University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.

Next day came and went; and still we onward sailed.
At last, by night, there fell a calm, becalming the water
of the wide lagoon, and becalming all the clouds in heaven,
vailing the constellations. But though our sails were useless,
our paddlers plied their broad stout blades. Thus sweeping
by a rent and hoar old rock, Vee-Vee, impatient of the calm,
sprang to his crow's nest in the shark's mouth, and seizing
his conch, sounded a blast which ran in and out among the
hollows, reverberating with the echoes.

Be sure, it was startling. But more so with respect to
one of our paddlers, upon whose shoulders, elevated Vee-Vee,
his balance lost, all at once came down by the run. But
the heedless little bugler himself was most injured by the
fall; his arm nearly being broken.

Some remedies applied, and the company grown composed,
Babbalanja thus:—“My lord Media, was there any human
necessity for that accident?”

“None that I know, or care to tell, Babbalanja.”

“Vee-Vee,” said Babbalanja, “did you fall on purpose?”

“Not I,” sobbed little Vee-Vee, slinging his ailing arm in
its mate.

“Woe! woe to us all, then,” cried Babbalanja; “for
what direful events may be in store for us which we can not
avoid.”

“How now, mortal?” cried Media; “what now?”

“My lord, think of it. Minus human inducement from
without, and minus volition from within, Vee-Vee has met

with an accident, which has almost maimed him for life.
Is it not terrifying to think of? Are not all mortals exposed
to similar, nay, worse calamities, ineffably unavoidable?
Woe, woe, I say, to us Mardians! Here, take my last
breath; let me give up this beggarly ghost!”

“Nay,” said Media; “pause, Babbalanja. Turn it not
adrift prematurely. Let it house till midnight; the proper
time for you mortals to dissolve. But, philosopher, if you
harp upon Vee-Vee's mishap, know that it was owing to
nothing but his carelessness.”

“And what was that owing to, my lord?”

“To Vee-Vee himself.”

“Then, my lord, what brought such a careless being into
Mardi?”

“A long course of generations. He's some one's great-great-grandson,
doubtless; who was great-great-grandson to
some one else; who also had grandsires.”

“Many thanks then to your highness; for you establish
the doctrine of Philosophical Necessity.

“No. I establish nothing; I but answer your questions.”

“All one, my lord: you are a Necessitarian; in other
words, you hold that every thing takes place through absolute
necessity.”

“Do you take me, then, for a fool, and a Fatalist? Pardie!
a bad creed for a monarch, the distributor of rewards
and punishments.”

“Right there, my lord. But, for all that, your highness
is a Necessitarian, yet no Fatalist. Confound not the distinct.
Fatalism presumes express and irrevocable edicts of
heaven concerning particular events. Whereas, Necessity
holds that all events are naturally linked, and inevitably follow
each other, without providential interposition, though by
the eternal letting of Providence.”

“Well, well, Babbalanja, I grant it all. Go on.”

“On high authority, we are told that in times past the
fall of certain nations in Mardi was prophesied of seers.”

“Most true, my lord, said Mohi; “it is all down in the
chronicles.”

“Ha! ha!” cried Media. “Go on, philosopher.”

Continued Babbalanja, “Previous to the time assigned to
their fulfillment, those prophecies were bruited through Mardi;
hence, previous to the time assigned to their fulfillment,
full knowledge of them may have come to the nations concerned.
Now, my lord, was it possible for those nations,
thus forwarned, so to conduct their affairs, as at the prophesied
time, to prove false the events revealed to be in store
for them?”

“However that may be,” said Mohi, “certain it is, those
events did assuredly come to pass:—Compare the ruins of
Babbelona with book ninth, chapter tenth, of the chronicles.
Yea, yea, the owl inhabits where the seers predicted; the
jackals yell in the tombs of the kings.”

“Go on, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Of course those
nations could not have resisted their doom. Go on, then:
vault over your premises.”

“If it be, then, my lord, that—”

“My very worshipful lord,” interposed Mohi, “is not our
philosopher getting off soundings; and may it not be impious
to meddle with these things?”

“Were it so, old man, he should have known it. The
king of Odo is something more than you mortals.”

“But are we the great gods themselves,” cried Yoomy,
“that we discourse of these things.”

“No, minstrel,” said Babbalanja; “and no need have
the great gods to discourse of things perfectly comprehended
by them, and by themselves ordained. But you and I,
Yoomy, are men, and not gods; hence is it for us, and not
for them, to take these things for our themes. Nor is there
any impiety in the right use of our reason, whatever the issue.
Smote with superstition, shall we let it wither and die out,
a dead limb to a live trunk, as the mad devotee's arm held
up motionless for years? Or shall we employ it but for a

paw, to help us to our bodily needs, as the brutes use their
instinct? Is not reason subtile as quicksilver—live as lightning—a
neighing charger to advance, but a snail to recede?
Can we starve that noble instinct in us, and hope that it
will survive? Better slay the body than the soul; and if it
be the direst of sins to be the murderers of our own bodies,
how much more to be a soul-suicide. Yoomy, we are men,
we are angels. And in his faculties, high Oro is but what
a man would be, infinitely magnified. Let us aspire to all
things. Are we babes in the woods, to be scared by the
shadows of the trees? What shall appall us? If eagles
gaze at the sun, may not men at the gods?”

“For one,” said Media, “you may gaze at me freely.
Gaze on. But talk not of my kinsmen so fluently, Babbalanja.
Return to your argument.”

“I go back then, my lord. By implication, you have
granted, that in times past the future was foreknown of Oro;
hence, in times past, the future must have been foreordained.
But in all things Oro is immutable. Wherefore our own
future is foreknown and foreordained. Now, if things foreordained
concerning nations have in times past been revealed
to them previous to their taking place, then something similar
may be presumable concerning individual men now living.
That is to say, out of all the events destined to befall
any one man, it is not impossible that previous knowledge
of some one of these events might supernaturally come to
him. Say, then, it is revealed to me, that ten days hence I
shall, of my own choice, fall upon my javelin; when the
time comes round, could I refrain from suicide? Grant the
strongest presumable motives to the act; grant that, unforewarned,
I would slay myself outright at the time appointed:
yet, foretold of it, and resolved to test the decree to the
uttermost, under such circumstances, I say, would it be possible
for me not to kill myself? If possible, then predestination
is not a thing absolute; and Heaven is wise to keep
secret from us those decrees, whose virtue consists in secrecy.

But if not possible, then that suicide would not be mine, but
Oro's. And, by consequence, not only that act, but all my
acts, are Oro's. In sum, my lord, he who believes that in
times past, prophets have prophesied, and their prophecies
have been fulfilled; when put to it, inevitably must allow
that every man now living is an irresponsible being.”

“In sooth, a very fine argument very finely argued,” said
Media. “You have done marvels, Babbalanja. But hark
ye, were I so disposed, I could deny you all over, premises
and conclusions alike. And furthermore, my cogent philosopher,
had you published that anarchical dogma among my
subjects in Oro, I had silenced you by my spear-headed scepter,
instead of my uplifted finger.”

“Then, all thanks and all honor to your generosity, my
lord, in granting us the immunities you did at the outset of
this voyage. But, my lord, permit me one word more. Is
not Oro omnipresent—absolutely every where?”

“So you mortals teach, Babbalanja.”

“But so do they mean, my lord. Often do we Mardians
stick to terms for ages, yet truly apply not their meanings.”

“Well, Oro is every where. What now?”

“Then, if that be absolutely so, Oro is not merely a universal
on-looker, but occupies and fills all space; and no
vacancy is left for any being, or any thing but Oro. Hence,
Oro is in all things, and himself is all things—the time-old
creed. But since evil abounds, and Oro is all things, then
he can not be perfectly good; wherefore, Oro's omnipresence
and moral perfection seem incompatible. Furthermore, my
lord those orthodox systems which ascribe to Oro almighty and
universal attributes every way, those systems, I say, destroy
all intellectual individualities but Oro, and resolve the universe
into him. But this is a heresy; wherefore, orthodoxy
and heresy are one. And thus is it, my lord, that upon these
matters we Mardians all agree and disagree together, and
kill each other with weapons that burst in our hands. Ah,
my lord, with what mind must blessed Oro look down upon

this scene! Think you he discriminates between the deist
and atheist? Nay; for the Searcher of the cores of all
hearts well knoweth that atheists there are none. For in
things abstract, men but differ in the sounds that come from
their mouths, and not in the wordless thoughts lying at the
bottom of their beings. The universe is all of one mind.
Though my twin-brother sware to me, by the blazing sun in
heaven at noon-day, that Oro is not; yet would he belie the
thing he intended to express. And who lives that blasphemes?
What jargon of human sounds so puissant as to
insult the unutterable majesty divine? Is Oro's honor in
the keeping of Mardi?—Oro's conscience in man's hands?
Where our warrant, with Oro's sign-manual, to justify the
killing, burning, and destroying, or far worse, the social persecutions
we institute in his behalf? Ah! how shall these
self-assumed attorneys and vicegerents be astounded, when
they shall see all heaven peopled with hereties and heathens,
and all hell nodding over with miters! Ah! let us Mardians
quit this insanity. Let us be content with the theology in
the grass and the flower, in seed-time and harvest. Be it
enough for us to know that Oro indubitably is. My lord!
my lord! sick with the spectacle of the madness of men, and
broken with spontaneous doubts, I sometimes see but two
things in all Mardi to believe:—that I myself exist, and
that I can most happily, or least miserably exist, by the
practice of righteousness. All else is in the clouds; and
naught else may I learn, till the firmament be split from
horizon to horizon. Yet, alas! too often do I swing from
these moorings.”

