THE ESSENTIAL MELVILLE - 160+ Titles in One Edition. Герман Мелвилл
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embarking, we were accompanied to the beach by Borabolla; who, with his own hand, suspended from the shark’s mouth of Media’s canoe, three red-ripe bunches of plantains, a farewell gift to his guests.
Though he spoke not a word, Jarl was long in taking leave. His eyes seemed to say, I will see you no more.
At length we pushed from the strand; Borabolla waving his adieus with a green leaf of banana; our comrade ruefully eyeing the receding canoes; and the multitude loudly invoking for us a prosperous voyage.
But to my horror, there suddenly dashed through the crowd, the three specter sons of Aleema, escaped from their prison. With clenched hands, they stood in the water, and cursed me anew. And with that curse in our sails, we swept off.
CHAPTER 103
AS THEY SAIL
As the canoes now glided across the lagoon, I gave myself up to reverie; and revolving over all that the men of Amma had rehearsed of the history of Yillah, I one by one unriddled the mysteries, before so baffling. Now, all was made plain: no secret remaining, but the subsequent event of her disappearance. Yes, Hautia! enlightened I had been but where was Yillah?
Then I recalled that last interview with Hautia’s messengers, so full of enigmas; and wondered, whether Yoomy had interpreted aright. Unseen, and unsolicited; still pursuing me with omens, with taunts, and with wooings, mysterious Hautia appalled me. Vaguely I began to fear her. And the thought, that perhaps again and again, her heralds would haunt me, filled me with a nameless dread, which I almost shrank from acknowledging. Inwardly I prayed, that never more they might appear.
While full of these thoughts, Media interrupted them by saying, that the minstrel was about to begin one of his chants, a thing of his own composing; and therefore, as he himself said, all critics must be lenient; for Yoomy, at times, not always, was a timid youth, distrustful of his own sweet genius for poesy.
The words were about a curious hereafter, believed in by some people in Mardi: a sort of nocturnal Paradise, where the sun and its heat are excluded: one long, lunar day, with twinkling stars to keep company.
THE SONG
Far off in the sea is Marlena,
A land of shades and streams,
A land of many delights.
Dark and bold, thy shores,
Marlena; But green, and timorous, thy soft knolls,
Crouching behind the woodlands.
All shady thy hills; all gleaming thy springs,
Like eyes in the earth looking at you.
How charming thy haunts Marlena! —
Oh, the waters that flow through Onimoo:
Oh, the leaves that rustle through Ponoo:
Oh, the roses that blossom in Tarma:
Come, and see the valley of Vina:
How sweet, how sweet, the Isles from Hind:
’Tis aye afternoon of the full, full moon,
And ever the season of fruit,
And ever the hour of flowers,
And never the time of rains and gales,
All in and about Marlena.
Soft sigh the boughs in the stilly air,
Soft lap the beach the billows there;
And in the woods or by the streams,
You needs must nod in the Land of Dreams.
“Yoomy,” said old Mohi with a yawn, “you composed that song, then, did you?”
“I did,” said Yoomy, placing his turban a little to one side.
“Then, minstrel, you shall sing me to sleep every night, especially with that song of Marlena; it is soporific as the airs of Nora–Bamma.”
“Mean you, old man, that my lines, setting forth the luxurious repose to be enjoyed hereafter, are composed with such skill, that the description begets the reality; or would you ironically suggest, that the song is a sleepy thing itself?”
“An important discrimination,” said Media; “which mean you, Mohi?”
“Now, are you not a silly boy,” said Babbalanja, “when from the ambiguity of his speech, you could so easily have derived something flattering, thus to seek to extract unpleasantness from it? Be wise, Yoomy; and hereafter, whenever a remark like that seems equivocal, be sure to wrest commendation from it, though you torture it to the quick.”
“And most sure am I, that I would ever do so; but often I so incline to a distrust of my powers, that I am far more keenly alive to censure, than to praise; and always deem it the more sincere of the two; and no praise so much elates me, as censure depresses.”
CHAPTER 104
WHEREIN BABBALANJA BROACHES A DIABOLICAL THEORY, AND, IN HIS OWN PERSON, PROVES IT
“A truce!” cried Media, “here comes a gallant before the wind. — Look, Taji!”
Turning, we descried a sharp-prowed canoe, dashing on, under the pressure of an immense triangular sail, whose outer edges were streaming with long, crimson pennons. Flying before it, were several small craft, belonging to the poorer sort of Islanders.
“Out of his way there, ye laggards,” cried Media, “or that mad prince, Tribonnora, will ride over ye with a rush!”
“And who is Tribonnora,” said Babbalanja, “that he thus bravely diverts himself, running down innocent paddlers?”
“A harum-scarum young chief,” replied Media, “heir to three islands; he likes nothing better than the sport you now see see him at.”
“He must be possessed by a devil,” said Mohi.
Said Babbalanja, “Then he is only like all of us.” “What say you?” cried Media.
“I say, as old Bardianna in the Nine hundred and ninety ninth book of his immortal Ponderings saith, that all men —”
“As I live, my lord, he has swamped three canoes,” cried Mohi, pointing off the beam.
But just then a fiery fin-back whale, having broken into the paddock of the lagoon, threw up a high fountain of foam, almost under Tribonnora’s nose; who, quickly turning about his canoe, cur-like slunk off; his steering-paddle between his legs.
Comments over; “Babbalanja, you were going to quote,” said Media. “Proceed.”
“Thank you, my lord. Says old Bardianna, ‘All men are possessed by devils; but as these devils are sent into men, and kept in them, for an additional punishment; not garrisoning a fortress, but limboed in a bridewell; so, it may be more just to say, that the devils themselves are possessed by men, not men by them.’”
“Faith!” cried Media, “though sometimes a bore, your old Bardianna is a trump.”
“I have long been of that mind, my lord. But let me go on. Says Bardianna, ‘Devils are divers; — strong devils, and weak devils; knowing devils, and silly devils; mad devils, and mild devils; devils, merely devils; devils, themselves bedeviled; devils, doubly bedeviled.”
“And in the devil’s name, what sort of a devil is yours?” cried Mohi.
“Of him anon; interrupt me not, old man.