tartarin of tarascon-第9部分

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lying　on　its　flank；　with　a　large　wound　in　the　head；　was　a　　guess　what？

〃A　lion；　of　course　！〃

Not　a　bit　of　it！　An　ass！　　one　of　those　little　donkeys　so　common　in　Algeria；　where　they　are　called　bourriquots。



VI。　Arrival　of　the　Female　　A　Terrible　Combat　　〃Game　Fellows　Meet　Here！〃


LOOKING　on　his　hapless　victim；　Tartarin's　first　impulse　was　one　of　vexation。　There　is　such　a　wide　gap　between　a　lion　and　poor　Jack！　His　second　feeling　was　one　of　pity。　The　poor　bourriquot　was　so　pretty　and　looked　so　kindly。　　The　hide　on　his　still　warm　sides　heaved　and　fell　like　waves。　　Tartarin　knelt　down；　and　strove　with　the　end　of　his　Algerian　sash　to　stanch　the　blood；　and　all　you　can　imagine　in　the　way　of　touchingness　was　offered　by　the　picture　of　this　great　man　tending　this　little　ass。

At　the　touch　of　the　silky　cloth　the　donkey；　who　had　not　twopennyworth　of　life　in　him；　opened　his　large　grey　eye　and　winked　his　long　ears　two　or　three　times；　as　much　as　to　say；　〃Oh；　thank　you！〃　before　a　final　spasm　shook　it　from　head　to　tail；　whereafter　it　stirred　no　more。

〃Noiraud！　Blackey！〃　suddenly　screamed　a　voice；　choking　with　anguish；　as　the　branches　in　a　thicket　hard　by　moved　at　the　same　time。

Tartarin　had　no　more　than　enough　time　to　rise　and　stand　upon　guard。　This　was　the　female！

She　rushed　up；　fearsome　and　roaring；　under　form　of　an　old　Alsatian　woman；　her　hair　in　a　kerchief；　armed　with　large　red　umbrella；　and　calling　for　her　ass；　till　all　the　echoes　of　Mustapha　rang。　It　certainly　would　have　been　better　for　Tartarin　to　have　had　to　deal　with　a　lioness　in　fury　than　this　old　virago。　In　vain　did　the　luckless　sportsman　try　to　make　her　understand　how　the　blunder　had　occurred；　and　he　had　mistaken　〃Noiraud〃　for　a　lion。　　The　harridan　believed　he　was　making　fun　of　her；　and　uttering　energetical　〃Der　Teufels！〃　fell　upon　our　hero　to　bang　him　with　the　gingham。　　A　little　bewildered；　Tartarin　defended　himself　as　best　he　could；　warding　off　the　blows　with　his　rifle；　streaming　with　perspiration；　panting；　jumping　about；　and　crying　out：

〃But；　Madame；　but〃

Much　good　his　buts　were！　Madame　was　dull　of　hearing；　and　her　blows　continued　hard　as　ever。

Fortunately　a　third　party　arrived　on　the　battlefield；　the　Alsatian's　husband；　of　the　same　race；　a　roadside　innkeeper；　as　well　as　a　very　good　ready…reckoner；　which　was　better。　When　he　saw　what　kind　of　a　customer　he　had　to　deal　with　　a　slaughterer　who　only　wanted　to　pay　the　value　of　his　victim　　he　disarmed　his　better…half；　and　they　came　to　an　understanding。

Tartarin　gave　two　hundred　francs；　the　donkey　being　worth　about　ten　　at　least　that　is　the　current　price　in　the　Arab　markets。　Then　poor　Blackey　was；　laid　to　rest　at　the　root　of　a　fig…tree；　and　the　Alsatian；　raised　to　joviality　by　the　colour　of　the　Tarascon　ducats；　invited　the　hero　to　have　a　quencher　with　him　in　his　wine…shop；　which　stood　only　a　few　steps　off　on　the　edge　of　the　highway。　Every　Sunday　the　sportsmen　from　the　city　came　there　to　regale　of　a　morning；　for　the　plain　abounded　with　game；　and　there　was　no　better　place　for　rabbits　for　two　leagues　around。

〃How　about　lions？〃　inquired　Tartarin。

The　Alsatian　stared　at　him；　greatly　astounded。

〃Lions！〃

〃Yes；　lions。　　Don't　you　see　them　sometimes？〃　resumed　the　poor　fellow；　with　less　confidence。

