The True Story of a False Journey
How Balzac, Jules Verne, and the Great Storytellers Teach Us to Travel Before We Even Leave
By Christian Morisot
I undoubtedly possess the great privilege of owning the complete collection of Balzac's works. One of the novels I recently read piqued my curiosity: "Voyage from Paris to Java."
Balzac never set foot outside of France, and yet his journey to Java is remarkable: "I confess that for a European, especially for a poet, no land could be as delightful as the island of Java! I will tell you about the things that were most vividly imprinted on my memory, but without order, according to my recollections!" (…)
Listening to Bengali songs, breathing in the scents of volcameria, running a half-dead hand through some Javanese hair, in the cool air, under a fiery sky, in the humid atmosphere that the Chinese know how to create by spreading long, wet rice straw mats before the windows of your tranquil palace…
I undoubtedly possess the great privilege of owning the complete collection of Balzac's works. One of the novels I recently read piqued my curiosity: "Voyage from Paris to Java."
Balzac never set foot outside of France, and yet his journey to Java is remarkable: "I confess that for a European, especially for a poet, no land could be as delightful as the island of Java! I will tell you about the things that were most vividly imprinted on my memory, but without order, according to my recollections!" (…)
Listening to Bengali songs, breathing in the scents of volcameria, running a half-dead hand through some Javanese hair, in the cool air, under a fiery sky, in the humid atmosphere that the Chinese know how to create by spreading long, wet rice straw mats before the windows of your tranquil palace…
Ah! this life of soulful debauchery and poetry… For those who have tasted it, there is no longer any art, no music, no masterpiece… First, posit as a principle that Javanese women are mad about Europeans. Then let me describe to you the admirable species that, in the fair sex, forms the Javanese family.
There, the women are white and smooth, like bath paper; no color tints their complexion; their lips are pale; their ears, their nostrils, all are white; "Only their beautiful, deep black eyebrows and brown eyes stood out against their strange pallor, the luxuriousness of their hair was prodigious..."
It's almost too good to be true, yet Balzac never set foot in Java. In 1831, he met a gunpowder commissioner who recounted his stay there. What was a product of his imagination is the true story of a fabricated journey, skillfully crafted.
I remember the tales of our old legionnaires who had so much to say and share; they told us of their adventures, which flirted so closely with the exotic that they captivated us. Thus, they would recount their adventures to us, carefully choosing their words, even if the veracity of their experiences was questionable; nonetheless, we dreamed…
I still remember the story of one of my elders who spoke of the Amazon, that forest I would later discover as a Unit Commander… Others made me dream, like Jules Verne, like all those travel writers who featured themselves in their stories. They filled my childhood with beauty and formed the foundation of what I identified as the ultimate adventure story.
Yet, neither Jules Verne, nor Jean Giono, nor Balzac ever left their hometowns. However, they took me to wild lands and planted in me the desire to travel, to live adventures, and subsequently, a passion for writing. Ella Maillart and Alexandra David-Neel also captivated me. When these great travelers spoke of adventure, they said: “Adventure is the art of traveling and adding language to it, putting words to the encounter with the unexpected and with the other…
So, adventure is linked to writing, but these women were constantly on the move, traveling with intelligence, and their hearts beat with it.” From my native Dunkirk, perpetually rainy and constantly lacking in light, I set off early one morning on a legionary adventure, certain that the whole world was mine.
There, the women are white and smooth, like bath paper; no color tints their complexion; their lips are pale; their ears, their nostrils, all are white; "Only their beautiful, deep black eyebrows and brown eyes stood out against their strange pallor, the luxuriousness of their hair was prodigious..."
It's almost too good to be true, yet Balzac never set foot in Java. In 1831, he met a gunpowder commissioner who recounted his stay there. What was a product of his imagination is the true story of a fabricated journey, skillfully crafted.
I remember the tales of our old legionnaires who had so much to say and share; they told us of their adventures, which flirted so closely with the exotic that they captivated us. Thus, they would recount their adventures to us, carefully choosing their words, even if the veracity of their experiences was questionable; nonetheless, we dreamed…
I still remember the story of one of my elders who spoke of the Amazon, that forest I would later discover as a Unit Commander… Others made me dream, like Jules Verne, like all those travel writers who featured themselves in their stories. They filled my childhood with beauty and formed the foundation of what I identified as the ultimate adventure story.
Yet, neither Jules Verne, nor Jean Giono, nor Balzac ever left their hometowns. However, they took me to wild lands and planted in me the desire to travel, to live adventures, and subsequently, a passion for writing. Ella Maillart and Alexandra David-Neel also captivated me. When these great travelers spoke of adventure, they said: “Adventure is the art of traveling and adding language to it, putting words to the encounter with the unexpected and with the other…
So, adventure is linked to writing, but these women were constantly on the move, traveling with intelligence, and their hearts beat with it.” From my native Dunkirk, perpetually rainy and constantly lacking in light, I set off early one morning on a legionary adventure, certain that the whole world was mine.