t mind turns at once away from the fact towards the trifles that
attend it. Thus costume is everywhere a primary concern. Tartarin cannot
land at Algiers to shoot lions unless he be dressed for the part in Arab
clothes, and he must carry three rifles, drag behind him a portable
camp, a pharmacy, a patent tent, patent compressed foods. Nothing is too
absurd for him: he has a 'Winchester rifle with thirty-two cartridges in
the magazine'; he does not shrink from _a rifle with a semicircular
barrel for shooting round the corner_. To climb the Righi (instead of
using the funicular) he must wear a jersey, ice-shoes, snow goggles.
Everywhere he plays a part and plays it in costume. Nor is Tartarin
alone in this; the Tarasconnais emulate their chief: Major Bravida dons
black when he calls to compel Tartarin 'to redeem his honour' and sail
for Algiers; when Port Tarascon, the frantic colony, is formed, costumes
are designed for grandees, for the militia, for the bureaucrats.
Appearances alone matter: Tarascon is not content with the French flag,
but spread-eagles across it a fantastic local animal, _La Tarasque_, of
mythical origin.

Life in Tarascon is too easy: Tartarin helps it on with a war-whoop. He
creates adventure. Thus in 1870 he organises against the Germans the
defence of the town; mines are laid under the marketplace, the _Cafe
de la Comedie_ is turned into a redoubt, volunteers drill in the street.
Of course there is no fighting, the Germans do not come, nor do the
prudent Tarasconnais attempt to seek them out, but in its imagination
the town has been heroic. It is heroic again when it defends against the
Government the monks of Pamperigouste: the convent becomes a fortress,
but there is no fighting; when the supplies give out the heroic
defenders march out with their weapons and their banners, in their
crusaders' uniforms. The town believes. It believes anything and
anybody. Because a rogue calls himself a prince, Tartarin entrusts him
with his money and is deserted in the Sahara; because another calls
himself a duke, thousands of Tarasconnais follow Tartarin to a
non-existent colony bought by them from the pseudo-duke. Whether the
matter be general or personal Tartarin believes. He falls in love with
a Moorish girl, and innocently allows himself to be persuaded that a
substitute is the beauty whom he glimpsed through the yashmak.

Tartarin believes because he is together romantic, sentimental, and
mildly sensual: