79. CHAPTER LXXIX.
THE CENTER OF MANY CIRCUMFERENCES.
Like Donjalolo himself, we hie to and fro; for back now
must we pace to the House of the Morning.
In its rear, there diverged three separate arbors, leading
to less public apartments.
Traversing the central arbor, and fancying it will soon
lead you to open ground, you suddenly come upon the most
private retreat of the prince: a square structure; plain as a
pyramid; and without, as inscrutable. Down to the very
ground, its walls are thatched; but on the farther side a
passage-way opens, which you enter. But not yet are you
within. Scarce a yard distant, stands an inner thatched
wall, blank as the first. Passing along the intervening corridor,
lighted by narrow apertures, you reach the opposite
side, and a second opening is revealed. This entering,
another corridor; lighted as the first, but more dim, and a
third blank wall. And thus, three times three, you worm
round and round, the twilight lessening as you proceed; until
at last, you enter the citadel itself: the innermost arbor
of a nest; whereof, each has its roof, distinct from the rest.
The heart of the place is but small; illuminated by a
range of open sky-lights, downward contracting.
Innumerable as the leaves of an endless folio, multitudinous
mats cover the floor; whereon reclining by night, like
Pharaoh on the top of his patrimonial pile, the inmate looks
heavenward, and heavenward only; gazing at the torch-light
processions in the skies, when, in state, the suns march
to be crowned.
And here, in this impenetrable retreat, centrally slumbered
the universe-rounded, zodiac-belted, horizon-zoned, sea-girt,
reef-sashed, mountain-locked, arbor-nested, royalty-girdled,
arm-clasped, self-hugged, indivisible Donjalolo, absolute
monarch of Juam:—the husk-inhusked meat in a nut; the
innermost spark in a ruby; the juice-nested seed in a golden-rinded
orange; the red royal stone in an effeminate peach;
the insphered sphere of spheres.
