consorted, before his
springtide, with the young libertines, the "willow twigs" of his
country; and, in order to gain experience, frequented the theatres
and music-halls. Thus he became acquainted with a famous singing girl
called Tu, whose first name was Mei, or "Elegance." As she was the
tenth of her family, she was known at the theatre as Shih-niang, "The
Tenth daughter." A delicate seduction diffused from her: her body was
all grace and perfume. The twin arches of her brows held the black
which is blue of distant mountains, and her eyes were as deep and
bright as autumn lakes. Her face had the glory of the lotus, and her
lips the glory of cherries. By what blunder of the gods had this piece
of flawless jade fallen in the windy dust, among the flowers beneath
the willow? When she was thirteen years old, Shih-niang had already
"broken her claws." Now she was nineteen, and it would not be
possible to enumerate the young Lords and Princes whose hearts she
had besotted, whose thoughts she had set in a turmoil, whose family
treasures she had swallowed without compunction. In the theatres, they
had composed an epigram about her:

When Tu Shih-niang comes to a banquet
The guests drink a thousand great cups
Instead of a single small one.
When Tu Mei appears upon the stage
The actresses look like devils.

It must be said that never, in the young passions of his life, had
Li Chia experienced the pain of beauty; but, when he saw Shih-niang,
emotion was awakened in him, and the feelings of a flowering willow
filled his breast. He himself was gifted with rare beauty, and a sweet
and gentle nature. He spent his money recklessly, with an unbridled
zeal for bestowing gifts. For this reason he held a double attraction
for Shih-niang, who considered that falsehood and avarice were opposed
to rectitude, and had also by this time made up her mind to return to
a life of honor. She appreciated Li Chia's gentleness and generosity,
and was drawn toward him. But he was afraid of his father and did not
dare to marry her at once, as she wished. Their love was not, on that
account, any the less tender. In the joys of dawn and the pleasures of
twilight they kept together as do husband and wife, and in their
vows they compared their love with the Ocean or with the Mountain,
recognizing no other vital motive. In truth:

Their tenderness was deeper than the sea
For it was past sounding,
Their love was as the mountains
But e