A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  “I couldn’t help thinking then how considerate Baoyu is to you girls, and how proud of you as well. Yet two years ago Lianger stole a piece of jade, which is still making idle tongues wag, and now another of your girls has stolen a gold bracelet from one of his neighbours, too! It’s a shame that Baoyu of all people should be disgraced by his own maids in this way. So I hurriedly asked Mrs. Song on no account to tell him but just to forget it, and to say nothing to anyone about it. For if this came to the ears of the old lady and Lady Wang, how angry they’d be! It would reflect badly on Xiren and the rest of you as well.

  “So I simply told Madam Lian that the clasp of my bracelet was loose and so I’d dropped it in the grass on the way to Madam Zhu’s place, when the snow was too deep to find it. Today after the snow had melted and it lay glinting in the sun, I picked it up where I’d dropped it. And she took my word for it. The reason I’m telling you this is so that you’ll take precautions in future and not send Zhuier out on any errands. When Xiren comes back, you can talk it over with her and cook up some excuse for dismissing the girl.”

  “It’s not as if the little bitch hadn’t seen plenty of things of that sort,” exclaimed Sheyue. “Why did she have to steal it?”

  “There’s not too much gold in that bracelet, though the pearl on it is a good size,” remarked Pinger. “It’s one that Madam Lian gave me. She called it her ‘shrimp-beard bracelet.’ I haven’t told Qingwen because she’s as hot-tempered as crackling charcoal. She’d be bound to flare up and start beating or cursing the girl; then the whole story would get out. That’s why I’m just warning you to be on your guard.” This said she took her leave.

  Baoyu had overheard this with mixed feelings: pleasure at Pinger’s consideration for him, anger at Zhuier’s dishonesty, and regret that such an intelligent girl should do something so underhand.

  He went back to Qingwen and told her all that Pinger had said, concluding, “She didn’t want you to know till you were better, because you take things so much to heart that this news might make your illness worse.”

  Indeed, Qingwen’s eyebrows had shot up and her eyes were round with rage. She wanted to summon Zhuier then and there.

  “All Pinger’s consideration for us would be wasted if you make a scene,” he warned. “As she’s been so thoughtful, let’s do as she suggested and get rid of Zhuier later.”

  “It’s all very well for you to talk,” cried Qingwen. “But I can’t stand it—I’m so angry!”

  “It’s not worth flaring up about. Just concentrate on getting better.”

  Qingwen took some medicine then and that evening had the second infusion. She sweated a little that night, but not enough, and awoke the next morning with a fever, headache, a stopped-up nose and sore throat. Doctor Wang called again and made certain alterations in the prescription; but although her temperature went down a little, her head continued to ache.

  “Bring her some snuff,” Baoyu told Sheyue. “She’ll feel better after a few good sneezes.”

  Sheyue accordingly brought him a small flat, golden-starred glass case with gilt double-catches, and Baoyu opened it. Inside the lid, in western enamel, was a picture of a naked girl with yellow hair and fleshy wings the case contained some genuine Wangqia foreign snuff; but instead of taking it, Qingwen just pored over the picture.

  “Do hurry up and take some,” Baoyu urged her. “It’s not good to expose snuff to the air too long.”

  She promptly dipped one finger-nail into the snuff, put it to her nose and inhaled. As she felt no effect, she tried a larger amount. At once her nose tingled and the smarting spread right up to her cranium. She sneezed so violently, five or six times in succession, that her nose and eyes started to run.

  “My, that’s better!” she exclaimed, closing the case. “Fetch me some paper, quick.”

  One of the younger maids had a stack of fine soft paper ready, and Qingwen took sheet after sheet to blow her nose.

  “Well, how’s that?” asked Baoyu. “Better. But my temples still ache.”

  “We may as well try some other Western medicine to set that right too.” He told Sheyue, “Go and ask the Second Mistress for some of that Western ointment she keeps for headaches. Yi-fu-na, it’s called.”

  Sheyue assented and went off to Xifeng’s apartments, returning after a while with some of the ointment. She then fetched a scrap of red satin from which she cut out two round patches, each the size of her finger-tip. Having heated the ointment, she spread it on with a hairpin. Qingwen picked up a hand-mirror and stuck the patches on her temples herself.

