{"id":"01KG8AKNPV7WESXWEK5HWGBZVY","cid":"bafkreibn43zen7rwws3cw6eslv2omi3lb7qtacuzhfuphsodg3eayemumy","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":3009,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 1","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":2933,"text":"\r\nSaid Media, “The lark soars high, cares for no auditor, yet its sweet\r\nnotes are heard here below. It sings, too, in company with myriads of\r\nmates. Your soliloquists, Yoomy, are mostly herons and owls.”\r\n\r\nSaid Babbalanja, “Very clever, my lord; but think you not, there are\r\nmen eloquent, who never babble in the marketplace?”\r\n\r\n“Ay, and arrant babblers at home. In few words, Babbalanja, you espouse\r\na bad cause. Most of you mortals are peacocks; some having tails, and\r\nsome not; those who have them will be sure to thrust their plumes in\r\nyour face; for the rest, they will display their bald cruppers, and\r\nstill screech for admiration. But when a great genius is born into\r\nMardi, he nods, and is known.”\r\n\r\n“More wit, but, with deference, perhaps less truth, my lord. Say what\r\nyou will, Fame is an accident; merit a thing absolute. But what matter?\r\nOf what available value reputation, unless wedded to power, dentals, or\r\nplace? To those who render him applause, a poet’s may seem a thing\r\ntangible; but to the recipient, ’tis a fantasy; the poet never so\r\nstretches his imagination, as when striving to comprehend what it is;\r\noften, he is famous without knowing it.”\r\n\r\n“At the sacred games of Lazella,” said Yoomy, “slyly crowned from\r\nbehind with a laurel fillet, for many hours, the minstrel Jarmi\r\nwandered about ignorant of the honors he bore. But enlightened at last,\r\nhe doffed the wreath; then, holding it at arm’s length, sighed\r\nforth—Oh, ye laurels! to be visible to me, ye must be removed from my\r\nbrow!”\r\n\r\n“And what said Botargo,” cried Babbalanja, “hearing that his poems had\r\nbeen translated into the language of the remote island of Bertranda?—\r\n‘It stirs me little; already, in merry fancies, have I dreamed of their\r\nbeing trilled by the blessed houris in paradise; I can only imagine the\r\nsame of the damsels of Bertranda.’ Says Boldo, the\r\nMaterialist,—‘Substances alone are satisfactory.’”\r\n\r\n“And so thought the mercenary poet, Zenzi,” said Yoomy. “Upon receiving\r\nfourteen ripe yams for a sonnet, one for every line, he said to me,\r\nYoomy, I shall make a better meal upon these, than upon so many\r\ncompliments.”\r\n\r\n“Ay,” cried Babbalanja, “‘Bravos,’ saith old Bardianna, but induce\r\nflatulency.’”\r\n\r\nSaid Media, “And do you famous mortals, then, take no pleasure in\r\nhearing your bravos?”\r\n\r\n“Much, my good lord; at least such famous mortals, so enamored of a\r\nclamorous notoriety, as to bravo for themselves, when none else will\r\nhuzza; whose whole existence is an unintermitting consciousness of\r\nself; whose very persons stand erect and self-sufficient as their\r\ninfallible index, the capital letter I; who relish and comprehend no\r\nreputation but what attaches to the carcass; who would as lief be\r\nrenowned for a splendid mustache, as for a splendid drama: who know not\r\nhow it was that a personage, to posterity so universally celebrated as\r\nthe poet Vavona, ever passed through the crowd unobserved; who deride\r\nthe very thunder for making such a noise in Mardi, and yet disdain to\r\nmanifest itself to the eye.”\r\n\r\n“Wax not so warm, Babbalanja; but tell us, if to his contemporaries\r\nVavona’s person was almost unknown, what satisfaction did he derive\r\nfrom his genius?”\r\n\r\n“Had he not its consciousness?—an empire boundless as the West. What to\r\nhim were huzzas? Why, my lord, from his privacy, the great and good\r\nLogodora sent liniment to the hoarse throats without. But what said\r\nBardianna, when they dunned him for autographs?—‘Who keeps the register\r\nof great men? who decides upon noble actions? and how long may ink\r\nlast? Alas! Fame has dropped more rolls than she displays; and there\r\nare more lost chronicles, than the perished books of the historian\r\nLivella.’ But what is lost forever, my lord, is nothing to what is now\r\nunseen. There are more treasures in the bowels of the earth, than on\r\nits surface.”\r\n\r\n“Ah! no gold,” cried Yoomy, “but that comes from dark mines.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 1"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AKF82S23PA0TDSJ1YDVY6","peer_type":"section","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKNPV4Q9ETRQV55ET7A3S","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:11.995Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:21.200Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}