Babbalanja Steps In Between Mohi And Yoomy; And Yoomy Relates A Legend
Embarking from Ohonoo, we at length found ourselves gliding by the
pleasant shores of Tupia, an islet which according to Braid-Beard had
for ages remained uninhabited by man. Much curiosity being expressed to
know more of the isle, Mohi was about to turn over his chronicles,
when, with modesty, the minstrel Yoomy interposed; saying, that if my
Lord Media permitted, he himself would relate the legend. From its
nature, deeming the same pertaining to his province as poet; though, as
yet, it had not been versified. But he added, that true pearl shells
rang musically, though not strung upon a cord.
Upon this presumptuous interference, Mohi looked highly offended; and
nervously twitching his beard, uttered something invidious about
frippery young poetasters being too full of silly imaginings to tell a
plain tale.
Said Yoomy, in reply, adjusting his turban, “Old Mohi, let us not
clash. I honor your calling; but, with submission, your chronicles are
more wild than my cantos. I deal in pure conceits of my own; which have
a shapeliness and a unity, however unsubstantial; but you, Braid-Beard,
deal in mangled realities. In all your chapters, you yourself grope in
the dark. Much truth is not in thee, historian. Besides, Mohi: my songs
perpetuate many things which you sage scribes entirely overlook. Have
you not oftentimes come to me, and my ever dewy ballads for
information, in which you and your musty old chronicles were
deficient?”
“In much that is precious, Mohi, we poets are the true historians; we
embalm; you corrode.”
To this Mohi, with some ire, was about to make answer, when, flinging
over his shoulder a new fold of his mantle, Babbalanja spoke thus:
“Peace, rivals. As Bardianna has it, like all who dispute upon
pretensions of their own, you are each nearest the right, when you
speak of the other; and furthest therefrom, when you speak of
yourselves.”
Said Mohi and Yoomy in a breath, “Who sought your opinion, philosopher?
you filcher from old Bardianna, and monger of maxims!”
“You, who have so long marked the vices of Mardi, that you flatter
yourself you have none of your own,” added Braid-Beard.
“You, who only seem wise, because of the contrasting follies of others,
and not of any great wisdom in yourself,” continued the minstrel, with
unwonted asperity.”
“Now here,” said Babballanja, “am I charged upon by a bearded old ram,
and a lamb. One butting with his carious and brittle old frontlet; the
other pushing with its silly head before its horns are sprouted. But
this comes of being impartial. Had I espoused the cause of Yoomy versus
Mohi, or that of Mohi versus Yoomy, I had been sure to have had at
least one voice in my favor. The impartialist insulteth all sides,
saith old Bardianna; but smite with but one hand, and the other shall
be kissed.—Oh incomparable Bardianna!”
“Will no one lay that troubled old ghost,” exclaimed Media, devoutly.
“Proceed with thy legend, Yoomy; and see to it, that it be brief; for I
mistrust me, these legends do but test the patience of the hearers. But
draw a long breath, and begin.”
“A long bow,” muttered Mohi.
And Yoomy began.
“It is now about ten hundred thousand moons—”
“Great Oro! How long since, say you?” cried Mohi, making Gothic arches
of his brows.
Looking at him disdainfully, but vouchsafing no reply, Yoomy began over
again.
“It is now above ten hundred thousand moons, since there died the last
of a marvelous race, once inhabiting the very shores by which we are
sailing. They were a very diminutive people, only a few inches high—”
“Stop, minstrel,” cried Mohi; “how many pennyweights did they weigh?”
Continued Yoomy, unheedingly, “They were covered all over with a soft,
silky down, like that on the rind of the Avee; and there grew upon
their heads a green, lance-leaved vine, of a most delicate texture. For
convenience, the manikins reduced their tendrils, sporting, nothing but
coronals. Whereas, priding themselves upon the redundancy of their
tresses, the little maidens assiduously watered them with the early dew
of the morning; so that all wreathed and festooned with verdure, they
moved about in arbors, trailing after them trains.”
“I can hear no more,” exclaimed Mohi, stopping his ears.
Continued Yoomy, “The damsels lured to their bowers, certain red-
plumaged insect-birds, and taught them to nestle therein, and warble;
which, with the pleasant vibrating of the leaves, when the little
maidens moved, produced a strange blending of sweet, singing sounds.
The little maidens embraced not with their arms, but with their viny
locks; whose tendrils instinctively twined about their lovers, till
both were lost in the bower.”
“And what then?” asked Mohi, who, notwithstanding the fingers in his
ears, somehow contrived to listen; “What then?”
Vouchsafing no reply, Yoomy went on.
“At a certain age, but while yet the maidens were very young, their
vines bore blossoms. Ah! fatal symptoms. For soon as they burst, the
maidens died in their arbors; and were buried in the valleys; and their
vines spread forth; and the flowers bloomed; but the maidens themselves
were no more. And now disdaining the earth, the vines shot upward:
climbing to the topmost boughs of the trees; and flowering in the
sunshine forever and aye.”
Yoomy here paused for a space; but presently continued:
“The little eyes of the people of Tupia were very strange to behold:
full of stars, that shone from within, like the Pleiades, deep- bosomed
in blue. And like the stars, they were intolerant of sunlight; and
slumbering through the day, the people of Tupia only went abroad by
night. But it was chiefly when the moon was at full, that they were
mostly in spirits.
“Then the little manikins would dive down into the sea, and rove about
in the coral groves, making love to the mermaids. Or, racing round,
make a mad merry night of it with the sea-urchins:—plucking the
reverend mullets by the beard; serenading the turtles in their cells;
worrying the sea-nettles; or tormenting with their antics the touchy
torpedos. Sometimes they went prying about with the starfish, that have
an eye at the end of each ray; and often with coral files in their
hands stole upon slumbering swordfish, slyly blunting their weapons. In
short, these stout little manikins were passionately fond of the sea,
and swore by wave and billow, that sooner or later they would embark
thereon in nautilus shells, and spend the rest of their roving days
thousands of inches from Tupia. Too true, they were shameless little
rakes. Oft would they return to their sweethearts, sporting musky
girdles of sea-kelp, tasseled with green little pouches of grass,
brimful of seed-pearls; and jingling their coin in the ears of the
damsels, throw out inuendoes about the beautiful and bountiful
mermaids: how wealthy and amorous they were, and how they delighted in
the company of the brave gallants of Tupia. Ah! at such heartless
bravadoes, how mourned the poor little nymphs. Deep into their arbors
they went; and their little hearts burst like rose-buds, and filled the
whole air with an odorous grief. But when their lovers were gentle and
true, no happier maidens haunted the lilies than they. By some mystical
process they wrought minute balls of light: touchy, mercurial globules,
very hard to handle; and with these, at pitch and toss, they played in
the groves. Or mischievously inclined, they toiled all night long at
braiding the moon-beams together, and entangling the plaited end to a
bough; so that at night, the poor planet had much ado to set.”
Here Yoomy once more was mute.
“Pause you to invent as you go on?” said old Mohi, elevating his chin,
till his beard was horizontal.
Yoomy resumed.
“Little or nothing more, my masters, is extant of the legend; only it
must be mentioned, that these little people were very tasteful in their
personal adornings; the manikins wearing girdles of fragrant leaves,
and necklaces of aromatic seeds; and the little damsels, not content
with their vines, and their verdure, sporting pearls in their ears;
bracelets of wee little porpoise teeth; and oftentimes dancing with
their mates in the moonlit glades, coquettishly fanned themselves with
the transparent wings of the flying fish.”
“Now, I appeal to you, royal Media; to you, noble Taji; to you,
Babbalanja;” said the chronicler, with an impressive gesture, “whether
this seems a credible history: Yoomy has invented.”
“But perhaps he has entertained, old Mohi,” said Babbalanja.
“He has not spoken the truth,” persisted the chronicler.
“Mohi,” said Babbalanja, “truth is in things, and not in words: truth
is voiceless; so at least saith old Bardianna. And I, Babbalanja,
assert, that what are vulgarly called fictions are as much realities as
the gross mattock of Dididi, the digger of trenches; for things visible
are but conceits of the eye: things imaginative, conceits of the fancy.
If duped by one, we are equally duped by the other.”
“Clear as this water,” said Yoomy.
“Opaque as this paddle,” said Mohi, “But, come now, thou oracle, if all
things are deceptive, tell us what is truth?”
“The old interrogatory; did they not ask it when the world began? But
ask it no more. As old Bardianna hath it, that question is more final
than any answer.”