by Cao Xueqin
‘No padding, now!’ Jia Zheng told Bao-yu. ‘No “crystal”, “ice”, “jade”, “silver”, “light”, “bright”, “white” – anything of that sort. I want something original that will give me some idea of what you have been doing with your mind during this past year or two.’
Bao-yu found these injunctions by no means uncongenial, and having succeeded, in quite a short time, in thinking of a quatrain, he wrote it out and handed it to his father. Jia Zheng said nothing, but was observed to nod after he had finished reading it, which Grandmother Jia interpreted to mean that he could not have found the poem too bad.
‘Well?’ she asked him.
Jia Zheng wanted to make her happy.
‘Not at all bad,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity he won’t study, but his verses are really quite elegant.’
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘You ought to encourage the boy, so that next time he tries even harder.’
‘You are quite right,’ said Jia Zheng. He turned to one of the old women in attendance. ‘Tell my boys to get out two of the fans I brought back with me from the South, will you, and give them to Bao-yu for me.’
Bao-yu came forward and kotowed. After he had gone back to his seat, the game continued. This time the branch stopped in Jia She’s hand. He drank his wine and then told the following story.
‘This one is about a dutiful son whose mother was ill. He tried everywhere to get a doctor for her, but couldn’t find one, so in the end he was reduced to calling in an old woman who practised acupuncture. Now this old dame knew nothing of physiology, nevertheless she assured the son that it was inflammation of the heart that his mother was suffering from and that she could cure it instantly with her needle. The son became very alarmed.
‘“If metal in any form comes into contact with the heart,” he said, “it means death. Surely you’re not going to put a needle in her heart?”
‘“No, no, I shan’t put it in the heart,” said the old woman. “I mean to put it in here, over the ribs.”
‘“But that’s too far from the heart,” said the son. “Surely if you put it in there, it won’t do any good?”
‘“Oh yes it will,” said the old woman. “A mother’s heart always inclines towards one side.”’
The others all laughed, and Grandmother Jia was persuaded to drink another half cup of wine. After a long pause she said somewhat wryly,
‘Perhaps I could do with a bit of the old dame’s acupuncture myself.’
Jia She realized, too late, that his somewhat tactless choice of story could be interpreted as a criticism of his own mother. Hurriedly rising to his feet, he held up his cup to toast her with and did what he could to change the subject. Fortunately the old lady made no further reference to his gaffe and the game soon continued. This time the branch stopped with Jia Huan.
Jia Huan had lately been making modest progress in his studies. He was even beginning to show a certain interest in verse, though his tastes in it were decidedly peculiar. When Bao-yu’s poem was praised earlier on, he had been dying to demonstrate his own talent, but had not dared risk the charge of showing off in his father’s presence. Now that the luck of the game had given him free licence, he called for paper and writing-brush and, in a matter of moments, wrote out a quatrain which he handed to his father. Jia Zheng was not impressed. It was a somewhat weird little poem, and whatever advances Jia Huan might lately have made in his schoolwork, they certainly did not reveal themselves in his choice of words.
‘It is easy to see that you and Bao-yu are brothers,’ said Jia Zheng. ‘Whether in your ideas or the language you express them in, you show the same distaste for sound classical models. The “Two Incomparables” we should call you, not because you are incomparable in virtue like Chen Yuan-fang and his brother, but because you are incomparably hard to knock any sense into: though whereas Bao-yu seems to think that he has inherited the mantle of the Airy Fairy school and fancies himself as a second Wen Ting-yun, you apparently prefer the Spooks and Spectres style of poetry and see yourself as a latter-day Cao Tang.’
This (not because anyone understood it, but because it sounded funny) provoked general laughter.
‘Let me see that poem,’ said Jia She. He took it from Jia Zheng and almost immediately began praising it.
