Some Chinese Ghosts | Page 3

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.