"But can that eye see itself, Yoomy?" said Babbalanja, winking. "Taken out of its socket, will it see at all? Its connection with the body imparts to it its virtue."
"He questions every thing," cried Mohi. "Philosopher, have you a head?"
"I have," said Babbalanja, feeling for it; "I am finished off at the helm very much as other Mardians, Mohi."
"My lord, the first yea that ever came from him."
"Ah, Mohi," said Media, "the discourse waxes heavy. I fear me we have again come to the lees. Ho, Vee-Vee, a fresh calabash; and with it we will change the subject. Now, Babbalanja, I have this cup to drink, and then a question to propound. Ah, Mohi, rare old wine this; it smacks of the cork. But attention, Philosopher. Supposing you had a wife-which, by the way, you have not-would you deem it sensible in her to imagine you no more, because you happened to stroll out of her sight?"
"However that might be," murmured Yoomy, "young Nina bewailed herself a widow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side."
"My lord Media," said Babbalanja, "During my absence, my wife would have more reason to conclude that I was not living, than that I was.
To the former supposition, every thing tangible around her would tend; to the latter, nothing but her own fond fancies. It is this imagination of ours, my lord, that is at the bottom of these things.
When I am in one place, there exists no other. Yet am I but too apt to fancy the reverse. Nevertheless, when I am in Odo, talk not to me of Ohonoo. To me it is not, except when I am there. If it be, prove it.
To prove it, you carry me thither but you only prove, that to its substantive existence, as cognizant to me, my presence is indispensable. I say that, to me, all Mardi exists by virtue of my sovereign pleasure; and when I die, the universe will perish with me."
"Come you of a long-lived race," said Mohi, "one free from apoplexies?
I have many little things to accomplish yet, and would not be left in the lurch."
"Heed him not, Babbalanja," said Media. "Dip your beak again, my eagle, and soar."
"Let us be eagles, then, indeed, my lord: eagle-like, let us look at this red wine without blinking; let us grow solemn, not boisterous, with good cheer."
Then, lifting his cup, "My lord, serenely do I pity all who are stirred one jot from their centers by ever so much drinking of this fluid. Ply him hard as you will, through the live-long polar night, a wise man can not be made drunk. Though, toward sunrise, his body may reel, it will reel round its center; and though he make many tacks in going home, he reaches it at last; while scores of over-plied fools are foundering by the way. My lord, when wild with much thought, 'tis to wine I fly, to sober me; its magic fumes breathe over me like the Indian summer, which steeps all nature in repose. To me, wine is no vulgar fire, no fosterer of base passions; my heart, ever open, is opened still wider; and glorious visions are born in my brain; it is then that I have all Mardi under my feet, and the constellations of the firmament in my soul."
"Superb!" cried Yoomy.
"Pooh, pooh!" said Mohi, "who does not see stars at such times? I see the Great Bear now, and the little one, its cub; and Andromeda, and Perseus' chain-armor, and Cassiopea in her golden chair, and the bright, scaly Dragon, and the glittering Lyre, and all the jewels in Orion's sword-hilt."
"Ay," cried Media, "the study of astronomy is wonderfully facilitated by wine. Fill up, old Ptolemy, and tell us should you discover a new planet. Methinks this fluid needs stirring. Ho, Vee-Vee, my scepter! be we sociable. But come, Babbalanja, my gold-headed aquila, return to your theme;-the imagination, if you please."
"Well, then, my lord, I was about to say, that the imagination is the Voli-Donzini; or, to speak plainer, the unical, rudimental, and allcomprehending abstracted essence of the infinite remoteness of things.
Without it, we were grass-hoppers."
"And with it, you mortals are little else; do you not chirp all over, Mohi? By my demi-god soul, were I not what I am, this wine would almost get the better of me."
"Without it-" continued Babbalanja.
"Without what?" demanded Media, starting to his feet. "This wine? Traitor, I'll stand by this to the last gasp, you are inebriated, Babbalanja."
"Perhaps so, my lord; but I was treating of the imagination, may it please you."
"My lord," added Mohi, "of the unical, and rudimental fundament of things, you remember."
"Ah! there's none of them sober; proceed, proceed, Azzageddi!"
"My lord waves his hand like a banner," murmured Yoomy.
"Without imagination, I say, an armless man, born, blind, could not be made to believe, that he had a head of hair, since he could neither see it, nor feel it, nor has hair any feeling of itself."
"Methinks though," said Mohi, "if the cripple had a Tartar for a wife, he would not remain skeptical long."
"You all fly off at tangents," cried Media, "but no wonder: your mortal brains can not endure much quaffing. Return to your subject, Babbalanja. Assume now, Babbalanja, — assume, my dear prince-assume it, assume it, I say! — Why don't you?"
"I am willing to assume any thing you please, my lord: what is it?"
"Ah! yes! — Assume that-that upon returning home, you should find your wife had newly wedded, under the-the-the metaphysical presumption, that being no longer visible, you-_you_ Azzageddi, had departed this life; in other words, out of sight, out of mind; what then, my dear prince?"
"Why then, my lord, I would demolish my rival in a trice."
"Would you? — then-then so much for your metaphysics, Bab-Babbalanja."
Babbalanja rose to his feet, muttering to himself-"Is this assumed, or real? — Can a demi-god be mastered by wine? Yet, the old mythologies make bacchanals of the gods. But he was wondrous keen! He felled me, ere he fell himself."
"Yoomy, my lord Media is in a very merry mood to-day," whispered Mohi,
"but his counterfeit was not well done. No, no, a bacchanal is not used to be so logical in his cups."
CHAPTER XLVIII
They Sail Round An Island Without Landing; And Talk Round A Subject Without Getting At It
Purposing a visit to Kaleedoni, a country integrally united to Dominora, our course now lay northward along the western white cliffs of the isle. But finding the wind ahead, and the current too strong for our paddlers, we were fain to forego our destination; Babbalanja observing, that since in Dominora we had not found Yillah, then in Kaleedoni the maiden could not be lurking.
And now, some conversation ensued concerning the country we were prevented from visiting. Our chronicler narrated many fine things of its people; extolling their bravery in war, their amiability in peace, their devotion in religion, their penetration in philosophy, their simplicity and sweetness in song, their loving-kindness and frugality in all things domestic:-running over a long catalogue of heroes, meta-physicians, bards, and good men.
But as all virtues are convertible into vices, so in some cases did the best traits of these people degenerate. Their frugality too often became parsimony; their devotion grim bigotry; and all this in a greater degree perhaps than could be predicated of the more immediate subjects of King Bello.
In Kaleedoni was much to awaken the fervor of its bards. Upland and lowland were full of the picturesque; and many unsung lyrics yet lurked in her glens. Among her blue, heathy hills, lingered many tribes, who in their wild and tattooed attire, still preserved the garb of the mightiest nation of old times. They bared the knee, in token that it was honorable as the face, since it had never been bent.