Alphonse Daudet

“ Huge Arabs, naked beneath their long woolen garments, little Moors dressed in rags, Negroes, Tunisians, hotel waiters in white aprons, pushing and shouting, plucking at his clothes, fighting over his luggage; one grabbing his preserves another his medicine chest and, in a screeching babel of noise, throwing at his head the improbable names of hotels.... Deafened by this tumult, Tartarin ran hither and thither,struggling, fuming, and cursing after his baggage, and not knowing how to communicate with these barbarians, harangued them in French, Provencal and even what he could remember of Latin. ”

“ With this lust for adventure, this need for excitement, this longing for journeys to Lord knows where, how on earth, you may ask, does it happen that Tartarin had never left Tarascon? For it is a fact that up to the age of forty-five the bold Tarasconais had never slept away from his home town. He had never even made the ritual journey to Marseille which every good Provencal makes when he comes of age. He might, of course, have visited Beaucaire, albeit Beaucaire is not very far from Tarascon, as one has only to cross the bridge over the Rhône. ”

“ The expedition lasted for a month. For a whole month, Tartarin, hunting for non-existent lions, wandered from village to village in the immense plain of the Chetiff, across this extraordinary, cock-eyed French Algeria, where the perfumes of ancient Araby are mingled with a powerful stink of Absinthe and barrack-room; Abraham and Zouzou combined, a strange mixture like a page of the Old Testament rewritten by Sergeant Le Ramée or Corporal Pitou.... A curious spectacle for those who would care to look.... A savage and decadent people whom we are civilising by giving them our own vices. ”

“ As the lady did not understand French and Tartarin did not speak a word of Arabic, conversation languished somewhat and the talkative Tarasconais had time to repent of any intemperate loquaciousness of which he might have been guilty at Bezuquet’s pharmacy or Costecalde the gunsmith’s shop. This penance even had a certain charm. There was something almost voluptuous in going all day without speaking, hearing only the bubble of the hookah, the strumming of the guitar and the gentle splashing of the fountain amid the mosaic tiles of his courtyard. ”

“ There was just time enough to inspect his equipment, to don his arms and accoutrements, to put on his big boots, to write a few lines to prince Gregory, confiding Baia to his care, to slip into an envelope some banknotes, wet with tears, and the intrepid Tarasconais was in a stage-coach, rolling down the road to Blidah, leaving the stupefied negress in his house, gazing at the turban, the slippers and all the muslim rig-out of Sidi Tart’ri, hanging discarded on the wall. ”

“ Now, every Sunday morning, the men of Tarascon take up arms and leave town, bag on back and gun on shoulder, with an excited collection of dogs, with ferrets, with trumpets and hunting horns, it is a splendid spectacle.... Sadly, however, there is a shortage of game... in fact there is a total absence of game.... Animals may be dumb but they are not stupid, so for miles around Tarascon the burrows are empty and the nests abandoned. There is not a quail, not a blackbird, not the smallest rabbit nor even the tiniest wheatear. ”

“ There is after all a considerable difference between a lion and a bourriquot. This was quickly replaced by a feeling of pity. The poor bourriqout was so pretty, so gentle, its warm flanks rising and falling as it breathed. Tartarin knelt down and with the end of his sash he tried to staunch the blood from its wound. The sight of this great man tending the little donkey was the most touching thing you could imagine. At the soothing contact of the sash, the bourriquot, which was already at death’s door, opened a big grey eye and twitched once or twice its long ears, as if to say “Thank you!... ”

“ My dear M. Tartarin, I did not come here of my own free will I can promise you. Once the railway reached Beaucaire no one could find a use for me so I was shipped off to Africa... and I am not the only one, nearly all the stage-coaches in France have been deported like me; we were found too old fashioned and now here we all are, leading a life of slavery.” Here the old coach gave a long sigh, then she went on: “I can’t tell you monsieur Tartarin how much I miss my lovely Tarascon. ”

“ He encountered a sleazy justicary who stitched up shady deals in the back rooms of cafés. The Bohemian society of the gentlemen of the law; dossiers which stank of absinthe, white cravats speckled with drink and coffee stains. He was embroiled with ushers, solicitors, and business agents, all the locusts of officialdom, thin and ravenous, who strip the colonist down to his boots and leave him shorn leaf by leaf like a stalk of maize.
The first essential point to be decided was whether the lion had been killed on civil or military territory. ”

“ We swim across rivers, we are cold, soaked and half drowned... Whip!... Whip!... Whip! Then in the evening, dripping wet... that’s good for me at my age... I have to bed down in the yard of some caravan halt, exposed to all the winds. At night jackals and hyenas come to sniff at my lockers and creatures which fear the dawn hide in my compartments. That’s the life I lead, monsieur Tartarin, and I shall lead until the day when, scorched by sun and rotted by humid nights, I shall fall at some corner of this beastly road, where Arabs will boil their cous-cous on the remains of my old carcase. ”

“ You must admit that this could be unsettling, and Tartarin was unsettled, he was even very unsettled! His teeth chattered and the rifle shook in his hands; well... there are evenings when one is not at one’s best, and where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid? ”

“ The arrival of Tartarin with the rifle on his shoulder produced something of a chill, all the bold Tarasconais who had been walking tranquilly before the cages, unarmed, trusting, with no notion of danger, became suddenly alarmed at the sight of the great Tartarin entering the place, carrying this lethal weapon. There must be something to fear if he, their hero.... In the blink of an eye the area in front of the cages was deserted, children were crying with fright and the ladies were eying the doorway. Bezuquet the chemist left hurridly, saying that he was going to fetch a gun. ”

“ Suddenly he saw striding past him, long-legged and proud as a turkey cock, a magnificent camel. The sight quickened his pulse; where there were camels lions could not be far away, and indeed within five minutes he saw coming towards him with guns on their shoulders, a whole company of lion hunters with their dogs.
A cowardly lot, thought Tartarin, as he came alongside them... hunting lions in a group and with dogs... for it had never occurred to him that In Algeria one could hunt anything but lions. ”

“ The Maison Carrée at Nimes, a pretty little Roman temple, will seem to you as big as Notre Dame. You will see that the only liar in the Midi, if there is one, is the sun; everything that he touches he exaggerates. Can you be surprised that this sun shining down on Tarascon has been able to make a retired Captain Quartermaster into the gallant Commandant Bravida, to make a thing like a turnip into a baobab and a man who almost went to Shanghai into one who has really been there. ”

“ On the quay, on sunday evenings, when Tartarin returned from the hunt, his hat dangling from the end of his gun, the stevedores would nod to him respectfully and eying the arms bulging the sleeves of his tightly buttoned jacket, would murmur to one another, “He’s strong he is. He’s got double muscles.” The possession of double muscles is something you hear about only in Tarascon. ”

“ At that moment the coach door was opened, letting in a gust of fresh air, which bore on its wings, amongst the scent of orange blossom, a very small gentleman in a brown overcoat. Neat, elderly, thin and wrinkled, with a face no bigger than a fist, a silk cravat five fingers high, a leather brief-case and an umbrella. The perfect image of a village notary. On seeing Tartarin’s weaponry, the little gentleman, who was seated opposite him, looked very surprised, and began to stare at our hero. ”

“ The one who hits his hat most frequently is proclaimed king of the hunt and returns to Tarascon that evening in triumph, his perforated hat hanging from the end of his gun and to the accompaniment of much barking and blowing of trumpets.
One need hardly tell you that there is a brisk trade in hats in the town, and there are even hatters who sell hats already full of holes and tears for use by the less skillful, but scarcely anyone is known to buy them except Bezuquet the chemist.
As a hat shooter Tartarin had no equal. Every Sunday morning he left with a new hat. ”

“ The society in the Zouave was as cheerful as it was diverse. There were some officers on their way to rejoin their units, a bevy of tarts from Marseille, a rich Mahommedan merchant, returning from Mecca, some strolling players, a Montenegran prince, a great joker this, who did impersonations.... Not one of these people was sea-sick and they spent the time drinking champagne with the captain of the Zouave, a fat “Bon viveur” from Marseille, who had an establishment there and another in Algiers, and who rejoiced in the name of Barbassou. Tartarin hated all these people. ”

