The Pavilion of Forgotten Concubines

by Wiersinga, Pim;

  Already, such reprisals are underway. Our camp in the marshes had to disband; neither peasants nor their overseers want us near. Should we be arrested, the Court will show no mercy, not even upon me, though Hongli is acutely aware of my presence in the triad—he even enabled me to join it! Yet I am in no position to protect my Lotus sisters; indeed, my allegiance only jeopardizes them further.

  My last interview with the Emperor will remain a painful memory for the remainder of my days. Months had passed since I had reproached him in the strictest of terms—you know of what missive I speak—upon which the Emperor nobly quelled his urge, whipped up by Heshen, to have my head severed from my body. Instead, after having taken me into custody, His Majesty received me secretly, in the seclusion of his private quarters where I had watched Him grow up and had taken pity on the lonely boy, as if I were his older sister. During our last conversation, the Emperor behaved like a paragon of humility; had I not been the one who watched over him back then, the only one who cared? He gratefully affirmed it and acknowledged his many faults and failings, even allowing me the choice to side against Him. Does not his remorse signify a certain grandeur of spirit? We both wept, Baoqin, and it was with a heavy heart that I at last mustered the courage openly to proclaim my alliance to the White Lotus, telling myself that the wreck on the throne was no longer my boy. Gone was the lively, lovely child whose neglect I’d endeavoured to prevent—to no avail. Yet, in my mind, I still call him Hongli.

  Now that the masses stand by their Emperor, rejoicing in the Grand Councillor’s ignominious undoing, those Imperial banner men attempt to smoke us out with renewed zeal. Even in these endless Dagu Marshes our lives dangle on a thread. Friends of yesterday are today’s informants. This stepping up of Peking’s efforts may mean two things. Either Hongli sends the banner men after me (were those Imperial tears feigned?) or I serve as a decoy to crush the White Lotus (did He foresee that I, at an advanced age, would be forced into betrayal? Is this why He wept?)

  Hongli betrayed his dreams. As a result, we are in flight to Macao—our safe haven. Years of delay, years of procrastination await us, yet never shall we betray our dreams of glorious Ming Dynasty days! I will not live to see it, my dear, but you will: you are still in the prime of life. One day the Ming shall be restored to its former glory! One day, our civilisation will, like the phoenix, rise from its ashes, unencumbered by careerists and Peking literati who currently dominate public life merely because they have memorized Confucius.

  I digress. Read the following carefully! And let us not lose ourselves in gloomy speculation.

  On Abdication Day all forgotten concubines will be marshalled to the Square of Heavenly Peace to witness Heshen’s execution amidst the teeming tens of thousands. There will be firecrackers; acrobats will exhibit their art; priests will burn cartloads of incense to celebrate the usurper getting his deserved punishment and the commencement of better times that is upon us at last. And in the din, our people will whisk you off—smoothly, quietly, swiftly. The one thing you must do is remain aloof from the others, thus speeding up the abduction. Do not take special things with you! If you began your novel, entrust the papers to eunuch Weigong, the person who will hand you this letter. He is to remain in touch with you; he will ensure that every character that flowed from your brush will find its way to us. Belongings of value, messages you want to impart to third parties: Weigong will take care of them all. You may reward him, but it’s unnecessary. He is well paid for his services.

  And he is all too happy to oblige. His resentment against the Emperor and his rotten Court knows no bounds. Weigong never voluntarily underwent the knife! His father sent him to the palaces only because his one and only heir had allegedly raped the lowly maidservant who was the son’s true love, and this self-same maid, as you’ll be quick to understand, has in turn joined the ranks of White Lotus. In brief, Weigong is trustworthy.

  Clothes, perfumes, and other such items await you here. I can’t emphasize enough that you not carry anything special on your person whilst at the Square of Heavenly Peace; doing so will only arouse suspicion!

