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 Château 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.