Читать книгу The Lacquer Lady - Fryniwyd Tennyson Jesse - Страница 14

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THERE, beyond the great stretch of roadway, which seemed to Fanny’s sight to be covered with prancing horsemen, hurrying messengers and elephants decked in golden trappings, there rose flights of white steps and above them the scarlet and gold pillars of the Great Audience Hall. Above that again the golden spire reared its seven tiers up into a cloudless blue sky. Not for Fanny, either then or later, was there any horror in the fact that all the many roofs of the Great Palace were made of corrugated iron; to her eyes they looked silvery and splendid, as indeed they did to the eye of King Mindoon, who had chosen them as being peculiarly fitting to his purpose. For royalty was supposed always, according to ancient Indo-Chinese custom, to roof its palaces with silver or lead, and the Burmese, who are the most conservative race on earth, finding lead and silver impracticable, had considered the problem well solved with corrugated iron, which had the great advantage of being obtainable very cheaply from the Europeans. And indeed, such was the splendour of the whole effect, the curving tent-lines of the roofs themselves, the depth and richness of the carving on gables and eaves, the stateliness of the vast pillars, each made of the trunk of a towering teak tree, lacquered scarlet and exquisitely patterned with gold leaf, that Fanny was not far wrong in not noticing the corrugated iron. The stretch of white steps and the glory of the Great Audience Hall were not for women, and Mrs. Moroni turned off to the left, Fanny at her heels, casting many glances over her shoulder. Past the soldiers’ quarters they went, and then turned up towards the shed of the Saddan, the Celestial Elephant.

There was a crowd beneath the trees and Mrs. Moroni gave a little ejaculation:

“We are lucky, Fanny,” she said, “the Lord White Elephant is being fed.”

In that moment, when she saw what was taking place, Fanny realised with a sudden vivid shock of surprise that her mother had remained at heart always a Burman, that her English blood and Catholic upbringing had had no real effect at all.

The Lord White Elephant, who was still very young, had been led forth from his house, which was decorated with a royal golden spire, and was receiving his breakfast of milk, drawn by himself from the breasts of Burmese women, who daily presented themselves at the Palace eager for the honour. They were waiting now in a row, some young and slender and pretty, some, though still young, fatter and less comely, but all with their eyes shining with their ardour and their devotion.

The Sacred White Elephant was an ill-conditioned beast, lean in the flank, in spite of the care lavished on him. He was only white in the technical sense; that is to say, when his scented bath-water was splashed over him, his mouse-coloured skin turned a reddish colour instead of black. He had twenty toe-nails instead of a mere sixteen, and his bad-tempered little eyes were rimmed with red. A hundred soldiers in scarlet and white guarded his Palace, and a row of dancing girls, in their little white muslin jackets with wired tails, and their pretty silk tameins, were waiting to dance to him after his meal should be finished. Two attendants led him down the line of young mothers. A speckled trunk would come waving out and seize upon the proffered breast, pulling it up and outwards. The women awaiting their turn trembled with eagerness. One woman fell upon the ground in a fit before he reached her, the milk already spurting from her breasts, and her lips foaming; her ecstasy had proved too strong.

Mrs. Moroni watched with a placid eye, remarked that she thought the process must be rather painful, and went on, nodding at the guards who stood between the elephant’s Palace on the right and the servants’ houses on the left. They let her pass and she and Fanny went on down the southern side of the Palace platform into the inner enclosure, towards the buildings that sheltered the Queen they sought.

The Alè Nammadaw, or Centre Queen, though the mother only of daughters, was, so Mrs. Moroni declared, the most important person in the Palace. The Chief Queen, the Nammadaw, was old and ailing, and occupied herself little with politics. The King loved her and she stayed quiet and as content as the perpetual Palace intrigues allowed her to be.

Here in the western half of the Palace, there was nothing to be seen but women and little page boys, brilliant as butterflies, that tripped about the lawns, dabbled their thin brown fingers in the fountains and pools, and passed perpetually through the bands of sun and shadow made by the great red pillars of the Palace buildings.

The sleeping apartment of the King, crowned by a small seven-roofed spire, was pointed out reverently by Mrs. Moroni. In the passages surrounding it some ladies in white were sitting with their toes tucked under them, their slippers and umbrellas left on the outer step. Fanny was allowed to peep into the Glass Palace, a vast apartment entirely covered with mosaic, of mirror-glass to represent diamonds, and of green and red to represent emeralds and rubies.

“My, Fanny,” said Mrs. Moroni, “you should see this room on a feast day at the New Year. Oh, it’s splendid. I came here when the young Princesses had their ear-boring ceremony, that was before your father fell out of favour. That’s the Chief Queen’s apartment behind there. Who knows, Fanny, perhaps you’ll be in waiting there to the next Queen?”

Again they turned to the right, round the Chief Queen’s apartments and at last found themselves at the rooms of Queen Sinbyew-mashin.

