In the blink of an eye, flames ravaged the entire village; no one escaped us, because they all seemed to us to be guilty...
While the governor’s house was prey to the fire, one of our brigands picked up the body of the murdered woman and threw it into the flames.
“Look,” he said to the Manseau, as he did it. “Your wife’s shade is satisfied. That is a funeral worthy of her, and of us...”
When the village was replaced by a desert of ashes, we went away at a rapid stride.
“We’ll doubtless be pursued,” said the old captain then. “The sea isn’t far away; let’s flee.”
We therefore marched without a pause to the nearby port. A large ship was in dock. We boarded it in haste. All those who were aboard were thrown into the sea, and we drew away from the now-odious coast of Sanor.
When we were in the open sea, the old captain asked us where we wanted to be taken.
“To the realm of Albur,” Clairancy replied.
We were only a few leagues away from it; we disembarked there before the end of the day.
“For ourselves,” one of the brigands said, “we couldn’t live in this land; we’re therefore going to leave you here, while regretting that we’re losing you, and we’ll take another route...”
We wanted to engage those brave men to share the riches we were carrying; they refused, not wanting, they said, to deprive us of things that would soon be necessary to us. Thus, we were obliged to quit them without being able to testify our gratitude to them.
The Manseau, more adroit than the rest of us, did not offer anything, but, considering that the men, obliged to flee, would have as much need of money as us, he left all the gold and jewels that his unfortunate wife had brought him in the ship’s dining room. That detail, of which he informed us when we were on the shore, and as soon as we had lost sight of the ship, consoled us somewhat. We thanked that good companion, and tried to distract him from his grief.
XXV. Return to Silone.
Departure for the capital of Albur.
Encounter with a lake.
The vengeance we had just exacted, far from calming the Manseau, had only troubled him more. The reflections that time enabled us to make regarding our conduct in regard to the criminal Sanorlians, caused us long remorse. Our vengeance had been too cruel, and doubtless innocents had perished therein. In any case, even the guilty were only unfortunates brutalized by superstition, whom it was necessary to enlighten, not exterminate, as we had done.
However, we were on Alburian soil, twenty leagues from Silone. We resolved to go there before all the circumstances of our flight from Sanor became known there, although we no longer feared being pursued in that realm, since we were no longer under the Sanorlian government. In any case, the realm of Albur was a safe refuge for foreigners, because its immense population and the wisdom of its laws rendered it redoubtable to all its neighbors, including the Sanorlians, who had a veritably great advantage in their more elevated stature, but were twenty times less numerous than the Alburians.
“Our pleasures will be less vivid here,” said Edward, “but at least we can live without terror, and in the most tranquil state. Furthermore, to lessen our woes, we can travel in all the countries of this globe, always taking care to conduct ourselves more sagely than in the island from which we’ve fortunately escaped.”
After two days’ march through charming countryside and multiple villages, we reentered Silone. I ought not to forget to say that our eyes, habituated in Sanor only to seeing people between three and four feet tall, had some difficulty in getting used to the stature of the Alburians again.
At any rate, we were given a good welcome all along our route, and when we reappeared in the house of our former patron, where we expected a certain amount of remonstration for the wrong we had done in breaking our word to the king of Albur, we were very agreeably surprised to be received with cries of joy. The merchant, an indulgent man full of generosity, contented himself with a few slight reproaches about the slowness of our return, after which he took us to our little lodgings, where dinner was immediately brought to us.
It had been necessary to return to meager fare since returning to Albur, but we were so weary of meat that the Alburian nourishment seemed to us to be a feast. Our host came to dine with us, and told us that two royal carriages had been waiting in Silone for eight months to take us to the King, who was burning with impatience to see us.
Clairancy replied that we were sorry to have abused the kindness of the Prince and his people for such a long time; that we did not want to try his patience any longer, and that we would leave the next day.
Our patron appeared to approve of his resolution, and before going to inform the governor of the town he expressed the regrets that the death of Williams had caused him, of which he had only learned on the eve of our return. After having mourned that loss, the merchant left us. While he went to see the governor, we made preparations for our journey to the capital.
We were fifty leagues from that great city, and we were to cover that route in ten days, in the sumptuous carriages that had been made expressly for us. As we only had beautiful country to traverse, we were looking forward to the journey as an agreeable excursion.
The next morning, the two carriages that were to take us arrived outside our door. They were each drawn by six of the native elephants, about the size of our six-month-old calves, harnessed two abreast. The carriages were elongated in form; they each had three seats, and we were only five since the death of poor Williams. We were also to be escorted by sixty soldiers of the king’s guard, mounted on black elephants.
Curiosity is universal; when those monsters set off, with such a magnificent cortege, people flooded from all over the town to see us depart.
The merchant had always testified an interest in us, and had developed a veritable attachment to us. However, he saw us leave or the capital without regret, he said, because he knew that we would be better off there than in Sanor. As for us, now that we were in the realm of Albur, we were ardently desirous of seeing the court.
After an hour of protestations of gratitude, we gave our host a farewell embrace. He had promised before our departure for Sanor to give us the sacred book of the religion of Albur, and he kept his promise, accompanying the present with a purse full of gold. Then the governor of Silone came to harangue us. He spoke about the desire that the king had to see us, and the regrets of the town, where we had been in good odor. No one had to complain about his speech, however, because it only lasted a few minutes, even though he was speaking to strangers who were going to see the King, in front of a gathering of half the town.
While we were admiring that great sobriety of speech, our cortege set forth, and emerged from the town with imposing slowness. Some of the people accompanied us as far as the gate. There, our benevolent host and several other citizens wished us bon voyage. The elephants picked up their pace, and we went into the open country, while the inhabitants went back into the town.
The two carriages were in the middle of the highway, one beside the other, and our sixty guards, divided into two troops, were marching ahead and behind, in order to oblige private carriages to make way for us. The roads were continually bordered by curious local people who wanted to watch our cortege pass by, as people in Europe watch processions of fattened cattle.
We made two halts on the first day. We were made welcome everywhere, without our causing anyone the slightest alarm, even though everyone was astonished to see that we were so tall. We stayed overnight in a small town, where a tent had been erected in the middle of the public square to lodge us.
We had only covered five leagues during the day, but we had not had time to get bored, because we had been enjoying the continual spectacle of the curious crowds. The tree-lined roads, the carriages of every sort that we continually encountered, the herds of cattle and sheep that we passed in the countryside, agreeable meadows and miniature villages had occupied our eyes and minds sufficiently to prevent t
he fatigue of ennui.
We traveled the same distance the next day, and those thereafter, as the first.
We found nothing very remarkable, but the general beauty of the landscape and the simplicity of everyday life furnished us with abundant topics of conversation, and seemed to distract the Manseau somewhat from his dolorous memories.
On the sixth day of our journey we arrived on the edge of a pool that bathed the foot of the road, whose causeway was raised all along its extent. That immense lake, in the Alburian reckoning, was six or seven paces wide in its largest dimension. It was surrounded by fresh grass and bushes; its water was extremely pure.
At the sight of the delightful lake, the captain of the guards proposed that we take a bath in it. We would ask for a station in the locality, if none was offered to us.
In consequence, the cortege stopped. The elephants were given the freedom to graze in the vicinity, and everyone undressed in haste, in order to go into the lake. The sixty guards and the conductors of our elephants were ready before us, and set about swimming rather briskly. We were soon in a state to imitate them. The water was very mild and everyone enjoyed relaxing in it. But the lake, deep for the natives, was not very deep for us, since, twenty paces from the bank, we only had water up to our waists.
The little men accompanying us all knew how to swim, but some of them, apparently braggarts, having advanced too far into the lake, felt their strength giving out and saw that they were in danger of drowning before they could get back to the shore. We soon perceived that they were struggling in the middle of the lake, calling feebly for our help. We all hastened forward, and all the imprudent individuals, eighteen in number, escaped an almost infallible death. Although we had not run any great risk in that expedition, having only got half our bodies wet, they thanked us with as much gratitude as if we had imperiled our own lives to save those of our friends.
We had noticed that the lake was swarming with red and black fish; although it was not permitted for us to eat them in the realm of Albur we wanted at least to examine the inhabitants of the waves and compare them to those of our globe, but the captain of the guard observed to us that the day was advancing, and asked us to climb back into the vehicles.
We therefore set out again, and as we had three long hours of travel before arriving at our shelter, I took out the holy book that our patron had given me. We had already read it more than once, and if I wrote down all the discussions that it prompted among us, I would have a volume a hundred times as thick as the book itself. As it only had twelve short pages, I prefer to give a faithful and simple translation here; the entire religion of the land of Albur can be seen therein.
XXVI. The Sacred Book of the Alburians
God20 preceded time and time is extinct before him; he is eternal.
Everything in this world announces his power, his justice, his grandeur, and above all, his infinite clemency. He is the father of nature; all nature blesses and adores him.
Ignorant peoples and ferocious mortals have made the bountiful God a terrible king. Despotism and tyranny only lodge in cowardly and timid hearts. The power of God is limitless. What enemies does he have to fear, and why would he be the tyrant of the world? He is its only master; he has animated everything by a single desire; he can similarly extinguish it.
He does not ask to be feared; for the price of his countless benefits he only wants, from his children, their love and their meek gratitude. A mortal tyrant is only pleased to see everyone trembling before him because he trembles himself before death, ever ready to strike him.
If God had an enemy, universal power would be divided, and he would no longer be God. His enemy would sow harm while he distributes benefits, and the earth would be desolate.
Some have regarded lightning, floods, sterility of the soil and other scourges of nature as terrible marks of divine wrath. If the great God were irritated against humans, who are so frail, he would seek a religion of fear and not a religion of love. His children would become trembling slaves; he would teach kings to tyrannize peoples; he would no longer be God, since he would have vain human passions.
Lightning floods, sterility, rains of stones and other scourges ought to be regarded as natural things. The works of God are perfect, if they are compared to human endeavors and needs; but how imperfect the latter are if they are compared to God.
The human body is subject to a thousand evils, infirmities without number, and decrepitude. Nature is more durable, but it also has its maladies and its remedies. If it were constantly the same, constantly mild, equally strong at all times—in a word, if it were perfect, it would be God himself.
Nature is not eternal, since it is the work of God. He created it in distant times, in an epoch unknown to us. We only know that in forming the fecund earth, and populating it with all the animals that it nourishes, he first made humans in small number, in order to teach them consequently that they all ought to regard one another as brothers.
Whereas God’s other works render him a mute worship, humans, his noblest work, ought to render him an animate worship. The sky, the earth and plants—in sum, all of nature—have only received a material and impassive existence; humans receive, with life, the enjoyment of all that surrounds them. Human actions are not servile and obligatory, like the movements of the earth and the vegetation of plants. They are not invincible subject to their passions, like animals; everything in them announces a free being.
God, in forming them, gave them material bodies, veritably more perfect than those of animals, but equally submissive to degradations, accidents, needs and death. Then, instead of animating them with mechanical instincts only appropriate to anticipate perils and feel needs and passions, he animated them with an immortal breath, which some call the soul.
An animal makes its daily meal without thinking about the next day’s. It only enjoys the present; it does not know death, and does not calculate the duration of its life. It only flees danger because it fears evils that it has already suffered. It dies young, without knowing that it is going to die and without being astonished at expiring so soon. Humans would be the same, if they did not have a soul.
But humans anticipate their needs before sensing them; they compare benefits with evils; they know the price of life; they govern their passions; they know their God; they bless him; they adore him, in their hearts and with their mouths. They make sage laws, they live in society, they speak and communicate their thoughts to other humans.
The thought that is the soul, which does not grow old with the body, which time cannot wither, which rises as far as God, ought not to participate in the sad fate of its material envelope. The soul, which distinguishes humans from other animals, will not perish with the body in which it is imprisoned. It is immortal. When death breaks its prison, it escapes, and receives the price of its virtues, or the cost of its crimes.
In creating our souls, God could have heaped them immediately with an unalloyed happiness, but the soul would not have felt that benefit; it would have regarded it as its essence, and that would have been an unmerited recompense. He therefore subjected it to a coarse body and enclosed it in a mass of matter, as in a place of trial, for a short interval. He gave it an equal penchant for virtue and vice, and permitted it to choose at its whim.
There are humans who love their body more than their soul; they deliver themselves to all their passions, and find the road of virtue too difficult. Thus they draw away from God to approach the animal.
There are other humans who prefer their soul to their body; they find that the road of vice is sown with remorse, and that criminal pleasures are bitter. They are able to moderate their passions, and they draw nearer to God.
The former try to excuse themselves by saying that they were vicious because of a destiny invincible inherent in their nature; that they could not help being so; that God had made them in that way, and that it would be unjust to punish them.
The others say that humans can do good as well as evil, and that the soul,
superior to the gross passions of the body, ought to conserve it empire over matter; and they are correct. They adore the great God, doing good to their brothers, forgiving insults, and not forgetting benefits. They cherish their fatherland and their parents; in sum, the do good for its own sake, and gain divine recompense without believing that they merit it.
Of those worthy children of God there are still some on earth; but the number of those who are mistaken is always greater. However, the worship of God and the precepts of justice are engraved in all hearts.
(After the sentences that can be read on the pyramids, the sacred book concludes with the following words:)
Blessed be the great God, without whom you would be in the void, as well as all of nature.
Render good for good; render it also for evil.
Be virtuous, and count on eternal recompense.
XXVII. The capital. The King of Albur.
The Academy. Alburian Mores.
Finally, on the evening of the tenth day, we arrived in the capital of Albur. We had traversed several large towns, but although they were beautiful and well populated, they scarcely gave us pause, because they were too regular.
I have noticed that a well-policed land, populated with virtuous people, cultivated with care and built with a symmetrical taste, offers less interest than a semi-barbaric land. In addition to one feeling humiliated by encountering people better than oneself, one wearies of finding insufficient variety, and I believe that a country where everything goes well can only be very tedious.
King Sora came to meet us at the gate of the city. The Prince had guards in great enough number, but they were not armed around the monarch, and served to announce his presence rather than to defend his person.
Voyage to the Center of the Earth Page 17