But not one word of all he says is comprehensible either to me or to any other living being.
His tongue is that of a forgotten nation.

The islanders understand him no more than I do.

He has a very long sermon or poem, which he knows by heart, in some unknown language, and he repeats it often at full length from time to time, especially when he has eaten well and feels full and happy.

The oldest natives tell a romantic legend about this strange recitation of the good Methuselah--I call him Methuselah because of his great age--but I do not really know whether their tale is true or purely fanciful.

You never can trust these Polynesian traditions." "What is the legend ?" Felix asked, with intense interest.