The Bell of Kuang Sai.
By EDWARD W. GILBERT.
An original story written for The Scrap Book.
“They are ghouls, and their king it is who tolls.”
“Heaven born, forbear anger; in one little half-hour, or an hour at most, the bearers shall be here, and we will go forward with the speed of dragons. In the meantime, I will place a rug for the Presence to sit upon, and give him fire that he may drink tobacco.”
Jarvis assented with a sulky grunt, tossed Chen, his Chinese runner, a cigar, and lay on his back smoking and staring up into the dark hollow of the great bell suspended on a stone tripod.
“After labor it is good to lie at ease and smoke, especially when the Presence, who is my father and mother, bestows such tobacco. If the Heaven Born desires, I will tell him the tale of the great bell under which we lie. I have permission? Thus runs the tale:
“Kublai-Chan, Lord of the Earth, desired greatly to leave a memory such as no other king should ever equal, and after much thought he called Kuang Sai, the great artist in all metals, and commanded:
“‘Let there be cast for me a great bell, such as never earth or heaven saw, of the finest metal, bossed with angels and demons, and so great that the sound thereof shall reach to the utmost border of my kingdom, that all may hear, and, hearing, know that in Kambalu reigns the king, and, knowing, tremble and obey him.’
“And Kuang Sai prostrated himself nine times, and said: ‘My lord wills it, and it is done.’
“And he called his master metal-workers, journeymen and apprentices, and took from the king’s treasury gold and silver and copper and fine bronze for the casting, and he took clay and wax and modeled the bell—great, beautifully formed; round the lip of it, lilies and pomegranate; round the body of it, the angels and devils of air and sound, with waving hair and garments, like sound-made flesh; the loops by which it was to hang, two imperial dragons.
“And when all was ready he made the mold, and his men lit the fires, and for two days labored they at the melting, casting into the pot the gold and silver and copper and fine bronze. And when it was melted with fervent heat, his master founder, the strong man, struck out the plug from the crucible, and let the red hot metal flow into the mold. Four days waited the cooling; then they broke the mold—and the great bell was flawed.
“And again he made the mold and melted the metal, and again cast it, and again it was flawed. And again and again, and yet again, and always the great bell was flawed, and must be broken and re-melted.
“Then Kuang Sai offered sacrifice to his gods, and his master metal-workers, journeymen and apprentices, according to their several degree, also offered sacrifice to their gods; and again they cast it, and again it was flawed.
“Two score times they cast it—and always the flaw. Kuang Sai grew thin and pale; he ate not, nor slept; for his honor laid in that casting—and always the flaw.
“He offered sacrifice to the high gods, the middle, and the less; to the lords of earth, air, sea, and sky; to all demons and rulers of the upper and under worlds; to gods and godlings. He prayed in all temples; he gave food and garments to the poor; he consulted all priests; he leaked rice and silver to all. The priests grew fat and sleek; an innumerable multitude of beggars lay at the gate of Kuang Sai; and still, when he cast the bell—the flaw.
“And on a day he was summoned to the footstool of the great Chan. He made the nine prostrations according to ritual, and waited; and presently, soft and low, the great Kublai-Chan spoke thus:
“‘Kuang Sai, I have given thee all things to make my bell, yet still thou hast failed after three score trials, whereby I am lacking my bell, and my honor is diminished. If in three more trials I have not my bell, you shall die the death of a thousand slices, and your house and all therein perish by fire. I have said it. You have my permission to depart.’
“Kuang Sai departed full of fear. That night he went to the little Temple of Forbidden Things, and paid the blind priest of that temple to call up by name the powers of air, water, fire, and earth, and ask which of the lords of all things he had offended, that he might make his peace and cast his bell.
“He sat at the foot of the naked altar, while the priest cast dust upon his head and called upon the high gods, the middle, and the less, by name—each by his name, title, dignity, and degree. He called upon all gods of city and field, of trees and fountains, great and small; and they answered not. Then he called on the demons and lords of particular things, of metals and tools, of trades and crafts.
“And when he called on the Lord of Bells, came the runner of the Lord of Bells—a demon terrible to behold, red in color, bristling with hair, short and broad of stature, squat and paunchy of figure, long of arm, wide-mouthed, and having three eyes.
“‘Kuang Sai,’ said he (and his voice was like the rolling of a great bell), ‘you have made sacrifice to all gods, but you have forgotten the great Lord of Bells.’
“At the name all the temple gongs boomed without being struck of hands.
“‘Therefore is he mocked of his fellows; and therefore, before he will suffer you to cast the king’s bell, my lord demands your most precious treasure. At the next founding, when the metal leaps red hot for the casting, bring your daughter’ (here Kuang Sai cried aloud and fell down with his face in the dust of the temple floor) ‘arrayed as a bride, and before the metal flows give her to the Lord of Bells; so shall the casting be good. If not, remember that the death of a thousand slices is long, for without this sacrifice never will my lord suffer you to cast that bell.’
