monuments, the customs of the people, their productions and
manufactures; he might as well have done his tour around his own
library, with a copy of Bayard Taylor's Cyclopaedia of Travel, and an
assortment of stereoscopic views, for all the freshness of impression
or originality of narrative you'll get from him, - from whom preserve
us! Give us, rather, that truer traveller who goes by the
accommodation-train of Whim, and whom, in the language of conductors,
you may take up or put down anywhere, because he is no "dead-head," nor
"ticketed through." This is he of whom I have spoken elsewhere, - in the
magic mirror of whose memory (as to the last he saw of this wonder or
of that) "a stony statuesqueness prevails, to produce an effect the
weirdest of all; for there every living thing stands arrested in the
attitude or gesture it presented at the fine instant to which his
thought returns to find it, - seized in the midst, it may be, of the
gayest, most spirited, or most passionate action, - laughter, dance,
rage, conflict; and so fixed as unchangeable as the stone faces of the
gods, forever and forever." In the midst of a Burmese jungle I have
tried that sad experiment by its reverse, and, gazing into _my_ magic
mirror, have beheld my own dear home, and the old, familiar faces, - all
stony, pale, and dim. At such times, how painfully the exile's heart is
tried by the apparition of any object, however insignificant, to which
his happy childhood was accustomed! I think my heart was never more
sharply wrung than once at Prome, in the porch of a grim old temple of
Guadma; - a kitten was playing with a feather there.
In his enumeration of the chief points of attraction in the more
striking books of voyages and travels, Leigh Hunt, with his happy
appreciation of whatever is most quaint in description, most
sympathetic in impression, has helped us to an arrangement, which, with
a convenient modification of our own, we shall follow congenially. We
shall seek for remoteness and obscurity of place, - marvellousness of
hearsay, - surprising, but conceivable truth, - barbaric magnificence, -
the grotesque and the fantastic, - strangeness of custom, - personal
danger, courage, and suffering, - and their barbaric consolations.
In the pursuit of these, our path should wind, had we time to take
the longest, among deserts and lands of darkness, - phoenixes and
griffins and sphinxes, - human monsters, and more monstrous gods, - the
courts of Akbhar and Aurengzebe, - palaces of the Mogul and the Kathayan
Khan, - pigmies, monkey-gods, mummies, Fakeers, dancing-girls, tattooed
warriors, Thugs, cannibals, Fetishes, human sacrifices, and the Evil
Eye, - Chinese politeness, Bedouin honor, Bechuana simplicity, - the plague,
the _amok_, the bearding of lions, the graves of hero-travellers, flowers
in the desert, and the universal tenderness of women.
And as our wild way leads us onward, it shall open up visions, new and
wondrous, or beautiful as new, to those who try it for the first time.
See now, at the outset, stepping into the footprints of old Sir John
Mandeville, what do we behold? - "In that kingdom of Abcay is a great
marvel; for a province of the country, that hath in circuit three days'
journeys, that men call Hanyson, is all covered with darkness, without
any brightness or light, - so that no man may see nor hear, nor no man
dare enter into it. And nevertheless, they of that country say that
sometimes men hear voices of folks, and horses neighing, and cocks
crowing; and they know well that men live there, but they know not what
men. And they say that the darkness befell by miracle of God; for an
accursed emperor of Persia, that was named Saures, pursued all
Christian men for to destroy them, and to compel them to make sacrifice
to his idols; and rode with a great host, all that ever he could, for
to confound the Christian men. And then in that country dwelled many
good Christian men, the which left their goods, and would have fled
into Greece; and when they were in a plain called Megon, anon this
cursed emperor met with them, with his host, for to have slain them and
hewn them in pieces. And anon the Christian men did kneel to the
ground, and make their prayers to God to succor them. Then a great
thick cloud came and covered the emperor and all his host; and so they
remain in that manner, that no more may they get out on any side; and
so shall they evermore abide in darkness, till the day of doom, by the
miracle of God. And then the Christian men went whither they liked
best, at their own pleasure, without hindrance of any creature, and
their enemies were inclosed and confounded in darkness without a blow.
