Some Chinese Ghosts | Page 6

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