{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16261/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16261","id":"gutenberg_16261","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16261","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","China -- Social life and customs -- Fiction","Legends -- China"],"text":"Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Louise Pryor and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Transcriber's Note: The letter o with a caron\nis indicated as [)o] in this text version.]\n\n\n\n\nSOME CHINESE GHOSTS\n\n\nBY LAFCADIO HEARN\n\n\n\n\n_Copyright_, 1887, by ROBERTS BROTHERS\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_To my friend_  HENRY EDWARD KREHBIEL\n\n_THE MUSICIAN_\n\nWHO, SPEAKING THE SPEECH OF MELODY UNTO THE\nCHILDREN OF TIEN-HIA,--\nUNTO THE WANDERING TSING-JIN, WHOSE SKINS\nHAVE THE COLOR OF GOLD,--\nMOVED THEM TO MAKE STRANGE SOUNDS UPON THE\nSERPENT-BELLIED SAN-HIEN;\nPERSUADED THEM TO PLAY FOR ME UPON THE\nSHRIEKING YA-HIEN;\nPREVAILED ON THEM TO SING ME A SONG OF THEIR\nNATIVE LAND,--\nTHE SONG OF MOHLI-HWA,\nTHE SONG OF THE JASMINE-FLOWER\n\n[Illustration: Line drawing of a man's head]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n_PREFACE_\n\n\nI think that my best apology for the insignificant size of this volume\nis the very character of the material composing it. In preparing the\nlegends I sought especially for _weird beauty_; and I could not forget\nthis striking observation in Sir Walter Scott's \"Essay on Imitations of\nthe Ancient Ballad\": \"The supernatural, though appealing to certain\npowerful emotions very widely and deeply sown amongst the human race,\nis, nevertheless, a _spring which is peculiarly apt to lose its\nelasticity by being too much pressed upon_.\"\n\nThose desirous to familiarize themselves with Chinese literature as a\nwhole have had the way made smooth for them by the labors of linguists\nlike Julien, Pavie, Remusat, De Rosny, Schlegel, Legge,\nHervey-Saint-Denys, Williams, Biot, Giles, Wylie, Beal, and many other\nSinologists. To such great explorers, indeed, the realm of Cathayan\nstory belongs by right of discovery and conquest; yet the humbler\ntraveller who follows wonderingly after them into the vast and\nmysterious pleasure-grounds of Chinese fancy may surely be permitted to\ncull a few of the marvellous flowers there growing,--a self-luminous\n_hwa-wang_, a black lily, a phosphoric rose or two,--as souvenirs of his\ncurious voyage.\n\nL.H.\n\nNEW ORLEANS, March 15, 1886.\n\n\n\n\n_CONTENTS_\n\n\nTHE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL\n\nTHE STORY OF MING-Y\n\nTHE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU\n\nTHE RETURN OF YEN-TCHIN-KING\n\nTHE TRADITION OF THE TEA-PLANT\n\nTHE TALE OF THE PORCELAIN-GOD\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNOTES\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Decorative motif]\n\n[Illustration: Line drawing of a head]\n\n\n\n\nThe Soul of the Great Bell\n\n\n     _She hath spoken, and her words still resound in his ears._\n\n     HAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN: c. ix.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SOUL OF THE GREAT BELL\n\n\nThe water-clock marks the hour in the _Ta-chung sz'_,--in the Tower of\nthe Great Bell: now the mallet is lifted to smite the lips of the\nmetal monster,--the vast lips inscribed with Buddhist texts from the\nsacred _Fa-hwa-King_, from the chapters of the holy _Ling-yen-King_!\nHear the great bell responding!--how mighty her voice, though\ntongueless!--_KO-NGAI!_ All the little dragons on the high-tilted\neaves of the green roofs shiver to the tips of their gilded tails\nunder that deep wave of sound; all the porcelain gargoyles tremble on\ntheir carven perches; all the hundred little bells of the pagodas\nquiver with desire to speak. _KO-NGAI!_--all the green-and-gold tiles\nof the temple are vibrating; the wooden goldfish above them are\nwrithing against the sky; the uplifted finger of Fo shakes high over\nthe heads of the worshippers through the blue fog of incense!\n_KO-NGAI!_--What a thunder tone was that! All the lacquered goblins on\nthe palace cornices wriggle their fire-colored tongues! And after each\nhuge shock, how wondrous the multiple echo and the great golden moan\nand, at last, the sudden sibilant sobbing in the ears when the immense\ntone faints away in broken whispers of silver,--as though a woman\nshould whisper, \"_Hiai!_\" Even so the great bell hath sounded every\nday for well-nigh five hundred years,--_Ko-Ngai_: first with\nstupendous clang, then with immeasurable moan of gold, then with\nsilver murmuring of \"_Hiai!_\" And there is not a child in all the\nmany-colored ways of the old Chinese city who does not know the story\nof the great bell,--who cannot tell you why the great bell says\n_Ko-Ngai_ and _Hiai_!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, this is the story of the great bell in the Ta-chung sz', as the\nsame is related in the _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, written by the learned\nYu-Pao-Tchen, of the City of Kwang-tchau-fu.\n\nNearly five hundred years ago the Celestially August, the Son of Heaven,\nYong-Lo, of the \"Illustrious,\" or Ming, dynasty, commanded the worthy\nofficial Kouan-Yu that he should have a bell made of such size that the\nsound thereof might be heard for one hundred _li_. And he further\nordained that the voice of the bell should be strengthened with brass,\nand deepened with gold, and sweetened with silver; and that the face and\nthe great lips of it should be graven with blessed sayings from the\nsacred books, and that it should be suspended in the centre of the\nimperial capital, to sound through all the many-colored ways of the City\nof Pe-king.\n\nTherefore the worthy mandarin Kouan-Yu assembled the master-moulders and\nthe renowned bellsmiths of the empire, and all men of great repute and\ncunning in foundry work; and they measured the materials for the alloy,\nand treated them skilfully, and prepared the moulds, the fires, the\ninstruments, and the monstrous melting-pot for fusing the metal. And\nthey labored exceedingly, like giants,--neglecting only rest and sleep\nand the comforts of life; toiling both night and day in obedience to\nKouan-Yu, and striving in all things to do the behest of the Son of\nHeaven.\n\nBut when the metal had been cast, and the earthen mould separated from\nthe glowing casting, it was discovered that, despite their great labor\nand ceaseless care, the result was void of worth; for the metals had\nrebelled one against the other,--the gold had scorned alliance with the\nbrass, the silver would not mingle with the molten iron. Therefore the\nmoulds had to be once more prepared, and the fires rekindled, and the\nmetal remelted, and all the work tediously and toilsomely repeated. The\nSon of Heaven heard, and was angry, but spake nothing.\n\nA second time the bell was cast, and the result was even worse. Still\nthe metals obstinately refused to blend one with the other; and there\nwas no uniformity in the bell, and the sides of it were cracked and\nfissured, and the lips of it were slagged and split asunder; so that all\nthe labor had to be repeated even a third time, to the great dismay of\nKouan-Yu. And when the Son of Heaven heard these things, he was angrier\nthan before; and sent his messenger to Kouan-Yu with a letter, written\nupon lemon-colored silk, and sealed with the seal of the Dragon,\ncontaining these words:--\n\n\"_From the Mighty Yong-Lo, the Sublime Tait-Sung, the Celestial and\nAugust,--whose reign is called 'Ming,'--to Kouan-Yu the Fuh-yin: Twice\nthou hast betrayed the trust we have deigned graciously to place in\nthee; if thou fail a third time in fulfilling our command, thy head\nshall be severed from thy neck. Tremble, and obey!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow, Kouan-Yu had a daughter of dazzling loveliness, whose\nname--Ko-Ngai--was ever in the mouths of poets, and whose heart was even\nmore beautiful than her face. Ko-Ngai loved her father with such love\nthat she had refused a hundred worthy suitors rather than make his home\ndesolate by her absence; and when she had seen the awful yellow missive,\nsealed with the Dragon-Seal, she fainted away with fear for her father's\nsake. And when her senses and her strength returned to her, she could\nnot rest or sleep for thinking of her parent's danger, until she had\nsecretly sold some of her jewels, and with the money so obtained had\nhastened to an astrologer, and paid him a great price to advise her by\nwhat means her father might be saved from the peril impending over him.\nSo the astrologer made observations of the heavens, and marked the\naspect of the Silver Stream (which we call the Milky Way), and examined\nthe signs of the Zodiac,--the _Hwang-tao_, or Yellow Road,--and\nconsulted the table of the Five _Hin_, or Principles of the Universe,\nand the mystical books of the alchemists. And after a long silence, he\nmade answer to her, saying: \"Gold and brass will never meet in wedlock,\nsilver and iron never will embrace, until the flesh of a maiden be\nmelted in the crucible; until the blood of a virgin be mixed with the\nmetals in their fusion.\" So Ko-Ngai returned home sorrowful at heart;\nbut she kept secret all that she had heard, and told no one what she had\ndone.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt last came the awful day when the third and last effort to cast the\ngreat bell was to be made; and Ko-Ngai, together with her waiting-woman,\naccompanied her father to the foundry, and they took their places upon a\nplatform overlooking the toiling of the moulders and the lava of\nliquefied metal. All the workmen wrought their tasks in silence; there\nwas no sound heard but the muttering of the fires. And the muttering\ndeepened into a roar like the roar of typhoons approaching, and the\nblood-red lake of metal slowly brightened like the vermilion of a\nsunrise, and the vermilion was transmuted into a radiant glow of gold,\nand the gold whitened blindingly, like the silver face of a full moon.\nThen the workers ceased to feed the raving flame, and all fixed their\neyes upon the eyes of Kouan-Yu; and Kouan-Yu prepared to give the signal\nto cast.\n\nBut ere ever he lifted his finger, a cry caused him to turn his head;\nand all heard the voice of Ko-Ngai sounding sharply sweet as a bird's\nsong above the great thunder of the fires,--\"_For thy sake, O my\nFather!_\" And even as she cried, she leaped into the white flood of\nmetal; and the lava of the furnace roared to receive her, and spattered\nmonstrous flakes of flame to the roof, and burst over the verge of the\nearthen crater, and cast up a whirling fountain of many-colored fires,\nand subsided quakingly, with lightnings and with thunders and with\nmutterings.\n\nThen the father of Ko-Ngai, wild with his grief, would have leaped in\nafter her, but that strong men held him back and kept firm grasp upon\nhim until he had fainted away and they could bear him like one dead to\nhis home. And the serving-woman of Ko-Ngai, dizzy and speechless for\npain, stood before the furnace, still holding in her hands a shoe, a\ntiny, dainty shoe, with embroidery of pearls and flowers,--the shoe of\nher beautiful mistress that was. For she had sought to grasp Ko-Ngai by\nthe foot as she leaped, but had only been able to clutch the shoe, and\nthe pretty shoe came off in her hand; and she continued to stare at it\nlike one gone mad.\n\n\nBut in spite of all these things, the command of the Celestial and\nAugust had to be obeyed, and the work of the moulders to be finished,\nhopeless as the result might be. Yet the glow of the metal seemed purer\nand whiter than before; and there was no sign of the beautiful body that\nhad been entombed therein. So the ponderous casting was made; and lo!\nwhen the metal had become cool, it was found that the bell was beautiful\nto look upon, and perfect in form, and wonderful in color above all\nother bells. Nor was there any trace found of the body of Ko-Ngai; for\nit had been totally absorbed by the precious alloy, and blended with the\nwell-blended brass and gold, with the intermingling of the silver and\nthe iron. And when they sounded the bell, its tones were found to be\ndeeper and mellower and mightier than the tones of any other\nbell,--reaching even beyond the distance of one hundred _li_, like a\npealing of summer thunder; and yet also like some vast voice uttering a\nname, a woman's name,--the name of Ko-Ngai!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd still, between each mighty stroke there is a long low moaning heard;\nand ever the moaning ends with a sound of sobbing and of complaining, as\nthough a weeping woman should murmur, \"_Hiai!_\" And still, when the\npeople hear that great golden moan they keep silence; but when the\nsharp, sweet shuddering comes in the air, and the sobbing of \"_Hiai!_\"\nthen, indeed, all the Chinese mothers in all the many-colored ways of\nPe-king whisper to their little ones: \"_Listen! that is Ko-Ngai crying\nfor her shoe! That is Ko-Ngai calling for her shoe!_\"\n\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Ming-Y\n\n\n     THE ANCIENT WORDS OF KOUEI--MASTER OF MUSICIANS IN THE COURTS\n     OF THE EMPEROR YAO:--\n\n    _When ye make to resound the stone melodious, the Ming-Khieou,--\n    When ye touch the lyre that is called Kin, or the guitar that is\n        called Sse,--\n    Accompanying their sound with song,--\n    Then do the grandfather and the father return;\n    Then do the ghosts of the ancestors come to hear._\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF MING-Y\n\n     _Sang the Poet Tching-Kou: \"Surely the Peach-Flowers blossom over\n     the tomb of Sie-Thao.\"_\n\n\nDo you ask me who she was,--the beautiful Sie-Thao? For a thousand years\nand more the trees have been whispering above her bed of stone. And the\nsyllables of her name come to the listener with the lisping of the\nleaves; with the quivering of many-fingered boughs; with the fluttering\nof lights and shadows; with the breath, sweet as a woman's presence, of\nnumberless savage flowers,--_Sie-Thao_. But, saving the whispering of\nher name, what the trees say cannot be understood; and they alone\nremember the years of Sie-Thao. Something about her you might,\nnevertheless, learn from any of those _Kiang-kou-jin_,--those famous\nChinese story-tellers, who nightly narrate to listening crowds, in\nconsideration of a few _tsien_, the legends of the past. Something\nconcerning her you may also find in the book entitled \"Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan,\"\nwhich signifies in our tongue: \"The Marvellous Happenings of Ancient and\nof Recent Times.\" And perhaps of all things therein written, the most\nmarvellous is this memory of Sie-Thao:--\n\nFive hundred years ago, in the reign of the Emperor Houng-Wou, whose\ndynasty was _Ming_, there lived in the City of Genii, the city of\nKwang-tchau-fu, a man celebrated for his learning and for his piety,\nnamed Tien-Pelou. This Tien-Pelou had one son, a beautiful boy, who for\nscholarship and for bodily grace and for polite accomplishments had no\nsuperior among the youths of his age. And his name was Ming-Y.\n\nNow when the lad was in his eighteenth summer, it came to pass that\nPelou, his father, was appointed Inspector of Public Instruction at the\ncity of Tching-tou; and Ming-Y accompanied his parents thither. Near the\ncity of Tching-tou lived a rich man of rank, a high commissioner of the\ngovernment, whose name was Tchang, and who wanted to find a worthy\nteacher for his children. On hearing of the arrival of the new Inspector\nof Public Instruction, the noble Tchang visited him to obtain advice in\nthis matter; and happening to meet and converse with Pelou's\naccomplished son, immediately engaged Ming-Y as a private tutor for his\nfamily.\n\nNow as the house of this Lord Tchang was situated several miles from\ntown, it was deemed best that Ming-Y should abide in the house of his\nemployer. Accordingly the youth made ready all things necessary for his\nnew sojourn; and his parents, bidding him farewell, counselled him\nwisely, and cited to him the words of Lao-tseu and of the ancient sages:\n\n\"_By a beautiful face the world is filled with love; but Heaven may\nnever be deceived thereby. Shouldst thou behold a woman coming from the\nEast, look thou to the West; shouldst thou perceive a maiden approaching\nfrom the West, turn thine eyes to the East._\"\n\nIf Ming-Y did not heed this counsel in after days, it was only because\nof his youth and the thoughtlessness of a naturally joyous heart.