The Adventures of Saturnin Farandoul

by Albert Robida

  Outside, Farandoul’s foster-father, surrounded by old white-bearded orangs, seemed to be telling the story of his discovery. Perhaps he was giving his report to the authorities; in any case, he saw by their benevolent gestures that the elders approved of his conduct and appeared well pleased with him. Little by little, the fuss caused by the new arrival died down, and life resumed its ordinary course.

  If Farandoul had been older, he would have been able to marvel at the patriarchal existence led by the monkeys. Indeed, the happy population of that fortunate isle, lost in the vastness of the Pacific far distant from the customary shipping routes, was still in the Golden Age! The island was extraordinarily fertile. All the fruits of the Earth grew in abundance, lavishly distributed without the least requirement for cultivation. No fearsome wild beasts infested the forests, where even the most inoffensive creatures lived in total security.

  The simian race was the summit of the evolutionary scale, dominating by its intelligence the entire natural order of the island. Man was unknown there, never having repressed it with his barbarity or perverted it with his example—as he has those fallen races of monkeys, condemned to ignominy, which will vegetate forever in the lands inhabited by humans, unless some monkey of genius arrives one day to effect their return to the purer life of ancient times, in some wilderness inaccessible to humankind.

  These monkeys belonged to a race intermediate between the Orang-utans and Chimpanzees. Aggregated in tribes, whose villages were composed of about 50 huts made of small branches, they lived quite happily. Each family enjoyed the most complete individual liberty, and where matters of communal interest were concerned they looked to the elders, who often came together in council at the foot of a giant eucalyptus, in the branches of which the young ones frolicked without taking part in the discussions.

  It must be said that everyone was full of respect for these worthy ancients, and that the smart young monkeys would never allow themselves to jump on their backs or to grab their tails in passing, without previous authorization.

  Farandoul spent a year with the family. He rolled in the grass with his foster-brothers; he played all the exciting games with them that young monkeys play. To the great astonishment of his parents, however, he remained remarkably inept in leaping about, and adamantly refused to climb coconut palms.

  Such timidity in a healthy youth of 18 months worried the gallant monkeys exceedingly. Although his brothers set him an excellent example by means of the most audacious ascensions and aerial somersaults, Farandoul never got the hang of gymnastics. As he grew apace into a sturdy little chap, the anxiety of his parents increased. It became a veritable anguish as they saw that he was quite incapable of following them when the family went off on expeditions in search of amusement, hurling themselves about in the crowns of tall trees and forming troupes of acrobats to swing on the natural see-saws generously provided by the coconut palms. Farandoul’s brothers made as many footholds as possible for him and ran away into the trees in order to invite him to climb after them, but he stayed on his feet, astonished and angry because he was unable to do as they did.

  Farandoul’s foster-mother, who loved him at least as much as her other children, and perhaps a little more—for he was undoubtedly the weakest—did not know what to do to develop the gymnastic talent that must, she believed, exist in him as in every other monkey. Sometimes, while suspended by the tail from the lower branches of a trees, she would throw herself into space and swing there, calling to Saturnin with little reproachful cries; on other occasions, she turned 1000 somersaults, walked on her hands, made him climb up on her back, and clambered up into the branches with him—but in the former instances, Saturnin Farandoul stayed down below, deaf to her appeals, and in the latter, he clung fearfully to his mother’s fur, refusing to let go. What a torment he was to those brave orangs!

  Soon, this preoccupation became perpetual, a constant worry. Farandoul continued to grow without becoming any more agile. His foster-father—who, since his lucky find, had become one of the most respected monkeys on the island—held frequent consultations with the elders: the venerable monkeys who, as we have said, held their assemblies under the largest eucalyptus in the village. It was obvious that Saturnin Farandoul was the subject of these conversations. These monkeys occasionally summoned him, placed his hand on his head, looked at him intently, made him walk and run, consulted one another, scratched themselves, shook their heads, and finally confessed that they did not understand it at all.

