The Author Leaves Laputa – Arrival at Balnibarbi – A Description of the Metropolis and the Countryside – Hospitality of a Great Lord
While I cannot say I was treated poorly on the island, I felt increasingly neglected and even somewhat looked down upon. Neither the King nor his people showed the slightest interest in any branch of knowledge except mathematics and music. Since I was far inferior to them in these subjects, I was very little regarded. For two months, I found myself conversing only with women, tradesmen, and flappers, as they were the only ones capable of giving a reasonable answer. Eventually, I grew weary of this abstract society and resolved to leave at the first opportunity.
There was a distinguished lord at court, a close relative of the King, who was widely considered the most "ignorant" man in the kingdom. In reality, he was a man of great integrity and honor who had performed many services for the crown. However, he had a poor ear for music and struggled to solve even the simplest mathematical problems. He had always shown me great kindness, frequently asking about the laws and customs of Europe. Unlike the others, he rarely used his flappers, preferring to speak plainly and sensibly. I entreated this illustrious person to intercede with the King on my behalf, and he eventually secured my permission to depart.
On the 16th of February, I took my leave of the court. The King gave me a generous parting gift, and my protector provided me with a letter of recommendation to a friend in Lagado, the capital of the continent below. The island was moved until it hovered over a mountain two miles from the city, and I was lowered from the gallery in the same manner as I had arrived.
The continent subject to the flying island is known as Balnibarbi. Upon reaching the ground, I felt a great sense of relief to be on firm earth once more. I walked to Lagado, dressed in the local style and able to speak the language fluently. I soon found the house of Lord Munodi, the man to whom I had been recommended. He received me with immense hospitality and provided me with a comfortable apartment in his palace.
The next morning, Munodi took me in his carriage to see the city. Lagado was about half the size of London, but the architecture was bizarre and most of the buildings were in a state of decay. The inhabitants hurried through the streets with wild, distracted expressions, their clothes mostly in rags. When we drove out into the countryside, the sight was even more baffling. I saw many laborers working the soil with strange tools, yet I could see no sign of corn or grass, even though the soil appeared to be excellent.
I could not help but remark on these strange sights. I asked Munodi why the people looked so miserable and why the land was so poorly cultivated despite so much visible activity. Munodi, who had once been the governor of Lagado but was removed by a group of rival ministers, simply told me that I had not been there long enough to form a proper judgment. However, he invited me to his country estate, twenty miles away, where he promised we could speak more freely.
As we traveled the next day, the scenery remained dismal. The farmers seemed to be using methods that defied all common sense, and the fields were almost entirely barren. But suddenly, the scene was wholly transformed. We entered a beautiful, lush territory of neat farmhouses, thriving vineyards, and rich meadows. Munodi sighed and explained that this was his private estate, which he managed according to the "old ways." He told me that his countrymen ridiculed him for this, viewing him as a man of low understanding who set a poor example for the kingdom.
His house was a noble structure, built with perfect taste and judgment. After supper, Munodi explained the cause of the country's ruin. About forty years ago, several people had returned from Laputa with a superficial knowledge of mathematics and heads full of wild, "airy" ideas. They began to despise the traditional ways of doing things and sought to reinvent every aspect of life—art, science, languages, and mechanics—upon a new foundation.
To achieve this, they established an "Academy of Projectors" in Lagado. The professors there developed new rules for agriculture and building, claiming that with their modern tools, one man could do the work of ten and a palace could be built in a week using indestructible materials. They promised that the fruits of the earth would grow in any season and increase a hundredfold. The catch, however, was that none of these grand schemes ever actually worked. In the meantime, the houses fell into ruin, and the people were left starving and poorly clothed. Despite these failures, the "projectors" were more determined than ever to continue, driven by a mixture of hope and desperation.
Munodi showed me a ruined building on a nearby mountain as an example. Years ago, he had been pressured into replacing his perfectly functional water mill with a complex new system on a high ridge. The projectors had argued that the "agitated air" on the mountain would make the water more efficient. After employing a hundred men for two years, the project failed completely, and the projectors blamed Munodi for the disaster.
In a few days, we returned to town. Since Munodi was unpopular at the Academy, he arranged for a friend to take me there instead. He represented me as a great admirer of new projects and a man of easy belief—a characterization that, given my curious nature, was not entirely untrue.