by Cao Xueqin
‘What magnificent blossom!’ exclaimed the literary gentlemen. ‘One has seen plenty of crab-apple blossom before, but never anything as beautiful as this.’
‘This kind is called “maiden crab”,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘It comes from abroad. According to vulgar belief it originally came from the Land of Maidens, and that is supposed to be the reason why it blooms so profusely. Needless to say, it is only the ignorant sort of persons who hold this ridiculous belief.’
‘It certainly has most unusual blossoms,’ said the literary gentlemen. ‘Who knows, perhaps there is something in the popular belief.’
‘Surely,’ said Bao-yu, ‘it is much more probable that poets and painters gave it the name of “maiden crab ” because of its rouge-like colour and delicate, drooping shape, and that the name was misunderstood by ignorant, literal-minded people, who made up this silly story to account for it.’
‘That must be it!’ said the literary gentlemen. ‘Most grateful for the explanation!’
While they were speaking they were at the same time arranging themselves on some benches in the gallery.
‘Has anyone an original idea for a name?’ said Jia Zheng when they were all seated.
One of them proposed ‘Storks in the Plantains’. Another suggested ‘Shimmering Splendour’.
‘“Shimmering Splendour”,’ Jia Zheng and the others repeated, trying out the words. ‘That’s good!’
‘A lovely name!’ said Bao-yu. But a moment later he added: ‘Rather a pity, though.’
‘Why “rather a pity”?’ they asked.
‘Well,’ said Bao-yu, ‘there are both plantains and crab-apple blossom in this courtyard. Whoever planted them must have been thinking of “the red and the green”. If our name mentions only one and leaves out the other, it will seem somehow inadequate.’
‘What do you suggest, then?’ said Jia Zheng.
‘I suggest “Fragrant Red and Lucent Green”,’ said Bao-yu. ‘That takes account of both of them.’
Jia Zheng shook his head:
‘No, that’s no good!’
He led them inside the building. Its interior turned out to be all corridors and alcoves and galleries, so that properly speaking it could hardly have been said to have rooms at all. The partition walls which made these divisions were of wooden panelling exquisitely carved in a wide variety of motifs: bats in clouds, the ‘three friends of winter’ – pine, plum and bamboo, little figures in landscapes, birds and flowers, scrollwork, antique bronze shapes, ‘good luck’ and ‘long life’ characters, and many others. The carvings, all of them the work of master craftsmen, were beautified with inlays of gold, mother-o’-pearl and semi-precious stones. In addition to being panelled, the partitions were pierced by numerous apertures, some round, some square, some sunflower-shaped, some shaped like a fleur-de-lis, some cusped, some fan-shaped. Shelving was concealed in the double thickness of the partition at the base of these apertures, making it possible to use them for storing books and writing materials and for the display of antique bronzes, vases of flowers, miniature tray-gardens and the like. The overall effect was at once richly colourful and, because of the many apertures, airy and graceful.
The trompe-l’ail effect of these ingenious partitions had been further enhanced by inserting false windows and doors in them, the former covered in various pastel shades of gauze, the latter hung with richly-patterned damask portières. The main walls were pierced with window-like perforations in the shape of zithers, swords, vases and other objects of virtù.
The literary gentlemen were rapturous:
‘Exquisite!’ they cried. ‘What marvellous workmanship!’
Jia Zheng, after taking no more than a couple of turns inside this confusing interior, was already lost. To the left of him was what appeared to be a door. To the right was a wall with a window in it. But on raising its portière he discovered the door to be a bookcase; and when, looking back, he observed – what he had not noticed before – that the light coming in through the silk gauze of the window illuminated a passage-way leading to an open doorway, and began walking towards it, a party of gentlemen similar to his own came advancing to meet him, and he realized that he was walking towards a large mirror. They were able to circumvent the mirror, but only to find an even more bewildering choice of doorways on the other side.
‘Come!’ said Cousin Zhen with a laugh. ‘Let me show you the way! If we go out here we shall be in the back courtyard. We can reach the gate of the garden much more easily from the back courtyard than from the front.’
He led them round the gauze hangings of a summer-bed, then through a door into a garden full of rambler roses. Behind the rose-trellis was a stream running between green banks. The literary gentlemen were intrigued to know where the water came from. Cousin Zhen pointed in the direction of the weir they had visited earlier:
‘The water comes in over that weir, then through the grotto, then under the lea of the north-east “mountain” to the little farm. There a channel is led off it which runs into the southeast corner of the garden. Then it runs round and rejoins the main stream here. And from here the water flows out again underneath that wall.’
‘How very ingenious!’
They moved on again, but soon found themselves at the foot of a tall ‘mountain’.
‘Follow me!’ said Cousin Zhen, amused at the bewilderment of the others, who were now completely at sea as to their whereabouts. He led them round the foot of the ‘mountain’ -and there, miraculously, was a broad, flat path and the gate by which they had entered, rising majestically in front of them.
