The next day it was charming, that trip on foot from Interlaken to Grindelwald, where they were, in passing, to take guides for the Little Scheideck; charming, that triumphal march of the P. C. A., restored to his trappings and mountain habiliments, leaning on one side on the lean little shoulder of Commander Bravida, and on the other, the robust1 arm of Excourbaniès, proud, both of them, to be nearest to him, to support their dear president, to carry his ice-axe, his knapsack, his alpenstock, while sometimes before, sometimes behind or on their flanks the fanatical Pascalon gambolled2 like a puppy, his banner duly rolled up into a package to avoid the tumultuous scenes of the night before.
The gayety of his companions, the sense of duty accomplished3, the Jungfrau all white upon the sky, over there, like a vapour — nothing short of all this could have made the hero forget what he left behind him, for ever and ever it may be, and without farewell. However, at the last houses of Interlaken his eyelids4 swelled5 and, still walking on, he poured out his feelings in turn into the bosom6 of Excourban?ès: “Listen, Spiridion,” or that of Bravida: “You know me, Placide . . . ” For, by an irony7 on nature, that indomitable warrior8 was called Placide, and that rough buffalo9, with all his instincts material, Spiridion.
Unhappily, the Tarasconese race, more gallant10 than sentimental11, never takes its love-affairs very seriously. “Whoso loses a woman and ten sous, is to be pitied about the money . . . ” replied the sententious Placide to Tartarin’s tale, and Spiridion thought exactly like him. As for the innocent Pascalon, he was horribly afraid of women, and reddened to the ears when the name of the Little Scheideck was uttered before him, thinking some lady of flimsy morals was referred to. The poor lover was therefore reduced to keep his confidences to himself, and console himself alone — which, after all, is the surest way.
But what grief could have resisted the attractions of the way through that narrow, deep and sombre valley, where they walked on the banks of a winding12 river all white with foam13, rumbling14 with an echo like thunder among the pine-woods which skirted both its shores.
The Tarasconese delegation15, their heads in the air, advanced with a sort of religious awe16 and admiration17, like the comrades of Sinbad the Sailor when they stood before the mangoes, the cotton-trees, and all the giant flora18 of the Indian coasts. Knowing nothing but their own little bald and stony19 mountains they had never imagined there could be so many trees together or such tall ones.
“That is nothing, as yet . . . wait till you see the Jungfrau,” said the P. C. A., who enjoyed their amazement20 and felt himself magnified in their eyes.
At the same time, as if to brighten the scene and humanize its solemn note, cavalcades21 went by them, great landaus going at full speed, with veils floating from the doorways22 where curious heads leaned out to look at the delegation pressing round its president. From point to point along the roadside were booths spread with knick-knacks of carved wood, while young girls, stiff in their laced bodices, their striped skirts and broad-brimmed straw hats, were offering bunches of strawberries and edelweiss. Occasionally, an Alpine23 horn sent among the mountains its melancholy24 ritornello, swelling25, echoing from gorge26 to gorge, and slowly diminishing, like a cloud that dissolves into vapour.
“‘T is fine, ‘t is like an organ,” murmured Pascalon, his eyes moist, in ecstasy27, like the stained-glass saint of a church window. Excourbaniès roared, undiscouraged, and the echoes repeated, till sight and sound were lost, his Tarasconese intonations28: “Ha! ha! ha! fen29 dé brut!“
But people grow weary after marching for two hours through the same sort of decorative30 scene, however well it may be organized, green on blue, glaciers31 in the distance, and all things sonorous32 as a musical clock. The dash of the torrents33, the singers in triplets, the sellers of carved objects, the little flower-girls, soon became intolerable to our friends — above all, the dampness, the steam rising in this species of tunnel, the soaked soil full of water-plants, where never had the sun penetrated34.
“It is enough to give one a pleurisy,” said Bravida, turning up the collar of his coat. Then weariness set in, hunger, ill-humour. They could find no inn; and presently Excourbaniès and Bravida, having stuffed themselves with strawberries, began to suffer cruelly. Pascalon himself, that angel, bearing not only the banner, but the ice-axe, the knapsack, the alpenstock, of which the others had rid themselves basely upon him, even Pascalon had lost his gayety and ceased his lively gambolling36.
At a turn of the road, after they had just crossed the Lutschine by one of those covered bridges that are found in regions of deep snow, a loud blast on a horn greeted them.
“Ah! va?, enough!.. enough!” howled the exasperated37 delegation.
The man, a giant, ensconced by the roadside, let go an enormous trumpet38 of pine wood reaching to the ground and ending there in a percussion-box, which gave to this prehistoric39 instrument the sonorousness40 of a piece of artillery41.
“Ask him if he knows of an inn,” said the president to Excourbaniès, who, with enormous cheek and a small pocket dictionary undertook, now that they were in German Switzerland, to serve the delegation as interpreter. But before he could pull out his dictionary the man replied in very good French:
“An inn, messieurs? Why certainly . . . The ‘Faithful Chamois’ is close by; allow me to show you the place.”
