Singular effects of Mental Mirage.
CONFINING his remarks to the sentence last recorded, Tartarin had unfortunately still said overmuch.
On the morrow, there was nothing talked about through town but the near-at-hand departure of Tartarin for Algeria and lion-hunting.
You are all witness, dear readers, that the honest fellow had not breathed a word on that head; but, you know, the mirage had its usual effect.In brief, all Tarascon spoke of nothing but the departure.
On the Old Walk, at the club, in Costecalde's, friends accosted one another with a startled aspect:
"And furthermore, you know the news, at least? ""And furthermore, rather? Tartarin's setting out, at least?"For at Tarascon all phrases begin with "and furthermore," and conclude with "at least," with a strong local accent Hence, on this occasion more than upon others, these peculiarities rang out till the windows shivered.
The most surprised of men in the town on hearing that Tartarin was going away to Africa, was Tartarin himself, But only see what vanity is! Instead of plumply answering that he was not going at all, and had not even had the intention, poor Tartarin, on the first of them mentioning the journey to him, observed with a neat little evasive air, "Aha! maybe I shall -- but I do not say as much." The second time; a trifle more familiarised with the idea, he replied, "Very likely;" and the third time, "It's certain."Finally, in the evening, at Costecalde's and the club, carried away by the egg-nogg, cheers, and illumination; intoxicated by the impression that bare announcement of his departure had made on the town, the hapless fellow formally declared that he was sick of banging away at caps, and that he would shortly be on the trail of the great lions of the Atlas.A deafening hurrah greeted this assertion.Whereupon more egg-nogg, bravoes, handshaking, slappings of the shoulder, and a torchlight serenade up to midnight before Baobab Villa.
It was Sancho-Tartarin who was anything but delighted.This idea of travel in Africa and lion-hunting made him shudder before-hand;and when the house was re-entered, and whilst the complimentary concert was sounding under the windows, be bad a dreadful "row"with Quixote-Tartarin, calling him a cracked head, a visionary, imprudent, and thrice an idiot, and detailing by the card all the catastrophes awaiting him on such an expedition -- shipwreck, rheumatism, yellow fever, dysentery, the black plague, elephantiasis, and the rest of them.
In vain did Quixote-Tartarin vow that he had not committed any imprudence -- that he would wrap himself up well, and take even superfluous necessaries with him.Sancho-Tartarin would listen to nothing.The poor craven saw himself already torn to tatters by the lions, or engulfed in the desert sands like his late royal highness Cambyses, and the other Tartarin only managed to appease him a little by explaining that the start was not immediate, as nothing pressed.
It is clear enough, indeed, that none embark on such an enterprise without some preparations.A man is bound to know whither he goes, hang it all! and not fly off like a bird.Before anything else, the Tarasconian wanted to peruse the accounts of great African tourists, the narrations of Mungo Park, Du Chaillu, Dr.
Livingstone, Stanley, and so on.
In them, he learnt that these daring explorers, before donning their sandals for distant excursions, hardened themselves well beforehand to support hunger and thirst, forced marches, and all kinds of privation.Tartarin meant to act like they did, and from that day forward he lived upon water broth alone.The water broth of Tarascon is a few slices of bread drowned in hot water, with a clove of garlic, a pinch of thyme, and a sprig of laurel.Strict diet, at which you may believe poor Sancho made a wry face.
To the regimen of water broth Tartarin of Tarascon joined other wise practices.To break himself into the habit of long marches, he constrained himself to go round the town seven or eight times consecutively every morning, either at the fast walk or run, his elbows well set against his body, and a couple of white pebbles in the mouth, according to the antique usage.
To get inured to fog, dew, and night coolness, be would go down into his garden every dusk, and stop out there till ten or eleven, alone with his gun, on the lookout, behind the baobab.
Finally, so long as Mitaine's wild beast show tarried in Tarascon, the cap-poppers who were belated at Costecalde's might spy in the shadow of the booth, as they crossed the Castle-green, a mysterious figure stalking up and down.It was Tartarin of Tarascon, habituating himself to hear without emotion the roarings of the lion in the sombre night.
