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?”