  One day, the astonished Farandoul saw his father come back from a longer-than-usual trip with a very old monkey whom he did not recognize. He was wrinkled and bent over, with a great white beard framing his majestic face and bald patches in his coat of long white hair. This ancient, who might easily have been 100 years old, came from a distant part of the island to which Farandoul’s foster-father had gone in order to consult him. He obviously enjoyed a great reputation for wisdom, because all the monkeys in the vicinity hurried forth in a crowd, with lavish gestures of respect, eager to assist him in his tottering walk, while the she-monkeys showed him off to their children from a distance.

  Having been greeted by the elders at the entrance to the village, the old monkey sat down at the foot of the eucalyptus, in the middle of the greatest gathering of monkeys that Farandoul had ever seen. Saturnin Farandoul seemed, along with the old monkey, to be the object of everyone’s attention. His foster-father came to look for him among the urchins with whom he was rolling in the grass, in order to bring him to the ancient, who considered him carefully from every angle.

  The old monkey sat the child on his knee, then stood him up again and flexed all the joints of his arms and legs. All of them were working perfectly, which seemed to amaze the old fellow. He began again, with the same result; seeing this, he plunged into a long meditation from which he roused himself only to recommence his examination. Then he struck his forehead, as if he were proclaiming to himself some triumphant Eureka, and called for one of Farandoul’s young brothers. He placed the two of them side by side, with their backs to the crowd. By this means, he showed that the hindquarters of the little monkey were equipped with a magnificent caudal appendage: a flamboyant device, perfectly designed for aerial gymnastics—a fifth hand which wonderful Nature had generously granted to the species—of which poor Farandoul could not display the slightest indication.

  They all lifted their hands to the heavens then. The most distant, who were unable to see anything, drew closer, clamoring to know the reason for this exclamatory gesture. The tribal elders restored order, debating with the most astounded by means of grandiose gestures.

  In the end, all the monkeys formed a procession to file past little Farandoul—or, rather, behind him—pausing one by one to examine him and to take stock of Nature’s fatal forgetfulness.

  A few passed comment, seemingly inquiring as to whether the condition was incurable. The old white monkey’s response was to make them see that that one could not reasonably found the least hope on the slightest of appearances. However, at an order which he gave after further reflection, several monkeys took themselves off into the rocks while the assembly waited anxiously.

  After a few minutes, they came back bearing bundles of herbs, which were heaped up between two stones, along with large slugs and snails. An uncommonly dexterous she-monkey made a compress out of it, and pressed it forcefully upon the deficient part of the stupefied Farandoul’s body. Despite his cries of rage, the compress was so firmly attached that the poor little chap, so cruelly afflicted, was no longer able to lie down in comfort.

  A light snack was prepared for the venerable monkey, who took nothing but half a dozen coconuts. After an hour’s rest in the shade of the eucalyptus, during which he offered a few more items of advice on the teething troubles of little monkeys, the old fellow went back with Farandoul’s foster-father to the path that led to his hermitage. They separated there and returned to their usual dwellings.

  For the first time, Farandoul
went in search of solitude, walking alone on the beach, still wearing his compress, which continued to cause him considerable distress.

  The medication having brought about no alteration in the state of things, the compress was not renewed after eight hours. The poor she-monkey who was Saturnin Farandoul’s adoptive mother tried again, in secret, to rub him with an unguent given to her by some of her cronies, but that remedy worked no better.

  The months and the seasons flew past, and the inferiority of Saturnin Farandoul was further accentuated. He was a tall, strong and well-set lad, lithe and agile, skilful in all his bodily exercises, who could easily have got the better of four boys of his own age—but by comparison with his foster-brothers, these advantages amounted to nothing. Farandoul had to admit that he was beaten.

  Sometimes, his brothers would lie in wait for him while he walked, hidden in the trees. At the moment when poor Saturnin Farandoul passed by, sucking on a sugar cane without an evil thought in his head, the playful band would form a chain, the strongest of them suspended by the tail from some high branch and the others clinging to one another, as the last in line seized Farandoul under the arms without warning and drew him upwards. They would swing him in the air then, without a care for the kicks that he distributed so liberally, until the entire troop allowed themselves to fall upon the grass.

  Little by little, though, these games petered out. In growing older, his brothers came to understand that it was unkind to abuse their physical advantages and to remind their young brother continually of his inferiority. To the contrary, they took it upon themselves to help him forget, taking every precaution, and by means of conventional fraternal attentions. It was too late, though! Farandoul’s intelligence understood the reason for this consideration, and it served only to increase his humiliation. Besides, as he saw very clearly, the entire tribe regarded him with an offensive attitude of commiseration. Pity was all too evident in every eye.

  The good she-monkey who was his adoptive mother loved him even more tenderly, because she believed that he was destined for an unhappy and probably solitary life. With the future in mind, she began to worry a great deal about her son’s prospects. Would he ever find a mate? How would he be received by the young she-monkeys of the village, when he began to think about them? And if his heart spoke, how painful it would be for him if his beloved refused his hand, and if he subsequently saw her in another’s arms! What misery awaited him! What dramas, perhaps...

  All these considerations saddened the hearts of Saturnin Farandoul’s parents. Nor were the brains of the brave monkeys the only ones haunted by such anxieties; Farandoul was troubled too. Indeed, Farandoul had seen how different he was from his brothers and the other young monkeys of the tribe. He had given himself a crick in the neck staring at his reflection in the clear water of a spring, but he had seen nothing to authorize the least hope that he might one day possess the same triumphant appendage as those he truly believed to be his blood-brothers.

  Poor Saturnin Farandoul believed himself irredeemably deformed. From the day of that discovery he dreamed of running away, exiling himself far from those he loved, in order to hide his sorrow and humiliation. For weeks and months he wandered the island’s beaches in the vague hope of finding some means of putting this plan into operation.

  Eventually, on the day after a tropical storm, he found a huge coconut-palm uprooted, lying on the shore—the means was found! Early the following day, having embraced the good monkey and the gentle she-monkey who had treated him with such affection for years, Saturnin Farandoul went with his five brothers to the beach where the coconut-palm rested. As if it were a game, he bid them push the tree-trunk to the water.

  When the moment of embarkation drew near, the resolute Farandoul embraced his brothers tenderly but rapidly, and leapt on to the coconut palm as it floated parallel to the shore. The five brothers let loose five cries of horror, and lifted five pairs of arms despairingly into the air. The poor monkeys understood that he was already too far away to be recaptured. While they ran like maniacs along the shore, other monkeys hurried in response to their cries.

  Farandoul, profoundly moved by their distress, recognized his parents, but turned his head and his weeping eyes towards the open sea. He used a branch to steer the coconut-palm adroitly through the reefs, and passed through the barrier without capsizing.

  The cries of the poor monkeys had scarcely faded away when the leaves of the palm tree caught the strengthening breeze and it was carried out to sea.

  Some hours later, the isle of monkeys had disappeared and the coconut-palm was cruising the Pacific Ocean. Saturnin Farandoul, tranquilly seated at the junction of two branches, felt an excitement growing within him as the instincts of a navigator awoke.

  His resources consisted of several scores of coconuts still suspended from the tree. The Sun directed its rays upon his naked body.

  Having always lived among monkeys, believing himself to be a monkey, he had no knowledge whatsoever of clothing. Ever since his arrival on the isle, however, he had worn the tobacco-pouch containing his birth certificate around his neck; his adoptive parents had attached it there without really knowing why, and Farandoul had become accustomed to wearing it.

  II.

  “Captain Lastic—look there, out to the south-south-east!”

