Voyage to the Center of the Earth

by Jacques Collin de Plancy

  “You must also have noticed that our costumes are uniform. That fine institution is due to Prince Sora, our present king, and he completed in that what his father had so fortunately undertaken. The monarch is dressed in a red tunic; that color is for him alone. The ministers, magistrates and priests wear sky-blue robes, with the difference between the three orders that the first wear a white belt, the second a black belt and the third a flame-colored belt. Poets, painters and all those who cultivate letters and the fine arts wear white, with slight distinctions in the belt. The laborers, who come next, wear dark green; merchants pale green; the army brown; physicians, gravediggers, miners, restaurateurs and cooks are dressed in black. Artisans wear ash-gray, servants yellow. There is even less variety in the vestments of women. The queen wears white with a red belt. The wife of a nobleman or poet wears pure white, that of a minister pale pink; the others wear the colors of their husbands, in a slightly darker shade.”

  “But what good do poets do,” Edward asked, “to be given the noble color white?”

  “They sing the praises of the great God, love of the fatherland, the charms of virtue and hatred of lies,” our host replied. “In their writings thy preach morality, concord and unity.”

  “That’s very good,” Tristan put in, “but you must have those poets here who become famous at the expense of morality, makers of libelles,16 for example.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked our host.

  “I mean circumstantial writings that propose changes in the state,” said Tristan, “which expose the faults of government, and which sometimes sow harm in believing that they are sowing good.”

  “If that is what you man,” said the little man, “we certainly have them; and every free state like ours can only subsist in that way, but we only call libels, or incendiary writings, the insidious proclamations of our enemies; everything that Alburians write for the fatherland is treated honorably here. If the author of a new proposal is mistaken, we are content not to follow his advice, without thinking that he is trying to harm the state. If he offers advantageous ideas, they are discussed in all the towns at the same time, and the suffrage of all gives the author his crown of laurels, a state pension, and the satisfaction of seeing his projects adopted for the benefit of the realm. In any case, there are no violent parties here, as among some of our neighbors, because in all political affairs, people only speak and act in the name of public interest, for which we are all ready to give, at the fist signal, our blood and our fortune.”

  “And if the prince has rivals?”

  “He cannot have any. The heredity of the monarchy shelters us from all factions. When a dynasty becomes extinct, the entire nation is consulted, in the sacred name of the fatherland, and the man is king who has gathered three out of every four votes.”

  “But what if you had a tyrant?”

  “All the orders of the state would judge him, and he would end his days far from the throne and far from the land of the Alburians.”

  “And if the succession of the crown gave you a weak, impotent monarch?”

  “He would be the head of state even so; but as the fatherland is our common mother, and an imbecile prince might, without knowing it, tear the maternal breast, while respecting his august character of king, the ministers would govern in his name.

  “So the ministers are not chosen by the prince?” Clairancy put in.

  “No,” the merchant replied. “The ministers of the realm of Albur are twelve in number, chosen indifferently from all the free orders, and nominated by magistrates, with the result that their election can be regarded as the work of all, since the magistrates re nominated by the people. We also have a senate, composed of four hundred elders, who oversee the maintenance of the laws, who receive the nation’s plaints, discuss the interests of the state and maintain good order. To be a senator it is necessary to be over sixty years of age, to have led a stainless life, to know the laws, to be severe with oneself and tolerant toward others. Senators are the representatives of the people, who nominate them by choice, in concert with the prince; they maintain the union between the different orders of the realm.”

  “You doubtless have a large nobility?” I asked in my turn.

  “Quite considerable,” our host replied, “since, in every five hundred Alburians, one normally counts two nobles. The senators, magistrates, ministers and priests are noble by election. Poets and artists who have merited their laurel crowns are also ennobled. But the nobility is not hereditary here, as among a few other peoples, because the son of a great man might be born with an unfortunate nature, and we do not want to profane the title of noble.”

  “It appears by that,” Williams interjected, “that you don’t have those stupid prejudices regarding families here…for instances, what do you do here with the son of a good-for-nothing?”

  “What does it matter to us, on seeing an honest man, whether his father was a wretch? A brigand is published for his crimes; his son can become as noble as another, if he has virtues.”

  With that, our dinner arrived. Our host took his family away, wishing us bon appétit, and we sat down at table, discussing all that we had just heard animatedly, and regretting that certain peoples that believe themselves very civilized have not taken a few lessons in morality in the land of the twenty-four-inch people

  But it had been a long time since our habits had been eroded, and we formed new ones in the fashion of the country. Edward, Tristan, Clairancy and Williams had pale green clothing made for them, saying that they were all merchants; the Manseau and I wore white robes. Those vestments, which seemed to us to be made of very fine cloth, were, however the coarsest fabric in the land—which did not prevent the mice from coming to nibble at them.

  As the animals in question were no larger than wasps, we did not perceive them for a long time. Our host pointed them out to us, and the same day as the conversation I have just reported, he sent us four cats a little smaller than the ordinary rats of Europe, which diverted us a great deal with their antics, and freed us completely from mice. They also tried to give us dogs, but our stature frightened them so much that it was impossible to oblige them to stay with us.

