红楼梦英文版 The Dream of the Red Chamber Chapter 37
In the Study of Autumnal Cheerfulness is accidentally formed the Cydonia Japonica Society — In the Heng Wu Court, the
chrysanthemum1 is, on a certain night, proposed as a subject for verses.
But to continue. After Shih Hsiang-yün’s return home, Pao-yü and the other inmates2 spent their time, as of old, in rambling3 about in the garden in search of pleasure, and in humming poetical4 compositions. But without further reference to their doings, let us take up our narrative5 with Chia Cheng.
Ever since the visit paid to her home by the imperial consort6, he fulfilled his official duties with additional zeal7, for the purpose of reverently8 making requital9 for the grace shown him by the Emperor. His correct bearing and his spotless reputation did not escape His Majesty’s notice, and he conferred upon him the special appointment of Literary Chancellor10, with the sole object of singling out his true merit; for though he had not commenced his career through the arena11 of public examinations, he belonged nevertheless to a family addicted12 to letters during successive generations. Chia Cheng had, therefore, on the receipt of the imperial decree, to select the twentieth day of the eighth moon to set out on his journey. When the appointed day came, he worshipped at the shrines13 of his ancestors, took leave of them and of dowager lady Chia, and started for his post. It would be a needless task, however, to recount with any full particulars how Pao-yü and all the inmates saw him off, how Chia Cheng went to take up his official duties, and what occurred abroad, suffice it for us to notice that Pao-yü, ever since Chia Cheng’s departure, indulged his caprices, allowed his feelings to run riot, and gadded14 wildly about. In fact, he wasted his time, and added fruitless days and months to his age.
On this special occasion, he experienced more than ever a sense of his lack of resources, and came to look up his grandmother Chia and Madame Wang. With them, he whiled away some of his time, after which he returned into the garden. As soon as he changed his costume, he perceived Ts’ui Mo enter, with a couple of sheets of fancy notepaper, in her hand, which she delivered to him.
“It quite slipped from my mind,” Pao-yü remarked. “I meant to have gone and seen my cousin Tertia; is she better that you come?”
“Miss is all right,” Ts’ui Mo answered. “She hasn’t even had any medicine to-day. It’s only a slight chill.”
When Pao-yü heard this reply, he unfolded the fancy notepaper. On perusal16, he found the contents to be: “Your cousin, T’an Ch’un, respectfully lays this on her cousin Secundus’ study-table. When the other night the blue sky newly opened out to view, the moon shone as if it had been washed clean! Such admiration17 did this pure and rare panorama18 evoke19 in me that I could not reconcile myself to the idea of going to bed. The clepsydra had already accomplished20 three turns, and yet I roamed by the railing under the dryandra trees. But such poor treatment did I receive from wind and dew (that I caught a chill), which brought about an ailment21 as severe (as that which prevented the man of old from) picking up sticks. You took the trouble yesterday to come in person and cheer me up. Time after time also did you send your attendants round to make affectionate inquiries22 about me. You likewise presented me with fresh lichees and relics23 of writings of Chen Ch’ing. How deep is really your gracious love! As I leant to-day on my table plunged24 in silence, I suddenly remembered that the ancients of successive ages were placed in circumstances, in which they had to struggle for reputation and to fight for gain, but that they nevertheless acquired spots with hills and dripping streams, and, inviting25 people to come from far and near, they did all they could to detain them, by throwing the linch-pins of their chariots into wells or by holding on to their shafts26; and that they invariably joined friendship with two or three of the same mind as themselves, with whom they strolled about in these grounds, either erecting27 altars for song, or establishing societies for scanning poetical works. Their meetings were, it is true, prompted, on the spur of the moment, by a sudden fit of good cheer, but these have again and again proved, during many years, a pleasant topic of conversation. I, your cousin, may, I admit, be devoid28 of talent, yet I have been fortunate enough to enjoy your company amidst streams and rockeries, and to furthermore admire the elegant verses composed by Hsüeh Pao-ch’ai and Lin Tai-yü. When we were in the breezy hall and the moonlit pavilion, what a pity we never talked about poets! But near the almond tree with the sign and the peach tree by the stream, we may perhaps, when under the fumes29 of wine, be able to fling round the cups, used for humming verses! Who is it who opines that societies with any claim to excellent abilities can only be formed by men? May it not be that the pleasant meetings on the Tung Shan might yield in merit to those, such as ourselves, of the weaker sex? Should you not think it too much to walk on the snow, I shall make bold to ask you round, and sweep the way clean of flowers and wait for you. Respectfully written.”
