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 theyspoke of the mighty past, which he reverenced more than the paltrypresent, 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, braveBardianna. They seemed to have formed parts of a work, whose titleonly remained--"Thoughts, by a Thinker."
Silently Babbalanja pressed them to his heart. Then at arm's lengthheld them, and said, "And is all this wisdom lost? Can not the divinecunning in thee, Bardianna, transmute to brightness these sulliedpages? Here, perhaps, thou didst dive into the deeps of things,treating of the normal forms of matter and of mind; how the particlesof solids were first molded in the interstices of fluids; how thethoughts 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 jowlwith phrasemen's words. Oh Bardianna! these pages were offspring ofthee, thought of thy thought, soul of thy soul. Instinct with mind,they once spoke out like living voices; now, they're dust; and wouldnot prick a fool to action. Whence then is this? If the fogs of somefew years can make soul linked to matter naught; how can the unhousedspirit hope to live when mildewed with the damps of death."
Piously he folded the shreds of manuscript together, kissed them, andlaid them down.
Then approaching Oh-Oh, he besought him for one leaf, one shred ofthose most precious pages, in memory of Bardianna, and for the love ofhim.
But learning who he was, one of that old Ponderer's commentators, Oh-Oh tottered toward the manuscripts; with trembling fingers told themover, one by one, and said-"Thank Oro! all are here.--Philosopher, askme for my limbs, my life, my heart, but ask me not for these. Steepedin wax, these shall be my cerements."
All in vain; Oh-Oh was an antiquary.
Turning in despair, Babbalanja spied a heap of worm-eaten parchmentcovers, and many clippings and parings. And whereas the rolls ofmanuscripts did smell like unto old cheese; so these relics didmarvelously resemble the rinds of the same.
Turning over this pile, Babbalanja lighted upon something thatrestored his good humor. Long he looked it over delighted; butbethinking him, that he must have dragged to day some lost work of thecollection, and much desirous of possessing it, he made bold again toply 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 hisvestment.
The catacombs surveyed, and day-light gained, we inquired the way toJi-Ji's, also a collector, but of another sort; one miserly in thematter of teeth, the money of Mardi.
At the mention of his name, Oh-Oh flew out into scornful philippicsupon the insanity of that old dotard, who hoarded up teeth, as ifteeth were of any use, but to purchase rarities. Nevertheless, hepointed out our path; following which, we crossed a meadow.
CHAPTER XXBabbalanja Quotes From An Antique Pagan; And Earnestly Presses It UponThe 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 unpackedtheir hampers, to provide us a lunch.
But as for that Babbalanja of ours, he must needs go and lunch byhimself, and, like a cannibal, feed upon an author; though in otherrespects he was not so partial to bones.
Bringing forth the treasure he had buried in his bosom, he was soonburied in it; and motionless on his back, looked as if laid out, tokeep an appointment with his undertaker.
"What, ho! Babbalanja!" cried Media from under a tree, "don't be aduck, 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 weighmore 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 youlook so wildly?"
"A Happy Life! a Happy Life!" cried Babbalanja, in an ecstasy. "Mylord, 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 willreckon benefits well placed as the fairest part of my possession, notvaluing them by number or weight, but by the profit and esteem of thereceiver; accounting myself never the poorer for any thing I give.What I do shall be done for conscience, not ostentation. I will eatand drink, not to gratify my palate, but to satisfy nature. I will becheerful to my friends, mild and placable to my enemies. I willprevent 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; andupon 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 goodconscience; that I never invaded another man's liberty; and that Ipreserved my own. I will govern my life and my thoughts, as if thewhole world were to see the one, and to read the other; for what doesit signify, to make any thing a secret to my neighbor, when to Oro allour privacies are open.'"
"Very fine," said Media.
"The very spirit of the first followers of Alma, as recorded in thelegends," said Mohi.
"Inimitable," said Yoomy.
Said Babbalanja, "Listen again:--'Righteousness is sociable andgentle; free, steady, and fearless; full of inexhaustible delights.'And here again, and here, and here:--The true felicity of life is tounderstand our duty to Oro.'--'True joy is a serene and sober motion.'And here, and here,--my lord, 'tis hard quoting from this book;--butlisten--
'A peaceful conscience, honest thoughts, and righteous actionsare blessings without end, satiety, or measure. The poor man wantsmany 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 Iimprovise nothing. What I have recited, Is here. Mohi, this book ismore marvelous than the prophecies. My lord, that a mere man, and aheathen, in that most heathenish time, should give utterance to suchheavenly wisdom, seems more wonderful than that an inspired prophetshould reveal it. And is it not more divine in this philosopher, tolove righteousness for its own sake, and in view of annihilation, thanfor pious sages to extol it as the means of everlasting felicity?"
"Alas," sighed Yoomy, "and does he not promise us any good thing, whenwe are dead?"
"He speaks not by authority. He but woos us to goodness and happinesshere."
"Then, Babbalanja," said Media, "keep your treasure to yourself.Without authority, and a full right hand, Righteousness better besilent. Mardi's religion must seem to come direct from Oro, and themass 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 paiddown for something else?"
"I called it not righteousness; it is religion so called. But let usprate no more of these things; with which I, a demi-god, have butlittle in common. It ever impairs my digestion. No more, Babbalanja."
