Mourning In America: What To Wear In The 19th Century

Young girl holding a portrait of a soldier

I’m super excited that my writer bestie, Tina Whittle, is visiting my humble little blog! Although Tina writes fabulous (like critically acclaimed and starred reviews kind of fabulous) contemporary mysteries, she relies on research from the past to enrich her stories. Tina and I have talked about our contrasting research styles over the years. She adores research and is quite happy spending hours drifting down the rabbit hole of a particular subject. Despite having a blog about history, I am not so fond of research. I approach my blog more like a crow collecting a shiny object. Look what I found!

So, you will see her research style in full bloom here as she meticulously covers nineteenth-century mourning fashion in America.

And if clever, character-driven mysteries with sparkling dialogue are your cup of tea/shot of whiskey/happy gummy, then read her fantastic Tai Randolph & Trey Seaver series! Here is a fabulous review by the noted mystery reviewer Dru Ann Love of the latest Tai & Trey book Crooked Ways.

Woman holding a portrait
https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/2010650472/

The Victorian era—which spans the reign of Queen Victoria, a period beginning in 1837 and concluding with the queen’s death in 1901—saw not only significant discoveries in science and technology, but also tumultuous cultural changes, especially in the attitudes and practices concerning death.

No greater example exists than the queen herself. Upon the death of her husband Prince Albert in 1861, Queen Victoria went into deep mourning. She stayed in seclusion for many years, rarely appearing in public, and wore widow’s black for the remaining forty years of her life. This concept of personalized mourning—and the associated cultural norms that shaped and were shaped by it—became a signature aspect of the era, especially in the United Kingdom.

Victorian-styled mourning was not limited to Great Britain, however—its influence spanned the globe and found a unique expression in the United States. 1861 was also a significant date in American history, as April of that year saw the official beginning of the American Civil War, a four-year period that ended with approximately 620,000 military deaths—two-thirds by disease—and 50,000 civilian deaths (Livermore et al).

No family was untouched. No community went unscathed. Death was not just a frequent visitor, but an ever-present one. Nineteenth-century openness about grief and mourning—supported by codes of conduct and dress, especially for women—may seem odd in contemporary times. Yet these customs provided structure when many social and political institutions were either crumbling or being reconstructed. As limiting as some of the prescribed rules were, they also provided a socially acceptable opportunity to mourn, to grieve, and to be fully present with devastating personal loss.

It is important to note that some of the most informative preserved historical artifacts of that time are ephemera: items like funeral cards and private notes which were not originally designed to be retained or preserved. It is also important to remember that for the most part, these artifacts document the mourning practices of white persons of social and material privilege; how communities of color adapted, adopted, and transformed white mourning culture—and preserved their own traditional practices while doing so—has been less well documented.

When those of us walking about in the twenty-first century think about Victorian mourning, the first thing that typically comes to mind is the color black, with good reason: it was the color that dominated funeral fashion, especially for women. Black wasn’t limited to mourning wear—and mourning wear wasn’t limited to black—but it did provide a key through-line for all mourning practices, including dress, jewelry, stationery, photography, and home décor.

The manner in which the color black was used depended on many factors, but one of the most important was time and the grieving person’s relationship to the departed. Nineteen-century mourning was a process with defined stages, though those stages varied depending on locale, social station, and current etiquette, which changed dramatically through the century.

In her book Manners and Social Usages, Mrs. John M. E. W. Sherwood explains that wearing black serves both a symbolic and practical purpose: “Custom . . . has decreed that we shall wear black, as a mark of respect to those we have lost, and as a shroud for ourselves, protesting against the gentle ministration of light and cheerfulness with which our Lord ever strives to reach us. . . . A mourning dress does protect a woman while in deepest grief against the untimely gayety of a passing stranger. It is a wall, a cell of refuge. Behind a black veil she can hide herself as she goes out for business or recreation, fearless of any intrusion.”

Woman looking at portrait of infant
Mark A. Anderson Collection of Post-Mortem Photography
William L. Clements Library. The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor
Mourning Fashion – UM Clements Library

The William L. Clements Library at the University of Michigan explored the ritual of mourning dress in their exhibit “So Once Were We”: Death in Early America: “Women would move from periods of “deep” to “ordinary” to “light” mourning. Each stage had its own accepted fashions. Deep mourning took place immediately after the death. Women would wear black dresses and bonnets without decorative trims. Black veils, crepe on their dresses, gloves, shoes, and accessories were also black. During ordinary mourning, women could abandon the veil and crepe, introduce ornate jewelry and add white trim to dresses. Lilac, purple, and gray were permissible when a woman entered light mourning. Men were not expected to adhere to rigid mourning rules. Following the burial, they were expected to return to work in order to support the family. Men could wear a long crepe band on his hat called a “weeper.” The width of the weeper around his hat represented his relationship with the deceased. Other optional men’s fashions included black armbands or a black ribbon on the lapel.

The time-frames for stages of mourning and the lengths of those stages varied by community and family. The following suggests typical mourning periods:

A widow for a husband: A year and a day, to life

A widower for a wife: 3-6 months

Parent for a child: 6-12 months

Child for a parent: 6-12 months

For a grandparent: 6 months

For an aunt or uncle: 3 months”

In the last two decades of the nineteenth-century, author A.B. Philputt differentiated between the wearing of mourning garments as an expression of grief and as an expression of fashion, explaining that while the former has no strict timetable, the latter certainly does. From her guidebook American Etiquette and Rules of Politeness: “In the United States no prescribed periods for wearing mourning garments have been fixed upon. When grief is profound no rules are needed. But where persons wear mourning for style and not for feeling, there is a need of fixed rules.”

Philputt lays out one rule of thumb based on relation to the deceased:

    2 years of mourning for a deceased husband

    1 year of mourning for deceased parents

    1 year of mourning for deceased children

    6 months of mourning for deceased grandparents

    6 months of mourning for deceased friends when the mourner received an inheritance

    6 months of mourning for deceased siblings

    3 months of mourning for deceased aunts and uncles

Regional differences were also noted. Godey’s Magazine— alternatively known as Godey’s Magazine and Lady’s Book—noted these in 1857:

“We have at length found space to redeem the promise made, some time since, to give more extended details of the present styles adopted in mourning. As our readers very well know, there is “deep mourning” and “second mourning.” The latter is adopted for a distant relative, or by those who have previously worn close black. A widow, of course, wears the first style; but many wear almost the same for the loss of a parent, brother, sister, or child. A widow’s mourning, though, strange to say, is the only close black relieved by any white for the past year or two, Fashion graciously permits her a close white cap about the face, “a widow’s cap,” as it is called, of plain lawn or muslin as a double border, formed by two extremely narrow puffs of the same, slightly rounded by passing a rod through when newly made or “done up.” This is not generally adopted, as yet, in our own country, though many wear them; but bonnet-caps in the same style are as universal for widows as a double crape veil.

