“Thanks, my lord. Just now, Babbalanja, you flew from the subject;— you spoke of boors; but has not the lowliest peasant an eye that can take in the vast horizon at a sweep: mountains, vales, plains, and oceans? Is such a being nothing?”
“But can that eye see itself, Yoomy?” said Babbalanja, winking. “Taken out of its socket, will it see at all? Its connection with the body imparts to it its virtue.”
“He questions every thing,” cried Mohi. “Philosopher, have you a head?”
“I have,” said Babbalanja, feeling for it; “I am finished off at the helm very much as other Mardians, Mohi.”
“My lord, the first yea that ever came from him.”
“Ah, Mohi,” said Media, “the discourse waxes heavy. I fear me we have again come to the lees. Ho, Vee-Vee, a fresh calabash; and with it we will change the subject. Now, Babbalanja, I have this cup to drink, and then a question to propound. Ah, Mohi, rare old wine this; it smacks of the cork. But attention, Philosopher. Supposing you had a wife—which, by the way, you have not—would you deem it sensible in her to imagine you no more, because you happened to stroll out of her sight?”
“However that might be,” murmured Yoomy, “young Nina bewailed herself a widow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side.”
“My lord Media,” said Babbalanja, “During my absence, my wife would have more reason to conclude that I was not living, than that I was. To the former supposition, every thing tangible around her would tend; to the latter, nothing but her own fond fancies. It is this imagination of ours, my lord, that is at the bottom of these things. When I am in one place, there exists no other. Yet am I but too apt to fancy the reverse. Nevertheless, when I am in Odo, talk not to me of Ohonoo. To me it is not, except when I am there. If it be, prove it. To prove it, you carry me thither but you only prove, that to its substantive existence, as cognizant to me, my presence is indispensable. I say that, to me, all Mardi exists by virtue of my sovereign pleasure; and when I die, the universe will perish with me.”
“Come you of a long-lived race,” said Mohi, “one free from apoplexies? I have many little things to accomplish yet, and would not be left in the lurch.”
“Heed him not, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Dip your beak again, my eagle, and soar.”