Voyage to the Center of the Earth

by Jacques Collin de Plancy

  We got down in order to go forward to salute the King. He was mounted on an extremely spirited horse; the animal had no sooner perceived us than it began to take fright, and after several capers it took off and frayed a path through the people, in order to go back into the city. The frightened Alburians arranged got out of the horse’s path without daring to stop it with the bridle, and some mishap was probably about to befall the Prince when Edward, remembering the agility of his limbs, ran after the King’s horse, soon caught up with it and stopped it forcefully.

  The people, charmed, hailed our companion as the monarch’s savior, and as it is the custom in that country to ennoble those who protect the King’s days from some peril, the chancellor of the realm, who was there, returned to the palace, where he expedited letters of nobility for Edward. The latter received them the same evening, with a round medal that was suspended around his neck, and which bore on one side the effigy of King Brontes and on the other, a brief summary of his eminent service. That distinction did not make him any prouder.

  Prince Sora expressed himself with a great deal of grace and facility. When we had saluted him respectfully, and he had given us his compliments, and reproaches for our slowness in coming to see him, Clairancy asked him, as we entered the city, which his guards marched around him unarmed, and whether he did not fear any treason.

  “I have nothing to fear,” he replied. “The title of King is not greatly envied in this land, for the man who governs is not the most fortunate of Alburians. He is merely the rallying point of the nation; he prevents ambitious ministers from tyrannizing the people, as if seen in some republics. He is the representative of the fatherland, but he is responsible for all the faults that are committed under his government, and the throne gives him no glory if he has not merited it. My brothers and all those of my family have no interest in seeking the crown; it would not render them any more powerful, nor more beloved. One can gain the love of the people here in any post. Benefits, sage examples and justice are, for magistrates, senators and ministers, the means of making themselves loved. A King must do more; he has to render all of his people happy, be just toward the pettiest as toward the most elevated, serve as a model for all his subjects and make sage laws if he wants to be cherished and not shamefully buried after his death.

  “Royalty is no more a title in history. The least individual who performs a good deed is consigned to the memory of his time; a King who does not do good every day of his life often takes to the tomb with him the glory for which he hoped. Two hundred and eighty kings have already reigned over the Alburians, and nothing is known of two-thirds of those monarchs but their names, while their generals and the great men of their time enjoy and immortal glory.

  “Mediocre Princes still have the hope of living in posterity by means of the works of good poets, who sell them magnificent eulogies, but the wise Brontes, my father, passed a law that forbade praising Kings while they are alive and proscribed the custom of raising monuments to a Prince while he is on the throne. Furthermore, coins are not struck with the effigy of the reigning Prince, but with that of the last king, provided that he is worthy of it. This, medals and the silver money made under my reign bear the features of Brontes, and if ten unworthy Kings succeed him, during those ten reigns, medals and money will bear the same face, with a legend beneath it merely announcing the year. That law, so favorable and dear to the people, will henceforth force Kings to be just, good and laborious.”

  We had entered the capital, which bears the name of Orasulla. We were advancing so slowly that we arrived at the palace long after nightfall. A vast and comfortable house had been built for us, where we found all the necessary furniture and doors that could at least let us through without obliging us to duck our heads.

  The King came to see us for several days in succession in order to converse with us about the customs of our world. He obtained little fruit from it, because, in fact, his laws were wiser than ours; but as it had been believed until then on the small globe that the sky from which we had descended was uninhabited, he testified the desire to have our history written, and everything that we knew about our world, in order to inform the Alburians about it. The Manseau offered the King his services, which were accepted, and he wrote, in less than six months, an enormous volume, which was put into the correct language of the world by a qualified historiographer, and was published in four folio volumes five or six inches high.

  “If I have no glory in my own land,” said the Manseau, as he fashioned his masterpiece, “I shall at least have some here, and King Sora will owe me a part of his.”

  We were glad to see the poor man occupied, because he then became less sad.

  Meanwhile, we went to visit the monuments and remarkable places of the capital. The great city was almost circular, like all Alburian cities. It was nearly a league in extent; it had ten public squares, each decorated with a fifty-foot pyramid, two hundred streets and more than a million inhabitants. All the houses were aligned, and built like those we had described on arrival, but there were several magnificent palaces.

  A month after our arrival, we went to visit the palace of the Academy. It was a beautiful edifice, where all the Academicians were lodged and nourished at the expense of the state. The advanced building contained the library and the session hall; the various lodgings of the Academicians were arranged around a great courtyard planted with trees. We visited all these constructions, which were sufficiently elevated for us to be able to penetrate into them without too much difficulty. We asked our guide how many members the Academy had.

  “It has twelve,” he replied, “who are responsible for caring for the language and examining the new words that are proposed for introduction to it.”

  “Only twelve!” exclaimed Clairancy. “Among us, people complain that there are only forty.”

  “Well,” said our guide, “people complain here that there are too many, and we would be very glad if our twelve Academicians were all worthy of their status.”

