Mardi and a Voyage Thither

by Herman Melville

  "Very true, Babbalanja; and I suppose that pride was at the bottom of your old Ponderer's heartless, unsentimental, bald-pated style."

  "Craving pardon, my lord is deceived. Bardianna was not at all proud; though he had a queer way of showing the absence of pride. In his essay, entitled, — "On the Tendency to curl in Upper Lips," he thus discourses. "We hear much of pride and its sinfulness in this Mardi wherein we dwell: whereas, I glory in being brimmed with it;-my sort of pride. In the presence of kings, lords, palm-trees, and all those who deem themselves taller than myself, I stand stiff as a pike, and will abate not one vertebra of my stature. But accounting no Mardian my superior, I account none my inferior; hence, with the social, I am ever ready to be sociable."

  "An agrarian!" said Media; "no doubt he would have made the headsman the minister of equality."

  "At bottom we are already equal, my honored lord," said Babbalanja, profoundly bowing-"One way we all come into Mardi, and one way we withdraw. Wanting his yams a king will starve, quick as a clown; and smote on the hip, saith old Bardianna, he will roar as loud as the next one."

  "Roughly worded, that, Babbalanja.-Vee-Vee! my crown! — So; now, Babbalanja, try if you can not polish Bardianna's style in that last saying you father upon him."

  "I will, my ever honorable lord," said Babbalanja, salaming. "Thus we'll word it, then: In their merely Mardian nature, the sublimest demi-gods are subject to infirmities; for struck by some keen shaft, even a king ofttimes dons his crown, fearful of future darts."

  "Ha, ha! — well done, Babbalanja; but I bade you polish, not sharpen the arrow."

  "All one, my thrice honored lord;-to polish is not to blunt."

  CHAPTER XLVII

  Babbalanja Philosophizes, And My Lord Media Passes Round The Calabashes

  An interval of silence passed; when Media cried, "Out upon thee, Yoomy! curtail that long face of thine."

  "How can he, my lord," said Mohi, "when he is thinking of furlongs?"

  "Fathoms you mean, Mohi; see you not he is musing over the gunwale?

  And now, minstrel, a banana for thy thoughts. Come, tell me how you poets spend so many hours in meditation."

  "My lord, it is because, that when we think, we think so little of ourselves."

  "I thought as much," said Mohi, "for no sooner do I undertake to be sociable with myself, than I am straightway forced to beat a retreat."

  "Ay, old man," said Babbalanja, "many of us Mardians are but sorry hosts to ourselves. Some hearts are hermits."

  "If not of yourself, then, Yoomy, of whom else do you think?" asked Media.

  "My lord, I seldom think," said Yoomy, "I but give ear to the voices in my calm."

  "Did Babbalanja speak?" said Media. "But no more of your reveries;" and so saying Media gradually sunk into a reverie himself.

  The rest did likewise; and soon, with eyes enchanted, all reclined: gazing at each other, witless of what we did.

  It was Media who broke the spell; calling for Vee-Vee our page, his calabashes and cups, and nectarines for all.

  Eyeing his goblet, Media at length threw himself back, and said:

  "Babbalanja, not ten minutes since, we were all absent-minded; now, how would you like to step out of your body, in reality; and, as a spirit, haunt some shadowy grove?"

  "But our lungs are not wholly superfluous, my lord," said Babbalanja, speaking loud.

  "No, nor our lips," said Mohi, smacking his over his wine.

  "But could you really be disembodied here in Mardi, Babbalanja, how would you fancy it?" said Media.

  "My lord," said Babbalanja, speaking through half of a nectarine,

  "defer putting that question, I beseech, till after my appetite is satisfied; for, trust me, no hungry mortal would forfeit his palate, to be resolved into the impalpable."

  "Yet pure spirits we must all become at last, Babbalanja," said Yoomy,

  "even the most ignoble."

