A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  When Daiyu saw the distracted state he was in she refrained from asking any questions, knowing that he must have been affected by something somewhere.

  “I’ve just come from auntie,” she told him. “Tomorrow is Aunt Xue’s birthday, and auntie wants to know whether you’ll go over or not. You’d better send someone to tell her.”

  “I didn’t even go on my uncle’s birthday,” he said. “What if I were to meet someone there tomorrow? I’d rather steer clear of both birthdays. Besides, it’s too hot for ceremonial dress. I’m sure Aunt Xue won’t mind if I don’t show up.”

  “The idea!” exclaimed Xiren. “She’s on quite a different footing from His Lordship. You live close by, and she’s a relative. If you don’t go, she’ll wonder why. If it’s the heat you’re afraid of, why not go first thing to kowtow and come back again after a cup of tea. Wouldn’t that look better?”

  Before Baoyu could answer, Daiyu teased, “You should go anyway for the sake of the one who kept away the mosquitoes.”

  “What’s this about mosquitoes?” he demanded.

  Xiren explained how Baochai had sat with him during his siesta the previous day, when there was nobody to wait on him.

  “That’s too bad,” he cried. “How rude of me to sleep all through her visit. Well then, I must go tomorrow.”

  Just then Xiangyun appeared in formal dress. Her family had sent for her and she had come to say goodbye. At once they rose and asked her to be seated, but she could not stay and they had to see her out. Although her eyes were brimming with tears, she dared not complain in front of her family servants; but Baochai’s arrival presently increased her reluctance to leave.

  Baochai knew that if the servants reported this on their return to her aunt, Xiangyun might suffer for it. Accordingly she urged her to make a start. They saw her to the second gate, and Baoyu would have gone further but Xiangyun stopped him. She turned back, however, and beckoned him to her side.

  “If the old lady forgets me,” she whispered, “do remind her to send someone to fetch me back.”

  Baoyu promised to do this for her.

  They followed her with their eyes while she went to her carriage, and then retraced their steps. If you want to know what happened next, read on.

  Chapter 37

  Begonia Club Takes Form One Day in the Studio of Autumn

  Freshness Themes for Poems on Chrysanthemums Are Prepared One Evening in Alpinia Park

  Jia Zheng, having been appointed this year an Examiner of Provincial Education, chose the twentieth of the eighth month to start his journey. On that day, after paying his respects to the ancestral shrines and to the Lady Dowager, he was seen off by Baoyu and other young men of the family all the way to the Pavilion of Parting. But his doings outside need not concern us here.

  His father’s departure left Baoyu free to do as he pleased in the Garden, and he frittered away whole months in idleness. He was feeling listless one day when Cuimo brought him a letter on fancy note-paper.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” said Baoyu. “I’d quite forgotten, I meant to go and see Third Sister. Is she better?”

  “Yes, she’s stopped taking medicine today,” replied Cuimo. “It was only a slight chill.”

  Baoyu unfolded the letter then and read:

  Tanchun greets her Second Brother.

  The other night the moon was clear after the rain, and it seemed such a rare chance to enjoy the moonlight that I stayed up until midnight strolling under the trees. As a result, I caught a chill in the dew. You took the trouble to come in person and cheer me up yesterday, then sent your maids with gifts of fresh lichees and Yan Zhenqing’s calligraphy. I was extremely touched by your kind concern.

  As I was resting quietly today it occurred to me that the ancients, even when pursuing fame and struggling for profit, kept a small hill or stream to which they could retire; and there, with a few friends from far or near, they amused themselves in their cups by organizing poetry clubs or literary forums. The fame of those impromptu gatherings has come down through the centuries.

  Though I myself have no talent I am lucky enough to live with others among rocks and fountains, and I admire the polished verses of Baochai and Daiyu. It would be a pity not to invite poetizers to a feast in a cool courtyard and a moonlit pavilion or to make poems and drink in Apricot Tavern by Peach Stream. Why should the genius of the Lotus Society be confined to men? Why should girls be excluded from cultured gatherings like those in the Eastern Hills?

  If you will condescend to come, I shall sweep the path clear of blossoms to wait for you.

