“May I give you this boy?”
The collector paid no attention to her, but passed on, taking nothing from the old woman. When in Seoul, however, he told the story. Thus it came to pass that many heard of the matter and remembered it later.
So when all was ready, the fire-clay crucibles were set on the white-hot coals. The blast roared until the bronze metal turned to liquid. Then, at the word of the master, the hissing, molten stream ran out and filled the mould. Patiently waiting till the metal cooled, alas! they found the bell cracked.
The casting was raised by means of heavy tackle, erected at great expense on the spot, and the bell was broken up into bits by stalwart blacksmiths, wielding heavy hammers. Then a second casting was made, but again, when cool, it was found to be cracked.
Three separate times this happened, until the price of a palace had been paid for work, fuel, and wages, and yet there was no bell. King Tai Jo was [[191]]in despair. Yet, instead of crying, or pulling his topknot, or berating the artisans, who had done the best they could, he offered a large reward to any one who could point out where the trouble lay, or show what was lacking, and thus secure a perfect casting. Thereupon out stepped a workman from the company, who told the story of the old woman and said that the bell would crack after every cooling unless her proposal was accepted. Anyway, he said, the hag was a sorceress, and if the child were not a real human being no harm could be done.
So the baby boy was sent for and, when the liquid metal had half filled the pit, was thrown into the mass. There was some feeling about “feeding a child to the fire demon,” but when they hoisted the cooled bell up from the mould, lo, the casting was a perfect success and every one apparently forgot about the human life that had entered the bell. Soon with file and chisel, the great work was finished. The hanging ceremonies were very impressive when the bell was put in place on the city’s central square, where the broad streets from the South Gate and those looking to sunrise and sunset met together. Suspended by heavy iron links from the staple on a stout timber frame, the bell’s mouth was exactly a foot above ground. Then, around and over it, was built the belfry. The names of the chief artisans who cast the bell [[192]]and of the royal officers who superintended the hanging ceremonies were engraved on the metal. It was decided, however, not to strike the bell until it was fully housed and the sounder or suspended log of wood, as thick as the mast of a ship, was made ready to send forth the initial boom.
Meanwhile tens of thousands of people waited to hear the first music of the bell. Every one believed it to be good luck and that they would live the longer for it. The boys and girls could hardly go to bed for listening, and some were afraid they might be asleep when it boomed. The little folks, whose eyes were usually fast shut at sunset, begged hard to stay up that night until they could hear the bell, but some fell asleep, because they could not help it, and their eyes closed before they knew it.
“What shall the name of the bell be, your Majesty?” asked a wise counselor.
All the children clapped their hands.