + brigand of the Abruzzi—in short, “they” was warfare, travel, + adventure, and glory. + </p> + <p> + But, alas!! it was to no avail that the fearless Tarasconer called for and + defied them; never did they come. Odsboddikins! what would they have come + to do in Tarascon? + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Tartarin always expected to run up against them, particularly + some evening in going to the club. + </p> + <p> + V. How Tartarin went round to his club. + </p> + <p> + LITTLE, indeed, beside Tartarin of Tarascon, arming himself capa-pie to go + to his club at nine, an hour after the retreat had sounded on the bugle, + was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon the infidel, the + Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the Comanche warrior + painting up for going on the war-path. “All hands make ready for action!” + as the men-of-war’s men say. + </p> + <p> + In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the + right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in the + right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under garment, lay a + Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows—they are weapons + altogether too unfair. + </p> + <p> + Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he exercised + himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and thrusts, lunging at + the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he took his master-key and + went through the garden leisurely; without hurrying, mark you. “Cool and + calm—British courage, that is the true sort, gentlemen.” At the + garden end he opened the heavy iron door, violently and abruptly so that + it should slam against the outer wall. If “they” had been skulking behind + it, you may wager they would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not + there. + </p> + <p> + The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to the + right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly with + double-locking. Then, on the way. + </p> + <p> + Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road—all the doors closed, and + no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish lamps, + well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist. + </p> + <p> + Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night, ringing his + heels with regularity, and sending sparks out of the paving-stones with + the ferule of his stick. Whether in avenues, streets, or lanes, he took + care to keep in the middle of the road—an excellent method of + precaution, allowing one to see danger coming, and, above all, to avoid + any droppings from windows, as happens after dark in Tarascon and the Old + Town of Edinburgh. On seeing so much prudence in Tartarin, pray do not + conclude that Tartarin had any fear—dear, no! he only was on his + guard. + </p> + <p> + The best proof that Tartarin was not scared is, that instead of going to + the club by the shortest cut, he went over the town by the longest and + darkest way round, through a mass of vile, paltry alleys, at the mouth of + which the Rhone could be seen ominously gleaming. The poor knight + constantly hoped that, beyond the turn of one of these cut-throats’ + haunts, “they” would leap from the shadow and fall on his back. I warrant + you, “they” would have been warmly received, though; but, alack! by reason + of some nasty meanness of destiny, never indeed did Tartarin of Tarascon + enjoy the luck to meet any ugly customers—not so much as a dog or a + drunken man—nothing at all! + </p> + <p> + Still, there were false alarms somewhiles. He would catch a sound of steps + and muffled voices. + </p> + <p> + “Ware hawks!” Tartarin would mutter, and stop short, as if taking root on + the spot, scrutinising the gloom, sniffing the wind, even glueing his ear + to the ground in the orthodox Red Indian mode. The steps would draw + nearer, and the voices grow more distinct, till no more doubt was + possible. “They” were coming—in fact, here “they” were! + </p> + <p> + Steady, with eye afire and heaving breast, Tartarin would gather himself + like a jaguar in readiness to spring forward whilst uttering his war-cry, + when, all of a sudden, out of the thick of the murkiness, he would hear + honest Tarasconian voices quite tranquilly hailing him with: + </p> + <p> + “Hullo! you, by Jove! it’s Tartarin! Good night, old fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Maledictions upon it! It was the chemist Bezuquet, with his family, coming + from singing their family ballad at Costecalde’s. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good even, good even!” Tartarin would growl, furious at his blunder, + and plunging fiercely into the gloom with his cane waved on high. + </p> + <p> + On arriving in the street where stood his club-house, the dauntless one + would linger yet a moment, walking up and down before the portals ere + entering. But, finally, weary of awaiting “them,” and certain “they” would + not show “themselves,” he would fling a last glare of defiance into the + shades and snarl wrathfully: + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing at all! there never is nothing!” + </p> + <p> + Upon which double negation, which he meant as a stronger affirmative, the + worthy champion would walk in to play his game of bezique with the + commandant. + </p> + <p> + VI. The two Tartarins. + </p> + <p> + ANSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin of Tarascon + never left Tarascon with all this mania for adventure, need of powerful + sensations, and folly about travel, rides, and journeys from the Pole to + the Equator? + </p> + <p> + For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dreadless + Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room. He had not even + taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which every sound Provencal makes + upon coming of age. The most of his knowledge included Beaucaire, and yet + that’s not far from Tarascon, there being merely the bridge to go over. + Unfortunately, this rascally bridge has so often been blown away by the + gales, it is so long and frail, and the Rhone has such a width at this + spot that—well, faith! you understand! Tartarin of Tarascon + preferred terra firma. + </p> + <p> + We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero there were + two very distinct characters. Some Father of the Church has said: “I feel + there are two men in me.” He would have spoken truly in saying this about + Tartarin, who carried in his frame the soul of Don Quixote, the same + chivalric impulses, heroic ideal, and crankiness for the grandiose and + romantic; but, worse is the luck! he had not the body of the celebrated + hidalgo, that thin and meagre apology for a body, on which material life + failed to take a hold; one that could get through twenty nights without + its breast-plate being unbuckled off, and forty-eight hours on a handful + of rice. On the contrary, Tartarin’s body was a stout honest bully of a + body, very fat, very weighty, most sensual and fond of coddling, highly + touchy, full of low-class appetite and homely requirements—the + short, paunchy body on stumps of the immortal Sancho Panza. + </p> + <p> + Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man! you will readily + comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made! what strife! what + clapper-clawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for Lucian or Saint-Evremond to + write, between the two Tartarins—Quixote-Tartarin and + Sancho-Tartarin! Quixote-Tartarin firing up on the stories of Gustave + Aimard, and shouting: “Up and at ‘em!” and Sancho-Tartarin thinking only + of the rheumatics ahead, and murmuring: “I mean to stay at home.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE DUET. + + QUIXOTE-TARTARIN. SANCHO-TARTARIN. + (Highly excited.) (Quite calmly.) + Cover yourself with glory, Tartarin, cover yourself + Tartarin. with flannel. + + (Still more excitedly.) (Still more calmly.) + O for the terrible double- O for the thick knitted + barrelled rifle! O for waistcoats! and warm + bowie-knives, lassoes, knee-caps! O for the + and moccasins! welcome padded caps + with ear-flaps! + + (Above all self-control.) (Ringing up the maid.) + A battle-axe! fetch me a Now, then, Jeannette, do + battle-axe! bring up that chocolate! +</pre> + <p> + Whereupon Jeannette would appear with an unusually good cup of chocolate, + just right in warmth, sweetly smelling, and with the play of light on + watered silk upon its unctuous surface, and with succulent grilled steak + flavoured with anise-seed, which would set Sancho-Tartarin off on the + broad grin, and into a laugh that drowned the shouts of Quixote-Tartarin. + </p> + <p> + Thus it came about that Tartarin of Tarascon never had left Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + VII. Tartarin—The Europeans at Shanghai—Commerce—The + Tartars—Can Tartarin of Tarascon be an Impostor?—The Mirage. + </p> + <p> + UNDER one conjunction of circumstances, Tartarin did, however, once almost + start out upon a great voyage. + </p> + <p> + The three brothers Garcio-Camus, relatives of Tarascon, established in + business at Shanghai, offered him the managership of one of their branches + there. This undoubtedly presented the kind of life he hankered after. + Plenty of active business, a whole army of under-strappers to order about, + and connections with Russia, Persia, Turkey in Asia—in short, to be + a merchant prince! + </p> + <p> + In Tartarin’s mouth, the title of Merchant Prince thundered out as + something stunning! + </p> + <p> + The house of Garcio-Camus had the further advantage of sometimes being + favoured with a call from the Tartars. Then the doors would be slammed + shut, all the clerks flew to arms, up ran the consular flag, and zizz! + phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars. + </p> + <p> + I need not tell you with what enthusiasm Quixote-Tartarin clutched this + proposition; sad to say, Sancho-Tartarin did not see it in the same light, + and, as he was the stronger party, it never came to anything. But in the + town there was much talk about it. Would he go or would he not? “I’ll lay + he will!”—and “I’ll wager he won’t!” It was the event of the week. + In the upshot, Tartarin did not depart, but the matter redounded to his + credit none the less. Going or not going to Shanghai was all one to + Tarascon. Tartarin’s journey was so much talked about that people got to + believe he had done it and returned, and at the club in the evening + members would actually ask for information on life at Shanghai, the + manners and customs and climate, about opium, and commerce. + </p> + <p> + Deeply read up, Tartarin would graciously furnish the particulars desired, + and, in the end, the good fellow was not quite sure himself about not + having gone to Shanghai, so that, after relating for the hundredth time + how the Tartars came down on the trading post, it would most naturally + happen him to add: + </p> + <p> + “Then I made my men take up arms and hoist the consular flag, and zizz! + phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars.” + </p> + <p> + On hearing this, the whole club would quiver. + </p> + <p> + “But according to that, this Tartarin of yours is an awful liar.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, a thousand times over, no! Tartarin was no liar.” + </p> + <p> + “But the man ought to know that he has never been to Shanghai”— + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, he knows that; but still”— + </p> + <p> + “But still,” you see—mark that! It is high time for the law to be + laid down once for all on the reputation as drawers of the long bow which + Northerners fling at Southerners. There are no Baron Munchausens in the + south of France, neither at Nimes nor Marseilles, Toulouse nor Tarascon. + The Southerner does not deceive but is self-deceived. He does not always + tell the cold-drawn truth, but he believes he does. His falsehood is not + any such thing, but a kind of mental mirage. + </p> + <p> + Yes, purely mirage! The better to follow me, you should actually follow me + into the South, and you will see I am right. You have only to look at that + Lucifer’s own country, where the sun transmogrifies everything, and + magnifies it beyond life-size. The little hills of Provence are no bigger + than the Butte Montmartre, but they will loom up like the Rocky Mountains; + the Square House at Nimes—a mere model to put on your sideboard—will + seem grander than St. Peter’s. You will see—in brief, the only + exaggerator in the South is Old Sol, for he does enlarge everything he + touches. What was Sparta in its days of splendour? a pitiful hamlet. What + was Athens? at the most, a second-class town; and yet in history both + appear to us as enormous cities. This is a sample of what the sun can do. + </p> + <p> + Are you going to be astonished after this that the same sun falling upon + Tarascon should have made of an ex-captain in the Army Clothing Factory, + like Bravida, the “brave commandant;” of a sprout an Indian fig-tree; and + of a man who had missed going to Shanghai one who had been there? + </p> + <p> + VIII. Mitaine’s Menagerie—A Lion from the Atlas at Tarascon—A + Solemn and Fearsome Confrontation. + </p> + <p> + EXHIBITING Tartarin of Tarascon, as we are, in his private life, before + Fame kissed his brow and garlanded him with her well-worn laurel wreath, + and having narrated his heroic existence in a modest state, his delights + and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurriedly skip to the + grandest pages of his story, and to the singular event which was to give + the first flight to his incomparable career. + </p> + <p> + It happened one evening at Costecalde the gunmaker’s, where Tartarin was + engaged in showing several sportsmen the working of the needle-gun, then + in its first novelty. The door suddenly flew open, and in rushed a + bewildered cap-popper, howling “A lion, a lion!” General was the alarm, + stupor, uproar and tumult. Tartarin prepared to resist cavalry with the + bayonet, whilst Costecalde ran to shut the door. The sportsman was + surrounded and pressed and questioned, and here follows what he told them: + Mitaine’s Menagerie, returning from Beaucaire Fair, had consented to stay + over a few days at Tarascon, and was just unpacking, to set up the show on + the Castle-green, with a lot of boas, seals, crocodiles, and a magnificent + lion from the Atlas Mountains. + </p> + <p> + An African lion in Tarascon? + </p> + <p> + Never in the memory of living man had the like been seen. Hence our + dauntless cap-poppers looked at one another how proudly! What a beaming on + their sunburned visages! and in every nook of Costecalde’s shop what + hearty congratulatory grips of the hand were silently exchanged! The + sensation was so great and unforeseen that nobody could find a word to say—not + even Tartarin. + </p> + <p> + Blanched and agitated, with the needle-gun still in his fist, he brooded, + erect before the counter. A lion from the Atlas Range at pistol range from + him, a couple of strides off? a lion, mind you—the beast heroic and + ferocious above all others, the King of the Brute Creation, the crowning + game of his fancies, something like the leading actor in the ideal company + which played such splendid tragedies in his mind’s eye. A lion, heaven be + thanked! and from the Atlas, to boot! It was more than the great Tartarin + could bear. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a flush of blood flew into his face. His eyes flashed. With one + convulsive movement he shouldered the needle-gun, and turning towards the + brave Commandant Bravida (formerly captain in the Army Clothing + Department, please to remember), he thundered to him— + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go have a look at him, commandant.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, here, I say! that’s my gun—my needle-gun you are carrying + off,” timidly ventured the wary Costecalde; but Tartarin had already got + round the corner, with all the cap-poppers proudly lock-stepping behind + him. + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at the menagerie, they found a goodly number of people + there. Tarascon, heroic but too long deprived of sensational shows, had + rushed upon Mitaine’s portable theatre, and had taken it by storm. Hence + the voluminous Madame Mitaine was highly contented. In an Arab costume, + her arms bare to the elbow, iron anklets on, a whip in one hand and a + plucked though live pullet in the other, the noted lady was doing the + honours of the booth to the Tarasconians; and, as she also had “double + muscles,” her success was almost as great as her animals. + </p> + <p> + The entrance of Tartarin with the gun on his shoulder was a damper. + </p> + <p> + All our good Tarasconians, who had been quite tranquilly strolling before + the cages, unarmed and with no distrust, without even any idea of danger, + felt momentary apprehension, naturally enough, on beholding their mighty + Tartarin rush into the enclosure with his formidable engine of war. There + must be something to fear when a hero like he was, came weaponed; so, in a + twinkling, all the space along the cage fronts was cleared. The youngsters + burst out squalling for fear, and the women looked round for the nearest + way out. The chemist Bezuquet made off altogether, alleging that he was + going home for his gun. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, however, Tartarin’s bearing restored courage. With head erect, + the intrepid Tarasconian slowly and calmly made the circuit of the booth, + passing the seal’s tank without stopping, glancing disdainfully on the + long box filled with sawdust in which the boa would digest its raw fowl, + and going to take his stand before the lion’s cage. + </p> + <p> + A terrible and solemn confrontation, this! The lion of Tarascon and the + lion of Africa face to face! + </p> + <p> + On the one part, Tartarin erect, with his hamstrings in tension, and his + arms folded on his gun barrel; on the other, the lion, a gigantic + specimen, humped up in the straw, with blinking orbs and brutish mien, + resting his huge muzzle and tawny full-bottomed wig on his forepaws. Both + calm in their gaze. + </p> + <p> + Singular thing! whether the needle-gun had given him “the needle,” if the + popular idiom is admissible, or that he scented an enemy of his race, the + lion, who had hitherto regarded the Tarasconians with sovereign scorn, and + yawned in their faces, was all at once affected by ire. At first he + sniffed; then he growled hollowly, stretching out his claws; rising, he + tossed his head, shook his mane, opened a capacious maw, and belched a + deafening roar at Tartarin. + </p> + <p> + A yell of fright responded, as Tarascon precipitated itself madly towards + the exit, women and children, lightermen, cap-poppers, even the brave + Commandant Bravida himself. But, alone, Tartarin of Tarascon had not + budged. There he stood, firm and resolute, before the cage, lightnings in + his eyes, and on his lip that gruesome grin with which all the town was + familiar. In a moment’s time, when all the cap-poppers, some little + fortified by his bearing and the strength of the bars, re-approached their + leader, they heard him mutter, as he stared Leo out of countenance: + </p> + <p> + “Now, this is something like a hunt!” + </p> + <p> + All the rest of that day, never a word farther could they draw from + Tartarin of Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + IX. Singular effects of Mental Mirage. + </p> + <p> + CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin had + unfortunately still said overmuch. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but the + near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting. You are + all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not breathed a word + on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its usual effect. In brief, + all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the departure. + </p> + <p> + On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde’s, friends accosted one + another with a startled aspect: + </p> + <p> + “And furthermore, you know the news, at least?” + </p> + <p> + “And furthermore, rather? Tartarin’s setting out, at least?” + </p> + <p> + For at Tarascon all phrases begin with “and furthermore,” and conclude + with “at least,” with a strong local accent. Hence, on this occasion more + than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the windows shivered. + </p> + <p> + The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was going + away to Africa, was Tartarin himself. But only see what vanity is! Instead + of plumply answering that he was not going at all, and had not even had + the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of them mentioning the journey + to him, observed with a neat little evasive air, “Aha! maybe I shall—but + I do not say as much.” The second time; a trifle more familiarised with + the idea, he replied, “Very likely;” and the third time, “It’s certain.” + </p> + <p> + Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde’s and the club, carried away by the + egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the impression that + bare announcement of his departure had made on the town, the hapless + fellow formally declared that he was sick of banging away at caps, and + that he would shortly be on the trail of the great lions of the Atlas. A + deafening hurrah greeted this assertion. Whereupon more egg-nogg, bravoes, + handshaking, slappings of the shoulder, and a torchlight serenade up to + midnight before Baobab Villa. + </p> + <p> + It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted. This idea of travel + in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder beforehand; and when the house + was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary concert was sounding under + the windows, he had a dreadful “row” with Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a + cracked head, a visionary, imprudent, and thrice an idiot, and detailing + by the card all the catastrophes awaiting him on such an expedition—shipwreck, + rheumatism, yellow fever, dysentery, the black plague, elephantiasis, and + the rest of them. + </p> + <p> + In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any imprudence—that + he would wrap himself up well, and take even superfluous necessaries with + him. Sancho-Tartarin would listen to nothing. The poor craven saw himself + already torn to tatters by the lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like + his late royal highness Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to + appease him a little by explaining that the start was not immediate, as + nothing pressed. + </p> + <p> + It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise without + some preparations. A man is bound to know whither he goes, hang it all! + and not fly off like a bird. Before anything else, the Tarasconian wanted + to peruse the accounts of great African tourists, the narrations of Mungo + Park, Du Chaillu, Dr. Livingstone, Stanley, and so on. + </p> + <p> + In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their + sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand to + support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of privation. + Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day forward he lived + upon water broth alone. The water broth of Tarascon is a few slices of + bread drowned in hot water, with a clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, and + a sprig of laurel. Strict diet, at which you may believe poor Sancho made + a wry face. + </p> + <p> + To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other wise + practices. To break himself into the habit of long marches, he constrained + himself to go round the town seven or eight times consecutively every + morning, either at the fast walk or run, his elbows well set against his + body, and a couple of white pebbles in the mouth, according to the antique + usage. + </p> + <p> + To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, he would go down into his + garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, alone with his + gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab. + </p> + <p> + Finally, so long as Mitaine’s wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, the + cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde’s might spy in the shadow of + the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious figure stalking + up and down. It was Tartarin of Tarascon, habituating himself to hear + without emotion the roarings of the lion in the sombre night. + </p> + <p> + X. Before the Start. + </p> + <p> + PENDING Tartarin’s delay of the event by all sorts of heroic means, all + Tarascon kept an eye upon him, and nothing else was busied about. + Cap-popping was winged, and ballad-singing dead. The piano in Bezuquet’s + shop mouldered away under a green fungus, and the Spanish flies dried upon + it, belly up. Tartarin’s expedition had a put a stopper on everything. + </p> + <p> + Ah, you ought to have seen his success in the parlours. He was snatched + away by one from another, fought for, loaned and borrowed, ay, stolen. + There was no greater honour for the ladies than to go to Mitaine’s + Menagerie on Tartarin’s arms, and have it explained before the lion’s den + how such large game are hunted, where they should be aimed at, at how many + paces off; if the accidents were numerous, and the like of that. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin furnished all the elucidation desired. He had read “The Life of + Jules Gerard, the Lion-Slayer,” and had lion-hunting at his finger ends, + as if he had been through it himself. Hence he orated upon these matters + with great eloquence. + </p> + <p> + But where he shone the brightest was at dinner at Chief Judge Ladeveze’s, + or brave Commandant Bravida’s (the former captain in the Army Clothing + Factory, you will keep in mind), when coffee came in, and all the chairs + were brought up closer together, whilst they chatted of his future hunts. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon, his elbow on the cloth, his nose over his Mocha, our hero would + discourse in a feeling tone of all the dangers awaiting him thereaway. He + spoke of the long moonless night lyings-in-wait, the pestilential fens, + the rivers envenomed by leaves of poison-plants, the deep snow-drifts, the + scorching suns, the scorpions, and rains of grasshoppers; he also + descanted on the peculiarities of the great lions of the Atlas, their way + of fighting, their phenomenal vigour; and their ferocity in the mating + season. + </p> + <p> + Heating with his own recital, he would rise from table, bounding to the + middle of the dining-room, imitating the roar of a lion and the going off + of a rifle crack! bang! the zizz of the explosive bullet—gesticulating + and roaring about till he had overset the chairs. + </p> + <p> + Everybody turned pale around the board: the gentlemen looking at one + another and wagging their heads, the ladies shutting their eyes with + pretty screams of fright, the elderly men combatively brandishing their + canes; and, in the side apartments, the little boys, who had been put to + bed betimes, were greatly startled by the sudden outcries and imitated + gun-fire, and screamed for lights. Meanwhile, Tartarin did not start. + </p> + <p> + XI. “Let’s have it out with swords gentleman, not pins!” + </p> + <p> + A DELICATE question: whether Tartarin really had any intention of going, + and one which the historian of Tartarin would be highly embarrassed to + answer. In plain words, Mitaine’s Menagerie had left Tarascon over three + months, and still the lion-slayer had not started. After all, blinded by a + new mirage, our candid hero may have imagined in perfectly good faith that + he had gone to Algeria. On the strength of having related his future + hunts, he may have believed he had performed them as sincerely as he + fancied he had hoisted the consular flag and fired on the Tartars, zizz, + phit, bang! at Shanghai. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, granting Tartarin was this time again dupe of an illusion, + his fellow-townsfolk were not. When, after the quarter’s expectation, they + perceived that the hunter had not packed even a collar-box, they commenced + murmuring. + </p> + <p> + “This is going to turn out like the Shanghai expedition,” remarked + Costecalde, smiling. + </p> + <p> + The gunsmith’s comment was welcomed all over town, for nobody believed any + longer in their late idol. The simpletons and poltroons—all the + fellows of Bezuquet’s stamp, whom a flea would put to flight, and who + could not fire a shot without closing their eyes—were conspicuously + pitiless. In the club-rooms or on the esplanade, they accosted poor + Tartarin with bantering mien: + </p> + <p> + “And furthermore, when is that trip coming off?” + </p> + <p> + In Costecalde’s shop, his opinions gained no credence, for the cap-poppers + renounced their chief! + </p> + <p> + Next, epigrams dropped into the affair. Chief Judge Ladevese, who + willingly paid court in his leisure hours to the native Muse, composed in + local dialect a song which won much success. It told of a sportsman called + “Master Gervais,” whose dreaded rifle was bound to exterminate all the + lions in Africa to the very last. Unluckily, this terrible gun was of a + strange kind: “though loaded daily, it never went off.” + </p> + <p> + “It never went off”—you will catch the drift. + </p> + <p> + In less than no time, this ditty became popular; and when Tartarin came + by, the longshoremen and the little shoeblacks before his door sang in + chorus— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Muster Jarvey’s roifle + Allus gittin’ chaarged; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle + ‘il hev to git enlaarged; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle’s + Loaded oft—don’t scoff; + Muster Jarvey’s roifle + Nivver do go off!” + </pre> + <p> + But it was shouted out from a safe distance, on account of the double + muscles. + </p> + <p> + Oh, the fragility of Tarascon’s fads! + </p> + <p> + The great object himself feigned to see and hear nothing; but, under the + surface, this sullen and venomous petty warfare much afflicted him. He + felt aware that Tarascon was slipping out of his grip, and that popular + favour was going to others; and this made him suffer horribly. + </p> + <p> + Ah, the huge bowl of popularity! it’s all very well to have a seat in + front of it, but what a scalding you catch when it is overturned! + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding his pain, Tartarin smiled and peacefully jogged on in the + same life as if nothing untoward had happened. Still, the mask of jovial + heedlessness glued by pride on his face would sometimes be suddenly + detached. Then, in lieu of laughter, one saw grief and indignation. Thus + it was that one morning, when the little blackguards yelped “Muster + Jarvey’s Roifle” beneath his window, the wretches’ voices rose even into + the poor great man’s room, where he was shaving before the glass. + (Tartarin wore a full beard, but as it grew very thick, he was obliged to + keep it trimmed orderly.) + </p> + <p> + All at once the window was violently opened, and Tartarin appeared in + shirt-sleeves and nightcap, smothered in lather, flourishing his razor and + shaving-brush, and roaring with a formidable voice: + </p> + <p> + “Let’s have it out with swords, gentlemen, not pins!” + </p> + <p> + Fine words, worthy of history’s record, with only the blemish that they + were addressed to little scamps not higher than their boot-boxes, and who + were quite incapable of holding a smallsword. + </p> + <p> + XII. A memorable Dialogue in the little Baobab Villa. + </p> + <p> + AMID the general falling off, the army alone stuck out firmly for + Tartarin. Brave Commandant Bravida (the former captain in the Army + Clothing Department) continued to show him the same esteem as ever. “He’s + game!” he persisted in saying—an assertion, I beg to believe, fully + worth the chemist Bezuquet’s. Not once did the brave officer let out any + allusion to the trip to Africa; but when the public clamour grew too loud, + he determined to have his say. + </p> + <p> + One evening the luckless Tartarin was in his study, in a brown study + himself, when he saw the commandant stride in, stern, wearing black + gloves, buttoned up to his ears. + </p> + <p> + “Tartarin,” said the ex-captain authoritatively, “Tartarin, you’ll have to + go!” + </p> + <p> + And there he dwelt, erect in the doorway frame, grand and rigid as + embodied Duty. Tartarin of Tarascon comprehended all the sense in + “Tartarin, you’ll have to ago!” + </p> + <p> + Very pale, he rose and looked around with a softened eye upon the cosy + snuggery, tightly closed in, full of warmth and tender light—upon + the commodious easy chair, his books, the carpet, the white blinds of the + windows, beyond which trembled the slender twigs of the little garden. + Then, advancing towards the brave officer, he took his hand, grasped it + energetically, and said in a voice somewhat tearful, but stoical for all + that: + </p> + <p> + “I am going, Bravida.” + </p> + <p> + And go he did, as he said he would. Not straight off though, for it takes + time to get the paraphernalia together. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, he ordered of Bompard two large boxes bound with brass, and + an inscription to be on them: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ————————————————————- + I TARTARIN, OF TARASCON I + I Firearms, &c. I + ————————————————————- +</pre> + <p> + The binding in brass and the lettering took much time. He also ordered at + Tastavin’s a showy album, in which to keep a diary and his impressions of + travel; for a man cannot help having an idea or two strike him even when + he is busy lion-hunting. + </p> + <p> + Next, he had over from Marseilles a downright cargo of tinned eatables, + pemmican compressed in cakes for making soup, a new pattern shelter-tent, + opening out and packing up in a minute, sea-boots, a couple of umbrellas, + a waterproof coat, and blue spectacles to ward off ophthalmia. To + conclude, Bezuquet the chemist made him up a miniature portable medicine + chest stuffed with diachylon plaister, arnica, camphor, and medicated + vinegar. + </p> + <p> + Poor Tartarin! he did not take these safeguards on his own behalf; but he + hoped, by dint of precaution and delicate attentions, to allay + Sancho-Tartarin’s fury, who, since the start was fixed, never left off + raging day or night. + </p> + <p> + XIII. The Departure. + </p> + <p> + EFTSOON arrived the great and solemn day. From dawn all Tarascon had been + on foot, encumbering the Avignon road and the approaches to Baobab Villa. + People were up at the windows, on the roofs, and in the trees; the Rhone + bargees, porters, dredgers, shoeblacks, gentry, tradesfolk, warpers and + weavers, taffety-workers, the club members, in short the whole town; + moreover, people from Beaucaire had come over the bridge, market-gardeners + from the environs, carters in their huge carts with ample tilts, + vinedressers upon handsome mules, tricked out with ribbons, streamers, + bells, rosettes, and jingles, and even, here and there, a few pretty maids + from Arles, come on the pillion behind their sweethearts, with bonny blue + ribbons round the head, upon little iron-grey Camargue horses. + </p> + <p> + All this swarm squeezed and jostled before our good Tartarin’s door, who + was going to slaughter lions in the land of the Turks. + </p> + <p> + For Tarascon, Algeria, Africa, Greece, Persia, Turkey, and Mesopotamia, + all form one great hazy country, almost a myth, called the land of the + Turks. They say “Tur’s,” but that’s a linguistic digression. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of all this throng, the cap-poppers bustled to and fro, proud + of their captain’s triumph, leaving glorious wakes where they had passed. + </p> + <p> + In front of the Indian fig-tree house were two large trucks. From time to + time the door would open, and allow several persons to be spied, gravely + lounging about the little garden. At every new box the throng started and + trembled. The articles were named in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “That there’s the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that’s the + physic-chest; these the gun-cases,”—the cap-poppers giving + explanations. + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden, about ten o’clock, there was a great stir in the + multitude, for the garden gate banged open. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is! here he is!” they shouted. + </p> + <p> + It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two outcries of + stupefaction burst from the assemblage: + </p> + <p> + “He’s a Turk!” “He’s got on spectacles!” + </p> + <p> + In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to + Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers, small + tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around the waist, + the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez, or chechia, on + his head, with something like a long blue tassel thereto. Together with + this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder, a broad hunting-knife in the + girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a revolver on the hip, swinging in + its patent leather case—that is all. No, I cry your pardon, I was + forgetting the spectacles—a pantomimically large pair of azure + barnacles, which came in partly to temper what was rather too fierce in + the bearing of our hero. + </p> + <p> + “Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!” roared the + populace. + </p> + <p> + The great man smiled, but did not salute, on account of the firearms + hindering him. Moreover, he knew now on what popular favour depends; it + may even be that in the depths of his soul he cursed his terrible + fellow-townsfolk, who obliged him to go away and leave his pretty little + pleasure-house with whitened walls and green venetians. But there was no + show of this. + </p> + <p> + Calm and proud, although a little pallid, he stepped out on the footway, + glanced at the hand-carts, and, seeing all was right, lustily took the + road to the railway-station, without even once looking back towards Baobab + Villa. Behind him marched the brave Commandant Bravida, Ladevese the Chief + Judge, Costecalde the gunsmith next, and then all the sportsmen who pop at + caps, preceding the hand-carts and the rag, tag, and bobtail. + </p> + <p> + Before the station the station-master awaited them, an old African veteran + of 1830, who shook Tartarin’s hand many times with fervency. + </p> + <p> + The Paris-to-Marseilles express was not yet in, so Tartarin and his staff + went into the waiting-rooms. To prevent the place being overrun, the + station-master ordered the gates to be closed. + </p> + <p> + During a quarter of an hour, Tartarin promenaded up and down in the rooms + in the midst of his brother marksmen, speaking to them of his journey and + his hunting, and promising to send them skins; they put their names down + in his memorandum-book for a lionskin apiece, as waltzers book for a + dance. + </p> + <p> + Gentle and placid as Socrates on the point of quaffing the hemlock, the + intrepid Tarasconian had a word and a smile for each. He spoke simply, + with an affable mien; it looked as if, before departing, he meant to leave + behind him a wake of charms, regrets, and pleasant memories. On hearing + their leader speak in this way, all the sportsmen felt tears well up, and + some were stung with remorse, to wit, Chief Judge Ladevese and the chemist + Bezuquet. The railway employees blubbered in the corners, whilst the outer + public squinted through the bars and bellowed: “Long live Tartarin!” + </p> + <p> + At length the bell rang. A dull rumble was heard, and a piercing whistle + shook the vault. + </p> + <p> + “The Marseilles express, gen’lemen!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Tartarin! Good luck, old fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye to you all!” murmured the great man, as, with his arms around + the brave Commandant Bravida, he embraced his dear native place + collectively in him. Then he leaped out upon the platform, and clambered + into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who were ready to die with fright + at sight of this stranger with so many pistols and rifles. + </p> + <p> + XIV. The Port of Marseilles—“All aboard, all aboard!” + </p> + <p> + UPON the 1st of December 18—, in clear, brilliant, splendid weather, + under a south winter sun, the startled inhabitants of Marseilles beheld a + Turk come down the Canebiere, or their Regent Street. A Turk, a regular + Turk—never had such a one been seen; and yet, Heaven knows, there is + no lack of Turks at Marseilles. + </p> + <p> + The Turk in question—have I any necessity of telling you it was the + great Tartarin of Tarascon?—waddled along the quays, followed by his + gun-cases, medicine-chest, and tinned comestibles, to reach the + landing-stage of the Touache Company and the mail steamer the Zouave, + which was to transport him over the sea. + </p> + <p> + With his ears still ringing with the home applause, intoxicated by the + glare of the heavens and the reek of the sea, Tartarin fairly beamed as he + stepped out with a lofty head, and between his guns on his shoulders, + looking with all his eyes upon that wondrous, dazzling harbour of + Marseilles, which he saw for the first time. The poor fellow believed he + was dreaming. He fancied his name was Sinbad the Sailor, and that he was + roaming in one of those fantastic cities abundant in the “Arabian Nights.” + As far as eye could reach there spread a forest of masts and spars, + cris-crossing in every way. + </p> + <p> + Flags of all countries floated—English, American, Russian, Swedish, + Greek and Tunisian. + </p> + <p> + The vessels lay alongside the wharves—ay, head on, so that their + bowsprits stuck up out over the strand like rows of bayonets. Over it, + too, sprawled the mermaids, goddesses, madonnas, and other figure-heads in + carved and painted wood which gave names to the ships—all worn by + sea-water, split, mildewed, and dripping. Ever and anon, between the + hulls, a patch of harbour like watered silk splashed with oil. In the + intervals of the yards and booms, what seemed swarms of flies prettily + spotted the blue sky. These were the shipboys, hailing one another in all + languages. + </p> + <p> + On the waterside, amidst thick green or black rivulets coming down from + the soap factories loaded with oil and soda, bustled a mass of + custom-house officers, messengers, porters, and truckmen with their + bogheys, or trolleys, drawn by Corsican ponies. + </p> + <p> + There were shops selling quaint articles, smoky shanties where sailors + were cooking their own queer messes, dealers in pipes, monkeys, parrots, + ropes, sailcloth, fanciful curios, amongst which were mingled + higgledy-piggledy old culverins, huge gilded lanterns, worn-out + pulley-blocks, rusty flukeless anchors, chafed cordage, battered + speaking-trumpets, and marine glasses almost contemporary with the Ark. + Sellers of mussels and clams squatted beside their heaps of shellfish and + yawped their goods. Seamen rolled by with tar-pots, smoking soup-bowls, + and big baskets full of cuttlefish, from which they went to wash the ink + in the milky waters of the fountains. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere a prodigious collection of all kinds of goods: silks, minerals, + wood in stacks, lead in pigs, cloths, sugars, caruba wood logs, colza + seed, liquorice sticks, sugar-canes. The East and the West cheek by jowl, + even to pyramids of Dutch cheeses which the Genoese were dyeing red by + contact with their hands. + </p> + <p> + Yonder was the corn market: porters discharging sacks down the shoots of + lofty elevators upon the pier, and loose grain rolling as a golden torrent + through a blonde dust. Men in red skullcaps were sifting it as they caught + it in large asses’-skin sieves, and loading it upon carts which took their + millward way, followed by a regiment of women and youngsters with wisps + and gleaning baskets. Farther on, the dry docks, where large vessels were + laid low on their sides till their yards dipped in the water; they were + singed with thorn-bushes to free them of sea weed; there rose an odour of + pitch, and the deafening clatter of the sheathers coppering the bottoms + with broad sheets of yellow metal. + </p> + <p> + At whiles a gap in between the masts, in which Tartarin could see the + haven mouth, where the vessels came and went: a British frigate off for + Malta, dainty and thoroughly washed down, with the officer in primrose + gloves, or a large home-port brig hauling out in the midst of uproar and + oaths, whilst the fat captain, in a high silk hat and frockcoat, ordered + the operations in Provencal dialect. Other craft were making forth under + all sail, and, still farther out, more were slowly looming up in the + sunshine as if they were sailing in the air. + </p> + <p> + All the time a frightful riot, the rumbling of carts, the “Haul all, haul + away!” of the shipmen, oaths, songs, steamboat whistles, the bugles and + drums in Forts Saint Jean and Saint Nicolas, the bells of the Major, the + Accoules, and Saint Victor; with the mistral atop of all, catching up the + noises and clamour, and rolling them up together with a furious shaking, + till confounded with its own voice, which intoned a mad, wild, heroic + melody like a grand charging tune—one that filled hearers with a + longing to be off, and the farther the better—a craving for wings. + </p> + <p> + It was to the sound of this splendid blast that the intrepid Tartarin + Tarasco of Tarascon embarked for the land of lions. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISODE THE SECOND, AMONG “THE TURKS” + </h2> + <p> + I. The Passage—The Five Positions of the Fez—The Third Evening + Out—Mercy upon us! + </p> + <p> + JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter—a great + artist, I mean—in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this + second episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin’s red cap in the + three days’ passage it made on board of the Zouave, between France and + Algeria. + </p> + <p> + First would I show you it at the steaming out, upon deck, arrogant and + heroic as it was, forming a glory round that handsome Tarasconian head. + Next would I show you it at the harbour-mouth, when the bark began to + caper upon the waves; I would depict it for you all of a quake in + astonishment, and as though already experiencing the preliminary qualms of + sea-sickness. Then, in the Gulf of the Lion, proportionably to the nearing + the open sea, where the white caps heaved harder, I would make you behold + it wrestling with the tempest, and standing on end upon the hero’s + cranium, with its mighty mane of blue wool bristling out in the spray and + breeze. Position Fourth: at six in the afternoon, with the Corsican coast + in view; the unfortunate chechia hangs over the ship’s side, and + lamentably stares down as though to plumb the depths of ocean. Finally and + lastly, the Fifth Position: at the back of a narrow state-room, in a + box-bed so small it seemed one drawer in a nest of them, something + shapeless rolled on the pillow with moans of desolation. This was the fez—the + fez so defiant at the sailing, now reduced to the vulgar condition of a + nightcap, and pulled down over the very ears of the head of a pallid and + convulsed sufferer. + </p> + <p> + How the people of Tarascon would have kicked themselves for having + constrained the great Tartarin to leave home, if they had but seen him + stretched in the bunk in the dull, wan gleam through the dead-light, amid + the sickly odour of cooking and wet wood—the heart-heaving perfume + of mail-boats; if they had but heard him gurgle at every turn of the + screw, wail for tea every five minutes, and swear at the steward in a + childish treble! + </p> + <p> + On my word of honour as a story-teller, the poor Turk would have made a + paste-board dummy pity him. Suddenly, overcome by the nausea, the hapless + victim had not even the power to undo the Algerian girdle-cloth, or lay + aside his armoury; the lumpy-handled hunting-sword pounded his ribs, and + the leather revolver-case made his thigh raw. To finish him arose the + taunts of Sancho-Tartarin, who never ceased to groan and inveigh: + </p> + <p> + “Well, for the biggest kind of imbecile, you are the finest specimen! I + told you truly how it would be. Ha, ha! you were bound to go to Africa, of + course! Well, old merriman, now you are going to Africa, how do you like + it?” + </p> + <p> + The cruellest part of it was that, from the retreat where he was moaning, + the hapless invalid could hear the passengers in the grand saloon + laughing, munching, singing, and playing at cards. On board the Zouave the + company was as jolly as numerous, composed of officers going back to join + their regiments, ladies from the Marseilles Alcazar Music Hall, + strolling-players, a rich Mussulman returning from Mecca, and a very + jocular Montenegrin prince, who favoured them with imitations of the low + comedians of Paris. Not one of these jokers felt the sea-sickness, and + their time was passed in quaffing champagne with the steamer captain, a + good fat born Marseillais, who had a wife and family as well at Algiers as + at home, and who answered to the merry name of Barbassou. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon hated this pack of wretches; their mirthfulness + deepened his ails. + </p> + <p> + At length, on the third afternoon, there was such an extraordinary + hullabaloo on the deck that our hero was roused out of his long torpor. + The ship’s bell was ringing and the seamen’s heavy boots ran over the + planks. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead! Stop her! Turn astern!” barked the hoarse voice of Captain + Barbassou; and then, “Stop her dead!” + </p> + <p> + There was an abrupt check of movement, a shock, and no more, save the + silent rolling of the boat from side to side like a balloon in the air. + This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven ha’ mercy upon us!” he yelled in a terrifying voice, as, + recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and rushed + upon deck with his arsenal. + </p> + <p> + II. “To arms! to arms” + </p> + <p> + ONLY the arrival, not a foundering. + </p> + <p> + The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead—a fine one of black, + deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated ground ahead + rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a dead + cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into the sea. It + was like Meudon slope with a laundress’s washing hung out to dry. Over it + a vast blue satin sky—and such a blue! + </p> + <p> + A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on the + landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince, who stood + by his side, as he named the different parts of the capital, the Kasbah, + the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A very finely-brought-up prince was + this Montenegrin; moreover, knowing Algeria thoroughly, and fluently + speaking Arabic. Hence Tartarin thought of cultivating his acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the + Tarasconian perceived a row of large black hands clinging to it from over + the side. Almost instantly a Negro’s woolly head shot up before him, and, + ere he had time to open his mouth, the deck was overwhelmed on every side + by a hundred black or yellow desperadoes, half naked, hideous, and + fearsome. Tartarin knew who these pirates were—“they,” of course, + the celebrated “they” who had too often been hunted after by him in the + by-ways of Tarascon. At last they had decided to meet him face to face. At + the outset surprise nailed him to the spot. But when he saw the outlaws + fall upon the luggage, tear off the tarpaulin covering, and actually + commence the pillage of the ship, then the hero awoke. Whipping out his + hunting-sword, “To arms! to arms!” he roared to the passengers; and away + he flew, the foremost of all, upon the buccaneers. “Ques aco? What’s the + stir? What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Captain Barbassou, coming out + of the ‘tweendecks. + </p> + <p> + “About time you did turn up, captain! Quick, quick, arm your men!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, what for? dash it all!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, can’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + “See what?” + </p> + <p> + “There, before you, the corsairs” + </p> + <p> + Captain Barbassou stared, bewildered. At this juncture a tall blackamoor + tore by with our hero’s medicine-chest upon his back. + </p> + <p> + “You cut-throat! just wait for me!” yelled the Tarasconer as he ran after, + with the knife uplifted. + </p> + <p> + But Barbassou caught him in the spring, and holding him by the waist-sash, + bade him be quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Tron de ler! by the throne on high! they’re no pirates. It’s long since + there were any pirates hereabout. Those dark porters are light porters. + Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + “P—p-porters?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather, only come after the luggage to carry it ashore. So put up your + cook’s galley knife, give me your ticket, and walk off behind that nigger—an + honest dog, who will see you to land, and even into a hotel, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + A little abashed, Tartarin handed over his ticket, and falling in behind + the representative of the Dark Continent, clambered down by the + hanging-ladder into a big skiff dancing alongside. All his effects were + already there—boxes, trunks, gun-cases, tinned food,—so + cramming up the boat that there was no need to wait for any other + passengers. The African scrambled upon the boxes, and squatted there like + a baboon, with his knees clutched by his hands. Another Negro took the + oars. Both laughingly eyed Tartarin, and showed their white teeth. + </p> + <p> + Standing in the stern-sheets, making that terrifying face which had + daunted his fellow-countrymen, the great Tarasconian feverishly fumbled + with his hunting-knife haft; for, despite what Barbassou had told him, he + was only half at ease as regarded the intention of these ebony-skinned + porters, who so little resembled their honest mates of Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterwards the skiff landed Tartarin, and he set foot upon + the little Barbary wharf, where, three hundred years before, a Spanish + galley-slave yclept Miguel Cervantes devised, under the cane of the + Algerian taskmaster, a sublime romance which was to bear the title of “Don + Quixote.” + </p> + <p> + III. An Invocation to Cervantes—The Disembarkation—Where are + the Turks?—Not a sign of them—Disenchantment + </p> + <p> + O MIGUEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, if what is asserted be true, to wit, that + wherever great men have dwelt some emanation of their spirits wanderingly + hovers until the end of ages, then what remained of your essence on the + Barbary coast must have quivered with glee on beholding Tartarin of + Tarascon disembark, that marvellous type of the French Southerner, in whom + was embodied both heroes of your work, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. + </p> + <p> + The air was sultry on this occasion. On the wharf, ablaze with sunshine, + were half a dozen revenue officers, some Algerians expecting news from + France, several squatting Moors who drew at long pipes, and some Maltese + mariners dragging large nets, between the meshes of which thousands of + sardines glittered like small silver coins. + </p> + <p> + But hardly had Tartarin set foot on earth before the quay sprang into life + and changed its aspect. A horde of savages, still more hideous than the + pirates upon the steamer, rose between the stones on the strand and rushed + upon the new-comer. Tall Arabs were there, nude under woollen blankets, + little Moors in tatters, Negroes, Tunisians, Port Mahonese, M’zabites, + hotel servants in white aprons, all yelling and shouting, hooking on his + clothes, fighting over his luggage, one carrying away the provender, + another his medicine-chest, and pelting him in one fantastic medley with + the names of preposterously-entitled hotels. + </p> + <p> + Bewildered by all this tumult, poor Tartarin wandered to and fro, swore + and stormed, went mad, ran after his property, and not knowing how to make + these barbarians understand him, speechified them in French, Provencal, + and even in dog Latin: “Rosa, the rose; bonus, bona, bonum!”—all + that he knew—but to no purpose. He was not heeded. Happily, like a + god in Homer, intervened a little fellow in a yellow-collared tunic, and + armed with a long running-footman’s cane, who dispersed the whole + riff-raff with cudgel-play. He was a policeman of the Algerian capital. + Very politely, he suggested Tartarin should put up at the Hotel de + l’Europe, and he confided him to its waiters, who carted him and his + impedimenta thither in several barrows. + </p> + <p> + At the first steps he took in Algiers, Tartarin of Tarascon opened his + eyes widely. Beforehand he had pictured it as an Oriental city—a + fairy one, mythological, something between Constantinople and Zanzibar; + but it was back into Tarascon he fell. Cafes, restaurants, wide streets, + four-storey houses, a little market-place, macadamised, where the infantry + band played Offenbachian polkas, whilst fashionably clad gentlemen + occupied chairs, drinking beer and eating pancakes, some brilliant ladies, + some shady ones, and soldiers—more soldiers—no end of + soldiers, but not a solitary Turk, or, better to say, there was a solitary + Turk, and that was he. + </p> + <p> + Hence he felt a little abashed about crossing the square, for everybody + looked at him. The musicians stopped, the Offenbachian polka halting with + one foot in the air. + </p> + <p> + With both guns on his shoulders, and the revolver flapping on his hip, as + fierce and stately as Robinson Crusoe, Tartarin gravely passed through the + groups; but on arriving at the hotel his powers failed him. All spun and + mingled in his head: the departure from Tarascon, the harbour of + Marseilles, the voyage, the Montenegrin prince, the corsairs. They had to + help him up into a room and disarm and undress him. They began to talk of + sending for a medical adviser; but hardly was our hero’s head upon the + pillow than he set to snoring, so loudly and so heartily that the landlord + judged the succour of science useless, and everybody considerately + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + IV. The First Lying in Wait. + </p> + <p> + THREE o’clock was striking by the Government clock when Tartarin awoke. He + had slept all the evening, night, and morning, and even a goodish piece of + the afternoon. It must be granted, though, that in the last three days the + red fez had caught it pretty hot and lively! + </p> + <p> + Our hero’s first thought on opening his eyes was, “I am in the land of the + lions!” And—well, why should we not say it?—at the idea that + lions were nigh hereabouts, within a couple of steps, almost at hand’s + reach, and that he would have to disentangle a snarled skein with them, + ugh! a deadly chill struck him, and he dived intrepidly under the + coverlet. + </p> + <p> + But, before a moment was over, the outward gaiety, the blue sky, the + glowing sun that streamed into the bedchamber, a nice little breakfast + that he ate in bed, his window wide open upon the sea, the whole flavoured + with an uncommonly good bottle of Crescia wine—it very speedily + restored him his former pluckiness. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s out and at the lion!” he exclaimed, throwing off the clothes and + briskly dressing himself. + </p> + <p> + His plan was as follows: he would go forth from the city without saying a + word to a soul, plunge into the great desert, await nightfall to ambush + himself, and bang away at the first lion who walked up. Then would he + return to breakfast in the morning at the hotel, receive the felicitations + of the natives, and hire a cart to bring in the quarry. + </p> + <p> + So he hurriedly armed himself, attached upright on his back the + shelter-tent (which, when rolled up, left its centre pole sticking out a + clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as + though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody, from + fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and + threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of Algerian + Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so many spiders; + crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer ward, and lastly came + upon the dusty Mustapha highway. + </p> + <p> + Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney coaches, + corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts drawn by bullocks, + squads of Chasseurs d’Afrique, droves of microscopic asses, trucks of + Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet cloaks—all filed by in a + whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts, songs, and trumpetcalls, between + two rows of vile-looking booths, at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais + women might be seen doing their hair, drinking-dens filled with soldiers, + and shops of butchers and knackers. + </p> + <p> + “What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!” grumbled the great Tartarin; + “there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely, + stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock, + and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not be far + Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes’ time he did see a whole band of + lion-hunters coming his way under arms. + </p> + <p> + “Cowards!” thought our hero as he skirted them; “downright cowards, to go + at a lion in companies and with dogs!” + </p> + <p> + For it never could occur to him that anything but lions were objects of + the chase in Algeria. For all that, these Nimrods wore such complacent + phizzes of retired tradesmen, and their style of lion-hunting with dogs + and game-bags was so patriarchal, that the Tarasconian, a little + perplexed, deemed it incumbent to question one of the gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + “And furthermore, comrade, is the sport good?” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad,” responded the other, regarding the speaker’s imposing warlike + equipment with a scared eye. + </p> + <p> + “Killed any?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather! Not so bad—only look.” Whereupon the Algerian sportsman + showed that it was rabbits and woodcock stuffing out the bag. + </p> + <p> + “What! do you call that your bag? Do you put such-like in your bag?” + </p> + <p> + “Where else should I put ‘em?” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s such little game.” + </p> + <p> + “Some run small and some run large,” observed the hunter. + </p> + <p> + In haste to catch up with his companions, he joined them with several long + strides. The dauntless Tartarin remained rooted in the middle of the road + with stupefaction. “Pooh!” he ejaculated, after a moment’s reflection, + “these are jokers. They haven’t killed anything whatever,” and he went his + way. + </p> + <p> + Already the houses became scarcer, and so did the passengers. Dark came on + and objects were blurred, though Tartarin walked on for half an hour more, + when he stopped, for it was night. A moonless night, too, but sprinkled + with stars. On the highroad there was nobody. The hero concluded that + lions are not stage-coaches, and would not of their own choice travel the + main ways. So he wheeled into the fields, where there were brambles and + ditches and bushes at every step, but he kept on nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly he halted. + </p> + <p> + “I smell lions about here!” said our friend, sniffing right and left. + </p> + <p> + V. Bang, bang! + </p> + <p> + CERTAINLY a great wilderness, bristling with odd plants of that Oriental + kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble starlight their + magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. On the right loomed up + confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain—perhaps the Atlas range. On + the heart-hand, the invisible sea hollowly rolling. The very spot to + attract wild beasts. + </p> + <p> + With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of + Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good couple, and + nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his books, the great + lion-slayers never went out hunting without having a lamb or a kid along + with them, which they tied up a space before them, and set bleating or + baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. Not having any goat, the + Tarasconer had the idea of employing an imitation, and he set to crying in + a tremulous voice: + </p> + <p> + “Baa-a-a!” + </p> + <p> + At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little + alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa-ed more + loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many times running at + the top of his voice, till the “Baa, baa, baa!” came out with so much + power that the goat began to be mistakable for a bull. + </p> + <p> + Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing appeared. He + was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the ground, bounded up, + rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but returned and stopped short. + Who could doubt it was the lion? for now its four short legs could plainly + be seen, its formidable mane and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom. + </p> + <p> + Up went his gun into position. Fire’s the word! and bang, bang! it was + done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing of the + hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian’s shot a terrible roaring replied. + </p> + <p> + “He’s got it!” cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his sturdy + supporters, he prepared to receive the brute’s charge. + </p> + <p> + But it had more than its fill, and galloped off; howling. He did not + budge, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story-books + always lay it down she should. + </p> + <p> + Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours’ waiting the + Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was getting cool, + and the sea-breeze pricked sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + To avoid catching rheumatism, he had recourse to his patent tent. But + here’s where Old Nick interfered! This tent was of so very ingenious a + construction that he could not manage to open it. In vain did he toil over + it and perspire an hour through—the confounded apparatus would not + come unfolded. There are some umbrellas which amuse themselves under + torrential rains with just such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out with the + struggle, the victim dashed down the machine and lay upon it, swearing + like the regular Southron he was. “Tar, tar, rar, tar! tar, rar, tar!” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth’s that?” wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused. + </p> + <p> + It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d’Afrique sounding the turn-out in the + Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, for he had + believed himself out in the boundless wilderness; and do you know where he + really was?—in a field of artichokes, between a cabbage-garden and a + patch of beets. His Sahara grew kitchen vegetables. + </p> + <p> + Close to him, on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha, the snowy + villas glowed in the rosy rising sun: anybody would believe himself in the + neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides and bastidons. + </p> + <p> + The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped country + much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour. + </p> + <p> + “These folk are crazy,” he reasoned, “to plant artichokes in the + prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. Lions + have come here, and there’s the proof.” + </p> + <p> + What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its + flight. Bending over this ruddy trail with his eye on the lookout and his + revolver in his fist, the valiant Tarasconian went from artichoke to + artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled grass was a pool + of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its flank, with a large + wound in the head, was a—guess what? + </p> + <p> + “A lion, of course!” + </p> + <p> + Not a bit of it! An ass!—one of those little donkeys so common in + Algeria, where they are called bourriquots. + </p> + <p> + VI. Arrival of the Female—A Terrible Combat—“Game Fellows Meet + Here!” + </p> + <p> + LOOKING on his hapless victim, Tartarin’s first impulse was one of + vexation. There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack! His + second feeling was one of pity. The poor bourriquot was so pretty and + looked so kindly. The hide on his still warm sides heaved and fell like + waves. Tartarin knelt down, and strove with the end of his Algerian sash + to stanch the blood; and all you can imagine in the way of touchingness + was offered by the picture of this great man tending this little ass. + </p> + <p> + At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not twopennyworth of + life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked his long ears two or + three times, as much as to say, “Oh, thank you!” before a final spasm + shook it from head to tail, whereafter it stirred no more. + </p> + <p> + “Noiraud! Blackey!” suddenly screamed a voice, choking with anguish, as + the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same time. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon guard. This + was the female! + </p> + <p> + She rushed up, fearsome and roaring, under form of an old Alsatian woman, + her hair in a kerchief, armed with large red umbrella, and calling for her + ass, till all the echoes of Mustapha rang. It certainly would have been + better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a lioness in fury than this + old virago. In vain did the luckless sportsman try to make her understand + how the blunder had occurred, and he had mistaken “Noiraud” for a lion. + The harridan believed he was making fun of her, and uttering energetical + “Der Teufels!” fell upon our hero to bang him with the gingham. A little + bewildered, Tartarin defended himself as best he could, warding off the + blows with his rifle, streaming with perspiration, panting, jumping about, + and crying out: + </p> + <p> + “But, Madame, but”— + </p> + <p> + Much good his buts were! Madame was dull of hearing, and her blows + continued hard as ever. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield, the Alsatian’s + husband, of the same race; a roadside innkeeper, as well as a very good + ready-reckoner, which was better. When he saw what kind of a customer he + had to deal with—a slaughterer who only wanted to pay the value of + his victim—he disarmed his better-half, and they came to an + understanding. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin gave two hundred francs, the donkey being worth about ten—at + least that is the current price in the Arab markets. Then poor Blackey was + laid to rest at the root of a fig-tree, and the Alsatian, raised to + joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats, invited the hero to have a + quencher with him in his wine-shop, which stood only a few steps off on + the edge of the highway. Every Sunday the sportsmen from the city came + there to regale of a morning, for the plain abounded with game, and there + was no better place for rabbits for two leagues around. + </p> + <p> + “How about lions?” inquired Tartarin. + </p> + <p> + The Alsatian stared at him, greatly astounded. + </p> + <p> + “Lions!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lions. Don’t you see them sometimes?” resumed the poor fellow, with + less confidence. + </p> + <p> + The Boniface burst out in laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here?” + </p> + <p> + “Are there, then, none in Algeria?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years in the + colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing—leastwise, + I fancy the newspapers said—but that is ever so much farther inland—down + South, you know”— + </p> + <p> + At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a + withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted on the + wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, feeding: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE.” + </pre> + <p> + “Game fellows!” It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida. + </p> + <p> + VII. About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine. + </p> + <p> + COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first adventure, but + men of Tartarin’s mettle do not easily get cast down. + </p> + <p> + “The lions are in the South, are they?” mused the hero. “Very well, then. + South I go.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful he jumped up, thanked his + host, nodded good-bye to the old hag without any ill-will, dropped a final + tear over the hapless Blackey, and quickly returned to Algiers, with the + firm intention of packing up and starting that very day for the South. + </p> + <p> + The Mustapha highroad seemed, unfortunately, to have stretched since + overnight; and what a sun and dust there were, and what a weight in that + shelter-tent! Tartarin did not feel to have the courage to walk to the + town, and he beckoned to the first omnibus coming along, and climbed in. + </p> + <p> + Oh, our poor Tartarin of Tarascon! how much better it would have been for + his name and fame not to have stepped into that fatal ark on wheels, but + to have continued on his road afoot, at the risk of falling suffocated + beneath the burden of the atmosphere, the tent, and his heavy + double-barrelled rifles. + </p> + <p> + When Tartarin got in the ‘bus was full. At the end, with his nose in his + prayer-book, sat a large and black-bearded vicar from town; facing him was + a young Moorish merchant smoking coarse cigarettes, and a Maltese sailor + and four or five Moorish women muffled up in white cloths, so that only + their eyes could be spied. + </p> + <p> + These ladies had been to offer up prayers in the Abdel Kader cemetery; but + this funereal visit did not seem to have much saddened them, for they + could be heard chuckling and chattering between themselves under their + coverings whilst munching pastry. Tartarin fancied that they watched him + narrowly. One in particular, seated over against him, had fixed her eyes + upon his, and never took them off all the drive. Although the dame was + veiled, the liveliness of the big black eyes, lengthened out by k’hol; a + delightfully slender wrist loaded with gold bracelets, of which a glimpse + was given from time to time among the folds; the sound of her voice, the + graceful, almost childlike, movements of the head, all revealed that a + young, pretty, and loveable creature bloomed underneath the veil. The + unfortunate Tartarin did not know where to shrink. The fond, mute gaze of + these splendrous Oriental orbs agitated him, perturbed him, and made him + feel like dying with flushes of heat and fits of cold shivers. + </p> + <p> + To finish him, the lady’s slipper meddled in the onslaught: he felt the + dainty thing wander and frisk about over his heavy hunting boots like a + tiny red mouse. What could he do? Answer the glance and the pressure, of + course. Ay, but what about the consequences? A loving intrigue in the East + is a terrible matter! With his romantic southern nature, the honest + Tarasconian saw himself already falling into the grip of the eunuchs, to + be decapitated, or better—we mean, worse—than that, sewn up in + a leather sack and sunk in the sea with his head under his arm beside him. + This somewhat cooled him. In the meantime the little slipper continued its + proceedings, and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black velvet + flowers, seemed to say: + </p> + <p> + “Come, cull us!” + </p> + <p> + The ‘bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue Bab-Azoon. + One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers, and drawing their + mufflers around them with wild grace, the Moorish women alighted. + Tartarin’s confrontatress was the last to rise, and in doing so her + countenance skimmed so closely to our hero’s that her breath enveloped him—a + veritable nosegay of youth and freshness, with an indescribable after-tang + of musk, jessamine, and pastry. + </p> + <p> + The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and ready for + anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling sound of his + belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled mouth, as one who + would say, “Hush!” and with the other hand quickly tossed him a little + wreath of sweet-scented jessamine flowers. Tartarin of Tarascon stooped to + pick it up; but as he was rather clumsy, and much overburdened with + implements of war, the operation took rather long. When he did straighten + up, with the jessamine garland upon his heart, the donatrix had vanished. + </p> + <p> + VIII. Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace! + </p> + <p> + LIONS of the Atlas, sleep!—sleep tranquilly at the back of your + lairs amid the aloes and cacti. For a few days to come, any way, Tartarin + of Tarascon will not massacre you. For the time being, all his warlike + paraphernalia, gun-cases, medicine chest, alimentary preserves, dwelt + peacefully under cover in a corner of room 36 in the Hotel de l’Europe. + </p> + <p> + Sleep with no fear, great red lions, the Tarasconian is engaged in looking + up that Moorish charmer. Since the adventure in the omnibus, the + unfortunate swain perpetually fancied he felt the fidgeting of that pretty + red mouse upon his huge backwoods trapper’s foot; and the sea-breeze + fanning his lips was ever scented, do what he would, with a love-exciting + odour of sweet cakes and patchouli. + </p> + <p> + He hungered for his indispensable light of the harem! and he meant to + behold her anew. + </p> + <p> + But it was no joke of a task. To find one certain person in a city of a + hundred thousand souls, only known by the eyes, breath, and slipper,—none + but a son of Tarascon, panoplied by love, would be capable of attempting + such an adventure. + </p> + <p> + The plague is that, under their broad white mufflers, all the Moorish + women resemble one another; besides, they do not go about much, and to see + them, a man has to climb up into the native or upper town, the city of the + “Turks,” and that is a regular cut-throat’s den. + </p> + <p> + Little black alleys, very narrow, climbing perpendicularly up between + mysterious house-walls, whose roofs lean to touching and form a tunnel; + low doors, and sad, silent little casements well barred and grated. + Moreover, on both hands, stacks of darksome stalls, wherein ferocious + “Turks” smoked long pipes stuck between glittering teeth in piratical + heads with white eyes, and mumbled in undertones as if hatching wicked + attacks. + </p> + <p> + To say that Tartarin traversed this grisly place without any emotion would + be putting forth falsehood. On the contrary, he was much affected, and the + stout fellow only went up the obscure lanes, where his corporation took up + all the width, with the utmost precaution, his eye skinned, and his finger + on his revolver trigger, in the same manner as he went to the clubhouse at + Tarascon. At any moment he expected to have a whole gang of eunuchs and + janissaries drop upon his back, yet the longing to behold that dark damsel + again gave him a giant’s strength and boldness. + </p> + <p> + For a full week the undaunted Tartarin never quitted the high town. Yes; + for all that period he might have been seen cooling his heels before the + Turkish bath-houses, awaiting the hour when the ladies came forth in + troops, shivering and still redolent of soap and hot water; or squatting + at the doorways of mosques, puffing and melting in trying to get out of + his big boots in order to enter the temples. + </p> + <p> + Betimes at nightfall, when he was returning heart-broken at not having + discovered anything at either bagnio or mosque, our man from Tarascon, in + passing mansions, would hear monotonous songs, smothered twanging of + guitars, thumping of tambourines, and feminine laughter-peals, which would + make his heart beat. + </p> + <p> + “Haply she is there!” he would say to himself. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon, granting the street was unpeopled, he would go up to one of + these dwellings, lift the heavy knocker of the low postern, and timidly + rap. The songs and merriment would instantly cease. There would be audible + behind the wall nothing excepting low, dull flutterings as in a slumbering + aviary. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s stick to it, old boy,” our hero would think. “Something will befall + us yet.” + </p> + <p> + What most often befell him was the contents of the cold-water jug on the + head, or else peel of oranges and Barbary figs; never anything more + serious. + </p> + <p> + Well might the lions of the Atlas Mountains doze in peace. + </p> + <p> + IX. Prince Gregory of Montenegro. + </p> + <p> + IT was two long weeks that the unfortunate Tartarin had been seeking his + Algerian flame, and most likely he would have been seeking after her to + this day if the little god kind to lovers had not come to his help under + the shape of a Montenegrin nobleman. + </p> + <p> + It happened as follows. + </p> + <p> + Every Saturday night in winter there is a masked ball at the Grand Theatre + of Algiers, just as at the Paris Opera-House. It is the undying and + ever-tasteless county fancy dress ball—very few people on the floor, + several castaways from the Parisian students’ ballrooms or midnight + dance-houses, Joans of Arc following the army, faded characters out of the + Java costume-book of 1840, and half-a-dozen laundress’s underlings who are + aiming to make loftier conquests, but still preserve a faint perfume of + their former life—garlic and saffron sauce. The real spectacle is + not there, but in the green-room, transformed for the nonce into a hall of + green cloth or gaming saloon. + </p> + <p> + An enfevered and motley mob hustle one another around the long green + table-covers: Turcos out for the day and staking their double halfpence, + Moorish traders from the native town, Negroes, Maltese, colonists from the + inland, who have come forty leagues in order to risk on a turning card the + price of a plough or of a yoke of oxen; all a-quivering, pale, clenching + their teeth, and with that singular, wavering, sidelong look of the + gamester, become a squint from always staring at the same card in the + lay-out. + </p> + <p> + A little apart are the tribes of Algerian Jews, playing among + acquaintances. The men are in the Oriental costume; hideously varied with + blue stockings and velvet caps. The puffy and flabby women sit up stiffly + in tight golden bodices. Grouped around the tables, the whole tribe wail, + squeal, combine, reckon on the fingers, and play but little. Now and anon, + however, after long conferences, some old patriarch, with a beard like + those of saints by the Old Masters, detaches himself from the party and + goes to risk the family duro. As long as the game lasted there would be a + scintillation of Hebraic eyes directed on the board—dreadful black + diamonds, which made the gold pieces shiver, and ended by gently + attracting them, as if drawn by a thread. Then arose wrangles, quarrels, + battles, oaths of every land, mad outcries in all tongues, knives flashing + out, the guard marching in, and the money disappearing. + </p> + <p> + It was into the thick of this saturnalia that the great Tartarin came + straying one evening to find oblivion and heart’s ease. + </p> + <p> + He was roving alone through the gathering, brooding about his Moorish + beauty, when two angered voices arose suddenly from a gaming-table above + all the clamour and chink of coin. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, M’sieu, that I am twenty francs short!” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff, M’sieu!” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff yourself; M’sieu!” + </p> + <p> + “You shall learn whom you are addressing, M’sieu!” + </p> + <p> + “I am dying to do that, M’sieu!” + </p> + <p> + “I am Prince Gregory of Montenegro, M’sieu.