‘I like this poem, it’s got guts in it. Boys from families like ours don’t need to read themselves half blind in order to get started on a career. Provided they’ve read enough to show that they are better educated than the rabble and are capable of holding down a job, they can hardly fail to get on. Why waste a lot of time and energy on turning the boy into a book-worm? What I like about this poem is that it is just the sort of good amateur, not-too-brainy poem you’d expect a young chap of our class to write.’
He sent someone to fetch various objects of his to give to Jia Huan as a reward and smilingly patted him on the head.
‘You go on writing poems like this, young fellow! We’ll have no trouble getting you a posting when the time comes, don’t you worry!’
Jia Zheng protested.
‘Whatever you think of the poem, it hardly justifies talking in this way about the boy’s future.’
Mean while the servants had begun pouring more wine so that the game could continue; but Grandmother Jia intervened.
‘Why don’t you two go now? I’m sure your gentlemen must be waiting for you, and it would be discourteous to neglect them. Besides, it must be all of ten o’clock and if you go now it will give the children a chance to enjoy themselves unconstrainedly for a while before they go to bed.’
The two brothers at once got up to go, and after a parting cup offered to them on behalf of all the rest, they went off, taking Cousin Zhen and Jia Lian with them, but leaving Bao-yu and the two younger boys with the womenfolk.
What happened after their departure will be related in the following chapter.
CHAPTER 76
Flute-playing at Convex Pavilion provokes too much melancholy And linked verses at Concave Pavilion betray a morbid sensitivity
After Jia She and Jia Zheng had left, taking the two younger men with them, Grandmother Jia had the screen removed and proposed that those sitting at both tables should combine to make a single party. The serving-women cleared and wiped the table, replenished and replaced the plates of foodstuff, and set out clean winecups and chopsticks. While they were doing this, Grandmother Jia and the other members of the family were putting on more clothing, washing their hands, rinsing their mouths out, and drinking tea. When all was ready they arranged themselves round the one table. As they did so, Grandmother Jia noticed, for the first time that evening, that Bao-chai and Bao-qin were not there. With Li Wan and Xi-feng also away ill, the family gathering seemed sadly depleted. She commented on this fact to Lady Wang.
‘In past years, when Sir Zheng was away, we invited your sister to enjoy the Mid-Autumn moon with us. To be sure, we had some very happy times with her, but the recollection that one of our dear ones was missing – in my case a son, in yours a husband, in the children’s a father – somewhat dampened our enjoyment. This year, now that he is back, I was looking forward to a really jolly family party; but now, unfortunately, it’s your sister and her children who can’t be with us. Well, I suppose as she’s got two more members of her family with her this year we could hardly expect her to leave them behind and come over here simply to keep me amused. But what a pity that Feng should have chosen this time to be ill! She is always such a tonic – as good as ten other people at a party! It only goes to show. One can’t have everything.’
She sighed.
‘Fetch me a bigger cup,’ she said presently, ‘and pour me some good hot wine.’
Lady Wang smiled.
‘You have both your sons with you this year, Mother. Surely that is a gain? There may have been more females present in previous years, but surely having all your own children about you is better?’
‘Yes, yes, of course it is,’ said Grandmother Jia
. ‘I am very happy. That is why I have asked for a larger cup. You must all have larger cups too.’
It was getting very late now and the other ladies had no real inclination for carousing; but as Grandmother Jia showed no signs of flagging, they were obliged to keep her company. The effect of forcing themselves to drink with her was that they became unbearably sleepy.
Grandmother Jia called for a carpet to be spread out at the top of the terrace steps. The remaining mooncakes, melons and other eatables were carried over there and the maids and womenservants invited to sit round in a big circle, eating them and enjoying the moon.
Grandmother Jia, too, looked up at the moon. It had now reached its meridian and was even clearer and more beautiful than it had been earlier in the evening.
‘To get full enjoyment of so fine a moon,’ she said, ‘the music of a flute is indispensable.’
She had the girls of the family’s little ten-piece orchestra summoned; but when they arrived, they were informed that not all of them would be required to play.
