And the Jou-yao, second in rank among all porcelains, sometimes mocking the aspect and the sonority of bronze, sometimes blue as summer waters, and deluding the sight with mucid appearance of thickly floating spawn of fish;—

And the Kouan-yao, which are the Porcelains of Magistrates, and third in rank of merit among all wondrous porcelains, colored with colors of the morning,—skyey blueness, with the rose of a great dawn blushing and bursting through it, and long-limbed marsh-birds flying against the glow;

Also the Ko-yao,—fourth in rank among perfect porcelains,—of fair, faint, changing colors, like the body of a living fish, or made in the likeness of opal substance, milk mixed with fire; the work of Sing-I, elder of the immortal brothers Tchang;

Also the Ting-yao,—fifth in rank among all perfect porcelains,—white as the mourning garments of a spouse bereaved, and beautiful with a trickling as of tears,—the porcelains sung of by the poet Son-tong-po;

Also the porcelains called Pi-se-yao, whose colors are called "hidden," being alternately invisible and visible, like the tints of ice beneath the sun,—the porcelains celebrated by the far-famed singer Sin-in;

Also the wondrous Chu-yao,—the pallid porcelains that utter a mournful cry when smitten,—the porcelains chanted of by the mighty chanter, Thou-chao-ling;

Also the porcelains called Thsin-yao, white or blue, surface-wrinkled as the face of water by the fluttering of many fins.... And ye can see the fish!

Also the vases called Tsi-hong-khi, red as sunset after a rain; and the T'o-t'ai-khi, fragile as the wings of the silkworm-moth, lighter than the shell of an egg;

Also the Kia-tsing,—fair cups pearl-white when empty, yet, by some incomprehensible witchcraft of construction, seeming to swarm with purple fish the moment they are filled with water;

Also the porcelains called Yao-pien, whose tints are transmuted by the alchemy of fire; for they enter blood-crimson into the heat, and change there to lizard-green, and at last come forth azure as the cheek of the sky;

Also the Ki-tcheou-yao, which are all violet as a summer's night; and the Hing-yao that sparkle with the sparklings of mingled silver and snow;

Also the Sieouen-yao,—some ruddy as iron in the furnace, some diaphanous and ruby-red, some granulated and yellow as the rind of an orange, some softly flushed as the skin of a peach;

Also the Tsoui-khi-yao, crackled and green as ancient ice is; and the Tchou-fou-yao, which are the Porcelains of Emperors, with dragons wriggling and snarling in gold; and those yao that are pink-ribbed and have their angles serrated as the claws of crabs are;

Also the Ou-ni-yao, black as the pupil of the eye, and as lustrous; and the Hou-tien-yao, darkly yellow as the faces of men of India; and the Ou-kong-yao, whose color is the dead-gold of autumn-leaves;

Also the Long-kang-yao, green as the seedling of a pea, but bearing also paintings of sun-silvered cloud, and of the Dragons of Heaven;

Also the Tching-hoa-yao,—pictured with the amber bloom of grapes and the verdure of vine-leaves and the blossoming of poppies, or decorated in relief with figures of fighting crickets;

Also the Khang-hi-nien-ts'ang-yao, celestial azure sown with star-dust of gold; and the Khien-long-nien-thang-yao, splendid in sable and silver as a fervid night that is flashed with lightnings.

Not indeed the Long-Ouang-yao,—painted with the lascivious Pi-hi, with the obscene Nan-niu-sse-sie, with the shameful Tchun-hoa, or "Pictures of Spring"; abominations created by command of the wicked Emperor Moutsong, though the Spirit of the Furnace hid his face and fled away;

But all other vases of startling form and substance, magically articulated, and ornamented with figures in relief, in cameo, in transparency,—the vases with orifices belled like the cups of flowers, or cleft like the bills of birds, or fanged like the jaws of serpents, or pink-lipped as the mouth of a girl; the vases flesh-colored and purple-veined and dimpled, with ears and with earrings; the vases in likeness of mushrooms, of lotos-flowers, of lizards, of horse-footed dragons woman-faced; the vases strangely translucid, that simulate the white glimmering of grains of prepared rice, that counterfeit the vapory lace-work of frost, that imitate the efflorescences of coral;—

Also the statues in porcelain of divinities: the Genius of the Hearth; the Long-pinn who are the Twelve Deities of Ink; the blessed Lao-tseu, born with silver hair; Kong-fu-tse, grasping the scroll of written wisdom; Kouan-in, sweetest Goddess of Mercy, standing snowy-footed upon the heart of her golden lily; Chi-nong, the god who taught men how to cook; Fo, with long eyes closed in meditation, and lips smiling the mysterious smile of Supreme Beatitude; Cheou-lao, god of Longevity, bestriding his aerial steed, the white-winged stork; Pou-t'ai, Lord of Contentment and of Wealth, obese and dreamy; and that fairest Goddess of Talent, from whose beneficent hands eternally streams the iridescent rain of pearls.

