rum, a turkish tobacco pouch, The voyages of Captain Cook, stories
of adventure, treatises on falconry, descriptions of big-game hunts
etc... and finally seated at the table was the man himself. Forty
to forty-five years of age, short, fat, stocky and ruddy, clad in
shirt-sleeves and flannel trousers, with a close-clipped wiry beard
and a flamboyant eye. In one hand he held a book and with the other he
brandished an enormous pipe, its bowl covered by a metal cap; and as
he read some stirring tale of the pursuit of hairy creatures, he made,
pushing out his lower lip, a fierce grimace which gave his features,
those of a comfortable Tarascon "Rentier", the same air of hearty
ferocity which was evident throughout the whole house. This man was
Tartarin... Tartarin de Tarascon... the intrepid, great and incomparable
Tartarin de Tarascon.

At that time Tartarin was not the Tartarin which he is today, the great
Tartarin de Tarascon who is so popular throughout the Midi of France,
however, even at this epoch, he was already the king of Tarascon.

Let us examine how he acquired his crown. You will be aware, for a
start, that everyone in these parts is a hunter. From the highest to the
lowest hunting is a passion with the Tarasconais and has been ever since
the legendary Tarasque prowled in the marshes near the town and was
hunted down by the citizens.

Now, every Sunday morning, the men of Tarascon take up arms and leave
town, bag on back and gun on shoulder, with an excited collection of
dogs, with ferrets, with trumpets and hunting horns, it is a splendid
spectacle.... Sadly, however, there is a shortage of game... in fact
there is a total absence of game.... Animals may be dumb but they are
not stupid, so for miles around Tarascon the burrows are empty and the