On the way, he told them he had lived in Paris for several years, as commissionnaire at the corner of the rue35 Vivienne.
“Another employé of the Company, parbleu!“ thought Tartarin, leaving his friends to be surprised. However, Bompard’s comrade was very useful, for, in spite of its French sign, Le Chamois Fidèle the people of the “Faithful Chamois” could speak nothing but a horrible German patois42.
Presently, the Tarasconese delegation, seated around an enormous potato omelet, recovered both the health and the good-humour as essential to Southerners as the sun of their skies. They drank deep, they ate solidly. After many toasts to the president and his coming ascension, Tartarin, who had puzzled over the tavern-sign ever since his arrival, inquired of the horn-player, who was breaking a crust in a corner of the room:
“So you have chamois here, it seems?.. I thought there were none left in Switzerland.”
The man winked43:
“There are not many, but enough to let you see them now and then.”
“Shoot them, is what he wants, vé“ said Pas-calon, full of enthusiasm; “never did the president miss a shot!”
Tartarin regretted that he had not brought his carbine.
“Wait a minute, and I ‘ll speak to the landlord.”
It so happened that the landlord was an old chamois hunter; he offered his gun, his powder, his buck-shot, and even himself as guide to a haunt he knew.
“Forward, zou!“ cried Tartarin, granting to his happy Alpinists the opportunity to show off the prowess of their chief. It was only a slight delay, after all; the Jungfrau lost nothing by waiting.
Leaving the inn at the back, they had only to walk through an orchard44, no bigger than the garden of a station-master, before they found themselves on a mountain, gashed45 with great crevasses46, among the fir-trees and underbrush.
The innkeeper took the advance, and the Taras-conese presently saw him far up the height, waving his arms and throwing stones, no doubt to rouse the chamois. They rejoined him with much pain and difficulty over that rocky slope, hard especially to persons who had just been eating and were as little used to climbing as these good Alpinists of Tarascon. The air was heavy, moreover, with a tempest breath that was slowly rolling the clouds along the summits above their heads.
“Boufre!“ groaned47 Bravida.
Excourbaniès growled48: ”Outre!“
“What shall I be made to say!” added the gentle, bleating49 Pascalon.
But the guide having, by a violent gesture, ordered them to hold their tongues, and not to stir, Tartarin remarked, “Never speak under arms,” with a sternness that rebuked50 every one, although the president alone had a weapon. They stood stock still, holding their breaths. Suddenly, Pas-calon cried out:
“Vé the chamois, vé..”
About three hundred feet above them, the upright horns, the light buff coat and the four feet gathered together of the pretty creature stood defined like a carved image at the edge of the rock, looking at them fearlessly. Tartarin brought his piece to his shoulder methodically, as his habit was, and was just about to fire when the chamois disappeared.
“It is your fault,” said the Commander to Pascalon . . . “you whistled . . . and that frightened him.”
“I whistled!.. I?”
“Then it was Spiridion . . . ”
“Ah, va?! never in my life.”
Nevertheless, they had all heard a whistle, strident, prolonged. The president settled the question by relating how the chamois, at the approach of enemies, gives a sharp danger signal through the nostrils51. That devil of a Tartarin knew everything about this kind of hunt, as about all others!
At the call of their guide they started again; but the acclivity became steeper and steeper, the rocks more ragged52, with bogs53 between them to right and left. Tartarin kept the lead, turning constantly to help the delegates, holding out his hand or his carbine: “Your hand, your hand, if you don’t mind,” cried honest Bravida, who was very much afraid of loaded weapons.
Another sign of the guide, another stop of the delegation, their noses in the air.
“I felt a drop!” murmured the Commander, very uneasy. At the same instant the thunder growled, but louder than the thunder roared the voice of Excourbaniès: “Fire, Tartarin!” and the chamois bounded past them, crossing the ravine like a golden flash, too quickly for Tartarin to take aim, but not so fast that they did not hear that whistle of his nostrils.
“I ‘ll have him yet, coquin de sort!“ cried the president, but the delegates protested. Excourbaniès, becoming suddenly very sour, demanded if he had sworn to exterminate54 them.
“Dear ma-a-aster,” bleated55 Pascalon, timidly, “I have heard say that chamois if you corner them in abysses turn at bay against the hunter and are very dangerous.”
“Then don’t let us corner him!” said Bravida hastily.
Tartarin called them milksops. But while they were arguing, suddenly, abruptly56, they all disappeared from one another’s gaze in a warm thick vapour that smelt57 of sulphur, through which they sought each other, calling:
“Hey! Tartarin.”
“Are you there, Placide?”
“Ma-a-as-ter!”
“Keep cool! Keep cool!”