All others in first mourning are indeed in deep black the present season. Collars, sleeves, bonnet-caps, and strings were of tarleton or French muslin, a short time since. Crape and black thulle have done away with these materials. Black crape collars are worn by all, lightened with thulle insertions and frills, if the taste inclines to display, rather than simple severity. Bows of the same, or ruches of black thulle and blonde, form also the bonnet-cap; the strings are of double crape, or black ribbon, as may be. Bonnet composed entirely of crape, or bombazine, according to choice. The last are generally relieved by folds of English crape, though sometimes even this is not done.

In Philadelphia, severity and neatness carry the day; in New York, many do not scruple to mingle jets and bugles, crape flowers and feathers, even in what they call deep mourning. For ourselves, we think the present taste is to lighten a garb, grave, at best, by color rather than ornament. Philadelphians are inclined to carry mourning to extremes, however, much more than any of their Atlantic neighbors; they keep their shutters bowed and their veils down much longer than the New Yorker or the Bostonian. In New York, it is too gay; in Boston, fashion is by no means so arbitrary as elsewhere. People are inclined to have minds of their own, and follow feeling and convenience rather than form. If good taste is sometimes sacrificed in this way, we must put up with it.

Black cloth cloaks, with a double row of stitching, separated by a space of half an inch, are the neatest outer-garments we have seen in this department, and were brought out, we believe, by Jackson, whose mourning store is to be found in Broadway near the Metropolitan.

In Philadelphia, Madame Besson and her successors have an old and just reputation for the quality and color of their materials. Nearly all large dry-goods men have now a mourning department. Cloth cloaks, more or less trimmed—and Brodie has furnished some of the plainest and most tasteful, with all his taste for richness and ornament displayed in colors—mantles of bombazine, or any of the materials now taking its place, trimmed with crape, and long shawls of Thibet cloth, are the general wear. The last have fringe, or a ribbon binding, as best suits the fancy. A sack, or worsted Sontag (half handkerchief, knit on bone or wooden needles), will be found very comfortable beneath them, as they are scarcely warm enough in this northern climate for February and indeed March.

The principal dress fabrics are bombazine, Tanese cloth, alpaca with bombazine finish, Canton cloth, etc. etc., differing in finish and price; plain merino, cashmere, and mousseline are also used for the house or street. For morning-dresses, there are a variety of plaids, neatly printed mousselines, chintzes, and ginghams. For travelling, serges, mohair, and many other mixed and serviceable materials. For morning or travelling-dresses, where crape would soon spot or rust, plain Mantua ribbon, of one broad or several narrow widths, is much used; also a variety of galloons and braid manufactured expressly for this department.

Undersleeves are of crape, tissue, or grenadine, in plain puffs, gathered into a close band at the wrist, or heavily trimmed with black braid, narrow crape folds, etc., when a less severe taste is exercised. Large puffs and falls of black thulle are also worn in deep mourning by those who care more for the graceful and becoming than rigid simplicity.

As a principle of good taste, ornaments used in mourning should be few and plain. Jet seems the most appropriate; and this has excellent imitations, scarcely to be detected. We have brooches and bracelets of jet set in gold, in gold and black enamel, or cast in plain knots, leaves, or bands. The oval brooch for hair is frequently the only ornament worn. This is usually surrounded by a rim of small jets, and many have an outer rim of pearls. Plainer brooches of gold and black enamel are still much in vogue.

Handkerchiefs of the sheerest cambric have either a broad plain hem or a black border printed. Of the last, there are a great variety to select from. An embroidered pocket-handkerchief would be as much out of taste as a Valenciennes collar.”

Etiquette maven Florence Hartley agreed with the idea that the progression of mourning wear did not conform to one set of rules. In her book The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness. A Complete Hand Book for the Use of the Lady in Polite Society, she wrote, “There is such a variety of opinion upon the subject of mourning that it is extremely difficult to lay down any general rules upon the subject. Some wear very close black for a long period for a distant relative whilst others will wear dressy mourning for a short time in a case of death in the immediate family. There is no rule either for the depth of mourning or the time when it may be laid aside and I must confine my remarks to the different degrees of mourning.”

On second mourning, she wrote, “Here a straw bonnet, trimmed with black ribbon or crape flowers, or a silk bonnet with black flowers on the outside, and white ones in the face, a black silk dress, and gray shawl or cloak, may be worn. Lead color, purple, lavender, and white, are all admissible in second mourning, and the dress may be lightened gradually, a white bonnet, shawl, and light purple or lavender dress, being the dress usually worn last, before the mourning is thrown aside entirely, and colors resumed. It is especially to be recommended to buy always the best materials when making up mourning.”

Crape and woolen goods of the finest quality are very expensive, but a cheaper article will wear miserably; there is no greater error in economy than purchasing cheap mourning, for no goods are so inferior, or wear out and grow rusty so soon.”

The social pressure equating depth of grief with the outward display of it forced many a bereaved woman to purchasing clothing she could ill afford. Godey’s Magazine elaborates on this dilemma: “We quarrel with the fashion, but not the custom of mourning: though even this has, until of late, been too arbitrary, forcing those, whose means would not allow the additional expense, into making it at a time when money could least be spared. The poorest, and those who are more to be pitied than the absolute poor, those who try to conceal straitened means, and keep up an appearance of comfort, were thus forced into expenditures that required the pinching and saving of months, and sometimes years, if met at all.

We quarrel with the fashion, which judges of grief by the depth of a fold, that brings remark or censure upon a widow as to whether she wears her veil up or down—and, indeed, for delicate eyes or lungs, a widow’s veil is certain injury if kept over the face; that is agonized by a white collar when black crepe is the style; that modifies shades according to weeks or months, instead of softened feeling; that puts on black for a third cousin, because becoming, and lays it aside at Newport for a fancy ball; or counterfeits it by a mockery of white tarleton, with violet streamers, and marabou feathers tipped with the same shade; or goes glistening in bugles and jet to the gayest entertainments.”

