by Cao Xueqin
THINKING OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
I gaze around in the west wind, sick at heart;
A sad season this of red smartweed and white reeds;
No sign is there of autumn by the bare fence round my plot.
Yet I dream of attenuated blooms in the frost.
My heart follows the wild geese back to the distant south,
Sitting lonely at dusk I hear pounding of washing blocks.
Who will pity me pining away for the yellow flowers?
On the Double Ninth Festival they will reappear.
The Lady of the Alpinia
VISITING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Seize the chance to ramble out on a clear frosty day
Rather than linger over wine or tea.
Who has planted this flower before the frost under the moonlight?
Whence springs this autumn glory by balustrade and fence?
Waxed sandals patter, come gaily from far away,
In soaring spirits he chants endless poems;
If the yellow bloom will take pity on the poet,
Let it welcome him with a string of cash hung from his cane.
The Happy Red Prince
PLANTING CHRYSANTHEMUMS
With my hoe I moved them from their bed in autumn
To plant them by the fence before my court;
An unexpected rain last night revived them,
How good to see them flower in this morning’s frost.
I chant a thousand poems to this autumn splendour
And drunk with wine toast its cold fragrance,
Seal its roots with mud and water it with spring water
To keep it free from dust by the three paths to the house of the recluse.
The Happy Red Prince
FACING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Brought from another plot, more precious than gold.
One clump is pale, one dark;
Sitting bareheaded by the lonely fence,
In the cold clean scent I hug my knees and chant.
None, surely, in the world as proud as you;
I alone, it seems, know your worth.
We should make the most of autumn, gone so soon,
And facing you I treasure every moment.
Old Friend of Pillowed Iridescence
DISPLAYING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Music and wine gladly accompany
Chrysanthemum adorning a desk with style.
By the seat dewy fragrance as if from the garden path;
Tossing my book aside I face a spray of autumn.
Fresh dreams penetrate the curtain in clear frost,
Sunset in chill garden recalls a former visit.
You too disdain the world, for we share the same taste,
Not lingering by breezy spring’s peach and plum blossom.
Old Friend of Pillowed Iridescence
WRITING ABOUT THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Day and night the imp of poetry assails men;
Skirting the fence, leaning on the rock, they start chanting;
With the tip of the brush, by the rime, they write fine lines,
Or facing the moon croon their sweet melodies.
We may fill a page with sorrow and self-pity,
But who can put into words what autumn means?
Ever since Tao Yuanming of old passed judgement
This flower’s worth has been sung through the centuries.
The Queen of Bamboos
PAINTING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Painting for pleasure after writing verses
One brushes on the reds and blues at random;
A thousand ink-dots form the leaves,
Traces of frost stain the clustering flowers;
Dark and light their shadows overlap in the breeze,
Under one’s hand autumn exhales its fragrance.
Don’t think these flowers are picked by the east fence,
They are fixed to the screen for the Double Ninth Festival.
The Lady of the Alpinia
QUESTIONING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
My questions about autumn none can answer,
Musing alone I stroll to the eastern fence.
Proud recluse, with what hermit are you taking refuge?
All flowers must bloom, what makes you bloom so late?
So lonely in dewy gardens and frosty courts.
When swans fly off, crickets chirp, does your heart ache?
Say not there is none in the world worth talking to;
Since you understand, why don’t we chat awhile?
The Queen of Bamboos
WEARING THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
Busy every day planting by the fence, picking for vases,
Not to adorn himself before the mirror,
The young lord of Changan is infatuated with flowers,
Just as the poet of Pengze was crazy for wine.
His short hair is wet with cold dew from the path,
His coarse cap stained with autumn frost and fragrance;
This eccentric recluse is scorned by the men of today,
But let them clap their hands and jeer by the roadside.
The Stranger Under the Plantain
THE CHRYSANTHEMUM’S SHADOW
The teeming, diverse shades of autumn splendour
Quietly loiter about the mountain path;
The few lamps inside windows far or near cast their shadows,
Chequered patterns of moonlight filtered through wicker fence.
The soul of cold fragrance should dwell in these reflections,
Empty even in dreams the frost tracery of their spirit;
Tread softly and take good care of this dark sweetness,
For who can discern it in his drunken eyes?
Old Friend of Pillowed Iridescence
A DREAM OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS
A refreshing sleep by the fence while autumn mellows
And clouds and moonlight mingle hazily;
No need to envy Zhuang Zi his butterfly dream;
Recalling old friends, let me seek out Tao Yuanming.
In sleep the vision recedes with the flight of swans,
Aroused with a start we resent the chirp of crickets;
Awake, to whom can I describe my grief,
The infinite melancholy of cold mist and withered grass?
The Queen of Bamboos
THE WITHERED CHRYSANTHEMUM
Slowly drooping below congealed dew and heavy frost
Just after a feast in its honour on the Day of Light Snow.
The pale golden petals still retain some fragrance,
But the marred green leaves are withering on the stem.