  XVII. A volcano. Singular animals. The eve of a fête. Abstinence from meat.

  One day, we went out of the town of Silone in order to go for a walk in the country. We drew away for two full leagues, going through villages and small towns, where thousands of Alburians came running in crowds to see us pass by. We had asked our host about curious things in the vicinity that we might visit, and he had indicated the “ardent mountain” situated twenty-two thousand paces—two and a half ordinary leagues—from Silone.

  On approaching the mountain we were not astonished to see that it was a volcano. The mountain was nearly three hundred feet high; its slope was fairly gentle, its soil sterile; a few clouds covered it constantly, and it never ceased vomiting swirls of smoke. We would not have been able to imagine that nature had placed a volcano in a climate as temperate as that of the realm of Albur, if we had not recalled that the north of our own globe also has its fiery mountains—but at least there were no habitations at the foot of the Alburian volcano. The mountain had disgorged ardent flows several times without engulfing the smallest hovel, because, since the Alburians have had laws, it has been forbidden to build within half a league of the volcano; that is the range of its greatest ravages, and the forbidden zone is surrounded by a deep ditch.

  However, as the eruption of a volcano is always advertised a few hours beforehand, by the bleakness of nature and a burning heat in the air surrounding the hearth of the flames, it was permitted to approach the ardent mountain in order to visit it.

  We had crossed the ditch circumscribing the abandoned soil; nature was cheerful and calm; nothing advertised any imminent danger, In any case, eruptions only happened once in every twenty years or so. We reached the foot of the mountain, and decided to climb it in order to examine the crater.

  The basin was about twenty fe
et deep below the circular summit; he crater consisted of a multitude of randomly intersecting crevasses, from which wisps of smoke emerged and small blue flames.

  We had been told that few people dared climb the surface of the mountain, because the earth was extremely friable, by dint of being burned, and the smallest landslides, for a cause that could only be explained to us poorly, caused the volcano great convulsions.

  We proposed to one another to walk with great precaution, but when Tristan took it into his head to climb up on a small mound of black sand in order to enjoy a view that he said was delightful, we all hastened there. The ground gave way beneath the weight of our feet; a few handfuls of sand fell into a crevasse, and we soon heard a subterranean rumbling, which frightened us. Everyone descended as quickly as possible.

  When we turned round at the foot of the mountain, we saw that it was producing flames; the clouds accumulated above the basin emitted flashes of lightning; thunder burst forth, and the entire summit of the mountain was immediately ablaze.

  While we regained the ditch that separated us from inhabited ground at a run, monsters of enormous size, and faces that appeared to us to be hideous, emerged from the flanks of the mountain and started pursuing us, uttering muffled and very animated cries. That new incident, combined with the rest of our adventure, threw us into a fear that is difficult to describe.

  Burning cinders began to rain down on us, and if we were lucky enough to escape the death that the ardent mountain was launching at us, what miracle would snatch us from the jaws of those monsters, which were bigger than we were, and against which we had not time to defend ourselves? Each of us uttered clamors of despair, and although we no longer had any hope of returning to our homeland, we shivered nevertheless at dying so soon on the small globe.

  Our fears were vain, however, with regard to the animals that were pursuing us, and new surprises took their place. The monsters had caught up with us; we saw them by our sides; we thought they were ready to pounce upon us, but they contented themselves with hastening our flight, and stopped when they saw that we were on the edge of the ditch, which we did not have the strength to jump. We traversed it with unsteady legs, and it was necessary for us to stop at the other side.

  We threw ourselves down in the dry grass to rest momentarily, sheltered and out of sight of the volcano; but we did not stay there for long; the hot cinders were hurtling through the air with so much force that we were obliged to draw away. We returned to the town, and the fatigue that overwhelmed us caused us to see our lodgings again with joy.

  It was already known in Silone that the volcano had erupted, but the only anxiety that caused was for us, who were thought to be in danger. Our host came to see us as soon as we got back and asked us for details of our adventure. After we had told him what had happened before our eyes Edward asked him to tell us what the animals were that had frightened us so much, and which we had just seen for the first time.

  “I’m sorry not to have told you about them,” he replied, “but those animals are lossines; their size is monstrous, since some of them are six feet long; their legs are extremely short but they can run with the most prodigious speed; they like humans and easily get used to living with them. There are some in all the farms, which they guard by night, and well-off peasants nourish them to protect themselves against attacks by ferocious beasts. They are only seen in the town in extraordinary circumstances—for example, you’ll see one tomorrow, which will bring us news of the eruption, as we have just learned from another that the mountain is ablaze. Some of them have been accustomed to living in caves hollowed out in the mountain, and they’re trained to chase away curious individuals who stray there very evening. When the volcano erupts they run toward any humans who are within the forbidden zone, take them on their backs and carry them to the edge of the ditch, which they don’t cross.”