In fine, neatness and simplicity, which we have so often urged on our readers as the first principles of good taste, are the best guides in selecting mourning, and “the best is most assuredly the cheapest.”

mourning attire
Brooklyn Museum Costume Collection at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of the Brooklyn Museum, 2009; Gift of Martha Woodward Weber

The societal pressure to mourn in an appropriately outfitted manner was keenly felt by women of modest means, especially those put into such circumstances by the loss of a breadwinner husband. One such woman, Julia Sherman of New Hampshire, wrote a letter to her sister showing the struggle that women of modest means would go through to adhere to social standards for mourning. Following the death of her husband, Sherman’s mother-in-law would not let her borrow the appropriate black clothes. As a result, Sherman borrowed a blue-black shawl and purchased cheaper clothing to dye (thibet cloth, in this case, which according to Frank P. Bennett & Company’s Woolen and Worsted Fabrics Glossary was a fabric that at lower prices was made from wool, cotton, and shoddy—a fabric recycled from shredded rags and leftover fabric clippings—and which had a “raw and thready appearance” and a “strong affinity for all the dust and lint in one’s vicinity”):

“I had clothes which E gave me when he sold out which I have exchanged in the store for mourning goods and have been able thus far to pay for every thing I have had nor has an article been offered me although I have borrowed a shawl in the store to wear a few times until I could get one colored although mother has one like it she has not ever offered to lend it to me even on the day I most needed it and had to wear a blue black one which was borrowed for me. She wore her jet black one which father gave her this summer and like which they have them in the store they are small thibet and 3.50 which I thot I could not afford to get and have sent the [ ] with my de laine to both be colored – I merely mention this to show you the difference that could be if our dear dear mother was living.”

mourning cap

Mourning fashion, like all fashion, was not a static thing. While the color black maintained its dominance, other aspects went through changes based on economics, cultural shifts, and the availability of certain fabrics and accessories (especially crape, the most traditional and most dependably appropriate of the various suitable fabrics). Hemlines and collars changed with the times, as did cuffs and caps, gloves and bonnets.

Location also played a role in what was considered proper mourning attire. Sherwood in particular noted the differences between American mourning fashion and European fashion, especially English:

“The English, from whom we borrow our fashion in funeral matters, have a limitation provided by social law which is a useful thing. They now decree that crape shall only be worn six months, even for the nearest relative, and that the duration of mourning shall not exceed a year. A wife’s mourning for her husband is the most conventionally deep mourning allowed, and every one who has seen an English widow will agree that she makes a “hearse” of herself. Bombazine and crape, a widow’s cap; and a long; thick veil–such is the modern English idea. Some widows even have the cap made of black crape lisse, but it is generally of white. In this country a widow’s first mourning dresses are covered almost entirely with crape, a most costly and disagreeable material, easily ruined by the dampness and dust—a sort of penitential and self-mortifying dress, and very ugly and very expensive. There are now, however, other and more agreeable fabrics which also bear the dead black, lustreless look which is alone considered respectful to the dead, and which are not so costly as crape, or so disagreeable to wear. The Henrietta cloth and imperial serges are chosen for heavy winter dresses, while for those of less weight are tamise cloth, Bayonnaise, grenadine, nuns’ veiling, and the American silk.

Our mourning usages are not overloaded with what may be called the pomp, pride, and circumstance of woe which characterize English funerals. Indeed, so overdone are mourning ceremonies in England—what with the hired mutes, the nodding plumes, the costly coffin, and the gifts of gloves and bands and rings, etc. —that Lady Georgiana Milnor, of Nunappleton, in York, a great friend of the Archbishop, wrote a book against the abuse, ordered her own body to be buried in a pine coffin, and forbade her servants and relatives to wear mourning. Her wishes were carried out to the letter. A black, cloth-covered casket with silver mountings is considered in the best taste, and the pall-bearers are given at most a white scarf and a pair of black gloves. Even this is not always done. At one time the traffic in these returned bands and gloves was quite a fortune to the undertaker. Mourning is very expensive, and often costs a family more than they can well afford; but it is a sacrifice that even the poorest gladly make, and those who can least afford it often wear the best mourning, so tyrannical is custom. They consider it . . . an act of disrespect to the memory of the dead if the living are not clad in gloomy black.

However, our business is with the etiquette of mourning. Widows wear deep mourning, consisting of woollen stuffs and crape, for about two years, and sometimes for life, in America. Children wear the same for parents for one year, and then lighten it with black silk, trimmed with crape. Half-mourning gradations of gray, purple, or lilac have been abandoned, and, instead, combinations of black and white are used. Complimentary mourning is black silk without crape. The French have three grades of mourning–deep, ordinary, and half mourning. In deep mourning, woollen cloths only are worn; in ordinary mourning, silk and woollen; in half mourning, gray and violet. An American lady is always shocked at the gayety and cheerfulness of French mourning. In France, etiquette prescribes mourning for a husband for one year and six weeks–that is, six months of deep mourning, six of ordinary, and six weeks of half mourning. For a wife, a father, or a mother, six months–three deep and three half mourning; for a grandparent, two months and a half of slight mourning; for a brother or a sister, two months, one of which is in deep mourning; for an uncle or an aunt, three weeks of ordinary black. In America, with no fixity of rule, ladies have been known to go into deepest mourning for their own relatives or those of their husbands, or for people, perhaps, whom they have never seen, and have remained as gloomy monuments of bereavement for seven or ten years, constantly in black; then, on losing a child or a relative dearly loved, they have no extremity of dress left to express the real grief which fills their lives–no deeper black to go into. This complimentary mourning should be, as in the French custom, limited to two or three weeks. The health of a delicate child has been known to be seriously affected by the constant spectacle of his mother in deep mourning.

The period of a mourner’s retirement from the world has been very much shortened of late. For one year no formal visiting is undertaken, nor is there any gayety in the house. Black is often worn for a husband or wife two years, for parents one year, and for brothers and sisters one year; a heavy black is lightened after that period. Ladies are beginning to wear a small black gauze veil over the face, and are in the habit of throwing the heavy crape veil back over the hat. It is also proper to wear a quiet black dress when going to a funeral, although this is not absolutely necessary.”

“For lighter mourning jet is used on silk, and there is no doubt that it makes a very handsome dress. It is a singular fact that there is a certain comfort to some people in wearing very handsome black. Worth, on being asked to dress an American widow whom he had never seen, sent for her photograph, for he said that he wished to see “whether she was the sort of woman who would relish a becoming black.”

Very elegant dresses are made with jet embroidery on crape–the beautiful soft French crape–but lace is never “mourning.” Even the French, who have very light ideas on the subject, do not trim the most ornamental dresses with lace during the period of even second mourning, except when they put the woolen yak lace on a cloth cloak or mantilla. During a very dressy half mourning, however, black lace may be worn on white silk; but this is questionable. Diamond ornaments set in black enamel are allowed even in the deepest mourning, and also pearls set in black. The initials of the deceased, in black brilliants or pearls, are now set in lockets and sleeve-buttons, or pins. Gold ornaments are never worn in mourning.

White silk, embroidered with black jet, is used in the second stage of court mourning, with black gloves. Deep red is deemed in England a proper alternative for mourning black, if the wearer be called upon to go to a wedding during the period of the first year’s mourning. At St. George’s, Hanover Square, therefore, one may often see a widow assisting at the wedding of a daughter or a son, and dressed in a superb red brocade or velvet, which, directly the wedding is over, she will discard for her solemn black.