Fanny’s heart began to beat more rapidly. Following her mother’s example she took off her shoes and, leaving them outside, passed into the Central Hall, which was the unofficial place of reception of the Queens. On feast days the Chief Queen received in the beautiful Lily Throne room, loveliest of all the throne rooms of the Palace. The hall was open, as were all the Palace rooms, except the enclosed inner chambers, to the out-of-doors, but it gave a welcome impression of coolness and dimness to those coming in from the glare of the Palace platform. The great red and gold pillars soared up and up to the dim gold roof, the floor was covered with carpets which were all thick and soft, antique Persian lay side by side with the modern product of France covered with roses and bunches of blue ribbons. Little Maids of Honour were sitting about, they nodded and smiled at Mrs. Moroni, but kept very quiet, for the Queen had not yet emerged from her room. Mrs. Moroni sank to the soft thick-piled carpet and doubled her feet under her in the regulation style, Fanny’s swift drop and swirl was as easy as if she had been practising it all her life; her supple little boneless figure was pure Burman. As Fanny sat and waited, her nerves calmed down, soothed by the quietness, by the dim splendour of the room with its delicate red and gold lacquer.

Suddenly the gilt door at the end of the hall was thrown open, and the figure of a woman advanced into the room and stood there for a moment without speaking. It is polite to sit, that being considered the most humble attitude, in the presence of Burmese royalty, and Fanny copied her mother as the old lady bent forward and brought her folded hands up to her forehead in a gesture of obeisance. From the shelter of her hands Fanny peeped up at Sinbyew-mashin, the Alè Nammadaw Queen.

Sinbyew-mashin was of the direct blood royal, being a daughter of King Bagyidaw who died mad, and first cousin to her husband Mindoon Min. Like him she had the retreating forehead that marked the arrogant but unstable Alompra dynasty. Like him also she had a royal and commanding air, though untempered by Mindoon’s benevolence. In repose her face hardened into lines of determination and ill-temper, but when she smiled, as now at Mrs. Moroni, she had a certain charm which consisted not so much in her expression as in the way her mouth opened over her white teeth.

Mrs. Moroni produced the presents that Fanny had brought from England, and Sinbyew-mashin, seating herself on the low gilt-legged couch, sacred to royalty, studied the gifts attentively. She seemed particularly pleased with the little tray on which the Pavilion of Brighton was embroidered in coloured wools, decorated with spangles set under plate-glass, upon which the other presents, which ranged from a gold thimble to a box of Bryant and May’s matches, were laid out. She cross-questioned Fanny, who found some difficulty, in spite of Mrs. Moroni’s lessons, in coping with the elaborate Palace Burmese to which she was unaccustomed, but evidently the girl’s modest replies took the Queen’s fancy, for she smiled at her again, and suddenly pulling off a ruby ring from her little finger she handed it to Fanny, who blushed crimson with pleasure. The fairy story had begun to come true....

At that moment there came a quick pattering footstep on the platform without, and the figure of a young girl, a year or so younger than Fanny herself, appeared in the doorway. She stood staring at Fanny and Fanny stared back at her. Neither could see very much, the newcomer because she was looking into the dimness (although she had at once noticed Fanny’s European clothes), and Fanny because she was looking at the strong sunlight, but she could see the graceful shape that the young girl made against the brightness. Small and slight as Fanny herself, she carried her little head with its sleek black hair, decorated with flowers, very high. Even against the light as she was, her dark eyes, much larger than Fanny’s, seemed to glow. Kicking off her little velvet slippers, she put a beautiful little naked brown foot over the raised sill of the door and entered.

“Who’s that?” she asked in Burmese, pointing to Fanny.

Mrs. Moroni, bending her head and folding her hands in salutation, replied that Fanny was her daughter. The girl stood looking at Fanny, swinging the skipping rope she held backwards and forwards in one hand.

“I like her,” she said. “Tell her to come and play with me.”

“Go, Fanny,” whispered Mrs. Moroni, “it is the Middle Princess, Supaya-lat.”

The Queen laughed and bade Fanny rise, and the little Princess held out a hand and seized Fanny’s.

“Come along,” she said, “you may use my swing with me if you like. Nobody else is allowed to sit upon it, but you may because I like you.”

She dragged Fanny along to the end of the hall, where a large swing, upholstered in red plush and hung on crimson cords that passed through silver rings, was hanging. Fanny felt terribly nervous and watched the Queen anxiously to see how she would take this familiarity, but Sinbyew-mashin was in a good mood that day and chose to approve of the daughter of her old favourite. With one agile movement the little Princess had swung herself up on to the red plush seat, and Fanny, no less agile, took the place beside her. They swung gently side by side, studying each other. There was a curious likeness between them in spite of Fanny’s European clothes. Supaya-lat’s eyes were bigger and more lustrous than Fanny’s almond-shaped orbs, but she was not as pretty, for she too had the Alompra forehead which gave her an adder-like aspect; and Fanny’s mouth was the true cupid’s bow, small and arched with full lips, while Supaya-lat’s was thin. Yet it was at Supaya-lat that an acute observer would have looked the longer. Her tense vitality, her brilliant eyes, the flash of her teeth as the thin lips parted in a smile, the quick waving of her long-fingered brown hands, all combined to give her a flickering quality as of flame. Fanny seemed quiet, like a delicate little painting upon lacquer, beside this uneasy brilliance.