- end_line
- 9744
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 9668
- text
- sight, voice, and tympanum.
Much amazement His Highness now expressed; horrified his glances.
“Why club such frights as ye? Herd ye, to keep in countenance; or are
afraid of your own hideousness, that ye dread to go alone? Monsters!
speak.”
“Great Oro!” cried Mohi, “are we then taken for cripples, by the very
King of the Cripples? My lord, are not our legs and arms all right?”
“Comelier ones were never turned by turners, Mohi. But royal Yoky! in
sooth we feel abashed before thee.”
Some further stares were then exchanged; when His Highness sought to
know, whether there were any Comparative Anatomists among his visitors.
“Comparative Anatomists! not one.”
“And why may King Yoky ask that question?” inquired Babbalanja.
Then was made the following statement.
During the latter part of his reign, when he seemed fallen into his
dotage, the venerable predecessor of King Yoky had been much attached
to an old gray-headed Chimpanzee, one day found meditating in the
woods. Rozoko was his name. He was very grave, and reverend of aspect;
much of a philosopher. To him, all gnarled and knotty subjects were
familiar; in his day he had cracked many a crabbed nut. And so in love
with his Timonean solitude was Rozoko, that it needed many bribes and
bland persuasions, to induce him to desert his mossy, hillside,
misanthropic cave, for the distracting tumult of a court.
But ere long, promoted to high offices, and made the royal favorite,
the woodland sage forgot his forests; and, love for love, returned the
aged king’s caresses. Ardent friends they straight became; dined and
drank together; with quivering lips, quaffed long-drawn, sober bumpers;
comparing all their past experiences; and canvassing those hidden
themes, on which octogenarians dilate.
For when the fires and broils of youth are passed, and Mardi wears its
truer aspect—then we love to think, not act; the present seems more
unsubstantial than the past; then, we seek out gray-beards like
ourselves; and hold discourse of palsies, hearses, shrouds, and tombs;
appoint our undertakers; our mantles gather round us, like to
winding-sheets; and every night lie down to die. Then, the world’s
great bubble bursts; then, Life’s clouds seem sweeping by, revealing
heaven to our straining eyes; then, we tell our beads, and murmur
pater-nosters; and in trembling accents cry—“Oro! be merciful.”
So, the monarch and Rozoko.
But not always were they thus. Of bright, cheerful mornings, they took
slow, tottering rambles in the woods; nodding over grotesque walking-
sticks, of the Chimpanzee’s handiwork. For sedate Rozoko was a
dilletante-arborist: an amateur in canes. Indeed, canes at last became
his hobby. For half daft with age, sometimes he straddled his good
staff and gently rode abroad, to take the salubrious evening air;
deeming it more befitting exercise, at times, than walking. Into this
menage, he soon initiated his friend, the king; and side by side they
often pranced; or, wearying of the saddle, dismounted; and paused to
ponder over prostrate palms, decaying across the path. Their mystic
rings they counted; and, for every ring, a year in their own calendars.
Now, so closely did the monarch cleave to the Chimpanzee, that, in good
time, summoning his subjects, earnestly he charged it on them, that at
death, he and his faithful friend should be buried in one tomb.
It came to pass, the monarch died; and Poor Rozoko, now reduced to
second childhood, wailed most dismally:—no one slept that night in
Hooloomooloo. Never did he leave the body; and at last, slowly going
round it thrice, he laid him down; close nestled; and noiselessly
expired.
The king’s injunctions were remembered; and one vault received them
both.
- title
- Chunk 2