  Oh Daiyu, you are like a young sister to me, dearer than the real one, the poetess who died years ago, killed for the crime of composing poetry. I cannot wait for us to reunite! Once again I’m perusing the Dream of the Red Chamber, the corrupt Gao E version, alas, yet my enjoyment of it waxes with the prospect that I will soon embrace its heroine in my withering arms. How dear you are to me! And your arrival will inspire us to courage; your presence will strength-en White Lotus cohorts after many a thwarted uprising. Was I not privy to the myriad ways in which you, when you graced the pavilion with your loveable person, drew the poison from our hearts? All by yourself, while we (to my undying shame) treated you with vile contempt! Your devotion, your tenderness, your purity of heart—all these splendid qualities instilled our lasting trust. Your honest desire to write a novel in the spirit of Cao Xueqin evoked (after we curbed our envy) nothing but awe. Once in the ranks of the White Lotus, dearest young sister—once with us!—you will find ample time and quiet to complete your novel. In your own special way, you contribute to a world where kindness triumphs over those twin brutes, Money and Power.

  I long to see you, my dear girl. My one fear is that you might spurn the affections of a dying old woman.

  

  Isaac Titsingh

  To Lin Daiyu,

  Also known as Cao Baoqin,

  Pavilion of Forgotten Concubines

  At dawn a regiment of banner men woke me up, my dear Daiyu. They came from the Court; the yellow dragons on the litter they carried testified to it.

  Their arrival took me by surprise. After I flushed the remnants of sleep from my brow—fortunately, the water-basin had been made ready; embassy servants tend to forget these things—I put on my riding costume, elegant yet not overly formal, and upon sighting the litter I politely let it be known I would prefer to ride on horseback.

  My request was bluntly refused. Foreign devils are not permitted a glance at the streets of Tartar City, it seems, at the gracious gates of Peking, or at lush pavilions in the Summer Palace.

  Again, the old monarch received me in the pagoda of the Literature God, apparently his favourite haunt. This time he sprawled on a sofa, surrounded by piles of pillows. No interpreter was seen in the twilit halls: in attendance was a young eunuch only, performing duties on noiseless, felt-covered feet. I kowtowed and rose, unprepared for the shock: the Imperial Countenance seemed disfigured by some disease. Possibly the impending execution of Grand Councillor Heshen weighs on him. At our embassy it is the talk of the day.

  ‘Ti Qing!’ I hear. ‘We are pleased to allow you to marry. In Deshima, Lady Cao became contaminated with foreign ideas. For all her elegance, wit, and mature beauty, I cannot think of any man in China who would want to have her under his roof. And as she never married, she is worse off than an outlaw.’

  ‘Your Majesty, I understand! Foreign ideas are considered heinous in some quarters. But if she is deemed a bad match by most, does widowhood endanger her life?’

  ‘It depends,’ the Emperor replied coolly. ‘It may even depend on you, Ti Qing. She’s not exactly a widow, you know…’ He smiled an accomplice’s smile; he almost seemed to wink—men among themselves. ‘That’s to say, not officially.’

  The Emperor articulated clearly and his words were easy enough, yet his views were so foreign to me that it took a while to grasp their meaning: the Ruler was referring to your prospects as a marriage candidate. The nature of this conversation will be repugnant to you, but I cannot spare you the truth: I had to reply readily and follow a consistent train of thought.

  I regained my composure and said: ‘Not officially, Your Majesty? Then she is in great danger, apparently.’ It seemed of little concern to him. ‘Is it not in Your power to protect her?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘She requested release from the Pavilion; the favour has be
en granted. Attending Heshen’s execution will be her last duty; after that she’ll leave the Forbidden City and be no longer Our burden.’

  At first I was jubilant: you shall be free! But the Emperor seemed to know more than he let on.

  ‘Your Majesty means…?’ I asked in a tone which must have betrayed my resentment. If I was happy for you, I found his heartlessness revolting.

  ‘My reign has come to an end, my good envoy! Many a subject’s fate is uncertain.’

  Terror replaced resentment. The monarch was warning me about something. Once more I performed the kowtow and uttered my gratitude for His foresight.

  ‘You need not thank us, Ti Qing! It is We who ask a favourof you.’

