The Mossflow

水滸傳

https://www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk/document/?documentid=1628

THE MOSSFLOW

bi Shi Nai’an
i the recension o Jin Shengtan
owreset frae the Chinese bi
Brian Holton


PROLOGUE


WHAUR

Paip Zhang gies mass an mait agin the pest

AN

Marischal Hong gangs agley wi bogles


I the mixter-maxter o the Five Dynasties’ sturt an stour
Ae day the sindert clouds ance mair let keek the lift;
Nou hunder year auld gress lies daggit wi new rain
An mensefu leir retours ti the valleys ance again.

Gaucie silk is skailt owre ornar loans an wynds,
Pipe an thairm in ilka haa an chaumer ring;
The haill lythe warld nou taks the play in peace,
An palace orchids, wi nae devaul, dover i the sun.


Aweill, this echt-line stave wis screivit bi Shao Yaofu, whase halie-name wis Maister Puritas. A weill-kent scholar at the court o King Shenzong o the umqhile Hous o Song, he wis vext at the Five Dynasties, yon hinner-en o the Tang times whan there wis naethin but weir an brulyie: in thae days whit wis Jin’s i the mornin wad be Liang’s bi nicht, an richtlie wis it said:

Zhu, Li, Shi, Liu, Guo;
Liang, Tang, Jin, Han, Zhou:
Fifteen kings thegither
Skailt fiftie year o stushie!

Syne whan the birlin o Heiven’s courses wis by, King Taizu wis born i the Destrier Barracks. Whan yon sanct cam intil the warld a reid scaum spreid owre the lift an ferlie oams hung aa nicht ondwynan, for he wis the michtie Fireflaucht Immortal cam doun frae the warld abune. Spunkie an bauld, guid-willie an wyce, there wisna the like o yon Son o Heiven amang aa the langsyne princes an kings afore him. He wis a human stauf for dingin doun the fower hunder wardenries, an his forename wis Zhao! Yon Son o Heiven soupit the warld clean an muckit out the Middlin Plains, his line wis cryit michtie Song, he biggit his capital at Meicklebrig, an heidmaist o aa the kings an princes, he steidit the kinrik for fower hunder year. Yon’s hou Maister Puritas spak o him wi sic respeck, sayin “Ae day the sindert clouds let keek the lift”, acause for ornar fairmin chiels it wis juist like gettin a glisk o the sun again.

In thae days there wis a hermit hecht Chen Tuan bydin on the Wastlin Tap o Mount Glore: he wis a kennin an gracie sowl at bi glamourie cud guide the wind an wather. Ae day whan he wis striddlin his cuddie doun the brae ti the Gloresheddae Road he heard an outlan bodie sayin “Richt nou in the Eastren Capital Chai Shizong hes reteirit an Gaird-Marischal Zhao hes taen the throne”.

Whan he heard this, Maister Chen fand sic blytheness in his hairt at he clappit his haun ti his brou an laucht out loud ti he tummelt aff o his cuddie. The bodie speirit him whit for an the Maister tellt him “The warld’ll be weill fettelt nou! It’s juist the mellin o Heiven’s Will abune, Yirth’s Array ablow, an the Greement o Men in atween!”

Frae the Abdication o the gengshen (1) year whan King Taizu first tuik the throne, the warld kept peacefu for seiventeen year. Efterhaun succeedit the Royal Brither Taizong, wha reignit twentie an twa year or Zhenzong cam on, an efter him cam Renzong.

Nou this King Renzong wis the michtie Barefuit Immortal o the warld abune. Whan he wis born here ablow he roared an he grat bi nicht an bi day wi nae rest at aa, ti the Court pit out a placket cryin on fowk ti come an gie the Royal Bairn remeid. This gart the Heivenlie Court tak peitie, sae they sent doun the speirit o the Gloamin Staur i the mak o an auld carl. He steppit forrit, yerkit the placket doun, an said he cud stop the Royal Bairn frae greitin. The sarjants wi the placket led him inti the haa ti hae a hearin i the presence o King Zhenzong. The Son o Heiven decernit at he suid gang intil the benmaist court ti inspeck the Royal Bairn, sae the auld carl gaed richt in, fauldit the Royal Bairn in his airms, souchit a wheen words in his lug - an the Royal Bairn grat nae mair.