  That reminded us of the words of Socrates: “My house is very small, but I would find it large enough if I could fill it with true friends.”

  Tristan then asked whether there was an Academy of antiquaries in the realm.

  “We have had no more need of one for a long time,” the Alburian replied. “For more than six thousand years we have been sure of our written history, and we do not occupy ourselves much with what preceded that epoch.”

  “But you must seek to know the ancient monuments of less civilized peoples,” I said, “their medals, their old coins, etc.”

  “We would sooner inform ourselves about their mores, their customs, their virtues and vices,” our guide replied. “We would rather find a sage law than an old cracked earthenware vase, and we’re more curious to know whether our ancestors or our neighbors are more just than us than learning about the shape of their plates, the form of their footwear and the distribution of their cutlery.

  “As for historians, we have fifty well-qualified. They all occupy themselves in recording during the current year the history of the year that has just passed. Those fifty works are delivered to the senate, anonymously; the Academy has them read to the senators; the two simplest and most veridical of the memoirs are selected and the other forty-eight burned, while the two masterpieces are printed and deposited in all the public libraries.”

  “Doubtless individuals are not deprived of them?”

  “No, if the individuals buy them.”

  “But that barbarity of burning forty-eight works must desolate the authors,” said Clairancy.

  “No. For one thing, they are all well-pensioned by the state, which employs them. Secondly, they learn to be more truthful and simple henceforth. Finally, they can print the books themselves if they have kept a copy, as sometimes happens—but they are obliged to entitle them Memoirs of the Year , burned for exaggerations and lies by order of the Alburian Senate, whereas the others have the title of History adopted by the State.

  �
��We are still somewhat inundated by novels, poetry and various works of amusement, but before appearing, they are examined by the Academy, which has faults of language removed and anything that might harm the worship of the great God, the love of the fatherland or respect for morals.”

  With that we saw the Academicians emerging from their meeting hall. For the most part, they had an intelligent and modest physiognomy. We were told that in general, those distinguished men were devoid of conceit, arrogance, presumption and insolence—which surprised us extremely, since they were Academicians.

  The next morning, Prince Sora came to see us. The conversation came round gradually to amour and marriage. Clairancy asked the King whether unions were happy in the realm of Albur.

  “As much as they can be,” the prince replied. “At least, it’s a prodigy if one sees a husband give his wife a slap or a wife regale her husband with a punch. The reason is quite simple; inclinations are not forced. If a young man and a young woman suit one another, they marry, without anyone having the right to impede them.”

  “What about parental authority?” asked the Manseau.

  “The authority of parents doesn’t extend so far as to render children unhappy. When two lovers want to marry, they notify their families a week in advance. If the young man has a bad reputation, if he is soiled by some crime, the father of the young woman can prevent the marriage. Similarly, if the intended bride has grave vices, the young man’s parents oppose an unworthy choice; but fortune counts for nothing, as well as family caprices and hatreds. Afterwards, if the spouses are not in accord, divorce is open to them; it prevents all the woes of a bad union.”

  “Divorce,” said Edward, “but what about the children?”

  “The father takes responsibility for the boys, the mother takes care of the daughters. Perhaps you’ll find that means a little grave by virtue of the consequences it might have, but think that, in countries where divorce is not permitted, one finds thousands of deceived husbands and a host of unhappy or neglected wives; and that under a paternal government, all bonds ought to break when they become too heavy.”

  “You speak of deceived husbands as if they were exempt from that destiny here. Are all your wives faithful, then?”

  “I know that there are countries where conjugal fidelity is a phenomenon,” said Prince Sora, laughing. “Well, here infidelity is such a rare phenomenon that we have difficulty believing the tales we are told about the marriages of our neighbors.”

  “How can you flatter yourselves with a prerogative that would be unique in this world and ours?”

  “And how can you expect,” the King retorted, “that a wife might deceive her husband, or a husband betray his wife, when their union in free, when nothing obliges them to live together, when they can separate instantly without any obstacle, without shame and without any impediment whatsoever?”

  “However, if by chance it happens that a wife betrays her vows, what punishment is inflicted on her?”

  “She is condemned to spend the rest of her days in a public brothel.”

  “That’s a singular punishment!”

  “It’s terrible. Prostitutes here are perpetually imprisoned. It’s forbidden for them to show themselves in the streets; they might accost an honest woman and the latter’s modesty would be offended. The young men who love those sorts of women can go to find them in the houses that they inhabit.”

  “Are there many of them?”

  “They wouldn’t be numerous if they were only composed of dishonored women; there are others who exercise that métier voluntarily; they are less restricted; they can walk outside the city for the sake of their health, but their costume makes them recognizable, and no one speaks to them outside their houses. The others only breathe the open air in their gardens.”

  “All that you have just told us,” I said, “makes me believe that courtesans are in bad odor among you, and that you have not had any celebrated ones?”

