tartarin of tarascon-第18节

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Profiting　by　a　jam　of　vehicles；　he　turned　off　into　the　fields　and　jumped　into　a　ditch。　In　a　minute　or　so　he　saw　over　his　head　on　the　highway　the　camel　flying　off　with　long　strides　and　stretching　his　neck　with　a　wistful　air。

Relieved　of　a　great　weight　thereby；　the　hero　sneaked　out　of　his　covert；　and　entered　the　town　anew　by　a　circuitous　path　which　skirted　the　wall　of　his　own　little　garden。



VII。　Catastrophes　upon　Catastrophes。


ENTIRELY　astonished　was　Tartarin　before　his　Moorish　dwelling　when　he　stopped。

Day　was　dying　and　the　street　deserted。　Through　the　low　pointed…　arch　doorway　which　the　negress　had　forgotten　to　close；　laughter　was　heard；　and　the　clink　of　wine…glasses；　the　popping　of　champagne　corks；　and；　floating　over　all　the　jolly　uproar；　a　feminine　voice　singing　clearly　and　joyously：

〃Do　you　like；　Marco　la　Bella；　To　dance　in　the　ball　hung　with　bloom？〃

〃Throne　of　heaven！〃　ejaculated　the　Tarasconian；　turning　pale；　as　he　rushed　into　the　enclosure。

Hapless　Tartarin！　what　a　sight　awaited　him！　Beneath　the　arches　of　the　little　cloister；　amongst　bottles；　pastry；　scattered　cushions；　pipes；　tambourines；　and　guitars；　Baya　was　singing　〃Marco　la　Bella〃　with　a　ship　captain's　cap　over　one　ear。　She　had　on　no　blue　vest　or　bodice；　indeed；　her　only　wear　was　a　silvery　gauze　wrapper　and　full　pink　trousers。　At　her　feet；　on　a　rug；　surfeited　with　love　and　sweetmeats；　Barbassou；　the　infamous　skipper　Barbassou；　was　bursting　with　laughter　at　hearing　her。

The　apparition　of　Tartarin；　haggard；　thinned；　dusty；　his　flaming　eyes；　and　the　bristling　up　fez　tassel；　sharply　interrupted　this　tender　Turkish…Marseillais　orgie。　　Baya　piped　the　low　whine　of　a　frightened　leveret；　and　ran　for　safety　into　the　house。　　But　Barbassou　did　not　wince；　he　only　laughed　the　louder；　saying：

〃Ha；　ha；　Monsieur　Tartarin　！　What　do　you　say　to　that　now？　　You　see　she　does　know　French。〃

Tartarin　of　Tarascon　advanced　furiously；　crying：

〃Captain！〃

〃Digo…li　que　vengue；　moun　bon！　　Tell　him　what's　happened；　old　dear！〃　screamed　the　Moorish　woman；　leaning　over　the　first　floor　gallery　with　a　pretty　low…bred　gesture！

The　poor　man；　overwhelmed；　let　himself　collapse　upon　a　drum。　His　genuine　Moorish　beauty　not　only　knew　French；　but　the　French　of　Marseilles！

〃I　told　you　not　to　trust　the　Algerian　girls；〃　observed　Captain　Barbassou　sententiously！　〃They're　as　tricky　as　your　Montenegrin　prince。〃

Tartarin　lifted　his　head

〃Do　you　know　where　the　prince　is？〃

〃Oh；　he's　not　far　off。　　He　has　gone　to　live　five　years　in　the　handsome　prison　of　Mustapha。　　The　rogue　let　himself　be　caught　with　his　hand　in　the　pocket。　　Anyways；　this　is　not　the　first　time　he　has　been　clapped　into　the　calaboose。　　His　Highness　has　already　done　three　years　somewhere；　and　　stop　a　bit　！　　I　believe　it　was　at　Tarascon。〃

〃At　Tarascon！〃　cried　out　her　worthiest　son；　abruptly　enlightened。　〃That's　how　he　only　knew　one　part　of　the　Town。〃