Whit wir the words he souchit?

They wir “For policy ye’se hae the Policy Staur, and for weir ye’se hae the Weir Staur.”

Richtsae it wis tae, for the Jade King abune hed sent doun the speirits o thae twa stern frae the Crammasie Haa, aa ti succour an forder an gie heizin ti this Son o Heiven. The Policy Staur wis Chief Justiciar o the Southron Office in Firstenfeus, Lord Collegiar o the Registry Bao Zheng, an the Weir Staur wis him at herried the kinrik o Wester Somir, Earl Marischal Di Qing. Thir twa wyce meinisters cam forth ti ser a king at held his throne forty an twa year an chynged his entitule nine times.

Frae the time o his ascendin the throne i the first year o the entitule Heivenlie Sages on ti the nint year o the same wis a time o peace i the warld whan hairsts wir guid an fowk blythe at their darg, whan whit wis tint wis left lyin on the road an yetts wir niver steikit at nicht - thir nine years is hecht The First Stent. Frae the first year o the entitule Bricht Wey ti the third year o Kinglie Blessins wis nine growthie years tae, an is hecht The Saicont Stent. Frae the fourth year o Kinglie Blessins ti the saicont year o Happie Blessins there wis a by the ornar rowth o corn i the pairks, an thir nine years is hecht The Third Stent. Thrie nines, twentie-seiven year thegither, maks The Thrie-Stentit Age. For smaa fowk thae years wis blythe an cheerie.

Whae thocht owremuckle pleisur wad bring on sorra? I the spring o the third year o Happie Blessins the pest cam spreidin owre the kinrik - frae Besouth the Watter ti the twa capitals, there wisna the ae place whaur fowk wisna smittlt wi this ill: frae ilka stewartrie an sheriffdom cam notandums in, thick as flauchts o snaa.

Aweill, baith in an ayont the Eastren Capital the feck o the lieges wir deein. Chief Justiciar Councillour Bao wi his ain haun gat Letters o General Merciment, an he spent his ain stipend on feesick ti bring the commontie remeid - but hou cud he cure them aa? The pest gaed spreidin on.

The Officiars o Policy an o Weir tuik avisement an forgaithert i the Clepsydra Haa ti wait on the Early Hearin whan they’d come afore the Son o Heiven. On this day, the third o the third month o the third year o Happie Blessins, at thrie meinits efter the fift hour the Son o Heiven muntit the throne i the Purpour Palace, an whan the officiars hed gien in the mornin bethankfu, the Palace Betheral raired out “Whasae hes cause, step forrit nou an propone! Whasae hes nane, rowe up the hingins an reteir!”

Sae it wis at furth o the thrang steppit the Councillour-in Chief Zhao Zhe an the Saicont Secretar Wen Yanbo, wha proponit:

“Afore our een the pest owrerins the capital, an monie’s the lieges at’s fordune thereby. It’s our hummil askin at the King’s Hieness furthshaw his luvin mercie bi the lowsin o felons, the lichtenin o unlaws an the dilutin o the cess, wi mass an mait ti be gien agin this ill dispensation, an remeid sae brocht ti the commontie.”

The Son o Heiven lissent an straucht decretit at the Hanlin Collegiars sud draucht a Dictamen:

item fylit felons o the kinrik ti be assoilyeit, an aa fowk to be exonert o ilka levy an cess;
item ordainit at i the temples o the Forbidden City, Halie Exercises ti be institute ti forfend unchance.

Yet yont aa thocht, that year the pest aye ran on. Whan King Renzong gat ti ken, his regal brou wis troubled, an ance mair he tuik avisement o his officiars. Frae the raw steppit forrit a hie meinister ti gie his proponance in, an the Son o Heiven spied Commissioner o State Fan Zhongyan. He lowtit doun, then he up an spak:

“Afore our een an ill dispensation rins its course, an the lieges are that trampit i the glaur wi’t at, be it nicht or be it day, they canna weill fend for theirsels. Yir Meinister hes this bit notion: gin this unchance is ti be forfendit, the Paip Hereditar micht be summonsed ti the Court incontinent, ti gie the Thrie Hunder an Saxtie Michtie Synoptic Masses - as a petitour ti the Lord Abune he’ll can aiblins sain the fowk o the pest at’s amang them.”