\n\nAnd he departed to abide in the house of Lord Tchang, while the autumn\npassed, and the winter also.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the time of the second moon of spring was drawing near, and that\nhappy day which the Chinese call _Hoa-tchao_, or, \"The Birthday of a\nHundred Flowers,\" a longing came upon Ming-Y to see his parents; and he\nopened his heart to the good Tchang, who not only gave him the\npermission he desired, but also pressed into his hand a silver gift of\ntwo ounces, thinking that the lad might wish to bring some little\nmemento to his father and mother. For it is the Chinese custom, on the\nfeast of Hoa-tchao, to make presents to friends and relations.\n\nThat day all the air was drowsy with blossom perfume, and vibrant with\nthe droning of bees. It seemed to Ming-Y that the path he followed had\nnot been trodden by any other for many long years; the grass was tall\nupon it; vast trees on either side interlocked their mighty and\nmoss-grown arms above him, beshadowing the way; but the leafy\nobscurities quivered with bird-song, and the deep vistas of the wood\nwere glorified by vapors of gold, and odorous with flower-breathings as\na temple with incense. The dreamy joy of the day entered into the heart\nof Ming-Y; and he sat him down among the young blossoms, under the\nbranches swaying against the violet sky, to drink in the perfume and the\nlight, and to enjoy the great sweet silence. Even while thus reposing, a\nsound caused him to turn his eyes toward a shady place where wild\npeach-trees were in bloom; and he beheld a young woman, beautiful as the\npinkening blossoms themselves, trying to hide among them. Though he\nlooked for a moment only, Ming-Y could not avoid discerning the\nloveliness of her face, the golden purity of her complexion, and the\nbrightness of her long eyes, that sparkled under a pair of brows as\ndaintily curved as the wings of the silkworm butterfly outspread. Ming-Y\nat once turned his gaze away, and, rising quickly, proceeded on his\njourney. But so much embarrassed did he feel at the idea of those\ncharming eyes peeping at him through the leaves, that he suffered the\nmoney he had been carrying in his sleeve to fall, without being aware of\nit. A few moments later he heard the patter of light feet running behind\nhim, and a woman's voice calling him by name. Turning his face in great\nsurprise, he saw a comely servant-maid, who said to him, \"Sir, my\nmistress bade me pick up and return you this silver which you dropped\nupon the road.\" Ming-Y thanked the girl gracefully, and requested her to\nconvey his compliments to her mistress. Then he proceeded on his way\nthrough the perfumed silence, athwart the shadows that dreamed along the\nforgotten path, dreaming himself also, and feeling his heart beating\nwith strange quickness at the thought of the beautiful being that he had\nseen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was just such another day when Ming-Y, returning by the same path,\npaused once more at the spot where the gracious figure had momentarily\nappeared before him. But this time he was surprised to perceive, through\na long vista of immense trees, a dwelling that had previously escaped\nhis notice,--a country residence, not large, yet elegant to an unusual\ndegree. The bright blue tiles of its curved and serrated double roof,\nrising above the foliage, seemed to blend their color with the luminous\nazure of the day; the green-and-gold designs of its carven porticos were\nexquisite artistic mockeries of leaves and flowers bathed in sunshine.\nAnd at the summit of terrace-steps before it, guarded by great\nporcelain tortoises, Ming-Y saw standing the mistress of the\nmansion,--the idol of his passionate fancy,--accompanied by the same\nwaiting-maid who had borne to her his message of gratitude. While Ming-Y\nlooked, he perceived that their eyes were upon him; they smiled and\nconversed together as if speaking about him; and, shy though he was, the\nyouth found courage to salute the fair one from a distance. To his\nastonishment, the young servant beckoned him to approach; and opening a\nrustic gate half veiled by trailing plants bearing crimson flowers,\nMing-Y advanced along the verdant alley leading to the terrace, with\nmingled feelings of surprise and timid joy. As he drew near, the\nbeautiful lady withdrew from sight; but the maid waited at the broad\nsteps to receive him, and said as he ascended:\n\n\"Sir, my mistress understands you wish to thank her for the trifling\nservice she recently bade me do you, and requests that you will enter\nthe house, as she knows you already by repute, and desires to have the\npleasure of bidding you good-day.\"\n\nMing-Y entered bashfully, his feet making no sound upon a matting\nelastically soft as forest moss, and found himself in a\nreception-chamber vast, cool, and fragrant with scent of blossoms freshly\ngathered. A delicious quiet pervaded the mansion; shadows of flying\nbirds passed over the bands of light that fell through the half-blinds\nof bamboo; great butterflies, with pinions of fiery color, found their\nway in, to hover a moment about the painted vases, and pass out again\ninto the mysterious woods. And noiselessly as they, the young mistress\nof the mansion entered by another door, and kindly greeted the boy, who\nlifted his hands to his breast and bowed low in salutation. She was\ntaller than he had deemed her, and supplely-slender as a beauteous lily;\nher black hair was interwoven with the creamy blossoms of the\n_chu-sha-kih_; her robes of pale silk took shifting tints when she\nmoved, as vapors change hue with the changing of the light.\n\n\"If I be not mistaken,\" she said, when both had seated themselves after\nhaving exchanged the customary formalities of politeness, \"my honored\nvisitor is none other than Tien-chou, surnamed Ming-Y, educator of the\nchildren of my respected relative, the High Commissioner Tchang. As the\nfamily of Lord Tchang is my family also, I cannot but consider the\nteacher of his children as one of my own kin.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" replied Ming-Y, not a little astonished, \"may I dare to inquire\nthe name of your honored family, and to ask the relation which you hold\nto my noble patron?\"\n\n\"The name of my poor family,\" responded the comely lady, \"is _Ping_,--an\nancient family of the city of Tching-tou. I am the daughter of a certain\nSie of Moun-hao; Sie is my name, likewise; and I was married to a young\nman of the Ping family, whose name was Khang. By this marriage I became\nrelated to your excellent patron; but my husband died soon after our\nwedding, and I have chosen this solitary place to reside in during the\nperiod of my widowhood.\"\n\nThere was a drowsy music in her voice, as of the melody of brooks, the\nmurmurings of spring; and such a strange grace in the manner of her\nspeech as Ming-Y had never heard before. Yet, on learning that she was a\nwidow, the youth would not have presumed to remain long in her presence\nwithout a formal invitation; and after having sipped the cup of rich tea\npresented to him, he arose to depart. Sie would not suffer him to go so\nquickly.\n\n\"Nay, friend,\" she said; \"stay yet a little while in my house, I pray\nyou; for, should your honored patron ever learn that you had been here,\nand that I had not treated you as a respected guest, and regaled you\neven as I would him, I know that he would be greatly angered. Remain at\nleast to supper.\"\n\nSo Ming-Y remained, rejoicing secretly in his heart, for Sie seemed to\nhim the fairest and sweetest being he had ever known, and he felt that\nhe loved her even more than his father and his mother. And while they\ntalked the long shadows of the evening slowly blended into one violet\ndarkness; the great citron-light of the sunset faded out; and those\nstarry beings that are called the Three Councillors, who preside over\nlife and death and the destinies of men, opened their cold bright eyes\nin the northern sky. Within the mansion of Sie the painted lanterns were\nlighted; the table was laid for the evening repast; and Ming-Y took his\nplace at it, feeling little inclination to eat, and thinking only of the\ncharming face before him. Observing that he scarcely tasted the dainties\nlaid upon his plate, Sie pressed her young guest to partake of wine;\nand they drank several cups together. It was a purple wine, so cool that\nthe cup into which it was poured became covered with vapory dew; yet it\nseemed to warm the veins with strange fire. To Ming-Y, as he drank, all\nthings became more luminous as by enchantment; the walls of the chamber\nappeared to recede, and the roof to heighten; the lamps glowed like\nstars in their chains, and the voice of Sie floated to the boy's ears\nlike some far melody heard through the spaces of a drowsy night. His\nheart swelled; his tongue loosened; and words flitted from his lips that\nhe had fancied he could never dare to utter. Yet Sie sought not to\nrestrain him; her lips gave no smile; but her long bright eyes seemed to\nlaugh with pleasure at his words of praise, and to return his gaze of\npassionate admiration with affectionate interest.\n\n\"I have heard,\" she said, \"of your rare talent, and of your many elegant\naccomplishments. I know how to sing a little, although I cannot claim to\npossess any musical learning; and now that I have the honor of finding\nmyself in the society of a musical professor, I will venture to lay\nmodesty aside, and beg you to sing a few songs with me. I should deem it\nno small gratification if you would condescend to examine my musical\ncompositions.\"\n\n\"The honor and the gratification, dear lady,\" replied Ming-Y, \"will be\nmine; and I feel helpless to express the gratitude which the offer of so\nrare a favor deserves.\"\n\nThe serving-maid, obedient to the summons of a little silver gong,\nbrought in the music and retired. Ming-Y took the manuscripts, and\nbegan to examine them with eager delight. The paper upon which they were\nwritten had a pale yellow tint, and was light as a fabric of gossamer;\nbut the characters were antiquely beautiful, as though they had been\ntraced by the brush of Hei-song Che-Tchoo himself,--that divine Genius\nof Ink, who is no bigger than a fly; and the signatures attached to the\ncompositions were the signatures of Youen-tchin, Kao-pien, and\nThou-mou,--mighty poets and musicians of the dynasty of Thang! Ming-Y\ncould not repress a scream of delight at the sight of treasures so\ninestimable and so unique; scarcely could he summon resolution enough to\npermit them to leave his hands even for a moment. \"O Lady!\" he cried,\n\"these are veritably priceless things, surpassing in worth the\ntreasures of all kings. This indeed is the handwriting of those great\nmasters who sang five hundred years before our birth. How marvellously\nit has been preserved! Is not this the wondrous ink of which it was\nwritten: _Po-nien-jou-chi, i-tien-jou-ki,_--'After centuries I remain\nfirm as stone, and the letters that I make like lacquer'? And how divine\nthe charm of this composition!--the song of Kao-pien, prince of poets,\nand Governor of Sze-tchouen five hundred years ago!\"\n\n\"Kao-pien! darling Kao-pien!\" murmured Sie, with a singular light in her\neyes. \"Kao-pien is also my favorite. Dear Ming-Y, let us chant his\nverses together, to the melody of old,--the music of those grand years\nwhen men were nobler and wiser than to-day.\"\n\nAnd their voices rose through the perfumed night like the voices of the\nwonder-birds,--of the Fung-hoang,--blending together in liquid\nsweetness. Yet a moment, and Ming-Y, overcome by the witchery of his\ncompanion's voice, could only listen in speechless ecstasy, while the\nlights of the chamber swam dim before his sight, and tears of pleasure\ntrickled down his cheeks.\n\nSo the ninth hour passed; and they continued to converse, and to drink\nthe cool purple wine, and to sing the songs of the years of Thang, until\nfar into the night. More than once Ming-Y thought of departing; but each\ntime Sie would begin, in that silver-sweet voice of hers, so wondrous a\nstory of the great poets of the past, and of the women whom they loved,\nthat he became as one entranced; or she would sing for him a song so\nstrange that all his senses seemed to die except that of hearing. And at\nlast, as she paused to pledge him in a cup of wine, Ming-Y could not\nrestrain himself from putting his arm about her round neck and drawing\nher dainty head closer to him, and kissing the lips that were so much\nruddier and sweeter than the wine. Then their lips separated no\nmore;--the night grew old, and they knew it not.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe birds awakened, the flowers opened their eyes to the rising sun,\nand Ming-Y found himself at last compelled to bid his lovely enchantress\nfarewell. Sie, accompanying him to the terrace, kissed him fondly and\nsaid, \"Dear boy, come hither as often as you are able,--as often as your\nheart whispers you to come. I know that you are not of those without\nfaith and truth, who betray secrets; yet, being so young, you might also\nbe sometimes thoughtless; and I pray you never to forget that only the\nstars have been the witnesses of our love. Speak of it to no living\nperson, dearest; and take with you this little souvenir of our happy\nnight.\"\n\nAnd she presented him with an exquisite and curious little thing,--a\npaper-weight in likeness of a couchant lion, wrought from a jade-stone\nyellow as that created by a rainbow in honor of Kong-fu-tze. Tenderly\nthe boy kissed the gift and the beautiful hand that gave it. \"May the\nSpirits punish me,\" he vowed, \"if ever I knowingly give you cause to\nreproach me, sweetheart!\" And they separated with mutual vows.\n\nThat morning, on returning to the house of Lord Tchang, Ming-Y told the\nfirst falsehood which had ever passed his lips. He averred that his\nmother had requested him thenceforward to pass his nights at home, now\nthat the weather had become so pleasant; for, though the way was\nsomewhat long, he was strong and active, and needed both air and healthy\nexercise. Tchang believed all Ming-Y said, and offered no objection.\nAccordingly the lad found himself enabled to pass all his evenings at\nthe house of the beautiful Sie. Each night they devoted to the same\npleasures which had made their first acquaintance so charming: they sang\nand conversed by turns; they played at chess,--the learned game invented\nby Wu-Wang, which is an imitation of war; they composed pieces of eighty\nrhymes upon the flowers, the trees, the clouds, the streams, the birds,\nthe bees. But in all accomplishments Sie far excelled her young\nsweetheart. Whenever they played at chess, it was always Ming-Y's\ngeneral, Ming-Y's _tsiang_, who was surrounded and vanquished; when they\ncomposed verses, Sie's poems were ever superior to his in harmony of\nword-coloring, in elegance of form, in classic loftiness of thought.\nAnd the themes they selected were always the most difficult,--those of\nthe poets of the Thang dynasty; the songs they sang were also the songs\nof five hundred years before,--the songs of Youen-tchin, of Thou-mou, of\nKao-pien above all, high poet and ruler of the province of Sze-tchouen.\n\nSo the summer waxed and waned upon their love, and the luminous autumn\ncame, with its vapors of phantom gold, its shadows of magical purple.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen it unexpectedly happened that the father of Ming-Y, meeting his\nson's employer at Tching-tou, was asked by him: \"Why must your boy\ncontinue to travel every evening to the city, now that the winter is\napproaching? The way is long, and when he returns in the morning he\nlooks fordone with weariness. Why not permit him to slumber in my house\nduring the season of snow?\" And the father of Ming-Y, greatly\nastonished, responded: \"Sir, my son has not visited the city, nor has he\nbeen to our house all this summer. I fear that he must have acquired\nwicked habits, and that he passes his nights in evil company,--perhaps\nin gaming, or in drinking with the women of the flower-boats.