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ALPHONSE DAUDET 
 
 PORT TARASCON 
 
 Zbc Xast a&ventures 
 
 "OF THK 
 
 ILLUSTRIOUS TARTARIN 
 
 TRANSLATED 
 
 Bv HEiNRY JAMES 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BY ROSSI, MYRBACH, MONTEGUT, BIELER 
 AND MONTENARD 
 
 N E \\" \' O K K 
 
 HARPER & BROTH K R S. FRANKLIN' SQUARE 
 
 189I 
 
Copyright, 1890, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 A II rights reserved. 
 

 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 The three great episodes in the career of Al- 
 phonse Daudet's genial and hapless hero form 
 together so vivid a picture and so complete a 
 history, are so full of reciprocal reference and 
 confirmation, that it is scarcely fair to fix our 
 attention on one of them without bearing the 
 others in mind. They have this quality of the 
 great classic trilogies, that each of them gains 
 in interest by being read in the light of the oth- 
 ers, so that the whole work becomes, in its way, 
 a high example of artistic consistency. If the 
 reader turn back to Tartarin of Tarascon, of 
 which the main subject is the worthy bachelor's 
 passion for the pursuit of imaginary beasts — of 
 course he is incapable of killing a fly — he will 
 see how the author has vivified the conception 
 from the first, putting into it an intensity of life 
 that could only throb on, hilariously, into new 
 exuberances. Those readers to whom Tartar- 
 in's earlier adventures have not been definitely 
 revealed — his visit to Algeria in pursuit of the 
 lion of the Atlas, his wonderful appearance in 
 Switzerland, where he qualifies himself, by rare 
 I 
 
2 TRANSLATORS PREFACE. 
 
 and grotesque achievements, for the presidency 
 of the Alpine Club of Tarascon, an office in 
 regard to which the bilious Costecalde is his 
 competitor — such uninstructed persons had bet- 
 ter turn immediately to the first and second 
 parts of the delightful record. They will there 
 acquire a further insight into some of the mat- 
 ters tantalizingly alluded to in Port Tarascon 
 — the baobab and the camel, the lion-skins, the 
 poisoned arrows, the alpenstock of honor, the 
 critical hours passed in a damp dungeon in the 
 Chateau de Chillon. 
 
 We must praise, moreover, not only the evo- 
 cation of the sonorous and sociable little fig- 
 ure of Tartarin himself — broad of shoulder and 
 bright of eye, bald of head, short of beard, belt- 
 ed on a comfortable scale for all exploits — but 
 the bright image of the wonderfully human lit- 
 tle town which he has made renowned, and in 
 which the charming art of touching up the 
 truth — the poor, bare, shabby facts of things — is 
 represented as flourishing more than anywhere 
 else upon earth. A compendium of all the 
 droll idiosyncrasies of his birthplace, Tartarin 
 makes them epic and world-famous, hands them 
 down to a warm immortality of condonation. 
 Daudet has humorously described in a " defini- 
 tive " preface (just as he alludes to them in the 
 
TRANSLATORS PREFACE. 3 
 
 opening pages of Port Tarascoii) some of the 
 consequences, personal to himself, of this acci- 
 dent of his having happened to point his moral 
 as well as adorn his tale with the little patch of 
 Provence that sits opposite to Beaucaire by the 
 Rhone. Guided in his irrepressible satiric play 
 by his haunting sense of the French " Midi," his 
 own provoking, engaging clime, it was quite at 
 hazard that in his quest of the characteristic he 
 put his hand on Tarascon. What he wanted 
 was some little Southern community that he 
 could place in comic and pathetic, at times al- 
 most in tragic, opposition to the colder, grayer 
 Northern stripe in the national temperament. 
 Tarascon resented at first such compromising 
 patronage. She shook her plump tjrown shoul- 
 ders and tried to wriggle out of custody. The 
 quarrel, however, has now been more than made 
 up, for the sensitive city, weighing the shame 
 against the glory, has not, in the long-run, been 
 perverse enough to pretend that the 'affair has 
 cost her too much. It was, in fact, in regard to 
 sweet old dusty Roman Nimes, his native town, 
 that he had permitted himself, in intention, the 
 worst of his irreverences. At any rate, what 
 most readers will say is that if the Tarascon of 
 fact is not like the Tarascon of art, so much the 
 worse for the former. 
 
4 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 It is impossible not to ask one's self whether 
 the author foresaw from the first the sequel and 
 the conclusion of Tartarin's life ; whether the 
 first episode was a part of a conscious plan. The 
 reason of this curiosity is that everything fits 
 and corresponds so beautifully with everything 
 else — the later developments are contained so 
 in germ in the earlier. But curiosity as to the 
 way exquisite things are produced in literature 
 is an attitude as to which the profit is mainly in 
 the healthy exercise of the faculty ; for the ques- 
 tions it presses most eagerly are the most unan- 
 swerable. They are not, at any rate, the ques- 
 tions the man of genius himself most confidently 
 meets. It is probable that Tartarin's full possi- 
 bilities glimmered before his biographer even 
 in the early chapters, but that they remained 
 vague, in their vividness, till they were attempted 
 — just as the lair of the lion and the land of the 
 glacier both attracted and eluded the prudent 
 Tartarin himself, till the rising growl of public 
 opinion put him really on his mettle. The rest 
 of the whole work — its general harmony and 
 roundness — is neatness and tact of execution. 
 
 Tartarin's word about himself, quoted from 
 his historian, that he is Don Quixote in the 
 skin of Sancho Panza, is the best summary of 
 his contradictions. The author's treatment of 
 
TRANSLATORS PREFACK. 5 
 
 these contradictions is of the happiest ; he keeps 
 the threads of the tangle so distinct, and with so 
 light a hand. Whenever life is caught in the 
 fact with this sort of art, what shines out even 
 more than the freshness of the particular case 
 is its general correspondence with our experi- 
 ence. It becomes typical and suggestive and 
 confirmatory in all sorts of ways, and that is 
 how it becomes supremely interesting. The 
 fat little boastful bachelor by the Rhone -side, 
 with his poisoned arrows and his baobab, his 
 perfect candor and his tremendous lies, his good 
 intentions and his perpetual mistakes, presents 
 to us a kind of eternal, essential ambiguity, an 
 antagonism which many fallible souls spend 
 their time trying to simplify. What is this 
 ambiguity but the opposition of the idea and 
 the application — the beauty one would like to 
 compass in life and the innumerable snippets 
 by which that beauty is abbreviated in the busi- 
 ness of fitting it to our personal measure ? 
 There are two men in Tartarin, and there are 
 two men in all of us ; only, of course, to make a 
 fine case, M. Daudet has zigzagged the line of 
 their respective oddities. As he says so amus- 
 ingly in Tartm'in of Tarascon, in his compari- 
 son of the very different promptings of these 
 inner voices, when the Don Quixote sounds the 
 
TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 
 
 appeal, " Cover yourself with glory !" the Sancho 
 Panza murmurs the qualification, " Cover your- 
 self with flannel !" The glory is everything the 
 imagination regales itself with as a luxury of 
 reputation — the rcgardcllc so prettily described 
 in the last pages of Pcwt Tarascon; the flannel 
 is everything that life demands as a tribute to 
 reality — a gage of self-preservation. The glory 
 reduced to a tangible texture too often turns 
 out to be mere prudent underclothing. 
 
 Tarascon was inordinately fond of glory. It 
 was this love of glory at bottom that dragged 
 it across the seas, where it so speedily became 
 conscious of a greater need for flannel than its 
 individual resources could supply. Delightful 
 was M. Daudet's idea of illustrating the gro- 
 tesque and inevitable compromise by the life 
 of a whole community. We have had them all 
 before; they all peep out in the first book of the 
 series — Bezuquet and Pascalon, Bompard and 
 Bravida, Costecalde and Escourbanies, Made- 
 moiselle Tournatoire and her brother, the blood- 
 letting: doctor. We have listened to the min- 
 gled nasality and sonority of their chatter, and 
 admired in several cases the bold brush of 
 their mustaches. We move in the aroma of 
 garlic that constitutes their social atmosphere, 
 and that suffuses somehow with inconsfruous 
 
TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. 7 
 
 picturesqucncss the Gallo- Roman mementos 
 of their civic past We have already, in Tar tar- 
 in of Tarascou, seen poor Mademoiselle Tour- 
 natoire, at her casement, with a face like a white 
 horse, fixing fond eyes, as he passes, on her 
 heroic fellow-townsman. We have heard the 
 shrill of the cicadas on the " Walk Round," 
 and the pipe of the little bootblacks before 
 Tartarin's little gate. We know everything 
 possible about the great man, down to the de- 
 tails of his personal habits and the peculiarities 
 of his pronunciation, and how he knotted his 
 bandanna before he w^ent to bed, and where he 
 kept the poisoned arrows, and where he could 
 put his hand upon Captain Cook, and where 
 upon Bougainville. We have lived with him 
 so intimately that it makes a great difference to 
 us that he has at last played his part out. 
 
 The only defect of Port Tarascon is that it 
 leaves no more to come ; it exhausts the possi- 
 bilities. But the idea is vivid in it to the end, 
 and poetic justice is vindicated. If the drama 
 is over, it is the drama of the contending spir- 
 its. From the moment one of these spirits 
 wins the victory and destroys the equilibrium, 
 there is nothing left for Tartarin but to retire 
 to Beaucaire, and Beaucaire, of course, is extinc- 
 tion. Wlien the Sancho Panza sees his ro- 
 
8 translator's preface. 
 
 mantic counterpart laid utterly low— I needn't 
 mention where the victory lies, nor take the 
 edge from the reader's own perception of the 
 catastrophe ; it is enough to say that the thrill 
 of battle could only be over from the moment 
 such abundant and discouraging evidence was 
 produced of the quantity of compromise it takes 
 to transmute our dreams into action, our in- 
 spiration into works — even Sancho Panza, for all 
 his escape, his gain of security, weeps for the 
 prostrate hidalgo. Tartarin is betrayed by his 
 compromises ; they rise up and jeer at him and 
 denounce him. But he granted them in good 
 faith ; he was unconscious of them at the time. 
 Indeed, he would have perished without them 
 only less promptly than he perishes with them ; 
 they were as necessary to save him for an hour 
 as they were predestined to lose him forever. 
 
 For all this, it can hardly be said that a book 
 dissuades, however humorously and paradoxi- 
 cally, from action, from the deed to be done, 
 when it is itself a performance so accomplished, 
 so light and bright and irresistible, as the three 
 chronicles of Tartarin. Therefore the last mor- 
 al of all is, that however many traps life may lay 
 for us, tolerably firm ground, at any rate, is to 
 be found in perfect art. 
 
 Henry James. 
 
■..•*?Wf»- '.^ 
 
 i^^^-^tdr* 
 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It was September, and it ^«*i^ 
 
 was Provence, when the vint- 
 age was coming home, five or 
 six years ago. 
 
 From the high wagonette, 
 drawn by the rough liorses 
 of the Camargue, that carried us at fiill speed 
 — Mistral the poet, my son, and myself — tow- 
 ards the Tarascon station and the fast train 
 to Lyons and Paris, the closing day struck us 
 as divine, as it burned itself pale; a day suf- 
 fused, exhausted, and fevered; passionate, like 
 the fine faces of some women there. There 
 was not a breath of air, in spite of our rattling 
 
lO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 pace. The rank rushes, with their long rib- 
 bony leaves, were straight and stiff by the way- 
 side ; and on all the country roads, snowy white 
 with the white of dreams, where the motionless 
 dust creaked beneath the wheels, passed a slow 
 procession of wagons laden with the black grape, 
 nothing but the black, followed by young men 
 and girls, all tall and well set up, long-legged 
 and dark-eyed. Clusters of black eyes and of 
 black grapes ; you could see nothing else in the 
 tubs and hods, under the slouched felt hats of 
 the vintagers, and the head -cloth, of which the 
 women kept the corners tight in their teeth. 
 Here and there, in the angle of a field, against 
 the white of the sky, rose a cross with a heavy 
 bunch suspended as a votive offering to each of 
 its arms. ''Vc — look!" dropped from Mistral, 
 touched and showing it, yet smiling with almost 
 maternal pride in the candid paganism of his 
 people ; after which he took up his tale again — 
 some scented, golden story of the Rhone-side, 
 such as the Goethe of Provence sows broadcast 
 from those ever-open hands of his, of which one 
 is poetry and the other reality. 
 
 Oh, miracle of words, magic concord of the 
 hour, the scenery, and the brave rustic legend 
 that the poet reeled off for us all along the nar- 
 row w^ay, between the fields of mulberry and 
 
INTKODUCTIOX. 
 
 I I 
 
 olive and vine ! How well we felt, and how fair 
 and light was life ! All of a sudden my eyes 
 were darkened, my heart was compressed with 
 anguish. " Father, how pale you are !" said my 
 son ; and I had scarcely strength to murmur, 
 
 7' 5 
 
 as I showed him the castle of King Rene, whose 
 four towers in the level distance watched me 
 come, " There's Tarascon !" 
 
 You see, we had a terrible account to settle, 
 the Tarasconians and 1 1 Clever people as they 
 are — like all our people there — I knew their 
 backs were up; they bore me a black grudge 
 for my jokes about their town and about their 
 
12 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 great man, the illustrious, the delicious Tartarin. 
 I had often been warned by letter, by anony- 
 mous threats : " If ever you come through Ta- 
 rascon, look out !" Others had brandished over 
 me the vengeance of the hero : " Tremble ; the 
 old lion has still his beak and claws !" A lion 
 with a beak — the deuce ! 
 
 Graver still, I had it from a commandant of 
 the mounted police of the region that a bagman 
 from Paris, who, through a sorry identity of 
 name, or simply as a " lark," had signed "Al- 
 phonse Daudet " on the register of the inn, had 
 found himself assailed at the door of a cafe, and 
 threatened with a bath in the Rhone. Our hon- 
 est Tarasconians have in their blood this game 
 of the ducking. 
 
 "Willy-nilly, they shall take the jump from 
 the bis: window of Tarascon into the Rhone," 
 is the sense of an old Proven9al catch of '93, 
 which is still sung there, emphasized with grew- 
 some comments on the drama of which King 
 Rene's towers were at that time witness. So, 
 as it was not quite to my taste to take a header 
 from the big window, I had always in my jour- 
 neys south given a wide berth to the good city. 
 And now, this time, an evil fate, the desire to 
 go and put my arm about my dear Mistral, the 
 impossibility of catching the express at another 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 13 
 
 point, threw me straight into the jaws of the 
 beaked lion. 
 
 I might have managed it if tliere liad been 
 only Tartarin. An encounter of man to man, 
 a duel with poisoned ar- 
 rows, under the trees of 
 the "Walk Round" 
 — the public prom- 
 enade that encir- 
 cles the place — was 
 
 -«i^^ 
 
 not the sort of thinn^ to friohtcn me. But the 
 wrath of a whole people — and then the Rhone, 
 the terrible Rhone ! Ah, I can tell 3-ou, he 
 didn't take up much room at that moment — the 
 author of the two Tartarins. In vain IMistral 
 tried to reassure me. "Oh, come! don't mind! 
 
14 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 I'll talk to the crowd;" while my boy, a young 
 medical student of the Paris hospitals, took his 
 bistoury out of his instrument case, and pre- 
 pared resolutely to rip something up. All this 
 only deepened my gloom. 
 
 It was a strange thing, but perceptibly, as we 
 drew nearer to the city, there were fewer and 
 fewer people on the ways, and we met fewer of 
 the vintao-ers' carts. Soon we had nothino' be- 
 fore us but the white, dusty road, and all around 
 us, in the country, the space and solitude of the 
 desert. 
 
 " It's very queer," said Mistral, under his 
 breath, rather uneasy. " You'd say it was a 
 Sunday." 
 
 " If it were a Sunday you'd hear the bells," 
 added my son, in the same tone ; for there was 
 something oppressive in the silence that lay 
 upon city and suburb. There was nothing, not 
 a bell, not a cr3% not even the jingle of a coun- 
 try cart, clear in the resonant air; yet the first 
 houses of the outer town stood up at the end 
 of the road — one of the oil-mills, the custom- 
 house, newly whitewashed. 
 
 We were getting in. And hardly had we 
 advanced into the long street when our stupor 
 was great to find it deserted, wdth doors and 
 windows closed, without a dog or a cat, a chick 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 15 
 
 or a child — without a creature : the smoky por- 
 tal of the blacksmith disfeatured of the two 
 wheels that it usually wore on either flank; and 
 the tall trellis-screen, with which the local door- 
 way protects itself against fiies, taken in, de- 
 parted, like the flies themselves, like the ex- 
 quisite puff of garlic which, at that hour, should 
 have proceeded from the local kitchen. 
 
 Tarascon without the smell of garlic ! Is 
 that the sort of thing you can fancy ? 
 
 Mistral and I exchanged looks of awe, and 
 really it was not for nothing. To expect the 
 howl of a delirious people, and to find the place 
 a Pompeii — as silent as death! Farther on, 
 where we could put a name on every dwellino-, 
 on all the shops familiar to our eyes from child- 
 hood, this impression of the empty and the for- 
 saken was still more startling. 
 
 Closed was Bezuquet, the druggist, on the bit 
 of a Square; closed likewise was Costecalde, the 
 armorer, and Rebuffat, the pastry-cook, " the fa- 
 mous place for caramels." Vanished the scutch- 
 eon of Notary Cambalalette, and the sign, on 
 painted cloth, of Marie Joseph Escourbanies, 
 manufacturer of the Aries sausage; for the 
 Aries sausage has always been turned out at 
 Tarascon. I point out in passing this great 
 denial of historic justice. 
 
I 6 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 But, in fine, what had become of the Taras- 
 conians ? 
 
 Now our wagonette rolled over the Long 
 Walk, in the tepid shade, where the plane-trees 
 interspaced their smooth white trunks, and where 
 never a cicada was singing: the cicadas had 
 flown away ! Before the house of our Tartarin, 
 all of whose shutters were closed — it was as 
 blind and dumb as its neighbors — against the 
 low wall of the bit of a garden, never a black- 
 ing-box, never a little shoeblack to call out, "A 
 shine, Mossoo ?" 
 
 " Perhaps there's cholera," one of us said. 
 
 At Tarascon, sure enough, on the arrival of 
 an epidemic the inhabitant moves out and en- 
 camps under canvas, at a goodish distance from^ 
 the town, until the bad air has passed by. At 
 this word cholera, w^hich throws every Proven- 
 9al into a blue "funk," our coachman applied 
 the whip to his steeds, and a few minutes later 
 we pulled up at the steps of the station, perched 
 on the very top of the great viaduct which skirts 
 and commands the city. 
 
 Here we found life again, and human voices 
 and faces. The trains were up and down, in 
 and out, on the net-work of rails ; they drew up 
 with the slamminor of doors, the bawlinsf of sta- 
 tions: "Tarascon; stop five minutes; change. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 17 
 
 oijy 
 
 for Nimes, Montpellier, Cette." 
 Mistral went straidit off to the 
 superintendent, an old servant 
 who has never left his platform 
 for five-and-thirty years, 
 
 "Well, now, Master Picard, what's the matter? 
 Your Tarasconians — where are they? What 
 have you done with them ?" 
 
 To which the other, greatly surprised at our 
 surprise: "Where are they? You don't know? 
 
I 8 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Don't you read anything, then ? Yet theyVe 
 advertised it enough, their island, their Port 
 Tarascon. Well, yes, then, my dear fellow, 
 they've gone, the Tarasconians ; gone to plant 
 a colony ; Tartarin the illustrious at their head, 
 carrying off with them the symbol of the city — 
 the very Tarasque." 
 
 He broke off to give orders, to bustle along 
 the line, while at our feet, erect in the sunset, 
 we saw the towers, the belfries and bells, of the 
 forsaken city, its old ramparts gilded by the sun 
 to the superb tone of a " browned " pasty, and 
 giving exactly the idea of a woodcock pie of 
 which the crust only was left. 
 
 " And tell me, Monsieur Picard," asked Mis- 
 tral of the superintendent, who had come back 
 to us with his good smile — no more uneasy 
 than that at the thought of Tarascon " on the 
 o[o " — "was this emifjration en masse some time 
 ago ? 
 
 " Six months." 
 
 " And you've had no news of them V 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 Cracky! as they say down there. Sometime 
 later we had news indeed, detailed and precise, 
 sufficiently so to enable me to relate to you the 
 exodus of this gallant little people under the 
 lead of its hero, and the dreadful misadventures 
 
INTRODUCTIOxN. 1 9 
 
 that fell upon it. Pascal has said, " We need 
 the agreeable and the real ; but this agreeable 
 should itself be taken from the true." I have 
 tried to conform to his doctrine. My story is 
 taken from the true — put together from letters 
 of the emigrants, from the Memorial of the 
 young secretary of Tartarin, and from deposi- 
 tions published in the authorized law reports — 
 so that when you come across some Tarascon- 
 ade more extravagant than usual, Til be hanged 
 if I invented it ! 
 
BOOK FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Franquebalme, old fellow, I'm not hap- 
 py about France. Our rulers are putting us 
 through." 
 
 Uttered one evening by Tartarin before the 
 fireplace of the club, with the gesture and ac- 
 cent that you may imagine, these memorable 
 words are a compendium of what was thought 
 and said at Tarascon-on-the-Rhone two or three 
 months before the exodus. The Tarasconian 
 in general pays little attention to politics ; in- 
 dolent by nature, indifferent to everything that 
 is not a " local interest," he holds for " the state 
 of things," as he calls it. All the same, for 
 some time past there had been a lot of things 
 to be said about the state of things. 
 
 " Our rulers are putting us through — the 
 whole thing !" said Tartarin. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 21 
 
 In this "whole thing " there was first of all 
 the prohibition of the bull-baiting. 
 
 I dare say you know the history of the Taras- 
 conian, a very bad Christian and a reprobate 
 of the worst kind, 
 who, ha vine: crot 
 into Paradise by 
 stealing a march 
 on St. Peter when 
 his back was turned, 
 refused to go out 
 again, in spite of 
 the supplications of 
 the saintly turnkey. 
 What, in this case, 
 did the great St. 
 Peter do.'' He sent 
 a whole flock of an- 
 gels to clamor close 
 
 to the highest sky, with as many voices as possi- 
 ble : " There ! there! the cattle ! There ! there! 
 the cattle!" which is the call for the great game. 
 Hearkening to this, the ruffian changes counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "You go in for bull-baiting up here. then. 
 
 great St. Peter?" 
 
 " Bull-baiting.^ 
 old man." 
 
 Rather! And a splendid kind, 
 
22 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " Where do you have it, then ? Where does 
 it take place ?" 
 
 
 -p- 
 
 " Just outside there, in front of Paradise, 
 where there's room to turn round, you know." 
 At this the Tarasconian rushes out to see, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 23 
 
 and the gates of heaven are closed upon him 
 forever. 
 
 If I recall this legend, as old as the benches 
 on the "Walk Round," it is to show you the pas- 
 sion of theXarasconians for the said bull-baiting, 
 and the indignation created by the suppression 
 of their cherished sport. 
 
 After this came the order to turn out the 
 White Fathers and close their pretty convent 
 of Pamperigouste, perched on a little hill all 
 gray and fragrant with thyme and lavender — 
 it has been established there for ages — so that 
 from the gates of the town you may see its bel- 
 fries between the pines. 
 
 The Tarasconians were very fond of their 
 White Fathers, so gentle and good and harm- 
 less, who had the secret for making an excellent 
 elixir of the fragrant herbs with which the bit 
 of a mountain is covered. They were also fa- 
 mous for their swallow tarts and their delicious 
 pains-poircs, or potted pears, which are quinces 
 done up in a fine golden paste — whence the 
 name of Pamperigouste given to the abbey. 
 Every Tarasconian used to hear the chimes 
 of the monastery : the odorous breeze brought 
 them in at the dawn with the song of the lark, 
 and in the twilight with the melancholy cry of 
 the curlew. 
 
24 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 When the official notification that they were 
 to leave their convent was served on the Fa- 
 thers, they refused to go; they shut themselves 
 up, determined to stay. 
 
 The gentlemen and ladies of Tarascon, you 
 may well believe, took up a stand for their 
 monks — the ladies, and all their sex, in particu- 
 lar, for they are very hot for religion. Urged 
 on by their wives, from fifteen hundred to two 
 thousand of the common sort — dock porters, 
 stevedores on the Rhone boats, those whom the 
 genteel people call the Rabblebabble,* and al- 
 ways send in first to try the water — came and 
 shut themselves up with the Fathers in the 
 pretty convent of Pamperigouste. The good 
 society, the gentlemen of the club, Tartarin at 
 their head, had it also at heart to uphold the 
 holy cause. There was not a minute of hesita- 
 tion. But people don't throw themselves into 
 such an enterprise without preparation of any 
 kind. That sort of slapdash is only for the 
 Rabblebabble. 
 
 Before everything it was a question of cos- 
 tume. So the costumes were ordered, superb 
 habiliments of Crusaders, long black wrappers, 
 with a great white cross on the chest, and 
 
 * Rafataille. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 25 
 
 everywhere else — 
 before, behind, on 
 the shoulders — 
 intertwininos of 
 
 thigh - bones 
 
 braid. 
 
 in 
 It took a 
 
 long time, in pai 
 ticular, to put 
 on the braid. 
 When ev- 
 erything was 
 readv the 
 
 convent was 
 already invest- 
 ed ; the troops 
 surrounded it 
 with a triple ring, encamped in the fields and 
 on the stony sides of the little hill. 
 
 The red trousers, in the thvme and lavender, 
 
26 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 looked at a distance like a flowering of poppies. 
 You met on the roads continual patrols of cav- 
 alry — the carbine on the thigh, the scabbard 
 swinging on the horse's flank, the revolver case 
 in the belt. 
 
 '.'--iipcut 
 
 But this exhibition of brute force was not 
 the sort of thing to check the intrepid Tar- 
 tarin, who had resolved to get through at 
 the head of a handful of the gentlemen of the 
 
PORT TAKASCOX. 
 
 27 
 
 club. In Indian file, flat on their stomachs, 
 ramping on hands and knees, with all the pre- 
 cautions and stratagems of the savages of Fen- 
 imore Cooper, they succeeded in wriggling 
 through the lines, in slipping between the pa- 
 trols, grazing the rows of sleeping tents, and 
 circumventing the sentinels, while they warned 
 each other of dangerous places by an imjDcrfect 
 imitation of the cry of a bird. 
 
 Oh, courage was wanted to try such a busi- 
 ness on clear nights, when you see as well as by 
 day! It's true that it was quite in the interest 
 of the besiegers to let as many people as possi- 
 ble get into the blockaded precincts. What was 
 wanted was rather to starve the convent out 
 than to carry it by force. Accordingly, the sol- 
 diers were ready to look a different way when 
 they saw these prowling phantoms by moon- 
 light and starlight. More than one officer who 
 had taken absinthe at the club with Tartarin 
 recognized him at a distance, in spite of his 
 crusading disguise, and greeted him with a fa- 
 miliar gesture. Once in the place, Tartarin or- 
 ganized the defence. This devil of a fellow had 
 a natural insight into every profession. He had 
 read all the books on all known sieges. He 
 formed his Tarasconians into brigades of mili- 
 tia, commanded bv the bold Bravida, and above 
 
28 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 all, full of memories of Sebastopol and Plevna, 
 he made them throw up earth, lots of earth, 
 surrounding the devoted edifice with embank- 
 ments, ditches, fortifications of every kind, whose 
 circle narrowed itself little by little, so that the 
 besieged could scarcely breathe, and were im- 
 
PORT TAKASCOX. 
 
 29 
 
 nuirecl behind their defensive works — which was 
 just the thing for the besiegers. 
 
 The Tarasconians were none the less de- 
 hghted with the turn things were taking. Thev 
 were a wonder to themselves, and their works 
 were a wonder; thev talked of nothincr but the 
 glacis, the scarp, and the counterscarp, were full 
 of ardor and confidence, and above all, proud of 
 their chiefs— proud of the bold Bravida, major- 
 general of the place, and particularly of their 
 great man of war, their illustrious Tartarin, gen- 
 eral-in-chief of the intrenched camp, who knew 
 all about organizing the defence. 
 
 Transmuted into a fortress, the convent was 
 subjected to military discipline. So it must 
 always be when the state of siege is declared. 
 Everything was done by beat of drum and blast 
 of bugle. At the faintest early dawn — for the 
 reveille — for a quarter of an hour the tattoo 
 boomed out in the courts, in the corridors, and 
 under the arches of the cloister. They trump- 
 eted also from morning till night; they sound- 
 ed for prayers, tara-ta, for the treasurer, tara-ta- 
 ta, for the Father Steward, tara-ta-ta-ta, rending 
 the air with short, sonorous, imperious blasts. 
 They bugled for the Angelus, for Matins and 
 Complines. It was a thing to abash the be- 
 sieging army, which, all abroad in the open air, 
 
30 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 made far less noise. Over against it, on the top 
 of the Httle hill, behind the bastions, the piping 
 and strumming, mixed with the tinkle of the 
 chimes, produced the bravest music, and scat- 
 tered to the four winds a sort of promise of 
 victory, of glad anthem, half warlike and half 
 holy. 
 
 The bother was that the besiegers, quite 
 quiet in their lines, without taking the least 
 trouble, victualled themselves easily, and held 
 high revel all day. The land of Provence is a 
 land of delights, and produces all sorts of good 
 things. Clear golden wines, meat-balls, and sau- 
 sages of Aries, exquisite melons, delicious fruits, 
 special sweets from Montelimar — everything 
 was for the Government troops, and neither 
 crumb nor drop made its way into the block- 
 aded abbey. Accordingly, on one side, the sol- 
 diers, who had never been on such a spree, put 
 on flesh so that you could see it grow, and that 
 their tunics were almost bursting. Simply to 
 look at their fine condition, and the plump, shin- 
 ing haunches of their horses, made one admire 
 the nursing plenty of that blessed corner of 
 earth. On the other side, lackaday ! the poor 
 Tarasconians, especially the Rabblebabble, ris- 
 ing early, turning in late, overdone, incessantly 
 on the jump, digging and harrowing earth night 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 31 
 
 and day, by the light of the sun and the light of 
 torches, dried up and grew lean till 'twas a pity. 
 The monks saw with terror that their pro- 
 visions were giving out. There would soon be 
 no more swallow tarts: such a lot as they had 
 got rid of since the beginning of the siege! 
 The potted pears were coming to an end. 
 Should thev be able to hold out much longer.? 
 Every day this question was discussed on the 
 ramparts, scorched and cracked by the drought. 
 " And the cowards don't attack us," said 
 those of Tarascon, shaking their fists at the red 
 trousers that wallowed in the orrass in the shad- 
 ow of the pines. 
 
 But the idea of attacking themselves never 
 occurred to them, so strongly has this brave lit- 
 tle race the sentiment of preservation. 
 
 Only once Escourbanies, an extremist, spoke 
 
 of trying a universal sally, with the monks in 
 
 front, to turn the mercenaries head over heels. 
 
 Tartarin shrugged his broad shoulders and 
 
 answered with a single word: " Infant!" 
 
 Then taking by the arm the boiling Es- 
 courbanies, he drew him to the top of the 
 counterscarp, and showing: him with a laree 
 gesture the cordons of troops drawn up on 
 the hill, the sentinels placed in all the paths: 
 " Yes or no, are we the besieged.'* Well, then!" 
 
32 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 What was there to say to that ? A mur- 
 mur of approbation rose around him. 
 
 " Evidently he's right. It is for them to 
 be^in, since they're the besiegers." 
 
 So it was seen once more that no one under- 
 stood the laws of war like Tartarin. 
 
 Nevertheless, somethino; had to be settled. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 33 
 
 One day the council assembled in the great 
 chapter-house, lighted from high casements, sur- 
 rounded by sculptured wood-work, and the Fa- 
 ther Steward read his report on the resources 
 of the place. All the White Fathers listened, 
 silent, straight upon their "mercies"— a kind 
 of hypocritical half-seat, which allowed them to 
 be seated, though appearing to stand. It was 
 lamentable, the Father Steward's report. What 
 the Tarasconians had made away with since 
 the beginning of the siege! Swallow tarts, so 
 many hundred; potted pears, so many thou- 
 sand; and so many of this and so many of 
 that. Of all the things he enumerated, with 
 which they had been so well provided at the 
 beginning, there remained so little, so little, that 
 you might as well call it nothino-. 
 
 Their Reverences were in consternation. 
 They looked at each other with long faces, 
 and agreed that with all these reserves, given 
 the attitude of the enemy, who had no wish to 
 go to the extreme, they might ha\-e held out 
 for years without wanting for anything, if only 
 they had been helped. The Father Steward, in 
 a monotonous, dismal voice, continued to read. 
 All of a sudden an uproar breaks in upon him. 
 The door of the hall bursts open. Tartarin 
 appears, a Tartarin excited and tracric, his 
 
 J 
 
34 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 cheeks flushed, his beard bristhno- over the 
 white cross of his dress. He salutes with his 
 
 sword the Prior, erect upon his " mercy," then 
 the Fathers, and gravely : 
 
 " Monsieur le Prieur, I can no lonorer hold 
 
PORT TARASCON. 35 
 
 my men; they are dying of hunger; all the 
 cisterns are empty. The moment has come to 
 surrender the place or to bury ourselves in its 
 ruins!" 
 
 What he did not say, but what had, all the 
 same, quite its importance, was that for a fort- 
 night he had gone without his morning choco- 
 late. He saw it in his dreams, rich, smoking, 
 oily, accompanied with a glass of fresh water as 
 clear as crystal. Whereas at present he had 
 come down to the brackish water of the cisterns! 
 Immediately the council was on its feet, and, 
 in a hubbub of voices all talking at once, ex- 
 pressed a unanimous opinion: "Surrender the 
 place ! The place must be surrendered ! We 
 must not bury ourselves!" Brother Bataillet 
 alone — he was always excessive — proposed to 
 blow up the convent with the powder that was 
 left. He even offered to fire it himself. But 
 they refused to listen to him, and when night 
 had come, leaving the keys in the doors, monks 
 and militia, followed by Escourbanies, by Bra- 
 vida, and by Tartarin, with his handful of <jen- 
 tlemen of the club, in short, the whole garrison 
 of Pamperigouste, filed out of the convent, this 
 time without drum or fife, and wound silently 
 down the hill. It was a fantastic procession in 
 the moonlight. The enemy's pickets let all 
 
36 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 these good people come out as peacefully as 
 they had let them go in. 
 
 This memorable defence of the abbey did 
 the greatest honor to Tartarin : from that day 
 he was the illustrious vanquished of Pamperi- 
 gouste. But the occupation of their White 
 Fathers' house by the troops left a dark rancor 
 in the hearts of the Tarasconians. 
 
II. 
 
 Some time after the dispersal of the monks, 
 Bezuquet, the druggist, was one evening enjoy- 
 ing the cool, the "good of the air," as they say 
 down there, on the bit of a Square, with his 
 pupil Pascalon and the reverend Brother Ba- 
 taillet. I must tell you that after the closing 
 of the convent the exiled monks had been gath- 
 ered in by the Tarasconian families. Each of 
 them had wanted his White Father; the peo- 
 ple of means, the shopkeepers, the respectable 
 middle class, all had their own ; while the poor 
 families clubbed together and went shares in 
 the maintenance of one of the holv men. 
 
38 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 You saw a white cowl in all the shops — in 
 that of Costecalde, the armorer, in the midst of 
 the guns, the rifles, and the hunting knives, or 
 beside the counter of Beaumevieille, the haber- 
 dasher, behind the rows of silk bobbins — every- 
 where, in short, reared itself the same figure of 
 a great white bird, a sort of familiar pelican. 
 And the presence of the Fathers was a true 
 blessing in the houses. Gentle, genial, well- 
 bred, discreet, they were never in the way, never 
 took up too much room at the hearth, and yet 
 they maintained there an unaccustomed good- 
 ness and sweetness and propriety. 
 
 It was as if the people had always had the 
 Holy Spirit in their midst. The men forbore 
 to swear or to say anything the least broad ; 
 the women told no more fibs, or very few, and 
 the little ones sat up straight and quiet on their 
 high-chairs. 
 
 In the morning, in the evening, at prayer- 
 time, at the meals, for the Benedicite and for 
 "grace," the great white sleeves expanded like 
 wings over the assembled family ; and with this 
 perpetual blessing on their heads, the Taras- 
 conians could do no less than live in holiness 
 and virtue. 
 
 Every one was proud of his own reverend 
 man, and bragged about him and showed him 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 39 
 
 off. BezLiquet's drug shop had had the good 
 fortune to be chosen as a refuse bv Brother 
 Bataillet. 
 
 He was all nerves, this Brother Bataillet, all 
 
 enthusiasm and ardor, genuinely endowed with 
 the eloquence that pleases the people, and re- 
 nowned for his manner of producing parables 
 and old tales. He was a superb monk — tall,. 
 
40 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 well set up, with a tanned skin and eyes of fire, 
 the head of a Spanish guerilla. Under the 
 long folds of his thick frieze he had really a 
 fine presence, though one of his shoulders was 
 slightly higher than the other, and he walked 
 not quite straight. But no one noticed these 
 trifling defects when he came down from the 
 pulpit after his sermon and cleaved the crowd 
 with his great nose in the air, in a hurry to 
 get back to the vestry, and still quivering and 
 shaken with his own eloquence. The enthu- 
 siastic women, as he passed, cut off with their 
 scissors morsels of his white cloak ; he was 
 called on this account the " scalloped " Father, 
 and his gown was so soon beyond all use that 
 the convent had great trouble to keep him sup- 
 plied. 
 
 Well, then, Bezuquet was in front of his shop 
 with Pascalon, and opposite to them was Broth- 
 er Bataillet, sitting astride of his chair. They 
 were so comfortable there, in the serenity of the 
 blessed, that it was a pleasure to breathe ; for at 
 that hour for Bezuquet no customer is a cus- 
 tomer; it is the same as at night — the poor 
 sick may wriggle as they like — nothing will in- 
 duce the honest apothecary to put himself out. 
 It is not the hour. He was listening, and Pas- 
 calon too, to one of those beautiful stories that 
 
PORT TARASCON. 4 I 
 
 his Reverence knew how to tell, while afar, in 
 the town, in the closing hum of a fine sum- 
 mer's day, the band of the ijarrison sounded 
 the recall. 
 
 All of a sudden the pupil sprang up, red and 
 excited, and without considerins: that he was in- 
 terrupting his Reverence, cried out, pointing his 
 finger to the other end of the bit of a Square, 
 and stammering according to his wont, "There 
 comes Monsieur Tar-tar-tarin." 
 
 We already know what a peculiar personal 
 admiration Pascalon entertained for the s^reat 
 man of Tarascon. 
 
 Sure enou'gh, in the sunset, at some distance, 
 Tartarin's well-known form was outlined. 
 
 He was not alone, for near him moved a per- 
 sonage in pearl-gray gloves and thoroughly care- 
 ful attire, who talked with him as they stopped 
 in the Square. Rather, perhaps, it was Tartarin 
 who talked, full of animation and cresticulatino: 
 for two, while his companion listened, silent, 
 stiff, motionless, perfectly calm. 
 
 He was a man of the North, as you could 
 easily see. You know a man of the North in 
 the South by his quiet attitude and the brev- 
 ity of his slow speech ; just as surely as you 
 recognize a man of the South in the North 
 by his exuberance of gesture and of phrase. 
 
42 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The Tarasconians were in the habit of seeing 
 Tartarin often in company with strangers, for 
 nobody ever passed through the town without 
 
 mi. 
 
 stopping to visit, as one of its curiosities, the fa- 
 mous Hon-killer, the illustrious Alpine climber, 
 the modern Vauban, for whom the siege of 
 Pamperigouste has created a fresh renown. 
 
 From this affluence of visitors had arisen for 
 the whole town an era of prosperity formerly 
 unknown. 
 
rORT TARASCOX. 
 
 43 
 
 The innkeepers made their fortunes, and yet 
 were not the only gainers, for the whole trade 
 of the place was the better; lives of the ereat 
 man were sold by the booksellers, and you saw 
 nothing in the shop-fronts but his portrait as a 
 climber, as a Crusader, in every possible form, 
 and in every phase of his heroic existence. 
 But this time it was not an ordinary visitor, a 
 chance tourist passing through, who accom- 
 panied Tartarin. It was a stranger of mark, as 
 you might see from his grand air and the re- 
 spectful manner in which the other spoke to 
 him. 
 
 They had crossed the Square and had come 
 nearer. Tartarin, with a fine flourish, indicated 
 his companion. 
 
 " My dear Bezuquet and your Reverence, let 
 me present you to M. le Due de Mons." 
 
 A duke: — goodness gracious! There had 
 never been one at Tarascon. A camel had 
 been seen there, a baobab,* a hon-skin, a collec- 
 tion of poisoned arrows and of alpenstocks of 
 honor; but a duke, never in the world ! Bezu- 
 quet had risen ; he bowed, rather embarrassed 
 all the same at finding himself, without havino- 
 
 * Tartarin's extraordinary plant, commemorated in the 
 former histories of his life. 
 
44 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 been notified in advance, in the presence of so 
 great a personage. He panted : 
 
 " Monsieur le Due — Monsieur le Due — " 
 
 Tartarin inter- 
 rupted. " Let us go 
 in, gentlemen. We 
 have to talk of grave 
 matters." 
 
 He passed first, 
 rounding his back 
 with a mysterious 
 air, and they went 
 into the little con- 
 sulting-room of the 
 pharmacy, whose 
 glass front, looking 
 out on the Square, 
 served as a show- 
 case for jars of em- 
 bryos, preserved 
 tape -worms, and lit- 
 tle bundles of cam- 
 phor cigarettes. 
 The door closed 
 upon them as if they had been conspirators. 
 Pascalon remained alone in the shop. Bezu- 
 quet, before disappearing, had told him what 
 to say to any one who should call, and not 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 45 
 
 to allow such people, under any pretext, to 
 come near the consulting- room. The pupil, 
 greatly mystified, began to arrange on the 
 
 sheh^es the boxes of jujube, the bottles of sirii- 
 pus gummi, and other products of the labora- 
 tory. 
 
 The sound of voices reached him at mo- 
 ments, and he distinguished especially the ring- 
 ing voice of Tartarin. Then he went nearer 
 the door, trying to catch some snatches of 
 
46 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 talk. He heard nothing but some strange 
 words: "Polynesia — earthly paradise — sugar- 
 cane — distilleries — free colony." Then an em- 
 phatic outbreak from Brother Bataillet: "Bra- 
 vo ! I'm in it." As for the man of the North, 
 confound him! he talked so low — no fire nor 
 fiame in him — that one heard nothing. 
 
 It was no use for Pascalon to flatten his ear 
 against the key-hole. All of a sudden the door 
 burst open, smitten, nianii i7iil iiari, hy the lusty 
 fist of Brother Bataillet, and the pupil rolled 
 over to the other end of the pharmacy. But 
 the others were so excited that nobody paid at- 
 tention to the incident. 
 