King Renzong, Son o Heiven, ratifeed this proponance, an straucht gied word to the Hanlin Collegiars at a Dictamen be drauchtit. Wi his ain haun he subscryvit it, an giftit forby a spirlie o the Royal Incense. He appointit Hong Xin, the Marischal o the Inbye an Outbye Haas o Supervision, ti be Royal Messager, ti mak ti Dragon-Tiger Brae in Faithlands o Wast the Watter an bid His Halieness Paip Hereditar Zhang come ti the Court incontinent an gie mass an mait agin the pest. Then he gaed ti the Gowden Haa ti kennle the Royal Incense, an wi his ain haun he gied the reid-sealed Dictamen ti Marischal Hong.

Takin the Royal Orders, Marischal Hong gied his fareweills ti the Son o Heiven, an wi the Dictamen on his back an the Royal Incense in his haun he backit his post-horse, led his menyie o sindrie score out o the Eastren Capital, an gaed smairtlie ti Worthieburn County o Faithlands. They wan or lang gaed by ti Faithlands Toun, whaur officiars o hie an laich degree cam out ayont the burgh dykes ti walcome them in. Men wir affhaun sent ti let ken the Abbeymaister an the priests o Sublimitie Abbey on Dragon-Tiger Brae, ti gar them busk theirsels ti get the Dictamen.

Neist day, the officiars aa convoyed the Marischal ti the fuit o Dragon-Tiger Brae, an doun there cam a wheen o priests o Sublimitie Abbey ti see in the reid-sealed Dictamen, wi their bells an drums bangin, their censers sweetlie reikin, their braw canopies aa silk-spraingelt, an their rare musicianers in a raw. They lichtit doun ilkane afore Sublimitie Abbey itsel, an aabodie frae the sanctlie Abbeymaister doun ti the servitors an the novice-callants, wi walcomin afore an convoyin ahint, wan ti the Thriefauld Sublimitie Haa, whaur they bade tak the Dictamen ti the Worshippers’ Tenement.

“Whaur about’s the Paip the nou?” Marischal Hong speirs the Abbeymaister, an the Abbeymaister hummlie tells him: “An it please ye ti ken, Marischal, our Fundator hes for his byname Vacuitranquillitas. Hie-mindit an clean bi naitur, he’s weariet o society an he’s awa ti his sprotten-theikit sheilin on the heid o Dragon-Tiger Brae ti care for his saul-heill an the nourishin o his divinitie - yon’s hou he disna bide here in our Abbey”. “The Son o Heiven hes eenou furthset a Dictamen: whit wey micht A get ti see him?” quo the Marischal, an the Abbeymaister reponit, “Sae please ye, pit the Dictamen by intil the Haa for the meinit. Us puir priests’ll no daur read it. Nou if it’s yir will, Marischal, come awa an tak tea in ma chaumers, an we’ll can think on it mair.”

Sae wi aa reverence the Dictamen wis pit by in the Thriefauld Sublimitie Haa, an they gaed alang wi the officiars ti the chaumers. The Marischal sat hissel doun i the midmaist place an the kitchiefowk set in the tea. Lentren-mait cam on neist, an there wis aa the vivers at land or watter micht supply.

Whan that wis by, ance mair the Marischal speirit the Abbeymaister: “An the Paip’s in his sheilin on the braeheid, whit for can we no sen ti bid him come doun here an read the Dictamen?”

“Sae be the Paip’s on the braeheid” repones the Abbeymaister hummlie, “he’s byornar wyce an skillie. He can munt the mists an sclim the clouds an there’ll be fient the haet o him ti be fund. He’s ill eneuch ti fin even for us puir priests, sae whit wey will we can bid him come dounby?”

Quo the Marischal, “An yon’s the wey o’t, whit wey dae A fin him? This verra meinit the pest’s owrerinnin the capital. A bit officiar like masel’s been sent parteiclar bi the Son o Heiven ti cairry the Royal Dictamen, an wi His Ain Haun he’s traistit me wi the Royal Incense ti come an bid the Paip gie the Thrie Hunder an Saxtie Michtie Synoptic Masses for the fendin o unchance, an sae bring the commontie remeid. Whit wey will A dae it gin it’s aa ti be like this?”

