We knew that the ancient patriarchs and a few nascent peoples had nourished themselves in remote times solely on the fruits of the earth, and that those simple and natural aliments procured a life more exempt from infirmities and longer than ours, but we had not thought that abstinence from all meat could be made customary in a great nation. We were, however, doing that along with an entire people, and we were quite well.
The Manseau, who was not yet satisfied, and who wanted to know whether animals were respected there, asked why it was that the Alburians regarded the murder of animals as a crime.
“I’ve already told you,” our host replied. “Because God has put them on earth, like us, in order to enjoy the pleasures of life. Animals flee death; the fruit of a tree, on the contrary, falls into our hand as soon as it is ripe. Moreover, the lion and the tiger kill in order to subsist, and it is not the lion and the tiger that we ought to take for a model. Finally, how do we know that those animals whose entrails we would rip out do not have a soul capable of thinking, like us? It would doubtless be less perfect than ours, but it might be able to sense the charms of existence that we were taking away, and reproach us one day. We do, however, hunt harmful monsters.”
Williams uttered a burst of laughter on hearing it advanced that animal souls might be spiritual and make reproaches to their murderers in the other world.
“There’s nothing to laugh at in that,” said the Manseau. “Doubts are of no consequence, and among Europeans, things much more absurd are advanced every day as articles of faith. People have placed in paradise Ishmael’s ram, Moses’ ox, Balaam’s ass, the whale that wallowed Jonah, the seven sleepers’ dog and the prophet Mohammed’s donkey. The Pythagoreans, Plutarch, Porphyry, Lantantius and many other authors have given a spiritual soul to animals. Here, at least, they affirm nothing.”
XVIII. Public rejoicing. A religious pyramid.
The priests of Albur. Fireworks. The feast of the great O. Marriages. The house of the dead.
At that moment, everyone got up from the table and went to the public square, which was graciously illuminated. We expected to see varied spectacles, tightrope walkers, greasy poles and all the diversions that comprise Europeans fêtes. Nothing of that sort awaited us. A great number of musicians, on stages around the pyramid, were playing various instruments very softly; the people started to sing; dances commenced here and there, and everyone amused themselves in their fashion.
The pyramid that rose up in the middle of the square bore small inscriptions of its four faces that we could not read as yet, although we spoke the Alburian language well enough. Clairancy asked out host to explain the mottoes.
“It’s the summary of our religion and our laws,” the little merchant replied. “In every town and village you will find those inscriptions exposed to the eyes of all, and among the inhabitants of the countryside you can see them traced on tree-trunks or written over doors. This is what you are asking:
“On the first face, beneath the eternal O, the sacred word that children pronounce before stammering the name of their mother, you can read these words, which are in all hearts: Glory to the Great God! He alone can count the benefits that he distributes to mortals; let all hearts adore him, and let all mouths bless him.
“On the second face: Mortal, see in your mother the image of the God who created you; and let your father make your heart beat, after the God who watches over your days. Love your son and your daughter as you are loved by God.
“On the third face, you see these words: In giving you being, God has given you a fatherland; it preceded you and it will survive you. Take off your tunic, if the fatherland demands it; die if it needs your blood.
“The fourth face bears these words: Be just; maintain peace between your brothers. Do good, even toward the ingrate, and bear in mind that you walk before your God.”
That pure and sublime morality cast us into further astonishment. We had been told many a time that a natural religion could not subsist, but we saw it in vigor in a sage, civilized nation where the mores were simpler and more respected than in all the countries known to us!
But perhaps, we said to one another, this town is the model of the kingdom. It’s a provincial town; let us suspend our judgment until we are in the capital.
We were due to leave in a matter of days, because the king, knowing that we could speak the language, was asking for us immediately.
In the meantime, Clairancy, somewhat recovered from his surprise, turned to our host. “A religion like yours,” he said, “has every right to astonish us, who have only seen until now religions cluttered with a thousand incomprehensible observances and peoples soiled by all the vices, because they are always told about a terrible God and hardly ever of a God of clemency. But you’ve told us that you have priests?”
“Yes,” our host replied. “There is one in every village, five in the large towns and ten in the capital. They maintain good accord between families, terminate disputes, console the unfortunate and teach the rich to relieve the poor. They preach clemency, forgetfulness of insults, love of the fatherland, obedience to the law and the social virtues, of which they give an example to the people.”
“But are your priests married?” Edward asked.
“No,” the merchant replied. “They are only required to have been married. To be a minister of religion, it’s necessary to be over sixty. Would it not be ridiculous for a young man, scarcely tried in life, to give precepts of wisdom to the old, and offer themselves to public veneration without having done anything to merit it, as is seen among some of our neighbors?
“So, when a priest dies, the people, in order to replace him, choose from all the orders of the state an irreproachable old man whom death has rendered a widower, and who is the father of several children. He has known the pleasures of marriage and the charms of amour; he has experienced the sentiments of paternity; those who consult him will find in him a friend and a father, who will not be cold to their chagrins and anxieties.
