A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  The others took the news fairly calmly, but Baoyu was beside himself with joy. He was just discussing it with his grandmother, demanding this, that and the other, when a maid announced that his father wanted him. At this bolt from the blue he turned pale, his spirits quite dashed. He clung like a limpet to the Lady Dowager, too terrified to leave her.

  “Go, my treasure,” she urged him. “I won’t let him be hard on you. Besides, it’s because you wrote so well that Her Highness has said you should move into the Garden, and I dare say your father only wants to warn you to behave yourself when you’re there. Just say ‘Yes’ to whatever he tells you and you’ll be all right.”

  She called two old nurses and ordered them to take Baoyu there and see that he was not frightened.

  The nurses complied and Baoyu left with dragging steps. It so happened that Jia Zheng was discussing some business in his wife’s room while her maids Jinchuan, Caiyun, Caixia, Xiuluan and Xiufeng were standing outside under the eaves. At sight of Baoyu they smiled knowingly, and Jinchuan caught hold of his sleeve.

  “I’ve just put some scented rouge on my lips,” she whispered. “Do you want to taste it?”

  Caiyun pushed her away.

  “Don’t tease him when he’s feeling low,” she scolded. “Go in quickly, while the master’s in a good mood.”

  Baoyu sidled fearfully in. His parents were in the inner room. The concubine Zhao raised the portiere, and with a bow he entered. His father and mother sat facing each other on the kang talking, while on a row of chairs below sat Yingchun, Tanchun, Xichun and Jia Huan, all of whom except Yingchun rose to their feet at his entrance.

  Jia Zheng glanced up and saw Baoyu standing before him. The boy’s striking charm and air of distinction contrasted so strongly with Jia Huan’s vulgar, common appearance that he was reminded of his dead son Zhu. He glanced at Lady Wang. She had only this one son left and she doted on him. As for him, his beard was already turning grey. Bearing all this in mind, he forgot his usual aversion to Baoyu. After a pause he said:

  “Her Highness has ordered you to study and practise calligraphy with the girls in the Garden, instead of fooling around outside and neglecting your studies. Mind that you apply yourself there to your lessons. If you go on misbehaving, watch out!”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Baoyu hastily.

  Then his mother drew him over to sit beside her while Jia Huan and the other two sat down again. Stroking her son’s neck fondly Lady Wang asked:

  “Have you finished those pills prescribed for you the other day?”

  “All but one.”

  “You must fetch ten more tomorrow. Get Xiren to see that you take one each evening at bedtime.”

  “Ever since you ordered it, madam, Xiren has been giving me one every evening.”

  “Who is Xiren?” demanded Jia Zheng.

  “One of the maids,” his wife told him.

  “A maid can be called anything, I suppose. But who thought up such a suggestive name for her?”

  To shield Baoyu from his father’s displeasure Lady Wang said, “It was the old lady’s idea.”

  “Such a name would never occur to the old lady. This must have been Baoyu’s doing.”

  Since there was no hiding the truth Baoyu rose to confess: “I remembered that line of an old poem:

  When the fragrance of flowers assails men we know the day is warm.

  As this maid’s surname is Hua(Flower), I called her ‘Xiren.’“

  “You must change it when you go back,” put in Lady Wang quickly. Then she turned to her husband. “Don’t be angry, sir, over such a little thing.”

  “It doesn’t really matter, there’s no need to change it. But this shows that instead of studying properly Baoyu gives all his time to romantic trash. “Then he said sternly to Baoyu: “What are you standing there for, you unnatural monster?”

  “Run along,” urged Lady Wang. “The old lady is probably waiting for you for supper.”

  Baoyu assented and slowly withdrew. Once outside he grinned and stuck out his tongue at Jinchuan before hurrying off with the two nurses. He found Xiren leaning in the doorway of the entrance hall. Her face lit up when she saw that he was back safely, and she asked what his father had wanted.

  “Nothing much. Just to warn me to be on my best behaviour when I move into the Garden.”