  “You were lying there like a tousled ghost,” teased Sheyue. “Now with these patches you look rather pretty! We’re so used to the Second Mistress wearing these that we hardly notice them on her.”

  She turned to Baoyu. “Madam Lian says tomorrow is your Uncle Wang’s birthday, and the mistress wants you to go and pay your respects. What will you wear? We’d better get your clothes ready tonight, to save trouble tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll wear whatever’s handy,” Baoyu answered. “I can’t keep track of these endless birthdays all the year round.”

  With that he got up and went out, intending to go and watch Xichun painting. Just outside his compound, however, he saw Baoqin’s little maid Xiaoluo passing by not far away. Overtaking her, he asked where she was going.

  “Our two young ladies are with Miss Daiyu,” she told him. “I’m on my way there too.”

  So he changed his mind and went with her to Bamboo Lodge. There, sitting round the brazier and chatting with Daiyu, he found not only Baochai and Baoqin but Xiuyan as well, while Zijuan was sewing in the warm alcove by the window.

  “Here comes another!” they cried at sight of him. “There’s no place left for you.”

  “What a delightful picture!” laughed Baoyu. “‘Beauties in a Winter Chamber!’ Too bad I didn’t come a bit earlier. Still, this is the warmest room there is and I shan’t be cold on this chair.”

  He seated himself on Daiyu’s favourite chair which was covered with a squirrel-fur rug. And his eye fell on a rectangular marble jardiniere in the alcove in which were arranged some single-petalled narcissi and rocks.

  “What lovely flowers!” he exclaimed. “The warmer the room, the stronger their scent. How is it I didn’t notice them yesterday?”

  Daiyu told him, “The wife of your chief steward Lai Da sent Baoqin two pots of winter-plum and two of narcissi. Baoqin gave me one pot of narcissi and Tanchun one of winter-plum. I only took it to show my appreciation of her kindness. If you like it, you can have it.”

  “I’ve two pots actually in my room, only they’re not as good as this,” he replied. “How can you possibly give away a present from cousin Baoqin?”

  “I’ve medicine simmering on the stove all day; in fact, I practically live on medicine,” she countered. “How can I stand the scent of flowers as well? It’s too enervating. Besides, the pungent aroma of medicine here spoils the fragrance of the flowers. You’d better take these narcissi to your place where their pure perfume won’t get mixed up with other odours.”

  “How do you know?” he demanded laughingly. “I’ve a patient taking medicine in my place too now.”

  “That’s a strange way to talk,” she retorted. “As if I was hinting at something. How should I know what’s happening in your apartments? You should have come earlier to listen to our stories, instead of turning up now and raising such a rumpus.”

  “We’ve a subject now for the next meeting of our club,” declared Baoyu. “We can write on the narcissus and winter-plum.”

  “Not I!” cried Daiyu. “No more versifying for me. One only gets penalized each time, and that’s too shameful.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “Now then!” laughed Baoyu. “Why make fun of me again? If even I don’t feel ashamed why should you hide your face?”

  “Next time I’ll call a meeting,” announced Baochai. “Each of you will have to produce four pentasyllable shi and four c
i on different themes. The first shi of couplets will be on The Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate, and all the words that rhyme with xian will have to be used—not one must be left out.”

  “You obviously don’t really want to invite us, cousin, or you wouldn’t make things so difficult,” chuckled Baoqin. “Of course, if one tried, one could manage by filling up the lines with phrases from the Book of Changes but where’s the fun in that? When I was eight, my father took me to the coast of the western sea to buy foreign goods, and there we saw a girl from the land of Zhenzhen, who had just turned fifteen, with a face like those beauties in Western paintings. Her long golden hair was plaited, and in it she wore precious stones like coral, amber, cat’s-eye and emerald, she had on golden chainmail and a jacket of foreign brocade, and she carried a Japanese sword inlaid with gold and studded with gems-in fact, she was even lovelier than those beauties in the paintings. It was said that she was versed in our Chinese classics and could expound the Five Canons and write poems; so my father asked, through an interpreter, to see one of her poems written in her own hand.” They all marvelled at this story.