“ Instead of replying Barbassou regarded him wide-eyed for a few moments, and then he began to laugh and laugh, so that Tartarin sat stunned among his water-melons. “What a get-up, my poor monsieur Tartarin. It’s true then what people say, that you have become a Teur? And little Baia, does she still sing ‘Marco la belle’ all the time?” “Marco la belle,” said Tartarin indignantly, “I’ll have you know Captain, that the person of whom you speak is an honest Moorish girl who doesn’t know a word of French!” “Baia?... Not a word of French?... Where have you come from?” ”

“ You should have seen the success of our hero in the drawing-rooms. He was seized, squabbled over, borrowed and stolen. There was no greater triumph for the ladies than to go, on the arm of Tartarin, to the menagerie Mitaine and to have him explain, in front of the lion’s cage, how one goes about hunting these great beasts, at what point one aims and at what distance, whether there are many accidents, and so on... through his reading Tartarin had gained almost as much knowledge about lion hunting as if he had actually engaged in it himself, and so he spoke of these matters with much authority. ”

“ After they had left, Sidi Tart’ri and his faithful spouse would finish the evening on their terrace, a large white-walled terrace which formed the roof of the building and looked out over the town. All about them a thousand other terraces, tranquil in the moonlight, dropped one below the other down to the sea. Suddenly, like a burst of stars, a great clear chant rose heavenward and on the minaret of the nearby mosque a handsome Muezzin appeared, his white outline silhouetted against the deep blue of the night sky. ”

“ In the evenings prince Gregory came, to talk a little about free Montenegro. Of indefatigable complaisance, this agreeable nobleman undertook in the house the function of interpreter and, if need be, even that of steward, and all for nothing. Apart from him, Tartarin had only “Teurs” as visitors. All of those ferocious bandits which in the depths of their dark shops he once found so frightening, turned out to be harmless tradesmen, embroiderers, spice sellers, turners of pipe mouthpieces. Discrete, courteous people, modest, shrewd, and good at cards. ”

“ However, some African merchants who came to the fair at Beaucaire, claim to have met, in the heart of the desert, a white man whose description corresponds with his and who was heading for Timbuctoo. May God preserve our Tartarin!”
When he read this, Tartarin blushed and trembled. All Tarascon rose before his eyes. The club. The hat hunters. The green armchair at Costecalde’s shop: and soaring above, like the extended wings of an eagle, the formidable moustache of the brave Commandant Bravida. ”

“ Said Costecalde, smiling, and this remark spread round the town like wildfire, for people had lost their belief in Tartarin. The ignorant, the chicken-hearted, people like Bezuquet, whom a flea could put to flight, and who could not fire a gun without closing both eyes, these above all were pitiless. At the club, on the esplanade, they accosted poor Tartarin with little mocking remarks, “Et autremain, what about this trip then?” At Costecalde’s shop his opinion was no longer law. The hat hunters had deserted their leader. ”

“ It wil be some time before Tartarin de Tarascon comes to slaughter you. At the moment his equipment, his arms, his medicine chest, the preserved food and the bivouac tent are piled up peacefully in a corner of room 36 in the Hotel de l’Europe. Sleep without fear, great tawny lions! The Tarasconais is searching for his Moor.
Since the events in the omnibus, the unhappy man seems to feel constantly on his feet the scurrying of the little red mouse, and the sea breeze which wafts across his face seems somehow perfumed by an amorous odour of patisserie and anise. ”

“ The little money left after the prince’s defection had long since gone on legal documents and judicial absinthe. The unfortunate lion killer was now reduced to selling off his armament rifle by rifle. He sold the daggers, the knives and coshes. A grocer bought the preserved food, a chemist what was left of the medicine chest. Even the boots went, with the bivouac tent, into the hands of a merchant of bric-a-brac. Once everything had been paid, Tartarin was left with little but the lion-skin and the camel. ”

“ Tartarin knew at once that it was “Them” The fearsome “Them” who he had so often expected at night in the streets of Tarascon. Now they had arrived.
At first surprise glued him to the spot, but when he saw the pirates hurl themselves on the baggage, tear off the tarpaulin covers and begin to pillage the ship, our hero came to life. Drawing his hunting knife and shouting “Aux armes!... Aux armes!” To his fellow passengers, he prepared to lead an assault on the raiders. “Ques aco?... What’s the matter with you?” Said Captain Barbassou as he came off the bridge. ”