“The Son o Heiven nae dout ettles ti bring the commontie remeid” says the Abbey-maister, “but athout ye’re something upricht an hairt-eident.......Ye’ll need ti bath yirsel, haud yirsel frae flesh an strang drink, an busk yirsel in hodden claes; tak nane o yir menyie, but shouther the Dictamen yir nainsel, kennle the Royal Incense, shank awa up the brae an gie a richt gentie an mensefu-like biddin - an ye dinna, it’ll be a tuim step ye tak, an he’ll be gey an ill ti fin.”

The Marischal lissent an said “Aa the road here frae the capital A’ve etten nocht forby lentren-mait, sae hou wad A no be hairt-eident? But gin sae it’s ti be, A maun e’en dae as ye bid, an up the brae the morn’s morn fell early.”

An wi that ilkane gaed ti their nicht’s rest.

Neist day at the fift hour the priests raise up, poured a perfumit bath, an bade the Marischal get up an wash hissel. Clean buskit in fresh hodden claes an wi strae shuin on his feet he ett his lentren-mait, rowed the Dictamen in yalla silk, shouthert it, an wi a siller censer in his haun he stertit ti kennle the Royal Incense. A wheen priests convoyed him ti the back brae ti airt him on his road, an ance mair the Abbeymaister said “Gin ye’re ti bring the commontie remeid, Marischal, dinna you be takin a back-gangin turn, but haud ye aye forrit wi an eident hairt.”

The Marischal quat the gaitherin, an aa his owrecome as he linkit up the brae wis the blissit name o god. He gaed awa his leelane a while owre twistit tracks, up fankled bankins, clauchterin as he gaed at bushes an brambles aa taiglt an snorled, til whan he’d wan a guid twa-thrie mile owre the braes, bit bi bit his legs begude ti fail, his feet begude ti stound, an he cud gang nae mair.

Niver the word did he speak, tho i his breist he wis switherin. “A’m a Court Officiar o hie degree” he thocht ti hissel, “thick-fauldit wis ma beddin i the capital, an dentie the board A ett aff. Ay, an there’ll be sweirtie intil’t tae - whan did A ever weir sic strae shuin an gae shankin owre sic hill-gaits?.....Fine they ken whaurabout their Paip is, but och, the wearie weys A’ve still ti thole!” An he’d gane nae mair as fifty steps afore he wis hotchin an pechin.

Then a flaff o wind raise up out o a corrie on the braeside, an whan it wis by, on a sudden frae in ahint the pine trees wi a gurl like thunner a muckle white-broued gowden-haired baistie wi bogglin een cam breingin out at him! Marischal Hong fair gat a fleg: he gied the ae skreich an cowpit owre backart. The muckle baist cam on at him, roun an roun wi gurlin an wi gowpin, til it turnt an skelpit aff doun the back bankin an awa. Marischal Hong wis left streikit out at a tree-fuit, that fleyed his thirty-sax teeth wis dirlin thegither an his hairt wis playin dunt-duntie like fifteen buckets in a wal, seiven o them gaun up an echt o them gaun doun. His haill body wis numb like he hed the paralytics, i the houghs he wis like a waurit fechtin-cock, an in his mou wis aye doulanee.

Wi the baistie awa, it tuik the time a cup o tea taks afore he cud staucher ti’s feet, lift the censer, an stert kennlin the Royal Incense: then he wis awa up the brae again, fair set on gettin ti see the Paip.

Ance mair he’d taen nae mair as fifty steps afore he wis sicherin, an he wis peingin: “Bi command o His Majestie A’m pitten here ti get frichts the like o yon!”. An he wis juist new dune sayin it whan anither flaff o wind he felt, an the fowsum reek o’t bladdit aa about him. The Marischal glowert roun an roun, then frae the bamboo-shaw on the braeface there cam a reishlin soun, an a muckle white-spreckled worm the size o a chein o wal-buckets burst ram-stam out at him!

The sicht o this gied the Marischal anither fleg; he flang awa his censer, an wi a roar o “Am killt this time!”, back he cowpit ti the side o a muckle clinty stane. But the worm cam richt up ti the stane an kinkit itsel up in a hott fornent the Marischal, its twae een leamin gowd, the tongue fliskin out o the unco mou o’t, an a fowsum pyzen spirtin i the face o Marischal Hong. It gied him a fleg at wandert his wits an clean dumfounert him. The baist hed a lang look at the Marischal, then snoovit awa doun the brae an wis seen nae mair.

Ance an he cud staucher ti’s feet he says “Guidsakes! A wis near killt wi the fricht o’t!”, an whan he spied he’d hen’s flesh on him the size o dumplins, he stertit in ti miscaa the priests: “It’s owre demmed menseless, makin sic a mock o me! An giein me sic flegs an frichts forby!....An A canna find the Paip on the brae, A’ll awa dounby an there’ll be mair said about it!” Sae he liftit his siller censer, gied a bit redd up ti the Dictamen, his claes an his bunnet, an wis set for up the brae ance mair.

He wis juist liftin his feet whan he heard ahint the pines a wee soun o whisslin comin near. The Marischal lookit an spied a novice callant comin on, striddlin a yalla stot backside foremaist, whisslin on an airn flute an keck-kecklin as he gaed owre the brae. Marischal Hong cried on him “Whaur hae ye come frae? Dae ye ken whae A am?”. The callant niver let dicht, tho, but gaed on wi his wheiplin. Twae-thrie times mair the Marischal speirit at him or the callant gied a rairin lauch, pyntin at him wi the airn flute an sayin “Ye cam here ti fin the Paip, didn’t ye no?” Unco fleyed, the Commander says “Ye’re but a herd-callant, hou gat ye ti ken?” an the callant leuch “A wis waitin on the Paip this mornin an A heard him say ‘The Son o Heiven’s eenou sendin some Marischal Hong bodie wi a reid-sealit Dictamen an Royal Incense ti bring up the brae, an he’ll summonse me ti the Eastren Capital ti gie the Thrie Hunder an Saxtie Michtie Synoptic Masses, an gie mass an mait agin the pest at’s i the kinrik. A’m awa nou ti munt the mists an sclim the clouds an gae.’ A dout he maun be awa bi this, for he isna at the sheilin. Dinna you gang upbye: the’r a byornar amount o worms an wild baists on the braes, an A’m feart they’ll aiblins dae ye ill.”

Ance mair the Marischal speirit him: “Ye wadna be tellin lees nou?” But the callant gied the ae lauch an niver answert back, juist wheiplin on his airn flute as he wan awa owre the braeface.

The Marischal thocht on’t: “Hou wad yon bairn ken aa about it? A dout it’ll be the Paip at commandit him.....Ay, sae it maun be.” An he’d a mind ti haud up the brae ance mair, but he thocht: “A’ve new been sair fleyed, an gey near losst ma life.....leifer doun the brae, A’m thinkin.”

Sae the Marischal tuik his censer, airtit out his auld gait, an skelpit doun the brae. The priest-bodies at cam out ti him bade him in ti sit doun i the Abbeymaister’s chaumers, an the Abbeymaister speirit him: “Did ye see the Paip?”

Quo the Marischal, “A’m a Court Officiar o hie degree: hou cud ye pit me owre sic hillgaits ti dree sic a wearie weird an gey near loss ma life? Firstlins, haufroads up the brae a muckle white-broued baist wi bogglin een cam breingin out an gied uis sic a fleg A tint ma wits; neist, whan A hedna gaen mair as haufroads owre the brae, out o a bamboo-shaw a muckle white-spreckled worm burst ramstam out at uis, kinkit itsel up in a hott, an wadna let uis gang forrit! This is aa you priesties makin a mock o me!”

“Whit wey wad us puir priests daur lichtlie Yir Honour?” quo the Abbeymaister. “It maun hae been Our Fundator preein yir hairt, Marischal, for tho there’s worms an baists eneuch on our braes, they’re no skaithfu at aa!”

“A cud juist gang nae mair” quo the Marischal, “but A wis set for up the brae again for aa that, whan this callant cam out frae in aside the pine wuids, an gaed owre the brae striddlin a yalla stot an whisslin on an airn flute. Sae A speirit him ‘Whaur are ye frae? Ken me?’. Quo he ‘A ken aa about it’, an he tellt me the Paip hed muntit his crane, sclimmed the clouds an awa ti the Eastren Capital this mornin. Sae back A cam.”

“Och, but it’s a shame, Marischal” quo the Abbeymaister, “for ye’ve mischancit! Thon herd-callant wis the Paip hissel!”

“Hou’s he sae ill-faured, then, gin he’s the Paip?” says the Marischal, an the Abbeymaister answert him.

“Our present Paip’s no ti be lichtliet: for aa he’s a bairn, he’s byornar wyce an skillie. He’s a loun at’s aathegither by the common, a sheinin luminance in ilka airt, an his prayers is effeckfu abune aa ither thing. Warldlie fowk cries him Fundator Viapervador”.

“A didna ken the verra Paip” rairs the Marischal, “an me wi een in ma heid! E’en forenenst him A’ve mischancit!”

“Dinna fash, Marischal. Sin the Fundator’s shawin us he’s gane, then bi time ye’ve wan ti the capital he’ll hae feinisht wi aa thae Halie Exercises.” An the Marischal wis fasht nae mair.

The Abbeymaister gart set out a braw denner ti the Marischal, biddin him pit the Reid-sealed Dictamen awa intil a kist o Royal Write an lea it at Sublimitie Abbey, an the Royal Incense wis brunt i the Thriefauld Sublimitie Haa. Meikle wis the lentren-mait set out thon day i the chaumers, wi feastin an wi drink; the soiree gaed on late, then ilkane tuik their nicht’s rest or the day it hed dawed.

The neist day efter brakfaist the Abbeymaister an the priests, alang wi sindrie o the wardens an siclike ither fowk, speirit the Marischal wad he tak a bit turn outowre the braes, an the Marischal wis fair delightit. Wi a wheen o the ither fowk followin ahint them, they quat the chaumers, an led bi a novice they divertit theirsels wi aa the sichts as they daunert about the Abbey. The riches an the braws o the Thriefauld Sublimitie Abbey wad be mair nor tongue micht tell: on the left-haun aisle wis the Nint Heiven Haa, Peerie Purpie Haa, an the Polestaur Haa. On the richt-haun aisle wis Michtie Monad Haa, Thrie Clerks Haa, an the Sainin o Ill Haa.

Ance an they’d seen aa about the biggins they landit at a bit in ahint the richt-haun aisle, an Marischal Hong spied anither biggin ti the Abbey. Cley waas it hed, as reid aa roun as champit chillie peppers, wi twa lang scarlet windaes i the face o’t. The yett wis steikit wi a pintle as lang’s yir airm, crossweys owre it wis clappit a dizzen or mair o the priests’ lang paper bands, an the bands wir owrestampit time an time again wi reid seals. Afore the easins wis hingin a reid-lacquered signbrod, the gowden letters o’t sayin

Dounhadden Demons Haa.

Pyntin at the door, Marischal Hong says, “Whit kin o a haa’s this?”, an the Abbeymaister answert him: “It wis i the time o the Michtie Hous o Tang at the bygane Paip Mysteriopervador lockit an sealed the King o Demons in. For generations it’s been haunit doun frae Paip ti Paip at ilkane wi his ain haun maun eik his band, sae nae son nor oe o theirs micht apen thon door. Byornar fearsome’s the Demon Princes at micht get out. Throu echt-nine generations nou they’ve swure an aith at apen it they winna daur. Yon sneck wis made o the rinnin bress cuisten in a mold - whae kens whit lies inben? Sin the time A cam for Abbeymaister here, mair nor thirty year sinsyne, A’ve kent nocht o’t forby the hearin”.

Marischal Hong gat a shog wi this, but he thocht ti hissel, “A’ll juist try a bit keek at thae demons.” sae ti the Abbeymaister quo he “Juist apen you the door an A’ll see whitlike’s the King o Demons.”

The Abbeymaister tellt him: “ Marischal Hong, we mauna dae it. It’s aye been the threipin an the tellin o bygane Paips: nae man in onie time maun get ti apen it unbidden.”

“Havers!” leuch the Marischal.” Ye’re juist cleckin ferlies ti begowk daicent fowk wi! Ye dae thae places out deliberate, lettin on ye’ve the King o Demons lockit up, an it’s aa ti glaik fowk wi yir warlockrie. Weill, A’ve read aa the Buiks o Leir, an ye’se niver finnd a wey ti lock demons up there, for demons an bogles o their kind an naitur is set ti byde i the Mirk Pit. A’ll juist no hae’t at the’r a King o Demons in yonder! Get it strecht apen for me, an A’ll see whitlike’s the King o Demons!”