The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul

by Albert Robida

  “The main course, immediately!” commanded Farandoul, looking at the cook with such a terrible expression that he almost tipped an entire plate of sticky and scented sauce, in which a few small squid were swimming, over Mandibul’s back. The cook quickly came back with two whole roasted dogs in the middle of an immense plate of apples cooked in oil.

  “Bah!” said Mandibul, philosophically. “I’ve always been a dog-lover; let’s tuck into those.”

  Finally, the swallows’ nests arrived, awaited impatiently, then a soup of earthworms and more pots of preserves.

  “Oof!” said Mandibul, getting up from the table. “We won’t get fat here; what a diabolical cuisine! Ventre de phoque, it seems to me that I could eat an apothecary’s stock!”

  Farandoul had already gone back up to the deck to inspect the river. The Sun was rising brightly; Nanking and Siposi were far away. As the breeze was strong, they ought to be arriving soon at the junction with the Imperial Canal from Peking, a dangerous place for our friends because of the considerable number of junks circulating on the canal between the northern provinces and the Blue River.

  Soon the river became busier; barges, junks, customs boats, smugglers’ boats and flower-boats were furrowing the 12-kilometer width of the beautiful Blue River. As they approached the Imperial Canal the mariners, disguised to varying degrees as fantasy Chinamen, dressed the boat’s three decks with flags and hung lanterns everywhere: on the yardarms of the large sail, the projections of the top deck, the windows and the fantastically-sculpted stairways. Banners ornamented with diabolical animals floated from the rigging, and at the very top of the mast, gilded balloons floated about a golden dragon with its red mouth vastly agape, inflated by the breeze.

  Envious glances were darted at the joyous boat from all the barges they encountered, but no one dared accost it, doubtless thinking that it had been hired by some mandarin. The poor Chinamen in the depths of the hold reflected sadly as they heard their compatriots’ jests.

  “We’re nearing the coast,” Farandoul said. “Our thieves will head out to sea, without a doubt, but in which direction will they steer? Their junk is a fast vessel; who knows how our flower-boat will fare at sea?”

  “What about our Chinese passengers?” asked Mandibul. “Are we setting them ashore?”

  “Impossible. We can’t lose an hour without risking letting the junk escape. Let’s take them with us! It’ll be a nice little pleasure-trip for them.”

  The two junks, separated from one another by a mere four kilometers, reached the mouth of the Blue River the following morning, after having passed through the town of Chingkiang in the middle of the night. At the first shock of the waves the flower-boat’s beautiful captives had a fit of anxiety, but the ever-persuasive Farandoul calmed them down, merely promising them a simple sea excursion.

  Mandibul, having discovered a Chinese spyglass aboard, shook his head as he watched the pirates’ junk disappearing in the distance.

  “Yes, yes,” said Farandoul. “I see it clearly; they’re heading for Japan. So much the better! We haven’t been condemned to death over there.”

  As the weather was fine, no one had any further desire to complain.

  “A funny voyage!” Mandibul never ceased to murmur during the 30 days that their pursuit of the pirates lasted. “A funny crew! I’m not complaining, though, and if it weren’t for the awful cuisine, I could sail like this for a long time!”

  The crew of the pirates’ junk had quickly perceived the obstinate pursuit of which it was the object, so it tried to lose itself in the middle of the labyrinthine Ryukyu islands, but the attempt was vain; the flower-boat always found it again and followed it at a distance of a few leagues. Changing tactics then, it made straight for the Japanese coast, seeking an opportunity to disembark its passengers without being seen. It was only after a fortnight’s journey along the coast that the junk was able to lose itself, by courtesy of an exceedingly stormy night.

  The battered flower-boat had a great deal of trouble staying at sea; it required all the skill of its crew to avoid running dangerously aground on the reefs. In the morning, Farandoul anxiously scanned the horizon, but the pirates’ junk had disappeared. For three days he visited the smallest inlets of the coast. There was no sign of any shipwreck, so the white elephant’s junk could not have perished. Soon, he became certain that the pirates must have disembarked in the estates of the Prince of Miko,97 one of the most powerful feudal daimios of the Japanese Empire, a near-independent prince very hostile to Europeans.

