Some Chinese Ghosts | Page 9

dynasty of Thang.

"Friend Pelou," cried the High Commissioner, "let us immediately
accompany the boy to the place where he obtained these miraculous
things, and apply the testimony of our senses to this mystery. The boy
is no doubt telling the truth; yet his story passes my understanding."
And all three proceeded toward the place of the habitation of Sië.
* * * * *
But when they had arrived at the shadiest part of the road, where the
perfumes were most sweet and the mosses were greenest, and the fruits
of the wild peach flushed most pinkly, Ming-Y, gazing through the
groves, uttered a cry of dismay. Where the azure-tiled roof had risen
against the sky, there was now only the blue emptiness of air; where the
green-and-gold facade had been, there was visible only the flickering of
leaves under the aureate autumn light; and where the broad terrace had
extended, could be discerned only a ruin,--a tomb so ancient, so deeply
gnawed by moss, that the name graven upon it was no longer
decipherable. The home of Sië had disappeared!
All suddenly the High Commissioner smote his forehead with his hand,
and turning to Pelou, recited the well-known verse of the ancient poet
Tching-Kou:--
"_Surely the peach-flowers blossom over the tomb of SIË-THAO._"
"Friend Pelou," continued Tchang, "the beauty who bewitched your son
was no other than she whose tomb stands there in ruin before us! Did
she not say she was wedded to Ping-Khang? There is no family of that
name, but Ping-Khang is indeed the name of a broad alley in the city
near. There was a dark riddle in all that she said. She called herself Sië
of Moun-Hiao: there is no person of that name; there is no street of that
name; but the Chinese characters Moun and hiao, placed together, form
the character 'Kiao.' Listen! The alley Ping-Khang, situated in the street
Kiao, was the place where dwelt the great courtesans of the dynasty of
Thang! Did she not sing the songs of Kao-pien? And upon the
brush-case and the paper-weight she gave your son, are there not
characters which read, '_Pure object of art belonging to Kao, of the city
of Pho-hai_'? That city no longer exists; but the memory of Kao-pien

remains, for he was governor of the province of Sze-tchouen, and a
mighty poet. And when he dwelt in the land of Chou, was not his
favorite the beautiful wanton Sië,--Sië-Thao, unmatched for grace
among all the women of her day? It was he who made her a gift of
those manuscripts of song; it was he who gave her those objects of rare
art. Sië-Thao died not as other women die. Her limbs may have
crumbled to dust; yet something of her still lives in this deep
wood,--her Shadow still haunts this shadowy place."
Tchang ceased to speak. A vague fear fell upon the three. The thin
mists of the morning made dim the distances of green, and deepened
the ghostly beauty of the woods. A faint breeze passed by, leaving a
trail of blossom-scent,--a last odor of dying flowers,--thin as that which
clings to the silk of a forgotten robe; and, as it passed, the trees seemed
to whisper across the silence, "_Sië-Thao_."
* * * * *
Fearing greatly for his son, Pelou sent the lad away at once to the city
of Kwang-tchau-fu. And there, in after years, Ming-Y obtained high
dignities and honors by reason of his talents and his learning; and he
married the daughter of an illustrious house, by whom he became the
father of sons and daughters famous for their virtues and their
accomplishments. Never could he forget Sië-Thao; and yet it is said
that he never spoke of her,--not even when his children begged him to
tell them the story of two beautiful objects that always lay upon his
writing-table: a lion of yellow jade, and a brush-case of carven agate.
[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]

The Legend of Tchi-Niu
A SOUND OF GONGS, A SOUND OF SONG,--THE SONG OF THE
BUILDERS BUILDING THE DWELLINGS OF THE DEAD:--
_Khiû tchî yîng-yîng. Toû tchî hoûng-hoûng. Tch[)o] tchî tông-tông.
Si[)o] liú pîng-pîng._

THE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU.
In the quaint commentary accompanying the text of that holy book of
Lao-tseu called _Kan-ing-p'ien_ may be found a little story so old that
the name of the one who first told it has been forgotten for a thousand
years, yet so beautiful that it lives still in the memory of four hundred
millions of people, like a prayer that, once learned, is forever
remembered. The Chinese writer makes no mention of any city nor of
any province, although even in the relation of the most ancient
traditions such an omission is rare; we are only told that the name of