On the 19th day of the Tenth Month of Year II of Ta-li (15 November 767), I saw the Lady Li, Twelfth, of Lin-ying dance the Mime of the Sword at the Residence of Lieutenant-Governor Yüan Ch’i of K’uei Chou Prefecture; and both the subtlety of her interpretation and her virtuosity on points so impressed me that I asked of her, who had been her Teacher? She replied: ‘I was a Pupil of the great Lady Kung-sun!’
In Year V of K’ai-yüan (A.D. 717), when I was no more than a tiny boy, I remember being taken in Yü-yen City to see Kung-sun dance both this Mime and ‘The Astrakhan Hat’.
For her combination of flowing rhythms with vigorous attack, Kung-sun had stood alone even in an outstanding epoch. No member at all of the corps de ballet, of any rank whatever, either of the Sweet Spring-time Garden or of the Pear Garden Schools, could interpret such dances as she could; throughout the reign of His Late Majesty, Saintly in Peace and Godlike in War! But where now is that jadelike face, where are those brocade costumes? And I whiteheaded! And her Pupil here, too, no longer young!
Having learned of this Lady’s background, I came to realize that she had, in fact, been reproducing faithfully all the movements, all the little gestures, of her Teacher; and I was so stirred by that memory, that I decided to make a Ballad of the Mime of the Sword.
There was a time when the great calligrapher, Chang Hsü of Wu, famous for his wild running hand, had several opportunities of watching the Lady Kung-sun dance this Sword Mime (as it is danced in Turkestan); and he discovered, to his immense delight, that doing so had resulted in marked improvement in his own calligraphic art! From that, know the Lady Kung-sun!
A Great Dancer there was,
the Lady Kung-sun,
And her ‘Mime of the Sword’
made the World marvel!
Those, many as the hills,
who had watched breathless
Thought sky and earth themselves
moved to her rhythms:
As she flashed, the Nine Suns
fell to the Archer;
She flew, was a Sky God
on saddled dragon;
She came on, the pent storm
before it thunders;
And she ceased, the cold light
off frozen rivers!
Her red lips and pearl sleeves
are long since resting,
But a dancer revives
of late their fragrance:
The Lady of Lin-ying
in White King city
Did the piece with such grace
and lively spirit
That I asked! Her reply
gave the good reason
And we thought of those times
with deepening sadness:
There had waited at Court
eight thousand Ladies
(With Kung-sun, from the first,
chief at the Sword Dance);
And fifty years had passed
(a palm turned downward)
While the winds, bringing dust,
darkened the Palace
And they scattered like mist
those in Pear Garden,
On whose visages still
its sun shines bleakly!
But now trees had clasped hands
at Golden Granary
And grass played its sad tunes
on Ch’ü-t’ang’s Ramparts,
For the swift pipes had ceased
playing to tortoiseshell;
The moon rose in the East,
joy brought great sorrow:
An old man knows no more
where he is going;
On these wild hills, footsore,
he will not hurry!