  “Tonnerre d’Honfleur,5 Lieutenant Mandibul, I’ve been watching it for the last half-hour through my telescope!”

  “Well, what do you think, Captain Lastic?”

  “Tonnerre d’Honfleur may have my tongue, Lieutenant Mandibul, if it isn’t a castaway!”

  “And it’s moving, Captain Lastic!”

  “Tonnerre d’Honfleur, it’s a tree, Lieutenant Mandibul, and there’s someone on it.”

  This curt dialogue took place on the quarter-deck of La Belle Léocadie,6 a fine three-master out of Le Havre, between the vessel’s captain and first lieutenant. Having carried a cargo of pianos, dresses and confections for the young women of the town of Auckland, La Belle Léocadie was now hastening back to her port of origin with a cargo of hides.

  Captain Lastic was a man of prompt resolution; two minutes after having given his telescope to Lieutenant Mandibul, he had given the command to heave to, and oarsmen were steering a long-boat towards our hero’s coconut-palm.

  Saturnin Farandoul opened his eyes very wide at the sight of the distant vessel, which he took for a terrible monster. Even so, he did not attempt to flee and awaited developments.

  The long-boat took no more than half an hour to reach him; the appearance of the men who were aboard it plunged Saturnin into a stupor. They bore no more than the remotest resemblance to the monkeys of his island and their faces did not seem to him to be imprinted with the least moral quality. Saturnin was by no means calm, but he stoically presented a smiling face to these unfamiliar monkeys.

  “Tonnerre d’Honfleur, what are you doing there?” said Lieutenant Mandibul, who was in command of the long-boat and judged it necessary to his dignity to employ his Captain’s oaths while standing in for him.

  Saturnin had never heard a human voice; he did not understand this greeting at all, and it seemed to him less harmonious than the little monkey cries of his family.

  “Are you deaf?” the Lieutenant demanded.

  Saturnin made no more response to this speech than the other, but took it for an invitation and leapt aboard the long-boat, in a fashion that astonished the sailors.

  The long-boat turned aside and set a course for the ship. The Lieutenant addressed no further questions to young Saturnin; that was, after all, the Captain’s business. Aboard La Belle Léocadie, every eye was fixed on the long-boat. Captain Lastic did not lower his telescope until it was no more than a few cables distant.

  Saturnin was the first to clamber up on to the bridge, in response to a gesture from the Lieutenant. He did so with a single motion that nearly caused the Captain—who had never witnessed such agility—to fall over.

  “Tonnerre d’Honfleur, little
porpoise, don’t you have any manners? I’m Captain Lastic!”

  The child’s only response was a smile. All the sailors surrounded him, and Lieutenant Mandibul admitted that he had not been able to get a word out of the castaway. Saturnin stared raptly, still plunged in the most profound stupefaction. Suddenly, he walked around the Captain, then around the Lieutenant, then around each of the crewmen. One of the men was up on the mizzen-mast; Saturnin grabbed a rope without hesitation and was level with the topsail within an eyeblink.

  The seaman had seen him coming, but could not understand why the naked castaway was suddenly climbing up towards him. Saturnin went around him just as he had gone around the others, then let loose a loud cry and slid back down to the bridge. O joy! O happiness! he thought. This new species of monkey was conformed almost like himself. No more humiliation! No more shame! In an eruption of delirious joy, Saturnin made several circuits of the ship, turning head over heels. With one last bound he jumped over the flabbergasted sailors and landed on his feet in front of the Captain, around whom he walked once more, just to be sure.

  “What’s all this, Tonnerre d’Honfl...?” cried the Captain, in alarm.

  The ecstatic Saturnin naturally made no reply.

  “Well then, Tonnerre d’Honfleur,” the Captain continued, “tell us who you are!”

  “Perhaps the porpoise doesn’t understand French,” suggested the Lieutenant.

  “Let’s try English, then,” said the Captain, taking Saturnin by the arms. “What is your name?” he asked, in that language.