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this title Tartarin, much excited, cleft the throng and placed + himself in the foremost rank, proud and happy to find his prince again, + the Montenegrin noble of such politeness whose acquaintance he had begun + on board of the mail steamer. Unfortunately the title of Highness, which + had so dazzled the worthy Tarasconian, did not produce the slightest + impression upon the Chasseurs officer with whom the noble had his dispute. + </p> + <p> + “I am much the wiser!” observed the military gentleman sneeringly; and + turning to the bystanders he added: “‘Prince Gregory of Montenegro’—who + knows any such a person? Nobody!” + </p> + <p> + The indignant Tartarin took one step forward. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me. I know the prince,” said he, in a very firm voice, and with his + finest Tarasconian accent. + </p> + <p> + The light cavalry officer eyed him hard for a moment, and then, shrugging + his shoulders, returned: + </p> + <p> + “Come, that is good! Just you two share the twenty francs lacking between + you, and let us talk no more on the score.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he turned his back upon them and mixed with the crowd. The + stormy Tartarin was going to rush after him, but the prince prevented + that. + </p> + <p> + “Let him go. I can manage my own affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Taking the interventionist by the arm, he drew him rapidly out of doors. + When they were upon the square, Prince Gregory of Montenegro lifted his + hat off; extended his hand to our hero, and as he but dimly remembered his + name, he began in a vibrating voice: + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Barbarin—” + </p> + <p> + “Tartarin!” prompted the other, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Tartarin, Barbarin, no matter! Between us henceforward it is a league of + life and death!” + </p> + <p> + The Montenegrin noble shook his hand with fierce energy. You may infer + that the Tarasconian was proud. + </p> + <p> + “Prince, prince!” he repeated enthusiastically. + </p> + <p> + In a quarter of an hour subsequently the two gentlemen were installed in + the Platanes Restaurant, an agreeable late supper-house, with terraces + running out over the sea, where, before a hearty Russian salad, seconded + by a nice Crescia wine, they renewed the friendship. + </p> + <p> + You cannot image any one more bewitching than this Montenegrin prince. + Slender, fine, with crisp hair curled by the tongs, shaved “a week under” + and pumice-stoned on that, bestarred with out-of-the-way decorations, he + had the wily eye, the fondling gestures, and vaguely the accent of an + Italian, which gave him an air of Cardinal Mazarin without his chin-tuft + and moustaches. He was deeply versed in the Latin tongues, and lugged in + quotations from Tacitus, Horace, and Caesar’s Commentaries at every + opening. + </p> + <p> + Of an old noble strain, it appeared that his brothers had had him exiled + at the age of ten, on account of his liberal opinions, since which time he + had roamed the world for pleasure and instruction as a philosophical + noble. A singular coincidence! the prince had spent three years in + Tarascon; and as Tartarin showed amazement at never having met him at the + club or on the esplanade, His Highness evasively remarked that he never + went about. Through delicacy, the Tarasconian did not dare to question + further. All great existences have such mysterious nooks. + </p> + <p> + To sum up, this Signor Gregory was a very genial aristocrat. Whilst + sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to Tartarin’s + expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to find her speedily, + as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. + </p> + <p> + They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to “The ladies of Algiers” and + “The freedom of Montenegro!” + </p> + <p> + Outside, upon the terrace, heaved the sea, and its rollers slapped the + strand in the darkness with much the sound of wet sails flapping. The air + was warm, and the sky full of stars. + </p> + <p> + In the plane-trees a nightingale was piping. + </p> + <p> + It was Tartarin who paid the piper. + </p> + <p> + X. “Tell me your father’s name, and I will tell you the name of that + flower.” + </p> + <p> + PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince Gregory was + in the Tarasconian’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found, Her name is + Baya. She’s scarce twenty—as pretty as a love, and already a widow.” + </p> + <p> + “A widow! What a slice of luck!” joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who dreaded + Oriental husbands. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the mischief!” + </p> + <p> + “A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar.” + </p> + <p> + Here fell a silence. + </p> + <p> + “A fig for that!” proceeded the prince; “you are not the man to be daunted + by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be pacified, I + daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be quick! On with your + courting suit, you lucky dog!” + </p> + <p> + Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the Tarasconian + leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up his capacious + nether garment, wanted to know how he should act. + </p> + <p> + “Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say she knows French?” queried the Tarasconian simpleton, + with the disappointed mien of one who had believed thoroughly in the + Orient. + </p> + <p> + “Not one word of it,” rejoined the prince imperturbably; “but you can + dictate the billet-doux, and I will translate it bit by bit.” + </p> + <p> + “O prince, how kind you are!” + </p> + <p> + The lover began striding up and down the bedroom in silent meditation. + </p> + <p> + Naturally a man does not write to a Moorish girl in Algiers in the same + way as to a seamstress of Beaucaire. It was a very lucky thing that our + hero had in mind his numerous readings, which allowed him, by amalgamating + the Red Indian eloquence of Gustave Aimard’s Apaches with Lamartine’s + rhetorical flourishes in the “Voyage en Orient,” and some reminiscences of + the “Song of Songs,” to compose the most Eastern letter that you could + expect to see. It opened with: + </p> + <p> + “Like unto the ostrich upon the sandy waste”— + </p> + <p> + and concluded by: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me your father’s name, and I will tell you the name of that flower.” + </p> + <p> + To this missive the romantic Tartarin would have much liked to join an + emblematic bouquet of flowers in the Eastern fashion; but Prince Gregory + thought it better to purchase some pipes at the brother’s, which could not + fail to soften his wild temper, and would certainly please the lady a very + great deal, as she was much of a smoker. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s be off at once to buy them!” said Tartarin, full of ardour. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Let me go alone. I can get them cheaper.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, what? Would you save me the trouble? O prince, prince, you do me + proud!” + </p> + <p> + Quite abashed, the good-hearted fellow offered his purse to the obliging + Montenegrin, urging him to overlook nothing by which the lady would be + gratified. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately the suit, albeit capitally commenced, did not progress as + rapidly as might have been anticipated. It appeared that the Moorish + beauty was very deeply affected by Tartarin’s eloquence, and, for that + matter, three-parts won beforehand, so that she wished nothing better than + to receive him; but that brother of hers had qualms, and to lull them it + was necessary to buy pipes by the dozens; nay, the gross—well, we + had best say by the shipload at once. + </p> + <p> + “What the plague can Baya do with all these pipes?” poor Tartarin wanted + to know more than once; but he paid the bills all the same, and without + niggardliness. + </p> + <p> + At length, after having purchased a mountainous stack of pipes and poured + forth lakes of Oriental poesy, an interview was arranged. I have no need + to tell you with what throbbings of the heart the Tarasconian prepared + himself; with what carefulness he trimmed, brilliantined, and perfumed his + rough cap-popper’s beard, and how he did not forget—for everything + must be thought of—to slip a spiky life-preserver and two or three + six-shooters into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + The ever-obliging prince was coming to this first meeting in the office of + interpreter. + </p> + <p> + The lady dwelt in the upper part of the town. Before her doorway a boy + Moor of fourteen or less was smoking cigarettes; this was the brother in + question, the celebrated Ali. On seeing the pair of visitors arrive, he + gave a double knock on the postern gate and delicately glided away. + </p> + <p> + The door opened. A negress appeared, who conducted the gentlemen, without + uttering a word, across the narrow inner courtyard into a small cool room, + where the lady awaited them, reclining on a low ottoman. At first glance + she appeared smaller and stouter than the Moorish damsel met in the + omnibus by the Tarasconian. In fact, was it really the same? But the doubt + merely flashed through Tartarin’s brain like a stroke of lightning. + </p> + <p> + The dame was so pretty thus, with her feet bare, and plump fingers, fine + and pink, loaded with rings. Under her bodice of gilded cloth and the + folds of her flower-patterned dress was suggested a lovable creature, + rather blessed materially, rounded everywhere, and nice enough to eat. The + amber mouthpiece of a narghileh smoked at her lips, and enveloped her + wholly in a halo of light-coloured smoke. + </p> + <p> + On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as + Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes. + </p> + <p> + Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but then, + dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her hands, and + they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild laugh like a bag + full of pearls. + </p> + <p> + XI. Sidi Tart’ri Ben Tart’ri. + </p> + <p> + SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian upper town + after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the natives chatting + among themselves, with many a wink and slight laugh, of one Sidi Tart’ri + Ben Tart’ri, a rich and good-humoured European, who dwelt, a few years + back, in that neighbourhood, with a buxom witch of local origin, named + Baya. + </p> + <p> + This Sidi Tart’ri, who has left such a merry memory around the Kasbah, is + no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed. + </p> + <p> + How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of saints, + too, it happens the same way—there are moments of blindness, + perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian was no more exempt + from this than another, and that is the reason during two months that, + oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in Oriental amorousness, and + dozed, like Hannibal at Capua, in the delights of Algiers the white. + </p> + <p> + The good fellow took a pretty little house in the native style in the + heart of the Arab town, with inner courtyard, banana-trees, cool + verandahs, and fountains. He dwelt, afar from noise, in company with the + Moorish charmer, a thorough woman to the manner born, who pulled at her + hubble-bubble all day when she was not eating. + </p> + <p> + Stretched out on a divan in front of him, Baya would drone him monotonous + tunes with a guitar in her fist; or else, to distract her lord and master, + favour him with the Bee Dance, holding a hand-glass up, in which she + reflected her white teeth and the faces she made. + </p> + <p> + As the Esmeralda did not know a word of French, and Tartarin none in + Arabic, the conversation died away sometimes, and the Tarasconian had + plenty of leisure to do penance for the gush of language of which he had + been guilty in the shop of Bezuquet the chemist or that of Costecalde the + gunmaker. + </p> + <p> + But this penance was not devoid of charm, for he felt a kind of enjoyable + sullenness in dawdling away the whole day without speaking, and in + listening to the gurgling of the hookah, the strumming of the guitar, and + the faint splashing of the fountain on the mosaic pavement of the yard. + </p> + <p> + The pipe, the bath, and caresses filled his entire life. They seldom went + out of doors. Sometimes with his lady-love upon a pillion, Sidi Tart’ri + would ride upon a sturdy mule to eat pomegranates in a little garden he + had purchased in the suburbs. But never, without exception, did he go down + into the European quarter. This kind of Algiers appeared to him as ugly + and unbearable as a barracks at home, with its Zouaves in revelry, its + music-halls crammed with officers, and its everlasting clank of metal + sabre-sheaths under the arcades. + </p> + <p> + The sum total is, that our Tarasconian was very happy. + </p> + <p> + Sancho-Tartarin particularly, being very sweet upon Turkish pastry, + declared that one could not be more satisfied than by this new existence. + Quixote-Tartarin had some twinges at whiles on thinking of Tarascon and + the promises of lion-skins; but this remorse did not last, and to drive + away such dampening ideas there sufficed one glance from Baya, or a + spoonful of those diabolical dizzying and odoriferous sweetmeats like + Circe’s brews. + </p> + <p> + In the evening Gregory came to discourse a little about a free Black + Mountain. Of indefatigable obligingness, this amiable nobleman filled the + functions of an interpreter in the household, or those of a steward at a + pinch, and all for nothing for the sheer pleasure of it. Apart from him, + Tartarin received none but “Turks.” All those fierce-headed pirates who + had given him such frights from the backs of their black stalls turned + out, when once he made their acquaintance, to be good inoffensive + tradesmen, embroiderers, dealers in spice, pipe-mouthpiece turners—well-bred + fellows, humble, clever, close, and first-class hands at homely card + games. Four or five times a week these gentry would come and spend the + evening at Sidi Tart’ri’s, winning his small change, eating his cakes and + dainties, and delicately retiring on the stroke of ten with thanks to the + Prophet. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Sidi Tart’ri and his faithful spouse by the broomstick wedding + would finish the evening on their terrace, a broad white roof which + overlooked the city. + </p> + <p> + All around them a thousand of other such white flats, placid beneath the + moonshine, were descending like steps to the sea. The breeze carried up + tinkling of guitars. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, like a shower of firework stars, a full, clear melody would be + softly sprinkled out from the sky, and on the minaret of the neighbouring + mosque a handsome muezzin would appear, his blanched form outlined on the + deep blue of the night, as he chanted the glory of Allah with a marvellous + voice, which filled the horizon. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon Baya would let go her guitar, and with her large eyes turned + towards the crier, seem to imbibe the prayer deliciously. As long as the + chant endured she would remain thrilled there in ecstasy, like an Oriental + saint. The deeply impressed Tartarin would watch her pray, and conclude + that it must be a splendid and powerful creed that could cause such + frenzies of faith. + </p> + <p> + Tarascon, veil thy face! here is a son of thine on the point of becoming a + renegade! + </p> + <p> + XII. The Latest Intelligence from Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + PARTING from his little country seat, Sidi Tart’ri was returning alone on + his mule on a fine afternoon, when the sky was blue and the zephyrs warm. + His legs were kept wide apart by ample saddle-bags of esparto cloth, + swelled out with cedrats and water-melons. Lulled by the ring of his large + stirrups, and rocking his body to the swing and swaying of the beast, the + good fellow was thus traversing an adorable country, with his hands folded + on his paunch, three-quarters gone, through heat, in a comfortable doze. + All at once, on entering the town, a deafening appeal aroused him. + </p> + <p> + “Ahoy! What a monster Fate is! Anybody’d take this for Monsieur Tartarin.” + </p> + <p> + On this name, and at the jolly southern accent, the Tarasconian lifted his + head, and perceived, a couple of steps away, the honest tanned visage of + Captain Barbassou, master of the Zouave, who was taking his absinthe at + the door of a little coffee-house. + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Lord love you, Barbassou!” said Tartarin, pulling up his mule. + </p> + <p> + Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a space + ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart’ri sat back + dumbfounded on his melons. + </p> + <p> + “What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, what they + say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is she still singing + ‘Marco la Bella’?” + </p> + <p> + “Marco la Bella!” repeated the indignant Tartarin. “I’ll have you to know, + captain, that the person you mention is an honourable Moorish lady, and + one who does not know a word of French.” + </p> + <p> + “Baya does not know French! What lunatic asylum do you hail from, then?” + </p> + <p> + The good captain broke into still heartier laughter; but, seeing the chops + of poor Sidi Tart’ri fall he changed his course. + </p> + <p> + “Howsoever, may happen it is not the same lass. Let’s reckon that I have + mixed ‘em up. Still, mark you, Monsieur Tartarin, you will do well, + nonetheless, to distrust Algerian Moors and Montenegrin princes.” + </p> + <p> + Tartarin rose in the stirrups, making a wry face. + </p> + <p> + “The prince is my friend, captain.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, don’t wax wrathy. Won’t you have some bitters to sweeten you? + No? Haven’t you anything to say to the folks at home, neither? Well, then, + a pleasant journey. By the way, mate, I have some good French ‘bacco upon + me, and if you would like to carry away a few pipefuls, you have only to + take some. Take it, won’t you? It’s your beastly Oriental ‘baccoes that + have befogged your brain.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this the captain went back to his absinthe, whilst the moody Tartarin + trotted slowly on the road to his little house. Although his great soul + refused to credit anything, Barbassou’s insinuations had vexed him, and + the familiar adjurations and home accent had awakened vague remorse. + </p> + <p> + He found nobody at home, Baya having gone out to the bath. The negress + appeared sinister and the dwelling saddening. A prey to inexpressible + melancholy, he went and sat down by the fountain to load a pipe with + Barbassou’s tobacco. It was wrapped up in a piece of the Marseilles + Semaphore newspaper. On flattening it out, the name of his native place + struck his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Our Tarascon correspondent writes:— + </p> + <p> + “The city is in distress. There has been no news for several months from + Tartarin the lion-slayer, who set off to hunt the great feline tribe in + Africa. What can have become of our heroic fellow-countryman? Those hardly + dare ask who know, as we do, how hot-headed he was, and what boldness and + thirst for adventures were his. Has he, like many others, been smothered + in the sands, or has he fallen under the murderous fangs of one of those + monsters of the Atlas Range of which he had promised the skins to the + municipality? What a dreadful state of uncertainty! It is true some Negro + traders, come to Beaucaire Fair, assert having met in the middle of the + deserts a European whose description agreed with his; he was proceeding + towards Timbuctoo. May Heaven preserve our Tartarin!” + </p> + <p> + When he read this, the son of Tarascon reddened, blanched, and shuddered. + All Tarascon appeared unto him: the club, the cap-poppers, Costecalde’s + green arm-chair, and, hovering over all like a spread eagle, the imposing + moustaches of brave Commandant Bravida. + </p> + <p> + At seeing himself here, as he was, cowardly lolling on a mat, whilst his + friends believed him slaughtering wild beasts, Tartarin of Tarascon was + ashamed of himself, and could have wept had he not been a hero. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he leaped up and thundered: + </p> + <p> + “The lion, the lion! Down with him!” + </p> + <p> + And dashing into the dusty lumber-hole where mouldered the shelter-tent, + the medicine-chest, the potted meats, and the gun-cases, he dragged them + out into the middle of the court. + </p> + <p> + Sancho-Tartarin was no more: Quixote-Tartarin occupied the field of active + life. + </p> + <p> + Only the time to inspect his armament and stores, don his harness, get + into his heavy boots, scribble a couple of words to confide Baya to the + prince, and slip a few bank-notes sprinkled with tears into the envelope, + and then the dauntless Tarasconian rolled away in the stage-coach on the + Blidah road, leaving the house to the negress, stupor-stricken before the + pipe, the turban, and babooshes—all the Moslem shell of Sidi Tart’ri + which sprawled piteously under the little white trefoils of the gallery. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EPISODE THE THIRD, AMONG THE LIONS + </h2> + <p> + I. What becomes of the Old Stage-coaches. + </p> + <p> + COME to look closely at the vehicle, it was an old stage-coach all of the + olden time, upholstered in faded deep blue cloth, with those enormous + rough woollen balls which, after a few hours’ journey, finally establish a + raw spot in the small of your back. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon had a corner of the inside, where he installed + himself most free-and-easily: and, preliminarily to inspiring the rank + emanations of the great African felines, the hero had to content himself + with that homely old odour of the stage-coach, oddly composed of a + thousand smells, of man and woman, horses and harness, eatables and + mildewed straw. + </p> + <p> + There was a little of everything inside—a Trappist monk, some Jew + merchants, two fast ladies going to join their regiment, the Third + Hussars, a photographic artist from Orleansville, and so on. But, however + charming and varied was the company, the Tarasconian was not in the mood + for chatting; he remained quite thoughtful, with an arm in the arm-rest + sling-strap and his guns between his knees. All churned up his wits—the + precipitate departure, Baya’s eyes of jet, the terrible chase he was about + to undertake, to say nothing of this European coach; with its Noah’s Ark + aspect, rediscovered in the heart of Africa, vaguely recalling the + Tarascon of his youth, with its races in the suburbs, jolly dinners on the + river-side—a throng of memories, in short. + </p> + <p> + Gradually night came on. The guard lit up the lamps. The rusty diligence + danced creakingly on its old springs; the horses trotted and their bells + jangled. From time to time in the boot arose a dreadful clank of iron: + that was the war material. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon, nearly overcome, dwelt a moment scanning the + fellow-passengers, comically shaken by the jolts, and dancing before him + like the shadows in galanty-shows, till his eyes grew cloudy and his mind + befogged, and only vaguely he heard the wheels grind and the sides of the + conveyance squeak complainingly. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a voice called Tartarin by his name, the voice of an old fairy + godmother, hoarse, broken, and cracked. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Tartarin!” three times. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s calling me?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s I, Monsieur Tartarin. Don’t you recognise me? I am the old + stage-coach who used to do the road betwixt Nimes and Tarascon twenty year + agone. How many times I have carried you and your friends when you went to + shoot at caps over Joncquieres or Bellegarde way! I did not know you again + at the first, on account of your Turk’s cap and the flesh you have + accumulated; but as soon as you began snoring—what a rascal is + good-luck!—I twigged you straight away.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, that’s all right enough!” observed the Tarasconian, a shade + vexed; but softening, he added, “But to the point, my poor old girl; + whatever did you come out here for?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of my own free + will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I was considered good + for nought, and shipped away into Algeria. And I am not the only one + either! Bless you, next to all the old stage-coaches of France have been + packed off like me. We were regarded as too much the conservative—‘the + slow-coaches’—d’ye see, and now we are here leading the life of a + dog. This is what you in France call the Algerian railways.” + </p> + <p> + Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before proceeding. “My + wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I regret my lovely Tarascon! + That was the good time for me, when I was young!—You ought to have + seen me starting off in the morning, washed with no stint of water and all + a-shine, with my wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace + of suns, and my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely when + the postillion cracked his whip to the tune of ‘Lagadigadeou, the + Tarasque! the Tarasque!’ and the guard, his horn in its sling and laced + cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always in a fury, + upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: ‘Right-away!’ + </p> + <p> + “Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks, and + horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look with pride + upon the royal mail coach dart over the king’s highway. + </p> + <p> + “What a splendid road that was, Monsieur Tartarin, broad and well kept, + with its mile-stones, its little heaps of road-metal at regular distances, + and its pretty clumps of vines and olive-trees on either hand! Then, + again, the roadside inns so close together, and the changes of horses + every five minutes! And what jolly, honest chaps my patrons were!—village + mayors and parish priests going up to Nimes to see their prefect or + bishop, taffety-weavers returning openly from the Mazet, collegians out on + holiday leave, peasants in worked smock-frocks, all fresh shaven for the + occasion that morning; and up above, on the top, you gentlemen-sportsmen, + always in high spirits, and singing each your own family ballad to the + stars as you came back in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Deary me! it’s a change of times now! Lord knows what rubbish I am + carting here, come from nobody guesses where! They fill me with small + deer, these negroes, Bedouin Arabs, swashbucklers, adventurers from every + land, and ragged settlers who poison me with their pipes, and all + jabbering a language that the Tower of Babel itself could make nothing of! + And, furthermore, you should see how they treat me—I mean, how they + never treat me: never a brush or a wash. They begrudge me grease for my + axles. Instead of my good fat quiet horses of other days, little Arab + ponies, with the devil in their frames, who fight and bite, caper as they + run like so many goats, and break my splatterboard all to smithereens with + their lashing out behind. Ouch! ouch! there they are at it again! + </p> + <p> + “And such roads! Just here it is bearable, because we are near the + governmental headquarters; but out a bit there’s nothing, Monsieur—not + the ghost of a road at all. We get along as best we can over hill and + dale, over dwarf palms and mastic-trees. Ne’er a fixed change of horses, + the stopping being at the whim of the guard, now at one farm, again at + another. + </p> + <p> + “Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to have a + glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum. After which, ‘Crack on, + postillion!’ to make up for the lost time. Though the sun be broiling and + the dust scorching, we whip on! We catch in the scrub and spill over, but + whip on! We swim rivers, we catch cold, we get swamped, we drown, but + whip! whip! whip! Then in the evening, streaming—a nice thing for my + age, with my rheumatics—I have to sleep in the open air of some + caravanseral yard, open to all the winds. In the dead o’ night jackals and + hyaenas come sniffing of my body; and the marauders who don’t like dews + get into my compartment to keep warm. + </p> + <p> + “Such is the life I lead, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, and that I shall lead + to the day when—burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp nights + until unable to do anything else, I shall fall in some spot of bad road, + where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones of my old carcass”— + </p> + <p> + “Blidah! Blidah!” called out the guard as he opened the door. + </p> + <p> + II. A little gentleman drops in and “drops upon” Tartarin. + </p> + <p> + VAGUELY through the mud-dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon caught a glimpse + of a second-rate but pretty town market-place, regular in shape, + surrounded by colonnades and planted with orange-trees, in the midst of + which what seemed toy leaden soldiers were going through the morning + exercise in the clear roseate mist. The cafes were shedding their + shutters. In one corner there was a vegetable market. It was bewitching, + but it did not smack of lions yet. + </p> + <p> + “To the South! farther to the South!” muttered the good old desperado, + sinking back in his corner. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened. A puff of fresh air rushed in, bearing + upon its wings, in the perfume of the orange-blossoms, a little person in + a brown frock-coat, old and dry, wrinkled and formal, his face no bigger + than your fist, his neckcloth of black silk five fingers wide, a notary’s + letter-case, and umbrella—the very picture of a village solicitor. + </p> + <p> + On perceiving the Tarasconian’s warlike equipment, the little gentleman, + who was seated over against him, appeared excessively surprised, and set + to studying him with burdensome persistency. + </p> + <p> + The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in, whereupon the coach + started off again. The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin, who in the + end took snuff at it. + </p> + <p> + “Does this astonish you?” he demanded, staring the little gentleman full + in the face in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me,” responded the other, very tranquilly. + </p> + <p> + And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in + their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural corpulence, + Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room. + </p> + <p> + The little gentleman’s reply angered him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with your + umbrella?” queried the great man haughtily. + </p> + <p> + The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with the + same lack of emotion, inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Oho, then you are Monsieur”— + </p> + <p> + “Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!” + </p> + <p> + In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the blue + tassel of his fez like a mane. + </p> + <p> + Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction. + </p> + <p> + The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered little + screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent over towards + the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled honour of taking his + likeness. + </p> + <p> + The little gentleman, though, was not awed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions, Monsieur Tartarin?” + he asked, very quietly. + </p> + <p> + The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner. + </p> + <p> + “Is it many have I killed, Monsieur? I wish you had only as many hairs on + your head as I have killed of them.” + </p> + <p> + All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing up on + the little gentleman’s skull. + </p> + <p> + In his turn, the Orleansville photographer struck in: + </p> + <p> + “Yours must be a terrible profession, Monsieur Tartarin. You must pass + some ugly moments sometimes. I have heard that poor Monsieur Bombonnel”—“Oh, + yes, the panther-killer,” said Tartarin, rather disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + “Do you happen to be acquainted with him?” inquired the insignificant + person. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! of course! Know him? Why, we have been out on the hunt over twenty + times together.” + </p> + <p> + The little gentleman smiled. + </p> + <p> + “So you also hunt panthers, Monsieur Tartarin?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes, just for pastime,” said the fiery Tarasconian. “But,” he + added, as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed the + hearts of the two sweethearts of the regiment, “that’s not worth + lion-hunting.” + </p> + <p> + “When all’s said and done,” ventured the photographer, “a panther is + nothing but a big cat.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are!” said Tartarin, not sorry to abate the celebrated + Bombonnel’s glory a little, particularly in the presence of ladies. + </p> + <p> + Here the coach stopped. The conductor came to open the door, and addressed + the insignificant little gentleman most respectfully, saying: + </p> + <p> + “We have arrived, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door was + closed again: + </p> + <p> + “Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, rather + than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, Monsieur + Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do remain a few + panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! they are too small + game for you. As for lion-hunting, that’s all over. There are none left in + Algeria, my friend Chassaing having lately knocked over the last.” + </p> + <p> + Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and trotted away + chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella. + </p> + <p> + “Guard,” asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, “who under + the sun is that poor little mannikin?” + </p> + <p> + “What! don’t you know him? Why, that there’s Monsieur Bombonnel!” + </p> + <p> + III. A Monastery of Lions. + </p> + <p> + AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach to + continue its way towards the South. + </p> + <p> + Two days’ rough jolting, two nights spent with eyes open to spy out of + window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion in the + fields beyond the road—so much sleeplessness well deserved some + hours repose. Besides, if we must tell everything, since his misadventure + with Bombonnel, the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at ease, notwithstanding + his weapons, his terrifying visage, and his red cap, before the + Orleansville photographer and the two ladies fond of the military. + </p> + <p> + So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah, full of fine trees + and fountains; but whilst looking up a suitable hotel, the poor fellow + could not help musing over Bombonnel’s words. Suppose they were true! + Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria? What would be the good then + of so much running about and fatigue? + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, at the turn of a street, our hero found himself face to face + with—with what? Guess! “A donkey, of course!” A donkey? A splendid + lion this time, waiting before a coffee-house door, royally sitting up on + his hind-quarters, with his tawny mane gleaming in the sun. + </p> + <p> + “What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them?” + exclaimed the Tarasconian, as he made a backward jump. + </p> + <p> + On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head, and taking up in his + mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway, humbly held it out + towards Tartarin, who was immovable with stupefaction. A passing Arab + tossed a copper into the bowl, and the lion wagged his tail. Thereupon + Tartarin understood it all. He saw what emotion had prevented him + previously perceiving: that the crowd was gathered around a poor tame + blind lion, and that two stalwart Negroes, armed with staves, were + marching him through the town as a Savoyard does a marmot. + </p> + <p> + The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once. + </p> + <p> + “Wretches that you are!” he roared in a voice of thunder, “thus to debase + such noble beasts!” + </p> + <p> + Springing to the lion, he wrenched the loathsome bowl from between his + royal jaws. The two Africans, believing they had a thief to contend with, + rushed upon the foreigner with uplifted cudgels. There was a dreadful + conflict: the blackamoors smiting, the women screaming, and the youngsters + laughing. An old Jew cobbler bleated out of the hollow of his stall, “Dake + him to the shustish of the beace!” The lion himself; in his dark state, + tried to roar as his hapless champion, after a desperate struggle, rolled + on the ground among the spilt pence and the sweepings. + </p> + <p> + At this juncture a man cleft the throng, made the Negroes stand back with + a word, and the women and urchins with a wave of the hand, lifted up + Tartarin, brushed him down, shook him into shape, and sat him breathless + upon a corner-post. + </p> + <p> + “What, prince, is it you?” said the good Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed, it is I, my valiant friend. As soon as your letter was + received, I entrusted Baya to her brother, hired a post-chaise, flew fifty + leagues as fast as a horse could go, and here I am, just in time to snatch + you from the brutality of these ruffians. What have you done, in the name + of just Heaven, to bring this ugly trouble upon you?” + </p> + <p> + “What done, prince? It was too much for me to see this unfortunate lion + with a begging-bowl in his mouth, humiliated, conquered, buffeted about, + set up as a laughing-stock to all this Moslem rabble”— + </p> + <p> + “But you are wrong, my noble friend. On the contrary, this lion is an + object of respect and adoration. This is a sacred beast who belongs to a + great monastery of lions, founded three hundred years ago by Mahomet Ben + Aouda, a kind of fierce and forbidding La Trappe, full of roarings and + wild-beastly odours, where strange monks rear and feed lions by hundreds, + and send them out all over Northern Africa, accompanied by begging + brothers. The alms they receive serve for the maintenance of the monastery + and its mosques; and the two Negroes showed so much displeasure just now + because it was their conviction that the lion under their charge would + forthwith devour them if a single penny of their collection were lost or + stolen through any fault of theirs.” + </p> + <p> + On hearing this incredible and yet veracious story Tartarin of Tarascon + was delighted, and sniffed the air noisily. “What pleases me in this,” he + remarked, as the summing up of his opinion, “is that, whether Monsieur + Bombonnel likes it or not, there are still lions in Algeria.”— + </p> + <p> + “I should think there were!” ejaculated the prince enthusiastically. “We + will start to-morrow beating up the Shelliff Plain, and you will see lions + enough!” + </p> + <p> + “What, prince! have you an intention to go a-hunting, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Do you think I am going to leave you to march by yourself into + the heart of Africa, in the midst of ferocious tribes of whose languages + and usages you are ignorant! No, no, illustrious Tartarin, I shall quit + you no more. Go where you will, I shall make one of the party.” + </p> + <p> + “O Prince! prince!” + </p> + <p> + The beaming Tartarin hugged the devoted Gregory to his breast at the proud + thought of his going to have a foreign prince to accompany him in his + hunting, after the example of Jules Gerard, Bombonnel, and other famous + lion-slayers. + </p> + <p> + IV. The Caravan on the March. + </p> + <p> + LEAVING Milianah at the earliest hour next morning, the intrepid Tartarin + and the no less intrepid Prince Gregory descended towards the Shelliff + Plain through a delightful gorge shaded with jessamine, carouba, tuyas, + and wild olive-trees, between hedges of little native gardens and + thousands of merry, lively rills which scampered down from rock to rock + with a singing splash—a bit of landscape meet for the Lebanon. + </p> + <p> + As much loaded with arms as the great Tartarin, Prince Gregory had, over + and above that, donned a queer but magnificent military cap, all covered + with gold lace and a trimming of oak-leaves in silver cord, which gave His + Highness the aspect of a Mexican general or a railway station-master on + the banks of the Danube. + </p> + <p> + This plague of a cap much puzzled the beholder; and as he timidly craved + some explanation, the prince gravely answered: + </p> + <p> + “It is a kind of headgear indispensable for travel in Algeria.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst brightening up the peak with a sweep of his sleeve, he instructed + his simple companion in the important part which the military cap plays in + the French connection with the Arabs, and the terror this article of army + insignia alone has the privilege of inspiring, so that the Civil Service + has been obliged to put all its employees in caps, from the extra-copyist + to the receiver-general. To govern Algeria (the prince is still speaking) + there is no need of a strong head, or even of any head at all. A military + cap does it alone, if showy and belaced, and shining at the top of a + non-human pole, like Gessler’s. + </p> + <p> + Thus chatting and philosophising, the caravan proceeded. The barefooted + porters leaped from rock to rock with ape-like screams. The guncases + clanked, and the guns themselves flashed. The natives who were passing, + salaamed to the ground before the magic cap. Up above, on the ramparts of + Milianah, the head of the Arab Department, who was out for an airing with + his wife, hearing these unusual noises, and seeing the weapons gleam + between the branches, fancied there was a revolt, and ordered the + drawbridge to be raised, the general alarm to be sounded, and the whole + town put under a state of siege. A capital commencement for the caravan! + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, before the day ended, things went wrong. Of the black + luggage-bearers, one was doubled up with atrocious colics from having + eaten the diachylon out of the medicine-chest: another fell on the + roadside dead drunk with camphorated brandy; the third, carrier of the + travelling-album, deceived by the gilding on the clasps into the + persuasion that he was flying with the treasures of Mecca, ran off into + the Zaccar on his best legs. + </p> + <p> + This required consideration. The caravan halted, and held a council in the + broken shadow of an old fig-tree. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my advice that we turn up Negro porters from this evening forward,” + said the prince, trying without success to melt a cake of compressed meat + in an improved patent triple-bottomed sauce-pan. “There is, haply, an Arab + trader quite near here. The best thing to do is to stop there, and buy + some donkeys.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; no donkeys,” quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming quite red at + memory of Noiraud. “How can you expect,” he added, hypocrite that he was, + “that such little beasts could carry all our apparatus?” + </p> + <p> + The prince smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend. However weakly and + meagre the Algerian bourriquot may appear to you, he has solid loins. He + must have them so to support all that he does. Just ask the Arabs. Hark to + how they explain the French colonial organisation. ‘On the top,’ they say, + ‘is Mossoo, the Governor, with a heavy club to rap the staff; the staff, + for revenge, canes the soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, and he + hammers the Arab; the Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats the Jew, and + he takes it out of the donkey. The poor bourriquot having nobody to + belabour, arches up his back and bears it all.’ You see clearly now that + he can bear your boxes.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” remonstrated Tartarin, “it strikes me that jackasses will + not chime in nicely with the effect of our caravan. I want something more + Oriental. For instance, if we could only get a camel”— + </p> + <p> + “As many as you like,” said His Highness; and off they started for the + Arab mart. + </p> + <p> + It was held a few miles away, on the banks of the Shelliff. There were + five or six thousand Arabs in tatters here, grovelling in the sunshine and + noisily trafficking, amid jars of black olives, pots of honey, bags of + spices; and great heaps of cigars; huge fires were roasting whole sheep, + basted with butter; in open air slaughter-houses stark naked Negroes, with + ruddy arms and their feet in gore, were cutting up kids hanging from + crosspoles, with small knives. + </p> + <p> + In one corner, under a tent patched with a thousand colours, a Moorish + clerk of the market in spectacles scrawled in a large book. Here was a + cluster of men shouting with rage: it was a spinning-jenny game, set on a + corn-measure, and Kabyles were ready to cut one another’s throats over it. + Yonder were laughs and contortions of delight: it was a Jew trader on a + mule drowning in the Shelliff. Then there were dogs, scorpions, ravens, + and flies—rather flies than anything else. + </p> + <p> + But a plentiful lack of camels abounded. They finally unearthed one, + though, of which the M’zabites were trying to get rid—the real ship + of the desert, the classical, standard camel, bald, woe-begone, with a + long Bedouin head, and its hump, become limp in consequence of unduly long + fasts, hanging melancholically on one side. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin considered it so handsome that he wanted the entire party to get + upon it. Still his Oriental craze! + </p> + <p> + The beast knelt down for them to strap on the boxes. + </p> + <p> + The prince enthroned himself on the animal’s neck. For the sake of the + greater majesty, Tartarin got them to hoist him on the top of the hump + between two boxes, where, proud, and cosily settled down, he saluted the + whole market with a lofty wave of the hand, and gave the signal of + departure. + </p> + <p> + Thunderation! if the people of Tarascon could only have seen him! + </p> + <p> + The camel rose, straightened up its long knotty legs, and stepped out. + </p> + <p> + Oh, stupor! At the end of a few strides Tartarin felt he was losing + colour, and the heroic chechia assumed one by one its former positions in + the days of sailing in the Zouave. This devil’s own camel pitched and + tossed like a frigate. + </p> + <p> + “Prince! prince!” gasped Tartarin pallid as a ghost, as he clung to the + dry tuft of the hump, “prince, let’s get down. I find—I feel that I + m-m-must get off; or I shall disgrace France.” + </p> + <p> + A deal of good that talk was—the camel was on the go, and nothing + could stop it. Behind it raced four thousand barefooted Arabs, waving + their hands and laughing like mad, so that they made six hundred thousand + white teeth glitter in the sun. + </p> + <p> + The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to circumstances. He sadly + collapsed on the hump, where the fez took all the positions it fancied, + and France was disgraced. + </p> + <p> + V. The Night-watch in a Poison-tree Grove. + </p> + <p> + SWEETLY picturesque as was their new steed, our lion-hunters had to give + it up, purely out of consideration for the red cap, of course. So they + continued the journey on foot as before, the caravan tranquilly proceeding + southwardly by short stages, the Tarasconian in the van, the Montenegrin + in the rear, and the camel, with the weapons in their cases, in the ranks. + </p> + <p> + The expedition lasted nearly a month. + </p> + <p> + During that seeking for lions which he never found, the dreadful Tartarin + roamed from douar to douar on the immense plain of the Shelliff, through + the odd but formidable French Algeria, where the old Oriental perfumes are + complicated by a strong blend of absinthe and the barracks, Abraham and + “the Zouzou” mingled, something fairy-tale-like and simply burlesque, like + a page of the Old Testament related by Tommy Atkins. + </p> + <p> + A curious sight for those who have eyes that can see. + </p> + <p> + A wild and corrupted people whom we are civilising by teaching them our + vices. The ferocious and uncontrolled authority of grotesque bashaws, who + gravely use their grand cordons of the Legion of Honour as handkerchiefs, + and for a mere yea or nay order a man to be bastinadoed. It is the justice + of the conscienceless, bespectacled cadis under the palm-tree, Maw-worms + of the Koran and Law, who dream languidly of promotion and sell their + decrees, as Esau did his birthright, for a dish of lentils or sweetened + kouskous. Drunken and libertine cadis are they, formerly servants to some + General Yusuf or the like, who get intoxicated on champagne, along with + laundresses from Port Mahon, and fatten on roast mutton, whilst before + their tents the whole tribe waste away with hunger, and fight with the + harriers for the bones of the lordly feast. + </p> + <p> + All around spread the plains in waste, burnt grass, leafless shrubs, + thickets of cactus and mastic—“the Granary of France!”—a + granary void of grain, alas! and rich alone in vermin and jackals. + Abandoned camps, frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine, they know + not whither, and strewing the road with corpses. At long intervals French + villages, with the dwellings in ruins, the fields untilled, the maddened + locusts gnawing even the window-blinds, and all the settlers in the + drinking-places, absorbing absinthe and discussing projects of reform and + the Constitution. + </p> + <p> + This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the trouble; + but, wrapped up entirely in his leonine-hunger, the son of Tarascon went + straight on, looking to neither right nor left, his eyes steadfastly fixed + on the imaginary monsters which never really appeared. + </p> + <p> + As the shelter-tent was stubborn in not unfolding, and the compressed + meat-cakes would not dissolve, the caravan was obliged to stop, morn and + eve, at tribal camps. Everywhere, thanks to the gorgeous cap of Prince + Gregory, our hunters were welcomed with open arms. They lodged in the + aghas’ odd palaces, large white windowless farmhouses, where they found, + pell-mell, narghilehs and mahogany furniture, Smyrna carpets and moderator + lamps, cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins, and French statuette-decked + clocks in the Louis Philippe style. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere, too, Tartarin was given splendrous galas, diffas, and + fantasias, which, being interpreted, mean feasts and circuses. In his + honour whole goums blazed away powder, and floated their burnouses in the + sun. When the powder was burnt, the agha would come and hand in his bill. + This is what is called Arab hospitality. + </p> + <p> + But always no lions, no more than on London Bridge. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened. Ever bravely + diving more deeply into the South, he spent the days in beating up the + thickets, probing the dwarf-palms with the muzzle of his rifle, and saying + “Boh!” to every bush. And every evening, before lying down, he went into + ambush for two or three hours. Useless trouble, however, for the lion did + not show himself. + </p> + <p> + One evening, though, going on six o’clock, as the caravan scrambled + through a violet-hued mastic-grove, where fat quails tumbled about in the + grass, drowsy through the heat, Tartarin of Tarascon fancied he heard + though afar and very vague, and thinned down by the breeze—that + wondrous roaring to which he had so often listened by Mitaine’s Menagerie + at home. + </p> + <p> + At first the hero feared he was dreaming; but in an instant further the + roaring recommenced more distinct, although yet remote; and this time the + camel’s hump shivered in terror, and made the tinned meats and arms in the + cases rattle, whilst all the dogs in the camps were heard howling in every + corner of the horizon. + </p> + <p> + Beyond doubt this was the lion. + </p> + <p> + Quick, quick! to the ambush. There was not a minute to lose. + </p> + <p> + Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout’s, or saint’s, tomb, + with a white cupola, and the defunct’s large yellow slippers placed in a + niche over the door, and a mass of odd offerings—hems of blankets, + gold thread, red hair—hung on the wall. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in search of a + good spot for lying in wait. Prince Gregory wanted to follow him, but the + Tarasconian refused, bent on confronting Leo alone. But still he besought + His Highness not to go too far away, and, as a measure of foresight, he + entrusted him with his pocket-book, a good-sized one, full of precious + papers and bank-notes, which he feared would get torn by the lion’s claws. + This done, our hero looked up a good place. + </p> + <p> + A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose-laurel shook + in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up. There it + was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself, one knee on the ground, + according to the regular rule, his rifle in his hand, and his huge + hunting-knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank. + </p> + <p> + Night fell. + </p> + <p> + The rosy tint of nature changed into violet, and then into dark blue. A + pretty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand-glass over the + river-pebbles; this was the watering-place of the wild animals. + </p> + <p> + On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which their + heavy paws had traced in the brush—a mysterious path which made + one’s flesh creep. Join to this sensation that from the vague swarming + sound in African forests, the swishing of branches, the velvety-pads of + roving creatures, the jackal’s shrill yelp, and up in the sky, two or + three hundred feet aloft, vast flocks of cranes passing on with screams + like poor little children having their weasands slit. You will own that + there were grounds for a man being moved. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin was so, and even more than that, for the poor fellow’s teeth + chattered, and on the cross-bar of his hunting-knife, planted upright in + the bank, as we repeat, his rifle-barrel rattled like a pair of castanets. + Do not ask too much of a man! There are times when one is not in the mood; + and, moreover, where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid? + </p> + <p> + Well, yes, Tartarin was afraid, and all the time, too, for the matter of + that. Nevertheless, he held out for an hour; better, for two; but heroism + has its limits. Nigh him, in the dry part of the rivulet-bed, the + Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of pebbles rolling. + This time terror lifted him off the ground. He banged away both barrels at + haphazard into the night, and retreated as fast as his legs would carry + him to the marabout’s chapel-vault, leaving his knife standing up in the + sand like a cross commemorative of the grandest panic that ever assailed + the soul of a conqueror of hydras. + </p> + <p> + “Help! this Way, prince; the lion is on me!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence. “Prince, prince, are you there?” + </p> + <p> + The prince was not there. On the white moonlit wall of the fane the camel + alone cast the queer-shaped shadow of his protuberance. Prince Gregory had + cut and run with the wallet of bank-notes. His Highness had been for the + month past awaiting this opportunity. + </p> + <p> + VI. Bagged him at Last. + </p> + <p> + IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and dramatic eve + that our hero awoke, and acquired assurance doubly sure that the prince + and the treasure had really gone off, without any prospect of return. When + he saw himself alone in the little white tombhouse, betrayed, robbed, + abandoned in the heart of savage Algeria, with a one-humped camel and some + pocket-money as all his resources, then did the representative of Tarascon + for the first time doubt. He doubted Montenegro, friendship, glory, and + even lions; and the great man blubbered bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary, holding his + head between his hands and his gun between his legs, with the camel + mooning at him, the thicket over the way was divided, and the + stupor-stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen paces off. + It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars, which made the + temple walls shake beneath their votive decorations, and even the saint’s + slippers dance in their niche. + </p> + <p> + The Tarasconian alone did not tremble. + </p> + <p> + “At last you’ve come!” he shouted, jumping up and levelling the rifle. + </p> + <p> + Bang, bang! went a brace of shells into its head. + </p> + <p> + It was done. For a minute, on the fiery background of the African sky, + there was a dreadful firework display of scattered brains, smoking blood, + and tawny hair. When all fell, Tartarin perceived two colossal Negroes + furiously running towards him, brandishing cudgels. They were his two + Negro acquaintances of Milianah! + </p> + <p> + Oh, misery! + </p> + <p> + This was the domesticated lion, the poor blind beggar of the Mohammed + Monastery, whom the Tarasconian’s bullets had knocked over. + </p> + <p> + This time, spite of Mahound, Tartarin escaped neatly. Drunk with fanatical + fury, the two African collectors would have surely beaten him to pulp had + not the god of chase and war sent him a delivering angel in the shape of + the rural constable of the Orleansville commune. By a bypath this garde + champetre came up, his sword tucked under his arm. + </p> + <p> + The sight of the municipal cap suddenly calmed the Negroes’ choler. + Peaceful and majestic, the officer with the brass badge drew up a report + on the affair, ordered the camel to be loaded with what remained of the + king of beasts, and the plaintiffs as well as the delinquent to follow + him, proceeding to Orleansville, where all was deposited with the + law-courts receiver. + </p> + <p> + There issued a long and alarming case! + </p> + <p> + After the Algeria of the native tribes which he had overrun, Tartarin of + Tarascon became thence acquainted with another Algeria, not less weird and + to be dreaded—the Algeria in the towns, surcharged with lawyers and + their papers. He got to know the pettifogger who does business at the back + of a cafe—the legal Bohemian with documents reeking of wormwood + bitters and white neckcloths spotted with champoreau; the ushers, the + attorneys, all the locusts of stamped paper, meagre and famished, who eat + up the colonist body and boots—ay, to the very straps of them, and + leave him peeled to the core like an Indian cornstalk, stripped leaf by + leaf. + </p> + <p> + Before all else it was necessary to ascertain whether the lion had been + killed on the civil or the military territory. In the former case the + matter regarded the Tribunal of Commerce; in the second, Tartarin would be + dealt with by the Council of War: and at the mere name the impressionable + Tarasconian saw himself shot at the foot of the ramparts or huddled up in + a casemate-silo. + </p> + <p> + The puzzle lay in the limitation of the two territories being very hazy in + Algeria. + </p> + <p> + At length, after a month’s running about, entanglements, and waiting under + the sun in the yards of Arab Departmental offices, it was established + that, whereas the lion had been killed on the military territory, on the + other hand Tartarin was in the civil territory when he shot. So the case + was decided in the civil courts, and our hero was let off on paying two + thousand five hundred francs damages, costs not included. + </p> + <p> + How could he pay such a sum? + </p> + <p> + The few piashtres escaped from the prince’s sweep had long since gone in + legal documents and judicial libations. The unfortunate lion-destroyer was + therefore reduced to selling the store of guns by retail, rifle by rifle; + so went the daggers, the Malay kreeses, and the life-preservers. A grocer + purchased the preserved aliments; an apothecary what remained of the + medicaments. The big boots themselves walked off after the improved tent + to a dealer of curiosities, who elevated them to the dignity of “rarities + from Cochin-China.” + </p> + <p> + When everything was paid up, only the lion’s skin and the camel remained + to Tartarin. The hide he had carefully packed, to be sent to Tarascon to + the address of brave Commandant Bravida, and, later on, we shall see what + came of this fabulous trophy. As for the camel, he reckoned on making use + of him to get back to Algiers, not by riding on him, but by selling him to + pay his coach-fare—the best way to employ a camel in travelling. + Unhappily the beast was difficult to place, and no one would offer a + copper for him. + </p> + <p> + Still Tartarin wanted to regain Algiers by hook or crook. He was in haste + again to behold Baya’s blue bodice, his little snuggery and his fountains, + as well as to repose on the white trefoils of his little cloister whilst + awaiting money from France. So our hero did not hesitate; distressed but + not downcast, he undertook to make the journey afoot and penniless by + short stages. + </p> + <p> + In this enterprise the camel did not cast him off. The strange animal had + taken an unaccountable fancy for his master, and on seeing him leave + Orleansville, he set to striding steadfastly behind him, regulating his + pace by this, and never quitting him by a yard. + </p> + <p> + At the first outset Tartarin found this touching; such fidelity and + devotion above proof went to his heart, all the more because the creature + was accommodating, and fed himself on nothing. Nevertheless, after a few + days, the Tarasconian was worried by having this glum companion + perpetually at his heels, to remind him of his misadventures. Ire arising, + he hated him for his sad aspect, hump and gait of a goose in harness. To + tell the whole truth, he held him as his Old Man of the Sea, and only + pondered on how to shake him off; but the follower would not be shaken + off. Tartarin attempted to lose him, but the camel always found him; he + tried to outrun him, but the camel ran faster. He bade him begone, and + hurled stones at him. The camel stopped with a mournful mien, but in a + minute resumed the pursuit, and always ended by overtaking him. Tartarin + had to resign himself. + </p> + <p> + For all that, when, after eight full days of tramping, the dusty and + harassed Tarasconian espied the first white housetops of Algiers glimmer + from afar in the verdure, and when he got to the city gates on the noisy + Mustapha Avenue, amid the Zouaves, Biskris, and Mahonnais, all swarming + around him and staring at him trudging by with his camel, overtasked + patience escaped him. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” he growled, “it is not likely! I cannot enter Algiers with such + an animal!” + </p> + <p> + Profiting by a jam of vehicles, he turned off into the fields and jumped + into a ditch. In a minute or so he saw over his head on the highway the + camel flying off with long strides and stretching his neck with a wistful + air. + </p> + <p> + Relieved of a great weight thereby, the hero sneaked out of his covert, + and entered the town anew by a circuitous path which skirted the wall of + his own little garden. + </p> + <p> + VII. Catastrophes upon Catastrophes. + </p> + <p> + ENTIRELY astonished was Tartarin before his Moorish dwelling when he + stopped. + </p> + <p> + Day was dying and the street deserted. Through the low pointed-arch + doorway which the negress had forgotten to close, laughter was heard; and + the clink of wine-glasses, the popping of champagne corks; and, floating + over all the jolly uproar, a feminine voice singing clearly and joyously: + </p> + <p> + “Do you like, Marco la Bella, to dance in the hall hung with bloom?” + </p> + <p> + “Throne of heaven!” ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he rushed + into the enclosure. + </p> + <p> + Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of the + little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, + tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing “Marco la Bella” with a ship + captain’s cap over one ear. She had on no blue vest or bodice; indeed, her + only wear was a silvery gauze wrapper and full pink trousers. At her feet, + on a rug, surfeited with love and sweetmeats, Barbassou, the infamous + skipper Barbassou, was bursting with laughter at hearing her. + </p> + <p> + The apparition of Tartarin, haggard, thinned, dusty, his flaming eyes, and + the bristling up fez tassel, sharply interrupted this tender + Turkish-Marseillais orgie. Baya piped the low whine of a frightened + leveret, and ran for safety into the house. But Barbassou did not wince; + he only laughed the louder, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha, Monsieur Tartarin! What do you say to that now? You see she does + know French.” + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon advanced furiously, crying: + </p> + <p> + “Captain!” + </p> + <p> + “Digo-li que vengue, moun bon!—Tell him what’s happened, old dear!” + screamed the Moorish woman, leaning over the first floor gallery with a + pretty low-bred gesture! + </p> + <p> + The poor man, overwhelmed, let himself collapse upon a drum. His genuine + Moorish beauty not only knew French, but the French of Marseilles! + </p> + <p> + “I told you not to trust the Algerian girls,” observed Captain Barbassou + sententiously! “They’re as tricky as your Montenegrin prince.” + </p> + <p> + Tartarin lifted his head + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where the prince is?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s not far off. He has gone to live five years in the handsome + prison of Mustapha. The rogue let himself be caught with his hand in the + pocket. Anyways, this is not the first time he has been clapped into the + calaboose. His Highness has already done three years somewhere, and—stop + a bit! I believe it was at Tarascon.” + </p> + <p> + “At Tarascon!” cried out her worthiest son, abruptly enlightened. “That’s + how he only knew one part of the Town.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey? Of course. Tarascon—a jail bird’s-eye view from the state + prison. I tell you, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, you have to keep your + peepers jolly well skinned in this deuce of a country, or be exposed to + very disagreeable things. For a sample, there’s the muezzin’s game with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “What game? Which muezzin?” + </p> + <p> + “Why your’n, of course! The chap across the way who is making up to Baya. + That newspaper, the Akbar, told the yarn t’other day, and all Algiers is + laughing over it even now. It is so funny for that steeplejack up aloft in + his crow’s-nest to make declarations of love under your very nose to the + little beauty whilst singing out his prayers, and making appointments with + her between bits of the Koran.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, they’re all scamps in this country!” howled the unlucky + Tarasconian. + </p> + <p> + Barbassou snapped his fingers like a philosopher. + </p> + <p> + “My dear lad, you know, these new countries are ‘rum!’ But, anyhow, if + you’ll believe me, you’d best cut back to Tarascon at full speed.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s easy to say, ‘Cut back.’ Where’s the money to come from? Don’t you + know that I was plucked out there in the desert?” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?” said the captain merrily. “The Zouave sails + tomorrow, and if you like I will take you home. Does that suit you, mate? + Ay? Then all goes well. You have only one thing to do. There are some + bottles of fizz left, and half the pie. Sit you down and pitch in without + any grudge.” + </p> + <p> + After the minute’s wavering which self-respect commanded, the Tarasconian + chose his course manfully. Down he sat, and they touched glasses. Baya, + gliding down at that chink, sang the finale of “Marco la Bella,” and the + jollification was prolonged deep into the night. + </p> + <p> + About 3 A.M., with a light head but a heavy foot, our good Tarasconian was + returning from seeing his friend the captain off when, in passing the + mosque, the remembrance of his muezzin and his practical jokes made him + laugh, and instantly a capital idea of revenge flitted through his brain. + </p> + <p> + The door was open. He entered, threaded long corridors hung with mats, + mounted and kept on mounting till he finally found himself in a little + oratory, where an openwork iron lantern swung from the ceiling, and + embroidered an odd pattern in shadows upon the blanched walls. + </p> + <p> + There sat the crier on a divan, in his large turban and white pelisse, + with his Mostaganam pipe, and a bumper of absinthe before him, which he + whipped up in the orthodox manner, whilst awaiting the hour to call true + believers to prayer. At view of Tartarin, he dropped his pipe in terror. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word, knave!” said the Tarasconian, full of his project. “Quick! + Off with turban and coat!” + </p> + <p> + The Turkish priest-crier tremblingly handed over his outer garments, as he + would have done with anything else. Tartarin donned them, and gravely + stepped out upon the minaret platform. + </p> + <p> + In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the moonbeams. + On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few belated guitars. The + Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for the effort during a space, and + then, raising his arms, he set to chanting in a very shrill voice: + </p> + <p> + “La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the Koran, + bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties—they are all not worth a fly’s + skip! There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live Tarascon!” + </p> + <p> + Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and + Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea, + town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other muezzins + answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to minaret, and the + believers of the upper town devoutly beat their bosoms. + </p> + <p> + VIII. Tarascon again! + </p> + <p> + MID-DAY has come. + </p> + <p> + The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of the Valentin + Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling telescopes, and, with the + colonel at their head, looking at the lucky little craft that was going + back to France. This is the main distraction of the staff. On the lower + level, the roads glittered. The old Turkish cannon breaches, stuck up + along the waterside, blazed in the sun. The passengers hurried, Biskris + and Mahonnais piled their luggage up in the wherries. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue de la + Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, accompanied + by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left on the Moorish + strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he had to sail for + Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty pockets. He had barely + leaped into the captain’s cutter before a breathless beast slid down from + the heights of the square and galloped towards him. It was the faithful + camel, who had been hunting after his master in Algiers during the last + four-and-twenty hours. + </p> + <p> + On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to know him, + but the camel was not going to be put off. He scampered along the quay; he + whinnied for his friend, and regarded him with affection. + </p> + <p> + “Take me away,” his sad eyes seemed to say, “take me away in your ship, + far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the East, full of + locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so sorely out of keeping + that I do not know what will become of me. You are the last real Turk, and + I am the last camel. Do not let us part, O my Tartarin!” + </p> + <p> + “Is that camel yours?” the captain inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it!” replied Tartarin, who shuddered at the idea of entering + Tarascon with that ridiculous escort; and, impudently denying the + companion of his misfortunes, he spurned the Algerian soil with his foot, + and gave the cutter the shoving-off start. The camel sniffed of the water, + extended its neck, cracked its joints, and, jumping in behind the row-boat + at haphazard, he swam towards the Zouave with his humpback floating like a + bladder, and his long neck projecting over the wave like the beak of a + galley. + </p> + <p> + Cutter and camel came alongside the mail steamer together. + </p> + <p> + “This dromedary regularly cuts me up,” observed Captain Barbassou, quite + affected. “I have a good mind to take him aboard and make a present of him + to the Zoological Gardens at Marseilles.” + </p> + <p> + And so they hauled up the camel with many blocks and tackles upon the + deck, being increased in weight by the brine, and the Zouave started. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin spent the two days of the crossing by himself in his stateroom, + not because the sea was rough, or that the red fez had too much to suffer, + but because the deuced camel, as soon as his master appeared above decks, + showed him the most preposterous attentions. You never did see a camel + make such an exhibition of a man as this. + </p> + <p> + From hour to hour, through the cabin portholes, where he stuck out his + nose now and then, Tartarin saw the Algerian blue sky pale away; until one + morning, in a silvery fog, he heard with delight Marseilles bells ringing + out. The Zouave had arrived and cast anchor. + </p> + <p> + Our man, having no luggage, got off without saying anything, hastily + slipped through Marseilles for fear he was still pursued by the camel, and + never breathed till he was in a third-class carriage making for Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + Deceptive security! + </p> + <p> + Hardly were they two leagues from the city before every head was stuck out + of window. There were outcries and astonishment. Tartarin looked in his + turn, and what did he descry! the camel, reader, the inevitable camel, + racing along the line behind the train, and keeping up with it! The + dismayed Tartarin drew back and shut his eyes. + </p> + <p> + After this disastrous expedition of his he had reckoned on slipping into + his house incognito. But the presence of this burdensome quadruped + rendered the thing impossible. What kind of a triumphal entry would he + make? Good heavens! not a sou, not a lion, nothing to show for it save a + camel! + </p> + <p> + “Tarascon! Tarascon!” + </p> + <p> + He was obliged to get down. + </p> + <p> + O amazement! + </p> + <p> + Scarce had the hero’s red fez popped out of the doorway before a loud + shout of “Tartarin for ever!” made the glazed roof of the railway station + tremble. “Long life to Tartarin, the lion-slayer!” And out burst the + windings of horns and the choruses of the local musical societies. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin felt death had come: he believed in a hoax. But, no! all Tarascon + was there, waving their hats, all of the same way of thinking. Behold the + brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the armourer, the Chief Judge, the + chemist, and the whole noble corps of cap-poppers, who pressed around + their leader, and carried him in triumph out through the passages. + </p> + <p> + Singular effects of the mirage!—the hide of the blind lion sent to + Bravida was the cause of all this riot. With that humble fur exhibited in + the club-room, the Tarasconians, and, at the back of them, the whole South + of France, had grown exalted. The Semaphore newspaper had spoken of it. A + drama had been invented. It was not merely a solitary lion which Tartarin + had slain, but ten, nay, twenty—pooh! a herd of lions had been made + marmalade of. Hence, on disembarking at Marseilles, Tartarin was already + celebrated without being aware of it, and an enthusiastic telegram had + gone on before him by two hours to his native place. + </p> + <p> + But what capped the climax of the popular gladness was to see a fancifully + shaped animal, covered with foam and dust, appear behind the hero, and + stumble down the station stairs. + </p> + <p> + Tarascon for an instant believed that its dragon was come again. + </p> + <p> + Tartarin set his fellow-citizens at ease. + </p> + <p> + “This is my camel,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Already feeling the influence of the splendid sun of Tarascon, which makes + people tell “bouncers” unwittingly, he added, as he fondled the camel’s + hump: + </p> + <p> + “It is a noble beast! It saw me kill all my lions!” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he familiarly took the arm of the commandant, who was red with + pleasure; and followed by his camel, surrounded by the cap-hunters, + acclaimed by all the population, he placidly proceeded towards the Baobab + Villa; and, on the march, thus commenced the account of his mighty + hunting: + </p> + <p> + “Once upon an evening, you are to imagine that, out in the depths of the + Sahara”— + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APPENDIX + </h2> + <h3> + Obituary of Alphonse Daudet. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 17th December 1897 + DEATH OF A FRENCH NOVELIST. + ALPHONSE DAUDET. +</pre> + <p> + M. Alphonse Daudet, the eminent French novelist and playwright, died + suddenly yesterday evening while at dinner The cause of death was syncope + due to failure of the heart. + </p> + <p> + Alphonse Daudet was born of poor parents at Nimes in 1840. He studied in + the Lyons Lyceum, and then became usher in a school at Alais. Going to + Paris to seek his fortune in literature in 1858, he succeeded in + publishing a book of verses entitled Les Amoreuses, which led to his + employment by several newspapers. He published many novels and tales, and + about half a dozen plays. His most popular work is “Les Morticoles.” His + son, Leon Daudet, is a litterateur of promise. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + +***** This file should be named 1862-h.htm or 1862-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/1862/ + +Produced by Donal O’Danachair, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tartarin of Tarascon + +Author: Alphonse Daudet + +Release Date: August, 1999 [EBook #1862] +Posting Date: November 23, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + + + + +Produced by Donal O'Danachair + + + + + +TARTARIN OF TARASCON + +By Alphonse Daudet + + + + +EPISODE THE FIRST, IN TARASCON + + + +I. The Garden Round the Giant Trees. + + +MY first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon has remained a +never-to-be-forgotten date in my life; although quite ten or a dozen +years ago, I remember it better than yesterday. + +At that time the intrepid Tartarin lived in the third house on the left +as the town begins, on the Avignon road. A pretty little villa in +the local style, with a front garden and a balcony behind, the walls +glaringly white and the venetians very green; and always about the +doorsteps a brood of little Savoyard shoe-blackguards playing hopscotch, +or dozing in the broad sunshine with their heads pillowed on their +boxes. + +Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none would ever +believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped inside, ye gods and +little fishes! what a change! From turret to foundation-stone--I mean, +from cellar to garret,--the whole building wore a heroic front; even so +the garden! + +O that garden of Tartarin's! there's not its match in Europe! Not a +native tree was there--not one flower of France; nothing hut exotic +plants, gum-trees, gourds, cotton-woods, cocoa and cacao, mangoes, +bananas, palms, a baobab, nopals, cacti, Barbary figs--well, you would +believe yourself in the very midst of Central Africa, ten thousand +leagues away. It is but fair to say that these were none of full growth; +indeed, the cocoa-palms were no bigger than beet root and the baobab +(arbos gigantea--"giant tree," you know) was easily enough circumscribed +by a window-pot; but, notwithstanding this, it was rather a sensation +for Tarascon, and the townsfolk who were admitted on Sundays to the +honour of contemplating Tartarin's baobab, went home chokeful of +admiration. + +Try to conceive my own emotion, which I was bound to feel on that day of +days when I crossed through this marvellous garden, and that was capped +when I was ushered into the hero's sanctum. + +His study, one of the lions--I should say, lions' dens--of the town, was +at the end of the garden, its glass door opening right on to the baobab. + +You are to picture a capacious apartment adorned with firearms and steel +blades from top to bottom: all the weapons of all the countries in the +wide world--carbines, rifles, blunderbusses, Corsican, Catalan, and +dagger knives, Malay kreeses, revolvers with spring-bayonets, Carib and +flint arrows, knuckle-dusters, life-preservers, Hottentot clubs, Mexican +lassoes--now, can you expect me to name the rest? Upon the whole fell a +fierce sunlight, which made the blades and the brass butt-plate of the +muskets gleam as if all the more to set your flesh creeping. Still, +the beholder was soothed a little by the tame air of order and tidiness +reigning over the arsenal. Everything was in place, brushed, dusted, +labelled, as in a museum; from point to point the eye descried some +obliging little card reading: + + + ----------------------------------------- + I Poisoned Arrows! I + I Do Not Touch! I + ----------------------------------------- + + Or, + + ----------------------------------------- + I Loaded! I + I Take care, please! I + ----------------------------------------- + +If it had not been for these cautions I never should have dared venture +in. + +In the middle of the room was an occasional table, on which stood +a decanter of rum, a siphon of soda-water, a Turkish tobacco-pouch, +"Captain Cook's Voyages," the Indian tales of Fenimore Cooper and +Gustave Aimard, stories of hunting the bear, eagle, elephant, and so +on. Lastly, beside the table sat a man of between forty and forty-five, +short, stout, thick-set, ruddy, with flaming eyes and a strong stubbly +beard; he wore flannel tights, and was in his shirt sleeves; one hand +held a book, and the other brandished a very large pipe with an iron +bowl-cap. Whilst reading heaven only knows what startling adventure of +scalp-hunters, he pouted out his lower lip in a terrifying way, which +gave the honest phiz of the man living placidly on his means the same +impression of kindly ferocity which abounded throughout the house. + +This man was Tartarin himself--the Tartarin of Tarascon, the great, +dreadnought, incomparable Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +II. A general glance bestowed upon the good town of Tarascon, and a +particular one on "the cap-poppers." + + +AT the time I am telling of, Tartarin of Tarascon had not become the +present-day Tartarin, the great one so popular in the whole South of +France: but yet he was even then the cock of the walk at Tarascon. + +Let us show whence arose this sovereignty. + +In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in these +parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local craze, and +so it has ever been since the mythological times when the Tarasque, as +the county dragon was called, flourished himself and his tail in the +town marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up against him. So +you see the passion has lasted a goodish bit. + +It follows that, every Sunday morning, Tarascon flies to arms, lets +loose the dogs of the hunt, and rushes out of its walls, with game-bag +slung and fowling-piece on the shoulder, together with a hurly-burly of +hounds, cracking of whips, and blowing of whistles and hunting-horns. +It's splendid to see! Unfortunately, there's a lack of game, an absolute +dearth. + +Stupid as the brute creation is, you can readily understand that, in +time, it learnt some distrust. + +For five leagues around about Tarascon, forms, lairs, and burrows are +empty, and nesting-places abandoned. You'll not find a single quail or +blackbird, one little leveret, or the tiniest tit. And yet the pretty +hillocks are mightily tempting, sweet smelling as they are of myrtle, +lavender, and rosemary; and the fine muscatels plumped out with +sweetness even unto bursting, as they spread along the banks of the +Rhone, are deucedly tempting too. True, true; but Tarascon lies behind +all this, and Tarascon is down in the black books of the world of fur +and feather. The very birds of passage have ticked it off on their +guide-books, and when the wild ducks, coming down towards the Camargue +in long triangles, spy the town steeples from afar, the outermost flyers +squawk out loudly: + +"Look out! there's Tarascon! give Tarascon the go-by, duckies!" + +And the flocks take a swerve. + +In short, as far as game goes, there's not a specimen left in the land +save one old rogue of a hare, escaped by miracle from the massacres, who +is stubbornly determined to stick to it all his life! He is very well +known at Tarascon, and a name has been given him. "Rapid" is what +they call him. It is known that he has his form on M. Bompard's +grounds--which, by the way, has doubled, ay, tripled, the value of the +property--but nobody has yet managed to lay him low. At present, only +two or three inveterate fellows worry themselves about him. The rest +have given him up as a bad job, and old Rapid has long ago passed +into the legendary world, although your Tarasconer is very slightly +superstitious naturally, and would eat cock-robins on toast, or the +swallow, which is Our Lady's own bird, for that matter, if he could find +any. + +"But that won't do!" you will say. Inasmuch as game is so scarce, what +can the sportsmen do every Sunday? + +What can they do? + +Why, goodness gracious! they go out into the real country two or +three leagues from town. They gather in knots of five or six, recline +tranquilly in the shade of some well, old wall, or olive tree, extract +from their game-bags a good-sized piece of boiled beef, raw onions, a +sausage, and anchovies, and commence a next to endless snack, washed +down with one of those nice Rhone wines, which sets a toper laughing and +singing. After that, when thoroughly braced up, they rise, whistle the +dogs to heel, set the guns on half cock, and go "on the shoot"--another +way of saying that every man plucks off his cap, "shies" it up with all +his might, and pops it on the fly with No. 5, 6, or 2 shot, according to +what he is loaded for. + +The man who lodges most shot in his cap is hailed as king of the hunt, +and stalks back triumphantly at dusk into Tarascon, with his riddled +cap on the end of his gun-barrel, amid any quantity of dog-barks and +horn-blasts. + +It is needless to say that cap-selling is a fine business in the town. +There are even some hatters who sell hunting-caps ready shot, torn, and +perforated for the bad shots; but the only buyer known is the chemist +Bezuquet. This is dishonourable! + +As a marksman at caps, Tartarin of Tarascon never had his match. + +Every Sunday morning out he would march in a new cap, and back he would +strut every Sunday evening with a mere thing of shreds. The loft of +Baobab Villa was full of these glorious trophies. Hence all Tarascon +acknowledged him as master; and as Tartarin thoroughly understood +hunting, and had read all the handbooks of all possible kinds of venery, +from cap-popping to Burmese tiger-shooting, the sportsmen constituted +him their great cynegetical judge, and took him for referee and +arbitrator in all their differences. + +Between three and four daily, at Costecalde the gunsmith's, a stout +stern pipe-smoker might be seen in a green leather-covered arm-chair in +the centre of the shop crammed with cap-poppers, they all on foot and +wrangling. This was Tartarin of Tarascon delivering judgement--Nimrod +plus Solomon. + + + +III. "Naw, naw, naw!" The general glance protracted upon the good town. + + +AFTER the craze for sporting, the lusty Tarascon race cherishes one +love: ballad-singing. There's no believing what a quantity of ballads +is used up in that little region. All the sentimental stuff turning into +sere and yellow leaves in the oldest portfolios, are to be found in full +pristine lustre in Tarascon. Ay, the entire collection. Every family has +its own pet, as is known to the town. + +For instance, it is an established fact that this is the chemist +Bezuquet's family's: + +"Thou art the fair star that I adore!" + +The gunmaker Costecalde's family's: + +"Would'st thou come to the land Where the log-cabins rise?" + +The official registrar's family's: + +"If I wore a coat of invisible green, Do you think for a moment +I could be seen?" + +And so on for the whole of Tarascon. Two or three times a week there +were parties where they were sung. The singularity was their being +always the same, and that the honest Tarasconers had never had an +inclination to change them during the long, long time they had been +harping on them. They were handed down from father to son in the +families, without anybody improving on them or bowdlerising them: +they were sacred. Never did it occur to Costecalde's mind to sing +the Bezuquets', or the Bezuquets to try Costecalde's. And yet you may +believe that they ought to know by heart what they had been singing for +two-score years! But, nay! everybody stuck to his own,and they were all +contented. + +In ballad-singing, as in cap-popping, Tartarin was still the foremost. +His superiority over his fellow-townsmen consisted in his not having +any one song of his own, but in knowing the lot, the whole, mind you! +But--there's a but--it was the devil's own work to get him to sing them. + +Surfeited early in life with his drawing-room successes, our hero +preferred by far burying himself in his hunting story-books, or spending +the evening at the club, to making a personal exhibition before a Nimes +piano between a pair of home-made candles. These musical parades seemed +beneath him. Nevertheless, at whiles, when there was a harmonic party at +Bezuquet's, he would drop into the chemist's shop, as if by chance, +and, after a deal of pressure, consent to do the grand duo in Robert +le Diable with old Madame Bezuquet. Whoso never heard that never heard +anything! For my part, even if I lived a hundred years, I should always +see the mighty Tartarin solemnly stepping up to the piano, setting +his arms akimbo, working up his tragic mien, and, beneath the green +reflection from the show-bottles in the window, trying to give his +pleasant visage the fierce and satanic expression of Robert the Devil. +Hardly would he fall into position before the whole audience would be +shuddering with the foreboding that something uncommon was at +hand. After a hush, old Madame Bezuquet would commence to her own +accompaniment: + + "Robert, my love is thine! + To thee I my faith did plight, + Thou seest my affright,-- + Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!" + +In an undertone she would add: "Now, then, Tartarin!" Whereupon Tartarin +of Tarascon, with crooked arms, clenched fists, and quivering nostrils, +would roar three times in a formidable voice, rolling like a thunderclap +in the bowels of the instrument: + +"No! no! no!" which, like the thorough southerner he was, he pronounced +nasally as "Naw! naw! naw!" Then would old Madame Bezuquet again sing: + + "Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!" + +"Naw! naw! naw!" bellowed Tartarin at his loudest, and there the gem +ended. + +Not long, you see; but it was so handsomely voiced forth, so clearly +gesticulated, and so diabolical, that a tremor of terror overran the +chemist's shop, and the "Naw! naw! naw!" would be encored several times +running. + +Upon this Tartarin would sponge his brow, smile on the ladies, wink to +the sterner sex, and withdraw upon his triumph to go remark at the club +with a trifling, offhand air: + +"I have just come from the Bezuquets', where I was forced to sing 'em +the duo from Robert le Diable." + +The cream of the joke was that he really believed it! + + + +IV. "They!" + + +CHIEFLY to the account of these diverse talents did Tartarin owe his +lofty position in the town of Tarascon. Talking of captivating, though, +this deuce of a fellow knew how to ensnare everybody. Why, the army, +at Tarascon, was for Tartarin. The brave commandant, Bravida, honorary +captain retired--in the Military Clothing Factory Department--called him +a game fellow; and you may well admit that the warrior knew all about +game fellows, he played such a capital knife and fork on game of all +kinds. + +So was the legislature on Tartarin's side. Two or three times, in open +court, the old chief judge, Ladevese, had said, in alluding to him: + +"He is a character!" + +Lastly, the masses were for Tartarin. He had become the swell bruiser, +the aristocratic pugilist, the crack bully of the local Corinthians +for the Tarasconers, from his build, bearing, style--that aspect of a +guard's-trumpeter's charger which fears no noise; his reputation as a +hero coming from nobody knew whence or for what, and some scramblings +for coppers and a few kicks to the little ragamuffins basking at his +doorway. + +Along the waterside, when Tartarin came home from hunting on Sunday +evenings, with his cap on the muzzle of his gun, and his fustian +shooting-jacket belted in tightly, the sturdy river-lightermen would +respectfully bob, and blinking towards the huge biceps swelling out his +arms, would mutter among one another in admiration: + +"Now, there's a powerful chap if you like! he has double-muscles!" + +"Double muscles!" why, you never heard of such a thing outside of +Tarascon! + +For all this, with all his numberless parts, double-muscles, the +popular favour, and the so precious esteem of brave Commandant Bravida, +ex-captain (in the Army Clothing Factory), Tartarin was not happy: this +life in a petty town weighed upon him and suffocated him. + +The great man of Tarascon was bored in Tarascon. + +The fact is, for a heroic temperament like his, a wild adventurous +spirit which dreamt of nothing but battles, races across the pampas, +mighty battues, desert sands, blizzards and typhoons, it was not enough +to go out every Sunday to pop at a cap, and the rest of the time to +ladle out casting-votes at the gunmaker's. Poor dear great man! If this +existence were only prolonged, there would be sufficient tedium in it to +kill him with consumption. + +In vain did he surround himself with baobabs and other African trees, +to widen his horizon, and some little to forget his club and the +market-place; in vain did he pile weapon upon weapon, and Malay kreese +upon Malay kreese; in vain did he cram with romances, endeavouring like +the immortal Don Quixote to wrench himself by the vigour of his fancy +out of the talons of pitiless reality. Alas! all that he did to appease +his thirst for deeds of daring only helped to augment it. The sight of +all the murderous implements kept him in a perpetual stew of wrath and +exaltation. His revolvers, repeating rifles, and ducking-guns shouted +"Battle! battle!" out of their mouths. Through the twigs of his baobab, +the tempest of great voyages and journeys soughed and blew bad advice. +To finish him came Gustave Aimard, Mayne Reid, and Fenimore Cooper. + +Oh, how many times did Tartarin with a howl spring up on the sultry +summer afternoons, when he was reading alone amidst his blades, points, +and edges; how many times did he dash down his book and rush to the wall +to unhook a deadly arm! The poor man forgot he was at home in Tarascon, +in his underclothes, and with a handkerchief round his head. He would +translate his readings into action, and, goading himself with his own +voice, shout out whilst swinging a battle-axe or tomahawk: + +"Now, only let 'em come!" + +"Them"? who were they? + +Tartarin did not himself any too clearly understand. "They" was all +that should be attacked and fought with, all that bites, claws, scalps, +whoops, and yells--the Sioux Indians dancing around the war-stake to +which the unfortunate pale-face prisoner is lashed. The grizzly of the +Rocky Mountains, who wobbles on his hind legs, and licks himself with a +tongue full of blood. The Touareg, too, in the desert, the Malay pirate, +the brigand of the Abruzzi--in short, "they" was warfare, travel, +adventure, and glory. + +But, alas!! it was to no avail that the fearless Tarasconer called for +and defied them; never did they come. Odsboddikins! what would they have +come to do in Tarascon? + +Nevertheless Tartarin always expected to run up against them, +particularly some evening in going to the club. + + + +V. How Tartarin went round to his club. + + +LITTLE, indeed, beside Tartarin of Tarascon, arming himself capa-pie +to go to his club at nine, an hour after the retreat had sounded on the +bugle, was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon the infidel, +the Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the Comanche warrior +painting up for going on the war-path. "All hands make ready for +action!" as the men-of-war's men say. + +In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the +right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in +the right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under garment, +lay a Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows--they are weapons +altogether too unfair. + +Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he exercised +himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and thrusts, lunging at +the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he took his master-key and +went through the garden leisurely; without hurrying, mark you. "Cool and +calm--British courage, that is the true sort, gentlemen." At the garden +end he opened the heavy iron door, violently and abruptly so that it +should slam against the outer wall. If "they" had been skulking behind +it, you may wager they would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not +there. + +The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to the +right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly with +double-locking. Then, on the way. + +Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road--all the doors closed, and +no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish lamps, +well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist. + +Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night, ringing +his heels with regularity, and sending sparks out of the paving-stones +with the ferule of his stick. Whether in avenues, streets, or lanes, +he took care to keep in the middle of the road--an excellent method of +precaution, allowing one to see danger coming, and, above all, to avoid +any droppings from windows, as happens after dark in Tarascon and the +Old Town of Edinburgh. On seeing so much prudence in Tartarin, pray do +not conclude that Tartarin had any fear--dear, no! he only was on his +guard. + +The best proof that Tartarin was not scared is, that instead of going to +the club by the shortest cut, he went over the town by the longest and +darkest way round, through a mass of vile, paltry alleys, at the mouth +of which the Rhone could be seen ominously gleaming. The poor knight +constantly hoped that, beyond the turn of one of these cut-throats' +haunts, "they" would leap from the shadow and fall on his back. I +warrant you, "they" would have been warmly received, though; but, alack! +by reason of some nasty meanness of destiny, never indeed did Tartarin +of Tarascon enjoy the luck to meet any ugly customers--not so much as a +dog or a drunken man--nothing at all! + +Still, there were false alarms somewhiles. He would catch a sound of +steps and muffled voices. + +"Ware hawks!" Tartarin would mutter, and stop short, as if taking root +on the spot, scrutinising the gloom, sniffing the wind, even glueing his +ear to the ground in the orthodox Red Indian mode. The steps would +draw nearer, and the voices grow more distinct, till no more doubt was +possible. "They" were coming--in fact, here "they" were! + +Steady, with eye afire and heaving breast, Tartarin would gather +himself like a jaguar in readiness to spring forward whilst uttering his +war-cry, when, all of a sudden, out of the thick of the murkiness, he +would hear honest Tarasconian voices quite tranquilly hailing him with: + +"Hullo! you, by Jove! it's Tartarin! Good night, old fellow!" + +Maledictions upon it! It was the chemist Bezuquet, with his family, +coming from singing their family ballad at Costecalde's. + +"Oh, good even, good even!" Tartarin would growl, furious at his +blunder, and plunging fiercely into the gloom with his cane waved on +high. + +On arriving in the street where stood his club-house, the dauntless one +would linger yet a moment, walking up and down before the portals ere +entering. But, finally, weary of awaiting "them," and certain "they" +would not show "themselves," he would fling a last glare of defiance +into the shades and snarl wrathfully: + +"Nothing, nothing at all! there never is nothing!" + +Upon which double negation, which he meant as a stronger affirmative, +the worthy champion would walk in to play his game of bezique with the +commandant. + + + +VI. The two Tartarins. + + +ANSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin of +Tarascon never left Tarascon with all this mania for adventure, need of +powerful sensations, and folly about travel, rides, and journeys from +the Pole to the Equator? + +For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dreadless +Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room. He had not even +taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which every sound Provencal +makes upon coming of age. The most of his knowledge included Beaucaire, +and yet that's not far from Tarascon, there being merely the bridge to +go over. Unfortunately, this rascally bridge has so often been blown +away by the gales, it is so long and frail, and the Rhone has such +a width at this spot that--well, faith! you understand! Tartarin of +Tarascon preferred terra firma. + +We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero there were +two very distinct characters. Some Father of the Church has said: "I +feel there are two men in me." He would have spoken truly in saying this +about Tartarin, who carried in his frame the soul of Don Quixote, the +same chivalric impulses, heroic ideal, and crankiness for the grandiose +and romantic; but, worse is the luck! he had not the body of the +celebrated hidalgo, that thin and meagre apology for a body, on which +material life failed to take a hold; one that could get through twenty +nights without its breast-plate being unbuckled off, and forty-eight +hours on a handful of rice. On the contrary, Tartarin's body was a stout +honest bully of a body, very fat, very weighty, most sensual and fond +of coddling, highly touchy, full of low-class appetite and homely +requirements--the short, paunchy body on stumps of the immortal Sancho +Panza. + +Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man! you will readily +comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made! what strife! what +clapper-clawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for Lucian or Saint-Evremond to +write, between the two Tartarins--Quixote-Tartarin and Sancho-Tartarin! +Quixote-Tartarin firing up on the stories of Gustave Aimard, and +shouting: "Up and at 'em!" and Sancho-Tartarin thinking only of the +rheumatics ahead, and murmuring: "I mean to stay at home." + + + THE DUET. + + QUIXOTE-TARTARIN. SANCHO-TARTARIN. + (Highly excited.) (Quite calmly.) + Cover yourself with glory, Tartarin, cover yourself + Tartarin. with flannel. + + (Still more excitedly.) (Still more calmly.) + O for the terrible double- O for the thick knitted + barrelled rifle! O for waistcoats! and warm + bowie-knives, lassoes, knee-caps! O for the + and moccasins! welcome padded caps + with ear-flaps! + + (Above all self-control.) (Ringing up the maid.) + A battle-axe! fetch me a Now, then, Jeannette, do + battle-axe! bring up that chocolate! + + +Whereupon Jeannette would appear with an unusually good cup of +chocolate, just right in warmth, sweetly smelling, and with the play +of light on watered silk upon its unctuous surface, and with succulent +grilled steak flavoured with anise-seed, which would set Sancho-Tartarin +off on the broad grin, and into a laugh that drowned the shouts of +Quixote-Tartarin. + +Thus it came about that Tartarin of Tarascon never had left Tarascon. + + + +VII. Tartarin--The Europeans at Shanghai--Commerce--The Tartars--Can +Tartarin of Tarascon be an Impostor?--The Mirage. + + +UNDER one conjunction of circumstances, Tartarin did, however, once +almost start out upon a great voyage. + +The three brothers Garcio-Camus, relatives of Tarascon, established +in business at Shanghai, offered him the managership of one of their +branches there. This undoubtedly presented the kind of life he hankered +after. Plenty of active business, a whole army of under-strappers to +order about, and connections with Russia, Persia, Turkey in Asia--in +short, to be a merchant prince! + +In Tartarin's mouth, the title of Merchant Prince thundered out as +something stunning! + +The house of Garcio-Camus had the further advantage of sometimes being +favoured with a call from the Tartars. Then the doors would be slammed +shut, all the clerks flew to arms, up ran the consular flag, and zizz! +phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars. + +I need not tell you with what enthusiasm Quixote-Tartarin clutched this +proposition; sad to say, Sancho-Tartarin did not see it in the same +light, and, as he was the stronger party, it never came to anything. But +in the town there was much talk about it. Would he go or would he not? +"I'll lay he will!"--and "I'll wager he won't!" It was the event of the +week. In the upshot, Tartarin did not depart, but the matter redounded +to his credit none the less. Going or not going to Shanghai was all one +to Tarascon. Tartarin's journey was so much talked about that people got +to believe he had done it and returned, and at the club in the evening +members would actually ask for information on life at Shanghai, the +manners and customs and climate, about opium, and commerce. + +Deeply read up, Tartarin would graciously furnish the particulars +desired, and, in the end, the good fellow was not quite sure himself +about not having gone to Shanghai, so that, after relating for the +hundredth time how the Tartars came down on the trading post, it would +most naturally happen him to add: + +"Then I made my men take up arms and hoist the consular flag, and zizz! +phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars." + +On hearing this, the whole club would quiver. + +"But according to that, this Tartarin of yours is an awful liar." + +"No, no, a thousand times over, no! Tartarin was no liar." + +"But the man ought to know that he has never been to Shanghai"-- + +"Why, of course, he knows that; but still"-- + +"But still," you see--mark that! It is high time for the law to be laid +down once for all on the reputation as drawers of the long bow which +Northerners fling at Southerners. There are no Baron Munchausens in the +south of France, neither at Nimes nor Marseilles, Toulouse nor Tarascon. +The Southerner does not deceive but is self-deceived. He does not always +tell the cold-drawn truth, but he believes he does. His falsehood is not +any such thing, but a kind of mental mirage. + +Yes, purely mirage! The better to follow me, you should actually follow +me into the South, and you will see I am right. You have only to look at +that Lucifer's own country, where the sun transmogrifies everything, +and magnifies it beyond life-size. The little hills of Provence are no +bigger than the Butte Montmartre, but they will loom up like the Rocky +Mountains; the Square House at Nimes--a mere model to put on your +sideboard--will seem grander than St. Peter's. You will see--in brief, +the only exaggerator in the South is Old Sol, for he does enlarge +everything he touches. What was Sparta in its days of splendour? a +pitiful hamlet. What was Athens? at the most, a second-class town; and +yet in history both appear to us as enormous cities. This is a sample of +what the sun can do. + +Are you going to be astonished after this that the same sun falling upon +Tarascon should have made of an ex-captain in the Army Clothing Factory, +like Bravida, the "brave commandant;" of a sprout an Indian fig-tree; +and of a man who had missed going to Shanghai one who had been there? + + + +VIII. Mitaine's Menagerie--A Lion from the Atlas at Tarascon--A Solemn +and Fearsome Confrontation. + + +EXHIBITING Tartarin of Tarascon, as we are, in his private life, before +Fame kissed his brow and garlanded him with her well-worn laurel wreath, +and having narrated his heroic existence in a modest state, his delights +and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurriedly skip to the +grandest pages of his story, and to the singular event which was to give +the first flight to his incomparable career. + +It happened one evening at Costecalde the gunmaker's, where Tartarin was +engaged in showing several sportsmen the working of the needle-gun, +then in its first novelty. The door suddenly flew open, and in rushed a +bewildered cap-popper, howling "A lion, a lion!" General was the alarm, +stupor, uproar and tumult. Tartarin prepared to resist cavalry with +the bayonet, whilst Costecalde ran to shut the door. The sportsman was +surrounded and pressed and questioned, and here follows what he told +them: Mitaine's Menagerie, returning from Beaucaire Fair, had consented +to stay over a few days at Tarascon, and was just unpacking, to set up +the show on the Castle-green, with a lot of boas, seals, crocodiles, and +a magnificent lion from the Atlas Mountains. + +An African lion in Tarascon? + +Never in the memory of living man had the like been seen. Hence our +dauntless cap-poppers looked at one another how proudly! What a beaming +on their sunburned visages! and in every nook of Costecalde's shop what +hearty congratulatory grips of the hand were silently exchanged! The +sensation was so great and unforeseen that nobody could find a word to +say--not even Tartarin. + +Blanched and agitated, with the needle-gun still in his fist, he +brooded, erect before the counter. A lion from the Atlas Range at pistol +range from him, a couple of strides off? a lion, mind you--the beast +heroic and ferocious above all others, the King of the Brute Creation, +the crowning game of his fancies, something like the leading actor in +the ideal company which played such splendid tragedies in his mind's +eye. A lion, heaven be thanked! and from the Atlas, to boot! It was more +than the great Tartarin could bear. + +Suddenly a flush of blood flew into his face. His eyes flashed. With one +convulsive movement he shouldered the needle-gun, and turning towards +the brave Commandant Bravida (formerly captain in the Army Clothing +Department, please to remember), he thundered to him-- + +"Let's go have a look at him, commandant." + +"Here, here, I say! that's my gun--my needle-gun you are carrying off," +timidly ventured the wary Costecalde; but Tartarin had already got round +the corner, with all the cap-poppers proudly lock-stepping behind him. + +When they arrived at the menagerie, they found a goodly number of people +there. Tarascon, heroic but too long deprived of sensational shows, had +rushed upon Mitaine's portable theatre, and had taken it by storm. Hence +the voluminous Madame Mitaine was highly contented. In an Arab costume, +her arms bare to the elbow, iron anklets on, a whip in one hand and a +plucked though live pullet in the other, the noted lady was doing the +honours of the booth to the Tarasconians; and, as she also had "double +muscles," her success was almost as great as her animals. + +The entrance of Tartarin with the gun on his shoulder was a damper. + +All our good Tarasconians, who had been quite tranquilly strolling +before the cages, unarmed and with no distrust, without even any idea +of danger, felt momentary apprehension, naturally enough, on beholding +their mighty Tartarin rush into the enclosure with his formidable engine +of war. There must be something to fear when a hero like he was, came +weaponed; so, in a twinkling, all the space along the cage fronts was +cleared. The youngsters burst out squalling for fear, and the women +looked round for the nearest way out. The chemist Bezuquet made off +altogether, alleging that he was going home for his gun. + +Gradually, however, Tartarin's bearing restored courage. With head +erect, the intrepid Tarasconian slowly and calmly made the circuit +of the booth, passing the seal's tank without stopping, glancing +disdainfully on the long box filled with sawdust in which the boa would +digest its raw fowl, and going to take his stand before the lion's cage. + +A terrible and solemn confrontation, this! The lion of Tarascon and the +lion of Africa face to face! + +On the one part, Tartarin erect, with his hamstrings in tension, and +his arms folded on his gun barrel; on the other, the lion, a gigantic +specimen, humped up in the straw, with blinking orbs and brutish mien, +resting his huge muzzle and tawny full-bottomed wig on his forepaws. +Both calm in their gaze. + +Singular thing! whether the needle-gun had given him "the needle," if +the popular idiom is admissible, or that he scented an enemy of +his race, the lion, who had hitherto regarded the Tarasconians with +sovereign scorn, and yawned in their faces, was all at once affected by +ire. At first he sniffed; then he growled hollowly, stretching out his +claws; rising, he tossed his head, shook his mane, opened a capacious +maw, and belched a deafening roar at Tartarin. + +A yell of fright responded, as Tarascon precipitated itself madly +towards the exit, women and children, lightermen, cap-poppers, even the +brave Commandant Bravida himself. But, alone, Tartarin of Tarascon +had not budged. There he stood, firm and resolute, before the cage, +lightnings in his eyes, and on his lip that gruesome grin with which +all the town was familiar. In a moment's time, when all the cap-poppers, +some little fortified by his bearing and the strength of the bars, +re-approached their leader, they heard him mutter, as he stared Leo out +of countenance: + +"Now, this is something like a hunt!" + +All the rest of that day, never a word farther could they draw from +Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +IX. Singular effects of Mental Mirage. + + +CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin had +unfortunately still said overmuch. + +On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but the +near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting. You +are all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not breathed +a word on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its usual effect. In +brief, all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the departure. + +On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde's, friends accosted one +another with a startled aspect: + +"And furthermore, you know the news, at least?" + +"And furthermore, rather? Tartarin's setting out, at least?" + +For at Tarascon all phrases begin with "and furthermore," and conclude +with "at least," with a strong local accent. Hence, on this occasion +more than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the windows +shivered. + +The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was +going away to Africa, was Tartarin himself. But only see what vanity is! +Instead of plumply answering that he was not going at all, and had not +even had the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of them mentioning +the journey to him, observed with a neat little evasive air, "Aha! +maybe I shall--but I do not say as much." The second time; a trifle more +familiarised with the idea, he replied, "Very likely;" and the third +time, "It's certain." + +Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde's and the club, carried away by +the egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the impression +that bare announcement of his departure had made on the town, the +hapless fellow formally declared that he was sick of banging away at +caps, and that he would shortly be on the trail of the great lions of +the Atlas. A deafening hurrah greeted this assertion. Whereupon more +egg-nogg, bravoes, handshaking, slappings of the shoulder, and a +torchlight serenade up to midnight before Baobab Villa. + +It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted. This idea of +travel in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder beforehand; and +when the house was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary concert +was sounding under the windows, he had a dreadful "row" with +Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a cracked head, a visionary, imprudent, +and thrice an idiot, and detailing by the card all the catastrophes +awaiting him on such an expedition--shipwreck, rheumatism, yellow fever, +dysentery, the black plague, elephantiasis, and the rest of them. + +In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any +imprudence--that he would wrap himself up well, and take even +superfluous necessaries with him. Sancho-Tartarin would listen to +nothing. The poor craven saw himself already torn to tatters by the +lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like his late royal highness +Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to appease him a little by +explaining that the start was not immediate, as nothing pressed. + +It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise +without some preparations. A man is bound to know whither he goes, +hang it all! and not fly off like a bird. Before anything else, the +Tarasconian wanted to peruse the accounts of great African tourists, the +narrations of Mungo Park, Du Chaillu, Dr. Livingstone, Stanley, and so +on. + +In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their +sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand to +support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of privation. +Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day forward he lived +upon water broth alone. The water broth of Tarascon is a few slices of +bread drowned in hot water, with a clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, +and a sprig of laurel. Strict diet, at which you may believe poor Sancho +made a wry face. + +To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other +wise practices. To break himself into the habit of long marches, +he constrained himself to go round the town seven or eight times +consecutively every morning, either at the fast walk or run, his elbows +well set against his body, and a couple of white pebbles in the mouth, +according to the antique usage. + +To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, he would go down into his +garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, alone with his +gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab. + +Finally, so long as Mitaine's wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, the +cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde's might spy in the shadow +of the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious figure +stalking up and down. It was Tartarin of Tarascon, habituating himself +to hear without emotion the roarings of the lion in the sombre night. + + + +X. Before the Start. + + +PENDING Tartarin's delay of the event by all sorts of heroic means, +all Tarascon kept an eye upon him, and nothing else was busied about. +Cap-popping was winged, and ballad-singing dead. The piano in Bezuquet's +shop mouldered away under a green fungus, and the Spanish flies +dried upon it, belly up. Tartarin's expedition had a put a stopper on +everything. + +Ah, you ought to have seen his success in the parlours. He was snatched +away by one from another, fought for, loaned and borrowed, ay, stolen. +There was no greater honour for the ladies than to go to Mitaine's +Menagerie on Tartarin's arms, and have it explained before the lion's +den how such large game are hunted, where they should be aimed at, at +how many paces off; if the accidents were numerous, and the like of +that. + +Tartarin furnished all the elucidation desired. He had read "The Life of +Jules Gerard, the Lion-Slayer," and had lion-hunting at his finger ends, +as if he had been through it himself. Hence he orated upon these matters +with great eloquence. + +But where he shone the brightest was at dinner at Chief Judge +Ladeveze's, or brave Commandant Bravida's (the former captain in the +Army Clothing Factory, you will keep in mind), when coffee came in, and +all the chairs were brought up closer together, whilst they chatted of +his future hunts. + +Thereupon, his elbow on the cloth, his nose over his Mocha, our hero +would discourse in a feeling tone of all the dangers awaiting him +thereaway. He spoke of the long moonless night lyings-in-wait, the +pestilential fens, the rivers envenomed by leaves of poison-plants, +the deep snow-drifts, the scorching suns, the scorpions, and rains of +grasshoppers; he also descanted on the peculiarities of the great lions +of the Atlas, their way of fighting, their phenomenal vigour; and their +ferocity in the mating season. + +Heating with his own recital, he would rise from table, bounding to the +middle of the dining-room, imitating the roar of a lion and the +going off of a rifle crack! bang! the zizz of the explosive +bullet--gesticulating and roaring about till he had overset the chairs. + +Everybody turned pale around the board: the gentlemen looking at one +another and wagging their heads, the ladies shutting their eyes with +pretty screams of fright, the elderly men combatively brandishing their +canes; and, in the side apartments, the little boys, who had been put to +bed betimes, were greatly startled by the sudden outcries and imitated +gun-fire, and screamed for lights. Meanwhile, Tartarin did not start. + + + +XI. "Let's have it out with swords gentleman, not pins!" + + +A DELICATE question: whether Tartarin really had any intention of going, +and one which the historian of Tartarin would be highly embarrassed to +answer. In plain words, Mitaine's Menagerie had left Tarascon over three +months, and still the lion-slayer had not started. After all, blinded by +a new mirage, our candid hero may have imagined in perfectly good faith +that he had gone to Algeria. On the strength of having related his +future hunts, he may have believed he had performed them as sincerely +as he fancied he had hoisted the consular flag and fired on the Tartars, +zizz, phit, bang! at Shanghai. + +Unfortunately, granting Tartarin was this time again dupe of an +illusion, his fellow-townsfolk were not. When, after the quarter's +expectation, they perceived that the hunter had not packed even a +collar-box, they commenced murmuring. + +"This is going to turn out like the Shanghai expedition," remarked +Costecalde, smiling. + +The gunsmith's comment was welcomed all over town, for nobody believed +any longer in their late idol. The simpletons and poltroons--all the +fellows of Bezuquet's stamp, whom a flea would put to flight, and who +could not fire a shot without closing their eyes--were conspicuously +pitiless. In the club-rooms or on the esplanade, they accosted poor +Tartarin with bantering mien: + +"And furthermore, when is that trip coming off?" + +In Costecalde's shop, his opinions gained no credence, for the +cap-poppers renounced their chief! + +Next, epigrams dropped into the affair. Chief Judge Ladevese, who +willingly paid court in his leisure hours to the native Muse, composed +in local dialect a song which won much success. It told of a sportsman +called "Master Gervais," whose dreaded rifle was bound to exterminate +all the lions in Africa to the very last. Unluckily, this terrible gun +was of a strange kind: "though loaded daily, it never went off." + +"It never went off"--you will catch the drift. + +In less than no time, this ditty became popular; and when Tartarin came +by, the longshoremen and the little shoeblacks before his door sang in +chorus-- + + "Muster Jarvey's roifle + Allus gittin' chaarged; + Muster Jarvey's roifle + 'il hev to git enlaarged; + Muster Jarvey's roifle's + Loaded oft--don't scoff; + Muster Jarvey's roifle + Nivver do go off!" + +But it was shouted out from a safe distance, on account of the double +muscles. + +Oh, the fragility of Tarascon's fads! + +The great object himself feigned to see and hear nothing; but, under the +surface, this sullen and venomous petty warfare much afflicted him. He +felt aware that Tarascon was slipping out of his grip, and that popular +favour was going to others; and this made him suffer horribly. + +Ah, the huge bowl of popularity! it's all very well to have a seat in +front of it, but what a scalding you catch when it is overturned! + +Notwithstanding his pain, Tartarin smiled and peacefully jogged on in +the same life as if nothing untoward had happened. Still, the mask +of jovial heedlessness glued by pride on his face would sometimes +be suddenly detached. Then, in lieu of laughter, one saw grief and +indignation. Thus it was that one morning, when the little blackguards +yelped "Muster Jarvey's Roifle" beneath his window, the wretches' voices +rose even into the poor great man's room, where he was shaving before +the glass. (Tartarin wore a full beard, but as it grew very thick, he +was obliged to keep it trimmed orderly.) + +All at once the window was violently opened, and Tartarin appeared in +shirt-sleeves and nightcap, smothered in lather, flourishing his razor +and shaving-brush, and roaring with a formidable voice: + +"Let's have it out with swords, gentlemen, not pins!" + +Fine words, worthy of history's record, with only the blemish that they +were addressed to little scamps not higher than their boot-boxes, and +who were quite incapable of holding a smallsword. + + + +XII. A memorable Dialogue in the little Baobab Villa. + + +AMID the general falling off, the army alone stuck out firmly for +Tartarin. Brave Commandant Bravida (the former captain in the Army +Clothing Department) continued to show him the same esteem as ever. +"He's game!" he persisted in saying--an assertion, I beg to believe, +fully worth the chemist Bezuquet's. Not once did the brave officer let +out any allusion to the trip to Africa; but when the public clamour grew +too loud, he determined to have his say. + +One evening the luckless Tartarin was in his study, in a brown study +himself, when he saw the commandant stride in, stern, wearing black +gloves, buttoned up to his ears. + +"Tartarin," said the ex-captain authoritatively, "Tartarin, you'll have +to go!" + +And there he dwelt, erect in the doorway frame, grand and rigid as +embodied Duty. Tartarin of Tarascon comprehended all the sense in +"Tartarin, you'll have to ago!" + +Very pale, he rose and looked around with a softened eye upon the cosy +snuggery, tightly closed in, full of warmth and tender light--upon the +commodious easy chair, his books, the carpet, the white blinds of the +windows, beyond which trembled the slender twigs of the little garden. +Then, advancing towards the brave officer, he took his hand, grasped it +energetically, and said in a voice somewhat tearful, but stoical for all +that: + +"I am going, Bravida." + +And go he did, as he said he would. Not straight off though, for it +takes time to get the paraphernalia together. + +To begin with, he ordered of Bompard two large boxes bound with brass, +and an inscription to be on them: + + ----------------------------------------- + I TARTARIN, OF TARASCON I + I Firearms, &c. I + ----------------------------------------- + +The binding in brass and the lettering took much time. He also +ordered at Tastavin's a showy album, in which to keep a diary and his +impressions of travel; for a man cannot help having an idea or two +strike him even when he is busy lion-hunting. + +Next, he had over from Marseilles a downright cargo of tinned +eatables, pemmican compressed in cakes for making soup, a new pattern +shelter-tent, opening out and packing up in a minute, sea-boots, a +couple of umbrellas, a waterproof coat, and blue spectacles to ward off +ophthalmia. To conclude, Bezuquet the chemist made him up a miniature +portable medicine chest stuffed with diachylon plaister, arnica, +camphor, and medicated vinegar. + +Poor Tartarin! he did not take these safeguards on his own behalf; +but he hoped, by dint of precaution and delicate attentions, to allay +Sancho-Tartarin's fury, who, since the start was fixed, never left off +raging day or night. + + + +XIII. The Departure. + + +EFTSOON arrived the great and solemn day. From dawn all Tarascon had +been on foot, encumbering the Avignon road and the approaches to Baobab +Villa. People were up at the windows, on the roofs, and in the trees; +the Rhone bargees, porters, dredgers, shoeblacks, gentry, tradesfolk, +warpers and weavers, taffety-workers, the club members, in short the +whole town; moreover, people from Beaucaire had come over the bridge, +market-gardeners from the environs, carters in their huge carts with +ample tilts, vinedressers upon handsome mules, tricked out with ribbons, +streamers, bells, rosettes, and jingles, and even, here and there, a few +pretty maids from Arles, come on the pillion behind their sweethearts, +with bonny blue ribbons round the head, upon little iron-grey Camargue +horses. + +All this swarm squeezed and jostled before our good Tartarin's door, who +was going to slaughter lions in the land of the Turks. + +For Tarascon, Algeria, Africa, Greece, Persia, Turkey, and Mesopotamia, +all form one great hazy country, almost a myth, called the land of the +Turks. They say "Tur's," but that's a linguistic digression. + +In the midst of all this throng, the cap-poppers bustled to and fro, +proud of their captain's triumph, leaving glorious wakes where they had +passed. + +In front of the Indian fig-tree house were two large trucks. From time +to time the door would open, and allow several persons to be spied, +gravely lounging about the little garden. At every new box the throng +started and trembled. The articles were named in a loud voice: + +"That there's the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that's +the physic-chest; these the gun-cases,"--the cap-poppers giving +explanations. + +All of a sudden, about ten o'clock, there was a great stir in the +multitude, for the garden gate banged open. + +"Here he is! here he is!" they shouted. + +It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two outcries of +stupefaction burst from the assemblage: + +"He's a Turk!" "He's got on spectacles!" + +In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to +Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers, small +tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around the +waist, the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez, or +chechia, on his head, with something like a long blue tassel thereto. +Together with this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder, a broad +hunting-knife in the girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a revolver +on the hip, swinging in its patent leather case--that is all. No, I cry +your pardon, I was forgetting the spectacles--a pantomimically large +pair of azure barnacles, which came in partly to temper what was rather +too fierce in the bearing of our hero. + +"Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!" roared the +populace. + +The great man smiled, but did not salute, on account of the firearms +hindering him. Moreover, he knew now on what popular favour depends; +it may even be that in the depths of his soul he cursed his terrible +fellow-townsfolk, who obliged him to go away and leave his pretty little +pleasure-house with whitened walls and green venetians. But there was no +show of this. + +Calm and proud, although a little pallid, he stepped out on the footway, +glanced at the hand-carts, and, seeing all was right, lustily took the +road to the railway-station, without even once looking back towards +Baobab Villa. Behind him marched the brave Commandant Bravida, Ladevese +the Chief Judge, Costecalde the gunsmith next, and then all the +sportsmen who pop at caps, preceding the hand-carts and the rag, tag, +and bobtail. + +Before the station the station-master awaited them, an old African +veteran of 1830, who shook Tartarin's hand many times with fervency. + +The Paris-to-Marseilles express was not yet in, so Tartarin and his +staff went into the waiting-rooms. To prevent the place being overrun, +the station-master ordered the gates to be closed. + +During a quarter of an hour, Tartarin promenaded up and down in the +rooms in the midst of his brother marksmen, speaking to them of his +journey and his hunting, and promising to send them skins; they put +their names down in his memorandum-book for a lionskin apiece, as +waltzers book for a dance. + +Gentle and placid as Socrates on the point of quaffing the hemlock, the +intrepid Tarasconian had a word and a smile for each. He spoke simply, +with an affable mien; it looked as if, before departing, he meant to +leave behind him a wake of charms, regrets, and pleasant memories. On +hearing their leader speak in this way, all the sportsmen felt tears +well up, and some were stung with remorse, to wit, Chief Judge Ladevese +and the chemist Bezuquet. The railway employees blubbered in the +corners, whilst the outer public squinted through the bars and bellowed: +"Long live Tartarin!" + +At length the bell rang. A dull rumble was heard, and a piercing whistle +shook the vault. + +"The Marseilles express, gen'lemen!" + +"Good-bye, Tartarin! Good luck, old fellow!" + +"Good-bye to you all!" murmured the great man, as, with his arms +around the brave Commandant Bravida, he embraced his dear native place +collectively in him. Then he leaped out upon the platform, and clambered +into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who were ready to die with +fright at sight of this stranger with so many pistols and rifles. + + + +XIV. The Port of Marseilles--"All aboard, all aboard!" + + +UPON the 1st of December 18--, in clear, brilliant, splendid weather, +under a south winter sun, the startled inhabitants of Marseilles beheld +a Turk come down the Canebiere, or their Regent Street. A Turk, a +regular Turk--never had such a one been seen; and yet, Heaven knows, +there is no lack of Turks at Marseilles. + +The Turk in question--have I any necessity of telling you it was the +great Tartarin of Tarascon?--waddled along the quays, followed by +his gun-cases, medicine-chest, and tinned comestibles, to reach the +landing-stage of the Touache Company and the mail steamer the Zouave, +which was to transport him over the sea. + +With his ears still ringing with the home applause, intoxicated by the +glare of the heavens and the reek of the sea, Tartarin fairly beamed as +he stepped out with a lofty head, and between his guns on his shoulders, +looking with all his eyes upon that wondrous, dazzling harbour of +Marseilles, which he saw for the first time. The poor fellow believed he +was dreaming. He fancied his name was Sinbad the Sailor, and that he +was roaming in one of those fantastic cities abundant in the "Arabian +Nights." As far as eye could reach there spread a forest of masts and +spars, cris-crossing in every way. + +Flags of all countries floated--English, American, Russian, Swedish, +Greek and Tunisian. + +The vessels lay alongside the wharves--ay, head on, so that their +bowsprits stuck up out over the strand like rows of bayonets. Over it, +too, sprawled the mermaids, goddesses, madonnas, and other figure-heads +in carved and painted wood which gave names to the ships--all worn by +sea-water, split, mildewed, and dripping. Ever and anon, between the +hulls, a patch of harbour like watered silk splashed with oil. In the +intervals of the yards and booms, what seemed swarms of flies prettily +spotted the blue sky. These were the shipboys, hailing one another in +all languages. + +On the waterside, amidst thick green or black rivulets coming down +from the soap factories loaded with oil and soda, bustled a mass of +custom-house officers, messengers, porters, and truckmen with their +bogheys, or trolleys, drawn by Corsican ponies. + +There were shops selling quaint articles, smoky shanties where sailors +were cooking their own queer messes, dealers in pipes, monkeys, +parrots, ropes, sailcloth, fanciful curios, amongst which were mingled +higgledy-piggledy old culverins, huge gilded lanterns, worn-out +pulley-blocks, rusty flukeless anchors, chafed cordage, battered +speaking-trumpets, and marine glasses almost contemporary with the Ark. +Sellers of mussels and clams squatted beside their heaps of shellfish +and yawped their goods. Seamen rolled by with tar-pots, smoking +soup-bowls, and big baskets full of cuttlefish, from which they went to +wash the ink in the milky waters of the fountains. + +Everywhere a prodigious collection of all kinds of goods: silks, +minerals, wood in stacks, lead in pigs, cloths, sugars, caruba wood +logs, colza seed, liquorice sticks, sugar-canes. The East and the West +cheek by jowl, even to pyramids of Dutch cheeses which the Genoese were +dyeing red by contact with their hands. + +Yonder was the corn market: porters discharging sacks down the shoots +of lofty elevators upon the pier, and loose grain rolling as a golden +torrent through a blonde dust. Men in red skullcaps were sifting it as +they caught it in large asses'-skin sieves, and loading it upon carts +which took their millward way, followed by a regiment of women and +youngsters with wisps and gleaning baskets. Farther on, the dry docks, +where large vessels were laid low on their sides till their yards dipped +in the water; they were singed with thorn-bushes to free them of sea +weed; there rose an odour of pitch, and the deafening clatter of the +sheathers coppering the bottoms with broad sheets of yellow metal. + +At whiles a gap in between the masts, in which Tartarin could see the +haven mouth, where the vessels came and went: a British frigate off for +Malta, dainty and thoroughly washed down, with the officer in primrose +gloves, or a large home-port brig hauling out in the midst of uproar and +oaths, whilst the fat captain, in a high silk hat and frockcoat, ordered +the operations in Provencal dialect. Other craft were making forth under +all sail, and, still farther out, more were slowly looming up in the +sunshine as if they were sailing in the air. + +All the time a frightful riot, the rumbling of carts, the "Haul all, +haul away!" of the shipmen, oaths, songs, steamboat whistles, the bugles +and drums in Forts Saint Jean and Saint Nicolas, the bells of the Major, +the Accoules, and Saint Victor; with the mistral atop of all, catching +up the noises and clamour, and rolling them up together with a furious +shaking, till confounded with its own voice, which intoned a mad, wild, +heroic melody like a grand charging tune--one that filled hearers with a +longing to be off, and the farther the better--a craving for wings. + +It was to the sound of this splendid blast that the intrepid Tartarin +Tarasco of Tarascon embarked for the land of lions. + + + + +EPISODE THE SECOND, AMONG "THE TURKS" + + + +I. The Passage--The Five Positions of the Fez--The Third Evening +Out--Mercy upon us! + + +JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter--a great artist, +I mean--in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this second +episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin's red cap in the +three days' passage it made on board of the Zouave, between France and +Algeria. + +First would I show you it at the steaming out, upon deck, arrogant and +heroic as it was, forming a glory round that handsome Tarasconian head. +Next would I show you it at the harbour-mouth, when the bark began +to caper upon the waves; I would depict it for you all of a quake in +astonishment, and as though already experiencing the preliminary qualms +of sea-sickness. Then, in the Gulf of the Lion, proportionably to the +nearing the open sea, where the white caps heaved harder, I would make +you behold it wrestling with the tempest, and standing on end upon the +hero's cranium, with its mighty mane of blue wool bristling out in the +spray and breeze. Position Fourth: at six in the afternoon, with the +Corsican coast in view; the unfortunate chechia hangs over the ship's +side, and lamentably stares down as though to plumb the depths of +ocean. Finally and lastly, the Fifth Position: at the back of a narrow +state-room, in a box-bed so small it seemed one drawer in a nest of +them, something shapeless rolled on the pillow with moans of desolation. +This was the fez--the fez so defiant at the sailing, now reduced to the +vulgar condition of a nightcap, and pulled down over the very ears of +the head of a pallid and convulsed sufferer. + +How the people of Tarascon would have kicked themselves for having +constrained the great Tartarin to leave home, if they had but seen him +stretched in the bunk in the dull, wan gleam through the dead-light, +amid the sickly odour of cooking and wet wood--the heart-heaving perfume +of mail-boats; if they had but heard him gurgle at every turn of the +screw, wail for tea every five minutes, and swear at the steward in a +childish treble! + +On my word of honour as a story-teller, the poor Turk would have made +a paste-board dummy pity him. Suddenly, overcome by the nausea, the +hapless victim had not even the power to undo the Algerian girdle-cloth, +or lay aside his armoury; the lumpy-handled hunting-sword pounded his +ribs, and the leather revolver-case made his thigh raw. To finish him +arose the taunts of Sancho-Tartarin, who never ceased to groan and +inveigh: + +"Well, for the biggest kind of imbecile, you are the finest specimen! I +told you truly how it would be. Ha, ha! you were bound to go to Africa, +of course! Well, old merriman, now you are going to Africa, how do you +like it?" + +The cruellest part of it was that, from the retreat where he was +moaning, the hapless invalid could hear the passengers in the grand +saloon laughing, munching, singing, and playing at cards. On board the +Zouave the company was as jolly as numerous, composed of officers going +back to join their regiments, ladies from the Marseilles Alcazar Music +Hall, strolling-players, a rich Mussulman returning from Mecca, and a +very jocular Montenegrin prince, who favoured them with imitations +of the low comedians of Paris. Not one of these jokers felt the +sea-sickness, and their time was passed in quaffing champagne with the +steamer captain, a good fat born Marseillais, who had a wife and family +as well at Algiers as at home, and who answered to the merry name of +Barbassou. + +Tartarin of Tarascon hated this pack of wretches; their mirthfulness +deepened his ails. + +At length, on the third afternoon, there was such an extraordinary +hullabaloo on the deck that our hero was roused out of his long torpor. +The ship's bell was ringing and the seamen's heavy boots ran over the +planks. + +"Go ahead! Stop her! Turn astern!" barked the hoarse voice of Captain +Barbassou; and then, "Stop her dead!" + +There was an abrupt check of movement, a shock, and no more, save the +silent rolling of the boat from side to side like a balloon in the air. +This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian. + +"Heaven ha' mercy upon us!" he yelled in a terrifying voice, as, +recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and +rushed upon deck with his arsenal. + + + +II. "To arms! to arms" + + +ONLY the arrival, not a foundering. + +The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead--a fine one of black, +deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated ground +ahead rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a dead +cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into the sea. +It was like Meudon slope with a laundress's washing hung out to dry. +Over it a vast blue satin sky--and such a blue! + +A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on +the landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince, who +stood by his side, as he named the different parts of the capital, the +Kasbah, the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A very finely-brought-up +prince was this Montenegrin; moreover, knowing Algeria thoroughly, and +fluently speaking Arabic. Hence Tartarin thought of cultivating his +acquaintance. + +All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the +Tarasconian perceived a row of large black hands clinging to it from +over the side. Almost instantly a Negro's woolly head shot up before +him, and, ere he had time to open his mouth, the deck was overwhelmed +on every side by a hundred black or yellow desperadoes, half naked, +hideous, and fearsome. Tartarin knew who these pirates were--"they," of +course, the celebrated "they" who had too often been hunted after by him +in the by-ways of Tarascon. At last they had decided to meet him face to +face. At the outset surprise nailed him to the spot. But when he saw +the outlaws fall upon the luggage, tear off the tarpaulin covering, and +actually commence the pillage of the ship, then the hero awoke. Whipping +out his hunting-sword, "To arms! to arms!" he roared to the passengers; +and away he flew, the foremost of all, upon the buccaneers. "Ques +aco? What's the stir? What's the matter with you?" exclaimed Captain +Barbassou, coming out of the 'tweendecks. + +"About time you did turn up, captain! Quick, quick, arm your men!" + +"Eh, what for? dash it all!" + +"Why, can't you see?" + +"See what?" + +"There, before you, the corsairs" + +Captain Barbassou stared, bewildered. At this juncture a tall blackamoor +tore by with our hero's medicine-chest upon his back. + +"You cut-throat! just wait for me!" yelled the Tarasconer as he ran +after, with the knife uplifted. + +But Barbassou caught him in the spring, and holding him by the +waist-sash, bade him be quiet. + +"Tron de ler! by the throne on high! they're no pirates. It's long since +there were any pirates hereabout. Those dark porters are light porters. +Ha, ha!" + +"P--p-porters?" + +"Rather, only come after the luggage to carry it ashore. So put up +your cook's galley knife, give me your ticket, and walk off behind that +nigger--an honest dog, who will see you to land, and even into a hotel, +if you like." + +A little abashed, Tartarin handed over his ticket, and falling in +behind the representative of the Dark Continent, clambered down by the +hanging-ladder into a big skiff dancing alongside. All his effects were +already there--boxes, trunks, gun-cases, tinned food,--so cramming up +the boat that there was no need to wait for any other passengers. The +African scrambled upon the boxes, and squatted there like a baboon, +with his knees clutched by his hands. Another Negro took the oars. Both +laughingly eyed Tartarin, and showed their white teeth. + +Standing in the stern-sheets, making that terrifying face which had +daunted his fellow-countrymen, the great Tarasconian feverishly fumbled +with his hunting-knife haft; for, despite what Barbassou had told +him, he was only half at ease as regarded the intention of these +ebony-skinned porters, who so little resembled their honest mates of +Tarascon. + +Five minutes afterwards the skiff landed Tartarin, and he set foot upon +the little Barbary wharf, where, three hundred years before, a Spanish +galley-slave yclept Miguel Cervantes devised, under the cane of the +Algerian taskmaster, a sublime romance which was to bear the title of +"Don Quixote." + + + +III. An Invocation to Cervantes--The Disembarkation--Where are the +Turks?--Not a sign of them--Disenchantment + + +O MIGUEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, if what is asserted be true, to wit, +that wherever great men have dwelt some emanation of their spirits +wanderingly hovers until the end of ages, then what remained of your +essence on the Barbary coast must have quivered with glee on beholding +Tartarin of Tarascon disembark, that marvellous type of the French +Southerner, in whom was embodied both heroes of your work, Don Quixote +and Sancho Panza. + +The air was sultry on this occasion. On the wharf, ablaze with sunshine, +were half a dozen revenue officers, some Algerians expecting news from +France, several squatting Moors who drew at long pipes, and some Maltese +mariners dragging large nets, between the meshes of which thousands of +sardines glittered like small silver coins. + +But hardly had Tartarin set foot on earth before the quay sprang into +life and changed its aspect. A horde of savages, still more hideous than +the pirates upon the steamer, rose between the stones on the strand and +rushed upon the new-comer. Tall Arabs were there, nude under woollen +blankets, little Moors in tatters, Negroes, Tunisians, Port Mahonese, +M'zabites, hotel servants in white aprons, all yelling and shouting, +hooking on his clothes, fighting over his luggage, one carrying away the +provender, another his medicine-chest, and pelting him in one fantastic +medley with the names of preposterously-entitled hotels. + +Bewildered by all this tumult, poor Tartarin wandered to and fro, swore +and stormed, went mad, ran after his property, and not knowing how +to make these barbarians understand him, speechified them in French, +Provencal, and even in dog Latin: "Rosa, the rose; bonus, bona, +bonum!"--all that he knew--but to no purpose. He was not heeded. +Happily, like a god in Homer, intervened a little fellow in a +yellow-collared tunic, and armed with a long running-footman's cane, who +dispersed the whole riff-raff with cudgel-play. He was a policeman of +the Algerian capital. Very politely, he suggested Tartarin should put up +at the Hotel de l'Europe, and he confided him to its waiters, who carted +him and his impedimenta thither in several barrows. + +At the first steps he took in Algiers, Tartarin of Tarascon opened his +eyes widely. Beforehand he had pictured it as an Oriental city--a fairy +one, mythological, something between Constantinople and Zanzibar; but +it was back into Tarascon he fell. Cafes, restaurants, wide streets, +four-storey houses, a little market-place, macadamised, where the +infantry band played Offenbachian polkas, whilst fashionably clad +gentlemen occupied chairs, drinking beer and eating pancakes, some +brilliant ladies, some shady ones, and soldiers--more soldiers--no end +of soldiers, but not a solitary Turk, or, better to say, there was a +solitary Turk, and that was he. + +Hence he felt a little abashed about crossing the square, for everybody +looked at him. The musicians stopped, the Offenbachian polka halting +with one foot in the air. + +With both guns on his shoulders, and the revolver flapping on his +hip, as fierce and stately as Robinson Crusoe, Tartarin gravely passed +through the groups; but on arriving at the hotel his powers failed +him. All spun and mingled in his head: the departure from Tarascon, the +harbour of Marseilles, the voyage, the Montenegrin prince, the corsairs. +They had to help him up into a room and disarm and undress him. They +began to talk of sending for a medical adviser; but hardly was our +hero's head upon the pillow than he set to snoring, so loudly and so +heartily that the landlord judged the succour of science useless, and +everybody considerately withdrew. + + + +IV. The First Lying in Wait. + + +THREE o'clock was striking by the Government clock when Tartarin awoke. +He had slept all the evening, night, and morning, and even a goodish +piece of the afternoon. It must be granted, though, that in the last +three days the red fez had caught it pretty hot and lively! + +Our hero's first thought on opening his eyes was, "I am in the land of +the lions!" And--well, why should we not say it?--at the idea that lions +were nigh hereabouts, within a couple of steps, almost at hand's reach, +and that he would have to disentangle a snarled skein with them, ugh! a +deadly chill struck him, and he dived intrepidly under the coverlet. + +But, before a moment was over, the outward gaiety, the blue sky, the +glowing sun that streamed into the bedchamber, a nice little breakfast +that he ate in bed, his window wide open upon the sea, the whole +flavoured with an uncommonly good bottle of Crescia wine--it very +speedily restored him his former pluckiness. + +"Let's out and at the lion!" he exclaimed, throwing off the clothes and +briskly dressing himself. + +His plan was as follows: he would go forth from the city without saying +a word to a soul, plunge into the great desert, await nightfall to +ambush himself, and bang away at the first lion who walked up. Then +would he return to breakfast in the morning at the hotel, receive the +felicitations of the natives, and hire a cart to bring in the quarry. + +So he hurriedly armed himself, attached upright on his back the +shelter-tent (which, when rolled up, left its centre pole sticking out +a clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as +though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody, from +fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and +threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of Algerian +Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so many spiders; +crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer ward, and lastly came +upon the dusty Mustapha highway. + +Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney coaches, +corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts drawn by bullocks, +squads of Chasseurs d'Afrique, droves of microscopic asses, trucks +of Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet cloaks--all filed by in a +whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts, songs, and trumpetcalls, between +two rows of vile-looking booths, at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais +women might be seen doing their hair, drinking-dens filled with +soldiers, and shops of butchers and knackers. + +"What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!" grumbled the great Tartarin; +"there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles." + +All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely, +stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock, +and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not be +far Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes' time he did see a whole band +of lion-hunters coming his way under arms. + +"Cowards!" thought our hero as he skirted them; "downright cowards, to +go at a lion in companies and with dogs!" + +For it never could occur to him that anything but lions were objects of +the chase in Algeria. For all that, these Nimrods wore such complacent +phizzes of retired tradesmen, and their style of lion-hunting with +dogs and game-bags was so patriarchal, that the Tarasconian, a little +perplexed, deemed it incumbent to question one of the gentlemen. + +"And furthermore, comrade, is the sport good?" + +"Not bad," responded the other, regarding the speaker's imposing warlike +equipment with a scared eye. + +"Killed any?" + +"Rather! Not so bad--only look." Whereupon the Algerian sportsman showed +that it was rabbits and woodcock stuffing out the bag. + +"What! do you call that your bag? Do you put such-like in your bag?" + +"Where else should I put 'em?" + +"But it's such little game." + +"Some run small and some run large," observed the hunter. + +In haste to catch up with his companions, he joined them with several +long strides. The dauntless Tartarin remained rooted in the middle of +the road with stupefaction. "Pooh!" he ejaculated, after a moment's +reflection, "these are jokers. They haven't killed anything whatever," +and he went his way. + +Already the houses became scarcer, and so did the passengers. Dark came +on and objects were blurred, though Tartarin walked on for half an hour +more, when he stopped, for it was night. A moonless night, too, but +sprinkled with stars. On the highroad there was nobody. The hero +concluded that lions are not stage-coaches, and would not of their own +choice travel the main ways. So he wheeled into the fields, where there +were brambles and ditches and bushes at every step, but he kept on +nevertheless. + +But suddenly he halted. + +"I smell lions about here!" said our friend, sniffing right and left. + + + +V. Bang, bang! + + +CERTAINLY a great wilderness, bristling with odd plants of that Oriental +kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble starlight their +magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. On the right loomed up +confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain--perhaps the Atlas range. On the +heart-hand, the invisible sea hollowly rolling. The very spot to attract +wild beasts. + +With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of +Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good couple, +and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his books, the +great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having a lamb or a +kid along with them, which they tied up a space before them, and set +bleating or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. Not having any +goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an imitation, and he set +to crying in a tremulous voice: + +"Baa-a-a!" + +At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little +alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa-ed +more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many times +running at the top of his voice, till the "Baa, baa, baa!" came out with +so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a bull. + +Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing appeared. +He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the ground, bounded +up, rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but returned and stopped +short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for now its four short legs +could plainly be seen, its formidable mane and its large eyes gleaming +in the gloom. + +Up went his gun into position. Fire's the word! and bang, bang! it +was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing of the +hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian's shot a terrible roaring replied. + +"He's got it!" cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his +sturdy supporters, he prepared to receive the brute's charge. + +But it had more than its fill, and galloped off; howling. He did not +budge, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story-books +always lay it down she should. + +Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours' waiting the +Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was getting cool, +and the sea-breeze pricked sharply. + +"I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight," he said to himself. + +To avoid catching rheumatism, he had recourse to his patent tent. But +here's where Old Nick interfered! This tent was of so very ingenious a +construction that he could not manage to open it. In vain did he toil +over it and perspire an hour through--the confounded apparatus would +not come unfolded. There are some umbrellas which amuse themselves under +torrential rains with just such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out +with the struggle, the victim dashed down the machine and lay upon it, +swearing like the regular Southron he was. "Tar, tar, rar, tar! tar, +rar, tar!" + +"What on earth's that?" wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused. + +It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d'Afrique sounding the turn-out in +the Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, for +he had believed himself out in the boundless wilderness; and do you know +where he really was?--in a field of artichokes, between a cabbage-garden +and a patch of beets. His Sahara grew kitchen vegetables. + +Close to him, on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha, the snowy +villas glowed in the rosy rising sun: anybody would believe himself in +the neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides and bastidons. + +The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped +country much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour. + +"These folk are crazy," he reasoned, "to plant artichokes in the +prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. Lions +have come here, and there's the proof." + +What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its +flight. Bending over this ruddy trail with his eye on the lookout and +his revolver in his fist, the valiant Tarasconian went from artichoke to +artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled grass was a pool +of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its flank, with a large +wound in the head, was a--guess what? + +"A lion, of course!" + +Not a bit of it! An ass!--one of those little donkeys so common in +Algeria, where they are called bourriquots. + + + +VI. Arrival of the Female--A Terrible Combat--"Game Fellows Meet Here!" + + +LOOKING on his hapless victim, Tartarin's first impulse was one of +vexation. There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack! His +second feeling was one of pity. The poor bourriquot was so pretty and +looked so kindly. The hide on his still warm sides heaved and fell like +waves. Tartarin knelt down, and strove with the end of his Algerian sash +to stanch the blood; and all you can imagine in the way of touchingness +was offered by the picture of this great man tending this little ass. + +At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not twopennyworth of +life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked his long ears two or +three times, as much as to say, "Oh, thank you!" before a final spasm +shook it from head to tail, whereafter it stirred no more. + +"Noiraud! Blackey!" suddenly screamed a voice, choking with anguish, as +the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same time. + +Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon guard. This +was the female! + +She rushed up, fearsome and roaring, under form of an old Alsatian +woman, her hair in a kerchief, armed with large red umbrella, and +calling for her ass, till all the echoes of Mustapha rang. It certainly +would have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a lioness +in fury than this old virago. In vain did the luckless sportsman try to +make her understand how the blunder had occurred, and he had mistaken +"Noiraud" for a lion. The harridan believed he was making fun of her, +and uttering energetical "Der Teufels!" fell upon our hero to bang him +with the gingham. A little bewildered, Tartarin defended himself as +best he could, warding off the blows with his rifle, streaming with +perspiration, panting, jumping about, and crying out: + +"But, Madame, but"-- + +Much good his buts were! Madame was dull of hearing, and her blows +continued hard as ever. + +Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield, the Alsatian's +husband, of the same race; a roadside innkeeper, as well as a very good +ready-reckoner, which was better. When he saw what kind of a customer he +had to deal with--a slaughterer who only wanted to pay the value of his +victim--he disarmed his better-half, and they came to an understanding. + +Tartarin gave two hundred francs, the donkey being worth about ten--at +least that is the current price in the Arab markets. Then poor Blackey +was laid to rest at the root of a fig-tree, and the Alsatian, raised to +joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats, invited the hero to have +a quencher with him in his wine-shop, which stood only a few steps off +on the edge of the highway. Every Sunday the sportsmen from the city +came there to regale of a morning, for the plain abounded with game, and +there was no better place for rabbits for two leagues around. + +"How about lions?" inquired Tartarin. + +The Alsatian stared at him, greatly astounded. + +"Lions!" + +"Yes, lions. Don't you see them sometimes?" resumed the poor fellow, +with less confidence. + +The Boniface burst out in laughter. + +"Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here?" + +"Are there, then, none in Algeria?" + +"'Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years in the +colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing--leastwise, I +fancy the newspapers said--but that is ever so much farther inland--down +South, you know"-- + +At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a +withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted on the +wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, feeding: + + "GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE." + +"Game fellows!" It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida. + + + +VII. About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine. + + +COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first adventure, but +men of Tartarin's mettle do not easily get cast down. + +"The lions are in the South, are they?" mused the hero. "Very well, +then. South I go." + +As soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful he jumped up, thanked his +host, nodded good-bye to the old hag without any ill-will, dropped a +final tear over the hapless Blackey, and quickly returned to Algiers, +with the firm intention of packing up and starting that very day for the +South. + +The Mustapha highroad seemed, unfortunately, to have stretched since +overnight; and what a sun and dust there were, and what a weight in that +shelter-tent! Tartarin did not feel to have the courage to walk to the +town, and he beckoned to the first omnibus coming along, and climbed in. + +Oh, our poor Tartarin of Tarascon! how much better it would have been +for his name and fame not to have stepped into that fatal ark on +wheels, but to have continued on his road afoot, at the risk of falling +suffocated beneath the burden of the atmosphere, the tent, and his heavy +double-barrelled rifles. + +When Tartarin got in the 'bus was full. At the end, with his nose in his +prayer-book, sat a large and black-bearded vicar from town; facing him +was a young Moorish merchant smoking coarse cigarettes, and a Maltese +sailor and four or five Moorish women muffled up in white cloths, so +that only their eyes could be spied. + +These ladies had been to offer up prayers in the Abdel Kader cemetery; +but this funereal visit did not seem to have much saddened them, for +they could be heard chuckling and chattering between themselves under +their coverings whilst munching pastry. Tartarin fancied that they +watched him narrowly. One in particular, seated over against him, had +fixed her eyes upon his, and never took them off all the drive. Although +the dame was veiled, the liveliness of the big black eyes, lengthened +out by k'hol; a delightfully slender wrist loaded with gold bracelets, +of which a glimpse was given from time to time among the folds; the +sound of her voice, the graceful, almost childlike, movements of the +head, all revealed that a young, pretty, and loveable creature bloomed +underneath the veil. The unfortunate Tartarin did not know where to +shrink. The fond, mute gaze of these splendrous Oriental orbs agitated +him, perturbed him, and made him feel like dying with flushes of heat +and fits of cold shivers. + +To finish him, the lady's slipper meddled in the onslaught: he felt the +dainty thing wander and frisk about over his heavy hunting boots like a +tiny red mouse. What could he do? Answer the glance and the pressure, +of course. Ay, but what about the consequences? A loving intrigue in the +East is a terrible matter! With his romantic southern nature, the honest +Tarasconian saw himself already falling into the grip of the eunuchs, +to be decapitated, or better--we mean, worse--than that, sewn up in a +leather sack and sunk in the sea with his head under his arm beside him. +This somewhat cooled him. In the meantime the little slipper continued +its proceedings, and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black +velvet flowers, seemed to say: + +"Come, cull us!" + +The 'bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue +Bab-Azoon. One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers, and +drawing their mufflers around them with wild grace, the Moorish women +alighted. Tartarin's confrontatress was the last to rise, and in doing +so her countenance skimmed so closely to our hero's that her breath +enveloped him--a veritable nosegay of youth and freshness, with an +indescribable after-tang of musk, jessamine, and pastry. + +The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and ready +for anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling sound of +his belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled mouth, as +one who would say, "Hush!" and with the other hand quickly tossed him a +little wreath of sweet-scented jessamine flowers. Tartarin of +Tarascon stooped to pick it up; but as he was rather clumsy, and much +overburdened with implements of war, the operation took rather long. +When he did straighten up, with the jessamine garland upon his heart, +the donatrix had vanished. + + + +VIII. Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace! + + +LIONS of the Atlas, sleep!--sleep tranquilly at the back of your lairs +amid the aloes and cacti. For a few days to come, any way, Tartarin +of Tarascon will not massacre you. For the time being, all his warlike +paraphernalia, gun-cases, medicine chest, alimentary preserves, dwelt +peacefully under cover in a corner of room 36 in the Hotel de l'Europe. + +Sleep with no fear, great red lions, the Tarasconian is engaged in +looking up that Moorish charmer. Since the adventure in the omnibus, +the unfortunate swain perpetually fancied he felt the fidgeting of +that pretty red mouse upon his huge backwoods trapper's foot; and the +sea-breeze fanning his lips was ever scented, do what he would, with a +love-exciting odour of sweet cakes and patchouli. + +He hungered for his indispensable light of the harem! and he meant to +behold her anew. + +But it was no joke of a task. To find one certain person in a city of +a hundred thousand souls, only known by the eyes, breath, and +slipper,--none but a son of Tarascon, panoplied by love, would be +capable of attempting such an adventure. + +The plague is that, under their broad white mufflers, all the Moorish +women resemble one another; besides, they do not go about much, and to +see them, a man has to climb up into the native or upper town, the city +of the "Turks," and that is a regular cut-throat's den. + +Little black alleys, very narrow, climbing perpendicularly up between +mysterious house-walls, whose roofs lean to touching and form a tunnel; +low doors, and sad, silent little casements well barred and grated. +Moreover, on both hands, stacks of darksome stalls, wherein ferocious +"Turks" smoked long pipes stuck between glittering teeth in piratical +heads with white eyes, and mumbled in undertones as if hatching wicked +attacks. + +To say that Tartarin traversed this grisly place without any emotion +would be putting forth falsehood. On the contrary, he was much +affected, and the stout fellow only went up the obscure lanes, where his +corporation took up all the width, with the utmost precaution, his eye +skinned, and his finger on his revolver trigger, in the same manner as +he went to the clubhouse at Tarascon. At any moment he expected to have +a whole gang of eunuchs and janissaries drop upon his back, yet the +longing to behold that dark damsel again gave him a giant's strength and +boldness. + +For a full week the undaunted Tartarin never quitted the high town. Yes; +for all that period he might have been seen cooling his heels before +the Turkish bath-houses, awaiting the hour when the ladies came forth in +troops, shivering and still redolent of soap and hot water; or squatting +at the doorways of mosques, puffing and melting in trying to get out of +his big boots in order to enter the temples. + +Betimes at nightfall, when he was returning heart-broken at not having +discovered anything at either bagnio or mosque, our man from Tarascon, +in passing mansions, would hear monotonous songs, smothered twanging +of guitars, thumping of tambourines, and feminine laughter-peals, which +would make his heart beat. + +"Haply she is there!" he would say to himself. + +Thereupon, granting the street was unpeopled, he would go up to one of +these dwellings, lift the heavy knocker of the low postern, and timidly +rap. The songs and merriment would instantly cease. There would be +audible behind the wall nothing excepting low, dull flutterings as in a +slumbering aviary. + +"Let's stick to it, old boy," our hero would think. "Something will +befall us yet." + +What most often befell him was the contents of the cold-water jug on +the head, or else peel of oranges and Barbary figs; never anything more +serious. + +Well might the lions of the Atlas Mountains doze in peace. + + + +IX. Prince Gregory of Montenegro. + + +IT was two long weeks that the unfortunate Tartarin had been seeking his +Algerian flame, and most likely he would have been seeking after her to +this day if the little god kind to lovers had not come to his help under +the shape of a Montenegrin nobleman. + +It happened as follows. + +Every Saturday night in winter there is a masked ball at the Grand +Theatre of Algiers, just as at the Paris Opera-House. It is the undying +and ever-tasteless county fancy dress ball--very few people on the +floor, several castaways from the Parisian students' ballrooms or +midnight dance-houses, Joans of Arc following the army, faded characters +out of the Java costume-book of 1840, and half-a-dozen laundress's +underlings who are aiming to make loftier conquests, but still preserve +a faint perfume of their former life--garlic and saffron sauce. The real +spectacle is not there, but in the green-room, transformed for the nonce +into a hall of green cloth or gaming saloon. + +An enfevered and motley mob hustle one another around the long green +table-covers: Turcos out for the day and staking their double halfpence, +Moorish traders from the native town, Negroes, Maltese, colonists from +the inland, who have come forty leagues in order to risk on a turning +card the price of a plough or of a yoke of oxen; all a-quivering, pale, +clenching their teeth, and with that singular, wavering, sidelong look +of the gamester, become a squint from always staring at the same card in +the lay-out. + +A little apart are the tribes of Algerian Jews, playing among +acquaintances. The men are in the Oriental costume; hideously varied +with blue stockings and velvet caps. The puffy and flabby women sit up +stiffly in tight golden bodices. Grouped around the tables, the whole +tribe wail, squeal, combine, reckon on the fingers, and play but little. +Now and anon, however, after long conferences, some old patriarch, with +a beard like those of saints by the Old Masters, detaches himself from +the party and goes to risk the family duro. As long as the game +lasted there would be a scintillation of Hebraic eyes directed on the +board--dreadful black diamonds, which made the gold pieces shiver, and +ended by gently attracting them, as if drawn by a thread. Then arose +wrangles, quarrels, battles, oaths of every land, mad outcries in all +tongues, knives flashing out, the guard marching in, and the money +disappearing. + +It was into the thick of this saturnalia that the great Tartarin came +straying one evening to find oblivion and heart's ease. + +He was roving alone through the gathering, brooding about his Moorish +beauty, when two angered voices arose suddenly from a gaming-table above +all the clamour and chink of coin. + +"I tell you, M'sieu, that I am twenty francs short!" + +"Stuff, M'sieu!" + +"Stuff yourself; M'sieu!" + +"You shall learn whom you are addressing, M'sieu!" + +"I am dying to do that, M'sieu!" + +"I am Prince Gregory of Montenegro, M'sieu." + +Upon this title Tartarin, much excited, cleft the throng and placed +himself in the foremost rank, proud and happy to find his prince again, +the Montenegrin noble of such politeness whose acquaintance he had begun +on board of the mail steamer. Unfortunately the title of Highness, which +had so dazzled the worthy Tarasconian, did not produce the slightest +impression upon the Chasseurs officer with whom the noble had his +dispute. + +"I am much the wiser!" observed the military gentleman sneeringly; and +turning to the bystanders he added: "'Prince Gregory of Montenegro'--who +knows any such a person? Nobody!" + +The indignant Tartarin took one step forward. + +"Allow me. I know the prince," said he, in a very firm voice, and with +his finest Tarasconian accent. + +The light cavalry officer eyed him hard for a moment, and then, +shrugging his shoulders, returned: + +"Come, that is good! Just you two share the twenty francs lacking +between you, and let us talk no more on the score." + +Whereupon he turned his back upon them and mixed with the crowd. The +stormy Tartarin was going to rush after him, but the prince prevented +that. + +"Let him go. I can manage my own affairs." + +Taking the interventionist by the arm, he drew him rapidly out of doors. +When they were upon the square, Prince Gregory of Montenegro lifted his +hat off; extended his hand to our hero, and as he but dimly remembered +his name, he began in a vibrating voice: + +"Monsieur Barbarin--" + +"Tartarin!" prompted the other, timidly. + +"Tartarin, Barbarin, no matter! Between us henceforward it is a league +of life and death!" + +The Montenegrin noble shook his hand with fierce energy. You may infer +that the Tarasconian was proud. + +"Prince, prince!" he repeated enthusiastically. + +In a quarter of an hour subsequently the two gentlemen were installed in +the Platanes Restaurant, an agreeable late supper-house, with terraces +running out over the sea, where, before a hearty Russian salad, seconded +by a nice Crescia wine, they renewed the friendship. + +You cannot image any one more bewitching than this Montenegrin prince. +Slender, fine, with crisp hair curled by the tongs, shaved "a week +under" and pumice-stoned on that, bestarred with out-of-the-way +decorations, he had the wily eye, the fondling gestures, and vaguely the +accent of an Italian, which gave him an air of Cardinal Mazarin without +his chin-tuft and moustaches. He was deeply versed in the Latin tongues, +and lugged in quotations from Tacitus, Horace, and Caesar's Commentaries +at every opening. + +Of an old noble strain, it appeared that his brothers had had him exiled +at the age of ten, on account of his liberal opinions, since which time +he had roamed the world for pleasure and instruction as a philosophical +noble. A singular coincidence! the prince had spent three years in +Tarascon; and as Tartarin showed amazement at never having met him at +the club or on the esplanade, His Highness evasively remarked that he +never went about. Through delicacy, the Tarasconian did not dare to +question further. All great existences have such mysterious nooks. + +To sum up, this Signor Gregory was a very genial aristocrat. Whilst +sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to Tartarin's +expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to find her +speedily, as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. + +They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to "The ladies of Algiers" and +"The freedom of Montenegro!" + +Outside, upon the terrace, heaved the sea, and its rollers slapped the +strand in the darkness with much the sound of wet sails flapping. The +air was warm, and the sky full of stars. + +In the plane-trees a nightingale was piping. + +It was Tartarin who paid the piper. + + + +X. "Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower." + + +PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird. + +On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince Gregory +was in the Tarasconian's bedroom. + +"Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found, Her name +is Baya. She's scarce twenty--as pretty as a love, and already a widow." + +"A widow! What a slice of luck!" joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who +dreaded Oriental husbands. + +"Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother." + +"Oh, the mischief!" + +"A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar." + +Here fell a silence. + +"A fig for that!" proceeded the prince; "you are not the man to be +daunted by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be pacified, +I daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be quick! On with +your courting suit, you lucky dog!" + +Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the +Tarasconian leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up his +capacious nether garment, wanted to know how he should act. + +"Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst." + +"Do you mean to say she knows French?" queried the Tarasconian +simpleton, with the disappointed mien of one who had believed thoroughly +in the Orient. + +"Not one word of it," rejoined the prince imperturbably; "but you can +dictate the billet-doux, and I will translate it bit by bit." + +"O prince, how kind you are!" + +The lover began striding up and down the bedroom in silent meditation. + +Naturally a man does not write to a Moorish girl in Algiers in the same +way as to a seamstress of Beaucaire. It was a very lucky thing that +our hero had in mind his numerous readings, which allowed him, by +amalgamating the Red Indian eloquence of Gustave Aimard's Apaches with +Lamartine's rhetorical flourishes in the "Voyage en Orient," and some +reminiscences of the "Song of Songs," to compose the most Eastern letter +that you could expect to see. It opened with: + +"Like unto the ostrich upon the sandy waste"-- + +and concluded by: + +"Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower." + +To this missive the romantic Tartarin would have much liked to join an +emblematic bouquet of flowers in the Eastern fashion; but Prince Gregory +thought it better to purchase some pipes at the brother's, which could +not fail to soften his wild temper, and would certainly please the lady +a very great deal, as she was much of a smoker. + +"Let's be off at once to buy them!" said Tartarin, full of ardour. + +"No, no! Let me go alone. I can get them cheaper." + +"Eh, what? Would you save me the trouble? O prince, prince, you do me +proud!" + +Quite abashed, the good-hearted fellow offered his purse to the obliging +Montenegrin, urging him to overlook nothing by which the lady would be +gratified. + +Unfortunately the suit, albeit capitally commenced, did not progress +as rapidly as might have been anticipated. It appeared that the Moorish +beauty was very deeply affected by Tartarin's eloquence, and, for that +matter, three-parts won beforehand, so that she wished nothing better +than to receive him; but that brother of hers had qualms, and to lull +them it was necessary to buy pipes by the dozens; nay, the gross--well, +we had best say by the shipload at once. + +"What the plague can Baya do with all these pipes?" poor Tartarin wanted +to know more than once; but he paid the bills all the same, and without +niggardliness. + +At length, after having purchased a mountainous stack of pipes and +poured forth lakes of Oriental poesy, an interview was arranged. I have +no need to tell you with what throbbings of the heart the Tarasconian +prepared himself; with what carefulness he trimmed, brilliantined, and +perfumed his rough cap-popper's beard, and how he did not forget--for +everything must be thought of--to slip a spiky life-preserver and two or +three six-shooters into his pockets. + +The ever-obliging prince was coming to this first meeting in the office +of interpreter. + +The lady dwelt in the upper part of the town. Before her doorway a boy +Moor of fourteen or less was smoking cigarettes; this was the brother in +question, the celebrated Ali. On seeing the pair of visitors arrive, he +gave a double knock on the postern gate and delicately glided away. + +The door opened. A negress appeared, who conducted the gentlemen, +without uttering a word, across the narrow inner courtyard into a small +cool room, where the lady awaited them, reclining on a low ottoman. At +first glance she appeared smaller and stouter than the Moorish damsel +met in the omnibus by the Tarasconian. In fact, was it really the same? +But the doubt merely flashed through Tartarin's brain like a stroke of +lightning. + +The dame was so pretty thus, with her feet bare, and plump fingers, fine +and pink, loaded with rings. Under her bodice of gilded cloth and the +folds of her flower-patterned dress was suggested a lovable creature, +rather blessed materially, rounded everywhere, and nice enough to eat. +The amber mouthpiece of a narghileh smoked at her lips, and enveloped +her wholly in a halo of light-coloured smoke. + +On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as +Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes. + +Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but then, +dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her hands, +and they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild laugh like a +bag full of pearls. + + + +XI. Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri. + + +SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian upper town +after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the natives chatting +among themselves, with many a wink and slight laugh, of one Sidi Tart'ri +Ben Tart'ri, a rich and good-humoured European, who dwelt, a few years +back, in that neighbourhood, with a buxom witch of local origin, named +Baya. + +This Sidi Tart'ri, who has left such a merry memory around the Kasbah, +is no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed. + +How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of +saints, too, it happens the same way--there are moments of blindness, +perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian was no more +exempt from this than another, and that is the reason during two months +that, oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in Oriental amorousness, +and dozed, like Hannibal at Capua, in the delights of Algiers the white. + +The good fellow took a pretty little house in the native style in +the heart of the Arab town, with inner courtyard, banana-trees, cool +verandahs, and fountains. He dwelt, afar from noise, in company with the +Moorish charmer, a thorough woman to the manner born, who pulled at her +hubble-bubble all day when she was not eating. + +Stretched out on a divan in front of him, Baya would drone him +monotonous tunes with a guitar in her fist; or else, to distract her +lord and master, favour him with the Bee Dance, holding a hand-glass up, +in which she reflected her white teeth and the faces she made. + +As the Esmeralda did not know a word of French, and Tartarin none in +Arabic, the conversation died away sometimes, and the Tarasconian had +plenty of leisure to do penance for the gush of language of which he had +been guilty in the shop of Bezuquet the chemist or that of Costecalde +the gunmaker. + +But this penance was not devoid of charm, for he felt a kind of +enjoyable sullenness in dawdling away the whole day without speaking, +and in listening to the gurgling of the hookah, the strumming of the +guitar, and the faint splashing of the fountain on the mosaic pavement +of the yard. + +The pipe, the bath, and caresses filled his entire life. They seldom +went out of doors. Sometimes with his lady-love upon a pillion, Sidi +Tart'ri would ride upon a sturdy mule to eat pomegranates in a little +garden he had purchased in the suburbs. But never, without exception, +did he go down into the European quarter. This kind of Algiers appeared +to him as ugly and unbearable as a barracks at home, with its Zouaves +in revelry, its music-halls crammed with officers, and its everlasting +clank of metal sabre-sheaths under the arcades. + +The sum total is, that our Tarasconian was very happy. + +Sancho-Tartarin particularly, being very sweet upon Turkish pastry, +declared that one could not be more satisfied than by this new +existence. Quixote-Tartarin had some twinges at whiles on thinking of +Tarascon and the promises of lion-skins; but this remorse did not last, +and to drive away such dampening ideas there sufficed one glance +from Baya, or a spoonful of those diabolical dizzying and odoriferous +sweetmeats like Circe's brews. + +In the evening Gregory came to discourse a little about a free Black +Mountain. Of indefatigable obligingness, this amiable nobleman filled +the functions of an interpreter in the household, or those of a steward +at a pinch, and all for nothing for the sheer pleasure of it. Apart from +him, Tartarin received none but "Turks." All those fierce-headed pirates +who had given him such frights from the backs of their black stalls +turned out, when once he made their acquaintance, to be good +inoffensive tradesmen, embroiderers, dealers in spice, pipe-mouthpiece +turners--well-bred fellows, humble, clever, close, and first-class hands +at homely card games. Four or five times a week these gentry would +come and spend the evening at Sidi Tart'ri's, winning his small change, +eating his cakes and dainties, and delicately retiring on the stroke of +ten with thanks to the Prophet. + +Left alone, Sidi Tart'ri and his faithful spouse by the broomstick +wedding would finish the evening on their terrace, a broad white roof +which overlooked the city. + +All around them a thousand of other such white flats, placid beneath the +moonshine, were descending like steps to the sea. The breeze carried up +tinkling of guitars. + +Suddenly, like a shower of firework stars, a full, clear melody would +be softly sprinkled out from the sky, and on the minaret of the +neighbouring mosque a handsome muezzin would appear, his blanched form +outlined on the deep blue of the night, as he chanted the glory of Allah +with a marvellous voice, which filled the horizon. + +Thereupon Baya would let go her guitar, and with her large eyes turned +towards the crier, seem to imbibe the prayer deliciously. As long as +the chant endured she would remain thrilled there in ecstasy, like an +Oriental saint. The deeply impressed Tartarin would watch her pray, and +conclude that it must be a splendid and powerful creed that could cause +such frenzies of faith. + +Tarascon, veil thy face! here is a son of thine on the point of becoming +a renegade! + + + +XII. The Latest Intelligence from Tarascon. + + +PARTING from his little country seat, Sidi Tart'ri was returning alone +on his mule on a fine afternoon, when the sky was blue and the zephyrs +warm. His legs were kept wide apart by ample saddle-bags of esparto +cloth, swelled out with cedrats and water-melons. Lulled by the ring of +his large stirrups, and rocking his body to the swing and swaying of the +beast, the good fellow was thus traversing an adorable country, with +his hands folded on his paunch, three-quarters gone, through heat, in a +comfortable doze. All at once, on entering the town, a deafening appeal +aroused him. + +"Ahoy! What a monster Fate is! Anybody'd take this for Monsieur +Tartarin." + +On this name, and at the jolly southern accent, the Tarasconian lifted +his head, and perceived, a couple of steps away, the honest tanned +visage of Captain Barbassou, master of the Zouave, who was taking his +absinthe at the door of a little coffee-house. + +"Hey! Lord love you, Barbassou!" said Tartarin, pulling up his mule. + +Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a space +ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart'ri sat back +dumbfounded on his melons. + +"What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, what +they say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is she still +singing 'Marco la Bella'?" + +"Marco la Bella!" repeated the indignant Tartarin. "I'll have you to +know, captain, that the person you mention is an honourable Moorish +lady, and one who does not know a word of French." + +"Baya does not know French! What lunatic asylum do you hail from, then?" + +The good captain broke into still heartier laughter; but, seeing the +chops of poor Sidi Tart'ri fall he changed his course. + +"Howsoever, may happen it is not the same lass. Let's reckon that I +have mixed 'em up. Still, mark you, Monsieur Tartarin, you will do well, +nonetheless, to distrust Algerian Moors and Montenegrin princes." + +Tartarin rose in the stirrups, making a wry face. + +"The prince is my friend, captain." + +"Come, come, don't wax wrathy. Won't you have some bitters to sweeten +you? No? Haven't you anything to say to the folks at home, neither? +Well, then, a pleasant journey. By the way, mate, I have some good +French 'bacco upon me, and if you would like to carry away a few +pipefuls, you have only to take some. Take it, won't you? It's your +beastly Oriental 'baccoes that have befogged your brain." + +Upon this the captain went back to his absinthe, whilst the moody +Tartarin trotted slowly on the road to his little house. Although his +great soul refused to credit anything, Barbassou's insinuations had +vexed him, and the familiar adjurations and home accent had awakened +vague remorse. + +He found nobody at home, Baya having gone out to the bath. The negress +appeared sinister and the dwelling saddening. A prey to inexpressible +melancholy, he went and sat down by the fountain to load a pipe with +Barbassou's tobacco. It was wrapped up in a piece of the Marseilles +Semaphore newspaper. On flattening it out, the name of his native place +struck his eyes. + +"Our Tarascon correspondent writes:-- + +"The city is in distress. There has been no news for several months from +Tartarin the lion-slayer, who set off to hunt the great feline tribe +in Africa. What can have become of our heroic fellow-countryman? Those +hardly dare ask who know, as we do, how hot-headed he was, and what +boldness and thirst for adventures were his. Has he, like many others, +been smothered in the sands, or has he fallen under the murderous fangs +of one of those monsters of the Atlas Range of which he had promised the +skins to the municipality? What a dreadful state of uncertainty! It is +true some Negro traders, come to Beaucaire Fair, assert having met in +the middle of the deserts a European whose description agreed with his; +he was proceeding towards Timbuctoo. May Heaven preserve our Tartarin!" + +When he read this, the son of Tarascon reddened, blanched, and +shuddered. All Tarascon appeared unto him: the club, the cap-poppers, +Costecalde's green arm-chair, and, hovering over all like a spread +eagle, the imposing moustaches of brave Commandant Bravida. + +At seeing himself here, as he was, cowardly lolling on a mat, whilst his +friends believed him slaughtering wild beasts, Tartarin of Tarascon was +ashamed of himself, and could have wept had he not been a hero. + +Suddenly he leaped up and thundered: + +"The lion, the lion! Down with him!" + +And dashing into the dusty lumber-hole where mouldered the shelter-tent, +the medicine-chest, the potted meats, and the gun-cases, he dragged them +out into the middle of the court. + +Sancho-Tartarin was no more: Quixote-Tartarin occupied the field of +active life. + +Only the time to inspect his armament and stores, don his harness, get +into his heavy boots, scribble a couple of words to confide Baya to +the prince, and slip a few bank-notes sprinkled with tears into +the envelope, and then the dauntless Tarasconian rolled away in the +stage-coach on the Blidah road, leaving the house to the negress, +stupor-stricken before the pipe, the turban, and babooshes--all the +Moslem shell of Sidi Tart'ri which sprawled piteously under the little +white trefoils of the gallery. + + + + +EPISODE THE THIRD, AMONG THE LIONS + + + +I. What becomes of the Old Stage-coaches. + + +COME to look closely at the vehicle, it was an old stage-coach all +of the olden time, upholstered in faded deep blue cloth, with those +enormous rough woollen balls which, after a few hours' journey, finally +establish a raw spot in the small of your back. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had a corner of the inside, where he installed +himself most free-and-easily: and, preliminarily to inspiring the rank +emanations of the great African felines, the hero had to content himself +with that homely old odour of the stage-coach, oddly composed of a +thousand smells, of man and woman, horses and harness, eatables and +mildewed straw. + +There was a little of everything inside--a Trappist monk, some Jew +merchants, two fast ladies going to join their regiment, the Third +Hussars, a photographic artist from Orleansville, and so on. But, +however charming and varied was the company, the Tarasconian was not in +the mood for chatting; he remained quite thoughtful, with an arm in the +arm-rest sling-strap and his guns between his knees. All churned up his +wits--the precipitate departure, Baya's eyes of jet, the terrible chase +he was about to undertake, to say nothing of this European coach; with +its Noah's Ark aspect, rediscovered in the heart of Africa, vaguely +recalling the Tarascon of his youth, with its races in the suburbs, +jolly dinners on the river-side--a throng of memories, in short. + +Gradually night came on. The guard lit up the lamps. The rusty diligence +danced creakingly on its old springs; the horses trotted and their bells +jangled. From time to time in the boot arose a dreadful clank of iron: +that was the war material. + +Tartarin of Tarascon, nearly overcome, dwelt a moment scanning the +fellow-passengers, comically shaken by the jolts, and dancing before +him like the shadows in galanty-shows, till his eyes grew cloudy and his +mind befogged, and only vaguely he heard the wheels grind and the sides +of the conveyance squeak complainingly. + +Suddenly a voice called Tartarin by his name, the voice of an old fairy +godmother, hoarse, broken, and cracked. + +"Monsieur Tartarin!" three times. + +"Who's calling me?" + +"It's I, Monsieur Tartarin. Don't you recognise me? I am the old +stage-coach who used to do the road betwixt Nimes and Tarascon twenty +year agone. How many times I have carried you and your friends when you +went to shoot at caps over Joncquieres or Bellegarde way! I did not know +you again at the first, on account of your Turk's cap and the flesh you +have accumulated; but as soon as you began snoring--what a rascal is +good-luck!--I twigged you straight away." + +"All right, that's all right enough!" observed the Tarasconian, a shade +vexed; but softening, he added, "But to the point, my poor old girl; +whatever did you come out here for?" + +"Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of my +own free will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I was +considered good for nought, and shipped away into Algeria. And I am not +the only one either! Bless you, next to all the old stage-coaches of +France have been packed off like me. We were regarded as too much the +conservative--'the slow-coaches'--d'ye see, and now we are here +leading the life of a dog. This is what you in France call the Algerian +railways." + +Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before proceeding. "My +wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I regret my lovely Tarascon! +That was the good time for me, when I was young!--You ought to have seen +me starting off in the morning, washed with no stint of water and all +a-shine, with my wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace +of suns, and my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely +when the postillion cracked his whip to the tune of 'Lagadigadeou, the +Tarasque! the Tarasque!' and the guard, his horn in its sling and laced +cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always in a fury, +upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: 'Right-away!' + +"Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks, and +horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look with +pride upon the royal mail coach dart over the king's highway. + +"What a splendid road that was, Monsieur Tartarin, broad and well +kept, with its mile-stones, its little heaps of road-metal at regular +distances, and its pretty clumps of vines and olive-trees on either +hand! Then, again, the roadside inns so close together, and the changes +of horses every five minutes! And what jolly, honest chaps my patrons +were!--village mayors and parish priests going up to Nimes to see their +prefect or bishop, taffety-weavers returning openly from the Mazet, +collegians out on holiday leave, peasants in worked smock-frocks, all +fresh shaven for the occasion that morning; and up above, on the top, +you gentlemen-sportsmen, always in high spirits, and singing each your +own family ballad to the stars as you came back in the dark. + +"Deary me! it's a change of times now! Lord knows what rubbish I am +carting here, come from nobody guesses where! They fill me with small +deer, these negroes, Bedouin Arabs, swashbucklers, adventurers from +every land, and ragged settlers who poison me with their pipes, and all +jabbering a language that the Tower of Babel itself could make nothing +of! And, furthermore, you should see how they treat me--I mean, how they +never treat me: never a brush or a wash. They begrudge me grease for my +axles. Instead of my good fat quiet horses of other days, little Arab +ponies, with the devil in their frames, who fight and bite, caper +as they run like so many goats, and break my splatterboard all to +smithereens with their lashing out behind. Ouch! ouch! there they are at +it again! + +"And such roads! Just here it is bearable, because we are near the +governmental headquarters; but out a bit there's nothing, Monsieur--not +the ghost of a road at all. We get along as best we can over hill and +dale, over dwarf palms and mastic-trees. Ne'er a fixed change of horses, +the stopping being at the whim of the guard, now at one farm, again at +another. + +"Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to have +a glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum. After which, 'Crack on, +postillion!' to make up for the lost time. Though the sun be broiling +and the dust scorching, we whip on! We catch in the scrub and spill +over, but whip on! We swim rivers, we catch cold, we get swamped, we +drown, but whip! whip! whip! Then in the evening, streaming--a nice +thing for my age, with my rheumatics--I have to sleep in the open air +of some caravanseral yard, open to all the winds. In the dead o' night +jackals and hyaenas come sniffing of my body; and the marauders who +don't like dews get into my compartment to keep warm. + +"Such is the life I lead, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, and that I shall +lead to the day when--burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp nights +until unable to do anything else, I shall fall in some spot of bad +road, where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones of my old +carcass"-- + +"Blidah! Blidah!" called out the guard as he opened the door. + + + +II. A little gentleman drops in and "drops upon" Tartarin. + + +VAGUELY through the mud-dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon caught a +glimpse of a second-rate but pretty town market-place, regular in shape, +surrounded by colonnades and planted with orange-trees, in the midst +of which what seemed toy leaden soldiers were going through the morning +exercise in the clear roseate mist. The cafes were shedding their +shutters. In one corner there was a vegetable market. It was bewitching, +but it did not smack of lions yet. + +"To the South! farther to the South!" muttered the good old desperado, +sinking back in his corner. + +At this moment the door opened. A puff of fresh air rushed in, bearing +upon its wings, in the perfume of the orange-blossoms, a little person +in a brown frock-coat, old and dry, wrinkled and formal, his face no +bigger than your fist, his neckcloth of black silk five fingers wide, +a notary's letter-case, and umbrella--the very picture of a village +solicitor. + +On perceiving the Tarasconian's warlike equipment, the little gentleman, +who was seated over against him, appeared excessively surprised, and set +to studying him with burdensome persistency. + +The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in, whereupon the coach +started off again. The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin, who in the +end took snuff at it. + +"Does this astonish you?" he demanded, staring the little gentleman full +in the face in his turn. + +"Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me," responded the other, very tranquilly. + +And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in +their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural corpulence, +Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room. + +The little gentleman's reply angered him. + +"Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with your +umbrella?" queried the great man haughtily. + +The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with +the same lack of emotion, inquired: + +"Oho, then you are Monsieur"-- + +"Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!" + +In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the blue +tassel of his fez like a mane. + +Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction. + +The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered little +screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent over towards +the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled honour of taking his +likeness. + +The little gentleman, though, was not awed. + +"Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions, Monsieur Tartarin?" +he asked, very quietly. + +The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner. + +"Is it many have I killed, Monsieur? I wish you had only as many hairs +on your head as I have killed of them." + +All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing up on +the little gentleman's skull. + +In his turn, the Orleansville photographer struck in: + +"Yours must be a terrible profession, Monsieur Tartarin. You must +pass some ugly moments sometimes. I have heard that poor Monsieur +Bombonnel"--"Oh, yes, the panther-killer," said Tartarin, rather +disdainfully. + +"Do you happen to be acquainted with him?" inquired the insignificant +person. + +"Eh! of course! Know him? Why, we have been out on the hunt over twenty +times together." + +The little gentleman smiled. + +"So you also hunt panthers, Monsieur Tartarin?" he asked. + +"Sometimes, just for pastime," said the fiery Tarasconian. "But," he +added, as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed +the hearts of the two sweethearts of the regiment, "that's not worth +lion-hunting." + +"When all's said and done," ventured the photographer, "a panther is +nothing but a big cat." + +"Right you are!" said Tartarin, not sorry to abate the celebrated +Bombonnel's glory a little, particularly in the presence of ladies. + +Here the coach stopped. The conductor came to open the door, and +addressed the insignificant little gentleman most respectfully, saying: + +"We have arrived, Monsieur." + +The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door was +closed again: + +"Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?" + +"What is it, Monsieur?" + +"Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, rather +than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, Monsieur +Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do remain a few +panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! they are too small +game for you. As for lion-hunting, that's all over. There are none left +in Algeria, my friend Chassaing having lately knocked over the last." + +Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and trotted +away chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella. + +"Guard," asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, "who under +the sun is that poor little mannikin?" + +"What! don't you know him? Why, that there's Monsieur Bombonnel!" + + + +III. A Monastery of Lions. + + +AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach to +continue its way towards the South. + +Two days' rough jolting, two nights spent with eyes open to spy out of +window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion in the +fields beyond the road--so much sleeplessness well deserved some hours +repose. Besides, if we must tell everything, since his misadventure with +Bombonnel, the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at ease, notwithstanding his +weapons, his terrifying visage, and his red cap, before the Orleansville +photographer and the two ladies fond of the military. + +So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah, full of fine +trees and fountains; but whilst looking up a suitable hotel, the poor +fellow could not help musing over Bombonnel's words. Suppose they were +true! Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria? What would be the +good then of so much running about and fatigue? + +Suddenly, at the turn of a street, our hero found himself face to face +with--with what? Guess! "A donkey, of course!" A donkey? A splendid lion +this time, waiting before a coffee-house door, royally sitting up on his +hind-quarters, with his tawny mane gleaming in the sun. + +"What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them?" +exclaimed the Tarasconian, as he made a backward jump. + +On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head, and taking up in his +mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway, humbly held it +out towards Tartarin, who was immovable with stupefaction. A passing +Arab tossed a copper into the bowl, and the lion wagged his tail. +Thereupon Tartarin understood it all. He saw what emotion had prevented +him previously perceiving: that the crowd was gathered around a poor +tame blind lion, and that two stalwart Negroes, armed with staves, were +marching him through the town as a Savoyard does a marmot. + +The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once. + +"Wretches that you are!" he roared in a voice of thunder, "thus to +debase such noble beasts!" + +Springing to the lion, he wrenched the loathsome bowl from between his +royal jaws. The two Africans, believing they had a thief to contend +with, rushed upon the foreigner with uplifted cudgels. There was a +dreadful conflict: the blackamoors smiting, the women screaming, and the +youngsters laughing. An old Jew cobbler bleated out of the hollow of his +stall, "Dake him to the shustish of the beace!" The lion himself; in +his dark state, tried to roar as his hapless champion, after a desperate +struggle, rolled on the ground among the spilt pence and the sweepings. + +At this juncture a man cleft the throng, made the Negroes stand back +with a word, and the women and urchins with a wave of the hand, lifted +up Tartarin, brushed him down, shook him into shape, and sat him +breathless upon a corner-post. + +"What, prince, is it you?" said the good Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. + +"Yes, indeed, it is I, my valiant friend. As soon as your letter was +received, I entrusted Baya to her brother, hired a post-chaise, flew +fifty leagues as fast as a horse could go, and here I am, just in time +to snatch you from the brutality of these ruffians. What have you done, +in the name of just Heaven, to bring this ugly trouble upon you?" + +"What done, prince? It was too much for me to see this unfortunate lion +with a begging-bowl in his mouth, humiliated, conquered, buffeted about, +set up as a laughing-stock to all this Moslem rabble"-- + +"But you are wrong, my noble friend. On the contrary, this lion is an +object of respect and adoration. This is a sacred beast who belongs to a +great monastery of lions, founded three hundred years ago by Mahomet Ben +Aouda, a kind of fierce and forbidding La Trappe, full of roarings +and wild-beastly odours, where strange monks rear and feed lions by +hundreds, and send them out all over Northern Africa, accompanied by +begging brothers. The alms they receive serve for the maintenance of +the monastery and its mosques; and the two Negroes showed so much +displeasure just now because it was their conviction that the lion under +their charge would forthwith devour them if a single penny of their +collection were lost or stolen through any fault of theirs." + +On hearing this incredible and yet veracious story Tartarin of Tarascon +was delighted, and sniffed the air noisily. "What pleases me in this," +he remarked, as the summing up of his opinion, "is that, whether +Monsieur Bombonnel likes it or not, there are still lions in Algeria."-- + +"I should think there were!" ejaculated the prince enthusiastically. +"We will start to-morrow beating up the Shelliff Plain, and you will see +lions enough!" + +"What, prince! have you an intention to go a-hunting, too?" + +"Of course! Do you think I am going to leave you to march by yourself +into the heart of Africa, in the midst of ferocious tribes of whose +languages and usages you are ignorant! No, no, illustrious Tartarin, +I shall quit you no more. Go where you will, I shall make one of the +party." + +"O Prince! prince!" + +The beaming Tartarin hugged the devoted Gregory to his breast at the +proud thought of his going to have a foreign prince to accompany him +in his hunting, after the example of Jules Gerard, Bombonnel, and other +famous lion-slayers. + + + +IV. The Caravan on the March. + + +LEAVING Milianah at the earliest hour next morning, the intrepid +Tartarin and the no less intrepid Prince Gregory descended towards +the Shelliff Plain through a delightful gorge shaded with jessamine, +carouba, tuyas, and wild olive-trees, between hedges of little native +gardens and thousands of merry, lively rills which scampered down from +rock to rock with a singing splash--a bit of landscape meet for the +Lebanon. + +As much loaded with arms as the great Tartarin, Prince Gregory had, over +and above that, donned a queer but magnificent military cap, all covered +with gold lace and a trimming of oak-leaves in silver cord, which gave +His Highness the aspect of a Mexican general or a railway station-master +on the banks of the Danube. + +This plague of a cap much puzzled the beholder; and as he timidly craved +some explanation, the prince gravely answered: + +"It is a kind of headgear indispensable for travel in Algeria." + +Whilst brightening up the peak with a sweep of his sleeve, he instructed +his simple companion in the important part which the military cap plays +in the French connection with the Arabs, and the terror this article of +army insignia alone has the privilege of inspiring, so that the Civil +Service has been obliged to put all its employees in caps, from the +extra-copyist to the receiver-general. To govern Algeria (the prince is +still speaking) there is no need of a strong head, or even of any head +at all. A military cap does it alone, if showy and belaced, and shining +at the top of a non-human pole, like Gessler's. + +Thus chatting and philosophising, the caravan proceeded. The barefooted +porters leaped from rock to rock with ape-like screams. The guncases +clanked, and the guns themselves flashed. The natives who were passing, +salaamed to the ground before the magic cap. Up above, on the ramparts +of Milianah, the head of the Arab Department, who was out for an airing +with his wife, hearing these unusual noises, and seeing the weapons +gleam between the branches, fancied there was a revolt, and ordered the +drawbridge to be raised, the general alarm to be sounded, and the whole +town put under a state of siege. A capital commencement for the caravan! + +Unfortunately, before the day ended, things went wrong. Of the black +luggage-bearers, one was doubled up with atrocious colics from having +eaten the diachylon out of the medicine-chest: another fell on the +roadside dead drunk with camphorated brandy; the third, carrier of +the travelling-album, deceived by the gilding on the clasps into the +persuasion that he was flying with the treasures of Mecca, ran off into +the Zaccar on his best legs. + +This required consideration. The caravan halted, and held a council in +the broken shadow of an old fig-tree. + +"It's my advice that we turn up Negro porters from this evening +forward," said the prince, trying without success to melt a cake of +compressed meat in an improved patent triple-bottomed sauce-pan. "There +is, haply, an Arab trader quite near here. The best thing to do is to +stop there, and buy some donkeys." + +"No, no; no donkeys," quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming quite red +at memory of Noiraud. "How can you expect," he added, hypocrite that he +was, "that such little beasts could carry all our apparatus?" + +The prince smiled. + +"You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend. However weakly and +meagre the Algerian bourriquot may appear to you, he has solid loins. He +must have them so to support all that he does. Just ask the Arabs. Hark +to how they explain the French colonial organisation. 'On the top,' they +say, 'is Mossoo, the Governor, with a heavy club to rap the staff; the +staff, for revenge, canes the soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, +and he hammers the Arab; the Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats +the Jew, and he takes it out of the donkey. The poor bourriquot having +nobody to belabour, arches up his back and bears it all.' You see +clearly now that he can bear your boxes." + +"All the same," remonstrated Tartarin, "it strikes me that jackasses +will not chime in nicely with the effect of our caravan. I want +something more Oriental. For instance, if we could only get a camel"-- + +"As many as you like," said His Highness; and off they started for the +Arab mart. + +It was held a few miles away, on the banks of the Shelliff. There were +five or six thousand Arabs in tatters here, grovelling in the sunshine +and noisily trafficking, amid jars of black olives, pots of honey, bags +of spices; and great heaps of cigars; huge fires were roasting whole +sheep, basted with butter; in open air slaughter-houses stark naked +Negroes, with ruddy arms and their feet in gore, were cutting up kids +hanging from crosspoles, with small knives. + +In one corner, under a tent patched with a thousand colours, a Moorish +clerk of the market in spectacles scrawled in a large book. Here was a +cluster of men shouting with rage: it was a spinning-jenny game, set on +a corn-measure, and Kabyles were ready to cut one another's throats over +it. Yonder were laughs and contortions of delight: it was a Jew trader +on a mule drowning in the Shelliff. Then there were dogs, scorpions, +ravens, and flies--rather flies than anything else. + +But a plentiful lack of camels abounded. They finally unearthed one, +though, of which the M'zabites were trying to get rid--the real ship of +the desert, the classical, standard camel, bald, woe-begone, with a long +Bedouin head, and its hump, become limp in consequence of unduly long +fasts, hanging melancholically on one side. + +Tartarin considered it so handsome that he wanted the entire party to +get upon it. Still his Oriental craze! + +The beast knelt down for them to strap on the boxes. + +The prince enthroned himself on the animal's neck. For the sake of the +greater majesty, Tartarin got them to hoist him on the top of the hump +between two boxes, where, proud, and cosily settled down, he saluted +the whole market with a lofty wave of the hand, and gave the signal of +departure. + +Thunderation! if the people of Tarascon could only have seen him! + +The camel rose, straightened up its long knotty legs, and stepped out. + +Oh, stupor! At the end of a few strides Tartarin felt he was losing +colour, and the heroic chechia assumed one by one its former positions +in the days of sailing in the Zouave. This devil's own camel pitched and +tossed like a frigate. + +"Prince! prince!" gasped Tartarin pallid as a ghost, as he clung to the +dry tuft of the hump, "prince, let's get down. I find--I feel that I +m-m-must get off; or I shall disgrace France." + +A deal of good that talk was--the camel was on the go, and nothing could +stop it. Behind it raced four thousand barefooted Arabs, waving their +hands and laughing like mad, so that they made six hundred thousand +white teeth glitter in the sun. + +The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to circumstances. He +sadly collapsed on the hump, where the fez took all the positions it +fancied, and France was disgraced. + + + +V. The Night-watch in a Poison-tree Grove. + + +SWEETLY picturesque as was their new steed, our lion-hunters had to give +it up, purely out of consideration for the red cap, of course. So +they continued the journey on foot as before, the caravan tranquilly +proceeding southwardly by short stages, the Tarasconian in the van, the +Montenegrin in the rear, and the camel, with the weapons in their cases, +in the ranks. + +The expedition lasted nearly a month. + +During that seeking for lions which he never found, the dreadful +Tartarin roamed from douar to douar on the immense plain of the +Shelliff, through the odd but formidable French Algeria, where the old +Oriental perfumes are complicated by a strong blend of absinthe and the +barracks, Abraham and "the Zouzou" mingled, something fairy-tale-like +and simply burlesque, like a page of the Old Testament related by Tommy +Atkins. + +A curious sight for those who have eyes that can see. + +A wild and corrupted people whom we are civilising by teaching them our +vices. The ferocious and uncontrolled authority of grotesque bashaws, +who gravely use their grand cordons of the Legion of Honour as +handkerchiefs, and for a mere yea or nay order a man to be bastinadoed. +It is the justice of the conscienceless, bespectacled cadis under +the palm-tree, Maw-worms of the Koran and Law, who dream languidly of +promotion and sell their decrees, as Esau did his birthright, for a dish +of lentils or sweetened kouskous. Drunken and libertine cadis are they, +formerly servants to some General Yusuf or the like, who get intoxicated +on champagne, along with laundresses from Port Mahon, and fatten on +roast mutton, whilst before their tents the whole tribe waste away with +hunger, and fight with the harriers for the bones of the lordly feast. + +All around spread the plains in waste, burnt grass, leafless shrubs, +thickets of cactus and mastic--"the Granary of France!"--a granary void +of grain, alas! and rich alone in vermin and jackals. Abandoned camps, +frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine, they know not whither, +and strewing the road with corpses. At long intervals French villages, +with the dwellings in ruins, the fields untilled, the maddened +locusts gnawing even the window-blinds, and all the settlers in the +drinking-places, absorbing absinthe and discussing projects of reform +and the Constitution. + +This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the trouble; +but, wrapped up entirely in his leonine-hunger, the son of Tarascon went +straight on, looking to neither right nor left, his eyes steadfastly +fixed on the imaginary monsters which never really appeared. + +As the shelter-tent was stubborn in not unfolding, and the compressed +meat-cakes would not dissolve, the caravan was obliged to stop, morn and +eve, at tribal camps. Everywhere, thanks to the gorgeous cap of Prince +Gregory, our hunters were welcomed with open arms. They lodged in the +aghas' odd palaces, large white windowless farmhouses, where they +found, pell-mell, narghilehs and mahogany furniture, Smyrna carpets +and moderator lamps, cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins, and French +statuette-decked clocks in the Louis Philippe style. + +Everywhere, too, Tartarin was given splendrous galas, diffas, and +fantasias, which, being interpreted, mean feasts and circuses. In his +honour whole goums blazed away powder, and floated their burnouses in +the sun. When the powder was burnt, the agha would come and hand in his +bill. This is what is called Arab hospitality. + +But always no lions, no more than on London Bridge. + +Nevertheless, the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened. Ever bravely +diving more deeply into the South, he spent the days in beating up the +thickets, probing the dwarf-palms with the muzzle of his rifle, and +saying "Boh!" to every bush. And every evening, before lying down, he +went into ambush for two or three hours. Useless trouble, however, for +the lion did not show himself. + +One evening, though, going on six o'clock, as the caravan scrambled +through a violet-hued mastic-grove, where fat quails tumbled about in +the grass, drowsy through the heat, Tartarin of Tarascon fancied he +heard though afar and very vague, and thinned down by the breeze--that +wondrous roaring to which he had so often listened by Mitaine's +Menagerie at home. + +At first the hero feared he was dreaming; but in an instant further the +roaring recommenced more distinct, although yet remote; and this time +the camel's hump shivered in terror, and made the tinned meats and arms +in the cases rattle, whilst all the dogs in the camps were heard howling +in every corner of the horizon. + +Beyond doubt this was the lion. + +Quick, quick! to the ambush. There was not a minute to lose. + +Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout's, or saint's, tomb, +with a white cupola, and the defunct's large yellow slippers placed in a +niche over the door, and a mass of odd offerings--hems of blankets, gold +thread, red hair--hung on the wall. + +Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in search of +a good spot for lying in wait. Prince Gregory wanted to follow him, but +the Tarasconian refused, bent on confronting Leo alone. But still he +besought His Highness not to go too far away, and, as a measure of +foresight, he entrusted him with his pocket-book, a good-sized one, full +of precious papers and bank-notes, which he feared would get torn by the +lion's claws. This done, our hero looked up a good place. + +A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose-laurel +shook in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up. +There it was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself, one knee on the +ground, according to the regular rule, his rifle in his hand, and his +huge hunting-knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank. + +Night fell. + +The rosy tint of nature changed into violet, and then into dark blue. +A pretty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand-glass over the +river-pebbles; this was the watering-place of the wild animals. + +On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which +their heavy paws had traced in the brush--a mysterious path which made +one's flesh creep. Join to this sensation that from the vague swarming +sound in African forests, the swishing of branches, the velvety-pads of +roving creatures, the jackal's shrill yelp, and up in the sky, two or +three hundred feet aloft, vast flocks of cranes passing on with screams +like poor little children having their weasands slit. You will own that +there were grounds for a man being moved. + +Tartarin was so, and even more than that, for the poor fellow's teeth +chattered, and on the cross-bar of his hunting-knife, planted upright +in the bank, as we repeat, his rifle-barrel rattled like a pair of +castanets. Do not ask too much of a man! There are times when one is +not in the mood; and, moreover, where would be the merit if heroes were +never afraid? + +Well, yes, Tartarin was afraid, and all the time, too, for the matter +of that. Nevertheless, he held out for an hour; better, for two; but +heroism has its limits. Nigh him, in the dry part of the rivulet-bed, +the Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of pebbles +rolling. This time terror lifted him off the ground. He banged away both +barrels at haphazard into the night, and retreated as fast as his +legs would carry him to the marabout's chapel-vault, leaving his knife +standing up in the sand like a cross commemorative of the grandest panic +that ever assailed the soul of a conqueror of hydras. + +"Help! this Way, prince; the lion is on me!" + +There was silence. "Prince, prince, are you there?" + +The prince was not there. On the white moonlit wall of the fane the +camel alone cast the queer-shaped shadow of his protuberance. Prince +Gregory had cut and run with the wallet of bank-notes. His Highness had +been for the month past awaiting this opportunity. + + + +VI. Bagged him at Last. + + +IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and dramatic +eve that our hero awoke, and acquired assurance doubly sure that the +prince and the treasure had really gone off, without any prospect +of return. When he saw himself alone in the little white tombhouse, +betrayed, robbed, abandoned in the heart of savage Algeria, with a +one-humped camel and some pocket-money as all his resources, then did +the representative of Tarascon for the first time doubt. He doubted +Montenegro, friendship, glory, and even lions; and the great man +blubbered bitterly. + +Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary, holding +his head between his hands and his gun between his legs, with the +camel mooning at him, the thicket over the way was divided, and the +stupor-stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen paces +off. It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars, which made +the temple walls shake beneath their votive decorations, and even the +saint's slippers dance in their niche. + +The Tarasconian alone did not tremble. + +"At last you've come!" he shouted, jumping up and levelling the rifle. + +Bang, bang! went a brace of shells into its head. + +It was done. For a minute, on the fiery background of the African sky, +there was a dreadful firework display of scattered brains, smoking +blood, and tawny hair. When all fell, Tartarin perceived two colossal +Negroes furiously running towards him, brandishing cudgels. They were +his two Negro acquaintances of Milianah! + +Oh, misery! + +This was the domesticated lion, the poor blind beggar of the Mohammed +Monastery, whom the Tarasconian's bullets had knocked over. + +This time, spite of Mahound, Tartarin escaped neatly. Drunk with +fanatical fury, the two African collectors would have surely beaten him +to pulp had not the god of chase and war sent him a delivering angel +in the shape of the rural constable of the Orleansville commune. By a +bypath this garde champetre came up, his sword tucked under his arm. + +The sight of the municipal cap suddenly calmed the Negroes' choler. +Peaceful and majestic, the officer with the brass badge drew up a report +on the affair, ordered the camel to be loaded with what remained of the +king of beasts, and the plaintiffs as well as the delinquent to follow +him, proceeding to Orleansville, where all was deposited with the +law-courts receiver. + +There issued a long and alarming case! + +After the Algeria of the native tribes which he had overrun, Tartarin of +Tarascon became thence acquainted with another Algeria, not less weird +and to be dreaded--the Algeria in the towns, surcharged with lawyers and +their papers. He got to know the pettifogger who does business at the +back of a cafe--the legal Bohemian with documents reeking of wormwood +bitters and white neckcloths spotted with champoreau; the ushers, the +attorneys, all the locusts of stamped paper, meagre and famished, who +eat up the colonist body and boots--ay, to the very straps of them, and +leave him peeled to the core like an Indian cornstalk, stripped leaf by +leaf. + +Before all else it was necessary to ascertain whether the lion had been +killed on the civil or the military territory. In the former case the +matter regarded the Tribunal of Commerce; in the second, Tartarin +would be dealt with by the Council of War: and at the mere name the +impressionable Tarasconian saw himself shot at the foot of the ramparts +or huddled up in a casemate-silo. + +The puzzle lay in the limitation of the two territories being very hazy +in Algeria. + +At length, after a month's running about, entanglements, and waiting +under the sun in the yards of Arab Departmental offices, it was +established that, whereas the lion had been killed on the military +territory, on the other hand Tartarin was in the civil territory when he +shot. So the case was decided in the civil courts, and our hero was +let off on paying two thousand five hundred francs damages, costs not +included. + +How could he pay such a sum? + +The few piashtres escaped from the prince's sweep had long since gone in +legal documents and judicial libations. The unfortunate lion-destroyer +was therefore reduced to selling the store of guns by retail, rifle by +rifle; so went the daggers, the Malay kreeses, and the life-preservers. +A grocer purchased the preserved aliments; an apothecary what remained +of the medicaments. The big boots themselves walked off after the +improved tent to a dealer of curiosities, who elevated them to the +dignity of "rarities from Cochin-China." + +When everything was paid up, only the lion's skin and the camel remained +to Tartarin. The hide he had carefully packed, to be sent to Tarascon +to the address of brave Commandant Bravida, and, later on, we shall +see what came of this fabulous trophy. As for the camel, he reckoned on +making use of him to get back to Algiers, not by riding on him, but by +selling him to pay his coach-fare--the best way to employ a camel in +travelling. Unhappily the beast was difficult to place, and no one would +offer a copper for him. + +Still Tartarin wanted to regain Algiers by hook or crook. He was in +haste again to behold Baya's blue bodice, his little snuggery and his +fountains, as well as to repose on the white trefoils of his little +cloister whilst awaiting money from France. So our hero did not +hesitate; distressed but not downcast, he undertook to make the journey +afoot and penniless by short stages. + +In this enterprise the camel did not cast him off. The strange animal +had taken an unaccountable fancy for his master, and on seeing him leave +Orleansville, he set to striding steadfastly behind him, regulating his +pace by this, and never quitting him by a yard. + +At the first outset Tartarin found this touching; such fidelity and +devotion above proof went to his heart, all the more because the +creature was accommodating, and fed himself on nothing. Nevertheless, +after a few days, the Tarasconian was worried by having this glum +companion perpetually at his heels, to remind him of his misadventures. +Ire arising, he hated him for his sad aspect, hump and gait of a goose +in harness. To tell the whole truth, he held him as his Old Man of the +Sea, and only pondered on how to shake him off; but the follower would +not be shaken off. Tartarin attempted to lose him, but the camel always +found him; he tried to outrun him, but the camel ran faster. He bade +him begone, and hurled stones at him. The camel stopped with a +mournful mien, but in a minute resumed the pursuit, and always ended by +overtaking him. Tartarin had to resign himself. + +For all that, when, after eight full days of tramping, the dusty and +harassed Tarasconian espied the first white housetops of Algiers glimmer +from afar in the verdure, and when he got to the city gates on the noisy +Mustapha Avenue, amid the Zouaves, Biskris, and Mahonnais, all swarming +around him and staring at him trudging by with his camel, overtasked +patience escaped him. + +"No! no!" he growled, "it is not likely! I cannot enter Algiers with +such an animal!" + +Profiting by a jam of vehicles, he turned off into the fields and jumped +into a ditch. In a minute or so he saw over his head on the highway +the camel flying off with long strides and stretching his neck with a +wistful air. + +Relieved of a great weight thereby, the hero sneaked out of his covert, +and entered the town anew by a circuitous path which skirted the wall of +his own little garden. + + + +VII. Catastrophes upon Catastrophes. + + +ENTIRELY astonished was Tartarin before his Moorish dwelling when he +stopped. + +Day was dying and the street deserted. Through the low pointed-arch +doorway which the negress had forgotten to close, laughter was heard; +and the clink of wine-glasses, the popping of champagne corks; and, +floating over all the jolly uproar, a feminine voice singing clearly and +joyously: + +"Do you like, Marco la Bella, to dance in the hall hung with bloom?" + +"Throne of heaven!" ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he +rushed into the enclosure. + +Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of the +little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, +tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing "Marco la Bella" with a ship +captain's cap over one ear. She had on no blue vest or bodice; indeed, +her only wear was a silvery gauze wrapper and full pink trousers. At +her feet, on a rug, surfeited with love and sweetmeats, Barbassou, the +infamous skipper Barbassou, was bursting with laughter at hearing her. + +The apparition of Tartarin, haggard, thinned, dusty, his flaming +eyes, and the bristling up fez tassel, sharply interrupted this tender +Turkish-Marseillais orgie. Baya piped the low whine of a frightened +leveret, and ran for safety into the house. But Barbassou did not wince; +he only laughed the louder, saying: + +"Ha, ha, Monsieur Tartarin! What do you say to that now? You see she +does know French." + +Tartarin of Tarascon advanced furiously, crying: + +"Captain!" + +"Digo-li que vengue, moun bon!--Tell him what's happened, old dear!" +screamed the Moorish woman, leaning over the first floor gallery with a +pretty low-bred gesture! + +The poor man, overwhelmed, let himself collapse upon a drum. His genuine +Moorish beauty not only knew French, but the French of Marseilles! + +"I told you not to trust the Algerian girls," observed Captain Barbassou +sententiously! "They're as tricky as your Montenegrin prince." + +Tartarin lifted his head + +"Do you know where the prince is?" + +"Oh, he's not far off. He has gone to live five years in the handsome +prison of Mustapha. The rogue let himself be caught with his hand in the +pocket. Anyways, this is not the first time he has been clapped into +the calaboose. His Highness has already done three years somewhere, +and--stop a bit! I believe it was at Tarascon." + +"At Tarascon!" cried out her worthiest son, abruptly enlightened. +"That's how he only knew one part of the Town." + +"Hey? Of course. Tarascon--a jail bird's-eye view from the state prison. +I tell you, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, you have to keep your peepers +jolly well skinned in this deuce of a country, or be exposed to very +disagreeable things. For a sample, there's the muezzin's game with you." + +"What game? Which muezzin?" + +"Why your'n, of course! The chap across the way who is making up to +Baya. That newspaper, the Akbar, told the yarn t'other day, and +all Algiers is laughing over it even now. It is so funny for that +steeplejack up aloft in his crow's-nest to make declarations of love +under your very nose to the little beauty whilst singing out his +prayers, and making appointments with her between bits of the Koran." + +"Why, then, they're all scamps in this country!" howled the unlucky +Tarasconian. + +Barbassou snapped his fingers like a philosopher. + +"My dear lad, you know, these new countries are 'rum!' But, anyhow, if +you'll believe me, you'd best cut back to Tarascon at full speed." + +"It's easy to say, 'Cut back.' Where's the money to come from? Don't you +know that I was plucked out there in the desert?" + +"What does that matter?" said the captain merrily. "The Zouave sails +tomorrow, and if you like I will take you home. Does that suit you, +mate? Ay? Then all goes well. You have only one thing to do. There are +some bottles of fizz left, and half the pie. Sit you down and pitch in +without any grudge." + +After the minute's wavering which self-respect commanded, the +Tarasconian chose his course manfully. Down he sat, and they touched +glasses. Baya, gliding down at that chink, sang the finale of "Marco la +Bella," and the jollification was prolonged deep into the night. + +About 3 A.M., with a light head but a heavy foot, our good Tarasconian +was returning from seeing his friend the captain off when, in passing +the mosque, the remembrance of his muezzin and his practical jokes made +him laugh, and instantly a capital idea of revenge flitted through his +brain. + +The door was open. He entered, threaded long corridors hung with mats, +mounted and kept on mounting till he finally found himself in a little +oratory, where an openwork iron lantern swung from the ceiling, and +embroidered an odd pattern in shadows upon the blanched walls. + +There sat the crier on a divan, in his large turban and white pelisse, +with his Mostaganam pipe, and a bumper of absinthe before him, which he +whipped up in the orthodox manner, whilst awaiting the hour to call true +believers to prayer. At view of Tartarin, he dropped his pipe in terror. + +"Not a word, knave!" said the Tarasconian, full of his project. "Quick! +Off with turban and coat!" + +The Turkish priest-crier tremblingly handed over his outer garments, as +he would have done with anything else. Tartarin donned them, and gravely +stepped out upon the minaret platform. + +In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the +moonbeams. On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few belated +guitars. The Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for the effort +during a space, and then, raising his arms, he set to chanting in a very +shrill voice: + +"La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the Koran, +bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties--they are all not worth a fly's skip! +There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live Tarascon!" + +Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and +Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea, +town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other muezzins +answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to minaret, and the +believers of the upper town devoutly beat their bosoms. + + +VIII. Tarascon again! + + +MID-DAY has come. + +The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of the +Valentin Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling telescopes, and, +with the colonel at their head, looking at the lucky little craft that +was going back to France. This is the main distraction of the staff. On +the lower level, the roads glittered. The old Turkish cannon breaches, +stuck up along the waterside, blazed in the sun. The passengers hurried, +Biskris and Mahonnais piled their luggage up in the wherries. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue de +la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, +accompanied by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left on the +Moorish strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he had to sail +for Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty pockets. He had +barely leaped into the captain's cutter before a breathless beast slid +down from the heights of the square and galloped towards him. It was the +faithful camel, who had been hunting after his master in Algiers during +the last four-and-twenty hours. + +On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to know +him, but the camel was not going to be put off. He scampered along the +quay; he whinnied for his friend, and regarded him with affection. + +"Take me away," his sad eyes seemed to say, "take me away in your ship, +far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the East, full +of locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so sorely out of +keeping that I do not know what will become of me. You are the last real +Turk, and I am the last camel. Do not let us part, O my Tartarin!" + +"Is that camel yours?" the captain inquired. + +"Not a bit of it!" replied Tartarin, who shuddered at the idea of +entering Tarascon with that ridiculous escort; and, impudently denying +the companion of his misfortunes, he spurned the Algerian soil with his +foot, and gave the cutter the shoving-off start. The camel sniffed of +the water, extended its neck, cracked its joints, and, jumping in behind +the row-boat at haphazard, he swam towards the Zouave with his humpback +floating like a bladder, and his long neck projecting over the wave like +the beak of a galley. + +Cutter and camel came alongside the mail steamer together. + +"This dromedary regularly cuts me up," observed Captain Barbassou, quite +affected. "I have a good mind to take him aboard and make a present of +him to the Zoological Gardens at Marseilles." + +And so they hauled up the camel with many blocks and tackles upon the +deck, being increased in weight by the brine, and the Zouave started. + +Tartarin spent the two days of the crossing by himself in his stateroom, +not because the sea was rough, or that the red fez had too much to +suffer, but because the deuced camel, as soon as his master appeared +above decks, showed him the most preposterous attentions. You never did +see a camel make such an exhibition of a man as this. + +From hour to hour, through the cabin portholes, where he stuck out his +nose now and then, Tartarin saw the Algerian blue sky pale away; until +one morning, in a silvery fog, he heard with delight Marseilles bells +ringing out. The Zouave had arrived and cast anchor. + +Our man, having no luggage, got off without saying anything, hastily +slipped through Marseilles for fear he was still pursued by the camel, +and never breathed till he was in a third-class carriage making for +Tarascon. + +Deceptive security! + +Hardly were they two leagues from the city before every head was stuck +out of window. There were outcries and astonishment. Tartarin looked +in his turn, and what did he descry! the camel, reader, the inevitable +camel, racing along the line behind the train, and keeping up with it! +The dismayed Tartarin drew back and shut his eyes. + +After this disastrous expedition of his he had reckoned on slipping +into his house incognito. But the presence of this burdensome quadruped +rendered the thing impossible. What kind of a triumphal entry would he +make? Good heavens! not a sou, not a lion, nothing to show for it save a +camel! + +"Tarascon! Tarascon!" + +He was obliged to get down. + +O amazement! + +Scarce had the hero's red fez popped out of the doorway before a loud +shout of "Tartarin for ever!" made the glazed roof of the railway +station tremble. "Long life to Tartarin, the lion-slayer!" And out burst +the windings of horns and the choruses of the local musical societies. + +Tartarin felt death had come: he believed in a hoax. But, no! all +Tarascon was there, waving their hats, all of the same way of thinking. +Behold the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the armourer, the +Chief Judge, the chemist, and the whole noble corps of cap-poppers, who +pressed around their leader, and carried him in triumph out through the +passages. + +Singular effects of the mirage!--the hide of the blind lion sent to +Bravida was the cause of all this riot. With that humble fur exhibited +in the club-room, the Tarasconians, and, at the back of them, the whole +South of France, had grown exalted. The Semaphore newspaper had spoken +of it. A drama had been invented. It was not merely a solitary lion +which Tartarin had slain, but ten, nay, twenty--pooh! a herd of lions +had been made marmalade of. Hence, on disembarking at Marseilles, +Tartarin was already celebrated without being aware of it, and an +enthusiastic telegram had gone on before him by two hours to his native +place. + +But what capped the climax of the popular gladness was to see a +fancifully shaped animal, covered with foam and dust, appear behind the +hero, and stumble down the station stairs. + +Tarascon for an instant believed that its dragon was come again. + +Tartarin set his fellow-citizens at ease. + +"This is my camel," he said. + +Already feeling the influence of the splendid sun of Tarascon, which +makes people tell "bouncers" unwittingly, he added, as he fondled the +camel's hump: + +"It is a noble beast! It saw me kill all my lions!" + +Whereupon he familiarly took the arm of the commandant, who was red +with pleasure; and followed by his camel, surrounded by the cap-hunters, +acclaimed by all the population, he placidly proceeded towards the +Baobab Villa; and, on the march, thus commenced the account of his +mighty hunting: + +"Once upon an evening, you are to imagine that, out in the depths of the +Sahara"-- + + + + +APPENDIX + +Obituary of Alphonse Daudet. + + + 17th December 1897 + DEATH OF A FRENCH NOVELIST. + ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +M. Alphonse Daudet, the eminent French novelist and playwright, died +suddenly yesterday evening while at dinner The cause of death was +syncope due to failure of the heart. + +Alphonse Daudet was born of poor parents at Nimes in 1840. He studied in +the Lyons Lyceum, and then became usher in a school at Alais. Going +to Paris to seek his fortune in literature in 1858, he succeeded in +publishing a book of verses entitled Les Amoreuses, which led to his +employment by several newspapers. He published many novels and tales, +and about half a dozen plays. His most popular work is "Les Morticoles." +His son, Leon Daudet, is a litterateur of promise. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + +***** This file should be named 1862.txt or 1862.