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[Transcriber's Note: The letter o with a caron
is indicated as [)o] in this text version.]
SOME CHINESE GHOSTS
BY LAFCADIO HEARN
_Copyright_, 1887, by ROBERTS BROTHERS
* * * * *
_To my friend_ HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL
_THE MUSICIAN_
WHO, SPEAKING THE SPEECH OF MELODY UNTO THE
CHILDREN OF TIEN-HIA,--
UNTO THE WANDERING TSING-JIN, WHOSE SKINS
HAVE THE COLOR OF GOLD,--
MOVED THEM TO MAKE STRANGE SOUNDS UPON THE
SERPENT-BELLIED SAN-HIEN;
PERSUADED THEM TO PLAY FOR ME UPON THE
SHRIEKING YA-HIEN;
PREVAILED ON THEM TO SING ME A SONG OF THEIR
NATIVE LAND,--
THE SONG OF MOHLÍ-HWA,
THE SONG OF THE JASMINE-FLOWER
[Illustration: Line drawing of a man's head]
* * * * *
_PREFACE_
I think that my best apology for the insignificant size of this volume
is the very character of the material composing it. In preparing the
legends I sought especially for _weird beauty_; and I could not forget
this striking observation in Sir Walter Scott's "Essay on Imitations of
the Ancient Ballad": "The supernatural, though appealing to certain
powerful emotions very widely and deeply sown amongst the human race,
is, nevertheless, a _spring which is peculiarly apt to lose its
elasticity by being too much pressed upon_."
Those desirous to familiarize themselves with Chinese literature as a
whole have had the way made smooth for them by the labors of linguists
like Julien, Pavie, Rémusat, De Rosny, Schlegel, Legge,
Hervey-Saint-Denys, Williams, Biot, Giles, Wylie, Beal, and many other
Sinologists. To such great explorers, indeed, the realm of Cathayan
story belongs by right of discovery and conquest; yet the humbler
traveller who follows wonderingly after them into the vast and
mysterious pleasure-grounds of Chinese fancy may surely be permitted to
cull a few of the marvellous flowers there growing,--a self-luminous
_hwa-wang_, a black lily, a phosphoric rose or two,--as souvenirs of his
curious voyage.
L.H.
NEW ORLEANS, March 15, 1886.
_CONTENTS_
THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL
THE STORY OF MING-Y
THE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU
THE RETURN OF YEN-TCHIN-KING
THE TRADITION OF THE TEA-PLANT
THE TALE OF THE PORCELAIN-GOD
* * * * *
NOTES
GLOSSARY
[Illustration: Decorative motif]
[Illustration: Line drawing of a head]
The Soul of the Great Bell
_She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears._
HAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN: c. ix.
THE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL
The water-clock marks the hour in the _Ta-chung sz'_,--in the Tower of
the Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the
metal monster,--the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the
sacred _Fa-hwa-King_, from the chapters of the holy _Ling-yen-King_!
Hear the great bell responding!--how mighty her voice, though
tongueless!--_KO-NGAI!_ All the little dragons on the high-tilted
eaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails
under that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on
their carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas
quiver with desire to speak. _KO-NGAI!_--all the green-and-gold tiles
of the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are
writhing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over
the heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense!
_KO-NGAI!_--What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on
the palace cornices wriggle their fire-colored tongues! And after each
huge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan
and, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense
tone faints away in broken whispers of silver,--as though a woman
should whisper, "_Hiai!_" Even so the great bell hath sounded every
day for well-nigh five hundred years,--_Ko-Ngai_: first with
stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with
silver murmuring of "_Hiai!_" And there is not a child in all the
many-colored ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story
of the great bell,--who cannot tell you why the great bell says
_Ko-Ngai_ and _Hiai_!
* * * * *
Now, this is the story of the great bell in the Ta-chung sz', as the
same is related in the _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, written by the learned
Yu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.
Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven,
Yong-Lo, of the "Illustrious," or Ming, dynasty, commanded the worthy
official Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that the
sound thereof might be heard for one hundred _li_. And he further
ordained that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass,
and deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face and
the great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the
sacred books, and that it should be suspended in the centre of the
imperial capital, to sound through all the many-colored ways of the City
of Pe-king.
Therefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and
the renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all men of great repute and
cunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for the alloy,
and treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the
instruments, and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. And
they labored exceedingly, like giants,--neglecting only rest and sleep
and the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to
Kouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of
Heaven.
But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from
the glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labor
and ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had
rebelled one against the other,--the gold had scorned alliance with the
brass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the
moulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the
metal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The
Son of Heaven heard, and was angry, but spake nothing.
A second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still
the metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; and there
was no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and
fissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all
the labor had to be repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of
Kouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier
than before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written
upon lemon-colored silk, and sealed with the seal of the Dragon,
containing these words:--
"_From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the Celestial and
August,--whose reign is called 'Ming,'--to Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice
thou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to place in
thee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head
shall be severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!_"
* * * * *
Now, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose
name--Ko-Ngai--was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even
more beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love
that she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home
desolate by her absence; and when she had seen the awful yellow missive,
sealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for her father's
sake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could
not rest or sleep for thinking of her parent's danger, until she had
secretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so obtained had
hastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by
what means her father might be saved from the peril impending over him.
So the astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the
aspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined
the signs of the Zodiac,--the _Hwang-tao_, or Yellow Road,--and
consulted the table of the Five _Hin_, or Principles of the Universe,
and the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he
made answer to her, saying: "Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock,
silver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be
melted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the
metals in their fusion." So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart;
but she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what she had
done.
* * * * *
At last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the
great bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her waiting-woman,
accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a
platform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of
liquefied metal. All the workmen wrought their tasks in silence; there
was no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering
deepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the
blood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like the vermilion of a
sunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold,
and the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon.
Then the workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their
eyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal
to cast.
But ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head;
and all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a bird's
song above the great thunder of the fires,--"_For thy sake, O my
Father!_" And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of
metal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and spattered
monstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the
earthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-colored fires,
and subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders and with
mutterings.
Then the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in
after her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon
him until he had fainted away and they could bear him like one dead to
his home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for
pain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a
tiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers,--the shoe of
her beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by
the foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and
the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it
like one gone mad.
But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and
August had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished,
hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer
and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that
had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo!
when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful
to look upon, and perfect in form, and wonderful in color above all
other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for
it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the
well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and
the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be
deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other
bell,--reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred _li_, like a
pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a
name, a woman's name,--the name of Ko-Ngai!
* * * * *
And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard;
and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as
though a weeping woman should murmur, "_Hiai!_" And still, when the
people hear that great golden moan they keep silence; but when the
sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of "_Hiai!_"
then, indeed, all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of
Pe-king whisper to their little ones: "_Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying
for her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for her shoe!_"
[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]
The Story of Ming-Y
THE ANCIENT WORDS OF KOUEI--MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS
OF THE EMPEROR YAO:--
_When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming-Khieou,--
When ye touch the lyre that is called Kin, or the guitar that is
called Ssé,--
Accompanying their sound with song,--
Then do the grandfather and the father return;
Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear._
THE STORY OF MING-Y
_Sang the Poet Tching-Kou: "Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over
the tomb of Sië-Thao."_
Do you ask me who she was,--the beautiful Sië-Thao? For a thousand years
and more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the
syllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the
leaves; with the quivering of many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering
of lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman's presence, of
numberless savage flowers,--_Sië-Thao_. But, saving the whispering of
her name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone
remember the years of Sië-Thao. Something about her you might,
nevertheless, learn from any of those _Kiang-kou-jin_,--those famous
Chinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in
consideration of a few _tsien_, the legends of the past. Something
concerning her you may also find in the book entitled "Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan,"
which signifies in our tongue: "The Marvellous Happenings of Ancient and
of Recent Times." And perhaps of all things therein written, the most
marvellous is this memory of Sië-Thao:--
Five hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Houng-Wou, whose
dynasty was _Ming_, there lived in the City of Genii, the city of
Kwang-tchau-fu, a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety,
named Tien-Pelou. This Tien-Pelou had one son, a beautiful boy, who for
scholarship and for bodily grace and for polite accomplishments had no
superior among the youths of his age. And his name was Ming-Y.
Now when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that
Pelou, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the
city of Tching-tou; and Ming-Y accompanied his parents thither. Near the
city of Tching-tou lived a rich man of rank, a high commissioner of the
government, whose name was Tchang, and who wanted to find a worthy
teacher for his children. On hearing of the arrival of the new Inspector
of Public Instruction, the noble Tchang visited him to obtain advice in
this matter; and happening to meet and converse with Pelou's
accomplished son, immediately engaged Ming-Y as a private tutor for his
family.
Now as the house of this Lord Tchang was situated several miles from
town, it was deemed best that Ming-Y should abide in the house of his
employer. Accordingly the youth made ready all things necessary for his
new sojourn; and his parents, bidding him farewell, counselled him
wisely, and cited to him the words of Lao-tseu and of the ancient sages:
"_By a beautiful face the world is filled with love; but Heaven may
never be deceived thereby. Shouldst thou behold a woman coming from the
East, look thou to the West; shouldst thou perceive a maiden approaching
from the West, turn thine eyes to the East._"
If Ming-Y did not heed this counsel in after days, it was only because
of his youth and the thoughtlessness of a naturally joyous heart.