And that was a great miracle that God made for them; wherefore methinks
that Christian men should be more devout to serve our Lord God than any
other men of any other belief."
Thus doth the simple, willing faith of the childlike traveller of 1350
draw from his strange old story a moral which may serve to light the
way for you and me when we wend through the soul's land of darkness.
"Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day;
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." -
So sings Tennyson; and what's a cycle of Cathay? Let us ask Mandeville.
"Cathay is a great country, and a fair, noble, and rich, and full of
merchants. Thither go merchants, every year, for to seek spices, and
all manner of merchandises, more commonly than in any other part.
"In Cathay is the great city of Xanadu; and in this city is the seat of
the great Khan, in a full great palace, and the most passing fair in
all the world, of the which the walls be in circuit more than two
miles; and within the walls it is all full of other palaces. And in the
garden of the great palace there is a great hill, upon the which there
is another palace; and it is the most fair and the most rich that any
man may devise. And there is the great garden, full of wild beasts; so
that when the great Khan would have any sport, to take any of the wild
beasts, or of the fowls, he will cause them to be chased, and take them
at his windows, without going out of his chamber. The palace where the
seat is is both great and passing fair; and within the palace, in the
hall, there be twenty-four pillars of fine gold; and all the walls are
covered within with red skins of beasts, that men call panthers, that
be fair beasts, and well smelling; so that for the sweet odor of the
skins no evil air may enter into the palace. And in the midst of this
palace is the _mountour_ (high seat) for the great Khan, that is all
wrought of gold and of precious stones and great pearls; and at the
four corners of the _mountour_ be four serpents of gold, and all about
there is made large nets of silk and gold and great pearls hanging all
about the _mountour_. And the hall of the palace is full nobly arrayed,
and full marvellously attired on all parts, in all things that men
apparel any hall with. And at the chief end of the hall is the
emperor's throne, full high, where he sitteth at his meat; and that is
of fine precious stones, bound all about with purified gold and
precious stones and great pearls; and the steps that he goeth up to the
table be of precious stones mixed with gold. Under the firmament is not
so great a lord, nor so mighty, nor so rich, as the great Khan. Neither
Prester John, that is emperor of the high India, nor the Sultan of
Babylonia, nor the Emperor of Persia. All these be not in comparison to
the great Khan, neither of might, nor of nobleness, nor of royalty, nor
of riches; for in all these he passeth all earthly princes. Wherefore
it is great harm that he believeth not faithfully in God."
And here we naturally recall that wondrous vision which Coleridge
conjured up, when, opium-rapt, he dreamed in his study-chair of Kubla's
enchanted ground.
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree,
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran,
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girded round;
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
"Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion,
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
"A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw;
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! beware
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your lips with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise!"
The account which Herodotus gives of the gifts that Croesus sent to the
Oracle at Delphi is a splendid example of barbaric magnificence. First,
the King offered up three thousand of every kind of sacrificial beast,
and burned upon a huge pile couches coated with silver and gold, and
golden goblets, and robes and vests of purple. Next he issued a command
to all the people of the land to offer up a sacrifice according to
their means. And when this sacrifice was consumed, he melted down a
vast quantity of gold, and ran it into one hundred and seventeen
ingots, each six palms long, three palms broad, and one palm in
thickness. He also caused the statue of a lion to be made of refined
gold, in weight ten talents. When these great works were completed,
Croesus sent them away to Delphi, and with them two bowls of enormous
size, one of gold, the other of silver. These two bowls, Herodotus
affirms, were removed when the temple of Delphi was burned to the
ground; and now the golden one is in the Clazomenian treasury, and
weighs eight talents and forty-two _minae_; the silver one stands in a
corner of the ante-chapel and holds six hundred _amphorae_ (over five
thousand gallons); - this is known, because the Delphians fill it at the
time of the Theophania. Croesus sent also four silver casks, which are
in the Corinthian treasury; and two lustral vases, a golden and a
silver one. Beside these various offerings, he sent to Delphi many
others of less account, among the rest a number of round silver basins.
He also dedicated a female figure in gold, three cubits high, which the
Delphians declared was the statue of his baking woman; and lastly, he
presented the necklace and the girdles of his wife.
