neutralise
"The willing suspension of disbelief" I have therefore decided to
eliminate it from this version of the story. It is not very amusing and
is no great loss.

Although Daudet's humour is in the main kindly, he does not spare the
French colonial administration of the time. His treatment of the subject
is acidly satirical. It may be said that Daudet seems to know little
about firearms, less about lions and nothing about camels, but he is not
striving for verisimilitude. After all, the adventures of James Bond do
not mirror the reality of international espionage, nor do the exploits
of Bertie Wooster and Jeeves truely reflect life in the upper echelons
of British society.

This is not a schoolroom exercise in translation. It might be more
accurately described as a version in English. I have not tampered with
the story line nor made any changes in the events related, but where
I thought it necessary I have not shrunk from altering the words and
phrases used in the original to describe them. All translation must be
a matter of paraphrase. What sounds well in one language may sound
ridiculous if translated literally into another, and it is for the
translator to judge how far this process of paraphrase may be carried.

I have attempted to produce a text which will entertain the average
reader. Those who want to know exactly what Daudet wrote must consult
the French original.

TARTARIN DE TARASCON

Chapter 1.

Although it is now some twelve or fifteen years since my first meeting
with Tartarin de Tarascon, the memory of the encounter remains as fresh
as if it had been yesterday.

At that time Tartarin lived near the entrance to the town, in the third
house on the left on the Avignon road, a pretty little Tarascon villa,
with a garden in front, a balcony behind, very white walls and green
shutters.

From outside the place looked perfectly ordinary, one would never have
believed that it was the home of a hero, but when one went inside,
well... My goodness! The whole establishment had an heroic air, even the
garden!

Ah...! The Garden... there was not another like it in Europe. Not one
indigenous tree grew there, not one French flower; nothing but exotic
plants, gum trees, calabashes, cotton trees, coconut palms, mangos,
bananas, cactuses, figs and a baobab. One might have thought oneself in
the middle of Africa, thousands of miles from Tarascon. Of course none
of these trees was fully grown, the