Mardi, and a Voyage Thither E-Book

Herman Melville.

• Herausgeber: Herman Melville
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Mardi, and a Voyage Thither is the third book by American writer Herman Melville, first published in London in 1849. Beginning as a travelogue in the vein of the author's two previous efforts, the adventure story gives way to a romance story, which in its turn gives way to a philosophical quest. Mardi is Melville's first pure fiction work . It details (much like Typee and Omoo) the travelings of an American sailor who abandons his whaling vessel to explore the South Pacific. Unlike the first two, however, Mardi is highly philosophical and said to be the first work to show Melville's true potential. The tale begins as a simple narrative, but quickly focuses upon discourse between the main characters and their interactions with the different symbolic countries they encounter.

Leseprobe

Mardi; and, A Voyage Thither

By

Herman Melville

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Preface

VOLUME I

Foot In Stirrup

A Calm

A King For A Comrade

A Chat In The Clouds

Seats Secured And Portmanteaus Packed

Eight Bells

A Pause

They Push Off, Velis Et Remis

The Watery World Is All Before Them

They Arrange Their Canopies And Lounges, And Try To Make Things Comfortable

Jarl Afflicted With The Lockjaw

More About Being In An Open Boat

Of The Chondropterygii, And Other Uncouth Hordes Infesting The South Seas

Jarl’s Misgivings

A Stitch In Time Saves Nine

They Are Becalmed

In High Spirits, They Push On For The Terra Incognita

My Lord Shark And His Pages

Who Goes There?

Noises And Portents

Man Ho!

What Befel The Brigantine At The Pearl Shell Islands

Sailing From The Island They Pillage The Cabin

Dedicated To The College Of Physicians And Surgeons

Peril A Peace–Maker

Containing A Pennyweight Of Philosophy

In Which The Past History Op The Parki Is Concluded

Suspicions Laid, And Something About The Calmuc

What They Lighted Upon In Further Searching The Craft, And The Resolution They Came To

Hints For A Full Length Of Samoa

Rovings Alow And Aloft

Xiphius Platypterus

Otard

How They Steered On Their Way

Ah, Annatoo!

The Parki Gives Up The Ghost

Once More They Take To The Chamois

The Sea On Fire

They Fall In With Strangers

Sire And Sons

A Fray

Remorse

The Tent Entered

Away

Reminiscences

The Chamois With A Roving Commission

Yillah, Jarl, And Samoa

Something Under The Surface

Yillah

Yillah In Ardair

The Dream Begins To Fade

World Ho!

The Chamois Ashore

A Gentleman From The Sun

Tiffin In A Temple

King Media A Host

Taji Takes Counsel With Himself

Mardi By Night And Yillah By Day

Their Morning Meal

Belshazzar On The Bench

An Incognito

Taji Retires From The World

Odo And Its Lord

Yillah A Phantom

Taji Makes Three Acquaintances

With A Fair Wind, At Sunrise They Sail

Little King Peepi

How Teeth Were Regarded In Valapee

The Company Discourse, And Braid–Beard Rehearses A Legend

The Minstrel Leads Off With A Paddle–Song; And A Message Is Received From Abroad

They Land Upon The Island Of Juam

A Book From The Chronicles Of Mohi

Something More Of The Prince

Advancing Deeper Into The Vale, They Encounter Donjalolo

Time And Temples

A Pleasant Place For A Lounge

The House Of The Afternoon

Babbalanja Solus

The Center Of Many Circumferences

Donjalolo In The Bosom Of His Family

Wherein Babbalanja Relates The Adventure Of One Karkeke In The Land Of Shades

How Donjalolo, Sent Agents To The Surrounding Isles; With The Result

They Visit The Tributary Islets

Taji Sits Down To Dinner With Five–And-Twenty Kings, And A Royal Time They Have

After Dinner

Of Those Scamps The Plujii

Nora–Bamma

In A Calm, Hautia’s Heralds Approach

Braid–Beard Rehearses The Origin Of The Isle Of Rogues

Rare Sport At Ohonoo

Of King Uhia And His Subjects

The God Keevi And The Precipice Op Mondo

Babbalanja Steps In Between Mohi And Yoomy; And Yoomy Relates A Legend

Of That Jolly Old Lord, Borabolla; And That Jolly Island Of His, Mondoldo; And Of The Fish–Ponds, And The Hereafters Of Fish

That Jolly Old Lord Borabolla Laughs On Both Sides Of His Face

Samoa A Surgeon

Faith And Knowledge

The Tale Of A Traveler

“Marnee Ora, Ora Marnee”

The Pursuer Himself Is Pursued

The Iris

They Depart From Mondoldo

As They Sail

Wherein Babbalanja Broaches A Diabolical Theory, And, In His Own Person, Proves It

VOLUME II

Maramma

They Land

They Pass Through The Woods

Hivohitee Mdcccxlviii

They Visit The Great Morai

They Discourse Of The Gods Of Mardi, And Braid–Beard Tells Of One Foni

They Visit The Lake Of Yammo

They Meet The Pilgrims At The Temple Of Oro

They Discourse Of Alma

Kohl Tells Of One Ravoo, And They Land To Visit Revaneva, A Flourishing Artisan

A Nursery–Tale Of Babbalanja’s

Landing To Visit Hivohitee The Pontiff, They Encounter An Extraordinary Old Hermit; With Whom Yoomy Has A Confidential Interview, But Learns Little