The perusal of this note filled Pao-yü unawares with exultation30. Clapping his hands; “My third cousin,” he laughed, “is the one eminently31 polished; I’ll go at once to-day and talk matters over with her.”
As he spoke32, he started immediately, followed by Ts’ui Mo. As soon as they reached the Hsin Fang34 pavilion, they espied35 the matron, on duty that day at the back door of the garden, advancing towards them with a note in her hand. The moment she perceived Pao-yü she forthwith came up to meet him. “Mr. Yün,” she said, “presents his compliments to you. He is waiting for you at the back gate. This is a note he bade me bring you.”
Upon opening the note, Pao-yü found it to read as follows: “An unfilial son, Yün, reverently inquires about his worthy36 father’s boundless37 happiness and precious health. Remembering the honour conferred upon me by your recognising me, in your heavenly bounty38, as your son, I tried both day as well as night to do something in evidence of my pious39 obedience40, but no opportunity could I find to perform anything filial. When I had, some time back, to purchase flowers and plants, I succeeded, thanks to your vast influence, venerable senior, in finally making friends with several gardeners and in seeing a good number of gardens. As the other day I unexpectedly came across a white begonia, of a rare species, I exhausted41 every possible means to get some and managed to obtain just two pots. If you, worthy senior, regard your son as your own very son, do keep them to feast your eyes upon! But with this hot weather to-day, the young ladies in the garden will, I fear, not be at their ease. I do not consequently presume to come and see you in person, so I present you this letter, written with due respect, while knocking my head before your table. Your son, Yün, on his knees, lays this epistle at your feet. A joke!”
After reading this note, Pao-yü laughed. “Has he come alone?” he asked. “Or has he any one else with him?”
“He’s got two flower pots as well,” rejoined the matron.
“You go and tell him,” Pao-yü urged, “that I’ve informed myself of the contents of his note, and that there are few who think of me as he does! If you also take the flowers and, put them in my room, it will be all right.”
So saying, he came with Ts’ui Mo into the Ch’iu Shuang study, where he discovered Pao-ch’ai, Tai-yü, Ying Ch’un and Hsi Ch’un already assembled. When they saw him drop in upon them, they all burst out laughing. “Here comes still another!” they exclaimed.
“I’m not a boor42,” smiled T’an Ch’un, “so when the idea casually43 crossed my mind, I wrote a few notes to try and see who would come. But who’d have thought that, as soon as I asked you, you would all come.”
“It’s unfortunately late,” Pao-yü smilingly observed. “We should have started this society long ago.”
“You can’t call this late!” Tai-yü interposed, “so why give way to regret! The only thing is, you must form your society, without including me in the number; for I daren’t be one of you.”
“If you daren’t,” Ying Ch’un smiled, “who can presume to do so?”
“This is,” suggested Pao-yü, “a legitimate44 and great purpose; and we should all exert our energies. You shouldn’t be modest, and I yielding; but every one of us, who thinks of anything, should freely express it for general discussion. So senior cousin Pao-ch’ai do make some suggestion; and you junior cousin Lin Tai-yü say something.”
“What are you in this hurry for?” Pao-ch’ai exclaimed. “We are not all here yet.”
This remark was barely concluded, when Li Wan15 also arrived. As soon as she crossed the threshold, “It’s an excellent proposal,” she laughingly cried, “this of starting a poetical society. I recommend myself as controller. Some time ago in spring, I thought of this, ‘but,’ I mused45, ‘I am unable to compose verses, so what’s the use of making a mess of things?’ This is why I dispelled46 the idea from my mind, and made no mention about it. But since it’s your good pleasure, cousin Tertia, to start it, I’ll help you to set it on foot.”
“As you’ve made up your minds,” Tai-yü put in, “to initiate47 a poetical society, every one of us will be poets, so we should, as a first step, do away with those various appellations48 of cousin and uncle and aunt, and thus avoid everything that bears a semblance49 of vulgarity.”
“First rate,” exclaimed Li Wan, “and why should we not fix upon some new designations by which to address ourselves? This will be a far more refined way! As for my own, I’ve selected that of the ‘Old farmer of Tao Hsiang;’ so let none of you encroach on it.”
