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- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
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- CHAPTER LIV.
They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza
The throng that greeted us upon landing were exceedingly boisterous.
“Whence came ye?” they cried. “Whither bound? Saw ye ever such a land
as this? Is it not a great and extensive republic? Pray, observe how
tall we are; just feel of our thighs; Are we not a glorious people?
Here, feel of our beards. Look round; look round; be not afraid; Behold
those palms; swear now, that this land surpasses all others. Old
Bello’s mountains are mole-hills to ours; his rivers, rills; his
empires, villages; his palm-trees, shrubs.”
“True,” said Babbalanja. “But great Oro must have had some hand in
making your mountains and streams.—Would ye have been as great in a
desert?”
“Where is your king?” asked Media, drawing himself up in his robe, and
cocking his crown.
“Ha, ha, my fine fellow! We are all kings here; royalty breathes in the
common air. But come on, come on. Let us show you our great Temple of
Freedom.”
And so saying, irreverently grasping his sacred arm, they conducted us
toward a lofty structure, planted upon a bold hill, and supported by
thirty pillars of palm; four quite green; as if recently added; and
beyond these, an almost interminable vacancy, as if all the palms in
Mardi, were at some future time, to aid in upholding that fabric.
Upon the summit of the temple was a staff; and as we drew nigh, a man
with a collar round his neck, and the red marks of stripes upon his
back, was just in the act of hoisting a tappa standard— correspondingly
striped. Other collared menials were going in and out of the temple.
Near the porch, stood an image like that on the top of the arch we had
seen. Upon its pedestal, were pasted certain hieroglyphical notices;
according to Mohi, offering rewards for missing men, so many hands
high.
Entering the temple, we beheld an amphitheatrical space, in the middle
of which, a great fire was burning. Around it, were many chiefs, robed
in long togas, and presenting strange contrasts in their style of
tattooing.
Some were sociably laughing, and chatting; others diligently making
excavations between their teeth with slivers of bamboo; or turning
their heads into mills, were grinding up leaves and ejecting their
juices. Some were busily inserting the down of a thistle into their
ears. Several stood erect, intent upon maintaining striking attitudes;
their javelins tragically crossed upon their chests. They would have
looked very imposing, were it not, that in rear their vesture was sadly
disordered. Others, with swelling fronts, seemed chiefly indebted to
their dinners for their dignity. Many were nodding and napping. And,
here and there, were sundry indefatigable worthies, making a great show
of imperious and indispensable business; sedulously folding banana
leaves into scrolls, and recklessly placing them into the hands of
little boys, in gay turbans and trim little girdles, who thereupon fled
as if with salvation for the dying.
It was a crowded scene; the dusky chiefs, here and there, grouped
together, and their fantastic tattooings showing like the carved work
on quaint old chimney-stacks, seen from afar. But one of their number
overtopped all the rest. As when, drawing nigh unto old Rome, amid the
crowd of sculptured columns and gables, St. Peter’s grand dome soars
far aloft, serene in the upper air; so, showed one calm grand forehead
among those of this mob of chieftains. That head was Saturnina’s. Gall
and Spurzheim! saw you ever such a brow?—poised like an avalanche,
under the shadow of a forest! woe betide the devoted valleys below!
Lavatar! behold those lips,—like mystic scrolls! Those eyes,— like
panthers’ caves at the base of Popocatepetl!
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