\" But the\nHigh Commissioner returned: \"Nay! that is not to be thought of. I have\nnever found any evil in the boy, and there are no taverns nor\nflower-boats nor any places of dissipation in our neighborhood. No doubt\nMing-Y has found some amiable youth of his own age with whom to spend\nhis evenings, and only told me an untruth for fear that I would not\notherwise permit him to leave my residence. I beg that you will say\nnothing to him until I shall have sought to discover this mystery; and\nthis very evening I shall send my servant to follow after him, and to\nwatch whither he goes.\"\n\nPelou readily assented to this proposal, and promising to visit Tchang\nthe following morning, returned to his home. In the evening, when Ming-Y\nleft the house of Tchang, a servant followed him unobserved at a\ndistance. But on reaching the most obscure portion of the road, the boy\ndisappeared from sight as suddenly as though the earth had swallowed\nhim. After having long sought after him in vain, the domestic returned\nin great bewilderment to the house, and related what had taken place.\nTchang immediately sent a messenger to Pelou.\n\nIn the mean time Ming-Y, entering the chamber of his beloved, was\nsurprised and deeply pained to find her in tears. \"Sweetheart,\" she\nsobbed, wreathing her arms around his neck, \"we are about to be\nseparated forever, because of reasons which I cannot tell you. From the\nvery first I knew this must come to pass; and nevertheless it seemed to\nme for the moment so cruelly sudden a loss, so unexpected a misfortune,\nthat I could not prevent myself from weeping! After this night we shall\nnever see each other again, beloved, and I know that you will not be\nable to forget me while you live; but I know also that you will become a\ngreat scholar, and that honors and riches will be showered upon you, and\nthat some beautiful and loving woman will console you for my loss. And\nnow let us speak no more of grief; but let us pass this last evening\njoyously, so that your recollection of me may not be a painful one, and\nthat you may remember my laughter rather than my tears.\"\n\nShe brushed the bright drops away, and brought wine and music and the\nmelodious _kin_ of seven silken strings, and would not suffer Ming-Y to\nspeak for one moment of the coming separation. And she sang him an\nancient song about the calmness of summer lakes reflecting the blue of\nheaven only, and the calmness of the heart also, before the clouds of\ncare and of grief and of weariness darken its little world. Soon they\nforgot their sorrow in the joy of song and wine; and those last hours\nseemed to Ming-Y more celestial than even the hours of their first\nbliss.\n\nBut when the yellow beauty of morning came their sadness returned, and\nthey wept. Once more Sie accompanied her lover to the terrace-steps; and\nas she kissed him farewell, she pressed into his hand a parting gift,--a\nlittle brush-case of agate, wonderfully chiselled, and worthy the table\nof a great poet. And they separated forever, shedding many tears.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nStill Ming-Y could not believe it was an eternal parting. \"No!\" he\nthought, \"I shall visit her tomorrow; for I cannot now live without her,\nand I feel assured that she cannot refuse to receive me.\" Such were the\nthoughts that filled his mind as he reached the house of Tchang, to find\nhis father and his patron standing on the porch awaiting him. Ere he\ncould speak a word, Pelou demanded: \"Son, in what place have you been\npassing your nights?\"\n\nSeeing that his falsehood had been discovered, Ming-Y dared not make any\nreply, and remained abashed and silent, with bowed head, in the presence\nof his father. Then Pelou, striking the boy violently with his staff,\ncommanded him to divulge the secret; and at last, partly through fear\nof his parent, and partly through fear of the law which ordains that\n\"_the son refusing to obey his father shall be punished with one hundred\nblows of the bamboo,_\" Ming-Y faltered out the history of his love.\n\nTchang changed color at the boy's tale. \"Child,\" exclaimed the High\nCommissioner, \"I have no relative of the name of Ping; I have never\nheard of the woman you describe; I have never heard even of the house\nwhich you speak of. But I know also that you cannot dare to lie to\nPelou, your honored father; there is some strange delusion in all this\naffair.\"\n\nThen Ming-Y produced the gifts that Sie had given him,--the lion of\nyellow jade, the brush-case of carven agate, also some original\ncompositions made by the beautiful lady herself. The astonishment of\nTchang was now shared by Pelou. Both observed that the brush-case of\nagate and the lion of jade bore the appearance of objects that had lain\nburied in the earth for centuries, and were of a workmanship beyond the\npower of living man to imitate; while the compositions proved to be\nveritable master-pieces of poetry, written in the style of the poets of\nthe dynasty of Thang.\n\n\"Friend Pelou,\" cried the High Commissioner, \"let us immediately\naccompany the boy to the place where he obtained these miraculous\nthings, and apply the testimony of our senses to this mystery. The boy\nis no doubt telling the truth; yet his story passes my understanding.\"\nAnd all three proceeded toward the place of the habitation of Sie.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut when they had arrived at the shadiest part of the road, where the\nperfumes were most sweet and the mosses were greenest, and the fruits of\nthe wild peach flushed most pinkly, Ming-Y, gazing through the groves,\nuttered a cry of dismay. Where the azure-tiled roof had risen against\nthe sky, there was now only the blue emptiness of air; where the\ngreen-and-gold facade had been, there was visible only the flickering of\nleaves under the aureate autumn light; and where the broad terrace had\nextended, could be discerned only a ruin,--a tomb so ancient, so deeply\ngnawed by moss, that the name graven upon it was no longer decipherable.\nThe home of Sie had disappeared!\n\nAll suddenly the High Commissioner smote his forehead with his hand,\nand turning to Pelou, recited the well-known verse of the ancient poet\nTching-Kou:--\n\n    \"_Surely the peach-flowers blossom over\n    the tomb of SIE-THAO._\"\n\n\"Friend Pelou,\" continued Tchang, \"the beauty who bewitched your son was\nno other than she whose tomb stands there in ruin before us! Did she not\nsay she was wedded to Ping-Khang? There is no family of that name, but\nPing-Khang is indeed the name of a broad alley in the city near. There\nwas a dark riddle in all that she said. She called herself Sie of\nMoun-Hiao: there is no person of that name; there is no street of that\nname; but the Chinese characters _Moun_ and _hiao_, placed together,\nform the character 'Kiao.' Listen! The alley Ping-Khang, situated in\nthe street Kiao, was the place where dwelt the great courtesans of the\ndynasty of Thang! Did she not sing the songs of Kao-pien? And upon the\nbrush-case and the paper-weight she gave your son, are there not\ncharacters which read, '_Pure object of art belonging to Kao, of the\ncity of Pho-hai_'? That city no longer exists; but the memory of\nKao-pien remains, for he was governor of the province of Sze-tchouen,\nand a mighty poet. And when he dwelt in the land of Chou, was not his\nfavorite the beautiful wanton Sie,--Sie-Thao, unmatched for grace among\nall the women of her day? It was he who made her a gift of those\nmanuscripts of song; it was he who gave her those objects of rare art.\nSie-Thao died not as other women die. Her limbs may have crumbled to\ndust; yet something of her still lives in this deep wood,--her Shadow\nstill haunts this shadowy place.\"\n\nTchang ceased to speak. A vague fear fell upon the three. The thin mists\nof the morning made dim the distances of green, and deepened the ghostly\nbeauty of the woods. A faint breeze passed by, leaving a trail of\nblossom-scent,--a last odor of dying flowers,--thin as that which clings\nto the silk of a forgotten robe; and, as it passed, the trees seemed to\nwhisper across the silence, \"_Sie-Thao_.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFearing greatly for his son, Pelou sent the lad away at once to the\ncity of Kwang-tchau-fu. And there, in after years, Ming-Y obtained high\ndignities and honors by reason of his talents and his learning; and he\nmarried the daughter of an illustrious house, by whom he became the\nfather of sons and daughters famous for their virtues and their\naccomplishments. Never could he forget Sie-Thao; and yet it is said that\nhe never spoke of her,--not even when his children begged him to tell\nthem the story of two beautiful objects that always lay upon his\nwriting-table: a lion of yellow jade, and a brush-case of carven agate.\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nThe Legend of Tchi-Niu\n\n\n     A SOUND OF GONGS, A SOUND OF SONG,--THE SONG OF THE BUILDERS\n     BUILDING THE DWELLINGS OF THE DEAD:--\n\n          _Khiu tchi ying-ying.\n          Tou tchi houng-houng.\n          Tch[)o] tchi tong-tong.\n          Si[)o] liu ping-ping._\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF TCHI-NIU.\n\n\nIn the quaint commentary accompanying the text of that holy book of\nLao-tseu called _Kan-ing-p'ien_ may be found a little story so old that\nthe name of the one who first told it has been forgotten for a thousand\nyears, yet so beautiful that it lives still in the memory of four\nhundred millions of people, like a prayer that, once learned, is forever\nremembered. The Chinese writer makes no mention of any city nor of any\nprovince, although even in the relation of the most ancient traditions\nsuch an omission is rare; we are only told that the name of the hero of\nthe legend was Tong-yong, and that he lived in the years of the great\ndynasty of Han, some twenty centuries ago.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTong-Yong's mother had died while he was yet an infant; and when he\nbecame a youth of nineteen years his father also passed away, leaving\nhim utterly alone in the world, and without resources of any sort; for,\nbeing a very poor man, Tong's father had put himself to great straits to\neducate the lad, and had not been able to lay by even one copper coin of\nhis earnings. And Tong lamented greatly to find himself so destitute\nthat he could not honor the memory of that good father by having the\ncustomary rites of burial performed, and a carven tomb erected upon a\npropitious site. The poor only are friends of the poor; and among all\nthose whom Tong knew; there was no one able to assist him in defraying\nthe expenses of the funeral. In one way only could the youth obtain\nmoney,--by selling himself as a slave to some rich cultivator; and this\nhe at last decided to do. In vain his friends did their utmost to\ndissuade him; and to no purpose did they attempt to delay the\naccomplishment of his sacrifice by beguiling promises of future aid.\nTong only replied that he would sell his freedom a hundred times, if it\nwere possible, rather than suffer his father's memory to remain\nunhonored even for a brief season. And furthermore, confiding in his\nyouth and strength, he determined to put a high price upon his\nservitude,--a price which would enable him to build a handsome tomb, but\nwhich it would be well-nigh impossible for him ever to repay.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAccordingly he repaired to the broad public place where slaves and\ndebtors were exposed for sale, and seated himself upon a bench of stone,\nhaving affixed to his shoulders a placard inscribed with the terms of\nhis servitude and the list of his qualifications as a laborer. Many who\nread the characters upon the placard smiled disdainfully at the price\nasked, and passed on without a word; others lingered only to question\nhim out of simple curiosity; some commended him with hollow praise; some\nopenly mocked his unselfishness, and laughed at his childish piety. Thus\nmany hours wearily passed, and Tong had almost despaired of finding a\nmaster, when there rode up a high official of the province,--a grave\nand handsome man, lord of a thousand slaves, and owner of vast estates.\nReining in his Tartar horse, the official halted to read the placard and\nto consider the value of the slave. He did not smile, or advise, or ask\nany questions; but having observed the price asked, and the fine strong\nlimbs of the youth, purchased him without further ado, merely ordering\nhis attendant to pay the sum and to see that the necessary papers were\nmade out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus Tong found himself enabled to fulfil the wish of his heart, and to\nhave a monument built which, although of small size, was destined to\ndelight the eyes of all who beheld it, being designed by cunning artists\nand executed by skilful sculptors. And while it was yet designed only,\nthe pious rites were performed, the silver coin was placed in the mouth\nof the dead, the white lanterns were hung at the door, the holy prayers\nwere recited, and paper shapes of all things the departed might need in\nthe land of the Genii were consumed in consecrated fire. And after the\ngeomancers and the necromancers had chosen a burial-spot which no\nunlucky star could shine upon, a place of rest which no demon or dragon\nmight ever disturb, the beautiful _chih_ was built. Then was the phantom\nmoney strewn along the way; the funeral procession departed from the\ndwelling of the dead, and with prayers and lamentation the mortal\nremains of Tong's good father were borne to the tomb.\n\nThen Tong entered as a slave into the service of his purchaser, who\nallotted him a little hut to dwell in; and thither Tong carried with him\nthose wooden tablets, bearing the ancestral names, before which filial\npiety must daily burn the incense of prayer, and perform the tender\nduties of family worship.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThrice had spring perfumed the breast of the land with flowers, and\nthrice had been celebrated that festival of the dead which is called\n_Siu-fan-ti_, and thrice had Tong swept and garnished his father's tomb\nand presented his fivefold offering of fruits and meats. The period of\nmourning had passed, yet he had not ceased to mourn for his parent. The\nyears revolved with their moons, bringing him no hour of joy, no day of\nhappy rest; yet he never lamented his servitude, or failed to perform\nthe rites of ancestral worship,--until at last the fever of the\nrice-fields laid strong hold upon him, and he could not arise from his\ncouch; and his fellow-laborers thought him destined to die. There was no\none to wait upon him, no one to care for his needs, inasmuch as slaves\nand servants were wholly busied with the duties of the household or the\nlabor of the fields,--all departing to toil at sunrise and returning\nweary only after the sundown.\n\nNow, while the sick youth slumbered the fitful slumber of exhaustion one\nsultry noon, he dreamed that a strange and beautiful woman stood by him,\nand bent above him and touched his forehead with the long, fine fingers\nof her shapely hand. And at her cool touch a weird sweet shock passed\nthrough him, and all his veins tingled as if thrilled by new life.\nOpening his eyes in wonder, he saw verily bending over him the charming\nbeing of whom he had dreamed, and he knew that her lithe hand really\ncaressed his throbbing forehead. But the flame of the fever was gone, a\ndelicious coolness now penetrated every fibre of his body, and the\nthrill of which he had dreamed still tingled in his blood like a great\njoy. Even at the same moment the eyes of the gentle visitor met his own,\nand he saw they were singularly beautiful, and shone like splendid black\njewels under brows curved like the wings of the swallow. Yet their calm\ngaze seemed to pass through him as light through crystal; and a vague\nawe came upon him, so that the question which had risen to his lips\nfound no utterance. Then she, still caressing him, smiled and said: \"I\nhave come to restore thy strength and to be thy wife. Arise and worship\nwith me.\"\n\nHer clear voice had tones melodious as a bird's song; but in her gaze\nthere was an imperious power which Tong felt he dare not resist. Rising\nfrom his couch, he was astounded to find his strength wholly restored;\nbut the cool, slender hand which held his own led him away so swiftly\nthat he had little time for amazement. He would have given years of\nexistence for courage to speak of his misery, to declare his utter\ninability to maintain a wife; but something irresistible in the long\ndark eyes of his companion forbade him to speak; and as though his\ninmost thought had been discerned by that wondrous gaze, she said to\nhim, in the same clear voice, \"_I will provide._\" Then shame made him\nblush at the thought of his wretched aspect and tattered apparel; but he\nobserved that she also was poorly attired, like a woman of the\npeople,--wearing no ornament of any sort, nor even shoes upon her feet.