Chapter 71

A Book From The "Ponderings Of Old Bardianna"

"Now," said Babbalanja, lighting his trombone as we sailed from the
isle, "who are the monsters, we or the cripples?"

"You yourself are a monster, for asking the question," said Mohi.

"And so, to the cripples I am; though not, old man, for the reason you
mention. But I am, as I am; whether hideous, or handsome, depends upon
who is made judge. There is no supreme standard yet revealed, whereby
to judge of ourselves; 'Our very instincts are prejudices,' saith Alla
Mallolla; 'Our very axioms, and postulates are far from infallible.'
'In respect of the universe, mankind is but a sect,' saith Diloro:
'and first principles but dogmas.' What ethics prevail in the
Pleiades? What things have the synods in Sagittarius decreed?"

"Never mind your old authors," said Media. "Stick to the cripples;
enlarge upon them."

"But I have done with them now, my lord; the sermon is not the text.
Give ear to old Bardianna. I know him by heart. Thus saith the sage in
Book X. of the Ponderings, 'Zermalmende,' the title: 'Je pense,' the
motto:--'My supremacy over creation, boasteth man, is declared in my
natural attitude:--I stand erect! But so do the palm-trees; and the
giraffes that graze off their tops. And the fowls of the air fly high
over our heads; and from the place where we fancy our heaven to be,
defile the tops of our temples. Belike, the eagles, from their eyries
look down upon us Mardians, in our hives, even as upon the
beavers in their dams, marveling at our incomprehensible ways. And
cunning though we be, some things, hidden from us, may not be
mysteries to them. Having five keys, hold we all that open to
knowledge? Deaf, blind, and deprived of the power of scent, the bat
will steer its way unerringly:--could we? Yet man is lord of the bat
and the brute; lord over the crows; with whom, he must needs share the
grain he garners. We sweat for the fowls, as well as ourselves. The
curse of labor rests only on us. Like slaves, we toil: at their good
leisure they glean.

"'Mardi is not wholly ours. We are the least populous part of
creation. To say nothing of other tribes, a census of the herring
would find us far in the minority. And what life is to us,--sour or
sweet,--so is it to them. Like us, they die, fighting death to the
last; like us, they spawn and depart. We inhabit but a crust, rough
surfaces, odds and ends of the isles; the abounding lagoon being its
two-thirds, its grand feature from afar; and forever unfathomable.

"'What shaft has yet been sunk to the antipodes? What underlieth the
gold mines?

"'But even here, above-ground, we grope with