Chapter 59

Their Morning Meal

Not wholly is our world made up of bright stars and bright eyes: so
now to our story.

A conscientious host should ever be up betimes, to look after the
welfare of his guests, and see to it that their day begin
auspiciously. King Media announced the advent of the sun, by rustling
at my bower's eaves in person.

A repast was spread in an adjoining arbor, which Media's pages had
smoothed for our reception, and where his subordinate chiefs were in
attendance. Here we reclined upon mats. Balmy and fresh blew the
breath of the morning; golden vapors were upon the mountains, silver
sheen upon the grass; and the birds were at matins in the groves;
their bright plumage flashing into view, here and there, as if some
rainbow were crouching in the foliage.

Spread before us were viands, served in quaint-shaped, curiously-dyed
gourds, not Sevres, but almost as tasteful; and like true porcelain,
fire had tempered them. Green and yielding, they are plucked from the
tree; and emptied of their pulp, are scratched over with minute
marks, like those of a line engraving. The ground prepared, the
various figures are carefully etched. And the outlines filled up with
delicate punctures, certain vegetable oils are poured over them, for
coloring. Filled with a peculiar species of earth, the gourd is now
placed in an oven in the ground. And in due time exhumed, emptied of
its contents, and washed in the stream, it presents a deep-dyed
exterior; every figure distinctly traced and opaque, but the
ground semi-transparent. In some cases, owing to the variety of dyes
employed, each figure is of a different hue.

More glorious goblets than these for the drinking of wine, went never
from hand to mouth. Capacious as pitchers, they almost superseded
decanters.

Now, in a tropical climate, fruit, with light wines, forms the only
fit meal of a morning. And with orchards and vineyards forever in
sight, who but the Hetman of the Cossacs would desire more? We had
plenty of the juice of the grape. But of this hereafter; there are
some fine old cellars, and plenty of good cheer in store.

During the repast, Media, for a time, was much taken up with our
raiment. He begged me to examine for a moment the texture of his
right royal robe, and observe how much superior it was to my own. It
put my mantle to the blush; being tastefully stained with rare
devices in red and black; and bordered with dyed fringes of feathers,
and tassels of red birds' claws.

Next came under observation the Skyeman's Guayaquil hat; at whose
preposterous shape, our host laughed in derision; clapping a great
conical calabash upon the head of an attendant, and saying that now
he was Jarl. At this, and all