The question of black gloves is one which troubles all who are obliged to wear mourning through the heat of summer. The black kid glove is painfully warm and smutty, disfiguring the hand and soiling the handkerchief and face. The Swedish kid glove is now much more in vogue, and the silk glove is made with such neatness and with such a number of buttons that it is equally stylish, and much cooler and more agreeable.”

That most iconic item of mourning dress—the widow’s veil—remained a classic representation of deep mourning for decades, even if it was, as noted in Godey’s, known to cause “certain injury” if kept too long over the face due to the poisonous chemicals used to make and set the dyes that created the deep matte black color considered most desirable.

Sherwood noted the same: “The black veil . . . is most unhealthy: it harms the eyes and it injures the skin. As it rubs against the nose and forehead it is almost certain to cause abrasions, and often makes an annoying sore. To the eyes enfeebled by weeping it is sure to be dangerous, and most oculists now forbid it.”

Despite their dangers, respectable women of this period were expected to wear these veils—often referred to as “weeping veils”—over their faces as a ritual of deep mourning, though this requirement was lifted during the second (or half) mourning, and during ordinary mourning (and became less popular during the latter decades of the nineteenth-century). Some women chose to continue wearing the veil, while others moved into the next stage of mourning.

mourning clothes
Mark A. Anderson Collection of Post-Mortem Photography
William L. Clements Library. The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor
Mourning Fashion – UM Clements Library

From Godey’s:

“A widow’s veil, then, is of double crape; and, no matter what the state of the atmosphere may be, woe to her if Mrs. Grundy should see her raise it before the proscribed twelve months have passed. She may breathe comfortably after that, if she chooses, or go on blinding and stifling herself three or five years, if she chooses. Others in deep mourning wear a single thickness and width, about a yard, ordinarily, and two yards long. The most graceful fashion is worn from one to two fingers in depth on each end; the veil is then thrown over the bonnet midway, as to length and breadth, and secured, by a black veil pin, in the bonnet on each side. Others adhere to a string of black ribbon run through the top hem, or a cap string.”

Despite the many rules and strictures and societal rigidities associated with the rituals of mourning wear—and the condemnation one might expect for flouting such—tastemakers of the time also decried the ostentatiousness of mourning.

Sherwood noted the following anecdote: “A gay young widow at Washington was once seen dancing at a reception, a few months after the death of her soldier husband, with a long black veil on, and holding in her black-gloved hand [a] handkerchief, which looked as if it had been dipped in ink. “She should have dipped it in blood,” said a by-stander. Under such circumstances we learn how much significance is to be attached to the grief expressed by a mourning veil.”

Sherwood continues: “[F]or the mockery, the conventional absurdities, and the affectations which so readily lend themselves to caricature in the name of mourning, no condemnation can be too strong. There is a ghoul-like ghastliness in talking about “ornamental,” or “becoming,” or “complimentary” mourning. People of sense, of course, manage to dress without going to extremities in either direction. We see many a pale-faced mourner whose quiet mourning-dress tells the story of bereavement without giving us the painful feeling that crape is too thick, or bombazine too heavy, for comfort. Exaggeration is to be deprecated in mourning as in everything.

The discarding of mourning should be effected by gradations. It shocks persons of good taste to see a light-hearted young widow jump into colors, as if she had been counting the hours. If black is to be dispensed with, let its retirement be slowly and gracefully marked by quiet costumes, as the feeling of grief, yielding to the kindly influence of time, is shaded off into resignation and cheerfulness. We do not forget our dead, but we mourn for them with a feeling which no longer partakes of anguish.

Of course, no one can say that a woman should not wear mourning all her life if she choose, but it is a serious question whether in so doing she does not injure the welfare and happiness of the living. Children, as we have said, are often strangely affected by this shrouding of their mothers, and men always dislike it.

Common-sense and common decency, however, should restrain the frivolous from engaging much in the amusements and gayeties of life before six months have passed after the death of any near friend. If they pretend to wear black at all, they cannot be too scrupulous in respecting the restraint which it imposes.”

Though we in contemporary times may look at these practices as outdated and unnecessarily restrictive—a sentiment no doubt shared by many female mourners during the Victorian era—understanding the role that fashion played in recognizing and honoring grief can help us do the same today. Even if we don’t have prescribed mourning schedules or a matte black wardrobe, we can find the symbols that help us process loss both culturally and personally, that usher us through the transitions we will all face with more intentionality and presence.

mourning woman
Tina Whittle

Tina Whittle is a mystery writer living and working in the Georgia Lowcountry. Her Tai Randolph & Trey Seaver series—featuring intrepid not-quite-professional sleuth Tai and her ex-SWAT partner Trey—has garnered starred reviews in Kirkus, Publisher’s Weekly, Booklist, and Library Journal.

A two-time nominee for Georgia Author of the Year and a Derringer finalist, Tina enjoys birdwatching, eating sushi, and reading tarot cards—she does not enjoy running, but does it anyway. You can find her online at https://www.tinawhittle.com.

Crooked Ways

Tai Randolph doesn’t like tailing adulterers. Or photographing cracked sidewalks. Or staking out insurance scammers.

But being an apprentice PI means doing what she’s told, filling out paperwork, and following the rules, all the rules. It’s a bit chafing for someone whose amateur sleuthing playbook included dodging, lying, and occasional light blackmail.

But then her past comes knocking. Literally.

After a decade in the wind, Tai’s Aunt Rowena reappears, and she’s convinced someone is trying to kill Beauregard Boone, the complicated ex-felon at the heart of Tai’s twisted family tree. It’s an intriguing case, even if it means returning to the coastal islands of Savannah, Georgia, a city that keeps breaking her heart over and over again.

Not that life in Atlanta is uncomplicated. Trey Seaver—her partner in both romance and crime solving—is keeping a secret. Her new job comes with a moral rectitude clause, so she has to be on her best behavior at all times. And unless she scrapes together some extra bucks, the electric bill is going to be paid late. Again.

But in Savannah, all she has to worry about is vehicular homicide, flying bullets, and an enemy who has been laying low for a long long time. Tai’s got a choice to make. Safety and security where the only danger is boredom? Or risk and reward where the consequences could be deadly?

Read the first chapter of Crooked Ways

Buy Crooked Ways

The Fir-Flower Tablets – Depictions Of Women In Some Classic Chinese Poems

The summer heat scrambles my brain. Any energy I have left after doing what absolutely needs doing is consumed pushing the TV remote buttons as I’m lounging on the sofa in a stupor. But with the arrival of the cooler fall weather comes delicious motivation and energy. So, at long last, I’ve finished my Fir-Flower Tablets series. The first post gave us the historical context of the poems. The second one delved into the meanings of the different elements in the works. This post displays some of the poems translated from Chinese by Amy Lowell and Florence Wheelock Ayscough. I’ve added Ayscough’s notes below each poem to help us understand the backstory and context of the work. The book contains many more poems, but I’ve posted the ones pertaining to women’s lives.