* * * * *

And though many a secret of that matchless art that Pu bequeathed unto men may indeed have been forgotten and lost forever, the story of the Porcelain-God is remembered; and I doubt not that any of the aged Jeou-yen-liao-kong, any one of the old blind men of the great potteries, who sit all day grinding colors in the sun, could tell you Pu was once a humble Chinese workman, who grew to be a great artist by dint of tireless study and patience and by the inspiration of Heaven. So famed he became that some deemed him an alchemist, who possessed the secret called White-and-Yellow, by which stones might be turned into gold; and others thought him a magician, having the ghastly power of murdering men with horror of nightmare, by hiding charmed effigies of them under the tiles of their own roofs; and others, again, averred that he was an astrologer who had discovered the mystery of those Five Hing which influence all things,—those Powers that move even in the currents of the star-drift, in the milky Tien-ho, or River of the Sky. Thus, at least, the ignorant spoke of him; but even those who stood about the Son of Heaven, those whose hearts had been strengthened by the acquisition of wisdom, wildly praised the marvels of his handicraft, and asked each other if there might be any imaginable form of beauty which Pu could not evoke from that beauteous substance so docile to the touch of his cunning hand.

And one day it came to pass that Pu sent a priceless gift to the Celestial and August: a vase imitating the substance of ore-rock, all aflame with pyritic scintillation,—a shape of glittering splendor with chameleons sprawling over it; chameleons of porcelain that shifted color as often as the beholder changed his position. And the Emperor, wondering exceedingly at the splendor of the work, questioned the princes and the mandarins concerning him that made it. And the princes and the mandarins answered that he was a workman named Pu, and that he was without equal among potters, knowing secrets that seemed to have been inspired either by gods or by demons. Whereupon the Son of Heaven sent his officers to Pu with a noble gift, and summoned him unto his presence.

So the humble artisan entered before the Emperor, and having performed the supreme prostration,—thrice kneeling, and thrice nine times touching the ground with his forehead,—awaited the command of the August.

And the Emperor spake to him, saying: "Son, thy gracious gift hath found high favor in our sight; and for the charm of that offering we have bestowed upon thee a reward of five thousand silver liang. But thrice that sum shall be awarded thee so soon as thou shalt have fulfilled our behest. Hearken, therefore, O matchless artificer! it is now our will that thou make for us a vase having the tint and the aspect of living flesh, but—mark well our desire!—of flesh made to creep by the utterance of such words as poets utter,—flesh moved by an Idea, flesh horripilated by a Thought! Obey, and answer not! We have spoken."

* * * * *

Now Pu was the most cunning of all the P'ei-se-kong,—the men who marry colors together; of all the Hoa-yang-kong, who draw the shapes of vase-decoration; of all the Hoei-sse-kong, who paint in enamel; of all the T'ien-thsai-kong, who brighten color; of all the Chao-lou-kong, who watch the furnace-fires and the porcelain-ovens. But he went away sorrowing from the Palace of the Son of Heaven, notwithstanding the gift of five thousand silver liang which had been given to him. For he thought to himself: "Surely the mystery of the comeliness of flesh, and the mystery of that by which it is moved, are the secrets of the Supreme Tao. How shall man lend the aspect of sentient life to dead clay? Who save the Infinite can give soul?"

Now Pu had discovered those witchcrafts of color, those surprises of grace, that make the art of the ceramist. He had found the secret of the feng-hong, the wizard flush of the Rose; of the hoa-hong, the delicious incarnadine; of the mountain-green called chan-lou; of the pale soft yellow termed hiao-hoang-yeou; and of the hoang-kin, which is the blazing beauty of gold. He had found those eel-tints, those serpent-greens, those pansy-violets, those furnace-crimsons, those carminates and lilacs, subtle as spirit-flame, which our enamellists of the Occident long sought without success to reproduce. But he trembled at the task assigned him, as he returned to the toil of his studio, saying: "How shall any miserable man render in clay the quivering of flesh to an Idea,—the inexplicable horripilation of a Thought? Shall a man venture to mock the magic of that Eternal Moulder by whose infinite power a million suns are shapen more readily than one small jar might be rounded upon my wheel?"

