Mardi: and A Voyage Thither, Vol. II | Page 8

he remained in profound meditation; while,
backward and forward, an invisible ploughshare turned up the long
furrows on his brow.
Long he was silent; then muttered to himself, "That boy, that wild, wise
boy, has stabbed me to the heart. His thoughts are my suspicions. But
he is honest. Yet I harm none. Multitudes must have unspoken
meditations as well as I. Do we then mutually deceive? Off masks,
mankind, that I may know what warranty of fellowship with others, my
own thoughts possess. Why, upon this one theme, oh Oro! must all
dissemble? Our thoughts are not our own. Whate'er it be, an honest
thought must have some germ of truth. But we must set, as flows the
general stream; I blindly follow, where I seem to lead; the crowd of
pilgrims is so great, they see not there is none to guide.--It hinges upon
this: Have we angelic spirits? But in vain, in vain, oh Oro! I essay to

live out of this poor, blind body, fit dwelling for my sightless soul.
Death, death:--blind, am I dead? for blindness seems a consciousness of
death. Will my grave be more dark, than all is now?-- From dark to
dark!--What is this subtle something that is in me, and eludes me? Will
it have no end? When, then, did it begin? All, all is chaos! What is this
shining light in heaven, this sun they tell me of? Or, do they lie?
Methinks, it might blaze convictions; but I brood and grope in
blackness; I am dumb with doubt; yet, 'tis not doubt, but worse: I doubt
my doubt. Oh, ye all-wise spirits in the air, how can ye witness all this
woe, and give no sign? Would, would that mine were a settled doubt,
like that wild boy's, who without faith, seems full of it. The undoubting
doubter believes the most. Oh! that I were he. Methinks that daring boy
hath Alma in him, struggling to be free. But those pilgrims: that
trusting girl.--What, if they saw me as I am? Peace, peace, my soul; on,
mask, again."
And he staggered from the Morai.

CHAPTER VI
They Discourse Of The Gods Of Mardi, And Braid-Beard Tells Of One
Foni
Walking from the sacred inclosure, Mohi discoursed of the plurality of
gods in the land, a subject suggested by the multitudinous idols we had
just been beholding.
Said Mohi, "These gods of wood and of stone are nothing in number to
the gods in the air. You breathe not a breath without inhaling, you
touch not a leaf without ruffling a spirit. There are gods of heaven, and
gods of earth; gods of sea and of land; gods of peace and of war; gods
of rook and of fell; gods of ghosts and of thieves; of singers and
dancers; of lean men and of house-thatchers. Gods glance in the eyes of
birds, and sparkle in the crests of the waves; gods merrily swing in the
boughs of the trees, and merrily sing in the brook. Gods are here, and
there, and every where; you are never alone for them."
"If this be so, Braid-Beard," said Babbalanja, "our inmost thoughts are
overheard; but not by eaves-droppers. However, my lord, these gods to
whom he alludes, merely belong to the semi-intelligibles, the divided
unities in unity, thin side of the First Adyta."

"Indeed?" said Media.
"Semi-intelligible, say you, philosopher?" cried Mohi. "Then, prithee,
make it appear so; for what you say, seems gibberish to me."
"Babbalanja," said Media, "no more of your abstrusities; what know
you mortals of us gods and demi-gods? But tell me, Mohi, how many
of your deities of rock and fen think you there are? Have you no
statistical table?"
"My lord, at the lowest computation, there must be at least three billion
trillion of quintillions."
"A mere unit!" said Babbalanja. "Old man, would you express an
infinite number? Then take the sum of the follies of Mardi for your
multiplicand; and for your multiplier, the totality of sublunarians, that
never have been heard of since they became no more; and the product
shall exceed your quintillions, even though all their units were
nonillions."
"Have done, Babbalanja!" cried Media; "you are showing the sinister
vein in your marble. Have done. Take a warm bath, and make tepid
your cold blood. But come, Mohi, tell us of the ways of this Maramma;
something of the Morai and its idols, if you please."
And straightway Braid-Beard proceeded with a narration, in substance
as follows:--
It seems, there was a particular family upon the island, whose members,
for many generations, had been set apart as sacrifices for the deity
called Doleema. They were marked by a sad and melancholy aspect,
and a certain involuntary shrinking, when passing the Morai. And,
though, when