As he pronounced these words, he let his head fall back heavily. Immediately, though, he uttered an exclamation and sat up. The echo of his words had struck his ears distinctly, at the same time as a rather abrupt impact had bruised his skull. “Morbleu!” he groaned. “It seems, however, that I’m alive”—and to convince himself that he was not mistaken, he opened and closed his eyes several times, sniffed the air, worked his jaws, slowly passed his hands over the various parts of is body and finally put one of his hands on his breast. His heart was beating strongly, and the blood was circulating freely in his arteries. The young man released a profound sigh of satisfaction then; he liked this state of affairs better, all things considered; it conserved the hope of seeing Selena again.
He became doubtful again, however, when his gaze, as it played around him, fell on two bodies lying not far away, rigid and seemingly lifeless. These two bodies were those of Mikhail Ossipoff and Alcide Fricoulet. On seeing that, the sensation of reality returned to him fully, and the veil obscuring his memory was completely torn away. “Saved!” he exclaimed. “We’ve been saved?”
He ran to the engineer and put his ear to his breast. The heart was beating feebly. Passing on to Ossipoff then, he established that he old scientist was also counted among the number of the living. Only then did his mind, freed from all preoccupations, pose two questions. Where were they, he and his companions? And who had snatched them from the jaws of death?
In trying to resolve the first of these questions, he also resolve the second, for the gaze that he paraded around him in a circle showed him a square room with wooden walls, furnished with wooden bunks on which he and his friends had been set down. At the same time, he saw a group of individuals in a dark corner, who were watching him with a suspicion filled with curiosity.
“Human beings!” he cried, joyfully—and he advanced toward them. They recoiled, however, and Gontran saw then that they were armed, and appeared to be quite ready to use the pikes and javelins they held in their hands. “My word!” he murmured. “Am I dreaming or am I really awake? But these are Egyptians that I have before me! Or, at least, they resemble them strikingly.”
He could not take his eyes off these individuals, clad in short white tunics, bare-legged below the knee, and also baring their arms and their necks. Their feet were enclosed in shoes that were also made of cloth, but red in color, their ankles imprisoned by interlaced cords. Their heads were remarkable for the total absence of hair but their rather elongated faces, with deep-set almond-shaped eyes, were framed by long black curly beards. “They’re doubtless Venusians,” murmured the young Comte, whose amazement caused him to forget his friends.
Seeing the Terran unmoving, the indigenes were reassured and took a few paces toward him, with their weapons in their left hands and their right hands extended. Gontran did the same—which is to say that, while remaining in the same place so as not to alarm them, he too reached out his hand in a sign of peaceful intent. Immediately, the Venusian began talking to one another in a sonorous language accompanied by a great many lively and rapid gestures.
“Well,” murmured Gontran, in disappointment, after listening for several seconds, “it’s going to be devilishly difficult to talk to these fellows.” And he added, while curling his moustache: “The planetary worlds ought to follow our example—the French language should be the only one adopted for international usage.”
Nevertheless, he listened with unimaginable concentration, seizing shreds of phases, words and syllables, and his mind worked overtime. If I weren’t afraid of making a fool of myself, he thought, I’d wager that there echoes of Burnouf in this language. Might we, by chance, be in the presence of compatriots of Epaminondas and Themistocles?109
He was distracted from these reflections by one of the Venusians, who came forward, touched his hand and then prostrated himself at his feet and kissed them. Initially taken by surprise, Gontran bent down, lifted the Venusian up. Remembering certain accounts of voyages through primitive lands, and in spite of his intense repugnance, he kissed the individual on the mouth. The other’s face immediately lit up. He made a gesture to his companions, who went to Fricoulet and Ossipoff, undressed them rapidly and set about rubbing them with a prodigious vigor.
In the meantime, the Venusian addressed a long discourse to Flammermont—who, in spite of his sustained attention and the considerable efforts he made to remember his classical education, understood absolutely none of it. Despairing of ever achieving a better result, he ended up shaking his head and pointing to his ears to indicate to the Venusian that his eloquence was entirely wasted.
