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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:49 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:42:49 -0700 |
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diff --git a/13721-h/13721-h.htm b/13721-h/13721-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..90ab571 --- /dev/null +++ b/13721-h/13721-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18358 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mardi: and a Voyage Thither, by Herman Melville</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13721 ***</div> + +<h1>MARDI:<br/> +AND A VOYAGE THITHER</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Herman Melville</h2> + +<h3>In Two Volumes</h3> + +<h3>Vol. II.</h3> + +<h4>1864</h4> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001">MARDI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I. — Maramma</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II. — They land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III. — They pass through the Woods</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV. — Hivohitee MDCCCXLVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V. — They visit the great Morai</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI. — They discourse of the Gods of Mardi, and Braid-Beard tells of one Foni</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII. — They visit the Lake of Yammo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII. — They Meet The Pilgrims At The Temple Of Oro</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX. — They discourse of Alma</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X. — Mohi tells of one Ravoo, and they land to visit Hevaneva, a flourishing Artisan</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI. — A Nursery-tale of Babbalanja’s</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII. — Landing to visit Hivohitee the Pontiff, they encounter an extraordinary old +Hermit; with whom Yoomy has a confidential Interview, but learns little</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII. — Babbalanja endeavors to explain the Mystery</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV. — Taji receives Tidings and Omens</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV. — Dreams</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI. — Media and Babbalanja discourse</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII. — They regale themselves with their Pipes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII. — They visit an extraordinary old Antiquary</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX. — They go down into the Catacombs</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX. — Babbalanja quotes from an antique Pagan; and earnestly presses it upon the Company, that what he recites is not his but another’s</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI. — They visit a wealthy old Pauper</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII. — Yoomy sings some odd Verses, and Babbalanja quotes from the old Authors right and left</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII. — What manner of Men the Tapparians were</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER XXIV. — Their adventures upon landing at Pimminee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER XXV. — A, I, and O</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER XXVI. — A Reception-day at Pimminee</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER XXVII. — Babbalanja falleth upon Pimminee Tooth and Nail</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER XXVIII. — Babbalanja regales the Company with some Sandwiches</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER XXIX. — They still remain upon the Rock</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER XXX. — Behind and Before</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER XXXI. — Babbalanja discourses in the Dark</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0032">CHAPTER XXXII. — My Lord Media summons Mohi to the Stand</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0033">CHAPTER XXXIII. — Wherein Babbalanja and Yoomy embrace</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0034">CHAPTER XXXIV. — Of the Isle of Diranda</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0035">CHAPTER XXXV. — They visit the Lords Piko and Hello</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0036">CHAPTER XXXVI. — They attend the Games</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0037">CHAPTER XXXVII. — Taji still hunted, and beckoned</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0038">CHAPTER XXXVIII. — They embark from Diranda</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0039">CHAPTER XXXIX. — Wherein Babbalanja discourses of himself</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0040">CHAPTER XL. — Of the Sorcerers in the Isle of Minda</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0041">CHAPTER XLI. — Chiefly of Sing Bello</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0042">CHAPTER XLII. — Dominora and Vivenza</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0043">CHAPTER XLIII. — They land at Dominora</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0044">CHAPTER XLIV. — Through Dominora, they wander after Yillah</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0045">CHAPTER XLV. — They behold King Bello’s State Canoe</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0046">CHAPTER XLVI. — Wherein Babbalanja bows thrice</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0047">CHAPTER XLVII. — Babbalanja philosophizes, and my Lord Media passes round the Calabashes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0048">CHAPTER XLVIII. — They sail round an Island without landing; and talk round a Subject without getting at it</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0049">CHAPTER XLIX. — They draw nigh to Porpheero; where they behold a terrific Eruption</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0050">CHAPTER L. — Wherein King Media celebrates the Glories of Autumn, the Minstrel, the Promise of Spring</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0051">CHAPTER LI. — In which Azzageddi seems to use Babbalanja for a Mouth-Piece</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0052">CHAPTER LII. — The charming Yoomy sings</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0053">CHAPTER LIII. — They draw nigh unto Land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0054">CHAPTER LIV. — They visit the great central Temple of Vivenza</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0055">CHAPTER LV. — Wherein Babbalanja comments upon the Speech of Alanno</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0056">CHAPTER LVI. — A Scene in the Land of Warwicks, or King-Makers</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0057">CHAPTER LVII. — They hearken unto a Voice from the Gods</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0058">CHAPTER LVIII. — They visit the extreme South of Vivenza</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0059">CHAPTER LIX. — They converse of the Mollusca, Kings, Toad-Stools and other Matters</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0060">CHAPTER LX. — Wherein, that gallant Gentleman and Demi-God, King Media, Scepter in Hand, throws himself into the Breach</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0061">CHAPTER LXI. — They round the stormy Cape of Capes</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0062">CHAPTER LXII. — They encounter Gold-Hunters</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0063">CHAPTER LXIII. — They seek through the Isles of Palms; and pass the Isles of Myrrh</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0064">CHAPTER LXIV. — Concentric, inward, with Mardi’s Reef, they leave their Wake around the World</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0065">CHAPTER LXV. — Sailing on</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0066">CHAPTER LXVI. — A flight of Nightingales from Yoomy’s Mouth</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0067">CHAPTER LXVII. — They visit one Doxodox</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0068">CHAPTER LXVIII. — King Media dreams</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0069">CHAPTER LXIX. — After a long Interval, by Night they are becalmed</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0070">CHAPTER LXX. — They land at Hooloomooloo</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0071">CHAPTER LXXI. — A Book from the “Ponderings of old Bardianna”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0072">CHAPTER LXXII. — Babbalanja starts to his Feet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0073">CHAPTER LXXIII. — At last, the last Mention is made of old Bardianna; and His last Will and Testament is recited at Length</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0074">CHAPTER LXXIV. — A Death-cloud sweeps by them, as they sail</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0075">CHAPTER LXXV. — They visit the palmy King Abrazza</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0076">CHAPTER LXXVI. — Some pleasant, shady Talk in the Groves, between my Lords Abrazza and Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, and Yoomy</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0077">CHAPTER LXXVII. — They sup</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0078">CHAPTER LXXVIII. — They embark</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0079">CHAPTER LXXIX. — Babbalanja at the Full of the Moon</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0080">CHAPTER LXXX. — Morning</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0081">CHAPTER LXXXI. — L’ultima sera</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0082">CHAPTER LXXXII. — They sail from Night to Day</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0083">CHAPTER LXXXIII. — They land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0084">CHAPTER LXXXIV. — Babbalanja relates to them a Vision</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0085">CHAPTER LXXXV. — They depart from Serenia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0086">CHAPTER LXXXVI. — They meet the Phantoms</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0087">CHAPTER LXXXVII. — They draw nigh to Flozella</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0088">CHAPTER LXXXVIII. — They land</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0089">CHAPTER LXXXIX. — They enter the Bower of Hautia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0090">CHAPTER XC. — Taji with Hautia</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0091">CHAPTER XCI. — Mardi behind: an Ocean before</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2H_4_0001"></a> +MARDI</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br/> +Maramma</h2> + +<p> +We were now voyaging straight for Maramma; where lived and reigned, in mystery, +the High Pontiff of the adjoining isles: prince, priest, and god, in his own +proper person: great lord paramount over many kings in Mardi; his hands full of +scepters and crosiers. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, rounding a lofty and insulated shore, the great central peak of the +island came in sight; domineering over the neighboring hills; the same aspiring +pinnacle, descried in drawing near the archipelago in the Chamois. +</p> + +<p> +“Tall Peak of Ofo!” cried Babbalanja, “how comes it that thy +shadow so broods over Mardi; flinging new shades upon spots already shaded by +the hill-sides; shade upon shade!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, so it is,” said Yoomy, sadly, “that where that shadow +falls, gay flowers refuse to spring; and men long dwelling therein become shady +of face and of soul. ‘Hast thou come from out the shadows of Ofo?’ +inquires the stranger, of one with a clouded brow.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was by this same peak,” said Mohi, “that the nimble god +Roo, a great sinner above, came down from the skies, a very long time ago. +Three skips and a jump, and he landed on the plain. But alas, poor Roo! though +easy the descent, there was no climbing back.” +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder, then,” said Babbalanja, “that the peak is +inaccessible to man. Though, with a strange infatuation, many still make +pilgrimages thereto; and wearily climb and climb, till slipping from the rocks, +they fall headlong backward, and oftentimes perish at its base.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Mohi, “in vain, on all sides of the Peak, various +paths are tried; in vain new ones are cut through the cliffs and the +brambles:— Ofo yet remains inaccessible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless,” said Babbalanja, “by some it is believed, +that those, who by dint of hard struggling climb so high as to become invisible +from the plain; that these have attained the summit; though others much doubt, +whether their becoming invisible is not because of their having fallen, and +perished by the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wherefore,” said Media, “do you mortals undertake the +ascent at all? why not be content on the plain? and even if attainable, what +would you do upon that lofty, clouded summit? Or how can you hope to breathe +that rarefied air, unfitted for your human lungs?” +</p> + +<p> +“True, my lord,” said Babbalanja; “and Bardianna asserts that +the plain alone was intended for man; who should be content to dwell under the +shade of its groves, though the roots thereof descend into the darkness of the +earth. But, my lord, you well know, that there are those in Mardi, who secretly +regard all stories connected with this peak, as inventions of the people of +Maramma. They deny that any thing is to be gained by making a pilgrimage +thereto. And for warranty, they appeal to the sayings of the great prophet +Alma.” +</p> + +<p> +Cried Mohi, “But Alma is also quoted by others, in vindication of the +pilgrimages to Ofo. They declare that the prophet himself was the first pilgrim +that thitherward journeyed: that from thence he departed to the skies.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, excepting this same peak, Maramma is all rolling hill and dale, like the +sea after a storm; which then seems not to roll, but to stand still, poising +its mountains. Yet the landscape of Maramma has not the merriness of meadows; +partly because of the shadow of Ofo, and partly because of the solemn groves in +which the Morais and temples are buried. +</p> + +<p> +According to Mohi, not one solitary tree bearing fruit, not one esculent root, +grows in all the isle; the population wholly depending upon the large tribute +remitted from the neighboring shores. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not that the soil is unproductive,” said Mohi, “that +these things are so. It is extremely fertile; but the inhabitants say that it +would be wrong to make a Bread-fruit orchard of the holy island.” +</p> + +<p> +“And hence, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “while others are +charged with the business of their temporal welfare, these Islanders take no +thought of the morrow; and broad Maramma lies one fertile waste in the +lagoon.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br/> +They Land</h2> + +<p> +Coming close to the island, the pennons and trappings of our canoes were +removed; and Vee-Vee was commanded to descend from the shark’s mouth; and +for a time to lay aside his conch. In token of reverence, our paddlers also +stripped to the waist; an example which even Media followed; though, as a king, +the same homage he rendered, was at times rendered himself. +</p> + +<p> +At every place, hitherto visited, joyous crowds stood ready to hail our +arrival; but the shores of Maramma were silent, and forlorn. +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, “It looks not as if the lost one were here.” +</p> + +<p> +At length we landed in a little cove nigh a valley, which Mohi called Uma; and +here in silence we beached our canoes. +</p> + +<p> +But presently, there came to us an old man, with a beard white as the mane of +the pale horse. He was clad in a midnight robe. He fanned himself with a fan of +faded leaves. A child led him by the hand, for he was blind, wearing a green +plantain leaf over his plaited brow. +</p> + +<p> +Him, Media accosted, making mention who we were, and on what errand we came: to +seek out Yillah, and behold the isle. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon Pani, for such was his name, gave us a courteous reception; and +lavishly promised to discover sweet Yillah; declaring that in Maramma, if any +where, the long-lost maiden must be found. He assured us, that throughout the +whole land he would lead us; leaving no place, desirable to be searched, +unexplored. +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, he conducted us to his dwelling, for refreshment and repose. +</p> + +<p> +It was large and lofty. Near by, however, were many miserable hovels, with +squalid inmates. But the old man’s retreat was exceedingly comfortable; +especially abounding in mats for lounging; his rafters were bowed down by +calabashes of good cheer. +</p> + +<p> +During the repast which ensued, blind Pani, freely partaking, enlarged upon the +merit of abstinence; declaring that a thatch overhead, and a cocoanut tree, +comprised all that was necessary for the temporal welfare of a Mardian. More +than this, he assured us was sinful. +</p> + +<p> +He now made known, that he officiated as guide in this quarter of the country; +and that as he had renounced all other pursuits to devote himself to showing +strangers the island; and more particularly the best way to ascend lofty Ofo; +he was necessitated to seek remuneration for his toil. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” then whispered Mohi to Media “the great prophet +Alma always declared, that, without charge, this island was free to all.” +</p> + +<p> +“What recompense do you desire, old man?” said Media to Pani. +</p> + +<p> +“What I seek is but little:—twenty rolls of fine tappa; two score +mats of best upland grass; one canoe-load of bread-fruit and yams; ten gourds +of wine; and forty strings of teeth;—you are a large company, but my +requisitions are small.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very small,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“You are extortionate, good Pani,” said Media. “And what +wants an aged mortal like you with all these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought superfluities were worthless; nay, sinful,” said +Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Is not this your habitation already more than abundantly supplied with +all desirable furnishings?” asked Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“I am but a lowly laborer,” said the old man, meekly crossing his +arms, “but does not the lowliest laborer ask and receive his reward? and +shall I miss mine?—But I beg charity of none. What I ask, I demand; and +in the dread name of great Alma, who appointed me a guide.” And to and +fro he strode, groping as he went. +</p> + +<p> +Marking his blindness, whispered Babbalanja to Media, “My lord, methinks +this Pani must be a poor guide. In his journeys inland, his little child leads +him; why not, then, take the guide’s guide?” +</p> + +<p> +But Pani would not part with the child. +</p> + +<p> +Then said Mohi in a low voice, “My lord Media, though I am no appointed +guide; yet, will I undertake to lead you aright over all this island; for I am +an old man, and have been here oft by myself; though I can not undertake to +conduct you up the peak of Ofo, and to the more secret temples.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Pani said: “and what mortal may this be, who pretends to thread the +labyrinthine wilds of Maramma? Beware!” +</p> + +<p> +“He is one with eyes that see,” made answer Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow him not,” said Pani, “for he will lead thee astray; +no Yillah will he find; and having no warrant as a guide, the curses of Alma +will accompany him.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, this was not altogether without effect; for Pani and his fathers before +him had always filled the office of guide. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, Media at last decided, that, this time, Mohi should conduct us; +which being communicated to Pani, he desired us to remove from his roof. So +withdrawing to the skirt of a neighboring grove, we lingered awhile, to refresh +ourselves for the journey in prospect. +</p> + +<p> +As we here reclined, there came up from the sea-side a party of pilgrims, but +newly arrived. +</p> + +<p> +Apprised of their coming, Pani and his child went out to meet them; and +standing in the path he cried, “I am the appointed guide; in the name of +Alma I conduct all pilgrims to the temples.” +</p> + +<p> +“This must be the worthy Pani,” said one of the strangers, turning +upon the rest. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us take him, then, for our guide,” cried they; and all drew +near. +</p> + +<p> +But upon accosting him; they were told, that he guided none without recompense. +</p> + +<p> +And now, being informed, that the foremost of the pilgrims was one Divino, a +wealthy chief of a distant island, Pani demanded of him his requital. +</p> + +<p> +But the other demurred; and by many soft speeches at length abated the +recompense to three promissory cocoanuts, which he covenanted to send Pani at +some future day. +</p> + +<p> +The next pilgrim accosted, was a sad-eyed maiden, in decent but scanty raiment; +who without seeking to diminish Pani’s demands promptly placed in his +hands a small hoard of the money of Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it, holy guide,” she said, “it is all I have.” +</p> + +<p> +But the third pilgrim, one Fanna, a hale matron, in handsome apparel, needed no +asking to bestow her goods. Calling upon her attendants to advance with their +burdens, she quickly unrolled them; and wound round and round Pani, fold after +fold of the costliest tappas; and filled both his hands with teeth; and his +mouth with some savory marmalade; and poured oil upon his head; and knelt and +besought of him a blessing. +</p> + +<p> +“From the bottom of my heart I bless thee,” said Pani; and still +holding her hands exclaimed, “Take example from this woman, oh Divino; +and do ye likewise, ye pilgrims all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-day,” said Divino. +</p> + +<p> +“We are not rich, like unto Fauna,” said the rest. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the next pilgrim was a very old and miserable man; stone-blind, covered +with rags; and supporting his steps with a staff. +</p> + +<p> +“My recompense,” said Pani. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! I have naught to give. Behold my poverty.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can not see,” replied Pani; but feeling of his garments, he +said, “Thou wouldst deceive me; hast thou not this robe, and this +staff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Merciful Pani, take not my all!” wailed the pilgrim. But his +worthless gaberdine was thrust into the dwelling of the guide. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the matron was still enveloping Pani in her interminable tappas. +</p> + +<p> +But the sad-eyed maiden, removing her upper mantle, threw it over the naked +form of the beggar. +</p> + +<p> +The fifth pilgrim was a youth of an open, ingenuous aspect; and with an eye, +full of eyes; his step was light. +</p> + +<p> +“Who art thou?” cried Pani, as the stripling touched him in +passing. +</p> + +<p> +“I go to ascend the Peak,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Then take me for guide.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am strong and lithesome. Alone must I go.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how knowest thou the way?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are many ways: the right one I must seek for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, poor deluded one,” sighed Pani; “but thus is it ever +with youth; and rejecting the monitions of wisdom, suffer they must. Go on, and +perish!” +</p> + +<p> +Turning, the boy exclaimed—“Though I act counter to thy counsels, +oh Pani, I but follow the divine instinct in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor youth!” murmured Babbalanja. “How earnestly he +struggles in his bonds. But though rejecting a guide, still he clings to that +legend of the Peak.” +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the pilgrims now tarried with the guide, preparing for their +journey inland. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br/> +They Pass Through The Woods</h2> + +<p> +Refreshed by our stay in the grove, we rose, and placed ourselves under the +guidance of Mohi; who went on in advance. +</p> + +<p> +Winding our way among jungles, we came to a deep hollow, planted with one +gigantic palm-shaft, belted round by saplings, springing from its roots. But, +Laocoon-like, sire and sons stood locked in the serpent folds of gnarled, +distorted banians; and the banian-bark, eating into their vital wood, corrupted +their veins of sap, till all those palm-nuts were poisoned chalices. +</p> + +<p> +Near by stood clean-limbed, comely manchineels, with lustrous leaves and golden +fruit. You would have deemed them Trees of Life; but underneath their branches +grew no blade of grass, no herb, nor moss; the bare earth was scorched by +heaven’s own dews, filtrated through that fatal foliage. +</p> + +<p> +Farther on, there frowned a grove of blended banian boughs, thick-ranked +manchineels, and many a upas; their summits gilded by the sun; but below, deep +shadows, darkening night-shade ferns, and mandrakes. Buried in their midst, and +dimly seen among large leaves, all halberd-shaped, were piles of stone, +supporting falling temples of bamboo. Thereon frogs leaped in dampness, +trailing round their slime. Thick hung the rafters with lines of pendant +sloths; the upas trees dropped darkness round; so dense the shade, nocturnal +birds found there perpetual night; and, throve on poisoned air. Owls hooted +from dead boughs; or, one by one, sailed by on silent pinions; cranes stalked +abroad, or brooded, in the marshes; adders hissed; bats smote the darkness; +ravens croaked; and vampires, fixed on slumbering lizards, fanned the sultry +air. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br/> +Hivohitee MDCCCXLVIII</h2> + +<p> +Now, those doleful woodlands passed, straightway converse was renewed, and much +discourse took place, concerning Hivohitee, Pontiff of the isle. +</p> + +<p> +For, during our first friendly conversation with Pani, Media had inquired for +Hivohitee, and sought to know in what part of the island he abode. +</p> + +<p> +Whereto Pani had replied, that the Pontiff would be invisible for several days +to come; being engaged with particular company. +</p> + +<p> +And upon further inquiry, as to who were the personages monopolizing his +hospitalities, Media was dumb when informed, that they were no other than +certain incorporeal deities from above, passing the Capricorn Solstice at +Maramma. +</p> + +<p> +As on we journeyed, much curiosity being expressed to know more of the Pontiff +and his guests, old Mohi, familiar with these things, was commanded to +enlighten the company. He complied; and his recital was not a little +significant, of the occasional credulity of chroniclers. +</p> + +<p> +According to his statement, the deities entertained by Hivohitee belonged to +the third class of immortals. These, however, were far elevated above the +corporeal demi-gods of Mardi. Indeed, in Hivohitee’s eyes, the greatest +demi-gods were as gourds. Little wonder, then, that their superiors were +accounted the most genteel characters on his visiting list. +</p> + +<p> +These immortals were wonderfully fastidious and dainty as to the atmosphere +they breathed; inhaling no sublunary air, but that of the elevated interior; +where the Pontiff had a rural lodge, for the special accommodation of +impalpable guests; who were entertained at very small cost; dinners being +unnecessary, and dormitories superfluous. +</p> + +<p> +But Hivohitee permitted not the presence of these celestial grandees, to +interfere with his own solid comfort. Passing his mornings in highly +intensified chat, he thrice reclined at his ease; partaking of a fine +plantain-pudding, and pouring out from a calabash of celestial old wine; +meanwhile, carrying on the flow of soul with his guests. And truly, the sight +of their entertainer thus enjoying himself in the flesh, while they themselves +starved on the ether, must have been exceedingly provoking to these +aristocratic and aerial strangers. +</p> + +<p> +It was reported, furthermore, that Hivohitee, one of the haughtiest of +Pontiffs, purposely treated his angelical guests thus cavalierly; in order to +convince them, that though a denizen of earth; a sublunarian; and in respect of +heaven, a mere provincial; he (Hivohitee) accounted himself full as good as +seraphim from the capital; and that too at the Capricorn Solstice, or any other +time of the year. Strongly bent was Hivohitee upon humbling their supercilious +pretensions. +</p> + +<p> +Besides, was he not accounted a great god in the land? supreme? having power of +life and death? essaying the deposition of kings? and dwelling in moody state, +all by himself, in the goodliest island of Mardi? Though here, be it said, that +his assumptions of temporal supremacy were but seldom made good by express +interference with the secular concerns of the neighboring monarchs; who, by +force of arms, were too apt to argue against his claims to authority; however, +in theory, they bowed to it. And now, for the genealogy of Hivohitee; for +eighteen hundred and forty-seven Hivohitees were alleged to have gone before +him. He came in a right line from the divine Hivohitee I.: the original grantee +of the empire of men’s souls and the first swayer of a crosier. The +present Pontiff’s descent was unquestionable; his dignity having been +transmitted through none but heirs male; the whole procession of High Priests +being the fruit of successive marriages between uterine brother and sister. A +conjunction deemed incestuous in some lands; but, here, held the only fit +channel for the pure transmission of elevated rank. +</p> + +<p> +Added to the hereditary appellation, Hivohitee, which simply denoted the +sacerdotal station of the Pontiffs, and was but seldom employed in current +discourse, they were individualized by a distinctive name, bestowed upon them +at birth. And the degree of consideration in which they were held, may be +inferred from the fact, that during the lifetime of a Pontiff, the leading +sound in his name was banned to ordinary uses. Whence, at every new accession +to the archiepiscopal throne, it came to pass, that multitudes of words and +phrases were either essentially modified, or wholly dropped. Wherefore, the +language of Maramma was incessantly fluctuating; and had become so full of +jargonings, that the birds in the groves were greatly puzzled; not knowing +where lay the virtue of sounds, so incoherent. +</p> + +<p> +And, in a good measure, this held true of all tongues spoken throughout the +Archipelago; the birds marveling at mankind, and mankind at the birds; +wondering how they could continually sing; when, for all man knew to the +contrary, it was impossible they could be holding intelligent discourse. And +thus, though for thousands of years, men and birds had been dwelling together +in Mardi, they remained wholly ignorant of each other’s secrets; the +Islander regarding the fowl as a senseless songster, forever in the clouds; and +the fowl him, as a screeching crane, destitute of pinions and lofty +aspirations. +</p> + +<p> +Over and above numerous other miraculous powers imputed to the Pontiffs as +spiritual potentates, there was ascribed to them one special privilege of a +secular nature: that of healing with a touch the bites of the ravenous sharks, +swarming throughout the lagoon. With these they were supposed to be upon the +most friendly terms; according to popular accounts, sociably bathing with them +in the sea; permitting them to rub their noses against their priestly thighs; +playfully mouthing their hands, with all their tiers of teeth. +</p> + +<p> +At the ordination of a Pontiff, the ceremony was not deemed complete, until +embarking in his barge, he was saluted High Priest by three sharks drawing +near; with teeth turned up, swimming beside his canoe. +</p> + +<p> +These monsters were deified in Maramma; had altars there; it was deemed worse +than homicide to kill one. “And what if they destroy human life?” +say the Islanders, “are they not sacred?” +</p> + +<p> +Now many more wonderful things were related touching Hivohitee; and though one +could not but doubt the validity of many prerogatives ascribed to him, it was +nevertheless hard to do otherwise, than entertain for the Pontiff that sort of +profound consideration, which all render to those who indisputably possess the +power of quenching human life with a wish. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br/> +They Visit The Great Morai</h2> + +<p> +As garrulous guide to the party, Braid-Beard soon brought us nigh the great +Morai of Maramma, the burial-place of the Pontiffs, and a rural promenade, for +certain idols there inhabiting. +</p> + +<p> +Our way now led through the bed of a shallow water-course; Mohi observing, as +we went, that our feet were being washed at every step; whereas, to tread the +dusty earth would be to desecrate the holy Morai, by transferring thereto, the +base soil of less sacred ground. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there, thatched arbors were thrown over the stream, for the +accommodation of devotees; who, in these consecrated waters, issuing from a +spring in the Morai, bathed their garments, that long life might ensue. Yet, as +Braid-Beard assured us, sometimes it happened, that divers feeble old men +zealously donning their raiment immediately after immersion became afflicted +with rheumatics; and instances were related of their falling down dead, in this +their pursuit of longevity. +</p> + +<p> +Coming to the Morai, we found it inclosed by a wall; and while the rest were +surmounting it, Mohi was busily engaged in the apparently childish occupation +of collecting pebbles. Of these, however, to our no small surprise, he +presently made use, by irreverently throwing them at all objects to which he +was desirous of directing attention. In this manner, was pointed out a black +boar’s head, suspended from a bough. Full twenty of these sentries were +on post in the neighboring trees. +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding, we came to a hillock of bone-dry sand, resting upon the otherwise +loamy soil. Possessing a secret, preservative virtue, this sand had, ages ago, +been brought from a distant land, to furnish a sepulcher for the Pontiffs; who +here, side by side, and sire by son, slumbered all peacefully in the fellowship +of the grave. Mohi declared, that were the sepulcher to be opened, it would be +the resurrection of the whole line of High Priests. “But a resurrection +of bones, after all,” said Babbalanja, ever osseous in his allusions to +the departed. +</p> + +<p> +Passing on, we came to a number of Runic-looking stones, all over +hieroglyphical inscriptions, and placed round an elliptical aperture; where +welled up the sacred spring of the Morai, clear as crystal, and showing through +its waters, two tiers of sharp, tusk-like stones; the mouth of Oro, so called; +and it was held, that if any secular hand should be immersed in the spring, +straight upon it those stony jaws would close. +</p> + +<p> +We next came to a large image of a dark-hued stone, representing a burly man, +with an overgrown head, and abdomen hollowed out, and open for inspection; +therein, were relics of bones. Before this image we paused. And whether or no +it was Mohi’s purpose to make us tourists quake with his recitals, his +revelations were far from agreeable. At certain seasons, human beings were +offered to the idol, which being an epicure in the matter of sacrifices, would +accept of no ordinary fare. To insure his digestion, all indirect routes to the +interior were avoided; the sacrifices being packed in the ventricle itself. +</p> + +<p> +Near to this image of Doleema, so called, a solitary forest-tree was pointed +out; leafless and dead to the core. But from its boughs hang numerous baskets, +brimming over with melons, grapes, and guavas. And daily these baskets were +replenished. +</p> + +<p> +As we here stood, there passed a hungry figure, in ragged raiment: hollow +cheeks, and hollow eyes. Wistfully he eyed the offerings; but retreated; +knowing it was sacrilege to touch them. There, they must decay, in honor of the +god Ananna; for so this dead tree was denominated by Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as we were thus strolling about the Morai, the old chronicler elucidating +its mysteries, we suddenly spied Pani and the pilgrims approaching the image of +Doleema; his child leading the guide. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” began Pani, pointing to the idol of stone, “is the +holy god Ananna who lives in the sap of this green and flourishing tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou meanest not, surely, this stone image we behold?” said +Divino. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean the tree,” said the guide. “It is no stone +image.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strange,” muttered the chief; “were it not a guide that +spoke, I would deny it. As it is, I hold my peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mystery of mysteries!” cried the blind old pilgrim; “is it, +then, a stone image that Pani calls a tree? Oh, Oro, that I had eyes to see, +that I might verily behold it, and then believe it to be what it is not; that +so I might prove the largeness of my faith; and so merit the blessing of +Alma.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thrice sacred Ananna,” murmured the sad-eyed maiden, falling upon +her knees before Doleema, “receive my adoration. Of thee, I know nothing, +but what the guide has spoken. I am but a poor, weak-minded maiden, judging not +for myself, but leaning upon others that are wiser. These things are above me. +I am afraid to think. In Alma’s name, receive my homage.” +</p> + +<p> +And she flung flowers before the god. +</p> + +<p> +But Fauna, the hale matron, turning upon Pani, exclaimed, “Receive more +gifts, oh guide.” And again she showered them upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Upon this, the willful boy who would not have Pani for his guide, entered the +Morai; and perceiving the group before the image, walked rapidly to where they +were. And beholding the idol, he regarded it attentively, and +said:—“This must be the image of Doleema; but I am not sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” cried the blind pilgrim, “it is the holy tree Ananna, +thou wayward boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“A tree? whatever it may be, it is not that; thou art blind, old +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“But though blind, I have that which thou lackest.” +</p> + +<p> +Then said Pani, turning upon the boy, “Depart from the holy Morai, and +corrupt not the hearts of these pilgrims. Depart, I say; and, in the sacred +name of Alma, perish in thy endeavors to climb the Peak.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may perish there in truth,” said the boy, with sadness; +“but it shall be in the path revealed to me in my dream. And think not, +oh guide, that I perfectly rely upon gaining that lofty summit. I will climb +high Ofo with hope, not faith; Oh, mighty Oro, help me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Be not impious,” said Pani; “pronounce not Oro’s +sacred name too lightly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oro is but a sound,” said the boy. “They call the supreme +god, Ati, in my native isle; it is the soundless thought of him, oh guide, that +is in me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark to his rhapsodies! Hark, how he prates of mysteries, that not even +Hivohitee can fathom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor he, nor thou, nor I, nor any; Oro, to all, is Oro the +unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why claim to know Oro, then, better than others?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not so vain; and I have little to substitute for what I can not +receive. I but feel Oro in me, yet can not declare the thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proud boy! thy humility is a pretense; at heart, thou deemest thyself +wiser than Mardi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not near so wise. To believe is a haughty thing; my very doubts +humiliate me. I weep and doubt; all Mardi may be light; and I too simple to +discern.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is mad,” said the chief Divino; “never before heard I +such words.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are thoughts,” muttered the guide. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fool!” cried Fauna. +</p> + +<p> +“Lost youth!” sighed the maiden. +</p> + +<p> +“He is but a child,” said the beggar. These whims will soon depart; +once I was like him; but, praise be to Alma, in the hour of sickness I +repented, feeble old man that I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is because I am young and in health,” said the boy, “that +I more nourish the thoughts, that are born of my youth and my health. I am +fresh from my Maker, soul and body unwrinkled. On thy sick couch, old man, they +took thee at advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Turn from the blasphemer,” cried Pani. “Hence! thou evil +one, to the perdition in store.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will go my ways,” said the boy, “but Oro will shape the +end.” +</p> + +<p> +And he quitted the Morai. +</p> + +<p> +After conducting the party round the sacred inclosure, assisting his way with +his staff, for his child had left him, Pani seated himself on a low, mossy +stone, grimly surrounded by idols; and directed the pilgrims to return to his +habitation; where, ere long he would rejoin them. +</p> + +<p> +The pilgrims departed, he remained in profound meditation; while, backward and +forward, an invisible ploughshare turned up the long furrows on his brow. +</p> + +<p> +Long he was silent; then muttered to himself, “That boy, that wild, wise +boy, has stabbed me to the heart. His thoughts are my suspicions. But he is +honest. Yet I harm none. Multitudes must have unspoken meditations as well as +I. Do we then mutually deceive? Off masks, mankind, that I may know what +warranty of fellowship with others, my own thoughts possess. Why, upon this one +theme, oh Oro! must all dissemble? Our thoughts are not our own. Whate’er +it be, an honest thought must have some germ of truth. But we must set, as +flows the general stream; I blindly follow, where I seem to lead; the crowd of +pilgrims is so great, they see not there is none to guide.—It hinges upon +this: Have we angelic spirits? But in vain, in vain, oh Oro! I essay to live +out of this poor, blind body, fit dwelling for my sightless soul. Death, +death:—blind, am I dead? for blindness seems a consciousness of death. +Will my grave be more dark, than all is now?— From dark to +dark!—What is this subtle something that is in me, and eludes me? Will it +have no end? When, then, did it begin? All, all is chaos! What is this shining +light in heaven, this sun they tell me of? Or, do they lie? Methinks, it might +blaze convictions; but I brood and grope in blackness; I am dumb with doubt; +yet, ’tis not doubt, but worse: I doubt my doubt. Oh, ye all-wise spirits +in the air, how can ye witness all this woe, and give no sign? Would, would +that mine were a settled doubt, like that wild boy’s, who without faith, +seems full of it. The undoubting doubter believes the most. Oh! that I were he. +Methinks that daring boy hath Alma in him, struggling to be free. But those +pilgrims: that trusting girl.—What, if they saw me as I am? Peace, peace, +my soul; on, mask, again.” +</p> + +<p> +And he staggered from the Morai. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI.<br/> +They Discourse Of The Gods Of Mardi, And Braid-Beard Tells Of One Foni</h2> + +<p> +Walking from the sacred inclosure, Mohi discoursed of the plurality of gods in +the land, a subject suggested by the multitudinous idols we had just been +beholding. +</p> + +<p> +Said Mohi, “These gods of wood and of stone are nothing in number to the +gods in the air. You breathe not a breath without inhaling, you touch not a +leaf without ruffling a spirit. There are gods of heaven, and gods of earth; +gods of sea and of land; gods of peace and of war; gods of rook and of fell; +gods of ghosts and of thieves; of singers and dancers; of lean men and of +house-thatchers. Gods glance in the eyes of birds, and sparkle in the crests of +the waves; gods merrily swing in the boughs of the trees, and merrily sing in +the brook. Gods are here, and there, and every where; you are never alone for +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“If this be so, Braid-Beard,” said Babbalanja, “our inmost +thoughts are overheard; but not by eaves-droppers. However, my lord, these gods +to whom he alludes, merely belong to the semi-intelligibles, the divided +unities in unity, thin side of the First Adyta.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Semi-intelligible, say you, philosopher?” cried Mohi. “Then, +prithee, make it appear so; for what you say, seems gibberish to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja,” said Media, “no more of your abstrusities; what +know you mortals of us gods and demi-gods? But tell me, Mohi, how many of your +deities of rock and fen think you there are? Have you no statistical +table?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, at the lowest computation, there must be at least three billion +trillion of quintillions.” +</p> + +<p> +“A mere unit!” said Babbalanja. “Old man, would you express +an infinite number? Then take the sum of the follies of Mardi for your +multiplicand; and for your multiplier, the totality of sublunarians, that never +have been heard of since they became no more; and the product shall exceed your +quintillions, even though all their units were nonillions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have done, Babbalanja!” cried Media; “you are showing the +sinister vein in your marble. Have done. Take a warm bath, and make tepid your +cold blood. But come, Mohi, tell us of the ways of this Maramma; something of +the Morai and its idols, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +And straightway Braid-Beard proceeded with a narration, in substance as +follows:— +</p> + +<p> +It seems, there was a particular family upon the island, whose members, for +many generations, had been set apart as sacrifices for the deity called +Doleema. They were marked by a sad and melancholy aspect, and a certain +involuntary shrinking, when passing the Morai. And, though, when it came to the +last, some of these unfortunates went joyfully to their doom, declaring that +they gloried to die in the service of holy Doleema; still, were there others, +who audaciously endeavored to shun their fate; upon the approach of a festival, +fleeing to the innermost wilderness of the island. But little availed their +flight. For swift on their track sped the hereditary butler of the insulted +god, one Xiki, whose duty it was to provide the sacrifices. And when crouching +in some covert, the fugitive spied Xiki’s approach, so fearful did he +become of the vengeance of the deity he sought to evade, that renouncing all +hope of escape, he would burst from his lair, exclaiming, “Come on, and +kill!” baring his breast for the javelin that slew him. +</p> + +<p> +The chronicles of Maramma were full of horrors. +</p> + +<p> +In the wild heart of the island, was said still to lurk the remnant of a band +of warriors, who, in the days of the sire of the present pontiff, had risen in +arms to dethrone him, headed by Foni, an upstart prophet, a personage +distinguished for the uncommon beauty of his person. With terrible carnage, +these warriors had been defeated; and the survivors, fleeing into the interior, +for thirty days were pursued by the victors. But though many were overtaken and +speared, a number survived; who, at last, wandering forlorn and in despair, +like demoniacs, ran wild in the woods. And the islanders, who at times +penetrated into the wilderness, for the purpose of procuring rare herbs, often +scared from their path some specter, glaring through the foliage. Thrice had +these demoniacs been discovered prowling about the inhabited portions of the +isle; and at day-break, an attendant of the holy Morai once came upon a +frightful figure, doubled with age, helping itself to the offerings in the +image of Doleema. The demoniac was slain; and from his ineffaceable tatooing, +it was proved that this was no other than Foni, the false prophet; the splendid +form he had carried into the rebel fight, now squalid with age and misery. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br/> +They Visit The Lake Of Yammo</h2> + +<p> +From the Morai, we bent our steps toward an unoccupied arbor; and here, +refreshing ourselves with the viands presented by Borabolla, we passed the +night. And next morning proceeded to voyage round to the opposite quarter of +the island; where, in the sacred lake of Yammo, stood the famous temple of Oro, +also the great gallery of the inferior deities. +</p> + +<p> +The lake was but a portion of the smooth lagoon, made separate by an arm of +wooded reef, extending from the high western shore of the island, and curving +round toward a promontory, leaving a narrow channel to the sea, almost +invisible, however, from the land-locked interior. +</p> + +<p> +In this lake were many islets, all green with groves. Its main-shore was a +steep acclivity, with jutting points, each crowned with mossy old altars of +stone, or ruinous temples, darkly reflected in the green, glassy water; while, +from its long line of stately trees, the low reef-side of the lake looked one +verdant bluff. +</p> + +<p> +Gliding in upon Yammo, its many islets greeted us like a little Mardi; but ever +and anon we started at long lines of phantoms in the water, reflections of the +long line of images on the shore. +</p> + +<p> +Toward the islet of Dolzono we first directed our way; and there we beheld the +great gallery of the gods; a mighty temple, resting on one hundred tall pillars +of palm, each based, below the surface, on the buried body of a man; its nave +one vista of idols; names carved on their foreheads: Ogre, Tripoo, +Indrimarvoki, Parzillo, Vivivi, Jojijojorora, Jorkraki, and innumerable others. +</p> + +<p> +Crowds of attendants were new-grouping the images. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, you behold one of their principal occupations,” said +Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Said Media: “I have heard much of the famed image of Mujo, the Nursing +Mother;—can you point it out, Braid-Beard?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, when last here, I saw Mujo at the head of this file; but they +must have removed it; I see it not now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do these attendants, then,” said Babbalanja, “so continually +new-marshal the idols, that visiting the gallery to-day, you are at a loss +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said Braid-Beard. “But behold, my lord, this image +is Mujo.” +</p> + +<p> +We stood before an obelisk-idol, so towering, that gazing at it, we were fain +to throw back our heads. According to Mohi, winding stairs led up through its +legs; its abdomen a cellar, thick-stored with gourds of old wine; its head, a +hollow dome; in rude alto-relievo, its scores of hillock-breasts were carved +over with legions of baby deities, frog-like sprawling; while, within, were +secreted whole litters of infant idols, there placed, to imbibe divinity from +the knots of the wood. +</p> + +<p> +As we stood, a strange subterranean sound was heard, mingled with a gurgling as +of wine being poured. Looking up, we beheld, through arrow-slits and +port-holes, three masks, cross-legged seated in the abdomen, and holding stout +wassail. But instantly upon descrying us, they vanished deeper into the +interior; and presently was heard a sepulchral chant, and many groans and +grievous tribulations. +</p> + +<p> +Passing on, we came to an image, with a long anaconda-like posterior +development, wound round and round its own neck. +</p> + +<p> +“This must be Oloo, the god of Suicides,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mohi, “you perceive, my lord, how he lays violent +tail upon himself.” +</p> + +<p> +At length, the attendants having, in due order, new-deposed the long lines of +sphinxes and griffins, and many limbed images, a band of them, in long flowing +robes, began their morning chant. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Awake Rarni! awake Foloona!<br/> +Awake unnumbered deities!” +</p> + +<p> +With many similar invocations, to which the images made not the slightest +rejoinder. Not discouraged, however, the attendants now separately proceeded to +offer up petitions on behalf of various tribes, retaining them for that +purpose. +</p> + +<p> +One prayed for abundance of rain, that the yams of Valapee might not wilt in +the ground; another for dry sunshine, as most favorable for the present state +of the Bread-fruit crop in Mondoldo. +</p> + +<p> +Hearing all this, Babbalanja thus spoke:—“Doubtless, my lord Media, +besides these petitions we hear, there are ten thousand contradictory prayers +ascending to these idols. But methinks the gods will not jar the eternal +progression of things, by any hints from below; even were it possible to +satisfy conflicting desires.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “But I would pray, nevertheless, Babbalanja; for prayer draws +us near to our own souls, and purifies our thoughts. Nor will I grant that our +supplications are altogether in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +Still wandering among the images, Mohi had much to say, concerning their +respective claims to the reverence of the devout. +</p> + +<p> +For though, in one way or other, all Mardians bowed to the supremacy of Oro, +they were not so unanimous concerning the inferior deities; those supposed to +be intermediately concerned in sublunary things. Some nations sacrificed to one +god; some to another; each maintaining, that their own god was the most +potential. +</p> + +<p> +Observing that all the images were more or less defaced, Babbalanja sought the +reason. +</p> + +<p> +To which, Braid-Beard made answer, that they had been thus defaced by hostile +devotees; who quarreling in the great gallery of the gods, and getting beside +themselves with rage, often sought to pull down, and demolish each +other’s favorite idols. +</p> + +<p> +“But behold,” cried Babbalanja, “there seems not a single +image unmutilated. How is this, old man?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is thus. While one faction defaces the images of its adversaries, its +own images are in like manner assailed; whence it comes that no idol +escapes.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more, no more, Braid-Beard,” said Media. “Let us depart, +and visit the islet, where the god of all these gods is enshrined.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +They Meet The Pilgrims At The Temple Of Oro</h2> + +<p> +Deep, deep, in deep groves, we found the great temple of Oro, +Spreader-of-the-Sky, and deity supreme. +</p> + +<p> +While here we silently stood eyeing this Mardi-renowned image, there entered +the fane a great multitude of its attendants, holding pearl- shells on their +heads, filled with a burning incense. And ranging themselves in a crowd round +Oro, they began a long-rolling chant, a sea of sounds; and the thick smoke of +their incense went up to the roof. +</p> + +<p> +And now approached Pani and the pilgrims; followed, at a distance, by the +willful boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold great Oro,” said the guide. +</p> + +<p> +“We see naught but a cloud,” said the chief Divino. +</p> + +<p> +“My ears are stunned by the chanting,” said the blind pilgrim. +</p> + +<p> +“Receive more gifts, oh guide!” cried Fanna the matron. “Oh +Oro! invisible Oro! I kneel,” slow murmured the sad-eyed maid. +</p> + +<p> +But now, a current of air swept aside the eddying incense; and the willful boy, +all eagerness to behold the image, went hither and thither; but the gathering +of attendants was great; and at last he exclaimed, “Oh Oro! I can not see +thee, for the crowd that stands between thee and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this babbler?” cried they with the censers, one and all +turning upon the pilgrims; “let him speak no more; but bow down, and +grind the dust where he stands; and declare himself the vilest creature that +crawls. So Oro and Alma command.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel nothing in me so utterly vile,” said the boy, “and I +cringe to none. But I would as lief <i>adore</i> your image, as that in my +heart, for both mean the same; but more, how can I? I love great Oro, though I +comprehend him not. I marvel at his works, and feel as nothing in his sight; +but because he is thus omnipotent, and I a mortal, it follows not that I am +vile. Nor so doth he regard me. We do ourselves degrade ourselves, not Oro us. +Hath not Oro made me? And therefore am I not worthy to stand erect before him? +Oro is almighty, but no despot. I wonder; I hope; I love; I weep; I have in me +a feeling nigh to fear, that is not fear; but wholly vile I am not; nor can we +love and cringe. But Oro knows my heart, which I can not speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Impious boy,” cried they with the censers, “we will offer +thee up, before the very image thou contemnest. In the name of Alma, seize +him.” +</p> + +<p> +And they bore him away unresisting. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus perish the ungodly,” said Pani to the shuddering pilgrims. +</p> + +<p> +And they quitted the temple, to journey toward the Peak of Ofo. +</p> + +<p> +“My soul bursts!” cried Yoomy. “My lord, my lord, let us save +the boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak not,” said Media. “His fate is fixed. Let Mardi +stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let us away from hence, my lord; and join the pilgrims; for, in +these inland vales, the lost one may be found, perhaps at the very base of +Ofo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not there; not there;” cried Babbalanja, “Yillah may have +touched these shores; but long since she must have fled.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br/> +They Discourse Of Alma</h2> + +<p> +Sailing to and fro in the lake, to view its scenery, much discourse took place +concerning the things we had seen; and far removed from the censer-bearers, the +sad fate that awaited the boy was now the theme of all. +</p> + +<p> +A good deal was then said of Alma, to whom the guide, the pilgrims, and the +censer-bearers had frequently alluded, as to some paramount authority. +</p> + +<p> +Called upon to reveal what his chronicles said on this theme, Braid-Beard +complied; at great length narrating, what now follows condensed. +</p> + +<p> +Alma, it seems, was an illustrious prophet, and teacher divine; who, ages ago, +at long intervals, and in various islands, had appeared to the Mardians under +the different titles of Brami, Manko, and Alma. Many thousands of moons had +elasped since his last and most memorable avatar, as Alma on the isle of +Maramma. Each of his advents had taken place in a comparatively dark and +benighted age. Hence, it was devoutly believed, that he came to redeem the +Mardians from their heathenish thrall; to instruct them in the ways of truth, +virtue, and happiness; to allure them to good by promises of beatitude +hereafter; and to restrain them from evil by denunciations of woe. Separated +from the impurities and corruptions, which in a long series of centuries had +become attached to every thing originally uttered by the prophet, the maxims, +which as Brami he had taught, seemed similar to those inculcated by Manko. But +as Alma, adapting his lessons to the improved condition of humanity, the divine +prophet had more completely unfolded his scheme; as Alma, he had made his last +revelation. +</p> + +<p> +This narration concluded, Babbalanja mildly observed, “Mohi: without +seeking to accuse you of uttering falsehoods; since what you relate rests not +upon testimony of your own; permit me, to question the fidelity of your account +of Alma. The prophet came to dissipate errors, you say; but superadded to many +that have survived the past, ten thousand others have originated in various +constructions of the principles of Alma himself. The prophet came to do away +all gods but one; but since the days of Alma, the idols of Maramma have more +than quadrupled. The prophet came to make us Mardians more virtuous and happy; +but along with all previous good, the same wars, crimes, and miseries, which +existed in Alma’s day, under various modifications are yet extant. Nay: +take from your chronicles, Mohi, the history of those horrors, one way or +other, resulting from the doings of Alma’s nominal followers, and your +chronicles would not so frequently make mention of blood. The prophet came to +guarantee our eternal felicity; but according to what is held in Maramma, that +felicity rests on so hard a proviso, that to a thinking mind, but very few of +our sinful race may secure it. For one, then, I wholly reject your Alma; not so +much, because of all that is hard to be understood in his histories; as because +of obvious and undeniable things all round us; which, to me, seem at war with +an unreserved faith in his doctrines as promulgated here in Maramma. Besides; +every thing in this isle strengthens my incredulity; I never was so thorough a +disbeliever as now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let the winds be laid,” cried Mohi, “while your rash +confession is being made in this sacred lake.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “Philosopher; remember the boy, and they that seized +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I do indeed remember him. Poor youth! in his agony, how my heart +yearned toward his. But that very prudence which you deny me, my lord, +prevented me from saying aught in his behalf. Have you not observed, that until +now, when we are completely by ourselves, I have refrained from freely +discoursing of what we have seen in this island? Trust me, my lord, there is no +man, that bears more in mind the necessity of being either a believer or a +hypocrite in Maramma, and the imminent peril of being honest here, than I, +Babbalanja. And have I not reason to be wary, when in my boyhood, my own sire +was burnt for his temerity; and in this very isle? Just Oro! it was done in the +name of Alma,—what wonder then, that, at times, I almost hate that sound. +And from those flames, they devoutly swore he went to others,—horrible +fable!” +</p> + +<p> +Said Mohi: “Do you deny, then, the everlasting torments?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis not worth a denial. Nor by formally denying it, will I run +the risk of shaking the faith of, thousands, who in that pious belief find +infinite consolation for all they suffer in Mardi.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” said Media; “are there those who soothe themselves +with the thought of everlasting flames?” +</p> + +<p> +“One would think so, my lord, since they defend that dogma more +resolutely than any other. Sooner will they yield you the isles of Paradise, +than it. And in truth, as liege followers of Alma, they would seem but right in +clinging to it as they do; for, according to all one hears in Maramma, the +great end of the prophet’s mission seems to have been the revealing to us +Mardians the existence of horrors, most hard to escape. But better we were all +annihilated, than that one man should be damned.” +</p> + +<p> +Rejoined Media: “But think you not, that possibly, Alma may have been +misconceived? Are you certain that doctrine is his?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing more than that such is the belief in this land. And in +these matters, I know not where else to go for information. But, my lord, had I +been living in those days when certain men are said to have been actually +possessed by spirits from hell, I had not let slip the opportunity—as our +forefathers did—to cross-question them concerning the place they came +from.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” said Media, “your Alma’s faith concerns +not me: I am a king, and a demi-god; and leave vulgar torments to the +commonality.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it concerns me,” muttered Mohi; “yet I know not what to +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” said Yoomy, “I reject it. Could I, I would not +believe it. It is at variance with the dictates of my heart instinctively my +heart turns from it, as a thirsty man from gall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush; say no more,” said Mohi; “again we approach the +shore.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X.<br/> +Mohi Tells Of One Ravoo, And They Land To Visit Hevaneva, A Flourishing +Artisan</h2> + +<p> +Having seen all worth viewing in Yammo, we departed, to complete the +circumnavigation of the island, by returning to Uma without reversing our +prows. As we glided along, we passed many objects of interest, concerning +which, Mohi, as usual, was very diffuse. +</p> + +<p> +Among other things pointed out, were certain little altars, like mile- stones, +planted here and there upon bright bluffs, running out into the lagoon. +Dedicated respectively to the guardian spirits of Maramma, these altars formed +a chain of spiritual defenses; and here were presumed to stand post the most +vigilant of warders; dread Hivohitee, all by himself, garrisoning the +impregnable interior. +</p> + +<p> +But these sentries were only subalterns, subject to the beck of the Pontiff; +who frequently sent word to them, concerning the duties of their watch. His +mandates were intrusted to one Ravoo, the hereditary pontifical messenger; a +long-limbed varlet, so swift of foot, that he was said to travel like a +javelin. “Art thou Ravoo, that thou so pliest thy legs?” say these +islanders, to one encountered in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +Hivohitee’s postman held no oral communication with the sentries. +Dispatched round the island with divers bits of tappa, hieroglyphically +stamped, he merely deposited one upon each altar; superadding a stone, to keep +the missive in its place; and so went his rounds. +</p> + +<p> +Now, his route lay over hill and over dale, and over many a coral rock; and to +preserve his feet from bruises, he was fain to wear a sort of buskin, or boot, +fabricated of a durable tappa, made from the thickest and toughest of fibers. +As he never wore his buskins except when he carried the mail, Ravoo sorely +fretted with his Hessians; though it would have been highly imprudent to travel +without them. To make the thing more endurable, therefore, and, at intervals, +to cool his heated pedals, he established a series of stopping-places, or +stages; at each of which a fresh pair of buskins, hanging from a tree, were +taken down and vaulted into by the ingenious traveler. Those relays of boots +were exceedingly convenient; next, indeed, to being lifted upon a fresh pair of +legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, to what purpose that anecdote?” demanded Babbalanja of Mohi, +who in substance related it. +</p> + +<p> +“Marry! ’tis but the simple recital of a fact; and I tell it to +entertain the company.” +</p> + +<p> +“But has it any meaning you know of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art wise, find out,” retorted Braid-Beard. “But what +comes of it?” persisted Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Beshrew me, this senseless catechising of thine,” replied Mohi; +“naught else, it seems, save a grin or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“And pray, what may you be driving at, philosopher?” interrupted +Media. +</p> + +<p> +“I am intent upon the essence of things; the mystery that lieth beyond; +the elements of the tear which much laughter provoketh; that which is beneath +the seeming; the precious pearl within the shaggy oyster. I probe the +circle’s center; I seek to evolve the inscrutable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seek on; and when aught is found, cry out, that we may run to +see.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord the king is merry upon me. To him my more subtle cogitations +seem foolishness. But believe me, my lord, there is more to be thought of than +to be seen. There is a world of wonders insphered within the spontaneous +consciousness; or, as old Bardianna hath it, a mystery within the obvious, yet +an obviousness within the mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did I ever deny that?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“As plain as my hand in the dark,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“I dreamed a dream,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“They banter me; but enough; I am to blame for discoursing upon the deep +world wherein I live. I am wrong in seeking to invest sublunary sounds with +celestial sense. Much that is in me is incommunicable by this ether we breathe. +But I blame ye not.” And wrapping round him his mantle, Babbalanja +retired into its most private folds. +</p> + +<p> +Ere coming in sight of Uma, we put into a little bay, to pay our respects to +Hevaneva, a famous character there dwelling; who, assisted by many journeymen, +carried on the lucrative business of making idols for the surrounding isles. +</p> + +<p> +Know ye, that all idols not made in Maramma, and consecrated by Hivohitee; and, +what is more, in strings of teeth paid down for to Hevaneva; are of no more +account, than logs, stocks, or stones. Yet does not the cunning artificer +monopolize the profits of his vocation; for Hevaneva being but the vassal of +the Pontiff, the latter lays claim to King Leo’s share of the spoils, and +secures it. +</p> + +<p> +The place was very prettily lapped in a pleasant dell, nigh to the margin of +the water; and here, were several spacious arbors; wherein, prostrate upon +their sacred faces, were all manner of idols, in every imaginable stage of +statuary development. +</p> + +<p> +With wonderful industry the journeymen were plying their tools;—some +chiseling noses; some trenching for mouths; and others, with heated flints, +boring for ears: a hole drilled straight through the occiput, representing the +auricular organs. +</p> + +<p> +“How easily they are seen through,” said Babbalanja, taking a sight +through one of the heads. +</p> + +<p> +The last finish is given to their godships, by rubbing them all over with dried +slips of consecrated shark-skin, rough as sand paper, tacked over bits of wood. +</p> + +<p> +In one of the farther arbors, Hevaneva pointed out a goodly array of idols, all +complete and ready for the market. They were of every variety of pattern; and +of every size; from that of a giant, to the little images worn in the ears of +the ultra devout. +</p> + +<p> +“Of late,” said the artist, “there has been a lively demand +for the image of Arbino the god of fishing; the present being the principal +season for that business. For Nadams (Nadam presides over love and wine), there +has also been urgent call; it being the time of the grape; and the maidens +growing frolicsome withal, and devotional.” +</p> + +<p> +Seeing that Hevaneva handled his wares with much familiarity, not to say +irreverence, Babbalanja was minded to learn from him, what he thought of his +trade; whether the images he made were genuine or spurious; in a word, whether +he believed in his gods. +</p> + +<p> +His reply was curious. But still more so, the marginal gestures wherewith he +helped out the text. +</p> + +<p> +“When I cut down the trees for my idols,” said he, “they are +nothing but logs; when upon those logs, I chalk out the figures of, my images, +they yet remain logs; when the chisel is applied, logs they are still; and when +all complete, I at last stand them up in my studio, even then they are logs. +Nevertheless, when I handle the pay, they are as prime gods, as ever were +turned out in Maramma.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must make a very great variety,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“All sorts, all sorts.” +</p> + +<p> +“And from the same material, I presume.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, one grove supplies them all. And, on an average, each tree +stands us in full fifty idols. Then, we often take second-hand images in part +pay for new ones. These we work over again into new patterns; touching up their +eyes and ears; resetting their noses; and more especially new-footing their +legs, where they always decay first.” +</p> + +<p> +Under sanction of the Pontiff, Hevaneva, in addition to his large commerce in +idols, also carried on the highly lucrative business of canoe-building; the +profits whereof, undivided, he dropped into his private exchequer. But Mohi +averred, that the Pontiff often charged him with neglecting his images, for his +canoes. Be that as it may, Hevaneva drove a thriving trade at both avocations. +And in demonstration of the fact, he directed our attention to three long rows +of canoes, upheld by wooden supports. They were in perfect order; at a +moment’s notice, ready for launching; being furnished with paddles, +out-riggers, masts, sails, and a human skull, with a short handle thrust +through one of its eyes, the ordinary bailer of Maramma; besides other +appurtenances, including on the prow a duodecimo idol to match. +</p> + +<p> +Owing to a superstitious preference bestowed upon the wood and work of the +sacred island, Hevaneva’s canoes were in as high repute as his idols; and +sold equally well. +</p> + +<p> +In truth, in several ways one trade helped the other. The larger images being +dug out of the hollow part of the canoes; and all knotty odds and ends reserved +for the idol ear-rings. +</p> + +<p> +“But after all,” said the artificer, “I find a readier sale +for my images, than for my canoes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so it will ever be,” said Babbalanja.—“Stick to +thy idols, man! a trade, more reliable than the baker’s.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br/> +A Nursery-Tale Of Babbalanja’s</h2> + +<p> +Having taken to our canoes once again, we were silently sailing along, when +Media observed, “Babbalanja; though I seldom trouble myself with such +thoughts, I have just been thinking, how difficult it must be, for the more +ignorant sort of people, to decide upon what particular image to worship as a +guardian deity, when in Maramma, it seems, there exists such a multitude of +idols, and a thousand more are to be heard of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, your highness. The more ignorant the better. The multitude +of images distracts them not. But I am in no mood for serious discourse; let me +tell you a story.” +</p> + +<p> +“A story! hear him: the solemn philosopher is desirous of regaling us +with a tale! But pray, begin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Once upon a time, then,” said Babbalanja, indifferently adjusting +his girdle, “nine blind men, with uncommonly long noses, set out on their +travels to see the great island on which they were born.” +</p> + +<p> +“A precious beginning,” muttered Mohi. “Nine blind men +setting out to see sights.” +</p> + +<p> +Continued Babbalanja, “Staff in hand, they traveled; one in advance of +the other; each man with his palm upon the shoulder next him; and he with the +longest nose took the lead of the file. Journeying on in this manner, they came +to a valley, in which reigned a king called Tammaro. Now, in a certain +inclosure toward the head of the valley, there stood an immense wild banian +tree; all over moss, and many centuries old, and forming quite a wood in +itself: its thousand boughs striking into the earth, and fixing there as many +gigantic trunks. With Tammaro, it had long been a question, which of those many +trunks was the original and true one; a matter that had puzzled the wisest +heads among his subjects; and in vain had a reward been offered for the +solution of the perplexity. But the tree was so vast, and its fabric so +complex; and its rooted branches so similar in appearance; and so numerous, +from the circumstance that every year had added to them, that it was quite +impossible to determine the point. Nevertheless, no sooner did the nine blind +men hear that there was a reward offered for discovering the trunk of a tree, +standing all by itself, than, one and all, they assured Tammaro, that they +would quickly settle that little difficulty of his; and loudly inveighed +against the stupidity of his sages, who had been so easily posed. So, being +conducted into the inclosure, and assured that the tree was somewhere within, +they separated their forces, so as at wide intervals to surround it at a +distance; when feeling their way, with their staves and their noses, they +advanced to the search, crying out—‘Pshaw! make room there; let us +wise men feel of the mystery.’ Presently, striking with his nose one of +the rooted branches, the foremost blind man quickly knelt down; and feeling +that it struck into the earth, gleefully shouted: Here it is! here it +is!’ But almost in the same breath, his companions, also, each striking a +branch with his staff or his nose, cried out in like manner, ‘Here it is! +here it is!’ Whereupon they were all confounded: but directly, the man +who first cried out, thus addressed the rest: Good friends, surely you’re +mistaken. There is but one tree in the place, and here it is.’ +‘Very true,’ said the others, ‘all together; there is only +<i>one</i> tree; but <i>here</i> it is.’ ‘Nay,’ said the +others, ‘it is <i>here!</i>’ and so saying, each blind man +triumphantly felt of the branch, where it penetrated into the earth. Then again +said the first speaker: Good friends, if you will not believe what I say, come +hither, and feel for yourselves.’ ‘Nay, nay,’ replied they, +why seek further? <i>here</i> it is; and nowhere else can it be.’ +‘You blind fools, you, you contradict yourselves,’ continued the +first speaker, waxing wroth; ‘how can you each have hold of a separate +trunk, when there is but one in the place?’ Whereupon, they redoubled +their cries, calling each other all manner of opprobrious names, and presently +they fell to beating each other with their staves, and charging upon each other +with their noses. But soon after, being loudly called upon by Tammaro and his +people; who all this while had been looking on; being loudly called upon, I +say, to clap their hands on the trunk, they again rushed for their respective +branches; and it so happened, that, one and all, they changed places; but still +cried out, ‘<i>Here</i> it is; <i>here</i> it is!’ ‘Peace! +peace! ye silly blind men,’ said Tammaro. ‘Will ye without eyes +presume to see more sharply than those who have them? The tree is too much for +us all. Hence! depart from the valley.’” +</p> + +<p> +“An admirable story,” cried Media. “I had no idea that a mere +mortal, least of all a philosopher, could acquit himself so well. By my +scepter, but it is well done! Ha, ha! blind men round a banian! Why, +Babbalanja, no demi-god could surpass it. Taji, could you?” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Babbalanja, what under the sun, mean you by your blind +story!” cried Mohi. “Obverse, or reverse, I can make nothing out of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Others may,” said Babbalanja. “It is a polysensuum, old +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pollywog!” said Mohi. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br/> +Landing To Visit Hivohitee The Pontiff, They Encounter An Extraordinary Old +Hermit; With Whom Yoomy Has A Confidential Interview, But Learns Little</h2> + +<p> +Gliding on, suddenly we spied a solitary Islander putting out in his canoe from +a neighboring cove. +</p> + +<p> +Drawing near, the stranger informed us, that he was just from the face of the +great Pontiff, Hivohitee, who, having dismissed his celestial guests, had +retired to his private sanctuary. Upon this, Media resolved to land forthwith, +and under the guidance of Mohi, proceed inland, and pay a visit to his +Holiness. +</p> + +<p> +Quitting the beach, our path penetrated into the solitudes of the groves. +Skirting the way were tall Casaurinas, a species of cypress, standing +motionless in the shadows, as files of mutes at a funeral. But here and there, +they were overrun with the adventurous vines of the Convolvulus, the +Morning-glory of the Tropics, whose tendrils, bruised by the twigs, dropped +milk upon the dragon-like scales of the trees. +</p> + +<p> +This vine is of many varieties. Lying perdu, and shunning the garish sun +through the day, one species rises at night with the stars; bursting forth in +dazzling constellations of blossoms, which close at dawn. Others, slumbering +through the darkness, are up and abroad with their petals, by peep of morn; and +after inhaling its breath, again drop their lids in repose. While a third +species, more capricious, refuse to expand at all, unless in the most brilliant +sunshine, and upon the very tops of the loftiest trees. Ambitious flowers! that +will not blow, unless in high places, with the bright day looking on and +admiring. +</p> + +<p> +Here and there, we passed open glades in the woods, delicious with the incense +of violets. Balsamic ferns, stirred by the breeze, fanned all the air with +aromas. These glades were delightful. +</p> + +<p> +Journeying on, we at length came to a dark glen so deftly hidden by the +surrounding copses, that were it not for the miasma thence wafted, an ignorant +wayfarer might pass and repass it, time and again, never dreaming of its +vicinity. +</p> + +<p> +Down into the gloom of this glen we descended. Its sides were mantled with +noxious shrubs, whose exhalations, half way down, unpleasantly blended with the +piny breeze from the uplands. Through its bed ran a brook, whose incrusted +margin had a strange metallic luster, from the polluted waters here flowing; +their source a sulphur spring, of vile flavor and odor, where many invalid +pilgrims resorted. +</p> + +<p> +The woods all round were haunted by the dismal cawings of crows; tap, tap, the +black hawk whetted his bill on the boughs; each trunk stalked a ghost; and from +those trunks, Hevaneva procured the wood for his idols. +</p> + +<p> +Rapidly crossing this place, Yoomy’s hands to his ears, old Mohi’s +to his nostrils, and Babbalanja vainly trying to walk with closed eyes, we +toiled among steep, flinty rocks, along a wild, zigzag pathway; like a +mule-track in the Andes, not so much onward as upward; Yoomy above Babbalanja, +my lord Media above him, and Braid-Beard, our guide, in the air, above all. +</p> + +<p> +Strown over with cinders, the vitreous marl seemed tumbled together, as if +belched from a volcano’s throat. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, we came to a tall, slender structure, hidden among the scenic +projections of the cliffs, like a monument in the dark, vaulted ways of an +abbey. Surrounding it, were five extinct craters. The air was sultry and still, +as if full of spent thunderbolts. +</p> + +<p> +Like a Hindoo pagoda, this bamboo edifice rose story above story; its many +angles and points decorated with pearl-shells suspended by cords. But the +uppermost story, some ten toises in the air, was closely thatched from apex to +floor; which summit was gained by a series of ascents. +</p> + +<p> +What eremite dwelleth here, like St. Stylites at the top of his column?—a +question which Mohi seemed all eagerness to have answered. +</p> + +<p> +Dropping upon his knees, he gave a peculiar low call: no response. Another: all +was silent. Marching up to the pagoda, and again dropping upon his knees, he +shook the bamboos till the edifice rocked, and its pearl-shells jingled, as if +a troop of Andalusian mules, with bells round their necks, were galloping along +the defile. +</p> + +<p> +At length the thatch aloft was thrown open, and a head was thrust forth. It was +that of an old, old man; with steel-gray eyes, hair and beard, and a horrible +necklace of jaw-bones. +</p> + +<p> +Now, issuing from the pagoda, Mohi turned about to gain a view of the ghost he +had raised; and no sooner did he behold it, than with King Media and the rest, +he made a marked salutation. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, the eremite pointed to where Yoomy was standing; and waved his hand +upward; when Mohi informed the minstrel, that it was St. Stylites’ +pleasure, that he should pay him a visit. +</p> + +<p> +Wondering what was to come, Yoomy proceeded to mount; and at last arriving +toward the top of the pagoda, was met by an opening, from which an encouraging +arm assisted him to gain the ultimate landing. +</p> + +<p> +Here, all was murky enough; for the aperture from which the head of the +apparition had been thrust, was now closed; and what little twilight there was, +came up through the opening in the floor. +</p> + +<p> +In this dismal seclusion, silently the hermit confronted the minstrel; his gray +hair, eyes, and beard all gleaming, as if streaked with phosphorus; while his +ghastly gorget grinned hideously, with all its jaws. +</p> + +<p> +Mutely Yoomy waited to be addressed; but hearing no sound, and becoming alive +to the strangeness of his situation, he meditated whether it would not be well +to subside out of sight, even as he had come—through the floor. An +intention which the eremite must have anticipated; for of a sudden, something +was slid over the opening; and the apparition seating itself thereupon, the +twain were in darkness complete. +</p> + +<p> +Shut up thus, with an inscrutable stranger posted at the only aperture of +escape, poor Yoomy fell into something like a panic; hardly knowing what step +to take next. As for endeavoring to force his way out, it was alarming to think +of; for aught he knew, the eremite, availing himself of the gloom, might be +bristling all over with javelin points. +</p> + +<p> +At last, the silence was broken. +</p> + +<p> +“What see you, mortal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Chiefly darkness,” said Yoomy, wondering at the audacity of the +question. +</p> + +<p> +“I dwell in it. But what else see you, mortal?” +</p> + +<p> +“The dim gleaming of thy gorget.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that is not me. What else dost thou see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then thou hast found me out, and seen all! Descend.” +</p> + +<p> +And with that, the passage-way opened, and groping through the twilight, Yoomy +obeyed the mandate, and retreated; full of vexation at his enigmatical +reception. +</p> + +<p> +On his alighting, Mohi inquired whether the hermit was not a wonderful +personage. +</p> + +<p> +But thinking some sage waggery lurked in the question; and at present too +indignant to enter into details, the minstrel made some impatient reply; and +winding through a defile, the party resumed its journey. +</p> + +<p> +Straggling behind, to survey the strange plants and flowers in his path, Yoomy +became so absorbed, as almost to forget the scene in the pagoda; yet every +moment expected to be nearing the stately abode of the Pontiff. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly, the scene around grew familiar; the path seemed that which had +been followed just after leaving the canoes; and at length, the place of +debarkation was in sight. +</p> + +<p> +Surprised that the object of our visit should have been thus abandoned, the +minstrel ran forward, and sought an explanation. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon, Mohi lifted his hands in amazement; exclaiming at the blindness of +the eyes, which had beheld the supreme Pontiff of Maramma, without knowing it. +</p> + +<p> +The old hermit was no other than the dread Hivohitee; the pagoda, the inmost +oracle of the isle. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +Babbalanja Endeavors To Explain The Mystery</h2> + +<p> +This Great Mogul of a personage, then; this woundy Aliasuerus; this man of men; +this same Hivohitee, whose name rumbled among the mountains like a peal of +thunder, had been seen face to face, and taken for naught, but a bearded old +hermit, or at best, some equivocal conjuror. +</p> + +<p> +So great was his wonderment at the time, that Yoomy could not avoid expressing +it in words. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon thus discoursed Babbalanja: +</p> + +<p> +“Gentle Yoomy, be not astounded, that Hivohitee is so far behind your +previous conceptions. The shadows of things are greater than themselves; and +the more exaggerated the shadow, the more unlike to the substance.” +</p> + +<p> +“But knowing now, what manner of person Hivohitee is,” said Yoomy, +“much do I long to behold him again.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mohi assured him it was out of the question; that the Pontiff always acted +toward strangers as toward him (Yoomy); and that but one dim blink at the +eremite was all that mortal could obtain. +</p> + +<p> +Debarred thus from a second and more satisfactory interview with one, +concerning whom his curiosity had been violently aroused, the minstrel again +turned to Mohi for enlightenment; especially touching that magnate’s +Egyptian reception of him in his aerial den. +</p> + +<p> +Whereto, the chronicler made answer, that the Pontiff affected darkness because +he liked it: that he was a ruler of few words, but many deeds; and that, had +Yoomy been permitted to tarry longer with him in the pagoda, he would have been +privy to many strange attestations of the divinity imputed to him. Voices would +have been heard in the air, gossiping with Hivohitee; noises inexplicable +proceeding from him; in brief, light would have flashed out of his darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“But who has seen these things, Mohi?” said Babbalanja, “have +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who then?—Media?—Any one you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay: but the whole Archipelago has.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thus,” exclaimed Babbalanja, “does Mardi, blind though it be +in many things, collectively behold the marvels, which one pair of eyes sees +not.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +Taji Receives Tidings And Omens</h2> + +<p> +Slowly sailing on, we were overtaken by a shallop; whose inmates grappling to +the side of Media’s, said they came from Borabolla. +</p> + +<p> +Dismal tidings!—My faithful follower’s death. +</p> + +<p> +Absent over night, that morning early, he had been discovered lifeless in the +woods, three arrows in his heart. And the three pale strangers were nowhere to +be found. But a fleet canoe was missing from the beach. +</p> + +<p> +Slain for me! my soul sobbed out. Nor yet appeased Aleema’s manes; nor +yet seemed sated the avengers’ malice; who, doubtless, were on my track. +</p> + +<p> +But I turned; and instantly the three canoes had been reversed; and full soon, +Jarl’s dead hand in mine, had not Media interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“To death, your presence will not bring life back.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we must on,” said Babbalanja. “We seek the living, not +the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus they overruled me; and Borabolla’s messengers departed. +</p> + +<p> +Soon evening came, and in its shades, three shadows,—Hautia’s +heralds. +</p> + +<p> +Their shallop glided near. +</p> + +<p> +A leaf tri-foiled was first presented; then another, arrow-shaped. +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “Still I swiftly follow, behind revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +Then were showered faded, pallid daffodils. +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “Thy hopes are blighted all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not dead, but living with the life of life. Sirens! I heed ye +not.” +</p> + +<p> +They would have showered more flowers; but crowding sail we left them. +</p> + +<p> +Much converse followed. Then, beneath the canopy all sought repose. And ere +long slouched sleep drew nigh, tending dreams innumerable; silent dotting all +the downs a shepherd with his flock. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br/> +Dreams</h2> + +<p> +Dreams! dreams! golden dreams: endless, and golden, as the flowery prairies, +that stretch away from the Rio Sacramento, in whose waters Danae’s shower +was woven;—prairies like rounded eternities: jonquil leaves beaten out; +and my dreams herd like buffaloes, browsing on to the horizon, and browsing on +round the world; and among them, I dash with my lance, to spear one, ere they +all flee. +</p> + +<p> +Dreams! dreams! passing and repassing, like Oriental empires in history; and +scepters wave thick, as Bruce’s pikes at Bannockburn; and crowns are +plenty as marigolds in June. And far in the background, hazy and blue, their +steeps let down from the sky, loom Andes on Andes, rooted on Alps; and all +round me, long rushing oceans, roll Amazons and Oronocos; waves, mounted +Parthians; and, to and fro, toss the wide woodlands: all the world an elk, and +the forests its antlers. +</p> + +<p> +But far to the South, past my Sicily suns and my vineyards, stretches the +Antarctic barrier of ice: a China wall, built up from the sea, and nodding its +frosted towers in the dun, clouded sky. Do Tartary and Siberia lie beyond? +Deathful, desolate dominions those; bleak and wild the ocean, beating at that +barrier’s base, hovering ’twixt freezing and foaming; and freighted +with navies of ice-bergs,—warring worlds crossing orbits; their long +icicles, projecting like spears to the charge. Wide away stream the floes of +drift ice, frozen cemeteries of skeletons and bones. White bears howl as they +drift from their cubs; and the grinding islands crush the skulls of the peering +seals. +</p> + +<p> +But beneath me, at the Equator, the earth pulses and beats like a +warrior’s heart; till I know not, whether it be not myself. And my soul +sinks down to the depths, and soars to the skies; and comet-like reels on +through such boundless expanses, that methinks all the worlds are my kin, and I +invoke them to stay in their course. Yet, like a mighty three-decker, towing +argosies by scores, I tremble, gasp, and strain in my flight, and fain would +cast off the cables that hamper. +</p> + +<p> +And like a frigate, I am full with a thousand souls; and as on, on, on, I scud +before the wind, many mariners rush up from the orlop below, like miners from +caves; running shouting across my decks; opposite braces are pulled; and this +way and that, the great yards swing round on their axes; and boisterous +speaking-trumpets are heard; and contending orders, to save the good ship from +the shoals. Shoals, like nebulous vapors, shoreing the white reef of the Milky +Way, against which the wrecked worlds are dashed; strewing all the strand, with +their Himmaleh keels and ribs. +</p> + +<p> +Ay: many, many souls are in me. In my tropical calms, when my ship lies tranced +on Eternity’s main, speaking one at a time, then all with one voice: an +orchestra of many French bugles and horns, rising, and falling, and swaying, in +golden calls and responses. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes, when these Atlantics and Pacifics thus undulate round me, I lie +stretched out in their midst: a land-locked Mediterranean, knowing no ebb, nor +flow. Then again, I am dashed in the spray of these sounds: an eagle at the +world’s end, tossed skyward, on the horns of the tempest. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, again, I descend, and list to the concert. +</p> + +<p> +Like a grand, ground swell, Homer’s old organ rolls its vast volumes +under the light frothy wave-crests of Anacreon and Hafiz; and high over my +ocean, sweet Shakespeare soars, like all the larks of the spring. Throned on my +seaside, like Canute, bearded Ossian smites his hoar harp, wreathed with +wild-flowers, in which warble my Wallers; blind Milton sings bass to my +Petrarchs and Priors, and laureate crown me with bays. +</p> + +<p> +In me, many worthies recline, and converse. I list to St. Paul who argues the +doubts of Montaigne; Julian the Apostate cross-questions Augustine; and +Thomas-a-Kempis unrolls his old black letters for all to decipher. Zeno murmurs +maxims beneath the hoarse shout of Democritus; and though Democritus laugh loud +and long, and the sneer of Pyrrho be seen; yet, divine Plato, and Proclus, and, +Verulam are of my counsel; and Zoroaster whispered me before I was born. I walk +a world that is mine; and enter many nations, as Mingo Park rested in African +cots; I am served like Bajazet: Bacchus my butler, Virgil my minstrel, Philip +Sidney my page. My memory is a life beyond birth; my memory, my library of the +Vatican, its alcoves all endless perspectives, eve-tinted by cross-lights from +Middle-Age oriels. +</p> + +<p> +And as the great Mississippi musters his watery nations: Ohio, with all his +leagued streams; Missouri, bringing down in torrents the clans from the +highlands; Arkansas, his Tartar rivers from the plain;—so, with all the +past and present pouring in me, I roll down my billow from afar. +</p> + +<p> +Yet not I, but another: God is my Lord; and though many satellites revolve +around me, I and all mine revolve round the great central Truth, sun-like, +fixed and luminous forever in the foundationless firmament. +</p> + +<p> +Fire flames on my tongue; and though of old the Bactrian prophets were stoned, +yet the stoners in oblivion sleep. But whoso stones me, shall be as Erostratus, +who put torch to the temple; though Genghis Khan with Cambyses combine to +obliterate him, his name shall be extant in the mouth of the last man that +lives. And if so be, down unto death, whence I came, will I go, like Xenophon +retreating on Greece, all Persia brandishing her spears in his rear. +</p> + +<p> +My cheek blanches white while I write; I start at the scratch of my pen; my own +mad brood of eagles devours me; fain would I unsay this audacity; but an +iron-mailed hand clenches mine in a vice, and prints down every letter in my +spite. Fain would I hurl off this Dionysius that rides me; my thoughts crush me +down till I groan; in far fields I hear the song of the reaper, while I slave +and faint in this cell. The fever runs through me like lava; my hot brain burns +like a coal; and like many a monarch, I am less to be envied, than the veriest +hind in the land. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +Media And Babbalanja Discourse</h2> + +<p> +Our visiting the Pontiff at a time previously unforeseen, somewhat altered our +plans. All search in Maramma for the lost one proving fruitless, and nothing of +note remaining to be seen, we returned not to Uma; but proceeded with the tour +of the lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +When day came, reclining beneath the canopy, Babbalanja would fain have +seriously discussed those things we had lately been seeing, which, for all the +occasional levity he had recently evinced, seemed very near his heart. +</p> + +<p> +But my lord Media forbade; saying that they necessarily included a topic which +all gay, sensible Mardians, who desired to live and be merry, invariably +banished from social discourse. +</p> + +<p> +“Meditate as much as you will, Babbalanja, but say little aloud, unless +in a merry and mythical way. Lay down the great maxims of things, but let +inferences take care of themselves. Never be special; never, a partisan. In +safety, afar off, you may batter down a fortress; but at your peril you essay +to carry a single turret by escalade. And if doubts distract you, in vain will +you seek sympathy from your fellow men. For upon this one theme, not a few of +you free-minded mortals, even the otherwise honest and intelligent, are the +least frank and friendly. Discourse with them, and it is mostly formulas, or +prevarications, or hollow assumption of philosophical indifference, or urbane +hypocrisies, or a cool, civil deference to the dominant belief; or still worse, +but less common, a brutality of indiscriminate skepticism. Furthermore, +Babbalanja, on this head, final, last thoughts you mortals have none; nor can +have; and, at bottom, your own fleeting fancies are too often secrets to +yourselves; and sooner may you get another’s secret, than your own. Thus +with the wisest of you all; you are ever unfixed. Do you show a tropical calm +without? then, be sure a thousand contrary currents whirl and eddy within. The +free, airy robe of your philosophy is but a dream, which seems true while it +lasts; but waking again into the orthodox world, straightway you resume the old +habit. And though in your dreams you may hie to the uttermost Orient, yet all +the while you abide where you are. Babbalanja, you mortals dwell in Mardi, and +it is impossible to get elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, “My lord, you school me. But though I dissent from some +of your positions, I am willing to confess, that this is not the first time a +philosopher has been instructed by a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“A demi-god, sir; and therefore I the more readily discharge my mind of +all seriousness, touching the subject, with which you mortals so vex and +torment yourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence ensued. And seated apart, on both sides of the barge, solemnly swaying, +in fixed meditation, to the roll of the waves, Babbalanja, Mohi, and Yoomy, +drooped lower and lower, like funeral plumes; and our gloomy canoe seemed a +hearse. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +They Regale Themselves With Their Pipes</h2> + +<p> +“Ho! mortals! mortals!” cried Media. “Go we to bury our dead? +Awake, sons of men! Cheer up, heirs of immortality! Ho, Vee-Vee! bring forth +our pipes: we’ll smoke off this cloud.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing so beguiling as the fumes of tobacco, whether inhaled through hookah, +narghil, chibouque, Dutch porcelain, pure Principe, or Regalia. And a great +oversight had it been in King Media, to have omitted pipes among the appliances +of this voyage that we went. Tobacco in rouleaus we had none; cigar nor +cigarret; which little the company esteemed. Pipes were preferred; and pipes we +often smoked; testify, oh! Vee-Vee, to that. But not of the vile clay, of which +mankind and Etruscan vases were made, were these jolly fine pipes of ours. But +all in good time. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the leaf called tobacco is of divers species and sorts. Not to dwell upon +vile Shag, Pig-tail, Plug, Nail-rod, Negro-head, Cavendish, and misnamed +Lady’s-twist, there are the following varieties:—Gold- leaf, +Oronoco, Cimaroza, Smyrna, Bird’s-eye, James-river, Sweet-scented, +Honey-dew, Kentucky, Cnaster, Scarfalati, and famed Shiraz, or Persian. Of all +of which, perhaps the last is the best. +</p> + +<p> +But smoked by itself, to a fastidious wight, even Shiraz is not gentle enough. +It needs mitigation. And the cunning craft of so mitigating even the mildest +tobacco was well understood in the dominions of Media. There, in plantations +ever covered with a brooding, blue haze, they raised its fine leaf in the +utmost luxuriance; almost as broad as the broad fans of the broad-bladed +banana. The stalks of the leaf withdrawn, the remainder they cut up, and mixed +with soft willow-bark, and the aromatic leaves of the Betel. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! Vee-Vee, bring forth the pipes,” cried Media. And forth they +came, followed by a quaint, carved cocoa-nut, agate-lidded, containing +ammunition sufficient for many stout charges and primings. +</p> + +<p> +Soon we were all smoking so hard, that the canopied howdah, under which we +reclined, sent up purple wreaths like a Michigan wigwam. There we sat in a +ring, all smoking in council—every pipe a halcyon pipe of peace. +</p> + +<p> +And among those calumets, my lord Media’s showed like the turbaned Grand +Turk among his Bashaws. It was an extraordinary pipe, be sure; of right royal +dimensions. Its mouth-piece an eagle’s beak; its long stem, a bright, +red-barked cherry-tree branch, partly covered with a close network of purple +dyed porcupine quills; and toward the upper end, streaming with pennons, like a +Versailles flag-staff of a coronation day. These pennons were managed by +halyards; and after lighting his prince’s pipe, it was little +Vee-Vee’s part to run them up toward the mast-head, or mouthpiece, in +token that his lord was fairly under weigh. +</p> + +<p> +But Babbalanja’s was of a different sort; an immense, black, serpentine +stem of ebony, coiling this way and that, in endless convolutions, like an +anaconda round a traveler in Brazil. Smoking this hydra, Babbalanja looked as +if playing upon the trombone. +</p> + +<p> +Next, gentle Yoomy’s. Its stem, a slender golden reed, like musical +Pan’s; its bowl very merry with tassels. +</p> + +<p> +Lastly, old Mohi the chronicler’s. Its Death’s-head bowl forming +its latter end, continually reminding him of his own. Its shank was an +ostrich’s leg, some feathers still waving nigh the mouth-piece. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Vee-Vee! fill me up again,” cried Media, through the blue +vapors sweeping round his great gonfalon, like plumed Marshal Ney, waving his +baton in the smoke of Waterloo; or thrice gallant Anglesea, crossing his wooden +leg mid the reek and rack of the Apsley House banquet. +</p> + +<p> +Vee-Vee obeyed; and quickly, like a howitzer, the pipe-owl was reloaded to the +muzzle, and King Media smoked on. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! this is pleasant indeed,” he cried. “Look, it’s a +calm on the waters, and a calm in our hearts, as we inhale these sedative +odors.” +</p> + +<p> +“So calm,” said Babbalanja; “the very gods must be smoking +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“And thus,” said Media, “we demi-gods hereafter shall +cross-legged sit, and smoke out our eternities. Ah, what a glorious puff! +Mortals, methinks these pipe-bowls of ours must be petrifactions of roses, so +scented they seem. But, old Mohi, you have smoked this many a long year; +doubtless, you know something about their material—the Froth-of-the-Sea +they call it, I think—ere my handicraft subjects obtain it, to work into +bowls. Tell us the tale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Delighted to do so, my lord,” replied Mohi, slowly disentangling +his mouth-piece from the braids of his beard. “I have devoted much time +and attention to the study of pipe-bowls, and groped among many learned +authorities, to reconcile the clashing opinions concerning the origin of the +so-called Farnoo, or Froth-of-the-Sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, my old centenarian, give us the result of your +investigations. But smoke away: a word and a puff go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“May it please you, then, my right worshipful lord, this Farnoo is an +unctuous, argillaceous substance; in its natural state, soft, malleable, and +easily worked as the cornelian-red clay from the famous pipe-quarries of the +wild tribes to the North. But though mostly found buried in terra-firma, +especially in the isles toward the East, this Farnoo, my lord, is sometimes +thrown up by the ocean; in seasons of high sea, being plentifully found on the +reefs. But, my lord, like amber, the precise nature and origin of this Farnoo +are points widely mooted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop there!” cried Media; “our mouth-pieces are of amber; +so, not a word more of the Froth-of-the-Sea, until something be said to clear +up the mystery of amber. What is amber, old man?” +</p> + +<p> +“A still more obscure thing to trace than the other, my worshipful lord. +Ancient Plinnee maintained, that originally it must be a juice, exuding from +balsam firs and pines; Borhavo, that, like camphor, it is the crystalized oil +of aromatic ferns; Berzilli, that it is the concreted scum of the lake +Cephioris; and Vondendo, against scores of antagonists, stoutly held it a sort +of bituminous gold, trickling from antediluvian smugglers’ caves, nigh +the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, old Braid-Beard,” cried Media, placing his pipe in rest, +“you are almost as erudite as our philosopher here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much more so, my lord,” said Babbalanja; “for Mohi has +somehow picked up all my worthless forgettings, which are more than my valuable +rememberings.” +</p> + +<p> +“What say you, wise one?” cried Mohi, shaking his braids, like an +enraged elephant with many trunks. +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy: “My lord, I have heard that amber is nothing less than the +congealed tears of broken-hearted mermaids.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absurd, minstrel,” cried Mohi. “Hark ye; I know what it is. +All other authorities to the contrary, amber is nothing more than +gold-fishes’ brains, made waxy, then firm, by the action of the +sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Braid-Beard, waving his pipe, this thing is just as +I say. Imbedded in amber, do we not find little fishes’ fins, +porpoise-teeth, sea-gulls’ beaks and claws; nay, butterflies’ +wings, and sometimes a topaz? And how could that be, unless the substance was +first soft? Amber is gold-fishes’ brains, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“For one,” said Babbalanja, “I’ll not believe that, +till you prove to me, Braid-Beard, that ideas themselves are found imbedded +therein.” +</p> + +<p> +“Another of your crazy conceits, philosopher,” replied Mohi, +disdainfully; “yet, sometimes plenty of strange black-letter characters +have been discovered in amber.” And throwing back his hoary old head, he +jetted forth his vapors like a whale. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” cried Babbalanja. “Then, my lord Media, it may be +earnestly inquired, whether the gentle laws of the tribes before the flood, +were not sought to be embalmed and perpetuated between transparent and sweet +scented tablets of amber.” +</p> + +<p> +“That, now, is not so unlikely,” said Mohi; “for old King +Rondo the Round once set about getting him a coffin-lid of amber; much desiring +a famous mass of it owned by the ancestors of Donjalolo of Juam. But no navies +could buy it. So Rondo had himself urned in a crystal.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that immortalized Rondo, no doubt,” said Babbalanja. +“Ha! ha! pity he fared not like the fat porpoise frozen and tombed in an +iceberg; its icy shroud drifting south, soon melted away, and down, out of +sight, sunk the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, so much for amber,” cried Media. “Now, Mohi, go on +about Farnoo.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know, then, my lord, that Farnoo is more like ambergris than +amber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it? then, pray, tell us something on that head. You know all about +ambergris, too, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every thing about all things, my lord. Ambergris is found both on land +and at sea. But especially, are lumps of it picked up on the spicy coasts of +Jovanna; indeed, all over the atolls and reefs in the eastern quarter of +Mardi.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is this ambergris? Braid-Beard,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Aquovi, the chymist, pronounced it the fragments of mushrooms growing at +the bottom of the sea; Voluto held, that like naptha, it springs from fountains +down there. But it is neither.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard,” said Yoomy, “that it is the honey-comb of +bees, fallen from flowery cliffs into the brine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,” said Mohi. “Do I not know all about +it, minstrel? Ambergris is the petrified gall-stones of crocodiles.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” cried Babbalanja, “comes sweet scented ambergris from +those musky and chain-plated river cavalry? No wonder, then, their flesh is so +fragrant; their upper jaws as the visors of vinaigrettes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, you are all wrong,” cried King Media. +</p> + +<p> +Then, laughing to himself:—“It’s pleasant to sit by, a +demi-god, and hear the surmisings of mortals, upon things they know nothing +about; theology, or amber, or ambergris, it’s all the same. But then, did +I always out with every thing I know, there would be no conversing with these +comical creatures. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, old Mohi; ambergris is a morbid secretion of the Spermaceti +whale; for like you mortals, the whale is at times a sort of hypochondriac and +dyspeptic. You must know, subjects, that in antediluvian times, the Spermaceti +whale was much hunted by sportsmen, that being accounted better pastime, than +pursuing the Behemoths on shore. Besides, it was a lucrative diversion. Now, +sometimes upon striking the monster, it would start off in a dastardly fright, +leaving certain fragments in its wake. These fragments the hunters picked up, +giving over the chase for a while. For in those days, as now, a quarter-quintal +of ambergris was more valuable than a whole ton of spermaceti.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “would it have been wise to +kill the fish that dropped such treasures: no more than to murder the noddy +that laid the golden eggs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beshrew me! a noddy it must have been,” gurgled Mohi through his +pipe-stem, “to lay golden eggs for others to hatch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, no more of that now,” cried Media. “Mohi, how long +think you, may one of these pipe-bowls last?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, like one’s cranium, it will endure till broken. I have +smoked this one of mine more than half a century.” +</p> + +<p> +“But unlike our craniums, stocked full of concretions,” said +Babbalanja, our pipe-bowls never need clearing out.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Mohi, “they absorb the oil of the smoke, instead +of allowing it offensively to incrust.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, the older the better,” said Media, “and the more +delicious the flavor imparted to the fumes inhaled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farnoos forever! my lord,” cried Yoomy. “By much smoking, +the bowl waxes russet and mellow, like the berry-brown cheek of a sunburnt +brunette.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as like smoked hams,” cried Braid-Beard, “we veteran old +smokers grow browner and browner; hugely do we admire to see our jolly noses +and pipe-bowls mellowing together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, old man,” cried Babbalanja; “for, like a good +wife, a pipe is a friend and companion for life. And whoso weds with a pipe, is +no longer a bachelor. After many vexations, he may go home to that faithful +counselor, and ever find it full of kind consolations and suggestions. But not +thus with cigars or cigarrets: the acquaintances of a moment, chatted with in +by-places, whenever they come handy; their existence so fugitive, uncertain, +unsatisfactory. Once ignited, nothing like longevity pertains to them. They +never grow old. Why, my lord, the stump of a cigarret is an abomination; and +two of them crossed are more of a <i>memento-mori</i>, than a brace of +thigh-bones at right angles.” +</p> + +<p> +“So they are, so they are,” cried King Media. “Then, mortals, +puff we away at our pipes. Puff, puff, I say. Ah! how we puff! But thus we +demi-gods ever puff at our ease.” +</p> + +<p> +“Puff; puff, how we puff,” cried Babbalanja. “but life itself +is a puff and a wheeze. Our lungs are two pipes which we constantly +smoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Puff, puff! how we puff,” cried old Mohi. “All thought is a +puff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Babbalanja, “not more smoke in that skull-bowl of +yours than in the skull on your shoulders: both ends alike.” +</p> + +<p> +“Puff! puff! how we puff,” cried Yoomy. “But in every puff, +there hangs a wreath. In every puff, off flies a care.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, there they go,” cried Mohi, “there goes +another—and, there, and there;—this is the way to get rid of them +my worshipful lord; puff them aside.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yoomy,” said Media, “give us that pipe song of thine. Sing +it, my sweet and pleasant poet. We’ll keep time with the flageolets of +ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“So with pipes and puffs for a chorus, thus Yoomy sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Care is all stuff:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Puff! Puff:<br/> +To puff is enough:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Puff! Puff!<br/> +More musky than snuff,<br/> +And warm is a puff:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Puff! Puff!<br/> +Here we sit mid our puffs,<br/> +Like old lords in their ruffs,<br/> +Snug as bears in their muffs:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Puff! Puff!<br/> +Then puff, puff, puff;<br/> +For care is all stuff,<br/> +Puffed off in a puff:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Puff! Puff! +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, puff away,” cried Babbalanja, “puff; puff, so we are +born, and so die. Puff, puff, my volcanos: the great sun itself will yet go out +in a snuff, and all Mardi smoke out its last wick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Puffs enough,” said King Media, “Vee-Vee! haul down my flag. +There, lie down before me, oh Gonfalon! and, subjects, hear,—when I die, +lay this spear on my right, and this pipe on my left, its colors at half mast; +so shall I be ambidexter, and sleep between eloquent symbols.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +They Visit An Extraordinary Old Antiquary</h2> + +<p> +“About prows there, ye paddlers,” cried Media. “In this fog +we’ve been raising, we have sailed by Padulla, our destination.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Padulla, was but a little island, tributary to a neighboring king; its +population embracing some hundreds of thousands of leaves, and flowers, and +butterflies, yet only two solitary mortals; one, famous as a venerable +antiquarian: a collector of objects of Mardian vertu; a cognoscenti, and +dilettante in things old and marvelous; and for that reason, very choice of +himself. +</p> + +<p> +He went by the exclamatory cognomen of “Oh-Oh;” a name bestowed +upon him, by reason of the delighted interjections, with which he welcomed all +accessions to his museum. +</p> + +<p> +Now, it was to obtain a glimpse of this very museum, that Media was anxious to +touch at Padulla. +</p> + +<p> +Landing, and passing through a grove, we were accosted by Oh-Oh himself; who, +having heard the shouts of our paddlers, had sallied forth, staff in hand. +</p> + +<p> +The old man was a sight to see; especially his nose; a remarkable one. And all +Mardi over, a remarkable nose is a prominent feature: an ever obvious passport +to distinction. For, after all, this gaining a name, is but the individualizing +of a man; as well achieved by an extraordinary nose, as by an extraordinary +epic. Far better, indeed; for you may pass poets without knowing them. Even a +hero, is no hero without his sword; nor Beelzebub himself a lion, minus that +lasso-tail of his, wherewith he catches his prey. Whereas, he who is famous +through his nose, it is impossible to overlook. He is a celebrity without +toiling for a name. Snugly ensconced behind his proboscis, he revels in its +shadow, receiving tributes of attention wherever he goes. +</p> + +<p> +Not to enter at large upon the topography of Oh-Oh’s nasal organ, all +must be content with this; that it was of a singular magnitude, and boldly +aspiring at the end; an exclamation point in the face of the wearer, forever +wondering at the visible universe. The eyes of Oh-Oh were like the +creature’s that the Jew abhors: placed slanting in his head, and +converging their rays toward the mouth; which was no Mouth, but a gash. +</p> + +<p> +I mean not to be harsh, or unpleasant upon thee, Oh-Oh; but I must paint thee +as thou wert. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of his person was crooked, and dwarfed, and surmounted by a hump, that +sat on his back like a burden. And a weary load is a hump, Heaven knows, only +to be cast off in the grave. +</p> + +<p> +Thus old, and antiquated, and gable-ended, was the tabernacle of Oh-Oh’s +soul. But his person was housed in as curious a structure. Built of old boughs +of trees blown down in the groves, and covered over with unruly thatching, it +seemed, without, some ostrich nest. But within, so intricate, and grotesque, +its brown alleys and cells, that the interior of no walnut was more +labyrinthine. +</p> + +<p> +And here, strewn about, all dusty and disordered, were the precious antiques, +and curios, and obsoletes, which to Oh-Oh were dear as the apple of his eye, or +the memory of departed days. +</p> + +<p> +The old man was exceedingly importunate, in directing attention to his relics; +concerning each of which, he had an endless story to tell. Time would fail; +nay, patience, to repeat his legends. So, in order, here follow the most +prominent of his rarities:— +</p> + +<div class="letter"> +<p> +The identical Canoe, in which, ages back, the god Unja came from the bottom of +the sea. (Very ponderous; of lignum-vitae wood). +</p> + +<p> +A stone Flower-pot, containing in the original soil, Unja’s last +footprints, when he embarked from Mardi for parts unknown. (One foot-print +unaccountably reversed). +</p> + +<p> +The Jaw-bones of Tooroorooloo, a great orator in the days of Unja. (Somewhat +twisted). +</p> + +<p> +A quaint little Fish-hook. (Made from the finger-bones of Kravi the Cunning). +</p> + +<p> +The mystic Gourd; carved all over with cabalistic triangles, and hypogrifs; by +study of which a reputed prophet, was said to have obtained his inspiration. +(Slightly redolent of vineyards). +</p> + +<p> +The complete Skeleton of an immense Tiger-shark; the bones of a +Pearl-shell-diver’s leg inside. (Picked off the reef at low tide). +</p> + +<p> +An inscrutable, shapeless block of a mottled-hued, smoke-dried wood. (Three +unaccountable holes drilled through the middle). +</p> + +<p> +A sort of ecclesiastical Fasces, being the bony blades of nine sword- fish, +basket-hilted with shark’s jaws, braided round and tasseled with cords of +human hair. (Now obsolete). +</p> + +<p> +The mystic Fan with which Unja fanned himself when in trouble. (Woven from the +leaves of the Water-Lily). +</p> + +<p> +A Tripod of a Stork’s Leg, supporting a nautilus shell, containing the +fragments of a bird’s egg; into which, was said to have been magically +decanted the soul of a deceased chief. (Unfortunately crushed in by atmospheric +pressure). +</p> + +<p> +Two clasped Right Hands, embalmed; being those of twin warriors, who thus died +on a battle-field. (Impossible to sunder). +</p> + +<p> +A curious Pouch, or Purse, formed from the skin of an Albatross’ foot, +and decorated with three sharp claws, naturally pertaining to it. (Originally +the property of a notorious old Tooth-per-Tooth). +</p> + +<p> +A long tangled lock of Mermaid’s Hair, much resembling the curling silky +fibres of the finer sea-weed. (Preserved between fins of the dolphin). +</p> + +<p> +A Mermaid’s Comb for the toilet. The stiff serrated crest of a Cook +Storm-petrel (Oh-Oh was particularly curious concerning Mermaids). +</p> + +<p> +Files, Rasps, and Pincers, all bone, the implements of an eminent Chiropedist, +who flourished his tools before the flood. (Owing to the excessive unevenness +of the surface in those times, the diluvians were peculiarly liable to pedal +afflictions). +</p> + +<p> +The back Tooth, that Zozo the Enthusiast, in token of grief, recklessly knocked +out at the decease of a friend. (Worn to a stump and quite useless). +</p> +</div> + +<p> +These wonders inspected, Oh-Oh conducted us to an arbor, to show us the famous +telescope, by help of which, he said he had discovered an ant-hill in the moon. +It rested in the crotch of a Bread-fruit tree; and was a prodigiously long and +hollow trunk of a Palm; a scale from a sea-kraken its lens. +</p> + +<p> +Then returning to his cabinet, he pointed to a bamboo microscope, which had +wonderfully assisted him in his entomological pursuits. +</p> + +<p> +“By this instrument, my masters,” said he, “I have satisfied +myself, that in the eye of a dragon-fly there are precisely twelve thousand +five hundred and forty-one triangular lenses; and in the leg of a flea, scores +on scores of distinct muscles. Now, my masters, how far think you a flea may +leap at one spring? Why, two hundred times its own length; I have often +measured their leaps, with a small measure I use for scientific +purposes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, Oh-Oh,” said Babbalanja, “your discoveries must ere +long result in something grand; since you furnish such invaluable data for +theorists. Pray, attend, my lord Media. If, at one spring, a flea leaps two +hundred times its own length, then, with the like proportion of muscles in his +calves, a bandit might pounce upon the unwary traveler from a quarter of a mile +off. Is it not so, Oh-Oh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, but it is, my masters. And one of the greatest consolations I +draw from these studies, is the ever-strengthening conviction of the beneficent +wisdom that framed our Mardi. For did men possess thighs in proportion to +fleas, verily, the wicked would grievously leap about, and curvet in the +isles.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Oh-Oh,” said Babbalanja, “what other discoveries have +you made? Hast yet put a usurer under your lens, to find his conscience? or a +libertine, to find his heart? Hast yet brought your microscope to bear upon a +downy peach, or a rosy cheek?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said Oh-Oh, mournfully; “and from the moment I so +did, I have had no heart to eat a peach, or salute a cheek.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then dash your lens!” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, my lord. For all the eyes we get beyond our own, but minister +to infelicity. The microscope disgusts us with our Mardi; and the telescope +sets us longing for some other world.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +They Go Down Into The Catacombs</h2> + +<p> +With a dull flambeau, we now descended some narrow stone steps, to view +Oh-Oh’s collection of ancient and curious manuscripts, preserved in a +vault. +</p> + +<p> +“This way, this way, my masters,” cried Oh-Oh, aloft, swinging his +dim torch. “Keep your hands before you; it’s a dark road to +travel.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it seems,” said Babbalanja, wide-groping, as he descended lower +and lower. “My lord this is like going down to posterity.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon gaining the vault, forth flew a score or two of bats, extinguishing the +flambeau, and leaving us in darkness, like Belzoni deserted by his Arabs in the +heart of a pyramid. The torch at last relumed, we entered a tomb-like +excavation, at every step raising clouds of dust; and at last stood before long +rows of musty, mummyish parcels, so dingy-red, and so rolled upon sticks, that +they looked like stiff sausages of Bologna; but smelt like some fine old +Stilton or Cheshire. +</p> + +<p> +Most ancient of all, was a hieroglyphical Elegy on the Dumps, consisting of one +thousand and one lines; the characters,—herons, weeping-willows, and +ravens, supposed to have been traced by a quill from the sea-noddy. +</p> + +<p> +Then there were plenty of rare old ballads:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“King Kroko, and the Fisher Girl.”<br/> +“The Fight at the Ford of Spears.”<br/> +“The Song of the Skulls.” +</p> + +<p> +And brave old chronicles, that made Mohi’s mouth water:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The Rise and Setting of the Dynasty of Foofoo.”<br/> +“The Heroic History of the Noble Prince Dragoni; showing how he killed +ten Pinioned Prisoners with his Own Hand.”<br/> +“The whole Pedigree of the King of Kandidee, with that of his famous +horse, Znorto.” +</p> + +<p> +And Tarantula books:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Sour Milk for the Young, by a Dairyman.”<br/> +“The Devil adrift, by a Corsair.”<br/> +“Grunts and Groans, by a Mad Boar.”<br/> +“Stings, by a Scorpion.” +</p> + +<p> +And poetical productions:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Suffusions of a Lily in a Shower.”<br/> +“Sonnet on the last Breath of an Ephemera.”<br/> +“The Gad-fly, and Other Poems.” +</p> + +<p> +And metaphysical treatises:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Necessitarian not Predestinarian.”<br/> +“Philosophical Necessity and Predestination One Thing and The +Same.”<br/> +“Whatever is not, is.”<br/> +“Whatever is, is not.” +</p> + +<p> +And scarce old memoirs:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The One Hundred Books of the Biography of the Great and Good King +Grandissimo.”<br/> +“The Life of old Philo, the Philanthropist, in one Chapter.” +</p> + +<p> +And popular literature:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“A most Sweet, Pleasant, and Unctuous Account of the Manner in which +Five-and-Forty Robbers were torn asunder by Swiftly-Going Canoes.” +</p> + +<p> +And books by chiefs and nobles:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The Art of Making a Noise in Mardi.”<br/> +“On the Proper Manner of Saluting a Bosom Friend.”<br/> +“Letters from a Father to a Son, inculcating the Virtue of +Vice.”<br/> +“Pastorals by a Younger Son.”<br/> +“A Catalogue of Chieftains who have been Authors, by a Chieftain, who +disdains to be deemed an Author.”<br/> +“A Canto on a Cough caught by my Consort.”<br/> +“The Philosophy of Honesty, by a late Lord, who died in disgrace.” +</p> + +<p> +And theological works:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Pepper for the Perverse.”<br/> +“Pudding for the Pious.”<br/> +“Pleas for Pardon.”<br/> +“Pickles for the Persecuted.” +</p> + +<p> +And long and tedious romances with short and easy titles:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The Buck.”<br/> +“The Belle.”<br/> +“The King and the Cook, or the Cook and the King.” +</p> + +<p> +And books of voyages:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“A Sojourn among the Anthropophagi, by One whose Hand was eaten off at +Tiffin among the Savages.”<br/> +“Franko: its King, Court, and Tadpoles.”<br/> +“Three Hours in Vivenza, containing a Full and Impartial Account of that +Whole Country: by a Subject of King Bello.” +</p> + +<p> +And works of nautical poets:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Sky-Sail-Pole Lyrics.” +</p> + +<p> +And divers brief books, with panic-striking titles:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Are you safe?”<br/> +“A Voice from Below.”<br/> +“Hope for none.”<br/> +“Fire for all.” +</p> + +<p> +And pamphlets by retired warriors:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“On the Best Gravy for Wild Boar’s Meat.”<br/> +“Three Receipts for Bottling New Arrack.”<br/> +“To Brown Bread Fruit without Burning.”<br/> +“Advice to the Dyspeptic.”<br/> +“On Starch for Tappa.” +</p> + +<p> +All these MSS. were highly prized by Oh-Oh. He averred, that they spoke of the +mighty past, which he reverenced more than the paltry present, the dross and +sediment of what had been. +</p> + +<p> +Peering into a dark crypt, Babbalanja drew forth a few crumbling, illegible, +black-letter sheets of his favorite old essayist, brave Bardianna. They seemed +to have formed parts of a work, whose title only +remained—“Thoughts, by a Thinker.” +</p> + +<p> +Silently Babbalanja pressed them to his heart. Then at arm’s length held +them, and said, “And is all this wisdom lost? Can not the divine cunning +in thee, Bardianna, transmute to brightness these sullied pages? Here, perhaps, +thou didst dive into the deeps of things, treating of the normal forms of +matter and of mind; how the particles of solids were first molded in the +interstices of fluids; how the thoughts of men are each a soul, as the +lung-cells are each a lung; how that death is but a mode of life; while +mid-most is the Pharzi.— But all is faded. Yea, here the Thinker’s +thoughts lie cheek by jowl with phrasemen’s words. Oh Bardianna! these +pages were offspring of thee, thought of thy thought, soul of thy soul. +Instinct with mind, they once spoke out like living voices; now, they’re +dust; and would not prick a fool to action. Whence then is this? If the fogs of +some few years can make soul linked to matter naught; how can the unhoused +spirit hope to live when mildewed with the damps of death.” +</p> + +<p> +Piously he folded the shreds of manuscript together, kissed them, and laid them +down. +</p> + +<p> +Then approaching Oh-Oh, he besought him for one leaf, one shred of those most +precious pages, in memory of Bardianna, and for the love of him. +</p> + +<p> +But learning who he was, one of that old Ponderer’s commentators, Oh-Oh +tottered toward the manuscripts; with trembling fingers told them over, one by +one, and said—“Thank Oro! all are here.—Philosopher, ask me +for my limbs, my life, my heart, but ask me not for these. Steeped in wax, +these shall be my cerements.” +</p> + +<p> +All in vain; Oh-Oh was an antiquary. +</p> + +<p> +Turning in despair, Babbalanja spied a heap of worm-eaten parchment covers, and +many clippings and parings. And whereas the rolls of manuscripts did smell like +unto old cheese; so these relics did marvelously resemble the rinds of the +same. +</p> + +<p> +Turning over this pile, Babbalanja lighted upon something that restored his +good humor. Long he looked it over delighted; but bethinking him, that he must +have dragged to day some lost work of the collection, and much desirous of +possessing it, he made bold again to ply Oh-Oh; offering a tempting price for +his discovery. +</p> + +<p> +Glancing at the title—“A Happy Life”—the old man +cried—“Oh, rubbish! rubbish! take it for nothing.” And +Babbalanja placed it in his vestment. +</p> + +<p> +The catacombs surveyed, and day-light gained, we inquired the way to +Ji-Ji’s, also a collector, but of another sort; one miserly in the matter +of teeth, the money of Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +At the mention of his name, Oh-Oh flew out into scornful philippics upon the +insanity of that old dotard, who hoarded up teeth, as if teeth were of any use, +but to purchase rarities. Nevertheless, he pointed out our path; following +which, we crossed a meadow. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br/> +Babbalanja Quotes From An Antique Pagan; And Earnestly Presses It Upon The +Company, That What He Recites Is Not His But Another’s</h2> + +<p> +Journeying on, we stopped by a gurgling spring, in a beautiful grove; and here, +we stretched out on the grass, and our attendants unpacked their hampers, to +provide us a lunch. +</p> + +<p> +But as for that Babbalanja of ours, he must needs go and lunch by himself, and, +like a cannibal, feed upon an author; though in other respects he was not so +partial to bones. +</p> + +<p> +Bringing forth the treasure he had buried in his bosom, he was soon buried in +it; and motionless on his back, looked as if laid out, to keep an appointment +with his undertaker. +</p> + +<p> +“What, ho! Babbalanja!” cried Media from under a tree, +“don’t be a duck, there, with your bill in the air; drop your +metaphysics, man, and fall to on the solids. Do you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, philosopher,” said Mohi, handling a banana, “you will +weigh more after you have eaten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, list, Babbalanja,” cried Yoomy, “I am going to +sing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Up! up! I say,” shouted Media again. “But go, old man, and +wake him: rap on his head, and see whether he be in.” +</p> + +<p> +Mohi, obeying, found him at home; and Babbalanja started up. +</p> + +<p> +“In Oro’s name, what ails you, philosopher? See you Paradise, that +you look so wildly?” +</p> + +<p> +“A Happy Life! a Happy Life!” cried Babbalanja, in an ecstasy. +“My lord, I am lost in the dream of it, as here recorded. Marvelous book! +its goodness transports me. Let me read:—‘I would bear the same +mind, whether I be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world. I will +reckon benefits well placed as the fairest part of my possession, not valuing +them by number or weight, but by the profit and esteem of the receiver; +accounting myself never the poorer for any thing I give. What I do shall be +done for conscience, not ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my +palate, but to satisfy nature. I will be cheerful to my friends, mild and +placable to my enemies. I will prevent an honest request, if I can foresee it; +and I will grant it, without asking. I will look upon the whole world as my +country; and upon Oro, both as the witness and the judge of my words and my +deeds. I will live and die with this testimony: that I loved a good conscience; +that I never invaded another man’s liberty; and that I preserved my own. +I will govern my life and my thoughts, as if the whole world were to see the +one, and to read the other; for what does it signify, to make any thing a +secret to my neighbor, when to Oro all our privacies are open.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Very fine,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“The very spirit of the first followers of Alma, as recorded in the +legends,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Inimitable,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, “Listen again:—‘Righteousness is sociable +and gentle; free, steady, and fearless; full of inexhaustible delights.’ +And here again, and here, and here:—The true felicity of life is to +understand our duty to Oro.’—‘True joy is a serene and sober +motion.’ And here, and here,—my lord, ’tis hard quoting from +this book;—but listen—‘A peaceful conscience, honest +thoughts, and righteous actions are blessings without end, satiety, or measure. +The poor man wants many things; the covetous man, all. It is not enough to know +Oro, unless we obey him.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Alma all over,” cried Mohi; “sure, you read from his +sayings?” +</p> + +<p> +“I read but odd sentences from one, who though he lived ages ago, never +saw, scarcely heard of Alma. And mark me, my lord, this time I improvise +nothing. What I have recited, Is here. Mohi, this book is more marvelous than +the prophecies. My lord, that a mere man, and a heathen, in that most +heathenish time, should give utterance to such heavenly wisdom, seems more +wonderful than that an inspired prophet should reveal it. And is it not more +divine in this philosopher, to love righteousness for its own sake, and in view +of annihilation, than for pious sages to extol it as the means of everlasting +felicity?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas,” sighed Yoomy, “and does he not promise us any good +thing, when we are dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“He speaks not by authority. He but woos us to goodness and happiness +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Babbalanja,” said Media, “keep your treasure to +yourself. Without authority, and a full right hand, Righteousness better be +silent. Mardi’s religion must seem to come direct from Oro, and the mass +of you mortals endeavor it not, except for a consideration, present or to +come.” +</p> + +<p> +“And call you that righteousness, my lord, which is but the price paid +down for something else?” +</p> + +<p> +“I called it not righteousness; it is religion so called. But let us +prate no more of these things; with which I, a demi-god, have but little in +common. It ever impairs my digestion. No more, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord! my lord! out of itself, Religion has nothing to bestow. Nor +will she save us from aught, but from the evil in ourselves. Her one grand end +is to make us wise; her only manifestations are reverence to Oro and love to +man; her only, but ample reward, herself. He who has this, has all. He who has +this, whether he kneel to an image of wood, calling it Oro; or to an image of +air, calling it the same; whether he fasts or feasts; laughs or +weeps;—that man can be no richer. And this religion, faith, virtue, +righteousness, good, whate’er you will, I find in this book I hold. No +written page can teach me more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you that, then, of which you speak, Babbalanja? Are you content, +there where you stand?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, you drive me home. I am not content. The mystery of mysteries +is still a mystery. How this author came to be so wise, perplexes me. How he +led the life he did, confounds me. Oh, my lord, I am in darkness, and no broad +blaze comes down to flood me. The rays that come to me are but faint cross +lights, mazing the obscurity wherein I live. And after all, excellent as it is, +I can be no gainer by this book. For the more we learn, the more we unlearn; we +accumulate not, but substitute; and take away, more than we add. We dwindle +while we grow; we sally out for wisdom, and retreat beyond the point whence we +started; we essay the Fondiza, and get but the Phe. Of all simpletons, the +simplest! Oh! that I were another sort of fool than I am, that I might restore +my good opinion of myself. Continually I stand in the pillory, am broken on the +wheel, and dragged asunder by wild horses. Yes, yes, Bardianna, all is in a +nut, as thou sayest; but all my back teeth can not crack it; I but crack my own +jaws. All round me, my fellow men are new-grafting their vines, and dwelling in +flourishing arbors; while I am forever pruning mine, till it is become but a +stump. Yet in this pruning will I persist; I will not add, I will diminish; I +will train myself down to the standard of what is unchangeably true. Day by day +I drop off my redundancies; ere long I shall have stripped my ribs; when I die, +they will but bury my spine. Ah! where, where, where, my lord, is the +everlasting Tekana? Tell me, Mohi, where the Ephina? I may have come to the +Penultimate, but where, sweet Yoomy, is the Ultimate? Ah, companions! I faint, +I am wordless:- -something, nothing, riddles,—does Mardi hold her?” +</p> + +<p> +“He swoons!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Water! water!” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Away:” said Babbalanja serenely, “I revive.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +They Visit A Wealthy Old Pauper</h2> + +<p> +Continuing our route to Jiji’s, we presently came to a miserable hovel. +Half projecting from the low, open entrance, was a bald overgrown head, intent +upon an upright row of dark-colored bags:— pelican pouches—prepared +by dropping a stone within, and suspending them, when moist. +</p> + +<p> +Ever and anon, the great head shook with a tremulous motion, as one by one, to +a clicking sound from the old man’s mouth, the strings of teeth were +slowly drawn forth, and let fall, again and again, with a rattle. +</p> + +<p> +But perceiving our approach, the old miser suddenly swooped his pouches out of +sight; and, like a turtle into its shell, retreated into his den. But soon he +decrepitly emerged upon his knees, asking what brought us thither?—to +steal the teeth, which lying rumor averred he possessed in abundance? And +opening his mouth, he averred he had none; not even a sentry in his head. +</p> + +<p> +But Babbalanja declared, that long since he must have drawn his own dentals, +and bagged them with the rest. +</p> + +<p> +Now this miserable old miser must have been idiotic; for soon forgetting what +he had but just told us of his utter toothlessness, he was so smitten with the +pearly mouth of Hohora, one of our attendants (the same for whose pearls, +little King Peepi had taken such a fancy), that he made the following overture +to purchase its contents: namely: one tooth of the buyer’s, for every +three of the seller’s. A proposition promptly rejected, as involving a +mercantile absurdity. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Babbalanja. “Doubtless, because that proposed to +be given, is less than that proposed to be received. Yet, says a philosopher, +this is the very principle which regulates all barterings. For where the sense +of a simple exchange of quantities, alike in value?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where, indeed?” said Hohora with open eyes, “though I never +heard it before, that’s a staggering question. I beseech you, who was the +sage that asked it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Vivo, the Sophist,” said Babbalanja, turning aside. +</p> + +<p> +In the hearing of Jiji, allusion was made to Oh-Oh, as a neighbor of his. +Whereupon he vented much slavering opprobrium upon that miserable old +hump-back; who accumulated useless monstrosities; throwing away the precious +teeth, which otherwise might have sensibly rattled in his own pelican pouches. +</p> + +<p> +When we quitted the hovel, Jiji, marking little Vee-Vee, from whose shoulder +hung a calabash of edibles, seized the hem of his garment and besought him for +one mouthful of food; for nothing had he tasted that day. +</p> + +<p> +The boy tossed him a yam. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +Yoomy Sings Some Odd Verses, And Babbalanja Quotes From The Old Authors Right +And Left</h2> + +<p> +Sailing from Padulla, after many pleasant things had been said concerning the +sights there beheld; Babbalanja thus addressed Yoomy— “Warbler, the +last song you sung was about moonlight, and paradise, and fabulous pleasures +evermore: now, have you any hymns about earthly felicity?” +</p> + +<p> +“If so, minstrel,” said Media, “jet it forth, my fountain, +forthwith.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just now, my lord,” replied Yoomy, “I was singing to myself, +as I often do, and by your leave, I will continue aloud.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better begin at the beginning, I should think,” said the +chronicler, both hands to his chin, beginning at the top to new braid his +beard. +</p> + +<p> +“No: like the roots of your beard, old Mohi, all beginnings are +stiff,” cried Babbalanja. “We are lucky in living midway in +eternity. So sing away, Yoomy, where you left off,” and thus saying he +unloosed his girdle for the song, as Apicius would for a banquet. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I continue aloud, then, my lord?” +</p> + +<p> +My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,—<br/> +Sweet shelter from all Mardi’s harms!” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose arms?” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Sang Yoomy:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Diving deep in the sea,<br/> +Â Â Â Â She takes sunshine along:<br/> +Down flames in the sea,<br/> +Â Â Â Â As of dolphins a throng. +</p> + +<p> +“What mermaid is this?” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Sang Yoomy:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Her foot, a falling sound,<br/> +That all day long might bound.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Over the beach,<br/> +Â Â Â Â The soft sand beach,<br/> +Â Â Â Â And none would find<br/> +Â Â Â Â A trace behind. +</p> + +<p> +“And why not?” demanded Media, “why could no trace be +found?” +</p> + +<p> +Said Braid-Beard, “Perhaps owing, my lord, to the flatness of the +mermaid’s foot. But no; that can not be; for mermaids are all vertebrae +below the waist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your fragment is pretty good, I dare say, Yoomy,” observed Media, +“but as Braid-Beard hints, rather flat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flat as the foot of a man with his mind made up,” cried +Braid-Beard. “Yoomy, did you sup on flounders last night?” +</p> + +<p> +But Yoomy vouchsafed no reply, he was ten thousand leagues off in a reverie: +somewhere in the Hyades perhaps. +</p> + +<p> +Conversation proceeding, Braid-Beard happened to make allusion to one Rotato, a +portly personage, who, though a sagacious philosopher, and very ambitious to be +celebrated as such, was only famous in Mardi as the fattest man of his tribe. +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “Then, Mohi, Rotato could not pick a quarrel with Fame, since +she did not belie him. Fat he was, and fat she published him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “for Fame is not always so +honest. Not seldom to be famous, is to be widely known for what you are not, +says Alla-Malolla. Whence it comes, as old Bardianna has it, that for years a +man may move unnoticed among his fellows; but all at once, by some chance +attitude, foreign to his habit, become a trumpet-full for fools; though, in +himself, the same as ever. Nor has he shown himself yet; for the entire merit +of a man can never be made known; nor the sum of his demerits, if he have them. +We are only known by our names; as letters sealed up, we but read each +other’s superscriptions. +</p> + +<p> +“So with the commonalty of us Mardians. How then with those beings who +every way are but too apt to be riddles. In many points the works of our great +poet Vavona, now dead a thousand moons, still remain a mystery. Some call him a +mystic; but wherein he seems obscure, it is, perhaps, we that are in fault; not +by premeditation spoke he those archangel thoughts, which made many declare, +that Vavona, after all, was but a crack-pated god, not a mortal of sound mind. +But had he been less, my lord, he had seemed more. Saith Fulvi, ‘Of the +highest order of genius, it may be truly asserted, that to gain the reputation +of superior power, it must partially disguise itself; it must come down, and +then it will be applauded for soaring.’ And furthermore, that there are +those who falter in the common tongue, because they think in another; and these +are accounted stutterers and stammerers.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! how true!” cried the Warbler. +</p> + +<p> +“And what says the archangel Vavona, Yoomy, in that wonderful drama of +his, ‘The Souls of the Sages?’—‘Beyond most barren +hills, there are landscapes ravishing; with but one eye to behold; which no +pencil can portray.’ What wonder then, my lord, that Mardi itself is so +blind. ‘Mardi is a monster,’ says old Bardianna, ‘whose eyes +are fixed in its head, like a whale’s; it can see but two ways, and those +comprising but a small arc of a perfect vision. Poets, heroes, and men of +might, are all around this monster Mardi. But stand before me on stilts, or I +will behold you not, says the monster; brush back your hair; inhale the wind +largely; lucky are all men with dome-like foreheads; luckless those with +pippin-heads; loud lungs are a blessing; a lion is no lion that can not +roar.’ Says Aldina, ‘There are those looking on, who know +themselves to be swifter of foot than the racers, but are confounded with the +simpletons that stare.’” +</p> + +<p> +“The mere carping of a disappointed cripple,” cried Mold. His +biographer states, that Aldina had only one leg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Braid-Beard, you are witty,” said Babbbalanja, adjusting his robe. +“My lord, there are heroes without armies, who hear martial music in +their souls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not blow their trumpets louder, then,” cried Media, that all +Mardi may hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord Media, too, is witty, Babbalanja,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Breathed Yoomy, “There are birds of divinest plumage, and most glorious +song, yet singing their lyrics to themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “The lark soars high, cares for no auditor, yet its sweet +notes are heard here below. It sings, too, in company with myriads of mates. +Your soliloquists, Yoomy, are mostly herons and owls.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, “Very clever, my lord; but think you not, there are men +eloquent, who never babble in the marketplace?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and arrant babblers at home. In few words, Babbalanja, you espouse a +bad cause. Most of you mortals are peacocks; some having tails, and some not; +those who have them will be sure to thrust their plumes in your face; for the +rest, they will display their bald cruppers, and still screech for admiration. +But when a great genius is born into Mardi, he nods, and is known.” +</p> + +<p> +“More wit, but, with deference, perhaps less truth, my lord. Say what you +will, Fame is an accident; merit a thing absolute. But what matter? Of what +available value reputation, unless wedded to power, dentals, or place? To those +who render him applause, a poet’s may seem a thing tangible; but to the +recipient, ’tis a fantasy; the poet never so stretches his imagination, +as when striving to comprehend what it is; often, he is famous without knowing +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“At the sacred games of Lazella,” said Yoomy, “slyly crowned +from behind with a laurel fillet, for many hours, the minstrel Jarmi wandered +about ignorant of the honors he bore. But enlightened at last, he doffed the +wreath; then, holding it at arm’s length, sighed forth—Oh, ye +laurels! to be visible to me, ye must be removed from my brow!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what said Botargo,” cried Babbalanja, “hearing that his +poems had been translated into the language of the remote island of +Bertranda?— ‘It stirs me little; already, in merry fancies, have I +dreamed of their being trilled by the blessed houris in paradise; I can only +imagine the same of the damsels of Bertranda.’ Says Boldo, the +Materialist,—‘Substances alone are satisfactory.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And so thought the mercenary poet, Zenzi,” said Yoomy. “Upon +receiving fourteen ripe yams for a sonnet, one for every line, he said to me, +Yoomy, I shall make a better meal upon these, than upon so many +compliments.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” cried Babbalanja, “‘Bravos,’ saith old +Bardianna, but induce flatulency.’” +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “And do you famous mortals, then, take no pleasure in hearing +your bravos?” +</p> + +<p> +“Much, my good lord; at least such famous mortals, so enamored of a +clamorous notoriety, as to bravo for themselves, when none else will huzza; +whose whole existence is an unintermitting consciousness of self; whose very +persons stand erect and self-sufficient as their infallible index, the capital +letter I; who relish and comprehend no reputation but what attaches to the +carcass; who would as lief be renowned for a splendid mustache, as for a +splendid drama: who know not how it was that a personage, to posterity so +universally celebrated as the poet Vavona, ever passed through the crowd +unobserved; who deride the very thunder for making such a noise in Mardi, and +yet disdain to manifest itself to the eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wax not so warm, Babbalanja; but tell us, if to his contemporaries +Vavona’s person was almost unknown, what satisfaction did he derive from +his genius?” +</p> + +<p> +“Had he not its consciousness?—an empire boundless as the West. +What to him were huzzas? Why, my lord, from his privacy, the great and good +Logodora sent liniment to the hoarse throats without. But what said Bardianna, +when they dunned him for autographs?—‘Who keeps the register of +great men? who decides upon noble actions? and how long may ink last? Alas! +Fame has dropped more rolls than she displays; and there are more lost +chronicles, than the perished books of the historian Livella.’ But what +is lost forever, my lord, is nothing to what is now unseen. There are more +treasures in the bowels of the earth, than on its surface.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! no gold,” cried Yoomy, “but that comes from dark +mines.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, “Bear witness, ye gods! cries fervent old Bardianna, +that besides disclosures of good and evil undreamed of now, there will be +other, and more astounding revelations hereafter, of what has passed in Mardi +unbeheld.” +</p> + +<p> +“A truce to your everlasting pratings of old Bardianna,” said King +Media; why not speak your own thoughts, Babbalanja? then would your discourse +possess more completeness; whereas, its warp and woof are of all +sorts,—Bardianna, Alla-Malolla, Vavona, and all the writers that ever +have written. Speak for yourself, mortal!” +</p> + +<p> +“May you not possibly mistake, my lord? for I do not so much quote +Bardianna, as Bardianna quoted me, though he flourished before me; and no +vanity, but honesty to say so. The catalogue of true thoughts is but small; +they are ubiquitous; no man’s property; and unspoken, or bruited, are the +same. When we hear them, why seem they so natural, receiving our spontaneous +approval? why do we think we have heard them before? Because they but reiterate +ourselves; they were in us, before we were born. The truest poets are but +mouth-pieces; and some men are duplicates of each other; I see myself in +Bardianna.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there, for Oro’s sake, let it rest, Babbalanja; Bardianna in +you, and you in Bardianna forever!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +What Manner Of Men The Tapparians Were</h2> + +<p> +The canoes sailed on. But we leave them awhile. For our visit to Jiji, the last +visit we made, suggests some further revelations concerning the dental money of +Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +Ere this, it should have been mentioned, that throughout the Archipelago, there +was a restriction concerning incisors and molars, as ornaments for the person; +none but great chiefs, brave warriors, and men distinguished by rare +intellectual endowments, orators, romancers, philosophers, and poets, being +permitted to sport them as jewels. Though, as it happened, among the poets +there were many who had never a tooth, save those employed at their repasts; +which, coming but seldom, their teeth almost corroded in their mouths. Hence, +in commerce, poets’ teeth were at a discount. +</p> + +<p> +For these reasons, then, many mortals blent with the promiscuous mob of +Mardians, who, by any means, accumulated teeth, were fain to assert their +dental claims to distinction, by clumsily carrying their treasures in pelican +pouches slung over their shoulders; which pouches were a huge burden to carry +about, and defend. Though, in good truth, from any of these porters, it was +harder to wrench his pouches, than his limbs. It was also a curious +circumstance that at the slightest casual touch, these bags seemed to convey a +simultaneous thrill to the owners. +</p> + +<p> +Besides these porters, there were others, who exchanged their teeth for richly +stained calabashes, elaborately carved canoes, and more especially, for costly +robes, and turbans; in which last, many outshone the noblest-born nobles. +Nevertheless, this answered not the end they had in view; some of the crowd +only admiring what they wore, and not them; breaking out into laudation of the +inimitable handiwork of the artisans of Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +And strange to relate, these artisans themselves often came to be men of teeth +and turbans, sporting their bravery with the best. A circumstance, which +accounted for the fact, that many of the class above alluded to, were +considered capital judges of tappa and tailoring. +</p> + +<p> +Hence, as a general designation, the whole tribe went by the name of +Tapparians; otherwise, Men of Tappa. +</p> + +<p> +Now, many moons ago, according to Braid-Beard, the Tapparians of a certain +cluster of islands, seeing themselves hopelessly confounded with the plebeian +race of mortals; such as artificers, honest men, bread-fruit bakers, and the +like; seeing, in short, that nature had denied them every inborn mark of +distinction; and furthermore, that their external assumptions were derided by +so many in Mardi, these selfsame Tapparians, poor devils, resolved to secede +from the rabble; form themselves into a community of their own; and +conventionally pay that homage to each other, which universal Mardi could not +be prevailed upon to render to them. +</p> + +<p> +Jointly, they purchased an island, called Pimminee, toward the extreme west of +the lagoon; and thither they went; and framing a code of laws- -amazingly +arbitrary, considering they themselves were the framers— solemnly took +the oath of allegiance to the commonwealth thus established. Regarded section +by section, this code of laws seemed exceedingly trivial; but taken together, +made a somewhat imposing aggregation of particles. +</p> + +<p> +By this code, the minutest things in life were all ordered after a specific +fashion. More especially one’s dress was legislated upon, to the last +warp and woof. All girdles must be so many inches in length, and with such a +number of tassels in front. For a violation of this ordinance, before the face +of all Mardi, the most dutiful of sons would cut the most affectionate of +fathers. +</p> + +<p> +Now, though like all Mardi, kings and slaves included, the people of Pimminee +had dead dust for grandsires, they seldom reverted to that fact; for, like all +founders of families, they had no family vaults. Nor were they much encumbered +by living connections; connections, some of them appeared to have none. Like +poor Logan the last of his tribe, they seemed to have monopolized the blood of +their race, having never a cousin to own. +</p> + +<p> +Wherefore it was, that many ignorant Mardians, who had not pushed their +investigations into the science of physiology, sagely divined, that the +Tapparians must have podded into life like peas, instead of being otherwise +indebted for their existence. Certain it is, they had a comical way of backing +up their social pretensions. When the respectability of his clan was mooted, +Paivai, one of their bucks, disdained all reference to the Dooms-day Book, and +the ancients. More reliable evidence was had. He referred the anxious world to +a witness, still alive and hearty,—his contemporary tailor; the varlet +who cut out his tappa doublets, and rejoiced his soul with good fits. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, “how it quenches in one the thought +of immortality, to think that these Tapparians too, will hereafter claim each a +niche!” +</p> + +<p> +But we rove. Our visit to Pimminee itself, will best make known the ways of its +denizens. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0024"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +Their Adventures Upon Landing At Pimminee</h2> + +<p> +A long sail over, the island of Pimminee came in sight; one dead fiat, wreathed +in a thin, insipid vapor. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, why land?” said Babbalanja; “no Yillah is +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis my humor, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “Taji would leave no isle unexplored.” +</p> + +<p> +As we neared the beach, the atmosphere became still closer and more languid. +Much did we miss the refreshing balm which breathed in the fine breezy air of +the open lagoon. Of a slender and sickly growth seemed the trees; in the +meadows, the grass grew small and mincing. +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “Taji, from the accounts which Braid-Beard gives, there must +be much to amuse, in the ways of these Tapparians.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Babbalanja, “their lives are a continual farce, +gratuitously performed for the diversion of Mardi. My lord, perhaps we had best +doff our dignity, and land among them as persons of lowly condition; for then, +we shall receive more diversion, though less hospitality.” +</p> + +<p> +“A good proposition,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, he put off his robe for one less pretentious. +</p> + +<p> +All followed suit; Yoomy doffing turban and sash; and, at last, completely +metamorphosed, we looked like Hungarian gipsies. +</p> + +<p> +Voyaging on, we entered a bay, where numbers of menials were standing in the +water, engaged in washing the carved work of certain fantastic canoes, +belonging to the Tapparians, their masters. +</p> + +<p> +Landing at some distance, we followed a path that soon conducted us to a +betwisted dwelling of bamboos, where, gently, we knocked for admittance. So +doing, we were accosted by a servitor, his portliness all in his calves. +Marking our appearance, he monopolized the threshold, and gruffly demanded what +was wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“Strangers, kind sir, fatigued with travel, and in need of refreshment +and repose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then hence with ye, vagabonds!” and with an emphasis, he closed +the portal in our face. +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, turning, “You perceive, my lord Media, that these +varlets take after their masters; who feed none but the well-fed, and house +none but the well-housed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith! but they furnish most rare entertainment, nevertheless,” +cried Media. “Ha! ha! Taji, we had missed much, had we missed +Pimminee.” +</p> + +<p> +As this was said, we observed, at a distance, three menials running from +seaward, as if conveying important intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +Halting here and there, vainly seeking admittance at other habitations, and +receiving nothing but taunts for our pains, we still wandered on; and at last +came upon a village, toward which, those from the sea-side had been running. +</p> + +<p> +And now, to our surprise, we were accosted by an eager and servile throng. +</p> + +<p> +“Obsequious varlets,” said Media, “where tarry your +masters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Right royal, and thrice worshipful Lord of Odo, do you take us for our +domestics? We are Tapparians, may it please your illustrious Highness; your +most humble and obedient servants. We beseech you, supereminent Sir, condescend +to visit our habitations, and partake of our cheer.” +</p> + +<p> +Then turning upon their attendants, “Away with ye, hounds! and set our +dwellings in order.” +</p> + +<p> +“How know ye me to be king?” asked Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it not in your serene Highness’s regal port, and eye?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas their menials,” muttered Mohi, “who from the +paddlers in charge of our canoes must have learned who my lord was, and +published the tidings.” +</p> + +<p> +After some further speech, Media made a social surrender of himself to the +foremost of the Tapparians, one Nimni; who, conducting us to his abode, with +much deference introduced us to a portly old Begum, and three slender damsels; +his wife and daughters. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, refreshments appeared:—green and yellow compounds, and divers +enigmatical dainties; besides vegetable liqueurs of a strange and alarming +flavor served in fragile little leaves, folded into cups, and very troublesome +to handle. +</p> + +<p> +Excessively thirsty, Babbalanja made bold to inquire for water; which called +forth a burst of horror from the old Begum, and minor shrieks from her +daughters; who declared, that the beverage to which remote reference had been +made, was far too widely diffused in Mardi, to be at all esteemed in Pimminee. +</p> + +<p> +“But though we seldom imbibe it,” said the old Begum, ceremoniously +adjusting her necklace of cowrie-shells, “we occasionally employ it for +medicinal purposes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, indeed?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“But oh! believe me; even then, we imbibe not the ordinary fluid of the +springs and streams; but that which in afternoon showers softly drains from our +palm-trees into the little hollow or miniature reservoir beneath its compacted +roots.” +</p> + +<p> +A goblet of this beverage was now handed Babbalanja; but having a curious, +gummy flavor, it proved any thing but palatable. +</p> + +<p> +Presently, in came a company of young men, relatives of Nimni. They were +slender as sky-sail-poles; standing in a row, resembled a picket-fence; and +were surmounted by enormous heads of hair, combed out all round, variously +dyed, and evened by being singed with a lighted wisp of straw. Like +milliners’ parcels, they were very neatly done up; wearing redolent +robes. +</p> + +<p> +“How like the woodlands they smell,” whispered Yoomy. “Ay, +marvelously like sap,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +One part of their garniture consisted of numerous tasseled cords, like those of +an aigulette, depending from the neck, and attached here and there about the +person. A separate one, at a distance, united their ankles. These served to +measure and graduate their movements; keeping their gestures, paces, and +attitudes, within the prescribed standard of Tapparian gentility. When they +went abroad, they were preceded by certain footmen; who placed before them +small, carved boards, whereon their masters stepped; thus avoiding contact with +the earth. The simple device of a shoe, as a fixture for the foot, was unknown +in Pimminee. +</p> + +<p> +Being told, that Taji was lately from the sun, they manifested not the +slightest surprise; one of them incidentally observing, however, that the +eclipses there, must be a sad bore to endure. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0025"></a> +CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +A, I, AND O</h2> + +<p> +The old Begum went by the euphonious appellation of Ohiro-Moldona-Fivona; a +name, from its length, deemed highly genteel; though scandal averred, that it +was nothing more than her real name transposed; the appellation by which she +had been formerly known, signifying a “Getterup-of-Fine-Tappa.” But +as this would have let out an ancient secret, it was thought wise to disguise +it. +</p> + +<p> +Her daughters respectively reveled in the pretty diminutives of A, I, and O; +which, from their brevity, comical to tell, were considered equally genteel +with the dame’s. +</p> + +<p> +The habiliments of the three Vowels must not be omitted. Each damsel garrisoned +an ample, circular farthingale of canes, serving as the frame-work, whereon to +display a gayly dyed robe. Perhaps their charms intrenched themselves in these +impregnable petticoats, as feeble armies fly to fortresses, to hide their +weakness, and better resist an onset. +</p> + +<p> +But polite and politic it is, to propitiate your hostess. So seating himself by +the Begum, Taji led off with earnest inquiries after her welfare. But the Begum +was one of those, who relieve the diffident from the embarrassment of talking; +all by themselves carrying on conversation for two. Hence, no wonder that my +Lady was esteemed invaluable at all assemblies in the groves of Pimminee; +contributing so largely to that incessant din, which is held the best test of +the enjoyment of the company, as making them deaf to the general nonsense, +otherwise audible. +</p> + +<p> +Learning that Taji had been making the tour of certain islands in Mardi, the +Begum was surprised that he could have thus hazarded his life among the +barbarians of the East. She desired to know whether his constitution was not +impaired by inhaling the unrefined atmosphere of those remote and barbarous +regions. For her part, the mere thought of it made her faint in her innermost +citadel; nor went she ever abroad with the wind at East, dreading the contagion +which might lurk in the air. +</p> + +<p> +Upon accosting the three damsels, Taji very soon discovered that the tongue +which had languished in the presence of the Begum, was now called into active +requisition, to entertain the Polysyllables, her daughters. So assiduously were +they occupied in silent endeavors to look sentimental and pretty, that it +proved no easy task to sustain with them an ordinary chat. In this dilemma, +Taji diffused not his remarks among all three; but discreetly centered them +upon O. Thinking she might be curious concerning the sun, he made some remote +allusion to that luminary as the place of his nativity. Upon which, O inquired +where that country was, of which mention was made. +</p> + +<p> +“Some distance from here; in the air above; the sun that gives light to +Pimminee, and Mardi at large.” +</p> + +<p> +She replied, that if that were the case, she had never beheld it; for such was +the construction of her farthingale, that her head could not be thrown back, +without impairing its set. Wherefore, she had always abstained from +astronomical investigations. +</p> + +<p> +Hereupon, rude Mohi laughed out. And that lucky laugh happily relieved Taji +from all further necessity of entertaining the Vowels. For at so vulgar, and in +Pimminee, so unwonted a sound, as a genuine laugh, the three startled nymphs +fainted away in a row, their round farthingales falling over upon each other, +like a file of empty tierces. But they presently revived. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, without stirring from their mats, the polite young bucks in the +aigulettes did nothing but hold semi-transparent leaves to their eyes, by the +stems; which leaves they directed downward, toward the disordered hems of the +farthingales; in wait, perhaps, for the revelation of an ankle, and its +accompaniments. What the precise use of these leaves could have been, it would +be hard to say, especially as the observers invariably peeped over and under +them. +</p> + +<p> +The calamity of the Vowels was soon followed by the breaking up of the party; +when, evening coming on, and feeling much wearied with the labor of seeing +company in Pimminee, we retired to our mats; there finding that repose which +ever awaits the fatigued. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0026"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +A Reception-Day At Pimminee</h2> + +<p> +Next morning, Nimni apprized us, that throughout the day he proposed keeping +open house, for the purpose of enabling us to behold whatever of beauty, rank, +and fashion, Pimminee could boast; including certain strangers of note from +various quarters of the lagoon, who doubtless would honor themselves with a +call. +</p> + +<p> +As inmates of the mansion, we unexpectedly had a rare opportunity of witnessing +the final toilets of the Begum and her daughters, preparatory to receiving +their guests. +</p> + +<p> +Their four farthingales were placed standing in the middle of the dwelling; +when their future inmates, arrayed in rudimental vestments, went round and +round them, attaching various articles of finery, dyed scarfs, ivory trinkets, +and other decorations. Upon the propriety of this or that adornment, the three +Vowels now and then pondered apart, or together consulted. They talked and they +laughed; they were silent and sad; now merry at their bravery; now pensive at +the thought of the charms to be hidden. +</p> + +<p> +It was O who presently suggested the expediency of an artful fold in their +draperies, by the merest accident in Mardi, to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of +their ankles, which were thought to be pretty. +</p> + +<p> +But the old Begum was more active than any; by far the most disinterested in +the matter of advice. Her great object seemed to be to pile on the finery at +all hazards; and she pointed out many as yet vacant and unappropriated spaces, +highly susceptible of adornment. +</p> + +<p> +At last, all was in readiness; when, taking a valedictory glance, at their +intrenchments, the Begum and damsels simultaneously dipped their heads, +directly after emerging from the summit, all ready for execution. +</p> + +<p> +And now to describe the general reception that followed. In came the Roes, the +Fees, the Lol-Lols, the Hummee-Hums, the Bidi-Bidies, and the Dedidums; the +Peenees, the Yamoyamees, the Karkies, the Fanfums, the Diddledees, and the +Fiddlefies; in a word, all the aristocracy of Pimminee; people with exceedingly +short names; and some all name, and nothing else. It was an imposing array of +sounds; a circulation of ciphers; a marshaling of tappas; a getting together of +grimaces and furbelows; a masquerade of vapidities. +</p> + +<p> +Among the crowd was a bustling somebody, one Gaddi, arrayed in much apparel to +little purpose; who, singling out Babbalanja, for some time adhered to his +side, and with excessive complaisance, enlightened him as to the people +assembled. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i> is rich Marmonora, accounted a mighty man in Pimminee; his +bags of teeth included, he is said to weigh upwards of fourteen stone; and is +much sought after by tailors for his measure, being but slender in the region +of the heart. His riches are great. And that old vrow is the widow Roo; very +rich; plenty of teeth; but has none in her head. And <i>this</i> is Finfi; said +to be not very rich, and a maid. Who would suppose she had ever beat tappa for +a living?” +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, Gaddi sauntered off; his place by Babbalanja’s side being +immediately supplied by the damsel Finfi. That vivacious and amiable nymph at +once proceeded to point out the company, where Gaddi had left off; beginning +with Gaddi himself, who, she insinuated, was a mere parvenu, a terrible +infliction upon society, and not near so rich as he was imagined to be. +</p> + +<p> +Soon we were accosted by one Nonno, a sour, saturnine personage. “I know +nobody here; not a soul have I seen before; I wonder who they all are.” +And just then he was familiarly nodded to by nine worthies abreast. Whereupon +Nonno vanished. But after going the rounds of the company, and paying court to +many, he again sauntered by Babbalanja, saying, “Nobody, nobody; nobody +but nobodies; I see nobody I know.” +</p> + +<p> +Advancing, Nimni now introduced many strangers of distinction, parading their +titles after a fashion, plainly signifying that he was bent upon convincing us, +that there were people present at this little affair of his, who were men of +vast reputation; and that we erred, if we deemed him unaccustomed to the +society of the illustrious. +</p> + +<p> +But not a few of his magnates seemed shy of Media and their laurels. Especially +a tall robustuous fellow, with a terrible javelin in his hand, much notched and +splintered, as if it had dealt many a thrust. His left arm was gallanted in a +sling, and there was a patch upon his sinister eye. Him Nimni made known as a +famous captain, from King Piko’s island (of which anon) who had been all +but mortally wounded somewhere, in a late desperate though nameless encounter. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Media as this redoubtable withdrew, Fofi is a cunning +knave; a braggart, driven forth, by King Piko for his cowardice. He has blent +his tattooing into one mass of blue, and thus disguised, must have palmed +himself off here in Pimminee, for the man he is not. But I see many more like +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh ye Tapparians,” said Babbalanja, “none so easily +humbugged as humbugs. Taji: to behold this folly makes one wise. Look, look; it +is all round us. Oh Pimminee, Pimminee!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0027"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +Babbalanja Falleth Upon Pimminee Tooth And Nail</h2> + +<p> +The levee over, waiving further civilities, we took courteus leave of the Begum +and Nimni, and proceeding to the beach, very soon were embarked. +</p> + +<p> +When all were pleasantly seated beneath the canopy, pipes in full blast, +calabashes revolving, and the paddlers quietly urging us along, Media proposed +that, for the benefit of the company, some one present, in a pithy, whiffy +sentence or two, should sum up the character of the Tapparians; and ended by +nominating Babbalanja to that office. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, philosopher: let us see in how few syllables you can put the brand +on those Tapparians.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, my lord, but you must permit me to ponder awhile; nothing +requires more time, than to be brief. An example: they say that in conversation +old Bardianna dealt in nothing but trisyllabic sentences. His talk was thunder +peals: sounding reports, but long intervals.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil take old Bardianna. And would that the grave-digger had buried +his Ponderings, along with his other remains. Can none be in your company, +Babbalanja, but you must perforce make them hob-a-nob with that old prater? A +brand for the Tapparians! that is what we seek.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have it, my lord. Full to the brim of themselves, for that +reason, the Tapparians are the emptiest of mortals.” +</p> + +<p> +“A good blow and well planted, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“In sooth, a most excellent saying; it should be carved upon his +tombstone,” said Mohi, slowly withdrawing his pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“What! would you have my epitaph read thus:—‘Here lies the +emptiest of mortals, who was full of himself?’ At best, your words are +exceedingly ambiguous, Mohi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now have I the philosopher,” cried Yoomy, with glee. “What +did some one say to me, not long since, Babbalanja, when in the matter of that +sleepy song of mine, Braid-Beard bestowed upon me an equivocal compliment? Was +I not told to wrest commendation from it, though I tortured it to the +quick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Take thy own pills, philosopher,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Then would he be a great original,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, Yoomy,” said Babbalanja, “are you not in fault? +Because I sometimes speak wisely, you must not imagine that I should always act +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never imagined that,” said Yoomy, “and, if I did, the +truth would belie me. It is you who are in fault, Babbalanja; not I, craving +your pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +“The minstrel’s sides are all edges to-day,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“This, then, thrice gentle Yoomy, is what I would say;” resumed +Babbalanja, “that since we philosophers bestow so much wisdom upon +others, it is not to be wondered at, if now and then we find what is left in us +too small for our necessities. It is from our very abundance that we +want.” +</p> + +<p> +“And from the fool’s poverty,” said Media, “that he is +opulent; for his very simplicity, is sometimes of more account than the wisdom +of the sage. But we were discoursing of the Tapparians. Babbalanja: +sententiously you have acquitted yourself to admiration; now amplify, and tell +us more of the people of Pimminee.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I might amplify forever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, my worshipful lord, let him not begin,” interposed +Braid-Beard. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” said Babbalanja, “that all subjects are +inexhaustible, however trivial; as the mathematical point, put in motion, is +capable of being produced into an infinite line.” +</p> + +<p> +“But forever extending into nothing,” said Media. “A very bad +example to follow. Do you, Babbalanja, come to the point, and not travel off +with it, which is too much your wont.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since my lord insists upon it then, thus much for the Tapparians, though +but a thought or two of many in reserve. They ignore the rest of Mardi, while +they themselves are but a rumor in the isles of the East; where the business of +living and dying goes on with the same uniformity, as if there were no +Tapparians in existence. They think themselves Mardi in full; whereas, by the +mass, they are stared at as prodigies; exceptions to the law, ordaining that no +Mardian shall undertake to live, unless he set out with at least the average +quantity of brains. For these Tapparians have no brains. In lieu, they carry in +one corner of their craniums, a drop or two of attar of roses; charily used, +the supply being small. They are the victims of two incurable maladies: stone +in the heart, and ossification of the head. They are full of fripperies, +fopperies, and finesses; knowing not, that nature should be the model of art. +Yet, they might appear less silly than they do, were they content to be the +plain idiots which at bottom they are. For there be grains of sense in a +simpleton, so long as he be natural. But what can be expected from them? They +are irreclaimable Tapparians; not so much fools by contrivance of their own, as +by an express, though inscrutable decree of Oro’s. For one, my lord, I +can not abide them.” +</p> + +<p> +Nor could Taji. +</p> + +<p> +In Pimminee were no hilarious running and shouting: none of the royal good +cheer of old Borabolla; none of the mysteries of Maramma; none of the sentiment +and romance of Donjalolo; no rehearsing of old legends: no singing of old +songs; no life; no jolly commotion: in short, no men and women; nothing but +their integuments; stiff trains and farthingales. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0028"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +Babbalanja Regales The Company With Some Sandwiches</h2> + +<p> +It was night. But the moon was brilliant, far and near illuminating the lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +Over silvery billows we glided. +</p> + +<p> +“Come Yoomy,” said Media, “moonlight and music for +aye—a song! a song! my bird of paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +And folding his arms, and watching the sparkling waters, thus Yoomy +sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A ray of the moon on the dancing waves<br/> +Â Â Â Â Is the step, light step of that beautiful maid:<br/> +Mardi, with music, her footfall paves,<br/> +Â Â Â Â And her voice, no voice, but a song in the glade. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold!” cried Media, “yonder is a curious rock. It looks +black as a whale’s hump in blue water, when the sun shines.” +</p> + +<p> +“That must be the Isle of Fossils,” said Mohi. “Ay, my lord, +it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us land, then,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +And none dissenting, the canoes were put about, and presently we debarked. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dome-like surface, here and there fringed with ferns, sprouting from +clefts. But at every tide the thin soil seemed gradually washing into the +lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +Like antique tablets, the smoother parts were molded in strange +devices:—Luxor marks, Tadmor ciphers, Palenque inscriptions. In long +lines, as on Denderah’s architraves, were bas-reliefs of beetles, +turtles, ant-eaters, armadilloes, guanos, serpents, tongueless +crocodiles:—a long procession, frosted and crystalized in stone, and +silvered by the moon. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange sight!” cried Media. “Speak, antiquarian +Mohi.” +</p> + +<p> +But the chronicler was twitching his antiquarian beard, nonplussed by these +wondrous records. The cowled old father, Piaggi, bending over his calcined +Herculanean manuscripts, looked not more at fault than he. +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “Expound you, then, sage Babbalanja.” Muffling his face +in his mantle, and his voice in sepulchral tones, Babbalanja thus:— +</p> + +<p> +“These are the leaves of the book of Oro. Here we read how worlds are +made; here read the rise and fall of Nature’s kingdoms. From where this +old man’s furthest histories start, these unbeginning records end. These +are the secret memoirs of times past; whose evidence, at last divulged, gives +the grim lie to Mohi’s gossipings, and makes a rattling among the +dry-bone relics of old Maramma.” +</p> + +<p> +Braid-Beard’s old eyes flashed fire. With bristling beard, he cried, +“Take back the lie you send!” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! everlasting foes,” cried Media, interposing, with both arms +outstretched. “Philosopher, probe not too deep. All you say is very fine, +but very dark. I would know something more precise. But, prithee, ghost, +unmuffle! chatter no more! wait till you’re buried for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, death’s cold ague will set us all shivering, my lord. +We’ll swear our teeth are icicles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you quit driving your sleet upon us? have done expound these +rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, if you desire, I’ll turn over these stone tablets till +they’re dog-eared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven and Mardi!—Go on, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas thus. These were tombs burst open by volcanic throes; and +hither hurled from the lowermost vaults of the lagoon. All Mardi’s rocks +are one wide resurrection. But look. Here, now, a pretty story’s told. +Ah, little thought these grand old lords, that lived and roared before the +flood, that they would come to this. Here, King Media, look and learn.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked; and saw a picture petrified, and plain as any on the pediments of +Petra. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed a stately banquet of the dead, where lords in skeletons were ranged +around a board heaped up with fossil fruits, and flanked with vitreous vases, +grinning like empty skulls. There they sat, exchanging rigid courtesies. +One’s hand was on his stony heart; his other pledged a lord who held a +hollow beaker. Another sat, with earnest face beneath a mitred brow. He seemed +to whisper in the ear of one who listened trustingly. But on the chest of him +who wore the miter, an adder lay, close-coiled in flint. +</p> + +<p> +At the further end, was raised a throne, its canopy surmounted by a crown, in +which now rested the likeness of a raven on an egg. +</p> + +<p> +The throne was void. But half-concealed by drapery, behind the goodliest lord, +sideway leaned a figure diademed, a lifted poniard in its hand:—a monarch +fossilized in very act of murdering his guest. +</p> + +<p> +“Most high and sacred majesty!” cried Babbalanja, bowing to his +feet. +</p> + +<p> +While all stood gazing on this sight, there came two servitors of +Media’s, who besought of Babbalanja to settle a dispute, concerning +certain tracings upon the islet’s other side. +</p> + +<p> +Thither we followed them. +</p> + +<p> +Upon a long layer of the slaty stone were marks of ripplings of some now +waveless sea; mid which were tri-toed footprints of some huge heron, or wading +fowl. +</p> + +<p> +Pointing to one of which, the foremost disputant thus spoke:—“I +maintain that these are three toes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I, that it is one foot,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“And now decide between us,” joined the twain. +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, starting, “Is not this the very question concerning +which they made such dire contention in Maramma, whose tertiary rocks are +chisseled all over with these marks? Yes; this it is, concerning which they +once shed blood. This it is, concerning which they still divide.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which of us is right?” again demanded the impatient twain. +</p> + +<p> +“Unite, and both are right; divide, and both are wrong. Every unit is +made up of parts, as well as every plurality. Nine is three threes; a unit is +as many thirds; or, if you please, a thousand thousandths; no special need to +stop at thirds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away, ye foolish disputants!” cried Media. “Full before you +is the thing disputed.” +</p> + +<p> +Strolling on, many marvels did we mark; and Media +said:—“Babbalanja, you love all mysteries; here’s a fitting +theme. You have given us the history of the rock; can your sapience tell the +origin of all the isles? how Mardi came to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that once mooted point is settled. Though hard at first, it proved a +bagatelle. Start not my lord; there are those who have measured Mardi by perch +and pole, and with their wonted lead sounded its utmost depths. Listen: it is a +pleasant story. The coral wall which circumscribes the isles but continues +upward the deep buried crater of the primal chaos. In the first times this +crucible was charged with vapors nebulous, boiling over fires volcanic. Age by +age, the fluid thickened; dropping, at long intervals, heavy sediment to the +bottom; which layer on layer concreted, and at length, in crusts, rose toward +the surface. Then, the vast volcano burst; rent the whole mass; upthrew the +ancient rocks; which now in divers mountain tops tell tales of what existed ere +Mardi was completely fashioned. Hence many fossils on the hills, whose kith and +kin still lurk beneath the vales. Thus Nature works, at random warring, chaos a +crater, and this world a shell.” +</p> + +<p> +Mohi stroked his beard. +</p> + +<p> +Yoomy yawned. +</p> + +<p> +Media cried, “Preposterous!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, then take another theory—which you will—the +celebrated sandwich System. Nature’s first condition was a soup, wherein +the agglomerating solids formed granitic dumplings, which, wearing down, +deposited the primal stratum made up of series, sandwiching strange shapes of +mollusks, and zoophytes; then snails, and periwinkles:— marmalade to sip, +and nuts to crack, ere the substantials came. +</p> + +<p> +“And next, my lord, we have the fine old time of the Old Red Sandstone +sandwich, clapped on the underlying layer, and among other dainties, imbedding +the first course of fish,—all quite in rule,—sturgeon- forms, +cephalaspis, glyptolepis, pterichthys; and other finny things, of flavor rare, +but hard to mouth for bones. Served up with these, were sundry +greens,—lichens, mosses, ferns, and fungi. +</p> + +<p> +“Now comes the New Red Sandstone sandwich: marly and magnesious, spread +over with old patriarchs of crocodiles and alligators,—hard carving +these,—and prodigious lizards, spine-skewered, tails tied in bows, and +swimming in saffron saucers.” +</p> + +<p> +“What next?” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“The Ool, or Oily sandwich:—rare gormandizing then; for oily it was +called, because of fat old joints, and hams, and rounds, and barons of +sea-beeves and walrusses, which then crowned the stratum-board. All piled +together, glorious profusion!—fillets and briskets, rumps, and saddles, +and haunches; shoulder to shoulder, loin ’gainst sirloin, ribs rapping +knuckles, and quarter to none. And all these sandwiched right over all that +went before. Course after course, and course on course, my lord; no time to +clear the wreck; no stop nor let; lay on and slash; cut, thrust, and come. +</p> + +<p> +“Next the Chalk, or Coral sandwich; but no dry fare for that; made up of +rich side-courses,—eocene, miocene, and pliocene. The first was wild game +for the delicate,—bantam larks, curlews, quails, and flying weazels; with +a slight sprinkling of pilaus,—capons, pullets, plovers, and garnished +with petrels’ eggs. Very savory, that, my lord. The second +side-course—miocene—was out of course, flesh after fowl: marine +mammalia,—seals, grampuses, and whales, served up with sea-weed on their +flanks, hearts and kidneys deviled, and fins and flippers friccasied. All very +thee, my lord. The third side-course, the pliocene, was goodliest of +all:—whole-roasted elephants, rhinoceroses, and hippopotamuses, stuffed +with boiled ostriches, condors, cassowaries, turkeys. Also barbacued mastodons +and megatheriums, gallantly served up with fir-trees in their mouths, and tails +cock-billed. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus fared the old diluvians: arrant gormandizers and beef-bolters. We +Mardians famish on the superficial strata of deposits; cracking our jaws on +walnuts, filberts, cocoa-nuts, and clams. My lord, I’ve done.” +</p> + +<p> +“And bravely done it is. Mohi tells us, that Mardi was made in six days; +but you, Babbalanja, have built it up from the bottom in less than six +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing for us geologists, my lord. At a word we turn you out whole +systems, suns, satellites, and asteroids included. Why, my good lord, my friend +Annonimo is laying out a new Milky Way, to intersect with the old one, and +facilitate cross-cuts among the comets.” +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, Babbalanja turned aside. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0029"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +They Still Remain Upon The Rock</h2> + +<p> +“Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum,” so hummed to himself +Babbalanja, slowly pacing over the fossils. “Is he crazy again?” +whispered Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crazy, Babbalanja?” asked Media. +</p> + +<p> +“From my very birth have I been so, my lord; am I not possessed by a +devil?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll e’en interrogate him,” cried Media. +“—Hark ye, sirrah;— why rave you thus in this poor +mortal?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis he, not I. I am the mildest devil that ever entered man; in +propria persona, no antlers do I wear; my tail has lost its barb, as at last +your Mardian lions lose their caudal horns.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very sing-song devil this. But, prithee, who are you, sirrah?” +</p> + +<p> +“The mildest devil that ever entered man; in propria persona, no antlers +do I wear; my tail has lost its barb, as at last your Mardian lions lose their +caudal horns.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very iterating devil this. Sirrah! mock me not. Know you aught yet +unrevealed by Babbalanja?” +</p> + +<p> +“Many things I know, not good to tell; whence they call me +Azzageddi.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very confidential devil, this; that tells no secrets. Azzageddi, can I +drive thee out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only with this mortal’s ghost:—together we came in, together +we depart.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very terse, and ready devil, this. Whence come you, Azzageddi?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whither my catechist must go—a torrid clime, cut by a hot +equator.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very keen, and witty devil, this. Azzageddi, whom have you +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“A right down merry, jolly set, that at a roaring furnace sit and toast +their hoofs for aye; so used to flames, they poke the fire with their horns, +and light their tails for torches.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very funny devil, this. Azzageddi, is not Mardi a place far +pleasanter, than that from whence you came?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, home! sweet, sweet, home! would, would that I were home +again!” +</p> + +<p> +“A very sentimental devil, this. Azzageddi, would you had a hand, +I’d shake it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so with us; who, rear to rear, shake each other’s tails, and +courteously inquire, ‘Pray, worthy sir, how now stands the great +thermometer?’” +</p> + +<p> +“The very prince of devils, this.” +</p> + +<p> +“How mad our Babbalanja is,” cried Mohi. My lord, take heed; +he’ll bite.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! alas!” sighed Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark ye, Babbalanja,” cried Media, “enough of this: doff +your devil, and be a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I can not doff him; but I’ll down him for a time: +Azzageddi! down, imp; down, down, down! so: now, my lord, I’m only +Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I test his sanity, my lord?” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Do, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher, our great reef is surrounded by an ocean; what think you +lies beyond?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” sighed Yoomy, “the very subject to renew his +madness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, minstrel!” said Media. “Answer, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, my lord. Fear not, sweet Yoomy; you see how calm I am. Braid- +Beard, those strangers, that came to Mondoldo prove isles afar, as a +philosopher of old surmised, but was hooted at for his surmisings. Nor is it at +all impossible, Braid-Beard, that beyond their land may exist other regions, of +which those strangers know not; peopled with races something like us Mardians; +but perhaps with more exalted faculties, and organs that we lack. They may have +some better seeing sense than ours; perhaps, have fins or wings for +arms.” +</p> + +<p> +“This seems not like sanity,” muttered Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“A most crazy hypothesis, truly,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“And are all inductions vain?” cried Babbalanja. “Have we +mortals naught to rest on, but what we see with eyes? Is no faith to be reposed +in that inner microcosm, wherein we see the charted universe in little, as the +whole horizon is mirrored in the iris of a gnat? Alas! alas! my lord, is there +no blest Odonphi? no Astrazzi?” +</p> + +<p> +“His devil’s uppermost again, my lord,” cried Braid-Beard. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s stark, stark mad!” sighed Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, the moon’s at full,” said Media. “Ho, paddlers! we +depart.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0030"></a> +CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +Behind And Before</h2> + +<p> +It was yet moonlight when we pushed from the islet. But soon, the sky grew dun; +the moon went into a cavern among the clouds; and by that secret sympathy +between our hearts and the elements, the thoughts of all but Media became +overcast. +</p> + +<p> +Again discourse was had of that dark intelligence from Mondoldo,—the fell +murder of Taji’s follower. +</p> + +<p> +Said Mohi, “Those specter sons of Aleema must have been the +assassins.” +</p> + +<p> +“They harbored deadly malice,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Which poor Jarl’s death must now have sated,” sighed Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Then all the happier for Taji,” said Media. “But away with +gloom! because the sky is clouded, why cloud your brows? Babbalanja, I grieve +the moon is gone. Yet start some paradox, that we may laugh. Say a woman is a +man, or you yourself a stork.” +</p> + +<p> +At this they smiled. When hurtling came an arrow, which struck our stern, and +quivered. Another! and another! Grazing the canopy, they darted by, and +hissing, dived like red-hot bars beneath the waves. +</p> + +<p> +Starting, we beheld a corruscating wake, tracking the course of a low canoe, +far flying for a neighboring mountain. The next moment it was lost within the +mountain’s shadow and pursuit was useless. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us fly!” cried Yoomy +</p> + +<p> +“Peace! What murderers these?” said Media, calmly; “whom can +they seek?—you, Taji?” +</p> + +<p> +“The three avengers fly three bolts,” said Babbalanja. “See +if the arrow yet remain astern,” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +They brought it to him. +</p> + +<p> +“By Oro! Taji on the barb!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it missed its aim. But I will not mine. And whatever arrows follow, +still will I hunt on. Nor does the ghost, that these pale specters would +avenge, at all disquiet me. The priest I slew, but to gain her, now lost; and I +would slay again, to bring her back. Ah, Yillah! Yillah.” +</p> + +<p> +All started. +</p> + +<p> +Then said Babbalanja, “Aleema’s sons raved not; ’tis true, +then, Taji, that an evil deed gained you your Yillah: no wonder she is +lost.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, unconcernedly, “Perhaps better, Taji, to have kept your +secret; but tell no more; I care not to be your foe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Taji! I had shrank from you,” cried Yoomy, “but for the +mark upon your brow. That undoes the tenor of your words. But look, the stars +come forth, and who are these? A waving Iris! ay, again they come:— +Hautia’s heralds!” +</p> + +<p> +They brought a black thorn, buried in withered rose-balm blossoms, red and +blue. +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “For that which stings, there is no cure,” +</p> + +<p> +“Who, who is Hautia, that she stabs me thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“And this wild sardony mocks your misery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away! ye fiends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Again a Venus car; and lo! a wreath of strawberries!—Yet fly to +me, and be garlanded with joys.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let the wild witch laugh. She moves me not. Neither hurtling arrows nor +Circe flowers appall.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “They wait reply.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell your Hautia, that I know her not; nor care to know. I defy her +incantations; she lures in vain. Yillah! Yillah! still I hope!” +</p> + +<p> +Slowly they departed; heeding not my cries no more to follow. +</p> + +<p> +Silence, and darkness fell. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0031"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +Babbalanja Discourses In The Dark</h2> + +<p> +Next day came and went; and still we onward sailed. At last, by night, there +fell a calm, becalming the water of the wide lagoon, and becalming all the +clouds in heaven, wailing the constellations. But though our sails were +useless, our paddlers plied their broad stout blades. Thus sweeping by a rent +and hoar old rock, Vee-Vee, impatient of the calm, sprang to his crow’s +nest in the shark’s mouth, and seizing his conch, sounded a blast which +ran in and out among the hollows, reverberating with the echoes. +</p> + +<p> +Be sure, it was startling. But more so with respect to one of our paddlers, +upon whose shoulders, elevated Vee-Vee, his balance lost, all at once came down +by the run. But the heedless little bugler himself was most injured by the +fall; his arm nearly being broken. +</p> + +<p> +Some remedies applied, and the company grown composed, Babbalanja +thus:—“My lord Media, was there any human necessity for that +accident?” +</p> + +<p> +“None that I know, or care to tell, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Vee-Vee,” said Babbalanja, “did you fall on purpose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I,” sobbed little Vee-Vee, slinging his ailing arm in its +mate. +</p> + +<p> +“Woe! woe to us all, then,” cried Babbalanja; “for what +direful events may be in store for us which we can not avoid.” +</p> + +<p> +“How now, mortal?” cried Media; “what now?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, think of it. Minus human inducement from without, and minus +volition from within, Vee-Vee has met with an accident, which has almost maimed +him for life. Is it not terrifying to think of? Are not all mortals exposed to +similar, nay, worse calamities, ineffably unavoidable? Woe, woe, I say, to us +Mardians! Here, take my last breath; let me give up this beggarly ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Media; “pause, Babbalanja. Turn it not adrift +prematurely. Let it house till midnight; the proper time for you mortals to +dissolve. But, philosopher, if you harp upon Vee-Vee’s mishap, know that +it was owing to nothing but his carelessness.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what was that owing to, my lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“To Vee-Vee himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, my lord, what brought such a careless being into Mardi?” +</p> + +<p> +“A long course of generations. He’s some one’s +great-great-grandson, doubtless; who was great-great-grandson to some one else; +who also had grandsires.” +</p> + +<p> +“Many thanks then to your highness; for you establish the doctrine of +Philosophical Necessity.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I establish nothing; I but answer your questions.” +</p> + +<p> +“All one, my lord: you are a Necessitarian; in other words, you hold that +every thing takes place through absolute necessity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take me, then, for a fool, and a Fatalist? Pardie! a bad creed +for a monarch, the distributor of rewards and punishments.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right there, my lord. But, for all that, your highness is a +Necessitarian, yet no Fatalist. Confound not the distinct. Fatalism presumes +express and irrevocable edicts of heaven concerning particular events. Whereas, +Necessity holds that all events are naturally linked, and inevitably follow +each other, without providential interposition, though by the eternal letting +of Providence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, Babbalanja, I grant it all. Go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“On high authority, we are told that in times past the fall of certain +nations in Mardi was prophesied of seers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most true, my lord,” said Mohi; “it is all down in the +chronicles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! ha!” cried Media. “Go on, philosopher.” +</p> + +<p> +Continued Babbalanja, “Previous to the time assigned to their +fulfillment, those prophecies were bruited through Mardi; hence, previous to +the time assigned to their fulfillment, full knowledge of them may have come to +the nations concerned. Now, my lord, was it possible for those nations, thus +forwarned, so to conduct their affairs, as at, the prophesied time, to prove +false the events revealed to be in store for them?” +</p> + +<p> +“However that may be,” said Mohi, “certain it is, those +events did assuredly come to pass:—Compare the ruins of Babbelona with +book ninth, chapter tenth, of the chronicles. Yea, yea, the owl inhabits where +the seers predicted; the jackals yell in the tombs of the kings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Of course those nations +could not have resisted their doom. Go on, then: vault over your +premises.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it be, then, my lord, that—” +</p> + +<p> +“My very worshipful lord,” interposed Mohi, “is not our +philosopher getting off soundings; and may it not be impious to meddle with +these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“Were it so, old man, he should have known it. The king of Odo is +something more than you mortals.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are we the great gods themselves,” cried Yoomy, “that we +discourse of these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, minstrel,” said Babbalanja; “and no need have the great +gods to discourse of things perfectly comprehended by them, and by themselves +ordained. But you and I, Yoomy, are men, and not gods; hence is it for us, and +not for them, to take these things for our themes. Nor is there any impiety in +the right use of our reason, whatever the issue. Smote with superstition, shall +we let it wither and die out, a dead, limb to a live trunk, as the mad +devotee’s arm held up motionless for years? Or shall we employ it but for +a paw, to help us to our bodily needs, as the brutes use their instinct? Is not +reason subtile as quicksilver—live as lightning—a neighing charger +to advance, but a snail to recede? Can we starve that noble instinct in us, and +hope that it will survive? Better slay the body than the soul; and if it be the +direst of sins to be the murderers of our own bodies, how much more to be a +soul-suicide. Yoomy, we are men, we are angels. And in his faculties, high Oro +is but what a man would be, infinitely magnified. Let us aspire to all things. +Are we babes in the woods, to be scared by the shadows of the trees? What shall +appall us? If eagles gaze at the sun, may not men at the gods?” +</p> + +<p> +“For one,” said Media, “you may gaze at me freely. Gaze on. +But talk not of my kinsmen so fluently, Babbalanja. Return to your +argument.” +</p> + +<p> +“I go back then, my lord. By implication, you have granted, that in times +past the future was foreknown of Oro; hence, in times past, the future must +have been foreordained. But in all things Oro is immutable. Wherefore our own +future is foreknown and foreordained. Now, if things foreordained concerning +nations have in times past been revealed to them previous to their taking +place, then something similar may be presumable concerning individual men now +living. That is to say, out of all the events destined to befall any one man, +it is not impossible that previous knowledge of some one of these events might +supernaturally come to him. Say, then, it is revealed to me, that ten days +hence I shall, of my own choice, fall upon my javelin; when the time comes +round, could I refrain from suicide? Grant the strongest presumable motives to +the act; grant that, unforewarned, I would slay myself outright at the time +appointed: yet, foretold of it, and resolved to test the decree to the +uttermost, under such circumstances, I say, would it be possible for me not to +kill myself? If possible, then predestination is not a thing absolute; and +Heaven is wise to keep secret from us those decrees, whose virtue consists in +secrecy. But if not possible, then that suicide would not be mine, but +Oro’s. And, by consequence, not only that act, but all my acts, are +Oro’s. In sum, my lord, he who believes that in times past, prophets have +prophesied, and their prophecies have been fulfilled; when put to it, +inevitably must allow that every man now living is an irresponsible +being.” +</p> + +<p> +“In sooth, a very fine argument very finely argued,” said Media. +“You have done marvels, Babbalanja. But hark ye, were I so disposed, I +could deny you all over, premises and conclusions alike. And furthermore, my +cogent philosopher, had you published that anarchical dogma among my subjects +in Oro, I had silenced you by my spear-headed scepter, instead of my uplifted +finger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, all thanks and all honor to your generosity, my lord, in granting +us the immunities you did at the outset of this voyage. But, my lord, permit me +one word more. Is not Oro omnipresent—absolutely every where?” +</p> + +<p> +“So you mortals teach, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“But so do they <i>mean</i>, my lord. Often do we Mardians stick to terms +for ages, yet truly apply not their meanings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Oro is every where. What now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if that be absolutely so, Oro is not merely a universal on-looker, +but occupies and fills all space; and no vacancy is left for any being, or any +thing but Oro. Hence, Oro is <i>in</i> all things, and himself <i>is</i> all +things—the time-old creed. But since evil abounds, and Oro is all things, +then he can not be perfectly good; wherefore, Oro’s omnipresence and +moral perfection seem incompatible. Furthermore, my lord those orthodox systems +which ascribe to Oro almighty and universal attributes every way, those +systems, I say, destroy all intellectual individualities but Oro, and resolve +the universe into him. But this is a heresy; wherefore, orthodoxy and heresy +are one. And thus is it, my lord, that upon these matters we Mardians all agree +and disagree together, and kill each other with weapons that burst in our +hands. Ah, my lord, with what mind must blessed Oro look down upon this scene! +Think you he discriminates between the deist and atheist? Nay; for the Searcher +of the cores of all hearts well knoweth that atheists there are none. For in +things abstract, men but differ in the sounds that come from their mouths, and +not in the wordless thoughts lying at the bottom of their beings. The universe +is all of one mind. Though my twin-brother sware to me, by the blazing sun in +heaven at noon-day, that Oro is not; yet would he belie the thing he intended +to express. And who lives that blasphemes? What jargon of human sounds so +puissant as to insult the unutterable majesty divine? Is Oro’s honor in +the keeping of Mardi?— Oro’s conscience in man’s hands? Where +our warrant, with Oro’s sign-manual, to justify the killing, burning, and +destroying, or far worse, the social persecutions we institute in his behalf? +Ah! how shall these self-assumed attorneys and vicegerents be astounded, when +they shall see all heaven peopled with heretics and heathens, and all hell +nodding over with miters! Ah! let us Mardians quit this insanity. Let us be +content with the theology in the grass and the flower, in seed-time and +harvest. Be it enough for us to know that Oro indubitably is. My lord! my lord! +sick with the spectacle of the madness of men, and broken with spontaneous +doubts, I sometimes see but two things in all Mardi to believe:—that I +myself exist, and that I can most happily, or least miserably exist, by the +practice of righteousness. All else is in the clouds; and naught else may I +learn, till the firmament be split from horizon to horizon. Yet, alas! too +often do I swing from these moorings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! his fit is coming upon him again,” whispered Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Babbalanja,” said Media, “I almost pity you. You are +too warm, too warm. Why fever your soul with these things? To no use you +mortals wax earnest. No thanks, but curses, will you get for your earnestness. +You yourself you harm most. Why not take creeds as they come? It is not so hard +to be persuaded; never mind about believing.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, my lord; not very hard; no act is required; only passiveness. +Stand still and receive. Faith is to the thoughtless, doubts to the +thinker.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, why think at all? Is it not better for you mortals to clutch error +as in a vice, than have your fingers meet in your hand? And to what end your +eternal inquisitions? You have nothing to substitute. You say all is a lie; +then out with the truth. Philosopher, your devil is but a foolish one, after +all. I, a demi-god, never say nay to these things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea, my lord, it would hardly answer for Oro himself, were he to come +down to Mardi, to deny men’s theories concerning him. Did they not strike +at the rash deity in Alma?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, why deny those theories yourself? Babbalanja, you almost affect my +immortal serenity. Must you forever be a sieve for good grain to run through, +while you retain but the chaff? Your tongue is forked. You speak two languages: +flat folly for yourself, and wisdom for others. Babbalanja, if you have any +belief of your own, keep it; but, in Oro’s name, keep it secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my lord, in these things wise men are spectators, not actors; wise +men look on, and say ‘ay.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not say so yourself, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, because I have often told you, that I am a fool, and not +wise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Highness,” said Mohi, “this whole discourse seems to +have grown out of the subject of Necessity and Free Will. Now, when a boy, I +recollect hearing a sage say, that these things were reconcilable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay?” said Media, “what say you to that, now, +Babbalanja?” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be even so, my lord. Shall I tell you a story?” +</p> + +<p> +“Azzageddi’s stirring now,” muttered Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“King Normo had a fool, called Willi, whom he loved to humor. Now, though +Willi ever obeyed his lord, by the very instinct of his servitude, he flattered +himself that he was free; and this conceit it was, that made the fool so +entertaining to the king. One day, said Normo to his fool,—‘Go, +Willi, to yonder tree, and wait there till I come,’ ‘Your Majesty, +I will,’ said Willi, bowing beneath his jingling bells; ‘but I +presume your Majesty has no objections to my walking on my hands:—I am +free, I hope.’ ‘Perfectly,’ said Normo, ‘hands or feet, +it’s all the same to me; only do my bidding.’ ‘I thought as +much,’ said Willi; so, swinging his limber legs into the air, Willi, +thumb after thumb, essayed progression. But soon, his bottled blood so rushed +downward through his neck, that he was fain to turn a somerset and regain his +feet. Said he, ‘Though I am free to do it, it’s not so easy turning +digits into toes; I’ll walk, by gad! which is my other option.’ So +he went straight forward, and did King Normo’s bidding in the natural +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“A curious story that,” said Media; “whence came it?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, where every thing, but one, is to be had:—within.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are charged to the muzzle, then,” said Braid-Beard. +“Yes, Mohi; and my talk is my overflowing, not my fullness.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what may you be so full of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“So it seems,” said Mohi, whisking away a fly with his beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja,” said Media, “you did right in selecting this +ebon night for discussing the theme you did; and truly, you mortals are but too +apt to talk in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my lord, and we mortals may prate still more in the dark, when we +are dead; for methinks, that if we then prate at all, ’twill be in our +sleep. Ah! my lord, think not that in aught I’ve said this night, I would +assert any wisdom of my own. I but fight against the armed and crested Lies of +Mardi, that like a host, assail me. I am stuck full of darts; but, tearing them +from out me, gasping, I discharge them whence they come.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, Babbalanja slowly drooped, and fell reclining; then lay motionless +as the marble Gladiator, that for centuries has been dying. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0032"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +My Lord Media Summons Mohi To The Stand</h2> + +<p> +While slowly the night wore on, and the now scudding clouds flown past, +revealed again the hosts in heaven, few words were uttered save by Media; who, +when all others were most sad and silent, seemed but little moved, or not +stirred a jot. +</p> + +<p> +But that night, he filled his flagon fuller than his wont, and drank, and +drank, and pledged the stars. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s to thee, old Arcturus! To thee, old Aldebaran! who ever +poise your wine-red, fiery spheres on high. A health to <i>thee</i>, my regal +friend, Alphacca, in the constellation of the Crown: Lo! crown to crown, I +pledge thee! I drink to <i>ye</i>, too, Alphard! Markab! Denebola! +Capella!—to <i>ye</i>, too, sailing Cygnus! Aquila soaring!—All +round, a health to all your diadems! May they never fade! nor mine!” +</p> + +<p> +At last, in the shadowy east, the Dawn, like a gray, distant sail before the +wind, was descried; drawing nearer and nearer, till her gilded prow was +perceived. +</p> + +<p> +And as in tropic gales, the winds blow fierce, and more fierce, with the advent +of the sun; so with King Media; whose mirth now breezed up afresh. But, as at +sunrise, the sea-storm only blows harder, to settle down at last into a steady +wind; even so, in good time, my lord Media came to be more decorous of mood. +And Babbalanja abated his reveries. +</p> + +<p> +For who might withstand such a morn! +</p> + +<p> +As on the night-banks of the far-rolling Ganges, the royal bridegroom sets +forth for his bride, preceded by nymphs, now this side, now that, lighting up +all the flowery flambeaux held on high as they pass; so came the Sun, to his +nuptials with Mardi:—the Hours going on before, touching all the peaks, +till they glowed rosy-red. +</p> + +<p> +By reflex, the lagoon, here and there, seemed on fire; each curling wave-crest +a flame. +</p> + +<p> +Noon came as we sailed. +</p> + +<p> +And now, citrons and bananas, cups and calabashes, calumets and tobacco, were +passed round; and we were all very merry and mellow indeed. Smacking our lips, +chatting, smoking, and sipping. Now a mouthful of citron to season a repartee; +now a swallow of wine to wash down a precept; now a fragrant whiff to puff away +care. Many things did beguile. From side to side, we turned and grazed, like +Juno’s white oxen in clover meads. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, we drew nigh to a charming cliff, overrun with woodbines, on high +suspended from flowering Tamarisk and Tamarind-trees. The blossoms of the +Tamarisks, in spikes of small, red bells; the Tamarinds, wide-spreading their +golden petals, red-streaked as with streaks of the dawn. Down sweeping to the +water, the vines trailed over to the crisp, curling waves,—little pages, +all eager to hold up their trains. +</p> + +<p> +Within, was a bower; going behind it, like standing inside the sheet of the +falls of the Genesee. +</p> + +<p> +In this arbor we anchored. And with their shaded prows thrust in among the +flowers, our three canoes seemed baiting by the way, like wearied steeds in a +hawthorn lane. +</p> + +<p> +High midsummer noon is more silent than night. Most sweet a siesta then. And +noon dreams are day-dreams indeed; born under the meridian sun. Pale Cynthia +begets pale specter shapes; and her frigid rays best illuminate white nuns, +marble monuments, icy glaciers, and cold tombs. +</p> + +<p> +The sun rolled on. And starting to his feet, arms clasped, and wildly staring, +Yoomy exclaimed—“Nay, nay, thou shalt not depart, thou +maid!—here, here I fold thee for aye!—Flown?—A dream! Then +siestas henceforth while I live. And at noon, every day will I meet thee, sweet +maid! And, oh Sun! set not; and poppies bend over us, when next we +embrace!” +</p> + +<p> +“What ails that somnambulist?” cried Media, rising. “Yoomy, I +say! what ails thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“He must have indulged over freely in those citrons,” said Mohi, +sympathetically rubbing his fruitery. “Ho, Yoomy! a swallow of brine will +help thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas,” cried Babbalanja, “do the fairies then wait on +repletion? Do our dreams come from below, and not from the skies? Are we +angels, or dogs? Oh, Man, Man, Man! thou art harder to solve, than the Integral +Calculus—yet plain as a primer; harder to find than the +philosopher’s-stone—yet ever at hand; a more cunning compound, than +an alchemist’s—yet a hundred weight of flesh, to a penny weight of +spirit; soul and body glued together, firm as atom to atom, seamless as the +vestment without joint, warp or woof—yet divided as by a river, spirit +from flesh; growing both ways, like a tree, and dropping thy topmost branches +to earth, like thy beard or a banian!—I give thee up, oh Man! thou art +twain—yet indivisible; all things—yet a poor unit at best.” +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher you seem puzzled to account for the riddles of your +race,” cried Media, sideways reclining at his ease. “Now, do thou, +old Mohi, stand up before a demi-god, and answer for all.—Draw nigh, so I +can eye thee. What art thou, mortal?” +</p> + +<p> +“My worshipful lord, a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what are men?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, before thee is a specimen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear me, my lord will get nothing out of that witness,” said +Babbalanja. “Pray you, King Media, let another inquisitor cross- +question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed; take the divan.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pace or two farther off, there, Mohi; so I can garner thee all in at a +glance.—Attention! Rememberest thou, fellow-being, when thou wast +born?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I. Old Braid-Beard had no memory then.” +</p> + +<p> +“When, then, wast thou first conscious of being?” +</p> + +<p> +“What time I was teething: my first sensation was an ache.” +</p> + +<p> +“What dost thou, fellow-being, here in Mardi?” +</p> + +<p> +“What doth Mardi here, fellow-being, under me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher, thou gainest but little by thy questions,” cried +Yoomy advancing. “Let a poet endeavor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I abdicate in your favor, then, gentle Yoomy; let me smooth the divan +for you;—there: be seated.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Mohi, who art thou?” said Yoomy, nodding his bird-of-paradise +plume. +</p> + +<p> +“The sole witness, it seems, in this case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try again minstrel,” cried Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, what art thou, Mohi?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even what thou art, Yoomy.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is too sharp or too blunt for us all,” cried King Media. +“His devil is even more subtle than yours, Babbalanja. Let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I adjourn the court then, my lord?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All mortals having business at this court, know ye, +that it is adjourned till sundown of the day, which hath no to-morrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0033"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +Wherein Babbalanja And Yoomy Embrace</h2> + +<p> +“How the isles grow and multiply around us!” cried Babbalanja, as +turning the bold promontory of an uninhabited shore, many distant lands bluely +loomed into view. “Surely, our brief voyage, may not embrace all Mardi +like its reef?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Media, “much must be left unseen. Nor every where +can Yillah be sought, noble Taji.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Yoomy, “We are as birds, with pinions clipped, that in unfathomable +and endless woods, but flit from twig to twig of one poor tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“More isles! more isles!” cried Babbalanja, erect, and gazing +abroad. “And lo! round all is heaving that infinite ocean. Ah! gods! what +regions lie beyond?” +</p> + +<p> +“But whither now?” he cried, as in obedience to Media, the paddlers +suddenly altered our course. +</p> + +<p> +“To the bold shores of Diranda,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay; the land of clubs and javelins, where the lord seigniors Hello and +Piko celebrate their famous games,” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Your clubs and javelins,” said Media, “remind me of the +great battle- chant of Narvi—Yoomy!”—turning to the minstrel, +gazing abstractedly into the water;—“awake, Yoomy, and give us the +lines.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord Media, ’tis but a rude, clanging thing; dissonant as if +the north wind blew through it. Methinks the company will not fancy lines so +inharmonious. Better sing you, perhaps, one of my sonnets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better sit and sob in our ears, silly Yoomy that thou art!—no! no! +none of your sentiment now; my soul is martially inclined; I want clarion +peals, not lute warblings. So throw out your chest, Yoomy: lift high your +voice; and blow me the old battle-blast.—Begin, sir minstrel.” +</p> + +<p> +And warning all, that he himself had not composed the odious chant, Yoomy +thus:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Our clubs! our clubs!<br/> +The thousand clubs of Narvi!<br/> +Of the living trunk of the Palm-tree made;<br/> +Skull breakers! Brain spatterers!<br/> +Wielded right, and wielded left;<br/> +Life quenchers! Death dealers!<br/> +Causing live bodies to run headless!<br/> +<br/> +Our bows! our bows!<br/> +The thousand bows of Narvi!<br/> +Ribs of Tara, god of War!<br/> +Fashioned from the light Tola their arrows;<br/> +Swift messengers! Heart piercers!<br/> +Barbed with sharp pearl shells;<br/> +Winged with white tail-plumes;<br/> +To wild death-chants, strung with the hair of wild maidens!<br/> +<br/> +Our spears! our spears!<br/> +The thousand spears of Narvi!<br/> +Of the thunder-riven Moo-tree made<br/> +Tall tree, couched on the long mountain Lana!<br/> +No staves for gray-beards! no rods for fishermen!<br/> +Tempered by fierce sea-winds,<br/> +Splintered into lances by lightnings,<br/> +Long arrows! Heart seekers!<br/> +Toughened by fire their sharp black points!<br/> +<br/> +Our slings! our slings!<br/> +The thousand slings of Narvi!<br/> +All tasseled, and braided, and gayly bedecked.<br/> +In peace, our girdles; in war, our war-nets;<br/> +Wherewith catch we heads as fish from the deep!<br/> +The pebbles they hurl, have been hurled before,—<br/> +Hurled up on the beach by the stormy sea!<br/> +Pebbles, buried erewhile in the head of the shark:<br/> +To be buried erelong in the heads of our foes!<br/> +Home of hard blows, our pouches!<br/> +Nest of death-eggs! How quickly they hatch!<br/> +<br/> +Uplift, and couch we our spears, men!<br/> +Ring hollow on the rocks our war clubs!<br/> +Bend we our bows, feel the points of our arrows:<br/> +Aloft, whirl in eddies our sling-nets;<br/> +To the fight, men of Narvi!<br/> +Sons of battle! Hunters of men!<br/> +Raise high your war-wood!<br/> +Shout Narvi! her groves in the storm! +</p> + +<p> +“By Oro!” cried Media, “but Yoomy has well nigh stirred up +all Babbalanja’s devils in me. Were I a mortal, I could fight now on a +pretense. And did any man say me nay, I would charge upon him like a +spear-point. Ah, Yoomy, thou and thy tribe have much to answer for; ye stir up +all Mardi with your lays. Your war chants make men fight; your drinking songs, +drunkards; your love ditties, fools. Yet there thou sittest, Yoomy, gentle as a +dove.—What art thou, minstrel, that thy soft, singing soul should so +master all mortals? Yoomy, like me, you sway a scepter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou honorest my calling overmuch,” said Yoomy, we minstrels but +sing our lays carelessly, my lord Media.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay: and the more mischief they make.” +</p> + +<p> +“But sometimes we poets are didactic.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didactic and dull; many of ye are but too apt to be prosy unless +mischievous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet in our verses, my lord Media, but few of us purpose harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“But when all harmless to yourselves, ye may be otherwise to +Mardi.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are not foul streams often traced to pure fountains, my lord?” +said Babbalanja. “The essence of all good and all evil is in us, not out +of us. Neither poison nor honey lodgeth in the flowers on which, side by side, +bees and wasps oft alight. My lord, nature is an immaculate virgin, forever +standing unrobed before us. True poets but paint the charms which all eyes +behold. The vicious would be vicious without them.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord Media,” impetuously resumed Yoomy, “I am sensible of +a thousand sweet, merry fancies, limpid with innocence; yet my enemies account +them all lewd conceits.” +</p> + +<p> +“There be those in Mardi,” said Babbalanja, “who would never +ascribe evil to others, did they not find it in their own hearts; believing +none can be different from themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, my lord!” cried Yoomy. “The air that breathes my +music from me is a mountain air! Purer than others am I; for though not a +woman, I feel in me a woman’s soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, have done, silly Yoomy,” said Media. “Thou art becoming +flighty, even as Babbalanja, when Azzageddi is uppermost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thus ever: ever thus!” sighed Yoomy. “They comprehend us +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor me,” said Babbalanja. “Yoomy: poets both, we differ but +in seeming; thy airiest conceits are as the shadows of my deepest ponderings; +though Yoomy soars, and Babbalanja dives, both meet at last. Not a song you +sing, but I have thought its thought; and where dull Mardi sees but your rose, +I unfold its petals, and disclose a pearl. Poets are we, Yoomy, in that we +dwell without us; we live in grottoes, palms, and brooks; we ride the sea, we +ride the sky; poets are omnipresent.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0034"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +Of The Isle Of Diranda</h2> + +<p> +In good time the shores of Diranda were in sight. And, introductory to landing, +Braid-Beard proceeded to give us some little account of the island, and its +rulers. +</p> + +<p> +As previously hinted, those very magnificent and illustrious lord seigniors, +the lord seigniors Hello and Piko, who between them divided Diranda, delighted +in all manner of public games, especially warlike ones; which last were +celebrated so frequently, and were so fatal in their results, that, +not-withstanding the multiplicity of nuptials taking place in the isle, its +population remained in equilibrio. But, strange to relate, this was the very +object which the lord seigniors had in view; the very object they sought to +compass, by instituting their games. Though, for the most part, they wisely +kept the secret locked up. +</p> + +<p> +But to tell how the lord seigniors Hello and Piko came to join hands in this +matter. +</p> + +<p> +Diranda had been amicably divided between them ever since the day they were +crowned; one reigning king in the East, the other in the West. But King Piko +had been long harassed with the thought, that the unobstructed and indefinite +increase of his browsing subjects might eventually denude of herbage his +portion of the island. Posterity, thought he, is marshaling her generations in +squadrons, brigades, and battalions, and ere long will be down upon my devoted +empire. Lo! her locust cavalry darken the skies; her light-troop pismires cover +the earth. Alas! my son and successor, thou wilt inhale choke-damp for air, and +have not a private corner to say thy prayers. +</p> + +<p> +By a sort of arithmetical progression, the probability, nay, the certainty of +these results, if not in some way averted, was proved to King Piko; and he was +furthermore admonished, that war—war to the haft with King +Hello—was the only cure for so menacing an evil. +</p> + +<p> +But so it was, that King Piko, at peace with King Hello, and well content with, +the tranquillity of the times, little relished the idea of picking a quarrel +with his neighbor, and running its risks, in order to phlebotomize his +redundant population. +</p> + +<p> +“Patience, most illustrious seignior,” said another of his +sagacious Ahithophels, “and haply a pestilence may decimate the +people.” +</p> + +<p> +But no pestilence came. And in every direction the young men and maidens were +recklessly rushing into wedlock; and so salubrious the climate, that the old +men stuck to the outside of the turf, and refused to go under. +</p> + +<p> +At last some Machiavel of a philosopher suggested, that peradventure the object +of war might be answered without going to war; that peradventure King Hello +might be brought to acquiesce in an arrangement, whereby the men of Diranda +might be induced to kill off one another voluntarily, in a peaceable manner, +without troubling their rulers. And to this end, the games before mentioned +were proposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Egad! my wise ones, you have hit it,” cried Piko; “but will +Hello say ay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Try him, most illustrious seignior,” said Machiavel. +</p> + +<p> +So to Hello went embassadors ordinary and extraordinary, and ministers +plenipotentiary and peculiar; and anxiously King Piko awaited their return. +</p> + +<p> +The mission was crowned with success. +</p> + +<p> +Said King Hello to the ministers, in confidence:—“The very thing, +Dons, the very thing I have wanted. My people are increasing too fast. They +keep up the succession too well. Tell your illustrious master it’s a +bargain. The games! the games! by all means.” +</p> + +<p> +So, throughout the island, by proclamation, they were forthwith established; +succeeding to a charm. +</p> + +<p> +And the lord seigniors, Hello and Piko, finding their interests the same, came +together like bride and bridegroom; lived in the same palace; dined off the +same cloth; cut from the same bread-fruit; drank from the same calabash; wore +each other’s crowns; and often locking arms with a charming frankness, +paced up and down in their dominions, discussing the prospect of the next +harvest of heads. +</p> + +<p> +In his old-fashioned way, having related all this, with many other particulars, +Mohi was interrupted by Babbalanja, who inquired how the people of Diranda +relished the games, and how they fancied being coolly thinned out in that +manner. +</p> + +<p> +To which in substance the chronicler replied, that of the true object of the +games, they had not the faintest conception; but hammered away at each other, +and fought and died together, like jolly good fellows. +</p> + +<p> +“Right again, immortal old Bardianna!” cried Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“And what has the sage to the point this time?” asked Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, my lord, in his chapter on “Cracked Crowns,” Bardianna, +after many profound ponderings, thus concludes: In this cracked sphere we live +in, then, cracked skulls would seem the inevitable allotments of many. Nor will +the splintering thereof cease, till this pugnacious animal we treat of be +deprived of his natural maces: videlicet, his arms. And right well doth man +love to bruise and batter all occiputs in his vicinity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seems to me, our old friend must have been on his stilts that +time,” interrupted Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Braid-Beard. But by way of apologizing for the unusual rigidity of +his style in that chapter, he says in a note, that it was written upon a +straight-backed settle, when he was ill of a lumbago, and a crick in the +neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“That incorrigible Azzageddi again,” said Media, “Proceed +with your quotation, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where was I, Braid-Beard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Battering occiputs at the last accounts,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, yes. And right well doth man love to bruise and batter all occiputs +in his vicinity; he but follows his instincts; he is but one member of a +fighting world. Spiders, vixens, and tigers all war with a relish; and on every +side is heard the howls of hyenas, the throttlings of mastiffs, the din of +belligerant beetles, the buzzing warfare of the insect battalions: and the +shrill cries of lady Tartars rending their lords. And all this existeth of +necessity. To war it is, and other depopulators, that we are beholden for +elbow-room in Mardi and for all our parks an gardens, wherein we are wont to +expatiate. Come on, then, plague, war, famine and viragos! Come on, I say, for +who shall stay ye? Come on, and healthfulize the census! And more especially, +oh War! do thou march forth with thy bludgeon! Cracked are, our crowns by +nature, and henceforth forever, cracked shall they be by hard raps.” +</p> + +<p> +“And hopelessly cracked the skull, that hatched such a tirade of +nonsense,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“And think you not, old Bardianna knew that?” asked Babbalanja. +“He wrote an excellent chapter on that very subject.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, on the cracks in his own pate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. And expressly asserts, that to those identical cracks, was he +indebted for what little light he had in his brain.” +</p> + +<p> +“I yield, Babbalanja; your old Ponderer is older than I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, Braid-Beard; his crest was a tortoise; and this was the +motto:—‘I bite, but am not to be bitten.’” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0035"></a> +CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +They Visit The Lords Piko And Hello</h2> + +<p> +In good time, we landed at Diranda. And that landing was like landing at +Greenwich among the Waterloo pensioners. The people were docked right and left; +some without arms; some without legs; not one with a tail; but to a man, all +had heads, though rather the worse for wear; covered with lumps and contusions. +</p> + +<p> +Now, those very magnificent and illustrious lord seigniors, the lord seigniors +Hello and Piko, lived in a palace, round which was a fence of the cane called +Malacca, each picket helmed with a skull, of which there were fifty, one to +each cane. Over the door was the blended arms of the high and mighty houses of +Hello and Piko: a Clavicle crossed over an Ulna. +</p> + +<p> +Escorted to the sign of the Skull-and-Cross-Bones, we received the very best +entertainment which that royal inn could afford. We found our hosts Hello and +Piko seated together on a dais or throne, and now and then drinking some +claret-red wine from an ivory bowl, too large to have been wrought from an +elephant’s tusk. They were in glorious good spirits, shaking ivory coins +in a skull. +</p> + +<p> +“What says your majesty?” said Piko. “Heads or tails?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, heads, your majesty,” said Hello. +</p> + +<p> +“And heads say I,” said Piko. +</p> + +<p> +And heads it was. But it was heads on both sides, so both were sure to win. +</p> + +<p> +And thus they were used to play merrily all day long; beheading the gourds of +claret by one slicing blow with their sickle-shaped scepters. Wide round them +lay empty calabashes, all feathered, red dyed, and betasseled, trickling red +wine from their necks, like the decapitated pullets in the old baronial barn +yard at Kenilworth, the night before Queen Bess dined with my lord Leicester. +</p> + +<p> +The first compliments over; and Media and Taji having met with a reception +suitable to their rank, the kings inquired, whether there were any good +javelin-flingers among us: for if that were the case, they could furnish them +plenty of sport. Informed, however, that none of the party were professional +warriors, their majesties looked rather glum, and by way of chasing away the +blues, called for some good old stuff, that was red. +</p> + +<p> +It seems, this soliciting guests, to keep their spears from decaying, by cut +and thrust play with their subjects, was a very common thing with their +illustrious majesties. +</p> + +<p> +But if their visitors could not be prevailed upon to spear a subject or so, our +hospitable hosts resolved to have a few speared, and otherwise served up for +our special entertainment. In a word, our arrival furnished a fine pretext for +renewing their games; though, we learned, that only ten days previous, upward +of fifty combatants had been slain at one of these festivals. +</p> + +<p> +Be that as it might, their joint majesties determined upon another one; and +also upon our tarrying to behold it. We objected, saying we must depart. +</p> + +<p> +But we were kindly assured, that our canoes had been dragged out of the water, +and buried in a wood; there to remain till the games were over. +</p> + +<p> +The day fixed upon, was the third subsequent to our arrival; the interval being +devoted to preparations; summoning from their villages and valleys the warriors +of the land; and publishing the royal proclamations, whereby the unbounded +hospitality of the kings’ household was freely offered to all heroes +whatsoever, who for the love of arms, and the honor of broken heads, desired to +cross battle-clubs, hurl spears, or die game in the royal valley of Deddo. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the whole island was in a state of uproarious commotion, and +strangers were daily arriving. +</p> + +<p> +The spot set apart for the festival, was a spacious down, mantled with white +asters; which, waving in windrows, lay upon the land, like the cream-surf +surging the milk of young heifers. But that whiteness, here and there, was +spotted with strawberries; tracking the plain, as if wounded creatures had been +dragging themselves bleeding from some deadly encounter. All round the down, +waved scarlet thickets of sumach, moaning in the wind, like the gory ghosts +environing Pharsalia the night after the battle; scaring away the peasants, who +with bushel-baskets came to the jewel-harvest of the rings of Pompey’s +knights. +</p> + +<p> +Beneath the heaped turf of this down, lay thousands of glorious corpses of +anonymous heroes, who here had died glorious deaths. +</p> + +<p> +Whence, in the florid language of Diranda, they called this field “The +Field of Glory.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0036"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +They Attend The Games</h2> + +<p> +At last the third day dawned; and facing us upon entering the plain, was a +throne of red log-wood, canopied by the foliage of a red-dyed Pandannus. Upon +this throne, purple-robed, reclined those very magnificent and illustrious +lords seigniors, the lord seigniors Hello and Piko. Before them, were many +gourds of wine; and crosswise, staked in the sod, their own royal spears. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the down, as if by a furrow, a long, oval space was margined +of about which, a crowd of spectators were seated. Opposite the throne, was +reserved a clear passage to the arena, defined by air-lines, indefinitely +produced from the leveled points of two spears, so poised by a brace of +warriors. +</p> + +<p> +Drawing near, our party was courteously received, and assigned a commodious +lounge. +</p> + +<p> +The first encounter was a club-fight between two warriors. Nor casque of steel, +nor skull of Congo could have resisted their blows, had they fallen upon the +mark; for they seemed bent upon driving each other, as stakes, into the earth. +Presently, one of them faltered; but his adversary rushing in to cleave him +down, slipped against a guavarind; when the falterer, with one lucky blow, high +into the air sent the stumbler’s club, which descended upon the crown of +a spectator, who was borne from the plain. +</p> + +<p> +“All one,” muttered Pike. +</p> + +<p> +“As good dead as another,” muttered Hello. +</p> + +<p> +The second encounter was a hugging-match; wherein two warriors, masked in +Grisly-bear skins, hugged each other to death. +</p> + +<p> +The third encounter was a bumping-match between a fat warrior and a dwarf. +Standing erect, his paunch like a bass-drum before a drummer, the fat man was +run at, head-a-tilt by the dwarf, and sent spinning round on his axis. +</p> + +<p> +The fourth encounter was a tussle between two-score warriors, who all in a +mass, writhed like the limbs in Sebastioni’s painting of Hades. After +obscuring themselves in a cloud of dust, these combatants, uninjured, but +hugely blowing, drew off; and separately going among the spectators, rehearsed +their experience of the fray. +</p> + +<p> +“Braggarts!” mumbled Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“Poltroons!” growled Hello. +</p> + +<p> +While the crowd were applauding, a sober-sided observer, trying to rub the dust +out of his eyes, inquired of an enthusiastic neighbor, “Pray, what was +all that about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fool! saw you not the dust?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I did,” said Sober-Sides, again rubbing his eyes, “But +I can raise a dust myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The fifth encounter was a fight of single sticks between one hundred warriors, +fifty on a side. +</p> + +<p> +In a line, the first fifty emerged from the sumachs, their weapons interlocked +in a sort of wicker-work. In advance marched a priest, bearing an idol with a +cracked cocoanut for a head,—Krako, the god of Trepans. Preceded by +damsels flinging flowers, now came on the second fifty, gayly appareled, +weapons poised, and their feet nimbly moving in a martial measure. +</p> + +<p> +Midway meeting, both parties touched poles, then retreated. Very courteous, +this; but tantamount to bowing each other out of Mardi; for upon Pike’s +tossing a javelin, they rushed in, and each striking his man, all fell to the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Well done!” cried Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“Brave fellows!” cried Hello. +</p> + +<p> +“But up and at it again, my heroes!” joined both. “Lo! we +kings look on, and there stand the bards!” +</p> + +<p> +These bards were a row of lean, sallow, old men, in thread-bare robes, and +chaplets of dead leaves. +</p> + +<p> +“Strike up!” cried Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“A stave!” cried Hello. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon, the old croakers, each with a quinsy, sang thus in cracked +strains:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Quack! Quack! Quack!<br/> +With a toorooloo whack;<br/> +Hack away, merry men, hack away.<br/> +Who would not die brave,<br/> +His ear smote by a stave?<br/> +Thwack away, merry men, thwack away!<br/> +’Tis glory that calls,<br/> +To each hero that falls,<br/> +Hack away, merry men, hack away!<br/> +Quack! Quack! Quack!<br/> +Quack! Quack!<br/> +Quack! +</p> + +<p> +Thus it tapered away. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” cried Piko, “how they prick their ears at +that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark ye, my invincibles!” cried Hello. “That pean is for the +slain. So all ye who have lives left, spring to it! Die and be glorified! +Now’s the time!—Strike up again, my ducklings!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus incited, the survivors staggered to their feet; and hammering away at each +others’ sconces, till they rung like a chime of bells going off with a +triple-bob-major, they finally succeeded in immortalizing themselves by +quenching their mortalities all round; the bards still singing. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind your music now,” cried Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all over,” said Hello. +</p> + +<p> +“What valiant fellows we have for subjects,” cried Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! grave-diggers, clear the field,” cried Hello. +</p> + +<p> +“Who else is for glory?” cried Piko. +</p> + +<p> +“There stand the bards!” cried Hello. +</p> + +<p> +But now there rushed among the crowd a haggard figure, trickling with blood, +and wearing a robe, whose edges were burned and blacked by fire. Wielding a +club, it ran to and fro, with loud yells menacing all. +</p> + +<p> +A noted warrior this; who, distracted at the death of five sons slain in recent +games, wandered from valley to valley, wrestling and fighting. +</p> + +<p> +With wild cries of “The Despairer! The Despairer!” the appalled +multitude fled; leaving the two kings frozen on their throne, quaking and +quailing, their teeth rattling like dice. +</p> + +<p> +The Despairer strode toward them; when, recovering their senses, they ran; for +a time pursued through the woods by the phantom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0037"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +Taji Still Hunted, And Beckoned</h2> + +<p> +Previous to the kings’ flight, we had plunged into the neighboring woods; +and from thence emerging, entered brakes of cane, sprouting from morasses. Soon +we heard a whirring, as if three startled partridges had taken wing; it proved +three feathered arrows, from three unseen hands. +</p> + +<p> +Gracing us, two buried in the ground, but from Taji’s arm, the third drew +blood. +</p> + +<p> +On all sides round we turned; but none were seen. “Still the avengers +follow,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Lo! the damsels three!” cried Yoomy. “Look where they +come!” +</p> + +<p> +We joined them by the sumach-wood’s red skirts; and there, they waved +their cherry stalks, and heavy bloated cactus leaves, their crimson blossoms +armed with nettles; and before us flung shining, yellow, tiger-flowers spotted +red. +</p> + +<p> +“Blood!” cried Yoomy, starting, “and leopards on your +track!” +</p> + +<p> +And now the syrens blew through long reeds, tasseled with their panicles, and +waving verdant scarfs of vines, came dancing toward us, proffering clustering +grapes. +</p> + +<p> +“For all now yours, Taji; and all that yet may come,” cried Yoomy, +“fly to me! I will dance away your gloom, and drown it in +inebriation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away! woe is its own wine. What may be mine, that will I endure, in its +own essence to the quick. Let me feel the poniard if it stabs.” +</p> + +<p> +They vanished in the wood; and hurrying on, we soon gained sun-light, and the +open glade. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0038"></a> +CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +They Embark From Diranda</h2> + +<p> +Arrived at the Sign of the Skulls, we found the illustrious lord seigniors at +rest from their flight, and once more, quaffing their claret, all thoughts of +the specter departed. Instead of rattling their own ivory iii the heads on +their shoulders, they were rattling their dice in the skulls in their hands. +And still “Heads,” was the cry, and “Heads,” was the +throw. +</p> + +<p> +That evening they made known to my lord Media that an interval of two days must +elapse ere the games were renewed, in order to reward the victors, bury their +dead, and provide for the execution of an Islander, who under the provocation +of a blow, had killed a stranger. +</p> + +<p> +As this suspension of the festivities had been wholly unforeseen, our hosts +were induced to withdraw the embargo laid upon our canoes. Nevertheless, they +pressed us to remain; saying, that what was to come would far exceed in +interest, what had already taken place. The games in prospect being of a naval +description, embracing certain hand-to-hand contests in the water between +shoals of web-footed warriors. +</p> + +<p> +However, we decided to embark on the morrow. +</p> + +<p> +It was in the cool of the early morning, at that hour when a man’s face +can be known, that we set sail from Diranda; and in the ghostly twilight, our +thoughts reverted to the phantom that so suddenly had cleared the plain. With +interest we hearkened to the recitals of Mohi; who discoursing of the sad end +of many brave chieftains in Mardi, made allusion to the youthful Adondo, one of +the most famous of the chiefs of the chronicles. In a canoe-fight, after +performing prodigies of valor; he was wounded in the head, and sunk to the +bottom of the lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a noble monody upon the death of Adondo,” said Yoomy. +“Shall I sing it, my lord? It. is very beautiful; nor could I ever repeat +it without a tear.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will dispense with your tears, minstrel,” said Media, +“but sing it, if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +And Yoomy sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Departed the pride and the glory of Mardi:<br/> +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,<br/> +Â Â Â Â That rolls o’er his corpse with a hush.<br/> +Â Â Â Â His warriors bend over their spears,<br/> +Â Â Â Â His sisters gaze upward and mourn.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Weep, weep, for Adondo, is dead!<br/> +Â Â Â Â The sun has gone down in a shower;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Buried in clouds in the face of the moon;<br/> +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,<br/> +Â Â Â Â And stand in the eyes of the flowers;<br/> +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Coursing adown the mountains.—<br/> +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:<br/> +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.<br/> +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs.—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. +</p> + +<p> +“A dismal time it must have been,” yawned Media, “not a dry +brook then in Mardi, not a lake that was not moist. Lachrymose rivulets, and +inconsolable lagoons! Call you this poetry, minstrel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi has something like a tear in his eye,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“False!” cried Mohi, brushing it aside. +</p> + +<p> +“Who composed that monody?” said Babbalanja. “I have often +heard it before.” +</p> + +<p> +“None know, Babbalanja but the poet must be still singing to himself; his +songs bursting through the turf in the flowers over his grave.” +</p> + +<p> +“But gentle Yoomy, Adondo is a legendary hero, indefinitely dating back. +May not his monody, then, be a spontaneous melody, that has been with us since +Mardi began? What bard composed the soft verses that our palm boughs sing at +even? Nay, Yoomy, that monody was not written by man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Would that I had been the poet, Babbalanja; for then had I been +famous indeed; those lines are chanted through all the isles, by prince and +peasant. Yes, Adondo’s monody will pervade the ages, like the low +under-tone you hear, when many singers do sing.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, my lord,” cried Babbalanja, “but this were to be +truly immortal;—to be perpetuated in our works, and not in our names. Let +me, oh Oro! be anonymously known!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0039"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +Wherein Babbalanja Discourses Of Himself</h2> + +<p> +An interval of silence was at last broken by Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +Pointing to the sun, just gaining the horizon, he exclaimed, “As old +Bardianna says—shut your eyes, and believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what may Bardianna have to do with yonder orb?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +This much, my lord, the astronomers maintain that Mardi moves round the sun; +which I, who never formally investigated the matter for myself, can by no means +credit; unless, plainly seeing one thing, I blindly believe another. Yet even +thus blindly does all Mardi subscribe to an astronomical system, which not one +in fifty thousand can astronomically prove. And not many centuries back, my +lord, all Mardi did equally subscribe to an astronomical system, precisely the +reverse of that which they now believe. But the mass of Mardians have not as +much reason to believe the first system, as the exploded one; for all who have +eyes must assuredly see, that the sun seems to move, and that Mardi seems a +fixture, eternally <i>here</i>. But doubtless there are theories which may be +true, though the face of things belie them. Hence, in such cases, to the +ignorant, disbelief would seem more natural than faith; though they too often +reject the testimony of their own senses, for what to them, is a mere +hypothesis. And thus, my lord, is it, that the mass of Mardians do not believe +because they know, but because they know not. And they are as ready to receive +one thing as another, if it comes from a canonical source. My lord, Mardi is as +an ostrich, which will swallow augh you offer, even a bar of iron, if placed +endwise. And though the iron be indigestible, yet it serves to fill: in +feeding, the end proposed. For Mardi must have something to exercise its +digestion, though that something be forever indigestible. And as fishermen for +sport, throw two lumps of bait, united by a cord, to albatrosses floating on +the sea; which are greedily attempted to be swallowed, one lump by this fowl, +the other by that; but forever are kept reciprocally going up and down in them, +by means of the cord; even so, my lord, do I sometimes fancy, that our +theorists divert them-selves with the greediness of Mardians to believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha,” cried Media, “methinks this must be Azzageddi who +speaks.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lord; not long since, Azzageddi received a furlough to go home +and warm himself for a while. But this leaves me not alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,—for the present putting Azzageddi entirely +aside,—though I have now been upon terms of close companionship with +myself for nigh five hundred moons, I have not yet been able to decide who or +what I am. To you, perhaps, I seem Babbalanja; but to myself, I seem not +myself. All I am sure of, is a sort of prickly sensation all over me, which +they call life; and, occasionally, a headache or a queer conceit admonishes me, +that there is something astir in my attic. But how know I, that these +sensations are identical with myself? For aught I know, I may be somebody else. +At any rate, I keep an eye on myself, as I would on a stranger. There is +something going on in me, that is independent of me. Many a time, have I willed +to do one thing, and another has been done. I will not say by myself, for I was +not consulted about it; it was done instinctively. My most virtuous thoughts +are not born of my musings, but spring up in me, like bright fancies to the +poet; unsought, spontaneous. Whence they come I know not. I am a blind man +pushed from behind; in vain, I turn about to see what propels me. As vanity, I +regard the praises of my friends; for what they commend pertains not to me, +Babbalanja; but to this unknown something that forces me to it. But why am I, a +middle aged Mardian, less prone to excesses than when a youth? The same +inducements and allurements are around me. But no; my more ardent passions are +burned out; those which are strongest when we are least able to resist them. +Thus, then, my lord, it is not so much outer temptations that prevail over us +mortals; but inward instincts.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very curious speculation,” said Media. But Babbalanja, have you +mortals no moral sense, as they call it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have. But the thing you speak of is but an after-birth; we eat and +drink many months before we are conscious of thoughts. And though some adults +would seem to refer all their actions to this moral sense, yet, in reality, it +is not so; for, dominant in them, their moral sense bridles their instinctive +passions; wherefore, they do not govern themselves, but are governed by their +very natures. Thus, some men in youth are constitutionally as staid as I am +now. But shall we pronounce them pious and worthy youths for this? Does he +abstain, who is not incited? And on the other hand, if the instinctive passions +through life naturally have the supremacy over the moral sense, as in extreme +cases we see it developed in irreclaimable malefactors,—shall we +pronounce such, criminal and detestable wretches? My lord, it is easier for +some men to be saints, than for others not to be sinners.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will do, Babbalanja; you are on the verge, take not the leap! Go +back whence you set out, and tell us of that other, and still more mysterious +Azzageddi; him whom you hinted to have palmed himself off on you for you +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, my lord,—Azzageddi still set aside,—upon that +self-same inscrutable stranger, I charge all those past actions of mine, which +in the retrospect appear to me such eminent folly, that I am confident, it was +not I, Babbalanja, now speaking, that committed them. Nevertheless, my lord, +this very day I may do some act, which at a future period may seem equally +senseless; for in one lifetime we live a hundred lives. By the incomprehensible +stranger in me, I say, this body of mine has been rented out scores of times, +though always one dark chamber in me is retained by the old mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you never come to the mark, Babbalanja? Tell me something direct of +the stranger. Who, what is he? Introduce him.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I can not. He is locked up in me. In a mask, he dodges me. He +prowls about in me, hither and thither; he peers, and I stare. This is he who +talks in my sleep, revealing my secrets; and takes me to unheard of realms, +beyond the skies of Mardi. So present is he always, that I seem not so much to +live of myself, as to be a mere apprehension of the unaccountable being that is +in me. Yet all the time, this being is I, myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja,” said Media, “you have fairly turned yourself +inside out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my lord,” said Mohi, “and he has so unsettled me, that +I begin to think all Mardi a square circle.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is that, Babbalanja,” said Media, “is a circle +square?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lord, but ever since Mardi began, we Mardians have been essaying +our best to square it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cleverly retorted. Now, Babbalanja, do you not imagine, that you may do +harm by disseminating these sophisms of yours; which like your devil theory, +would seem to relieve all Mardi from moral accountability?” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, at bottom, men wear no bonds that other men can strike off; and +have no immunities, of which other men can deprive them. Tell a good man that +he is free to commit murder,—will he murder? Tell a murderer that at the +peril of his soul he indulges in murderous thoughts,—will that make him a +saint?” +</p> + +<p> +“Again on the verge, Babbalanja? Take not the leap, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can leap no more, my lord. Already I am down, down, down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher,” said Media, “what with Azzageddi, and the +mysterious indweller you darkly hint of, I marvel not that you are puzzled to +decide upon your identity. But when do you seem most yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I sleep, and dream not, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then, a fool’s cap might be put on you, and you would not know +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The very turban he ought to wear,” muttered Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, my lord, I live while consciousness is not mine, while to all +appearances I am a clod. And may not this same state of being, though but +alternate with me, be continually that of many dumb, passive objects we so +carelessly regard? Trust me, there are more things alive than those that crawl, +or fly, or swim. Think you, my lord, there is no sensation in being a tree? +feeling the sap in one’s boughs, the breeze in one’s foliage? think +you it is nothing to be a world? one of a herd, bison-like, wending its way +across boundless meadows of ether? In the sight of a fowl, that sees not our +souls, what are our own tokens of animation? That we move, make a noise, have +organs, pulses, and are compounded of fluids and solids. And all these are in +this Mardi as a unit. Daily the slow, majestic throbbings of its heart are +perceptible on the surface in the tides of the la-goon. Its rivers are its +veins; when agonized, earthquakes are its throes; it shouts in the thunder, and +weeps in the shower; and as the body of a bison is covered with hair, so Mardi +is covered with grasses and vegetation, among which, we parasitical things do +but crawl, vexing and tormenting the patient creature to which we cling. Nor +yet, hath it recovered from the pain of the first foundation that was laid. +Mardi is alive to its axis. When you pour water, does it not gurgle? When you +strike a pearl shell, does it not ring? Think you there is no sensation in +being a rock?—To exist, is to be; to be, is to be something: to be +something, is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is it, to be something?” said Yoomy artlessly. +“Bethink yourself of what went before,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Lose not the thread,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“It has snapped,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“I breathe again,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“But what a stepping-off place you came to then, philosopher,” said +Media. “By the way, is it not old Bardianna who says, that no Mardian +should undertake to walk, without keeping one foot foremost?” +</p> + +<p> +“To return to the vagueness of the notion I have of myself,” said +Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“An appropriate theme,” said Media, “proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” murmured Mohi, “Is not this philosopher like a +centipede? Cut off his head, and still he crawls.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are times when I fancy myself a lunatic,” resumed +Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, now he’s beginning to talk sense,” whispered Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you forget, Babbalanja,” said Media. “How many more +theories have you? First, you are possessed by a devil; then rent yourself out +to the indweller; and now turn yourself into a mad-house. You are +inconsistent.” +</p> + +<p> +“And for that very reason, my lord, not inconsistent; for the sum of my +inconsistencies makes up my consistency. And to be consistent to one’s +self, is often to be inconsistent to Mardi. Common consistency implies +unchangeableness; but much of the wisdom here below lives in a state of +transition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” murmured Mold, “my head goes round again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Azzageddi aside, then, my lord, and also, for the nonce, the mysterious +indweller, I come now to treat of myself as a lunatic. But this last conceit is +not so much based upon the madness of particular actions, as upon the whole +drift of my ordinary and hourly ones; those, in which I most resemble all other +Mardians. It seems like going through with some nonsensical whim-whams, +destitute of fixed purpose. For though many of my actions seem to have objects, +and all of them somehow run into each other; yet, where is the grand result? To +what final purpose, do I walk about, eat, think, dream? To what great end, does +Mohi there, now stroke his beard?” +</p> + +<p> +“But I was doing it unconsciously,” said Mohi, dropping his hand, +and lifting his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I would be at, old man. ‘What we do, we do +blindly,’ says old Bardianna. Many things we do, we do without +knowing,—as with you and your beard, Mohi. And many others we know not, +in their true bearing at least, till they are past. Are not half our lives +spent in reproaches for foregone actions, of the true nature and consequences +of which, we were wholly ignorant at the time? Says old Bardianna, ‘Did I +not so often feel an appetite for my yams, I should think every thing a +dream;’—so puzzling to him, seemed the things of this Mardi. But +Alla-Malolla goes further. Says he, ‘Let us club together, +fellow-riddles:—Kings, clowns, and intermediates. We are bundles of +comical sensations; we bejuggle ourselves into strange phantasies: we are air, +wind, breath, bubbles; our being is told in a tick.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, then, Babbalanja,” said Media, “what have you come to +in all this rhapsody? You everlastingly travel in a circle.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so does the sun in heaven, my lord; like me, it goes round, and +gives light as it goes. Old Bardianna, too, revolved. He says so himself. In +his roundabout chapter on Cycles and Epicycles, with Notes on the Ecliptic, he +thus discourseth:—‘All things revolve upon some center, to them, +fixed; for the centripetal is ever too much for the centrifugal. Wherefore, it +is a perpetual cycling with us, without progression; and we fly round, whether +we will or no. To stop, were to sink into space. So, over and over we go, and +round and round; double-shuffle, on our axis, and round the sun.’ In an +another place, he says:—‘There is neither apogee nor perigee, north +nor south, right nor left; what to-night is our zenith, to-morrow is our nadir; +stand as we will, we stand on our heads; essay to spring into the air, and down +we come; here we stick; our very bones make glue.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough, enough, Babbalanja,” cried Media. “You are a very +wise Mardian; but the wisest Mardians make the most consummate fools.” +</p> + +<p> +“So they do, my lord; but I was interrupted. I was about to say, that +there is no place but the universe; no limit but the limitless; no bottom but +the bottomless.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0040"></a> +CHAPTER XL.<br/> +Of The Sorcerers In The Isle Of Minda</h2> + +<p> +“Tiffin! tiffin!” cried Media; “time for tiffin! Up, +comrades! and while the mat is being spread, walk we to the bow, and inhale the +breeze for an appetite. Hark ye, Vee-Vee! forget not that calabash with the +sea-blue seal, and a round ring for a brand. Rare old stuff, that, Mohi; older +than you: the circumnavigator, I call it. My sire had a canoe launched for the +express purpose of carrying it thrice round Mardi for a flavor. It was many +moons on the voyage; the mariners never sailed faster than three knots. Ten +would spoil the best wine ever floated.” +</p> + +<p> +Tiffin over, and the blue-sealed calabash all but hid in the great cloud raised +by our pipes, Media proposed to board it in the smoke. So, goblet in hand, we +all gallantly charged, and came off victorious from the fray. +</p> + +<p> +Then seated again, and serenely puffing in a circle, the circumnavigator +meanwhile pleasantly going the rounds, Media called upon Mohi for something +entertaining. +</p> + +<p> +Now, of all the old gossips in Mardi, surely our delightful old Diodorus was +furnished with the greatest possible variety of histories, chronicles, +anecdotes, memoirs, legends, traditions, and biographies. There was no end to +the library he carried. In himself, he was the whole history of Mardi, +amplified, not abridged, in one volume. +</p> + +<p> +In obedience, then, to King Media’s command, Mohi regaled the company +with a narrative, in substance as follows:— +</p> + +<p> +In a certain quarter of the Archipelago was an island called Minda; and in +Minda were many sorcerers, employed in the social differences and animosities +of the people of that unfortunate land. If a Mindarian deemed himself aggrieved +or insulted by a countryman, he forthwith repaired to one of these sorcerers; +who, for an adequate consideration, set to work with his spells, keeping +himself in the dark, and directing them against the obnoxious individual. And +full soon, by certain peculiar sensations, this individual, discovering what +was going on, would straightway hie to his own professor of the sable art, who, +being well feed, in due time brought about certain counter-charms, so that in +the end it sometimes fell out that neither party was gainer or loser, save by +the sum of his fees. +</p> + +<p> +But the worst of it was, that in some cases all knowledge of these spells were +at the outset hidden from the victim; who, hearing too late of the mischief +brewing, almost always fell a prey to his foe; which calamity was held the +height of the art. But as the great body of sorcerers were about matched in +point of skill, it followed that the parties employing them were so likewise. +Hence arose those interminable contests, in which many moons were spent, both +parties toiling after their common destruction. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, to say nothing of the obstinacy evinced by their employers, it was +marvelous, the pertinacity of the sorcerers themselves. To the very last tooth +in their employer’s pouches, they would stick to their spells; never +giving over till he was financially or physically defunct. +</p> + +<p> +But much as they were vilified, no people in Minda were half so disinterested +as they. Certain indispensable conditions secured, some of them were as ready +to undertake the perdition of one man as another; good, bad, or indifferent, it +made little matter. +</p> + +<p> +What wonder, then, that such abominable mercenaries should cause a mighty deal +of mischief in Minda; privately going about, inciting peaceable folks to +enmities with their neighbors; and with marvelous alacrity, proposing +themselves as the very sorcerers to rid them of the annoyances suggested as +existing. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, it even happened that a sorcerer would be secretly retained to work +spells upon a victim, who, from his bodily sensations, suspecting something +wrong, but knowing not what, would repair to that self-same sorcerer, engaging +him to counteract any mischief that might be brewing. And this worthy would at +once undertake the business; when, having both parties in his hands, he kept +them forever in suspense; meanwhile seeing to it well, that they failed not in +handsomely remunerating him for his pains. +</p> + +<p> +At one time, there was a prodigious excitement about these sorcerers, growing +out of some alarming revelations concerning their practices. In several +villages of Minda, they were sought to be put down. But fruitless the attempt; +it was soon discovered that already their spells were so spread abroad, and +they themselves so mixed up with the everyday affairs of the isle, that it was +better to let their vocation alone, than, by endeavoring to suppress it, breed +additional troubles. Ah! they were a knowing and a cunning set, those +sorcerers; very hard to overcome, cajole, or circumvent. +</p> + +<p> +But in the name of the Magi, what were these spells of theirs, so potent and +occult? On all hands it was agreed, that they derived their greatest virtue +from the fumes of certain compounds, whose ingredients—horrible to +tell—were mostly obtained from the human heart; and that by variously +mixing these ingredients, they adapted their multifarious enchantments. +</p> + +<p> +They were a vain and arrogant race. Upon the strength of their dealing in the +dark, they affected even more mystery than belonged to them; when interrogated +concerning their science, would confound the inquirer by answers couched in an +extraordinary jargon, employing words almost as long as anacondas. But all this +greatly prevailed with the common people. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it one of the least remarkable things, that oftentimes two sorcerers, +contrarily employed upon a Mindarian,—one to attack, the other to +defend,—would nevertheless be upon the most friendly terms with each +other; which curious circumstance never begat the slightest suspicions in the +mind of the victim. +</p> + +<p> +Another phenomenon: If from any cause, two sorcerers fell out, they seldom +exercised their spells upon each other; ascribable to this, perhaps,—that +both being versed in the art, neither could hope to get the advantage. +</p> + +<p> +But for all the opprobrium cast upon these sorcerers, part of which they +deserved, the evils imputed to them were mainly, though indirectly, ascribable +to the very persons who abused them; nay, to the very persons who employed +them; the latter being by far the loudest in their vilifyings; for which, +indeed, they had excellent reason. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it to be denied, that in certain respects, the sorcerers were +productive of considerable good. The nature of their pursuits leading them deep +into the arcana of mind, they often lighted upon important discoveries; along +with much that was cumbersome, accumulated valuable examples concerning the +inner working of the hearts of the Mindarians; and often waxed eloquent in +elucidating the mysteries of iniquity. +</p> + +<p> +Yet was all this their lore graven upon so uncouth, outlandish, and antiquated +tablets, that it was all but lost to the mass of their countrymen; and some old +sachem of a wise man is quoted as having said, that their treasures were locked +up after such a fashion, that for old iron, the key was worth more than the +chest and its contents. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0041"></a> +CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +Chiefly Of Sing Bello</h2> + +<p> +“Now Taji,” said Media, “with old Bello of the Hump whose +island of Dominora is before us, I am at variance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! How so?” +</p> + +<p> +“A dull recital, but you shall have it.” +</p> + +<p> +And forthwith his Highness began. +</p> + +<p> +This princely quarrel originated, it seems, in a slight jostling concerning the +proprietorship of a barren islet in a very remote quarter of the lagoon. At the +outset the matter might have been easily adjusted, had the parties but +exchanged a few amicable words. But each disdaining to visit the other, to +discuss so trivial an affair, the business of negotiating an understanding was +committed to certain plenipos, men with lengthy tongues, who scorned to utter a +word short of a polysyllable. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the more these worthies penetrated into the difficulty, the wider became +the breach; till what was at first a mere gap, became a yawning gulf. +</p> + +<p> +But that which had perhaps tended more than any thing else to deepen the +variance of the kings, was hump-backed Bello’s dispatching to Odo, as his +thirtieth plenipo, a diminutive little negotiator, who all by himself, in a +solitary canoe, sailed over to have audience of Media; into whose presence he +was immediately ushered. +</p> + +<p> +Darting one glance at him, the king turned to his chieftains, and +said:—“By much straining of your eyes, my lords, can you perceive +this insignificant manikin? What! are there no tall men in Dominora, that King +Bello must needs send this dwarf hither?” +</p> + +<p> +And charging his attendents to feed the embassador extraordinary with the soft +pap of the cocoanut, and provide nurses during his stay, the monarch retired +from the arbor of audience. +</p> + +<p> +“As I am a man,” shouted the despised plenipo, raising himself on +his toes, “my royal master will resent this affront!—A dwarf, +forsooth!— Thank Oro, I am no long-drawn giant! There is as much stuff in +me, as in others; what is spread out in their clumsy carcasses, in me is +condensed. I am much in little! And that much, thou shalt know full soon, +disdainful King of Odo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak not against our lord the king,” cried the attendants. +</p> + +<p> +“And speak not ye to me, ye headless spear poles!” +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, under sufferance of being small, the plenipo was permitted to +depart unmolested; for all his bravadoes, fobbing his credentials and affronts. +</p> + +<p> +Apprized of his servant’s ignoble reception, the choleric Bello burst +forth in a storm of passion; issuing orders for, one thousand conch shells to +be blown, and his warriors to assemble by land and by sea. +</p> + +<p> +But bethinking him of the hostilities that might ensue, the sagacious Media hit +upon an honorable expedient to ward off an event for which he was then +unprepared. With all haste he dispatched to the hump-backed king a little dwarf +of his own; who voyaging over to Dominora in a canoe, sorry and solitary as +that of Bello’s plenipo, in like manner, received the same insults. The +effect whereof, was, to strike a balance of affronts; upon the principle, that +a blow given, heals one received. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, these proceedings but amounted to a postponement of hostilities; +for soon after, nothing prevented the two kings from plunging into war, but the +following judicious considerations. First: Media was almost afraid of being +beaten. Second: Bello was almost afraid to conquer. Media, because he was +inferior in men and arms; Bello, because, his aggrandizement was already a +subject of warlike comment among the neighboring kings. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, did the old chronicler Braid-Beard speak truth, there were some tribes +in Mardi, that accounted this king of Dominora a testy, quarrelsome, rapacious +old monarch; the indefatigable breeder of contentions and wars; the elder +brother of this household of nations, perpetually essaying to lord it over the +juveniles; and though his patrimonial dominions were situated to the north of +the lagoon, not the slightest misunderstanding took place between the rulers of +the most distant islands, than this doughty old cavalier on a throne, forthwith +thrust his insolent spear into the matter, though it in no wise concerned him, +and fell to irritating all parties by his gratuitous interference. +</p> + +<p> +Especially was he officious in the concerns of Porpheero, a neighboring island, +very large and famous, whose numerous broad valleys were divided among many +rival kings:—the king of Franko, a small-framed, poodle-haired, fine, +fiery gallant; finical in his tatooing; much given to the dance and +glory;—the king of Ibeereea, a tall and stately cavalier, proud, +generous, punctilious, temperate in wine; one hand forever on his javelin, the +other, in superstitious homage, lifted to his gods; his limbs all over marks of +stakes and crosses;—the king of Luzianna; a slender, dark-browed thief; +at times wrapped in a moody robe, beneath which he fumbled something, as if it +were a dagger; but otherwise a sprightly troubadour, given to serenades and +moonlight;—-the many chiefs of sunny Latianna; minstrel monarchs, full of +song and sentiment; fiercer in love than war; glorious bards of freedom; but +rendering tribute while they sang;—the priest-king of Vatikanna; his +chest marked over with antique tatooings; his crown, a cowl; his rusted scepter +swaying over falling towers, and crumbling mounds; full of the superstitious +past; askance, eyeing the suspicious time to come;—the king of Hapzaboro; +portly, pleasant; a lover of wild boar’s meat; a frequent quaffer from +the can; in his better moods, much fancying solid comfort;—the +eight-and-thirty banded kings, chieftains, seigniors, and oligarchies of the +broad hill and dale of Tutoni; clubbing together their domains, that none might +wrest his neighbor’s; an earnest race; deep thinkers, deeper drinkers; +long pipes, long heads; their wise ones given to mystic cogitations, and +consultations with the devil;—the twin kings of Zandinavia; hardy, frugal +mountaineers; upright of spine and heart; clad in skins of bears;—the +king of Jutlanda; much like their Highnesses of Zandinavia; a seal-skin cap his +crown; a fearless sailor of his frigid seas;—the king of Muzkovi; a +shaggy, icicled White-bear of a despot in the north; said to reign over +millions of acres of glaciers; had vast provinces of snow-drifts, and many +flourishing colonies among the floating icebergs. Absolute in his rule as +Predestination in metaphysics, did he command all his people to give up the +ghost, it would be held treason to die last. Very precise and foppish in his +imperial tastes was this monarch. Disgusted with the want of uniformity in the +stature of his subjects, he was said to nourish thoughts of killing off all +those below his prescribed standard—six feet, long measure. Immortal +souls were of no account in his fatal wars; since, in some of his serf-breeding +estates, they were daily manufactured to order. +</p> + +<p> +Now, to all the above-mentioned monarchs, old Bello would frequently dispatch +heralds; announcing, for example, his unalterable resolution, to espouse the +cause of this king, against that; at the very time, perhaps, that their Serene +Superfluities, instead of crossing spears, were touching flagons. And upon +these occasions, the kings would often send back word to old Bello, that +instead of troubling himself with their concerns, he might far better attend to +his own; which, they hinted, were in a sad way, and much needed reform. +</p> + +<p> +The royal old warrior’s pretext for these and all similar proceedings, +was the proper adjustment in Porpheero, of what he facetiously styled the +“Equipoise of Calabashes;” which he stoutly swore was essential to +the security of the various tribes in that country. +</p> + +<p> +“But who put the balance into thy hands, King Bello?” cried the +indignant nations. +</p> + +<p> +“Oro!” shouted the hump-backed king, shaking his javelin. +</p> + +<p> +Superadded to the paternal interest which Bello betrayed in the concerns of the +kings of Porpheero, according to our chronicler, he also manifested no less +interest in those of the remotest islands. Indeed, where he found a rich +country, inhabited by a people, deemed by him barbarous and incapable of wise +legislation, he sometimes relieved them from their political anxieties, by +assuming the dictatorship over them. And if incensed at his conduct, they flew +to their spears, they were accounted rebels, and treated accordingly. But as +old Mohi very truly observed,—herein, Bello was not alone; for throughout +Mardi, all strong nations, as well as all strong men, loved to govern the weak. +And those who most taunted King Bello for his political rapacity, were open to +the very same charge. So with Vivenza, a distant island, at times very loud in +denunciations of Bello, as a great national brigand. Not yet wholly extinct in +Vivenza, were its aboriginal people, a race of wild Nimrods and hunters, who +year by year were driven further and further into remoteness, till as one of +their sad warriors said, after continual removes along the log, his race was on +the point of being remorselessly pushed off the end. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Bello was a great geographer, and land surveyor, and gauger of the seas. +Terraqueous Mardi, he was continually exploring in quest of strange empires. +Much he loved to take the altitude of lofty mountains, the depth of deep +rivers, the breadth of broad isles. Upon the highest pinnacles of commanding +capes and promontories, he loved to hoist his flag. He circled Mardi with his +watch-towers: and the distant voyager passing wild rocks in the remotest +waters, was startled by hearing the tattoo, or the reveille, beating from +hump-backed Bello’s omnipresent drum. Among Antartic glaciers, his shrill +bugle calls mingled with the scream of the gulls; and so impressed seemed +universal nature with the sense of his dominion, that the very clouds in heaven +never sailed over Dominora without rendering the tribute of a shower; whence +the air of Dominora was more moist than that of any other clime. +</p> + +<p> +In all his grand undertakings, King Bello was marvelously assisted by his +numerous fleets of war-canoes; his navy being the largest in Mardi. Hence his +logicians swore that the entire Lagoon was his; and that all prowling whales, +prowling keels, and prowling sharks were invaders. And with this fine conceit +to inspire them, his poets-laureat composed some glorious old saltwater odes, +enough to make your very soul sing to hear them. +</p> + +<p> +But though the rest of Mardi much delighted to list to such noble minstrelsy, +they agreed not with Bello’s poets in deeming the lagoon their old +monarch’s hereditary domain. +</p> + +<p> +Once upon a time, the paddlers of the hump-backed king, meeting upon the broad +lagoon certain canoes belonging to the before-mentioned island of Vivenza; +these paddlers seized upon several of their occupants; and feeling their +pulses, declared them born men of Dominora; and therefore, not free to go +whithersoever they would; for, unless they could somehow get themselves born +over again, they must forever remain subject to Bello. Shed your hair; nay, +your skin, if you will, but shed your allegiance you can not; while you have +bones, they are Bello’s. So, spite of all expostulations and attempts to +prove alibis, these luckless paddlers were dragged into the canoes of Dominora, +and commanded to paddle home their captors. +</p> + +<p> +Whereof hearing, the men of Vivenza were thrown into a great ferment; and after +a mighty pow-wow over their council fire, fitting out several double-keeled +canoes, they sallied out to sea, in quest of those, whom they styled the +wholesale corsairs of Dominora. +</p> + +<p> +But lucky perhaps it was, that at this juncture, in all parts of Mardi, the +fleets of the hump-backed king, were fighting, gunwale and gunwale, alongside +of numerous foes; else there had borne down upon the canoes of the men of +Vivenza so tremendous an armada, that the very swell under its thousand prows +might have flooded their scattered proas forever out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +As it was, Bello dispatched a few of his smaller craft to seek out, and +incidentally run down the enemy; and without returning home, straightway +proceed upon more important enterprises. +</p> + +<p> +But it so chanced, that Bello’s crafts, one by one meeting the foe, in +most cases found the canoes of Vivenza much larger than their own; and manned +by more men, with hearts bold as theirs; whence, in the ship-duels that ensued, +they were worsted; and the canoes of Vivenza, locking their yard-arms into +those of the vanquished, very courteously gallanted them into their coral +harbors. +</p> + +<p> +Solely imputing these victories to their superior intrepidity and skill, the +people of Vivenza were exceedingly boisterous in their triumph; raising such +obstreperous peans, that they gave themselves hoarse throats; insomuch, that +according to Mohi, some of the present generation are fain to speak through +their noses. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0042"></a> +CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +Dominora And Vivenza</h2> + +<p> +The three canoes still gliding on, some further particulars were narrated +concerning Dominora; and incidentally, of other isles. +</p> + +<p> +It seems that his love of wide dominion sometimes led the otherwise sagacious +Bello into the most extravagant actions. If the chance accumulation of soil and +drift-wood about any detached shelf of coral in the lagoon held forth the +remotest possibility of the eventual existence of an islet there, with all +haste he dispatched canoes to the spot, to take prospective possession of the +as yet nearly submarine territory; and if possible, eject the zoophytes. +</p> + +<p> +During an unusually low tide, here and there baring the outer reef of the +Archipelago, Bello caused his royal spear to be planted upon every place thus +exposed, in token of his supreme claim thereto. +</p> + +<p> +Another anecdote was this: that to Dominora there came a rumor, that in a +distant island dwelt a man with an uncommonly large nose; of most portentous +dimensions, indeed; by the soothsayers supposed to foreshadow some dreadful +calamity. But disregarding these superstitious conceits, Bello forthwith +dispatched an agent, to discover whether this huge promontory of a nose was +geographically available; if so, to secure the same, by bringing the proprietor +back. +</p> + +<p> +Now, by sapient old Mohi, it was esteemed a very happy thing for Mardi at +large, that the subjects whom Bello sent to populate his foreign acquisitions, +were but too apt to throw off their vassalage, so soon as they deemed +themselves able to cope with him. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, a fine country in the western part of Mardi, in this very manner, +became a sovereign—nay, a republican state. It was the nation to which +Mohi had previously alluded—Vivenza. But in the flush and pride of having +recently attained their national majority, the men of Vivenza were perhaps too +much inclined to carry a vauntful crest. And because intrenched in their +fastnesses, after much protracted fighting, they had eventually succeeded in +repelling the warriors dispatched by Bello to crush their insurrection, they +were unanimous in the opinion, that the hump-backed king had never before been +so signally chastised. Whereas, they had not so much vanquished Bello, as +defended their shores; even as a young lion will protect its den against +legions of unicorns, though, away from home, he might be torn to pieces. In +truth, Braid-Beard declared, that at the time of this war, Dominora couched ten +long spears for every short javelin Vivenza could dart; though the javelins +were stoutly hurled as the spears. +</p> + +<p> +But, superior in men and arms, why, at last, gave over King Bello the hope of +reducing those truculent men of Vivenza? One reason was, as Mohi said, that +many of his fighting men were abundantly occupied in other quarters of Mardi; +nor was he long in discovering that fight he never so valiantly, +Vivenza—not yet its inhabitants—was wholly unconquerable. Thought +Bello, Mountains are sturdy foes; fate hard to dam. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, the men of Vivenza were no dastards; not to lie, coming from lion-like +loins, they were a lion-loined race. Did not their bards pronounce them a fresh +start in the Mardian species; requiring a new world for their full development? +For be it known, that the great land of Kolumbo, no inconsiderable part of +which was embraced by Vivenza, was the last island discovered in the +Archipelago. +</p> + +<p> +In good round truth, and as if an impartialist from Arcturus spoke it, Vivenza +was a noble land. Like a young tropic tree she stood, laden down with +greenness, myriad blossoms, and the ripened fruit thick-hanging from one bough. +She was promising as the morning. +</p> + +<p> +Or Vivenza might be likened to St. John, feeding on locusts and wild honey, and +with prophetic voice, crying to the nations from the wilderness. Or, +child-like, standing among the old robed kings and emperors of the Archipelago, +Vivenza seemed a young Messiah, to whose discourse the bearded Rabbis bowed. +</p> + +<p> +So seemed Vivenza in its better aspect. Nevertheless, Vivenza was a braggadocio +in Mardi; the only brave one ever known. As an army of spurred and crested +roosters, her people chanticleered at the resplendent rising of their sun. For +shame, Vivenza! Whence thy undoubted valor? Did ye not bring it with ye from +the bold old shores of Dominora, where there is a fullness of it left? What +isle but Dominora could have supplied thee with that stiff spine of +thine?— That heart of boldest beat? Oh, Vivenza! know that true grandeur +is too big for a boast; and nations, as well as men, may be too clever to be +great. +</p> + +<p> +But what more of King Bello? Notwithstanding his territorial acquisitiveness, +and aversion to relinquishing stolen nations, he was yet a glorious old king; +rather choleric—a word and a blow—but of a right royal heart. Rail +at him as they might, at bottom, all the isles were proud of him. And almost in +spite of his rapacity, upon the whole, perhaps, they were the better for his +deeds. For if sometimes he did evil with no very virtuous intentions, he had +fifty, ways of accomplishing good with the best; and a thousand ways of doing +good without meaning it. According to an ancient oracle, the hump-backed +monarch was but one of the most conspicuous pieces on a board, where the gods +played for their own entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +But here it must not be omitted, that of late, King Bello had somewhat abated +his efforts to extend his dominions. Various causes were assigned. Some thought +it arose from the fact that already he found his territories too extensive for +one scepter to rule; that his more remote colonies largely contributed to his +tribulations, without correspondingly contributing to his revenues. Others +affirmed that his hump was getting too mighty for him to carry; others still, +that the nations were waving too strong for him. With prophetic solemnity, +head-shaking sages averred that he was growing older and older had passed his +grand climacteric; and though it was a hale old age with him, yet it was not +his lusty youth; that though he was daily getting rounder, and rounder in +girth, and more florid of face, that these, howbeit, were rather the symptoms +of a morbid obesity, than of a healthful robustness. These wise ones predicted +that very soon poor Bello would go off in an apoplexy. +</p> + +<p> +But in Vivenza there were certain blusterers, who often thus prated: “The +Hump-back’s hour is come; at last the old teamster will be gored by the +nations he’s yoked; his game is done,—let him show his hand and +throw up his scepter; he cumbers Mardi,—let him be cut down and burned; +he stands in the way of his betters,—let him sheer to one side; he has +shut up many eyes, and now himself grows blind; he hath committed horrible +atrocities during his long career, the old sinner! —now, let him quickly +say his prayers and be beheaded.” +</p> + +<p> +Howbeit, Bello lived on; enjoying his dinners, and taking his jorums as of +yore. Ah, I have yet a jolly long lease of life, thought he over his wine; and +like unto some obstinate old uncle, he persisted in flourishing, in spite of +the prognostications of the nephew nations, which at his demise, perhaps hoped +to fall heir to odd parts of his possessions: Three streaks of fat valleys to +one of lean mountains! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0043"></a> +CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +They Land At Dominora</h2> + +<p> +As erewhile recounted, not being on the best terms in Mardi with the King of +Dominora, Media saw fit to draw nigh unto his dominions in haughty state; he +(Media) being upon excellent terms with himself. Our sails were set, our +paddles paddling, streamers streaming, and Vee-Vee in the shark’s mouth, +clamorous with his conch. The din was soon heard; and sweeping into a fine +broad bay we beheld its margin seemingly pebbled in the distance with heads; so +populous the land. +</p> + +<p> +Winding through a noble valley, we presently came to Bello’s palace, +couchant and bristling in a grove. The upright canes composing its front +projected above the eaves in a long row of spear-heads fluttering with scarlet +pennons; while below, from the intervals of the canes, were slantingly thrust +three tiers of decorated lances. A warlike aspect! The entire structure looking +like the broadside of the Macedonian phalanx, advancing to the charge, helmeted +with a roof. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Bello,” said Media, “thou dwellest among thy quills like +the porcupine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel a prickly heat coming over me,” cried Mohi, “my lord +Media, let us enter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Babbalanja, “safer the center of peril, than the +circumference.” +</p> + +<p> +Passing under an arch, formed by two pikes crossed, we found ourselves targets +in prospective, for certain flingers of javelins, with poised weapons, +occupying the angles of the palace. +</p> + +<p> +Fronting us, stood a portly old warrior, spear in hand, hump on back, and fire +in eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it war?” he cried, pointing his pike, “or peace?” +reversing it. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon advancing, King Bello courteously welcomed us. +</p> + +<p> +He was an arsenal to behold: Upon his head the hereditary crown of +Dominora,—a helmet of the sea-porcupine’s hide, bristling all over +with spikes, in front displaying a river-horse’s horn, leveled to the +charge; thrust through his ears were barbed arrows; and from his dyed +shark-skin girdle, depended a kilt of strung javelins. +</p> + +<p> +The broad chest of Bello was the chart of Mardi. Tattooed in sea-blue were all +the groups and clusters of the Archipelago; and every time he breathed, rose +and fell the isles, as by a tide: Dominora full upon his heart. +</p> + +<p> +His sturdy thighs were his triumphal arch; whereon in numerous medallions, +crests, and shields, were blazoned all his victories by sea and land. +</p> + +<p> +His strong right arm was Dominora’s scroll of Fame, where all her heroes +saw their names recorded.—An endless roll! +</p> + +<p> +Our chronicler avouched, that on the sole of Bello’s dexter foot was +stamped the crest of Franko’s king, his hereditary foe. “Thus, +thus,” cried Bello, stamping, “thus I hourly crush him.” +</p> + +<p> +In stature, Bello was a mountaineer; but, as over some tall tower impends the +hill-side cliff, so Bello’s Athos hump hung over him. Could it be, as +many of his nobles held, that the old monarch’s hump was his sensorium +and source of strength; full of nerves, muscles, ganglions and tendons? Yet, +year by year it grew, ringed like the bole of his palms. The toils of war +increased it. But another skirmish with the isles, said the wiseacres of +Porpheero, and Bello’s mount will crush him. +</p> + +<p> +Against which calamity to guard, his medicos and Sangredos sought the +hump’s reduction. But down it would not come. Then by divers mystic +rites, his magi tried. Making a deep pit, many teeth they dropped therein. But +they could not fill it. Hence, they called it the Sinking Pit, for bottom it +had none. Nevertheless, the magi said, when this pit is filled, Bello’s +hump you’ll see no more. “Then, hurrah for the hump!” cried +the nobles, “for he will never hurl it off. Long life to the hump! By the +hump we will rally and die! Cheer up, King Bello! Stand up, old king!” +</p> + +<p> +But these were they, who when their sovereign went abroad, with that Athos on +his back, followed idly in its shade; while Bello leaned heavily upon his +people, staggering as they went. +</p> + +<p> +Ay, sorely did Bello’s goodly stature lean; but though many swore he soon +must fall; nevertheless, like Pisa’s Leaning Tower, he may long lean +over, yet never nod. +</p> + +<p> +Visiting Dominora in a friendly way, in good time, we found King Bello very +affable; in hospitality, almost exceeding portly Borabolla: October-plenty +reigned throughout his palace borders. +</p> + +<p> +Our first reception over, a sumptuous repast was served, at which much lively +talk was had. +</p> + +<p> +Of Taji, Bello sought to know, whether his solar Majesty had yet made a +province of the moon; whether the Astral hosts were of much account as +territories, or mere Motoos, as the little tufts of verdure are denominated, +here and there clinging to Mardi’s circle reef; whether the people in the +sun vilified, him (Bello) as they did in Mardi; and what they thought of an +event, so ominous to the liberties of the universe, as the addition to his navy +of three large canoes. +</p> + +<p> +Ere long, so fused in social love we grew, that Bello, filling high his can, +and clasping Media’s palm, drank everlasting amity with Odo. +</p> + +<p> +So over their red cups, the two kings forgot their differences, and concerning +the disputed islet nothing more was ever heard; especially, as it so turned +out, that while they were most hot about it, it had suddenly gone out of sight, +being of volcanic origin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0044"></a> +CHAPTER XLIV.<br/> +Through Dominora, They Wander After Yillah</h2> + +<p> +At last, withdrawing from the presence of King Bello, we went forth, still +intent on our search. +</p> + +<p> +Many brave sights we saw. Fair fields; the whole island a garden; green hedges +all round; neat lodges, thick as white mice in the landscape; old oak woods, +hale and hearty as ever; old temples buried in ivy; old shrines of old heroes, +deep buried in broad groves of bay trees; old rivers laden down with +heavy-freighted canoes; humped hills, like droves of camels, piled up with +harvests; every sign and token of a glorious abundance, every sign and token of +generations of renown. Rare sight! fine sight! none rarer, none finer in Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +But roving on through this ravishing region, we passed through a corn- field in +full beard, where a haggard old reaper laid down his hook, beseeching charity +for the sake of the gods.—“Bread, bread! or I die mid these +sheaves!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thrash out your grain, and want not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, masters, this grain is not mine; I plough, I sow, I reap, I bind, +I stack,—Lord Primo garners.” +</p> + +<p> +Rambling on, we came to a hamlet, hidden in a hollow; and beneath weeping +willows saw many mournful maidens seated on a bank; beside each, a wheel that +was broken. “Lo, we starve,” they cried, “our distaffs are +snapped; no more may we weave and spin!” +</p> + +<p> +Then forth issued from vaults clamorous crowds of men, hands tied to their +backs.—“Bread! Bread!” they cried. “The magician hath +turned us out from our glen, where we labored of yore in the days of the merry +Green Queen. He has pinioned us hip and arm that we starve. Like sheep we die +off with the rot.—Curse on the magician. A curse on his spell.” +</p> + +<p> +Bending our steps toward the glen, roaring down the rocks we descried a stream +from the mountains. But ere those waters gained the sea, vassal tribute they +rendered. Conducted through culverts and moats, they turned great wheels, +giving life to ten thousand fangs and fingers, whose gripe no power could +withstand, yet whose touch was soft as the velvet paw of a kitten. With brute +force, they heaved down great weights, then daintily wove and spun; like the +trunk of the elephant, which lays lifeless a river-horse, and counts the pulses +of a moth. On all sides, the place seemed alive with its spindles. Round and +round, round and round; throwing off wondrous births at every revolving; +ceaseless as the cycles that circle in heaven. Loud hummed the loom, flew the +shuttle like lightning, red roared the grim forge, rung anvil and sledge; yet +no mortal was seen. +</p> + +<p> +“What ho, magician! Come forth from thy cave!” +</p> + +<p> +But all deaf were the spindles, as the mutes, that mutely wait on the Sultan. +</p> + +<p> +“Since we are born, we will live!” so we read on a crimson banner, +flouting the crimson clouds, in the van of a riotous red-bonneted mob, racing +by us as we came from the glen. Many more followed: black, or +blood-stained:—. +</p> + +<p> +“Mardi is man’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“Down with landholders!” +</p> + +<p> +“Our turn now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Up rights! Down wrongs!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bread! Bread!” +</p> + +<p> +“Take the tide, ere it turns!” +</p> + +<p> +Waving their banners, and flourishing aloft clubs, hammers, and sickles, with +fierce yells the crowd ran on toward the palace of Bello. Foremost, and +inciting the rest by mad outcries and gestures, were six masks; “This +way! This way!” they cried,—“by the wood; by the dark +wood!” Whereupon all darted into the groves; when of a sudden, the masks +leaped forward, clearing a long covered trench, into which fell many of those +they led. But on raced the masks; and gaining Bello’s palace, and raising +the alarm, there sallied from thence a woodland of spears, which charged upon +the disordered ranks in the grove. A crash as of icicles against icebergs round +Zembla, and down went the hammers and sickles. The host fled, hotly pursued. +Meanwhile brave heralds from Bello advanced, and with chaplets crowned the six +masks.—“Welcome, heroes! worthy and valiant!” they cried. +“Thus our lord Bello rewards all those, who to do him a service, for hire +betray their kith and their kin.” +</p> + +<p> +Still pursuing our quest, wide we wandered through all the sun and shade of +Dominora; but nowhere was Yillah found. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0045"></a> +CHAPTER XLV.<br/> +They Behold King Bello’s State Canoe</h2> + +<p> +At last, bidding adieu to King Bello; and in the midst of the lowing of oxen, +breaking away from his many hospitalities, we departed for the beach. But ere +embarking, we paused to gaze at an object, which long fixed our attention. +</p> + +<p> +Now, as all bold cavaliers have ever delighted in special chargers, gayly +caparisoned, whereon upon grand occasions to sally forth upon the plains: even +so have maritime potentates ever prided themselves upon some holiday galley, +splendidly equipped, wherein to sail over the sea. +</p> + +<p> +When of old, glory-seeking Jason, attended by his promising young lieutenants, +Castor and Pollux, embarked on that hardy adventure to Colchis, the brave +planks of the good ship Argos he trod, its model a swan to behold. +</p> + +<p> +And when Trojan Aeneas wandered West, and discovered the pleasant land of +Latium, it was in the fine craft Bis Taurus that he sailed: its stern +gloriously emblazoned, its prow a leveled spear. +</p> + +<p> +And to the sound of sackbut and psaltery, gliding down the Nile, in the +pleasant shade of its pyramids to welcome mad Mark, Cleopatra was throned on +the cedar quarter-deck of a glorious gondola, silk and satin hung; its silver +plated oars, musical as flutes. So, too, Queen Bess was wont to disport on old +Thames. +</p> + +<p> +And tough Torf-Egill, the Danish Sea-king, reckoned in his stud, a slender +yacht; its masts young Zetland firs; its prow a seal, dog-like holding a +sword-fish blade. He called it the Grayhound, so swift was its keel; the +Sea-hawk, so blood-stained its beak. +</p> + +<p> +And groping down his palace stairs, the blind old Doge Dandolo, oft embarked in +his gilded barge, like the lord mayor setting forth in civic state from +Guildhall in his chariot. But from another sort of prow leaped Dandolo, when at +Constantinople, he foremost sprang ashore, and with a right arm ninety years +old, planted the standard of St. Mark full among the long chin-pennons of the +long-bearded Turks. +</p> + +<p> +And Kumbo Sama, Emperor of Japan, had a dragon-beaked junk, a floating +Juggernaut, wherein he burnt incense to the sea-gods. +</p> + +<p> +And Kannakoko, King of New Zealand; and the first Tahitian Pomaree; and the +Pelew potentate, each possessed long state canoes; sea-snakes, all; carved over +like Chinese card-cases, and manned with such scores of warriors, that dipping +their paddles in the sea, they made a commotion like shoals of herring. +</p> + +<p> +What wonder then, that Bello of the Hump, the old sea-king of Mardi, should +sport a brave ocean-chariot? +</p> + +<p> +In a broad arbor by the water-side, it was housed like Alp Arsian’s +war-horse, or the charger Caligula deified; upon its stern a wilderness of +sculpture:—shell-work, medal-lions, masques, griffins, gulls, ogres, +finned-lions, winged walruses; all manner of sea-cavalry, crusading centaurs, +crocodiles, and sharks; and mermen, and mermaids, and Neptune only knows all. +</p> + +<p> +And in this craft, Doge-like, yearly did King Bello stand up and wed with the +Lagoon. But the custom originated not in the manner of the Doge’s, which +was as follows; so, at least, saith Ghibelli, who tells all about it:— +</p> + +<p> +When, in a stout sea-fight, Ziani defeated Barbarossa’s son Otho, sending +his feluccas all flying, like frightened water-fowl from a lake, then did his +Holiness, the Pope, present unto him a ring; saying, “Take this, oh +Ziani, and with it, the sea for thy bride; and every year wed her again.” +</p> + +<p> +So the Doge’s tradition; thus Bello’s:— +</p> + +<p> +Ages ago, Dominora was circled by a reef, which expanding in proportion to the +extension of the isle’s naval dominion, in due time embraced the entire +lagoon; and this marriage ring zoned all the world. +</p> + +<p> +But if the sea was King Bello’s bride, an Adriatic Tartar he wedded; who, +in her mad gales of passions, often boxed about his canoes, and led his navies +a very boisterous life indeed. +</p> + +<p> +And hostile prognosticators opined, that ere long she would desert her old +lord, and marry again. Already, they held, she had made advances in the +direction of Vivenza. +</p> + +<p> +But truly, should she abandon old Bello, he would straight-way after her with +all his fleets; and never rest till his queen was regained. +</p> + +<p> +Now, old sea-king! look well to thy barge of state: for, peradventure, the +dry-rot may be eating into its keel; and the wood-worms exploring into its +spars. +</p> + +<p> +Without heedful tending, any craft will decay; yet, for ever may its first, +fine model be preserved, though its prow be renewed every spring, like the +horns of the deer, if, in repairing, plank be put for plank, rib for rib, in +exactest similitude. Even so, then, oh Bello! do thou with thy barge. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0046"></a> +CHAPTER XLVI.<br/> +Wherein Babbalanja Bows Thrice</h2> + +<p> +The next morning’s twilight found us once more afloat; and yielding to +that almost sullen feeling, but too apt to prevail with some mortals at that +hour, all but Media long remained silent. +</p> + +<p> +But now, a bright mustering is seen among the myriad white Tartar tents in the +Orient; like lines of spears defiling upon some upland plain, the sunbeams +thwart the sky. And see! amid the blaze of banners, and the pawings of ten +thousand thousand golden hoofs, day’s mounted Sultan, Xerxes-like, moves +on: the Dawn his standard, East and West his cymbals. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, morning life!” cried Yoomy, with a Persian air; “would +that all time were a sunrise, and all life a youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but these striplings whimper of youth,” said Mohi, caressing +his braids, “as if they wore this beard.” +</p> + +<p> +“But natural, old man,” said Babbalanja. “We Mardians never +seem young to ourselves; childhood is to youth what manhood is to +age:—something to be looked back upon, with sorrow that it is past. But +childhood reeks of no future, and knows no past; hence, its present passes in a +vapor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi, how’s your appetite this morning?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus, thus, ye gods,” sighed Yoomy, “is feeling ever +scouted. Yet, what might seem feeling in me, I can not express.” +</p> + +<p> +“A good commentary on old Bardianna, Yoomy,” said Babbalanja, +“who somewhere says, that no Mardian can out with his heart, for his +unyielding ribs are in the way. And indeed, pride, or something akin thereto, +often holds check on sentiment. My lord, there are those who like not to be +detected in the possession of a heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true, Babbalanja; and I suppose that pride was at the bottom of +your old Ponderer’s heartless, unsentimental, bald-pated style.” +</p> + +<p> +“Craving pardon, my lord is deceived. Bardianna was not at all proud; +though he had a queer way of showing the absence of pride. In his essay, +entitled,—“On the Tendency to curl in Upper Lips,” he thus +discourses. “We hear much of pride and its sinfulness in this Mardi +wherein we dwell: whereas, I glory in being brimmed with it;—my sort of +pride. In the presence of kings, lords, palm-trees, and all those who deem +themselves taller than myself, I stand stiff as a pike, and will abate not one +vertebra of my stature. But accounting no Mardian my superior, I account none +my inferior; hence, with the social, I am ever ready to be sociable.” +</p> + +<p> +“An agrarian!” said Media; “no doubt he would have made the +headsman the minister of equality.” +</p> + +<p> +“At bottom we are already equal, my honored lord,” said Babbalanja, +profoundly bowing—“One way we all come into Mardi, and one way we +withdraw. Wanting his yams a king will starve, quick as a clown; and smote on +the hip, saith old Bardianna, he will roar as loud as the next one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Roughly worded, that, Babbalanja.—Vee-Vee! my crown!—So; +now, Babbalanja, try if you can not polish Bardianna’s style in that last +saying you father upon him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, my ever honorable lord,” said Babbalanja, salaming. +“Thus we’ll word it, then: In their merely Mardian nature, the +sublimest demi-gods are subject to infirmities; for struck by some keen shaft, +even a king ofttimes dons his crown, fearful of future darts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!—well done, Babbalanja; but I bade you polish, not sharpen +the arrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“All one, my thrice honored lord;—to polish is not to blunt.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0047"></a> +CHAPTER XLVII.<br/> +Babbalanja Philosophizes, And My Lord Media Passes Round The Calabashes</h2> + +<p> +An interval of silence passed; when Media cried, “Out upon thee, Yoomy! +curtail that long face of thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can he, my lord,” said Mohi, “when he is thinking of +furlongs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fathoms you mean, Mohi; see you not he is musing over the gunwale? And +now, minstrel, a banana for thy thoughts. Come, tell me how you poets spend so +many hours in meditation.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, it is because, that when we think, we think so little of +ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much,” said Mohi, “for no sooner do I undertake +to be sociable with myself, than I am straightway forced to beat a +retreat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, old man,” said Babbalanja, “many of us Mardians are but +sorry hosts to ourselves. Some hearts are hermits.” +</p> + +<p> +“If not of yourself, then, Yoomy, of whom else do you think?” asked +Media. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I seldom think,” said Yoomy, “I but give ear to the +voices in my calm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Babbalanja speak?” said Media. “But no more of your +reveries;” and so saying Media gradually sunk into a reverie himself. +</p> + +<p> +The rest did likewise; and soon, with eyes enchanted, all reclined: gazing at +each other, witless of what we did. +</p> + +<p> +It was Media who broke the spell; calling for Vee-Vee our page, his calabashes +and cups, and nectarines for all. +</p> + +<p> +Eyeing his goblet, Media at length threw himself back, and said: +“Babbalanja, not ten minutes since, we were all absent-minded; now, how +would you like to step out of your body, in reality; and, as a spirit, haunt +some shadowy grove?” +</p> + +<p> +“But our lungs are not wholly superfluous, my lord,” said +Babbalanja, speaking loud. +</p> + +<p> +“No, nor our lips,” said Mohi, smacking his over his wine. +</p> + +<p> +“But could you really be disembodied here in Mardi, Babbalanja, how would +you fancy it?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Babbalanja, speaking through half of a nectarine, +“defer putting that question, I beseech, till after my appetite is +satisfied; for, trust me, no hungry mortal would forfeit his palate, to be +resolved into the impalpable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet pure spirits we must all become at last, Babbalanja,” said +Yoomy, “even the most ignoble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, so they say, Yoomy; but if all boors be the immortal sires of +endless dynasties of immortals, how little do our pious patricians bear in mind +their magnificent destiny, when hourly they scorn their companionship. And if +here in Mardi they can not abide an equality with plebeians, even at the altar; +how shall they endure them, side by side, throughout eternity? But since the +prophet Alma asserts, that Paradise is almost entirely made up of the poor and +despised, no wonder that many aristocrats of our isles pursue a career, which, +according to some theologies, must forever preserve the social distinctions so +sedulously maintained in Mardi. And though some say, that at death every thing +earthy is removed from the spirit, so that clowns and lords both stand on a +footing; yet, according to the popular legends, it has ever been observed of +the ghosts of boors when revisiting Mardi, that invariably they rise in their +smocks. And regarding our intellectual equality here, how unjust, my lord, that +after whole years of days end nights consecrated to the hard gaining of wisdom, +the wisest Mardian of us all should in the end find the whole sum of his +attainments, at one leap outstripped by the veriest dunce, suddenly inspired by +light divine. And though some hold, that all Mardian lore is vain, and that at +death all mysteries will be revealed; yet, none the less, do they toil and +ponder now. Thus, their tongues have one mind, and their understanding +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Mohi, “we have come to the lees; your pardon, +Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Vee-Vee, another calabash! Fill up, Mohi; wash down wine with +wine. Your cup, Babbalanja; any lees?” +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty, my lord; we philosophers come to the lees very soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Flood them over, then; but cease not discoursing; thanks be to the gods, +your mortal palates and tongues can both wag together; fill up, I say, +Babbalanja; you are no philosopher, if you stop at the tenth cup; endurance is +the test of philosophy all Mardi over; drink, I say, and make us wise by +precept and example.—Proceed, Yoomy, you look as if you had something to +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, my lord. Just now, Babbalanja, you flew from the subject;— +you spoke of boors; but has not the lowliest peasant an eye that can take in +the vast horizon at a sweep: mountains, vales, plains, and oceans? Is such a +being nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“But can that eye see itself, Yoomy?” said Babbalanja, winking. +“Taken out of its socket, will it see at all? Its connection with the +body imparts to it its virtue.” +</p> + +<p> +“He questions every thing,” cried Mohi. “Philosopher, have +you a head?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have,” said Babbalanja, feeling for it; “I am finished off +at the helm very much as other Mardians, Mohi.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, the first yea that ever came from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mohi,” said Media, “the discourse waxes heavy. I fear me +we have again come to the lees. Ho, Vee-Vee, a fresh calabash; and with it we +will change the subject. Now, Babbalanja, I have this cup to drink, and then a +question to propound. Ah, Mohi, rare old wine this; it smacks of the cork. But +attention, Philosopher. Supposing you had a wife—which, by the way, you +have not—would you deem it sensible in her to imagine you no more, +because you happened to stroll out of her sight?” +</p> + +<p> +“However that might be,” murmured Yoomy, “young Nina bewailed +herself a widow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord Media,” said Babbalanja, “During my absence, my wife +would have more reason to conclude that I was not living, than that I was. To +the former supposition, every thing tangible around her would tend; to the +latter, nothing but her own fond fancies. It is this imagination of ours, my +lord, that is at the bottom of these things. When I am in one place, there +exists no other. Yet am I but too apt to fancy the reverse. Nevertheless, when +I am in Odo, talk not to me of Ohonoo. To me it is not, except when I am there. +If it be, prove it. To prove it, you carry me thither but you only prove, that +to its substantive existence, as cognizant to me, my presence is indispensable. +I say that, to me, all Mardi exists by virtue of my sovereign pleasure; and +when I die, the universe will perish with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come you of a long-lived race,” said Mohi, “one free from +apoplexies? I have many little things to accomplish yet, and would not be left +in the lurch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heed him not, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Dip your beak again, +my eagle, and soar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us be eagles, then, indeed, my lord: eagle-like, let us look at this +red wine without blinking; let us grow solemn, not boisterous, with good +cheer.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, lifting his cup, “My lord, serenely do I pity all who are stirred +one jot from their centers by ever so much drinking of this fluid. Ply him hard +as you will, through the live-long polar night, a wise man can not be made +drunk. Though, toward sunrise, his body may reel, it will reel round its +center; and though he make many tacks in going home, he reaches it at last; +while scores of over-plied fools are foundering by the way. My lord, when wild +with much thought, ’tis to wine I fly, to sober me; its magic fumes +breathe over me like the Indian summer, which steeps all nature in repose. To +me, wine is no vulgar fire, no fosterer of base passions; my heart, ever open, +is opened still wider; and glorious visions are born in my brain; it is then +that I have all Mardi under my feet, and the constellations of the firmament in +my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Superb!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh, pooh!” said Mohi, “who does not see stars at such +times? I see the Great Bear now, and the little one, its cub; and Andromeda, +and Perseus’ chain-armor, and Cassiopea in her golden chair, and the +bright, scaly Dragon, and the glittering Lyre, and all the jewels in +Orion’s sword-hilt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” cried Media, “the study of astronomy is wonderfully +facilitated by wine. Fill up, old Ptolemy, and tell us should you discover a +new planet. Methinks this fluid needs stirring. Ho, Vee-Vee, my scepter! be we +sociable. But come, Babbalanja, my gold-headed aquila, return to your +theme;—the imagination, if you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, my lord, I was about to say, that the imagination is the +Voli-Donzini; or, to speak plainer, the unical, rudimental, and all- +comprehending abstracted essence of the infinite remoteness of things. Without +it, we were grass-hoppers.” +</p> + +<p> +“And with it, you mortals are little else; do you not chirp all over, +Mohi? By my demi-god soul, were I not what I am, this wine would almost get the +better of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without it—” continued Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Without what?” demanded Media, starting to his feet. “This +wine? Traitor, I’ll stand by this to the last gasp, you are inebriated, +Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so, my lord; but I was treating of the imagination, may it +please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” added Mohi, “of the unical, and rudimental +fundament of things, you remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! there’s none of them sober; proceed, proceed, +Azzageddi!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord waves his hand like a banner,” murmured Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Without imagination, I say, an armless man, born, blind, could not be +made to believe, that he had a head of hair, since he could neither see it, nor +feel it, nor has hair any feeling of itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks though,” said Mohi, “if the cripple had a Tartar +for a wife, he would not remain skeptical long.” +</p> + +<p> +“You all fly off at tangents,” cried Media, “but no wonder: +your mortal brains can not endure much quaffing. Return to your subject, +Babbalanja. Assume now, Babbalanja,—assume, my dear prince—assume +it, assume it, I say!—Why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am willing to assume any thing you please, my lord: what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! yes!—Assume that—that upon returning home, you should +find your wife had newly wedded, under the—the—the metaphysical +presumption, that being no longer visible, you—<i>you</i> Azzageddi, had +departed this life; in other words, out of sight, out of mind; what then, my +dear prince?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why then, my lord, I would demolish my rival in a trice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you?—then—then so much for your metaphysics, +Bab—Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +Babbalanja rose to his feet, muttering to himself—“Is this assumed, +or real?—Can a demi-god be mastered by wine? Yet, the old mythologies +make bacchanals of the gods. But he was wondrous keen! He felled me, ere he +fell himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yoomy, my lord Media is in a very merry mood to-day,” whispered +Mohi, “but his counterfeit was not well done. No, no, a bacchanal is not +used to be so logical in his cups.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0048"></a> +CHAPTER XLVIII.<br/> +They Sail Round An Island Without Landing; And Talk Round A Subject Without +Getting At It</h2> + +<p> +Purposing a visit to Kaleedoni, a country integrally united to Dominora, our +course now lay northward along the western white cliffs of the isle. But +finding the wind ahead, and the current too strong for our paddlers, we were +fain to forego our destination; Babbalanja observing, that since in Dominora we +had not found Yillah, then in Kaleedoni the maiden could not be lurking. +</p> + +<p> +And now, some conversation ensued concerning the country we were prevented from +visiting. Our chronicler narrated many fine things of its people; extolling +their bravery in war, their amiability in peace, their devotion in religion, +their penetration in philosophy, their simplicity and sweetness in song, their +loving-kindness and frugality in all things domestic:—running over a long +catalogue of heroes, meta-physicians, bards, and good men. +</p> + +<p> +But as all virtues are convertible into vices, so in some cases did the best +traits of these people degenerate. Their frugality too often became parsimony; +their devotion grim bigotry; and all this in a greater degree perhaps than +could be predicated of the more immediate subjects of King Bello. +</p> + +<p> +In Kaleedoni was much to awaken the fervor of its bards. Upland and lowland +were full of the picturesque; and many unsung lyrics yet lurked in her glens. +Among her blue, heathy hills, lingered many tribes, who in their wild and +tattooed attire, still preserved the garb of the mightiest nation of old times. +They bared the knee, in token that it was honorable as the face, since it had +never been bent. +</p> + +<p> +While Braid-Beard was recounting these things, the currents were sweeping us +over a strait, toward a deep green island, bewitching to behold. +</p> + +<p> +Not greener that midmost terrace of the Andes, which under a torrid meridian +steeps fair Quito in the dews of a perpetual spring;—not greener the nine +thousand feet of Pirohitee’s tall peak, which, rising from out the warm +bosom of Tahiti, carries all summer with it into the clouds;—nay, not +greener the famed gardens of Cyrus,—than the vernal lawn, the knoll, the +dale of beautiful Verdanna. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, sweet isle! Thy desolation is overrun with vines,” sighed +Yoomy, gazing. +</p> + +<p> +“Land of caitiff curs!” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Isle, whose future is in its past. Hearth-stone, from which its children +run,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“I can not read thy chronicles for blood, Verdanna,” murmured Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Gliding near, we would have landed, but the rolling surf forbade. Then thrice +we circumnavigated the isle for a smooth, clear beach; but it was not found. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile all still conversed. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Yoomy, “while we tarried with King Bello, I +heard much of the feud between Dominora and this unhappy shore. Yet is not +Verdanna as a child of King Bello’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, minstrel, a step-child,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“By way of enlarging his family circle,” said Babbalanja, “an +old lion once introduced a deserted young stag to his den; but the stag never +became domesticated, and would still charge upon his foster-brothers. +—Verdanna is not of the flesh and blood of Dominora, whence, in good +part, these dissensions.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Babbalanja, is there no way of reconciling these foes?” +</p> + +<p> +“But one way, Yoomy:—By filling up this strait with dry land; for, +divided by water, we Mardians must ever remain more or less divided at heart. +Though Kaleedoni was united to Dominora long previous to the union of Verdanna, +yet Kaleedoni occasions Bello no disquiet; for, geographically one, the two +populations insensibly blend at the point of junction. No hostile strait flows +between the arms, that to embrace must touch.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Babbalanja,” said Yoomy, “what asks Verdanna of +Dominora, that Verdanna so clamors at the denial?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are arrant cannibals, Yoomy,” said Media, “and desire +the privilege of eating each other up.” +</p> + +<p> +“King Bello’s idea,” said Babbalanja; “but, in these +things, my lord, you demi-gods are ever unanimous. But, whatever be +Verdanna’s demands, Bello persists in rejecting them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not grant every thing she asks, even to renouncing all claim upon +the isle,” said Mohi; “for thus, Bello would rid himself of many +perplexities.” +</p> + +<p> +“And think you, old man,” said Media, “that, bane or +blessing, Bello will yield his birthright? Will a tri-crowned king resign his +triple diadem? And even did Bello what you propose he would only breed still +greater perplexities. For if granted, full soon would Verdanna be glad to +surrender many things she demands. And all she now asks, she has had in times +past; but without turning it to advantage:—and is she wiser now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Does she not demand her harvests, my lord?” said Yoomy, “and +has not the reaper a right to his sheaf?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cant! cant! Yoomy. If you reap for me, the sheaf is mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if the reaper reaps on his own harvest-field, whose then the sheaf, +my lord?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“His for whom he reaps—his lord’s!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let the reaper go with sickle and with sword,” said Yoomy, +“with one hand, cut down the bearded grain; and with the other, smite his +bearded lords.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou growest fierce, in thy lyric moods, my warlike dove,” said +‘Media, blandly. “But for thee, philosopher, know thou, that +Verdanna’s men are of blood and brain inferior to Bello’s native +race; and the better Mardian must ever rule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Verdanna inferior to Dominora, my lord!—Has she produced no bards, +no orators, no wits, no patriots? Mohi, unroll thy chronicles! Tell me, if +Verdanna may not claim full many a star along King Bello’s tattooed arm +of Fame? +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said Mohi. “Many chapters bear you out.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my lord,” said Babbalanja, “as truth, omnipresent, lurks +in all things, even in lies: so, does some germ of it lurk in the calumnies +heaped on the people of this land. For though they justly boast of many +lustrous names, these jewels gem no splendid robe. And though like a bower of +grapes, Verdanna is full of gushing juices, spouting out in bright sallies of +wit, yet not all her grapes make wine; and here and there, hang goodly clusters +mildewed; or half devoured by worms, bred in their own tendrils.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drop, drop your grapes and metaphors!” cried Media. “Bring +forth your thoughts like men; let them come naked into Mardi.—What do you +mean, Babbalanja?” +</p> + +<p> +“This, my lord, Verdanna’s worst evils are her own, not of +another’s giving. Her own hand is her own undoer. She stabs herself with +bigotry, superstition, divided councils, domestic feuds, ignorance, temerity; +she wills, but does not; her East is one black storm-cloud, that never bursts; +her utmost fight is a defiance; she showers reproaches, where she should rain +down blows. She stands a mastiff baying at the moon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tropes on tropes!” said. Media. “Let me tell the +tale,—straight- forward like a line. Verdanna is a lunatic—” +</p> + +<p> +“A trope! my lord,” cried Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“My tropes are not tropes,” said Media, “but yours +are.—Verdanna is a lunatic, that after vainly striving to cut +another’s throat, grimaces before a standing pool and threatens to cut +his own. And is such a madman to be intrusted with himself? No; let another +govern him, who is ungovernable to himself Ay, and tight hold the rein; and +curb, and rasp the bit. Do I exaggerate?—Mohi, tell me, if, save one +lucid interval, Verdanna, while independent of Dominora, ever discreetly +conducted her affairs? Was she not always full of fights and factions? And what +first brought her under the sway of Bello’s scepter? Did not her own +Chief Dermoddi fly to Bello’s ancestor for protection against his own +seditious subjects? And thereby did not her own king unking himself? What +wonder, then, and where the wrong, if Henro, Bello’s conquering sire, +seized the diadem?” +</p> + +<p> +“What my lord cites is true,” said Mohi, “but cite no more, I +pray; lest, you harm your cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet for all this, Babbalanja,” said Media, “Bello but holds +lunatic Verdanna’s lands in trust.” +</p> + +<p> +“And may the guardian of an estate also hold custody of the ward, my +lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, if he can. What <i>can</i> be done, may be: that’s the Greed +of demi- gods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, alas!” cried Yoomy, “why war with words over this +poor, suffering land. See! for all her bloom, her people starve; perish her +yams, ere taken from the soil; the blight of heaven seems upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” said Media. “Heaven sends no blights. Verdanna will +not learn. And if from one season’s rottenss, rottenness they sow again, +rottenness must they reap. But Yoomy, you seem earnest in this +matter;—come: on all hands it is granted that evils exist in Verdanna; +now sweet Sympathizer, what must the royal Bello do to mend them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no sage,” said Yoomy, “what would my lord Media +do?” +</p> + +<p> +“What would <i>you</i> do, Babbalanja,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi, what you?” asked the philosopher. +</p> + +<p> +“And what would the company do?” added Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, though these evils pose us all,” said Babbalanja, +“there lately died in Verdanna, one, who set about curing them in a +humane and peaceable way, waving war and bloodshed. That man was Konno. Under a +huge caldron, he kept a roaring fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Azzageddi, how could that answer his purpose?” asked Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing better, my lord. His fire boiled his bread-fruit; and so +convinced were his countrymen, that he was well employed, that they almost +stripped their scanty orchards to fill his caldron.” +</p> + +<p> +“Konno was a knave,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Your pardon, old man, but that is only known to his ghost, not to us. At +any rate he was a great man; for even assuming he cajoled his country, no +common man could have done it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja,” said Mohi, “my lord has been pleased to +pronounce Verdanna crazy; now, may not her craziness arise from the irritating, +tantalizing practices of Dominora?” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless, Braid-Beard, many of the extravagances of Verdanna, are in +good part to be ascribed to the cause you mention; but, to be impartial, none +the less does Verdanna essay to taunt and provoke Dominora; yet not with the +like result. Perceive you, Braid-Beard, that the trade-wind blows dead across +this strait from Dominora, and not from Verdanna? Hence, when King +Bello’s men fling gibes and insults, every missile hits; but those of +Verdanna are blown back in its teeth: her enemies jeering her again and +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“King Bello’s men are dastards for that,” cried Yoomy. +“It shows neither sense, nor spirit, nor humanity,” said +Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“All wide of the mark,” cried Media. “What is to be done for +Verdanna?” +</p> + +<p> +“What will she do for herself?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher, you are an extraordinary sage; and since sages should be +seers, reveal Verdanna’s future.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, you will ever find true prophets, prudent; nor will any prophet +risk his reputation upon predicting aught concerning this land. The isles are +Oro’s. Nevertheless, he who doctors Verdanna aright, will first medicine +King Bello; who in some things is, himself a patient, though he would fain be a +physician. However, my lord, there is a demon of a doctor in Mardi, who at last +deals with these desperate cases. He employs only pills, picked off the +Conroupta Quiancensis tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what sort of a vegetable is that?” asked Mohi. “Consult +the botanists,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0049"></a> +CHAPTER XLIX.<br/> +They Draw Nigh To Porpheero; Where They Behold A Terrific Eruption</h2> + +<p> +Gliding away from Verdanna at the turn of the tide, we cleared the strait, and +gaining the more open lagoon, pointed our prows for Porpheero, from whose +magnificent monarchs my lord Media promised himself a glorious reception. +</p> + +<p> +“They are one and all demi-gods,” he cried, “and have the old +demi-god feeling. We have seen no great valleys like theirs:—their +scepters are long as our spears; to their sumptuous palaces, Donjalolo’s +are but inns:—their banquetting halls are as vistas; no generations run +parallel to theirs:—their pedigrees reach back into chaos. +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja! here you will find food for philosophy:—the whole land +checkered with nations, side by side contrasting in costume, manners, and mind. +Here you will find science and sages; manuscripts in miles; bards singing in +choirs. +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi! here you will flag over your page; in Porpheero the ages have +hived all their treasures: like a pyramid, the past shadows over the land. +</p> + +<p> +“Yoomy! here you will find stuff for your songs:—blue rivers +flowing through forest arches, and vineyards; velvet meads, soft as ottomans: +bright maidens braiding the golden locks of the harvest; and a background of +mountains, that seem the end of the world. Or if nature will not content you, +then turn to the landscapes of art. See! mosaic walls, tattooed like our faces; +paintings, vast as horizons; and into which, you feel you could rush: See! +statues to which you could off turban; cities of columns standing thick as +mankind; and firmanent domes forever shedding their sunsets of gilding: See! +spire behind spire, as if the land were the ocean, and all Bello’s great +navy were riding at anchor. +</p> + +<p> +“Noble Taji! you seek for your Yillah;—give over despair! +Porpheero’s such a scene of enchantment, that there, the lost maiden must +lurk.” +</p> + +<p> +“A glorious picture!” cried Babbalanja, but turn the medal, my +lord;— what says the reverse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cynic! have done.—But bravo! we’ll ere long be in Franko, +the goodliest vale of them all; how I long to take her old king by the +hand!” +</p> + +<p> +The sun was now setting behind us, lighting up the white cliffs of Dominora, +and the green capes of Verdanna; while in deep shade lay before us the long +winding shores of Porpheero. +</p> + +<p> +It was a sunset serene. +</p> + +<p> +“How the winds lowly warble in the dying day’s ear,” murmured +Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“A mild, bright night, we’ll have,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“See you not those clouds over Franko, my lord,” said Mohi, shaking +his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, aged and weather-wise as ever, sir chronicler;—I predict a +fair night, and many to follow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Patience needs no prophet,” said Babbalanja. “The night, is +at hand.” +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto the lagoon had been smooth: but anon, it grew black, and stirred; and +out of the thick darkness came clamorous sounds. Soon, there shot into the air +a vivid meteor, which bursting at the zenith, radiated down the firmament in +fiery showers, leaving treble darkness behind. +</p> + +<p> +Then as all held their breath, from Franko there spouted an eruption, which +seemed to plant all Mardi in the foreground. +</p> + +<p> +As when Vesuvius lights her torch, and in the blaze, the storm-swept surges in +Naples’ bay rear and plunge toward it; so now, showed Franko’s +multitudes, as they stormed the summit where their monarch’s palace +blazed, fast by the burning mountain. +</p> + +<p> +“By my eternal throne!” cried Media, starting, “the old +volcano has burst forth again!” +</p> + +<p> +“But a new vent, my lord,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“More fierce this, than the eruption which happened in my youth,” +said Mohi—“methinks that Franko’s end has come.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look pale, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “while all other +faces glow;—Yoomy, doff that halo in the presence of a king.” +</p> + +<p> +Over the waters came a rumbling sound, mixed with the din of warfare, and +thwarted by showers of embers that fell not, for the whirling blasts. +</p> + +<p> +“Off shore! off shore!” cried Media; and with all haste we gained a +place of safety. +</p> + +<p> +Down the valley now poured Rhines and Rhones of lava, a fire-freshet, flooding +the forests from their fastnesses, and leaping with them into the seething sea. +</p> + +<p> +The shore was lined with multitudes pushing off wildly in canoes. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, the fiery storm from Franko, kindled new flames in the distant +valleys of Porpheero; while driven over from Verdanna came frantic shouts, and +direful jubilees. Upon Dominora a baleful glare was resting. +</p> + +<p> +“Thrice cursed flames!” cried Media. “Is Mardi to be one +conflagration? How it crackles, forks, and roars!—Is this our funeral +pyre?” +</p> + +<p> +“Recline, recline, my lord,” said Babbalanja. “Fierce flames +are ever brief—a song, sweet Yoomy! Your pipe, old Mohi! Greater fires +than this have ere now blazed in Mardi. Let us be calm;—the isles were +made to burn;—Braid-Beard! hereafter, in some quiet cell, of this whole +scene you will but make one chapter;—come, digest it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“My face is scorched,” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“The last, last day!” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, old man,” said Babbalanja, “when that day dawns, +’twill dawn serene. Be calm, be calm, my potent lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Talk not of calm brows in storm-time!” cried Media fiercely. +“See! how the flames blow over upon Dominora!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet the fires they kindle there are soon extinguished,” said +Babbalanja. “No, no; Dominora ne’er can burn with Franko’s +fires; only those of her own kindling may consume her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away! Away!” cried Media. “We may not touch Porpheero +now.—Up sails! and westward be our course.” +</p> + +<p> +So dead before the blast, we scudded. +</p> + +<p> +Morning broke, showing no sign of land. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard must it go with Franko’s king,” said Media, “when +his people rise against him with the red volcanoes. Oh, for a foot to crush +them! Hard, too, with all who rule in broad Porpheero. And may she we seek, +survive this conflagration!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Babbalanja, “where’ere she hide, +ne’er yet did Yillah lurk in this Porpheero; nor have we missed the +maiden, noble Taji! in not touching at its shores.” +</p> + +<p> +“This fire must make a desert of the land,” said Mohi; “burn +up and bury all her tilth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, Mohi, vineyards flourish over buried villages,” murmured +Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“True, minstrel,” said Babbalanja, “and prairies are purified +by fire. Ashes breed loam. Nor can any skill make the same surface forever +fruitful. In all times past, things have been overlaid; and though the first +fruits of the marl are wild and poisonous, the palms at last spring forth; and +once again the tribes repose in shade. My lord, if calms breed storms, so +storms calms; and all this dire commotion must eventuate in peace. It may be, +that Perpheero’s future has been cheaply won.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0050"></a> +CHAPTER L.<br/> +Wherein King Media Celebrates The Glories Of Autumn, The Minstrel, The Promise +Of Spring</h2> + +<p> +“Ho, now!” cried Media, “across the wide waters, for that New +Mardi, Vivenza! Let us indeed see, whether she who eludes us elsewhere, he at +last found in Vivenza’s vales.” +</p> + +<p> +“There or nowhere, noble Taji,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Be not too sanguine, gentle Yoomy,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Does Yillah choose rather to bower in the wild wilderness of Vivenza, +than in the old vineyards of Porpheero?” said Braid-Beard. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sang Yoomy:—<br/> +Her bower is not of the vine,<br/> +But the wild, wild eglantine!<br/> +Not climbing a moldering arch,<br/> +But upheld by the fir-green larch.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Old ruins she flies:<br/> +Â Â Â Â To new valleys she hies:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Not the hoar, moss-wood,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Ivied trees each a rood—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Not in Maramma she dwells,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Hollow with hermit cells.<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ’Tis a new, new isle!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â An infant’s its smile,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Soft-rocked by the sea.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Its bloom all in bud;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â No tide at its flood,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â In that fresh-born sea!<br/> +<br/> +Spring! Spring! where she dwells,<br/> +In her sycamore dells,<br/> +Where Mardi is young and new:<br/> +Its verdure all eyes with dew.<br/> +<br/> +There, there! in the bright, balmy morns,<br/> +The young deer sprout their horns,<br/> +Deep-tangled in new-branching groves,<br/> +Where the Red-Rover Robin roves,—<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Stooping his crest,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â To his molting breast—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Rekindling the flambeau there!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Spring! Spring! where she dwells,<br/> +Â Â Â Â In her sycamore dells:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Where, fulfilling their fates,<br/> +Â Â Â Â All creatures seek mates—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â The thrush, the doe, and the hare! +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art most musical, sweet Yoomy,” said Media. “concerning +this spring-land Vivenza. But are not the old autumnal valleys of Porpheero +more glorious than those of vernal Vivenza? Vivenza shows no trophies of the +summer time, but Dominora’s full-blown rose hangs blushing on her garden +walls; her autumn groves are glory-dyed.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, autumn soon merges in winter, but the spring has all the +seasons before. The full-blown rose is nearer withering than the bud. The faint +morn is a blossom: the crimson sunset the flower.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0051"></a> +CHAPTER LI.<br/> +In Which Azzageddi Seems To Use Babbalanja For A Mouth-Piece</h2> + +<p> +Porpheero far astern, the spirits of the company rose. Once again, old Mohi +serenely unbraided, and rebraided his beard; and sitting Turk-wise on his mat, +my lord Media smoking his gonfalon, diverted himself with the wild songs of +Yoomy, the wild chronicles of Mohi, or the still wilder speculations of +Babbalanja; now and then, as from pitcher to pitcher, pouring royal old wine +down his soul. +</p> + +<p> +Among other things, Media, who at times turned over Babbalanja for an +encyclopaedia, however unreliable, demanded information upon the subject of +neap tides and their alleged slavish vassalage to the moon. +</p> + +<p> +When true to his cyclopaediatic nature, Babbalanja quoted from a still older +and better authority than himself; in brief, from no other than eternal +Bardianna. It seems that that worthy essayist had discussed the whole matter in +a chapter thus headed: “On Seeing into Mysteries through +Mill-Stones;“ and throughout his disquisitions he evinced such a +profundity of research, though delivered in a style somewhat equivocal, that +the company were much struck by the erudition displayed. +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja, that Bardianna of yours must have been a wonderful +student,” said Media after a pause, “no doubt he consumed whole +thickets of rush-lights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, my lord.—‘Patience, patience, philosophers,’ +said Bardianna; ‘blow out your tapers, bolt not your dinners, take time, +wisdom will be plenty soon.’” +</p> + +<p> +“A notable hint! Why not follow it, Babbalanja?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, my lord, I have overtaken it, and passed on.” +</p> + +<p> +“True to your nature, Babbalanja; you stay nowhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, keep moving is my motto; but speaking of hard students, did my lord +ever hear of Midni the ontologist and entomologist?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, my lord, you shall hear of him now. Midni was of opinion that +day-light was vulgar; good enough for taro-planting and traveling; but wholly +unadapted to the sublime ends of study. He toiled by night; from sunset to +sunrise poring over the works of the old logicans. Like most philosophers, +Midni was an amiable man; but one thing invariably put him out. He read in the +woods by glow-worm light; insect in hand, tracing over his pages, line by line. +But glow-worms burn not long: and in the midst of some calm intricate thought, +at some imminent comma, the insect often expired, and Midni groped for a +meaning. Upon such an occasion, ‘Ho, Ho,’ he cried; ‘but for +one instant of sun-light to see my way to a period!’ But sun-light there +was none; so Midni sprang to his feet, and parchment under arm, raced about +among the sloughs and bogs for another glow-worm. Often, making a rapid descent +with his turban, he thought he had caged a prize; but nay. Again he tried; yet +with no better succcess. Nevertheless, at last he secured one; but hardly had +he read three lines by its light, when out it went. Again and again this +occurred. And thus he forever went halting and stumbling through his studies, +and plunging through his quagmires after a glim.” +</p> + +<p> +At this ridiculous tale, one of our silliest paddlers burst into uncontrollable +mirth. Offended at which breach of decorum, Media sharply rebuked him. +</p> + +<p> +But he protested he could not help laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Again Media was about to reprimand him, when Babbalanja begged leave to +interfere. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, he is not to blame. Mark how earnestly he struggles to suppress +his mirth; but he can not. It has often been the same with myself. And many a +time have I not only vainly sought to check my laughter, but at some recitals I +have both laughed and cried. But can opposite emotions be simultaneous in one +being? No. I wanted to weep; but my body wanted to smile, and between us we +almost choked. My lord Media, this man’s body laughs; not the man +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But his body is his own, Babbalanja; and he should have it under better +control.” +</p> + +<p> +“The common error, my lord. Our souls belong to our bodies, not our +bodies to our souls. For which has the care of the other? which keeps house? +which looks after the replenishing of the aorta and auricles, and stores away +the secretions? Which toils and ticks while the other sleeps? Which is ever +giving timely hints, and elderly warnings? Which is the most +authoritative?—Our bodies, surely. At a hint, you must move; at a notice +to quit, you depart. Simpletons show us, that a body can get along almost +without a soul; but of a soul getting along without a body, we have no tangible +and indisputable proof. My lord, the wisest of us breathe involuntarily. And +how many millions there are who live from day to day by the incessant operation +of subtle processes in them, of which they know nothing, and care less? Little +ween they, of vessels lacteal and lymphatic, of arteries femoral and temporal; +of pericranium or pericardium; lymph, chyle, fibrin, albumen, iron in the +blood, and pudding in the head; they live by the charity of their bodies, to +which they are but butlers. I say, my lord, our bodies are our betters. A soul +so simple, that it prefers evil to good, is lodged in a frame, whose minutest +action is full of unsearchable wisdom. Knowing this superiority of theirs, our +bodies are inclined to be willful: our beards grow in spite of us; and as every +one knows, they sometimes grow on dead men.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mortals are alive, then, when you are dead, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lord; but our beards survive us.” +</p> + +<p> +“An ingenious distinction; go on, philosopher.” +</p> + +<p> +“Without bodies, my lord, we Mardians would be minus our strongest +motive-passions, those which, in some way or other, root under our every +action. Hence, without bodies, we must be something else than we essentially +are. Wherefore, that saying imputed to Alma, and which, by his very followers, +is deemed the most hard to believe of all his instructions, and the most at +variance with all preconceived notions of immortality, I Babbalanja, account +the most reasonable of his doctrinal teachings. It is this;—that at the +last day, every man shall rise in the flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, Babbalanja, talk not of resurrections to a demi-god.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let me rehearse a story, my lord. You will find it in the +‘Very Merry Marvelings’ of the Improvisitor Quiddi; and a quaint +book it is. Fugle-fi is its finis:—fugle-fi, fugle-fo, +fugle-fogle-orum!” +</p> + +<p> +“That wild look in his eye again,” murmured Yoomy. “Proceed, +Azzageddi,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“The philosopher Grando had a sovereign contempt for his carcass. Often +he picked a quarrel with it; and always was flying out in its disparagement. +‘Out upon you, you beggarly body! you clog, drug, drag! You keep me from +flying; I could get along better without you. Out upon you, I say, you vile +pantry, cellar, sink, sewer; abominable body! what vile thing are you not? And +think you, beggar! to have the upper hand of me? Make a leg to that man if you +dare, without my permission. This smell is intolerable; but turn from it, if +you can, unless I give the word. Bolt this yam!—it is done. Carry me +across yon field!—off we go. Stop!—it’s a dead halt. There, +I’ve trained you enough for to-day; now, sirrah, crouch down in the +shade, and be quiet.—I’m rested. So, here’s for a stroll, and +a reverie homeward:— Up, carcass, and march.’ So the carcass +demurely rose and paced, and the philosopher meditated. He was intent upon +squaring the circle; but bump he came against a bough. ‘How now, +clodhopping bumpkin! you would take advantage of my reveries, would you? But +I’ll be even with you;’ and seizing a cudgel, he laid across his +shoulders with right good will. But one of his backhanded thwacks injured his +spinal cord; the philosopher dropped; but presently came to. ‘Adzooks! +I’ll bend or break you! Up, up, and I’ll run you home for +this.’ But wonderful to tell, his legs refused to budge; all sensation +had left them. But a huge wasp happening to sting his foot, not him, for he +felt it not, the leg incontinently sprang into the air, and of itself, cut all +manner of capers. Be still! Down with you!’ But the leg refused. +‘My arms are still loyal,’ thought Grando; and with them he at last +managed to confine his refractory member. But all commands, volitions, and +persuasions, were as naught to induce his limbs to carry him home. It was a +solitary place; and five days after, Grando the philosopher was found dead +under a tree.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” laughed Media, “Azzageddi is full as merry as +ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my lord,” continued Babbalanja, “some creatures have +still more perverse bodies than Grando’s. In the fables of Ridendiabola, +this is to be found. ‘A fresh-water Polyp, despising its marine +existence; longed to live upon air. But all it could do, its tentacles or arms +still continued to cram its stomach. By a sudden preternatural impulse, +however, the Polyp at last turned itself inside out; supposing that after such +a proceeding it would have no gastronomic interior. But its body proved +ventricle outside as well as in. Again its arms went to work; food was tossed +in, and digestion continued.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the literal part of that a fact?” asked Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“True as truth,” said Babbalanja; “the Polyp will live turned +inside out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhat curious, certainly,” said Media.—“But +me-thinks, Babbalanja, that somewhere I have heard something about organic +functions, so called; which may account for the phenomena you mention; and I +have heard too, me-thinks, of what are called reflex actions of the nerves, +which, duly considered, might deprive of its strangeness that story of yours +concerning Grande and his body.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mere substitutions of sounds for inexplicable meanings, my lord. In some +things science cajoles us. Now, what is undeniable of the Polyp some +physiologists analogically maintain with regard to us Mardians; that forasmuch, +as the lining of our interiors is nothing more than a continuation of the +epidermis, or scarf-skin, therefore, that in a remote age, we too must have +been turned wrong side out: an hypothesis, which, indirectly might account for +our moral perversities: and also, for that otherwise nonsensical +term—‘the coat of the stomach;’ for originally it must have +been a surtout, instead of an inner garment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, Azzageddi,” said Media, “are you not a fool?” +</p> + +<p> +“One of a jolly company, my lord; but some creatures besides wearing +their surtouts within, sport their skeletons without: witness the lobster and +turtle, who alive, study their own anatomies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Azzageddi, you are a zany.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, my lord,” said Mohi, “I think him more of a lobster; +it’s hard telling his jaws from his claws.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Braid-Beard, I am a lobster, a mackerel, any thing you please; but +my ancestors were kangaroos, not monkeys, as old Boddo erroneously opined. My +idea is more susceptible of demonstration than his. Among the deepest +discovered land fossils, the relics of kangaroos are discernible, but no relics +of men. Hence, there were no giants in those days; but on the contrary, +kangaroos; and those kangaroos formed the first edition of mankind, since +revised and corrected.” +</p> + +<p> +“What has become of our finises, or tails, then?” asked Mohi, +wriggling in his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“The old question, Mohi. But where are the tails of the tadpoles, after +their gradual metamorphosis into frogs? Have frogs any tails, old man? Our +tails, Mohi, were worn off by the process of civilization; especially at the +period when our fathers began to adopt the sitting posture: the fundamental +evidence of all civilization, for neither apes, nor savages, can be said to +sit; invariably, they squat on their hams. Among barbarous tribes benches and +settles are unknown. But, my lord Media, as your liege and loving subject I can +not sufficiently deplore the deprivation of your royal tail. That stiff and +vertebrated member, as we find it in those rustic kinsmen we have disowned, +would have been useful as a supplement to your royal legs; and whereas my good +lord is now fain to totter on two stanchions, were he only a kangaroo, like the +monarchs of old, the majesty of Odo would be dignified, by standing firm on a +tripod.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very witty conceit! But have a care, Azzageddi; your theory applies +not to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja,” said Mohi, “you must be the last of the +kangaroos.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am, Mohi.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the old fashioned pouch or purse of your grandams?” hinted +Media. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I take it, that must have been transferred; nowadays our sex +carries the purse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, why this mirth? Let us be serious. Although man is no longer a +kangaroo, he may be said to be an inferior species of plant. Plants proper are +perhaps insensible of the circulation of their sap: we mortals are physically +unconscious of the circulation of the blood; and for many ages were not even +aware of the fact. Plants know nothing of their interiors:—three score +years and ten we trundle about ours, and never get a peep at them; plants stand +on their stalks:—we stalk on our legs; no plant flourishes over its dead +root:—dead in the grave, man lives no longer above ground; plants die +without food:—so we. And now for the difference. Plants elegantly inhale +nourishment, without looking it up: like lords, they stand still and are +served; and though green, never suffer from the colic:—whereas, we +mortals must forage all round for our food: we cram our insides; and are loaded +down with odious sacks and intestines. Plants make love and multiply; but excel +us in all amorous enticements, wooing and winning by soft pollens and essences. +Plants abide in one place, and live: we must travel or die. Plants flourish +without us: we must perish without them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough Azzageddi!” cried Media. “Open not thy lips till +to-morrow.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0052"></a> +CHAPTER LII.<br/> +The Charming Yoomy Sings</h2> + +<p> +The morrow came; and three abreast, with snorting prows, we raced along; our +mat-sails panting to the breeze. All present partook of the life of the air; +and unanimously Yoomy was called upon for a song. The canoes were passing a +long, white reef, sparkling with shells, like a jeweler’s case: and thus +Yoomy sang in the same old strain as of yore; beginning aloud, where he had +left off in his soul:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Her sweet, sweet mouth!<br/> +Â Â Â Â The peach-pearl shell:—<br/> +Red edged its lips,<br/> +Â Â Â Â That softly swell,<br/> +Just oped to speak,<br/> +With blushing cheek,<br/> +Â Â Â Â That fisherman<br/> +With lonely spear<br/> +Â Â Â Â On the reef ken,<br/> +And lift to ear<br/> +Its voice to hear,—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Soft sighing South!<br/> +Like this, like this,—<br/> +The rosy kiss!—<br/> +Â Â Â Â That maiden’s mouth.<br/> +A shell! a shell!<br/> +A vocal shell!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Song-dreaming,<br/> +In its inmost dell!<br/> +<br/> +Her bosom! Two buds half blown, they tell;<br/> +A little valley between perfuming;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â That roves away,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Deserting the day,—<br/> +Â Â Â Â The day of her eyes illuming;—<br/> +That roves away, o’er slope and fell,<br/> +Till a soft, soft meadow becomes the dell. +</p> + +<p> +Thus far, old Mohi had been wriggling about in his seat, twitching his beard, +and at every couplet looking up expectantly, as if he desired the company to +think, that he was counting upon that line as the last; But now, starting to +his feet, he exclaimed, “Hold, minstrel! thy muse’s drapery is +becoming disordered: no more!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then no more it shall be,” said Yoomy, “But you have lost a +glorious sequel.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0053"></a> +CHAPTER LIII.<br/> +They Draw Nigh Unto Land</h2> + +<p> +In good time, after many days sailing, we snuffed the land from afar, and came +to a great country, full of inland mountains, north and south stretching far +out of sight. “All hail, Kolumbo!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +Coasting by a portion of it, which Mohi called Kanneeda, a province of King +Bello’s, we perceived the groves rocking in the wind; their flexible +boughs bending like bows; and the leaves flying forth, and darkening the +landscape, like flocks of pigeons. +</p> + +<p> +“Those groves must soon fall,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” said Babbalanja. “My lord, as these violent gusts +are formed by the hostile meeting of two currents, one from over the lagoon, +the other from land; they may be taken as significant of the occasional +variances between Kanneeda and Dominora.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Media, “and as Mohi hints, the breeze from +Dominora must soon overthrow the groves of Kanneeda.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if the land-breeze holds, my lord;—one breeze oft blows +another home.—Stand up, and gaze! From cape to cape, this whole main we +see, is young and froward. And far southward, past this Kanneeda and Vivenza, +are haughty, overbearing streams, which at their mouths dam back the ocean, and +long refuse to mix their freshness with the foreign brine:—so bold, so +strong, so bent on hurling off aggression is this brave main, +Kolumbo;—last sought, last found, Mardi’s estate, so long kept +back;—pray Oro, it be not squandered foolishly. Here lie plantations, +held in fee by stout hearts and arms; and boundless fields, that may be had for +seeing. Here, your foes are forests, struck down with bloodless +maces.—Ho! Mardi’s Poor, and Mardi’s Strong! ye, who starve +or beg; seventh-sons who slave for earth’s first-born—here is your +home; predestinated yours; Come over, Empire-founders! fathers of the wedded +tribes to come!—abject now, illustrious evermore:—Ho: Sinew, Brawn, +and Thigh!” +</p> + +<p> +“A very fine invocation,” said Media, “now Babbalanja, be +seated; and tell us whether Dominora and the kings of Porpheero do not own some +small portion of this great continent, which just now you poetically pronounced +as the spoil of any vagabonds who may choose to settle therein? Is not +Kanneeda, Dominora’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“And was not Vivenza once Dominora’s also? And what Vivenza now is, +Kanneeda soon must be. I speak not, my lord, as wishful of what I say, but +simply as foreknowing it. The thing must come. Vain for Dominora to claim +allegiance from all the progeny she spawns. As well might the old patriarch of +the flood reappear, and claim the right of rule over all mankind, as descended +from the loins of his three roving sons. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the old law:—the East peoples the West, the West the +East; flux and reflux. And time may come, after the rise and fall of nations +yet unborn, that, risen from its future ashes, Porpheero shall be the promised +land, and from her surplus hordes Kolumbo people it.” +</p> + +<p> +Still coasting on, next day, we came to Vivenza; and as Media desired to land +first at a point midway between its extremities, in order to behold the +convocation of chiefs supposed to be assembled at this season, we held on our +way, till we gained a lofty ridge, jutting out into the lagoon, a bastion to +the neighboring land. It terminated in a lofty natural arch of solid trap. +Billows beat against its base. But above, waved an inviting copse, wherein was +revealed an open temple of canes, containing one only image, that of a helmeted +female, the tutelar deity of Vivenza. +</p> + +<p> +The canoes drew near. +</p> + +<p> +“Lo! what inscription is that?” cried Media, “there, chiseled +over the arch?” +</p> + +<p> +Studying those immense hieroglyphics awhile, antiquarian Mohi still eyeing +them, said slowly:—“In-this-re-publi-can-land-all-men-are- +born-free-and-equal.” +</p> + +<p> +“False!” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“And how long stay they so?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“But look lower, old man,” cried Media, “methinks +there’s a small hieroglyphic or two hidden away in yonder +angle.—Interpret them, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +After much screwing of his eyes, for those characters were very minute, +Champollion Mohi thus spoke—” Except-the-tribe-of-Hamo.” +</p> + +<p> +“That nullifies the other,” cried Media. “Ah, ye +republicans!” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to have been added for a postscript,” rejoined +Braid-Beard, screwing his eyes again. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said Babbalanja, “but some wag must have done +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Shooting through the arch, we rapidly gained the beach. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0054"></a> +CHAPTER LIV.<br/> +They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza</h2> + +<p> +The throng that greeted us upon landing were exceedingly boisterous. +</p> + +<p> +“Whence came ye?” they cried. “Whither bound? Saw ye ever +such a land as this? Is it not a great and extensive republic? Pray, observe +how tall we are; just feel of our thighs; Are we not a glorious people? Here, +feel of our beards. Look round; look round; be not afraid; Behold those palms; +swear now, that this land surpasses all others. Old Bello’s mountains are +mole-hills to ours; his rivers, rills; his empires, villages; his palm-trees, +shrubs.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Babbalanja. “But great Oro must have had some +hand in making your mountains and streams.—Would ye have been as great in +a desert?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is your king?” asked Media, drawing himself up in his robe, +and cocking his crown. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha, my fine fellow! We are all kings here; royalty breathes in the +common air. But come on, come on. Let us show you our great Temple of +Freedom.” +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, irreverently grasping his sacred arm, they conducted us toward a +lofty structure, planted upon a bold hill, and supported by thirty pillars of +palm; four quite green; as if recently added; and beyond these, an almost +interminable vacancy, as if all the palms in Mardi, were at some future time, +to aid in upholding that fabric. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the summit of the temple was a staff; and as we drew nigh, a man with a +collar round his neck, and the red marks of stripes upon his back, was just in +the act of hoisting a tappa standard— correspondingly striped. Other +collared menials were going in and out of the temple. +</p> + +<p> +Near the porch, stood an image like that on the top of the arch we had seen. +Upon its pedestal, were pasted certain hieroglyphical notices; according to +Mohi, offering rewards for missing men, so many hands high. +</p> + +<p> +Entering the temple, we beheld an amphitheatrical space, in the middle of +which, a great fire was burning. Around it, were many chiefs, robed in long +togas, and presenting strange contrasts in their style of tattooing. +</p> + +<p> +Some were sociably laughing, and chatting; others diligently making excavations +between their teeth with slivers of bamboo; or turning their heads into mills, +were grinding up leaves and ejecting their juices. Some were busily inserting +the down of a thistle into their ears. Several stood erect, intent upon +maintaining striking attitudes; their javelins tragically crossed upon their +chests. They would have looked very imposing, were it not, that in rear their +vesture was sadly disordered. Others, with swelling fronts, seemed chiefly +indebted to their dinners for their dignity. Many were nodding and napping. +And, here and there, were sundry indefatigable worthies, making a great show of +imperious and indispensable business; sedulously folding banana leaves into +scrolls, and recklessly placing them into the hands of little boys, in gay +turbans and trim little girdles, who thereupon fled as if with salvation for +the dying. +</p> + +<p> +It was a crowded scene; the dusky chiefs, here and there, grouped together, and +their fantastic tattooings showing like the carved work on quaint old +chimney-stacks, seen from afar. But one of their number overtopped all the +rest. As when, drawing nigh unto old Rome, amid the crowd of sculptured columns +and gables, St. Peter’s grand dome soars far aloft, serene in the upper +air; so, showed one calm grand forehead among those of this mob of chieftains. +That head was Saturnina’s. Gall and Spurzheim! saw you ever such a +brow?—poised like an avalanche, under the shadow of a forest! woe betide +the devoted valleys below! Lavatar! behold those lips,—like mystic +scrolls! Those eyes,— like panthers’ caves at the base of +Popocatepetl! +</p> + +<p> +“By my right hand, Saturnina,” cried Babbalanja, “but thou +wert made in the image of thy Maker! Yet, have I beheld men, to the eye as +commanding as thou; and surmounted by heads globe-like as thine, who never had +thy caliber. We must measure brains, not heads, my lord; else, the sperm whale, +with his tun of an occiput, would transcend us all.” +</p> + +<p> +Near by, were arched ways, leading to subterranean places, whence issued a +savory steam, and an extraordinary clattering of calabashes, and smacking of +lips, as if something were being eaten down there by the fattest of fat +fellows, with the heartiest of appetites, and the most irresistible of +relishes. It was a quaffing, guzzling, gobbling noise. Peeping down, we beheld +a company, breasted up against a board, groaning under numerous viands. In the +middle of all, was a mighty great gourd, yellow as gold, and jolly round like a +pumpkin in October, and so big it must have grown in the sun. Thence flowed a +tide of red wine. And before it, stood plenty of paunches being filled +therewith like portly stone jars at a fountain. Melancholy to tell, before that +fine flood of old wine, and among those portly old topers, was a lean man; who +occasionally ducked in his bill. He looked like an ibis standing in the Nile at +flood tide, among a tongue-lapping herd of hippopotami. +</p> + +<p> +They were jolly as the jolliest; and laughed so uproariously, that their +hemispheres all quivered and shook, like vast provinces in an earthquake. Ha! +ha! ha! how they laughed, and they roared. A deaf man might have heard them; +and no milk could have soured within a forty-two-pounder ball shot of that +place. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the smell of good things is no very bad thing in itself. It is the savor +of good things beyond; proof positive of a glorious good meal. So snuffing up +those zephyrs from Araby the blest, those boisterous gales, blowing from out +the mouths of baked boars, stuffed with bread-fruit, bananas, and sage, we +would fain have gone down and partaken. +</p> + +<p> +But this could not be; for we were told that those worthies below, were a club +in secret conclave; very busy in settling certain weighty state affairs upon a +solid basis, They were all chiefs of immense capacity:—how many gallons, +there was no finding out. +</p> + +<p> +Be sure, now, a most riotous noise came up from those catacombs, which seemed +full of the ghosts of fat Lamberts; and this uproar it was, that heightened the +din above-ground. +</p> + +<p> +But heedless of all, in the midst of the amphitheater, stood a tall, gaunt +warrior, ferociously tattooed, with a beak like a buzzard; long dusty locks; +and his hands full of headless arrows. He was laboring under violent paroxysms; +three benevolent individuals essaying to hold him. But repeatedly breaking +loose, he burst anew into his delirium; while with an absence of sympathy, +distressing to behold, the rest of the assembly seemed wholly engrossed with +themselves; nor did they appear to care how soon the unfortunate lunatic might +demolish himself by his frantic proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +Toward one side of the amphitheatrical space, perched high upon an elevated +dais, sat a white-headed old man with a tomahawk in his hand: earnestly engaged +in overseeing the tumult; though not a word did he say. Occasionally, however, +he was regarded by those present with a mysterious sort of deference; and when +they chanced to pass between him and the crazy man, they invariably did so in a +stooping position; probably to elude the atmospheric grape and cannister, +continually flying from the mouth of the lunatic. +</p> + +<p> +“What mob is this?” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis the grand council of Vivenza,” cried a bystander. +“Hear ye not Alanno?” and he pointed to the lunatic. +</p> + +<p> +Now coming close to Alanno, we found, that with incredible volubility, he was +addressing the assembly upon some all-absorbing subject connected with King +Bello, and his presumed encroachments toward the northwest of Vivenza. +</p> + +<p> +One hand smiting his hip, and the other his head, the lunatic thus proceeded; +roaring like a wild beast, and beating the air like a windmill:— +</p> + +<p> +“I have said it! the thunder is flashing, the lightning is crashing! +already there’s an earthquake in Dominora! Full soon will old Bello +discover that his diabolical machinations against this ineffable land must soon +come to naught. Who dare not declare, that we are not invincible? I repeat it, +we are. Ha! ha! Audacious Bello must bite the dust! Hair by hair, we will trail +his gory gray beard at the end of our spears! Ha, ha! I grow hoarse; but would +mine were a voice like the wild bulls of Bullorom, that I might be heard from +one end of this great and gorgeous land to its farthest zenith; ay, to the +uttermost diameter of its circumference. Awake! oh Vivenza. The signs of the +times are portentous; nay, extraordinary; I hesitate not to add, peculiar! Up! +up! Let us not descend to the bathos, when we should soar to the climax! Does +not all Mardi wink and look on? Is the great sun itself a frigid spectator? +Then let us double up our mandibles to the deadly encounter. Methinks I see it +now. Old Bello is crafty, and his oath is recorded to obliterate us! Across +this wide lagoon he casts his serpent eyes; whets his insatiate bill; mumbles +his barbarous tusks; licks his forked tongues; and who knows when we shall have +the shark in our midst? Yet be not deceived; for though as yet, Bello has +forborn molesting us openly, his emissaries are at work; his infernal sappers, +and miners, and wet-nurses, and midwives, and grave- diggers are busy! His +canoe-yards are all in commotion! In navies his forests are being launched upon +the wave; and ere long typhoons, zephyrs, white-squalls, balmy breezes, +hurricanes, and besoms will be raging round us!” +</p> + +<p> +His philippic concluded, Alanno was conducted from the place; and being now +quite exhausted, cold cobble-stones were applied to his temples, and he was +treated to a bath in a stream. +</p> + +<p> +This chieftain, it seems, was from a distant western valley, called Hio-Hio, +one of the largest and most fertile in Vivenza, though but recently settled. +Its inhabitants, and those of the vales adjoining,— a right sturdy set of +fellows,—were accounted the most dogmatically democratic and ultra of all +the tribes in Vivenza; ever seeking to push on their brethren to the uttermost; +and especially were they bitter against Bello. But they were a fine young +tribe, nevertheless. Like strong new wine they worked violently in becoming +clear. Time, perhaps, would make them all right. +</p> + +<p> +An interval of greater uproar than ever now ensued; during which, with his +tomahawk, the white-headed old man repeatedly thumped and pounded the seat +where he sat, apparently to augment the din, though he looked anxious to +suppress it. +</p> + +<p> +At last, tiring of his posture, he whispered in the ear of a chief, his friend; +who, approaching a portly warrior present, prevailed upon him to rise and +address the assembly. And no sooner did this one do so, than the whole +convocation dispersed, as if to their yams; and with a grin, the little old man +leaped from his seat, and stretched his legs on a mat. +</p> + +<p> +The fire was now extinguished, and the temple deserted. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0055"></a> +CHAPTER LV.<br/> +Wherein Babbalanja Comments Upon The Speech Of Alanno</h2> + +<p> +As we lingered in the precincts of the temple after all others had departed, +sundry comments were made upon what we had seen; and having remarked the +hostility of the lunatic orator toward Dominora, Babbalanja thus addressed +Media:— +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I am constrained to believe, that all Vivenza can not be of the +same mind with the grandiloquent chief from Hio-Hio. Nevertheless, I imagine, +that between Dominora and this land, there exists at bottom a feeling akin to +animosity, which is not yet wholly extinguished; though but the smoldering +embers of a once raging fire. My lord, you may call it poetry if you will, but +there are nations in Mardi, that to others stand in the relation of sons to +sires. Thus with Dominora and Vivenza. And though, its majority attained, +Vivenza is now its own master, yet should it not fail in a reverential respect +for its parent. In man or nation, old age is honorable; and a boy, however +tall, should never take his sire by the beard. And though Dominora did indeed +ill merit Vivenza’s esteem, yet by abstaining from criminations, Vivenza +should ever merit its own. And if in time to come, which Oro forbid, Vivenza +must needs go to battle with King Bello, let Vivenza first cross the old +veteran’s spear with all possible courtesy. On the other hand, my lord, +King Bello should never forget, that whatever be glorious in Vivenza, redounds +to himself. And as some gallant old lord proudly measures the brawn and stature +of his son; and joys to view in his noble young lineaments the likeness of his +own; bethinking him, that when at last laid in his tomb, he will yet survive in +the long, strong life of his child, the worthy inheritor of his valor and +renown; even so, should King Bello regard the generous promise of this young +Vivenza of his own lusty begetting. My lord, behold these two states! Of all +nations in the Archipelago, they alone are one in blood. Dominora is the last +and greatest Anak of Old Times; Vivenza, the foremost and goodliest stripling +of the Present. One is full of the past; the other brims with the future. Ah! +did this sire’s old heart but beat to free thoughts, and back his bold +son, all Mardi would go down before them. And high Oro may have ordained for +them a career, little divined by the mass. Methinks, that as Vivenza will never +cause old Bello to weep for his son; so, Vivenza will not, this many a long +year, be called to weep over the grave of its sire. And though King Bello may +yet lay aside his old-fashioned cocked hat of a crown, and comply with the +plain costume of the times; yet will his, frame remain sturdy as of yore, and +equally grace any habiliments he may don. And those who say, Dominora is old +and worn out, may very possibly err. For if, as a nation, Dominora be +old—her present generation is full as young as the youths in any land +under the sun. Then, Ho! worthy twain! Each worthy the other, join hands on the +instant, and weld them together. Lo! the past is a prophet. Be the future, its +prophecy fulfilled.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0056"></a> +CHAPTER LVI.<br/> +A Scene In The Land Of Warwicks, Or King-Makers</h2> + +<p> +Wending our way from the temple, we were accompanied by a fluent, obstreperous +wight, one Znobbi, a runaway native of Porpheero, but now an enthusiastic +inhabitant of Vivenza. +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes our great chief!” he cried. “Behold him! It was +<i>I</i> that had a hand in making him what he is!” +</p> + +<p> +And so saying, he pointed out a personage, no way distinguished, except by the +tattooing on his forehead—stars, thirty in number; and an uncommonly long +spear in his hand. Freely he mingled with the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“Behold, how familiar I am with him!” cried Znobbi, approaching, +and pitcher-wise taking him by the handle of his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” said the dignitary, “thy salute is peculiar, but +welcome. I reverence the enlightened people of this land.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mean-spirited hound!” muttered Media, “were I him, I had +impaled that audacious plebeian.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a Head-Chief for you, now, my fine fellow!” cried +Znobbi. “Hurrah! Three cheers! Ay, ay! All kings here—all equal. +Every thing’s in common.” +</p> + +<p> +Here, a bystander, feeling something grazing his side, looked down; and +perceived Znobbi’s hand in clandestine vicinity to the pouch at his +girdle-end. +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon the crowd shouted, “A thief! a thief!” And with a loud +voice the starred chief cried—“Seize him, people, and tie him to +yonder tree.” +</p> + +<p> +And they seized, and tied him on the spot. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Media, “this chief has something to say, after +all; he pinions a king at a word, though a plebeian takes him by the nose. +Beshrew me, I doubt not, that spear of his, though without a tassel, is longer +and sharper than mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not so much freedom here as these freemen think,” +said Babbalanja, turning; “I laugh and admire.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0057"></a> +CHAPTER LVII.<br/> +They Hearken Unto A Voice From The Gods</h2> + +<p> +Next day we retraced our voyage northward, to visit that section of Vivenza. +</p> + +<p> +In due time we landed. +</p> + +<p> +To look round was refreshing. Of all the lands we had seen, none looked more +promising. The groves stood tall and green; the fields spread flush and broad; +the dew of the first morning seemed hardly vanished from the grass. On all +sides was heard the fall of waters, the swarming of bees, and the rejoicing hum +of a thriving population. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” laughed Yoomy, “Labor laughs in this land; and +claps his hands in the jubilee groves! methinks that Yillah will yet be +found.” +</p> + +<p> +Generously entertained, we tarried in this land; till at length, from over the +Lagoon, came full tidings of the eruption we had witnessed in Franko, with many +details. The conflagration had spread through Porpheero and the kings were to +and fro hunted, like malefactors by blood-hounds; all that part of Mardi was +heaving with throes. +</p> + +<p> +With the utmost delight, these tidings were welcomed by many; yet others heard +them with boding concern. +</p> + +<p> +Those, too, there were, who rejoiced that the kings were cast down; but mourned +that the people themselves stood not firmer. A victory, turned to no wise and +enduring account, said they, is no victory at all. Some victories revert to the +vanquished. +</p> + +<p> +But day by day great crowds ran down to the beach, in wait for canoes +periodically bringing further intelligence. +</p> + +<p> +Every hour new cries startled the air. “Hurrah! another, kingdom is burnt +down to the earth’s edge; another demigod is unhelmed; another republic +is dawning. Shake hands, freemen, shake hands! Soon will we hear of Dominora +down in the dust; of hapless Verdanna free as ourselves; all Porpheero’s +volcanoes are bursting! Who may withstand the people? The times tell terrible +tales to tyrants! Ere we die, freemen, all Mardi will be free.” +</p> + +<p> +Overhearing these shouts, Babbalanja thus addressed Media:—“My +lord, I can not but believe, that these men, are far more excited than those +with whom they so ardently sympathize. But no wonder. The single discharges +which are heard in Porpheero; here come condensed in one tremendous report. +Every arrival is a firing off of events by platoons.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, during this tumultuous interval, King Media very prudently kept himself +exceedingly quiet. He doffed his regalia; and in all things carried himself +with a dignified discretion. And many hours he absented himself; none knowing +whither he went, or what his employment. +</p> + +<p> +So also with Babbalanja. But still pursuing our search, at last we all +journeyed into a great valley, whose inhabitants were more than commonly +inflated with the ardor of the times. +</p> + +<p> +Rambling on, we espied a clamorous crowd gathered about a conspicuous palm, +against which, a scroll was fixed. +</p> + +<p> +The people were violently agitated; storming out maledictions against the +insolent knave, who, over night must have fixed there, that scandalous +document. But whoever he may have been, certain it was, he had contrived to +hood himself effectually. +</p> + +<p> +After much vehement discussion, during which sundry inflammatory harangues were +made from the stumps of trees near by, it was proposed, that the scroll should +be read aloud, so that all might give ear. +</p> + +<p> +Seizing it, a fiery youth mounted upon the bowed shoulders of an old man, his +sire; and with a shrill voice, ever and anon interrupted by outcries, read as +follows:— +</p> + +<p> +“Sovereign-kings of Vivenza! it is fit you should hearken to wisdom. But +well aware, that you give ear to little wisdom except of your own; and that as +freemen, you are free to hunt down him who dissents from your majesties; I deem +it proper to address you anonymously. +</p> + +<p> +“And if it please you, you may ascribe this voice to the gods: for never +will you trace it to man. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not unknown, sovereign-kings! that in these boisterous days, the +lessons of history are almost discarded, as superseded by present experiences. +And that while all Mardi’s Present has grown out of its Past, it is +becoming obsolete to refer to what has been. Yet, peradventure, the Past is an +apostle. +</p> + +<p> +“The grand error of this age, sovereign-kings! is the general +supposition, that the very special Diabolus is abroad; whereas, the very +special Diabolus has been abroad ever since Mardi began. +</p> + +<p> +“And the grand error of your nation, sovereign-kings! seems +this:—The conceit that Mardi is now in the last scene of the last act of +her drama; and that all preceding events were ordained, to bring about the +catastrophe you believe to be at hand,—a universal and permanent +Republic. +</p> + +<p> +“May it please you, those who hold to these things are fools, and not +wise. +</p> + +<p> +“Time is made up of various ages; and each thinks its own a novelty. But +imbedded in the walls of the pyramids, which outrun all chronologies, +sculptured stones are found, belonging to yet older fabrics. And as in the +mound-building period of yore, so every age thinks its erections will forever +endure. But as your forests grow apace, sovereign-kings! overrunning the tumuli +in your western vales; so, while deriving their substance from the past, +succeeding generations overgrow it; but in time, themselves decay. +</p> + +<p> +“Oro decrees these vicissitudes. +</p> + +<p> +“In chronicles of old, you read, sovereign kings! that an eagle from the +clouds presaged royalty to the fugitive Taquinoo; and a king, Taquinoo reigned; +No end to my dynasty, thought he. +</p> + +<p> +“But another omen descended, foreshadowing the fall of Zooperbi, his son; +and Zooperbi returning from his camp, found his country a fortress against him. +No more kings would she have. And for five hundred twelve-moons the Regifugium +or King’s-flight, was annually celebrated like your own jubilee day. And +rampant young orators stormed out detestation of kings; and augurs swore that +their birds presaged immortality to freedom. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Romara’s free eagles flew over all Mardi, and perched on the +topmost diadems of the east. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever thus must it be. +</p> + +<p> +“For, mostly, monarchs are as gemmed bridles upon the world, checking the +plungings of a steed from the Pampas. And republics are as vast reservoirs, +draining down all streams to one level; and so, breeding a fullness which can +not remain full, without overflowing. And thus, Romara flooded all Mardi, till +scarce an Ararat was left of the lofty kingdoms which had been. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus, also, did Franko, fifty twelve-moons ago. Thus may she do again. +And though not yet, have you, sovereign-kings! in any large degree done +likewise, it is because you overflow your redundancies within your own mighty +borders; having a wild western waste, which many shepherds with their flocks +could not overrun in a day. Yet overrun at last it will be; and then, the +recoil must come. +</p> + +<p> +“And, may it please you, that thus far your chronicles had narrated a +very different story, had your population been pressed and packed, like that of +your old sire-land Dominora. Then, your great experiment might have proved an +explosion; like the chemist’s who, stirring his mixture, was blown by it +into the air. +</p> + +<p> +“For though crossed, and recrossed by many brave quarterings, and +boasting the great Bull in your pedigree; yet, sovereign-kings! you are not +meditative philosophers like the people of a small republic of old; nor +enduring stoics, like their neighbors. Pent up, like them, may it please you, +your thirteen original tribes had proved more turbulent, than so many mutinous +legions. Free horses need wide prairies; and fortunate for you, +sovereign-kings! that you have room enough, wherein to be free. +</p> + +<p> +“And, may it please you, you are free, partly, because you are young. +Your nation is like a fine, florid youth, full of fiery impulses, and hard to +restrain; his strong hand nobly championing his heart. On all sides, freely he +gives, and still seeks to acquire. The breath of his nostrils is like smoke in +spring air; every tendon is electric with generous resolves. The oppressor he +defies to his beard; the high walls of old opinions he scales with a bound. In +the future he sees all the domes of the East. +</p> + +<p> +“But years elapse, and this bold boy is transformed. His eyes open not as +of yore; his heart is shut up as a vice. He yields not a groat; and seeking no +more acquisitions, is only bent on preserving his hoard. The maxims once +trampled under foot, are now printed on his front; and he who hated oppressors, +is become an oppressor himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus, often, with men; thus, often, with nations. Then marvel not, +sovereign-kings! that old states are different from yours; and think not, your +own must forever remain liberal as now. +</p> + +<p> +“Each age thinks its own is eternal. But though for five hundred +twelve-moons, all Romara, by courtesy of history, was republican; yet, at last, +her terrible king-tigers came, and spotted themselves with gore. +</p> + +<p> +“And time was, when Dominora was republican, down to her sturdy back- +bone. The son of an absolute monarch became the man Karolus; and his crown and +head, both rolled in the dust. And Dominora had her patriots by thousands; and +lusty Defenses, and glorious Areopagiticas were written, not since surpassed; +and no turban was doffed save in homage of Oro. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, may it please you, to the sound of pipe and tabor, the second King +Karolus returned in good time; and was hailed gracious majesty by high and low. +</p> + +<p> +“Throughout all eternity, the parts of the past are but parts of the +future reversed. In the old foot-prints, up and down, you mortals go, eternally +traveling your Sierras. And not more infallible the ponderings of the +Calculating Machine than the deductions from the decimals of history. +</p> + +<p> +“In nations, sovereign-kings! there is a transmigration of souls; in you, +is a marvelous destiny. The eagle of Romara revives in your own mountain bird, +and once more is plumed for her flight. Her screams are answered by the +vauntful cries of a hawk; his red comb yet reeking with slaughter. And one +East, one West, those bold birds may fly, till they lock pinions in the midmost +beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“But, soaring in the sky over the nations that shall gather their broods +under their wings, that bloody hawk may hereafter be taken for the eagle. +</p> + +<p> +“And though crimson republics may rise in constellations, like fiery +Aldebarans, speeding to their culminations; yet, down must they sink at last, +and leave the old sultan-sun in the sky; in time, again to be deposed. +</p> + +<p> +“For little longer, may it please you, can republics subsist now, than in +days gone by. For, assuming that Mardi is wiser than of old; nevertheless, +though all men approached sages in intelligence, some would yet be more wise +than others; and so, the old degrees be preserved. And no exemption would an +equality of knowledge furnish, from the inbred servility of mortal to mortal; +from all the organic causes, which inevitably divide mankind into brigades and +battalions, with captains at their head. +</p> + +<p> +“Civilization has not ever been the brother of equality. Freedom was born +among the wild eyries in the mountains; and barbarous tribes have sheltered +under her wings, when the enlightened people of the plain have nestled under +different pinions. +</p> + +<p> +“Though, thus far, for you, sovereign-kings! your republic has been +fruitful of blessings; yet, in themselves, monarchies are not utterly evil. For +many nations, they are better than republics; for many, they will ever so +remain. And better, on all hands, that peace should rule with a scepter, than +than the tribunes of the people should brandish their broadswords. Better be +the subject of a king, upright and just; than a freeman in Franko, with the +executioner’s ax at every corner. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not the prime end, and chief blessing, to be politically free. And +freedom is only good as a means; is no end in itself Nor, did man fight it out +against his masters to the haft, not then, would he uncollar his neck from the +yoke. A born thrall to the last, yelping out his liberty, he still remains a +slave unto Oro; and well is it for the universe, that Oro’s scepter is +absolute. +</p> + +<p> +“World-old the saying, that it is easier to govern others, than oneself. +And that all men should govern themselves as nations, needs that all men be +better, and wiser, than the wisest of one-man rulers. But in no stable +democracy do all men govern themselves. Though an army be all volunteers, +martial law must prevail. Delegate your power, you leagued mortals must. The +hazard you must stand. And though unlike King Bello of Dominora, your great +chieftain, sovereign-kings! may not declare war of himself; nevertheless, has +he done a still more imperial thing:—gone to war without declaring +intentions. You yourselves were precipitated upon a neighboring nation, ere you +knew your spears were in your hands. +</p> + +<p> +“But, as in stars you have written it on the welkin, sovereign-kings! you +are a great and glorious people. And verily, yours is the best and happiest +land under the sun. But not wholly, because you, in your wisdom, decreed it: +your origin and geography necessitated it. Nor, in their germ, are all your +blessings to be ascribed to the noble sires, who of yore fought in your behalf, +sovereign-kings! Your nation enjoyed no little independence before your +Declaration declared it. Your ancient pilgrims fathered your liberty; and your +wild woods harbored the nursling. For the state that to-day is made up of +slaves, can not to-morrow transmute her bond into free; though lawlessness may +transform them into brutes. Freedom is the name for a thing that is <i>not</i> +freedom; this, a lesson never learned in an hour or an age. By some tribes it +will never be learned. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, if it please you, there may be such a thing as being free under +Caesar. Ages ago, there were as many vital freemen, as breathe vital air +to-day. +</p> + +<p> +“Names make not distinctions; some despots rule without swaying scepters. +Though King Bello’s palace was not put together by yoked men; your +federal temple of freedom, sovereign-kings! was the handiwork of slaves. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not gildings, and gold maces, and crown jewels alone, that make a +people servile. There is much bowing and cringing among you yourselves, +sovereign-kings! Poverty is abased before riches, all Mardi over; any where, it +is hard to be a debtor; any where, the wise will lord it over fools; every +where, suffering is found. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus, freedom is more social than political. And its real felicity is +not to be shared. <i>That</i> is of a man’s own individual getting and +holding. It is not, who rules the state, but who rules me. Better be secure +under one king, than exposed to violence from twenty millions of monarchs, +though oneself be of the number. +</p> + +<p> +“But superstitious notions you harbor, sovereign kings! Did you visit +Dominora, you would not be marched straight into a dungeon. And though you +would behold sundry sights displeasing, you would start to inhale such liberal +breezes; and hear crowds boasting of their privileges; as you, of yours. Nor +has the wine of Dominora, a monarchical flavor. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, though far and wide, to keep equal pace with the times, great +reforms, of a verity, be needed; nowhere are bloody revolutions required. +Though it be the most certain of remedies, no prudent invalid opens his veins, +to let out his disease with his life. And though all evils may be assuaged; all +evils can not be done away. For evil is the chronic malady of the universe; and +checked in one place, breaks forth in another. +</p> + +<p> +“Of late, on this head, some wild dreams have departed. +</p> + +<p> +“There are many, who erewhile believed that the age of pikes and javelins +was passed; that after a heady and blustering youth, old Mardi was at last +settling down into a serene old age; and that the Indian summer, first +discovered in your land, sovereign kings! was the hazy vapor emitted from its +tranquil pipe. But it has not so proved. Mardi’s peaces are but truces. +Long absent, at last the red comets have returned. And return they must, though +their periods be ages. And should Mardi endure till mountain melt into +mountain, and all the isles form one table-land; yet, would it but expand the +old battle-plain. +</p> + +<p> +“Students of history are horror-struck at the massacres of old; but in +the shambles, men are being murdered to-day. Could time be reversed, and the +future change places with the past, the past would cry out against us, and our +future, full as loudly, as we against the ages foregone. All the Ages are his +children, calling each other names. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark ye, sovereign-kings! cheer not on the yelping pack too furiously: +Hunters have been torn by their hounds. Be advised; wash your hands. Hold +aloof. Oro has poured out an ocean for an everlasting barrier between you and +the worst folly which other republics have perpetrated. That barrier hold +sacred. And swear never to cross over to Porpheero, by manifesto or army, +unless you traverse dry land. +</p> + +<p> +“And be not too grasping, nearer home. It is not freedom to filch. Expand +not your area too widely, now. Seek you proselytes? Neighboring nations may be +free, without coming under your banner. And if you can not lay your ambition, +know this: that it is best served, by waiting events. +</p> + +<p> +“Time, but Time only, may enable you to cross the equator; and give you +the Arctic Circles for your boundaries.” +</p> + +<p> +So read the anonymous scroll; which straightway, was torn into shreds. +</p> + +<p> +“Old tory, and monarchist!” they shouted, “Preaching over his +benighted sermons in these enlightened times! Fool! does he not know that all +the Past and its graves are being dug over?” +</p> + +<p> +They were furious; so wildly rolling their eyes after victims, that well was it +for King Media, he wore not his crown; and in silence, we moved unnoted from +out the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I am amazed at the indiscretion of a demigod,” said +Babbalanja, as we passed on our way; “I recognized your sultanic style +the very first sentence. This, then, is the result of your hours of +seclusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Philosopher! I am astounded at your effrontery. I detected your +philosophy the very first maxim. Who posted that parchment for you?” +</p> + +<p> +So, each charged the other with its authorship: and there was no finding out, +whether, indeed, either knew aught of its origin. +</p> + +<p> +Now, could it have been Babbalanja? Hardly. For, philosophic as the document +was, it seemed too dogmatic and conservative for him. King Media? But though +imperially absolute in his political sentiments, Media delivered not himself so +boldly, when actually beholding the eruption in Franko. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, the settlement of this question must be left to the commentators on +Mardi, some four or five hundred centuries hence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0058"></a> +CHAPTER LVIII.<br/> +They Visit The Extreme South Of Vivenza</h2> + +<p> +We penetrated further and further into the valleys around; but, though, as +elsewhere, at times we heard whisperings that promised an end to our +wanderings;—we still wandered on; and once again, even Yoomy abated his +sanguine hopes. +</p> + +<p> +And now, we prepared to embark for the extreme south of the land. +</p> + +<p> +But we were warned by the people, that in that portion of Vivenza, whither we +were going, much would be seen repulsive to strangers. Such things, however, +indulgent visitors overlooked. For themselves, they were well aware of those +evils. Northern Vivenza had done all it could to assuage them; but in vain; the +inhabitants of those southern valleys were a fiery, and intractable race; +heeding neither expostulations, nor entreaties. They were wedded to their ways. +Nay, they swore, that if the northern tribes persisted in intermeddlings, they +would dissolve the common alliance, and establish a distinct confederacy among +themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Our coasting voyage at an end, our keels grated the beach among many prostrate +palms, decaying, and washed by the billows. Though part and parcel of the shore +we had left, this region seemed another land. Fewer thriving thingswere seen; +fewer cheerful sounds were heard. +</p> + +<p> +“Here labor has lost his laugh!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +It was a great plain where we landed; and there, under a burning sun, hundreds +of collared men were toiling in trenches, filled with the taro plant; a root +most flourishing in that soil. Standing grimly over these, were men unlike +them; armed with long thongs, which descended upon the toilers, and made +wounds. Blood and sweat mixed; and in great drops, fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Who eat these plants thus nourished?” cried Yoomy. “Are +these men?” asked Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Which mean you?” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Heeding him not, Babbalanja advanced toward the fore-most of those with the +thongs,—one Nulli: a cadaverous, ghost-like man; with a low ridge of +forehead; hair, steel-gray; and wondrous eyes;—bright, nimble, as the +twin Corposant balls, playing about the ends of ships’ royal-yards in +gales. +</p> + +<p> +The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those wondrous +eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare. +</p> + +<p> +“Have they souls?” he asked, pointing to the serfs. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Nulli, “their ancestors may have had; but their +souls have been bred out of their descendants; as the instinct of scent is +killed in pointers.” +</p> + +<p> +Approaching one of the serfs, Media took him by the hand, and felt of it long; +and looked into his eyes; and placed his ear to his side; and exclaimed, +“Surely this being has flesh that is warm; he has Oro in his eye; and a +heart in him that beats. I swear he is a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this our lord the king?” cried Mohi, starting. +</p> + +<p> +“What art thou,” said Babbalanja to the serf. “Dost ever feel +in thee a sense of right and wrong? Art ever glad or sad?—They tell us +thou art not a man:—speak, then, for thyself; say, whether thou beliest +thy Maker.” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak not of my Maker to me. Under the lash, I believe my masters, and +account myself a brute; but in my dreams, bethink myself an angel. But I am +bond; and my little ones;—their mother’s milk is gall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just Oro!” cried Yoomy, “do no thunders roll,—no +lightnings flash in this accursed land!” +</p> + +<p> +“Asylum for all Mardi’s thralls!” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Incendiaries!” cried he with the wondrous eyes, “come ye, +firebrands, to light the flame of revolt? Know ye not, that here are many +serfs, who, incited to obtain their liberty, might wreak some dreadful +vengeance? Avaunt, thou king! <i>thou</i> horrified at this? Go back to Odo, +and right her wrongs! These serfs are happier than thine; though thine, no +collars wear; more happy as they are, than if free. Are they not fed, clothed, +and cared for? Thy serfs pine for food: never yet did these; who have no +thoughts, no cares.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thoughts and cares are life, and liberty, and immortality!” cried +Babbalanja; “and are their souls, then, blown out as candles?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ranter! they are content,” cried Nulli. “They shed no +tears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frost never weeps,” said Babbalanja; “and tears are frozen +in those frigid eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh fettered sons of fettered mothers, conceived and born in +manacles,” cried Yoomy; “dragging them through life; and falling +with them, clanking in the grave:—oh, beings as ourselves, how my stiff +arm shivers to avenge you! ’Twere absolution for the matricide, to strike +one rivet from your chains. My heart outswells its home!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oro! Art thou?” cried Babbalanja; “and doth this thing +exist? It shakes my little faith.” Then, turning upon Nulli, “How +can ye abide to sway this curs’d dominion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, fanatic! Who else may till unwholesome fields, but these? And as +these beings are, so shall they remain; ’tis right and righteous! Maramma +champions it!—I swear it! The first blow struck for them, dissolves the +union of Vivenza’s vales. The northern tribes well know it; and know +me.” +</p> + +<p> +Said Media, “Yet if—” +</p> + +<p> +“No more! another word, and, king as thou art, thou shalt be +dungeoned:—here, there is such a law; thou art not among the northern +tribes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this is freedom!” murmured Media; “when heaven’s +own voice is throttled. And were these serfs to rise, and fight for it; like +dogs, they would be hunted down by her pretended sons!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, heaven!” cried Yoomy, “they may yet find a way to +loose their bonds without one drop of blood. But hear me, Oro! were there no +other way, and should their masters not relent, all honest hearts must cheer +this tribe of Hamo on; though they cut their chains with blades thrice edged, +and gory to the haft! ’Tis right to fight for freedom, whoever be the +thrall.” +</p> + +<p> +“These South savannahs may yet prove battle-fields,” said Mohi; +gloomily, as we retraced our steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Be it,” said Yoomy. “Oro will van the right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not always has it proved so,” said Babbalanja. “Oft-times, +the right fights single-handed against the world; and Oro champions none. In +all things, man’s own battles, man himself must fight. Yoomy: so far as +feeling goes, your sympathies are not more hot than mine; but for these serfs +you would cross spears; yet, I would not. Better present woes for some, than +future woes for all.” +</p> + +<p> +“No need to fight,” cried Yoomy, “to liberate that tribe of +Hamo instantly; a way may be found, and no irretrievable evil ensue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Point it out, and be blessed, Yoomy.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is for Vivenza; but the head is dull, where the heart is +cold.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Babbalanja, “you have startled us by your +kingly sympathy for suffering; say thou, then, in what wise manner it shall be +relieved.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is for Vivenza,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi, you are old: speak thou.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let Vivenza speak,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Thus then we all agree; and weeping all but echo hard-hearted Nulli. +Tears are not swords and wrongs seem almost natural as rights. For the +righteous to suppress an evil, is sometimes harder than for others to uphold +it. Humanity cries out against this vast enormity:— not one man knows a +prudent remedy. Blame not, then, the North; and wisely judge the South. Ere, as +a nation, they became responsible, this thing was planted in their midst. Such +roots strike deep. Place to-day those serfs in Dominora; and with them, all +Vivenza’s Past;— and serfs, for many years, in Dominora, they would +be. Easy is it to stand afar and rail. All men are censors who have lungs. We +can say, the stars are wrongly marshaled. Blind men say the sun is blind. A +thousand muscles wag our tongues; though our tongues were housed, that they +might have a home. Whose is free from crime, let him cross himself—but +hold his cross upon his lips. That he is not bad, is not of him. Potters’ +clay and wax are all, molded by hands invisible. The soil decides the man. And, +ere birth, man wills not to be born here or there. These southern tribes have +grown up with this thing; bond-women were their nurses, and bondmen serve them +still. Nor are all their serfs such wretches as those we saw. Some seem happy: +yet not as men. Unmanned, they know not what they are. And though, of all the +south, Nulli must stand almost alone in his insensate creed; yet, to all +wrong-doers, custom backs the sense of wrong. And if to every Mardian, +conscience be the awarder of its own doom; then, of these tribes, many shall be +found exempted from the least penalty of this sin. But sin it is, no +less;—a blot, foul as the crater-pool of hell; it puts out the sun at +noon; it parches all fertility; and, conscience or no conscience—ere he +die—let every master who wrenches bond-babe from mother, that the nipple +tear; unwreathes the arms of sisters; or cuts the holy unity in twain; till +apart fall man and wife, like one bleeding body cleft:—let that master +thrice shrive his soul; take every sacrament; on his bended knees give up the +ghost;—yet shall he die despairing; and live again, to die forever +damned. The future is all hieroglyphics. Who may read? But, methinks the great +laggard Time must now march up apace, and somehow befriend these thralls. It +can not be, that misery is perpetually entailed; though, in a land proscribing +primogeniture, the first-born and last of Hamo’s tribe must still succeed +to all their sires’ wrongs. Yes. Time—all-healing Time—Time, +great Philanthropist!—Time must befriend these thralls!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oro grant it!” cried Yoomy “and let Mardi say, amen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen! amen! amen!” cried echoes echoing echoes. +</p> + +<p> +We traversed many of these southern vales; but as in Dominora,—so, +throughout Vivenza, North and South,—Yillah harbored not. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0059"></a> +CHAPTER LIX.<br/> +They Converse Of The Mollusca, Kings, Toad-Stools And Other Matters</h2> + +<p> +Once more embarking, we gained Vivenza’s southwestern side and there, +beheld vast swarms of laborers discharging from canoes, great loads of earth; +which they tossed upon the beach. +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, then,” said Media “that these freemen are +engaged in digging down other lands, and adding them to their own, piece-meal. +And this, they call extending their dominions agriculturally, and +peaceably.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, they pay a price for every canoe-load,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, old man, holding the spear in one hand, and striking the bargain +with the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet charge it not upon all Vivenza,” said Babbalanja. “Some +of her tribes are hostile to these things: and when their countryman fight for +land, are only warlike in opposing war.” +</p> + +<p> +“And therein, Babbalanja, is involved one of those anomalies in the +condition of Vivenza,” said Media, “which I can hardly comprehend. +How comes it, that with so Many things to divide them, the valley-tribes still +keep their mystic league intact?” +</p> + +<p> +“All plain, it is because the model, whence they derive their union, is +one of nature’s planning. My lord, have you ever observed the mysterious +federation subsisting among the molluscs of the Tunicata order,—in other +words, a species of cuttle-fish, abounding at the bottom of the lagoon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes: in clear weather about the reefs, I have beheld them time and +again: but never with an eye to their political condition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my lord king, we should not cut off the nervous communication +between our eyes, and our cerebellums.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were you about to say concerning the Tunicata order of mollusca, +sir philosopher?” +</p> + +<p> +“My very honorable lord, I hurry to conclude. They live in a compound +structure; but though connected by membranous canals, freely communicating +throughout the league—each member has a heart and stomach of its own; +provides and digests its own dinners; and grins and bears its own gripes, +without imparting the same to its neighbors. But if a prowling shark touches +one member, it ruffles all. Precisely thus now with Vivenza. In that +confederacy, there are as many consciences as tribes; hence, if one member on +its own behalf, assumes aught afterwards repudiated, the sin rests on itself +alone; is not participated.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very subtle explanation, Babbalanja. You must allude, then, to those +recreant tribes; which, while in their own eyes presenting a sublime moral +spectacle to Mardi,—in King Bello’s, do but present a hopeless +example of bad debts. And these, the tribes that boast of boundless +wealth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most true, my lord. But Bello errs, when for this thing, he stigmatizes +all Vivenza, as a unity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja, you yourself are made up of members:—then, if you be +sick of a lumbago,—’tis not <i>you</i> that are unwell; but your +spine.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you will, my lord. I have said. But to speak no more on that head +—what sort of a sensation, think you, life is to such creatures as those +mollusca?” +</p> + +<p> +“Answer your own question, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will; but first tell me what sort of a sensation life is to you, +yourself, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray answer that along with the other, Azzageddi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Directly; but tell me, if you will, my lord, what sort of a sensation +life is to a toad-stool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray, Babbalanja put all three questions together; and then, do what you +have often done before, pronounce yourself a lunatic.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I beseech you, remind me not of that fact so often. It is true, +but annoying. Nor will any wise man call another a fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take me for a mere man, then, Babbalanja, that you talk to me +thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“My demi-divine lord and master, I was deeply concerned at your +indisposition last night:—may a loving subject inquire, whether his +prince is completely recovered from the effect of those guavas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have a care, Azzageddi; you are far too courteous, to be civil. But +proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I obey. In kings, mollusca, and toad-stools, life is one thing and the +same. The Philosopher Dumdi pronounces it a certain febral vibration of organic +parts, operating upon the vis inertia of unorganized matter. But Bardianna says +nay. Hear him. ‘Who put together this marvelous mechanism of mine; and +wound it up, to go for three score years and ten; when it runs out, and strikes +Time’s hours no more? And what is it, that daily and hourly renews, and +by a miracle, creates in me my flesh and my blood? What keeps up the perpetual +telegraphic communication between my outpost toes and digits, and that domed +grandee up aloft, my brain?—It is not I; nor you; nor he; nor it. No; +when I place my hand to that king muscle my heart, I am appalled. I feel the +great God himself at work in me. Oro is life.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is death?” demanded Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Death, my lord!—it is the deadest of all things.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0060"></a> +CHAPTER LX.<br/> +Wherein, That Gallant Gentleman And Demi-God, King Media, Scepter In Hand, +Throws Himself Into The Breach</h2> + +<p> +Sailing south from Vivenza, not far from its coast, we passed a cluster of +islets, green as new fledged grass; and like the mouths of floating +cornucopias, their margins brimmed over upon the brine with flowers. On some, +grew stately roses; on others stood twin-pillars; across others, tri-hued +rainbows rested. +</p> + +<p> +Cried Babbalanja, pointing to the last, “Franko’s pledge of peace! +with that, she loudly vaunts she’ll span the reef!—Strike out all +hues but red,—and the token’s nearer truth.” +</p> + +<p> +All these isles were prolific gardens; where King Bello, and the Princes of +Porpheero grew their most delicious fruits,—nectarines and grapes. +</p> + +<p> +But, though hard by, Vivenza owned no garden here; yet longed and lusted; and +her hottest tribes oft roundly swore, to root up all roses the half-reef over; +pull down all pillars; and dissolve all rainbows. “Mardi’s half is +ours;” said they. Stand back invaders! Full of vanity; and mirroring +themselves in the future; they deemed all reflected there, their own. +</p> + +<p> +’Twas now high noon. +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks the sun grows hot,” said Media, retreating deeper under +the canopy. “Ho! Vee-Vee; have you no cooling beverage? none of that +golden wine distilled from torrid grapes, and then sent northward to be +cellared in an iceberg? That wine was placed among our stores. Search, search +the crypt, little Vee-Vee! Ha, I see it!—that yellow gourd!—Come: +drag it forth, my boy. Let’s have the amber cups: so: pass them +round;—fill all! Taji! my demi-god, up heart! Old Mohi, my babe, may you +live ten thousand centuries! Ah! this way you mortals have of dying out at +three score years and ten, is but a craven habit. So, Babbalanja! may you never +die. Yoomy! my sweet poet, may you live to sing to me in Paradise. Ha, ha! +would that we floated in this glorious stuff, instead of this pestilent +brine.—Hark ye! were I to make a Mardi now, I’d have every +continent a huge haunch of venison; every ocean a wine-vat! I’d stock +every cavern with choice old spirits, and make three surplus suns to ripen the +grapes all the year round. Let’s drink to that!—Brimmers! So: may +the next Mardi that’s made, be one entire grape; and mine the +squeezing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Look, look! my lord,” cried Yoomy, “what a glorious shore we +pass.” +</p> + +<p> +Sallying out into the high golden noon, with golden-beaming goblets suspended, +we gazed. +</p> + +<p> +“This must be Kolumbo of the south,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long, hazy reach of land; piled up in terraces, traced here and there +with rushing streams, that worked up gold dust alluvian, and seemed to flash +over pebbled diamonds. Heliotropes, sun-flowers, marigolds gemmed, or starred +the violet meads, and vassal-like, still sunward bowed their heads. The rocks +were pierced with grottoes, blazing with crystals, many-tinted. +</p> + +<p> +It was a land of mints and mines; its east a ruby; west a topaz. Inland, the +woodlands stretched an ocean, bottomless with foliage; its green surges +bursting through cable-vines; like Xerxes’ brittle chains which vainly +sought to bind the Hellespont. Hence flowed a tide of forest sounds; of +parrots, paroquets, macaws; blent with the howl of jaguars, hissing of +anacondas, chattering of apes, and herons screaming. +</p> + +<p> +Out from those depths up rose a stream. +</p> + +<p> +The land lay basking in the world’s round torrid brisket, hot with solar +fire. +</p> + +<p> +“No need here to land,” cried Yoomy, “Yillah lurks not +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heat breeds life, and sloth, and rage,” said Babbalanja. +“Here live bastard tribes and mongrel nations; wrangling and murdering to +prove their freedom.—Refill, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks, Babbalanja, you savor of the mysterious parchment, in Vivenza +read:—Ha? Yes, philosopher, these are the men, who toppled castles to +make way for hovels; these, they who fought for freedom, but find it despotism +to rule themselves. These, Babbalanja, are of the race, to whom a tyrant would +prove a blessing.” So saying he drained his cup. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, that last sentiment decides the authorship of the scroll. But, +with deference, tyrants seldom can prove blessings; inasmuch as evil seldom +eventuates in good. Yet will these people soon have a tyrant over them, if long +they cleave to war. Of many javelins, one must prove a scepter; of many +helmets, one a crown. It is but in the wearing.—Refill, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fools, fools!” cried Media, “these tribes hate us kings; yet +know not, that Peace is War against all kings. We seldom are undone by spears, +which are our ministers.—This wine is strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, now’s the time! In his cups learn king-craft from a king. Ay, +ay, my lord, your royal order will endure, so long as men will fight. Break the +spears, and free the nations. Kings reap the harvests that wave on +battle-fields. And oft you kings do snatch the aloe-flower, whose slow +blossoming mankind watches for a hundred years.—Say on, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this I know; and, therefore, rest content. My children’s +children will be kings; though, haply, called by other titles. Mardi grows +fastidious in names: we royalties will humor it. The steers would burst their +yokes, but have not hands. The whole herd rears and plunges, but soon will bow +again: the old, old way!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, in Porpheero, strong scepters have been wrested from anointed +hands. Mankind seems in arms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let them arm on. They hate us:—good;—they always have; yet +still we’ve reigned, son after sire. Sometimes they slay us, Babbalanja; +pour out our marrow, as I this wine; but they spill no kinless blood. +’Twas justly held of old, that but to touch a monarch, was to strike at +Oro.—Truth. The palest vengeance is a royal ghost; and regicides but +father slaves. Thrones, not scepters, have been broken. Mohi, what of the past? +Has it not ever proved so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, my lord; the times seem changed. ’Tis held, that demi-gods +no more rule by right divine. In Vivenza’s land, they swear the last +kings now reign in Mardi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the last day at hand, old man? Mohi, your beard is gray; but, Yoomy, +listen. When you die, look around; mark then if any mighty change be seen. Old +kingdoms may be on the wane; but new dynasties advance. Though revolutions rise +to high spring-tide, monarchs will still drown hard;—monarchs survived +the flood!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are all our dreams, then, vain?” sighed Yoomy. “Is this no +dawn of day that streaks the crimson East! Naught but the false and flickering +lights which sometimes mock Aurora in the north! Ah, man, my brother! have all +martyrs for thee bled in vain; in vain we poets sang, and prophets spoken? Nay, +nay; great Mardi, helmed and mailed, strikes at Oppression’s shield, and +challenges to battle! Oro will defend the right, and royal crests must +roll.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thus, Yoomy, ages since, you mortal poets sang; but the world may not be +moved from out the orbit in which first it rolled. On the map that charts the +spheres, Mardi is marked ‘the world of kings.’ Round centuries on +centuries have wheeled by:—has all this been its nonage? Now, when the +rocks grow gray, does man first sprout his beard? Or, is your golden time, your +equinoctial year, at hand, that your race fast presses toward perfection; and +every hand grasps at a scepter, that kings may be no more?” +</p> + +<p> +“But free Vivenza! Is she not the star, that must, ere long, lead up the +constellations, though now unrisen? No kings are in Vivenza; yet, spite her +thralls, in that land seems more of good than elsewhere. Our hopes are not wild +dreams: Vivenza cheers our hearts. She is a rainbow to the isles!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, truth it is, that in Vivenza they have prospered. But thence it +comes not, that all men may be as they. Are all men of one heart and brain; one +bone and sinew? Are all nations sprung of Dominora’s loins? Or, has +Vivenza yet proved her creed? Yoomy! the years that prove a man, prove not a +nation. But two kings’-reigns have passed since Vivenza was a +monarch’s. Her climacteric is not come; hers is not yet a nation’s +manhood even; though now in childhood, she anticipates her youth, and lusts for +empire like any czar. Yoomy! judge not yet. Time hath tales to tell. Many +books, and many long, long chapters, are wanting to Vivenza’s history; +and whet history but is full of blood?” +</p> + +<p> +“There stop, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “nor aught predict. +Fate laughs at prophets; and of all birds, the raven is a liar!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0061"></a> +CHAPTER LXI.<br/> +They Round The Stormy Cape Of Capes</h2> + +<p> +Long leagues, for weary days, we voyaged along that coast, till we came to +regions where we multiplied our mantles. +</p> + +<p> +The sky grew overcast. Each a night, black storm-clouds swept the wintry sea; +and like Sahara caravans, which leave their sandy wakes— so, thick and +fleet, slanted the scud behind. Through all this rack and mist, ten thousand +foam-flaked dromedary-humps uprose. +</p> + +<p> +Deep among those panting, moaning fugitives, the three canoes raced on. +</p> + +<p> +And now, the air grew nipping cold. The clouds shed off their fleeces; a +snow-hillock, each canoe; our beards, white-frosted. +</p> + +<p> +And so, as seated in our shrouds, we sailed in among great mountain passes of +ice-isles; from icy ledges scaring shivering seals, and white bears, musical +with icicles, jingling from their shaggy ermine. +</p> + +<p> +Far and near, in towering ridges, stretched the glassy Andes; with their own +frost, shuddering through all their domes and pinnacles. Ice-splinters rattled +down the cliffs, and seethed into the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Broad away, in amphitheaters undermined by currents, whole cities of +ice-towers, in crashes, toward one center, fell.—In their earthquakes, +Lisbon and Lima never saw the like. Churned and broken in the boiling tide, +they swept off amain;—over and over rolling; like porpoises to vessels +tranced in calms, bringing down the gale. +</p> + +<p> +At last, rounding an antlered headland, that seemed a moose at bay—ere +long, we launched upon blue lake-like waters, serene as Windermere, or Horicon. +Thus, from the boisterous storms of youth, we glide upon senility. +</p> + +<p> +But as we northward voyaged, another aspect wore the sea. +</p> + +<p> +In far-off, endless vistas, colonnades of water-spouts were seen: all +heaven’s dome upholding on their shafts: and bright forms gliding up and +down within. So at Luz, in his strange vision, Jacob saw the angels. +</p> + +<p> +A boundless cave of stalactites, it seemed; the cloud-born vapors downward +spiraling, till they met the whirlpool-column from the sea; then, uniting, over +the waters stalked, like ghosts of gods. Or midway sundered—down, sullen, +sunk the watery half; and far up into heaven, was drawn the vapory. As, at +death, we mortals part in twain; our earthy half still here abiding; but our +spirits flying whence they came. +</p> + +<p> +In good time, we gained the thither side of great Kolumbo of the South; and +sailing on, long waited for the day; and wondered at the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +“What steadfast clouds!” cried Yoomy, “yonder! far aloft: +that ridge, with many points; it fades below, but shows a faint white +crest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not clouds, but mountains,” said Babbalanja, “the vast +spine, that traverses Kolumbo; spurring off in ribs, that nestle loamy valleys, +veined with silver streams, and silver ores.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a long, embattled line of pinnacles. And high posted in the East, those +thousand bucklered peaks stood forth, and breasted back the Dawn. Before their +purple bastions bold, Aurora long arrayed her spears, and clashed her golden +shells. The summons dies away. But now, her lancers charge the steep, and gain +its crest a-glow;—their glittering spears and blazoned shields triumphant +in the morn. +</p> + +<p> +But ere that sight, we glided on for hours in twilight; when, on those +mountains’ farther side, the hunters must have been abroad, morning- +glories all astir. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0062"></a> +CHAPTER LXII.<br/> +They Encounter Gold-Hunters</h2> + +<p> +Now, northward coasting along Kolumbo’s Western shore, whence came the +same wild forest-sounds, as from the Eastern; and where we landed not, to seek +among those wrangling tribes;—after many, many days, we spied prow after +prow, before the wind all northward bound: sails wide-spread, and paddles +plying: scaring the fish from before them. +</p> + +<p> +Their inmates answered not our earnest hail. +</p> + +<p> +But as they sped, with frantic glee, in one long chorus thus they sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â We rovers bold,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â To the land of Gold,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Over bowling billows are gliding:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Eager to toil,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â For the golden spoil,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â And every hardship biding.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â See! See!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Before our prows’ resistless dashes,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â The gold-fish fly in golden flashes!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ’Neath a sun of gold,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â We rovers bold,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â On the golden land are gaining;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â And every night,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â We steer aright,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â By golden stars unwaning!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All fires burn a golden glare:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â No locks so bright as golden hair!<br/> +Â Â Â Â All orange groves have golden gushings:<br/> +Â Â Â Â All mornings dawn with golden flushings!<br/> +In a shower of gold, say fables old,<br/> +A maiden was won by the god of gold!<br/> +Â Â Â Â In golden goblets wine is beaming:<br/> +Â Â Â Â On golden couches kings are dreaming!<br/> +Â Â Â Â The Golden Rule dries many tears!<br/> +Â Â Â Â The Golden Number rules the spheres!<br/> +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations:<br/> +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations!<br/> +Â Â Â Â On golden axles worlds are turning:<br/> +Â Â Â Â With phosphorescence seas are burning!<br/> +Â Â Â Â All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings!<br/> +Â Â Â Â With golden arrows kings are slain:<br/> +Â Â Â Â With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name!<br/> +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings,<br/> +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings:<br/> +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe!<br/> +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow.<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â But joyful now, with eager eye,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Fast to the Promised Land we fly:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Where in deep mines,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â The treasure shines;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Or down in beds of golden streams,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â How we long to sift,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â That yellow drift!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Rivers! Rivers! cease your going!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â And in the golden haven ride! +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, quick, my lord,” cried Yoomy, “let us follow them; +and from the golden waters where she lies, our Yillah may emerge.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Babbalanja,—“no Yillah there!—from +yonder promised-land, fewer seekers will return, than go. Under a gilded guise, +happiness is still their instinctive aim. But vain, Yoomy, to snatch at +Happiness. Of that we may not pluck and eat. It is the fruit of our own +toilsome planting; slow it grows, nourished by many teats, and all our earnest +tendings. Yet ere it ripen, frosts may nip;—and then, we plant again; and +yet again. Deep, Yoomy, deep, true treasure lies; deeper than all Mardi’s +gold, rooted to Mardi’s axis. But unlike gold, it lurks in every +soil,—all Mardi over. With golden pills and potions is sickness warded +off?—the shrunken veins of age, dilated with new wine of youth? Will gold +the heart-ache cure? turn toward us hearts estranged? will gold, on solid +centers empires fix? ’Tis toil world-wasted to toil in mines. Were all +the isles gold globes, set in a quicksilver sea, all Mardi were then a desert. +Gold is the only poverty; of all glittering ills the direst. And that man might +not impoverish himself thereby, Oro hath hidden it, with all other +banes,—saltpeter and explosives, deep in mountain bowels, and river-beds. +But man still will mine for it; and mining, dig his doom.— Yoomy, +Yoomy!—she we seek, lurks not in the Golden Hills!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lo, a vision!” cried Yoomy, his hands wildly passed across his +eyes. “A vast and silent bay, belted by silent villages:—gaunt dogs +howling over grassy thresholds at stark corpses of old age and infancy; gray +hairs mingling with sweet flaxen curls; fields, with turned furrows, choked +with briers; arbor-floors strown over with hatchet-helves, rotting in the iron; +a thousand paths, marked with foot-prints, all inland leading, none +villageward; and strown with traces, as of a flying host. On: over +forest—hill, and dale—and lo! the golden region! After the +glittering spoil, by strange river-margins, and beneath impending cliffs, +thousands delve in quicksands; and, sudden, sink in graves of their own making: +with gold dust mingling their own ashes. Still deeper, in more solid ground, +other thousands slave; and pile their earth so high, they gasp for air, and +die; their comrades mounting on them, and delving still, and dying—grave +pile on grave! Here, one haggard hunter murders another in his pit; and +murdering, himself is murdered by a third. Shrieks and groans! cries and +curses! It seems a golden Hell! With many camels, a sleek stranger comes— +pauses before the shining heaps, and shows <i>his</i> treasures: yams and +bread-fruit. ‘Give, give,’ the famished hunters cry—, +‘a thousand shekels for a yam!—a prince’s ransom for a +meal!—Oh, stranger! on our knees we worship thee:—take, take our +gold; but let us live!’ Yams are thrown them and they fight. Then he who +toiled not, dug not, slaved not, straight loads his caravans with gold; regains +the beach, and swift embarks for home. ‘Home! home!’ the hunters +cry, with bursting eyes. ‘With this bright gold, could we but join our +waiting wives, who wring their hands on distant shores, all then were well. But +we can not fly; our prows lie rotting on the beach. Ah! home! thou only +happiness!—better thy silver earnings than all these golden findings. Oh, +bitter end to all our hopes—we die in golden graves.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0063"></a> +CHAPTER LXIII.<br/> +They Seek Through The Isles Of Palms; And Pass The Isles Of Myrrh</h2> + +<p> +Now, our prows we turned due west, across the blue lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, no land appeared. Far as the eye could sweep, one azure plain; all over +flaked with foamy fleeces:—a boundless flock upon a boundless mead! +</p> + +<p> +Again, all changed. Like stars in multitude, bright islets multiplied around. +Emerald-green, they dotted shapes fantastic: circles, arcs, and +crescents;—atolls all, or coral carcanets, begemmed and flashing in the +sun. +</p> + +<p> +By these we glided, group after group; and through the foliage, spied sweet +forms of maidens, like Eves in Edens ere the Fall, or Proserpines in Ennas. +Artless airs came from the shore; and from the censer-swinging roses, a bloom, +as if from Hebe’s cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, at last, we find sweet Yillah!” murmured Yoomy. “Here +must she lurk in innocence! Quick! Let us land and search.” +</p> + +<p> +“If here,” said Babbalanja, “Yillah will not stay our coming, +but fly before us through the groves. Wherever a canoe is beached, see you not +the palm-trees pine? Not so, where never keel yet smote the strand. In mercy, +let us fly from hence. I know not why, but our breath here, must prove a +blight.” +</p> + +<p> +These regions passed, we came to savage islands, where the glittering coral +seemed bones imbedded, bleaching in the sun. Savage men stood naked on the +strand, and brandished uncouth clubs, and gnashed their teeth like boars. +</p> + +<p> +The full red moon was rising; and, in long review there passed before it, +phantom shapes of victims, led bound to altars through the groves. +Death-rattles filled the air. But a cloud descended, and all was gloom. +</p> + +<p> +Again blank water spread before us; and after many days, there came a gentle +breeze, fraught with all spicy breathings; cinnamon aromas; and in the +rose-flushed evening air, like glow worms, glowed the islets, where this +incense burned. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet isles of myrh! oh crimson groves,” cried Yoomy. “Woe, +woe’s your fate! your brightness and your bloom, like musky fire-flies, +double-lure to death! On ye, the nations prey like bears that gorge themselves +with honey.” +</p> + +<p> +Swan-like, our prows sailed in among these isles; and oft we landed; but in +vain; and leaving them, we still pursued the setting sun. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0064"></a> +CHAPTER LXIV.<br/> +Concentric, Inward, With Mardi’s Reef, They Leave Their Wake Around The +World</h2> + +<p> +West, West! West, West! Whitherward point Hope and prophet-fingers; +whitherward, at sun-set, kneel all worshipers of fire; whitherward in +mid-ocean, the great whales turn to die; whitherward face all the Moslem dead +in Persia; whitherward lie Heaven and Hell!—West, West! Whitherward +mankind and empires—flocks, caravans, armies, navies; worlds, suns, and +stars all wend!—West, West!—Oh boundless boundary! Eternal goal! +Whitherward rush, in thousand worlds, ten thousand thousand keels! Beacon, by +which the universe is steered!—Like the north-star, attracting all +needles! Unattainable forever; but forever leading to great things this side +thyself!—Hive of all sunsets!— Gabriel’s pinions may not +overtake thee! +</p> + +<p> +Over balmy waves, still westward sailing! From dawn till eve, the bright, +bright days sped on, chased by the gloomy nights; and, in glory dying, lent +their luster to the starry skies. So, long the radiant dolphins fly before the +sable sharks but seized, and torn in flames—die, burning:—their +last splendor left, in sparkling scales that float along the sea. +</p> + +<p> +Cymbals, drums and psalteries! the air beats like a pulse with music! +—High land! high land! and moving lights, and painted +lanterns!—What grand shore is this? +</p> + +<p> +“Reverence we render thee, Old Orienda!” cried Media, with bared +brow, “Original of all empires and emperors!—a crowned king salutes +thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mardi’s father-land!” cried Mohi, “grandsire of the +nations,—hail!” +</p> + +<p> +“All hail!” cried Yoomy. “Kings and sages hither coming, +should come like palmers,—scrip and staff! Oh Orienda! thou wert our +East, where first dawned song and science, with Mardi’s primal mornings! +But now, how changed! the dawn of light become a darkness, which we kindle with +the gleam of spears! On the world’s ancestral hearth, we spill our +brothers’ blood!” +</p> + +<p> +“Herein,” said Babbalanja, “have many distant tribes proved +parricidal. In times gone by, Luzianna hither sent her prom; Franko, her scores +of captains; and the Dykemen, their peddler hosts, with yard-stick spears! But +thou, oh Bello! lord of the empire lineage! Noah of the moderns. Sire of the +long line of nations yet in germ!— thou, Bello, and thy locust armies, +are the present curse of Orienda. Down ancient streams, from holy plains, in +rafts thy murdered float! The pestilence that thins thy armies here, is bred of +corpses, made by thee. Maramma’s priests, thy pious heralds, loud +proclaim that of all pagans, Orienda’s most resist the truth!—ay! +vain all pious voices, that speak from clouds of war! The march of conquest +through wild provinces, may be the march of Mind; but not the march of +Love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou, Bello!” cried Yoomy, “would’st wrest the crook +from Alma’s hand, and place in it a spear. But vain to make a conqueror +of him, who put off the purple when he came to Mardi; and declining gilded +miters, entered the nations meekly on an ass.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh curse of commerce!” cried Babbalanja, “that it barters +souls for gold. Bello! with opium, thou wouldst drug this land, and murder it +in sleep!—And what boot thy conquests here? Seed sown by spears but +seldom springs; and harvests reaped thereby, are poisoned by the sickle’s +edge.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet on, and on we coasted; counting not the days. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, folds and flocks of nations! dusky tribes innumerable!” cried +Yoomy, “camped on plains and steppes; on thousand mountains, worshiping +the stars; in thousand valleys, offering up first-fruits, till all the forests +seem in flames;—where, in fire, the widow’s spirit mounts to meet +her lord!—Oh, Orienda, in thee ’tis vain to seek our Yillah!” +</p> + +<p> +“How dark as death the night!” said Mohi, shaking the dew from his +braids, “the Heavens blaze not here with stars, as over Dominora’s +land, and broad Vivenza.” +</p> + +<p> +One only constellation was beheld; but every star was brilliant as the one, +that promises the morning. That constellation was the Crux- +Australis,—the badge, and type of Alma. +</p> + +<p> +And now, southwest we steered, till another island vast, was reached; +—Hamora! far trending toward the Antarctic Pole. +</p> + +<p> +Coasting on by barbarous beaches, where painted men, with spears, charged on +all attempts to land, at length we rounded a mighty bluff, lit by a beacon; and +heard a bugle call:—Bello’s! hurrying to their quarters, the +World-End’s garrison. +</p> + +<p> +Here, the sea rolled high, in mountain surges: mid which, we toiled and +strained, as if ascending cliffs of Caucasus. +</p> + +<p> +But not long thus. As when from howling Rhoetian heights, the traveler spies +green Lombardy below, and downward rushes toward that pleasant plain; so, +sloping from long rolling swells, at last we launched upon the calm lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +But as we northward sailed, once more the storm-trump blew, and charger-like, +the seas ran mustering to the call; and in battalions crouched before a +towering rock, far distant from the main. No moon, eclipsed in Egypt’s +skies, looked half so lone. But from out that darkness, on the loftiest peak, +Bello’s standard waved. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh rifled tomb!” cried Babbalanja. “Wherein lay the Mars and +Moloch of our times, whose constellated crown, was gemmed with diadems. Thou +god of war! who didst seem the devouring Beast of the Apocalypse; casting so +vast a shadow over Mardi, that yet it lingers in old Franko’s vale; where +still they start at thy tremendous ghost; and, late, have hailed a phantom, +King! Almighty hero-spell! that after the lapse of half a century, can so +bewitch all hearts! But one drop of hero-blood will deify a fool. +</p> + +<p> +“Franko! thou wouldst be free; yet thy free homage is to the buried ashes +of a King; thy first choice, the exaltation of his race. In furious fires, thou +burn’st Ludwig’s throne; and over thy new-made chieftain’s +portal, in golden letters print’st—‘The Palace of our +Lord!’ In thy New Dispensation, thou cleavest to the exploded Law. And on +Freedom’s altar—ah, I fear—still, may slay thy hecatombs. But +Freedom turns away; she is sick with burnt blood of offerings. Other rituals +she loves; and like Oro, unseen herself, would be worshiped only by invisibles. +Of long drawn cavalcades, pompous processions, frenzied banners, mystic music, +marching nations, she will none. Oh, may thy peaceful Future, Franko, sanctify +thy bloody Past. Let not history say; ‘To her old gods, she turned +again.’” +</p> + +<p> +This rocky islet passed, the sea went down; once more we neared Hamora’s +western shore. In the deep darkness, here and there, its margin was lit up by +foam-white, breaking billows rolled over from Vivenza’s strand, and down +from northward Dominora; marking places where light was breaking in, upon the +interior’s jungle-gloom. +</p> + +<p> +In heavy sighs, the night-winds from shore came over us. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, vain to seek sweet Yillah here,” cried +Yoomy.—“Poor land! curst of man, not Oro! how thou faintest for thy +children, torn from thy soil, to till a stranger’s. Vivenza! did these +winds not spend their plaints, ere reaching thee, thy every vale would echo +them. Oh, tribe of Hamo! thy cup of woe so brims, that soon it must overflow +upon the land which holds ye thralls. No misery born of crime, but spreads and +poisons wide. Suffering hunteth sin, as the gaunt hound the hare, and tears it +in the greenest brakes.” +</p> + +<p> +Still on we sailed: and after many tranquil days and nights, a storm came down, +and burst its thousand bombs. The lightnings forked and flashed; the waters +boiled; our three prows lifted themselves in supplication; but the billows +smote them as they reared. +</p> + +<p> +Said Babbalanja, bowing to the blast: “Thus, oh Vivenza! retribution +works! Though long delayed, it comes at last—Judgment, with all her +bolts.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, a current seized us, and like three darts, our keels sped eastward, +through a narrow strait, far in, upon a smooth expanse, an inland ocean, +without a throb. +</p> + +<p> +On our left, Porpheero’s southwest point, a mighty rock, long tiers of +galleries within, deck on deck; and flag-staffs, like an admiral’s masts: +a line-of-battle-ship, all purple stone, and anchored in the sea. Here +Bello’s lion crouched; and, through a thousand port-holes, eyed the +world. +</p> + +<p> +On our right, Hamora’s northern shore gleamed thick with crescents; +numerous as the crosses along the opposing strand. +</p> + +<p> +“How vain to say, that progress is the test of truth, my lord,” +said Babbalanja, “when, after many centuries, those crescents yet +unwaning shine, and count a devotee for every worshiper of yonder crosses. +Truth and Merit have other symbols than success; and in this mortal race, all +competitors may enter; and the field is clear for all. Side by side, Lies run +with Truths, and fools with wise; but, like geometric lines, though they pierce +infinity, never may they join.” +</p> + +<p> +Over that tideless sea we sailed; and landed right, and landed left; but the +maiden never found; till, at last, we gained the water’s limit; and +inland saw great pointed masses, crowned with halos. +</p> + +<p> +“Granite continents,” cried Babbalanja, “that seem created +like the planets, not built with human hands. Lo, Landmarks! upon whose flanks +Time leaves its traces, like old tide-rips of diluvian seas.” +</p> + +<p> +As, after wandering round and round some purple dell, deep in a boundless +prairie’s heart, the baffled hunter plunges in; then, despairing, turns +once more to gain the open plain; even so we seekers now curved round our +keels; and from that inland sea emerged. The universe again before us; our +quest, as wide. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0065"></a> +CHAPTER LXV.<br/> +Sailing On</h2> + +<p> +Morning dawned upon the same mild, blue Lagoon as erst; and all the lands that +we had passed, since leaving Piko’s shore of spears, were faded from the +sight. +</p> + +<p> +Part and parcel of the Mardian isles, they formed a cluster by themselves; like +the Pleiades, that shine in Taurus, and are eclipsed by the red splendor of his +fiery eye, and the thick clusterings of the constellations round. +</p> + +<p> +And as in Orion, to some old king-astronomer,—say, King of Rigel, or +Betelguese,—this Earth’s four quarters show but four points afar; +so, seem they to terrestrial eyes, that broadly sweep the spheres. +</p> + +<p> +And, as the sun, by influence divine, wheels through the Ecliptic; threading +Cancer, Leo, Pisces, and Aquarius; so, by some mystic impulse am I moved, to +this fleet progress, through the groups in white-reefed Mardi’s zone. +</p> + +<p> +Oh, reader, list! I’ve chartless voyaged. With compass and the lead, we +had not found these Mardian Isles. Those who boldly launch, cast off all +cables; and turning from the common breeze, that’s fair for all, with +their own breath, fill their own sails. Hug the shore, naught new is seen; and +“Land ho!” at last was sung, when a new world was sought. +</p> + +<p> +That voyager steered his bark through seas, untracked before; ploughed his own +path mid jeers; though with a heart that oft was heavy with the thought, that +he might only be too bold, and grope where land was none. +</p> + +<p> +So I. +</p> + +<p> +And though essaying but a sportive sail, I was driven from my course, by a +blast resistless; and ill-provided, young, and bowed to the brunt of things +before my prime, still fly before the gale;—hard have I striven to keep +stout heart. +</p> + +<p> +And if it harder be, than e’er before, to find new climes, when now our +seas have oft been circled by ten thousand prows,—much more the glory! +</p> + +<p> +But this new world here sought, is stranger far than his, who stretched his +vans from Palos. It is the world of mind; wherein the wanderer may gaze round, +with more of wonder than Balboa’s band roving through the golden Aztec +glades. +</p> + +<p> +But fiery yearnings their own phantom-future make, and deem it present. So, if +after all these fearful, fainting trances, the verdict be, the golden haven was +not gained;—yet, in bold quest thereof, better to sink in boundless +deeps, than float on vulgar shoals; and give me, ye gods, an utter wreck, if +wreck I do. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0066"></a> +CHAPTER LXVI.<br/> +A Flight Of Nightingales From Yoomy’s Mouth</h2> + +<p> +By noon, down came a calm. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Neeva! good Neeva! kind Neeva! thy sweet breath, dear Neeva!” +</p> + +<p> +So from his shark’s-mouth prayed little Vee-Vee to the god of Fair +Breezes. And along they swept; till the three prows neighed to the blast; and +pranced on their path, like steeds of Crusaders. +</p> + +<p> +Now, that this fine wind had sprung up; the sun riding joyously in the heavens; +and the Lagoon all tossed with white, flying manes; Media called upon Yoomy to +ransack his whole assortment of songs:—warlike, amorous, and +sentimental,—and regale us with something inspiring for too long the +company had been gloomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Thy best,” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +Then will I e’en sing you a song, my lord, which is a song-full of songs. +I composed it long, long since, when Yillah yet bowered in Odo. Ere now, some +fragments have been heard. Ah, Taji! in this my lay, live over again your happy +hours. Some joys have thousand lives; can never die; for when they droop, sweet +memories bind them up.—My lord, I deem these verses good; they came +bubbling out of me, like live waters from a spring in a silver mine. And by +your good leave, my lord, I have much faith in inspiration. Whoso sings is a +seer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tingling is the test,” said Babbalanja, “Yoomy, did you +tingle, when that song was composing?” +</p> + +<p> +“All over, Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“From sole to crown?” +</p> + +<p> +“From finger to finger.” +</p> + +<p> +“My life for it! true poetry, then, my lord! For this self-same tingling, +I say, is the test.” +</p> + +<p> +“And infused into a song,” cried Yoomy, “it evermore causes +it so to sparkle, vivify, and irradiate, that no son of man can repeat it +without tingling himself. This very song of mine may prove what I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Modest youth!” sighed Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Not more so, than sincere,” said Babbalanja. “He who is +frank, will often appear vain, my lord. Having no guile, he speaks as freely of +himself, as of another; and is just as ready to honor his own merits, even if +imaginary, as to lament over undeniable deficiencies. Besides, such men are +prone to moods, which to shallow-minded, unsympathizing mortals, make their +occasional distrust of themselves, appear but as a phase of self-conceit. +Whereas, the man who, in the presence of his very friends, parades a barred and +bolted front,—that man so highly prizes his sweet self, that he cares not +to profane the shrine he worships, by throwing open its portals. He is locked +up; and Ego is the key. Reserve alone is vanity. But all mankind are egotists. +The world revolves upon an I; and we upon ourselves; for we are our own +worlds:—all other men as strangers, from outlandish, distant climes, +going clad in furs. Then, whate’er they be, let us show our worlds; and +not seek to hide from men, what Oro knows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truth, my lord,” said Yoomy, “but all this applies to men in +mass; not specially, to my poor craft. Of all mortals, we poets are most +subject to contrary moods. Now, heaven over heaven in the skies; now layer +under layer in the dust. This, the penalty we pay for being what we are. But +Mardi only sees, or thinks it sees, the tokens of our self-complacency: +whereas, all our agonies operate unseen. Poets are only seen when they +soar.” +</p> + +<p> +“The song! the song!” cried Media. “Never mind the +metaphysics of genius.” +</p> + +<p> +And Yoomy, thus clamorously invoked, hemmed thrice, tuning his voice for the +air. +</p> + +<p> +But here, be it said, that the minstrel was miraculously gifted with three +voices; and, upon occasions, like a mocking-bird, was a concert of sweet sounds +in himself. Had kind friends died, and bequeathed him their voices? But hark! +in a low, mild tenor, he begins:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Half-railed above the hills, yet rosy bright,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Stands fresh, and fair, the meek and blushing morn!<br/> +So Yillah looks! her pensive eyes the stars,<br/> +Â Â Â Â That mildly beam from out her cheek’s young dawn!<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â But the still meek Dawn,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Is not aye the form<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Of Yillah nor Morn!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Soon rises the sun,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Day’s race to run:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â His rays abroad,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Flash each a sword,—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â And merrily forth they flare!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Sun-music in the air!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â So Yillah now rises and flashes!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Rays shooting from ont her long lashes,—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Sun-music in the air!<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Her laugh! How it bounds!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Bright cascade of sounds!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Peal after peal, and ringing afar,—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Ringing of waters, that silvery jar,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â From basin to basin fast falling!<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Fast falling, and shining, and streaming:—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Yillah’s bosom, the soft, heaving lake,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Where her laughs at last dimple, and flake!<br/> +<br/> +Oh beautiful Yillah! Thy step so free!—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Fast fly the sea-ripples,<br/> +Revealing their dimples,<br/> +Â Â Â Â When forth, thou hi’st to the frolicsome sea!<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the stars laugh,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â When upward she looks:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the trees chat<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â In their woody nooks:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the brooks sing;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the caves ring;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the buds blossom;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the boughs bound;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â All the birds carol;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â And leaves turn round,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Where Yillah looks!<br/> +<br/> +Light wells from her soul’s deep sun<br/> +Causing many toward her to run!<br/> +Vines to climb, and flowers to spring;<br/> +And youths their love by hundreds bring! +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed, gentle Yoomy,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“The meaning,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“The sequel,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I have ceased in the middle; the end is not yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mysticism!” cried Babbalanja. “What, minstrel; must nothing +ultimate come of all that melody? no final and inexhaustible meaning? nothing +that strikes down into the soul’s depths; till, intent upon itself, it +pierces in upon its own essence, and is resolved into its pervading original; +becoming a thing constituent of the all embracing deific; whereby we mortals +become part and parcel of the gods; our souls to them as thoughts; and we privy +to all things occult, ineffable, and sublime? Then, Yoomy, is thy song nothing +worth. Alla Mollolla saith, ‘That is no true, vital breath, which leaves +no moisture behind.’ I mistrust thee, minstrel! that thou hast not yet +been impregnated by the arcane mysteries; that thou dost not sufficiently +ponder on the Adyta, the Monads, and the Hyparxes; the Dianoias, the Unical +Hypostases, the Gnostic powers of the Psychical Essence, and the Supermundane +and Pleromatic Triads; to say nothing of the Abstract Noumenons.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oro forbid!” cried Yoomy; “the very sound of thy words +affrights me.” Then, whispering to Mohi—“Is he daft +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“My brain is battered,” said Media. “Azzageddi! you must +diet, and be bled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, turning; “how little they ween of +the Rudimental Quincunxes, and the Hecatic Spherula!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0067"></a> +CHAPTER LXVII.<br/> +They Visit One Doxodox</h2> + +<p> +Next morning, we came to a deep, green wood, slowly nodding over the waves; its +margin frothy-white with foam. A charming sight! +</p> + +<p> +While delighted, all our paddlers gazed, Media, observing Babbalanja plunged in +reveries, called upon him to awake; asking what might so absorb him. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my lord! what seraphic sounds have ye driven from me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sounds! Sure, there’s naught heard but yonder murmuring surf; what +other sound heard you?” +</p> + +<p> +“The thrilling of my soul’s monochord, my lord. But prick not your +ears to hear it; that divine harmony is overheard by the rapt spirit alone; it +comes not by the auditory nerves.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more, Azzageddi! No more of that. Look yonder!” +</p> + +<p> +“A most lovely wood, in truth. And methinks it is here the sage Doxodox, +surnamed the Wise One, dwells.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark, I hear the hootings of his owls,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, you must have read of him. He is said to have penetrated from +the zoned, to the unzoned principles. Shall we seek him out, that we may +hearken to his wisdom? Doubtless he knows many things, after which we +pant.” +</p> + +<p> +The lagoon was calm, as we landed; not a breath stirred the plumes of the +trees; and as we entered the voiceless shades, lifting his hand, Babbalanja +whispered:—“This silence is a fit introduction to the portals of +Telestic lore. Somewhere, beneath this moss, lurks the mystic stone Mnizuris; +whereby Doxodox hath attained unto a knowledge of the ungenerated essences. +Nightly, he bathes his soul in archangelical circumlucencies. Oh, Doxodox! whip +me the Strophalunian top! Tell o’er thy Jynges!” +</p> + +<p> +“Down, Azzageddi! down!” cried Media. “Behold: there sits the +Wise One; now, for true wisdom!” +</p> + +<p> +From the voices of the party, the sage must have been aware of our approach: +but seated on a green bank, beneath the shade of a red mulberry, upon the +boughs of which, many an owl was perched, he seemed intent upon describing +divers figures in the air, with a jet-black wand. +</p> + +<p> +Advancing with much deference and humility, Babbalanja saluted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh wise Doxodox! Drawn hither by thy illustrious name, we seek +admittance to thy innermost wisdom. Of all Mardian, thou alone comprehendest +those arcane combinations, whereby to drag to day the most deftly hidden +things, present and to come. Thou knowest what we are, and what we shall be. We +beseech thee, evoke thy Tselmns!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tetrads; Pentads; Hexads; Heptads; Ogdoads:—meanest thou +those?” +</p> + +<p> +“New terms all!” +</p> + +<p> +“Foiled at thy own weapons,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, if thou comprehendest not my nomenclature:—how my science? +But let me test thee in the portico.—Why is it, that as some things +extend more remotely than others; so, Quadammodotatives are larger than +Qualitatives; forasmuch, as Quadammodotatives extend to those things, which +include the Quadammodotatives themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Azzageddi has found his match,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Still posed, Babbalanja?” asked Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“At a loss, most truly! But I beseech thee, wise Doxodox! instruct me in +thy dialectics, that I may embrace thy more recondite lore.” +</p> + +<p> +“To begin then, my child:—all Dicibles reside in the mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what are Dicibles?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Meanest thou, Perfect or Imperfect Dicibles?” Any kind you +please;— but what are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfect Dicibles are of various sorts: Interrogative; Percontative; +Adjurative; Optative; Imprecative; Execrative; Substitutive; Compellative; +Hypothetical; and lastly, Dubious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dubious enough! Azzageddi! forever, hereafter, hold thy peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my children! I must go back to my Axioms.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what are they?” said old Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Of various sorts; which, again, are diverse. Thus: my contrary axioms +are Disjunctive, and Subdisjunctive; and so, with the rest. So, too, in degree, +with my Syllogisms.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I not just hint what they were, my child? I repeat, they are of +various sorts: Connex, and Conjunct, for example.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what of them?” persisted Mohi; while Babbalanja, arms folded, +stood serious and mute; a sneer on his lip. +</p> + +<p> +“As with other branches of my dialectics: so, too, in their way, with my +Syllogisms. Thus: when I say,—If it be warm, it is not cold:— +that’s a simple Sumption. If I add, But it is warm:—that’s an +<i>Ass</i>umption.” +</p> + +<p> +“So called from the syllogist himself, doubtless;” said Mohi, +stroking his beard. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor ignorant babe! no. Listen:—if finally, I say,—Therefore +it is not cold that’s the final inference.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a most triumphant one it is!” cried Babbalanja. “Thrice +profound, and sapient Doxodox! Light of Mardi! and Beacon of the Universe! +didst ever hear of the Shark-Syllogism?” +</p> + +<p> +“Though thy epithets be true, my child, I distrust thy sincerity. I have +not yet heard of the syllogism to which thou referrest.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was thus. A shark seized a swimmer by the leg; addressing him: +‘Friend, I will liberate you, if you truly answer whether you think I +purpose harm.’ Well knowing that sharks seldom were magnanimous, he +replied: Kind sir, you mean me harm; now go your ways.’ ‘No, no; my +conscience forbids. Nor will I falsify the words of so veracious a mortal. You +were to answer truly; but you say I mean you harm:—so harm it +is:—here goes your leg.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Profane jester! Would’st thou insult me with thy torn-foolery? +Begone—all of ye! tramp! pack! I say: away with ye!” and into the +woods Doxodox himself disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Bravely done, Babbalanja!” cried Media. “You turned the +corner to admiration.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have hopes of our Philosopher yet,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Outrageous impostor! fool, dotard, oaf! Did he think to bejuggle me with +his preposterous gibberish? And is this shallow phraseman the renowned Doxodox +whom I have been taught so highly to reverence? Alas, alas—Odonphi there +is none!” +</p> + +<p> +“His fit again,” sighed Yoomy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0068"></a> +CHAPTER LXVIII.<br/> +King Media Dreams</h2> + +<p> +That afternoon was melting down to eve; all but Media broad awake; yet all +motionless, as the slumberer upon the purple mat. Sailing on, with open eyes, +we slept the wakeful sleep of those, who to the body only give repose, while +the spirit still toils on, threading her mountain passes. +</p> + +<p> +King Media’s slumbers were like the helmed sentry’s in the saddle. +From them, he started like an antlered deer, bursting from out a copse. Some +said he never slept; that deep within himself he but intensified the hour; or, +leaving his crowned brow in marble quiet, unseen, departed to far-off councils +of the gods. Howbeit, his lids never closed; in the noonday sun, those crystal +eyes, like diamonds, sparkled with a fixed light. +</p> + +<p> +As motionless we thus reclined, Media turned and muttered:—“Brother +gods, and demi-gods, it is not well. These mortals should have less or more. +Among my subjects is a man, whose genius scorns the common theories of things; +but whose still mortal mind can not fathom the ocean at his feet. His +soul’s a hollow, wherein he raves.” +</p> + +<p> +“List, list,” whispered Yoomy—“our lord is dreaming; +and what a royal dream.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very royal and imperial dream,” said Babbalanja—“he +is arraigning me before high heaven;—ay, ay; in dreams, at least, he +deems himself a demi-god.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hist,” said Mohi—“he speaks again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gods and demi-gods! With one gesture all abysses we may disclose; and +before this Mardi’s eyes, evoke the shrouded time to come. Were this +well? Like lost children groping in the woods, they falter through their +tangled paths; and at a thousand angles, baffled, start upon each other. And +even when they make an onward move, ’tis but an endless vestibule, that +leads to naught. In my own isle of Odo—Odo! Odo! How rules my viceroy +there?—Down, down, ye madding mobs! Ho, spearmen, charge! By the +firmament, but my halberdiers fly!” +</p> + +<p> +“His dream has changed,” said Babbalanja. “He is in Odo, +whither his anxieties impel him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hist, hist,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“I leap upon the soil! Render thy account, Almanni! Where’s my +throne? Mohi, am I not a king? Do not thy chronicles record me? Yoomy, am I not +the soul of some one glorious song? Babbalanja, speak.—Mohi! +Yoomy!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, my lord? thou dost but dream.” +</p> + +<p> +Staring wildly; then calmly gazing round, Media smiled. “Ha! how we +royalties ramble in our dreams! I’ve told no secrets?” +</p> + +<p> +“While he seemed to sleep, my lord spoke much,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it not, old man; nor would now; but that ye tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“We dream not ourselves,” said Babbalanja, “but the thing +within us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay?—good-morrow Azzageddi!—But come; no more dreams: +Vee-Vee! wine.” +</p> + +<p> +And straight through that livelong night, immortal Media plied the can. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0069"></a> +CHAPTER LXIX.<br/> +After A Long Interval, By Night They Are Becalmed</h2> + +<p> +Now suns rose, and set; moons grew, and waned; till, at last, the star that +erewhile heralded the dawn, presaged the eve; to us, sad token!— while +deep within the deepest heart of Mardi’s circle, we sailed from sea to +sea; and isle to isle; and group to group;—vast empires explored, and +inland valleys, to their utmost heads; and for every ray in heaven, beheld a +king. +</p> + +<p> +Needless to recount all that then befell; what tribes and caravans we saw; what +vast horizons; boundless plains: and sierras, in their every intervale, a +nation nestling. +</p> + +<p> +Enough that still we roamed. +</p> + +<p> +It was evening; and as the red sun, magnified, launched into the wave, once +more, from a wild strand, we launched our three canoes. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, from her clouds, hooded Night, like a nun from a convent, drew nigh. +Rustled her train, yet no spangles were there. But high on her brow, still +shone her pale crescent; haloed by bandelets—violet, red, and yellow. So +looked the lone watcher through her rainbow-iris; so sad, the night without +stars. +</p> + +<p> +The winds were laid; the lagoon, still, as a prairie of an August noon. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us dream out the calm,” said Media. “One of ye paddlers, +watch: Ho companions! who’s for Cathay?” +</p> + +<p> +Sleep reigned throughout the canoes, sleeping upon the waters. But nearer and +nearer, low-creeping along, came mists and vapors, a thousand; spotted with +twinklings of Will-o-Wisps from neighboring shores. Dusky leopards, stealing on +by crouches, those vapors seemed. +</p> + +<p> +Hours silently passed. When startled by a cry, Taji sprang to his feet; against +which something rattled; then, a quick splash! and a dark form bounded into the +lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +The dozing watcher had called aloud; and, about to stab, the assassin, dropping +his stiletto, plunged. +</p> + +<p> +Peering hard through those treacherous mists, two figures in a shallop, were +espied; dragging another, dripping, from the brine. +</p> + +<p> +“Foiled again, and foiled forever. No foe’s corpse was I.” +</p> + +<p> +As we gazed, in the gloom quickly vanished the shallop; ere ours could be +reversed to pursue. +</p> + +<p> +Then, from the opposite mists, glided a second canoe; and beneath the Iris +round the moon, shone now another:—Hautia’s flowery flag! +</p> + +<p> +Vain to wave the sirens off; so still they came. +</p> + +<p> +One waved a plant of sickly silver-green. +</p> + +<p> +“The Midnight Tremmella!” cried Yoomy; “the falling-star of +flowers!— Still I come, when least foreseen; then flee.” +</p> + +<p> +The second waved a hemlock top, the spike just tapering its final point. The +third, a convolvulus, half closed. “The end draws nigh, and all thy hopes +are waning.” Then they proffered grapes. +</p> + +<p> +But once more waved off, silently they vanished. +</p> + +<p> +Again the buried barb tore, at my soul; again Yillah was invoked, but Hautia +made reply. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly wore out the night. But when uprose the sun, fled clouds, and fled +sadness. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0070"></a> +CHAPTER LXX.<br/> +They Land At Hooloomooloo</h2> + +<p> +“Keep all three prows, for yonder rock.” cried Media; “No +sadness on this merry morn! And now for the Isle of Cripples,—even +Hooloomooloo.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Isle of Cripples?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay; why not? Mohi, tell how they came to club.” In substance, this +was the narration. +</p> + +<p> +Averse to the barbarous custom of destroying at birth all infants not +symmetrically formed; but equally desirous of removing from their sight those +unfortunate beings; the islanders of a neighboring group had long ago +established an asylum for cripples; where they lived, subject to their own +regulations; ruled by a king of their own election; in short, forming a +distinct class of beings by themselves. +</p> + +<p> +One only restriction was placed upon them: on no account must they quit the +isle assigned them. And to the surrounding islanders, so unpleasant the sight +of a distorted mortal, that a stranger landing at Hooloomooloo, was deemed a +prodigy. Wherefore, respecting any knowledge of aught beyond them, the cripples +were well nigh as isolated, as if Hooloomooloo was the only terra-firma extant. +</p> + +<p> +Dwelling in a community of their own, these unfortunates, who otherwise had +remained few in number, increased and multiplied greatly. Nor did successive +generations improve in symmetry upon those preceding them. +</p> + +<p> +Soon, we drew nigh to the isle. +</p> + +<p> +Heaped up, and jagged with rocks; and, here and there, covered with dwarfed, +twisted thickets, it seemed a fit place for its denizens. +</p> + +<p> +Landing, we were surrounded by a heterogeneous mob; and thus escorted, took our +way inland, toward the abode of their lord, King Yoky. +</p> + +<p> +What a scene! +</p> + +<p> +Here, helping himself along with two crotched roots, hobbled a dwarf without +legs; another stalked before, one arm fixed in the air, like a lightning rod; a +third, more active than any, seal-like, flirted a pair of flippers, and went +skipping along; a fourth hopped on a solitary pin, at every bound, spinning +round like a top, to gaze; while still another, furnished with feelers or fins, +rolled himself up in a ball, bowling over the ground in advance. +</p> + +<p> +With curious instinct, the blind stuck close to our side; with their chattering +finger, the deaf and the dumb described angles, obtuse and acute in the air; +and like stones rolling down rocky ravines, scores of stammerers stuttered. +Discord wedded deformity. All asses’ brays were now harmonious memories; +all Calibans, as angels. +</p> + +<p> +Yet for every stare we gave them, three stares they gave us. +</p> + +<p> +At last, we halted before a tenement of rude stones; crooked Banian boughs its +rafters, thatched with fantastic leaves. So rambling and irregular its plan, it +seemed thrown up by the eruption, according to sage Mohi, the origin of the +isle itself. +</p> + +<p> +Entering, we saw King Yoky. +</p> + +<p> +Ah! sadly lacking was he, in all the requisites of an efficient ruler. Deaf and +dumb he was; and save arms, minus every thing but an indispensable trunk and +head. So huge his all-comprehensive mouth, it seemed to swallow up itself. +</p> + +<p> +But shapeless, helpless as was Yoky,—as king of Hooloomooloo, he was +competent; the state being a limited monarchy, of which his Highness was but +the passive and ornamental head. +</p> + +<p> +As his visitors advanced, he fell to gossiping with his fingers: a servitor +interpreting. Very curious to note the rapidity with which motion was +translated into sound; and the simultaneousness with which meaning made its way +through four successive channels to the mind—hand, sight, voice, and +tympanum. +</p> + +<p> +Much amazement His Highness now expressed; horrified his glances. +</p> + +<p> +“Why club such frights as ye? Herd ye, to keep in countenance; or are +afraid of your own hideousness, that ye dread to go alone? Monsters! +speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Oro!” cried Mohi, “are we then taken for cripples, by +the very King of the Cripples? My lord, are not our legs and arms all +right?” +</p> + +<p> +“Comelier ones were never turned by turners, Mohi. But royal Yoky! in +sooth we feel abashed before thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Some further stares were then exchanged; when His Highness sought to know, +whether there were any Comparative Anatomists among his visitors. +</p> + +<p> +“Comparative Anatomists! not one.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why may King Yoky ask that question?” inquired Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +Then was made the following statement. +</p> + +<p> +During the latter part of his reign, when he seemed fallen into his dotage, the +venerable predecessor of King Yoky had been much attached to an old gray-headed +Chimpanzee, one day found meditating in the woods. Rozoko was his name. He was +very grave, and reverend of aspect; much of a philosopher. To him, all gnarled +and knotty subjects were familiar; in his day he had cracked many a crabbed +nut. And so in love with his Timonean solitude was Rozoko, that it needed many +bribes and bland persuasions, to induce him to desert his mossy, hillside, +misanthropic cave, for the distracting tumult of a court. +</p> + +<p> +But ere long, promoted to high offices, and made the royal favorite, the +woodland sage forgot his forests; and, love for love, returned the aged +king’s caresses. Ardent friends they straight became; dined and drank +together; with quivering lips, quaffed long-drawn, sober bumpers; comparing all +their past experiences; and canvassing those hidden themes, on which +octogenarians dilate. +</p> + +<p> +For when the fires and broils of youth are passed, and Mardi wears its truer +aspect—then we love to think, not act; the present seems more +unsubstantial than the past; then, we seek out gray-beards like ourselves; and +hold discourse of palsies, hearses, shrouds, and tombs; appoint our +undertakers; our mantles gather round us, like to winding-sheets; and every +night lie down to die. Then, the world’s great bubble bursts; then, +Life’s clouds seem sweeping by, revealing heaven to our straining eyes; +then, we tell our beads, and murmur pater-nosters; and in trembling accents +cry—“Oro! be merciful.” +</p> + +<p> +So, the monarch and Rozoko. +</p> + +<p> +But not always were they thus. Of bright, cheerful mornings, they took slow, +tottering rambles in the woods; nodding over grotesque walking- sticks, of the +Chimpanzee’s handiwork. For sedate Rozoko was a dilletante-arborist: an +amateur in canes. Indeed, canes at last became his hobby. For half daft with +age, sometimes he straddled his good staff and gently rode abroad, to take the +salubrious evening air; deeming it more befitting exercise, at times, than +walking. Into this menage, he soon initiated his friend, the king; and side by +side they often pranced; or, wearying of the saddle, dismounted; and paused to +ponder over prostrate palms, decaying across the path. Their mystic rings they +counted; and, for every ring, a year in their own calendars. +</p> + +<p> +Now, so closely did the monarch cleave to the Chimpanzee, that, in good time, +summoning his subjects, earnestly he charged it on them, that at death, he and +his faithful friend should be buried in one tomb. +</p> + +<p> +It came to pass, the monarch died; and Poor Rozoko, now reduced to second +childhood, wailed most dismally:—no one slept that night in Hooloomooloo. +Never did he leave the body; and at last, slowly going round it thrice, he laid +him down; close nestled; and noiselessly expired. +</p> + +<p> +The king’s injunctions were remembered; and one vault received them both. +</p> + +<p> +Moon followed moon; and wrought upon by jeers and taunts, the people of the +isle became greatly scandalized, that a base-born baboon should share the +shroud of their departed lord; though they themselves had tucked in the aged +AEneas fast by the side of his Achates. +</p> + +<p> +They straight resolved, to build another vault; and over it, a lofty cairn; and +thither carry the remains they reverenced. +</p> + +<p> +But at the disinterring, a sad perplexity arose. For lo surpassing Saul and +Jonathan, not even in decay were these fast friends divided. So mingled every +relic,—ilium and ulna, carpus and metacarpus;—and so similar the +corresponding parts, that like the literary remains of Beaumont and of +Fletcher, which was which, no spectacles could tell. Therefore, they desisted; +lest the towering monument they had reared, might commemorate an ape, and not a +king. +</p> + +<p> +Such the narration; hearing which, my lord Media kept stately silence. But in +courtly phrase, as beseemed him, Babbalanja, turban in hand, thus spoke:— +</p> + +<p> +“My concern is extreme, King Yoky, at the embarrassment into which your +island is thrown. Nor less my grief, that I myself am not the man, to put an +end to it. I could weep that Comparative Anatomists are not so numerous now, as +hereafter they assuredly must become; when their services shall be in greater +request; when, at the last, last day of all, millions of noble and ignoble +spirits will loudly clamor for lost skeletons; when contending claimants shall +start up for one poor, carious spine; and, dog-like, we shall quarrel over our +own bones.” +</p> + +<p> +Then entered dwarf-stewards, and major-domos; aloft bearing twisted antlers; +all hollowed out in goblets, grouped; announcing dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Loving not, however, to dine with misshapen Mardians, King Media was loth to +move. But Babbalanja, quoting the old proverb—“Strike me in the +face, but refuse not my yams,” induced him to sacrifice his +fastidiousness. +</p> + +<p> +So, under a flourish of ram-horn bugles, court and company proceeded to the +banquet. +</p> + +<p> +Central was a long, dislocated trunk of a wild Banian; like a huge centipede +crawling on its hundred branches, sawn of even lengths for legs. This table was +set out with wry-necked gourds; deformities of calabashes; and shapeless +trenchers, dug out of knotty woods. +</p> + +<p> +The first course was shrimp-soup, served in great clampshells; the second, +lobsters, cuttle-fish, crabs, cockles, cray-fish; the third, hunchbacked roots +of the Taro-plant—plantains, perversely curling at the end, like the +inveterate tails of pertinacious pigs; and for dessert, ill-shaped melons, huge +as idiots’ heads, plainly suffering from water in the brain. +</p> + +<p> +Now these viands were commended to the favorable notice of all guests; not only +for their delicacy of flavor, but for their symmetry. +</p> + +<p> +And in the intervals of the courses, we were bored with hints to admire +numerous objects of vertu: bow-legged stools of mangrove wood; zig-zag rapiers +of bone; armlets of grampus-vertebrae; outlandish tureens of the callipees of +terrapin; and cannakins of the skulls of baboons. +</p> + +<p> +The banquet over, with many congees, we withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to the water-side, we passed a field, where dwarfs were laboring in +beds of yams, heaping the soil around the roots, by scratching it backward; as +a dog. +</p> + +<p> +All things in readiness, Yoky’s valet, a tri-armed dwarf, treated us to a +glorious start, by giving each canoe a vigorous triple-push, crying, +“away with ye, monsters!” +</p> + +<p> +Nor must it be omitted that just previous to embarking, Vee-Vee, spying a +curious looking stone, turned it over, and found a snake. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0071"></a> +CHAPTER LXXI.<br/> +A Book From The “Ponderings Of Old Bardianna”</h2> + +<p> +“Now,” said Babbalanja, lighting his trombone as we sailed from the +isle, “who are the monsters, we or the cripples?” +</p> + +<p> +“You yourself are a monster, for asking the question,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“And so, to the cripples I am; though not, old man, for the reason you +mention. But I am, as I am; whether hideous, or handsome, depends upon who is +made judge. There is no supreme standard yet revealed, whereby to judge of +ourselves; ‘Our very instincts are prejudices,’ saith Alla +Mallolla; ‘Our very axioms, and postulates are far from +infallible.’ ‘In respect of the universe, mankind is but a +sect,’ saith Diloro: ‘and first principles but dogmas.’ What +ethics prevail in the Pleiades? What things have the synods in Sagittarius +decreed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind your old authors,” said Media. “Stick to the +cripples; enlarge upon them.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I have done with them now, my lord; the sermon is not the text. Give +ear to old Bardianna. I know him by heart. Thus saith the sage in Book X. of +the Ponderings, ‘Zermalmende,’ the title: ‘Je pense,’ +the motto:—‘My supremacy over creation, boasteth man, is declared +in my natural attitude:—I stand erect! But so do the palm-trees; and the +giraffes that graze off their tops. And the fowls of the air fly high over our +heads; and from the place where we fancy our heaven to be, defile the tops of +our temples. Belike, the eagles, from their eyries look down upon us Mardians, +in our hives, even as upon the beavers in their dams, marveling at our +incomprehensible ways. And cunning though we be, some things, hidden from us, +may not be mysteries to them. Having five keys, hold we all that open to +knowledge? Deaf, blind, and deprived of the power of scent, the bat will steer +its way unerringly:—could we? Yet man is lord of the bat and the brute; +lord over the crows; with whom, he must needs share the grain he garners. We +sweat for the fowls, as well as ourselves. The curse of labor rests only on us. +Like slaves, we toil: at their good leisure they glean. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Mardi is not wholly ours. We are the least populous part of +creation. To say nothing of other tribes, a census of the herring would find us +far in the minority. And what life is to us,—sour or sweet,—so is +it to them. Like us, they die, fighting death to the last; like us, they spawn +and depart. We inhabit but a crust, rough surfaces, odds and ends of the isles; +the abounding lagoon being its two-thirds, its grand feature from afar; and +forever unfathomable. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What shaft has yet been sunk to the antipodes? What underlieth +the gold mines? +</p> + +<p> +“‘But even here, above-ground, we grope with the sun at meridian. +Vainly, we seek our Northwest Passages,—old alleys, and thoroughfares of +the whales. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh men! fellow men! we are only what we are; not what we would +be; nor every thing we hope for. We are but a step in a scale, that reaches +further above us than below. We breathe but oxygen. Who in Arcturus hath heard +of us? They know us not in the Milky Way. We prate of faculties divine: and +know not how sprouteth a spear of grass; we go about shrugging our shoulders: +when the firmament-arch is over us; we rant of etherealities: and long tarry +over our banquets; we demand Eternity for a lifetime: when our mortal +half-hours too often prove tedious. We know not of what we talk. The Bird of +Paradise out-flies our flutterings. What it is to be immortal, has not yet +entered into our thoughts. At will, we build our futurities; tier above tier, +all galleries full of laureates: resounding with everlasting oratorios! +Pater-nosters forever, or eternal Misereres! forgetting that in Mardi, our +breviaries oft fall from our hands. But divans there are, some say, whereon we +shall recline, basking in effulgent suns, knowing neither Orient nor Occident. +Is it so? Fellow men! our mortal lives have an end; but that end is no goal: no +place of repose. Whatever it may be, it will prove but as the beginning of +another race. We will hope, joy, weep, as before; though our tears may be such +as the spice-trees shed. Supine we can only be, annihilated. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The thick film is breaking; the ages have long been circling. +Fellow-men! if we live hereafter, it will not be in lyrics; nor shall we yawn, +and our shadows lengthen, while the eternal cycles are revolving. To live at +all, is a high vocation; to live forever, and run parallel with Oro, may truly +appall us. Toil we not here? and shall we be forever slothful elsewhere? Other +worlds differ not much from this, but in degree. Doubtless, a pebble is a fair +specimen of the universe. +</p> + +<p> +“‘We point at random. Peradventure at this instant, there are +beings gazing up to this very world as their future heaven. But the universe is +all over a heaven: nothing but stars on stars, throughout infinities of +expansion. All we see are but a cluster. Could we get to Bootes, we would be no +nearer Oro, than now he hath no place; but is here. Already, in its +unimaginable roamings, our system may have dragged us through and through the +spaces, where we plant cities of beryl and jasper. Even now, we may be inhaling +the ether, which we fancy seraphic wings are fanning. But look round. There is +much to be seen here, and now. Do the archangels survey aught more glorious +than the constellations we nightly behold? Continually we slight the wonders, +we deem in reserve. We await the present. With marvels we are glutted, till we +hold them no marvels at all. But had these eyes first opened upon all the +prodigies in the Revelation of the Dreamer, long familiarity would have made +them appear, even as these things we see. Now, <i>now</i>, the page is +out-spread: to the simple, easy as a primer; to the wise, more puzzling than +hieroglyphics. The eternity to come, is but a prolongation of time present: and +the beginning may be more wonderful than the end. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then let us be wise. But much of the knowledge we seek, already +we have in our cores. Yet so simple it is, we despise it; so bold, we fear it. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In solitude, let us exhume our ingots. Let us hear our own +thoughts. The soul needs no mentor, but Oro; and Oro, without proxy. Wanting +Him, it is both the teacher and the taught. Undeniably, reason was the first +revelation; and so far as it tests all others, it has precedence over them. It +comes direct to us, without suppression or interpolation; and with Oro’s +indisputable imprimatur. But inspiration though it be, it is not so arrogant as +some think. Nay, far too humble, at times it submits to the grossest +indignities. Though in its best estate, not infallible; so far as it goes, for +us, it is reliable. When at fault, it stands still. We speak not of +visionaries. But if this our first revelation stops short of the uttermost, so +with all others. If, often, it only perplexes: much more the rest. They leave +much unexpounded; and disclosing new mysteries, add to the enigma. Fellow-men; +the ocean we would sound is unfathomable; and however much we add to our line, +when it is out, we feel not the bottom. Let us be truly lowly, then; not lifted +up with a Pharisaic humility. We crawl not like worms; nor wear we the liveries +of angels. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The firmament-arch has no key-stone; least of all, is man its +prop. He stands alone. We are every thing to ourselves, but how little to +others. What are others to us? Assure life everlasting to this generation, and +their immediate forefathers—and what tears would flow, were there no +resurrection for the countless generations from the first man to five cycles +since? And soon we ourselves shall have fallen in with the rank and file of our +sires. At a blow, annihilate some distant tribe, now alive and jocund—and +what would we reck? Curiosity apart, do we really care whether the people in +Bellatrix are immortal or no? +</p> + +<p> +“‘Though they smite us, let us not turn away from these things, if +they be really thus. +</p> + +<p> +“‘There was a time, when near Cassiopeia, a star of the first +magnitude, most lustrous in the North, grew lurid as a fire, then dim as ashes, +and went out. Now, its place is a blank. A vast world, with all its continents, +say the astronomers, blazing over the heads of our fathers; while in Mardi were +merry-makings, and maidens given in marriage. Who now thinks of that burning +sphere? How few are aware that ever it was? +</p> + +<p> +“‘These things are so. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Fellow-men! we must go, and obtain a glimpse of what we are from +the Belts of Jupiter and the Moons of Saturn, ere we see ourselves aright. The +universe can wax old without us; though by Oro’s grace we may live to +behold a wrinkle in the sky. Eternity is not ours by right; and, alone, +unrequited sufferings here, form no title thereto, unless resurrections are +reserved for maltreated brutes. Suffering is suffering; be the sufferer man, +brute, or thing. +</p> + +<p> +“‘How small;—how nothing, our deserts! Let us stifle all vain +speculations; we need not to be told what righteousness is; we were born with +the whole Law in our hearts. Let us do: let us act: let us down on our knees. +And if, after all, we should be no more forever;— far better to perish +meriting immortality, than to enjoy it unmeritorious. While we fight over +creeds, ten thousand fingers point to where vital good may be done. All round +us, Want crawls to her lairs; and, shivering, dies unrelieved. Here, +<i>here</i>, fellow-men, we can better minister as angels, than in heaven, +where want and misery come not. +</p> + +<p> +“‘We Mardians talk as though the future was all in all; but act as +though the present was every thing. Yet so far as, in our theories, we dwarf +our Mardi; we go not beyond an archangel’s apprehension of it, who takes +in all suns and systems at a glance. Like pebbles, were the isles to sink in +space, Sirius, the Dog-star, would still flame in the sky. But as the atom to +the animalculae, so Mardi to us. And lived aright, these mortal lives are long; +looked into, these souls, fathomless as the nethermost depths. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Fellow-men; we split upon hairs; but stripped, mere words and +phrases cast aside, the great bulk of us are orthodox. None who think, dissent +from the grand belief. The first man’s thoughts were as ours. The +paramount revelation prevails with us; and all that clashes therewith, we do +not so much believe, as believe that we can not disbelieve. Common sense is a +sturdy despot; that, for the most part, has its own way. It inspects and +ratifies much independent of it. But those who think they do wholly reject it, +are but held in a sly sort of bondage; under a semblance of something else, +wearing the old yoke.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Cease, cease, Babbalanja,” said Media, “and permit me to +insinuate a word in your ear. You have long been in the habit, philosopher, of +regaling us with chapters from your old Bardianna; and with infinite gusto, you +have just recited the longest of all. But I do not observe, oh, Sage! that for +all these things, you yourself are practically the better or wiser. You live +not up to Bardianna’s main thought. Where he stands, he stands immovable; +but you are a Dog-vane. How is this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mad, mad again,” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0072"></a> +CHAPTER LXXII.<br/> +Babbalanja Starts To His Feet</h2> + +<p> +For twenty-four hours, seated stiff, and motionless, Babbalanja spoke not a +word; then, almost without moving a muscle, muttered thus:—“At +banquets surfeit not, but fill; partake, and retire; and eat not again till you +crave. Thereby you give nature time to work her magic transformings; turning +all solids to meat, and wine into blood. After a banquet you incline to +repose:—do so: digestion commands. All this follow those, who feast at +the tables of Wisdom; and all such are they, who partake of the fare of old +Bardianna.” +</p> + +<p> +“Art resuscitated, then, Babbalanja?” said Media. “Ay, my +lord, I am just risen from the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did Azzageddi conduct you to their realms?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fangs off! fangs off! depart, thou fiend!—unhand me! or by Oro, I +will die and spite thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Quick, quick, Mohi! let us change places,” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Babbalanja?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh my lord man—not <i>you</i> my lord Media!—high and mighty +Puissance! great King of Creation!—thou art but the biggest of braggarts! +In every age, thou boastest of thy valorous advances:—flat fools, old +dotards, and numskulls, our sires! All the Past, wasted time! the Present knows +all! right lucky, fellow-beings, we live now! every man an author! books plenty +as men! strike a light in a minute! teeth sold by the pound! all the elements +fetching and carrying! lightning running on errands! rivers made to order! the +ocean a puddle!— But ages back they boasted like us; and ages to come, +forever and ever, they’ll boast. Ages back they black-balled the past, +thought the last day was come; so wise they were grown. Mardi could not stand +long; have to annex one of the planets; invade the great sun; colonize the +moon;—conquerors sighed for new Mardis; and sages for heaven— +having by heart all the primers here below. Like us, ages back they groaned +under their books; made bonfires of libraries, leaving ashes behind, mid which +we reverentially grope for charred pages, forgetting we are so much wiser than +they.—But amazing times! astounding revelations; preternatural +divulgings!—How now?—more wonderful than all our discoveries is +this: that they never were discovered before. So simple, no doubt our ancestors +overlooked them; intent on deeper things—the deep things of the soul. All +we discover has been with us since the sun began to roll; and much we discover, +is not worth the discovering. We are children, climbing trees after +birds’ nests, and making a great shout, whether we find eggs in them or +no. But where are our wings, which our fore-fathers surely had not? Tell us, ye +sages! something worth an archangel’s learning; discover, ye discoverers, +something new. Fools, fools! Mardi’s not changed: the sun yet rises in +its old place in the East; all things go on in the same old way; we cut our +eye-teeth just as late as they did, three thousand years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your pardon,” said Mohi, “for beshrew me, they are not yet +all cut. At threescore and ten, here have I a new tooth coming now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Old man! it but clears the way for another. The teeth sown by the +alphabet-founder, were eye-teeth, not yet all sprung from the soil. Like +spring-wheat, blade by blade, they break ground late; like spring-wheat, many +seeds have perished in the hard winter glebe. Oh, my lord! though we galvanize +corpses into St. Vitus’ dances, we raise not the dead from their graves! +Though we have discovered the circulation of the blood, men die as of yore; +oxen graze, sheep bleat, babies bawl, asses bray—loud and lusty as the +day before the flood. Men fight and make up; repent and go at it; feast and +starve; laugh and weep; pray and curse; cheat, chaffer, trick, truckle, cozen, +defraud, fib, lie, beg, borrow, steal, hang, drown—as in the laughing and +weeping, tricking and truckling, hanging and drowning times that have been. +Nothing changes, though much be new-fashioned: new fashions but revivals of +things previous. In the books of the past we learn naught but of the present; +in those of the present, the past. All Mardi’s history—beginning +middle, and finis—was written out in capitals in the first page penned. +The whole story is told in a title- page. An exclamation point is entire +Mardi’s autobiography.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who speaks now?” said Media, “Bardianna, Azzageddi, or +Babbalanja?” +</p> + +<p> +“All three: is it not a pleasant concert?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very fine: very fine.—Go on; and tell us something of the +future.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never departed this life yet, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“But just now you said you were risen from the dead.” “From +the buried dead within me; not from myself, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you, then, know nothing of the future—did Bardianna?” +</p> + +<p> +“If he did, naught did he reveal. I have ever observed, my lord, that +even in their deepest lucubrations, the profoundest, frankest, ponderers always +reserve a vast deal of precious thought for their own private behoof. They +think, perhaps, that ’tis too good, or too bad; too wise, or too foolish, +for the multitude. And this unpleasant vibration is ever consequent upon +striking a new vein of ideas in the soul. As with buried treasures, the ground +over them sounds strange and hollow. At any rate, the profoundest ponderer +seldom tells us all he thinks; seldom reveals to us the ultimate, and the +innermost; seldom makes us open our eyes under water; seldom throws open the +totus-in-toto; and never carries us with him, to the unconsubsistent, the +ideaimmanens, the super-essential, and the One.” +</p> + +<p> +Confusion! Remember the Quadammodatatives!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Braid-Beard, “that’s the crack in his +calabash, which all the Dicibles of Doxdox will not mend.” +</p> + +<p> +“And from that crazy calabash he gives us to drink, old Mohi.” +</p> + +<p> +“But never heed his leaky gourd nor its contents, my lord. Let these +philosophers muddle themselves as they will, we wise ones refuse to +partake.” +</p> + +<p> +“And fools like me drink till they reel,” said Babbalanja. +“But in these matters one’s calabash must needs go round to keep +afloat. Fogle-orum!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0073"></a> +CHAPTER LXXIII.<br/> +At Last, The Last Mention Is Made Of Old Bardianna; And His Last Will And +Testament Is Recited At Length</h2> + +<p> +The day was waning. And, as after many a tale of ghosts, around their forest +fire, Hungarian gipsies silent sit; watching the ruddy glow kindling each +other’s faces;—so, now we solemn sat; the crimson West our fire; +all our faces flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Testators!” then cried Media, when your last wills are all round +settled, speak, and make it known!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine, my lord, has long been fixed,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“And how runs it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fugle-fogle—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark ye, intruding Azzageddi! rejoin thy merry mates below;—go +there, and wag thy saucy tail; or I will nail it to our bow, till ye roar for +liberation. Begone, I say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Down, devil! deeper down!” rumbled Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I think he’s gone. And now, by your good leave, +I’ll repeat old Bardianna’s Will. It’s worth all +Mardi’s hearing; and I have so studied it, by rote I know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed then; but I mistrust that Azzageddi is not yet many thousand +fathoms down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Attend my lord:—‘Anno Mardis 50,000,000, o.s. I, Bardianna, +of the island of Vamba, and village of the same name, having just risen from my +yams, in high health, high spirits, and sound mind, do hereby cheerfully make +and ordain this my last will and testament. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Imprimis: +</p> + +<p> +“‘All my kith and kin being well to do in Mardi, I wholly leave +them out of this my will. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Item. Since, in divers ways, verbally and otherwise, my good +friend Pondo has evinced a strong love for me, Bardianna, as the owner and +proprietor of all that capital messuage with the appurtenances, in Vamba +aforesaid, called ‘The Lair,’ wherein I now dwell; also for all my +Bread-fruit orchards, Palm-groves, Banana-plantations, Taro-patches, gardens, +lawns, lanes, and hereditaments whatsoever, adjoining the aforesaid +messuage;—I do hereby give and bequeath the same to Bomblum of the island +of Adda; the aforesaid Bomblum having never expressed any regard for me, as a +holder of real estate. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Item. My esteemed neighbor Lakreemo having since the last lunar +eclipse called daily to inquire after the state of my health: and having +nightly made tearful inquiries of my herb-doctor, concerning the state of my +viscera;—I do hereby give and bequeath to the aforesaid Lakreemo all and +sundry those vegetable pills, potions, powders, aperients, purgatives, +expellatives, evacuatives, tonics, emetics, cathartics, clysters, injections, +scarifiers, cataplasms, lenitives, lotions, decoctions, washes, gargles, and +phlegmagogues; together with all the jars, calabashes, gourds, and galipots, +thereunto pertaining; situate, lying, and being, in the west-by-north corner of +my east-southeast crypt, in my aforesaid tenement known as ‘The +Lair.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Item. The woman Pesti; a native of Vamba, having oftentimes +hinted that I, Bardianna, sorely needed a spouse, and having also intimated +that she bore me a conjugal affection; I do hereby give and bequeath to the +aforesaid Pesti:—my blessing; forasmuch, as by the time of the opening of +this my last will and testament, I shall have been forever delivered from the +aforesaid Pesti’s persecutions. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Item. Having a high opinion of the probity of my worthy and +excellent friend Bidiri, I do hereby entirely, and wholly, give, will, grant, +bestow, devise, and utterly hand over unto the said Bidiri, all that tenement +where my servant Oram now dwelleth; with all the lawns, meadows, uplands and +lowlands, fields, groves, and gardens, thereunto belonging:—IN TRUST +NEVERTHELESS to have and to hold the same for the sole use and benefit of +Lanbranka Hohinna, spinster, now resident of the aforesaid island of Vamba. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Item. I give and bequeath my large carved drinking gourd to my +good comrade Topo. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. My fast friend Doldrum having at sundry times, and in +sundry places, uttered the prophecy, that upon my decease his sorrow would be +great; I do hereby give and bequeath to the aforesaid Doldrum, ten yards of my +best soft tappa, to be divided into handkerchiefs for his sole benefit and +behoof. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. My sensible friend Solo having informed me, that he +intended to remain a bachelor for life; I give and devise to the aforesaid +Solo, the mat for one person, whereon I nightly repose. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. Concerning my private Arbor and Palm-groves, adjoining, +lying, and being in the isle of Vamba, I give and devise the same, with all +appurtenances whatsoever, to my friend Minta the Cynic, to have and to hold, in +trust for the first through-and-through honest man, issue of my neighbor Mondi; +and in default of such issue, for the first through-and-through honest man, +issue of my neighbor Pendidda; and in default of such issue, for the first +through-and-through honest man, issue of my neighbor Wynodo: and in default of +such issue, to any through-and-through honest man, issue of any body, to be +found through the length and breadth of Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. My friend Minta the Cynic to be sole judge of all claims to +the above-mentioned devise; and to hold the said premises for his own use, +until the aforesaid person be found. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. Knowing my devoted scribe Marko to be very sensitive +touching the receipt of a favor; I willingly spare him that pain; and hereby +bequeath unto the aforesaid scribe, three milk-teeth, not as a pecuniary +legacy, but as a very slight token of my profound regard. +</p> + +<p> +“’Item. I give to the poor of Vamba the total contents of my +red-labeled bags of bicuspids and canines (which I account three-fourths of my +whole estate); to my body servant Fidi, my staff, all my robes and togas, and +three hundred molars in cash; to that discerning and sagacious philosopher my +disciple Krako, one complete set of denticles, to buy him a vertebral bone +ring; and to that pious and promising youth Vangi, two fathoms of my best kaiar +rope, with the privilege of any bough in my groves. +</p> + +<p> +“’All the rest of my goods, chattels and household stuff +whatsoever; and all my loose denticles, remaining after my debts and legacies +are paid, and my body is out of sight, I hereby direct to be distributed among +the poor of Vamba. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ultimo. I give and bequeath to all Mardi this my last advice and +counsel:—videlicet: live as long as you can; close your own eyes when you +die. +</p> + +<p> +“’I have no previous wills to revoke; and publish this to be my +first and last. +</p> + +<p> +“’In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my right hand; and +hereunto have caused a true copy of the tattooing on my right temple to be +affixed, during the year first above written. +</p> + +<p> +“’By me, BARDIANNA.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja, that’s an extraordinary document,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Bardianna was an extraordinary man, my lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were there no codicils?” +</p> + +<p> +“The will is all codicils; all after-thoughts; Ten thoughts for one act, +was Bardianna’s motto.” +</p> + +<p> +“Left he nothing whatever to his kindred?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a stump.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prom his will, he seems to have lived single.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes: Bardianna never sought to improve upon nature; a bachelor he was +born, and a bachelor he died.” +</p> + +<p> +“According to the best accounts, how did he depart, Babbalanja?” +asked Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“With a firm lip, and his hand on his heart, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“His last words?” +</p> + +<p> +“Calmer, and better!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where think you, he is now?” +</p> + +<p> +“In his Ponderings. And those, my lord, we all inherit; for like the +great chief of Romara, who made a whole empire his legatee; so, great authors +have all Mardi for an heir.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0074"></a> +CHAPTER LXXIV.<br/> +A Death-Cloud Sweeps By Them, As They Sail</h2> + +<p> +Next day, a fearful sight! +</p> + +<p> +As in Sooloo’s seas, one vast water-spout will, sudden, form: and +whirling, chase the flying Malay keels; so, before a swift-winged cloud, a +thousand prows sped by, leaving braided, foaming wakes; their crowded +inmates’ arms, in frenzied supplications wreathed; like tangled +forest-boughs. +</p> + +<p> +“See, see,” cried Yoomy, “how the Death-cloud flies! Let us +dive down in the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Babbalanja. “All things come of Oro; if we must +drown, let Oro drown us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Down sails: drop paddles,” said Media: “here we +float.” +</p> + +<p> +Like a rushing bison, sweeping by, the Death-cloud grazed us with its foam; and +whirling in upon the thousand prows beyond, sudden burst in deluges; and +scooping out a maelstrom, dragged down every plank and soul. +</p> + +<p> +Long we rocked upon the circling billows, which expanding from that center, +dashed every isle, till, moons after-ward, faint, they laved all Mardi’s +reef. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks unto Oro,” murmured Mohi, “this heart still +beats.” +</p> + +<p> +That sun-flushed eve, we sailed by many tranquil harbors, whence fled those +thousand prows. Serene, the waves ran up their strands; and chimed around the +unharmed stakes of palm, to which the thousand prows that morning had been +fastened. +</p> + +<p> +“Flying death, they ran to meet it,” said Babbalanja. “But +tie not that they fled, they died; for maelstroms, of these harbors, the +Death-cloud might have made. But they died, because they might not longer live. +Could we gain one glimpse of the great calendar of eternity, all our names +would there be found, glued against their dates of death. We die by land, and +die by sea; we die by earthquakes, famines, plagues, and wars; by fevers, +agues; woe, or mirth excessive. This mortal air is one wide pestilence, that +kills us all at last. Whom the Death-cloud spares, sleeping, dies in silent +watches of the night. He whom the spears of many battles could not slay, dies +of a grape-stone, beneath the vine-clad bower he built, to shade declining +years. We die, because we live. But none the less does Babbalanja quake. And if +he flies not, ’tis because he stands the center of a circle; its every +point a leveled dart; and every bow, bent back:—a twang, and Babbalanja +dies.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0075"></a> +CHAPTER LXXV.<br/> +They Visit The Palmy King Abrazza</h2> + +<p> +Night and morn departed; and in the afternoon, we drew nigh to an island, +overcast with shadows; a shower was falling; and pining, plaintive notes forth +issued from the groves: half-suppressed, and sobbing whisperings of leaves. The +shore sloped to the water; thither our prows were pointed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sheer off! no landing here,” cried Media, “let us gain the +sunny side; and like the care-free bachelor Abrazza, who here is king, turn our +back on the isle’s shadowy side, and revel in its morning-meads.” +</p> + +<p> +“And lord Abrazza:—who is he?” asked Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“The one hundred and twentieth in lineal descent from Phipora,” +said Mohi; “and connected on the maternal side to the lord seigniors of +Klivonia. His uttermost uncle was nephew to the niece of Queen Zmiglandi; who +flourished so long since, she wedded at the first Transit of Venus. His +pedigree is endless.” +</p> + +<p> +“But who is lord Abrazza?” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he not said?” answered Babbalanja. “Why so +dull?—Uttermost nephew to him, who was nephew to the niece of the +peerless Queen Zmiglandi; and the one hundred and twentieth in descent from the +illustrious Phipora.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will none tell, who Abrazza is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can not a man then, be described by running off the catalogue of his +ancestors?” said Babbalanja. “Or must we e’en descend to +himself. Then, listen, dull Yoomy! and know that lord Abrazza is six feet two: +plump thighs; blue eyes; and brown hair; likes his bread-fruit baked, not +roasted; sometimes carries filberts in his crown: and has a way of winking when +he speaks. His teeth are good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you publishing some decamped burglar,” said Media, “that +you speak thus of my royal friend, the lord Abrazza? Go on, sir! and say he +reigns sole king of Bonovona!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord, I had not ended. Abrazza, Yoomy, is a fine and florid king: +high-fed, and affluent of heart; of speech, mellifluent. And for a royalty +extremely amiable. He is a sceptered gentleman, who does much good. Kind king! +in person he gives orders for relieving those, who daily dive for pearls, to +grace his royal robe; and gasping hard, with blood-shot eyes, come up from +shark-infested depths, and fainting, lay their treasure at his feet. Sweet lord +Abrazza! how he pities those, who in his furthest woodlands day-long toil to do +his bidding. Yet king-philosopher, he never weeps; but pities with a placid +smile; and that but seldom.” +</p> + +<p> +“There seems much iron in your blood,” said Media. “But say +your say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say I not truth, my lord? Abrazza, I admire. Save his royal pity all +else is jocund round him. He loves to live for life’s own sake. He vows +he’ll have no cares; and often says, in pleasant reveries,— +‘Sure, my lord Abrazza, if any one should be care-free, ’tis thou; +who strike down none, but pity all the fallen!’ Yet none he lifteth +up.” +</p> + +<p> +At length we gained the sunny side, and shoreward tended. Vee-Vee’s horn +was sonorous; and issuing from his golden groves, my lord Abrazza, like a host +that greets you on the threshold, met us, as we keeled the beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome! fellow demi-god, and king! Media, my pleasant guest!” +</p> + +<p> +His servitors salamed; his chieftains bowed; his yeoman-guard, in meadow-green, +presented palm-stalks,—royal tokens; and hand in hand, the nodding, +jovial, regal friends, went up a lane of salutations; dragging behind, a train +of envyings. +</p> + +<p> +Much we marked Abrazza’s jeweled crown; that shot no honest blaze of +ruddy rubies; nor looked stern-white like Media’s pearls; but cast a +green and yellow glare; rays from emeralds, crossing rays from many a topaz. In +those beams, so sinister, all present looked cadaverous: Abrazza’s cheek +alone beamed bright, but hectic. +</p> + +<p> +Upon its fragrant mats a spacious hall received the kings; and gathering +courtiers blandly bowed; and gushing with soft flatteries, breathed +idol-incense round them. +</p> + +<p> +The hall was terraced thrice; its elevated end was curtained; and thence, at +every chime of words, there burst a girl, gay scarfed, with naked bosom, and +poured forth wild and hollow laughter, as she raced down all the terraces, and +passed their merry kingships. +</p> + +<p> +Wide round the hall, in avenues, waved almond-woods; their whiteness frosted +into bloom. But every vine-clad trunk was hollow-hearted; hollow sounds came +from the grottos: hollow broke the billows on the shore: and hollow pauses +filled the air, following the hollow laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Guards, with spears, paced the groves, and in the inner shadows, oft were seen +to lift their weapons, and backward press some ugly phantom, saying, +“Subjects! haunt him not; Abrazza would be merry; Abrazza feasts his +guests.” +</p> + +<p> +So, banished from our sight seemed all things uncongenial; and pleasant times +were ours, in these dominions. Not a face passed by, but smiled; mocking-birds +perched on the boughs; and singing, made us vow the woods were warbling forth +thanksgiving, with a thousand throats! The stalwart yeomen grinned beneath +their trenchers, heaped with citrons pomegrantes, grapes; the pages tittered, +pouring out the wine; and all the lords loud laughed, smote their gilded +spears, and swore the isle was glad. +</p> + +<p> +Such the isle, in which we tarried; but in our rambles, found no Yillah. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0076"></a> +CHAPTER LXXVI.<br/> +Some Pleasant, Shady Talk In The Groves, Between My Lords Abrazza And Media, +Babbalanja, Mohi, And Yoomy</h2> + +<p> +Abrazza had a cool retreat—a grove of dates; where we were used to lounge +of noons, and mix our converse with the babble of the rills; and mix our +punches in goblets chased with grapes. And as ever, King Abrazza was the prince +of hosts. +</p> + +<p> +“Your crown,” he said to Media; and with his own, he hung it on a +bough. +</p> + +<p> +“Be not ceremonious:” and stretched his royal legs upon the turf. +</p> + +<p> +“Wine!” and his pages poured it out. +</p> + +<p> +So on the grass we lounged; and King Abrazza, who loved his antique ancestors; +and loved old times; and would not talk of moderns;—bade Yoomy sing old +songs; bade Mohi rehearse old histories; bade Babbalanja tell of old +ontologies; and commanded all, meanwhile, to drink his old, old wine. +</p> + +<p> +So, all round we quaffed and quoted. +</p> + +<p> +At last, we talked of old Homeric bards:—those who, ages back, harped, +and begged, and groped their blinded way through all this charitable Mardi; +receiving coppers then, and immortal glory now. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—How came it, that they all were blind? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—It was endemical, your Highness. Few grand poets have good +eyes; for they needs blind must be, who ever gaze upon the sun. Vavona himself +was blind: when, in the silence of his secret bower, he said—“I +will build another world. Therein, let there be kings and slaves, philosophers +and wits; whose checkered actions—strange, grotesque, and merry-sad, will +entertain my idle moods.” So, my lord, Vavona played at kings and crowns, +and men and manners; and loved that lonely game to play. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Vavona seemed a solitary Mardian; who seldom went abroad; had few +friends; and shunning others, was shunned by them. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—But shunned not himself, my lord; like gods, great poets dwell +alone; while round them, roll the worlds they build. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—You seem to know all authors:—you must have heard of +Lombardo, Babbalanja; he who flourished many ages since. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—I have; and his grand Kortanza know by heart. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA (<i>to Abrazza.</i>)—A very curious work, that, my lord. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Yes, my dearest king. But, Babbalanja, if Lombardo had aught to +tell to Mardi—why choose a vehicle so crazy? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—It was his nature, I suppose. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—But so it would not have been, to me. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Nor would it have been natural, for my noble lord Abrazza, to +have worn Lombardo’s head:—every man has his own, thank Oro! +</p> + +<p> +ABBRAZZA—A curious work: a very curious work. Babbalanja, are you +acquainted with the history of Lombardo? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—None better. All his biographies have I read. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Then, tell us how he came to write that work. For one, I can not +imagine how those poor devils contrive to roll such thunders through all Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Their thunder and lightning seem spontaneous combustibles, my lord. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—With which, they but consume themselves, my prince beloved. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—In a measure, true, your Highness. But pray you, listen; and I +will try to tell the way in which Lombardo produced his great Kortanza. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—But hark you, philosopher! this time no incoherencies; gag that +devil, Azzageddi. And now, what was it that originally impelled Lombardo to the +undertaking? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Primus and forever, a full heart:—brimful, bubbling, +sparkling; and running over like the flagon in your hand, my lord. Secundo, the +necessity of bestirring himself to procure his yams. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Wanting the second motive, would the first have sufficed, +philosopher? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Doubtful. More conduits than one to drain off the soul’s +overflowings. Besides, the greatest fullnesses overflow not spontaneously; and, +even when decanted, like rich syrups, slowly ooze; whereas, poor fluids glibly +flow, wide-spreading. Hence, when great fullness weds great +indolence;—that man, to others, too often proves a cipher; though, to +himself, his thoughts form an Infinite Series, indefinite, from its vastness; +and incommunicable;—not for lack of power, but for lack of an omnipotent +volition, to move his strength. His own world is full before him; the fulcrum +set; but lever there is none. To such a man, the giving of any boor’s +resoluteness, with tendons braided, would be as hanging a claymore to +Valor’s side, before unarmed. Our minds are cunning, compound mechanisms; +and one spring, or wheel, or axle wanting, the movement lags, or halts. +Cerebrum must not overbalance cerebellum; our brains should be round as globes; +and planted on capacious chests, inhaling mighty morning- inspirations. We have +had vast developments of parts of men; but none of manly wholes. Before a +full-developed man, Mardi would fall down and worship. We are idiot, +younger-sons of gods, begotten in dotages divine; and our mothers all miscarry. +Giants are in our germs; but we are dwarfs, staggering under heads overgrown. +Heaped, our measures burst. We die of too much life. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA (<i>to Abrazza</i>)—Be not impatient, my lord; he’ll recover +presently. You were talking of Lombardo, Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—I was, your Highness. Of all Mardians, by nature, he was the +most inert. Hast ever seen a yellow lion, all day basking in the yellow +sun:—in reveries, rending droves of elephants; but his vast loins supine, +and eyelids winking? Such, Lombardo; but fierce Want, the hunter, came and +roused his roar. In hairy billows, his great mane tossed like the sea; his +eyeballs flamed two hells; his paw had stopped a rolling world. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—In other words, yams were indispensable, and, poor devil, he +roared to get them. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA (<i>bowing</i>)—Partly so, my literal lord. And as with your +own golden scepter, at times upon your royal teeth, indolent tattoos you beat; +then, potent, sway it o’er your isle; so, Lombardo. And ere Necessity +plunged spur and rowel into him, he knew not his own paces. <i>That</i> churned +him into consciousness; and brought ambition, ere then dormant, seething to the +top, till he trembled at himself. No mailed hand lifted up against a traveler +in woods, can so, appall, as we ourselves. We are full of ghosts and spirits; +we are as grave-yards full of buried dead, that start to life before us. And +all our dead sires, verily, are in us; <i>that</i> is their immortality. From +sire to son, we go on multiplying corpses in ourselves; for all of which, are +resurrections. Every thought’s a soul of some past poet, hero, sage. We +are fuller than a city. Woe it is, that reveals these things. He knows himself, +and all that’s in him, who knows adversity. To scale great heights, we +must come out of lowermost depths. The way to heaven is through hell. We need +fiery baptisms in the fiercest flames of our own bosoms. We must feel our +hearts hot—hissing in us. And ere their fire is revealed, it must burn +its way out of us; though it consume us and itself. Oh, sleek-cheeked Plenty! +smiling at thine own dimples;—vain for thee to reach out after greatness. +Turn! turn! from all your tiers of cushions of eider-down—turn! and be +broken on the wheels of many woes. At white-heat, brand thyself; and count the +scars, like old war-worn veterans, over camp-fires. Soft poet! brushing tears +from lilies—this way! and howl in sackcloth and in ashes! Know, thou, +that the lines that live are turned out of a furrowed brow. Oh! there is a +fierce, a cannibal delight, in the grief that shrieks to multiply itself. That +grief is miserly of its own; it pities all the happy. Some damned spirits would +not be otherwise, could they. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (<i>to Media</i>)—Pray, my lord, is this good gentleman a devil? +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA.—No, my lord; but he’s possessed by one. His name is +Azzageddi. You may hear more of him. But come, Babbalanja, hast forgotten all +about Lombardo? How set he about that great undertaking, his Kortanza? +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (<i>to Media</i>)—Oh, for all the ravings of your Babbalanja, +Lombardo took no special pains; hence, deserves small commendation. For, genius +must be somewhat like us kings,—calm, content, in consciousness of power. +And to Lombardo, the scheme of his Kortanza must have come full-fledged, like +an eagle from the sun. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; but like eagles, his thoughts were first +callow; yet, born plumeless, they came to soar. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Very fine. I presume, Babbalanja, the first thing he did, was to +fast, and invoke the muses. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Pardon, my lord; on the contrary he first procured a ream of +vellum, and some sturdy quills: indispensable preliminaries, my worshipful +lords, to the writing of the sublimest epics. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Ah! then the muses were afterward invoked. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Pardon again. Lombardo next sat down to a fine plantain +pudding. +</p> + +<p> +YOOMY—When the song-spell steals over me, I live upon olives. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Yoomy, Lombardo eschewed olives. Said he, “What fasting +soldier can fight? and the fight of all fights is to write.” In ten days +Lombardo had written— +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Dashed off, you mean. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He never dashed off aught. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—As you will. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—In ten days, Lombardo had written full fifty folios; he loved +huge acres of vellum whereon to expatiate. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—What then? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He read them over attentively; made a neat package of the +whole: and put it into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +ALL—How? +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—What! these great geniuses writing trash? +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—I thought as much. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—My lords, they abound in it! more than any other men in Mardi. +Genius is full of trash. But genius essays its best to keep it to itself; and +giving away its ore, retains the earth; whence, the too frequent wisdom of its +works, and folly of its life. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Then genius is not inspired, after all. How they must slave in +their mines! I weep to think of it. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—My lord, all men are inspired; fools are inspired; your +highness is inspired; for the essence of all ideas is infused. Of ourselves, +and in ourselves, we originate nothing. When Lombardo set about his work, he +knew not what it would become. He did not build himself in with plans; he wrote +right on; and so doing, got deeper and deeper into himself; and like a resolute +traveler, plunging through baffling woods, at last was rewarded for his toils. +“In good time,” saith he, in his autobiography, “I came out +into a serene, sunny, ravishing region; full of sweet scents, singing birds, +wild plaints, roguish laughs, prophetic voices. “Here we are at last, +then,” he cried; “I have created the creative.” And now the +whole boundless landscape stretched away. Lombardo panted; the sweat was on his +brow; he off mantle; braced himself; sat within view of the ocean; his face to +a cool rushing breeze; placed flowers before him; and gave himself plenty of +room. On one side was his ream of vellum— +</p> + +<p> +ABBRAZZA—And on the other, a brimmed beaker. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; though he loved it, no wine for Lombardo +while actually at work. +</p> + +<p> +MOHI—Indeed? Why, I ever thought that it was to the superior quality of +Lombardo’s punches, that Mardi was indebted for that abounding humor of +his. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Not so; he had another way of keeping himself well braced. +</p> + +<p> +YOOMY—Quick! tell us the secret. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He never wrote by rush-light. His lamp swung in heaven.— +He rose from his East, with the sun; he wrote when all nature was alive. +</p> + +<p> +MOHI—Doubtless, then, he always wrote with a grin; and none laughed +louder at his quips, than Lombardo himself. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Hear you laughter at the birth of a man child, old man? The +babe may have many dimples; not so, the parent. Lombardo was a hermit to +behold. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—What! did Lombardo laugh with a long face? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—His merriment was not always merriment to him, your Highness. +For the most part, his meaning kept him serious. Then he was so intensely +riveted to his work, he could not pause to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +MOHI—My word for it; but he had a sly one, now and then. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—For the nonce, he was not his own master: a mere amanuensis +writing by dictation. +</p> + +<p> +YOOMY—Inspiration, that! +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA.—Call it as you will, Yoomy, it was a sort of sleep- walking +of the mind. Lombardo never threw down his pen: it dropped from him; and then, +he sat disenchanted: rubbing his eyes; staring; and feeling +faint—sometimes, almost unto death. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—But pray, Babbalanja, tell us how he made acquaintance with some of +those rare worthies, he introduces us to, in his Koztanza. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He first met them in his reveries; they were walking about in +him, sour and moody: and for a long time, were shy of his advances; but still +importuned, they at last grew ashamed of their reserve; stepped forward; and +gave him their hands. After that, they were frank and friendly. Lombardo set +places for them at his board; when he died, he left them something in his will. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—What! those imaginary beings? +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Wondrous witty! infernal fine! +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—But, Babbalanja; after all, the Koztanza found no favor in the eyes +of some Mardians. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Ay: the arch-critics Verbi and Batho denounced it. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Yes: on good authority, Verbi is said to have detected a +superfluous comma; and Batho declared that, with the materials he could have +constructed a far better world than Lombardo’s. But, didst ever hear of +his laying his axis? +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—But the unities; Babbalanja, the unities! they are wholly wanting +in the Koztanza. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Your Highness; upon that point, Lombardo was frank. Saith he, +in his autobiography: “For some time, I endeavored to keep in the good +graces of those nymphs; but I found them so captious, and exacting; they threw +me into such a violent passion with their fault-findings; that, at last, I +renounced them.” +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Very rash! +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; for though Lombardo abandoned all monitors +from without; he retained one autocrat within—his crowned and sceptered +instinct. And what, if he pulled down one gross world, and ransacked the +etherial spheres, to build up something of his own—a +composite:—what then? matter and mind, though matching not, are mates; +and sundered oft, in his Koztanza they unite:—the airy waist, embraced by +stalwart arms. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Incoherent again! I thought we were to have no more of this! +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—My lord Media, there are things infinite in the finite; and +dualities in unities. Our eyes are pleased with the redness of the rose, but +another sense lives upon its fragrance. Its redness you must approach, to view: +its invisible fragrance pervades the field. So, with the Koztanza. Its mere +beauty is restricted to its form: its expanding soul, past Mardi does embalm. +Modak is Modako; but fogle-foggle is not fugle-fi. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA (<i>to Abrazza</i>)—My lord, you start again; but ’tis only +another phase of Azzageeddi; sometimes he’s quite mad. But all this you +must needs overlook. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—I will, my dear prince; what one can not see through, one must +needs look over, as you say. +</p> + +<p> +YOOMY—But trust me, your Highness, some of those strange things fall far +too melodiously upon the ear, to be wholly deficient in meaning. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Your gentle minstrel, <i>this</i> must be, my lord. But +Babbalanja, the Koztanza lacks cohesion; it is wild, unconnected, all episode. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—And so is Mardi itself:—nothing but episodes; valleys +and hills; rivers, digressing from plains; vines, roving all over; boulders and +diamonds; flowers and thistles; forests and thickets; and, here and there, fens +and moors. And so, the world in the Koztanza. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Ay, plenty of dead-desert chapters there; horrible sands to wade +through. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Now, Babbalanja, away with your tropes; and tell us of the work, +directly it was done. What did Lombardo then? Did he show it to any one for an +opinion? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Yes, to Zenzori; who asked him where he picked up so much +trash; to Hanto, who bade him not be cast down, it was pretty good; to Lucree, +who desired to know how much he was going to get for it; to Roddi, who offered +a suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—And what was that? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—That he had best make a faggot of the whole; and try again. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Very encouraging. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Any one else? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—To Pollo; who, conscious his opinion was sought, was thereby +puffed up; and marking the faltering of Lombardo’s voice, when the +manuscript was handed him, straightway concluded, that the man who stood thus +trembling at the bar, must needs be inferior to the judge. But his verdict was +mild. After sitting up all night over the work; and diligently taking +notes:—“Lombardo, my friend! here, take your sheets. I have run +through them loosely. You might have done better; but then you might have done +worse. Take them, my friend; I have put in some good things for you:” +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—And who was Pollo? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Probably some one who lived in Lombardo’s time, and went +by that name. He is incidentally mentioned, and cursorily immortalized in one +of the posthumous notes to the Koztanza. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—What is said of him there? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Not much. In a very old transcript of the work—that of +Aldina—the note alludes to a brave line in the text, and runs +thus:— “Diverting to tell, it was this passage that an old +prosodist, one Pollo, claimed for his own. He maintained he made a free-will +offering of it to Lombardo. Several things are yet extant of this Pollo, who +died some weeks ago. He seems to have been one of those, who would do great +things if they could; but are content to compass the small. He imagined, that +the precedence of authors he had established in his library, was their Mardi +order of merit. He condemned the sublime poems of Vavona to his lowermost +shelf. ‘Ah,’ thought he, ‘how we library princes, lord it +over these beggarly authors!’ Well read in the history of their woes, +Pollo pitied them all, particularly the famous; and wrote little essays of his +own, which he read to himself.” +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Well: and what said Lombardo to those good friends of his,— +Zenzori, Hanto, and Roddi? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Nothing. Taking home his manuscript, he glanced it over; +making three corrections. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—And what then? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Then, your Highness, he thought to try a conclave of +professional critics; saying to himself, “Let them privately point out to +me, now, all my blemishes; so that, what time they come to review me in public, +all will be well.” But curious to relate, those professional critics, for +the most part, held their peace, concerning a work yet unpublished. And, with +some generous exceptions, in their vague, learned way, betrayed such base, +beggarly notions of authorship, that Lombardo could have wept, had tears been +his. But in his very grief, he ground his teeth. Muttered he, “They are +fools. In their eyes, bindings not brains make books. They criticise my +tattered cloak, not my soul, caparisoned like a charger. He is the great +author, think they, who drives the best bargain with his wares: and no +bargainer am I. Because he is old, they worship some mediocrity of an ancient, +and mock at the living prophet with the live coal on his lips. They are men who +would not be men, had they no books. Their sires begat them not; but the +authors they have read. Feelings they have none: and their very opinions they +borrow. They can not say yea, nor nay, without first consulting all Mardi as an +Encyclopedia. And all the learning in them, is as a dead corpse in a coffin. +Were they worthy the dignity of being damned, I would damn them; but they are +not. Critics?—Asses! rather mules!—so emasculated, from vanity, +they can not father a true thought. Like mules, too, from dunghills, they +trample down gardens of roses: and deem that crushed fragrance their +own.—Oh! that all round the domains of genius should lie thus unhedged, +for such cattle to uproot! Oh! that an eagle should be stabbed by a +goose-quill! But at best, the greatest reviewers but prey on my leavings. For I +am critic and creator; and as critic, in cruelty surpass all critics merely, as +a tiger, jackals. For ere Mardi sees aught of mine, I scrutinize it myself, +remorseless as a surgeon. I cut right and left; I probe, tear, and wrench; +kill, burn, and destroy; and what’s left after that, the jackals are +welcome to. It is I that stab false thoughts, ere hatched; I that pull down +wall and tower, rejecting materials which would make palaces for others. Oh! +could Mardi but see how we work, it would marvel more at our primal chaos, than +at the round world thence emerging. It would marvel at our scaffoldings, +scaling heaven; marvel at the hills of earth, banked all round our fabrics ere +completed.—How plain the pyramid! In this grand silence, so intense, +pierced by that pointed mass,—could ten thousand slaves have ever toiled? +ten thousand hammers rung?—There it stands, —part of Mardi: +claiming kin with mountains;—was this thing piecemeal built?—It +was. Piecemeal?—atom by atom it was laid. The world is made of +mites.” +</p> + +<p> +YOOMY (<i>musing.</i>)—It is even so. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Lombardo was severe upon the critics; and they as much so upon +him;—of that, be sure. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANGA—Your Highness, Lombardo never presumed to criticise true +critics; who are more rare than true poets. A great critic is a sultan among +satraps; but pretenders are thick as ants, striving to scale a palm, after its +aerial sweetness. And they fight among themselves. Essaying to pluck eagles, +they themselves are geese, stuck full of quills, of which they rob each other. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (<i>to Media.</i>)—Oro help the victim that falls in +Babbalanja’s hands! +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA.—Ay, my lord; at times, his every finger is a dagger: every thought +a falling tower that whelms! But resume, philosopher—what of Lombardo +now? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—“For this thing,” said he, “I have agonized +over it enough.—I can wait no more. It has faults—all +mine;—its merits all its own;—but I can toil no longer. The beings +knit to me implore; my heart is full; my brain is sick. Let it go—let it +go—and Oro with it. Somewhere Mardi has a mighty heart—-<i>that</i> +struck, all the isles shall resound!” +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Poor devil! he took the world too hard. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA.-As most of these mortals do, my lord. That’s the load, self- +imposed, under which Babbalanja reels. But now, philosopher, ere Mardi saw it, +what thought Lombardo of his work, looking at it objectively, as a thing out of +him, I mean. +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—No doubt, he hugged it. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Hard to answer. Sometimes, when by himself, he thought hugely +of it, as my lord Abrazza says; but when abroad, among men, he almost despised +it; but when he bethought him of those parts, written with full eyes, half +blinded; temples throbbing; and pain at the heart— +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—Pooh! pooh! +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He would say to himself, “Sure, it can not be in +vain!” Yet again, when he bethought him of the hurry and bustle of Mardi, +dejection stole over him. “Who will heed it,” thought he; +“what care these fops and brawlers for me? But am I not myself an +egregious coxcomb? Who will read me? Say one thousand pages—twenty-five +lines each—every line ten words—every word ten letters. +That’s two million five hundred thousand <i>a</i>’s, and +<i>i</i>’s, and <i>o</i>’s to read! How many are superfluous? Am I +not mad to saddle Mardi with such a task? Of all men, am I the wisest, to stand +upon a pedestal, and teach the mob? Ah, my own Kortanza! child of many +prayers!—in whose earnest eyes, so fathomless, I see my own; and recall +all past delights and silent agonies-thou may’st prove, as the child of +some fond dotard:— beauteous to me; hideous to Mardi! And methinks, that +while so much slaving merits that thou should’st not die; it has not been +intense, prolonged enough, for the high meed of immortality. Yet, things +immortal have been written; and by men as me;—men, who slept and waked; +and ate; and talked with tongues like mine. Ah, Oro! how may we know or not, we +are what we would be? Hath genius any stamp and imprint, obvious to possessors? +Has it eyes to see itself; or is it blind? Or do we delude ourselves with being +gods, and end in grubs? Genius, genius?—a thousand years hence, to be a +household-word?—I?— Lombardo? but yesterday cut in the market-place +by a spangled fool!— Lombardo immortal?—Ha, ha, Lombardo! but thou +art an ass, with vast ears brushing the tops of palms! Ha, ha, ha! Methinks I +see thee immortal! ‘Thus great Lombardo saith; and thus; and thus; and +thus:— thus saith he—illustrious Lombardo!—Lombardo, our +great countryman! Lombardo, prince of poets—Lombardo! great +Lombardo!’—Ha, ha, ha!— go, go! dig thy grave, and bury +thyself!” +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA—He was very funny, then, at times. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Very funny, your Highness:—amazing jolly! And from my +nethermost soul, would to Oro, thou could’st but feel one touch of that +jolly woe! It would appall thee, my Right Worshipful lord Abrazza! +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (<i>to Media</i>)—My dear lord, his teeth are marvelously white +and sharp: some she-shark must have been his dam:—does he often grin +thus? It was infernal! +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—Ah! that’s Azzageddi. But, prithee, Babbalanja, proceed. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—Your Highness, even in his calmer critic moods, Lombardo was +far from fancying his work. He confesses, that it ever seemed to him but a poor +scrawled copy of something within, which, do what he would, he could not +completely transfer. “My canvas was small,” said he; “crowded +out were hosts of things that came last. But Fate is in it.” And Fate it +was, too, your Highness, which forced Lombardo, ere his work was well done, to +take it off his easel, and send it to be multiplied. “Oh, that I was not +thus spurred!” cried he; “but like many another, in its very +childhood, this poor child of mine must go out into Mardi, and get bread for +its sire.” +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (<i>with a sigh</i>)—Alas, the poor devil! But methinks +’twas wondrous arrogant in him to talk to all Mardi at that lofty +rate.—Did he think himself a god? +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA—He himself best knew what he thought; but, like all others, he +was created by Oro to some special end; doubtless, partly answered in his +Koztanza. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA—And now that Lombardo is long dead and gone—and his work, +hooted during life, lives after him—what think the present company of it? +Speak, my lord Abrazza! Babbalanja! Mohi! Yoomy! +</p> + +<p> +ABRAZZA (_tapping his sandal with his scepter__)—I never read it. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA (<i>looking upward</i>)—It was written with a divine intent. +</p> + +<p> +Mohi (<i>stroking his beard</i>)—I never hugged it in a corner, and +ignored it before Mardi. +</p> + +<p> +Yoomy (<i>musing</i>)—It has bettered my heart. +</p> + +<p> +MEDIA (<i>rising</i>)—And I have read it through nine times. +</p> + +<p> +BABBALANJA (<i>starting up</i>)—Ah, Lombardo! this must make thy ghost +glad! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0077"></a> +CHAPTER LXXVII.<br/> +They Sup</h2> + +<p> +There seemed something sinister, hollow, heartless, about Abrazza, and that +green-and-yellow, evil-starred crown that he wore. +</p> + +<p> +But why think of that? Though we like not something in the curve of one’s +brow, or distrust the tone of his voice; yet, let us away with suspicions if we +may, and make a jolly comrade of him, in the name of the gods. Miserable! +thrice miserable he, who is forever turning over and over one’s character +in his mind, and weighing by nice avoirdupois, the pros and the cons of his +goodness and badness. For we are all good and bad. Give me the heart +that’s huge as all Asia; and unless a man, be a villain outright, account +him one of the best tempered blades in the world. +</p> + +<p> +That night, in his right regal hall, King Abrazza received us. And in merry +good time a fine supper was spread. +</p> + +<p> +Now, in thus nocturnally regaling us, our host was warranted by many ancient +and illustrious examples. +</p> + +<p> +For old Jove gave suppers; the god Woden gave suppers; the Hindoo deity Brahma +gave suppers; the Red Man’s Great Spirit gave suppers:— chiefly +venison and game. +</p> + +<p> +And many distinguished mortals besides. +</p> + +<p> +Ahasuerus gave suppers; Xerxes gave suppers; Montezuma gave suppers; Powhattan +gave suppers; the Jews’ Passovers were suppers; the Pharaohs gave +suppers; Julius Caesar gave suppers:—and rare ones they were; Great +Pompey gave suppers; Nabob Crassus gave suppers; and Heliogabalus, surnamed the +Gobbler, gave suppers. +</p> + +<p> +It was a common saying of old, that King Pluto gave suppers; some say he is +giving them still. If so, he is keeping tip-top company, old +Pluto:—Emperors and Czars; Great Moguls and Great Khans; Grand Lamas and +Grand Dukes; Prince Regents and Queen Dowagers:—Tamerlane hob-a-nobbing +with Bonaparte; Antiochus with Solyman the Magnificent; Pisistratus pledging +Pilate; Semiramis eating bon-bons with Bloody Mary, and her namesake of +Medicis; the Thirty Tyrants quaffing three to one with the Council of Ten; and +Sultans, Satraps, Viziers, Hetmans, Soldans, Landgraves, Bashaws, Doges, +Dauphins, Infantas, Incas, and Caciques looking on. +</p> + +<p> +Again: at Arbela, the conqueror of conquerors, conquering son of Olympia by +Jupiter himself, sent out cards to his captains,— Hephestion, Antigonus, +Antipater, and the rest—to join him at ten, p.m., in the Temple of Belus; +there, to sit down to a victorious supper, off the gold plate of the Assyrian +High Priests. How majestically he poured out his old Madeira that +night!—feeling grand and lofty as the Himmalehs; yea, all Babylon nodded +her towers in his soul! +</p> + +<p> +Spread, heaped up, stacked with good things; and redolent of citrons and +grapes, hilling round tall vases of wine; and here and there, waving with fresh +orange-boughs, among whose leaves, myriads of small tapers gleamed like +fire-flies in groves,—Abrazza’s glorious board showed like some +banquet in Paradise: Ceres and Pomona presiding; and jolly Bacchus, like a +recruit with a mettlesome rifle, staggering back as he fires off the bottles of +vivacious champagne. +</p> + +<p> +In ranges, roundabout stood living candelabras:—lackeys, gayly bedecked, +with tall torches in their hands; and at one end, stood trumpeters, bugles at +their lips. +</p> + +<p> +“This way, my dear Media!—this seat at my left—Noble +Taji!—my right. Babbalanja!—Mohi—where you are. But +where’s pretty Yoomy?— Gone to meditate in the moonlight? +ah!—Very good. Let the banquet begin. A blast there!” +</p> + +<p> +And charge all did. +</p> + +<p> +The venison, wild boar’s meat, and buffalo-humps, were extraordinary; the +wine, of rare vintages, like bottled lightning; and the first course, a +brilliant affair, went off like a rocket. +</p> + +<p> +But as yet, Babbalanja joined not in the revels. His mood was on him; and apart +he sat; silently eyeing the banquet; and ever and anon +muttering,—“Fogle-foggle, fugle-fi.—” +</p> + +<p> +The first fury of the feast over, said King Media, pouring out from a heavy +flagon into his goblet, “Abrazza, these suppers are wondrous fine +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my dear lord, much better than dinners.” +</p> + +<p> +“So they are, so they are. The dinner-hour is the summer of the day: full +of sunshine, I grant; but not like the mellow autumn of supper. A dinner, you +know, may go off rather stiffly; but invariably suppers are jovial. At dinners, +’tis not till you take in sail, furl the cloth, bow the lady-passengers +out, and make all snug; ’tis not till then, that one begins to ride out +the gale with complacency. But at these suppers—Good Oro! your cup is +empty, my dear demi-god!—But at these suppers, I say, all is snug and +ship-shape before you begin; and when you begin, you waive the beginning, and +begin in the middle. And as for the cloth,—but tell us, Braid-Beard, what +that old king of Franko, Ludwig the Fat, said of that matter. The cloth for +suppers, you know. It’s down in your chronicles.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,”—wiping his beard,—“Old Ludwig was of +opinion, that at suppers the cloth was superfluous, unless on the back of some +jolly good friar. Said he, ‘For one, I prefer sitting right down to the +unrobed table.’” +</p> + +<p> +“High and royal authority, that of Ludwig the Fat,” said +Babbalanja, “far higher than the authority of Ludwig the Great:—the +one, only great by courtesy; the other, fat beyond a peradventure. But they are +equally famous; and in their graves, both on a par. For after devouring many a +fair province, and grinding the poor of his realm, Ludwig the Great has long +since, himself, been devoured by very small worms, and ground into very fine +dust. And after stripping many a venison rib, Ludwig the Fat has had his own +polished and bleached in the Valley of Death; yea, and his cranium chased with +corrodings, like the carved flagon once held to its jaws.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord! my lord!”—cried Abrazza to Media—“this +ghastly devil of yours grins worse than a skull. I feel the worms crawling over +me!—By Oro we must eject him!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my lord. Let him sit there, as of old the Death’s-head +graced the feasts of the Pharaohs—let him sit—let him sit—for +Death but imparts a flavor to Life—Go on: wag your tongue without fear, +Azzageddi!—But come, Braid-Beard! let’s hear more of the +Ludwigs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, your Highness, of all the eighteen royal Ludwigs of +Franko—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who like so many ten-pins, all in a row,” interposed +Babbalanja— “have been bowled off the course by grim Death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heed him not,” said Media—“go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Debonnaire, the Pious, the Stammerer, the Do-Nothing, the Juvenile, +the Quarreler:—of all these, I say, Ludwig the Fat was the best table-man +of them all. Such a full orbed paunch was his, that no way could he devise of +getting to his suppers, but by getting right into them. Like the Zodiac his +table was circular, and full in the middle he sat, like a sun;—all his +jolly stews and ragouts revolving around him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yea,” said Babbalanja, “a very round sun was Ludwig the Fat. +No wonder he’s down in the chronicles; several ells about the waist, and +King of cups and Tokay. Truly, a famous king: three hundred-weight of lard, +with a diadem on top: lean brains and a fat doublet—a demijohn of a +demi-god!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this to be longer borne?” cried Abrazza, starting up. +“Quaff that sneer down, devil! on the instant! down with it, to the +dregs! This comes, my lord Media, of having a slow drinker at one’s +board. Like an iceberg, such a fellow frosts the whole atmosphere of a banquet, +and is felt a league off We must thrust him out. Guards!” +</p> + +<p> +“Back! touch him not, hounds!”—cried Media. “Your +pardon, my lord, but we’ll keep him to it; and melt him down in this good +wine. Drink! I command it, drink, Babbalanja!” +</p> + +<p> +“And am I not drinking, my lord? Surely you would not that I should +imbibe more than I can hold. The measure being full, all poured in after that +is but wasted. I am for being temperate in these things, my good lord. And my +one cup outlasts three of yours. Better to sip a pint, than pour down a quart. +All things in moderation are good; whence, wine in moderation is good. But all +things in excess are bad: whence wine in excess is bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away with your logic and conic sections! Drink!—But no, no: I am +too severe. For of all meals a supper should be the most social and free. And +going thereto we kings, my lord, should lay aside our scepters.— Do as +you please Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, you are right, after all, my dear demi-god,” said +Abrazza. “And to say truth, I seldom worry myself with the ways of these +mortals; for no thanks do we demi-gods get. We kings should be ever +indifferent. Nothing like a cold heart; warm ones are ever chafing, and getting +into trouble. I let my mortals here in this isle take heed to themselves; only +barring them out when they would thrust in their petitions. This very instant, +my lord, my yeoman-guard is on duty without, to drive off +intruders.—Hark!—what noise is that?—Ho, who comes?” +</p> + +<p> +At that instant, there burst into the hall, a crowd of spearmen, driven before +a pale, ragged rout, that loudly invoked King Abrazza. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, my lord king, for thus forcing an entrance! But long in vain +have we knocked at thy gates! Our grievances are more than we can bear! Give +ear to our spokesman, we beseech!” +</p> + +<p> +And from their tumultuous midst, they pushed forward a tall, grim, pine-tree of +a fellow, who loomed up out of the throng, like the Peak of Teneriffe among the +Canaries in a storm. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive the knaves out! Ho, cowards, guards, turn about! charge upon them! +Away with your grievances! Drive them out, I say, drive them out!—High +times, truly, my lord Media, when demi-gods are thus annoyed at their wine. Oh, +who would reign over mortals!” +</p> + +<p> +So at last, with much difficulty, the ragged rout were ejected; the Peak of +Teneriffe going last, a pent storm on his brow; and muttering about some black +time that was corning. +</p> + +<p> +While the hoarse murmurs without still echoed through the hall, King Abrazza +refilling his cup thus spoke:—“You were saying, my dear lord, that +of all meals a supper is the most social and free. Very true. And of all +suppers those given by us bachelor demi-gods are the best. Are they not?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are. For Benedict mortals must be home betimes: bachelor demi-gods +are never away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, your Highnesses, bachelors are all the year round at home;” +said Mohi: “sitting out life in the chimney corner, cozy and warm as the +dog, whilome turning the old-fashioned roasting jack.” +</p> + +<p> +“And to us bachelor demi-gods,” cried Media “our to-morrows +are as long rows of fine punches, ranged on a board, and waiting the +hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my good lords,” said Babbalanja, now brightening with wine; +“if, of all suppers those given by bachelors be the best:—of all +bachelors, are not your priests and monks the jolliest? I mean, behind the +scenes? Their prayers all said, and their futurities securely +invested,—who so carefree and cozy as they? Yea, a supper for two in a +friar’s cell in Maramma, is merrier far, than a dinner for +five-and-twenty, in the broad right wing of Donjalolo’s great Palace of +the Morn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo, Babbalanja!” cried Media, “your iceberg is thawing. +More of that, more of that. Did I not say, we would melt him down at last, my +lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” continued Babbalanja, “bachelors are a noble +fraternity: I’m a bachelor myself. One of ye, in that matter, my lord +demi-gods. And if unlike the patriarchs of the world, we father not our +brigades and battalions; and send not out into the battles of our country whole +regiments of our own individual raising;—yet do we oftentimes leave +behind us goodly houses and lands; rare old brandies and mountain Malagas; and +more especially, warm doublets and togas, and spatterdashes, wherewithal to +keep comfortable those who survive us;— casing the legs and arms, which +others beget. Then compare not invidiously Benedicts with bachelors, since thus +we make an equal division of the duties, which both owe to posterity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppers forever!” cried Media. “See, my lord, what yours has +done for Babbalanja. He came to it a skeleton; but will go away, every bone +padded!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, my lord demi-gods,” said Babbalanja, drop by drop refilling +his goblet. “These suppers are all very fine, very pleasant, and merry. +But we pay for them roundly. Every thing, my good lords, has its price, from a +marble to a world. And easier of digestion, and better for both body and soul, +are a half-haunch of venison and a gallon of mead, taken under the sun at +meridian, than the soft bridal breast of a partridge, with some gentle negus, +at the noon of night!” +</p> + +<p> +“No lie that!” said Mohi. “Beshrew me, in no well-appointed +mansion doth the pantry lie adjoining the sleeping chamber. A good thought: +I’ll fill up, and ponder on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let not Azzageddi get uppermost again, Babbalanja,” cried Media. +“Your goblet is only half-full.” +</p> + +<p> +“Permit it to remain so; my lord. For whoso takes much wine to bed with +him, has a bedfellow, more restless than a somnambulist. And though Wine be a +jolly blade at the board, a sulky knave is he under a blanket. I know him of +old. Yet, your Highness, for all this, to many a Mardian, suppers are still +better than dinners, at whatever cost purchased. Forasmuch, as many have more +leisure to sup, than dine. And though you demi-gods, may dine at your ease; and +dine it out into night: and sit and chirp over your Burgundy, till the morning +larks join your crickets, and wed matins to vespers;—far otherwise, with +us plebeian mortals. From our dinners, we must hie to our anvils: and the last +jolly jorum evaporates in a cark and a care.” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks he relapses,” said Abrazza. +</p> + +<p> +“It waxes late,” said Mohi; “your Highnesses, is it not time +to break up?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!”, cried Abrazza; “let the day break when it will: +but no breakings for us. It’s only midnight. This way with the wine; pass +it along, my dear Media. We are young yet, my sweet lord; light hearts and +heavy purses; short prayers and long rent-rolls. Pass round the Tokay! We +demi-gods have all our old age for a dormitory. Come!—Round and round +with the flagons! Let them disappear like mile-stones on a race-course!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” murmured Babbalanja, holding his full goblet at arm’s +length on the board, “not thus with the hapless wight, born with a hamper +on his back, and blisters in his palms.—Toil and sleep—sleep and +toil, are his days and his nights; he goes to bed with a lumbago, and wakes +with the rheumatics;—I know what it is;—he snatches lunches, not +dinners, and makes of all life a cold snack! Yet praise be to Oro, though to +such men dinners are scarce worth the eating; nevertheless, praise Oro again, a +good supper is something. Off jack-boots; nay, off shirt, if you will, and go +at it. Hurrah! the fagged day is done: the last blow is an echo. Twelve long +hours to sunrise! And would it were an Antarctic night, and six months to +to-morrow! But, hurrah! the very bees have their hive, and after a day’s +weary wandering, hie home to their honey. So they stretch out their stiff legs, +rub their lame elbows, and putting their tired right arms in a sling, set the +others to fetching and carrying from dishes to dentals, from foaming flagon to +the demijohn which never pours out at the end you pour in. Ah! after all, the +poorest devil in Mardi lives not in vain. There’s a soft side to the +hardest oak-plank in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +“Methinks I have heard some such sentimental gabble as this before from +my slaves, my lord,” said Abrazza to Media. “It has the old +gibberish flavor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gibberish, your Highness? Gibberish? I’m full of +it—I’m a gibbering ghost, my right worshipful lord! Here, pass your +hand through me— here, <i>here</i>, and scorch it where I most burn. By +Oro! King! but I will gibe and gibber at thee, till thy crown feels like +another skull clapped on thy own. Gibberish? ay, in hell we’ll gibber in +concert, king! we’ll howl, and roast, and hiss together!” +</p> + +<p> +“Devil that thou art, begone! Ho, guards! seize him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Back, curs!” cried Media. “Harm not a hair of his head. I +crave pardon, King Abrazza, but no violence must be done Babbalanja.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trumpets there!” said Abrazza; “so: the banquet is +done—lights for King Media! Good-night, my lord!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, thus, for the nonce, with good cheer, we close. And after many fine +dinners and banquets—through light and through shade; through mirth, +sorrow, and all—drawing nigh to the evening end of these wanderings +wild—meet is it that all should be regaled with a supper. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0078"></a> +CHAPTER LXXVIII.<br/> +They Embark</h2> + +<p> +Next morning, King Abrazza sent frigid word to Media that the day was very fine +for yachting; but he much regretted that indisposition would prevent his making +one of the party, who that morning doubtless would depart his isle. +</p> + +<p> +“My compliments to your king,” said Media to the chamberlains, +“and say the royal notice to quit was duly received.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take Azzageddi’s also,” said Babbalanja; “and say, I +hope his Highness will not fail in his appointment with me:—the first +midnight after he dies; at the grave-yard corner;—there I’ll be, +and grin again!” +</p> + +<p> +Sailing on, the next land we saw was thickly wooded: hedged round about by +mangrove trees; which growing in the water, yet lifted high their boughs. Here +and there were shady nooks, half verdure and half water. Fishes rippled, and +canaries sung. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us break through, my lord,” said Yoomy, “and seek the +shore. Its solitudes must prove reviving.” “Solitudes they +are,” cried Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Peopled but not enlivened,” said Babbalanja. “Hard landing +here, minstrel! see you not the isle is hedged?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, break through, then,” said Media. “Yillah is not +here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mistrusted it,” sighed Yoomy; “an imprisoned island! full +of uncomplaining woes: like many others we must have glided by, unheedingly. +Yet of them have I heard. This isle many pass, marking its outward brightness, +but dreaming not of the sad secrets here embowered. Haunt of the hopeless! In +those inland woods brood Mardians who have tasted Mardi, and found it +bitter—the draught so sweet to others!—maidens whose unimparted +bloom has cankered in the bud; and children, with eyes averted from +life’s dawn—like those new-oped morning blossoms which, foreseeing +storms, turn and close.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yoomy’s rendering of the truth,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Why land, then?” said Media. “No merry man of sense—no +demi-god like me, will do it. Let’s away; let’s see all +that’s pleasant, or that seems so, in our circuit, and, if possible, shun +the sad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we have circled not the round reef wholly,” said Babbalanja, +“but made of it a segment. For this is far from being the first sad land, +my lord, that we have slighted at your instance.