Mardi And a Voyage Thither II
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MARDI: AND A VOYAGE THITHER
On our left, Porpheero’s southwest point, a mighty rock, long tiers of galleries within, deck on deck; and flag-staffs, like an admiral’s masts: a line-of-battle-ship, all purple stone, and anchored in the sea. 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,” said Babbalanja, “when, after many centuries, those crescents yet unwaning shine, and count a devotee for every worshiper of yonder crosses. Truth and Merit have other symbols than success; and in this mortal race, all competitors may enter; and the field is clear for all. Side by side, Lies run with Truths, and fools with wise; but, like geometric 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’s limit; and inland saw great pointed masses, crowned with halos.
“Granite continents,” cried Babbalanja, “that seem created like the planets, not built with human hands. Lo, Landmarks! upon whose flanks Time leaves its traces, like old tide-rips of diluvian seas.”
As, after wandering round and round some purple dell, deep in a boundless prairie’s heart, the baffled hunter plunges in; then, despairing, turns once more to gain the open plain; even so we seekers now curved round our keels; and from that inland sea emerged. The universe again before us; our quest, as wide.
CHAPTER LXV
SAILING ON
Morning dawned upon the same mild, blue Lagoon as erst; and all the lands that we had passed, since leaving Piko’s shore of spears, were faded from the sight.
Part and parcel of the Mardian isles, they formed a cluster by themselves; like the Pleiades, that shine in Taurus, and are eclipsed by the red splendor of his fiery eye, and the thick clusterings of the constellations round.
And as in Orion, to some old king-astronomer – say, King of Rigel, or Betelguese – 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 mystic impulse am I moved, to this fleet progress, through the groups in white-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, cast off all cables; and turning from the common breeze, that’s fair for all, 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 world was sought.
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That voyager steered his bark through seas, untracked before; ploughed his own path mid jeers; though with a heart that oft was heavy with the thought, that he might only be too bold, and grope where land was none.
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 brunt of things before my prime, still fly before the gale; – hard have I striven to keep stout heart.
And if it harder be, than e’er before, to find new climes, when now our seas have oft been circled by ten thousand prows – much more the glory!
But this new world here sought, is stranger far than his, who stretched his vans from Palos. It is the world of mind; wherein the wanderer may gaze round, with more of wonder than Balboa’s band roving through the golden Aztec glades.
But fiery yearnings their own phantom-future make, and deem it present. So, if after all these fearful, fainting trances, the verdict be, the golden haven was not gained; – yet, in bold quest thereof, better to sink in boundless deeps, than float on vulgar shoals; and give me, ye gods, an utter wreck, if wreck I do.
CHAPTER LXVI
A 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 Fair Breezes. And along they swept; till the three prows neighed to the blast; and pranced on their path, like steeds of Crusaders.
Now, that this fine wind had sprung up; the sun riding joyously in the heavens; and the Lagoon all tossed with white, flying manes; Media called upon Yoomy to ransack his whole assortment of songs: – warlike, amorous, and sentimental – and regale us with something inspiring for too long the company had been gloomy.
“Thy best,”, he cried.
Then will I e’en sing you a song, my lord, which is a songfull of songs. 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; can never die; for when they droop, sweet memories bind them up. – My lord, I deem these verses good; they came bubbling out of me, like live waters from
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a spring in a silver mine. And by your good leave, my lord, I have much faith in inspiration. Whoso sings is a seer.”
“Tingling is the test,” said Babbalanja, “Yoomy, did you tingle, when that 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-same tingling, I say, is the test.”
“And infused into a song,” cried Yoomy, “it evermore causes it so to sparkle, vivify, and irradiate, that no son of man can repeat it without tingling himself. This very song of mine may prove what I say.”
“Modest youth!” sighed Media.