* * * * *

Yet the command of the Celestial and August might never be disobeyed; and the patient workman strove with all his power to fulfil the Son of Heaven's desire. But vainly for days, for weeks, for months, for season after season, did he strive; vainly also he prayed unto the gods to aid him; vainly he besought the Spirit of the Furnace, crying: "O thou Spirit of Fire, hear me, heed me, help me! how shall I,—a miserable man, unable to breathe into clay a living soul,—how shall I render in this inanimate substance the aspect of flesh made to creep by the utterance of a Word, sentient to the horripilation of a Thought?"

For the Spirit of the Furnace made strange answer to him with whispering of fire: "Vast thy faith, weird thy prayer! Has Thought feet, that man may perceive the trace of its passing? Canst thou measure me the blast of the Wind?"

* * * * *

Nevertheless, with purpose unmoved, nine-and-forty times did Pu seek to fulfil the Emperor's command; nine-and-forty times he strove to obey the behest of the Son of Heaven. Vainly, alas! did he consume his substance; vainly did he expend his strength; vainly did he exhaust his knowledge: success smiled not upon him; and Evil visited his home, and Poverty sat in his dwelling, and Misery shivered at his hearth.

Sometimes, when the hour of trial came, it was found that the colors had become strangely transmuted in the firing, or had faded into ashen pallor, or had darkened into the fuliginous hue of forest-mould. And Pu, beholding these misfortunes, made wail to the Spirit of the Furnace, praying: "O thou Spirit of Fire, how shall I render the likeness of lustrous flesh, the warm glow of living color, unless thou aid me?"

And the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with murmuring of fire: "Canst thou learn the art of that Infinite Enameller who hath made beautiful the Arch of Heaven,—whose brush is Light; whose paints are the Colors of the Evening?"

Sometimes, again, even when the tints had not changed, after the pricked and labored surface had seemed about to quicken in the heat, to assume the vibratility of living skin,—even at the last hour all the labor of the workers proved to have been wasted; for the fickle substance rebelled against their efforts, producing only crinklings grotesque as those upon the rind of a withered fruit, or granulations like those upon the skin of a dead bird from which the feathers have been rudely plucked. And Pu wept, and cried out unto the Spirit of the Furnace: "O thou Spirit of Flame, how shall I be able to imitate the thrill of flesh touched by a Thought, unless thou wilt vouchsafe to lend me thine aid?"

And the Spirit of the Furnace mysteriously answered him with muttering of fire: "Canst thou give ghost unto a stone? Canst thou thrill with a Thought the entrails of the granite hills?"

Sometimes it was found that all the work indeed had not failed; for the color seemed good, and all faultless the matter of the vase appeared to be, having neither crack nor wrinkling nor crinkling; but the pliant softness of warm skin did not meet the eye; the flesh-tinted surface offered only the harsh aspect and hard glimmer of metal. All their exquisite toil to mock the pulpiness of sentient substance had left no trace; had been brought to nought by the breath of the furnace. And Pu, in his despair, shrieked to the Spirit of the Furnace: "O thou merciless divinity! O thou most pitiless god!—thou whom I have worshipped with ten thousand sacrifices!—for what fault hast thou abandoned me? for what error hast thou forsaken me? How may I, most wretched of men! ever render the aspect of flesh made to creep with the utterance of a Word, sentient to the titillation of a Thought, if thou wilt not aid me?"

And the Spirit of the Furnace made answer unto him with roaring of fire: "Canst thou divide a Soul? Nay!... Thy life for the life of thy work!—thy soul for the soul of thy Vase!"

And hearing these words Pu arose with a terrible resolve swelling at his heart, and made ready for the last and fiftieth time to fashion his work for the oven.

One hundred times did he sift the clay and the quartz, the kao-ling and the tun; one hundred times did he purify them in clearest water; one hundred times with tireless hands did he knead the creamy paste, mingling it at last with colors known only to himself. Then was the vase shapen and reshapen, and touched and retouched by the hands of Pu, until its blandness seemed to live, until it appeared to quiver and to palpitate, as with vitality from within, as with the quiver of rounded muscle undulating beneath the integument. For the hues of life were upon it and infiltrated throughout its innermost substance, imitating the carnation of blood-bright tissue, and the reticulated purple of the veins; and over all was laid the envelope of sun-colored Pe-kia-ho, the lucid and glossy enamel, half diaphanous, even like the substance that it counterfeited,—the polished skin of a woman. Never since the making of the world had any work comparable to this been wrought by the skill of man.

