The first to regain consciousness was Tom Snipe. He rubbed his eyes and let them wander over the terrain on which he, Dr. Dunderheadus, and John Lund were lying. He took off one of his stockings, and with it began rubbing the gentlemen down, who immediately regained consciousness.
“Where are we?” John Lund asked.
“We are on an island that belongs to a group of flying islands!” the doctor replied. “Hurrah!”
“Hurrah! Look up there, doctor!” Lund called out. “We have outshone Columbus!”
Above them a number of other islands were floating (a description follows that would only make sense to Englishmen). The three men set out to reconnoiter the island. Its measurements were (Verne gives us numbers and more numbers—to hell with them!). Tom Snipe managed to find a tree whose sap was redolent of Russian vodka. Strangely enough, the trees were no taller than grass. (Balderdash!) The island was uninhabited. No living creature had ever set foot on it before.
“I say, doctor, what might this be?” Lund said to Dr. Dunderheadus, picking up some sort of package.
“Strange . . . most extraordinary . . . what a surprise!” the doctor mumbled.
Inside the package were the writings of a certain Prince Meshchersky, composed in some barbarian language, probably Russian.
“How could these writings have ended up here?”
“A thousand damnations!” Dr. Dunderheadus shouted. “Have others beaten us to these islands? Who could it be? Tell me, who, who? Damn them! O thunderbolts of heaven, dash my—rather large—brain to smithereens! If I get my hands on him, if only I could get my hands on him! I’ll tear him to pieces, along with his works!” And raising his hands in the air he laughed a terrible laugh. A disquieting glint flickered in his eye. He had gone mad.
CHAPTER VI
The Return
“Hurrah!” the inhabitants of Le Havre called out, crowding onto all the quays of the town. The air was filled with shouts of joy, tolling bells, and music. The massive black object in the sky that had threatened everyone with death was about to fall not onto the town but into the harbor. All the ships were hurrying out into the open sea. The massive object that had covered the sun for so many days splashed heavily into the bay, inundating the waterfront, to the accompaniment of thundering music and the triumphant hullabaloo of the people. It began to sink, and within a few minutes the bay was free again, waves surging through it in every direction. In the middle of the bay three men were floundering. These were mad Dr. Dunderheadus, John Lund, and Tom Snipe, who were quickly pulled out of the water by a nearby boat.
“We haven’t eaten in fifty-seven days,” muttered John Lund, who was as thin as a starving artist, as he told the people what had happened.
The island of Prince Meshchersky no longer exists. Bearing the weight of three intrepid men, it grew heavier, and leaving its orbit fell into the earth’s gravity and plummeted into the harbor of Le Havre.
Conclusion
These days, John Lund is once again occupying himself with the question of drilling through the moon. The day is nigh when the moon will be graced with a hole, a hole that will belong to Great Britain. Tom Snipe is currently living in Ireland, where he has dedicated himself to farming. He raises chickens and apportions good hidings to his only daughter, whom he is bringing up in spartan fashion. He is not a stranger to scientific matters, and is quite angry at himself for having neglected, while on the flying island, to gather seeds of the tree whose sap is redolent of Russian vodka.
10 A smell invented by chemists. They say one cannot live without it. Fiddlesticks. It is only without money that man cannot live. (A. Chekhonte, the translator)
11 Such an instrument does in fact exist. (A. Chekhonte, the translator)
A BRIEF ANATOMY OF MAN
On an examination a student was asked: “What is man?” He replied: “An animal.” After some thought, he added: “But . . . a rational one.” The enlightened examiners agreed only with the second part of his answer; on the first part, the student was given an F.
Anatomically speaking, a man consists of:
A skeleton, or “skellington” as some of our military medics and provincial teachers call it. The skeleton smacks of death. Covered in a sheet, it will frighten you to death; without one, it will frighten you too, but not to death.
A head. Everyone has one, but not everybody needs one. Some believe that heads were given us so we can think, others so we can wear hats. (The second belief is less dangerous.) Sometimes heads contain brain matter. A police supervisor, present at the autopsy of a man who had suddenly dropped dead, on seeing the brain asked the doctor what it was. “That is what people think with,” the doctor replied. The police supervisor grinned contemptuously.
A face. The mirror of the soul (except in the case of lawyers). It has many synonyms: physiognomy, countenance (facies, or continentia as the priesthood might say), visage, mug, ugly puss, etc.
A forehead. Its functions: to touch the floor as one kneels begging for favors, and to bang against the wall when said favors are not accorded. (Consequently, the forehead often reacts to gold.)
The eyes. These are the police commissioners of the head. They see all and make a note of everything. The blind man is like a town abandoned by the authorities. In days of sorrow, eyes weep. But during the happy times in which we live, they only weep with emotion.
The nose. We have been given noses for nasal colds and our sense of smell. It is best not to stick noses into politics. Sniffing has been known to increase the revenues generated by the tobacco tax, which is why the nose can be counted among man’s useful organs. At times a nose is red, but not because it is freethinking (at least, that is what the experts claim).
The tongue. According to Cicero it is the hostis hominum et amicus diaboli feminarumque.12 As denunciations are nowadays written on paper, tongues have been sent packing. In women and snakes, tongues serve to pass the time. The best kind of tongue: boiled.
The nape. Is only of use to the Russian peasantry, for the yoke to rest on.
The ears. Ears are drawn to cracks in doors, open windows, tall grass, and flimsy fences.
The hands. They write satirical pieces, play the violin, seize, apprehend, lead away, confine, beat. For the simple man, hands provide a living; for those not so simple, they serve as a means to distinguish right from left.
The heart. A repository for patriotic and many other sentiments. In women the heart is like an inn: the ventricles are occupied by the military, the atria by civilians, the apex cordis by the husband. The heart looks like the ace of hearts in a deck of cards.
The waist. The Achilles’ heel of ladies who read fashion magazines, nude models, seamstresses, and warrant officers with lofty ideals. A favorite among young bridegrooms and corset sellers. The second target when a young man declares his love. (The first target is a kiss.)
The paunch. This is not a body part one is born with, but a part one acquires. It grows according to the rank of the councilor. A state councilor without a paunch cannot sit in state. (By Jove, the perfect pun!) Ranks below that of the court councilor do not have paunches, but bellies; merchants have guts, and merchants’ wives wombs.
The groin. Has not been sufficiently studied by science. According to house porters it is located somewhere above the knee, while according to field medics it is found somewhere below the chest.
The legs. These grow out of the place nature invented to be struck by the rod. Legs are extensively used by postmen, debtors, reporters, and messengers.
The heels. Where one finds the souls of guilty husbands, men whose tongues have just slipped, and soldiers fleeing the field of battle.