The images come from The Palace Museum in Beijing. I invite you to follow the links beneath the paintings to learn more about the works.

The Lonely Wife
By Li T'ai-Po

The mist is thick. On the wide river, the water-plants float smoothly.
No letters come; none go.
There is only the moon, shining through the clouds of a hard, jade-green sky,
Looking down at us so far divided, so anxiously apart.
All day, going about my affairs, I suffer and grieve, and press the thought of you closely to my heart.
My eyebrows are locked in sorrow, I cannot separate them.
Nightly, nightly, I keep ready half the quilt,
And wait for the return of that divine dream which is my Lord.
Beneath the quilt of the Fire-Bird, on the bed of the Silver-Crested Love-Pheasant,
Nightly, nightly, I drowse alone.
The red candles in the silver candlesticks melt, and the wax runs from them,
As the tears of your so Unworthy One escape and continue constantly to flow.
A flower face endures but a short season,
Yet still he drifts along the river Hsiao and the river Hsiang.
As I toss on my pillow, I hear the cold, nostalgic sound of the water-clock:
Shêng! Shêng! it drips, cutting my heart in two.
I rise at dawn. In the Hall of Pictures
They come and tell me that the snow-flowers are falling.
The reed-blind is rolled high, and I gaze at the beautiful, glittering, primeval snow,
Whitening the distance, confusing the stone steps and the courtyard.
The air is filled with its shining, it blows far out like the smoke of a furnace.
The grass-blades are cold and white, like jade girdle pendants.
Surely the Immortals in Heaven must be crazy with wine to cause such disorder,
Seizing the white clouds, crumpling them up, destroying them.

The term “jade,” in Chinese literature, includes both the jadeites and nephrites. These semi-transparent stones are found in a great variety of colours. There are black jades; pure white jades, described by the Chinese as “mutton fat”; jades with brown and red veins; yellow jades tinged with green; grey jades with white or brown lines running through them; and, most usual of all, green jades, of which there are an infinite number of shades.

These green jades vary from the dark, opaque moss-green, very much like the New Zealand “green-stone,” to the jewel jade called by the Chinese fei ts’ui, or “kingfisher feather,” which, in perfect examples, is the brilliant green of an emerald. As a result of this range of colouring, the Chinese use the term “jade” to describe the tints seen in Nature. The colours of the sky, the hills, the sea, can all be found in the jades, which are considered by the Chinese as the most desirable of precious stones. In addition to its employment in actual comparison, the word “jade” is very often used in a figurative sense to denote anything especially desirable.

Beneath the quilt of the Fire-Bird, on the bed of the Silver-Crested Love-Pheasant.

The Fire-Bird is the Luan, and the Love-Pheasant the Fêng Huang; both are fully described in the table of mythical animals in the Introduction.

As the tears of your so Unworthy One escape and continue constantly to flow.

The term “Unworthy One” is constantly used by wives and concubines in speaking of themselves to their husbands or to the men they love.

Looking At The Moon After Rain
By Li T'ai-Po

The heavy clouds are broken and blowing,
And once more I can see the wide common stretching beyond the four sides of the city.
Open the door. Half of the moon-toad is already up,
The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand li.
The river is a flat, shining chain.
The moon, rising, is a white eye to the hills;
After it has risen, it is the bright heart of the sea.
Because I love it—so—round as a fan,
I hum songs until the dawn.

Half of the moon-toad is already up.

In Chinese mythology, the ch’an, a three-legged toad, lives in the moon and is supposed to swallow it during an eclipse. The toad is very long-lived and grows horns at the age of three thousand years. It was originally a woman named Ch’ang O, who stole the drug of Immortality and fled to the moon to escape her husband’s wrath. The moon is often referred to as ch’an, as in the poem.

The glimmer of it is like smooth hoar-frost spreading over ten thousand li.


A li is a Chinese land measurement, equal to about one third of a mile.

The Pleasures Within The Palace
By Li T'ai-Po

From little, little girls, they have lived in the Golden House.
They are lovely, lovely, in the Purple Hall.
They dress their hair with hill flowers,
And rock-bamboos are embroidered on their dresses of open-work silk gauze.
When they go out from the retired Women's Apartments,
They often follow the Palace chairs.
Their only sorrow, that the songs and wu dances are over,
Changed into the five-coloured clouds and flown away.

The “Golden House” is an allusion to a remark made by the Emperor Wu of Han who, when still a boy, exclaimed that if he could marry his lovely cousin A-chiao he would build a golden house for her to live in.

Palaces were often given most picturesque names, and different parts of the precincts were described as being of “jade” or some other precious material, the use of the word “golden” is, of course, in this case, purely figurative.

The organization of the Imperial seraglio, which contained many thousands of women, was most complicated, and the ladies belonged to different classes or ranks.

There was only one Empress, whose title was Hou, and, if the wife of the preceding monarch were still alive, she was called T’ai Hou, or Greater Empress. These ladies had each their own palace. Next in rank came the principal Imperial concubines or secondary wives called Fei. As a rule, there were two of them, and they had each their palace and household. After them came the P’in described as “Imperial concubines of first rank,” or maids of honour, who lived together in a large palace and who, once they had attained this rank, could never be dispersed*. The ladies of the Court are often spoken of as Fei-P’in. Of lower rank than these were the innumerable Palace women called Ch’ieh, concubines or handmaids. The use of the word is not confined to the inmates of the Palace, as ordinary people may have ch’ieh. Little girls who were especially pretty, or who showed unusual promise, were often sent to the Palace when quite young, that they might become accustomed to the surroundings while still children.

The Palace Woman Of Han Tan Becomes The Wife Of The Soldiers' Cook
By Li T'ai-Po

Once the Unworthy One was a maiden of the Ts'ung Terrace.
Joyfully lifting my moth-pencilled eyebrows, I entered the carnation-coloured Palace.
Relying on myself, my flower-like face,
How should I know that it would wither and fade?
Banished below the jade steps,
Gone as the early morning clouds are gone,
Whenever I think of Han Tan City
I dream of the Autumn moon from the middle of the Palace.
I cannot see the Prince, my Lord.
Desolate, my longing—until daylight comes.

The Ts’ung Terrace referred to by the sad lady who, in the dispersal of the Palace women, had fallen to such a low degree, stood in the Palace of King Chao, who lived at the time of the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” many centuries before our era.

Songs To The Peonies Sung To The Air: "Peaceful Brightness"
By Li T'ai-Po

I
The many-coloured clouds make me think of her upper garments, of her lower garments;
Flowers make me think of her face.
The Spring wind brushes the blossoms against the balustrade,
In the heavy dew they are bright and tinted diversely.
If it were not on the Heaped Jade Mountain that I saw her,
I must have met her at the Green Jasper Terrace, or encountered her by accident in the moon.

II
A branch of opulent, beautiful flowers, sweet-scented under frozen dew.
No love-night like that on the Sorceress Mountain for these; their bowels ache in vain.
Pray may I ask who, in the Palace of Han, is her equal?
Even the "Flying Swallow" is to be pitied, since she must rely upon ever new adornments.

III
The renowned flower, and she of a loveliness to overthrow Kingdoms—both give happiness.
Each receives a smile from the Prince when he looks at them.
The Spring wind alone can understand and explain the boundless jealousy of the flower,
Leaning over the railing of the balcony at the North side of the aloe-wood pavilion.

The “Songs to the Peonies” were written on a Spring morning when Ming Huang, accompanied by Yang Kuei-fei, his favourite concubine, and his Court, had gone to see the blooms for which he had a passion. As he sat, admiring the flowers and listening to the singing of the Palace maidens, he suddenly exclaimed: “I am tired of these old songs, call Li Po.” The poet was found, but unfortunately in a state best described by the Chinese expression of “great drunk.” Supported by attendants on either side of him, he appeared at the pavilion, and while Yang Kuei-fei held his ink-slab, dashed off the “Songs.” She then sang them to the air, “Peaceful Brightness,” while the Emperor beat time.

The “Songs” compare Yang Kuei-fei to the Immortals and to Li Fu-jên, a famous beauty of whom it was said that “one glance would overthrow a city, a second would overthrow the State.” But, unluckily, Li T’ai-po also brought in the name of the “Flying Swallow,” a concubine of the Han Emperor Ch’êng, who caused the downfall of the noble Pan Chieh-yü and is looked upon as a despicable character. Kao Li-shih, the Chief Eunuch of the Court, induced Yang Kuei-fei to take this mention as an insult, and it finally cost Li T’ai-po his place at Court.

In the third “Song,” there is an allusion to the Emperor under the figure of the sun. When his presence is removed, the unhappy, jealous flowers feel as if they were growing on the North side of the pavilion.

Yang Kuei-fei, the most famous Imperial concubine in Chinese history, was a young girl of the Yang (White Poplar) family, named Yü Huan, or Jade Armlet; she is generally referred to as Yang Kuei-fei or simply Kuei-fei—Exalted Imperial Concubine.

The Chief Eunuch brought her before the T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, at a time when the old man was inconsolable from the double deaths of his beloved Empress and his favourite mistress.

The story goes that the Emperor first saw Yang Yü Huan, then fifteen years old, as she was bathing in the pool made of stone, white as jade, in the pleasure palace he had built on the slopes of the Li Mountains. As the young girl left the water, she wrapped herself in a cloak of open-work gauze through which her skin shone with a wonderful light. The Emperor immediately fell desperately in love with her, and she soon became chief of the Palace ladies wearing “half the garments of an Empress.”

Yang Kuei-fei rose to such heights of power that her word was law; she had her own palace, her own dancing-girls, and was even allowed by the doting monarch to adopt the great An Lu-shan, for whom she had a passion, as her son. Her follies and extravagancies were innumerable, and her ill-fame spread about the country to such an extent that, when the rebellion broke out *, the soldiers refused to fight until she had been given over to them for execution.

After her death, Ming Huang spent three inconsolable years as an exile in Szechwan, and his first act upon his return to the Empire, which he had ceded to his son, was to open her grave. It was empty. Even the gold hair-ornaments, and the half of a round gold box shared with the Emperor as an emblem of conjugal unity, had gone; the only trace of the dead beauty was the scent-bag in which she had kept these treasures. “Ah,” cried the unhappy monarch, “may I not see even the bones of my beloved?” In despair, he sent for a Taoist magician and begged him to search the Worlds for Yang Kuei-fei. The Taoist burnt charms to enlist the help of the beneficent spirits, but these were unsuccessful in their search. He finally sat in contemplation until the “vital essence” issued from his body and descended to the World of Shades. Here the names of all the spirits who have passed from the World of Light are entered in classified books, but that of Yang Kuei-fei was not among them. The demon in charge insisted that if the name were not entered, the spirit had not arrived, and the Taoist left, sad and crest-fallen.

He then reflected that if she really were not at the Yellow Springs below, she must be among the Immortals above. He therefore ascended to Paradise, and asked the first person he met, who happened to be the Weaving Maiden who lives in the sky, for news of the lost lady. The Weaving Maiden was most uncommunicative, and found much difficulty in believing that Ming Huang, who had consented to the execution of Yang Kuei-fei, really mourned her death, but finally admitted that she was living among the Immortals on the island of P’êng Lai in the Jade-grey Sea, and even assisted the Taoist to find her. She then told Yang Kuei-fei that, if she still loved the Emperor, the Moon Mother might be induced to allow a meeting at the full moon on the fifteenth day of the Eighth Month. Yang Kuei-fei eagerly assented, and giving the Taoist a gold hairpin and her half of the round box as a proof of her existence, begged that he hasten back to the World of Light and make all arrangements with her lover.

Accordingly, at the appointed time, the Taoist threw his fly-whip into the air, creating a bridge of light between this world and the moon, and over this Ming Huang passed. Yang Kuei-fei was waiting for him. She stood under the great cassia-tree which grows in the moon, and was surrounded by fairies.

The story, which is often sung to the air “Rainbow Skirts and Feather Collar,” goes on to relate that the Weaving Maiden was moved to deep pity by their joy at meeting and arranged with the Jade Emperor, Chief Ruler of the Heavens, that the pair, immortalized by their great love, should live forever in the Tao Li Heaven.

*The An Lu-shan rebellion, which broke out during the reign of the T’ang Emperor, Ming Huang, was very nearly successful, and, if the leader had not been assassinated in A.D. 757 by his son, might have caused the overthrow of the dynasty. As it was, the Emperor, having fled to Szechwan abdicated in favour of his son, Su Tsung, who crushed the rebellion. The poem refers to the time when it was at its height, and the Emperor’s forces were flying to the North.

The Cast-Off Palace Woman Of Ch'in And The Dragon Robes
By Li T'ai-Po

At Wei Yang dwells the Son of Heaven.
The all Unworthy One attends beside
The Dragon-broidered robes.
I ponder his regard, not mine the love
Enjoyed by those within the Purple Palace.
And yet I have attained to brightening
The bed of yellow gold.
If floods should come, I also would not leave.
A bear might come and still I could protect.
My inconsiderable body knows the honour
Of serving Sun and Moon.
I flicker with a little glow of light,
A firefly's. I beg my Lord to pluck
The trifling mustard plant and melon-flower
And not reject them for their hidden roots.

I ponder his regard, not mine the love
Enjoyed by those within the Purple Palace.

The Palace woman of Ch’in was evidently one of the lower ranks of concubines who lived in the Women’s Apartments and only appeared when sent for, not in one of the palaces given to ladies of higher rank.

