"For one," said Media, "you may gaze at me freely. Gaze on. But talknot of my kinsmen so fluently, Babbalanja. Return to your argument."
"I go back then, my lord. By implication, you have granted, that intimes past the future was foreknown of Oro; hence, in times past, thefuture must have been foreordained. But in all things Oro isimmutable. Wherefore our own future is foreknown and foreordained.Now, if things foreordained concerning nations have in times past beenrevealed to them previous to their taking place, then somethingsimilar may be presumable concerning individual men now living. Thatis to say, out of all the events destined to befall any one man, it isnot impossible that previous knowledge of some one of these eventsmight 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 thestrongest presumable motives to the act; grant that, unforewarned, Iwould slay myself outright at the time appointed: yet, foretold of it,and resolved to test the decree to the uttermost, under suchcircumstances, I say, would it be possible for me not to kill myself?If possible, then predestination is not a thing absolute; and Heavenis wise to keep secret from us those decrees, whose virtue consists insecrecy. But if not possible, then that suicide would not be mine, butOro's. And, by consequence, not only that act, but all my acts, areOro's. In sum, my lord, he who believes that in times past, prophetshave prophesied, and their prophecies have been fulfilled; when put toit, inevitably must allow that every man now living is anirresponsible being."
"In sooth, a very fine argument very finely argued," said Media. "Youhave done marvels, Babbalanja. But hark ye, were I so disposed, Icould deny you all over, premises and conclusions alike. Andfurthermore, my cogent philosopher, had you published that anarchicaldogma among my subjects in Oro, I had silenced you by my spear-headedscepter, instead of my uplifted finger."
"Then, all thanks and all honor to your generosity, my lord, ingranting us the immunities you did at the outset of this voyage. But,my lord, permit me one word more. Is not Oro omnipresent--absolutelyevery where?"
"So you mortals teach, Babbalanja."
"But so do they _mean_, my lord. Often do we Mardians stick to termsfor 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 forany being, or any thing but Oro. Hence, Oro is _in_ all things, andhimself _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 Oroalmighty and universal attributes every way, those systems, I say,destroy all intellectual individualities but Oro, and resolve theuniverse into him. But this is a heresy; wherefore, orthodoxy andheresy are one. And thus is it, my lord, that upon these matters weMardians all agree and disagree together, and kill each other withweapons that burst in our hands. Ah, my lord, with what mind mustblessed Oro look down upon this scene! Think you he discriminatesbetween the deist and atheist? Nay; for the Searcher of the cores ofall hearts well knoweth that atheists there are none. For in thingsabstract, 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 wouldhe belie the thing he intended to express. And who lives thatblasphemes? What jargon of human sounds so puissant as to insult theunutterable 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 shallthese self-assumed attorneys and vicegerents be astounded, when theyshall see all heaven peopled with heretics and heathens, and all hellnodding over with miters! Ah! let us Mardians quit this insanity. Letus 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, andbroken with spontaneous doubts, I sometimes see but two things in allMardi to believe:--that I myself exist, and that I can most happily,or least miserably exist, by the practice of righteousness. All elseis in the clouds; and naught else may I learn, till the firmament besplit from horizon to horizon. Yet, alas! too often do I swing fromthese 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 mortalswax earnest. No thanks, but curses, will you get for your earnestness.You yourself you harm most. Why not take creeds as they come? It isnot 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 thethinker."
"Then, why think at all? Is it not better for you mortals to clutcherror as in a vice, than have your fingers meet in your hand? And towhat end your eternal inquisitions? You have nothing to substitute.You say all is a lie; then out with the truth. Philosopher, your devilis but a foolish one, after all. I, a demi-god, never say nay to thesethings."
"Yea, my lord, it would hardly answer for Oro himself, were he to comedown to Mardi, to deny men's theories concerning him. Did they notstrike at the rash deity in Alma?"
"Then, why deny those theories yourself? Babbalanja, you almost affectmy immortal serenity. Must you forever be a sieve for good /grain torun through, while you retain but the chaff? Your tongue is forked.You speak two languages: flat folly for yourself, and wisdom forothers. 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 grownout of the subject of Necessity and Free Will. Now, when a boy, Irecollect 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 hisservitude, he flattered himself that he was free; and this conceit itwas, that made the fool so entertaining to the king. One day, saidNormo to his fool,--'Go, Willi, to yonder tree, and wait there till Icome,' 'Your Majesty, I will,' said Willi, bowing beneath his jinglingbells; 'but I presume your Majesty has no objections to my walking onmy hands:--I am free, I hope.' 'Perfectly,' said Normo, 'hands orfeet, it's all the same to me; only do my bidding.' 'I thought asmuch,' said Willi; so, swinging his limber legs into the air, Willi,thumb after thumb, essayed progression. But soon, his bottled blood sorushed downward through his neck, that he was fain to turn a somersetand regain his feet. Said he, 'Though I am free to do it, it's not soeasy turning digits into toes; I'll walk, by gad! which is my otheroption.' So he went straight forward, and did King Normo's bidding inthe 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 nightf
or discussing the theme you did; and truly, you mortals are but tooapt to talk in the dark."
"Ay, my lord, and we mortals may prate still more in the dark, when weare dead; for methinks, that if we then prate at all, 'twill be in oursleep. Ah! my lord, think not that in aught I've said this night, Iwould assert any wisdom of my own. I but fight against the armed andcrested Lies of Mardi, that like a host, assail me. I am stuck full ofdarts; but, tearing them from out me, gasping, I discharge them whencethey come."
