only been able to clutch the shoe, and the pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it like one gone mad.
But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the molders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, and wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ge-ai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell, reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name—the name of Ge-ai!
And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “ Xie! ”And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence; but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of “ Xie! ”then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of Beijing whisper to their little ones: “ Listen! that is Ge-ai crying for her shoe! That is Ge-ai calling for her shoe! ”
Footnote:
19 The definition of this measure of distance has evolved over time, but by today’s standards, one hundred li is equivalent to about 30 miles.
The Story of Ming Yi
THE ANCIENT WORDS OF GUI—MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS OF THE EMPEROR YAO:
When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming Qiu—
When ye touch the lyre that is called Qin, or the guitar that is called Si—
Accompanying their sound with song—
Then do the grandfather and the father return;
Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear.
SANG THE POET QING GU:
“Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over the tomb of Xue Tao.”
D O you ask me who she was, the beautiful Xue Tao? For a thousand years and more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the syllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the leaves; with the quivering of many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering of lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman’s presence, of numberless savage flowers, Xue Tao. But, saving the whispering of her name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone remember the years of Xue Tao. Something about her you might, nevertheless, learn from any of those Jianggu ren, those famous Chinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in consideration of a few qian, the legends of the past. Something concerning her you may also find in the book entitled Jinguji guan , which signifies in our tongue: “The Marvelous Happenings of Ancient and of Recent Times.” And perhaps of all things therein written, the most marvelous is this memory of Xue Tao:
Five hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Hong wu, whose dynasty was Ming, there lived in the city of Guangzhoufu a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety, named Tian Bailu. This Tian Bailu had one son, a beautiful boy, who for scholarship and for bodily grace and for polite accomplishments had no superior among the youths of his age. And his name was Ming Yi.
Now when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that Bailu, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the city of Qingdu; and Ming Yi accompanied his parents thither. Near the city of Qingdu lived a
But in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and August had to be obeyed, and the work of the molders to be finished, hopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer and whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that had been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo! when the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful to look upon, and perfect in form, and wonderful in color above all other bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ge-ai; for it had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the well-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and the iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be deeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other bell, reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred li, like a pealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a name, a woman’s name—the name of Ge-ai!
And still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard; and ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as though a weeping woman should murmur, “ Xie! ”And still, when the people hear that great golden moan they keep silence; but when the sharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of “ Xie! ”then, indeed, do all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of Beijing whisper to their little ones: “ Listen! that is Ge-ai crying for her shoe! That is Ge-ai calling for her shoe! ”
Footnote:
19 The definition of this measure of distance has evolved over time, but by today’s standards, one hundred li is equivalent to about 30 miles.
The Story of Ming Yi
THE ANCIENT WORDS OF GUI—MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS OF THE EMPEROR YAO:
When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming Qiu—
When ye touch the lyre that is called Qin, or the guitar that is called Si—
Accompanying their sound with song—
Then do the grandfather and the father return;
Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear.
SANG THE POET QING GU:
“Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over the tomb of Xue Tao.”
D O you ask me who she was, the beautiful Xue Tao? For a thousand years and more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the syllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the leaves; with the quivering of many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering of lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman’s presence, of numberless savage flowers, Xue Tao. But, saving the whispering of her name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone remember the years of Xue Tao. Something about her you might, nevertheless, learn from any of those Jianggu ren, those famous Chinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in consideration of a few qian, the legends of the past. Something concerning her you may also find in the book entitled Jinguji guan , which signifies in our tongue: “The Marvelous Happenings of Ancient and of Recent Times.” And perhaps of all things therein written, the most marvelous is this memory of Xue Tao:
Five hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Hong wu, whose dynasty was Ming, there lived in the city of Guangzhoufu a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety, named Tian Bailu. This Tian Bailu had one son, a beautiful boy, who for scholarship and for bodily grace and for polite accomplishments had no superior among the youths of his age. And his name was Ming Yi.
Now when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that Bailu, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the city of Qingdu; and Ming Yi accompanied his parents thither. Near the city of Qingdu lived a
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