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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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