Nicolas Klim's Underground Journey: Chapter 9, part IV

NICOLAS KLIM’S UNDERGROUND JOURNEY
by Ludvig Holberg

translation © Dennis List, 2003

CHAPTER 9: PART IV
Continuing the author's journey around the planet Nazar

In which the Author travels to Bracmat, Mutak, Mikrok, Makrok, Siklok, Lama, Freeland, Jochtan, and Tumbac

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Concerning Bracmat

From this land of atheists, I travelled over a steep mountain to the city of Bracmat, which lay in a plain at the foot of the mountain. The inhabitants are juniper trees. he first person I met rushed at me and threw me backwards. I did not understand this, and asked the reason for it. The juniper begged my pardon a thousand times. Soon after that, another juniper, gave me a great blow on the back from a staff he held in his hand. It almost made me unconscious. But a moment later, he gave a long apology, excusing his imprudence.

From these experiences, I suspected these people to be either totally blind or very weak-sighted. Thus I avoided everyone I met. I discovered later that these troubles arose from the great sense of sight of all people here. They can clearly see distant things, which ordinary eyes can too, but they do not see what is close to them. These people are called Makatti, and spend their time studying metaphysics and astronomy. They are of little practical use, because their vision is too delicate. They are good at detailed philosophy, but matters of daily life they make many mistakes. However, the government puts them to good use: it sends them to the mines to discover metals. Though they can hardly see a thing on the surface of the earth, they clearly see everything beneath it. I concluded from this experience that there are some who are blind because their eyes are too strong - they would be better off if their eyes were worse.

Concerning Mutak

After reaching the top of another steep and rocky mountain, I entered the province of Mutak. It looked like a willow grove, because all the people were of that species. In the marketplace, I found a robust young man sitting in a place of rest (of which there are many of these at the market), begging the pardon of the senate. I asked about the meaning of this and was told that this person was a criminal, about to be punished with the Fifteenth Dose. Surprised at the answer, I asked my informer to explain this riddle. He replied:

"Most nations punish crime by whipping, hanging, branding, and so on. But nothing like that happens in this country. Our purpose is not so much to punish crimes as to improve the criminal. The culprit sitting on that seat is a wretched author, whose crime is compulsive writing. Neither the law nor good advice stopped him from that. Therefore he has been condemned by the senate to a public punishment. This is left to the city censors, who are all doctors of medicine. The are now going to reduce him by constant purging, till they have extinguished his lust for scribbling."

He ended his speech by asking me to go to a chemist's shop. I went there with him, and to my astonishment saw phials and ointment-pots displayed, with labels such as

It seemed to me that these people were out of their minds. To more accurately examine the value of their medicines, I opened the first of these books. It was such insipid stuff that after the first chapter I began to make faces. Reading on, I found my bowels rumbling, and soon after that had a tenesmus. But as I knew I had no need to empty my bowels, I threw the book down and ran away. I then realized that nothing in the whole world was entirely useless, and even the most pitiful performances could perform some service. I found, too, that these people were no fools, however absurd they first seemed. My companion told me that he was cured of sleeplessness by reading Dr Jukes' book: it was so profoundly virtuous that even the most wide-awake person would snore through it. As these ideas confused my poor brain, I thought I'd better leave the country before I had to revise my entire philosophy of life.

Fortunately, the strange things I saw in other provinces almost put the memory of this place out of my mind. Even so, after I had finished my tour of this globe and was reflecting on the Mutakian philosophy, their method for curing diseases did not seem completely absurd. For I am convinced that even in our Europe there are some books that could purge the most costive, or make the most wakeful people sleep. As for mental disorders, I admit I could not agree with the Mutakians, though I do agree that there are some bodily infirmities which we confuse with mental disorders - as a witty poet of our world has observed in the following epigram:

Concerning Mikrok

I left Mutak, and after crossing a yellow lake, I arrived at Mikrok. On my arrival at the capital city, I found the gate shut. I had to wait till the drowsy sentinel got around to opening it, which was a considerable time, as the gate was secured with a multitude of locks, bolts, and bars. On entering, I found a deep silence filling the entire city, except that now and again I heard a noise like people snoring. I couldn't help thinking that I'd entered the Land of Sleep, as poets say. "Dear God!" I said to myself, "If only several of the magistrates, senators, and a few other honest countrymen of mine, are who lovers of peace, had the luck to be born in this blessed city! How sweetly and quietly they would live."

However, from signs in the streets and on the houses, it was clear that the arts and sciences were not unknown here, and that the rule of law held force. Following one of these signs, I found my way to an inn. I could not enter: all the doors were locked. Though it was noon, it seemed like night to the inhabitants of this city. At last, after lengthy knocking, I was allowed inside.