  In broken Mandarin, I requested His Majesty to elaborate. ‘China’s name is waning in the world. No, Ti Qing—don’t flatter me! I know it to be true. Our priceless porcelain has lost its shine. And now, in memory of Our glorious era, We wish to restore China’s lustre with a novel that saw the light under Our reign––’

  ‘The Dream of the Red Chamber!’ I mindlessly clamoured. Yes, my dear: impetuous as always, I once more lost sight of protocol; I don’t think I’ll ever learn! It will come as no surprise to you when I declare rashness to be my cardinal vice. Among all those Dutch in China I am the least equipped for the diplomatic service, especially when dealing with Orientals, for it is in my nature to grab the bull by the horns, as we say. I fear it was rashness that made you recoil. But Lady Cao, or Lin Daiyu—which do you prefer?—I’ll never reiterate my marriage proposal, no matter how dearly the Emperor wishes to see us wed all of a sudden. Or does he not, in his heart of hearts? There is no way to get to the bottom of this; I daresay His Majesty is of two minds himself. If we marry, we are to leave China: two troublemakers fewer. At the same time, he wants you near him, or so I sense… Let me assure you that my love and affection are undaunted, and my awe for you increases by the day. But I will not harass you with proposals. In you I met a kindred spirit, Baoqin—one devoted to the freedom so scarce in this land.

  ‘Indeed,’ the old Emperor muttered absentmindedly. ‘The Dream…’

  ‘Also known as A Mirror for the Romantic, and The Twelve Beauties of Jinling—which was Nanking under Ming rule.’

  The Son of Heaven raised an eyebrow in reply to my boastful display of knowledge—or so I thought, but I was utterly wrong. His brow emitted a signal to be sure, but addressed to the eunuch, who placed a smoky censer near the Imperial sofa and produced an opium pipe with accessories. The man put crystal-like grains of a coarse, organic matter on the holder, and heated these close to the flame; soon the hall was filled with burning bitter-sweet scents.

  The Emperor inhaled the fumes. ‘Weigong!’ said He after His servant handed the pipe over to Him, poppy apparently being smoked in turns. ‘Suppose We granted a pardon to Heshen! What say you?’

  The eunuch’s face drained of colour. ‘It wouldn’t endear Your Majesty to the populace!’

  ‘Never mind the populace; it’s you who are startled—I can see that. Why?’

  ‘I am but Your slave! The last thing I want is to bother the Exalted One with my unworthy opinions.’

  ‘You disagree,’ retorted the Emperor, while Weigong exhaled and returned the pipe.

  ‘Disagree? With what, Oh Exalted One? How could that be?’ The fellow trembled over his limbs—as I couldn’t help seeing. And then, as if those intoxicating fumes had sharpened my senses, I noticed yet another thing: this Weigong was of an independent mind—his thoughts clearly differed from those of his master.

  Abruptly the Emperor turned to me as if the eunuch weren’t there, didn’t even exist. ‘Do you know the novel, Ti Qing?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to affirm this,’ I ventured to say, ‘but to acquire a modicum of proficiency in Mandarin, Your Majesty, I, with utmost difficulty, translated the first twenty chapters, which is exactly a quarter of the total, and my impression is…’

  ‘A quarter!’ the Emperor exclaimed angrily. ‘You said a quarter of the total! A mere eighty chapters in all! Then it must have been a predatory print!’

  ‘It was no print, but a mere manuscript, Oh Majesty, a handwritten copy—but it is corrupt, You are right! I was alerted to that later. You see, when I read the novel, the Gao E edition had not yet been published, let alone distributed in Deshima.’

  Whereupon the Emperor, dear Baoqin, to my astonishment expressed the wish that I translate all the chapters of the Gao E edition so that the work might gain renown in the West, with the ulterior motive of enhancing China’s undying glory.

  Needless to say, I refused: I lack the ingenuity to accomplish such a task—a translation by me would swarm with errors. Even if I were up to such a monumental undertaking, I reminded the Emperor, only a fraction of all inhabitants of the West read Dutch.

  ‘How hard can that be, with merely two dozen characters?’

  ‘Unlike Your Empire’s ideograms, Oh Majesty, our characters do not signify concepts. And we’re none the worse for it, despite their limited number!’

  The Qianlong Emperor heaved the opium pipe to his slack lips. ‘What can be the use of sound signs?’ he said plaintively as he sank back onto the cushions, smoke-plumes billowing to the ceiling. ‘Dialects would become unreadable! While dialects and local quirks of speech do exist in abundance in these parts, they are of no consequence! In Our Empire, people can read everything. More than is good for them.’