Then Pu bade those who aided him that they should feed the furnace well with wood of tcha; but he told his resolve unto none. Yet after the oven began to glow, and he saw the work of his hands blossoming and blushing in the heat, he bowed himself before the Spirit of Flame, and murmured: "O thou Spirit and Master of Fire, I know the truth of thy words! I know that a Soul may never be divided! Therefore my life for the life of my work!—my soul for the soul of my Vase!"

And for nine days and for eight nights the furnaces were fed unceasingly with wood of tcha; for nine days and for eight nights men watched the wondrous vase crystallizing into being, rose-lighted by the breath of the flame. Now upon the coming of the ninth night, Pu bade all his weary comrades retire to, rest, for that the work was well-nigh done, and the success assured. "If you find me not here at sunrise," he said, "fear not to take forth the vase; for I know that the task will have been accomplished according to the command of the August." So they departed.

But in that same ninth night Pu entered the flame, and yielded up his ghost in the embrace of the Spirit of the Furnace, giving his life for the life of his work,—his soul for the soul of his Vase.

And when the workmen came upon the tenth morning to take forth the porcelain marvel, even the bones of Pu had ceased to be; but lo! the Vase lived as they looked upon it: seeming to be flesh moved by the utterance of a Word, creeping to the titillation of a Thought. And whenever tapped by the finger it uttered a voice and a name,—the voice of its maker, the name of its creator: PU.

* * * * *

And the son of Heaven, hearing of these things, and viewing the miracle of the vase, said unto those about him: "Verily, the Impossible hath been wrought by the strength of faith, by the force of obedience! Yet never was it our desire that so cruel a sacrifice should have been; we sought only to know whether the skill of the matchless artificer came from the Divinities or from the Demons,—from heaven or from hell. Now, indeed, we discern that Pu hath taken his place among the gods." And the Emperor mourned exceedingly for his faithful servant. But he ordained that godlike honors should be paid unto the spirit of the marvellous artist, and that his memory should be revered forevermore, and that fair statues of him should be set up in all the cities of the Celestial Empire, and above all the toiling of the potteries, that the multitude of workers might unceasingly call upon his name and invoke his benediction upon their labors.



NOTES

"The Soul of the Great Bell."—The story of Ko-Ngai is one of the collection entitled Pe-Hiao-Tou-Choue, or "A Hundred Examples of Filial Piety." It is very simply told by the Chinese narrator. The scholarly French consul, P. Dabry de Thiersant, translated and published in 1877 a portion of the book, including the legend of the Bell. His translation is enriched with a number of Chinese drawings; and there is a quaint little picture of Ko-Ngai leaping into the molten metal.

"The Story of Ming-Y."—The singular phantom-tale upon which my work is based forms the thirty-fourth story of the famous collection Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan, and was first translated under the title, "La Bacheliere du Pays de Chu," by the learned Gustave Schlegel, as an introduction to his publication (accompanied by a French version) of the curious and obscene Mai-yu-lang-tou-tchen-hoa-kouei (Leyden, 1877), which itself forms the seventh recital of the same work. Schlegel, Julien, Gardner, Birch, D'Entrecolles, Remusat, Pavie, Olyphant, Grisebach, Hervey-Saint-Denys, and others, have given the Occidental world translations of eighteen stories from the Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan; namely, Nos. 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 14, 19, 20, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 34, 35, and 39. The Chinese work itself dates back to the thirteenth century; but as it forms only a collection of the most popular tales of that epoch, many of the stories selected by the Chinese editor may have had a much more ancient origin. There are forty tales in the Kin-Kou-Ki-Koan.

"The Legend of Tchi-Niu."—My authority for this tale is the following legend from the thirty-fourth chapter of the Kan-ing-p'ien, or "Book of Rewards and Punishments,"—a work attributed to Lao-tseu, which contains some four hundred anecdotes and traditions of the most curious kind:—

Tong-yong, who lived under the Han dynasty, was reduced to a state of extreme poverty. Having lost his father, he sold himself in order to obtain ... the wherewithal to bury him and to build him a tomb. The Master of Heaven took pity on him, and sent the Goddess Tchi-Niu to him to become his wife. She wove a piece of silk for him every day until she was able to buy his freedom, after which she gave him a son, and went back to heaven.—Julien's French Translation, p. 119.

Lest the reader should suppose, however, that I have drawn wholly upon my own imagination for the details of the apparition, the cure, the marriage ceremony, etc., I refer him to No. XCVI. of Giles's "Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio," entitled, "A Supernatural Wife," in which he will find that my narrative is at least conformable to Chinese ideas. (This story first appeared in "Harper's Bazaar," and is republished here by permission.)