When Croesus sent his Lydian messengers to the Oracle, one Alcmaeon,
who seems to have been a shrewd fellow, with a sharp eye to the main
chance, entertained them with generous hospitality; which so pleased
Croesus, when he was told of it, that he immediately invited Alcmaeon
to visit him at Sardis. When he arrived, the King told him that he was
at liberty to enter his treasury and help himself to as much gold as he
could carry off on his person at once. No sooner said than done.
Alcmaeon, without bashfulness, arrayed himself in a tunic that bagged
abominably at the waist, drew on the biggest buskins in Sardis, dressed
his hair loose, and, marching into the treasure-house, (imagine what
the treasury of Croesus must have been,) waded into a desert of gold
dust. He crammed the bosom of his tunic, crammed his bombastian
buskins, filled his hair full, and finally stuffed his mouth, so that,
as he passed out, he could only wink his fat red eyes and bob to
Croesus, who, when he had laughed till his sides ached, repaid his
funny, but voracious guest for the amusement he had afforded him by not
only confirming the gift of gold, but conferring an equal amount in
jewels and rich raiment.
But we must not remain to marvel among the overwhelming displays of
barbaric profusion. Akbhar, the imperial Mogul, who on his birthday
caused himself to be weighed in golden scales three times, - first
against gold pieces, then against silver, and lastly against fine
perfumes, - who scattered among his courtiers showers of gold and silver
nuts, for which even his gravest ministers were not too dignified to
scramble, - even Akbhar must not detain us. Nor Aurengzebe, who made his
marches, seated on a throne flashing with gold and rich brocades, and
borne on the shoulders of men; while his princesses and favorite begums
followed in all the pomp and glory of the seraglio, nestled in
delicious pavilions curtained with massy silk, and mounted on the backs
of stately elephants of Pegu and Martaban.
We must get away from these; for the realm of the Supernatural and the
Marvellous lies open before us, and on the very threshold, over which
Sir John Mandeville conducts us, broods in his fiery nest that wondrous
fowl, the Phoenix.
"In Egypt is the city of Eliopolis, that is to say, the City of the
Sun. In that city there is a temple made round, after the shape of the
temple of Jerusalem. The priests of that temple have all their writing
dated by the fowl that is called Phoenix; and there is none but one in
all the world. And he cometh to burn himself upon the altar of the
temple at the end of five hundred years; for so long he liveth. And at
the end of the five hundred years, they array their altar carefully,
and put thereon spices and live sulphur, and other things that will
burn lightly. And then the bird Phoenix cometh and burneth himself to
ashes. And the first day next after, men find in the ashes a worm; and
the second day next after, men find a bird, quick and perfect; and the
third day next after, he flieth away. And so there is no more birds of
that kind in all the world but that alone. And, truly, that is a great
miracle of God. And men may well liken that bird unto God, because
there is no God but one, and also that our Lord arose from death the
third day. This bird men see often flying in those countries; and he is
not much more than an eagle. And he hath a crest of feathers upon his
head greater than the peacock hath. And his neck is yellow, after the
color of an orial, that is a stone well shining. And his beak is
colored blue, and his wings are of purple color, and his tail is yellow
and red. And he is a full fair bird to look upon against the sun; for
he shineth full gloriously and nobly."
Let us pray that our Phoenix may not fall into the clutches of the De
Sautys, to be made goose-meat of; rather may they themselves be utterly
cast out, - into the land of giants that are hideous to look upon, and
have but one eye, and that in the middle of the forehead, - into the
land of folk of foul stature and of cursed kind, that have no heads,
and whose eyes be in their shoulders, - into the isle of those that go
upon their hands and feet, like beasts, and that are all furred and
feathered, - or into the country of the people who have but one leg, the
foot of which is so large that it shades all the rest of the body from
the sun, when they lie down on their backs to rest at noonday. But not
into the Land of Women, where all are wise, noble, and worthy. For once
there was a king in that country, and men married; but presently befell
a war with the Scythians, and the king was slain in battle, and with
him all of the best blood of his realm. So when the queen, and the
other noble ladies, saw that they were all widows, and all the royal
blood was spilled, they armed themselves, and, like mad creatures, slew
all the men that were left in the country; for they wished that all the
women might be widows, as the queen and they were. And thenceforward
they never would suffer men to dwell among them, especially men of the
De Sauty sort, who, as Hans Christian Andersen says, ask questions and
never dream.
