Landscape with Figures 15 – Fraser · Library Across
Literature · Science Fiction & Fantasy
Landscape with Figures 15Chapter 14
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Literature · Science Fiction & Fantasy
Landscape with Figures 15
Chapter 14
FraserEnglish
Ambrose’s narrative proceeds with the same observant calm; and it is from the heightened colour of the things he has to describe, and the heightened emotion of the conversation he has to set down, rather than from any deliberately enhanced passion of his language, that we derive our impression of the beauty of the Peach-blossom Valley. He shows us the lagoons, the valleys, the oyster-shaped rocks and the distant mountains, and he describes the reactions of his companions, without intervention of sentimental comment.
It seems that in the misty, serene and summer-promising loveliness of the next daybreak they embarked and entered the gorge almost without waiting for breakfast, undeterred, confirmed even in their resolution, by the disappearance of all the servants, except Such-a-one, who explained that they regarded the manifestation of the Dragon as a warning, and would undoubtedly spread the news, as they returned to their villages, that the whole party had been carried away.
The mists had scarcely lifted from the quivering reeds, and the sky was still all blue and rose, when they poled across the clear black water and entered the gorge. There proved to be nothing formidable or gloomy in the gorge. It was wide and, when mists lifted, warm sunlight poured down among rock shapes of a dream, throwing queer shadows on the water. Their passage along these fantastic corridors was slow. The sails were useless, and the water was too deep for the pole, so that progress could only be made by the use of paddles and by pushing on the fissures and protuberances of the rock. But it was not easy, for the boats were heavy, and either they were continually bumping on a buttress or coming neatly to rest in an angle, or else one had to paddle against the stream over an open sheet of water, for here and there the gorge widened into a mountain-locked lake, and there were arms of the lake running into green mountain-valleys, and wide bays and beaches bordered with majestic groves of the tall, springing bamboo. There were also dragon-hiding pools under contorted cliffs, black waters and shadowy flights of fish.
They all worked silently with pole and paddle. At last Quentin wiped the sweat off his face and asked: “Who’ll swim with me in the Gorge of Dragons?”
“I will.” The voices of Lychnis and Ruby chimed high among the rocks, echoed by Fulke Arnott.
“Wait a minute,” put in Lord Sombrewater. “Is it safe, swimming here?” He addressed Such-a-one.
The Chinaman smiled gravely. “The river is warm and sweet and clear, Excellence. There are few reeds in the channel, and there is nothing more formidable, by day, than pike. These, however, are voracious.”
“I’m not frightened of fish,” said Lychnis. “I’ll kick them.” Anticipating her father’s consent, she vanished into the interior of her boat, followed by Ruby; and Ambrose remarks that, after the silk robes in which they had for so many days suffered obliteration, the manifestation of their naked limbs and plum-coloured bodies was quite surprising. Soon four of the party were in the river—the two young women, Quentin (whom Ambrose likens to a piece of live rock), and Fulke (who was dragonish). They sported and splashed round the leading boat like water-gods, or swam far ahead, dark little heads and shining arms driving showers of water-drops. Then Lychnis and Ruby, when they were tired of it, played at being hippopotamuses, like children. That was on the suggestion of Lychnis; and Ambrose, leaning out of his window when she plunged, saw her shortened body down under the water, and her pale pretending face, her still eyes, when she floated up through the water to breathe. She was followed by the dim mass of Quentin, who had suddenly appeared beside her from under the boat.
“I nearly had you,” he said, spouting water from his mouth. “Drown with me, and let us be drifted into some underwater cave, locked together in a never-ending river-dream.” She made a fox-face at him.
The others swam in their turn. After the bathe they had a meal, and some strolled in the groves and some slept in the warmth, and later in the day they went on again, singing, and satisfied with the still splendour of evening. They spent the night in a creek, among clumps of bamboo.