  Having by now reached the Lady Dowager’s room he told her what had happened. Then he asked Daiyu, who was there, in which part of the Garden she would like to live.

  Daiyu had been thinking this over and she answered: “My choice would be Bamboo Lodge. I love those bamboos half hiding the winding balustrade, and the place is quieter than anywhere else.”

  “Just what I thought!” Baoyu clapped his hands. “That’s where I want you. With me in Happy Red Court, we shall be close together and beautifully quiet.”

  At this point Jia Zheng sent a servant to report to the Lady Dowager that the twenty-second of the second month would be an auspicious day for the move into the Garden, and the young people’s quarters would be ready by then. Baochai was to have Alpinia Park, Daiyu Bamboo Lodge, Yingchun the Pavilion of Variegated Splendour, Tanchun the Studio of Autumn Freshness, Xichun Smartweed Breeze Cot, Li Wan Paddy-Sweet Cottage, and Baoyu Happy Red Court. Two old nurses and four maids were assigned to each apartment in addition to the occupant’s nanny and own attendants, and there were other servants whose sole duty was cleaning and sweeping. On the twenty-second they all moved in and at once the Garden gay with flowers and willows ruffled by a fragrant breeze from embroidered sashes lost its former air of desolation; but no need to describe this in detail.

  Baoyu found life in the Garden all he could wish. He asked nothing better than to spend every day with his sisters, cousins and maids, reading, writing, strumming the lute, playing chess, painting, chanting poems, watching the girls embroider their phoenix patterns, enjoying the flowers, softly singing, guessing riddles or playing the guess-fingers game. In a word, he was blissfully happy. There he wrote the following verses on the four seasons, which although quite commonplace give some idea of his sentiments and the scenery.

  SPRING NIGHT

  The walls flaunt hangings bright as sunset clouds

  To muffle the frogs’ croaking in the lane;

  The rain outside the window chills my pillow.

  This vision of spring seems like the girl of my dreams.

  The candle sheds slow tears—for whom?

  The blossoms fall as if reproaching me;

  My maids are indolent from long indulgence;

  Wearied by their laughter and prattle,

  I snuggle down in my quilt.

  SUMMERNIGHT

  Weary of embroidery, the beauty dreams;

  In its golden cage the parrot cries, “Brew tea!”

  Bright window, moon like musk-scented palace mirror.

  Dim the chamber with fumes of sandalwood and incense.

  Clear dew from the lotus is poured from amber cups,

  Cool air from the willows wafts past crystal railings;

  In lake pavilions everywhere flutter silken fans,

  And the blinds are rolled up on the vermilion tower

  As she finishes her evening toilet.

  AUTUMN NIGHT

  The red pavilion scented with rue is hushed,

  Moonlight floods the gauze dyed with madder;

  Crows asleep by the well are wet with dew from the plane tree,

  And storks roost on mossy boulders,

  A maid spreads the gold-phoenix quilt,

  The girl coming back from the balcony drops her trinkets;

  Sleepless at night and thirsty after wine

  I relight the incense and call for fresh tea.

  WINTER NIGHT

  Plum-blossom and bamboo dream, the third watch has come,

  But sleep eludes them under silk eiderdowns.

  Only a stork can be seen in the pine-shadowed court,

  No oriole sings in the snow which has drifted like
pear-blossom.

  Cold is the green-sleeved girl as she writes a poem,

  Tipsy the young lord in gold and sable gown;

  Happily the maid knows how to make good tea

  And gathers up fresh fallen snow to brew it.

  When some toadies learned that these poems were the work of a son of the Rong Mansion who was only twelve or thirteen, they copied them out and praised them far and wide, while young gallants attracted by the romantic images in them inscribed them on their fans or walls and kept chanting and admiring them. As a result, Baoyu was flattered to find himself applied to for poems, calligraphy, paintings and inscriptions; and supplying these occupied much of his time every day.