‘Well!’ exclaimed the literary gentlemen. ‘This beats everything ! The skill with which this has all been designed is quite out of this world!’
Whereupon they all went out of the garden.
Bao-yu was now longing to get back to the girls, but as no dismissal was forthcoming from bis father, he followed him along with the others into his study. Fortunately Jia Zheng suddenly recollected that Bao-yu was still with him:
‘Well, run along then! Your grandmother will be worrying about you. I take it you’re not still waiting for more?’
At last Bao-yu could withdraw. But as soon as he was in the courtyard outside, he was waylaid by a group of Jia Zheng’s pages who laid hands on him and prevented him from going.
‘You’ve done well today, haven’t you, coming out top with all those poems ? You have us to thank for that! Her Old Ladyship sent round several times asking about you, but because the Master was so pleased with you, we told her not to worry. If we hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have had the chance to show off your poems! Everyone says they were better than all the others. What about sharing your good luck with us?’
Bao-yu laughed good-naturedly.
‘All right. A string of cash each.’
‘Who wants a measly string of cash? Give us that little purse you’re wearing!’ And without a ‘by your leave’ they began to despoil him, beginning with the purse and his fan-case, of all his trinkets, until every one of the objects he carried about him had been taken from him.
‘Now,’ they said, ‘we’ll see you back in style!’
And closing round him, they marched him back to Grandmother Jia’s apartment in triumphal procession.
Grandmother Jia had been waiting for him with some anxiety, and was naturally delighted to see him come in apparently none the worse for his experience.
Soon after, when he was back in his own room, Aroma came in to pour him some tea and noticed that all the little objects he usually carried about his waist had disappeared.
‘Where have the things from your belt gone?’ she said. ‘I suppose those worthless pages have taken them again.’
Dai-yu overheard her and came up to inspect. Sure enough, not one of the things was there.
‘So you’ve given away that little purse I gave you? Very well, then. You needn’t expect me to give you anything in future, however much you want it!’
With these words she w
ent off to her own room in a temper, and taking up a still unfinished perfume sachet which she was making for him at his own request, she began to cut it up with her embroidery scissors. Bao-yu, observing that she was angry, had hurried after her – but it was too late. The sachet was already cut to pieces.
Although it had not been finished, Bao-yu could see that the embroidery was very fine, and it made him angry to think of the hours and hours of work so wantonly destroyed. Tearing open his collar he took out the little embroidered purse which had all along been hanging round his neck and held it out for her to see.
‘Look! What’s that? When have I ever given anything of yours to someone else?’
Dai-yu knew that he must have treasured her gift to have worn it inside his clothing where there was no risk of its being taken from him. She regretted her over-hasty destruction of the sachet and hung her head in silence.
‘You needn’t have cut it up,’ said Bao-yu. ‘I know it’s only because you hate giving things away. Here, you can have this back too since you’re so stingy!’
He tossed the purse into her lap and turned to go. Dai-yu burst into tears of rage, and picking up the little purse, attacked that too with her scissors. Bao-yu hurried back and caught her by the wrist.
‘Come, cuzzy dear!’ he said with a laugh. ‘Have mercy on it!’
Dai-yu threw down the scissors and wiped her streaming eyes.
‘You shouldn’t blow hot and cold by turns. If you want to quarrel, let’s quarrel properly and have nothing to do with each other!’
She got up on the kang in a great huff, and turning her back on him, sobbed into her handkerchief and affected to ignore his presence. But Bao-yu got up beside her, and with many soothing words and affectionate endearments humbly entreated her forgiveness.
Meanwhile in the front room Grandmother Jia was calling loudly for her beloved grandson.
‘Master Bao is in the back with Miss Lin,’ they told her.
‘Ah, good!’ said the old lady. ‘Let us leave them alone together, then. It will be a nice relaxation for him after the strain of being so long with his father – as long as they don’t argue.’
‘Yes, milady.’
Finding herself unable to shake off Bao-yu’s attentions, Dai-yu got up from the kang:
‘I can see you are determined not to let me live in peace. I shall just have to go elsewhere.’ And off she went.
‘Wherever you go, I shall go with you,’ said Bao-yu, taking up the purse and beginning to fasten it on again. But Dai-yu snatched it away from him.
‘First you say you don’t want it, and now you are trying to put it on again. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’
Her anger dissolved in a little explosion of laughter.
‘Dearest cuzzy!’ said Bao-yu. ‘Won’t you please make me another sachet?’
‘That depends on whether I feel in the mood or not,’ said Dai-yu.
Chatting together they went out of the room and round to Lady Wang’s apartment. Bao-chai was there already. They found everyone there in a state of great excitement owing to the fact that Jia Qiang had just arrived back from Soochow with the twelve child-actresses he had purchased there, together with their instructors and all the costumes and properties they would use in performing their plays.