  "Yes, so they say, Yoomy; but if all boors be the immortal sires of endless dynasties of immortals, how little do our pious patricians bear in mind their magnificent destiny, when hourly they scorn their companionship. And if here in Mardi they can not abide an equality with plebeians, even at the altar; how shall they endure them, side by side, throughout eternity? But since the prophet Alma asserts, that Paradise is almost entirely made up of the poor and despised, no wonder that many aristocrats of our isles pursue a career, which, according to some theologies, must forever preserve the social distinctions so sedulously maintained in Mardi. And though some say, that at death every thing earthy is removed from the spirit, so that clowns and lords both stand on a footing; yet, according to the popular legends, it has ever been observed of the ghosts of boors when revisiting Mardi, that invariably they rise in their smocks. And regarding our intellectual equality here, how unjust, my lord, that after whole years of days end nights consecrated to the hard gaining of wisdom, the wisest Mardian of us all should in the end find the whole sum of his attainments, at one leap outstripped by the veriest dunce, suddenly inspired by light divine. And though some hold, that all Mardian lore is vain, and that at death all mysteries will be revealed; yet, none the less, do they toil and ponder now.

  Thus, their tongues have one mind, and their understanding another."

  "My lord," said Mohi, "we have come to the lees; your pardon, Babbalanja."

  "Then, Vee-Vee, another calabash! Fill up, Mohi; wash down wine with wine. Your cup, Babbalanja; any lees?"

  "Plenty, my lord; we philosophers come to the lees very soon."

  "Flood them over, then; but cease not discoursing; thanks be to the gods, your mortal palates and tongues can both wag together; fill up, I say, Babbalanja; you are no philosopher, if you stop at the tenth cup; endurance is the test of philosophy all Mardi over; drink, I say, and make us wise by precept and example.-Proceed, Yoomy, you look as if you had something to say."

  "Thanks, my lord. Just now, Babbalanja, you flew from the subject;-you spoke of boors; but has not the lowliest peasant an eye that can take in the vast horizon at a sweep: mountains, vales, plains, and oceans? Is such a being nothing?"

  "But can that eye see itself, Yoomy?" said Babbalanja, winking. "Taken out of its socket, will it see at all? Its connection with the body imparts to it its virtue."

  "He questions every thing," cried Mohi. "Philosopher, have you a head?"

  "I have," said Babbalanja, feeling for it; "I am finished off at the helm very much as other Mardians, Mohi."

  "My lord, the first yea that ever came from him."

  "Ah, Mohi," said Media, "the discourse waxes heavy. I fear me we have again come to the lees. Ho, Vee-Vee, a fresh calabash; and with it we will change the subject. Now, Babbalanja, I have this cup to drink, and then a question to propound. Ah, Mohi, rare old wine this; it smacks of the cork. But attention, Philosopher. Supposing you had a wife-which, by the way, you have not-would you deem it sensible in her to imagine you no more, because you happened to stroll out of her sight?"

  "However that might be," murmured Yoomy, "young Nina bewailed herself a widow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side."

  "My lord Media," said Babbalanja, "During my absence, my wife would have more reason to conclude that I was not living, than that I was.

  To the former supposition, every thing tangible around her would tend; to the latter, nothing but her own fond fancies. It is this imagination of ours, my lord, that is at the bottom of these things.

  When I am in one place, there exists no other. Yet am I but too apt to fancy the reverse. Nevertheless, when I am in Odo, talk not to me of Ohonoo. To me it is not, except when I am there. If it be, prove it.

  To prove it, you carry me thither but you only prove, that to its substantive existence, as cognizant to me, my presence is indispensable. I say that, to me, all Mardi exists by virtue of my sovereign pleasure; and when I die, the universe will perish with me."

  "Come you of a long-lived race," said Mohi, "one free from apoplexies?r />
  I have many little things to accomplish yet, and would not be left in the lurch."

  "Heed him not, Babbalanja," said Media. "Dip your beak again, my eagle, and soar."

  "Let us be eagles, then, indeed, my lord: eagle-like, let us look at this red wine without blinking; let us grow solemn, not boisterous, with good cheer."

  Then, lifting his cup, "My lord, serenely do I pity all who are stirred one jot from their centers by ever so much drinking of this fluid. Ply him hard as you will, through the live-long polar night, a wise man can not be made drunk. Though, toward sunrise, his body may reel, it will reel round its center; and though he make many tacks in going home, he reaches it at last; while scores of over-plied fools are foundering by the way. My lord, when wild with much thought, 'tis to wine I fly, to sober me; its magic fumes breathe over me like the Indian summer, which steeps all nature in repose. To me, wine is no vulgar fire, no fosterer of base passions; my heart, ever open, is opened still wider; and glorious visions are born in my brain; it is then that I have all Mardi under my feet, and the constellations of the firmament in my soul."

