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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Now, I appeal to you, royal Media; to you, noble Taji; to you, Babbalanja;" said the chronicler, with an impressive gesture, "whether this seems a credible history: Yoomy has invented." "But perhaps he has entertained, old Mohi," said Babbalanja. "He has not spoken the truth," persisted the chronicler.
If duped by one, we are equally duped by the other." "Clear as this water," said Yoomy. "Opaque as this paddle," said Mohi, "But, come now, thou oracle, if all things are deceptive, tell us what is truth?" "The old interrogatory; did they not ask it when the world began? But ask it no more. As old Bardianna hath it, that question is more final than any answer."
"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.
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.
They sleep sound, my word for it, old man. But I very much question, if, were the rock rent, any ashes would be found. Mohi, I deny that those kings ever had any bones to bury." "Why, Babbalanja," said Media, "since you intimate that they never had ghosts to give up, you ignore them in toto; denying the very fact of their being even defunct."
Said Mohi and Yoomy in a breath, "Who sought your opinion, philosopher? you filcher from old Bardianna, and monger of maxims!" "You, who have so long marked the vices of Mardi, that you flatter yourself you have none of your own," added Braid-Beard.
"Poor fellow!" cried Babbalanja; "I fear me his harvest is not yet ripe." "Alas!" cried Yoomy; "he died more than a century ago." "But now that you speak of unappreciated poets, Yoomy," said Babbalanja, "Shall I give you a piece of my mind?" "Do," said Mohi, stroking his beard. "He, who on all hands passes for a cypher to-day, if at all remembered hereafter, will be sure to pass for the same.
"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?
"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 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.
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