\nAnd before he had yet spoken to her, they came before the ancestral\ntablets; and there she knelt with him and prayed, and pledged him in a\ncup of wine,--brought he knew not from whence,--and together they\nworshipped Heaven and Earth. Thus she became his wife.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA mysterious marriage it seemed, for neither on that day nor at any\nfuture time could Tong venture to ask his wife the name of her family,\nor of the place whence she came, and he could not answer any of the\ncurious questions which his fellow-laborers put to him concerning her;\nand she, moreover, never uttered a word about herself, except to say\nthat her name was Tchi. But although Tong had such awe of her that while\nher eyes were upon him he was as one having no will of his own, he loved\nher unspeakably; and the thought of his serfdom ceased to weigh upon him\nfrom the hour of his marriage. As through magic the little dwelling had\nbecome transformed: its misery was masked with charming paper\ndevices,--with dainty decorations created out of nothing by that pretty\njugglery of which woman only knows the secret.\n\nEach morning at dawn the young husband found a well-prepared and ample\nrepast awaiting him, and each evening also upon his return; but the wife\nall day sat at her loom, weaving silk after a fashion unlike anything\nwhich had ever been seen before in that province. For as she wove, the\nsilk flowed from the loom like a slow current of glossy gold, bearing\nupon its undulations strange forms of violet and crimson and\njewel-green: shapes of ghostly horsemen riding upon horses, and of\nphantom chariots dragon-drawn, and of standards of trailing cloud. In\nevery dragon's beard glimmered the mystic pearl; in every rider's helmet\nsparkled the gem of rank. And each day Tchi would weave a great piece\nof such figured silk; and the fame of her weaving spread abroad. From\nfar and near people thronged to see the marvellous work; and the\nsilk-merchants of great cities heard of it, and they sent messengers to\nTchi, asking her that she should weave for them and teach them her\nsecret. Then she wove for them, as they desired, in return for the\nsilver cubes which they brought her; but when they prayed her to teach\nthem, she laughed and said, \"Assuredly I could never teach you, for no\none among you has fingers like mine.\" And indeed no man could discern\nher fingers when she wove, any more than he might behold the wings of a\nbee vibrating in swift flight.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe seasons passed, and Tong never knew want, so well did his beautiful\nwife fulfil her promise,--\"_I will provide_\"; and the cubes of bright\nsilver brought by the silk-merchants were piled up higher and higher in\nthe great carven chest which Tchi had bought for the storage of the\nhousehold goods.\n\nOne morning, at last, when Tong, having finished his repast, was about\nto depart to the fields, Tchi unexpectedly bade him remain; and opening\nthe great chest, she took out of it and gave him a document written in\nthe official characters called _li-shu_. And Tong, looking at it, cried\nout and leaped in his joy, for it was the certificate of his\nmanumission. Tchi had secretly purchased her husband's freedom with the\nprice of her wondrous silks!\n\n\"Thou shalt labor no more for any master,\" she said, \"but for thine own\nsake only. And I have also bought this dwelling, with all which is\ntherein, and the tea-fields to the south, and the mulberry groves hard\nby,--all of which are thine.\"\n\nThen Tong, beside himself for gratefulness, would have prostrated\nhimself in worship before her, but that she would not suffer it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThus he was made free; and prosperity came to him with his freedom; and\nwhatsoever he gave to the sacred earth was returned to him centupled;\nand his servants loved him and blessed the beautiful Tchi, so silent and\nyet so kindly to all about her. But the silk-loom soon remained\nuntouched, for Tchi gave birth to a son,--a boy so beautiful that Tong\nwept with delight when he looked upon him. And thereafter the wife\ndevoted herself wholly to the care of the child.\n\nNow it soon became manifest that the boy was not less wonderful than his\nwonderful mother. In the third month of his age he could speak; in the\nseventh month he could repeat by heart the proverbs of the sages, and\nrecite the holy prayers; before the eleventh month he could use the\nwriting-brush with skill, and copy in shapely characters the precepts of\nLao-tseu. And the priests of the temples came to behold him and to\nconverse with him, and they marvelled at the charm of the child and the\nwisdom of what he said; and they blessed Tong, saying: \"Surely this son\nof thine is a gift from the Master of Heaven, a sign that the immortals\nlove thee. May thine eyes behold a hundred happy summers!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was in the Period of the Eleventh Moon: the flowers had passed away,\nthe perfume of the summer had flown, the winds were growing chill, and\nin Tong's home the evening fires were lighted. Long the husband and wife\nsat in the mellow glow,--he speaking much of his hopes and joys, and of\nhis son that was to be so grand a man, and of many paternal projects;\nwhile she, speaking little, listened to his words, and often turned her\nwonderful eyes upon him with an answering smile. Never had she seemed so\nbeautiful before; and Tong, watching her face, marked not how the night\nwaned, nor how the fire sank low, nor how the wind sang in the leafless\ntrees without.\n\nAll suddenly Tchi arose without speaking, and took his hand in hers and\nled him, gently as on that strange wedding-morning, to the cradle where\ntheir boy slumbered, faintly smiling in his dreams. And in that moment\nthere came upon Tong the same strange fear that he knew when Tchi's eyes\nhad first met his own,--the vague fear that love and trust had calmed,\nbut never wholly cast out, like unto the fear of the gods. And all\nunknowingly, like one yielding to the pressure of mighty invisible\nhands, he bowed himself low before her, kneeling as to a divinity. Now,\nwhen he lifted his eyes again to her face, he closed them forthwith in\nawe; for she towered before him taller than any mortal woman, and there\nwas a glow about her as of sunbeams, and the light of her limbs shone\nthrough her garments. But her sweet voice came to him with all the\ntenderness of other hours, saying: \"_Lo! my beloved, the moment has come\nin which I must forsake thee; for I was never of mortal born, and the\nInvisible may incarnate themselves for a time only. Yet I leave with\nthee the pledge of our love,--this fair son, who shall ever be to thee\nas faithful and as fond as thou thyself hast been. Know, my beloved,\nthat I was sent to thee even by the Master of Heaven, in reward of thy\nfilial piety, and that I must now return to the glory of His house:\nI AM THE GODDESS TCHI-NIU._\"\n\nEven as she ceased to speak, the great glow faded; and Tong, re-opening\nhis eyes, knew that she had passed away forever,--mysteriously as pass\nthe winds of heaven, irrevocably as the light of a flame blown out. Yet\nall the doors were barred, all the windows unopened. Still the child\nslept, smiling in his sleep. Outside, the darkness was breaking; the sky\nwas brightening swiftly; the night was past. With splendid majesty the\nEast threw open high gates of gold for the coming of the sun; and,\nilluminated by the glory of his coming, the vapors of morning wrought\nthemselves into marvellous shapes of shifting color,--into forms weirdly\nbeautiful as the silken dreams woven in the loom of Tchi-Niu.\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nThe Return of Yen-Tchin-King\n\n\n    _Before me ran, as a herald runneth, the Leader of the Moon;\n    And the Spirit of the Wind followed after me,--quickening his flight._\n\n     LI-SAO.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RETURN OF YEN-TCHIN-KING\n\n\nIn the thirty-eighth chapter of the holy book, _Kan-ing-p'ien_, wherein\nthe Recompense of Immortality is considered, may be found the legend of\nYen-Tchin-King. A thousand years have passed since the passing of the\ngood Tchin-King; for it was in the period of the greatness of Thang that\nhe lived and died.\n\nNow, in those days when Yen-Tchin-King was Supreme Judge of one of the\nSix August Tribunals, one Li-hi-lie, a soldier mighty for evil, lifted\nthe black banner of revolt, and drew after him, as a tide of\ndestruction, the millions of the northern provinces. And learning of\nthese things, and knowing also that Hi-lie was the most ferocious of\nmen, who respected nothing on earth save fearlessness, the Son of Heaven\ncommanded Tchin-King that he should visit Hi-lie and strive to recall\nthe rebel to duty, and read unto the people who followed after him in\nrevolt the Emperor's letter of reproof and warning. For Tchin-King was\nfamed throughout the provinces for his wisdom, his rectitude, and his\nfearlessness; and the Son of Heaven believed that if Hi-lie would listen\nto the words of any living man steadfast in loyalty and virtue, he would\nlisten to the words of Tchin-King. So Tchin-King arrayed himself in his\nrobes of office, and set his house in order; and, having embraced his\nwife and his children, mounted his horse and rode away alone to the\nroaring camp of the rebels, bearing the Emperor's letter in his bosom.\n\"I shall return; fear not!\" were his last words to the gray servant who\nwatched him from the terrace as he rode.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd Tchin-King at last descended from his horse, and entered into the\nrebel camp, and, passing through that huge gathering of war, stood in\nthe presence of Hi-lie. High sat the rebel among his chiefs, encircled\nby the wave-lightning of swords and the thunders of ten thousand gongs:\nabove him undulated the silken folds of the Black Dragon, while a vast\nfire rose bickering before him. Also Tchin-King saw that the tongues of\nthat fire were licking human bones, and that skulls of men lay\nblackening among the ashes. Yet he was not afraid to look upon the fire,\nnor into the eyes of Hi-lie; but drawing from his bosom the roll of\nperfumed yellow silk upon which the words of the Emperor were written,\nand kissing it, he made ready to read, while the multitude became\nsilent. Then, in a strong, clear voice he began:--\n\n\"_The words of the Celestial and August, the Son of Heaven, the Divine\nKo-Tsu-Tchin-Yao-ti, unto the rebel Li-Hi-lie and those that follow\nhim._\"\n\nAnd a roar went up like the roar of the sea,--a roar of rage, and the\nhideous battle-moan, like the moan of a forest in storm,--\"_Hoo!\nhoo-oo-oo-oo!_\"--and the sword-lightnings brake loose, and the thunder\nof the gongs moved the ground beneath the messenger's feet. But Hi-lie\nwaved his gilded wand, and again there was silence. \"Nay!\" spake the\nrebel chief; \"let the dog bark!\" So Tchin-King spake on:--\n\n\"_Knowest thou not, O most rash and foolish of men, that thou leadest\nthe people only into the mouth of the Dragon of Destruction? Knowest\nthou not, also, that the people of my kingdom are the first-born of the\nMaster of Heaven? So it hath been written that he who doth needlessly\nsubject the people to wounds and death shall not be suffered by Heaven\nto live! Thou who wouldst subvert those laws founded by the\nwise,--those laws in obedience to which may happiness and prosperity\nalone be found,--thou art committing the greatest of all\ncrimes,--the crime that is never forgiven!_\n\n\"_O my people, think not that I your Emperor, I your Father, seek your\ndestruction. I desire only your happiness, your prosperity, your\ngreatness; let not your folly provoke the severity of your Celestial\nParent. Follow not after madness and blind rage; hearken rather to the\nwise words of my messenger._\"\n\n\"_Hoo! hoo-oo-oo-oo-oo!_\" roared the people, gathering fury. \"_Hoo!\nhoo-oo-oo-oo!_\"--till the mountains rolled back the cry like the rolling\nof a typhoon; and once more the pealing of the gongs paralyzed voice and\nhearing. Then Tchin-King, looking at Hi-lie, saw that he laughed, and\nthat the words of the letter would not again be listened to. Therefore\nhe read on to the end without looking about him, resolved to perform his\nmission in so far as lay in his power. And having read all, he would\nhave given the letter to Hi-lie; but Hi-lie would not extend his hand to\ntake it. Therefore Tchin-King replaced it in his bosom, and folding his\narms, looked Hi-lie calmly in the face, and waited. Again Hi-lie waved\nhis gilded wand; and the roaring ceased, and the booming of the gongs,\nuntil nothing save the fluttering of the Dragon-banner could be heard.\nThen spake Hi-lie, with an evil smile,--\n\n\"Tchin-King, O son of a dog! if thou dost not now take the oath of\nfealty, and bow thyself before me, and salute me with the salutation of\nEmperors,--even with the _luh-kao_, the triple prostration,--into that\nfire thou shalt be thrown.\"\n\nBut Tchin-King, turning his back upon the usurper, bowed himself a\nmoment in worship to Heaven and Earth; and then rising suddenly, ere any\nman could lay hand upon him, he leaped into the towering flame, and\nstood there, with folded arms, like a God.\n\nThen Hi-lie leaped to his feet in amazement, and shouted to his men; and\nthey snatched Tchin-King from the fire, and wrung the flames from his\nrobes with their naked hands, and extolled him, and praised him to his\nface. And even Hi-lie himself descended from his seat, and spoke fair\nwords to him, saying: \"O Tchin-King, I see thou art indeed a brave man\nand true, and worthy of all honor; be seated among us, I pray thee, and\npartake of whatever it is in our power to bestow!\"\n\nBut Tchin-King, looking upon him unswervingly, replied in a voice clear\nas the voice of a great bell,--\n\n\"Never, O Hi-lie, shall I accept aught from thy hand, save death, so\nlong as thou shalt continue in the path of wrath and folly. And never\nshall it be said that Tchin-King sat him down among rebels and traitors,\namong murderers and robbers.\"\n\nThen Hi-lie in sudden fury, smote him with his sword; and Tchin-King\nfell to the earth and died, striving even in his death to bow his head\ntoward the South,--toward the place of the Emperor's palace,--toward the\npresence of his beloved Master.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nEven at the same hour the Son of Heaven, alone in the inner chamber of\nhis palace, became aware of a Shape prostrate before his feet; and when\nhe spake, the Shape arose and stood before him, and he saw that it was\nTchin-King. And the Emperor would have questioned him; yet ere he could\nquestion, the familiar voice spake, saying:\n\n\"Son of Heaven, the mission confided to me I have performed; and thy\ncommand hath been accomplished to the extent of thy humble servant's\nfeeble power. But even now must I depart, that I may enter the service\nof another Master.\"\n\nAnd looking, the Emperor perceived that the Golden Tigers upon the wall\nwere visible through the form of Tchin-King; and a strange coldness,\nlike a winter wind, passed through the chamber; and the figure faded\nout. Then the Emperor knew that the Master of whom his faithful servant\nhad spoken was none other than the Master of Heaven.\n\nAlso at the same hour the gray servant of Tchin-King's house beheld him\npassing through the apartments, smiling as he was wont to smile when he\nsaw that all things were as he desired. \"Is it well with thee, my lord?\"\nquestioned the aged man. And a voice answered him: \"It is well\"; but the\npresence of Tchin-King had passed away before the answer came.