The Blue Flower [7]
who said that it did not matter
whether their words were true or false, and that it was of small
moment whether men went to visit the fountain or not, provided
only that they worked in the gardens and kept the marble pools
and basins in repair and opened new canals through the fields,
since there always had been and always would be plenty of water.
As I listened to these sayings it seemed to me doubtful
what the end of the city would be. And while this doubt was
yet heavy upon me, I heard at midnight the faint calling of
the trumpet, sounding along the crest of the mountains: and as
I went out to look where it came from, I saw, through the
glimmering veil of the milky way, the shape of a blossom of
celestial blue, whose petals seemed to fall and fade as I
looked. So I bade farewell to the old man in whose house I
had learned to love the hour of visitation and the Source and
the name of him who opened it; and I kissed the hands and the
brow of the little Ruamie who had entered my heart, and went
forth sadly from the land of Koorma into other lands, to look for
the Blue Flower.
II
In the Book of the Voyage without a Harbour is written the
record of the ten years which passed before I came back again
to the city of Saloma.
It was not easy to find, for I came down through the
mountains, and as I looked from a distant shoulder of the
hills for the little bay full of greenery, it was not to be
seen. There was only a white town shining far off against the
brown cliffs, like a flake of mica in a cleft of the rocks.
Then I slept that night, full of care, on the hillside, and
rising before dawn, came down in the early morning toward the
city.
The fields were lying parched and yellow under the
sunrise, and great cracks gaped in the earth as if it were
thirsty. The trenches and channels were still there, but
there was little water in them; and through the ragged fringes of
the rusty vineyards I heard, instead of the cheerful songs of the
vintagers, the creaking of dry windlasses and the hoarse throb of
the pumps in sunken wells. The girdle of gardens had shrunk like
a wreath of withered flowers, and all the bright embroidery, of
earth was faded to a sullen gray.
At the foot of an ancient, leafless olive-tree I saw a
group of people kneeling around a newly opened well. I asked
a man who was digging beside the dusty path what this might
mean. He straightened himself for a moment, wiping the sweat
from his brow, and answered, sullenly, "They are worshipping
the windlass: how else should they bring water into their
fields?" Then he fell furiously to digging again, and I
passed on into the city.
There was no sound of murmuring streams in the streets,
and down the main bed of the river I saw only a few shallow
puddles, joined together by a slowly trickling thread. Even
these were fenced and guarded so that no one might come near
to them, and there were men going among to the houses with
water-skins on their shoulders, crying "Water! Water to sell!"
The marble pools in the open square were empty; and at one
of them there was a crowd looking at a man who was being
beaten with rods. A bystander told me that the officers of
the city had ordered him to be punished because he had said
that the pools and the basins and the channels were not all of
pure marble, without a flaw. "For this," said he, "is the
evil doctrine that has come in to take away the glory of our
city, and because of this the water has failed."
"It is a sad change," I answered, "and doubtless they who
have caused it should suffer more than others. But can you
tell me at what hour and in what manner the people now observe
the visitation of the Source?"
He looked curiously at me and replied: "I do not
understand you. There is no visitation save the inspection of
the cisterns and the wells which the syndics of the city ,
whom we call the Princes of Water, carry on daily at every
hour. What source is this of which you speak?"
So I went on through the street, where all the
whether their words were true or false, and that it was of small
moment whether men went to visit the fountain or not, provided
only that they worked in the gardens and kept the marble pools
and basins in repair and opened new canals through the fields,
since there always had been and always would be plenty of water.
As I listened to these sayings it seemed to me doubtful
what the end of the city would be. And while this doubt was
yet heavy upon me, I heard at midnight the faint calling of
the trumpet, sounding along the crest of the mountains: and as
I went out to look where it came from, I saw, through the
glimmering veil of the milky way, the shape of a blossom of
celestial blue, whose petals seemed to fall and fade as I
looked. So I bade farewell to the old man in whose house I
had learned to love the hour of visitation and the Source and
the name of him who opened it; and I kissed the hands and the
brow of the little Ruamie who had entered my heart, and went
forth sadly from the land of Koorma into other lands, to look for
the Blue Flower.
II
In the Book of the Voyage without a Harbour is written the
record of the ten years which passed before I came back again
to the city of Saloma.
It was not easy to find, for I came down through the
mountains, and as I looked from a distant shoulder of the
hills for the little bay full of greenery, it was not to be
seen. There was only a white town shining far off against the
brown cliffs, like a flake of mica in a cleft of the rocks.
Then I slept that night, full of care, on the hillside, and
rising before dawn, came down in the early morning toward the
city.
The fields were lying parched and yellow under the
sunrise, and great cracks gaped in the earth as if it were
thirsty. The trenches and channels were still there, but
there was little water in them; and through the ragged fringes of
the rusty vineyards I heard, instead of the cheerful songs of the
vintagers, the creaking of dry windlasses and the hoarse throb of
the pumps in sunken wells. The girdle of gardens had shrunk like
a wreath of withered flowers, and all the bright embroidery, of
earth was faded to a sullen gray.
At the foot of an ancient, leafless olive-tree I saw a
group of people kneeling around a newly opened well. I asked
a man who was digging beside the dusty path what this might
mean. He straightened himself for a moment, wiping the sweat
from his brow, and answered, sullenly, "They are worshipping
the windlass: how else should they bring water into their
fields?" Then he fell furiously to digging again, and I
passed on into the city.
There was no sound of murmuring streams in the streets,
and down the main bed of the river I saw only a few shallow
puddles, joined together by a slowly trickling thread. Even
these were fenced and guarded so that no one might come near
to them, and there were men going among to the houses with
water-skins on their shoulders, crying "Water! Water to sell!"
The marble pools in the open square were empty; and at one
of them there was a crowd looking at a man who was being
beaten with rods. A bystander told me that the officers of
the city had ordered him to be punished because he had said
that the pools and the basins and the channels were not all of
pure marble, without a flaw. "For this," said he, "is the
evil doctrine that has come in to take away the glory of our
city, and because of this the water has failed."
"It is a sad change," I answered, "and doubtless they who
have caused it should suffer more than others. But can you
tell me at what hour and in what manner the people now observe
the visitation of the Source?"
He looked curiously at me and replied: "I do not
understand you. There is no visitation save the inspection of
the cisterns and the wells which the syndics of the city ,
whom we call the Princes of Water, carry on daily at every
hour. What source is this of which you speak?"
So I went on through the street, where all the