Mardi: and A Voyage Thither, Vol. II

by Herman Melville

  CHAPTER LWherein King Media Celebrates The Glories Of Autumn, The Minstrel, ThePromise 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 atlast 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 thisspring-land Vivenza. But are not the old autumnal valleys of Porpheeromore glorious than those of vernal Vivenza? Vivenza shows no trophiesof the summer time, but Dominora's full-blown rose hangs blushing onher garden walls; her autumn groves are glory-dyed."

  "My lord, autumn soon merges in winter, but the spring has all theseasons before. The full-blown rose is nearer withering than the bud.The faint morn is a blossom: the crimson sunset the flower."

  CHAPTER LIIn Which Azzageddi Seems To Use Babbalanja For A Mouth-Piece

  Porpheero far astern, the spirits of the company rose. Once again, oldMohi serenely unbraided, and rebraided his beard; and sitting Turk-wise on his mat, my lord Media smoking his gonfalon, diverted himselfwith the wild songs of Yoomy, the wild chronicles of Mohi, or thestill wilder speculations of Babbalanja; now and then, as from pitcherto pitcher, pouring royal old wine down his soul.

  Among other things, Media, who at times turned over Babbalanja for anencyclopaedia, however unreliable, demanded information upon thesubject of neap tides and their alleged slavish vassalage to the moon.

  When true to his cyclopaediatic nature, Babbalanja quoted from a stillolder and better authority than himself; in brief, from no other thaneternal Bardianna. It seems that that worthy essayist had discussedthe whole matter in a chapter thus headed: "On Seeing into Mysteriesthrough Mill-Stones;" and throughout his disquisitions he evinced sucha profundity of research, though delivered in a style somewhatequivocal, that the company were much struck by the eruditiondisplayed.

  "Babbalanja, that Bardianna of yours must have been a wonderfulstudent," said Media after a pause, "no doubt he consumed wholethickets of rush-lights."

  "Not so, my lord.--'Patience, patience, philosophers,' said Bardianna;'blow out your tapers, bolt not your dinners, take time, wisdom willbe 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 mylord ever hear of Midni the ontologist and entomologist?"

  "No."

  "Then, my lord, you shall hear of him now. Midni was of opinion thatday-light was vulgar; good enough for taro-planting and traveling; butwholly unadapted to the sublime ends of study. He toiled by night;from sunset to sunrise poring over the works of the old logicans. Likemost philosophers, Midni was an amiable man; but one thing invariablyput 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 imminentcomma, the insect often expired, and Midni groped for a meaning. Uponsuch 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; soMidni sprang to his feet, and parchment under arm, raced about amongthe sloughs and bogs for another glow-worm. Often, making a rapiddescent with his turban, he thought he had caged a prize; but nay.Again he tried; yet with no better succcess. Nevertheless, at last hesecured one; but hardly had he read three lines by its light, when outit went. Again and again this occurred. And thus he forever wenthalting and stumbling through his studies, and plunging through hisquagmires after a glim."

  At this ridiculous tale, one of our silliest paddlers burst intouncontrollable mirth. Offended at which breach of decorum, Mediasharply rebuked him.

  But he protested he could not help laughing.

  Again Media was about to reprimand him, when Babbalanja begged leaveto interfere.

  "My lord, he is not to blame. Mark how earnestly he struggles tosuppress his mirth; but he can not. It has often been the same withmyself. And many a time have I not only vainly sought to check mylaughter, but at some recitals I have both laughed and cried. But canopposite emotions be simultaneous in one being? No. I wanted to weep;but my body wanted to smile, and between us we almost choked. My lordMedia, this man's body laughs; not the man himself."

  "But his body is his own, Babbalanja; and he should have it underbetter control."

