20 



THE NATIONAL OLOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



IN THE CAMARGUK THE FIGHTING BULL, HAS HIS INNINGS 



Between the sharp horns of the beast is fastened a bright cockade, which the young 

 men seek to wrest away during the mad rush. Beyond a certain boundary, it is anybody's 

 game, and the most bashful gardian may become famous overnight by securing the cockade 

 of an especially famous bull. 



irons for a rude cart. But it is the herder 

 whom he really serves, and his fame 

 stretches from the fortress-church of Les 

 Saintes Maries de la Mer to the battle- 

 ments of Aigues Mortes and the Roman 

 arena at Nimes. 



The: nacioun gardiano is a cowboys' 



UNION 



The "Nacioun Gardiano," a sort of 

 cowboys' union, was organized to unite 

 the lovers of the Camargue through pride 

 of craft. In the Provencal festivals, it 

 is the "Nacioun Gardiano" whose riders 

 form parades and follow their leader, 

 upon whose crimson banner are embroid- 

 ered the golden cross of Languedoc and 

 the mystic bark of the Holy Maries. 

 From time to time these riders, some of 

 them owners of vast herds, meet to play 

 equestrian games. 



The specific purpose of this group is 

 the maintenance of the herdsmen's tradi- 

 tions, the perpetuation of the sports and 

 customs of the past; but, above all, they 

 foster the sweet speech of Provence and 

 defend the traditions of the Camargue. 



The righthand man of the gardian is 

 the Camargue pony. Light gray in color 

 and with a shaggy coat, the steed has a 

 hang-dog air and an unkempt appearance. 

 His low-hanging head, big and square, 

 has sleepy eyes and a quiet expression. 

 But never did a more disarming appear- 

 ance camouflage a more satanic spirit. 

 When mounted, this Rip Van Winkle 

 among horses becomes spirited and full 

 of the devil, half wild and with a savage 

 temper. 



The camargue: pony has iron endur- 

 ance: 



Camargue horses are skittish and sly, 

 and often they have a kick like the mule 

 of Daudet's famous story, who treasured 

 his animosity for seven years, and with 

 one wallop transformed Tistet Vedene 

 into a whirlwind of blond dust in which 

 fluttered an ibis feather. They are sel- 

 dom shod and live to a ripe old age. I 

 have known good saddle-horses to be 

 thirty years old. 



Scientific men have searched in vain 

 for an explanation of the origin of the 