Crickets chirp sadly under denuded boughs,
Wild geese wing slowly through far-flung frosty clouds;
Next year in autumn we shall meet again,
No need to sorrow over this brief parting.
The Stranger Under the Plantain
As they read each poem they praised it, heaping compliments on each other.
“Let me try to pass fair judgement now,” said Li Wan with a smile. “On the whole each poem has striking lines but, speaking impartially, I rank Writing About the Chrysanthemum first, Questioning the Chrysanthemum second, and A Dream of Chrysanthemums third; for all three show originality in the theme, ideas and style. The Queen of Bamboos will have to be given first place. Next in order of merit come Wearing the Chrysanthemum, Facing the Chrysanthemum, Displaying the Chrysanthemum, Painting the Chrysanthemum and Thinking of the Chrysanthemum.”
Baoyu clapped his hands in delight at this, exclaiming, “Absolutely right. Very fair.”
“Mine didn’t amount to much,” Daiyu observed. “They’re rather contrived.”
“But aptly so,” rejoined Li Wan. “Not stiff and overloaded.”
“To my mind,” continued Daiyu, “the best line of all is ‘Sunset in chill garden recalls a former visit’ which presents such a strong contrast. And ‘Tossing my book aside I face a spray of autumn’ is perfect, leaving n
othing more to be said about displaying chrysanthemums, so that she had to revert to the time before the flower was plucked and put in the vase. Very penetrating, very subtle.”
“Quite so. Still, your line about ‘sweet melodies’ is even better,” countered Li Wan.
Tanchun put in, “And what about the Lady of the Alpinia? ‘No sign is there of autumn’ and ‘yet in dream I see’ bring out the idea of nostalgia so vividly.”
Baochai smiled and replied, “Your ‘short hair wet with cold dew’ and ‘coarse cap stained with fragrance’ do full justice to the subject too.”
Xiangyun remarked gaily, “Questions like ‘With what hermit are you taking refuge?’ and ‘What makes you bloom so late?’ are bound to stump the flower.”
Li Wan retorted, “I daresay your sitting bareheaded and hugging your knees while you chant, refusing to leave, would get on the flower’s nerves too—if it had any.”
At that there was general laughter.
“I’m last again,” said Baoyu cheerfully. “But surely my ‘Who has planted this flower?’ ‘Whence springs this autumn glory?,’ ‘waxed sandals come from far away,’ and ‘chants endless poems’ describe visiting the chrysanthemum all right? And don’t ‘rain last night’ and ‘this morning’s frost’ describe the planting? It’s just that they’re not up to such images as ‘facing the moon croon their sweet melodies,’ ‘In the cold clean scent I hug my knees and chant,’ ‘short hair,’ ‘coarse cap,’ ‘pale gold,’ ‘the marred green leaves are withering,’ ‘no sign is there of autumn’ and ‘seen in dreams.’“ He added, “Tomorrow when I’ve time, I mean to write on all twelve themes.”
“Your verses aren’t bad,” Li Wan told him. “They’re not as distinctive as the others though.”
After some further discussion of the poems they called for more hot crabs and sat round the big table to eat.
“Now that we’re enjoying the fragrant osmanthus and eating crabs, we should write verses about this too,” said Baoyu presently. “I’ve already made one. Who else is game?”
With that he hastily washed his hands and wrote out his poem for the others.
EATING CRABS
How fine to eat crabs in the cool shade of osmanthus;
Gaily we pile on ginger, splash vinegar on each part;
A true gourmand should also have wine;
But this creature scuttling sidewise has no heart.
In our greed we forget how hard it is to digest,
Our fingers washed, the reek of its oil will remain;
The crab’s sole function is to please men’s palate,
And Su Dongpo laughed because its whole life it’s busy in vain.
“If you call that a poem,” scoffed Daiyu, “I can write you a hundred.”
“No, you’ve exhausted your talent, you can’t write any more. All you can do is to disparage other people.”
Instead of answering and without stopping to think, she picked up the brush and promptly wrote a verse:
Girt even in death with iron armour and long spears.
On the plate, delicious, it’s sat,
Its pincers packed with meat like tender jade.
Its shell bulging with red, tasty fat
How I love those eight succulent legs—
But who’ll urge me to drink a thousand cups till my grief is overcome?
Let us toast this dainty at our feast today
When breeze raffles fragrant osmanthus and frost gathers on chrysanthemum.
Baoyu reading this was loud in his praise, but Daiyu tore it up and told the maids to burn it.
“Mine isn’t as good as yours, so I’m burning it,” she told him with a smile. “Yours is fine. Better than your chrysanthemum poems. You should keep it to show other people.”
“I’ve made a feeble attempt too,” Baochai put in with a laugh. “It’s not much good, but I’ll write it out to amuse you.”
She did so and they read:
We sit, cups raised, in the shade of osmanthus and Wu-tong;
Mouths watering, for the Double Ninth we pine;
It crawls sidewise because the ways of the world are crooked,
And, white and yellow, harbours a dark design.