  "Superb!" cried Yoomy.

  "Pooh, pooh!" said Mohi, "who does not see stars at such times? I see the Great Bear now, and the little one, its cub; and Andromeda, and Perseus' chain-armor, and Cassiopea in her golden chair, and the bright, scaly Dragon, and the glittering Lyre, and all the jewels in Orion's sword-hilt."

  "Ay," cried Media, "the study of astronomy is wonderfully facilitated by wine. Fill up, old Ptolemy, and tell us should you discover a new planet. Methinks this fluid needs stirring. Ho, Vee-Vee, my scepter! be we sociable. But come, Babbalanja, my gold-headed aquila, return to your theme;-the imagination, if you please."

  "Well, then, my lord, I was about to say, that the imagination is the Voli-Donzini; or, to speak plainer, the unical, rudimental, and allcomprehending abstracted essence of the infinite remoteness of things.

  Without it, we were grass-hoppers."

  "And with it, you mortals are little else; do you not chirp all over, Mohi? By my demi-god soul, were I not what I am, this wine would almost get the better of me."

  "Without it-" continued Babbalanja.

  "Without what?" demanded Media, starting to his feet. "This wine? Traitor, I'll stand by this to the last gasp, you are inebriated, Babbalanja."

  "Perhaps so, my lord; but I was treating of the imagination, may it please you."

  "My lord," added Mohi, "of the unical, and rudimental fundament of things, you remember."

  "Ah! there's none of them sober; proceed, proceed, Azzageddi!"

  "My lord waves his hand like a banner," murmured Yoomy.

  "Without imagination, I say, an armless man, born, blind, could not be made to believe, that he had a head of hair, since he could neither see it, nor feel it, nor has hair any feeling of itself."

  "Methinks though," said Mohi, "if the cripple had a Tartar for a wife, he would not remain skeptical long."

  "You all fly off at tangents," cried Media, "but no wonder: your mortal brains can not endure much quaffing. Return to your subject, Babbalanja. Assume now, Babbalanja, — assume, my dear prince-assume it, assume it, I say! — Why don't you?"

  "I am willing to assume any thing you please, my lord: what is it?"

  "Ah! yes! — Assume that-that upon returning home, you should find your wife had newly wedded, under the-the-the metaphysical presumption, that being no longer visible, you-_you_ Azzageddi, had departed this life; in other words, out of sight, out of mind; what then, my dear prince?"

  "Why then, my lord, I would demolish my rival in a trice."

  "Would you? — then-then so much for your metaphysics, Bab-Babbalanja."

  Babbalanja rose to his feet, muttering to himself-"Is this assumed, or real? — Can a demi-god be mastered by wine? Yet, the old mythologies make bacchanals of the gods. But he was wondrous keen! He felled me, ere he fell himself."

  "Yoomy, my lord Media is in a very merry mood to-day," whispered Mohi,

  "but his counterfeit was not well done. No, no, a bacchanal is not used to be so logical in his cups."

  CHAPTER XLVIII

  They Sail Round An Island Without Landing; And Talk Round A Subject Without Getting At It

  Purposing a visit to Kaleedoni, a country integrally united to Dominora, our course now lay northward along the western white cliffs of the isle. But finding the wind ahead, and the current too strong for our paddlers, we were fain to forego our destination; Babbalanja observing, that since in Dominora we had not found Yillah, then in Kaleedoni the maiden could not be lurking.

  And now, some conversation ensued concerning the country we were prevented from visiting. Our chronicler narrated many fine things of its people; extolling their bravery in war, their amiability in peace, their devotion in religion, their penetration in philosophy, their simplicity and sweetness in song, their loving-kindness and frugality in all things domestic:-running over a long catalogue of heroes, meta-physicians, bards, and good men.

  But as all virtues are convertible into vices, so in some cases did the best traits of these people degenerate. Their frugality too often became parsimony; their devotion grim bigotry; and all this in a greater degree perhaps than could be predicated of the more immediate subjects of King Bello.

  In Kaleedoni was much to awaken the fervor of its bards. Upland and lowland were full of the picturesque; and many unsung lyrics yet lurked in her glens. Among her blue, heathy hills, lingered many tribes, who in their wild and tattooed attire, still preserved the garb of the mightiest nation of old times. They bared the knee, in token that it was honorable as the face, since it had never been bent.

