s of Provence, no bigger than the Butte
Montmartre will seem to you gigantic. The Maison Carree at Nimes, a
pretty little Roman temple, will seem to you as big as Notre Dame. You
will see that the only liar in the Midi, if there is one, is the sun;
everything that he touches he exaggerates. Can you be surprised that
this sun shining down on Tarascon has been able to make a retired
Captain Quartermaster into the gallant Commandant Bravida, to make a
thing like a turnip into a baobab and a man who almost went to Shanghai
into one who has really been there.

Chapter 7.

Now that we have shown Tartarin as he was in his private life, before
fame had crowned his head with laurels. Now that we have recounted the
story of his heroic existance in modest surroundings, the story of his
joys and sorrows, his dreams and his hopes, let us hurry forward to the
important pages of his history and to the event which lent wings to his
destiny.

It was one evening at Costecalde the gunsmith's; Tartarin was explaining
to some listeners the working of a pin-fire rifle, then something quite
new, when suddenly the door was opened and a hat hunter rushed into
the room in a great state shouting "A lion! a lion!" General amazement,
fright, tumult and confusion. Tartarin grabbed a bayonet, Costecalde ran
to close the door. The newcomer was surrounded and questioned nosily.
What they learned was that the Menagerie Mitaine, returning from the
fair at Beaucaire, had arranged to make a stop of several days at
Tarascon, and had just set itself up in the Place du Chateau with a
collection of snakes, seals, crocodiles, and a magnificent African
lion.... An African lion at Tarascon!... such a thing had never been seen
before, never in living memory.

The brave band of hat hunters gazed proudly at one another. Their manly
features glowed with pleasure and, in every corner of the shop, firm
handshakes were silently exchanged. The emotion was so overwhelming, so
unforseen that no one could find a word to say. Not even Tartarin. Pale
and trembling, with the new rifle clutched in his hands, he stood in a
trance at the shop counter. A lion!... an African lion!... nearby... a few
paces away... A lion, the ferocious king of the beasts... the quarry of
his dreams... one of the leading actors in that imaginary cast which
played out such fine dramas in his fantasies. It was too much for
Tartarin to bear. Suddenly the blood flooded to his cheeks. His eyes