And he departed to abide in the house of Lord Tchang, while the autumn
passed, and the winter also.
* * * * *
When the time of the second moon of spring was drawing near, and that
happy day which the Chinese call _Hoa-tchao_, or, "The Birthday of a
Hundred Flowers," a longing came upon Ming-Y to see his parents; and he
opened his heart to the good Tchang, who not only gave him the
permission he desired, but also pressed into his hand a silver gift of
two ounces, thinking that the lad might wish to bring some little
memento to his father and mother. For it is the Chinese custom, on the
feast of Hoa-tchao, to make presents to friends and relations.
That day all the air was drowsy with blossom perfume, and vibrant with
the droning of bees. It seemed to Ming-Y that the path he followed had
not been trodden by any other for many long years; the grass was tall
upon it; vast trees on either side interlocked their mighty and
moss-grown arms above him, beshadowing the way; but the leafy
obscurities quivered with bird-song, and the deep vistas of the wood
were glorified by vapors of gold, and odorous with flower-breathings as
a temple with incense. The dreamy joy of the day entered into the heart
of Ming-Y; and he sat him down among the young blossoms, under the
branches swaying against the violet sky, to drink in the perfume and the
light, and to enjoy the great sweet silence. Even while thus reposing, a
sound caused him to turn his eyes toward a shady place where wild
peach-trees were in bloom; and he beheld a young woman, beautiful as the
pinkening blossoms themselves, trying to hide among them. Though he
looked for a moment only, Ming-Y could not avoid discerning the
loveliness of her face, the golden purity of her complexion, and the
brightness of her long eyes, that sparkled under a pair of brows as
daintily curved as the wings of the silkworm butterfly outspread. Ming-Y
at once turned his gaze away, and, rising quickly, proceeded on his
journey. But so much embarrassed did he feel at the idea of those
charming eyes peeping at him through the leaves, that he suffered the
money he had been carrying in his sleeve to fall, without being aware of
it. A few moments later he heard the patter of light feet running behind
him, and a woman's voice calling him by name. Turning his face in great
surprise, he saw a comely servant-maid, who said to him, "Sir, my
mistress bade me pick up and return you this silver which you dropped
upon the road." Ming-Y thanked the girl gracefully, and requested her to
convey his compliments to her mistress. Then he proceeded on his way
through the perfumed silence, athwart the shadows that dreamed along the
forgotten path, dreaming himself also, and feeling his heart beating
with strange quickness at the thought of the beautiful being that he had
seen.
* * * * *
It was just such another day when Ming-Y, returning by the same path,
paused once more at the spot where the gracious figure had momentarily
appeared before him. But this time he was surprised to perceive, through
a long vista of immense trees, a dwelling that had previously escaped
his notice,--a country residence, not large, yet elegant to an unusual
degree. The bright blue tiles of its curved and serrated double roof,
rising above the foliage, seemed to blend their color with the luminous
azure of the day; the green-and-gold designs of its carven porticos were
exquisite artistic mockeries of leaves and flowers bathed in sunshine.
And at the summit of terrace-steps before it, guarded by great
porcelain tortoises, Ming-Y saw standing the mistress of the
mansion,--the idol of his passionate fancy,--accompanied by the same
waiting-maid who had borne to her his message of gratitude. While Ming-Y
looked, he perceived that their eyes were upon him; they smiled and
conversed together as if speaking about him; and, shy though he was, the
youth found courage to salute the fair one from a distance. To his
astonishment, the young servant beckoned him to approach; and opening a
rustic gate half veiled by trailing plants bearing crimson flowers,
Ming-Y advanced along the verdant alley leading to the terrace, with
mingled feelings of surprise and timid joy. As he drew near, the
beautiful lady withdrew from sight; but the maid waited at the broad
steps to receive him, and said as he ascended:
"Sir, my mistress understands you wish to thank her for the trifling
service she recently bade me do you, and requests that you will enter
the house, as she knows you already by repute, and desires to have the
pleasure of bidding you good-day."
Ming-Y entered bashfully, his feet making no sound upon a matting
elastically soft as forest moss, and found himself in a
reception-chamber vast, cool, and fragrant with scent of blossoms freshly
gathered. A delicious quiet pervaded the mansion; shadows of flying
birds passed over the bands of light that fell through the half-blinds
of bamboo; great butterflies, with pinions of fiery color, found their
way in, to hover a moment about the painted vases, and pass out again
into the mysterious woods. And noiselessly as they, the young mistress
of the mansion entered by another door, and kindly greeted the boy, who
lifted his hands to his breast and bowed low in salutation. She was
taller than he had deemed her, and supplely-slender as a beauteous lily;
her black hair was interwoven with the creamy blossoms of the
_chu-sha-kih_; her robes of pale silk took shifting tints when she
moved, as vapors change hue with the changing of the light.
"If I be not mistaken," she said, when both had seated themselves after
having exchanged the customary formalities of politeness, "my honored
visitor is none other than Tien-chou, surnamed Ming-Y, educator of the
children of my respected relative, the High Commissioner Tchang. As the
family of Lord Tchang is my family also, I cannot but consider the
teacher of his children as one of my own kin."
"Lady," replied Ming-Y, not a little astonished, "may I dare to inquire
the name of your honored family, and to ask the relation which you hold
to my noble patron?"
"The name of my poor family," responded the comely lady, "is _Ping_,--an
ancient family of the city of Tching-tou. I am the daughter of a certain
Sië of Moun-hao; Sië is my name, likewise; and I was married to a young
man of the Ping family, whose name was Khang. By this marriage I became
related to your excellent patron; but my husband died soon after our
wedding, and I have chosen this solitary place to reside in during the
period of my widowhood."
There was a drowsy music in her voice, as of the melody of brooks, the
murmurings of spring; and such a strange grace in the manner of her
speech as Ming-Y had never heard before. Yet, on learning that she was a
widow, the youth would not have presumed to remain long in her presence
without a formal invitation; and after having sipped the cup of rich tea
presented to him, he arose to depart. Sië would not suffer him to go so
quickly.
"Nay, friend," she said; "stay yet a little while in my house, I pray
you; for, should your honored patron ever learn that you had been here,
and that I had not treated you as a respected guest, and regaled you
even as I would him, I know that he would be greatly angered. Remain at
least to supper."
So Ming-Y remained, rejoicing secretly in his heart, for Sië seemed to
him the fairest and sweetest being he had ever known, and he felt that
he loved her even more than his father and his mother. And while they
talked the long shadows of the evening slowly blended into one violet
darkness; the great citron-light of the sunset faded out; and those
starry beings that are called the Three Councillors, who preside over
life and death and the destinies of men, opened their cold bright eyes
in the northern sky. Within the mansion of Sië the painted lanterns were
lighted; the table was laid for the evening repast; and Ming-Y took his
place at it, feeling little inclination to eat, and thinking only of the
charming face before him. Observing that he scarcely tasted the dainties
laid upon his plate, Sië pressed her young guest to partake of wine;
and they drank several cups together. It was a purple wine, so cool that
the cup into which it was poured became covered with vapory dew; yet it
seemed to warm the veins with strange fire. To Ming-Y, as he drank, all
things became more luminous as by enchantment; the walls of the chamber
appeared to recede, and the roof to heighten; the lamps glowed like
stars in their chains, and the voice of Sië floated to the boy's ears
like some far melody heard through the spaces of a drowsy night. His
heart swelled; his tongue loosened; and words flitted from his lips that
he had fancied he could never dare to utter. Yet Sië sought not to
restrain him; her lips gave no smile; but her long bright eyes seemed to
laugh with pleasure at his words of praise, and to return his gaze of
passionate admiration with affectionate interest.
"I have heard," she said, "of your rare talent, and of your many elegant
accomplishments. I know how to sing a little, although I cannot claim to
possess any musical learning; and now that I have the honor of finding
myself in the society of a musical professor, I will venture to lay
modesty aside, and beg you to sing a few songs with me. I should deem it
no small gratification if you would condescend to examine my musical
compositions."
"The honor and the gratification, dear lady," replied Ming-Y, "will be
mine; and I feel helpless to express the gratitude which the offer of so
rare a favor deserves."
The serving-maid, obedient to the summons of a little silver gong,
brought in the music and retired. Ming-Y took the manuscripts, and
began to examine them with eager delight. The paper upon which they were
written had a pale yellow tint, and was light as a fabric of gossamer;
but the characters were antiquely beautiful, as though they had been
traced by the brush of Heï-song Ché-Tchoo himself,--that divine Genius
of Ink, who is no bigger than a fly; and the signatures attached to the
compositions were the signatures of Youen-tchin, Kao-pien, and
Thou-mou,--mighty poets and musicians of the dynasty of Thang! Ming-Y
could not repress a scream of delight at the sight of treasures so
inestimable and so unique; scarcely could he summon resolution enough to
permit them to leave his hands even for a moment. "O Lady!" he cried,
"these are veritably priceless things, surpassing in worth the
treasures of all kings. This indeed is the handwriting of those great
masters who sang five hundred years before our birth. How marvellously
it has been preserved! Is not this the wondrous ink of which it was
written: _Po-nien-jou-chi, i-tien-jou-ki,_--'After centuries I remain
firm as stone, and the letters that I make like lacquer'? And how divine
the charm of this composition!--the song of Kao-pien, prince of poets,
and Governor of Sze-tchouen five hundred years ago!"
"Kao-pien! darling Kao-pien!" murmured Sië, with a singular light in her
eyes. "Kao-pien is also my favorite. Dear Ming-Y, let us chant his
verses together, to the melody of old,--the music of those grand years
when men were nobler and wiser than to-day."
And their voices rose through the perfumed night like the voices of the
wonder-birds,--of the Fung-hoang,--blending together in liquid
sweetness. Yet a moment, and Ming-Y, overcome by the witchery of his
companion's voice, could only listen in speechless ecstasy, while the
lights of the chamber swam dim before his sight, and tears of pleasure
trickled down his cheeks.
So the ninth hour passed; and they continued to converse, and to drink
the cool purple wine, and to sing the songs of the years of Thang, until
far into the night. More than once Ming-Y thought of departing; but each
time Sië would begin, in that silver-sweet voice of hers, so wondrous a
story of the great poets of the past, and of the women whom they loved,
that he became as one entranced; or she would sing for him a song so
strange that all his senses seemed to die except that of hearing. And at
last, as she paused to pledge him in a cup of wine, Ming-Y could not
restrain himself from putting his arm about her round neck and drawing
her dainty head closer to him, and kissing the lips that were so much
ruddier and sweeter than the wine. Then their lips separated no
more;--the night grew old, and they knew it not.
* * * * *
The birds awakened, the flowers opened their eyes to the rising sun,
and Ming-Y found himself at last compelled to bid his lovely enchantress
farewell. Sië, accompanying him to the terrace, kissed him fondly and
said, "Dear boy, come hither as often as you are able,--as often as your
heart whispers you to come. I know that you are not of those without
faith and truth, who betray secrets; yet, being so young, you might also
be sometimes thoughtless; and I pray you never to forget that only the
stars have been the witnesses of our love. Speak of it to no living
person, dearest; and take with you this little souvenir of our happy
night."
And she presented him with an exquisite and curious little thing,--a
paper-weight in likeness of a couchant lion, wrought from a jade-stone
yellow as that created by a rainbow in honor of Kong-fu-tze. Tenderly
the boy kissed the gift and the beautiful hand that gave it. "May the
Spirits punish me," he vowed, "if ever I knowingly give you cause to
reproach me, sweetheart!" And they separated with mutual vows.
That morning, on returning to the house of Lord Tchang, Ming-Y told the
first falsehood which had ever passed his lips. He averred that his
mother had requested him thenceforward to pass his nights at home, now
that the weather had become so pleasant; for, though the way was
somewhat long, he was strong and active, and needed both air and healthy
exercise. Tchang believed all Ming-Y said, and offered no objection.
Accordingly the lad found himself enabled to pass all his evenings at
the house of the beautiful Sië. Each night they devoted to the same
pleasures which had made their first acquaintance so charming: they sang
and conversed by turns; they played at chess,--the learned game invented
by Wu-Wang, which is an imitation of war; they composed pieces of eighty
rhymes upon the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the streams, the birds,
the bees. But in all accomplishments Sië far excelled her young
sweetheart. Whenever they played at chess, it was always Ming-Y's
general, Ming-Y's _tsiang_, who was surrounded and vanquished; when they
composed verses, Sië's poems were ever superior to his in harmony of
word-coloring, in elegance of form, in classic loftiness of thought.
And the themes they selected were always the most difficult,--those of
the poets of the Thang dynasty; the songs they sang were also the songs
of five hundred years before,--the songs of Youen-tchin, of Thou-mou, of
Kao-pien above all, high poet and ruler of the province of Sze-tchouen.
So the summer waxed and waned upon their love, and the luminous autumn
came, with its vapors of phantom gold, its shadows of magical purple.
* * * * *
Then it unexpectedly happened that the father of Ming-Y, meeting his
son's employer at Tching-tou, was asked by him: "Why must your boy
continue to travel every evening to the city, now that the winter is
approaching? The way is long, and when he returns in the morning he
looks fordone with weariness. Why not permit him to slumber in my house
during the season of snow?" And the father of Ming-Y, greatly
astonished, responded: "Sir, my son has not visited the city, nor has he
been to our house all this summer. I fear that he must have acquired
wicked habits, and that he passes his nights in evil company,--perhaps
in gaming, or in drinking with the women of the flower-boats." But the
High Commissioner returned: "Nay! that is not to be thought of. I have
never found any evil in the boy, and there are no taverns nor
flower-boats nor any places of dissipation in our neighborhood. No doubt
Ming-Y has found some amiable youth of his own age with whom to spend
his evenings, and only told me an untruth for fear that I would not
otherwise permit him to leave my residence. I beg that you will say
nothing to him until I shall have sought to discover this mystery; and
this very evening I shall send my servant to follow after him, and to
watch whither he goes."
Pelou readily assented to this proposal, and promising to visit Tchang
the following morning, returned to his home. In the evening, when Ming-Y
left the house of Tchang, a servant followed him unobserved at a
distance. But on reaching the most obscure portion of the road, the boy
disappeared from sight as suddenly as though the earth had swallowed
him. After having long sought after him in vain, the domestic returned
in great bewilderment to the house, and related what had taken place.
Tchang immediately sent a messenger to Pelou.
In the mean time Ming-Y, entering the chamber of his beloved, was
surprised and deeply pained to find her in tears. "Sweetheart," she
sobbed, wreathing her arms around his neck, "we are about to be
separated forever, because of reasons which I cannot tell you. From the
very first I knew this must come to pass; and nevertheless it seemed to
me for the moment so cruelly sudden a loss, so unexpected a misfortune,
that I could not prevent myself from weeping! After this night we shall
never see each other again, beloved, and I know that you will not be
able to forget me while you live; but I know also that you will become a
great scholar, and that honors and riches will be showered upon you, and
that some beautiful and loving woman will console you for my loss. And
now let us speak no more of grief; but let us pass this last evening
joyously, so that your recollection of me may not be a painful one, and
that you may remember my laughter rather than my tears."
She brushed the bright drops away, and brought wine and music and the
melodious _kin_ of seven silken strings, and would not suffer Ming-Y to
speak for one moment of the coming separation. And she sang him an
ancient song about the calmness of summer lakes reflecting the blue of
heaven only, and the calmness of the heart also, before the clouds of
care and of grief and of weariness darken its little world. Soon they
forgot their sorrow in the joy of song and wine; and those last hours
seemed to Ming-Y more celestial than even the hours of their first
bliss.
But when the yellow beauty of morning came their sadness returned, and
they wept. Once more Sië accompanied her lover to the terrace-steps; and
as she kissed him farewell, she pressed into his hand a parting gift,--a
little brush-case of agate, wonderfully chiselled, and worthy the table
of a great poet. And they separated forever, shedding many tears.
* * * * *
Still Ming-Y could not believe it was an eternal parting. "No!" he
thought, "I shall visit her tomorrow; for I cannot now live without her,
and I feel assured that she cannot refuse to receive me." Such were the
thoughts that filled his mind as he reached the house of Tchang, to find
his father and his patron standing on the porch awaiting him. Ere he
could speak a word, Pelou demanded: "Son, in what place have you been
passing your nights?"
Seeing that his falsehood had been discovered, Ming-Y dared not make any
reply, and remained abashed and silent, with bowed head, in the presence
of his father. Then Pelou, striking the boy violently with his staff,
commanded him to divulge the secret; and at last, partly through fear
of his parent, and partly through fear of the law which ordains that
"_the son refusing to obey his father shall be punished with one hundred
blows of the bamboo,_" Ming-Y faltered out the history of his love.
Tchang changed color at the boy's tale. "Child," exclaimed the High
Commissioner, "I have no relative of the name of Ping; I have never
heard of the woman you describe; I have never heard even of the house
which you speak of. But I know also that you cannot dare to lie to
Pelou, your honored father; there is some strange delusion in all this
affair."
Then Ming-Y produced the gifts that Sië had given him,--the lion of
yellow jade, the brush-case of carven agate, also some original
compositions made by the beautiful lady herself. The astonishment of
Tchang was now shared by Pelou. Both observed that the brush-case of
agate and the lion of jade bore the appearance of objects that had lain
buried in the earth for centuries, and were of a workmanship beyond the
power of living man to imitate; while the compositions proved to be
veritable master-pieces of poetry, written in the style of the poets of
the dynasty of Thang.
"Friend Pelou," cried the High Commissioner, "let us immediately
accompany the boy to the place where he obtained these miraculous
things, and apply the testimony of our senses to this mystery. The boy
is no doubt telling the truth; yet his story passes my understanding."
And all three proceeded toward the place of the habitation of Sië.
* * * * *
But when they had arrived at the shadiest part of the road, where the
perfumes were most sweet and the mosses were greenest, and the fruits of
the wild peach flushed most pinkly, Ming-Y, gazing through the groves,
uttered a cry of dismay. Where the azure-tiled roof had risen against
the sky, there was now only the blue emptiness of air; where the
green-and-gold facade had been, there was visible only the flickering of
leaves under the aureate autumn light; and where the broad terrace had
extended, could be discerned only a ruin,--a tomb so ancient, so deeply
gnawed by moss, that the name graven upon it was no longer decipherable.
The home of Sië had disappeared!