Time here is divided into 23 hours a day: 19 of them are devoted to sleep, and four to business. Suspecting, therefore, that these people were greatly negligent in their public and private affairs, I asked for a meal to be brought to me, one which they already had in the house (otherwise, if I had ordered something to be cooked, the cook might have fallen asleep in the preparation). But everything here is done concisely and smoothly. As everything unnecessary is omitted, this short day of theirs has plenty of time for all sorts of business. After dinner, which was brought to my table with surprising speed, my host took me around the city. We went into a temple, where we heard a sermon that, though short, covered its topic well. The preacher went straight to the point. He used no flourishes, no tautologies, and said nothing superfluous. When I compare this sermon with the long nauseous ones of Master Peter, the former has more to say than the latter.

Lawsuits are dispatched with the same speed. The advocates say everything in a few words, then produce their witnesses. I remember seeing a copy of a Treaty of Alliance between this kingdom and a neighbouring one. It was expressed like this:

So in three lines they said what with us would take a whole volume. So I can see that it's possible to come to the point with less noise and less loss of time, if superfluities are avoided - just as a traveller would find his journey much shorter, if he could travel in a straight line.

The natives here are Cypresses, and are distinguished from other trees by wens in their forehead. These can grow larger and smaller. When they enlarge, a liquid distils from them: it falls on the eyes, brings on drowsiness, and is an indication of approaching night.

Concerning Makrok

From here to Makrok is one day's journey. Here the inhabitants never sleep. Coming into the city, I stopped a person, though he seemed to be in a hurry, and asked if he could lead me to a good inn.

He replied that he was very busy, and rushed ahead. There was so much hurry in this place that they seemed not to walk through the streets but run or fly, as if they were all afraid of being late. I imagined that some part of the city was on fire, or that some other unforeseen disaster had frightened the people out of their senses.

At last I saw the sign of an inn. Some people were entering, some were leaving, others stumbling in their haste, so that it took me a quarter of an hour in the yard before I could enter the building. I was immediately asked a host of impertinent questions. One person said "Where have you come from? Where are you going to? How long will you stay here?" Another said "Will you dine alone, or with company? If the latter, which room will you dine in: the red room, the green, the white, or the black? Or will you dine upstairs, or down?" ... and a thousand other impertinences of this kind.

My host, who was clerk of one of the minor courts of justice here, went away to dinner, but returned soon. He gave me a long, tedious account of a lawsuit that had been going on for ten years. Now its hearing was to come on, before the 14th court. He told me that they hoped the case would be finished within two years, since only two courts remained, and there was no appeal after that. He left me in great astonishment: that this country was very busy at doing nothing.

When my landlord had left, I wandered around the house and found a library. It was large and well-stocked, with many books, but the contents were not of much interest. Among the books that appeared in the best condition, I saw:

My landlord, on his return, entertained me by describing life in the city. He told me that more business was done by the sleepy Mikrokians than by the wakeful Makrokians: the latter played with the shell of the nut, while the former ate the kernel. All the people here are cypresses, and look very similar to the Mikrokians, except for the marks on their foreheads. They don't have the same blood or sap in their bodies as the other trees in this world. Instead of blood, they have thick sap in their veins; it looks like mercury. Some think it is mercury, because the people are like barometers.

Concerning Siklok

About two day's travel from here is the republic of Siklok. It is divided into two societies. Though allied, they are governed by completely different laws. The first part is called Miho. It was founded by Mihac, a famous ancient statesman, the Lycurgus of the subterranean world. To make his republic stronger and more lasting, he passed sumptuary laws, which forbid all luxury, and enforce this with great penalties. Thus this society, with its great restraint and economical ways, is another Sparta. What surprised me, though, in a place with such a well organized government, was the presence of so many beggars. Wherever I looked, there was a tree begging for money. This is a great nuisance for travellers.

After a detailed study of the state of the republic, I decided that all this begging was due to the meanness of the people. With all luxury banned, and the rich people giving no charity, the common people therefore had to lead an idle life of poverty, because there was no way they could earn money. I realized from this that rigid parsimony in a state is the same thing as obstructing the blood flow in a body.

In the other province, named Liho, they all live in great luxury and comfort. They spare no expense. The arts and the professions flourish. The people are encouraged to work, and every citizen has the chance of making a fortune. The poor people are blamed for their own negligence. In this way, the large number of rich people gives life to the civic body, just as blood gives vitality to humans.

Concerning Lama

Next to Liho is the territory of Lama, famed for its medical school. People here are so keen on the practice of medicine that nobody here is regarded as a genuine doctor unless he comes from the school at Lama. Accordingly, this city is so crowded with doctors and medical people that you see more of them than everybody else put together. Whole streets are full of chemists' shops and makers of anatomical instruments. While wandering around the city, I met a tree selling the list of people who had been born and died in the last year. I bought one of these, and was surprised to find that 50 people had been born, but 600 had died. How could such a high death rate be possible, in a place where Apollo himself might have lived?

I asked that tree if some unusual plague had ravaged the city last year. He answered that the previous year there had been even more deaths, and that was the normal ratio of deaths to births. He told me that the inhabitants of Lama had many diseases, which shortened their life expectancy. At this rate, he said, in a few years the city would be empty, unless it were repopulated by people from the neighbouring provinces.

On hearing this news I rushed out of the city, not thinking it wise to stick around any longer - specially after my experience with the anatomical instruments in the Land of Philosophers! So I rushed away, not stopping till I came to another town four miles away, where there are no doctors and no diseases.

