{"id":"01KG8AKS9KQ1ER0V78EZ1T1B9E","cid":"bafkreiacwspen42czd627ie7w7fqfins44wsmiosum72yktkdxuc6erngq","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":6489,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":6416,"text":"\r\n“Flood them over, then; but cease not discoursing; thanks be to the\r\ngods, your mortal palates and tongues can both wag together; fill up, I\r\nsay, Babbalanja; you are no philosopher, if you stop at the tenth cup;\r\nendurance is the test of philosophy all Mardi over; drink, I say, and\r\nmake us wise by precept and example.—Proceed, Yoomy, you look as if you\r\nhad something to say.”\r\n\r\n“Thanks, my lord. Just now, Babbalanja, you flew from the subject;— you\r\nspoke of boors; but has not the lowliest peasant an eye that can take\r\nin the vast horizon at a sweep: mountains, vales, plains, and oceans?\r\nIs such a being nothing?”\r\n\r\n“But can that eye see itself, Yoomy?” said Babbalanja, winking. “Taken\r\nout of its socket, will it see at all? Its connection with the body\r\nimparts to it its virtue.”\r\n\r\n“He questions every thing,” cried Mohi. “Philosopher, have you a head?”\r\n\r\n“I have,” said Babbalanja, feeling for it; “I am finished off at the\r\nhelm very much as other Mardians, Mohi.”\r\n\r\n“My lord, the first yea that ever came from him.”\r\n\r\n“Ah, Mohi,” said Media, “the discourse waxes heavy. I fear me we have\r\nagain come to the lees. Ho, Vee-Vee, a fresh calabash; and with it we\r\nwill change the subject. Now, Babbalanja, I have this cup to drink, and\r\nthen a question to propound. Ah, Mohi, rare old wine this; it smacks of\r\nthe cork. But attention, Philosopher. Supposing you had a wife—which,\r\nby the way, you have not—would you deem it sensible in her to imagine\r\nyou no more, because you happened to stroll out of her sight?”\r\n\r\n“However that might be,” murmured Yoomy, “young Nina bewailed herself a\r\nwidow, whenever Arhinoo, her lord, was absent from her side.”\r\n\r\n“My lord Media,” said Babbalanja, “During my absence, my wife would\r\nhave more reason to conclude that I was not living, than that I was. To\r\nthe former supposition, every thing tangible around her would tend; to\r\nthe latter, nothing but her own fond fancies. It is this imagination of\r\nours, my lord, that is at the bottom of these things. When I am in one\r\nplace, there exists no other. Yet am I but too apt to fancy the\r\nreverse. Nevertheless, when I am in Odo, talk not to me of Ohonoo. To\r\nme it is not, except when I am there. If it be, prove it. To prove it,\r\nyou carry me thither but you only prove, that to its substantive\r\nexistence, as cognizant to me, my presence is indispensable. I say\r\nthat, to me, all Mardi exists by virtue of my sovereign pleasure; and\r\nwhen I die, the universe will perish with me.”\r\n\r\n“Come you of a long-lived race,” said Mohi, “one free from apoplexies?\r\nI have many little things to accomplish yet, and would not be left in\r\nthe lurch.”\r\n\r\n“Heed him not, Babbalanja,” said Media. “Dip your beak again, my eagle,\r\nand soar.”\r\n\r\n“Let us be eagles, then, indeed, my lord: eagle-like, let us look at\r\nthis red wine without blinking; let us grow solemn, not boisterous,\r\nwith good cheer.”\r\n\r\nThen, lifting his cup, “My lord, serenely do I pity all who are stirred\r\none jot from their centers by ever so much drinking of this fluid. Ply\r\nhim hard as you will, through the live-long polar night, a wise man can\r\nnot be made drunk. Though, toward sunrise, his body may reel, it will\r\nreel round its center; and though he make many tacks in going home, he\r\nreaches it at last; while scores of over-plied fools are foundering by\r\nthe way. My lord, when wild with much thought, ’tis to wine I fly, to\r\nsober me; its magic fumes breathe over me like the Indian summer, which\r\nsteeps all nature in repose. To me, wine is no vulgar fire, no fosterer\r\nof base passions; my heart, ever open, is opened still wider; and\r\nglorious visions are born in my brain; it is then that I have all Mardi\r\nunder my feet, and the constellations of the firmament in my soul.”\r\n\r\n“Superb!” cried Yoomy.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJSY0QRGFVSXCEAR0PXHV","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKS9EFCFP8QNNAN10V1WY","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKS9QH9ZQEMZ5PGYMRTGY","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:15.667Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:24.788Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}