  But after a while this quiet life began to pall. Baoyu became restless, dissatisfied and bored. Most of the Garden’s inmates were innocent, ingenuous girls who laughed and romped all day long without any inhibitions, quite unaware of his feelings. Then, too restless to stay with them he started fooling around outside, but still went on feeling disgruntled and frustrated.

  His page Mingyan tried to think of some way to distract him and decided that there was only one thing that might appeal to him as a novelty. He went to a bookshop and bought his master a pile of novels old and new, tales about imperial concubines and empresses, as well as romantic librettos. Baoyu had never read such works before. He felt he had discovered a treasure-trove.

  “Don’t take them into the Garden,” Mingyan warned him. “If they were found I’d be in serious trouble.”

  But how could Baoyu agree to this? After much hesitation he picked out several volumes written in a more refined style and smuggled these in, keeping them on the canopy over his bed to read when he was alone. The cruder and more indecent he kept hidden in his study outside the Garden.

  One day, about the middle of the third month, carrying a copy of The Western Chamber he strolled after breakfast across the bridge above Seeping Fragrance Lock. There he sat down on a rock to read under a blossoming peach-tree. He had just reached the line

  Red petals fall in drifts

  when a gust of wind blew down such a shower of petals that he and his book were covered with them and the ground near by was carpeted with red. Afraid to trample on the flowers if he shook them off, Baoyu gathered them into the skirt of his gown and carried them to the water’s edge where he shook them into the brook. They floated and circled there for a while, then drifted down the River of Seeping Fragrance.

  Going back, he found the ground still strewn with blossoms and was wondering how to dispose of these when a voice behind him asked:

  “What are you doing here?”

  He turned and saw Daiyu, a hoe over one shoulder, a gauze bag hanging from the hoe, and a broom in her hand.

  “You’re just in time to sweep up these petals and throw them into the water,” cried Baoyu. “I’ve just thrown in a pile.”

  “Not into the water,” objected Daiyu. “It may be clean here, but once it flows out of these grounds people empty all sorts of dirt and filth into it. The flowers would still be spoiled. I’ve a grave for flowers in that corner over there. I’m sweeping them up and putting them in this silk bag to bury them there. In time they’ll turn back into soil. Wouldn’t that be cleaner?”

  Baoyu was delighted by this idea.

  “Just let me put this book somewhere and I’ll help,” he offered.

  “What book’s that?”

  He hastily tucked it out of sight.

  “Just the Doctrine of the Mean and The Great Learning.”

  “You’re trying to fool me again. You’d have done better to show me in the first place.”

  “I don’t mind showing you, dear cousin, but you mustn’t tell anyone else. It’s a real masterpiece. You won’t be able to give a thought to eating once you start reading it.” He passed her the book.

  Daiyu laid down her gardening tools to read, and the more she read the more enthralled she was. In less time than it takes for a meal she had read all the sixteen scenes. The sheer beauty of the language left a sweet taste in her mouth. After finishing reading she sat there entranced, recalling some of the lines.

  “Well, don’t you think it’s wonderful?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  “It’s certainly fascinating.”

  “I’m the one ‘sick with longing,’“ he joked. “And yours is the beauty which caused ‘cities and kingdoms to fall.’“

  Daiyu flushed to the tips of her ears. Knitting her sulky brows, her eyes flashing with anger beneath half-drooping lids, she pointed a finger at Baoyu in accusal.

  “You really are the limit! Bringing such licentious songs in here and, what’s more, insulting me with nasty quotations from them.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m going to tell uncle and aunt.”

  She turned to go.

  In dismay Baoyu barred her way.

  “Forgive me this once, dear cousin! I shouldn’t have said that. But if I meant to insult you, I’ll fall into the pond tomorrow and let the scabby-headed tortoise swallow me, so that I change into a big turtle myself. Then when you become a lady of the first rank and go at last to your paradise in the west, I shall bear the stone tablet at your grave on my back for ever.”

  Daiyu burst out laughing at this and wiped her eyes.

  “You’re so easy to scare, yet still you indulge in talking such nonsense,” she teased. “Why, you’re nothing but ‘a flowerless sprout,’ ‘a lead spearhead that looks like silver.’“

  It was Baoyu’s torn to laugh.

  “Now listen to you! I’ll tell on you too.”

  “You boast that you can ‘memorize a passage with one reading.’ Why can’t I ‘learn ten lines at a glance’?” Laughing he put the book away.

  “Never mind that. Let’s get on with burying the flowers.”

  No sooner had they buried the blossom than Xiren appeared.

  “So here you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. The Elder Master is unwell and all the young ladies have gone to inquire after his health. The old lady wants you to go too. Come back quickly and change.”

  Then Baoyu, taking his book, took leave of Daiyu and went back to his own room with Xiren.

  With Baoyu gone and the other girls all out too, Daiyu did not know what to do and decided to go back to her own room. As she rounded the corner of Pear Fragrance Court where the twelve actresses were rehearsing, she heard sweet fluting and singing over the wall. Normally the words of operas made little appeal to her, so she did not listen carefully; but now as she proceeded on her way two lines carried to her distinctly:

  What a riot of brilliant purple and tender crimson,

  Among the ruined wells and crumbling walls.

  Strangely touched by this, she stopped to listen. The singer went on:

  What an enchanting sight on this fine morning,

  But who is there that takes delight in the spring?

  Daiyu nodded and sighed.

  “So there are fine lines in these operas,” she thought. “What a pity that people just care for the spectacle without understanding the meaning.”

  Then, sorry to have missed a stanza through her preoccupation, she listened again and heard:

  For you are as fair as a flower

  And youth is slipping away like flowing water.

  Daiyu’s heart missed a beat. And the next line

  Alone you sit in your secluded chamber

  affected her so much that she sank down on a rock to ponder the words. For you are as fair as a flower And youth is slipping away like flowing water.

  They reminded her of a line in an old poem:

  Water flows and flowers fall, knowing no pity....

  and the lines from another poem:

  Spring departs with the flowing water and fallen blossom,

  Far, far away as heaven from the world of men.

  She compared this with the lines she had just read in The Western Chamber:

  Flowers fall, the water flows red,

&nb
sp; Grief is infinite....

  As she brooded over the meaning of all these verses, her heart ached and tears coursed down her cheeks. She might have remained there in a quandary had not someone come up behind her all of a sudden and given her a shove in the back. She turned to look. But to know who it was, you must read the next chapter. Truly:

  She minds not her morning toilet, her embroidery at night;

  Facing the moon, cooling off in the breeze, she feels grief.

  Chapter 24

  The Drunken Diamond Proves Himself Generous and Gallant

  An Ambitious Girl Loses Her Handkerchief as an Enticement

  Daiyu’s heart was touched, her thoughts were in a whirl, when someone came up from behind and shoved her in the back asking:

  “What are you doing here all on your own?”

  Startled, she looked round. It was Xiangling.

  “You stupid creature to frighten me so,” cried Daiyu. “Where have you sprung from?”

  Xiangling giggled.

  “I can’t find our young lady anywhere. Your Zijuan is looking for you too. She says the Second Mistress has sent you some tea. Let’s go back to your place, shall we?”

  She took Daiyu by the hand and they went back to Bamboo Lodge, where they found two small flasks of new tea from the Palace sent over by Xifeng. The two girls sat down. If you ask what serious matters they discussed, these were merely the relative merits of different pieces of embroidery and tapestry. They also played a game of chess and read some passages from a book together before Xiangling took her leave.

  But let us return to Baoyu. When Xiren fetched him back he discovered Yuanyang leaning over the couch in his outer room examining some of Xiren’s needlework.

  “Where have you been?” she asked him. “The old lady is waiting for you. She wants you to go over to the other house to inquire after the Elder Master’s health. You had better change quickly and go.”