Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/275

RV 270 (AN LU-SHAN) into the air. Light winds tossed cinnamon perfume under bitter autumn's pale round moon. Winter drove in like a whip-lash, and tall trees struggled in the wind's embrace. Until this, too, passed and in the earth was a strange murmuring, the stir of living things. Consumed by desire, roots awakened and stretched luxuriantly in the warm bed of earth. Vines climbed gracefully toward the sun. Mei flowers bloomed and rain of peach flowers fell. Nature was in an amorous mood and the soil was fruitful. Wind bells signaled the approach of kite-flying weather. The sky was filled with men of paper and silk, fish, lizards and butterflies. Peonies, oleanders, wistaria and chrysanthemums blossomed and perished. On and on the seasons marched relentlessly across the sky, like grim sentinels mocking the puny efforts of man.

In Changan, time lost its grip on the Imperial Court and days merged with night in lavish abandon. No expense too great if it brought happiness to the four slender daughters of Yang who were all consorts of the Brilliant Emperor.

Whenever An Lu-shan entered the private apartments, he bowed first to Yang Kuei-fei and then to the Emperor.

"A tribute to my mother," he explained, when Ming Huang questioned him about this brazen procedure. "I cannot remember my father, but my mother sheltered me, fed me, saved my life." RV 270 (270)