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- CHAPTER LXXII.
Babbalanja Starts To His Feet
For twenty-four hours, seated stiff, and motionless, Babbalanja spoke
not a word; then, almost without moving a muscle, muttered thus:—“At
banquets surfeit not, but fill; partake, and retire; and eat not again
till you crave. Thereby you give nature time to work her magic
transformings; turning all solids to meat, and wine into blood. After a
banquet you incline to repose:—do so: digestion commands. All this
follow those, who feast at the tables of Wisdom; and all such are they,
who partake of the fare of old Bardianna.”
“Art resuscitated, then, Babbalanja?” said Media. “Ay, my lord, I am
just risen from the dead.”
“And did Azzageddi conduct you to their realms?”
“Fangs off! fangs off! depart, thou fiend!—unhand me! or by Oro, I will
die and spite thee!”
“Quick, quick, Mohi! let us change places,” cried Yoomy.
“How now, Babbalanja?” said Media.
“Oh my lord man—not _you_ my lord Media!—high and mighty Puissance!
great King of Creation!—thou art but the biggest of braggarts! In every
age, thou boastest of thy valorous advances:—flat fools, old dotards,
and numskulls, our sires! All the Past, wasted time! the Present knows
all! right lucky, fellow-beings, we live now! every man an author!
books plenty as men! strike a light in a minute! teeth sold by the
pound! all the elements fetching and carrying! lightning running on
errands! rivers made to order! the ocean a puddle!— But ages back they
boasted like us; and ages to come, forever and ever, they’ll boast.
Ages back they black-balled the past, thought the last day was come; so
wise they were grown. Mardi could not stand long; have to annex one of
the planets; invade the great sun; colonize the moon;—conquerors sighed
for new Mardis; and sages for heaven— having by heart all the primers
here below. Like us, ages back they groaned under their books; made
bonfires of libraries, leaving ashes behind, mid which we reverentially
grope for charred pages, forgetting we are so much wiser than they.—But
amazing times! astounding revelations; preternatural divulgings!—How
now?—more wonderful than all our discoveries is this: that they never
were discovered before. So simple, no doubt our ancestors overlooked
them; intent on deeper things—the deep things of the soul. All we
discover has been with us since the sun began to roll; and much we
discover, is not worth the discovering. We are children, climbing trees
after birds’ nests, and making a great shout, whether we find eggs in
them or no. But where are our wings, which our fore-fathers surely had
not? Tell us, ye sages! something worth an archangel’s learning;
discover, ye discoverers, something new. Fools, fools! Mardi’s not
changed: the sun yet rises in its old place in the East; all things go
on in the same old way; we cut our eye-teeth just as late as they did,
three thousand years ago.”
“Your pardon,” said Mohi, “for beshrew me, they are not yet all cut. At
threescore and ten, here have I a new tooth coming now.”
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