University of Virginia Library

84. CHAPTER LXXXIV.

It was afternoon when we emerged from the defile. And
informed that our host was receiving his guests in the House
of the Afternoon, thither we directed our steps.

Soft in our face, blew the blessed breezes of Omi, stirring
the leaves overhead; while, here and there, through the
trees, showed the idol-bearers of the royal retreat, hand in
hand, linked with festoons of flowers. Still beyond, on a
level, sparkled the nodding crowns of the kings, like the constellation
Corona-Borealis, the horizon just gained.

Close by his noon-tide friend, the cascade at the mouth
of the grotto, reposed on his crimson mat, Donjalolo:—arrayed
in a vestment of the finest white tappa of Mardi, figured
all over with bright yellow lizards, so curiously stained
in the gauze, that he seemed overrun, as with golden mice.

Marjora's girdle girdled his loins, tasseled with the congregated
teeth of his sires. A jeweled turban-tiara, milk-white,
surmounted his brow, over which waved a copse of
Pintado plumes.

But what sways in his hand? A scepter, similar to
those likenesses of scepters, imbedded among the corals at
his feet. A polished thigh-bone; by Braid-Beard declared
once Teei's the Murdered. For to emphasize his intention
utterly to rule, Marjora himself had selected this emblem of
dominion over mankind.

But even this last despite done to dead Teei had once
been transcended. In the usurper's time, prevailed the belief,

that the saliva of kings must never touch ground; and
Mohi's Chronicles made mention, that during the life time
of Marjora, Teei's skull had been devoted to the basest of
purposes: Marjora's, the hate no turf could bury.

Yet, traditions like these ever seem dubious. There be
many who deny the hump, moral and physical, of Gloster
Richard.

Still advancing unperceived, in social hilarity we descried
their Highnesses, chatting together like the most plebeian of
mortals; full as merry as the monks of old. But marking
our approach, all changed. A pair of potentates, who
had been playfully trifling, hurriedly adjusted their diadems,
threw themselves into attitudes, looking stately as statues.
Phidias turned not out his Jupiter so soon.

In various-dyed robes the five-and-twenty kings were arrayed;
and various their features, as the rows of lips, eyes
and ears in John Caspar Lavater's physiognomical charts.
Nevertheless, to a king, all their noses were aquiline.

There were long fox-tail beards of silver gray, and enameled
chins, like those of girls; bald pates and Merovingian
locks; smooth brows and wrinkles: forms erect and stooping;
an eye that squinted; one king was deaf; by his side,
another that was halt; and not far off, a dotard. They
were old and young, tall and short, handsome and ugly, fat
and lean, cunning and simple.

With animated courtesy our host received us; assigning
a neighboring bower for Babbalanja and the rest;
and among so many right-royal, demi-divine guests, how
could the demi-gods Media and Taji be otherwise than at
home?

The unwonted sprightliness of Donjalolo surprised us.
But he was in one of those relapses of desperate gayety invariably
following his failures in efforts to amend his life.
And the bootless issue of his late mission to outer Mardi
had thrown him into a mood for revelry. Nor had he
lately shunned a wild wine, called Morando.

A slave now appearing with a bowl of this beverage, it
circulated freely.

Not to gainsay the truth, we fancied the Morando much.
A nutty, pungent flavor it had; like some kinds of arrack
distilled in the Philippine isles. And a marvelous effect did
it have, in dissolving the crystalization of the brain; leaving
nothing but precious little drops of good humor, beading
round the bowl of the cranium.

Meanwhile, garlanded boys, climbing the limbs of the
idol-pillars, and stirruping their feet in their most holy
mouths, suspended hangings of crimson tappa all round the
hall; so that sweeping the pavement they rustled in the
breeze from the grot.

Presently, stalwart slaves advanced; bearing a mighty
basin of a porphyry hue, deep-hollowed out of a tree.
Outside, were innumerable grotesque conceits; conspicuous
among which, for a border, was an endless string of the
royal lizards circumnavigating the basin in inverted chase of
their tails.

Peculiar to the groves of Willamilla, the yellow lizard
formed part of the arms of Juam. And when Donjalolo's
messengers went abroad, they carried its effigy, as the emblem
of their royal master; themselves being known, as the
Gentlemen of the Golden Lizard.

The porphyry-hued basin planted full in our midst, the
attendants forthwith filled the same with the living waters
from the cascade; a proceeding, for which some of the
company were at a loss to account, unless his highness, our
host, with all the coolness of royalty, purposed cooling himself
still further, by taking a bath in presence of his guests.
A conjecture, most premature; for directly, the basin being
filled to within a few inches of the lizards, the attendants
fell to launching therein divers goodly sized trenchers, all
laden with choice viands:—wild boar meat; humps of
grampuses; embrowned bread-fruit, roasted in odoriferous
fires of sandal wood, but suffered to cool; gold fish, dressed

with the fragrant juices of berries; citron sauce; rolls of
the baked paste of yams; juicy bananas, steeped in a saccharine
oil; marmalade of plantains; jellies of guava; confections
of the treacle of palm sap; and many other dainties;
besides numerous stained calabashes of Morando, and other
beverages, fixed in carved floats to make them buoyant.