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more. I will have no gloom. A chorus! there, ye paddlers! spread all +your sails; ply paddles; breeze up, merry winds!” +</p> + +<p> +And so, in the saffron sunset, we neared another shore. +</p> + +<p> +A gloomy-looking land! black, beetling crags, rent by volcanic clefts; ploughed +up with water-courses, and dusky with charred woods. The beach was strewn with +scoria and cinders; in dolorous soughs, a chill wind blew; wails issued from +the caves; and yellow, spooming surges, lashed the moaning strand. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we land?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here,” cried Yoomy; “no Yillah here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Media. “This is another of those lands far better +to avoid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know ye not,” said Mohi, “that here are the mines of King +Klanko, whose scourged slaves, toiling in their pits, so nigh approach the +volcano’s bowels, they hear its rumblings? ‘Yet they must work +on,’ cries Klanko, ‘the mines still yield!’ And daily his +slaves’ bones are brought above ground, mixed with the metal +masses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Set all sail there, men! away!” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Babbalanja; “still must we shun the +unmitigated evil; and only view the good; or evil so mixed therewith, the +mixture’s both?” +</p> + +<p> +Half vailed in misty clouds, the harvest-moon now rose; and in that pale and +haggard light, all sat silent; each man in his own secret mood: best knowing +his own thoughts. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0079"></a> +CHAPTER LXXIX.<br/> +Babbalanja At The Full Of The Moon</h2> + +<p> +“Ho, mortals! Go we to a funeral, that our paddles seem thus muffled? Up +heart, Taji! or does that witch Hautia haunt thee? Be a demi-god once more, and +laugh. Her flowers are not barbs; and the avengers’ arrows are too blunt +to slay. Babbalanja! Mohi! Yoomy! up heart! up heart!—By Oro! I will +debark the whole company on the next land we meet. No tears for me. Ha, ha! let +us laugh. Ho, Vee-Vee! awake; quick, boy,—some wine! and let us make +glad, beneath the glad moon. Look! it is stealing forth from its clouds. +Perdition to Hautia! Long lives, and merry ones to ourselves! Taji, my charming +fellow, here’s to you:—May your heart be a stone! Ha, +ha!—will nobody join me? My laugh is lonely as his who laughed in his +tomb. Come, laugh; will no one quaff wine, I say? See! the round moon is +abroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say you so, my lord? then for one, I am with you;” cried +Babbalanja. “Fill me a brimmer. Ah! but this wine leaps through me like a +panther. Ay, let us laugh: let us roar: let us yell! What, if I was sad but +just now? Life is an April day, that both laughs and weeps in a breath. But +whoso is wise, laughs when he can. Men fly from a groan; but run to a laugh. +Vee-Vee! your gourd. My lord, let me help you. Ah, how it sparkles! Cups, cups, +Vee-Vee, more cups! Here, Taji, take that: Mohi, take that: Yoomy, take that. +And now let us drown away grief. Ha! ha! the house of mourning, is deserted, +though of old good cheer kept the funeral guests; and so keep I mine; here I +sit by my dead, and replenish your wine cups. Old Mohi, your cup: Yoomy, yours: +ha! ha! let us laugh, let us scream! Weeds are put off at a fair; no heart +bursts but in secret; it is good to laugh, though the laugh be hollow; and wise +to make merry, now and for aye. Laugh, and make friends: weep, and they go. +Women sob, and are rid of their grief: men laugh, and retain it. There is +laughter in heaven, and laughter in hell. And a deep thought whose language is +laughter. Though wisdom be wedded to woe, though the way thereto is by tears, +yet all ends in a shout. But wisdom wears no weeds; woe is more merry than +mirth; ’tis a shallow grief that is sad. Ha! ha! how demoniacs shout; how +all skeletons grin; we all die with a rattle. Laugh! laugh! Are the cherubim +grave? Humor, thy laugh is divine; whence, mirth-making idiots have been +revered; and therefore may I. Ho! let us be gay, if it be only for an hour, and +Death hand us the goblet. Vee-Vee! bring on your gourds! Let us pledge each +other in bumpers!—let us laugh, laugh, laugh it out to the last. All +sages have laughed,—let us; Bardianna laughed, let us; Demorkriti +laughed,—let us: Amoree laughed,—let us; Rabeelee roared,—let +us; the hyenas grin, the jackals yell,—let us.—But you don’t +laugh, my lord? laugh away!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you, Azzageddi, not after that infernal fashion; better +weep.” +</p> + +<p> +“He makes me crawl all over, as if I were an ant-hill,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s mad, mad, mad!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, mad, mad, mad!—mad as the mad fiend that rides me!—But +come, sweet minstrel, wilt list to a song?—We madmen are all poets, you +know:—Ha! ha!— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Stars laugh in the sky:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Oh fugle-fi I<br/> +The waves dimple below:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Oh fugle-fo! +</p> + +<p> +“The wind strikes her dulcimers; the groves give a shout; the hurricane +is only an hysterical laugh; and the lightning that blasts, blasts only in +play. We must laugh or we die; to laugh is to live. Not to laugh is to have the +tetanus. Will you weep? then laugh while you weep. For mirth and sorrow are +kin; are published by identical nerves. Go, Yoomy: go study anatomy: there is +much to be learned from the dead, more than you may learn from the living and I +am dead though I live; and as soon dissect myself as another; I curiously look +into my secrets: and grope under my ribs. I have found that the heart is not +whole, but divided; that it seeks a soft cushion whereon to repose; that it +vitalizes the blood; which else were weaker than water: I have found that we +can not live without hearts; though the heartless live longest. Yet hug your +hearts, ye handful that have them; ’tis a blessed inheritance! Thus, +thus, my lord, I run on; from one pole to the other; from this thing to that. +But so the great world goes round, and in one Somerset, shows the sun +twenty-five thousand miles of a landscape!” +</p> + +<p> +At that instant, down went the fiery full-moon, and the Dog-Star; and far down +into Media, a Tivoli of wine. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0080"></a> +CHAPTER LXXX.<br/> +Morning</h2> + +<p> +Life or death, weal or woe, the sun stays not his course. On: over battle-field +and bower; over tower, and town, he speeds,—peers in at births, and +death-beds; lights up cathedral, mosque, and pagan shrine;—laughing over +all;—a very Democritus in the sky; and in one brief day sees more than +any pilgrim in a century’s round. +</p> + +<p> +So, the sun; nearer heaven than we:—with what mind, then, may blessed Oro +downward look. +</p> + +<p> +It was a purple, red, and yellow East;—streaked, and crossed. And down +from breezy mountains, robust and ruddy Morning came,—a plaided +Highlander, waving his plumed bonnet to the isles. +</p> + +<p> +Over the neighboring groves the larks soared high; and soaring, sang in +jubilees; while across our bows, between two isles, a mighty moose swam stately +as a seventy-four; and backward tossed his antlered wilderness in air. +</p> + +<p> +Just bounding from fresh morning groves, with the brine he mixed the dew of +leaves,—his antlers dripping on the swell, that rippled before his brown +and bow-like chest. +</p> + +<p> +“Five hundred thousand centuries since,” said Babbalanja, +“this same sight was seen. With Oro, the sun is co-eternal; and the same +life that moves that moose, animates alike the sun and Oro. All are parts of +One. In me, in <i>me</i>, flit thoughts participated by the beings peopling all +the stars. Saturn, and Mercury, and Mardi, are brothers, one and all; and +across their orbits, to each other talk, like souls. Of these things what +chapters might be writ! Oh! that flesh can not keep pace with spirit. Oh! that +these myriad germ-dramas in me, should so perish hourly, for lack of power +mechanic.—Worlds pass worlds in space, as men, men,—in +thoroughfares; and after periods of thousand years, cry:—“Well met, +my friend, again!”—To me to <i>me</i>, they talk in mystic music; I +hear them think through all their zones. —Hail, furthest worlds! and all +the beauteous beings in ye! Fan me, sweet Zenora! with thy twilight +wings!—Ho! let’s voyage to Aldebaran.—Ha! indeed, a ruddy +world! What a buoyant air! Not like to Mardi, this. Ruby columns: minarets of +amethyst: diamond domes! Who is this?—a god? What a lake-like brow! +transparent as the morning air. I see his thoughts like worlds +revolving—and in his eyes—like unto heavens—soft falling +stars are shooting.—How these thousand passing wings winnow away my +breath:—I faint:—back, back to some small asteroid.—Sweet +being! if, by Mardian word I may address thee— speak!—‘I bear +a soul in germ within me; I feel the first, faint trembling, like to a +harp-string, vibrate in my inmost being. Kill me, and generations +die.’—So, of old, the unbegotten lived within the virgin; who then +loved her God, as new-made mothers their babes ere born. Oh, Alma, Alma, +Alma!—Fangs off, fiend!—will that name ever lash thee into +foam?—Smite not my face so, forked flames!” +</p> + +<p> +“Babbalanja! Babbalanja! rouse, man! rouse! Art in hell and damned, that +thy sinews so snake-like coil and twist all over thee? Thy brow is black as +Ops! Turn, turn! see yonder moose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hail! mighty brute!—thou feelest not these things: never canst +<i>thou</i> be damned. Moose! would thy soul were mine; for if that scorched +thing, mine, be immortal—so thine; and thy life hath not the +consciousness of death. I read profound +placidity—deep—million— violet fathoms down, in that soft, +pathetic, woman eye! What is man’s shrunk form to thine, thou woodland +majesty?—Moose, moose!—my soul is shot again—Oh, Oro! +Oro!” +</p> + +<p> +“He falls!” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Mark the agony in his waning eye,” said Yoomy;—“alas, +poor Babbalanja! Is this thing of madness conscious to thyself? If ever thou +art sane again, wilt thou have reminiscences? Take my robe:— here, I +strip me to cover thee and all thy woes. Oro! by this, thy being’s side, +I kneel:—grant death or happiness to Babbalanja!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0081"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXI.<br/> +L’ultima Sera</h2> + +<p> +Thus far, through myriad islands, had we searched: of all, no one pen may +write: least, mine;—and still no trace of Yillah. +</p> + +<p> +But though my hopes revived not from their ashes; yet, so much of Mardi had we +searched, it seemed as if the long pursuit must, ere many moons, be ended; +whether for weal or woe, my frenzy sometimes reeked not. +</p> + +<p> +After its first fair morning flushings, all that day was overcast. We sailed +upon an angry sea, beneath an angry sky. Deep scowled on deep; and in dun +vapors, the blinded sun went down, unseen; though full toward the West our +three prows were pointed; steadfast as three printed points upon the +compass-card. +</p> + +<p> +“When we set sail from Odo, ’twas a glorious morn in spring,” +said Yoomy; “toward the rising sun we steered. But now, beneath autumnal +night-clouds, we hasten to its setting.” +</p> + +<p> +“How now?” cried Media; “why is the minstrel +mournful?—He whose place it is to chase away despondency: not be its +minister.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my lord, so <i>thou</i> thinkest. But better can my verses soothe +the sad, than make them light of heart. Nor are we minstrels so gay of soul as +Mardi deems us. The brook that sings the sweetest, murmurs through the +loneliest woods: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The isles hold thee not, thou departed!<br/> +Â Â Â Â From thy bower, now issues no lay:—<br/> +In vain we recall perished warblings:<br/> +Â Â Â Â Spring birds, to far climes, wing their way!” +</p> + +<p> +As Yoomy thus sang; unmindful of the lay, with paddle plying, in low, pleasant +tones, thus hummed to himself our bowsman, a gamesome wight:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Ho! merrily ho! we paddlers sail!<br/> +Ho! over sea-dingle, and dale!—<br/> +Â Â Â Â Our pulses fly,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Our hearts beat high,<br/> +Ho! merrily, merrily, ho! +</p> + +<p> +But a sudden splash, and a shrill, gurgling sound, like that of a fountain +subsiding, now broke upon the air. Then all was still, save the rush of the +waves by our keels. +</p> + +<p> +“Save him! Put back!” +</p> + +<p> +From his elevated seat, the merry bowsman, too gleefully reaching forward, had +fallen into the lagoon. +</p> + +<p> +With all haste, our speeding canoes were reversed; but not till we had darted +in upon another darkness than that in which the bowsman fell. +</p> + +<p> +As, blindly, we groped back, deep Night dived deeper down in the sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Drop paddles all, and list.” +</p> + +<p> +Holding their breath, over the six gunwales all now leaned; but the only moans +were the wind’s. +</p> + +<p> +Long time we lay thus; then slowly crossed and recrossed our track, almost +hopeless; but yet loth to leave him who, with a song in his mouth, died and was +buried in a breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us away,” said Media—“why seek more? He is +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, gone,” said Babbalanja, “and whither? But a moment +since, he was among us: now, the fixed stars are not more remote than he. So +far off, can he live? Oh, Oro! this death thou ordainest, unmans the manliest. +Say not nay, my lord. Let us not speak behind Death’s back. Hard and +horrible is it to die: blindfold to leap from life’s verge! But thus, in +clouds of dust, and with a trampling as of hoofs, the generations disappear; +death driving them all into his treacherous fold, as wild Indians the bison +herds. Nay, nay, Death is Life’s last despair. Hard and horrible is it to +die. Oro himself, in Alma, died not without a groan. Yet why, why live? Life is +wearisome to all: the same dull round. Day and night, summer and winter, round +about us revolving for aye. One moment lived, is a life. No new stars appear in +the sky; no new lights in the soul. Yet, of changes there are many. For though, +with rapt sight, in childhood, we behold many strange things beneath the moon, +and all Mardi looks a tented fair— how soon every thing fades. All of us, +in our very bodies, outlive our own selves. I think of green youth as of a +merry playmate departed; and to shake hands, and be pleasant with my old age, +seems in prospect even harder, than to draw a cold stranger to my bosom. But +old age is not for me. I am not of the stuff that grows old. This Mardi is not +our home. Up and down we wander, like exiles transported to a planet +afar:—’tis not the world <i>we</i> were born in; not the world once +so lightsome and gay; not the world where we once merrily danced, dined, and +supped; and wooed, and wedded our long-buried wives. Then let us depart. But +whither? We push ourselves forward then, start back in affright. Essay it +again, and flee. Hard to live; hard to die; intolerable suspense! But the grim +despot at last interposes; and with a viper in our winding-sheets, we are +dropped in the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“To me,” said Mohi, his gray locks damp with night-dews, +“death’s dark defile at times seems at hand, with no voice to +cheer. That all have died, makes it not easier for me to depart. And that many +have been quenched in infancy seems a mercy to the slow perishing of my old +age, limb by limb and sense by sense. I have long been the tomb of my youth. +And more has died out of me, already, than remains for the last death to +finish. Babbalanja says truth. In childhood, death stirred me not; in middle +age, it pursued me like a prowling bandit on the road; now, grown an old man, +it boldly leads the way; and ushers me on; and turns round upon me its skeleton +gaze: poisoning the last solaces of life. Maramma but adds to my gloom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Death! death!” cried Yoomy, “must I be not, and millions be? +Must I go, and the flowers still bloom? Oh, I have marked what it is to be +dead;—how shouting boys, of holidays, hide-and-seek among the tombs, +which must hide all seekers at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Clouds on clouds!” cried Media, “but away with them all! Why +not leap your graves, while ye may? Time to die, when death comes, without +dying by inches. ’Tis no death, to die; the only death is the fear of it. +I, a demi-god, fear death not.” +</p> + +<p> +“But when the jackals howl round you?” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“Drive them off! Die the demi-god’s death! On his last couch of +crossed spears, my brave old sire cried, ‘Wine, wine; strike up, conch +and cymbal; let the king die to martial melodies!’” +</p> + +<p> +“More valiant dying, than dead,” said Babbalanja. “Our end of +the winding procession resounds with music and flaunts with banners with brave +devices: ‘Cheer up!’ ‘Fear not!’ ‘Millions have +died before!’— but in the endless van, not a pennon streams; all +there, is silent and solemn. The last wisdom is dumb.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence ensued; during which, each dip of the paddles in the now calm water, +fell full and long upon the ear. +</p> + +<p> +Anon, lifting his head, Babbalanja thus:—“Yillah still eludes us. +And in all this tour of Mardi, how little have we found to fill the heart with +peace: how much to slaughter all our yearnings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Croak no more, raven!” cried Media. “Mardi is full of +spring-time sights, and jubilee sounds. I never was sad in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“But for thy one laugh, my lord, how many groans! Were all happy, or all +miserable,—more tolerable then, than as it is. But happiness and misery +are so broadly marked, that this Mardi may be the retributive future of some +forgotten past.—Yet vain our surmises. Still vainer to say, that all +Mardi is but a means to an end; that this life is a state of probation: that +evil is but permitted for a term; that for specified ages a rebel angel is +viceroy.—Nay, nay. Oro delegates his scepter to none; in his everlasting +reign there are no interregnums; and Time is Eternity; and we live in Eternity +now. Yet, some tell of a hereafter, where all the mysteries of life will be +over; and the sufferings of the virtuous recompensed. Oro is just, they +say.—Then always,—now, and evermore. But to make restitution +implies a wrong; and Oro can do no wrong. Yet what seems evil to us, may be +good to him. If he fears not, nor hopes,—he has no other passion; no +ends, no purposes. He lives content; all ends are compassed in Him; He has no +past, no future; He is the everlasting now; which is an everlasting calm; and +things that are, have been,— will be. This gloom’s enough. But +hoot! hoot! the night-owl ranges through the woodlands of Maramma; its dismal +notes pervade our lives; and when we would fain depart in peace, that bird +flies on before:— cloud-like, eclipsing our setting suns, and filling the +air with dolor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too true!” cried Yoomy. “Our calms must come by storms. Like +helmless vessels, tempest-tossed, our only anchorage is when we founder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our beginnings,” murmured Mohi, “are lost in clouds; we live +in darkness all our days, and perish without an end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Croak on, cowards!” cried Media, “and fly before the hideous +phantoms that pursue ye.” +</p> + +<p> +“No coward he, who hunted, turns and finds no foe to fight,” said +Babbalanja. “Like the stag, whose brow is beat with wings of hawks, +perched in his heavenward antlers; so I, blinded, goaded, headlong, rush! this +way and that; nor knowing whither; one forest wide around!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0082"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXII.<br/> +They Sail From Night To Day</h2> + +<p> +Ere long the three canoes lurched heavily in a violent swell. Like palls, the +clouds swept to and fro, hooding the gibbering winds. At every head-beat wave, +our arching prows reared up, and shuddered; the night ran out in rain. +</p> + +<p> +Whither to turn we knew not; nor what haven to gain; so dense the darkness. +</p> + +<p> +But at last, the storm was over. Our shattered prows seemed gilded. Day dawned; +and from his golden vases poured red wine upon the waters. +</p> + +<p> +That flushed tide rippled toward us; floating from the east, a lone canoe; in +which, there sat a mild, old man; a palm-bough in his hand: a bird’s +beak, holding amaranth and myrtles, his slender prow. +</p> + +<p> +“Alma’s blessing upon ye, voyagers! ye look storm-worn.” +</p> + +<p> +“The storm we have survived, old man; and many more, we yet must +ride,” said Babbalanja. +</p> + +<p> +“The sun is risen; and all is well again. We but need to repair our +prows,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, turn aside to Serenia, a pleasant isle, where all are welcome; +where many storm-worn rovers land at last to dwell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Serenia?” said Babbalanja; “methinks Serenia is that land of +enthusiasts, of which we hear, my lord; where Mardians pretend to the unnatural +conjunction of reason with things revealed; where Alma, they say, is restored +to his divine original; where, deriving their principles from the same sources +whence flow the persecutions of Maramma,—men strive to live together in +gentle bonds of peace and charity;—folly! folly!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Media; “much is said of those people of Serenia; +but their social fabric must soon fall to pieces; it is based upon the idlest +of theories. Thanks for thy courtesy, old man, but we care not to visit thy +isle. Our voyage has an object, which, something tells me, will not be gained +by touching at thy shores. Elsewhere we may refit. Farewell! ’Tis +breezing; set the sails! Farewell, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay! think again; the distance is but small; the wind +fair,—but ’tis ever so, thither;—come: we, people of Serenia, +are most anxious to be seen of Mardi; so that if our manner of life seem good, +all Mardi may live as we. In blessed Alma’s name, I pray ye, come!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we then, my lord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lead on, old man! We will e’en see this wondrous isle.” +</p> + +<p> +So, guided by the venerable stranger, by noon we descried an island blooming +with bright savannas, and pensive with peaceful groves. +</p> + +<p> +Wafted from this shore, came balm of flowers, and melody of birds: a thousand +summer sounds and odors. The dimpled tide sang round our splintered prows; the +sun was high in heaven, and the waters were deep below. +</p> + +<p> +“The land of Love!” the old man murmured, as we neared the beach, +where innumerable shells were gently rolling in the playful surf, and murmuring +from their tuneful valves. Behind, another, and a verdant surf played against +lofty banks of leaves; where the breeze, likewise, found its shore. +</p> + +<p> +And now, emerging from beneath the trees, there came a goodly multitude in +flowing robes; palm-branches in their hands; and as they came, they +sang:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove,<br/> +Â Â Â Â No calmer strand,<br/> +Â Â Â Â No sweeter land,<br/> +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love!<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +To these, our shores, soft gales invite:<br/> +Â Â Â Â The palm plumes wave,<br/> +Â Â Â Â The billows lave,<br/> +And hither point fix’d stars of light!<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;<br/> +Â Â Â Â In this, our isle,<br/> +Â Â Â Â Bright flowers smile:<br/> +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Be not deceived; renounce vain things;<br/> +Â Â Â Â Ye may not find<br/> +Â Â Â Â A tranquil mind,<br/> +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.<br/> +<br/> +Â Â Â Â Hail! voyagers, hail!<br/> +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er;<br/> +Â Â Â Â And ye may mourn,<br/> +Â Â Â Â That hither borne,<br/> +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0083"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXIII.<br/> +They Land</h2> + +<p> +The song was ended; and as we gained the strand, the crowd embraced us; and +called us brothers; ourselves and our humblest attendants. +</p> + +<p> +“Call ye us brothers, whom ere now ye never saw?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said the old man, “is not Oro the father of all? +Then, are we not brothers? Thus Alma, the master, hath commanded.” +</p> + +<p> +“This was not our reception in Maramma,” said Media, “the +appointed place of Alma; where his precepts are preserved.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Babbalanja; “old man! your lesson of +brotherhood was learned elsewhere than from Alma; for in Maramma and in all its +tributary isles true brotherhood there is none. Even in the Holy Island many +are oppressed; for heresies, many murdered; and thousands perish beneath the +altars, groaning with offerings that might relieve them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! too true. But I beseech ye, judge not Alma by all those who +profess his faith. Hast thou thyself his records searched?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fully, I have not. So long, even from my infancy, have I witnessed the +wrongs committed in his name; the sins and inconsistencies of his followers; +that thinking all evil must flow from a congenial fountain, I have scorned to +study the whole record of your Master’s life. By parts I only know +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! baneful error! But thus is it, brothers!! that the wisest are set +against the Truth, because of those who wrest it from itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do ye then claim to live what your Master hath spoken? Are your precepts +practices?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing do we claim: we but earnestly endeavor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me not of your endeavors, but of your life. What hope for the +fatherless among ye?” +</p> + +<p> +“Adopted as a son.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of one poor, and naked?” +</p> + +<p> +“Clothed, and he wants for naught.” +</p> + +<p> +“If ungrateful, he smite you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Still we feed and clothe him.” +</p> + +<p> +“If yet an ingrate?” +</p> + +<p> +“Long, he can not be; for Love is a fervent fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what, if widely he dissent from your belief in Alma;—then, +surely, ye must cast him forth?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; we will remember, that if he dissent from us, we then equally +dissent from him; and men’s faculties are Oro-given. Nor will we say that +he is wrong, and we are right; for this we know not, absolutely. But we care +not for men’s words; we look for creeds in actions; which are the +truthful symbols of the things within. He who hourly prays to Alma, but lives +not up to world-wide love and charity—that man is more an unbeliever than +he who verbally rejects the Master, but does his bidding. Our lives are our +Amens.” +</p> + +<p> +“But some say that what your Alma teaches is wholly new—a +revelation of things before unimagined, even by the poets. To do his bidding, +then, some new faculty must be vouchsafed, whereby to apprehend aright.” +</p> + +<p> +“So have I always thought,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“If Alma teaches love, I want no gift to learn,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“All that is vital in the Master’s faith, lived here in Mardi, and +in humble dells was practiced, long previous to the Master’s coming. But +never before was virtue so lifted up among us, that all might see; never before +did rays from heaven descend to glorify it, But are Truth, Justice, and Love, +the revelations of Alma alone? Were they never heard of till he came? Oh! Alma +but opens unto us our own hearts. Were his precepts strange we would +recoil—not one feeling would respond; whereas, once hearkened to, our +souls embrace them as with the instinctive tendrils of a vine.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said Babbalanja, “since Alma, they say, was solely +intent upon the things of the Mardi to come—which to all, must seem +uncertain—of what benefit his precepts for the daily lives led +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would! would that Alma might once more descend! Brother! were the turf +our everlasting pillow, still would the Master’s faith answer a blessed +end;—making us more truly happy <i>here</i>. <i>That</i> is the first and +chief result; for holy here, we must be holy elsewhere. ’Tis Mardi, to +which loved Alma gives his laws; not Paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Full soon will I be testing all these things,” murmured Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“Old man,” said Media, “thy years and Mohi’s lead ye +both to dwell upon the unknown future. But speak to me of other themes. Tell me +of this island and its people. From all I have heard, and now behold, I gather +that here there dwells no king; that ye are left to yourselves; and that this +mystic Love, ye speak of, is your ruler. Is it so? Then, are ye full as +visionary, as Mardi rumors. And though for a time, ye may have +prospered,—long, ye can not be, without some sharp lesson to convince ye, +that your faith in Mardian virtue is entirely vain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truth. We have no king; for Alma’s precepts rebuke the arrogance +of place and power. He is the tribune of mankind; nor will his true faith be +universal Mardi’s, till our whole race is kingless. But think not we +believe in man’s perfection. Yet, against all good, he is not absolutely +set. In his heart, there is a germ. <i>That</i> we seek to foster. To +<i>that</i> we cling; else, all were hopeless!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your social state?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is imperfect; and long must so remain. But we make not the miserable +many support the happy few. Nor by annulling reason’s laws, seek to breed +equality, by breeding anarchy. In all things, equality is not for all. Each has +his own. Some have wider groves of palms than others; fare better; dwell in +more tasteful arbors; oftener renew their fragrant thatch. Such differences +must be. But none starve outright, while others feast. By the abounding, the +needy are supplied. Yet not by statute, but from dictates, born half dormant in +us, and warmed into life by Alma. Those dictates we but follow in all we do; we +are not dragged to righteousness; but go running. Nor do we live in common. For +vice and virtue blindly mingled, form a union where vice too often proves the +alkali. The vicious we make dwell apart, until reclaimed. And reclaimed they +soon must be, since every thing invites. The sin of others rests not upon our +heads: none we drive to crime. Our laws are not of vengeance bred, but Love and +Alma.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine poetry all this,” said Babbalanja, “but not so new. Oft +do they warble thus in bland Maramma!” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds famously, old man!” said Media, “but men are men. +Some must starve; some be scourged.—Your doctrines are +impracticable.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are not these things enjoined by Alma? And would Alma inculcate the +impossible? of what merit, his precepts, unless they may be practiced? But, I +beseech ye, speak no more of Maramma. Alas! did Alma revisit Mardi, think you, +it would be among those Morals he would lay his head?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Babbalanja, “as an intruder he came; and an +intruder would he be this day. On all sides, would he jar our social +systems.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not here, not here! Rather would we welcome Alma hungry and athirst, +than though he came floating hither on the wings of seraphs; the blazing zodiac +his diadem! In all his aspects we adore him; needing no pomp and power to +kindle worship. Though he came from Oro; though he did miracles; though through +him is life;—not for these things alone, do we thus love him. We love him +from, an instinct in us;—a fond, filial, reverential feeling. And this +would yet stir in our souls, were death our end; and Alma incapable of +befriending us. We love him because we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this man divine?” murmured Babbalanja. “But thou speakest +most earnestly of adoring Alma:—I see no temples in your groves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because this isle is all one temple to his praise; every leaf is +consecrated his. We fix not Alma here and there; and say,—‘those +groves for Him, and these broad fields for us.’ It is all his own; and we +ourselves; our every hour of life; and all we are, and have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, ye forever fast and pray; and stand and sing; as at long intervals +the censer-bearers in Maramma supplicate their gods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alma forbid! We never fast; our aspirations are our prayers; our lives +are worship. And when we laugh, with human joy at human things, +—<i>then</i> do we most sound great Oro’s praise, and prove the +merit of sweet Alma’s love! Our love in Alma makes us glad, not sad. Ye +speak of temples;—behold! ’tis by not building <i>them</i>, that we +widen charity among us. The treasures which, in the islands round about, are +lavished on a thousand fanes;—with these we every day relieve the +Master’s suffering disciples. In Mardi, Alma preached in open fields, +—and must his worshipers have palaces?” +</p> + +<p> +“No temples, then no priests;” said Babbalanja, “for few +priests will enter where lordly arches form not the portal.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have no priests, but one; and he is Alma’s self. We have his +precepts: we seek no comments but our hearts.” +</p> + +<p> +“But without priests and temples, how long will flourish this your +faith?” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“For many ages has not this faith lived, in spite of priests and temples? +and shall it not survive them? What we believe, we hold divine; and things +divine endure forever.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how enlarge your bounds? how convert the vicious, without persuasion +of some special seers? Must your religion go hand in hand with all things +secular?” +</p> + +<p> +“We hold not, that one man’s words should be a gospel to the rest; +but that Alma’s words should be a gospel to us all. And not by precepts +would we have some few endeavor to persuade; but all, by practice, fix +convictions, that the life we lead is the life for all. We are apostles, every +one. Where’er we go, our faith we carry in our hands, and hearts. It is +our chiefest joy. We do not put it wide away six days out of seven; and then, +assume it. In it we all exult, and joy; as that which makes us happy here; as +that, without which, we could be happy nowhere; as something meant for this +time present, and henceforth for aye. It is our vital mode of being; not an +incident. And when we die, this faith shall be our pillow; and when we rise, +our staff; and at the end, our crown. For we are all immortal. Here, Alma joins +with our own hearts, confirming nature’s promptings.” +</p> + +<p> +“How eloquent he is!” murmured Babbalanja. “Some black cloud +seems floating from me. I begin to see. I come out in light. The sharp fang +tears me less. The forked flames wane. My soul sets back like ocean streams, +that sudden change their flow. Have I been sane? Quickened in me is a hope. But +pray you, old man—say on—methinks, that in your faith must be much +that jars with reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, brother! Right-reason, and Alma, are the same; else Alma, not +reason, would we reject. The Master’s great command is Love; and here do +all things wise, and all things good, unite. Love is all in all. The more we +love, the more we know; and so reversed. Oro we love; this isle; and our wide +arms embrace all Mardi like its reef. How can we err, thus feeling? We hear +loved Alma’s pleading, prompting voice, in every breeze, in every leaf; +we see his earnest eye in every star and flower.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poetry!” cried Yoomy; “and poetry is truth! He stirs +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When Alma dwelt in Mardi, ’twas with the poor and friendless. He +fed the famishing; he healed the sick; he bound up wounds. For every precept +that he spoke, he did ten thousand mercies. And Alma is our loved +example.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, all this is in the histories!” said Mohi, starting. +</p> + +<p> +“But not alone to poor and friendless, did Alma wend his charitable way. +From lowly places, he looked up; and long invoked great chieftains in their +state; and told them all their pride was vanity; and bade them ask their souls. +‘In <i>me</i>,’ he cried, ‘is that heart of mild content, +which in vain ye seek in rank and title. I am Love: love ye then +me.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Cease, cease, old man!” cried Media; “thou movest me beyond +my seeming. What thoughts are these? Have done! Wouldst thou unking me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alma is for all; for high and low. Like heaven’s own breeze, he +lifts the lily from its lowly stem, and sweeps, reviving, through the palmy +groves. High thoughts he gives the sage, and humble trust the simple. Be the +measure what it may, his grace doth fill it to the brim. He lays the lashings +of the soul’s wild aspirations after things unseen; oil he poureth on the +waters; and stars come out of night’s black concave at his great command. +In him is hope for all; for all, unbounded joys. Fast locked in his loved +clasp, no doubts dismay. He opes the eye of faith and shuts the eye of fear. He +is all we pray for, and beyond; all, that in the wildest hour of ecstasy, rapt +fancy paints in bright Auroras upon the soul’s wide, boundless +Orient!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Alma, Alma! prince divine!” cried Babbalanja, sinking on his +knees—“in <i>thee</i>, at last, I find repose. Hope perches in my +heart a dove;—a thousand rays illume;—all Heaven’s a sun. +Gone, gone! are all distracting doubts. Love and Alma now prevail. I see with +other eyes:—Are these my hands? What wild, wild dreams were mine;—I +have been mad. Some things there are, we must not think of. Beyond one obvious +mark, all human lore is vain. Where have I lived till now? Had dark +Maramma’s zealot tribe but murmured to me as this old man, long since had +I, been wise! Reason no longer domineers; but still doth speak. All I have said +ere this, that wars with Alma’s precepts, I here recant. Here I kneel, +and own great Oro and his sovereign son.” +</p> + +<p> +“And here another kneels and prays,” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“In Alma all my dreams are found, my inner longings for the Love supreme, +that prompts my every verse. Summer is in my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor now, too late for these gray hairs,” cried Mohi, with +devotion. “Alma, thy breath is on my soul. I see bright light.” +</p> + +<p> +“No more a demigod,” cried Media, “but a subject to our +common chief. No more shall dismal cries be heard from Odo’s groves. +Alma, I am thine.” +</p> + +<p> +With swimming eyes the old man kneeled; and round him grouped king, sage, gray +hairs, and youth. +</p> + +<p> +There, as they kneeled, and as the old man blessed them, the setting sun burst +forth from mists, gilded the island round about, shed rays upon their heads, +and went down in a glory—all the East radiant with red burnings, like an +altar-fire. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0084"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXIV.<br/> +Babbalanja Relates To Them A Vision</h2> + +<p> +Leaving Babbalanja in the old man’s bower, deep in meditation; +thoughtfully we strolled along the beach, inspiring the musky, midnight air; +the tropical stars glistening in heaven, like drops of dew among violets. +</p> + +<p> +The waves were phosphorescent, and laved the beach with a fire that cooled it. +</p> + +<p> +Returning, we espied Babbalanja advancing in his snow-white mantle. The fiery +tide was ebbing; and in the soft, moist sand, at every step, he left a lustrous +foot-print. +</p> + +<p> +“Sweet friends! this isle is full of mysteries,” he said. “I +have dreamed of wondrous things. After I had laid me down, thought pressed hard +upon me. By my eyes passed pageant visions. I started at a low, strange melody, +deep in my inmost soul. At last, methought my eyes were fixed on heaven; and +there, I saw a shining spot, unlike a star. Thwarting the sky, it grew, and +grew, descending; till bright wings were visible: between them, a pensive face +angelic, downward beaming; and, for one golden moment, gauze-vailed in spangled +Berenice’s Locks. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, as white flame from yellow, out from that starry cluster it +emerged; and brushed the astral Crosses, Crowns, and Cups. And as in violet, +tropic seas, ships leave a radiant-white, and fire-fly wake; so, in long +extension tapering, behind the vision, gleamed another Milky-Way. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange throbbings seized me; my soul tossed on its own tides. But soon +the inward harmony bounded in exulting choral strains. I heard a feathery rush; +and straight beheld a form, traced all over with veins of vivid light. The +vision undulated round me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh! Spirit!! angel! god! whate’er thou art,’—I +cried, ‘leave me; I am but man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then, I heard a low, sad sound, no voice. It said, or breathed upon +me,—‘Thou hast proved the grace of Alma: tell me what thou’st +learned.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Silent replied my soul, for voice was gone,—‘This have I +learned, oh! spirit!—In things mysterious, to seek no more; but rest +content, with knowing naught but Love.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Blessed art thou for that: thrice blessed,’ then I heard, +and since humility is thine, thou art one apt to learn. That which thy own +wisdom could not find, thy ignorance confessed shall gain. Come, and see new +things.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Once more it undulated round me; its lightning wings grew dim; nearer, +nearer; till I felt a shock electric,—and nested ’neath its wing. +</p> + +<p> +“We clove the air; passed systems, suns, and moons: what seem from +Mardi’s isles, the glow-worm stars. +</p> + +<p> +“By distant fleets of worlds we sped, as voyagers pass far sails at sea, +and hail them not. Foam played before them as they darted on; wild music was +their wake; and many tracks of sound we crossed, where worlds had sailed +before. +</p> + +<p> +“Soon, we gained a point, where a new heaven was seen; whence all our +firmament seemed one nebula. Its glories burned like thousand steadfast-flaming +lights. +</p> + +<p> +“Here hived the worlds in swarms: and gave forth sweets ineffable. +</p> + +<p> +“We lighted on a ring, circling a space, where mornings seemed forever +dawning over worlds unlike. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Here,’ I heard, ‘thou viewest thy Mardi’s +Heaven. Herein each world is portioned.’ +</p> + +<p> +“As he who climbs to mountain tops pants hard for breath; so panted I for +Mardi’s grosser air. But that which caused my flesh to faint, was new +vitality to my soul. My eyes swept over all before me. The spheres were plain +as villages that dot a landscape. I saw most beauteous forms, yet like our own. +Strange sounds I heard of gladness that seemed mixed with sadness:—a low, +sweet harmony of both. Else, I know not how to phrase what never man but me +e’er heard. +</p> + +<p> +“‘In these blest souls are blent,’ my guide discoursed, +‘far higher thoughts, and sweeter plaints than thine. Rude joy were +discord here. And as a sudden shout in thy hushed mountain-passes brings down +the awful avalanche; so one note of laughter here, might start some white and +silent world.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then low I murmured:—‘Is their’s, oh guide! no +happiness supreme? their state still mixed? Sigh these yet to know? Can these +sin?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then I heard:—‘No mind but Oro’s can know all; no mind +that knows not all can be content; content alone approximates to happiness. +Holiness comes by wisdom; and it is because great Oro is supremely wise, that +He’s supremely holy. But as perfect wisdom can be only Oro’s; so, +perfect holiness is his alone. And whoso is otherwise than perfect in his +holiness, is liable to sin. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And though death gave these beings knowledge, it also opened +other mysteries, which they pant to know, and yet may learn. And still they +fear the thing of evil; though for them, ’tis hard to fall. Thus hoping +and thus fearing, then, their’s is no state complete. And since Oro is +past finding out, and mysteries ever open into mysteries beyond; so, though +these beings will for aye progress in wisdom and in good; yet, will they never +gain a fixed beatitude. Know, then, oh mortal Mardian! that when translated +hither, thou wilt but put off lowly temporal pinings, for angel and eternal +aspirations. Start not: thy human joy hath here no place: no name. +</p> + +<p> +“Still, I mournful mused; then said:—‘Many Mardians live, who +have no aptitude for Mardian lives of thought: how then endure more earnest, +everlasting, meditations?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Such have their place,’ I heard. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Then low I moaned, ‘And what, oh! guide! of those who, +living thoughtless lives of sin, die unregenerate; no service done to Oro or to +Mardian?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘They, too, have their place,’ I heard; ‘but +’tis not here. And Mardian! know, that as your Mardian lives are long +preserved through strict obedience to the organic law, so are your spiritual +lives prolonged by fast keeping of the law of mind. Sin is death.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ah, then,’ yet lower moan made I; ‘and why create the +germs that sin and suffer, but to perish?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That,’ breathed my guide; ‘is the last mystery which +underlieth all the rest. Archangel may not fathom it; that makes of Oro the +everlasting mystery he is; that to divulge, were to make equal to himself in +knowledge all the souls that are; that mystery Oro guards; and none but him may +know.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! were it recalled, no words have I to tell of all that now my guide +discoursed, concerning things unsearchable to us. My sixth sense which he +opened, sleeps again, with all the wisdom that it gained. +</p> + +<p> +“Time passed; it seemed a moment, might have been an age; when from high +in the golden haze that canopied this heaven, another angel came; its vans like +East and West; a sunrise one, sunset the other. As silver-fish in vases, so, in +his azure eyes swam tears unshed. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick my guide close nested me; through its veins the waning light +throbbed hard. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, spirit! archangel! god! whate’er thou art,’ it +breathed; ‘leave me: I am but blessed, not glorified.’ +</p> + +<p> +“So saying, as down from doves, from its wings dropped sounds. Still +nesting me, it crouched its plumes. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in a snow of softest syllables, thus breathed the greater and more +beautiful:—‘From far away, in fields beyond thy ken, I heard thy +fond discourse with this lone Mardian. It pleased me well; for thy humility was +manifeat; no arrogance of knowing. Come <i>thou</i> and learn new +things.’ +</p> + +<p> +“And straight it overarched us with its plumes; which, then, down- +sweeping, bore us up to regions where my first guide had sunk, but for the +power that buoyed us, trembling, both. +</p> + +<p> +“My eyes did wane, like moons eclipsed in overwhelming dawns: such +radiance was around; such vermeil light, born of no sun, but pervading all the +scene. Transparent, fleck-less, calm, all glowed one flame. +</p> + +<p> +“Then said the greater guide This is the night of all ye here +behold— its day ye could not bide. Your utmost heaven is far +below.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Abashed, smote down, I, quaking, upward gazed; where, to and fro, the +spirits sailed, like broad-winged crimson-dyed flamingos, spiraling in +sunset-clouds. But a sadness glorified, deep-fringed their mystic temples, +crowned with weeping halos, bird-like, floating o’er them, +whereso’er they roamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Sights and odors blended. As when new-morning winds, in summer’s +prime, blow down from hanging gardens, wafting sweets that never pall; so, from +those flowery pinions, at every motion, came a flood of fragrance. +</p> + +<p> +“And now the spirits twain discoursed of things, whose very terms, to me, +were dark. But my first guide grew wise. For me, I could but blankly list; yet +comprehended naught; and, like the fish that’s mocked with wings, and +vainly seeks to fly;—again I sought my lower element. +</p> + +<p> +“As poised, we hung in this rapt ether, a sudden trembling seized the +four wings now folding me. And afar of, in zones still upward reaching, +suns’ orbits off, I, tranced, beheld an awful glory. Sphere in sphere, it +burned:—the one Shekinah! The air was flaked with fire;—deep in +which, fell showers of silvery globes, tears magnified —braiding the +flame with rainbows. I heard a sound; but not for me, nor my first guide, was +that unutterable utterance. Then, my second guide was swept aloft, as rises a +cloud of red-dyed leaves in autumn whirlwinds. +</p> + +<p> +“Fast clasping me, the other drooped, and, instant, sank, as in a vacuum; +myriad suns’ diameters in a breath;—my five senses merged in one, +of falling; till we gained the nether sky, descending still. +</p> + +<p> +“Then strange things—soft, sad, and faint, I saw or heard; as, +when, in sunny, summer seas, down, down, you dive, starting at pensive +phantoms, that you can not fix. +</p> + +<p> +“‘These,’ breathed my guide, ‘are spirits in their +essences; sad, even in undevelopment. With these, all space is +peopled;—all the air is vital with intelligence, which seeks embodiment. +This it is, that unbeknown to Mardians, causes them to strangely start in +solitudes of night, and in the fixed flood of their enchanted noons. From +hence, are formed your mortal souls; and all those sad and shadowy dreams, and +boundless thoughts man hath, are vague remembrances of the time when the +soul’s sad germ, wide wandered through these realms. And hence it is, +that when ye Mardians feel most sad, then ye feel most immortal. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a spark new-struck from flint, soon Mardi showed afar. It glowed +within a sphere, which seemed, in space, a bubble, rising from vast depths to +the sea’s surface. Piercing it, my Mardian strength returned; but the +angel’s veins once more grew dim. +</p> + +<p> +“Nearing the isles, thus breathed my guide:—‘Loved one, love +on! But know, that heaven hath no roof. To know all is to be all. Beatitude +there is none. And your only Mardian happiness is but exemption from great +woes—no more. Great Love is sad; and heaven is Love. Sadness makes the +silence throughout the realms of space; sadness is universal and eternal; but +sadness is tranquillity; tranquillity the uttermost that souls may hope +for.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Then, with its wings it fanned adieu; and disappeared where the sun +flames highest.” +</p> + +<p> +We heard the dream and, silent, sought repose, to dream away our wonder. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0085"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXV.<br/> +They Depart From Serenia</h2> + +<p> +At sunrise, we stood upon the beach. +</p> + +<p> +Babbalanja thus:—“My voyage is ended. Not because what we sought is +found; but that I now possess all which may be had of what I sought in Mardi. +Here, tarry to grow wiser still:—then I am Alma’s and the +world’s. Taji! for Yillah thou wilt hunt in vain; she is a phantom that +but mocks thee; and while for her thou madly huntest, the sin thou didst cries +out, and its avengers still will follow. But here they may not come: nor those, +who, tempting, track thy path. Wise counsel take. Within our hearts is all we +seek: though in that search many need a prompter. Him I have found in blessed +Alma. Then rove no more. Gain now, in flush of youth, that last wise thought, +too often purchased, by a life of woe. Be wise: be wise. +</p> + +<p> +“Media! thy station calls thee home. Yet from this isle, thou earnest +that, wherewith to bless thy own. These flowers, that round us spring, may be +transplanted: and Odo made to bloom with amaranths and myrtles, like this +Serenia. Before thy people act the things, thou here hast heard. Let no man +weep, that thou may’st laugh; no man toil too hard, that thou +may’st idle be. Abdicate thy throne: but still retain the scepter. None +need a king; but many need a ruler. +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi! Yoomy! do we part? then bury in forgetfulness much that hitherto +I’ve spoken. But let not one syllable of this old man’s words be +lost. +</p> + +<p> +“Mohi! Age leads thee by the hand. Live out thy life; and die, calm- +browed. +</p> + +<p> +“But Yoomy! many days are thine. And in one life’s span, great +circles may be traversed, eternal good be done. Take all Mardi for thy home. +Nations are but names; and continents but shifting sands. +</p> + +<p> +“Once more: Taji! be sure thy Yillah never will be found; or found, will +not avail thee. Yet search, if so thou wilt; more isles, thou say’st, are +still unvisited; and when all is seen, return, and find thy Yillah here. +</p> + +<p> +“Companions all! adieu.” +</p> + +<p> +And from the beach, he wended through the woods. +</p> + +<p> +Our shallops now refitted, we silently embarked; and as we sailed away, the old +man blessed us. +</p> + +<p> +For a time, each prow’s ripplings were distinctly heard: ripple after +ripple. +</p> + +<p> +With silent, steadfast eyes, Media still preserved his noble mien; Mohi his +reverend repose; Yoomy his musing mood. +</p> + +<p> +But as a summer hurricane leaves all nature still, and smiling to the eye; yet, +in deep woods, there lie concealed some anguished roots torn up:—so, with +these. +</p> + +<p> +Much they longed, to point our prows for Odo’s isle; saying our search +was over. +</p> + +<p> +But I was fixed as fate. +</p> + +<p> +On we sailed, as when we first embarked; the air was bracing as before. More +isles we visited:—thrice encountered the avengers: but unharmed; thrice +Hautia’s heralds but turned not aside;—saw many checkered +scenes—wandered through groves, and open fields—traversed many +vales—climbed hill-tops whence broad views were gained—tarried in +towns—broke into solitudes—sought far, sought near:—Still +Yillah there was none. +</p> + +<p> +Then again they all would fain dissuade me. +</p> + +<p> +“Closed is the deep blue eye,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“Fate’s last leaves are turning, let me home and die,” said +Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“So nigh the circuit’s done,” said Media, “our +morrow’s sun must rise o’er Odo; Taji! renounce the hunt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am the hunter, that never rests! the hunter without a home! She I +seek, still flies before; and I will follow, though she lead me beyond the +reef; through sunless seas; and into night and death. Her, will I seek, through +all the isles and stars; and find her, whate’er betide!” +</p> + +<p> +Again they yielded; and again we glided on;—our storm-worn prows, now +pointed here, now there;—beckoned, repulsed;—their half-rent sails, +still courting every breeze. +</p> + +<p> +But that same night, once more, they wrestled with me. Now, at last, the +hopeless search must be renounced: Yillah there was none: back must I hie to +blue Serenia. +</p> + +<p> +Then sweet Yillah called me from the sea;—still must I on! but gazing +whence that music seemed to come, I thought I saw the green corse drifting by: +and striking ’gainst our prow, as if to hinder. Then, then! my heart grew +hard, like flint; and black, like night; and sounded hollow to the hand I +clenched. Hyenas filled me with their laughs; death-damps chilled my brow; I +prayed not, but blasphemed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0086"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXVI.<br/> +They Meet The Phantoms</h2> + +<p> +That starless midnight, there stole from out the darkness, the Iris flag of +Hautia. +</p> + +<p> +Again the sirens came. They bore a large and stately urn-like flower, white as +alabaster, and glowing, as if lit up within. From its calyx, flame-like, +trembled forked and crimson stamens, burning with intensest odors. +</p> + +<p> +The phantoms nearer came; their flower, as an urn of burning niter. Then it +changed, and glowed like Persian dawns; or passive, was shot over by palest +lightnings;—so variable its tints. +</p> + +<p> +“The night-blowing Cereus!” said Yoomy, shuddering, “that +never blows in sun-light; that blows but once; and blows but for an +hour.—For the last time I come; now, in your midnight of despair, and +promise you this glory. Take heed! short time hast thou to pause; through me, +perhaps, thy Yillah may be found.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away! away! tempt me not by that, enchantress! Hautia! I know thee not; +I fear thee not; but instinct makes me hate thee. Away! my eyes are frozen +shut; I will not be tempted more.” +</p> + +<p> +“How glorious it burns!” cried Media. I reel with +incense:—can such sweets be evil?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look! look!” cried Yoomy, “its petals wane, and creep; one +moment more, and the night-flower shuts up forever the last, last hope of +Yillah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yillah! Yillah! Yillah!” bayed three vengeful voices far behind. +</p> + +<p> +“Yillah! Yillah!—dash the urn! I follow, Hautia! though thy lure be +death.” +</p> + +<p> +The Cereus closed; and in a mist the siren prow went on before; we, following. +</p> + +<p> +When day dawned, three radiant pilot-fish swam in advance: three ravenous +sharks astern. +</p> + +<p> +And, full before us, rose the isle of Hautia. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0087"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXVII.<br/> +They Draw Nigh To Flozella</h2> + +<p> +As if Mardi were a poem, and every island a canto, the shore now in sight was +called Flozella-a-Nina, or The-Last-Verse-of-the-Song. +</p> + +<p> +According to Mohi, the origin of this term was traceable to the remotest +antiquity. +</p> + +<p> +In the beginning, there were other beings in Mardi besides Mardians; winged +beings, of purer minds, and cast in gentler molds, who would fain have dwelt +forever with mankind. But the hearts of the Mardians were bitter against them, +because of their superior goodness. Yet those beings returned love for malice, +and long entreated to virtue and charity. But in the end, all Mardi rose up +against them, and hunted them from isle to isle; till, at last, they rose from +the woodlands like a flight of birds, and disappeared in the skies. Thereafter, +abandoned of such sweet influences, the Mardians fell into all manner of sins +and sufferings, becoming the erring things their descendants were now. Yet they +knew not, that their calamities were of their own bringing down. For deemed a +victory, the expulsion of the winged beings was celebrated in choruses, +throughout Mardi. And among other jubilations, so ran the legend, a pean was +composed, corresponding in the number of its stanzas, to the number of islands. +And a band of youths, gayly appareled, voyaged in gala canoes all round the +lagoon, singing upon each isle, one verse of their song. And Flozella being the +last isle in their circuit, its queen commemorated the circumstance, by new +naming her realm. +</p> + +<p> +That queen had first incited Mardi to wage war against the beings with wings. +She it was, who had been foremost in every assault. And that queen was ancestor +of Hautia, now ruling the isle. +</p> + +<p> +Approaching the dominions of one who so long had haunted me, conflicting +emotions tore up my soul in tornadoes. Yet Hautia had held out some prospect of +crowning my yearnings. But how connected were Hautia and Yillah? Something I +hoped; yet more I feared. Dire presentiments, like poisoned arrows, shot +through me. Had they pierced me before, straight to Flozella would I have +voyaged; not waiting for Hautia to woo me by that last and victorious +temptation. But unchanged remained my feelings of hatred for Hautia; yet vague +those feelings, as the language of her flowers. Nevertheless, in some +mysterious way seemed Hautia and Yillah connected. But Yillah was all beauty, +and innocence; my crown of felicity; my heaven below;—and Hautia, my +whole heart abhorred. Yillah I sought; Hautia sought me. One, openly beckoned +me here; the other dimly allured me there. Yet now was I wildly dreaming to +find them together. But so distracted my soul, I knew not what it was, that I +thought. +</p> + +<p> +Slowly we neared the land. Flozella-a-Nina!—An omen? Was this isle, then, +to prove the last place of my search, even as it was the Last- +Verse-of-the-Song? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0088"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXVIII.<br/> +They Land</h2> + +<p> +A jeweled tiara, nodding in spray, looks flowery Flozella, approached from the +sea. For, lo you! the glittering foam all round its white marge; where, forcing +themselves underneath the coral ledge, and up through its crevices, in +fountains, the blue billows gush. While, within, zone above zone, thrice zoned +in belts of bloom, all the isle, as a hanging-garden soars; its tapering cone +blending aloft, with heaven’s own blue. +</p> + +<p> +“What flies through the spray! what incense is this?” cried Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! you wild breeze! you have been plundering the gardens of +Hautia,” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“No sweets can be sweeter,” said Braid-Beard, “but no Upas +more deadly.” +</p> + +<p> +Anon we came nearer; sails idly flapping, and paddles suspended; sleek currents +our coursers. And round about the isle, like winged rainbows, shoals of +dolphins were leaping over floating fragments of wrecks:— dark-green, +long-haired ribs, and keels of canoes. For many shallops, inveigled by the +eddies, were oft dashed to pieces against that flowery strand. But what cared +the dolphins? Mardian wrecks were their homes. Over and over they sprang: from +east to west: rising and setting: many suns in a moment; while all the sea, +like a harvest plain, was stacked with their glittering sheaves of spray. +</p> + +<p> +And far down, fathoms on fathoms, flitted rainbow hues:—as seines- full +of mermaids; half-screening the bones of the drowned. +</p> + +<p> +Swifter and swifter the currents now ran; till with a shock, our prows were +beached. +</p> + +<p> +There, beneath an arch of spray, three dark-eyed maidens stood; garlanded with +columbines, their nectaries nodding like jesters’ bells; and robed in +vestments blue. +</p> + +<p> +“The pilot-fish transformed!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“The night-eyed heralds three!” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +Following the maidens, we now took our way along a winding vale; where, by +sweet-scented hedges, flowed blue-braided brooks; their tributaries, rivulets +of violets, meandering through the meads. +</p> + +<p> +On one hand, forever glowed the rosy mountains with a tropic dawn; and on the +other; lay an Arctic eve;—the white daisies drifted in long banks of +snow, and snowed the blossoms from the orange boughs. There, summer breathed +her bridal bloom; her hill-top temples crowned with bridal wreaths. +</p> + +<p> +We wandered on, through orchards arched in long arcades, that seemed baronial +halls, hung o’er with trophies:—so spread the boughs in antlers. +This orchard was the frontlet of the isle. +</p> + +<p> +The fruit hung high in air, that only beaks, not hands, might pluck. +</p> + +<p> +Here, the peach tree showed her thousand cheeks of down, kissed often by the +wooing winds; here, in swarms; the yellow apples hived, like golden bees upon +the boughs; here, from the kneeling, fainting trees, thick fell the cherries, +in great drops of blood; and here, the pomegranate, with cold rind and sere, +deep pierced by bills of birds revealed the mellow of its ruddy core. So, oft +the heart, that cold and withered seems, within yet hides its juices. +</p> + +<p> +This orchard passed, the vale became a lengthening plain, that seemed the +Straits of Ormus bared so thick it lay with flowery gems: torquoise-hyacinths, +ruby-roses, lily-pearls. Here roved the vagrant vines; their flaxen ringlets +curling over arbors, which laughed and shook their golden locks. From bower to +bower, flew the wee bird, that ever hovering, seldom lights; and flights of gay +canaries passed, like jonquils, winged. +</p> + +<p> +But now, from out half-hidden bowers of clematis, there issued swarms of wasps, +which flying wide, settled on all the buds. +</p> + +<p> +And, fifty nymphs preceding, who now follows from those bowers, with gliding, +artful steps:—the very snares of love!—Hautia. A gorgeous amaryllis +in her hand; Circe-flowers in her ears; her girdle tied with vervain. +</p> + +<p> +She came by privet hedges, drooping; downcast honey-suckles; she trod on pinks +and pansies, blue-bells, heath, and lilies. She glided on: her crescent brow +calm as the moon, when most it works its evil influences. +</p> + +<p> +Her eye was fathomless. +</p> + +<p> +But the same mysterious, evil-boding gaze was there, which long before had +haunted me in Odo, ere Yillah fled.—Queen Hautia the incognito! Then two +wild currents met, and dashed me into foam. +</p> + +<p> +“Yillah! Yillah!—tell me, queen!” But she stood motionless; +radiant, and scentless: a dahlia on its stalk. “Where? Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is not thy voyage now ended?—Take flowers! Damsels, give him wine +to drink. After his weary hunt, be the wanderer happy.” +</p> + +<p> +I dashed aside their cups, and flowers; still rang the vale with Yillah! +</p> + +<p> +“Taji! did I know her fate, naught would I now disclose; my heralds +pledged their queen to naught. Thou but comest here to supplant thy +mourner’s night-shade, with marriage roses. Damsels! give him wreaths; +crowd round him; press him with your cups!” +</p> + +<p> +Once more I spilled their wine, and tore their garlands. Is not that, the evil +eye that long ago did haunt me? and thou, the Hautia who hast followed me, and +wooed, and mocked, and tempted me, through all this long, long voyage? I swear! +thou knowest all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Hautia. Thou hast come at last. Crown him with your flowers! Drown +him in your wine! To all questions, Taji! I am mute.—Away!— damsels +dance; reel round him; round and round!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, their feet made music on the rippling grass, like thousand leaves of +lilies on a lake. And, gliding nearer, Hautia welcomed Media; and said, +“Your comrade here is sad:—be ye gay. Ho, wine!—I pledge ye, +guests!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, marking all, I thought to seem what I was not, that I might learn at last +the thing I sought. +</p> + +<p> +So, three cups in hand I held; drank wine, and laughed; and half-way met Queen +Hautia’s blandishments. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0089"></a> +CHAPTER LXXXIX.<br/> +They Enter The Bower Of Hautia</h2> + +<p> +Conducted to the arbor, from which the queen had emerged, we came to a +sweet-brier bower within; and reclined upon odorous mats. +</p> + +<p> +Then, in citron cups, sherbet of tamarinds was offered to Media, Mohi, Yoomy; +to me, a nautilus shell, brimmed with a light-like fluid, that welled, and +welled like a fount. +</p> + +<p> +“Quaff, Taji, quaff! every drop drowns a thought!” +</p> + +<p> +Like a blood-freshet, it ran through my veins. +</p> + +<p> +A philter?—How Hautia burned before me! Glorious queen! with all the +radiance, lighting up the equatorial night. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art most magical, oh queen! about thee a thousand constellations +cluster.” +</p> + +<p> +“They blaze to burn,” whispered Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“I see ten million Hautias!—all space reflects her, as a +mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, in reels, the damsels once more mazed, the blossoms shaking from their +brows; till Hautia, glided near; arms lustrous as rainbows: chanting some wild +invocation. +</p> + +<p> +My soul ebbed out; Yillah there was none! but as I turned round open- armed, +Hautia vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“She is deeper than the sea,” said Media. +</p> + +<p> +“Her bow is bent,” said Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“I could tell wonders of Hautia and her damsels,” said Mohi. +</p> + +<p> +“What wonders?” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen; and in his own words will I recount the adventure of the youth +Ozonna. It will show thee, Taji, that the maidens of Hautia are all Yillahs, +held captive, unknown to themselves; and that Hautia, their enchantress, is the +most treacherous of queens. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Camel-like, laden with woe,’ said Ozonna, ‘after many +wild rovings in quest of a maiden long lost—beautiful Ady! and after +being repelled in Maramma; and in vain hailed to land at Serenia, represented +as naught but another Maramma;—with vague promises of discovering Ady, +three sirens, who long had pursued, at last inveigled me to Flozella; where +Hautia made me her thrall. But ere long, in Rea, one of her maidens, I thought +I discovered my Ady transformed. My arms opened wide to embrace; but the damsel +knew not Ozonna. And even, when after hard wooing, I won her again, she seemed +not lost Ady, but Rea. Yet all the while, from deep in her strange, black orbs, +Ady’s blue eyes seemed pensively looking:—blue eye within black: +sad, silent soul within merry. Long I strove, by fixed ardent gazing, to break +the spell, and restore in Rea my lost one’s Past. But in vain. It was +only Rea, not Ady, who at stolen intervals looked on me now. One morning Hautia +started as she greeted me; her quick eye rested on my bosom; and glancing +there, affrighted, I beheld a distinct, fresh mark, the impress of Rea’s +necklace drop. Fleeing, I revealed what had passed to the maiden, who broke +from my side; as I, from Hautia’s. The queen summoned her damsels, but +for many hours the call was unheeded; and when at last they came, upon each +bosom lay a necklace-drop like Rea’s. On the morrow, lo! my arbor was +strown over with bruised Linden-leaves, exuding a vernal juice. Full of +forbodings, again I sought Rea: who, casting down her eyes, beheld her feet +stained green. Again she fled; and again Hautia summoned her damsels: malicious +triumph in her eye; but dismay succeeded: each maid had spotted feet. That +night Rea was torn from my side by three masks; who, stifling her cries, +rapidly bore her away; and as I pursued, disappeared in a cave. Next morning, +Hautia was surrounded by her nymphs, but Rea was absent. Then, gliding near, +she snatched from my hair, a jet-black tress, loose-hanging. ‘Ozonna is +the murderer! See! Rea’s torn hair entangled with his!’ Aghast, I +swore that I knew not her fate. ‘Then let the witch Larfee be +called!’ The maidens darted from the bower; and soon after, there rolled +into it a green cocoa-nut, followed by the witch, and all the damsels, flinging +anemones upon it. Bowling this way and that, the nut at last rolled to my +feet.—‘It is he!’ cried all.—Then they bound me with +osiers; and at midnight, unseen and irresistible hands placed me in a shallop; +which sped far out into the lagoon, where they tossed me to the waves; but so +violent the shock, the osiers burst; and as the shallop fled one way, swimming +another, ere long I gained land. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Thus in Flozella, I found but the phantom of Ady, and slew the +last hope of Ady the true.’” +</p> + +<p> +This recital sank deep into my soul. In some wild way, Hautia had made a +captive of Yillah; in some one of her black-eyed maids, the blue-eyed One was +transformed. From side to side, in frenzy, I turned; but in all those cold, +mystical eyes, saw not the warm ray that I sought. +</p> + +<p> +“Hast taken root within this treacherous soil?” cried Media. +“Away! thy Yillah is behind thee, not before. Deep she dwells in blue +Serenia’s groves; which thou would’st not search. Hautia mocks +thee; away! The reef is rounded; but a strait flows between this isle and Odo, +and thither its ruler must return. Every hour I tarry here, some wretched serf +is dying there, for whom, from blest Serenia, <i>I carry life and joy. +Away!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Art still bent on finding evil for thy good?” cried +Mohi.—“How can Yillah harbor here?—Beware!—Let not +Hautia so enthrall thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come away, come away,” cried Yoomy. “Far hence is Yillah! +and he who tarries among these flowers, must needs burn juniper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look on me, Media, Mohi, Yoomy. Here I stand, my own monument, till +Hautia breaks the spell.” +</p> + +<p> +In grief they left me. +</p> + +<p> +Vee-Vee’s conch I heard no more. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0090"></a> +CHAPTER XC.<br/> +Taji With Hautia</h2> + +<p> +As their last echoes died away down the valley, Hautia glided near;— zone +unbound, the amaryllis in her hand. Her bosom ebbed and flowed; the motes +danced in the beams that darted from her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Come! let us sin, and be merry. Ho! wine, wine, wine! and lapfuls of +flowers! let all the cane-brakes pipe their flutes. Damsels! dance; reel, swim, +around me:—I, the vortex that draws all in. Taji! Taji!— as a +berry, that name is juicy in my mouth!—Taji, Taji!” and in +choruses, she warbled forth the sound, till it seemed issuing from her syren +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +My heart flew forth from out its bars, and soared in air; but as my hand +touched Hautia’s, down dropped a dead bird from the clouds. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! how he sinks!—but did’st ever dive in deep waters, Taji? +Did’st ever see where pearls grow?—To the cave!—damsels, lead +on!” +</p> + +<p> +Then wending through constellations of flowers, we entered deep groves. And +thus, thrice from sun-light to shade, it seemed three brief nights and days, +ere we paused before the mouth of the cavern. +</p> + +<p> +A bow-shot from the sea, it pierced the hill-side like a vaulted way; and +glancing in, we saw far gleams of water; crossed, here and there, by long-flung +distant shadows of domes and columns. All Venice seemed within. +</p> + +<p> +From a stack of golden palm-stalks, the damsels now made torches; then stood +grouped; a sheaf of sirens in a sheaf of frame. +</p> + +<p> +Illuminated, the cavern shone like a Queen of Kandy’s casket: full of +dawns and sunsets. +</p> + +<p> +From rocky roof to bubbling floor, it was columned with stalactites; and +galleried all round, in spiral tiers, with sparkling, coral ledges. +</p> + +<p> +And now, their torches held aloft, into the water the maidens softly glided; +and each a lotus floated; while, from far above, into the air Hautia flung her +flambeau; then bounding after, in the lake, two meteors were quenched. +</p> + +<p> +Where she dived, the flambeaux clustered; and up among them, Hautia rose; +hands, full of pearls. +</p> + +<p> +“Lo! Taji; all these may be had for the diving; and Beauty, Health, +Wealth, Long Life, and the Last Lost Hope of man. But through me alone, may +these be had. Dive thou, and bring up one pearl if thou canst.” +</p> + +<p> +Down, down! down, down, in the clear, sparkling water, till I seemed +crystalized in the flashing heart of a diamond; but from those bottomless +depths, I uprose empty handed. +</p> + +<p> +“Pearls, pearls! thy pearls! thou art fresh from the mines. Ah, Taji! for +thee, bootless deep diving. Yet to Hautia, one shallow plunge reveals many +Golcondas. But come; dive with me:—join hands—let me show thee +strange things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show me that which I seek, and I will dive with thee, straight through +the world, till we come up in oceans unknown.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay; but join hands, and I will take thee, where thy Past shall be +forgotten; where thou wilt soon learn to love the living, not the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better to me, oh Hautia! all the bitterness of my buried dead, than all +the sweets of the life thou canst bestow; even, were it eternal.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0091"></a> +CHAPTER XCI.<br/> +Mardi Behind: An Ocean Before</h2> + +<p> +Returned from the cave, Hautia reclined in her clematis bower, invisible hands +flinging fennel around her. And nearer, and nearer, stole dulcet sounds +dissolving my woes, as warm beams, snow. Strange languors made me droop; once +more within my inmost vault, side by side, the Past and Yillah lay:—two +bodies tranced;—while like a rounding sun, before me Hautia magnified +magnificence; and through her fixed eyes, slowly drank up my soul. +</p> + +<p> +Thus we stood:—snake and victim: life ebbing out from me, to her. +</p> + +<p> +But from that spell, I burst again, as all the Past smote all the Present in +me. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Hautia! thou knowest the mystery I die to fathom. I see it crouching +in thine eye:—Reveal!” +</p> + +<p> +“Weal or woe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Life or death!” +</p> + +<p> +“See, see!” and Yillah’s rose-pearl danced before me. +</p> + +<p> +I snatched it from her hand:—“Yillah! Yillah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rave on: she lies too deep to answer; stranger voices than thine she +hears:—bubbles are bursting round her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drowned! drowned then, even as she dreamed:—I come, I +come!—Ha, what form is this?—hast mosses? sea-thyme? +pearls?—Help, help! I sink!—Back, shining monster!—-What, +Hautia,—is it thou?—Oh vipress, I could slay thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go, go,—and slay thyself: I may not make thee +mine;—go,—dead to dead!—There is another cavern in the +hill.” Swift I fled along the valley-side; passed Hautia’s cave of +pearls; and gained a twilight arch; within, a lake transparent shone. +Conflicting currents met, and wrestled; and one dark arch led to channels, +seaward tending. +</p> + +<p> +Round and round, a gleaming form slow circled in the deepest eddies:— +white, and vaguely Yillah. +</p> + +<p> +Straight I plunged; but the currents were as fierce headwinds off capes, that +beat back ships. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as I frenzied gazed; gaining the one dark arch, the revolving shade +darted out of sight, and the eddies whirled as before. +</p> + +<p> +“Stay, stay! let me go with thee, though thou glidest to gulfs of +blackness;—naught can exceed the hell of this despair!—Why beat +longer in this corpse oh, my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +As somnambulists fast-frozen in some horrid dream, ghost-like glide abroad, and +fright the wakeful world; so that night, with death-glazed eyes, to and fro I +flitted on the damp and weedy beach. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this specter, Taji?”—and Mohi and the minstrel stood +before me. +</p> + +<p> +“Taji lives no more. So dead, he has no ghost. I am his spirit’s +phantom’s phantom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then, phantom! the time has come to flee.” +</p> + +<p> +They dragged me to the water’s brink, where a prow was beached. +Soon— Mohi at the helm—we shot beneath the far-flung shadow of a +cliff; when, as in a dream, I hearkened to a voice. +</p> + +<p> +Arrived at Odo, Media had been met with yells. Sedition was in arms, and to his +beard defied him. Vain all concessions then. Foremost stood the three pale sons +of him, whom I had slain, to gain the maiden lost. Avengers, from the first +hour we had parted on the sea, they had drifted on my track survived +starvation; and lived to hunt me round all Mardi’s reef; and now at Odo, +that last threshold, waited to destroy; or there, missing the revenge they +sought, still swore to hunt me round Eternity. +</p> + +<p> +Behind the avengers, raged a stormy mob, invoking Media to renounce his rule. +But one hand waving like a pennant above the smoke of some sea-fight, straight +through that tumult Media sailed serene: the rioters parting from before him, +as wild waves before a prow inflexible. +</p> + +<p> +A haven gained, he turned to Mohi and the minstrel:—“Oh, friends! +after our long companionship, hard to part! But henceforth, for many moons, Odo +will prove no home for old age, or youth. In Serenia only, will ye find the +peace ye seek; and thither ye must carry Taji, who else must soon be slain, or +lost. Go: release him from the thrall of Hautia. Outfly the avengers, and gain +Serenia. Reek not of me. The state is tossed in storms; and where I stand, the +combing billows must break over. But among all noble souls, in tempest-time, +the headmost man last flies the wreck. So, here in Odo will I abide, though +every plank breaks up beneath me. And then,—great Oro! let the king die +clinging to the keel! Farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +Such Mohi’s tale. +</p> + +<p> +In trumpet-blasts, the hoarse night-winds now blew; the Lagoon, black with the +still shadows of the mountains, and the driving shadows of the clouds. Of all +the stars, only red Arcturus shone. But through the gloom, and on the +circumvallating reef, the breakers dashed ghost-white. +</p> + +<p> +An outlet in that outer barrier was nigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Yillah! Yillah!—the currents sweep thee ocean-ward; nor will I +tarry behind.—Mardi, farewell!—Give me the helm, old man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, madman! Serenia is our haven. Through yonder strait, for thee, +perdition lies. And from the deep beyond, no voyager e’er puts +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why put back? is a life of dying worth living o’er +again?—Let <i>me</i>, then, be the unreturning wanderer. The helm! By +Oro, I will steer my own fate, old man.—Mardi, farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Taji: commit not the last, last crime!” cried Yoomy. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s seized the helm! eternity is in his eye! Yoomy: for our lives +we must now swim.” +</p> + +<p> +And plunging, they struck out for land: Yoomy buoying Mohi up, and the salt +waves dashing the tears from his pallid face, as through the scud, he turned it +on me mournfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I am my own soul’s emperor; and my first act is abdication! +Hail! realm of shades!”—and turning my prow into the racing tide, +which seized me like a hand omnipotent, I darted through. +</p> + +<p> +Churned in foam, that outer ocean lashed the clouds; and straight in my white +wake, headlong dashed a shallop, three fixed specters leaning o’er its +prow: three arrows poising. +</p> + +<p> +And thus, pursuers and pursued flew on, over an endless sea. +</p> + +<h3> THE END. </h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13721 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |