12Beongcheon Yu, p. 292.
13Letter to Chamberlain, in Jonathan Cott, Wandering Ghost, p. 372.
14J.R.R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-Stories,” Tree and Leaf, Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 1965, p. 62.
15Lafcadio Hearn, “Some Thoughts About Ancestor Worship,” Kokoro: Hints and Echoes of Japanese Inner Life, p. 290.
16Jonathan Cott, p. 345.
17Sukehiro Hirakawa, “Introduction: Lafcadio Hearn: Towards an Irish Interpretation: in Paul Murray, pp. 5–8.
18W. K. McNeil, “Lafcadio Hearn, American Folklorist,” Journal of American Folklore, vol. 91, No. 362, Oct–Dec. p 962.
Victoria Cass
Baltimore, Maryland
The Soul of the Great Bell
She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears.
HAO QIU ZHUAN: c.ix.
THE WATER-CLOCK marks the hour in the Da Zhongsi—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 Fahua jing, from the chapters of the holy Lingyan jing! Hear the great bell responding! How mighty her voice, though tongueless! GE-AI! 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. GE-AI! 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! GE-AI! 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, “Xie!” Even so the great bell hath sounded every day for well-nigh five hundred years—Ge-ai: first with stupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with silver murmuring of “Xie!” 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 Ge-ai and Xie!
Now, this is the story of the great bell in the Da Zhongsi, as the same is related in the Baixiaodu shou, written by the learned Yu Baochen, of the City of Guanzhoufu.
Nearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven, Yongluo, of the “Illustrious,” or Ming, dynasty, commanded the worthy official Guanyu that he should have a bell made of such size that the sound thereof might be heard for one hundred li.19 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 center of the imperial capital, to sound through all the many-colored ways of the city of Beijing.
Therefore the worthy mandarin Guanyu assembled the master-molders 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 skillfully, and prepared the molds, 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 Guanyu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of Heaven.
But when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mold 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 molds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the metal re-melted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The Son of Heaven heard, and was angry, but spoke 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 Guanyu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier than before; and sent his messenger to Guanyu with a letter, written upon lemon-colored silk, and sealed with the seal of the Dragon, containing these words:
From the Mighty Yongluo, the Sublime Taizong, the Celestial and August—whose reign is called “Ming”—to Guanyu the Fuyin: 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, Guanyu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose name—Ge-ai—was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even more beautiful than her face. Ge-ai 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 Huang Dao, or Yellow Road—and consulted the table of the Five Xing, 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 Ge-ai 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 Ge-ai, together with her waiting-woman, accompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a platform overlooking the toiling of the molders 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 Guanyu; and Guanyu 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 Ge-ai 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 Ge-ai, 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 Ge-ai, 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 s
he had sought to grasp Ge-ai 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 molders 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 Ge-ai; 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 Ge-ai!
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, “Xie!” 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 “Xie!” then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of Beijing whisper to their little ones: “Listen! that is Ge-ai crying for her shoe! That is Ge-ai calling for her shoe!”
Footnote:
19The definition of this measure of distance has evolved over time, but by today’s standards, one hundred li is equivalent to about 30 miles.
The Story of Ming Yi
THE ANCIENT WORDS OF GUI—MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS OF THE EMPEROR YAO:
When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming Qiu—
When ye touch the lyre that is called Qin, or the guitar that is called Si—
Accompanying their sound with song—
Then do the grandfather and the father return;
Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear.
SANG THE POET QING GU:
“Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over the tomb of Xue Tao.”
DO you ask me who she was, the beautiful Xue Tao? 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, Xue Tao. But, saving the whispering of her name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone remember the years of Xue Tao. Something about her you might, nevertheless, learn from any of those Jianggu ren, those famous Chinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in consideration of a few qian, the legends of the past. Something concerning her you may also find in the book entitled Jinguji guan, which signifies in our tongue: “The Marvelous Happenings of Ancient and of Recent Times.” And perhaps of all things therein written, the most marvelous is this memory of Xue Tao:
Five hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Hong wu, whose dynasty was Ming, there lived in the city of Guangzhoufu a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety, named Tian Bailu. This Tian Bailu 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 Yi.
Now when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that Bailu, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the city of Qingdu; and Ming Yi accompanied his parents thither. Near the city of Qingdu lived a rich man of rank, a high commissioner of the government, whose name was Zhang, 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 Zhang visited him to obtain advice in this matter; and happening to meet and converse with Bailu’s accomplished son, immediately engaged Ming Yi as a private tutor for his family.
Now as the house of this Lord Zhang was situated several miles from town, it was deemed best that Ming Yi 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, counseled him wisely, and cited to him the words of Laozi 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 Yi 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 Zhang, 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 Hua zhao, or, “The Birthday of a Hundred Flowers,” a longing came upon Ming Yi to see his parents; and he opened his heart to the good Zhang, 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 Hua zhao, 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 Yi 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 Yi; 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 Yi 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 Yi 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 Yi 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 Yi, 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 g
reen-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 Yi 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 Yi 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 Yi 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 Yi 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.
Chinese Ghost Stories Page 2