“I’ll then call myself the ‘resident-scholar of the Ch’iu Shuang,’ and have done,” T’an Ch’un observed with a smile.
“‘Resident-scholar or master’ is, in fact, not to the point. It’s clumsy, besides,” Pao-yü interposed. “The place here is full of dryandra and banana trees, and if one could possibly hit upon some name bearing upon the dryandra and banana, it would be preferable.”
“I’ve got one,” shouted T’an Ch’un smilingly. “I’ll style myself ‘the guest under the banana trees.’”
“How uncommon50!” they unanimously cried. “It’s a nice one!”
“You had better,” laughed Tai-yü, “be quick and drag her away and stew51 some slices of her flesh, for people to eat with their wine.”
No one grasped her meaning, “Ch’uang-tzu,” Tai-yü proceeded to explain, smiling, “says: ‘The banana leaves shelter the deer,’ and as she styles herself the guest under the banana tree, is she not a deer? So be quick and make pieces of dried venison of her.”
At these words, the whole company laughed.
“Don’t be in a hurry!” T’an Ch’un remarked, as she laughed. “You make use of specious52 language to abuse people; but I’ve thought of a fine and most apposite name for you!” Whereupon addressing herself to the party, “In days gone by,” she added, “an imperial concubine, Nü Ying, sprinkled her tears on the bamboo, and they became spots, so from olden times to the present spotted53 bamboos have been known as the ‘Hsiang imperial concubine bamboo.’ Now she lives in the Hsiao Hsiang lodge54, and has a weakness too for tears, so the bamboos over there will by and bye, I presume, likewise become transformed into speckled bamboos; every one therefore must henceforward call her the ‘Hsiao Hsiang imperial concubine’ and finish with it.”
After listening to her, they one and all clapped their hands, and cried out: “Capital!” Lin Tai-yü however drooped55 her head and did not so much as utter a single word.
“I’ve also,” Li Wan smiled, “devised a suitable name for senior cousin, Hsüeh Pao-chai. It too is one of three characters.”
“What’s it?” eagerly inquired the party.
“I’ll raise her to the rank of ‘Princess of Heng Wu,’” Li Wan rejoined. “I wonder what you all think about this.”
“This title of honour,” T’an Ch’un observed, “is most apposite.”
“What about mine?” Pao-yü asked. “You should try and think of one for me also!”
“Your style has long ago been decided56 upon,” Pao-ch’ai smiled. “It consists of three words: ‘fussing for nothing!’ It’s most pat!”
“You should, after all, retain your old name of ‘master of the flowers in the purple cave,’” Li Wan suggested. “That will do very well.”
“Those were some of the doings of my youth; why rake them up again?” Pao-yü laughed.
“Your styles are very many,” T’an Ch’un observed, “and what do you want to choose another for? All you’ve got to do is to make suitable reply when we call you whatever takes our fancy.”
“I must however give you a name,” Pao-ch’ai remarked. “There’s a very vulgar name, but it’s just the very thing for you. What is difficult to obtain in the world are riches and honours; what is not easy to combine with them is leisure. These two blessings57 cannot be enjoyed together, but, as it happens, you hold one along with the other, so that we might as well dub58 you the ‘rich and honourable59 idler.’”
“It won’t do; it isn’t suitable,” Pao-yü laughed. “It’s better that you should call me, at random60, whatever you like.”
“What names are to be chosen for Miss Secunda and Miss Quarta?” Li Wan inquired.
“We also don’t excel in versifying; what’s the use consequently of giving us names, all for no avail?” Ying Ch’un said.
“In spite of this,” argued T’an Ch’un, “it would be well to likewise find something for you!”
“She lives in the Tzu Ling Chou, (purple caltrop Isle), so let us call her ‘Ling Chou,’” Pao-ch’ai suggested. “As for that girl Quarta, she lives in the On Hsiang Hsieh, (lotus fragrance61 pavilion); she should thus be called On Hsieh and have done!”
“These will do very well!” Li Wan cried. “But as far as age goes, I am the senior, and you should all defer62 to my wishes; but I feel certain that when I’ve told you what they are, you will unanimously agree to them. We are seven here to form the society, but neither I, nor Miss Secunda, nor Miss Quarta can write verses; so if you will exclude us three, we’ll each share some special duties.”
