The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul

by Albert Robida

  During this discussion, the little Niam-Niam, seeing that he was in the hand of the enemies of his race, had not dared to emerge from the hold for fear of being impaled on the warrior women’s spears, but Farandoul, having come down to give him his orders, forced him to show himself. He appeared on the bridge carrying a tray full of refreshments and came to offer them to the Makalolos, without raising his eyes.

  The warrior women had sat down in a circle on the bridge, with their legs crossed. When they had drunk the lemonade, Farandoul offered to review their fleet from his boat. The general acquiesced with a nod of the head, and the Solitaire moved off again.

  The Makalolo canoes, arranged in three ranks, welcomed the little steamboat with loud cheers. The rowers lifted their oars into the air and the warrior women brandished their spears or struck their shields rhythmically with their arms, making the copper circlets and plates ring.

  The lovely figures of all these warriors made an impact on Farandoul. In every boat propelled by male oarsmen there were ten warriors armed with spears and ten armed with bows. On a little platform in the stern, a single warrior, more richly equipped, directed the movements of the rowers and the fighters. Many of the women were very beautiful; their rather long hair was fleecy rather than frizzy; their noses, rather than being flat like those of the pure negro races, possessed an elegant curvature, and their manners were not lacking in a certain natural grace, allied with the charms of great energy.

  On the left flank, another flagship joined the Solitaire and a warrior of distinction climbed on to the boat. Further civilities were exchanged and further refreshments circulated.

  The first of the two warrior women commanding the fleet, the general of the right flank, was named Kalunda; the second, the general of the left flank, was Dilolo. Farandoul learned that they were the two future queens of the Makalolos, destined to replace the two current queens at the first full Moon of the following spring.

  After having reviewed the entire Makalolo fleet, to the sound of cheers, and having been warmly congratulated again by the two general staffs, Farandoul was invited to a huge banquet on the shore. A few warriors mounted on agile giraffes had been dispatched to Makalolo to reassure the population.

  After this solemn feast, the order was given for the entire fleet to take to the water again. It was a fine spectacle: 300 boats in the middle of the river, propelled by the robust arms of their oarsmen, flying over the blue waves, with the Solitaire advancing at their head, manned by Farandoul and the two generals, Kalunda and Dilolo. Fifty captured Niam-Niam boats followed behind, carrying the prisoners. The Niam-Niam chief, a tall and powerful old man, had been taken aboard the Solitaire so that Farandoul might interrogate him.

  The old warrior, covered in wounds, ingenuously confessed that the Niam-Niams had undertaken the war with no other objective than to eat as many enemies as they could capture. He believed that he was destined to furnish a roast in the Makalolo kitchens and seemed to find that perfectly natural. Farandoul disabused him and told him that that frightful habit, particular to the Niam-Niams, was considered repulsive by all other peoples.

  The old chief was startled. “You white men make war in your own country, don’t you?”

  “From time to time,” Farandoul replied.

  “And you don’t eat the dead and the prisoners?”

  “Never!”

  “Oh!” said the horrified Niam-Niam. “You aren’t hungry, and you don’t eat prisoners, but you make war! You ferocious beasts!” And, turning his back on Farandoul, the indignant Niam-Niam signaled that he refused to enter into further conversation with him.

  They arrived that evening in Makalolo, the capital, situated on the right bank of the N’kari. It was a large, rather well-constructed town comprising 1000 large huts scattered at hazard around a central edifice that was both a temple and a palace.

  The population, forewarned of the fleet’s victory and the arrival of the powerful ally who had routed the Niam-Niams, crowded the bank of the river where the disembarkation took place in an orderly manner. As the generals Kalunda and Dilolo set foot on the ground with Farandoul, and immense concert of acclamation went up from the crowd. A hundred musician-priests frenziedly beat sacred drums, making an infernal noise that appeared to be enormous pleasing to the population’s ear for music. Then lightly-clad priestesses filed in front of the victors, dancing and rhythmically striking copper plates. After that procession, the high priest and high priestess, in the midst of a religious silence, brought wooden cup filled to the brim with sour zebra milk. It was a great honor, ordinarily reserved for queens and generals. Farandoul drained the cup to the last drop, in spite of the beverage’s rather unpleasant taste.