  Farandoul did not hesitate. He steered for Yokohama, a city open to Europeans in the estates of the Mikado, landed his flower-boat there and bid farewell to his ex-captives with a rapidity that offended them somewhat—but time was pressing. After two hours devoted to purchases in the city, he took passage with all his men on a fishing-boat, which disembarked them secretly the following night in the estates of the Prince of Miko.

  It is appropriate here to give a brief sketch of this Prince of Miko, known in Europe only for his eternal difficulties with the Mikado.

  The prince, named Si-Kamito-Kaido, was then a rather mature young man of 35 or 36, ruddy-faced, irascible by nature, as turbulent as all the great daimios of the empire, and a little more so than some. His ancestors had lived independently, contenting themselves with sending an occasional tribute to the Tycoon98 or the Mikado, the spiritual emperor—or, rather, his palace administrator. Lord Kaido asked no more than that he be allowed follow the example of his forebears and isolate himself as much as possible from the suzerain authority, but times had changed, alas; the Mikado had seized the scepter with a firm hand again, had triumphed over the resistance of the Tycoon, and had reduced the majority of great vassals of the crown to the status of simple prefects!

  Already Kaido, Prince of Miko, successor to a long line of powerful overlords, had felt the weight of the Mikado’s large hand. His rights as a reigning prince had been subject to more than one obstruction and the day was perhaps not far off when he would have to resolve himself to living with a mere shadow of authority over his patrimonial lands.

  Kaido was determined to delay that day as long as possible and to defend his prerogatives step by step, with the collaboration of the two- and three-sword nobles of the province. His ministers strongly encouraged him in this firm policy. Unfortunately, he had already been living for some time under the influence of a sort of fatal ill-luck; all his enterprises failed, with a constancy and obstinacy calculated to give rise to reflection. By dint of seeing the best-laid schemes regularly come unstuck, the anxious Kaido had tried consulting his friends, ministers and finally, in despair, the most renowned bonzes and astrologers. The stars, interrogated by these learned men in silence and solitude, had replied; one day, the bonzes and the astrologers, somewhat intimidated by their mission, had come in a group to inform Prince Kaido of the results of their research.

  Alas, the oracles were unanimous. The reign of Prince Kaido would remain constantly ill-fated, until—and here the astrologers hesitated—Prince Kaido was deceived by his wife. In that case, everything would change for the Prince; he would enjoy every success; his reign would become perfectly happy and would attain the highest degree of prosperity.

  The irony of fate was that Prince Kaido was not married!

  Prince Kaido, a heroic man, interrupted the bonzes and astrologers then and declared that, renouncing his bachelorhood, he would take a wife forthwith, in order to give the oracle the possibility of fulfillment. There was nothing that he was not willing to suffer for the happiness of his people! Since the gods demanded it, he would sacrifice himself for the salvation of his province; within a month, he must be married and deceived! The ministers, immediately convened, had approved wholeheartedly of the prince’s determination. At the end of the day, one had to be able to endure the blows of destiny.

  After three weeks of diplomacy, great news was announced in the province; the powerful Lord Kaido was to marry the beautiful Yamida, daughter of
a great lord in Osaka.

  The brilliant Kaido, as jealous as a tiger, awaited with feverish impatience the moment when he could be deceived by a legitimate wife. The oracle had been precise; one single error would suffice. Kaido asked no more than that, and had not concealed from his ministers his firm intention to have the head of the guilty party cut off immediately afterwards.

  It was in a bay 15 leagues to the south of the city of Miko that Farandoul, Mandibul, the 15 seamen and the Siamese interpreter were disembarked covertly on a moonless night. Our friends, aware of the powerful Kaido’s pronounced antipathy towards Europeans, had taken their precautions; in Yokohama they had furnished themselves with 18 Japanese officers’ costumes, complete with helmets, armor, coats of mail, fans and swords.