Aunt Xue had now moved to a quiet, secluded apartment in the north-east corner of the mansion, and Pear-tree Court was undergoing alterations for use as a drama school where the instructors could train and rehearse their little charges. A number of female members of the Rong-guo staff who had some previous training in singing and acting – they were all grey-haired old women by now – were put in charge of the domestic arrangements. Pay and expenses and the provision of whatever was needed for the maintenance of the troupe was to remain in the hands of Jia Qiang, who was also to keep the accounts.
Simultaneously with this arrival, Lin Zhi-xiao’s wife had come to announce that the selection and purchase of twenty-four little nuns – twelve Buddhist and twelve Taoist – had been successfully accomplished. Even the twenty-four little habits they would wear had now arrived brand-new from the tailor. But that was not all. It appeared that a young lady who had entered the church under half vows as an ‘unshaved nun’ might be persuaded to join them.
‘She comes of a highly educated official family from Soo-chow,’ Lin Zhi-xiao’s wife told them. ‘As a child she was always ailing and her parents paid for any number of “proxy novices” in the hope that she would get better; but all was of no avail. In the end there was nothing for it but for the young lady to take the great step herself – though as a lay sister, without the shaving of hair. And sure enough her illness got better immediately. She is now eighteen years of age. Her name in religion is “Adamantina” . She lost both her parents some time ago and has only two old nurses and a little maid to look after her. She’s said to be a great clerk and knows all the classics by heart. What’s more, she is a very handsome young woman. She moved into this area with her teacher a year ago because of some relic of Guanyin she had heard about and because there are some old Sanskrit texts here that she wanted to look at. She has been living ever since in the Sakyamuni Convent outside the west gate. Her teacher was a great authority on the “Primordial” branch of the Tantra. She died last winter. As she lay dying she told Adamantina that she was not to go back home, but to wait here quietly for a call. That is why she stays on here and has never taken her teacher’s coffin back.’
‘We should certainly take advantage of this to invite her here,’ said Lady Wang.
‘We have tried asking her,’ said Lin Zhi-xiao’s wife, ‘but the reply she gives is that noble households are given to trampling on other people’s feelings, and she is not disposed to be trampled on.’
‘She is bound to be rather a proud young woman, coming from a family of officials,’ said Lady Wang. ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t make out a written invitation and request her formally.’
Lin Zhi-xiao’s wife promised to see this done and hurried off to ask one of the professional letter-writers in the family’s employment to make out a formal invitation. Next day a carriage was sent round to fetch Adamantina to the mansion in a style befitting a young gentlewoman of tender susceptibilities.
But as to what happened thereafter: that will be disclosed in the ensuing chapter.
Chapter 18
A. brief family reunion is permitted by the
magnanimity of a gracious Emperor
And an Imperial Concubine takes pleasure in the
literary progress of a younger brother
Just at that moment a servant came in to say that the workmen needed some gauze for pasting on window-lattices and asked Xi-feng if she would unlock the storeroom for them. Then another servant arrived and asked her to take charge of some gold and silver plate. Lady Wang and her maids also seemed to be fully occupied. Thoughtful Bao-chai pointed out to Bao-yu and the rest that they were getting in everyone’s way, and at her suggestion they all adjourned to Ying-chun’s room.
Lady Wang’s busyness in fact continued unabated until well into the tenth month. By then the contractors had fulfilled their contracts and the. various buildings in the garden been stocked with appropriate ornaments and antiques; supplies of livestock – storks, deer, rabbits, chicken, geese, and so forth -had been purchased and distributed to the parts of the garden where they were to be reared; Jia Qiang’s young ladies had rehearsed and were word-perfect in twenty or thirty operatic pieces; and the little Buddhist and Taoist nuns had mastered the essential parts of their respective liturgies. Jia Zheng could now feel reasonably well satisfied that things were as they should be, and invited Grandmother Jia into the garden for a final inspection in which she was to suggest any last-minute alterations that might still be needed. When not the slightest shadow of an imperfection could any more be found, he at last sent in his written application for a Visitation. The Gracious Reply arrived on the very same day:
Her Grace will make a Family Visitation
next year on the fifteenth of the first month, being the Festival of Lanterns.
The receipt of this reply seemed to throw the Jia family into an even greater frenzy of preparation than before, so that even its New Year celebrations that year were somewhat scamped.
In no time at all the Festival of Lanterns seemed to be almost upon them. On the eighth of the first month a eunuch came from the Palace to inspect the layout of the Separate Residence and to establish where the Imperial Concubine would ‘change her clothes’, where she would sit to converse with her family, where she would receive their obeisances, where she would feast them, and where she would retire to when she wanted to rest. The eunuch Chief of Security also arrived with his eunuch minions and supervised a great deal of sealing-up and screening-off everywhere. He also instructed the members of the household in the regulations for leaving and entering, serving food and bringing messages, all of which had to be done through special entrances and exits and by special routes.
Outside the mansion the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and a gentleman from the Board of Works were busy supervising the sweeping of the surrounding streets and the chasing away of all idlers, onlookers and other suspicious-looking characters.