The Year 5865, page 12
“Among these punishments, however, I do not believe I have the right to insert capital punishment. That is my conviction. Human beings, I am told, have rights and duties of two kinds, as no one can contest: the natural rights and duties that they obtain from God, which cannot be alienated; and social rights and duties, which they accept by remaining in the societies that have adopted them.
“Against the former, I can evidently do nothing; I cannot arrogate to myself the right to undo what God has done, to prevent on my personal authority the execution of an order that God gave to humans when creating them: go forth and live! But I believe that I do have the authority to protect the society to which we consent by expelling from its bosom those who wish to destroy it, and making it impossible for them to do so. I shall therefore inflict on them, instead of death, a grave and frightful penalty, which will punish the guilty and serve as a lesson and deterrent to ill-disposed natures...
“That sir, is the origin of our great penitentiary.22 We have no more scaffolds over there, no more gibbets, no more executioners, but we have here labor of every sort, hard for those indomitable natures that have always existed and always will exist, more or less gentle for others, according to the sentence passed on them. Everyone has his corner of the island; we even have the corner of repentance, from which the justice of the Sudan occasionally extracts a convict to return him to society, where his crime, perhaps excusable in many countries, is not in our own.
“A murderer, therefore, comes here. He comes here firstly to be subjected to his punishment, and then to serve as an example to those excessively facile hands which are always ready to satisfy their slightest caprice with dagger-thrusts. He may leave, eventually, if his crime is remissible, but there are guilty men on the island who will never leave. Their evil nature is incorrigible, their crimes so atrocious, so coldly cruel, that they leave no room for indulgence. I do not even know whether repentance can count for anything other than to reduce the harshness of their labor. Society needs severity, in order not to be troubled in its existence.”
I was listening to my host with an attention that encouraged ardor, and he continued: “Punishments are not spared here; the labor is incessant, the corrections severe, but without cruelty. The prisoners are given what they need to live, nothing more. There is no consolation for them, nor hope; only repentance and good conduct bring a few ameliorations to their punishment.”
“But your convicts seem to me to be free,” I said to my host. “Can evil natures not abuse that freedom?”
“A man who commits murder,” he replied, “is chained like a ferocious beast to some rock, which no one goes near.” My host looked at me with horribly interrogative eyes. “Do you understand how frightful that punishment is? In consequence, no one commits murder here.
“As for revolt, if ever the convicts were to think of it, behold the cannon aimed at the island, which form a wall of fiery mouths. The order is to fire without pity, for that is a case of legitimate defense, in which it is impossible for the slightest doubt to infiltrate. If the men want to kill us, joining forces, taking up arms and hurling themselves upon us to kill us, we shall kill them; every one of us has received the order to guard and defend the life that God has given us. Society does not want to punish an unarmed man, but it defends its life. It is, in any case, a life for a life; it’s better to protect that of the innocent that that of the guilty.
“That, sir, is how we reason in the Sudan, since the great penal reform,” my host said, trying to read my approval in my face, “and I do not think we have any murderers among us than elsewhere. It is always regrettable to kill a man, in whom there is not often a hopeless perversity, and we give him the means of returning to society while punishing him. For the hardened murderer, the professional assassin, is it best to punish him by death? Our island is harder for him, I assure you.”
“Your logic is admirable, sir,” I told him. “It is astonishing that it has gone uncomprehended for so long.”
My interlocutor smiled thinly. You’re young, sir,” he said, “and you have the inexperience of your age. People talk for centuries about the necessity of abolishing an article in their code, and never get around to it. The article will only be abolished by a bloody revolution…always provided that the eye of the revolutionaries is focused upon it; otherwise, it will require another revolution, perhaps a third or fourth for its abolition. Governments proceed like tortoises; it is only revolutions, which always do immense harm, that have the knack of attaching machines to them and making them go full steam ahead…unless, they chance to find a Sheikh like ours, in order for the revolution to occur gently and without catastrophe.”
I had been hearing talk for some time, my friend, about that great Sudanese penitentiary. I had always wanted to see it and discover whether it’s renown as justified—but I also knew that one could not land there, and that the government had taken all the precautions suggested by science to make sure that no vessel could even arrive within some distance of the island without permission. I don’t blame the government for that. Its Inferno should not, under any pretext, become a place of hope for the pitiless murderer that justice has imprisoned there as in a tomb, to await the day of divine justice. An unexpected hazard had granted my wish, but I now knew all about the penitentiary that I desired to know, so I got ready to leave be the same route that had brought me here.
On broaching that subject, my host laughed at me with all the politeness of which he as capable, and confessed his incredulity. I had but one means to convince him, albeit a excellent one, which was to release my aerostat, steering it as he wished, and I was about to propose that when he said to me: “If you assure me that your balloon can progress as you desire, I will believe you, sir; but I pray you, in the light of that confession and its demonstration, to consent to visit the governor of our island. You have landed here without his permission, but you ought not to leave without it. A stranger has arrived among us, where no one has come before; our governor ought to see that stranger and learn from him what I have learned from you, sir.”
