Emperor, invited me to watch the dress rehearsal of an approaching Palace festival. Although this exceptional consideration was shown me unsolicited, I found it quite impossible to secure permission to photograph the gliding, graceful figures of the dancers. When my chair deposited me at the yamen the dance was already in progress. The chairs of the officials and chattering groups of the servants of the dancers filled the compound; soldiers of the Imperial Guard kept watch before the gates. The air was filled with the tremulous notes of the pipes and viols, whose plaintive screaming was punctuated with the booming of drums. Within a building, the walls of which were open to the air, the rows of dancers were visible as they swayed slowly and almost imperceptibly with the music.
From the dais where my host was sitting the dance was radiant with colour. There were eighteen performers, grouped in three equal divisions, and, as the streaming sunshine played upon the shimmering surface of their dresses, the lithe and graceful figures of the dancers floated in the brilliant reflection of a sea of sparkling light. The dance was almost without motion, so slowly were its fantastic figures developed. Never once were their arms dropped from their horizontal position, nor did the size and weight of their head-dresses appear to fatigue the little women. Very slowly, the seated band gave forth the air. Very slowly, the dancers moved in the open space before us, their arms upraised, their gauze and silken draperies clustering round them, their hair piled high, and held in its curious shape by many jewelled and enamelled pins, which sparkled in the sunshine. The air was solemn; and, as if the movement were ceremonial, their voices rose and fell in a lingering harmony of passionate expression. At times, the three sets
