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diff --git a/13721-0.txt b/13721-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d61e24 --- /dev/null +++ b/13721-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13112 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13721 *** + +MARDI: +AND A VOYAGE THITHER + +By Herman Melville + +In Two Volumes + +Vol. II. + +1864 + + + + +CONTENTS + + MARDI + CHAPTER I. — Maramma + CHAPTER II. — They land + CHAPTER III. — They pass through the Woods + CHAPTER IV. — Hivohitee MDCCCXLVIII + CHAPTER V. — They visit the great Morai + CHAPTER VI. — They discourse of the Gods of Mardi, and Braid-Beard tells of one Foni + CHAPTER VII. — They visit the Lake of Yammo + CHAPTER VIII. — They Meet The Pilgrims At The Temple Of Oro + CHAPTER IX. — They discourse of Alma + CHAPTER X. — Mohi tells of one Ravoo, and they land to visit Hevaneva, a flourishing Artisan + CHAPTER XI. — A Nursery-tale of Babbalanja’s + CHAPTER XII. — Landing to visit Hivohitee the Pontiff, they encounter an extraordinary old Hermit; with whom Yoomy has a confidential Interview, but learns little + CHAPTER XIII. — Babbalanja endeavors to explain the Mystery + CHAPTER XIV. — Taji receives Tidings and Omens + CHAPTER XV. — Dreams + CHAPTER XVI. — Media and Babbalanja discourse + CHAPTER XVII. — They regale themselves with their Pipes + CHAPTER XVIII. — They visit an extraordinary old Antiquary + CHAPTER XIX. — They go down into the Catacombs + 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 + CHAPTER XXI. — They visit a wealthy old Pauper + CHAPTER XXII. — Yoomy sings some odd Verses, and Babbalanja quotes from the old Authors right and left + CHAPTER XXIII. — What manner of Men the Tapparians were + CHAPTER XXIV. — Their adventures upon landing at Pimminee + CHAPTER XXV. — A, I, and O + CHAPTER XXVI. — A Reception-day at Pimminee + CHAPTER XXVII. — Babbalanja falleth upon Pimminee Tooth and Nail + CHAPTER XXVIII. — Babbalanja regales the Company with some Sandwiches + CHAPTER XXIX. — They still remain upon the Rock + CHAPTER XXX. — Behind and Before + CHAPTER XXXI. — Babbalanja discourses in the Dark + CHAPTER XXXII. — My Lord Media summons Mohi to the Stand + CHAPTER XXXIII. — Wherein Babbalanja and Yoomy embrace + CHAPTER XXXIV. — Of the Isle of Diranda + CHAPTER XXXV. — They visit the Lords Piko and Hello + CHAPTER XXXVI. — They attend the Games + CHAPTER XXXVII. — Taji still hunted, and beckoned + CHAPTER XXXVIII. — They embark from Diranda + CHAPTER XXXIX. — Wherein Babbalanja discourses of himself + CHAPTER XL. — Of the Sorcerers in the Isle of Minda + CHAPTER XLI. — Chiefly of Sing Bello + CHAPTER XLII. — Dominora and Vivenza + CHAPTER XLIII. — They land at Dominora + CHAPTER XLIV. — Through Dominora, they wander after Yillah + CHAPTER XLV. — They behold King Bello’s State Canoe + CHAPTER XLVI. — Wherein Babbalanja bows thrice + CHAPTER XLVII. — Babbalanja philosophizes, and my Lord Media passes round the Calabashes + CHAPTER XLVIII. — They sail round an Island without landing; and talk round a Subject without getting at it + CHAPTER XLIX. — They draw nigh to Porpheero; where they behold a terrific Eruption + CHAPTER L. — Wherein King Media celebrates the Glories of Autumn, the Minstrel, the Promise of Spring + CHAPTER LI. — In which Azzageddi seems to use Babbalanja for a Mouth-Piece + CHAPTER LII. — The charming Yoomy sings + CHAPTER LIII. — They draw nigh unto Land + CHAPTER LIV. — They visit the great central Temple of Vivenza + CHAPTER LV. — Wherein Babbalanja comments upon the Speech of Alanno + CHAPTER LVI. — A Scene in the Land of Warwicks, or King-Makers + CHAPTER LVII. — They hearken unto a Voice from the Gods + CHAPTER LVIII. — They visit the extreme South of Vivenza + CHAPTER LIX. — They converse of the Mollusca, Kings, Toad-Stools and other Matters + CHAPTER LX. — Wherein, that gallant Gentleman and Demi-God, King Media, Scepter in Hand, throws himself into the Breach + CHAPTER LXI. — They round the stormy Cape of Capes + CHAPTER LXII. — They encounter Gold-Hunters + CHAPTER LXIII. — They seek through the Isles of Palms; and pass the Isles of Myrrh + CHAPTER LXIV. — Concentric, inward, with Mardi’s Reef, they leave their Wake around the World + CHAPTER LXV. — Sailing on + CHAPTER LXVI. — A flight of Nightingales from Yoomy’s Mouth + CHAPTER LXVII. — They visit one Doxodox + CHAPTER LXVIII. — King Media dreams + CHAPTER LXIX. — After a long Interval, by Night they are becalmed + CHAPTER LXX. — They land at Hooloomooloo + CHAPTER LXXI. — A Book from the “Ponderings of old Bardianna” + CHAPTER LXXII. — Babbalanja starts to his Feet + CHAPTER LXXIII. — At last, the last Mention is made of old Bardianna; and His last Will and Testament is recited at Length + CHAPTER LXXIV. — A Death-cloud sweeps by them, as they sail + CHAPTER LXXV. — They visit the palmy King Abrazza + CHAPTER LXXVI. — Some pleasant, shady Talk in the Groves, between my Lords Abrazza and Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, and Yoomy + CHAPTER LXXVII. — They sup + CHAPTER LXXVIII. — They embark + CHAPTER LXXIX. — Babbalanja at the Full of the Moon + CHAPTER LXXX. — Morning + CHAPTER LXXXI. — L’ultima sera + CHAPTER LXXXII. — They sail from Night to Day + CHAPTER LXXXIII. — They land + CHAPTER LXXXIV. — Babbalanja relates to them a Vision + CHAPTER LXXXV. — They depart from Serenia + CHAPTER LXXXVI. — They meet the Phantoms + CHAPTER LXXXVII. — They draw nigh to Flozella + CHAPTER LXXXVIII. — They land + CHAPTER LXXXIX. — They enter the Bower of Hautia + CHAPTER XC. — Taji with Hautia + CHAPTER XCI. — Mardi behind: an Ocean before + + + + +MARDI + + + + +CHAPTER I. +Maramma + + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. +They Land + + +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. + +At every place, hitherto visited, joyous crowds stood ready to hail our +arrival; but the shores of Maramma were silent, and forlorn. + +Said Babbalanja, “It looks not as if the lost one were here.” + +At length we landed in a little cove nigh a valley, which Mohi called +Uma; and here in silence we beached our canoes. + +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. + +Him, Media accosted, making mention who we were, and on what errand we +came: to seek out Yillah, and behold the isle. + +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. + +And so saying, he conducted us to his dwelling, for refreshment and +repose. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“My lord,” then whispered Mohi to Media “the great prophet Alma always +declared, that, without charge, this island was free to all.” + +“What recompense do you desire, old man?” said Media to Pani. + +“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.” + +“Very small,” said Mohi. + +“You are extortionate, good Pani,” said Media. “And what wants an aged +mortal like you with all these things?” + +“I thought superfluities were worthless; nay, sinful,” said Babbalanja. + +“Is not this your habitation already more than abundantly supplied with +all desirable furnishings?” asked Yoomy. + +“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. + +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?” + +But Pani would not part with the child. + +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.” + +Then Pani said: “and what mortal may this be, who pretends to thread +the labyrinthine wilds of Maramma? Beware!” + +“He is one with eyes that see,” made answer Babbalanja. + +“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.” + +Now, this was not altogether without effect; for Pani and his fathers +before him had always filled the office of guide. + +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. + +As we here reclined, there came up from the sea-side a party of +pilgrims, but newly arrived. + +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.” + +“This must be the worthy Pani,” said one of the strangers, turning upon +the rest. + +“Let us take him, then, for our guide,” cried they; and all drew near. + +But upon accosting him; they were told, that he guided none without +recompense. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Take it, holy guide,” she said, “it is all I have.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Not to-day,” said Divino. + +“We are not rich, like unto Fauna,” said the rest. + +Now, the next pilgrim was a very old and miserable man; stone-blind, +covered with rags; and supporting his steps with a staff. + +“My recompense,” said Pani. + +“Alas! I have naught to give. Behold my poverty.” + +“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?” + +“Oh! Merciful Pani, take not my all!” wailed the pilgrim. But his +worthless gaberdine was thrust into the dwelling of the guide. + +Meanwhile, the matron was still enveloping Pani in her interminable +tappas. + +But the sad-eyed maiden, removing her upper mantle, threw it over the +naked form of the beggar. + +The fifth pilgrim was a youth of an open, ingenuous aspect; and with an +eye, full of eyes; his step was light. + +“Who art thou?” cried Pani, as the stripling touched him in passing. + +“I go to ascend the Peak,” said the boy. + +“Then take me for guide.” + +“No, I am strong and lithesome. Alone must I go.” + +“But how knowest thou the way?” + +“There are many ways: the right one I must seek for myself.” + +“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!” + +Turning, the boy exclaimed—“Though I act counter to thy counsels, oh +Pani, I but follow the divine instinct in me.” + +“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.” + +The rest of the pilgrims now tarried with the guide, preparing for +their journey inland. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +They Pass Through The Woods + + +Refreshed by our stay in the grove, we rose, and placed ourselves under +the guidance of Mohi; who went on in advance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +Hivohitee MDCCCXLVIII + + +Now, those doleful woodlands passed, straightway converse was renewed, +and much discourse took place, concerning Hivohitee, Pontiff of the +isle. + +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. + +Whereto Pani had replied, that the Pontiff would be invisible for +several days to come; being engaged with particular company. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +They Visit The Great Morai + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Thou meanest not, surely, this stone image we behold?” said Divino. + +“I mean the tree,” said the guide. “It is no stone image.” + +“Strange,” muttered the chief; “were it not a guide that spoke, I would +deny it. As it is, I hold my peace.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +And she flung flowers before the god. + +But Fauna, the hale matron, turning upon Pani, exclaimed, “Receive more +gifts, oh guide.” And again she showered them upon him. + +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.” + +“Nay,” cried the blind pilgrim, “it is the holy tree Ananna, thou +wayward boy.” + +“A tree? whatever it may be, it is not that; thou art blind, old man.” + +“But though blind, I have that which thou lackest.” + +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.” + +“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!” + +“Be not impious,” said Pani; “pronounce not Oro’s sacred name too +lightly.” + +“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.” + +“Hark to his rhapsodies! Hark, how he prates of mysteries, that not +even Hivohitee can fathom.” + +“Nor he, nor thou, nor I, nor any; Oro, to all, is Oro the unknown.” + +“Why claim to know Oro, then, better than others?” + +“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.” + +“Proud boy! thy humility is a pretense; at heart, thou deemest thyself +wiser than Mardi.” + +“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.” + +“He is mad,” said the chief Divino; “never before heard I such words.” + +“They are thoughts,” muttered the guide. + +“Poor fool!” cried Fauna. + +“Lost youth!” sighed the maiden. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“Turn from the blasphemer,” cried Pani. “Hence! thou evil one, to the +perdition in store.” + +“I will go my ways,” said the boy, “but Oro will shape the end.” + +And he quitted the Morai. + +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. + +The pilgrims departed, he remained in profound meditation; while, +backward and forward, an invisible ploughshare turned up the long +furrows on his brow. + +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.” + +And he staggered from the Morai. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +They Discourse Of The Gods Of Mardi, And Braid-Beard Tells Of One Foni + + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“Indeed?” said Media. + +“Semi-intelligible, say you, philosopher?” cried Mohi. “Then, prithee, +make it appear so; for what you say, seems gibberish to me.” + +“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?” + +“My lord, at the lowest computation, there must be at least three +billion trillion of quintillions.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +And straightway Braid-Beard proceeded with a narration, in substance as +follows:— + +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. + +The chronicles of Maramma were full of horrors. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +They Visit The Lake Of Yammo + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Crowds of attendants were new-grouping the images. + +“My lord, you behold one of their principal occupations,” said Mohi. + +Said Media: “I have heard much of the famed image of Mujo, the Nursing +Mother;—can you point it out, Braid-Beard?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Even so,” said Braid-Beard. “But behold, my lord, this image is Mujo.” + +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. + +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. + +Passing on, we came to an image, with a long anaconda-like posterior +development, wound round and round its own neck. + +“This must be Oloo, the god of Suicides,” said Babbalanja. + +“Yes,” said Mohi, “you perceive, my lord, how he lays violent tail upon +himself.” + +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. + +“Awake Rarni! awake Foloona! +Awake unnumbered deities!” + + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +Still wandering among the images, Mohi had much to say, concerning +their respective claims to the reverence of the devout. + +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. + +Observing that all the images were more or less defaced, Babbalanja +sought the reason. + +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. + +“But behold,” cried Babbalanja, “there seems not a single image +unmutilated. How is this, old man?” + +“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.” + +“No more, no more, Braid-Beard,” said Media. “Let us depart, and visit +the islet, where the god of all these gods is enshrined.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +They Meet The Pilgrims At The Temple Of Oro + + +Deep, deep, in deep groves, we found the great temple of Oro, +Spreader-of-the-Sky, and deity supreme. + +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. + +And now approached Pani and the pilgrims; followed, at a distance, by +the willful boy. + +“Behold great Oro,” said the guide. + +“We see naught but a cloud,” said the chief Divino. + +“My ears are stunned by the chanting,” said the blind pilgrim. + +“Receive more gifts, oh guide!” cried Fanna the matron. “Oh Oro! +invisible Oro! I kneel,” slow murmured the sad-eyed maid. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“I feel nothing in me so utterly vile,” said the boy, “and I cringe to +none. But I would as lief _adore_ 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.” + +“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.” + +And they bore him away unresisting. + +“Thus perish the ungodly,” said Pani to the shuddering pilgrims. + +And they quitted the temple, to journey toward the Peak of Ofo. + +“My soul bursts!” cried Yoomy. “My lord, my lord, let us save the boy.” + +“Speak not,” said Media. “His fate is fixed. Let Mardi stand.” + +“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.” + +“Not there; not there;” cried Babbalanja, “Yillah may have touched +these shores; but long since she must have fled.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +They Discourse Of Alma + + +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. + +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. + +Called upon to reveal what his chronicles said on this theme, +Braid-Beard complied; at great length narrating, what now follows +condensed. + +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. + +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.” + +“Let the winds be laid,” cried Mohi, “while your rash confession is +being made in this sacred lake.” + +Said Media, “Philosopher; remember the boy, and they that seized him.” + +“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!” + +Said Mohi: “Do you deny, then, the everlasting torments?” + +“’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.” + +“How?” said Media; “are there those who soothe themselves with the +thought of everlasting flames?” + +“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.” + +Rejoined Media: “But think you not, that possibly, Alma may have been +misconceived? Are you certain that doctrine is his?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But it concerns me,” muttered Mohi; “yet I know not what to think.” + +“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.” + +“Hush; say no more,” said Mohi; “again we approach the shore.” + + + + +CHAPTER X. +Mohi Tells Of One Ravoo, And They Land To Visit Hevaneva, A Flourishing +Artisan + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Now, to what purpose that anecdote?” demanded Babbalanja of Mohi, who +in substance related it. + +“Marry! ’tis but the simple recital of a fact; and I tell it to +entertain the company.” + +“But has it any meaning you know of?” + +“Thou art wise, find out,” retorted Braid-Beard. “But what comes of +it?” persisted Babbalanja. + +“Beshrew me, this senseless catechising of thine,” replied Mohi; +“naught else, it seems, save a grin or two.” + +“And pray, what may you be driving at, philosopher?” interrupted Media. + +“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.” + +“Seek on; and when aught is found, cry out, that we may run to see.” + +“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.” + +“And did I ever deny that?” said Media. + +“As plain as my hand in the dark,” said Mohi. + +“I dreamed a dream,” said Yoomy. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“How easily they are seen through,” said Babbalanja, taking a sight +through one of the heads. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +His reply was curious. But still more so, the marginal gestures +wherewith he helped out the text. + +“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.” + +“You must make a very great variety,” said Babbalanja. + +“All sorts, all sorts.” + +“And from the same material, I presume.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But after all,” said the artificer, “I find a readier sale for my +images, than for my canoes.” + +“And so it will ever be,” said Babbalanja.—“Stick to thy idols, man! a +trade, more reliable than the baker’s.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +A Nursery-Tale Of Babbalanja’s + + +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.” + +“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.” + +“A story! hear him: the solemn philosopher is desirous of regaling us +with a tale! But pray, begin.” + +“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.” + +“A precious beginning,” muttered Mohi. “Nine blind men setting out to +see sights.” + +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 _one_ tree; +but _here_ it is.’ ‘Nay,’ said the others, ‘it is _here!_’ 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? _here_ 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, ‘_Here_ it is; _here_ 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.’” + +“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?” + +“But, Babbalanja, what under the sun, mean you by your blind story!” +cried Mohi. “Obverse, or reverse, I can make nothing out of it.” + +“Others may,” said Babbalanja. “It is a polysensuum, old man.” + +“A pollywog!” said Mohi. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +Landing To Visit Hivohitee The Pontiff, They Encounter An Extraordinary +Old Hermit; With Whom Yoomy Has A Confidential Interview, But Learns +Little + + +Gliding on, suddenly we spied a solitary Islander putting out in his +canoe from a neighboring cove. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Strown over with cinders, the vitreous marl seemed tumbled together, as +if belched from a volcano’s throat. + +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. + +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. + +What eremite dwelleth here, like St. Stylites at the top of his +column?—a question which Mohi seemed all eagerness to have answered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At last, the silence was broken. + +“What see you, mortal?” + +“Chiefly darkness,” said Yoomy, wondering at the audacity of the +question. + +“I dwell in it. But what else see you, mortal?” + +“The dim gleaming of thy gorget.” + +“But that is not me. What else dost thou see?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Then thou hast found me out, and seen all! Descend.” + +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. + +On his alighting, Mohi inquired whether the hermit was not a wonderful +personage. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Surprised that the object of our visit should have been thus abandoned, +the minstrel ran forward, and sought an explanation. + +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. + +The old hermit was no other than the dread Hivohitee; the pagoda, the +inmost oracle of the isle. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +Babbalanja Endeavors To Explain The Mystery + + +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. + +So great was his wonderment at the time, that Yoomy could not avoid +expressing it in words. + +Whereupon thus discoursed Babbalanja: + +“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.” + +“But knowing now, what manner of person Hivohitee is,” said Yoomy, +“much do I long to behold him again.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But who has seen these things, Mohi?” said Babbalanja, “have you?” + +“Nay.” + +“Who then?—Media?—Any one you know?” + +“Nay: but the whole Archipelago has.” + +“Thus,” exclaimed Babbalanja, “does Mardi, blind though it be in many +things, collectively behold the marvels, which one pair of eyes sees +not.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +Taji Receives Tidings And Omens + + +Slowly sailing on, we were overtaken by a shallop; whose inmates +grappling to the side of Media’s, said they came from Borabolla. + +Dismal tidings!—My faithful follower’s death. + +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. + +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. + +But I turned; and instantly the three canoes had been reversed; and +full soon, Jarl’s dead hand in mine, had not Media interposed. + +“To death, your presence will not bring life back.” + +“And we must on,” said Babbalanja. “We seek the living, not the dead.” + +Thus they overruled me; and Borabolla’s messengers departed. + +Soon evening came, and in its shades, three shadows,—Hautia’s heralds. + +Their shallop glided near. + +A leaf tri-foiled was first presented; then another, arrow-shaped. + +Said Yoomy, “Still I swiftly follow, behind revenge.” + +Then were showered faded, pallid daffodils. + +Said Yoomy, “Thy hopes are blighted all.” + +“Not dead, but living with the life of life. Sirens! I heed ye not.” + +They would have showered more flowers; but crowding sail we left them. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +Dreams + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Yet, again, I descend, and list to the concert. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +Media And Babbalanja Discourse + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +They Regale Themselves With Their Pipes + + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Next, gentle Yoomy’s. Its stem, a slender golden reed, like musical +Pan’s; its bowl very merry with tassels. + +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. + +“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. + +Vee-Vee obeyed; and quickly, like a howitzer, the pipe-owl was reloaded +to the muzzle, and King Media smoked on. + +“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.” + +“So calm,” said Babbalanja; “the very gods must be smoking now.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Well, then, my old centenarian, give us the result of your +investigations. But smoke away: a word and a puff go on.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Why, old Braid-Beard,” cried Media, placing his pipe in rest, “you are +almost as erudite as our philosopher here.” + +“Much more so, my lord,” said Babbalanja; “for Mohi has somehow picked +up all my worthless forgettings, which are more than my valuable +rememberings.” + +“What say you, wise one?” cried Mohi, shaking his braids, like an +enraged elephant with many trunks. + +Said Yoomy: “My lord, I have heard that amber is nothing less than the +congealed tears of broken-hearted mermaids.” + +“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.” + +“Nonsense!” cried Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“For one,” said Babbalanja, “I’ll not believe that, till you prove to +me, Braid-Beard, that ideas themselves are found imbedded therein.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Well, so much for amber,” cried Media. “Now, Mohi, go on about +Farnoo.” + +“Know, then, my lord, that Farnoo is more like ambergris than amber.” + +“Is it? then, pray, tell us something on that head. You know all about +ambergris, too, I suppose.” + +“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.” + +“But what is this ambergris? Braid-Beard,” said Babbalanja. + +“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.” + +“I have heard,” said Yoomy, “that it is the honey-comb of bees, fallen +from flowery cliffs into the brine.” + +“Nothing of the kind,” said Mohi. “Do I not know all about it, +minstrel? Ambergris is the petrified gall-stones of crocodiles.” + +“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.” + +“Nay, you are all wrong,” cried King Media. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Beshrew me! a noddy it must have been,” gurgled Mohi through his +pipe-stem, “to lay golden eggs for others to hatch.” + +“Come, no more of that now,” cried Media. “Mohi, how long think you, +may one of these pipe-bowls last?” + +“My lord, like one’s cranium, it will endure till broken. I have smoked +this one of mine more than half a century.” + +“But unlike our craniums, stocked full of concretions,” said +Babbalanja, our pipe-bowls never need clearing out.” + +“True,” said Mohi, “they absorb the oil of the smoke, instead of +allowing it offensively to incrust.” + +“Ay, the older the better,” said Media, “and the more delicious the +flavor imparted to the fumes inhaled.” + +“Farnoos forever! my lord,” cried Yoomy. “By much smoking, the bowl +waxes russet and mellow, like the berry-brown cheek of a sunburnt +brunette.” + +“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.” + +“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 _memento-mori_, than a brace of thigh-bones at right angles.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Puff, puff! how we puff,” cried old Mohi. “All thought is a puff.” + +“Ay,” said Babbalanja, “not more smoke in that skull-bowl of yours than +in the skull on your shoulders: both ends alike.” + +“Puff! puff! how we puff,” cried Yoomy. “But in every puff, there hangs +a wreath. In every puff, off flies a care.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“So with pipes and puffs for a chorus, thus Yoomy sang:— + +Care is all stuff:— + Puff! Puff: +To puff is enough:— + Puff! Puff! +More musky than snuff, +And warm is a puff:— + Puff! Puff! +Here we sit mid our puffs, +Like old lords in their ruffs, +Snug as bears in their muffs:— + Puff! Puff! +Then puff, puff, puff; +For care is all stuff, +Puffed off in a puff:— + Puff! Puff! + + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +They Visit An Extraordinary Old Antiquary + + +“About prows there, ye paddlers,” cried Media. “In this fog we’ve been +raising, we have sailed by Padulla, our destination.” + +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. + +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. + +Now, it was to obtain a glimpse of this very museum, that Media was +anxious to touch at Padulla. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I mean not to be harsh, or unpleasant upon thee, Oh-Oh; but I must +paint thee as thou wert. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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:— + + +The identical Canoe, in which, ages back, the god Unja came from the +bottom of the sea. (Very ponderous; of lignum-vitae wood). + +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). + +The Jaw-bones of Tooroorooloo, a great orator in the days of Unja. +(Somewhat twisted). + +A quaint little Fish-hook. (Made from the finger-bones of Kravi the +Cunning). + +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). + +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). + +An inscrutable, shapeless block of a mottled-hued, smoke-dried wood. +(Three unaccountable holes drilled through the middle). + +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). + +The mystic Fan with which Unja fanned himself when in trouble. (Woven +from the leaves of the Water-Lily). + +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). + +Two clasped Right Hands, embalmed; being those of twin warriors, who +thus died on a battle-field. (Impossible to sunder). + +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). + +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). + +A Mermaid’s Comb for the toilet. The stiff serrated crest of a Cook +Storm-petrel (Oh-Oh was particularly curious concerning Mermaids). + +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). + +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). + + +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. + +Then returning to his cabinet, he pointed to a bamboo microscope, which +had wonderfully assisted him in his entomological pursuits. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Then dash your lens!” cried Media. + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +They Go Down Into The Catacombs + + +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. + +“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.” + +“So it seems,” said Babbalanja, wide-groping, as he descended lower and +lower. “My lord this is like going down to posterity.” + +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. + +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. + +Then there were plenty of rare old ballads:— + +“King Kroko, and the Fisher Girl.” +“The Fight at the Ford of Spears.” +“The Song of the Skulls.” + + +And brave old chronicles, that made Mohi’s mouth water:— + +“The Rise and Setting of the Dynasty of Foofoo.” +“The Heroic History of the Noble Prince Dragoni; showing how he killed +ten Pinioned Prisoners with his Own Hand.” +“The whole Pedigree of the King of Kandidee, with that of his famous +horse, Znorto.” + + +And Tarantula books:— + +“Sour Milk for the Young, by a Dairyman.” +“The Devil adrift, by a Corsair.” +“Grunts and Groans, by a Mad Boar.” +“Stings, by a Scorpion.” + + +And poetical productions:— + +“Suffusions of a Lily in a Shower.” +“Sonnet on the last Breath of an Ephemera.” +“The Gad-fly, and Other Poems.” + + +And metaphysical treatises:— + +“Necessitarian not Predestinarian.” +“Philosophical Necessity and Predestination One Thing and The Same.” +“Whatever is not, is.” +“Whatever is, is not.” + + +And scarce old memoirs:— + +“The One Hundred Books of the Biography of the Great and Good King +Grandissimo.” +“The Life of old Philo, the Philanthropist, in one Chapter.” + + +And popular literature:— + +“A most Sweet, Pleasant, and Unctuous Account of the Manner in which +Five-and-Forty Robbers were torn asunder by Swiftly-Going Canoes.” + + +And books by chiefs and nobles:— + +“The Art of Making a Noise in Mardi.” +“On the Proper Manner of Saluting a Bosom Friend.” +“Letters from a Father to a Son, inculcating the Virtue of Vice.” +“Pastorals by a Younger Son.” +“A Catalogue of Chieftains who have been Authors, by a Chieftain, who +disdains to be deemed an Author.” +“A Canto on a Cough caught by my Consort.” +“The Philosophy of Honesty, by a late Lord, who died in disgrace.” + + +And theological works:— + +“Pepper for the Perverse.” +“Pudding for the Pious.” +“Pleas for Pardon.” +“Pickles for the Persecuted.” + + +And long and tedious romances with short and easy titles:— + +“The Buck.” +“The Belle.” +“The King and the Cook, or the Cook and the King.” + + +And books of voyages:— + +“A Sojourn among the Anthropophagi, by One whose Hand was eaten off at +Tiffin among the Savages.” +“Franko: its King, Court, and Tadpoles.” +“Three Hours in Vivenza, containing a Full and Impartial Account of +that Whole Country: by a Subject of King Bello.” + + +And works of nautical poets:— + +“Sky-Sail-Pole Lyrics.” + + +And divers brief books, with panic-striking titles:— + +“Are you safe?” +“A Voice from Below.” +“Hope for none.” +“Fire for all.” + + +And pamphlets by retired warriors:— + +“On the Best Gravy for Wild Boar’s Meat.” +“Three Receipts for Bottling New Arrack.” +“To Brown Bread Fruit without Burning.” +“Advice to the Dyspeptic.” +“On Starch for Tappa.” + + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +Piously he folded the shreds of manuscript together, kissed them, and +laid them down. + +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. + +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.” + +All in vain; Oh-Oh was an antiquary. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +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 + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Come, philosopher,” said Mohi, handling a banana, “you will weigh more +after you have eaten.” + +“Come, list, Babbalanja,” cried Yoomy, “I am going to sing.” + +“Up! up! I say,” shouted Media again. “But go, old man, and wake him: +rap on his head, and see whether he be in.” + +Mohi, obeying, found him at home; and Babbalanja started up. + +“In Oro’s name, what ails you, philosopher? See you Paradise, that you +look so wildly?” + +“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.’” + +“Very fine,” said Media. + +“The very spirit of the first followers of Alma, as recorded in the +legends,” said Mohi. + +“Inimitable,” said Yoomy. + +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.’” + +“Alma all over,” cried Mohi; “sure, you read from his sayings?” + +“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?” + +“Alas,” sighed Yoomy, “and does he not promise us any good thing, when +we are dead?” + +“He speaks not by authority. He but woos us to goodness and happiness +here.” + +“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.” + +“And call you that righteousness, my lord, which is but the price paid +down for something else?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Have you that, then, of which you speak, Babbalanja? Are you content, +there where you stand?” + +“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?” + +“He swoons!” cried Yoomy. + +“Water! water!” cried Media. + +“Away:” said Babbalanja serenely, “I revive.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +They Visit A Wealthy Old Pauper + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But Babbalanja declared, that long since he must have drawn his own +dentals, and bagged them with the rest. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“Vivo, the Sophist,” said Babbalanja, turning aside. + +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. + +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. + +The boy tossed him a yam. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +Yoomy Sings Some Odd Verses, And Babbalanja Quotes From The Old Authors +Right And Left + + +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?” + +“If so, minstrel,” said Media, “jet it forth, my fountain, forthwith.” + +“Just now, my lord,” replied Yoomy, “I was singing to myself, as I +often do, and by your leave, I will continue aloud.” + +“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. + +“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. + +“Shall I continue aloud, then, my lord?” + +My lord nodded, and Yoomy sang:— + +“Full round, full soft, her dewy arms,— +Sweet shelter from all Mardi’s harms!” + + +“Whose arms?” cried Mohi. + +Sang Yoomy:— + +Diving deep in the sea, + She takes sunshine along: +Down flames in the sea, + As of dolphins a throng. + + +“What mermaid is this?” cried Mohi. + +Sang Yoomy:— + +Her foot, a falling sound, +That all day long might bound. + Over the beach, + The soft sand beach, + And none would find + A trace behind. + + +“And why not?” demanded Media, “why could no trace be found?” + +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.” + +“Your fragment is pretty good, I dare say, Yoomy,” observed Media, “but +as Braid-Beard hints, rather flat.” + +“Flat as the foot of a man with his mind made up,” cried Braid-Beard. +“Yoomy, did you sup on flounders last night?” + +But Yoomy vouchsafed no reply, he was ten thousand leagues off in a +reverie: somewhere in the Hyades perhaps. + +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. + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.’” + +“Ah! how true!” cried the Warbler. + +“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.’” + +“The mere carping of a disappointed cripple,” cried Mold. His +biographer states, that Aldina had only one leg.” + +“Braid-Beard, you are witty,” said Babbbalanja, adjusting his robe. “My +lord, there are heroes without armies, who hear martial music in their +souls.” + +“Why not blow their trumpets louder, then,” cried Media, that all Mardi +may hear?” + +“My lord Media, too, is witty, Babbalanja,” said Mohi. + +Breathed Yoomy, “There are birds of divinest plumage, and most glorious +song, yet singing their lyrics to themselves.” + +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.” + +Said Babbalanja, “Very clever, my lord; but think you not, there are +men eloquent, who never babble in the marketplace?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.’” + +“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.” + +“Ay,” cried Babbalanja, “‘Bravos,’ saith old Bardianna, but induce +flatulency.’” + +Said Media, “And do you famous mortals, then, take no pleasure in +hearing your bravos?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Ah! no gold,” cried Yoomy, “but that comes from dark mines.” + +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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“And there, for Oro’s sake, let it rest, Babbalanja; Bardianna in you, +and you in Bardianna forever!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +What Manner Of Men The Tapparians Were + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Hence, as a general designation, the whole tribe went by the name of +Tapparians; otherwise, Men of Tappa. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, “how it quenches in one the thought of +immortality, to think that these Tapparians too, will hereafter claim +each a niche!” + +But we rove. Our visit to Pimminee itself, will best make known the +ways of its denizens. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +Their Adventures Upon Landing At Pimminee + + +A long sail over, the island of Pimminee came in sight; one dead fiat, +wreathed in a thin, insipid vapor. + +“My lord, why land?” said Babbalanja; “no Yillah is here.” + +“’Tis my humor, Babbalanja.” + +Said Yoomy, “Taji would leave no isle unexplored.” + +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. + +Said Media, “Taji, from the accounts which Braid-Beard gives, there +must be much to amuse, in the ways of these Tapparians.” + +“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.” + +“A good proposition,” said Media. + +And so saying, he put off his robe for one less pretentious. + +All followed suit; Yoomy doffing turban and sash; and, at last, +completely metamorphosed, we looked like Hungarian gipsies. + +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. + +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. + +“Strangers, kind sir, fatigued with travel, and in need of refreshment +and repose.” + +“Then hence with ye, vagabonds!” and with an emphasis, he closed the +portal in our face. + +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.” + +“Faith! but they furnish most rare entertainment, nevertheless,” cried +Media. “Ha! ha! Taji, we had missed much, had we missed Pimminee.” + +As this was said, we observed, at a distance, three menials running +from seaward, as if conveying important intelligence. + +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. + +And now, to our surprise, we were accosted by an eager and servile +throng. + +“Obsequious varlets,” said Media, “where tarry your masters?” + +“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.” + +Then turning upon their attendants, “Away with ye, hounds! and set our +dwellings in order.” + +“How know ye me to be king?” asked Media. + +“Is it not in your serene Highness’s regal port, and eye?” + +“’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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But though we seldom imbibe it,” said the old Begum, ceremoniously +adjusting her necklace of cowrie-shells, “we occasionally employ it for +medicinal purposes.” + +“Ah, indeed?” said Babbalanja. + +“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.” + +A goblet of this beverage was now handed Babbalanja; but having a +curious, gummy flavor, it proved any thing but palatable. + +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. + +“How like the woodlands they smell,” whispered Yoomy. “Ay, marvelously +like sap,” said Mohi. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +A, I, AND O + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Some distance from here; in the air above; the sun that gives light to +Pimminee, and Mardi at large.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. +A Reception-Day At Pimminee + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“_That_ 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 +_this_ is Finfi; said to be not very rich, and a maid. Who would +suppose she had ever beat tappa for a living?” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. +Babbalanja Falleth Upon Pimminee Tooth And Nail + + +The levee over, waiving further civilities, we took courteus leave of +the Begum and Nimni, and proceeding to the beach, very soon were +embarked. + +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. + +“Come, philosopher: let us see in how few syllables you can put the +brand on those Tapparians.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“You shall have it, my lord. Full to the brim of themselves, for that +reason, the Tapparians are the emptiest of mortals.” + +“A good blow and well planted, Babbalanja.” + +“In sooth, a most excellent saying; it should be carved upon his +tombstone,” said Mohi, slowly withdrawing his pipe. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Take thy own pills, philosopher,” said Mohi. + +“Then would he be a great original,” said Media. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The minstrel’s sides are all edges to-day,” said Media. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“My lord, I might amplify forever.” + +“Then, my worshipful lord, let him not begin,” interposed Braid-Beard. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Nor could Taji. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +Babbalanja Regales The Company With Some Sandwiches + + +It was night. But the moon was brilliant, far and near illuminating the +lagoon. + +Over silvery billows we glided. + +“Come Yoomy,” said Media, “moonlight and music for aye—a song! a song! +my bird of paradise.” + +And folding his arms, and watching the sparkling waters, thus Yoomy +sang:— + +A ray of the moon on the dancing waves + Is the step, light step of that beautiful maid: +Mardi, with music, her footfall paves, + And her voice, no voice, but a song in the glade. + + +“Hold!” cried Media, “yonder is a curious rock. It looks black as a +whale’s hump in blue water, when the sun shines.” + +“That must be the Isle of Fossils,” said Mohi. “Ay, my lord, it is.” + +“Let us land, then,” said Babbalanja. + +And none dissenting, the canoes were put about, and presently we +debarked. + +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. + +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. + +“Strange sight!” cried Media. “Speak, antiquarian Mohi.” + +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. + +Said Media, “Expound you, then, sage Babbalanja.” Muffling his face in +his mantle, and his voice in sepulchral tones, Babbalanja thus:— + +“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.” + +Braid-Beard’s old eyes flashed fire. With bristling beard, he cried, +“Take back the lie you send!” + +“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.” + +“Ay, death’s cold ague will set us all shivering, my lord. We’ll swear +our teeth are icicles.” + +“Will you quit driving your sleet upon us? have done expound these +rocks.” + +“My lord, if you desire, I’ll turn over these stone tablets till +they’re dog-eared.” + +“Heaven and Mardi!—Go on, Babbalanja.” + +“’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.” + +He looked; and saw a picture petrified, and plain as any on the +pediments of Petra. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Most high and sacred majesty!” cried Babbalanja, bowing to his feet. + +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. + +Thither we followed them. + +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. + +Pointing to one of which, the foremost disputant thus spoke:—“I +maintain that these are three toes.” + +“And I, that it is one foot,” said the other. + +“And now decide between us,” joined the twain. + +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.” + +“Which of us is right?” again demanded the impatient twain. + +“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.” + +“Away, ye foolish disputants!” cried Media. “Full before you is the +thing disputed.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +Mohi stroked his beard. + +Yoomy yawned. + +Media cried, “Preposterous!” + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“What next?” cried Media. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +And so saying, Babbalanja turned aside. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. +They Still Remain Upon The Rock + + +“Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum,” so hummed to himself +Babbalanja, slowly pacing over the fossils. “Is he crazy again?” +whispered Yoomy. + +“Are you crazy, Babbalanja?” asked Media. + +“From my very birth have I been so, my lord; am I not possessed by a +devil?” + +“Then I’ll e’en interrogate him,” cried Media. “—Hark ye, sirrah;— why +rave you thus in this poor mortal?” + +“’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.” + +“A very sing-song devil this. But, prithee, who are you, sirrah?” + +“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.” + +“A very iterating devil this. Sirrah! mock me not. Know you aught yet +unrevealed by Babbalanja?” + +“Many things I know, not good to tell; whence they call me Azzageddi.” + +“A very confidential devil, this; that tells no secrets. Azzageddi, can +I drive thee out?” + +“Only with this mortal’s ghost:—together we came in, together we +depart.” + +“A very terse, and ready devil, this. Whence come you, Azzageddi?” + +“Whither my catechist must go—a torrid clime, cut by a hot equator.” + +“A very keen, and witty devil, this. Azzageddi, whom have you there?” + +“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.” + +“A very funny devil, this. Azzageddi, is not Mardi a place far +pleasanter, than that from whence you came?” + +“Ah, home! sweet, sweet, home! would, would that I were home again!” + +“A very sentimental devil, this. Azzageddi, would you had a hand, I’d +shake it.” + +“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?’” + +“The very prince of devils, this.” + +“How mad our Babbalanja is,” cried Mohi. My lord, take heed; he’ll +bite.” + +“Alas! alas!” sighed Yoomy. + +“Hark ye, Babbalanja,” cried Media, “enough of this: doff your devil, +and be a man.” + +“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.” + +“Shall I test his sanity, my lord?” cried Mohi. + +“Do, old man.” + +“Philosopher, our great reef is surrounded by an ocean; what think you +lies beyond?” + +“Alas!” sighed Yoomy, “the very subject to renew his madness.” + +“Peace, minstrel!” said Media. “Answer, Babbalanja.” + +“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.” + +“This seems not like sanity,” muttered Mohi. + +“A most crazy hypothesis, truly,” said Media. + +“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?” + +“His devil’s uppermost again, my lord,” cried Braid-Beard. + +“He’s stark, stark mad!” sighed Yoomy. + +“Ay, the moon’s at full,” said Media. “Ho, paddlers! we depart.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. +Behind And Before + + +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. + +Again discourse was had of that dark intelligence from Mondoldo,—the +fell murder of Taji’s follower. + +Said Mohi, “Those specter sons of Aleema must have been the assassins.” + +“They harbored deadly malice,” said Babbalanja. + +“Which poor Jarl’s death must now have sated,” sighed Yoomy. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Let us fly!” cried Yoomy + +“Peace! What murderers these?” said Media, calmly; “whom can they +seek?—you, Taji?” + +“The three avengers fly three bolts,” said Babbalanja. “See if the +arrow yet remain astern,” cried Media. + +They brought it to him. + +“By Oro! Taji on the barb!” + +“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.” + +All started. + +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.” + +Said Media, unconcernedly, “Perhaps better, Taji, to have kept your +secret; but tell no more; I care not to be your foe.” + +“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!” + +They brought a black thorn, buried in withered rose-balm blossoms, red +and blue. + +Said Yoomy, “For that which stings, there is no cure,” + +“Who, who is Hautia, that she stabs me thus?” + +“And this wild sardony mocks your misery.” + +“Away! ye fiends.” + +“Again a Venus car; and lo! a wreath of strawberries!—Yet fly to me, +and be garlanded with joys.” + +“Let the wild witch laugh. She moves me not. Neither hurtling arrows +nor Circe flowers appall.” + +Said Yoomy, “They wait reply.” + +“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!” + +Slowly they departed; heeding not my cries no more to follow. + +Silence, and darkness fell. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. +Babbalanja Discourses In The Dark + + +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. + +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. + +Some remedies applied, and the company grown composed, Babbalanja +thus:—“My lord Media, was there any human necessity for that accident?” + +“None that I know, or care to tell, Babbalanja.” + +“Vee-Vee,” said Babbalanja, “did you fall on purpose?” + +“Not I,” sobbed little Vee-Vee, slinging his ailing arm in its mate. + +“Woe! woe to us all, then,” cried Babbalanja; “for what direful events +may be in store for us which we can not avoid.” + +“How now, mortal?” cried Media; “what now?” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“And what was that owing to, my lord?” + +“To Vee-Vee himself.” + +“Then, my lord, what brought such a careless being into Mardi?” + +“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.” + +“Many thanks then to your highness; for you establish the doctrine of +Philosophical Necessity.” + +“No. I establish nothing; I but answer your questions.” + +“All one, my lord: you are a Necessitarian; in other words, you hold +that every thing takes place through absolute necessity.” + +“Do you take me, then, for a fool, and a Fatalist? Pardie! a bad creed +for a monarch, the distributor of rewards and punishments.” + +“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.” + +“Well, well, Babbalanja, I grant it all. Go on.” + +“On high authority, we are told that in times past the fall of certain +nations in Mardi was prophesied of seers.” + +“Most true, my lord,” said Mohi; “it is all down in the chronicles.” + +“Ha! ha!” cried Media. “Go on, philosopher.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“Go on, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Of course those nations could not +have resisted their doom. Go on, then: vault over your premises.” + +“If it be, then, my lord, that—” + +“My very worshipful lord,” interposed Mohi, “is not our philosopher +getting off soundings; and may it not be impious to meddle with these +things?” + +“Were it so, old man, he should have known it. The king of Odo is +something more than you mortals.” + +“But are we the great gods themselves,” cried Yoomy, “that we discourse +of these things.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“So you mortals teach, Babbalanja.” + +“But so do they _mean_, my lord. Often do we Mardians stick to terms +for ages, yet truly apply not their meanings.” + +“Well, Oro is every where. What now?” + +“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 _in_ all things, and +himself _is_ 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.” + +“Alas! his fit is coming upon him again,” whispered Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Ay, my lord, in these things wise men are spectators, not actors; wise +men look on, and say ‘ay.’” + +“Why not say so yourself, then?” + +“My lord, because I have often told you, that I am a fool, and not +wise.” + +“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.” + +“Ay?” said Media, “what say you to that, now, Babbalanja?” + +“It may be even so, my lord. Shall I tell you a story?” + +“Azzageddi’s stirring now,” muttered Mohi. + +“Proceed,” said Media. + +“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.” + +“A curious story that,” said Media; “whence came it?” + +“My lord, where every thing, but one, is to be had:—within.” + +“You are charged to the muzzle, then,” said Braid-Beard. “Yes, Mohi; +and my talk is my overflowing, not my fullness.” + +“And what may you be so full of?” + +“Of myself.” + +“So it seems,” said Mohi, whisking away a fly with his beard. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +So saying, Babbalanja slowly drooped, and fell reclining; then lay +motionless as the marble Gladiator, that for centuries has been dying. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. +My Lord Media Summons Mohi To The Stand + + +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. + +But that night, he filled his flagon fuller than his wont, and drank, +and drank, and pledged the stars. + +“Here’s to thee, old Arcturus! To thee, old Aldebaran! who ever poise +your wine-red, fiery spheres on high. A health to _thee_, my regal +friend, Alphacca, in the constellation of the Crown: Lo! crown to +crown, I pledge thee! I drink to _ye_, too, Alphard! Markab! Denebola! +Capella!—to _ye_, too, sailing Cygnus! Aquila soaring!—All round, a +health to all your diadems! May they never fade! nor mine!” + +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. + +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. + +For who might withstand such a morn! + +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. + +By reflex, the lagoon, here and there, seemed on fire; each curling +wave-crest a flame. + +Noon came as we sailed. + +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. + +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. + +Within, was a bower; going behind it, like standing inside the sheet of +the falls of the Genesee. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +“What ails that somnambulist?” cried Media, rising. “Yoomy, I say! what +ails thee?” + +“He must have indulged over freely in those citrons,” said Mohi, +sympathetically rubbing his fruitery. “Ho, Yoomy! a swallow of brine +will help thee.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“My worshipful lord, a man.” + +“And what are men?” + +“My lord, before thee is a specimen.” + +“I fear me, my lord will get nothing out of that witness,” said +Babbalanja. “Pray you, King Media, let another inquisitor cross- +question.” + +“Proceed; take the divan.” + +“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?” + +“Not I. Old Braid-Beard had no memory then.” + +“When, then, wast thou first conscious of being?” + +“What time I was teething: my first sensation was an ache.” + +“What dost thou, fellow-being, here in Mardi?” + +“What doth Mardi here, fellow-being, under me?” + +“Philosopher, thou gainest but little by thy questions,” cried Yoomy +advancing. “Let a poet endeavor.” + +“I abdicate in your favor, then, gentle Yoomy; let me smooth the divan +for you;—there: be seated.” + +“Now, Mohi, who art thou?” said Yoomy, nodding his bird-of-paradise +plume. + +“The sole witness, it seems, in this case.” + +“Try again minstrel,” cried Babbalanja. + +“Then, what art thou, Mohi?” + +“Even what thou art, Yoomy.” + +“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.” + +“Shall I adjourn the court then, my lord?” said Babbalanja. + +“Ay.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. +Wherein Babbalanja And Yoomy Embrace + + +“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?” + +“No,” said Media, “much must be left unseen. Nor every where can Yillah +be sought, noble Taji.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“But whither now?” he cried, as in obedience to Media, the paddlers +suddenly altered our course. + +“To the bold shores of Diranda,” said Media. + +“Ay; the land of clubs and javelins, where the lord seigniors Hello and +Piko celebrate their famous games,” cried Mohi. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +And warning all, that he himself had not composed the odious chant, +Yoomy thus:— + +Our clubs! our clubs! +The thousand clubs of Narvi! +Of the living trunk of the Palm-tree made; +Skull breakers! Brain spatterers! +Wielded right, and wielded left; +Life quenchers! Death dealers! +Causing live bodies to run headless! + +Our bows! our bows! +The thousand bows of Narvi! +Ribs of Tara, god of War! +Fashioned from the light Tola their arrows; +Swift messengers! Heart piercers! +Barbed with sharp pearl shells; +Winged with white tail-plumes; +To wild death-chants, strung with the hair of wild maidens! + +Our spears! our spears! +The thousand spears of Narvi! +Of the thunder-riven Moo-tree made +Tall tree, couched on the long mountain Lana! +No staves for gray-beards! no rods for fishermen! +Tempered by fierce sea-winds, +Splintered into lances by lightnings, +Long arrows! Heart seekers! +Toughened by fire their sharp black points! + +Our slings! our slings! +The thousand slings of Narvi! +All tasseled, and braided, and gayly bedecked. +In peace, our girdles; in war, our war-nets; +Wherewith catch we heads as fish from the deep! +The pebbles they hurl, have been hurled before,— +Hurled up on the beach by the stormy sea! +Pebbles, buried erewhile in the head of the shark: +To be buried erelong in the heads of our foes! +Home of hard blows, our pouches! +Nest of death-eggs! How quickly they hatch! + +Uplift, and couch we our spears, men! +Ring hollow on the rocks our war clubs! +Bend we our bows, feel the points of our arrows: +Aloft, whirl in eddies our sling-nets; +To the fight, men of Narvi! +Sons of battle! Hunters of men! +Raise high your war-wood! +Shout Narvi! her groves in the storm! + + +“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.” + +“Thou honorest my calling overmuch,” said Yoomy, we minstrels but sing +our lays carelessly, my lord Media.” + +“Ay: and the more mischief they make.” + +“But sometimes we poets are didactic.” + +“Didactic and dull; many of ye are but too apt to be prosy unless +mischievous.” + +“Yet in our verses, my lord Media, but few of us purpose harm.” + +“But when all harmless to yourselves, ye may be otherwise to Mardi.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Ah, have done, silly Yoomy,” said Media. “Thou art becoming flighty, +even as Babbalanja, when Azzageddi is uppermost.” + +“Thus ever: ever thus!” sighed Yoomy. “They comprehend us not.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. +Of The Isle Of Diranda + + +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. + +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. + +But to tell how the lord seigniors Hello and Piko came to join hands in +this matter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Patience, most illustrious seignior,” said another of his sagacious +Ahithophels, “and haply a pestilence may decimate the people.” + +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. + +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. + +“Egad! my wise ones, you have hit it,” cried Piko; “but will Hello say +ay?” + +“Try him, most illustrious seignior,” said Machiavel. + +So to Hello went embassadors ordinary and extraordinary, and ministers +plenipotentiary and peculiar; and anxiously King Piko awaited their +return. + +The mission was crowned with success. + +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.” + +So, throughout the island, by proclamation, they were forthwith +established; succeeding to a charm. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Right again, immortal old Bardianna!” cried Babbalanja. + +“And what has the sage to the point this time?” asked Media. + +“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.” + +“Seems to me, our old friend must have been on his stilts that time,” +interrupted Mohi. + +“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.” + +“That incorrigible Azzageddi again,” said Media, “Proceed with your +quotation, Babbalanja.” + +“Where was I, Braid-Beard?” + +“Battering occiputs at the last accounts,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +“And hopelessly cracked the skull, that hatched such a tirade of +nonsense,” said Mohi. + +“And think you not, old Bardianna knew that?” asked Babbalanja. “He +wrote an excellent chapter on that very subject.” + +“What, on the cracks in his own pate?” + +“Precisely. And expressly asserts, that to those identical cracks, was +he indebted for what little light he had in his brain.” + +“I yield, Babbalanja; your old Ponderer is older than I.” + +“Ay, ay, Braid-Beard; his crest was a tortoise; and this was the +motto:—‘I bite, but am not to be bitten.’” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. +They Visit The Lords Piko And Hello + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“What says your majesty?” said Piko. “Heads or tails?” + +“Oh, heads, your majesty,” said Hello. + +“And heads say I,” said Piko. + +And heads it was. But it was heads on both sides, so both were sure to +win. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Meantime, the whole island was in a state of uproarious commotion, and +strangers were daily arriving. + +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. + +Beneath the heaped turf of this down, lay thousands of glorious corpses +of anonymous heroes, who here had died glorious deaths. + +Whence, in the florid language of Diranda, they called this field “The +Field of Glory.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. +They Attend The Games + + +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. + +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. + +Drawing near, our party was courteously received, and assigned a +commodious lounge. + +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. + +“All one,” muttered Pike. + +“As good dead as another,” muttered Hello. + +The second encounter was a hugging-match; wherein two warriors, masked +in Grisly-bear skins, hugged each other to death. + +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. + +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. + +“Braggarts!” mumbled Piko. + +“Poltroons!” growled Hello. + +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?” + +“Fool! saw you not the dust?” + +“That I did,” said Sober-Sides, again rubbing his eyes, “But I can +raise a dust myself.” + +The fifth encounter was a fight of single sticks between one hundred +warriors, fifty on a side. + +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. + +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. + +“Well done!” cried Piko. + +“Brave fellows!” cried Hello. + +“But up and at it again, my heroes!” joined both. “Lo! we kings look +on, and there stand the bards!” + +These bards were a row of lean, sallow, old men, in thread-bare robes, +and chaplets of dead leaves. + +“Strike up!” cried Piko. + +“A stave!” cried Hello. + +Whereupon, the old croakers, each with a quinsy, sang thus in cracked +strains:— + +Quack! Quack! Quack! +With a toorooloo whack; +Hack away, merry men, hack away. +Who would not die brave, +His ear smote by a stave? +Thwack away, merry men, thwack away! +’Tis glory that calls, +To each hero that falls, +Hack away, merry men, hack away! +Quack! Quack! Quack! +Quack! Quack! +Quack! + + +Thus it tapered away. + +“Ha, ha!” cried Piko, “how they prick their ears at that!” + +“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!” + +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. + +“Never mind your music now,” cried Piko. + +“It’s all over,” said Hello. + +“What valiant fellows we have for subjects,” cried Piko. + +“Ho! grave-diggers, clear the field,” cried Hello. + +“Who else is for glory?” cried Piko. + +“There stand the bards!” cried Hello. + +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. + +A noted warrior this; who, distracted at the death of five sons slain +in recent games, wandered from valley to valley, wrestling and +fighting. + +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. + +The Despairer strode toward them; when, recovering their senses, they +ran; for a time pursued through the woods by the phantom. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. +Taji Still Hunted, And Beckoned + + +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. + +Gracing us, two buried in the ground, but from Taji’s arm, the third +drew blood. + +On all sides round we turned; but none were seen. “Still the avengers +follow,” said Babbalanja. + +“Lo! the damsels three!” cried Yoomy. “Look where they come!” + +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. + +“Blood!” cried Yoomy, starting, “and leopards on your track!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +They vanished in the wood; and hurrying on, we soon gained sun-light, +and the open glade. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +They Embark From Diranda + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +However, we decided to embark on the morrow. + +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. + +“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.” + +“We will dispense with your tears, minstrel,” said Media, “but sing it, +if you will.” + +And Yoomy sang:— + +Departed the pride and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea, + That rolls o’er his corpse with a hush. + His warriors bend over their spears, + His sisters gaze upward and mourn. + Weep, weep, for Adondo, is dead! + The sun has gone down in a shower; + Buried in clouds in the face of the moon; +Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies, + And stand in the eyes of the flowers; +And streams of tears are the trickling brooks, + Coursing adown the mountains.— +Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi: +The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea. +Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that sobs.— + Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro. + + +“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?” + +“Mohi has something like a tear in his eye,” said Yoomy. + +“False!” cried Mohi, brushing it aside. + +“Who composed that monody?” said Babbalanja. “I have often heard it +before.” + +“None know, Babbalanja but the poet must be still singing to himself; +his songs bursting through the turf in the flowers over his grave.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. +Wherein Babbalanja Discourses Of Himself + + +An interval of silence was at last broken by Babbalanja. + +Pointing to the sun, just gaining the horizon, he exclaimed, “As old +Bardianna says—shut your eyes, and believe.” + +“And what may Bardianna have to do with yonder orb?” said Media. + +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 _here_. 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.” + +“Ha, ha,” cried Media, “methinks this must be Azzageddi who speaks.” + +“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.” + +“How?” + +“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.” + +“A very curious speculation,” said Media. But Babbalanja, have you +mortals no moral sense, as they call it?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Will you never come to the mark, Babbalanja? Tell me something direct +of the stranger. Who, what is he? Introduce him.” + +“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.” + +“Babbalanja,” said Media, “you have fairly turned yourself inside out.” + +“Yes, my lord,” said Mohi, “and he has so unsettled me, that I begin to +think all Mardi a square circle.” + +“How is that, Babbalanja,” said Media, “is a circle square?” + +“No, my lord, but ever since Mardi began, we Mardians have been +essaying our best to square it.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“Again on the verge, Babbalanja? Take not the leap, I say.” + +“I can leap no more, my lord. Already I am down, down, down.” + +“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?” + +“When I sleep, and dream not, my lord.” + +“Indeed?” + +“Why then, a fool’s cap might be put on you, and you would not know +it.” + +“The very turban he ought to wear,” muttered Mohi. + +“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—” + +“Go on,” said Media. + +“And what is it, to be something?” said Yoomy artlessly. “Bethink +yourself of what went before,” said Media. + +“Lose not the thread,” said Mohi. + +“It has snapped,” said Babbalanja. + +“I breathe again,” said Mohi. + +“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?” + +“To return to the vagueness of the notion I have of myself,” said +Babbalanja. + +“An appropriate theme,” said Media, “proceed.” + +“My lord,” murmured Mohi, “Is not this philosopher like a centipede? +Cut off his head, and still he crawls.” + +“There are times when I fancy myself a lunatic,” resumed Babbalanja. + +“Ah, now he’s beginning to talk sense,” whispered Mohi. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Ah!” murmured Mold, “my head goes round again.” + +“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?” + +“But I was doing it unconsciously,” said Mohi, dropping his hand, and +lifting his head. + +“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.’” + +“Now, then, Babbalanja,” said Media, “what have you come to in all this +rhapsody? You everlastingly travel in a circle.” + +“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.’” + +“Enough, enough, Babbalanja,” cried Media. “You are a very wise +Mardian; but the wisest Mardians make the most consummate fools.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XL. +Of The Sorcerers In The Isle Of Minda + + +“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.” + +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. + +Then seated again, and serenely puffing in a circle, the +circumnavigator meanwhile pleasantly going the rounds, Media called +upon Mohi for something entertaining. + +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. + +In obedience, then, to King Media’s command, Mohi regaled the company +with a narrative, in substance as follows:— + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. +Chiefly Of Sing Bello + + +“Now Taji,” said Media, “with old Bello of the Hump whose island of +Dominora is before us, I am at variance.” + +“Ah! How so?” + +“A dull recital, but you shall have it.” + +And forthwith his Highness began. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +“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!” + +“Speak not against our lord the king,” cried the attendants. + +“And speak not ye to me, ye headless spear poles!” + +And so saying, under sufferance of being small, the plenipo was +permitted to depart unmolested; for all his bravadoes, fobbing his +credentials and affronts. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But who put the balance into thy hands, King Bello?” cried the +indignant nations. + +“Oro!” shouted the hump-backed king, shaking his javelin. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. +Dominora And Vivenza + + +The three canoes still gliding on, some further particulars were +narrated concerning Dominora; and incidentally, of other isles. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. +They Land At Dominora + + +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. + +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. + +“Ah, Bello,” said Media, “thou dwellest among thy quills like the +porcupine.” + +“I feel a prickly heat coming over me,” cried Mohi, “my lord Media, let +us enter.” + +“Ay,” said Babbalanja, “safer the center of peril, than the +circumference.” + +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. + +Fronting us, stood a portly old warrior, spear in hand, hump on back, +and fire in eye. + +“Is it war?” he cried, pointing his pike, “or peace?” reversing it. + +“Peace,” said Media. + +Whereupon advancing, King Bello courteously welcomed us. + +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. + +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. + +His sturdy thighs were his triumphal arch; whereon in numerous +medallions, crests, and shields, were blazoned all his victories by sea +and land. + +His strong right arm was Dominora’s scroll of Fame, where all her +heroes saw their names recorded.—An endless roll! + +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.” + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Our first reception over, a sumptuous repast was served, at which much +lively talk was had. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. +Through Dominora, They Wander After Yillah + + +At last, withdrawing from the presence of King Bello, we went forth, +still intent on our search. + +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. + +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!” + +“Thrash out your grain, and want not.” + +“Alas, masters, this grain is not mine; I plough, I sow, I reap, I +bind, I stack,—Lord Primo garners.” + +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!” + +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.” + +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. + +“What ho, magician! Come forth from thy cave!” + +But all deaf were the spindles, as the mutes, that mutely wait on the +Sultan. + +“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:—. + +“Mardi is man’s!” + +“Down with landholders!” + +“Our turn now!” + +“Up rights! Down wrongs!” + +“Bread! Bread!” + +“Take the tide, ere it turns!” + +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.” + +Still pursuing our quest, wide we wandered through all the sun and +shade of Dominora; but nowhere was Yillah found. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. +They Behold King Bello’s State Canoe + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And Kumbo Sama, Emperor of Japan, had a dragon-beaked junk, a floating +Juggernaut, wherein he burnt incense to the sea-gods. + +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. + +What wonder then, that Bello of the Hump, the old sea-king of Mardi, +should sport a brave ocean-chariot? + +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. + +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:— + +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.” + +So the Doge’s tradition; thus Bello’s:— + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. +Wherein Babbalanja Bows Thrice + + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, morning life!” cried Yoomy, with a Persian air; “would that all +time were a sunrise, and all life a youth.” + +“Ah! but these striplings whimper of youth,” said Mohi, caressing his +braids, “as if they wore this beard.” + +“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.” + +“Mohi, how’s your appetite this morning?” said Media. + +“Thus, thus, ye gods,” sighed Yoomy, “is feeling ever scouted. Yet, +what might seem feeling in me, I can not express.” + +“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.” + +“Very true, Babbalanja; and I suppose that pride was at the bottom of +your old Ponderer’s heartless, unsentimental, bald-pated style.” + +“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.” + +“An agrarian!” said Media; “no doubt he would have made the headsman +the minister of equality.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Ha, ha!—well done, Babbalanja; but I bade you polish, not sharpen the +arrow.” + +“All one, my thrice honored lord;—to polish is not to blunt.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. +Babbalanja Philosophizes, And My Lord Media Passes Round The Calabashes + + +An interval of silence passed; when Media cried, “Out upon thee, Yoomy! +curtail that long face of thine.” + +“How can he, my lord,” said Mohi, “when he is thinking of furlongs?” + +“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.” + +“My lord, it is because, that when we think, we think so little of +ourselves.” + +“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.” + +“Ay, old man,” said Babbalanja, “many of us Mardians are but sorry +hosts to ourselves. Some hearts are hermits.” + +“If not of yourself, then, Yoomy, of whom else do you think?” asked +Media. + +“My lord, I seldom think,” said Yoomy, “I but give ear to the voices in +my calm.” + +“Did Babbalanja speak?” said Media. “But no more of your reveries;” and +so saying Media gradually sunk into a reverie himself. + +The rest did likewise; and soon, with eyes enchanted, all reclined: +gazing at each other, witless of what we did. + +It was Media who broke the spell; calling for Vee-Vee our page, his +calabashes and cups, and nectarines for all. + +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?” + +“But our lungs are not wholly superfluous, my lord,” said Babbalanja, +speaking loud. + +“No, nor our lips,” said Mohi, smacking his over his wine. + +“But could you really be disembodied here in Mardi, Babbalanja, how +would you fancy it?” said Media. + +“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.” + +“Yet pure spirits we must all become at last, Babbalanja,” said Yoomy, +“even the most ignoble.” + +“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.” + +“My lord,” said Mohi, “we have come to the lees; your pardon, +Babbalanja.” + +“Then, Vee-Vee, another calabash! Fill up, Mohi; wash down wine with +wine. Your cup, Babbalanja; any lees?” + +“Plenty, my lord; we philosophers come to the lees very soon.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“He questions every thing,” cried Mohi. “Philosopher, have you a head?” + +“I have,” said Babbalanja, feeling for it; “I am finished off at the +helm very much as other Mardians, Mohi.” + +“My lord, the first yea that ever came from him.” + +“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?” + +“However that might be,” murmured Yoomy, “young Nina bewailed herself a +widow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Heed him not, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Dip your beak again, my eagle, +and soar.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Superb!” cried Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Without it—” continued Babbalanja. + +“Without what?” demanded Media, starting to his feet. “This wine? +Traitor, I’ll stand by this to the last gasp, you are inebriated, +Babbalanja.” + +“Perhaps so, my lord; but I was treating of the imagination, may it +please you.” + +“My lord,” added Mohi, “of the unical, and rudimental fundament of +things, you remember.” + +“Ah! there’s none of them sober; proceed, proceed, Azzageddi!” + +“My lord waves his hand like a banner,” murmured Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“Methinks though,” said Mohi, “if the cripple had a Tartar for a wife, +he would not remain skeptical long.” + +“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?” + +“I am willing to assume any thing you please, my lord: what is it?” + +“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—_you_ Azzageddi, had departed this life; +in other words, out of sight, out of mind; what then, my dear prince?” + +“Why then, my lord, I would demolish my rival in a trice.” + +“Would you?