Eduardo Galeano
Flight Of the chinese worm much later on, scores of fearsome enemies no longer lay in wait along the silk routes. Yet those who attempted to take mulberry seeds or the eggs of the thread-making worm out of China still lost their heads.
In the year 420, Xuan Zang, the king of Yutian, asked for the hand of a Chinese princess. He had spied her just once, but from then on he saw her wherever he looked.
The princess, Lu Shi was her name, was given to him.
An ambassador traveled on the king’s behalf to retrieve her.
There was an exchange of gifts and interminable banquets and ceremonies.
At one point, when they could be alone, the ambassador warned the princess of the worries that beset the husband who awaited her. Yutian had always used jade to pay for China’s silk, but little jade remained in the kingdom.
Lu Shi said nothing, and nothing was revealed by her full-moon face.
And they set off. The caravan accompanying her, thousands of camels, thousands of tinkling bells, crossed the vast desert and reached the border at Yumenguan Pass.
The inspection lasted several days. Not even the princess herself was spared a search.
At last, the nuptial cortege arrived at its destination.
Lu Shi had traveled without saying a word, without so much as a gesture.
She ordered them all to stop at a monastery. There she was bathed and perfumed. To the strains of music she ate, and in silence she slept.
When her king arrived, Lu Shi gave him the mulberry seeds she had hidden in her medicine chest. She then introduced him to three maids from among her servants, who were neither maids nor servants, but experts in the arts of silk making. Then she removed from her head the great headdress made of cinnamon-tree leaves, and parted her long black hair. There lay the eggs of the silkworm.
From China’s point of view, Lu Shi was a traitor to her country of birth. From Yutian’s point of view, she was a heroine of the country she ruled.
Silk that was spittle
FLIGHT OF THE CHINESE WORM Much later on, scores of fearsome enemies no longer lay in wait along the silk routes. Yet those who attempted to take mulberry seeds or the eggs of the thread-making worm out of China still lost their heads.
In the year 420, Xuan Zang, the king of Yutian, asked for the hand of a Chinese princess. He had spied her just once, but from then on he saw her wherever he looked.
The princess, Lu Shi was her name, was given to him.
An ambassador traveled on the king’s behalf to retrieve her.
There was an exchange of gifts and interminable banquets and ceremonies.
At one point, when they could be alone, the ambassador warned the princess of the worries that beset the husband who awaited her. Yutian had always used jade to pay for China’s silk, but little jade remained in the kingdom.
Lu Shi said nothing, and nothing was revealed by her full-moon face.
And they set off. The caravan accompanying her, thousands of camels, thousands of tinkling bells, crossed the vast desert and reached the border at Yumenguan Pass.
The inspection lasted several days. Not even the princess herself was spared a search.
At last, the nuptial cortege arrived at its destination.
Lu Shi had traveled without saying a word, without so much as a gesture.
She ordered them all to stop at a monastery. There she was bathed and perfumed. To the strains of music she ate, and in silence she slept.
When her king arrived, Lu Shi gave him the mulberry seeds she had hidden in her medicine chest. She then introduced him to three maids from among her servants, who were neither maids nor servants, but experts in the arts of silk making. Then she removed from her head the great headdress made of cinnamon-tree leaves, and parted her long black hair. There lay the eggs of the silkworm.
From China’s point of view, Lu Shi was a traitor to her country of birth. From Yutian’s point of view, she was a heroine of the country she ruled.