The indigene seemed quite mortified, and expressed his disappointment by means of an exclamation whose consonance struck Gontran’s ear strangely. “Damn,” he muttered. “That’s definitely Greek—let’s have a go.”
Slowly and gravely, emphasizing the words, he intoned the first two verses of Homer’s Iliad—the only ones his memory had conserved during the ten years since he had left the Lycée Henri IV. The Venusian seemed surprised. He grabbed Gontran’s hand and called to one of his companions. Pointing to the young man’s tongue and his own ears, seemed to be demanding a second opinion on what he had just heard.
Obligingly, Flammermont complied with this desire, and began again, more slowly still. There was a sudden outburst of laughter behind him. He immediately interrupted himself and turned around to see Fricoulet sitting on the edge of his bed, clutching his sides.
“Gontran talking Greek!” the engineer exclaimed. “There’s a prodigy!” Raising his arms to Heaven in a tragicomic gesture, he added: “O shade of Burnouf, how amazed you must be!” Then, to the young Comte, he said: “Continue, my dear chap, I beg you. You appear to be captivating these gentlemen with the charm of your reminiscences. I don’t want to break the charm…”
Ossipoff, whom the energetic friction of the Venusians had also brought round, put an end to the engineer’s mockery. “In truth, Monsieur Fricoulet,” he declared, dryly, “I don’t understand you. To listen to you, one would think that you didn’t know your friend. Since when has Monsieur Flammermont ever said or done anything that has not worked to our advantage?”
While the Terrans were talking among themselves, the Venusians fell silent, listening curiously to this incomprehensible language and communicating their impressions with expressive and rapid mimes.
“Let’s see,” said Ossipoff, addressing Gontran. “Explain to me why you’re reciting verses from Homer to these people.”
“Quite simply, my dear Monsieur,” the young man replied, “because I thought I noticed some analogies between the long speech that was made to me a little while ago and the vague memories I’ve retained of my classical Greek.”
The old man nodded his head. “Nothing’s impossible,” he murmured, pensively.
The Venusians’ attention, abandoning Flammermont, was entirely diverted to Mikhail Ossipoff, whose long white beard and venerable appearance seemed to impress them considerably. He perceived the effect that he had on the indigenes and, addressing the one who appeared to be the leader—the same one to whom Gontran had recited Homer—began to speak the language of the great poet of antiquity.
The Venusian listened attentively, appearing, if not to understand, at least to divine what the old scientist was saying. Then, when the later had finished, he spoke in his turn. Afterwards, making a sign, he opened a door in the partition-wall and disappeared, followed by his companions.
“Well,” said Gontran, “where are we? How were we saved? Do they know anything about the whereabouts of Sharp and Selena?”
“How do you expect me know all that, my poor friend?” countered Ossipoff.
“Didn’t you ask them?”
“Of course—but they didn’t reply.”
“Or, at least, you didn’t understand their reply,” Fricoulet objected.
“Before worrying about that,” replied the old man, “it’s necessary to know whether they understood my question.”
&n
bsp; “What did you say, then? You were talking for quite a long time.”
“I was talking simply to provoke a response, in order to see for myself whether Gontran’s suppositions were well-founded.”
“And?”
“And I’m convinced that, without being the same, there are resemblances between these people’s language and the Ionian dialect…vague, to be sure, but of which I can nevertheless make use to establish communication with them—rapidly, I think.”110
“At any rate,” muttered Fricoulet, “although I’m not curious by nature, I’d like to know where we are.” So saying, he began to wander around the room, rummaging around and scrupulously examining every corner.
He and his friends found that they were in a sort of box that was about ten meters long by five broad and four high. The ceiling above their heads was rounded in the dimension of breath; the floor was flat, resonating like bronze beneath their feet. Two stout torches made of red wax, fixed to the wall, illuminated the box with an indecisive and bloody light.