“And he disappeared, making noises like a bell.
“Kuang Sai went forth, staggering, and all night he walked and thought; and at morn he said ‘No,’ and went to the casting—and again the flaw. And he sat dumb and motionless and ground his teeth, and again said ‘No,’ and went to the casting—and again the flaw.
“Excellency, all that a man has, down to his skin, will he give for his life; and near to me is my shirt, but nearer my skin; and if the third casting failed he died in agony and his name was blotted out. There be men who would have died, but living among pictures and statues and singing men and women does not breed the courage that says ‘Then I can die.’
“On the day of the last casting, what time the pot bubbled full of red hot metal, over which floated light clouds of heat, came Kuang Sai, leading by the hand his little daughter, Fen Sai, blooming as a white water-lily, tripping on her little pearl-embroidered shoes, chattering and laughing in her father’s face.
“They came to the scaffold over the mouth of the great melting-pot, and as they came the master founder, the strong man, cried: ‘Master, behold the casting waits.’
“And Kuang Sai suddenly caught up his little daughter and cast her into the molten metal. Once she cried, very awful to hear—once, and no more; for or ever she touched the metal the fierce heat licked her up as a drop of wine is dried on a hot stone. And as she fell, one of her little shoes dropped off onto the scaffold.
“‘To the casting,’ said Kuang Sai, and the strong man struck out the plug of the crucible, and the metal, glowing red and green and golden, flowed into the mold. Four days waited they the cooling, and they broke the mold—and behold, the great bell, perfect, flawless, the wonder of the world for ages; the bell under which we now lie.
“And Kublai-Chan said:
“‘Let Kuang Sai be clothed in the imperial yellow; give to him the mandarin’s crystal button, and write on a tablet at my palace gate, in letters of vermilion: “Kuang Sai, the Incomparable Artificer, Whom the King Delights to Honor.”’
“And they clothed Kuang Sai and bowed down before him, giving him due honor according to command.
“Then masons built the stone pillars and hung the great bell, and on a day came Kublai-Chan to ring it for the first time, and with him, at his right hand, Kuang Sai, whom he delighted to honor.
“And when all things were prepared, Kublai-Chan, the great king, drew back the striking-beam with all force, and rang the great bell, and sound came forth, deep, sweet, and full as the voices of the gods.
“Far, far away spread the circles of sound, even to the edge of the kingdom. The multitudes gathered around and fell down before that voice in rows, as corn before the reaper. The farmer in the field heard and fell down before the voice of the king’s bell. At the edge of the kingdom the Tatar heard it, and checked his horse, wondering.
“And little by little the sound rippled down again to silence, but as the sound died there came a buzzing and whispering inside the bell, and it grew and grew sharper and louder, into a second peal—clear, sharp, cutting the heart like a knife—the scream of a woman in pain, fright, and horror beyond measure.
“Kublai-Chan covered his lips with his hand, for kings should not be seen to tremble. His guards, strong men, red-haired, tigers nourished by blood, looked on each other with white faces, and Kuang Sai, in his robes of honor, crouched and scrabbled in the dirt with his fingers and whispered and driveled.
“They led him away, and all his life long he had no more the light of reason, but sat and mowed and muttered and laughed foolishly, except when the king’s bell rang, and then he would fall and lie with his mouth in the dust.
“Behold! in an auspicious hour here come the bearers. Shall we walk to meet them? My tale has eaten up the waiting. But Heaven Born doubts its truth. Before we go, I will ring the great bell for him.”
Chen caught the suspended beam by which Chinese bells are rung, swung it, and struck the shining side of the bell, and the deep boom echoed over the flat plain. It was truly a tremendous sound, and justified the belief that it could be heard to the confines of the kingdom, and gradually the rippling circles of sound died down to silence.
Jarvis, standing with his hands in his belt, was forming his lips to say, ‘But where’s the scream?’ when Chen raised his hand for silence, and then, within the arch of the great bell, began a buzzing, like bees—a little sound, like trickling water or the roaring in a shell; and this thread of sound grew and gathered till suddenly there pealed out, full-throated, the cry of a woman in agony of body and soul—a sound to dream of and wake at night with your teeth on edge.
“That, excellency,” said Chen, “is Fen Sai crying for her shoe.”
Jarvis answered nothing, but he walked faster toward the coming bearers, and though the sun was hot on his back, his bones felt cold.
Man could direct his ways by plain reason and support his life by tasteless food; but God has given us wit, and flavor, and brightness, and laughter, and performers, to enliven the days of man’s pilgrimage, and to charm his pained steps over the burning marl.—Sidney Smith. (1771–1845.)