“Their names have already been chosen,” T’an Ch’un smilingly demurred63; “and do you still keep on addressing them like this? Well, in that case, won’t it be as well for them to have no names? But we must also decide upon some scale of fines, for future guidance, in the event of any mistakes.”
“There will be ample time to fix upon a scale of fines after the society has been definitely established.” Li Wan replied. “There’s plenty of room over in my place so let’s hold our meetings there. I’m not, it is true, a good hand at verses, but if you poets won’t treat me disdainfully as a rustic64 boor, and if you will allow me to play the hostess, I may certainly also gradually become more and more refined. As for conceding to me the presidentship of the society, it won’t be enough, of course, for me alone to preside; it will be necessary to invite two others to serve as vice-presidents; you might then enlist65 Ling Chou and Ou Hsieh, both of whom are cultured persons. The one to choose the themes and assign the metre, the other to act as copyist and supervisor66. We three cannot, however, definitely say that we won’t write verses, for, if we come across any comparatively easy subject and metre, we too will indite67 a stanza68 if we feel so disposed. But you four will positively69 have to do so. If you agree to this, well, we can proceed with the society; but, if you don’t fall in with my wishes, I can’t presume to join you.”
Ying Ch’un and Hsi Ch’un had a natural aversion for verses. What is more, Hsüeh Pao-ch’ai and Lin Tai-yü were present. As soon therefore as they heard these proposals, which harmonised so thoroughly70 with their own views, they both, with one voice, approved them as excellent. T’an Ch’un and the others were likewise well aware of their object, but they could not, when they saw with what willingness they accepted the charge insist, with any propriety71, upon their writing verses, and they felt obliged to say yes.
“Your proposals,” she consequently said, “may be right enough; but in my views they are ridiculous. For here I’ve had the trouble of initiating72 this idea of a society, and, instead of my having anything to say in the matter, I’ve been the means of making you three come and exercise control over me.”
“Well then,” Pao-yü suggested, “let’s go to the Tao Hsiang village.”
“You’re always in a hurry!” Li Wan remarked. “We’re here to-day to simply deliberate. So wait until I’ve sent for you again.”
“It would be well,” Pao-ch’ai interposed, “that we should also decide every how many days we are to meet.”
“If we meet too often,” argued T’an Ch’un, “there won’t be fun in it. We should simply come together two or three times in a month.”
“It will be ample if we meet twice or thrice a month,” Pao-ch’ai added. “But when the dates have been settled neither wind nor rain should prevent us. Exclusive, however, of these two days, any one in high spirits and disposed to have an extra meeting can either ask us to go over to her place, or you can all come to us; either will do well enough! But won’t it be more pleasant if no hard-and-fast dates were laid down?”
“This suggestion is excellent,” they all exclaimed.
“This idea was primarily originated by me,” T’an Ch’un observed, “and I should be the first to play the hostess, so that these good spirits of mine shouldn’t all go for nothing.”
“Well, after this remark,” Li Wan proceeded, “what do you say to your being the first to convene73 a meeting to-morrow?”
“To-morrow,” T’an Ch’un demurred, “is not as good as to-day; the best thing is to have it at once! You’d better therefore choose the subjects, while Ling Chou can fix the metre, and Ou Hsieh act as supervisor.”
“According to my ideas,” Ying Ch’un chimed in, “we shouldn’t yield to the wishes of any single person in the choice of themes and the settlement of the rhythm. What would really be fair and right would be to draw lots.”
“When I came just now,” Li Wan pursued, “I noticed them bring in two pots of white begonias, which were simply beautiful; and why should you not write some verses on them?”
“Can we write verses,” Ying Ch’un retorted, “before we have as yet seen anything of the flowers?”
“They’re purely74 and simply white begonias,” Pao-chai answered, “and is there again any need to see them before you put together your verses? Men of old merely indited76 poetical compositions to express their good cheer and conceal77 their sentiments; had they waited to write on things they had seen, why, the whole number of their works would not be in existence at present!”
“In that case,” Ying Ch’un said, “let me fix the metre.”
With these words, she walked up to the book-case, and, extracting a volume, she opened it, at random, at some verses which turned out to be a heptameter stanza. Then handing it round for general perusal, everybody had to compose lines with seven words in each. Ying Ch’un next closed the book of verses and addressed herself to a young waiting-maid. “Just utter,” she bade her, “the first character that comes to your mouth.”
