Read Online Chinese Ghost Stories by Lafcadio Hearn - Free Book Online
Authors: Lafcadio Hearn
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and the blossoming of poppies, or decorated in relief with figures of fighting crickets;
Also the Kangxi Niancangyao, celestial azure sown with star-dust of gold; and the Qianlong Niantangyao, splendid in sable and silver as a fervid night that is flashed with lightnings.
Not indeed the Longwangyao , painted with the lascivious Bixi, with the obscene Nannü sixie ,with the shameful Zhunhua, or “Pictures of Spring”; abominations created by command of the wicked Emperor Muzong, 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 lotus-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 Longping who are the Twelve Deities of Ink; the blessed Laozi, born with silver hair; Kongfuzi, grasping the scroll of written wisdom; Guanyin, sweetest Goddess of Mercy, standing snowy-footed upon the heart of her golden lily; Shinong, the god who taught men how to cook; Fo, with long eyes closed in meditation, and lips smiling the mysterious smile of Supreme Beatitude; Shoulao, god of Longevity, bestriding his aerial steed, the white-winged stork; Putai, 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 Bu 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 Rouyan liaogong ,any one of the old blind men of the great potteries, who sit all day grinding colors in the sun, could tell you Bu 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 Xing which influence all things—those Powers that move even in the currents of the star-drift, in the milky Tianhe, 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 Bu could not evoke from that beauteous substance so docile to the touch of his cunning hand.
And one day it came to pass that Bu 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 Bu, and that he was without equal among potters, knowing secrets that seemed to have been inspired either by gods
Also the Kangxi Niancangyao, celestial azure sown with star-dust of gold; and the Qianlong Niantangyao, splendid in sable and silver as a fervid night that is flashed with lightnings.
Not indeed the Longwangyao , painted with the lascivious Bixi, with the obscene Nannü sixie ,with the shameful Zhunhua, or “Pictures of Spring”; abominations created by command of the wicked Emperor Muzong, 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 lotus-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 Longping who are the Twelve Deities of Ink; the blessed Laozi, born with silver hair; Kongfuzi, grasping the scroll of written wisdom; Guanyin, sweetest Goddess of Mercy, standing snowy-footed upon the heart of her golden lily; Shinong, the god who taught men how to cook; Fo, with long eyes closed in meditation, and lips smiling the mysterious smile of Supreme Beatitude; Shoulao, god of Longevity, bestriding his aerial steed, the white-winged stork; Putai, 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 Bu 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 Rouyan liaogong ,any one of the old blind men of the great potteries, who sit all day grinding colors in the sun, could tell you Bu 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 Xing which influence all things—those Powers that move even in the currents of the star-drift, in the milky Tianhe, 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 Bu could not evoke from that beauteous substance so docile to the touch of his cunning hand.
And one day it came to pass that Bu 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 Bu, and that he was without equal among potters, knowing secrets that seemed to have been inspired either by gods
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