Babbalanja Endeavors To Explain The Mystery

Taji Receives Tidings And Omens

Dreams

Media And Babbalanja Discourse

They Regale Themselves With Their Pipes

They Visit An Extraordinary Old Antiquary

They Go Down Into The Catacombs

Babbalanja Quotes From An Antique Pagan; And Earnestly Presses It Upon The Company, That What He Recites Is Not His, But Another’s

They Visit A Wealthy Old Pauper

Yoomy Sings Some Odd Verses, And Babbalanja Quotes From The Old Authors Right And Left

What Manner Of Men The Tapparians Were

Their Adventures Upon Landing At Pimminee

A, I, and O

A Reception Day At Pimminee

Babbalanja Falleth Upon Pimminee Tooth And Nail

Babbalanja Regales The Company With Some Sandwiches

They Still Remain Upon The Rock

Behind And Before

Babbalanja Discourses In The Dark

My Lord Media Summons Mohi To The Stand

Wherein Babbalanja And Yoomy Embrace

Of The Isle Of Diranda

They Visit The Lords Piko And Hello

They Attend The Games

Taji Still Hunted, And Beckoned

They Embark From Diranda

Wherein Babbalanja Discourses Of Himself

Of The Sorcerers In The Isle Of Minda

Chiefly Of Sing Bello

Dominora And Vivenza

They Land At Dominora

Through Dominora, They Wander After Yillah

They Behold King Bello’s State Canoe

Wherein Babbalanja Bows Thrice

Babbalanja Philosophizes, And My Lord Media Passes Round The Calabashes

They Sail Round An Island Without Landing; And Talk Round A Subject Without Getting At It

They Draw Nigh To Porpheero; Where They Behold A Terrific Eruption

Wherein King Media Celebrates The Glories Of Autumn, The Minstrel, The Promise Of Spring

In Which Azzageddi Seems To Use Babbalanja For A Mouth–Piece

The Charming Yoomy Sings

They Draw Nigh Unto Land

They Visit The Great Central Temple Of Vivenza

Wherein Babbalanja Comments Upon The Speech Of Alanno

A Scene In Tee Land Of Warwicks, Or King–Makers

They Hearken Unto A Voice From The Gods

They Visit The Extreme South Of Vivenza

They Converse Of The Mollusca, Kings, Toad–Stools And Other Matters

Wherein, That Gallant Gentleman And Demi–God, King Media, Scepter In Hand, Throws Himself Into The Breach

They Round The Stormy Cape Of Capes

They Encounter Gold–Hunters

They Seek Through The Isles Of Palms; And Pass The Isles Of Myrrh

Concentric, Inward, With Mardi’s Reef, They Leave Their Wake Around The World

Sailing On

A Flight Of Nightingales From Yoomy’s Mouth

They Visit One Doxodox

King Media Dreams

After A Long Interval, By Night They Are Becalmed

They Land At Hooloomooloo

A Book From The “Ponderings Of Old Bardianna”

Babbalanja Starts To His Feet

At Last, The Last Mention Is Made Of Old Bardianna; And His Last Will And Testament Is Recited At Length

A Death–Cloud Sweeps By Them, As They Sail

They Visit The Palmy King Abrazza

Some Pleasant, Shady Talk In The Groves, Between My Lords Abrazza And Media, Babbalanja, Mohi, And Yoomy

They Sup

They Embark

Babbalanja At The Full Of The Moon

Morning

L’ultima Sera

They Sail From Night To Day

They Land

Babbalanja Relates To Them A Vision

They Depart From Serenia

They Meet The Phantoms

They Draw Nigh To Flozella

They Land

They Enter The Bower Of Hautia

Taji With Hautia

Mardi Behind: An Ocean Before

Preface

Not long ago, having published two narratives of voyages in the Pacific, which, in many quarters, were received with incredulity, the thought occurred to me, of indeed writing a romance of Polynesian adventure, and publishing it as such; to see whether, the fiction might not, possibly, be received for a verity: in some degree the reverse of my previous experience.

This thought was the germ of others, which have resulted in Mardi.

New York, January, 1849.

VOLUME I

Chapter 1

Foot In Stirrup

We are off! The courses and topsails are set: the coral-hung anchor swings from the bow: and together, the three royals are given to the breeze, that follows us out to sea like the baying of a hound. Out spreads the canvas — alow, aloft-boom-stretched, on both sides, with many a stun’ sail; till like a hawk, with pinions poised, we shadow the sea with our sails, and reelingly cleave the brine.

But whence, and whither wend ye, mariners?

We sail from Ravavai, an isle in the sea, not very far northward from the tropic of Capricorn, nor very far westward from Pitcairn’s island, where the mutineers of the Bounty settled. At Ravavai I had stepped ashore some few months previous; and now was embarked on a cruise for the whale, whose brain enlightens the world.