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/1862/ + +Produced by Donal O'Danachair + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN +ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Donal O'Danachair, email +kodak_seaside@hotmail.com. + + + + + +TARTARIN OF TARASCON +by +ALPHONSE DAUDET + + + + +EPISODE THE FIRST +IN TARASCON + + + +I. +The Garden Round the Giant Trees. + + +My first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon has remained a never-to-be- +forgotten date in my life; although quite ten or a dozen years ago, I +remember it better than yesterday. + +At that time the intrepid Tartarin lived in the third house on the left +as the town begins, on the Avignon road. A pretty little villa in the +local style, with a front garden and a balcony behind, the walls +glaringly white and the venetians very green; and always about the +doorsteps a brood of little Savoyard shoeblackguards playing +hopscotch, or dozing in the broad sunshine with their heads +pillowed on their boxes. + +Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none +would ever believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped +inside, ye gods and little fishes ! what a change! From turret to +foundation-stone -- I mean, from cellar to garret, -- the whole +building wore a heroic front; even so the garden! + +O that garden of Tartarin's! there's not its match in Europe! Not a +native tree was there -- not one flower of France; nothing hut +exotic plants, gum-trees, gourds, cotton-woods, cocoa and cacao, +mangoes, bananas, palms, a baobab, nopals, cacti, Barbary figs -- +well, you would believe yourself in the very midst of Central Africa, +ten thousand leagues away. It is but fair to say that these were +none of full growth; indeed, the cocoa-palms were no bigger than +beet root and the baobab (arbos gigantea -- " giant tree," you +know) was easily enough circumscribed by a window-pot; but, +notwithstanding this, it was rather a sensation for Tarascon, and the +townsfolk who were admitted on Sundays to the honour of +contemplating Tartarin's baobab, went home chokeful of +admiration. + +Try to conceive my own emotion, which I was bound to feel on +that day of days when I crossed through this marvellous garden , +and that was capped when I was ushered into the hero's sanctum. + +His study, one of the lions -- I should say, lions' dens -- of the town, +was at the end of the garden, its glass door opening right on to the +baobab. + +You are to picture a capacious apartment adorned with firearms +and steel blades from top to bottom: all the weapons of all the +countries in the wide world -- carbines, rifles, blunderbusses, +Corsican, Catalan, and dagger knives, Malay kreeses, revolvers +with spring-bayonets, Carib and flint arrows, knuckle-dusters, life- +preservers, Hottentot clubs, Mexican lassoes -- now, can you +expect me to name the rest? Upon the whole fell a fierce sunlight, +which made the blades and the brass butt-plate of the muskets +gleam as if all the more to set your flesh creeping. Still, the +beholder was soothed a little by the tame air of order and tidiness +reigning over the arsenal. Everything was in place, brushed, +dusted, labelled, as in a museum ; from point to point the eye +descried some obliging little card reading: + + +----------------------------------------- +I Poisoned Arrows! I +I Do Not Touch! I +----------------------------------------- + +Or, + +----------------------------------------- +I Loaded! I +I Take care, please! I +----------------------------------------- + +If it had not been for these cautions I never should have dared +venture in. + +In the middle of the room was an occasional table, on which stood +a decanter of rum, a siphon of soda-water, a Turkish tobacco- +pouch, "Captain Cook's Voyages," the Indian tales of Fenimore +Cooper and Gustave Aimard, stories of hunting the bear, eagle, +elephant, and so on, Lastly, beside the table sat a man of between +forty and forty-five, short, stout, thick-set, ruddy, with flaming eyes +and a strong stubbly beard ; he wore flannel tights, and was in his +shirt sleeves; one hand held a hook, and the other brandished a very +large pipe with an iron bowl-cap. Whilst reading heaven only +knows what startling adventure of scalp- hunters, he pouted out his +lower lip in a terrifying way, which gave the honest phiz of the man +living placidly on his means the same impression of kindly ferocity +which abounded throughout the house. + +This man was Tartarin himself -- the Tartarin of Tarascon, the +great, dreadnought, incomparable Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +II. +A general glance bestowed upon the good town of +Tarascon, and a particular one on "the cap-poppers." + + +AT the time I am telling of, Tartarin of Tarascon had not become +the present-day Tartarin, the great one so popular in the whole +South of France: but yet he was even then the cock of the walk at +Tarascon. + +Let us show whence arose this sovereignty. + +In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in +these parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local +craze, and so it has ever been since the mythological times when the +Tarasque, as the county dragon was called, flourished himself and +his tail in the town marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up +against him. So you see the passion has lasted a goodish bit. + +It follows that, every Sunday morning, Tarascon flies to arms, lets +loose the dogs of the hunt, and rushes out of its walls, with game- +bag slung and fowling-piece on the shoulder, together with a hurly- +burly of hounds, cracking of whips, and blowing of whistles and +hunting-horns. It's splendid to see! Unfortunately, there's a lack of +game, an absolute dearth. + +Stupid as the brute creation is, you can readily understand that, in +time, it learnt some distrust. + +For five leagues around about Tarascon, forms, lairs, and burrows +are empty, and nesting-places abandoned. You'll not find a single +quail or blackbird, one little leveret, or the tiniest tit. And yet the +pretty hillocks are mightily tempting, sweet smelling as they are of +myrtle, lavender, and rosemary; and the fine muscatels plumped out +with sweetness even unto bursting, as they spread along the banks +of the Rhone, are deucedly tempting too. True, true; but Tarascon +lies behind all this, and Tarascon is down in the black hooks of the +world of fur and feather. The very birds of passage have ticked it +off on their guide-books, and when the wild ducks, coming down +towards the Camargue in long triangles, spy the town steeples from +afar, the outermost flyers squawk out loudly: + +"Look out! there's Tarascon! give Tarascon the go-by, duckies!" + +And the flocks take a swerve. + +In short, as far as game goes, there's not a specimen left in the land +save one old rogue of a hare, escaped by miracle from the +massacres, who is stubbornly determined to stick to it all his life! +He is very well known at Tarascon, and a name has been given him. +"Rapid" is what they call him. It is known that he has his form on +M. Bompard's grounds -- which, by the way, has doubled, ay, +tripled, the value of the property -- but nobody has yet managed to +lay him low. At present, only two or three inveterate fellows worry +themselves about him. The rest have given him up as a bad job, and +old Rapid has long ago passed into the legendary world, although +your Tarasconer is very slightly superstitious naturally, and would +eat cock-robins on toast, or the swallow, which is Our Lady's own +bird, for that matter, if he could find any. + +"But that won't do!" you will say. Inasmuch as game is so scarce, +what can the sportsmen do every Sunday? + +What can they do? + +Why, goodness gracious! they go out into the real country two or +three leagues from town. They gather in knots of five or six, +recline tranquilly in the shade of some well, old wall, or olive tree, +extract from their game-bags a good-sized piece of boiled beef, raw +onions, a sausage, and anchovies, and commence a next to endless +snack, washed down with one of those nice Rhone wines, which +sets a toper laughing and singing. After that, when thoroughly +braced up, they rise, whistle the dogs to heel, set the guns on half +cock, and go "on the shoot" -- another way of saying that every +man plucks off his cap, "shies" it up with all his might, and pops it +on the fly with No. 5, 6, or 2 shot, according to what he is loaded +for. + +The man who lodges most shot in his cap is hailed as king of the +hunt, and stalks back triumphantly at dusk into Tarascon, with his +riddled cap on the end of his gun-barrel, amid any quantity of dog- +barks and horn-blasts. + +It is needless to say that cap-selling is a fine business in the town. +There are even some hatters who sell hunting-caps ready shot, torn, +and perforated for the bad shots; but the only buyer known is the +chemist Bezuquet. This is dishonourable! + +As a marksman at caps, Tartarin of Tarascon never had his match. + +Every Sunday morning out he would march in a new cap, and back +he would strut every Sunday evening with a mere thing of shreds. +The loft of Baobab Villa was full of these glorious trophies. Hence +all Tarascon acknowledged him as master; and as Tartarin +thoroughly understood hunting, and had read all the handbooks of +all possible kinds of venery, from cap-popping to Burmese tiger- +shooting, the sportsmen constituted him their great cynegetical +judge, and took him for referee and arbitrator in all their +differences. + +Between three and four daily, at Costecalde the gunsmith's. a stout +stern pipe-smoker might be seen in a green leather-covered arm- +chair in the centre of the shop crammed with cap-poppers, they all +on foot and wrangling. This was Tartarin of Tarascon delivering +judgement -- Nimrod plus Solomon. + + + +III. +"Naw, naw, naw!'' The general glance +protracted upon the good town. + + +AFTER the craze for sporting, the lusty Tarascon race cherishes +one love: ballad-singing. There's no believing what a quantity of +ballads is used up in that little region. All the sentimental stuff +turning into sere and yellow leaves in the oldest portfolios, are to be +found in full pristine lustre in Tarascon. Ay, the entire collection. +Every family has its own pet, as is known to the town. + +For instance, it is an established fact that this is the chemist +Bezuquet's family's: + +"Thou art the fair star that I adore!" + +The gunmaker Costecalde's family's: + +"Would'st thou come to the land + Where the log-cabins rise?" + +The official registrar's family's : + +"If I wore a coat of invisible green, + Do you think for a moment I could be seen?" + +And so on for the whole of Tarascon. Two or three times a week +there were parties where they were sung. The singularity was their +being always the same, and that the honest Tarasconers had never +had an inclination to change them during the long, long time they +had been harping on them. They were handed down from father to +son in the families, without anybody improving on them or +Bowdlerising them: they were sacred. Never did it occur to +Costecalde's mind to sing the Bezuquets', or the Bezuquets to try +Costecalde's. And yet you may believe that they ought to know by +heart what they had been singing for two-score years! But, nay! +every-body stuck to his own ,and they were all contented. + +In ballad-singing. as in cap-popping, Tartarin was still the foremost. +His superiority over his fellow-townsmen consisted in his not +having any one song of his own, but in knowing the lot, the whole, +mind you! But -- there's a but -- it was the devil's own work to get +him to sing them. + +Surfeited early in life with his drawing-room successes, our hero +preferred by far burying himself in his hunting story-books, or +spending the evening at the club, to making a personal exhibition +before a Nimes piano between a pair of home-made candles. These +musical parades seemed beneath him. Nevertheless, at whiles, when +there was a harmonic party at Bezuquet's, he would drop into the +chemist's shop, as if by chance, and, after a deal of pressure, +consent to do the grand duo in Robert le Diable with old Madame +Bezuquet. Whoso never heard that never heard anything! For my +part, even if I lived a hundred years, I should always see the mighty +Tartarin solemnly stepping up to the piano, setting his arms akimbo, +working up his tragic mien, and, beneath the green reflection from +the show-bottles in the window, trying to give his pleasant visage +the fierce and satanic expression of Robert the Devil. Hardly would +he fall into position before the whole audience would be shuddering +with the foreboding that something uncommon was at hand. After +a hush, old Madame Bezuquet would commence to her own +accompaniment: + +"Robert, my love is thine! +To thee I my faith did plight, +Thou seest my affright, -- +Mercy for thine own sake, +And mercy for mine!" + +In an undertone she would add: "Now, then, Tartarin!" Whereupon +Tartarin of Tarascon, with crooked arms, clenched fists, and +quivering nostrils, would roar three times in a formidable voice, +rolling like a thunderclap in the bowels of the instrument : + +"No! no! no!" which, like the thorough southerner he was, he +pronounced nasally as "Naw! naw! naw!" Then would old Madame +Bezuquet again sing: + +"Mercy for thine own sake, And mercy for mine!" + +"Naw! naw! naw!" bellowed Tartarin at his loudest, and there the +gem ended. + +Not long, you see; but it was so handsomely voiced forth, so clearly +gesticulated, and so diabolical, that a tremor of terror overran the +chemist's shop, and the "Naw! naw! naw!" would be encored +several times running. + +Upon this Tartarin would sponge his brow, smile on the ladies, +wink to the sterner sex, and withdraw upon his triumph to go +remark at the club with a trifling, offhand air: + +"I have just come from the Bezuquets', where I was forced to sing +'em the duo from Robert le Diable." + +The cream of the joke was that he really believed it! + + + +IV. +"They!" + + +CHIEFLY to the account of these diverse talents did Tartarin owe +his lofty position in the town of Tarascon. Talking of captivating, +though, this deuce of a fellow knew how to ensnare everybody. +Why, the army, at Tarascon, was for Tartarin. The brave +commandant, Bravida, honorary captain retired -- in the Military +Clothing Factory Department -- called him a game fellow; and you +may well admit that the warrior knew all about game fellows, he +played such a capital knife and fork on game of all kinds. + +So was the legislature on Tartarin's side. Two or three times, in +open court, the old chief judge, Ladevese, had said, in alluding to +him: + +"He is a character!" + +Lastly, the masses were for Tartarin. He had become the swell +bruiser, the aristocratic pugilist, the crack bully of the local +Corinthians for the Tarasconers, from his build, bearing, style -- +that aspect of a guard's-trumpeter's charger which fears no noise; +his reputation as a hero coming from nobody knew whence or for +what, and some scramblings for coppers and a few kicks to the little +ragamuffins basking at his doorway. + +Along the waterside, when Tartarin came home from hunting on +Sunday evenings, with his cap on the muzzle of his gun, and his +fustian shooting-jacket belted in tightly, the sturdy river-lightermen +would respectfully bob, and blinking towards the huge biceps +swelling out his arms, would mutter among one another in +admiration: + +"Now, there's a powerful chap if you like! he has double-muscles!" + +"Double muscles!" why, you never heard of such a thing outside of +Tarascon! + +For all this, with all his numberless parts, double-muscles, the +popular favour, and the so precious esteem of brave Commandant +Bravida, ex-captain (in the Army Clothing Factory), Tartarin was +not happy: this life in a petty town weighed upon him and +suffocated him. + +The great man of Tarascon was bored in Tarascon. + +The fact is, for a heroic temperament like his, a wild adventurous +spirit which dreamt of nothing but battles, races across the pampas, +mighty battues, desert sands, blizzards and typhoons, it was not +enough to go out every Sunday to pop at a cap, and the rest of the +time to ladle out casting-votes at the gunmaker's. Poor dear great +man! If this existence were only prolonged, there would be +sufficient tedium in it to kill him with consumption. + +In vain did he surround himself with baobabs and other African +trees, to widen his horizon, and some little to forget his club and +the market-place; in vain did he pile weapon upon weapon, and +Malay kreese upon Malay kreese; in vain did he cram with +romances, endeavouring like the immortal Don Quixote to wrench +himself by the vigour of his fancy out of the talons of pitiless reality. +Alas! all that he did to appease his thirst for deeds of daring only +helped to augment it. The sight of all the murderous implements +kept him in a perpetual stew of wrath and exaltation. His revolvers, +repeating rifles, and ducking-guns shouted "Battle! battle!" out of +their mouths. Through the twigs of his baobab, the tempest of +great voyages and journeys soughed and blew bad advice. To finish +him came Gustave Aimard, Mayne Reid, and Fenimore Cooper. + +Oh, how many times did Tartarin with a howl spring up on the +sultry summer afternoons, when he was reading alone amidst his +blades, points, and edges ; how many times did he dash down his +book and rush to the wall to unhook a deadly arm! The poor man +forgot he was at home in Tarascon, in his underclothes, and with a +handkerchief round his head. He would translate his readings into +action, and, goading himself with his own voice, shout out whilst +swinging a battle-axe or tomahawk: + +"Now, only let 'em come!" + +"Them" ? who were they? + +Tartarin did not himself any too clearly understand. "They" was all +that should be attacked and fought with, all that bites, claws, scalps, +whoops, and yells -- the Sioux Indians dancing around the war- +stake to which the unfortunate pale-face prisoner is lashed. The +grizzly of the Rocky Mountains, who wobbles on his hind legs, and +licks himself with a tongue full of blood. The Touareg, too, in the +desert, the Malay pirate, the brigand of the Abruzzi -- in short, +"they" was warfare, travel, adventure, and glory. + +But, alas!! it was to no avail that the fearless Tarasconer called for +and defied them; never did they come. Odsboddikins! what would +they have come to do in Tarascon? + +Nevertheless Tartarin always expected to run up against them, +particularly some evening in going to the club. + + + +V. +How Tartarin went round to his club. + + +LITTLE, indeed, beside Tartarin of Tarascon, arming himself capa- +pie to go to his club at nine, an hour after the retreat had sounded +on the bugle, was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon +the infidel, the Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the +Comanche warrior painting up for going on the war-path. "All +hands make ready for action!" as the men-of-war's men say. + +In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the +right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in +the right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under +garment, lay a Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows -- they +are weapons altogether too unfair. + +Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he +exercised himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and +thrusts, lunging at the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he +took his master-key and went through the garden leisurely; without +hurrying, mark you. "Cool and calm -- British courage, that is the +true sort, gentlemen." At the garden end he opened the heavy iron +door, violently and abruptly so that it should slam against the outer +wall. If "they" had been skulking behind it, you may wager they +would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not there. + +The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to +the right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly +with double-locking. Then, on the way. + +Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road--all the doors closed, +and no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish +lamps, well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist. + +Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night, +ringing his heels with regularity, and sending sparks out of the +paving-stones with the ferule of his stick. Whether in avenues, +streets, or lanes, he took care to keep in the middle of the road -- +an excellent method of precaution, allowing one to see danger +coming, and, above all, to avoid any droppings from windows, as +happens after dark in Tarascon and the Old Town of Edinburgh. +On seeing so much prudence in Tartarin, pray do not conclude that +Tartarin had any fear -- dear, no! he only was on his guard. + +The best proof that Tartarin was not scared is, that instead of going +to the club by the shortest cut, he went over the town by the +longest and darkest way round, through a mass of vile, paltry alleys, +at the mouth of which the Rhone could be seen ominously +gleaming. The poor knight constantly hoped that, beyond the turn +of one of these cut-throats' haunts, "they" would leap from the +shadow and fall on his back. I warrant you, "they" would have +been warmly received, though; but, alack! by reason of some nasty +meanness of destiny, never indeed did Tartarin of Tarascon enjoy +the luck to meet any ugly customers -- not so much as a dog or a +drunken man -- nothing at all! + +Still, there were false alarms somewhiles. He would catch a sound +of steps and muffled voices. + +"Ware hawks! Tartarin would mutter, and stop short, as if taking +root on the spot, scrutinising the gloom, sniffing the wind, even +glueing his ear to the ground in the orthodox Red Indian mode. +The steps would draw nearer, and the voices grow more distinct, +till no more doubt was possible. "They" were coming -- in fact, +here "they" were! + +Steady, with eye afire and heaving breast, Tartarin would gather +himself like a jaguar in readiness to spring forward whilst uttering +his war-cry, when, all of a sudden, out of the thick of the +murkiness, he would hear honest Tarasconian voices quite +tranquilly hailing him with : + +"Hullo! you, by Jove! it's Tartarin! Good night, old fellow!" + +Maledictions upon it! It was the chemist Bezuquet, with his family, +coming from singing their family ballad at Costecalde's. + +"Oh, good even, good even!" Tartarin would growl, furious at his +blunder, and plunging fiercely into the gloom with his cane waved +on high. + +On arriving in the street where stood his club-house, the dauntless +one would linger yet a moment, walking up and down before the +portals ere entering. But, finally, weary of awaiting "them," and +certain "they" would not show "themselves," he would fling a last +glare of defiance into the shades and snarl wrathfully: + +"Nothing, nothing at all! there never is nothing!" + +Upon which double negation, which he meant as a stronger +affirmative, the worthy champion would walk in to play his game of +bezique with the commandant. + + +VI. +The two Tartarins. + + +ANSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin of +Tarascon never left Tarascon with all this mania for adventure, need +of powerful sensations, and folly about travel, rides, and journeys +from the Pole to the Equator? + +For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dreadless +Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room. He had +not even taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which every sound +Provencal makes upon coming of age. The most of his knowledge +included Beaucaire, and yet that's not far from Tarascon, there +being merely the bridge to go over. Unfortunately, this rascally +bridge has so often been blown away by the gales, it is so long and +frail, and the Rhone has such a width at this spot that -- well, faith! +you understand! Tartarin of Tarascon preferred terra firma. + +We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero there +were two very distinct characters. Some Father of the Church has +said: "I feel there are two men in me." He would have spoken truly +in saying this about Tartarin, who carried in his frame the soul of +Don Quixote, the same chivalric impulses, heroic ideal, and +crankiness for the grandiose and romantic; but, worse is the luck! +he had not the body of the celebrated hidalgo, that thin and meagre +apology for a body, on which material life failed to take a hold; one +that could get through twenty nights without its breast-plate being +unbuckled off, and forty-eight hours on a handful of rice. On the +contrary, Tartarin's body was a stout honest bully of a body, very +fat, very weighty, most sensual and fond of coddling, highly touchy, +full of low-class appetite and homely requirements -- the short, +paunchy body on stumps of the immortal Sancho Panza. + +Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man ! you will +readily comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made! what +strife! what clapperclawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for Lucian or +Saint-Evremond to write, between the two Tartarins -- Quixote- +Tartarin and Sancho-Tartarin! Quixote-Tartarin firing up on the +stories of Gustave Aimard, and shouting: "Up and at 'em !" and +Sancho-Tartarin thinking only of the rheumatics ahead, and +murmuring: "I mean to stay at home." + + +THE DUET. + +QUIXOTE-TARTARIN. SANCHO-TARTARIN. +(Highly excited.) (Quite calmly.) +Cover yourself with glory, Tartarin, cover yourself +Tartarin. with flannel. + +(Still more excitedly.) (Still more calmly) +O for the terrible double- O for the I thick knitted +barrelled rifle! O for waistcoats! and warm +bowie-knives, lassoes, knee-caps! O for the +and moccasins! welcome padded caps + with ear-flaps! + +(Above all self-control.) (Ringing up the maid.) +A battle-axe! fetch me a Now, then, Jeannette, do +battle-axe! bring up that chocolate! + +Whereupon Jeannette would appear with an unusually good cup of +chocolate, just right in warmth, sweetly smelling, and with the play +of light on watered silk upon its unctuous surface, and with +succulent grilled steak flavoured with anise-seed, which would set +Sancho-Tartarin off on the broad grin, and into a laugh that +drowned the shouts of Quixote-Tartarin. + +Thus it came about that Tartarin of Tarascon never had left +Tarascon. + + + +VII. +Tartarin -- The Europeans at Shanghai -- Commerce -- The Tartars +-- Can Tartarin of Tarascon be an Impostor ? -- The Mirage. + + +UNDER one conjunction of circumstances, Tartarin did, however, +once almost start out upon a great voyage. + +The three brothers Garcio-Camus, relatives of Tarascon, +established in business at Shanghai, offered him the managership of +one of their branches there. This undoubtedly presented the kind of +life he hankered after. Plenty of active business, a whole army of +under-strappers to order about, and connections with Russia, +Persia, Turkey in Asia -- in short, to be a merchant prince! + +In Tartarin's mouth, the title of Merchant Prince thundered out as +something stunning! + +The house of Garcio-Camus had the further advantage of +sometimes being favoured with a call from the Tartars. Then the +doors would be slammed shut, all the clerks flew to arms, up ran +the consular flag, and zizz! phit ! bang! out of the windows upon +the Tartars. + +I need not tell you with what enthusiasm Quixote-Tartarin clutched +this proposition; sad to say, Sancho-Tartarin did not see it in the +same light, and, as he was the stronger party, it never came to +anything. But in the town there was much talk about it. Would he +go or would he not? "I'll lay he will " -- and "I'll wager he won't!" +It was the event of the week. In the upshot, Tartarin did not +depart, but the matter redounded to his credit none the less. Going +or not going to Shanghai Was all one to Tarascon. Tartarin's +journey was so much talked about that people got to believe he had +done it and returned, and at the club in the evening members would +actually ask for information on life at Shanghai, the manners and +customs and climate, about opium, and commerce. + +Deeply read up, Tartarin would graciously furnish the particulars +desired, and, in the end, the good fellow was not quite sure himself +about not having gone to Shanghai, so that, after relating for the +hundredth time how the Tartars came down on the trading post, it +would most naturally happen him to add: + +"Then I made my men take up arms and hoist the consular flag, and +zizz! phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars." + +On hearing this, the whole club would quiver. + +"But according to that, this Tartarin of yours is an awful liar." + +"No, no, a thousand times over, no! Tartarin was no liar." + +"But the man ought to know that he has never been to Shanghai" -- + +"Why, of course, he knows that; but still" -- + +"But still," you see -- mark that ! It is high time for the law to be +laid down once for all on the reputation as drawers of the long bow +which Northerners fling at Southerners. There are no Baron +Munchausens in the south of France, neither at Nimes nor +Marseilles, Toulouse nor Tarascon. The Southerner does not +deceive but is self-deceived. He does not always tell the cold-drawn +truth, but he believes he does. His falsehood is not any such thing, +but a kind of mental mirage. + +Yes, purely mirage! The better to follow me, you should actually +follow me into the South, and you will see I am right. You have +only to look at that Lucifer's own country, where the sun +transmogrifies everything, and magnifies it beyond life-size. The +little hills of Provence are no bigger than the Butte Montmartre, +but they will loom up like the Rocky Mountains; the Square House +at Nimes -- a mere model to put on your sideboard -- will seem +grander than St. Peter's. You will see -- in brief, the only exaggerator +in the South is Old Sol, for he does enlarge everything he touches. +What Was Sparta in its days of splendour? a pitiful hamlet. What +was Athens? at the most, a second-class town; and yet in history +both appear to us as enormous cities. This is a sample of what the +sun can do. + +Are you going to be astonished after this that the same sun falling +upon Tarascon should have made of an ex-captain in the Army +Clothing Factory, like Bravida, the "brave commandant;" of a +sprout an Indian fig-tree; and of a man who had missed going to +Shanghai one who had been there? + + + +VIII. +Mitaine's Menagerie -- A Lion from the Atlas at +Tarascon -- A Solemn and Fearsome Confrontation. + + +EXHIBITING Tartarin of Tarascon, as we are, in his private life, +before Fame kissed his brow and garlanded him with her well-worn +laurel wreath, and having narrated his heroic existence in a modest +state, his delights and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us +hurriedly skip to the grandest pages of his story, and to the singular +event which was to give the first flight to his incomparable career. + +It happened one evening at Costecalde the gunmaker's, where +Tartarin was engaged in showing several sportsmen the working of +the needle-gun, then in its first novelty. The door suddenly flew +open, and in rushed a bewildered cap-popper, howling "A lion, a +lion !" General was the alarm, stupor, uproar and tumult. Tartarin +prepared to resist cavalry with the bayonet, whilst Costecalde ran to +shut the door. The sportsman was surrounded and pressed and +questioned, and here follows what he told them: Mitaine's +Menagerie, returning from Beaucaire Fair, had consented to stay +over a few days at Tarascon, and was just unpacking, to set up the +show on the Castle-green, with a lot of boas, seals, crocodiles, and +a magnificent lion from the Atlas Mountains. + +An African lion in Tarascon? + +Never in the memory of living man had the like been seen. Hence +our dauntless cap-poppers looked at one another how proudly ! +What a beaming on their sunburned visages! and in every nook of +Costecalde's shop what hearty congratulatory grips of the hand +were silently exchanged! The sensation was so great and +unforeseen that nobody could find a word to say-not even Tartarin. + +Blanched and agitated, with the needle-gun still in his fist, he +brooded, erect before the counter. A lion from the Atlas Range at +pistol range from him, a couple of strides off? a lion, mind you--the +beast heroic and ferocious above all others, the King of the Brute +Creation, the crowning game of his fancies, something like the +leading actor in the ideal company which played such splendid +tragedies in his mind's eye. A lion, heaven be thanked! and from +the Atlas, to boot! It was more than the great Tartarin could bear. + +Suddenly a flush of blood flew into his face. His eyes flashed. With +one convulsive movement he shouldered the needle-gun, and +turning towards the brave Commandant Bravida (formerly captain +in the Army Clothing Department, please to remember), he +thundered to him -- + +"Let's go have a look at him, commandant." + +"Here, here, I say! that's my gun -- my needle-gun you are carrying +off," timidly ventured the wary Costecalde; but Tartarin had already +got round the corner, with all the cap-poppers proudly lock- +stepping behind him. + +When they arrived at the menagerie, they found a goodly number of +people there. Tarascon, heroic but too long deprived of sensational +shows, had rushed upon Mitaine's portable theatre, and bad taken it +by storm. Hence the voluminous Madame Mitaine was highly +contented. In an Arab costume, her arms bare to the elbow, iron +anklets on, a whip in one hand and a plucked though live pullet in +the other, the noted lady was doing the honours of the booth to the +Tarasconians; and, as she also had "double muscles," her success +was almost as great as her animals. + +The entrance of Tartarin with the gun on his shoulder was a +damper. + +All our good Tarasconians, who had been quite tranquilly strolling +before the cages, unarmed and with no distrust, without even any +idea of danger, felt momentary apprehension, naturally enough, on +beholding their mighty Tartarin rush into the enclosure with his +formidable engine of war. There must be something to fear when a +hero like he was, came weaponed; so, in a twinkling, all the space +along the cage fronts was cleared. The youngsters burst out +squalling for fear, and the women looked round for the nearest way +out. The chemist Bezuquet made off altogether, alleging that he +was going home for his gun. + +Gradually, however, Tartarin's bearing restored courage. With head +erect, the intrepid Tarasconian slowly and calmly made the circuit +of the booth, passing the seal's tank without stopping, glancing +disdainfully on the long box filled with sawdust in which the boa +would digest its raw fowl, and going to take his stand before the +lion's cage. + +A terrible and solemn confrontation, this! The lion of Tarascon and +the lion of Africa face to face! + +On the one part, Tartarin erect, with his hamstrings in tension, and +his arms folded on his gun barrel; on the other, the lion, a gigantic +specimen, humped up in the straw, with blinking orbs and brutish +mien, resting his huge muzzle and tawny full-bottomed wig on his +forepaws. Both calm in their gaze. + +Singular thing! whether the needle-gun had given him " the needle," +if the popular idiom is admissible, or that he scented an enemy of +his race, the lion, who had hitherto regarded the Tarasconians with +sovereign scorn, and yawned in their faces, was all at once affected +by ire. At first he sniffed; then he growled hollowly, stretching out +his claws; rising, he tossed his head., shook his mane, opened a +capacious maw, and belched a deafening roar at Tartarin. + +A yell of fright responded, as Tarascon precipitated itself madly +towards the exit, women and children, lightermen, cap-poppers, +even the brave Commandant Bravida himself. But, alone, Tartarin +of Tarascon had not budged. There he stood, firm and resolute, +before the cage, lightnings in his eyes, and on his lip that gruesome +grin with which all the town was familiar. In a moment's time, +when all the cap-poppers, some little fortified by his hearing and the +strength of the bars, re-approached their leader, they heard him +mutter, as he stared Leo out of countenance : + +"Now, this is something like a hunt!" + +All the rest of that day, never a word farther could they draw from +Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +IX. +Singular effects of Mental Mirage. + + +CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin +had unfortunately still said overmuch. + +On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but +the near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting. +You are all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not +breathed a word on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its +usual effect. In brief, all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the +departure. + +On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde's, friends accosted one +another with a startled aspect: + +"And furthermore, you know the news, at least? " + +"And furthermore, rather? Tartarin's setting out, at least?" + +For at Tarascon all phrases begin with "and furthermore," and +conclude with "at least," with a strong local accent Hence, on this +occasion more than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the +windows shivered. + +The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was +going away to Africa, was Tartarin himself, But only see what +vanity is! Instead of plumply answering that he was not going at +all, and had not even had the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of +them mentioning the journey to him, observed with a neat little +evasive air, "Aha! maybe I shall -- but I do not say as much." The +second time; a trifle more familiarised with the idea, he replied, +"Very likely;" and the third time, "It's certain." + +Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde's and the club, carried away by +the egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the +impression that bare announcement of his departure had made on +the town, the hapless fellow formally declared that he was sick of +banging away at caps, and that he would shortly be on the trail of +the great lions of the Atlas. A deafening hurrah greeted this +assertion. Whereupon more egg-nogg, bravoes, handshaking, +slappings of the shoulder, and a torchlight serenade up to midnight +before Baobab Villa. + +It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted. This idea +of travel in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder before-hand; +and when the house was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary +concert was sounding under the windows, be bad a dreadful "row" +with Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a cracked head, a visionary, +imprudent, and thrice an idiot, and detailing by the card all the +catastrophes awaiting him on such an expedition -- shipwreck, +rheumatism, yellow fever, dysentery, the black plague, +elephantiasis, and the rest of them. + +In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any +imprudence -- that he would wrap himself up well, and take even +superfluous necessaries with him. Sancho-Tartarin would listen to +nothing. The poor craven saw himself already torn to tatters by the +lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like his late royal highness +Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to appease him a +little by explaining that the start was not immediate, as nothing +pressed. + +It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise +without some preparations. A man is bound to know whither he +goes, hang it all! and not fly off like a bird. Before anything else, +the Tarasconian wanted to peruse the accounts of great African +tourists, the narrations of Mungo Park, Du Chaillu, Dr. +Livingstone, Stanley, and so on. + +In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their +sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand +to support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of +privation. Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day +forward he lived upon water broth alone. The water broth of +Tarascon is a few slices of bread drowned in hot water, with a +clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, and a sprig of laurel. Strict diet, +at which you may believe poor Sancho made a wry face. + +To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other +wise practices. To break himself into the habit of long marches, he +constrained himself to go round the town seven or eight times +consecutively every morning, either at the fast walk or run, his +elbows well set against his body, and a couple of white pebbles in +the mouth, according to the antique usage. + +To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, be would go down +into his garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, +alone with his gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab. + +Finally, so long as Mitaine's wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, +the cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde's might spy in the +shadow of the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious +figure stalking up and down. It was Tartarin of Tarascon, +habituating himself to hear without emotion the roarings of the lion +in the sombre night. + + + +X. +Before the Start. + + +PENDING Tartarin's delay of the event by all sorts of heroic +means, all Tarascon kept an eye upon him, and nothing else was +busied about. Cap-popping was winged, and ballad-singing dead. +The piano in Bezuquet's shop mouldered away under a green +fungus, and the Spanish flies dried upon it, belly up. Tartarin's +expedition had a put a stopper on everything. + +Ah, you ought to have seen his a success in the parlours. He was +snatched away by one from another, fought for, loaned and +borrowed, ay, stolen. There was a no greater honour for the ladies +than to go to Mitaine's Menagerie on Tartarin's arms, and have it +explained before the lion's den how such large game are hunted, +where they should be aimed at, at how many paces off; if the +accidents were numerous, and the like of that. + + Tartarin furnished all the elucidation desired. He had read "The +Life of a Jules Gerard, the Lion-Slayer," and had lion-hunting at his +finger ends, as if he had been through it himself. Hence he orated +upon these matters with great eloquence. + +But where he shone the brightest was at dinner at Chief Judge +Ladeveze's, or brave Commandant Bravida's (the former captain in +the Army Clothing Factory, you will keep in mind), when coffee +came in, and all the chairs were brought up closer together, whilst +they chatted of his future hunts. + +Thereupon, his elbow on the cloth, his nose over his Mocha, our +hero would discourse in a feeling tone of all the dangers awaiting +him thereaway. He spoke of the long moonless night lyings-in- +wait, the pestilential fens, the rivers envenomed by leaves of +poison-plants, the deep snow-drifts, the scorching suns, the +scorpions, and rains of grasshoppers; he also descanted on the +peculiarities of the great lions of the Atlas, their way of fighting, +their phenomenal vigour; and their ferocity in the mating season. + +Heating with his own recital, he would rise from table, bounding to +the middle of the dining-room, imitating the roar of a lion and the +going off of a rifle : crack! bang! the zizz of the explosive bullet -- +gesticulating and roaring about till he had overset the chairs. + +Everybody turned pale around the board: the gentlemen looking at +one another and wagging their heads, the ladies shutting their eyes +with pretty screams of fright, the elderly men combatively +brandishing their canes; and, in the side apartments, the little boys, +who had been put to bed betimes, were greatly startled by the +sudden outcries and imitated gun-fire, and screamed for lights. +Meanwhile, Tartarin did not start. + + + +XI. +"Let's have it out with swords gentleman, not pins" + + +A DELICATE question: whether Tartarin really had any intention +of going, and one which the historian of Tartarin would be highly +embarrassed to answer. In plain words, Mitaine's Menagerie had +left Tarascon over three months, and still the lion-slayer had not +started. After all, blinded by a new mirage, our candid hero may +have imagined in perfectly good faith that he had gone to Algeria. +On the strength of having related his future hunts, he may have +believed he had performed them as sincerely as he fancied he had +hoisted the consular flag and fired on the Tartars, zizz, phit, bang! +at Shanghai. + +Unfortunately, granting Tartarin was this time again dupe of an +illusion, his fellow-townsfolk were not. When, after the quarter's +expectation, they perceived that the hunter had not packed even a +collar-box, they commenced murmuring. + +"This is going to turn out like the Shanghai expedition," remarked +Costecalde, smiling. + +The gunsmith's comment was welcomed all over town, for nobody +believed any longer in their late idol. The simpletons and poltroons +-- all the fellows of Bezuquet's stamp, whom a flea would put to +flight, and who could not fire a shot without closing their eyes -- +were conspicuously pitiless. In the club-rooms or on the esplanade, +they accosted poor Tartarin with bantering mien: + +"And furthermore, when is that trip coming off?" + +In Costecalde's shop, his opinions gained no credence, for the cap- +poppers renounced their chief! + +Next, epigrams dropped into the affair. Chief Judge Ladevese, who +willingly paid court in his leisure hours to the native Muse, +composed in local dialect a song which won much success. It told +of a sportsman called "Master Gervais," whose dreaded rifle was +bound to exterminate all the lions in Africa to the very last. +Unluckily, this terrible gun was of a strange kind: "though loaded +daily, it never went off." + +"It never went off" -- you will catch the drift. + +In less than no time, this ditty became popular; and when Tartarin +came by, the longshoremen and the little shoeblacks before his door +sang in chorus -- + +Muster Jarvey's roifle +Allus gittin' chaarged; +Muster Jarvey's roifle +'il hev to git enlaarged; +Muster Jarvey's roifle's +Loaded oft -- don't scoff; +Muster Jarvey's roifle +Nivver do go off!" + +But it was shouted out from a safe distance, on account of the +double muscles. + +Oh, the fragility of Tarascon's fads! + +The great object himself feigned to see and hear nothing; but, under +the surface, this sullen and venomous petty warfare much afflicted +him. He felt aware that Tarascon was slipping out of his grip, and +that popular favour was going to others; and this made him suffer +horribly. + +Ah, the huge bowl of popularity! it's all very well to have a seat in +front of it, but what a scalding you catch when it is overturned! + +Notwithstanding his pain, Tartarin smiled and peacefully jogged on +in the same life as if nothing untoward had happened. Still, the +mask of jovial heedlessness glued by pride on his face would +sometimes be suddenly detached. Then, in lieu of laughter, one saw +grief and indignation. Thus it was that one morning, when the little +blackguards yelped "Muster Jarvey's Roifle" beneath his window, +the wretches' voices rose even into the poor great man's room, +where he was shaving before the glass. (Tartarin wore a full beard, +but as it grew very thick, he was obliged to keep it trimmed +orderly.) + +All at once the window was violently opened, and Tartarin +appeared in shirt-sleeves and nightcap, smothered in lather, +flourishing his razor and shaving-brush, and roaring with a +formidable voice ; + +"Let's have it out with swords, gentlemen, not pins!" + +Fine words, worthy of history's record, with only the blemish that +they were addressed to little scamps not higher than their boot- +boxes, and who were quite incapable of holding a smallsword. + + + +XII. +A memorable Dialogue in the little Baobab Villa. + + +Amid the general falling off, the army alone stuck out firmly for +Tartarin. Brave Commandant Bravida (the former captain in the +Army Clothing Department) continued to show him the same +esteem as ever. "He's game!" he persisted in saying -- an assertion, +I beg to believe, fully worth the chemist Bezuquet's. Not once did +the brave officer let out any allusion to the trip to Africa; but when +the public clamour grew too loud, he determined to have his say. + +One evening the luckless Tartarin was in his study, in a brown study +himself, when he saw the commandant stride in, stern, wearing +black gloves, buttoned up to his ears. + +"Tartarin," said the ex-captain authoritatively, "Tartarin, you'll have +to go!" + +And there he dwelt, erect in the doorway frame, grand and rigid as +embodied Duty. Tartarin of Tarascon comprehended all the sense in +"Tartarin, you'll have to ago!" + +Very pale, he rose and looked around with a softened eye upon the +cosy snuggery, tightly closed in, full of warmth and tender light -- +upon the commodious easy chair, his books, the carpet, the white +blinds of the windows, beyond which trembled the slender twigs of +the little garden. Then, advancing towards the brave officer, he +took his hand, grasped it energetically, and said in a voice +somewhat tearful, but stoical for all that: + +"I am going, Bravida." + +And go he did, as he said he would. Not straight off though, for it +takes time to get the paraphernalia together. + +To begin with, he ordered of Bompard two large boxes bound with +brass, and an inscription to be on them: + +----------------------------------------- +I TARTARIN, OF TARASCON I +I Firearms, &c. I +----------------------------------------- + + The binding in brass and the lettering took much time. He also +ordered at Tastavin's a showy album, in which to keep a diary and +his impressions of travel; for a man cannot help having an idea or +two strike him even when he is busy lion-hunting. + +Next, he had over from Marseilles a downright cargo of tinned +eatables, pemmican compressed in cakes for making soup, a new +pattern shelter-tent, opening out and packing up in a minute, sea- +boots, a couple of umbrellas, a waterproof coat, and blue spectacles +to ward off ophthalmia. To conclude, Bezuquet the chemist made +him up a miniature portable medicine chest stuffed with diachylon +plaister, arnica, camphor, and medicated vinegar. + +Poor Tartarin! he did not take these safeguards on his own behalf; +but he hoped, by dint of precaution and delicate attentions, to allay +Sancho-Tartarin's fury, who, since the start was fixed, never left off +raging day or night. + + + +XIII. +The Departure. + + +EFTSOON arrived the great and solemn day. From dawn all +Tarascon had been on foot, encumbering the Avignon road and the +approaches to Baobab Villa. People were up at the windows, on +the roofs, and in the trees; the Rhone bargees, porters, dredgers, +shoe-blacks, gentry, tradesfolk, warpers and weavers, taffety- +workers, the club members, in short the whole town; moreover, +people from Beaucaire had come over the bridge, market-gardeners +from the environs, carters in their huge carts with ample tilts, +vinedressers upon handsome mules, tricked out with ribbons, +streamers, bells, rosettes, and jingles, and even, here and there, a +few pretty maids from Arles, come on the pillion behind their +sweethearts, with bonny blue ribbons round the head, upon little +iron-grey Camargue horses. + +All this swarm squeezed and jostled before our good Tartarin's +door, who was going to slaughter lions in the land of the Turks. + +For Tarascon, Algeria, Africa, Greece, Persia, Turkey, and +Mesopotamia, all form one great hazy country, almost a myth, +called the land of the Turks. They say "Tur's," but that's a linguistic +digression. + +In the midst of all this throng, the cap poppers bustled to and fro, +proud of their captain's triumph, leaving glorious wakes where they +had passed. + +In front of the Indian fig-tree house were two large trucks. From +time to time the door would open, and allow several persons to be +spied, gravely lounging about the little garden. At every new box +the throng started and trembled. The articles were named in a loud +voice: + +"That there's the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that's the +physic-chest; these the gun-cases," -- the cap-poppers giving +explanations. + +All of a sudden, about ten o'clock, there was a great stir in the +multitude, for the garden gate banged open. + +"Here he is! here he is!" they shouted. + +It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two +outcries of stupefaction burst from the assemblage: + +"He's a Turk!" "He's got on spectacles !" + +In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to +Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers, +small tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around +the waist, the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez, +or chechia, on his head, with something like a long blue tassel +thereto. Together with this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder, +a broad hunting-knife in the girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a +revolver on the hip, swinging in its patent leather case -- that is all. +No, I cry your pardon, I was forgetting the spectacles -- a +pantomimically large pair of azure barnacles, which came in patly to +temper what was rather too fierce in the bearing of our hero. + +"Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!" roared the +populace. + +The great man smiled, but did not salute, on account of the firearms +hindering him. Moreover, he knew now on what popular favour +depends; it may even be that in the depths of his soul he cursed his +terrible fellow-townsfolk, who obliged him to go away and leave +his pretty little pleasure-house with whitened walls and green +venetians. But there was no show of this. + +Calm and proud, although a little pallid, he stepped out on the +footway, glanced at the hand-carts, and, seeing all was right, lustily +took the road to the railway-station, without even once looking +back towards Baobab Villa. Behind him marched the brave +Commandant Bravida, Ladeveze the Chief Judge, Costecalde the +gunsmith next, and then all the sportsmen who pop at caps, +preceding the hand-carts and the rag, tag, and bobtail. + +Before the station the station-master awaited them, an old African +veteran of 1830, who shook Tartarin's hand many times with +fervency. + +The Paris-to-Marseilles express was not yet in, so Tartarin and his +staff went into the waiting-rooms. To prevent the place being +overrun, the station-master ordered the gates to be closed. + +During a quarter of an hour, Tartarin promenaded up and down in +the rooms in the midst of his brother marksmen, speaking to them +of his journey and his hunting, and promising to send them skins; +they put their names down in his memorandum-book for a lionskin +apiece, as waltzers book for a dance. + +Gentle and placid as Socrates on the point of quaffing the hemlock, +the intrepid Tarasconian had a word and a smile for each. He spoke +simply, with an affable mien; it looked as if, before departing, he +meant to leave behind him a wake of charms, regrets, and pleasant +memories. On hearing their leader speak in this way, all the +sportsmen felt tears well up, and some were stung with remorse, to +wit, Chief Judge Ladeveze and the chemist Bezuquet. The railway +employees blubbered in the corners, whilst the outer public squinted +through the bars and bellowed: "Long live Tartarin!" + +At length the bell rang. A dull rumble was heard, and a piercing +whistle shook the vault. + +"The Marseilles express, gen'lemen!" + +"Good-bye, Tartarin! Good luck, old fellow!" + +"Good-bye to you all!" murmured the great man, as, with his arms +around the brave Commandant Bravida, he embraced his dear +native place collectively in him. Then he leaped out upon the +platform, and clambered into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who +were ready to die with fright at sight of this stranger with so many +pistols and rifles. + + + +XIV. +The Port of Marseilles -- "All aboard, all aboard!" + + +UPON the 1st of December 18--, in clear, brilliant, splendid +weather, under a south winter sun, the startled inhabitants of +Marseilles beheld a Turk come down the Canebiere, or their Regent +Street. A Turk, a regular Turk -- never had such a one been seen; +and yet, Heaven knows, there is no lack of Turks at Marseilles. + +The Turk in question -- have I any necessity of telling you it was +the great Tartarin of Tarascon? -- waddled along the quays, +followed by his gun-cases, medicine-chest, and tinned comestibles, +to reach the landing-stage of the Touache Company and the mail +steamer the Zouave, which was to transport him over the sea. + +With his ears still ringing with the home applause, intoxicated by +the glare of the heavens and the reek of the sea, Tartarin fairly +beamed as he stepped out with a lofty head, and between his guns +on his shoulders, looking with all his eyes upon that wondrous, +dazzling harbour of Marseilles, which he saw for the first time. The +poor fellow believed he was dreaming. He fancied his name was +Sinbad the Sailor, and that he was roaming in one of those fantastic +cities abundant in the '"Arabian Nights." As far as eye could reach +there spread a forest of masts and spars, cris-crossing in every way. + +Flags of all countries floated -- English, American, Russian, +Swedish, Greek and Tunisian. + +The vessels lay alongside the wharves -- ay, head on, so that their +bowsprits stuck up out over the strand like rows of bayonets. Over +it, too, sprawled the mermaids, goddesses, madonnas, and other +figure-heads in carved and painted wood which gave names to the +ships -- all worn by sea-water, split, mildewed, and dripping. Ever +and anon, between the hulls, a patch of harbour like watered silk +splashed with oil. In the intervals of the yards and booms, what +seemed swarms of flies prettily spotted the blue sky. These were +the shipboys, hailing one another in all languages. + +On the waterside, amidst thick green or black rivulets coming down +from the soap factories loaded with oil and soda, bustled a mass of +custom-house officers, messengers, porters, and truckmen with +their bogheys, or trolleys, drawn by Corsican ponies. + +There were shops selling quaint articles, smoky shanties where +sailors were cooking their own queer messes, dealers in pipes, +monkeys, parrots, ropes, sailcloth, fanciful curios, amongst which +were mingled higgledy-piggledy old culverins, huge gilded lanterns, +worn-out pulley-blocks, rusty flukeless anchors, chafed cordage, +battered speaking-trumpets, and marine glasses almost +contemporary with the Ark. Sellers of mussels and clams squatted +beside their heaps of shellfish and yawped their goods. Seamen +rolled by with tar-pots, smoking soup-bowls, and big baskets full of +cuttlefish, from which they went to wash the ink in the milky waters +of the fountains. + +Everywhere a prodigious collection of all kinds of goods: silks, +minerals, wood in stacks, lead in pigs, cloths, sugars, caruba wood +logs, colza seed, liquorice sticks, sugar-canes. The East and the +West cheek by jowl, even to pyramids of Dutch cheeses which the +Genoese were dyeing red by contact with their hands. + +Yonder was the corn market: porters discharging sacks down the +shoots of lofty elevators upon the pier, and loose grain rolling as a +golden torrent through a blonde dust. Men in red skullcaps were +sifting it as they caught it in large asses'-skin sieves, and loading it +upon carts which took their millward way, followed by a regiment +of women and youngsters with wisps and gleaning baskets. Farther +on, the dry docks, where large vessels were laid low on their sides +till their yards dipped in the water; they were singed with thorn- +bushes to free them of sea weed; there rose an odour of pitch, and +the deafening clatter of the sheathers coppering the bottoms with +broad sheets of yellow metal. + +At whiles a gap in between the masts, in which Tartarin could see +the haven mouth, where the vessels came and went: a British frigate +off for Malta, dainty and thoroughly washed down, with the officer +in primrose gloves, or a large home-port brig hauling out in the +midst of uproar and oaths, whilst the fat captain, in a high silk hat +and frockcoat, ordered the operations in Provencal dialect. Other +craft were making forth under all sail, and, still farther out, more +were slowly looming up in the sunshine as if they were sailing in the +air. + +All the time a frightful riot, the rumbling of carts, the "Haul all, haul +away!" of the shipmen, oaths, songs, steamboat whistles, the bugles +and drums in Forts Saint Jean and Saint Nicolas, the bells of the +Major, the Accoules, and Saint Victor; with the mistral atop of all, +catching up the noises and clamour, and rolling them up together +with a furious shaking, till confounded with its own voice, which +intoned a mad, wild, heroic melody like a grand charging tune -- +one that filled hearers with a longing to be off, and the farther the +better -- a craving for wings. + +It was to the sound of this splendid blast that the intrepid Tartarin Tarasco +of Tarascon embarked for the land of lions. + + + + +EPISODE THE SECOND +AMONG "THE TURKS" + + + +I. +The Passage-The Five Positions of the Fez -- +The Third Evening Out -- Mercy upon us! + + +JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter -- a great +artist, I mean -- in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this +second episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin's red cap in +the three days' passage it made on board of. the Zouave, between +France and Algeria. + +First would I show you it at the steaming out, upon deck, arrogant +and heroic as it was, forming a glory round that handsome +Tarasconian head. Next would I show you it at the harbour-mouth, +when the bark began to caper upon the waves; I would depict it for +you all of a quake in astonishment, and as though already +experiencing the preliminary qualms of sea-sickness. Then, in the +Gulf of the Lion, proportionably to the nearing the open sea, where +the white caps heaved harder, I would make you behold it wrestling +with the tempest, and standing on end upon the hero's cranium, +with its mighty mane of blue wool bristling out in the spray and +breeze. Position Fourth.: at six in the afternoon, with the Corsican +coast in view; the unfortunate chechia. hangs over the ship's side, +and lamentably stares down as though to plumb the depths of +ocean. Finally and lastly, the Fifth Position : at the back of a +narrow state-room, in a box-bed so small it seemed one drawer in a +nest of them, something shapeless rolled on the pillow with moans +of desolation. This was the fez -- the fez so defiant at the sailing, +now reduced to the vulgar condition of a nightcap, and pulled down +over the very ears of the head of a pallid and convulsed sufferer. + +How the people of Tarascon would have kicked themselves for +having constrained the great Tartarin to leave home, if they had but +seen him stretched in the bunk in the dull, wan gleam through the +dead-light, amid the sickly odour of cooking and wet wood -- the +heart-heaving perfume of mail-boats; if they had but heard him +gurgle at every turn of the screw, wail for tea every five minutes, +and swear at the steward in a childish treble! + +On my word of honour as a story-teller, the poor Turk would have +made a paste-board dummy pity him. Suddenly, overcome by the +nausea, the hapless victim had not even the power to undo the +Algerian girdle-cloth, or lay aside his armoury; the lumpy-handled +bunting-sword pounded his ribs, and the leather revolver-case +made his thigh raw. To finish him arose the taunts of Sancho- +Tartarin, who never ceased to groan and inveigh: + +"Well, for the biggest kind of imbecile, you are the finest specimen! +I told you truly how it would be. Ha, ha! you were bound to go to +Africa, of course! Well, old merriman, now you are going to +Africa, how do you like it?" + +The cruellest part of it was that, from the retreat where he was +moaning, the hapless invalid could hear the passengers in the grand +saloon laughing, munching, singing, and playing at cards. On board +the Zouave the company was as jolly as numerous, composed of +officers going back to join their regiments, ladies from the +Marseilles Alcazar Music Hall, strolling-players, a rich Mussulman +returning from Mecca, and a very jocular Montenegrin prince, who +favoured them with imitations of the low comedians of Paris. Not +one of these jokers felt the sea-sickness, and their time was passed +in quaffing champagne with the steamer captain, a good fat born +Marseillais, who had a wife and family as well at Algiers as at +home, and who answered to the merry name of Barbassou. + +Tartarin of Tarascon hated this pack of wretches; their mirthfulness +deepened his ails. + +At length, on the third afternoon, there was such an extraordinary +hullabaloo on the deck that our hero was roused out of his long +torpor. The ship's bell was ringing and the seamen's heavy boots +ran over the planks. + +"Go ahead! Stop her! Turn astern!" barked the hoarse voice of +Captain Barbassou; and then, "Stop her dead!" + +There was an abrupt check of movement, a shock, and no more, +save the silent rolling of the boat from side to side like a balloon in +the air. This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian. + +"Heaven ha' mercy upon us!" he yelled in a terrifying voice, as, +recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and +rushed upon deck with his arsenal. + + + +II. +"To arms! to arms" + + +Only the arrival, not a foundering. + +The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead -- a fine one of +black, deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated +ground ahead rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a +dead cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into +the sea. It was like Meudon slope with a laundress's washing hung +out to dry. Over it a vast blue satin sky -- and such a blue ! + +A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on the +landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince, +who stood by his, side, as he named the different parts of the +capital, the Kasbah, the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A +very finely-brought-up prince was this Montenegrin; moreover, +knowing Algeria thoroughly, and fluently speaking Arabic. Hence +Tartarin thought of cultivating his acquaintance. + +All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the +Tarasconian perceived a row of large black hands clinging to it +from over the side. Almost instantly a Negro's woolly head shot up +before him, and, ere he had time to open his mouth, the deck was +overwhelmed on every side by a hundred black or yellow +desperadoes, half naked, hideous, and fearsome. Tartarin knew who +these pirates were -- "they," of course, the celebrated "they" who +had too often been hunted after by him in the by-ways of Tarascon. +At last they hid decided to meet him face to face. At the outset +surprise nailed him to the spot. But when he saw the outlaws fall +upon the luggage, tear off the tarpaulin covering, and actually +commence the pillage of the ship, then the hero awoke. Whipping +out his hunting-sword, "To arms! to arms !" he roared to the +passengers; and away he flew, the foremost of all, upon the +buccaneers. "Ques aco? What's the stir? What's the matter with +you?" exclaimed Captain Barbassou, coming out of the +'tweendecks. + +"About time you did turn up, captain! Quick, quick, arm your men!" + +"Eh, what for? dash it all!" + +"Why, can't you see?" + +"See what?" + +"There, before you, the corsairs" + +Captain Barbassou stared, bewildered. At this juncture a tall +blackamoor tore by with our hero's medicine-chest upon his back. + +"You cut-throat! just wait for me!" yelled the Tarasconer as he ran +after, with the knife uplifted. + +But Barbassou caught him in the spring, and holding him by the +waist-sash, bade him be quiet. + +"Tron de ler! by the throne on high! they're no pirates. It's long +since there were any pirates hereabout Those dark porters are light +porters. Ha, ha!" + +"P--p-porters?" + +"Rather, only come after the luggage to carry it ashore. So put up +your cook's galley knife, give me your ticket, and walk off behind +that nigger -- an honest dog, who will see you to land, and even +into a hotel, if you like." + +A little abashed, Tartarin handed over his ticket, and falling in +behind the representative of the Dark Continent, clambered down +by the hanging-ladder into a big skiff dancing alongside. All his +effects were already there -- boxes, trunks, gun-cases, tinned food, +-- so cramming up the boat that there was no need to wait for any +other passengers. The African scrambled upon the boxes, and +squatted there like a baboon, with his knees clutched by his hands. +Another Negro took the oars. Both laughingly eyed Tartarin, and +showed their white teeth. + +Standing in the stern-sheets, making that terrifying face which had +daunted his fellow-countrymen, the great Tarasconian feverishly +fumbled with his hunting-knife haft; for, despite what Barbassou +had told him, he was only half at ease as regarded the intention of +these ebony-skinned porters, who so little resembled their honest +mates of Tarascon. + +Five minutes afterwards the skiff landed Tartarin, and he set foot +upon the little Barbary wharf, where, three hundred years before, a +Spanish galley-slave yclept Miguel Cervantes devised, under the +cane of the Algerian taskmaster, a sublime romance which was to +bear the title of "Don Quixote." + + + +III. +An Invocation to Cervantes -- The Disembarkation -- Where +are the Turks ? -- Not a sign of them -- Disenchantment + + +O MIGUEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, if what is asserted be +true, to wit, that wherever great men have dwelt some emanation of +their spirits wanderingly hovers until the end of ages, then what +remained of your essence on the Barbary coast must have quivered +with glee on beholding Tartarin of Tarascon disembark, that +marvellous type of the French Southerner, in whom was embodied +both heroes of your work, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. + +The air was sultry on this occasion. On the wharf, ablaze with +sunshine, were half a dozen revenue officers, some Algerians +expecting news from France, several squatting Moors who drew at +long pipes, and some Maltese mariners dragging large nets, +between the meshes of which thousands of sardines glittered like +small silver coins. + +But hardly had Tartarin set foot on earth before the quay sprang +into life and changed its aspect. A horde of savages, still more +hideous than the pirates upon the steamer, rose between the stones +on the strand and rushed upon the new-comer. Tall Arabs were +there, nude under woollen blankets, little Moors in tatters, Negroes, +Tunisians, Port Mahonese, M'zabites, hotel servants in white +aprons, all yelling and shouting, hooking on his clothes, fighting +over his luggage, one carrying away the provender, another his +medicine-chest, and pelting him in one fantastic medley with the +names of preposterously-entitled hotels. + +Bewildered by all this tumult, poor Tartarin wandered to and fro, +swore and stormed, went mad, ran after his property, and not +knowing how to make these barbarians understand him, speechified +them in French, Provencal, and even in dog Latin : "Rosa, the rose; +bonus, bona, bonum!" -- all that he knew -- but to no purpose. He +was not heeded. Happily, like a god in Homer, intervened a little +fellow in a yellow-collared tunic, and armed with a long running- +footman's cane, who dispersed the whole riff-raff with cudgel-play. +He was a policeman of the Algerian capital. Very politely, he +suggested Tartarin should put up at the Hotel de l'Europe, and he +confided him to its waiters, who carted him and his impedimenta +thither in several barrows. + +At the first steps he took in Algiers, Tartarin of Tarascon opened +his eyes widely. Beforehand he had pictured it as an Oriental city -- +a fairy one, mythological, something between Constantinople and +Zanzibar; but it was back into Tarascon he fell. Cafes, restaurants, +wide streets, four-storey houses, a little market-place, +macadamised, where the infantry band played Offenbachian polkas, +whilst fashionably clad gentlemen occupied chairs, drinking beer +and eating pancakes, some brilliant ladies, some shady ones, and +soldiers -- more soldiers -- no end of soldiers, but not a solitary +Turk, or, better to say, there was a solitary Turk, and that was he. + +Hence he felt a little abashed about crossing the square, for +everybody looked at him. The musicians stopped, the Offenbachian +polka halting with one foot in the air. + +With both guns on his shoulders, and the revolver flapping on his +hip, as fierce and stately as Robinson Crusoe, Tartarin gravely +passed through the groups; but on arriving at the hotel his powers +failed him. All spun and mingled in his head: the departure from +Tarascon, the harbour of Marseilles, the voyage, the Montenegrin +prince, the corsairs. They had to help him up into a room and +disarm and undress him. They began to talk of sending for a +medical adviser; but hardly was our hero's head upon the pillow +than he set to snoring, so loudly and so heartily that the landlord +judged the succour of science useless, and everybody considerately +withdrew. + + + +IV. +The First Lying in Wait. + + +THREE o'clock was striking by the Government clock when +Tartarin awoke. He had slept all the evening, night, and morning, +and even a goodish piece of the afternoon. It must be granted, +though, that in the last three days the red fez had caught it pretty +hot and lively! + +Our hero's first thought on opening his eyes was, "I am in the land +of the lions!" And -- well, why should we not say it? -- at the idea +that lions were nigh hereabouts, within a couple of steps, almost at +hand's reach, and that he would have to disentangle a snarled skein +with them, ugh! a deadly chill struck him, and he dived intrepidly +under the coverlet. + +But, before a moment was over, the outward gaiety, the blue sky, +the glowing sun that streamed into the bedchamber, a nice little +breakfast that he ate in bed, his window wide open upon the sea, +the whole flavoured with an uncommonly good bottle of Crescia +wine -- it very speedily restored him his former pluckiness. + +"Let's out and at the lion!" he exclaimed, throwing off the clothes +and briskly dressing himself. + +His plan was as follows: he would go forth from the city without +saying a word to a soul, plunge into the great desert, await nightfall +to ambush himself, and bang away at the first lion who walked up. +Then would hen return to breakfast in the morning at the hotel, +receive the felicitations of the natives, and hire a cart to bring in the +quarry. + +So he hurriedly armed himself, attached upright on his back the +shelter-tent (which, when rolled up, left its centre pole sticking out +a clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as +though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody, +from fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and +threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of +Algerian Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so +many spiders; crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer +ward, and lastly came upon the dusty Mustapha highway. + +Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney +coaches, corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts +drawn by bullocks, squads of Chasseurs d'Afrique, droves of +microscopic asses, trucks of Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet +cloaks -- all filed by in a whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts, +songs, and trumpetcalls, between two rows of vile-looking booths, +at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais women might be seen doing +their hair, drinking-dens filled with soldiers, and shops of butchers +and knackers. + +"What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!" grumbled the great +Tartarin; "there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles." + +All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely, +stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock, +and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not +be far Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes' time he did see a whole +band of lion-hunters coming his way under arms. + +"Cowards!" thought our hero as he skirted them; "downright +cowards, to go at a lion in companies and with dogs!" + +For it never could occur to him that anything but lions were objects +of the chase in Algeria. For all that, these Nimrods wore such +complacent phizzes of retired tradesmen, and their style of lion- +hunting with dogs and game-bags was so patriarchal, that the +Tarasconian, a little perplexed, deemed it incumbent to question +one of the gentlemen. + +"And furthermore, comrade, is the sport good?" + +"Not bad," responded the other, regarding the speaker's imposing +warlike equipment with a scared eye. + +"Killed any?" + +"Rather ! Not so bad -- only look." Whereupon the Algerian +sportsman showed that it was rabbits and woodcock stuffing out +the bag. + +"What! do you call that your bag? Do you put such-like in your +bag?" + +"Where else should I put 'em ?" + +"But it's such little game." + +"Some run small and some run large," observed the hunter. + +In haste to catch up with his companions, he joined them with +several long strides. The dauntless Tartarin remained rooted in the +middle of the road with stupefaction. "Pooh!" he ejaculated, after a +moment's reflection, "these are jokers. They haven't killed anything +whatever." and he went his way. + +Already the houses became scarcer, and so did the passengers. +Dark came on and objects were blurred, though Tartarin walked on +for half an hour more, when he stopped, for it was night. A +moonless night, too, but sprinkled with stars. On the highroad +there was nobody. The hero concluded that lions are not stage- +coaches, and would not of their own choice travel the main ways. +So he wheeled into the fields, where there were brambles and +ditches and bushes at every step, but he kept on nevertheless. + +But suddenly he halted. + +"I smell lions about here!" said our friend, sniffing right and left. + + + +V. +Bang, bang! + + +CERTAINLY a great wilderness, bristling with odd plants of that +Oriental kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble +starlight their magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. +On the right loomed up confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain -- +perhaps the Atlas range. On the heart-hand, the invisible sea +hollowly rolling. The very spot to attract wild beasts. + +With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of +Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good +couple, and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his +books, the great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having +a lamb or a kid along with them, which they tied up a space before +them, and set bleating or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. +Not having any goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an +imitation, and he set to crying in a tremulous voice : + +"Baa-a-a !" + +At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little +alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa- +ed more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many +times running at the top of his voice, till the "Baa, baa, baa!" came +out with so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a +bull. + +Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing +appeared. He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the +ground, hounded up, rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but +returned and stopped short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for +now its four short legs could plainly be seen, its formidable mane +and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom. + +Up went his gun into position. Fire's the word! and bang, bang! it +was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing +of the hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian's shot a terrible roaring +replied. + +"He's got it!" cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his +sturdy supporters, he prepared to receive the brute's charge. + +But it had more than its fill, and galloped off; howling. He did not +budge, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story- +books always lay it down she should. + +Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours' waiting the +Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was +getting cool, and the sea-breeze pricked sharply. + +"I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight," he said to himself. + +To avoid catching rheumatism, he had recourse to his patent tent. +But here's where Old Nick interfered! This tent was of so very +ingenious a construction that he could not manage to open it. In +vain did he toil over it and perspire an hour through -- the +confounded apparatus would not come unfolded. There are some +umbrellas which amuse themselves under torrential rains with just +such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out with the struggle, the victim +dashed down the machine and lay upon it, swearing like the regular +Southron he was. "Tar, tar, rar, tar! tar, rar, tar!" + +"What on earth's that?" wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused. + +It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d'Afrique sounding the turn-out +in the Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, +for he had believed himself out in the boundless wilderness; and do +you know where he really was? -- in a field of artichokes, between +a cabbage-garden and a patch of beets. His Sahara grew kitchen +vegetables. + +Close to him, on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha, the +snowy villas glowed in the rosy rising sun: anybody would believe +himself in the neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides +and bastidons. + +The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped +country much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour. + +"These folk are crazy," he reasoned, "to plant artichokes in the +prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. +Lions have come here, and there's the proof" + +What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its +flight. Bending over this ruddy trail. with his eye on the lookout +and his revolver in his fist, the valiant Tarasconian went from +artichoke to artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled +grass was a pool of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its +flank, with a large wound in the head, was a -- guess what? + +"A lion, of course !" + +Not a bit of it! An ass! -- one of those little donkeys so common in +Algeria, where they are called bourriquots. + + + +VI. +Arrival of the Female -- A Terrible Combat -- +"Game Fellows Meet Here!" + + +LOOKING on his hapless victim, Tartarin's first impulse was one of +vexation. There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack! +His second feeling was one of pity. The poor bourriquot was so +pretty and looked so kindly. The hide on his still warm sides +heaved and fell like waves. Tartarin knelt down, and strove with +the end of his Algerian sash to stanch the blood; and all you can +imagine in the way of touchingness was offered by the picture of +this great man tending this little ass. + +At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not +twopennyworth of life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked +his long ears two or three times, as much as to say, "Oh, thank +you!" before a final spasm shook it from head to tail, whereafter it +stirred no more. + +"Noiraud! Blackey!" suddenly screamed a voice, choking with +anguish, as the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same +time. + +Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon +guard. This was the female! + +She rushed up, fearsome and roaring, under form of an old Alsatian +woman, her hair in a kerchief, armed with large red umbrella, and +calling for her ass, till all the echoes of Mustapha rang. It certainly +would have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a +lioness in fury than this old virago. In vain did the luckless +sportsman try to make her understand how the blunder had +occurred, and he had mistaken "Noiraud" for a lion. The harridan +believed he was making fun of her, and uttering energetical "Der +Teufels!" fell upon our hero to bang him with the gingham. A little +bewildered, Tartarin defended himself as best he could, warding +off the blows with his rifle, streaming with perspiration, panting, +jumping about, and crying out: + +"But, Madame, but" + +Much good his buts were! Madame was dull of hearing, and her +blows continued hard as ever. + +Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield, the Alsatian's +husband, of the same race; a roadside innkeeper, as well as a very +good ready-reckoner, which was better. When he saw what kind of +a customer he had to deal with -- a slaughterer who only wanted to +pay the value of his victim -- he disarmed his better-half, and they +came to an understanding. + +Tartarin gave two hundred francs, the donkey being worth about +ten -- at least that is the current price in the Arab markets. Then +poor Blackey was, laid to rest at the root of a fig-tree, and the +Alsatian, raised to joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats, +invited the hero to have a quencher with him in his wine-shop, +which stood only a few steps off on the edge of the highway. Every +Sunday the sportsmen from the city came there to regale of a +morning, for the plain abounded with game, and there was no better +place for rabbits for two leagues around. + +"How about lions?" inquired Tartarin. + +The Alsatian stared at him, greatly astounded. + +"Lions!" + +"Yes, lions. Don't you see them sometimes?" resumed the poor +fellow, with less confidence. + +The Boniface burst out in laughter. + +"Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here ?" + +"Are there, then, none in Algeria?" + +"'Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years, in +the colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing -- +leastwise, I fancy the newspapers said -- but that is ever so much +farther inland -- down South, you know" -- + +At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a +withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted +on the wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, +feeding: + +"GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE." + +"Game fellows!" It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida. + + + +VII. + About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine. + + +COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first +adventure, but men of Tartarin's mettle do not easily get cast down. + +"The lions are in the South, are they?" mused the hero. "Very well, +then. South I go." + +As soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful he jumped up, thanked +his host, nodded good-bye to the old hag without any ill-will, +dropped a final tear over the hapless Blackey, and quickly returned +to Algiers, with the firm intention of packing up and starting +that very day for the South. + +The Mustapha highroad seemed, unfortunately, to have stretched +since overnight; and what a sun and dust there were, and what a +weight in that shelter-tent! Tartarin did not feel to have the courage +to walk to the town, and he beckoned to the first omnibus coming +along, and climbed in. + +Oh, our poor Tartarin of Tarascon! how much better it would have +been for his name and fame not to have stepped into that fatal ark +on wheels, but to have continued on his road afoot, at the risk of +falling suffocated beneath the burden of the atmosphere, the tent, +and his heavy double-barrelled rifles. + +When Tartarin got in the 'bus was full. At the end, with his nose in +his prayer-book, sat a large and black-bearded vicar from town; +facing him was a young Moorish merchant smoking coarse +cigarettes, and a Maltese sailor and four or five Moorish women +muffled up in white cloths, so that only their eyes could be spied. + +These ladies had been to offer up prayers in the Abdel Kader +cemetery; but this funereal visit did not seem to have much +saddened them, for they could be heard chuckling and chattering +between themselves under their coverings whilst munching pastry. +Tartarin fancied that they watched him narrowly. One in particular, +seated over against him, had fixed her eyes upon his, and never +took them off all the drive. Although the dame was veiled, the +liveliness of the big black eyes, lengthened out by k'hol; a +delightfully slender wrist loaded with gold bracelets, of which a +glimpse was given from time to time among the folds; the sound of +her voice, the graceful, almost childlike, movements of the head, all +revealed that a young, pretty, and loveable creature bloomed +underneath the veil The unfortunate Tartarin did not know where to +shrink. The fond, mute gaze of these splendrous Oriental orbs +agitated him, perturbed him, and made him feel like dying with +flushes of heat and fits of cold shivers. + +To finish him, the lady's