  Baoyu pleaded, “Good cousin, do let me have a look at that poem!”

  “I left it in Nanjing,” said Baoqin. “I can’t lay my hands on it at a moment’s notice.”

  Baoyu, most disappointed, sighed at not having the luck to see it.

  “Don’t try to fool us!” chuckled Daiyu, tugging at Baoqin’s sleeve. “I know you wouldn’t leave such things behind. You’d naturally bring them all along. They may be taken in by your fib, but not I.”

  Baoqin smiled and blushingly lowered her head in silence.

  “Trust Daiyu to say such a thing,” put in Baochai. “You can’t outsmart her.”

  “If you’ve brought it, do let us profit by seeing it,” urged Daiyu.

  “They’ve a whole pile of cases and baskets not yet sorted out,” explained Baochai. “Who knows which one it’s in? Just wait until everything’s properly unpacked, then she’ll let everyone see it.” She turned to Baoqin. “Don’t you know it by heart? Do recite it.”

  “I remember a pentasyllable regular verse she wrote,” said Paoqin. “It wasn’t bad at all for a foreigner.”

  “Wait a bit,” interposed Baochai. “Let’s get Xiangyun here to hear it too.” She called Xiaoluo and told her, “Go to our apartments and tell our maid poetess that we have a foreign beauty here who writes good poems. And tell her to bring the other poetry maniac to see her too.”

  Xiaoluo went off on this errand with a smile.

  After a while they heard Xiangyun demanding merrily, “Where is this foreign beauty?” And in she came with Xiangling.

  They teased, “Before you see her, you hear her voice.”

  Baoqin and the others hurriedly offered them seats and told them what had been said.

  “Hurry up and let us hear the poem,” begged Xiangyun.

  Then Baoqin recited:

  Last night I dreamed in a vermilion mansion,

  Today my songs rise by the sea:

  Clouds from the islands make a haze over the ocean,

  Mist from the hills links the forests’ greenery;

  To the moon, past and present are One;

  Men’s passions, inconstant, are no counterpart.

  As spring pervades south China.

  How can I but take this to heart?

  “Not bad at all!” was the verdict. “Better, in fact, than some Chinese could write.”

  As they were speaking Sheyue came in to announce, “The mistress has sent to tell Master Bao to call on his uncle first thing tomorrow morning. She wants him to explain that she’s not well enough to go herself.”

  Baoyu, who had risen to accept these instructions, asked Baochai and Baoqin if they would be going too.

  “No,” said Baochai. “We just sent presents yesterday.”

  After a little further chat they dispersed.

  Baoyu had told his cousins to go on ahead, leaving him to follow, but now Daiyu asked him:

  “When will Xiren be back?”

  “Not until after the funeral, of course,” he answered.

  Daiyu had more to say but hesitated, lost in thought for a while.

  “Well, go along now,” she said finally.

  Baoyu, too, had much in his heart to say but did not know how to put it into words. After a thoughtful pause he rejoined, “We can talk again tomorrow.”

  He walked down the steps with lowered head, turning back suddenly to ask, “Are you coughing much, now that the nights are longer? How often do you wake?”

  “I had a good night yesterday, with only two fits of coughing. But I only managed to sleep through the fourth watch—after that I couldn’t get back to sleep again.”

  “I’ve just remembered something important.” Drawing closer to her he whispered, “I think that bird’s-nest Baochai gave you....”

  He was cut short by the arrival of concubine Zhao, come to ask after Daiyu’s health.

  Daiyu knew that she had only called out of politeness on her way back from Tanchun’s apartments. She made her sit down and remarked, “It was considerate of you to come out on such a cold day.”

  She ordered tea, glancing at Baoyu as she did so. Taking the hint, he left to join his mother for dinner, and was there reminded to make an early start the next day. Upon his return to Happy Red Court he saw to it that Qingwen took her medicine and slept in the warmth inside the alcove, while he remained outside. The brazier was moved closer to the alcove, and Sheyue slept on the clothes-warmer. They passed a quiet night.