  "The common error, my lord. Our souls belong to our bodies, not ourbodies to our souls. For which has the care of the other? which keepshouse? which looks after the replenishing of the aorta and auricles,and stores away the secretions? Which toils and ticks while the othersleeps? Which is ever giving timely hints, and elderly warnings? Whichis the most authoritative?--Our bodies, surely. At a hint, you mustmove; at a notice to quit, you depart. Simpletons show us, that a bodycan get along almost without a soul; but of a soul getting alongwithout a body, we have no tangible and indisputable proof. My lord,the wisest of us breathe involuntarily. And how many millions thereare who live from day to day by the incessant operation of subtleprocesses in them, of which they know nothing, and care less? Littleween they, of vessels lacteal and lymphatic, of arteries femoral andtemporal; of pericranium or pericardium; lymph, chyle, fibrin,albumen, iron in the blood, and pudding in the head; they live by thecharity of their bodies, to which they are but butlers. I say, mylord, our bodies are our betters. A soul so simple, that it prefersevil to good, is lodged in a frame, whose minutest action is full ofunsearchable wisdom. Knowing this superiority of theirs, our bodiesare inclined to be willful: our beards grow in spite of us; and asevery 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 strongestmotive-passions, those which, in some way or other, root under ourevery action. Hence, without bodies, we must be something else than weessentially are. Wherefore, that saying imputed to Alma, and which, byhis very followers, is deemed the most hard to believe of all hisinstructions, and the most at variance with all preconceived notionsof immortality, I Babbalanja, account the most reasonable of hisdoctrinal teachings. It is this;--that at the last day, every manshall 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 'VeryMerry 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 e
ye 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 itsdisparagement. 'Out upon you, you beggarly body! you clog, drug, drag!You keep me from flying; I could get along better without you. Outupon you, I say, you vile pantry, cellar, sink, sewer; abominablebody! what vile thing are you not? And think you, beggar! to have theupper hand of me? Make a leg to that man if you dare, without mypermission. This smell is intolerable; but turn from it, if you can,unless I give the word. Bolt this yam!--it is done. Carry me acrossyon field!--off we go. Stop!--it's a dead halt. There, I've trainedyou enough for to-day; now, sirrah, crouch down in the shade, and bequiet.--I'm rested. So, here's for a stroll, and a reverie homeward:--Up, carcass, and march.' So the carcass demurely rose andpaced, and the philosopher meditated. He was intent upon squaring thecircle; but bump he came against a bough. 'How now, clodhoppingbumpkin! you would take advantage of my reveries, would you? But I'llbe even with you;' and seizing a cudgel, he laid across his shoulderswith right good will. But one of his backhanded thwacks injured hisspinal 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.' Butwonderful to tell, his legs refused to budge; all sensation had leftthem. But a huge wasp happening to sting his foot, not him, for hefelt it not, the leg incontinently sprang into the air, and of itself,cut all manner of capers. Be still! Down with you!' But the legrefused. 'My arms are still loyal,' thought Grando; and with them heat last managed to confine his refractory member. But all commands,volitions, and persuasions, were as naught to induce his limbs tocarry him home. It was a solitary place; and five days after, Grandothe 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 moreperverse bodies than Grando's. In the fables of Ridendiabola, this isto be found. 'A fresh-water Polyp, despising its marine existence;longed to live upon air. But all it could do, its tentacles or armsstill continued to cram its stomach. By a sudden preternaturalimpulse, however, the Polyp at last turned itself inside out;supposing that after such a proceeding it would have no gastronomicinterior. But its body proved ventricle outside as well as in. Againits 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 organicfunctions, so called; which may account for the phenomena you mention;and I have heard too, me-thinks, of what are called reflex actions ofthe nerves, which, duly considered, might deprive of its strangenessthat story of yours concerning Grande and his body."

  "Mere substitutions of sounds for inexplicable meanings, my lord. Insome things science cajoles us. Now, what is undeniable of the Polypsome physiologists analogically maintain with regard to us Mardians;that forasmuch, as the lining of our interiors is nothing more than acontinuation of the epidermis, or scarf-skin, therefore, that in aremote age, we too must have been turned wrong side out: anhypothesis, which, indirectly might account for our moralperversities: and also, for that otherwise nonsensical term--'the coatof the stomach;' for originally it must have been a surtout, insteadof an inner garment."

  "Pray, Azzageddi," said Media, "are you not a fool?"

  "One of a jolly company, my lord; but some creatures besides wearingtheir surtouts within, sport their skeletons without: witness thelobster 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'shard 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 erroneouslyopined. My idea is more susceptible of demonstration than his. Amongthe deepest discovered land fossils, the relics of kangaroos arediscernible, but no relics of men. Hence, there were no giants inthose days; but on the contrary, kangaroos; and those kangaroos formedthe 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 ofcivilization; especially at the period when our fathers began to adoptthe sitting posture: the fundamental evidence of all civilization, forneither apes, nor savages, can be said to sit; invariably, they squaton their hams. Among barbarous tribes benches and settles are unknown.But, my lord Media, as your liege and loving subject I can notsufficiently deplore the deprivation of your royal tail. That stiffand vertebrated member, as we find it in those rustic kinsmen we havedisowned, would have been useful as a supplement to your royal legs;and whereas my good lord is now fain to totter on two stanchions, werehe only a kangaroo, like the monarchs of old, the majesty of Odo wouldbe dignified, by standing firm on a tripod."

  "A very witty conceit! But have a care, Azzageddi; your theory appliesnot 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 sexcarries the purse."

  "Ha, ha!"

  "My lord, why this mirth? Let us be serious. Although man is no longera kangaroo, he may be said to be an inferior species of plant. Plantsproper are perhaps insensible of the circulation of their sap: wemortals are physically unconscious of the circulation of the blood;and for many ages were not even aware of the fact. Plants know nothingof their interiors:--three score years and ten we trundle about ours,and never get a peep at them; plants stand on their stalks:--we stalkon our legs; no plant flourishes over its dead root:--dead in thegrave, man lives no longer above ground; plants die withoutfood:--so we. And now for the difference. Plants elegantly inhalenourishment, without looking it up: like lords, they stand still andare 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 loveand multiply; but excel us in all amorous enticements, wooing andwinning by soft pollens and essences. Plants abide in one place, andlive: we must travel or die. Plants flourish without us: we mustperish without them."

  "Enough Azzageddi!" cried Media. "Open not thy lips till to-morrow."'

  CHAPTER LIIThe Charming Yoomy Sings

  The morrow came; and three abreast, with snorting prows, we racedalong; our mat-sails panting to the breeze. All present partook of thelife of the air; and unanimously Yoomy was called upon for a song. Thecanoes were passing a long, white reef, sparkling with shells, like ajeweler'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 hisbeard, and at every couplet looking up expectantly, as if he desiredthe company to think, that he was countin
g upon that line as the last;But now, starting to his feet, he exclaimed, "Hold, minstrel! thymuse's drapery is becoming disordered: no more!"

  "Then no more it shall be," said Yoomy, "But you have lost a glorioussequel."

  CHAPTER LIIIThey 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 southstretching far out of sight. "All hail, Kolumbo!" cried Yoomy.

  Coasting by a portion of it, which Mohi called Kanneeda, a province ofKing Bello's, we perceived the groves rocking in the wind; theirflexible boughs bending like bows; and the leaves flying forth, anddarkening the landscape, like flocks of pigeons.

  "Those groves must soon fall," said Mohi.

  "Not so," said Babbalanja. "My lord, as these violent gusts are formedby the hostile meeting of two currents, one from over the lagoon, theother from land; they may be taken as significant of the occasionalvariances between Kanneeda and Dominora."

  "Ay," said Media, "and as Mohi hints, the breeze from Dominora mustsoon overthrow the groves of Kanneeda."

  "Not if the land-breeze holds, my lord;--one breeze oft blows anotherhome.--Stand up, and gaze! From cape to cape, this whole main we see,is young and froward. And far southward, past this Kanneeda andVivenza, are haughty, overbearing streams, which at their mouths damback the ocean, and long refuse to mix their freshness with theforeign brine:--so bold, so strong, so bent on hurling off aggressionis 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; andboundless fields, that may be had for seeing. Here, your foes areforests, struck down with bloodless maces.--Ho! Mardi's Poor, andMardi's Strong! ye, who starve or beg; seventh-sons who slave forearth'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!"