The waiting-maid was standing78, leaning against the door, so readily she suggested the word “door.”
“The rhyme then will be the word ‘door,’” Ying Ch’un smiled, “under the thirteenth character ‘Yuan.’ The final word of the first line is therefore ‘door’.”
Saying this, she asked for the box with the rhyme slips, and, pulling out the thirteenth drawer with the character “Yuan,” she directed a young waiting-maid to take four words as they came under her hand. The waiting-maid complied with her directions, and picked out four slips, on which were written “p’en, hun, hen and hun,” pot, spirit, traces and dusk.
“The two characters pot and door,” observed Pao-yü, “are not very easy to rhyme with.”
But Shih Shu then got ready four lots of paper and pens, share and share alike, and one and all quietly set to work, racking their brains to perform their task, with the exception of Tai-yü, who either kept on rubbing the dryandra flowers, or looking at the autumnal weather, or bandying jokes as well with the servant-girls; while Ying Ch’un ordered a waiting-maid to light a “dream-sweet” incense79 stick.
This “dream-sweet” stick was, it must be explained, made only about three inches long and about the thickness of a lamp-wick, in order to easily burn down. Setting therefore her choice upon one of these as a limit of time, any one who failed to accomplish the allotted80 task, by the time the stick was consumed, had to pay a penalty.
Presently, T’an Ch’un was the first to think of some verses, and, taking up her pen, she wrote them down; and, after submitting them to several alterations81, she handed them up to Ying Ch’un.
“Princess of Heng Wu,” she then inquired of Pao-ch’ai, “have you finished?”
“As for finishing, I have finished,” Pao-ch’ai rejoined; “but they’re worth nothing.”
Pao-yü paced up and down the verandah with his hands behind his back. “Have you heard?” he thereupon said to Tai-yü, “they’ve all done!”
“Don’t concern yourself about me!” Tai-yü returned for answer.
Pao-yü also perceived that Pao-ch’ai had already copied hers out. “Dreadful!” he exclaimed. “There only remains82 an inch of the stick and I’ve only just composed four lines. The incense stick is nearly burnt out,” he continued, speaking to Tai-yü, “and what do you keep squatting83 on that damp ground like that for?”
But Tai-yü did not again worry her mind about what he said.
“Well,” Pao-yü added, “I can’t be looking after you! Whether good or bad, I’ll write mine out too and have done.”
As he spoke, he likewise drew up to the table and began putting his lines down.
“We’ll now peruse84 the verses,” Li Wan interposed, “and if by the time we’ve done, you haven’t as yet handed up your papers, you’ll have to be fined.”
“Old farmer of Tao Hsiang,” Pao-yü remarked, “you’re not, it is true, a good hand at writing verses, but you can read well, and, what’s more, you’re the fairest of the lot; so you’d better adjudge the good and bad, and we’ll submit to your judgment85.”
“Of course!” responded the party with one voice.
In due course, therefore, she first read T’an Ch’un’s draft. It ran as follows:—
Verses on the Begonia.
What time the sun’s rays slant86, and the grass waxeth cold, close the double doors.
After a shower of rain, green moss87 plenteously covers the whole pot.
Beauteous is jade88, but yet with thee in purity it cannot ever vie.
Thy frame, spotless as snow, from admiration easy robs me of my wits
Thy fragrant89 core is like unto a dot, so full of grace, so delicate!
When the moon reacheth the third watch, thy comely90 shade begins to show itself.
Do not tell me that a chaste91 fairy like thee can take wings and pass away.
How lovely are thy charms, when in thy company at dusk I sing my lay!
After she had read them aloud, one and all sang their praise for a time. She then took up Pao-ch’ai’s, which consisted of:
If thou would’st careful tend those fragrant lovely flowers, close of a day the doors,
And with thine own hands take the can and sprinkle water o’er the mossy pots.
Red, as if with cosmetic92 washed, are the shadows in autumn on the steps.
Their crystal snowy bloom invites the dew on their spirits to heap itself.
Their extreme whiteness mostly shows that they’re more comely than all other flowers.
When much they grieve, how can their jade-like form lack the traces of tears?
Would’st thou the god of those white flowers repay? then purity need’st thou observe.
In silence plunges93 their fine bloom, now that once more day yields to dusk.
