Jules Verne (30 page)

That was the best, the only thing to do. We left the station, invaded a
vehicle, and arrived in twenty minutes before a shabby-looking shanty,
where the court was held.

There was a crowd. The affair had got abroad. It was known that a
swindler had come in a box in a Grand Transasiatic van free, gratis,
and for nothing from Tiflis to Pekin. Every one wished to see him;
every one wanted to recognize the features of this genius—it was not
yet known that he was a hero.

There he is, our brave companion, between two rascally looking
policemen, yellow as quinces. These fellows are ready to walk him off
to prison at the judge's order, and to give him a few dozen strokes on
the soles of his feet if he is condemned to that punishment.

Kinko is thoroughly disheartened, which astonishes me on the part of
one I know to be so energetic. But as soon as he sees us his face
betrays a ray of hope.

At this moment the carter, brought forward by the police, relates the
affair to a good sort of fellow in spectacles, who shakes his head in
anything but a hopeful way for the prisoner, who, even if he were as
innocent as a new-born child, could not defend himself, inasmuch as he
did not know Chinese.

Then it is that Pan-Chao presents himself. The judge recognized him and
smiled. In fact, our companion was the son of a rich merchant in Pekin,
a tea merchant in the Toung-Tien and Soung-Fong-Cao trade. And these
nods of the judge's head became more sympathetically significant.

Our young advocate was really pathetic and amusing. He interested the
judge, he excited the audience with the story of the journey, he told
them all about it, and finally he offered to pay the company what was
due to them.

Unfortunately the judge could not consent. There had been material
damages, moral damages, etc., etc.

Thereupon Pan-Chao became animated, and although we understood nothing
he said, we guessed that he was speaking of the courage of Kinko, of
the sacrifice he had made for the safety of the travelers, and finally,
as a supreme argument, he pleaded that his client had saved the
imperial treasure.

Useless eloquence? Arguments were of no avail with this pitiless
magistrate, who had not acquitted ten prisoners in is life. He spared
the delinquent the bastinado; but he gave him six months in prison, and
condemned him in damages against the Grand Transasiatic Company. And
then at a sign from this condemning machine poor Kinko was taken away.

Let not my readers pity Kinko's fate. I may as well say at once that
everything was arranged satisfactorily.

Next morning Kinko made a triumphal entry into the house in the Avenue
Cha-Coua, where we were assembled, while Madame Caterna was showering
her maternal consolations on the unhappy Zinca Klork.

The newspapers had got wind of the affair. The
Chi Bao
of Pekin and
the
Chinese Times
of Tien-Tsin had demanded mercy for the young
Roumanian. These cries for mercy had reached the feet of the Son of
Heaven—the very spot where the imperial ears are placed. Besides,
Pan-Chao had sent to his majesty a petition relating the incidents of
the journey, and insisting on the point that had it not been for
Kinko's devotion, the gold and precious stones would be in the hands of
Faruskiar and his bandits. And, by Buddha! that was worth something
else than six months in prison.

Yes! It was worth 15,000 taels, that is to say, more than 100,000
francs, and in a fit of generosity the Son of Heaven remitted these to
Kinko with the remittal of his sentence.

I decline to depict the joy, the happiness, the intoxication which this
news brought by Kinko in person, gave to all his friends, and
particularly to the fair Zinca Klork. These things are expressible in
no language—not even in Chinese, which lends itself so generously to
the metaphorical.

And now my readers must permit me to finish with my traveling
companions whose numbers have figured in my notebook.

Nos. 1 and 2, Fulk Ephrinell and Miss Horatia Bluett: not being able to
agree regarding the various items stipulated in their matrimonial
contract, they were divorced three days after their arrival in Pekin.
Things were as though the marriage had never been celebrated on the
Grand Transasiatic, and Miss Horatia Bluett remained Miss Horatia
Bluett. May she gather cargoes of heads of hair from Chinese polls; and
may he furnish with artificial teeth every jaw in the Celestial Empire!

No. 3, Major Noltitz: he is busy at the hospital he has come to
establish at Pekin on behalf of the Russian government, and when the
hour for separation strikes, I feel that I shall leave a true friend
behind me in these distant lands.

Nos. 4 and 5, the Caternas: after a stay of three weeks in the capital
of the Celestial Empire, the charming actor and actress set out for
Shanghai, where they are now the great attraction at the French
Residency.

No. 6, Baron Weissschnitzerdörfer, whose incommensurable name I write
for the last time: well, not only did the globe-trotter miss the
steamer at Tien-Tsin, but a month later he missed it at Yokohama; six
weeks after that he was shipwrecked on the coast of British Columbia,
and then, after being thrown off the line between San Francisco and New
York, he managed to complete his round of the world in a hundred and
eighty-seven days instead of thirty-nine.

Nos. 9 and 10, Pan-Chao and Dr. Tio-King: what can I say except that
Pan-Chao is always the Parisian you know, and that if he comes to
France we shall meet at dinner at Durand's or Marguery's. As to the
doctor, he has got down to eating only the yolk of an egg a day, like
his master, Cornaro, and he hopes to live to a hundred and two as did
the noble Venetian.

No. 8, Sir Francis Trevellyan, and No. 12, Seigneur Faruskiar: I have
never heard of the one who owes me an apology and a cigar, nor have I
heard that the other has been hanged. Doubtless, the illustrious
bandit, having sent in his resignation of the general managership of
the Grand Transasiatic, continues his lucrative career in the depths of
the Mongol provinces.

Now for Kinko, my No. 11: I need hardly say that my No. 11 was married
to Zinca Klork with great ceremony. We were all at the wedding, and if
the Son of Heaven had richly endowed the young Roumanian, his wife
received a magnificent present in the name of the passengers of the
train he had saved.

That is the faithful story of this journey. I have done my best to do
my duty as special correspondent all down the line, and perhaps my
editors may be satisfied, notwithstanding the slip or two you have
heard about.

As to me, after spending three weeks in Pekin, I returned to France by
sea.

And now I have to make a confession, which is very painful to my
self-esteem. The morning after I arrived in the Chinese capital I
received a telegram thus worded, in reply to the one I had sent from
Lan-Tcheou:

Claudius Bombarnac,
Pekin, China.

Twentieth Century requests its correspondent, Claudius Bombarnac, to
present its compliments and respects to the heroic Seigneur Faruskiar
.

But I always say that this telegram never reached him, so that he has
been spared the unpleasantness of having to reply to it.