‘Too much sound would spoil the effect,’ she said. ‘The flute on its own will be enough. And we should like to hear it from quite a long way away.’
The flautist went off obediently to do her bidding. A moment after she had left, one of Lady Xing’s women came hurrying up and whispered something in Lady Xing’s ear.
‘What is it?’ said Grandmother Jia.
‘It’s Sir She,’ said Lady Xing. ‘On his way back just now he tripped over a rock and twisted his ankle.’
Grandmother Jia at once sent two of her own women to see how he was and told Lady Xing that she was to go back immediately and look after him. Lady Xing rose and took her leave.
‘Zhen’s wife may as well go back now too,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘Then I shall go home to bed.’
‘I don’t intend to go back at all tonight,’ said You-shi. ‘I have resolved to spend the night here with you.’
‘That will never do!’ said Grandmother Jia, laughing. ‘Tonight of all nights a young couple like you ought to be together. I can’t have you staying away from your husband for my sake!’
You-shi coloured.
‘Really, Grandma, what a thing to say! I suppose Zhen and I are still comparatively young, but we have been married nearly twenty years, you know: we are both nearly forty. And in any case, we’re still in mourning for Sir Jing. I’d much better spend the night here with you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘I’d quite forgotten you were still in mourning. Poor Sir Jing! It must be more than two years now – but I ought not to have forgotten. I shall drink this big cupful as a punishment! All right, you’d better stay and keep me company then. Let Rong’s wife see Lady Xing out. After that she can go back home herself.’
You-shi instructed her daughter-in-law accordingly, whereupon little Hu-shi accompanied Lady Xing as far as the main gate of the mansion. There both ladies got into their carriages and went their separate ways.
Meanwhile the company had been over to the other side of the terrace to admire the cassia. They now took their places at table once more and were served with freshly heated wine.
In the midst of their chattering and laughter, suddenly startling them into silence, the undulant, lamenting sound of a flute came floating up to them from the cassia-trees below. Beautiful at any time, such music heard in the stillness of the night under the great vault of the sky with a bright moon above and only the cold, invisible night wind stirring in the earth below steals like a balm over the soul, soothing and dissolving all earthly griefs and cares. They listened, rapt and silent, with upturned, attentive faces. The music continued for about the space in which one could comfortably have drunk two cups of tea and then stopped. The momentary silence which followed it was broken by cries of admiration from all present. The winecups were replenished with warm wine.
‘You see,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘It is good, isn’t it?’
‘It truly is,’ they agreed. ‘Who could have imagined anything so beautiful? If it weren’t for you, Grandma, we might never have had this experience.’
‘It could have been much better,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘To get the full benefit you need to hear something really slow.’
She had a large cup of wine poured and ordered one of her women to take it to the flautist.
‘Tell her to take her time with this, and say that when she’s finished drinking it, I’d like her to play us another piece, only more softly this time.’
While this woman went off with the message and the wine, the two women she had sent off earlier to inquire after Jia She’s ankle returned.
‘We’ve had a look at Sir She, Your Ladyship. His right ankle is rather swollen, but he’s taken some medicine and the pain is not so bad now. It doesn’t look very serious.’
Grandmother Jia nodded and sighed.
‘You see? The truth is, I worry too much. He was trying to make out that I don’t care about him at all!’
While she was saying this, Faithful appeared carrying a large cape and hood.
‘Here, put these on,’ she said. ‘It’s getting very late. You don’t want to be outside when the dew falls. Aren’t you afraid of catching cold? I think when you’ve sat a little longer, you ought to come back home to bed.’
‘Just when I’m enjoying myself you have to start nagging me to go to bed,’ said Grandmother Jia. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m drunk. I’ve decided to stay up till dawn.’