If floods should come, I also would not leave.
A bear might come and still I could protect.

Now that she is no longer needed, she reflects sadly on the stories of two heroines whose behaviour she would gladly have emulated. These are Fên Chieh-yü, a favourite of the Han Emperor, Yüan, who once protected her master with her own body from the attack of a bear which had broken out of its cage; and Liu Fu-jên, concubine of King Chao of Ch’u. It is told of Liu Fu-jên that one day she went with the King to the “Terrace by the Stream,” where he told her to wait for him until he returned from the capital. While she waited, the river rose, but she refused to leave unless by Imperial command. By the time this arrived she was drowned.

Of serving Sun and Moon.

The “Sun and Moon” are the Emperor and Empress.

The Honourable Lady Chao
By Li T'ai-Po

Moon over the houses of Han, over the site of Ch'in.
It flows as water—its brightness shone on Ming Fei, the "Bright Concubine,"
Who took the road to the Jade Pass.
She went to the edge of Heaven, but she did not return;
She gave up the moon of Han, she departed from the Eastern Sea.
The "Bright Concubine" married in the West, and the day of her returning never came.
For her beautiful painted face, there was the long, cold snow instead of flowers.
She, with eyebrows like the antennæ of moths, pined and withered.
Her grave is in the sand of the Barbarians' country.
Because, when alive, she did not pay out yellow gold,
The portrait painted of her was distorted.
Now she is dead no one can prevent the bright green grass from spreading over her grave,
And men weep because of it.

Ch’in was the name of the State which overcame all the others and welded China into a homogeneous Empire instead of a loose federation. The lady Chao lived during the Han Dynasty.

Wang Ch’iang, known to posterity as Chao Chün, the “Brilliant-and-Perfect,” lived in the First Century b.c. The daughter of educated parents, she was brought up in the strictest Confucian principles; in the words of the Chinese, she “did not speak loudly nor did she look beyond the doors, indeed, even within the house, she only walked the path which led to her mother’s room. Her ears were closed to all distracting sounds, therefore her heart and mind were pure like those of the Immortals.” Her father regarded her as a precious jewel, and although many suitors presented themselves, he refused to listen to their proposals, and finally, when she was seventeen, sent her to the capital as an offering to the Han Emperor Yüan.

Upon arriving at the Palace, the young girl was housed in the inner rooms, among the innumerable Palace women who lived there in constant hope of a summons to the Imperial presence. As the Son of Heaven never went into this part of his Palace, it was customary to catalogue the inmates and submit their portraits to him, a form of procedure which led to much bribery of the Court painters. The rigid principles of the daughter of the Wang clan forbade her to comply with this Palace custom, and the portrait which appeared in the catalogue was such a travesty of her exquisite features that it roused no desire in the Imperial breast.

Five or six dreary years passed, and the young girl remained secluded in the Women’s Apartments. Shortly before this time, one of the Hsiung Nu tribes had surrendered to the Chinese soldiers, and as a proof of good faith on both sides had received permission to serve as a frontier guard. Soon after, the head of the tribe sent to ask that one of Yüan Ti’s ladies be sent him as Queen. The catalogue was consulted, and the decision fell upon the daughter of Wang as being the one among the Palace women who had the fewest charms. She was therefore told to prepare herself for a journey to the desert wastes where she would reign over a savage Central Asian tribe, a prospect terrifying to one brought up in strict seclusion among people of refinement.

Custom demanded that, on the point of departure, she should appear before the Son of Heaven in order to thank her Imperial Master for his kind thoughtfulness in thus providing for her future, and then be formally handed over to the envoys. The audience was held in one of the secondary halls, the Court was assembled, the envoys stood ready, and the lady entered. At the sight of her unusual beauty, every one was thunderstruck, even the Emperor could hardly refrain from springing off the Dragon Throne and speaking to her. But it was too late; there was nothing to be done. The most beautiful of all the Palace women was pledged to the Hsiung Nu Khan, the escort which was to convey her over the Jade Pass waited, and soon the broken-hearted girl set off.

Fury and consternation spread through the Palace; a camel laden with gold was sent in pursuit; the guilty painter, Mao Yen-shou, was executed and his immense fortune sent as a consolation to the Wang family; but all this could not save the young girl from her fate. The Hsiung Nu ambassador refused to ransom her, and she passed out through the Jade Barrier to the “Yellow Sand Fields” beyond.

The banished daughter of Han was true to the principles in which she had been schooled. Instead of committing suicide, as she longed to do, she submitted to the will of the Five Great Ones—Heaven, Earth, The Emperor, her Father, and her Mother—and performed her duties as a wife to the best of her ability in spite of the homesickness from which she suffered perpetually.

Upon the death of the Khan, she felt that her hour of deliverance had at last come and that she was at liberty to poison herself. This she did, and was buried in the desert, but the mound over her grave remained always green.

Because of her pseudonym, “Brilliant-and-Perfect,” she is often referred to as “Ming Fei,” the “Bright Concubine.” Allusions to her story always suggest homesickness.

The "Looking-For-Husband" Rock
By Li T'ai-Po

In the attitude, and with the manner, of the woman of old,
Full of grief, she stands in the glorious morning light.
The dew is like the tears of to-day;
The mosses like the garments of years ago.
Her resentment is that of the Woman of the Hsiang River;
Her silence that of the concubine of the King of Ch'u.
Still and solitary in the sweet-scented mist,
As if waiting for her husband's return.

In the attitude, and with the manner, of the woman of old.

A reference to a legend of a woman who was turned to stone. *

Her resentment is that of the Woman of the Hsiang River.

O Huang and her sister Nü Ying were the wives of Shun, the “Perfect Emperor”. When he died, and was buried near the Hsiang River, they wept so copiously over his grave that their tears burned spots on the bamboos growing there, and thus was the variety known as the “spotted bamboo” created. Eventually the despairing ladies committed suicide by throwing themselves into the river.

Her silence that of the concubine of the King of Ch’u.

Ts’u Fei, concubine of the King of Ch’u was much distressed because her lord was of a very wild disposition, and only took pleasure in hunting and such pursuits. She constantly expostulated with him on his mode of life, but at last, finding that all her entreaties were in vain, she ceased her remonstrances and sank into a silence from which she could not be roused.

*A hill on the banks of the Yangtze, so called because of a legend that, many centuries ago, a wife, whose husband had been away for several years, went daily to watch for his returning sail. In the end, she was turned to stone on the spot where she had kept her vigil.

A Song Of Grief
By Pan Chieh-Yü

Glazed silk, newly cut, smooth, glittering, white,
As white, as clear, even as frost and snow.
Perfectly fashioned into a fan,
Round, round, like the brilliant moon,
Treasured in my Lord's sleeve, taken out, put in—
Wave it, shake it, and a little wind flies from it.
How often I fear the Autumn Season's coming
And the fierce, cold wind which scatters the blazing heat.
Discarded, passed by, laid in a box alone;
Such a little time, and the thing of love cast off.