“Not more so, than sincere,” said Babbalanja. “He who is frank, will often appear vain, my lord. Having no guile, he speaks as freely of himself, 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, unsympathizing mortals, make their occasional distrust of themselves, appear but as a phase of self-conceit. Whereas, the man who, in the presence of his very friends, parades a barred and bolted front – that man so highly prizes his sweet self, that he cares not to profane the shrine he worships, by throwing open its portals. He is locked up; and Ego is the key. Reserve alone is vanity. But all mankind are egotists. The world revolves upon an I; and we upon ourselves; for we are our own worlds: – all other men as strangers, from outlandish, distant climes, going clad in furs. Then,
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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 most subject to contrary moods. Now, heaven over heaven in the skies; now layer under layer in the dust. This, the penalty we pay for being what we are. But MardI only sees, or thinks it sees, the tokens of our self-complacency: whereas, all our agonies operate unseen. Poets are only seen when they soar.”
“The song! the song!” cried Media. “Never mind the metaphysics of genius.”
And Yoomy, thus clamorously invoked, hemmed thrice, tuning his voice for the air.
But here, be it said, that the minstrel was miraculously gifted with three voices; and, upon occasions, like a mocking-bird, was a concert of sweet sounds in himself. Had kind friends died, and bequeathed him their 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 –
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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;
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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 ultimate come of all that melody? no final and inexhaustible meaning? nothing that strikes down into the soul’s depths; till, intent upon itself, it pierces in upon its own essence, and is resolved into its pervading original; becoming a thing constituent of the all embracing deific; whereby we mortals become part and parcel of the gods; our souls to them as thoughts; and we privy to all things occult, ineffable, and sublime? Then, Yoomy, is thy song nothing worth. Alla Mollolla saith, ‘That is no true, vital breath, which leaves no moisture behind.’ I mistrust thee, minstrel! that thou hast not yet been impregnated by the arcane mysteries; that thou dost not sufficiently ponder on the Adyta, the Monads, and the Hyparxes; the Dianoias, the Unical Hypostases, the Gnostic powers of the Psychical Essence, and the Supermundane and Pleromatic Triads; to say nothing of the Abstract Noumenons.”
“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 be bled.”
“Ah!” sighed Babbalanja, turning; “how little they ween of the Rudimental Quincunxes, and the Hecatic Spherula!”
CHAPTER LXVII
THEY VISIT ONE DOXODOX
Next morning, we came to a deep, green wood, slowly nodding over the waves; its margin frothy-white with foam. A charming sight!
While delighted, all our paddlers gazed, Media, observing Babbalanja plunged in reveries, called upon him to awake; asking what might so absorb him.
“Ah, my lord! what seraphic sounds have ye driven from me!”
“Sounds! Sure, there’s naught heard but yonder murmuring surf; what other sound heard you?”
“The thrilling of my soul’s monochord, my lord. But prick not your ears to hear it; that divine harmony is overheard by the rapt spirit alone; 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 sage Doxodox, 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 penetrated from the zoned, to the unzoned principles. Shall we seek him out, that we may hearken to his wisdom? Doubtless he knows many things, after which we pant.”
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The lagoon was calm, as we landed; not a breath stirred the plumes of the trees; and as we entered the voiceless shades, lifting his hand, Babbalanja whispered: – “This silence is a fit introduction to the portals of Telestic lore. Somewhere, beneath this moss, lurks the mystic stone Mnizuris; whereby Doxodox hath attained unto a knowledge of the ungenerated essences. Nightly, he bathes his soul in archangelical circumlucencies. Oh, Doxodox! whip me the Strophalunian top! Tell o’er thy Jynges!”
“Down, Azzageddi! down!” cried Media. “Behold: there sits the Wise One; now, for true wisdom!”
From the voices of the party, the sage must have been aware of our approach: but seated on a green bank, beneath the shade of a red mulberry, upon the boughs of which, many an owl was perched, he seemed intent upon describing divers figures in the air, with a jet-black wand.
Advancing with much deference and humility, Babbalanja saluted him.
“Oh wise Doxodox! Drawn hither by thy illustrious name, we seek admittance to thy innermost wisdom. Of all Mardian, thou alone comprehendest those arcane combinations, whereby to drag to day the most deftly hidden things, present and to come. Thou knowest what we are, 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.
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