“Don’t believe, moreover, that there is any great competition when it’s a matter of electing a priest. It’s a heavy duty, and wealth doesn’t come into it. The ministers of our religion live on their own resources; they do not receive any pension. If they have land, it is cultivated at the expense of the village; if they have a commerce, it is run for them, and the state looks after their children because they can no longer do it themselves. Those are all their advantages.
“Furthermore, they are judged after their death, like kings and all magistrates. Their sepulcher is usually honorable, but those who have deceived public confidence, those who have been vicious, when their position commanded virtue, are condemned by the people and their bodies are buried to become the prey of decay.”
“They’re buried when they’re dead to punish them!” exclaimed Tristan. “What, then, is the funereal recompense of good people?”
“Their bodies are burned in the public square,” our host replied. “Their ashes are collected in a little bronze urn, and those venerable remains are deposited in a temple designed for the purpose. As all men are equal after death, there is no visible distinction in all those tombs except the difference in the names engraved on the urns.”
The old man was about to continue when the dances and the sound of the musical instruments was interrupted. “The fête is ending,” he told us. “Look in front of you at the mountain that rises above the town.”
The mountain in question was illuminated by a great fire. All eyes were fixed upon it. Soon there was an explosion similar to the discharge of several muskets; the mountain lit up, and we had the spectacle of a beautiful firework display.
“My God,” Martinet said to me, nudging me with his elbow, “these people have invented powder!”
“What a country!” added Williams. “They know as much here as we do.” Addressing our host, he added: “Obviously, you must know how to make war if you have inventions like that?”
“It has been a long time since the realm of Albur made war,” the
merchant replied, “and even longer since the inflammable powder was discovered; but we don’t make use of it for war, as you seem to think. We attack our enemies hand-to-hand. Otherwise, where would courage be, if we hid in clouds of smoke and whirlwinds of flame? That discovery embellishes our fêtes; a few peoples use it for hunting.”
The fireworks did away, after lasting a quarter of an hour. At the same time, a priest appeared at the top of the pyramid; all the people had fallen silent.
“People of Albur,” he said, in a loud voice, “what is the duration of that flame, compared with our long existence? Such is, before the eternal, the short space of our life. Let virtue fill it; it is here the companion of joy and happiness.”
After having said those words, he came down.
Williams, who was looking for somewhere to sit down, and had been expecting a long speech, watched the people leaving the public square with amazement. “That’s all!” he exclaimed.
“Short speeches are the best,” replied Edward, “but not all preachers want to believe it.”
With that, we went back to our lodgings.
As soon as the new day appeared, the sound of musical instruments reminded us that we were about to celebrate the feast of the great O. We dressed in haste and left the house. The streets were carpeted in white and strewn with verdure.
“Marvelous,” said the Manseau. “We’re doubtless going to see processions pass by with relics; we mustn’t miss that spectacle.”
“I doubt that there are relics here,” said Edward, “but here comes our host, already up and about; he’ll soon put us in the picture.”
At the same time, he approached the little merchant and asked him why the streets were decorated thus.
“As a testimony of public delight,” he replied. “Black is the symbol of sadness, and white the symbol of joy. The verdure that covers the movement of our streets will be trodden momentarily by the young spouses; it will remind them that they are the hope of the fatherland.”
As he finished speaking numerous musical instruments called our attention toward the public square. We saw a large number of old men appear carrying bouquets of brightly colored flowers. They were marching two by two, leaning on staffs of green wood; a few of them were so curbed that they seemed no more than eighteen inches tall; others held themselves upright.
“Those,” said our host, “are the centenarians of the town. The foremost are more than a hundred and thirty, the last only just a hundred. There are two hundred and twenty-five of them. The centenarian woman are following them, less numerous and more decrepit. After those two respectable companies you can see the society of musicians.
The old men passed before us at that moment. All the spectators saluted them with the greatest respect, and we all did likewise. After the musicians, who were doing their best to enliven the fête, came a long file of youths less than twenty years of age; they were giving their hands to their young lovers; all the couples were crowned with white roses and their hands held little branches of verdure laden with fruits.
That lovely procession of young human creatures, marching two by two in admirable order, their faces imprinted with the sweetest serenity; that contrast of white-haired old age and youth crowned with pale flowers, offered our eyes a spectacle so charming that it would never quit our memory. The youths numbered three hundred; they were escorting as many young women; the parents came next, carrying white sticks about six inches long, and preceded by the five priests of the town. An innumerable populace terminated the cortege confusedly.
“If you’re curious to see the ceremonies of marriage,” our host said to us, “it’s necessary to come with us out of the town.” As he spoke he mingled with the crowd.
The young spouses had interested us too much for us to await the end of the pomp coldly; we wanted to see everything, and we followed our host.
On emerging from the town, the cortege headed for a small round plain surrounded by trees. A grassy mound rose up in the middle; the priests climbed on to it. The young lovers arranged themselves around them in several lines, accompanied by their parents.
The first priest began to speak, saying: “Children of Albur, your parents have given you being; you are about to give it to others.”
