Arrived at the club the fearless Tarasconais waits a little longer, walking up and down in front of the door before entering.  In the end, tired of waiting for “them” and certain that they will not show themselves, he throws a last look of defiance into the dark and mutters crossly “Nothing... nothing... always nothing” With that our hero goes in to play bezique with the Commandant.

Chapter 5.

With this lust for adventure, this need for excitement, this longing for journeys to Lord knows where, how on earth, you may ask, does it happen that Tartarin had never left Tarascon?  For it is a fact that up to the age of forty-five the bold Tarasconais had never slept away from his home town.  He had never even made the ritual journey to Marseille which every good Provencal makes when he comes of age.  He might, of course, have visited Beaucaire, albeit Beaucaire is not very far from Tarascon, as one has only to cross the bridge over the Rhone.  Regrettably, however, this wretched bridge is so often swept by high winds, is so long and so flimsy and the river at that point is so wide that...  Ma foi... you will understand...!

At this point I think one has to admit that there were two sides to our hero’s character.  On the one hand was the spirit of Don Quixote, devoted to chivalry, to heroic ideals, to grandiose romantic folly, but lacking the body of the celebrated hidalgo, that thin, bony apology of a body, careless of material wants, capable of going for twenty nights without unbuckling its breastplate and surviving for twenty-four hours on a handful of rice.  Tartarin, on the other hand, had a good solid body, fat, heavy, sybaritic, soft and complaining, full of bourgeois appetites and domestic necessities, the short-legged, full-bellied body of Sancho Panza.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the same man!  You may imagine the arguments, the quarrels, the fights.  Carried away by some lurid tale of adventure, Tartarin-Quixote would clamour to be off to the fields of glory, to set sail for distant lands, but then Tartarin-Sancho ringing for the maid servant, would say “Jeanette, my chocolate.”  Upon which Jeanette would return with a fine cup of chocolate, hot, silky and scented, and some succulent grilled snacks, flavoured with anise; greatly pleasing Tartarin-Sancho and silencing the cries of Tartarin-Quixote.

That is how it happens that Tartarin de Tarascon had never left Tarascon.

Chapter 6.

There was one occasion when Tartarin nearly went on a long journey.  The three brothers Garcio-Camus, Tarasconais who were in business in Shanghai, offered him the management of one of their establishments.  Now this was the sort of life he needed.  Important transactions.  An office full of clerks to control.  Relations with Russia, Persia, Turkey.  In short, Big Business, which in Tartarin’s eyes was of enormous proportions.