 Tartarin, erect on the threshold, the fire of 
 enthusiasm in his glance, his forefinger lifted to 
 the bundles of poppy-heads drying on the ceil- 
 ing of the shop, with the gesture of an arch- 
 angel brandishing the great sword, exclaimed, 
 from the depth of his lungs and with the tone 
 of one inspired : 
 
 " God wills it, your Grace. Our work will be 
 great !" 
 
 There was a confusion of out-stretched hands 
 seeking each other, mixing with each other, 
 grasping each other, energetic grips intended 
 to seal forever irrevocable pledges. Still glow- 
 ing with this supreme expansion, Tartarin, erect 
 
PORT TARASCON. 47 
 
 and taller than ever, quitted the pharmacy with 
 the Due de IMons. 
 
 They continued their circuit of the town, 
 and traversed the bit of a Square, directing 
 their steps towards the residence of Costecalde, 
 the armorer. 
 
 Two days later The Foriun and The Pipei- 
 of Tarascon were full of articles and advertise- 
 ments on the subject of a colossal enterprise. 
 The heading bore in big letters, "Free Colony 
 of Port Tarascon." Then came stupefying an- 
 nouncements : " For sale, lands at five francs 
 the acre, bringing in several millions of francs 
 a year. Fortune rapid and assured. Colonists 
 wanted." 
 
 Exceptional favors were specified for the in- 
 habitants of Tarascon and the country about. 
 Further appeared an historic sketch of the isl- 
 and on which the projected colony was to set- 
 tle — an island purchased from the Kine, Na- 
 gonko, by the Due de Mons in the course of 
 his travels. There was also an allusion to cer- 
 tain neighboring islands which might be ac- 
 quired later, to extend the establishment; but 
 the main insistence was on the principal island 
 — a real promised land, a land of Canaan. 
 
 A climate paradisiacal, the temperature of 
 Oceanica, very moderate in spite of its proximi- 
 
48 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ty to the equator, varying only from one to two 
 degrees, between 25 and 28; the country ex- 
 tremely fertile, extremely wooded and admira- 
 bly watered, rising rapidly from the sea, which 
 permitted every one to choose the altitude best 
 suited to his temperament. The abundance of 
 springs and watercourses was a guarantee of 
 the establishment on the most reasonable terms 
 of all industries requiring any kind of motive 
 power, and the natural irrigation of the country 
 placed every species of colonial product on a 
 footing, as it were, of exceptional profusion. In 
 fine, provisions abounded, delicious fruits on 
 every tree, game of every kind in the woods 
 and fields, with innumerable fish in the waters. 
 From the point of view of commerce and navi- 
 gation, a splendid roadstead could contain a 
 whole fleet — a harbor of perfect safety, shut in 
 by breakwaters, with an inner basin and a spe- 
 cial one for repairs. Quays, landing-stages, a 
 light -house, a semaphore, steam -cranes — noth- 
 ing would be wanting. 
 
 The work had already been begun by coolies 
 and Australian aborigines, under the direction 
 and on the plans of highly skilled engineers, 
 and of the most distinguished architects. The 
 settlers would find comfortable habitations on 
 their arrival, and even, by ingenious arrange- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 49 
 
 ments, with fifty francs more, the houses would 
 be fitted up according to their wants. 
 
 You may fancy whether the famous Taras- 
 conian imagination began to work over the 
 perusal of all these wonders. In every family 
 they drew up plans. Every one knocked up a 
 house according to his taste — one dreaming of 
 green shutters, another of a pretty porch ; this 
 one having a fancy for brick, and that one for 
 rough stone. 
 
 They designed, they tried different things, 
 adding one touch to another — a pigeon-house 
 would be graceful, a weathercock wouldn't look 
 bad. 
 
 '' Oh, papa, a veranda !" 
 
 '• Hang it, then ; a veranda, my dears !" 
 
 For all, it was going to cost! At the same 
 time tliat these good folk treated themselves so 
 freely to anything they fancied in the way of 
 a pretty cottage, the articles of The I'^orum and 
 The Piper ^XQXQ reproduced in all the Southern 
 papers; town and country were deluged with 
 circulars exhibiting little vignettes framed in 
 the palm, the cocoa-nut, the banana, and other 
 outlandish vegetation ; the whole province was 
 handed over to a frantic i^ropaganda. 
 
 On the dusty roads of the neighborhood Tar- 
 tarin's gig kept passing at a swinging trot. 
 
 4 
 
50 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Tartarin in person and Brother Bataillet, placed 
 in front, sat as close together as possible, to 
 make a rampart of their bodies for the Due de 
 Mons, enveloped in a green veil and devoured 
 by mosquitoes, which assailed him with rage on 
 all sides in buzzing battalions, in spite of Tar- 
 tarin and the Brother, in spite .of the veil, in 
 spite of the great whacks his Grace dealt him- 
 self. Gorged with the blood of the man of 
 the North, they continued to apply an unre- 
 lenting sting to surfaces already completely dis- 
 tended. 
 
 For a man of the North was what he was, 
 this fine gentleman ! He was never guilty of 
 a gesture, scarcely of a word, much less of an 
 exasfseration. Add to this his coolness — he 
 never got "started,'" but saw things as they are, 
 and as he himself was. You could feel safe 
 with him, and fear no lies. And then a duke ! 
 On the bits of Squares half shadowed with 
 plane-trees and smeared over with great sun 
 spots, in the brown old villages, in the wine- 
 shops eaten up with flies, in the dancing-rooms, 
 and everywhere else, addresses and sermons 
 and lectures went on. The duke, in terms 
 clear and concise, as simple as the naked truth, 
 set forth the delights of Port Tarascon ; the elo- 
 quence of the monk preached emigration as a 
 
PORT TARASCON. 5 I 
 
 crusade; Tartarin, as dusty with his wayfaring 
 as at a battle's close, tossed off a few nervous 
 words, all feeling — words that rolled and swelled 
 — " Victory, conquest, new country." The en- 
 ergy of his gesture seemed to hurl away over 
 every one's head. Or else there were gather- 
 ings for discussion, like electoral caucuses, where 
 everything went on by question and answer. 
 
 "Are there any venomous animals?" 
 
 " Not one. Not a serpent. Not even a mos- 
 quito. And in the way of wild beasts, nothing 
 at all." 
 
 " But they say that in those parts — far Ocean- 
 ica — there are anthropophagi." 
 
 " Never in the world ! They are all vegeta- 
 rians." 
 
 " Is it true that the savages go quite naked .f*" 
 
 " That perhaps may be a little true ; but not 
 all; and, at any rate, we'll clothe them." 
 
 Articles, advertisements, lectures, everything 
 was wildly successful ; the shares were taken 
 up by the hundred and the thousand, the immi- 
 grants flowed in, and not only from Tarascon, 
 but from all the South. They came over even 
 from Beaucaire, But there the line had to 
 be drawn. Tarascon thought them very bold, 
 these intruders of Beaucaire. F"or centuries 
 there has existed between the two towns a ri- 
 
52 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 valry, a muffled animosity, which, fed by in- 
 numerable aCTorravations on one side and the 
 other, by jokes at each other's expense, to say 
 nothing of expressions of contempt, threatens 
 never to die out. 
 
 Separated by the whole breadth of the Rhone, 
 the two cities regard each other across the riv- 
 er as irreconcilable enemies. The bridge that 
 has been thrown between them has not brought 
 them any nearer. This bridge is never crossed ; 
 in the first place, because it s very dangerous. 
 The people of Beaucaire no more go to Ta- 
 rascon than those of Tarascon go to Beau- 
 caire. 
 
 If you seek to discover the grounds of this 
 inexplicable aversion, they answer you on one 
 side and the other with phrases that explain 
 nothing. " Oh, you know, we know all about 
 them, the Tarascon folk," say the Beaucairenes. 
 
 "All the same, we know what they're worth, 
 our neighbors at Beaucaire," say the Tarasco- 
 nians. 
 
 Accordino;lv, there were to be no Beau- 
 cairenes in the settlement of Port Tarascon. 
 First of all, as was quite right, the Tarasco- 
 nians ; afterwards, if any room was left — why, 
 they would see. 
 
 But if settlers were not accepted outside of 
 
PORT TARASCON. 53 
 
 Tarascon and its cincture, money was accepted 
 from all the world ; shareholders were welcome 
 from anywhere and everywhere; the famous 
 acres at five francs (bringing in several thou- 
 sand francs per anjiiun) were disposed of in 
 batches. Accepted too were the gifts in kind 
 which many persons enthusiastic for the work 
 sent in to meet the requirements of the colony. 
 The Forum published the lists, and in these 
 lists might have been found the most extraordi- 
 nary objects. 
 
 " A box of little beads. 
 
 "A set of numbers of The Forum. 
 
 " M. Becoulet, forty-five nets, in chenille and 
 beads, for the Indian women. 
 
 " Madame Dourladoure, six pocket-handker- 
 chiefs and six knives for the parsonage. 
 
 "An embroidered banner for the Orpheon. 
 
 " Anduze, of Maquelonne, a stuffed fiamino-o. 
 
 " Six dozen dog-collars. 
 
 " A braided jacket. 
 
 " A pious lady of Marseilles, a priest's vest- 
 ment, a trimming for the incense bearer, and a 
 canopy for the pyx. 
 
 " A collection of coleoptera under glass." 
 
 And regularly, in each list, was mentioned 
 an offering from Mademoiselle Tournatoire: 
 "A complete suit to clothe a savage" Such 
 4'"' 
 
54 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 was the constant preoccupation of this good 
 old maid. All these c|ueer, fantastic contribu- 
 tions, in which the Southern imagination dis- 
 played its high, unconscious comicality, made 
 their way by the boxful to the docks, the great 
 receiving houses of the Free and Independent 
 Colony established at Marseilles. The Due de 
 Mons had fixed there his centre of operations. 
 
 From his ofBces, sumptuously fitted up in 
 splendid apartments, he brewed the business 
 on a great scale, got up companies for distilling 
 from the sugar-cane or for working the " tre- 
 pang," a species of mollusk of which the Chi- 
 nese are very fond, and for which, said the pro- 
 spectus, they will pay any price. Every day, 
 with the indefatigable nobleman, saw the bud- 
 ding of some new idea, the dawn of some great 
 job, which the same evening found quite set on 
 its feet. 
 
 In the intervals he organized a committee of 
 shareholders under the chairmanship of the 
 Greek banker Kagaraspaki, and deposited their 
 funds with the Ottoman bankers Pamenyai ben 
 Kaga, an extraordinarily safe house, conspicu- 
 ous for its prudence in whatever it took up. 
 
 Tartarin now passed his life — a feverish life 
 — in travelling from Tarascon to Marseilles, 
 and from Marseilles to Tarascon. He kept 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 55 
 
 the enthusiasm of his fellow-citizens up to the 
 mark, pushed on the local propaganda, and 
 then suddenly dashed off by express to be pres- 
 ent at some board, some meeting of stockhold- 
 ers. Every day his admiration for the duke 
 increased. 
 
 He, dear fellow, always on the gush, and in- 
 stinctively mistrustful, per- 
 haps, of himself, held up as 
 an example to every one 
 the dukes coolness and 
 the duke's 
 judgment. 
 
 " No dan- 
 2^ e r of e X - 
 aggeration ■ 4^ 
 
 with hi m . 
 He produces 
 none of those decep- 
 tive atmospheric ef- 
 fects that Daudet is 
 fond of charging us with." 
 
 On the other hand, the duke showed himself 
 little, and talked even less than in the begin- 
 ning. The man of the North effaced himself 
 before the man of the South. ]nit him always 
 in the foreground, and left to his inexhaustible 
 loquacity the care of all explanations, of all 
 
56 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 promises, of all pledges. He contented him- 
 self with saying : 
 
 " Mr. Tartarin alone knows my whole 
 thought." 
 
 And you may judge whether Mr. Tartarin 
 was proud ! 
 
PORT TARASCON. 57 
 
 III. 
 
 One morning Tarascon woke up with this 
 telegram pasted on all the street corners : 
 
 "The Faraiidole, a great sailing-ship of 
 twelve hundred tons, has just left Marseilles at 
 dawn, carrvinu: in her bosom, with the fortunes 
 of a whole people, an assortment of goods for 
 the savages, and a cargo of agricultural imple- 
 ments. Eight hundred emigrants on board, all 
 Tarasconians, anwng whom are Bompard, Pro- 
 visional Governor of the Colony ; Bezuquet, 
 chemist - physician ; the Reverend Father \'e- 
 zole ; and Notary Cambalalette, Assessor of 
 Taxes. I myself have seen them out into the 
 open. Everything well. The duke radiant. 
 Print this. Tartarin of Tarascon." 
 
 This telegram, posted up all over the town 
 by the care of Pascalon, to whom it was ad- 
 dressed, filled the place with jubilation. The 
 
58 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 streets had put on their holiday look, all the 
 world was out-of-doors, every one wishing to 
 read the blessed despatch ; and knots of people 
 stopped before each placard, the words of which 
 were repeated from mouth to mouth : " Eight 
 
 hundred emigrants — Tartarin seen them out 
 into the open — the duke radiant." There was 
 not a single Tarasconian who was not as ra- 
 diant as the duke. 
 
 It was the second batch of emigrants that 
 Tartarin, invested by the Due de Mons with 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 59 
 
 the fine title and the important functions of 
 Governor of the Free and Independent Col- 
 ony of Port Tarascon, 
 ,^,,.,_ had forwarded in this 
 
 manner to Marseilles on 
 its way to the 
 
 promised land. A 
 month before he had 
 also seen out into the 
 open the first batch, borne 
 off by the steamer Lncifci\ and ^ 
 
 this first shipment had been ef- 
 fected under as happy auspices as the second. 
 
 SS) 
 
60 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The same telegram, the same enthusiasm, the 
 same radiance of the duke. But the Lucifer, 
 which had sailed a month ago, had not yet 
 passed the entrance of the Suez Canal. Ar- 
 rested there by an accident — the breakage of 
 her horizontal shaft — this rather shaky old 
 steamer, a second-hand purchase, had to wait 
 to be helped and rescued by the Farandole be- 
 fore she could continue her journey. 
 
 This accident, nevertheless, which might have 
 seemed of bad omen, had not in the least chilled, 
 on the part of the Tarasconians, the desire to 
 try their hand at founding a new State. It is 
 true that on this first vessel only the Rabblebab- 
 ble had been shipped — the people of the coni- 
 moner sort, you know — those that are always 
 sent on first. The broken shaft, the forced 
 stop, the delay in the voyage, had therefore not 
 had the same importance as if the distressed 
 ship had carried the Tarasconians of mark. 
 
 On the Farandole, also, there had been a fur- 
 ther instalment of the Rabblebabble, accompa- 
 nied by a few of the wilder spirits, like Notary 
 Cambalalette, Assessor of Taxes of the colony. 
 The good druggist Bezuquet, a man of peace, 
 in spite of his formidable mustaches, fond of his 
 little comforts, afraid of the heat and the cold, 
 little inclined to distant and dangerous advent- 
 
PORT TARASCON, 6i 
 
 ures, had resisted long before consenting to be 
 despatched. 
 
 Under Tartarin's pressure, to all his argu- 
 ments — " Bezuquet, we owe ourselves to the 
 work ; it is for 2is to set the example "—he had 
 at first answered only by dubious head-shakes. 
 It cost him too much to leave the snug shell of 
 his pharmacy and exchange for the pitching 
 and rolling of a cabin his sound naps in the 
 little consulting-room with the tape-worms. To 
 overcome his resistance nothing less had been 
 required than the diploma of a full physician. 
 
 Bezuquet had co\eted all his life this blessed 
 scroll, which the Governor of Port Tarascon 
 now conferred upon him by private authority. 
 
 The Governor, indeed, conferred, by the same 
 authority, many other parchments and patents 
 and commissions, appointing directors, sub-di- 
 rectors, secretaries, commissaries, grandees of 
 the first class and the second class, all of which 
 permitted him to gratify the taste of his com- 
 patriots for everything in the way of honors, 
 distinctions, costumes, and braids. 
 
 With Father Vezole, who had taken the same 
 ship as Cambalalette and Bezuquet, there had 
 not been the least difficulty. He was such 
 a thorough good soul Father Vezole, always 
 ready for anything and pleased with everything, 
 
62 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 saying "God be praised!" to everything that 
 happened: " God be praised !" when he had had 
 to leave the convent ; " God be praised !" when 
 they had thrust him on shipboard along with 
 the fortunes of a people, the assortment of 
 goods for the savages and the Rabblebabble, 
 with instructions to say mass on Sundays, to 
 receive the confessions of the emigrants, to at- 
 tend the last moments of those about to die, 
 and to baptize any little settlers who might 
 come into the world. 
 
 As for the members of the nobility and of 
 the upper middle class, before paying with their 
 persons they had paid with their pocket-books, 
 as subscribers, which was very handsome to 
 begin with. For the rest, there was no hurry; 
 while they showed plenty of ardor and faith, 
 they were not sorry to leave those who had 
 preceded them time to send back news of their 
 arrival at Port Tarascon, so that the state of 
 affairs might be fully known. 
 
 You may easily conceive that Tartarin, in his 
 quality of Governor, organizer, representative 
 of the idea of the Due de Mons, was able to 
 leave France only with the last batch. While 
 he waited for the day so impatiently desired, on 
 which he should set foot on the vessel that was 
 to carry him beyond the seas at the head of the 
 
PORT TARASCON. 63 
 
 best society of Tarascon, he displayed the ener- 
 gy and activity which we have been free to ad- 
 mire in all his undertakings. He seemed to 
 have a fiery flame in his body. 
 
 Perpetually on the rush, from Tarascon to 
 Marseilles and from IMarseilles to Tarascon, as 
 difficult to catch as a meteor impelled by an 
 invincible force, he appeared in either of these 
 cities only to leave it instantly for the other. 
 
 "You are tiring yourself out, mum-mum-mas- 
 ter," stammered Pascalon, on the evenings on 
 which. the great man came to the pharmacy 
 with a steaming brow and a rounded back. 
 
 But Tartarin straightened himself to his 
 height. " I'll rest out there. No, Pascalon, to 
 our work !" 
 
 The pupil had been in full charge of the 
 shop ever since Bezuquet's dcjDarture, but he 
 superadded to this responsibility functions 
 much more important. 
 
 To push on the propaganda so well started, 
 Tartarin had established a journal. The Port 
 Tarascon Gazctk\ and named Pascalon editor- 
 in-chief. 
 
 In this character the youth carried on the 
 paper quite alone, from the first to the last line, 
 under the instructions and the superior direc- 
 tion of the Governor. 
 
64 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 It is true that this combination was slightly 
 injurious to the interests of the pharmacy: the 
 articles to write, the proofs to correct, the rush- 
 ing round to the printers, left the good drug- 
 gist's representative but little time to occupy 
 himself conscientiously with laboratory work. 
 But the paper before everything ! 
 
 The Gazette treated the public of the me- 
 tropolis every morning to the latest news of 
 the settlement ; it contained articles on its re- 
 sources, its beauties, its magnificent future, and 
 also published small items, miscellanies, and 
 various kinds of tales. 
 
 There was something for every taste. 
 
 There were accounts of exploring parties in 
 the islands, conquests, fights against the sav- 
 ages, for bold and adventurous spirits. To the 
 country gentlemen were offered stories of the 
 pursuit of game in the forest, and others, equal- 
 ly astonishing, of that of fish in rivers extraor- 
 dinarily stocked, together with a description of 
 the methods and the tackle of the natives of 
 the country. Persons of a more peaceful habit 
 — shopkeepers, good sedentary citizens — were 
 delighted to read about some fresh luncheon 
 on the grass, on the edge of a tumbling brook, 
 in the shadow of the great outlandish trees : 
 they could fancy they were already there ; they 
 
rORT TARASCON. 65 
 
 could feel the juice of luscious fruits — man- 
 goes, pineapples, and bananas— trickle between 
 their teeth. "And no flies!" said the newspa- 
 per; which added a charm the more, flies be- 
 ing, as is well known, the scourge of all picnics 
 and excursions on Tarascon soil. 
 
 The Gazette even published a novel — " The 
 Maid of Tarascon " — about the daughter of a 
 colonist abducted by the son of a Papuan king 
 who had fallen in love with her; and the ups 
 and downs and ins and outs of this love drama 
 opened boundless horizons to the imagination 
 of young persons. 
 
 The financial department was devoted to 
 quotations from the colonial markets, to adver- 
 tisements of the issue of allotments of land, or 
 of shares in refineries or distilleries, as well as 
 to the publication of subscribers' names and of 
 the lists of contributions in kind, which contin- 
 ued to flow in. The preoccupation of the 
 good lady who wished to clothe a savage kept 
 constantly turning up. It was the dream of 
 her life — perhaps a religious vow. 
 
 To meet the demand for such frequent ship- 
 ments of a complete suit for a savage, she must 
 have set up regular workshops under her roof. 
 
 But this innocent spinster was not the only 
 one to become conscious of the fermentation 
 5 
 
66 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 of strange conjectures, thanks to such an explo- 
 sion of the colonizing spirit, of the idea of ex- 
 patriation on behalf of countries so far away 
 and so little known. 
 
 One day Tartarin had remained quietly at 
 home in his little house, his feet in his slippers 
 and his person snugly enveloped in his dress- 
 ing-gown ; not unoccupied, however, for near 
 him, on the table, were scattered books and pa- 
 pers. He had there at hand the accounts of 
 the explorations of Bougainville and Dumont 
 d'Urville, works on colonization, and hand-books 
 on different kinds of tillage. In the stillness 
 of his study, amid his poisoned arrows, with the 
 shadow of the baobab trembling delicately on 
 the blinds, he "got up" the subject of his set- 
 tlement and stuffed his memory with informa- 
 tion extracted from books. Between whiles he 
 sought relief from these researches in signing 
 some patent, in appointing a Grandee of the 
 first class, or in creating some new public func- 
 tion. And this was not the least arduous part 
 of his task, given the delirious ambition of his 
 fellow-citizens and the impossibility of satisfy- 
 mg them all. 
 
 While he was thus occupied, roundmg his 
 eyes and blowing into his cheeks, it was an- 
 nounced to him that a lady, dressed in black, 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 67 
 
 veiled, and refusing to give her name, requested 
 to speak to him. She had not even been will- 
 mg to come in and wait in the garden. Tar- 
 tarin rushed out to her just as he was — in 
 his slippers and 
 dressing-gown. 
 The day was 
 drawing to a 
 close, objects 
 were growin 
 already indis- 
 tinct in the 
 twilight; but 
 in spite of 
 her thick 
 veil, simply by 
 the fire of the 
 two eyes that 
 glowed be- 
 neath the tis- 
 sue, Tartarin 
 recognized his visitor 
 as soon as he was near 
 her. 
 
 " Madame Escourba- 
 
 
 nies 
 
 I" 
 
 " Monsieur Tartarin, you see before you a 
 most unhappy woman !" 
 
68 PORT TARASCON, 
 
 Her voice trembled ; it was full of tears. 
 The good fellow was quite moved by it. He 
 took the hand of Madame Escourbanies and, 
 with a paternal accent : 
 
 " My poor Evelina, what's the matter.? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 Tartarin called almost all the ladies in town 
 by their baptismal names. He had seen them 
 as little girls ; as a municipal ofTficer he had 
 been present when they were civilly married ; 
 he was their confidant, their friend, almost their 
 uncle. 
 
 He had taken Evelina's arm, and they strolled 
 together round the little tank with the gold- 
 fish. Then she told him her trouble, her con- 
 jugal anxieties. 
 
 From the beginning of the talk about the 
 settlement her husband had tried to worry her. 
 On every pretext he broke out : 
 
 "You'll see — you'll see when once we are 
 over there in Polygamilia !" 
 
 She, poor thing, very jealous, but also very 
 simple and even a little silly, had taken his 
 teasing quite seriously. 
 
 " Is this true, Monsieur Tartarin ? Is it true 
 that in that dreadful country men may marry 
 several times ?" 
 
 He reassured her as best he could. " No, in- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 69 
 
 deed, my dear Evelina ; you are quite wrong. 
 All the savages in that quarter are monoga- 
 mous. Their morals are perfectly correct. Be- 
 sides, under the direction of our White Fathers, 
 there's nothing to fear in that line." 
 
 "And yet the very name of the country — this 
 Polvo:amilia." 
 
 Then only he understood the joke that her 
 great trifler of a husband had tried to make, 
 and he burst into a loud laugh. " He is mak- 
 ing fun of you, my dear. The name of the 
 country is not Polygamilia, but Polynesia, which 
 doesn't even sound much like it. It means a 
 great lot of islands." 
 
 He went on some time longrer, walkins: her 
 about the little garden, soothing down her jeal- 
 ousy, explaining her husband's bad pun, which 
 at first she had some difficulty in understand- 
 ing, and comforting her so kindly and complete- 
 ly that she ended by laughing with him over 
 her blunder. 
 
 Meanwhile the weeks went by, and still no 
 letters arrived from the actual settlers ; noth- 
 ing arrived but telegrams — telegrams forward- 
 ed by the duke from Marseilles. They were 
 very laconic, dashed off hurriedly from Aden, 
 from Sydney, from the different places where 
 the Farandolc had put in. After all, there was 
 
70 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 no such great ground for surprise, so notorious 
 and so insurmountable is the indolence of the 
 Tarasconian. 
 
 Why should they have written ? Telegrams 
 were quite sufficient. Those that were received 
 and regularly published in the Gazette brought 
 nothing but good news — a delightful voyage, a 
 sea of oil, every one perfectly well. 
 
 Nothing more than this was needed to keep 
 up the general zeal. 
 
 At last one day at the very top of the Ga- 
 zette, appeared the following " cable," forwarded 
 like the rest from Marseilles : 
 
 " Arrived Port Tarascon, — Triumphal Entry. 
 — Friendship struck up with Natives coming to 
 meet us on Pier. — Tarasconian Flas^ floats over 
 Town-hall. — Te Dezwt sung in Metropolitan 
 Church. — Everything ready ; come quick !" 
 
 There came next a dithyrambic article, dic- 
 tated by Tartarin, on the occupation of the new 
 father -land, the foundation of the young city, 
 the visible protection of God, the flag of civili- 
 zation planted in virgin soil, the future open 
 to all. 
 
 No more was wanted to overcome the very 
 last hesitations. A new issue of shares at a 
 hundred francs an acre was rapidly taken up. 
 The bourgeoisie, the clergy, the nobility — the 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 71 
 
 whole place wished to start instantly; the 
 thing became a monomania, a fever, so that 
 even the grumblers like Costecalde, those who 
 up to this time had been lukewarm and even 
 had affected doubts, were now most crazy to 
 get off. 
 
 The preparations were pushed forward on all 
 sides. The nailing of boxes went on in the 
 very streets, littered with straw and hay. The 
 bang of the hammer was heard froni mornino- 
 till night. Men worked in their shirt- sleeves, 
 all in good -humor, singing and whistling, and 
 tools were borrowed and lent from hand to 
 hand, while the liveliest remarks were ex- 
 changed. The women packed up their finery, 
 the Fathers their ciboria, the little ones their 
 little toys. The vessel chartered for the gen- 
 teel portion of Tarascon had been christened 
 the Tootoopumpum, the popular name of the 
 Tarasconian tambourine, the national musical 
 instrument that presides at the dances and the 
 reels. It was a large iron steamer, commanded 
 by Captain Scrapouchinat, of Toulon, a seaman 
 of wide experience. They were all to go on 
 board at Tarascon itself 
 
 The waters of the Rhone were fair, and as 
 the ship had not a great draught, it had been 
 possible to bring it up the river as far as the 
 
72 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The lading and 
 
 town and moor it at the quay 
 stowing took a whole month. 
 
 While the sailors were arranging the innu- 
 merable boxes in the hold, the future passengers 
 settled themselves in advance in their cabins. 
 
 And it was a pleasure to see with what jollity, 
 what delightful good -humor, all this went on. 
 Every one was pleased, and only wanted to ren- 
 der service to every one else. 
 
 " This place suits you better ? Don't men- 
 tion it !" 
 
 " This cabin pleases you more ? Make your- 
 self comfortable !" 
 
 And so with everything. The Tarasconian 
 
PORT TARASCON. 73 
 
 nobility, usually so sniffy, the Aigueboulides, 
 the Escudelles, people who usually looked 
 down at one from the bridije of their frreat 
 noses, now fraternized with their social infe- 
 riors. 
 
 In the midst of the hurly-burly of going on 
 board, a letter was received one morninfr from 
 Father Vezole, dated from Port Tarascon. It 
 was the first mail that had arrived. 
 
 " God be praised, we've got here !" said the 
 good Father. " We're in want of a good many 
 little things." 
 
 There was not much enthusiasm in this let- 
 ter, neither were there many details about the 
 colony. The reverend gentleman confined him- 
 self to a few remarks about the King, Nagonko, 
 and about Likiriki, the young daughter of the 
 King, a charming little thing whom he had pre- 
 sented with a beaded net for her hair. He re- 
 quested further that they should send on a few 
 objects slightly more practical than the habitu- 
 al gifts of the subscribers. This was all. Not 
 a single word about the harbor, about the town, 
 about the settlement. Brother Bataillet was 
 furious. 
 
 " He seems to me very slack, your Father 
 Vezole," he said to Tartarin ; " but trust mc to 
 shake him up for you when I get there." 
 
74 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 This letter was indeed very cold, especially 
 coming from such a genial person ; but the 
 bad effect that it might have produced was 
 lost in the confusion of getting settled on 
 board, in the deafening noise of the transplanta- 
 tion of a whole city. 
 
 The Governor — Tartarin was now called only 
 by this name — passed his days on the deck of 
 the Tootoopumpum. With a smile on his face 
 and his hands behind his back, he walked up 
 and down amid a confusion of strange things — 
 bread baskets, chests of drawers, warming-pans 
 — which had not yet found stowage in the 
 hold. He gave advice in a patriarchal tone: 
 " You're taking too many things, my children. 
 You'll find everything you want over there." 
 
 Thus he had left behind him his arrows, his 
 baobab, and his goldfish. Of course he was 
 taking his arms — his American rifle, the thirty- 
 two shooter — and also some flannel, plenty of 
 flannel. 
 
 And how he looked after everything; how 
 he had an eye on everything, not only on 
 board, but also on shore, from the rehearsals of 
 the Orpheon to the drill of the militia on the 
 Long Walk ! This military organization of 
 the Tarasconians had survived the siege of 
 Pamperigouste ; it had even been carried fur- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 7c 
 
 ther, in view of the defence of the colony, and 
 the conquests that there was a good expecta- 
 tion of making. Tartarin was delighted with 
 the martial attitude of liis troops, ancl frequent- 
 ly expressed his satisfaction to them as well as 
 to their chief, the bold Bravida, in orders of the 
 day. 
 
 And yet there was a fold in the Governors 
 brow. 
 
 Two days before they set sail, Barafort, a 
 fisherman on the Rhone, had found among the 
 osiers of the bank an empty bottle, hermeti- 
 cally corked, of which the glass was still clear 
 enough to permit something like a roll of pa- 
 per to be perceived inside. There's no fisher- 
 man who doesn't know that a waif of this kind 
 is to be handed over to the authorities; so 
 Barafort had carried his treasure- trove to the 
 Governor, the only authority now recognized by 
 the Tarasconians. Here, therefore, is the strange 
 letter contained in the mysterious bottle : 
 
 " Tarla7^m, Tar ascoii, Europe : 
 
 " Appalling cataclysm at Port Tarascon. Isl- 
 and, city, harbor, swallowed up; sunk out of 
 sight. Bompard admirable as usual, and as 
 usual paying for his devotion with his life. 
 Don't come! In Heaven's name let no one 
 come!" 
 
76 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 This letter was evidently the production of a 
 practical joker. How had it ever been carried 
 from the depths of Oceanica and cast ashore 
 precisely at Tarascon ? What mighty wave 
 could have floated it so far across the seas ? 
 And the " paying as usual with his life," didn't 
 that alone betray a misleading intention? Nev- 
 er mind, this portent disturbed the triumph of 
 our friend. 
 
 y 
 
 i\ .,/ 
 
PORT TARASCON. 77 
 
 IV. 
 
 You talk of the picturesque, but if you had 
 seen the deck of the Tootoopumpiun that May 
 morning in 1881 you would have seen something 
 that deserved the name. All the Commissioners 
 and Directors were in full dress. Tournatoire, 
 General Commissioner of Health ; Costecalde, 
 General Commissioner of Agriculture; Bravida, 
 General-in-Chief of the Levies, and twenty oth- 
 ers, offered to the eye a medley of variegated 
 costumes, blazinir with color and embroidered 
 with silver and 2:old. Manv wore in addition 
 the mantle of Grandee of the first class — crim- 
 son, trimmed with gold. Amid the bedizened 
 throng Brother Bataillet made a white spot as 
 Grand Almoner of the Colony and Chaplain of 
 the Governor. 
 
 The military especially glittered. The great- 
 er number of the common soldiers having been 
 forwarded in the other vessels, those that re- 
 niained were the officers — Bravida, Escourba- 
 
yS PORT TARASCON. 
 
 nies, the whole staff, sabre in hand, revolver in 
 the belt, the chest well forward, the shoulders 
 well back, in smart hussar jackets, all shoulder- 
 knots and frogs. They were particularly proud 
 of their magnificent boots, polished till they 
 shone ag^ain. 
 
 With all this military toggery was mingled 
 the finery of the ladies, who were almost all in 
 bright, gay, shimmering colors, with ribbons and 
 scarves that floated in the air. Here and there 
 among the maid-servants was a specimen of the 
 Tarascon head-dress. Hang over all this, in 
 your mind, and over the ship, with its shining- 
 brasses, its masts pointed at the sky — ^hang over 
 this a splendid sun, a real holiday sun ; give it 
 for horizon the broad Rhone, billowed like a 
 sea and brushed up by a stroke of our mistral, 
 and you will have an idea of the appearance of 
 the Tootoopiimpum when about to start for Port 
 Tarascon. 
 
 The Due de Mons was to have been present 
 at the last, but he was in London at this mo- 
 ment, looking after a new issue of bonds. You 
 see, there had been a tremendous need of money 
 to pay for ships and crews and engineers, and 
 to meet the other expenses of the exodus. The 
 duke had announced by telegram that very 
 morning that he was on the point of sending 
 
PORT TARASCON. 79 
 
 on cash. Every one admired the practical side 
 of the man of the North. 
 
 " He goes by book ; he looks after the sinews 
 of war," said the Tarasconians, merrily. 
 
 " What an example he sets us gentlemen !" 
 Tartarin exclaimed. And he never failed to 
 add, " Now don't get starrted, you know !" roll- 
 ing his r like the good Tarasconian he was. 
 In the midst of the bedizened crowd of his 
 subjects, as they might be called, the Governor 
 remained perfectly simple, only in evening dress, 
 with the grand Ribbon of the Order across his 
 chest. 
 
 As each new familv arrived to embark it was 
 Q-reeted with acclamations. F'rom the deck of 
 the Tootoopiimpiiiii they were seen coming dow^n 
 and rounding the corners ; and as the groups 
 came nearer and emerged upon the dock they 
 were recognized, they were even addressed by 
 name : 
 
 " Ah, here come the Roquetaillades !" 
 " I say. Monsieur Franquebalme !" 
 Whereupon there were bravos and enthusias- 
 tic cheers. An ovation was made, among others, 
 for the ancient dowager Countess of Aigue- 
 boulide, who was almost a hundred years old, as 
 she was seen skipping ujj the plank in her little 
 black silk n.iantilla, nodding her head, carrying 
 
8o 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 in one hand her 
 foot -warmer and 
 in the other her 
 stuffed parrot. 
 
 Every moment 
 there were fewer 
 left behind, and 
 soon nobody at 
 all : the streets 
 looked wider 
 now, between the 
 closed doors of 
 the houses, with 
 the shop - fronts 
 all barricaded, 
 and the shutters 
 drawn and blinds 
 lowered on the 
 other windows. 
 When every one 
 was on board 
 there was a period 
 of solemn silence, 
 a deep momentary 
 return of the company on itself. Nothing was 
 heard but the hiss of the escaping steam. Ev- 
 ery one had his eyes turned to the captain, erect 
 upon the poop, ready to give the order to let 
 
 'TTiiegui' 
 
PORT TARASCON. 8 I 
 
 go. All of a sudden somebody cried, " I say, 
 the Tarasque !" 
 
 I'm sure you will have heard some mention 
 of this strange creature, the fabled animal that 
 originally gave its name to the city of Taras- 
 con. To recall its history in two words, this 
 Tarasque, in very ancient days, was nothing 
 less than a terrible monster, a most alarming 
 dragon, which laid waste the country at the 
 mouth of the Rhone. St. Martha, who had 
 come into Provence after the death of our 
 Lord, went forth and caught the beast in the 
 deep marshes, and binding its neck with a sk)-- 
 bluc ribbon, brought it into the city captive, 
 tamed by the innocence and piety of the saint. 
 
 Ever since then, in remembrance of the great 
 service rendered by the holy Martha, the Taras- 
 conians have kept a holiday, which they cele- 
 brate every ten years by a procession through 
 the city. This procession forms the escort of 
 a sort of ferocious, bloody monster, made of 
 wood and painted pasteboard, who is a cross 
 between the serpent and the crocodile, and rep- 
 resents, in gross and ridiculous efifigy, the drag- 
 on of ancient days. The thing is not a mere 
 masquerade, for the Tarasque is really held in 
 veneration; she is a regular idol, inspiring a 
 sort of superstitious, affectionate fear. She is 
 6 
 
82 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 tjfc^-iU. 
 
 called in the country the Old Granny. The 
 creature is usually stalled in a shed especially 
 hired for her by the town council. 
 
 So she really formed part of the city, and it 
 was out of the question, on such an occasion, to 
 leave her behind. The start was delayed, and 
 a lot of young men rushed off to fetch her. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 8t, 
 
 When she appeared upon the dock, dragged 
 by these zealous youths, every hat went off and 
 every eye filled. She was greeted with enthu- 
 siastic cries ; she was the Old Granny indeed, 
 the soul of the city, the Mother-land herself. 
 
 Far too big to be stowed away below, she 
 was placed far aft, solidly moored to the deck, 
 and there, enormous and preposterous, like a 
 monster in a pantomime, with her canvas belly 
 
84 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 and her painted scales, she finished off the 
 quaint picturesqueness of the whole. Rearing 
 her head above the bulwarks, she seemed, like 
 the chimeras carved of old on the prows of 
 ships, to preside over the fortune of the voyage 
 and to subdue the wrath of the sea. She was 
 surrounded with respect ; she was occasionally 
 even spoken to ; they appeared to invoke her. 
 
 Seeing this emotion, Tartarin feared that she 
 might excite in some hearts a regret for the for- 
 saken home ; so that, on a sign from him. Cap- 
 tain Scrapouchinat suddenly, in a formidable 
 voice, gave the order, " Straight away !" 
 
 This order broke the spell. 
 
 Then instantly broke out the flourish of the 
 trumpets and the whistle of the steam ; the 
 water began to boil beneath the screw, and 
 amid the hubbub and movement Escourbanies 
 rushed about, waved his arms, and shouted, " A 
 lot of noise ! — let's make a lot of noise !" The 
 shore was left behind at a bound, King Rene's 
 towers in the distance were more and more re- 
 duced, and more and more dwarfed, as if obliter- 
 ated suddenly by the hot, throbbing light. 
 
 Our friends, leaning over the sides of the 
 ship, confident, careless, and smiling, watched 
 all this pass from them and vanish away with- 
 out more emotion, now that they were accom- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 85 
 
 3- T 
 
 i#-^; 
 
 panied by the good Tarasque, than a swarni of 
 bees changing their hive to the sound of the 
 kettle-drum, or a liock of starlings starting in a 
 triangle for Africa. 
 
 And trulv their beloved monster protected 
 6* 
 
86 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 them. The weather was divine, the sea re- 
 splendent, without either gale or gust — never, 
 in short, was there a more auspicious voyage. 
 
 At the Suez Canal, indeed, they hung out 
 their tongues a little, toasted at the fire of a 
 burning sun, in spite of the colonial head-gear 
 which all had adopted in imitation of Tartarin 
 — a cork helmet covered with white linen and 
 embellished with a veil of green gauze. But if 
 the temperature was that of an oven, they man- 
 aged to bear it, having been already tolerably 
 well cooked and prepared for the climate by 
 the sun of Provence. After Port Said and 
 Suez, after Aden and the crossing of the Red 
 Sea, the Tootoop2iinpnm took her course straight 
 through the Indian Ocean. She steamed very 
 fast, at a steady pace, on a smooth sea, under a 
 sky as white, as milky, and velvety as one of 
 those wonderful creamy compounds of garlic 
 that the emigrants consumed at every meal. 
 
 And oh, the quantity of garlic that was con- 
 sumed on board ! They had brought with them 
 a prodigious supply. The odor of it, like a 
 long trail, marked the track of the ship ; it 
 seemed as if the very breath of Provence had 
 followed the Tarasque across the waters. As 
 they went on and on, the smell of Tarascon 
 mincrled with the smell of India. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 87 
 
 Soon they began to skirt the islands that 
 emerged from the deep Hke clumps of strange 
 flowers. In the midst of the rank verdure flit- 
 ted magnificent birds, all dressed in gems. The 
 calm, transparent nights, lighted by a myriad 
 
 .Tnotlcnmd- "iil-ii^^^ 
 
 stars, were suffused with vague murmurs — mur- 
 murs that might have been the echo of the dis- 
 tant music of bayaderes. 
 
 They put in at the Maldives, at Ceylon, at 
 Singapore; but the ladies, Madame Escourba- 
 
88 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 nies at their head, forbade their husbands to set 
 foot on shore. 
 
 A fierce instinct of jealousy caused them to 
 dread this dangerous Indian cHme, where love 
 indeed seemed to float in the air. This was 
 felt on the very deck of the Tootoopttmpiim, as 
 you might see in the evening from the way 
 the timid Pascalon leaned against the bulwarks, 
 close to Mademoiselle Clorinde des Espazettes, 
 a tall, handsome girl whose aristocratic charm 
 attracted him. 
 
 The good Tartarin smiled in his beard, and 
 looked another way, as soon as he saw these 
 young persons conversing together in the dis- 
 tance with their eyes bent on the sea or turned 
 up to the sky. This spectacle touched him in 
 a tender place ; he could see there, in advance, 
 a marriage for their landing. 
 
 Besides, from the beginning of the trip, the 
 Governor had shown himself exquisitely kind, 
 charmingly, fondly indulgent, with a particular 
 command of his temper. 
 
 Captain Scrapouchinat, who had proved an 
 awkward customer, gloomy and violent, was a 
 regular tyrant on his ship. Unacquainted with 
 laughter, he kept apart from the rest, flew into 
 a rage at the least word, and began to threaten, 
 to talk immediately of having you "shot like 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 89 
 
 a green monkey." Tartarin, patient and rea- 
 sonable, calmed the military, kept down the in- 
 dignation of the fiery spirits like Escourbanies. 
 He had a great deal of trouble, especially with 
 
90 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Brother Batalllet, his irrepressible chaplain, al- 
 ways ready for rebellion, and always saying to 
 him, " Only make a sign, and I'll chuck him 
 overboard !" 
 
 Tartarin took the other's arm, repeated his 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 91 
 
 " Now don't get started !" and called attention 
 to his own example. Didn't he himself, he the 
 Governor, submit to Scrapouchinat's whims ? 
 
 He even tried to make excuses for him 
 " The man wants to be master on his own ship. 
 After all, he is right." 
 
 In this way Tartarin did his best to keep 
 peace on board ; but this was not all he did. 
 
 The morning hours were devoted to the 
 study of Papuan. It was his chaplain who offi- 
 ciated as teacher ; in his character of retired 
 missionary Brother Bataillet knew this lan- 
 guage and many others. During the day Tar- 
 
92 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 tarin collected his little multitude either on the 
 deck or in the saloon, and gave them lectures, 
 exhibiting his lately learned lore on the subject 
 of the planting of the sugar-cane and the work- 
 ing of the trepang. 
 
 But the ofreat wonder was the shootinsf les- 
 sons that he gave the military ; for they would 
 find lots of game where they were going. It 
 would not be as at Tarascon, where, for lack of 
 this commodity, the Tarasconians had become, 
 as will be remembered, famous cap -shooters, 
 every one throwing his cap into the air to hit 
 it on the wing. 
 
 " You fire very well, my children ; but you 
 fire too fast," said Tartarin. 
 
 Their blood was too hot; that would never 
 do where they were going. 
 
 So he gave them excellent advice, taught 
 them to take their time according to the dif- 
 ferent kinds of game, and count methodically, as 
 if with a metronome. 
 
 " Three times for the quail ! One, two, three 
 — bang! Hit! For the partridge" — and flut- 
 tering his open hand he imitated the flight of 
 the bird — " for the partridge you must count 
 only two. One, two — bang ! Pick her up, 
 she's dead." 
 
 So they got through the monotonous hours 
 
PORT TARASCON. 93 
 
 of the voyage, and each turn of the screw 
 brought nearer to the realization of their 
 dreams the honest souls who had been cra- 
 dled all the way in fine projects for the future, 
 sailing in the light of their hopes, and talking 
 of nothing but furnishing, clearing, improving 
 their future estates. 
 
 Sunday was always a day of rest and a holi- 
 day. 
 
 Brother Bataillet said mass on the deck in 
 great pomp, with a full military display ; and 
 the bugles rang out and the drums beat the 
 charge at the moment the priest lifted the 
 Host. After mass the reverend Father deliv- 
 ered himself of one of those vivid parables in 
 which he excelled — not so much a sermon as a 
 kind of poetic mystery, all glowing with the 
 Southern faith. The story was as artless as 
 some legend of saints pieced together on the 
 windows of an old village church; but to taste 
 the full charm of it vou must imas^ine the ves- 
 sel mopped from stem to stern, with all her 
 brasses shininsr, the ladies seated in a circle, 
 the Governor in his great cane chair, surround- 
 ed bv the Commissioners in full dress, the 
 troops in two rows, the sailors perched in the 
 shrouds, and the whole conQ:reQ:ation silent, at- 
 tentive, with its eyes upon the Father, who 
 
94 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 stands erect upon the steps of the altar. The 
 beat of the screw keeps time to his voice, and 
 against the pure deep sky the smoke of the 
 steamer draws out in a straight thin Hne ; the 
 dolphins sport on the surface of the water ; the 
 
 sea-birds, the gull and the albatross, whirl and 
 cry in the wake of the ship ; and the White 
 Father, with his crooked shoulder, himself looks, 
 when he raises and shakes his wide sleeves, like 
 a great sea-bird flapping its wings and about to 
 take flight. 
 
V. 
 
 It is again into Paradise that I shall intro- 
 duce you, my children, into that great ante- 
 chamber of royal blue where good St. Peter 
 makes his home, his bunch of keys in his belt, 
 ever ready to open his door to the souls of the 
 elect when any present themselves. Unhai> 
 ])ily, for years and years past, our humanity has 
 become so wicked that the best of us after 
 
96 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 death have to stop in purgatoi^, without going 
 higher, so that the good saint has nothing to 
 do but to rub up his keys with sand-paper, and 
 brush away the cobwebs that are stretched 
 across his door Hke seals of the law. Every 
 now and then he fancies some one is knocking. 
 Then he says : 
 
 " Here's some one at last: it's none too soon." 
 
 Then, when the wicket opens, there's nothing 
 but immensity, nothing but eternal silence, with 
 the planets either motionless or rolling through 
 space with the soft sound of a ripe orange de- 
 tached from the branch ; never the shadow of 
 one of the blessed. 
 
 Think what a humiliation for a saint so fond 
 of us all, and how he must bewail it day and 
 night ! How many he must shed of those burn- 
 ing, consuming tears that have ended by dig- 
 ging down his old cheeks two deep ruts, just 
 like those you may see between Tarascon and 
 Montmajour, on the road to the quarries ! 
 
 Now, it happened once that St. Joseph, who 
 had come to keep him company a bit — for the 
 poor turnkey was weary at last of being always 
 alone in his forecourt — it happened once that 
 St. Joseph said to him, by way of consolation : 
 
 " But, when it comes to that, what difference 
 can it make to you whether or not those people 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 97 
 
 down there continue to come up to your wick- 
 et? Aren't you all right here, lulled by the 
 softest music and 
 the sweetest 
 scents?" 
 
 Even while he 
 spoke thus there 
 was wafted from 
 the depths of the 
 seven heavens 
 that opened out 
 there, one into 
 another, a warm 
 breeze chars^ed 
 with sounds and 
 colors and per- 
 fumes such as 
 nothing, my dear 
 friends, can give 
 you a notion of, 
 not even this fla- 
 vor of citronade 
 and fresh rasp- 
 berry which the 
 breath of the sea 
 
 has been blowing for the last minute into our 
 faces, out of that great bouquet of islands there, 
 pink in the breeze. 
 7 
 
98 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " Hei2:h !" said 2:ood St. Peter, " I've more 
 than my share of comfort in this paradise of 
 every blessing, but I wish those poor children 
 could be up here with me." Then, abruptly, 
 seized with anger: " Ah, the scoundrels! Ah, 
 the idiots! No, Joseph. Don't you see the 
 Lord is too kind to such wretches ? If I were 
 in His place, I know very well what I should 
 do." 
 
 " What would you do, my good Peter ?" 
 
 " Oh, sure, I'd let fly a great kick at the ant- 
 hill, and send humanity about its business." 
 
 St. Joseph jerked up his old beard. " It 
 would have to be terribly strong, all the same, 
 any kick that would demolish the earth. It 
 mifrht do the business for the Turks, the infi- 
 dels, the populations of Asia that are rotting 
 away ; but the Christian world is another mat- 
 ter, solid and strong, put together by the Son." 
 
 "Just so," replied St. Peter. "But what 
 Christ has put together Christ can quite as 
 well destroy. I would send my Divine Son 
 down to the gallows-birds a second time, and 
 this Antichrist, who would be my Christ dis- 
 guised, would make short work of them — re- 
 duce them all to pulp." 
 
 The good saint spoke in his anger, without 
 heeding much what he said, above all, without 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 99 
 
 suspecting that his words would be repeated to 
 
 the Divine Master; so that his surprise was 
 
 great when suddenly the Son of Man rose 
 
 before him, with ^_^ 
 
 a little bundle 
 
 on his shoulder, 
 
 at the end of a 
 
 wayfarer's staff, 
 
 saying, with his 
 
 firm, sweet voice, 
 
 "Come, Peter; 
 I take you with 
 me. 
 
 From the pale- 
 ness of Jesus, 
 from the fever of 
 His great eyes, 
 which threw out 
 still more rays 
 than His halo, 
 Peter instantly 
 understood : he 
 was sorry he had 
 said too much. 
 What would he 
 not have ijiven that this second mis>ion ot 
 the Son of Man upon earth should not take 
 place, and especially that he himself should 
 
lOO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 not have to figure in it! He turned this 
 way and that, quite in despair, with fidgeting 
 hands. " Ah, my Lord ! ah, my Lord ! And 
 my keys — what shall I do with them?'' It 
 is true that on so long a journey his heavy 
 bunch would be anything but comfortable. 
 "And my door," he went on — "who will keep 
 it for me ?" 
 
 On which Jesus smiled, reading to the bot- 
 tom of his soul, and said: "Leave your keys in 
 the door, Peter. You know very well there's 
 no danger of any one's ever getting in." 
 
 He spoke gently, but nobody could have failed 
 to be conscious that there was something im- 
 placable in His smile and in His voice. 
 
 As is told in the Holy Scriptures, the com- 
 ing of the Son of Man upon earth was an- 
 nounced by signs in the heavens ; but for a 
 long time past we crouching mortals had never 
 looked up there. Taken up with our passions, 
 we saw no token of the presence of the Divine 
 Master, nor of that of the old servant who came 
 with Him; all the more that the two travellers 
 had brought with them a change of raiment, 
 and could disguise themselves every way they 
 wished. 
 
 None the less, in the first town they came to. 
 
PORT TARASCON. lOI 
 
 just the night before a famous ruf^an called 
 Sanguinarias, the author of dreadful crimes, was 
 to be put to death, the workmen employed in 
 knocking up the stakes of justice in the night 
 were surprised to see among them, lending a 
 hand in the torch -light, two companions who 
 had come from nobody knew where, one of 
 them gallant and easy, like the bastard of a 
 prince, with a fine forked beard and eyes like 
 jewels, the other already bent, with a kindly, 
 drowsy face, and two long scars in runnels on 
 his crumpled cheeks. Then in the early dawn, 
 when the scaffold was up, and the people and 
 the authorities were ranged round for the exe- 
 cution, the two strangers had vanished, leaving 
 the whole machinery so wondrously bewitched 
 that when the condemned man was stretched 
 upon the plank, the blade — a blade well sharp- 
 ened, steel of the right brand — came down twen- 
 ty times, one after the other, without making so 
 much as an impression on his skin. 
 
 You see from here the picture: the bewilder- 
 ment of the burgesses, the wild shudder of the 
 crowd, the executioner knocking his assistants 
 about and tearing his sweat -moistened hair, 
 with Sanguinarias himself — the vagabond was, 
 of course, from Beaucaire, and added to all his 
 evil propensities a diabolical conceit — Sangui- 
 / 
 
I02 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 narias, greatly vexed, twisting his black bull 
 neck this way and that in the yoke, and crying : 
 
 " Curse me ! what 
 ^ in the world's the 
 
 matter with me ? 
 Ain't I put to- 
 gether like other 
 people ?" 
 
 Then, at the 
 end of the end, 
 you see the con- 
 stables obliged to 
 carry the wretch 
 off by force, and 
 thrust him back 
 into his cell, while 
 the howling crowd 
 dances about the 
 demolished scaf- 
 fold, flaming and 
 crackling up to 
 the sky like a bon- 
 fire on an anniver- 
 sary. 
 
 From that time 
 forth, in that city and throughout the civilized 
 world, a spell was cast upon the supreme de- 
 crees of justice. The sword of the law refused 
 
PORT TAKASCON. IO3 
 
 to cut, and as death is the only thing that 
 murderers fear, soon a perfect deluge of crime 
 flowed over the earth ; the streets and the roads 
 ceased to be possible for terrified, decent peo- 
 ple ; and in the penitentiaries, crammed to the 
 roof, the cutthroats grew fat on good juicy 
 meats, smashed the faces of their warders in 
 with their boot heels, gouged out their eyes 
 with the thumb, or else, simply from curiosity, 
 amused themselves with unscrewing the unfort- 
 unate creatures' heads, to see what they had 
 inside. 
 
 In the presence of the awful havoc caused by 
 the disarming of justice, it struck poor St. Peter 
 that everv one concerned had had about enou2:h, 
 SO that with a heart swollen with pity, and a 
 good big hypocritical laugh of conciliation, he 
 remarked : 
 
 " The lesson has answered, Master, and 1 
 think they'll remember. Shouldn't you say we 
 might go up again ? Because, let me tell 
 you, I'm afraid I may be wanted in a certain 
 place." 
 
 The Son of Man gave His pale and beautiful 
 smile. " Remember," He said, with a lifted fin- 
 ger, " what Christ put together Christ also can 
 destroy !" 
 
 On which Peter reflected, hanging his head. 
 
I04 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 '' I said too much, poor children — I said too 
 
 much !" 
 
 They found themselves at this time on fer- 
 tile slopes, at the 
 foot of which a 
 rich imperial city, 
 as far as the eye 
 could see, stretch- 
 ed away its domes, 
 its terraces, the 
 lace -work of its 
 belfries, and the 
 towers and spires 
 of cathedrals, on 
 which crosses of 
 every shape, in 
 marble and gold, 
 glittered in the 
 peaceful sunset. 
 
 " I hope this lot 
 have enough con- 
 vents and church- 
 es to be saved !" 
 the good old man 
 went on, trying 
 to turn away the 
 
 wrath of the Lord. " It's pleasant to see this, 
 
 at any rate !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 10= 
 
 But you know that what Jesus despises above 
 all things is the hypocritical, sumptuous wor- 
 ship of the Pharisees — churches where people 
 go to mass because it's the fashion, convents 
 that make syrups and chocolate — so that He 
 quickened His step without replying, and, the 
 crops being very high, nothing was seen of the 
 dreadful destroyer, as the pair came down, but 
 a little bundle of clothes swinging at the end of 
 a pedestrian stick. 
 
 Well, then, there lived in the city they now 
 entered an old, old emperor, the senior member 
 of the company of princes of Europe, as he was 
 the most powerful and the most just — the one 
 who kept war chained to the axles of his can- 
 non, and, by persuasion or force, prevented the 
 nations from tearing each other to pieces. 
 
 So long as he should be there, the tacit agree- 
 ment between dog and wolf, that the sheep 
 might browse unmolested, would hold ; but af- 
 ter that, to a certainty, you would have to stand 
 from under. This is why the whole world cher- 
 ished the life of the good emperor; there was 
 not a single mother who would not ha\'e been 
 ready to open her veins to make his blood rud- 
 dier and richer. 
 
 Yet, all of a sudden, this love was turned to 
 hate, for an infernal password went about — 
 
lOO 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " Let's kill him. He's the good tyrant, the 
 most execrable of all, since he leaves us not 
 
 even the right to 
 rebel !" 
 
 So, beneath the 
 imperial palace, 
 undermined and 
 dynamited, in the 
 darkness of the 
 cellars, where the 
 conspirators, up to 
 their middles in 
 water, played their 
 game, I leave you 
 to guess what mys- 
 terious compan- 
 ion, with shining 
 eyes, urged on the 
 work of death, 
 closing all hearts 
 to fear and to pity, 
 and, when the blow 
 was dealt, shout- 
 ing out the su- 
 preme hurrah. 
 As for the poor emperor, alas, no great trace 
 of him was found in the ruins — only a few 
 singed tufts of his beard, and a hand of justice 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 107 
 
 twisted by the flames. Unmuzzled war beo-aii 
 straightway to howl ; the sky grew black with 
 the ravens gathered together from the ends 
 of the earth ; the 
 world settled 
 down, as if forev- 
 er, to the 
 business of 
 
 great 
 kill- 
 
 ing. 
 
 * * * 
 
 While the na- 
 tions were put- 
 ting an end to 
 each other by 
 their abominable 
 engines, while on 
 all quarters of the 
 horizon the taken 
 cities flamed like 
 torches, on the 
 roads blocked up 
 with fleeinor cat- 
 tie, with carts 
 without drivers, 
 along the fields 
 lying fallow, be- 
 side the rivers red with blood, the vineyards 
 and harvests unmercifully murdered, Jesus, with 
 
io8 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 His cheerful step, His wallet on His shoulder, 
 and at His heels the good saint who tried in 
 
 vain to move Him 
 — Jesus held His 
 course to a distant 
 country, which en- 
 joyed the teach- 
 ings of a famous 
 doctor of the name 
 of Mr. Mauve. 
 
 This Mr. Mauve, 
 a great healer of 
 men and of beasts, 
 directing as he 
 liked all the forces 
 of nature, had very 
 nearly found the 
 secret for prolong- 
 ing human life; he 
 had indeed just all 
 but put his hand 
 on it, when one 
 night, through the 
 clumsiness of a 
 new assistant, 
 whom he had just taken into his laboratory, 
 and who was never seen again, several jars filled 
 with subtle poisons were left uncorked, so that 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 109 
 
 in the morning Mr. Mauve fell asphyxiated as 
 soon as he opened his door. 
 
 This accident scarcely led to the prolonga- 
 tion of human life ; quite the contrary, for the 
 learned gentleman had made it his business to 
 collect for study a host of ancient scourges, ex- 
 traordinary leprosies of Egypt and of the Mid- 
 dle Ages, of which the germs, escaping from the 
 retorts, spread themselves over the world and 
 filled it with desolation. There were showers 
 of toads, pestilential and ignoble, as in the days 
 of the Hebrews; there were fevers — yellow, 
 malignant, quartern, tertian, intermittent — and 
 plagues and typhoids, a host of lost diseases 
 grafted on a host of modern ones, and others, 
 too, that had never been seen ; so that among 
 the people all this took the name of Mr. Mauve 's 
 disease. 
 
 Heaven keep you, my dear children, from any 
 such fearful complaint ! 
 
 The bones melted like glass, the muscles 
 came off in shreds. People suffered so that 
 they ceased to groan; the dying fell before 
 death into bits, and turned into a mere mess 
 by the road-sides, so that the scavengers had 
 not shovels and carts enough to pick them up. 
 " Bravo ! It's a good job done !" said St. Pe- 
 ter, in a jolly voice, through which you might 
 
IIO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 have felt the tears. " So now, Master, mightn't 
 we go up home again ? I begin to feel a sort 
 of sinking." 
 
 Jesus knew very well that this sort of sinking 
 covered a great pity for the humans. 
 
 So now, pursuing his way without answering, 
 and trudging across the country with his old 
 servant, by the glimmer of a little pink, green- 
 ish dawn, he suddenly heard, through the call 
 of the cocks and the lowing of beasts — all the 
 first vague sounds that greet the day — a strange 
 human cry, the wail of a woman, rising in great 
 waves, in spasms, now loud enough to rend the 
 sky, now sinking into a long, soft moan — the 
 moan that those who have heard it once can 
 never mistake. In the coming of the day a 
 creature was coming into the world. Jesus 
 stopped and mused. If they kept on being 
 born, of what use was it to destroy them ? 
 Lookine about for the thatched cabin from 
 which the cry issued, he raised his white hand 
 in a threat. 
 
 " Pity, Master, pity for the little ones !" sobbed 
 poor St. Peter. 
 
 But the Lord bade him be comforted. 
 
 To this child of the breast, as to all who 
 should henceforth be born upon earth, he had 
 
PORT TARASCOX. Ill 
 
 made a gift of welcome. Peter was afraid to 
 ask him what it might be; but I, my friends, 
 can tell you what it was. Jesus had given 
 them, the poor little lambs, the gift of experi- 
 ence, and it was to be a very terrible thing. 
 
 Reflect that, up to that time, when a man 
 died, the man's experience had died with him. 
 Now, in consequence of this endowment of Jesus, 
 there arose such a thing as experience accumu- 
 lated. Children were born old and sad and dis- 
 couraged. As soon as their eyes opened they 
 discovered the end of all things, and people be- 
 gan to see such an abominable thing as the 
 suicide of infants. 
 
 And yet all this was still not enough ; the 
 accursed race refused to be extinguished — in- 
 sisted on living in spite of everything. 
 
 Therefore, to finish it off sooner, Christ took 
 from men the taste for love ; women ceased to 
 be beautiful for them ; and for women, men 
 ceased to be lordly, intelligent, and bold. It 
 was the end of all delight, and also the end of 
 all noble sacrifice. There was no sort of joy 
 left for the dwellers on earth ; they asked for 
 nothing but forgetfulness of everything; they 
 aspired to nothing but utter sleep. Oh, to sleep, 
 to stop thinking, to stop suffering ! 
 
 So, you see, our poor humanity was in a very 
 
112 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 bad way, and wouldn't have much longer to go, 
 for the indefatigable exterminator drove on his 
 work still faster and faster. He kept roaming 
 all over the world, like a pilgrim with a wallet ; 
 and his companion followed him, tremendous- 
 ly tired and bent, with the two furrows of his 
 tears growing deeper and deeper in his cheeks, 
 crying "Mercy! mercy!" when the Master let 
 loose in their track volcanoes and cyclones and 
 earthquakes. 
 
 When he had worked off the civilized races, 
 the pair passed into the other parts of the 
 globe. 
 
 Now one fine morning — it was the Feast of 
 the Assumption — as Jesus walked the water, 
 treading the waves as he is shown us in Script- 
 ure, he reached the middle of the isles of Oce- 
 anica, the very same regions of the Pacific that 
 we traverse at this moment. 
 
 As he came on and on there was wafted to 
 him on the breeze, from a clump of islands all 
 greenery, a sound of voices of women and chil- 
 dren singing the songs of Provence. 
 
 "Gracious!" cried St. Peter; "you might 
 take them for the tunes of Tarascon I" 
 
 Jesus half looked round at him: "Aren't 
 they rather bad Christians, those Tarasco- 
 nians }'' 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 113 
 
 "Oh, dear Master, they've got a good deal 
 better lately," the good saint hastened to reply, 
 fearing lest, at a 
 sign from the Di- 
 vine hand, the isl- 
 and they were ap- 
 proaching might 
 be swallowed up 
 in the deep. This 
 island, as you will 
 have guessed, was 
 none other than 
 Port Tarascon. 
 The inhabitants 
 
 were celebrating 
 
 the Feast of the 
 
 Assumption with 
 
 a pompous pro- 
 cession around 
 
 its shores. It was 
 
 a procession, my 
 
 children, of the 
 
 good old sort, of 
 
 the days when we 
 
 really believed. 
 
 First came the penitents, all the penitents— the 
 
 blue and the black and the gray, those of every 
 
 color — preceded bv little bell's that mino-led 
 S 
 
114 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 their notes of crystal and silver. After the 
 penitents walked the sisterhoods of women, 
 dressed in white, and covered with long veils, 
 like the saints of Paradise. Then came the 
 old banners, carried so high that the figures 
 of the saints, with their halos woven in gold in 
 the silken tissues, seemed to have come down 
 from heaven and alighted on the heads of the 
 crowd. The Holy Sacrament advanced with a 
 slow step under its canopy of red velvet, sur- 
 mounted with great plumes, alongside of which 
 little choristers carried, on the ends of long 
 gilded poles, big green lanterns lighted with a 
 little flickering flame. And all the people of 
 the island followed, young and old, men and 
 women, all chanting and praying. 
 
 You could see the procession unroll itself, far 
 away, in a long line, now on the strand, now on 
 the sides of the hills, then over their tops, where 
 the great censers, perpetually swinging, left light 
 blue fumes in the sun. Immensely moved, St. 
 Peter murmured, " Oh, how very lovely !" 
 
 He looked at Jesus askance, not hoping to 
 bend him after so many vain attempts; but, 
 seeing that Christ had stopped, erect, on the 
 crest of the waves, he cried once more, in a 
 voice of supplication, " Mercy, mercy at least 
 for these, Lord !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 1^5 
 
 The Son of Man hesitated a moment ; then 
 he remembered that the elect of Port Tarascon 
 were alone worthy to repeople the earth. He 
 raised his pale sweet face, and in the stillness 
 of the pacified sea, with a strong voice that 
 filled all creation, he cried out to heaven, " Fa- 
 ther, Father, a respite !" 
 
 And through the clear spaces the Father 
 and the Son understood each other without an- 
 other word. 
 
 Brother Bataillet had reached this point in 
 his parable, and the audience, so great was their 
 emotion, sat still in their places, when, all of a 
 sudden, from the lookout of the Tootoopiunpiim, 
 Captain Scrapouchinat shouted : " Our island 
 is in sight, your Excellency ! Port Tarascon's 
 in sight! In another hour we shall be at an- 
 chor!" 
 
 Then all the world jumped up, and there was 
 a tremendous chatter. 
 
VI. 
 
 " What the devil is this ? Nobody down to 
 meet us !" said Tartarin, after the tumult of the 
 first cries of joy had subsided. 
 
 Doubtless the ship had not yet been seen 
 from the shore. 
 
 They must call their friends' attention. Three 
 cannon-shots boomed over two long islands of a 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 117 
 
 greasy green, a rheumatic green, between which 
 the steamer had begun to advance. 
 
 All eyes were turned towards the nearer 
 shore, a narrow strip of sand only a few yards 
 wide, beyond which nothing was visible but cer- 
 tain slopes, all covered, from the summit to the 
 sea, with landslides of dark verdure. 
 
 
 When the echo of the cannon had ceased to 
 rumble, a great stillness settled again on these 
 strange, rather grewsome islands. Still no one 
 
Il8 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 could be seen, and what was even more star- 
 tling than the inexplicable absence of human be- 
 ings was that there was not a sign of a harbor, 
 or a fort, or a town, or piers, or ship-yards, or 
 anything else. 
 
 Tartarin turned round to Scrapouchinat, who 
 was already giving the order to cast anchor : 
 
 " Are you quite sure, Captain ?" 
 
 The irascible seaman replied with a wicked 
 look. Was he quite sure ? The devil take 
 him! He knew his trade, perhaps ; he knew 
 how to sail his ship ! 
 
 " Pascalon, go and fetch me the map of the 
 island," cried Tartarin. 
 
 He possessed, happily, a map of the settle- 
 ment, drawn on a very large scale, in which 
 capes, gulfs, rivers, mountains, and even the very 
 position of the principal monuments of the city 
 were minutely noted. 
 
 This map was immediately spread out, and 
 Tartarin, surrounded by all, began to study it 
 and to trace the different features with his 
 finger. 
 
 It was the place indeed : here the island of 
 Port Tarascon ; the other island opposite ; there 
 the promontory, thingumbob, quite right. To 
 the left the coral reefs, perfectly. What was 
 the matter, then .f^ Where were they .? Where 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 119 
 
 was Port Tarascon, and where were its inhabi- 
 tants ? 
 
 Bashfully, stammering a little, Pascalon sug- 
 gested that perhaps under it all was a practical 
 
 joke of Bompard's ; he was so well known at 
 Tarascon for his merry ways. 
 
 Bompard possibly, but Bezuquet — a man of 
 all prudence, of all gravity — never ! " Besides," 
 
I20 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 added Tartarin, " let your ways be as meny as 
 they will, you can't put a town and a harbor and 
 a careening dock up your sleeves." 
 
 On the shore, with the telescope, they did 
 see something like a sort of shed, but even this 
 was not very plain. The coral reefs made it 
 impossible for the ship to go near, and at that 
 distance everything was muddled in the black 
 verdure of the vegetation. 
 
 Greatly mystified, they all stared, quite ready 
 to land, with their parcels in their hands. The 
 old dowager of Aigueboulide carried her little 
 foot-warmer herself, and her nodding head made 
 her look more astonished than the others. 
 Amid the general stupefaction, the Governor 
 in person was heard to murmur, under his 
 breath, " It's really most extraordinary !" 
 
 But suddenly he took a stand. " Captain, 
 have the long-boat manned. Commandant, 
 sound the rally for your troops." 
 
 While the bugle was going, " tarata-tarata-ta- 
 ratata !" and Bravida was getting the militia to- 
 gether, Tartarin, with characteristic ease of man- 
 ner, cheered up the ladies : " Don't be afraid. 
 Everything will certainly be explained." 
 
 And to the men — to those who were not to 
 so with him : " We shall be back in an hour. 
 Wait for us here. Let no one move." 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 121 
 
 No one would have moved for the world. 
 They all surrounded him, saying what he said, 
 " Yes, your Excellency, everything will be ex- 
 plained ; certainly it will." At this moment 
 Tartarin seemed to them immense. 
 
 The Governor took his place in the long- 
 boat, with his secretary, Pascalon, and his chap- 
 lain, Brother Bataillet, and with Bravida, Tour- 
 natoire, Escourbanies, and the militia, all armed 
 to the teeth with sabres, hatchets, revolvers, and 
 rifles, to say nothing of the famous Winchester, 
 the thirtv-two shooter. 
 
122 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 As they drew nearer to the silent shore, 
 where nothing stirred, they made out an old 
 landing-stage of rafters and planks, standing in 
 a stagnant pool, and all overgrown with moss. 
 It was impossible that this object should be 
 the breakwater on which the natives had come 
 to meet the passengers of the Farandole. Far- 
 ther on appeared a species of old shanty, its 
 windows closed with iron shutters painted in 
 red lead, which threw a bloody gleam into the 
 dead water. It was covered with a roof of 
 planks, dislocated, seamed with great crevices 
 which had been patched up with a tattered tar- 
 paulin. 
 
 As soon as they landed they visited this 
 shanty. The inside, like the outside, was in a 
 lamentable state of decay. Great slices of sky 
 peeped in through the roof; the flooring, 
 warped into a hump, was crumbling away into 
 powder ; enormous lizards flitted through all 
 the chinks; the walls were overrun with black 
 beetles; slimy toads slobbered in the corners. 
 Tartarin, going in first, had almost stepped on 
 a serpent as big as his arm. 
 
 From the remains of some partitions still 
 standing, they perceived that the interior had 
 been divided into narrow compartments, like 
 little bath-houses, or stalls in a stable. The 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 123 
 
 place reeked with the smell of damp and 
 mould, something sickly, that turned the stom- 
 ach. There were only two things to indicate 
 that it had ever 
 been inhabited 
 — a few tin box- 
 es Ivinsf about 
 the ground, fa- 
 miliar recepta- 
 cles of the well- 
 known preserves 
 of the Abbey of 
 Pamperigouste.. 
 and on the 
 boards of one of 
 the cubicles a 
 remnant of the 
 words Bezu. . . . 
 Drug. . . . The 
 rest had disap- 
 peared, devoured 
 by mildew; but 
 one had not to be 
 a o-reat scholar 
 to guess " Bezu- 
 quet. Druggist." 
 
 " I see what has happened," said Tartarin. 
 " This side of the island proved unhealthy, and 
 
124 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 after a fruitless attempt to settle they have 
 gone to establish themselves on the other side." 
 Then, in a voice of decision, he ordered the 
 commandant to make a reconnoissance at the 
 head of the troops. Bravida was to push up to 
 the top of the mountain, whence he would ex- 
 plore the country, and certainly see the smoke 
 of the roofs of the city. 
 
 " As soon as you have established communi- 
 cation, you will notify us by a loud volley." 
 
 As for himself, he would remain there, at 
 headquarters, with his secretary, his chaplain, 
 and a few others. 
 
 Bravida and his lieutenant, Escourbanies, 
 drew up their men and set off. The troops 
 advanced in good order, but the rising ground, 
 covered with a kind of sea-weedy moss, on 
 which their feet slipped, rendered the march so 
 difficult that the ranks were not slow to fall 
 apart. They crossed a little rivulet, on the 
 edge of which lingered some vestiges of a wash- 
 ing-place, a clothes-beater forgotten, the whole 
 greened over with the invading, smothering- 
 moss that cropped up everywhere. This was 
 probably the famous river ! 
 
 A little farther they recognized the traces of 
 another structure, which seemed to have been 
 a sort of rough citadel, also muffled in moss and 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 125 
 
 in the exuberance of the forest— the gigan- 
 tic roots that burst through the ground and 
 sprawled over the slopes. 
 
 What completed the disarray of the poor sol- 
 diers was to encounter hundreds of holes, very 
 near each other, treacherously covered over 
 with the vegetation of brambles and creepers. 
 Several men sank into them, with a great rat- 
 tle of arms and equipment, frightening away by 
 their fall a multitude of the same big lizards 
 that they had seen in the shanty. These holes 
 were not very deep; they were only slight ex- 
 cavations dug in rows. Bravida made the re- 
 mark that they resembled a deserted quarry. 
 
 " Or rather a deserted cemetery," Escourba- 
 nies replied— "a cemetery from which there has 
 been a flittinor." 
 
 There were, in fact, traces of bones, and what 
 gave him this idea were certain vaeue suo-aes- 
 tions ot crosses, formed of intertwined branches, 
 now leafy again, restored to nature, and looking 
 like stems and shoots of the wild grape. 
 
 After a painful scramble through thick un- 
 derbrush they at last reached the summit. There 
 they breathed a healthier air, freshened by the 
 breeze and charged with whiffs from the sea. 
 Before them stretched away a great bare moor, 
 after which the ground gradually sank again to 
 
126 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the sea. It was over there that the town would 
 be ; and indeed one of the soldiers, pointing his 
 finger, showed them in the distance the curl of 
 risino- smoke. At the same time Escourbanies 
 broke out joyously, " Listen ! listen ! the tam- 
 bourines ! the national reel !" 
 
 There was no mistake about it, the vibration 
 of the tune of the farandole was perceptible in 
 the lieht air. Port Tarascon was comino^ to 
 meet them. 
 
 They saw them already, the people from the 
 town, a crowd flocking up yonder, at the top of 
 the ascent, the extremity of the plateau. 
 
 " Cracky !" cried Bravida, suddenly ; " you'd 
 say they were savages !" 
 
 At the head of the band, in front of the tam- 
 bourines, danced a great lean black, in a sail- 
 or's jersey, with blue spectacles on his nose and 
 brandishing a tomahawk. 
 
 The two bodies had now stopped, and were 
 watchins: each other from a distance. Sudden- 
 ly Bravida burst into a loud laugh : " This is 
 too much ! Ah, the buffoon !" And thrusting 
 his sabre back into its scabbard, he began to 
 run forward. His men called him back : " Com- 
 mandant ! Commandant !" 
 
 But he never listened to them ; he kept on 
 running. He had recognized Bompard, and 
 
PORT TAKASCON. 
 
 127 
 
 shouted, as he approached him : " That's played 
 out, old chap. It's too much like it — too true to 
 nature !" 
 
 The other continued to dance 
 and whirl his weapon; and 
 when the unhappy Bravida 
 perceived that he 
 had before him not 
 his friend Bom- 
 pard, but a veri- 
 table barbarian, it 
 was too late to 
 dodge the terri- 
 ble head -crack- 
 ing blow which 
 smashed in his 
 cork helmet, dash 
 ed out his poor 
 little brains, and 
 stretched him stiff 
 upon the ground. 
 
 At the same time 
 burst forth a tempest of 
 dreadful cries, while a cloud 
 of arrows flew through the 
 air. Seeing their commandant fall, the soldiers 
 had instinctively and precipitately fired ; then 
 they had scuttled away without perceiving that 
 
128 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the savaores had done as much on the other 
 side. 
 
 From below Tartarin had heard all the fir- 
 ing. " They've established communication," he 
 joyously announced. 
 
 But his joy was turned to stupor when he 
 saw the little army come rushing back in disor- 
 der, leaping through the woods, some without 
 hats, others without shoes, all uttering the same 
 appalling cry, " The savages ! the savages !" 
 There was a moment of unspeakable panic. 
 The long-boat made for the open, pulling away 
 like mad. The Governor ran up and down the 
 shore, crying, " Keep cool ! oh, keep cool !" with 
 chattering teeth, the note of the sea-gull in dis- 
 tress. It only added to the universal scare. 
 
 On the narrow strip of sand the confusion of 
 this scramble for life lasted a few moments ; but 
 as no one knew in what direction to flee, they 
 after a little came together again. As no sav- 
 age showed himself, they regained a degree of 
 confidence, and were able to recognize and 
 question each other. 
 
 "And the commandant.''" 
 
 " Dead !" 
 
 When Escourbanies had described Bravidas 
 fatal blunder, Tartarin exclaimed: "Unhappy 
 Placidius ! But, I must say," he added, " what 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 129 
 
 an imprudence ! In an enemy's countrv, not to 
 throw out skirmishers !" 
 
 He immediately ordered sentinels to be post- 
 ed. The soldiers designated walked away slow- 
 1}-, two by two, for no one wished to remain 
 alone, often turning their heads, and plainly de- 
 termined not to leave the body of the troops 
 too far off. Then the others gathered in coun- 
 cil, while Tournatoire gave his attention to the 
 wounds of a private who had received a pois- 
 oned arrow, and was swelling up from minute 
 to minute in the most extraordinary fashion. 
 
 Tartarin, in council, was the first to address 
 his companions. 
 
 " Before everything," he wisely said," we must 
 avoid the shedding of blood." And he pro- 
 posed to send Brother Bataillet to shake a palm- 
 leaf in the distance, so as to get a notion of 
 what was going on in the enemy's quarter. 
 "Your Reverence will see what the savages 
 are doing, and what has become of our com- 
 patriots." 
 
 But Brother Bataillet loudly protested. He 
 was not in the least of that opinion. "Oh, 
 come, now— a palm-leaf! I should greatly pre- 
 fer your Winchester and its thirty-two shots!" 
 
 " All right; if his Reverence won't go, I'll go 
 myself," the Governor declared. "Only, my 
 9 
 
130 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 dear chaplain, you must come with me, for I 
 don't know enough of the Papuan tongue — " 
 
 " But I assure you I don't know it either." 
 
 " The deuce you don't ! What, then, have 
 you been teaching me these last three months ? 
 All those lessons that I took from you on 
 the voyage — what language was that, if you 
 please ?" 
 
 Brother Bataillet, like the fine old Tarascon- 
 ian that he was, got out of it by pleading that 
 he knew the Papuan of the other part, but not 
 the Papuan of that part. 
 
 All of a sudden, during this discussion, broke 
 out a new alarm ; firing was heard in the direc- 
 tion of the sentinels, and from the depths of 
 the wood issued a voice which cried, in the 
 well-known accent of home, " Don't shoot ! — in 
 Heaven's name, don't shoot !" 
 
 A minute later there might have been seen 
 to bound from the thicket the queerest of all 
 creatures, hideously tattooed in vermilion and 
 black, so that he looked as if he were clad from 
 head to feet in the variegated tights of a clown. 
 It was none other than Chemist-physician Be- 
 zuquet. 
 
 " Bless us and save us — Bezuquet !" 
 
 " Why, how d'ye do, Bezuquet ?" 
 
 " How does it happen — " 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 131 
 
 rJ 
 
 ;'<■ 
 
 " But where are the others ?" 
 
 " And the city, and the harbor, and the ship- 
 yard ?" 
 
 " Of the town," the druggist repHed, pointing 
 out the shanty before mentioned, " behold what 
 remains! Of the inhabitants, behold also!" And 
 he pointed to himself. " But before everything, 
 do quickly put something over me to hide the 
 abominations with which these villains have 
 covered me !" 
 
 Sure enough, all the foulest things conceivable 
 
132 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 to the imagination of barbarians in delirium 
 had been pricked in color into his wretched 
 skin. 
 
 Escourbanies handed him his own mantle of 
 Grandee of the first class, and after the unfortu- 
 nate man had refreshed himself with a good 
 swig of brandy, he began, with the accent he 
 had not lost and the Tarasconian elocution : 
 " If you were painfully surprised this morning 
 to find that the city of Port Tarascon has never 
 existed but on the map and in your fond im- 
 aginations, think whether we, of the first and 
 second batches, when we arrived in the Faran- 
 dole and the Lucifer — " 
 
 " Excuse me if I interrupt you," said Tar- 
 tarin, who saw the sentinels on the edge of 
 the wood giving signs of uneasiness. " I think 
 it will be wiser if you tell us your story on 
 board. We may be surprised here by the can- 
 nibals." 
 
 " Not at all. Your firing has scared them 
 half to death. They've all rushed away; they've 
 quitted the island, and I've taken advantage of 
 it to escape." 
 
 " Never mind," insisted Tartarin ; " it's much 
 better that you should tell us what you have to 
 tell in the presence of the Grand Council. The 
 situation is too grave." 
 
mmm!wm'fm. 
 
 iW^"^'"'. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 OD 
 
 They hailed the long-boat, which from the 
 beginning of the flurry had remained timorous- 
 ly aloof, and they regained the ship, where the 
 rest were awaiting in anguish the result of the 
 reconnoissance ashore. 
 
136 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Grewsome indeed were the tribulations of 
 the first tenants of Port Tarascon as related 
 in the saloon of the Tootoopumptun before the 
 Grand Council, a body composed of the An- 
 cients, the Governor, the Commissioners, the 
 Grandees of the first and second classes, and 
 the captain of the ship and his staff. 
 
 On the deck the passengers, especially the 
 ladies, quivered with impatience and curiosity, 
 but they could hear nothing but the steady 
 hum of Bezuquet's deep bass, and the quick 
 outbreaks of interruption proceeding from Tar- 
 tarin or Brother Bataillet. 
 
 In the first place, as soon as they started, 
 when the Farandole had scarcely got out of the 
 Bay of Marseilles, there had been a bad omen. 
 Bompard, Provisional Governor and chief of 
 the expedition, abruptly seized with a strange 
 ailment, of a contagious nature, as he declared, 
 had caused himself to be put ashore at the 
 
PORT TARASCON. I 37 
 
 Chateau d'lf, handing over his gubernatorial 
 powers to Bezuquet. What kick that fellow 
 had had, too ! You miorht think he had g:uessed 
 everything that was in store for them. At Suez 
 they had found the Lticifer in too bad a state 
 to continue her journey, and had transferred 
 her cargo to the Farandole, already too full. 
 
 Lord, what they had suffered from the heat 
 on that blessed ship, crammed from the deck 
 to the hold ! If they remained above, they melt- 
 ed in the sun; if thev went below, thev were 
 squeezed and smothered to death. It was so 
 hot that they could keep nothing on. The cab- 
 ins were a furnace, a perfect hell ! 
 
 All this was so bad that on reaching Port 
 Tarascon, in spite of the disappointment of find- 
 ing nothing whatever — neither town, nor port, 
 nor pier, nor buildings of any kind — they had 
 felt such a need of breathing again, stretching 
 themselves, and getting out of each other's way, 
 that their disembarkation, even on a desert 
 strand, had seemed to them a real relief. In 
 the first moments it had been a delight merely 
 to be able to walk about. They even made 
 a few jokes. Notary Cambalalette, Assessor of 
 Taxes, who was always up to something droll, 
 asked what he would have to assess in a coun- 
 try where there was no property to hold. Later 
 
138 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 had come their reflections on the gravity of the 
 situation. 
 
 " We decided then," said Bezuquet, " to send 
 the ship to Sydney to bring back building ma- 
 terials, and transmit you the despairing mes- 
 sage that you of course received." 
 
 The narrator was interrupted on all sides by 
 protestations. 
 
 "A despairing message.''" 
 
 " What message .^" 
 
 " We received no message !" 
 
 Tartarin's voice rose above the others: "In 
 the way of a message, my dear sir, we only re- 
 ceived the one describing the splendid recep- 
 tion offered you by the indigenous population, 
 and the Tc Deum chanted in the cathedral. Go 
 on ; everything will be explained." 
 
 The council repeated in chorus: " Yes, yes — 
 everything will be explained !" 
 
 " Go on, Ferdinand," added Tartarin, turning 
 again to the druggist. 
 