  Their first concern, on disembarking, was to throw their useless European costumes into the sea and put on their Japanese armor. It was a fine sight; they all looked marvelous in their black breastplates, armbands and checkered thigh-guards. Bizarre sealed helmets concealed their grimacing faces and bristling moustaches; through their belts were passed the three swords of first-class gentlemen. Only Farandoul, in his capacity as leader, had granted himself four.

  After four hours devoted to rest, our heroes set off for Miko, with the hope of arriving that same day. Our friends walked boldly through the cheerful countryside, showered by the polite greetings of the good villagers, who took them for noblemen out for a stroll. About 11 a.m., Farandoul’s keen eyes spotted a numerous procession in the distance, advancing along the highway.

  A few yacounines were at the head, mounted on little brown horses with long manes, of a race particular to the country. Then came a long file of norimons, or palanquins, richly-decorated in bright and variegated colors, each one carried by two strong men.

  In the first of these norimons the dazzled Farandoul made out the most charming of apparitions: a young Japanese woman of 18, with profound black eyes, shaved eyebrows replaced by black marks, painted cheeks and pink lips, displaying a double row of gilded teeth.

  Farandoul—dazzled, as we have said—had moved into the middle of the road in order to see better. Suddenly, the entire convoy stopped; the yacounines dismounted, and the leader of the procession, after a long series of bows, advanced towards Farandoul as if to make a speech. Because of his absolute ignorance of the Japanese language, Farandoul had no idea what that might mean; he looked around for the Siamese interpreter but, not seeing him, recalled that he had sent him on ahead to gather information about the white elephant.

  Farandoul, thwarted, could only reply to the bows. The young Japanese woman having got down from her norimon, however, he got himself out of trouble with more solemn and hurried bows. There was a further speech from the leader of the procession and—an unexpected conclusion—at the end of the speech the amiable man put the hand of the young Japanese woman into Farandoul’s.

  The hand was charming. Farandoul deposited a kiss upon it, which permitted him not to reply in Japanese. When he raised his head again, he saw that the procession was getting under way again. The young woman had not withdrawn her hand. Farandoul had to walk alongside her, without knowing where she was taking him.

  Where were they going? And what did it all mean? The young Japanese woman was so pretty that Farandoul, entirely caught up by the alternate play of the lovely child’s eyelids and fan, would have gone to the ends of the Earth in that manner without demanding an explanation.

  They did not go as far as that; after a few minutes, they arrived in front of a superb temple backing on to the side of a mountain and hidden beneath its forest. The procession as obviously expected at the temple, for the bonzes were there; under the triumphal gate and at the back, at the foot of a large statue of Buddha, a numerous and brilliant crowd was visible.

  How amiable these great Japanese lords are, the worthy Mandibul said to himself. We’ve scarcely arrived, and already we’re being treated like old friends!

  The procession had advanced as far as the great Buddha of gilded bronze. The young Japanese woman, having arrived there, sat down gracefully on a mat and, in response to an invitation from the leader of the procession, Farandoul did likewise. He heard a murmur of European voices then; not far from him, an Englishman in a brightly-colored uniform was chatting with a French officer—two diplomats, presumably.

  When a richly-clad Japanese man arrived with a superb tray charged with a sort of teapot, Farandoul thought that refreshments were about to be distributed to the assembly. The man gave the teapot to the pretty Japanese woman, who made a flirtatious gesture to Farandoul.

  We’re going to drink saki, the national beverage, our hero thought.

  The saki-bowl had two mouthpieces; the pretty Japanese took one and offered the other to Farandoul—and applying his lips to it, he drank the saki at the same time as her.

  The entire assembly gave voice to a joyful cheer, which Farandoul’s companions instinctively echoed behind their visors.

  “What! Is that it?” murmured the French ambassador.

  What’s that? our hero thought, suddenly pricking up his ears.

  “Yes,” replied the diplomat, “the ceremony isn’t long. Prince Kaido isn’t unhandsome, so why hasn’t he taken off his helmet? I don’t know that custom—getting married in a helmet. It’s original. Anyway, the famous Prince Kaido is finally married….”

  Kaido…the Prince of Miko? What are they saying? Farandoul asked himself.