—then—then so much for your metaphysics, Bab—Babbalanja.” + +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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. +They Sail Round An Island Without Landing; And Talk Round A Subject +Without Getting At It + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +While Braid-Beard was recounting these things, the currents were +sweeping us over a strait, toward a deep green island, bewitching to +behold. + +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. + +“Alas, sweet isle! Thy desolation is overrun with vines,” sighed Yoomy, +gazing. + +“Land of caitiff curs!” cried Media. + +“Isle, whose future is in its past. Hearth-stone, from which its +children run,” said Babbalanja. + +“I can not read thy chronicles for blood, Verdanna,” murmured Mohi. + +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. + +Meanwhile all still conversed. + +“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?” + +“Yes, minstrel, a step-child,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +“But Babbalanja, is there no way of reconciling these foes?” + +“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.” + +“But, Babbalanja,” said Yoomy, “what asks Verdanna of Dominora, that +Verdanna so clamors at the denial?” + +“They are arrant cannibals, Yoomy,” said Media, “and desire the +privilege of eating each other up.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Does she not demand her harvests, my lord?” said Yoomy, “and has not +the reaper a right to his sheaf?” + +“Cant! cant! Yoomy. If you reap for me, the sheaf is mine.” + +“But if the reaper reaps on his own harvest-field, whose then the +sheaf, my lord?” said Babbalanja. + +“His for whom he reaps—his lord’s!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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? + +“Even so,” said Mohi. “Many chapters bear you out.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Tropes on tropes!” said. Media. “Let me tell the tale,—straight- +forward like a line. Verdanna is a lunatic—” + +“A trope! my lord,” cried Babbalanja. + +“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?” + +“What my lord cites is true,” said Mohi, “but cite no more, I pray; +lest, you harm your cause.” + +“Yet for all this, Babbalanja,” said Media, “Bello but holds lunatic +Verdanna’s lands in trust.” + +“And may the guardian of an estate also hold custody of the ward, my +lord?” + +“Ay, if he can. What _can_ be done, may be: that’s the Greed of demi- +gods.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I am no sage,” said Yoomy, “what would my lord Media do?” + +“What would _you_ do, Babbalanja,” said Media. + +“Mohi, what you?” asked the philosopher. + +“And what would the company do?” added Mohi. + +“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.” + +“Well, Azzageddi, how could that answer his purpose?” asked Media. + +“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.” + +“Konno was a knave,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“King Bello’s men are dastards for that,” cried Yoomy. “It shows +neither sense, nor spirit, nor humanity,” said Babbalanja. + +“All wide of the mark,” cried Media. “What is to be done for Verdanna?” + +“What will she do for herself?” said Babbalanja. + +“Philosopher, you are an extraordinary sage; and since sages should be +seers, reveal Verdanna’s future.” + +“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.” + +“And what sort of a vegetable is that?” asked Mohi. “Consult the +botanists,” said Babbalanja. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. +They Draw Nigh To Porpheero; Where They Behold A Terrific Eruption + + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Noble Taji! you seek for your Yillah;—give over despair! Porpheero’s +such a scene of enchantment, that there, the lost maiden must lurk.” + +“A glorious picture!” cried Babbalanja, but turn the medal, my lord;— +what says the reverse?” + +“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!” + +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. + +It was a sunset serene. + +“How the winds lowly warble in the dying day’s ear,” murmured Yoomy. + +“A mild, bright night, we’ll have,” said Media. + +“See you not those clouds over Franko, my lord,” said Mohi, shaking his +head. + +“Ah, aged and weather-wise as ever, sir chronicler;—I predict a fair +night, and many to follow.” + +“Patience needs no prophet,” said Babbalanja. “The night, is at hand.” + +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. + +Then as all held their breath, from Franko there spouted an eruption, +which seemed to plant all Mardi in the foreground. + +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. + +“By my eternal throne!” cried Media, starting, “the old volcano has +burst forth again!” + +“But a new vent, my lord,” said Babbalanja. + +“More fierce this, than the eruption which happened in my youth,” said +Mohi—“methinks that Franko’s end has come.” + +“You look pale, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “while all other faces +glow;—Yoomy, doff that halo in the presence of a king.” + +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. + +“Off shore! off shore!” cried Media; and with all haste we gained a +place of safety. + +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. + +The shore was lined with multitudes pushing off wildly in canoes. + +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. + +“Thrice cursed flames!” cried Media. “Is Mardi to be one conflagration? +How it crackles, forks, and roars!—Is this our funeral pyre?” + +“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.” + +“My face is scorched,” cried Media. + +“The last, last day!” cried Mohi. + +“Not so, old man,” said Babbalanja, “when that day dawns, ’twill dawn +serene. Be calm, be calm, my potent lord.” + +“Talk not of calm brows in storm-time!” cried Media fiercely. “See! how +the flames blow over upon Dominora!” + +“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.” + +“Away! Away!” cried Media. “We may not touch Porpheero now.—Up sails! +and westward be our course.” + +So dead before the blast, we scudded. + +Morning broke, showing no sign of land. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“This fire must make a desert of the land,” said Mohi; “burn up and +bury all her tilth.” + +“Yet, Mohi, vineyards flourish over buried villages,” murmured Yoomy. + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER L. +Wherein King Media Celebrates The Glories Of Autumn, The Minstrel, The +Promise Of Spring + + +“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.” + +“There or nowhere, noble Taji,” said Yoomy. + +“Be not too sanguine, gentle Yoomy,” said Babbalanja. + +“Does Yillah choose rather to bower in the wild wilderness of Vivenza, +than in the old vineyards of Porpheero?” said Braid-Beard. + +Sang Yoomy:— +Her bower is not of the vine, +But the wild, wild eglantine! +Not climbing a moldering arch, +But upheld by the fir-green larch. + Old ruins she flies: + To new valleys she hies:— + Not the hoar, moss-wood, + Ivied trees each a rood— + Not in Maramma she dwells, + Hollow with hermit cells. + + ’Tis a new, new isle! + An infant’s its smile, + Soft-rocked by the sea. + Its bloom all in bud; + No tide at its flood, + In that fresh-born sea! + +Spring! Spring! where she dwells, +In her sycamore dells, +Where Mardi is young and new: +Its verdure all eyes with dew. + +There, there! in the bright, balmy morns, +The young deer sprout their horns, +Deep-tangled in new-branching groves, +Where the Red-Rover Robin roves,— + + Stooping his crest, + To his molting breast— + Rekindling the flambeau there! + Spring! Spring! where she dwells, + In her sycamore dells:— + Where, fulfilling their fates, + All creatures seek mates— + The thrush, the doe, and the hare! + + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER LI. +In Which Azzageddi Seems To Use Babbalanja For A Mouth-Piece + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Not so, my lord.—‘Patience, patience, philosophers,’ said Bardianna; +‘blow out your tapers, bolt not your dinners, take time, wisdom will be +plenty soon.’” + +“A notable hint! Why not follow it, Babbalanja?” + +“Because, my lord, I have overtaken it, and passed on.” + +“True to your nature, Babbalanja; you stay nowhere.” + +“Ay, keep moving is my motto; but speaking of hard students, did my +lord ever hear of Midni the ontologist and entomologist?” + +“No.” + +“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.” + +At this ridiculous tale, one of our silliest paddlers burst into +uncontrollable mirth. Offended at which breach of decorum, Media +sharply rebuked him. + +But he protested he could not help laughing. + +Again Media was about to reprimand him, when Babbalanja begged leave to +interfere. + +“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.” + +“But his body is his own, Babbalanja; and he should have it under +better control.” + +“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.” + +“You mortals are alive, then, when you are dead, Babbalanja.” + +“No, my lord; but our beards survive us.” + +“An ingenious distinction; go on, philosopher.” + +“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.” + +“Pray, Babbalanja, talk not of resurrections to a demi-god.” + +“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!” + +“That wild look in his eye again,” murmured Yoomy. “Proceed, +Azzageddi,” said Media. + +“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.” + +“Ha, ha!” laughed Media, “Azzageddi is full as merry as ever.” + +“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.’” + +“Is the literal part of that a fact?” asked Mohi. + +“True as truth,” said Babbalanja; “the Polyp will live turned inside +out.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Pray, Azzageddi,” said Media, “are you not a fool?” + +“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.” + +“Azzageddi, you are a zany.” + +“Pardon, my lord,” said Mohi, “I think him more of a lobster; it’s hard +telling his jaws from his claws.” + +“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.” + +“What has become of our finises, or tails, then?” asked Mohi, wriggling +in his seat. + +“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.” + +“A very witty conceit! But have a care, Azzageddi; your theory applies +not to me.” + +“Babbalanja,” said Mohi, “you must be the last of the kangaroos.” + +“I am, Mohi.” + +“But the old fashioned pouch or purse of your grandams?” hinted Media. + +“My lord, I take it, that must have been transferred; nowadays our sex +carries the purse.” + +“Ha, ha!” + +“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.” + +“Enough Azzageddi!” cried Media. “Open not thy lips till to-morrow.” + + + + +CHAPTER LII. +The Charming Yoomy Sings + + +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:— + + Her sweet, sweet mouth! + The peach-pearl shell:— +Red edged its lips, + That softly swell, +Just oped to speak, +With blushing cheek, + That fisherman +With lonely spear + On the reef ken, +And lift to ear +Its voice to hear,— + Soft sighing South! +Like this, like this,— +The rosy kiss!— + That maiden’s mouth. +A shell! a shell! +A vocal shell! + Song-dreaming, +In its inmost dell! + +Her bosom! Two buds half blown, they tell; +A little valley between perfuming; + That roves away, + Deserting the day,— + The day of her eyes illuming;— +That roves away, o’er slope and fell, +Till a soft, soft meadow becomes the dell. + + +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!” + +“Then no more it shall be,” said Yoomy, “But you have lost a glorious +sequel.” + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. +They Draw Nigh Unto Land + + +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. + +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. + +“Those groves must soon fall,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +“Ay,” said Media, “and as Mohi hints, the breeze from Dominora must +soon overthrow the groves of Kanneeda.” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“’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.” + +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. + +The canoes drew near. + +“Lo! what inscription is that?” cried Media, “there, chiseled over the +arch?” + +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.” + +“False!” said Media. + +“And how long stay they so?” said Babbalanja. + +“But look lower, old man,” cried Media, “methinks there’s a small +hieroglyphic or two hidden away in yonder angle.—Interpret them, old +man.” + +After much screwing of his eyes, for those characters were very minute, +Champollion Mohi thus spoke—” Except-the-tribe-of-Hamo.” + +“That nullifies the other,” cried Media. “Ah, ye republicans!” + +“It seems to have been added for a postscript,” rejoined Braid-Beard, +screwing his eyes again. + +“Perhaps so,” said Babbalanja, “but some wag must have done it.” + +Shooting through the arch, we rapidly gained the beach. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. +They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza + + +The throng that greeted us upon landing were exceedingly boisterous. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Where is your king?” asked Media, drawing himself up in his robe, and +cocking his crown. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“What mob is this?” cried Media. + +“’Tis the grand council of Vivenza,” cried a bystander. “Hear ye not +Alanno?” and he pointed to the lunatic. + +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. + +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:— + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The fire was now extinguished, and the temple deserted. + + + + +CHAPTER LV. +Wherein Babbalanja Comments Upon The Speech Of Alanno + + +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:— + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. +A Scene In The Land Of Warwicks, Or King-Makers + + +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. + +“Here comes our great chief!” he cried. “Behold him! It was _I_ that +had a hand in making him what he is!” + +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. + +“Behold, how familiar I am with him!” cried Znobbi, approaching, and +pitcher-wise taking him by the handle of his face. + +“Friend,” said the dignitary, “thy salute is peculiar, but welcome. I +reverence the enlightened people of this land.” + +“Mean-spirited hound!” muttered Media, “were I him, I had impaled that +audacious plebeian.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +And they seized, and tied him on the spot. + +“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.” + +“There’s not so much freedom here as these freemen think,” said +Babbalanja, turning; “I laugh and admire.” + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. +They Hearken Unto A Voice From The Gods + + +Next day we retraced our voyage northward, to visit that section of +Vivenza. + +In due time we landed. + +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. + +“Ha, ha!” laughed Yoomy, “Labor laughs in this land; and claps his +hands in the jubilee groves! methinks that Yillah will yet be found.” + +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. + +With the utmost delight, these tidings were welcomed by many; yet +others heard them with boding concern. + +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. + +But day by day great crowds ran down to the beach, in wait for canoes +periodically bringing further intelligence. + +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.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +Rambling on, we espied a clamorous crowd gathered about a conspicuous +palm, against which, a scroll was fixed. + +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. + +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. + +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:— + +“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. + +“And if it please you, you may ascribe this voice to the gods: for +never will you trace it to man. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“May it please you, those who hold to these things are fools, and not +wise. + +“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. + +“Oro decrees these vicissitudes. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Then, Romara’s free eagles flew over all Mardi, and perched on the +topmost diadems of the east. + +“Ever thus must it be. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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 +_not_ freedom; this, a lesson never learned in an hour or an age. By +some tribes it will never be learned. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Thus, freedom is more social than political. And its real felicity is +not to be shared. _That_ 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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Of late, on this head, some wild dreams have departed. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Time, but Time only, may enable you to cross the equator; and give you +the Arctic Circles for your boundaries.” + +So read the anonymous scroll; which straightway, was torn into shreds. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Philosopher! I am astounded at your effrontery. I detected your +philosophy the very first maxim. Who posted that parchment for you?” + +So, each charged the other with its authorship: and there was no +finding out, whether, indeed, either knew aught of its origin. + +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. + +Indeed, the settlement of this question must be left to the +commentators on Mardi, some four or five hundred centuries hence. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. +They Visit The Extreme South Of Vivenza + + +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. + +And now, we prepared to embark for the extreme south of the land. + +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. + +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. + +“Here labor has lost his laugh!” cried Yoomy. + +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. + +“Who eat these plants thus nourished?” cried Yoomy. “Are these men?” +asked Babbalanja. + +“Which mean you?” said Mohi. + +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. + +The sun passed under a cloud; and Nulli, darting at Babbalanja those +wondrous eyes, there fell upon him a baleful glare. + +“Have they souls?” he asked, pointing to the serfs. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Is this our lord the king?” cried Mohi, starting. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Just Oro!” cried Yoomy, “do no thunders roll,—no lightnings flash in +this accursed land!” + +“Asylum for all Mardi’s thralls!” cried Media. + +“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! _thou_ 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.” + +“Thoughts and cares are life, and liberty, and immortality!” cried +Babbalanja; “and are their souls, then, blown out as candles?” + +“Ranter! they are content,” cried Nulli. “They shed no tears.” + +“Frost never weeps,” said Babbalanja; “and tears are frozen in those +frigid eyes.” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Said Media, “Yet if—” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“These South savannahs may yet prove battle-fields,” said Mohi; +gloomily, as we retraced our steps. + +“Be it,” said Yoomy. “Oro will van the right.” + +“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.” + +“No need to fight,” cried Yoomy, “to liberate that tribe of Hamo +instantly; a way may be found, and no irretrievable evil ensue.” + +“Point it out, and be blessed, Yoomy.” + +“That is for Vivenza; but the head is dull, where the heart is cold.” + +“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.” + +“That is for Vivenza,” said Media. + +“Mohi, you are old: speak thou.” + +“Let Vivenza speak,” said Mohi. + +“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!” + +“Oro grant it!” cried Yoomy “and let Mardi say, amen!” + +“Amen! amen! amen!” cried echoes echoing echoes. + +We traversed many of these southern vales; but as in Dominora,—so, +throughout Vivenza, North and South,—Yillah harbored not. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. +They Converse Of The Mollusca, Kings, Toad-Stools And Other Matters + + +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. + +“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.” + +“My lord, they pay a price for every canoe-load,” said Mohi. + +“Ay, old man, holding the spear in one hand, and striking the bargain +with the other.