slipper meddled in the onslaught: he felt the +dainty thing wander and frisk about over his heavy hunting boots +like a tiny red mouse. What could he do? Answer the glance and +the pressure, of course. Ay, but what about the consequences? A +loving intrigue in the East is a terrible matter! With his romantic +southern nature, the honest Tarasconian saw himself already falling +into the grip of the eunuchs, to be decapitated, or better -- we +mean, worse -- than that, sewn up in a leather sack and sunk in the +sea with his head under his arm beside him. This somewhat cooled +him. In the meantime the little slipper continued its proceedings, +and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black velvet +flowers, seemed to say: + +"Come, cull us!" + +The 'bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue +Bab-Azoon. One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers, +and drawing their mufflers around them with wild grace, the +Moorish women alighted. Tartarin's confrontatress was the last to +rise, and in doing so her countenance skimmed so closely to our +hero's that her breath enveloped him -- a veritable nosegay of youth +and freshness, with an indescribable after-tang of musk, jessamine, +and pastry. + +The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and +ready for anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling +sound of his belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled +mouth, as who would say, " Hush!" and with the other hand quickly +tossed him a little wreath of. sweet-scented jessamine flowers. +Tartarin of Tarascon stooped to pick it up; but as he was rather +clumsy, and much overburdened with implements of war, the +operation took rather long. When he did straighten up, with the +jessamine garland upon his heart, the donatrix had vanished. + + + +VIII. +Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace! + + +LIONS of the Atlas, sleep! -- sleep tranquilly at the back of your +lairs amid the aloes and cacti. For a few days to come, any way, +Tartarin of Tarascon will not massacre you. For the time being, all +his warlike paraphernalia, gun-cases, medicine chest, alimentary +preserves, dwelt peacefully under cover in a corner of room 36 in +the Hotel de l'Europe. + +Sleep with no fear, great red lions, the Tarasconian is engaged in +looking up that Moorish charmer. Since the adventure in the +omnibus, the unfortunate swain perpetually fancied he felt the +fidgeting of that pretty red mouse upon his huge backwoods +trapper's foot; and the sea-breeze fanning his lips was ever scented, +do what he would, with a love-exciting odour of sweet cakes and +patchouli. + +He hungered for his indispensable light of the harem! and he meant +to behold her anew. + +But it was no joke of a task. To find one certain person in a city of +a hundred thousand souls, only known by the eyes, breath, and +slipper, -- none but a son of Tarascon, panoplied by love, would be +capable of attempting such an adventure. + +The plague is that, under their broad white mufflers, all the Moorish +women resemble one another; besides, they do not go about much, +and to see them, a man has to climb up into the native or upper +town, the city of the "Turks," and that is a regular cut-throat's den. + +Little black alleys, very narrow, climbing perpendicularly up +between mysterious house-walls, whose roofs lean to touching and +form a tunnel; low doors, and sad, silent little casements well barred +and grated. Moreover, on both hands, stacks of darksome stalls, +wherein ferocious "Turks" smoked long pipes stuck between +glittering teeth in piratical heads with white eyes, and mumbled in +undertones as if hatching wicked attacks. + +To say that Tartarin traversed this grisly place without any emotion +would be putting forth falsehood. On the contrary, he was much +affected, and the stout fellow only went up the obscure lanes, +where his corporation took up all the width, with the utmost +precaution, his eye skinned, and his finger on his revolver trigger, in +the same manner as he went to the clubhouse at Tarascon. At any +moment he expected to have a whole gang of eunuchs and +janissaries drop upon his back, yet the longing to behold that dark +damsel again gave him a giant's strength and boldness. + +For a full week the undaunted Tartarin never quitted the high town. +Yes; for all that period he might have been seen cooling his heels +before the Turkish bath-houses, awaiting the hour when the ladies +came forth in troops, shivering and still redolent of soap and hot +water; or squatting at the doorways of mosques, puffing and +melting in trying to get out of his big boots in order to enter the +temples. + +Betimes at nightfall, when he was returning heart-broken at not +having discovered anything at either bagnio or mosque, our man +from Tarascon, in passing mansions, would hear monotonous +songs, smothered twanging of guitars, thumping of tambourines, +and feminine laughter-peals, which would make his heart beat. + +"Haply she is there!" he would say to himself. + +Thereupon, granting the street was unpeopled, he would go up to +one of these dwellings, lift the heavy knocker of the low postern, +and timidly rap. The songs and merriment would instantly cease. +There would be audible behind the wall nothing excepting low, dull +flutterings as in a slumbering aviary. + +"Let's stick to it, old boy," our hero would think. "Something will +befall us yet. " + +What most often befell him was the contents of the cold-water jug +on the head, or else peel of oranges and Barbary figs; never +anything more serious. + +Well might the lions of the Atlas Mountains doze in peace. + + + +IX. +Prince Gregory of Montenegro. + + +IT was two long weeks that the unfortunate Tartarin had been +seeking his Algerian flame, and most likely he would have been +seeking after her to this day if the little god kind to lovers had not +come to his help under the shape of a Montenegrin nobleman. + +It happened as follows. + +Every Saturday night in winter there is a masked ball at the Grand +Theatre of Algiers, just as at the Paris Opera-House. It is the +undying and ever-tasteless county fancy dress ball -- very few +people on the floor, several castaways from the Parisian students' +ballrooms or midnight dance-houses, Joins of Arc following the +army, faded characters out of the Java costume-book of 1840, and +half-a-dozen laundress's underlings who are aiming to make loftier +conquests, but still preserve a faint perfume of their former life -- +garlic and saffron sauce. The real spectacle is not there, but in the +green-room, transformed for the nonce into a hall of green cloth or +gaming saloon. + +An enfevered and motley mob hustle one another around the long +green table-covers: Turcos out for the day and staking their double +halfpence, Moorish traders from the native town, Negroes, Maltese, +colonists from the inland, who have come forty leagues in order to +risk on a turning card the price of a plough or of a yoke of oxen; all +a-quivering, pale, clenching their teeth, and with that singular, +wavering, sidelong look of the gamester, become a squint from +always staring at the same card in the lay-out. + +A little apart are the tribes of Algerian Jews, playing among +acquaintances. The men are in the Oriental costume; hideously +varied with blue stockings and velvet caps. The puffy and flabby +women sit up stiffly in tight golden bodices. Grouped around the +tables, the whole tribe wail, squeal, combine, reckon on the fingers, +and play but little. Now and anon, however, after long conferences, +some old patriarch, with a beard like those of saints by the Old +Masters, detaches himself from the party and goes to risk the family +duro. As long as the game lasted there would be a scintillation of +Hebraic eyes directed on the board -- dreadful black diamonds, +which made the gold pieces shiver, and ended by gently attracting +them, as if drawn by a thread. Then arose wrangles, quarrels, +battles, oaths of every land, mad outcries in all tongues, knives +flashing out, the guard marching in, and the money disappearing. + +It was into the thick of this saturnalia that the great Tartarin came +straying one evening to find oblivion and heart's ease. + +He was roving alone through the gathering, brooding about his +Moorish beauty, when two angered voices arose suddenly from a +gaming-table above all the clamour and chink of coin. + +"I tell you, M'sieu, that I am twenty francs short!" + +"Stuff, M'sieu!" + +"Stuff yourself; M'sieu!" + +"You shall learn whom you are addressing, M'sieu!" + +"I am dying to do that, M'sieu!" + +"I am Prince Gregory of Montenegro, M'sieu." + +Upon this title Tartarin, much excited, cleft the throng and placed +himself in the foremost rank, proud and happy to find his prince +again, the Montenegrin noble of such politeness whose +acquaintance he had begun on board of the mail steamer. +Unfortunately the title of Highness, which had so dazzled the +worthy Tarasconian, did not produce the slightest impression upon +the Chasseurs officer with whom the noble had his dispute. + +"I am much the wiser!" observed the military gentleman sneeringly ; +and turning to the bystanders he added: "'Prince Gregory of +Montenegro' -- who knows any such a person? Nobody!" + +The indignant Tartarin took one step forward. + +"Allow me. I know the prance," said he, in a very firm voice, and +with his finest Tarasconian accent. + +The light cavalry officer eyed him hard for a moment, and then, +shrugging his shoulders, returned: + +"Come, that is good! Just you two share the twenty francs lacking +between you, and let us talk no more on the score." + +Whereupon he turned his back upon them and mixed with the +crowd. The stormy Tartarin was going to rush after him, but the +prince prevented that. + +"Let him go. I can manage my own affairs." + +Taking the interventionist by the arm, he drew him rapidly out of +doors. When they were upon the square, Prince Gregory of +Montenegro lifted his hat off; extended his hand to our hero, and as +he but dimly remembered his name, he began in a vibrating voice: + +"Monsieur Barbarin -- " + +"Tartarin!" prompted the other, timidly. + +"Tartarin, Barbarin, no matter! Between us henceforward it is a +league of life and death!" + +The Montenegrin noble shook his hand with fierce energy. You +may infer that the Tarasconian was proud. + +"Prance, prance!" he repeated enthusiastically. + +In a quarter of an hour subsequently the two gentlemen were +installed in the Platanes Restaurant, an agreeable late supper-house, +with terraces running out over the sea, where, before a hearty +Russian salad, seconded by a nice Crescia wine, they renewed the +friendship. + +You cannot image any one more bewitching than this Montenegrin +prince. Slender, fine, with crisp hair curled by the tongs, shaved "a +week under" and pumice-stoned on that, bestarred with out-of-the- +way decorations, he had the wily eye, the fondling gestures, and +vaguely the accent of an Italian, which gave him an air of Cardinal +Mazarin without his chin-tuft and moustaches. He was deeply +versed in the Latin tongues, and lugged in quotations from Tacitus, +Horace, and Caesar's Commentaries at every opening. + +Of an old noble strain, it appeared that his brothers had had him +exiled at the age of ten, on account of his liberal opinions, since +which time he had roamed the world for pleasure and instruction as +a philosophical noble. A singular coincidence! the prince had spent +three years in Tarascon; and as Tartarin showed amazement at +never having met him at the club or on the esplanade, His Highness +evasively remarked that he never went about. Through delicacy, the +Tarasconian did not dare to question further. All great existences +have such mysterious nooks. + +To sum up, this Signor Gregory was a very genial aristocrat. +Whilst sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to +Tartarin's expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to +find her speedily, as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. + +They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to "The ladies of Algiers" +and "The freedom of Montenegro!" + +Outside, upon the terrace, heaved the sea, and its rollers slapped +the strand in the darkness with much the sound of wet sails +flapping. The air was warm, and the sky full of stars. + +In the plane-trees a nightingale was piping. + +It was Tartarin who paid the piper. + + + +X. +"Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name +of that flower." + + +PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird. + +On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince +Gregory was in the Tarasconian's bedroom. + +"Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found, +Her name is Baya. She's scarce twenty -- as pretty as a love, and +already a widow." + +"A widow! What a slice of luck!" joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who +dreaded Oriental husbands. + +"Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother." + +"Oh, the mischief!" + +"A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar." + +Here fell a silence. + +"A fig for that!" proceeded the prince; "you are not the man to he +daunted by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be +pacified, I daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be +quick! On with your courting suit, you lucky dog!" + +Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the +Tarasconian leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up +his capacious nether garment, wanted to know how he should act. + +"Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst." + +"Do you mean to say she knows French?" queried the Tarasconian +simpleton, with the disappointed mien of one who had believed +thoroughly in the Orient. + +"Not one word of it," rejoined the prince imperturbably; "but you +can dictate the billet-doux, and I will translate it bit by bit." + +"O prince, how kind you are!" + +The lover began striding up and down the bedroom in silent +meditation. + +Naturally a man does not write to a Moorish girl in Algiers in the +same way as to a seamstress of Beaucaire. It was a very lucky +thing that our hero had in mind his numerous readings, which +allowed him, by amalgamating the Red Indian eloquence of Gustave +Aimard's Apaches with Lamartine's rhetorical flourishes in the +"Voyage en Orient," and some reminiscences of the "Song of +Songs," to compose the most Eastern letter that you could expect +to see. It opened with: + +"Like unto the ostrich upon the sandy waste" -- + +and concluded by: + +"Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower." + +To this missive the romantic Tartarin would have much liked to join +an emblematic bouquet of flowers in the Eastern fashion; but Prince +Gregory thought it better to purchase some pipes at the brother's, +which could not fail to soften his wild temper, and would certainly +please the lady a very great deal, as she was much of a smoker. + +"Let's be off at once to buy them!" said Tartarin, full of ardour. + +"No, no! Let me go alone. I can get them cheaper." + +"Eh, what? Would you save me the trouble? O prince, prince, you +do me proud!" + +Quite abashed, the good-hearted fellow offered his purse to the +obliging Montenegrin, urging him to overlook nothing by which the +lady would be gratified. + +Unfortunately the suit, albeit capitally commenced, did not progress +as rapidly as might have been anticipated. It appeared that the +Moorish beauty was very deeply affected by Tartarin's eloquence, +and, for that matter, three-parts won beforehand, so that she wished +nothing better than to receive him; but that brother of hers had +qualms, and to lull them it was necessary to buy pipes by the +dozens; nay, the gross -- well, we had best say by the shipload at +once. + +"What the plague can Baya do with all these pipes?" poor Tartarin +wanted to know more than once; but he paid the bills all the same, +and without niggardliness. + +At length, after having purchased a mountainous stack of pipes and +poured forth lakes of Oriental poesy, an interview was arranged. I +have no need to tell you with what throbbings of the heart the +Tarasconian prepared himself; with what carefulness he trimmed, +brilliantined, and perfumed his rough cap-popper's beard, and how +he did not forget -- for everything must he thought of -- to slip a +spiky life-preserver and two or three six-shooters into his pockets. + +The ever-obliging prince was coming to this first meeting in the +office of interpreter. + +The lady dwelt in the upper part of the town. Before her doorway +a boy Moor of fourteen or less was smoking cigarettes; this was the +brother in question, the celebrated Ali. On seeing the pair of +visitors arrive, he gave a double knock on the postern gate and +delicately glided away. + +The door opened. A negress appeared, who conducted the +gentlemen, without uttering a word, across the narrow inner +courtyard into a small cool room, where the lady awaited them, +reclining on a low ottoman. At first glance she appeared smaller and +stouter than the Moorish damsel met in the omnibus by the +Tarasconian. In fact, was it really the same? But the doubt merely +flashed through Tartarin's brain like a stroke of lightning. + +The dame was so pretty thus, with her feet bare, and plump fingers, +fine and pink, loaded with rings. Under her bodice of gilded cloth +and the folds of her flower-patterned dress was suggested a lovable +creature, rather blessed materially, rounded everywhere, and nice +enough to eat. The amber mouthpiece of a narghileh smoked at her +lips, and enveloped her wholly in a halo of light-coloured smoke. + +On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as +Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes. + +Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but +then, dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her +hands, and they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild +laugh like a bag full of pearls. + + + +XI. +Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri. + + +SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian +upper town after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the +natives chatting among themselves, with many a wink and slight +laugh, of one Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri, a rich and good-humoured +European, who dwelt, a few years back, in that neighbourhood, +with a buxom witch of local origin, named Baya. + +This Sidi Tart'ri, who has left such a merry memory around the +Kasbah, is no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed. + +How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of +saints, too, it happens the same way -- there are moments of +blindness, perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian +was no more exempt from this than another, and that is the reason +during two months that, oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in +Oriental amorousness, and dozed, like Hannibal at Capua, in the +delights of Algiers the white. + +The good fellow took a pretty little house in the native style in the +heart of the Arab town, with inner courtyard, banana-trees, cool +verandahs, and fountains. He dwelt, afar from noise, in company +with the Moorish charmer, a thorough woman to the manner born, +who pulled at her hubble-bubble all day when she was not eating. + +Stretched out on a divan in front of him, Baya would drone him +monotonous tunes with a guitar in her fist; or else, to distract her +lord and master, favour him with the Bee Dance, holding a hand- +glass up, in which she reflected her white teeth and the faces she +made. + +As the Esmeralda did not know a word of French, and Tartarin +none in Arabic, the conversation died away sometimes, and the +Tarasconian had plenty of leisure to do penance for the gush of +language of which he had been guilty in the shop of Bezuquet the +chemist or that of Costecalde the gunmaker. + +But this penance was not devoid of charm, for he felt a kind of +enjoyable sullenness in dawdling away the whole day without +speaking, and in listening to the gurgling of the hookah, the +strumming of the guitar, and the faint splashing of the fountain on +the mosaic pavement of the yard. + +The pipe, the bath, and caresses filled his entire life. They seldom +went out of doors. Sometimes with his lady-love upon a pillion, +Sidi Tart'ri would ride upon a sturdy mule to eat pomegranates in a +little garden he had purchased in the suburbs. But never, without +exception, did he go down into the European quarter. This kind of +Algiers appeared to him as ugly and unbearable as a barracks at +home, with its Zouaves in revelry, its music-halls crammed with +officers, and its everlasting clank of metal sabre-sheaths under the +arcades. + +The sum total is, that our Tarasconian was very happy. + +Sancho-Tartarin particularly, being very sweet upon Turkish pastry, +declared that one could not be more satisfied than by this new +existence. Quixote-Tartarin had some twinges at whiles on +thinking of Tarascon and the promises of lion-skins ; but this +remorse did not last, and to drive away such dampening ideas there +sufficed one glance from Baya, or a spoonful of those diabolical +dizzying and odoriferous sweetmeats like Circe's brews. + +In the evening Gregory came to discourse a little about a free Black +Mountain. Of indefatigable obligingness, this amiable nobleman +filled the functions of an interpreter in the household, or those of a +steward at a pinch, and all for nothing for the sheer pleasure of it. +Apart from him, Tartarin received none but "Turks." All those +fierce-headed pirates who had given him such frights from the +backs of their black stalls turned out, when once he made their +acquaintance, to be good inoffensive tradesmen, embroiderers, +dealers in spice, pipe-mouthpiece turners -- well-bred fellows, +humble, clever, close, and first-class hands at homely card games. +Four or five times a week these gentry would come and spend the +evening at Sidi Tart'ri's, winning his small change, eating his cakes +and dainties, and delicately retiring on the stroke of ten with thanks +to the Prophet. + +Left alone, Sidi Tart'ri and his faithful spouse by the broomstick +wedding would finish the evening on their terrace, a broad white +roof which overlooked the city. + +All around them a thousand of other such white flats, placid +beneath the moonshine, were descending like steps to the sea. The +breeze carried up tinkling of guitars. + +Suddenly, like a shower of firework stars, a full, clear melody +would be softly sprinkled out from the sky, and on the minaret of +the neighbouring mosque a handsome muezzin would appear, his +blanched form outlined on the deep blue of the night, as he chanted +the glory of Allah with a marvellous voice, which filled the horizon. + +Thereupon Baya would let go her guitar, and with her large eyes +turned towards the crier, seem to imbibe the prayer deliciously. As +long as the chant endured she would remain thrilled there in +ecstasy, like an Oriental saint. The deeply impressed Tartarin +would watch her pray, and conclude that it must be a splendid and +powerful creed that could cause such frenzies of faith. + +Tarascon, veil thy face! here is a son of thine on the point of +becoming a renegade! + + + +XII. +The Latest Intelligence from Tarascon. + + +PARTING from his little country seat, Sidi Tart'ri was returning +alone on his mule on a fine afternoon, when the sky was blue and +the zephyrs warm. His legs were kept wide apart by ample saddle- +bags of esparto cloth, swelled out with cedrats and water-melons. +Lulled by the ring of his large stirrups, and rocking his body to the +swing and swaying of the beast, the good fellow was thus +traversing an adorable country, with his hands folded on his paunch, +three-quarters gone, through heat, in a comfortable doze. All at +once, on entering the town, a deafening appeal aroused him. + +"Ahoy! What a monster Fate is! Anybody 'd take this for Monsieur +Tartarin." + +On this name, and at the jolly southern accent, the Tarasconian +lifted his head, and perceived, a couple of steps 'away, the honest +tanned visage of Captain Barbassou, master of the Zouave, who +was taking his absinthe at the door of a little coffee-house. + +"Hey! Lord love you, Barbassou!" said Tartarin, pulling up his +mule. + +Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a +space ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart'ri sat +back dumbfounded on his melons. + +"What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, +what they say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is +she still singing 'Marco la Bella'?" + +"Marco la Bella!" repeated the indignant Tartarin. "I'll have you to +know, captain, that the person you mention is an honourable +Moorish lady, and one who does not know a word of French." + +"Baya does not know French! What lunatic asylum do you hail +from, then?" + +The good captain broke into still heartier laughter; but, seeing the +chops of poor Sidi Tart'ri fall he changed his course. + +"Howsoever, may happen it is not the same lass. Let's reckon that I +have mixed 'em up. Still, mark you, Monsieur Tartarin, you will do +well, nonetheless, to distrust Algerian Moors and Montenegrin +princes." + +Tartarin rose in the stirrups, making a wry face. + +"The prince is my friend, captain." + +"Come, come, don't wax wrathy. Won't you have some bitters to +sweeten you? No? Haven't you anything to say to the folks at +home, neither? Well, then, a pleasant journey. By the way, mate, I +have some good French 'bacco upon me, and if you would like to +carry away a few pipefuls, you have only to take some. Take it, +won't you? It's your beastly Oriental 'baccoes that have befogged +your brain." + +Upon this the captain went back to his absinthe, whilst the moody +Tartarin trotted slowly on the road to his little house. Although his +great soul refused to credit anything, Barbassou's insinuations had +vexed him, and the familiar adjurations and home accent had +awakened vague remorse. + +He found nobody at home, Baya having gone out to the bath. The +negress appeared sinister and the dwelling saddening. A prey to +inexpressible melancholy, he went and sat down by the fountain to +load a pipe with Barbassou's tobacco. It was wrapped up in a piece +of the Marseilles Semaphore newspaper. On flattening it out, the +name of his native place struck his eyes. + +"Our Tarascon correspondent writes: -- + +"The city is in distress. There has been no news for several months +from Tartarin the lion-slayer, who set off to hunt the great feline +tribe in Africa. What can have become of our heroic fellow- +countryman? Those hardly dare ask who know, as we do, how hot- +headed he was, and what boldness and thirst for adventures were +his. Has he, like many others, been smothered in the sands, or has +he fallen under the murderous fangs of one of those monsters of the +Atlas Range of which be had promised the skins to the +municipality? What a dreadful state of uncertainty! It is true some +Negro traders, come to Beaucaire Fair, assert having met in the +middle of the deserts a European whose description agreed with +his; he was proceeding towards Timbuctoo. May Heaven preserve +our Tartarin!" + +When he read this, the son of Tarascon reddened, blanched, and +shuddered. All Tarascon appeared unto him: the club, the cap- +poppers, Costecalde's green arm-chair, and, hovering over all like a +spread eagle, the imposing moustaches of brave Commandant +Bravida. + +At seeing himself here, as he was, cowardly lolling on a mat, whilst +his friends believed him slaughtering wild beasts, Tartarin of +Tarascon was ashamed of himself, and could have wept had he not +been a hero. + +Suddenly he leaped up and thundered: + +"The lion, the lion! Down with him!" + +And dashing into the dusty lumber-hole where mouldered the +shelter-tent, the medicine-chest, the potted meats, and the gun- +cases, he dragged them out into the middle of the court. + +Sancho-Tartarin was no more: Quixote-Tartarin occupied the field +of active life. + +Only the time to inspect his armament and stores, don his harness, +get into his heavy boots, scribble a couple of words to confide +Baya to the prince, and slip a few bank-notes sprinkled with tears +into the envelope, and then the dauntless Tarasconian rolled away +in the stage-coach on the Blidah road, leaving the house to the +negress, stupor-stricken before the pipe, the turban, and babooshes +-- all the Moslem shell of Sidi Tart'ri which sprawled piteously +under the little white trefoils of the gallery. + + + + +EPISODE THE THIRD +AMONG THE LIONS + + + +I. +What becomes of the Old Stage-coaches. + + +Come to look closely at the vehicle, it was an old stage-coach all of +the olden time, upholstered in faded deep blue cloth, with those +enormous rough woollen balls which, after a few hours' journey, +finally establish a raw spot in the small of your back. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had a corner of the inside, where he installed +himself most free-and-easily: and, preliminarily to inspiring the rank +emanations of the great African felines, the hero had to content +himself with that homely old odour of the stage-coach, oddly +composed of a thousand smells, of man and woman, horses and +harness, eatables and mildewed straw. + +There was a little of everything inside -- a Trappist monk, some +Jew merchants, two fast ladies going to join their regiment, the +Third Hussars, a photographic artist from Orleansville, and so on: +But, however charming and varied was the company, the +Tarasconian was not in the mood for chatting; he remained quite +thoughtful, with an arm in the arm-rest sling-strap and his guns +between his knees. All churned up his wits -- the precipitate +departure, Baya's eyes of jet, the terrible chase he was about to +undertake, to say nothing of this European coach; with its Noah's +Ark aspect, rediscovered in the heart of Africa, vaguely recalling +the Tarascon of his youth, with its races in the suburbs, jolly dinners +on the river-side -- a throng of memories, in short. + +Gradually night came on. The guard lit up the lamps. The rusty +diligence danced creakingly on its old springs; the horses trotted +and their bells jangled. From time to time in the boot arose a +dreadful clank of iron: that was the war material. + +Tartarin of Tarascon, nearly overcome, dwelt a moment scanning +the fellow-passengers, comically shaken by the jolts, and dancing +before him like the shadows in galanty-shows, till his eyes grew +cloudy and his mind befogged, and only vaguely he heard the +wheels grind and the sides of the conveyance squeak complainingly. + +Suddenly a voice called Tartarin by his name, the voice of an old +fairy godmother, hoarse, broken, and cracked. + +"Monsieur Tartarin!" three times. + +"Who's calling me?" + +"It's I, Monsieur Tartarin. Don't you recognise me? I am the old +stage-coach who used to do the road betwixt Nimes and Tarascon +twenty year agone. How many times I have carried you and your +friends when you went to shoot at caps over Joncquieres or +Bellegarde way! I did not know you again at the first, on account +of your Turk's cap and the flesh you have accumulated ; but as soon +as you began snoring -- what a rascal is good-luck ! -- I twigged +you straight away." + +"All right, that's all right enough!" observed the Tarasconian, a +shade vexed; but softening, he added, "But to the point, my poor +old girl; whatever did you come out here for?" + +"Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of +my own free will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I +was considered good for nought, and shipped away into Algeria. +And I am not the only one either! Bless you, next to all the old +stage-coaches of France have been packed off like me. We were +regarded as too much the conservative -- 'the slow-coaches' -- d'ye +see, and now we are here leading the life of a dog. This is what you +in France call the Algerian railways." + +Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before +proceeding. "My wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I +regret my lovely Tarascon! That was the good time for me, when I +was young! -- You ought to have seen me starting off in the +morning, washed with no stint of water and all a-shine, with my +wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace of suns, and +my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely when the +postillion cracked his whip to the tune of 'Lagadigadeou, the +Tarasque! the Tarasque!' and the guard, his horn in its sling and +laced cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always +in a fury, upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: 'Right- +away!' + +"Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks, +and horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look +with pride upon the royal mail coach dart over the king's highway. + +"What a splendid road that was, Monsieur Tartarin, broad and well +kept, with its mile-stones, its little heaps of road-metal at regular +distances, and its pretty clumps of vines and olive-trees on either +hand! Then, again, the roadside inns so close together, and the +changes of horses every five minutes! And what jolly, honest chaps +my patrons were! -- village mayors and parish priests going up to +Nimes to see their prefect or bishop, taffety-weavers returning +openly from the Mazet, collegians out on holiday leave, peasants in +worked smock-frocks, all fresh shaven for the occasion that +morning; and up above, on the top, you gentlemen-sportsmen, +always in high spirits, and singing each your own family ballad to +the stars as you came back in the dark. + +"Deary me! it's a change of times now! Lord knows what rubbish I +am carting here, come from nobody guesses where! They fill me +with small deer, these negroes, Bedouin Arabs, swashbucklers, +adventurers from every land, and ragged settlers who poison me +with their pipes, and all jabbering a language that the Tower of +Babel itself could make nothing of! And, furthermore, you should +see how they treat me -- I mean, how they never treat me: never a +brush or a wash. They begrudge me grease for my axles. Instead of +my good fat quiet horses of other days, little Arab ponies, with the +devil in their frames, who fight and bite, caper as they run like so +many goats, and break my splatterboard all to smithereens with +their lashing out behind. Ouch! ouch! there they are at it again! + +"And such roads! Just here it is bearable, because we are near the +governmental headquarters; but out a bit there's nothing, Monsieur +-- not the ghost of a road at all. We get along as best we can over +hill and dale, over dwarf palms and mastic-trees. Ne'er a fixed +change of horses, the stopping being at the whim of the guard, now +at one farm, again at another. + +"Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to +have a glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum. After which, +'Crack on, postillion!' to make up for the lost time. Though the sun +be broiling and the dust scorching, we whip on! We catch in the +scrub and spill over, but whip on! We swim rivers, we catch cold, +we get swamped, we drown, but whip! whip! whip! Then in the +evening, streaming -- a nice thing for my age, with my rheumatics -- +I have to sleep in the open air of some caravanseral yard, open to +all the winds. In the dead o' night jackals and hyaenas come sniffing +of my body; and the marauders who don't like dews get into my +compartment to keep warm. + +"Such is the life I lead, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, and that I shall +lead to the day when -- burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp +nights until unable to do anything else-I shall fall in some spot of +bad road, where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones +of my old carcass" -- + +"Blidah! Blidah!" called out the guard as he opened the door. + + + +II. +A little gentleman drops in and "drops upon" Tartarin. + + +VAGUELY through the mud-dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon +caught a glimpse of a second-rate but pretty town market-place, +regular in shape, surrounded by colonnades and planted with +orange-trees, in the midst of which what seemed toy leaden soldiers +were going through the morning exercise in the clear roseate mist. +The cafes were shedding their shutters. In one corner there was a +vegetable market. It was bewitching, but it did not smack of lions +yet. + +"To the South! farther to the South!" muttered the good old +desperado, sinking back in his corner. + +At this moment the door opened. A puff of fresh air rushed in, +bearing upon its wings, in the perfume of the orange-blossoms, a +little person in a brown frock-coat, old and dry, wrinkled and +formal, his face no bigger than your fist, his neckcloth of black silk +five fingers wide, a notary's letter-case, and umbrella -- the very +picture of a village solicitor. + +On perceiving the Tarasconian's warlike equipment, the little +gentleman, who was seated over against him, appeared excessively +surprised, and set to studying him with burdensome persistency. + +The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in, whereupon the +coach started off again. The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin, +who in the end took snuff at it. + +"Does this astonish you?" he demanded, staring the little gentleman +full in the face in his turn. + +"Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me," responded the other, very +tranquilly. + +And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in +their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural +corpulence, Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room. + +The little gentleman's reply angered him. + +"Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with +your umbrella?" queried the great man haughtily. + +The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with +the same lack of emotion, inquired: + +"Oho, then you are Monsieur" -- + +"Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!" + +In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the +blue tassel of his fez like a mane. + +Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction. + +The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered +little screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent +over towards the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled +honour of taking his likeness. + +The little gentleman, though, was not awed. + +"Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions, Monsieur +Tartarin?" he asked, very quietly. + +The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner. + +"Is it many have I killed, Monsieur? I wish you had only as many +hairs on your head as I have killed of them." + +All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing +up on the little gentleman's skull. + +In his turn, the Orleansville photographer struck in: + +"Yours must he a terrible profession, Monsieur Tartarin. You must +pass some ugly moments sometimes. I have heard that poor +Monsieur Bombonnel" -- "Oh, yes, the panther-killer," said +Tartarin, rather disdainfully. + +"Do you happen to be acquainted with him?" inquired the +insignificant person. + +"Eh! of course! Know him? Why, we have been out on the hunt +over twenty times together." + +The little gentleman smiled. + +"So you also hunt panthers, Monsieur Tartarin?" he asked. + +"Sometimes, just for pastime," said the fiery Tarasconian. "But," he +added, as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed +the heart of the two sweethearts of. the regiment, "that's not worth +lion-hunting." + +"When all's said and done," ventured the photographer, "a panther +is nothing but a big cat." + +"Right you are!" said Tartarin, not sorry to abate the celebrated +Bombonnel's glory a little, particularly in the presence of ladies. + +Here the coach stopped. The conductor came to open the door, +and addressed the insignificant little gentleman most respect- fully, +saying: + +"We have arrived, Monsieur." + +The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door +was closed again: + +"Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?" + +"What is it, Monsieur?" + +"Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, +rather than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, +Monsieur Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do +remain a few panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! +they are too small game for you. As for lion-hunting, that's all +over. There are none left in Algeria, my friend Chassaing having +lately knocked over the last." + +Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and +trotted away chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella. + +"Guard," asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, +"who under the sun is that poor little mannikin?" + +"What! don't you know him? Why, that there's Monsieur +Bombonnel!" + + + + +III. +A Monastery of Lions. + + +AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach +to continue its way towards the South. + +Two days' rough jolting, two nights spent with eyes open to spy out +of window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion +in the fields beyond the road -- so much sleeplessness well deserved +some hours repose. Besides, if we must tell everything, since his +misadventure with Bombonnel, the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at +ease, notwithstanding his weapons, his terrifying visage, and his red +cap, before the Orleansville photographer and the two ladies fond +of the military. + +So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah, full of fine +trees and fountains; but whilst looking up a suitable hotel, the poor +fellow could not help musing over Bombonnel's words. Suppose +they were true! Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria? What +would be the good then of so much running about and fatigue? + +Suddenly, at the turn of a street, our hero found himself face to face +with -- with what? Guess! "A donkey, of course!" A donkey? A +splendid lion this time, waiting before a coffee-house door, royally +sitting up on his hind-quarters, with his tawny mane gleaming in the +sun. + +"What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them?" +exclaimed the Tarasconian, as he made a backward jump. + +On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head, and taking up in +his mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway, +humbly held it out towards Tartarin, who was immovable with +stupefaction. A passing Arab tossed a copper into the bowl, and the +lion wagged his tail. Thereupon Tartarin understood it all. He saw +what emotion had prevented him previously perceiving: that the +crowd was gathered around a poor tame blind lion, and that two +stalwart Negroes, armed with staves, were marching him through +the town as a Savoyard does a marmot. + +The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once. + +"Wretches that you are!" he roared in a voice of thunder, "thus to +debase such noble beasts! " + +Springing to the lion, he wrenched the loathsome bowl from +between his royal jaws. The two Africans, believing they had a thief +to contend with, rushed upon the foreigner with uplifted cudgels. +There was a dreadful conflict: the blackamoors smiting, the women +screaming, and the youngsters laughing. An old Jew cobbler +bleated out of the hollow of his stall, "Dake him to the shustish of +the beace!" The lion himself; in his dark state, tried to roar as his +hapless champion, after a desperate struggle, rolled on the ground +among the spilt pence and the sweepings. + +At this juncture a man cleft the throng, made the Negroes stand +back with a word, and the women and urchins with a wave of the +hand, lifted up Tartarin, brushed him down, shook him into shape, +and sat him breathless upon a corner-post. + +"What, prance, is it you?" said the good Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. + +"Yes, indeed, it is I, my valiant friend. As soon as your letter was +received, I entrusted Baya to her brother, hired a post-chaise, flew +fifty leagues as fast as a horse could go, and here I am, just in time +to snatch you from the brutality of these ruffians. What have you +done, in the name of just Heaven, to bring this ugly trouble upon +you?" + +"What done, prince? It was too much for me to see this +unfortunate lion with a begging-bowl in his mouth, humiliated, +conquered, buffeted about, set up as a laughing-stock to all this +Moslem rabble" -- + +"But you are wrong, my noble friend. On the contrary, this lion is +an object of respect and adoration. This is a sacred beast who +belongs to a great monastery of lions, founded three hundred years +ago by Mahomet Ben Aouda, a kind of fierce and forbidding La +Trappe, full of roarings and wild-beastly odours, where strange +monks rear and feed lions by hundreds, and send them out all over +Northern Africa, accompanied by begging brothers. The alms they +receive serve for the maintenance of the monastery and its +mosques; and the two Negroes showed so much displeasure just +now because it was their conviction that the lion under their charge +would forthwith devour them if a single penny of their collection +were lost or stolen through any fault of theirs." + +On hearing this incredible and yet veracious story Tartarin of +Tarascon was delighted, and sniffed the air noisily. "What pleases +me in this," he remarked, as the summing up of his opinion, "is that, +whether Monsieur Bombonnel likes it or not, there are still lions in +Algeria." -- + +"I should think there were!" ejaculated the prince enthusiastically. +"We will start to-morrow beating up the Shelliff Plain, and you will +see lions enough!" + +"What, prince! have you an intention to go a-hunting, too?" + +"Of course! Do you think I am going to leave you to march by +yourself into the heart of Africa, in the midst of ferocious tribes of +whose languages and usages you are ignorant! No, no, illustrious +Tartarin, I shall quit you no more. Go where you will, I shall make +one of the party." + +"O Prance! prance!" + +The beaming Tartarin hugged the devoted Gregory to his breast at +the proud thought of his going to have a foreign prince to +accompany him in his hunting, after the example of Jules Gerard, +Bombonnel, and other famous lion-slayers. + + + +IV. +The Caravan on the March. + + +LEAVING Milianah at the earliest hour next morning, the intrepid +Tartarin and the no less intrepid Prince Gregory descended towards +the Shelliff Plain through a delightful gorge shaded with jessamine, +carouba, tuyas, and wild olive-trees, between hedges of little native +gardens and thousands of merry, lively rills which scampered down +from rock to rock with a singing splash -- a bit of landscape meet +for the Lebanon. + +As much loaded with arms as the great Tartarin, Prince Gregory +had, over and above that, donned a queer but magnificent military +cap, all covered with gold lace and a trimming of oak-leaves in +silver cord, which gave His Highness the aspect of a Mexican +general or a railway station-master on the banks of the Danube. + +This plague of a cap much puzzled the beholder; and as he timidly +craved some explanation, the prince gravely answered: + +"It is a kind of headgear indispensable for travel in Algeria." + +Whilst brightening up the peak with a sweep of his sleeve, he +instructed his simple companion in the important part which the +military cap plays in the French connection with the Arabs, and the +terror this article of army insignia alone has the privilege of +inspiring, so that the Civil Service has been obliged to put all its +employees in caps, from the extra-copyist to the receiver-general. +To govern Algeria (the prince is still speaking) there is no need of a +strong head, or even of any head at all. A military cap does it alone, +if showy and belaced, and shining at the top of a non-human pole, +like Gessler's. + +Thus chatting and philosophising, the caravan proceeded. The +barefooted porters leaped from rock to rock with ape-like screams. +The guncases clanked, and the guns themselves flashed. The +natives who were passing, salaamed to the ground before the magic +cap. Up above, on the ramparts of Milianah, the head of the Arab +Department, who was out for an airing with his wife, hearing these +unusual noises, and seeing the weapons gleam between the +branches, fancied there was a revolt, and ordered the drawbridge to +be raised, the general alarm to be sounded, and the whole town put +under a state of siege. A capital commencement for the caravan! + +Unfortunately, before the day ended, things went wrong. Of the +black luggage-bearers, one was doubled up with atrocious colics +from having eaten the diachylon out of the medicine-chest: another +fell on the roadside dead drunk with camphorated brandy; the third, +carrier of the travelling-album, deceived by the gilding on the clasps +into the persuasion that he was flying with the treasures of Mecca, +ran off into the Zaccar on his best legs. + +This required consideration. The caravan halted, and held a council +in the broken shadow of an old fig-tree. + +"It's my advice that we turn up Negro porters from this evening +forward," said the prince, trying without success to melt a cake of +compressed meat in an improved patent triple-bottomed sauce- +pan. "There is, haply, an Arab trader quite near here. The best +thing to do is to stop there, and buy some donkeys." + +"No, no; no donkeys," quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming +quite red at memory of Noiraud. "How can you expect," he added, +hypocrite that he was, "that such little beasts could carry all our +apparatus?" + +The prince smiled. + +"You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend. However weakly +and meagre the Algerian bourriquot may appear to you, he has solid +loins. He must have them so to support all that he does. Just ask +the Arabs. Hark to how they explain the French colonial +organisation. 'On the top,' they say, 'is Mossoo, the Governor, +with a heavy club to rap the staff; the staff, for revenge, canes the +soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, and he hammers the Arab; the +Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats the Jew, and he takes it out +of the donkey. The poor bourriquot having nobody to belabour, +arches up his back and bears it all.' You see clearly now that he can +bear your boxes." + +"All the same," remonstrated Tartarin, "it strikes me that +jackasses will not chime in nicely with the effect of our caravan. +I want something more Oriental. For instance, if we could only +get a camel" -- + +"As many as you like," said His Highness; and off they started for +the Arab mart. + +It was held a few miles away, on the banks of the Shelliff. There +were five or six thousand Arabs in tatters here, grovelling in the +sunshine and noisily trafficking, amid jars of black olives, pots of +honey, bags of spices; and great heaps of cigars; huge fires were +roasting whole sheep, basted with butter; in open air slaughter- +houses stark naked Negroes, with ruddy arms and their feet in gore, +were cutting up kids hanging from crosspoles, with small knives. + +In one corner, under a tent patched with a thousand colours, a +Moorish clerk of the market in spectacles scrawled in a large book. +Here was a cluster of men shouting with rage: it was a spinning- +jenny game, set on a corn-measure, and Kabyles were ready to cut +one another's throats over it. Yonder were laughs and contortions +of delight: it was a Jew trader on a mule drowning in the Shelliff. +Then there were dogs, scorpions, ravens, and flies -- rather flies +than anything else. + +But a plentiful lack of camels abounded. They finally unearthed +one, though, of which the M'zabites were trying to get rid -- the +real ship of the desert, the classical, standard camel, bald, woe- +begone, with a long Bedouin head, and its hump, become limp in +consequence of unduly long fasts, hanging melancholically on one +side. + +Tartarin considered it so handsome that he wanted the entire party +to get upon it. Still his Oriental craze! + +The beast knelt down for them to strap on the boxes + +The prince enthroned himself on the animal's neck. For the sake of +the greater majesty, Tartarin got them to hoist him on the top of the +hump between two boxes, where, proud, and cosily settled down, +he saluted the whole market with a lofty wave of the hand, and +gave the signal of departure. + +Thunderation! if the people of Tarascon could only have seen him! + +The camel rose, straightened up its long knotty legs, and stepped +out. + +Oh, stupor! At the end of a few strides Tartarin felt he was losing +colour, and the heroic chechia assumed one by one its former +positions in the days of sailing in the Zouave. This devil's own +camel pitched and tossed like a frigate. + +"Prance! prance!" " gasped Tartarin pallid as a ghost, as he clung to +the dry tuft of the hump, "prance, let's get down. I find -- I feel that +I m-m-must get off; or I shall disgrace France." + +A deal of good that talk was -- the camel was on the go, and +nothing could stop it. Behind it raced four thousand barefooted +Arabs, waving their hands and laughing like mad, so that they made +six hundred thousand white teeth glitter in the sun. + +The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to circumstances. +He sadly collapsed on the hump, where the fez took all the +positions it fancied, and France was disgraced. + + + +V. +The Night-watch in a Poison-tree Grove. + + +SWEETLY picturesque as was their new steed, our lion-hunters +had to give it up, purely out of consideration for the red cap, of +course. So they continued the journey on foot as before, the +caravan tranquilly proceeding southwardly by short stages, the +Tarasconian in the van, the Montenegrin in the rear, and the camel, +with the weapons in their cases, in the ranks. + +The expedition lasted nearly a month. + +During that seeking for lions which he never found, the dreadful +Tartarin roamed from douar to douar on the immense plain of the +Shelliff, through the odd but formidable French Algeria, where the +old Oriental perfumes are complicated by a strong blend of absinthe +and the barracks, Abraham and "the Zouzou" mingled, something +fairy-tale-like and simply burlesque, like a page of the Old +Testament related by Tommy Atkins. + +A curious sight for those who have eyes that can see. + +A wild and corrupted people whom we are civilising by teaching +them our vices. The ferocious and uncontrolled authority of +grotesque bashaws, who gravely use their grand cordons of the +Legion of Honour as handkerchiefs, and for a mere yea or nay +order a man to be bastinadoed. It is the justice of the +conscienceless, bespectacled cadis under the palm-tree, Maw- +worms of the Koran and Law, who dream languidly of promotion +and sell their decrees, as Esau did his birthright, for a dish of lentils +or sweetened kouskous. Drunken and libertine cadis are they, +formerly servants to some General Yusuf or the like, who get +intoxicated on champagne, along with laundresses from Port +Mahon, and fatten on roast mutton, whilst before their tents the +whole tribe waste away with hunger, and fight with the harriers for +the bones of the lordly feast. + +All around spread the plains in waste, burnt grass, leafless shrubs, +thickets of cactus and mastic -- "the Granary of France!" -- a +granary void of grain, alas! and rich alone in vermin and jackals. +Abandoned camps, frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine, +they know not whither, and strewing the road with corpses. At +long intervals French villages, with the dwellings in ruins, the fields +untilled, the maddened locusts gnawing even the window-blinds, +and all the settlers in the drinking-places, absorbing absinthe and +discussing projects of reform and the Constitution. + +This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the +trouble; but, wrapped up entirely in his leonine-hunger, the son of +Tarascon went straight on, looking to neither right nor left, his eyes +steadfastly fixed on the imaginary monsters which never really +appeared. + +As the shelter-tent was stubborn in not unfolding, and the +compressed meat-cakes would not dissolve, the caravan was +obliged to stop, morn and eve, at tribal camps. Everywhere, thanks +to the gorgeous cap of Prince Gregory, our hunters were welcomed +with open arms. They lodged in the aghas' odd palaces, large white +windowless farmhouses, where they found, pell-mell, narghilehs +and mahogany furniture, Smyrna carpets and moderator lamps, +cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins, and French statuette-decked +clocks in the Louis Philippe style. + +Everywhere, too, Tartarin was given splendrous galas, diffas, and +fantasias, which, being interpreted, mean feasts and circuses. In his +honour whole goums blazed away powder, and floated their +burnouses in the sun. When the powder was burnt, the agha would +come and hand in his bill. This is what is called Arab hospitality. + +But always no lions, no more than on London Bridge. + +Nevertheless, the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened. Ever +bravely diving more deeply into the South, he spent the days in +beating up the thickets, probing the dwarf-palms with the muzzle of +his rifle, and saying "Boh!" to every bush And every evening, +before lying down, he went into ambush for two or three hours. +Useless trouble, however, for the lion did not show himself. + +One evening, though, going on six o'clock, as the caravan +scrambled through a violet-hued mastic-grove, where fat quails +tumbled about in the grass, drowsy through the heat, Tartarin of +Tarascon fancied he heard though afar and very vague, and thinned +down by the breeze -- that wondrous roaring to which he had so +often listened by Mitaine's Menagerie at home. + +At first the hero feared he was dreaming; but in an instant further +the roaring recommenced more distinct, although yet remote; and +this time the camel's hump shivered in terror, and made the tinned +meats and arms in the cases rattle, whilst all the dogs in the camps +were heard howling in every corner of the horizon. + +Beyond doubt this was the lion. + +Quick, quick! to the ambush. There was not a minute to lose. + +Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout's, or saint's, +tomb, with a white cupola, and the defunct's large yellow slippers +placed in a niche over the door, and a mass of odd offerings -- hems +of blankets, gold thread, red hair -- hung on the wall. + +Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in +search of a good spot for lying in wait. Prince Gregory wanted to +follow him, but the Tarasconian refused, bent on confronting Leo +alone. But still he besought His Highness not to go too far away, +and, as a measure of foresight, he entrusted him with his pocket- +book, a good-sized one, full of precious papers and bank-notes, +which he feared would get torn by the lion's claws. This done, our +hero looked up a good place. + +A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose-laurel +shook in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up. +There it was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself, one knee on +the ground, according to the regular rule, his rifle in his hand, and +his huge hunting-knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank. + +Night fell. + +The rosy tint of nature changed into violet, and then into dark blue. +A petty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand-glass over the +river-pebbles; this was the watering-place of the wild animals. + +On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which +their heavy paws had traced in the brush -- a mysterious path which +made one's flesh creep. Join to this sensation that from the vague +swarming sound in African forests, the swishing of branches, the +velvety-pads of roving creatures, the jackal's shrill yelp, and up in +the sky, two or three hundred feet aloft, vast flocks of cranes +passing on with screams like poor little children having their +weasands slit. You will own that there were grounds for a man +being moved. + +Tartarin was so, and even more than that, for the poor fellow's +teeth chattered, and on the cross-bar of his hunting-knife, planted +upright in the bank, as we repeat, his rifle-barrel rattled like a pair +of castanets. Do not ask too much of a man! There are times when +one is not in the mood; and, moreover, where would be the merit if +heroes were never afraid? + +Well, yes, Tartarin was afraid, and all the time, too, for the matter +of that. Nevertheless, he held out for an hour; better, for two; but +heroism has its limits. Nigh him, in the dry part of the rivulet-bed, +the Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of +pebbles rolling. This time terror lifted him off the ground. He +banged away both barrels at haphazard into the night, and retreated +as fast as his legs would carry him to the marabout's chapel-vault, +leaving his knife standing up in the sand like a cross +commemorative of the grandest panic that ever assailed the soul of +a conqueror of hydras. + +"Help! this Way, prance; the lion is on me!" + +There was silence. "Prance, prance, are you there?" + +The prince was not there. On the white moonlit wall of the fane the +camel alone cast the queer-shaped shadow of his protuberance. +Prince Gregory had cut and run with the wallet of bank-notes. His +Highness had been for the month past awaiting this opportunity. + + + +VI. +Bagged him at Last. + + +IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and +dramatic eve that our hero awoke, and acquired assurance doubly +sure that the prince and the treasure had really gone off, without +any prospect of return. When he saw himself alone in the little +white tombhouse, betrayed, robbed, abandoned in the heart of +savage Algeria, with a one-humped camel and some pocket-money +as all his resources, then did the representative of Tarascon for the +first time doubt. He doubted Montenegro, friendship, glory, and +even lions; and the great man blubbered bitterly. + +Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary, holding +his head between his hands and his gun between his legs, with the +camel mooning at him, the thicket over the way was divided, and +the stupor-stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen +paces off. It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars, +which made the temple walls shake beneath their votive +decorations, and even the saint's slippers dance in their niche. + +The Tarasconian alone did not tremble. + +"At last you've come!" he shouted, jumping up and levelling the +rifle. + +Bang, bang! went a brace of shells into its head. + +It was done. For a minute, on the fiery background of the Afric +sky, there was a dreadful firework display of scattered brains, +smoking blood, and tawny hair. When all fell, Tartarin perceived +two colossal Negroes furiously running towards him, brandishing +cudgels. They were his two Negro acquaintances of Milianah! + +Oh, misery! + +This was the domesticated lion, the poor blind beggar of the +Mohammed Monastery, whom the Tarasconian's bullets had +knocked over. + +This time, spite of Mahound, Tartarin escaped neatly. Drunk with +fanatical fury, the two African collectors would have surely beaten +him to pulp had not the god of chase and war sent him a delivering +angel in the shape of the rural constable of the Orleansville +commune. By a bypath this garde champetre came up, his sword +tucked under his arm. + +The sight of the municipal cap suddenly calmed the Negroes' +choler. Peaceful and majestic, the officer with the brass badge drew +up a report on the affair, ordered the camel to be loaded with what +remained of the king of beasts, and the plaintiffs as well as the +delinquent to follow him, proceeding to Orleansville, where all was +deposited with the law-courts receiver. + +There issued a long and alarming case! + +After the Algeria of the native tribes which he had overrun, Tartarin +of Tarascon became thence acquainted with another Algeria, not +less weird and to be dreaded -- the Algeria in the towns, surcharged +with lawyers and their papers. He got to know the pettifogger who +does business at the back of a cafe -- the legal Bohemian with +documents reeking of wormwood bitters and white neckcloths +spotted with champoreau; the ushers, the attorneys, all the locusts +of stamped paper, meagre and famished, who eat up the colonist +body and boots -- ay, to the very straps of them, and leave him +peeled to the core like an Indian cornstalk, stripped leaf by leaf. + +Before all else it was necessary to ascertain whether the lion had +been killed on the civil or the military territory. In the former case +the matter regarded the Tribunal of Commerce; in the second, +Tartarin would be dealt with by the Council of War: and at the +mere name the impressionable Tarasconian saw himself shot at the +foot of the ramparts or huddled up in a casemate-silo. + +The puzzle lay in the limitation of the two territories being very +hazy in Algeria. + +At length, after a month's running about, entanglements, and +waiting under the sun in the yards of Arab Departmental offices, it +was established that, whereas the lion had been killed on the +military territory, on the other hand Tartarin was in the civil +territory when he shot. So the case was decided in the civil courts, +and our hero was let off on paying two thousand five hundred +francs damages, costs not included. + +How could he pay such a sum? + +The few piashtres escaped from the prince's sweep had long since +gone in legal documents and judicial libations. The unfortunate +lion-destroyer was therefore reduced to selling the store of guns by +retail, rifle by rifle; so went the daggers, the Malay kreeses, and the +life-preservers. A grocer purchased the preserved aliments; an +apothecary what remained of the medicaments. The big boots +themselves walked off after the improved tent to a dealer of +curiosities, who elevated them to the dignity of "rarities from +Cochin-China." + +When everything was paid up, only the lion's skin and the camel +remained to Tartarin. The hide he had carefully packed, to be sent +to Tarascon to the address of brave Commandant Bravida, and, +later on, we shall see what came of this fabulous trophy. As for the +camel, he reckoned on making use of him to get back to Algiers, +not by riding on him, but by selling him to pay his coach-fare -- the +best way to employ a camel in travelling. Unhappily the beast was +difficult to place, and no one would offer a copper for him. + +Still Tartarin wanted to regain Algiers by hook or crook. He was in +haste again to behold Baya's blue bodice, his little snuggery and his +fountains, as well as to repose on the white trefoils of his little +cloister whilst awaiting money from France. So our hero did not +hesitate; distressed but not downcast, he undertook to make the +journey afoot and penniless by short stages. + +In this enterprise the camel did not cast him off. The strange animal +had taken an unaccountable fancy for his master, and on seeing him +leave Orleansville, he set to striding steadfastly behind him, +regulating his pace by this, and never quitting him by a yard. + +At the first outset Tartarin found this touching; such fidelity and +devotion above proof went to his heart, all the more because the +creature was accommodating, and fed himself on nothing. +Nevertheless, after a few days, the Tarasconian was worried by +having this glum companion perpetually at his heels, to remind him +of his misadventures. Ire arising, he hated him for his sad aspect, +hump and gait of a goose in harness. To tell the whole truth, he +held him as his Old Man of the Sea, and only pondered on how to +shake him off; but the follower would not be shaken off. Tartarin +attempted to lose him, but the camel always found him; he tried to +outrun him, but the camel ran faster. He bade him begone, and +hurled stones at him. The camel stopped with a mournful mien, but +in a minute resumed the pursuit, and always ended by overtaking +him. Tartarin had to resign himself. + +For all that, when, after eight full days of tramping, the dusty and +harassed Tarasconian espied the first white housetops of Algiers +glimmer from afar in the verdure, and when he got to the city gates +on the noisy Mustapha Avenue, amid the Zouaves, Biskris, and +Mahonnais, all swarming around him and staring at him trudging by +with his camel, overtasked patience escaped him. + +"No! no!" he growled, "it is not likely! I cannot enter Algiers with +such an animal!" + +Profiting by a jam of vehicles, he turned off into the fields and +jumped into a ditch. In a minute or so he saw over his head on the +highway the camel flying off with long strides and stretching his +neck with a wistful air. + +Relieved of a great weight thereby, the hero sneaked out of his +covert, and entered the town anew by a circuitous path which +skirted the wall of his own little garden. + + + +VII. +Catastrophes upon Catastrophes. + + +ENTIRELY astonished was Tartarin before his Moorish dwelling +when he stopped. + +Day was dying and the street deserted. Through the low pointed- +arch doorway which the negress had forgotten to close, laughter +was heard; and the clink of wine-glasses, the popping of champagne +corks; and, floating over all the jolly uproar, a feminine voice +singing clearly and joyously: + +"Do you like, Marco la Bella, To dance in the ball hung with +bloom?" + +"Throne of heaven!" ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he +rushed into the enclosure. + +Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of +the little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, +tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing "Marco la Bella" with a +ship captain's cap over one ear. She had on no blue vest or bodice; +indeed, her only wear was a silvery gauze wrapper and full pink +trousers. At her feet, on a rug, surfeited with love and sweetmeats, +Barbassou, the infamous skipper Barbassou, was bursting with +laughter at hearing her. + +The apparition of Tartarin, haggard, thinned, dusty, his flaming +eyes, and the bristling up fez tassel, sharply interrupted this tender +Turkish-Marseillais orgie. Baya piped the low whine of a +frightened leveret, and ran for safety into the house. But Barbassou +did not wince; he only laughed the louder, saying: + +"Ha, ha, Monsieur Tartarin ! What do you say to that now? You +see she does know French." + +Tartarin of Tarascon advanced furiously, crying: + +"Captain!" + +"Digo-li que vengue, moun bon! -- Tell him what's happened, old +dear!" screamed the Moorish woman, leaning over the first floor +gallery with a pretty low-bred gesture! + +The poor man, overwhelmed, let himself collapse upon a drum. His +genuine Moorish beauty not only knew French, but the French of +Marseilles! + +"I told you not to trust the Algerian girls," observed Captain +Barbassou sententiously! "They're as tricky as your Montenegrin +prince." + +Tartarin lifted his head + +"Do you know where the prince is?" + +"Oh, he's not far off. He has gone to live five years in the +handsome prison of Mustapha. The rogue let himself be caught +with his hand in the pocket. Anyways, this is not the first time he +has been clapped into the calaboose. His Highness has already +done three years somewhere, and -- stop a bit ! I believe it was at +Tarascon." + +"At Tarascon!" cried out her worthiest son, abruptly enlightened. +"That's how he only knew one part of the Town." + +"Hey? Of course. Tarascon -- a jail bird's-eye view from the state +prison. I tell you, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, you have to keep +your peepers jolly well skinned in this deuce of a country, or be +exposed to very disagreeable things. For a sample, there's the +muezzin's game with you." + +"What game? Which muezzin?" + +"Why your'n, of course! The chap across the way who is making up +to Baya. That newspaper, the Akbar, told the yarn t'other day, and +all Algiers is laughing over it even now. It is so funny for that +steeplejack up aloft in his crow's-nest to make declarations of love +under your very nose to the little beauty whilst singing out his +prayers, and making appointments with her between bits of the +Koran." + +"Why, then, they're all scamps in this country!" howled the unlucky +Tarasconian. + +Barbassou snapped his fingers like a philosopher. + +"My dear lad, you know, these new countries are 'rum!' But, +anyhow, if you'll believe me, you'd best cut back to Tarascon at full +speed." + +"It's easy to say, 'Cut back.' Where's the money to come from? +Don't you know that I was plucked out there in the desert?" + +"What does that matter?" said the captain merrily. "The Zouave +sails tomorrow, and if you like I will take you home. Does that suit +you, mate? Ay? Then all goes well. You have only one thing to do. +There are some bottles of fizz left, and half the pie. Sit you down +and pitch in without any grudge." + +After the minute's wavering which self-respect commanded, the +Tarasconian chose his course manfully. Down he sat, and they +touched glasses. Baya, gliding down at that chink, sang the finale +of "Marco la Bella," and the jollification was prolonged deep into +the night. + +About 3 A.M., with a light head but a heavy foot, our good +Tarasconian was returning from seeing his friend the captain off +when, in passing the mosque, the remembrance of his muezzin and +his practical jokes made him laugh, and instantly a capital idea of +revenge flitted through his brain. + +The door was open. He entered, threaded long corridors hung with +mats, mounted and kept on mounting till he finally found himself in +a little oratory, where an openwork iron lantern swung from the +ceiling, and embroidered an odd pattern in shadows upon the +blanched walls. + +There sat the crier on a divan, in his large turban and white pelisse, +with his Mostaganam pipe, and a bumper of absinthe before him, +which he whipped up in the orthodox manner, whilst awaiting the +hour to call true believers to prayer. At view of Tartarin, he +dropped his pipe in terror. + +"Not a word, knave!" said the Tarasconian, full of his project. +"Quick! Off with turban and coat!" + +The Turkish priest-crier tremblingly handed over his outer +garments, as he would have done with anything else. Tartarin +donned them, and gravely stepped out upon the minaret platform. + +In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the +moonbeams. On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few +belated guitars. The Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for +the effort during a space, and then, raising his arms, he set to +chanting in a very shrill voice: + +"La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the +Koran, bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties -- they are all not worth a +fly's skip! There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live +Tarascon!" + +Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and +Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea, +town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other +muezzins answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to +minaret, and the believers of the upper town devoutly beat their +bosoms. + + +VIII. +Tarascon again! + + +MID-DAY has come. + +The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of +the Valentin Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling +telescopes, and, with the colonel at their head, looking at the lucky +little craft that was going back to France. This is the main +distraction of the staff. On the lower level, the roads glittered. The +old Turkish cannon breaches, stuck up along the waterside, blazed +in the sun. The passengers hurried, Biskris and Mahonnais piled +their luggage up in the wherries. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue +de la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, +accompanied by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left +on the Moorish strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he +had to sail for Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty +pockets. He had barely leaped into the captain's cutter before a +breathless beast slid down from the heights of the square and +galloped towards him. It was the faithful camel, who had been +hunting after his master in Algiers during the last four-and-twenty +hours. + +On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to +know him, but the camel was not going to be put off. He +scampered along the quay; he whinnied for his friend, and regarded +him with affection. + +"Take me away," his sad eyes seemed to say, "take me away in your +ship, far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the +East, full of locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so +sorely out of keeping that I do not know what will become of me. +You are the last real Turk, and I am the last camel. Do not let us +part, O my Tartarin!" + +"Is that camel yours?" the captain inquired. + +"Not a bit of it!" replied Tartarin, who shuddered at the idea of +entering Tarascon with that ridiculous escort; and, impudently +denying the companion of his misfortunes, he spurned the Algerian +soil with his foot, and gave the cutter the shoving-off start. The +camel sniffed of the water, extended its neck, cracked its joints, +and, jumping in behind the row-boat at haphazard, he swam +towards the Zouave with his humpback floating like a bladder, and +his long neck projecting over the wave like the beak of a galley. + +Cutter and camel came alongside the mail steamer together. + +"This dromedary regularly cuts me up," observed Captain +Barbassou, quite affected. "I have a good mind to take him aboard +and make a present of him to the Zoological Gardens at +Marseilles." + +And so they hauled up the camel with many blocks and tackles +upon the deck, being increased in weight by the brine, and the +Zouave started. + +Tartarin spent the two days of the crossing by himself in his +stateroom, not because the sea was rough, or that the red fez had +too much to suffer, but because the deuced camel, as soon as his +master appeared above decks, showed him the most preposterous +attentions. You never did see a camel make such an exhibition of a +man as this. + +>From hour to hour, through the cabin portholes, where he stuck out +his nose now and then, Tartarin saw the Algerian blue sky pale +away; until one morning, in a silvery fog, he heard with delight +Marseilles bells ringing out. The Zouave had arrived and cast +anchor. + +Our man, having no luggage, got off without saying anything, +hastily slipped through Marseilles for fear he was still pursued by +the camel, and never breathed till he was in a third-class carriage +making for Tarascon. + +Deceptive security! + +Hardly were they two leagues from the city before every head was +stuck out of window. There were outcries and astonishment. +Tartarin looked in his turn, and what did he descry! the camel, +reader, the inevitable camel, racing along the line behind the train, +and keeping up with it! The dismayed Tartarin drew back and shut +his eyes. + +After this disastrous expedition of his he had reckoned on slipping +into his house incognito. But the presence of this burden some +quadruped rendered the thing impossible. What kind of a triumphal +entry would he make? Good heavens! not a sou, not a lion, nothing +to show for it save a camel! + +"Tarascon! Tarascon!" + +He was obliged to get down. + +O amazement! + +Scarce had the hero's red fez popped out of the doorway before a +loud shout of "Tartarin for ever!" made the glazed roof of the +railway station tremble. "Long life to Tartarin, the lion-slayer!" +And out burst the windings of horns and the choruses of the local +musical societies. + +Tartarin felt death had come: he believed in a hoax. But, no! all +Tarascon was there, waving their hats, all of the same way of +thinking. Behold the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the +armourer, the Chief Judge, the chemist, and the whole noble corps +of cap-poppers, who pressed around their leader, and carried him in +triumph out through the passages. + +Singular effects of the mirage! -- the hide of the blind lion sent to +Bravida was the cause of all this riot. With that humble fur +exhibited in the club-room, the Tarasconians, and, at the back of +them, the whole South of France, had grown exalted. The +Semaphore newspaper had spoken of it. A drama had been +invented. It was not merely a solitary lion which Tartarin had slain, +but ten, nay, twenty -- pooh! a herd of lions had been made +marmalade of. Hence, on disembarking at Marseilles, Tartarin was +already celebrated without being aware of it, and an enthusiastic +telegram had gone on before him by two hours to his native place. + +But what capped the climax of the popular gladness was to see a +fancifully shaped animal, covered with foam and dust, appear +behind the hero, and stumble down the station stairs. + +Tarascon for an instant believed that its dragon was come again. + +Tartarin set his fellow-citizens at ease. + +"This is my camel," he said. + +Already feeling the influence of the splendid sun of Tarascon, which +makes people tell "bouncers" unwittingly, he added, as he fondled +the camel's hump: + +"It is a noble beast! It saw me kill all my lions!" + +Whereupon he familiarly took the arm of the commandant, who +was red with pleasure; and followed by his camel, surrounded by +the cap-hunters, acclaimed by all the population, he placidly +proceeded towards the Baobab Villa; and, on the march, thus +commenced the account of his mighty hunting: + +"Once upon an evening, you are to imagine that, out in the depths +of the Sahara " -- + + + +APPENDIX + +Obituary of Alphonse Daudet. + + +17th December 1897 +DEATH OF A FRENCH NOVELIST. +ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +M. Alphonse Daudet, the eminent French novelist and playwright, +died suddenly yesterday evening while at dinner The cause of death +was syncope due to failure of the heart. + +Alphonse Daudet was born of poor parents at Nimes in 1840. He +studied in the Lyons Lyceum, and then became usher in a school at +Alais. Going to Paris to seek his fortune in literature in 1858, he +succeeded in publishing a book of verses entitled Les Amoreuses, +which led to his employment by several newspapers. He published +many novels and tales, and about half a dozen plays. His most +popular work is "Les Morticoles." His son, Leon Daudet, is a +litterateur of promise. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + diff --git a/old/trtrn10.zip b/old/trtrn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd44fa4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/trtrn10.zip diff --git a/old/trtrn11.txt b/old/trtrn11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8adba99 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/trtrn11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4148 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet +#1 in our series by Alphonse Daudet + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Tartarin of Tarascon + +Author: Alphonse Daudet + +Release Date: August, 1999 [EBook #1862] +[This file was last updated on January 24, 2003] + +Edition: 11 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + + + + +This etext was prepared by Donal O'Danachair, email +kodak_seaside@hotmail.com. + + + + + + + +TARTARIN OF TARASCON +by +ALPHONSE DAUDET + + + + +EPISODE THE FIRST +IN TARASCON + + + +I. +The Garden Round the Giant Trees. + + +MY first visit to Tartarin of Tarascon has remained a never-to-be- +forgotten date in my life; although quite ten or a dozen years ago, I +remember it better than yesterday. + +At that time the intrepid Tartarin lived in the third house on the left +as the town begins, on the Avignon road. A pretty little villa in the +local style, with a front garden and a balcony behind, the walls +glaringly white and the venetians very green; and always about the +doorsteps a brood of little Savoyard shoeblackguards playing +hopscotch, or dozing in the broad sunshine with their heads +pillowed on their boxes. + +Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none +would ever believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped +inside, ye gods and little fishes! what a change! From turret to +foundation-stone -- I mean, from cellar to garret, -- the whole +building wore a heroic front; even so the garden! + +O that garden of Tartarin's! there's not its match in Europe! Not a +native tree was there -- not one flower of France; nothing hut +exotic plants, gum-trees, gourds, cotton-woods, cocoa and cacao, +mangoes, bananas, palms, a baobab, nopals, cacti, Barbary figs -- +well, you would believe yourself in the very midst of Central Africa, +ten thousand leagues away. It is but fair to say that these were +none of full growth; indeed, the cocoa-palms were no bigger than +beet root and the baobab (arbos gigantea -- "giant tree," you +know) was easily enough circumscribed by a window-pot; but, +notwithstanding this, it was rather a sensation for Tarascon, and the +townsfolk who were admitted on Sundays to the honour of +contemplating Tartarin's baobab, went home chokeful of +admiration. + +Try to conceive my own emotion, which I was bound to feel on +that day of days when I crossed through this marvellous garden, +and that was capped when I was ushered into the hero's sanctum. + +His study, one of the lions -- I should say, lions' dens -- of the town, +was at the end of the garden, its glass door opening right on to the +baobab. + +You are to picture a capacious apartment adorned with firearms +and steel blades from top to bottom: all the weapons of all the +countries in the wide world -- carbines, rifles, blunderbusses, +Corsican, Catalan, and dagger knives, Malay kreeses, revolvers +with spring-bayonets, Carib and flint arrows, knuckle-dusters, life- +preservers, Hottentot clubs, Mexican lassoes -- now, can you +expect me to name the rest? Upon the whole fell a fierce sunlight, +which made the blades and the brass butt-plate of the muskets +gleam as if all the more to set your flesh creeping. Still, the +beholder was soothed a little by the tame air of order and tidiness +reigning over the arsenal. Everything was in place, brushed, +dusted, labelled, as in a museum; from point to point the eye +descried some obliging little card reading: + + + ----------------------------------------- + I Poisoned Arrows! I + I Do Not Touch! I + ----------------------------------------- + +Or, + + ----------------------------------------- + I Loaded! I + I Take care, please! I + ----------------------------------------- + +If it had not been for these cautions I never should have dared +venture in. + +In the middle of the room was an occasional table, on which stood +a decanter of rum, a siphon of soda-water, a Turkish tobacco- +pouch, "Captain Cook's Voyages," the Indian tales of Fenimore +Cooper and Gustave Aimard, stories of hunting the bear, eagle, +elephant, and so on. Lastly, beside the table sat a man of between +forty and forty-five, short, stout, thick-set, ruddy, with flaming eyes +and a strong stubbly beard; he wore flannel tights, and was in his +shirt sleeves; one hand held a book, and the other brandished a very +large pipe with an iron bowl-cap. Whilst reading heaven only +knows what startling adventure of scalp-hunters, he pouted out his +lower lip in a terrifying way, which gave the honest phiz of the man +living placidly on his means the same impression of kindly ferocity +which abounded throughout the house. + +This man was Tartarin himself -- the Tartarin of Tarascon, the +great, dreadnought, incomparable Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +II. +A general glance bestowed upon the good town of +Tarascon, and a particular one on "the cap-poppers." + + +AT the time I am telling of, Tartarin of Tarascon had not become +the present-day Tartarin, the great one so popular in the whole +South of France: but yet he was even then the cock of the walk at +Tarascon. + +Let us show whence arose this sovereignty. + +In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in +these parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local +craze, and so it has ever been since the mythological times when the +Tarasque, as the county dragon was called, flourished himself and +his tail in the town marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up +against him. So you see the passion has lasted a goodish bit. + +It follows that, every Sunday morning, Tarascon flies to arms, lets +loose the dogs of the hunt, and rushes out of its walls, with game- +bag slung and fowling-piece on the shoulder, together with a hurly- +burly of hounds, cracking of whips, and blowing of whistles and +hunting-horns. It's splendid to see! Unfortunately, there's a lack of +game, an absolute dearth. + +Stupid as the brute creation is, you can readily understand that, in +time, it learnt some distrust. + +For five leagues around about Tarascon, forms, lairs, and burrows +are empty, and nesting-places abandoned. You'll not find a single +quail or blackbird, one little leveret, or the tiniest tit. And yet the +pretty hillocks are mightily tempting, sweet smelling as they are of +myrtle, lavender, and rosemary; and the fine muscatels plumped out +with sweetness even unto bursting, as they spread along the banks +of the Rhone, are deucedly tempting too. True, true; but Tarascon +lies behind all this, and Tarascon is down in the black books of the +world of fur and feather. The very birds of passage have ticked it +off on their guide-books, and when the wild ducks, coming down +towards the Camargue in long triangles, spy the town steeples from +afar, the outermost flyers squawk out loudly: + +"Look out! there's Tarascon! give Tarascon the go-by, duckies!" + +And the flocks take a swerve. + +In short, as far as game goes, there's not a specimen left in the land +save one old rogue of a hare, escaped by miracle from the +massacres, who is stubbornly determined to stick to it all his life! +He is very well known at Tarascon, and a name has been given him. +"Rapid" is what they call him. It is known that he has his form on +M. Bompard's grounds -- which, by the way, has doubled, ay, +tripled, the value of the property -- but nobody has yet managed to +lay him low. At present, only two or three inveterate fellows worry +themselves about him. The rest have given him up as a bad job, and +old Rapid has long ago passed into the legendary world, although +your Tarasconer is very slightly superstitious naturally, and would +eat cock-robins on toast, or the swallow, which is Our Lady's own +bird, for that matter, if he could find any. + +"But that won't do!" you will say. Inasmuch as game is so scarce, +what can the sportsmen do every Sunday? + +What can they do? + +Why, goodness gracious! they go out into the real country two or +three leagues from town. They gather in knots of five or six, +recline tranquilly in the shade of some well, old wall, or olive tree, +extract from their game-bags a good-sized piece of boiled beef, raw +onions, a sausage, and anchovies, and commence a next to endless +snack, washed down with one of those nice Rhone wines, which +sets a toper laughing and singing. After that, when thoroughly +braced up, they rise, whistle the dogs to heel, set the guns on half +cock, and go "on the shoot" -- another way of saying that every +man plucks off his cap, "shies" it up with all his might, and pops it +on the fly with No. 5, 6, or 2 shot, according to what he is loaded +for. + +The man who lodges most shot in his cap is hailed as king of the +hunt, and stalks back triumphantly at dusk into Tarascon, with his +riddled cap on the end of his gun-barrel, amid any quantity of dog- +barks and horn-blasts. + +It is needless to say that cap-selling is a fine business in the town. +There are even some hatters who sell hunting-caps ready shot, torn, +and perforated for the bad shots; but the only buyer known is the +chemist Bezuquet. This is dishonourable! + +As a marksman at caps, Tartarin of Tarascon never had his match. + +Every Sunday morning out he would march in a new cap, and back +he would strut every Sunday evening with a mere thing of shreds. +The loft of Baobab Villa was full of these glorious trophies. Hence +all Tarascon acknowledged him as master; and as Tartarin +thoroughly understood hunting, and had read all the handbooks of +all possible kinds of venery, from cap-popping to Burmese tiger- +shooting, the sportsmen constituted him their great cynegetical +judge, and took him for referee and arbitrator in all their +differences. + +Between three and four daily, at Costecalde the gunsmith's, a stout +stern pipe-smoker might be seen in a green leather-covered arm- +chair in the centre of the shop crammed with cap-poppers, they all +on foot and wrangling. This was Tartarin of Tarascon delivering +judgement -- Nimrod plus Solomon. + + + +III. +"Naw, naw, naw!" The general glance +protracted upon the good town. + + +AFTER the craze for sporting, the lusty Tarascon race cherishes +one love: ballad-singing. There's no believing what a quantity of +ballads is used up in that little region. All the sentimental stuff +turning into sere and yellow leaves in the oldest portfolios, are to be +found in full pristine lustre in Tarascon. Ay, the entire collection. +Every family has its own pet, as is known to the town. + +For instance, it is an established fact that this is the chemist +Bezuquet's family's: + +"Thou art the fair star that I adore!" + +The gunmaker Costecalde's family's: + +"Would'st thou come to the land + Where the log-cabins rise?" + +The official registrar's family's: + +"If I wore a coat of invisible green, + Do you think for a moment I could be seen?" + +And so on for the whole of Tarascon. Two or three times a week +there were parties where they were sung. The singularity was their +being always the same, and that the honest Tarasconers had never +had an inclination to change them during the long, long time they +had been harping on them. They were handed down from father to +son in the families, without anybody improving on them or +bowdlerising them: they were sacred. Never did it occur to +Costecalde's mind to sing the Bezuquets', or the Bezuquets to try +Costecalde's. And yet you may believe that they ought to know by +heart what they had been singing for two-score years! But, nay! +everybody stuck to his own ,and they were all contented. + +In ballad-singing, as in cap-popping, Tartarin was still the foremost. +His superiority over his fellow-townsmen consisted in his not +having any one song of his own, but in knowing the lot, the whole, +mind you! But -- there's a but -- it was the devil's own work to get +him to sing them. + +Surfeited early in life with his drawing-room successes, our hero +preferred by far burying himself in his hunting story-books, or +spending the evening at the club, to making a personal exhibition +before a Nimes piano between a pair of home-made candles. These +musical parades seemed beneath him. Nevertheless, at whiles, when +there was a harmonic party at Bezuquet's, he would drop into the +chemist's shop, as if by chance, and, after a deal of pressure, +consent to do the grand duo in Robert le Diable with old Madame +Bezuquet. Whoso never heard that never heard anything! For my +part, even if I lived a hundred years, I should always see the mighty +Tartarin solemnly stepping up to the piano, setting his arms akimbo, +working up his tragic mien, and, beneath the green reflection from +the show-bottles in the window, trying to give his pleasant visage +the fierce and satanic expression of Robert the Devil. Hardly would +he fall into position before the whole audience would be shuddering +with the foreboding that something uncommon was at hand. After +a hush, old Madame Bezuquet would commence to her own +accompaniment: + + "Robert, my love is thine! + To thee I my faith did plight, + Thou seest my affright, -- + Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!" + +In an undertone she would add: "Now, then, Tartarin!" Whereupon +Tartarin of Tarascon, with crooked arms, clenched fists, and +quivering nostrils, would roar three times in a formidable voice, +rolling like a thunderclap in the bowels of the instrument: + +"No! no! no!" which, like the thorough southerner he was, he +pronounced nasally as "Naw! naw! naw!" Then would old Madame +Bezuquet again sing: + + "Mercy for thine own sake, + And mercy for mine!" + +"Naw! naw! naw!" bellowed Tartarin at his loudest, and there the +gem ended. + +Not long, you see; but it was so handsomely voiced forth, so clearly +gesticulated, and so diabolical, that a tremor of terror overran the +chemist's shop, and the "Naw! naw! naw!" would be encored +several times running. + +Upon this Tartarin would sponge his brow, smile on the ladies, +wink to the sterner sex, and withdraw upon his triumph to go +remark at the club with a trifling, offhand air: + +"I have just come from the Bezuquets', where I was forced to sing +'em the duo from Robert le Diable." + +The cream of the joke was that he really believed it! + + + +IV. +"They!" + + +CHIEFLY to the account of these diverse talents did Tartarin owe +his lofty position in the town of Tarascon. Talking of captivating, +though, this deuce of a fellow knew how to ensnare everybody. +Why, the army, at Tarascon, was for Tartarin. The brave +commandant, Bravida, honorary captain retired -- in the Military +Clothing Factory Department -- called him a game fellow; and you +may well admit that the warrior knew all about game fellows, he +played such a capital knife and fork on game of all kinds. + +So was the legislature on Tartarin's side. Two or three times, in +open court, the old chief judge, Ladevese, had said, in alluding to +him: + +"He is a character!" + +Lastly, the masses were for Tartarin. He had become the swell +bruiser, the aristocratic pugilist, the crack bully of the local +Corinthians for the Tarasconers, from his build, bearing, style -- +that aspect of a guard's-trumpeter's charger which fears no noise; +his reputation as a hero coming from nobody knew whence or for +what, and some scramblings for coppers and a few kicks to the little +ragamuffins basking at his doorway. + +Along the waterside, when Tartarin came home from hunting on +Sunday evenings, with his cap on the muzzle of his gun, and his +fustian shooting-jacket belted in tightly, the sturdy river-lightermen +would respectfully bob, and blinking towards the huge biceps +swelling out his arms, would mutter among one another in +admiration: + +"Now, there's a powerful chap if you like! he has double-muscles!" + +"Double muscles!" why, you never heard of such a thing outside of +Tarascon! + +For all this, with all his numberless parts, double-muscles, the +popular favour, and the so precious esteem of brave Commandant +Bravida, ex-captain (in the Army Clothing Factory), Tartarin was +not happy: this life in a petty town weighed upon him and +suffocated him. + +The great man of Tarascon was bored in Tarascon. + +The fact is, for a heroic temperament like his, a wild adventurous +spirit which dreamt of nothing but battles, races across the pampas, +mighty battues, desert sands, blizzards and typhoons, it was not +enough to go out every Sunday to pop at a cap, and the rest of the +time to ladle out casting-votes at the gunmaker's. Poor dear great +man! If this existence were only prolonged, there would be +sufficient tedium in it to kill him with consumption. + +In vain did he surround himself with baobabs and other African +trees, to widen his horizon, and some little to forget his club and +the market-place; in vain did he pile weapon upon weapon, and +Malay kreese upon Malay kreese; in vain did he cram with +romances, endeavouring like the immortal Don Quixote to wrench +himself by the vigour of his fancy out of the talons of pitiless reality. +Alas! all that he did to appease his thirst for deeds of daring only +helped to augment it. The sight of all the murderous implements +kept him in a perpetual stew of wrath and exaltation. His revolvers, +repeating rifles, and ducking-guns shouted "Battle! battle!" out of +their mouths. Through the twigs of his baobab, the tempest of +great voyages and journeys soughed and blew bad advice. To finish +him came Gustave Aimard, Mayne Reid, and Fenimore Cooper. + +Oh, how many times did Tartarin with a howl spring up on the +sultry summer afternoons, when he was reading alone amidst his +blades, points, and edges; how many times did he dash down his +book and rush to the wall to unhook a deadly arm! The poor man +forgot he was at home in Tarascon, in his underclothes, and with a +handkerchief round his head. He would translate his readings into +action, and, goading himself with his own voice, shout out whilst +swinging a battle-axe or tomahawk: + +"Now, only let 'em come!" + +"Them"? who were they? + +Tartarin did not himself any too clearly understand. "They" was all +that should be attacked and fought with, all that bites, claws, scalps, +whoops, and yells -- the Sioux Indians dancing around the war- +stake to which the unfortunate pale-face prisoner is lashed. The +grizzly of the Rocky Mountains, who wobbles on his hind legs, and +licks himself with a tongue full of blood. The Touareg, too, in the +desert, the Malay pirate, the brigand of the Abruzzi -- in short, +"they" was warfare, travel, adventure, and glory. + +But, alas!! it was to no avail that the fearless Tarasconer called for +and defied them; never did they come. Odsboddikins! what would +they have come to do in Tarascon? + +Nevertheless Tartarin always expected to run up against them, +particularly some evening in going to the club. + + + +V. +How Tartarin went round to his club. + + +LITTLE, indeed, beside Tartarin of Tarascon, arming himself capa- +pie to go to his club at nine, an hour after the retreat had sounded +on the bugle, was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon +the infidel, the Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the +Comanche warrior painting up for going on the war-path. "All +hands make ready for action!" as the men-of-war's men say. + +In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the +right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in +the right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under +garment, lay a Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows -- they +are weapons altogether too unfair. + +Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he +exercised himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and +thrusts, lunging at the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he +took his master-key and went through the garden leisurely; without +hurrying, mark you. "Cool and calm -- British courage, that is the +true sort, gentlemen." At the garden end he opened the heavy iron +door, violently and abruptly so that it should slam against the outer +wall. If "they" had been skulking behind it, you may wager they +would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not there. + +The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to +the right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly +with double-locking. Then, on the way. + +Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road -- all the doors closed, +and no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish +lamps, well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist. + +Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night, +ringing his heels with regularity, and sending sparks out of the +paving-stones with the ferule of his stick. Whether in avenues, +streets, or lanes, he took care to keep in the middle of the road -- +an excellent method of precaution, allowing one to see danger +coming, and, above all, to avoid any droppings from windows, as +happens after dark in Tarascon and the Old Town of Edinburgh. +On seeing so much prudence in Tartarin, pray do not conclude that +Tartarin had any fear -- dear, no! he only was on his guard. + +The best proof that Tartarin was not scared is, that instead of going +to the club by the shortest cut, he went over the town by the +longest and darkest way round, through a mass of vile, paltry alleys, +at the mouth of which the Rhone could be seen ominously +gleaming. The poor knight constantly hoped that, beyond the turn +of one of these cut-throats' haunts, "they" would leap from the +shadow and fall on his back. I warrant you, "they" would have +been warmly received, though; but, alack! by reason of some nasty +meanness of destiny, never indeed did Tartarin of Tarascon enjoy +the luck to meet any ugly customers -- not so much as a dog or a +drunken man -- nothing at all! + +Still, there were false alarms somewhiles. He would catch a sound +of steps and muffled voices. + +"Ware hawks!" Tartarin would mutter, and stop short, as if taking +root on the spot, scrutinising the gloom, sniffing the wind, even +glueing his ear to the ground in the orthodox Red Indian mode. +The steps would draw nearer, and the voices grow more distinct, +till no more doubt was possible. "They" were coming -- in fact, +here "they" were! + +Steady, with eye afire and heaving breast, Tartarin would gather +himself like a jaguar in readiness to spring forward whilst uttering +his war-cry, when, all of a sudden, out of the thick of the +murkiness, he would hear honest Tarasconian voices quite +tranquilly hailing him with: + +"Hullo! you, by Jove! it's Tartarin! Good night, old fellow!" + +Maledictions upon it! It was the chemist Bezuquet, with his family, +coming from singing their family ballad at Costecalde's. + +"Oh, good even, good even!" Tartarin would growl, furious at his +blunder, and plunging fiercely into the gloom with his cane waved +on high. + +On arriving in the street where stood his club-house, the dauntless +one would linger yet a moment, walking up and down before the +portals ere entering. But, finally, weary of awaiting "them," and +certain "they" would not show "themselves," he would fling a last +glare of defiance into the shades and snarl wrathfully: + +"Nothing, nothing at all! there never is nothing!" + +Upon which double negation, which he meant as a stronger +affirmative, the worthy champion would walk in to play his game of +bezique with the commandant. + + + +VI. +The two Tartarins. + + +ANSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin of +Tarascon never left Tarascon with all this mania for adventure, need +of powerful sensations, and folly about travel, rides, and journeys +from the Pole to the Equator? + +For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dreadless +Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room. He had +not even taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which every sound +Provencal makes upon coming of age. The most of his knowledge +included Beaucaire, and yet that's not far from Tarascon, there +being merely the bridge to go over. Unfortunately, this rascally +bridge has so often been blown away by the gales, it is so long and +frail, and the Rhone has such a width at this spot that -- well, faith! +you understand! Tartarin of Tarascon preferred terra firma. + +We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero there +were two very distinct characters. Some Father of the Church has +said: "I feel there are two men in me." He would have spoken truly +in saying this about Tartarin, who carried in his frame the soul of +Don Quixote, the same chivalric impulses, heroic ideal, and +crankiness for the grandiose and romantic; but, worse is the luck! +he had not the body of the celebrated hidalgo, that thin and meagre +apology for a body, on which material life failed to take a hold; one +that could get through twenty nights without its breast-plate being +unbuckled off, and forty-eight hours on a handful of rice. On the +contrary, Tartarin's body was a stout honest bully of a body, very +fat, very weighty, most sensual and fond of coddling, highly touchy, +full of low-class appetite and homely requirements -- the short, +paunchy body on stumps of the immortal Sancho Panza. + +Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man! you will +readily comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made! what +strife! what clapperclawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for Lucian or +Saint-Evremond to write, between the two Tartarins -- Quixote- +Tartarin and Sancho-Tartarin! Quixote-Tartarin firing up on the +stories of Gustave Aimard, and shouting: "Up and at 'em!" and +Sancho-Tartarin thinking only of the rheumatics ahead, and +murmuring: "I mean to stay at home." + + +THE DUET. + + QUIXOTE-TARTARIN. SANCHO-TARTARIN. + (Highly excited.) (Quite calmly.) + Cover yourself with glory, Tartarin, cover yourself + Tartarin. with flannel. + + (Still more excitedly.) (Still more calmly.) + O for the terrible double- O for the thick knitted + barrelled rifle! O for waistcoats! and warm + bowie-knives, lassoes, knee-caps! O for the + and moccasins! welcome padded caps + with ear-flaps! + + (Above all self-control.) (Ringing up the maid.) + A battle-axe! fetch me a Now, then, Jeannette, do + battle-axe! bring up that chocolate! + + +Whereupon Jeannette would appear with an unusually good cup of +chocolate, just right in warmth, sweetly smelling, and with the play +of light on watered silk upon its unctuous surface, and with +succulent grilled steak flavoured with anise-seed, which would set +Sancho-Tartarin off on the broad grin, and into a laugh that +drowned the shouts of Quixote-Tartarin. + +Thus it came about that Tartarin of Tarascon never had left +Tarascon. + + + +VII. +Tartarin -- The Europeans at Shanghai -- Commerce -- The Tartars +-- Can Tartarin of Tarascon be an Impostor? -- The Mirage. + + +UNDER one conjunction of circumstances, Tartarin did, however, +once almost start out upon a great voyage. + +The three brothers Garcio-Camus, relatives of Tarascon, +established in business at Shanghai, offered him the managership of +one of their branches there. This undoubtedly presented the kind of +life he hankered after. Plenty of active business, a whole army of +under-strappers to order about, and connections with Russia, +Persia, Turkey in Asia -- in short, to be a merchant prince! + +In Tartarin's mouth, the title of Merchant Prince thundered out as +something stunning! + +The house of Garcio-Camus had the further advantage of +sometimes being favoured with a call from the Tartars. Then the +doors would be slammed shut, all the clerks flew to arms, up ran +the consular flag, and zizz! phit! bang! out of the windows upon +the Tartars. + +I need not tell you with what enthusiasm Quixote-Tartarin clutched +this proposition; sad to say, Sancho-Tartarin did not see it in the +same light, and, as he was the stronger party, it never came to +anything. But in the town there was much talk about it. Would he +go or would he not? "I'll lay he will!" -- and "I'll wager he won't!" +It was the event of the week. In the upshot, Tartarin did not +depart, but the matter redounded to his credit none the less. Going +or not going to Shanghai was all one to Tarascon. Tartarin's +journey was so much talked about that people got to believe he had +done it and returned, and at the club in the evening members would +actually ask for information on life at Shanghai, the manners and +customs and climate, about opium, and commerce. + +Deeply read up, Tartarin would graciously furnish the particulars +desired, and, in the end, the good fellow was not quite sure himself +about not having gone to Shanghai, so that, after relating for the +hundredth time how the Tartars came down on the trading post, it +would most naturally happen him to add: + +"Then I made my men take up arms and hoist the consular flag, and +zizz! phit! bang! out of the windows upon the Tartars." + +On hearing this, the whole club would quiver. + +"But according to that, this Tartarin of yours is an awful liar." + +"No, no, a thousand times over, no! Tartarin was no liar." + +"But the man ought to know that he has never been to Shanghai" -- + +"Why, of course, he knows that; but still" -- + +"But still," you see -- mark that! It is high time for the law to be +laid down once for all on the reputation as drawers of the long bow +which Northerners fling at Southerners. There are no Baron +Munchausens in the south of France, neither at Nimes nor +Marseilles, Toulouse nor Tarascon. The Southerner does not +deceive but is self-deceived. He does not always tell the cold-drawn +truth, but he believes he does. His falsehood is not any such thing, +but a kind of mental mirage. + +Yes, purely mirage! The better to follow me, you should actually +follow me into the South, and you will see I am right. You have +only to look at that Lucifer's own country, where the sun +transmogrifies everything, and magnifies it beyond life-size. The +little hills of Provence are no bigger than the Butte Montmartre, +but they will loom up like the Rocky Mountains; the Square House +at Nimes -- a mere model to put on your sideboard -- will seem +grander than St. Peter's. You will see -- in brief, the only exaggerator +in the South is Old Sol, for he does enlarge everything he touches. +What was Sparta in its days of splendour? a pitiful hamlet. What +was Athens? at the most, a second-class town; and yet in history +both appear to us as enormous cities. This is a sample of what the +sun can do. + +Are you going to be astonished after this that the same sun falling +upon Tarascon should have made of an ex-captain in the Army +Clothing Factory, like Bravida, the "brave commandant;" of a +sprout an Indian fig-tree; and of a man who had missed going to +Shanghai one who had been there? + + + +VIII. +Mitaine's Menagerie -- A Lion from the Atlas at +Tarascon -- A Solemn and Fearsome Confrontation. + + +EXHIBITING Tartarin of Tarascon, as we are, in his private life, +before Fame kissed his brow and garlanded him with her well-worn +laurel wreath, and having narrated his heroic existence in a modest +state, his delights and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us +hurriedly skip to the grandest pages of his story, and to the singular +event which was to give the first flight to his incomparable career. + +It happened one evening at Costecalde the gunmaker's, where +Tartarin was engaged in showing several sportsmen the working of +the needle-gun, then in its first novelty. The door suddenly flew +open, and in rushed a bewildered cap-popper, howling "A lion, a +lion!" General was the alarm, stupor, uproar and tumult. Tartarin +prepared to resist cavalry with the bayonet, whilst Costecalde ran to +shut the door. The sportsman was surrounded and pressed and +questioned, and here follows what he told them: Mitaine's +Menagerie, returning from Beaucaire Fair, had consented to stay +over a few days at Tarascon, and was just unpacking, to set up the +show on the Castle-green, with a lot of boas, seals, crocodiles, and +a magnificent lion from the Atlas Mountains. + +An African lion in Tarascon? + +Never in the memory of living man had the like been seen. Hence +our dauntless cap-poppers looked at one another how proudly! +What a beaming on their sunburned visages! and in every nook of +Costecalde's shop what hearty congratulatory grips of the hand +were silently exchanged! The sensation was so great and +unforeseen that nobody could find a word to say -- not even Tartarin. + +Blanched and agitated, with the needle-gun still in his fist, he +brooded, erect before the counter. A lion from the Atlas Range at +pistol range from him, a couple of strides off? a lion, mind you -- the +beast heroic and ferocious above all others, the King of the Brute +Creation, the crowning game of his fancies, something like the +leading actor in the ideal company which played such splendid +tragedies in his mind's eye. A lion, heaven be thanked! and from +the Atlas, to boot! It was more than the great Tartarin could bear. + +Suddenly a flush of blood flew into his face. His eyes flashed. With +one convulsive movement he shouldered the needle-gun, and +turning towards the brave Commandant Bravida (formerly captain +in the Army Clothing Department, please to remember), he +thundered to him -- + +"Let's go have a look at him, commandant." + +"Here, here, I say! that's my gun -- my needle-gun you are carrying +off," timidly ventured the wary Costecalde; but Tartarin had already +got round the corner, with all the cap-poppers proudly lock- +stepping behind him. + +When they arrived at the menagerie, they found a goodly number of +people there. Tarascon, heroic but too long deprived of sensational +shows, had rushed upon Mitaine's portable theatre, and had taken it +by storm. Hence the voluminous Madame Mitaine was highly +contented. In an Arab costume, her arms bare to the elbow, iron +anklets on, a whip in one hand and a plucked though live pullet in +the other, the noted lady was doing the honours of the booth to the +Tarasconians; and, as she also had "double muscles," her success +was almost as great as her animals. + +The entrance of Tartarin with the gun on his shoulder was a +damper. + +All our good Tarasconians, who had been quite tranquilly strolling +before the cages, unarmed and with no distrust, without even any +idea of danger, felt momentary apprehension, naturally enough, on +beholding their mighty Tartarin rush into the enclosure with his +formidable engine of war. There must be something to fear when a +hero like he was, came weaponed; so, in a twinkling, all the space +along the cage fronts was cleared. The youngsters burst out +squalling for fear, and the women looked round for the nearest way +out. The chemist Bezuquet made off altogether, alleging that he +was going home for his gun. + +Gradually, however, Tartarin's bearing restored courage. With head +erect, the intrepid Tarasconian slowly and calmly made the circuit +of the booth, passing the seal's tank without stopping, glancing +disdainfully on the long box filled with sawdust in which the boa +would digest its raw fowl, and going to take his stand before the +lion's cage. + +A terrible and solemn confrontation, this! The lion of Tarascon and +the lion of Africa face to face! + +On the one part, Tartarin erect, with his hamstrings in tension, and +his arms folded on his gun barrel; on the other, the lion, a gigantic +specimen, humped up in the straw, with blinking orbs and brutish +mien, resting his huge muzzle and tawny full-bottomed wig on his +forepaws. Both calm in their gaze. + +Singular thing! whether the needle-gun had given him "the needle," +if the popular idiom is admissible, or that he scented an enemy of +his race, the lion, who had hitherto regarded the Tarasconians with +sovereign scorn, and yawned in their faces, was all at once affected +by ire. At first he sniffed; then he growled hollowly, stretching out +his claws; rising, he tossed his head, shook his mane, opened a +capacious maw, and belched a deafening roar at Tartarin. + +A yell of fright responded, as Tarascon precipitated itself madly +towards the exit, women and children, lightermen, cap-poppers, +even the brave Commandant Bravida himself. But, alone, Tartarin +of Tarascon had not budged. There he stood, firm and resolute, +before the cage, lightnings in his eyes, and on his lip that gruesome +grin with which all the town was familiar. In a moment's time, +when all the cap-poppers, some little fortified by his bearing and the +strength of the bars, re-approached their leader, they heard him +mutter, as he stared Leo out of countenance: + +"Now, this is something like a hunt!" + +All the rest of that day, never a word farther could they draw from +Tartarin of Tarascon. + + + +IX. +Singular effects of Mental Mirage. + + +CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin +had unfortunately still said overmuch. + +On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but +the near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting. +You are all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not +breathed a word on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its +usual effect. In brief, all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the +departure. + +On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde's, friends accosted one +another with a startled aspect: + +"And furthermore, you know the news, at least?" + +"And furthermore, rather? Tartarin's setting out, at least?" + +For at Tarascon all phrases begin with "and furthermore," and +conclude with "at least," with a strong local accent. Hence, on this +occasion more than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the +windows shivered. + +The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was +going away to Africa, was Tartarin himself. But only see what +vanity is! Instead of plumply answering that he was not going at +all, and had not even had the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of +them mentioning the journey to him, observed with a neat little +evasive air, "Aha! maybe I shall -- but I do not say as much." The +second time; a trifle more familiarised with the idea, he replied, +"Very likely;" and the third time, "It's certain." + +Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde's and the club, carried away by +the egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the +impression that bare announcement of his departure had made on +the town, the hapless fellow formally declared that he was sick of +banging away at caps, and that he would shortly be on the trail of +the great lions of the Atlas. A deafening hurrah greeted this +assertion. Whereupon more egg-nogg, bravoes, handshaking, +slappings of the shoulder, and a torchlight serenade up to midnight +before Baobab Villa. + +It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted. This idea +of travel in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder beforehand; +and when the house was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary +concert was sounding under the windows, he had a dreadful "row" +with Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a cracked head, a visionary, +imprudent, and thrice an idiot, and detailing by the card all the +catastrophes awaiting him on such an expedition -- shipwreck, +rheumatism, yellow fever, dysentery, the black plague, +elephantiasis, and the rest of them. + +In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any +imprudence -- that he would wrap himself up well, and take even +superfluous necessaries with him. Sancho-Tartarin would listen to +nothing. The poor craven saw himself already torn to tatters by the +lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like his late royal highness +Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to appease him a +little by explaining that the start was not immediate, as nothing +pressed. + +It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise +without some preparations. A man is bound to know whither he +goes, hang it all! and not fly off like a bird. Before anything else, +the Tarasconian wanted to peruse the accounts of great African +tourists, the narrations of Mungo Park, Du Chaillu, Dr. +Livingstone, Stanley, and so on. + +In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their +sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand +to support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of +privation. Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day +forward he lived upon water broth alone. The water broth of +Tarascon is a few slices of bread drowned in hot water, with a +clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, and a sprig of laurel. Strict diet, +at which you may believe poor Sancho made a wry face. + +To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other +wise practices. To break himself into the habit of long marches, he +constrained himself to go round the town seven or eight times +consecutively every morning, either at the fast walk or run, his +elbows well set against his body, and a couple of white pebbles in +the mouth, according to the antique usage. + +To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, he would go down +into his garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, +alone with his gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab. + +Finally, so long as Mitaine's wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, +the cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde's might spy in the +shadow of the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious +figure stalking up and down. It was Tartarin of Tarascon, +habituating himself to hear without emotion the roarings of the lion +in the sombre night. + + + +X. +Before the Start. + + +PENDING Tartarin's delay of the event by all sorts of heroic +means, all Tarascon kept an eye upon him, and nothing else was +busied about. Cap-popping was winged, and ballad-singing dead. +The piano in Bezuquet's shop mouldered away under a green +fungus, and the Spanish flies dried upon it, belly up. Tartarin's +expedition had a put a stopper on everything. + +Ah, you ought to have seen his success in the parlours. He was +snatched away by one from another, fought for, loaned and +borrowed, ay, stolen. There was no greater honour for the ladies +than to go to Mitaine's Menagerie on Tartarin's arms, and have it +explained before the lion's den how such large game are hunted, +where they should be aimed at, at how many paces off; if the +accidents were numerous, and the like of that. + +Tartarin furnished all the elucidation desired. He had read "The +Life of Jules Gerard, the Lion-Slayer," and had lion-hunting at his +finger ends, as if he had been through it himself. Hence he orated +upon these matters with great eloquence. + +But where he shone the brightest was at dinner at Chief Judge +Ladeveze's, or brave Commandant Bravida's (the former captain in +the Army Clothing Factory, you will keep in mind), when coffee +came in, and all the chairs were brought up closer together, whilst +they chatted of his future hunts. + +Thereupon, his elbow on the cloth, his nose over his Mocha, our +hero would discourse in a feeling tone of all the dangers awaiting +him thereaway. He spoke of the long moonless night lyings-in- +wait, the pestilential fens, the rivers envenomed by leaves of +poison-plants, the deep snow-drifts, the scorching suns, the +scorpions, and rains of grasshoppers; he also descanted on the +peculiarities of the great lions of the Atlas, their way of fighting, +their phenomenal vigour; and their ferocity in the mating season. + +Heating with his own recital, he would rise from table, bounding to +the middle of the dining-room, imitating the roar of a lion and the +going off of a rifle crack! bang! the zizz of the explosive bullet -- +gesticulating and roaring about till he had overset the chairs. + +Everybody turned pale around the board: the gentlemen looking at +one another and wagging their heads, the ladies shutting their eyes +with pretty screams of fright, the elderly men combatively +brandishing their canes; and, in the side apartments, the little boys, +who had been put to bed betimes, were greatly startled by the +sudden outcries and imitated gun-fire, and screamed for lights. +Meanwhile, Tartarin did not start. + + + +XI. +"Let's have it out with swords gentleman, not pins!" + + +A DELICATE question: whether Tartarin really had any intention +of going, and one which the historian of Tartarin would be highly +embarrassed to answer. In plain words, Mitaine's Menagerie had +left Tarascon over three months, and still the lion-slayer had not +started. After all, blinded by a new mirage, our candid hero may +have imagined in perfectly good faith that he had gone to Algeria. +On the strength of having related his future hunts, he may have +believed he had performed them as sincerely as he fancied he had +hoisted the consular flag and fired on the Tartars, zizz, phit, bang! +at Shanghai. + +Unfortunately, granting Tartarin was this time again dupe of an +illusion, his fellow-townsfolk were not. When, after the quarter's +expectation, they perceived that the hunter had not packed even a +collar-box, they commenced murmuring. + +"This is going to turn out like the Shanghai expedition," remarked +Costecalde, smiling. + +The gunsmith's comment was welcomed all over town, for nobody +believed any longer in their late idol. The simpletons and poltroons +-- all the fellows of Bezuquet's stamp, whom a flea would put to +flight, and who could not fire a shot without closing their eyes -- +were conspicuously pitiless. In the club-rooms or on the esplanade, +they accosted poor Tartarin with bantering mien: + +"And furthermore, when is that trip coming off?" + +In Costecalde's shop, his opinions gained no credence, for the cap- +poppers renounced their chief! + +Next, epigrams dropped into the affair. Chief Judge Ladevese, who +willingly paid court in his leisure hours to the native Muse, +composed in local dialect a song which won much success. It told +of a sportsman called "Master Gervais," whose dreaded rifle was +bound to exterminate all the lions in Africa to the very last. +Unluckily, this terrible gun was of a strange kind: "though loaded +daily, it never went off." + +"It never went off" -- you will catch the drift. + +In less than no time, this ditty became popular; and when Tartarin +came by, the longshoremen and the little shoeblacks before his door +sang in chorus -- + + "Muster Jarvey's roifle + Allus gittin' chaarged; + Muster Jarvey's roifle + 'il hev to git enlaarged; + Muster Jarvey's roifle's + Loaded oft -- don't scoff; + Muster Jarvey's roifle + Nivver do go off!" + +But it was shouted out from a safe distance, on account of the +double muscles. + +Oh, the fragility of Tarascon's fads! + +The great object himself feigned to see and hear nothing; but, under +the surface, this sullen and venomous petty warfare much afflicted +him. He felt aware that Tarascon was slipping out of his grip, and +that popular favour was going to others; and this made him suffer +horribly. + +Ah, the huge bowl of popularity! it's all very well to have a seat in +front of it, but what a scalding you catch when it is overturned! + +Notwithstanding his pain, Tartarin smiled and peacefully jogged on +in the same life as if nothing untoward had happened. Still, the +mask of jovial heedlessness glued by pride on his face would +sometimes be suddenly detached. Then, in lieu of laughter, one saw +grief and indignation. Thus it was that one morning, when the little +blackguards yelped "Muster Jarvey's Roifle" beneath his window, +the wretches' voices rose even into the poor great man's room, +where he was shaving before the glass. (Tartarin wore a full beard, +but as it grew very thick, he was obliged to keep it trimmed +orderly.) + +All at once the window was violently opened, and Tartarin +appeared in shirt-sleeves and nightcap, smothered in lather, +flourishing his razor and shaving-brush, and roaring with a +formidable voice: + +"Let's have it out with swords, gentlemen, not pins!" + +Fine words, worthy of history's record, with only the blemish that +they were addressed to little scamps not higher than their boot- +boxes, and who were quite incapable of holding a smallsword. + + + +XII. +A memorable Dialogue in the little Baobab Villa. + + +AMID the general falling off, the army alone stuck out firmly for +Tartarin. Brave Commandant Bravida (the former captain in the +Army Clothing Department) continued to show him the same +esteem as ever. "He's game!" he persisted in saying -- an assertion, +I beg to believe, fully worth the chemist Bezuquet's. Not once did +the brave officer let out any allusion to the trip to Africa; but when +the public clamour grew too loud, he determined to have his say. + +One evening the luckless Tartarin was in his study, in a brown study +himself, when he saw the commandant stride in, stern, wearing +black gloves, buttoned up to his ears. + +"Tartarin," said the ex-captain authoritatively, "Tartarin, you'll have +to go!" + +And there he dwelt, erect in the doorway frame, grand and rigid as +embodied Duty. Tartarin of Tarascon comprehended all the sense in +"Tartarin, you'll have to ago!" + +Very pale, he rose and looked around with a softened eye upon the +cosy snuggery, tightly closed in, full of warmth and tender light -- +upon the commodious easy chair, his books, the carpet, the white +blinds of the windows, beyond which trembled the slender twigs of +the little garden. Then, advancing towards the brave officer, he +took his hand, grasped it energetically, and said in a voice +somewhat tearful, but stoical for all that: + +"I am going, Bravida." + +And go he did, as he said he would. Not straight off though, for it +takes time to get the paraphernalia together. + +To begin with, he ordered of Bompard two large boxes bound with +brass, and an inscription to be on them: + + ----------------------------------------- + I TARTARIN, OF TARASCON I + I Firearms, &c. I + ----------------------------------------- + +The binding in brass and the lettering took much time. He also +ordered at Tastavin's a showy album, in which to keep a diary and +his impressions of travel; for a man cannot help having an idea or +two strike him even when he is busy lion-hunting. + +Next, he had over from Marseilles a downright cargo of tinned +eatables, pemmican compressed in cakes for making soup, a new +pattern shelter-tent, opening out and packing up in a minute, sea- +boots, a couple of umbrellas, a waterproof coat, and blue spectacles +to ward off ophthalmia. To conclude, Bezuquet the chemist made +him up a miniature portable medicine chest stuffed with diachylon +plaister, arnica, camphor, and medicated vinegar. + +Poor Tartarin! he did not take these safeguards on his own behalf; +but he hoped, by dint of precaution and delicate attentions, to allay +Sancho-Tartarin's fury, who, since the start was fixed, never left off +raging day or night. + + + +XIII. +The Departure. + + +EFTSOON arrived the great and solemn day. From dawn all +Tarascon had been on foot, encumbering the Avignon road and the +approaches to Baobab Villa. People were up at the windows, on +the roofs, and in the trees; the Rhone bargees, porters, dredgers, +shoeblacks, gentry, tradesfolk, warpers and weavers, taffety- +workers, the club members, in short the whole town; moreover, +people from Beaucaire had come over the bridge, market-gardeners +from the environs, carters in their huge carts with ample tilts, +vinedressers upon handsome mules, tricked out with ribbons, +streamers, bells, rosettes, and jingles, and even, here and there, a +few pretty maids from Arles, come on the pillion behind their +sweethearts, with bonny blue ribbons round the head, upon little +iron-grey Camargue horses. + +All this swarm squeezed and jostled before our good Tartarin's +door, who was going to slaughter lions in the land of the Turks. + +For Tarascon, Algeria, Africa, Greece, Persia, Turkey, and +Mesopotamia, all form one great hazy country, almost a myth, +called the land of the Turks. They say "Tur's," but that's a linguistic +digression. + +In the midst of all this throng, the cap-poppers bustled to and fro, +proud of their captain's triumph, leaving glorious wakes where they +had passed. + +In front of the Indian fig-tree house were two large trucks. From +time to time the door would open, and allow several persons to be +spied, gravely lounging about the little garden. At every new box +the throng started and trembled. The articles were named in a loud +voice: + +"That there's the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that's the +physic-chest; these the gun-cases," -- the cap-poppers giving +explanations. + +All of a sudden, about ten o'clock, there was a great stir in the +multitude, for the garden gate banged open. + +"Here he is! here he is!" they shouted. + +It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two +outcries of stupefaction burst from the assemblage: + +"He's a Turk!" "He's got on spectacles!" + +In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to +Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers, +small tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around +the waist, the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez, +or chechia, on his head, with something like a long blue tassel +thereto. Together with this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder, +a broad hunting-knife in the girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a +revolver on the hip, swinging in its patent leather case -- that is all. +No, I cry your pardon, I was forgetting the spectacles -- a +pantomimically large pair of azure barnacles, which came in partly to +temper what was rather too fierce in the bearing of our hero. + +"Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!" roared the +populace. + +The great man smiled, but did not salute, on account of the firearms +hindering him. Moreover, he knew now on what popular favour +depends; it may even be that in the depths of his soul he cursed his +terrible fellow-townsfolk, who obliged him to go away and leave +his pretty little pleasure-house with whitened walls and green +venetians. But there was no show of this. + +Calm and proud, although a little pallid, he stepped out on the +footway, glanced at the hand-carts, and, seeing all was right, lustily +took the road to the railway-station, without even once looking +back towards Baobab Villa. Behind him marched the brave +Commandant Bravida, Ladevese the Chief Judge, Costecalde the +gunsmith next, and then all the sportsmen who pop at caps, +preceding the hand-carts and the rag, tag, and bobtail. + +Before the station the station-master awaited them, an old African +veteran of 1830, who shook Tartarin's hand many times with +fervency. + +The Paris-to-Marseilles express was not yet in, so Tartarin and his +staff went into the waiting-rooms. To prevent the place being +overrun, the station-master ordered the gates to be closed. + +During a quarter of an hour, Tartarin promenaded up and down in +the rooms in the midst of his brother marksmen, speaking to them +of his journey and his hunting, and promising to send them skins; +they put their names down in his memorandum-book for a lionskin +apiece, as waltzers book for a dance. + +Gentle and placid as Socrates on the point of quaffing the hemlock, +the intrepid Tarasconian had a word and a smile for each. He spoke +simply, with an affable mien; it looked as if, before departing, he +meant to leave behind him a wake of charms, regrets, and pleasant +memories. On hearing their leader speak in this way, all the +sportsmen felt tears well up, and some were stung with remorse, to +wit, Chief Judge Ladevese and the chemist Bezuquet. The railway +employees blubbered in the corners, whilst the outer public squinted +through the bars and bellowed: "Long live Tartarin!" + +At length the bell rang. A dull rumble was heard, and a piercing +whistle shook the vault. + +"The Marseilles express, gen'lemen!" + +"Good-bye, Tartarin! Good luck, old fellow!" + +"Good-bye to you all!" murmured the great man, as, with his arms +around the brave Commandant Bravida, he embraced his dear +native place collectively in him. Then he leaped out upon the +platform, and clambered into a carriage full of Parisian ladies, who +were ready to die with fright at sight of this stranger with so many +pistols and rifles. + + + +XIV. +The Port of Marseilles -- "All aboard, all aboard!" + + +UPON the 1st of December 18--, in clear, brilliant, splendid +weather, under a south winter sun, the startled inhabitants of +Marseilles beheld a Turk come down the Canebiere, or their Regent +Street. A Turk, a regular Turk -- never had such a one been seen; +and yet, Heaven knows, there is no lack of Turks at Marseilles. + +The Turk in question -- have I any necessity of telling you it was +the great Tartarin of Tarascon? -- waddled along the quays, +followed by his gun-cases, medicine-chest, and tinned comestibles, +to reach the landing-stage of the Touache Company and the mail +steamer the Zouave, which was to transport him over the sea. + +With his ears still ringing with the home applause, intoxicated by +the glare of the heavens and the reek of the sea, Tartarin fairly +beamed as he stepped out with a lofty head, and between his guns +on his shoulders, looking with all his eyes upon that wondrous, +dazzling harbour of Marseilles, which he saw for the first time. The +poor fellow believed he was dreaming. He fancied his name was +Sinbad the Sailor, and that he was roaming in one of those fantastic +cities abundant in the "Arabian Nights." As far as eye could reach +there spread a forest of masts and spars, cris-crossing in every way. + +Flags of all countries floated -- English, American, Russian, +Swedish, Greek and Tunisian. + +The vessels lay alongside the wharves -- ay, head on, so that their +bowsprits stuck up out over the strand like rows of bayonets. Over +it, too, sprawled the mermaids, goddesses, madonnas, and other +figure-heads in carved and painted wood which gave names to the +ships -- all worn by sea-water, split, mildewed, and dripping. Ever +and anon, between the hulls, a patch of harbour like watered silk +splashed with oil. In the intervals of the yards and booms, what +seemed swarms of flies prettily spotted the blue sky. These were +the shipboys, hailing one another in all languages. + +On the waterside, amidst thick green or black rivulets coming down +from the soap factories loaded with oil and soda, bustled a mass of +custom-house officers, messengers, porters, and truckmen with +their bogheys, or trolleys, drawn by Corsican ponies. + +There were shops selling quaint articles, smoky shanties where +sailors were cooking their own queer messes, dealers in pipes, +monkeys, parrots, ropes, sailcloth, fanciful curios, amongst which +were mingled higgledy-piggledy old culverins, huge gilded lanterns, +worn-out pulley-blocks, rusty flukeless anchors, chafed cordage, +battered speaking-trumpets, and marine glasses almost +contemporary with the Ark. Sellers of mussels and clams squatted +beside their heaps of shellfish and yawped their goods. Seamen +rolled by with tar-pots, smoking soup-bowls, and big baskets full of +cuttlefish, from which they went to wash the ink in the milky waters +of the fountains. + +Everywhere a prodigious collection of all kinds of goods: silks, +minerals, wood in stacks, lead in pigs, cloths, sugars, caruba wood +logs, colza seed, liquorice sticks, sugar-canes. The East and the +West cheek by jowl, even to pyramids of Dutch cheeses which the +Genoese were dyeing red by contact with their hands. + +Yonder was the corn market: porters discharging sacks down the +shoots of lofty elevators upon the pier, and loose grain rolling as a +golden torrent through a blonde dust. Men in red skullcaps were +sifting it as they caught it in large asses'-skin sieves, and loading it +upon carts which took their millward way, followed by a regiment +of women and youngsters with wisps and gleaning baskets. Farther +on, the dry docks, where large vessels were laid low on their sides +till their yards dipped in the water; they were singed with thorn- +bushes to free them of sea weed; there rose an odour of pitch, and +the deafening clatter of the sheathers coppering the bottoms with +broad sheets of yellow metal. + +At whiles a gap in between the masts, in which Tartarin could see +the haven mouth, where the vessels came and went: a British frigate +off for Malta, dainty and thoroughly washed down, with the officer +in primrose gloves, or a large home-port brig hauling out in the +midst of uproar and oaths, whilst the fat captain, in a high silk hat +and frockcoat, ordered the operations in Provencal dialect. Other +craft were making forth under all sail, and, still farther out, more +were slowly looming up in the sunshine as if they were sailing in the +air. + +All the time a frightful riot, the rumbling of carts, the "Haul all, haul +away!" of the shipmen, oaths, songs, steamboat whistles, the bugles +and drums in Forts Saint Jean and Saint Nicolas, the bells of the +Major, the Accoules, and Saint Victor; with the mistral atop of all, +catching up the noises and clamour, and rolling them up together +with a furious shaking, till confounded with its own voice, which +intoned a mad, wild, heroic melody like a grand charging tune -- +one that filled hearers with a longing to be off, and the farther the +better -- a craving for wings. + +It was to the sound of this splendid blast that the intrepid Tartarin +Tarasco of Tarascon embarked for the land of lions. + + + + +EPISODE THE SECOND +AMONG "THE TURKS" + + + +I. +The Passage -- The Five Positions of the Fez -- +The Third Evening Out -- Mercy upon us! + + +JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter -- a great +artist, I mean -- in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this +second episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin's red cap in +the three days' passage it made on board of the Zouave, between +France and Algeria. + +First would I show you it at the steaming out, upon deck, arrogant +and heroic as it was, forming a glory round that handsome +Tarasconian head. Next would I show you it at the harbour-mouth, +when the bark began to caper upon the waves; I would depict it for +you all of a quake in astonishment, and as though already +experiencing the preliminary qualms of sea-sickness. Then, in the +Gulf of the Lion, proportionably to the nearing the open sea, where +the white caps heaved harder, I would make you behold it wrestling +with the tempest, and standing on end upon the hero's cranium, +with its mighty mane of blue wool bristling out in the spray and +breeze. Position Fourth: at six in the afternoon, with the Corsican +coast in view; the unfortunate chechia hangs over the ship's side, +and lamentably stares down as though to plumb the depths of +ocean. Finally and lastly, the Fifth Position: at the back of a +narrow state-room, in a box-bed so small it seemed one drawer in a +nest of them, something shapeless rolled on the pillow with moans +of desolation. This was the fez -- the fez so defiant at the sailing, +now reduced to the vulgar condition of a nightcap, and pulled down +over the very ears of the head of a pallid and convulsed sufferer. + +How the people of Tarascon would have kicked themselves for +having constrained the great Tartarin to leave home, if they had but +seen him stretched in the bunk in the dull, wan gleam through the +dead-light, amid the sickly odour of cooking and wet wood -- the +heart-heaving perfume of mail-boats; if they had but heard him +gurgle at every turn of the screw, wail for tea every five minutes, +and swear at the steward in a childish treble! + +On my word of honour as a story-teller, the poor Turk would have +made a paste-board dummy pity him. Suddenly, overcome by the +nausea, the hapless victim had not even the power to undo the +Algerian girdle-cloth, or lay aside his armoury; the lumpy-handled +hunting-sword pounded his ribs, and the leather revolver-case +made his thigh raw. To finish him arose the taunts of Sancho- +Tartarin, who never ceased to groan and inveigh: + +"Well, for the biggest kind of imbecile, you are the finest specimen! +I told you truly how it would be. Ha, ha! you were bound to go to +Africa, of course! Well, old merriman, now you are going to +Africa, how do you like it?" + +The cruellest part of it was that, from the retreat where he was +moaning, the hapless invalid could hear the passengers in the grand +saloon laughing, munching, singing, and playing at cards. On board +the Zouave the company was as jolly as numerous, composed of +officers going back to join their regiments, ladies from the +Marseilles Alcazar Music Hall, strolling-players, a rich Mussulman +returning from Mecca, and a very jocular Montenegrin prince, who +favoured them with imitations of the low comedians of Paris. Not +one of these jokers felt the sea-sickness, and their time was passed +in quaffing champagne with the steamer captain, a good fat born +Marseillais, who had a wife and family as well at Algiers as at +home, and who answered to the merry name of Barbassou. + +Tartarin of Tarascon hated this pack of wretches; their mirthfulness +deepened his ails. + +At length, on the third afternoon, there was such an extraordinary +hullabaloo on the deck that our hero was roused out of his long +torpor. The ship's bell was ringing and the seamen's heavy boots +ran over the planks. + +"Go ahead! Stop her! Turn astern!" barked the hoarse voice of +Captain Barbassou; and then, "Stop her dead!" + +There was an abrupt check of movement, a shock, and no more, +save the silent rolling of the boat from side to side like a balloon in +the air. This strange stillness alarmed the Tarasconian. + +"Heaven ha' mercy upon us!" he yelled in a terrifying voice, as, +recovering his strength by magic, he bounded out of his berth, and +rushed upon deck with his arsenal. + + + +II. +"To arms! to arms" + + +ONLY the arrival, not a foundering. + +The Zouave was just gliding into the roadstead -- a fine one of +black, deep water, but dull and still, almost deserted. On elevated +ground ahead rose Algiers, the White City, with its little houses of a +dead cream-colour huddling against one another lest they slid into +the sea. It was like Meudon slope with a laundress's washing hung +out to dry. Over it a vast blue satin sky -- and such a blue! + +A little restored from his fright, the illustrious Tartarin gazed on the +landscape, and listened with respect to the Montenegrin prince, +who stood by his side, as he named the different parts of the +capital, the Kasbah, the upper town, and the Rue Bab-Azoon. A +very finely-brought-up prince was this Montenegrin; moreover, +knowing Algeria thoroughly, and fluently speaking Arabic. Hence +Tartarin thought of cultivating his acquaintance. + +All at once, along the bulwark against which they were leaning, the +Tarasconian perceived a row of large black hands clinging to it +from over the side. Almost instantly a Negro's woolly head shot up +before him, and, ere he had time to open his mouth, the deck was +overwhelmed on every side by a hundred black or yellow +desperadoes, half naked, hideous, and fearsome. Tartarin knew who +these pirates were -- "they," of course, the celebrated "they" who +had too often been hunted after by him in the by-ways of Tarascon. +At last they had decided to meet him face to face. At the outset +surprise nailed him to the spot. But when he saw the outlaws fall +upon the luggage, tear off the tarpaulin covering, and actually +commence the pillage of the ship, then the hero awoke. Whipping +out his hunting-sword, "To arms! to arms!" he roared to the +passengers; and away he flew, the foremost of all, upon the +buccaneers. "Ques aco? What's the stir? What's the matter with +you?" exclaimed Captain Barbassou, coming out of the +'tweendecks. + +"About time you did turn up, captain! Quick, quick, arm your men!" + +"Eh, what for? dash it all!" + +"Why, can't you see?" + +"See what?" + +"There, before you, the corsairs" + +Captain Barbassou stared, bewildered. At this juncture a tall +blackamoor tore by with our hero's medicine-chest upon his back. + +"You cut-throat! just wait for me!" yelled the Tarasconer as he ran +after, with the knife uplifted. + +But Barbassou caught him in the spring, and holding him by the +waist-sash, bade him be quiet. + +"Tron de ler! by the throne on high! they're no pirates. It's long +since there were any pirates hereabout. Those dark porters are light +porters. Ha, ha!" + +"P--p-porters?" + +"Rather, only come after the luggage to carry it ashore. So put up +your cook's galley knife, give me your ticket, and walk off behind +that nigger -- an honest dog, who will see you to land, and even +into a hotel, if you like." + +A little abashed, Tartarin handed over his ticket, and falling in +behind the representative of the Dark Continent, clambered down +by the hanging-ladder into a big skiff dancing alongside. All his +effects were already there -- boxes, trunks, gun-cases, tinned food, +-- so cramming up the boat that there was no need to wait for any +other passengers. The African scrambled upon the boxes, and +squatted there like a baboon, with his knees clutched by his hands. +Another Negro took the oars. Both laughingly eyed Tartarin, and +showed their white teeth. + +Standing in the stern-sheets, making that terrifying face which had +daunted his fellow-countrymen, the great Tarasconian feverishly +fumbled with his hunting-knife haft; for, despite what Barbassou +had told him, he was only half at ease as regarded the intention of +these ebony-skinned porters, who so little resembled their honest +mates of Tarascon. + +Five minutes afterwards the skiff landed Tartarin, and he set foot +upon the little Barbary wharf, where, three hundred years before, a +Spanish galley-slave yclept Miguel Cervantes devised, under the +cane of the Algerian taskmaster, a sublime romance which was to +bear the title of "Don Quixote." + + + +III. +An Invocation to Cervantes -- The Disembarkation -- Where +are the Turks? -- Not a sign of them -- Disenchantment + + +O MIGUEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, if what is asserted be +true, to wit, that wherever great men have dwelt some emanation of +their spirits wanderingly hovers until the end of ages, then what +remained of your essence on the Barbary coast must have quivered +with glee on beholding Tartarin of Tarascon disembark, that +marvellous type of the French Southerner, in whom was embodied +both heroes of your work, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. + +The air was sultry on this occasion. On the wharf, ablaze with +sunshine, were half a dozen revenue officers, some Algerians +expecting news from France, several squatting Moors who drew at +long pipes, and some Maltese mariners dragging large nets, +between the meshes of which thousands of sardines glittered like +small silver coins. + +But hardly had Tartarin set foot on earth before the quay sprang +into life and changed its aspect. A horde of savages, still more +hideous than the pirates upon the steamer, rose between the stones +on the strand and rushed upon the new-comer. Tall Arabs were +there, nude under woollen blankets, little Moors in tatters, Negroes, +Tunisians, Port Mahonese, M'zabites, hotel servants in white +aprons, all yelling and shouting, hooking on his clothes, fighting +over his luggage, one carrying away the provender, another his +medicine-chest, and pelting him in one fantastic medley with the +names of preposterously-entitled hotels. + +Bewildered by all this tumult, poor Tartarin wandered to and fro, +swore and stormed, went mad, ran after his property, and not +knowing how to make these barbarians understand him, speechified +them in French, Provencal, and even in dog Latin: "Rosa, the rose; +bonus, bona, bonum!" -- all that he knew -- but to no purpose. He +was not heeded. Happily, like a god in Homer, intervened a little +fellow in a yellow-collared tunic, and armed with a long running- +footman's cane, who dispersed the whole riff-raff with cudgel-play. +He was a policeman of the Algerian capital. Very politely, he +suggested Tartarin should put up at the Hotel de l'Europe, and he +confided him to its waiters, who carted him and his impedimenta +thither in several barrows. + +At the first steps he took in Algiers, Tartarin of Tarascon opened +his eyes widely. Beforehand he had pictured it as an Oriental city -- +a fairy one, mythological, something between Constantinople and +Zanzibar; but it was back into Tarascon he fell. Cafes, restaurants, +wide streets, four-storey houses, a little market-place, +macadamised, where the infantry band played Offenbachian polkas, +whilst fashionably clad gentlemen occupied chairs, drinking beer +and eating pancakes, some brilliant ladies, some shady ones, and +soldiers -- more soldiers -- no end of soldiers, but not a solitary +Turk, or, better to say, there was a solitary Turk, and that was he. + +Hence he felt a little abashed about crossing the square, for +everybody looked at him. The musicians stopped, the Offenbachian +polka halting with one foot in the air. + +With both guns on his shoulders, and the revolver flapping on his +hip, as fierce and stately as Robinson Crusoe, Tartarin gravely +passed through the groups; but on arriving at the hotel his powers +failed him. All spun and mingled in his head: the departure from +Tarascon, the harbour of Marseilles, the voyage, the Montenegrin +prince, the corsairs. They had to help him up into a room and +disarm and undress him. They began to talk of sending for a +medical adviser; but hardly was our hero's head upon the pillow +than he set to snoring, so loudly and so heartily that the landlord +judged the succour of science useless, and everybody considerately +withdrew. + + + +IV. +The First Lying in Wait. + + +THREE o'clock was striking by the Government clock when +Tartarin awoke. He had slept all the evening, night, and morning, +and even a goodish piece of the afternoon. It must be granted, +though, that in the last three days the red fez had caught it pretty +hot and lively! + +Our hero's first thought on opening his eyes was, "I am in the land +of the lions!" And -- well, why should we not say it? -- at the idea +that lions were nigh hereabouts, within a couple of steps, almost at +hand's reach, and that he would have to disentangle a snarled skein +with them, ugh! a deadly chill struck him, and he dived intrepidly +under the coverlet. + +But, before a moment was over, the outward gaiety, the blue sky, +the glowing sun that streamed into the bedchamber, a nice little +breakfast that he ate in bed, his window wide open upon the sea, +the whole flavoured with an uncommonly good bottle of Crescia +wine -- it very speedily restored him his former pluckiness. + +"Let's out and at the lion!" he exclaimed, throwing off the clothes +and briskly dressing himself. + +His plan was as follows: he would go forth from the city without +saying a word to a soul, plunge into the great desert, await nightfall +to ambush himself, and bang away at the first lion who walked up. +Then would he return to breakfast in the morning at the hotel, +receive the felicitations of the natives, and hire a cart to bring in the +quarry. + +So he hurriedly armed himself, attached upright on his back the +shelter-tent (which, when rolled up, left its centre pole sticking out +a clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as +though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody, +from fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and +threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of +Algerian Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so +many spiders; crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer +ward, and lastly came upon the dusty Mustapha highway. + +Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney +coaches, corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts +drawn by bullocks, squads of Chasseurs d'Afrique, droves of +microscopic asses, trucks of Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet +cloaks -- all filed by in a whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts, +songs, and trumpetcalls, between two rows of vile-looking booths, +at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais women might be seen doing +their hair, drinking-dens filled with soldiers, and shops of butchers +and knackers. + +"What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!" grumbled the great +Tartarin; "there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles." + +All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely, +stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock, +and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not +be far Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes' time he did see a whole +band of lion-hunters coming his way under arms. + +"Cowards!" thought our hero as he skirted them; "downright +cowards, to go at a lion in companies and with dogs!" + +For it never could occur to him that anything but lions were objects +of the chase in Algeria. For all that, these Nimrods wore such +complacent phizzes of retired tradesmen, and their style of lion- +hunting with dogs and game-bags was so patriarchal, that the +Tarasconian, a little perplexed, deemed it incumbent to question +one of the gentlemen. + +"And furthermore, comrade, is the sport good?" + +"Not bad," responded the other, regarding the speaker's imposing +warlike equipment with a scared eye. + +"Killed any?" + +"Rather! Not so bad -- only look." Whereupon the Algerian +sportsman showed that it was rabbits and woodcock stuffing out +the bag. + +"What! do you call that your bag? Do you put such-like in your +bag?" + +"Where else should I put 'em?" + +"But it's such little game." + +"Some run small and some run large," observed the hunter. + +In haste to catch up with his companions, he joined them with +several long strides. The dauntless Tartarin remained rooted in the +middle of the road with stupefaction. "Pooh!" he ejaculated, after a +moment's reflection, "these are jokers. They haven't killed anything +whatever," and he went his way. + +Already the houses became scarcer, and so did the passengers. +Dark came on and objects were blurred, though Tartarin walked on +for half an hour more, when he stopped, for it was night. A +moonless night, too, but sprinkled with stars. On the highroad +there was nobody. The hero concluded that lions are not stage- +coaches, and would not of their own choice travel the main ways. +So he wheeled into the fields, where there were brambles and +ditches and bushes at every step, but he kept on nevertheless. + +But suddenly he halted. + +"I smell lions about here!" said our friend, sniffing right and left. + + + +V. +Bang, bang! + + +CERTAINLY a great wilderness, bristling with odd plants of that +Oriental kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble +starlight their magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. +On the right loomed up confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain -- +perhaps the Atlas range. On the heart-hand, the invisible sea +hollowly rolling. The very spot to attract wild beasts. + +With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of +Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good +couple, and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his +books, the great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having +a lamb or a kid along with them, which they tied up a space before +them, and set bleating or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. +Not having any goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an +imitation, and he set to crying in a tremulous voice: + +"Baa-a-a!" + +At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little +alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa- +ed more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many +times running at the top of his voice, till the "Baa, baa, baa!" came +out with so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a +bull. + +Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing +appeared. He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the +ground, bounded up, rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but +returned and stopped short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for +now its four short legs could plainly be seen, its formidable mane +and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom. + +Up went his gun into position. Fire's the word! and bang, bang! it +was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing +of the hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian's shot a terrible roaring +replied. + +"He's got it!" cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his +sturdy supporters, he prepared to receive the brute's charge. + +But it had more than its fill, and galloped off; howling. He did not +budge, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story- +books always lay it down she should. + +Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours' waiting the +Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was +getting cool, and the sea-breeze pricked sharply. + +"I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight," he said to himself. + +To avoid catching rheumatism, he had recourse to his patent tent. +But here's where Old Nick interfered! This tent was of so very +ingenious a construction that he could not manage to open it. In +vain did he toil over it and perspire an hour through -- the +confounded apparatus would not come unfolded. There are some +umbrellas which amuse themselves under torrential rains with just +such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out with the struggle, the victim +dashed down the machine and lay upon it, swearing like the regular +Southron he was. "Tar, tar, rar, tar! tar, rar, tar!" + +"What on earth's that?" wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused. + +It was the bugles of the Chasseurs d'Afrique sounding the turn-out +in the Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, +for he had believed himself out in the boundless wilderness; and do +you know where he really was? -- in a field of artichokes, between +a cabbage-garden and a patch of beets. His Sahara grew kitchen +vegetables. + +Close to him, on the pretty verdant slope of Upper Mustapha, the +snowy villas glowed in the rosy rising sun: anybody would believe +himself in the neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides +and bastidons. + +The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped +country much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour. + +"These folk are crazy," he reasoned, "to plant artichokes in the +prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. +Lions have come here, and there's the proof" + +What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its +flight. Bending over this ruddy trail with his eye on the lookout +and his revolver in his fist, the valiant Tarasconian went from +artichoke to artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled +grass was a pool of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its +flank, with a large wound in the head, was a -- guess what? + +"A lion, of course!" + +Not a bit of it! An ass! -- one of those little donkeys so common in +Algeria, where they are called bourriquots. + + + +VI. +Arrival of the Female -- A Terrible Combat -- +"Game Fellows Meet Here!" + + +LOOKING on his hapless victim, Tartarin's first impulse was one of +vexation. There is such a wide gap between a lion and poor Jack! +His second feeling was one of pity. The poor bourriquot was so +pretty and looked so kindly. The hide on his still warm sides +heaved and fell like waves. Tartarin knelt down, and strove with +the end of his Algerian sash to stanch the blood; and all you can +imagine in the way of touchingness was offered by the picture of +this great man tending this little ass. + +At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not +twopennyworth of life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked +his long ears two or three times, as much as to say, "Oh, thank +you!" before a final spasm shook it from head to tail, whereafter it +stirred no more. + +"Noiraud! Blackey!" suddenly screamed a voice, choking with +anguish, as the branches in a thicket hard by moved at the same +time. + +Tartarin had no more than enough time to rise and stand upon +guard. This was the female! + +She rushed up, fearsome and roaring, under form of an old Alsatian +woman, her hair in a kerchief, armed with large red umbrella, and +calling for her ass, till all the echoes of Mustapha rang. It certainly +would have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with a +lioness in fury than this old virago. In vain did the luckless +sportsman try to make her understand how the blunder had +occurred, and he had mistaken "Noiraud" for a lion. The harridan +believed he was making fun of her, and uttering energetical "Der +Teufels!" fell upon our hero to bang him with the gingham. A little +bewildered, Tartarin defended himself as best he could, warding +off the blows with his rifle, streaming with perspiration, panting, +jumping about, and crying out: + +"But, Madame, but" -- + +Much good his buts were! Madame was dull of hearing, and her +blows continued hard as ever. + +Fortunately a third party arrived on the battlefield, the Alsatian's +husband, of the same race; a roadside innkeeper, as well as a very +good ready-reckoner, which was better. When he saw what kind of +a customer he had to deal with -- a slaughterer who only wanted to +pay the value of his victim -- he disarmed his better-half, and they +came to an understanding. + +Tartarin gave two hundred francs, the donkey being worth about +ten -- at least that is the current price in the Arab markets. Then +poor Blackey was laid to rest at the root of a fig-tree, and the +Alsatian, raised to joviality by the colour of the Tarascon ducats, +invited the hero to have a quencher with him in his wine-shop, +which stood only a few steps off on the edge of the highway. Every +Sunday the sportsmen from the city came there to regale of a +morning, for the plain abounded with game, and there was no better +place for rabbits for two leagues around. + +"How about lions?" inquired Tartarin. + +The Alsatian stared at him, greatly astounded. + +"Lions!" + +"Yes, lions. Don't you see them sometimes?" resumed the poor +fellow, with less confidence. + +The Boniface burst out in laughter. + +"Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here?" + +"Are there, then, none in Algeria?" + +"'Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years in +the colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing -- +leastwise, I fancy the newspapers said -- but that is ever so much +farther inland -- down South, you know" -- + +At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a +withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted +on the wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, +feeding: + + "GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE." + +"Game fellows!" It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida. + + + +VII. +About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine. + + +COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first +adventure, but men of Tartarin's mettle do not easily get cast down. + +"The lions are in the South, are they?" mused the hero. "Very well, +then. South I go." + +As soon as he had swallowed his last mouthful he jumped up, thanked +his host, nodded good-bye to the old hag without any ill-will, +dropped a final tear over the hapless Blackey, and quickly returned +to Algiers, with the firm intention of packing up and starting +that very day for the South. + +The Mustapha highroad seemed, unfortunately, to have stretched +since overnight; and what a sun and dust there were, and what a +weight in that shelter-tent! Tartarin did not feel to have the courage +to walk to the town, and he beckoned to the first omnibus coming +along, and climbed in. + +Oh, our poor Tartarin of Tarascon! how much better it would have +been for his name and fame not to have stepped into that fatal ark +on wheels, but to have continued on his road afoot, at the risk of +falling suffocated beneath the burden of the atmosphere, the tent, +and his heavy double-barrelled rifles. + +When Tartarin got in the 'bus was full. At the end, with his nose in +his prayer-book, sat a large and black-bearded vicar from town; +facing him was a young Moorish merchant smoking coarse +cigarettes, and a Maltese sailor and four or five Moorish women +muffled up in white cloths, so that only their eyes could be spied. + +These ladies had been to offer up prayers in the Abdel Kader +cemetery; but this funereal visit did not seem to have much +saddened them, for they could be heard chuckling and chattering +between themselves under their coverings whilst munching pastry. +Tartarin fancied that they watched him narrowly. One in particular, +seated over against him, had fixed her eyes upon his, and never +took them off all the drive. Although the dame was veiled, the +liveliness of the big black eyes, lengthened out by k'hol; a +delightfully slender wrist loaded with gold bracelets, of which a +glimpse was given from time to time among the folds; the sound of +her voice, the graceful, almost childlike, movements of the head, all +revealed that a young, pretty, and loveable creature bloomed +underneath the veil. The unfortunate Tartarin did not know where to +shrink. The fond, mute gaze of these splendrous Oriental orbs +agitated him, perturbed him, and made him feel like dying with +flushes of heat and fits of cold shivers. + +To finish him, the lady's slipper meddled in the onslaught: he felt the +dainty thing wander and frisk about over his heavy hunting boots +like a tiny red mouse. What could he do? Answer the glance and +the pressure, of course. Ay, but what about the consequences? A +loving intrigue in the East is a terrible matter! With his romantic +southern nature, the honest Tarasconian saw himself already falling +into the grip of the eunuchs, to be decapitated, or better -- we +mean, worse -- than that, sewn up in a leather sack and sunk in the +sea with his head under his arm beside him. This somewhat cooled +him. In the meantime the little slipper continued its proceedings, +and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black velvet +flowers, seemed to say: + +"Come, cull us!" + +The 'bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue +Bab-Azoon. One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers, +and drawing their mufflers around them with wild grace, the +Moorish women alighted. Tartarin's confrontatress was the last to +rise, and in doing so her countenance skimmed so closely to our +hero's that her breath enveloped him -- a veritable nosegay of youth +and freshness, with an indescribable after-tang of musk, jessamine, +and pastry. + +The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and +ready for anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling +sound of his belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled +mouth, as one who would say, "Hush!" and with the other hand quickly +tossed him a little wreath of sweet-scented jessamine flowers. +Tartarin of Tarascon stooped to pick it up; but as he was rather +clumsy, and much overburdened with implements of war, the +operation took rather long. When he did straighten up, with the +jessamine garland upon his heart, the donatrix had vanished. + + + +VIII. +Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace! + + +LIONS of the Atlas, sleep! -- sleep tranquilly at the back of your +lairs amid the aloes and cacti. For a few days to come, any way, +Tartarin of Tarascon will not massacre you. For the time being, all +his warlike paraphernalia, gun-cases, medicine chest, alimentary +preserves, dwelt peacefully under cover in a corner of room 36 in +the Hotel de l'Europe. + +Sleep with no fear, great red lions, the Tarasconian is engaged in +looking up that Moorish charmer. Since the adventure in the +omnibus, the unfortunate swain perpetually fancied he felt the +fidgeting of that pretty red mouse upon his huge backwoods +trapper's foot; and the sea-breeze fanning his lips was ever scented, +do what he would, with a love-exciting odour of sweet cakes and +patchouli. + +He hungered for his indispensable light of the harem! and he meant +to behold her anew. + +But it was no joke of a task. To find one certain person in a city of +a hundred thousand souls, only known by the eyes, breath, and +slipper, -- none but a son of Tarascon, panoplied by love, would be +capable of attempting such an adventure. + +The plague is that, under their broad white mufflers, all the Moorish +women resemble one another; besides, they do not go about much, +and to see them, a man has to climb up into the native or upper +town, the city of the "Turks," and that is a regular cut-throat's den. + +Little black alleys, very narrow, climbing perpendicularly up +between mysterious house-walls, whose roofs lean to touching and +form a tunnel; low doors, and sad, silent little casements well barred +and grated. Moreover, on both hands, stacks of darksome stalls, +wherein ferocious "Turks" smoked long pipes stuck between +glittering teeth in piratical heads with white eyes, and mumbled in +undertones as if hatching wicked attacks. + +To say that Tartarin traversed this grisly place without any emotion +would be putting forth falsehood. On the contrary, he was much +affected, and the stout fellow only went up the obscure lanes, +where his corporation took up all the width, with the utmost +precaution, his eye skinned, and his finger on his revolver trigger, in +the same manner as he went to the clubhouse at Tarascon. At any +moment he expected to have a whole gang of eunuchs and +janissaries drop upon his back, yet the longing to behold that dark +damsel again gave him a giant's strength and boldness. + +For a full week the undaunted Tartarin never quitted the high town. +Yes; for all that period he might have been seen cooling his heels +before the Turkish bath-houses, awaiting the hour when the ladies +came forth in troops, shivering and still redolent of soap and hot +water; or squatting at the doorways of mosques, puffing and +melting in trying to get out of his big boots in order to enter the +temples. + +Betimes at nightfall, when he was returning heart-broken at not +having discovered anything at either bagnio or mosque, our man +from Tarascon, in passing mansions, would hear monotonous +songs, smothered twanging of guitars, thumping of tambourines, +and feminine laughter-peals, which would make his heart beat. + +"Haply she is there!" he would say to himself. + +Thereupon, granting the street was unpeopled, he would go up to +one of these dwellings, lift the heavy knocker of the low postern, +and timidly rap. The songs and merriment would instantly cease. +There would be audible behind the wall nothing excepting low, dull +flutterings as in a slumbering aviary. + +"Let's stick to it, old boy," our hero would think. "Something will +befall us yet." + +What most often befell him was the contents of the cold-water jug +on the head, or else peel of oranges and Barbary figs; never +anything more serious. + +Well might the lions of the Atlas Mountains doze in peace. + + + +IX. +Prince Gregory of Montenegro. + + +IT was two long weeks that the unfortunate Tartarin had been +seeking his Algerian flame, and most likely he would have been +seeking after her to this day if the little god kind to lovers had not +come to his help under the shape of a Montenegrin nobleman. + +It happened as follows. + +Every Saturday night in winter there is a masked ball at the Grand +Theatre of Algiers, just as at the Paris Opera-House. It is the +undying and ever-tasteless county fancy dress ball -- very few +people on the floor, several castaways from the Parisian students' +ballrooms or midnight dance-houses, Joans of Arc following the +army, faded characters out of the Java costume-book of 1840, and +half-a-dozen laundress's underlings who are aiming to make loftier +conquests, but still preserve a faint perfume of their former life -- +garlic and saffron sauce. The real spectacle is not there, but in the +green-room, transformed for the nonce into a hall of green cloth or +gaming saloon. + +An enfevered and motley mob hustle one another around the long +green table-covers: Turcos out for the day and staking their double +halfpence, Moorish traders from the native town, Negroes, Maltese, +colonists from the inland, who have come forty leagues in order to +risk on a turning card the price of a plough or of a yoke of oxen; all +a-quivering, pale, clenching their teeth, and with that singular, +wavering, sidelong look of the gamester, become a squint from +always staring at the same card in the lay-out. + +A little apart are the tribes of Algerian Jews, playing among +acquaintances. The men are in the Oriental costume; hideously +varied with blue stockings and velvet caps. The puffy and flabby +women sit up stiffly in tight golden bodices. Grouped around the +tables, the whole tribe wail, squeal, combine, reckon on the fingers, +and play but little. Now and anon, however, after long conferences, +some old patriarch, with a beard like those of saints by the Old +Masters, detaches himself from the party and goes to risk the family +duro. As long as the game lasted there would be a scintillation of +Hebraic eyes directed on the board -- dreadful black diamonds, +which made the gold pieces shiver, and ended by gently attracting +them, as if drawn by a thread. Then arose wrangles, quarrels, +battles, oaths of every land, mad outcries in all tongues, knives +flashing out, the guard marching in, and the money disappearing. + +It was into the thick of this saturnalia that the great Tartarin came +straying one evening to find oblivion and heart's ease. + +He was roving alone through the gathering, brooding about his +Moorish beauty, when two angered voices arose suddenly from a +gaming-table above all the clamour and chink of coin. + +"I tell you, M'sieu, that I am twenty francs short!" + +"Stuff, M'sieu!" + +"Stuff yourself; M'sieu!" + +"You shall learn whom you are addressing, M'sieu!" + +"I am dying to do that, M'sieu!" + +"I am Prince Gregory of Montenegro, M'sieu." + +Upon this title Tartarin, much excited, cleft the throng and placed +himself in the foremost rank, proud and happy to find his prince +again, the Montenegrin noble of such politeness whose +acquaintance he had begun on board of the mail steamer. +Unfortunately the title of Highness, which had so dazzled the +worthy Tarasconian, did not produce the slightest impression upon +the Chasseurs officer with whom the noble had his dispute. + +"I am much the wiser!" observed the military gentleman sneeringly; +and turning to the bystanders he added: "'Prince Gregory of +Montenegro' -- who knows any such a person? Nobody!" + +The indignant Tartarin took one step forward. + +"Allow me. I know the prince," said he, in a very firm voice, and +with his finest Tarasconian accent. + +The light cavalry officer eyed him hard for a moment, and then, +shrugging his shoulders, returned: + +"Come, that is good! Just you two share the twenty francs lacking +between you, and let us talk no more on the score." + +Whereupon he turned his back upon them and mixed with the +crowd. The stormy Tartarin was going to rush after him, but the +prince prevented that. + +"Let him go. I can manage my own affairs." + +Taking the interventionist by the arm, he drew him rapidly out of +doors. When they were upon the square, Prince Gregory of +Montenegro lifted his hat off; extended his hand to our hero, and as +he but dimly remembered his name, he began in a vibrating voice: + +"Monsieur Barbarin -- " + +"Tartarin!" prompted the other, timidly. + +"Tartarin, Barbarin, no matter! Between us henceforward it is a +league of life and death!" + +The Montenegrin noble shook his hand with fierce energy. You +may infer that the Tarasconian was proud. + +"Prince, prince!" he repeated enthusiastically. + +In a quarter of an hour subsequently the two gentlemen were +installed in the Platanes Restaurant, an agreeable late supper-house, +with terraces running out over the sea, where, before a hearty +Russian salad, seconded by a nice Crescia wine, they renewed the +friendship. + +You cannot image any one more bewitching than this Montenegrin +prince. Slender, fine, with crisp hair curled by the tongs, shaved "a +week under" and pumice-stoned on that, bestarred with out-of-the- +way decorations, he had the wily eye, the fondling gestures, and +vaguely the accent of an Italian, which gave him an air of Cardinal +Mazarin without his chin-tuft and moustaches. He was deeply +versed in the Latin tongues, and lugged in quotations from Tacitus, +Horace, and Caesar's Commentaries at every opening. + +Of an old noble strain, it appeared that his brothers had had him +exiled at the age of ten, on account of his liberal opinions, since +which time he had roamed the world for pleasure and instruction as +a philosophical noble. A singular coincidence! the prince had spent +three years in Tarascon; and as Tartarin showed amazement at +never having met him at the club or on the esplanade, His Highness +evasively remarked that he never went about. Through delicacy, the +Tarasconian did not dare to question further. All great existences +have such mysterious nooks. + +To sum up, this Signor Gregory was a very genial aristocrat. +Whilst sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to +Tartarin's expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to +find her speedily, as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. + +They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to "The ladies of Algiers" +and "The freedom of Montenegro!" + +Outside, upon the terrace, heaved the sea, and its rollers slapped +the strand in the darkness with much the sound of wet sails +flapping. The air was warm, and the sky full of stars. + +In the plane-trees a nightingale was piping. + +It was Tartarin who paid the piper. + + + +X. +"Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name +of that flower." + + +PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird. + +On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince +Gregory was in the Tarasconian's bedroom. + +"Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found, +Her name is Baya. She's scarce twenty -- as pretty as a love, and +already a widow." + +"A widow! What a slice of luck!" joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who +dreaded Oriental husbands. + +"Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother." + +"Oh, the mischief!" + +"A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar." + +Here fell a silence. + +"A fig for that!" proceeded the prince; "you are not the man to he +daunted by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be +pacified, I daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be +quick! On with your courting suit, you lucky dog!" + +Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the +Tarasconian leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up +his capacious nether garment, wanted to know how he should act. + +"Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst." + +"Do you mean to say she knows French?" queried the Tarasconian +simpleton, with the disappointed mien of one who had believed +thoroughly in the Orient. + +"Not one word of it," rejoined the prince imperturbably; "but you +can dictate the billet-doux, and I will translate it bit by bit." + +"O prince, how kind you are!" + +The lover began striding up and down the bedroom in silent +meditation. + +Naturally a man does not write to a Moorish girl in Algiers in the +same way as to a seamstress of Beaucaire. It was a very lucky +thing that our hero had in mind his numerous readings, which +allowed him, by amalgamating the Red Indian eloquence of Gustave +Aimard's Apaches with Lamartine's rhetorical flourishes in the +"Voyage en Orient," and some reminiscences of the "Song of +Songs," to compose the most Eastern letter that you could expect +to see. It opened with: + +"Like unto the ostrich upon the sandy waste" -- + +and concluded by: + +"Tell me your father's name, and I will tell you the name of that +flower." + +To this missive the romantic Tartarin would have much liked to join +an emblematic bouquet of flowers in the Eastern fashion; but Prince +Gregory thought it better to purchase some pipes at the brother's, +which could not fail to soften his wild temper, and would certainly +please the lady a very great deal, as she was much of a smoker. + +"Let's be off at once to buy them!" said Tartarin, full of ardour. + +"No, no! Let me go alone. I can get them cheaper." + +"Eh, what? Would you save me the trouble? O prince, prince, you +do me proud!" + +Quite abashed, the good-hearted fellow offered his purse to the +obliging Montenegrin, urging him to overlook nothing by which the +lady would be gratified. + +Unfortunately the suit, albeit capitally commenced, did not progress +as rapidly as might have been anticipated. It appeared that the +Moorish beauty was very deeply affected by Tartarin's eloquence, +and, for that matter, three-parts won beforehand, so that she wished +nothing better than to receive him; but that brother of hers had +qualms, and to lull them it was necessary to buy pipes by the +dozens; nay, the gross -- well, we had best say by the shipload at +once. + +"What the plague can Baya do with all these pipes?" poor Tartarin +wanted to know more than once; but he paid the bills all the same, +and without niggardliness. + +At length, after having purchased a mountainous stack of pipes and +poured forth lakes of Oriental poesy, an interview was arranged. I +have no need to tell you with what throbbings of the heart the +Tarasconian prepared himself; with what carefulness he trimmed, +brilliantined, and perfumed his rough cap-popper's beard, and how +he did not forget -- for everything must be thought of -- to slip a +spiky life-preserver and two or three six-shooters into his pockets. + +The ever-obliging prince was coming to this first meeting in the +office of interpreter. + +The lady dwelt in the upper part of the town. Before her doorway +a boy Moor of fourteen or less was smoking cigarettes; this was the +brother in question, the celebrated Ali. On seeing the pair of +visitors arrive, he gave a double knock on the postern gate and +delicately glided away. + +The door opened. A negress appeared, who conducted the +gentlemen, without uttering a word, across the narrow inner +courtyard into a small cool room, where the lady awaited them, +reclining on a low ottoman. At first glance she appeared smaller and +stouter than the Moorish damsel met in the omnibus by the +Tarasconian. In fact, was it really the same? But the doubt merely +flashed through Tartarin's brain like a stroke of lightning. + +The dame was so pretty thus, with her feet bare, and plump fingers, +fine and pink, loaded with rings. Under her bodice of gilded cloth +and the folds of her flower-patterned dress was suggested a lovable +creature, rather blessed materially, rounded everywhere, and nice +enough to eat. The amber mouthpiece of a narghileh smoked at her +lips, and enveloped her wholly in a halo of light-coloured smoke. + +On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as +Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes. + +Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but +then, dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her +hands, and they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild +laugh like a bag full of pearls. + + + +XI. +Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri. + + +SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian +upper town after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the +natives chatting among themselves, with many a wink and slight +laugh, of one Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri, a rich and good-humoured +European, who dwelt, a few years back, in that neighbourhood, +with a buxom witch of local origin, named Baya. + +This Sidi Tart'ri, who has left such a merry memory around the +Kasbah, is no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed. + +How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of +saints, too, it happens the same way -- there are moments of +blindness, perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian +was no more exempt from this than another, and that is the reason +during two months that, oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in +Oriental amorousness, and dozed, like Hannibal at Capua, in the +delights of Algiers the white. + +The good fellow took a pretty little house in the native style in the +heart of the Arab town, with inner courtyard, banana-trees, cool +verandahs, and fountains. He dwelt, afar from noise, in company +with the Moorish charmer, a thorough woman to the manner born, +who pulled at her hubble-bubble all day when she was not eating. + +Stretched out on a divan in front of him, Baya would drone him +monotonous tunes with a guitar in her fist; or else, to distract her +lord and master, favour him with the Bee Dance, holding a hand- +glass up, in which she reflected her white teeth and the faces she +made. + +As the Esmeralda did not know a word of French, and Tartarin +none in Arabic, the conversation died away sometimes, and the +Tarasconian had plenty of leisure to do penance for the gush of +language of which he had been guilty in the shop of Bezuquet the +chemist or that of Costecalde the gunmaker. + +But this penance was not devoid of charm, for he felt a kind of +enjoyable sullenness in dawdling away the whole day without +speaking, and in listening to the gurgling of the hookah, the +strumming of the guitar, and the faint splashing of the fountain on +the mosaic pavement of the yard. + +The pipe, the bath, and caresses filled his entire life. They seldom +went out of doors. Sometimes with his lady-love upon a pillion, +Sidi Tart'ri would ride upon a sturdy mule to eat pomegranates in a +little garden he had purchased in the suburbs. But never, without +exception, did he go down into the European quarter. This kind of +Algiers appeared to him as ugly and unbearable as a barracks at +home, with its Zouaves in revelry, its music-halls crammed with +officers, and its everlasting clank of metal sabre-sheaths under the +arcades. + +The sum total is, that our Tarasconian was very happy. + +Sancho-Tartarin particularly, being very sweet upon Turkish pastry, +declared that one could not be more satisfied than by this new +existence. Quixote-Tartarin had some twinges at whiles on +thinking of Tarascon and the promises of lion-skins; but this +remorse did not last, and to drive away such dampening ideas there +sufficed one glance from Baya, or a spoonful of those diabolical +dizzying and odoriferous sweetmeats like Circe's brews. + +In the evening Gregory came to discourse a little about a free Black +Mountain. Of indefatigable obligingness, this amiable nobleman +filled the functions of an interpreter in the household, or those of a +steward at a pinch, and all for nothing for the sheer pleasure of it. +Apart from him, Tartarin received none but "Turks." All those +fierce-headed pirates who had given him such frights from the +backs of their black stalls turned out, when once he made their +acquaintance, to be good inoffensive tradesmen, embroiderers, +dealers in spice, pipe-mouthpiece turners -- well-bred fellows, +humble, clever, close, and first-class hands at homely card games. +Four or five times a week these gentry would come and spend the +evening at Sidi Tart'ri's, winning his small change, eating his cakes +and dainties, and delicately retiring on the stroke of ten with thanks +to the Prophet. + +Left alone, Sidi Tart'ri and his faithful spouse by the broomstick +wedding would finish the evening on their terrace, a broad white +roof which overlooked the city. + +All around them a thousand of other such white flats, placid +beneath the moonshine, were descending like steps to the sea. The +breeze carried up tinkling of guitars. + +Suddenly, like a shower of firework stars, a full, clear melody +would be softly sprinkled out from the sky, and on the minaret of +the neighbouring mosque a handsome muezzin would appear, his +blanched form outlined on the deep blue of the night, as he chanted +the glory of Allah with a marvellous voice, which filled the horizon. + +Thereupon Baya would let go her guitar, and with her large eyes +turned towards the crier, seem to imbibe the prayer deliciously. As +long as the chant endured she would remain thrilled there in +ecstasy, like an Oriental saint. The deeply impressed Tartarin +would watch her pray, and conclude that it must be a splendid and +powerful creed that could cause such frenzies of faith. + +Tarascon, veil thy face! here is a son of thine on the point of +becoming a renegade! + + + +XII. +The Latest Intelligence from Tarascon. + + +PARTING from his little country seat, Sidi Tart'ri was returning +alone on his mule on a fine afternoon, when the sky was blue and +the zephyrs warm. His legs were kept wide apart by ample saddle- +bags of esparto cloth, swelled out with cedrats and water-melons. +Lulled by the ring of his large stirrups, and rocking his body to the +swing and swaying of the beast, the good fellow was thus +traversing an adorable country, with his hands folded on his paunch, +three-quarters gone, through heat, in a comfortable doze. All at +once, on entering the town, a deafening appeal aroused him. + +"Ahoy! What a monster Fate is! Anybody'd take this for Monsieur +Tartarin." + +On this name, and at the jolly southern accent, the Tarasconian +lifted his head, and perceived, a couple of steps away, the honest +tanned visage of Captain Barbassou, master of the Zouave, who +was taking his absinthe at the door of a little coffee-house. + +"Hey! Lord love you, Barbassou!" said Tartarin, pulling up his +mule. + +Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a +space ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart'ri sat +back dumbfounded on his melons. + +"What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, +what they say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is +she still singing 'Marco la Bella'?" + +"Marco la Bella!" repeated the indignant Tartarin. "I'll have you to +know, captain, that the person you mention is an honourable +Moorish lady, and one who does not know a word of French." + +"Baya does not know French! What lunatic asylum do you hail +from, then?" + +The good captain broke into still heartier laughter; but, seeing the +chops of poor Sidi Tart'ri fall he changed his course. + +"Howsoever, may happen it is not the same lass. Let's reckon that I +have mixed 'em up. Still, mark you, Monsieur Tartarin, you will do +well, nonetheless, to distrust Algerian Moors and Montenegrin +princes." + +Tartarin rose in the stirrups, making a wry face. + +"The prince is my friend, captain." + +"Come, come, don't wax wrathy. Won't you have some bitters to +sweeten you? No? Haven't you anything to say to the folks at +home, neither? Well, then, a pleasant journey. By the way, mate, I +have some good French 'bacco upon me, and if you would like to +carry away a few pipefuls, you have only to take some. Take it, +won't you? It's your beastly Oriental 'baccoes that have befogged +your brain." + +Upon this the captain went back to his absinthe, whilst the moody +Tartarin trotted slowly on the road to his little house. Although his +great soul refused to credit anything, Barbassou's insinuations had +vexed him, and the familiar adjurations and home accent had +awakened vague remorse. + +He found nobody at home, Baya having gone out to the bath. The +negress appeared sinister and the dwelling saddening. A prey to +inexpressible melancholy, he went and sat down by the fountain to +load a pipe with Barbassou's tobacco. It was wrapped up in a piece +of the Marseilles Semaphore newspaper. On flattening it out, the +name of his native place struck his eyes. + +"Our Tarascon correspondent writes: -- + +"The city is in distress. There has been no news for several months +from Tartarin the lion-slayer, who set off to hunt the great feline +tribe in Africa. What can have become of our heroic fellow- +countryman? Those hardly dare ask who know, as we do, how hot- +headed he was, and what boldness and thirst for adventures were +his. Has he, like many others, been smothered in the sands, or has +he fallen under the murderous fangs of one of those monsters of the +Atlas Range of which be had promised the skins to the +municipality? What a dreadful state of uncertainty! It is true some +Negro traders, come to Beaucaire Fair, assert having met in the +middle of the deserts a European whose description agreed with +his; he was proceeding towards Timbuctoo. May Heaven preserve +our Tartarin!" + +When he read this, the son of Tarascon reddened, blanched, and +shuddered. All Tarascon appeared unto him: the club, the cap- +poppers, Costecalde's green arm-chair, and, hovering over all like a +spread eagle, the imposing moustaches of brave Commandant +Bravida. + +At seeing himself here, as he was, cowardly lolling on a mat, whilst +his friends believed him slaughtering wild beasts, Tartarin of +Tarascon was ashamed of himself, and could have wept had he not +been a hero. + +Suddenly he leaped up and thundered: + +"The lion, the lion! Down with him!" + +And dashing into the dusty lumber-hole where mouldered the +shelter-tent, the medicine-chest, the potted meats, and the gun- +cases, he dragged them out into the middle of the court. + +Sancho-Tartarin was no more: Quixote-Tartarin occupied the field +of active life. + +Only the time to inspect his armament and stores, don his harness, +get into his heavy boots, scribble a couple of words to confide +Baya to the prince, and slip a few bank-notes sprinkled with tears +into the envelope, and then the dauntless Tarasconian rolled away +in the stage-coach on the Blidah road, leaving the house to the +negress, stupor-stricken before the pipe, the turban, and babooshes +-- all the Moslem shell of Sidi Tart'ri which sprawled piteously +under the little white trefoils of the gallery. + + + + +EPISODE THE THIRD +AMONG THE LIONS + + + +I. +What becomes of the Old Stage-coaches. + + +COME to look closely at the vehicle, it was an old stage-coach all of +the olden time, upholstered in faded deep blue cloth, with those +enormous rough woollen balls which, after a few hours' journey, +finally establish a raw spot in the small of your back. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had a corner of the inside, where he installed +himself most free-and-easily: and, preliminarily to inspiring the rank +emanations of the great African felines, the hero had to content +himself with that homely old odour of the stage-coach, oddly +composed of a thousand smells, of man and woman, horses and +harness, eatables and mildewed straw. + +There was a little of everything inside -- a Trappist monk, some +Jew merchants, two fast ladies going to join their regiment, the +Third Hussars, a photographic artist from Orleansville, and so on. +But, however charming and varied was the company, the +Tarasconian was not in the mood for chatting; he remained quite +thoughtful, with an arm in the arm-rest sling-strap and his guns +between his knees. All churned up his wits -- the precipitate +departure, Baya's eyes of jet, the terrible chase he was about to +undertake, to say nothing of this European coach; with its Noah's +Ark aspect, rediscovered in the heart of Africa, vaguely recalling +the Tarascon of his youth, with its races in the suburbs, jolly dinners +on the river-side -- a throng of memories, in short. + +Gradually night came on. The guard lit up the lamps. The rusty +diligence danced creakingly on its old springs; the horses trotted +and their bells jangled. From time to time in the boot arose a +dreadful clank of iron: that was the war material. + +Tartarin of Tarascon, nearly overcome, dwelt a moment scanning +the fellow-passengers, comically shaken by the jolts, and dancing +before him like the shadows in galanty-shows, till his eyes grew +cloudy and his mind befogged, and only vaguely he heard the +wheels grind and the sides of the conveyance squeak complainingly. + +Suddenly a voice called Tartarin by his name, the voice of an old +fairy godmother, hoarse, broken, and cracked. + +"Monsieur Tartarin!" three times. + +"Who's calling me?" + +"It's I, Monsieur Tartarin. Don't you recognise me? I am the old +stage-coach who used to do the road betwixt Nimes and Tarascon +twenty year agone. How many times I have carried you and your +friends when you went to shoot at caps over Joncquieres or +Bellegarde way! I did not know you again at the first, on account +of your Turk's cap and the flesh you have accumulated; but as soon +as you began snoring -- what a rascal is good-luck! -- I twigged +you straight away." + +"All right, that's all right enough!" observed the Tarasconian, a +shade vexed; but softening, he added, "But to the point, my poor +old girl; whatever did you come out here for?" + +"Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of +my own free will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I +was considered good for nought, and shipped away into Algeria. +And I am not the only one either! Bless you, next to all the old +stage-coaches of France have been packed off like me. We were +regarded as too much the conservative -- 'the slow-coaches' -- d'ye +see, and now we are here leading the life of a dog. This is what you +in France call the Algerian railways." + +Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before +proceeding. "My wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I +regret my lovely Tarascon! That was the good time for me, when I +was young! -- You ought to have seen me starting off in the +morning, washed with no stint of water and all a-shine, with my +wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace of suns, and +my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely when the +postillion cracked his whip to the tune of 'Lagadigadeou, the +Tarasque! the Tarasque!' and the guard, his horn in its sling and +laced cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always +in a fury, upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: 'Right- +away!' + +"Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks, +and horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look +with pride upon the royal mail coach dart over the king's highway. + +"What a splendid road that was, Monsieur Tartarin, broad and well +kept, with its mile-stones, its little heaps of road-metal at regular +distances, and its pretty clumps of vines and olive-trees on either +hand! Then, again, the roadside inns so close together, and the +changes of horses every five minutes! And what jolly, honest chaps +my patrons were! -- village mayors and parish priests going up to +Nimes to see their prefect or bishop, taffety-weavers returning +openly from the Mazet, collegians out on holiday leave, peasants in +worked smock-frocks, all fresh shaven for the occasion that +morning; and up above, on the top, you gentlemen-sportsmen, +always in high spirits, and singing each your own family ballad to +the stars as you came back in the dark. + +"Deary me! it's a change of times now! Lord knows what rubbish I +am carting here, come from nobody guesses where! They fill me +with small deer, these negroes, Bedouin Arabs, swashbucklers, +adventurers from every land, and ragged settlers who poison me +with their pipes, and all jabbering a language that the Tower of +Babel itself could make nothing of! And, furthermore, you should +see how they treat me -- I mean, how they never treat me: never a +brush or a wash. They begrudge me grease for my axles. Instead of +my good fat quiet horses of other days, little Arab ponies, with the +devil in their frames, who fight and bite, caper as they run like so +many goats, and break my splatterboard all to smithereens with +their lashing out behind. Ouch! ouch! there they are at it again! + +"And such roads! Just here it is bearable, because we are near the +governmental headquarters; but out a bit there's nothing, Monsieur +-- not the ghost of a road at all. We get along as best we can over +hill and dale, over dwarf palms and mastic-trees. Ne'er a fixed +change of horses, the stopping being at the whim of the guard, now +at one farm, again at another. + +"Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to +have a glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum. After which, +'Crack on, postillion!' to make up for the lost time. Though the sun +be broiling and the dust scorching, we whip on! We catch in the +scrub and spill over, but whip on! We swim rivers, we catch cold, +we get swamped, we drown, but whip! whip! whip! Then in the +evening, streaming -- a nice thing for my age, with my rheumatics -- +I have to sleep in the open air of some caravanseral yard, open to +all the winds. In the dead o' night jackals and hyaenas come sniffing +of my body; and the marauders who don't like dews get into my +compartment to keep warm. + +"Such is the life I lead, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, and that I shall +lead to the day when -- burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp +nights until unable to do anything else, I shall fall in some spot of +bad road, where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones +of my old carcass" -- + +"Blidah! Blidah!" called out the guard as he opened the door. + + + +II. +A little gentleman drops in and "drops upon" Tartarin. + + +VAGUELY through the mud-dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon +caught a glimpse of a second-rate but pretty town market-place, +regular in shape, surrounded by colonnades and planted with +orange-trees, in the midst of which what seemed toy leaden soldiers +were going through the morning exercise in the clear roseate mist. +The cafes were shedding their shutters. In one corner there was a +vegetable market. It was bewitching, but it did not smack of lions +yet. + +"To the South! farther to the South!" muttered the good old +desperado, sinking back in his corner. + +At this moment the door opened. A puff of fresh air rushed in, +bearing upon its wings, in the perfume of the orange-blossoms, a +little person in a brown frock-coat, old and dry, wrinkled and +formal, his face no bigger than your fist, his neckcloth of black silk +five fingers wide, a notary's letter-case, and umbrella -- the very +picture of a village solicitor. + +On perceiving the Tarasconian's warlike equipment, the little +gentleman, who was seated over against him, appeared excessively +surprised, and set to studying him with burdensome persistency. + +The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in, whereupon the +coach started off again. The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin, +who in the end took snuff at it. + +"Does this astonish you?" he demanded, staring the little gentleman +full in the face in his turn. + +"Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me," responded the other, very +tranquilly. + +And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in +their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural +corpulence, Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room. + +The little gentleman's reply angered him. + +"Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with +your umbrella?" queried the great man haughtily. + +The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with +the same lack of emotion, inquired: + +"Oho, then you are Monsieur" -- + +"Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!" + +In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the +blue tassel of his fez like a mane. + +Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction. + +The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered +little screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent +over towards the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled +honour of taking his likeness. + +The little gentleman, though, was not awed. + +"Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions, Monsieur +Tartarin?" he asked, very quietly. + +The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner. + +"Is it many have I killed, Monsieur? I wish you had only as many +hairs on your head as I have killed of them." + +All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing +up on the little gentleman's skull. + +In his turn, the Orleansville photographer struck in: + +"Yours must he a terrible profession, Monsieur Tartarin. You must +pass some ugly moments sometimes. I have heard that poor +Monsieur Bombonnel" -- "Oh, yes, the panther-killer," said +Tartarin, rather disdainfully. + +"Do you happen to be acquainted with him?" inquired the +insignificant person. + +"Eh! of course! Know him? Why, we have been out on the hunt +over twenty times together." + +The little gentleman smiled. + +"So you also hunt panthers, Monsieur Tartarin?" he asked. + +"Sometimes, just for pastime," said the fiery Tarasconian. "But," he +added, as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed +the hearts of the two sweethearts of the regiment, "that's not worth +lion-hunting." + +"When all's said and done," ventured the photographer, "a panther +is nothing but a big cat." + +"Right you are!" said Tartarin, not sorry to abate the celebrated +Bombonnel's glory a little, particularly in the presence of ladies. + +Here the coach stopped. The conductor came to open the door, +and addressed the insignificant little gentleman most respectfully, +saying: + +"We have arrived, Monsieur." + +The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door +was closed again: + +"Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?" + +"What is it, Monsieur?" + +"Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, +rather than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, +Monsieur Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do +remain a few panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! +they are too small game for you. As for lion-hunting, that's all +over. There are none left in Algeria, my friend Chassaing having +lately knocked over the last." + +Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and +trotted away chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella. + +"Guard," asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, +"who under the sun is that poor little mannikin?" + +"What! don't you know him? Why, that there's Monsieur +Bombonnel!" + + + + +III. +A Monastery of Lions. + + +AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach +to continue its way towards the South. + +Two days' rough jolting, two nights spent with eyes open to spy out +of window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion +in the fields beyond the road -- so much sleeplessness well deserved +some hours repose. Besides, if we must tell everything, since his +misadventure with Bombonnel, the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at +ease, notwithstanding his weapons, his terrifying visage, and his red +cap, before the Orleansville photographer and the two ladies fond +of the military. + +So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah, full of fine +trees and fountains; but whilst looking up a suitable hotel, the poor +fellow could not help musing over Bombonnel's words. Suppose +they were true! Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria? What +would be the good then of so much running about and fatigue? + +Suddenly, at the turn of a street, our hero found himself face to face +with -- with what? Guess! "A donkey, of course!" A donkey? A +splendid lion this time, waiting before a coffee-house door, royally +sitting up on his hind-quarters, with his tawny mane gleaming in the +sun. + +"What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them?" +exclaimed the Tarasconian, as he made a backward jump. + +On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head, and taking up in +his mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway, +humbly held it out towards Tartarin, who was immovable with +stupefaction. A passing Arab tossed a copper into the bowl, and the +lion wagged his tail. Thereupon Tartarin understood it all. He saw +what emotion had prevented him previously perceiving: that the +crowd was gathered around a poor tame blind lion, and that two +stalwart Negroes, armed with staves, were marching him through +the town as a Savoyard does a marmot. + +The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once. + +"Wretches that you are!" he roared in a voice of thunder, "thus to +debase such noble beasts!" + +Springing to the lion, he wrenched the loathsome bowl from +between his royal jaws. The two Africans, believing they had a thief +to contend with, rushed upon the foreigner with uplifted cudgels. +There was a dreadful conflict: the blackamoors smiting, the women +screaming, and the youngsters laughing. An old Jew cobbler +bleated out of the hollow of his stall, "Dake him to the shustish of +the beace!" The lion himself; in his dark state, tried to roar as his +hapless champion, after a desperate struggle, rolled on the ground +among the spilt pence and the sweepings. + +At this juncture a man cleft the throng, made the Negroes stand +back with a word, and the women and urchins with a wave of the +hand, lifted up Tartarin, brushed him down, shook him into shape, +and sat him breathless upon a corner-post. + +"What, prince, is it you?" said the good Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. + +"Yes, indeed, it is I, my valiant friend. As soon as your letter was +received, I entrusted Baya to her brother, hired a post-chaise, flew +fifty leagues as fast as a horse could go, and here I am, just in time +to snatch you from the brutality of these ruffians. What have you +done, in the name of just Heaven, to bring this ugly trouble upon +you?" + +"What done, prince? It was too much for me to see this +unfortunate lion with a begging-bowl in his mouth, humiliated, +conquered, buffeted about, set up as a laughing-stock to all this +Moslem rabble" -- + +"But you are wrong, my noble friend. On the contrary, this lion is +an object of respect and adoration. This is a sacred beast who +belongs to a great monastery of lions, founded three hundred years +ago by Mahomet Ben Aouda, a kind of fierce and forbidding La +Trappe, full of roarings and wild-beastly odours, where strange +monks rear and feed lions by hundreds, and send them out all over +Northern Africa, accompanied by begging brothers. The alms they +receive serve for the maintenance of the monastery and its +mosques; and the two Negroes showed so much displeasure just +now because it was their conviction that the lion under their charge +would forthwith devour them if a single penny of their collection +were lost or stolen through any fault of theirs." + +On hearing this incredible and yet veracious story Tartarin of +Tarascon was delighted, and sniffed the air noisily. "What pleases +me in this," he remarked, as the summing up of his opinion, "is that, +whether Monsieur Bombonnel likes it or not, there are still lions in +Algeria." -- + +"I should think there were!" ejaculated the prince enthusiastically. +"We will start to-morrow beating up the Shelliff Plain, and you will +see lions enough!" + +"What, prince! have you an intention to go a-hunting, too?" + +"Of course! Do you think I am going to leave you to march by +yourself into the heart of Africa, in the midst of ferocious tribes of +whose languages and usages you are ignorant! No, no, illustrious +Tartarin, I shall quit you no more. Go where you will, I shall make +one of the party." + +"O Prince! prince!" + +The beaming Tartarin hugged the devoted Gregory to his breast at +the proud thought of his going to have a foreign prince to +accompany him in his hunting, after the example of Jules Gerard, +Bombonnel, and other famous lion-slayers. + + + +IV. +The Caravan on the March. + + +LEAVING Milianah at the earliest hour next morning, the intrepid +Tartarin and the no less intrepid Prince Gregory descended towards +the Shelliff Plain through a delightful gorge shaded with jessamine, +carouba, tuyas, and wild olive-trees, between hedges of little native +gardens and thousands of merry, lively rills which scampered down +from rock to rock with a singing splash -- a bit of landscape meet +for the Lebanon. + +As much loaded with arms as the great Tartarin, Prince Gregory +had, over and above that, donned a queer but magnificent military +cap, all covered with gold lace and a trimming of oak-leaves in +silver cord, which gave His Highness the aspect of a Mexican +general or a railway station-master on the banks of the Danube. + +This plague of a cap much puzzled the beholder; and as he timidly +craved some explanation, the prince gravely answered: + +"It is a kind of headgear indispensable for travel in Algeria." + +Whilst brightening up the peak with a sweep of his sleeve, he +instructed his simple companion in the important part which the +military cap plays in the French connection with the Arabs, and the +terror this article of army insignia alone has the privilege of +inspiring, so that the Civil Service has been obliged to put all its +employees in caps, from the extra-copyist to the receiver-general. +To govern Algeria (the prince is still speaking) there is no need of a +strong head, or even of any head at all. A military cap does it alone, +if showy and belaced, and shining at the top of a non-human pole, +like Gessler's. + +Thus chatting and philosophising, the caravan proceeded. The +barefooted porters leaped from rock to rock with ape-like screams. +The guncases clanked, and the guns themselves flashed. The +natives who were passing, salaamed to the ground before the magic +cap. Up above, on the ramparts of Milianah, the head of the Arab +Department, who was out for an airing with his wife, hearing these +unusual noises, and seeing the weapons gleam between the +branches, fancied there was a revolt, and ordered the drawbridge to +be raised, the general alarm to be sounded, and the whole town put +under a state of siege. A capital commencement for the caravan! + +Unfortunately, before the day ended, things went wrong. Of the +black luggage-bearers, one was doubled up with atrocious colics +from having eaten the diachylon out of the medicine-chest: another +fell on the roadside dead drunk with camphorated brandy; the third, +carrier of the travelling-album, deceived by the gilding on the clasps +into the persuasion that he was flying with the treasures of Mecca, +ran off into the Zaccar on his best legs. + +This required consideration. The caravan halted, and held a council +in the broken shadow of an old fig-tree. + +"It's my advice that we turn up Negro porters from this evening +forward," said the prince, trying without success to melt a cake of +compressed meat in an improved patent triple-bottomed sauce- +pan. "There is, haply, an Arab trader quite near here. The best +thing to do is to stop there, and buy some donkeys." + +"No, no; no donkeys," quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming +quite red at memory of Noiraud. "How can you expect," he added, +hypocrite that he was, "that such little beasts could carry all our +apparatus?" + +The prince smiled. + +"You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend. However weakly +and meagre the Algerian bourriquot may appear to you, he has solid +loins. He must have them so to support all that he does. Just ask +the Arabs. Hark to how they explain the French colonial +organisation. 'On the top,' they say, 'is Mossoo, the Governor, +with a heavy club to rap the staff; the staff, for revenge, canes the +soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, and he hammers the Arab; the +Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats the Jew, and he takes it out +of the donkey. The poor bourriquot having nobody to belabour, +arches up his back and bears it all.' You see clearly now that he can +bear your boxes." + +"All the same," remonstrated Tartarin, "it strikes me that +jackasses will not chime in nicely with the effect of our caravan. +I want something more Oriental. For instance, if we could only +get a camel" -- + +"As many as you like," said His Highness; and off they started for +the Arab mart. + +It was held a few miles away, on the banks of the Shelliff. There +were five or six thousand Arabs in tatters here, grovelling in the +sunshine and noisily trafficking, amid jars of black olives, pots of +honey, bags of spices; and great heaps of cigars; huge fires were +roasting whole sheep, basted with butter; in open air slaughter- +houses stark naked Negroes, with ruddy arms and their feet in gore, +were cutting up kids hanging from crosspoles, with small knives. + +In one corner, under a tent patched with a thousand colours, a +Moorish clerk of the market in spectacles scrawled in a large book. +Here was a cluster of men shouting with rage: it was a spinning- +jenny game, set on a corn-measure, and Kabyles were ready to cut +one another's throats over it. Yonder were laughs and contortions +of delight: it was a Jew trader on a mule drowning in the Shelliff. +Then there were dogs, scorpions, ravens, and flies -- rather flies +than anything else. + +But a plentiful lack of camels abounded. They finally unearthed +one, though, of which the M'zabites were trying to get rid -- the +real ship of the desert, the classical, standard camel, bald, woe- +begone, with a long Bedouin head, and its hump, become limp in +consequence of unduly long fasts, hanging melancholically on one +side. + +Tartarin considered it so handsome that he wanted the entire party +to get upon it. Still his Oriental craze! + +The beast knelt down for them to strap on the boxes. + +The prince enthroned himself on the animal's neck. For the sake of +the greater majesty, Tartarin got them to hoist him on the top of the +hump between two boxes, where, proud, and cosily settled down, +he saluted the whole market with a lofty wave of the hand, and +gave the signal of departure. + +Thunderation! if the people of Tarascon could only have seen him! + +The camel rose, straightened up its long knotty legs, and stepped +out. + +Oh, stupor! At the end of a few strides Tartarin felt he was losing +colour, and the heroic chechia assumed one by one its former +positions in the days of sailing in the Zouave. This devil's own +camel pitched and tossed like a frigate. + +"Prince! prince!" gasped Tartarin pallid as a ghost, as he clung to +the dry tuft of the hump, "prince, let's get down. I find -- I feel that +I m-m-must get off; or I shall disgrace France." + +A deal of good that talk was -- the camel was on the go, and +nothing could stop it. Behind it raced four thousand barefooted +Arabs, waving their hands and laughing like mad, so that they made +six hundred thousand white teeth glitter in the sun. + +The great man of Tarascon had to resign himself to circumstances. +He sadly collapsed on the hump, where the fez took all the +positions it fancied, and France was disgraced. + + + +V. +The Night-watch in a Poison-tree Grove. + + +SWEETLY picturesque as was their new steed, our lion-hunters +had to give it up, purely out of consideration for the red cap, of +course. So they continued the journey on foot as before, the +caravan tranquilly proceeding southwardly by short stages, the +Tarasconian in the van, the Montenegrin in the rear, and the camel, +with the weapons in their cases, in the ranks. + +The expedition lasted nearly a month. + +During that seeking for lions which he never found, the dreadful +Tartarin roamed from douar to douar on the immense plain of the +Shelliff, through the odd but formidable French Algeria, where the +old Oriental perfumes are complicated by a strong blend of absinthe +and the barracks, Abraham and "the Zouzou" mingled, something +fairy-tale-like and simply burlesque, like a page of the Old +Testament related by Tommy Atkins. + +A curious sight for those who have eyes that can see. + +A wild and corrupted people whom we are civilising by teaching +them our vices. The ferocious and uncontrolled authority of +grotesque bashaws, who gravely use their grand cordons of the +Legion of Honour as handkerchiefs, and for a mere yea or nay +order a man to be bastinadoed. It is the justice of the +conscienceless, bespectacled cadis under the palm-tree, Maw- +worms of the Koran and Law, who dream languidly of promotion +and sell their decrees, as Esau did his birthright, for a dish of lentils +or sweetened kouskous. Drunken and libertine cadis are they, +formerly servants to some General Yusuf or the like, who get +intoxicated on champagne, along with laundresses from Port +Mahon, and fatten on roast mutton, whilst before their tents the +whole tribe waste away with hunger, and fight with the harriers for +the bones of the lordly feast. + +All around spread the plains in waste, burnt grass, leafless shrubs, +thickets of cactus and mastic -- "the Granary of France!" -- a +granary void of grain, alas! and rich alone in vermin and jackals. +Abandoned camps, frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine, +they know not whither, and strewing the road with corpses. At +long intervals French villages, with the dwellings in ruins, the fields +untilled, the maddened locusts gnawing even the window-blinds, +and all the settlers in the drinking-places, absorbing absinthe and +discussing projects of reform and the Constitution. + +This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the +trouble; but, wrapped up entirely in his leonine-hunger, the son of +Tarascon went straight on, looking to neither right nor left, his eyes +steadfastly fixed on the imaginary monsters which never really +appeared. + +As the shelter-tent was stubborn in not unfolding, and the +compressed meat-cakes would not dissolve, the caravan was +obliged to stop, morn and eve, at tribal camps. Everywhere, thanks +to the gorgeous cap of Prince Gregory, our hunters were welcomed +with open arms. They lodged in the aghas' odd palaces, large white +windowless farmhouses, where they found, pell-mell, narghilehs +and mahogany furniture, Smyrna carpets and moderator lamps, +cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins, and French statuette-decked +clocks in the Louis Philippe style. + +Everywhere, too, Tartarin was given splendrous galas, diffas, and +fantasias, which, being interpreted, mean feasts and circuses. In his +honour whole goums blazed away powder, and floated their +burnouses in the sun. When the powder was burnt, the agha would +come and hand in his bill. This is what is called Arab hospitality. + +But always no lions, no more than on London Bridge. + +Nevertheless, the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened. Ever +bravely diving more deeply into the South, he spent the days in +beating up the thickets, probing the dwarf-palms with the muzzle of +his rifle, and saying "Boh!" to every bush. And every evening, +before lying down, he went into ambush for two or three hours. +Useless trouble, however, for the lion did not show himself. + +One evening, though, going on six o'clock, as the caravan +scrambled through a violet-hued mastic-grove, where fat quails +tumbled about in the grass, drowsy through the heat, Tartarin of +Tarascon fancied he heard though afar and very vague, and thinned +down by the breeze -- that wondrous roaring to which he had so +often listened by Mitaine's Menagerie at home. + +At first the hero feared he was dreaming; but in an instant further +the roaring recommenced more distinct, although yet remote; and +this time the camel's hump shivered in terror, and made the tinned +meats and arms in the cases rattle, whilst all the dogs in the camps +were heard howling in every corner of the horizon. + +Beyond doubt this was the lion. + +Quick, quick! to the ambush. There was not a minute to lose. + +Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout's, or saint's, +tomb, with a white cupola, and the defunct's large yellow slippers +placed in a niche over the door, and a mass of odd offerings -- hems +of blankets, gold thread, red hair -- hung on the wall. + +Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in +search of a good spot for lying in wait. Prince Gregory wanted to +follow him, but the Tarasconian refused, bent on confronting Leo +alone. But still he besought His Highness not to go too far away, +and, as a measure of foresight, he entrusted him with his pocket- +book, a good-sized one, full of precious papers and bank-notes, +which he feared would get torn by the lion's claws. This done, our +hero looked up a good place. + +A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose-laurel +shook in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up. +There it was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself, one knee on +the ground, according to the regular rule, his rifle in his hand, and +his huge hunting-knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank. + +Night fell. + +The rosy tint of nature changed into violet, and then into dark blue. +A pretty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand-glass over the +river-pebbles; this was the watering-place of the wild animals. + +On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which +their heavy paws had traced in the brush -- a mysterious path which +made one's flesh creep. Join to this sensation that from the vague +swarming sound in African forests, the swishing of branches, the +velvety-pads of roving creatures, the jackal's shrill yelp, and up in +the sky, two or three hundred feet aloft, vast flocks of cranes +passing on with screams like poor little children having their +weasands slit. You will own that there were grounds for a man +being moved. + +Tartarin was so, and even more than that, for the poor fellow's +teeth chattered, and on the cross-bar of his hunting-knife, planted +upright in the bank, as we repeat, his rifle-barrel rattled like a pair +of castanets. Do not ask too much of a man! There are times when +one is not in the mood; and, moreover, where would be the merit if +heroes were never afraid? + +Well, yes, Tartarin was afraid, and all the time, too, for the matter +of that. Nevertheless, he held out for an hour; better, for two; but +heroism has its limits. Nigh him, in the dry part of the rivulet-bed, +the Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of +pebbles rolling. This time terror lifted him off the ground. He +banged away both barrels at haphazard into the night, and retreated +as fast as his legs would carry him to the marabout's chapel-vault, +leaving his knife standing up in the sand like a cross +commemorative of the grandest panic that ever assailed the soul of +a conqueror of hydras. + +"Help! this Way, prince; the lion is on me!" + +There was silence. "Prince, prince, are you there?" + +The prince was not there. On the white moonlit wall of the fane the +camel alone cast the queer-shaped shadow of his protuberance. +Prince Gregory had cut and run with the wallet of bank-notes. His +Highness had been for the month past awaiting this opportunity. + + + +VI. +Bagged him at Last. + + +IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and +dramatic eve that our hero awoke, and acquired assurance doubly +sure that the prince and the treasure had really gone off, without +any prospect of return. When he saw himself alone in the little +white tombhouse, betrayed, robbed, abandoned in the heart of +savage Algeria, with a one-humped camel and some pocket-money +as all his resources, then did the representative of Tarascon for the +first time doubt. He doubted Montenegro, friendship, glory, and +even lions; and the great man blubbered bitterly. + +Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary, holding +his head between his hands and his gun between his legs, with the +camel mooning at him, the thicket over the way was divided, and +the stupor-stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen +paces off. It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars, +which made the temple walls shake beneath their votive +decorations, and even the saint's slippers dance in their niche. + +The Tarasconian alone did not tremble. + +"At last you've come!" he shouted, jumping up and levelling the +rifle. + +Bang, bang! went a brace of shells into its head. + +It was done. For a minute, on the fiery background of the African +sky, there was a dreadful firework display of scattered brains, +smoking blood, and tawny hair. When all fell, Tartarin perceived +two colossal Negroes furiously running towards him, brandishing +cudgels. They were his two Negro acquaintances of Milianah! + +Oh, misery! + +This was the domesticated lion, the poor blind beggar of the +Mohammed Monastery, whom the Tarasconian's bullets had +knocked over. + +This time, spite of Mahound, Tartarin escaped neatly. Drunk with +fanatical fury, the two African collectors would have surely beaten +him to pulp had not the god of chase and war sent him a delivering +angel in the shape of the rural constable of the Orleansville +commune. By a bypath this garde champetre came up, his sword +tucked under his arm. + +The sight of the municipal cap suddenly calmed the Negroes' +choler. Peaceful and majestic, the officer with the brass badge drew +up a report on the affair, ordered the camel to be loaded with what +remained of the king of beasts, and the plaintiffs as well as the +delinquent to follow him, proceeding to Orleansville, where all was +deposited with the law-courts receiver. + +There issued a long and alarming case! + +After the Algeria of the native tribes which he had overrun, Tartarin +of Tarascon became thence acquainted with another Algeria, not +less weird and to be dreaded -- the Algeria in the towns, surcharged +with lawyers and their papers. He got to know the pettifogger who +does business at the back of a cafe -- the legal Bohemian with +documents reeking of wormwood bitters and white neckcloths +spotted with champoreau; the ushers, the attorneys, all the locusts +of stamped paper, meagre and famished, who eat up the colonist +body and boots -- ay, to the very straps of them, and leave him +peeled to the core like an Indian cornstalk, stripped leaf by leaf. + +Before all else it was necessary to ascertain whether the lion had +been killed on the civil or the military territory. In the former case +the matter regarded the Tribunal of Commerce; in the second, +Tartarin would be dealt with by the Council of War: and at the +mere name the impressionable Tarasconian saw himself shot at the +foot of the ramparts or huddled up in a casemate-silo. + +The puzzle lay in the limitation of the two territories being very +hazy in Algeria. + +At length, after a month's running about, entanglements, and +waiting under the sun in the yards of Arab Departmental offices, it +was established that, whereas the lion had been killed on the +military territory, on the other hand Tartarin was in the civil +territory when he shot. So the case was decided in the civil courts, +and our hero was let off on paying two thousand five hundred +francs damages, costs not included. + +How could he pay such a sum? + +The few piashtres escaped from the prince's sweep had long since +gone in legal documents and judicial libations. The unfortunate +lion-destroyer was therefore reduced to selling the store of guns by +retail, rifle by rifle; so went the daggers, the Malay kreeses, and the +life-preservers. A grocer purchased the preserved aliments; an +apothecary what remained of the medicaments. The big boots +themselves walked off after the improved tent to a dealer of +curiosities, who elevated them to the dignity of "rarities from +Cochin-China." + +When everything was paid up, only the lion's skin and the camel +remained to Tartarin. The hide he had carefully packed, to be sent +to Tarascon to the address of brave Commandant Bravida, and, +later on, we shall see what came of this fabulous trophy. As for the +camel, he reckoned on making use of him to get back to Algiers, +not by riding on him, but by selling him to pay his coach-fare -- the +best way to employ a camel in travelling. Unhappily the beast was +difficult to place, and no one would offer a copper for him. + +Still Tartarin wanted to regain Algiers by hook or crook. He was in +haste again to behold Baya's blue bodice, his little snuggery and his +fountains, as well as to repose on the white trefoils of his little +cloister whilst awaiting money from France. So our hero did not +hesitate; distressed but not downcast, he undertook to make the +journey afoot and penniless by short stages. + +In this enterprise the camel did not cast him off. The strange animal +had taken an unaccountable fancy for his master, and on seeing him +leave Orleansville, he set to striding steadfastly behind him, +regulating his pace by this, and never quitting him by a yard. + +At the first outset Tartarin found this touching; such fidelity and +devotion above proof went to his heart, all the more because the +creature was accommodating, and fed himself on nothing. +Nevertheless, after a few days, the Tarasconian was worried by +having this glum companion perpetually at his heels, to remind him +of his misadventures. Ire arising, he hated him for his sad aspect, +hump and gait of a goose in harness. To tell the whole truth, he +held him as his Old Man of the Sea, and only pondered on how to +shake him off; but the follower would not be shaken off. Tartarin +attempted to lose him, but the camel always found him; he tried to +outrun him, but the camel ran faster. He bade him begone, and +hurled stones at him. The camel stopped with a mournful mien, but +in a minute resumed the pursuit, and always ended by overtaking +him. Tartarin had to resign himself. + +For all that, when, after eight full days of tramping, the dusty and +harassed Tarasconian espied the first white housetops of Algiers +glimmer from afar in the verdure, and when he got to the city gates +on the noisy Mustapha Avenue, amid the Zouaves, Biskris, and +Mahonnais, all swarming around him and staring at him trudging by +with his camel, overtasked patience escaped him. + +"No! no!" he growled, "it is not likely! I cannot enter Algiers with +such an animal!" + +Profiting by a jam of vehicles, he turned off into the fields and +jumped into a ditch. In a minute or so he saw over his head on the +highway the camel flying off with long strides and stretching his +neck with a wistful air. + +Relieved of a great weight thereby, the hero sneaked out of his +covert, and entered the town anew by a circuitous path which +skirted the wall of his own little garden. + + + +VII. +Catastrophes upon Catastrophes. + + +ENTIRELY astonished was Tartarin before his Moorish dwelling +when he stopped. + +Day was dying and the street deserted. Through the low pointed- +arch doorway which the negress had forgotten to close, laughter +was heard; and the clink of wine-glasses, the popping of champagne +corks; and, floating over all the jolly uproar, a feminine voice +singing clearly and joyously: + +"Do you like, Marco la Bella, to dance in the hall hung with +bloom?" + +"Throne of heaven!" ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he +rushed into the enclosure. + +Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of +the little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, +tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing "Marco la Bella" with a +ship captain's cap over one ear. She had on no blue vest or bodice; +indeed, her only wear was a silvery gauze wrapper and full pink +trousers. At her feet, on a rug, surfeited with love and sweetmeats, +Barbassou, the infamous skipper Barbassou, was bursting with +laughter at hearing her. + +The apparition of Tartarin, haggard, thinned, dusty, his flaming +eyes, and the bristling up fez tassel, sharply interrupted this tender +Turkish-Marseillais orgie. Baya piped the low whine of a +frightened leveret, and ran for safety into the house. But Barbassou +did not wince; he only laughed the louder, saying: + +"Ha, ha, Monsieur Tartarin! What do you say to that now? You +see she does know French." + +Tartarin of Tarascon advanced furiously, crying: + +"Captain!" + +"Digo-li que vengue, moun bon! -- Tell him what's happened, old +dear!" screamed the Moorish woman, leaning over the first floor +gallery with a pretty low-bred gesture! + +The poor man, overwhelmed, let himself collapse upon a drum. His +genuine Moorish beauty not only knew French, but the French of +Marseilles! + +"I told you not to trust the Algerian girls," observed Captain +Barbassou sententiously! "They're as tricky as your Montenegrin +prince." + +Tartarin lifted his head + +"Do you know where the prince is?" + +"Oh, he's not far off. He has gone to live five years in the +handsome prison of Mustapha. The rogue let himself be caught +with his hand in the pocket. Anyways, this is not the first time he +has been clapped into the calaboose. His Highness has already +done three years somewhere, and -- stop a bit! I believe it was at +Tarascon." + +"At Tarascon!" cried out her worthiest son, abruptly enlightened. +"That's how he only knew one part of the Town." + +"Hey? Of course. Tarascon -- a jail bird's-eye view from the state +prison. I tell you, my poor Monsieur Tartarin, you have to keep +your peepers jolly well skinned in this deuce of a country, or be +exposed to very disagreeable things. For a sample, there's the +muezzin's game with you." + +"What game? Which muezzin?" + +"Why your'n, of course! The chap across the way who is making up +to Baya. That newspaper, the Akbar, told the yarn t'other day, and +all Algiers is laughing over it even now. It is so funny for that +steeplejack up aloft in his crow's-nest to make declarations of love +under your very nose to the little beauty whilst singing out his +prayers, and making appointments with her between bits of the +Koran." + +"Why, then, they're all scamps in this country!" howled the unlucky +Tarasconian. + +Barbassou snapped his fingers like a philosopher. + +"My dear lad, you know, these new countries are 'rum!' But, +anyhow, if you'll believe me, you'd best cut back to Tarascon at full +speed." + +"It's easy to say, 'Cut back.' Where's the money to come from? +Don't you know that I was plucked out there in the desert?" + +"What does that matter?" said the captain merrily. "The Zouave +sails tomorrow, and if you like I will take you home. Does that suit +you, mate? Ay? Then all goes well. You have only one thing to do. +There are some bottles of fizz left, and half the pie. Sit you down +and pitch in without any grudge." + +After the minute's wavering which self-respect commanded, the +Tarasconian chose his course manfully. Down he sat, and they +touched glasses. Baya, gliding down at that chink, sang the finale +of "Marco la Bella," and the jollification was prolonged deep into +the night. + +About 3 A.M., with a light head but a heavy foot, our good +Tarasconian was returning from seeing his friend the captain off +when, in passing the mosque, the remembrance of his muezzin and +his practical jokes made him laugh, and instantly a capital idea of +revenge flitted through his brain. + +The door was open. He entered, threaded long corridors hung with +mats, mounted and kept on mounting till he finally found himself in +a little oratory, where an openwork iron lantern swung from the +ceiling, and embroidered an odd pattern in shadows upon the +blanched walls. + +There sat the crier on a divan, in his large turban and white pelisse, +with his Mostaganam pipe, and a bumper of absinthe before him, +which he whipped up in the orthodox manner, whilst awaiting the +hour to call true believers to prayer. At view of Tartarin, he +dropped his pipe in terror. + +"Not a word, knave!" said the Tarasconian, full of his project. +"Quick! Off with turban and coat!" + +The Turkish priest-crier tremblingly handed over his outer +garments, as he would have done with anything else. Tartarin +donned them, and gravely stepped out upon the minaret platform. + +In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the +moonbeams. On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few +belated guitars. The Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for +the effort during a space, and then, raising his arms, he set to +chanting in a very shrill voice: + +"La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the +Koran, bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties -- they are all not worth a +fly's skip! There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live +Tarascon!" + +Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and +Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea, +town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other +muezzins answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to +minaret, and the believers of the upper town devoutly beat their +bosoms. + + +VIII. +Tarascon again! + + +MID-DAY has come. + +The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of +the Valentin Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling +telescopes, and, with the colonel at their head, looking at the lucky +little craft that was going back to France. This is the main +distraction of the staff. On the lower level, the roads glittered. The +old Turkish cannon breaches, stuck up along the waterside, blazed +in the sun. The passengers hurried, Biskris and Mahonnais piled +their luggage up in the wherries. + +Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue +de la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, +accompanied by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left +on the Moorish strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he +had to sail for Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty +pockets. He had barely leaped into the captain's cutter before a +breathless beast slid down from the heights of the square and +galloped towards him. It was the faithful camel, who had been +hunting after his master in Algiers during the last four-and-twenty +hours. + +On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to +know him, but the camel was not going to be put off. He +scampered along the quay; he whinnied for his friend, and regarded +him with affection. + +"Take me away," his sad eyes seemed to say, "take me away in your +ship, far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the +East, full of locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so +sorely out of keeping that I do not know what will become of me. +You are the last real Turk, and I am the last camel. Do not let us +part, O my Tartarin!" + +"Is that camel yours?" the captain inquired. + +"Not a bit of it!" replied Tartarin, who shuddered at the idea of +entering Tarascon with that ridiculous escort; and, impudently +denying the companion of his misfortunes, he spurned the Algerian +soil with his foot, and gave the cutter the shoving-off start. The +camel sniffed of the water, extended its neck, cracked its joints, +and, jumping in behind the row-boat at haphazard, he swam +towards the Zouave with his humpback floating like a bladder, and +his long neck projecting over the wave like the beak of a galley. + +Cutter and camel came alongside the mail steamer together. + +"This dromedary regularly cuts me up," observed Captain +Barbassou, quite affected. "I have a good mind to take him aboard +and make a present of him to the Zoological Gardens at +Marseilles." + +And so they hauled up the camel with many blocks and tackles +upon the deck, being increased in weight by the brine, and the +Zouave started. + +Tartarin spent the two days of the crossing by himself in his +stateroom, not because the sea was rough, or that the red fez had +too much to suffer, but because the deuced camel, as soon as his +master appeared above decks, showed him the most preposterous +attentions. You never did see a camel make such an exhibition of a +man as this. + +From hour to hour, through the cabin portholes, where he stuck out +his nose now and then, Tartarin saw the Algerian blue sky pale +away; until one morning, in a silvery fog, he heard with delight +Marseilles bells ringing out. The Zouave had arrived and cast +anchor. + +Our man, having no luggage, got off without saying anything, +hastily slipped through Marseilles for fear he was still pursued by +the camel, and never breathed till he was in a third-class carriage +making for Tarascon. + +Deceptive security! + +Hardly were they two leagues from the city before every head was +stuck out of window. There were outcries and astonishment. +Tartarin looked in his turn, and what did he descry! the camel, +reader, the inevitable camel, racing along the line behind the train, +and keeping up with it! The dismayed Tartarin drew back and shut +his eyes. + +After this disastrous expedition of his he had reckoned on slipping +into his house incognito. But the presence of this burdensome +quadruped rendered the thing impossible. What kind of a triumphal +entry would he make? Good heavens! not a sou, not a lion, nothing +to show for it save a camel! + +"Tarascon! Tarascon!" + +He was obliged to get down. + +O amazement! + +Scarce had the hero's red fez popped out of the doorway before a +loud shout of "Tartarin for ever!" made the glazed roof of the +railway station tremble. "Long life to Tartarin, the lion-slayer!" +And out burst the windings of horns and the choruses of the local +musical societies. + +Tartarin felt death had come: he believed in a hoax. But, no! all +Tarascon was there, waving their hats, all of the same way of +thinking. Behold the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde the +armourer, the Chief Judge, the chemist, and the whole noble corps +of cap-poppers, who pressed around their leader, and carried him in +triumph out through the passages. + +Singular effects of the mirage! -- the hide of the blind lion sent to +Bravida was the cause of all this riot. With that humble fur +exhibited in the club-room, the Tarasconians, and, at the back of +them, the whole South of France, had grown exalted. The +Semaphore newspaper had spoken of it. A drama had been +invented. It was not merely a solitary lion which Tartarin had slain, +but ten, nay, twenty -- pooh! a herd of lions had been made +marmalade of. Hence, on disembarking at Marseilles, Tartarin was +already celebrated without being aware of it, and an enthusiastic +telegram had gone on before him by two hours to his native place. + +But what capped the climax of the popular gladness was to see a +fancifully shaped animal, covered with foam and dust, appear +behind the hero, and stumble down the station stairs. + +Tarascon for an instant believed that its dragon was come again. + +Tartarin set his fellow-citizens at ease. + +"This is my camel," he said. + +Already feeling the influence of the splendid sun of Tarascon, which +makes people tell "bouncers" unwittingly, he added, as he fondled +the camel's hump: + +"It is a noble beast! It saw me kill all my lions!" + +Whereupon he familiarly took the arm of the commandant, who +was red with pleasure; and followed by his camel, surrounded by +the cap-hunters, acclaimed by all the population, he placidly +proceeded towards the Baobab Villa; and, on the march, thus +commenced the account of his mighty hunting: + +"Once upon an evening, you are to imagine that, out in the depths +of the Sahara" -- + + + +APPENDIX + +Obituary of Alphonse Daudet. + + +17th December 1897 +DEATH OF A FRENCH NOVELIST. +ALPHONSE DAUDET. + +M. Alphonse Daudet, the eminent French novelist and playwright, +died suddenly yesterday evening while at dinner The cause of death +was syncope due to failure of the heart. + +Alphonse Daudet was born of poor parents at Nimes in 1840. He +studied in the Lyons Lyceum, and then became usher in a school at +Alais. Going to Paris to seek his fortune in literature in 1858, he +succeeded in publishing a book of verses entitled Les Amoreuses, +which led to his employment by several newspapers. He published +many novels and tales, and about half a dozen plays. His most +popular work is "Les Morticoles." His son, Leon Daudet, is a +litterateur of promise. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tartarin of Tarascon, by Alphonse Daudet + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARTARIN OF TARASCON *** + +This file should be named trtrn11.txt or trtrn11.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, trtrn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, trtrn10a.txt + +This etext was prepared by Donal O'Danachair, email +kodak_seaside@hotmail.com. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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