The town of Lop, says Marco Polo, is situated near the commencement of
the great desert called the Desert of Lop. It is asserted as a
well-known fact, that this desert is the abode of many evil spirits,
which entice travellers to destruction with extraordinary delusions.
If, during the daytime, any persons remain behind on the road until the
caravan has passed a hill and is no longer in sight, they unexpectedly
hear themselves called by their names, in a tone of voice to which they
are accustomed. Supposing the call to proceed from their companions,
they are led away by it from the direct road, and, not knowing in what
direction to advance, are left to perish. In the night-time they are
persuaded they hear the march of a great cavalcade, and concluding the
noise to be the tramp of their own party, they make the best of their
way in the direction of the quarter whence it seems to come; but when
the day breaks, they find they have been misled and drawn into a
situation of danger. Sometimes, during the day, these spirits assume
the appearance of their travelling-companions, who address them by
name, and endeavor to draw them out of the proper road. It is said,
also, that some travellers, in their way across the desert, have seen
what appeared to them to be a body of armed men advancing toward them,
and, fearful of being attacked and plundered, have taken to flight.
Thus, losing the right path, and ignorant of the direction they should
take to regain it, they have miserably perished of hunger.
Marvellous, indeed, and almost passing belief, are the stories related
of these spirits of the desert, which are said to fill the air at times
with the sounds of all kinds of musical instruments, of drama, and the
clash of arms. When the journey across this dreadful waste is
completed, the trembling traveller arrives at the city of the Great
Khan.[1]
[Footnote 1: Leigh Hunt.]
In this rich chapter of horrors how finished an allegory for old John
Bunyan! With what religious unction he would have led his Christian
traveller from that unknown city on the edge of the sands, across the
Soul's Desert of Lop, with its
"Voices calling in the dead of night,
And airy tongues that syllable men's names,"
safe into the _City of the Great Khan!_
Leigh Hunt declares that he has read, in some other account, of a
dreadful, unendurable face that used to stare at people as they went
by.
The Barbaric has also its features of solemnity and grandeur, filling
the mind with exalted contemplations, and the imagination with
inspiring and ennobling apparitions. Surroundings that contribute a
quality of awfulness embrace in such scenes the soul of the traveller,
and hold him in their tremendous thrall. Mean or flippant ideas may not
enter here; but the man puts off the smaller part of him, as the
Asiatic puts off his sandals on entering the porches of his god. Of
such is the Eternal Sphinx, as Eothen Kinglake beheld her. We cannot
feel her aspect more grandly than by the aid of his inspiration.
"And near the Pyramids, more wondrous and more awful than all else in
the land of Egypt, there sits the lonely Sphinx. Comely the creature
is; but the comeliness is not of this world; the once worshipped beast
is a deformity and a monster to this generation; and yet you can see
that those lips, so thick and heavy, were fashioned according to some
ancient mould of beauty, now forgotten, - forgotten because that Greece
drew forth Cytherea from the flashing foam of the Aegean, and in her
image created new forms of beauty, and made it a law among men that the
short and proudly wreathed lip should stand for the sign and main
condition of loveliness through all generations to come. Yet still
lives on the race of those who were beautiful in the fashion of the
elder world; and Christian girls of Coptic blood will look on you with
the sad, serious gaze, and kiss you your charitable hand with the big,
pouting lips of the very Sphinx.
