{"id":"01KG8AKW9T0NS2T97F01SRX6T7","cid":"bafkreidnc25hruxih7eapo65rjmn6o75hs6t3j7clodo3sjtvgi6oi6pzm","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":7522,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.539Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J1HYC04JWXEK48P07WPK","start_line":7447,"text":"“And, no doubt, like many others, they made that sepul for themselves.\r\nThey sleep sound, my word for it, old man. But I very much question,\r\nif, were the rock rent, any ashes would be found. Mohi, I deny that\r\nthose kings ever had any bones to bury.”\r\n\r\n“Why, Babbalanja,” said Media, “since you intimate that they never had\r\nghosts to give up, you ignore them in toto; denying the very fact of\r\ntheir being even defunct.”\r\n\r\n“Ten thousand pardons, my lord, no such discourtesy would I do the\r\nanonymous memory of the illustrious dead. But whether they ever lived\r\nor not, it is all the same with them now. Yet, grant that they lived;\r\nthen, if death be a deaf-and-dumb death, a triumphal procession over\r\ntheir graves would concern them not. If a birth into brightness, then\r\nMardi must seem to them the most trivial of reminiscences. Or, perhaps,\r\ntheirs may be an utter lapse of memory concerning sublunary things; and\r\nthey themselves be not themselves, as the butterfly is not the larva.”\r\n\r\nSaid Yoomy, “Then, Babbalanja, you account that a fit illustration of\r\nthe miraculous change to be wrought in man after death?”\r\n\r\n“No; for the analogy has an unsatisfactory end. From its chrysalis\r\nstate, the silkworm but becomes a moth, that very quickly expires. Its\r\nlongest existence is as a worm. All vanity, vanity, Yoomy, to seek in\r\nnature for positive warranty to these aspirations of ours. Through all\r\nher provinces, nature seems to promise immortality to life, but\r\ndestruction to beings. Or, as old Bardianna has it, if not against us,\r\nnature is not for us.”\r\n\r\nSaid Media, rising, “Babbalanja, you have indeed put aside the\r\ncourtier; talking of worms and caterpillars to me, a king and a demi-\r\ngod! To renown, for your theme: a more agreeable topic.”\r\n\r\n“Pardon, once again, my lord. And since you will, let us discourse of\r\nthat subject. First, I lay it down for an indubitable maxim, that in\r\nitself all posthumous renown, which is the only renown, is valueless.\r\nBe not offended, my lord. To the nobly ambitious, renown hereafter may\r\nbe something to anticipate. But analyzed, that feverish typhoid feeling\r\nof theirs may be nothing more than a flickering fancy, that now, while\r\nliving, they are recognized as those who will be as famous in their\r\nshrouds, as in their girdles.”\r\n\r\nSaid Yoomy, “But those great and good deeds, Babbalanja, of which the\r\nphilosophers so often discourse: must it not be sweet to believe that\r\ntheir memory will long survive us; and we ourselves in them?”\r\n\r\n“I speak now,” said Babbalanja, “of the ravening for fame which even\r\nappeased, like thirst slaked in the desert, yields no felicity, but\r\nonly relief; and which discriminates not in aught that will satisfy its\r\ncravings. But let me resume. Not an hour ago, Braid-Beard was telling\r\nus that story of prince Ottimo, who inodorous while living, expressed\r\nmuch delight at the prospect of being perfumed and embalmed, when dead.\r\nBut was not Ottimo the most eccentric of mortals? For few men issue\r\norders for their shrouds, to inspect their quality beforehand. Far more\r\nanxious are they about the texture of the sheets in which their living\r\nlimbs lie. And, my lord, with some rare exceptions, does not all Mardi,\r\nby its actions, declare, that it is far better to be notorious now,\r\nthan famous hereafter?”\r\n\r\n“A base sentiment, my lord,” said Yoomy. “Did not poor Bonja, the\r\nunappreciated poet, console himself for the neglect of his\r\ncontemporaries, by inspiriting thoughts of the future?”\r\n\r\n“In plain words by bethinking him of the glorious harvest of bravos his\r\nghost would reap for him,” said Babbalanja; “but Banjo,—Bonjo,—Binjo,—I\r\nnever heard of him.”\r\n\r\n“Nor I,” said Mohi.\r\n\r\n“Nor I,” said Media.\r\n\r\n“Poor fellow!” cried Babbalanja; “I fear me his harvest is not yet\r\nripe.”\r\n\r\n“Alas!” cried Yoomy; “he died more than a century ago.”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJVHTAE1QV7CGDG9DQPA8","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1HYC04JWXEK48P07WPK","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKW9TPAG7KRV7BX1E7CAS","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKWWCRYW21WY31XS7Z0TR","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.746Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:31.354Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}