“Ah! how true!” cried the Warbler.
“And what says the archangel Vavona, Yoomy, in that wonderful drama of his, ‘The Souls of the Sages?’—‘Beyond most barren hills, there are landscapes ravishing; with but one eye to behold; which no pencil can portray.’ What wonder then, my lord, that Mardi itself is so blind. ‘Mardi is a monster,’ says old Bardianna, ‘whose eyes are fixed in its head, like a whale’s; it can see but two ways, and those comprising but a small arc of a perfect vision. Poets, heroes, and men of might, are all around this monster Mardi. But stand before me on stilts, or I will behold you not, says the monster; brush back your hair; inhale the wind largely; lucky are all men with dome-like foreheads; luckless those with pippin-heads; loud lungs are a blessing; a lion is no lion that can not roar.’ Says Aldina, ‘There are those looking on, who know themselves to be swifter of foot than the racers, but are confounded with the simpletons that stare.’”
“The mere carping of a disappointed cripple,” cried Mold. His biographer states, that Aldina had only one leg.”
“Braid–Beard, you are witty,” said Babbbalanja, adjusting his robe. “My lord, there are heroes without armies, who hear martial music in their souls.”
“Why not blow their trumpets louder, then,” cried Media, that all Mardi may hear?”
“My lord Media, too, is witty, Babbalanja,” said Mohi.
Breathed Yoomy, “There are birds of divinest plumage, and most glorious song, yet singing their lyrics to themselves.”
Said Media, “The lark soars high, cares for no auditor, yet its sweet notes are heard here below. It sings, too, in company with myriads of mates. Your soliloquists, Yoomy, are mostly herons and owls.”
Said Babbalanja, “Very clever, my lord; but think you not, there are men eloquent, who never babble in the marketplace?”
“Ay, and arrant babblers at home. In few words, Babbalanja, you espouse a bad cause. Most of you mortals are peacocks; some having tails, and some not; those who have them will be sure to thrust their plumes in your face; for the rest, they will display their bald cruppers, and still screech for admiration. But when a great genius is born into Mardi, he nods, and is known.”
“More wit, but, with deference, perhaps less truth, my lord. Say what you will, Fame is an accident; merit a thing absolute. But what matter? Of what available value reputation, unless wedded to power, dentals, or place? To those who render him applause, a poet’s may seem a thing tangible; but to the recipient, ’tis a fantasy; the poet never so stretches his imagination, as when striving to comprehend what it is; often, he is famous without knowing it.”
“At the sacred games of Lazella,” said Yoomy, “slyly crowned from behind with a laurel fillet, for many hours, the minstrel Jarmi wandered about ignorant of the honors he bore. But enlightened at last, he doffed the wreath; then, holding it at arm’s length, sighed forth — Oh, ye laurels! to be visible to me, ye must be removed from my brow!”
“And what said Botargo,” cried Babbalanja, “hearing that his poems had been translated into the language of the remote island of Bertranda? — ‘It stirs me little; already, in merry fancies, have I dreamed of their being trilled by the blessed houris in paradise; I can only imagine the same of the damsels of Bertranda.’ Says Boldo, the Materialist — ‘Substances alone are satisfactory.’”
“And so thought the mercenary poet, Zenzi,” said Yoomy. “Upon receiving fourteen ripe yams for a sonnet, one for every line, he said to me, Yoomy, I shall make a better meal upon these, than upon so many compliments.”
“Ay,” cried Babbalanja, “‘Bravos,’ saith old Bardianna, but induce flatulency.’”
Said Media, “And do you famous mortals, then, take no pleasure in hearing your bravos?”
“Much, my good lord; at least such famous mortals, so enamored of a clamorous notoriety, as to bravo for themselves, when none else will huzza; whose whole existence is an unintermitting consciousness of self; whose very persons stand erect and self-sufficient as their infallible index, the capital letter I; who relish and comprehend no reputation but what attaches to the carcass; who would as lief be renowned for a splendid mustache, as for a splendid drama: who know not how it was that a personage, to posterity so universally celebrated as the poet Vavona, ever passed through the crowd unobserved; who deride the very thunder for making such a noise in Mardi, and yet disdain to manifest itself to the eye.”
“Wax not so warm, Babbalanja; but tell us, if to his contemporaries Vavona’s person was almost unknown, what satisfaction did he derive from his genius?”
“Had he not its consciousness? — an empire boundless as the West. What to him were huzzas? Why, my lord, from his privacy, the great and good Logodora sent liniment to the hoarse throats without. But what said Bardianna, when they dunned him for autographs? —‘Who keeps the register of great men? who decides upon noble actions? and how long may ink last? Alas! Fame has dropped more rolls than she displays; and there are more lost chronicles, than the perished books of the historian Livella.’ But what is lost forever, my lord, is nothing to what is now unseen. There are more treasures in the bowels of the earth, than on its surface.”
“Ah! no gold,” cried Yoomy, “but that comes from dark mines.”
Said Babbalanja, “Bear witness, ye gods! cries fervent old Bardianna, that besides disclosures of good and evil undreamed of now, there will be other, and more astounding revelations hereafter, of what has passed in Mardi unbeheld.”
“A truce to your everlasting pratings of old Bardianna,” said King Media; why not speak your own thoughts, Babbalanja? then would your discourse possess more completeness; whereas, its warp and woof are of all sorts — Bardianna, Alla–Malolla, Vavona, and all the writers that ever have written. Speak for yourself, mortal!”
“May you not possibly mistake, my lord? for I do not so much quote Bardianna, as Bardianna quoted me, though he flourished before me; and no vanity, but honesty to say so. The catalogue of true thoughts is but small; they are ubiquitous; no man’s property; and unspoken, or bruited, are the same. When we hear them, why seem they so natural, receiving our spontaneous approval? why do we think we have heard them before? Because they but reiterate ourselves; they were in us, before we were born. The truest poets are but mouth-pieces; and some men are duplicates of each other; I see myself in Bardianna.”
“And there, for Oro’s sake, let it rest, Babbalanja; Bardianna in you, and you in Bardianna forever!”
CHAPTER 23
WHAT MANNER OF MEN THE TAPPARIANS WERE
The canoes sailed on. But we leave them awhile. For our visit to Jiji, the last visit we made, suggests some further revelations concerning the dental money of Mardi.
Ere this, it should have been mentioned, that throughout the Archipelago, there was a restriction concerning incisors and molars, as ornaments for the person; none but great chiefs, brave warriors, and men distinguished by rare intellectual endowments, orators, romancers, philosophers, and poets, being permitted to sport them as jewels. Though, as it happened, among the poets there were many who had never a tooth, save those employed at their repasts; which, coming but seldom, their teeth almost corroded in their mouths. Hence, in commerce, poets’ teeth were at a discount.
For these reasons, then, many mortals blent with the promiscuous mob of Mardians, who, by any means, accumulated teeth, were fain to assert their dental claims to distinction, by clumsily carrying their treasures in pelican pouches slung over their shoulders; which pouches were a huge burden to carry about, and defend. Though, in good truth, from any of these porters, it was harder to wrench his pouches, than his limbs. It was also a curious circumstance that at the slightest casual touch, these bags seemed to convey a simultaneous thrill to the owners.
Besides