I washed myself and gave my rags a more decent arrangement. Kneeling on the bank still looking into my mirror, I suddenly saw the reflection of another man. I turned round. Too emotional to say a word, I considered the individual: tall, old, clad in a fashion very similar to our peasants. He was gazing at me sadly.
In the end, I said, in French: “I’m an unfortunate whom the tempest has cast up on the shore. Help me. Tell me what land this is.”
He expressed by means of signs that he did not understand. I spoke to him in English. He shook his head.
He spoke, and I understood. He was speaking in a sublime language believed to be dead for two thousand years, a language with harmonious syllables that can only be compared to ours. The old man was speaking ancient Greek.
But I can hear the clamors of collegiate pedants and other scholarly rodents of stupid books in which they think all knowledge is contained. Listen to them crying in their jargon: “No people uses that dialect today. Even if it had been conserved, it would have been subjected, by virtue of changing mores, over the succession of the centuries, to such profound alterations and such numerous admixtures, that it would have become unrecognizable.” Don’t agitate so in your pulpits, O ignorant quibblers, for it isn’t the first time that your reasoning has proved false. I’m not relating hearsay. What I’m reporting, I haven’t read in your compilations. And as I’m not advancing anything that isn’t the fruit of experience acquired through terrible dangers, I shall find your insolent contradiction difficult to tolerate.
But you will find the means of educating yourselves in the seven folio volumes that I shall soon publish. Therein are inscribed all the definitive explanations, all the necessary information, sustained and justified by a marvelous abundance of evidence. Read that great work and then come, if you wish, to treat me as a liar, a crackpot and a faker. But in truth, I have no fear.
The man said to me: “You are in one of the isles of Atlantis, a vast, populous and fertile land. But it would have been better for you to perish last night in the tempest than to land on our shores. The law orders the death of all strangers. Those who are collected are executed as traitors. Weep then, young man, for I don’t believe that you’ll live for another three days.”
“What!” I cried. “Are you so barbaric? Have the Hellenes, from whom you seem to be descended and whose language you speak, given you such lessons in hospitality? In every other land, people care for, nourish and comfort castaways. You massacre them! Execrable fury!”
The old man seemed troubled. “Listen,” he said. “I won’t betray you. Come and live in my house. You know our language and, passing for a native, you’ll doubtless escape. Remember never to tell anyone your adventure; you’d cause our doom.”
I embraced his knees, weeping. He lifted me up. We crossed the stream on an old stone bridge covered in moss and wild vines. Then we followed a path through a wood of crimson beeches.
“What is the reason,” I asked, “for that frightful law directed against innocent travelers?”
“Know, my friend,” he said, “that it is not as unreasonable as it seems. We owe to it the liberty and security in which we live. Four hundred years ago, our forefathers learned from voyagers, who were welcomed then, that the peoples of distant lands had put armies on the sea, which traveled the world burning cities, ravaging territories and annihilating nations. Our only chance of salvation was to remain unknown. The various kings and republics of our islands agreed to kill all those who disembarked on their shores if they were not born in the archipelago. Our forefathers all swore to observe the treaty. Many unfortunates have been sacrificed thus. For you, I am violating the oath of my ancestors. But you will never return to your homeland, and your existence will not be divulged by my fault.”
We arrived at the old man’s dwelling, a cabin of planks backed up against large trees and surrounded by an extensive garden in which a multitude of edible plants were growing. My host invited me in, gave me a stool, and disappeared.
A moment later he returned, carrying dishes and bottles. He sat down facing me and said: “Drink and eat, my son, without any more ceremony than in your father’s house.”
It was a memorable meal. Never had wine seemed so good to me. The fresh cheese and vegetables cooked in milk appeased my formidable hunger delightfully.
The old man dressed me in his best clothes. The charitable man was named Agathos, which means “good,” a name thrice merited.
He took me into his garden. “You see here my means of subsistence,” he said. “You can work here if you wish, to keep ennui at bay.”
