Time now to enter upon some further description of the island and its
lord.
And first for Media: a gallant gentleman and king. From a goodly
stock he came. In his endless pedigree, reckoning deities by
decimals, innumerable kings, and scores of great heroes, chiefs, and
priests. Nor in person, did he belie his origin. No far-descended
dwarf was he, the least of a receding race. He stood like a palm
tree; about whose acanthus capital droops not more gracefully the
silken fringes, than Media's locks upon his noble brow. Strong was
his arm to wield the club, or hurl the javelin; and potent, I ween, round a maiden's waist.
Thus much here for Media. Now comes his isle.
Our pleasant ramble found it a little round world by itself; full of
beauties as a garden; chequered by charming groves; watered by roving
brooks; and fringed all round by a border of palm trees, whose roots
drew nourishment from the water. But though abounding in other
quarters of the Archipelago, not a solitary bread-fruit grew in Odo. A noteworthy circumstance, observable in these regions, where islands close adjoining, so differ in their soil, that certain fruits growing genially in one, are foreign to another. But Odo was famed for its guavas, whose flavor was likened to the flavor of new-blown lips; and for its grapes, whose juices prompted many a laugh and many a groan.
Beside the city where Media dwelt, there were few other
clusters of habitations in Odo. The higher classes living, here and
there, in separate households; but not as eremites. Some buried
themselves in the cool, quivering bosoms of the groves. Others, fancying a marine vicinity, dwelt hard by the beach in little cages of bamboo; whence of mornings they sallied out with jocund cries, and went plunging into the refreshing bath, whose frothy margin was the threshold of their dwellings. Others still, like birds, built their nests among the sylvan nooks of the elevated interior; whence all below, and hazy green, lay steeped in languor the island's throbbing heart.
Thus dwelt the chiefs and merry men of mark. The common sort, including serfs, and Helots, war-captives held in bondage, lived in secret places, hard to find. Whence it came, that, to a stranger, the whole isle looked care-free and beautiful. Deep among the ravines and the rocks, these beings lived in noisome caves, lairs for beasts, not human homes; or built them coops of rotten boughs—living trees were banned them—whose mouldy hearts hatched vermin. Fearing infection of some plague, born of this filth, the chiefs of Odo seldom passed that way and looking round within their green retreats, and pouring out their wine, and plucking from orchards of the best, marveled how these swine could grovel in the mire, and wear such sallow cheeks. But they offered no sweet homes; from that mire they never sought to drag them out; they open threw no orchard; and intermitted not the mandates that condemned their drudges to a life of deaths. Sad sight! to see those round-shouldered Helots, stooping in their trenches: artificial, three in number, and concentric: the isle well nigh surrounding. And herein, fed by oozy loam, and kindly dew from heaven, and bitter sweat from men, grew as in hot-beds the nutritious Taro.
Toil is man's allotment; toil of brain, or toil of hands, or a grief
that's more than either, the grief and sin of idleness. But when man
toils and slays himself for masters who withhold the life he
gives to them—then, then, the soul screams out, and every sinew
cracks. So with these poor serfs. And few of them could choose but be
the brutes they seemed.
Now needs it to be said, that Odo was no land of pleasure unalloyed, and plenty without a pause?—Odo, in whose lurking-places infants turned from breasts, whence flowed no nourishment.—Odo, in whose inmost haunts, dark groves were brooding, passing which you heard most dismal cries, and voices cursing Media. There, men were scourged; their crime, a heresy; the heresy, that Media was no demigod. For this they shrieked. Their fathers shrieked before; their fathers, who, tormented, said, "Happy we to groan, that our children's children may be glad." But their children's children howled. Yet these, too, echoed previous generations, and loudly swore, "The pit that's dug for us may prove another's grave."