At one end of the room, an enormous metal pillar stretched from floor to ceiling; at the other end was a barred cage, from which a dull and confused noise emerged, similar to the breathing of a congested chest. “Oh—what’s that?” murmured Fricoulet, when his ears were suddenly struck by this noise.
“Hey!” exclaimed Gontran, pointing at three holes pieced in the wall at ceiling level. “If we can get up there, perhaps we can see something through those little windows that will enlighten us.”
“You’re right,” said Fricoulet—and he leapt up on to the circular bench that ran along the wall. Once perched on it, though, he uttered an exclamation of disappointment; he was still a meter below the level of the holes.
“Don’t move,” said Gontran, who had just had an idea. “You’ll see…” He climbed on to the bench in his turn; then, gripping Fricoulet’s upper body as he might have gripped a tree-trunk, he hoisted himself up on to his shoulders, on which he knelt. Hardly had he moved his face closer to the aperture pierced in the wall and glanced through, though, than he started, so abruptly that Fricoulet tottered.
Gontran, feeling insecure on his mobile observatory, hastened to jump down to the floor. There was such a profound amazement in his expression that Fricoulet and Ossipoff both exclaimed at the same time: “What is it? What did you see?”
“I’ll give you three guesses,” said Flammermont.
“We’re in no mood to guess riddles,” the engineer replied. “Speak—where are we?”
“On the sea-bed,” retorted the young Comte.
“The sea-bed!” cried Fricoulet. “You’re joking! First, what makes you think…?
“That we’re underwater? Fish and marine plants, of course!”
As Fricoulet shrugged his shoulders, Ossipoff said in his turn: “It’s not impossible that we’re in the hold of a Venusian boat.”
“You haven’t understood me, Monsieur Ossipoff,” Gontran replied, confidently. “When I said that we’re on the sea-bed, I meant you to understand that we’re a considerable distance below the level of the Ocean.”
“It’s not a boat, then,” Fricoulet concluded, immediately.
The scientist folded his arms. “And why shouldn’t it be a boat?” he asked, a trifle bitterly.
“Because,” the engineer replied, with a brief snigger, “the Venusians haven’t yet arrived at such a degree of civilization that submarine navigation could be familiar to them.”
Ossipoff shrugged his shoulders.
“In my opinion,” Gontran muttered, “that’s a secondary matter for the time being, whether we like it or not. What’s more important is that I’m dying of hunger.”
The engineer opened and closed his jaws several times, murmuring: “It seems to me, too, that I could eat with great pleasure.”
“In any case,” added Flammermont, “I hope that we really are on a submarine boat.” As Fricoulet looked at him interrogatively, he went on, in an amiable tone: “Because people familiar with submarine navigation must also be familiar with the husbandry of sheep and oxen.”
That sally made the old scientist smile.
“What do you expect?” asked Gontran. “I’m suffering from cutlet nostalgia.”
He had scarcely completed this sentence when the door opened, giving passage to the Venusian who had already engaged the voyagers in conversation. Behind him came other indigenes bearing bowls, which they deposited on the bench, pointing alternately to the bowls and their mouths.
“For all the people in the Universe,” Fricoulet said, “that’s a gesture whose significance is unmistakable. Let’s eat, then…” He sat down beside a broad and deep wooden bowl filled to the brim with a sort of brown stew that emitted a spicy perfume that was not at all disagreeable. Boldly, he plunged his fingers in, Oriental fashion, and put a small piece in his mouth’ he chewed it for some time, methodically analyzing the different substances contained in the culinary concoction. Finally, he clicked his tongue against his palate and declared in a serious tone: “A vegetable similar to celery…a sauce containing a fatty material which, if it’s not extracted from some sort of plant, indicates the presence in this world of a quadruped similar to a sheep.” Without saying any more, he set about eating as well as he could with his fingers—“Father Adam’s fork,” as he said, jokingly.
Gontran, having searched his pockets in vain for a traveling kit containing all the slender instruments necessary for a meal, was constrained to imitate his friend, his appetite being greater than his repugnance.
As for Ossipoff, he had drawn the Venusian aside and was trying, by means of expressive gestures, to obtain the information he desired. At first, the indigene looked at the scientist without interrupting him, studying his slightest gestures, making every effort to discern his meaning. He seemed to have understood, and was ready to reply by means of the same mute language when one of his companions came over and spoke to him.
Swiftly, the Venusian went to the cage that had intrigued Fricoulet and pronounced a few guttural sounds. The noise immediately ceased and it seemed to Ossipoff that a movement of oscillation he had already noticed also ceased. The Venusian took him by the hand and drew him into a neighboring room, much smaller than the other, in which ten individuals were doggedly operating instruments that Ossipoff immediately recognized as pumps of a primitive sort.
Suddenly, a curt command rang out; the pumps stopped and the men who were manning them applied themselves to chains, which they hauled forcefully. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the metallic plates forming the ceiling slid apart, and a sparkling light filtering through the gasps gradually began to illuminate the room in which the travelers were. They soon released an exclamation of surprise on seeing a radiant sky above their heads, from which rays of ardent sunlight fell like a rain of fire. All around them, as far as the eye could see, the Ocean extended its sluggish blue waves, gently rocking the boat they supported.
At the same time as this strange vessel emerged on to the surface, the enormous metal pillar that had already attracted the attention of Ossipoff and his companions elongated and extended itself like the tube of a telescope; each cylindrical element emerged from the one that preceded it, and a sail, unrolling around this singular mast, was soon deployed, orientated by a part of the crew.
Gontran’s eyes grew wide, as if he were watching some ingenious conjuring trick. “Well, well,” he murmured, addressing a sly glance to Fricoulet, “These Venusians aren’t so stupid after all.”
“Except,” growled the engineer, a trifle put out, “that their boats must be slow movers. Have you noticed the rounded shape of the bow? These boats are veritable clogs.”
“Very fortunate, though, that this clog picked you up, Monsieur Fricoulet,” Ossipoff sniggered.
The engineer did not hear him. Leaning over the side in the stern of the boat, he carefully examined a sort of drum open for three-quarters of its circumference, in which there was a flat-bladed propeller about a meter in diameter. �
�I get it!” he exclaimed, eventually.
“What’s happening?” asked Gontran, coming to join him.
“That cage that we saw inside the boat…”
“What about it?”
“The vague forms that we could see within it, harnessed to a wheel, must certainly be driving this rudimentary propeller. In truth, it’s quite ingenious…”
Flammermont remained pensive for a few moments, then eventually said: “In your opinion, why do these people have two modes of navigation?”
“Undoubtedly to avid the disastrous effects of frequent and terrible tempests, of which we encountered a specimen a few hours ago,” Fricoulet replied. “How do you expect similar vessels to be able to combat elements unleashed to that extent? I don’t know whether even the great transatlantic liners of our world would be capable of withstanding them. When the weather’s fine, they navigate in the open air, making use of a sail, as at this moment; when a storm breaks out, they dive in search of calm water some little way beneath the agitated waves, in the midst of which they continue their voyage peacefully, with the aid of their propeller.”
“They submerge,” muttered Gontran. “That’s easy to say—but how?”
“I can’t be sure, but the simplest method would surely be to fill reservoirs with water.”
Gontran shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” asked Fricoulet, surprised.
“Les Continents célestes has led me astray, for I’m damned if I expected to find a humankind more advanced than ours on Venus.”
The engineer interrogated his friend by raising his eyebrows. “Well, submarine boats aren’t commonplace on Earth!” the young Comte replied.
“Certainly—but you’re completely mistaken if you conclude that it’s a consequence of the relative degree of civilization on Venus! Personally, I suppose that the inhabitants of this world, despite the submarine boats that surprise you so much, have scarcely reached the Bronze Age. All their constructions are metallic, but if they’re good founders, they’re poor navigators and technologists. Their propeller’s less effective than a helical one, and as for their engine—their human engine—it’s just barely sufficient.”
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 47