 Chapter 16 of Neils Clem's Journey Under the Ground. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winterout. Chapter 16, the author's return to his fatherland, and the end of the fifth monarchy. Although perfectly sensible, my limbs were entirely bedumbed, and I lay helpless for a long time. Meanwhile, I ruminated on my singular course. The events of the past years rose one after another with clearness in my mind, particularly those of my exultation and fame. Here was I, the late founder of the splendid fifth monarchy, metamorphosed to a poor and hungry bachelor of arts, a change so terrible and unprecedented that it might well have disturbed the strongest brain. I seriously examined my present circumstances. Were they real, or did I dream? Alas, the tremors of terror and uncertainty only give place to the pangs of sorrow and regret. Almighty Father, I exclaimed, and towards heaven, stretched my trembling hands. What sin provoked thy vengeance, that all thy thunders crash upon my head. Where am I? Whence came I? How shall I escape thy anger? Truly, one could look over the journals of all time. He will neither in ancient nor modern history find a parallel to so great a fall, with the single exception of that of Nebuchadnezzar, who from the greatest of kings was changed to a dumb beast. I began to descend the mountain by the path which leads to Sandvik. When about a half way down, I observed some boys whom I beckoned towards me, repeating the words, jiru pikaal salim, which in the Quamitic language signifies, show me the way. The lads, however, were apparently frightened at seeing a man in a strange dress and with a hat on his head glittering with gold and rays, for they rushed down the mountain in great haste, arriving in Sandvik an hour before me. The rumor of the strange appearance on the mountain was spread about and caused terror throughout the town. The notion was that the shoemaker of Jerusalem wandered among the mountains. This impression arose thus. The boys on being questioned by the townsmen replied that I told them who I was. I afterwards learned that my words, jiru pikaal salim, had been interpreted by sound and that this clue acted upon by fear and superstition had been developed into the strangest of fables. The story was unquestioned by this simple people in as much as the adventures of the traveling shoemaker were then newly reported and had been inserted that he had been seen a short time before in Hamburg. When towards evening I entered Sandvik, I observed that the inhabitants were collected in large flocks to gaze at me. As I approached them and spoke, they all took the flight except one old man, him I addressed and begged of him to give me lodging at his house. He asked me where I was born, whence I came, etc. I answered him with a sigh. When I come to your house, I will relate events that will seem incredible to you and whose equal you will not find in any history. The old man took me by the hand and led me to his house. When there I demanded a drink, he gave me a glass of beer. When I recovered my breath after this draft, I addressed the old man thus. You see before you a human being who has been a bolt for the changing winds of fortune, one who has been pursued by a fatality more controlling and more unhappy than was ever experienced by mortal. Moral and physical revolutions may be affected in a moment without surprising men, but what has befallen me is beyond the reach of human imagination. It is the traveler's fate, my landlord answered. Many strange events and changes might happen on a voyage of 1600 years. I did not understand this and requested him to tell me what he meant by 1600 years. He replied, If one may believe history, it is now 1600 years since Jerusalem was destroyed, and I doubt not, venerable man, that you were already of age at its destruction. If what is said of you is true, you must have been born in the reign of Tiberius. I know that this matter is rather supposed and proved. The inhabitants of this place, however, believe you to be the shoemaker of Jerusalem, celebrated in history, who since the time of Christ has traveled the world. Nevertheless, the more I look at you, the greater resemblance I find to an old friend of mine, who 12 years since perished on the top of a neighboring mountain. At these words, I looked carefully at my host. In a moment, the fog was cleared from before my eyes. I saw before me my dear friend Abilene, in whose house at Bergen I had spent many happy days. I ran to his embrace with outstretched arms. Then, tis you, my dear Abilene, I can scarcely believe my eyes. Here you see Clem again, who has just returned from the subterranean world. I am the same, who 12 years since plunged into the mountain cave. He fell upon my neck and with tearful eyes demanded where I had been and what had happened to me. I told him all that had occurred. At first he would not credit me, but afterwards he acknowledged that all must have been so, for I could never have invented such strange adventures. Abilene advised me not to repeat these things to others and to keep myself secluded in his house. He told the people who rushed to his house to see the shoemaker of Jerusalem that I had vanished, for he justly concluded this to be the best and most satisfactory answer he could make to an ignorant and superstitious peasantry. I remained in concealment until clothes, more suitable to the surface of the earth than those I brought from below, were made, when Abilene reported me to be a relative of his, lately a student in Trondheim on a visit. He recommended me to the Bishop of Bergen, who promised to me the first rectorship that should become vacant. This office was much to my taste, for it seemed to have a likeness to my former state, a schoolmaster being a miniature of royalty. The rod may be likened to the scepter, the desk to the throne. After waiting for a vacancy in vain, I determined from necessity to accept the first office I could get. At this time a sacristan of the church died. His place was offered to me by the bishop and accepted. And I'm using promotion to one who has lately reigned over so many great kingdoms. Nevertheless, since nothing is so ridiculous as poverty, and since it is foolish to throw away dirty water before clean as at hand, I think it would have been still more laughable to have refused it. Fulfilling the duties of this office, I now live in philosophic ease. Shortly after my induction, a marriage with a merchant's daughter was proposed to me. I could have liked it, girl, but as it was probable that the Empress of Kwama was yet alive, I did not care to make myself obnoxious to the ban of polygamy. Monsieur Abelaine, however, into whose bosom I was used to pour my doubts, and all the pressures of my heart, abridged this fear and advised me to marry, which I did. With this wife I have lived six years in peaceful and affectionate union. During this period she has borne me three fine sons, wholly worthy of their half-brother, the Prince of Kwama. To my wife I never told my subterranean adventures, but I can never forget for a moment the splendor that once surrounded me. To this day I often express myself in signs and words which, however consistent in the mighty ruler and magnificent tyrant, are little adapted to the humble sacristan of Bergen, the supplement of Abelaine. Niels Clem lived to the year 1695. His irreprehensible life and amiable disposition endeared him to all. Yet were the priests now and then angry with him for his great sedateness and reserveness which they called pride and haughtiness. I, who knew the man, wondered much at the modesty, humility and patience with which he, who had been monarch over many nations, executed his mean and vulgar duties. So long as his strength permitted, he would, at a certain time of the year, ascend the mountain and gaze into the cave, out of which he came to the surface. His friends observed that he always returned weeping and immediately shut himself in his chamber where he remained alone for the rest of the day. His wife informed me that she frequently heard him murmur in his dreams of armies and navies. His library consisted mostly of political works. For this selection he was blamed by several who thought this description of books unfit for a sacristan. Of the Sub-Suranian travels there is but a single copy written by his own hand, which is in my possession. I have often had it in mind to publish them, but several important reasons have hindered me from doing so. End of Chapter 16.