  The ceremony was over; immediately, in response to a sign from General Dilolo, a guard of honor of 50 warriors arranged itself behind Farandoul. While General Kalunda went to give an account of the operations to the two queens, General Dilolo had Farandoul installed in a large hut situated amid palm trees on the shore of the lake.

  General Dilolo was a tall and superb woman, deeply bronzed rather than totally black, with long hair, bright eyes, a well-designed nose, her face completed by a smiling mouth. Her body was that of a lithe and robust Amazon, although a small bosom accentuated the charm of her general beauty. To cap it all, this luxurious warrior woman was approaching 30, the most beautiful age for a woman.

  Farandoul was beginning to cultivate an interest in these brave warriors and this new land. For her part, the general was eager to interrogate the white man about himself and his distant fatherland. In consequence, they began to talk; the conversation covered Makalolo, the army, and Europe, of which the general was hearing mention for the first time.

  The beautiful general was very surprised when she learned that white women did not go to war and left the sabers to their husbands. Farandoul was no less astonished to learn that throughout the Makalolo territory, on the contrary, men were nothing but good crop-growers and artisans, while women governed everything—the affairs of the household as well as those of the state. He had already seen that the vocation of arms was reserved to them; now he learned that the army, perfectly organized, was composed of about 20,000 warrior women spread out among various frontier posts.

  The general gave him a brief account of the political organization of the Makalolos; the nation was a sort of republic governed by two elected queens, chosen from among the warriors. These two queens were appointed for five years, and had beneath then two future queens, the generals of the army, who were required to initiate themselves into affairs of state during the course of their reign.

  A courier mounted on a giraffe, arriving at a fast gallop, came to inform Farandoul that the time to introduce him to the queens had come. In consequence, our hero, regretfully abandoning his interesting conversation with Dilolo, and still accompanied by the general and his escort, headed for the palace of the two queens.

  O holy etiquette, thou reignest in all courts, even in Africa. Long formalities were necessary; greetings were exchanged with Their Majesties’ guards, there were presentations, curtsies; it was necessary to kiss the council of ministers, composed of former generals and colonels in reserve, on the forehead and nose. Finally, after having endured a few speeches and emptied another cup of zebra milk with the high priestess, Farandoul was admitted to the throne room.

  The two queens, sitting in the shadows at the back of the hall, maintained a majestic immobility. Farandoul, having reached the middle of the room, launched into a speech in Zulu.

  An outburst of joyful laughter interrupted him; the two queens had risen to their feet and jumped lightly down from the podium.

  “Hey, my dear,” said the first, “leave your patois at that.”

  “And let’s speak French, damn it!” said the second.

  Farandoul stopped, struck dumb by astonishment. The two queens of the Makalolos were white!

  II.

  Not only were the two queens white, but they were Parisians! Fara
ndoul’s stupefaction was indescribable. To encounter in the heart of Africa, in such a high position, two female compatriots! Parisian women sitting on the thrones of the Makalolos, a nation absolutely unknown to the civilized world! The circumstance was rather surprising.

  “Well, Mesdames!” exclaimed Farandoul, having recovered from his astonishment, “so it’s you those frightful Niam-Niams wanted to devour? The fellows have taste; it’s a quality that I must concede them at the sight of your white shoulders. I’ve no need to tell you how glad I am to have contributed to getting your people out of difficulty. But let’s talk about you, Mesdames—so you’re queens of the Makalolos!”

  “Not by birth,” said one of the queens, showing a dazzling array of teeth.

  “No,” said the other, “it’s our merits that have won us that high position; we’ve been elected by universal suffrage, named queens by the warrior-woman electorate. For four years now we’ve been occupying the thrones of the Makalolos. Oh, it’s quite a story—we’ll tell it to you, won’t we, Angelina?”

  “Ah! Her Majesty is named Angelina?”

