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says the sea…captain。 〃It is lovely； surely；〃 says he； filling his pipe； 〃but
finer poets nor you； my lad；〃 says he； lighting it； 〃have tried to describe
the grace and beauty of Tao…Tuen； and；〃 says he taking a draw； 〃have
failed。〃
〃Tao…Tuen is a beautiful name。 It is like two notes plucked on a harp。
And it must be a wonderful place； surely； if great poets cannot describe it。〃
〃It is not a place；〃 said the captain； 〃it's a girl。〃
〃As for women； Venice 〃
〃Venice be damned！〃 said the sea…captain。 〃Not in Venice； not in all
the world； is there the like for grace or beauty of Tao…Tuen。 They call her
Golden Bells；〃 he says。
〃Is she a dancing…girl？〃 Marco asked。
〃She is not a dancing…girl；〃 says the sea…captain； 〃she is the daughter
of Kubla； the great Khan。〃
〃A cold and beautiful princess；〃 says Marco Polo。
〃She is not a cold and beautiful princess；〃 says the sea…captain。 〃She is
warm as the sun in early June； and she may be beautiful and a princess；
but we all think of her as Golden Bells； the little girl in the Chinese
garden。〃
〃Did you ever see her？〃 says Marco； eagerly。 〃Tell me。〃
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〃I saw her before I left；〃 says the sea…captain。 〃I was at the Khan's
palace of Chagannor；〃 says he； 〃seeing of the chief of the stewards was
there anything I could get for him； and I in foreign parts。 And as I was
being rowed back along the river by my ten brawny sailormen； what did I
pass but the garden of Golden Bells。
〃And there she was by the river…side； a little brown slip of a girl in
green coat and trousers； with a flower in her dark hair。
〃And I lower my head in reverence as we pass by。 But I hear her low；
merry voice； by reason of which they call her Golden Bells。
〃'Ho； master of the vessel。' she calls。 'Where do you go？'
〃And the sailors back water with a swish； and I stand up respectfully；
for all she is only a slip of a girl。
〃'I go to foreign parts； Golden Bells；' I tell her； 'to far and dangerous
places； into the Indian Ocean。 To the Island of Unicorns and to the land
where men eat men。'
〃'I hope you come back safe； master of the vessel；' she says。 'I hope
you have a good voyage and come back safe。 It must be a dreadful strain
on your people to think of you so far away。'
〃'In all this wide land；' I tell her； 'there is none to worry about me。 I
have neither chick nor child。'
〃'Golden Bells will worry about you； then；' she said； 'and you in the
hazards of the sea。 And take this flower for luck。' And she gave me the
flower from her hair。 'And let it bring you luck against the anger of the
ocean and the enemies all men have。 And let me know when you are
back； because I'll be worried about a man of China and him in danger on
the open sea。'
〃And wasn't that a wonderful thing from a daughter of Kubla to me； a
poor sailor…man？
〃The son of the King of Siam came to woo her with a hundred princes
on a hundred elephants； but she wouldn't have him。 'I don't wish to be a
queen；' she told her father。 'How could I be a queen？ I am only Golden
Bells。' Nor would she have anything to say to the Prince of the Land of
Darkness； who came to her with sea ivory and pale Arctic gold。 'The sun
of China is in my heart； and you wouldn't have me go up into the great
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coldness to shiver and die？'
〃So she remains in her garden by the lake of Cranes with Li Po； the
great poet； him they call the Drinker of Wine； to make songs for her； and
the SANANG Tung Chih； the great magician； to perform wonders for her
when she is wearied； and Bulagan； her nurse； to take her to her heart when
she is sad。
〃And sad she is a lot of the time； they tell me。 She sits in her garden
in the dusk； playing her lute； and singing the song of the Willow branches；
which is the saddest love…song in the world。 。 。
〃And why she should be singing a sad love…song； is a mystery； for her
soft； brown beauty is the flower of the world。 For there would be no lack
of suitors for her； nor is she the one to refuse love。 The only thing I make
of it is that the right hour hasn't come。
〃The beauty of Venice jumps to your eyes； but the beauty of this pulls
at your heart。 Little brown Golden Bells； in her Chinese garden； singing
the song of the Willow Branches at the close of day 。 。 。Is that not better
nor Venice？〃
But he got no word out of Marco Polo； sitting with his chin cupped in
his hands。 And that was the finest answer at all； at all。 。 。
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CHAPTER V
The times went by； and Marco Polo busied himself with his daily
affairs； keeping track of the galleasses with merchandise to strange far…
away ports； buying presents for refractory governors who didn't care for
foreign trade in their domains； getting wisdom from the old clerks； and
knowledge from the mariners； in the main； acting as the son of a great
house while the heads of it were away。
You would think that he would have forgotten what the sea…captain of
China told him about Golden Bells； what with work and sport and other
women near him。 You would think that would drop out of his memory
like an old rime。 But it stuck there； as an old rime sometimes sticks； and
by dint of thinking he had her fast now in his mind so fast； so clear； so
full of life； that she might be some one he had seen an hour ago or was
going to see an hour from now。 He would think of the now merry； now
sad eyes of her； and the soft； sweet voice of her by reason of which they
called her Golden Bells； and the dusky little face； and the hair like black
silk； and the splotch of the red flower in it。 She was as distinct to him as
the five fingers on his hand。 It wasn't only she was clear in his mind's
eye； but she was inside of him； closer than his heart。 She was there when
the sun rose； so he would be saying； 〃It's a grand day is in it surely； Golden
Bells。〃 She was there in the dim counting house and he going over in the
great intricate ledgers the clerks do be posting carefully with quills of the
gray goose； so that he would be saying： 〃I wonder where this is and that is。
Sure I had my finger on it only a moment ago； Golden Bells。〃 And when
the dusk was falling； and the bats came out； and the quiet of Christ was
over everything； and the swallows flew low on the great canals； she would
be beside him； and never a word would he say to her； so near to him would
she be。
And she wrought strangeness between him and the women he knew；
the great grave lady with the large； pale mouth； her that was of his mind；
and the little black cloak…maker with the eager； red mouth； her that was
closer than mind or heart to him。 So that the first found fault with his
poetry。
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〃I don't know what's come over you； Marco Polo；〃 and there was a
touch of temper in her voice； 〃but these poems of yours show me you
haven't your mind on your subject。 Would you mind telling me when I
had bound black hair？〃 she says。 〃And you say my bosom is like two
little russet apples。 Now； a regular poet once compared it to two great
silver cups； and that was a good comparison； though in truth；〃 she says；
〃he knew as little about it as you。 And my hands are not like soft Eastern
flowers。 They're like lilies。 I don't know where you do be getting these
Eastern comparisons；〃 she says。 〃But I don't like them。 Tell me； pretty
boy；〃 she looks suspicious； 〃you haven't been taking any of the
strange Egyptian drugs the dark people do be selling in the dim shops on
the quiet canals？ Look out； pretty boy！ Look out！〃
And the little cloak…maker grumbled when he was gone。