I accepted, saying that I like gardening more than any other occupation, being agreeable, poetic and conducive to meditation.
Agathos smiled. “The cultivation of salad vegetables,” he said, “requires little labor here. My industry is different. On these plants I raise innumerable insects of the same family. They are ladybirds.27 The people of the town make delectable preserves with them. They also extract a famous alcoholic beverage from them. You can’t imagine the care and the science that livestock demands. Those tiny beings are susceptible. They dread heat and cold. Rain drowns them, wind carries them away. They have mortal enemies in birds and snails. This year has been disastrous for them. I lost a great many last month, a little more than four hundred thousand, as many by virtue of an epidemic as because of an invasion of frogs.
“However,” he added, “I lead a happy and worthy life in these travails. I owe nothing to anyone, and no one owes me anything. I’m neither rich nor poor. May I end my days thus.”
IV. In which the traveler reports some
of Agathos’s stories
Several days went by. I reposed in the calm of that new life. I did my best to help the old man. My curiosity grew with the sentiment of my security and I interrogated Agathos incessantly regarding the inhabitants and the customs of his homeland.
One morning I saw that he was very sad, and when I questioned him affectionately, he took me into the country without saying a word, to an elevated place from which one could see the plain and the ocean.
He sat down on a stone and said to me, in a plaintive voice: “Today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of a great battle that we lost in these fields during the war against the Barbarians.”28
“Good father,” I said to him, “tell me about that war.”
“Oh, my child,” he sighed, “don’t ask me that. My heart bleeds when I think about it. You see me very close to weeping.”
“At least,” I said, “tell me who these Barbarians are.”
“Know first,” said the old man, “that our island is not alone in the midst of the waves. At the time when the sea swallowed up our ancestors and their territory at a stroke, when the ocean established its bed over populous lands and powerful cities, only the high plateaux and mountains emerged above the plains of the sea, like pyramids erected in commemoration of the past—pyramids beneath which the old Atlantidean continent reposes like an incorruptible cadaver.
“All those eminences were populated by inhabitants spared by the cataclysm. One of them, although vast and well protected, nevertheless remained deserted. That is the one we call the land of the Mainomenes,29 because it is now the refuge of a savage, dishonest, quarrelsome nation, an enemy of ours all all times.
“In ancient days, the absence of living beings on that land gave rise to the idea of a mysterious curse, and it was believed that the gods forbade its habitation. Legend relates that after many centuries, a large ship ran aground on its shore. No one knows where it came from. It carried for its personnel a troop of faithless men from different lands: thieves, traitors, murderers, forgers, soldiers charged with crimes, prostitutes and licentious or violent women. Under the leadership of a chosen chief, they had taken to the sea in search of a refuge where the vengeance of people could not attain them. The winds, to our misfortune, brought them to our vicinity. They pullulated like rats and lice, for countless generations. From the outset they committed frightful depredations did
not belie in any way the ferocity of their origin. That is why they were given the name of Mainomenes, which means ‘furious,’ people avid for massacre.
“In the long series of ages we have been continually at war with them. They were always vanquished, except for the last time when we suffered an incomprehensible disaster.
“Since that day, their pride has increased immeasurably. They are only occupied in insult and provocation. They affirm that their illustrious race ought to absorb or destroy all the others, in order finally to reign over the entire world. Oh, my son, what a desolating spectacle a world invaded by such pirates would offer!
“At this moment they have a worthy sovereign, King Katagelaste.30 If such a man, by some impossibility, were born in our country, he would be imprisoned with his brethren, poor devils deprived of sense with crippled brains, or, by virtue of his extravagances, would make idlers and little children laugh in public squares. Caparisoned by an ancient suit of armor too large for him, he drags a long and ridiculous sword around, noisily, so rusty that he would never be able to draw it from its sheath. His words are menacing. To say everything in brief, even his own people find him exaggerated. He had militarized the nation. In the streets of his great city the citizens go abroad in ranks, at the same pace, scullions and little girls marching like soldiers on parade.”