  That admirable sagacity of the lossines reminded us of the dogs of Mont Cenis, and we promised ourselves to examine the animal that had caused us such terror the following day. Our host also told us that if we had not been pressed to flee, we would have seen a lively spring on the other side of the mountain, half way up the slope. Although that particularity seemed curious to us, we were not tempted to go and see it.

  The next day, toward the middle of the day, the news was cried in the street that a lossine was bringing news of the previous day’s eruption. We went out to see it arrive; it went past like a streak and went without pausing to the public square, carrying an Alburian on its back, who announced that the volcano was calming down. We had been among the first to run to the square; we saw the animal at close range; it was as meek as a sheep, and resembled some kind of lizard. Its ordinary length is five feet, and it is no more than a foot high.

  When the Alburian had fulfilled his mission, he climbed back on the animal’s back, which immediately started running again and left the town. We were so surprised to see such a large animal in that country, and also so gentle, that we could hardly believe our eyes, but we were told that there were monsters in certain forests that were dangerous by virtue of their size, and we concluded easily that sage nature had placed there, as elsewhere, good alongside evil, a defender beside an aggressor; for we were also told that the lossine was the mortal enemy of all enemies of humankind.

  A few days later, shortly before the evening meal, our host came to visit us.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “is the first day of a new year; and tomorrow, in accordance with the custom of our forefathers, we celebrate the feast of the great O.” (That is the name they give to God.) “But in order to conclude the year that is expiring happily, and to prepare for the festival of the first day, we spend this evening rejoicing, and in public feasting. If you are curious to see our diversions, you can put your table outside, sup like us in the open air, and come with us to the town’s public square.

  That proposal had too many attractions for it not to be immediately and generally adopted. Our table and our seats were soon in the street, where all the people were assembled. The little man, yielding to our invitation, had a chair and a small table brought for him, which Clairancy set on top of ours. By that means, our host’s face was almost level with ours, and we were able to converse with him during the meal. When supper-time arrived, all the tables were garnished simultaneously, and our pittance arrived as usual.

  “Well,” said the Manseau, “the customs in this country are worth every bit as much as ours. Up there, people prepare for solemnities by fasting and abstinence; here, they prepare for feasts with feasts.”

  “There are peoples on our globe too,” our host replied, “who mortify themselves in order better to celebrate their feasts, but when one considers how absurd that custom is, preference can’t be refused to ours. On the day before my birthday, my son is delighted; he rejoices with me, he wishes me long happiness; the day after, his joy is even keener. All the people known to us celebrate particular fêtes like that, but when that of the great God approaches, they await it sadly. Those incomprehensible austerities seem to us to be insulting to the divinity. A man must have a very narrow soul to make the father of nature a tyrant avid for tears, to think that he is pleasing God by forging miseries and pains for himself and believe that he is giving offense by his gladness!”

  We had picked up our spoons in order to start eating, and the Manseau had opened his mouth to mention a few more European absurdities, when we were all stopped by a general movement of the people. The merchant and all the Alburians had stood up silently. Their attitude was one of respect and adoration. They put their left hands over their hearts; the right hand and their eyes were raised toward the sky. Each of us imitated them, penetrated by a religious sentiment. After a few minutes of meditation, the elders pronounced these words, which everyone repeated:

  “God, who reads all hearts, your children bless you!”

  Then the meal commenced, silently at first, but soon animated by conversation and the purest joy. We often took our meals without thinking ve
ry much about the one who watches over our existence, and that little ceremony of the Alburians made us slightly ashamed. We asked out host if that prayer was said often.

  “Four times a day,” he replied, “and it’s the only one we address to God. What more can fragile mortals say to him? He knows our needs; we don’t importune him with vain demands. We’re content to bless him.”

  That day’s meal, however, was as simple as those of other days; it was similarly composed solely of the gifts of nature. That universal abstinence from any kind of meat had astonished us for some time. Edward thought that the Alburians admitted the dogma of metempsychosis. The others lost themselves in similar conjectures. I seized the opportunity to terminate our uncertainty and I asked our host whether it was forbidden in the realm of Albur to eat anything that had been alive.

  He did not understand my question at first. When I had repeated it, he said: “Not only in the realm of Albur but among all the sagest peoples of our globe. We respect the divinity too much to destroy his work and to rob animals of a life they have from God, as we do.

  “However, there are barbaric peoples in some regions of the world with whom neighboring nations hardly communicate. Those peoples first extended their voracity to beasts; soon they made pasture of their fellows. They have created monstrous divinities, whom they nourish like themselves on blood and dead flesh. They doubtless thought that they would find in cadavers a nourishment more salutary than in plants and the fruits of their trees. What an error! An old man of sixty is near to the tomb among them; a man of a hundred in still vigorous here.”

  Those words caused us a great surprise.

  “Do you see those three old men sitting at the next table,” our host went on, “whose hair is beginning to go white? They are all more than a hundred years old, and tomorrow, at the ceremonies of worship, you’ll be able to see a great many of the same age.”