  The next morning Qingwen woke Sheyue before it was light

  “Get up!” she called. “You never seem to have had enough sleep! Go and get them to make some tea while I wake him up.” Sheyue scrambled into her clothes.

  “Let’s get him up and dressed first, and move away this clothes-warmer before we call the others,” she proposed. “The nurses said he wasn’t to sleep in this room for fear of infection. If we let them see us all crowded together in here, they’ll start nagging again.”

  “Just what I think,” agreed Qingwen.

  Baoyu woke up himself as they were about to rouse him. He got up and dressed without delay while Sheyue called in some young maids to tidy the room. Only when this was done were Qiuwen and Tanyun summoned to wait on Baoyu.

  As he finished his toilet Sheyue said, “It’s cloudy again and looks like snow, you’d better wear something woollen.”

  He nodded and changed his clothes, then sipped a little of the lotus-seed and date broth a young maid offered him on a small tray, and took a piece of crystallized ginger from the plate Sheyue brought him. Finally, having urged Qingwen to look after herself, he went to the Lady Dowager’s apartments.

  His grandmother was still abed, but hearing that Baoyu was going out she had him admitted to her bedroom, where he saw Baoqin lying asleep behind her, her face to the wall.

  The Lady Dowager noticed that Baoyu was wearing, over his brown velvet archer’s coat lined with fox fur, a scarlet felt jacket embroidered with gold thread. Its slate-blue satin border was fringed with tassels.

  “Is it snowing?” she asked him.

  “Not yet, but it looks as if it will,” he replied.

  “Bring him that peacock-feather cape taken out yesterday,” the old lady ordered Yuanyang.

  The maid promptly brought in a cape which shimmered gold, green and blue and was no less magnificent, in a different style, than Baoqin’s cape of wild-duck down.

  “This is called ‘golden peacock felt,’“ his grandmother told him with a smile. “It was woven of peacock feathers in Russia. The other day I gave your cousin one of wild-duck down, so now I’m making you a present of this.”

  Baoyu kowtowed his thanks and put on the cape.

  “Mind you show it to your mother before you go out,” the Lady Dowager charged him with a smile.

  He agreed to this and, going out, saw Yuanyang standing in the passage rubbing her eyes. Since the day on
which she had vowed never to marry, she had upset him by ignoring him. At sight of him now she started to slip away, but he stepped forward to greet her. “Look, dear sister! How does this suit me?” She flung away from him into the old lady’s room. Baoyu had to go on then to show the cape to his mother, after which he returned to the Garden and displayed it to Qingwen and Sheyue. He went back then to the Lady Dowager.

  “Mother’s seen it and thinks it a pity to wear it,” he said. “She told me to be extra careful not to spoil it.”

  “It’s the only one left,” replied his grandmother. “If you spoil it, you won’t get another. Impossible to replace it.” She warned him not to drink too much and to come back early, which he promised to do.

  Some old nurses followed him to the main hall where six stewards— Nanny Li’s son Li Gui, Wang Rong, Zhang Ruojin, Zhao Yihua, Qian Qi and Zhou Rui—were waiting for him. With them were his four pages Mingyan, Banhe, Chuyao and Saohong, who were carrying a change of clothes for him and a cushion. A splendidly caparisoned white horse with an embossed saddle stood there in readiness too. When the stewards had received the old nurses’ instructions, acting as grooms they helped Baoyu to mount slowly into the saddle. Then Li Gui and Wang Rong took the bridle, Qian Qi and Zhou Rui led the way, and Zhang Ruojin and Zhao Yihua followed close behind, one on each side of Baoyu.

  “Let’s leave by the side gate, brothers,” called Baoyu to Zhou Rui and Qian Qi. “Then I won’t have to dismount by my father’s study.”

  “There’s no need for that,” replied Zhou Rui, turning his head with a smile. “His Lordship is away and the place is locked.”

  “Even so, I still ought to get down,” insisted Baoyu.

  “Quite right, sir,” chuckled Qian Qi and Li Gui. “If you were too lazy to dismount and we happened to run into Mr. Lai or Mr. Lin, even if they didn’t lecture you they’d have something to say about it. And all the blame would be laid on us for not teaching you better manners.”