CERTAINLY a great wilderness1, bristling2 with odd plants of that Oriental kind which look like wicked creatures. Under the feeble starlight their magnified shadows barred the ground in every way. On the right loomed4 up confusedly the heavy mass of a mountain — perhaps the Atlas6 range. On the heart-hand, the invisible sea hollowly rolling. The very spot to attract wild beasts.
With one gun laid before him and the other in his grasp, Tartarin of Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good couple, and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his books, the great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having a lamb or a kid along with them, which they tied up a space before them, and set bleating7 or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string. Not having any goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an imitation, and he set to crying in a tremulous voice:
“Baa-a-a!”
At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa-ed more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many times running at the top of his voice, till the “Baa, baa, baa!” came out with so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a bull.
Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing appeared. He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed8 the ground, bounded up, rolled over, and darted9 off at the gallop10, but returned and stopped short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for now its four short legs could plainly be seen, its formidable mane and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom.
Up went his gun into position. Fire’s the word! and bang, bang! it was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing of the hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian’s shot a terrible roaring replied.
“He’s got it!” cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his sturdy supporters, he prepared to receive the brute’s charge.
But it had more than its fill, and galloped11 off; howling. He did not budge12, for he expected to see the female mate appear, as the story-books always lay it down she should.
Unhappily, no female came. After two or three hours’ waiting the Tarasconian grew tired. The ground was damp, the night was getting cool, and the sea-breeze pricked13 sharply.
“I have a good mind to take a nap till daylight,” he said to himself.
To avoid catching14 rheumatism15, he had recourse to his patent tent. But here’s where Old Nick interfered16! This tent was of so very ingenious a construction that he could not manage to open it. In vain did he toil17 over it and perspire18 an hour through — the confounded apparatus19 would not come unfolded. There are some umbrellas which amuse themselves under torrential rains with just such tricks upon you. Fairly tired out with the struggle, the victim dashed down the machine and lay upon it, swearing like the regular Southron he was. “Tar3, tar, rar, tar! tar, rar, tar!”
“What on earth’s that?” wondered Tartarin, suddenly aroused.
It was the bugles20 of the Chasseurs d’Afrique sounding the turn-out in the Mustapha barracks. The stupefied lion-slayer rubbed his eyes, for he had believed himself out in the boundless21 wilderness; and do you know where he really was? — in a field of artichokes, between a cabbage-garden and a patch of beets22. His Sahara grew kitchen vegetables.
Close to him, on the pretty verdant23 slope of Upper Mustapha, the snowy villas24 glowed in the rosy25 rising sun: anybody would believe himself in the neighbourhood of Marseilles, amongst its bastides and bastidons.
The commonplace and kitchen-gardenish aspect of this sleep-steeped country much astonished the poor man, and put him in bad humour.
“These folk are crazy,” he reasoned, “to plant artichokes in the prowling-ground of lions; for, in short, I have not been dreaming. Lions have come here, and there’s the proof.”
What he called the proof was blood-spots left behind the beast in its flight. Bending over this ruddy trail with his eye on the lookout26 and his revolver in his fist, the valiant27 Tarasconian went from artichoke to artichoke up to a little field of oats. In the trampled28 grass was a pool of blood, and in the midst of the pool, lying on its flank, with a large wound in the head, was a — guess what?
“A lion, of course!”
Not a bit of it! An ass5! — one of those little donkeys so common in Algeria, where they are called bourriquots.
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1
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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4
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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5
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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6
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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7
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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8
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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9
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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10
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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11
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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12
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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13
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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14
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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16
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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17
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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perspire
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| vi.出汗，流汗 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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20
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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21
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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22
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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23
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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24
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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25
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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26
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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27
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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28
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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