"The Return of Yen-Tchin-King."—There may be an involuntary anachronism in my version of this legend, which is very pithily narrated in the Kan-ing-p'ien. No emperor's name is cited by the homilist; and the date of the revolt seems to have been left wholly to conjecture.—Baber, in his "Memoirs," mentions one of his Mongol archers as able to bend a two-hundred-pound bow until the ears met.

"The Tradition of the Tea-Plant."—My authority for this bit of folklore is the brief statement published by Bretschneider in the "Chinese Recorder" for 1871:—

"A Japanese legend says that about A.D. 519, a Buddhist priest came to China, and, in order to dedicate his soul entirely to God, he made a vow to pass the day and night in an uninterrupted and unbroken meditation. After many years of this continual watching, he was at length so tired that he fell asleep. On awaking the following morning, he was so sorry he had broken his vow that he cut off both his eyelids and threw them upon the ground. Returning to the same place the following day he observed that each eyelid had become a shrub. This was the tea-shrub, unknown until that time."

Bretschneider adds that the legend in question seems not to be known to the Chinese; yet in view of the fact that Buddhism itself, with all its marvellous legends, was received by the Japanese from China, it is certainly probable this legend had a Chinese origin,—subsequently disguised by Japanese chronology. My Buddhist texts were drawn from Fernand Hu's translation of the Dhammapada, and from Leon Feer's translation from the Thibetan of the "Sutra in Forty-two Articles." An Orientalist who should condescend in a rare leisure-moment to glance at my work might also discover that I had borrowed an idea or two from the Sanscrit poet, Bhamini-Vilasa.

"The Tale of the Porcelain-God."—The good Pere D'Entrecolles, who first gave to Europe the secrets of Chinese porcelain-manufacture, wrote one hundred and sixty years ago:—

"The Emperors of China are, during their lifetime, the most redoubted of divinities; and they believe that nothing should ever stand in the way of their desires....

"It is related that once upon a time a certain Emperor insisted that some porcelains should be made for him according to a model which he gave. It was answered that the thing was simply impossible; but all such remonstrances only served to excite his desire more and more.... The officers charged by the demigod to supervise and hasten the work treated the workmen with great harshness. The poor wretches spent all their money, took exceeding pains, and received only blows in return. One of them, in a fit of despair, leaped into the blazing furnace, and was instantly burnt to ashes. But the porcelain that was being baked there at the time came out, they say, perfectly beautiful and to the satisfaction of the Emperor.... From that time, the unfortunate workman was regarded as a hero; and his image was made the idol which presides over the manufacture of porcelain."

It appears that D'Entrecolles mistook the statue of Pou't'ai, God of Comfort, for that of the real porcelain-deity, as Jacquemart and others observe. This error does not, however, destroy the beauty of the myth; and there is no good reason to doubt that D'Entrecolles related it as it had been told him by some of his Chinese friends at King-te-chin. The researches of Stanislas Julien and others have only tended to confirm the trustworthiness of the Catholic missionary's statements in other respects; and both Julien and Salvetat, in their admirable French rendering of the King-te-chin-thao-lou, "History of the Porcelains of King-te-chin" (a work which has been of the greatest service to me in the preparation of my little story), quote from his letters at considerable length, and award him the highest praise as a conscientious investigator. So far as I have been able to learn, D'Entrecolles remains the sole authority for the myth; but his affirmations in regard to other matters have withstood the severe tests of time astonishingly well; and since the Tai-ping rebellion destroyed King-te-chin and paralyzed its noble industry, the value of the French missionary's documents and testimony has become widely recognized. In lieu of any other name for the hero of the legend, I have been obliged to retain that of Pou, or Pu,—only using it without the affix "t'ai,"—so as to distinguish it from the deity of comfort and repose.



Glossary



GLOSSARY

ABHIDHARMA.—The metaphysics of Buddhism. Buddhist literature is classed into three great divisions, or "baskets"; the highest of these is the Abhidharma.... According to a passage in Spence Hardy's "Manual of Buddhism," the full comprehension of the Abhidharma is possible only for a Buddha to acquire.

CHIH.—"House"; but especially the house of the dead,—a tomb.

CHU-SHA-KIH.—The mandarin-orange.

CRAMANA.—An ascetic; one who has subdued his senses. For an interesting history of this term, see Burnouf,—"Introduction a l'histoire du Buddhisme Indien."