  “A few have been remarkable for their beauty, their wit and their praiseworthy qualities, but their conduct has tarnished them and their memory is dead.”

  “There are countries where people think differently,” said Edward. “I have even known people who saw nothing but originality in the mores of courtesans, and many honest men place Aspasias, Phyrnés and Ninons on their mantelpiece, alongside women illustrious for their virtues their intelligence and truly noble actions.”

  “Here,” replied the King, “medals are stuck, portraits engraved and statues raised to celebrated men and women, but our artists have not yet had the idea of consecrating the memory of beings that humanity only recognizes with a groan.”

  “And what opinion do you have of a young woman who has an amorous weakness?”

  “The same as a woman who has a child with her husband. Love and marriage are the same thing for us, and a young woman who becomes a mother is a spouse in law.”

  “Well,” Tristan put in, “how are children who kill their father or mother punished here?”

  “What are you saying?” exclaimed the King shivering. “Have you lived in a land unfortunate enough to contain such monsters?”

  “Yours is exempt from them?” asked Clairancy.

  “Yes, thank God,” the prince relied. “We have not had any to punish, and our laws do not contain anything against a crime so unnatural. I even believe that none would be found anywhere, if the matter were to be examined closely. Parricides are ordinarily the fruit of the infidelity of wives, and the only children who kill their fathers are children of adultery, or exchanged by nurses. That is why we put such a price on conjugal fidelity, and every time we have had to judge an unfortunate accused of killing his father, we have ended up discovering that he had only killed his putative father.”

  “But what about those who kill their mother?”

  “They have been exchanged by a nurse; at least, that is what we have always discovered.”

  “And what is their punishment?”

  “That of all homicides. They are locked up for nine days with their victim. If they are alive after that time of expiation they are erased forever from the list of citizens, laden with public opprobrium, of which they bear an ineffaceable mark in their foreheads, graved with burning copper, and condemned to work in the mines.”

  “Do you have duels?” asked the Manseau.

  “Sometimes,” replied the Prince.

  “Doubtless you punish them?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “What! Your laws license homicide and murder?”

  “Who mentioned homicide?” said the Prince, astonished. “Are your duels bloody? Here, when two rivals for glory or some merit dispute their excellence, they only combat in generosity. For example a man who wants to prove the nobility of his soul exhausts himself in largesse and ruins himself with alms. Another who wants to prove his courage carries a standard, if we are at war, or kills a few ferocious beasts if we are at peace.”

  “Finally,” asked Clairancy, “be good enough to tell us what means you employ against suicide?”

  “We don’t recognize it,” replied the Prince. “Apart from the fact that the dementia in question is rare here, when such a monstrosity has occurred, we attribute it to an unknown accident, or to the loss of reason, because it is not possible that a man in his right mind would annihilate a work of God when his soul will appear before his judge. We believe privately however, that God pardons unfortunates led astray by despair, and we pardon them similarly—but we refrain from saying aloud that there has been a suicide, and our newspapers have to such sense to announce it. The word sounds badly in the ears of weak persons; and some might kill themselves because they knew that others have already done so.”

  XXVIII. Alburian monuments. Their inscriptions.

  Transgressions of the law of the land.

  A few weeks later we went to visit the public museum. It was a large edifice composed of four blocks, which surrounded a vast garden and formed a rectangle. All the riches and masterpieces of
the fine arts were assembled there.

  In the first building one admired the marvels of sculpture. Marble, bronze, gold and silver shone everywhere, and the work very often surpassed the material by a factor of a hundred. We did not see any iron, because, as I believe I have already said, that globe does not produce any.

  The second gallery contained beautiful works of painting. We saw there a series of a hundred and twenty pictures on agricultural subjects so small and delicate that one of us could have held them all in one hand.

  The building at the back was devoted to medals, on which one saw, engraved in all epochs, all the fine actions and memories of the Alburian nation.

  The other gallery was the depository of all inventions and fortunate discoveries; it also contained several models of ancient costumes and ancient suits of armor.

  In the garden, which was planted with green trees, admirably disposed, the monuments of the gratitude of the people were assembled. The good kings, whose statues were erected in various towns, on the bridges they had ordered built, and in public squares, also had their place in the museum garden. The great men whose statues or busts one encountered in several places in the capital were also gathered together beside the kings.

  That garden, always open, was for the people a history of the nation. The kings were arranged in files in chronological order; their name was legible at the base of their statue, with the epoch of their reign and a summary of their life. The same system had been observed for generals, sages, great ministers, illustrious magistrates, celebrated poets and distinguished writers in all genres. We found that beautiful and sage disposition more convenient than the disorder of European museums.

  On a small hill the famous inventors could be seen; there we found, with pleasure, statues erected to those who had discovered printing, and we recalled with shame that that honor had not yet been rendered among us to the inventors of that immortal art. We scarcely deign to pronounce their names occasionally...