He was a small man, and old; yet the age in him, certified by a thousand minute wrinkles, seemed somehow discounted by the glow of a couple of brown eyes, as glossy and visionary as a child’s. His feet and ankles were bare; his short trousers and waistless blouse were of the ignoble butchers’ blue; his hair was clipped close to his scalp--for in those days the Tartar imposition of the pigtail was not, nor had women yet adopted the decadent fashion of hoofs. Over the stranger’s shoulder hung an open wallet, stuffed with brushes and pigments. “Thy name?” demanded the Emperor. “I am called Wu Taotsz, the celestial painter,” answered the stranger in a voice like a clear echo. The Emperor’s lip curled slightly. This was one of the despised crafts, as yet held in contempt. Even at that date, to shine in letters or learning was the surest road to distinction, which is worth recording of a people warlike enough in the eighth century, however their reputation for arms may have suffered since. A uniform did not with them excuse and glorify a multitude of inanities; the fighting man got his due and no more. But still, however the intellectual arts were respected, the art of painting had not come into its own. “Thou bearest thy head high,” said the Emperor. “Wilt thou remain celestial if we dock thee of it?” He alluded to the common belief that to be deprived of one’s head, the seat of understanding, was to be disgraced beyond acceptance in paradise. “Aye, even then,” answered the stranger. The Emperor stared. “By what authority?” he cried. “By the power of Imagination,” said Wu Taotsz, “which is greater under God than all.” “Greater than I am?” “Greater than thou, O Emperor!” Shun-yuen gave a little gasp. “Thou hast said it,” he spake. “Who or what, then, is this Imagination?” “It is that which penetrates and possesses even me, Wu Taotsz.” “Thee? Then it is thou who art greater than I?” “It is I, by virtue of that power.” “What, then, can this Imagination do that I cannot do?” “There is nothing which it cannot do, Shun-yuen. At its summons the world crawls prostrate at its feet; the Emperors bow their necks; wealth, beauty, power throng to worship it; nay, it can reach down the starry bodies from the skies and weld them into a single sphere, as potters knead clay, incomparably stupendous. Ask me what it can do!” The Emperor glanced about him. His eyes had suddenly assumed a perplexed and troubled look; he shook his head slightly. The vague emotions and aspirations which had lately dejected him returned with redoubled force, and he thought, What is to seek here that this Imagination could perchance supply? Suddenly his face brightened, and when all thought he was about to condemn the presumptuous madman to most exquisite tortures, he smiled upon Wu Taotsz, and spoke: