He had not always lived at Tarascon. When he was a boy he had been full of ambition. He would make his fortune and have a merry time of it. He had wandered far and wide in his own country, seeking fortune and experience. And he had found experience but not fortune. Among other adventures, he joined a band of athletes and used to perform in the streets of Paris, in tights, with two other youths and a girl in spangles. She was the daughter of the employer, his first love, "c'est à dire le premier amour sérieux. Ah! comme elle était belle!" But he had no luck; she loved another, "un animal de joueur sur le mandolin." And she would not look at Tartarin when the gay rival was present.
The rejected one wandered farther afield for fresh adventures; engaged himself with a travelling theatrical company, first in the capacity of scene-shifter, but later he was offered a temporary post as walking-gentleman, and probably he would have gone far in the profession but for another amorous complication. The leading-lady had pleased his fancy and appeared to reciprocate his sentiments. But one day, in the side-scenes, he discovered her in a non-professional love episode with the permanent villain, and after a painful interview, during which he and the villain came to blows, Tartarin resolved to leave the perfidious one and the troupe, and throw up such chances as might there offer themselves. Dispirited and disillusioned, he returned to his native town, where he engaged himself to Bottin and earned his little crust of bread in peace, if not too gaily. He had given up all idea of marriage, not because he was indifferent to les femmes, "au contraire," but he did not care to ask a woman to share so poor a life. "Je suis mieux seul." As it was, he had not to reproach himself for bringing another into the struggle of life.
"Et quelque fois on va au marché et on achette des enfants," he added fantastically, "et alors, que voulez-vous?" After that the deluge, he seemed to imply.
"Je gagne 40 francs," he said, "avec le logement."
"Par semaine?"
"Et mon Dieu non: si c'etait par semaine!" He raised his eyes to heaven as if he had a vision of beatitude. "Non, par mois."
That and a few tips given him by his clients was all he had to live upon.
But that did not trouble him, in itself. His fear was of losing his health and not being able to work. But he put away black thoughts, and turned his mind to the good that he possessed. After all, he had his health and his livelihood, so where was the profit of thinking of a possible time when he might lose both? Would that help him? He had suffered when he was young and full of ambition; mon Dieu, he had always desired something he did not possess, and if after great efforts he acquired what he wanted, always the desire ceased and there was some new thing that made him restless.
"A quoi bon se tourmenter toujours de cette façon?"
And so he came to see that all his happiness, if ever he was to enjoy any, was stored in his own consciousness, and that nothing from without would avail him, though it were riches and honours without end.