The functionary had a duty to fulfill, and the last thing in the world I wanted was to cause him to fail in that duty I therefore accepted the invitation to pay my respects to the governor of the penitentiary, to reveal to him the reasons or my presence there, and then to depart immediately.
The governor opened his eyes wide with astonishment on seeing me arrive, and opened them wider still when I had explained to him how I had fallen into his empire and how I intended to leave. He had the discretion not to laugh at my pretention, but he proposed a surer means, which was to take me by boat to the nearest island, where his government had a small fleet stationed, to maintain communication between the region and the motherland, passing via various ports of other realms, in any one of which he could set me down as I wished.
The offer could not have been more obliging, but did not serve my purpose. I did not want to go to the Sudan, or anywhere else in that direction. I had made a mistake in my itinerary and fallen into the Sudanese penitentiary, but I wanted and was able to rectify that itinerary by steering my balloon better, and I replied gratefully but firmly that my balloon was at least as sure a means and, in any case, quicker and more agreeable than a boat and a ship, that the surprise and incredulity of the governor did not hurt me at all, for my balloon was probably the first that progressed under the control to the traveler, and that I would offer to take one or two people up with me to demonstrate the truth of what I as saying.
“Since you are speaking seriously, sir,” the governor replied, “I will respond in the same fashion. I believe you, admire you and will accept your proposal. I have an urgent dispatch to send to my government; by boats and ships are fast, but certainly not as swift as your aerostat. Would you consent to deposit the bearer of the dispatch in Timbuktu?”
I could not refuse; one does not refuse a service requested in that manner. For me, moreover, it was only a few days’ journey, if I hurried my little balloon slightly. I saw no great inconvenience in delaying my voyage to Paris by a few days. I therefore accepted the governor’s proposal, while smiling at a private thought. My smile was slightly ironic, and did not escape the governor’s notice.
“Speak, sir,” he said. “You have an idea to communicate to me, and I think that idea is biting down on us slightly with an uncharitable tooth. No matter! Speak.”
“This gentleman and I have discussed the Sudan,” I said, pointing to the functionary who had welcomed me on my arrival, and who was still there, “and many good things have been said about it—enough to give me pause for thought. I have thought about it so much that I am even wondering whether our Caucasia, which I am accustomed to regard as a model of government and civilization, is not inferior to yours in certain respects.”
“Aha!” sighed the excellent governor, in satisfaction.
“But…”
“Oh—a but!” the governor said, sarcastically. “I expected as much.”
“But you told me just now, Governor, that you have an urgent dispatch to send to Timbuktu.”
“Yes, very urgent.”
“And that your ships are not as fast as my aerostat.”
“You’ve said so.”
“And it’s true. Well, do you know how our urgent dispatches traverse our republic in a few minutes, with neither ships not balloons?”
“Pardon me, my good sir, but I shall tell you that in six months,” the governor elide triumphantly. “Come back in six months, when out electric telegraph will be established between Timbuktu and Tahiti. We began laying the submarine cable that will produce that marvel a few days ago.” Bowing graciously, the governor added: “The honor, moreover, is due to you sir, for it is to Caucasia that we owe the prodigy—the immense, incommensurable prodigy—that suffices in itself to give our epoch the superiority that it has also acquired by so many other entitlements, but that no one here disputes in the name of past centuries. The past never suspected that a day would come when people would be able to speak to one another over fabulous distances by means of a iron wire, privately, without any interruption, for several minutes. In fact, it confounds the human mind.” With an enthusiasm I admired, the governor cried: “Oh, why can we not invite all the peoples of the old world to the banquet of our civilization?”
“Since it is a Caucasian who has invented the electric telegraph, Governor,” I replied, “that is enough to tell you that we established it there some time ago, in all our provinces, cities, villages and even hamlets—it is, in a word, our postal service.”
“Well, sir, we shall follow you,” the governor replied, with a gracious smile. “But in the meantime...”
“In the meantime,” I resumed, understanding my interlocutor’s thought completely, “I shall deposit your man and your dispatch in Timbuktu in a few days.”
I saw with pleasure that the dispatches were put into the hands of my host, the functionary, who climbed into my gondola confidently. I took my bearings then with the aid of my usual instruments, and allowed my balloon to rise slowly into the air; then, giving the steering mechanism the required force and direction, I waved to the governor, whose eyes were following us with the greatest interest, and we departed with the rapidity of an arrow.
I don’t know whether the confidence of the governor of the penitentiary had been entirely won over, but I have no reason to think that he sent the same dispatches simultaneously by ship.
XIV. TIMBUKTU
Our journey was unremarkable. We completed it in less than two days. Dusk was falling when we arrived at Timbuktu—with the result that we were able to landing the city without attracting overmuch attention from the curious. I was not displeased by that.
