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Tartarin of Tarascon, a novel by Alphonse Daudet |
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Chapter 7 |
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_ Now that we have shown Tartarin as he was in his private life, before fame had crowned his head with laurels. Now that we have recounted the story of his heroic existance in modest surroundings, the story of his joys and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurry forward to the important pages of his history and to the event which lent wings to his destiny. It was one evening at Costecalde the gunsmith's; Tartarin was explaining to some listeners the working of a pin-fire rifle, then something quite new, when suddenly the door was opened and a hat hunter rushed into the room in a great state shouting "A lion! a lion!" General amazement, fright, tumult and confusion. Tartarin grabbed a bayonet, Costecalde ran to close the door. The newcomer was surrounded and questioned nosily. What they learned was that the Menagerie Mitaine, returning from the fair at Beaucaire, had arranged to make a stop of several days at Tarascon, and had just set itself up in the Place du Chateau with a collection of snakes, seals, crocodiles, and a magnificent African lion.... An African lion at Tarascon!... such a thing had never been seen before, never in living memory. The brave band of hat hunters gazed proudly at one another. Their manly features glowed with pleasure and, in every corner of the shop, firm handshakes were silently exchanged. The emotion was so overwhelming, so unforseen that no one could find a word to say. Not even Tartarin. Pale and trembling, with the new rifle clutched in his hands, he stood in a trance at the shop counter. A lion!... an African lion!... nearby... a few paces away... A lion, the ferocious king of the beasts... the quarry of his dreams... one of the leading actors in that imaginary cast which played out such fine dramas in his fantasies. It was too much for Tartarin to bear. Suddenly the blood flooded to his cheeks. His eyes blazed, and with a convulsive gesture he slapped the rifle onto his shoulder, then turning to the brave Commandant Bravida (quartermaster. Ret) he said in a voice of thunder, "Come, Commandant, let us go and see this." "Excuse me. Excuse me. My new rifle." The prudent Costecalde hazarded timidly, but Tartarin was already in the street, and behind him all the hat hunters fell proudly into step. When they arrived at the menagerie it was already crowded. The brave people of Tarascon, too long deprived of sensational spectacles, had descended on the place and taken it by storm. The big madame Mitaine was in her element; dressed in an oriental costume, her arms bare to the elbows and with iron bracelets round her ankles, she had a whip in one hand and in the other a live chicken. She welcomed the Tarasconais to the show, and as she too had "Double muscles" she aroused almost as much interest as the animals in her charge. The arrival of Tartarin with the rifle on his shoulder produced something of a chill, all the bold Tarasconais who had been walking tranquilly before the cages, unarmed, trusting, with no notion of danger, became suddenly alarmed at the sight of the great Tartarin entering the place, carrying this lethal weapon. There must be something to fear if he, their hero.... In the blink of an eye the area in front of the cages was deserted, children were crying with fright and the ladies were eying the doorway. Bezuquet the chemist left hurridly, saying that he was going to fetch a gun. Little by little, however, the attitude of Tartarin restored their courage. Calm and erect, the intrepid Tarasconais strolled round the menagerie. He passed the seals without stopping. He cast a contemptuous eye on the container full of noise, where the boa was swallowing its chicken, and at last halted in front of the lion's cage.... A dramatic confrontation.... The lion of Tarascon and the lion of the Atlas mountains face to face. On one side stood Tartarin, his legs planted firmly apart, his arms resting on his rifle, on the other was the lion, a gigantic lion, sprawling in the straw, blinking its eyes drowsily and resting its enormous yellow-haired muzzle on its front paws... they regarded one another calmly... then something odd happened. Perhaps it was the sight of the rifle, perhaps it recognised an enemy of its kind, but the lion which up until then had looked on the people of Tarascon with sovereign disdain, yawning in their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger. First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head, shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most ear-splitting roar. This was greeted by a cry of terror. Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the doors. Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the brave Commandant Bravida himself. Only Tartarin did not move... he remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes, and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well. After a few moments, the hat shooters, somewhat reassured by his attitude and the solidity of the cage bars, rejoined their chief, to hear him mutter "Now that is something worth hunting." And that was all that he said. _ |
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