“After all,” observed Li Wan, “it’s the Princess of Heng Wu, who expresses herself to the point.”
Next they bestowed94 their attention on the following lines, composed by Pao-yü:—
Thy form in autumn faint reflects against the double doors.
So heaps the snow in the seventh feast that it filleth thy pots.
Thy shade is spotless as Tai Chen, when from her bath she hails.
Like Hsi Tzu’s, whose hand ever pressed her heart, jade-like thy soul.
When the morn-ushering breeze falls not, thy thousand blossoms grieve.
To all thy tears the evening shower addeth another trace.
Alone thou lean’st against the coloured rails as if with sense imbued95.
As heavy-hearted as the fond wife, beating clothes, or her that sadly listens to the flute96, thou mark’st the fall of dusk.
When they had perused97 his verses, Pao-yü opined that T’an Ch’un’s carried the palm. Li Wan was, however, inclined to concede to the stanza, indited by Pao-ch’ai, the credit of possessing much merit. But she then went on to tell Tai-yü to look sharp.
“Have you all done?” Tai-yü asked.
So saying, she picked up a pen and completing her task, with a few dashes, she threw it to them to look over. On perusal, Li Wan and her companions found her verses to run in this strain:—
Half rolled the speckled portiere hangs, half closed the door.
Thy mould like broken ice it looks, jade-like thy pot.
This couplet over, Pao-yü took the initiative and shouted: “Capital.” But he had just had time to inquire where she had recalled them to mind from, when they turned their mind to the succeeding lines:
Three points of whiteness from the pear petals98 thou steal’st;
And from the plum bloom its spirit thou borrowest.
“Splendid!” every one (who heard) them conned99 over, felt impelled100 to cry. “It is a positive fact,” they said, “that her imagination is, compared with that of others, quite unique.”
But the rest of the composition was next considered. Its text was:
The fairy in Selene’s cavity donneth a plain attire101.
The maiden102, plunged in autumn grief, dries in her room the prints of tears.
Winsome103 she blushes, in silence she’s plunged, with none a word she breathes;
But wearily she leans against the eastern breeze, though dusk has long since fall’n.
“This stanza ranks above all!” they unanimously remarked, after it had been read for their benefit.
“As regards beauty of thought and originality104, this stanza certainly deserves credit,” Li Wan asserted; “but as regards pregnancy105 and simplicity106 of language, it, after all, yields to that of Heng Wu.”
“This criticism is right.” T’an Ch’un put in. “That of the Hsiao Hsiang consort must take second place.”
“Yours, gentleman of I Hung,” Li Wan pursued, “is the last of the lot. Do you agreeably submit to this verdict?”
“My stanza,” Pao-yü ventured, “isn’t really worth a straw. Your criticism is exceedingly fair. But,” he smilingly added, “the two poems, written by Heng Wu and Hsiao Hsiang, have still to be discussed.”
“You should,” argued Li Wan, “fall in with my judgment; this is no business of any of you, so whoever says anything more will have to pay a penalty.”
Pao-yü at this reply found that he had no alternative but to drop the subject.
“I decide that from henceforward,” Li Wan proceeded, “we should hold meetings twice every month, on the second and sixteenth. In the selection of themes and the settlement of the rhymes, you’ll all have then to do as I wish. But any person who may, during the intervals107, feel so disposed, will be at perfect liberty to choose another day for an extra meeting. What will I care if there’s a meeting every day of the moon? It will be no concern of mine, so long as when the second and sixteenth arrive, you do, as you’re bound to, and come over to my place.”
“We should, as is but right,” Pao-yü suggested, “choose some name or other for our society.”
“Were an ordinary one chosen, it wouldn’t be nice,” T’an Ch’un explained, “and anything too new-fangled, eccentric or strange won’t also be quite the thing! As luck would have it, we’ve just started with the poems on the begonia, so let us call it the ‘Begonia Poetical Society.’ This title is, it’s true, somewhat commonplace; but as it’s positively based on fact, it shouldn’t matter.”
After this proposal of hers, they held further consultation108; and partaking of some slight refreshments109, each of them eventually retired110. Some repaired to their quarters. Others went to dowager lady Chia’s or Madame Wang’s apartments. But we will leave them without further comment.
