One only constellation was beheld; but every star was brilliant as theone, 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 theirquarters, the World-End's garrison.
Here, the sea rolled high, in mountain surges: mid which, we toiledand strained, as if ascending cliffs of Caucasus.
But not long thus. As when from howling Rhoetian heights, the travelerspies green Lombardy below, and downward rushes toward that pleasantplain; so, sloping from long rolling swells, at last we launched uponthe calm lagoon.
But as we northward sailed, once more the storm-trump blew, andcharger-like, the seas ran mustering to the call; and in battalionscrouched before a towering rock, far distant from the main. No moon,eclipsed in Egypt's skies, looked half so lone. But from out thatdarkness, on the loftiest peak, Bello's standard waved.
"Oh rifled tomb!" cried Babbalanja. "Wherein lay the Mars andMoloch of our times, whose constellated crown, was gemmed withdiadems. Thou god of war! who didst seem the devouring Beast of theApocalypse; casting so vast a shadow over Mardi, that yet it lingersin old Franko's vale; where still they start at thy tremendous ghost;and, late, have hailed a phantom, King! Almighty hero-spell! thatafter the lapse of half a century, can so bewitch all hearts! But onedrop of hero-blood will deify a fool.
"Franko! thou wouldst be free; yet thy free homage is to the buriedashes of a King; thy first choice, the exaltation of his race. Infurious fires, thou burn'st Ludwig's throne; and over thy new-madechieftain's portal, in golden letters print'st--'The Palace of ourLord!' In thy New Dispensation, thou cleavest to the exploded Law. Andon Freedom's altar--ah, I fear--still, may slay thy hecatombs. ButFreedom turns away; she is sick with burnt blood of offerings. Otherrituals she loves; and like Oro, unseen herself, would be worshipedonly 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 nothistory say; 'To her old gods, she turned again.'"
This rocky islet passed, the sea went down; once more we nearedHamora's western shore. In the deep darkness, here and there, itsmargin was lit up by foam-white, breaking billows rolled over fromVivenza's strand, and down from northward Dominora; marking placeswhere 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! curstof man, not Oro! how thou faintest for thy children, torn from thysoil, to till a stranger's. Vivenza! did these winds not spend theirplaints, ere reaching thee, thy every vale would echo them. Oh, tribeof Hamo! thy cup of woe so brims, that soon it must overflow upon theland which holds ye thralls. No misery born of crime, butspreads and poisons wide. Suffering hunteth sin, as the gaunt houndthe hare, and tears it in the greenest brakes."
Still on we sailed: and after many tranquil days and nights, a stormcame down, and burst its thousand bombs. The lightnings forked andflashed; the waters boiled; our three prows lifted themselves insupplication; but the billows smote them as they reared.
Said Babbalanja, bowing to the blast: "Thus, oh Vivenza! retributionworks! Though long delayed, it comes at last--Judgment, with all herbolts."
Now, a current seized us, and like three darts, our keels spedeastward, through a narrow strait, far in, upon a smooth expanse, aninland ocean, without a throb.
On our left, Porpheero's southwest point, a mighty rock, long tiers ofgalleries within, deck on deck; and flag-staffs, like an admiral'smasts: a line-of-battle-ship, all purple stone, and anchored in thesea. 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," saidBabbalanja, "when, after many centuries, those crescents yet unwaningshine, and count a devotee for every worshiper of yonder crosses.Truth and Merit have other symbols than success; and in this mortalrace, all competitors may enter; and the field is clear for all. Sideby side, Lies run with Truths, and fools with wise; but, likegeometric 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'slimit; and inland saw great pointed masses, crowned with halos.
"Granite continents," cried Babbalanja, "that seem created like theplanets, not built with human hands. Lo, Landmarks! upon whose flanksTime leaves its traces, like old tide-rips of diluvian seas."
As, after wandering round and round some purple dell, deep in aboundless prairie's heart, the baffled hunter plunges in; then,despairing, turns once more to gain the open plain; even so we seekersnow curved round our keels; and from that inland sea emerged. Theuniverse again before us; our quest, as wide.
CHAPTER LXVSailing On
Morning dawned upon the same mild, blue Lagoon as erst; and all thelands that we had passed, since leaving Piko's shore of spears, werefaded from the sight.
Part and parcel of the Mardian isles, they formed a cluster bythemselves; like the Pleiades, that shine in Taurus, and are eclipsedby the red splendor of his fiery eye, and the thick clusterings of theconstellations round.
And as in Orion, to some old king-astronomer,--say, King of Rigel, orBetelguese,--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 mysticimpulse am I moved, to this fleet progress, through the groups inwhite-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, castoff all cables; and turning from the common breeze, that's fair forall, 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 worldwas sought.
That voyager steered his bark through seas, untracked before; ploughedhis own path mid jeers; though with a heart that oft was heavy withthe thought, that he might only be too bold, and grope where land wasnone.
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 bruntof things before my prime, still fly before the gale;--hard have Istriven to keep stout heart.
And if it harder be, than e'er before, to find new climes, when nowour seas have oft been circled by ten thousand prows,--much more theglory!
But this new world here sought, is stranger far than his, whostretched his vans from Palos. It is the world of mind; wherein thewanderer may gaze round, with more of wonder than Balboa's band rovingthrough the golden Aztec glades.
But fiery yearnings their own phantom-future make, and deem itpresent. So, if after all these fearful, fainting trances, the verdictbe, the golden haven was not gained;--yet, in bold quest thereof,better to sink in boundless deeps, than float on vulgar shoals; andgive me, ye gods, an utter wreck, if wreck I do.
