(Quartermaster. Ret) said of him "He's a stout fellow," and one may
suppose that having kitted out so many stout fellows in his time, he
knew what he was talking about.

The magistrature supported Tartarin. Two or three times, on a full
bench, the aged president Ladevèze had said of him "He's quite a
character".

Finally, the people supported Tartarin, his stolid appearance, the
heroic reputation he had somehow acquired, the distribution of small
sums of money and a few clips round the ear to the youngsters who hung
around his doorstep, had made him lord of the neighbourhood and king
of the Tarascon market-place. On the quay, on sunday evenings, when
Tartarin returned from the hunt, his hat dangling from the end of his
gun, the stevedores would nod to him respectfully and eying the arms
bulging the sleeves of his tightly buttoned jacket, would murmur to one
another, "He's strong he is. He's got double muscles." The possession of
double muscles is something you hear about only in Tarascon.

However, in spite of his numerous talents, double muscles, popular
favour and the so precious esteem of the gallant Commandant Bravida
(Quartermaster. Ret) Tartarin was not happy. This small-town life
weighed him down, stifled him. The great man of Tarascon was bored
with Tarascon. The fact is that for an heroic nature such as his, for a
daring and adventurous spirit which dreamt of battles, explorations, big
game hunting, desert sands, hurricanes and typhoons, to go every Sunday
hat shooting and for the rest of the time dispense justice at Costecalde
the gunsmith's was... well... hardly satisfying. It was enough indeed to
send one into a decline.