So saying, Babbalanja slowly drooped, and fell reclining; then laymotionless as the marble Gladiator, that for centuries has been dying.
CHAPTER XXXIIMy Lord Media Summons Mohi To The Stand
While slowly the night wore on, and the now scudding clouds flownpast, revealed again the hosts in heaven, few words were uttered saveby Media; who, when all others were most sad and silent, seemed butlittle 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 poiseyour wine-red, fiery spheres on high. A health to _thee_, my regalfriend, Alphacca, in the constellation of the Crown: Lo! crown tocrown, I pledge thee! I drink to _ye_, too, Alphard! Markab! Denebola!Capella!--to _ye_, too, sailing Cygnus! Aquila soaring!--All round, ahealth to all your diadems! May they never fade! nor mine!"
At last, in the shadowy east, the Dawn, like a gray, distant sailbefore the wind, was descried; drawing nearer and nearer, till hergilded prow was perceived.
And as in tropic gales, the winds blow fierce, and more fierce, withthe advent of the sun; so with King Media; whose mirth now breezed upafresh. But, as at sunrise, the sea-storm only blows harder, to settledown at last into a steady wind; even so, in good time, my lord Mediacame 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 bridegroomsets forth for his bride, preceded by nymphs, now this side, now that,lighting up all the flowery flambeaux held on high as they pass; socame 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 curlingwave-crest a flame.
Noon came as we sailed.
And now, citrons and bananas, cups and calabashes, calumets andtobacco, were passed round; and we were all very merry and mellowindeed. Smacking our lips, chatting, smoking, and sipping. Now amouthful of citron to season a repartee; now a swallow of wine to washdown a precept; now a fragrant whiff to puff away care. Many thingsdid beguile. From side to side, we turned and grazed, like Juno'swhite oxen in clover meads.
Soon, we drew nigh to a charming cliff, overrun with woodbines, onhigh suspended from flowering Tamarisk and Tamarind-trees. Theblossoms of the Tamarisks, in spikes of small, red bells; theTamarinds, wide-spreading their golden petals, red-streaked as withstreaks of the dawn. Down sweeping to the water, the vines trailedover to the crisp, curling waves,--little pages, all eager to hold uptheir trains.
Within, was a bower; going behind it, like standing inside the sheetof the falls of the Genesee.
In this arbor we anchored. And with their shaded prows thrust in amongthe flowers, our three canoes seemed baiting by the way, like weariedsteeds in a hawthorn lane.
High midsummer noon is more silent than night. Most sweet a siestathen. And noon dreams are day-dreams indeed; born under the meridiansun. Pale Cynthia begets pale specter shapes; and her frigid rays bestilluminate white nuns, marble monuments, icy glaciers, and cold tombs.
The sun rolled on. And starting to his feet, arms clasped, and wildlystaring, Yoomy exclaimed--"Nay, nay, thou shalt not depart, thoumaid!--here, here I fold thee for aye!--Flown?--A dream! Then siestashenceforth 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 nextwe 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 brinewill help thee."
"Alas," cried Babbalanja, "do the fairies then wait on repletion? Doour dreams come from below, and not from the skies? Are we angels, ordogs? Oh, Man, Man, Man! thou art harder to solve, than the IntegralCalculus--yet plain as a primer; harder to find than thephilosopher's-stone--yet ever at hand; a more cunning compound, thanan alchemist's--yet a hundred weight of flesh, to a penny weight ofspirit; soul and body glued together, firm as atom to atom, seamlessas the vestment without joint, warp or woof--yet divided as by ariver, spirit from flesh; growing both ways, like a tree, and droppingthy topmost branches to earth, like thy beard or a banian!--I givethee up, oh Man! thou art twain--yet indivisible; all things--yet apoor unit at best."
"Philosopher you seem puzzled to account for the riddles of yourrace," cried Media, sideways reclining at his ease. "Now, do thou, oldMohi, stand up before a demi-god, and answer for all.--Draw nigh, so Ican 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," saidBabbalanja. "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 inat a glance.--Attention! Rememberest thou, fellow-being, when thouwast 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 Yoomyadvancing. "Let a poet endeavor."
"I abdicate in your favor, then, gentle Yoomy; let me smooth the divanfor you;--there: be seated."
"Now, Mohi, who art thou?" said Yoomy, nodding his bird-of-paradiseplume.
"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. "Hisdevil 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 XXXIIIWherein Babbalanja And Yoomy Embrace
"How the isles grow and multiply around us!" cried Babbalanja, asturning the bold promontory of an uninhabited shore, many distantlands bluely loomed into view. "Surely, our brief voyage, may notembrace all Mardi like its reef?"
"No," said Media, "much must be left unseen. Nor every where canYillah be sought, noble Taji."
Said Yoomy, "We are as birds, with pinions clipped, that inunfathomable and endless woods, but flit from twig to twig of one poortree."
"More isles! more isles!" cried Babbalanja, erect, and gazing abroad."And lo! round all is heaving that infinite ocean. Ah! gods! whatregions lie beyond?"
"But whither now?" he cried, as in obedience to Media, the paddlerssuddenly altered our course.
"To the bold shores of Diranda," said Media.
"Ay; the land of clubs and javelins, where the lord seigniors Helloand 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 abstractedlyinto the water;--"awake, Yoomy, and give us the lines."
"My lord Media, 'tis but a rude, clanging thing; dissonant as if thenorth wind blew th
rough it. Methinks the company will not fancy linesso 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 wantclarion peals, not lute warblings. So throw out your chest, Yoomy:lift high your voice; and blow me the old battle-blast.--Begin, sirminstrel."
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!
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