Concerning Freeland

In two days, I arrived at Freeland. The people here are beholden to nobody. They live in separate families, subject to no laws whatsoever. However, there's an appearance of civil society. When problems arise, they consult the elderly, who counsel peace and unanimity, and admonish people never to deviate from that first precept of nature, "Do as you would be done by." On all the city and town gates in this land there's a statue of Liberty, trampling on chains and fetters, with the words GOLDEN LIBERTY written over its head.

In the first city I came to, everything as quiet enough. I noticed that some of the people were wearing ribands. Later I found that these were symbols of two factions that divided the population. The avenues and the courtyards of the mansions were lined with armed soldiers, all standing ready for battle. A truce had expired two days ago, and war was about to break out again. Trembling, I fled the city, not feeling myself free till I was well away from this Land of the Free.

Concerning Jochtan

About the next country, Jochtan, I'd heard a short description that greatly alarmed me. It led me to think this place must be the home of disorder, confusion, and insecurity: every religion in this world has its centre here, and is taught publicly. Remembering what troubles were caused in Europe by religious differences, I was almost afraid to enter the capital city. Its streets were full of churches and temples, for many different sects.

However my fears soon vanished, as I noticed a general air of agreement and concord. As far as their politics were concerned, the same sentiments existed, and the same tranquillity. The laws here make it a capital offence for a citizen to disturb another at worship, or to molest another on account of any religious difference. Therefore, their disagreements are without hostility, and there is no persecution of any kind.

There is, however, constant and honest competition between the different religions, all of whose followers try to demonstrate the excellence of their belief, by the purity of their lives and morals. So, by the wisdom of the laws, all these different ideas give no more political trouble than the different artists' and merchants' shops in the marketplace - where the buyers consider only the quality of the commodity. They don't use fraud, force, or disparagement. By these means, the seeds of discord remain unborn, and only honourable competition is encouraged.

This convinced me that the religious struggles in so many places in our world arise not from the religions themselves but from persecution. A wise and learned Jochtanian explained to me the wisdom of his government, and the causes of its peacefulness. I heard him with delight, and I shall keep his comments engraved on my heart. I did make some objections to him, but in the end had to submit to the force of his arguments, illustrated by his experience. Ashamed to contradict my sense, and disagree on matters of fact, I had to agree that freedom of belief was the root of all this tranquillity.

Then I thought of a different argument: I told him it was the duty of a politician, when building a government, to aim for happiness in the future rather than the present, and that he should try to uphold the laws of God rather than please the people.

His reply: "You are greatly deceived, my friend, if you believe that God can be pleased with dishonest worship. In other countries, where everybody is forced to observe the same faith, what an opportunity opens for ignorance and hypocrisy. Not many people have the will or courage to uphold their true feelings, so they profess one creed and believe another. This makes the study of divinity cold and lifeless. It encourages negligence in uncovering truth. It also makes earthly learning more cultivated, because the priests themselves, worried that they might be labelled heretics, give up the study of sacred things, and focus on safer subjects, so that their liberty is not endangered. The common people will still condemn everybody who differs from the ruling doctrines. But hypocrites and liars must be hateful to God, who prefers a sincere (even if misguided) belief to a pretended orthodoxy."

Hearing that reply, I kept quiet, unwilling to argue any longer with somebody so wise.

Concerning Tumbac

After almost two months of travelling, I arrived at Tumbac, which adjoined Potua. I felt almost home now, my tiring journey almost at an end. The people in this region were mainly wild olive trees - very devout, and very censorious. At the first hotel I entered, I waited two hours for breakfast, constantly knocking and calling out, but in vain. The reason for this delay was that my host was so religious he would do nothing before he had finished his morning prayers.

The people here were all Catos: censors of manners. They walked up and down the street with thoughtful looks and folded arms, criticizing the vanity of the times, condemning every innocent pleasure. Not one gesture or smile escaped their gaze. By their nonstop criticisms and angry zeal, they seemed to be of great holiness. For my own part, being so tired, I indulged in the odd diversion. That gave me a bad name, and every house I entered was like a courthouse, where I was sure to be tried. When they say that I wasn't at all bothered by their rebukes, some people shunned me like the plague.

I'll say no more about the moroseness of these people - except this story, because it gives you a good idea of their personality. A certain Tumbacian, who I'd known at Potu, was staying at an inn. Seeing me go past, he called out to me, and invited me in, so I obliged him. Because he'd heard that I was no enemy of pleasure, he gave me such a lecture, upbraiding my life and morals, that my hair stood on end and all my joints shook. While this Cato was firing his critical guns, so much time passed that after many hours, we fell to the floor in a deep sleep.

Having slept off this debauch, and recovered my reason, I decided to research these people's religion. I found that their zeal flowed from bilious juices, not from true piety - but I never told that to anybody, and left without saying a word.

NICOLAS KLIM’S UNDERGROUND JOURNEYby Ludvig Holberg

CHAPTER 9: PART IV Continuing the author's journey around the planet Nazar