"Laugh and mock, if you will, at the worship of stone idols; but mark
ye this, ye breakers of images, that in one regard the stone idol bears
awful semblance of Deity, - unchangefulness in the midst of change, - the
same seeming will and intent, forever and forever inexorable. Upon
ancient dynasties of Ethiopian and Egyptian kings, - upon Greek and
Roman, upon Arab and Ottoman conquerors, - upon Napoleon dreaming of an
Eastern empire, - upon battle and pestilence, - upon the ceaseless misery
of the Egyptian race, - upon keen-eyed travellers, - Herodotus yesterday,
Warbarton to-day, - upon all, and more, this unworldly Sphinx has
watched and watched like a Providence, with the same earnest eyes, and
the same sad, tranquil mien. And we, we shall die; and Islam will
wither away; and the Englishman, leaning far over to hold his loved
India, will plant a firm foot on the banks of the Nile, and sit in the
seats of the Faithful; and still that sleepless rock will lie watching
and watching the works of the new, busy race, with those same sad,
earnest eyes, and that same tranquil mien, everlasting. You dare not
mock at the Sphinx!"
Not less stupendously placid than the Sphinx, and even grimmer in his
remoteness from the places that have heard Messiah's name, is the
Boodh, throned in trance, and multitudinously worshipped. Shall I tell
you how I first beheld him in his glory?
We were approaching some sacred caves in Burmah. Lighting our torches,
and each man taking one, we mounted the steep, tortuous, and slippery
foot-path of damp, green stones, through the thorny shrubs that beset
it, to the low entrance to the outer cavern. Stooping uncomfortably, we
passed into a small, vacant antechamber, having a low, dripping roof,
perpendicular walls, clammy and green, and a rocky floor, sloping
inward through a narrow arch to a long, double, transverse gallery,
divided in the direction of its length, partly by a face of rock,
partly by a row of pillars. Here were innumerable images of Guadma, the
counterfeit presentment of the Fourth Boodh, whose successor is to see
the end of all things, - innumerable, and of every stature, from
Hop-o'-my-thumbs to Hurlo-thrombos, but all of the identical orthodox
pattern, - with pendulous ears, one hand planted squarely on the knee,
the other sleeping in the lap, an eternity of front face, and a smooth
stagnancy of expression, typical of an unfathomable calm, - the Guadma
of a span as grim as he of ten cubits, and he of ten cubits as vacant
as the Guadma of a span, - of stone, of lead, of wood, of clay, of
earthenware and alabaster, - on their bottoms, on their heads, on their
backs, on their sides, on their faces, - black, white, red, yellow, - an
eye gone, a nose gone, an ear gone, a head gone, - an arm off at the
shoulder, a leg at the knee, - a back split, a bosom burst, - Guadma,
imperturbable, eternal, calm, - in the midst of time, timeless! It is
not annihilation which the Boodh has promised, as the blessed crown of
a myriad of progressive transmigrations; it is not Death; it is not
Sleep, - it is this.
Our entrance awoke a pandemonium. Myriads of bats and owls, and all
manner of fowls of darkness and bad omen, crazed by the glare of twenty
torches, startled the echoes with infernal clangor. Screaming and
huddling together, some fled under the wide skirts of sable, which
Darkness, climbing to the roof in fear, drew up after her; some hid
with lesser shadows between columns of great girth, or in the remotest
murky niches, or down in the black profound of resounding chasms; some,
bewildered or quite blinded by the flashes of the co-eternal beam,
dashed themselves against the stony walls, and fell crippled, gasping,
staring, at our feet. And when, at last, our guides and servants,
mounting to pinnacles and jutting points, and many a frieze and coigne
of vantage, placed blue lights on them all, and at the word illuminated
all together, there was redoubled bedlam in that abode of Hecate, and
the eternal calm of the Boodh became awful. For what deeds of outer
darkness, done long ago in that black hole of superstition, so many
damned souls shrieked from their night-fowl transmigrations, 'twere
vain to question there were no disclosures in that trance of stone.
For an experience of the oppressive awfulness of solitude, and all the
weary monotony of waste, come now, with Kinglake, into mid-desert.
