V.“Suspense becomes intolerable, I can no longer bear it,” I said, and cast myself into the sea to drown my sorrow in its mournful waves.VI.Unfortunately, I discovered how to swim, so my history does not end here.VII.When I rose to the surface—one always rises two or three times before drowning—yielding to my passion for soliloquies, I inquired what right had I thus to seek to destroy myself; if the world would not be just one Penguin worse off, had I met my end, &c. My soliloquy was long. I was drifting many leagues straight ahead; now and again diving with the dire resolve of going to the bottom andremaining there. But for some reason I always found myself coming to the surface, and, to tell the truth, the air seemed all the more refreshing after each dip. Just as my seventh attempt at suicide had miscarried, I rose to find myself side by side with a creature whose simple unaffectedness won my heart at first sight.“What were you after below there, Mr. Penguin? and where are you going?” he inquired, bowing profoundly.“I hardly know,” I replied.“Well,” said he, “suppose we go together.”I willingly agreed, and on the way related my misfortunes to him. When I had finished, he asked me if I had formed any plans for the future. “No,” I said, “not any, still I have half a mind to travel in search of my lady-love, the Gull.”“How came you to love a Gull? You look a large solid bird enough. Why don’t you devote your affections to one of your own decent stay-at-home kind? Depend upon it, the Gull, could you wed her, would only bring grief. She is puffed out with feathers, and ever on the wing; she would soon desert you for one of her own kind.”This seemed severe, and I replied testily, “There’s no accounting either for tastes or for love. It came upon me like a sunbeam from heaven.”“From heaven!” said my companion. “Lovers’ language! Astrong light, this light of love; and it has left a shadow of pitchy darkness somewhere, has it not?”“Ah! sir,” I said, “you look dejected. My story, perchance, stirred up old memories.” He said nothing, but wrapped in profound melancholy ascended a rock left dry by the tide, and I followed. There was such an air of profundity about him that I inquired what he was thinking about.“Nothing,” he replied.“But who are you, whose silence is so eloquent?”“I am of the Palmiped family, and my name is Fool.”“You, Fool!” I cried. “Come!”“Yes,” he replied, “I am so named in the world from my habit of minding other people’s affairs and neglecting my own; so sinking myself, what can I do for you? Listen, my friend,” said this sublime bird; “not far from here is an island called the ‘Isle of Penguins.’ It is only inhabited by birds of your tribe. They are all of them equally ugly; go there, and who knows, you may even be thought handsome.”“Am I then so unsightly?” said I.“Yes,” he said, “you are as unlike the gull as the grub is unlike the butterfly.”
“Suspense becomes intolerable, I can no longer bear it,” I said, and cast myself into the sea to drown my sorrow in its mournful waves.
Unfortunately, I discovered how to swim, so my history does not end here.
When I rose to the surface—one always rises two or three times before drowning—yielding to my passion for soliloquies, I inquired what right had I thus to seek to destroy myself; if the world would not be just one Penguin worse off, had I met my end, &c. My soliloquy was long. I was drifting many leagues straight ahead; now and again diving with the dire resolve of going to the bottom andremaining there. But for some reason I always found myself coming to the surface, and, to tell the truth, the air seemed all the more refreshing after each dip. Just as my seventh attempt at suicide had miscarried, I rose to find myself side by side with a creature whose simple unaffectedness won my heart at first sight.
“What were you after below there, Mr. Penguin? and where are you going?” he inquired, bowing profoundly.
“I hardly know,” I replied.
“Well,” said he, “suppose we go together.”
I willingly agreed, and on the way related my misfortunes to him. When I had finished, he asked me if I had formed any plans for the future. “No,” I said, “not any, still I have half a mind to travel in search of my lady-love, the Gull.”
“How came you to love a Gull? You look a large solid bird enough. Why don’t you devote your affections to one of your own decent stay-at-home kind? Depend upon it, the Gull, could you wed her, would only bring grief. She is puffed out with feathers, and ever on the wing; she would soon desert you for one of her own kind.”
This seemed severe, and I replied testily, “There’s no accounting either for tastes or for love. It came upon me like a sunbeam from heaven.”
“From heaven!” said my companion. “Lovers’ language! Astrong light, this light of love; and it has left a shadow of pitchy darkness somewhere, has it not?”
“Ah! sir,” I said, “you look dejected. My story, perchance, stirred up old memories.” He said nothing, but wrapped in profound melancholy ascended a rock left dry by the tide, and I followed. There was such an air of profundity about him that I inquired what he was thinking about.
“Nothing,” he replied.
“But who are you, whose silence is so eloquent?”
“I am of the Palmiped family, and my name is Fool.”
“You, Fool!” I cried. “Come!”
“Yes,” he replied, “I am so named in the world from my habit of minding other people’s affairs and neglecting my own; so sinking myself, what can I do for you? Listen, my friend,” said this sublime bird; “not far from here is an island called the ‘Isle of Penguins.’ It is only inhabited by birds of your tribe. They are all of them equally ugly; go there, and who knows, you may even be thought handsome.”
“Am I then so unsightly?” said I.
“Yes,” he said, “you are as unlike the gull as the grub is unlike the butterfly.”