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo the armies of the Son of Heaven strove with the rebels. But the land\nwas soaked with blood and blackened with fire; and the corpses of whole\npopulations were carried by the rivers to feed the fishes of the sea;\nand still the war prevailed through many a long red year. Then came to\naid the Son of Heaven the hordes that dwell in the desolations of the\nWest and North,--horsemen born, a nation of wild archers, each mighty to\nbend a two-hundred-pound bow until the ears should meet. And as a\nwhirlwind they came against rebellion, raining raven-feathered arrows in\na storm of death; and they prevailed against Hi-lie and his people. Then\nthose that survived destruction and defeat submitted, and promised\nallegiance; and once more was the law of righteousness restored. But\nTchin-King had been dead for many summers.\n\nAnd the Son of Heaven sent word to his victorious generals that they\nshould bring back with them the bones of his faithful servant, to be\nlaid with honor in a mausoleum erected by imperial decree. So the\ngenerals of the Celestial and August sought after the nameless grave and\nfound it, and had the earth taken up, and made ready to remove the\ncoffin.\n\nBut the coffin crumbled into dust before their eyes; for the worms had\ngnawed it, and the hungry earth had devoured its substance, leaving only\na phantom shell that vanished at touch of the light. And lo! as it\nvanished, all beheld lying there the perfect form and features of the\ngood Tchin-King. Corruption had not touched him, nor had the worms\ndisturbed his rest, nor had the bloom of life departed from his face.\nAnd he seemed to dream only,--comely to see as upon the morning of his\nbridal, and smiling as the holy images smile, with eyelids closed, in\nthe twilight of the great pagodas.\n\nThen spoke a priest, standing by the grave: \"O my children, this is\nindeed a Sign from the Master of Heaven; in such wise do the Powers\nCelestial preserve them that are chosen to be numbered with the\nImmortals. Death may not prevail over them, neither may corruption come\nnigh them. Verily the blessed Tchin-King hath taken his place among the\ndivinities of Heaven!\"\n\nThen they bore Tchin-King back to his native place, and laid him with\nhighest honors in the mausoleum which the Emperor had commanded; and\nthere he sleeps, incorruptible forever, arrayed in his robes of state.\nUpon his tomb are sculptured the emblems of his greatness and his wisdom\nand his virtue, and the signs of his office, and the Four Precious\nThings: and the monsters which are holy symbols mount giant guard in\nstone about it; and the weird Dogs of Fo keep watch before it, as before\nthe temples of the gods.\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nThe Tradition of the Tea-Plant\n\n\n     SANG A CHINESE HEART FOURTEEN HUNDRED YEARS AGO:--\n\n        _There is Somebody of whom I am thinking.\n        Far away there is Somebody of whom I am thinking.\n        A hundred leagues of mountains lie between us:--\n        Yet the same Moon shines upon us, and the passing Wind\n             breathes upon us both._\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRADITION OF THE TEA-PLANT\n\n    \"Good is the continence of the eye;\n    Good is the continence of the ear;\n    Good is the continence of the nostrils;\n    Good is the continence of the tongue;\n    Good is the continence of the body;\n    Good is the continence of speech;\n    Good is all....\"\n\n\nAgain the Vulture of Temptation soared to the highest heaven of his\ncontemplation, bringing his soul down, down, reeling and fluttering,\nback to the World of Illusion. Again the memory made dizzy his thought,\nlike the perfume of some venomous flower. Yet he had seen the bayadere\nfor an instant only, when passing through Kasi upon his way to\nChina,--to the vast empire of souls that thirsted after the refreshment\nof Buddha's law, as sun-parched fields thirst for the life-giving rain.\nWhen she called him, and dropped her little gift into his mendicant's\nbowl, he had indeed lifted his fan before his face, yet not quickly\nenough; and the penally of that fault had followed him a thousand\nleagues,--pursued after him even into the strange land to which he had\ncome to hear the words of the Universal Teacher. Accursed beauty! surely\nframed by the Tempter of tempters, by Mara himself, for the perdition of\nthe just! Wisely had Bhagavat warned his disciples: \"O ye Cramanas,\nwomen are not to be looked upon! And if ye chance to meet women, ye must\nnot suffer your eyes to dwell upon them; but, maintaining holy reserve,\nspeak not to them at all. Then fail not to whisper unto your own\nhearts, 'Lo, we are Cramanas, whose duty it is to remain uncontaminated\nby the corruptions of this world, even as the Lotos, which suffereth no\nvileness to cling unto its leaves, though it blossom amid the refuse of\nthe wayside ditch.'\" Then also came to his memory, but with a new and\nterrible meaning, the words of the Twentieth-and-Third of the\nAdmonitions:--\n\n\"Of all attachments unto objects of desire, the strongest indeed is the\nattachment to form. Happily, this passion is unique; for were there any\nother like unto it, then to enter the Perfect Way were impossible.\"\n\nHow, indeed, thus haunted by the illusion of form, was he to fulfil the\nvow that he had made to pass a night and a day in perfect and unbroken\nmeditation? Already the night was beginning! Assuredly, for sickness of\nthe soul, for fever of the spirit, there was no physic save prayer. The\nsunset was swiftly fading out. He strove to pray:--\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\n\n\"Even as the tortoise withdraweth its extremities into its shell, let\nme, O Blessed One, withdraw my senses wholly into meditation!\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\n\n\"For even as rain penetrateth the broken roof of a dwelling long\nuninhabited, so may passion enter the soul uninhabited by meditation.\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\n\n\"Even as still water that hath deposited all its slime, so let my soul,\nO Tathagata, be made pure! Give me strong power to rise above the\nworld, O Master, even as the wild bird rises from its marsh to follow\nthe pathway of the Sun!\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\n\n\"By day shineth the sun, by night shineth the moon; shineth also the\nwarrior in harness of war; shineth likewise in meditations the Cramana.\nBut the Buddha at all times, by night or by day, shineth ever the same,\nilluminating the world.\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\n\n\"Let me cease, O thou Perfectly Awakened, to remain as an Ape in the\nWorld-forest, forever ascending and descending in search of the fruits\nof folly. Swift as the twining of serpents, vast as the growth of lianas\nin a forest, are the all-encircling growths of the Plant of Desire.\n\n\"_O the Jewel in the Lotos!_\"\n\nVain his prayer, alas! vain also his invocation! The mystic meaning of\nthe holy text--the sense of the Lotos, the sense of the Jewel--had\nevaporated from the words, and their monotonous utterance now served\nonly to lend more dangerous definition to the memory that tempted and\ntortured him. _O the jewel in her ear!_ What lotos-bud more dainty than\nthe folded flower of flesh, with its dripping of diamond-fire! Again he\nsaw it, and the curve of the cheek beyond, luscious to look upon as\nbeautiful brown fruit. How true the Two Hundred and Eighty-Fourth verse\nof the Admonitions!--\"So long as a man shall not have torn from his\nheart even the smallest rootlet of that liana of desire which draweth\nhis thought toward women, even so long shall his soul remain fettered.\"\nAnd there came to his mind also the Three Hundred and Forty-Fifth verse\nof the same blessed book, regarding fetters:\n\n\"In bonds of rope, wise teachers have said, there is no strength; nor in\nfetters of wood, nor yet in fetters of iron. Much stronger than any of\nthese is the fetter of _concern for the jewelled earrings of women_.\"\n\n\"Omniscient Gotama!\" he cried,--\"all-seeing Tathagata! How multiform the\nConsolation of Thy Word! how marvellous Thy understanding of the human\nheart! Was this also one of Thy temptations?--one of the myriad\nillusions marshalled before Thee by Mara in that night when the earth\nrocked as a chariot, and the sacred trembling passed from sun to sun,\nfrom system to system, from universe to universe, from eternity to\neternity?\"\n\n_O the jewel in her ear!_ The vision would not go! Nay, each time it\nhovered before his thought it seemed to take a warmer life, a fonder\nlook, a fairer form; to develop with his weakness; to gain force from\nhis enervation. He saw the eyes, large, limpid, soft, and black as a\ndeer's; the pearls in the dark hair, and the pearls in the pink mouth;\nthe lips curling to a kiss, a flower-kiss; and a fragrance seemed to\nfloat to his senses, sweet, strange, soporific,--a perfume of youth, an\nodor of woman. Rising to his feet, with strong resolve he pronounced\nagain the sacred invocation; and he recited the holy words of the\n_Chapter of Impermanency_:\n\n\"Gazing upon the heavens and upon the earth ye must say, _These are not\npermanent_. Gazing upon the mountains and the rivers, ye must say,\n_These are not permanent_. Gazing upon the forms and upon the faces\nof exterior beings, and beholding their growth and their development, ye\nmust say, _These are not permanent_.\"\n\nAnd nevertheless! how sweet illusion! The illusion of the great sun; the\nillusion of the shadow-casting hills; the illusion of waters, formless\nand multiform; the illusion of--Nay, nay I what impious fancy! Accursed\ngirl! yet, yet! why should he curse her? Had she ever done aught to\nmerit the malediction of an ascetic? Never, never! Only her form, the\nmemory of her, the beautiful phantom of her, the accursed phantom of\nher! What was she? An illusion creating illusions, a mockery, a dream, a\nshadow, a vanity, a vexation of spirit! The fault, the sin, was in\nhimself, in his rebellious thought, in his untamed memory. Though\nmobile as water, intangible as vapor, Thought, nevertheless, may be\ntamed by the Will, may be harnessed to the chariot of Wisdom--must\nbe!--that happiness be found. And he recited the blessed verses of the\n\"Book of the Way of the Law\":--\n\n\"_All forms are only temporary._\" When this great truth is fully\ncomprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This is the\nWay of Purification.\n\n\"_All forms are subject unto pain._\" When this great truth is fully\ncomprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This is the\nWay of Purification.\n\n\"_All forms are without substantial reality._\" When this great truth is\nfully comprehended by any one, then is he delivered from all pain. This\nis the way of ...\n\n\n_Her_ form, too, unsubstantial, unreal, an illusion only, though\ncomeliest of illusions? She had given him alms! Was the merit of the\ngiver illusive also,--illusive like the grace of the supple fingers that\ngave? Assuredly there were mysteries in the Abhidharma impenetrable,\nincomprehensible!... It was a golden coin, stamped with the symbol of an\nelephant,--not more of an illusion, indeed, than the gifts of Kings to\nthe Buddha! Gold upon her bosom also, less fine than the gold of her\nskin. Naked between the silken sash and the narrow breast-corslet, her\nyoung waist curved glossy and pliant as a bow. Richer the silver in her\nvoice than in the hollow _pagals_ that made a moonlight about her\nankles! But her smile!--the little teeth like flower-stamens in the\nperfumed blossom of her mouth!\n\n\nO weakness! O shame! How had the strong Charioteer of Resolve thus lost\nhis control over the wild team of fancy! Was this languor of the Will a\nsignal of coming peril, the peril of slumber? So strangely vivid those\nfancies were, so brightly definite, as about to take visible form, to\nmove with factitious life, to play some unholy drama upon the stage of\ndreams! \"O Thou Fully Awakened!\" he cried aloud, \"help now thy humble\ndisciple to obtain the blessed wakefulness of perfect contemplation! let\nhim find force to fulfil his vow! suffer not Mara to prevail against\nhim!\" And he recited the eternal verses of the Chapter of Wakefulness:--\n\n\"_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_\nUnceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the Law.\n\n\"_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_\nUnceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the\nCommunity.\n\n\"_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_\nUnceasingly, by day and night, their thoughts are fixed upon the Body.\n\n\"_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_\nUnceasingly, by day and night, their minds know the sweetness of perfect\npeace.\n\n\"_Completely and eternally awake are the disciples of Gotama!_\nUnceasingly, by day and night, their minds enjoy the deep peace of\nmeditation.\"\n\n\nThere came a murmur to his ears; a murmuring of many voices, smothering\nthe utterances of his own, like a tumult of waters. The stars went out\nbefore his sight; the heavens darkened their infinities: all things\nbecame viewless, became blackness; and the great murmur deepened, like\nthe murmur of a rising tide; and the earth seemed to sink from beneath\nhim. His feet no longer touched the ground; a sense of supernatural\nbuoyancy pervaded every fibre of his body: he felt himself floating in\nobscurity; then sinking softly, slowly, like a feather dropped from the\npinnacle of a temple. Was this death? Nay, for all suddenly, as\ntransported by the Sixth Supernatural Power, he stood again in\nlight,--a perfumed, sleepy light, vapory, beautiful,--that bathed the\nmarvellous streets of some Indian city. Now the nature of the murmur\nbecame manifest to him; for he moved with a mighty throng, a people of\npilgrims, a nation of worshippers. But these were not of his faith; they\nbore upon their foreheads the smeared symbols of obscene gods! Still, he\ncould not escape from their midst; the mile-broad human torrent bore him\nirresistibly with it, as a leaf is swept by the waters of the Ganges.\nRajahs were there with their trains, and princes riding upon elephants,\nand Brahmins robed in their vestments, and swarms of voluptuous\ndancing-girls, moving to chant of _kabit_ and _damari_. But whither,\nwhither? Out of the city into the sun they passed, between avenues of\nbanyan, down colonnades of palm. But whither, whither?\n\nBlue-distant, a mountain of carven stone appeared before them,--the\nTemple, lifting to heaven its wilderness of chiselled pinnacles,\nflinging to the sky the golden spray of its decoration. Higher it grew\nwith approach, the blue tones changed to gray, the outlines sharpened in\nthe light. Then each detail became visible: the elephants of the\npedestals standing upon tortoises of rock; the great grim faces of the\ncapitals; the serpents and monsters writhing among the friezes; the\nmany-headed gods of basalt in their galleries of fretted niches, tier\nabove tier; the pictured foulnesses, the painted lusts, the divinities\nof abomination. And, yawning in the sloping precipice of sculpture,\nbeneath a frenzied swarming of gods and Gopia,--a beetling pyramid of\nlimbs and bodies interlocked,--the Gate, cavernous and shadowy as the\nmouth of Siva, devoured the living multitude.\n\nThe eddy of the throng whirled him with it to the vastness of the\ninterior. None seemed to note his yellow robe, none even to observe his\npresence. Giant aisles intercrossed their heights above him; myriads of\nmighty pillars, fantastically carven, filed away to invisibility behind\nthe yellow illumination of torch-fires. Strange images, weirdly\nsensuous, loomed up through haze of incense. Colossal figures, that at a\ndistance assumed the form of elephants or garuda-birds, changed aspect\nwhen approached, and revealed as the secret of their design an\ninterplaiting of the bodies of women; while one divinity rode all the\nmonstrous allegories,--one divinity or demon, eternally the same in the\nrepetition of the sculptor, universally visible as though\nself-multiplied. The huge pillars themselves were symbols, figures,\ncarnalities; the orgiastic spirit of that worship lived and writhed in\nthe contorted bronze of the lamps, the twisted gold of the cups, the\nchiselled marble of the tanks....\n\nHow far had he proceeded? He knew not; the journey among those countless\ncolumns, past those armies of petrified gods, down lanes of flickering\nlights, seemed longer than the voyage of a caravan, longer than his\npilgrimage to China! But suddenly, inexplicably, there came a silence as\nof cemeteries; the living ocean seemed to have ebbed away from about\nhim, to have been engulfed within abysses of subterranean architecture!