It was during the following morning that the gorge began to open out, as the mountain range through which they had passed declined into a broken litter of jade-green hills, and they saw ahead of them the first glimpses of the Peach-blossom Valley. They called it the Peach-blossom Valley then because the journey came to an end there, Terence having received the necessary intimation; but Ambrose tries over some other names, as Willow Valley, and Valley of Emerald Hills, and Valley of Blue Pines. They were so moved, it seems, by the composed beauty of the scene that met their eyes as they left the mild opening of the ravine that for a time they forgot each other’s existence and lived alone in the delicate solitude of that dreamy landscape. The stream, deep and slow, wound between willows, and through the willow-screen they saw verdant lawns with a fleeting glimpse of deer. Beyond, there were orchards of cherry, peach and plum, so that the valley seemed full of low-drifting clouds, white and pink; above the clouds gleamed the smooth emerald of the hills, the blue pines and quaint outcroppings of jade-hued rock. Birds sang. The stream was fed by little tributaries that murmured among the lawns. Tributaries and stream were spanned by bridges of lacquer and here, among groves of bamboo, was the yellow-tiled roof of a pavilion, and there, sticking up out of the peach-blossom foam, a sunlit pagoda or a porcelain tower; and once, on the verandah of a pavilion by the water, they saw a figure seated in meditation, and once an angler under the willows.
“We are in water-colour land,” said Quentin. “This valley is done on silk. I fear you others are too gross-minded to subsist here for long.”
It was a landscape of unrivalled delicacy and refined distinction, a tone-subtlety of pale pink and blue, amber and apple-green, with harmonious notes of red and, in the hazy sky, of yellow. A soft wind fanned them up-stream. The valley widened continually, and the channel of the stream became lost in the first shimmering stretches of a lagoon. Now on either side they saw other valleys opening out, and beyond them glimpses of frowning pine-wood under azure and jade-brown crags. Azalea flamed on the hillsides. Ahead of them the arm of the lagoon on which they were sailing was studded with emerald islets, and the oyster-shell rocks rose out of seas of lilies. The hills toppled curiously, and in the strange perspective the distant mountains seemed to zigzag and stagger a little—not, indeed, out of harmony with the general effect of something artificial, composed and deliberately fantastic in a scene which might have proceeded from the mind of a classic artist.
Now they approached a part where the hills came right down to the water, and the lagoon took a right-angled turn between gate-posts of rock, the valley turning with it in its general design. Rounding the rocks on their left-hand, they saw before them a reach of water stretching away two or three miles, and perhaps a mile wide. This lake also, softly lapping in the all-pervading sunlight, was studded with islets of tender green; but in the middle of it—as near as they could judge the middle—there stood a greater island of rock, lifted high out of the water, crowned with pine-trees, flower-bearing, afloat, as it seemed, in a water-meadow sewn with a million opening buds of the lotus. The boats drifted unheeded while they all gazed at the tremulous, tender beauty of the scene—lapping water; island rock in lotus-meadow; reedy shores; blossom on emerald hills; beyond, a hint of snow-capped mountains; and all poised before them, clear-cut and delicate in a dream-medium of quivering, sun-saturated air.
With one accord they turned to Lychnis, as if to inquire what her thoughts were. Her face had a flush like the tip of the opening lotus. “The Dragon Altar on the Dragon Island,” she whispered to Such-a-one, who was observed to be in the doubled-up position of one who makes obeisance.
Nor would he lead them in the boats any nearer the rock.
“I’ll swim there,” said Quentin. “There’ll be lanes through the lotus-meadow.”
“I desire you to be good enough to refrain on this occasion.” Lord Sombrewater spoke peremptorily.
“Very well,” Quentin replied. “I obey. My heart is chastened, for the moment, by the supreme and subtle distinction of the water-colourist who composed this classic landscape, and there will be opportunities for enterprise at a later date.”
“But where are we going to live?” complained Ruby. “We can’t live for ever in these boats.”