DAMARI.—A peculiar chant, of somewhat licentious character, most commonly sung during the period of the Indian carnival. For an account, at once brief and entertaining, of Hindoo popular songs and hymns, see Garcin de Tassy,—"Chants populaires de l'Inde."

DOGS OF FO.—The Dog of Fo is one of those fabulous monsters in the sculptural representation of which Chinese art has found its most grotesque expression. It is really an exaggerated lion; and the symbolical relation of the lion to Buddhism is well known. Statues of these mythical animals—sometimes of a grandiose and colossal execution—are placed in pairs before the entrances of temples, palaces, and tombs, as tokens of honor, and as emblems of divine protection.

FO.—Buddha is called Fo, Fuh, Fuh-tu, Hwut, Fat, in various Chinese dialects. The name is thought to be a corruption of the Hindoo Bodh, or "Truth," due to the imperfect articulation of the Chinese.... It is a curious fact that the Chinese Buddhist liturgy is Sanscrit transliterated into Chinese characters, and that the priests have lost all recollection of the antique tongue,—repeating the texts without the least comprehension of their meaning.

FUH-YIN.—An official holding in Chinese cities a position corresponding to that of mayor in the Occident.

FUNG-HOANG.—This allegorical bird, corresponding to the Arabian phoenix in some respects, is described as being five cubits high, having feathers of five different colors, and singing in five modulations.... The female is said to sing in imperfect tones; the male in perfect tones. The fung-hoang figures largely in Chinese musical myths and legends.

GOPIA (or GOPIS).—Daughters and wives of the cowherds of Vrindavana, among whom Krishna was brought up after his incarnation as the eighth avatar of Vishnu. Krishna's amours with the shepherdesses, or Gopia, form the subject of various celebrated mystical writings, especially the Prem-Sagar, or "Ocean of Love" (translated by Eastwick and by others); and the sensuous Gita-Govinda of the Bengalese lyric poet Jayadeva (translated into French prose by Hippolyte Fauche, and chastely rendered into English verse by Edwin Arnold in the "Indian Song of Songs"). See also Burnouf's partial translation of the Bhagavata Parana, and Theodore Pavie's "Krichna et sa doctrine." ... The same theme has inspired some of the strangest productions of Hindoo art: for examples, see plates 65 and 66 of Moor's "Hindoo Pantheon" (edition of 1861). For accounts of the erotic mysticism connected with the worship of Krishna and the Gopia, the reader may also be referred to authorities cited in Barth's "Religions of India"; De Tassy's "Chants populaires de l'Inde"; and Lamairesse's "Poesies populaires du Sud de l'Inde."

HAO-KHIEOU-TCHOUAN.—This celebrated Chinese novel was translated into French by M. Guillard d'Arcy in 1842, and appeared under the title, "Hao-Khieou-Tchouan; ou, La Femme Accomplie." The first translation of the romance into any European tongue was a Portuguese rendering; and the English version of Percy is based upon the Portuguese text. The work is rich in poetical quotations.

HEI-SONG-CHE-TCHOO.—"One day when the Emperor Hiuan-tsong of the Thang dynasty," says the Tao-kia-ping-yu-che, "was at work in his study, a tiny Taoist priest, no bigger than a fly, rose out of the inkstand lying upon his table, and said to him: 'I am the Genius of ink; my name is Hei-song-che-tchoo [Envoy of the Black Fir]; and I have come to tell you that whenever a true sage shall sit down to write, the Twelve Divinities of Ink [Long-pinn] will appear upon the surface of the ink he uses.'" See "L'Encre de Chine," by Maurice Jametel. Paris. 1882.

HOA-TCHAO.—The "Birthday of a Hundred Flowers" falls upon the fifteenth of the second spring-moon.

JADE.—Jade, or nephrite, a variety of jasper,—called by the Chinese yuh,—has always been highly valued by them as artistic material.... In the "Book of Rewards and Punishments," there is a curious legend to the effect that Confucius, after the completion of his Hiao-King ("Book of Filial Piety"), having addressed himself to Heaven, a crimson rainbow fell from the sky, and changed itself at his feet into a piece of yellow jade. See Stanislas Julien's translation, p. 495.

KABIT.—A poetical form much in favor with composers of Hindoo religious chants: the kabit always consists of four verses.