“Alas! his fit is coming upon him again,” whispered
Yoomy.

“Why, Babbalanja,” said Media, “I almost pity you.
You are too warm, too warm. Why fever your soul with
these things? To no use you mortals wax earnest. No
thanks, but curses, will you get for your earnestness. You
yourself you harm most. Why not take creeds as they

come? It is not so hard to be persuaded; never mind about
believing.”

“True, my lord; not very hard; no act is required; only
passiveness. Stand still and receive. Faith is to the
thoughtless, doubts to the thinker.”

“Then, why think at all? Is it not better for you mortals
to clutch error as in a vice, than have your fingers meet
in your hand? And to what end your eternal inquisitions?
You have nothing to substitute. You say all is a lie; then
out with the truth. Philosopher, your devil is but a foolish
one, after all. I, a demi-god, never say nay to these things.”

“Yea, my lord, it would hardly answer for Oro himself,
were he to come down to Mardi, to deny men's theories concerning
him. Did they not strike at the rash deity in
Alma?”

“Then, why deny those theories yourself? Babbalanja,
you almost affect my immortal serenity. Must you forever
be a sieve for good grain to run through, while you retain
but the chaff? Your tongue is forked. You speak two
languages: flat folly for yourself, and wisdom for others.
Babbalanja, if you have any belief of your own, keep it;
but, in Oro's name, keep it secret.”

“Ay, my lord, in these things wise men are spectators,
not actors; wise men look on, and say `ay.”'

“Why not say so yourself, then?”

“My lord, because I have often told you, that I am a
fool, and not wise.”

“Your Highness,” said Mohi, “this whole discourse
seems to have grown out of the subject of Necessity and
Free Will. Now, when a boy, I recollect hearing a sage
say, that these things were reconcilable.”

“Ay?” said Media, “what say you to that, now, Babbalanja?”

“It may be even so, my lord. Shall I tell you a story?”

“Azzageddi's stirring now,” muttered Mohi.

“Proceed,” said Media.

“King Normo had a fool, called Willi, whom he loved
to humor. Now, though Willi ever obeyed his lord, by the
very instinct of his servitude, he flattered himself that he
was free; and this conceit it was, that made the fool so entertaining
to the king. One day, said Normo to his fool,—
`Go, Willi, to yonder tree, and wait there till I come,'
`Your Majesty, I will,' said Willi, bowing beneath his jingling
bells; `but I presume your Majesty has no objections
to my walking on my hands:—I am free, I hope.' `Perfectly,'
said Normo, `hands or feet, it's all the same to me;
only do my bidding.' `I thought as much,' said Willi; so,
swinging his limber legs into the air, Willi, thumb after
thumb, essayed progression. But soon, his bottled blood so
rushed downward through his neck, that he was fain to turn
a somerset and regain his feet. Said he, `Though I am
free to do it, it's not so easy turning digits into toes; I'll
walk, by gad! which is my other option.' So he went
straight forward, and did King Normo's bidding in the natural
way.”

“A curious story that,” said Media; “whence came it?”

“My lord, where every thing, but one, is to be had:—
within.”

“You are charged to the muzzle, then,” said Braid-Beard.

“Yes, Mohi; and my talk is my overflowing, not my
fullness.”

“And what may you be so full of?”

“Of myself.”

“So it seems,” said Mohi, whisking away a fly with his
beard.

“Babbalanja,” said Media, “you did right in selecting
this ebon night for discussing the theme you did; and truly,
you mortals are but too apt to talk in the dark.”

“Ay, my lord, and we mortals may prate still more in
the dark, when we are dead; for methinks, that if we then
prate at all, 'twill be in our sleep. Ah! my lord, think not
that in aught I've said this night, I would assert any wisdom

of my own. I but fight against the armed and crested
Lies of Mardi, that like a host, assail me. I am stuck full
of darts; but, tearing them from out me, gasping, I discharge
them whence they come.”

So saying, Babbalanja slowly drooped, and fell reclining;
then lay motionless as the marble Gladiator, that for centuries
has been dying.