The　Boniface　burst　out　in　laughter。

〃Ho；　ho！　bless　us！　lions！　What　would　we　do　with　lions　here　？〃

〃Are　there；　then；　none　in　Algeria？〃

〃'Pon　my　faith；　I　never　saw　any；　albeit　I　have　been　twenty　years；　in　the　colony。　Still；　I　believe　I　have　heard　tell　of　such　a　thing　　leastwise；　I　fancy　the　newspapers　said　　but　that　is　ever　so　much　farther　inland　　down　South；　you　know〃　

At　this　point　they　reached　the　hostelry；　a　suburban　pothouse；　with　a　withered　green　bough　over　the　door；　crossed　billiard…cues　painted　on　the　wall；　and　this　harmless　sign　over　a　picture　of　wild　rabbits；　feeding：

〃GAME　FELLOWS　MEET　HERE。〃

〃Game　fellows！〃　　It　made　Tartarin　think　of　Captain　Bravida。



VII。　　　About　an　Omnibus；　a　Moorish　Beauty；　and　a　Wreath　of　Jessamine。


COMMON　people　would　have　been　discouraged　by　such　a　first　adventure；　but　men　of　Tartarin's　mettle　do　not　easily　get　cast　down。

〃The　lions　are　in　the　South；　are　they？〃　mused　the　hero。　　〃Very　well；　then。　　South　I　go。〃

As　soon　as　he　had　swallowed　his　last　mouthful　he　jumped　up；　thanked　his　host；　nodded　good…bye　to　the　old　hag　without　any　ill…will；　dropped　a　final　tear　over　the　hapless　Blackey；　and　quickly　returned　to　Algiers；　with　the　firm　intention　of　packing　up　and　starting　that　very　day　for　the　South。

The　Mustapha　highroad　seemed；　unfortunately；　to　have　stretched　since　overnight；　and　what　a　sun　and　dust　there　were；　and　what　a　weight　in　that　shelter…tent！　Tartarin　did　not　feel　to　have　the　courage　to　walk　to　the　town；　and　he　beckoned　to　the　first　omnibus　coming　along；　and　climbed　in。

Oh；　our　poor　Tartarin　of　Tarascon！　how　much　better　it　would　have　been　for　his　name　and　fame　not　to　have　stepped　into　that　fatal　ark　on　wheels；　but　to　have　continued　on　his　road　afoot；　at　the　risk　of　falling　suffocated　beneath　the　burden　of　the　atmosphere；　the　tent；　and　his　heavy　double…barrelled　rifles。

When　Tartarin　got　in　the　'bus　was　full。　At　the　end；　with　his　nose　in　his　prayer…book；　sat　a　large　and　black…bearded　vicar　from　town；　facing　him　was　a　young　Moorish　merchant　smoking　coarse　cigarettes；　and　a　Maltese　sailor　and　four　or　five　Moorish　women　muffled　up　in　white　cloths；　so　that　only　their　eyes　could　be　spied。

These　ladies　had　been　to　offer　up　prayers　in　the　Abdel　Kader　cemetery；　but　this　funereal　visit　did　not　seem　to　have　much　saddened　them；　for　they　could　be　heard　chuckling　and　chattering　between　themselves　under　their　coverings　whilst　munching　pastry。　Tartarin　fancied　that　they　watched　him　narrowly。　One　in　particular；　seated　over　against　him；　had　fixed　her　eyes　upon　his；　and　never　took　them　off　all　the　drive。　　Although　the　dame　was　veiled；　the　liveliness　of　the　big　black　eyes；　lengthened　out　by　k'hol；　a　delightfully　slender　wrist　loaded　with　gold　bracelets；　of　which　a　glimpse　was　given　from　time　to　time　among　the　folds；　the　sound　of　her　voice；　the　graceful；　almost　childlike；　movements　of　the　head；　all　revealed　that　a　young；　pretty；　and　loveable　creature　bloomed　underneath　the　veil　The　unfortunate　Tartarin　did　not　know　where　to　shrink。　　The　fond；　mute　gaze　of　these　splendrous　Oriental　orbs　agitated　him；　perturbed　him；　and　made　him　feel　like　dying　with　flushes　of　heat　and　fits　of　cold　shivers。

To　finish　him；　the　lady's　slipper　meddled　in　the　onslaught：　he　felt　the　dainty　thing　wander　and　frisk　about　over　his　heavy　hunting　boots　like　a　tiny　red　mouse。　What　could　he　do？　Answer　the　glance　and　the　pressure；　of　course。　　Ay；　but　what　about　the　consequences？　A　loving　intrigue　in　the　East　is　a　terrible　matter！　With　his　romantic　southern　nature；　the　honest　Tarasconian　saw　himself　already　falling　into　the　grip　of　the　eunuchs；　to　be　decapitated；　or　better　　we　mean；　worse　　than　that；　sewn　up　in　a　leather　sack　and　sunk　in　the　sea　with　his　head　under　his　arm　beside　him。　　This　somewhat　cooled　him。　In　the　meantime　the　little　slipper　continued　its　proceedings；　and　the　eyes；　widely　open　opposite　him　like　twin　black　velvet　flowers；　seemed　to　say：

