6. CHAPTER VI.
THEY DISCOURSE OF THE GODS OF MARDI, AND BRAID-BEARD
TELLS OF ONE FONI.
Walking from the sacred inclosure, Mohi discoursed of
the plurality of gods in the land, a subject suggested by the
multitudinous idols we had just been beholding.
Said Mohi, “These gods of wood and of stone are nothing
in number to the gods in the air. You breathe not a
breath without inhaling, you touch not a leaf without ruffling
a spirit. There are gods of heaven, and gods of earth;
gods of sea and of land; gods of peace and of war; gods of
rock and of fell; gods of ghosts and of thieves; of singers and
dancers; of lean men and of house-thatchers. Gods glance
in the eyes of birds, and sparkle in the crests of the waves;
gods merrily swing in the boughs of the trees, and merrily
sing in the brook. Gods are here, and there, and every
where; you are never alone for them.”
“If this be so, Braid-Beard,” said Babbalanja, “our inmost
thoughts are overheard; but not by eaves-droppers.
However, my lord, these gods to whom he alludes, merely
belong to the semi-intelligibles, the divided unities in unity,
this side of the First Adyta.”
“Indeed?” said Media.
“Semi-intelligible, say you, philosopher?” cried Mohi.
“Then, prithee, make it appear so; for what you say, seems
gibberish to me.”
“Babbalanja,” said Media, “no more of your abstrusities;
what know you mortals of us gods and demi-gods?
But tell me, Mohi, how many of your deities of rock and
fell think you there are? Have you no statistical table?”
“My lord, at the lowest computation, there must be at
least three billion trillion of quintillions.”
“A mere unit!” said Babbalanja. “Old man, would
you express an infinite number? Then take the sum of
the follies of Mardi for your multiplicand; and for your
multiplier, the totality of sublunarians, that never have been
heard of since they became no more; and the product shall
exceed your quintillions, even though all their units were
nonillions.”
“Have done, Babbalanja!” cried Media; “you are
showing the sinister vein in your marble. Have done.
Take a warm bath, and make tepid your cold blood. But
come, Mohi, tell us of the ways of this Maramma; something
of the Morai and its idols, if you please.”
And straightway Braid-Beard proceeded with a narration,
in substance as follows:—
It seems, there was a particular family upon the island,
whose members, for many generations, had been set apart
as sacrifices for the deity called Doleema. They were
marked by a sad and melancholy aspect, and a certain involuntary
shrinking, when passing the Morai. And though,
when it came to the last, some of these unfortunates went
joyfully to their doom, declaring that they gloried to die in
the service of holy Doleema; still, were there others, who
audaciously endeavored to shun their fate; upon the approach
of a festival, fleeing to the innermost wilderness of
the island. But little availed their flight. For swift on
their track sped the hereditary butler of the insulted god,
one Xiki, whose duty it was to provide the sacrifices. And
when crouching in some covert, the fugitive spied Xiki's approach,
so fearful did he become of the vengeance of the
deity he sought to evade, that renouncing all hope of escape,
he would burst from his lair, exclaiming, “Come on, and
kill!” baring his breast for the javelin that slew him.
The chronicles of Maramma were full of horrors.
In the wild heart of the island, was said still to lurk the
remnant of a band of warriors, who, in the days of the sire
of the present pontiff, had risen in arms to dethrone him,
headed by Foni, an upstart prophet, a personage distinguished
for the uncommon beauty of his person. With terrible carnage,
these warriors had been defeated; and the survivors,
fleeing into the interior, for thirty days were pursued by the
victors. But though many were overtaken and speared, a
number survived; who, at last, wandering forlorn and in
despair, like demoniacs, ran wild in the woods. And the
islanders, who at times penetrated into the wilderness, for
the purpose of procuring rare herbs, often scared from their
path some specter, glaring through the foliage. Thrice had
these demoniacs been discovered prowling about the inhabited
portions of the isle; and at day-break, an attendant of
the holy Morai once came upon a frightful figure, doubled
with age, helping itself to the offerings in the image of
Doleema. The demoniac was slain; and from his ineffaceable
tatooing, it was proved that this was no other than
Foni, the false prophet; the splendid form he had carried
into the rebel fight, now squalid with age and misery.