  While Braid-Beard was recounting these things, the currents were sweeping us over a strait, toward a deep green island, bewitching to behold.

  Not greener that midmost terrace of the Andes, which under a torrid meridian steeps fair Quito in the dews of a perpetual spring;-not greener the nine thousand feet of Pirohitee's tall peak, which, rising from out the warm bosom of Tahiti, carries all summer with it into the clouds;-nay, not greener the famed gardens of Cyrus, — than the vernal lawn, the knoll, the dale of beautiful Verdanna.

  "Alas, sweet isle! Thy desolation is overrun with vines," sighed Yoomy, gazing.

  "Land of caitiff curs!" cried Media.

  "Isle, whose future is in its past. Hearth-stone, from which its children run," said Babbalanja.

  "I can not read thy chronicles for blood, Verdanna," murmured Mohi.

  Gliding near, we would have landed, but the rolling surf forbade. Then thrice we circumnavigated the isle for a smooth, clear beach; but it was not found.

  Meanwhile all still conversed.

  "My lord," said Yoomy, "while we tarried with King Bello, I heard much of the feud between Dominora and this unhappy shore. Yet is not Verdanna as a child of King Bello's?"

  "Yes, minstrel, a step-child," said Mohi.

  "By way of enlarging his family circle," said Babbalanja, "an old lion once introduced a deserted young stag to his den; but the stag never became domesticated, and would still charge upon his foster-brothers.

  — Verdanna is not of the flesh and blood of Dominora, whence, in good part, these dissensions."

  "But Babbalanja, is there no way of reconciling these foes?"

  "But one way, Yoomy:-By filling up this strait with dry land; for, divided by water, we Mardians must ever remain more or less divided at heart. Though Kaleedoni was united to Dominora long previous to the union of Verdanna, yet Kaleedoni occasions Bello no disquiet; for, geographically one, the two populations insensibly blend at the point of junction. No hostile strait flows between the arms, that to embrace must touch."

  "But, Babbalanja," said Yoomy, "what asks Verdanna of Dominora, that Verdanna so clamors at the denial?"

  "They are arrant cannibals, Yoomy," said Media, "and desire the privilege of eating each other up."

  "King Bello's idea," said Babbalanja; "but, in these things, my lord, you demi-gods ar
e ever unanimous. But, whatever be Verdanna's demands, Bello persists in rejecting them."

  "Why not grant every thing she asks, even to renouncing all claim upon the isle," said Mohi; "for thus, Bello would rid himself of many perplexities."

  "And think you, old man," said Media, "that, bane or blessing, Bello will yield his birthright? Will a tri-crowned king resign his triple diadem? And even did Bello what you propose he would only breed still greater perplexities. For if granted, full soon would Verdanna be glad to surrender many things she demands. And all she now asks, she has had in times past; but without turning it to advantage:-and is she wiser now?"

  "Does she not demand her harvests, my lord?" said Yoomy, "and has not the reaper a right to his sheaf?"

  "Cant! cant! Yoomy. If you reap for me, the sheaf is mine."

  "But if the reaper reaps on his own harvest-field, whose then the sheaf, my lord?" said Babbalanja.

  "His for whom he reaps-his lord's!"

  "Then let the reaper go with sickle and with sword," said Yoomy, "with one hand, cut down the bearded grain; and with the other, smite his bearded lords."

  "Thou growest fierce, in thy lyric moods, my warlike dove," said 'Media, blandly. "But for thee, philosopher, know thou, that Verdanna's men are of blood and brain inferior to Bello's native race; and the better Mardian must ever rule."

  "Verdanna inferior to Dominora, my lord! — Has she produced no bards, no orators, no wits, no patriots? Mohi, unroll thy chronicles! Tell me, if Verdanna may not claim full many a star along King Bello's tattooed arm of Fame?

  "Even so," said Mohi. "Many chapters bear you out."

  "But my lord," said Babbalanja, "as truth, omnipresent, lurks in all things, even in lies: so, does some germ of it lurk in the calumnies heaped on the people of this land. For though they justly boast of many lustrous names, these jewels gem no splendid robe. And though like a bower of grapes, Verdanna is full of gushing juices, spouting out in bright sallies of wit, yet not all her grapes make wine; and here and there, hang goodly clusters mildewed; or half devoured by worms, bred in their own tendrils."