  “Yes,” said the second queen. “My Majesty is named Angelina de Montdétour and my colleague was known in Paris as Caroline Gardenia.”

  Farandoul bowed. “I am convinced, Mesdames, that the Makalolo nation could not have chosen better, but I’m curious to know how you came to reign over it?”

  “Here’s how it happened,” said Angelina de Montdétour. “In Paris, Caroline and I were simple dramatic artistes. Caroline sang at the Ambassadeurs, fashionable little ditties—Mon Oscar, La Fille du pharmacien—you know:

  “I’d like a big cube

  “Of the fudge jujube.

  “So I’ve something to scoff

  “When I’ve got a cough, etc. etc.,67

  “As for me, I was appearing in Rothomago—I was the commander of the guard; that served me well, because it’s what began my military education. So, as highly distinguished dramatic artistes, we were both engaged at the Cairo Theater to appear in an operetta. What a success, my friend! The khedive picked us out. We were admitted into his harem—oh, but as wives, Monsieur, as wives, nothing less than favorite odalisques!68 We were only the ornaments of the harem for five or six months, though; a conspiracy of the other wives undid us. The Sultan of Zanzibar had sent our lord and master a dozen natives; he didn’t want to be outdone by his colleague in politeness, and offered us in exchange. In Zanzibar, we were soon the rain and fine weather; we transformed the court; the women learned to tinkle the piano and sing little songs by Offenbach; we put on family operettas.

  “One day—and this is where the real adventure began—we were kidnapped by Arab merchants and taken into slavery; the wretches dragged us from country to country, offering us to impossible negro kings! One day, when we were on the point of marrying an old Niam-Niam king, we took matters into our own hands. We stole a dromedary from our Arabs and made our best way forward. When we arrived in Makalolo territory the Arabs caught up with us; we were defending ourselves bravely with sabers when the Makalolo warriors came to our aid and skillfully cut off the heads of our enemies. We were welcomed by them, in consideration of our beautiful defense, and were both appointed captains. On parade as in the field, we maneuvered our warriors admirably, were promoted through the ranks, became generals, and soon, without having had more than six months’ instruction with the former queens, succeeded to the throne by virtue of an amendment of the Makalolo constitution! That’s how it comes about, Monsieur, that we have the pleasure today of offering your hospitality in our state. Now, that’s not all—you’re still only a simple citizen and that won’t do—you’ll need a rank. What rank shall we give Monsieur, Caroline?”

  “No rank,” replied Caroline. “It’s expressly forbidden by the constitution. Monsieur is a man and, in consequence, can’t even be a corporal here. I know my code!”

  “That’s annoying,” said Angelina. “What if we were to make him high priest, then? Would you like to be high priest?”

  “No, no,” replied Farandoul. “I prefer to remain a simple citizen. Remember that I’m only a passing stranger.”

  “Hang on a minute!” cried the two queens. “You aren’t going away! You’ve got to stay with us and protect us. Remember that Europeans are scarce hereabouts. We have only to say the word and our generals will close all our frontiers to you. You’re staying with us!”

  “I’m a prisoner of Your Charming Majesties, then?”

  “No, no! But you’re staying with us—we need you. Remember that the state is under threat; the Niam-Niams might return. You’ll help us to put the country on a sound footing. We’re not sovereigns for fun; we want to leave our successors a secure kingdom—for our five years will soon be up, alas. We’ll have to surrender the crown to Kalunda and Dilolo, the queens designated to succeed us.”

  As these words were spoken, the two queens sighed sadly.

  Angelina continued: “Caroline has authoritarian inclinations; she’d like to stage a coup d’état to keep the scepter, but I don’t want that—I’d rather go back to Paris! I’ll have a town house on the Champs-Elysées, with a crown on the gate. I’ll see visiting Majesties, I’ll be the cousin of the Prince of Wales, I’ll give fêtes and I’ll have a coat-of-arms on my carriages—for I’ve designed one for Makalolo, you know: an ostrich on a blue field. It’s very distinguished.