"As long as you are journeying in the interior of the desert, you have
no particular point to make for as your resting-place. The endless
sands yield nothing but small stunted shrubs; even these fail after the
first two or three days; and from that time you pass over broad plains,
you pass over newly reared hills, you pass through valleys that the
storm of the last week has dug; and the hills and the valleys are sand,
sand, sand, still sand and only sand, and sand and sand again. The
earth is so samely, that your eyes turn toward heaven, - toward heaven,
I mean, in the sense of sky. You look to the sun, for he is your
task-master, and by him you know the measure of the work that you have
done, the measure of the work that remains for you to do. He comes when
you strike your tent in the early morning, and then, for the first hour
of the day, as you move forward on your camel, he stands at your near
side, and makes you know that the whole day's toil is before you. Then,
for a while, and a long while, you see him no more; for you are veiled
and shrouded, and dare not look upon the greatness of his glory; but
you know where he strides over your head by the touch of his flaming
sword. No words are spoken; but your Arabs moan, your camels sigh, your
skin glows, your shoulders ache; and, for sights, you see the pattern
and the web of the silk that veils your eyes, and the glare of the
outer light.
"Time labors on, - your skin glows, and your shoulders ache, your Arabs
moan, your camels sigh, and you see the same pattern on the silk, and
the same glare beyond; but conquering Time marches on, and by-and-by
the descending sun has compassed the heaven, and now softly touches
your right arm, and throws your lank shadow over the sand, right along
on the way to Persia. Then again you look upon his face, for his power
is all veiled in his beauty, and the redness of flames has become the
redness of roses; the fair, wavy cloud that fled in the morning now
comes to his sight once more, - comes blushing, but still comes
on, - comes burning with blushes, yet hastens, and clings to his side."
When one has been sufficiently dis-Europized by remote travel, to
become, as to his imagination, a child again, and receive a child's
impressions from the strangeness that surrounds him, the grotesque and
fantastic aspects of his situation afford him the same emotions, of
unquestioning wonder and romantic sympathy, that he derived in the old
time from the adventures of Sinbad the Sailor, the exploits of Jack the
Giant-Killer, what Gulliver saw, or Munchausen did. Behold Belzoni in
the necropolis of Thebes, crawling on his very face among the dusty
rubbish of unnumbered mummies, to steal papyri from their bosoms.
Fatigued with the exertion of squirming through a mummy-choked passage
of five hundred yards, he sought a resting-place; but when he would
have sat down, his weight bore on the body of an Egyptian, and crushed
it like a bandbox. He naturally had recourse to his hands to sustain
his weight; but they found no better support, and he sunk altogether in
a crash of broken bones, rags, and wooden cases, that raised such a
dust as kept him motionless for a quarter of an hour, waiting for it to
subside. He could not move from the place, however, without increasing
it, and every step he took smashed a mummy. Once, in forcing his way
through a steeply inclined passage, about twenty feet in length, and no
wider than his body could be squeezed through, he was overwhelmed with
an avalanche of bones, legs, arms, and hands, rolling from above; and
every forward move brought his face in contact with the abhorred
features of some decayed Egyptian.[1]
[Footnote 1: Bayard Taylor.]
Behold Denham in the Desert of Dead Bones, where his sick comrades were
constantly disheartened by the sight of the skulls and skeletons of men
who had perished on those sands. During several days, they passed from
sixty to ninety skeletons a day; but the numbers that lay about the
wells at El Hammar were countless. Those of two women, whose perfect
and regular teeth bespoke them young, perhaps beautiful, were
particularly shocking. Their arms were still clasped around each
other's neck, in the attitude in which they had expired, although the
flesh had long since been consumed in the rays of the sun, and the
blackened bones alone were left.
Parkyns, among the little greenish-gray monkeys of Tigre, enjoyed a
treat to make the mouth of our young imagination water. He saw them
conversing, quarrelling, making love; mothers were taking care of their
children, combing their hair, nursing or "trotting" them; and the
passions of all - jealousy, rage, love - were as strongly marked as in
men. They had a language as distinct to them as ours to us; and their
women were as noisy and as fond of disputation as any fish-fag in
Billingsgate.
"On their marches, a few of the heedless youth occasionally lagged
behind to snatch a handful of berries; sometimes a matron halted for a
while to nurse her baby, and, not to lose time, dressed its hair while
it took its meal. Now and then a young lady, excited by jealousy or
some sneering look or word, made an ugly mouth at one of her
companions, and then, uttering a shrill squeal, highly expressive of
rage, vindictively snatched at the offender's tail or leg, and
administered a hearty bite. This provoked a retort, and a most
unladylike quarrel ensued, till a loud remonstrance from mothers or
aunts called them to order."
According to Marco Polo, there have been among the monkeys, from time
to time, certain Asiatic Yankees, who did a lively business in the
manufacture of an article which would, no doubt, have found a ready
purchaser at Barnum's Museum.
"It should be known," says the veracious old Venetian, "that what is
reported respecting the dead bodies of diminutive human creatures or
pigmies, brought from India, is an idle tale; such pretended men being
manufactured in the island of Basman in the following manner. The
country produces a species of monkey of a tolerable size, and having a
countenance resembling that of a man. Those persons who make it their
business to catch them shave off the hair, leaving it only about the
chin. They then dry and preserve them with camphor and other drugs; and
having prepared them in such a mode that they have exactly the
appearance of little men, they put them into wooden boxes, and sell
them to trading people, who carry them to all parts of the world."
Not the least familiar of the aspects of the Barbaric are its actions
and situations of horror. I could tell tales from the later, not less
than from the older travellers, that would send my readers shuddering
to sleepless beds: the ferocities of Tippoo reenacted in the name of
Nena Sahib; the noiseless murders of Thuggee's nimble cord; the drunken
_diablerie_ of the Doorga Pooja; the monstrous human sacrifices of the
Khonds and Bheels; the dreadful rites of the Janni before the gory
altar of the Earth goddess; the indiscriminate slashing and stabbing of
the Amok; the shuddering dodges of the plague-chased Cavrite; the grim
and lonely duels of the French lion-killer under the melancholy stars;
the carrion-like exposures of the Parsee dead; the nightmarish legends
of the Evil Eye. But my hope is to part with them on pleasant terms; so
rather would I strew their pillows with the consolations of this
many-mooded Barbaric, - moss from ruins, and pretty flowers from the
desert, - that beneficent botany which maketh the wilderness to blossom
like the rose.
When Mungo Park, deserted by his guides, and stripped by thieves,
utterly paralyzed by misfortune, and misery, would have laid him down
to die in a desert place, - at that moment, of all others, the
extraordinary beauty of a small moss in fructification caught his eye.
"I mention this," he says, "to show you from what trifling
circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation; for, though
the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I
could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its root, leaves,
and capsule without admiration. Can that Being, thought I, who planted,
watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world,
a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon
the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? I
started up, and, disregarding both danger and fatigue, travelled
forward, assured that relief was at hand; and I was not disappointed."
Richardson, in the midst of Sahara, beheld with brimming eyes two small
trees, the common desert acacia, and by-and-by two or three pretty blue
flowers. As he snatched them, to fold them in his bosom, he could not
help exclaiming, _Elhamdullah!_ "Praise be to God!" - for Arabic was
growing second-born to his tongue, and he began to think in it and to
pray in it. An Arab said to him, "Yakob, if we had a reed, and were to
make a melodious sound, those flowers, the color of heaven, would open
and shut their mouths."
Once, Mungo Park (the once too often of telling this story can never
come) sat all day, - without food, under a tree. The night threatened to
be very pitiless; for the wind arose, and there was every sign of a
heavy rain; and wild beasts prowled around. But about sunset, as he was
preparing to pass the night in the branches of the tree, a woman,
returning from the labors of the field, perceived how weary and
dejected he was, and, taking up his saddle and bridle, invited him to
follow her. She conducted him to her hut, where she lighted a lamp,
spread a mat on the floor, and bade him welcome. Then she went out, and
presently returning with a fine fish, broiled it on the embers, and set
his supper before him. The rites of hospitality thus performed toward a
stranger in distress, that _savage_ angel, pointing to the mat, and
assuring him that he might sleep there without fear, commanded the
females of her family, who all the while had stood gazing on him in
fixed astonishment, to resume their spinning. Then they sang, to a
sweet and plaintive air, these words: "The winds roared, and the rains
fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree.
Let us pity the white man; no mother hath he to bring him milk, no wife
to grind his corn." Flowers in the desert![1]
[Footnote 1: Leigh Hunt.]
Flowers in the desert! And De Sauty shall spare them, though he
botanize on his mother's grave. Borro-boolah-gah may know us by our
India-rubber shirts and pictorial pocket-handkerchiefs; and King Mumbo
Jumbo may reduce his rebellious locks to subjection with a Yankee
currycomb; but these, our desert flowers, are All Right, De Sauty!
BEAUTY AT BILLIARDS.
There is a lady in this case.
For three days she had sat opposite me at the table of the pleasantest
of White Mountain resorts, (of course I give no hint as to which _that_
is, - tastes differ,) and I had gradually become enthralled. Her beauty
was dazzling, and her name was Tarlingford. For the first of these
items, I was indebted to my own intelligence; for the second to the
hotel register, which also informed me that she was from New York.
I, too, had come from New York; - a coincidence too startling to be
calmly overlooked.
Our acquaintance began oddly. One morning, at breakfast, I was musing
over a hard-boiled egg, and wondering if I could perforate her
affections with anything like the success which had followed my fork as
it penetrated the shell before me, when I felt a timid touch upon my
toe, thrilling me from end to end like a telegraph-wire when the
insulation is perfect. I looked up, and detected a pink flush making
its way browward on the lovely countenance across the table.
"I beg your pardon," said I, with much concern.
"It was my fault, Sir; excuse _me_," said she, permitting the pink
flush to deepen, rosily.
"Shall I pass you the buttered toast?" said I.
"Muffins, if you please," said she, and so sweetly that I was blinded
to the absence of sugar in my second cup of coffee.
I was confused by this incident. Many men would have concealed their
disquietude by an affectation of sudden appetite, or by bullying the
waiter, or by abrupt departure from the scene. I did neither. I felt I
had a right to be confused, and I gloried in it.
Very soon Miss Tarlingford withdrew, and I experienced an aching void
within, which chops and fritters had no power to replenish.
I opened a chambermaid's heart with a half-dollar, and the treasures of
her knowledge were revealed to me. The beauty and her party were to
remain a fortnight Among her companions there were no males, except a
youthful irresponsibility. _Exultemus!_
Later in the morning I heard the tinkling of the parlor pianoforte.
Music has soothing charms for me, though I have not a savage breast. I
drew near, and found Miss Tarlingford trifling with the keys, - those
keys which lock together so many chains of human sympathy. She rose,
and gave out demonstrations of impending disappearance. I interposed, -
"Pray, continue. I am famished for music, and came specially to
listen."
"It is hardly worth while."
"How can you say so? It is I who know best what I need."
"I will play for you, then."
And she did. This was wonderful. Usually, a long and painful struggle
precedes feminine acquiescence, on such occasions. Repeated refusals,
declarations of incapacity, partial consent vouchsafed and then
waywardly withdrawn, poutings, head-tossings, feebler murmurs of
disinclination, and final reluctant yielding form the fashionable order
of proceeding. The charm of it all is, that the original intention is
the same as the ultimate action. Whence, then, this folly? Having been
many times wretchedly bored by this sort of thing, I was now
correspondingly gladdened by the contrast.
Miss Tarlingford played well, and I said so.
"Pretty well," she answered, frankly; "but not so well as I could
wish."
Shock Number Two. It is customary in good society for tolerable
performers to disavow all praises, (secretly yearning for more,) and to
assail with invective their own artistic accomplishments. Here was a
young lady who played well, and had the hardihood to acknowledge it.
This rather took away my breath, and a vacuum began to come under my
waistcoat.
For three blissful days Miss Tarlingford and I were seldom separated.
Her sister, a pale, sedate maiden, of amiable appearance, and her
brother, a small, rude boy, of intrusive habits and unguarded speech, I
consented to undergo, for the sake of conventional necessity. To the
mother of the Tarlingfords additional respect seemed due, and was
accorded.
Three blissful days of sunshine, meadowy rambles, forest explorations,
the majestic tranquillity of Nature spiced with the sauce of
flirtation, or something stronger. Sometimes we took our morning
happiness on foot, sometimes our mid-day ecstasy served up on
horseback, sometimes our evening rapture in an open wagon at two forty.
The puerile Tarlingford, interfering at first, was summarily crushed.
Aspiring to equestrian distinctions, he wrought upon maternal