She called rebelliously for more wine, but did put the cape and hood on notwithstanding. The other ladies drank with her for company and did their best to be amusing. Then, silencing them once more, the sound of the flute concealed in the cassia-bushes below came stealing into their ears, this time more plaintive even than before. Indeed, this time the combination of the flute’s melancholy with the effects of nocturnal stillness and ghostly moonlight induced a feeling of such overpowering sadness in the listeners that they turned their backs on it and sought, with talk and somewhat forced laughter, to escape it. Fresh wine was called for and the flautist told to stop playing.
‘I’ll cheer you up, Lady Jia,’ said You-shi. ‘Let me tell you a funny story. I learnt it specially for the occasion.’
‘Ha, ha, ha. Yes, that would be very nice, a joke. Do tell me,’ said Grandmother Jia with a jollity that seemed somewhat strained.
‘There were once four brothers,’ You-shi began. ‘The eldest had only one eye, the second had only one ear, the third had only one nostril, and the fourth, though he had all his parts in order, was dumb.’
She had got no farther with her story when she became aware that the old lady’s head was nodding down upon her bosom and her eyelids drooping as though she was about to go to sleep. She broke off at once, and she and Lady Wang both called gently to her to wake up. Grandmother Jia opened her eyes wide and laughed.
‘I’m not sleeping, I was just resting my eyes. Go on with your story. I’m listening.’
‘It’s very late,’ said Lady Wang. ‘The air is cold tonight and there is a lot of dew. Won’t you go home and rest now, Mother? We can have another moon-party tomorrow night, if you feel like it. The moon on the sixteenth is still well worth watching.’
‘What time is it?’ Grandmother Jia asked.
‘Past two o’clock,’ said Lady Wang. ‘The children couldn’t hold out any longer. They have all gone off to bed.’
Grandmother Jia looked round the table. Only Tan-chun was still sitting there in the semicircle of empty chairs.
‘Well,’ said Grandmother Jia, ‘they are not used to staying up late. Considering the amount of weakness and sickliness there is among them, I suppose it is just as well. But there’s my little Tan, sitting there all on her own, poor child! You go to bed too, my dear. We’ll end the party now.’
She got up herself as she said this, and after taking a sip or two of green tea, climbed into her bamboo carrying-chair and was borne out of the Garden by two women, the rest walking beside her o
r following close behind. But of her and them no more.
One of the women who remained behind to clear the table and stack the crockery noticed that a single porcelain cup was missing. After looking everywhere for it unsuccessfully, she appealed to the other servants.
‘I suppose one of you must have dropped it accidentally and thrown it away somewhere. Do please tell us, and let us have the broken pieces, so that when we report the loss we shan’t be accused of having stolen it.’
‘None of us has broken it,’ said the others. ‘It might have been a maid of one of the young ladies that broke it. If you can think who it might have been, I should go and ask them.’
‘You are right,’ said the woman, suddenly recollecting. ‘I remember Kingfisher coming to fetch a cup for her mistress. I must go and ask her for it.’
She had not far to look. A short way along the paved path at the bottom of the steps she came upon her and Nightingale walking along together. It was Kingfisher who spoke first.
‘Oh, has Her Old Ladyship ended the party then? I suppose you don’t know where my mistress has gone?’
‘I’ve come to ask you what you’ve done with one of our teacups,’ said the woman, ‘and you ask me about your mistress!’
Kingfisher laughed.
‘I poured out a cup of tea some time ago and handed it to her, and the next thing I knew was she’d disappeared – with the teacup.’
‘Her Ladyship said just now that the young ladies had all gone to bed,’ said the woman. ‘I don’t know where you two can have been larking about all this time not to know anything about it.’
‘I’m sure our mistresses wouldn’t have slipped off to bed without telling us,’ said Kingfisher. ‘More likely they just went off for a walk. Perhaps when Her Old Ladyship left they joined the others to see her back to her apartment. We’ll go over there now and have a look. If they are there, we shall know where your cup is. Why don’t you come round and ask me for it tomorrow? There’s no pressing hurry for it now, is there?’
‘There’s no hurry as long as I know where it is,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll call round and ask you for it tomorrow.’