- end_line
- 6716
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6638
- text
- heart. Though Kaleedoni was united to Dominora long previous to the
union of Verdanna, yet Kaleedoni occasions Bello no disquiet; for,
geographically one, the two populations insensibly blend at the point
of junction. No hostile strait flows between the arms, that to embrace
must touch.”
“But, Babbalanja,” said Yoomy, “what asks Verdanna of Dominora, that
Verdanna so clamors at the denial?”
“They are arrant cannibals, Yoomy,” said Media, “and desire the
privilege of eating each other up.”
“King Bello’s idea,” said Babbalanja; “but, in these things, my lord,
you demi-gods are ever unanimous. But, whatever be Verdanna’s demands,
Bello persists in rejecting them.”
“Why not grant every thing she asks, even to renouncing all claim upon
the isle,” said Mohi; “for thus, Bello would rid himself of many
perplexities.”
“And think you, old man,” said Media, “that, bane or blessing, Bello
will yield his birthright? Will a tri-crowned king resign his triple
diadem? And even did Bello what you propose he would only breed still
greater perplexities. For if granted, full soon would Verdanna be glad
to surrender many things she demands. And all she now asks, she has had
in times past; but without turning it to advantage:—and is she wiser
now?”
“Does she not demand her harvests, my lord?” said Yoomy, “and has not
the reaper a right to his sheaf?”
“Cant! cant! Yoomy. If you reap for me, the sheaf is mine.”
“But if the reaper reaps on his own harvest-field, whose then the
sheaf, my lord?” said Babbalanja.
“His for whom he reaps—his lord’s!”
“Then let the reaper go with sickle and with sword,” said Yoomy, “with
one hand, cut down the bearded grain; and with the other, smite his
bearded lords.”
“Thou growest fierce, in thy lyric moods, my warlike dove,” said
‘Media, blandly. “But for thee, philosopher, know thou, that Verdanna’s
men are of blood and brain inferior to Bello’s native race; and the
better Mardian must ever rule.”
“Verdanna inferior to Dominora, my lord!—Has she produced no bards, no
orators, no wits, no patriots? Mohi, unroll thy chronicles! Tell me, if
Verdanna may not claim full many a star along King Bello’s tattooed arm
of Fame?
“Even so,” said Mohi. “Many chapters bear you out.”
“But my lord,” said Babbalanja, “as truth, omnipresent, lurks in all
things, even in lies: so, does some germ of it lurk in the calumnies
heaped on the people of this land. For though they justly boast of many
lustrous names, these jewels gem no splendid robe. And though like a
bower of grapes, Verdanna is full of gushing juices, spouting out in
bright sallies of wit, yet not all her grapes make wine; and here and
there, hang goodly clusters mildewed; or half devoured by worms, bred
in their own tendrils.”
“Drop, drop your grapes and metaphors!” cried Media. “Bring forth your
thoughts like men; let them come naked into Mardi.—What do you mean,
Babbalanja?”
“This, my lord, Verdanna’s worst evils are her own, not of another’s
giving. Her own hand is her own undoer. She stabs herself with bigotry,
superstition, divided councils, domestic feuds, ignorance, temerity;
she wills, but does not; her East is one black storm-cloud, that never
bursts; her utmost fight is a defiance; she showers reproaches, where
she should rain down blows. She stands a mastiff baying at the moon.”
“Tropes on tropes!” said. Media. “Let me tell the tale,—straight-
forward like a line. Verdanna is a lunatic—”
“A trope! my lord,” cried Babbalanja.
- title
- Chunk 2