Hong lou meng: chapters 35-38, fate, reflection, poetry club

 1/ In chapter 36, there’s a scene where Vương Hy Phượng (Wang Xifeng) has to report to Vương phu nhân (Lady Wang) about salaries and allowances, and it becomes obvious that among the servants there are different ranks and levels.  

One of the main strengths of Hong lou meng is that Cao Xueqin can see and depict people of different classes in society. Readers who complain about servants’ invisibility in, say, Jane Austen’s novels would be glad to see lots of servants in this novel, who don’t get any less attention from the author. Tập Nhân (Xiren/ Aroma) has a rather significant role in the Giả (Jia) family and in the story, and on a personal note, is also more likable than most of the mistresses. 

I once came across a Vietnamese article about, if the Giả (Jia) family could be compared to a large company, what lessons could be learnt from the 2 ideal workers Tâp Nhân (Aroma) and Bình Nhi (Ping’er/ Patience). 

2/ This scene reminds me, however, that Vương Hy Phượng (Wang Xifeng) doesn’t follow the advice from the ghost of Tần Khả Khanh (Qin Keqing) in a dream. 

3/ In chapter 36, before Bảo Thoa (Baochai), Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu) suddenly screams while having a dream:  

“‘Why should I believe what those old monks and Taoists say? I don’t believe in the marriage of gold and jade. I believe in the marriage of stone and flower.’” 

The relationship between Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu) and Bảo Thoa (Baochai) is “kim ngọc lương duyên”—he’s born with a jade in his mouth and she’s had a gold chain since childhood and they’re meant to be together in this life. 

The relationship between Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu) and Đại Ngọc (Daiyu) is “mộc thạch tiền minh”—before this life, he was a sentient stone left over by Nữ Oa (Nu-wa) and she was a fairy flower called cây Giáng Châu (Fairy Crimson Pearl). That is the frame story of chapter 1—in previous life, he watered and gave life to the flower, so in this life she pays it back with tears (which is why she now cries all the time).  

These mythological elements add another layer to the novel and elevate it to another level. 

4/ Look at this line: 

“‘…What you have to remember is that Emperors hold their power from Heaven, and it’s unthinkable that Heaven should lay the huge responsibility of empire on any but the worthiest shoulders…’” (Ch.36) 

I know it’s a cultural thing and we’re talking about 18th century China here, but I still find that line irritating. 

5/ There’s a very interesting moment in this chapter. 

Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu) talks to Tập Nhân (Aroma) and says some nonsense about death. Then he says: 

“‘Now my idea of a glorious death would be to die now, while you are all around me; then your tears could combine to make a great river that my corpse could float away on, far, far away to some remote place that no bird has ever flown to, and gently decompose there until the wind had picked my bones clean, and after that never, never to be reborn again as a human being – that would be a really good death.’” (ibid.)  

But then later, he comes to see a performer named Linh Quan (Charmante in David Hawkes’s version) and watches a conversation between her and Giả Tường (Jia Qiang). There isn’t much to that scene, but it’s an important moment for Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu)—for a moment, he gets drawn out of himself and sees something beyond himself, as he realises that Linh Quan (Charmante) loves Giả Tường (Jia Qiang). 

“It was a reflective, self-critical Bao-yu who made his way back to Green Delights, so bemused that he scarcely noticed where he was going. When he arrived, Dai-yu and Aroma were sitting in conversation together. He looked at Aroma and sighed heavily.

‘What I told you the other night was wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m not surprised that Father tells me I have a “small capacity but a great self-conceit”. I mean, that stuff about all of you making a river of tears for me when I die: I realize now that it’s not possible. I realize now that we each have our own allotted share of tears and must be content with what we’ve got.’” (ibid.) 

That is interesting. 

6/ In chapter 37, Giả Thám Xuân (Jia Tanchun) creates a poetry club and each member gets a name, so I have to keep a list. 

Lý Hoàn (Li Wan)=> Đạo hương lão nông  

Thám Xuân (Tanchun)=> Tiêu hạ khách  

Đại Ngọc (Daiyu)=> Tiêu tương phi tử

Bảo Thoa (Baochai)=> Hành vu quân 

Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu)=> Di hồng công tử 

Nghênh Xuân (Yingchun)=> Lăng Châu 

Tích Xuân (Xichun)=> Ngẫu Tạ 

Sử Tương Vân (Shi Xiangyun)=> Chẩm Hà cựu hữu 

7/ There isn’t much I can say about the poems because the Vietnamese translations aren’t always very good, and I think the poems by David Hawkes are a bit loose. My impression is that in the first set about hoa hải đường (crab flower in Hawkes’s translation), the poems by Thám Xuân (Tanchun), Bảo Thoa (Baochai), and Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu) are roughly the same, only the one by Đại Ngọc (Daiyu) is different and appears original. I’m not sure why Lý Hoàn (Li Wan) thinks the one by Bảo Thoa (Baochai) is better—are we meant to agree? Are we meant to think that Cao Xueqin thinks the same? 

The poems that Sử Tương Vân (Shi Xiangyun) makes the next day also stand out. 

In the last scene of the chapter, when Tương Vân (Xiangyun) and Bảo Thoa (Baochai) are discussing subjects for the new set of poems, surrounding chrysanthemums, Cao Xueqin clearly makes this scene about Bảo Thoa (Baochai), about her intelligence and poetic talents. She dislikes clichés and the shackle of “an arbitrary rhyme-scheme” and seems to like to have freedom in poetry. But then she adds: 

“‘… But what am I saying all this for? Spinning and sewing is the proper occupation for girls like us. Any time we have left over from that should be spent in reading a few pages of some improving book – not on this sort of thing!’” (Ch.37) 

Freedom in poetry is one thing, in real life she is conventional—a perfect woman according to Confucian ideals. 

8/ Cao Xueqin may not write about characters’ thoughts the way Western novelists do, but he has another tool—Hong lou meng is full of poetry and the poems say something about their authors. This can be seen very clearly in the second set of poems, about chrysanthemums.

There isn’t much to say about the poems by Bảo Ngọc (Baoyu), as usual—Cao Xueqin gives the poetic talents to his female characters. The one thing that I find amusing is that one of the titles he picks is “Planting the chrysanthemums” and his poem has the image of watering the flowers, which is reminiscent of the stone-flower story.

The poems by Bảo Thoa (Baochai) are all right but bland, as she is. Here’s an example. 

“PAINTING THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

The brush that praised them, eager for more tasks,

Would paint them now – for painting’s no great cost

When cunning black-ink blots the flowers’ leaves make,

And white the petals, silvered o’er with frost.

Fresh scents of autumn from the paper rise,

And shapes unmoving by the wind are tossed.

No need at Double Ninth live flowers to pluck:

These living seem, upon a fine screen stuck!” (Ch.38) 

Compare that to the sensitive and melancholic poems by Đại Ngọc (Daiyu). 

“QUESTIONING THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

Since none else autumn’s mystery can explain,

I come with murmured questions to your gate:

Who, world-disdainer, shares your hiding-place?

Of all the flowers why do yours bloom so late?

The garden silent lies in frosty dew;

The geese return; the cricket mourns his fate.

Let not speech from your silent world be banned:

Converse with me, since me you understand!” (ibid.) 

Or: 

“THE DREAM OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

Light-headed in my autumn bed I lie

And seem to chase the moon across the sky.

Well, if immortal, I’ll go seek old Tao,

Not imitate Zhuang’s flittering butterfly!

Following the wild goose, into sleep I slid;

From which now, startled by the cricket’s cry,

Midst cold and fog and dying leaves I wake,

With no one by to tell of my heart’s ache.” (ibid.)

Contrast that with the last poem by Thám Xuân (Tanchun): 

“THE DEATH OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

The feasting over and the first snow fallen,

The flowers frost-stricken lie or sideways lean,

Their perfume lingering, but their gold hue dimmed

And few poor, tattered leaves bereft of green.

Now under moonlit bench the cricket shrills,

And weary goose-files in the cold sky are seen.

Yet of your passing let me not complain:

Next autumn equinox we’ll meet again!” (ibid.) 

I mean, if you imagine a poem by Đại Ngọc (Daiyu) about the death of chrysanthemums, you’ll see the difference—it would obviously be gloomier. Well, we already have a scene of her in chapter 27, crying and reciting a poem about the dead flowers. Thám Xuân (Tanchun) seems to have a more accepting, serene outlook. 

I also like the poems by Sử Tương Vân (Shi Xiangyun), so here are all of them: 

“ADMIRING THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

Transplanted treasures, dear to me as gold –

Both the pale clumps and those of darker hue!

Bare-headed by your wintry bed I sit

And, musing, hug my knees and sing to you.

None more than you the villain world disdains;

None understands your proud heart as I do.

The precious hours of autumn I’ll not waste,

But bide with you and savour their full taste.” (ibid.)

“ARRANGING THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

What greater pleasure than the lute to strum

Or sip wine by your delicate display?

To hold the garden’s fragrance in one vase,

And see all autumn in a single spray?

On frosty nights I’ll dream you back again,

Brave in your garden bed at close of day.

Since with your shy disdain I sympathize,

’Tis you, not summer’s gaudy blooms I prize.” (ibid.)

“THE SHADOW OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS

The autumn moonlight through the garden steals,

Filtered in patches variously bright.

Flowers by the house as silhouettes appear;

Flowers by the fence are flecked with coins of light.

In the flowers’ wintry scent their souls reside,

Not in those frost-forms, than a dream more slight.

Even the gross vandal, squinting through drunken eyes,

Can, by their scents, the crushed flowers recognize.” (ibid.)

(All of these poems come from the David Hawkes translation). 

Đại Ngọc’s (Daiyu) poems may be better and deeper, but personally I think the ones by Sử Tương Vân (Shi Xiangyun) have more personality. 

9/ After the bland poems about chrysanthemums, Bảo Thoa (Baochai) writes a poem about crabs: 

“With winecups in hand, as the autumn day ends,

And with watering mouths, we await our small friends.

A straightforward breed you are certainly not,

And the goodness inside you has all gone to pot 

For your cold humours, ginger; to cut out your smell

We’ve got wine and chrysanthemum petals as well.

As you hiss in your pot, crabs, d’ye look back with pain

On that calm moonlit cove and the fields of fat grain?” (ibid.)

(This is David Hawkes’s translation, which for some reason is extremely different from the version in the Vietnamese text). 

Her harshness is coming out here.