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 so