Mardi and a Voyage Thither

by Herman Melville

  "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 crossquestion."

  "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 tomorrow."

  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! rou
nd 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 battlechant 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.