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Updated: June 28, 2025
Said Media, "Well done, Taji, you have killed a queen." "Yet no Queen Hautia have these eyes beheld." Said Babbalanja, "The thrice waved oleanders, Yoomy; what meant they?" "Beware beware beware." "Then that, at least, seems kindly meant," said Babbalanja; "Taji, beware of Hautia."
The first was Mohi, or Braid-Beard, so called from the manner in which he wore that appendage, exceedingly long and gray. He was a venerable teller of stories and legends, one of the Keepers of the Chronicles of the Kings of Mardi. The second was Babbalanja, a man of a mystical aspect, habited in a voluminous robe.
My friend Atahalpa, the astrologer and alchymist, has long had a jar, in which he has been endeavoring to hatch a fairy, the ingredients being compounded according to a receipt of his own." But little they heeded Babbalanja. It was the traveler's tale that most arrested attention. Tough the thews, and tough the tales of Samoa.
"Mohi," said Babbalanja, "truth is in things, and not in words: truth is voiceless; so at least saith old Bardianna. And I, Babbalanja, assert, that what are vulgarly called fictions are as much realities as the gross mattock of Dididi, the digger of trenches; for things visible are but conceits of the eye: things imaginative, conceits of the fancy.
"But perhaps we lost time in listening to it; for though we know it, we are none the wiser." "Be not a cynic," said Media. "No pastime is lost time." Musing a moment, Babbalanja replied, "My lord, that maxim may be good as it stands; but had you made six words of it, instead of six syllables, you had uttered a better and a deeper."
"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?
Said Yoomy, "But those great and good deeds, Babbalanja, of which the philosophers so often discourse: must it not be sweet to believe that their memory will long survive us; and we ourselves in them?"
Leave prose to Babbalanja, who is prosy enough." "Even so," said Babbalanja, "Yoomy, you have overstepped your province. My lord Media well knows, that your business is to make the metal in you jingle in tags, not ring in the ingot."
"Did not poor Bonja, the unappreciated poet, console himself for the neglect of his contemporaries, by inspiriting thoughts of the future?" "In plain words by bethinking him of the glorious harvest of bravos his ghost would reap for him," said Babbalanja; "but Banjo, Bonjo, Binjo, I never heard of him." "Nor I," said Mohi. "Nor I," said Media.
"Because of its passing through the ashes of ten kings, of yore buried in a sepulcher, hewn in the heart of the rock." "Mighty kings, and famous, doubtless," said Babbalanja, "whose bones were thought worthy of so noble and enduring as urn. Pray, Mohi, their names and terrible deeds." "Alas! their sepulcher only remains." "And, no doubt, like many others, they made that sepul for themselves.
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