CHAPTER LXVIA 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 FairBreezes. And along they swept; till the three prows neighed to theblast; and pranced on their path, like steeds of Crusaders.
Now, that this fine wind had sprung up; the sun riding joyously in theheavens; and the Lagoon all tossed with white, flying manes; Mediacalled
upon Yoomy to ransack his whole assortment of songs:--warlike,amorous, and sentimental,--and regale us with something inspiring fortoo 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 ofsongs. 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; cannever die; for when they droop, sweet memories bind them up.--My lord,I deem these verses good; they came bubbling out of me, like livewaters from a spring in a silver mine. And by your good leave, mylord, I have much faith in inspiration. Whoso sings is a seer."
"Tingling is the test," said Babbalanja, "Yoomy, did you tingle, whenthat 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-sametingling, I say, is the test."
"And infused into a song," cried Yoomy, "it evermore causes it so tosparkle, vivify, and irradiate, that no son of man can repeat itwithout tingling himself. This very song of mine may prove what Isay."
"Modest youth!" sighed Media.
"Not more so, than sincere," said Babbalanja. "He who is frank, willoften appear vain, my lord. Having no guile, he speaks as freely ofhimself, 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, unsympathizingmortals, make their occasional distrust of themselves, appear but as aphase of self-conceit. Whereas, the man who, in the presence of hisvery friends, parades a barred and bolted front,--that man so highlyprizes his sweet self, that he cares not to profane the shrine heworships, by throwing open its portals. He is locked up; and Ego isthe key. Reserve alone is vanity. But all mankind are egotists. Theworld revolves upon an I; and we upon ourselves; for we are our ownworlds:--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 mostsubject to contrary moods. Now, heaven over heaven in the skies; nowlayer under layer in the dust. This, the penalty we pay for being whatwe are. But Mardi only sees, or thinks it sees, the tokens of ourself-complacency: whereas, all our agonies operate unseen. Poets areonly seen when they soar."
"The song! the song!" cried Media. "Never mind the metaphysics ofgenius."
And Yoomy, thus clamorously invoked, hemmed thrice, tuning his voicefor the air.
But here, be it said, that the minstrel was miraculously gifted withthree voices; and, upon occasions, like a mocking-bird, was a concertof sweet sounds in himself. Had kind friends died, and bequeathed himtheir 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 ultimatecome of all that melody? no final and inexhaustible meaning? nothingthat strikes down into the soul's depths; till, intent upon itself, itpierces in upon its own essence, and is resolved into its pervadingoriginal; becoming a thing constituent of the all embracing deific;whereby we mortals become part and parcel of the gods; our souls tothem as thoughts; and we privy to all things occult, ineffable, andsublime? Then, Yoomy, is thy song nothing worth. Alla Mollolla saith,'That is no true, vital breath, which leaves no moisture behind.' Imistrust thee, minstrel! that thou hast not yet been impregnated bythe arcane mysteries; that thou dost not sufficiently ponder on theAdyta, the Monads, and the Hyparxes; the Dianoias, the UnicalHypostases, the Gnostic powers of the Psychical Essence, and theSupermundane and Pleromatic Triads; to say nothing of the AbstractNoumenons."
"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 bebled."
"Ah!" sighed Babbalanja, turning; "how little they ween of theRudimental Quincunxes, and the Hecatic Spherula!"
CHAPTER LXVIIThey Visit One Doxodox
Next morning, we came to a deep, green wood, slowly nodding over thewaves; its margin frothy-white with foam. A charming sight!
While delighted, all our paddlers gazed, Media, observing Babbalanjaplunged in reveries, called upon him to awake; asking what might soabsorb him.
"Ah, my lord! what seraphic sounds have ye driven from me!"
"Sounds! Sure, there's naught heard but yonder murmuring surf; whatother sound heard you?"
"The thrilling of my soul's monochord, my lord. But prick not yourears to hear it; that divine harmony is overheard by the rapt spiritalone; 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 sageDoxodox, 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 penetratedfrom the zoned, to the unzoned principles. Shall we seek him out, thatwe may hearken to his wisdom? Doubtless he knows many things, afterwhich we pant."
The lagoon was calm, as we landed; not a breath stirred the plumes ofthe trees; and as we entered the voiceless shades, lifting his hand,Babbalanja whispered:--"This silence is a fit introduction to theportals of Telestic lore. Somewhere, beneath this moss, lurksthe mystic stone Mnizuris; whereby Doxodox hath attained unto aknowledge of the ungenerated essences. Nightly, he bathes his soul inarchangelical circumlucencies. Oh, Doxodox! whip me the Strophaluniantop! Tell o'er thy Jynges!"
"Down, Azzageddi! down!" cried Media. "Behold: there sits the WiseOne; now, for true wisdom!"
From the voices of the party, the sage must have been aware of ourapproach: but seated on a green bank, beneath the shade of a redmulberry, upon the boughs of which, many an owl was perched, he seemedintent upon describing divers figures in the air, with a jet-black wand.
Advancing with much deference and humility, Babbalanja saluted him.
&nbs
p; "Oh wise Doxodox! Drawn hither by thy illustrious name, we seekadmittance to thy innermost wisdom. Of all Mardian, thou alonecomprehendest those arcane combinations, whereby to drag to day themost deftly hidden things, present and to come. Thou knowest what weare, 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? Butlet me test thee in the portico.--Why is it, that as some thingsextend more remotely than others; so, Quadammodotatives are largerthan Qualitatives; forasmuch, as Quadammodotatives extend to thosethings, 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 mein 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."
Mardi: and A Voyage Thither, Vol. II Page 23