 " I resume," said Bezuquet. He resumed ac- 
 cordinglv, and his storv became more and more 
 dismal. 
 
 They had gone bravely to work. Possessing 
 agricultural implements, they began to clear and 
 plant, only the soil was so bad that nothing 
 came — nothing on earth would grow. The 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 139 
 
 most pertinacious were soon convinced that 
 there was nothins: to be done. And then the 
 
 O 
 
 rains — 
 
 A cry from the auditory again interrupted 
 Bezuquet : " You say it rains ?" 
 
 " Do I say so ? Why, more than at Lyons ! 
 Ten months of the year !" 
 
 Consternation descended. Instinctively all 
 eyes were turned to the port -holes, through 
 which they discerned a dense mist, the clouds 
 
140 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 sticking fast to the black green, the rheumatic 
 green, of the hills. Every one was struck with 
 the melancholy of the scene. 
 
 " Go on, Ferdinand, go on," Tartarin kept 
 saying. 
 
 So Ferdinand went on. With the perpetual 
 rains, the stagnant floods that covered the coun- 
 try, fevers and agues had lost no time in making 
 their appearance. The cemetery was prompt- 
 ly inaugurated, and pining and " sinking " were 
 added to disease. Even the pluckiest lost all 
 courage for work, so flabby they became in the 
 soaking climate. 
 
 They spent all their time in the big house, 
 feeding on preserves, and also on lizards, on ser- 
 pents brought over by the Papuans encamped 
 on the other side of the isle. 
 
 Father Vezole had undertaken to convert the 
 daughter of King Nagonko. An excellent man, 
 this Father Vezole, and full of good intentions ; 
 but perhaps it was not quite right of him to try 
 to establish this regular intercourse with the 
 natives. The latter, essentially crafty, had lit- 
 tle by little wriggled into the settlement. They 
 came in more and more, always on the pretext of 
 bringing the produce of their fishing and their 
 hunting. Our friends were not mistrustful of 
 them, and grew accustomed to their presence, 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 141 
 
 SO that the simplest pre- 
 cautions were neglected. 
 
 So one fine night it 
 befell that the Papuans 
 broke into the big: house; 
 slipping like so many 
 devils through the door, 
 through the windows, 
 and the apertures of the 
 roof, thev 2:ot hold of all 
 the arms, massacred 
 those who attempted to 
 resist, and carried off all 
 the others to their camp. 
 
 For a month there was 
 an uninterrupted succes- 
 sion of horrible feasts. 
 The prisoners, each in 
 his turn, were clubbed to 
 death on the head, then roast- 
 ed or baked in the earth on 
 hot stones, like sucking pigs, and devoured by 
 these cannibal savages. 
 
 The cry of horror uttered by the whole coun- 
 cil carried dismay even up to the deck, and it 
 was in a still feebler voice that the Governor 
 said, once more, " Go on, Ferdinand." 
 
 The poor druggist had in this way seen each 
 
142 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 
 
 of his companions disappear, one b}' one. Gen- 
 tle Father Vezole accepted death with a smile 
 of resignation, with his "God be praised!" on his 
 lips. Notary Cambalalette, so gay, such a jolly 
 rascal, was sacrificed the last. 
 
 "And the monsters compelled me to eat a 
 bit of him, poor Cambalalette !" added Bezuquet, 
 shuddering still with this reminiscence. 
 
 In the silence that followed these terrible 
 words, the bilious Costecalde, all yellow and 
 grinning with rage, turned to the Governor. 
 
 " You told us, nevertheless, you wrote, and 
 caused to be written, that there were no an- 
 thropophagi !" 
 
 And as the Governor, overwhelmed, hung 
 
PORT TARASCON. I43 
 
 liis head and held his tongue, Bezuquet re- 
 pHed : 
 
 " No anthropophagi ? Why, every mother's 
 son is one. They know no greater treat than 
 human flesh — especially ours, the white kind, the 
 very quality produced at Tarascon — to that de- 
 gree that after having devoured the living they 
 passed on to the dead. You've seen the former 
 cemetery ? Nothing is left there — not a bone ; 
 they've picked and scraped and scoured, as you 
 scour the plates when the soup is good, or when 
 you sit down to some jolly garlic stew." 
 
 " But yourself, Bezuquet }'' asked a Grandee 
 of the first class. " How came it that you were 
 spared .''" 
 
 The ex-apothecary supposed that by reason 
 of living among bottles and jars, of soaking in 
 pharmaceutic products — mint, arsenic, arnica, 
 and ipecac — his flesh had gradually acquired 
 a herbaceous flavor which probably was not to 
 their taste ; unless indeed, on the contrary, pre- 
 cisely on account of this druggy aroma, they 
 had been keeping him for the sweet dish — the 
 tidbit of the end. 
 
 When he had concluded his story they all 
 looked at each other a moment; then the Mar- 
 quis des Espazettes inquired, 
 
 " Very well, now, what are we going to do .^" 
 
144 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " What do you mean — what are you going 
 to do ?" said Scrapouchinat, with his customary 
 snarl. " You're not in any case going to stay 
 here, I suppose ?" 
 
 They broke out on all sides: "Ah, no, in- 
 deed — most certainly not !" 
 
 " Though I've been paid only to bring you," 
 the captain continued, "I'm ready to take home 
 those who want to go." 
 
 At this moment all the defects of his dispo- 
 sition were overlooked. His companions for- 
 got that he regarded them only as green mon- 
 keys, fit to be shot. They surrounded him ; 
 they congratulated him ; they stretched out 
 their hands to him. In the midst of the noise 
 Tartarin's voice was suddenly heard, in a tone 
 of high dignity : 
 
 " You will do what you like, gentlemen ; for 
 myself, I remain. I have my mission of Gov- 
 ernor. I must carry it out." 
 
 "Governor of what .f* — since there's nothing 
 to govern !" Scrapouchinat yelled. 
 
 The others backed him up : " Yes, indeed, 
 the captain's right : there is nothing to gov- 
 ern ! 
 
 But Tartarin rose over the tumult : " The 
 Due de Mons has my w^ord, gentlemen." 
 
 " He's a swindler, your Due de Mons," said 
 
PORT TARASCON, I 45 
 
 Bezuquet. " I always suspected it, even before 
 I had the proof." 
 
 "And where is it, your proof ?" 
 
 " Not in my pocket, alas !" And, with a re- 
 currence of modesty, the ex-apothecary drew 
 closer round him the mantle of Grandee of 
 the first class which protected his bepictured 
 nudity. " What is very certain is that Bom- 
 p>ird in his last moments said to me, ' Look 
 out for the Belgian : he's a humbug !' If he 
 had been able to speak he would have said 
 more ; but his cruel weakness left him no 
 strength." 
 
 Besides, what better proof could they have 
 than the accursed island itself, barren and pes- 
 tilential, which the humbug in question had 
 sent them to clear and populate } What better 
 proof than the false despatches ? 
 
 The liveliest movement broke out in the 
 council ; they all talked at once, approving Be- 
 zuquet, and overwhelming the duke with abu- 
 sive epithets : 
 
 "A liar! A swindler! A dirty Belgian!" 
 
 Tartarin, heroic, boldly confronted them all: 
 " Until the contrary is proved, I reserve my 
 opinion upon his Grace." 
 
 " His Grace, forsooth ! Our opinion's formed: 
 a common thief!" 
 
 lO 
 
146 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " He may have been imprudent, imperfectly 
 informed himself — " 
 
 " Don't defend him. He deserves penal ser- 
 vitude." 
 
 " For myself, appointed Governor of Port 
 Tarascon, at Port Tarascon I remain." 
 
 " Remain alone, then." 
 
 "Alone, so be it, if you all forsake me. I 
 will populate alone, but I will not expose my- 
 self to the ignominy of going home. Only 
 leave me the implements of tillage — " 
 
 " But since I tell you that there's nothing 
 to till, and that nothing will grow!" cried Be- 
 zuquet. 
 
 " Isn't it because you set wrongly about it, 
 Ferdinand ?'' 
 
 Then Scrapouchinat flew into a rage, and 
 smote the council table with his fists. " The 
 man's mad! I don't know what keeps me from 
 carrying him aboard by force, and from shoot- 
 ing him like a green monkey if he resists !" 
 
 " Try it, then — the devil take you !" 
 
 Pale with anger, with a threatening gesture, 
 Brother Bataillet had risen erect at Tartarin's 
 side. 
 
 This exchange of violent words had raised 
 the tumult to its climax. In the midst of it 
 could be heard a cross - fire of Tarasconian 
 
PORT TARASCON. I 47 
 
 expressions: "You're wanting in sense. You 
 don't talk straight. You say things that had 
 better not be said." 
 
 Heaven knows how it all would have ended 
 without the intervention of Lawyer Franque- 
 balme, the Commissioner of Justice. 
 
 This Franquebalme was the most fluent of 
 lawyers, flowering over his arguments with 
 many a whensoever and wheresoever, many an 
 '•on the one hand" and "on the other hand"; 
 so that his speeches were as built up, as ce- 
 mented and solid, as one of our old Roman 
 aqueducts. A fine old Latin sage, fed on Cice- 
 ronian periods, he let you always have the right 
 and the wrong of it, and, as he said, the why of 
 the wherefore. 
 
 He took advantaore of the first lull to beein 
 a harangue, and in long, fair phrases, which he 
 rolled off without end, he emitted the opinion 
 that the passengers should be consulted, should 
 cast their vote on going or staying. They 
 should hold a plebiscitum, voting yes or no. 
 On the one side, those who wanted to stay 
 should stay, while on the other those who want- 
 ed to go should go. The ship would carry them 
 off after its carpenters had rebuilt the big house 
 and the citadel. 
 
 This motion of Franquebalme's made the 
 
148 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 whole company unanimous. It was instantly 
 adopted, and they began to vote without delay. 
 
 A great agitation broke out on deck and in 
 the cabins as soon as it became known what 
 they were doing. Nothing was heard but lam- 
 entations and groans. All the poor people 
 had put their substance into purchases of land 
 — the famous cheap acres ! Were they then to 
 lose everything, to give up the farms and es- 
 tates they had paid for, their hope of settling 
 and flourishing.!^ These considerations of in- 
 terest urged them to vote for staying ; but, on 
 the other hand, a single look at the dreadful 
 landscape threw them into hesitation. The 
 sight of the ruins of the big house, of the black, 
 soaking greenery, behind which they imagined 
 the desert and the savages, the prospect of be- 
 ing eaten like Cambalalette — nothing in all this 
 was encouraging, and their desires reverted to 
 the sweet land of Provence, so imprudently quit- 
 ted, where there were neither deserts nor can- 
 nibals. 
 
 The emigrants swarmed over the ship like so 
 many ants whose hillock has been disturbed. 
 The old nodding dowager roamed up and down 
 the deck like a lost soul, without letting go 
 either her foot-warmer or her parrot. In the 
 midst of the hubbub of the discussions preced- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 149 
 
 ing the ballot several disputes occurred, and 
 nothing was heard on every side but impreca- 
 tions against the Belgian, the dirty Belgian! 
 Oh, it was no longer his Grace the Duke! 
 The dirty Belgian !— they said it with clinched 
 fists and grinding teeth. 
 
 In spite of everything, out of the thousand 
 Tarasconians on the ship a hundred and fifty 
 elected to remain with Tartarin. It must be 
 said that the majority were high dignitaries, 
 and that the Governor had promised to leave 
 them their positions and titles. 
 
 1 hen there rose fresh discussions about the 
 division of the food between those going and 
 those staying. 
 
 '.' You'll revictual at Sydney," said those who 
 were staying to those who were going. 
 
 " You'll hunt and you'll fish," replied the lat- 
 ter to the former. " Why in the world do you 
 require such a lot of preserves .?" 
 
 The Tarasque, moreover, gave rise to terri- 
 ble debates. Should she go back to Tarascon .? 
 Should she remain with the settlement ? 
 
 The dispute grew very hot. Scrapouchinat 
 threatened several times to put Brother Batail- 
 let to the sword. 
 
 Lawyer Franquebalme, to maintain peace, 
 had to become afresh the persuasive Nestor of 
 
150 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the occasion, and intervene with all his legal 
 lore. But he had great difficulty in soothing 
 down several excited spirits, secretly worked 
 upon as they were by the hypocritical Escour- 
 banies, who only sought to prolong the discord. 
 
 Shaggy and shrill, with his motto, borrowed 
 from the mother-land, of " Let's make a noise!" 
 the lieutenant of the militia was so intensely 
 Southern that he was black with it ; with his 
 tightly crinkled hair, he had not only the color 
 of the ace of spades, he had also the cowardice, 
 the desire to please, that hav^e been known to 
 go with the complexion — always dancing the 
 hornpipe of success before the stronger, before 
 the captain on shipboard, surrounded with his 
 crew, or before Tartarin on land, in the midst 
 of the troops. To each of these he explained 
 differently the reasons that determined him to 
 remain at Port Tarascon, saying to Scrapouchi- 
 nat, " I'm staying because my wife expects to 
 be confined." And to Tartarin, " Nothing on 
 earth would induce me to make another trip 
 with that perfect vandal." 
 
 The Tarasque was left with the people of the 
 ship, in exchange for a small cannon and a long- 
 boat. 
 
 Tartarin had extracted provisions, arms, and 
 tool-chests piece by piece. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ^51 
 
 For several days there reigned between the 
 ship and the shore a perpetual going and com- 
 ing of small boats laden with a thousand things 
 — guns, preserves, boxes of sardines and of the 
 delicate tunny, biscuits, supplies of swallow tarts, 
 and potted pears. 
 
 At the same time the axe rang out in the 
 
152 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 woods, where there was a great havoc made 
 among the trees for the repair of the big house 
 and the citadel. The loud notes of the buQ:le 
 mingled with the sound of the hatchet and the 
 hammer. During the day the troops, under 
 arms, kept guard over the workers, for fear of 
 
 %S^- 
 
 an attack of the savages ; during the night they 
 encamped on the strand, round the watch-fires 
 — "in order to get used to the hardships of 
 campaigning," said Tartarin. 
 
 When everything was ready on shore, the 
 ship prepared to put off. The hour of separa- 
 tion had arrived, but the parting was rather 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 :)j 
 
 cool. Those who were going were jealous of 
 those who remained ; which didn't prevent 
 them, however, from saying, with a little sneer- 
 ing smile, " If you get on pretty well, just drop 
 us a line, and we'll come back." 
 
 On their side, in spite of their assumption of 
 confidence in the future, those who remained 
 envied those who were sfoins:. 
 
 After it had weighed anch- 
 or, the ship fired a sal- 
 vo from its guns, and the 
 little cannon, handled by 
 Brother Bataillet, replied 
 from the shore. Mean- 
 while Escourbanies 
 played on his clarinet 
 the familiar air, " A hap- 
 py journey, dear Dumol- 
 let!" '^ 
 
 Nevermind; in spite i^"* 
 of the irony of this fare- 
 well, there was a great emo- 
 tion at the bottom of every 
 heart, and when the Tootoo- 
 piimpiim had rounded the promontory, when 
 she had finally disappeared from sight, the wa- 
 ters she had quitted, now empt}- and larger, 
 seemed to them all to have a woful extent. 
 
 at 
 
BOOK SECOND. 
 
 December 20, 188 1. — I have undertaken to 
 commit to this register the principal events in 
 our annals. 
 
 I shall have a lot of trouble, with all the work 
 already on my shoulders ; for, as General Com- 
 missioner of the different Bureaux, I look after 
 all the administrative papers, and then, as soon 
 as I have a minute to mvself, dash off a few 
 verses in our special idiom, for fear the high 
 functionary in my spirit may destroy the na- 
 tional bard. 
 
 Never mind, I shall manage to keep every- 
 thing going. It will be curious some day to 
 follow these first steps in the career of a people. 
 I have spoken to nobody of the work I begin 
 to-day, not even to the Governor. 
 
 The first thing to be noted is the happy turn 
 
rORT TARASCON. 
 
 155 
 
 of affairs since the Tootoopumpiim left us a 
 week ago. We are getting settled, and the flag 
 of Fort Tarascon, which bears the Tarasque 
 quartered on the French colors, floats from the 
 summit of the citadel. 
 
 It is there that the 
 Government is estab- 
 lished, by which I mean 
 our Tartarin, the Com- 
 missioners, and the Bu- 
 reaux. The unmarried 
 Commissioners, like 
 myself, like M. Tourna- 
 toire. Commissioner of 
 Health, and Brother Ba- 
 taillet. Grand Chief of 
 Artillery and of the 
 Navy, are lodged at headquarters. 
 Costecalde and Escourbanies, who 
 are married, eat and sleep in town. 
 
 When we say " in town," we mean 
 the general residence, the big house 
 which the carpenters of the Tootoopumpiun suc- 
 ceeded in putting into fair condition. Around 
 it we have laid out a kind of boulevard, a 
 promenade, to which we have given the pomp- 
 ous name of the " Walk Round." It is quite 
 Tarascon over again. We have already taken 
 
 / 
 
 ,>^ 
 
 p.:-: 
 
156 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the habit of it. We say: " I think Y\\ go into 
 town this evening. Have you been into town 
 to-day } Suppose we go into town." And it 
 all seems quite natural. 
 
 Headquarters are separated from town by the 
 little river, to which we have given the name of 
 
 •"•S^W^^^---; 
 
 It 
 
 '\m ^1' 
 
 the Little Rhone. This is a sweet memento of 
 home. 
 
 From my office, when the window is open, I 
 hear the slapping and beating of the washer- 
 women, though it doesn't go so fast nor sound so 
 
PORT TARASCON. I 57 
 
 sharp as their Tarasconian chatter. I see them 
 leaning over the bank ; I hear their songs, their 
 calls to each other; and this little picture, the 
 dialect of home, with its sharp sonorities, putting 
 a bit of scenery into the air, quite recalls and 
 revives the mother-land. 
 
 There is only one thing that makes it dis- 
 agreeable for me at headquarters — the con- 
 sciousness of the magazine. Our friends left 
 us a great quantity of powder, which, with the 
 culverin, has been deposited in the subcellar of 
 the citadel. There also are our general stores, 
 our supplies of provisions of every description — 
 garlic, preserves, liquids, reserves of weapons, of 
 instruments and tools. The whole thins: is care- 
 fully bolted and barred, but all the same it rath- 
 er haunts me, especially at night, to think of our 
 having there under our feet such a lot of ex- 
 plosive and combustible matter, quite enough to 
 blow up the Government and the whole place. 
 
 September 2^th. — Yesterday Madame Escour- 
 banies was safelv delivered of a fine bov. 
 
 He is the first little citizen inscribed on our 
 books. Accordingly we have given him the sug- 
 gestive name of Miraclete. He has been bap- 
 tized in great pomp at St. Martha's of the Palms, 
 our little provisional church, constructed of bam- 
 boo, with a roof of big leaves. 
 
158 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 I had the good-fortune to be godfather, and 
 to have for godmother Mademoiselle Clorinde 
 des Espazettes. She is unfortunately a little 
 tall for me, but so pretty ; she looked won- 
 derfully fresh and smart under the check- 
 ers of light that filtered through the trellis 
 of bamboo and between the gaps of the leafy 
 roof. 
 
 The whole city was collected ; our good Gov- 
 ernor pronounced a few admirable words, mov- 
 ing to us all, and Brother Bataillet brought the 
 ceremony to a close by the recital of one of his 
 charming tales. 
 
 The day was treated as a holiday, and work 
 was everywhere suspended. We made a regu- 
 lar fete of it. After the christening came a gen- 
 eral stroll on the Walk Round. All the world 
 was in spirits; it seemed as if the new-born 
 babe had brought hope and happiness to the 
 colony. The Government distributed a double 
 ration of tunny and potted pears, and in the 
 evening there was an extra dish on every table. 
 At headquarters we put a wild pig to roast, 
 owing the animal to the skill of the Marquis 
 des Espazettes, the first shot on the island after 
 Tartarin. 
 
 When dinner was over, as the Governor went 
 out to smoke, I went with him. He struck me 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 159 
 
 '<i&P 
 
 J(« 
 
 -^ 
 
 as so kind and paternal, as we talked together, 
 that I confessed to him my affection for Made- 
 moiselle Clorinde. He smiled ; he was already 
 aware of it. He promised me to intercede, and, 
 full of encouraging words, spoke to me of my 
 fine position. It is true that to be General 
 Commissioner of the Bureaux at my age — 
 
 Unfortunately the marquise is a Lambesc, 
 very proud of her origin, and I am only a com- 
 moner. Of a good family, doubtless ; we have 
 nothing to be ashamed of; but we have always 
 lived as plain folk. I have also against me 
 my bashfulness, my slight stutter, and moreover 
 
i6o 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 there is a little place on top where my hair is 
 beginning to thin. But I have a spirit and a 
 future. 
 
 Oh, if it were only a question of the marquis 
 — deuce of a bit would he care, so long as he 
 
 ^?= 
 
 can get his sport ! It is not like his wife, with 
 her quarterings. Only fancy — an Espazettes ! 
 To give you an idea of her pride, all the world, 
 in town, assembles in the evening in the gen- 
 
PORT TARASCON. l6l 
 
 eral saloon. Its very pleasant; the ladies bring 
 their knitting, the men take a hand at whist. 
 But Madame des Espazettes is too grand for 
 this, and remains with her daughters in their 
 cubicle, though the place is so tiny that when 
 the ladies change their gown two of them can 
 never do it at once. Very well, the marquise 
 would rather pass her evenings there, receiv- 
 ing "at home," and offering camomile tea and 
 sickly decoctions of herbs to guests who can't 
 sit down, than mingle with the rest, so great is 
 her horror of the Rabblebabble. That will give 
 you an idea. 
 
 However, I have the Governor with me, and 
 in spite of everything this gives me hope. 
 
 September zgth. — I have not been out for two 
 days, have not budged from my room or my 
 office. 
 
 Yesterday the Governor went down into town. 
 He promised me to speak of my little matter, 
 so as to have it to tell me about when he came 
 back. You may think if I waited with impa- 
 tience ! But when he came back he never 
 opened his mouth. What does this mean .? I 
 can't imagine, and I didn't venture to question 
 him. 
 
 During: breakfast he was nervous, and in con- 
 versation with his chaplain these words escaped 
 1 1 
 
I 62 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 him, " If you come to that, we have too httle of 
 the Rabblebabble." 
 
 As Madame des Espazettes de Lambesc has 
 always on her Hps this contemptuous expression, 
 " the Rabblebabble," I thought that he might 
 have seen her, and that my request had not been 
 acceded to ; but I was unable to find out how 
 matters stood, inasmuch as the Governor im- 
 mediately began to talk of the report of Com- 
 missioner Costecalde on the subject of agri- 
 culture. 
 
 This report has been most dismal. It tells of 
 fruitless attempts of maize, of corn, of carrots, 
 of potatoes, of everything refusing to sprout. 
 There is no vegetable mould, and so much wa- 
 ter, with the impervious soil, that all the seed 
 is swamped. In a word, it is what Bezuquet 
 announced, only still more wretched. 
 
 I must add that the Commissioner of Agri- 
 culture perhaps does his best to push matters 
 to the worst, and present them in the saddest 
 light. Costecalde, in truth, is such an evil spirit ! 
 He has always been jealous of Tartarin's glory. 
 I feel that he is animated with sneaking hatred 
 of him. 
 
 All the while lunch lasted nothing was talked 
 of but this report. Brother Bataillet, who never 
 goes the longest way round, plumped out a de- 
 
PORT TARASCON. I 63 
 
 mand for Costecalde's dismissal ; but the Gov- 
 ernor replied, with his high reason and his 
 habitual moderation, " It is requested of your 
 Reverence not to get started." 
 
 On leaving table we passed into Costecalde's 
 private room, and Tartarin went up to him, 
 you know, quite calm. " So, as we were saying, 
 Mr. Commissioner, our cultivation — " 
 
 The other, very sour, replied, without winc- 
 ing, " I have addressed my report to his Ex- 
 cellency." 
 
 '' Come, come, really, Costecalde, your report's 
 a trifle severe." 
 
 Costecalde turned quite yellow. " It's just 
 what it has to be, and if people are not satis- 
 fied—" 
 
 His eyes flamed, and the insolence rang out 
 in his voice ; but Tartarin controlled himself on 
 account of the others who were present. 
 
 "Costecalde," he said, with two sparks in his 
 little gray eyes, " I'll have two words with you 
 when we're alone." 
 
 It was terrible ; the perspiration poured from 
 me. 
 
 September joth. — Oh, these old nobles — what 
 an awful crew ! 
 
 It's just as I feared ; my suit has been scorn- 
 ed by the house of Espazettes. I'm of too 
 
164 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 humble extraction. I'm authorized to visit there 
 as before, but I'm forbidden to hope. 
 
 Devil take it, what are they looking for ? Is 
 there a noble in the settlement to whom they 
 can give their Clorinde ? They themselves are 
 the only grand people. Do they want to make 
 her an old spinster, like Mademoiselle Tourna- 
 toire ? Do they want to make her, I mean, a 
 poor wounded heart ? For, strictly, I can't com- 
 pare so lovely a creature to the tall Touareg, 
 who, for the last twenty years or more, has been 
 showing our Tartarin the whites of her eyes, 
 never taking it in that he can't possibly want 
 her, that he means never to marry at all, having 
 taken glory for his bride. 
 
 What am I to do ? What line can I take ? 
 Clorinde loves me enough, I'm sure, to elope 
 with me, and let me seal our union in some 
 other country. But what other country — since 
 we have the bad luck to be on an island ? 
 
 I could, in a manner, have understood their 
 repudiating me when I was only a druggist's 
 apprentice. But to-day I have a future. To 
 put it in a word, Tartarin delights in me ; he 
 has no children ; I may dream of almost any- 
 thing! Who knows but later — It would only 
 be the matter of a transfer of authority. Yes, 
 surely, there are no aspirations forbidden me. 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 I6^ 
 
 How many others would like to believe I 
 think of them ! Without going very far, lit- 
 tle IVIiss Franquebalme, a good musician — she 
 "learns "her sisters — is a case in which the 
 
 parents would be enchanted if I were to so 
 much as lift my finger. 
 
 Despair ! despair ! This, then, is the consum- 
 mation of all my dreams, of the brave illusions I 
 framed durinsr those sweet talks on the deck of 
 the Tootoopu7np2im. And since we have been 
 
I 66 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 here, what other deUcious hours ! Must I re- 
 linquish joys that are great in spite of being 
 made of Httle things — evenings passed near her 
 at the window, words exchanged that seem to 
 be nothing and that yet say so much, the acci- 
 dental contact of our hands when she offers 
 me the cup of camomile, the decoction of 
 herbs ? 
 
 They are over, those happy days ! And to 
 finish me off, it has been raining ever since this 
 morning, raining without a stop, so that every- 
 thing is blurred and blotted out and drowned 
 muffled in a deadly gray veil. 
 
 Ah, Bezuquet told the truth — it does rain at 
 Port Tarascon ; it certainly does. The torrents 
 surround us on every side, cage us up behind 
 the fine wires of a cricket-hutch. There's no 
 horizon left, nothing but the rain and the rain. 
 It swamps the land and riddles the ocean, which 
 mixes with the water that falls — all the water 
 that rises in splash and spray. 
 
 October jd. — Yes, the Governor's allusion was 
 happy ; we have not quite enough of the Rabble- 
 babble. Rather fewer quarterings of nobility, 
 fewer high dignitaries, and rather more plumb- 
 ers and masons and slaters and thatchers and 
 carpenters would meet our requirements con- 
 siderably better. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 167 
 
 ^^Mon\tgvi 
 
 Last night, with the continual rain, these 
 water-spouts that soak through exerything, the 
 roof of the big house burst in, and the city 
 was inundated. The morning has been spent 
 in general bewilderment — complaints on com- 
 
I 68 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 plaints, an incessant rushing to and fro between 
 headquarters and town. 
 
 The different bureaux shift the responsibih- 
 ty from one to the other. The Department of 
 Agriculture says it's ouj^ business, while our 
 department insists that the matter falls within 
 the jurisdiction of the Board of Health ; this 
 board, meanwhile, sending the complainants to 
 the Navy, because it's a question of planking 
 and building. 
 
 In town they were all furious, up to their 
 knees in water, but declaring that it's all the 
 fault of the " state of things." From this po- 
 sition they refuse to budge, quite indifferent 
 to the conflict of jurisdiction. Meanwhile the 
 great gap has been growing bigger, the water 
 gushing in a cataract from the roof, so that 
 there's nothino^ to be seen in the cubicles but 
 people squabbling under open umbrellas, and 
 brawling and bawling, and accusing the Govern- 
 ment. 
 
 Happily we have no lack of umbrellas. There 
 was a tremendous lot of them in our assort- 
 ment of goods for barter with the savages — al- 
 most as many as dog-collars — enormous cotton 
 ones of every color, which we are very glad to 
 have in a country of permanent rain. 
 
 Well, to finish about the inundation, a brave 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 169 
 
 girl, a servant- 
 maid belonging to 
 Mademoiselle Tournatoire, scrambled up 
 on the roof and nailed over it a sheet of zinc, 
 extracted for the purpose from the emporium. 
 The Governor directs me to write her a letter 
 of felicitation. 
 
 If I mention this incident here, it is because 
 
I 70 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the occasion has made the weakness of our col- 
 ony so conspicuous. 
 
 The administration is excellent, zealous, even 
 complicated, thoroughly French ; but for colo- 
 nizing purposes we simply want hands. The 
 scribbled paper is out of proportion to the 
 strong arms. 
 
 I'm also struck with another thing, the fact 
 that each of our big-wigs has been intrusted 
 with the kind of work for which he's least suit- 
 ed and least prepared. Costecalde, the armorer, 
 for instance, who has spent his life in the midst 
 of pistols and rifles, the implements of the chase, 
 is Commissioner of Agriculture. Escourbanies 
 hadn't his like for the manufacture of the bless- 
 ed Aries sausage ; but since poor Bravida's acci- 
 dent he has become Commissioner of War and 
 head of the Levies. Brother Bataillet has taken 
 the Artillery and the Navy, because he knows 
 how to sail a boat and fire a cannon ; but, after 
 all, what he knows much better is to say mass 
 and tell us stories. 
 
 In town it is the same thing. We have there 
 a heap of worthy people, little rentiers, dealers in 
 ginghams and prints, grocers, and pastry-cooks, 
 who are now the owners of acres, but haven't 
 the least idea what to do with them, not having 
 the smallest notion of agricultural methods. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 171 
 
 I don't see any one but his Excellency who 
 really knows what he's about. This extraordi- 
 nary man knows everything, has seen everything, 
 read everything, and there is something wonder- 
 ful in the vividness with which he conceives. 
 Unfortunately he can't be everywhere at once ; 
 and then he is too kind, too unable to believe 
 any harm. Thus he still clings to his faith in 
 the Belgian, that scoundrel and swindler and 
 liar; he still expects to see him arrive with fresh 
 hands and provisions, so that every day when I 
 go into his room his first word is, " No ship in 
 sight this morning, Pascalon .?" 
 
 And to think that so humane a man, so ex- 
 cellent a ruler, alread}^ has enemies ! Yes, he 
 has enemies. There are ill-disposed people in 
 the city. He knows it ; he smiles at it; he says 
 to me : " What will you have, my child } I'm 
 the ' state of things,' and there are always peo- 
 ple who are against the 'state of things.' " 
 
 October 8th. — Spent the morning in taking 
 the census of our little colony. This document 
 on the early phases of a little State which will 
 perhaps become a great one, has the curious 
 feature of having been drawn up by one of the 
 founders, one of those who helped to break 
 ground. 
 
 October lot/i. — Water, water, nothing but 
 
172 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 water. In these floods of damp, this continual 
 drenching, one grows wofully slack, loses all 
 taste for anything, turns sour and ill-natured, 
 universally disgusted, quite as when one has 
 been taking bromide. 
 
 A party of the disaffected is forming in the 
 city, with Costecalde for chief and ringleader. 
 They assemble at the place they call the Cafe 
 Pinus, which consists of two or three tables and 
 a couple of benches in one of the cubicles. It 
 appears to exist for the purpose of drinking 
 bottled lemonade. Pinus, in the whole colony, 
 is the only man who is making any money, 
 and he makes it by the sale of this fizzing 
 liquid. 
 
 These gatherings under his roof have been 
 kept up very late, and have filled the big house 
 with such a clatter of discussion that complaints 
 have been made in the city. The racket keeps 
 the children awake. Therefore the Governor 
 has been obliged to give orders for the closing 
 of the establishment— a measure that has pro- 
 duced a bad effect on many minds. 
 
 It so happens that another affair has contrib- 
 uted to the state of tension. The Marquis des 
 Espazettes and a few other crack shots, kept 
 in-doors by the dreadful rain, lately conceived 
 the idea of setting up targets formed of old tin 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 173 
 
 boxes, disused receptacles of sweetmeats and 
 tunny, of sardines and potted pears, and then 
 of firing at them the Hvelong day from the win- 
 dows. 
 
 Our former cap- 
 shooters, now that helmets 
 and caps are not so easy to replace, have thus 
 been converted into can-shooters. 
 
 In itself this is not a bad exercise, but Cos- 
 tecalde has succeeded in persuading the Gov- 
 
174 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ernor that it leads to a deplorable waste of 
 powder. 
 
 Out comes, therefore, a new decree, prohibit- 
 ing this expensive sport. The can-shooters are 
 furious, the aristocracy sulks. This was precise- 
 ly what Costecalde had foreseen. Oh, he's up 
 to snuff ! 
 
 But, after all, what can you bring against our 
 
 poor Governor .f* The d d Dutchman has 
 
 let him in, just as he has let us all in. But is it 
 his fault if it keeps on raining, and if the bad 
 weather prevents us from getting forward with 
 the bull-baiting ? Our national sport, you know, 
 was promised us from the first; but up to this 
 time it has been impossible to set it going. 
 
 There has been a kind of blio:ht on this fa- 
 miliar pastime. Our good Tarasconians, who 
 had been cut off from it in France, rejoiced in 
 the thought of giving it a new life here. We 
 brought with us expressly some cows, and a bull 
 of the Camargue — Old Roman — the same who 
 used to win such fame on our votive anniver- 
 saries. 
 
 On account of the rains, which have render- 
 ed it impossible to leave them at pasture, these 
 beasts have been kept in a stable ; but all of a 
 sudden, without any one's knowing in the least 
 how it happened — I shouldn't be surprised if 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 175 
 
 Costecalde had had a hand in this too — Old 
 Roman has got out. 
 
 Now he's roaming the forest, he has become 
 wild, he's no lons^er a bull — he's a buffalo. 
 
 Of course we've tried to catch him again, but 
 he's quite too terrible. In reality he's baiting 
 us, instead of our baiting him. And he's the 
 only wild animal in the colony ! 
 
 I wonder if this, too, is Tartarin's fault ? 
 
 Ah, things are going wrong. Heaven watch 
 over our Governor ! 
 
176 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 II. 
 
 Day after day, page after page, through 
 strokes as fine as the gray slant of the rain, 
 with the desperate dead monotony of the wa- 
 tery, watery waste, we content ourselves with 
 giving the sense, though with scrupulous fideli- 
 ty, of our friend Pascalon's diary. 
 
 As the intercourse between the town and 
 headquarters continued to be characterized by 
 a visible tension, Tartarin, to recover a measure 
 of popularity, determined at last to organize 
 the bull-baiting; not, of course, with the assist- 
 ance of Old Roman, who was still ranging the 
 thicket, constantly wilder and more of a buffalo, 
 but with that of the three cows which remained. 
 
 Very attenuated, very lean, and sad to behold 
 were these domestic animals of our country, ac- 
 customed to the open air and the sun, and im- 
 mured ever since their arrival at Port Tarascon 
 in a damp, dark stable. Never mind, this was 
 better than nothing. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 // 
 
 On tlie sandy shore, beside the sea, the spot 
 forming the usual parade-ground of the miHtia, 
 a platform had been erected in advance, and a 
 circus enclosed by ropes, according to the cus- 
 tom in Provence. 
 
 Advantage was taken of a glimpse of fine 
 weather, a day when the sun almost shone, and 
 
 the Governor, the high dignitaries, and their la- 
 dies assumed their places on the platform. All 
 costumes were displayed — all the bespangled 
 mantles — and the women had extracted their 
 best-preserved finery from the depths of their 
 trunks. 
 
 Every one seemed happy, touched with the 
 
 12 
 
178 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 intoxication of the game, down to the little 
 ones who ran round and round the ring, pur- 
 suing each other with cries of "There! there! 
 the cattle !" while the higher personages settled 
 themselves in their rows, and the underlings 
 and militiamen, with their wives and daughters 
 and maid-servants, pressed together round the 
 ropes. 
 
 Forgotten at this moment was the weariness 
 of the long rainy days, forgotten were the griev- 
 ances against the Belgian — the dirty Belgian. 
 " There ! there ! the cattle !" this cry of the chil- 
 dren sufficed to rekindle the good-humor of the 
 mobile race who are cheered up by a sunbeam. 
 " There ! there ! the cattle !" Yes, at Port Ta- 
 rascon we could have our bull-baiting: different 
 enouQ:h from what it had come to be in the old 
 country : no one to worry the poor plain folk, 
 to deprive them of their favorite pleasure. 
 
 And what folly, indeed, ever to have forbidden 
 the bull-baiting of our gentle southern France, 
 in which there is nothing bloody, nothing cruel; 
 in which it is only a question of plucking off a 
 cockade planted between the horns of a bull ! 
 Doubtless the sport is not absolutely harmless. 
 It requires skill and agility. But, on the whole, 
 accidents are rare, and are reducible to a few 
 innocuous bruises. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 179 
 
 The flourish of trumpets, under the direction 
 of Escourbanies, Chief of the Levies and the 
 Orpheon, mingled its brazen uproar with the 
 cries and the rumble of the crowd. After the 
 " Port Tarascon March " had been played sev- 
 eral times, the drums beat a loud tattoo. 
 
 It was the siQ^nal. The circus, which had 
 suddenly become a field of danger, emptied it- 
 self in a trice, and one of the animals entered 
 the lists, greeted with frantic hurrahs. 
 
 She had nothing very terrible about her, the 
 poor scared cow, with her ribs showing through, 
 who stared at the crowd from big eyes disaccus- 
 tomed to the light of heaven ; she only began 
 to " mooh," and stood still, sticking fast in the 
 middle of the arena, with her big tricolored cock- 
 ade between her horns. 
 
l8o PORT TARASCON. 
 
 One of the baiters came and " shaved " her, 
 as the term is, passing behind and before her, 
 clapping his hands and trying to excite her. 
 " There ! there ! there !" But she suffered him 
 to approach her, even to touch her, and remain- 
 ed quite peaceful and resigned, without the 
 slightest disposition to retaliate. There would 
 have been neither peril nor honor in relieving 
 her of her cockade. 
 
 At this sight the public got indignant, and 
 cried for the irons — the irons ! Then two men 
 came forward, armed with long poles tipped with 
 irons in the shape of tridents. When they prick- 
 ed the poor thing's nose, instead of losing her 
 temper, as usual, she uttered a plaintive low and 
 fled, rushing round the course, pursued, belabor- 
 ed, with all the world at her heels, in the midst 
 of hisses and hootings and shouts. " Enough ! 
 enough!" cried the crowd. "Zou! zou ! put her 
 out! put her out." She retired in extreme hu- 
 miliation. 
 
 The second cow absolutely refused to leave 
 the stable. Neither shouts nor blows nor prod- 
 dings could overcome her reluctance. It was 
 vain to push her ; it was fruitless to pull her ; it 
 was impossible to drag her across the threshold. 
 
 So they gave their attention to the third, 
 who was said to be very vicious with her blood 
 
PORT TARASCON. l8l 
 
 up. She entered the circus on the gallop, dig- 
 ging her forked hoofs into the sand, lashing her 
 sides with her tail, and butting vigorously right 
 and left. The inquiring spectators who had 
 lingered in the arena skipped nimbly out of her 
 way, clearing the course on the spot. 
 
 This time, at least, there would be a fine 
 game. Not much, however, as it turned out. 
 The animal dashed away, bounded over the 
 rope, cleaving the crowd, taking aim with her 
 horns, and rushing straight to the sea, hurled 
 herself into it. 
 
 With water up to the hock, then up to the 
 shoulder, she went out as far as she could go. 
 Soon nothing more of her was seen than her 
 poor nose above the water, where her two horns 
 formed a crescent, with the cockade in the mid- 
 dle. She remained there till evening, woful- 
 ly lowing; and the whole settlement, from the 
 shore, called her names, hissed her, and assailed 
 her with stones, hootings, and gibes, of which 
 last missiles the poor " state of things," who 
 had come down from his platform, had also 
 quite his share. 
 
 The collapse of the national game was a great 
 check to the Government, of which the disaffect- 
 ed party made haste to take advantage. " Mon- 
 key's work — little of it, and that little bad," said 
 
I«2 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the bilious Costecalde, with his wicked grin. 
 This was the way he spoke of all the Govern- 
 or's acts. 
 
 Something at any rate had to be done to 
 drain off so much fermentation. The Govern- 
 ment therefore conceived the idea of an expe- 
 dition ao^ainst Kinsj Nas^onko. The scoundrel 
 had fled from the island, with his Papuans, after 
 the death of the unfortunate Bravida, and noth- 
 ino[ had been heard of him since. It was said 
 that he inhabited a neighboring island six or 
 
PORT TARASCON. I S3 
 
 eight miles away, whose vague outh'ne was dis- 
 tinguishable on clear days, but invisible most 
 of the time, thanks to the continual rains and 
 the curtain of fog. 
 
 The unavenged insult to the Tarasconian flag 
 was one of the greatest grievances of Coste- 
 calde's section, one of his most powerful argu- 
 ments against the "state of things." These 
 were pointed mainly at the cowardice of the 
 head of affairs, who had exacted no reparation 
 for the death of the unhappy Bravida, none for 
 that of Cambalalette or of Father Vezole, to say 
 nothing of so many other compatriots devoured 
 by the savages. 
 
 In the entourage of Tartarin there had been 
 much talk of some really great attempt. Broth- 
 er Bataillet preached war as he alone could 
 preach it. Tartarin himself, with all that was 
 pacific in him, had long resisted. But so many 
 ill-natured remarks were retailed to him that 
 at last his patience broke down. As we say at 
 Tarascon," Little flies make big donkeys jump." 
 He therefore took a great decision, hoping thus 
 to re-establish his popularity, and the expedi- 
 tion was prepared. 
 
 When the long-boat had been put into con- 
 dition, repaired and provisioned, and the culver- 
 in, handled by Brother Bataillet and Galoffre 
 
184 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the verger, set up in the prow, twenty militia- 
 men, all well armed, went aboard under the 
 orders of Escourbanies and the Marquis des 
 Espazettes, and one morning they set sail. 
 
 Their absence was to last three days, and 
 these three days seemed extremely long to the 
 colony. What would be the result of so ad- 
 venturous a cruise ? To what dangers would 
 the expedition not be exposed ? Would it come 
 back at all ? These anxieties were fostered by 
 the perfidious machinations of Costecalde, w^ho 
 kept gnawing like a wood-louse at his rival's 
 reputation, and went about saying, " What an 
 imprudence! as if it would not have been much 
 better to leave the wretches alone!" 
 