  Respectfully written.

  Baoyu clapped his hands delightedly.

  “How high-brow Third Sister’s become!” he chuckled. “I’ll go now and discuss this with her.”

  He set off at once with Cuimo at his heels, and had just reached Seeping Fragrance Pavilion when the serving-woman on duty at the back gate of the Garden appeared with a letter. Catching sight of Baoyu she approached him and announced: “Master Yun sends his respects. He is waiting at the back gate and told me to give you this.”

  Baoyu opened the letter and read:

  Your unworthy child Jia Yun sends his respectful greetings and wishes his noble father boundless health and happiness.

  Since I had the good fortune to become your adopted son, I have been longing day and night to please you but found no way to show my filial piety. Recently I was entrusted with the purchase of flowers, and thanks to your great influence I have been able to make the acquaintance of many gardeners and visit many celebrated gardens. I discovered a rare species of white begonia and after considerable difficulty have succeeded in acquiring just two pots. If you consider me as your own son, please keep these flowers to enjoy.

  As the weather is so hot I will not presume to intrude, for fear of disturbing the young ladies in the Garden. I kowtow with humble respect, wishing you good health.

  Having read this Baoyu asked with a smile, “Did he come all alone?”

  “Just with two pots of flowers,” said the old woman.

  “Go and tell him I’ve read his letter and appreciate his thoughtful-ness. You can put the flowers in my room.”

  With that he went with Cuimo to the Studio of Autumn Freshness where Baochai, Daiyu, Yingchun and Xichun were assembled.

  “Here comes another!” they cried, laughing, as he entered.

  “Not so vulgar, was it, that sudden idea of mine?” asked Tanchun gleefully. “I wrote a few invitations to see what would happen, and you all turn up in force.”

  “We should have started a club like this long ago,” observed Baoyu.

  “Start one if you like, but don’t count me in,” said Daiyu. “I’m not up to it.”

  “If you’re not, who is?” countered Yingchun with a smile.

  “This is a serious business,” declared Baoyu. “We should encourage each other, not back out of politeness. Let’s all give our ideas for general discussion. What suggestions have you, Cousin Baochai? And Cousin Daiyu?”

  “What’s the hurry?” asked Baochai. “We’re not all here yet.”

  Before she had finished speaking Li Wan walked in.

  “How very refined!” she cried, laughing. “If you’re going to start a poetry club, I’ll volunteer to preside. I had this very idea last spring, but on second thoughts decided it would only be asking for trouble as I can’t write poetry myself. So I dropped the idea and forgot it. Now that Third Sister’s so keen, I’ll help you get this going.”

  “If you’re set on starting a poetry club,” said Daiyu, “we must all be poets. And first, to be less conventional, we must stop calling each other ‘sister,’ ‘cousin,’ ‘sister-in-law’ and so forth.”

  “Quite right,” agreed Li Wan. “Let’s choose some elegant pen-names. I’ll be The Old Peasant of Sweet Paddy. No one else can have that name.”

  “I’ll be Master of Autumn Freshness,” cried Tanchun. “There’s something unreal and awkward about ‘master’ and ‘scholar,
’“ objected Baoyu. “With all these wu-tung trees and plantains here, why not use them in your name?”

  “Yes, I know what. I like plantains best so I’ll call myself The Stranger Under the Plantain.”

  The others approved this as more original.

  Only Daiyu teased, “Drag her off, quick! Stew some slices of her flesh to go with our wine.” When the others looked mystified she explained with a smile, “Didn’t an ancient say, ‘The deer was covered with the plantain’? If she calls herself The Stranger Under the Plantain, she must be a deer. Let’s hurry up and cook this venison.”

  Amid general laughter Tanchun cried, “Just you wait! You’re very clever at making fun of people, but I’ve got the right name for you, a perfect name.” She turned to the rest. “The wives of King Shun shed so many tears on bamboos that thereafter their stems became speckled, and now the speckled bamboo is called by their name. Well, she lives in Bamboo Lodge and she’s always crying. When one day she pines for a husband, I’m sure the bamboos there will grow speckled too. I propose we call her Queen of the Bamboos.”