“What does it matter?” asked Lychnis. “I’d like to go on floating for ever among the lotuses, dabbling my hands in the lake, until the world vanished and there was only a single lotus and my contemplation.” There was profound passion in her voice, and Blackwood turned to controvert the element of heresy in her point of view. But she woke from reverie and made some inquiries. “This is perhaps the earthly paradise. Can we stay here?” She addressed the Chinaman. “Is this valley for us? May we live in those pavilions and contemplate in those porcelain towers? Oh, Ruby! did you see the verandahs? What a summer we shall have—water-parties and lantern-feasts!”
The black eyes of their guide, unreadable as boot-buttons, regarded her child-like excitement. He bowed. “Nobody will prevent you, in these valleys, from the enjoyment of whatever you may find at your disposal. Let us explore the accommodative facilities.”
So they skirted the margin of the water for more than a mile, stealing glances at the mysterious island. They passed many a reedy creek, where carp, great and little, were swimming in hundreds, and green-headed ducks; many a lawn coming down to the water’s edge, with willow-tree or small, twisted pine; and at last they came to a mooring raft of bamboo poles. There Such-a-one made fast, and led his party, in their gay silks, by lawn and tall grove of bamboo toward the tributary valleys. At well-spaced intervals he would indicate some pavilion, designed and placed with regard to the surrounding contours, that was at their disposal, and the party began to drop members at one or other of these. Blackwood chose one by a stream not far from the lake for himself alone. It had a copper-domed summer-house, where he could sit and meditate by the water. Quentin, too, chose to be solitary, in a gorgeous pavilion with a verandah and a pointed roof of yellow and peacock-blue tiles. Next, farther away from the lake, Lord Sombrewater chose an airy and complicated summer pavilion for Lychnis and Ruby, Frew-Gaff, Ambrose and himself. Such-a-one bowed as they entered, saying: “The Pavilion of the Yellow Emperor.” This Pavilion, situated among lawns within the crescent of a forest of tall and splendid bamboo, was a puzzle of open verandahs, screens, windows, interior courtyards and little chambers and closets in threes. The massive roof, weighted with curved rows of vermilion tiles, rose from a tangle of upward-curling horns and grotesque monsters to a central and whirling creature that was both dragon and spasm of forked lightning. The furniture was exquisite, and in every room was a shrub or a flower—a lily floating in a cistern or an oleander in a porcelain tub. A faint scent of musk pervaded. The dwelling was provided with half a dozen respectful menservants and three girls. There seemed more, because they were all alike and always coming and going. The men were taller and finer than those who had left in a hurry at the mouth of the Gorge of Dragons. The girls, as Quentin remarked, were beautiful toys.
Lychnis and Ruby, with Sir Richard Frew-Gaff, vanished, and Ambrose gathered from their voices, now near, now distant, that they were exploring the mazes of the Pavilion. With Lord Sombrewater he accompanied Terence, Fulke and Sprot on a search for further accommodation. Behind the Pavilion, deep in the bamboo-forest, Terence came on a graceful, tile-encased tower like a lighthouse among the bamboo-leaf-spray, and elected to dwell in the topmost watch-chamber. Finally, Sprot, entreating Fulke not to desert him, found a house of lacquer and enamel, like a cabinet for a precious gem. There these two ensconced themselves, neither very satisfied with the other.
Lord Sombrewater and Ambrose returned to the Yellow Emperor’s Pavilion, smiling and contented with the graceful fortune that seemed to have befallen them. Lychnis stood at the door in a new robe of heliotrope. A deep sash sheathed her hips, and her father, in his pleasure, put an arm round the slender waist and kissed her. Then, “Where’s Such-a-one?” he asked. “There are one or two things we ought to discuss.”
But Such-a-one had completely disappeared, so she told him.
“Indeed!” said he, turning his expressionless eyes, with a sharp, bird-movement, on Ambrose.
