Tartarin was determined to get back to Algiers, even if it meantwalking. He longed to see once more Baia's blue corslet, his house, hisfountain and to rest on the white tiles of his his little cloister whilehe awaited money to be sent from France. In these circumstancesthe camel did not desert him. This strange animal had developed aninexplicable affection for its master, and seeing him set out fromOrleansville it followed him faithfully, regulating its pace to his andnot quitting him by as much as a footstep.
At first Tartarin found it touching. This fidelity, this unshakabledevotion seemed wholly admirable; besides which the beast was no troubleand was able to find its own food. However, after a few days Tartaringrew tired of having perpetually at his heels this melancholy companion,who reminded him of all his misadventures. He began to be irritated.He took a dislike to its air of sadness to its hump and its haughtybearing. In he end he became so exasperated with it that his only wishwas to be rid of it; but the camel would not be dismissed. Tartarintried to lose it, but the camel always found him. He tried runningaway, but the camel could run faster. He shouted "Clear off!" and threwstones: the camel stopped and regarded him with a mournful expression,then after a few moments it resumed its pace and caught up with him.Tartarin had to resign himself to its company.
When, after eight days of walking, Tartarin, tired and dusty, sawgleaming in the distance the white terraces of Algiers, when he foundhimself on the outskirts of the town, on the bustling Mustapha road,amid the crowds who watched him go by with the camel in attendance, hispatience snapped, and taking advantage of some traffic congestion heducked into a field and hid in a ditch. In a few moments he saw abovehis head, on the causeway, the camel striding along rapidly, its neckanxiously extended. Greatly relieved to be rid of it, Tartarin enteredthe town by a side road which ran along by the wall of his house.
On his arrival at his Moorish house, Tartarin halted in astonishment. Theday was ending, the streets deserted. Through the low arched doorway,which the negress had forgotten to close, could be heard laughter, theclinking of glasses, the popping of a champagne cork and the cheerfulvoice of a woman singing loud and clear:
"Aimes-tu Marco la belle,
"La danse aux salons en fleurs..."
"Tron de Diou!" Said Tartarin, blenching, and he rushed into thecourtyard.
Unhappy Tartarin! What a spectacle awaited him!.... Amid bottles,pastries, scattered cushions, tambourine, guitar, and hookah, Baiastood, without her blue jacket or her corslet, dressed only in a silvergauze blouse and big pink pantaloons, singing "Marco la belle" with anaval officer's hat tipped over one ear... while on a rug at herfeet surfeited with love and confitures, was Barbassou, the infamousBarbassou, roaring with laughter as he listened to her.
The arrival of Tartarin, haggard, thin, covered in dust, with blazingeyes and bristling chechia cut short this enjoyable Turco-Marseillaiseorgy. Baia uttered a little cry, and like a startled leveret she boltedinto the house, but Barbassou was not in the least put out and laughedmore than ever: "He!... He!... Monsieur Tartarin. What did I tell you? Youcan hear that she knows French all right."
Tartarin advanced, furious: "Captain!.." He began; but then, leaningover the balcony with a rather vulgar gesture, Baia threw down a fewwell-chosen words. Tartarin, deflated, sat down on a drum, his Moorspoke in the argot of the Marseilles back-streets.
"When I warned you not to trust Algerian women," Said Captain Barbassousententiously, "The same applied to your Montenegrin prince." Tartarinlooked up, "Do you know where the prince is?" he asked.
"Oh, he is not far away. He will spend the next five years in thefine prison at Mustapha. The clown was foolish enough to be caughtstealing... and anyway this is not the first time His Highness has beeninside, he has already done three years in gaol somewhere, and... hangon!... I believe it was in Tarascon!
"In Tarascon!" Cried Tartarin, suddenly enlightened, "that is why I neversaw him there. All he knew of Tarascon was what he could see from a cellwindow."
"He!... without a doubt.... Ah! My poor M. Tartarin, you have to keep botheyes wide open in this devilish country if you don't want to be takenin. Like that business of the Muezzin."
"What business?... What Muezzin?"
"Ti!... Pardi!" The Muezzin opposite, who was courting Baia; all Algiersknew about it. Not all the prayers he was chanting were addressedto Allah, some were directed to the little one, and he was makingpropositions under your nose. "It seems that everyone in this beastlycountry is a crook", Wailed the unhappy Tartarin. Barbassou shrugged hisshoulders, "My dear fellow, you know how it is. All these sort of placesare the same. If you take my advice you will go back to Tarascon asquickly as possible."
"That's easy to say, but what am I to do for money? Don't you know howthey robbed me out there in the desert?"
"Don't worry about that," laughed the Captain, "the Zouave is leavingtomorrow and I'll take you back if you want... does that suit you,colleague?... All right... Good! There's only one thing left to do, thereis still some champagne and some pastries left. Come, sit down and letbygones be bygones." After a little delay which his dignity required,our hero accepted the offer. They sat down and poured out a drink.Hearing the clink of glasses, Baia came down and finished singing Marcola Belle, and the party went on until late in the night.
Chapter 30.
It is mid-day. The Zouave has steam up and is ready to depart. Upabove on the balcony of the cafe Valentin, a group of officers aim thetelescope, and come one by one, in order of seniority, to look atthe lucky little ship which is going to France. It is the principleentertainment of the general staff. Down below, the water of theanchorage sparkles.... The breeches of the old Turkish cannons, mountedalong the quay, glisten in the sunshine.... Passengers arrive.... Baggageis loaded onto tenders.
Tartarin does not have any baggage. He comes down from the Rue dela Marine by the little market, full of bananas and water-melons,accompanied by his friend Captain Barbassou.
Tartarin de Tarascon has left on the Moorish shore his arms, hisequipment and his illusions, and is preparing to sail back to Tarasconwith nothing in his pockets but his hands. Scarcely, however, had he setfoot in the captain's launch, when a breathless creature scrambled downfrom the square above and galloped towards him. It was the camel, thefaithful camel, which for twenty-four hours had been searching for itsmaster.
When Tartarin saw it, he changed colour and pretended not to know it;but the camel was insistent. It frisked along the quay. It called to itsfriend and regarded him with tender looks. "Take me away!" Its sad eyesseemed to say, "Take me away with you, far away from this mock Arabia,this ridiculous Orient, full of locomotives and stage coaches, where Ias a second-class dromadary do not know what will become of me. You arethe last Teur, I am the last camel, let us never part, Oh my Tartarin!""Is that your camel?" Asked the Captain.
"No!... No!... Not mine." Replied Tartarin, who trembled at the thought ofentering Tarascon with this absurd escort; and shamelessly repudiatingthe companion of his misfortunes he repelled with his foot the soil ofAlgeria and pushed the boat out from the shore. The camel sniffed at thewater, flexed its joints and leapt headlong in behind the boat, where itswam in convoy toward the Zouave, its hump floating on the water like agourd and it neck lying on the surface like the ram of a trireme.
The boat and the camel came alongside the Zouave at the same time. "Idon't know what I should do about this dromadary." Said the captain, "Ithink I'll take it on board and present it to the zoo at Marseille, Ican't just leave it here." So by means of block and tackle the wet camelwas hoisted onto the deck of the Zouave, which then set sail.
Tartarin spent most of the time in his cabin. Not that the sea wasrough or that the chechia had to much to suffer, but because wheneverhe appeared on the deck the camel made such a ridiculous fuss of itsmaster. You never saw a camel so attached to anyone as this.
Hour by hour, when he looked through the porthole, Tartarin could seethe Algerian sky turn paler, until one morning, in a silvery mis
t, heheard to his delight the bells of Marseilles. The Zouave had arrived.
Our man, who had no baggage, disembarked without a word and hurriedacross Marseilles, fearing all the time that he might be followed bythe camel, and he did not breathe easily until he was seated in athird-class railway carriage, on his way to Tarascon... a false sense ofsecurity. They had not gone far from Marseilles when heads appeared atwindows and there were cries of astonishment, Tartarin looked out inturn and what did he see but the inescapable camel coming down the linebehind the train with a remarkable turn of speed.
Tartarin resumed his seat and closed his eyes. After this disastrousexpedition he had counted on getting back home unrecognised, but thepresence of this confounded camel made it impossible. What a returnto make, Bon Dieu!... No money... No lions... Nothing but a camel!...."Tarascon!... Tarascon!"... It was time to get out.
To Tartarin's utter astonishment, the heroic chechia had barelyappeared in the doorway, when it was greeted by a great cry of "ViveTartarin!... Vive Tartarin!" Which shook the glass vault of the stationroof. "Vive Tartarin!... Hurrah for the lion killer!" Then came fanfaresand a choir. Tartarin could have died, he thought this was a hoax: butno, all Tarascon was there, tossing their hats in the air and shoutinghis praises. There stood the brave Commandant Bravida, Costecalde thegunsmith, the President Ladeveze, the chemist and all the noble body ofhat shooters, who pressed round their chief and carried him all the waydown the steps.
How remarkable are the effects of the "mirage". The skin of the blindlion sent to the Commandant was the cause of all this tumult. At thesight of this modest trophy, displayed at the club, Tarascon and beyondTarascon the whole of the Midi had worked themselves into a state ofexcitement. "The Semaphore" had spoken. A complete scenario had beeninvented. This was no longer one lion killed by Tartarin, it was tenlions, twenty lions, a whole troop of lions. So Tartarin, when hereached Marseilles was already famous, and an enthusiastic telegram hadwarned his home town of his imminent arrival.
The excitement of the populace reached its peak when a fantastic animal,covered in dust and sweat, stumbled down the station steps behind ourhero. For a moment they thought that the Tarasque had returned.
Tartarin reassured his fellow citizens, "It is my camel" He said, andalready under the influence of the Tarascon sun, that fine sun whichinduces fanciful exaggeration, he stroked the camel's hump and added,"It is a noble creature, it saw me kill all my lions." So saying,he took the arm of the Commandant, who was blushing with pride, andfollowed by his camel, surrounded by hat shooters and acclaimed by thepeople, he proceeded peacefully toward the little house of the baobab;and as he walked along he began the story of his great expedition.
"There was one particular evening," He said, "When I was out in theheart of the Sahara..."
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