Anyone who has not heard this has heard nothing. For my part, if I live to be a hundred, I shall always recall the great Tartarin approaching the piano with solemn steps, leaning his elbow upon it, making his grimace and in the greenish light reflected from the chemist’s jars, trying to give his homely face the savage and satanic expression of Robert le Diable. As soon as he had taken up his position, a quiver of expectation ran through the gathering. One felt that something great was about to happen. After a moment of silence, madame Bezuquet the elder, accompanying herself on the piano, began: “Robert, thou whom I adore And in whom I trust, You see my fear (twice) Have mercy on yourself And mercy on me.” She added, sotto voce, “Its you now Tartarin.” Then Tartarin, with arm extended, clenched fist and quivering nostrils, said three times in a formidable voice which rolled like a clap of thunder in the entrails of the piano “Non! Non! Non!” Which as a good southerner he pronounced “Nan. Nan. Nan” Upon which madame Bezuquet repeated “Mercy on yourself and on me” “Nan! Nan! Nan!” Bellowed Tartarin even more loudly... and the matter ended there.... It was not very long, but it was so well presented, so well acted, so diabolic that a frisson ran round the pharmacy and he was made to repeat his “Nan. Nan. Nan.” four or five times. Afterwards Tartarin wiped his forehead, smiled at the ladies, winked at the men and went off triumphantly to the club, where, with a casual air, he would say, “I’ve just come from the Bezuquets. They had me singing in the duet from Robert le Diable.” What is more he believed it. Chapter 3. It was to the possession of these various talents that Tartarin owed his high standing in the town. There were, however, other ways in which he had made his mark on society. In Tarascon the army supported Tartarin. The gallant Commandant Bravida (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.