75. CHAPTER LXXV.
THEY VISIT THE PALMY KING ABRAZZA.
Night and morn departed; and in the afternoon, we
drew nigh to an island, overcast with shadows; a shower
was falling; and pining, plaintive notes forth issued from
the groves; half-suppressed, and sobbing whisperings of
leaves. The shore sloped to the water; thither our prows
were pointed.
“Sheer off! no landing here,” cried Media, “let us gain
the sunny side; and like the care-free bachelor Abrazza,
who here is king, turn our back on the isle's shadowy side,
and revel in its morning-meads.”
“And lord Abrazza:—who is he?” asked Yoomy.
“The one hundred and twentieth in lineal descent from
Phipora,” said Mohi; “and connected on the maternal side
to the lord seigniors of Klivonia. His uttermost uncle was
nephew to the niece of Queen Zmiglandi; who flourished
so long since, she wedded at the first Transit of Venus.
His pedigree is endless.”
“But who is lord Abrazza?”
“Has he not said?” answered Babbalanja. “Why so
dull?—Uttermost nephew to him, who was nephew to the
niece of the peerless Queen Zmiglandi; and the one hundred
and twentieth in descent from the illustrious Phipora.”
“Will none tell, who Abrazza is?”
“Can not a man then, be described by running off the
catalogue of his ancestors?” said Babbalanja. “Or must
we e'en descend to himself. Then, listen, dull Yoomy!
and know that lord Abrazza is six feet two: plump thighs;
blue eyes; and brown hair; likes his bread-fruit baked, not
roasted; sometimes carries filberts in his crown: and has a
way of winking when he speaks. His teeth are good.”
“Are you publishing some decamped burglar,” said Media,
“that you speak thus of my royal friend, the lord Abrazza?
Go on, sir! and say he reigns sole king of Bonovona!”
“My lord, I had not ended. Abrazza, Yoomy, is a fine
and florid king: high-fed, and affluent of heart; of speech,
mellifluent. And for a royalty extremely amiable. He is
a sceptered gentleman, who does much good. Kind king!
in person he gives orders for relieving those, who daily dive
for pearls, to grace his royal robe; and gasping hard, with
blood-shot eyes, come up from shark-infested depths, and
fainting, lay their treasure at his feet. Sweet lord Abrazza!
how he pities those, who in his furthest woodlands day-long
toil to do his bidding. Yet king-philosopher, he never
weeps; but pities with a placid smile; and that but
seldom.”
“There seems much iron in your blood,” said Media.
“But say your say.”
“Say I not truth, my lord? Abrazza, I admire. Save
his royal pity all else is jocund round him. He loves to
live for life's own sake. He vows he'll have no cares; and
often says, in pleasant reveries,—`Sure, my lord Abrazza,
if any one should be care-free, 'tis thou; who strike down
none, but pity all the fallen!” Yet none he lifteth up.”
At length we gained the sunny side, and shoreward
tended. Vee-Vee's horn was sonorous; and issuing from
his golden groves, my lord Abrazza, like a host that greets
you on the threshold, met us, as we keeled the beach.
“Welcome! fellow demi-god, and king! Media, my
pleasant guest!”
His servitors salamed; his chieftains bowed; his yeoman-guard,
in meadow-green, presented palm-stalks,—royal
tokens; and hand in hand, the nodding, jovial, regal friends,
went up a lane of salutations; dragging behind, a train of
envyings.
Much we marked Abrazza's jeweled crown; that shot
no honest blaze of ruddy rubies; nor looked stern-white like
Media's pearls; but cast a green and yellow glare; rays
from emeralds, crossing rays from many a topaz. In those
beams, so sinister, all present looked cadaverous: Abrazza's
cheek alone beamed bright, but hectic.
Upon its fragrant mats a spacious hall received the kings;
and gathering courtiers blandly bowed; and gushing with
soft flatteries, breathed idol-incense round them.
The hall was terraced thrice; its elevated end was curtained;
and thence, at every chime of words, there burst a
girl, gay scarfed, with naked bosom, and poured forth wild
and hollow laughter, as she raced down all the terraces, and
passed their merry kingships.
Wide round the hall, in avenues, waved almond-woods;
their whiteness frosted into bloom. But every vine-clad
trunk was hollow-hearted; hollow sounds came from the
grottos: hollow broke the billows on the shore: and hollow
pauses filled the air, following the hollow laughter.
Guards, with spears, paced the groves, and in the inner
shadows, oft were seen to lift their weapons, and backward
press some ugly phantom, saying, “Subjects! haunt
him not; Abrazza would be merry; Abrazza feasts his
guests.”
So, banished from our sight seemed all things uncongenial;
and pleasant times were ours, in these dominions. Not a
face passed by, but smiled; mocking-birds perched on the
boughs; and singing, made us vow the woods were warbling
forth thanksgiving, with a thousand throats! The stalwart
yeomen grinned beneath their trenchers, heaped with citrons
pomegrantes, grapes; the pages tittered, pouring out the
wine; and all the lords loud laughed, smote their gilded
spears, and swore the isle was glad.
Such the isle, in which we tarried; but in our rambles,
found no Yillah.