KAO-LING.—Literally, "the High Ridge," and originally the name of a hilly range which furnished the best quality of clay to the porcelain-makers. Subsequently the term applied by long custom to designate the material itself became corrupted into the word now familiar in all countries,—kaolin. In the language of the Chinese potters, the kaolin, or clay, was poetically termed the "bones," and the tun, or quartz, the "flesh" of the porcelain; while the prepared bricks of the combined substances were known as pe-tun-tse. Both substances, the infusible and the fusible, are productions of the same geological formation,—decomposed feldspathic rock.

KASI (or VARANASI).—Ancient name of Benares, the "Sacred City," believed to have been founded by the gods. It is also called "The Lotos of the World." Barth terms it "the Jerusalem of all the sects both of ancient and modern India." It still boasts two thousand shrines, and half a million images of divinities. See also Sherring's "Sacred City of the Hindoos."

KIANG-KOU-JIN.—Literally, the "tell-old-story-men." For a brief account of Chinese professional story-tellers, the reader may consult Schlegel's entertaining introduction to the Mai-yu-lang-tou-tchen-hoa-kouei.

KIN.—The most perfect of Chinese musical instruments, also called "the Scholar's Lute." The word kin also means "to prohibit"; and this name is said to have been given to the instrument because music, according to Chinese belief, "restrains evil passions, and corrects the human heart." See Williams's "Middle Kingdom."

KOUEI.—Kouei, musician to the Emperor Yao, must have held his office between 2357 and 2277 B.C. The extract selected from one of his songs, which I have given at the beginning of the "Story of Ming-Y," is therefore more than four thousand years old. The same chant contains another remarkable fancy, evidencing Chinese faith in musical magic:—

"When I smite my [musical] stone,— Be it gently, be it strongly,— Then do the fiercest beasts of prey leap high for joy. And the chiefs among the public officials do agree among themselves."

KWANG-CHAU-FU.—Literally, "The Broad City,"—the name of Canton. It is also called "The City of Genii."

LI.—A measure of distance. The length of the li has varied considerably in ancient and in modern times. The present is given by Williams as ten li to a league.

LI-SAO.—"The Dissipation of Grief," one of the most celebrated Chinese poems of the classic period. It is said to have been written about 314 B.C., by Kiu-ping-youen, minister to the King of Tsou. Finding himself the victim of a base court-intrigue, Kiu-ping wrote the Li-Sao as a vindication of his character, and as a rebuke to the malice of his enemies, after which he committed suicide by drowning.... A fine French translation of the Li-Sao has been made by the Marquis Hervey de Saint-Denys (Paris, 1870).

LI-SHU.—The second of the six styles of Chinese writing, for an account of which see Williams's "Middle Kingdom." ... According to various Taoist legends, the decrees of Heaven are recorded in the "Seal-character," the oldest of all; and marks upon the bodies of persons killed by lightning have been interpreted as judgments written in it. The following extraordinary tale from the Kan-ing-p'ien affords a good example of the superstition in question:—

Tchang-tchun was Minister of State under the reign of Hoei-tsong, of the Song dynasty. He occupied himself wholly in weaving perfidious plots. He died in exile at Mo-tcheou. Sometime after, while the Emperor was hunting, there fell a heavy rain, which obliged him to seek shelter in a poor man's hut. The thunder rolled with violence; and the lightning killed a man, a woman, and a little boy. On the backs of the man and woman were found red characters, which could not be deciphered; but on the back of the little boy the following six words could be read, written in Tchouen (antique) characters: TSE-TCH'IN-TCHANG-TCHUN-HEOU-CHIN,—which mean: "Child of the issue of Tchang-tchun, who was a rebellious subject."—Le Livre des Recompenses et des Peines, traduit par Stanislas Julien, p. 446.

PAGAL.—The ankle-ring commonly worn by Hindoo women; it is also called nupur. It is hollow, and contains loose bits of metal, which tinkle when the foot is moved.

SAN-HIEN.—A three-stringed Chinese guitar. Its belly is usually covered with snake-skin.

SIU-FAN-TI.—Literally, "the Sweeping of the Tombs,"—the day of the general worship of ancestors; the Chinese "All-Souls'." It falls in the early part of April, the period called tsing-ming.

TA-CHUNG SZ'.—Literally, "Temple of the Bell." The building at Pekin so named covers probably the largest suspended bell in the world, cast in the reign of Yong-lo, about 1406 A.D., and weighing upwards of 120,000 pounds.

TAO.—The infinite being, or Universal Life, whence all forms proceed: Literally, "the Way," in the sense of the First Cause. Lao-tseu uses the term in other ways; but that primal and most important philosophical sense which he gave to it is well explained in the celebrated Chapter XXV. of the Tao-te-king.... The difference between the great Chinese thinker's conception of the First Cause—the Unknowable,—and the theories of other famous metaphysicians, Oriental and Occidental, is set forth with some definiteness in Stanislas Julien's introduction to the Tao-te-king, pp. x-xv. ("Le Livre de la Voie et de la Vertu." Paris, 1842.)

THANG.—The Dynasty of Thang, which flourished between 620 and 907 A.D., encouraged literature and art, and gave to China its most brilliant period. The three poets of the Thang dynasty mentioned in the second story flourished between 779 and 852 A.D.

"THREE COUNCILLORS."—Six stars of the Great-Bear constellation ([Greek: ik—lm—nx]), as apparently arranged in pairs, are thus called by the Chinese astrologers and mythologists. The three couples are further distinguished as the Superior Councillor, Middle Councillor, and Inferior Councillor; and, together with the Genius of the Northern Heaven, form a celestial tribunal, presiding over the duration of human life, and deciding the course of mortal destiny. (Note by Stanislas Julien in "Le Livre des Recompenses et des Peines.")

TIEN-HIA.—Literally, "Under-Heaven," or "Beneath-the-Sky,"—one of the most ancient of those many names given by the Chinese to China. The name "China" itself is never applied by the Black-haired Race to their own country, and is supposed to have had its origin in the fame of the first Tsin dynasty, whose founder, Tsin Chi-Houang-ti, built the Great, or "Myriad-Mile," Wall, twenty-two and a half degrees of latitude in length ... See Williams regarding occurrence of the name "China" in Sanscrit literature.

TSIEN.—The well-known Chinese copper coin, with a square hole in the middle for stringing, is thus named. According to quality of metal it takes from 900 to 1,800 tsien to make one silver dollar.

TSING-JIN.—"Men of Tsing." From very ancient times the Chinese have been wont to call themselves by the names of their famous dynasties,—Han-jin, "the men of Han"; Thang-jin, "the men of Thang," etc. Ta Tsing Kwoh ("Great Pure Kingdom") is the name given by the present dynasty to China,—according to which the people might call themselves Tsing-jin, or "men of Tsing." Williams, however, remarks that they will not yet accept the appellation.

VERSES (CHINESE).—The verses preceding "The Legend of Tchi-Niu" afford some remarkable examples of Chinese onomatopoeia. They occur in the sixth strophe of Mien-mien, which is the third chant of the first section of Ta-ya, the Third Book of the Chi-King.(See G. Pauthier's French version.) Dr. Legge translates the strophe thus:—

... Crowds brought the earth in baskets; they threw it with shouts into the frames; they beat it with responsive blows; they pared the walls repeatedly till they sounded strong.—Sacred Books of the East; Vol. III., The She-King, p. 384.

Pauthier translates the verses somewhat differently; preserving the onomatopoeia in three of the lines. Houng-houng are the sounds heard in the timber-yards where the wood is being measured; from the workshops of the builders respond the sounds of tong-tong; and the solid walls, when fully finished off, give out the sound of ping-ping.

YAO.—"Porcelain." The reader who desires detailed information respecting the technology, history, or legends of Chinese porcelain-manufacture should consult Stanislas Julien's admirable "Histoire de la Porcelaine Chinoise" (Paris, 1856). With some trifling exceptions, the names of the various porcelains cited in my "Tale of the Porcelain-God" were selected from Julien's work. Though oddly musical and otherwise attractive in Chinese, these names lose interest by translation. The majority of them merely refer to centres of manufacture or famous potteries: Chou-yao, "porcelains of Chou"; Hong-tcheou-yao, "porcelains of Hong-tcheou"; Jou-yao, "porcelains of Jou-tcheou"; Ting-yao, "porcelains of Ting-tcheou"; Ko-yao," porcelains of the Elder Brother [Thsang]"; Khang-hi-nien-t'sang-yao, "porcelains of Thsang made in the reign of Khang-hi." Some porcelains were distinguished by the names of dynasties, or the titles of civic office holders; such as the celebrated Tch'ai-yao, "the porcelains of Tch'ai" (which was the name of the family of the Emperor Chi-tsong); and the Kouan-yao, or "Porcelains of Magistrates." Much more rarely the names refer directly to the material or artistic peculiarity of porcelains,—as Ou-ni-yao, the "black-paste porcelains," or Pi-se-yao, the "porcelains of hidden color." The word khi, sometimes substituted for yao in these compound names, means "vases"; as Jou-khi, "vases of Jou-tcheou"; Kouan-khi, "vases for Magistrates."

THE END