\nHe found himself alone in some strange crypt before a basin,\nshell-shaped and shallow, bearing in its centre a rounded column of less\nthan human height, whose smooth and spherical summit was wreathed with\nflowers. Lamps similarly formed, and fed with oil of palm, hung above\nit. There was no other graven image, no visible divinity. Flowers of\ncountless varieties lay heaped upon the pavement; they covered its\nsurface like a carpet, thick, soft; they exhaled their ghosts beneath\nhis feet. The perfume seemed to penetrate his brain,--a perfume\nsensuous, intoxicating, unholy; an unconquerable languor mastered his\nwill, and he sank to rest upon the floral offerings.\n\nThe sound of a tread, light as a whisper, approached through the heavy\nstillness, with a drowsy tinkling of _pagals_, a tintinnabulation of\nanklets. All suddenly he felt glide about his neck the tepid\nsmoothness of a woman's arm. _She, she!_ his Illusion, his\nTemptation; but how transformed, transfigured!--preternatural in her\nloveliness, incomprehensible in her charm! Delicate as a jasmine-petal\nthe cheek that touched his own; deep as night, sweet as summer, the\neyes that watched him. \"_Heart's-thief,_\" her flower-lips\nwhispered,--\"_heart's-thief, how have I sought for thee! How have I\nfound thee! Sweets I bring thee, my beloved; lips and bosom; fruit and\nblossom. Hast thirst? Drink from the well of mine eyes! Wouldst\nsacrifice? I am thine altar! Wouldst pray? I am thy God!_\"\n\nTheir lips touched; her kiss seemed to change the cells of his blood to\nflame. For a moment Illusion triumphed; Mara prevailed!... With a shock\nof resolve the dreamer awoke in the night,--under the stars of the\nChinese sky.\n\n\nOnly a mockery of sleep! But the vow had been violated, the sacred\npurpose unfulfilled! Humiliated, penitent, but resolved, the ascetic\ndrew from his girdle a keen knife, and with unfaltering hands severed\nhis eyelids from his eyes, and flung them from him. \"O Thou Perfectly\nAwakened!\" he prayed, \"thy disciple hath not been overcome save through\nthe feebleness of the body; and his vow hath been renewed. Here shall he\nlinger, without food or drink, until the moment of its fulfilment.\" And\nhaving assumed the hieratic posture,--seated himself with his lower\nlimbs folded beneath him, and the palms of his hands upward, the right\nupon the left, the left resting upon the sole of his upturned foot,--he\nresumed his meditation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDawn blushed; day brightened. The sun shortened all the shadows of the\nland, and lengthened them again, and sank at last upon his funeral pyre\nof crimson-burning cloud. Night came and glittered and passed. But Mara\nhad tempted in vain. This time the vow had been fulfilled, the holy\npurpose accomplished.\n\nAnd again the sun arose to fill the World with laughter of light;\nflowers opened their hearts to him; birds sang their morning hymn of\nfire worship; the deep forest trembled with delight; and far upon the\nplain, the eaves of many-storied temples and the peaked caps of the\ncity-towers caught aureate glory. Strong in the holiness of his\naccomplished vow, the Indian pilgrim arose in the morning glow. He\nstarted for amazement as he lifted his hands to his eyes. What! was\neverything a dream? Impossible! Yet now his eyes felt no pain; neither\nwere they lidless; not even so much as one of their lashes was lacking.\nWhat marvel had been wrought? In vain he looked for the severed lids\nthat he had flung upon the ground; they had mysteriously vanished. But\nlo! there where he had cast them two wondrous shrubs were growing, with\ndainty leaflets eyelid-shaped, and snowy buds just opening to the East.\n\nThen, by virtue of the supernatural power acquired in that mighty\nmeditation, it was given the holy missionary to know the secret of that\nnewly created plant,--the subtle virtue of its leaves. And he named it,\nin the language of the nation to whom he brought the Lotos of the Good\nLaw, \"_TE_\"; and he spake to it, saying:--\n\n\"Blessed be thou, sweet plant, beneficent, life-giving, formed by the\nspirit of virtuous resolve! Lo! the fame of thee shall yet spread unto\nthe ends of the earth; and the perfume of thy life be borne unto the\nuttermost parts by all the winds of heaven! Verily, for all time to come\nmen who drink of thy sap shall find such refreshment that weariness may\nnot overcome them nor languor seize upon them;--neither shall they know\nthe confusion of drowsiness, nor any desire for slumber in the hour of\nduty or of prayer. Blessed be thou!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd still, as a mist of incense, as a smoke of universal sacrifice,\nperpetually ascends to heaven from all the lands of earth the pleasant\nvapor of TE, created for the refreshment of mankind by the power of a\nholy vow, the virtue of a pious atonement.\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nThe Tale of the Porcelain-God\n\n\n     _It is written in the _FONG-HO-CHIN-TCH'OUEN_, that whenever the\n     artist Thsang-Kong was in doubt, he would look into the fire of the\n     great oven in which his vases were baking, and question the\n     Guardian-Spirit dwelling in the flame. And the Spirit of the\n     Oven-fires so aided him with his counsels, that the porcelains made\n     by Thsang-Kong were indeed finer and lovelier to look upon than all\n     other porcelains. And they were baked in the years of\n     Khang-hi,--sacredly called Jin Houang-ti._\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALE OF THE PORCELAIN-GOD\n\n\nWho first of men discovered the secret of the _Kao-ling_, of the\n_Pe-tun-tse_,--the bones and the flesh, the skeleton and the skin, of\nthe beauteous Vase? Who first discovered the virtue of the curd-white\nclay? Who first prepared the ice-pure bricks of _tun_: the\ngathered-hoariness of mountains that have died for age; blanched dust of\nthe rocky bones and the stony flesh of sun-seeking Giants that have\nceased to be? Unto whom was it first given to discover the divine art of\nporcelain?\n\nUnto Pu, once a man, now a god, before whose snowy statues bow the\nmyriad populations enrolled in the guilds of the potteries. But the\nplace of his birth we know not; perhaps the tradition of it may have\nbeen effaced from remembrance by that awful war which in our own day\nconsumed the lives of twenty millions of the Black-haired Race, and\nobliterated from the face of the world even the wonderful City of\nPorcelain itself,--the City of King-te-chin, that of old shone like a\njewel of fire in the blue mountain-girdle of Feou-liang.\n\nBefore his time indeed the Spirit of the Furnace had being; had issued\nfrom the Infinite Vitality; had become manifest as an emanation of the\nSupreme Tao. For Hoang-ti, nearly five thousand years ago, taught men to\nmake good vessels of baked clay; and in his time all potters had learned\nto know the God of Oven-fires, and turned their wheels to the murmuring\nof prayer. But Hoang-ti had been gathered unto his fathers for thrice\nten hundred years before that man was born destined by the Master of\nHeaven to become the Porcelain-God.\n\nAnd his divine ghost, ever hovering above the smoking and the toiling of\nthe potteries, still gives power to the thought of the shaper, grace to\nthe genius of the designer, luminosity to the touch of the enamellist.\nFor by his heaven-taught wisdom was the art of porcelain created; by his\ninspiration were accomplished all the miracles of Thao-yu, maker of the\n_Kia-yu-ki_, and all the marvels made by those who followed after him;--\n\nAll the azure porcelains called _You-kouo-thien-tsing_; brilliant as a\nmirror, thin as paper of rice, sonorous as the melodious stone _Khing_,\nand colored, in obedience to the mandate of the Emperor Chi-tsong, \"blue\nas the sky is after rain, when viewed through the rifts of the clouds.\"\nThese were, indeed, the first of all porcelains, likewise called\n_Tchai-yao_, which no man, howsoever wicked, could find courage to\nbreak, for they charmed the eye like jewels of price;--\n\nAnd the _Jou-yao_, second in rank among all porcelains, sometimes\nmocking the aspect and the sonority of bronze, sometimes blue as summer\nwaters, and deluding the sight with mucid appearance of thickly floating\nspawn of fish;--\n\nAnd the _Kouan-yao_, which are the Porcelains of Magistrates, and third\nin rank of merit among all wondrous porcelains, colored with colors of\nthe morning,--skyey blueness, with the rose of a great dawn blushing and\nbursting through it, and long-limbed marsh-birds flying against the\nglow;\n\nAlso the _Ko-yao_,--fourth in rank among perfect porcelains,--of fair,\nfaint, changing colors, like the body of a living fish, or made in the\nlikeness of opal substance, milk mixed with fire; the work of Sing-I,\nelder of the immortal brothers Tchang;\n\nAlso the _Ting-yao_,--fifth in rank among all perfect porcelains,--white\nas the mourning garments of a spouse bereaved, and beautiful with a\ntrickling as of tears,--the porcelains sung of by the poet Son-tong-po;\n\nAlso the porcelains called _Pi-se-yao_, whose colors are called\n\"hidden,\" being alternately invisible and visible, like the tints of\nice beneath the sun,--the porcelains celebrated by the far-famed singer\nSin-in;\n\nAlso the wondrous _Chu-yao_,--the pallid porcelains that utter a\nmournful cry when smitten,--the porcelains chanted of by the mighty\nchanter, Thou-chao-ling;\n\nAlso the porcelains called _Thsin-yao_, white or blue, surface-wrinkled\nas the face of water by the fluttering of many fins.... And ye can see\nthe fish!\n\nAlso the vases called _Tsi-hong-khi_, red as sunset after a rain; and\nthe _T'o-t'ai-khi_, fragile as the wings of the silkworm-moth, lighter\nthan the shell of an egg;\n\nAlso the _Kia-tsing_,--fair cups pearl-white when empty, yet, by some\nincomprehensible witchcraft of construction, seeming to swarm with\npurple fish the moment they are filled with water;\n\nAlso the porcelains called _Yao-pien_, whose tints are transmuted by the\nalchemy of fire; for they enter blood-crimson into the heat, and change\nthere to lizard-green, and at last come forth azure as the cheek of the\nsky;\n\nAlso the _Ki-tcheou-yao_, which are all violet as a summer's night; and\nthe _Hing-yao_ that sparkle with the sparklings of mingled silver and\nsnow;\n\nAlso the _Sieouen-yao_,--some ruddy as iron in the furnace, some\ndiaphanous and ruby-red, some granulated and yellow as the rind of an\norange, some softly flushed as the skin of a peach;\n\nAlso the _Tsoui-khi-yao_, crackled and green as ancient ice is; and the\n_Tchou-fou-yao_, which are the Porcelains of Emperors, with dragons\nwriggling and snarling in gold; and those _yao_ that are pink-ribbed\nand have their angles serrated as the claws of crabs are;\n\nAlso the _Ou-ni-yao_, black as the pupil of the eye, and as lustrous;\nand the _Hou-tien-yao_, darkly yellow as the faces of men of India; and\nthe _Ou-kong-yao_, whose color is the dead-gold of autumn-leaves;\n\nAlso the _Long-kang-yao_, green as the seedling of a pea, but bearing\nalso paintings of sun-silvered cloud, and of the Dragons of Heaven;\n\nAlso the _Tching-hoa-yao_,--pictured with the amber bloom of grapes and\nthe verdure of vine-leaves and the blossoming of poppies, or decorated\nin relief with figures of fighting crickets;\n\nAlso the _Khang-hi-nien-ts'ang-yao_, celestial azure sown with star-dust\nof gold; and the _Khien-long-nien-thang-yao_, splendid in sable and\nsilver as a fervid night that is flashed with lightnings.\n\nNot indeed the _Long-Ouang-yao_,--painted with the lascivious _Pi-hi_,\nwith the obscene _Nan-niu-sse-sie_, with the shameful _Tchun-hoa_, or\n\"Pictures of Spring\"; abominations created by command of the wicked\nEmperor Moutsong, though the Spirit of the Furnace hid his face and fled\naway;\n\nBut all other vases of startling form and substance, magically\narticulated, and ornamented with figures in relief, in cameo, in\ntransparency,--the vases with orifices belled like the cups of flowers,\nor cleft like the bills of birds, or fanged like the jaws of serpents,\nor pink-lipped as the mouth of a girl; the vases flesh-colored and\npurple-veined and dimpled, with ears and with earrings; the vases in\nlikeness of mushrooms, of lotos-flowers, of lizards, of horse-footed\ndragons woman-faced; the vases strangely translucid, that simulate the\nwhite glimmering of grains of prepared rice, that counterfeit the vapory\nlace-work of frost, that imitate the efflorescences of coral;--\n\nAlso the statues in porcelain of divinities: the Genius of the Hearth;\nthe Long-pinn who are the Twelve Deities of Ink; the blessed Lao-tseu,\nborn with silver hair; Kong-fu-tse, grasping the scroll of written\nwisdom; Kouan-in, sweetest Goddess of Mercy, standing snowy-footed upon\nthe heart of her golden lily; Chi-nong, the god who taught men how to\ncook; Fo, with long eyes closed in meditation, and lips smiling the\nmysterious smile of Supreme Beatitude; Cheou-lao, god of Longevity,\nbestriding his aerial steed, the white-winged stork; Pou-t'ai, Lord of\nContentment and of Wealth, obese and dreamy; and that fairest Goddess of\nTalent, from whose beneficent hands eternally streams the iridescent\nrain of pearls.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd though many a secret of that matchless art that Pu bequeathed unto\nmen may indeed have been forgotten and lost forever, the story of the\nPorcelain-God is remembered; and I doubt not that any of the aged\n_Jeou-yen-liao-kong_, any one of the old blind men of the great\npotteries, who sit all day grinding colors in the sun, could tell you Pu\nwas once a humble Chinese workman, who grew to be a great artist by dint\nof tireless study and patience and by the inspiration of Heaven. So\nfamed he became that some deemed him an alchemist, who possessed the\nsecret called _White-and-Yellow_, by which stones might be turned into\ngold; and others thought him a magician, having the ghastly power of\nmurdering men with horror of nightmare, by hiding charmed effigies of\nthem under the tiles of their own roofs; and others, again, averred that\nhe was an astrologer who had discovered the mystery of those Five Hing\nwhich influence all things,--those Powers that move even in the currents\nof the star-drift, in the milky _Tien-ho_, or River of the Sky. Thus, at\nleast, the ignorant spoke of him; but even those who stood about the Son\nof Heaven, those whose hearts had been strengthened by the acquisition\nof wisdom, wildly praised the marvels of his handicraft, and asked each\nother if there might be any imaginable form of beauty which Pu could not\nevoke from that beauteous substance so docile to the touch of his\ncunning hand.\n\nAnd one day it came to pass that Pu sent a priceless gift to the\nCelestial and August: a vase imitating the substance of ore-rock, all\naflame with pyritic scintillation,--a shape of glittering splendor with\nchameleons sprawling over it; chameleons of porcelain that shifted color\nas often as the beholder changed his position. And the Emperor,\nwondering exceedingly at the splendor of the work, questioned the\nprinces and the mandarins concerning him that made it. And the princes\nand the mandarins answered that he was a workman named Pu, and that he\nwas without equal among potters, knowing secrets that seemed to have\nbeen inspired either by gods or by demons. Whereupon the Son of Heaven\nsent his officers to Pu with a noble gift, and summoned him unto his\npresence.\n\nSo the humble artisan entered before the Emperor, and having performed\nthe supreme prostration,--thrice kneeling, and thrice nine times\ntouching the ground with his forehead,--awaited the command of the\nAugust.\n\nAnd the Emperor spake to him, saying: \"Son, thy gracious gift hath found\nhigh favor in our sight; and for the charm of that offering we have\nbestowed upon thee a reward of five thousand silver _liang_. But thrice\nthat sum shall be awarded thee so soon as thou shalt have fulfilled our\nbehest. Hearken, therefore, O matchless artificer! it is now our will\nthat thou make for us a vase having the tint and the aspect of living\nflesh, but--mark well our desire!--_of flesh made to creep by the\nutterance of such words as poets utter,--flesh moved by an Idea, flesh\nhorripilated by a Thought!_ Obey, and answer not! We have spoken.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow Pu was the most cunning of all the _P'ei-se-kong_,--the men who\nmarry colors together; of all the _Hoa-yang-kong_, who draw the shapes\nof vase-decoration; of all the _Hoei-sse-kong_, who paint in enamel; of\nall the _T'ien-thsai-kong_, who brighten color; of all the\n_Chao-lou-kong_, who watch the furnace-fires and the porcelain-ovens.\nBut he went away sorrowing from the Palace of the Son of Heaven,\nnotwithstanding the gift of five thousand silver _liang_ which had been\ngiven to him. For he thought to himself: \"Surely the mystery of the\ncomeliness of flesh, and the mystery of that by which it is moved, are\nthe secrets of the Supreme Tao. How shall man lend the aspect of\nsentient life to dead clay? Who save the Infinite can give soul?\"\n\nNow Pu had discovered those witchcrafts of color, those surprises of\ngrace, that make the art of the ceramist. He had found the secret of the\n_feng-hong_, the wizard flush of the Rose; of the _hoa-hong_, the\ndelicious incarnadine; of the mountain-green called _chan-lou_; of the\npale soft yellow termed _hiao-hoang-yeou_; and of the _hoang-kin_, which\nis the blazing beauty of gold. He had found those eel-tints, those\nserpent-greens, those pansy-violets, those furnace-crimsons, those\ncarminates and lilacs, subtle as spirit-flame, which our enamellists of\nthe Occident long sought without success to reproduce. But he trembled\nat the task assigned him, as he returned to the toil of his studio,\nsaying: \"How shall any miserable man render in clay the quivering of\nflesh to an Idea,--the inexplicable horripilation of a Thought? Shall a\nman venture to mock the magic of that Eternal Moulder by whose infinite\npower a million suns are shapen more readily than one small jar might be\nrounded upon my wheel?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYet the command of the Celestial and August might never be disobeyed;\nand the patient workman strove with all his power to fulfil the Son of\nHeaven's desire. But vainly for days, for weeks, for months, for season\nafter season, did he strive; vainly also he prayed unto the gods to aid\nhim; vainly he besought the Spirit of the Furnace, crying: \"O thou\nSpirit of Fire, hear me, heed me, help me! how shall I,--a miserable\nman, unable to breathe into clay a living soul,--how shall I render in\nthis inanimate substance the aspect of flesh made to creep by the\nutterance of a Word, sentient to the horripilation of a Thought?\"\n\nFor the Spirit of the Furnace made strange answer to him with whispering\nof fire: \"_Vast thy faith, weird thy prayer! Has Thought feet, that man\nmay perceive the trace of its passing? Canst thou measure me the blast\nof the Wind?_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNevertheless, with purpose unmoved, nine-and-forty times did Pu seek to\nfulfil the Emperor's command; nine-and-forty times he strove to obey the\nbehest of the Son of Heaven. Vainly, alas! did he consume his substance;\nvainly did he expend his strength; vainly did he exhaust his knowledge:\nsuccess smiled not upon him; and Evil visited his home, and Poverty sat\nin his dwelling, and Misery shivered at his hearth.\n\nSometimes, when the hour of trial came, it was found that the colors had\nbecome strangely transmuted in the firing, or had faded into ashen\npallor, or had darkened into the fuliginous hue of forest-mould. And Pu,\nbeholding these misfortunes, made wail to the Spirit of the Furnace,\npraying: \"O thou Spirit of Fire, how shall I render the likeness of\nlustrous flesh, the warm glow of living color, unless thou aid me?\"\n\nAnd the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with murmuring\nof fire: \"_Canst thou learn the art of that Infinite Enameller who hath\nmade beautiful the Arch of Heaven,--whose brush is Light; whose paints\nare the Colors of the Evening?_\"\n\nSometimes, again, even when the tints had not changed, after the pricked\nand labored surface had seemed about to quicken in the heat, to assume\nthe vibratility of living skin,--even at the last hour all the labor of\nthe workers proved to have been wasted; for the fickle substance\nrebelled against their efforts, producing only crinklings grotesque as\nthose upon the rind of a withered fruit, or granulations like those\nupon the skin of a dead bird from which the feathers have been rudely\nplucked. And Pu wept, and cried out unto the Spirit of the Furnace: \"O\nthou Spirit of Flame, how shall I be able to imitate the thrill of flesh\ntouched by a Thought, unless thou wilt vouchsafe to lend me thine aid?\"\n\nAnd the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with muttering\nof fire: \"_Canst thou give ghost unto a stone? Canst thou thrill with a\nThought the entrails of the granite hills?_\"\n\nSometimes it was found that all the work indeed had not failed; for the\ncolor seemed good, and all faultless the matter of the vase appeared to\nbe, having neither crack nor wrinkling nor crinkling; but the pliant\nsoftness of warm skin did not meet the eye; the flesh-tinted surface\noffered only the harsh aspect and hard glimmer of metal. All their\nexquisite toil to mock the pulpiness of sentient substance had left no\ntrace; had been brought to nought by the breath of the furnace. And Pu,\nin his despair, shrieked to the Spirit of the Furnace: \"O thou merciless\ndivinity! O thou most pitiless god!--thou whom I have worshipped with\nten thousand sacrifices!--for what fault hast thou abandoned me? for\nwhat error hast thou forsaken me? How may I, most wretched of men! ever\nrender the aspect of flesh made to creep with the utterance of a Word,\nsentient to the titillation of a Thought, if thou wilt not aid me?\"\n\nAnd the Spirit of the Furnace made answer unto him with roaring of\nfire: \"_Canst thou divide a Soul? Nay!... Thy life for the life of thy\nwork!--thy soul for the soul of thy Vase!_\"\n\nAnd hearing these words Pu arose with a terrible resolve swelling at his\nheart, and made ready for the last and fiftieth time to fashion his work\nfor the oven.\n\nOne hundred times did he sift the clay and the quartz, the _kao-ling_\nand the _tun_; one hundred times did he purify them in clearest water;\none hundred times with tireless hands did he knead the creamy paste,\nmingling it at last with colors known only to himself. Then was the vase\nshapen and reshapen, and touched and retouched by the hands of Pu, until\nits blandness seemed to live, until it appeared to quiver and to\npalpitate, as with vitality from within, as with the quiver of rounded\nmuscle undulating beneath the integument. For the hues of life were upon\nit and infiltrated throughout its innermost substance, imitating the\ncarnation of blood-bright tissue, and the reticulated purple of the\nveins; and over all was laid the envelope of sun-colored _Pe-kia-ho_,\nthe lucid and glossy enamel, half diaphanous, even like the substance\nthat it counterfeited,--the polished skin of a woman. Never since the\nmaking of the world had any work comparable to this been wrought by the\nskill of man.\n\nThen Pu bade those who aided him that they should feed the furnace well\nwith wood of _tcha_; but he told his resolve unto none. Yet after the\noven began to glow, and he saw the work of his hands blossoming and\nblushing in the heat, he bowed himself before the Spirit of Flame, and\nmurmured: \"O thou Spirit and Master of Fire, I know the truth of thy\nwords! I know that a Soul may never be divided! Therefore my life for\nthe life of my work!--my soul for the soul of my Vase!\"\n\n\nAnd for nine days and for eight nights the furnaces were fed unceasingly\nwith wood of _tcha_; for nine days and for eight nights men watched the\nwondrous vase crystallizing into being, rose-lighted by the breath of\nthe flame. Now upon the coming of the ninth night, Pu bade all his weary\ncomrades retire to, rest, for that the work was well-nigh done, and the\nsuccess assured. \"If you find me not here at sunrise,\" he said, \"fear\nnot to take forth the vase; for I know that the task will have been\naccomplished according to the command of the August.\" So they departed.\n\nBut in that same ninth night Pu entered the flame, and yielded up his\nghost in the embrace of the Spirit of the Furnace, giving his life for\nthe life of his work,--his soul for the soul of his Vase.\n\nAnd when the workmen came upon the tenth morning to take forth the\nporcelain marvel, even the bones of Pu had ceased to be; but lo! the\nVase lived as they looked upon it: seeming to be flesh moved by the\nutterance of a Word, creeping to the titillation of a Thought. And\nwhenever tapped by the finger it uttered a voice and a name,--the voice\nof its maker, the name of its creator: PU.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd the son of Heaven, hearing of these things, and viewing the miracle\nof the vase, said unto those about him: \"Verily, the Impossible hath\nbeen wrought by the strength of faith, by the force of obedience! Yet\nnever was it our desire that so cruel a sacrifice should have been; we\nsought only to know whether the skill of the matchless artificer came\nfrom the Divinities or from the Demons,--from heaven or from hell. Now,\nindeed, we discern that Pu hath taken his place among the gods.\" And the\nEmperor mourned exceedingly for his faithful servant. But he ordained\nthat godlike honors should be paid unto the spirit of the marvellous\nartist, and that his memory should be revered forevermore, and that\nfair statues of him should be set up in all the cities of the Celestial\nEmpire, and above all the toiling of the potteries, that the multitude\nof workers might unceasingly call upon his name and invoke his\nbenediction upon their labors.\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n\"_The Soul of the Great Bell._\"--The story of Ko-Ngai is one of the\ncollection entitled _Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue_, or \"A Hundred Examples of\nFilial Piety.\" It is very simply told by the Chinese narrator. The\nscholarly French consul, P. Dabry de Thiersant, translated and published\nin 1877 a portion of the book, including the legend of the Bell. His\ntranslation is enriched with a number of Chinese drawings; and there is\na quaint little picture of Ko-Ngai leaping into the molten metal.\n\n\"_The Story of Ming-Y._\"--The singular phantom-tale upon which my work\nis based forms the thirty-fourth story of the famous collection\n_Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_, and was first translated under the title, \"La\nBacheliere du Pays de Chu,\" by the learned Gustave Schlegel, as an\nintroduction to his publication (accompanied by a French version) of\nthe curious and obscene _Mai-yu-lang-tou-tchen-hoa-kouei_ (Leyden,\n1877), which itself forms the seventh recital of the same work.\nSchlegel, Julien, Gardner, Birch, D'Entrecolles, Remusat, Pavie,\nOlyphant, Grisebach, Hervey-Saint-Denys, and others, have given the\nOccidental world translations of eighteen stories from the\n_Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_; namely, Nos. 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 14, 19, 20, 26,\n27, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, and 39. The Chinese work itself dates back to\nthe thirteenth century; but as it forms only a collection of the most\npopular tales of that epoch, many of the stories selected by the Chinese\neditor may have had a much more ancient origin. There are forty tales in\nthe _Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan_.\n\n\"_The Legend of Tchi-Niu._\"--My authority for this tale is the following\nlegend from the thirty-fourth chapter of the _Kan-ing-p'ien_, or \"Book\nof Rewards and Punishments,\"--a work attributed to Lao-tseu, which\ncontains some four hundred anecdotes and traditions of the most curious\nkind:--\n\n     Tong-yong, who lived under the Han dynasty, was reduced to a state\n     of extreme poverty. Having lost his father, he sold himself in\n     order to obtain ... the wherewithal to bury him and to build him a\n     tomb. The Master of Heaven took pity on him, and sent the Goddess\n     Tchi-Niu to him to become his wife. She wove a piece of silk for\n     him every day until she was able to buy his freedom, after which\n     she gave him a son, and went back to heaven.--_Julien's French\n     Translation_, p. 119.\n\nLest the reader should suppose, however, that I have drawn wholly upon\nmy own imagination for the details of the apparition, the cure, the\nmarriage ceremony, etc., I refer him to No. XCVI. of Giles's \"Strange\nStories from a Chinese Studio,\" entitled, \"A Supernatural Wife,\" in\nwhich he will find that my narrative is at least conformable to Chinese\nideas. (This story first appeared in \"Harper's Bazaar,\" and is\nrepublished here by permission.)\n\n\"_The Return of Yen-Tchin-King._\"--There may be an involuntary\nanachronism in my version of this legend, which is very pithily\nnarrated in the _Kan-ing-p'ien_. No emperor's name is cited by the\nhomilist; and the date of the revolt seems to have been left wholly to\nconjecture.--Baber, in his \"Memoirs,\" mentions one of his Mongol archers\nas able to bend a two-hundred-pound bow until the ears met.\n\n\"_The Tradition of the Tea-Plant._\"--My authority for this bit of\nfolklore is the brief statement published by Bretschneider in the\n\"Chinese Recorder\" for 1871:--\n\n     \"A Japanese legend says that about A.D. 519, a Buddhist priest came\n     to China, and, in order to dedicate his soul entirely to God, he\n     made a vow to pass the day and night in an uninterrupted and\n     unbroken meditation. After many years of this continual watching,\n     he was at length so tired that he fell asleep. On awaking the\n     following morning, he was so sorry he had broken his vow that he\n     cut off both his eyelids and threw them upon the ground. Returning\n     to the same place the following day he observed that each eyelid\n     had become a shrub. This was the _tea-shrub_, unknown until that\n     time.\"\n\nBretschneider adds that the legend in question seems not to be known to\nthe Chinese; yet in view of the fact that Buddhism itself, with all its\nmarvellous legends, was received by the Japanese from China, it is\ncertainly probable this legend had a Chinese origin,--subsequently\ndisguised by Japanese chronology. My Buddhist texts were drawn from\nFernand Hu's translation of the Dhammapada, and from Leon Feer's\ntranslation from the Thibetan of the \"Sutra in Forty-two Articles.\" An\nOrientalist who should condescend in a rare leisure-moment to glance at\nmy work might also discover that I had borrowed an idea or two from the\nSanscrit poet, Bhamini-Vilasa.\n\n\"_The Tale of the Porcelain-God._\"--The good Pere D'Entrecolles, who\nfirst gave to Europe the secrets of Chinese porcelain-manufacture, wrote\none hundred and sixty years ago:--\n\n     \"The Emperors of China are, during their lifetime, the most\n     redoubted of divinities; and they believe that nothing should ever\n     stand in the way of their desires....\n\n     \"It is related that once upon a time a certain Emperor insisted\n     that some porcelains should be made for him according to a model\n     which he gave. It was answered that the thing was simply\n     impossible; but all such remonstrances only served to excite his\n     desire more and more.... The officers charged by the demigod to\n     supervise and hasten the work treated the workmen with great\n     harshness. The poor wretches spent all their money, took exceeding\n     pains, and received only blows in return. One of them, in a fit of\n     despair, leaped into the blazing furnace, and was instantly burnt\n     to ashes. But the porcelain that was being baked there at the time\n     came out, they say, perfectly beautiful and to the satisfaction of\n     the Emperor.... From that time, the unfortunate workman was\n     regarded as a hero; and his image was made the idol which presides\n     over the manufacture of porcelain.