They all exclaimed at this point in admiration.
“That’s the style!” cried Baoyu. “My verse will have to be burned too.”
Then they read on:
Wine won’t purge the smell without chrysanthemums,
And ginger is needed dyspepsia to prevent;
What can it do now, fallen into the cauldron?
On the moonlit bank all that remains is the millet’s scent.
“It takes real talent to get deep significance into such a small subject as eating crabs,” the others commented. “But as a satire, this is rather hard on the world!”
They were interrupted by Pinger’s return to the Garden. To know what her business was, you must read the next chapter.
Chapter 39
An Old Village Woman Tells Tall Stories
A Romantic Youth Insists on Following Them Up
On Pinger’s return she was asked, “What’s your mistress doing? Why hasn’t she come back?”
“She’s too busy,” replied Pinger, smiling. “As she didn’t get a chance to eat properly and can’t come, she’s sent me to ask whether there are any crabs left. If so, I’m to take a few back for her to eat.”
“There are plenty left,” Xiangyun assured her.
She promptly ordered ten of the largest crabs to be brought.
“Mostly female ones if you please!” added Pinger.
They tried to make her take a seat, but she refused.
“We insist!” cried Li Wan laughingly.
She forced her on to the seat beside her own, filled a cup with wine and held it to her lips. But after one hurried sip Pinger rose to go.
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Li Wan. “I can see the only one who counts for you is Xifeng. You won’t listen to what I say.”
She ordered some matrons to deliver the hamper of crabs and tell Xifeng that she was keeping Pinger there.
Presently a matron returned with the empty hamper.
“Madam Lian says you and the young ladies mustn’t laugh at her greediness, madam,” she reported. “In this hamper are some caltrop cakes and chicken-fat rolls sent by Aunt Wang for you, madam, and the young ladies.” She then turned to Pinger. “She says she knew, once she sent you here, you’d stay to amuse yourself; but you mustn’t drink too much.”
“And what if I do?” retorted Pinger, as she went on helping herself to wine and crab.
“Such a lovely girl!” cried Li Wan, taking her arm. “What a pity she’s fated to wait on other people. Anyone not in the know would take you for the mistress of the house.”
Pinger, eating and drinking with Baochai and Xiangyun, turned her head to protest with a smile, “Don’t tickle me, madam.”
“My, what are these hard things?” asked Li Wan.
“Keys,” was the answer.
“Why, what valuables are you afraid of people stealing that you carry these keys about on you? It’s as I always say: When Monk Tripitaka was searching for Buddhist scriptures, a white horse turned up to carry him; when Liu Zhiyuan was fighting for the empire, a melon spirit appeared to give him armour. In the same way, Xifeng has you. You’re her master-key. What does she want these keys for?”
Pinger laughed.
“Now you’re making fun of me in your cups, madam.”
“It’s true all the same,” said Baochai. “When we’ve nothing to do but gossip, we always agree that each single one of you girls is one in a hundred. And the wonderful thing is that each one of you has her own good qualities.”
“Providence orders all things, great and small,” chimed in Li Wan. “For instance, what would the old lady do without Yuanyang? Nobody else, not even Lady Wang, dares contradict the old lady; but when Yuanyang does, the old lady listens to her. Nobody else can remember all the clothes and trinkets th
e old lady has, but Yuanyang remembers. If not for her being in charge, goodness knows how many things would have been swindled out of them. Even so, the girl’s broad-minded and instead of throwing her weight about she often puts in a good word for others.”
“Only yesterday,” remarked Xichun with a smile, “the old lady was saying she’s better than any of us.”
“She’s really fine,” agreed Pinger. “We others can’t compare with her.”
“Caixia in my mother’s apartments is an honest girl too,” put in Baoyu.
“Yes, she appears simple,” said Tanchun, “yet she’s smart. Her Ladyship is as unworldly as a Buddha, but if she overlooks anything Caixia sees to it for her. She keeps an eye on everything down to the least details of our father’s affairs at home and outside. So if her mistress forgets anything she quietly reminds her.”
“True enough,” said Li Wan. She pointed at Baoyu, “And think what would happen in this young gentleman’s rooms, if not for Xiren’s good judgement. As for Xifeng, why, even if she had the strength of the Conqueror of Chu who could lift a tripod weighing a thousand catties, how could she handle everything without Pinger here?”
“Four of us came with our mistress at the time of her marriage,” said Pinger. “But the others have either died or gone, so that now I’m the only one left.”
“So much the better for you as well as for Xifeng,” commented Li Wan. “When your Master Zhu was alive we had two maids too, and I’m not the jealous type, am I? But they bickered so much every day that after his death I married them both off while they were still young. If there’d been just one worth keeping, I’d have someone to help me now.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Why let this upset you?” said the others. “You’re better off without them.”
So saying they washed their hands and went to pay their respects to the Lady Dowager and Lady Wang. While the other maids swept the pavilion and cleared away the cups and dishes, Xiren took Pinger back with her to her room. And once seated there she asked her: