A Dream of Red Mansion

by Cao Xueqin

  That’s so true and so quaintly put.”

  “You mustn’t on any account read poems of that kind,” warned Daiyu. “It’s because you don’t understand poetry that you like such superficial lines when you come across them. Once you get into that habit you’ll never cure yourself of it. Now, listen to me: If you really want to write poetry, take my copy of the complete poems of Wang Wei and study a hundred of his pentasyllabic poems in regulated verse until you know them well. Then read one or two hundred of Du Fu’s regulated heptasyllabics, and one or two hundred of Li Bai’s heptasyllabic quatrains. After digesting these and laying a foundation with these three poets, go on to read Tao Yuanming, Ying Yang, Xie Lingyun, Yuan Ji, Yu Xin and Bao Zhao. In less than a year’s time, with your intelligence, you can count on becoming a poet.”

  “That’s fine, miss.” Xiangling smiled. “Please give me that book then to take back with me, and I’ll read a few poems tonight.”

  Daiyu told Zijuan to fetch Wang Wei’s Regular Pentasyllables and give it to Xiangling.

  “Just read those I’ve marked with red circles,” she told her. “Read all the ones I’ve chosen. If there’s anything you don’t understand, ask your young lady. Or I can explain it to you next time I see you.”

  Xiangling took the book back to Alpinia Park and, oblivious of all else, read poem after poem by lamplight, ignoring Baochai’s repeated reminders to go to bed. Seeing her so much in earnest, Baochai finally let her be.

  One morning, Daiyu had just finished her toilet when a radiant Xiangling came in to return Wang Wei’s poems and ask (or Du Fu’s Regulated Verse.

  “How many poems have you memorized?” asked Daiyu.

  “I’ve read all those marked with red circles.”

  “Do you appreciate them better now?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure. I’d like your opinion.”

  “Go ahead. We can only make progress by talking things over.”

  “To my mind, the beauty of poetry lies in something that can’t be put into words yet is very vivid and real when you think about it. Again, it seems illogical, yet when you think it over it makes good sense.”

  “There’s something in that. But what grounds have you for saying so?”

  “Well, take that couplet in the poem on the northern borderland:

  In the great desert a single straight plume of smoke;

  By the long river at sunset a ball of flame.

  Of course the sun’s round, but how can smoke be straight? The first description seems illogical, the second trite. But when you close the book and think, the scene rises before your eyes, and you realize it would be impossible to choose any better words. Or take the couplet:

  As the sun sets, rivers and lakes gleam white;

  The tide comes up and the horizon turns blue. The adjectives ‘white’ and ‘blue’ seem illogical too; but when you think about it no other words would be so apt, for read aloud they have all the savour of an olive weighing several thousand catties! Again, take the lines:

  The setting sun still lingers by the ford,

  A single plume of smoke ascends from the village. It’s the choice of ‘lingers’ and ‘ascends’ that I admire. On our way to the capital that year, our boat moored by the bank one evening. There was nobody about, nothing but a few trees, and the smoke from some distant cottages where supper was being cooked rose up, a vivid blue, straight to the clouds. Fancy, reading those lines last night carried me back to that place.”

  Meanwhile Baoyu and Tanchun had also arrived and sat down to listen to this disquisition on poetry.

  “Actually, you don’t need to read any more poems,” remarked Baoyu with a smile. “‘True understating need not be sought far away.’ Judging by the little I’ve heard you say, you’ve already grasped the gist of the matter.”

  Daiyu put in, “You’ve praised that expression ‘a single plume of smoke ascends’ without realizing that it’s taken from an earlier poet. Have a look at this line, which is even more evocative and natural.” She found and showed her Tao Yuanming’s lines:

  Misty the distant village,

  Smoke dawdles up from the hamlet.

  Xiangling read this and nodded her appreciation. “So ‘ascends’ is derived from ‘dawdles up,’“ she said.

  “You’ve got it,” cried Baoyu laughing. “No need for further explanations. In fact, more might lead you astray. Just start writing poetry yourself now, and you’re bound to produce something good.”

  Tanchun said, “Tomorrow I’ll prepare some refreshments and invite you formally to join our poetry club.”

  “Don’t laugh at me, miss,” cried Xiangling. “It’s just out of admiration for you that I’m learning this for fun.”

  “Who’s not doing it for fun?” countered Tanchun and Daiyu. “We don’t write seriously either. If we really set up as poets, people outside the Garden would split their sides laughing.”

  “Don’t be too modest,” said Baoyu. “The other day, when I was discussing our painting with those secretaries outside and they heard we’d started a poetry club, they begged me to show them some of our poems. I wrote out a few for them, and they were so genuinely impressed that they copied them all out to have them printed.”

  “Is that true?” demanded Tanchun and Daiyu. “I’m not a liar like that parrot there on the perch.”

  “You really are the limit!” they exclaimed. “In the first place they aren’t proper poems, and even if they were you shouldn’t circulate our writings outside.”

  “What does it matter?” he argued. “We’d never have heard of the poems by ladies of old if they hadn’t been made public.”

  At this point Xichun’s maid Ruhua arrived, and at her request Baoyu went to see her mistress.

  Xiangling again urged Daiyu to lend her Du Fu’s poems, and begged her and Tanchun to set her a subject.

  “Let me try my hand and you can correct it,” she said. “Last night there was a fine moon,” rejoined Daiyu. “I was meaning to write a poem on it but didn’t get round to it. Take that as your subject, and choose as your rhymes any characters in the fourteenth group rhyming with han (‘cold’).”

  Xiangling went back in high delight with the poems. After cudgelling her brains she wrote a few lines, then read a couple more of Du Fu’s Regulated Verses which she could not bear to put down. She was so engrossed that she forgot food and sleep.

  “Why torture yourself?” asked Baochai. “This is all Daiyu’s fault. I must settle scores with her. You were always a bit weak in the head, and now this has crazed you completely.”

  “Please don’t distract me,” begged Xiangling.

  With that she finished her verse and showed it to her.

  Baochai read it and commented with a smile, “This isn’t the way. Don’t be shy, though. Just show it to her and see what she has to say.”

  So Xiangling took the poem to Daiyu, who read as follows:

  The moon hangs in mid-sky, cold is the night;

  Round its reflection, limpid white its light,

  Inspiring poets to let their fancies roam,

  But traveller, sick at heart, cannot bear the sight.

  By emerald pavilion hangs a mirror of jade,

  A disc of ice outside pearl screen displayed;

  No need for silvery candles this fine night—

  Its bright splendour lights up the painted balustrade.

  Daiyu commented with a smile, “You’ve no lack of ideas but the language lacks elegance, because you’re restricted by having read so few poems. Scrap this one and write another. Just let yourself go.”

  Xiangling went away in silence. She did not go back to her room but strolled by the pool and under the trees, sat lost in thought on the rocks or crouched down to scribble on the ground, to the amazement of all those who passed by.

  When Li Wan, Tanchun, Baochai and Baoyu heard of this, they climbed a slope some way off and stood there laughing as they watched her, now frowning, now smiling to herself.

&nb
sp; “The girl’s bound to go mad at this rate,” giggled Baochai. “She sat up all last night muttering to herself, and didn’t go to sleep till nearly dawn. In less time than it takes for a meal it was daybreak, and I heard her get up and make a hurried toilet before rushing off to find Daiyu. She came back to spend the whole day in a daze; but since the poem she wrote was no good, now of course she’s writing another.”

  Baoyu chuckled. “This is a case of ‘a remarkable place producing outstanding people.’ So Heaven has endowed her with more than good looks. We were always regretting that such a girl lacked polish, but now see what’s happened! This shows there is true justice in the world.”

  “I only wish you would work as hard.” Baochai smiled. “Then you’d succeed in your studies.”

  Baoyu let this pass.

  They now saw Xiangling set off exuberantly to find Daiyu again.

  “Let’s follow her,” suggested Tanchun. “I want to see if she’s done any better this time.”

  So off they trooped together to Bamboo Lodge, where they found Daiyu discussing Xiangling’s poem with her.

  “What’s it like?” they asked.

  “A creditable effort but still poor,” was Daiyu’s verdict. “This one is too arty. She’ll have to try again.”

  They asked to see the verse, which read:

  Neither silver nor liquid this chill light on the window;

  A jade disc hangs above in the limpid sky;

  Pale the plum-blossom steeped in fragrance,

  Slender the willow slips, their dew half dry.

  Golden steps appear coated with powder,

  Marble balustrades seem lightly frosted over;

  Waking in West Pavilion, no trace of man.

  But some vestiges still behind the screen we discover.

  Baochai remarked pleasantly, “This doesn’t read like a poem about the moon, but it would do if the subject were changed to The Colour of the Moon, for almost every line seems to deal with colour. Never mind, all poetry starts with meaningless talk. In a few days you’ll do better.”

  Xiangling, who had preened herself on this poem, was discouraged again by these comments. She refused to give up, however, and once more started racking her brains. Leaving the others to chat, she strolled into the bamboo grove before the steps and concentrated on thinking, deaf and blind to everything going on around her.

  Presently Tanchun called to her through the window, “Do have a rest, Xiangling!”

  “‘Rest’ belongs to the fifteenth group of rhymes—you’ve got the wrong rhyme,” she answered absently.

  Everybody laughed.

  “She’s really become a demoniac poet!” said Baochai. “It’s all Daiyu’s fault for egging her on.”

  “The Sage says ‘tireless in teaching others,’“ quipped Daiyu. “Since she consulted me, I had to tell her what I knew.”

  “Let’s take her to see Xichun,” proposed Li wan. “It’ll wake her up to look at the painting.”

  No sooner said than done. They dragged Xiangling off past Lotus Fragrance Anchorage to Warm Scented Arbour, where Xichun was having a siesta on her couch. The painting, propped against one wall, was covered by a piece of gauze. Having woken Xichun they removed the gauze, disclosing that the painting was only about one-third finished. Xiangling saw some beautiful girls in it. Pointing at two of them she said with a smile:

  “This is our young lady, and that’s Miss Lin.”

  Tanchun laughed. “If all who can write poems are to be painted there, you’d better hurry up and learn.”

  After a few more jokes the party dispersed.

  Still Xiangling’s whole mind was occupied by poetry. That evening she sat up facing the lamp lost in thought, only going to bed after midnight and lying there open-eyed, not getting off to sleep till nearly dawn. When presently day broke and Baochai woke up, she found her sleeping soundly.

  “She’s been tossing and turning all night,” thought Baochai. “I wonder if she’s finished her poem? She must be tired out. I’d better not wake her.”

  Just then Xiangling laughed in her sleep and cried, “Ah, now I’ve got it! She’ll hardly be able to find fault with this.”

  Amused and touched, Baochai woke her up to ask, “What have you got? Your single-mindedness should move the gods to pity. But you may fall ill if you can’t write good poems.”

  Having finished her toilet she went off with the other girls to pay her respects to the Lady Dowager.

  Now Xiangling had been so determined to learn to write poems, giving her whole mind to it, that although she had failed to finish this new poem the previous day she had suddenly hit on eight lines in her dreams. As soon as she was dressed she wrote them out. And as she could not tell whether they were good or not, she went to find Daiyu again. She reached Seeping Fragrance Pavilion as Li Wan and the girls, just back from Lady Wang’s apartments, were laughing at Baochai’s account of how Xiangling had been versifying and talking in her sleep. When they looked up and saw her, all clamoured to see her new poem.

  If you want to know what it was like, read the next chapter.

  Chapter 49

  White Snow and Red Plum-Blossom Make the Garden

  Entrancing Girls Enjoy Rustic Fare at a Venison Barbecue

  When Xiangling discovered the others talking about her, she went up to them with a smile.

  “Read this,” she said. “If it’s any good, I’ll persevere; if not, I’ll give up trying to write poetry.”

  She handed Daiyu her poem and they all read:

  Hard, surely, to hide such splendour,

  A form so fair, a spirit so cold, so withdrawn;

  Washing-blocks pound in an expanse of white,

  Only a crescent is left when cocks crow at dawn;

  In green coir cape on the river he listens to autumn fluting,

  In red sleeves she leans over her balustrade at night.

  Well might the goddess Chang E ask herself:

  Why cannot we enjoy endless, perfect delight?

  “Not only good but original and ingenious,” was the general verdict. “As the proverb says, ‘All difficulties on earth can be overcome if men but give their minds to it.’ You certainly must join our poetry club.”

  Xiangling, hardly able to believe her ears, was questioning Daiyu and Baochai to make sure they were not teasing when some maids and old nurses hurried in.

  “A party of ladies, old and young, have arrived,” they announced. “We don’t know them, but they’re your relatives. Please go quickly to welcome them.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Li Wan. “You must explain more clearly. Whose relatives are they?”

  “Two of them are your younger cousins, madam. Two young ladies, one of them is said to be Miss Xue’s cousin, and there’s a young gentleman who’s Master Xue’s cousin. We’re on our way now to invite Madam Xue over. You and the young ladies had better go first.”

  As these messengers left Baochai exclaimed joyfully, “Can it be our Xue Ke and his sister?”

  Li Wan said gaily, “It sounds as if my aunt has come to the capital again. But how odd that they should all arrive together.”

  Going in some mystification to Lady Wang’s reception hall, they found it crowded with people. Lady Xing’s brother and sister-in-law had brought their daughter Xiuyan to stay with her; and they had travelled with Xifeng’s elder brother Wang Ren, who was coming to the capital too. Half way there, when their boats moored, they had happened to meet Li Wan’s widowed aunt making the same journey with her daughters Li Wen and Li Qi; and having found out in the course of conversation that they were related, these three families had proceeded on their way together. Then there was Xue Pan’s cousin Xue Ke, coming to arrange for the marriage of his younger sister Baoqin who had been betrothed to the son of Academician Mei when their father was in the capital. Learning of Wang Ren’s trip, he had followed with his sister and overtaken him. In this way they had arrived together today to visit their respective relatives.

/>   The Lady Dowager and Lady Wang welcomed these guests most warmly.

  “Not wonder our lamp wicks kept forming snuff and sputtering last night!” remarked the old lady with a smile. “It was a sign of this reunion today.”

  While exchanging family news and accepting the gifts brought, she ordered a meal. Xifeng, it goes without saying, was busier than ever, for Li Wan and Baochai were naturally chatting with their relatives about all that had happened since they parted. Daiyu enjoyed the general excitement too until it came home to her that she alone had no family but was all on her own, and at this thought she shed tears. Baoyu, well aware how she felt, finally succeeded in consoling her, after which he hurried back to Happy Red Court.

  “Go and have a look, quick!” he urged Xiren, Sheyue and Qingwen. “Baochai’s boy cousin looks and behaves quite differently from Xue Pan, more as if he were her real brother. And there’s something even more amazing. You always insist that nobody can rival Baochai’s looks but you should just see her girl cousin and my elder sister-in-law’s two cousins—words fail me to describe them! Old Man Heaven, what fine essences and subtle spirits you must have used to produce such exquisite creatures! Why, I’ve been like the frog at the bottom of a well, imagining that our girls here were unmatched; but now, without searching far afield, here on this very spot I see others who surpass them. We certainly live and learn. Does this mean there are still others like these?”

  He had been laughing and exclaiming so wildly that Xiren refused to go. Qingwen and the others had done as he said, however, and now they ran back smiling.

  “You must go and have a look,” they urged Xiren. “Lady Xing’s niece, Miss Baochai’s cousin and Madam Zhu’s two cousins are as pretty as four fresh young shallots, they really are!”

  While they were speaking, Tanchun came to find Baoyu. “This is a fine thing for our poetry club,” she told him.

  “That’s right,” he agreed. “You had the bright idea of starting the club, so now all these people turn up as if by magic. We don’t know, though, whether they can write poems or not.”