All suddenly the High Commissioner smote his forehead with his hand,
and turning to Pelou, recited the well-known verse of the ancient poet
Tching-Kou:--
"_Surely the peach-flowers blossom over
the tomb of SIË-THAO._"
"Friend Pelou," continued Tchang, "the beauty who bewitched your son was
no other than she whose tomb stands there in ruin before us! Did she not
say she was wedded to Ping-Khang? There is no family of that name, but
Ping-Khang is indeed the name of a broad alley in the city near. There
was a dark riddle in all that she said. She called herself Sië of
Moun-Hiao: there is no person of that name; there is no street of that
name; but the Chinese characters _Moun_ and _hiao_, placed together,
form the character 'Kiao.' Listen! The alley Ping-Khang, situated in
the street Kiao, was the place where dwelt the great courtesans of the
dynasty of Thang! Did she not sing the songs of Kao-pien? And upon the
brush-case and the paper-weight she gave your son, are there not
characters which read, '_Pure object of art belonging to Kao, of the
city of Pho-hai_'? That city no longer exists; but the memory of
Kao-pien remains, for he was governor of the province of Sze-tchouen,
and a mighty poet. And when he dwelt in the land of Chou, was not his
favorite the beautiful wanton Sië,--Sië-Thao, unmatched for grace among
all the women of her day? It was he who made her a gift of those
manuscripts of song; it was he who gave her those objects of rare art.
Sië-Thao died not as other women die. Her limbs may have crumbled to
dust; yet something of her still lives in this deep wood,--her Shadow
still haunts this shadowy place."
Tchang ceased to speak. A vague fear fell upon the three. The thin mists
of the morning made dim the distances of green, and deepened the ghostly
beauty of the woods. A faint breeze passed by, leaving a trail of
blossom-scent,--a last odor of dying flowers,--thin as that which clings
to the silk of a forgotten robe; and, as it passed, the trees seemed to
whisper across the silence, "_Sië-Thao_."
* * * * *
Fearing greatly for his son, Pelou sent the lad away at once to the
city of Kwang-tchau-fu. And there, in after years, Ming-Y obtained high
dignities and honors by reason of his talents and his learning; and he
married the daughter of an illustrious house, by whom he became the
father of sons and daughters famous for their virtues and their
accomplishments. Never could he forget Sië-Thao; and yet it is said that
he never spoke of her,--not even when his children begged him to tell
them the story of two beautiful objects that always lay upon his
writing-table: a lion of yellow jade, and a brush-case of carven agate.
[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]
The Legend of Tchi-Niu
A SOUND OF GONGS, A SOUND OF SONG,--THE SONG OF THE BUILDERS
BUILDING THE DWELLINGS OF THE DEAD:--
_Khiû tchî yîng-yîng.
Toû tchî hoûng-hoûng.
Tch[)o] tchî tông-tông.
Si[)o] liú pîng-pîng._
THE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU.
In the quaint commentary accompanying the text of that holy book of
Lao-tseu called _Kan-ing-p'ien_ may be found a little story so old that
the name of the one who first told it has been forgotten for a thousand
years, yet so beautiful that it lives still in the memory of four
hundred millions of people, like a prayer that, once learned, is forever
remembered. The Chinese writer makes no mention of any city nor of any
province, although even in the relation of the most ancient traditions
such an omission is rare; we are only told that the name of the hero of
the legend was Tong-yong, and that he lived in the years of the great
dynasty of Han, some twenty centuries ago.
* * * * *
Tong-Yong's mother had died while he was yet an infant; and when he
became a youth of nineteen years his father also passed away, leaving
him utterly alone in the world, and without resources of any sort; for,
being a very poor man, Tong's father had put himself to great straits to
educate the lad, and had not been able to lay by even one copper coin of
his earnings. And Tong lamented greatly to find himself so destitute
that he could not honor the memory of that good father by having the
customary rites of burial performed, and a carven tomb erected upon a
propitious site. The poor only are friends of the poor; and among all
those whom Tong knew; there was no one able to assist him in defraying
the expenses of the funeral. In one way only could the youth obtain
money,--by selling himself as a slave to some rich cultivator; and this
he at last decided to do. In vain his friends did their utmost to
dissuade him; and to no purpose did they attempt to delay the
accomplishment of his sacrifice by beguiling promises of future aid.
Tong only replied that he would sell his freedom a hundred times, if it
were possible, rather than suffer his father's memory to remain
unhonored even for a brief season. And furthermore, confiding in his
youth and strength, he determined to put a high price upon his
servitude,--a price which would enable him to build a handsome tomb, but
which it would be well-nigh impossible for him ever to repay.
* * * * *
Accordingly he repaired to the broad public place where slaves and
debtors were exposed for sale, and seated himself upon a bench of stone,
having affixed to his shoulders a placard inscribed with the terms of
his servitude and the list of his qualifications as a laborer. Many who
read the characters upon the placard smiled disdainfully at the price
asked, and passed on without a word; others lingered only to question
him out of simple curiosity; some commended him with hollow praise; some
openly mocked his unselfishness, and laughed at his childish piety. Thus
many hours wearily passed, and Tong had almost despaired of finding a
master, when there rode up a high official of the province,--a grave
and handsome man, lord of a thousand slaves, and owner of vast estates.
Reining in his Tartar horse, the official halted to read the placard and
to consider the value of the slave. He did not smile, or advise, or ask
any questions; but having observed the price asked, and the fine strong
limbs of the youth, purchased him without further ado, merely ordering
his attendant to pay the sum and to see that the necessary papers were
made out.
* * * * *
Thus Tong found himself enabled to fulfil the wish of his heart, and to
have a monument built which, although of small size, was destined to
delight the eyes of all who beheld it, being designed by cunning artists
and executed by skilful sculptors. And while it was yet designed only,
the pious rites were performed, the silver coin was placed in the mouth
of the dead, the white lanterns were hung at the door, the holy prayers
were recited, and paper shapes of all things the departed might need in
the land of the Genii were consumed in consecrated fire. And after the
geomancers and the necromancers had chosen a burial-spot which no
unlucky star could shine upon, a place of rest which no demon or dragon
might ever disturb, the beautiful _chih_ was built. Then was the phantom
money strewn along the way; the funeral procession departed from the
dwelling of the dead, and with prayers and lamentation the mortal
remains of Tong's good father were borne to the tomb.
Then Tong entered as a slave into the service of his purchaser, who
allotted him a little hut to dwell in; and thither Tong carried with him
those wooden tablets, bearing the ancestral names, before which filial
piety must daily burn the incense of prayer, and perform the tender
duties of family worship.
* * * * *
Thrice had spring perfumed the breast of the land with flowers, and
thrice had been celebrated that festival of the dead which is called
_Siu-fan-ti_, and thrice had Tong swept and garnished his father's tomb
and presented his fivefold offering of fruits and meats. The period of
mourning had passed, yet he had not ceased to mourn for his parent. The
years revolved with their moons, bringing him no hour of joy, no day of
happy rest; yet he never lamented his servitude, or failed to perform
the rites of ancestral worship,--until at last the fever of the
rice-fields laid strong hold upon him, and he could not arise from his
couch; and his fellow-laborers thought him destined to die. There was no
one to wait upon him, no one to care for his needs, inasmuch as slaves
and servants were wholly busied with the duties of the household or the
labor of the fields,--all departing to toil at sunrise and returning
weary only after the sundown.
Now, while the sick youth slumbered the fitful slumber of exhaustion one
sultry noon, he dreamed that a strange and beautiful woman stood by him,
and bent above him and touched his forehead with the long, fine fingers
of her shapely hand. And at her cool touch a weird sweet shock passed
through him, and all his veins tingled as if thrilled by new life.
Opening his eyes in wonder, he saw verily bending over him the charming
being of whom he had dreamed, and he knew that her lithe hand really
caressed his throbbing forehead. But the flame of the fever was gone, a
delicious coolness now penetrated every fibre of his body, and the
thrill of which he had dreamed still tingled in his blood like a great
joy. Even at the same moment the eyes of the gentle visitor met his own,
and he saw they were singularly beautiful, and shone like splendid black
jewels under brows curved like the wings of the swallow. Yet their calm
gaze seemed to pass through him as light through crystal; and a vague
awe came upon him, so that the question which had risen to his lips
found no utterance. Then she, still caressing him, smiled and said: "I
have come to restore thy strength and to be thy wife. Arise and worship
with me."
Her clear voice had tones melodious as a bird's song; but in her gaze
there was an imperious power which Tong felt he dare not resist. Rising
from his couch, he was astounded to find his strength wholly restored;
but the cool, slender hand which held his own led him away so swiftly
that he had little time for amazement. He would have given years of
existence for courage to speak of his misery, to declare his utter
inability to maintain a wife; but something irresistible in the long
dark eyes of his companion forbade him to speak; and as though his
inmost thought had been discerned by that wondrous gaze, she said to
him, in the same clear voice, "_I will provide._" Then shame made him
blush at the thought of his wretched aspect and tattered apparel; but he
observed that she also was poorly attired, like a woman of the
people,--wearing no ornament of any sort, nor even shoes upon her feet.
And before he had yet spoken to her, they came before the ancestral
tablets; and there she knelt with him and prayed, and pledged him in a
cup of wine,--brought he knew not from whence,--and together they
worshipped Heaven and Earth. Thus she became his wife.
* * * * *