〃Come；　cull　us！〃

The　'bus　stopped　on　the　Theatre　place；　at　the　mouth　of　the　Rue　Bab…Azoon。　　One　by　one；　embedded　in　their　voluminous　trousers；　and　drawing　their　mufflers　around　them　with　wild　grace；　the　Moorish　women　alighted。　Tartarin's　confrontatress　was　the　last　to　rise；　and　in　doing　so　her　countenance　skimmed　so　closely　to　our　hero's　that　her　breath　enveloped　him　　a　veritable　nosegay　of　youth　and　freshness；　with　an　indescribable　after…tang　of　musk；　jessamine；　and　pastry。

The　Tarasconian　stood　out　no　longer。　Intoxicated　with　love；　and　ready　for　anything；　he　darted　out　after　the　beauty。　　At　the　rumpling　sound　of　his　belts　and　boots　she　turned；　laid　a　finger　on　her　veiled　mouth；　as　who　would　say；　〃　Hush！〃　and　with　the　other　hand　quickly　tossed　him　a　little　wreath　of。　sweet…scented　jessamine　flowers。　Tartarin　of　Tarascon　stooped　to　pick　it　up；　but　as　he　was　rather　clumsy；　and　much　overburdened　with　implements　of　war；　the　operation　took　rather　long。　　When　he　did　straighten　up；　with　the　jessamine　garland　upon　his　heart；　the　donatrix　had　vanished。



VIII。　Ye　Lions　of　the　Atlas；　repose　in　peace！


LIONS　of　the　Atlas；　sleep！　　sleep　tranquilly　at　the　back　of　your　lairs　amid　the　aloes　and　cacti。　　For　a　few　days　to　come；　any　way；　Tartarin　of　Tarascon　will　not　massacre　you。　For　the　time　being；　all　his　warlike　paraphernalia；　gun…cases；　medicine　chest；　alimentary　preserves；　dwelt　peacefully　under　cover　in　a　corner　of　room　36　in　the　Hotel　de　l'Europe。

Sleep　with　no　fear；　great　red　lions；　the　Tarasconian　is　engaged　in　looking　up　that　Moorish　charmer。　　Since　the　adventure　in　the　omnibus；　the　unfortunate　swain　perpetually　fancied　he　felt　the　fidgeting　of　that　pretty　red　mouse　upon　his　huge　backwoods　trapper's　foot；　and　the　sea…breeze　fanning　his　lips　was　ever　scented；　do　what　he　would；　with　a　love…exciting　odour　of　sweet　cakes　and　patchouli。

He　hungered　for　his　indispensable　light　of　the　harem！　and　he　meant　to　behold　her　anew。

But　it　was　no　joke　of　a　task。　　To　find　one　certain　person　in　a　city　of　a　hundred　thousand　souls；　only　known　by　the　eyes；　breath；　and　slipper；　　none　but　a　son　of　Tarascon；　panoplied　by　love；　would　be　capable　of　attempting　such　an　adventure。

The　plague　is　that；　under　their　broad　white　mufflers；　all　the　Moorish　women　resemble　one　another；　besides；　they　do　not　go　about　much；　and　to　see　them；　a　man　has　to　climb　up　into　the　native　or　upper　town；　the　city　of　the　〃Turks；〃　and　that　is　a　regular　cut…throat's　den。

Little　black　alleys；　very　narrow；　climbing　perpendicularly　up　between　mysterious　house…walls；　whose　roofs　lean　to　touching　and　form　a　tunnel；　low　doors；　and　sad；　silent　little　casements　well　barred　and　grated。　　Moreover；　on　both　hands；　stacks　of　darksome　stalls；　wherein　ferocious　〃Turks〃　smoked　long　pipes　stuck　between　glittering　teeth　in　piratical　heads　with　white　eyes；　and　mumbled　in　undertones　as　if　hatching　wicked　attacks。

To　say　that　Tartarin　traversed　this　grisly　place　without　any　emotion　would　be　putting　forth　falsehood。　　On　the　contrary；　he　was　much　affected；　and　the　stout　fellow　only