93. CHAPTER XCIII.
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 moonbeams
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.”