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“Yes: in clear weather about the reefs, I have beheld them time and +again: but never with an eye to their political condition.” + +“Ah! my lord king, we should not cut off the nervous communication +between our eyes, and our cerebellums.” + +“What were you about to say concerning the Tunicata order of mollusca, +sir philosopher?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Most true, my lord. But Bello errs, when for this thing, he +stigmatizes all Vivenza, as a unity.” + +“Babbalanja, you yourself are made up of members:—then, if you be sick +of a lumbago,—’tis not _you_ that are unwell; but your spine.” + +“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?” + +“Answer your own question, Babbalanja.” + +“I will; but first tell me what sort of a sensation life is to you, +yourself, my lord.” + +“Pray answer that along with the other, Azzageddi.” + +“Directly; but tell me, if you will, my lord, what sort of a sensation +life is to a toad-stool.” + +“Pray, Babbalanja put all three questions together; and then, do what +you have often done before, pronounce yourself a lunatic.” + +“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.” + +“Do you take me for a mere man, then, Babbalanja, that you talk to me +thus?” + +“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?” + +“Have a care, Azzageddi; you are far too courteous, to be civil. But +proceed.” + +“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.’” + +“And what is death?” demanded Media. + +“Death, my lord!—it is the deadest of all things.” + + + + +CHAPTER LX. +Wherein, That Gallant Gentleman And Demi-God, King Media, Scepter In +Hand, Throws Himself Into The Breach + + +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. + +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.” + +All these isles were prolific gardens; where King Bello, and the +Princes of Porpheero grew their most delicious fruits,—nectarines and +grapes. + +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. + +’Twas now high noon. + +“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!” + +“Look, look! my lord,” cried Yoomy, “what a glorious shore we pass.” + +Sallying out into the high golden noon, with golden-beaming goblets +suspended, we gazed. + +“This must be Kolumbo of the south,” said Mohi. + +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. + +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. + +Out from those depths up rose a stream. + +The land lay basking in the world’s round torrid brisket, hot with +solar fire. + +“No need here to land,” cried Yoomy, “Yillah lurks not here.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Yet, in Porpheero, strong scepters have been wrested from anointed +hands. Mankind seems in arms.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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!” + +“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?” + +“There stop, my lord,” said Babbalanja, “nor aught predict. Fate laughs +at prophets; and of all birds, the raven is a liar!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. +They Round The Stormy Cape Of Capes + + +Long leagues, for weary days, we voyaged along that coast, till we came +to regions where we multiplied our mantles. + +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. + +Deep among those panting, moaning fugitives, the three canoes raced on. + +And now, the air grew nipping cold. The clouds shed off their fleeces; +a snow-hillock, each canoe; our beards, white-frosted. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But as we northward voyaged, another aspect wore the sea. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“What steadfast clouds!” cried Yoomy, “yonder! far aloft: that ridge, +with many points; it fades below, but shows a faint white crest.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. +They Encounter Gold-Hunters + + +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. + +Their inmates answered not our earnest hail. + +But as they sped, with frantic glee, in one long chorus thus they +sang:— + + We rovers bold, + To the land of Gold, + Over bowling billows are gliding: + Eager to toil, + For the golden spoil, + And every hardship biding. + See! See! + Before our prows’ resistless dashes, + The gold-fish fly in golden flashes! + ’Neath a sun of gold, + We rovers bold, + On the golden land are gaining; + And every night, + We steer aright, + By golden stars unwaning! + All fires burn a golden glare: + No locks so bright as golden hair! + All orange groves have golden gushings: + All mornings dawn with golden flushings! +In a shower of gold, say fables old, +A maiden was won by the god of gold! + In golden goblets wine is beaming: + On golden couches kings are dreaming! + The Golden Rule dries many tears! + The Golden Number rules the spheres! +Gold, gold it is, that sways the nations: +Gold! gold! the center of all rotations! + On golden axles worlds are turning: + With phosphorescence seas are burning! + All fire-flies flame with golden gleamings: + Gold-hunters’ hearts with golden dreamings! + With golden arrows kings are slain: + With gold we’ll buy a freeman’s name! +In toilsome trades, for scanty earnings, +At home we’ve slaved, with stifled yearnings: +No light! no hope! Oh, heavy woe! +When nights fled fast, and days dragged slow. + But joyful now, with eager eye, + Fast to the Promised Land we fly: + Where in deep mines, + The treasure shines; + Or down in beds of golden streams, + The gold-flakes glance in golden gleams! + How we long to sift, + That yellow drift! + Rivers! Rivers! cease your going! + Sand-bars! rise, and stay the tide! + ’Till we’ve gained the golden flowing; + And in the golden haven ride! + + +“Quick, quick, my lord,” cried Yoomy, “let us follow them; and from the +golden waters where she lies, our Yillah may emerge.” + +“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!” + +“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 _his_ 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.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. +They Seek Through The Isles Of Palms; And Pass The Isles Of Myrrh + + +Now, our prows we turned due west, across the blue lagoon. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“Here, at last, we find sweet Yillah!” murmured Yoomy. “Here must she +lurk in innocence! Quick! Let us land and search.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. +Concentric, Inward, With Mardi’s Reef, They Leave Their Wake Around The +World + + +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! + +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. + +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? + +“Reverence we render thee, Old Orienda!” cried Media, with bared brow, +“Original of all empires and emperors!—a crowned king salutes thee!” + +“Mardi’s father-land!” cried Mohi, “grandsire of the nations,—hail!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Yet on, and on we coasted; counting not the days. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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. + +And now, southwest we steered, till another island vast, was reached; +—Hamora! far trending toward the Antarctic Pole. + +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. + +Here, the sea rolled high, in mountain surges: mid which, we toiled and +strained, as if ascending cliffs of Caucasus. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.’” + +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. + +In heavy sighs, the night-winds from shore came over us. + +“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.” + +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. + +Said Babbalanja, bowing to the blast: “Thus, oh Vivenza! retribution +works! Though long delayed, it comes at last—Judgment, with all her +bolts.” + +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. + +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. + +On our right, Hamora’s northern shore gleamed thick with crescents; +numerous as the crosses along the opposing strand. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. +Sailing On + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +So I. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. +A Flight Of Nightingales From Yoomy’s Mouth + + +By noon, down came a calm. + +“Oh Neeva! good Neeva! kind Neeva! thy sweet breath, dear Neeva!” + +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. + +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. + +“Thy best,” he cried. + +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.” + +“Tingling is the test,” said Babbalanja, “Yoomy, did you tingle, when +that song was composing?” + +“All over, Babbalanja.” + +“From sole to crown?” + +“From finger to finger.” + +“My life for it! true poetry, then, my lord! For this self-same +tingling, I say, is the test.” + +“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.” + +“Modest youth!” sighed Media. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The song! the song!” cried Media. “Never mind the metaphysics of +genius.” + +And Yoomy, thus clamorously invoked, hemmed thrice, tuning his voice +for the air. + +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:— + + Half-railed above the hills, yet rosy bright, + Stands fresh, and fair, the meek and blushing morn! +So Yillah looks! her pensive eyes the stars, + That mildly beam from out her cheek’s young dawn! + + But the still meek Dawn, + Is not aye the form + Of Yillah nor Morn! + Soon rises the sun, + Day’s race to run: + His rays abroad, + Flash each a sword,— + And merrily forth they flare! + Sun-music in the air! + So Yillah now rises and flashes! + Rays shooting from ont her long lashes,— + Sun-music in the air! + + Her laugh! How it bounds! + Bright cascade of sounds! + Peal after peal, and ringing afar,— + Ringing of waters, that silvery jar, + From basin to basin fast falling! + Fast falling, and shining, and streaming:— + Yillah’s bosom, the soft, heaving lake, + Where her laughs at last dimple, and flake! + +Oh beautiful Yillah! Thy step so free!— + Fast fly the sea-ripples, +Revealing their dimples, + When forth, thou hi’st to the frolicsome sea! + + All the stars laugh, + When upward she looks: + All the trees chat + In their woody nooks: + All the brooks sing; + All the caves ring; + All the buds blossom; + All the boughs bound; + All the birds carol; + And leaves turn round, + Where Yillah looks! + +Light wells from her soul’s deep sun +Causing many toward her to run! +Vines to climb, and flowers to spring; +And youths their love by hundreds bring! + + +“Proceed, gentle Yoomy,” said Babbalanja. + +“The meaning,” said Mohi. + +“The sequel,” said Media. + +“My lord, I have ceased in the middle; the end is not yet.” + +“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.” + +“Oro forbid!” cried Yoomy; “the very sound of thy words affrights me.” +Then, whispering to Mohi—“Is he daft again?” + +“My brain is battered,” said Media. “Azzageddi! you must diet, and be +bled.” + +“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, turning; “how little they ween of the +Rudimental Quincunxes, and the Hecatic Spherula!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. +They Visit One Doxodox + + +Next morning, we came to a deep, green wood, slowly nodding over the +waves; its margin frothy-white with foam. A charming sight! + +While delighted, all our paddlers gazed, Media, observing Babbalanja +plunged in reveries, called upon him to awake; asking what might so +absorb him. + +“Ah, my lord! what seraphic sounds have ye driven from me!” + +“Sounds! Sure, there’s naught heard but yonder murmuring surf; what +other sound heard you?” + +“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.” + +“No more, Azzageddi! No more of that. Look yonder!” + +“A most lovely wood, in truth. And methinks it is here the sage +Doxodox, surnamed the Wise One, dwells.” + +“Hark, I hear the hootings of his owls,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +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!” + +“Down, Azzageddi! down!” cried Media. “Behold: there sits the Wise One; +now, for true wisdom!” + +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. + +Advancing with much deference and humility, Babbalanja saluted him. + +“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!” + +“Tetrads; Pentads; Hexads; Heptads; Ogdoads:—meanest thou those?” + +“New terms all!” + +“Foiled at thy own weapons,” said Media. + +“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.” + +“Azzageddi has found his match,” said Media. + +“Still posed, Babbalanja?” asked Mohi. + +“At a loss, most truly! But I beseech thee, wise Doxodox! instruct me +in thy dialectics, that I may embrace thy more recondite lore.” + +“To begin then, my child:—all Dicibles reside in the mind.” + +“But what are Dicibles?” said Media. + +“Meanest thou, Perfect or Imperfect Dicibles?” Any kind you please;— +but what are they?” + +“Perfect Dicibles are of various sorts: Interrogative; Percontative; +Adjurative; Optative; Imprecative; Execrative; Substitutive; +Compellative; Hypothetical; and lastly, Dubious.” + +“Dubious enough! Azzageddi! forever, hereafter, hold thy peace.” + +“Ah, my children! I must go back to my Axioms.” + +“And what are they?” said old Mohi. + +“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.” + +“And what of them?” + +“Did I not just hint what they were, my child? I repeat, they are of +various sorts: Connex, and Conjunct, for example.” + +“And what of them?” persisted Mohi; while Babbalanja, arms folded, +stood serious and mute; a sneer on his lip. + +“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 _Ass_umption.” + +“So called from the syllogist himself, doubtless;” said Mohi, stroking +his beard. + +“Poor ignorant babe! no. Listen:—if finally, I say,—Therefore it is not +cold that’s the final inference.” + +“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?” + +“Though thy epithets be true, my child, I distrust thy sincerity. I +have not yet heard of the syllogism to which thou referrest.” + +“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.’” + +“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. + +“Bravely done, Babbalanja!” cried Media. “You turned the corner to +admiration.” + +“I have hopes of our Philosopher yet,” said Mohi. + +“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!” + +“His fit again,” sighed Yoomy. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. +King Media Dreams + + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“List, list,” whispered Yoomy—“our lord is dreaming; and what a royal +dream.” + +“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.” + +“Hist,” said Mohi—“he speaks again.” + +“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!” + +“His dream has changed,” said Babbalanja. “He is in Odo, whither his +anxieties impel him.” + +“Hist, hist,” said Yoomy. + +“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!” + +“What is it, my lord? thou dost but dream.” + +Staring wildly; then calmly gazing round, Media smiled. “Ha! how we +royalties ramble in our dreams! I’ve told no secrets?” + +“While he seemed to sleep, my lord spoke much,” said Mohi. + +“I knew it not, old man; nor would now; but that ye tell me.” + +“We dream not ourselves,” said Babbalanja, “but the thing within us.” + +“Ay?—good-morrow Azzageddi!—But come; no more dreams: Vee-Vee! wine.” + +And straight through that livelong night, immortal Media plied the can. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. +After A Long Interval, By Night They Are Becalmed + + +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. + +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. + +Enough that still we roamed. + +It was evening; and as the red sun, magnified, launched into the wave, +once more, from a wild strand, we launched our three canoes. + +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. + +The winds were laid; the lagoon, still, as a prairie of an August noon. + +“Let us dream out the calm,” said Media. “One of ye paddlers, watch: Ho +companions! who’s for Cathay?” + +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. + +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. + +The dozing watcher had called aloud; and, about to stab, the assassin, +dropping his stiletto, plunged. + +Peering hard through those treacherous mists, two figures in a shallop, +were espied; dragging another, dripping, from the brine. + +“Foiled again, and foiled forever. No foe’s corpse was I.” + +As we gazed, in the gloom quickly vanished the shallop; ere ours could +be reversed to pursue. + +Then, from the opposite mists, glided a second canoe; and beneath the +Iris round the moon, shone now another:—Hautia’s flowery flag! + +Vain to wave the sirens off; so still they came. + +One waved a plant of sickly silver-green. + +“The Midnight Tremmella!” cried Yoomy; “the falling-star of flowers!— +Still I come, when least foreseen; then flee.” + +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. + +But once more waved off, silently they vanished. + +Again the buried barb tore, at my soul; again Yillah was invoked, but +Hautia made reply. + +Slowly wore out the night. But when uprose the sun, fled clouds, and +fled sadness. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. +They Land At Hooloomooloo + + +“Keep all three prows, for yonder rock.” cried Media; “No sadness on +this merry morn! And now for the Isle of Cripples,—even Hooloomooloo.” + +“The Isle of Cripples?” + +“Ay; why not? Mohi, tell how they came to club.” In substance, this was +the narration. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Soon, we drew nigh to the isle. + +Heaped up, and jagged with rocks; and, here and there, covered with +dwarfed, twisted thickets, it seemed a fit place for its denizens. + +Landing, we were surrounded by a heterogeneous mob; and thus escorted, +took our way inland, toward the abode of their lord, King Yoky. + +What a scene! + +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. + +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. + +Yet for every stare we gave them, three stares they gave us. + +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. + +Entering, we saw King Yoky. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Much amazement His Highness now expressed; horrified his glances. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Comelier ones were never turned by turners, Mohi. But royal Yoky! in +sooth we feel abashed before thee.” + +Some further stares were then exchanged; when His Highness sought to +know, whether there were any Comparative Anatomists among his visitors. + +“Comparative Anatomists! not one.” + +“And why may King Yoky ask that question?” inquired Babbalanja. + +Then was made the following statement. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +So, the monarch and Rozoko. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The king’s injunctions were remembered; and one vault received them +both. + +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. + +They straight resolved, to build another vault; and over it, a lofty +cairn; and thither carry the remains they reverenced. + +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. + +Such the narration; hearing which, my lord Media kept stately silence. +But in courtly phrase, as beseemed him, Babbalanja, turban in hand, +thus spoke:— + +“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.” + +Then entered dwarf-stewards, and major-domos; aloft bearing twisted +antlers; all hollowed out in goblets, grouped; announcing dinner. + +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. + +So, under a flourish of ram-horn bugles, court and company proceeded to +the banquet. + +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. + +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. + +Now these viands were commended to the favorable notice of all guests; +not only for their delicacy of flavor, but for their symmetry. + +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. + +The banquet over, with many congees, we withdrew. + +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. + +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!” + +Nor must it be omitted that just previous to embarking, Vee-Vee, spying +a curious looking stone, turned it over, and found a snake. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. +A Book From The “Ponderings Of Old Bardianna” + + +“Now,” said Babbalanja, lighting his trombone as we sailed from the +isle, “who are the monsters, we or the cripples?” + +“You yourself are a monster, for asking the question,” said Mohi. + +“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?” + +“Never mind your old authors,” said Media. “Stick to the cripples; +enlarge upon them.” + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“‘What shaft has yet been sunk to the antipodes? What underlieth the +gold mines? + +“‘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. + +“‘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. + +“‘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. + +“‘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, _now_, 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. + +“‘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. + +“‘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. + +“‘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? + +“‘Though they smite us, let us not turn away from these things, if they +be really thus. + +“‘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? + +“‘These things are so. + +“‘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. + +“‘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, _here_, fellow-men, we +can better minister as angels, than in heaven, where want and misery +come not. + +“‘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. + +“‘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.’” + +“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?” + +“Gogle-goggle, fugle-fi, fugle-fogle-orum!” + +“Mad, mad again,” cried Yoomy. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. +Babbalanja Starts To His Feet + + +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.” + +“Art resuscitated, then, Babbalanja?” said Media. “Ay, my lord, I am +just risen from the dead.” + +“And did Azzageddi conduct you to their realms?” + +“Fangs off! fangs off! depart, thou fiend!—unhand me! or by Oro, I will +die and spite thee!” + +“Quick, quick, Mohi! let us change places,” cried Yoomy. + +“How now, Babbalanja?” said Media. + +“Oh my lord man—not _you_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Who speaks now?” said Media, “Bardianna, Azzageddi, or Babbalanja?” + +“All three: is it not a pleasant concert?” + +“Very fine: very fine.—Go on; and tell us something of the future.” + +“I have never departed this life yet, my lord.” + +“But just now you said you were risen from the dead.” “From the buried +dead within me; not from myself, my lord.” + +“If you, then, know nothing of the future—did Bardianna?” + +“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.” + +Confusion! Remember the Quadammodatatives!” + +“Ah!” said Braid-Beard, “that’s the crack in his calabash, which all +the Dicibles of Doxdox will not mend.” + +“And from that crazy calabash he gives us to drink, old Mohi.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. +At Last, The Last Mention Is Made Of Old Bardianna; And His Last Will +And Testament Is Recited At Length + + +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. + +“Testators!” then cried Media, when your last wills are all round +settled, speak, and make it known!” + +“Mine, my lord, has long been fixed,” said Babbalanja. + +“And how runs it?” + +“Fugle-fogle—” + +“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.” + +“Down, devil! deeper down!” rumbled Babbalanja. + +“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.” + +“Proceed then; but I mistrust that Azzageddi is not yet many thousand +fathoms down.” + +“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. + +“‘Imprimis: + +“‘All my kith and kin being well to do in Mardi, I wholly leave them +out of this my will. + +“‘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. + +“‘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.’ + +“‘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. + +“‘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. + +“‘Item. I give and bequeath my large carved drinking gourd to my good +comrade Topo. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’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. + +“’I have no previous wills to revoke; and publish this to be my first +and last. + +“’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. + +“’By me, BARDIANNA.’” + +“Babbalanja, that’s an extraordinary document,” said Media. + +“Bardianna was an extraordinary man, my lord.” + +“Were there no codicils?” + +“The will is all codicils; all after-thoughts; Ten thoughts for one +act, was Bardianna’s motto.” + +“Left he nothing whatever to his kindred?” + +“Not a stump.” + +“Prom his will, he seems to have lived single.” + +“Yes: Bardianna never sought to improve upon nature; a bachelor he was +born, and a bachelor he died.” + +“According to the best accounts, how did he depart, Babbalanja?” asked +Mohi. + +“With a firm lip, and his hand on his heart, old man.” + +“His last words?” + +“Calmer, and better!” + +“Where think you, he is now?” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. +A Death-Cloud Sweeps By Them, As They Sail + + +Next day, a fearful sight! + +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. + +“See, see,” cried Yoomy, “how the Death-cloud flies! Let us dive down +in the sea.” + +“Nay,” said Babbalanja. “All things come of Oro; if we must drown, let +Oro drown us.” + +“Down sails: drop paddles,” said Media: “here we float.” + +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. + +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. + +“Thanks unto Oro,” murmured Mohi, “this heart still beats.” + +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. + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. +They Visit The Palmy King Abrazza + + +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. + +“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.” + +“And lord Abrazza:—who is he?” asked Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“But who is lord Abrazza?” + +“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.” + +“Will none tell, who Abrazza is?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“There seems much iron in your blood,” said Media. “But say your say.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Welcome! fellow demi-god, and king! Media, my pleasant guest!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +Such the isle, in which we tarried; but in our rambles, found no +Yillah. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. +Some Pleasant, Shady Talk In The Groves, Between My Lords Abrazza And +Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, And Yoomy + + +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. + +“Your crown,” he said to Media; and with his own, he hung it on a +bough. + +“Be not ceremonious:” and stretched his royal legs upon the turf. + +“Wine!” and his pages poured it out. + +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. + +So, all round we quaffed and quoted. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—How came it, that they all were blind? + +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. + +ABRAZZA—Vavona seemed a solitary Mardian; who seldom went abroad; had +few friends; and shunning others, was shunned by them. + +BABBALANJA—But shunned not himself, my lord; like gods, great poets +dwell alone; while round them, roll the worlds they build. + +MEDIA—You seem to know all authors:—you must have heard of Lombardo, +Babbalanja; he who flourished many ages since. + +BABBALANJA—I have; and his grand Kortanza know by heart. + +MEDIA (_to Abrazza._)—A very curious work, that, my lord. + +ABRAZZA—Yes, my dearest king. But, Babbalanja, if Lombardo had aught to +tell to Mardi—why choose a vehicle so crazy? + +BABBALANJA—It was his nature, I suppose. + +ABRAZZA—But so it would not have been, to me. + +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! + +ABBRAZZA—A curious work: a very curious work. Babbalanja, are you +acquainted with the history of Lombardo? + +BABBALANJA—None better. All his biographies have I read. + +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. + +MEDIA—Their thunder and lightning seem spontaneous combustibles, my +lord. + +ABRAZZA—With which, they but consume themselves, my prince beloved. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +ABRAZZA—Wanting the second motive, would the first have sufficed, +philosopher? + +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. + +MEDIA (_to Abrazza_)—Be not impatient, my lord; he’ll recover +presently. You were talking of Lombardo, Babbalanja. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—In other words, yams were indispensable, and, poor devil, he +roared to get them. + +BABBALANJA (_bowing_)—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. +_That_ 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; _that_ 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. + +ABRAZZA (_to Media_)—Pray, my lord, is this good gentleman a devil? + +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? + +ABRAZZA (_to Media_)—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. + +BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; but like eagles, his thoughts were first +callow; yet, born plumeless, they came to soar. + +ABRAZZA—Very fine. I presume, Babbalanja, the first thing he did, was +to fast, and invoke the muses. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—Ah! then the muses were afterward invoked. + +BABBALANJA—Pardon again. Lombardo next sat down to a fine plantain +pudding. + +YOOMY—When the song-spell steals over me, I live upon olives. + +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— + +ABRAZZA—Dashed off, you mean. + +BABBALANJA—He never dashed off aught. + +ABRAZZA—As you will. + +BABBALANJA—In ten days, Lombardo had written full fifty folios; he +loved huge acres of vellum whereon to expatiate. + +MEDIA—What then? + +BABBALANJA—He read them over attentively; made a neat package of the +whole: and put it into the fire. + +ALL—How? + +MEDIA—What! these great geniuses writing trash? + +ABRAZZA—I thought as much. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—Then genius is not inspired, after all. How they must slave in +their mines! I weep to think of it. + +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— + +ABBRAZZA—And on the other, a brimmed beaker. + +BABBALANJA—No, your Highness; though he loved it, no wine for Lombardo +while actually at work. + +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. + +BABBALANJA—Not so; he had another way of keeping himself well braced. + +YOOMY—Quick! tell us the secret. + +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. + +MOHI—Doubtless, then, he always wrote with a grin; and none laughed +louder at his quips, than Lombardo himself. + +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. + +MEDIA—What! did Lombardo laugh with a long face? + +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. + +MOHI—My word for it; but he had a sly one, now and then. + +BABBALANJA—For the nonce, he was not his own master: a mere amanuensis +writing by dictation. + +YOOMY—Inspiration, that! + +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. + +MEDIA—But pray, Babbalanja, tell us how he made acquaintance with some +of those rare worthies, he introduces us to, in his Koztanza. + +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. + +MEDIA—What! those imaginary beings? + +ABRAZZA—Wondrous witty! infernal fine! + +MEDIA—But, Babbalanja; after all, the Koztanza found no favor in the +eyes of some Mardians. + +ABRAZZA—Ay: the arch-critics Verbi and Batho denounced it. + +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? + +ABRAZZA—But the unities; Babbalanja, the unities! they are wholly +wanting in the Koztanza. + +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.” + +ABRAZZA—Very rash! + +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. + +MEDIA—Incoherent again! I thought we were to have no more of this! + +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. + +MEDIA (_to Abrazza_)—My lord, you start again; but ’tis only another +phase of Azzageeddi; sometimes he’s quite mad. But all this you must +needs overlook. + +ABRAZZA—I will, my dear prince; what one can not see through, one must +needs look over, as you say. + +YOOMY—But trust me, your Highness, some of those strange things fall +far too melodiously upon the ear, to be wholly deficient in meaning. + +ABRAZZA—Your gentle minstrel, _this_ must be, my lord. But Babbalanja, +the Koztanza lacks cohesion; it is wild, unconnected, all episode. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—Ay, plenty of dead-desert chapters there; horrible sands to +wade through. + +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? + +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. + +MEDIA—And what was that? + +BABBALANJA—That he had best make a faggot of the whole; and try again. + +ABRAZZA—Very encouraging. + +MEDIA—Any one else? + +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:” + +MEDIA—And who was Pollo? + +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. + +MEDIA—What is said of him there? + +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.” + +MEDIA—Well: and what said Lombardo to those good friends of his,— +Zenzori, Hanto, and Roddi? + +BABBALANJA—Nothing. Taking home his manuscript, he glanced it over; +making three corrections. + +ABRAZZA—And what then? + +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.” + +YOOMY (_musing._)—It is even so. + +ABRAZZA—Lombardo was severe upon the critics; and they as much so upon +him;—of that, be sure. + +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. + +ABRAZZA (_to Media._)—Oro help the victim that falls in Babbalanja’s +hands! + +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? + +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—-_that_ struck, all the isles shall +resound!” + +ABRAZZA—Poor devil! he took the world too hard. + +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. + +ABRAZZA—No doubt, he hugged it. + +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— + +ABRAZZA—Pooh! pooh! + +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 _a_’s, and _i_’s, and _o_’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!” + +ABRAZZA—He was very funny, then, at times. + +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! + +ABRAZZA (_to Media_)—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! + +MEDIA—Ah! that’s Azzageddi. But, prithee, Babbalanja, proceed. + +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.” + +ABRAZZA (_with a sigh_)—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? + +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. + +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! + +ABRAZZA (_tapping his sandal with his scepter__)—I never read it. + +BABBALANJA (_looking upward_)—It was written with a divine intent. + +Mohi (_stroking his beard_)—I never hugged it in a corner, and ignored +it before Mardi. + +Yoomy (_musing_)—It has bettered my heart. + +MEDIA (_rising_)—And I have read it through nine times. + +BABBALANJA (_starting up_)—Ah, Lombardo! this must make thy ghost glad! + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. +They Sup + + +There seemed something sinister, hollow, heartless, about Abrazza, and +that green-and-yellow, evil-starred crown that he wore. + +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. + +That night, in his right regal hall, King Abrazza received us. And in +merry good time a fine supper was spread. + +Now, in thus nocturnally regaling us, our host was warranted by many +ancient and illustrious examples. + +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. + +And many distinguished mortals besides. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +And charge all did. + +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. + +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.—” + +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.” + +“Ay, my dear lord, much better than dinners.” + +“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.” + +“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.’” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“Well, then, your Highness, of all the eighteen royal Ludwigs of +Franko—” + +“Who like so many ten-pins, all in a row,” interposed Babbalanja— “have +been bowled off the course by grim Death.” + +“Heed him not,” said Media—“go on.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +At that instant, there burst into the hall, a crowd of spearmen, driven +before a pale, ragged rout, that loudly invoked King Abrazza. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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?” + +“They are. For Benedict mortals must be home betimes: bachelor +demi-gods are never away.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“Let not Azzageddi get uppermost again, Babbalanja,” cried Media. “Your +goblet is only half-full.” + +“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.” + +“Methinks he relapses,” said Abrazza. + +“It waxes late,” said Mohi; “your Highnesses, is it not time to break +up?” + +“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!” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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, +_here_, 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!” + +“Devil that thou art, begone! Ho, guards! seize him!” + +“Back, curs!” cried Media. “Harm not a hair of his head. I crave +pardon, King Abrazza, but no violence must be done Babbalanja.” + +“Trumpets there!” said Abrazza; “so: the banquet is done—lights for +King Media! Good-night, my lord!” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. +They Embark + + +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. + +“My compliments to your king,” said Media to the chamberlains, “and say +the royal notice to quit was duly received.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“Let us break through, my lord,” said Yoomy, “and seek the shore. Its +solitudes must prove reviving.” “Solitudes they are,” cried Mohi. + +“Peopled but not enlivened,” said Babbalanja. “Hard landing here, +minstrel! see you not the isle is hedged?” + +“Why, break through, then,” said Media. “Yillah is not here.” + +“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.” + +“Yoomy’s rendering of the truth,” said Mohi. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“No more. I will have no gloom. A chorus! there, ye paddlers! spread +all your sails; ply paddles; breeze up, merry winds!” + +And so, in the saffron sunset, we neared another shore. + +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. + +“Shall we land?” said Babbalanja. + +“Not here,” cried Yoomy; “no Yillah here.” + +“No,” said Media. “This is another of those lands far better to avoid.” + +“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.” + +“Set all sail there, men! away!” + +“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?” + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. +Babbalanja At The Full Of The Moon + + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“No, thank you, Azzageddi, not after that infernal fashion; better +weep.” + +“He makes me crawl all over, as if I were an ant-hill,” said Mohi. + +“He’s mad, mad, mad!” cried Yoomy. + +“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!— + +Stars laugh in the sky: + Oh fugle-fi I +The waves dimple below: + Oh fugle-fo! + + +“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!” + +At that instant, down went the fiery full-moon, and the Dog-Star; and +far down into Media, a Tivoli of wine. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. +Morning + + +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. + +So, the sun; nearer heaven than we:—with what mind, then, may blessed +Oro downward look. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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 _me_, 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 _me_, 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!” + +“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!” + +“Hail! mighty brute!—thou feelest not these things: never canst _thou_ +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!” + +“He falls!” cried Media. + +“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!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. +L’ultima Sera + + +Thus far, through myriad islands, had we searched: of all, no one pen +may write: least, mine;—and still no trace of Yillah. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“How now?” cried Media; “why is the minstrel mournful?—He whose place +it is to chase away despondency: not be its minister.” + +“Ah, my lord, so _thou_ 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: + +The isles hold thee not, thou departed! + From thy bower, now issues no lay:— +In vain we recall perished warblings: + Spring birds, to far climes, wing their way!” + + +As Yoomy thus sang; unmindful of the lay, with paddle plying, in low, +pleasant tones, thus hummed to himself our bowsman, a gamesome wight:— + +Ho! merrily ho! we paddlers sail! +Ho! over sea-dingle, and dale!— + Our pulses fly, + Our hearts beat high, +Ho! merrily, merrily, ho! + + +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. + +“Save him! Put back!” + +From his elevated seat, the merry bowsman, too gleefully reaching +forward, had fallen into the lagoon. + +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. + +As, blindly, we groped back, deep Night dived deeper down in the sea. + +“Drop paddles all, and list.” + +Holding their breath, over the six gunwales all now leaned; but the +only moans were the wind’s. + +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. + +“Let us away,” said Media—“why seek more? He is gone.” + +“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 +_we_ 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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But when the jackals howl round you?” said Babbalanja. + +“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!’” + +“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.” + +Silence ensued; during which, each dip of the paddles in the now calm +water, fell full and long upon the ear. + +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.” + +“Croak no more, raven!” cried Media. “Mardi is full of spring-time +sights, and jubilee sounds. I never was sad in my life.” + +“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.” + +“Too true!” cried Yoomy. “Our calms must come by storms. Like helmless +vessels, tempest-tossed, our only anchorage is when we founder.” + +“Our beginnings,” murmured Mohi, “are lost in clouds; we live in +darkness all our days, and perish without an end.” + +“Croak on, cowards!” cried Media, “and fly before the hideous phantoms +that pursue ye.” + +“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!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. +They Sail From Night To Day + + +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. + +Whither to turn we knew not; nor what haven to gain; so dense the +darkness. + +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. + +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. + +“Alma’s blessing upon ye, voyagers! ye look storm-worn.” + +“The storm we have survived, old man; and many more, we yet must ride,” +said Babbalanja. + +“The sun is risen; and all is well again. We but need to repair our +prows,” said Media. + +“Then, turn aside to Serenia, a pleasant isle, where all are welcome; +where many storm-worn rovers land at last to dwell.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Shall we then, my lord?” + +“Lead on, old man! We will e’en see this wondrous isle.” + +So, guided by the venerable stranger, by noon we descried an island +blooming with bright savannas, and pensive with peaceful groves. + +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. + +“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. + +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:— + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye rove, + No calmer strand, + No sweeter land, +Will e’er ye view, than the Land of Love! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +To these, our shores, soft gales invite: + The palm plumes wave, + The billows lave, +And hither point fix’d stars of light! + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Think not our groves wide brood with gloom; + In this, our isle, + Bright flowers smile: +Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Be not deceived; renounce vain things; + Ye may not find + A tranquil mind, +Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings. + + Hail! voyagers, hail! +Time flies full fast; life soon is o’er; + And ye may mourn, + That hither borne, +Ye left behind our pleasant shore. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. +They Land + + +The song was ended; and as we gained the strand, the crowd embraced us; +and called us brothers; ourselves and our humblest attendants. + +“Call ye us brothers, whom ere now ye never saw?” + +“Even so,” said the old man, “is not Oro the father of all? Then, are +we not brothers? Thus Alma, the master, hath commanded.” + +“This was not our reception in Maramma,” said Media, “the appointed +place of Alma; where his precepts are preserved.” + +“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.” + +“Alas! too true. But I beseech ye, judge not Alma by all those who +profess his faith. Hast thou thyself his records searched?” + +“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.” + +“Ah! baneful error! But thus is it, brothers!! that the wisest are set +against the Truth, because of those who wrest it from itself.” + +“Do ye then claim to live what your Master hath spoken? Are your +precepts practices?” + +“Nothing do we claim: we but earnestly endeavor.” + +“Tell me not of your endeavors, but of your life. What hope for the +fatherless among ye?” + +“Adopted as a son.” + +“Of one poor, and naked?” + +“Clothed, and he wants for naught.” + +“If ungrateful, he smite you?” + +“Still we feed and clothe him.” + +“If yet an ingrate?” + +“Long, he can not be; for Love is a fervent fire.” + +“But what, if widely he dissent from your belief in Alma;—then, surely, +ye must cast him forth?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“So have I always thought,” said Mohi. + +“If Alma teaches love, I want no gift to learn,” said Yoomy. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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 _here_. _That_ 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.” + +“Full soon will I be testing all these things,” murmured Mohi. + +“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.” + +“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. _That_ we seek to +foster. To _that_ we cling; else, all were hopeless!” + +“Your social state?” + +“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.” + +“Fine poetry all this,” said Babbalanja, “but not so new. Oft do they +warble thus in bland Maramma!” + +“It sounds famously, old man!” said Media, “but men are men. Some must +starve; some be scourged.—Your doctrines are impracticable.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Is this man divine?” murmured Babbalanja. “But thou speakest most +earnestly of adoring Alma:—I see no temples in your groves.” + +“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.” + +“Then, ye forever fast and pray; and stand and sing; as at long +intervals the censer-bearers in Maramma supplicate their gods.” + +“Alma forbid! We never fast; our aspirations are our prayers; our lives +are worship. And when we laugh, with human joy at human things, —_then_ +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 _them_, 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?” + +“No temples, then no priests;” said Babbalanja, “for few priests will +enter where lordly arches form not the portal.” + +“We have no priests, but one; and he is Alma’s self. We have his +precepts: we seek no comments but our hearts.” + +“But without priests and temples, how long will flourish this your +faith?” said Media. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Poetry!” cried Yoomy; “and poetry is truth! He stirs me.” + +“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.” + +“Sure, all this is in the histories!” said Mohi, starting. + +“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 _me_,’ he cried, ‘is that heart of mild content, +which in vain ye seek in rank and title. I am Love: love ye then me.’” + +“Cease, cease, old man!” cried Media; “thou movest me beyond my +seeming. What thoughts are these? Have done! Wouldst thou unking me?” + +“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!” + +“Oh, Alma, Alma! prince divine!” cried Babbalanja, sinking on his +knees—“in _thee_, 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.” + +“And here another kneels and prays,” cried Yoomy. + +“In Alma all my dreams are found, my inner longings for the Love +supreme, that prompts my every verse. Summer is in my soul.” + +“Nor now, too late for these gray hairs,” cried Mohi, with devotion. +“Alma, thy breath is on my soul. I see bright light.” + +“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.” + +With swimming eyes the old man kneeled; and round him grouped king, +sage, gray hairs, and youth. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. +Babbalanja Relates To Them A Vision + + +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. + +The waves were phosphorescent, and laved the beach with a fire that +cooled it. + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘Oh! Spirit!! angel! god! whate’er thou art,’—I cried, ‘leave me; I am +but man.’ + +“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.’ + +“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.’ + +“‘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.’ + +“Once more it undulated round me; its lightning wings grew dim; nearer, +nearer; till I felt a shock electric,—and nested ’neath its wing. + +“We clove the air; passed systems, suns, and moons: what seem from +Mardi’s isles, the glow-worm stars. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Here hived the worlds in swarms: and gave forth sweets ineffable. + +“We lighted on a ring, circling a space, where mornings seemed forever +dawning over worlds unlike. + +“‘Here,’ I heard, ‘thou viewest thy Mardi’s Heaven. Herein each world +is portioned.’ + +“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. + +“‘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.’ + +“Then low I murmured:—‘Is their’s, oh guide! no happiness supreme? +their state still mixed? Sigh these yet to know? Can these sin?’ + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“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?’ + +“‘Such have their place,’ I heard. + +“‘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?’ + +“‘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.’ + +“‘Ah, then,’ yet lower moan made I; ‘and why create the germs that sin +and suffer, but to perish?’ + +“‘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.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“Quick my guide close nested me; through its veins the waning light +throbbed hard. + +“‘Oh, spirit! archangel! god! whate’er thou art,’ it breathed; ‘leave +me: I am but blessed, not glorified.’ + +“So saying, as down from doves, from its wings dropped sounds. Still +nesting me, it crouched its plumes. + +“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 _thou_ and learn +new things.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“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. + +“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.’ + +“Then, with its wings it fanned adieu; and disappeared where the sun +flames highest.” + +We heard the dream and, silent, sought repose, to dream away our +wonder. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. +They Depart From Serenia + + +At sunrise, we stood upon the beach. + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Mohi! Age leads thee by the hand. Live out thy life; and die, calm- +browed. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Companions all! adieu.” + +And from the beach, he wended through the woods. + +Our shallops now refitted, we silently embarked; and as we sailed away, +the old man blessed us. + +For a time, each prow’s ripplings were distinctly heard: ripple after +ripple. + +With silent, steadfast eyes, Media still preserved his noble mien; Mohi +his reverend repose; Yoomy his musing mood. + +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. + +Much they longed, to point our prows for Odo’s isle; saying our search +was over. + +But I was fixed as fate. + +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. + +Then again they all would fain dissuade me. + +“Closed is the deep blue eye,” said Yoomy. + +“Fate’s last leaves are turning, let me home and die,” said Mohi. + +“So nigh the circuit’s done,” said Media, “our morrow’s sun must rise +o’er Odo; Taji! renounce the hunt.” + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. +They Meet The Phantoms + + +That starless midnight, there stole from out the darkness, the Iris +flag of Hautia. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“How glorious it burns!” cried Media. I reel with incense:—can such +sweets be evil?” + +“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!” + +“Yillah! Yillah! Yillah!” bayed three vengeful voices far behind. + +“Yillah! Yillah!—dash the urn! I follow, Hautia! though thy lure be +death.” + +The Cereus closed; and in a mist the siren prow went on before; we, +following. + +When day dawned, three radiant pilot-fish swam in advance: three +ravenous sharks astern. + +And, full before us, rose the isle of Hautia. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. +They Draw Nigh To Flozella + + +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. + +According to Mohi, the origin of this term was traceable to the +remotest antiquity. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. +They Land + + +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. + +“What flies through the spray! what incense is this?” cried Media. + +“Ha! you wild breeze! you have been plundering the gardens of Hautia,” +cried Yoomy. + +“No sweets can be sweeter,” said Braid-Beard, “but no Upas more +deadly.” + +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. + +And far down, fathoms on fathoms, flitted rainbow hues:—as seines- full +of mermaids; half-screening the bones of the drowned. + +Swifter and swifter the currents now ran; till with a shock, our prows +were beached. + +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. + +“The pilot-fish transformed!” cried Yoomy. + +“The night-eyed heralds three!” said Mohi. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The fruit hung high in air, that only beaks, not hands, might pluck. + +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. + +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. + +But now, from out half-hidden bowers of clematis, there issued swarms +of wasps, which flying wide, settled on all the buds. + +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. + +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. + +Her eye was fathomless. + +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. + +“Yillah! Yillah!—tell me, queen!” But she stood motionless; radiant, +and scentless: a dahlia on its stalk. “Where? Where?” + +“Is not thy voyage now ended?—Take flowers! Damsels, give him wine to +drink. After his weary hunt, be the wanderer happy.” + +I dashed aside their cups, and flowers; still rang the vale with +Yillah! + +“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!” + +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.” + +“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!” + +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!” + +Then, marking all, I thought to seem what I was not, that I might learn +at last the thing I sought. + +So, three cups in hand I held; drank wine, and laughed; and half-way +met Queen Hautia’s blandishments. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX. +They Enter The Bower Of Hautia + + +Conducted to the arbor, from which the queen had emerged, we came to a +sweet-brier bower within; and reclined upon odorous mats. + +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. + +“Quaff, Taji, quaff! every drop drowns a thought!” + +Like a blood-freshet, it ran through my veins. + +A philter?—How Hautia burned before me! Glorious queen! with all the +radiance, lighting up the equatorial night. + +“Thou art most magical, oh queen! about thee a thousand constellations +cluster.” + +“They blaze to burn,” whispered Mohi. + +“I see ten million Hautias!—all space reflects her, as a mirror.” + +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. + +My soul ebbed out; Yillah there was none! but as I turned round open- +armed, Hautia vanished. + +“She is deeper than the sea,” said Media. + +“Her bow is bent,” said Yoomy. + +“I could tell wonders of Hautia and her damsels,” said Mohi. + +“What wonders?” + +“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. + +“‘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. + +“‘Thus in Flozella, I found but the phantom of Ady, and slew the last +hope of Ady the true.’” + +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. + +“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 carry life and +joy. Away!_” + +“Art still bent on finding evil for thy good?” cried Mohi.—“How can +Yillah harbor here?—Beware!—Let not Hautia so enthrall thee.” + +“Come away, come away,” cried Yoomy. “Far hence is Yillah! and he who +tarries among these flowers, must needs burn juniper.” + +“Look on me, Media, Mohi, Yoomy. Here I stand, my own monument, till +Hautia breaks the spell.” + +In grief they left me. + +Vee-Vee’s conch I heard no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XC. +Taji With Hautia + + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +From a stack of golden palm-stalks, the damsels now made torches; then +stood grouped; a sheaf of sirens in a sheaf of frame. + +Illuminated, the cavern shone like a Queen of Kandy’s casket: full of +dawns and sunsets. + +From rocky roof to bubbling floor, it was columned with stalactites; +and galleried all round, in spiral tiers, with sparkling, coral ledges. + +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. + +Where she dived, the flambeaux clustered; and up among them, Hautia +rose; hands, full of pearls. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Show me that which I seek, and I will dive with thee, straight through +the world, till we come up in oceans unknown.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + + + + +CHAPTER XCI. +Mardi Behind: An Ocean Before + + +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. + +Thus we stood:—snake and victim: life ebbing out from me, to her. + +But from that spell, I burst again, as all the Past smote all the +Present in me. + +“Oh Hautia! thou knowest the mystery I die to fathom. I see it +crouching in thine eye:—Reveal!” + +“Weal or woe?” + +“Life or death!” + +“See, see!” and Yillah’s rose-pearl danced before me. + +I snatched it from her hand:—“Yillah! Yillah!” + +“Rave on: she lies too deep to answer; stranger voices than thine she +hears:—bubbles are bursting round her.” + +“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!” + +“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. + +Round and round, a gleaming form slow circled in the deepest eddies:— +white, and vaguely Yillah. + +Straight I plunged; but the currents were as fierce headwinds off +capes, that beat back ships. + +Then, as I frenzied gazed; gaining the one dark arch, the revolving +shade darted out of sight, and the eddies whirled as before. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Is this specter, Taji?”—and Mohi and the minstrel stood before me. + +“Taji lives no more. So dead, he has no ghost. I am his spirit’s +phantom’s phantom.” + +“Nay, then, phantom! the time has come to flee.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!” + +Such Mohi’s tale. + +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. + +An outlet in that outer barrier was nigh. + +“Ah! Yillah! Yillah!—the currents sweep thee ocean-ward; nor will I +tarry behind.—Mardi, farewell!—Give me the helm, old man!” + +“Nay, madman! Serenia is our haven. Through yonder strait, for thee, +perdition lies. And from the deep beyond, no voyager e’er puts back.” + +“And why put back? is a life of dying worth living o’er again?—Let +_me_, then, be the unreturning wanderer. The helm! By Oro, I will steer +my own fate, old man.—Mardi, farewell!” + +“Nay, Taji: commit not the last, last crime!” cried Yoomy. + +“He’s seized the helm! eternity is in his eye! Yoomy: for our lives we +must now swim.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +And thus, pursuers and pursued flew on, over an endless sea. + + THE END. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13721 *** |