 Towards the end of the third day the report 
 of a cannon, rolling over the deep, brought 
 down the whole population to the shore, from 
 which the long-boat was seen to approach 
 at a rapid pace, under all her sail, with her 
 nose in the air, as if borne on a breeze of 
 triumph. 
 
 Even before she had reached the strand the 
 joyous cries of her company — the " Let's make 
 a noise!*' of Escourbanies — -announced from 
 afar the complete success of the enterprise. 
 
 An exemplary vengeance had been extorted 
 from the cannibals, heaps of villages had been 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 185 
 
 burned, and, according to every one's account, 
 thousands of Papuans slain. 
 
 The figure varied, but was always enormous, 
 and the accounts were rather different too. In 
 
 any case, what was certain was that they had 
 five or six prisoners of mark to show, among 
 whom were King Nagonko himself and his 
 daughter Likiriki. 
 
I 86 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The prisoners were conducted to headquar- 
 ters amid the ovations rendered by the crowd 
 to the victors. The soldiers filed out in great 
 array, carrying, like the companions of Colum- 
 bus on his return from the discovery of the 
 New World, all sorts of strange objects — brill- 
 iant plumes, skins of beasts, weapons, and spoils 
 of the savages. 
 
 But the prisoners were especially surrounded 
 as they passed, the good Tarasconians examin- 
 ing them with all the curiosity of hate. Broth- 
 er Bataillet had caused a few draperies, which 
 they ineffectually held together, to be thrown 
 over their black bareness ; and to see them 
 thus figged out, to say to one's self that they 
 had eaten up Father Vezole, Notary Cambala- 
 lette, and so many others, gave one the same 
 shudder of repulsion that one feels in menag- 
 eries, in the presence of anacondas digesting 
 under dirtv blankets. 
 
 Kins: Na^onko marched first — an old black- 
 amoor with a big belly, and a mass of crinkled 
 white wool that sat on his head like a smok- 
 ing-cap. A red clay pipe — the kind they make 
 at Marseilles — was attached to his left arm 
 by a bit of string. Near him came the little 
 Likiriki, with shining, impish eyes, bedecked 
 with coral necklaces and bracelets of pink 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 187 
 
 shells. They were followed by the others, 
 great monkeys with long arms, who showed 
 their pointed teeth in the grimace of their hor- 
 rible smiles. 
 
 There were a few jokes about them at first, 
 such as that they would give Mademoiselle 
 Tournatoire plenty of work, and the good old 
 
 V^d/, 
 
 
I 88 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 spinster, revisited by her famous fixed idea, be- 
 gan indeed to think how she could turn them 
 out ; but curiosity was quickly converted to 
 fury as we remembered the fate of our baked 
 and boiled compatriots. 
 
 Presently many people began to cry "Death! 
 death to them all! Zou! zou!" To give him- 
 self a more military stamp, Escourbanies had 
 adopted Scrapouchinat's phrase, and kept cry- 
 ing that we must have them all shot like green 
 monkeys. 
 
 Tartarin turned towards him and checked 
 his ravings with a gesture. "Spiridion," he said, 
 " let us respect the laws of war." 
 
 But moderate your ecstasy. Tartarin had his 
 plan. 
 
 A consistent defender of our old friend the 
 duke, if he had never given in to his being an 
 impostor, he had yet at bottom had his suspi- 
 cions. If, after all, one had been taken in by a 
 vulgar swindler, the treaty for the purchase of 
 the island, which his Grace pretended to have 
 made with Nagonko, would then be as false as 
 all the rest ; the island would not be ours, and 
 our vouchers for the acres, our great bargains, 
 would be nothing but so much waste paper. 
 
 Accordingly, as soon as the prisoners had 
 been introduced into the citadel, the Governor, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 189 
 
 far from thinking of shooting them hke green 
 monkeys, offered the Papuan monarch a solemn 
 reception. 
 
 This was just the sort 
 of thinii he knew how to 
 do, deeply versed in ev- 
 erything that had been 
 done by Captain Cook, 
 by Bougainville, and 
 other great navigators. 
 He simply approach- 
 ed the dusky monarch 
 and began to rub noses 
 with him. 
 
 The barbarian seemed 
 extremely surprised, as 
 in his tribe this 
 fashion had been 
 long abandoned, 
 had become quite 
 a lost tradition. 
 
 He submitted 
 none the less, evi- 
 dentlv thinkins: it 
 
 I'iljy:!:::!^:^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 \ 
 
 must be a Tarasconian custom; and at the spec- 
 tacle even the little Likiriki, who had a bit of a 
 nose like a kitten, scarcely any at all, insisted on 
 Tartarin's treating her to the same ceremony. 
 
190 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 When the rubbing of noses was over, arose 
 the question of communicating verbally with the 
 brutes. 
 
 Brother Bataillet spoke to them first, in his 
 Papuan of the other side ; but naturally, as it 
 was not the Papuan of this side, they couldn't 
 understand. Cicero Franquebalme, who knew 
 Eno^lish after a fashion, tried them with the 
 idiom of Shakespeare. Escourbanies mumbled 
 out a few words of Spanish, but without more 
 success than the others. 
 
 " Let us, at any rate, give them something to 
 eat," said Tartarin. 
 
 So a few boxes of tunny were opened. This 
 time the savages understood, and threw them- 
 selves upon the dainties in question, while the 
 Governor and Commissioners surrounded them, 
 watching them gluttonously devour and empty 
 the boxes, scraping them to the bottom with 
 fingers dripping with oil. Then, after several 
 great swigs of brandy, which they seemed par- 
 ticularly to appreciate, the King, to the gen- 
 eral's stupefaction, began to troll out in a hoarse 
 voice our Tarasconian revolutionary song about 
 chucking the refractory from the big window. 
 Hiccoughed forth by this thick-lipped barbarian, 
 with his mouth smeared with red and his teeth 
 with black, it had a fantastic, ferocious sound. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 191 
 
 So, then, Nagonko knew our local lano-uao-e. 
 
 Atter a minute of amazement the anomaly 
 was explained. 
 
 During the few months of association with 
 the hapless passengers of the Fai^andolc and the 
 
 Lttcifcr, the Papuans had picked up a certain 
 amount of Tarasconian— a Tarasconian of no 
 great elegance, no doubt, and consisting mainly 
 of the expressions of the Rabblebabble ; but 
 
192 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 with the aid of gestures it helped to enable our 
 friends to communicate with them. 
 
 So they communicated. 
 
 Questioned on the subject of our ally the duke, 
 Nagonko declared that he had never, never in 
 his life, heard of this distinguished personage, 
 or of any one who remotely resembled him. 
 
 The island had never been sold. 
 
 There had never been any treaty. 
 
 Never any treaty ? Tartarin, on the spot, 
 caused one to be drawn up. The scholarly 
 Franquebalme had an extensive hand in the 
 framing of this severe and scrupulous docu- 
 ment. He availed himself in it of all his legal 
 eruditio'n — whatsoever, whensoever, and where- 
 soever at every step — so that, with its Roman 
 cement, the thing made a compact and solid 
 whole. 
 
 Nao;onko ceded the island in exchanofe for a 
 barrel of rum, ten pounds of tobacco, two cotton 
 umbrellas, and a dozen dog-collars. 
 
 A career of usefulness was thus opened to 
 these last objects of traffic, which had been 
 brought in such quantities because Tartarin 
 had read in the works of travellers that they 
 are particularly appreciated by the savages of 
 Oceanica. 
 
 A codicil affixed to the tre9.ty authorized 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ^93 
 
 Nagonko, his daughter, and his companions to 
 reside on the west coast of the island, the direc- 
 tion in which the settlers never trusted them- 
 selves, for fear of Old Roman, the famous bull 
 who had become a buffalo. 
 
 The business was concluded in secret session 
 — knocked off in a few hours. 
 
 In this manner, thanks to their great leader's 
 diplomatic ability, the bonds and vouchers of 
 the colonists became valid again, really repre- 
 senting something. 
 
 And who was taken in this time? That plot- 
 ter of a Costecalde and his partisans. 
 
 Who, on the other hand, was very happy ? The 
 author of the Memorial, Pascalon, the gentle stut- 
 terer, now more than ever in love with his mum- 
 mum-master. 
 
194 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 III. 
 
 Meanwhile we continued to be drenched, 
 for out of the continual grayness the water 
 continued to fall. Lord, how it fell ! In the 
 morning, when the windows of the big house 
 were opened on a crack, inquiring hands were 
 thrust out. 
 
 " Is it raining ?" 
 
 " It is raining f 
 
 "Another day of it.?" 
 
 "Another day of it!" 
 
 Yes ; it rained as it had rained in Bezuquet's 
 account of it. 
 
 Poor Bezuquet ! In spite of all the misery 
 he had endured with his mates of the Faran- 
 dolc and the Lncifer^ he had staid over at Port 
 Tarascon, not daring to return in his tattooed 
 condition to any Christian land. Resuming the 
 attributes of an apothecary — he was now a sim- 
 ple medical assistant, very low in rank, under 
 the orders of Tournatoire — the late Provisional 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 195 
 
 Governor preferred exile, even in these condi- 
 tions, to the exhibition in civiHzed countries of 
 his monstrous countenance and his hands all 
 pricked with vermilion. 
 
 To avenge himself for his misfortune, he 
 
 made the most 
 grewsome pre- 
 dictions to the 
 others. If they 
 complained of 
 the rain, of the 
 mud, of tlie mil- 
 dew, he shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, just wait 
 a bit, my dears ; 
 there's better still 
 to come." 
 
 And Hezuquet 
 *"' was not mistaken. 
 
 Living, as you might say, 
 half in the water, with no 
 fresh meat to eat, many of us be- 
 gan to pay for it. 
 
 The cows had long since been eaten uj), con- 
 demned immediately after our fruitless attempt 
 to make them figure in the arena. Only one 
 of them was reserved, in case of symptoms of 
 
196 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 famine. The settlement had ceased to look to 
 its hunters, though there were such crack shots 
 among them, all penetrated with Tartarin's prin- 
 ciples, counting three times for a quail and twice 
 for a partridge. The bother was that there were 
 neither partridges nor quails, nor anything that 
 
 resembled 
 them, nei- 
 ther the 
 gull nor 
 the sea- 
 mew, nor 
 any other 
 bird of the 
 ocean ever 
 touching 
 at this side 
 of the isl- 
 and. All that 
 the hunters 
 encountered in 
 their excursions 
 were a few wild 
 pigs — very few indeed 
 — and here and there a kan- 
 garoo, who was very difficult to hit on account 
 of its leaps and bounds. 
 
 With this animal Tartarin was rather at a 
 
PORT TARASCON. I 97 
 
 loss to say how much to count. One day, when 
 the great shot, the marquis, questioned him on 
 the subject, he replied, a little at a venture, " I 
 think your lordship had better count six." 
 
 His lordship counted six, but brought home 
 from his ducking nothing but a very bad and 
 very incurable cold. 
 
 " I see that I shall have to go myself," said 
 Tartarin ; but he kept putting off this excur- 
 sion, and game kept growing constantly scarcer. 
 Certainly the big lizards were not bad, but if 
 you ate nothing else you grew terribly tired of 
 their tasteless white flesh. Bouffartigrue, the 
 pastry-cook, adapting a receipt of our clever 
 monks at home, had found a way of potting and 
 preserving it, but in the long-run the colony got 
 very sick of it. 
 
 The want of exercise completed the effect 
 of the absence of fresh meat. Nobody went 
 out ; everybody stayed moping in the big house. 
 What in the world should they have done out- 
 side, lackaday I in the rain, in the great pools, 
 in the lake of mud that surrounded them ? 
 
 There was not much "walking round" in the 
 evening. A few of the pluckier ones — Escarras, 
 Dourladoure, Mainfort, Roquetaillade — some- 
 times started, in spite of the downpour, to have 
 a dig at the ground, to try and do something 
 
198 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 with their acres, loath to give up all attempt to 
 plant. But they came back aching with pleu- 
 risy and pneumonia, or else their sowing pro- 
 duced the most extraordinary things. In the 
 hot humidity of the drenched earth a celery- 
 stalk would become in a night a gigantic tree, 
 hard enough to crack your teeth. That sort of 
 thing couldn't be eaten. The development of 
 the cabbage was phenomenal, but it was all in 
 stem as long as an alpenstock. As for potatoes 
 and carrots, they were no use at all. 
 
 Bezuquet had told the truth when he said 
 that things would either not come up at all or 
 come up too far. 
 
 To these manifold causes of demoralization 
 add the simple disease of " pining," of home- 
 sickness, a longing for sun-warmed nooks and 
 corners, under old walls gilded with the light of 
 Provence; for our great, fresh, healthy breezes, 
 when the mistral bends the rows of cypresses, 
 or splits off in great scales the bark of the plane- 
 tree. 
 
 Nothing of that sort on the wretched island 
 — nothing but permanent rain. The number 
 of the sick couldn't fail to increase steadily. 
 Happily for them the Commissioner of Health, 
 more of a Tarasconian than of a doctor, had a 
 limited faith in the pharmacopoeia. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 199 
 
 " I'm not one of your druggers and dosers," 
 he said. Just the opposite in this of his prede- 
 cessor, Bezuquet. 
 
 Every morn- 
 ing, on their 
 ;-'l^on%'' rounds, this pair 
 
 met at the bedsides of 
 their patients, and while Bezuquet instantly sug- 
 gested his various poultices and plasters, Tour- 
 natoire only prescribed a nice little garlic 
 broth. 
 
 And it is not to be denied, my fine friend, 
 as they say down there, you had people all 
 
2CO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 swelled up, without voice or breath, already 
 wanting: to save their souls and make their 
 wills, when in came the nice little garlic broth, 
 three sprigs for a small pot, a bit of roast meat 
 in three spoonfuls of olive oil, and the same 
 individuals who had been so far gone began to 
 sniff and say, " Bless my soul, it smells good !" 
 
 The mere smell immediately brought them 
 round. 
 
 They took a plate, then another plate, and 
 at the third they were sitting up, sir, or even 
 standing up, with their voices restored and the 
 swelling quite gone down. In the evening you 
 saw them in the parlor taking a hand at be- 
 zique. Ah ! the garlic of salvation, the garlic 
 of Providence ! 
 
 A single patient, a patient of position, the 
 high and mighty lady, Madame des Espazettes 
 de Lambesc, had rejected Tournatoire's reme- 
 dy. Garlic broth was good for the Rabblebab- 
 ble, but when one comes down from the Cru- 
 sades — She wouldn't hear of it any more 
 than she would hear of the marriage of her 
 daughter Clorinde to Pascalon. As soon as 
 either this marriage or the garlic broth was 
 mentioned, she gave a "Pouah!" of haughty 
 disgust, which, in the Tarasconian fashion, she 
 pronounced " Puai !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 20 1 
 
 : The unhappy 
 
 lady was, howev- 
 er, in a very bad 
 way. Yes, poor 
 thing, she had got it. 
 Understand by this 
 vague pronoun the in- 
 ^■^^^1 scrutable, preposterous, 
 
 aqueous aihnent which had settled upon our little 
 band of Southrons. Those whom it attacked 
 
202 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 suddenly became very ugly, their eyes began 
 to goggle, their arms and legs to swell ; it made 
 them think of the terrible disease let loose 
 by Mr. Mauve in the legend of the Son of 
 Man. 
 
 The poor marquise had begun to " pro- 
 trude " everywhere. I beg your pardon for 
 this peculiar expression. It occurs in the Me- 
 morial amid the record, full of delicate emotion, 
 of our gentle and desperate Pascalon's visits to 
 the city. 
 
 Authorized to pay them without hope, he 
 turned up at the big house every evening and 
 found the marquise in bed, under the shelter of 
 a cjreat blue cotton umbrella attached to the 
 head of her couch. This arrangement prevailed 
 in all the cubicles, on account of the cracks in 
 the roof and the sudden leaks from conduits 
 that had burst. 
 
 But while she kept groaning under her um- 
 brella, the marquise would have nothing to do 
 with the garlic broth. To the entreaties of her 
 husband, of her daughter, even of Pascalon, who 
 sometimes ventured to propose, with his stut- 
 ter, a little sou-sou-soup, she replied, with an in- 
 expressible gesture of disgust, " Puai !" 
 
 Then the unfortunate Pascalon remained si- 
 lent, seated near the bed, watching the noble 
 
PORT TARASCON. 203 
 
 lady "protrude" still further; while the long 
 Clorinde, preparing the camomile tea, came and 
 went with the graceful skip of a young kanga- 
 roo, and the marquis, in a corner, philosophi- 
 cally filled his cartridges for the next day's 
 chase. 
 
 Roundabout in the neighboring cubicles the 
 water trickled down on the open umbrellas, the 
 children squalled, and contentious sounds, the 
 uproar of political discussion, came in from the 
 saloon, mingled with the perpetual patter of 
 the rain on the windows, on the zinc patch of 
 the roof, and the universal guttering of the 
 water. 
 
 Between whiles Costecalde kept up his un- 
 derhand intrigues, by day at headquarters, and 
 in the evening in the private room that had 
 been assigned to him as Commissioner of Agri- 
 culture. Barban and Rugimabaud, who had 
 sold their souls to him, helped him to diffuse 
 the most sinister rumors, this one among oth- 
 ers, " The garlic is giving out !" 
 
 It was appalling to think that it inighi run 
 short in the government emporium, this blessed 
 garlic, the savior, the healer, the universal pan- 
 acea. Costecalde accused the "state of things" 
 of monopolizing it for himself and his creatures 
 — of committing personal excesses with it. 
 
204 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Escourbanies (and with what a voice !) backed 
 up these calumnies of his brother Commissioner. 
 There is a Tarasconian proverb which says that 
 the scoundrels who quarrel by day steal togeth- 
 er at night. This was quite the case with the 
 double-faced Escourbanies, who at headquarters, 
 before Tartarin, talked against Costecalde, while 
 in town in the evening he took (what will you 
 have ?) the opposite line ; obeying thus an in- 
 stinct of flattery which always led him, such was 
 his desire to please, to grovel before the person 
 with whom he happened to find himself. 
 
 The women took part in these discussions, 
 and they were not the least contentious debat- 
 ers ; their tongues went like windmills; they 
 made more noise than all the men together, in- 
 cluding Escourbanies. Indeed, this political in- 
 terference of the ladies was one of the greatest 
 dangers for the party in power; for though in 
 our southern households the woman is not sup- 
 posed to count for much, and has not the formal 
 honors, she is in reality the pivot of the family 
 life. 
 
 Tartarin, whose kindness and patience we 
 have not now to discover, bore up long against 
 these manoeuvres. 
 
 He was far, indeed, from being unaware of 
 them. In the evening, when he smoked his 
 
PORT TARASCON. 2O5 
 
 pipe, leaning on his elbows at his open window 
 — for, in spite of the rain, his powerful nature 
 needed the refreshment of the outer air — while 
 he listened in this attitude to all the sounds of 
 the night, the murmur of the Little Rhone mix- 
 ed with those of all the rivulets formed by the 
 downpour on the hills, he distinguished distant 
 voices, the echoes of speeches, and saw through 
 the thick atmosphere (it was as thick as water 
 could make it) the wavering lights in the case- 
 ments of the big house. Political passions surged 
 and sputtered yonder in the city. 
 
 The heart of our great Tartarin bled at the 
 thought that all this confusion was caused by 
 that monster of a Costecalde; his hand trem- 
 bled on the window-bar, his eye darted a flame 
 in the dusk — he could fancy himself on the track 
 of a wild beast. But as, after all, these emotions, 
 combined with the damp of the night, might 
 bring on the disease, he controlled himself, 
 closed the window again, and went quietly to 
 bed. 
 
 At last, however, matters reached such a point 
 that he decided on a great step. 
 
 He suspended the pay of Costecalde and his 
 two myrmidons ; he abrogated their titles and 
 dignities, and even deprived the first-named of 
 his mantle of Grandee of the first Class. He 
 
206 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 appointed Beaumevieille, a former haberdasher, 
 Commissioner — a very honest man, though not 
 perhaps knowing much more about planting and 
 reaping than his predecessor. Beaumevieille 
 would, at any rate, be admirably seconded by 
 Labranque, a former manufacturer of oil-cloth, 
 and Rebuffat — the one who used to keep the 
 great place for caramels; they were to replace 
 Rugimabaud and Barban as sub-commissioners. 
 
 The Governors decree was posted up early 
 in town, that is to say, on the door of the big 
 house ; so that Costecalde, coming out in the 
 morning to proceed to his office, received the 
 affront of it full in his face. Which was a 
 mighty good job, adds Pascalon in his Memo- 
 rial. 
 
 This co2ip d'etat produced an immense agita- 
 tion in the settlement. The settlers flew about, 
 reading the decree over and over and criticising 
 it, so that the general residence had the buzz 
 of a frightened hive. 
 
 For a lonor time back Costecalde and his min- 
 ions had held themselves ready for a movement, 
 and it may be seen by what followed how right 
 Tartarin was to act with vigor. 
 
 Lord save us, it was only just time ! 
 
 In the space of four or five hours some twen- 
 ty, perhaps, of the disaffected sprang up and di- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 207 
 
 rected their steps to the citadel ; these comprised 
 the former habitues of the Cafe Pinus, together 
 with Pinus himself, who had never forgiven the 
 closing of his establishment. They were all 
 armed to the teeth, and they all cried : " Down 
 with the Governor! Death to the Governor! 
 Chuck him into the Rhone ! Zou, zou ! Res- 
 ignation ! Resignation !" 
 
 The troop was followed by four or five ex- 
 cited viragoes, and by the precious Escourba- 
 nies, howling even louder than the others : 
 
 " Resign ! Resign ! Let's make a noise — 
 make a noise !" 
 
 Unfortunately it was raining, it was pourino-, 
 and this obliged each of them to hold his um- 
 brella in one hand and his gun in the other. 
 
 Besides, the Government had taken its meas- 
 ures. 
 
 Passing the Little Rhone, the insurgents 
 found themselves before the citadel, and what 
 did they see there ? 
 
 On the first floor Tartarin loomed up at the 
 window, armed with his deadly Winchester and 
 supported by his faithful cap-shooters and can- 
 shooters, the infallible marquis much to the 
 fore ; all of them shots, mind you, who, at twen- 
 ty paces, counting four, could put their ball into 
 the little round label on a box of potted pears. 
 
208 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 But what frightened the wretches above all 
 was the appearance of Brother Bataillet, who, 
 under the hood of the great door, bent over his 
 culverin, ready to fire at the first sign from 
 Tartar! n. 
 
 So terrible and unexpected was the sight of 
 this artillery and its lighted match that the reb- 
 els wavered, and Escourbanies, turning one of 
 the moral somersaults which he so frequently 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 209 
 
 practised, had time to begin to dance the horn- 
 pipe of success under Tartarin's window, roar- 
 ing out, as fast as he could draw breath: " Lono- 
 live the Governor ! Long live the ' state of 
 things !' Let s make a noise ! Ah ! ah ! ah !" 
 
 Tartarin, from his lofty post, still handling 
 his thirty-two shooter, responded, in a ringing 
 voice: "Let's, turn in again, my disaffected 
 friends. The rain is coming down, and I am 
 loath to expose you longer to such inconven- 
 ience. We shall now call tosrether our o-ood 
 subjects m their comitia, and inquire of the na- 
 tion if our services be any longer required. I 
 recommend quiet until then— or else just step 
 back !" 
 
 The vote was taken on the morrow, and the 
 actual state of things re-elected by a crushing 
 majority. 
 
 A few days later, as a contrast to all this ao-i. 
 tation, occurred a touching ceremony, the chris- 
 tening of young Likiriki, the little Papuan prin- 
 cess, daughter of King Nagonko and pupil of 
 Brother Bataillet. His Reverence had com- 
 pleted the work of conversion inaugurated by 
 Father Vezole— God be praised ! 
 
 She was truly a delightful little monkey, this 
 yellow-skinned princess, bedecked with red'neck- 
 laces, in the short frock striped with blue made 
 14 
 
2IO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 for her by Mademoiselle Tournatoire. Buoyant, 
 elastic, plump, and round, she could never keep 
 still — her legs were perpetually going off like a 
 clown's. 
 
 The Governor was godfather, and Madame 
 Franquebalme godmother. She was christened 
 under the names of Mary- Martha- Tartarina. 
 Only, on account of the dreadful weather that 
 prevailed that day, as it prevailed the day be- 
 fore, and as it would prevail on the morrow, the 
 function could not take place, as in the case of 
 Miraclete, at St. Martha's of the Palms, which 
 was now half full of water, its roof of foliage 
 having long since fallen in. 
 
 The company collected for the ceremony in 
 the saloon of the general residence, but this did 
 not prevent our dreamy and poetic Pascalon 
 from harking back to the happy day on which 
 he too had stood at the font with his dear Clo- 
 rinde, so often denied him, yet so consistently 
 loved. 
 
 The passage in his diary — we continue sim- 
 ply to give the general drift of it — bearing on 
 this episode is marked with a trace of tears, al- 
 most blurring out the words, " Poor little me 
 and poor little she !" 
 
 It was on the day following the baptism of 
 Likiriki- Tartarina that a most frightful catas- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 21 I 
 
 trophe occurred. But the facts here acquire a 
 gravity; let us leave the story to the Memo- 
 
 rial. 
 
 Xc.i^l 
 
212 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 December ^th. — To-day, the second Sunday 
 in Advent, we have been visited by a fearful 
 calamity, of which the consequences are deplo- 
 rable, and the effect on the settlement may be 
 most disastrous. 
 
 The verger Galoffre, Inspector of the Navy, 
 on going to examine the long-boat, as he does 
 every morning, finds it gone. 
 
 The staple, the chain, the whole fastening 
 have been pulled out. 
 
 He thought at first it might be some new 
 trick of Nagonko and his gang, as we are al- 
 ways suspicious of them ; he thought that dur- 
 ing the night they might have been prowling 
 about this side of the island. 
 
 But, lo and behold, in the cavity left in the 
 post by the extraction of the staple, the Inspect- 
 or discovered, quite soaked with water and soil- 
 ed with mud, an envelope addressed to his Ex- 
 cellency ! 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 213 
 
 Guess, now, what this envelope contained. 
 
 A visiting-card of our gracious Costecalde, 
 still inscribed with all his titles. Commissioner 
 of Agriculture and Grandee of the First Class, 
 and bearing in the corner, in pencil, the letters 
 P. P. C. Beneath were the names of Barban and 
 Rugimabaud, together with those of four mili- 
 tiamen, Caissargue, Bouillargue, Truphenus, and 
 Roquetaillade. 
 
2 14 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 For some days past the launch had been quite 
 ready, suppHed with provisions in view of a new 
 expedition planned by his doughty Reverence. 
 
 The wretches took advantage of this piece 
 of good-luck. They have carried off the whole 
 blessed thing, even the compass and their very 
 muskets. 
 
 Oh, the brigands ! oh, the deserters ! — to call 
 them thieves is to flatter them ! 
 
 And to think that the first three are married 
 — that they leave behind them their wives and 
 a litter of brats ! Their wives I can understand 
 — at a pinch you may leave your wife — but the 
 children are another matter. 
 
 In the city, at first, the thing was not believed ; 
 but after no room was left for doubt, you should 
 have seen the general uprising against the 
 traitors ! 
 
 Madame Costecalde, a poor affair, reduced to 
 idiocy by her husband, was completely crushed. 
 The two others, Madame Barban and Madame 
 Rugimabaud, veritable furies, called down on 
 the heads of their respective ruffians every con- 
 ceivable catastrophe — shipwreck and drowning, 
 with some barbarian belly for a tomb. Madame 
 Barban especially yelled out her imprecations, 
 her hands trembling with rage like the twigs 
 of a tree. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 215 
 
 The general feeling evoked by this event has 
 been a kind of stupor. It seems now as if our 
 communications with the rest of the world were 
 destroyed. So long as we had the launch there 
 remained some hope of our reaching the conti- 
 nent by a kind of progress from island to island 
 — some belief in the possibility of looking for 
 help. 
 
2l6 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Brother Bataillet broke into a terrible rage, 
 appealing to heaven for all its thunder- bolts 
 against our wrongers. Escourbanies, character- 
 istically, went about shouting that we ought to 
 have them shot like green monkeys, and that 
 by way of reprisals we ought to put their wives 
 and children to the sword. 
 
 The Governor alone kept his equilibrium. 
 
 " We must not get started," he remarked to 
 Escourbanies. "After all, they are still Taras- 
 conians. Let us pity them ; let us think of 
 the dangers they must run. Truphenus alone 
 among them has some idea of the management 
 of a sail." 
 
 Then came to him the fine thought of mak- 
 ing the forsaken children the wards of the 
 colony. 
 
 At bottom, I suspect he was not sorry to have 
 got rid of his mortal enemy and the latters 
 minions. 
 
 During the day his Excellency dictated me 
 the following general order, which has been 
 posted up in town : 
 
 " General Order. 
 
 " We, Tartarin of Tarascon, Governor of Port Tarascon 
 and its Dependencies, Grand Ribbon of the Order, etc., 
 etc., etc., 
 
 " Recommend to the population the greatest cahn. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 21 7 
 
 ''The guilty parties will be followed up with energy, and 
 subjected to all the rigor of the law. 
 
 "The Commissioner of Artillery and of the Navy is 
 charged with the execution of the present order." 
 
 Then, to wind up, and to reply to certain evil 
 rumors that have been for some time in circu- 
 lation, he directed me to add this postscript: 
 
 "The garlic will not give out." 
 
 December 6th. — The Governors order has 
 produced the very best effect in the city. 
 
 A reflection might, indeed, have been made 
 as to how we shall follow them up, and in what 
 direction, and with what means of getting afloat, 
 inasmuch as we have no idea where they have 
 gone, and no boat into the bargain. But it is 
 not for nothing that one of our local proverbs 
 says that you must take man by his tongue and 
 the bull by his horns. The Tarasconian race is 
 so sensitive to fine words, letting them lead it 
 so by the nose, that no one has doubted or 
 questioned for a moment. 
 
 Moreover, a sunbeam happened to peep out 
 between two showers, and this was enough to 
 cheer every one up. Now, for the hour, we all 
 turn out on the Walk Round; we do nothing 
 but laugh and lark. Ah, the good old stock — 
 the dear old stock ! 
 
2l8 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 December loth. — An unheard-of honor has 
 befallen me. I have been created Grandee of 
 the First Class. 
 
 At breakfast this morning I found my patent 
 under my plate. The Governor shows himself 
 delighted to have been able to confer on me 
 this high distinction. Franquebalme, Baume- 
 vieille, and Brother Bataillet seem equally grati- 
 fied with myself at this new dignity which ren- 
 ders me their equal. 
 
 It has rained, of course, but to-day the rain 
 has struck me, somehow, as less dreary. 
 
 In the evening, my visit to the city. The 
 news was already known, and among my noble 
 friends I was particularly congratulated. The 
 marquis gave me the accolade, Clorinde was 
 flushed with pleasure. No one but her lady- 
 ship appeared indifferent to my happiness. 
 
 Still awfully sick, still declining to have any- 
 thing to do with the garlic broth, she struck 
 me, under her umbrella, as protruding and sulk- 
 ing still more. Haughty as ever, she referred 
 with contempt to my wonderful investiture — 
 " Puai !" In her eyes, even this does not ele- 
 vate me in the social scale. Dear me, what in 
 the world does she want.f* To come in for the 
 first class — at my age ! 
 
 But, in spite of everything, I cherish the 
 
PORT TARASCON. 219 
 
 hope that this new dignity, the honors with 
 which I am overwhelmed, the importance of 
 my functions, and the brilliancy of my future, 
 will, perhaps, finally get the better of her feel- 
 ing of caste. 
 
 December loth. — A dreadful rumor — in a 
 whisper — is going the rounds: the garlic is 
 running down ! 
 
 If it should really give out, what on earth 
 would be the end of us ? 
 
 Frightful, indeed, to have to face without gar- 
 lic the innumerable feverish forms of rheuma- 
 tism that besiege us ! 
 
 December i-fth. — Something extraordinary is 
 going on at headquarters — something so extraor- 
 dinary that I scarcely dare to hint at it in this 
 record. I have doubted long of so strange an 
 anomaly, but at last it has become visible for 
 all — so visible that last evening, in town, all the 
 world was talkingr of it. 
 
 The Governor entertains a feelinof ! 
 
 And for whom, pray ? Why, for the little 
 monkey Likiriki, his godchild, who is certainly 
 a nice little thing, but has none the less re- 
 mained, under her varnish of education and 
 conversion, a lying, pilfering, gluttonous, dan- 
 gerous savage. 
 
 He — he ! Tartarin, our f^reat Tartarin, who 
 
220 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 might have made the grandest matches, practi- 
 cally in love with a monkey ! Royal blood, if 
 you will, but with manners and customs so gro- 
 tesque, with her little skirt in rags, and her little 
 
 person, on the days it 
 
 doesn't rain, perched on the 
 
 top of some cocoanut- tree, 
 
 from which she amuses herself with dropping 
 
 fruits as big as rocks on the heads of our most 
 
 venerable settlers. The other day she almost 
 
 put an end to one of the fathers of the state. 
 
 If any one asks where her Highness may be, 
 vou hear somethinq; scramble down from the 
 
PORT TARASCON. 22 1 
 
 branches, and the young lady presents herself. 
 And then, what manners at home ! 
 
 I needn't call attention to their disparity of 
 age. Tartarin is quite sixty, grizzled, and fine- 
 ly filled out, whereas she is only twelve or four- 
 teen at the most — with these creatures you can 
 never tell. 
 
 I had certainly noticed sundry indications, 
 but I couldn't attach importance to them. For 
 instance, the indulgence of the Governor to the 
 old villain Nagonko — his allowances and atten- 
 tions — always keeping him to dinner when he 
 comes to headquarters. You should see the 
 filthy ways of the old gorilla — how he eats with 
 his fingers, and stuffs himself with everything, 
 especially with brandy. 
 
 He always ends with his incongruous song, 
 in his still more incongruous Proven9al, about 
 chucking people out of the window. In short, 
 no sort of form. 
 
 Tartarin has always treated all this as his 
 cheery, cordial ways ; and whenever the little 
 princess, following her father's example, has 
 played some trick that has given us all a shiver 
 in the back, the good Governor has only smiled, 
 beaming on her with paternal looks that seem to 
 make excuses for her, and to remind us that she 
 is onlv a child. 
 
2 22 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 And, indeed, in spite of these symptoms, 
 and others still more conclusive, I continue to 
 doubt. 
 
 December i8th. — Impossible to doubt any 
 longer. 
 
 This morning in council the Governor open- 
 ed on the subject of his marriage to the little 
 princess. 
 
 He put forward the ground of policy, talked 
 of a mariage de convenance, of the interests of 
 the settlement. He dwelt on the relations of 
 our little state, without alliances, lost on the 
 bosom of the deep. By marrying the daughter 
 of a Papuan king he would secure us a fleet of 
 pirogues, an army of mercenaries. 
 
 No one in the council raised an objection. 
 
 Escourbanies the first, dashed forward, stamp- 
 ing with enthusiasm : " Perfect, your Excellency 
 — a capital idea ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! When may we 
 look for the wedding.^" This evening, in town, 
 who knows what infamies he will have invented.-^ 
 
 Cicero Franquebalme by force of habit sorted 
 into two interminable little heaps, on the one 
 side and on the other, the arguments for and 
 against : " If, on the one hand, the colony, it is 
 not to be denied that on the other," etc., etc. 
 Finally, having considered everything, he gave 
 his assent to the Governor's plan. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 223 
 
 Beaumevieille and Tournatoire were of the 
 same opinion; as for Brother Bataillet, he didn't 
 strike me as very warm, but having probably 
 been indoctrinated in advance, he didn't pro- 
 test. 
 
 The funny part of it was the shameless way 
 v;e all made believe — made believe that it was 
 really a question of the interests of the settle- 
 ment and of serious alliances. Tartarin, amid 
 a deep approving silence, continued to insist on 
 these high diplomatic considerations. 
 
 Then suddenly his kind old eyes filled with 
 bright tears, and he broke out, just as he might 
 have done at home : " And then, do you see, 
 gentlemen, it isn't so much all that — I'm sim- 
 ply fond of the little thing." 
 
2 24 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 This was so simple, so touching, so Tarasco- 
 nian, that it quite went to our hearts. " Ah, go 
 ahead then, your Excellency, go ahead !" We 
 surrounded him, we pressed his hands. For 
 myself, Pascalon, also in love and having suf- 
 fered for love. Heaven knows how well I un- 
 derstood him ! 
 
 December 20th. — The Governor's project is 
 much discussed in town, yet less severely than 
 I should have feared. The men treat it humor- 
 ously — we are not Tarasconians for nothing — 
 with the drop of mischief that we always min- 
 gle with the question of love. 
 
 The women are more against him, especially 
 Mademoiselle Tournatoire's little set. Since 
 he wanted to get married, why not take his 
 wife from the nation t Many of them in talk- 
 ing so think, of course, of themselves and their 
 young ladies. 
 
 Escourbanies, coming down to town in the 
 evening, sided quite with the ladies, and put his 
 finger on the weak point of the alliance — the 
 bride's dreadful papa — such a father-in-law! 
 And then to marry a young person who has 
 partaken of our flesh ! One couldn't help 
 shuddering. 
 
 I felt my blood getting up while the traitor 
 talked, and I bolted out of the room for fear of 
 
PORT TARASCON. 225 
 
 letting him have my fist in his face. You see 
 our blood is hot at Tarascon. 
 
 On leaving the general saloon I called on the 
 Espazettes. The marquise, dreadfully weak, is 
 still in bed, poor woman, determined to be dosed 
 and drugged by Bezuquet rather than give in 
 to Tournatoire and garlic. 
 
 In spite of her state, w'hen she saw me come 
 in she began, with haughty raillery, "Well, my 
 Lord Chamberlain, will there be ladies in wait- 
 ing attached to the new Queen ?'' 
 
 She wanted to make fun of me, but it in- 
 stantly struck me that there might be an open- 
 ing in this for Clorinde and me. 
 
 Maid of honor or lady in waiting, my beloved 
 would have apartments in the citadel, and I 
 should be able to see her, to speak to her at 
 any hour. Could such happiness be possible .-^ 
 
 When I got back the Governor had gone to 
 bed, but I couldn't bear to wait till the morrow 
 to speak to him of my idea. It struck him as 
 sound policy. I lingered late beside his bed, 
 talking over his amours and my own. 
 
 December 22d. — Oh, these nobles — race of 
 hawks and vultures ! 
 
 The marquise won't listen to it. 
 
 The marquis at a pinch would make the 
 best of it ; with board and lodging at head- 
 
 15 
 
226 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 quarters, better lodging than in town, and sport 
 and garlic at discretion, he would get on very 
 well. But her ladyship — not at any price. 
 
 I pause; she's a woman, after all, and I fear 
 my indignation may carry me too far. 
 
 December 2^th, Clwistmas Day. — Last night, 
 Christmas Eve, the whole colony assembled in 
 the grand saloon, the Government, the authori- 
 ties, all the world, and we kept the dear old 
 feast as we might have kept it at home. 
 
 Brother Bataillet said midnight mass, and 
 then we hid the fire, as we say in Provence, 
 It is done with a great yule-log, which is car- 
 ried round the room by the oldest person in 
 the company, and then placed upon the cinders 
 and sprinkled with white wine. 
 
 Princess Likiriki was present, laughing im- 
 mensely, and amused by the ceremony of the 
 log. The special sweets from Montelimar, the 
 Christmas cakes, and all the other delicacies 
 excited her spirits and her appetite. 
 
 Then we sang the yule-tide songs that we 
 sing at home: "I saw in the air an angel green," 
 "St. Joseph showed me the Moorish King," and 
 many others. 
 
 The songs and the cakes, the great circle 
 round the fire, all brought back the mother- 
 
 & 
 
 land, in spite of the patter of the rain on the 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 227 
 
 roof, and the umbrellas all up on account of 
 the leaks. 
 
 At a given moment, whether on purpose or 
 not on purpose. Brother Bataillet struck up on 
 the harmoniuni the beautiful ballad of our o^reat 
 
 _!^oiM 
 
 poet Mistral — the one about John of Tarascon 
 taken by the pirates. 
 
 It is the story of one of our people, who 
 goes among the Turks, assumes the turban, 
 becomes a renegade, and then, when he is on 
 the point of marrying the Sultan's daughter. 
 
2 28 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 hears from the shore an old Tarascon song, 
 sung in the vernacular by mariners from his 
 country. 
 
 Then, as the water splashes up under the 
 oar, so a great flood of tears bursts his hard 
 heart. He thinks of the land he has disowned ; 
 he thinks and despairs — despairs that he is 
 with the Turks. He pulls off the turban on 
 the spot, flings away the scimitar and the whole 
 business, and goes and joins the little Proven- 
 gal crew. 
 
 At the line about the water splashing up 
 under the oar a general sob broke forth ; the 
 Governor himself could scarcely wink away his 
 tears; you saw the grand ribbon of the order 
 go up and down on his athletic chest. 
 
 It will, perhaps make a difference in a great 
 many things, this simple ballad of our great 
 Mistral. 
 
 December 2C)th. — To-day, at ten o'clock in the 
 morning, we celebrated the marriage of his Ex- 
 cellency the Governor of Port Tarascon with 
 Princess Royal Likiriki. 
 
 The signers of the register were his Majesty 
 the bride's father, who made a cross for his 
 name, the Commissioners, and great dignitaries 
 of the settlement. Mass was said later in the 
 grand saloon. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 229 
 
 The ceremony was simple and striking; the 
 troops were all under arms, and every one in 
 full dress. Nas^onko alone was rather a blot. 
 
 n ' 
 
 k 
 
 ■'■.'A* 
 
 , ■J^., 
 
 
 His attitude, both as King and as father, was 
 nothing less than deplorable. 
 
 There was nothinq; to be said aorainst the 
 
 & 
 
230 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 princess, who looked very pretty in her white 
 dress, relieved by numerous coral necklaces. 
 
 The evening was a great revel, with double 
 rations, salvos of artillery, several rounds from 
 our can -shooters, and acclamations, choruses, 
 and universal joy. 
 
 Meanwhile it rains ; oh, it does come down ! 
 
 But the popular rejoicing is not in the least 
 chilled. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 231 
 
 V. 
 
 "Look! look! A sail ! A ship coming in!" 
 
 At this cry, uttered one morning by militia- 
 man Berdoulat, who was grubbing for turtles' 
 eggs in the drenching rain, the settlers of Port 
 Tarascon showed themselves at the apertures 
 of their mud-buried ark ; and while a thousand 
 cries re-echoed Berdoulat's call, " A sail! Look! 
 look ! a sail !" the population, pouring out of 
 windows and doors, frisking and leaping like 
 clowns in a pantomine, rushed down to the 
 beach, which it filled as with the howlinsf of 
 sea-calves. 
 
 As soon as the Governor was notified, he 
 also rushed down, and while he went on but- 
 toning, stood radiant under the far from radiant 
 sky, amid the umbrellas of his subjects. 
 
 "Well, my children, didn't I tell you he would 
 come at last ? It's the duke !" 
 
 "The duke.?" 
 
 " Whom else would you have it be ? Cer- 
 
232 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 tainly, our noble friend, coming to revictual 
 his colony ; coming to bring us the weapons 
 and ammunition, the instruments, and those 
 strong arms of the Rabblebabble — bless them! 
 — which I've been asking him for from the 
 first." 
 
 You should have seen at this moment the 
 faces of consternation of those who had raved 
 the loudest against the dirty Belgian, for it was 
 not every one who had the impudence of Es- 
 courbanies, and was ready to begin so soon the 
 hornpipe of success. Escourbanies was already 
 
 dancing it. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah ! Long live the 
 
 Due de Mons !" 
 
 While this went on, a big steamer, high out 
 
 'y^ 
 
PORT TARASCON. 233 
 
 of water, very imposing, was moving up the 
 bay. She whistled and let off steam, cast an- 
 chor with a great rattle far from the shore, on 
 account of the coral reefs, then remained mo- 
 tionless and silent in the wet. 
 
 Our friends began to be rather surprised 
 that the people of the ship were not more ea- 
 ger to return their greeting, and reply to the 
 flapping of their umbrellas and the waving of 
 their hats. They thought his Grace a little 
 cold. 
 
 " If it comes to that, perhaps he's not quite 
 sure it's us." 
 
 " Perhaps he even knows the way we've been 
 abusing him." 
 
 "Abusing him.'* I never abused him in the 
 world !" 
 
 " No more did I ; never !" 
 
 " No more did I ; not a bit !" 
 
 Tartarin in all the confusion never lost his 
 head. 
 
 He ordered the flag to be flown on the pin- 
 nacle of the citadel, and to be backed up by a 
 shot or two. 
 
 The shot or two went off, and the Tarasco- 
 nian colors fluttered in the air. 
 
 At the same instant a frightful report re- 
 sounded through the bay, a cloud of heavy 
 
234 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 smoke concealed the ship, and a kind of black- 
 bird, passing over the congregated heads with 
 a hoarse hiss, alighted on the roof of the ern- 
 porium, from which it removed a corner. 
 
 At first there was a moment of simple stupor. 
 
 "Why, why, they're shoo — shoo — shooting 
 us !" shrieked Pascalon. 
 
 Imitating the embodied state, who had given 
 the signal, every one had bounced down on all- 
 fours. 
 
 " Dear me, then, it can't be the duke !"' said 
 Tartarin, stretched straight on his stomach in 
 the mud. 
 
 Near him, wallowing like himself, Franque- 
 balme commenced, in a trembling voice and 
 without changing his position, one of his rigid 
 demonstrations ; " If, on the one hand, it were to 
 be the duke, on the other hand there would be 
 reason to suppose — " So he went on. 
 
 The arrival of another shell cut his argu- 
 ment short. 
 
 Brother Bataillet alone had remained stand- 
 ing. In a thundering voice he called to his 
 gunner, Galoffre, declaring that between them 
 they must reply with the culverin. 
 
 " I forbid you to do anything of the sort, if you 
 please!" yelled Tartarin. "Such imprudence! 
 Hold him fast, all of you. Prevent him !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 235 
 
 Torquebiau and 
 Galoffre himself 
 seized his Rever- 
 ence, each by an 
 arm, and forced 
 him to he down on 
 his face Hke the 
 others. At this 
 moment a third 
 shell whizzed over 
 from the ship. 
 
 It was plainly to 
 the flag of the 
 colony that these 
 strange missiles 
 were addressed; 
 they were trying to 
 bring down the na- 
 tional colors. 
 
 Tartarin grasped 
 the idea, and under- 
 stood that, if the 
 
 flas: were removed, the shower of shells would 
 probably cease; so he bellowed out, with all the 
 voice he could command: " Devil take it! Haul 
 down the flag:!" 
 
 Whereupon all the others began to bellow 
 with him: "Haul down the flag! haul down the 
 flag ! Don't you hear ?" 
 
236 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Every one heard, but nobody hauled, neither 
 settlers, nor soldiers, nor anybody else being, ea- 
 ger to climb to such a dangerous eminence. It 
 was the brave maid-servant, to whom they al- 
 ready owed the patching of the roof, who became 
 the heroine of the occasion. She "shinned" up 
 the flag-staff as she was accustomed to " shin," 
 and got possession of the unhappy bunting. 
 
 Only then the steamer ceased firing. 
 
 A few minutes later two launches laden with 
 soldiers, the glitter of whose arms was percepti- 
 ble in the distance, put off from the ship, and 
 approached the shore with the steady stroke of 
 the great oars of men-of-war. 
 
 As they got nearer, our friends could make 
 out the English colors dragging from the stern 
 in the foamy wake. 
 
 The distance was still great, so that Tartarin 
 had time to pick himself up, to tidy himself, 
 and brush off the mud-stains from his clothes 
 — time even to send for the grand ribbon of the 
 order, which he hastily passed over his shoul- 
 der. 
 
 He looked sufficiently like a public character 
 by the time the two boats ran up the beach. 
 
 The first person to jump ashore was an Eng- 
 lish officer, red-faced and haughty, with his hat 
 cocked up. Behind him came the sailors in a 
 
PORT TARASCON. 237 
 
 row, with the name of their ship, the Toma- 
 hawk, on the ribbon of their caps, and these 
 were followed by an escort of marin-es. 
 
 Tartarin, now on his feet and conscious of 
 his grand ribbon, had quite recovered his dig- 
 nity; he held up his head; his lip curled with 
 the spirit of his great hours. 
 
 He waited, having Brother Bataillet on his 
 right and Lawyer Franquebalme on his left. 
 
 As for Escourbanies, instead of remaining 
 with the Governor he had pranced out to meet 
 the English officer, and was quite ready to dance 
 a frantic hornpipe before the victor. 
 
 But the representative of her gracious Majes- 
 ty was not all gracious himself. Without pay- 
 ing the slightest attention to this misplaced 
 bowing and scraping, he turned a somewhat 
 astonished eye over the blue and red umbrel- 
 las of the strange tribe before him, and advanc- 
 ing towards Tartarin, inquired in English, "And 
 what nation .f*" 
 
 Franquebalme, understanding a little Eng- 
 lish, replied: "The Tarasconian." 
 
 The officer stared at this announcement of a 
 nationality he had never met with in any chart, 
 and demanded, with still greater insolence : 
 "What are you doing on this island? By what 
 right do you occupy it ?" 
 
238 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Franquebalme, 
 deeply discon- 
 certed, translated 
 the inquiry to Tar- 
 tarin, who exclaimed: 
 "Answer that the island is ours, Cicero, that 
 it has been ceded to us by King Nagonko, and 
 that we have a treaty in perfect order," 
 
 But Franquebalme had no need to go on 
 interpreting. The Englishman turned to the 
 Governor and said, in excellent French : 
 " King Nagonko? Don't know him !" 
 At this Tartarin instantly ordered Nagonko 
 to be hunted up and brought down. 
 
 While they were waiting, he proposed to the 
 officer to accompany him to headquarters, where 
 the treaty would be exhibited. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 239 
 
 The officer assented, and followed Tartarin, 
 leaving a number of his companions in charge 
 of the boats. 
 
 The marines were drawn up in a row before 
 them, with their muskets dropped and their bay- 
 onets erect — such big, sharp, shiny bayonets! 
 
 " Be calm, my children, only be calm," said 
 Tartarin, making his way through the terrified 
 crowd. 
 
 The recommendation was very useless except 
 for Brother Bataillet, who continued to foam. 
 But they had their eyes on him ; he was nar- 
 rowly watched. " If your Reverence doesn't 
 mind what he's about, I promise you I'll tie 
 you," said his gunner, wild with terror. 
 
 Meanwhile they 'were looking for Nagonko, 
 and shouting for him everywhere, seemingly 
 in vain. At last a militiaman discovered him 
 hidden among the stores. As the door of the 
 magazine had been smashed in by a shell, he 
 had taken advantage of it to follow up the pro- 
 jectile, and was now snoring between two bar- 
 rels, drunk with garlic, lamp-oil, and spirits of 
 wine, with our reserve of which he had made 
 terrible havoc. 
 
 In this condition, sticky and stinking, drip- 
 ping with grease, he was brought before the 
 Governor and the EnHish officer. But it was 
 
240 PORT TARASCON, 
 
 impossible to get a word out of him. He stood 
 there Hke a log, dumbly glaring. 
 
 Then Tartarin had the treaty brought, and 
 read it aloud, showing Nagonko's signature, his 
 cross, and the seals of the Governor and of the 
 grand dignitaries of the colony. 
 
 Either this authentic document would prove 
 the settlers' right to the island, or nothing else 
 would prove it. 
 
 But the officer, shrugging his shoulders, said, 
 " This nigger is simply a swindler, sir ; he has 
 sold you what didn't belong to him. The isl- 
 and has long been an English possession." 
 
 In the face of this formal declaration, to 
 which the oruns of the Tomahawk and the bay- 
 onets of the marines added very considerable 
 weight, Tartarin felt all discussion to be use- 
 less. 
 
 He contented himself with making his abom- 
 inable father-in-law a terrible scene. "You 
 hoary rascal, why did you tell us the island was 
 yours .-^ Why did you sell it to wi} Do you 
 wish to pass for a dishonest man ?" 
 
 Nagonko remained speechless, goggling still 
 more, and looking still more like a brute ; his 
 very limited and very primitive intellect having 
 quite evaporated in the fumes of garlic and al- 
 cohol. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 24 I 
 
 Tartarin, seeing he should get no sort of sat- 
 isfactory answer from him, made a sign to the 
 militiaman who had brouijht him — " Take him 
 
 I" 
 
 away ! 
 
 Then turning to the officer, who had remain- 
 ed stiff and inexpressive during the scene, " In 
 any case, sir, my good faith is beyond question." 
 
 " The English courts of justice will settle 
 that, sir," the other replied, from the tip-top of 
 his superiority. " From this moment you are 
 my prisoner. As for the inhabitants, if the isl- 
 and be not evacuated in the next twenty-four 
 hours, they will all be put to the sword." 
 
 "Cracky! put to the sword!" Tartarin ex- 
 claimed. " But, in the first place, how in the 
 world shall we evacuate — we haven't a sino:le 
 boat — unless we undertake to swim?" 
 
 The formidable fellow was at last brouo;ht 
 round, and consented to carry the settlers as 
 far towards home as Gibraltar ; on condition, 
 that is, that all arms were surrendered, even 
 the rifies of the crack shots, the revolvers, and 
 the thirty-two shooter. 
 
 Hereupon he went off to luncheon, leaving 
 a squad of men to mount guard over the cap- 
 tive Governor. 
 
 It was also the hour of the mid-day meal at 
 headquarters, and after having looked every- 
 16 
 
242 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 > 
 
 where for his Excellency's wife, who continued 
 to bear the title of princess, as she was nowhere 
 to be found, not even on the top of some cocoa 
 
 palm, her place was left 
 empt3\ 
 
 Ever y 
 
 •"-^ one was 
 
 ^t ''- so shaken 
 
 thatBroth- 
 
 :.,>-i' j^ ' '^'" er Bataillet 
 
 ,/ f lororot to say 
 
 grace, 
 C'^ The Governor and 
 
 his staff had been eating 
 some time in silence, with 
 their noses in their plates, 
 when suddenly Pascalon rose 
 to his feet, and raising his 
 glass, addressed himself to ut- 
 terance. 
 
 " Gentlemen, our Go - Go- 
 Governor is a pri-pri-prisoner 
 of war. I needn't inquire if we 
 shall not follow him into ca-ca-captivity!" 
 They sprang to their feet with uplifted glass- 
 es, shouting with enthusiasm : 
 " All of us— all of us !" 
 " Dash our eyes if we don't follow him !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 243 
 
 " Rather — rather !" 
 
 " Long live Tartarin ! Ha! ha! ha!" howled 
 Escourbanies. 
 
 But in another hour they had all given him 
 away, their poor Governor — all except Pascalon 
 — even his little royal spouse, who had been 
 miraculously found on the roof of the citadel. 
 
 At first she wouldn't come down ; her la- 
 dies in waiting, Mademoiselle Caussemille and 
 Mademoiselle Franquebalme, had been able to 
 bring her to it only by the distant exhibition 
 of an open box of sardines, just as a piece of 
 sugar is held out to a parrot who has escaped 
 from his caore. 
 
 " My dear child," said Tartarin, in his pater- 
 nal tone, when she was ao;ain at his side," I must 
 tell you that I'm a prisoner of w^ar. Which do 
 you like best, to come with me or to stay on 
 the island ? I think the English would leave 
 you here." 
 
 Without the least hesitation, looking at him 
 with her smiling eyes, she replied, in her little 
 babbling speech, as soft as the twitter of a bird, 
 " Me tay in island ; me tay always." 
 
 "Very well, you're quite free," said Tartarin, 
 in a resigned tone. 
 
 But at bottom the poor fellow was awfully 
 cut up. 
 
244 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 In the evening, in the stately desert of the 
 citadel, forsaken by his wife, by his dignitaries, 
 and all his servants, he had only the faithful 
 Pascalon at his side. 
 
 Through the open windows, from the dis- 
 tance, came the twinkle of lights in the city, 
 the hum of the great hive, the songs of the 
 English encamped on the shore, and the mo- 
 notonous murmur of the Little Rhone, swollen 
 by the rains. 
 
 It was all dreadfully dreary. 
 
 Tartarin closed his window again with a 
 heavy sigh, and while he tied up his head for 
 the night in the spotted bandana, he said to 
 Pascalon : 
 
 " When I learned that the others were go- 
 ing, and that they denied me, I bore it well 
 enough. But that little creature — I should 
 have thought she would have been more at- 
 tached to me." 
 
 The good Pascalon tried to console him. 
 After all, the little savage princess would be a 
 very queer piece of goods to carry back to Ta- 
 rascon — for back to Tarascon they of course 
 would go, if they could get there — and when 
 Tartarin should take up his old peaceful life 
 again, his Papuan wife might be rather in his 
 way and bring him under notice. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 24.5 
 
 " Don't you remember, my dear, kind master, 
 that when you came back from Algeria your 
 ca-ca-camel was rather a bother?" 
 
 "My ca-ca-camel? And pray what is there 
 in common?" 
 
 Pascalon turned very red. What an idea to 
 go and talk of a camel apropos of a princess of 
 the blood royal! To make up for whatever ir- 
 reverence there might have been in the com- 
 parison, he called attention to the fact that 
 Tartarin's present situation was quite that of 
 Napoleon after he had been taken prisoner by 
 the English and deserted by Marie Louise. 
 
 "Quite so — quite so," said Tartarin, struck 
 by this similitude. 
 
 And this thought that his fate had a likeness 
 to Napoleon's had a good deal to do with con- 
 soling him — with giving him a quiet night. 
 
 The next day Port Tarascon was evacuated, 
 to the great joy of the settlers. Their irre- 
 coverable money, their humbugging acres, the 
 great financial operation, the great stroke of 
 the dirty Belgian who had victimized them 
 — nothing of all this was worth mentioning 
 beside their delight at getting out of their 
 swamp. 
 
 They were all taken on board first, because 
 in their rage against the Governor, whom they 
 
246 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 held responsible for all their ills, they might 
 perhaps have done him a hurt. 
 
 At the moment they passed the citadel, on 
 their way to the boats, Tartarin showed himself 
 at his window, but he had to fall back quickly 
 before the jeers and gibes that greeted him, 
 and the clinched fists that were shaken at 
 him. 
 
 On a fine day the Tarasconians would per- 
 haps have shown him more indulgence, but 
 the unfortunates embarked in a pouring rain, 
 floundering in the mud, and carrying away on 
 the soles of their shoes tons of their precious 
 property. The bits of baggage that every one 
 had in his hand were dreadfully exposed by the 
 umbrellas. 
 
 When all the settlers had quitted the island 
 the English officer came to fetch Tartarin. 
 
 At headquarters, since morning, Pascalon 
 had been on the fidget, preparing everything, 
 doing up into bundles the archives of the 
 colony. 
 
 At the last hour he had a real inspiration of 
 genius — he asked Tartarin if he shouldn't put 
 on his mantle of Grandee of the First Class to 
 go on board. 
 
 " Yes, let them see it ; it will make an im- 
 pression," replied the Governor. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 247 
 
 And he himself put on the grand ribbon of 
 the order. 
 
 Below, on the pavement, rang the butts of 
 the muskets of the escort and the hard voice 
 
 of the officer — "Come, IMonsieur Tartarin, we 
 wait for your Excellency." 
 
 Before going down Tartarin took a last look 
 around him at the house in which he had 
 
248 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 loved, in which he had suffered — known all 
 the intensity of passion and power. 
 
 Observino- at this moment that Pascalon 
 seemed to be hiding something under his 
 mantle of the first class, he inquired what the 
 object might be; on which Pascalon, stuttering 
 not a little with emotion, confessed to his kind 
 master the existence of the Memorial. 
 
 "Very well; go on, my child," said Tartarin, 
 gently, and pinched his ear as Napoleon used 
 to pinch his grenadiers. " You shall be my 
 little Las Casas." 
 
 The analogy of his destiny with Napoleon's 
 had occupied his spirit all night. Yes, they 
 were quite the same: the English, Marie, Las 
 Casas — a real identity of circumstance and 
 type. And both of them from the South ! 
 
BOOK THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Tartarin's dignified mien, as he stepped on 
 
 the deck of the Tomahawk, was not lost upon 
 
 his captors. They were especially impressed 
 
 by the grand ribbon of the order— pink, with 
 
 the embroidered Tarasque— with which he had 
 
 the odd idea of scarfing himself, as if it had 
 
 been a masonic symbol, as well as with the red 
 
 and black mantle of Grandee of the First Class, 
 
 in which Pascalon was draped from head to foot. 
 
 The English have, in fact, beyond everything, 
 
 a respect for constituted order, and ev^en for 
 
 constituted eccentricity. To be very queer, 
 
 among them, is a title to esteem— it is only a, 
 
 question of being queer enough. 
 
 In our Algerian dependency persons ani- 
 mated by this respectable oddity are called rna- 
 doiil — cracked. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Jl^jf^y^ 
 
 Half-way up the side Tartarin was received 
 by the officer on duty, and conducted with the 
 greatest consideration to a first-class cabin. 
 
 Pascalon was then rewarded for having fol- 
 lowed his kind master into captivity, inasmuch 
 as he had a room near the Governor's assioned 
 him, instead of being thrust between the for= 
 ward decks like the rest of the Tarasconians, 
 who were huddled together as if they had been 
 a herd of wretched emigrants. With them, in 
 degrading promiscuity, was confined the whole 
 
PORT TARASCOX. 25 I 
 
 of the former staff, punished in this manner for 
 its weakness and cowardice. 
 
 Between Tartarin's cabin and that of his 
 faithful secretary was a Httle saloon furnished 
 with ottomans, embellished with panoplies and 
 great exotic plants, and opening into a small 
 dining-room, in which perpetual coolness was 
 diffused from two great blocks of ice, placed in 
 vases in the angles. 
 
 A butler and two or three footmen were at- 
 tached to the person of his Excellency. 
 
 Tartarin accepted these honors without sur- 
 prise, and when the officer who showed him 
 about remarked to him in French that if he 
 should be in want of anything he had only 
 to ask for it, the hero replied with the " Quite 
 so, quite so " of a sovereign accustomed to ev- 
 ery deference, to the anticipation of his every 
 wish. 
 
 At the moment they weighed anchor he as- 
 cended to the deck, in spite of the rain, to take 
 a supreme leave of his island. 
 
 It rose there dimly in the broth of mist, but 
 it was sufficiently distinct under its gray veil to 
 yield a glimpse of King Nagonko and his ruf- 
 fians engaged in pillaging the big house and 
 dancing a frantic fandango on the shore. 
 
 All Brother Bataillet's catechumens, with the 
 
252 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 departure of missionaries and constables, re- 
 turned to the sweet spontaneity of nature. 
 
 Pascalon even thought he recognized, in the 
 maze of the dance, the graceful silhouette of 
 Likiriki ; but of this he was not quite sure. 
 
 Leaning on the bulwarks, the hero of Taras- 
 con looked at it all in perfect calm. The re- 
 semblance of his fate to Napoleon's had given 
 him a kind of alabaster attitude. 
 
 This resemblance was often in his mind ; he 
 often recurred to it. 
 
 " Yes," he said to his little Las Casas, "there 
 are strange communities between us." Like 
 the great Emperor, he was fond of representa- 
 tion, of platforms and costumes. He admitted 
 it quite frankly. " It's true, I confess, I am im- 
 pressed by feathers and flourishes, by the noise 
 and glitter of great reviews of armies — and, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 253 
 
 like him, I have been perhaps too fond of 
 glory." 
 
 He recalled Napoleon, too, by the familiar, 
 traditional side — a resemblance that cropped 
 up even in little things, such as the taste for 
 sweet dishes. He was conscious of some of its 
 higher manifestations — the lofty and luminous 
 eloquence — the bursts of anger, terrible and 
 short. 
 
 " For instance, that time at the Cafe de la 
 Comedie, when I had the quarrel with Coste- 
 calde. Don't you remember, Pascalon ?" 
 
 And to the anecdote of the tray of Sevres, 
 broken one day by Napoleon, he compared the 
 cup of coffee that he himself, in a moment of 
 temper, had smashed at the club. 
 
 But the great point in common was the ex- 
 istence in each of the characteristic imagina- 
 tion of the South. Napoleon had it on the 
 grand scale, and so had he ; witness, on the 
 part of his predecessor, the Egyptian campaign, 
 all done on a camel's back, the Russian cam- 
 paign, and the dream of the conquest of India. 
 On his own side, had not his whole existence 
 been a fabulous dream of lions and mountains, 
 the conquest of the Jungfrau, the administra- 
 tion of an island five thousand leagues from 
 France ? Certainly he didn't deny that the 
 
2 54 PORT TARASCOxN. 
 
 Emperor, from a particular point of view, was 
 his superior ; but he at least had not shed 
 blood on such a scale, nor caused such terror 
 to mankind. 
 
 Meanwhile the island disappeared in the dis- 
 tance, and Tartarin, still with his elbow on the 
 bulwarks, continued to play to the gallery — to 
 the sailors who were removing the cinders scat- 
 tered on the deck, to the officers of the watch, 
 who had drawn nearer. 
 
 At last, as Pascalon began to have enough, 
 he asked his protector's leave to go forward and 
 mingle with the Tarasconians, whom they per- 
 ceived in a few frightened groups, in the rain, 
 removed from them by the length of the ship. 
 The young man pretended he wished to learn 
 what they were saying about the Governor; 
 but his real hope was to catch a glimpse of 
 his dear Clorinde, and be able to drop into her 
 ear a few words of encourao-ement and consola- 
 tion. 
 
 An hour later, when he came back, he found 
 Tartarin stretched on the couch in the little sa- 
 loon, airing himself in his drawers, quite as if 
 he had been at home at Tarascon, in his little 
 house on the Long Walk, while he finished a 
 pipe and sipped a delicious sherry-cobbler. 
 
 In a smiling mood, not the least morose, he 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 -'OD 
 
 inquired, " Well, and what do you find those 
 good people say about me ?" 
 
 Pascalon couldn't conceal from him that it 
 had struck him their backs were rather up. 
 
 Huddled together between the forward decks 
 like cattle, ill fed and harshly treated, they re- 
 proached him with their principal misfortunes. 
 
 But Tartarin shrugged his shoulders. " Bah ! 
 that will all evaporate the first time the sun 
 comes out." 
 
256 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 He knew his people, you may well believe. 
 
 " I don't mean they really want to do any- 
 thing bad," rejoined Pascalon ; " but they are 
 worked up by that scoundrel of a Costecalde." 
 
 " Costecalde ! How is that ?" 
 
 Tartarin was somewhat disturbed by the 
 mention of this name. Pascalon explained to 
 him that Costecalde, whom the Tomahawk had 
 come across in mid-ocean and picked up out of 
 a drifting boat, in which he was dying of hun- 
 ger and thirst, had mentioned to the Commo- 
 dore the presence of a Tarasconian colony upon 
 English territory, and guided the ship even 
 into port. 
 
 The eyes of the Governor flashed. "Ah, the 
 traitor ! Ah, the reprobate !" 
 
 Then Pascalon, to soothe him, related the 
 dreadful adventures of Costecalde and his com- 
 panions. 
 
 Truphenus had been drowned ! The three 
 other militiamen, going ashore somewhere to 
 look for water, had fallen into the jaws of 
 the anthropophagi ! Barban had been found 
 dead of starvation in the bottom of the boat ! 
 As for Rugimabaud, a shark had eaten him 
 up. 
 
 " Come, I say, a shark ! It's Costecalde who 
 ate him up !" 
 
PORT TARASCON. 257 
 
 " But the most extraordinary thing of all, 
 your Ec-ec- Excellency, is that Costecalde pre- 
 tends to have encountered in mid-ocean, in the 
 midst of a storm, in the glare of the lightning 
 — guess what ?" 
 
 " What the deuce do you expect me to 
 guess ?" 
 
 " The Tarasque — the dear Old Granny !" 
 
 " Cracky, what a fraud !" 
 
 But, after all, the thing was not impossible. 
 The Tootoop2i7npui)i might have been wrecked; 
 or else the Tarasque, roped to the deck, might 
 have been washed away by a great sea. 
 
 At this moment a steward brought his Ex- 
 cellency the bill of fare, and some moments 
 later Tartarin, in the best of humor, found him- 
 self at table with Pascalon before an excellent 
 champagne dinner — a dinner consisting of cer- 
 tain splendid slices of salmon and some won- 
 derful roast beef, done to the turn, quite pink, 
 with a delicious pudding to follow. Tartarin 
 relished his pudding so much that he request- 
 ed a substantial portion might be carried to 
 Brother Bataillet and Franquebalme. As for 
 Pascalon, he manufactured with the salmon 
 and the roast beef a few delicate sandwiches, 
 which he placed on one side. Is it necessary 
 to say for whom, lackaday ? 
 
 17 
 
258 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 On the second day of the trip, as soon as the 
 island was out of sight — it was as if its func- 
 tion in the archipelago had been to be an iso- 
 lated reservoir of rain and fog — the weather 
 turned fine. The ship pursued her course un- 
 der a bright soft sky, through an ocean deserv- 
 edly called Pacific. 
 
 Every day, after breakfast, Tartarin went 
 above and settled himself in his place, the same 
 place on the deck, to converse with his little Las 
 Casas. 
 
 Here was still another point of resemblance. 
 Had not Napoleon on the Northumberland his 
 favorite corner, the cannon on which he used to 
 lean, and which came to be called the Empe- 
 ror's gun } Had the great Tarasconian this in- 
 cident in mind ? Was the coincidence not pure 
 chance.'^ It may be so; but the fact should 
 not diminish him in our eyes. When Napo- 
 leon surrendered himself to England did he 
 not think of Themistocles, think of him undis- 
 guisedly 1 " I come like Themistocles," and so 
 forth, and so forth. 
 
 Who knows whom Themistocles himself was 
 not thinking of when he came to sit by the 
 hearth of the Persians? Humanity is so old 
 that we are always treading in somebody's foot- 
 steps. As a matter of fact the anecdotes fur- 
 
PORT TARASCON, 
 
 259 
 
 nished by Tartarin to his little Las Casas, his 
 backward glances over his career, had but a 
 scant similarity to what is known of Napoleon, 
 and were quite personal to himself — Tartarin 
 of Tarascon. 
 
 His childhood in his native city figured in 
 this retrospect : his precocious adventures ; the 
 way that, as quite a little boy, he had had the 
 love of arms and of 
 the chase — the love 
 of the very smell of 
 wild beasts. Then 
 how, in his rashest 
 pranks, his Latin 
 good sense had nev- 
 er forsaken him, a 
 sane inner voice say- 
 ing to him : " Mind 
 you go home early. 
 Mind you don't take 
 cold." 
 
 " He sat on the 
 deck in the pleas- 
 ant sun, lolled in his 
 great rocking-chair, 
 with a smile on his 
 lips, and his eyes 
 dim with memories. 
 
 K^ 
 
 ^' 
 
2 6o PORT TARASCON. 
 
 while at the other end of the ship peeped out 
 the captive heads of the wretched Tarasconians. 
 He summoned back far off things, such as a 
 visit one day to some gypsies who had en- 
 camped near the Pont du Gard. 
 
 " The sunshine played over the red masonry, 
 touched the great arches with fire. It was so 
 hot, I remember, that a bottle of lemonade that 
 I had put to cool in the river began to boil as 
 if it were on a gas-stove. The gypsies had 
 taken refuge in the shade of a cavern. When 
 we were near them a ragged old crone came 
 out to us, and after having studied the lines of 
 my hand to tell my fortune, she said, 'Some 
 day you'll be a king!' For a long time after- 
 wards I attached no importance to this proph- 
 ecy; I had quite forgotten it. But see how in 
 fact it has come true !" Then, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, he added : " You see I drop 
 these reminiscences helter-skelter, just as they 
 come to me, for I think they may be useful to 
 you for the Memoj'-ial^' 
 
 Pascalon drank in his hero's words, bat he 
 was not the only one to drink them. Half a 
 dozen young midshipmen, collected round Tar- 
 tarin, listened open-mouthed to his stories. Not 
 far from them, stretched upon a bamboo couch, 
 a young married woman, the Commodore's lady, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 261 
 
 listened as well. Of Anglo-Indian stock (Cal- 
 cutta was her home), much out of health, and 
 travelling to recover it, her warm pallor — a 
 cheek like the petal of a magnolia — her great 
 black eyes, gentle, pen- 
 sive, profound, gave 
 her a languid charm, 
 the effect 
 of which was 
 deepened by 
 the way a 
 great ne- 
 gress in a 
 red turban 
 behind her 
 waved over 
 head 
 
 fan. The Desde- 
 mona of the ship, she 
 slaked her thirst in the 
 eloquence of the captive 
 Othello. X 
 
 Pascalon, very proud to see 
 his master with such an audience, 
 showed him off, drew him on to talk of his 
 hunts, of his ascent of the Jungfrau, of the mem- 
 orable siege of Pamperigouste ; while Tartarin, 
 expanding, let them have the whole thincr, turn 
 
 a big feather 
 
 i_\ s- Y 
 
 lion 
 
262 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 his pages like a book — some fine picture-book, 
 illustrated by his expressive Tarasconian habit 
 of acting whatever he said, and by the " bang ! 
 bang: !" of his huntino- stories. 
 
 The Anglo-Indian, in her extension-chair, as 
 drooping as a plucked flower, and curled up 
 in her laces to keep warm, shivered when his 
 voice rang out, and betrayed her emotions 
 by the pink flush in her cheek, as delicate as 
 a faint shade of carmine in a wash of water- 
 color. 
 
 When her husband, the Commodore, a kind 
 of Hudson Lowe, with the head of a tiger and 
 the cold eye of a jackal, came to say it was time 
 to go down, she supplicated, " No, no ! not yet ! 
 not yet !" edging a glance towards the great 
 Tarasconian, who, as you may suppose, had not 
 failed to remark her, raisins: his voice for her 
 benefit, and giving another flourish to his noble 
 attitude and accent. 
 
 Sometimes when they went down to dinner, 
 after one of these sittings, he questioned Pas- 
 calon. " What was the Commodore's lady say- 
 ing to you } It seemed to me that she was 
 talking of me." 
 
 " Well, she was, mum-mum-master. Her lady- 
 ship was saying to me that she had already 
 often heard you spoken of." 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 263 
 
 " That doesn't surprise me," said Tartarin, 
 simply. " I'm very popular in England." 
 Still another analogy with Napoleon ! 
 
 *f 
 
 ^^ 
 
 One morning, when he had gone on deck 
 rather early, he was surprised not to find his 
 Anglo-Indian there as usual. She had proba- 
 bly been kept below by the bad weather, the 
 chill in the air that happened to have come 
 that day. Delicate, nervously sensitive, she had 
 shrunk from the mist and spray. 
 
264 PORT. TARASCON. 
 
 The agitation of the ocean seemed to pervade 
 the deck itself. 
 
 There had been an excitement about a whale, 
 an animal rare in those seas. This one had no 
 blow -holes, and spouted no water, which led 
 some of the sailors to declare that it was a fe- 
 male, and others to afifirm that it was a particu- 
 lar species. They couldn't agree. 
 
 As the creature remained in the course of 
 the ship, sticking close to it, a young mid- 
 shipman asked leave of the Commodore to 
 go and try to get hold of him. A surly dog, as 
 usual, the Commodore refused, on the pretext 
 that they had no time to lose ; but he author- 
 ized the young man to try the effect of a few 
 shots. 
 
 The presumed w^hale was from tw^o hundred 
 and fifty to three hundred yards away — now 
 showinor now divino^, risinor and fallinor with the 
 sea, whose perverse undulations made it very 
 difificult to hit him. 
 
 So a few shots were taken, of which the sail- 
 ors in the shrouds announced the result, or 
 rather the absence of result, as the animal had 
 not yet been touched. He continued to play 
 upon the surface while every one watched, even 
 the poor Tarasconians shivering in the fore- 
 castle, drenched, soaked, far more exposed to 
 
PORT TARASCON. 265 
 
 v/ind and weather than those who were quar- 
 tered aft. 
 
 Standing near the young officers who were 
 trying their skill, Tartarin pronounced on the 
 different shots : " Too far ! Too short !" 
 
 " Mum-mum-master, ii jyou were to try!" bleat- 
 ed Pascalon. 
 
 Immediately, with a quick young impulse, one 
 of the midshipmen turned to Tartarin. 
 
 " Would your Excellency like a shot?" 
 
 He offered his rifie, and the way Tartarin 
 took the weapon, weighed it, and shouldered it, 
 was something to see, as w^ll as the way Pas- 
 calon asked, blushing, yet proud : 
 
 " How many times do you count for the 
 whale ?" 
 
 " I haven't often tried this kind," answered 
 the hero, " but I think it's about eight," 
 
 He took aim, counted eight, fired, then re- 
 turned the rifle to the officer. 
 
 " I think she has got it," said the midship- 
 man. 
 
 " Three cheers !" cried the sailors. 
 
 " I knew it," said Tartarin, modestly. 
 
 But at this moment the air was rent with 
 dreadful howls, frantic cries, that brought up 
 the Commodore, who seemed to fancy his ship 
 had suddenly been boarded by pirates. The 
 
266 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Tarasconians 
 in the bows 
 rushed about 
 wringing their 
 hands and 
 brandishing 
 their arms, all 
 babbling to- 
 gether in the 
 noise of wind 
 and weaves. 
 
 " Heaven 
 help us, the 
 Tarasque! He 
 has shot the 
 Tarasque! He 
 has shot the 
 dear Old Gran- 
 ny !" 
 
 "Cracky! 
 what are they 
 saying?" asked Tartarin, turning pale. 
 
 About ten yards away from the ship the Ta- 
 rasque of Tarascon, the monstrous idol, reared 
 above the green billows her slimy, scaly back, 
 her chimera's head, with bloodshot eyes, and a 
 ferocious laugh on her vermilion lips. 
 
 Made of some very hard wood, with a solid 
 
PORT TARASCON. 267 
 
 skeleton, she had kept afloat with wonderful 
 cleverness ever since the moment, as was after- 
 wards learned, a big sea had washed her off Scra- 
 pouchinat's deck. She had been rolling hither 
 and thither in the great tides and currents, tum- 
 blinor and shinino;, stuck all over with sea-weed 
 and shells, outliving the typhoon and the cy- 
 clone, never sick nor sorry — indestructible, in 
 short — and now her first, her only wound, had 
 been inflicted by Tartarin of Tarascon. 
 
 To come from him — and to come to her ! 
 
 The great fresh gash stared at them all from 
 the middle of the poor Old Granny's forehead. 
 
 One of the midshipmen cried: "I say, look 
 there. Lieutenant Swift! What extraordinary 
 beast can that be ?" 
 
 " That extraordinary beast is the Tarasque, 
 young man," said Tartarin, solemnly; " the great 
 ancestress, the venerated grandmother, of every 
 good Tarasconian. 
 
 The ofificer stared in bewilderment, as well 
 he might, to learn that the quaint monster was 
 related by ties of blood to the strange, swarthy, 
 mustachioed tribe they had picked up on the 
 shore of a desert island. 
 
 Tartarin had uncovered, humble and respect- 
 ful, but the venerated grandmother was already 
 far, tumbling through the wide swell of the 
 
268 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Pacific. There she must wander still, an un- 
 submergable waif, mentioned here and there, 
 from time to time, in travellers' tales, now as a 
 gigantic polypus, now as a huge sea-serpent, and 
 ever the terror of crews and the stupefaction of 
 whalers. 
 
 As long as she was within sight Tartarin fol- 
 lowed her, in silence, with his eyes ; and only 
 when she became at last a little black spot on 
 the white suro^e of the horizon he murmured, 
 feebly, to Pascalon, " Remember, / have told 
 you, my child, that's a shot that will bring me 
 bad luck !" 
 
 And all the rest of the day the hero was un- 
 easy, full of remorse and of a kind of sacred 
 dread. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 269 
 
 II. 
 
 They had been sailing for a week, and were 
 approaching the fragrant shores of India under 
 the same clear and creamy sky, on the same 
 soft, oily sea, that Tartarin had enjoyed on his 
 first voyage, when, on a fine afternoon of heat 
 and light, he was dozing in his cabin, in linen 
 pantaloons, his dear old head done up in his 
 spotted bandanna, knotted like the peaceful 
 ears of a ruminant. 
 
 Suddenly Pascalon tumbled into the room, 
 
 "Eh? What is it? What's the matter?" 
 the great man broke out, pulling off his ban- 
 danna, which he was not fond of exhibiting. 
 
 "I th-th-think she's done for!" answered 
 Pascalon, out of breath, rounding his eyes and 
 stammering more than ever. 
 
 "Who's done for? — the Tarasque ? Devil 
 take her, I know it too well !" 
 
 " No, no," said Pascalon, below his breath; 
 " I speak of the Commodore's lady." 
 
270 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! poor little thing — she too ? 
 What makes you think so ?" 
 
 For all answer Pascalon held out to him an 
 engraved card, nothing less than an invitation 
 to dinner that very evening from Commodore 
 Lord William and Lady William Plantagenet 
 — an invitation including his Excellency's secre- 
 tary. 
 
 "Oh, the old story — woman! woman!" Tar- 
 tarin cried ; for evidently this invitation must 
 have proceeded from her ladyship. The idea 
 could not have been the husband's ; he didn't 
 deal in such delicate attentions. " However, 
 ought I to accept.^ Doesn't my position of 
 prisoner of war — " 
 
 Pascalon, who had chapter and verse, re- 
 minded him that on the Noi'tliumberland Na- 
 poleon ate at the Admiral's table. 
 
 " Yes, that settles it," Tartarin instantly re- 
 joined. 
 
 " Only the Emperor used to retire with the 
 ladies when the wine came on," Pascalon added. 
 
 " Perfectly! that settles it still better. Reply, 
 in the third person, that we shall have the pleas- 
 ure of going." 
 
 " And we dress, master, don't we T 
 
 " Certainly we dress !" 
 
 Pascalon would have liked to drape himself 
 
PORT TARASCON. 27 I 
 
 in his mantle of Grandee of the First Class, but 
 Tartarin did not favor this measure, not intend- 
 ing himself to assume the ribbon of the Order. 
 
 "The invitation is not to the Governor; it is 
 to Tartarin," he said to his secretary. " Don't 
 you see the shade ?'' 
 
 There was nothinor that the deuce of a fellow 
 didn't himself see. 
 
 The dinner was truly princely ; served in a 
 great glittering saloon that was furnished in the 
 rarest woods, and ceiled and wainscoted in that 
 deft and delicate English panelling in which 
 the fitting of the firm thin plates is like gold- 
 smith's work. 
 
 Tartarin was seated in the place of honor, on 
 Lady William's right. There were few guests 
 — only Lieutenant Swift and the ship's doctor, 
 both of whom understood French. A footman 
 in nankeen livery, stiff and solemn, stood be- 
 hind every chair. Nothing could have been 
 richer than the decanters and flagons and wine- 
 coolers, the massive plate with the Plantagenet 
 arms. In the middle of the table was a mag- 
 nificent piece of silver overflowing with the 
 choicest flowers. You might have thought you 
 were dining with a viceroy. 
 
 Pascalon, naturally bashful in all this splen- 
 dor, stuttered the more that he always happened 
 
272 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 to have his mouth full when he tried to speak. 
 He admired the easy grace of Tartarin under 
 the observation of their tigerish host, who rolled 
 suspicious eyes, green eyes injected with blood, 
 and not rendered more human by albino brows 
 and lashes. This had not the least effect on 
 Tartarin : it was easy to see he was used to 
 creatures of the jungle. He talked to Lady 
 William with high courtesy, he chatted and ges- 
 ticulated, while his hostess scarcely made an 
 effort to conceal her sympathy for the hero, 
 looking at him with such orbs of her own, ex- 
 traordinary orbs, that seemed at once to laugh 
 and to languish. 
 
 " The unfortunates ! The husband will see 
 it all !" Pascalon said to himself every mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Her ladyship desired to know all about the 
 wonderful Tarasque. 
 
 So Tartarin told her the old tale of St. Mar- 
 tha and her blue ribbon ; told her of his people, 
 the history of the Tarasconian race its tradi- 
 tions, and its exodus. Then he gave her a 
 sketch of his administration, his projects, his re- 
 forms, the new code of law that he had drawn 
 up. It was an odd thing, but it happened to 
 be the first time he had ever spoken of his code 
 of law. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ^IZ 
 
 He was profound; he was bantering; and, 
 grazing as he went the things of the heart, he 
 sang a few of the airs of his country — about 
 John of Tarascon, for instance, taken by Cor- 
 sairs, and his romantic amours with the Sultan's 
 daughter. 
 
 Leaning over Lady William, with what eyes 
 he devoured her as he sang the verse : 
 
 " They say that when he became general of the army, 
 With laurels on his brow, the laurels of the victor, 
 The daughter of the king, the daughter sweet and 
 
 shining. 
 Said to him, for she was smitten," etc. 
 
 He amused and delighted them all ; they all 
 relaxed and thawed under the influence of his 
 warm, sonorous voice. 
 i8 
 
2 74 PORT TARASCON 
 
 Her languid ladyship, usually so pale, turned 
 quite rosy. 
 
 She asked him about the national reel, the 
 famous farandole, that he was always talking 
 about, 
 
 " Dear me, it's simple enough. Til see if I 
 can't show you." 
 
 And wishing to monopolize the effect, he said 
 to his secretary, " No, Pascalon ; don't get up!" 
 
 He himself got up, striking out as he hummed 
 the air — ra-pa-ta, pa-ta-pla ! Unhappily at this 
 moment the ship gave a lurch, so that he pres- 
 ently found himself in a sitting posture on the 
 floor; but he picked himself up good-humor- 
 edly, and was the first to laugh at his misad- 
 venture. 
 
 The Englishry were tickled to death. The 
 banquet at this moment was drawing to a close 
 — poor Tartarin had scarcely tasted it -and as 
 the decanters had been ranged on the board, her 
 ladyship rose and rustled out. 
 
 At this the Tarasconian instantly tossed away 
 his napkin and followed her, without explanation 
 or excuse — conforming thus, in every particular, 
 to Napoleonic tradition. This was what Napo- 
 leon did ; so why shouldn't he do it.? 
 
 The English looked at each other in stupe- 
 faction, and exchanged in their language a few 
 
PORT TARASCON. 275 
 
 remarks that Pascalon only vaguely understood, 
 such as " original," " awfully queer," " off his 
 head." 
 
 The good secretary did his best to apologize 
 for his master ; put forward the plea that his 
 Excellency, who scarcely drank any wine, was 
 never in the habit of sitting lonsf. 
 
 Then, as Tartarin was out of the way, it be- 
 came his turn to let himself go. Pascalon took 
 the floor and kept it. He told a series of sto- 
 ries of his own, and on the question of claret 
 was quite a match for his entertainers. You 
 wouldn't have recognized these starched gentry 
 under the contagious, humanizing. Southern in- 
 fluence of the two Tarasconians. 
 
 Shrewdly suspecting that his kind master had 
 gone to rejoin her ladyship on deck, Pascalon, 
 as soon as they rose from table, offered to take 
 a hand with the Commodore, whom he knew 
 to be a devotee of chess. 
 
 Their companions conversed roundabout, and 
 at a oriven moment Mr. Swift said somethinor 
 to the doctor that made him laugh aloud. 
 
 The Commodore raised his head : " What is 
 Swift saying that's clever .?" 
 
 Swift repeated what he had said, and the pair 
 laughed again. 
 
 Pascalon easily made out that they were talk- 
 
276 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ing of Tartarin, but he could only catch a few 
 words ; the sense was lost to him. 
 
 Meanwhile, what was Tartarin up to ? 
 
 He was on the deck, close to his hostess, and 
 the minutes elapsed for him with a charm and 
 a sweetness of their own. They drew an irre- 
 sistible poetry from the warm, scented breath 
 of the trade-winds, and from the rich glow on 
 sky and sea, and all over the deck of the ship, 
 of a great sunset that made all the ropes and 
 spars seem to trickle with gooseberry juice. 
 Leaning against Lady William s chair, our gal- 
 lant friend, who habitually wore his heart slung 
 over his shoulder, took advantage of the hour 
 for reverie, the hour for love; he bent towards 
 his companion and murmured low. Knowing 
 how women like to comfort and console, he re- 
 lated, in a voice nmffled with emotion, the ro- 
 mance of his relations with the little dusky 
 princess. Pulling off the plaster, as it were, 
 from the sore of his grief, he drew a picture of 
 their heart-rending separation. 
 
 I won't declare to you that the picture was 
 very exact, that he didn't compose and arrange 
 it a little ; but, at any rate, he painted the scene 
 as he would have liked it to be. The " poor 
 child " had been dragged one way by family 
 duties and the other by conjugal love; so that. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 277 
 
 with his crushed heart, he could only bid her 
 remain with her old father, who had no one else 
 left. As he told these things he shed real tears, 
 and it seemed to him there were tears, too, in 
 the fine Anglo-Indian eyes that rested on him 
 while the sun slowly sank into the sea, leaving 
 on the horizon a kind of violet bloom. 
 
 But shadows approach, and the freezing voice 
 of the Commodore suddenly breaks the spell: 
 
 " It's getting late ; it's too cool for you, my 
 dear. You must go down." 
 
 She got up, and bowed slightly. " Good- 
 night, Monsieur Tarta- 
 nn. 
 
 He was infinitely 
 
 -N-'^i 
 
278 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 moved by the softness with which these w'ords 
 were uttered. 
 
 He remained a few minutes longer on the 
 deck, walking to and fro, alone with his 
 thoughts ; but night was rapidly coming on. 
 The Commodore was right; the air was begin- 
 ning to freshen ; so he thought it best to go to 
 bed. 
 
 In passing the little saloon, of which the door 
 was ajar, he noticed Pascalon seated at a table 
 with his head in his hands, and the appearance 
 of turning with great intensity the leaves of a 
 lexicon. 
 
 " What are you doing there, my Pascalon ?" 
 
 The faithful secretary, following him into his 
 cabin, apprised him of the scandal caused by 
 his abrupt withdrawal from the table. He 
 spoke of the phrase dropped by Lieutenant 
 Swift and overheard by the Commodore, who 
 had made him repeat it, to the general amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " Although I understand English tolerably 
 well," said Pascalon, " I didn't quite catch the 
 meaning of it. I only understood that they 
 were talking^ of somethino- like a (garden Qrlobe 
 — one of those big balls, silvered over, you 
 know, that stand on a lawn, and reflect sur- 
 rounding objects. But, as I remembered the 
 
PORT TARASCON. 279 
 
 words, I've just been trying to reconstruct the 
 sentence." 
 
 While these explanations went on Tartarin 
 had lain down and stretched himself out in his 
 bed, quite at his ease, with his head done up in 
 his bandanna; and he asked, while he lighted 
 the pipe that he smoked every night before he 
 went to sleep, "And how, then, does your trans- 
 lation come out ?" 
 
 " This way, my dear master — this is it : On 
 the whole, the Tarasconian is the Frenchman 
 magnified and exaggerated — seen, as it were, in 
 a garden globe," 
 
 " And you tell me that was what they found 
 to laugh at ?" 
 
 "All of them — the Lieutenant, the doctor, 
 the Commodore himself. They could scarcely 
 stop laughing." 
 
 Tartarin shrugged his shoulders with a gri- 
 mace of pity. " It tells the story of how rarely 
 the Eno-lish have occasion to laus^h, if that sort 
 of rubbish amuses them. Come, good -night, 
 my child ; go to bed yourself." 
 
 And soon they were both lapped in dreams — 
 dreams in which one communed with his Clo- 
 rinde, and the other with the Commodore's lady 
 — for Likiriki was already of the past. 
 
 The days followed the days and made up 
 
28o PORT TARASCON. 
 
 weeks, and the voyage stretched out, adorable, 
 divine — an episode to count in Tartarin's Hfe. 
 
 Ah! they were unforgettable hours — such 
 hours as one wishes to keep forever, to fix there 
 with a golden pin, as you fix a butterfiy in a 
 glass case ; made up of long talks on the deck, 
 and of unexpressed affection for a charming 
 listening woman, of whom one asked nothing 
 more than the sympathy she had already shown. 
 
 Add to this the natural attraction that he 
 exercised on all round him, officers and sailors 
 alike having nothing for him but kind smiles. 
 It was he who might have said, as Victor 
 Jacquemont* said in his correspondence : " How 
 odd is my fortune with the English ! These 
 men who seem so inexpressive among them- 
 selves, always so cold and dumb, my communi- 
 cativeness never fails to make them unbend. 
 They become affectionate in spite of them- 
 selves, and for the first time in their lives I 
 make capital kind people — I make Frenchmen 
 — of any Englishmen with whom I spend twen- 
 ty-four hours " 
 
 If an ordinary Frenchman could effect this 
 magical transformation, only think what a Taras- 
 conian might have done, being a Frenchman mul- 
 
 * The celebrated French traveller. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 281 
 
 tiplied by ten !— what Tartarin, above all, could 
 do, being a complete compendium of Tarascon ! 
 
 He was adored by every one on the ship 
 
 that is, by every one in the cabin. There was 
 
 no more talk of his being a prisoner of war 
 
 of his taking his chance with an English jury. 
 
 It was quite settled that he was to be set free 
 as soon as they should reach Gibraltar. 
 
 As for the fierce Commodore, delighted to 
 have found an adversary as redoubtable as Pas- 
 calon, he passed half his days before the chess- 
 board, leaving Tartarin in full liberty to make 
 a certain degree of love to Lady Wifliam. 
 
2 52 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The poor secretary was the only one who 
 was not perfectly happy. He found these in- 
 terminable games of chess a dreadful bondage, 
 so that he was even sorry to have betrayed his 
 skill. He was much disconcerted in the evening, 
 in particular, when he found himself, through 
 having to give the Commodore his eternal r^- 
 vanche, prevented from going forward to take a 
 look at his dear Clorinde, for whom he never 
 failed to put aside some delicate morsel, some 
 tidbit purloined from the Governor's dessert. 
 
 For our poor Tarasconians, on their side, 
 continued to be treated as prisoners, and hud- 
 dled far forward in their gallery ; so that it was 
 the only sadness Tartarin knew, the wrinkle in 
 his bed of roses, when he was perorating on the 
 poop, or making a certain degree of love in the 
 pensive glow of the sunset, the fact that over 
 against him there, below the level of the lifted 
 stern, he had a glimpse of his compatriots 
 jammed together like vile cattle, under the 
 guard of a sentry, and that they averted their 
 eyes from him in horror, especially after the 
 baleful day when he pointed a rifle at the Ta- 
 rasque. 
 
 They could never forgive him this crime, nor 
 could he himself ever forget the fatal shot that 
 was to bring him bad luck. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 283 
 
 They had passed the Strait of Malacca, the 
 Red Sea, and had rounded the SiciHan cape; 
 they were getting on to Gibraltar. 
 
 One morning, as land had been sighted, Tar- 
 tarin and Pascalon were putting up their lug- 
 gage, with the help of one of the footmen, when 
 suddenly they became conscious of the little 
 lurch given by a ship when it stops. The Tom- 
 ahawk was stopping, in fact, and at the same 
 moment was heard a sound of oars. 
 
 "See what it is, Pascalon," said Tartarin. 
 " Isn't it probably the pilot .f*" 
 
 A row-boat had hailed them, indeed, but it 
 was not the pilot, as the boat carried the French 
 flag, and was manned by French sailors, among 
 whom were visible two men dressed in black 
 and wearing high hats. 
 
 The soul of Tartarin thrilled. " Ah, the 
 French flag ! Let me see it — let me see it, my 
 child." 
 
 He made for the port -hole, but at this mo- 
 ment the door opened, admitting a flood of 
 light, and two constables in plain clothes, with 
 brutal voices, armed with warrants, with a writ 
 of extradition, with all the tackle, in short, 
 laid their base hands on the unhappy State 
 of Things and on his secretary. The State 
 of Things turned pale and retreated. " Take 
 
284 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 care what you do ! I'm Tartar! n of Taras- 
 con !" 
 
 " That's just why !" 
 
 There was not a further word of explana- 
 tion ; not a word of reply to his multiplied ques- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 285 
 
 tions. It was impossible to learn what either 
 of them had clone, why they were arrested, and 
 where they were to be conducted. It was im- 
 possible to learn anything, to become conscious 
 of anything but the shame of passing laden with 
 chains — for they had been handcuffed — before 
 the midshipmen and the sailors, and through 
 the laughter and jeers of hooting compatriots, 
 who leaned over the sides of the ship, and 
 applauded, and cried, " Bravo ! well done ! zou, 
 zou !" as the captives were let down to the boat. 
 
 At this moment Tartarin would have liked 
 to sink to the bottom of the sea. 
 
 To change from a prisoner of war like Na- 
 poleon to the condition of a vulgar swindler! 
 And the Commodore s lady looked on ! 
 
 Decidedly he was right — the Tarasque w^as 
 avenged, was even cruelly avenged. 
 
286 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 III. 
 
 July §th. Prison of Tarasco7t-07i-the Rhone. 
 — I'm just back from the preliminary inquiry. 
 I know, at last, of what we are accused, the Gov- 
 ernor and I, and why, brutally seized on the 
 Tomahawk, in the midst of bliss, like a pair of 
 eels plucked out of the clear depths, we were 
 transferred to a French ship, and brought in 
 handcuffs to Marseilles, whence, under the press- 
 ing attentions paid to accomplished criminals, 
 we were forwarded to Tarascon, and placed in 
 solitary confinement in the city jail. 
 
 We are accused of gross fraud, of man- 
 slaughter through criminal neglect, and of vio- 
 lating the laws on emigration. Ah, most cer- 
 tainly I must have violated them, the laws on 
 emigration, for it's the very first time I've ever 
 heard of them, even by name, confound them ! 
 
 After two days of solitary confinement, and 
 being forbidden to speak to any one whatever 
 — that's the sort of thing that's terrible for one 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 287 
 
 odes — we were dragged to the police-court and 
 planted there before a magistrate. 
 
 This magistrate, Monsieur Bonicar by name, 
 began his career at Tarascon some ten years 
 ago, so that he knows me perfectly, having been 
 more than a hundred times at the shop, where 
 I used to prepare him a dressing for a chronic 
 eczema that he had on his face, and that he still 
 has. 
 
288 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 This didn't prevent him, however, from ask- 
 ing me my surname and my Christian name, 
 my age and my profession, as if he had never 
 seen me in his Hfe. I had to tell him every- 
 thinq; I knew about the Port Tarascon busi- 
 ness, and to talk two hours without drawing 
 breath. I went so fast his clerk couldn't follow 
 me. Then, without good-morning or good-even- 
 ing, "Accused, you may step down." 
 
 In the lobby of the court I encountered my 
 poor Governor, whom I had not seen since the 
 day we were put under lock and key. He 
 struck me as terribly changed. 
 
 As I passed he managed to say to me, in that 
 voice of his that thrills : " Courage, my child ! 
 The truth is like oil ; it always rises to the 
 surface." 
 
 He couldn't add another word : the consta- 
 bles hustled him away. 
 
 Constables for him ! Tartarin in irons at 
 Tarascon ! And this anger, this hatred of a 
 whole people — /ns people ! 
 
 I shall always have in my ears their howls of 
 fury, the hot breath of the Rabblebabble when 
 the police van brought us back here, each of us 
 padlocked in his compartment. 
 
 The lowered hood of my kennel prevented 
 me from seeing, but I could hear all round me 
 
PORT TARASCON. 289 
 
 the uproar of a great crowd. There was a mo- 
 ment when the van stopped in the middle of the 
 market-place. I knew this by the smell that 
 came in through the cracks, by the little gleams 
 of swTet light ; it was the very breath of the 
 city, an odor of love-apples, egg-plant, melons of 
 Cavaillon, pepper-plant, and great sweet onions. 
 Oh, how it made my mouth water to smell all 
 the good things that I haven't touched for such 
 an age ! 
 
 There was such a dense crowd that our horses 
 couldn't get on — a Tarascon crammed full 
 enough to make you believe that nobody had 
 ever been killed, or drowned, or devoured by 
 the anthropophagi. Didn't I even seem to rec- 
 ognize the voice of our Assessor of Taxes, the 
 late Cambalalette ? It was an illusion, certain- 
 ly, inasmuch as Bezuquet himself is able to tes- 
 tify to the taste of the poor man's flesh ; but all 
 the same it will give you an idea. One thing 
 I certainly heard, a most familiar jabber : " Duck 
 him! drown him! Zou, zou ! To the Rhone! 
 to the Rhone ! Let's make a noise ! To the 
 river with Tartarin !" Escourbanies was not to 
 be mistaken ; he was yelling louder than any 
 one. 
 
 To the river with Tartarin ! What a lesson 
 in history ! What a page for the Memorial! 
 19 
 
290 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 I forgot to say that our examining magis- 
 trate gave me back my diary, which had been 
 seized on the Tomahazvk. He had found it in- 
 teresting; he even urged me to continue it; 
 and in regard to a few of our local idioms which 
 have slipt in here and there, he said to me, as 
 he smiled in his red whiskers," You shouldn't 
 
PORT TARASCON. 29I 
 
 call it the Petit Manorial : you should call it 
 the Petit Meridional f 
 
 I pretended to laugh at his wretched joke. 
 
 July ^th-i^th. — The city prison at Tarascon 
 is an old historic castle, the former castle of 
 King Rene, which you may see any day from a 
 distance on the bank of the Rhone, flanked with 
 its four towers. 
 
 We have not had much luck with old histor- 
 ic castles. That time in Switzerland when my 
 illustrious friend was taken for a Nihilist leader, 
 and we were all taken with him, didn't they 
 throw us, at Chillon, into the dungeon of Boni- 
 \'ard } 
 
 Here, it is true, it is a little less miserable : 
 the sunshine pours in, tempered with the breeze 
 of the Rhone; it's not perpetually raining, like 
 Switzerland and Port Tarascon, 
 
 My place of confinement is of the narrowest ; 
 the four bare stone walls, with a few inscrip- 
 tions gouged out, an iron bedstead, a table, and 
 a chair. I get my sun through a barred win- 
 dow — anvthincj but "bis;" — that han^rs hifih 
 over the Rhone. 
 
 It's just from here that during the great Rev- 
 olution the Jacobins were chucked into the ri\-- 
 er — those for whom they made our famous po]> 
 ular song. 
 
292 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Dear me, how the populace never changes ! 
 They favor us in the evening with that terrible 
 catch. I hear their voices come up from be- 
 low. I don't know what they've done with my 
 poor Governor, but the horrid chorus must 
 reach him as well as me, and he must make 
 some singular reflections. 
 
 My dearest master ! how, with his expansive 
 nature, he must miss me! And I miss him too, 
 thouo^h I confess I feel a certain relief at being: 
 alone and able to think things over. 
 
 In the long-run it's rather fatiguing to be in- 
 timate with a great man. He talks so much 
 about himself! That was why, on the Toma- 
 haiuk, I never had a minute of my own, never 
 an instant to take a look at my Clorinde. So, 
 many a time I said to myself, " She's over 
 there !" but I could never get away. After din- 
 ner I always had the Commodore's confounded 
 chess, and the rest of the day Tartarin never 
 let go of me, especially after I confessed to him 
 that I was busy with the Memorial. " Write 
 down this. Don't foro;et to make a note of 
 that." He poured out anecdotes about himself 
 and his relations, and they were not always par- 
 ticularly interesting. 
 
 To think of poor Las Casas ! Of his having 
 driven such a trade for so many years ! The 
 
PORT TARASCON. 293 
 
 Emperor used to wake him up at six in the 
 morning to carry him off to walk, to drive, and 
 as soon as they had started, used to begin : 
 " Have you got the place. Las Casas ? When 
 I signed the treaty of Campo-Formio — " The 
 poor confidant had his own affairs — his sick 
 child, his wife in France — but what was this 
 for the other, who thought of nothing but de- 
 scribing and explaining himself to Europe, to 
 the universe, to posterity, every day and all 
 day, every night and all night, for years and 
 years together? The truth is, the real victim 
 of the English was not Napoleon, but Las 
 Casas. 
 
 At present, however, I'm spared this tribula- 
 tion. Heaven bear me witness that Lve not 
 worked for my independence. It is only that 
 they keep us apart, and I take advantage of it 
 to think of myself, of my infinite misery, and of 
 my beloved Clorinde. 
 
 Does she believe me guilty? She — never! 
 But her family does — all the Espazettes and 
 the Escudelles de Lambesc. For all that set 
 a man without a title is always guilty. In any 
 case I've given up all 9\ope of ever being ac- 
 cepted as a candidate for the dear girl's hand, 
 fallen as I am from earthly grandeurs. I shall 
 have to go and take up my work again among 
 
294 PORT TARASCOX. 
 
 Bezuquet s bottles and jars, in the pharmacy on 
 the bit of a square. Such is glory ! 
 
 July lyth. — A thing that troubles n:e much 
 is that no one comes to see me. They include 
 me in the hatred that the}' cherish for my mas- 
 ter. As the proverb says, 
 
 " When the wind is straight, the tree bends , 
 When a man's poor, he lacks friends." 
 
 My cell affords me no other recreation than 
 an occasional perch on my table. In this way 
 I can reach mv window, from which, throuoh the 
 iron orratinor, I catch a wonderful view. 
 
 Between its little pale green islands, brushed 
 up with the breeze, the Rhone is shot with scat- 
 tered sunshine, while the sky is all streaked 
 with the dark flight of the martens, rushing 
 about with little cries, almost grazing me, or 
 dropping from ever so far up. Far below me 
 is the great suspension-bridge, so long that it 
 swings like a hammock ; you expect to see it 
 whisked away like somebody's hat as soon as 
 the mistral blows, as indeed vou mii>ht have 
 seen it once upon a time. 
 
 On the banks of the river rise the ruins of 
 old castles — Beaucaire, with the town at its 
 feet, and Courtezon too, and Vacqueiras. Be- 
 hind their thick walls, crumblino; with as^e, were 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 295 
 
 held of old those courts of love in which the 
 troubadours, the national bards of those days, 
 enjoyed the favor of the 
 princesses and queens they 
 sang. How everything 
 changes ! The old manors 
 are now but heaps of stone 
 smothered in briers, and the 
 national bards of to-day 
 may sing about the fine la- 
 dies and the damsels as they 
 will, the damsels and the 
 fine ladies don't trouble 
 their heads about them, 
 
 A glimpse that makes 
 me rather less sad is that 
 of the Beaucaire Canal, with 
 all its boats massed tooeth- 
 er, and on its borders the 
 red legs of the little sol- 
 diers whom from my case- 
 ment I see strolling about. 
 
 The good people of Beau- 
 caire must be delighted with 
 all our misadventures, and 
 especially with the collapse of our great man. 
 It must be a joy to them to know he's in pris- 
 on, and treated like a thief fit for haneine or ' 
 
296 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 drowning, for our proud opposite neighbors 
 have long been exasperated by his renown — - 
 ever since they have ceased to be heard of 
 themselves, and their famous fair has ceased to 
 be talked about. 
 
 When I was a boy I remember what a rum- 
 pus they still used to make with that great in- 
 vention. People flocked from all over (except 
 from Tarascon — the bridge is so dangerous) ; it 
 was a tremendous concourse, half a million of 
 souls at the least, crammed in between the 
 booths. But from year to year the thing has 
 gone off; it's nothing to speak of now. Beau- 
 caire still holds her great fair, only no one 
 comes to it. You see nothing but placards 
 up in the place : To Let ; To Let ; Furnished 
 Apartments ; so that if some traveller does turn 
 up, a stray bagman or so, the people all rush 
 out and overwhelm him, rend him limb from 
 limb. The Town Council comes to meet him 
 with a band of music. In a word, Beaucaire 
 has lost every sort of credit, while Tarascon has 
 grown more and more celebrated ; and thanks 
 to whom, pray, if not to Tartarin ? 
 
 Perched on my table, just now, I was looking 
 out and thinking of these things. The sun had 
 gone down, it was twilight, when suddenly, on 
 the other side of the Rhone, a great light was 
 
PORT TARASCON. 297 
 
 kindled on the tower of their castle. It burned 
 a long time, and a long time I watched it ; for 
 it struck me it was rather mysterious, this ar- 
 bitrary blaze, casting a ruddy reflection on the 
 Rhone in the deep silence of the night, stirred 
 only by the heavy flight of the buzzard. What 
 could it be meant for.^* — was it a signal ? 
 
 Is there some one, some admirer of our great 
 Tartarin, who wants to help him to escape ? 
 It's so extraordinary, such a blaze lighted on 
 the very top of a ruined tower, just opposite to 
 his prison ! 
 
 /u/y 1 8th. — To-day, as we came back from 
 the court, while the police van was passing be- 
 fore St. Martha's, I heard the still imperious 
 voice of Madame des Espazettes call out, with 
 the familiar nasality of these parts, " Cloreinde ! 
 Clorinde !" and a soft, angelic voice, the voice 
 of my beloved, reply, " Mamma-a-a !" She's so 
 lamb-like that she seemed to ba-a it. 
 
 I dare say she was on her way to church to 
 pray for me, for the issue of the trial. 
 
 Returned to prison greatly touched. Wrote 
 a few verses in our graceful dialect on the hap- 
 py presage of this encounter. 
 
 In the evening, at the same hour, the same 
 fire blazes on the tower of Beaucaire. It shines 
 over there in the darkness like the bonfire 
 
29S PORT TARASCON. 
 
 always kindled on St. John's Eve. Evidently 
 it's a signal. 
 
 Tartarin, with whom I Jiave been able to ex- 
 change two words in the lobby, has also seen 
 the mysterious flame through the bars of his 
 dungeon, and when I told him what I thought 
 of it, suggested that it may be the work of 
 friends who wish, like those of Napoleon at St. 
 Helena, to get him away, he seemed greatly 
 struck by the parallel. 
 
 "Ah, really, when Napoleon was at St. He- 
 lena they tried to rescue him !" 
 
 But after a moment's reflection he declared 
 that he would never consent to this. 
 
 " It's not the descent from the tower — the 
 descent of three hundred feet by a rope-ladder 
 — that would frighten me. Don't think that, 
 my child ! What I should dread much more is 
 looking as if I were afraid to meet the charge. 
 Tartarin of Tarascon will never flee !" 
 
 Ah, if all those who keep howling as he pass- 
 es, " To the river, zou ! to the Rhone !" could 
 have heard with what sincerity of accent he 
 spoke ! And they accuse him of gross fraud ; 
 they pretend to believe him an accomplice of 
 the infamous Due de Mons ! Oh, come, you 
 don't mean it ! 
 
 It's none the less true that he no longer 
 
PORT TARASCON. 299 
 
 stands up for his duke ; he now estimates the 
 Belgian scoundrel at his true value. This will 
 clearly appear from his defence, for Tartarin is 
 to plead his own cause. For myself, I stutter 
 too much to speak in public; so my case has 
 been undertaken by Cicero Franquebalme, the 
 incomparably and inveterately close texture of 
 whose reasoning is a secret to nobody. 
 
 July 20th. Evening. — The hours that I pass 
 before the magistrate are dreadfully painful. 
 The difficulty is not to defend myself, but to 
 do it without too utterly giving away my poor 
 master. He has been so imprudent, has had 
 such blind confidence in his abominable duke. 
 And then, with the intermittent eczema of the 
 worthy on the bench, one never knows wheth- 
 er to fear or to hope ; for his affection rides 
 him like a mania — he is furious when it 
 " shows," though he lets you off easier when 
 it doesn't. 
 
 An individual on whom it "shows," on whom 
 it will always " show," is our unfortunate Bezu- 
 quet, who, over there on our far isle, used to get 
 on well enough with his pictorial punctures ; 
 but here, under the sky of Provence, is so sorry 
 for himself that he never goes out; buries him- 
 self in the depths of his laboratory, where he 
 mixes herbs and makes messes, servino- his 
 
300 PORT TARASCON, 
 
 customers in a velvet mask, like a conspirator 
 in a comic opera. 
 
 It is noticeable that men are much more sen- 
 sitive than women to these cutaneous affections 
 — eruptions and pimples and blotches. I dare 
 say this is at the bottom of Bezuquet"s rancor 
 against Tartarin — the cause of all his woes. 
 
 July 2^th. — Summoned before M. Bonicar 
 again. I think it must be the last time. He 
 showed me a bottle that had been found by a 
 fisherman on one of the islands of the Rhone, 
 and made me read a letter that the bottle 
 contained : 
 
 " Tartarin, Tarascon, City Jail. Courage. 
 A friend is looking out for you at the other 
 end of the bridge. He will cross it when the 
 moment has come. 
 
 "A Fellow-victim of the Dug de Mons." 
 
 The magistrate asked me if I remembered to 
 have seen this handwriting before. I replied 
 that I didn't know it ; but, as one must always 
 tell the truth, I added that an attempt had once 
 been made to correspond with Tartarin on 
 some such system. I spoke of the similar 
 bottle that before our great exodus reached 
 him with a letter to which he had attached 
 
PORT TARASCON. 3OI 
 
 no importance, judging it only a rather vulgar 
 joke. 
 
 The magistrate said," Very good," and there- 
 upon dismissed me. 
 
 July 261/1. — The inquiry is over, and the case 
 is expected to come on very soon. The town 
 is in high fermentation. The case will be 
 opened about August ist. There will be little 
 sleep for me till then. It's long, moreover, 
 since I have really slept in this roasting little 
 oven of a cell. I'm obliged to leave the window 
 open, so that the mosquitoes come in in clouds. 
 I also have the pleasure of hearing the rats 
 crunching in the corners. 
 
 During these last days I have had several 
 interviews with my counsel. He speaks of 
 Tartarin with infinite bitterness. I feel that 
 he doesn't forgive him for not having intrusted 
 him with his case. Poor Tartarin ! he has no 
 one on his side. 
 
 It seems that the whole composition of the 
 court has been altered. Franquebalme has giv- 
 en me the names of the judges: Mr. Justice 
 Mouillard, with Van Iceberg and Roger du 
 Nord for assistants. There's no local intluence 
 to work. I'm told these gentlemen don't come 
 from here. For some reason unknown to me, 
 the charges of manslaughter through criminal 
 
302 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 neglect and violation of the laws on Emigration 
 have been withdrawn from the indictment. A 
 warrant is out against our precious duke, but 
 I shall be surprised to see him turn up; so that 
 Tartarin will have beside him in the dock only 
 Pascal Testaniere, known as Pascalon. 
 
 Jtdy J 1st. — A night of fever and anguish. 
 It comes on to-morrow. Lay very late in bed. 
 Had only strength to jot down this Tarasconian 
 proverb that I used to hear repeated by Bravida 
 — he knew them all : 
 
 •• To stay in bed and not to sleep, 
 To wait and yet see notiiing peep, 
 To love and yet have no delight — 
 Are thing's to kill a man outright." 
 
PORT TARASCON, 303 
 
 IV. 
 
 Mercy on us, no, they didn't come from 
 there, poor Tartarin's judges, as you might have 
 seen on the fine August afternoon when the 
 case was opened in the great crowded court- 
 room. 
 
 I must tell you that the month of August, at 
 Tarascon, is the climax of the oppressive heat ; 
 it's as hot as Africa, and the precautions against 
 the vertical blaze of the sky are very much the 
 same. The recall of the troops is sounded at 
 eleven in the morning; from that hour till four 
 o'clock they never stir out ; even the cavalry 
 are confined to barracks. You may therefore 
 imagine the temperature of a court-room stuffed 
 with an inquisitive public, packed so close that 
 no one could budge, with all the ladies, in feath- 
 ers and furbelows, piled in the gallery at the end. 
 
 Two o'clock rang out from the old clock-face, 
 with the images that go in and out, on the town- 
 hall; and through the high windows, flung wide 
 
304 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 open and draped in long yellow curtains that 
 acted as blinds, broke the deafening shrill of 
 the cicadas in the tropical-looking trees of the 
 Long Walk — big trees with white, dusty leaves. 
 This sound was accompanied by the uproar 
 of the crowd, who couldn't get in, and by the 
 cry of the water- venders, familiar in the bull- 
 baiting days in the old Roman arena that does 
 duty at Tarascon as a modern circus: " Water, 
 fresh water — who'll have a glass?" This was a 
 much more interesting spectacle than even the 
 bull-baiting, and the public trial of the great 
 Tartarin drew an audience from the whole 
 country, from Nimes, from Aries, from Avignon, 
 even from Marseilles. 
 
 But you had to be from Tarascon to resist 
 the heat, the sort of heat in which "a man under 
 sentence of death (if he be not a native) goes 
 to sleep while it's pronounced. The most pros- 
 trate of all were the three judges, especially Mr. 
 Justice Mouillard, from Lyons, with an air of 
 austerity, and a long, hoary, philosophic head 
 which made him look, if not like a French 
 Swiss, at least like a Swiss Frenchman, and the 
 mere sight of which filled you with a desire to 
 weep. The very names of his two coadjutors, 
 Van Icebero- and RoQ:er du Nord, sufficientlv at- 
 test how little they also were to the manor born. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 305 
 
 At the very beginning of the business these 
 three sages sank, in spite of themselves, into 
 a vague torpor, fixing their eyes on the great 
 squares of Hght cut out behind the yellow cur- 
 tains, and ending by undisguised slumber dur- 
 ing the interminable roll-call of the witnesses, 
 at least two hundred and fifty in number, and all 
 for the prosecution. 
 
 The constables, who didn't come from there 
 either, and who had been cruelly left to sweat 
 under their heavy toggery, also slept the sleep 
 of the just; the very fiies, the terrible full-blown 
 flies of midsummer, slept in their swarms on the 
 ceiling. 
 
 These were certainly very bad conditions for 
 dispensing true justice. Happily the judges 
 had studied the case in advance ; without tliat 
 they wouldn't have understood a word of it, as 
 in their dozing vagueness they heard nothing 
 20 
 
306 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 but the racket of the cicadas and a far-off hum 
 of voices. 
 
 After all tlie witnesses had filed past the Pub- 
 lic Prosecutor, Monsieur Bompard du Mazet, 
 began to read the indictment. 
 
 This time, I grant you, you have nothing 
 to do with the North. Imagine a little hairy 
 dwarf, with a paunch, all made up of a black 
 crop and a black beard, and of starts and jumps 
 and popping eyes, the instruments of a perpetual 
 pantomime, in which he indulged as freely as if 
 his great hot snoring voice didn't split your ears 
 like a brass-band. When he cried he shed real 
 tears, as big as peas; when he laughed his huge 
 reverberating guffaw caught up the farthest 
 man in the crowd stationed under the open 
 doors and windows. 
 
 He passed for the glory of the Tarascon bar; 
 but what rendered his requisitory still more in- 
 teresting, what gave it a peculiar attraction, was 
 the relationship of the orator to the hapless 
 Bompard, one of the first victims of the sad epi- 
 sode of Port Tarascon. 
 
 Never did an accuser seem to thirst more 
 for the blood of his victims. Lord, how he 
 treated our poor Tartarin, seated there with his 
 secretary between two constables ; how dear he 
 made him pay for his past triumphs I 
 
PORT TARASCON. 307 
 
 Pascalon, overwhelmed with shame and de- 
 spair, hid his head in his hands ; but Tartarin, 
 superior to that sort of thing, cahii and deco- 
 rous, Hstened to everything, endured every- 
 thing, conscious of his decHne, but also of the 
 purity of his motives and the stainlessness of 
 his honor. Meanwhile M. Bompard du Mazet, 
 more and more insulting, held him up as a 
 vulgar impostor who had taken advantage of 
 a reputation that would bear no scrutiny — of 
 lions that he perhaps never killed, of mount- 
 ains that he perhaps never climbed, to associate 
 himself with an adventurer, an obscure if pre- 
 tended duke, who had not even an address to 
 give the authorities. He represented Tartarin 
 as even more guilty than the duke himself, in- 
 asmuch as the mysterious stranger could not 
 be accused of having plucked his own country- 
 men. The peculiar infamy of Tartarin was to 
 have speculated on the Tarasconians, to have 
 stripped them to their skins, scattering ruin 
 and misery round. " However," the orator de- 
 manded, " what could you have expected of the 
 man who would fire upon the blessed Tarasque, 
 upon our general grandmother.?" 
 
 At this peroration there was a burst, from 
 the benches, of patriotic sobs, which were re- 
 echoed in howls from the streets, where the 
 
308 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Prosecutor's voice had been heard; and he 
 himself, moved to tears by his own eloquence, 
 began to choke and sputter so loud that the 
 judges woke up with a start. Bompard du 
 Mazet had spoken for two hours. 
 
 At this moment, though the heat was still 
 very great, a tiny fresh breeze from the Rhone 
 beo^an to flutter in at the windows. 
 
 Mr. Justice Mouillard now managed to stay 
 awake ; to keep him so, indeed (for he had only 
 lately been called to Tarascon), his growing be- 
 wilderment would soon have sufficed, so abun- 
 dantly was it fed by the inventive genius of 
 the Tarasconians, their unconscious and imper- 
 turbable mendacity. 
 
 The principal accused was the first to set 
 this wonderful spirit in motion. 
 
 During a portion of his examination, which 
 we are obliged to abbreviate, Tartarin suddenly 
 raised to heaven his extended hand : 
 
 " I swear before heaven and all the company 
 that I never wrote a word of that letter !" 
 
 The letter was the letter he had sent from 
 Marseilles to Pascalon, then editor of the Ga- 
 zette, to wind him up, to make him lay it on a 
 little thicker. 
 
 Well, now it appeared that Tartarin had 
 never written it; he absolutely denied and he 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 )09 
 
 w 
 
 energetically protested. Perhaps the so-called 
 
 duke, not present — 
 
 Here Monsieur Mouillard interrupted him; 
 " Please hand this letter to the accused." 
 Tartarin took it, looked at it, then replied, 
 
 quite simply : 
 20* 
 
3IO PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " Oh yes, I see it is my hand. I did write it, 
 but I couldn't just remember!" 
 
 A moment later came a similar performance 
 on the part of Pascalon, in regard to an article 
 in the Gazette describing the great reception 
 at the town -hall of Port Tarascon — the recep- 
 tion of the passengers of the Farandole and the 
 Lucifer by King Nagonko, the natives, and the 
 first settlers, accompanied with many details 
 about this civic edifice, of which, as we know, 
 not a brick had ever been laid. 
 
 Pascalon listened to the reading of this effu- 
 sion, which provoked the crowd to inextinguish- 
 able laughter and still more inextinguishable 
 ire ; he himself was indignant, not a word of it 
 was his, never in his life had he put his signa- 
 ture to such a pack of lies. 
 
 They placed before his eyes the printed ar- 
 ticle, signed with his name and illustrated with 
 little pictures based on hints he had given, to- 
 gether with his manuscript, which had been 
 picked up at the printer's. 
 
 " It's crushing," the unhappy youth then ad- 
 mitted, stuttering and weeping ; " it had com- 
 pletely escaped my mind !" 
 
 Tartarin took up the defence of his secre- 
 tary: 
 
 "The truth is, my lord, that, believing blindly 
 
PORT TARASCON. 311 
 
 all the stories told by the person De Mons, not 
 present — "' 
 
 " He has a broad back, the person De Mons, 
 not present," the Prosecutor interpolated. 
 
 " I gave to this unhappy child," Tartarin 
 continued, " the idea of an article to be made of 
 them, saying to him, ' Now embroider on that.' 
 And he embroidered." 
 
 " It is true that I never did anything but em- 
 broi-broi-broider !" Pascalon timidly panted. 
 
 Oh, of the art of embroidery. Monsieur Mou- 
 illard was not to want for specimens, now that 
 he had begun the examination of the witness- 
 es, all from Tarascon and all inventive, denying 
 to-day exactly the thing they had categorically 
 affirmed yesterday. 
 
 " But this was what you said in the prelimi- 
 nary inquiry." 
 
 " I .'* / said that ? I never opened my 
 mouth !" 
 
 " But you signed it." 
 
 " / .^ I signed it T' 
 
 " Here is your signature." 
 
 " Lord love us — it's true ! Very well, no one 
 can be more surprised than I !" 
 
 It was just the same for all of them — no one 
 remembered anything about anything. The 
 judges turned wan, sat confounded and bewil- 
 
312 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 dered at this appearance of flagrant bad faith, 
 unable, in their character of men of the North, 
 to make the allowances indispensable in the 
 case of the South — to make so many fantastic 
 declarations and negations square in the least 
 with the facts. 
 
 One of the most extraordinary depositions 
 was that of Costecalde, when he related how 
 he had been driven from the island, forced to 
 abandon his wife and children, by the exactions 
 of Tartarin, romantically represented as a fero- 
 cious tyrant. Nothing could be more exciting, 
 more thrilling, than his adventure in the long- 
 boat, the frightful successive deaths of his un- 
 happy companions. He sobbed as he depicted 
 the last moments of Rugimabaud, swimming 
 near the boat to freshen himself up a little, then 
 abruptly gobbled up by a shark, cut quite in 
 two. 
 
 "Ah, my poor friend's smile — I see it still! 
 He held out his arms to me, and I was dashing 
 towards him, when suddenly his face is contort- 
 ed, he disappears ; nothing is left, nothing but a 
 circle of blood that spreads over the surface of 
 the water." And with his clinched hand Coste- 
 calde sketched a great circle in the air. 
 
 Hearing the name of Rugimabaud, the two 
 justices Van Iceberg and Roger du Nord, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 J^O 
 
 roused but a moment before from their slumber- 
 ous gloom, leaned towards their colleague, so 
 that amid the unanimous outburst of sobs that 
 filled the court as an accompaniment to Coste- 
 calde's tears, the three big-wigs were seen for a 
 moment to confer together. 
 
 Then his Honor addressed the witness: 
 
 " You say Rugimabaud was eaten up by a 
 shark before your eyes ? But the Court has 
 just been hearing as witness for the prosecution 
 a certain Rugimabaud who arrived here this 
 morning; may he not be by chance the same 
 person as the hero of your anecdote ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed — rather ! I am the same, it's 
 me!" roared the ex-Commissioner of Agricult- 
 ure. 
 
 " Bless me, Rugimabaud is here ?" exclaimed 
 Costecalde, not in the least disconcerted. " I 
 didn't see him — it's the first I've heard of him." 
 
 " He wasn't eaten up by a shark, then, as 
 you've just described ?" 
 
 " I think I must have confounded him with 
 Truphenus." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Fm here!" protested Truphenus 
 in turn. 
 
 " At any rate, be it one or be it the other, 
 what I know is that somebody or other was 
 eaten by a shark !" 
 
314 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 And with the utmost calmness Costecalde 
 continued to answer questions as if nothing had 
 occurred. 
 
 Before he stepped down, one of the judges de- 
 sired to know, by his estimate, the exact number 
 of victims, of one kind and another. 
 
 " Forty thousand !" 
 
 He rolled so the r's of his "for-r-ty," that, as if 
 for the pleasure of hearing him do it again, the 
 judge exclaimed : 
 
 " How is that? How many?" 
 
 " Forty thousand !" 
 
 " You say forty thousand ?" 
 
 " At the very least, your Honor." 
 
 Now, the records of the colony were there to 
 attest that at no moment whatever had there 
 been on the island more than four hundred 
 Tarasconians. 
 
 Confronted with this kind of evidence, the be- 
 wilderment of his Honor could only grow. It 
 was shared by his august colleagues, now com- 
 pletely awake, who perspired with amazement as 
 much as with heat, never having been present at 
 such a trial as this, and thinking that every one 
 concerned in it must be simply mad. There 
 was nothing but violent interruptions and flat 
 contradictions, which increased as the row of 
 witnesses grew longer, all jumping up and down, 
 
PORT TARASCON. 315 
 
 gesticulating, talking at once, snatching the 
 words out of each others' mouths. A preposter- 
 ous trial indeed, a tragi-comedy exclusively con- 
 sisting of people eaten, drowned, cooked, roast- 
 ed, boiled, devoured, tattooed, who yet had turned 
 up there together in the same row, all in per- 
 fect health and with their full complement of 
 limbs. 
 
 In regard to the few who had not answered 
 to the roll, you couldn't say they were really 
 dead any more than the others, that they 
 wouldn't rise again the next minute like their 
 friends; which is the reason why M. Bonicar, 
 the magistrate, more intimately versed in the 
 nature of his countrymen, had recommended 
 Monsieur Mouillard to leave out the question of 
 manslaufjhter throuo-h criminal neglect. 
 