〃Hey？　　Of　course。　　Tarascon　　a　jail　bird's…eye　view　from　the　state　prison。　　I　tell　you；　my　poor　Monsieur　Tartarin；　you　have　to　keep　your　peepers　jolly　well　skinned　in　this　deuce　of　a　country；　or　be　exposed　to　very　disagreeable　things。　　For　a　sample；　there's　the　muezzin's　game　with　you。〃

〃What　game？　　Which　muezzin？〃

〃Why　your'n；　of　course！　The　chap　across　the　way　who　is　making　up　to　Baya。　　That　newspaper；　the　Akbar；　told　the　yarn　t'other　day；　and　all　Algiers　is　laughing　over　it　even　now。　　It　is　so　funny　for　that　steeplejack　up　aloft　in　his　crow's…nest　to　make　declarations　of　love　under　your　very　nose　to　the　little　beauty　whilst　singing　out　his　prayers；　and　making　appointments　with　her　between　bits　of　the　Koran。〃

〃Why；　then；　they're　all　scamps　in　this　country！〃　howled　the　unlucky　Tarasconian。

Barbassou　snapped　his　fingers　like　a　philosopher。

〃My　dear　lad；　you　know；　these　new　countries　are　'rum！'　But；　anyhow；　if　you'll　believe　me；　you'd　best　cut　back　to　Tarascon　at　full　speed。〃

〃It's　easy　to　say；　'Cut　back。'　Where's　the　money　to　come　　from？　Don't　you　know　that　I　was　plucked　out　there　　in　　the　desert？〃

〃What　does　that　matter？〃　said　the　captain　merrily。　〃The　Zouave　sails　tomorrow；　and　if　　you　like　I　will　take　you　home。　Does　that　suit　you；　mate？　Ay？　Then　all　goes　well。　You　have　only　one　thing　to　do。　There　are　some　bottles　of　fizz　left；　and　half　the　pie。　Sit　you　down　and　pitch　in　without　any　grudge。〃

After　the　minute's　wavering　which　self…respect　commanded；　the　Tarasconian　chose　his　course　manfully。　　Down　he　sat；　and　they　touched　glasses。　　Baya；　gliding　down　at　that　chink；　sang　the　finale　of　〃Marco　la　Bella；〃　and　the　jollification　was　prolonged　deep　into　the　night。

About　3　A。M。；　with　a　light　head　but　a　heavy　foot；　our　good　Tarasconian　was　returning　from　seeing　his　friend　the　captain　off　when；　in　passing　the　mosque；　the　remembrance　of　his　muezzin　and　his　practical　jokes　made　him　laugh；　and　instantly　a　capital　idea　of　revenge　flitted　through　his　brain。

The　door　was　open。　He　entered；　threaded　long　corridors　hung　with　mats；　mounted　and　kept　on　mounting　till　he　finally　found　himself　in　a　little　oratory；　where　an　openwork　iron　lantern　swung　from　the　ceiling；　and　embroidered　an　odd　pattern　in　shadows　upon　the　blanched　walls。

There　sat　the　crier　on　a　divan；　in　his　large　turban　and　white　pelisse；　with　his　Mostaganam　pipe；　and　a　bumper　of　absinthe　before　him；　which　he　whipped　up　in　the　orthodox　manner；　whilst　awaiting　the　hour　to　call　true　believers　to　prayer。　　At　view　of　Tartarin；　he　dropped　his　pipe　in　terror。

〃Not　a　word；　knave！〃　said　the　Tarasconian；　full　of　his　project。　〃Quick！　Off　with　turban　and　coat！〃

The　Turkish　priest…crier　tremblingly　handed　over　his　outer　garments；　as　he　would　have　done　with　anything　else。　　Tartarin　donned　them；　and　gravely　stepped　out　upon　the　minaret　platform。

In　the　distance　the　sea　shone。　　The　white　roofs　glittered　in　the　moonbeams。　　On　the　sea　breeze　was　heard　the　strumming　of　a　few　belated　guitars。　　The　Tarasconian　muezzin　gathered　himself　up　for　the　effort　during　a　space；　and　then；　raising　his　arms；　he　set　to　chanting　in　a　very　shrill　voice：

