The Haunted Bell | Page 4

the weirdly beautiful chant of the priests
of Buddha. The flickering light for an instant gave an appearance of life
to the heavy-lidded, drooping eyes, then it steadied again and they
seemed fixed on the urn wherein the fire burned.
After a moment the curtain of gold was thrust aside in three places
simultaneously, and three silken-robed priests appeared. Each bore in
his hand a golden sceptre. Together they approached the sacred fire and
together they thrust the sceptres into it. Instantly a blaze spouted up,
illuminating the vast, high-roofed palace of worship, and a cloud of
incense arose. The sweetly sickening odor spread out, fanlike, over the
throng.

The three priests turned away from the urn, and each, with slow,
solemn tread, made his way to an altar of incense with the flaming
torch held aloft. They met again at the feet of Buddha and prostrated
themselves, at the same time extending the right hand and forming
some symbol in the air. The chant from behind the golden veil softened
to a murmur, and the murmur grew into silence. Then:
"Gautama!"
The name came from the three together--the tone was a prayer. It
reverberated for an instant in the recesses of the great temple; then the
multitude, with one motion, raised themselves, repeated the single word
and groveled again on their faces.
"Siddhartha, Beloved!"
Again the three priests spoke and again the supplicants moved as one,
repeating the words. The burning incense grew heavy, the sacred fire
flickered, and shadows flitted elusively over the golden, graven face of
the Buddha.
"Sayka-muni, Son of Heaven!"
The moving of the multitude as it swayed and answered was in perfect
accord. It was as if one heart, one soul, one thought had inspired the
action.
"O Buddha! Wise One! Enlightened One!" came the voices of the
priests again. "Oh, Son of Kapilavastu! Chosen One! Holy One who
found Nirvana! Your unworthy people are at your feet. Omnipotent
One! We seek your gracious counsel!"
The voices in chorus had risen to a chant. When they ceased there was
the chill of suspense; a little shiver ran through the temple; there was a
hushed movement of terrified anxiety. Of all the throng only the priests
dared raise their eyes to the cold, graven face of the image. For an
instant the chilling silence; then boldly, vibrantly, a bell
sounded--once!

"Buddah has spoken!"
It was a murmurous whisper, almost a sigh, plaintive, awestricken. The
note of the bell trembled on the incense-laden air, then was dissipated,
welded into silence again. Priests and people were cowering on the bare
stones; the lights flared up suddenly, then flickered, and the
semi-gloom seemed to grow sensibly deeper. Behind the veil of gold
the chant of the priests began again. But it was a more solemn note--a
despairing wail. For a short time it went on, then died away.
Again the sacred fire blazed up as if caught by a gust of wind, but the
glow did not light the Buddha's face now--it was concentrated on a
bronze gong which dropped down sheerly on a silken cord at Buddha's
right hand. There were six discs, the largest at the top, silhouetted
against the darkness of the golden veil beyond. From one of these bells
the sound had come, but now they hung mute and motionless. Only the
three priests raised reverential eyes to it, and one, the eldest rose.
"O Voice of Buddha!" he apostrophized in a moving, swinging
chant--and the face of the graven-god seemed swallowed up in the
shadows-- "we, your unworthy disciples, await! Each year at the
eleventh festival we supplicate! But thrice only hast thou spoken in the
half-century, and thrice within the eleventh day of your speaking our
Emperor has passed into the arms of Death and Nirvana. Shall it again
be so, Omnipotent One?"
The chant died away and the multitude raised itself to its knees with
supplicating hands thrust out into the darkness toward the dim-lit gong.
It was an attitude of beseeching, of prayer, of entreaty.
And again, as it hung motionless, the bell sounded. The tone rolled out
melodiously, clearly--Once! Twice! Thrice! Those who gazed at the
miracle lowered their eyes lest they be stricken blind. And the bell
struck on--Four! Five! Six! A plaintive, wailing cry was raised; the
priests behind the veil of gold were chanting again. Seven! Eight! Nine!
The people took up the rolling chant as they groveled, and it swelled
until the ancient walls of the temple trembled. Ten! Eleven!

Utter silence! A supplicant throng, bowed in awed humility, with hands
outstretched, palms downward, and yellow faces turned in mute prayer
toward the light which fluttered up feebly from the sacred fire upon the
stony, leering countenance of Buddha! . . .
* * *
Mr. Matsumi straightened