59. CHAPTER LIX.
THEY CONVERSE OF THE MOLLUSCA, KINGS, TOAD-STOOLS
AND OTHER MATTERS.
Once more embarking, we gained Vivenza's southwestern
side; and there, beheld vast swarms of laborers discharging
from canoes, great loads of earth; which they tossed upon
the beach.
“It is true, then,” said Media “that these freemen are
engaged in digging down other lands, and adding them to
their own, piece-meal. And this, they call extending their
dominions agriculturally, and peaceably.”
“My lord, they pay a price for every canoe-load,” said
Mohi.
“Ay, old man, holding the spear in one hand, and striking
the bargain with the other.”
“Yet charge it not upon all Vivenza,” said Babbalanja.
“Some of her tribes are hostile to these things: and when
their countryman fight for land, are only warlike in opposing
war.”
“And therein, Babbalanja, is involved one of those
anomalies in the condition of Vivenza,” said Media, “which
I can hardly comprehend. How comes it, that with so
many things to divide them, the valley-tribes still keep their
mystic league intact?”
“All plain, it is because the model, whence they derive
their union, is one of nature's planning. My lord, have
you ever observed the mysterious federation subsisting among
the mollusca of the Tunicata order,—in other words, a
species of cuttle-fish, abounding at the bottom of the
lagoon?”
“Yes: in clear weather about the reefs, I have beheld
them time and again: but never with an eye to their
political condition.”
“Ah! my lord king, we should not cut off the nervous
communication between our eyes, and our cerebellums.”
“What were you about to say concerning the Tunicata
order of mollusca, sir philosopher?”
“My very honorable lord, I hurry to conclude. They
live in a compound structure; but though connected by
membranous canals, freely communicating throughout the
league—each member has a heart and stomach of its own;
provides and digests its own dinners; and grins and bears its
own gripes, without imparting the same to its neighbors.
But if a prowling shark touches one member, it ruffles all.
Precisely thus now with Vivenza. In that confederacy,
there are as many consciences as tribes; hence, if one
member on its own behalf, assumes aught afterwards repudiated,
the sin rests on itself alone; is not participated.”
“A very subtle explanation, Babbalanja. You must
allude, then, to those recreant tribes; which, while in their
own eyes presenting a sublime moral spectacle to Mardi,—
in King Bello's, do but present a hopeless example of bad
debts. And these, the tribes that boast of boundless
wealth.”
“Most true, my lord. But Bello errs, when for this
thing, he stigmatizes all Vivenza, as a unity.”
“Babbalanja, you yourself are made up of members:—
then, if you be sick of a lumbago,—'tis not you that are
unwell; but your spine.”
“As you will, my lord. I have said. But to speak no
more on that head—what sort of a sensation, think you, life
is to such creatures as those mollusca?”
“Answer your own question, Babbalanja.”
“I will; but first tell me what sort of a sensation life is
to you, yourself, my lord.”
”Pray answer that along with the other, Azzageddi.”
“Directly; but tell me, if you will, my lord, what sort
of a sensation life is to a toad-stool.”
“Pray, Babbalanja put all three questions together; and
then, do what you have often done before,—pronounce yourself
a lunatic.”
“My lord, I beseech you, remind me not of that fact so
often. It is true, but annoying. Nor will any wise man
call another a fool.”
“Do you take me for a mere man, then, Babbalanja, that
you talk to me thus?”
“My demi-divine lord and master, I was deeply concerned
at your indisposition last night:—may a loving subject
inquire, whether his prince is completely recovered from the
effect of those guavas?”
“Have a care, Azzageddi; you are far too courteous, to be
civil. But proceed.”
“I obey. In kings, mollusca, and toad-stools, life is one
thing and the same. The Philosopher Dumdi pronounces it
a certain febral vibration of organic parts, operating upon
the vis inertia of unorganized matter. But Bardianna says
nay. Hear him. `Who put together this marvelous
mechanism of mine; and wound it up, to go for three score
years and ten; when it runs out, and strikes Time's hours no
more? And what is it, that daily and hourly renews, and
by a miracle, creates in me my flesh and my blood? What
keeps up the perpetual telegraphic communication between
my outpost toes and digits, and that domed grandee up
aloft, my brain?—It is not I; nor you; nor he; nor it.
No; when I place my hand to that king muscle my heart,
I am appalled. I feel the great God himself at work in
me. Oro is life.”'
“And what is death?” demanded Media.
“Death, my lord!—it is the deadest of all things.”