  “Well, personally,” Caroline said, “I’d rather stay with the Makalolos. I’m popular among my subjects, and I like it here. What I’ll do, like queens who can’t get married, is to demand a revision of the constitution…”

  As she pronounced these words, Caroline looked at our hero tenderly.

  “At the end of the day, Mesdames,” Farandoul said, “having no pressing reason to depart, I’ll stay in your realm for a few months. I’ll help you protect your frontiers against all enemies, and my experience of warfare might perhaps be of some use to you.”

  Thus concluded, the solemn audience was terminated. Caroline struck a copper drum; at that signal the rush hangings opened and the entire court came into the hall. A huge official banquet brought together all the functionaries of the crown and, when night fell, Farandoul was taken back to his own house with great ceremony. He found his little Niam-Niam there, already acquainted with the Makalolo warriors.

  The popularity of our hero increased further during the early days of his sojourn. Well-received and well-regarded everywhere, he was completely satisfactory to functionaries of every sort and warriors of every rank. Generals Kalunda and Dilolo put themselves at his disposal for all military matters, a guard of honor escorted him everywhere, and the two queens themselves rarely let two hours go by without summoning him to the palace, when they were not out riding with him in the immense wooded plains of the country, mounted on slender giraffes, or sailing on the blue waves of the N’kari on the Solitaire or the royal canoe, always with Dilolo and Kalunda.

  And what Homeric repasts there were in the palace! The minister in charge of the royal kitchens, the only male minister in the realm, was worked to death. Great culinary reforms had already been instituted among the Makalolos; the queens of old had contented themselves with vulgar plates of black ants au gratin, fried grasshoppers, roasted crocodile and serpents’ eggs omelets, but the delicate palates of the Parisian queens had quickly wearied of such nourishment—so completely discordant with European gastronomic ideas—and it had been necessary to create a new cuisine. Fortunately, the minister was a genius; the black Vatel rose to the occasion magnificently.69

  Farandoul was not a man to spend his days in idleness, though; in collaboration with the authorities he became seriously involved with the welfare of the Makalolo nation. It was necessary, above all, to ensure its future security. Farandoul had long conferences with Generals Kalunda and Dilolo; he demonstrated to them the excellent role that might be played, in the immense Makalolo plans, by a properly-constituted cavalry corps, to meet enemies head-on, whether they be Niam-Niams, or the
negroes of King M’Tesa—that powerful potentate of Lake Tanganyika visited by Livingstone and Stanley, a valiant monarch who could sent forth armies of 40,000 men against his enemies. In consequence, an elite was selected from the warriors used to fighting on foot or in boats to form cavalry regiments. Soon there were 2000 warriors on strong and sturdy giraffes and a corps of 2500 ostrich-mounted sharpshooters, an incomparable light cavalry.

  Nothing was more delightful than watching these regiments maneuver; the giraffiers had as proud a bearing as our old regiments of cuirassiers, and the ostrich-mounted sharpshooters, dressed in red cotton cloth, armed with large bows and Arab swords at their waists, seemed like strange apparitions when they galloped across the plain, launching their long blue-feathered arrows sideways. What a success those warriors would obtain at Longchamp or Vincennes if they should ever cross the sea!

  The sole fault of the ostriches was their well-known appetite. Even while charging, they could not pass close to a shiny pebble without gluttonously snapping it up as they passed by. It was the same with all the less voluminous pieces of equipment; people were repeatedly having to run to the aid of one of these birds that had been put into cruel difficulties by trying to swallow its rider’s sword.

  Farandoul quickly acquainted himself with Makalolo customs. He had learned their language, and, when he was not out and about with the two white queens and the two black queens, he liked to discuss philosophy with the high priest in the temple.

  Meanwhile, the end of the year had come. The moment when the two white queens would have to cede power to the two black queens was approaching. You will recall that the change of reign had to take place at the first full Moon of spring. People were already talking about the great feasts intended to add splendor to that solemnity; all the Makalolos were permitted to attend, at least as witnesses, the great official banquet held in the capital’s grand plaza for the new queens and the administrators.