The guests assigned seats, by the woven handles attached
to his purple mat, the prince, our host, was now gently moved
by his servitors to the head of the porphyry-hued basin.
Where, flanked by lofty crowned-heads, white-tiaraed, and
radiant with royalty, he sat; like snow-turbaned Mont
Blanc, at sunrise presiding over the head waters of the
Rhone; to right and left, looming the gilded summits of the
Simplon, the Gothard, the Jungfrau, the Great St. Bernard,
and the Grand Glockner.

Yet turbid from the launching of its freight, Lake Como
tossed to and fro its navies of good cheer, the shadows of
the king-peaks wildly flitting thereupon.

But no frigid wine and fruit cooler, Lake Como; as at
first it did seem; but a tropical dining table, its surface a
slab of light blue St. Pons marble in a state of fluidity.

Now, many a crown was doffed; scepters laid aside;
girdles slackened; and among those verdant viands the
bearded kings like goats did browse; or tusking their wild
boar's meat, like mastiffs ate.

And like unto some well-fought fight, beginning calmly,
but pressing forward to a fiery rush, this well-fought feast
did now wax warm.

A few royal epicures, however, there were: epicures intent
upon concoctions, admixtures, and masterly compoundings;
who comported themselves with all due deliberation and dignity;
hurrying themselves into no reckless deglutition of the
dainties. Ah! admirable conceit, Lake Como: superseding
attendants. For, from hand to hand the trenchers sailed; no
sooner gaining one port, than dispatched over sea to another.

Well suited they were for the occasion; sailing high out

of water, to resist the convivial swell at times ruffling the
sociable sea; and sharp at both ends, still better adapting
them to easy navigation.

But soon, the Morando, in triumphant decanters, went
round, reeling like barks before a breeze. But their voyages
were brief; and ere long, in certain havens, the accumulation
of empty vessels threatened to bridge the lake with
pontoons. In those directions, Trade winds were setting.
But full soon, cut out were all unladen and unprofitable
gourds; and replaced by jolly-bellied calabashes, for a time
sailing deep, yawing heavily to the push.

At last, the whole flotilla of trenchers—wrecks and all—
were sent swimming to the further end of Lake Como; and
thence removed, gave place to ruddy hillocks, of fruit, and
floating islands of flowers. Chief among the former, a
quince-like, golden sphere, that filled the air with such fragrance,
you thought you were tasting its flavor.

Nor did the wine cease flowing. That day the Juam
grape did bleed; that day the tendril ringlets of the vines,
did all uncurl; and grape by grape, in sheer dismay, the
sun-ripe clusters dropped. Grape-glad were five-and-twenty
kings: five-and-twenty kings were merry.

Morando's vintage had no end; nor other liquids, in the
royal cellar stored, somewhere secret in the grot. Oh!
where's the endless Niger's source? Search ye here, or
search ye there; on, on, through ravine, vega, vale—no
head waters will ye find. But why need gain the hidden
spring, when its lavish stream flows by? At three-fold
mouths that Delta-grot, discharged; rivers golden, white,
and red.

But who may sing for aye? Down I come, and light
upon the old and prosy plain.

Among other decanters set afloat, was a pompous, lordly-looking
demijohn, but old and reverend withal, that sailed
about, consequential as an autocrat going to be crowned, or
a treasure-freighted argosie bound home before the wind. It

looked solemn, however, though it reeled; peradventure, far
gone with its own potent contents.

Oh! russet shores of Rhine and Rhone! oh, mellow memories
of ripe old vintages! oh, cobwebs in the Pyramids!
oh, dust on Pharaoh's tomb!—all, all recur, as I bethink
me of that glorious gourd, its contents cogent as Tokay,
itself as old as Mohi's legends; more venerable to look at
than his beard. Whence came it? Buried in vases, so
saith the label, with the heart of old Marjora, now dead
one hundred thousand moons. Exhumed at last, it looked
no wine, but was shrunk into a subtile syrup.

This special calabash was distinguished by numerous trappings,
caparisoned like the sacred bay steed led before the
Great Khan of Tartary. A most curious and betasseled
net-work encased it; and the royal lizard was jealously
twisted about its neck, like a hand on a throat containing
some invaluable secret.

All Hail, Marzilla! King's Own Royal Particular! A
vinous Percy! Dating back to the Conquest! Distilled
of yore from purple berries growing in the purple valley of
Ardair! Thrice hail.