“That,” I said, “is risible. And the gods are jesting stupidly in opposing such savages to the sons of this Hellene nation, the noblest there ever was. By the way, a doubt crosses my mind in saying that, and I wonder whether any race has been combined with yours, and whether your isle of Atlantis is only inhabited by the descendants of the ancient Atlantideans?”
“Very nearly,” said Agathos. “People of other birth, in small number, have insinuated themselves among us, but they have not corrupted the race, for they only marry one another. They came, a long time ago, from a distant Oriental lands. They worship a certain Jehovah and scorn the meat of pigs.
“With that exception, our population is homogenous. The eleven other nations of the archipelago cannot say as much. Also know that our land alone has the right to the name of Atlantis, and retains priority over all the others for the ancient beauty of its civilization and the splendor of its past.
“However, a few imbeciles among us take it into their heads to imitate the mores of another nation, a nation still in its infancy, which inhabits a large and marvelously fertile island to the West. That people has no history; it is a son without a father, free of the weight of tradition but a slave to its labor. It only esteems industry, commerce and speculation—in a word, everything that tends to earn money. People out there only dream about factories, machines, financial conspiracies and other objects worthy of a people who are still savage. Art is unknown there. From that land, a poisonous wind blows in our direction, which corrupts feeble brains. Even their language, still barbaric, dares to mingle its rugged and dissonant words with our soft speech.”
Thus the old man educated me, gradually. He often spoke to me about the nearby city, Thalantide, a rich, busy commercial port, the capital of the province.
I knew that the nation was nominally governed by a king, elected by a few nobles. He only reigned for seven years, and resided in the principal city, Atlantopolis the Great.31
V. Erythronos
A certain Erythronos exercised the same industry as Agathos in the valley, but his inefficiency prevented him from obtaining good results. His ladybirds were small and tawdry in appearance. He had difficulty selling them, at a low price, for they could only be made into insipid sauces and poor quality conserves. Hateful, jealous and ferocious by nature, that unfortunate competitor had become the old man’s mortal enemy. The latter had often said to me:
“When you see a man coming with green-tinted skin and a beard the color of terracotta, draw away rapidly and threaten him with your staff. He’s capable of any villainy. One night, he set fire to my house. Not long ago he spread floods of vinegar over my insects. He’s plotting my ruin and desires my death.”
One day, Agathos had gone to the city on business, and as I was awaiting his return, I saw Erythronos arriving, followed by four soldiers and an officer. The latter said to me in an insolent one:
“Is this the dwelling of Agathos?”
“That’s correct,” I said. “I’m his nephew, come to help him because of his great age.”
“Good,” said the man. “We’re agents of the Treasury. Your uncle and you are criminals, thieves from the State. This honest citizen has denounced you as offenders, avoiding tax by means of deceitful declarations and inaccurate accounts of your ladybirds.”
At that moment, Agathos appeared. As he arrived, he only saw Erythronos, who had prudently remained in the rear. Taking him by the shoulders he began shaking him roughly, calling him a brigand and an arsonist, and repeating that he would break his bones.
The man with the green face howled: “Murder!”
The guards ran and seized Agathos. The officer repeated to him what he had just said to me and drew a long scroll out of his pocket.
“You have declared,” he said, “That you possess thirty million insects. It’s manifestly the case that you have more. The theft is evident, and you’ll be punished
“Please believe that I’m telling the truth,” said Agathos, “or count them yourself.”
“The man’s mocking us,” said the Treasury official. “He’s a dangerous malefactor. Put him in chains immediately, for fear that he’ll do harm.” After a moment, he continued: “I estimate that you possess triple. At three drachms fine for each undeclared ladybird, you’ll have to pay a rather large sum. We would have stopped there, but for your rebellion just now and the blows with which you assailed this worthy man. You’ll regret that excess of violence in prison.”
Erythronos advanced and, pointing his finger at me, said to the officer: “I affirm that Agathos has no relatives, His only brother, who is dead, had no children. This one is therefore lying, and is not his nephew.”
Agathos tried to speak. He was gagged.
The man of law frowned. “Who are you? Don’t hope to deceive me.”
“This madman,” I cried, “doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Agathos is my uncle; I know that better than anyone.”
“Don’t you think,” said Erythronos, “that this young man speaks with a strange accent? I believe he’s a stranger. He arrived the day after the violent tempest that caused a large ship from the East to sink near here, the debris of which is still littering the shore.”
I understood that Erythronos knew our secret, and felt doomed. I was troubled in thinking that the old man would die too, and could not help weeping. That was taken for a confession. I was put in chains. The soldiers took us to Thalantide. Our enemy went with us, rubbing his hands.
As soon as we had entered the outlying districts of the city crowds formed to look at us. People murmured: “It’s the murderers of poor Chrysippos” or “There go the bandits of the Torcos Woods who rob travelers and rape and murder young girls.”
People shouted as we passed by and ran behind us throwing stones at us. One of them hit the vile ape Erythronos, and punctured his right eye. The wretch ran away, screaming. The populace mistook him for a captive and pursued him. The guards could not prevent him from being torn to pieces.
We finally arrived at the prison, a somber and noxious building. There I was locked up on my own in a narrow cell as dark as a cellar. In fury, I started circling in my ditch like a mouse in a tin can.
VI. The Cell
I had not been in my cell for long when the door opened. An individual entered, followed by a torch-bearer. The jailers went to fetch an armchair. The visitor sat down. He was clad entirely in black and wore large spectacles.
The guards arranged themselves against the wall. One of them advanced and said to me: “Stand up and reply to the examining magistrate.
“Where do you come from?” the magistrate demanded.
“I come from a land whe
re strangers are given a better welcome than they are here,” I said. “What do you have against me? What have I done? Why have you arrested me?”
“I’m here to apply the law, not to debate it,” said the magistrate. “Do you admit that you were born outside the Archipelago?”
“I can’t deny it,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “but in truth, it’s much against my will that I visited your accursed island. Is it criminal to be shipwrecked on your coat?”
“Silence! You admit that you’re a foreigner. You shall die. Condemned men of your sort benefit from a special grace. They’re allowed to choose the death that they prefer; in accordance with their sentiment, they’re drowned or hanged. Hurry up and decide. It’s necessary that it’s done tomorrow, at sunrise.”
“I don’t want either water or a rope,” I cried. “Murder me as you will.”
With that, the magistrate wrote a few words in a notebook. Then he got up, wished me good night, and went out with the guards.
I had exhausted all despair. The announcement of that imminent death scarcely moved me to begin with. I thought, dolorously, about the excellent Agathos, certainly condemned as I was. Soon, the horror of my situation appeared to me in its entirety. The dangers I had traversed had made me cherish existence more, and, seeing myself in that catastrophic extremity, I let myself fall into a mortal anguish.
Night fell; my prison became even darker. Between the bars of the narrow ventilation shaft, a beautiful star appeared. I thought that it was mine, which was gazing at me and had come to console me in my final hours. I showed my fist to the pitiless star. Then, throwing myself on the floor, I wept for a long time. In the end, I lay down on my bed and tried to go to sleep.
The door opened again. My cell was illuminated. A young woman came in, followed by three jailers. She dismissed them with a gesture. The men bowed and went out, after having stuck the resinous branches in rings attached to the wall.
I thought I was dreaming. She sat down on the stool and said to me, in a soft voice: “I knew that a stranger was here. One can’t let such an opportunity for learning go to waste. Permit me to question you for a moment.”
Journey to the Isles of Atlantis and Other Fanciful Excursions Page 31