 The unhappy Mouillard, submerged in the 
 rising flood of contradictory evidence, demanded 
 silence without getting it, and had repeatedly to 
 threaten to clear the court. The spectators, in 
 their zeal for one side or the other, paid not the 
 least attention to him; so that, giving it all up, 
 he leaned his elbows on his desk and held his 
 head with his hands as if it would burst. 
 
 During a short comparative lull, M. Roger du 
 Nord, a little old man with long white whiskers 
 and a sarcastic smile, who was not without wit. 
 
3l6 PORT TARASCOxNT. 
 
 said aloud, bending over, with his judge's cap a 
 little askew: 
 
 " In short, in the lot, it seems to me that the 
 only thing that has not come back is the Ta- 
 rasque." 
 
 At this M. Bompard du Mazet, the Public 
 Prosecutor, sprang up with a movement of a 
 jack-in-the-box : 
 
 "And my uncle, then?" 
 
 "And Bravida, then?" cried Costecalde. 
 
 The Public Prosecutor went on with high 
 dignity but rising emotion: 
 
 " I beg the Court to observe that my unfort- 
 unate uncle was one of the earliest victims. If 
 I have had the discretion not to speak of him 
 in my indictment, it's none the less true that 
 this particular absentee has not come back, and 
 will never come back." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Prosecutor," inter- 
 rupted the principal worthy on the bench ; " it 
 so happens that your uncle at this very moment 
 sends in his card to me and requests to be 
 heard." 
 
 This piece of news produced an immense 
 rumpus. The public, the witnesses, the accused, 
 all sprang to their feet, scrambled upon the 
 seats, waved their arms, shouted, and exhibited 
 astonishment and curiosity in the good Taras- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ?>n 
 
 conian fashion ; while his Honor, to restore or- 
 der, directed the Court to rise for a few mo- 
 ments, of which advantage was taken to remove 
 two or three constables who had fainted, and 
 were half dead with heat and mystification. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 V. 
 
 " ' It's he — it's Gonzago ! I say — did you ever ?' 
 'Bless us, how he has filled out!' 
 ' Mercy, how he has bleached !' 
 ' You'd take him for a Turk !' " 
 
 The crowd stretched forward, agape, so long 
 had honest Bonipard been removed from its 
 ken. He had been tremendously lean of old, 
 dry, brown, and mustachioed like a Greek brig- 
 and, with the eyes of a crazy goat ; but now he 
 was well rounded out, though showing in his 
 big puffed face the same swaggering mustache 
 and the same nonsensical eyes. 
 
 Lookins: neither to rio^ht nor to left, he followed 
 the usher into the witness-box, where Monsieur 
 Mouillard began to examine him. 
 
 " There's no doubt about your identity, Gon- 
 zague Bompard ?'' 
 
 " To tell the truth, your Honor, I almost 
 doubt of it myself when I see " — here he let off 
 a noble gesture in the direction of the accused 
 
PORT TARASCON. 319 
 
 — " when I see, I say, our purest glory on that 
 bench of infamy, and when, within these walls, 
 I hear insult heaped upon the soul of honor 
 and probity !"' 
 
 " Oh, thanks, Gonzago !" cried Tartarin from 
 his place, suffocated with emotion. 
 
 He had borne without wincinor every calum- 
 ny, but the sympathy of his old comrade made 
 his heart burst, filled his eyes with the tears of 
 a pitied child. 
 
 "Yes, yes, my gallant friend," Bompard went 
 on, " you won"t remain there long on your filthy 
 bench, I bring with me the proof — the proof — " 
 
 He fumbled in his pockets, drew out a clay 
 pipe, a knife, an old flint, a match-box, a piece 
 of string, a yard-measure, and a little case of 
 homoeopathic medicines ; all of which objects 
 he laid one after the other on the table of the 
 clerk of the court. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Bompard," said his Honor, out 
 of patience; "just mention it when you've 
 done," 
 
 " I say, uncle, hurry up a bit," added ^l. Bom- 
 pard du Mazet, 
 
 His uncle turned towards him. 
 
 " Ah yes, you'd better meddle, you wretch, 
 after the beautiful line you have taken ! Treat- 
 ing our dear old friend as a swindler! Just 
 
^20 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 wait till I get round there and cut you off with 
 a shilling, little scoundrel !" 
 
 The nephew kept sufficiently cool under this 
 threat, and the uncle, continuing to fumble and 
 
 arranorinor before him a 
 whole museum of fantas- 
 tic objects, found at last 
 what he sought. 
 
 " Here, your Honor, is 
 a letter which makes it as 
 plain as day that the so-called Due de Mons 
 is the biggest villain on earth, a regular vag- 
 abond and gallows-bird, the only guilty one, the 
 only one who ought to be laden with chains, 
 and on the bench of infamy." 
 
 " That will do — give me the letter." 
 Monsieur Mouillard took the letter, read it, 
 and passed it to his two colleagues, who in turn 
 began to examine it, and turn it upsidedown 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ;2i 
 
 ijl'+r 
 
 and inside out. During this examination the 
 faces of the three judges remained inscrutable 
 and impenetrable. You could see they were 
 real judges of the North. Staring at their in- 
 expressive masks, it was very hard for the pub- 
 lic to get an idea of what the mysterious letter 
 contained ; the only thing that could be gath- 
 ered was the ex- 
 treme importance 
 of the document. 
 
 Every one stood 
 on tiptoe ; some 
 screwed round their 
 heads as if to get a 
 look; the hubbub of 
 voices increased, the 
 wave of curiosity 
 broke in the depths 
 of the gallery. 
 
 "What is it, 
 what's in it, what 
 is it all about ?" 
 
 And the agitation in the court gaining the 
 crowd outside, to which the successive phases 
 of the case were communicated through the 
 open windows and doors, there rose an uproar 
 on the Long Walk, a confusion and a clamor 
 like the surcje of the sea in a stiff breeze. 
 
 21 
 
322 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 The good constables accordingly waked up, 
 the flies forsook the ceilinsr and beo^an to buzz 
 about ; the waning afternoon brought with it a 
 few wandering airs, so that, as the Tarasconians 
 dread nothing so much as a draught, the spec- 
 tators who were near the windows besran to 
 shout for them to be closed — they were afraid 
 of "catching their death." 
 
 For the hundredth time the unhappy Mouil- 
 lard bawled, " Silence, silence for a moment, or 
 I clear the court!" Then he continued the ex- 
 amination. 
 
 Question. "Witness Bompard, how and when 
 did this letter come into your hands T' 
 
 Answer. "When the Farandole was starting 
 from Marseilles the duke, or so-called duke, 
 handed me my papers as Provisional Governor 
 of the settlement, and at the same time he 
 slipped into my palm this big letter, fastened, 
 though it contained no money, with eight red 
 seals. He told me I should find in it his very 
 last instructions, and he directed me particu- 
 larly not to open it till we should reach some 
 islands or other — the Admiralty Isles — in the 
 144th degree of longitude. It's marked there 
 on the envelope — you can see." 
 
 Q. " Yes, yes ; I see. And then T' 
 
 A. " Then, your Honor, you see, I was sud- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 323 
 
 denly taken awfully ill, as you must have been 
 told ; it seemed to be a sort of catching thin^, 
 so that, although I felt near my end, they put 
 me ashore at the Chateau d'If. Once ashore, I 
 was doubled up with pain ; but the letter was in 
 my pocket, for in my agony I had forgotten to 
 give it to Bezuquet when I handed him over 
 my credentials." 
 
 Q. " It is a pity you forgot. Well, then.?" 
 
 A. " Well, then, your Honor, when I got a 
 little better and was able to get up and put 
 on my clothes again — it was a good bit later, 
 a long time — one day I happened to put my 
 hand in my pocket by chance, and, lo and be- 
 hold ! there was the blessed letter with the red 
 seals !" 
 
 Here Monsieur Mouillard interrupted the wit- 
 ness with great severity : 
 
 " Witness Bompard, would it not be more con- 
 formable to truth to say that this letter, destined 
 to be unsealed only four thousand leagues away 
 from France, was by preference opened by your 
 hand on the spot, on the very deck of the ship, 
 so that you might see what was in it, where- 
 upon, acquainted with its contents, you shrank 
 from the immense responsibilities it entailed 
 upon you T' 
 
 "You don't know Bompard, your Honor," this 
 
324 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 personage replied. " I appeal to all Tarascon, 
 present in this court." 
 
 The silence of the tomb greeted this oratori- 
 cal flight. Enjoying on the lips of his fellow- 
 citizens the sobriquet of the Impostor, Bompard, 
 perhaps, went a little far in calling on them 
 to back him up. Tarascon sounded, therefore, 
 gave back no echo, which, however, did not pre- 
 vent the speaker from going on imperturbably : 
 
 " Your Honor sees, silence, as the proverb says, 
 means consent." And continuing his story: 
 "When it came to that, when I found the letter, 
 Bezuquet, who had left so many weeks before, 
 was too far away for me to overtake him ; so 
 that I made up my mind to see what was in the 
 confounded thing. Acting upon this, imagine 
 my horrible situation !" 
 
 A horrible situation, most horrible, too, was 
 that of the audience, still perfectly ignorant of 
 the contents of the precious document under 
 discussion, tormentingly fingered by the judges. 
 
 It was vain to crane over, it was vain to stretch 
 and stare ; the coveted knowledge was out of 
 reach — nothing was visible but the big red seals 
 of the wrapper. 
 
 " What was I to do, miserable me," Bompard 
 went on, "after I had read such horrors .f* Was 
 I to strike out and try to swim after the ship? 
 
PORT TARASCON. 325 
 
 Alas, it was beyond my strength. Was I, by 
 making public my abominable missive, to pre- 
 vent the Tootoopitmpuni from sailing? Was I 
 to clash with cold water the enthusiasm of the 
 panting remnant of our party ? They would 
 have risen in their wrath and stoned me ! I 
 was in such a dreadful dilemma that I \\as 
 afraid to show myself at Tarascon. At last I 
 made up my mind to go and hide over oppo- 
 site, at Beaucaire, where I should be able to see 
 evervthing; without beinsf seen. I succeeded in 
 obtaining simultaneous possession of two offices 
 there — that of Warden of the Fair-grounds and 
 that of Conservator of the Castle. I had a cer- 
 tain amount of leisure, as you may believe, and 
 from the top of the old tower, with a good glass, 
 I watched on the other side of the Rhone the 
 agitation of my unhappy compatriots, all bustling 
 for departure. And I gnawed my heart, I wrung 
 my hands, I held out my arms to them, bawling 
 to them from afar, as if they might have heard 
 me: 'Stop, stop — stay, stay — don't go — turn 
 round and go home !' I even tried to warn them 
 back by means of a bottle. Tell his Honor, Tar- 
 tarin, tell him that I tried to warn you." 
 
 " Yes, it's true," said Tartarin from the bench 
 of infamy. 
 
 " Ah, your Honor, what I suffered when I saw 
 
326 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 the Tooioopzimpum really set sail for the land of 
 dreams ! But I suffered still more when they 
 all came back and when I learned that, opposite 
 to me there, the greatest of my countrymen was 
 laneuishinor in fetters. To know that he was 
 immured in that dungeon and under a false 
 charge — it was really too much. You will tell 
 me that I ought to have produced the proof of 
 his innocence sooner; but when once one is 
 started on the wrong road it's the deuce and all 
 to get back to the right one. I began by say- 
 ine nothino", and it had become more and more 
 difficult to speak at last. Then you don't count 
 the Bridge, the dreadful Bridge that I should 
 have had to cross again ! So long as the pre- 
 liminary inquiry lasted I hoped the whole thing 
 would be quashed ; but when I saw that you 
 were really going on, knew that Tartarin was 
 really dragged into the dock between the myr- 
 midons of the law, then I could hold out no 
 longer, I let myself go — I crossed the Bridge. 
 I crossed it this morning in a terrible tempest; 
 I was obliged to go down on all fours, the same 
 way as when I went up Mont Blanc. You re- 
 member that, Tartarin T 
 
 " Remember it ?" Tartarin rumbled. 
 
 " When I tell you that the Bridge was swing- 
 ing like a pendulum you'll believe I had to be 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 327 
 
 brave. I was, in fact, heroic. But here I am, 
 at any rate, and this time I bring you the proof, 
 the irrefutable proof." 
 
 Of the irrefutabihty of the proof neither of 
 the three gentlemen on the bench seemed par- 
 
328 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ticularly convinced ; and the senior, in his cold, 
 calm voice, expressed their common doubts. 
 
 " Who guarantees that this strange letter, 
 buried so long in your pocket, is really by the 
 person De Mons ? You see, we have to leave a 
 margin, with all you good people. Such a flood 
 of lies as I've been listening to for three hours !" 
 
 A long murmur rolled through the room, 
 surged in the galleries. 
 
 Tarascon hardly liked this — Tarascon pro- 
 tested. As for Bompard, he answered simply 
 with a smile : 
 
 " So far as I'm concerned, your Honor, I 
 won't absolutely claim that I'm the most literal 
 creature in the world — no, I won't go so far as 
 that. But see here ; just ask a question or two 
 of my friend there." And he waved his hand 
 at Tartarin. " In the way of the literal, he's 
 about the best thing we have here." 
 
 " Usher, hand this letter to the accused," said 
 the judge. 
 
 Tartarin took it, examined it, declared that 
 he recognized the handwriting and the signa- 
 ture unfortunately too familiar to him ; then, 
 still erect, turning towards the bench, with a 
 light in his eye, a ring in his voice, and the 
 famous letter brandished in his hand: " In my 
 turn, your Honor, armed with this cynical lucu- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 329 
 
 bration, I summon you to acknowledge that all 
 the impostors don't come from the South. Ah, 
 you call us liars, us poor performers of Taras- 
 con ! But we are only people of imagination 
 and of overflowing speech — people who hit it 
 off, people who embroider, people whose fertile 
 fancy throws of¥ things on the spur of the mo- 
 ment, and who are themselves the first to be 
 taken in, even when they are surprised, by their 
 own ingenuous readiness. How different from 
 your liars of the North — deliberate, elaborate, 
 and perverse, with their rascally practical machi- 
 nations — such a one, for instance, as the signer 
 of this letter! Yes, thank God, one may say 
 that in the way of lying, when the North tries 
 its hand the South is no match for it at all !" 
 
 Launched on this theme, with his good-sense 
 and eloquence, Tartarin ought to have raised 
 the house. But it was all over. The great 
 man had decidedly forfeited public favor. No 
 one had an ear for him. Exasperated curiosity 
 had no ear and no eye for anything but the 
 mysterious missive with eight red seals that he 
 waved up and down in his hand. 
 
 Devil take it! what could there be in this tan- 
 talizing scroll which they handed to and fro 
 without coming to the point and reading it out.i* 
 
 Tartarin would have liked to go on, but the 
 
33© PORT TARASCON. 
 
 impatience of his fellow- citizens gave him no 
 chance. They only shouted from all sides, 
 "The letter — the letter! Read us the letter!" 
 
 Monsieur Mouillard again threatened to clear 
 the court if they didn't keep quiet ; but at last, 
 yielding to the popular desire, and addressing 
 the accused : 
 
 " So I am to take it from you that this is 
 really the writing of the person De Mons ?" 
 
 " You may take it from me. The hands are 
 identical, your Honor." 
 
 " Hand the letter to the clerk of the court, 
 so that he may read it out." 
 
 A huQ:e "Ah!" of relief o-reeted these words, 
 and was followed by a silence so deep that you 
 could hear nothing but the buzz of the flies 
 within and the shrill of the insects without. 
 Every one sat motionless in his place, cocking 
 his head to one side to hear better. 
 
 Amid this solemn attention of a whole peo- 
 ple the clerk of the court, in a slow, monoto- 
 nous, nasal voice, began to read the letter with 
 the eight red seals : 
 
 '■'To Mr. Gonzago Bonipard, Provisional Governor of 
 the Colony of Port Tarascon : to be opened in 144° 
 30' longitude cast, opposite the Admiralty Isles. 
 " My dear Monsieur Bompard, — There is 
 
 no joke good enough to be kept up forever. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 331 
 
 Put straight about and come quietly back with 
 your Tarasconians. 
 
 " There is no island, there is no treaty, there 
 is no Port Tarascon ; there are no acres nor 
 concessions nor distilleries nor refineries, there 
 is nothing" of any kind. 
 Nothing, at 
 least, but a 
 splendid 
 operation 
 by which I 
 have pocket 
 ed some millions, 
 which are now, I 
 am happy to say, 
 in as safe a place as 
 my person. 
 
 " What it has all come 
 to is a nice little Tarasconade, 
 which your fellow-citizens and illustrious 
 chief will certainly forgive me, since it has af- 
 forded them occupation and recreation, and re- 
 vived their taste, which they had rather lost, for 
 their delicious little town. 
 
 "Due De Mons. 
 
 " P. S. — No more a duke than jMons is his 
 duchy. Scarcely known in the neighborhood." 
 
332 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Ah, this time his lordship could only threaten 
 in vain to clear the court; nothing could re- 
 strain the roars, the yells, the howls of rage that 
 broke forth and reached the street, the Long 
 Walk, the Esplanade, resounded through the 
 
 whole town. Ah, the Belgian, the dirty Bel- 
 gian; how they would have chucked him into 
 the Rhone if they could only have got hold of 
 him! 
 
 Every one lent his voice — men, women, and 
 children — and it was in the midst of this appall- 
 ing din, the racket of an angry hive, that Mon- 
 sieur Mouillard pronounced the acquittal of 
 Tartarin and of Pascalon, to the great despair 
 
PORT TARASCON. 333 
 
 of Cicero Franquebalme, who was obliged to 
 keep to himself his great speech, to pack up 
 again the solid blocks of his argument, all his 
 whatsoevers and whensoevers and wheresoev- 
 ers — to swallow, in a word, his masterpiece, his 
 compact, cemented Roman aqueduct. 
 
 The public poured forth from the court, 
 spread over the town, surged through the Walk 
 Round, through the squares and bits of squares, 
 continuinor to relieve itself in wild vociferations. 
 Ah, the Belgian, the dirty Belgian! his name 
 was everywhere mingled with the cry that has 
 ever since remained the bloodiest insult that a 
 Tarasconian can utter, " Liar of the North ! — 
 liar of the North!" 
 
334 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 VI. 
 
 October 8tJi, — Resumed my position in Fer- 
 dinand Bezuquet's pharmacy. I have regained 
 the esteem of my countrymen and recovered 
 the tranquillity of my former existence on the 
 bit of a square between the two jars, the yellow 
 and the green, of the shop-front. There is only 
 this difference, that poor Bezuquet now sticks 
 fast to the back shop, as if he were the appren- 
 tice, where he works the pestle from morning 
 to night, pounding his drugs in the marble 
 mortar in a kind of rage, as if he hoped they 
 would feel it ! He only stops from time to time 
 to take a little mirror out of his pocket and 
 look at his tattooings. Poor Ferdinand ! nei- 
 ther poultice nor plaster can touch them ; there 
 is no help for him even in the nice little garlic 
 broth recommended by Dr. Tournatoire. He 
 has got them for life, his infernal illuminations. 
 
 Meanwhile I put up little parcels, I write lit- 
 tle labels, I exchange little remarks with little 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 ') ') r 
 
 3jb 
 
 customers, and I find a sufficient amusement in 
 the little gossip of the little town. On market- 
 days we have always a lot of people. Since 
 the wine-crop shows signs of mending, our peas- 
 ants have begun again to dose and drug them- 
 selves ; in the country about Tarascon there is 
 no more cherished pursuit. On Tuesday and 
 Friday the pharmacy is crammed. 
 
 The rest of the week it is sufficiently quiet; 
 the shop bell tinkles less frequently. I pass 
 my time in looking at the superscriptions of 
 the great glass bottles and the great jars of 
 white earthen-ware ranged on the shelves — the 
 sirtipus gtimmi, the assafoetida, and the (ftapixa- 
 
336 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 KOTToua, in Greek characters, between two ser- 
 pents over the counter. 
 
 After so many agitations and adventures, this 
 lull in my existence is rather enjoyable. I am 
 preparing a volume of verses in our dear old 
 dialect: Lz Gmjourlo (" Drops oi jujube ''). In 
 the North the jujube is known only as a phar- 
 maceutic product, but here the tree, with its 
 thin foliage, produces a different fruit, a kind of 
 charming little red olive that melts in your 
 mouth. I shall collect in this volume my little 
 landscapes and my love-poems. 
 
 Woe is me ! I sometimes see her pass, my 
 long and flexible Clorinda, skipping over the 
 sharp cobble-stones of the bit of a square with 
 the same motion that on the island we used to 
 compare to that of the kangaroo. She's going 
 to second mass, her prayer-book in her hand, 
 followed by the valuable female domestic who 
 used to patch up our roofs and "shin" up our 
 flag-staffs, and who, since our return to Taras- 
 con, has passed from the service of Mademoi- 
 selle Tournatoire to that of the marquise and 
 her daughter. Never once has the high-born 
 damsel cast a glance at our poor shop. From 
 the moment I crossed its threshold again I 
 ceased to exist for her. 
 
 The town has recovered its ancient tranquil- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 137 
 
 lity, and seems quite at home again. We stroll 
 on the Long Walk and on the Esplanade ; in 
 the evening we go to the club and to the play. 
 Every one has come back except Brother Ba- 
 taillet, who stopped 
 
 / 
 
 over in the Philip- 
 pines to set up a 
 new community of 
 White Fathers. 
 Here the convent 
 of Pamperi- 
 gouste has 
 opened its 
 doors a little 
 — just on a 
 crack — and 
 the Reverend 
 FatherVezole 
 (God be praised!) 
 
 is settled in it again 
 with a few other 
 holy men. The 
 bells have begun 
 to tinkle gently, 
 ever so gently. 
 
 Who would ever be- 
 lieve that we had made 
 so much history ! 
 
 22 
 
338 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 How far it all seems now, and what rare fellows 
 we are to forget ! To appreciate this you must 
 see our sportsmen, the Marquis des Espazettes 
 at their head, start out every Sunday morning, 
 in brand-new trappings, to shoot game that 
 doesn't exist. 
 
 On my side, on Sunday, after breakfast, I go 
 and pay my respects to Tartarin. It is there 
 still, at the end of the Long Walk, the little 
 house with the green blinds ; the little boot- 
 blacks are there still before the gate, but some- 
 how they are stricken with silence, and every- 
 thing is lifeless and closed. I lift the latch, and 
 passing in, I find the hero in his garden, turn- 
 ing round the tank of goldfish, with his hands 
 behind him, or else in his study, surrounded by 
 his poisoned arrows and other outlandish weap- 
 ons. At present he never even looks at his be- 
 loved collections. The setting is the same, but 
 how the man has changed ! It was fruitless 
 for them to let him off; they couldn't give him 
 back his honor, they couldn't give him back his 
 glory. The great man feels that that glory has 
 waned — this is the secret of his sadness. 
 
 But we talk together, and sometimes Dr. 
 Tournatoire comes in, bringing to the melan- 
 choly house his good-humor and his somewhat 
 primitive, his even questionable, medical jokes. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 JO": 
 
 Franquebalme also comes on Sunday, Tartarin 
 having confided to him the protection of his 
 interests. He has a lawsuit at Toulon with 
 Captain Scrapouchinat, who is trying to recov- 
 er from him the expenses of the return trip ; an- 
 other suit, too, with the widow of Bravida, who 
 has brought it as the guardian of her bereaved 
 children. If my poor dear master loses either 
 of these cases, how in the world will he keep 
 afloat.^ He has already sunk most of his sub- 
 stance in the lamentable adventure of Port Ta- 
 rascon. 
 
 Would to Heaven I 
 were rich ! Unfortunate- 
 ly the money I get from 
 Bezuquet isn't 
 the sort of thing 
 to enable me to 
 assist my noble 
 friend. 
 
 October loth. — 
 My" Jujubes "are 
 to appear at Avig- 
 non, with the 
 imprint of Rou- 
 manille. I'm aw- 
 fully happy about 
 it. Another piece 
 
340 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 of good-luck Is that they are getting up a great 
 procession in honor of St. Martha, whose feast 
 is on the 19th, and in honor, too, of the restora- 
 tion of our race to the soil of France. Dour- 
 ladoure and I, perched on an allegorical car, 
 are to represent Proven9al poetry. 
 
 October 20th. — Yesterday, Sunday, our pro- 
 cession came off. A long stream of cars and 
 cavaliers, the latter in historical costumes, hold- 
 ing out on long wands butterfly-nets for money. 
 A tremendous crowd of people, a cluster of 
 heads at every window, and yet, in spite of ev- 
 erything, a visible want of real animation. The 
 ingenious managers of the fete had vainly en- 
 deavored to make up for the absence of our 
 dear Old Granny; every one was conscious of a 
 gap, of a void — the car of the Tarasque was not 
 there. Smothered rancor woke up again at the 
 thought of the dastardly shot discharged in the 
 far Pacific ; as we passed before Tartarin's house 
 the mutter of resentment might have been heard 
 in the ranks. As at this moment Costecalde's 
 ill-conditioned gang tried to work up the crowd, 
 the Marquis des Espazettes, who was dressed as 
 a Templar, turned round on his horse — " Quiet 
 there, you know, gentlemen !" He had quite 
 the grand air, and the disorder was instantly 
 checked. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 341 
 
 The tramontana was blowinor and there was 
 
 O 
 
 unmistakable snow in it, as Dourladoure and I 
 were cruelly conscious in our picturesque hab- 
 its. We had borrowed our dresses — of the pe- 
 riod of Charles VI. — from the opera-troupe that 
 happens to be here now ; and seated, each of us, 
 on the battlements of a tower (for our chariot, 
 drawn by six white oxen, was supposed to rep- 
 resent King Rene's casde, in wood and paint- 
 ed pasteboard), we were pierced through and 
 through by the rascally blast, so that the verses 
 we recited to our big lyres chattered as much 
 as the speakers. Dourladoure remarked to me 
 that we were simply freezing. But we had to 
 
342 
 
 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 k''^ 
 
 freeze, we couldn't get down, for want of lad- 
 ders, those on which we had clambered up hav- 
 ing been inconsiderately removed. 
 
 On the Walk Round our sufferings were 
 more than we could bear ; and, to finish them 
 up, what did I do but bethink myself — oh, van- 
 ity of love! — to take a short-cut and pass di- 
 rectly in front of the residence of a certain 
 high-born family. 
 
 So behold us squeezed into the narrow streets 
 
 of that part, with only 
 
 ^^^ just room for 
 
 ~ , ' 'S Pli -ttfl ^^^^ wheels of 
 
 - 1 f the car. The 
 
 noble man- 
 sion was shut 
 up, dark and 
 dumb behind 
 the black stones 
 of its old walls, 
 with all its shut- 
 ters drawn, to show 
 how the aristocracy 
 sniffs at the pleas- 
 ures of the Rabble- 
 babble. 
 I repeated a few lines, 
 n my quavering voice, and 
 
 -^1 
 
 - I 
 
 MSiiili 
 
PORT TARASCON. 343 
 
 poked out my little bag to beg; but nothing 
 stirred — no one appeared. Then I ordered 
 the driver to move on. But it was impossible, 
 the car was stuck, wedged in — it was vain to 
 pull it from its front or to drag it from behind ; 
 it was simply held fast between the high walls. 
 Close to us, between the slits of the shutters, on 
 a level with our ears, we heard a smothered gig- 
 gle ; in the face of which we had to stay ridicu- 
 lously perched on our pasteboard turrets, numb 
 with cold in spite of our burning shame. 
 
 Decidedly, King Rene's castle didn't bring 
 me much luck. The oxen had to be taken out 
 and ladders to be brought to get us down — all 
 of which seemed interminable ! 
 
 October zSth. — What is it, then, what can it 
 be, the ache for orlorv.^* It is clear that when 
 once one has known it one can't live without it. 
 
 Last Sunday I called on Tartarin, and w^e 
 talked together in the garden, strolling along 
 the sanded paths. Over the wall the trees on 
 the Lons: Walk scattered their leaves down in 
 heaps, and as I noticed the melancholy in his 
 eyes, I tried to remind him of the glorious hours 
 of his life. But nothing could bring him round, 
 not even the various similitudes between his 
 career and Napoleon's. 
 
 " Oh, don't humbug me with your Napoleon ! 
 
344 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 When I fell into that the sun of the tropics had 
 muddled my brain. Don't ever talk of it again, 
 please : I shall be obliged to you." 
 
 I looked at him in stupefaction. 
 
 " Well, but my dear friend, the Commodore's 
 lady — " 
 
 " Leave me alone with your Commodore's 
 lady — the Commodore's lady was making a fool 
 of me !" 
 
 We took a few more steps in silence, while 
 an occasional cry from one of the little boot- 
 blacks (they were playing jack-stones on the 
 other side of the wall) mingled with the gusts 
 that whirled the dry leaves. Tartarin added, in 
 a moment : 
 
 " I see through it now ; the Tarasconians have 
 opened my eyes. It is as if I had been oper- 
 ated on for cataract," 
 
 He struck me as extraordinar3\ 
 
 Later, when I was going, he suddenly said, 
 as I pressed his hand : " Do you know, my dear 
 child, I'm going to have a sale ? I've lost my 
 suit against Scrapouchinat, and the other one 
 against Madame Bravida as well, for all the dia- 
 lectics of Franquebalme. The fellow builds too 
 big; it tumbles down on top of you, and buries 
 you beneath its weight." 
 
 Ever so timidly I offered him my little sav- 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 345 
 
 ines. I would have orjven them to him with all 
 my heart, but Tartarin wouldn't listen to it. 
 
 " Thank you, my child ; I dare say my arms, 
 my curiosities, my rare plants, will bring in 
 enough. If it's not enough I'll sell the house. 
 After that we shall see. Farewell, dear child : 
 these things are nothing!" 
 
 Dear me, what philosophy ! 
 
 October J 1st. — To-day I've had a great sor- 
 row. I was in the shop, serving Madame Tru- 
 phenus with a remedy for her baby, who has 
 measles, when a creak of wheels on the bit of a 
 square made me raise my head. I had recog- 
 
346 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 nized the sound of the springs of the great 
 coach of the old Dowager of Aigueboulide. The 
 old woman was inside, with her stuffed parrot 
 beside her, and opposite sat my Clorinda, with 
 another person whom I couldn't see very well, 
 as the sun was in my eyes — a person in a blue 
 uniform and an embroidered military cap. 
 
 "Who in the world is with those ladies?" 
 
 " Why, the dowager's grandson, Vicomte 
 Charlexis d'Aigueboulide, an officer in the light 
 cavalry. Didn't you know that Miss Clorinda 
 and he are to be ' married together ' this very 
 next month ?" 
 
 It gave me a blow. I must have looked like 
 a corpse. 
 
 After all, I had still had a hope. 
 
 " Oh, you know, it's quite one of your love- 
 matches," continued my clumsy customer. " But 
 do you know what we say ? — 
 
 " ' When you marry to your taste, 
 
 Your nights and days you're sure to waste.' " 
 
 Lackaday! that's the way I should have liked 
 to marry. 
 
 November ^th. — Yesterday poor Tartarin's auc- 
 tion came off. I was not there, but Franque- 
 balme came to the shop in the evening and told 
 me all about it. 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 347 
 
 Ko'^^V 
 
 -^?^ 
 
 It seems to have been heart-rendino;. The 
 sale hasn't brought a penny. It took place out- 
 side, before the door, according to our old cus- 
 tom. Literally, not a penny, and yet there were 
 a lot of people. The arms of all countries— the 
 poisoned arrows, the assegais, the yataghans, the 
 
348 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 revolvers, the Winchester, the thirty-two shoot- 
 er — not a single sou did they fetch. The same 
 with the splendid lion-skins of the Atlas ; the 
 same with the great alpenstock, his glorious 
 staff of the Jungfrau; there was only here and 
 there a preposterous bid for these curiosities, 
 these treasures — the real museum of our city. 
 Yes, faith is dead. 
 
 And then the baobab in its little pot — the 
 wondrous exotic that for thirty years has been 
 the admiration of the country! When it was 
 placed on the table, when the auctioneer de- 
 scribed it as ''Arbos ^ioantea — whole villao-es 
 are often covered by its shade " — it seems there 
 was a universal guffaw. 
 
 Tartarin heard this profane mirth from the 
 other side of the wall — he was taking a turn or 
 two in his little garden with a couple of friends. 
 He said to them, without bitterness : 
 
 " They, too, our good Tarasconians, have been 
 through the operation for cataract. Yes, now 
 tliey can see ; but they're cruel." 
 
 The saddest thing of all is that the sale is far 
 from having produced enough to clear off his 
 debts. He has been obliged to dispose of his 
 house to the Espazettes, who mean to give it to 
 their young couple. 
 
 And lie, the poor great man, what will become 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 349 
 
 of him ? Will he cross the Bridge, as has been 
 vaguely stated ? Will he take refuge at Beau- 
 caire with his old friend Bompard ? 
 
 While Franquebalme, standing in the middle 
 of the shop, dwelt on this dismal episode, Bezu- 
 quet, in the background, just peeping, with his 
 ineffaceable blazonry, through a gap in the door, 
 tossed us, with the laugh of a Papuan fiend, a 
 "Serves him right! serves him right!" as if it 
 were Tartarin himself who had tattooed him ! 
 
 November jth. — It is to-morrow, Sunday, that 
 my kind master is to leave the city and cross 
 the Bridge! Can it be possible? Is Tartarin 
 of Tarascon to become Tartarin of Beaucaire ? 
 Just see what a difference, if only to the ear! 
 And then the Bridge, the terrible Bridge to 
 cross. I know very well that Tartarin has run 
 other risks, and surmounted other obstacles ; 
 but, all the same, those are things that you say 
 in anger — you don't really do them. I can't 
 believe it yet. 
 
 Sunday, December loth. — Seven o'clock in the 
 evening. I've come in quite prostrate — I've 
 hardly strength to jot down these words. 
 
 It's done ; he's gone ; he has crossed the 
 Bridge ! 
 
 Three or four of us had agreed to meet at his 
 house ; there were Tournatoire and Franque- 
 
350 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 balme and Beaumevieille, and we were over- 
 taken on the way by Malbos, one of the veter- 
 ans of the militia. 
 
 My heart sank dreadfully at the sight of the 
 wretched bare walls and the ravaged garden ; 
 but Tartarin didn't even look round him. 
 
 That's the good side of our Tarasconian nat- 
 ure — our incurable mobility. It helps us to be 
 less sad than other races. 
 
 He gave the keys to Franquebalme. 
 
 " You will hand them to the Marquis des Es- 
 
 pazettes. I bear him no grudge for not having 
 
 come ; it's quite natural. As Bravida used to 
 
 say: 
 
 " ' The love of the great 
 
 Is brittle friendship. 
 
 As soon as they've done with us 
 
 They turn their backs.' " 
 
 Turning to me, he added, " You know some- 
 thing about that, dear child." 
 
 This allusion to Clorinda touched me. To 
 think oi me in such a peck of troubles ! 
 
 When once we had got out on the Long 
 Walk we found it was blowing fearfully. Each 
 of us thought to himself, " Mercy on us ! look 
 out for the Bridge presently." 
 
 Tartarin didn't seem to be looking out for it 
 at all. The mistral had blown every one out 
 
PORT TARASCON. 35 1 
 
 of the streets ; we met nothing but the garrison 
 band coming back from the Esplanade, the sol- 
 diers, bothered with their instruments, holding 
 fast with the other hand their capes, that were 
 flapping and flying away. 
 
 Tartarin talked slowly, strolling between us 
 as if he were taking the air. He talked about 
 himself. 
 
 " You see, the trouble with me has been that 
 I have had, in an extraordinary degree, the af- 
 fection we all have. I've fed myself too much 
 on i^eorardeller 
 
 At Tarascon we call regardelle everything 
 that tempts desire, everything we long for and 
 yet can't put our hand upon. It is the food of 
 the dreamer — of imaginative people. And Tar- 
 tarin told the truth — nobody has eaten more 
 regardelle than he. 
 
 As I was carrying my hero's valise and band- 
 box, as well as his overcoat, I walked a little 
 behind and didn't catch everything. Some of 
 his words were blown away in the wind — it 
 blew ever so much stronger as we approached 
 the Rhone. I gathered that he was saying he 
 bore nobody a grudge, talking of his career with 
 genial philosophy. 
 
 " That ragamuffin of a Daudet has said some- 
 where that I'm Don Quixote in the skin of 
 
352 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 Sancho Panza. Well, I suppose it's true. This 
 type of the fat Don Quixote, the Don Quixote 
 comfortably potted in his flesh, and always fall- 
 ing below his dream, is rather frequent at Ta- 
 rascon and its neighborhood." 
 
 A little farther, down a side street, we saw 
 capering along a back that we recognized. It 
 was Escourbanies, crying, "A lot of noise ! let's 
 make a lot of noise ! long life to Costecalde !" 
 as he passed the shop-front of the armorer, 
 who, as it happens, was this morning appointed 
 a municipal councillor. 
 
 " I've not the slightest feeling even against 
 hhn',' said Tartarin. "And yet such a fellow as 
 that represents the most horrible side of our 
 Tarasconian South. I don't speak of his ever- 
 lasting chatter, though he really chatters more 
 than is necessary, but of that dreadful desire to 
 please, to be amiable, which makes him do the 
 vilest and most abject things. He's with Coste- 
 calde to throw me into the Rhone. He would 
 be with me, if any good were to be got by it, 
 to do the same for Costecalde. But except for 
 that, my children, we are not so bad; it's a nice 
 little race, without which, long ago, our poor 
 old France would have died of pedantry and 
 ennui^ 
 
 We had reached the river. Before us hung 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 353 
 
 a wild sunset, a few clouds high in the air. The 
 wind seemed to have fallen a little, but all the 
 same the Bridge was not tempting. We stopped 
 at this end of it; he didn't ask us to go farther. 
 
 " Well, then, my dears, farewell!" 
 
 He embraced us all, beginning with Beaume- 
 vieille, as the oldest, and ending with me. I 
 was wet, I was perfectly dripping with tears, 
 
 V^-] 
 
354 ■ PORT TARASCON. 
 
 which I couldn't wipe, encumbered as I was 
 with his portmanteau and overcoat, so that I 
 may say the great man Hterally drank them up. 
 
 Deeply moved himself, he took over his prop- 
 erty, the bandbox in one hand, the great-coat 
 over the arm, the valise in the other hand. At 
 last Tournatoire said to him: 
 
 " Above all, Tartarin, take good care of your- 
 self — you know the climate over there, the mor- 
 tality at Beaucaire! A little garlic broth — 
 don't forget that!" 
 
 Our friend replied, with a wink: 
 
 "Don't be afraid; you know the old woman's 
 account of herself, ' the farther she went the 
 more she learned, and the less she wanted to 
 die.' I shall be like the old woman." 
 
 We saw him pass from us under the cables, 
 a little heavy but with a good step. The Bridge 
 was lurching horribly. Two or three times he 
 stopped to catch his hat, which was blowing 
 away, and we cried to him from the distance, 
 but without budging : 
 
 " Farewell, Tartarin — farewell !" 
 
 He never turned round. He answered noth- 
 ing ; his feelings were too much for him. He 
 only joggled his bandbox up and down behind 
 him as a response. 
 
 Three months later, one Sunday evening. — I've 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 155 
 
 opened my Memorial again after a long inter- 
 val — this old green diary that I mean to leave 
 to my children, if I ever have any, worn at the 
 corners, begun five thousand leagues from home, 
 the companion of my vicissitudes at sea, in pris- 
 on, everywhere. There's a little room in it still, 
 of which I take advantage to enter a report that 
 has been in circulation since this mornino- — the 
 
 o 
 
 rumor that Tartarin has ceased to be! 
 
 For three months we have had no ne\\s of 
 him. I have known that he had settled at 
 Beaucaire, in company with Bompard, whom 
 he has been helping to superintend the Fair- 
 
356 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 o:roimds and watch over the Castle. Such oc- 
 
 cupations come back, after all, to the old regar- 
 
 delle. I have pined for my kind master so often 
 
 that I have had twenty minds to go and see 
 
 him, but I have always been kept 
 
 back by that fiend of a Bridge. 
 
 One day, looking over 
 
 towards the Castle of Beau- 
 
 caire, it seemed 
 
 to me that I 
 
 saw somebody 
 
 perched upon 
 
 it with an 
 
 opera-glass 
 
 directed this 
 
 way. The figure - 7^/ looked as if 
 
 it might be |i| Bompard. He 
 
 disappeared, • ^' Ait went back in- 
 
 i 1 ' 1 
 to the tower, and f I - JBI^ presently re- 
 
 turned with a .^^SBB^ companion, a 
 very stout party, j^^,,,, who had a 
 
 lookofTartarin. This compan- 
 
 ion also took the glass, but lowered it presently 
 to wave his arms as a sort of sign ; the thing, 
 however, was so far off and slight and sketchy 
 that I was not quite so much excited by it as I 
 ought to have been. 
 
 This morning when I got up I felt awfully 
 
PORT TARASCON. 
 
 157 
 
 uneasy, but without knowing why. I went out 
 to the barber's, as I do every Sunday, and was 
 struck with the curious, muffled, sallow sky, one 
 of those thick, dead skies that make the trees 
 
 X^^'i 
 
 and branches, the pavements and houses, so 
 strangely distinct. When I reached the bar- 
 ber's — I always go to Marc Aurele — I called his 
 attention to it. 
 
358 PORT TARASCON. 
 
 " What a funny sun ! It doesn't warm, It 
 doesn't light! Is there an ecHpse coming off?" 
 
 " Why, don't you know about it, Monsieur 
 Pascalon ? They've been expecting one since 
 the beginning of the month." 
 
 And at the moment he had got hold of my 
 nose, and had his razor just under it. 
 
 "And the news — I suppose you know the 
 news, eh ? It appears our great man is no 
 longer of this world." 
 
 " What great man .?" 
 
 When he named Tartarin I only wanted a 
 little of making him cut my throat. 
 
 " That's what it is to leave home ! Without 
 Tarascon he couldn't live." 
 
 My friend Marcus Aurelius didn't know he 
 was so near the truth. 
 
 Without Tarascon and without glory it was 
 very certain Tartarin couldn't live. 
 
 My kind old master — my dear great friend ! 
 
 The coincidence is awfully striking — an 
 eclipse the day of his death ! 
 
 What a funny people we are, after all ! I'll 
 bet anything that there's not a creature in town 
 who isn't saddened by the news, which, however, 
 won't prevent every one from trying to look as 
 much as possible as if he didn't mind it. 
 
 All this because, ever since we made such 
 fools of ourselves out there, showing ourselves 
 
PORT TARASCON. 359 
 
 SO hoaxing and so hoaxed, we have all wanted to 
 take the other line and appear to have learned, 
 once for all, the lesson of steadiness and sobriety. 
 
 The truth is, how^ever, that we've not learned 
 any lesson at all; only now instead of saying too 
 much about anything we say too little — we lie 
 by understatement. 
 
 We no longer say that yesterday, in our old 
 arena, there were at least fifty thousand people; 
 we say it's putting it strong to call them, at the 
 very most half a dozen. 
 
 It's only another kind exaggeration ! 
 
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