\"\n\nIt appears that D'Entrecolles mistook the statue of Pou't'ai, God of\nComfort, for that of the real porcelain-deity, as Jacquemart and others\nobserve. This error does not, however, destroy the beauty of the myth;\nand there is no good reason to doubt that D'Entrecolles related it as it\nhad been told him by some of his Chinese friends at King-te-chin. The\nresearches of Stanislas Julien and others have only tended to confirm\nthe trustworthiness of the Catholic missionary's statements in other\nrespects; and both Julien and Salvetat, in their admirable French\nrendering of the _King-te-chin-thao-lou_, \"History of the Porcelains of\nKing-te-chin\" (a work which has been of the greatest service to me in\nthe preparation of my little story), quote from his letters at\nconsiderable length, and award him the highest praise as a conscientious\ninvestigator. So far as I have been able to learn, D'Entrecolles remains\nthe sole authority for the myth; but his affirmations in regard to other\nmatters have withstood the severe tests of time astonishingly well; and\nsince the Tai-ping rebellion destroyed King-te-chin and paralyzed its\nnoble industry, the value of the French missionary's documents and\ntestimony has become widely recognized. In lieu of any other name for\nthe hero of the legend, I have been obliged to retain that of Pou, or\nPu,--only using it without the affix \"t'ai,\"--so as to distinguish it\nfrom the deity of comfort and repose.\n\n[Illustration: Decorative motif]\n\n\n\n\nGlossary\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]\n\n\n\n\nGLOSSARY\n\n\nABHIDHARMA.--The metaphysics of Buddhism. Buddhist literature\nis classed into three great divisions, or \"baskets\"; the highest of\nthese is the Abhidharma.... According to a passage in Spence Hardy's\n\"Manual of Buddhism,\" the full comprehension of the Abhidharma is\npossible only for a Buddha to acquire.\n\nCHIH.--\"House\"; but especially the house of the dead,--a tomb.\n\nCHU-SHA-KIH.--The mandarin-orange.\n\nCRAMANA.--An ascetic; one who has subdued his senses. For an\ninteresting history of this term, see Burnouf,--\"Introduction a\nl'histoire du Buddhisme Indien.\"\n\nDAMARI.--A peculiar chant, of somewhat licentious character,\nmost commonly sung during the period of the Indian carnival. For an\naccount, at once brief and entertaining, of Hindoo popular songs and\nhymns, see Garcin de Tassy,--\"Chants populaires de l'Inde.\"\n\nDOGS OF FO.--The _Dog of Fo_ is one of those fabulous monsters\nin the sculptural representation of which Chinese art has found its most\ngrotesque expression. It is really an exaggerated lion; and the\nsymbolical relation of the lion to Buddhism is well known. Statues of\nthese mythical animals--sometimes of a grandiose and colossal\nexecution--are placed in pairs before the entrances of temples, palaces,\nand tombs, as tokens of honor, and as emblems of divine protection.\n\nFO.--Buddha is called _Fo_, _Fuh_, _Fuh-tu_, _Hwut_, _Fat_, in\nvarious Chinese dialects. The name is thought to be a corruption of the\nHindoo _Bodh_, or \"Truth,\" due to the imperfect articulation of the\nChinese.... It is a curious fact that the Chinese Buddhist liturgy is\nSanscrit transliterated into Chinese characters, and that the priests\nhave lost all recollection of the antique tongue,--repeating the texts\nwithout the least comprehension of their meaning.\n\nFUH-YIN.--An official holding in Chinese cities a position\ncorresponding to that of mayor in the Occident.\n\nFUNG-HOANG.--This allegorical bird, corresponding to the\nArabian phoenix in some respects, is described as being five cubits\nhigh, having feathers of five different colors, and singing in five\nmodulations.... The female is said to sing in imperfect tones; the male\nin perfect tones. The _fung-hoang_ figures largely in Chinese musical\nmyths and legends.\n\nGOPIA (or GOPIS).--Daughters and wives of the cowherds\nof Vrindavana, among whom Krishna was brought up after his incarnation\nas the eighth avatar of Vishnu. Krishna's amours with the shepherdesses,\nor Gopia, form the subject of various celebrated mystical writings,\nespecially the _Prem-Sagar_, or \"Ocean of Love\" (translated by Eastwick\nand by others); and the sensuous _Gita-Govinda_ of the Bengalese lyric\npoet Jayadeva (translated into French prose by Hippolyte Fauche, and\nchastely rendered into English verse by Edwin Arnold in the \"Indian Song\nof Songs\"). See also Burnouf's partial translation of the _Bhagavata\nParana_, and Theodore Pavie's \"Krichna et sa doctrine.\" ... The same\ntheme has inspired some of the strangest productions of Hindoo art: for\nexamples, see plates 65 and 66 of Moor's \"Hindoo Pantheon\" (edition of\n1861). For accounts of the erotic mysticism connected with the worship\nof Krishna and the Gopia, the reader may also be referred to authorities\ncited in Barth's \"Religions of India\"; De Tassy's \"Chants populaires de\nl'Inde\"; and Lamairesse's \"Poesies populaires du Sud de l'Inde.\"\n\nHAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN.--This celebrated Chinese novel was\ntranslated into French by M. Guillard d'Arcy in 1842, and appeared\nunder the title, \"Hao-Khieou-Tchouan; ou, La Femme Accomplie.\" The first\ntranslation of the romance into any European tongue was a Portuguese\nrendering; and the English version of Percy is based upon the Portuguese\ntext. The work is rich in poetical quotations.\n\nHEI-SONG-CHE-TCHOO.--\"One day when the Emperor Hiuan-tsong of\nthe Thang dynasty,\" says the _Tao-kia-ping-yu-che_, \"was at work in his\nstudy, a tiny Taoist priest, no bigger than a fly, rose out of the\ninkstand lying upon his table, and said to him: 'I am the Genius of ink;\nmy name is Hei-song-che-tchoo [_Envoy of the Black Fir_]; and I have\ncome to tell you that whenever a true sage shall sit down to write, the\nTwelve Divinities of Ink [_Long-pinn_] will appear upon the surface of\nthe ink he uses.'\" See \"L'Encre de Chine,\" by Maurice Jametel. Paris.\n1882.\n\nHOA-TCHAO.--The \"Birthday of a Hundred Flowers\" falls upon the\nfifteenth of the second spring-moon.\n\nJADE.--Jade, or nephrite, a variety of jasper,--called by the\nChinese _yuh_,--has always been highly valued by them as artistic\nmaterial.... In the \"Book of Rewards and Punishments,\" there is a\ncurious legend to the effect that Confucius, after the completion of his\n_Hiao-King_ (\"Book of Filial Piety\"), having addressed himself to\nHeaven, a crimson rainbow fell from the sky, and changed itself at his\nfeet into a piece of yellow jade. See Stanislas Julien's translation, p.\n495.\n\nKABIT.--A poetical form much in favor with composers of Hindoo\nreligious chants: the _kabit_ always consists of four verses.\n\nKAO-LING.--Literally, \"the High Ridge,\" and originally the name\nof a hilly range which furnished the best quality of clay to the\nporcelain-makers. Subsequently the term applied by long custom to\ndesignate the material itself became corrupted into the word now\nfamiliar in all countries,--kaolin. In the language of the Chinese\npotters, the _kaolin_, or clay, was poetically termed the \"bones,\" and\nthe _tun_, or quartz, the \"flesh\" of the porcelain; while the prepared\nbricks of the combined substances were known as _pe-tun-tse_. Both\nsubstances, the infusible and the fusible, are productions of the same\ngeological formation,--decomposed feldspathic rock.\n\nKASI (_or_ VARANASI).--Ancient name of Benares, the \"Sacred City,\"\nbelieved to have been founded by the gods. It is also called \"The\nLotos of the World.\" Barth terms it \"the Jerusalem of all the sects\nboth of ancient and modern India.\" It still boasts two thousand\nshrines, and half a million images of divinities. See also Sherring's\n\"Sacred City of the Hindoos.\"\n\nKIANG-KOU-JIN.--Literally, the \"tell-old-story-men.\" For a brief account\nof Chinese professional story-tellers, the reader may consult Schlegel's\nentertaining introduction to the _Mai-yu-lang-tou-tchen-hoa-kouei_.\n\nKIN.--The most perfect of Chinese musical instruments, also\ncalled \"the Scholar's Lute.\" The word _kin_ also means \"to prohibit\";\nand this name is said to have been given to the instrument because\nmusic, according to Chinese belief, \"_restrains evil passions, and\ncorrects the human heart_.\" See Williams's \"Middle Kingdom.\"\n\nKOUEI.--Kouei, musician to the Emperor Yao, must have held his\noffice between 2357 and 2277 B.C. The extract selected from one of his\nsongs, which I have given at the beginning of the \"Story of Ming-Y,\" is\ntherefore more than four thousand years old. The same chant contains\nanother remarkable fancy, evidencing Chinese faith in musical magic:--\n\n    \"When I smite my [_musical_] stone,--\n    Be it gently, be it strongly,--\n    Then do the fiercest beasts of prey leap high for joy.\n    And the chiefs among the public officials do agree among themselves.\"\n\nKWANG-CHAU-FU.--Literally, \"The Broad City,\"--the name of\nCanton. It is also called \"The City of Genii.\"\n\nLI.--A measure of distance. The length of the _li_ has varied\nconsiderably in ancient and in modern times. The present is given by\nWilliams as ten _li_ to a league.\n\nLI-SAO.--\"The Dissipation of Grief,\" one of the most celebrated\nChinese poems of the classic period. It is said to have been written\nabout 314 B.C., by Kiu-ping-youen, minister to the King of Tsou. Finding\nhimself the victim of a base court-intrigue, Kiu-ping wrote the _Li-Sao_\nas a vindication of his character, and as a rebuke to the malice of his\nenemies, after which he committed suicide by drowning.... A fine French\ntranslation of the _Li-Sao_ has been made by the Marquis Hervey de\nSaint-Denys (Paris, 1870).\n\nLI-SHU.--The second of the six styles of Chinese writing, for\nan account of which see Williams's \"Middle Kingdom.\" ... According to\nvarious Taoist legends, the decrees of Heaven are recorded in the\n\"Seal-character,\" the oldest of all; and marks upon the bodies of\npersons killed by lightning have been interpreted as judgments written\nin it. The following extraordinary tale from the _Kan-ing-p'ien_ affords\na good example of the superstition in question:--\n\n     Tchang-tchun was Minister of State under the reign of Hoei-tsong,\n     of the Song dynasty. He occupied himself wholly in weaving\n     perfidious plots. He died in exile at Mo-tcheou. Sometime after,\n     while the Emperor was hunting, there fell a heavy rain, which\n     obliged him to seek shelter in a poor man's hut. The thunder rolled\n     with violence; and the lightning killed a man, a woman, and a\n     little boy. On the backs of the man and woman were found red\n     characters, which could not be deciphered; but on the back of the\n     little boy the following six words could be read, written in\n     Tchouen (_antique_) characters:\n     TSE-TCH'IN-TCHANG-TCHUN-HEOU-CHIN,--which mean: \"Child of the issue\n     of Tchang-tchun, who was a rebellious subject.\"--_Le Livre des\n     Recompenses et des Peines, traduit par Stanislas Julien_, p. 446.\n\nPAGAL.--The ankle-ring commonly worn by Hindoo women; it is\nalso called _nupur_. It is hollow, and contains loose bits of metal,\nwhich tinkle when the foot is moved.\n\nSAN-HIEN.--A three-stringed Chinese guitar. Its belly is\nusually covered with snake-skin.\n\nSIU-FAN-TI.--Literally, \"the Sweeping of the Tombs,\"--the day\nof the general worship of ancestors; the Chinese \"All-Souls'.\" It falls\nin the early part of April, the period called _tsing-ming_.\n\nTA-CHUNG SZ'.--Literally, \"Temple of the Bell.\" The building at\nPekin so named covers probably the largest suspended bell in the world,\ncast in the reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A.D., and weighing upwards of\n120,000 pounds.\n\nTAO.--The infinite being, or Universal Life, whence all forms\nproceed: Literally, \"the Way,\" in the sense of the First Cause.\nLao-tseu uses the term in other ways; but that primal and most important\nphilosophical sense which he gave to it is well explained in the\ncelebrated Chapter XXV. of the _Tao-te-king_.... The difference between\nthe great Chinese thinker's conception of the First Cause--the\nUnknowable,--and the theories of other famous metaphysicians, Oriental\nand Occidental, is set forth with some definiteness in Stanislas\nJulien's introduction to the _Tao-te-king_, pp. x-xv. (\"Le Livre de la\nVoie et de la Vertu.\" Paris, 1842.)\n\nTHANG.--The Dynasty of Thang, which flourished between 620 and\n907 A.D., encouraged literature and art, and gave to China its most\nbrilliant period. The three poets of the Thang dynasty mentioned in the\nsecond story flourished between 779 and 852 A.D.\n\n\"THREE COUNCILLORS.\"--Six stars of the Great-Bear constellation\n([Greek: ik--lm--nx]), as apparently arranged in pairs, are thus called\nby the Chinese astrologers and mythologists. The three couples are\nfurther distinguished as the Superior Councillor, Middle Councillor, and\nInferior Councillor; and, together with the Genius of the Northern\nHeaven, form a celestial tribunal, presiding over the duration of human\nlife, and deciding the course of mortal destiny. (Note by Stanislas\nJulien in \"Le Livre des Recompenses et des Peines.\")\n\nTIEN-HIA.--Literally, \"Under-Heaven,\" or \"Beneath-the-Sky,\"--one\nof the most ancient of those many names given by the Chinese to China.\nThe name \"China\" itself is never applied by the Black-haired Race to\ntheir own country, and is supposed to have had its origin in the fame of\nthe first _Tsin_ dynasty, whose founder, Tsin Chi-Houang-ti, built the\nGreat, or \"Myriad-Mile,\" Wall, twenty-two and a half degrees of latitude\nin length ... See Williams regarding occurrence of the name \"China\" in\nSanscrit literature.\n\nTSIEN.--The well-known Chinese copper coin, with a square hole\nin the middle for stringing, is thus named. According to quality of\nmetal it takes from 900 to 1,800 _tsien_ to make one silver dollar.\n\nTSING-JIN.--\"Men of Tsing.\" From very ancient times the Chinese\nhave been wont to call themselves by the names of their famous\ndynasties,--_Han-jin_, \"the men of Han\"; _Thang-jin_, \"the men of\nThang,\" etc. _Ta Tsing Kwoh_ (\"Great Pure Kingdom\") is the name given by\nthe present dynasty to China,--according to which the people might call\nthemselves _Tsing-jin_, or \"men of Tsing.\" Williams, however, remarks\nthat they will not yet accept the appellation.\n\nVERSES (CHINESE).--The verses preceding \"The Legend of\nTchi-Niu\" afford some remarkable examples of Chinese onomatopoeia.\nThey occur in the sixth strophe of _Mien-mien_, which is the third chant\nof the first section of _Ta-ya_, the Third Book of the _Chi-King_.(See\nG. Pauthier's French version.) Dr. Legge translates the strophe thus:--\n\n     ... Crowds brought the earth in baskets; they threw it with shouts\n     into the frames; they beat it with responsive blows; they pared the\n     walls repeatedly till they sounded strong.--_Sacred Books of the\n     East_; Vol. III., _The She-King_, p. 384.\n\nPauthier translates the verses somewhat differently; preserving the\nonomatopoeia in three of the lines. _Houng-houng_ are the sounds heard\nin the timber-yards where the wood is being measured; from the workshops\nof the builders respond the sounds of _tong-tong_; and the solid walls,\nwhen fully finished off, give out the sound of _ping-ping_.\n\nYAO.--\"Porcelain.\" The reader who desires detailed information\nrespecting the technology, history, or legends of Chinese\nporcelain-manufacture should consult Stanislas Julien's admirable\n\"Histoire de la Porcelaine Chinoise\" (Paris, 1856). With some trifling\nexceptions, the names of the various porcelains cited in my \"Tale of\nthe Porcelain-God\" were selected from Julien's work. Though oddly\nmusical and otherwise attractive in Chinese, these names lose interest\nby translation. The majority of them merely refer to centres of\nmanufacture or famous potteries: _Chou-yao_, \"porcelains of Chou\";\n_Hong-tcheou-yao_, \"porcelains of Hong-tcheou\"; _Jou-yao_, \"porcelains\nof Jou-tcheou\"; _Ting-yao_, \"porcelains of Ting-tcheou\"; _Ko-yao_,\"\nporcelains of the Elder Brother [Thsang]\"; _Khang-hi-nien-t'sang-yao_,\n\"porcelains of Thsang made in the reign of Khang-hi.\" Some porcelains\nwere distinguished by the names of dynasties, or the titles of civic\noffice holders; such as the celebrated _Tch'ai-yao_, \"the porcelains of\nTch'ai\" (which was the name of the family of the Emperor Chi-tsong); and\nthe _Kouan-yao_, or \"Porcelains of Magistrates.\" Much more rarely the\nnames refer directly to the material or artistic peculiarity of\nporcelains,--as _Ou-ni-yao_, the \"black-paste porcelains,\" or\n_Pi-se-yao_, the \"porcelains of hidden color.\" The word _khi_, sometimes\nsubstituted for _yao_ in these compound names, means \"vases\"; as\n_Jou-khi_, \"vases of Jou-tcheou\"; _Kouan-khi_, \"vases for Magistrates.\"\n\n[Illustration: Chinese calligraphy]","title":"Some Chinese Ghosts","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":21742}