A regular panic. Then a gust58 of wind broke through the mist and whirled it away like a torn veil clinging to the briers, through which a zigzag59 flash of lightning fell at their feet with a frightful60 clap of thunder. “My cap!” cried Spiridion, as the tempest bared his head, its hairs erect61 and crackling with electric sparks. They were in the very heart of the storm, the forge itself of Vulcan. Bravida was the first to fly, at full speed, the rest of the delegation flew behind him, when a cry from the president, who thought of everything, stopped them:
“Thunder!.. beware of the thunder!..”
At any rate, outside of the very real danger of which he warned them, there was no possibility of running on those steep and gullied slopes, now transformed into torrents, into cascades62, by the pouring rain. The return was awful, by slow steps under that crazy cliff, amid the sharp, short flashes of lightning followed by explosions, slipping, falling, and forced at times to halt. Pascalon crossed himself and invoked63 aloud, as at Tarascon: “Sainte Marthe and Sainte Hélène, Sainte Marie-Madeleine,” while Excourbaniès swore: ”Coquin de sort!“ and Bravida, the rearguard, looked back in trepidation64:
“What the devil is that behind us?.. It is galloping65 . . . it is whistling . . . there, it has stopped . . . ”
The idea of a furious chamois flinging itself upon its hunters was in the mind of the old warrior. In a low voice, in order not to alarm the others, he communicated his fears to Tartarin, who bravely took his place as the rearguard and marched along, soaked to the skin, his head high, with that mute determination which is given by the imminence66 of danger. But when he reached the inn and saw his dear Alpinists under shelter, drying their wet things, which smoked around a huge porcelain67 stove in a first floor chamber68, to which rose an odour of grog already ordered, the president shivered and said, looking very pale: “I believe I have taken cold.”
“Taken cold!” No question now of starting again; the delegation asked only for rest Quick, a bed was warmed, they hurried the hot wine grog, and after his second glass the president felt throughout his comfort-loving body a warmth, a tingling69 that augured70 well. Two pillows at his back, a ”plumeau“ on his feet, his muffler round his head, he experienced a delightful71 sense of well-being72 in listening to the roaring of the storm, inhaling73 that good pine odour of the rustic74 little room with its wooden walls and leaden panes75, and in looking at his dear Alpinists, gathered, glass in hand, around his bed in the anomalous76 character given to their Gallic, Roman or Saracenic types by the counterpanes, curtains, and carpets in which they were bundled while their own clothes steamed before the stove. Forgetful of himself, he questioned each of them in a sympathetic voice:
“Are you well, Placide?.. Spiridion, you seemed to be suffering just now?..”
No, Spiridion suffered no longer, all that had passed away on seeing the president so ill. Bravida, who adapted moral truths to the proverbs of his nation, added cynically77: ”Neighbour’s ill comforts, and even cures.” Then they talked of their hunt, exciting one another with the recollection of certain dangerous episodes, such as the moment when the animal turned upon them furiously; and without complicity of lying, in fact, most ingenuously78, they fabricated the fable79 they afterwards related on their return to Tarascon.
Suddenly, Pascalon, who had been sent in search of another supply of grog, reappeared in terror, one arm out of the blue-flowered curtain that he gathered about him with the chaste80 gesture of a Polyeucte. He was more than a second before he could articulate, in a whisper, breathlessly: “The chamois!..”
“Well, what of the chamois?..”
“He’s down there, in the kitchen . . . warming himself . . . ”
“Ah! va? . . . ”
“You are joking . . . ”
“Suppose you go and see, Placide.”
Bravida hesitated. Excourbaniès descended81 on the tips of his toes, but returned almost immediately, his face convulsed . . . More and more astounding82!.. the chamois was drinking grog.
They certainly owed it to him, poor beast, after the wild run he had been made to take on the mountain, dispatched and recalled by his master, who, as a usual thing, put him through his evolutions in the house, to show to tourists how easily a chamois could be trained.
“It is overwhelming!” said Bravida, making no further effort at comprehension; as for Tartarin, he dragged the muffler over his eyes like a nightcap to hide from the delegates the soft hilarity83 that overcame him at encountering wherever he went the dodges84 and the performers of Bompard’s Switzerland.
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1
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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4
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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5
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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cavalcades
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| n.骑马队伍，车队( cavalcade的名词复数 ) | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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27
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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28
intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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29
fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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32
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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33
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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gambolling
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的现在分词 ) | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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sonorousness
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| n.圆润低沉；感人；堂皇；响亮 | |
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41
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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43
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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44
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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45
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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47
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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48
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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49
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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50
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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52
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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53
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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54
exterminate
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| v.扑灭，消灭，根绝 | |
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55
bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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56
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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57
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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58
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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59
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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61
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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cascades
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| 倾泻( cascade的名词复数 )； 小瀑布（尤指一连串瀑布中的一支）； 瀑布状物； 倾泻（或涌出）的东西 | |
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invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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64
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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66
imminence
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| n.急迫，危急 | |
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67
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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68
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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69
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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70
augured
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| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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71
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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72
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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73
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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74
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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76
anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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80
chaste
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| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
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81
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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82
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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83
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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84
dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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