After a moment’s silence, the second priest added: “Children of Albur, your parents have made you human; the fatherland has made you citizens.”
The third priest continue: “You have made the happiness of your families; God will give you children, who will also make your happiness.”
When the turn of the fourth priest came, he pronounced he words: “Children of Albur, you have been able to obey; you will be able to command.”
At this point the parents broke their white sticks, to signify that their children were free. The young men raised their hands over the heads of the young women, swearing to protect them and render them happy. The brides, in their turn, put one knee on the ground and swore on their hearts to cherish their spouses and not to seek to dominate them. They were then given the belts of women, and the husbands the belts of men, which adolescents did not wear; and the fifth priest, on his knees, appealed for all the graces of the Eternal upon the young couples, with the peace of the heart, fecundity and sweet abundance.
After that, everyone returned to the town, in the same order in which they had observed in emerging.
“Well, what do you think?” the Manseau asked us. “There’s six hundred happy in one day. Isn’t that a fine commencement to a fête?”
But I had remarked that all the young husbands gave the impression of being the same age. I asked our host whether people always married so young in the country.
“One has to be married before thirty, otherwise one is no longer a citizen. Bachelors are poorly considered here; as soon as they pass thirty all honors are forbidden to them; they cannot exercise commerce, or apply themselves to the fine arts, or obtain any public responsibility; they are not accepted as witnesses; they cannot share in successions; their votes do not count in public elections; young people do not salute them; in sum, they are regarded as burdens that load the state uselessly, since they have received the light of day, without wishing to give it. They can still marry after thirty, but that belated ceremony does not return the rights they have lost, except that it’s permissible for them to wear the virile belt. If they die as bachelors, at an age when they ought to be married, they’re buried without being burned. That law applies to women as well as men.”
“Eh?” exclaimed Tristan. “What can women do about it?”
“They can do as much as men,” our host replied, “since they have the right to choose a husband, as men have of choosing a wife.”
“So women sometimes make the advances?”
“Why shouldn’t they? They have hearts that speak, as ours do; when they love a young man, if the young man is not engaged by other ties, they confess their love to him, as we do when we feel it first. Would it not be a ridiculous injustice if men alone had the power to choose who pleases them and women had to wait until someone deigned to occupy himself with them? Husbands have a kind of superiority over their wives, but it is marriage that gives it to them; so long as one is only a lover, the two sexes are equal.”
“But what is the reason for the great severity that you deploy against bachelors?” asked Clairancy.
“This is the reason,” our host replied. “Phanis, the first king of the dynasty that now rules us, reined in peace four centuries ago. Arrogant sophists published books against marriage; they were endowed with considerable intellectual finesse; they seduced the people and did not displease the king, because they amused him and continually flattered his vanity. Their sect grew; they preached their deadly morality by example and lived in celibacy. Many people imitated them; married people became ridiculous; marriage was regarded as the prerogative of the people, and as a sad duty for princes. Countless disorders came to disturb mores; our towns were soon places of debauchery; even the rural areas were depopulated.
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“A hundred years after the origin of those unfortunate innovations, a census was taken of the nation, which was beginning to fall into brutishness; it was found that the population of the realm had diminished by a fifth. Young king Orrohe was then reigning; he was frightened by that decadence of the Alburians, and he enacted the immortal law that astonishes you. Mores resumed their authority; the realm was repopulated; good fortune returned to these happy climes, with the virtues and nature that an attempt had been made to stifle...”
Meanwhile, the young spouses had been brought back to the public square. The priests pointed with their fingers at the four inscriptions on the pyramid, after which they blessed the couples again, and everyone returned to their homes, singing canticles to the Eternal. As those songs were very animated, and we had thought at first, judging by the joy that inspired the singers, that it was a matter of a few ariettas. As soon as Clairancy perceived that they were singing the praises of God, he asked our host why the hymns were sung so gaily.
“Would you want people to weep,” he replied, “when they speak to their father? All the worship that we render to bountiful God is accompanied by dancing, songs and delight. Is it not his joy to see his children joyful? Our neighbors raise temples to him, but what temples can contain him? We adore him everywhere; his altars are in our hearts; we bless him in the towns, where he gives us abundance, and in the fields, where he gives us fertility. Some peoples make sacrifices to him; we offer him every day the virtues that he gives us. In the time of fruits, we carry to an altar of grass the first produce of the earth; the priests bless us, and then they distribute our offerings to the poor. But if you’re curious to know our religion in depth, I’ll give you the sacred book.”
We accepted our host’s offer gladly, and in the meantime, we went with him to visit the house of the dead. It was a vast edifice, extremely simple, composed of ten long galleries in which the ashes of good people were arranged on shelves, enclosed in bronze urns. There were such great numbers of them, and we were bent double in the corridors, which were four feet high at the most, that we only visited a small part. Then we wanted to see the rest of the fête, but there was nothing remarkable about it except the joy of the people. In the evening, however, after the dancing, there were races, wrestling matches and various games, which had nothing extraordinary about them except the smallness of the participants.
Voyage to the Center of the Earth Page 12