  “Young Yamida is charming, you know,” the diplomat went on. “I wouldn’t have minded being in Prince Kaido’s place and drinking the saki from the spousal bowl with her! Come on, everyone’s getting up—the ceremony’s over, they’re married.”

  The audience was, indeed, getting up. The anxious Farandoul remained seated, as if lost in contemplation of the young Japanese woman. In reality, he was flabbergasted. What a catastrophe! Everything was now clear to him. He had run into the procession of the Prince of Miko’s bride-to-be, on its way to the temple for the marriage-celebration; because of his four swords he had been mistaken for the prince, and, without being aware of it, he had married the intended wife of the fierce Kaido!

  A terrible adventure! What should he do? It was impossible now to undo what had been done; the ceremony was complete! What would be the consequence of that fatal error?

  At that moment, the interpreter whose absence had caused so much trouble reappeared, making his way through the crowd of Japanese lords. He was able to get as far as Farandoul, in spite of the astonishment of the assembly, and whisper a few words to him.

  “What have you done? Marrying the prince’s fiancée! I arrived too late to warn you. We must flee immediately, or we’re lost…there’s still time. There was a daimios’ plot. On the road we were following I met the procession of the real prince arriving for the nuptial ceremony, but, before my very eyes, the daimios lying in ambush threw themselves on the escort, scattered them and made off with the prince, bound as a prisoner. Without that coincidence, you’d have been taken already. We have to go quickly, as you can see!”

  Farandoul shut his eyes in order to bring his thoughts into better focus. He had just glimpsed another and more promising outcome of the adventure.

  A gentle squeeze of his hand from his anxious bride made up his mind. “Flee?” he said to the interpreter. “Impossible! Don’t you see that at the merest sign from the father-in-law, the swords of the 500 Japanese surrounding us would be glinting in the sunlight. There’s another means to get us out of this affair; Prince Kaido has disappeared, they’ve mistaken me for him; they’ve married his bride to me—well, I’ll maintain my role. I’ll remain Prince Miko, fortunate spouse of the beautiful Yamida. Start talking—tell the assembly that a conspiracy of partisans of the Mikado has been discovered, and that the prince begs all his friends to return to Miko immediately, to organize the resistance.”

  The interpreter hesitated, alarmed by Farandoul’s boldness; a forceful gesture from our friend gave him courage. Addressing him
self to the astonished Japanese, he warned them in exaggerated terms of the discovery of a conspiracy against the life of the Prince of Miko and announced the intention of the false prince to fight the rebels energetically.

  There was but one cry from all the Japanese nobles; swords gleamed, to the great alarm of the ladies, and the entire audience swore to fight to the death for the rights of the prince and the liberty of the province of Miko.

  The ladies were already being ushered to their norimons by hurried servants. All the men—fathers, brothers, husbands or relatives—arranged themselves to either side, swords in hand. Farandoul brought up the rear, with the slightly fearful Yamida; he gallantly placed her in her norimon, showed her his four swords to reassure her as to the dangers of the road, and made a sign to the porters to get under way.

  On an order from the interpreter, men of the escort had brought horses for the false prince and his friends. Farandoul leapt into the saddle; Mandibul and his mariners immediately did likewise and came to arrange themselves around Farandoul, swords in hand.

  This must be why Prince Kaido came to his wedding armed to the teeth and helmeted, thought the daimios, as they rode off. In spite of the dangers of the situation, the gallant prince did not want his marriage to Yamida to be delayed for a single minute, but he took his precautions. The three-sword warriors surrounding him seem to be solid men, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to attack them.

  While Farandoul, having become Prince of Miko, galloped with his wife Yamida along the road to Miko, the true Prince Kaido, thrown bound and gagged into a sealed norimon, was being carried by the conspirators at a forced march towards Fatzouma, the province’s second city, where the standard of revolt had been raised that same morning.

  Poor Kaido was very depressed. His enemies obviously did not want to allow him time to deflect his destiny! If he had not been abducted until after the marriage, he would still have had hope. The oracle might very well have been fulfilled during his captivity, but the conspirators had not even left him that chance!