"My lord! my lord! out of itself, Religion has nothing to bestow. Norwill she save us from aught, but from the evil in ourselves. Her onegrand end is to make us wise; her only manifestations are reverence toOro and love to man; her only, but ample reward, herself. He who hasthis, 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 hefasts or feasts; laughs or weeps;--that man can be no richer. And thisreligion, faith, virtue, righteousness, good, whate'er you will, Ifind 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 ofmysteries 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, Iam in darkness, and no broad blaze comes down to flood me. The raysthat come to me are but faint cross lights, mazing the obscuritywherein I live. And after all, excellent as it is, I can be no gainerby this book. For the more we learn, the more we unlearn; weaccumulate not, but substitute; and take away, more than we add. Wedwindle while we grow; we sally out for wisdom, and retreat beyond thepoint whence we started; we essay the Fondiza, and get but the Phe. Ofall simpletons, the simplest! Oh! that I were another sort of foolthan I am, that I might restore my good opinion of myself. ContinuallyI stand in the pillory, am broken on the wheel, and dragged asunder bywild horses. Yes, yes, Bardianna, all is in a nut, as thou sayest; butall my back teeth can not crack it; I but crack my own jaws. All roundme, my fellow men are new-grafting their vines, and dwelling inflourishing arbors; while I am forever pruning mine, till it is becomebut a stump. Yet in this pruning will I persist; I will not add, Iwill diminish; I will train myself down to the standard of what isunchangeably true. Day by day I drop off my redundancies; ere long Ishall 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 XXIThey Visit A Wealthy Old Pauper
Continuing our route to Jiji's, we presently came to a miserablehovel. Half projecting from the low, open entrance, was a baldovergrown head, intent upon an upright row of dark-colored bags:--pelican pouches--prepared by dropping a stone within, and suspendingthem, when moist.
Ever and anon, the great head shook with a tremulous motion, as one byone, to a clicking sound from the old man's mouth, the strings ofteeth were slowly drawn forth, and let fall, again and again, with arattle.
But perceiving our approach, the old miser suddenly swooped hispouches out of sight; and, like a turtle into its shell, retreatedinto his den. But soon he decrepitly emerged upon his knees, askingwhat brought us thither?--to steal the teeth, which lying rumoraverred he possessed in abundance? And opening his mouth, he averredhe had none; not even a sentry in his head.
But Babbalanja declared, that long since he must have drawn his owndentals, and bagged them with the rest.
Now this miserable old miser must have been idiotic; for soonforgetting what he had but just told us of his utter toothlessness, hewas 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. Aproposition 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 wherethe sense of a simple exchange of quantities, alike in value?"
"Where, indeed?" said Hohora with open eyes, "though I never heard itbefore, that's a staggering question. I beseech you, who was the sagethat asked it?"
"Vivo, the Sophist," said Babbalanja, turning aside.
In the hearing of Jiji, allusion was made to Oh-Oh, as a neighbor ofhis. Whereupon he vented much slavering opprobrium upon that miserableold hump-back; who accumulated useless monstrosities; throwing awaythe precious teeth, which otherwise might have sensibly rattled in hisown pelican pouches.
When we quitted the hovel, Jiji, marking little Vee-Vee, from whoseshoulder hung a calabash of edibles, seized the hem of his garment andbesought him for one mouthful of food; for nothing had he tasted thatday.
The boy tossed him a yam.
CHAPTER XXIIYoomy Sings Some Odd Verses, And Babbalanja Quotes From The OldAuthors Right And Left
Sailing from Padulla, after many pleasant things had been saidconcerning 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 earthlyfelicity?"
"If so, minstrel," said Media, "jet it forth, my fountain, forthwith."
"Just now, my lord," replied Yoomy, "I was singing to myself, as Ioften 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 arestiff," cried Babbalanja. "We are lucky in living midway in eternity.So sing away, Yoomy, where you left off," and thus saying he unloosedhis 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 o
f themermaid's foot. But no; that can not be; for mermaids are allvertebrae 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 areverie: somewhere in the Hyades perhaps.
Conversation proceeding, Braid-Beard happened to make allusion to oneRotato, a portly personage, who, though a sagacious philosopher, andvery ambitious to be celebrated as such, was only famous in Mardi asthe 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 foryears a man may move unnoticed among his fellows; but all at once, bysome chance attitude, foreign to his habit, become a trumpet-full forfools; though, in himself, the same as ever. Nor has he shown himselfyet; for the entire merit of a man can never be made known; nor thesum 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 whoevery way are but too apt to be riddles. In many points the works ofour great poet Vavona, now dead a thousand moons, still remain amystery. Some call him a mystic; but wherein he seems obscure, it is,perhaps, we that are in fault; not by premeditation spoke he thosearchangel thoughts, which made many declare, that Vavona, after all,was but a crack-pated god, not a mortal of sound mind. But had he beenless, my lord, he had seemed more. Saith Fulvi, 'Of the highest orderof genius, it may be truly asserted, that to gain the reputation ofsuperior power, it must partially disguise itself; it must come down,and then it will be applauded for soaring.' And furthermore, thatthere are those who falter in the common tongue, because they think inanother; and these are accounted stutterers and stammerers.'"