And from Ravavai we sail for the Gallipagos, otherwise called the Enchanted Islands, by reason of the many wild currents and eddies there met.

Now, round about those isles, which Dampier once trod, where the Spanish bucaniers once hived their gold moidores, the Cachalot, or sperm whale, at certain seasons abounds.

But thither, from Ravavai, your craft may not fly, as flies the sea-gull, straight to her nest. For, owing to the prevalence of the trade winds, ships bound to the northeast from the vicinity of Ravavai are fain to take something of a circuit; a few thousand miles or so. First, in pursuit of the variable winds, they make all haste to the south; and there, at length picking up a stray breeze, they stand for the main: then, making their easting, up helm, and away down the coast, toward the Line.

This round-about way did the Arcturion take; and in all conscience a weary one it was. Never before had the ocean appeared so monotonous; thank fate, never since.

But bravo! in two weeks’ time, an event. Out of the gray of the morning, and right ahead, as we sailed along, a dark object rose out of the sea; standing dimly before us, mists wreathing and curling aloft, and creamy breakers frothing round its base. — We turned aside, and, at length, when day dawned, passed Massafuero. With a glass, we spied two or three hermit goats winding down to the sea, in a ravine; and presently, a signal: a tattered flag upon a summit beyond. Well knowing, however, that there was nobody on the island but two or three noose-fulls of runaway convicts from Chili, our captain had no mind to comply with their invitation to land. Though, haply, he may have erred in not sending a boat off with his card.

A few days more and we “took the trades.” Like favors snappishly conferred, they came to us, as is often the case, in a very sharp squall; the shock of which carried away one of our spars; also our fat old cook off his legs; depositing him plump in the scuppers to leeward.

In good time making the desired longitude upon the equator, a few leagues west of the Gallipagos, we spent several weeks chassezing across the Line, to and fro, in unavailing search for our prey. For some of their hunters believe, that whales, like the silver ore in Peru, run in veins through the ocean. So, day after day, daily; and week after week, weekly, we traversed the self-same longitudinal intersection of the self-same Line; till we were almost ready to swear that we felt the ship strike every time her keel crossed that imaginary locality.

At length, dead before the equatorial breeze, we threaded our way straight along the very Line itself. Westward sailing; peering right, and peering left, but seeing naught.

It was during this weary time, that I experienced the first symptoms of that bitter impatience of our monotonous craft, which ultimately led to the adventures herein recounted.

But hold you! Not a word against that rare old ship, nor its crew. The sailors were good fellows all, the half, score of pagans we had shipped at the islands included. Nevertheless, they were not precisely to my mind. There was no soul a magnet to mine; none with whom to mingle sympathies; save in deploring the calms with which we were now and then overtaken; or in hailing the breeze when it came. Under other and livelier auspices the tarry knaves might have developed qualities more attractive. Had we sprung a leak, been “stove” by a whale, or been blessed with some despot of a captain against whom to stir up some spirited revolt, these shipmates of mine might have proved limber lads, and men of mettle. But as it was, there was naught to strike fire from their steel.

There were other things, also, tending to make my lot on ship-board very hard to be borne. True, the skipper himself was a trump; stood upon no quarter-deck dignity; and had a tongue for a sailor. Let me do him justice, furthermore: he took a sort of fancy for me in particular; was sociable, nay, loquacious, when I happened to stand at the helm. But what of that? Could he talk sentiment or philosophy? Not a bit. His library was eight inches by four: Bowditch, and Hamilton Moore.

And what to me, thus pining for some one who could page me a quotation from Burton on Blue Devils; what to me, indeed, were flat repetitions of long-drawn yams, and the everlasting stanzas of Black-eyed Susan sung by our full forecastle choir? Staler than stale ale.

Ay, ay, Arcturion! I say it in no malice, but thou wast exceedingly dull. Not only at sailing: hard though it was, that I could have borne; but in every other respect. The days went slowly round and round, endless and uneventful as cycles in space. Time, and time-pieces; How many centuries did my hammock tell, as pendulum-like it swung to the ship’s dull roll, and ticked the hours and ages. Sacred forever be the Areturion’s fore-hatch — alas! sea-moss is over it now — and rusty forever the bolts that held together that old sea hearth-stone, about which we so often lounged. Nevertheless, ye lost and leaden hours, I will rail at ye while life lasts.

Well: weeks, chronologically speaking, went by. Bill Marvel’s stories were told over and over again, till the beginning and end dovetailed into each other, and were united for aye. Ned Ballad’s songs were sung till the echoes lurked in the very tops, and nested in the bunts of the sails. My poor patience was clean gone.

But, at last after some time sailing due westward we quitted the Line in high disgust; having seen there, no sign of a whale.

But whither now? To the broiling coast of Papua? That region of sun-strokes, typhoons, and bitter pulls after whales unattainable. Far worse. We were going, it seemed, to illustrate the Whistonian theory concerning the damned and the comets; — hurried from equinoctial heats to arctic frosts. To be short, with the true fickleness of his tribe, our skipper had abandoned all thought of the Cachalot. In desperation, he was bent upon bobbing for the Right whale on the Nor’-West Coast and in the Bay of Kamschatska.