  The rest applauded while Daiyu lowered her head, reduced to silence.

  “I’ve thought of a good name for Cousin Baochai,” volunteered Li Wan. “A short one too.”

  “What is it?” asked Xichun and Yingchun.

  “I’m entitling her Lady of the Alpinia. How’s that?”

  “An excellent title,” said Tanchun.

  “How about wine?” asked Baoyu. “Think of one for me too.”

  “You’ve already got one.” Baochai chuckled. “Much Ado About Nothing is just the name for you.”

  “Why not keep your old title of Prince of the Crimson Cavern?” suggested Li Wan.

  Baoyu smiled sheepishly.

  “Don’t bring up the silly things I did as a child.”

  “You’ve already got plenty of pen-names,” said Tanchun.

  “What do you want a new one for? We can just call you by any name we feel like.”

  “I’ve got one for you,” offered Baochai. “It’s vulgar, but it suits you to the ground. The two hardest things to come by are riches and nobility, and the third is leisure. Few people enjoy more than one of these, but you have all three. So you should be called The Rich and Noble Idler.”

  “That’s too good for me.” Baoyu grinned. “But just as you please.”

  “What about Second Cousin and Fourth Cousin?” asked Li Wan.

  “We’re no good at writing poetry so we shan’t need pen-names,” rejoined Yingchun.

  “Even so, you’d each better have one,” urged Tanchun.

  “As Yingchun lives on Purple Caltrop Isle, let her be Mistress of Caltrop Isle,” suggested Baochai. “And Xichun in the Pavilion of Scented Lotus could be Mistress of Lotus Pavilion.”

  “Very good,” said Li Wan. “Now as I’m the eldest you must all listen to me. I’m sure you’ll agree to my proposal. We seven are starting this club; but as Second Cousin, Fourth Cousin and I are no poetesses you must leave us out when it comes to writing, and we’ll each take charge of something.”

  “We’ve already got titles.” Tanchun giggled. “But we might just as well not have them, the way you’re still talking. We must decide on forfeits for mistakes like that from now on.”

  “Wait till we’ve set up the club before laying down rules,” said Li Wan. “My apartments are the largest, let’s meet there. Though I can’t versify, if you poets don’t object to my vulgar company I’ll act as hostess and in that way acquire some culture too. But if you elect me as warden, I shan’t be able to manage on my own. We must have as our deputy-wardens the scholars of Caltrop Isle and Lotus Pavilion, one to set the theme and rhymes, the other as copyist and supervisor. We won’t make a ruling that we three are not to write—when the subject and rhyme are easy we may have a go—but you four definitely must write. That’s my proposal. If you don’t accept it, I must withdraw from this illustrious company.”

  As Yingchun and Xichun had no liking for versifying and no chance of outdoing Baochai or Daiyu, they willingly agreed to this arrangement which suited them down to the ground. The others, seeing their relief, acquiesced understandingly without pressing them.

  “All right then,” said Tanchun cheerfully. “Seems funny to me, though. This was my brain-wave, but you three end up in charge.”

  “Now that’s settled,” put in Baoyu, “let’s go to Paddy-Sweet Cottage.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry,” objected Li Wan. “We’re still in the planning stage. Wait till I invite you.”

  “At least we should agree on how often to meet,” urged Baochai.

  “If we meet too often we won’t enjoy it,” predicted Tanchun. “Let’s limit it to two or three times a month.”

  Baochai nodded.

  “Twice a month is enough. We’ll fix dates and meet regardless of wind or rain. If anyone likes to invite people to her place or the usual place for another gathering on some other day, well and good. Wouldn’t that be more flexible and greater fun?”

  They all approved this idea.

  “As this was my suggestion,” said Tanchun, “you must let me play hostess first. That’s only fair.”

  “Very well then,” agreed Li Wan. “You can call the first meeting tomorrow.”

  “Why not today? There’s no time like the present. You set the subject, Caltrop Isle can fix the rhymes, and Lotus Pavilion can supervise.”

  “I don’t think the subject and rhymes should be decided by one person,” Yingchun demurred. “Drawing lots would be fairer.”

  “On my way here,” remarked Li Wan, “I saw them carrying in two pots of white begonia which looked simply lovely. Why not write on the begonia?”

  “Without having seen them?” protested Yingchun. “How can we?”

  “It’s only white begonia,” countered Baochai. “There’s no need to look at it first. The ancients wrote to manifest their own temperaments and feelings. If they’d only written about things they’d seen, we wouldn’t have so many poems today.”

  “In that case let me settle the rhymes,” said Yingchun.

  She took a volume of poetry from the bookcase and opened it at random at a lushi with seven-character lines. Having held this out for all to see, she told them to use the same metre. Then putting the book away she turned to a little maid.

  “Say any word that comes into your head.”

  The maid, standing by the door, said, “Men (door).”

  “Very well, that rhyme belongs to the thirteenth section of the rhyme system,” announced Yingchun. “And that word must come in the first line.”

  Next she asked for the box of rhyme cards, pulled out the thirteenth drawer and told the maid to pick four cards at random. These proved to be pen (pot), hun (spirit), hen (stain) and hun (dim).

  “‘Pot’ and ‘door’ aren’t easy to fit in,” was Baoyu’s comment.

  Daishu prepared four lots of paper and writing-brushes, and all quietened down to think. All but Daiyu, who went on fondling the wu-tong trees, looking at the autumn scene or joking with the maids. Yingchun had a stick of Sweet-Dream Incense lit. Being only three inches long and no thicker than a lampwick, this burnt quickly. The poems had to be finished before it burnt out, on pain of a penalty.

  Tanchun was the first to finish. She wrote out her poem, made one or two corrections, and handed the paper to Yingchun.

  “Are you ready, Lady of the Alpinia?” she asked Baochai.

  “Yes, mine’s done, but it’s no good,” replied Baochai.

  Baoyu, his hands behind his back, was pacing up and down the corridor. “Hear that?” he said to Daiyu. “They’ve finished theirs.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she answered. Then he saw that Baochai had copied out her poem. “Good gracious!” he exclaimed. “There’s only one inch of the incense left, but all I’ve done is four lines.” He turned to Daiyu. “The incense is nearly burnt out. Do stop squatting on the damp ground.”

  Daiyu paid no attention.
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  “I can’t help you now,” he said. “I must write mine out, however bad it is.” With that he walked to the desk. “We’re going to look at the poems now,” announced Li Wan. “Anyone who doesn’t hand his in by the time we finish reading the others will have to pay a forfeit.”

  “The Old Peasant of Sweet Paddy may not write well herself,” remarked Baoyu, “but she’s a good judge and absolutely impartial. We’ll all stand by your verdict.”

  The rest agreed. First they looked at Tanchun’s paper.

  Chill the sunset grass in front of the closed door,

  Thick the green moss the rain-drenched pot below;

  Her spirit’s purity surpasses jade,

  Her gentle form is ravishing as snow.

  A faint ethereal loveliness is hers,

  Her shadow at midnight chequers the moon’s light.

  Do not fly from me, chaste goddess;

  Abide with me as fall the shades of night.

  After admiring this they read Baochai’s poem:

  For the sake of the flowers the door is closed by day

  As I go to water the pots with moss overgrown;

  Immaculate its shadow on autumn steps,

  Pure as snow and ice its spirit by dewy stone.

  Only true whiteness dazzles with its brightness;

  Can so much sadness leave a flawless jade?

  Its purity rewards the god of autumn,

  Speechless and chaste it stays as sunbeams fade.

  Li Wan remarked with a smile, “Trust the Lady of the Alpinia!” Then they turned to Baoyu’s poem:

  Autumn blooms cast chequered shadows by the door, Seven nodes of snowy flowers in pots arrayed, Like Lady Yang’s shade, fresh from the bath, ice-pure. Or Xi Shi’s mournful spirit fair as jade. No morning breeze can scatter this infinite sadness, And the rain adds fresh tear-stains at night; Leaning by painted balustrade it seems sensate As pounding of clothes and fluting put dusk to flight.

  When all had read this, Baoyu expressed his own preference for Tanchun’s verse, but Li Wan insisted that Baochai’s was more distinguished. She then asked Daiyu for her poem.