When Hsi Jen, for we will now come to her, perceived Pao-yü peruse the note and walk off in a great flurry, along with Ts’ui Mo, she was quite at a loss what to make of it. Subsequently, she also saw the matrons, on duty at the back gate, bring two pots of begonias. Hsi Jen inquired of them where they came from. The women explained to her all about them. As soon as Hsi Jen heard their reply, she at once desired them to put the flowers in their proper places, and asked them to sit down in the lower rooms. She then entered the house, and, weighing six mace111 of silver, she wrapped it up properly, and fetching besides three hundred cash, she came over and handed both the amounts to the two matrons. “This silver,” she said, “is a present for the boys, who carried the flowers; and these cash are for you to buy yourselves a cup of tea with.”
The women rose to their feet in such high glee that their eyebrows112 dilated113 and their eyes smiled; but, though they waxed eloquent114 in the expression of their deep gratitude115, they would not accept the money. It was only after they had perceived how obstinate116 Hsi Jen was in not taking it back that they at last volunteered to keep it.
“Are there,” Hsi Jen then inquired, “any servant-boys on duty outside the back gate?”
“There are four of them every day,” answered one of the matrons. “They’re put there with the sole idea of attending to any orders that might be given them from inside. But, Miss, if you’ve anything to order them to do, we’ll go and deliver your message.”
“What orders can I have to give them?” Hsi Jen laughed. “Mr. Pao, our master Secundus, was purposing to send some one to-day to the young marquis’ house to take something over to Miss Shih. But you come at an opportune117 moment so you might, on your way out, tell the servant-boys at the back gate to hire a carriage; and on its return you can come here and get the money. But don’t let them rush recklessly against people in the front part of the compound!”
The matrons signified their obedience and took their leave. Hsi Jen retraced118 her steps into the house to fetch a tray in which to place the presents intended for Shih Hsiang-yün, but she discovered the shelf for trays empty. Upon turning round, however, she caught sight of Ch’ing Wen, Ch’iu Wen, She Yüeh and the other girls, seated together, busy with their needlework. “Where is the white cornelian tray with twisted threads gone to?” Hsi Jen asked.
At this question, one looked at the one, and the other stared at the other, but none of them could remember anything about it. After a protracted119 lapse120 of time, Ch’ing Wen smiled. “It was taken to Miss Tertia’s with a present of lichees,” she rejoined, “and it hasn’t as yet been returned.”
“There are plenty of articles,” Hsi Jen remarked, “for sending over things on ordinary occasions; and do you deliberately121 go and carry this off?”
“Didn’t I maintain the same thing?” Ch’ing Wen retorted. “But so well did this tray match with the fresh lichees it contained, that when I took it over, Miss T’an Ch’un herself noticed the fact. ‘How splendid,’ she said, and lo, putting even the tray by, she never had it brought over. But, look! hasn’t the pair of beaded vases, which stood on the very top of that shelf, been fetched as yet?”
“The mention of these vases,” Ch’iu Wen laughed, “reminds me again of a funny incident. Whenever our Mr. Pao-yü‘s filial piety122 is aroused, he shows himself filial over and above the highest degree! The other day, he espied the olea flowers in the park, and he plucked two twigs124. His original idea was to place them in a vase for himself, but a sudden thought struck him. ‘These are flowers,’ he mused, ‘which have newly opened in our garden, so how can I presume to be the first to enjoy them?’ And actually taking down that pair of vases, he filled them with water with his own hands, put the flowers in, and, calling a servant to carry them, he in person took one of the vases into dowager lady Chia’s, and then took the other to Madame Wang’s. But, as it happens, even his attendants reap some benefit, when once his filial feelings are stirred up! As luck would have it, the one who carried the vases over on that day was myself. The sight of these flowers so enchanted125 our venerable lady that there was nothing that she wouldn’t do. ‘Pao-yü,’ she said to every one she met, ‘is the one, after all, who shows me much attention. So much so, that he has even thought of bringing me a twig123 of flowers! And yet, the others bear me a grudge126 on account of the love that I lavish127 on him!’ Our venerable mistress, you all know very well, has never had much to say to me. I have all along not been much of a favourite in the old lady’s eyes. But on that occasion she verily directed some one to give me several hundreds of cash. ‘I was to be pitied,’ she observed, ‘for being born with a weak physique!’ This was, indeed, an unforeseen piece of good luck! The several hundreds of cash are a mere 