Pan Chieh-yü, the talented and upright concubine of the Han Emperor, Ch’êng, is one of the ladies most often referred to in literature. She was supplanted by the beautiful, but unscrupulous, “Flying Swallow,” who accused her to the Emperor of denouncing him to the kuei and the shên. The Emperor, therefore, sent for Pan Chieh-yü who, kneeling before him, answered him as follows: “The Unworthy One of the Emperor has heard that he who cultivates virtue still has not attained happiness or favour. If this be so, for him who does evil what hope is there? Supposing that the demons and spirits are aware of this world’s affairs, they could not endure that one who was not faithful to the Emperor should utter the secret thoughts hidden in the darkness of his heart. If they are not conscious of this world’s affairs, of what use would the uttering of those secret thoughts be?” Then, rising, she left the Imperial presence, and immediately obtained permission to withdraw from the Palace. Not long after, she sent the Emperor “A Song of Grief,” and ever since then the term, “Autumn Fan,” has been used to suggest a deserted wife.

Farewell Words To The Daughter Of The House Of Yang
By Wei Ying-Wu

Because of this, sad, sad has the whole day been to me.
You must go forth and journey, far, very far.
The time has come when you, the maiden, must go.
The light boat ascends the great river.
Your particular bitterness is to have none from whom you may claim support.
I have cherished you. I have pondered over you. I have been increasingly gentle and tender to you.
A child taken from those who have cared for it—
On both sides separation brings the tears which will not cease.
Facing this, the very centre of the bowels is knotted.
It is your duty, you must go. It is scarcely possible to delay farther.
From early childhood, you have lacked a mother's guidance,
How then will you know to serve your husband's mother? I am anxious.
From this time, the support on which you must rely is the home of your husband.
You will find kindness and sympathy, therefore you must not grumble;
Modesty and thrift are indeed to be esteemed.
Money and jewels, maid-servants and furnishings—are these necessary, a perfection to be waited for?
The way of a wife should be filial piety, respect and compliance;
Your manner, your conduct, should be in accord with this way.
To-day, at dawn, we part.
How many Autumns will pass before I see you?
Usually I endeavour to command my feelings,
But now, when my emotions come upon me suddenly, they are difficult to control.
Being returned home, I look at my own little girl.
My tears fall as rain. They trickle down the string of my cap and continue to flow.

The sacredness with which the Chinese regard their family ties is well known, but it is perhaps not realized that the Chinese conception of the duties owed to friendship entails very great responsibilities. If a friend dies, it is a man’s duty to see that his family do not suffer in any way. Wei Ying-wu is probably addressing the daughter of some dead friend whom he has brought up in his own family, or she may be a poor relation on his mother’s side, but that she is not his own daughter is clear from the fact that her clan name differs from his, which is Wei.

A Letter Of Thanks For Precious Pearls Bestowed By One Above
By Chiang Ts'ai-P'in
(The "Plum-Blossom" Concubine Of The Emperor Ming Huang)

It is long—long—since my two eyebrows were painted like cassia-leaves.
I have ended the adorning of myself. My tears soak my dress of coarse red silk.
All day I sit in the Palace of the High Gate. I do not wash; I do not comb my hair.
How can precious pearls soothe so desolate a grief.

One of the ladies swept aside by Yang Kuei-fei was the lovely Chiang Ts’ai-p’in, known as the “Plum-blossom” concubine. As she liked to differ from other people, she painted her eyebrows in the shape of wide cassia-leaves instead of the thin-lined willow-leaf, or “moth-antennæ,” the form so much used. Soon after her departure from the Palace, some pearls were received as tribute, and the Emperor, who still had a lingering regard for “Plum-blossom,” sent them to her in secret. She refused the pearls, and returned them to the Emperor with this poem.

A Woman Sings To The Air: "Sitting At Night"
By Li T'ai-Po

A Winter night, a cold Winter night. To me, the night is unending.
I chant heavily to myself a long time. I sit, sit in the North Hall.
The water in the well is solid with ice. The moon enters the Women's Apartments.
The flame of the gold lamp is very small, the oil is frozen. It shines on the misery of my weeping.
The gold lamp goes out,
But the weeping continues and increases.
The Unworthy One hides her tears in her sleeve.
She hearkens to the song of her Lord, to the sound of it.
The Unworthy One knows her passion.
The passion and the sound unite,
There is no discord between them.
If a single phrase were unsympathetic to my thoughts,
Then, though my Lord sang ten thousand verses which should cause even the dust on the beams to fly, to me it would be nothing.

I sit, sit in the North Hall.

The “North Hall” is a term for the Women’s Apartments, which always lie farthest from the Great Gate placed in the South wall of the house.

Then, though my Lord sang ten thousand verses which should cause even the dust on the beams to fly, to me it would be nothing.

It is said that when Yü Kung, a man of the State of Lu who lived during the Han Dynasty, sang, the sounds were so exquisite that even the dust on the beams flew. “To cause the dust on the beams to fly” has therefore become a current saying.

Songs Of The Courtesans
(Written During The Liang Dynasty)

One Of The "Songs Of The Ten Requests"

By Ting Liu Niang

My skirt is cut out of peacock silk,
Red and green shine together, they are also opposed.
It dazzles like the gold-chequered skin of the scaly dragon.
Clearly so odd and lovely a thing must be admired.
My Lord himself knows well the size.
I beg thee, my Lover, give me a girdle.

Ai Ai Thinks Of The Man She Loves

How often must I pass the moonlight nights alone?
I gaze far—far—for the Seven Scents Chariot.
My girdle drops because my waist is shrunken.
The golden hairpins of my disordered head-dress are all askew.

Sent To Her Lover Yüan At Ho Nan (South Of The River) By Chang Pi Lan (Jade-Green Orchid) From Hu Pei (North Of The Lake)

My Lover is like the tree-peony of Lo Yang.
I, unworthy, like the common willows of Wu Ch'ang.
Both places love the Spring wind.
When shall we hold each other's hands again?

Ch'in, The "Fire-Bird With Plumage White As Jade," Longs For Her Lover

Incessant the buzzing of insects beyond the orchid curtain.
The moon flings slanting shadows from the pepper-trees across the courtyard.
Pity the girl of the flowery house,
Who is not equal to the blossoms
Of Lo Yang.

I gaze far—far—for the Seven Scents Chariot.

The “Seven Scents Chariot” was a kind of carriage used in old days by officials, and only those above the sixth rank might hang curtains upon it. It was open on four sides, but covered with a roof. The hubs of the wheels were carved. Ai Ai implies that the person she is waiting for is very grand indeed.

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