  ‘On our continent, Your Majesty, one must know the “dialects” in order to read them. May I suggest You have the novel translated into French? It is the Mandarin of Europe, the language of literati from Lisbon to Moscow.’

  ‘Am I to infer you don’t belong to those literati?’

  A sneer, proving an abysmal misunderstanding of European languages, if not its peoples… ‘I do know the language,’ I replied composedly. ‘It’s just that those born in France will be better suited to the task.’

  ‘In France—you mean Franguo?’

  ‘I do indeed, Your Majesty. Besides, Chinese Mandarin would admittedly be my real obstacle to a worthy translation.’

  A scornful smirk stirred the Imperial lips, and my repugnance deepened when he said: ‘And what if you had Lady Cao by your side?’

  He’d set up a trap, and I had walked into it blind-eyed—I, the dunce boasting honesty…

  Well, at least I am honest, Baoqin. Much as I love you, an enforced marriage seems too big an infringement on the freedom so dear to both of us. I fear it would hurt your pride if you were ordered to marry.

  At this juncture, I was at a loss for words, and because I fell silent, the impression might have taken root in the Emperor’s mind that I was devoured by an untold passion, which was true in a sense; thinking of you, I am! But I preferred to hide my fervour in those palace halls. Alas—I’m no man of the theatre, save as a director perhaps. The art of feigning is not in my book, nor am I much good at the dissimulation of true feelings. And if truth be told, I find it inhumanly hard to give up hopes of having you by my side! Oh, against Passion abetted by Despotism, Reason is of no avail! One thing is obvious, though: our marriage could only take place in freedom, could only be willed by you and me, no other, not even the Son of Heaven.

  Suddenly, a better solution dawned on me. Once again I sank to my knees and brought my head to the flagstones. In this position I expressed my utter gratitude for the audience and let the monarch—without consulting you, I fear—know that I would prefer to engage said Lady as an interpreter in my service.

  And the Emperor, bland, unperturbed, utterly unimpressed by my self-humbling kowtow, replied: ‘We cannot extend that favour to you.’

  I rose to my feet, daunted.

  The Emperor did not flinch. ‘After Our abdication your embassy is to be shut down,’ he said coolly. ‘If We are correctly informed, the Jiaqing Emperor intends to send Lady Cao in exile�
�something to which We have always been opposed and which We will resist with all Our might, as We indeed cherish a soft spot for the Lady Ourselves, her abominable cheek notwithstanding.’

  For a brief moment, our eyes met.

  ‘It’s one or the other, Ti Qing. Either you marry her, or she will be abandoned to her fate.’

  ‘Your Majesty! Is it true? Will You permit me to leave the country with Lady Cao Baoqin?’

  ‘I said no such thing.’

  The Emperor sat up straight.

  ‘If you marry Cao Baoqin, she is to remain in Peking while you will go to your end of the world to meet translation requirements as an envoy in Our service. Upon your return, you and the Lady will be given a handsome mansion on these Summer Palace grounds. Such are our terms.’ The Emperor smiled scornfully. ‘Truly, you Westerners are a mystery! Do you covet the Lady or not?’

  ‘Of course! But…’

  ‘I am granting you a favour! How can there be a “but”?’

  Embarrassed, I replied: ‘Your Majesty, I…’

  The Emperor held up a hand. ‘You may leave the Imperial Presence. Consider matters carefully, Ti Qing! We will learn your decision in three days’ time, on the eve of Heshen’s beheading.’

  I’m sorry this disconcerting account has taken so long in the telling, Baoqin. So far I am the herald of bad news, mixed news at best; well do I realize it. But I hope you’ll have a better understanding now of my reluctance to marry. If I ask your hand, I will forever be your Emperor’s pawn; if I refrain, I am abandoning you to your fate. But why does he want to keep you here, while I must see to it that the Dream will be translated? How could I even begin to do this without your support? Nevertheless, I am grateful that I was granted an opportunity to think it over, and this opportunity is yours as well, Baoqin. But something is holding you back, something else…