The Dragon of Tarascon

In ancient times, on the very spot where King René later built his famous castle, there stood a massive rock whose base plunged into the deep waters of the Rhône. In this rock, right at the water's surface, gaped a wide crevice, and within that crevice lived a monster so terrifying and cruel that the local people lived in constant fear for their property and their lives.

No one could truthfully describe what it actually looked like, simply because anyone unfortunate enough to encounter it never returned home. From time to time, the monster would crawl out of its lair, climb ashore, and lay waste to everything in its path—woe to anyone it met, whether a donkey or a horse, a lamb or a child, an old woman or a young girl...

One day, twelve brave men decided to put an end to its atrocities. Armed with clubs and pitchforks, they stationed themselves around the rock at dawn, but the monster never appeared, and by evening the brave men decided to return home. However, on the pebbly shore, they noticed enormous footprints leading to a wild gorge where the river roared, hemmed in by impassable cliffs. The giant tracks first followed the shore, then turned into one of the crevices...

Soon, the young men found themselves in a dense forest filled with roars and howls. Hiding behind trees, they finally saw the dragon devouring the carcass of a bull.

"That's a bull from our herd!" exclaimed one of the youths.

"Quiet!" hissed his companions. Too late! The dragon had already sensed the intruders and lunged toward them, baring hundreds of sharp, bloodied teeth. Two hunters were immediately torn apart by the dragon's front claws, while its hind legs furiously clawed the ground, uprooting trees and overturning boulders. Two others suffocated, caught in the foul whirlwind that erupted from the dragon's mouth, as if from a bottomless abyss filled with corpses, and then were sliced to pieces by its scaly serpentine tail. Finally, two more were shredded by the blades of its dorsal ridge.

The remaining six fled in all directions as the dragon feasted on its victims. Upon returning home, they recounted the horror they had witnessed. From then on, no one dared to pursue the dragon, which came to be called Tarasque, after the place where its tracks had been seen. The dragon continued its rampages—sometimes on the riverbank, sometimes on the river islands, sometimes on forest trails.

One summer day, tragedy struck the hut of a local fisherman: relatives and neighbors gathered at his home to mourn one of the poor man's sons, who had fallen into the monster's clutches. Meanwhile, a young girl dressed in a white festive dress passed by. Stopping at the fisherman's hut, she asked in surprise:

"Why are you grieving so, good people?"
"Tarasque has devoured the boy," they replied.
"And who is this Tarasque?"
"A dragon that lives in a lair on the banks of the Rhône. Everyone knows the place, but no one goes there."

"Very well, I shall go to him tomorrow morning," said the stranger. The fishermen looked at her in bewilderment: "He'll swallow you in one gulp!"
"We'll see," replied the girl. "Could you spare some food and a place to sleep? In return, I'll wash all your laundry tomorrow." In the morning, she descended to the foot of the rock with a basket of laundry and began washing. The fishermen hid in the riverside bushes and watched the young washerwoman.

"Such a brave little girl," whispered a fisherman.
"She's out of her mind," replied his wife.
"If only she survives! Let her live with us as our daughter..."

Suddenly, the water churned, the earth trembled, and the wind whistled through the reeds. The air reeked of decay. The monstrous head of the dragon emerged from the water, and dark waves crashed over the girl's white dress.

A thunderous voice asked:
"Who are you?"
"My name is Martha. I'm not from around here."
"You're not afraid of me?"
"Why should I be afraid of you?"
"Because I am Tarasque! See how hideous I am? My breath is so foul that people drop dead..."
"I look at you and don't go blind, and I breathe just fine," the girl replied calmly, continuing to wash the laundry. Tarasque approached her, and the fishermen, cowering in terror, bitterly regretted allowing the stranger to undertake such a reckless act.

The dragon loomed menacingly over the girl, its scales smeared with mud and covered in filthy seaweed.
"Careful!" exclaimed the washerwoman, casting an innocent glance and splashing water from her hands.
"You'll get my laundry dirty!" The dragon froze in place, too stunned to speak.
"Poor thing," Martha continued gently. "I see no one here cares for you. Come, sit beside me and tell me what troubles you. You know, I've had hard times too, when I ran away from everyone and wandered alone along the seashore..."

Something incredible happened to the dragon: tears welled up in its red eyes. It climbed out of the water, sat right in front of the girl, and asked:
"Tell me, what happened to you there, on the shore of that sea..." And Martha began to tell her story. She spoke of her home and the people she had met during her travels. She spoke of distant lands and ordinary people, their worries and joys, love and hope. She spoke so calmly and compassionately that the fearsome dragon fell asleep at her feet like a kitten.

The fishermen, amazed by this miracle, raced back to the village, and soon all the locals gathered on the riverbank. To their astonishment, they saw the young stranger washing the dirt from the dragon's scaly sides. Then she removed her sash and tied it around the dragon's neck, preparing to lead the monster like a tame animal. The crowd roared, and dozens of spears and axes rose into the air.

"Stop!" cried the girl. "Be reasonable—it will never harm you again!"
But those who had lost children, brothers, horses, bulls, or sheep, those who had lived in fear and humiliation for years, could no longer contain their hatred. No one listened to the stranger's cries. The enraged mob attacked the dragon, spears piercing its chest, axes severing its limbs, and Tarasque's blood mingled with the raging waters of the Rhône...

Before breathing its last, the dragon looked at the girl with deep gratitude and said:
"With you, I learned what kindness is. I felt hatred leave my heart, my breath grow pure, and my eyes gentle... One more moment, and I might have believed I could become beautiful." It collapsed to the ground and moved no more.

The crowd dragged the dragon's enormous remains to the village square, where they lay for days under the scorching southern sun until only a skeleton of incredible size remained. Children climbed inside the skeleton, scaled its spine, and slid down its smooth ribs; adults shook their heads at the sight of such a monstrosity, while bold youths crept between its bared teeth in the evenings, frightening their sweethearts by blowing smoke from its empty nostrils, which once had flared with deadly fire... And while the people celebrated their liberation, no one noticed that young Martha had left, disappearing from those lands as quietly as she had arrived. This tale is told in Provence.

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The Dragon of Tarascon

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