_THE ILLUMINATED BOATS_
Our forefathers used to say that to find pleasure it must be sought
for either on the mountains or on the water, and it is quite true that
if you want to enjoy fine weather, you must look out for some place
where the views are varied. But, as Mahomet very wisely remarked, the
mountains won’t come to us, and we must go to the mountains. It must
also be remarked that there are many flat districts in China where there
are no mountains to be found, whilst water can be found everywhere;
besides, mountain-climbing is fatiguing, whilst excursions on the water
in flower-decked canoes, comfortably fitted, afford both repose and
pleasure, cradled as one is by the rhythmic cadence of the oars. When the
wind is strong enough to allow of a sail being hoisted, you feel almost
as light as a bird flying in space; and let the illusion last ever so
short a time, you fancy you have been transformed into a member of the
aerial world of genii, pursuing in cloudland a life of eternal happiness.
My countrymen have in all ages taken special pleasure in excursions
on the water. Under the dynasty of the Sungs—that is, in the twelfth
century—Lake Loi was very much frequented. The shores were planted all
round with weeping willows, and the moon seemed to lose seven-tenths
of her brightness under the gleam of the numberless illuminated boats
sailing along to the sound of joyous music.
A poet has said:
“By moonlight on the twenty-four bridges,
The sweet melody may everywhere be heard, the melody of flutes,
sonorous at the lips of charming women.”
The river Tchiang-Hang became the favourite excursion under the reign of
the Thangs. At the beginning of the spring people used to go out to it to
collect aquatic flowers. This is expressed in these lines:
“On the third day of the third moon—the birth of spring—the
banks of the river Tchiang-Hang are lined with pretty women.”
When Sung came to the throne, he used to make his excursions chiefly
on Lake Si-Hou, the beautiful lake in the west, which we have already
described. The skiffs flew like fly-shuttles across the loom, cutting
through the light mist that rose from the water; and blue flags were
to be seen on every tree. The lake used at that time to be called the
Crucible for Melting Gold, a metaphor which is not without point.
Three centuries ago, under the reign of the Mings, the river Tching-Houai
began to grow fashionable, and as the moon rose with the tide, thousands
of boats, covering more than ten lis (Chinese miles), could be seen
hieing hither, with their pearly blinds casting shadows which trembled
on the trouble of the waters. All that has disappeared to-day. One must
have been in these boats to understand the real pleasure of a taskless
and careless life. They are like floating houses, furnished with the
most refined luxury. Each boat is rowed by six oarsmen, and is fitted
in the centre with a deck-house, which is divided off into several
drawing-rooms. Nothing more artistically and comfortably arranged can
be found even in the wealthiest houses in Europe. In the evening,
bright lights shine through the window-panes of all the cabins, and it
is as if the water were furrowed up with thousands of meteors shedding
their joyful brightness far and wide. No; there is no better mode of
locomotion. On the water there is no dust; you do not run, you skim
along, and the slow progress of the skiff gives you time to enjoy the
varied aspects of the country, studded as it is with clusters of sombre
and silent trees. Then all that a carriage can do for you is to convey
you; you can’t settle down in a carriage. These boats, on the other
hand, are so many houses, where whole families or large parties can meet
together and dwell. To conclude, the boat alone deprives the landscape of
its immobility, animates it, and gives it movement and life; it renders
Nature herself more gay and more poetical.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]