But the imperial Marzilla was not for all; gods only
could partake; the Kings and demigods of the isles; excluding
left-handed descendants of sad rakes of immortals, in
old times breaking heads and hearts in Mardi, bequeathing
bars-sinister to many mortals, who now in vain might urge
a claim to a cup-full of right regal Marzilla.

The Royal Particular was pressed upon me, by the now
jovial Donjalolo. With his own sceptered hand charging
my flagon to the brim, he declared his despotic pleasure,
that I should quaff it off to the last lingering globule. No
hard calamity, truly; for the drinking of this wine was as
the singing of a mighty ode, or frenzied lyric to the soul.

“Drink, Taji,” cried Donjalolo, “drink deep. In this
wine a king's heart is dissolved. Drink long; in this wine
lurk the seeds of the life everlasting Drink deep; drink

long: thou drinkest wisdom and valor at every draught.
Drink forever, oh Taji, for thou drinkest that which will
enable thee to stand up and speak out before mighty Oro
himself.”

“Borabolla,” he added, turning round upon a domed old
king at his left, “Was it not the god Xipho, who begged
of my great-great-grandsire a draught of this same wine,
saying he was about to beget a hero?”

“Even so. And thy glorious Marzilla produced thrice
valiant Ononna, who slew the giants of the reef.”

“Ha, ha, hear'st that, oh Taji?” And Donjalolo drained
another cup.

Amazing! the flexibility of the royal elbow, and the rigidity
of the royal spine! More especially as we had been impressed
with a notion of their debility. But, sometimes
these seemingly enervated young blades approve themselves
steadier of limb, than veteran revelers of very long standing.

“Discharge the basin, and refill it with wine,” cried
Donjalolo. “Break all empty gourds! Drink, kings, and
dash your cups at every draught.”

So saying, he started from his purple mat; and with one
foot planted unknowingly upon the skull of Marjora; while
all the skeletons grinned at him from the pavement; Donjalolo,
holding on high his blood-red goblet, burst forth with
the following invocation:—

Caught by all present, the chorus resounded again and
again. The beaded wine danced on many a beard; the
cataract lifted higher its voice; the grotto sent back a shout;
the ghosts of the Coral Monarchs seemed starting from their
insulted bones. But ha, ha, ha, roared forth the five-and-twenty
kings—alive, not dead—holding both hands to their
girdles, and baying out their laughter from abysses; like
Nimrod's hounds over some fallen elk.

Mad and crazy revelers, how ye drank and roared! but
kings no more: vestures loosed; and scepters rolling on the
ground.

Glorious agrarian, thou wine! bringing all hearts on a
level, and at last all legs to the earth; even those of kings,
who, to do them justice, have been much maligned for imputed
qualities not theirs. For whoso has touched flagons
with monarchs, bear they their back bones never so stiffly
on the throne, well know the rascals, to be at bottom royal
good fellows; capable of a vinous frankness exceeding that of
base-born men. Was not Alexander a boon companion?
And daft Cambyses? and what of old Rowley, as good a
judge of wine and other matters, as ever sipped claret or
kisses.

If ever Taji joins a club, be it a Beef-Steak Club of
Kings!

Donjalolo emptied yet another cup.

The mirth now blew a gale; like a ship's shrouds in a
Typhoon, every tendon vibrated; the breezes of Omi came
forth with a rush; the hangings shook; the goblets danced

fandangos; and Donjalolo, clapping his hands, called before
him his dancing women.

Forth came from the grotto a reed-like burst of song,
making all start, and look that way to behold such enchanting
strains. Sounds heralding sights! Swimming in the
air, emerged the nymphs, lustrous arms interlocked like
Indian jugglers' glittering snakes. Round the cascade they
thronged; then paused in its spray. Of a sudden, seemed
to spring from its midst, a young form of foam, that danced
into the soul like a thought. At last, sideways floating off,
it subsided into the grotto, a wave. Evening drawing on
apace, the crimson draperies were lifted, and festooned to
the arms of the idol-pillars, admitting the rosy light of the
even.

Yielding to the re-action of the banquet, the kings now
reclined; and two mute damsels entered: one with a gourd
of scented waters; the other with napkins. Bending over
Donjalolo's steaming head, the first let fall a shower of aromatic
drops, slowly aborbed by her companion. Thus, in
turn, all were served; nothing heard but deep breathing.

In a marble vase they now kindled some incense: a
handful of spices.

Shortly after, came three of the king's beautiful smokers;
who, lighting their tubes at this odorous fire, blew over the
company the sedative fumes of the Aina.

Steeped in langour, I strove against it long; essayed to
struggle out of the enchanted mist. But a syren hand
seemed ever upon me, pressing me back.

Half-revealed, as in a dream, and the last sight that I
saw, was Donjalolo:—eyes closed, face pale, locks moist,
borne slowly to his sedan, to cross the hollow, and wake in
the seclusion of his harem.