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Updated: June 18, 2025
Outwardly the dwelling had no remarkable features, and none would ever believe it the abode of a hero; but when you stepped inside, ye gods and little fishes! what a change! From turret to foundation-stone I mean, from cellar to garret, the whole building wore a heroic front; even so the garden! O that garden of Tartarin's! there's not its match in Europe!
So it was one morning when some street urchins were chanting their jeers beneath the window of the room where our poor hero was trimming his beard. Suddenly the window was thrown open and Tartarin's head appeared, his face covered in soapsuds, waving a razor and shaving brush and shouting "Sword-thrusts, gentlemen, sword-thrusts, not pin-pricks!"
From artichoke to artichoke, from field to field, he followed the thin trail of blood, and came at length to a poor little donkey he had wounded! Tartarin's first feeling was one of vexation. There is such a difference between a lion and an ass, and the poor little creature looked so innocent.
Why so difficult a saddle Tartarin after Napoleon? Think Tartarin's end!" Gaston deprecated with a gesture: "Can I do anything for you, sir?" His uncle now stood up, but swayed a little, and winced from sudden pain. A wave of malice crossed his face. "It's a pity we are relatives, with France so near," he said, "for I see you love fighting."
You will remember how Tartarin's friend assured him that all Switzerland was one great Trust, intent upon attracting tourists and far too wise and kind to permit them to venture into real danger, that all the precipices were netted invisibly, and all the loose rocks guarded against falling, that avalanches were prearranged spectacles and the crevasses at their worst slippery ways down into kindly catchment bags.
Why so difficult a saddle Tartarin after Napoleon? Think Tartarin's end!" Gaston deprecated with a gesture: "Can I do anything for you, sir?" His uncle now stood up, but swayed a little, and winced from sudden pain. A wave of malice crossed his face. "It's a pity we are relatives, with France so near," he said, "for I see you love fighting."
JOYFUL would I be, my dear readers, if I were a painter a great artist, I mean in order to set under your eyes, at the head of this second episode, the various positions taken by Tartarin's red cap in the three days' passage it made on board of the Zouave, between France and Algeria.
As a result of so much talk about Tartarin's journey, people ended by believing that he had just returned, and in the evenings at the club the members would ask him for a description of the life in Shanghai, the customs, the climate, and big business.
Whilst sipping the rosy Crescia juice he patiently listened to Tartarin's expatiating on his lovely Moor, and he even promised to find her speedily, as he had full knowledge of the native ladies. They drank hard and lengthily in toasts to "The ladies of Algiers" and "The freedom of Montenegro!"
There must be something to fear when a hero like he was, came weaponed; so, in a twinkling, all the space along the cage fronts was cleared. The youngsters burst out squalling for fear, and the women looked round for the nearest way out. The chemist Bezuquet made off altogether, alleging that he was going home for his gun. Gradually, however, Tartarin's bearing restored courage.
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