〃La　Allah　il　Allah！　Mahomet　is　an　old　humbug！　The　Orient；　the　Koran；　bashaws；　lions；　Moorish　beauties　　they　are　all　not　worth　a　fly's　skip！　　There　is　nothing　left　but　gammoners。　　Long　live　Tarascon！〃

Whilst　the　illustrious　Tartarin；　in　his　queer　jumbling　of　Arabic　and　Provencal；　flung　his　mirthful　maledictions　to　the　four　quarters；　sea；　town；　plain　and　mountain；　the　clear；　solemn　voices　of　the　other　muezzins　answered　him；　taking　up　the　strain　from　minaret　to　minaret；　and　the　believers　of　the　upper　town　devoutly　beat　their　bosoms。


VIII。　Tarascon　again！


MID…DAY　has　come。

The　Zouave　had　her　steam　up；　ready　to　go。　　Upon　the　balcony　of　the　Valentin　Cafe；　high　above；　the　officers　were　levelling　telescopes；　and；　with　the　colonel　at　their　head；　looking　at　the　lucky　little　craft　that　was　going　back　to　France。　　This　is　the　main　distraction　of　the　staff。　　On　the　lower　level；　the　roads　glittered。　　The　old　Turkish　cannon　breaches；　stuck　up　along　the　waterside；　blazed　in　the　sun。　The　passengers　hurried；　Biskris　and　Mahonnais　piled　their　luggage　up　in　the　wherries。

Tartarin　of　Tarascon　had　no　luggage。　Here　he　comes　down　the　Rue　de　la　Marine　through　the　little　market；　full　of　bananas　and　melons；　accompanied　by　his　friend　Barbassou。　　The　hapless　Tarasconian　left　on　the　Moorish　strand　his　gun…cases　and　his　illusions；　and　now　he　had　to　sail　for　Tarascon　with　his　hands　in　his　otherwise　empty　pockets。　　He　had　barely　leaped　into　the　captain's　cutter　before　a　breathless　beast　slid　down　from　the　heights　of　the　square　and　galloped　towards　him。　　It　was　the　faithful　camel；　who　had　been　hunting　after　his　master　in　Algiers　during　the　last　four…and…twenty　hours。

On　seeing　him；　Tartarin　changed　countenance；　and　feigned　not　to　know　him；　but　the　camel　was　not　going　to　be　put　off。　　He　scampered　along　the　quay；　he　whinnied　for　his　friend；　and　regarded　him　with　affection。

〃Take　me　away；〃　his　sad　eyes　seemed　to　say；　〃take　me　away　in　your　ship；　far；　far　from　this　sham　Arabia；　this　ridiculous　Land　of　the　East；　full　of　locomotives　and　stage　coaches；　where　a　camel　is　so　sorely　out　of　keeping　that　I　do　not　know　what　will　become　of　me。　You　are　the　last　real　Turk；　and　I　am　the　last　camel。　　Do　not　let　us　part；　O　my　Tartarin！〃

〃Is　that　camel　yours？〃　the　captain　inquired。

〃Not　a　bit　of　it！〃　replied　Tartarin；　who　shuddered　at　the　idea　of　entering　Tarascon　with　that　ridiculous　escort；　and；　impudently　denying　the　companion　of　his　misfortunes；　he　spurned　the　Algerian　soil　with　his　foot；　and　gave　the　cutter　the　shoving…off　start。　　The　camel　sniffed　of　the　water；　extended　its　neck；　cracked　its　joints；　and；　jumping　in　behind　the　row…boat　at　haphazard；　he　swam　towards　the　Zouave　with　his　humpback　floating　like　a　bladder；　and　his　long　neck　projecting　over　the　wave　like　the　beak　of　a　galley。

Cutter　and　camel　came　alongside　the　mail　steamer　together。

〃This　dromedary　regularly　cuts　me　up；〃　observed　Captain　Barbassou；　quite　affected。　〃I　have　a　good　mind　to　take　him　aboard　and　make　a　present　of　him　to　the　Zoological　Gardens　at　Marseilles。〃

And　so　they　hauled　up　the　camel　with　many　blocks　and　tackles　upon　the　deck；　being　increased　in　weight　by　the　brine；　and　the　Zouave　started。

Ta