My traveling companion left me immediately in order to deliver his dispatch, then came back to find me. He seemed to like me a great deal, and wanted to be of use me, as much as he could, in the immense capital of the Sudan. I did not refuse his services, because I knew that capital more by renown than experience, and I knew no more of its language than I had been taught in school—which is to say, enough for an educated man to follow what I said. In the ordinary course of a day, however, I could not rely on only encountering educated people.
The Sudanese, my friend are one of the most civilized peoples of the modern era. They are the head, the mind and the heart of Africa. All their neighbors render them that homage in sending their children to learn or improve themselves in the Sudan’s schools. Governments themselves do not disdain to ask advice as to the organization of its private and public institutions, in order to establish good order and prosperity in their own lands.
I do not know how ancient the Sudan is; it is said to date back much further than other countries, but I think the same principle applies there as elsewhere. Every people dips its pen in the ink of vanity to some extent, in order to write its history, and thinks itself more respectable the older it is. Not only is the Sudan as old as the earth, but it has always held the place that it occupies today in Africa, always dominating its neighbors. Its star once shone with a brilliant gleam, which extended as far as the most distant lands…they say.
Poor vanity! There are historians of contestable merit in the Sudan, however, men of superior intelligence. I am astonished that none of them has given consideration to an old popular legend of unknown origin that runs around the streets, Perhaps a less brilliant origin or antiquity can be found therein. Would you permit me, my friend to say a few words about it? You can judge it thereafter as you wish. It is the first verse of a song that has no less than ninety-five. It goes:
Would you like to know, my friends (repeat)
The legend of the black man? (repeat)
The Peuhs say, lamentably.
That the black man is the Devil;
When we all know full well
That the black man is Sudanese.23
This popular song is included in a charming collection of antique naivety, among the legends. A long dissertation that precedes it proves, however, that not all the historians of today look at it indifferently.
According to the author of the dissertation, the black man is the enemy demon, or…but forgive me, my friend, I will spare you all the suppositions, which are not few in number, about the black man of legend. As I am not involved in the pride of the Sudan, however, I shall feel free to wonder, outside of all interested supposition, whether, by chance, the black man might simply be the ancient inhabitant of the Sudan, as the song says, even though that variety of the human species appears to be extinct today. The idea in question is strongly reinforced, for me, by the account of a few travelers who have assured me that they have encountered individuals with black skin in a few remote islands belonging to the Sudan—completely black, of a shiny, oily black, if it they had been painted or varnished. Their hair, it seems, is frizzy or wooly, their forehead low, their noses flattened, their lips thick and their cheekbones vey prominent—worthy ancestors of the Sudanese, in fact, for these characteristics are precisely those of the present day Sudanese, although modified and embellished to the degree we see today. Their present manifestation has always led the Sudanese to be considered as a variety of our white race, from which they only differ by virtue of their swarthy, slightly coppery tint.
The Sudanese, moreover, although they are not cited for their beauty, represent a type that is not without grace, in being exceptional.
Anyway, my friend, I have given you these ideas for you to make of them what you will, and I certainly do not take responsibility for answering all questions on that variety, the primitive type of which is, apparently, extinct. Where does it come from? Why is it different from the others? I do not want to sustain the above thesis, not seek to explain one of the thousands of mysteries that nature has taken pleasure in sowing around us, to exercise the sagacity and patience of scientists—unless it intended to set us in contention against one another...
My traveling companion doubtless allowed himself to be pressed by the minister to whom the dispatch was addressed to tell him the details of our journey. Nor had he omitted to lavish eulogies upon me and my vehicle.
The Sudanese are no strangers to progress. Any science or at that is unknown there, but is suspected, is researched. Aerostatics is no more unknown there than in our own land, and there too, for a long time, as everywhere else, the capital question of the voluntary direction of balloons has been addressed. What my friend said thus appeared so marvelous that the minister conceived the desire to see my balloon and its owner.
In more than one country, even civilized ones, the inventor of such a marvel would have spent a long time soliciting his government for the honor of donating it to his nation. Perhaps he would never have obtained anything from his communication but laughter, mocking gibes, or, at most, a smile of incredulity or indifference. It is not like that in the Sudan. The king wants to see everything and assess everything, and if he cannot do it himself, he still wants everything to be seen and assessed—woe betide anyone who refuses without looking, and looking seriously.
In many countries, too, if some highly-placed individual had consented to investigate a useful discovery and to interrogate the inventor, the first duty of civilization, politeness, would certainly have been lacking, in favor of the pretensions of pride; under the pretext of dignity, I would have been summoned by the minister, to demand a service from me. In the Sudan, however, there is none of that pride; the minister came directly to me, to my hotel, where he had himself introduced by my traveling companion. He was admirable in his frankness, amiability and grace. My reasoning with respect to my balloon convinced him; an experiment then followed. I had come from Tahiti in less than two days, and directly, at will. He invited me not to leave Timbuktu without seeing and being presented at the Court, however little I desired it.
